#do I just order comfort food since it’s unlikely we’re gonna get anything at all

[jorgancrath]

ough

[archerjyn]

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby [part I]

pairing: jean kirstein x f!reader

genre: angst angst angst

summary: despite their strained relationship, the two travel together under the guise of a newly married couple that moved to the countryside of Liberio. Their mission keeps them in Marley for months, and the two keep a close eye on Eren. However, what will they do when they run into an old friend? How will Jean react upon seeing them again, and how will he break the news to ____. Will he break the news to her?

warning(s): mild cursing, mentions of d3@ath

word count: 1.1 K

mast | aot mast | next

“This is precisely why the two of you need to go together. You have a history. When your neighbors ask you questions about each other, you’ll be able to answer them!” Commander Hange danced around the room, scanning a dozen of their notes.

“Mikasa and Armin have known each other for a long time too. Can’t they go instead?” You asked as you stood, your palms on the table.

“Or why can’t I go with Mikasa instead? We’d be a cute couple,” Jean stayed seated in his chair but raised his hand in a confused manner.

“The second she sets foot in Marley, she’d leave you behind for Eren, you know that. And Armin is needed here to help me come up with future plans.” You couldn’t help but snicker at the man next to you after seeing his shoulders drop.

“Why don’t you two start packing? You’ll be there for who knows how long so make sure to pack all your essentials! Oh and notebooks! I’m expecting notes from the both of you!” Commander Hange squealed as they pushed the both of you out the door of their office.

“Sheesh. I’d rather be paired with Sasha for this mission,” Jean put his hands behind his head and walked next to you, continuing to complain about how miserable he’d be.

“If you don’t want to go with me then why don’t you do us all a favor and stay here? Going alone would make me 10 times more efficient anyway since you’re always slacking on the job. You know, for a commanding officer you really suck at leading people,” You huffed and separated ways.

That was a lie and you knew it. Jean was a great leader because of his lack of idealistic behavior. Unlike Eren, Jean seemed more human. He wasn’t this suicidal bastard with the fearless mindset of killing every single titan there was. Instead, he knew to fear the titans and it was because of that fear that allowed those around him to trust in his leadership. Most humans are weak, but once they get an order from Jean, who saw things the way they did, there was never any hesitation.

You packed your suitcase while Sasha sat on your bed, wailing about how much she was going to miss you. You loved her very much and loved hearing her talk, but while she did, all you could think about was the mission. In truth, you were terrified about going to Marley. They spoke the same language but their writing was different. Their culture and their foods were different. Your friends would not be there to comfort you, and Commander Hange nor Captain Levi would be there to tell you what to do when you were unsure of the next action to take. You felt like you were being thrown into the ocean with no clothes on, so vulnerable and scared.

Sooner or later, Mikasa joined the two of you. She didn’t say anything at first, but when she realized you dozing off instead of laughing at Sasha’s jokes, she spoke. “You’ll have Jean,” was all she said.

“What?” her voice pulled you out of your growing bubble of anxiety.

“Jean is very reliable.”

“Oh! You were acting brave but you’re scared aren’t ya ____? That’s okay. It’s like Mikasa said. Jean will protect ya if anything happens,” Sasha chimed in, nodding quickly. You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t need him to protect me. I came in the top 3 of my class you know,” You sighed, “We’ve all just been with each other for such a long time. We’re family now. I don’t like the idea of waking up without you guys, and going to sleep without being able to say good night.”

“You’ll have Jean,” Mikasa said again, before continuing, “He’s family too, isn’t he?”

“More like distant family,” you laughed and closed your suitcase.

“Why don’t we have a sleepover? Since it’ll be a while until we see each other again? We can all sleep in my room like we used to!” Sasha jumped up and danced around excitedly.

“I’ll tell Armin then,” Mikasa looked at me one last time before leaving.

“Uhh I’ll tell Connie then ?? Since you have to clean your room first right Sash?”

“Yes ma’am! Be ready in 20 and tell Connie not to be late unless he’s bringing food,” Sasha squinted as if looking at Connie himself, causing you to chuckle.

You grabbed your nightgown and changed into it before leaving to find Connie. On the way to his room, you heard his voice from behind Jean’s door, so you begrudgingly knocked on it. In truth, you were hoping to find Connie separately and have him ask Jean himself.

“Hey- Oh ____. Need somethin’?”

“Yeah uh, Sash is having a sleepover. You know, since it’s our last night and everything. She wants you guys to come,” Jean looked down at you, and suddenly you felt so small. Maybe it was because you were wearing a nightgown, and it made you feel vulnerable and even a little embarrassed. Or maybe it was because you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“That so? We’ll be there. Let me change first,” Jean walked away from the doorway and began taking off his shirt.

“Connie, she says you’d better not be late unless you’re bringing food,” You said, hoping to seem unphased by Jean stripping.

“Ugh that means she wants me to be late. Alright, I’ll see you guys there then,” the gray-haired boy groaned and got up.

“I’ll come with you since there’s a lot of us,” you began, only to be beckoned by Jean.

“Hey ____ come here for a sec. I think my button is stuck in my hair.”

“Can’t you do it yourself? I have things to do.”

“Obviously not. That’s why I’m asking you. I’ll even sit so you can reach.”

With that, Jean sat on the floor as you tried to untangle his hair and separate it from the button. You didn’t say a word, not really knowing what to say. Was Marley going to be like this the whole time? Silent and awkward? Bickering and arguing over the smallest things?

Even though you graduated a few months after the rest of the group, you had been fighting alongside them for a long time, and even knew them during your trainee days. Yet, you had never been along with Jean long enough to really talk to him. That is, after Marco died.

In truth, Jean used to accompany Marco back home when they were allowed to visit their families. He would stay for a few days and then leave Trost to visit his mom. You always thought of him as someone kind and extremely gentle, with a big heart. You knew he loved Marco and that they were best friends. But you loved Marco too, and it was your love and admiration for your brother that caused you to follow him into the military.

author's note: okay yes I posted this on wattpad originally but I also wanted to share it here just in case someone finds it interesting enough to read it. also, ngl the title of this fic is subject to change <3

[mandoalorian]

Chicken Nuggets [Marcus Moreno x F!Reader] *SMUT*

Summary: Marcus is back on the dating scene for the first time since his wife passed. Tonight is the night, and he’s a little insecure, but he hopes he can show you how much you mean to him.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, car sex!!!, male receiving oral/road head (do not try at home!!), food mention, alcohol mention, feelings, tooth rotting fluff, Marcus is so adorable I’m gonna cry.

Word count: 2000>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED! ✨

Masterlist

Marcus Moreno was a gentleman. He was caring, and affectionate -- and unlike any other guy  you had ever been with, he was an excellent listener. He’d always ask about your day and he loved to find out quirky little facts about you. It always made you smile when he brought up a menial piece of information that you told him in passing conversation weeks ago. He made you feel cared for, and important.

Marcus was completely and utterly smitten with you. He hadn’t been with anyone since his ex-wife, who had passed away two years ago. Getting over the heartbreak alongside his daughter wasn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. But he was getting there. And with you by his side, your company seemed to make things just that little bit easier. He wouldn’t trade you for the world.

So it was your fifth date, and Marcus felt as though he was finally ready to get intimate with you. Both you and him had discussed sex, and he knew it was something you wanted, but you would always reassure him that there was absolutely no pressure and you were fine waiting until he was ready. Marcus Moreno was too good of a man to just let go for that reason.

It was Saturday night and you had decided to meet him at the small Italian restaurant located on the coastline. It was the most perfect, romantic destination for a date. Marcus was always punctual, arriving at least fifteen minutes early no matter the reason. But to your surprise, not this time. He was so nervous, knowing that tonight would be the night. He’d cut himself shaving, he’d drowned himself in cologne and he tried to put in contacts but they’d somehow slipped out of his eye and landed in the sink, all mushed up and ruined. So he was back to doting his thick rimmed glasses that you adored. He was only five minutes late, and you didn’t mind too much, already cracking into the bottle of red wine. His smile when his gaze locked onto you was enough to fill your body with fuzzy butterflies. He presented you with a bouquet of roses and tried to hide the blush that crossed his cheeks.

“Hi,” he said nervously. He looked down when you pressed a gentle kiss over his lips. “Wow, everything smells so good,” he acknowledged as he sat down opposite you. “What do you think you’ll order?”

“Maybe the pasta,” you returned, checking the menu. “What about you?”

“Well, I promised Missy I’d bring her a slice of pizza home, so…” Marcus admitted and you giggled. Hating your laugh, you brought your hands to your face and covered your mouth. Marcus noticed immediately and took your hands, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. “Don’t hide yourself from me,” he cooed, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes. “You’re beautiful.”

You bit your lip and felt your cheeks flush under his sweet words. You didn’t know what it was -- perhaps the adrenaline of knowing what was to come after dinner, but his touch alone was enough to drive a bolt of anticipation through your core. You swallowed, losing your appetite for pasta and beginning to crave something else. He didn’t let go of your hands once, his fingers carefully tracing comforting circles into your skin as he gazed into your eyes and admired your beauty. 

“Marcus…” you whispered, pushing your thighs together as you felt arousal begin to pool between your legs.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t turned on too, if the tent in his pants was anything to judge by. “Yes?” he answered almost immediately, hating the way the word left his lips. He prayed the desperation that dripped from his tongue wasn’t evident to you.

“I… we… could get dinner later, if you wanted.” you suggested.

Marcus knew exactly what you meant, but he hadn’t realised it would be happening so soon. Nervous but excited, he bit his lower lip and nodded his head, a twinkle of lust sparkling in his honey brown eyes. He paid the bill, just for the bottle of wine, and took your hand before leading you out the restaurant. 

During the drive back to his place, you were feeling pretty restless. As his dark eyes focused on the road ahead, you let your hand wander across his denim clad thigh and towards his crotch. Your fingers delicately danced along his bulge and you felt more than satisfied when you heard a dark string of curses leave his lips. You’d never heard Marcus be so vulgar in his life.

“Shit hermosa, you trying to make me crash?” he chuckled, his eyebrows furrowing together with concentration. He was throbbing, but he figured he’d be able to handle it, as long as you didn’t go inside his jeans. The blood rushed to the tip of his cock as you palmed him softly. You hummed at his question but opted not to give him an answer, or at least, not with words. Popping open the top button of his pants and then finding his zipper, you pulled it all the way down. “You can’t wait, huh?” he countered further, already trying to resist the urge to thrust upwards into your hand. 

Finding that he wasn’t wearing any underwear, you swallowed, and looked up at him with doe-like eyes. “Marcus…” you purred, wasting no time and pulling out his thick length. He was hot and heavy, and under the artificial amber lights that illuminated the front of the car, you gave his cock a few pumps. “I had no idea you were so big.” you praised with a nervous giggle. 

Marcus didn’t say a word. He hadn’t been touched like this in a long time. Yeah, he’d used his own hand on plenty of occasions but it had never felt like this. He forgot how good it could feel.

The adrenaline was coursing through his veins as your thumb wiped up the precum that had beaded at the tip of his cock. 

“Your hand is cold, sweetheart.” Marcus murmured as you shimmied your fingers down his length to cradle his balls. As you squeezed them and played with them, you could feel him getting harder and harder.

“Do you prefer warmth?” you cooed quizzically. Marcus shuddered but remained silent, his eyes still fixated on the road. His patience surprised you, but he was a Heroic, after all. 

Clicking open your seatbelt, you shuffled down to your knees and crawled over the control panel in the car. Leaning over and finding a comfortable position, you placed your tongue flat against the slit and began to suck at his head. Marcus gripped down on the steering wheel as his eyes snapped shut, a heavy pant leaving his lips. His eyes must’ve been closed a little too long because the car swerved and you squealed his name. Thankfully it was late and the road was more or less empty.

“Tha- that could’ve been bad, baby,” Marcus gasped, his cock twitching in your mouth.

“Mhm.” you agreed as you bopped your head up and down his shaft.

He moved one hand from the wheel to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair as you continued to go down on him. You could feel his cock twitching in your mouth as you pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

“So- so fucking good. Oh f-fuck, I forgot how good this coul-could feel… princess,” He admitted and you smirked around his length. “Mm, I’m close.” 

After only a few more pumps of his cock, Marcus came in your mouth, his salty seed spurting across your tongue. His load was large and you couldn’t swallow it all, but as you pulled off him, and the milky coloured substance dripped down your chin, he couldn’t have looked more proud. He pulled over at some place and let you regain your balance as you crawled back up to the passenger seat and strapped yourself back in. 

“Th- thank you.” Marcus blushed, leaning over and wiping his cum from your lips, doing his best to clean you up.

“You don’t have to thank me Marcus,” you returned his smile and gave his thigh a little squeeze. Marcus tucked himself back in and zipped his pants up. You looked out the window at the bright yellow and red lights. “Marcus, where are we?”

Marcus grinned sheepishly. “I thought you might’ve worked up an appetite after that. We uh- we’re at McDonalds.”

Of course. Of course DILF dad Heroic Marcus Moreno would take you to McDonald’s drive thru after receiving road head. It just made sense. You burst into a fit of giggles and rest your head on his shoulder. He wrapped a strong arm around you and pressed a kiss into your forehead.

“You’re unbelievable,” you laughed, shaking your head incredulously. “You’re so- God… Marcus… I think I lo-”

You cut yourself off immediately, your heart sinking in your chest as you realised what you were about to say. Praying that Marcus hadn’t clicked on, you tore yourself from him and rolled down the car window, peering out to gaze at the illuminated menu on the wall. 

“What do you normally get?” you asked, unable to bring yourself to look at him.

Shit, it had only been five dates and you weren’t even sure if he was completely over his wife yet. But all of a sudden, everything made sense. You really were in love with him. Was it too soon? Of course, you’d known him forever, but there was no telling how he’d react to your confession. 

“Uh-- I like cheeseburgers…” Marcus replied. “And fries. And a cola. What about you?”

You closed your eyes and sunk back into the chair. It was okay. It was going to be okay. When you turned back to face him, Marcus’ eyes were already boring into you, admiring your beauty.

“I like chicken nuggets.”

Marcus grinned. “So does Missy.”

He continued down the drive thru and ordered a chicken McNugget sharebox. Parking in the isolated lot, he passed you your soft drink and pierced the straw into his own cola before setting out the box of chicken nuggets. 

You and Marcus sat in comfortable silence as you dipped your nuggets in the assortment of sauces. “I really like you,” Marcus confessed. “And Missy likes you too. Which is important to me. We’ve been friends forever and I just think we’re good… together. Shit. That wasn’t meant to rhyme. I--”

You laughed when you saw how adorably flustered Marcus got. “I like you too.” You admitted and Marcus nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

“Are you still up for coming back to my place tonight? Missy is with her abuela.” 

“Yes.” you replied and his grin only deepened.

“Okay, good.”

You finished the box of chicken nuggets and slouched back into the chair, rubbing your tummy. “That was so good,” you beamed. “I’m stuffed though. I need to lie down.”

Marcus felt his cheeks heat up as he turned his key and switched on the engine. “When we get home.” he promised, his cock already hardening again as he imagined you spread out on his bed with your legs open. All the things he could do to you…

Sure, you didn’t expect your fifth date to end up with road head and chicken nuggets, but it was perfect, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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[tsunderedoctor]

What the OP Boys Would do if You Have a Bad Day

Part 1 for now 

Part 2 in the foretold future (aka when I get the time to use my laptop-)

Monkey D. Luffy

Boy struggles with his self-hatred on important dates in time. Remembering past friends and family who passed is one of his biggest self-hatred motivators. So he does understand when there are times when you are down too! However, he also knows his way to cope might not be the same as how you cope, but it doesn’t mean he can’t try!

Will start by sniffing out the area thinking your feelings are coming from some unknown danger to him. If nothing on the outside around you seems off he concludes it’s something on the inside! After this he will began to come up with his own reasons why you are in a sad/sour mood: stomach ache, motion sickness, boredom, things that usually would resonate with him. If it’s none of those he will just point blank ask you at this point. 

“Want some meat? You can wear my hat if you want. I can do an impression on whoever you want!” 

Literally just naming out things he knows cheers people up and if none of them work he is stomped! Baby literally cannot process how to help you, will mostly just bug the hell out of you the entire time until you tell him how to help you-

So just tell him.

Roronoa Zoro

He can be observant when he wants to be (a man only motivated by alcohol and swords-), unfortunately he sucks at people skills-

He knows you’re upset/angry/sad, he just doesn’t know how to fix it. Would offer if you want to spar with him since that’s how he copes, if you are weaker however or don’t prefer fighting he would ask if you want to watch him. Would not offer you alcohol (both due to not wanting to lose his precious and not getting you used to coping this way-).  

If he sees you cry the dude will lose it a mixture between “Who hurt you?!” and “Stop it!” Truly hates it when you cry because he feels he is failing at his job to protect you (even if you never told him to-). If you want him to do something for you, use this time wisely cause he will do whatever he has to in order to get you to stop crying.

Not the best at giving comfort, but will lend you an ear to listen to you rant. Would also give you advice to cut whoever hurt you. If you are having more self-hatred he would understand and embarrassingly admit his favorite parts about you in order to help you see how people care about you.

Vinsmoke Sanji

Would spoil you (more than usual) to make your day better! Compliments, gifts, food the whole galore! He can sense the moment you wake up that you were off mentally (Vinsmoke senses? Who knows-), will bust through the door and begging you to tell him how to fix it. Honestly you might not even realize you’re in a foul mood until he tells you-

Tells everyone not to mess with/tease you constantly- “They’re having a down day, so Luffy stop talking.”

Will make your favorites and force everyone to eat it/say how good it is- Will also tell you every reason why he loves you (even if they make no sense) and gets you flowers, chocolates, hugs just everything.

The man is like the king when it comes to comfort due to the fact he will legit do whatever you ask of him. “Tell me I’m pretty.” Done. “Am I a good person?” The best in the world. “What if I turn into a worm?” You can have a worm themed wedding-

Just a good puppy trying to please his master-

Trafalgar D. Water Law

The best (worst-) at handling you when you are having a bad day. Will totally doctor nag you the entire time. 

“Did you drink water? No? That’s why you’re depressed.”

“Did you get enough sleep? You didn’t? That’s why you’re agitated-” 

Will not feel sorry for you if it’s due to your own health neglect; however do not be surprised if after he lectures you, you find some onigiri left out for you or just a randomly placed hoodie you can take a nap with.  

If it’s something more mental (as in someone hurt your feelings or you hurt your own feelings) he will just listen to you rant while wearing his usual grumpy facial features. In the inside he’s annoyed at who hurt you (even if you did it yourself-) and is contemplating on how to handle the situation. He won’t try to cheer you up and will give you some sound advice in the end, he won’t force you to take it either, you have to make your own decisions on that.

Is a sucker for tears though; oh boy it’s downhill now. Just in complete shock and can’t talk. Unlike Zoro though, he won’t do anything to make you stop crying. Will just throw a hoodie/Bepo at you and leave- baby can’t handle that-

Eustass “Captain” Kid

Comfort? Him? Okay maybe just a little-

A tsundere where it matters, but deep down cares about you, he just sucks at showing it (and without insulting you first-). Will mock you for letting things get to you, and let’s all be fair here; was probably the cause of your bad day.

Boy just loves to fight, gives him a rush to see you all pissed at him over something stupid he did or said. However, he will shut up completely once he sees even a shine of wetness in your eyes. All that adrenaline is out the window and guilt has overtaken his system. 

IF by some chance it wasn’t him who hurt you and it was someone else; please expect to see them get their ass beat. He doesn’t give a shit who the person is either, if they made you cry, they lost all respect from him (which wasn’t much so-). Might have you watch him beat them too, or if it’s too much/you are in a state where you can’t handle it, will bring you a bodily souvenir.

 Is the type to suggest you take out your anger in some violent way whether it’s breaking vases or faces, he doesn’t care. “Get the bat babe, we’re going out.”

Killer

He’s the Teddy Bear troupe kind of guy, fight me on it-

Is worried about you the moment you show any low level cues you are having a rough time. Will suggest things you have mentioned in the past that have helped you relax. If you can’t do any of those things or is too down to do anything he will suggest things he knows help him (usually cuddles-).

Will let you play with his hair while you rant about your feelings and how they came to be in that place. Isn’t as bad as Kid, but does imagine what it would be like to show you that you don’t have to worry about a person who upset you because they are dead (if you suggest it though, I mean he ain’t gonna say no).

Babe just wants you to know how much he loves you and needs you in his life; you helped and accepted so much of him he can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose you. So if you are having any negative thoughts, please be honest and tell him, cause he will make them go away in no time. 

Also please tell him if Kid says anything mean to you because he has no problem kicking his captain-

Portgas D. Ace

A sweet pup who just loves to love you. Has no problems if you are having a bad day and honestly same boo, it be like that sometimes. I feel he is the most normal (well close to it anyway) on handling your bad day. Will suggest a few ideas and let you decide. If none sound good, then he wants you to think of something. 

Will make jokes with you and try fun things to distract your mind. The type who doesn’t like to sit in the past and would rather see the future. So makes plans with you on random things to help clear any stress out of you. 

If you are crying would throw his hat on you without saying anything and find the asshole who hurt you to talk to them. If it was something you personally feel will wait to you’re done crying and have the talk with you (Dateline meme “Take a seat”-).

By the end of the day, you honestly forgot you were even upset and that’s his main goal. He wants you to remember all the fun and great things in the world, rather than think about the negative parts we can’t control.

[puckinghell]

Acts Of Service | Elias Pettersson

Summary: When people have different love languages, sometimes it’s hard to understand what the other is trying to say. 4 times Elias shows you he loves you, and the 1 time you tell him.  Words: 7.5k (whoops) Note: This concept was very interesting to explore. Also yes, this entire thing was written because of that one picture of Elias in that blue sweater stepping out of the car like a fucking GQ model. 

----

(Some time ago)

“Didn’t you say there’s an apartment free in your building?” Brock asked as soon as you answered the phone, forgoing the “hello”.

“Hello, Brock, my very good friend, how nice to talk to you! How are you doing?” you deadpanned.

At least he had the decency to sound ashamed. “Ah, yes, hi. Sorry. I’m just in a hurry and it’s important.”

You frowned. “Why? Are you looking to move?”

“No.” Brock laughed. “Stetch would kill me. No, it’s about the rookie. Petey? I told you about him. Swedish, quiet, best fucking hands in the league.”

Yes. Brock had told you about the rookie, although you still thought it dumb to call him that. Brock was basically still a rookie himself.

“What does that have to do with my apartment building?”

“He said no to having a billet family but everyone on the team thinks it’d be good for him to have someone to kinda look out for him a bit. He’s never been to Canada before this, you know, and he’s never lived on his own either. His English isn’t that great and everything is new for him. And since you’re such a caring, loving person, we thought…”

“You thought I could babysit him?” you finished for Brock.

“It’s not babysitting. Just, being friendly if he needs anything. Obviously we’re there for that too, but it’d be nice to have you so close by.”

Close by would be an understatement: the free apartment was across the hall from yours.

You weren’t sure if this sounded like something that you would necessarily want to do, but you did feel a bit sorry for Elias: you’d met him at a team thing earlier that week and he’d looked completely lost in the midst of all the Canadian hockey slang that you barely managed to follow, even after having been friends with Brock for years. He mostly kept to Eagle, spoke in Swedish, and his eyes flickered nervously across the room whenever anyone else approached him.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll talk to my landlord. But you owe me, Blondie.”

Brock was happy enough that he didn’t even call you out on the nickname.

1. 

“Have I told you lately how much of a lifesaver you are?” You lean across your desk, resting your chin in your hands. Elias looks mildly amused as he hands you the papers.

“Nearly every day,” he says, “but then I save your life every day, so that seems fair.”

You grab the papers from his hands.

“You’re a lifesaver and the love of my life, Petey.”

You think back to when Elias just moved into your apartment building, only because Brock thought he needed someone to look after him. You could laugh, now, thinking about how wrong he’d been.

Elias is the most self-sufficient, independent person you know. You don’t think he’s ever needed anything from anyone. Like in hockey, where he can make the play and score the goal all at the same time, Elias has his life together.

