#its just . he/him in sentences. a little pointedly sometimes to try and get someone to Take The Hint

[solarwonux]

24H || Seuncheol 

mechanic!seungcheol x reader

soulmate!au

w.c: 6.5k

warnings: talks of death, angst, self doubt

note: hello everyone I am not completely back yet, I am still on hiatus. I have been writing this one shot since the release of 24H. I have rewritten it many many many times and have a abandoned it many times as well. Anyway, this is the finished product and I hope you guys like it as much as I do. Thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts. And thank you @sunlightwoo​ for literally witnessing it all lol.

Also maybe one day I’ll post the original draft of this one if anyone is interested. 

P.S. this is a part of a soulmate universe in which all the members are going to have a story, but that’s gonna take a little while lol, but I hope you all stick around until them

masterlist

Hour 1 - 17:00

Seungcheol threw the wrench on the pile of tools next to him before rolling himself out from underneath the car he was working on. “I don’t see the point in it, Shua.” He sat up, grabbing the towel he had next to him, and tried his best to wipe the black smudges of his fingers. “I’m already a disappointment to my parents, why not add one more to their list?” He shrugged, eyeing his best friend who had decided to come and visit him at the car shop he worked at. 

“I think Shua has a point; you can’t brush this off. You don’t want to end up forgotten in a ditch somewhere.” Jeonghan said, pointedly resting his forearms on top of the hood of the car he had been working on. 

“I’m not going to end up in a ditch and forgotten. The higher-ups--” Seungcheol stuck a pointer finger out and pointed at the cement ceiling, “are just going to set me up with someone.” He stood up and brushed off his whitewashed jeans, the only ones he seemed to wear as they had various oil stains etched into the creases of the fabric. In actuality, he had many of the same pair, and each of them had their own unique patterns of different oil stains. 

“But wouldn’t it be better if you married your soulmate, your other half, your partner in crime, the person the Stars destined you to be with,” Joshua spoke in rushed sentences as he ran a frustrated hand through his jet black hair. His wedding ring shining in the light of the sun, glowing in all its glory. A reminder that he had chosen the path that he and Jeonghan were trying to get Seungcheol to take. 

Sometimes curiosity would seep in s when he saw how happy his best friends were with their soulmates, or when the ticking of the clock scarred into the skin of his wrist, and got too loud to ignore. Seungcheol knew he didn’t belong on that path. He was never one to follow the crowd, and the proof was in his parent’s disappointment when he decided to study music instead of medicine. 

“Nope.” He stood up and closed the hood of the car. He could feel their glares burning holes into his scalp as he strode over and opened the driver’s door. “I’m a firm believer that soulmates are made not found.” Seungcheol grinned before getting behind the wheel and inserting the keys into the ignition. He had spent all morning working on a minor problem in the engine; he was hoping that after many failed attempts, he would finally be able to get the car to start again. 

With a deep sigh, he turned the key listening as the engine sputtered a few times. The hope and confidence he had gained diminishing with each hiccup until, finally, the car roared back to life. A sigh of relief leaving his chapped lips along with a light laugh. He rested his forearms against the old battered steering wheel, peering through the windshield, catching Joshua’s nod of disapproval. He turned on his heels and walked out of the large garage door of the shop.

Seungcheol knew his friend’s meant well, and he knew they didn’t want him to end up unhappy with someone that wasn’t his other half. But how was he supposed to be sure that happiness was a given? When at the end of the day, everyone’s given soulmate was chosen at birth by a group of old white dudes calling themselves Stars.

Hour 2 - 18:00

“What are you going to do then?” Jeonghan closed the hood of the car and dusted his hands. His blonde hair grasped the light of the afternoon sun. Seungcheol placed down the paper bag that contained his and Jeonghan’s lunch on top of the aluminum table they kept in the far corner of the shop.  “I don’t know...eat lunch.” He stated, shrugging and started taking the contents out of the paper bag. “Shua leave?” 

Jeonghan rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the hood of the car. He strode over to where Seungcheol was and took the burrito he had held out to him. “Said he doesn’t want to stay and watch you ruin his life.”

“I’m not ruining my life,” Seungcheol sighed, shaking his head and sat on top of the table, unwrapping his burrito. “I’m choosing the road not taken.” He finished before taking a decent bite out of his burrito. 

“That’s ruining your life in my book.” Jeonghan gave him a pointed look and unwrapped the foil of his burrito, cursing when he noticed some its contents start to fall out of its confinement. “Aren’t you at least a little bit curious about how they look?” He dug inside the paper bag and took out a napkin to clean off the salsa stain of his grey graphic tee. Jeonghan rarely dressed down, unless he was working. Though, sometimes he’d show up in outfits Seungcheol always deemed to clean for the oil splatters he would obtain throughout the day. 

“If looks were the all end tell-all, you’d be an actor instead of the owner of your father’s car shop.” 

“Are you calling me sexy, Choi Seungcheol?” Jeonghan gasped, making the other boy scoff in annoyance. Seungcheol took another bite of his burrito, the salsa running down the stubble of his chin and sighed. “Cause may I remind you I am happily married.” Jeonghan jokes, raising his hand, wiggling his ring finger. 

Seungcheol squinted as the ring got caught in the crossfire between the heat and summer sun. The churning at the pit of his stomach started up again, along with the little voice annoying voice that lived in the back of his head. The red block of numbers on the inside of his wrist laughing at him as he tried his best to push the thought to the back of his head. Like he had done his entire life.

“Sure...but that would just be an excuse, and it wouldn’t be fair towards the other person.” He shrugged, finally cleaning his chin the rest of his mouth. He crumpled up the foil in his hands before throwing the ball he had formed into the paper bag. “It wouldn’t matter soon anyway; I don’t have much time left.” He jumped off the table and made his way to shelves where they kept most of the tools along with small spare car parts they might need some time in the future.

“How much time do you have left?” Jeonghan asked a little too exasperatedly than he would’ve liked, but Seungcheol had managed to catch his tone, and it was starting to make him feel uneasy. He closed a drawer he had mindlessly opened and dropped his head. Seungcheol hated looking at his timer because it never brought a good reaction out of him. He hated the way the anxiety would filter in through his veins as he let his mind wander to the what-ifs. 

For as long as he could remember, he only allowed himself to stare at the number scar before bed but never enough to dwell on it. Last night he had twenty-four hours left; now he was positive the timer had reached the single-digit zone, and to be frank, he was afraid. He didn’t want to feel the pressure against his chest and the shortness of his breath. He didn’t want to feel the shaking in his hands and sweat that formed against his brow bone. Seungcheol had already chosen, but he knew that the second he glanced over at the timer, his doubt would start to run free. And he hated that feeling more than anything, but he also hated Jeonghan’s burning gaze staring him down as if he were doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. So he caved. 

He turned his wrist and pushed the bracelets he used to hide his soulmate mark with his other hand. His breath caught itself in the back of his throat, his lungs closing in like two crushing walls as he saw the numbers ticking down. For a split second, he wondered if he had chosen the right path if his parent’s and his friends had been right all along. But he had been so sure just like he was confident that his name was Choi Seungcheol, that he had chosen right, so why was he letting his thoughts take over. 

Maybe it was the teachings of the Stars he grew up reading at home and at school, or the guilt has finally started to consume him. Whatever it was, he decided to push it aside, bury it deep inside the archives of his mind. He had chosen right, and he wasn’t going to let any false pretenses change his mind.

“Five hours.” 

Hour 3 - 19:00

Seungcheol moved the straw of his bubble, creating soft caramel tidal waves in the cup. He had already picked out all the tapioca pearls leaving him to deal with the unpleasant honeydew tea he had ordered. The soft melodies of an old pop song played in the background, drowning out the flirting going on between the lovers in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on his cup; it had started to accumulate the condensation that came with the humidity of the summertime. His index finger traced over the water droplets that had fallen onto the table, creating a small picture of nothing. 

Jeonghan had dragged him to their usual boba shop after closing up the shop for the night. He had given Joshua a frantic phone call, claiming it was a 911 type of emergency. Seungcheol wasn’t sure how they weren’t tired at having the same conversation, and why they couldn’t let him live with the consequences in peace? If he ended up unhappy, that was his problem, and he would eventually deal with it, but he couldn’t stand the way everyone around him always seemed to have an opinion on how he should live his life. 

It had started the day he was born, scarred with a mark against his own will. It carried out onto his childhood, his parents and teachers telling him how to sit, how to dress, how to speak, and how to breathe. When he left for college the same day his parents decided to disown him, he had finally felt free. He thought for himself, walked for himself and lived for himself. But now his best friend’s the ones he thought he could always count on and he felt knew him better than anyone in the world. Where the ones were trying to guilt-trip him into making a choice, he had made years ago, and frankly, he was getting really tired of it. 

“Are you even listening to us Seungcheol, this is your future you're putting at risk,” Joshua whispered angrily, his grip on his cup grew tight enough his knuckles had started turning white. 

“Why does it matter?” Seungcheol lightly flicked the straw of his drink before pushing it away and crossing his arms. Jeonghan and Joshua both looked at him as if he was growing a third head, annoying him even more. He wasn’t sure why this was such a big deal to them, it wasn’t their life getting ruined. 

“It matters because we don’t want to see you dead.” 

Hour 4 - 20:00

“Are you serious? Do you guys actually believe that kind of stuff?” Seungcheol shook his head and looked out the restaurant window. The sun had finished going down for it’s deep slumber and in return awakened the night life of the city. He took in the people smiling and laughing as they joked and clinged onto one another. He saw limbs start to give out as the alcohol they had previously consumed started to replace their blood. Seungcheol found himself wishing he was one of those people, where the one controlling his body wasn’t the one that gave up on their dreams but instead still held onto that small sliver of hope. It would at least be an escape for a little and most importantly it would be an escape from the painful talk his best friend’s were giving him. 

“Fuck you Seungcheol.” Joshua spat out, quickly he stood up grabbing his coat and shrugged it on. “I’m not going to stay with you and watch the clock count down until you die.” He stuffed his hands in his pocket and took out his wallet before throwing some money onto the table. “Are you coming with me?” He said before facing Jeonghan who was biting his bottom lip in contemplation. Seungcheol saw the gears turn in his head as he thought over his options, his eyes traveling between the furious looking Joshua and himself. 

“Joshua calm down, look there have been some cases in the news lately of mysterious deaths and the only thing they have in common is that their timers went out before they got to meet their soulmate. I don’t know if it's all connected but it can’t just be coincidence Seungcheol.” Jeonghan stated, he tapped his forefinger against the wooden table as Joshua eyed him down waiting impatiently. 

“And what if it is, what if I do find this person and then they turn out to be horrible? You guys got lucky but my life has never been a series of unfortunate events since the beginning of time so who's to say this is any different?” 

“If you keep sitting here and mopping and feeling sorry for yourself, you’ll never find out.” Jeonghan nodded before taking out his wallet and throwing money onto the table. He hated the pity he saw behind his eyes. It only frustrated him because to him it felt like they had given up on him already. That they were planning his funeral without him leaving the world yet. Seungcheol wasn’t entirely convinced that death was at the end of this unfortunate journey, he sadly hoped it was. That way his friend’s would actually have something to pity, but he was alive and healthy (for the most part) so their pity in Seungcheol’s eyes was uncalled for. 

“Then let me find out. Everyone is always telling me what I should and shouldn’t do, I didn’t need you guys to also be one of those people too. You’re supposed to be my friends but here you are nagging me like you’re my parents. If I’m not worthy of hanging with you guys anymore because I’m not married and I have no interest in ever getting married then just leave me alone. I’m better off by myself anyway.” 

Seungcheol knew that as soon as the words left his mouth they had been a mistake, but mistake or not he would never take them back. No matter how the luck of hurt flashing in their handsome features affected him more than it should’ve. These few hours could be the last of his life and instead of living it to his fullest with his closest friends he was pushing them away. Just like he always did whenever he felt too comfortable or afraid. 

“Jeonghan let’s just go, he’s already made up his mind. He’s not going to listen to us.” Joshua sighed, the exhaustion was evident on his face. It was clear he had given up long before the events of tonight. He knew how stubborn Seungcheol was, he knew that once he sets his mind to something there’s no way to turn it back. Seungcheol suspected that’s why he hadn’t tried as hard as Jeonghan to convince him to change his mind. 

“Cheol, just think about it okay. You don’t have to go out and actively look for that person but just keep an open mind and they might just appear right before you. I know you think that we’re trying to do this to change you or to get you to settle down, but we don’t want to turn on the news tomorrow and have your names be part of one of the victims. If you can’t do this for us or yourself at least do it for you mom.” Jeonghan nodded one last time before scooting himself out of the booth. He stood sending a glare to Joshua that wasn’t missed by Seungcheol and somehow it made him feel uneasy inside. He didn’t want to be the one to cause a rift between him and Joshua’s friendship, they had known each other longer than they had known Seungcheol. For half of their life’s Seungcheol was simply an outsider between the threesome. He didn’t know at what moment they became inseparable, but now he wished they hadn’t. 

At least they wouldn’t be involved in the webs of Seungcheol’s complicated life, and they certainly wouldn’t be here showing the utmost care for him when he himself felt like he was unworthy of it. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow” Jeonghan mumbled before dragging Joshua out of the restaurant, mumbling angrily underneath his breath. Seungcheol knew the small comment was Jeonghan’s way of holding onto the little amount of hope he had for his friend. The hope that he would walk into the car shop tomorrow morning and see Seungcheol passed out drunk, his drool stain embedded into the checkered pattern of the old battered couch in the office, because he couldn’t remember how to unlock his front door.

Though, it was a phrase full of hope, it wasn’t a promise, and it felt more like a goodbye to Seungcheol. It made him uneasy and Seungcheol hated feeling uneasy because it only made the ticking sound of the clock tattooed onto his skin louder. 

The front door bell to the restaurant sounded, signaling that someone had walked in or out. He turned to face out the window again and saw Jeonghan and Joshua in a heated argument before Jeonghan kept dragging him away by the ear this time. The scene could’ve been comical to him at some point, but now he just wondered if they were all going to be okay by the time the night ended and morning came again. 

Either way it was clear to him that they had walked out of his life, maybe not for good but they also wouldn’t be the first ones either. 

Hour 5 -21:00

Seungcheol paid the bill and exited the restaurant quietly, his best attempt to remain invisible. It would be a lie if didn’t admit how scared he was after Jeonghan and Joshua left him alone with his thoughts for the first time since he awoke that morning. 

Would his faith really be death?

Or where they using their evil tactics against him to convince him to do the right thing. Needless to say he was scared, more scared than he ever was whenever he thought about falling in love. 

He had once, a long time ago, back when he was still studying music production in college, before he dropped out and took up a job at Mr. Yoon’s carshop. During the three years he was there, all the songs he had composed resembled something about her. Whether it was a phrase she had said or the way the color blue seemed to make her honey doe eyes pop. He was in love, head over heels, ready to give it all up, his friends, his pride, his dream, his life, everything under the sun, for her. He had his bags packed long before she had agreed to run away with him. 

In fact, he almost did, but the morning as he stood underneath the winter sun, waiting at the bus stop with two overprized one way tickets, with his fingers threatening to fall off from the cool. Everything became clear to him, she had abandoned him and their plan. She had given up on him, just like his parents had when he first told him he was going to follow his dream, instead of theirs. 

Seungcheol was angry, it boiled inside of him like an overflowing calderon, and the closer he got to the university and his dorm, the more it spilled over. In a frenzy he had entered his home and destroyed everything he owned. His studio setup, his computer, his many notebooks that were filled with lyrics, because everything had been touched by her and he wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Not after she had lied boldly to his face the night before when they shared the most intimate moment with each other. 

And just like he promised to her underneath the moonlight, he gave it all up, but this time because she had broken him. 

There was a letter she had left for him to find. It didn’t come into his possession after he had stopped attending classes and was living on Jeonghan and Joshua’s couch. The university had called him to pick up his belongings from his dorm after he dropped all his classes on whim one Saturday afternoon. When he did, when he opened the front door of the wretched dorm room, the room that once held so many beautiful memories turned sour. The toe of his shoe was met with a brown paper envelope, his name scribbled neatly on the back. Instantly he knew who it was from. 

Seungcheol had once prided himself in memorizing the way her letters curved with one another. A useless talent he now wished he could forget entirely. With a hesitant he opened it and skimmed through, not wanting to linger long enough on every single one of her words so it would hurt less. 

In the end it did.

It hurt more than her leaving him stranded on the bus stop that morning. It hurt more than finding out that the little things she had strategically left at his place had mysteriously disappeared when he came back home that morning. It hurt more than giving up entirely on a dream so pure that it ended up tainted. It hurt more than dying, or so he assumed because now he finally knew the truth. A truth he had been blinded to the entire three years they spent lost in each other’s thoughts and arms. 

She didn’t love, and she never did. She had a passion that consumed her to the point of greed and when she realized she wasn’t going to achieve her dream with Seungcheol at her side. 

She left and he had given up love for good. 

Which is why Seungcheol was so against the entire soulmate phenomenon. If death was the outcome then so be it, even though the thought of his mom finding him out he was dead scared him to the point it welcomed chills to his body. He was stubborn though, and his father always hated that about him because it reminded him of his younger self. But Seungcheol was never going to give in, no matter how loud the click on his wrist was ticking and how fast he found himself walking.

There was a little bit of hope. It was reserved for special occasions and those had been a rarity in Seungcheol’s life for longer than he liked to admit. But it was still there, buried deep inside, behind his walls and his pride. And it was threatening to burst out into the open, because as much as Seuncheol was scared of falling in love again, this time with a complete stranger, terrified him. The thought of not knowing if his life was really at stake was far scarier. He was gambling with his life line and that was a risk he found himself not willing to take. Though he would never admit to himself and especially not to Jeonghan or Joshua. 

He was in complete denial at least for a slight second. Yet, he had started to walk with fever and hastily. He was desperate, he didn’t know where to start or how to start or if he should even start. He just walked, until his body was running on autopilot. He didn’t know where he was going or where  he was going to end up, but the only thing on his mind was that the timer was blaring inside of his eardrums at an alarming rate, and the hope he kept at bay spilling out of his pores. 

He needed to find his soulmate before it was too late. 

Seungcheol didn’t want to die, he still had a dream to achieve. He will do it, he had promised himself that much. And he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from again. 

Hour 6 - 22:00

Seungcheol was panting, bending over, with his sweaty palms against his jean clad legs as tried his best to put the air back in his lungs. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking, all he could remember was bumping into a few people along the way and mumbling sorry’s underneath his breath when they had sent him glares his way. But he had ended up at the park across the street from his studio apartment, the one he rarely lived in because more often than not. The old raggedy couch at the car shop had been his home for as long as he had worked there. He had bought it last year after saving up enough money, in hopes of it becoming his new beginning, his safe space, where he could jump right back into working on his one goal in life. 

Though, the first night he had spent there, he had hated it. Occasionally he would give it a second chance. He had given it many second chances, but the outcome was always the same. He would stay awake until four in the morning, get frustrated and then end up running laps at the park until sunrise. 

This park had been his sanctuary, the one his apartment couldn’t provide, so it was no surprise his body had carried him here. He felt at home here, the hollowing of the wind chiming and wrapping around him like a blanket of safety. Here, in this park, Seungcheol felt comfortable enough to let his mind race through the thoughts he would keep hidden behind a wall. 

He straightened himself out, running his fingers through his wet sweaty hair and made his way to the park bench by the basketball court, where he would occasionally lay down in the middle and look at the sky, counting the lack of stars in the sky. He knew they were there, but because of the city's light pollution they were invisible to his eye. Those were the only stars he trusted, not the ones that used the Universe’s gifts for their own selfish desires and to control everyone. 

The stars in the night sky, the one’s he used his imagination and intuition to connect with, trusted him. They were the only one’s in his life that believed in him, even when he couldn’t believe in himself, and it made him feel at ease knowing that at least someone out there was rooting for him to win this losing battle.

Seungcheol took a deep sigh and placed his palm over the watch on the inside of his wrist. He had only two hours left, and he would rather not witness the time ticking down. He could hear it, it was drumming loudly against his eardrums, loud enough to the point in which he couldn’t hear the wind and the tree’s surrounding him singing their natural melody. The last thing he needed was to see the visual representation of his last breath nearing him. 

He wanted to fight, but he was tired. If tonight was his last night living a life he had been so cruel to. He would at least take his last breath at the place he felt most at home. 

So, he sat back and closed his eyes tightly. He felt the wind against his cooling skin, the familiar shivers running up his spine. For the first time since he woke up that morning he felt at peace. 

Hour 7 - 23:00

The ringing of his phone startled him. He had only had his eyes closed for about five minutes. Only five minutes of peace before it was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He let out a frustrated sigh and fished out his phone from the pocket of his oil stained light washed jeans. His gaze and heart softened when he realized his mother was the one calling him. Without hesitation he unlocked his phone and placed his phone to his ear.

Silence. He was met with silence, until a choked sob broke it, his heart shattering in the process. “M-Mom, what’s wrong?” Seungcheol sat up. His eyes grew wide. The anxiety running through his body making his leg bounce. 

“Joshua called me. He was freaking out saying that you were making a mistake. What is talking about? You’re not thinking about leaving again?” His mom spoke. Seungcheol could visualize the almost heart attack Joshua had given his mother when he called. He could visualize the color draining from her face as her hands shook while she dialed his number. Seungcheol’s mother was an over thinker and she always thought about the worst possible scenarios. Especially when it came to Seungcheol and his brother. Joshua knew what he was doing when he had called his mother. He knew that his mother was his weakness. Despite the differences they argued about over the years, Seungcheol loved his mother and knowing she was in such distress because of him, scared him more than what he already was. 

“Nothing mom, he’s over exaggerating. Jeonghan, him and I had a small argument earlier but it’s nothing mom. I’m okay.” He spoke into the receiver lying through his teeth. He wasn’t fine, although he was in his sanctuary and at peace. His timer finally reached the fifty-nine minute mark and his heart was racing to the point he was scared it would literally squeeze through the spaces between his ribs and rip through the safety of his skin, onto the concrete pavement beneath his feet. 

“Are you sure? He sounded really scared and worried, what did you guys fight about?” The words came rushing out of her mouth at lighting speed. He knew that question was coming and although he tried scouring through the files in his mind to come up with a concrete answer that would make his mother worry less. He couldn’t. There was no answer he could give her. If she lied she would know, but if he told the truth, his mother would certainly never be able to recover. 

He knew he could prevent her heartbreak. All he had to do was get up and start walking again, let his feet carry him as his intuition and the Universe led him to where he needed to be, but he stayed seated. His hand closing into a fist taking the roughness of his jeans between them, the frustration, fear and anxiety coursing through his veins faster than before. Maybe if he wasn’t such a coward, maybe if he didn’t let his own selfishness consume him to the point it clouded his judgment, he could’ve let himself do what he needed to do. What he wanted to do. 