Unlike you.

Despite the fact that Elias hadn’t needed much help from you, you had become very fast friends. His quick witted sarcasm always managed to make you laugh and he liked how upfront and honest you were with him about things. It was easy, too, to spend time together. With him living just across the hall, you found yourself wandering to his apartment whenever you were bored, and he showed up at yours often when he didn’t feel like cooking.

Just because he could cook, didn’t mean he always wanted to.

And ever since the two of you had become friends, Elias had your back. When you needed someone to water your plants, or feed your cat Puck – Brock had named him – or, apparently, bring you the important work papers that you forgot at home after having worked on them all weekend.

You groan as you flick through the papers. “I thought I was going to die. Without these I can’t finish my presentation.”

“When is it?” Elias asks, eyes searching behind you. You know he’s looking out for your asshole of a boss, who will use any excuse to yell at you, especially the unannounced visit of a friend.

“Tomorrow. I got all the content in these papers here, but I still have to make the PowerPoint.” You sigh. “It’s still so much work.”

“Oh.” Elias’ face lights up. “Almost forgot. Brought you this.” Triumphantly, he reaches down and comes up with a paper bag from your favorite coffee shop.

The words fall off your lips in a gasp. “You didn’t!”

“Strawberry scone and a large caramel macchiato with soy milk.” Elias grins. “I also got you a chocolate chip cookie for later.”

“Marry me,” you proclaim, as you make grabby hands for the bag. The coffee is precisely what you need and your mouth is already watering at the idea of the food.

“Get me a ring, then,” Elias jokes, as he starts getting up from the chair.

Something tightens in your stomach, so you quickly take a bite of the scone: anything to push those feelings to the side. It works a little, and at the very least it tastes amazing.

You’re just friends. If you were gonna be anything more, Elias would’ve made a move already. Or, if you’d been brave enough, you would’ve: but he’s never said anything to make you think he’s interested and quite frankly, you’re not that brave.

“Thank you,” you say, mouth still full of scone, and Elias wrinkles his nose at that as you knew he would.

“I’m going to the store now,” he says, “anything you want me to pick up for you?”

“Wine?” you ask, hopeful. “I’m gonna need it after today.”

Elias rolls his eyes at you, but when you come home after the most grueling day at work there’s a bottle of rosé sitting in your fridge, next to a bag full of your favorite Thai take out food.

Love you, you quickly text Elias, even though you know he can’t answer because the game is about to start.

You take some time showering and putting on comfortable clothes, then situate yourself on the couch and put on the game. It has already begun, and you know it’s not gonna be an easy one, against the Bruins.

It’s not until the first intermission, when you check your phone, that you see there’s a reply from Elias waiting for you.

It’s just a simple heart emoji, but it makes your heart race anyway.

2.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can barely hear you.” Fiona’s tone is disapproving, and you pull your mouth away from where you’d pressed it into your arm to scream.

“I said, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

She laughs. “It’s just a car, Y/N.”

You don’t necessarily like your job, but Fiona is one of the reasons you’re still putting up with it. She’s not just a colleague anymore, slowly turning into a friend and someone you confide into about everything – even about your Elias problem – and you love her, but sometimes you could murder her.

“It’s not just a car,” you bite. “It’s my only mode of transportation, because you know how much I hate taking the bus, and it’s broken, and I probably can’t even afford to get it fixed. And now I have to walk home, and it’s raining.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Fiona admits.

After a long day at work, you couldn’t wait to get home and watch The Bachelor until you fell asleep, your cat in your lap. However, when you finally got away from the office and stepped into your car, it was clear the universe had different plans.

It didn’t start.

After trying approximately 15 times, you’d screamed, nearly cried, hit the steering wheel, and then went back inside to scream and cry a little more at Fiona’s desk.

“I just wanna go home, Fi.” You know you sound miserable, but you honestly can’t help it. Taking the bus always heightens your anxiety, so you avoid it at all costs: however, walking home in this pouring rain doesn’t seem like much fun either.

And Fiona can’t even bring you home, because she takes the bus to work like a normal person.

“There’s a simple solution to this, you know,” Fiona says. She starts to organize the papers on her desk, a clear sign that she’s getting ready to leave the office as well. “You could just call…”

“No,” you interrupt her, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “I can’t call Elias. He’s got the boys over today and I won’t interrupt his fun with my misery. Besides, he does too much for me already, I can’t ask him for more.”

“Right,” Fiona drawls, “but when he hears that you were stuck here and didn’t call him…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

Elias would be furious.

One time, you were on a night out when you got a little too tipsy and didn’t realize your phone had died. By the time you noticed, all your friends had already jumped in their respective Ubers, but you had been too busy chatting with some girl you didn’t know to order yours, and now you couldn’t because you didn’t have a phone. 

You knew you could’ve asked any random person to order you an Uber, or at least to borrow their phone to call Elias – it’s not like you didn’t know his number by heart – but that felt like too much. It had been 3 am and he had a game the next day, so you decided to walk home.

When he found out the next day, he got so mad he didn’t talk to you for 4 days. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and just sat on his couch pouting at him until he spoke to you again.

“Something could’ve happened,” he’d muttered, explaining to you why he got mad in the first place. “And I’m your best friend, and you should know me enough to know that I would much rather you wake me up than you walk home alone.”

You did know that, and he was your best friend, and you’d promised him you’d never do it again.

It’s only that promise, that causes you to reach for your phone.

“I’m texting him, but if he’s busy, I’m walking,” you tell Fiona stubbornly. She ignores you, which is probably fair enough.

Hey, you busy right now? Are the guys still there?

The answer comes right away. What’s wrong?

Damn, he knows you too well. You quickly explain the situation and before you know it, Elias is on his way to come get you, and Fiona is bidding you goodbye after you promise her you’re fine on your own for the twenty minutes it’s gonna take Elias to get there.

You’re just checking your email on your phone when you hear the bell at the front door.

“I’m coming!” you call out. You hurry to grab your bags and then walk quickly to the door, where Elias is standing with his car keys between his fingers.

“So Bella finally gave up, huh?” he asks, a sly little smirk on his face. He always teases you with the fact that you named your car.

“Yes, and I know you told me,” you sigh, and it’s clear that he immediately – and correctly – reads your mood.

Without a word, he opens his arms, and you gratefully fall into them, hugging him tightly to your body. There’s very little in the world that brings you more comfort than one of Elias’ hugs: although being on Elias’ couch wearing one of his old hoodies watching some stupid reality show might come close.

“Let’s go home,” Elias finally mumbles, and he holds out an umbrella when he lets you go.

It’s raining really hard, and you know he has to park his car a little bit away because there’s no parking in front of your office, so you take it.

“You could’ve just called, I would’ve ran out,” you tell him sternly, but he shrugs.

“But then how would you have gotten the umbrella?”

You would tell him you’re not made of sugar, but as soon as you step outside the rain clatters loudly against the fabric of the umbrella and you realize you would’ve really, really hated to not have it, so you stay quiet.

Instead, you walk after him as he runs to his car and opens the passenger door for you. It’s still running, and the heater is on: only then do you realize you’re quite cold.

This morning they said it would be nice outside, so you didn’t bother to take a coat.

It’s quiet in the car for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the silence that only comes when two people understand each other, and combined with the soft music that is playing on the radio it lulls you into a false sense of comfort.

Until you realize something.

“Oh God,” you groan, “I’m gonna have to call someone to tow Bella to a mechanic.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Well, you could just leave her there.”

Normally you would’ve at least playfully punched his arm for the sarcastic tone in his voice, but right now you’re too busy freaking out.

“And how am I gonna get to work tomorrow? Don’t you dare say you’ll bring me cause I know you’ve got morning practice and it’s super out of your way. Fuck, why did this have to happen to me?”

You let your head fall against the window. The glass is cold against your cheek and it’s enough to stop the spiraling in your brain at least for a second.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice has lost all sarcastic edge. It’s gentle now, and he’s speaking low as if not to startle you. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll call the tow truck and the mechanic and get your car fixed. And Brock lives close enough that he can take me to and from practice and you can just take my car to work.”

It’s… a reasonable solution, but once again something that Elias has to go out of his way for, even just a little bit, and you feel something warm bloom inside your chest.

“Okay,” you answer, the stress already ebbing away. “Thank you. You’re the best.” You reach out and place your hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Elias mumbles something incoherent. You think you see some color on his cheeks, but surely that’s just because the heater is on, because there’s no way he’s blushing over something you said.

You turn off the heater, and let your thoughts wander as Elias drives you home.

3. 

Traveling is fun, but traveling for work is instantly a lot less fun. You really don’t know how Elias does it.

You’re feeling run down and jetlagged when you come back from your work trip, which is ridiculous cause you flew to Toronto, not to freaking Europe. But it’s late at night and the three days you were away were so busy you can barely remember sleeping at all.

Fiona slept on the plane, so she looks a little more alive than you when your feet touch the ground at Vancouver airport.

“Is Elias coming to pick you up?” Fiona asks, as you’re both walking through the gate.

You shake your head. “I’m sure he would’ve insisted if he could, but he’s in California right now. They played the Kings tonight and they’re playing the Sharks the day after tomorrow.”

“I wish I was in California,” Fiona says wistfully. It’s cold and wet in Vancouver and it wasn’t much better in Toronto. The tiredness doesn’t help: it feels as if the cold of the night is slowly creeping into your bones.

“Come on then, I’ll drop you off.” You thank Fiona and follow her to her car. Normally you wouldn’t have minded taking an Uber, but right now you just wanna get to bed as soon as possible.

“If I fall asleep, just let me sleep here,” you mumble, resting your head back against the head rest. Fiona laughs as she starts the car.

“No way, you’ll freeze to death.” She squints outside. “Do you think it’s gonna rain?”

“It always rains,” you say, despite the fact that it’s not raining at the moment.

Fiona turns onto the highway. “So, are you finally gonna put up that bookcase you bought?”

Involuntarily, you groan. “Stop, don’t remind me.”

Your old bookcase is big and ugly, and it has been a thorn in your eye ever since you moved in. The person that lived there before you left it there, and you only kept it because you couldn’t really afford not to.

Four weeks ago, you finally allowed yourself to buy a new, prettier bookcase.

But…

“It’s just so big,” you whine, repeating the excuses you’ve been giving Elias every single time he raises a judgmental eyebrow at the old bookcase still standing in your living room. “It’s gonna take forever to take it apart and then it’s gonna take me even longer to somehow get it all downstairs and get rid of it.”

“And then you have to build the new one,” Fiona nods understandingly. “And you’re not good with furniture.”

“Hey,” you protest, but it’s weak. You’re not good with furniture, which was proven when you tried to help Fiona move in and didn’t manage to help her put together anything at all. Instead she ended up with a table with three legs. 

You even tried to read the manual, but it’s just not your forte.

“I’ll do it,” you add, “I promise you I will. Just, maybe not this weekend…”

Fiona laughs, but she doesn’t call you out on the fact that it probably won’t happen during the week either.

Finally, you arrive at your building. You can’t wait to go to bed, and you thank Fiona multiple times before dragging your luggage upstairs. When you open the door to your apartment, Puck comes running up to you, meowing and weaving between your legs.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you tell the cat sternly. “Petey sent me many pictures of you sleeping in his lap and I know he feeds you chicken when he thinks I won’t notice, so you got spoiled this week.”

You lovingly scratch Puck’s ears, before flicking on the light and kicking the door behind you in the lock.

Instantly, you notice the difference.

Your apartment isn’t big: real estate in Vancouver isn’t cheap and your job isn’t great. You got this place mostly for the location, and you like the big windows in the apartment and how it manages to get in light even during the darkest of winter days.

One corner of your living room, however, was always darker than the others. The bookcase took away the entirety of the white wall, and it created a dim lit, sad looking corner.

Now, it’s open and bright, as your new bookcase stands proudly in its place.

There’s only one person who would’ve done that.

The phone rings a few times, but you know the Kings game ended a while ago so you let it ring. After a while, Elias picks up.

“Sorry for the background noise,” is the first thing he says. “We’re on the plane. Taking off in a few minutes, probably.”

In the background, you hear some yelling. Probably Jake.

“You put up my bookcase,” you blurt out, ignoring Elias’ statement. “You put it up and all the books are in it and the other one is gone.”

Elias sounds a little smug when he answers. “Well, it’s not like you were ever gonna do it.”

“Thank you.” To your own horror, you can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Elias, seriously…”

“It’s nothing.” You can hear Elias’ smile even over the phone: you know everyone always makes fun of his deadpan tone when he talks to media but with his friends, his voice always betrays everything he’s feeling. “I know you were worried about it, and I know how much you hated that old one.” He laughs. “I get why now, by the way. It took me and Brock like four hours to get that thing out.”

“Brock helped too?”

“He did.” Elias is silent for a while, but in the background you hear another voice. “Brock says to tell you that I forced him. But that’s not entirely true.”

Entirely. You know Elias definitely did force him.

“Tell him thank you too.”

“He says you’re welcome,” Elias says, quick enough that it makes you think Brock didn’t say that at all. “We’re about to take off so I have to put my phone on airplane mode. But call me tomorrow okay? I wanna hear about your work trip.”

“Okay.” For some reason, you can still feel the lump in your throat. You didn’t notice it momentarily, while you were focused on Elias’ and Brock’s bickering, but now it’s back, and with a vengeance.

Fuck. You just…

“I miss you.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself and if anyone would ask, you would blame the exhaustion and the fact that Elias can’t see how wet your eyes are over the phone.

“I’ll be back soon,” he answers softly, and his voice is gentle in a way that makes you think he knows about the tears, anyway. “And when I am, we’re gonna take a whole night to eat food and stare at that bookcase, because it needs to be appreciated after the effort I had to put in to build it.”

You laugh before quietly saying goodbye to Elias and hanging up the phone.

In the kitchen, Puck sits in front of the fridge. When you open it there’s a pan with chicken.

For Puck the note next to it says, and you send Elias a picture of Puck with his chicken.

“He spoils you,” you tell your cat. You decide to ignore the fact that he kinda spoils you, too.

4. 

When you open the door to your apartment, you’re met with the smell of garlic.

After yet another shitty day at work, you can already feel the lump in your throat building again. You didn’t even tell him, this time. In fact, you carefully avoided his texts because you knew he’d clock that something was wrong.

Fuck. That’s probably where you went wrong in the first place; usually you never ignored Elias’ texts.

“Hello?” you call out into your own apartment.

There’s soft music playing and there’s light coming from the living room, but the amazing smell that tickles your senses is clearly coming from the kitchen, so that’s where you go.

Elias is standing at your kitchen counter, chopping a carrot.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling your way. “I’m making dinner.”

It’s almost too much, how domestic it looks. And how right: like he belongs there in your space, waiting for you to come home.

Suddenly there’s the overwhelming urge to go towards him, so you do. His arm immediately lifts, creating space for you in the crook of his body, and you slip under his arm easily.

“How did you know?” you mumble into the fabric of his worn Canucks hoodie. It smells like him, a scent that reminds you of home as much as your mother’s signature dish.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Elias hums. His arm tightens around your body. “So I figured you could use some good food and a bath.” His head motions towards the general direction of the bathroom. “I’m running it as we speak.”

God. You love him.

It hits you, then. You knew you had a crush on him, knew you wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and feel his hands on you. But it’s more than that, now.

It’s the realization that you want to share everything with him. The ups and the downs. The bad nights and the bright mornings. You want him in your kitchen, but more than that, you want it to be his kitchen, too.

Fuck. You’re so royally screwed.

Because he does this, and he does so much for you, but he’s never said anything, anything at all, to indicate that he wants that. Or has even considered it, thought about it.

Maybe it’s never even crossed his mind. Maybe he takes care of you like he would take care of a sister.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is gentle as it pulls you out of your thoughts, back down to earth. “You’re shaking. Go take a bath, and I’ll finish dinner, and then we’ll watch How I Met Your Mother. I wanted to watch the next episode but I waited for you.” His grin is a little lopsided. “Isn’t that chivalrous of me?”

It is, and normally you would tease him for it, but you can’t really think or speak, so you just nod.

“There’s wine in the fridge, if you want a glass,” Elias says. He holds out a wine glass, already waiting for you on the counter.

And who cares that it’s only a Tuesday: you deserve it, damn it, so you open the fridge to find the wine.

You’re met with more than just that.

“You bought groceries?” you ask, your eyes traveling through your fridge. You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in like a week, and when you left for work this morning the fridge was basically empty. Now it’s so full you wonder how you’re gonna close the door.

“How else was I gonna cook anything? You only had cat food left,” Elias tuts. You’re not surprised to find Puck at Elias’ feet, waiting for him to inevitably slip him some human food.

“Did you get…”

“Your coconut yoghurt? Yes.”

He did, and he got basically all your staples, and nothing you wouldn’t buy yourself.

“Honestly,” you say, as you finally reach for the bottle and pull your head out of the fridge. “I don’t know what to say, Petey. Thank you. I had such a sucky day and now it’s already endlessly better.”

This time you know you’re not imagining the flush on Elias’ cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he says. “You should go take that bath before it goes cold.”

You want to say more: to tell him time and time again how amazing he is, how much he means to you, how thankful you are. But you know once you start, you can’t be trusted to not say the one thing you don’t think he wants to hear.

So you say nothing, and simply go to take your bath.

+1

But you think about it.

You think about it all throughout Christmas, where you don’t see Elias at all. You think about it during NYE, when you get a drunk SnapChat from Elias with his brother, right at midnight.

At least, you figure, he’s not kissing any girls.

You’re not kissing any boys, either. You’re at a NYE party with Fiona and it’s fun, it is, but it’s not the same as it would be if Elias wasn’t all the way in Sweden.

You miss him like a limb, and you know it’s not fair because he rarely gets time to go home to Sweden and he deserves that time with his family, but you can’t say you didn’t wish his time off ended already.

When it finally does, it’s not Elias you see first. Troy is throwing a late New Years party, just to welcome everyone back to Vancouver as they get ready to start the season back up, and when you arrive at his house it’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a handful of people there.

“Y/N!” Brock calls out, opening his arms to give you a big hug as you enter. “Missed you!”

You laugh. “Get off of me, you giant. I’m gonna drop the wine.”

“Not the wine,” Troy says dramatically, tearing it out of your hands. His eyes are sparkling when he thanks and hugs you, and then Brock is ushering you into the living room, where Jake is talking with Quinn.

Or talking at Quinn. To be honest, you never really know when Quinn is paying attention.

“Y/N!” Jake exclaims, much like Brock had. “I’m glad you’re here, we need your input on something.”

“Okay?” you ask, curiosity instantly taking over. Whenever Jake and Brock get together, it promises to be an interesting evening.

“We’re trying to decide Brock’s love language.”

It’s sudden enough that you laugh. “His what?”

“Love language,” Jake explains. “Like, how he shows people he loves them. He says it’s quality time, but I think it could be physical touch. He’s always touching people.”

“Jake is deflecting because his love language is physical touch,” Brock scowls. “I think I know my own love language, Tuna.”

“Hold on.” Unfortunately, you have to press the pause button on their discussion. “What options do we have?”

You’ve got no idea where they got this from, but it doesn’t really matter. You’re always down to share your opinion on stupid stuff with your favorite boys.

“There’s gifts, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and…” Brock pauses, and you can nearly see the wheels in his head turning.

“Acts of service,” Quinn offers, which proves that he was actually paying attention.

“Mine is physical touch,” Jake says determinedly. “When I care about someone, I always wanna be touching them, and when I’m in love with someone that’s like twenty times worse.”

“Poor girl,” Quinn mutters, and the conversation gets paused in order for Jake to put Quinn in a headlock.

“I think yours is quality time, actually,” you tell Brock when Jake is done murdering the rookie. “Your ex was always on her phone during your date nights and I remember it drove you crazy.”

“See,” Brock says proudly. “Quality time baby. If I’m there I’m there.”

“What about yours, Huggy?” Jake asks. “Physical touch would make sense, since you’re called Huggy.”

“I’m not called Huggy,” Quinn deadpans. His face is devoid of any emotion, but you know him well enough to recognize the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He reminds you of Elias, when he does that. “And if we were going by nicknames your love language would be fishing.”

Everyone cracks up on that, and then the doorbell rings and Bo arrives.

The topic gets put on hold, then, because Bo is instantly talking about Gunnar’s first Christmas and Brock is talking about becoming an uncle again and you feel warm and happy on the couch with your wine, squeezed between Brock and Troy.

Until, a little later, you realize someone is missing.

“Where’s Petey?” you ask Troy. “Isn’t he coming?”

Troy shrugs. “Should do. But you never know with Pete.”

It’s not entirely true: if Elias promises he’ll be there, he will be there. But, to be fair, he usually doesn’t promise that to anyone but you, and you hadn’t asked him to come, this time.

You figured he just would.

“What about Petey’s love language?” Brock asks idly, not knowing he’s opening Pandora’s box for you. “Definitely not words of affirmation, huh.”

Troy laughs.

“Nah, Petey’s an acts of service guy. He’s always doing shit for Y/N.”

You would protest if you trusted your voice not to shake. As it is, you stay quiet and hope the flush on your cheeks gets mistaken for a wine flush, and not an Elias flush.

Brock brightens. “Oh, yeah! Getting her car fixed, making dinner, building her stupid bookshelf, feeding her cat… He is a typical acts of service guy.” He bumps against your shoulder playfully. “I hope you appreciate his showing of love, Y/N. He rarely does that shit for me.”

Troy snorts. “That’s cause he’s not in love with you, Boes.”

“He’s not in love with me either!” you squeak, unable to stay quiet any longer. You know if you don’t derail this trail of thought very soon, it’s gonna end badly for you.

Both Troy and Brock look unimpressed, at that statement.

“Yes, he is,” Brock says slowly, as if explaining something to an unruly child. “He drops whatever he has going on to do small things that make your life easier. That’s literally the same as him screaming I’m in love with you from the highest rooftop in Vancouver.”

“He’s not like you,” Troy continues, a little more gentle. “When people have different love languages, they don’t always understand what the other is trying to say. Your love language is words of affirmation. You’re always telling Petey how amazing he is. But he doesn’t see that as a declaration of love, or whatever. He thinks you tell everyone that they’re amazing.”

You do, to be fair, but not as often as you tell Elias. Because he’s…

Well. Amazing would be an understatement, actually. He’s everything to you.  

Things are starting to make sense, like puzzle pieces fitting into place. Suddenly, you start wondering if there’s more to his acts of service than plain friendship, or him being a good guy.

It’s not like he does stuff like that for all his friends. He helps them out, sure, but he always goes above and beyond for you, usually not even needing to be asked.

But he’s not in love with you, surely? He hasn’t said anything…

But maybe words aren’t his thing. Not like they are yours: the way you can’t stop yourself from gushing into Elias’ ear even when you know you should stop.

What if Brock and Troy are right?

You don’t get much time to think it through, because that’s when Elias finally appears in Troy’s living room, looking endlessly cool in his blue sweater, wearing his glasses. He’s sending death glares at Jake, who wolf whistles from the corner, but then his eyes meet yours and they soften.

“Hi there,” he smiles, reaching out to you. You immediately jump up and launch yourself at him, any previous conversation about the two of you momentarily forgotten as you curl your body into his, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Missed you,” you hum into his shoulder, and you’re rewarded with a grin you can feel against the skin of your neck.

“Are you sure hers isn’t physical touch?” you hear Brock ponder, and you would flip him off if you could be bothered.

You can’t. All you can be bothered doing is plastering yourself to Elias’ side and not leaving him alone even for a second, the rest of the night.

It works at least for a while, until he asks: “Do you want another drink?”

“I’ll go with you,” you say, not willing to part with him yet, and you ignore the knowing look Brock shoots you as the two of you find your way to the kitchen.

Elias immediately goes for the wine, because he knows you better than anyone else.

“I asked my dad about the job,” Elias mentions casually, as if it’s not a big deal at all. “He thinks he can get you an interview.”

“Wait, what?”

Suddenly your heart is ticking in your throat. Before he left for Sweden, Elias had mentioned that his dad knows a guy who works for a similar company as you’re working for now: apart from the shitty boss you have or the ridiculous low salary you get paid. It’s your job, but better, and Elias promised you he’d get his dad to ask if there were any open positions.

There were. And you sent in your application not thinking there was gonna come much from it, but now…

Something warm washes through your chest, like your heart grew three sizes. Of course he asked, of course he made it happen. Looking out for you, always and at any time, from any distance.

“It’s not a done deal,” Elias warns, oblivious to your mental breakdown. “But he said he thinks they’ll like you and he’ll put in a good word for you.”

You squeal and throw yourself in his direction once again. Elias laughs as he catches you, fingers curling in your hair where your face is pressed against his chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“It’s about time you get rid of that dumb job.” You can hear the frown in Elias’ voice. “They don’t take good care of you at all, it’s not good for you.” The distaste is obvious and it’s adorable. You pull away.

“I don’t need them to,” you say, carefully. You can still hear Brock’s words in your voice, and you figure it’s worth a try, probably. “Because you’re always there to take care of me.”

Elias’ cheeks darken substantially.

“I mean it when I say I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elias.”

“You’d be fine,” Elias waves away the compliment as you figured he would. But this time you’re not backing down.

“Maybe I would be. But I wouldn’t be as happy.”

They say when you really love a person, you’ve got to show them. But you’ve never really known how to do that, instead you always use your words to tell them. But it seems like Elias isn’t believing you, not even now.

And you’ve got to fix that.

It’s not until you’re in Elias’ car on the way back home that you bring it up again. The party wasn’t really the time and place, but the conversation with Brock and the guys has been nagging in the back of your mind since it happened.

If you didn’t realize Elias’ acts of service meant something, maybe he doesn’t realize your words of affirmation mean something. And even if it doesn’t mean he’s in love with you – you’re really not that sure about that – you need him to at least know how much you appreciate him.

“You know I’m always there for you, right?” you start, carefully breaking the silence in the car. Elias shoots you a glance from behind the steering wheel.

“What?”

“Like, even if I’m maybe not as good as you are at realizing what you need me to do, if there’s ever anything I can do to help make your life a little easier or better I wanna do it. I’d do anything for you.”

It’s too honest, probably, and too much all at the same time. But Elias doesn’t look that surprised. In fact, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You make my life better by just being you, Y/N. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wonder how you’re gonna get through this conversation. But it’s one that needs to be held, so you press on.

“What is your love language, Elias?”

Now he frowns. “Have you been talking to Brock?”

Of course Brock talked to Elias before he talked to you. The traitor.

You decide to ignore that, for now. You’ll talk to Brock later.

“You know my love language is words of affirmation, right?”

Elias shrugs. “Brock did say that, but I didn’t know what you thought it was.”

“And yours is acts of service,” you hazard a guess. You keep your eyes firmly on Elias’ face, which is the only reason you catch the slight change in his expression.

Like a wall, crossing over his features. He’s trying to protect himself, although you have no idea why. Does he not get where you’re going with this?

“I can tune it down if you want me to,” he says, a little grumpily. He’s staring straight ahead at the road, stubbornly refusing to look your way.

And oh God, he’s truly not getting it, and this is going the exact opposite way you want it to go.

Troy did say that when people’s love languages don’t match, they don’t understand what the other is trying to say. But you honestly don’t know how you can make it any more clear to Elias.

Well, except…

“I love you,” you blurt out. “Like, in love with you love you.”

The words ring loudly in the quiet car. For a second, nothing about Elias’ expression, almost like he didn’t hear you. You can almost feel your heart sink into your stomach.

Then, he pulls over the car.

It comes to a stop at the side of the road, two wheels on the pavement and two still on the road. It is, objectively, not super safe, but it’s also 3am and there’s no other cars to be seen. Very carefully, without looking at you still, Elias turns on the hazard lights.

And then finally, finally, he turns to you and kisses you.

You weren’t expecting it but it doesn’t really matter: it’s like your heart and head both light on fire, and everything outside of the car simply disappears. It’s just you and Elias, and his lips on yours and his hands on your body.

It feels right. Like it was always meant to end up like this.

After what feels like ages, he pulls away. He’s smiling, and his eyes are bright blue in the dark car.

“I thought you said those kinda things to everyone,” he admits, quietly. His thumb is rubbing your side, his eyes fixed on that spot. Almost as if he can’t really believe he’s allowed to do that.

You don’t want him to ever do anything else.

“I thought you did those kinda things for everyone,” you shoot back.

Elias raises one eyebrow. “That bookcase weighed at least 300 pounds.”

You can’t help it: giggles are escaping your lips and suddenly you’re both laughing. The tension in the car dissipates instantly, and suddenly it’s just Elias again, your best friend.

Your best friend that you’re now allowed to kiss. So you lean in and press your lips against his again.

After all, kissing is a love language you think everyone understands.

(+2)

“I’m home!” Elias’ voice sounds through the empty apartment, and you immediately leave your spot behind the kitchen counter to run into the hallway.

With a squeal, you fly towards him, and he catches you easily as you knew he would.

“Hey, babe,” he laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair before returning the hug fully. “Is that my sweater?”

“Maybe,” you admit, as Elias’ hands make their way under his own blue sweater, that you definitely steal from him most evenings. “Missed you. And I’m very proud of you.”

“I missed you too,” he answers. “Watched the game?”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see it with your face still buried in his shoulder. “A hat trick, huh? I think that needs to be celebrated.”

“Oh?” Elias pulls away then, one eyebrow raised and a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.

“Not like that,” you scold him, lightly punching his arm. “Or, maybe like that. But first, I made Kalops.”

At the mention of his favorite Swedish food, Elias’ face lights up. A while ago, you asked his mom for her recipe and it’s one of the only Swedish dishes you can make, but you make it well.

“Also,” you continue, as you take his hand and start leading him towards the kitchen, so he can sit at the counter while you cook as he always does, “I called the electrician so the TV is already fixed. I know you could have done it, but I decided I’d much rather use that time to hang out with you. I took Puck to get his shots at the vet and I also used my free afternoon to take your car through the car wash.”

When you reach the kitchen, you twirl around towards Elias and his arms immediately circle around your waist.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he mutters, taking the opportunity to kiss you once more. “But thank you. I love that you took the time to take care of that for me. And I love you.”

“Look at us,” you tease, lightly tugging at the ends of Elias’ hair. “Speaking each other’s love language like that.”

“Perfect couple,” Elias agrees, and you smile back at him.

Somehow, you and Elias managed to create a language of your own: one that you could speak with nobody else. But luckily, you don’t have to.

Cause he came home to your shared apartment like he always does, and well. That’s the biggest act of service he could do for you.  

[kpop-cakepops]

hii i loved snuggle donation!! i was wondering if i can request a wonwoo imagine where he and the reader are besties and one of them (u can pick!) gets their wisdom teeth taken out so they’re all loopy afterwards and the other one takes care of them. just a whole lot of fluff hehe thank u <333

OH MY GOD. ANON I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I've been a bit busy but I was able to squeeze this one out for you. Since you mentioned you enjoyed "Snuggle Donation" I connected the two requests! I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting!

Warnings: None.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1,282

The Best Friend A Girl Could Ask For//Jeon Wonwoo x Fem!Reader

"I can't feel anything" Y/N was poking at her cheek drowsily while Wonwoo finished signing her out at the front desk.

"Hey, stop touching, you're only going to bleed more" he called out as he walked up to the drowsy girl. "Come on, let's get you home" His long arm snaked under her, shifting her weight onto his so he could help her steady herself as they stepped outside.

"Where are you taking me?" Y/N asked.

"We're going home. We'll watch your favorite movies and eat ice cream like you wanted" He assured praying to all existing deities that she wouldn't cause a scene. She didn't. Y/N was quiet for the most part of the drive back home with the occasional random comment.

Eventually, they made it to the girl's small apartment, Wonwoo struggling far less than she had when she had to drag him to his house after the blood donation. "Wow, that wath tho long ago" she lisped out as her best friend set her down on the couch carefully.

"What was?" He asked, his large hands pulling her shoes off.

"The cuddling." She quipped.

Wonwoo let out a small nervous cough. "Right, it was a hot minute ago" he laughed. "Anyways, let me see the gauze" his fingertips tapped at her chin so she would open up. A soft gag left his lips at the sight of the bloody gauze.

Y/N on the other hand found it funny that he was trying to take care of her when he couldn't even stand straight at the sight of blood. "Cute" she giggled.

"Shut up. I'll get you a cold pack for your chipmunk cheeks."

Y/N watched as the tall man stepped over to her small kitchen. Her loopy mind causing her to lean back. "I want wather too pweath"

The little smile on Wonwoo's face went unnoticed as he walked back over to Y/N. "Does it hurt a lot? You need to tell me when it starts hurting so I can get you your pain killers" His voice was soft, unlike every other time the two had hung out.

"I'm fine, I'm just thirsty"

"Here. Careful with the straw." He warned as he held the glass up to the drowsy woman's lips. "Should we put in a movie?"

Y/N nodded her head and watched as Wonwoo busied himself with choosing a movie for the two to watch. For some unknown reason, a very sudden and strong urge to cry took over her. There he was, Jeon Wonwoo, the same dorky kid that never talked in school, more often interested in video games and books than making friends... yet he had stuck around Y/N who was the complete opposite of him for so long. They were both now in their mid-twenties and he was there, taking care of her as if it were his duty.

The sudden sniffles next to him caused Wonwoo to turn to Y/N in alarm. "Hey what's wrong? Does it hurt? God, I told you to tell me if it hurt" his tone was stern yet soft as he stood from the couch but Y/N's hand grabbed at his wrist.

"No, it doethn't hurt." she said. "I juth really love you man. You really are the beth friend a girl could ath for" She cried.

Wonwoo laughed a little to himself, "What? Why so suddenly?"

"I don't know. In middle thchool you never talked to anyone, you were tho quiet, but you talked to me. When all the girlth in our grade hated me becauth of how loud I wath, you talked to me-" The poor girl couldn't even continue, her gauze and crying causing her throat to shut down.

Wonwoo ruffled her hair tenderly, "They hated you because you were pretty and all the boys liked you, you idiot. Plus, I only asked you to turn in your homework, and before I knew it you were talking my ear off at lunch."

"You could have told me to thcrew off" she said. "If it wath that annoying-"

"Why would I? You were funny. Plus, I was a boy... and all the boys in our grade liked you remember?" He winked over at you and finished setting up the movie.

Y/N's boggled mind didn't seem to understand what Wonwoo had just insinuated. All she knew was that she really loved her best friend and wouldn't change him for the world. "Hug me, bitch" her hands grabbed at his long arm placing it over her shoulder.

She managed to comfortably wedge the cold pack Wonwoo had gotten her between her cheek and his chest. The cold of it causing the man to hiss under his breath but he didn't remove it knowing you were probably dead tired and couldn't hold it even if you tried.

It took only minutes for Y/N to fall asleep completely. Wonwoo took the chance to stand up and clean around a bit knowing Y/N wouldn't be able to do much of anything for the next couple of days... not so much because of the surgery or the pain, but more so because of the lack of solid foods the girl would be undergoing.

It took the sleepy girl a few hours to come to. The smell of soup greeting her nicely. "Wonwoo?"

"In the Kitchen" He called out. The girls stood from her seat and lazily walked herself over to her tiny kitchen. The same tiny kitchen that was invaded by her tall best friend. He moved around like he knew what he was doing, and she couldn't help but find it cute. The scene managing to make her confused little tummy do a flip.

"What are you doing?" she winced at the feeling of the soggy gauze in her mouth.

"Making you dinner since you slept your way past lunch" he replied. "Also, you should get rid of the gauze. You don't need it anymore"

She did as told taking the chance to peek over the boy's shoulder. "What are you making?" she questioned curiously.

"Soup." he answered curtly. That alone made the girl smile.

"Not going too well for you?" she asked.

The boy let out a defeated sigh and turned to look at her. "No. I'm sorry. I got all excited when you said I was the best friend a girl could ask for and thought I'd be able to do at least this much, but I have been proven wrong."

Y/N giggled softly. "It's fine, Woo. We can just order some stew from the little restaurant down the street."

"Do you want that? I can go pick it up for you right now!"

"I should get all my teeth removed if it's gonna get you to pamper me like this. I could seriously live life this way" She grinned.

"Shut up or I'll change my mind"

"I'll go with you. It's not like I have much to do anyways." she shrugged.

"Okay, let me go get your shoes for you."

"Woo, I think I can do at least that muc-"

He didn't let her finish as he grabbed her shoes from the door and forced her to sit down. "Hey, I thought you said you could get used to this life. I'm here to take care of you. Now hush."

The rest of the day followed the same way. Y/N claiming she could get used to having him take care of her and then feeling bad about it. Meanwhile, Wonwoo was starting to like taking care of his best friend... that and a little extra something he hadn't felt since he was 12 years old.

[akaashisupremacy]

How to Find Love

Summary: Iwaizumi is on a quest to find love with an old friend. What can he do to get there?

Iwaizumi x fem!reader/Oc || Read it on A03

Genre : romance, friends to lovers

Hajime Iwaizumi ran into the cafe, eyes wide and panicky. “I’m already twenty minutes late for the date.”

As he composed himself before he entered the place, he took a deep breath. He was determined to enjoy this date because it might be their last. Hiromi had never taken lateness kindly.

“Gomen, the meeting ran longer than expected,“ he said, nodding his head into a bow, too embarrassed to meet her eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

She looked up from her books with a weary smile. Beside her was a pile of four or five books, some of which were beginning to yellow, meticulously tabbed with colorful post-its.

“You still made it,” she said, closing her book “I usually walk out if my date was a full hour late.”

It was a Thursday. She had an afternoon at the library while he had an early off (if it wasn’t for his work meeting). Neither of them worked traditional 9 to5 jobs. He began to wonder if seeing each other would be easier if they did. Iwa was leaving on a Friday for Osaka for the rest of the weekend. He was a physical trainer for a professional volleyball team, which meant that he travelled with them during their season.

They called for a menu and began to order what would be their dinner.

“How’s work?” he asked, surveying her through the menu.

“It’s a lot of reading,” she gestured towards her stack of books, “But we’re at the beginning of a new research-heavy campaign so it’s normal. How about you?"

“Mmm…it’s still the start of the season so most of the team is quite healthy. Some of them are a little excited so we’re just trying to reign them in to keep them from straining themselves.” he said, thumbing through the pages.

He had settled for a hamburg curry rice while she had gone for a bowl of tuna pasta. She looked distracted.

“What’s up?” he asked, leaning into the table now that the niceties were done with.

“I like my job. I like my team. But why do I feel like I’m just grinding day in and day out." she sighed, resting her chin on her books, “There’s got to be more in adult life than this."

“You’ve got to find the reason out on your own because your employer won’t do it for you. Not that I’m qualified to give advice or anything.” he said, looking up from his drink.

“I know,” she murmured, her head rested between her folded arms “It’s just so difficult to find the energy for it sometimes.”

Iwaizumi nodded. He knew what she meant. No one job could fulfill all his desires for accomplishment. He liked his job, but it wasn’t a perfect job. He wished that he didn’t need to spend so many weekends away from home.

Man, this date was sobering.

“You sound burnt out. Maybe take it slower at work?” he quirked his head to match the angle of hers.

“What is it that you want to do that you’re not doing for work?” he asked. Despite less than a year in the workforce, she already looked so glum.

She pulled herself up and swept her books aside, “I don’t know to be honest. Within the next two years, I just want to be published in other big publications. It doesn’t have to be necessarily on food, more like the stuff I write for fun. The stuff I’m willing to freelance while I have a day job, y’know?”

“Like what?”

Their order had arrived. She stabbed her fork into her pasta and gently twirled it around.

“The New York Times has a column called Modern Love where you write a long essay about some type of love. It doesn’t have to be romantic. It can be platonic, familial, or even failed love as long as it is set in modern day. I’ve been meaning to write about my failed relationships.” she said thoughtfully.

Iwa choked on his first spoonful.

“Well, if this doesn’t work out, I can at least write about it. Get three hundred dollars and buy you dinner to thank you for the experience.” she laughed drily.

“Are you always this pessimistic on your first dates?” he coughed, taking a sip of water “Either ways, I’m glad to be of help.”

She perked up a bit and grinned. Her whole face lit up when she smiled. A wave of warmth washed over him.

“Send me a copy when you get published.” he added, “I want to see what you write about me.”

“I’m definitely going to writet that you were late on the first date.” she said without skipping a beat. She was grateful that they had chosen this cafe. There were not too many people even if it was dinner time, yet the ambient noise that filled the air kept their pauses from being too silent.

Iwa stopped eating and squinted his eyes at her, “You are not gonna let me live this down, huh?" She winked at him with a glint in her eye. He smiled in response.

He couldn’t care less about what the New York Times was but she was evidently fascinated by it. He wasn’t going to own up to uncultured swine he was on a first date. He had already been late.

“Anyways tell me more about this Modern Love.” he settled back into his dinner.

She pulled out her phone and began typing, “The Modern Love column came out with questions to help get to know someone. This could be a fun date activity.”

“Sure, you want to give it a go?”

She shoved the phone in his face and scrolled through the questions. “There are three sets of questions. Each set more intimate than the last. You can choose from the first set.”

Iwa lightly held the phone, his fingertips grazing the back of her hand. He chose the first question that caught his eye.

“Number 4. What would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?” he read out loud. Hiromi took her phone back and read the question to herself.

“What’s your answer?” she asked.

“I just got back, I hadn’t figured out what a perfect day would be like here.” he shrugged sincerely.

She snorted loudly, “What a cop out answer!”

Iwa looked up and thought for a bit, “A day spent walking around in the city…maybe a day that starts with a morning jog and a hot unrushed breakfast after. Catching up with friends sounds good too.”

Hiromi nodded. She was fully absorbed as he talked. It was like she was going through the scenes of his day in his mind as he described them.

“What about you?” he asked, snapping out of her out of her reverie.

“A day at the market,” she said quietly. ”Any market day is a good day really.”

“To be honest, it doesn’t depend on the activities so much at times. The people you’re with is definitely important. A day at the market can still be terrible with the wrong company.” she added.

“I wasn’t subpar last weekend, was I?” he asked.

“No...you weren’t.” she replied a little more shyly than usual.

They moved onto the next question.

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” she read out loud, “Doesn’t have to be romantic again.”

Iwaizumi inhaled sharply. That was such a loaded question.

“If you’ll use this for an article and it gets published, you better buy me dinner someplace nice.” he tutted.

“Then make this one good.” she smirked.

Iwaizumi stopped eating for a few minutes to think through the question. Before he answered, he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly.

“It defined my entire career in volleyball. My best friend and I watched a game and we kind of chose to go into the same school team after that because we were both so obsessed with the sport. Our connection was almost telepathic. We barely used signals when it was just the two of us. We basically ran off instinct.” said he softly, his eyes reminiscing a different time.

“Although we went our separate ways after high school, I spent so much time in volleyball that it defined a huge part of who I was too. I mean, if I didn’t play volleyball, I would probably be in another sport, but I’d still think I’d be different, y’know?”

You could tell he was avoiding the word “love.” Iwa was not one to be vulnerable.

“In college when I was in my first serious relationship, it was the type of love that gave me confidence and assurance. But I guess it wasn’t enough…for me to say it deeply impacted my later choices on career and other decisions, unlike volleyball.”

“I can’t help but feel that any defining…relationship I have romantically will be weighed against with my time with volleyball…my first real love…" he tried to laugh it off, but you felt the weight off his words, “And I’ve been lucky enough to have enough love in my life that I don’t need to constantly be in a relationship to feel complete.”

A moment of silence fell in between the two.

“That’s a lot to heap on a relationship.” she whispered in contemplation.

Iwa awkwardly scrambled for damage control, “…no pressure.” was all he managed to say.

“So why try to date? When it’s so tough to find someone who can match up with volleyball?” she asked.

“Companionship?” he shrugged, “It’s still nice to date around.”

“And you’re…nice. I’ve been wanting to date you since we were in college. I’ve liked you for a long time…” his entire face flushed pink.

Her eyes fluttered wide open. Since college? Is he serious?

“Our friends were right,” she said in a hush, “You did have a thing for me. I thought they were just teasing us.”

“You had a boyfriend back then and when you broke up with him, I was seeing someone else.” he exhaled, looking her earnestly in the eye, “Wasn’t it obvious to you?”

Iwaizumi couldn’t tell if Hiromi just didn’t want to speak or was too busy contemplating. She was too stunned to speak.

“It felt like fate seeing you on the plane.”

A million things were going through her mind, she slowly opened her mouth, “Now that we’ve been on two half dates, what’s it like? Is this what you’d thought it would be?”

“College is very different from now, but the short answer is yes.” he nodded, rolling his shoulders back. “Everything just clicks. I’m so comfortable with you. It’s so easy for us to talk. I like you just as much as I did in college…I just really like you. Time hasn’t changed that at all.”

Hiromi looked overwhelmed. She was unable to look him in the eye. She was barely getting to know him romantically and he had long been decided about his feelings for her.

“Do you wanna ask if they sell alcohol here? You look like you need a drink.” he joked. Hiromi didn’t look like she heard him.

"This is so intense for a first date.” she shook her head in what seemed like regret.

“We can stop,” he gently interjected, “We can talk about something else.”

She finally looked up to him and whispered, “Hajime, you’ve just dumped a lot of pressure on me.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to do that,” he smiled apologetically, “Anyways, I’m aware that we’re both at different…stages of attraction. Besides, I think this would be way more awkward if we both were pining.”

“Wouldn’t that be sweeter?” she asked.

“Way too sappy for me.” he waved with his hand. Hiromi let out a small chuckle. Iwa secretly sighed in relief.

——————————————————————————— After dinner, they headed to the arcade to blow off some steam. Iwaizumi offered to carry some of her books to which he somewhat regretted. Her books were like rocks. How the hell was she lugging them on her own in the city?

“I could carry them on my own if it’s too heavy.” she offered.

Iwaizumi looked at her incredulously. She was at least half a foot shorter and much smaller in build. His biceps weren’t going to buck in front of her.

They wandered around the arcade for a bit, unsure what to do first. Iwa silently prayed they didn’t have to do any dancing. Just when they were about to decide on the claw machine, Hiromi pointed towards a small karaoke booth at the corner of her eye.

“Let’s go in there.” she tugged at his jacket.

Iwaizumi flipped through the songs. None of them seemed to be in Japanese. All of them were in English.

“Did you pick up a default english karaoke song?” she asked, browsing through the catalogue. The room was clearly designed for kids. It was so small their knees touched and Iwa could barely sit up without hitting his head on the ceiling.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “I don’t really sing…in English. Any suggestions?”

Hiromi typed in the number of a song.

“I’m about to introduce you to your first usable English karaoke song.” she grinned at him mischievously. Iwa looked at her suspiciously.

The opening notes started to play—some acoustic guitar and a trumpet. The song sounded…Mexican? For the longest time there were no lyrics on the screen. Hiromi swayed to beat as her eyes were glued to the screen. When the song finally began to hit what sounded like the chorus, the music paused for a second.

“TEQUILA!” she yelled into the mic.

Iwaizumi was so startled he jumped up and hit his head on the ceiling. Hiromi was giggling uncontrollably.

“That’s it?!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah,” she laughed, pressing the mic towards him, “You try on the next chorus.”

When the trumpets began playing, Iwa readied himself. The song hits its familiar pause soon enough and he pulls the mic closer to his lips.

“Tequila?” he said tentatively.

“With more conviction, Hajime!” she urged, taking back the mic. On the third chorus, she moved closer to him so they could share the mic.

The music hits its third pause, they looked at each other and yelled, “TEQUILA!”

They both grinned and laughed, almost as if the act of singing about alcohol was like a drink in itself. He could feel her shins pressed against him as she continued to sway for the music. A glint in her eye flickered as she nudged him to dance along with her.

Iwaizumi wasn’t going to refuse. Especially not on their first date. He swayed what he could on the tiny box while the song lasted.

————————————————————————— At the end of the night, they both sat in the train waiting to get off on their respective stops. The carriage shuttled back and forth, pushing and pulling their bodies back and forth into each other.