“It’s not a big deal, Jeonghan asked him to be his best man and I got a little upset. Tomorrow we’ll be fine and laugh about it.” He said letting out the breath he had been holding in. He knew he sounded like he had just ran a few miles rather than sitting down in complete silence and stillness. 

“I know you’re lying but I have been able to get the truth out of you, so I’ll drop it. At least I know you’re okay and you’re still here.” Seungcheol’s mother stopped speaking for a second, he could hear his father whispering something to her and his mother answering in agreement. “Visit us tomorrow, your brother is coming over tomorrow for dinner. Your dad wants to see you.” She half whispered the last part and it brought a slight smile to his face. For years Seungcheol and his father had not been on good terms, whenever they saw each other, his future always became the topic of conversation. His father always shared his disapproval and disappointment on how Seungcheol’s life had turned out. His father expected too much from both him and his brother, he had dreams in which he had tried to instill in them. It wasn’t enough that one of his sons had achieved his dream, his pride was attached to the two of them. And knowing that Seungcheol always refused, always followed the beat of his own drum, wounded his pride. 

His mother and brother always tried their best to bridge the gap between them that had only grown deeper over the years. 

Seungcheol admired their commitment, but just being in his father’s presence fully aware of how he felt towards him was only a simple reminder of what he did not want to become, and it only made him resent him even more. 

“I don’t know mom, I work until late tomorrow and I wouldn’t have enough time to go home shower and change. Maybe some other time.” Seungcheol whispered. The wind blew causing a single leaf to escape its perspective branch. Seungcheol watched it closely as it flew down, landing on his lap. He picked it up in between his forefinger and thumb, twirling the steam as he listened to his mother sigh out. 

“Just come after work...it’s important.” 

Seungcheol wanted to say yes. The simple three letter word was one of the hardest ones to say. With the urgency in his mother’s voice, he knew that she wasn’t lying and that whatever his father had to tell him. It was important. But Seungcheol didn’t want to make a promise he could not keep. For he didn’t know if his tomorrow would ever come. If the last thirty minutes (indicated by the timer on his wrist) would be the last thirty minutes of his life. 

He wondered if it was possible for time to run faster than before, and the quick ticking sound in his head proved that he was right. It was now drowning out the sound of his mother’s low and desperate pleas. 

“M-Mom I’ll see what I can do, maybe if Jeonghan is in a good mood I can convince him to let me off early, I’ll try to be there by dinner time.” The almost empty promise escaped his throat, running past his teeth and perfect lips faster than he could stop himself.

“Perfect. We’ll see you tomorrow.” His mother cheered. He could hear and sense her happiness through the receiver of his phone and it shattered his heart. When tomorrow came and what Jeonghan and Joshua both claimed to be true would happen. What would be his mother’s reaction?

“I’ll try mom, you know I’m not good at keeping promises.” He half joked, the tears had started to pool in the corner of his eyes. He looked up at the night sky, making eye contact with the moon. They had once been intimate, but over the last few months they had been disconnected, the stars surrounding her protecting her from his own selfish needs and acts. He missed her, he wished he could feel her light upon his skin, caressing him and holding him in ways he wanted to be held. Ways in which he needed to be held. Though, he could feel her reluctance as he took in her beauty. She was there with him, keeping him company as the last twenty minutes of his life counted down. 

“You always find a way to keep them Seungcheol. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.” 

“I love you too mom.” He whispered before the line went dead. Seungcheol sighed, bringing down his phone from his ear. He stared at his mother’s contact name, trying to decide if he should call her back again. Tell her that he wasn’t fine that he was scared and that he wanted to be in her arms, singing the song she always sang to him whenever his imagination betrayed him, plaguing his dreams with nightmares. But he didn’t again, his own pride and reluctance, the one he gets from his father and the reason why they clash so much kept him calling her back. 

Instead he looked at his timer one last time, noted that there were ten minutes left and placed his phone down next to him on the bench. He took in his surroundings one last time before leaning his back and closing his tired soft eyes. 

Hour 8: 24:00

“Excuse me?”

Seungcheol opened his eyes upon hearing the sound of the soft voice behind him and the light tap on his shoulder. He sat up quickly looking around frantically. He only had five minutes left and his peace had been disturbed. He turned around his gaze falling upon someone he had only seen in his dreams. 

“You dropped your phone.” You said shakingly, handing him his phone. He assumed that it had fallen through the cracks of the bench; he had been so deep in his thoughts he didn’t hear the thud of it hitting the ground. 

“Oh um, thank you.” He spoke quickly, taking his phone. His fingers accidentally brushed over the soft skin of your wrist, the familiar digital clock appearing before him and the ticking sound became loud enough to the point he couldn’t hear the nagging voice that had stayed with him for the last twenty five years of his life. Quickly he glanced down to his wrist and then at yours, he could feel the fear radiating out of your pores as the seconds counted down faster than the speed of light. 

Seungcheol almost laughed. In fact he felt the laugh suppressing itself in the back of his throat. But as the timer finally reached the infamous zero’s, his last breath didn’t come, and neither did yours. He watched as you looked around frantically before your eyes found his. You let out the sob you had been suppressing for the entirety of the day. Your knees gave up on you and you leaned down hugging your calves, burying your face into your thighs, the sobs came quickly and Seungcheol sat there not knowing what to do. 

It was like his body was acting on his and he stood up, rounding the corner of the bench and crouched down. His shaking arms wrapped around you tightly, running a soothing hand down your back, smoothing out the wrinkles of your navy blue sweatshirt. 

The next words we muttered, were words he never thought he would say again. But again it felt like he wasn’t in control of his body. It felt like after the timer hit the long awaited double zero’s his body belonged to someone else, almost as if he had been reborn again after twenty five years. 

“It’s okay, I am here.” 

[nanamins-kitten]

First kiss

note: I've been thinking about this for daaaaaaaaaays and I finally procrastinated studying to do it

no warning, just soft core Nanami lover

Being dragged to church in itself sucked. Being dragged to church for multiple hours sucked even more. Being dragged to church for multiple hours at night sucked dick and balls.

At least the service was over, after like 2 hours of keeping yourself occupied with watching your candle burn and the wax travel down until there was no more string to keep the light alive, and the church was surrounded by nature, lots of trees and a whole row of blossoming magnolia trees.

But it was still after midnight. And it was slightly chilly.

And it started raining.

You grumpled. You had no umbrella and no hood on your white overcoat and stopping somewhere would just take more time to get home. Swearing inside your head, you continued your walk along the magnolia trees.

'Excuse me...'

Suddenly no water was hitting your head anymore. Looking up, and towards the voice that came behind you, a umbrella was now shielding you from the falling water, held by a young guy with blonde hair and bangs falling into one side of his face. You slightly compared it to those of the emo guys that were all over quotev and wattpad covers when you were still active on there, but it was suiting him and his slightly tired, yet defined, face. He seemed to be wearing some sort of uniform, a school uniform.

'You, um, seemed not prepared for the weather.' he said once you two locked eyes.

'Yeah, I made the mistake to not check the weather forecast' you laughed nervously, a little shy at talking with a stranger and slightly intimidated by him. He was tall, very tall, and he was really pretty, and very close to you, sitting under the same umbrella. But he seemed a little shy, or stand off-ish, unsure in his movements, like an awkward teenager. That comforted you.

He looked away for a second, seemingly thinking, pondering something, before looking ahead the magnolia trees again. 'There is a bit of a walk till the gate. Let me walk you there.'

'Oh, thank you! You shouldn't have, but thank you.' Starting to walk on the road again, at a comfortable pace, you continued to look at him and smiled genuinely. 'You're really nice to do that.'

That seemed to make the boy blush a bit, making you smile more, keeping a giggle inside. He was really cute, wasn't he?

'I think that you also look very nice.'

Now it was your turn to blush. It was nice to be complimented by someone you were attracted to.

'Thank you.'

He hummed and the two of you continued to walk quietly. It was actually nice now that you were covered. The smell of rain and spring flowers in the air, the soft nightlights and no busy noise around felt actually close to a date, a perfect date. Step by step, you observed the boy had slowly gotten closer and closer to you, enough that he was in your personal space now, not uncomfortably so, but just enough like someone that you are close to. His hand with the umbrella was between the two of you, his upper arm touching yours. You liked the closeness and tried to swiftly bump your shoulder into his (which was pretty hard, since he was so tall and you could only touch his arm with your shoulder) and it was nice. It felt warmer, even if it had actually gotten slightly windy, but the silence in his presence was actually comforting, and he didn't mind when you lowly hummed a tune.

Finally, the gate was reached.

You turn towards the boy, smiling softly. The rain is much gentler now, but the wind started picking up. 'Thank you again for being so nice.' The gate was right there, a few steps ahead. But you felt the need to do something. So you stepped on your toes and leaned to peck his right cheek, on the spot that wasn't covered by his hair. It was closer to the corner of his mouth than you had planned, which made you blush and bite your lip nervously when you pulled back and were to continue to walk away.

Until he caught your hand.

His face was adorned by a rosy pink and his face was scrunched in some kind of confusion. Was it because you kissed you him? Was it because he didn't know how to react?

Stepping again closer to him, so his arm dropped, but his hand still in yours, you looked him in the eye and waited for him to make the next move. To see what idea is in his mind, what is he planning.

He locked his eyes with yours. He looked determined, a little intimidating, but there was no feeling of fear around you, he didn't want to hurt you. So you didn't move. His head leaned closer to yours and his hand, the one that one second ago was grabbing your hand, reached for your cheek, his knuckles caressing blushed skin. When your noses touched each other, he stopped in his tracks, unsure if to continue or not, if you changed your mind or not. You could feel his anxiety cascading out of him.

So you moved your head forward, your noses rubbing onto his this time, as consent to go ahead. It was a soft peck on the lips, just as gentle as the kiss you left on his cheek. His lips were slightly chapped and felt salty, like he just ate something very recent, but it melted your knees from how gentle it was when he cupped your face with the one hand.

You felt a sudden weight on you, looming, and you opened your eyes in shock to see him stumbling over you.

The wind had picked up suddenly and powerful and stole the umbrella away, exposing the two of you to the rain again. You broke apart to take the image of the umbrella flying away at big speed in, but then your vision went black as a piece of cloth went over your face and a yelp escaped your lips. Turning back to the boy, you understood he took his uniform jacket off and put it over your head to protect you from the rain, while he was completely exposed to the water droplets carried aggressively by the wind. His face was flushed more and more, and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

'I don't want you to get wet.'

You weren't sure why that sentence hit you in the guts as hard as it did. Was it the gentle way he was holding the jacket so he could still see your face? Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world and was afraid of accidentally bruising you?

Maybe it was all of it that made you smile cutely, cup his face with both hands and tug him down, where you kissed him lovingly, like he was the love of your life. He was surprised, shocked, but his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you there.

You felt something soft under your hands, but it was not his face, it was softer and lighter, easily to grab and squeeze.

You woke up, eyes slowly fluttering to the morning sun. There were no more rain, no more night, no more church, magnolias, and the boy disappeared completely. Just you naked under the duvet.

Two arms squeezed your waist and a pair of lips left a kiss on your cheek, and then the face all those limbs belonged to nuzzled against yours. "Did you have a good sleep, darling?"

He didn't disappear.

He just grew up.

"Kento," you whined in your sleepy voice, turning in his arms to face him, "I had such a beautiful dream. And you were there too?"

His eyes were still closed, but he hummed as a sign that he was listening. "Is that so?"

"Yes, but actually it wasn't you... it were you when you were still a student, like I saw in the pictures when Gojo showed me."

Nanami groaned. "Please don't mention him first thing in the morning, kitten."

You giggled a bit. "Sorry, sweetheart. Will not happen again." You kissed his nose in apology. "And I was a student too, I think, and we met one silent, rainy night and you walked me with an umbrella and then we kissed."

He squeezed you closer to his chest at your words, kissing your forehead. "I like your dream, kitten."

"Me too." A dreamy sigh left your lips as your fingers were leaving circular patterns on his shoulder. "You know, if that would have been reality, you would have been my first kiss."

"Was I a good first kiss?"

Looking up to him, his eyes were still closed. You continued with your skin patterns, pointedly ignoring his question.

Immediately, his eyes opened and he lowered his head to look at you. You continued with your silly little task, trying not to smile when he moved to ask you again. "I believe I asked you something, kitten."

Damn him and his sexy morning voice, even deeper than usual, and his strong arms grabbing your naked skin so expertly.

"I mean..." you knew teasing Nanami had its limits, but it was way too fun sometimes. Like right now. "It was as good as a kiss as a dream kiss could be. You were really cute and shy then, all blushy and hesitant." Finally, you left a giggle out, remembering how cute he was, you wanted to squeeze him to your chest.

The Nanami you had with you then and there, however, was nowhere near the shy awkward teenager from you dream. He easily flipped you on your back, hands softly pinned on each side of your head, the duvet uncovering your body as he loomed over you.

Going for your right ear, he trailed kisses down to your neck, biting the skin near the shoulder. You moaned and bit your lip, embarrassed by the sound, even after so much time of dating Nanami.

"Aren't you the shy one now?" the whisper in your ear sent shivers down your spine, and warmth shooting through the whole body.

"Kento..." you started, intertwining you fingers with his while he held you down, staring you down.

"What is it, kitten?"

Your eyes travelled to his lips and stayed there for a few seconds, not saying anything.

"I need words, kitten."

Locking eyes with him again, you whispered "Kiss me like it's the first and last time, please."

[nose-bandaid]

a hug per dollar

hello! it's me, the platonic anon from before... may i request a non-romantic, changgu & gender-neutral reader, coffee/study date? and maybe you could work in a reassuring hug 🥺 thank you so much 💛

Yeo One (Changgu) x (gender neutral) Reader | Platonic fluff + comfort?! | 1.8k words

synopsis: overworking can sometimes be an easy, but terrible habit to fall into, but luckily, changgu is there to drag you out when you do.

a/n: lol i think i projected this to have 1.2k but it ended up with 1.8 but i am not complaining !!!! to my dear platonic anon, sorry this took so long ksdhfkdsj i hope you enjoy it !! i may or may not have done an uno reverse on stud.hui.o fanatic because now it is the reader who's overworking BAM 💛

=====

"Don't you think we've been here for long enough?"

Your hand stopped writing the flurry of notes and you looked at your friend, who peered back at you over his laptop. "Changgu, it's literally only been..."

You flipped your phone over to look at the time on its display and faltered when you realized just how late into the day it was. "I guess we have been here for a while."

"Which is exactly why I think we should—"

"But I'm not ready to leave yet!" You snapped back, immediately backing off when you realized how harsh your voice was.

"You didn't get much sleep last night, did you?" He pressed on and you buried your face back into the piles of work laid in front of you.

"We don't talk about that either."

He let you be and the two of you went back to working in silence for the next while until Changgu eventually got up from his seat. Your eyes followed him as he stretched and let out a sigh. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

"Okay." You replied, and returned to your work.

=====

Not long after, a juice box slid into your view and you looked up at Changgu who returned after his bathroom break that took much longer than a usual bathroom break would've taken. You quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

"You got juice from the bathroom?"

He laughed and you took note of the other juice box in his hand — the exact same flavour as yours. "Of course I did. They added vending machines in the bathroom recently, didn't you know that?"

You decided to play along. "Is that so? No, I didn't know that. But do enlighten me as to why you would ever trust a vending machine located in the bathroom."

He laughed at your small jest. "Nah, I just went on an adventure to grab us some fuel." He dropped back into his seat and let out a relieved hum as he stared at his laptop. "After finishing that stupid essay I think I deserved the treat."

"You know, if you're done working you can always head back first. I'm fine on my own."

He shook his head adamantly at your offer. "This is our study session, you know? It's a we thing," he emphasized that with a point to the table. "So I'm not leaving until you're also done."

You sent him a small smile in appreciation and returned to your textbook, taking a small sip from the juice box as you did. It was refreshing and in the back of your mind, you wondered how he knew this was your favourite flavour. You didn't recall ever telling him.

"Though I think you've done more than enough work for today."

You didn't miss the next thing he muttered quietly.

"Look, Changgu, I'll just finish this chapter and we can call it today, okay?" You desperately held up a finger to assist in your pleading.

"One chapter and one chapter only." He reluctantly gave in, deciding to get a head start on another assignment in the meanwhile. Once again, you settled back into a comfortable silence, listening to the distant voices of others in the library.

You ended up finishing that chapter quicker than you initially thought you would and it flared up a new flame of determination within you. You could cram in a few more chapters then, right? You'll get them done in no time, especially with the flow you had now.

Agreeing with yourself, you got started right away.

You're pretty sure Changgu noticed when you flipped the page again.

And again.

And again.

Surely he's noticed the way you're slouched over a bit more now, the way your eyes were drooping and your gaze became unfocused. The way you've hardly touched the bag of snacks since he opened it. But you kept on going. Your determination knew no limits and you kept on going despite all the rational part of you that screamed at you to stop.

...Now, where did you leave off before you started daydreaming?

Right, at the end of this paragraph. You returned to staring at the mundane words in the textbook. You swore you were almost finished with this page but you also told yourself that what felt like hours ago. No matter how many times you read the same sentence over and over again, the words never seemed to stick in your mind. Your hand couldn't figure out what to write and what to leave out. All of it seemed important and you cursed the way your next exam weighed so much and yet gave you such vague preparation instructions. If only you had started studying earlier... but wasn't one week enough? Maybe you just weren't fit for this? Probably, because —

Changgu placed his hand onto yours. He gently pulled the pen out of your grasp and gestured for you to look at him.

"Let's take a break, you have no say in it. Seeing you like this makes me exhausted, I can't take this anymore."

No matter how many times you've drilled into your mind that it was absolutely not okay to take a break, the moment you heard the words from someone else, your composure crumbled.

You let out a deep sigh and let your weight rest on the table. "Yeah let's."

Changgu helped you pack your work away after cleaning up his own and waited until you were fully ready. When you slid the chair back to its former home, he held out a hand for you to take and you happily took a place by his side.

"Are you going to take me on another adventure?" You playfully asked, already feeling a little better now that your work was tucked away.

He shrugged. "Honestly, I had no clue where I was going to take you 'cause I didn't think you'd actually stop studying. But sure! Let's make this an adventure."

Stepping outside, you realized how much nicer it was to have a change of scenery. It was already late afternoon, the sun shining brightly above, engulfing you in a pleasant kind of warmth.

You sighed inwardly, this would've been more relaxing if your mind would just stop drifting back to all the work you still to be done. Hadn't you done enough? You worked so hard for the past who-knows-how-many-hours and yet it only left you unsatisfied and even more stressed.

Maybe it just wasn't enough.

A gentle bop on your head brought you out of your thoughts and you stared at Changgu, his hand still raised from bonking your bad thoughts away.

"Stop thinking so much." He crossed his arms and looked at you pointedly.

"Huh?"

Squinting his eyes, his face leaned into yours, getting closer and closer, and you found yourself edging away from the intrusion. Just as quickly as it started, he suddenly disappeared, straightening his back again and letting out a huff.

"Just as I thought."

"What?" You asked again, still lost.

"You're thinking bad things about yourself again! Stop that."

"How did you know?"

He playfully punched your shoulder at that. "I'm your best friend, you think I wouldn't notice these things? You always have this expression on your face when you're beating yourself up. Looks kinda stupid."

Your mouth gaped at his remark. "Hey!'

"I'm kidding, you never look stupid," he smiled and continued. "But what is stupid is you thinking that you're not good enough because you can't keep up with everything that's going on. Can you really blame yourself if some uncontrollable force decided to dump an unreasonable amount of work on you all at once? You're doing your best, which is one, really paying off because I swear you've covered like a billion chapters today. And two, is extremely cool — I heard the group studying behind us gush about how hard you were working and guess what?"

"...What?" You asked hesitantly, still trying to recover from your friend's spiel.

Changgu grabbed your shoulders to keep your attention. "I also think you're really really cool!!" He announced loudly, capturing the attention of a mother and her daughter nearby. They walked away after the initial surprise.

Your lip trembled, not even having it within you to be embarrassed by his public confession. Instead, you were overwhelmed by his kindness. "Changgu..."

He pulled you into a hug and you basked in his presence. The faint smell of fresh laundry lingered on his hoodie and you melted into his comfort. "You're doing great, and you'd be doing even better if you let yourself breathe for a moment. As overwhelming as it may feel, the only thing that's going to bring you down is yourself if you keep on going at this rate — not your work." He gently scolded before he pulled away and cupped your face, eyes boring into yours.

"Got that?"

You nodded hesitantly. "Yes."

"I don't know... that wasn't really convincing..."

You laughed lightly and pushed his hands away from you. "I got it, I got it, Changu. Thank you so much." You found yourself much more relaxed after your talk. "From studying with me to buying me snacks and comforting me... aargh, I appreciate it."

Changgu simply gave you a bright smile. "Anything for you."

That was all he said, but those 3 words were enough to express just how much you meant to each other.

"Besides, I don't think of it as a chore, any time spent with you is great."

You pouted. "You're too good for me, seriously. How can I make it up to you?"

In all honesty, you expected him to dismiss the question, but instead, Changgu's eyes wandered off as he placed a finger on his chin. "Well, I did notice that my favourite drink is on sale when I passed by that cafe on the way here..."

You sent him an amused look. "The juice wasn't enough?"

"Are you telling me to pass on a sale that takes a whole dollar off?"

Once again, you found yourself playing along with his act and your eyes widened. "Oh geez, you're right, we can't miss out on that." Pushing Changgu from behind, you ushered him forward. "Let's get moving! We spent so much time in the library the shop's going to close by the time we get there."

Changgu chuckled as you caught up and fell into step with his movements. "I'm glad to see that you're back to normal."

"And I'm glad we get to save a buck on overpriced drinks. Thanks for everything, Changgu." You swiftly replied and he sent a smile your way.

"Anytime."

[the-fixation-zone]

a drink from hell

okay so i haven’t written fanfic in literal years (and even then, it was only one, unpublished) and my writing in general is rusty, but i saw this  answer by @hurricanezukka and i just. i had to write something. so here it is! it doesn’t follow the prompt exactly, the plot got a little away from me, and if i didn’t just write something i was going to take a billion years on it/not finish it at all so! anyway! the Work!

~5k words

“Your change is three dollars.” Zuko hands over the bills, trying not to wrinkle his nose as yet another person purchases his Uncle’s…concoction. The customer smiles and walks down to the end of the counter, awaiting what Zuko believes can only loosely be considered a drink. He sighs through his nose, turns, and begins crafting. A Thai tea with…boba. He tries not to gag as he finishes it and hands it over with its obnoxiously large straw. The customer’s eyes light up when she sees it, her “thank you!” almost lost in the loud popping of the drink’s seal. Zuko does not say you’re welcome. Instead, he tries to keep his eyes from rolling and goes back to the register. Another day, another delusional person. When Uncle Iroh had said he wanted to try something new in his tea shop, Zuko hadn’t questioned it. It was his shop, after all, and Zuko was only there because of his Uncle’s love. Uncle obviously knew how to run a business without outside influence. But when Uncle had shown him the little…black…balls he intended to put into the most finely brewed tea in the city, Zuko had nearly put his foot down.