“Hajime,” she tapped him on his shoulder, “We didn’t finish the last set. Let’s do a quick one before I get off.”

He nodded, “Pick one we can answer with just one word.”

Hiromi swiftly browsed the list, before looking up.

“Finish the sentence, ‘Right now, we are both feeling…’"

Their faces were both so close they could feel the heat of each other’s breath. The back of their hands were touching, but neither dared to reach out or pull away.

“Hopeful.” whispered Hiromi, an evident earnestness in her voice. She was fighting off her shyness just long enough to look him in the eye when she talked.

Iwa smiled, “Smitten.”

Before she could react, the train jolted as it shuffled towards her station.The train stopped at Hiromi’s station and she got up from her seat, taking the books from Iwa’s arms.

He followed her to the exit and watched her as she got off. She gave a small wave from the platform while she watched the doors closed.

Iwa was tempted to press his hands onto the window, unwilling to end their time for the evening. His last sight of her was her smile when the train plunged itself into the night.

“Did he start out his day at the market with a morning jog?” she asked herself, watching the train swiftly pull away.

Iwaizumi took a deep breath. The night had gone differently from how he thought the date would proceed. For one thing, he didn’t expect to confess so early into the relationship.

He took his phone and curiously googled the questions she mentioned.

It turns out the title of the New York Times article was not “Questions to Get to Know Your Date” as Hiromi had led him to believe. Instead, it was titled, “Thirty Six Questions That Lead to Love”.

“Huh,” he said to himself. He shut off the screen to his phone.

36 was too much. In his opinion 3 was enough.

-----------------------------------------------------------

This is part 3 of a series on Iwa living in Tokyo after he moves back from California. Comment or message to be added to the taglist. 

Also, I’ve been feeling quite down lately, so say some nice things if you feel like it in the comments 😬✌️

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Series taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan

[superbadassnatural]

Stranger - part one

Summary: After a disastrous date, Y/N decides to drown her sorrows in a bar a few blocks down the road. Luckily, she meets a stranger that manages to talk some sense into her. Pairing: Dean x Reader (future) // Mason (OMC) x Reader (past) Word count: 3,493 Warnings:little bit of angst, fluff, break-up, Dean being the true gentleman he is A/N: this was written for “1541 Folllowers Celebration” hosted by the sweetest of all @herstarburststories (I’m sorry this took me so long). The prompt is bolded. Hope you all enjoy!

(x)

“Whiskey,” a gravel voice mixed with the sound of the stool being pulled out of the counter. “Neat.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look in that direction. You didn’t want another person to see your face. Not that you cared that strangers saw you crying, but you were already feeling humiliated enough for one night. You downed your shot, closing your eyes as your throat burned.

The music filled your ears. You could only hope this man wouldn’t say a word to you. He was the first person to sit near you since you got here. No one dared to take place even remotely close to you, not even three stools from yours. No one wanted to sit beside a crying mess. No one wanted to feel obliged to ask if everything was fine, even though they already knew the answer.

Sometimes you hated how curious you were. You wanted to know if the man was as handsome as you imagined when you heard his voice. You shouldn’t look. The music. Focus on the music. Loud pop songs echoed in the crowded bar. A group of girls danced and screamed over the dance floor. It seemed to be like a bachelorette party. A few guys hustled pool in the back. Others tried to make their way to undergrads’ panties. Older men sat alone in booths, nursing their beer. On your peripheral view, you watched as the man tapped his glass, asking for a refill. The barman poured him another shot of whiskey.

“Mike, can I get more vodka, please?” You held your glass out for him, batting your eyelashes.

“You already had enough, Y/N,” he walked to you, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“But it did me good, didn’t it?” You raised your eyebrows. “Look, I’m not even crying anymore.”

“I know, but we should get you in a cab.”

“Just one more shot and I promise that’s it for the night,” you stuck out your pinky finger to him. He only shook his head.

“We’ve already done this three times.”

“Fourth time's the charm,” you smirked.

“Only one shot and you’re done,” he warned, pouring your drink. “Then it’s just water for you.”

“Thanks, Mike,” grinning, you took the glass from the counter and downed it.

A sigh escaped your lips as the drink burned its way down your throat. You felt a pair of eyes heavy on you. Placing the empty glass on the wooden counter, you turned to the stranger sitting within two feet from you. Piercing green eyes roamed over your form, studying you until they found their way to your eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat as he seemed to stare deep into your soul. It felt as if he was unveiling your deepest secrets. You half-smiled at him with a little raise of your hand in a finger wave. He raised his glass before bringing it to his lips.

“I’m Dean,” he said with a warm smile.

“Y/N,” the sound of your voice helped to remind you of your real condition.

God, he must think you were some lunatic.

You turned away from him, facing the countless bottles displaying in front of you. Your hands flew to your face, fingers trying to clean the smeared mascara under your eyes. On your peripheral view, you noticed the man standing up from his seat. A shaky sigh escaped your lips as he started walking towards you.

“May I?” He asked, hand on the metal stool beside you.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to give him a decent answer. You just wanted to be left alone, but you didn’t want to sound rude. Unlike other people in the bar, he didn’t give you the same pitiful look. His eyes only showed kindness.

“I heard these guys have the best burger in town,” he said. “Is it true?”

Without averting your gaze from the bottles in the display, you shrugged. You could feel his eyes on you. He clicked his tongue, pursing his lips.

“You from around here? Have you eaten here before?” you didn’t answer him. “Right,” he sighed. “Guess we should order and see it for ourselves then.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” you turned to him. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I didn’t come here to flirt. So if you don’t mind-“

“Wow, wow, I’m gonna have to stop you there,” his green eyes widened. “I’m not trying to flirt with you or anything. Don’t get me wrong, but you seemed pretty beaten up so I thought that maybe you would enjoy some company to get your mind off whatever it is that’s bothering you. Now if you don’t want me here, then just say the word and I’m gone.”

“No, uh, you can stay I guess.”

“Good,” he gave you a short nod. “Burgers?”

“Yeah,” you smiled weakly.

Dean ordered a bacon cheeseburger with a portion of french fries. You decided to order the same. The two of you waited in silence. Not that there was a need to say anything. The food arrived along with two beers. A moan escaped Dean’s lips once he took a bite of his burger.

“Hmmm, this is so good,” he grumbled, his eyes closed and mouthful.

Your lips curled into a small smile at the sight of the stranger savoring his food. You took a bite of your burger, repressing a moan in the back of your throat. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried their food, but it had been a while though. They still had the best cheeseburger in town for sure.

“It’s good, huh?” He asked you, lips curled upwards.

“Yeah, it is.”

You finished the rest of your food in comfortable silence. Both too focused on the heavenly taste and the greasy french fries.

“Shit, you shouldn’t be having that,” he said as you took a sip of your beer.

“Of course I should.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” he shook his head. “That Mike guy said you already had enough to drink tonight and from now on you would only have water.”

“Oh, c’mon, I’m not even drunk,” you nearly whined. “And why would you care?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I just know that if you get really drunk to the point you won’t be able to walk, then someone might want to take advantage of you.”

“Hmmm, you got a point,” you took another gulp of your beverage and he gave you a sharp look. “But you see, Mike is my friend so he’s not gonna let anyone take advantage of me. Especially you.”

“Me?” His green eyes widened, voice rising about an octave or two. “Especially me?”

“I don’t know you. In fact, you could be pretending to be nice just to drug me or something.”

“I’d never do that,” he sounded truly offended.

“How am I supposed to know you’re saying the truth?”

“Guess you just gotta trust me.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, downing the last bit of your drink. “The last time I trusted somebody all I got was an astronomical heartbreak.”

“Since I’m a stranger, I can’t break your heart.”

“But you could kill me,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a serial killer,” he rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the bottle in his hand and downing the rest of the beer. “I’m not a serial killer.”

“I know,” you chuckled. “You look harmless, Dean. You seem as innocent as a puppy.”

Dean rolled his eyes, signaling to the bartender to serve another round.

“So do you mind me asking what you're doing here?” He asked, green eyes searching for any expression that gave away the reason you were alone on a Friday night.

“Well, since you’re just a stranger and you’re not a serial killer, then I don’t mind you asking,” you pointed. “My boyfriend broke up with me.”

“That sucks,” he muttered before gulping his beer. “Guess that’s why you look like you’ve been crying for hours on end, right?”

“Right,” you clicked your tongue. “What about you, Dean? What’re you doing here alone on a Friday night?”

“Relaxing I guess,” he shrugged. “Plus, a friend of mine told me the food here is great. I had to figure that out for myself.”

“Hmmm, I see,” you nodded. “Guess I look terrible right now.”

“I wouldn’t say terrible,” he leaned to your side, his lips curving in a playful smile. “You don’t look terrible, Y/N. You actually caught my eyes when I stepped inside.”

“Then you saw my face and-“

“Then I saw your face and wondered what could have broken that pretty girl’s spirit.”

“Mason happened,” you mumbled, eyes focused on the recently opened bottle in your hands.

“So the douche has a name.”

“I thought he was going to propose,” you chuckled humorlessly before taking a large gulp of your beer. “Can you believe it? How crazy is that? I was sure he was gonna propose and he broke up with me!”

“He might be worse than I thought.”

“Oh, he is. I was sure he was planning a surprise. Who the hell invites someone to their favorite restaurant just to break up with them? C’mon, look at me,” you motioned to your body. “I dressed up for this. I put on a really nice dress just to look good. ‘Cause I knew I’d remember this. I was sure I was gonna come back home with a diamond ring on my finger and we’d have some hot ‘hey, we’re engaged’ sex. I’m ridiculous.”

“No, you’re not. That guy certainly didn’t deserve you. If he wanted to break up, he wouldn’t have given you hope for a brighter future.”

“I was probably reading too much into this.”

“So? He still shouldn’t have done it this way.”

“Can you believe he didn’t even pay the check?” A dry chuckle escaped your lips.

“He’s a dick.”

“You know the greatest loves of all time are over now,” you sighed, taking a bite of the last french fry.

“No, they are not,” he shook his head vehemently, staring back at you with wide eyes.

“How do you know that?”

“How do you know they are?” He challenged.

“Look around, Dean,” you said. “Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt? Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore? Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck? DiCaprio and Gisele? They all broke up.”

“So what?” Dean blurted out, his voice rising. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course it does,” you argued. “They’re all beautiful, smart, kind people and they are alone. People looked up to them. If they got divorced, then what’s left for me?”

“You have nothing to do with them,” he said. “And since you care so much about famous people and their relationships why aren’t you talking about Beckham and Victoria? Obama and Michelle? Gisele married freaking Tom Brady. He’s way better than DiCaprio,” he pointed out. “The greatest loves of all time aren’t over, Y/N.”

“But why does it feel like they are?”

Tears started to well in your eyes. Your voice wavered just above a whisper. Dean smiled sympathetically.

“You just had your heart broken by someone you care about. It’s okay to feel this way.”

“You’re a nice guy, you know?”

“I heard that once or twice,” he smiled, his head ducking down to hide the blush that crept up in his cheeks. “Now where’s that restaurant you mentioned?”

“Just a few blocks from here. The fancy Italian one,” Dean nodded. “Why?”

“Not today of course, but I’m gonna take you there again sometime.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Teasingly, your lips curled into a smirk. You were having a blast watching him get all flustered.

“No, what I’m saying is since that’s one of your favorite restaurants, you shouldn’t have a bad memory of it.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, your eyes finding his beautiful green irises. “Dean? Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure, anything. Shoot.”

“When I walked down to this bar I had made up my mind that I would get drunk tonight,” you admitted. “It’s much easier to deal with a hangover in the morning than crying myself to sleep. Can you respect that?” You offered him the best pleading look you could muster.

“Yeah, I can,” he nodded, finishing his drinking and calling for another round. “I don’t judge you, alright?”

“You don’t?” Dean noticed a spark in your eyes when you heard his words.

“I don’t,” he smiled. “I’ve been there. It was a long time ago but I still remember how much it hurt. I drowned my sorrows throughout the whole week. I stank alcohol. Then things got better. They always do. You might not see it now, but you will.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Dean only shrugged. Silence fell between you. Dean finished what it was his last beer while you had a few more and some whiskey shots. Every gulp seemed like a better idea. It was. Anything was better than having that dull ache in your chest.

“Why did he do that?” You drawled as a cry broke out. Dean snapped from his thoughts and turned to you. “If he didn’t love me anymore, why couldn't he make it painless?”

“Because he’s an idiot and he only cared about himself.”

“Why people always leave me? Am I this broken that people just feel like they need to go away?”

“No, of course not,” his voice was gentle, his hand reached up to your cheek, fingers wiping the tears that fell freely. “You’re not broken, Y/N.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not broken and if people leave you, then it’s their loss,” a weak smile appeared on your lips. “You wanna hear something?” You only nodded. “What kind of tree fits in your hand?”

“What?” You asked with a tilt of your head. Your mind was too foggy to understand where he wanted to get with that.

“What kind of tree fits in your hand?” He asked again, a playful smile hanging on his lips.

“None,” your eyes casted down to your hands, examining them carefully. “My hand is too small to fit a tree.”

“No, Y/N,” he shook his head, trying to hold back his laugh. “It’s a palm tree.”

You stared blankly at him. Dean could almost see the gears in your head slowly spinning due to the alcohol. When you didn’t laugh, he decided it was better to explain it to you.

“Y/N,” he took your hand in his big one. You hummed. “A palm tree.”

“Oh,” you muttered, gaze fixated on your hand in his. Dean searched for any sign that would give away what you thought of his stupid joke. “Oh!” You blurted.

A wave of laughter came out louder than you expected. His joke finally made sense to you. Dean chuckled. He was relieved you found it funny. At least the drunk version of you did. Your laugh was contagious and the most heartwarming sound Dean had heard in months. He watched hiccups escape your lips with a smile.

“Alright, I think you had enough now,” Dean reached for the beer bottle on the wooden counter, he took a gulp and fished it. “We should get you home.”

“Okay,” you sighed, hands fumbling in your purse in search of your phone. “Here,” you placed it in his hands. “Call an Uber for me. It’s-“

“You’re not getting in an uber like this,” he shook his head. “C’mon, I’ll drop you home.”

Dean placed some bills on the counter, enough to cover your drinks and a generous tip. You hopped off the stool in a quick movement, feet wobbling, legs barely able to hold your weight.

“Hey, easy there,” he said, his hands wrapping on your biceps, keeping you steady. “Can you walk?”

“Mmhmm.”

You followed him to his car. Giggles escaped your lips out of nowhere. Dean only smiled with a shook of his head. He opened the door for you, making sure you wouldn’t bump your head or just fall on the passenger seat. You mumbled your address and were surprised that he understood what you said.

“I… I got a joke too,” your tongue drawled most ridiculously.

“You do?” He chuckled, taking a quick glance at you before turning his attention back to the road.

“I do.”

Dean waited for you to share but nothing came out.

“You not gonna share?”

“What do you call a be- a bear with no ears?” You hooted.

“What?” He smiled at you.

“A B.”

Dean chuckled. It wasn’t the kind of laugh you were expecting though. He glanced at you and noticed your arms crossed over your chest while a pout hung on your lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t like it,” you mumbled.

“Of course I did,” he nearly squealed.

He pulled up in the driveway and put the car in park. Dean climbed out of it and circled. A creak echoed through your dizzy head as he opened the door. You hopped off your seat, wobbly feet causing you to lose your balance. Firm, warm hands wrapped on your elbows, keeping you from falling. You were so tired and your legs weren’t even cooperating.

“You sure you can walk?” His emerald eyes scanned you. You only shook your head in defeat, not even daring to meet his eyes. “Okay. Just gimme your keys then.”

Hands fumbling in your purse, you found the keys and handed them to him.

“It’s the bigger one,” you told him.

Dean nodded. Before your tipsy mind could get a hold of what was happening, your feet were off the ground. One arm was under your legs and the other supported your back. You wrapped your arms around his neck, nuzzling into his chest. The warmth of his body irradiated through the layers of clothing. His musky scent was almost inebriating.

“Hmmm, so comfy,” you muttered against his flannel.

Dean walked with you in his arms to the front door. He managed to open it without having to let go of you. Stepping inside, his eyes roamed over the living room.

“My bedroom is in the far end,” you explained, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt, eyes closed.

The door to your room was open and Dean was glad for that. He walked in carefully not to have you bumping your head against the doorframe. Dean placed you on the bed. Your entire body relaxed at the feeling of the soft mattress. He removed your boots and you curled up on your side, opening your eyes to see him sitting beside you.

“You okay?” He asked, fingers gently tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Been better,” you said sleepily. “Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good. I’m glad,” he smiled, his thumb caressed your cheek. “You’re tired. I should get going.”

“Don’t,” you whined, holding his wrist. “Stay, please.”

“Only for a little while.”

“The room is spinning,” you chuckled.

“God, you’re gonna wake up to a killer hangover.”

“Yep.”

You got lost in his jade eyes, enjoying his proximity and the feeling of his fingers on your cheek. Even in your drunk state, you could still make some of his gorgeous features.

“Why can’t I just fall in love with someone like you?” Your voice was barely audible as you dragged out most words. “You barely even know me, but you’re already taking care of me. You’re one of the good guys, Dean.”

“I try, sweetheart,” he smiled.

“I can see myself falling for you.”

“Nah, you can’t,” he scoffed. “You’re probably seeing two of me right now.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled.

“I’m gonna get you some water, then you’ll go to sleep, alright?”

“Alrighty,” you yawned.

Dean headed to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. He felt bad seeing you this way. He could see it in your eyes how much you were hurting over the break-up. He walked back into the room only to find you already asleep, curled on your side. He placed the glass on the nightstand.

Before leaving, Dean searched for some paper. He fumbled in your drawers, finding a block of sticky notes and a pen. He wrote down on the paper and left it on the nightstand, your phone on top of it. Dean exited the room, closing the door behind him, and left the house. He made his way to the car and he couldn’t help but hope he’d see you again.

Tomorrow you’d wake up to a pounding headache, a dry mouth, and several waves of nausea. Then you’d found his note resting under your phone.

You probably don’t remember me, but I’m the guy who brought you home safe and sound. I can help you remember what happened last night. And I kinda owe you a date to that restaurant you like. Just call me: (785) 389-7216 or don’t. I don’t know. - Dean.

Read part two here!

I’d love to know what you think of this one! Consider sharing your thoughts with me via reply, reblog or ask!

Forevers: @hobby27​ @thewinchesterandreidwhore 

Dean Sweethearts:@maya-craziness @akshi8278 @herfalsegod @witch-of-letters @weepingwillowphoenix @deanmonandnegansbitch

[mshermia]

What’s In Your Heart - Webpril 03: Soul World

summary: 

Peter had been dodging Tony for weeks now. A few months after the world was saved, Tony wasn't sure what he had done but every time they had scheduled a day at the lake house, Peter found a new excuse to cancel.

Or, Peter struggles with the aftermath of the Snap.

read on AO3

###

"What the hell is wrong with my cooking?" Pepper had spun around, not too far off from that metaphorical steam coming out of her ears.

Tony was on thin ice. On very thin ice. No matter how much his awesome brain had been praised left and right over the past decades, it sure was failing him now.

"Nothing is wrong with it. And while I personally love your lentil and chicken sausage stew, I'm not sure the kid has the pallet to appreciate your hard work, honey," he rambled, trying not to stumble over his words. "Plus we're out of kale."

Pepper shrugged up her arms in bewilderment. "How are we out of kale? I just bought some yesterday!"

"Erm..." Tony quickly moved away from her, fiddling with the tab and a jug for a bit to hide the cringe on his face. "I think Madame Secretary fed it to the chickens instead of the lettuce leaves." Tony ignored Pepper's groan of annoyance and pressed on back to the topic at hand. "So, I was thinking I can just order in Thai food when he gets here. You know how the kid loves Thai food."

With a deep breath, she rubbed two fingers over the crease between her eyebrows. "When will he be here?"

"Sometime after lunch," Tony said quickly, adding a quieter, "I think".

"So, we're not entirely sure if he'll be here," Pepper clarified, her arms crossed in front of her. "Again."

"He'll be here," Tony waved her off. "He'll be here."

By 5 o'clock, Tony was bent over his workbench in the basement. Elbows perched on the tabletop and head balanced between both hands, he was staring at nothing in particular, wondering what he'd done wrong. He'd been down there for a while when Pepper's soft steps echoed off the walls as she came down the stairs. Tony didn't bother to move, didn't even bother to pretend that he had been doing anything but mope over the fact that Peter had not shown up. One hand tangled in his hair, the other cradling his face, Pepper pulled him close, his head dipping against her chest.

"Did he message you?"

"No..." Tony mumbled against the fabric of her shirt. It wouldn't be long now though. The kid had not been shy for excuses whenever he had canceled lab time.

"Did you guys have a fight?"

Tony turned his head to the side, wrecking his brain and not for the first time. Had they had a fight? Had he done something wrong? 

Things had been perfectly fine right after that last showdown. Well, fine might not be the best word. Tony hadn't been fine, physically at least, but Peter had stuck by his side, never far off when Tony would wake up from a procedure. Every time he had found the kid next to his bed, Tony had been elated. 5 years of agony without him and then, there he was like he had never been gone.

Things had been fine and Tony had no idea where he had gone wrong.

"Maybe it's nothing you have done, hm? It has to be a shock for all of them. Coming back to a world that's so different than what they remembered."

"Yeah," Tony mumbled. "Maybe..."

Just then, his phone lit up with a received message. Pressing his eyes shut, he turned his face back towards Pepper. He didn't need to see it. He had gotten that message too many times already.

It was always the same. Whenever they had finally set a new date, there was something that had come up. Homework. Decathlon practice running long. A late patrol, he needed rest from. May had asked him to stay after all.

"He says that he has a project for school that he's had to finish today and he's not quite done yet and that it'll be too late to come over afterwards," Pepper read out loud for him.

Schoolwork. On a Saturday.

She ruffled her hand through Tony's hair and pressed a kiss on top of his head. "I can still make some stew?"

Tony grimaced against her. "I don't like it with no kale."

With a soft laugh, she pressed another kiss to his head, then untangled Tony's arms from her waist. "Well, me and your daughter will be up there waiting for when you're done feeling sorry for yourself, okay?"

"Funny," Tony grunted, slumping against the top of his workbench again. Pepper was halfway up the stairs when he called out to her. "Is it me? Am I... am I expecting too much after... after everything? Maybe it was all just in my head?"

"Babe, I think I'm the wrong person to ask all that." She tilted her head with a sigh. "Just talk to Peter."

Tony leaned back in his chair, eyes on his fingers toying with the nanites on his right hand. Sure, talking was his area of expertise. Feelings, not so much.

 #

 It had been a long time since Tony had been to the city. Even with all the years, he had lived in Manhattan, that lake house had been terribly easy to get used to. The glare of the streetlights of Queens was definitely something Tony could live without. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he squinted up at the apartment building.

This was a horrible idea.

Tony straightened the sleeves of his jacket as the elevator doors opened onto the floor of Peter and May's apartment. He hadn't felt this awkward ringing at someone's door since his first date in college and back then his biggest worry had been if his fake ID was convincing enough. He brushed his knuckles against the apartment door softly first, then a little hard before he stepped back a little. As the door flew open, it was neither Peter nor May who stood in the frame.

Happy, dresses in boxer shorts and a white t-shirt, was the last person Tony had expected to run into at the Parker's apartment.

"Erm..." Tony blinked a couple of times, his mouth gaping just a bit too wide for his standards.

"Tony! What..." Happy's eyes had grown round and big, his complexion paling as he tugged down the hem of his shirt a little further. "What... what are you doing here?"

"Yeah," Tony mumbled. "Yeah, me... I'm the surprise."

Happy's mouth clapped shut. He retreated a little further into the apartment but there was no convenient place for him to hide.

"Do you need more change?" May called from somewhere within the apartment.

"Er, no..." Happy stammered, his voice pitched far too high. "It's... er...." He cringed at Tony, clearly unsure what to say. "All good here."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. "I just want to talk to Peter."

"Peter?" Happy's shoulders lost a little of their tension. "Peter's not here."

"What?" Whatever awkward energy had been pulsing through Tony before went flat at once. "He was supposed to come to the lake house today and then sent me a messaged to cancel."

Happy frowned. "He did?" His hand shot up and scratched the back of his neck. "May said he's spending the night at Ned's."

"Oh." That stung. Tony couldn't deny it.

"Come on, give the kid a break," Happy sighed. "Listen, I know you missed him and you did all... all that stuff for him, but he needs some time for his friends, too. Don't be an ass about it."

Tony's heart gave an unpleasant squeeze. "Excuse me?"

"Hey..." Happy pulled his hands up, giving him a look like he didn't want to fight. "I'm just saying. He's been out there with you every other day. He's 17. He needs to live a little." A hot flush rose on Happy's face. "I mean like... do some... some teenage stuff."

Stunned, Tony stared up at him. Just as he was working past his confusion enough to get out a mumble 'What the fuck are you talking about?' did the elevator doors open once again.

"Oh, thank god," Happy groaned holding out money for the delivery driver to take. "Listen Tony, I'd really appreciate it if you could keep all this..." He vaguely gestured at himself and the apartment. "...to yourself. May wants to wait for the right moment to tell him, so, please just, you know..."

"Right," Tony breathed. "I'll... er..." He pointed back at the elevator where the delivery man had already disappeared again. "I guess I'll head home then."

With an awkward little wave, balancing the take-out, Happy closed the door leaving Tony alone in the quiet hallway. His heart was beating harder and faster with every passing second, dread spreading through his veins.

"FRI," he muttered. The nanites in his right hand illuminated at the sound of his voice. "Find Peter. Now."

 #

 It was only thanks to how fast FRIDAY found him, that Tony managed to calm himself enough to take the car instead of commanding the suit to encase him. Well, that and the fact that Peter was less than 15 minutes drive away from the Parker's apartment.

Mount Olivet Cemetery was quiet. The gates had been closed, visiting hours for the public long over. It left Tony with few options but to suit up after all once he was out of sight of the main gate and then hover over the high fence. He walked the rest of the way guided by FRIDAY until he found Peter sitting in the grass.

He didn't look up at Tony but didn't hesitate to speak when he had walked up behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Tony crossed his arms, carefully to keep his own bruised ego in check. "I went to your place because I thought that maybe we should talk about why you're avoiding me. Of course, then I heard that you're at Ned's and I thought cool, I wonder how the kid's friend is living it up. Was expecting a little something different, not gonna lie. Needs better lighting. Also, I'm quite a fan of this thing called central heating."

"That's hilarious," Peter mumbled.

With a sigh, Tony dropped his arms. He walked up the last couple of steps to Peter and sat down in the grass next to him. The October air was not quite frosty yet but far from comfortable.

"What's going on?"

Peter shrugged. "What do you think?"

"Well, I was hoping you'd lie to your Aunt and me about a secret party schedule or a teenage romance you wanted to keep quiet." 

The quiet brooding, the way Peter stared ahead, not baited at all was so unlike him.

"You know, don't you?" Tony kept his eyes on him. "About Happy?"

Peter's chin was resting on his pulled-up knees, eyes staring ahead at the gravestone of Ben Parker.

"Kid?" There were goosebumps on Tony's skin, but now was not the time to freak out.

"Yeah." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "May invites him over when she thinks I'm at your place. Or at Ned's."

"And then you come here instead?"

"Sometimes," Peter whispered.

Tony pressed his eyes shut, battling the rising resentment that Peter would rather sit here alone than to come to him, only to hate himself for making it about himself.

"What's going on, buddy?"

Peter huffed out a breath. "You wouldn't understand."

Both of his hands braced against the wet grass underneath him, Tony swallowed the testy remark that was burning on his tongue. "You're a smart kid. I'm sure you'll find a way to explain."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'm not as smart as you thought. Maybe I'm not—" Peter pursed his lips, gave his head a little shake.

"You're right," Tony nodded. "Maybe I don't know what it's like. It was just you and May and now you come back and this all seems to have happened too fast and—"

"That's not..." He shook his head again, this time a little more forceful. "It's not that. She's... she's happy and I want that. She deserves that."

"Pete, I'm sure they just don't want to overwhelm you. If you talk to her and—"

"Just drop it," he hissed. "This isn't your problem."

Tony bit the inside of his lip, painfully hard at that. His eyes had snapped away, now squinting down at his own chest, watching it rise and fall with the deep breaths he sucked in, hoping to calm the temper that was blazing up inside him.

"Maybe..." Tony blew out another low breath, determined to keep the edge out of his voice. "Maybe the fact that I'm here and asking should tell you that I'm rather willing to make this my problem, Pete."

For the first time, the kid's head moved just enough that he could squint in Tony's direction. After a moment of hesitation, his eyes flickered back to the grass in front of Ben Parker's headstone. "You're happy now." Peter pressed his lips flat with a little shake of his head. "You don't need this. It's not fair to you."

"No, buddy, what's not fair is you being out here lying to us about where you are. After everything." Tony sucked in a deep breath. "After 5 years of missing you."

Peter hid his face behind his hands and just when Tony thought he had gone too far, pushed too much, the kid's arms dropped drown to his knees. "If I tell you, you can't say anything to May."

"Pete—"

"You have to promise me." At last, he looked right at him, eyes pleading. "She can't know."

Tony held his stare, hoping that maybe it would be enough for Peter to yield, but he didn't falter for even a moment. Tony inclined his head at him, banking on the terms changing after he knew what was going in.

"Alright then."

For a moment, Peter didn't move at all. Then he slung his arms around his legs, pulling them a little closer to his chest like it would help to hold onto his composure when he would speak. Only, he didn't speak. He stared into thin air, lips trembling but not a single word rolled off his tongue.

"Pete?"

As if pulled from a dream, his head snapped in Tony's direction, his eyes swimming with tears. 

"I saw... I saw Ben," Peter whispered. "I... Just for a moment. Or..." He narrowed his eyes a little in thought. "Or I thought it was just a moment but now... I'm not so sure anymore. Maybe... maybe it was longer."

"You mean..." Tony swallowed hard, nerves fluttering in his stomach. "After. When you were gone?"

Peter nodded, a first tear dropping off his lashes.

It wasn't surprising. In fact, it was quite in line with what Tony had thought this might be about. Stories of those who had been dusted seeing dead loved ones had sparked up soon after those lost during the Snap had returned.

A trip to heaven for the fallen, was what the tabloids had coined it. A nice sentiment for some, Tony was sure, but they didn't know what he knew. They didn't know about the Stones.

Tony moved a little closer. One hand on the back of Peter's head, his thumb brushed through the kid's hair. "It's normal to miss him, bud. You think May doesn't still—"

"It's not..." Peter shook his head, causing Tony's hand to fall down to his shoulder instead. "It's... I can't explain. You wouldn't understand."

The inside of Tony's lip was sore where his teeth had been grazing and biting, giving an outlet to his own nerves. "I do, buddy. I understand. It's..." He blew out some air, centering himself. "It's unreal. Beyond words, beyond explaining. I... Honestly, I thought it might have been a reaction to the anesthetics at first before I— Well, anyway..."

Peter had sat up at that, his eyes red, eyebrows drawn together. His eyes flickered over Tony's face, studying him while his jaw moved like he was gritting his teeth.

Tony squeezed his shoulder. "All I mean is that all this, magic tricks and... and Infinity Stones, their effects, it's not logical. It's not something we understand yet. Maybe we will one day. If you want to..." Tony shrugged. "We could try and figure out the energy structure of—"

"You saw something?" Peter whispered.

Tony swallowed hard, fighting his instincts to look away, to reach for his glasses, something to shield the uncertainty that had been plaguing him for the past few months.

Peter's eyebrows twitched. "When you... did you see something? When you... did the thing?"

"Did the thing?" He dipped his head at Peter, trying for some humor. Inappropriate, outrageous, the cliché he was supposed to embody.

"When you... when you snapped the gauntlet. When you died..." Peter sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving Tony's face. "You saw something then?"

Tony swallowed hard. "I didn't die, kid."

"You... you were gone. The arc it was—"

"The nano housing unit's structural integrity was destroyed by the stones. I didn't die, buddy. I— Hey..." Tony moved a little closer, his arm now wrapped around Peter's shoulder. His other hand cupped the kid's face. Peter's breathing had become uneven, panicked almost. "It's okay, kid. Just breathe. It's all good. I'm right here."

Peter nodded like he wanted to believe him, hot tears running down his cheeks onto Tony's hand. He might have tried to hide his tears from Tony before, but now that didn't seem to matter anymore. Just like it hadn't mattered after that last battle. Tony would never forget the fear on Peter's face on the battlefield that day. The way he had been curled up in a chair next to his hospital bed. It was the stuff his nightmares were made off, causing the kid that kind of pain, only second to those memories from Titan.

No, the kid was way past hiding his tears. His eyes were glued to Tony's face. Calmly, Tony mimicked for Peter to breathe in, hold the air, then breathe out. It wasn't like Peter didn't know what to do. This wasn't their first rodeo. Over the years, they'd been here more often than Tony really cared to admit.

They sat there for a while as Peter's heartbeat slowed, as his tears dried, his eyes a little more focused. It took effort for Tony to keep a light smile on his face as he looked right at Peter, not to pull away now. It took effort not to lie to the kid's face like he had been lying to himself, avoiding the trauma, the toll that day had taken on him.

"I do know, buddy. I... I did see it. Or at least I... I guess it was likely the same."

"You saw someone?"

"Yeah," Tony breathed. "My mom."

Peter's eyes widened. "Your... your mom?"

"Yeah." Tony nodded, trying not to think of her face now. "It was just a short flash. She didn't say anything. Just stood here and I... Come here, buddy." Tony pulled him close enough to wrap both arms around him. "I'm not sure, but I think it was the Soul Stone. The orange glow. Did you see that?"

Peter nodded against his chest and Tony hummed in agreement.

"Yeah, must have been that one. I think it just lets you see the people you love, the ones that are already gone. You know, what's in your heart."

Peter's hand shot up but not in time to stifle the sobs that bubbled out of him, deep and agonizing. It caught Tony by surprise. The only thing he could think of was to pull Peter a little tighter against him, mumbling soothing words, trying to calm him down.

"It's okay to miss them, bud. It's okay." When he kept his voice low, it was less likely to shake or worse, break.

"But I didn't... I didn't see them... My mom and dad." He shuffled in Tony's arms. "I loved them. I... I swear. I just... it was all so fast and I... I didn't know. I just didn't think and—"

"Oh buddy, shh. That's not... Maybe..." Tony blew out a breath, cursing himself. His chin was resting on top of Peter's head, his eyes burning for the kid. "Maybe it doesn't work like that, hm? Maybe it's not who you love. And maybe it's just one person, hm? I only saw one person."

"But Ned he... he saw his dad and... and all his grandparents and then..." Peter sucked in a few breaths, his voice muffled against Tony's chest. "He asked me if I saw my parents, too, and I... I lied. I said I did but— You can't tell May, please."

Tony pressed his eyes shut, his heart breaking for the pain the kid had been harboring.

"I swear, I love them," Peter mumbled. "I do. I don't... I don't know why... why they weren't there, why I didn't think, why—"

"Oh buddy, no, no, no. Come here...." Tony grabbed him by both his shoulders, maneuvering him in a way that Peter could look at him. "Hey, look at me for a moment. How old were you, hm? When they died?"

"I..." he frowned, fingers brushing away his tears. "Like... like 4..."

"Do you even remember what they looked like? I don't mean from pictures just... memories of them?"

Peter's eyes filled with more tears his chin trembling.

"Hey, no, I don't... Pete, it's not your fault if you don't, okay? You were so tiny. Just think how tiny Morgan is. If I had—" His lips slammed shut as he pushed the thought out of his mind. "Maybe it has nothing to do with what's in your heart, okay? Maybe it's all up here, hm? What you remember?" He tapped Peter's temple a couple of times, not looking away from him. "We just don't know. But I promise you, it's nothing you did wrong, okay?"

There was reluctance from Peter as he huffed and pressed his face back against Tony's chest.

One hand in his hair, Tony gave it a ruffle then softly tapped a finger against the back of Peter's head. "I know that big brain of yours is trying to rationalize everything that happened, but you gotta trust me with this, kid. This is not on you. I promise. I'm sure if love would have been enough you would have seen them."

Peter didn't say anything, he only held onto Tony, hands balled up in his jacket. The wet grass, the chilly October night, all of that didn't matter anymore. Tony would sit through a lot worse if it could take some of the pain away.

He still had his chin resting in Peter's hair. The kid had calmed down, his breathing even now, the sobs had subsided. Just when Tony was starting to wonder if he had fallen asleep did Peter's stomach give a rumbled that must have echoed through all of Queens.

"Wow! I think I'm gonna have to call animal control and warn them, just in case they get a bunch of calls for a starving wild animal running loose in Queens."

Peter snorted. "Don't be an ass, Tony..." The tiny giggle the kid had let slip, gave Tony hope, but it was forgotten just as fast. With a heavy sigh, Peter shook his head, his voice muffled in Tony's shirt. "You think it's too late? To drive out to the lake house tonight?"

His hand was still in Peter's hair, brushing back and forth through the strands. "Not if you stay till Monday..."

Peter's chest vibrated with another laugh.

"Fine," Tony sighed extensively. "Sunday night then?" He craned his neck a bit, trying to get a glimpse of Peter's reaction. "Only if you want to, buddy."

"I do," Peter nodded. "I do want to."

By the time they had left the city, Peter was curled up on the passenger seat, eyes closed. He looked peaceful like that, at ease. 

Tony blew out a quiet sigh as his eyes went back to the dark road. There was no point in pretending like things would be all dandy now. It wouldn't as simple as this, to have one talk and voila, trauma gone. No, this would take time but that was okay.

Time, they had.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #424

“got no superspeed, but i’m running this town”

What is the first line in the song you are currently listening to/last listened to? "I’m running out of time; I hope that I can save you somehow.” Are you an easy lay? Not in the slightest. What was the last reason you cried? Life and how inexplicably I'm failing at it. What’s hurting you right now? More like what isn't. Do you remember important dates? Only some. I'm awful with numbers. Do you own anything with the Playboy Bunny on it? No. Do you own a bean bag chair? No. Have you ever played Gamecube? At a friend's house. Have you ever played with toy cars before? Yeah, with my nephew. He LOVES monster trucks. Have you ever touched a caterpillar? Oh, definitely. I loved picking them up as a kid. What is your favorite kind of salad? Just plain 'ole iceberg lettuce with ranch, really. Are you any good at Ping-Pong? Holy hell no, I SUCK. What was/is your high school mascot? A firebird. Can you make cute little animals by folding paper? God no, I'm awful at origami. Like, I have zero concept of how to do it. What kind of music do you like? Various types of metal and rock. Do you like apple juice? Yeah. Do you like to draw? It's funny, like I do love it, but I barely ever do it because I get frustrated when I can't get what's in my head onto paper. What do you put on your french fries? Generally ketchup. How many people can comfortably sleep in your bed? Two. Do you want to have a big family in the future? I don't want kids, just pets. Probably a lot of pets. Is Vegas one of your must-see places? No. Pet rat: yay or nay? I've had multiple pet rats and I adore them. I've come to find I'm not the best at keeping rodents because changing the bedding so much sucks ass, but nevertheless they are fantastic pets for people who don't mind the maintenance. Would you call yourself a writer? Written any stories lately? Yes. I haven't written in a while, though. I just have absolutely zero motivation to RP. Are you good at reading people's body language? I probably overanalyze it, really. Ever threatened somebody and actually went through with it? I don’t threaten people. Does holding newborn babies scare you? Extremely. I feel like they're made of thin glass. Piercings: yay or nay? I LOVE piercings. They add an interesting touch to your appearance and to me just (usually) look super cool. There are very few piercings I don't like. Do you have a collage of pictures in your bedroom? No, but I want to make a motivation board very badly. Favorite Nicholas Cage movie? Ghost Rider. Were video games better in the 1980s, 1990s, or the 2000s? Why? '80s games bore me honestly, but I love some '90s and many 2000s games. I've got to say ultimately newer games win, because of graphics increasing immersion (no, I do not whatsoever believe graphics are everything or always make a better experience), voice acting improving immensely, etc. Have you ever watched The Beverly Hillbillies? Yes! Mom loves it so I used to watch it a lot with her as a kid. I'd still watch it. Did your mother ever sing lullabies to you when you were younger? Yes. Are you ready to get out of this town? I HATE THIS TOOOWN, IT'S SO WASHED UUU-UP, AND ALL MY FRIENDS DON'T GIVE A FUUU-UUUUUCK god hell yes get me the fuck out. Do you know anybody that is pregnant right now? Quite a few. What are you listening to? "Superluv” by Shane Dawson. Have you ever gotten a speeding ticket? No. Does your father have any facial hair? Yes. Did your grandparents teach you anything? My maternal grandmother, the only one I really ever knew, taught me I'm a disappointment, pretty much. And a bitch. Do you want/have a Bachelor’s degree? It'd be nice to have one, but I don't, and I'm not pursuing it again. I've wasted enough of my parents' money. Are you into superheroes? Who’s your favourite? Not seriously, but I enjoy them well enough. I like Spider-Man. What did you have for dinner last night? Mom ordered Mexican. I had two shrimp and cheese quesadillas and rice with cheese. Do you think you look similar to your siblings? No. Have you ever played Cards Against Humanity? Did you like it? Yeah, it's fun. Do you know your best friend’s middle name? Yes. Are you close to your father? I am. Have you ever had a serious conversation with your dad? Yeah. Would you rather have long or short hair? I enjoy having short hair way more. Who did you go/plan on going with to prom? I went with Jason twice. Have you ever been to a debate and speech tournament? Hell no, and I never would. Arguing makes me cry lmao. Are you someone who enjoys stand-up comedy? Yep. What’s one thing that scares you about living alone and being independent? A lot of things do, but one thing in specific that I fear is that I let the house become cluttered and messy. I'm so shit at cleaning, especially when I'm depressed. It's why my own bedroom isn't even fully decorated, and we've lived here since I wanna say last November. If someone offered you an all-expenses paid trip to one European country, where would you go and why? Germany, 'cuz I enjoy the culture and would love to try some foods and visit places. Have you ever won anything on the lottery? No. Are you interested in the World Cup? I couldn't possibly care less. What’s the longest time you’ve ever been on a plane for? Idk. Do you let your hair dry naturally or do you towel-dry it or blow dry it? I use a towel to dry it some, then let it really get the job done naturally. How many of the Harry Potter books have you read? None. Who last gave you their number? When I posted on Facebook about going on a mental health hiatus, my good friend Alon messaged me her number if I ever needed to talk. I was really thankful. Are you often the last one to understand a joke? Honestly yeah. I'm slow to grasp a lot of things. Your first black eye: Did you give it or get it? Never gotten or given one. Have you ever slept in a tent, indoors or out? Yes to both. Are you mad right now? I'm annoyed, but not mad. Are you allergic to nuts or dairy products? No. Has anyone ever called the cops on you? No. Do you ever actually drink milk alone? Yeah, I love milk. Do you have a sensitive gag reflex? It is EXTREMELY sensitive. What was the last situation to upset you? I'd rather not talk about it. Have you ever had an online argument? I have been heavily active on the Internet since I was like, 11. Maybe younger. I have been in plenty. Are you at risk for any medical issues? A lot of heart problems run in my family. I'm also suspicious I may develop diabetes, which also runs very heavily in my family. What were you doing at 7:00 a.m.? Surprisingly, I was asleep. Do you own a robe? No. What would you consider your life to be? A wreck. What is your favorite mark of punctuation? I like question marks. Who knows your biggest secret? Nobody. Do you think anyone has feelings for you? Probably not. How do you know? I just doubt it. I'm so unlikable right now. Could you go a day without eating? I don't think I could. I do not react to stomach pain well, and that includes when I'm hungry. How many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now? None. What’s your favorite drink? Strawberry Sunkist, but I don't allow myself to have it. I will DESTROY a can or five of it. Who was the last person that texted you? My mom. What are you craving? Nothing really right now. What was the first thing you ate today? An everything bagel. What was the last type of meat you ate? Pork. Have you taken any medication today? Yeah, I take some prescription meds in the morning and at night. Have you ever been to Hawaii? No, but that'd be cool. Do you know anyone who has diabetes? My mom, for one. Have you ever made a boy cry? Sadly. Who are you talking to? Nobody. Do you think you’ve ruined your chances with someone? Absolutely. Your parents split; would you want to live with your mom or dad? My parents are divorced, and I stayed with Mom. Would you strongly prefer to go out with someone of your own skin color/racial background? I couldn't care less. For you personally, is abortion an option in case of an accidental pregnancy? For others, absolutely. It's your right. For me myself, it's possible, idk. If I was God forbid raped, I probably would have an abortion. If I accidentally got pregnant in a healthy relationship, I'd probably have a "too bad, so sad" outlook where I'd suck it up and go through with the gestation because having sex and risking pregnancy was my own decision. Even if I'm pro-choice, I think I'd feel too guilty aborting, especially with the child being someone's I love. Is it a requirement that you communicate every day with your significant other (via phone, text, in person, whatever)? IF I had an s/o, no. I like to, but sometimes you just want space. Are you fetish-friendly? I'm not gonna lie, some fetishes are just too fucking weird for me. I TRY not to judge, because I doubt you can actually help fetishes, but I inevitably do sometimes. If you're asking would I engage in fetishes because my s/o liked them, possibly, but it would really depend on what it is. Have you ever cosplayed? No. I think cosplay is really cool, though. Do you support the exploration of outer space? If yes, would you consider taking a trip into space, or even to another planet? As creatures who crave knowledge and understanding of our universe, I do support space exploration, but I do NOT believe we should be spending as much money as we do on it. Taking care of the planet we're actually on is far more important imo. I wouldn't personally go to outer space. Is it okay for men to wear makeup? What’s your opinion of male crossdressers? It's totally okay! Guys with makeup can be super attractive. Crossdressers, too. Go for it. You’re in a new relationship and your partner admits that they have had 14 sexual partners. Does that sound like a lot to you? For me personally, yes. I don't even know if I'd date someone with 14 past sexual partners, honestly. I would admittedly question their loyalty. Would you let your children under 13 watch movies with full nudity? No. If someone asked you, “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” would you know the answer right away? I would. What is your opinion concerning strip clubs? Not my scene at all, but so long as you respect the dancers, whatever. You do you.

[fullsunalicia]

It’s alright!! Maybe Kun x idol reader? Her group and wayv collab and they’re paired up. I can’t think of a good scenario :(

perfect duo — QK

when two vocalists meet, they create love in the shape of a ballad. though, slowly you’re thinking, it’s not only the song you’re pouring your heart into - but also in the flawless man that is qian kun.

dw bubs that’s a good scenario!! i’m still sorry idk the movie, forgive me for being uncultured 🥺 but i hope you’ll like this!

[01:22pm] qian kun: hey! what’s ur favorite coffee? i’ll bring some to the studio :)

[01:23pm] qian kun: oh, and don’t think about paying me back - it’s on me!

“A man after my own heart,” is the very first thing you say to Kun when he first steps into the room, armed with two to-go gups. He grins and sets them down so he can stretch out his hand as a greeting, and you take it. His grip is firm and reassuring. Both of you burst out into laughter as you try to “out-bow” each other, and you settle on admitting defeat so you can sit down and talk.

It’s a wonder you even manage to speak. Qian Kun is beautiful, breathtakingly so. You had known of him for a long time, since he had debuted before you. It was a big honor that this collaboration was able to happen, and with a lot of luck, you were chosen to participitate in it. Not only is Kun a feast for the eyes, his voice is pure honey, too.

To put it short, you’re basically collaborating with your celebrity crush. And you’re desperately trying to stay professional. But how does one manage to do that, when Kun smiles in such a cute manner while he offers you the coffee?

You jolt yourself out of your daydreams and accept the drink with just as big of a smile. “Thank you so much,” you tell him, and Kun waves you off. “I’ve been craving one all morning, but today it was a little busy in the dorms, so I decided against coffee and for being punctual.”