“Uncle. What…what are those.”

“They are tapioca balls, nephew! Don’t they look delicious? It will add a bit of fun to drinking tea, if I say so myself!”

Right. Fun. As if drinking hot (or, in this case, cold) leaf juice needed to be a diverting activity. Zuko had said nothing and had dutifully tried one. And then he had just as dutifully spit it out when Uncle wasn’t looking. Honestly, what the fuck was he thinking?

So now Zuko stands behind the counter of the Jasmine Dragon and waits for people to come in and order the monstrosity, forcing him to relive his waking nightmare. Cold tea. And tapioca balls. It isn’t enough to make him rethink working here, but it’s damn close.

“Gooooood afternoon! I hear you guys have something called boba tea?”

Zuko’s eyes clench close reflexively before he remembers the customer service etiquette Iroh tried to drill in him. He opens his eyes and says, through clenched teeth, “Yes. We do. Only place in the city.”

“Wooooow.” The customer is flashing him a bright smile, one that takes Zuko off-guard for a moment. Sure, sometimes customer’s smile at him. It’s usually because they want something. A bit knocked off the price of their drink; to be able to use an expired coupon. But this customer doesn’t seem to want anything. Just the boba. “Is it good?”

Zuko raises his eyes from the smile to the man’s eyes, intending on telling him the honest truth, but he’s arrested by how bright blue they are. Zuko forgets how to form sentences. The customer’s tanned skin makes his eyes look even bluer, the little blue beads in the single braid that comes down into his face tying the whole package together. He has laugh lines.

“Uh—what?”

The customer’s smile falters, just a bit. “The boba? Is it good? I mean, my sister says it’s great, but who can trust a little sister’s taste?” He winks, bringing Zuko into the joke. Zuko thinks about Azula’s taste in, well, anything, and finds himself nodding along.

“Yeah. Yeah, I understand. Uh, a lot of people say it’s good. Like, uh, it’s ordered a lot? Instead of regular tea?” Zuko does not know why he’s asking his customer these statements, but Zuko also doesn’t know why he isn’t just telling him that the boba fucking sucks and to try something else. Maybe it’s because the customer is still smiling, even though by now he’s sure to have gotten a proper look at Zuko’s marred face. Maybe it’s because his hair, the rest of it that’s not in the little braid but is instead in a wolftail, looks so soft…

Maybe Zuko is a bit preoccupied.

“Well, that’s good enough for me! How about I get a small black milk boba tea and let you know what I think?”

Zuko nods numbly, tells him how much it is, and exchanges currency. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t look at the till to do it, but the customer doesn’t say anything about incorrect change so maybe he’s done it right. Zuko makes the tea with shaking fingers. When he finishes, he turns and sees the customer leaning against the counter, looking down at his phone. He looks up, as if he knew Zuko was looking at him, and flashes that smile again. Zuko passes over the tea and their fingers brush.

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.”

Zuko watches as the customer walks to a table near the windows, pulls out a laptop (how long had he been wearing a messenger bag?) and gets to work. Zuko, unfortunately, finds it hard to get back to work for the rest of his shift.

 ***

Zuko’s off the next few days and he spends his free time reading. Mostly Wikipedia articles, but if pressed Zuko would defend his habits as educational to the last breath. Besides, it isn’t as if he is just reading them for fun, not that anyone asked. He’s editing. The nature of Wikipedia is such that anyone, even idiots, can create a page. It is a beautiful idea in theory, but in practice it gives Zuko a headache. He doesn’t edit every inaccurate page that he comes across (he’d get nothing else done) but he does look through pages he considers himself an expert on. Species of turtle, types of candle wax, the furnace manufacturing industry—well. There are plenty of things to keep him occupied until his next shift. He very pointedly does not think about the blue-eyed bombshell from the other day who stayed in the shop for several hours, long after he had finished his tea. He also doesn’t think about how, after finishing the tea, the blue-eyed customer had looked up and unerringly found Zuko’s eyes to give him a big, hammy thumbs up with another grin. He doesn’t think about how he’d fumbled the teacup that had been in his hand and blushed furiously, thanking the gods the cup had been empty. He doesn’t think about how, though he didn’t look back at the customer’s table ever again, he could feel the man’s eyes on him. He really doesn’t think about that.

Instead, he thinks about how someone has changed all the mentions of “tortoises” to “turtles” as he viciously changes them back. Honestly, if there weren’t a difference why would there be two separate words?

His next shift is an early one. 7am. Zuko doesn’t mind; he tends to rise early anyway. He comes in a few minutes before his shift starts, unlocking the door and bringing down chairs from their upside-down position on tables. He can hear Uncle in the back, counting change.

“Zuko, is that you?”

Zuko sighs. “Yes Uncle. Were you expecting someone else?”

Uncle Iroh’s chuckle can be heard clearly in the front room. “No, no, just glad you are here. Today is going to be a great day!” Uncle comes through the door to the back, tying his apron around his generous belly. Zuko still doesn’t understand why Uncle, the owner of this shop, insists on working when he could easily just hire someone to take his place. He’s asked a few times, wondering why his uncle doesn’t take an early (or, honestly, past due) retirement, but Uncle always gives him the same answer. He grins, slaps Zuko on the back, and says, “Can’t leave all the fun to the young!” before busying himself with some part of the tea process. Zuko doesn’t understand it, but he’s long learned not to question it. He grabs his own apron and gets behind the counter, taking the glass jars of tea out from the cabinets to display them next to the till. Uncle is insistent that people see the tea before it’s brewed, so they know exactly what they are getting. Zuko doesn’t get it. He looks in the jars and sees different shades of dried leaf, which doesn’t help him choose which one he’ll hate least. But Uncle is the boss, so.

The morning goes quickly, a rush hitting a half hour after they open and holding steady until around nine. Perks of being located near the college campus, the best of which being that students in the early morning are dead-eyed and silent. They take their caffeine and go, without much small talk. Zuko decides to take his break after the rush, knowing another one will start up again in an hour or so. Uncle had decided pretty early on that tea was much better with a snack, and so had added café food to the menu. Oatmeal, avocado toast, and smoothie bowls are part of the Jasmine Dragon’s repertoire, among other tasty things, which brings more people in for lunch than they’d get just serving tea. A blessing and a curse, Zuko thinks. A blessing, because more customers mean more tips. A curse because…well, customers. Zuko throws together a sandwich and starts to head to the back. Uncle always says he’s welcome to eat in the dining room, where the seats are more comfortable, but Zuko prefers not to be seen while he eats. Usually, Uncle leaves it just at that. Today, however, he pushes Zuko a little more.

“Are you sure, nephew? I chose these couches myself for their comfort! I think you will enjoy your lunch a bit better if you sit out here today.” Uncle has an odd twinkle in his eye as he says this, one Zuko doesn’t have the energy to parse through. He looks at the clock, then back at Uncle, and realizes if he wants to have any food at all it’s better to just give in now. Zuko shrugs and heads to the dining room instead, taking an armchair close to the back. The room is, thankfully, empty for now. Not knowing how long that will last, Zuko starts to take a bite of his sandwich when the bell over the door rings. He sighs, moving to get up, but Uncle waves him off and heads towards the till to take care of the customer. Grateful, Zuko sinks back into the armchair, eyes drifting to the newcomer in case they try to give Uncle any trouble. As his eyes find him, Zuko freezes. It’s. The blue-eyed man.

Zuko does not drop his sandwich.

The man walks to the counter, familiar grin on his face, and greets Uncle like they’re old friends. Zuko watches, confused, as they immediately launch into a hushed conversation too quiet for him to make out. He does catch Uncle attempting to subtly point in his direction, though, and feels his ears go red. Better not to worry about it, Zuko thinks, and hunches deeper into his armchair to nibble on his sandwich. Not worrying about it, he keeps his eye on the customer.

Eventually, after it seems the man has finally ordered, the customer moves down the counter away from Uncle, and Iroh starts his tea. Instead of looking at his phone like he did last time, the man looks directly at Zuko and makes a beeline for his corner. Zuko eats a bit faster.

“Hey! You on break?”

Zuko wishes he hadn’t eaten so fast. “Mmph? Uhk, er—”

The other man’s eyes fill with concern and he puts his hands up, palms out. “Whoa, whoa sorry! I should’ve waited, take your time!” He watches Zuko swallow with a soft smile, getting comfortable in a nearby armchair. Zuko tries to tone down his impression of a human tomato.

“I—fuck—hi. Hello. Again.”

The customer’s smile stays soft, but a light comes into his eyes. “Hello. Again. Name’s Sokka,” and he reaches a hand out to shake, “what’s yours?”

Zuko definitely drops his sandwich now (onto the table, thank fuck) and quickly meets the man’s—Sokka’s—hand with his own. Sokka’s hand is pleasantly cool. “Uh, I’m Zuko.”

“Zuko. Cool.” Sokka keeps looking at him, and smiling at him, and should Zuko let go now? Or is it okay, since Sokka hasn’t let go either? Zuko wracks his brain for the last time he shook anyone’s hand and how long the shake lasted and comes up maddeningly blank. Has Zuko shaken anyone else’s hand before?

Sokka’s smile grows. He slowly removes his hand from Zuko’s grip, fingers lingering. Zuko has just enough presence of mind to bring his hand back to his lap, and not leave it dangling in midair like an idiot. It’s a near thing, though.

“Uh, so. What were you and Uncle talking about?” Zuko asks, the first thing that comes to mind.

“Oh! That’s your uncle?” Sokka looks over his shoulder for a second, then looks back. “Oh, uh, nothing? Would you believe nothing? We were just shooting the breeze, you know, real casual small talk.” Sokka does not sound very convincing, but he also doesn’t sound like he’s going to change his story so Zuko doesn’t push it.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, he’s, uh, he’s good at that. Small talk.” Unlike me oh gods strike me down now.

“He seems like a good guy!” The nervous look leaves Sokka’s eyes, which is just as well because that means they’re not shifting all over the place and are firmly planted on Zuko’s face. “Must be nice to have such a nice uncle to work for. All the free boba you want! What a dream.”

Zuko’s eyes widen and he coughs. “Uh yeah. All the…the free b-boba…I’d want. Because it’s so good. Who doesn’t like boba? You like it, right?”

Before Sokka can answer, Uncle comes to their little corner with Sokka’s order: same as the other day, black milk tea with boba. This time, though, it’s a much bigger serving. Sokka’s eyes light up when he sees it, and he thanks Uncle profusely as he stabs into the drink’s seal. Zuko tries to hide his grimace, his question thoroughly answered. He looks at Uncle, intending on asking if he should get back to work, but Uncle just gives him a wink and walks off without saying anything. Flustered, Zuko stays put. Between slurps of tea, Sokka begins to ask him about himself and, helpless, Zuko answers. He makes sure to keep his eyes on Sokka’s face, rather than the abomination he’s inhaling, but really that’s not much better. Looking at Sokka makes Zuko feel like he’s on fire. Every time Sokka asks him something his tongue trips over itself trying to provide the best, most accurate answer. He’s sure he looks like a buffoon but Sokka never comments, just keeps smiling at him and encouraging him to answer. He just wants to know and Zuko doesn’t get it.

“Uh, so. What about you? You were working on something the other day…what was it?” Immediately Zuko wants to take it back, sure he’s asked something too personal, maybe the guy doesn’t want to talk about his work, honestly Zuko just think sometimes—

“Oh! I’m glad you asked, I’ve been meaning to bounce some ideas off someone!” Sokka’s eyes light up like he’s been given another boba as he launches into an explanation of his work. He’s a PhD student apparently, trying to hammer out a decent thesis proposal for his dissertation on medieval war tactics. War isn’t really Zuko’s interest, but he does know a bit about medieval history so he offers advice when he can. He’s sure it’s not very helpful, but Sokka seems to take it all very seriously, even pausing for a moment to bring his laptop out and take some notes. Zuko doesn’t have the heart to tell him most of his information was collected from his Wikipedia hunts. Before Zuko knows it, the lunch rush has come and gone and evening is swiftly approaching. When he finally notices a clock he swears, standing up quickly.

“Oh shit, I should go back to work! Oh man, I left Uncle all alone, I—” He looks around frantically hoping to catch his uncle’s eye.

Sokka stands too, seemingly also unconscious of the time. “Oh wow, yeah it’s later than I thought. I’ve got to go, Katara’s gonna kill me…” He quickly packs up his things, having over time brought out papers and folders along with his laptop, haphazardly shoving things back into his messenger bag. “This was good, though! I really liked talking to you. Until next time?” Sokka shoots Zuko a hopeful look as he puts his items away. Zuko blinks a few times, still in Red Alert mode, but takes a second to look back at Sokka. And nods.

“Yeah. Next time.”

***

Next time is apparently the very next day. Zuko isn’t scheduled but Uncle calls him in last minute, as Jin, one of the other employees of the Jasmine Dragon, apparently called in sick. Zuko isn’t planning on doing anything but sweep through Wikipedia so he agrees, taking a quick shower before heading over and arriving with his hair still a bit damp. Uncle gives him a wide smile when he sees him arrive, which Zuko returns, albeit in a more subdued manner, before he spots Jin behind him. His eyes narrow.

“Uncle. I thought you said Jin called in sick.”

“Ah, nephew, you see….” His uncle has the good grace to blush. “She had called in sick, but it seems she felt a bit better and decided to come in anyway!”

“Uncle, you called me twenty minutes ago. Did she get sick and better within the span of half an hour?”

Uncle shrugs, unperturbed by being called out in an obvious lie. “Who is to say, nephew? Illnesses come and go, sometimes. Since you are here already, why don’t I make it up to you? You go sit in your corner and I’ll bring you some tea!” Uncle has that look in his eye, the one Zuko knows means he’s been caught in something he can’t see yet, which doesn’t make any sense….

It’s then that Zuko looks to “his” corner. And sees Sokka sitting in the same chair as yesterday, tapping away on his laptop.

“Uncle! Did you--?” Zuko doesn’t even know how to finish the sentence, but one look at the conniving old man tells him all he needs to know. Zuko groans. “I’m going home, Uncle.”

“No, no! Why go home if you are already here? You may as well relax your poor feet and have some good conversation while you are at it. Go, go sit and I will bring you and your…companion some tea and pastries.” Uncle makes a shooing motion and Zuko finds his feet have decided to make their own decisions, choosing to carry him over to Sokka. Sokka seems to know he’s there because when he gets close, Sokka turns to greet him.

“Zuko! I didn’t know you were working today! Good to see you.” He indicates the chair opposite him, snug in the corner. “Join me?”

Zuko nods numbly and goes to sit. “I wasn’t working today. Uncle called me in, said Jin called out sick…but she’s not sick. She’s right over there.” He points to where Jin is laughing with Uncle about something. He hopes to the gods it’s not him.

“Hmm. Sick but not sick huh? Well, I guess it’s my lucky day then,” Sokka says, beaming a smile at Zuko. Zuko feels warm down to his toes and musters a small smile back.

“Yeah, I guess.” Zuko scratches the back of his neck, feeling the weight of conversation-making drop onto his shoulders. How do people do this?

Thankfully, Sokka seems to feel no such weight and launches right into a story about his sister and their roommate, a blind girl named Toph who sounds like a handful. Sokka doesn’t look like Zuko’s one-word answers bother him, seemingly content to talk about whatever, switching topics on a whim. It’s…comforting. When Sokka wants something from Zuko, he asks. He doesn’t push and doesn’t stray into awkward territory. He doesn’t’ ask about the scar. At one point, Zuko looks down and sees there’s tea in front of both of them, the usual for Sokka and a smaller version of the same for him along with two croissants. He didn’t even notice Uncle coming by. He doesn’t say anything about the cup of boba in front of him, choosing to pretend he doesn’t see it.

“Oh! Can I get your opinion on something?” Sokka asks, his laptop now out. He looks a little nervous, typing at some keys.

“Yeah, sure, I guess. What is it?” Zuko doesn’t know what Sokka could possibly want his opinion on, but he can’t possibly say no.

“Well, it’s this paragraph. I think I’m describing the reign of this king right, but the way you said it yesterday made so much more sense…” Sokka lifts his laptop to hand it over to Zuko, and Zuko doesn’t understand because he could just slide it over and—oh. Sokka’s fingers brush against Zuko’s in the handoff, and Zuko has no more complaints. He takes the laptop, feeling his face heat up, and tries not to fumble it as he turns it around.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, let me read it.” He does, half his mind on the highlighted paragraph and the other half on how nice Sokka’s fingers had felt on his. “This seems right. If anything I’d just, well…” He turns on track changes and does a few minor edits, hands it back. Hopes Sokka’s fingers will touch his again and is not disappointed. Sokka’s ears seem a bit red but otherwise he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, great! Yeah, see that’s what I meant, you just are so good at that. The words, I mean.”

Zuko looks at him like there’s worms coming out of his eyes. Him? Good with words? What planet is Sokka from? He doesn’t say anything though, just shrugging.

The day passes the same as the one before, Sokka alternating between asking Zuko questions and working on his thesis proposal. Zuko tells him about his love of turtles, and his Wikipedia obsession, though he refrains from calling it an “obsession” and refers to it as “an academic obligation.” Sokka nods as if this makes sense. Zuko finds the courage to ask Sokka a bit too, about his sister (Katara, a bit of a pain but the way Sokka talks about her Zuko knows he loves her), his roommate Toph (exactly as much of a handful as that story made her sound like), his parents (dead mom, Zuko regrets asking, and great dad, Zuko really regrets asking) and his school program. Occasionally Zuko will catch Sokka looking at him in a way he can’t read, like Sokka is puzzling something out. When Zuko catches him, he raises his one eyebrow in question but Sokka shakes his head and goes back to his laptop. Zuko leaves it at that.

When it’s time for the Jasmine Dragon to close, neither are ready for it.

“Time sure flies, huh?” Sokka asks, looking genuinely bewildered at the position of the sun. “I should be getting back.”

“Yeah, me too.” Zuko stands, instinctively clearing the table. “This was. Nice. I’m…glad I came in today.”

Sokka gives him a soft smile, pausing in putting his laptop and papers away. “I’m glad too.”

***

For the next week, Zuko is working every day. When asked why he signed up for seven days in a row, Zuko shrugs.

“Rent is coming up.”

His Uncle, who is very familiar with his nephew’s finances, smiles and says nothing.

And if Zuko’s breaks are spent in the corner of the dining room with a certain blue-eyed regular, well. It’s nobody’s business but his.

He makes sure he doesn’t go over time, feeling guilty about the work he skipped last time, but when he goes back behind the till Sokka doesn’t leave. In fact, he just moves tables, sitting in a chair closer to the counter, angled towards Zuko. Zuko doesn’t know why, but he isn’t complaining. It’s much easier to watch Sokka this way.

The man really was beautiful. Zuko’s never been very good at describing people, wrinkling his nose at the labels people use for body parts. All he knew was that something about Sokka called to him, somewhere deep down, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Or if there was anything to do. Sokka was a customer, after all! He came for his (disgusting) tea and a quiet place to work. And, apparently, to talk to Zuko, sometimes. But that didn’t mean anything. Still. For seven days, Sokka came in and ordered his boba, they chatted during Zuko’s breaks, and Zuko watched him work when he had to go back behind the till. He might have dropped a mug or two. But who was counting? Apparently not Uncle, who only gives him mysterious looks whenever it happens and sweeps up the glass without comment. He also seems to be oddly occupied in the back of the shop, leaving Zuko at the front. Alone. On days when Uncle is not in the shop, but Jin or Piandao are working instead, they also seem to make themselves…scarce, unless there’s a rush. Zuko doesn’t question it, as it leaves him more chances to watch Sokka unobserved.

Somewhere in the middle of the week, Sokka starts coming up to the counter after the lunch rush to ask Zuko some more questions. Mostly about his proposal, but sometimes not. He always goes back to his chair when a customer comes in, ever courteous of Zuko’s job, but Zuko kind of wishes he wouldn’t. Zuko would much rather explain to Sokka his disinterest in organized sports than watch a customer stare at the menu above Zuko’s head for five minutes, just to give a fake laugh and ask what Zuko thinks they should get. Zuko really wishes they would stop asking his opinion on tea.

By the end of the week, Zuko desperately needs a break. All his clothes, even his non-work ones, reek of tea. He doesn’t know how, but they do, and he’s tired. His feet hurt. He thinks he’ll do something violent if he has to make small talk with another customer. But he looks over at Sokka and thinking about the prospect of not seeing him for a few days fills him with panic. Maybe he could come in anyway? But, surely that’d be obvious, right? Maybe he can ask Uncle to loudly call him on the phone…

It’s nearing closing time and Zuko is still thinking about what to do. Sokka’s still there, which isn’t unusual. He hasn’t left before closing time all week. He gets up, stretches, and starts packing his things away. Also not unusual. What is unusual is that, instead of giving Zuko a wave and heading out, he walks up to the counter.

“Hey.”

“…hey?” Zuko’s mind switches from thinking about how to see Sokka in the next few days to how to deal with the Sokka in front of him. “Want a tea for the road?”

“Well, actually…” Sokka brings a hand up to tug at his braid, biting his bottom lip. Zuko tries not to track this motion and utterly fails. “I was wondering. You, uh. You’ve been working a lot this week, haven’t you?”

Zuko blinks. Sokka had noticed? “Uh, yeah. I’m supposed to be off a couple days soon.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, that makes sense, cool. Would…would tomorrow be one of those days?”

“Maybe? It, uh, could be? Why?”

Sokka tugs a final time at his braid before planting both hands on the counter. “Wellyousaidyoulikedturtlesright?”

Zuko frowns. “What?”

Sokka takes a deep breath. “Well. You said you liked. Turtles, right?”

Zuko nods slowly. “Yeah…?”

“Okay. Okay, so, I’m planning on going to the aquarium tomorrow. I have a free day from—” he gestures to the messenger bag on his shoulder, as if that explains anything at all, “—and was wondering if you wanted to join me?”

Zuko’s eyes widen. “Oh, like. You and me? At the aquarium?”

Sokka seems to gain his equilibrium in the face of Zuko’s awkwardness and grins. “Yeah, you and me. Like a date?” As confident as Sokka suddenly looks, Zuko can tell he’s a little nervous. Zuko rushes to reassure him.

“Yes! Yes. I would. I would like that. A date.”

“Great! Meet here at 2?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Sokka leaves and Zuko allows himself a solitary fist pump.

***

The next day, Zuko comes in to find Sokka already out front, holding two cups.

“I thought I’d get us some boba for the trip over! Here,” and he hands one to Zuko. Zuko looks at it like it’s going to bite him. Sokka doesn’t notice, having already popped the seal on his and taking a big slurp. Zuko watches the boba balls go up the straw with dread.

“Come on, man, no need to be shy. Don’t even think you have to pay me back, just go ahead and enjoy!”

Zuko’s eye twitches but, as if on autopilot, he stabs into his drink. Takes a few sips. He tries his best, but a ball of boba gets stuck in his straw and he has no choice but to bring it all the way up. The moment it touches his tongue he makes the loudest retching sound, dropping his drink onto the pavement and launching the ball from his mouth to land on Sokka’s shirt.

Sokka, for his part, is in hysterics.

He laughs at him the whole way to the aquarium, and a bit more while they’re there for good measure. In fact, he doesn’t stop laughing until Zuko kisses him, right next to the turtle tank.

 fin

[karasuno-volley]

pairing : oikawa x fem!reader

a/n : i wrote a part 3 to this for fun, but it’s a bit shorter due to the holidays. hope everyone had a great holiday ( if you celebrate something ) ! likes / reblogs appreciated, no reposting please !! love, volley.  

PART THREE : 

Oikawa is more than frustrated as he glares at his silent phone from across his bedroom, its black screen just taunting him. He’d tried calling Iwaizumi once, twice, three times— until his best friend finally answered.

“I don’t know, man. Figure it out yourself.” He had said before pointedly hanging up. But here’s the thing— Tooru has tried. He’s texted you, even called a few times, but no matter what he did, you just never answer. It’s driving him up a wall, and eventually, he grabs his phone. He hovers over the keyboard, wondering if he should try his luck one more time. 

      Oikawa scrolls upwards, almost by accident, but he keeps going; intent on finding somewhere he’d gone wrong in your conversations. 

      Yesterday, 3:15 pm. 

          hey, you done with practice?

          almost. maybe you could come by the gym? 

          wouldn’t i be a distraction?

          of course! the best distraction ;) 

     In the three weeks you’ve known Oikawa Tooru, you’ve gotten used to how he flirts. You roll your eyes at his latest attempt, though you’re already on your way to Aoba Johsai, just like he suggested. It’s just a quick bus ride to his area of town, and though you’ve lived in the same city your whole life, it felt new to you somehow. You’d had the chance to go to Seijoh, of course. You’d passed the entrance exam and as long as you didn’t mind the commute, your mom had said she’d have no problem with you attending there. However, with your brother and majority of your junior high friends going to Karasuno, it seemed the safer (and easier) place to go to. 

     You pass into the schoolyard, suddenly very conscious of the Karasuno school uniform you’re wearing. No one stops you, but you feel the eyes on you as you approach the gym doors, where Iwaizumi stands-- seemingly waiting for someone. You’d met him once or twice, seen him play volleyball, but you’d never actually had a conversation past Tooru’s introduction of him. When the ace sees you, he frowns slightly. “Y/N! What are you doing here?” he says, eyeing you, and glancing around the corner of the gym nervously. You catch onto his expression as you walk up to him. 

     “What do you mean? Tooru said I could pick him up from here today.” 

     “Well, Shittykawa’s late, like always.” Iwaizumi looks towards the corner once more, tearing your gaze there as well. You point with a thumb, eyebrow raised. “He’s over there?”

     “Uh, yeah. But listen, Y/N. I would just wait here. Your uniform and all…” 

     You frown, but can’t help a laugh. “My uniform? Don’t worry. I’ll get Oikawa and we’ll just head out of here. Besides, school’s over-- it’s not like they can kick me out, right?” Against Iwaizumi’s suggestion, you head towards the corner of the gym, dappled sunlight guiding your path.  You can hear them before you see them. Laughing, giggling, flirting girls. You round the corner to see a group of them surrounding someone against the wall, and you step a bit closer, able to make out their words a bit clearer now. 

     “Oikawa! You’re so cool.”

     “Want to go out sometime?”

     “Hey! Not fair, you can’t just ask him out in front of everyone!”

     It’s a weird thing, seeing someone you knew being surrounded by girls who clearly have a crush. It’s even weirder seeing Tooru laugh, return a few winks and smirks-- just like he’s done to you countless times. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about that. I already have…” He says, but you’re walking away before you can hear the rest of his sentence. You’d heard enough. Nearly running headfirst into Iwaizumi, you push past him, heading towards Seijoh’s gate. 

     “Y/N!” You hear him call, and then, a little further back, you can hear Tooru attempting to catch up to you. 

     “Y/N? You should have told me you were here! I wouldn’t have let you wait.”

     “Save it, Oikawa.” 

     “What?” He stops, but you don’t, briskly walking towards the intersection and bus stop that would take you home, back towards Karasuno. 

     Uncharacteristically, you don’t hear the star setter continuing to follow you. You try to feel relieved that you see him hang back just outside of school grounds, but part of you wanted so badly to turn around. Eventually, you make it on the bus, leaving Seijoh behind. 

     Oikawa struggles with his memory for a moment, but then, pieces start to click. He throws his phone onto his bed, more frustrated than anything. He felt like such an idiot-- how could he not have seen it before? Maybe telling you to come to Seijoh right after practice had ended wasn’t smart, but Oikawa wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to dating people who didn’t already know who he was, and now he’s paying the price for it. He wonders how much you heard, or rather, what you heard. From the fanclub, from him? 

     The only reason he hadn’t chased you down straight to the bus was Iwaizumi’s hand on his shoulder, stopping him from going after you. He hadn’t said anything then, but God, Oikawa should have gotten the message. He should have known something like this would happen, and he felt physically sick because of it. But why? He sits at his desk, struggling to open some schoolwork he knew was due tomorrow. Oikawa stares blankly at the page. Why did he feel this… guilty? He’d enjoyed the attention throughout high school-- a month ago, even. How did his feelings change so fast? Tooru leans backwards in his chair, stretching, before looking towards his phone, which glowed bright with a new notification.

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[activechataclysme]

TITLE: the girl behind the mask.

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Ship: The Love Square - Mainly Adrinette and Marichat Rating: T [ AO3 ]

Summary:

Adrien's been waiting for this moment forever, but when the masks finally drop, he's disappointed that it wasn't who he hoped it would be behind the mask.

Adrien waited with bated breath as Ladybug gave him a small smile. “Ready?”

“Always, m’lady.”

“3...2...1…”

“Spots off.”

“Claws in.”

They stood staring at each other as the light faded away. The unfamiliar girl in front of him - the girl who was not Marinette - was looking at him with an amused smile, slightly awestruck.

“Wow, who would’ve thought. Adrien Agreste, huh.”

Adrien though, felt his chest tighten. His throat was dry as he watched the girl in front of him, and he couldn’t help but feel stupid. So, so stupid, because he couldn’t believe he’d talked himself into thinking he would know the girl behind the mask.

He had been so sure that the girl behind the mask was his classmate. When he’d started visiting her as Chat Noir, she was so much like Ladybug that he had believed it. He had thought that calling her ‘Everyday Ladybug’ was a happy non-coincidence.

He had been sure that he couldn’t possibly be in love with two girls, so he had decided that they had to be one and the same.

“Bridgette,” she said, extending her hand to him nervously as she shuffled uneasilly on her feet, her easy confidence slipping slightly at his silence.

“Adrien,” he coughed, taking her hand to give it a single, firm shake.

She tilted her head. “I know.”

His hand went to the back of his neck as he grinned sheepishly, trying to quell the sinking sensation in his gut to put the girl in front of him at ease. “Yeah, I suppose my face plastered across Paris helps my case this time.”

“Yeah,” she admitted, before she grinned at him with eyes full of mirth. “And also, I know your cousin. He goes to my school.”

Adrien started, looking at her with wide eyes. “Wait, you’re Bridgette? The Bridgette?”

Bridgette’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure whether you mean that in a good way, or bad way.”

“Definitely good. Felix won’t shut up about you.” Adrien laughed. “Wait… Felix is the other guy, huh?”

Bridgette bit her lip, cheeks flushed as she looked at him pleadingly. “Look, Chat- Adrien, I’m sorry, I didn’t think even in my wildest dreams that you two would be related but… Yeah, I really like him.”

Adrien nodded. “Good, that’s… good.”

“I’m really sorry,” she said miserably.

Adrien shook his head vehemently. “ No , no. It’s… Okay. Really . He… May not show it, but he really likes you too,” he said, giving her his most sincere smile.

Her cheeks flamed. “O-Oh? Um… I-I see. W-Well, that is u--um… Good news? Yep. Good news. And-”

She trailed away, catching sight of Adrien’s wistful smile as he watched. “What?”

“You… Remind me of someone,” he said, smiling sadly as he leaned against the chimney on the rooftop and sank down to the floor.

Bridgette sat next to him quietly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “A girl in my class.”

Bridgette hesitantly reached out to touch his arm. “Will you tell me about her?”

Adrien was quiet for a few minutes before he smiled softly. “She’s… Really the greatest. The kindest person I’ve ever known, and she’s so sweet that I want to scream into my pillow sometimes. And on exceptionally difficult days, I visit her and she doesn’t ask me any questions. She just… Lets me in, feeds me pastries. Endlessly, actually. No questions asked. Even the first time I visited her as Chat-”

“You what !” hissed Bridgette.

Adrien winced. “Well, she was always nervous around me, and I just… Really wanted to get to know her. I didn’t know any other way.”

“ Chat Noir !” she chided disapprovingly. “You could have seriously endangered her.”

“I know,” he said, looking cowed. “But I swear I’ll protect her with my life. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Adrien,” Bridgette sighed. “That’s not a good idea. She knows you on both sides of the mask, and that’s dangerous, especially if she figures you out! You can’t keep visiting her as Chat Noir and-”

“No, Ladybug, please ,” Adrien pled. “I swear I’ll be subtle. I’ll think of something, no one will ever know, even you didn’t know until I told you, right? And she’s not told anyone in our class either. And she won’t , I trust her. Please, I don’t know what I’d do without her. I’ll keep her safe, I promise.”

Bridgette was quiet for a few seconds, mentally resolving to scope out the girl for herself and maybe give her a miraculous. She couldn’t let Chat in on that plan yet of course, the boy was too enthusiastic for his own good.

So instead, she said something else. “Sounds like you are in love with her, kitty.”

Adrien sighed. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Bridgette hummed, chuckling with mirth. “So I suppose you would not love whoever girl is under the mask, huh?”

Adrien smiled sheepishly. “No. I suppose not. Not unless you’re her. I was so sure I was in love with you,” he muttered.

“You do love me, I think. The way I love you,” she said slowly. “The way you love her is very different.”

Adrien snorted. “Well, I have thought about kissing her a lot more than I’ve thought about kissing you.”

Bridgette laughed. “You should tell her.”

Adrien looked at his hands, unsure. “As Chat or as Adrien?”

Bridgette groaned. “ Damn it, I forgot she thinks you’re two different people. I don’t know how you find yourself in messes like this, chaton .”

“Hell if I know,” he muttered. “Can I… Can I tell her?”

“Chat…” said Bridgette warningly.

“I know, I know. I had to try,” he muttered. “She definitely hates Adrien though. She runs away at the sight of me approaching her. She flails like its the end of the world and can’t get out fast enough. I can tell it takes her huge effort to just speak a complete sentence to me.”

“You know,” said Bridgette slowly. “I have a cousin… Who… Well… She’s exactly like that around boys she likes ,” she finished pointedly.

Adrien looked at her sceptically. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to pursue her as Chat Noir.”

“ Not true ,” pouted Bridgette. “I watched her talk to him on the phone once, and it hurt just to watch.”

And in a softer voice, she grumbled, “My mom says it runs in the family. I was the exact same way around Felix too. The first few months of meeting him at least.”

Adrien cackled. “Oh, I would love to see that.”

“You would, wouldn’t you,” she said, her nose scrunched. “It was especially scary because he was such a brat .”

Adrien snorted, but refrained from commenting. “You should tell him,” he said instead.

“Maybe I will.” She gave him half a smile. “You should tell your girl too.”

Adrien sighed and looked over at the nightscape of Paris, eyes flickering over in the direction of where he knew the cosy little bakery was. “Maybe I will.”

[tonksie-writes]

A Mark and A Soul||CH 3

Summary: The next morning Cara tries to figure out how to avoid any sort of incriminating conversations when things get more complicated.

A/N: Hi! So Here there is mentioned a background WLW Ship. It’s not going to be a huge part but it’s there and IDK if anyone but me in this world ships it but ya know.... it’s small. Also look more chapters. Let’s keep going right?

Prologue, Ch 1 , Ch2,  AO3

It wasn’t much of a surprise to Cara when she woke up alone. She hadn’t expected to have him there wrapped around her when she woke up, though a small traitorous voice in her mind said she’d have liked that. Other than the bottles on the floor and a foggy dream of Din kissing her, there was no hint of the Mandalorian in the room. Her body, however, had a keen reminder of everything that had happened the night before. She sat up clutching a thin sheet over her chest -- a sheet she knew she hadn’t pulled up herself.

Images of the night before played in her head. She wasn’t some school girl still fumbling with boys behind trees on Alderaan. She’d had plenty of one night stands before and even a few instances of more drawn out but equally casual interactions. It was rare on Alderaan for people to ‘betray’ their soulmates by being with someone else; it happened here and there. None of those interactions had her replaying scenes from the night before quite like what she’d had with Din. She still felt his lips on hers in a bruising passion, still felt his hands roaming over her seeking places that would make the most impact on her. She could still hear his voice in her ear as his hot breath tickled her skin. Those memories alone would have her hitting the fresher if she wasn’t careful.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the thick metal door. “Yeah?” she called out in a rasping voice. Somehow it was no surprise when the door opened, and he was standing there in his full armor. 

He seemed to hesitate for a moment at the sight of her, but walked in and closed the door behind him. “I brought you some caf and breakfast,” he said, holding out a plate of indiscernible food matter and a steaming cup. She knew it was impossible but somehow she could have sworn she could feel his eyes roaming over her form under the thin sheet. Call her crazy, but she was pretty sure he was blushing too.

“Thanks.” 

She reached out, taking the cup with one hand still holding the sheet over her chest. He set the plate aside and looked like he was about to sit on the bed for a second before he changed his mind. 

“About--” he started, but she instantly cut him off. No way he was finishing that sentence.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked instead. That wasn’t a conversation she was willing to have right now. There were too many ways it could go, and she wasn’t ready for any of them.

“That--I?” His confusion was clear in his voice. Somewhere under that helmet was a wrinkled brow and a slight frown, along with an agape jawline surrounded by a scruff she still felt the marks of on some of the more sensitive places on her body. His dark eyes were probably searching her face for a clue of what she meant. 

She tried not to laugh at the images she now had in her mind to match a face with the expressions she always read in his voice. “Bib Fortuna,” she supplied, and he seemed to register as she took a slow sip of her caf praying for the magical substance to work its marvels with her sleep deprived mind.

“Right. Fortuna. Fett and Shand wanted to go in the front door. Fett wanted to use the ship to give coverfire while you and Shand go in and take out the guards inside.” 

Cara let out a scoff as she arched her brow. “Seriously? He wants to take out one of the worst crime lords in the galaxy with a loud frontal assault? Like he doesn’t have escape tunnels?” 

Din let out a chuckle under his helmet and shrugged, “That’s what I said.” 

She smiled a bit at him, holding back a laugh. He moved to sit on the foot of the rack giving them plenty of space between them, but still closer.

“Really?” she asked, not really believing him.

“I was a little less blunt, but the meaning was there.” he admitted, and she laughed. 

“Sure,” she said, leaning back, allowing the sheet to slip down her chest a little as she placed both hands around her caf mug, “but it could still work with a smaller distraction. If it’s quiet or if we can scout how many guards he has, then you and I can go in first and Shand can snipe from farther back?” 

As she took a long sip of her caf, she waited for his response. Din’s helmet didn’t move in the least, but she could somehow tell his eyes flicked from her face to the place where the sheet was barely keeping her modest. Was he even listening?

“We can talk about that upstairs.” he offered, but he sounded distracted. She knew she was attractive, and after last night, he was clearly attracted to her. Soulmate facts aside, he had made it very clear that he was physically attracted to her. Feeling his eyes and hearing his voice was still a boost to the ego, though. She casually picked up a piece of fruit from the breakfast plate and popped it into her mouth, licking her fingers and lips, but continued on like she wasn’t trying to all but torture him with her current movements. She’d always been a big fan of playing with fire.

“You’ve already been up there, right? What’s going on? Still fighting?” she asked, sucking the last of the fruit’s juice off her fingers. It was very good if a little sweet but she wasn’t in this for the fruit. She could nearly see the gears turning in his head. Was it mean to do this to the poor armored man in front of her? Absolutely yes. Was she also enjoying that cruelty immensely? Also very much yes.

After a pause, he finally cleared his throat and spoke, rasping, “They haven’t come out yet. It’s still early.” 

“Did I steal your caf?” she asked, pointing to the now half-empty mug that had joined the plate on the rackside table.

He shook his head just slightly “No I umm… I locked them out of the kitchenette.” He admitted a bit sheepishly.

She tilted her head and arched an eyebrow at him. “You barricaded the door instead of just coming in here to eat?” she asked, a bit pointedly. If he was going to feel awkward about everything or if he was going to put himself or others into uncomfortable situations, then she’d have to talk to him. She’d still avoid the feelings thing, she didn’t do those, but other parts.

“They didn’t mind,” he assured her awkwardly, “I mentioned you were still sleeping.”

“And they just gave you free reign?” she asked, not believing him for a second. There had to be more to it.

“Well, Shand was going through fighting forms, and I think Fett is afraid of you,” he explained, making her laugh. “He said I could take my time.”

“You punch one wall,” she said, rolling her eyes jokingly at the memory of when she’d gotten a little too pissed off at how long everything was taking and needed to let out some steam.

“You dented his ship,” Din pointed out, and she could hear the laugh in his voice.

“Barely! It wasn’t even that hard of a punch,” she scoffed, but the smile on her face was unmistakable. They laughed and sat in silence for a moment as she ate more of her meal a little less sexually this time. She could sense him fighting with himself about what to say next, what to do. She knew she wouldn’t be able to face that conversation quite yet, so she diverted it. “You might wanna get upstairs. If I don’t get dressed, they might think I killed you and get a whole damn show.” 

“Right,” he said, nodding “I’ll see you upstairs then.” As he turned, he paused at the door as though he wanted to say something, but stopped himself and walked out. She sighed into her knees and realized this was going to be so much harder now.

Cara managed her way upstairs leaving the plate to deal with later but taking the cup of caf with her. She walked into the main hull and took up her post, leaning comfortably on a wall watching Fett and Din chart a course. It didn’t take long before Bo-Katan and Koska walked in as well. “After talking it over, we’ve elected to stay and assist you with your mission.” Kryze announced to the room.

It certainly pulled everyone’s attention. Fett looked ready to start another fight, and Cara stood up straighter as Din walked closer to the two women. “What brought on the change of heart?” he asked, sounding more curious than anything. Something in Cara’s mind said he was suspicious though, and so was she if she was being honest.

“You have the dark saber. It’s our duty to protect you.” Koska said bluntly. Cara arched a brow at the woman and tried not to laugh as she walked up behind Din.

“He doesn’t need protecting. And even if he did, he has back-up,” she challenged, staring her down.

Koska looked ready to speak up, but Bo-Katan was the one who actually got the words out first. “The position of the Mand’alor is important to reclaiming our planet and people. As you’ve decided to work with Fett and his goals, it is in the best interest for our people to ensure that you have the best support in that endeavor.” Cara hated politicians. She found the people in charge of governments to be generally despicable people, and while she had no issues with Bo-Katan and actually respected the woman as a fighter, sometimes, when she opened her mouth, Cara wanted to punch her. It didn’t help that Kryze still looked like she was tempted to challenge Din for the saber, and Cara wasn’t entirely convinced the woman wouldn’t try and take it by force at an inopportune time. 

“So you’re going to help without throwing a fit?” Fett shot back in a mocking tone, and Cara could see the anger flash in the two women’s eyes in front of her and had no doubt that it was matched in the eyes of the clone behind her.

“They would be helpful,” Din suggested, deflecting the rising tension in the room, “It couldn’t hurt to have more hands. They’ve already proved they can work well with Cara and Shand. The four of us could easily take out any forces on the ground, and you and Shand could use the distraction to get Fortuna.” Cara did not have enough caf for this. She just stood over his shoulder, letting the others make the decision. She was here for Din. She’d never pretended she had an ulterior motive. Sure, getting Gideon was great, she loved that little bit of revenge, but Din and the kid had been her first priorities, and now that the kid was gone, Din remained her reason for staying.

“We did make a good team and six heads are better than four.” Fennec spoke up for the first time from her corner of the room. “They’re talented fighters,” she added, sounding more like she was reminding Boba than anything else.

“It never hurts to have a few more Mandalorians around,” Boba relented, eventually nodding at them, though something in the tone felt sarcastic. “It’ll be quite the asset to have you both.” 

“Great, we have a whole team. I’m getting more caf.” Cara deadpanned, walking past Din as he made eye contact with her. She could feel the question in his eyes, but she smirked and held up the mug as her only answer. No amount of military training could stop the fact that she was not a morning person.

Cara walked down towards the kitchen area and was nearly to the door when she heard the armor behind her. She turned expecting to see Din and was instead met with Koska and Bo-Katan. “Marshal Dune.” Bo-Katan greeted with that appeasing look that reminded her of one too many political missions.

“Yes?” she asked, glancing between the two. It was strange being face-to-face and alone with them. That wasn’t something she’d experienced yet and somewhere in her gut, she braced for a fight.

“What are your intentions with the Mandalorian?” Bo asked, to Cara’s annoyance.

“Which one?” she asked, trying to evade the question because that was a whole can of worms she didn’t want to deal with. 

“Funny.” Koska scoffed sarcastically, but both kept a calm facade. 

“Look, I don’t see why it’s any of your business, but he and I are friends, and I’ve got his back,” she said flatly, staring the two of them down, threatening them to say something about it.

Bo Katan nodded, “Very admirable to be certain, but he is the Mand’alor now whether he likes it or not. That Saber comes with power and responsibility. As such we, as Mandalorians, serve at the pleasure of the Mand’alor.”

Cara scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Right. Ok. I’m sure he’ll love hearing that,” she said as she bit back a laugh.

“It's our job to keep him safe. That includes keeping him away from enemies in friends' clothing,” Bo explained smoothly, leading Cara to straighten at the implications. She felt the overwhelming urge to punch the woman in front of her for even thinking that she would ever hurt Din. Even so, she refused to acknowledge the small voice whispering, ‘Aren’t you hurting him by not saying you’re his soulmate?’

“And you came to talk to me?” she challenged.