“I would’ve forgiven you, anyways. Enjoy your coffee.”

He’s assertive, as expected for a leader. But it’s not an order, at least Kun doesn’t deliver it that way. Softly spoken, kindly. It’s a favor you instinctually want to do. So you reach for your cup, and the smile you get as a reward makes your heart flutter.

You really like Kun. He shines with his personality and his looks, and in that way, he’s flawless. Of course you know he’s only human and just like you, he’s adapted to conceal his bad habits. But he’s the closest to what you consider perfect.

“So, what kind of song do you want to go for?

You lean away from the cup. “Well, I’d love to go for a romantic song,” you offer. Even though it’s your idea, the heat starts settling in your cheeks. “I’ve never really written or sung a ballad before, since my group isn’t going for that concept right now. So I’d love to experiment with that, and try it out... If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You’ve never been in love before. But if you had to describe it, maybe it’s the fuzzy feeling Kun sets off in your heart and in your head when he beams at you, nodding quickly as a sign that he supports your idea. “Sure!” the young man says. “I would love to, (y/n). I can’t wait to hear your precious voice in a slow song.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Kun ends up taking you out as “inspiration”. Though you always need to dress up as to not be caught by fans, it’s still quite fun to watch Kun stress over where he’s gonna take you. You know he’s very strict when it comes to work, yet he still enjoys spending time with you as a person aswell. To him, you’re (y/n) first, idol second.

Many afternoons are spent working on the song together, though you’re only concentrated on the melody and composition right now. You’ve helped with composing on your own group’s songs, but songwriting is something you’ve never dabbled in, and Kun promises to help you. You also manage to wrangle the promise out of him to cook for you some time.

That’s how you end up here, at the WayV dorm, 8pm in the evening.

You should never mix work with pleasure, or in this case, a crush. It’s useless - you can’t help yourself to grasp at every chance you can get to spend time with the dreamy man who’s managed to charm you in just a month’s time.

Something in you wants to scold you for being unprofesssional. Come to your senses and leave. But the other half of you is cheering you on and wants to spend the next few hours listening to Kun’s warm laughter, no matter how late it gets. So you raise your hand and knock, excitement setting every nerve in you ablaze. You’ve never met his members before, so you’re not sure what to expect.

The face which welcomes you inside is a familiar one. Dong Sicheng gifts you with a grin as he opens the door open wide and asks you to come in, closing it behind you when you take his advice. “The woman of the hour,” he hums. “Kun’s been really excited for you to come. He cooks for us often, but it’s been long since he went all out for someone that isn’t a birthday boy in our group. We’re glad you’re here, (y/n).”

“Thank you for having me.” The smile you both share soothes your mind, and you let him hang up your coat while you stroll into the living room. The only way to find Kun is to follow the heavenly scent that belongs to the food he’s cooking up. Meat is sizzling in a pan while Kun stirs what you assume are noodles, broad back turned to you.

Perfect for back hugs. But no, that’d be invading his personal space. So you clear your throat to alert him about your presence, and you grin when he turns to look at you. “Good evening, Chef Qian.”

“It’s certainly good now that you’ve arrived.” Kun laughs and momentarily abandons the counter to embrace you. As always, the action makes your cheeks take on all fifty shades of red, and you hope he just doesn’t take notice of it. “Sit, dinner’s almost done. I hope you like your steak medium rare.”

“I do, actually,” you hum. Despite him being busy with conjuring up a nice meal for the both of you, everything is clean and tidy. That makes you jealous. Whenever the members and you cook, it takes hours to clean up, and the dishes are often made your duty. “How’s it going with our little love song?”

“Almost finished. But we’re not talking work today.” Kun shuffles away from the stove to grab some glasses out of a cupboard. He places both of them infront of you, and seconds later, Kun fills them with wine and pushes the drink closer to you. “We’re playing 20 questions today, like the children we are. I think I have to find out more about the woman I’m going to serenade to, don’t you think?”

You try to ignore how your heart starts racing at that, but that’s an impossible task. “Romeo didn’t have to know Juliet to serenade her,” you giggle, and Kun juts out his lower lip in a fake pout. “Are you that unserious about our relationship? Ouch. Maybe we should turn it into a break-up song.”

“Absolutely not. No man who’s mentally sound would ever break up with a woman like you.”

The words seem to suprise you both, even though it was Kun who said them aloud. He escapes confrontation by turning back around to the food, the sound of his utensils scraping the pan snapping you out of a trance. “You think?” you hear youself ask.

Kun looks over his shoulders. This time, he’s absolutely serious.

“I don’t think, I know, (y/n),” the man assures you, completely unaware of the butterflies he brings to life in your stomach. “You’re wonderful. There’s no need to be humble - confidence looks good on you, just like anything else you set your mind to.”

Turns out that WayV’s vocalist is quite the charmer. You never move from the kitchen as the night progresses, opting to sit there together. Occassionaly, he scoops up a piece of his own steak to offer it to you, and you welcome it with open arms mouth. It tastes absolutely amazing. You now understand why his group members are swooning about the food all the time. From time to time, his knee brushes yours, setting off electric currents where your bodies meet. He doesn’t shy back from fixing your hair or raising your head with a finger below your chin.

You really should’ve ran when you had the chance. Now you’re into deep, fallen right into the honeytrap that is Qian Kun.

Though, it doesn’t bother you. Never do you recoil from his touch or do not seek out the chance to be close to him, and meetings where you should be working, you spent talking and ranting. He vents about his stress and pressure as a leader, while you are given the space to confess how underapprecuated you sometimes feel as the vocalist of the group, and how hard you have to work for the company to realize your worth.

You understand each other. Kun and you just click. That’s why it doesn’t take the man long to understand that he sees you as way more than just a colleague and more like a girl he’d like to sweep off her feet. He wants to be the one you entrust all your secrets too, and he wants to be the one you smile at when you’re happy or excited. When you feel upset, Kun wants to be one to hold you close and protect you from the rest of the world. Most of all, he’d like to be the first person in your head to share good news with.

Crushing on an idol is really complicated. Especially when you’re an idol, yourself. Now, Kun has to struggle with work stress and non-existent relationship stress, because he wants it to be real.

And he wants to know whether you would want that, too.

❀ ❀ ❀

Kun is the last person to be careless or scatterbrained when it comes to work, or his fans, or an award show. But when Ten spends the entire evening making fun of him for not approaching you, he can’t help himself from pulling you aside the second you step off the stage after accepting an award.

He pulls you into an (thankfully) empty room, quickly locking the door behind you. You want to question his actions since this seems so unlike the man you’ve been getting to know in the past few weeks, but you’re not given the chance as Kun pulls you into his arms and holds you tightly against his chest. The scent of expensive perfume mingling with his own fragrance makes you dizzy, yet your arms move on instinct to wrap themselves around his neck and pull him as close as humanly possible.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kun whispers against the shell of your ear. Goosebumps adorn your skin seconds after, both pleasant and infuriating. You wish you could kiss him. “I knew you could do it. You’re such a talented singer, the people would have to be deaf not to vote your group. You all did well. But I’m especially proud of my (y/n).”

The praise rings in your ears and makes your stomach flip. Coming from him, it sounds beyond sensual, and you’re glad he’s holding you up right now. “Your (y/n)?” you question.

His hands settle on your lower back. “Do you not want to be?”

“I do.” No hesitation, no need to think about it. It’s funny he thinks you aren’t already his, when he’s got you in the palms of his hands, free to do with you whatever he desires. You’d let him. No matter what Qian Kun would ask of you, you’d let him.

You don’t know when your heart had decided to be his and his only. Maybe it was when he carried you home after dressing up nicely for a restaurant Kun liked and your high heels were starting to hurt your feet. Maybe it was when he kept believing in you as you practiced hard for your comeback, or when he had sent you all the supportive voicemails when you couldn’t meet. Perhaps it was meant to be all along.

You’re just glad it happened.

“That‘s good.” Kun holds your waist against his, grip tight, but his eyes soft when he leans back to lock gazes with you. Your favorite paradox. “I’m excited for writing on our song tomorrow. Don’t be late, my (y/n)ie.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Kun’s hand on your thigh is very distracting. Distraction isn’t very good when you’ve never written a song in your life before and are expected to finish this piece before the deadline that’s been stressing both Kun and you out.

You space out way too many times during this session than affordable, but it’s hard to concentrate when Kun keeps carding his fingers through your hair or complimenting you for several minutes straight.

Working on a song has never taken so long.

Thankfully, Kun decides to cut to the chase when you pout in the most adorable way because the text keeps annoying you. “Okay, that’s it,” he mumbles, and then he just reaches over to hoist you up into his lap.

Your hands fly to steady yourself on his shoulder. “Kun!”

“(y/n),” he deadpans. “We both haven’t been concentrating on the task at hand for the past hour now and I’m not the guy to slack off at work. So I have to get rid off what’s holding me back.”

You swallow audibly. „And... what‘s that?“

Kun grips your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. His gaze makes your insides melt, and you‘re suprised you‘re not turning to a puddle on top of him. „I can‘t stop thinking about all the words I want to say to you instead of putting them into the song,“ the vocalist confesses. „I keep thinking about verses I want to tell you because I adore you and you‘re running around in my head all the time. It‘s not song text. It‘s just the words my heart‘s been carrying for you, and I want you to hear them. I like you, (y/n). A lot.“

All the stress you‘ve been experiencing lately seem to be disappear with just one confession. Like a heavy weight that‘s been lifted off you, you‘re finally able to breathe freely and the giddy smile caused by that is uncontainable. „I like you too,“ you admit to him, heart soaring when he breathes out in relief. Your hands wander from his shoulders to his cheeks to cradle his perfect face in your hands. „I like-like you.“

„Oh yeah? How much?“

It‘s childish, but it still makes you happy that Kun craves reassurance from you. He lets you trace his cheekbones and mess up his hair while you mumble: „Very, very, very much.“

Kun curls both arms around your waist, tight grip keeping you in your place. „Stop being so cute, (y/n),“ he orders you, voice serious, but there‘s a hint of amusement in his eyes before he closes the gap to kiss you. It‘s lovely and heartwarming and leaves you wanting for more when he parts from you, teeth tugging at your lower lip before he lets go. „I know it‘ll be hard because we‘re both idols... But I promise to love you always. That I will always take the time to be there for you, and I‘ll do anything to make this work.“

„That‘s all I ask for.“

The text writes itself so much better when its‘ authors are lovers and partners. It‘s filled with love declarations and unspoken admiration, the result of pining after the other for such a long time. Honestly, you wouldn‘t want it any other way. In the end, Kun and you found each other, and that is the best possible ending there is to this song.

When your song storms the charts and earns you an award at the next show, Kun doesn‘t shy away from shamelessly kissing you infront of Ten as he lifts you in the air. Though, Ten is quickly comforted by the celebration of your shared win over a bottle of champagne and Kun‘s amazing food.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hey there! I'm not sure if you've seen this movie ( Mr. & Mrs. Smith ) but can you write a Mr. & Mrs. Morgan fight scene against each other that leads them to having rough sex? Reader can be with the O'Driscolls gang or something, that makes them fight. Up to you.

Hello Anon! I have seen Mr and Mrs Smith once and it was a long time ago, but I remember the general plot. Hopefully I have kept within your idea of this and it does your request justice. Note, I am not a huge fan of rough sex so the smut might be super tame in comparison to other writers. 

Warnings: swearing, smut, high angst

You stare down at the table, your fingers brushing the cut-out article from a newspaper. There’s no picture to the article, just a header. “Van der Linde Gang still at large”. You’ve read it a hundred times by now. It talks about the notorious Dutch Van der Linde, Hosea Matthews, and a few other names, including your husband’s, Arthur Morgan. A large amount of money is being offered for each person mentioned, Dutch being the highest at $20,000. Arthur himself has a decent amount of $5,000. 

You were angry when you first read the article, when Colm brought it to your attention. You’ve run with his gang since you were just a teen with your older brother. It was your brother’s idea to join the O’Driscoll’s, he’d disguised you as a boy since Colm didn’t take women on. You already knew how to shoot a gun and ride a horse luckily, which was fine since Colm didn’t allow men into his gang who couldn’t do both. Although you were disguised as a boy, it didn’t take long for your real gender to be revealed. One of Colm’s boys spotted you when you were bathing in a river and let your secret out. Colm almost shot you in the head, stating women just slowed them down and you’d deceived him. Your brother defended you, pointing out that you were one of the best shots. Colm hesitatingly agreed, but he didn’t want you camping with his boys, declaring you would be little more than a distraction. 

As payment for your work and loyalty to the gang, he told you to live at one of his cabins he used a frequent hideout. You weren’t thrilled with this seeming demotion on your status, but you knew Colm’s temper had an extremely short fuse, so you didn’t argue. Only a few weeks after you were stationed, Colm collected you to help him investigate an incident at Six Point Cabin, another one of his hideouts. He nearly stationed you there and was thinking of moving you there now. When you two arrived, the place was littered with the bodies of your gang, including your brother’s. It crushed you seeing your brother like that and Colm offered no words of comfort. He was angry and he knew immediately this was Van der Linde’s work.  

You heard the name Van der Linde thrown around enough times. The man was a professional at stealing Colm’s scores. Not that Colm’s record against Dutch was clean. You heard the other men talk about how he killed Dutch’s lover Annabelle. Seems the two men were constantly trying to rob and kill each other. Six Point Cabin was when Colm gave you the article, stating that he was going to come up with a plan to somehow get a hold of Dutch and take him and his boys to Blackwater, turn them in for all that money, and then the gang would flee down to Mexico. He told you to take point in this cabin from now on as the Van der Linde’s were unlikely to return. 

The article hadn’t been a surprise to you. What had been a shock was reading your husband’s name. You’d been married to Arthur for over a year and he never mentioned he was in a gang, nonetheless Colm’s adversarial gang. Sure, he’d revealed before you were married that he was an outlaw, which was why he couldn’t stay in one place for too long. You’d lied too, stating you were a waitress in the Valentine saloon. You covered your knowledge of fighting by saying your family were hunters before they’d died in a terrible snowstorm, which was partially true. You had enough knowledge of hunting that he bought it. Now you’re conflicted though. When you first read the article, you thought maybe there’d been some misidentity or perhaps it was a different Arthur Morgan. However, plagued by fears, you dug into the Blackwater massacre and your Arthur was unquestionably the one mentioned in the article. Now you’re torn between your loyalty to your gang, whom your brother died for, and your loyalty to your husband. 

Arthur’s a wonderful husband, there’s no question about that. Were he not pursued by the law, he’d definitely be happy to settle down with you and make a proper family life for you. Many nights you’ve spent with him talking about how things could be if neither of you were so wanted (though he knew nothing of the price on your head). Arthur visits at least once every two weeks, sometimes having to travel for hours in order to do so, and he stays for a few days. When he’s with you, you both spend the time with lots of cuddles, kisses and sex. Arthur’s a pro at knowing how to satisfy you and you know exactly which of his buttons to push to make him fall head-over-heels for you all over again. 

When he arrives for each visit, he always brings something for you. Usually it’s money since he believes you’re a struggling waitress in Valentine (which you don’t try convincing him otherwise). He often brings flowers, books, jewelry, and other kinds of supplies. You always offer him lots of types of food since you spend most of your time at Six Point Cabin. You learned to cook from a young age and you prefer using fresh ingredients. You have enough time to collect fresh game and herbs too, being a watcher of Colm’s hideout. Arthur’s your top fan when it comes to your food, stating you could cook for a governor. He never leaves hungry after visiting you and you make sure his satchel is laden with snacks you’ve made from scratch. 

You pick up the article and reread it, your stomach clenching when you read Arthur’s name again. Colm visited only a few days ago. It’s been a couple of weeks since the attack on Six Point. You’d asked him during his visit if he knew which one of Dutch’s boys was responsible for the ambush. 

“Oh Dutch himself wouldn’t do this,” Colm stated. “Killing my men and your brother weren’t important enough for him to grace his presence on.” He inspected the bodies of the men, noting how many of them have been shot in the eye. “I bet that sniveling coward Kieran led his boys here, but this work says his number one gun led the charge.” 

“Who’s his number one gun?” you ask, praying he won’t say who you’re thinking it is. 

“Name’s Arthur Morgan. He’s this real big guy, almost a shame he ain’t runnin’ with us. We’d do real well with a fella like him.”

You wanted to vomit when Colm said this. The thought that your husband was the one who killed your brother was a detestable idea. However, as time has passed since Colm told you Arthur was the likely culprit, it’s begun to fester in your mind. If Colm finds out Arthur is your husband, he’ll shoot you before you even have the chance to tell him you’ve had no dealings with the Van der Linde gang. Yet if Arthur finds out your place with the O’Driscoll’s, you’re just as frightened. You’re much more frightened of losing him than Colm killing you. The man’s a bastard and you’ve only stayed in his gang because there is no getting out of his gang. To get out means to die. Not only that, your brother died for them. It’d be an insult to his memory to abandon this gang. 

Arthur’s visited once since you learned of your brother’s death. He didn’t act any different, but he knew something was off about you. You blamed it on just feeling under the weather and he coddled you, clearly trying to help you feel better. You couldn’t tell him though that you felt horrible because you were terrified you might be looking at your brother’s killer. He’d left two days later when he was sure you were feeling better (you lied and said you were). Colm came by a few days after that. 

“Colm, you still thinking of moving on with this plan to capture Van der Linde?” you asked, hoping he’d changed his mind. 

“Course. That’s a lot of money sitting on his head. We’re gonna run down to Mexico when we got him. Why you askin’, Y/N? Got somethin’ to say?” 

Your stomach felt cold when he asked you this and something in his eyes glittered accusingly. “N-no, sir. Just wanted to know the plan since I’m not running with you all the time anymore.” 

“I see,” he said greasily. “Well, I went around talkin’ to some folk, mentioned they met a feller sounds an awful lot like Morgan in the Valentine bar. They said he was drunk and talkin’ about how amazing his wife is. Now I ain’t spoken with Morgan in a long time, but I don’t recall him ever being married. Not only that, Malken and Henderson saw him in this area only a few days ago. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would ya?” 

You put on a poker face as best you could. “Course not, Colm. I don’t even know what Morgan looks like. All I know is what you’ve told me about him.”

“So if I brought you a newspaper article saying he’s been arrested and going to hang real soon, you wouldn’t care?” 

That’s when you know you’re secret’s out. Somehow, Colm’s found out. However, you won’t confess. Not yet. To confess now would promise a bullet into your skull. “No, I wouldn’t care, Colm. One less Van der Linde we’d have to worry about.” 

He nodded and then said he was leaving. “I’ll be back in a few days. I think this cabin ain’t a very good spot for you no more. The boys and I will collect you when we’ve found somewhere more… suitable.” 

Without a doubt, Colm’s promising to come back and kill you in front of the entire gang. An example of what will happen to anyone fraternizing with Dutch’s boys. You ponder on the wisdom of running away, but several of Colm’s boys are expert tracksmen. They’ll find you before you have the chance to even get to a different state. You realize the safest place for you is to be within Arthur’s gang. It might mean this Dutch will kill you, but Arthur sounds like he holds a high place of authority and he might be able to protect you. From what Colm was making it sound like, he’s been spending a lot of time in Valentine. That’s where you are now, sitting at the bar in the saloon with the article Colm gave you sitting in front of you. You throw your whiskey back when the door opens. 

“Darlin’, what ya doin’ here?” says a familiar voice. 

Looking over, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. “Arthur, I need your help with something. Ride home with me. I’ll explain, but I have some questions for you. Questions I need you to be honest about.” 

His face is serious. “A’right. Lead the way.” 

You don’t speak the entire ride back to your cabin, you’re not sure how to bring the subject up to him. He’s going to be angry, sure, when you tell him the truth. However, it’s the only way you can protect yourself since Colm’s already planning to kill you. When the cabin’s peaking through the trees, the river burbles happily not far from it. You dismount and take a few steps away from him. Finally, you turn. 

“Arthur, did you recently visit a place called Six Point Cabin a few weeks back? Maybe ran into a bunch of boys you might call the O’Driscoll’s?” 

“How you know about that, Y/N?” 

You don’t answer him straight away. “Did you see a man with a big patch of dark skin on the right side of his neck?” you ask. Your brother had a huge birthmark on his neck, which gave him the nickname Pinto in the gang. 

“Again, how do you know this, Y/N?”

“Just answer the question, Arthur, please!” 

He blinks at you, his hands on his hips. “Yeah, yeah I think I saw a feller with a mark like that.” 

“Did you kill him?” 

He sighs. “Yes I killed him, but he was shootin’ at me, darlin’, so it was him or me. Now why you askin’ me about this?” 

Your eyes tear up a bit and you bite your lip. “He was my brother, Arthur.”

His brow lowers. “You never told me you had a brother, nonetheless one who was an O’Driscoll? Those boys are nothin’ but bastards who have no moral code.” 

“Funny, he said the same thing about your gang.” 

“How’d you find out about my gang?” 

You wring your hands. “I… read about it. In the paper.”

Arthur takes a menacing step towards you. “So your brother was an O’Driscoll and I shot him in the head. But like I said, he was shootin’ at me.” 

“From what I heard, you were the ones who ambushed him and the others. Sounds like he was just defending himself, Arthur.” 

As if on cue, you both whip out your pistols and point them at each other. Arthur’s eyes gleam with pain and betrayal. “You’re an O’Driscoll, ain’t ya?” 

“And you’re a Van der Linde! Pretty high up in the hierarchy too from what Colm said. Your boss has been stealin’ a lot of scores from us, we’ve had to work twice as hard to get by.” 

“Yeah, and your boss has killed a lot of us, including Dutch’s girl. Not only that, they’ve stolen scores from us too. Which one is harder to replace, darlin’? People or money?” 

“You tell me, Arthur. You killed my brother! He practically raised me and if it wasn’t for him, I’d have died years ago.” 

Arthur narrows his eyes, he almost seems sorry. “So what you gonna do, darlin’? Kill me? Your brother’s first mistake was joinin’ Colm’s boys. He’s honestly lucky he lasted that long, as are you.” 

His words sting and you fire first, not aiming to kill him but your anger has fueled your trigger. He dodges behind a tree and then fires back at you. A boulder provides cover for you. The next few moments pass quickly and you exchange gunshots, darting between trees and boulders. You’re standing on the porch of the cabin and Arthur gets a particularly good shot, barely missing your foot. You hop out of the way and end up crashing into the cabin. Now you’re truly screwed. The cabin’s just one big room and there’s nowhere to hide. You back into it and stand close to the fireplace. 

Arthur marches into the door, his teeth bared and his eyes flashing with anger. You point your gun and pull the trigger, but it clicks. You’re out of ammo. You pull the trigger again and the same thing happens. 

“Time to stop runnin’, Y/N,” he says, his pistol pointed at you. 

You lower your gun, panting, and then drop it. “You’re right. Go ahead then, Arthur. I’m a dead woman anyways. Colm… he found out. About you and me. One of his boys must have talked. So even if you decide to just take pity on me and leave now, I’ll be dead in a few days. He’s coming for me, plans to make an example I imagine. Please, Arthur. Just pull the trigger. If I have to pick between a quick death and a slow one, I’ll choose quick.” 

He breathes hard for a moment and then lowers his gun. “I ain’t gonna kill ya, sweetheart. Your brother may have been a fool for gettin’ involved with Colm, but sounds like he cared about ya a lot and you’re only alive now because of him. I’m sorry I shot him, darlin’, but even though we’re in different gang, I made an oath when I married ya. I promised to protect ya. I ain’t lettin’ that bastard kill ya.” 

He walks slowly over to you, holstering his guns. You look up at him, a flicker of hope rising in your chest. 

“Arthur, Colm will know you’re protecting me. He’ll hunt you down even more than he is now. He… he’s planning on getting to Dutch somehow, turn him into the authorities in Blackwater, collect the money and run to Mexico.”

“That ain’t happenin’, darlin’. Dutch ain’t that stupid. But you and I…” the energy between you crackles. “You and I have a lot to discuss if this marriage is gonna continue to work. I want it to work. I love ya still, despite all this.” 