“You are the one closest to him, are you not?” Koska pointed out. Cara raised her jaw and lifted her eyebrows looking for the reason that would matter. She supposed it would be a threat, someone close to Din could be the one to hurt him. She wasn’t going to do that, and she wasn’t going to let someone else do it either.

“Interesting you have such strong loyalty to him.” Bo probed lightly. 

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a man in armor,” she quipped, trying to steer them away from digging deeper. Without thinking, she swept some of her hair out of her face, tucking it to the side, before realizing her slip. Koska was close enough to get a flash of her mark, which wouldn’t have been a problem before last night.

“You’re his soulmate.” Koska said simply, making Bo Katan’s eyes light up.

Cara approached Bo with just this side of threatening, even as Koska stood between them. She couldn’t help but notice the two seemed to have black marks just poking out over their armor in the same place. “Does he know?” Bo asked, pulling Cara's attention, “Surely even a Child of the Watch would find it impossible to hold their vows fighting beside their soulmate.” 

“No, he doesn’t. What vows?” 

Bo Katan sighed, looking at her with a mix of pity and sympathy that made Cara want to lash out.

“He is a member of a … specific group of Mandalorians. They call themselves the Children of the Watch. They are a group of religious zealots who broke off from Mandalore just after the Purge. They believe in an ancient Way and wish to bring it back to all Mandalorians. They believe a warrior is the tribe and the tribe the warrior. As such they renounce their face, their names, and their soulmates.” 

Cara wasn’t entirely sure why she felt like she’d just been punched in the gut. 

Had Din renounced her? Had he sworn her away the same way he had his name or face? Was what they did last night the same as taking off his helmet? Why had he let her then? Did he know? 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Of course it matters,” Bo insisted, aiming for gentleness and missing horribly. 

“No, it doesn’t!” she hotly reiterated, as her insides raged against the news of Din’s vows to reject his soulmate. 

“You’re a liability to him,” Koska observed. Cara was about ready to fight her when she saw the look in both Koska and Bo’s eyes. 

“Whether he knows or not, he is connected to you. The bond that connects soulmates starts far before skin-to-skin contact. He is already connected to you even if neither of you knows it, and the possibility of losing you is a vulnerability in him. He is a leader and a warrior, you know this. As such you have a responsibility to him and to everyone he leads to protect him.” 

This time, it wasn’t the flowery language of a politician Cara had thought earlier of Bo. It was from the heart. Once again, Cara’s eyes flicked between the women as Bo seemed to forget herself and put a hand on Koska’s arm.

In that moment, Cara felt a connection to Koska, recognizing a kinship built on two people in the same position. She nodded shortly. “You two?” Koska nodded, pulling down her shirt enough to see the small black marks entangling in a way only Bo and Koska would understand, nearly reminiscent of the owl painted on Bo’s helmet. 

“What are you suggesting?”

“We want to help you keep him safe and ensure he makes the best decisions for himself and Mandalore,” Bo explained, “His connection with Boba Fett is fine for now, but finding other Mandalorians and reclaiming our home needs to be a priority.” 

Cara had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“And you think I’m going to help him go along with whatever you want? If you want the saber so badly, you can take it. He offered it. You can go reclaim your planet on your own.”

“It’s a fight to the death,” Koska grit out, “to regain the honor of the saber after losing it to an enemy would mean proving beyond a doubt that the other is unworthy of the might of Mand’alore. It would either end in banishment or death.” 

If the missive had come from Bo-Katan, Cara would have heard it as a threat. Coming from Koska, she understood what it really was. This was a warning for her and a sign of respect that Cara deserved the whole story of what she was getting into. If Din and Bo were to fight, Koska and Cara would be in the same position where having a dead soulmate was the best case scenario. 

Cara nodded her understanding. “I’m not going to push him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. He’s his own person; he can make his own decisions.” 

“Of course!” Bo Katan said in an airy tone that made Cara want to hit her again. “We would never suggest you push him into anything. He clearly already has a heart for people and Mandalore. Marshal Dune, I am certain you only wish to protect him, but part of protecting him is making sure he does what’s right. Keeping him from doing what he’ll regret. I just hope your Republic ties don’t end up causing friction between the two of you. You clearly care for him very much.”

Cara scoffed. “Great. Can I get my caf now?” 

“Of course. Please, enjoy.” Bo said airily, but Cara could tell she'd gotten just a bit under the woman's skin. She felt a small rush of pride as Bo started towards the ladder. 

Koska took an extra second, just looking at the woman. The two met eyes in a solid look that felt oddly even. If Koska’s soulmate weren’t so tough to handle, Cara was pretty sure she and Koska would have a blast together. 

“You should tell him,” Koska said, “before it’s too late. It’s better to have a little bit in the hard times than to stand there waiting to have everything in the easy ones.” 

Cara didn’t respond as the woman walked away and up the stairs. She swallowed, turning away, suddenly wanting something a hell of a lot stronger than caf. Not even a few seconds passed as she heard the sound of lightly grazing armor behind her before a tingling sensation hit her back. She felt more than heard him settle as he waited. 

“How much did you hear?” she asked.

[codedredalert]

abandoned lawsan fantasy magic royalty arranged marriage fic excerpt

(Earlier this year, I made a deal with @yukino-ks that I'd trade x words of my abandoned lawsan bigbang attempt depending on their exam results. They got 2.6k off me and I've been terribly slow in getting an excerpt I can actually show people. (There's a reason I abandoned over 20k and several editing passes.) It's unbetad and WIP and just an excerpt of a longfic so it has some notes mixed in, but I finally have something I'm willing to let see light of day. Sorry I took so long, and congrats on doing well!)

Warnings: forced marriage, dark themes, magic coercion (I mean, Doffy exists), general background awfulness, but hey cute heart pirates interaction 

.

The engagement ring sat heavy on Sanji's finger, warm with his own body heat and with the faint power of Law's magic. A pale blue stone on a white-gold band, the crisp blank sky of winter finally breaking, the white-blue of lightning, of a glacier cracking as it falls into the sea. 

Law on the marble floor collapsed when the King Donquixote no longer deigned to puppet his broken body with the betrothal ceremony finished. 

Absently, Sanji played with the ring, conscious of the feel of it against his skin, how it changed how he moved his hand. He wondered if Law was awake and about, or if he was still in the deep healing sleep that prompted his servants to close ranks and politely ask Sanji to leave. He wondered if he could ask, or if that would destroy the tentative sort-of friendship they'd started to form before the cruel proceedings of the day before. Sanji had followed his first instinct was to help, to kneel beside Law and help him bear up his weight on fractured bones, to help him back to his tower— it might have done more harm than good. Law was a proud man, and Sanji had inadvertently wounded his pride. 

A knock on the door dragged Sanji from his thoughts.

"Yes?" he asked, dropping his hand to his side and standing. The person at the door merely knocked again, so Sanji opened the door. 

It's Law, his hair messy and in simple sleeping clothes, dark, soft, and formless. His symbol is emblazoned across his chest in yellow. A hint of bruising and the peek of a bandage shows where the fabric drapes off Law's prominent collarbones. 

A stab of pity and empathy and solidarity goes through Sanji, and the hand he has on the handle of the door goes numb as it grips harder, where Law cannot see.

"Come with me," said Law. He started moving away, giving Sanji space to enter the corridor. 

Sanji raised a brow and the oddly visceral feelings evaporated instantly. 

"Good morning to you too," replied Sanji, even as he followed and closed the door behind him. It melded back to the stone wall, perfectly hidden. "Go with you where?" 

"Kitchens." Law's walking gait was slower and shorter than usual, and uneven though he still stood tall. It was almost like yesterday hadn't happened, except for the glimpse of pale metal and yellow stone on his hand. 

"Oh, you're wearing it," came out of Sanji's mouth before he realised how stupid that sounded. He couldn't let his guard down just because his bleeding heart had gone out to Law when it turned out that the Crown Prince was very human behind all the rumours. 

Law blinked at him in surprise, lifting his hand to look at the ring, as if he'd forgot it was there, like it'd always been there and he had only just noticed. 

"Yeah," he said, looking away a bit too quickly. "This way." 

===/\===

A set of heavy wooden doors opened to a cosy kitchen, packed to full with people seated at a long wooden table, laden with plates and bowls of sweet oat porridge, flatbreads, steamed buns, eggs and bacon and beans, with savoury rice porridge, with noodles— cuisines from all over. Sanji barely had a moment to take it all in as everyone at the table jumped up, cheering and clapping. 

"Welcome to His Highness' lover!" someone hooted and loud laughter ensued, whistles and cheering resounded. Someone shoved a champagne flute into his hand and another someone all but dragged him to the bench where somehow the rest of the table squeezed to make space for him. 

"Congrats on being a bad influence on His Highness," the redhead who dragged him to the table said cheerily as he squeezed his chair in to reach the table. "Bread roll?" 

Sanji took one and it was good bread, a crust which crunched lightly under his fingers, soft fluffy insides when he broke it open and placed it on his plate. 

"Bad influence?" asked Sanji, bewildered by the ruckus. He looked round for Law, and found him standing just behind his left shoulder. Law nodded, sipping from a bright yellow mug which he hadn't been holding a moment before.

"You defied Doflamingo," Law explained.

Oh, they had to be referring to the sarcastic backtalk Sanji had made when the giant pink-feather fashion disaster tried to get him to report on Law's comings and goings. So Law had been conscious for that. Sanji was suddenly very glad he'd decided to mouth off instead of try to pretend to play along. Besides, it had been a clever comeback.

"Anything that pisses off the King Asshole, or any of the assholes over in the Toybox, makes you alright with us," the redhead elaborated, dumping half a plate of greasy bacon on Sanji's plate.  

"And if you can get our prince to eat, everyone will love you," the person seated on the redhead's other side said. It was the man with the white and black hat, who had taken a half-unconscious Law from Sanji and barked out orders to the other servants before politely asking Sanji to leave. He frowned as the redhead took the rest of the bacon, stacking the empty plate beneath his own. "And dammit Shachi, I wanted some." 

"Not my fault your food scramble game is weak, Peng. Ask Ikkaku to pass some, there's another plate on the other end of the table," Shachi said unapologetically. The man in the hat rolled his eyes, but turned and yelled down the other end of the table for the bacon. 

Sanji took a moment to process all this and looked back to Law. 

"You don't eat?" asked Sanji, incredulous. 

"I do."

"Coffee isn't food," Peng recited almost like a proverb as he put some bacon on his plate. He did not offer it to Shachi. 

For a moment, Law didn't answer, and then pointedly, he sipped his coffee. It was so bratty and childlike that Sanji nearly choked trying not to laugh. 

Peng rolled his eyes and looked to Sanji. 

"You see what we have to work with?" he said, as if Law couldn't hear them. "The list of what he eats could be written on your palm." 

Now if that weren't a challenge Sanji couldn't refuse— 

"Write it down for me and give me free reign of a kitchen," Sanji replied. "And I'll see what I can do." 

"You don't have to," Law started to say, just as Peng grinned and said "Done!", reaching over Shachi's plate to shake Sanji's hand. 

Sanji shook on it, excited for the chance to cook again for the first time since coming to Dressrosa. Law rolled his eyes, but fondly. If he'd really wanted to, he could order otherwise. It was… nice, that he let this go. 

"Do you think I could try some?" asked the huge polar bear toy seated on Law's other side. Sanji startled, still not quite used to toys talking, but Law's hand just went up to pat the toy bear on his nose.

"You can't eat, Bepo. Otherwise I have to operate on you again and wash out your stuffing." Law paused. "I don't know why you like it anyway. It's not like you can taste it."

"It looks pretty and everyone else gets to eat. I feel lonely."

Law patted Bepo on the nose again comfortingly. 

"It's not that great," said Law. He finished his coffee.

Sanji resolved then and there to make Law eat those words with dinner. 

===/\===

[More conversation, Shachi and Bepo are escorting Sanji back to his room. Originally, I had fun worldbuilding stuff about how much Law hates the tower and Bepo's origin story but it's not relevant in the excerpt.]

"What's that?" asked Sanji. In a short joining corridor between this homey servant's kitchen and the lonely tower and its rooms which lock from the outside, there was a space where he could see a sliver of sky, and a splash of colour below. 

"What's what?" asked Shachi. Sanji gestured over the side of the open down to a sort of courtyard garden, with flowering plants grown in elaborate patterns so from the top down, they formed complicated motifs and images of a strange ship breaking the waves, a treasure chest and a heart. 

"It's pretty, right?" said Bepo cheerfully. "His Highness does it himself, he moves the flowers around when he's had a bad dream. He says it makes him feel better." 

There was space, paths amongst the flowers, a couple of benches and a small pavilion, along with the little pond and irrigation system and lights. 

"It's Law's garden, then," said Sanji, an idea coming to mind. "Say, is there a table in that pavillion?" 

===/\===

[Sanji cooks dinner for Law and they have a nice romantic dinner in the pavillion but Law Does Not Care about food and that is honestly kind of upsetting for Sanji. I had to cut my favourite part of the entire fic out and that hurtie just a bit.]

"If you've had enough of forcing me to eat—" Law said, and Sanji wanted to snap at that, but Law managed to finish his sentence first. "Do you want to take a walk?" 

"I thought you had work to do?" replied Sanji, a little coldly, but Law didn't seem to notice. He shrugged.

"It can wait, I'll be up late tonight anyway."

They walk. The air is cold, and clouds roll through the courtyard sometimes, wisp and damp and cold. The courtyard meets the side wall of the castle, and on the other side is the steep drop into a distant dark fog. 

It didn't take long to walk the entirety of the courtyard, small as it was. They sat on the lone bench, it was dewy with the condensation of the clouds and the rapidly cooling night. 

"So, with all this, I take it you want to try and act like lovers," commented Law. 

It was more a judgment than a question. Sanji stiffened, was Law going to make fun of him? 

"Not with that attitude," Sanji retorted. His hand went to his pocket for his cigarettes. He lit one, agitated and feeling like the effort he'd put into making the evening nice was, all in all, a nett waste. 

Law considered Sanji without taking any offence. 

"I'm not interested anyway. Don't get me wrong," Law added quickly, a hand outstretched as Sanji sat straighter, half-way to standing and walking away. "You're plenty attractive, and if it's sex you want, I could show you a good time." 

"You know the meaning of the word?" 

Law ignored his interjection. 

"It's the… other things," he continued calmly. "The holding hands and fancy dinners and being sentimental. I'm not good at that. I'm not going to stab you if you look at another man, and I'd prefer the same vice versa." 

Sanji looked at him flatly. 

"What." 

"It's common enough around here that there's a proverb that... never mind, the explanation is too long. The point is, if romance is what you're hoping to get out of this marriage, I'm going to disappoint. I can put up with it a little bit but not for long."

"Why the marriage, then?"

Law's head snapped to him sharply. His expression made him look more angry than confused, though his tone when he spoke was confused. 

"I told you, after the ceremony," Law said, as if he expected Sanji to remember every detail said when Law had been crumpled on the floor and bleeding through his engagement suit. "We both got signed away without having any say in it. I thought we had an understanding, and I'm surprised you want something more. I mean, it's…" He couldn't seem to find an adjective for it. "Well. it's something. That you want to try. I'm flattered." 

"You couldn't refuse this marriage?" asked Sanji, processing this new information. If it were true, that made Law more a fellow prisoner than a bored and slightly sympathetic jailor. That changed everything, it meant Sanji had more allies than he thought. Still— "But you tried. That time before the betrothal ceremony. You told the King you're not marrying anyone."

"And that clearly worked," Law retorted snidely. His glowing yellow eyes were less friendly now. "So, is that what you thought of me? And all this— the aid, the kindness, the food— was this you bending backwards to keep me happy? So I don't call off the engagement and leave you to face your family's wrath for losing a valuable alliance?"

He was angry, and right. Some of it had been a little calculated, so what? Sanji had nothing here, no rights of magic to stand on, no support, and people who would die if he stepped one toe out of line. That didn't mean he couldn't want something, anything, to make the days more bearable. That maybe, though married to a man he'd never met before, he might have something which passed for love.

"Not… exactly. You already know my situation, and besides, I'm meant to be an insult," explained Sanji, grim. He hadn't expected to speak of this, and it was harder than he thought. "You're the Crown Prince, you should have married my sister, or at the very least the eldest son. Not—" the third son who has no magic to speak of. "Not me. So, you're right. I'm at your mercy. But you've been decent. So I thought. Well. We could be friends at least." 

It took a moment but Law's glare softened, pacified. 

"Don't worry about that part so much. The insult bit— we know. Doflamingo thought it was hilarious. He wants to parade you around until you're the very symbol of the Germa and your father will be associated with you."

A pause. 

"Not liking that much either, " Sanji said, voice flat. 

"He has a shit sense of humour," agreed Law. "Your being fair-haired and a smoker is partly why he agreed, I'm sure. Or he wouldn't have forced me to give you that cloak." 

Speaking of the cloak, Sanji remembered the package he'd put in his bag. He fished it out, and offered it to Law. 

"You can have this back,'' said Sanji. 

"You don't like your betrothal gift?" asked Law, but Sanji noticed he was quick to take the offered cloak in hand. 

"It seems important to you."

… No answer, but Law draped the cloak around his own shoulders. It dwarfed him much like it had dwarfed Sanji. It seemed to be made for someone closer to the King's stature. 

"I was under the impression you're not that fond of the King," Sanji commented.

For a second, it seemed like Law would not respond. Head bowed and eyes closed, with the great cloak around him, he looked small and lost in memory.  

"His brother." said Law without opening his eyes, and he drew the coat tighter around himself with his hands. "My benefactor." 

He brought the sleeve up against the white light of the garden lamp. 

"See?" said Law, and his expression was so gentle that for a moment Sanji felt like he shouldn't have seen it, like it was some secret thing he had no right to. "The deep purple, almost black. It's hard to see, but it's there." 

Sanji tore his eyes from Law's face to look at the shadows of the cloak. Sure enough, there were purple sparks, almost lost in the brighter pink. 

"I see it."

"It's not a powerful type of magic," said Law, voice wistful. "I used to disdain it myself, when I was a child. This particular one is Silent Night— it blocks out noise to give the wearer a— a peaceful sleep."

Law's voice tripped over his words and he lowered the coat, curled over it, for a second he was so overcome with emotion he couldn't speak. Sanji averted his eyes, looking out over the gardens. The pale shapes of the white and yellow flowers in the white garden lights, and the distant moon. The flat blades of the leaves and the washed out mosaic tiles. 

"This—" Law's hands tightened on the cloak in Sanji's peripheral vision. "Means a lot. More than you could know. ...Thanks." 

It was awkward, but then, Law seemed the type unaccustomed to thanking others. 

"You're welcome," Sanji said simply, and they sat together in silence late into the night. 

[anthonyed]

Finding Bucky : stevetony for @stonyweek day 1, universe:mcu (Ao3)

They win the battle. They lose the tesseract.

“I was having a heart attack,” Tony points out when Fury glares. “What’s his excuse?”

Captain America stands, head hung and silent, he looks far away from this world, stripped off of his title and for the first time, he looks like a Steve Rogers.

Tony pointedly looks away, something coiling akin to guilt in his gut and he chases that away. “What’s the plan?” He asks Fury.

“For you people? Nothing,” Fury spits. “SHIELD will handle this from now on. You can help with the clean up.”

“Not a janitor,” Tony takes his leave, marching out of the office and he soothes at the loud slam of the door at his departure.

He taps away an assuring text to Pepper and Rhodey each, steps into the elevator blindly and right before the door closes, someone catches him by his shoulder and he startles so badly that his chest aches, reminding him of how fresh the attack was.

“Mr Stark,” Rogers starts, looking harried yet sounding composed. “I need to look at the surveillance footage.”

“I thought we did. Six times and they’re still running it somewhere in here for SHIELD cretins to catch what we didn’t. So you can go join them.” Tony rattles off dryly, rubbing his chest with one hand while he jabs the button for lobby with the other.

Rogers doesn’t bother, making it clear that he’s only in here because he wanted to corner Tony. “Do you have another copy?” He asks, glancing at the shifting numbers as the elevator moves and he turns to Tony urgently, “The other me. He said something and I -,” he pauses, blue eyes bright and searching and Tony tries hard not to blink, as surprised as he is by this new information.

“You said he was taunting you.”

Rogers looks sick for a second, jaw working tightly and he mutters low, “I may not have told everything.”

Tony blinks. Well, will you look at that, “Captain America; the paradigm of virtue. Did you just admit to lying?”

The elevator pings. Tony steps out, the prickling in his chest now a growing burning sensation, travelling from gut up to his mouth and he swallows with a shudder.

“Are you coming or not?” He glances over his shoulder. Rogers barely hides his surprise before he follows.

Tony’s body demands medical attention and vasodilators with an extended leave from physical duty but the six years old Captain America fan in his head is thriving from this attention. He might as well risk another attack if he could be of use for Cap.

-

“You sure about this?” Steve asks, two months after the New York battle. He desperately needs a stylist, Tony keeps telling him. But the man is stubborn and irrationally fond of dull checkered shirts that make Tony run in the other direction.

Maybe that’s why I wear them, Steve had shrugged casually, when Tony asked him about it and that’s when it properly cemented in Tony’s brain that Steve Rogers is not that much of a stick in the mud. Guy can joke too, apart from looking like the pinnacle of perfection. Not Fair.

Two months later, they’re what Tony begrudgingly (and Steve, with fond exasperation) admits are friends and that’s that.

“I don’t trust them.” Tony murmurs, tapping away at codes, infiltrating yet another layer of security in the SHIELD’s dark system. That’s what he dubs it based on its unusuality and how discretely it was hidden. At least, before Tony spotted the layers and started digging.

“What does that have to do with Bucky?” Steve asks from where he’s sat on the couch, flicking the top end of his New York Times to look at Tony.

Tony minimises the window and pulls out another, zooms it out and crooks a finger at Steve, calling him in.

“Look at this,” he says, pointing at the virtual webs of connection he’d spun out of all the datas he’d gathered. “All these people. I know SHIELD is not squeaky clean but some of their connections are concerning. This one,” he jabs at Senator Stern.

“Tried to take away my suit two years ago. Wanted to make it government property to ensure safety. Personally, I think the government gives shit about people’s safety so I dug up and found he’s had a standing appointment with Obadiah Stane before his passing. Had a few before and one of it was about the secret project Stane had brewing in SI’s basement; trying to replicate the Iron Man armour. They fixed a deal under the table. No government overlooking it.” Tony sinks back in his chair, arms across his chest and surprise flicks across his face when Steve holds out a water bottle for him.

“Thanks,” he says dubiously, screwing open the cap. Steve grunts distractedly, eyes dancing across the screen, studying all the details. He waits until Tony’s done drinking to ask, “What’s that?” He points at a different folder, on a different window. Tony sits up, holding out the bottle which Steve silently accepts and he taps on that folder. “An algorithm,” he states.