You leap forward and kiss him hard. The last thing you want is for your marriage to end because you made some poor choices in your youth. Arthur’s arms wind around you and then tangle into your hair. He pulls your head back and kisses your neck, his tongue coming out. Still fueled by adrenaline, you feel a sudden urge to fuck him. 

Panting slightly, you look Arthur in the eyes. “How about we start working on fixin’ this marriage right now, Arthur?”

Arthur suddenly rips your shirt open and tips you backwards on the table. He kisses you hard as he strips off your shirt and your chemise, his hands automatically finding your nipples. He’s only seen and felt them a hundred times before now, but he acts like this is the first time. He kisses you hard and then he leans up, his hands leaving your body. 

“Strip,” he says as he begins removing his own clothes. You can’t help but giggle as you stand up to take off your pants. As soon as you’re both naked, Arthur grabs you and puts you back onto the table. He kisses you as his cock brushes your folds. You bite his lower lip and he pulls away just slightly so your lips can’t touch anymore. 

“I want ya to touch yourself,” he says. You blush. He’s never asked you to do this, preferring to touch you himself. 

“Don’t you wanna do it?” you gasp as he grabs your legs and puts your feet on the edge of the table, spreading your knees so you’re exposed. 

“I wanna watch you get yourself off,” he says, his deep voice going through your body. His hands leave you and he takes a step back, his eyes on your lower half. Even from here, you can see he’s breathing hard as he waits for you, expectantly. 

You haven’t touched yourself since before you got married to Arthur. You haven’t had to. The thought of your own hands getting yourself off turns you on though, so you slide your fingers down and begin stroking your clit. You lay your head on the table, closing your eyes as you touch yourself. One hand circles your clit, studying your own nub as the other goes to your entrance. You open your eyes and see Arthur still standing there, his hands pulling on his cock as he watches you. Your eyes go down to his length, he’s already dripping. 

“You like what you see?” you ask, circling again and again. He nods and you press your fingers harder against yourself, going a bit faster. He must be able to hear how wet you are as your fingers stroke; he begins pumping himself a bit faster. As you get yourself closer to your release, your hips begin thrusting up and down slowly. Before long, you’re letting go to your own hand. 

When you come down, you look at Arthur and he’s standing between your legs. He grabs you, pulls you off the table and turns you around so your back is facing him. He bends you forward and spreads your legs, his cock finding your entrance easily. He plants his hands beside yours as he begins pushing himself into you forcefully. Then one hand grabs your hip, holding you close and his other goes up to your breast, fiddling with your nipple. You gasp in his grip as he moves fast, his cock sliding in and out of you. His lips kiss where your shoulder meets your neck and he nips you, making you hiss. 

This is new for Arthur, for you. All the times you’ve had sex with him, he’s been gentle unless you asked him to be rough. Now he’s pushing himself hard, his hands squeezing almost too tight on your hip and nipple. You have to stiffen your arms in order to prevent collapsing onto the table from the force of his bucking. 

“Arthur,” you say, trying to get him to acknowledge your discomfort, although you wonder if he doesn’t care in the light of your newly exposed secrets. You feel a twinge of guilt and realize you don’t get the luxury of him making you feel good right now. Not after how much you’ve lied to him. You hang your head and want to cry, but you’re sure he’ll become angry if you do. You can’t help it though as he pounds into you. Tears begin leaking from your eyes. 

“Am I hurtin’ ya?” he asks, suddenly stopping mid-thrust. His question does the trick and you let go. You’d be lying if you said his force and angle didn’t hurt just enough you won’t be able to orgasm from this.  

“N-no,” you say. “It’s not you. Keep going though, Arthur, you deserve to do this to me.” 

He suddenly pulls out of you and turns you around to face him. His hands go to your face and he brushes your hair away, rubbing your cheeks dry. His eyes are soft and betray his worry. He kisses you softly. 

“I want ya to feel good,” he says, taking you by surprise. 

“Why?” you say. 

“Because I love ya, despite all this. Darlin’, I love ya so much.”

“But I’ve lied to you. Hurt you.” 

“I know,” he says softly. “But you ain’t the only one. I’ve lied too. Not only that, I took your brother away from you. I ain’t ever gonna forgive myself for that.” He kisses you softly.  

You smile up at him and then lay down onto the table, spreading your legs. “Well, in that case, do what you must. Show me how sorry you are.” 

He smiles and pumps his cock again, making it stiffen up once more. He pushes back into you and starts to buck. This angle is much better as he can brush your spot. You close your eyes as your body moves from his force. His hands go to your hips, pushing you down onto him when he pushes in, allowing him to pound into you. You plant your feet onto the table again, giving him a better angle and your hand slides down to your slit. You’re hungry for the stimulation to your clit. When you begin brushing, you groan audibly. The sounds you make cause him to buck faster. 

“Always thought you sounded so pretty when I’m fuckin’ you,” he growls. You open your eyes and find his. The blue is so pretty and the intensity of them makes you rub even faster. It doesn’t take long before you’re going off again. Arthur doesn’t stop thrusting though as you clench your teeth and tip your head back, letting go. Your hand stops and he pushes it out of the way, stroking your clit. He wants to prolong your orgasm, you realize. 

“A-Arthur!” you whine as your orgasm rocks through your body. He still pounds into you, his fingers circling your clit. He gives it a quick flick and your hips thrust up. “I’m coming!” you grunt loudly. You feel as though you’re levitating, or perhaps your soul’s leaving your body. Thankfully, his hand stops and he goes back to thrusting your hips in time to his. 

You come down from your high, your hair planted to your neck. He grins down at you wickedly and continues pumping into you. His eyes glue themselves to your bouncing breasts. His hips suddenly snap against yours and he pulls out quickly, his hot seed spilling onto your stomach. When he’s done, he pants above you, his cock growing soft again. 

“Fuck,” he says. You’re breathing heavily and you reach up, pulling him down for a long kiss. He pulls away after a moment and reaches into his satchel, pulling out a cloth and cleaning you up. You sit up when he’s done and look at him hard, feeling relaxed in the wake of your passions. 

“Okay, Arthur. We need to talk about what’s going to happen. To us.” 

Arthur sits beside you on the table, your arms brushing. He grabs your hand and kisses it. “Well, I thought that’d be rather obvious, darlin’. I’m bringin’ ya with me to my gang. We’re out in a place called Horseshoe Overlook. Real pretty, think you’d like it.” 

“What about Dutch?” you ask. “Won’t he try to kill me when he finds out?” 

“He’ll be angry sure, and he probably won’t ever trust ya. You’ll have to work extra hard, but I’ll be with ya every step of the way. Dutch knows not to interfere with my family.” 

“Does he know you’re married?” 

He smiles. “I think he and Hosea know I’m involved with a woman, though I doubt they know I’m married. Dutch knows though that I’ll go where you go, he ain’t got a say in that. And I know he wants me around. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe, darlin’. Especially if you got some dirt to dig up on Colm. As long as you don’t try hidin’ what you know, you’ll be fine. That’s the mistake Kieran made. Wouldn’t speak even when we starved and beat him. Had to threaten him with Bill’s geldin’ tongs.”

“So you’re saying that as long as I speak up before they have a chance to torture me, I’ll be fine?” 

“Yes and no. Like I said, don’t think Dutch will ever trust ya.” 

“I didn’t stay in the gang for Colm. That man’s a bastard and I’d like nothing more than to see him shot. I stayed for my brother. I would have left the gang as soon as I found out he was dead, but Colm doesn’t allow deserters. Either you’re an O’Driscoll or you’re dead.” 

“I understand, darlin’. And if that’s the case, it might make Dutch be a little more lenient on ya.” He squeezes your hand again. “Now how about you and I go somewhere I can keep ya safe? Or would you prefer we go another round again?” 

You smile at him. “I think one more round sounds nice.”

[peachyteabuck]

eye on the prize

summary: commission for astrid, who asked for chris evans x reader interview fluff.

pairing: chris evans x reader

words: 3,006

trigger warnings: RPF, slow burn, heavy flirtation, idiots in love, nondescript mentions of misogyny in the media as a business, a likely poorly reconstructed timeline (time fake and reality is a construct!)

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The hotel bed is large, big enough for four of you. The blankets are thick and the soft, the pillows a perfect balance of structured but plush. Sunbeams stream onto the mused sheets, warming your face. It’s nice, but only as nice as the calm before a major tropical storm can be. As your phone alarm blares next to you, you start to wonder if being caught in a category five hurricane would be better than press junkets.

A whole day talking to people about a movie you made months ago that you know jack shit about. Sometimes you have nightmares about giving a book report on a novel you’ve never even opened (you’re how old? And high school is still haunting you? Jesus, you need to go back to therapy) that cause you to break out in a cold sweat and kick all the covers from your bed and buy a bunch of stuff online to distract yourself from your racing heart and shaking hands.

Still, those are never as bad as interviewers asking about character arcs and plotlines and your relationship with actors you’ve barely (if ever) met and whatever else a normal interviewer would ask a normal interviewee when all you know is your character, the fact that she does shit with magic, and she’s Dr. Strange’s daughter. Anything other than that is anyone’s guess.

Your stylist and makeup artists are the ones to eventually drag you out of bed and plop you into hair and makeup after squeezing you into an incredibly tight pair of jeans and a non-controversial sweater. The forty-five minutes are a complete blur, but then again, nothing feels real until Sebastian hands you a large coffee in a travel cup that bares no logo or other kind of copywritten signifier – your knight in shining…cardboard? What are travel coffee cups even made of? Paper? Can paper even “shine?”

You’re nearly purring when the taste of caramel macchiato burns your tongue. “Ah. Thanks, Seb. I appreciate it.”

Sebastian shrugs, sipping at his own drink masquerading as generic brand. “No problem. I didn’t want you to bite an interviewer’s head off this morning. Or worse, mine.”

You play-hit him in the face and laugh with him, making small talk and trying to kill the time before the mind-numbingly long day really begins. You’re halfway through a rant about the woes of make up artists trying to put you in a full face of makeup to a man who barely has to put on concealer, the fucking asshat, when Chris makes an appearance.

“Hey, guys,” he’s is also drinking coffee from the unmarked travel cups. He looks you up and down before taking another sip. “You look really nice today.”

You blush, smoothing out your sweater – one of the color-blocked ones that sits at the intersection of casual, feminine, and not-intimidating. “Thanks, you too.”

Sebastian’s about to say something snarky when someone wearing a headset calls upon the three of you.

“Let’s get going, people!” she calls, ushering you into three barely-comfortable seats. You’re between Chris and Sebastian, the sheer mass of them making you feel approximately three feet tall. It doesn’t take much to forget how large they both are – even if Sebastian doesn’t weight two hundred pounds anymore and Chris was able to tone down his exercise regime since finishing Infinity War, you still feel like you’re sitting at the big-kid table for the first time.

The first interviewer is from some YouTube channel you only know because your fourteen-year-old niece gushes about them every family dinner. The woman who sits in front of you is young, cute. Dresses trendy, dark eye makeup and red lips.

She’s nice, too, along with being knowledgeable about the projects of each of you. She banters with Sebastian about his seven million movies before turning to you.  

The interviewer turns to you. “And you! You’re nominated for some pretty major awards!”

You smile wide, unable to help yourself. “Yeah, best actress and best original score.”

“That’s so cool,” Chris mumbles. You blush and pretend not to hear him as you speak again.

“It’s just super crazy,” you tell the interviewer. “Not even gonna lie. When I was younger, I would look at stars who like, cried when they found out they were nominated. Not even winning, just their name shows up on the ballot. But now I’m like, it’s me, two-time Grammy nominee! I was nominated for a Grammy, twice!”

Sebastian chimes in, laughing. “When we were at bunch together, I got there early and the caterer showed up and they were like, we’re here for the two-time Grammy nominee?”

“You had a brunch?” The interviewer asks.

You nod. “Yeah, I bunch of the Avengers cast and the cast from my last movie were in my hometown, which is super rare, so I hosted this giant brunch-”

“As one does,” Sebastian chimes in with a crooked smile.

You nearly hit him. “Yes! As I do! I wanted to see all my friends, whom I love, so I host a brunch. Sue me! Anyway…I hosted this brunch and invited a bunch of people over. Just a bunch of my favorite food from my favorite restaurants. Everyone I’d wanted to see for such a long time was there. It was amazing.”

The interviewer paints a faux frown across her face, looking at the man on your right. “Chris, you look very sad.”

“I didn’t get invited to the brunch,” Chris frowns. Unlike the woman in front of you, he looks genuinely sad. A twinge of pain bounces in your ribcage, and you rub his cardigan-clad back

“You were out doing Broadway shit!” you laugh. “You were halfway across the country!”

Chris continues to frown, staring at the printed-out pictures from the social medias of various guests. A few are from yours – you in a flowy sundress with your head thrown back laughing, a shot of you and a few of your friends from college drinking alcohol in the bright mid-afternoon sun. One you recognize from Sebastian’s Instagram, another from Hemsworth’s. A few from Twitter of a few of your non-movie-star friends. You look so happy in all of them, so beautiful in each shot. “I still wanted to be invited.”

You just roll your eyes. “Okay, call me when you’re in my region of the country and I’ll host a brunch,” You touch your forefinger to his nose. Chris blushes, profusely, in his cheeks and his ears. “just for you and me.”

You don’t hear much after that, too focused on Chris’ eyes meeting yours and his small smile. You’re taken aback by how sweet, tender he looks, and before you know it the interviewer is saying goodbye and the next one is taking her place.

It’s a man this time, a little older than the last one with artsy facial hair and a button hip. He mostly pays attention to the two men and soon your brain goes on battery-saver and you’re lost in your own thoughts.

Are hipsters still a thing? Is that what this guy is trying to be? Do hipsters even like Marvel? Is that too “mainstream for them?”

Eventually he asks a question about you, your recent entry into the Marvel Cinematic Universe, your music, your composing. You’d be happy to talk about your passions, of course you are, but the first genuine question of the interview is positing towards…not you. You’re about to tune everything out again, but then Chris speaks and you snap back to attention.

“It’s always interesting to meet people who bring something new to the art form, ya know? A huge part of acting is learning and evolving and all that, especially from other actors,” Chris avoids your gaze, and the gaze of everyone else, as he speaks. “If you stop learning, if you stop growing, what’s the point? Why would I do this job if I didn’t think it could change me for the better?”

There’s a moment of thick silence, the heavy weight of Chris’ introspective answer settling over the people in the room. It’s one of the things you lo-

It’s one of the things you enjoy most about Chris, how dedicated he is to acting as more than a job. It’s amazing, truly, how much he adores what he does. You could spend the rest of time with him, a plate of cheese, and a bottle of wine; listening to him talk about how he thinks of acting as an art, how that art can impact people and society, how actors have a responsibility to that art (that is, of course, after you mock him endlessly for Not Another Teen Movie and Fantastic Four).

You feel like a high schooler again, doodling your first and his last name in hearts in your math notebook with your favorite pink glitter pen. You’re an adult, why are you blushing red as a raspberry every time he says something smarter than a fast food order?!

The rest of the day goes down in a blur, the only time you start to care again when someone on the production staff calls for dinner (yeah, no lunch on press junket day. You can ask for a light snack, but you learned the hard way a full meal is “bad for your figure” and “makes you likely to burp on camera” and a bunch of other stuff you care very little about).

All three of you groan in happiness when you enter the room designated as craft, the thick smell of barbeque hitting you like a baseball bat. But a good baseball bat, though, like…one you ask to be hit with. Honestly, you have no idea what you’re talking about because you’re so hungry.

When you finally manage to scavenge food, Sebastian’s right behind you as you stare at a very delicious looking tray of pulled pork. Your plate is already full, but what if they take the food away? And then what if you get hungry later?

“You know he’s flirting with you, right?” he whispers as you watch the man in question scroll through Twitter on his phone. Chris is eating about the same thing you are, plus celery. You almost make a quip about it being “nature’s floss,” but then you realize that would be dumb because Sebastian definitely wouldn’t find it as funny as Chris would.  

You shrug, picking up a French fry from your plate. “Yeah, but you were, too.”

He scoffs into his second Americano of the morning. “Nah. Not like that. He likes you! He like likes you!”

“He does not-“

“And you like-like him!” He boops you on the nose and pinches your cheek like some sort of grandmother who hadn’t seen her fifteen-year-old son since he was five. “My little baby has a cruuuush!” he coos while making small kissy noises.

You’re about to bite back about how you’re not that much younger than him, but then the sound guy on the other side of the meat tray glares at the both of you. Looks like, while Chris couldn’t hear your bickering from the across the room, this dude definitely could – and he’s not very happy about it.

“Sorry,” you both mumble, shrinking away from the persecuting techie and his judgmental eyes.

Sebastian only talks again when you find an unpopulated corner, devoid of prying eyes and anyone who could be annoyed with the two of you gossiping like high schoolers.

“You know I’m not wrong, right?” he says around a bite of crisp apple. What is up with this guy and fruit?  Sure, he’s on a restrictive diet for a role to keep him from bulking up (something at the intersect of keto and vegetarian but able to eat lean meats) but he’s can’t eat like, the vegan stuff? Why must he always eat like rabbit in your presence? “Have you not seen what he says on Twitter?”

You scoff. “No, because I don’t have a Twitter. And neither do you!” You narrow your eyes accusingly. “How do you know what he posts?” Sebastian rolls his eyes. “I see screenshots on Instagram, first of all. Second, he could be complimenting your music on the inside of a cave. It’s about the principle.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you hiss. “Also, I’m done arguing with you about this. Let me find a cheeseburger and eat in peace. Is that too much a woman to ask, Sebastian!?”

He just laughs you off and lets you eat in peace, eventually getting his own food. Though, you suppose the meal was specially timed, because then Chris Evans is sitting next to you.

He’s about to say something, too, and you’re about to listen, but then you get called for an individual interview for a women’s health magazine and you have to leave him and you plate of food and fuck…you hate this job. A lot.

The interview is boring, once again, and the next time you have another coherent thought you’re taking the elevator back up to your hotel room and waving off your manager, who is telling you to be downstairs by seven tomorrow to catch your flight back home.

You’re just kicking off your heels when you hear a faint knock at the door. When you look through the peephole, you see a very sad-looking Christopher Evans. With his small frown and hunched shoulders, he looks like a kicked puppy; and even though all you want to do is take your bra off, you let him in.

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking as if he was a child preparing to be scolded.

“I lost my hotel key. And my backup got demagnetized.”

You bite back a laugh, trying to seem sympathetic. “Do you want to chill in here until security brings you another one?”

Chris nods solemnly as he steps through the threshold. “Thanks.”

Neither of you speak for a while, instead Chris looks around your quite messy (or “homey,” as you call it when you FaceTime your best friend and she scoffs at how easy you can make a room look like a hurricane tore through it) room and you…find an outfit for tomorrow?

You’re the first one to speak, only breaking the quiet after changing into fuzzy socks and sneakily taking off your lacey bra (and tucking it under the covers of the bed for you put away later).

“Well, that was excruciating,” you mumble. All you want to do is change into your biggest, most comfortable hoodie and your cotton panties and order room service and ignore humanity until you leave for a flight the next morning, but a man you’ve had a crush on since he appeared as Johnny Storm is right in front of you and after that talk with Sebastian your world is kind of shaken to its core and should you make a move? Is he the kind of guy to not like that? Would you want to be with a guy that doesn’t like that? What if he-

“Always are, I guess.” Chris interrupts your train of thought, saving it from going off the rails. When you at him he looks just as, if not more than, exhausted than you are. “That’s one of the things that you forget, I think. How hard it is to talk about these movies.”

You snort. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Chris smile a little wider as you laugh. “Yeah. Other movies I can talk about like, characters and plots and shit. With these I live in constant fear I’m gonna pull a fucking Ruffalo and get my ass fired from the best paying gig I’ve ever had.”

Chris laughs with you, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Word.”

An awkward silence fills the room and you find something, anything to do to avoid his heavy gaze under those thick eyelashes and his thick beard that you just want to run your fingers through or his even softer hair that you want to mess up while you-

“Do you want to get dinner together sometime?” you blurt. You’re ready to take back the words as soon as you say them, wanting to backtrack or say “just friends” or “ha-ha, just kidding!” or something else that absolves you of non-platonic commitment.

By a long stretch of luck that you can’t even begin to thanks a long number of deities for, Chris doesn’t laugh at you or turn you down or even walk out of the room. He meets your gaze with excitement in his eyes and a smile wider than your home state. “I’d love to,” is all he says. It’s all either of you get to say before his phone rings loudly, and the name of the head of security flashes on his screen. He sighs loudly, apologizing as he takes it. Somehow, you feel more awkward as he turns away and answers the call. You fidget with your hands, with a loose thread on the sweater you’ve come to hate more than anything else in the world, with your phone. Nothing makes it easier to face Chris again once he hangs up.

“That was…,” he laughs lightly. Not laughing at you, maybe at life or how weird his life is, but never at you. “You know. They fixed my key and want to give it to me in person.”

You swallow and nod. “Yeah, understandable. I’ll, uh,” you clear your throat. “I’ll see you…”

Chris finishes for you. “How about we find a good restaurant near here after I’m confirmed to actually be me by the private security detail our employers hired to make sure no one kills us? We can have that second dinner I’ve heard you always eat late at night.”

Holy shit…he remembered that time you vaguely mentioned how much you enjoy staying up late and eating lots of food. It makes you blush as you respond.

“Yeah that sounds,” you sigh happily, smile just as big as his is. “That sounds great.”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Cherry Coke Special: Five

Move-in day was not near as stressful as Bucky had thought it would be. Your mom and your brother were efficient. Really efficient. It was likely, he figured that you'd moved around a fair bit as a kid.

Your brother was a typical older brother, your mom was quite frankly the one that scared him. Of the two of them, he didn't doubt your mom would be the one to kill him if he hurt you, though, perhaps more out of obligation than love for you.  Not once did she hug you or kiss you after you first got out of the car. And she never once mentioned the grandchild you were carrying. It was incredibly odd.

Bucky never heard either of them mention the baby, and it didn't take long for him to figure out that you hadn't told them yet. So he followed your lead.

Your brother was a little more openly affectionate, though it was clear he was quietly furious at what Rory had done. Bucky was comforted when he pulled you aside and had a hushed but very intense discussion about the situation you got yourself into. He loved you enough to worry about you. But not enough to stay, despite wanting to when his ma was ready to go. They had both hugged you and kissed your cheek, and you made them promise to call when they got home. And neither one looked back as they drove away.

"You okay, Sugar?" Bucky asked quietly, helping you up the steps.

"Yeah," you sigh, "Just tired."

Bucky nodded and kissed the side of your head, "Well, let's get you inside and comfortable. Get you some food ordered, you haven't eaten all day." He wants to ask why you haven't told your ma she's about to be a grandma. He wants to ask why she's so distant with both her kids. But there's time. Right now, he wants to get you fed and try and get you relaxed. You look tense. Or like you're about to be sick, he isn't sure. But he doesn't like it.

He helps settle you on the couch and kisses the side of your head, "You like Chinese?" he asked, walking into the kitchen.

"Yeah," you answer quietly. You don't question why he's staying. And you know his apartment is just across the hall. You don't understand why he's doing all this. Not really. But you're glad of the company. You've never slept anywhere alone before. You'd had your mom and brother in the house. Then Rory after that. For seven years after that. And now, somehow, a mob boss is in your kitchen ordering sweet and sour and egg rolls. It's a lot to process.

So when Bucky walks back around the corner and finds you very quietly having a break down into the nearest pillow, he makes a soft noise and kneels in front of you, "Hey, shh, it's okay," his big hands are clumsy as they pet your hair and fumble a linen handkerchief out of his pocket.

"I'm s-so-sorry-" you stutter, trying to pull yourself together. You aren't even sure why you're crying. Not really. Objectively, you know that this is a gift. That this was the best possible outcome of your separation from Rory. That if things had gone differently, you'd be a statistic. Another death. Barely a blurb in the paper about your murder. But between a client finding you bleeding on the ground and Bucky spotting you after that... This is as unlikely as winning the lottery. And now there's even someone who wants to protect you. You have no reason to be crying, but you still can't stop.