“For what?”

“That,” Tony leans back, taking in the list for the umpteenth time. “I’m still trying to figure out.”

He follows pages as Steve scrolls down, stopping at the end and he takes a step back, standing next to Tony. “All the Avengers are in there.”

“As well as a disturbing number of children.”

-

Six months after the New York Battle, Tony gets a call from Fury which he promptly dismisses. And another and another and - “Mute.”

He asks Jarvis for his email folder and finds a bunch from mariahill@shield.com. He clicks on the latest one and it’s a clipped paragraph demanding him to consider a proposition. He clicks on the attached folder and it’s the Hellicarrier’s engineering plan with its flight system replaced by what looks like a resized repulsor tech. Tony stares at it for a minute before exiting.

“Tell Happy I’m on my way, J.”

-

He brings it up to Steve, over fish chips in the heart of London and he regrets their pick.

“Should have known to not trust the brochure,” he sighs, giving up on the fries that are too limp to be saved.

“I’m hungry,” Steve mumbles, shoveling another forkful of the equally limp fillet and Tony makes a face at that. “Had worse,” Steve grins.

“Not on my watch,” Tony grumbles.

“So what did you say?” Steve asks, leaning back in his chair once he’s done demolishing both of their orders.

“To what?” Tony hums, scrolling up his inbox and shooting a quick reply to Pepper.

There’s a part of him that shrivels when he thinks about her while sitting with Steve, across the ocean. It’s been like that lately. Ever since she walked in on them playing FIFA one evening and quietly reminded Tony that it was supposed to be their date night before she turned away, leaving Tony hugging a pillow to sleep.

“To Hill.” Steve says, “Come on, let’s go.” he catches Tony by his elbow and pulls him towards the exit, Tony’s coat is already in one hand as he holds the door open with the other.

“We haven’t paid,” Tony tells him, louder when the outside air hits and his voice gets drowned by London traffic.

The door snaps close with a jingle and Steve hops down onto the pavement with a grin, “I did,” he tugs urgently.

“Slow down, eager beaver. She’s not running away. In fact, I don’t think she physic-,”

“Please don’t complete that sentence.” Steve warns lightly.

Tony shuts up, puts up his hands in apology and chuckles when Steve shakes his head.

It’s barely a walk to their destination. Steve stops by at one of the fruit stalls to buy some apples and oranges and,

“Blueberries?”

“They’re yours. You didn’t eat your lunch,” Steve hands the box to him, and a bottle of water. “Wash them first.”

Tony wrinkles his nose, “The hassle… I much prefer bananas,” he sniffs, pouring the water over the berries and he shakes them a little.

“C’mere,” Steve snags them. He holds out the other fruits wordlessly and Tony takes them, watching him march towards the vendor again and for the love of God, he purchases bananas just because Tony asked.

“You’re scary,” Tony tells him when Steve demands he finishes both blueberries and a banana before their journey ends.

-

Peggy Carter is lucid. Sometimes, not so. But she recognizes Tony and twists his ear for missing her birthday.

“I was busy pulling out your Steve,” Tony lies. He doesn’t say he was flying a nuke into the space and almost died from a heart attack that day.

She forgives him for Steve. He leaves them be for an hour and a half before Steve peeks out of the door and says she’s asking for him.

“Your father and I founded SHIELD,” she tells them, wrinkled hand in Steve’s careful grasp and she looks adrift as she recalls. “Colonel Phillips was in it because the government needed an insight and what was better than the entire military.”

Tony suspects Steve must have brought up their private little investigation, and he’s miffed, but he nods along.

“We made a lot of adjustments along the way. A lot of compromises,” and she pauses, placing another hand over Steve’s. “Some of them, you wouldn’t approve, but Howard had his reasons.”

Tony’s breath stutters. Starks seem to fuck up through the history. “It must be the gene,” he mutters blithely.

Peggy turns to look at him and she blinks. Something shifts in her eyes and the next second, she’s slapping him hard across the face.

“Ow,” Tony cries.

Steve splutters their names, grabbing onto Peggy’s hands and he asks concernedly if Tony’s okay.

“Tough smack right there, Auntie,” Tony grins.

“Steve Rogers dedicated his mind, his body, his life to the SSR and to this country. Not to your bank account.” Peggy snarls, her shaky voice breaking in anger even as she holds composed under Steve’s hands.

Tony stares at her, unblinking. “Peggy?” he calls faintly, blood sizzling up his veins, and he clenches his fists, sitting straight in his chair. “Peggy, it’s me. Tony.”

But Peggy Carter is lost. Somewhere between old memories and contained anger, and she sniffles, “I will not let you replicate the serum.”

-

No. He sends to Hill.

No. He receives from Pepper when he asks if she wants to go on an impromptu vacation with him.

No. He tells her when she asks if he’ll ever put down the armour.

No, he tells her when she asks if he wants to have a kid one day.

“White picket fence is a fairytale, babe. Howard fucked me over seven ways to hell. I wouldn’t be a good father or a husband.”

“You have potential,” she murmurs, brushing his hair back, manicured nails scraping soothingly over his scalp and Tony sighs. He leans back into her and she secures her hold around him. “I love you, you know that?” She asks softly.

“Love you too,” he breathes, sinking into the mattress and the pillow and he’s so warm and safe, he’s tipping out of consciousness.

“I know,” she says, one arm around Tony’s midriff tightening before it loosens. “It’s not working is it?”

Tony stops breathing. Pepper’s fingers don’t, sticking to their rhythm and she’s so strong, she’s lending her strength for him. She presses a kiss over his head and she tells him gently, “We’re not working.”

“We want different things,” Tony works his mouth. Sleep lost to nerves and the cruel ache in his heart.

She says, “I want a kid, or two. I want a family. I want to settle down when I’m forty.”

“I want to save the world,” says Tony.

-

Tony stares at the text, Saturday morning bright as the Sun beams from over the adjacent building. Rays spilling in rainbows over the white tiles of his living room as he sits gloomily at the dining table.

Did you find out?

He discards his half-written reply, taps back, eyes catching Fury’s 21 unreplied texts and voice messages and he ignores them all.

“Call Rhodey.”

The dial tone goes; on and on and on and -

“Hello?”

“Can you come over?”

A short pause, and then, “I’m not in the States, Tony.”

Tony taps twice over the table; two fingers up and down and up and down, a little over the edge and he says, “They were murdered.”

“Who?”

“Howard.” Tony stops. “Mom and him. They were murdered. It wasn’t a car crash.”

There’s a beat of silence down the line. Longer than before. Strenuous and Tony can hear when Rhodey pulls in a breath.

“How did you find out?”

Long story is, he started looking into super serum replication. Found the connection between Peggy’s accusation and his dear old father and Tony latched onto until the report ended at Howard Stark’s successful experimentation in 1991. He dug deeper and he recovered filth.

Short story is, “I hacked into SHIELD’s server.”

There’s an exasperated sigh on the other end but Rhodey doesn’t follow through. “I’m sorry,” he says instead. There’s a slight hesitation and he adds, “I’ll be over next weekend.”

“You don’t have to,” Tony says. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are.”

The truth is, Tony cannot hold it in until next weekend.

He calls Steve.

-

“How did you find him?” Steve asks, half in awe, half in agony.

“Easy,” Tony says, pulling out the file JARVIS has picked up for him. “When you dig at the right spot, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

He takes a step back and watches every flicker of emotions that flit across Steve’s face; from relief to horror to determination.

“They brainwashed him,” Tony briefs, “Electric shocks to meddle with his memories and they groomed him to be their weapon.”

“He doesn’t look a year old,” Steve sounds faint, sick to his bone, and he shakes minutely when he reaches to touch the image. “I went back. I swear. I went back.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. He is. Truthfully, he is. But it’s largely polluted by his boiling rage. The need for retribution.

He grips onto the logical part of his brain and he turns away. Dum-E nudges his elbow, holding out a wrench and Tony is not working on anything that needs it but he grabs it for the desperate need to ground himself. Channel all the vengeance into the metal and he’ll fling it later; hard and swift and it’ll break all of his glass panels and he’ll be satisfied for a bit.

“How did you find him?” Steve asks, rough edged and unaware.

“I was looking for my parents’ murderer,” Tony tells him.

-

There’s a period between Steve’s departure and Rhodey’s arrival that Tony feels slightly unhinged. Prone to stupidity more than usual and he refuses to call Pepper because she deserves better.

They just parted, he knows she loves him, and he knows he loves her. But he’s too fragile for her. If she touches him, he’ll shatter and she’ll break her skin and bones trying to hold him. He told Steve to leave - “I need some time to digest this” - and he waits for Rhodey to arrive to get drunk on whiskey, rum and too much skittles.

They puke rainbow the next morning.

“I’m never doing this,” Rhodey swears, but he’d broken that over ten times going steady. Tony grunts at him and wipes his face. They have brunch in front of the TV and Tony grunts from his hangover headache, “I think I have feelings for Steve.”

Rhodey chokes on orange juice, spits it all over the coffee table and Tony groans in disgust. “Exactly,” Rhodey says. “You’re emoting what I feel.”

He piles plies over plies of tissues over the spill and turns to Tony. “You’re serious.”

“Don’t,” Tony says. He doesn’t know where he’s going with that. He sighs. “I guess.”

Rhodey chews on his cronut thoughtfully and makes a face. He switches the cronut with a strawberry sprinkled donut and asks, “Does he know?”

“No!” Tony seizes, his own big bite of the chocolate sprinkled suddenly dry and lumpy in his esophagus. He swallows painfully and shrugs, “I don’t know? I didn’t tell him.”

“Are you going to?” Rhodey asks, not missing a beat.

“I don’t know,” Tony snaps. “What is this? Make Tony feel bad Sunday?”

Rhodey flicks a sprinkle at his face. “You brought it up first,” he says, facing back the TV, and he switches the channel. “I was trying to enjoy my hangover donuts in peace and you ruined it.”

Tony grumbles something under his breath but otherwise he lets it go.

-

“Let me know if I have to give a shovel talk,” Rhodey says conversationally, stepping into his War Machine armour.

Tony punches his fists into his pants’ pockets and leans against the rail, “Not happening,” he tells him.

“Don’t drink without me.” The helmet closes, the eye slits come to life.

Tony grins at him. “I thought it’s not happening again.”

“It’s not,” comes the mechanical voice. Rhodey takes a step closer and ruffles his hair with a gauntleted hand.

Tony swats at it, hurting himself more than the other and he hisses, glaring at the mechanically cackling Rhodey.

“Take care.” Rhodey says before he shoots up into the night sky, like a blinding star, growing further and further out of reach and Tony whispers a thank you after him.

-

Two days later, someone disengaged JARVIS and tried to break in.

“They must have found out about my SHIELD servers’ break ins,” Tony groans, scrubbing his face as he paces.

JARVIS had sent out a help signal to Steve’s phone before he was shut down. Tony was awake during the attempt so he managed to not only stop it but garner evidence in the process as well.

“Do not come,” he tells Steve over the phone. “They don’t know your involvement. Let’s keep it that way.”

Thirty minutes later, Steve’s in the elevator.

“Let him in,” Tony permits weakly. The door opens, and Steve walks in, calm and composed. His eyes however are a whirlwind of storms brewing up an apocalypse.

They study Tony from head to toe and all over until satisfied, and he nods, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Tony exhales, turning towards the kitchen. “There’s no need for you to come.” He fetches a glass and fills it with water, holding it out for Steve. Once taken, he fetches another and repeats the process, draining the content in a second. Steve offers his for taking and Tony chugs that down too.

“How are you?” Steve asks.

Tony leaves the glasses in the sink and moves to the living room. “I’m fine. Startled. But, fine.” He insists. “Are you staying over?” There’s a lilt to his question, an accidental giveaway; hopeful.

“Yes,” Steve says. Period. No place for arguments and it’s definite. I’m staying. Whether or not you like it.

Tony glances at him over a shoulder, “You know where your room is. I’ve got some work to do, I’ll be in the shop.”

Steve follows him instead. Sits on the couch and reads a book while Tony does his work. When the Sun comes up, he excuses himself to freshen up and make breakfast. When he returns, Tony’s face down on the couch, drooling into Steve’s jacket.

-

Steve stays.

“I’m not running a free bed-and-breakfast,” Tony tells him on day seven.

“Nope,” Steve agrees. “It’s bed, breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks,” he crunches pointedly on the Cheetos. Tony glares at him.

The alarm blares. The lights shut down. JARVIS is unreachable again. Tony’s insides clamp down painfully and he shoves the sickening feel away to retrieve him.

Before he could move, he’s shoved down hard behind the couch and something shatters in the near distance. Once, twice and then several times.  

He grappled for Steve but couldn’t find him. He tries not to worry about JARVIS, confident he’ll find his own way back but -

“Steve,” he hisses into the darkness, temporarily blinded and he’s shivering from fright. His entire core is shut down; from electricity to the armour’s response signal. He feels as naked and vulnerable as he was in that cave in Afghanistan but this time, it’s in his own home.  

“Steve?” he calls again, crawling blindly. Something breaks the window and lands next to him and hits his toe. Barely a time to react, and he’s flung across the room and he only remembers a clean thud to his skull before he blacks out.

-

He wakes up with JARVIS’s name on the tip of his tongue and an irritating beeping sound surrounding him. He swats at it. Someone catches his hand.

“He’s fine,” They say. It’s Steve. “Natasha fixed him.”

Tony probably scrapes his throat trying to swallow dryly and rasps out, “He doesn’t need fixing.”

“Of course,” Steve hums, holding out a glass of water and Tony struggles to take; hand shaking like a leaf. He curses and Steve stands, tipping the glass closer to his mouth, placing the end of the straw in between his lips and he casually confesses, “I thought I’d lost you,” while Tony sips.

“Thought I killed you with my own hand.”

“There was,” Tony pauses to cough, “A grenade,” he finishes exhaustedly.

“I threw you across the room,” Steve informs in that same disconnected voice. Tony catches his free hand and gives it a squeeze, albeit weakly. Steve’s hand starts to shake.

“How long?” Tony asks.

“Two days,” Steve exhales, his head falls, forehead hits the edge of the bed and there’s a shiver that wrecks through his spine as he holds onto Tony’s hand through it. “Fuck,” he swears airily.

Tony shifts a little so he could card his other fingers through Steve’s hair and pets him idly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” He asks.

Steve nods, “We caught him.”

-

Turns out, Fury had Tony tracked without his consent and Natasha was strategically there to shoot Bucky Barnes in the abdomen. Two bullets through and through; both in the right hypogastric region and Steve got there just in time to knock him unconscious.

“Sorry, I don’t really know where to keep him,” Steve says abashedly, explaining why Bucky Barnes is now in the tower in Hulk’s containment, being treated by Bruce and Helen Cho.

“Where else would he go?” Tony shrugs, adjusting the strap holding his broken left arm for the nth time. When he looks up, Steve’s staring at him with some skin to bewilderment and fondness. He doesn’t know where he falls in between those two emotions so he huffs disgruntledly and tugs again at the strap. “I hate this.”

“Leave it be,” Steve’s voice is soft, his fingers gentle when they pry away Tony’s. “I know what you’re doing,” he tells him.

“What?” Tony scoffs.

Steve’s eyes are a brilliant shade of blue and they stay fixed on his as he fixes the strap, Tony’s collar and he says, “Sometimes when I look at you, what I feel shows and everytime you catch that instance, you look away. You change topics or you do something absurd to burst the moment. Either you choose to pretend that you don’t know how I feel for you or you don’t feel the same so you’re trying to be polite for my sake.”

Tony’s throat runs dry. This time, he can’t look away. Try as he might, his breath catches and his heart stutters. “The former,” he confirms shamefully.  

Steve’s hand over his chest stills, plastered over his breastbone, fingers tickling the edge of his collar and he asks, “Why?”

“Because I’m terrified of the idea that if I tell you how I feel, you will reject me.” Tony pauses. And then, because he’s got nothing else to lose, he adds, “There’s also the fact that you deserve so much better than me.”

Steve swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing along his throat and Tony glances at it distractedly, promptly snapping back to the sea of blue; now bleeding black, inside out.

“What if I want you?” Steve licks his lips.

Tony follows that motion, eyes zeroing in on there. Longing and lust all melting into something warm and thick and he rasps, “Then you have me.”

-

“This is so not how I imagined it.” Tony pulls away. He wastes two seconds glaring at his useless left arm and goes back in.

Steve’s chuckle breaks into a gasp when Tony yanks at his hair hard, nips at his lips, licks into his mouth and kisses him stupid.

“This is so not how I imagined it.” he groans.

-

“How’d you imagined it?” Steve asks, pressing the elevator button up and he turns to face Tony. “Do you imagine making out with me often?” There’s a leer to his smile, hidden behind mischief and pure Steve-ness and Tony leans in to taste it. “I imagine doing a lot of things to you, Rogers. Kissing is just the tip of the iceberg.”

-

They step out of the observation room; Barnes still drugged up to the gills until his bullet wounds heal and Bruce kindly let Tony know that his penthouse is destroyed while Steve winced.

Tony enters the elevator and he’s lost for a second before Steve follows in and presses the button to his guest suite. He takes Tony’s uninjured hand and kisses the inside of his wrist. “In your imaginations,” he asks, still not letting up and Tony snorts at him. But Steve persists, “Am I getting fucked or are you?” He’s a little flushed in the cheeks and that’s all there is to give away his abashment.

Tony hums, deliberately stalling. “How about I show you?” he offers impishly.

Steve stares him down, full Captain mode, sending shivers down his spine. “You’re not doing any strenuous activities until you heal.”

Tony stares him back, “Pretty sure, sucking your cock doesn’t fall in strenuous activities. Or laying there, letting you fuck me,” he taps at his chin thoughtfully. “Although, riding you would probably have to wait.”

Steve shudders. The elevator door splits open and Tony steps out.

-

Steve wasn’t kidding about the celibacy. Tony looks at him gravely and declares, “I am injured and horny and you are making this especially difficult for me.”

He receives a soft shirt to his face and a towering Steve who orders, “Stay still,” while he methodically helps Tony out of the arm sling and his t-shirt and into a new one. “I’m not doing your pants,” he draws the line.

Ten minutes later, Tony climbs onto the bed and shuffles closer to Steve. “I’m holding you accountable for this,” he points at his half-erection. Steve rolls his eyes and coaxes him into a prone position; tucks his broken arm safely out of the way and Tony’s body snuggly into his curves. There’s a hard line pressing into Tony’s ass cleft and he digs his fingers into Tony’s hip when Tony tries to rub up.

“Stop,” he warns, lips brushing over Tony’s nape. Breath hot and wet and something clench and shiver in Tony’s chest. “Once you’re healed, I’ll fuck you so hard you forget your name so, be patient. For now.”

“Fucking tease.” Tony growls into his pillow. Steve’s thumb over the arch of his hip bone rubs a circle and he nips at Tony’s lobe, “I know.”

There’s a war coming on; it’s somewhere near the horizon and Tony can almost taste it on his tongue, his bones ache from the revelations. There’s a prisoner of war two floors below who needs more than regular healing. Upstairs, his penthouse is in crumbles but that’s for next morning. Along with the calls he has to make to Pepper and Rhodey to elaborate what short-sentenced assurance Steve has given them when he was out of it.

For now, he’s right where he wants to be and he savours the feel; grabs onto Steve’s arm around his chest, sinks closer into his hold and he falls asleep to the pulse of Steve’s heartbeats.

[localswordlesbian]

sweet talk

this is my submission for @martimweek for the prompt “club/pub/bar”! I’ve been wanting to write a martim one shot fic for a while and this gave me the inspiration to actually do it

read it on ao3 or below the cut

“I’m sick of this. I’m dropping out.”

“You say that every single time you leave an assignment to the last minute, Tim. You’d think you’d have learned by now.”

Tim glared at Martin from where he was dangling upside down off his bed. “I mean it this time. This paper is due tomorrow and it sounds like hot garbage. I’m probably just better off not handing anything in.”

Martin rolled his eyes, putting his own book in his lap. “You’re so dramatic, I’m surprised you’re not a drama major.”

“Why study for something I’m naturally good at?”

Martin groaned while Tim laughed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.” Martin grumbled. “Screw this paper.”

“Oh, hand it over, you oaf. You’re not submitting nothing, especially after writing ten bloody pages.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a saint, Marto?”

“Literally only you.”

“You’re a saint.”

Martin skimmed over the paper, a historical analysis of the Cold War and its more violent clashes. Martin was no history buff, but this paper was far from, as Tim put it, hot garbage . It was actually pretty good.

He told his flatmate as much, but Tim just scoffed. “You’re just being nice.” Despite his dismissive words, a glow of pride lit up his face.

“Just hand it in, you insufferable twat. You already knew that, you just wanted affirmation.”

Tim clicked his tongue. “Is that so wrong?”

“No, not really.”

Tim leaned back against the wall as Martin picked up his book again. “We should go to the pub tonight, you and me. To celebrate.”

Martin laughed. “To celebrate you turning in a paper? We do this every semester, Tim. Multiple times.”

Tim threw an eraser at his head, and Martin squeaked indignantly. “Fine, then you come up with a reason. I want to go to the pub, and I want to go with you.”

Martin looked up at his flatmate, leaning casually against the wall with his laptop perched precariously on one knee. His black hair was sticking upright from the amount of times he’d run his hands through it in the past few hours, and his tanned and chiseled face looked tired. Despite that, his lips were curled upwards in his telltale smirk.

Martin sighed. “Yeah, alright. Wanna invite the others?”

Tim shook his head. “Sasha’s busy, Daisy and Basira scare me, and Melanie has a date with her new girlfriend.” Tim raised his eyebrows. “Unless there’s someone you’d like to bring along?”

Martin’s face instantly heated up. “Uh, nope. Just the two of us is good.”

Tim chuckled. “I’m sure Jon would love to have a night off from studying, head to the pub with some friends –”

“Tim, I swear to god–”

Tim put his hands up in mock defeat, his grin more infuriating than ever. Martin knew perfectly well that his face was an alarming shade of red, bright enough to put firetrucks to shame, and he also knew that this amused his friend greatly. “Alright, just the two of us then.”

Night fell while Martin finished up his reading for his English class – The Yellow Wallpaper, a story about a woman who spent so long trapped in a room that she began hallucinating a woman living in the walls and trying to rescue her. The ending of the story gave Martin chills, and he quickly scribbled some notes into the margins before closing the book and putting it back on his shelf. Stretching his arms over his head, he winced as several of his bones cracked and his muscles strained from being stuck in the same position for hours on end.

Tim wanted to go to the pub in a few minutes, so Martin pulled a white turtleneck jumper from his closet, throwing it over his shirt. When Tim knocked, he didn’t wait for a reply – simply opened the door and stuck his head in.

“Ready?”

“Christ, Tim! Normal people knock! I could have been changing or something.”

“Which you clearly should be. You’re not going in those jeans.”

“My jeans are fine!”

“Nope. I’ll be in the foyer.”

Martin groaned as Tim shut the door, rolling his eyes as he turned back to his closet. He didn’t want to wear his nice trousers to the pub, but his jeans were old and worn and a little bit gross. Making a split second decision, Martin pulled a galaxy-patterned skirt on and grabbed his wallet and phone on the way out the door.

Tim was waiting by the door, one of his signature hawaiian shirts unbuttoned over a plain black tee. Martin’s heart skipped a little – there was a reason Martin had had a sexuality crisis when he’d come to university, and that reason was standing in front of him.

Tim raised his eyebrows approvingly. “Much better.”

“Bossy arse.”

“Come on, you love it,” Tim teased as they headed out of the flat and into the dark London street. “Your type is clearly bossy.”

Martin sputtered. “My type is not –

“Oh, come off it, Martin. Sims?”

“You don’t need to call him by his last name, he’s not a professor.”

“Alright, Jonathan, the librarian’s special little boy.”

“I don’t get why you don’t like them.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Do you really think I don’t like them?”

Martin shrugged. “Well, yeah. You’re always so… snide and sarcastic whenever he’s brought up. Like now,” he added pointedly, raising his eyebrows at his friend.

Tim sighed. “Okay, fair. But I like them perfectly fine, I’ll have you know. He seems like a nice guy, if a little, what’s the word? Married to their work.” Tim threw his arm over Martin’s shoulders. “Look, Martin, I wouldn’t say anything if I didn’t know how you get, especially when it comes to people you fancy.”

“How do you mean?” Martin asked slowly.

“You have a tendency to give yourself away, until there’s nothing left of you to love. I don’t want you to pursue this guy and have your heart broken cause he’s got his nose too glued in a book to notice you. Or your tea,” he added lightheartedly.

They reached the pub, and Martin sighed as they walked inside and made a beeline for a booth in the back. “Tim, I’m not dumb.”

“No, you’re crushing on a guy. And those two things are sometimes interchangeable – trust me, I’d know.”

Martin sighed, gathering his skirt into the booth. “Yes, Tim, you’re a dating expert.”

Tim flashed a grin as he ordered a drink for each of them. “I should write a romance advice column in the school paper. ‘Timothy Stoker’s Guide to Love.’”

Martin snorted. “If you want to increase the number of breakups, maybe.”

Tim punched his shoulder, and Martin yelped. “Rude! I give amazing dating advice.”

Their drinks arrived, and the beer mixed with lighthearted banter was giving Martin a happy buzz. He loved all of his friends, of course he did, but there was something different about having a night out just with Tim. They had an easy rhythm, the two of them, bouncing conversations and teasing and laughter back and forth like a beach ball, pausing to sip their drinks and order more, and soon enough Martin was feeling properly tipsy, and a look over at Tim’s flushed face told him he was faring about the same.

After downing his last drink, Tim turned in the booth to face Martin, one leg crossed under his other knee. “Why don’t you just ask out Jon?”

“Because I can’t,” Martin shrugged.

Tim scoffed, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Seriously? Why not? You’re way out of their league, if you don’t mind me saying, and he clearly likes you back. So what’s there to lose?”

Martin sighed. “Come on, Tim. I’d have no idea where or how to even start. Between my mum, and then my transition and anxiety fucking everything up, I never let anyone get too close. It feels too late now.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but they were fond. “Martin, I mean this in the most loving way possible, but you’re a dolt. It’s not too late, you’re only bloody twenty-one! So what if you haven’t had a relationship before? It’s not like he’s got anything to say about you being trans or having anxiety, and if he does I have a crowbar I keep in my closet for that exact situation.”

“Yeah, I know he won’t.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“God, Tim!” Martin threw his hands up in exasperation. He wasn’t annoyed at Tim, and Tim knew that; he was annoyed at himself, and the alcohol made everything just spill out without a second thought. “I’ve never done this before, I don’t know how to ask someone out without making a blubbering fool of myself, it was hard enough even becoming friends with them because, what are coherent sentences, even, when someone you fancy is talking to you? I’ve never even kissed anyone!” His voice quieted at the last sentence.

“Oh, well if that’s all, that’s easily remedied.” At Martin’s confused tilt of the head, Tim leaned in slowly, slowly enough that Martin could have easily pulled away, easily declined.

Perhaps a sober Martin would have hesitated, would have considered the aftermath, had overthought every aspect of what he was about to do obsessively until Tim pulled away, regretting having made the offer.

Instead, he closed the gap, and then Tim’s lips were on his, soft and tasting of beer. His hands were in Tim’s hair, the curls soft and welcoming against his fingers, Tim’s breath hot on Martin’s face as he parted his lips, pulling Martin’s lower lip into his mouth. He gasped, dimly aware that this was a terrible idea, he was kissing his best friend in the back booth of a student pub that stank of beer and sweat, and Tim’s hands were gripping his shoulders and his lips were soft on his. Tim kissed like he was drowning, and Martin’s lips were air.

Tim pulled away first, and Martin slowly opened his eyes, the dim lights in the pub suddenly too bright. Tim’s hair was still bunched in Martin’s hand, and he slowly disentangled his fingers while Tim released his shoulders, never taking his eyes off Martin’s face. His lips were swollen and red, and he was grinning. “That, my friend, is how you kiss. You’re a natural, nothing to worry about.”

Martin exhaled a shaky breath, causing Tim to chuckle. “Nothing to worry about, yeah?”

Tim grinned lopsidedly, pushing a strand of hair behind Martin’s ear. “Nothing at all.”

Martin nodded. “Cool.” That made Tim laugh. “What now?”

Tim tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re best friends, and we just, well, made out in the back of a pub. Isn’t this supposed to make things awkward?”

“Does it need to?”

“Hm. I guess it doesn’t.”

Tim scooted, bumping his hip against Martin’s, and it took Martin a second to realize he was trying to urge him out of the booth. They stood, swaying and leaning against each other for support. They left the pub and emerged into the chilly London night, arms around each other, concentrating on not walking into the street. “I’ll tell you what now.”

“Hm?”

“We’re going to get food on our way home, then we’re going to fight over who gets to use the shower first, and I’m going to win with my devilish charm. Then we’re going to go to bed, and wake up tomorrow with horrible hangovers and more schoolwork. Deal?”

Martin smiled. “Deal.”

[sarahwroteathing]

English 284 (1)

Word Count: 1495

Summary: Your proposal to teach a new class combining art and literature is accepted... under one little condition. (College AU)

Warnings: Language

A/N: We’re doing impulsive writing again because it worked well the last two times. Oof. Here we go again, folks. Image is of a painting mentioned in the chapter: “Ophelia” by Sir John Everett Millais. (Source)

Steve’s Perspective .

“Fellas, it’s happening!” you said, shoving the door of the lab open with your hip, laptop balanced precariously in your arms.

“Seriously? I changed the code yesterday! How did you get in here again?” Tony complained, letting his head fall forward onto the table with a dull thunk while Bruce scoffed.

“You changed it to my birthday, smartypants. Besides, my ID is still authorized on the card reader. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy my company.” 

You pulled a spare chair over to the table where Tony and Bruce were working, planting your own laptop primly on a stack of battered notebooks. Bruce’s probably. Tony abandoned paper ages ago. 

Despite the token protest, Tony was actually your closest friend at work, a pairing that completely baffled your colleagues. The specific brands of eccentricity displayed by English professors and Engineering professors didn’t tend to mix well. But the Dean of Studies, Pepper Potts, had recommended befriending Tony on your first day, and his quick humor and ostentatious confidence had effectively drowned out the imposter syndrome that plagued you during your first semester teaching. You’d met Bruce Banner only a few days later, and sharing lunches in Tony’s lab in the basement of the Engineering building had solidified into sacred tradition by the end of your second week. 

“Did you hear back about the new course proposal?” Bruce asked.

“Yes! I got the email notification on my way over here, but I haven’t opened it yet. Tony, tell me your wife isn’t going to break my heart.”

“We don’t talk about work at home. But I read your proposal, and it sounded… Well, I wouldn’t take that class, but it sounded like something Pepper would be into.”

You squirmed anxiously in your seat, logging into your email with a deep breath. You’d worked on this course proposal for the better part of a month, editing and re-editing the syllabus at least a dozen times. You had titled the course “The Painted Word.” A full semester class studying famous myths, plays, poems, and novels and the works of art they inspired. 

The idea formed when a picture of Sir John Everett Millais’s “Ophelia” i had sparked a lively debate among the students in your Shakespeare seminar. You’d spent the next week researching artistic representation of iconic characters and stories, and when you’d given a few of your classes the soft pitch of the course, you’d acquired more than enough signatures on the interest form to issue a formal request with the Dean of Studies. Being met with such enthusiasm had lulled you into a sense of security and excitement. In your mind, the course was already set in stone. Which is exactly why the email on your screen landed like a gut punch. 

“She said no?” you asked faintly, your eyes scanning and rescanning the first sentence. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm and the care and attention you put into your work, I do not feel that I can approve the course as you’ve submitted it.” 

You blinked owlishly but made no move to intervene when Tony snatched your laptop from its place in front of you. Bruce rolled his chair to read over Tony’s shoulder, and they wore twin expressions of puzzled displeasure which would have made you laugh if not for the current state of your professional goals. 

“She didn’t say no! It’s conditional approval,” Tony corrected, his expression clearing as he reached to roll your chair closer to him. “Look.”

I’m intrigued by the course description you’ve laid out here, and it certainly has no equivalent in our current course catalogue. I think we would be remiss to limit the course to the English Department and encourage you to consider an interdisciplinary approach with the Art Department. If you’re willing to collaborate with one of their professors so that students can benefit from the expertise of both relevant disciplines and gain credit with either department, I’d be happy to approve the course for the spring semester. I’d recommend getting in touch with Steven G. Rogers. He has taught a number of interdisciplinary courses during his time here, and I believe he would be a helpful resource for you. 

“She doesn’t think I can handle this on my own?” you asked, running your hands through your hair in frustration. “I have a Ph. D, dammit! I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“I’m sure that’s not what she meant,” Bruce said, reaching around Tony to squeeze your shoulder. “She just wants to open up the class a little more. You know the college has been pushing for more interdisciplinary classes.”

“Who the hell is Steven G. Rogers, and why does she think the sun shines out of his ass,” you muttered grumpily, determined to hold onto your bitterness just a little longer. 

“The sun couldn’t possibly shine out of his ass with the stick he keeps up there,” Tony said mildly, shocking a laugh out of you.

“Oh, God, tell me I won’t be stuck teaching with a stuffy old grump for a whole semester.”

“I’ve never had someone ask me to lie to them before. This is a weird feeling. Takes the fun out of it, almost.”

“He’s not that bad,” Bruce protested. 

“How do you both know this guy? I’ve never heard of him before in my life. This is - ” 

You broke off with a sigh, reclaiming your laptop and searching the faculty directory. 

“Why does this stupid website never have any pictures,” you complained, scrolling through his profile. 

“Be grateful. It would only make it worse for you,” Tony said with a smirk before smacking your hand away from the keyboard. “Wait, wait, wait! Does that say ‘Gentle Yoga?’ What the hell does that mean?”

“Yoga but in a sweater? On a pile of pillows and he braids your hair after?”

Tony snorted and started to respond, but you clapped your hand over his mouth immediately.

“Shut up. I heard it as soon as I said it. Don’t make it worse.” 

“It’s just low impact yoga. Lighter stretches. For people who don’t feel comfortable or able to do standard level yoga. We usually get a few students with sports injuries or disabilities.”

You and Tony both turned to look at Bruce, staring in silent shock for a few moments before speaking.

“...Did you say we? Why did you say we?”

“Bruce, do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, pushing up from his seat and crossing to his bag on the other side of the room, very pointedly ignoring you and Tony who were frantically scooting after him in your rolly chairs. 

“Bruce!” 

He had pulled out his phone and was typing something, but he pivoted to block your view when you tried to peek.

“I’m texting Steve to see if he has any open spaces in his teaching schedule next semester. You’re welcome.” 

“Why do you have his number?”

“Because we take turns teaching gentle yoga, which I’m pretty sure you’ve already figured out at this point, so drop it. And Tony has his number too by the way.”

“What?”

“Judas.”

“I thought you said he had a stick up his ass?”

“Well, the stick is sometimes useful, okay? And he’s not the worst person I’ve met. After a few whiskeys, he even approaches fun.” 

You let out an incredulous laugh, abandoning your chair to pace the length of the lab. 

“So you’re saying I should give this guy a shot?” you asked, massaging your temples against the stress headache that was starting to creep in. 

Bruce’s phone chimed quietly.

“He says he has an open space. Should I put in a good word for you?”

You wandered back towards your laptop, looking wistfully over your syllabus. 

“What are the chances this class will still be recognizable after his input?” you asked mournfully.

“You can change your mind and say no if you disagree with him. Find someone else,” Bruce said with a shrug. 

“And he’ll pull his weight?”

“He’ll pull all the weight unless you strongarm him out of it,” Tony said with a laugh. “Look, Pep knows what she’s doing. If she thinks you two would work well together, she’s probably right. Her last recommendation turned out alright, didn’t it?”

“You keep trying to lock me out of your lab,” you pointed out half-heartedly, but you gave a nod to Bruce who immediately started typing. 

“Yeah, well. Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“He said to send him the syllabus and let him know when you can meet to talk about it,” Bruce cut in, tucking his phone back into his bag. 

You let out a deep sigh, nerves already fluttering to life in your stomach at the thought of having to pitch this class to a colleague again. 

“What are the chances this turns into a huge disaster?” 

“I’d say about 50/50. Either way, it’ll be entertaining.”

“Tony!”

“What? She asked!”

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

Alright guys, what do we think? Are you into it? Excited? How do you think the meeting will go? Do you wanna read more? Let me know! Asks, reblogs, and replies make the world go ‘round!

Part 2

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[there-must-be-a-lock]

Hot Chocolate (and Goddamn Marshmallows)

Dean x Reader

Word Count: ~2530

Warnings: It’s SO FLUFFY. Straight up marshmallow fluff. Just a dash of angst for seasoning. Um. No warnings that I can think of. 

A/N: Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for checkin it over. For @katymacsupernatural​ and her 6K Golden challenge! Congrats Katy! 

“I fuckin’ can’t, man, I barely made it here to begin with, Baby was slippin’ all over the place,” Dean grumbles. He holds the phone awkwardly between his shoulder and his ear so that he can pour another glass of whiskey. He only has half a bottle; if he can’t get out tomorrow, he’s fucked.

Even aside from the alcohol situation, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. He’s supposed to be at Jody’s, drinking eggnog and doing all the Hallmark bullshit with his family, but if the snow doesn’t stop early… well, fuck that, he’ll find a way. He’s gotta make it back for Christmas. 

“The cabin’s still stocked from the last time we were there, right?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah, I won’t starve to death, at least,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice light. It’s the truth, although the cabinets basically contain black beans, a couple packs of ramen, and some skunked beer. Dean won’t starve, but this is just not how he wanted to spend his night. This Christmas was supposed to be different. 

“Still not gonna tell me what was so important up there?” Sam says. 

“Nope.” 

It’s his own fault, really. Sam told him about the Christmas plan a month ago. It had taken Dean a while to figure out where Mom’s stuff had been stored without Sammy realizing what he was up to, and then their last hunt took longer than they’d expected… it was just one thing after another, and he’d been in such a rush to get up here he hadn’t checked the weather forecast. Typical. 

“Fuck,” Sam sighs. “It’s supposed to let up tomorrow, we’ll mount a rescue mission, okay? Donna’s got four wheel drive, I think.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says gruffly, and he clears his throat, trying to sound cheerful. How many Christmases has he spent, now, telling Sam not to worry? It’s a Winchester family tradition. “I’ll figure something out. Give everybody hugs for me. Tell Jody she better save me some of that pork roast.” 

“Love you,” Sam says quietly. 

Dean kinda likes the big goddamn marshmallow who’s replaced his brother lately. Amazing what Eileen and a general lack of apocalypses have done for the kid’s temperament. 

“Love ya, Sammy. See you tomorrow, one way or another. Hey, don’t do it without me, okay?” 

Sam laughs at him. “Obviously. Bye, Dean.” 

Dean hangs up and looks down at the little box on the table. As much as this situation fuckin’ blows, Sam’s reaction is gonna be priceless. 

He opens the box again, peeking for the zillionth time before he slips it into his pocket. It’s still surreal to think about that ring on someone else’s hand. Mom stopped wearing it at some point after she came back, and Sam probably assumes it’s long gone. 

He’d said something about how Eileen’s practical, they talked about it, she doesn’t want him to go out and blow a bunch of money on jewelry, they can pick out the actual bands together when it’s time… but Dean’s pretty fuckin’ excited to see the expression on his face. And hers, of course. Practical as she may be, Eileen’s a goddamn marshmallow too. 

Dean’s happy for Sam, he really is. Sometimes he just feels a little lonely, watching the two of them; must be nice, having someone look at you like that. They just kinda fit. They finish each other’s fuckin’ sentences, sometimes, or sign the same things at the same time, moving in perfect unison, and Sam just smiles so much more than he used to. Dean looks at the way they are together and thinks it looks comfortable, like a warm fuzzy fuckin’ blanket, and he’s only just starting to realize that sometimes… sometimes he gets really cold, is all. Sometimes he could use a little more warm fuzzy in his life. 

Like, hey, now, for example. He shivers and drains the last of his glass, pours himself a fresh one, and then he shakes off the melancholy and goes to get a fire started. 

There’s no cable, or anything, but they hooked up an old DVD player to an even older TV a couple years back. Dean finds a stack of dusty DVD cases and shuffles through them, rolling his eyes at the selection. Love Actually? How the fuck did that end up here? 

Or… huh. Now he thinks about it, there’s a chance he might have bought it at the dollar store, one time, while feeling mildly tipsy and severely sentimental. He also has a vague recollection of he and Sam both getting a little bit teared up while watching it. Just a little. 

Dean looks down at his drink and sighs. It’s gonna be a maudlin drunk kinda night. Might as well just put on a chick flick, while he’s at it. He tops up his glass, puts in the disc, throws another log on the fire, and settles onto the massive, squashy couch. 

Fuck his fuckin’ luck, seriously. There’s just this cold, dull ache in his chest that won’t seem to go away, and even though he keeps trying to tell himself that it might end up okay, the snow might stop in time, he can’t seem to shake it. Baby’s not at her best in the snow, what are the odds? He can’t ask Sam to drive however many fuckin’ hours to come pick him up, he won’t ask, and he just wishes a single damn thing would go right, for a change. 

He knuckles at his eyes and pours another drink, but no matter how much whiskey he puts away, he can’t seem to warm up. 

***

About an hour in, as he’s eyeing the whiskey bottle and deciding whether he should just go ahead and polish the thing off, there’s a knock on the door.  

“The fuck,” Dean mutters. He’s stumbling awkwardly to his feet, reaching for the gun he’d put on the coffee table, when the door slams open, letting in a gust of freezing-cold air and a flurry of snowflakes. There’s a figure in the doorway: massive coat, bundled up, and they’re carrying two big paper bags, and Dean blinks stupidly for a second, gun still cocked. 

Is that -

“Holy shit,” he blurts out. He sets the gun down and rushes to help her, but she’s already kicking the door closed behind her, setting the groceries down, and by the time he gets over there she’s unwinding the scarf from around her face so that he can see her eyes, sparkling and happy, her flushed cheeks, her bright smile. 

“Good to see you, Dean,” she says, still breathless from the cold. He wraps her in a bear hug, stunned and speechless. 

“Holy shit,” he says again, eventually, as she pulls away to get her gigantic puffy coat off. There are snowflakes caught in her hair and she’s beaming at him, and she laughs at his look of disbelief; she’s got the cutest fuckin’ laugh, Christ. 

“Little birdy told me you might need some company,” she says. She’s giving him this impish smile and he wants to say something clever, but all he can do is wipe a hand down his face and shake his head. 

“Shit, how’d you even get up here? Roads were bad when I got in.” 

“Maybe for your little Baby,” she grins, shrugging off the big coat and stomping snow off her boots. “But it wasn’t a big deal for the truck. The plows will be out tonight, we can hit the road as soon as the sun’s up. I’d say let’s go now but I hate driving in the dark when it’s snowing. it’s like making the jump to hyperspace, y’know?” 

Dean blinks slowly at her. “Wait, seriously?” 

“You know, when the snow comes at the windshield and it looks- ”

“No, I mean, we’ll be able to get out? You’re really… you don’t have to drive me all that way, shit.” 

“I mean, unless you’re set on sticking around? Got big plans?” She glances pointedly over his shoulder to where Love Actually is still playing, and Dean makes a face, but he’s so relieved he’s getting a little bit choked up. 

“Options were limited.” 

“Hey, you’re in luck. I came prepared.” She grabs her big puffy coat and rummages in pockets until she pulls out a DVD case. Dean’s mouth drops open. 

“Die Hard? You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re my favorite.” 

She rolls her eyes and shrugs it off, but she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet a little, like she’s pleased with herself. “Here, help me with these?”

She picks up the grocery bag and brings it to the kitchen, and Dean trails after her with the second, which (judging by the clinking when he sets it on the counter) is mostly booze. She pulls out a pie, first, one of the supermarket ones in its plastic box. His stomach does a happy little flip-flop, and he has to hug her again. He wraps his arms around her from behind and squeezes hard. Her hair smells the same as he remembers. 

“Did you turn into a marshmallow when I wasn’t around?” she teases, and Dean blushes. 

“Guess it runs in the family,” he says quietly, laughing, and he steps away. 

“Huh? 

“Never mind. I might’ve had a couple drinks. Gettin’ sappy.” He leans against the counter next to her as she starts to unpack more food. “Last I saw you, you were in New York. Are you back in this neck of the woods? You shoulda called!” 

“Just came back recently. I guess Jody heard through the grapevine, she’s the one who called me. My dad died,” she says matter-of-factly. “Been staying at his place trying to get everything sorted out.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” 

She shoots him a little sideways half-smile and pulls out a carton of eggnog, a bottle of Jack, and a bottle of peppermint schnapps. “Thanks. I don’t mind being back, mostly, but I’m glad she called. The holidays have kinda been a bummer this year.” 

“I know how that goes,” Dean says wryly. 

“Yeah. Nice to have something to do. When Jody found out I was gonna be alone she about had a cow, so I guess I’m having Christmas with you guys now. Anyway, I can never say no to rescuing a damsel in distress.” 

She winks, and Dean’s so goddamn charmed right now it takes a second to realize she just called him a damsel. 

“Hey,” he protests. He tries to look affronted, but she’s giggling, so it’s probably not working. 