"Don't be sorry," he said softly, "You've got a lot on your mind, baby." He doesn't know what to do when a woman is crying, and it's genuine anymore. This isn't a tantrum about presents. This is a broken heart. A body that just can't take much more. And he knows that because ever since he met you, even though you knew he had money and was gonna tip well regardless. You'd never asked him for shit. You hadn't asked him for anything all day except an arm to lean on up the stairs. Hell. You hadn't even asked him for dinner. You'd mentioned going to the store to cook him something. But he doesn't know what to say. All he can do is feel like an idiot and let you cry. When the tears slow down, he gives you a second to wipe your face and goes to get you a glass of water.

Your hand is trembling when you take it, and he frowns, "We gotta get some food in you," he murmurs, "The little one's gotta be getting hungry." He smiles a little and cups your cheek, pleased when you lean into the touch for a second.

"Probably," you tell him, "I was too nervous to eat earlier."

"About what?"

"About what mama was gonna say. About everything."

Bucky nodded, "And what did she say?"

"Nothing. Which means she's beyond furious... When she calls to yell at me, I'll tell her about the baby then. Just rip the whole bandaid off. At least then, the most she can do from that far away is yell." You look away, and Bucky frowns. He doesn't like that. You could have died. Rory could have killed you in that blind spot in the parking lot. He means to tell you all that, but there's a knock on the door, and he goes to answer it.

His guys don't knock like that, so it's probably the delivery driver. Which is good. He's anxious to get you taken care of, and you'll sleep better with a full stomach. He can't stay all night, but he can stay long enough to get you settled in. He pays the kid, gives him a nice little wad of tip money, and turns back to the living room. "Sit," he scolds, "I can do this. All I want you to do is stay down. It's breaking my heart watching you wince every time you move."

"Bucky-"

"No," he said, kissing your cheek and handing you a soda. "You gotta get better. You got a baby on the way, sweetheart," he reminded gently, "They're gonna need you in fighting shape."

"Helping you get food out isn't exactly strenuous," you pout, taking the plate he hands you.

"No," he allows, "But you've been up too much today. You're supposed to be taking it easy for a bit."

"I did-" you start to protest.

"Look darlin'," he said, laughing, "I know. You're a badass. A real tough cookie. But cracked ribs are cracked ribs, and a broken arm is a broken arm. I know. You could have managed. That isn't the point. The point is I want a healthy mama and a healthy baby. And that means you gotta slow down and let people do shit for you." He takes a bite of his dinner and gives you his best, "I'm not foolin' around" face, "Now," he said softly, "Eat and just be still for a minute. Let me enjoy eating dinner with a pretty girl."

You take a bite obediently but not because he told you to. You take a bite because if you don't distract yourself with something, you're gonna start crying all over again.

Bucky doesn't press anymore. Or scold. But he does keep plying you with food until you protest. "Bucky, if I eat anything else, I'll be sick," you tell him.

He just gives you a sheepish little smile and kisses your cheek, "You're eating for two, though. Had to make sure you ate enough to make up for not eating all day."

"Bucky," you snort, rubbing your stomach, "The baby is just getting started. We're okay."

"Well yeah," he said, putting a hand on yours, "But I wanna keep it that way." He grins up at you, "Bet you'll look real cute with a tummy." His heart stutters just a little. There's a slight curve there where he knows there wasn't before when he met you. He'd love to spend a bit more time lavishing attention on your physical body, but he pulls away gently. Your heart is fragile. Very fragile. And he doesn't want to press his current advantage. Even if you'd enjoy yourself. You need rest, and he has months of fantasies coming to fruition in his mind. He can't just stop once he starts. Or at least, he doesn't trust himself to.

Your cheeks heat and you bite your lip, "But-"

"No buts," he murmurs, "I told you I was gonna make it right, Y/N. I can't change what he did to you. Or how he treated you. But I can treat you better. I can keep you safe." He doesn't tell you that he loves you. That he wants you to put his name on the birth certificate. Or that he'd rather take you across the hall and put you in his bed. Or any of the other things he wants to say. He knows he's got to take this slow, but he can't just let you think you deserve what Rory did to you.

"Let me make this right, doll," he pleads softly.

"You've already done more than anyone expects you to," you tell him, looking away.

"But not as much as you deserve," he says softly. "I watched him take advantage of you for months," Bucky rumbled, "And I stayed out of it because of the way you smiled when you said his name. But darlin', when he put his hands on you that night, I should have broke him in half. You deserve to be pampered and spoiled within an inch of your life. Let me show you what that can be like, huh? At least... at least let me help you get ready for the baby. I know you can do this alone. I don't want you to."

"Is that all you want?" you ask slowly.

"No," he said honestly, "But we don't have to do anything you don't want baby. This isn't about my dick. This is about making sure my girl gets what she needs."

"Your girl, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, tilting your chin up slowly with a smile, "You ruined me for anyone else, baby. Showed me what a good girl is supposed to look like... I can't deal with these other women. I tried. Made me wanna shoot myself in the head to make them stop talking."

You snort, and he takes your hands, "So, sorry, Sugar," he murmurs, "You're all mine now. I just gotta make you believe it. Let me try?"

"What if you don't think I look cute anymore once I start getting fat?" you tease.

Bucky kisses you softly, just a whisper of a kiss that still makes you whimper, "Nice try, baby girl," he scolds softly, "Gettin' a little plump isn't gonna change your heart. And that's what I'm after." He doesn't want to get into details right now. But curves aren't a problem for him. He likes a little feminine softness after a long, stressful day.

"You say that now," you caution.

But Bucky just laughs and kisses you again. He wants another taste of you. And to stop you trying to burst his bubble. Now that he has everything he ever wanted, no one is gonna talk him out of it. Not even you.

[stormcrawler75]

Taking a Different Path (No Matter How Different the Path) Chapter 3

Summary: In the past, the four subjects find themselves on the run. In the present, Patton and Virgil chat over lunch.

Warnings: death mention, gun mention, starvation mention.

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January 3, 2001 9:36 PM

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Logan stared down at the small bundle in his arms. Sweat was glistening on the baby's forehead and an unhappy frown was twisting at his lips, a little hand sticking out of the makeshift blanket they had made from a hospital gown they had found when escaping the Hospital. Logan felt a twinge of sympathy for the small child but couldn't be upset that he had finally fallen asleep. The day had been full of loud crying, no matter how much Patton and Logan had tried to calm him down. Which had set off Roman's cries.

Logan could feel a headache beginning to form. They were going to be back in their cells by morning, he just knew it. And all because Patton had convinced him that taking two babies who could only cry to voice their complaints was a good idea.

Correction, they both knew that it was a terrible idea. Babies needed things that neither of them knew anything about. They were loud and attention-getting by nature. And they normally didn't have wings which Roman did. Bringing them along was a sure-fire way to make sure that the Doctors found them and either dragged them right back to the Hospital or shoot them right in the head.

And it wasn't like Logan liked the idea of leaving the babies to the Doctors! He hated the idea of leaving little Roman, little Roman who cooed and giggled whenever Logan and Patton made funny faces at him, in the hands of the evil Doctors. The ones who pinched and drew blood from his wings. It was why they had tricked Doctor Abe in cutting out his chip too when he was cutting out Patton's and Logan's! And the idea of the Doctors gaining a new labrat made Logan's stomach turn and tighten his hold on the small bundle in his arms. 

But... they made this whole thing so much harder. How could Logan adequately protect Patton with two very unhappy babies in tow? Logan looked over to his best friend, slumped on his side with Roman cuddled to his chest. The four of them were in the back of the pickup truck they had stowed away on, hidden underneath a big black tarp. Roman and the currently unnamed child were fast asleep, exhausted from the past two days of excitement, their long hours of crying, and complete lack of food. It was a whole mess and they needed to find food soon. Logan had stolen a bottle of water from the pickup truck when the owner had gone into a gas station for a few minutes but that hadn't lasted nearly as long as it could've if it was just him and Patton. They could've made it last a day between them. The whole bottle was drained before Logan or Patton could properly even wet their lips.

Logan sighed and looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms. He was thinner than he had been when they had found him and Logan knew that the baby wouldn't last much longer without proper baby food.

Whatever the hell that was.

And they had been so, so lucky that the Doctors had placed him in a washable diaper. Washing the diaper in a river definitely wasn't ideal but they weren't in the most ideal of circumstances.

"You will most likely die before we reach the next town," Logan whispered to the sleeping baby. "Both you and Roman. Babies can't survive long without milk. A Doctor at the Hospital told me that. She had one growing inside of her. They had to cut it out." He leaned forward and whispered, "I wish I knew how they got the baby inside there in the first place. I think she ate it."

Unlike Patton, the baby didn't react at all to Logan's theories. No bright smile or telling Logan that he was the smartest person in the whole Hospital. Just a sleepy gurgle and a fart.

Babies were overrated, Logan decided. Even Roman babbled at his ideas and Patton had assured him that meant Roman thought the idea was amazing. This baby? This baby yawned at his theories. Terrible. Logan felt insulted.

Still, just because the baby was a jerk it didn't mean that Logan should be one too. "I'll try my best to make sure that you survive," Logan promised the baby. "I hear the driver saying that she's gonna go to the next town and I'll find baby food there for you and Roman. Proper clothes too. We can't keep wearing our hospital gowns. Yours doesn't fit properly and I don't think people wear them outside hospitals." He sighed and rolled over, making sure that the baby didn't get crushed in the process. "I don't know how we're going to survive this," he confessed to the baby. ��"We have no money, no food, no shelter. You don't even have a name." Logan swallowed and said in a breathy whisper, "I'm scared. 

"And you can't help. You're just a baby," Logan continued, tears welling up in his eyes. "And so is Roman and Patton knows just as much as I do. No, he knows less because he didn't like listening to the Doctors talk about life out here." He let out a shaky breath and curled up as much as he could with the baby in his arms. "I don't know what we're going to do. The Doctors are gonna find us and put us back in our cells and be mad at us and put our chips back in and-" Logan cut himself off by pushing his hand into his mouth to muffle his sobs and squeezing his eyes tight. Tears slid out from behind his eyelids and he shook with sobs. They had been planning this for months now and now it was all ruined and they were gonna be captured and, and, and-

A tiny hand wrapped around Logan's littlest finger and his eyes snapped open to see the baby looking up at him with one green eye and one purple one, his whole hand holding Logan's pinky. And the grip... the grip was surprisingly tight was such a young baby.

And suddenly? It all clicked into place. Before, Logan hadn't understood why Patton wanted to take this baby with them. Roman? They had bonded with Roman but this had been just a lump. Had been. Past tense. It was like Logan's heart that had only ever been a place for Roman and Patton had been pried open and this tiny little baby had slotted himself firmly in place. 

Logan stared at the baby, tears still sliding down his cheeks. He swallowed before gently lifted the baby up so they were eye to eye, keeping his pinky in the baby's hold the whole time. "You're going to survive," he whispered. He smiled when the baby blinked at him with those mix-matched eyes. "You and Roman and Patton. All three of you will survive. I don't care if I have to tear the world in half to make sure it'll happen. It will happen." Logan leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to the baby's forehead.

"I swear it to you, little one. You will survive to be given a name."

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January 13, 2020 12:37PM

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Patton beamed at Virgil and hugged his younger brother in for a tight hug. "VeeVee, it's been forever! Look at you!" He pulled back to look his brother over. "Oh, you grew your hair out! It looks amazing!"

"Thanks, Pat," Virgil said with a little smile, patting it gently. It was short - though still longer than it had been before - curly at the top and shaved at the sides. It looked right on Patton's baby brother but so much different than it had since the last time Patton had seen him in the summer. "I just wanted a bit of a change, you know? Try a new look." 

Patton took Virgil's hand - just like he had when Virgil was still learning to walk - and led him over to one of the café's outdoor tables. "It looks great on you, Sweetheart," he told him, sitting down at a table. "Oh, College life agrees with you, Virge! You're your own man now! All grown up."

His baby brother was all grown up. Both of them were. Yep, Paton's heart was definitely breaking.

"Hardly," Virgil muttered, a smile playing on his lips. "I'm nineteen, not old like you, Old man. Thirty-two this Saturday. Excited?"

Patton laughed and nodded. He grabbed two menus and passed one to Virgil. "Sure am! But Logan said he was gonna bake me a cake for my birthday! It's not fair! I only bought him an ice cream cake for his!" Patton puffed out his cheeks and whined, "Logan always one-ups me, VeeVee!" 

Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. "Oh yeah, definitely. It's not like he bakes a cake for all of our birthdays." He pointed at Patton with a smirk. "He's been making us cakes since we had access to sugar and you know it."

"Okay, okay," Patton giggled. "You're right. He's a big old softy."

The two of them shared a laugh at their older brother before falling into a comfortable silence as they looked the menus over. Finally, after a long moment, Virgil asked awkwardly, "How's Roman doing? I got a text from him this morning telling me to come to morning training. He seems pretty mad still."

Patton sighed, putting his menu down and resting his chin in his hand. "He's... still pretty upset, VeeVee. He's confused and mad and I think he's scared his family's falling apart."

"I moved across town, not across the Country," Virgil scoffed. He rolled his eyes but Patton could see the hurt he was trying to hide. Roman wasn't the only one afraid, even if Virgil didn't want to say it out loud. "Besides, it's not like it came out of nowhere. I told you guys about this last year. He's had a whole year to come to terms with it."

Patton smiled sympathetically and patted his hand. "I know, Kiddo. But I don't think Roman really expected it to happen. You're his only baby brother, Vee, and he got used to the idea of you wanting to do what he does." Patton shrugged and smiled at the server when he brought over two glasses of water. "Thank you," he chirped, picking his glass up and taking a sip.

Virgil sighed and slumped in his chair. Patton ignored the obvious sulking from across the table and cheerfully gave the server both his and Virgil's order. The two of them, Logan, and Roman had come to this place so often that Patton knew their favourites like the back of his hand. He smiled and turned back to Virgil when the server left. "Anyway, he misses you, Virge. We all do."

"I know, Pat," Virgil sighed. He tapped his fingers against the table. "But... I gotta do this. I don't want to be a superhero like you guys. I want  to be a vet." He smiled softly and Patton could tell that he was thinking of helping puppies or kittens or some other animals. "It's my dream, Pat."

Patton's smile widened. "And you have no idea how proud I am that you're doing that," he said. And he was. He was so, so proud of Virgil for following his dreams and trying to become a vet. For going to College and starting his life. But... "Just because you're starting your new adult life doesn't mean you have to leave your old one behind," he said gently. "Training, for instance. You used to love morning training."

Virgil's smile turned nostalgic and he nodded. "Yeah, you're right," he said softly. 

Patton thought back to him and Logan teaching their baby brothers how to throw a punch, how to protect each other, and how to spar. The laughter that seemed to join each and every one of their training sessions. It was the best way to start off each and every day. Now it felt empty and lifeless. And thanks to Roman's new attitude, full of resentment.

"Come to afternoon training," Patton begged. "Please, Vee? We all miss you. Yes," he laughed at Virgil's disbelieving look, "even Roman. Especially Roman. Plus," a worried frown grew on Patton's lips, "I'm worried, Kiddo. It's so different not seeing you each day and you know I worry."

'And you know I have a reason to,' went unsaid.

There was a long moment when Virgil said nothing, just staring at the table with a thoughtful look on his face. Finally, he sighed and shrugged with a little smile. "Okay, fine. But I have the right to leave before five o'clock. I got class tomorrow-" he was cut off with an 'oof' as Patton pulled him into a hug from across the table, the two brothers falling back into laughter.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Patton squealed, bouncing a little in his seat. "Trust me, Virgil, you won't regret this!"

[7team7]

Keeping rocks from crushing you

Rather than gifting Fire Lord Zuko a wife, the Southern Water Tribe bestowed upon him a bodyguard by the name of Katara.

At first, Zuko was insulted. Bodyguard AU

A/N: another story where Ozai kind of just goes away without the canon story LOL how else will we make zutara strangers to friends to lovers in this context!! While the arranged marriage fire lady katara trope is Very Good I hope you enjoy this take too :)

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It was after Iroh lost count when he snapped.

He had full faith in his nephew, but the number of assasination attempts against him was too high for comfort. It was natural, expected that not everyone would agree with Zuko’s rise to power after taking down his father once and for all. Even though the Avatar, aged as he was, played an integral role in defeating Ozai, loyalists still saw Zuko as the true villain. They were loyal to Ozai, but not the rest of his bloodline.

Zuko had managed to win over many skeptics, but that didn’t stop fanatic traitors from making attempts on his life. It was only through Zuko’s own skill and discipline that they avoided some close calls. Even though many of the assassins were clumsy in their plans, the fear of a more organized resistance plotting to take down his beloved nephew kept Iroh awake at night.

So in the interest of keeping Zuko in power and by extension, maintaining international peace, he called upon the help of another nation.

Rather than gifting Lord Zuko a wife, the Southern Water Tribe bestowed upon him a bodyguard by the name of Katara. Their greatest treasure, the chief insisted.

At first, Zuko was insulted.

Not only did his uncle not believe in his ability to defend himself, but he brought in a Water Tribe girl to be his personal bodyguard?

“Why would you hire an outsider?” he demanded. All Katara did was show up and he was already angry. What was wrong with Fire Nation troops? How could he be sure if she was trustworthy? And how old was she anyway?

“I would not be so hasty as to complain, nephew. Not only will the Southern Water Tribe take great offense, but she puts me at ease, more so than any of our own troops.”

Zuko settled down, muttering. If it made Uncle more comfortable, he supposed it couldn’t be too terrible having her around. Still, it seemed excessive. He wondered if he really needed her around; wasn’t there another way to improve his relations with the Water Tribes? Wouldn’t this show the world that he was weak?

But then Zuko watched her display impressive skills time and time again, and successfully do her job: keep him safe.

Unlike his usual palace guards, she was better at being stealthy and unassuming. A woman clearly from the Water Tribes looked more like a visitor than anything.

“Fine, she stays,” he conceded after he only realized she had taken someone out when she asked politely what to do with the unconscious body.

“At your service,” she bowed. Personally, she was looking forward to all the adventures she was sure to encounter in the Fire Nation. A dramatic Fire Lord was nothing she couldn’t handle.

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Those adventures came more quickly than she expected. As the nations grew at a staggering rate, it seemed like Zuko was always being pulled in a different direction to attend to something or other.

This time, a lucrative new trade agreement was to be signed with a group of travelers. At least, that was what was reported to the palace. Zuko’s presence was requested because apparently they were being difficult. He had the power to either make them comply or tell them to sail away.

But in what was a running theme, this group of travelers had ill intentions and quickly drew up arms as soon as the Fire Lord arrived. Why did everyone want to pick a fight?

Zuko, practically dead on his feet from constant exhaustion, was slow to react. He felt his face grow hot in embarrassment when one of them nearly managed to land a hit on him.

But before he could take action, Katara blocked his body with her own, making him look totally uncool.

“Katara!” There was no way she could take on all these guys by herself?! She had to let him fight too. He could at least use his swords; he knew his guards had to hold back from using fire lest they wanted to destroy all the precious goods aboard the wooden ship the rogues came in on.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll save you from the pirates,” she smirked right before spinning away and taking out a handful of men in the process. They were expecting fire, but near the sea, near her element, it didn’t matter what they expected because they wouldn’t win.

Zuko spluttered, too shocked to move. All he could do was watch as she rounded them up and froze them in place.

She turned around to face him as the royal guards moved to apprehend the band of pirates. “I didn’t get you wet did I?” she asked, all sweetness and sunshine. She waved her hand lightly and wicked any moisture out of his clothing, moisture he didn’t even realize was there.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he muttered, mostly to himself because Katara had turned her attention back to the pirates, giving orders to the guards like she owned the place. He straightened his crown. Spirits, this girl.

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They traveled more now that, again, things outside the palace required Zuko’s attention and Katara had proven herself extremely capable. On the way there, she talked and talked and talked. He didn’t mind, though. She had so many stories from and about the Southern Water Tribe; her eyes took on a certain sparkle when she talked about her people. He could tell she really loved her family, but that being able to do something besides heal and cook was invigorating for her.

Good, he thought privately, this arrangement is working out for the both of us.

They were examining precious gems near the entrance of an Earth Kingdom cave when they heard a huge boom.

The Earth King jumped, immediately hiding behind Zuko. He turned back to face the cowering man, but in doing so he didn’t notice the way the side of the mountain had started to shake and crack. Zuko ordered him to get back to his carriage; he would take care of the attackers. Katara, as his appointed eyes and ears, of course noticed.

Right as the Earth King and his men scurried away to relative safety, Zuko looked to see who was causing the trouble. He didn’t get a clear view because suddenly, Katara tackled him from the side and rolled with him until they landed out of the way of the massive rock that rumbled down the mountain.  

“What are you doing?!”

“Keeping rocks from crushing you.” Her eyes darted all over, checking to see if there was so much as a scratch on him.

“Well I’m fine,” he said, more softly than he anticipated, but he felt a strange need to make it better, to make her stop worrying.

“You’re fine thanks to me,” she said with a shit-eating grin as she offered a hand to help him up.

“Congrats, you’re doing your job,” he rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing.

She grabbed his hand and hauled him towards the Earth King, planting him a safe distance away from the mountain. She dusted off his clothing, “Look alive, Fire Lord. Make sure to stay alert this time, I’m gonna finish up in there.”  

As his guards and attendants started fawning all over him, he grumbled, “Why does she get to do all the fun stuff without me?”

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Back at the palace, he challenged her to a spar. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought to do so earlier, but once they started, they sparred whenever they had a chance. Sure, Katara was protecting him perfectly, but he didn’t want to get lazy or for his own skills to diminish. She gave him a huge smile when he first pulled out his broad swords, saying they reminded her of her brother. Then she nearly knocked him off his feet with a water whip.

She always kept him on his toes, but she wasn’t like other firebenders, always pushing to the limit. She maintained balance during their sparring sessions, they were almost like training sessions than anything. She made sure to give him time to meditate and stretch. And if she seriously hurt him, she was by his side ready to heal him in an instant. Iroh approved, of course.

“I’m a package deal,” she once joked.

Above all, it was just plain fun seeing each other incorporate different bending forms into their attacks. Since they spent so much time together, they had to get creative in an attempt to surprise the other. He always smirked remembering the way Katara’s eyes widened when he first set his swords on fire.

“We’re in the Fire Nation, remember?” he provoked.

She was poised to attack. “Of course I do. And water beats fire, remember?”

The hiss of steam when one element met another made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

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“Katara,” he said very seriously, “we need to talk.”

She sighed. They had just sat down for breakfast and he was already worried about something? Upon further examination, she noticed his eye bags were darker than normal — something must have kept him up all night. She went for a gentler approach and asked, “About what? Is everything okay?"

“People have been talking.”

“People tend to do that, Zuko.”

“Well, they’re talking about us!” He must have been really bothered because he was already waving his arms around and clearly getting worked up.

“Oh, do tell? I thought you didn’t like palace gossip.”

“They think you’re my girlfriend or something,” he spit out. Well, concubine was the word some had used. He wasn’t sure what was more uncomfortable to think about: sex or emotional intimacy with Katara. He shuddered.

“Let them,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “They’ll think that if you have enough time and energy to run around with a girl, you’re not worrying about other things like, you know, your personal safety. Live a little, Fire Lord.”  

She went back to eating and left him with his jaw hanging open loosely. This seemed to placate him for a while, though, because he actually paid attention to his food.

But the spirits would never let her know peace because he spoke up again with great panic, “Have you been telling people that I’m your boyfriend?”

“No way! Why would I do that? I literally work for you. There’s no time for dating when I’m always saving your royal butt.”

“Because you like to mess with me,” he mumbled.

This made her laugh, seeing him blush. “Oh, Zuko. You’re so cute sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

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A/N: chapter 2? Maybe? Also I hope katara isn’t too ooc here?? I just wanted her to be Confident and sometimes when writing her jokes/quips I’m like this is a sokka-ism...LOL we stan funny and confident katara!! happy start to zutara week, posting early bc i need to focus on my real work now T_T