“Should we start with the ‘nog? Or peppermint hot chocolate?” she muses. 

“Dealer’s choice.” 

“Hot chocolate it is. Boil some water?” 

Dean grabs the old kettle while she peers at mugs, trying to find a couple that aren’t too dusty. He sneaks a glance at her out of the corner of his eye; she’s pretty, Christ, and she’s all pink-cheeked from the cold, biting her lip absentmindedly, and… yeah. Dean maybe can’t stop staring. 

She catches him looking, but she just smiles back, shy and sweet, and starts pouring hot cocoa mix into two passably clean mugs. 

“You never told me what you’re doing up here,” she remarks. “Secret Christmas mission, Jody said?” 

Dean fumbles for the ring box and shows her. “Had to get something out of storage.” 

Her eyes go wide and shocked, and her mouth opens and closes silently for a second. 

“Oh,” she says, voice strained, looking down at her hands. “I didn’t realize you were…” 

“No, not for me!” he says hastily. “God, no. Not for me. For Sam.” 

“Oh!” she says, high-pitched. She laughs and fidgets nervously with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh, okay.”  

Dean doesn’t think he’s imagining the look of relief on her face, and something in his chest goes all fluttery. 

“I am very single,” he says, and he can’t quite manage to keep his tone casual. “Just… to make it clear.” 

She nods, trying to hold back a smile, like she’s laughing at him but also maybe (hopefully) like she’s charmed at the same time. 

“Good,” she says softly. 

***

Dean doesn’t remember falling asleep. When he wakes up, sometime in the middle of the night, it takes him a moment to remember where he is. 

He feels sorta dazed, like maybe he’s still tipsy. That’s normal enough. What’s not normal is the person next to him; they’re curled around each other, fully clothed, and she’s tucked under his arm with her hand resting on his chest. They must’ve dozed off during the movie. Dean smiles to himself. 

The fire’s mostly embers at this point, and he should get up, put a log on, before it dies completely. Maybe he should just go to his room, too; find her a blanket and then give her some space. That’d be the gentlemanly thing to do. 

He takes a second to breathe, first. There’s something so perfect about the moment. He wants to memorize the way she feels, curled against his side, the way they fit together, the way her hair smells, the way her breath tickles his neck when she exhales. He feels boneless and heavy-limbed, like he could melt into the couch cushions, but there’s this tightness in his chest, the knowledge that he should enjoy this while he can, because it won’t last. It never does. 

He’s careful when he gets up, trying to slip away without disturbing her, and he’s quiet as he stokes the fire. When it’s blazing again, he grabs a big quilt from the back of a chair and covers her up, tucking her in gently. He turns to head to bed. 

“Hey, wait,” she murmurs sleepily. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Where’re you going?” she asks. When he looks back, the fire is illuminating the adorable grumpy pout on her face, and she’s all sleepy-eyed and pillow-creased and fucking gorgeous. 

Dean shrugs. 

“Come back?” she asks. 

He slides under the quilt, and she snuggles close. When she tilts her face up to look him in the eye, her skin glows orange-gold in the firelight. She leans in slow, pausing just before their lips meet, and when they kiss Dean feels it through his entire body, liquid heat curling out to his toes. Her mouth is soft, and she makes this sweet, happy sound when he sucks on her lower lip; it makes his head spin, and he cups her cheek in one hand, feels her velvety skin under his fingers. 

Her lashes flutter when she pulls back, her eyes still half-closed. 

“Go to sleep, Dean,” she whispers. “We’ve got a long drive in the morning.” 

She fits herself against his side, nuzzling into his neck, sighing contentedly, and he strokes her hair until her breathing evens out again. 

He likes the way she fits in his arms, and he likes the sweet smell of her hair all mixed in with the woodsmoke. He likes the weight of her on his chest and the heat of her body against his, the way she’s wrapped around him, the way she’s half draped over him like a living blanket. 

Warm and fuzzy, he thinks, and he’s smiling as he falls asleep.

.

.

.

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[kstewdeux]

A Very Specific Day

A Tumblr Exclusive

@inuyasha-valentines

“So, he asked you to join him for dinner and you said yes?” Sango asked barely above a whisper as she sank into the hot spring. Despite Kagome’s belief that only Miroku spied on them, the slayer knew better. How the miko didn’t sense his aura or the noticeable, sudden rustle of leaves that occasionally occurred when Kagome exited the spring was beyond her but the miko would deny the obvious until the cows came home and then would be in denial about the cows.

“It’s a holiday,” Kagome tried to explain weakly, “Its, um, a great shame to not share that day with a romantic partner in my time.”

“So, you see Hojo as a romantic partner then,” Sango pressed as she gave the miko a skeptical look and Kagome sighed heavily.

“I mean, that’s the point of dinner. To find out if that person is someone you would want as a romantic partner,” she replied a little sadly before cringing when she saw the slayer’s skepticism increase exponentially. Huffing once and folding her arms across her chest, she snapped defensively, “Its not a crime to see what my options are, Sango.”

“I can think of someone who might disagree,” the slayer laughed softly as she settled back against the wall of the spring, “You need to tell him why you’re going home. You know he always follows you.”

“He doesn’t…”

“He does,” Sango interrupted with a soft sigh, “Even if he doesn’t tell you or even let you see him, he always does.”

“Does he really?” Kagome asked in a fascinated tone and Sango’s lips twitched upwards when she heard the rustle of leaves that signaled ‘someone’ might have arrived to ‘protect’ the girls.

“Inuyasha cares for you a great deal,” Sango commented as though she hadn’t noticed anything, “Although I know you don’t think so.”

“I mean we’re friends but he isn’t interested in being any more than that,” Kagome sighed sadly before groaning and commenting acidly, “Unlike Hojo. I mean, honestly, based on how they treat me, I think its pretty clear which one I should be trying to date. One insults me all the time. The other gives me gifts and tells me I’m pretty. Seems pretty open and shut.”

Somehow, mysteriously, although no wind was blowing whatsoever a single tree in the distance shook so heavily a cascade of leaves fell to the ground and the tree itself groaned loudly. Even more mysteriously still, the miko somehow must be either blind or deaf because she didn’t notice the ‘strange’ event.

“Does it?” Sango laughed softly as she consciously turned so the obviously spying hanyou couldn’t see any part of her. Kagome, however, was pretty much on full display.

“So, what happens on a date?” Sango asked as she decided to throw the little obviously upset spy a bone. What he did with it was his business.

“Well the boy usually picks you up at your house. You go to somewhere special. Like a nice place to eat food or you watch a, uh, show or something. Then you go home and if the evening was good you give them a kiss and that’s that. It’s, you know, courting,” Kagome tried to explain as she wrinkled her nose.

“Unchaperoned courting,” Sango corrected. Her lips twitched upwards when the tree in the distance rustled once more.

“Well yeah,” Kagome replied with a soft laugh, “Guess that doesn’t really happen here.”

“Are you going to tell Inuyasha?” Sango finally addressed the elephant in the room and Kagome sniffed pointedly.

“Its not his business,” she clipped back a little too quickly, “I’m so tired of him acting like he owns me just because I can see jewel shards. I don’t complain when he goes to see Kikyo. That’s his business and this is mine.”

“You do complain in your own way,” Sango commented knowingly and Kagome gave her friend a sour look.

“So what? I’m tired of hurting so no, I’m not going to tell him because he doesn’t care about me and I deserve someone who does,” the miko clipped back before worrying about her lip and glaring into the distance, “I just….I love him Sango and he just doesn’t love me back. I’m trying to come to terms with that, okay? If he found out he’d say something hurtful and I don’t want to deal with that right now. I want to be happy.”

A short distance away, a certain half-demon was having a heart attack, a brain aneurysm and quite possibly the stomach flu all at once. His mind and body going completely apeshit over well, literally everything he’d just heard. It didn’t start off too bad. Not great but he could’ve handled a date with that Hojo guy. She didn’t smell attracted to him at all and never really seemed interested. Unlike with Koga because even though she said she didn’t like him that way she sure didn’t smell like she minded the eye candy sometimes. Anyway,  a pity dinner with the Hojo guy was not terrible nor was it worrisome. Sure he would’ve bitched a bit about it and probably stop her from going because (1) obviously that was cruel when she was already spoken for and (2) she was spoken for. His mind had been scrambling to figure out why she had even agreed in light of number two when she started going on about how she thought he was a right asshole who didn’t give two shits about her and was still in love with Kikyo and she wasn’t happy and that….

It was a miracle his heart hadn’t given out it was beating so fast.

Swallowing thickly as he tried to remember how to breathe, he watched with wide, frightened eyes as Kagome and Sango existed the hot spring and began preparing to return.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed as he very seriously almost passed out from the shock to his system, “What am I supposed to do now?”

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Inuyasha arrived back at camp almost a full hour after the girls did. It honestly had taken him that long to calm down and try to formulate a plan. A plan that would not give away the fact that he was spying on Kagome naked and in the process thereof, overheard what she’d said.

“Inuyasha? Can I talk to you?” Kagome asked him quietly and any plan he’d managed to formulate was instantly wiped from his mind by almost blinding panic and dread.

“S-sure,” he offered as calmly as he could under the circumstances and gave her a very forced smile just for good measure. This seemed to unnerve her.

They walked a short distance away until they were almost in the trees when she began her proposal.

“I need to go back in two days,” she began calmly as she tried to meet his gaze but couldn’t quite do it. He almost asked why but then thought better of it. Asking why would most likely have her lie to him which in turn he would call out and then there’d be a fight because him hearing meant he saw her naked and it wouldn’t matter that she was lying to him because he saw her naked and….

“Okay,” he replied a neutrally as one could when they felt like their heart was breaking, “Can….may I go with you?”

Kagome blinked at him a few times before shaking her head and clearing her throat.

“I think, uh, it would be best if I go alone,” she chuckled nervously as she scratched the side of her neck, “You know those pesky homeworks aren’t going to do themselves and I have a, uh, test. I have a test.”

Inuyasha wilted miserably at the realization that she was, in fact, actively lying to him. What else was she lying about? He didn’t even want to think about that.

“I won’t bother you,” he tried softly as he tried to ignore the ice spreading through his veins, “I just…I want to spend some time with you is all.”

“Are you okay?” Kagome asked in a worried tone as her eyes began scanning his body for injury. He smiled sadly and shook his head.

“Nah I’m fine. Just…just realized something is all,” he sighed before seeming to deflate even more, “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead. Do whatever makes you happy.”

The miko’s brain was racing a million miles per second trying to figure out whether he knew she was lying or not because this type of behavior was so unlike him it was beginning to scare her. When he glanced back with a strange look in his eyes, she knew her answer. He could probably smell it on her anyway. Why did she think lying was a good idea? This wasn’t like her at all.

“Wait, Inuyasha,” Kagome called out softly as she wrung her hands and he paused – his hair blocking his face as he glanced over his shoulder, “I’m sorry. I just….I’m being courted, okay? And you usually fight me and this is a very special honor in my time to be courted on this very specific day. I wanted….I was afraid you wouldn’t let me go. I shouldn’t’ve lied.”

For a moment, he tried to digest what she’d said and tried to overcome his own hurt at the situation. Unlike Kikyo, she had never given him a reason not to trust her until now. Even in life Kikyo was constantly lying to him and his sensitive nose could always tell. It was little stupid things but even small things add up into a larger pile that’ll crush you one day. Being able to trust her word was one of the things he loved so much about Kagome.

Yeah, he loved her. Sure, he’d never said as much but dammit that didn’t make it hurt less. She lied to him. Thought it was fine to sit there and tell him that she was being courted like it honestly didn’t matter. He wanted to get angry and yell at her out of frustration but he never was good with words and he might end up just hurting his cause. No matter what she did he’d still want her. That was just how he was when he was in love apparently. She could literally try to murder him and he’d probably thank her for the privilege of dying by her hand. Case in Point: Kikyo. God he was fucking pathetic. 

But pathetic or not....this was as good a plan as any to get what he wanted.

“Its an honor to be courted on the day you want to go home?” he repeated softly as he turned to face her and hurt amber eyes searched her face. She nodded as she worried about her lip and continued to wring her hands.

“And so, you agreed to be courted to receive that honor?” he tried to clarify and Kagome shrugged as her brow knitted together in confusion. That was the weirdest sentence she’d ever heard come out of his mouth literally ever. And what was with his tone?

“Would it…” he began softly and Kagome’s hair nearly stood on end. Since when did he talk like this? Especially to her? He normally yelled or…or at least was abrasive at a minimum. He never talked softly or without cussing unless he was dying or with Kikyo. Since he wasn’t with Kikyo at the moment….what the hell was happening right now?

“Would it be an honor if anyone courted you or does it have to be that guy?” he asked politely yet nervously in what couldn’t be a hopeful tone before he cringed, sighed heavily and blurted out, “Because I could do it ya know. I…I could court you and wear different clothes and…and….”

He trailed off at the look of utter shock on her face and his insecurity got the better of him.

“Know what? Forget it. Just fucking forget I said anything. I just…”

“You want to court me?” Kagome squeaked as her eyes widened in shock and darted about trying to read his utterly humiliated expression. For a moment, he wanted to curse her out and storm off without having to explain himself but then again, she did finally seem to catch the hint that he was at a minimum interested in being with her.

“Since when do you want that?” she continued skeptically and his temper flared.

“I’ve been courting you woman but you’re apparently too fucking dumb to notice,” he countered bitterly before shaking his head and sighing when she continued to merely gape at him.

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath and turned to head back towards  camp before Kagome rushed forward and gripped his wrist.

“Yes,” she breathed as she tugged once to get him to stop, “Yes you can court me.”

And so it was that Inuyasha and Kagome celebrated Valentine’s Day together.

[mangomochi-yn]

[first thing’s second]

fukurodani. bokuto koutaro x reader

g. fluff but w angst iykwim (happy ending dw)

tw. baby bo gets :”(   wc. 4k holy geezus

Just like his hyperactive and steadfast personality on court, it was quite well known that the captain of vbc, Bokuto, had a habit of confessing and asking a girl out before he even truly knew he liked her. 

It could be just how he found her laugh funny or the way a girl writes her notes was cool. But as soon as he notices it, he would confess on the spot then and there and for the most part— it was harmless. 

Maybe because of how the girls would reject him for the mere fact that they didn’t really know the boy at all— or in some cases how either his teammates or managers (usually akaashi— the poor thing) were able to stop him before he got the chance, but again Bokuto’s odd habit of confessing way too soon that it was normal was really nothing more than that— a harmless habit. 

That is until — it was then to you. 

It was the way you smiled at him as you passed back a flyer during an assembly that got him. He was smitten instantaneously and as easy as that, by the time he was halfway through vb practice he already decided, 

“I’m going to confess to her, Akaashi.” Akaashi couldn’t help but let out the sigh that escaped him. This was the third time this month and honestly, he was starting to get tired of it. 

“She was just so dazzling and pretty and I just have to confess to her or I’ll explode.” The boy went on and on, not noticing the exasperated look on his best friend’s face. 

‘You won’t explode, Bokuto.’ was what Akaashi had wanted to say, but because of how exhausted the poor setter was— “Okay, go ahead then Bokuto-san, but after practice.” was what came out instead. 

You were probably going to reject him like the others, so it was harmless anyways, Akaashi thought. He knew you through a classmate and judging by the way you were described as quite the reserved and independent person, he knew you weren’t one to jump into a relationship just like that. 

Plus, he may have heard how you actually received a little bit more than the average person’s amount of confessions, and promptly rejected each and every one of them. 

Discouraging Bokuto now would just put him into that dreaded Emo Mode for the rest of practice— and they had a practice match with Nekoma the following week. 

Really, the most reasonable choice right now—in Akaashi’s mind—was to just let the captain confess. 

But what he didn’t put into account apparently was that you—the person that was supposed to be just another one of Bokuto’s fleeting crushes—were actually in search of a boy to bring to this big family wedding next weekend.

I know right? What a big twist of events. 

It was a wedding where all your relatives from the countryside were to attend—some even from out of the country—and you knew that if you were to come by yourself it would cost you a million and one offers by your cousins, aunties, hell even grandparents, to try to go on these blind dates they seem to have a never ending amount of. 

So the only perfect solution to avoid all that? A boy to bring. And here he was so gladly offering himself. 

“Okay, I’ll be your girlfriend, Bokuto-san.” You’ve never seen a person’s eye bug out as much as his did then. And it was fascinating how his hair seemingly stood straighter too. He could control it with his emotions?

“Wait, really?” Weird, from that one volleyball game of theirs you watched, you remembered the boy as the very confident captain and ace of the team— cocky almost. 

So seeing him here now unbelieving how you had just accepted his confession stirred something in you. Confusion maybe? Fluster?

“Um, yeah. I don’t mind being your girlfriend.” And just like that it seemed like the sun had lost its purpose. With how bright and wide Bokuto smiled, you wouldn’t be surprised if you turned out blind by the end of it. 

“I won’t disappoint you, Y/N! I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.” Ah there was that same confidence he had on court. Although it surprised you a bit how gentle he was when he hugs you.

He had all the muscles but the way he held was like you were made of porcelain. Maybe dating him wouldn’t be that much of a bother after all. 

But 3 days down the relationship you noted, yeah, being in a relationship with the boy was bothersome— but in good and bad ways really. 

“Hey hey hey!!” He was loud and boisterous, always announcing himself as he walks to your classroom for lunch. Always with 2 yakisoba buns, one for you apparently, but you always politely rejected because you had your own lunch.

You couldn’t tell if it was endearing or just plain funny how this was the 3rd time and he still brought you one though. 

“Y/N! Volleyball practice ends early today. Let’s walk home together!” Akaashi behind him stares at you pointedly, he was probably curious as to why you accepted Bokuto’s confession— that smart pretty boy. 

“Sure, Bokuto. I’ll come by the gym once class ends.” And with that your new loud boyfriend walks away, not wanting to intrude on your time with your friends (you would never admit how sometimes you maybe hoped a little bit that he stayed instead though, he was fun and uplifting as much as he was insufferable apparently).

“Y/N, I didn’t know you and Bokuto were close?” Your friend starts off carefully, she knew how dozens of your other classmates were listening in as well— wanting in on the gossip. So you sigh, there was no point in hiding it anyways. 

Especially not with The Bokuto being your new boyfriend. 

“No, we’re not. But he’s my boyfriend now.” And if that wasn’t the most confusing sentence then I don’t know what is. 

“Holy crap, Y/N. So all those guys you rejected, but because Bokuto’s captain of the volleyball club, you said yes?” Of course they had to mention that. 

“I said we weren’t close but that doesn’t mean we’re not getting there. What’s the big deal with me accepting his confession anyways? Mad cause it wasn’t yours?” You spoke in one breath daring the boy to talk back with a menacing look on your face. 

Over the 3 days you’ve dated him, you did notice that one fact about Bokuto you never would’ve guessed. 

Although he was captain of the powerhouse vbc, it seems the kids in your school saw him as nothing but that. Sometimes borderline mocking his loudness and airheadedness— it irked you. 

Irked you so much that over the week leading up to the wedding, you hadn’t even noticed how you were trying to be the best girlfriend to him— openly giving him kisses to the cheek as he stops by during lunch, always waving eagerly at him with a big smile as he passes by on the hallways, and never endingly bragging about him to your classmates— especially when said boyfriend was in the premises. 

It got to the point where what was supposed to be a harmless crush for Bokuto, went past that and now you didn’t even know how the boy was falling head first for you deep. 

And before you knew it— the wedding weekend was approaching. Friday was the last school day you planned on having Bokuto as a boyfriend. 

“Koutaro! You have a match with Nekoma tomorrow, right? On Friday? Lend me one of your jerseys to wear for it!” You don’t even remember when you had started calling him by his first name or when you had started jumping eagerly to meet him by the doorway of your classroom— always putting up a show to your classmates. 

“You’re watching my game tomorrow?” Boy, you had him wrapped around your pinky. “Of course silly, I’m your girlfriend!” You hadn’t even noticed how he literally almost chokes on his breath as you smile at him. 

“Okay! Let’s walk home together and I’ll give you one later.” He beamed, the boy couldn’t get any happier really. 

“Okay.” And when you kiss his cheek he swears he was about to ascend to heaven. “I’ll see you later, okay?” He could only nod and smile, not noticing as your smile drops a little bit by the time he turns around—your bubbly facade easily fading as soon as he’s away. 

Someone else did though. The same person that’s been speculating the reason for you accepting Bokuto’s confession in the first place. 

“Y/N-san, do you have a second?” Akaashi’s soft voice takes you by surprise as you were halfway towards the gym after classes had ended. What was he doing out of practice even?

“Um, sure Akaashi-kun. What do you need?” He fiddled with his fingers but stared straight into your eyes. As if trying to scan and see right through them and into your brain instead. 

“Do you like Bokuto?” Okay, that wasn’t what you had expected but you didn’t know what to expect. 

“Of course I do.” Your voice gave away how unsure you were though. Coming out as a mere whisper, as if you weren’t sure either. 

“No, Y/N-san. As in romantically. Because I just find it not suspicious per say but um...” He struggled to find the words not to offend you. But you already knew what he meant. 

“— illogical, I think, for you to like Bokuto that way with barely knowing him before he confessed.” And again despite the bashful look on his face, his eyes bore into you as if trying to assess every single reaction to his statement. 

“He told me about how you asked him to attend a family wedding with you on Saturday and I can’t help but get ideas from that.” Ahh, busted is what you were. Now you were sure the vbc would hate you after this. 

“Okay, yes, I only accepted his confession because I needed a date to that stupid wedding. If I didn’t have one, all my relatives would shove blind dates up my ass like that’s the only thing I’m good for. And I didn’t want to have to go through all that when I’m so close to graduating and escaping to college and I—“

You hadn’t even noticed the tears of frustration? guilt? start pouring until Akaashi sets a hand on your shoulder, telling you to breathe calmly as he stroked softly. 

“I understand and I’m sorry, Y/N-san. But—” He hesitated, pulling the hand away from your shoulder. 

“But you don’t want Bokuto’s heart to be broken because of that, I get it.” You chuckled dryly, thinking of how lucky Bokuto was to have a friend like him. 

“I’ll... break up with him tomorrow after the game then. I’ll make up some bullshit excuse that I actually didn’t like volleyball or something so that he’d hate me instead.” 

And there goes your foolproof plan. But at the same time, you guessed you couldn’t stand the guilt that was ebbing into the back of your head every time you spoke empty compliments and promises to the boy. 

He was so pure and here you were just toying him.

“You don’t have to do that, Y/N-san. You can just say the truth and he’ll understand.”

“But how are you sure he’ll move on after that then? Sorry, I’d rather not take the risk, Akaashi.” And just before he was about to speak again lo and behold your boyfriend pops out of nowhere as loud as ever. 

“Y/N!” It breaks your heart to see him smile so widely for you. Why on Earth did you think it was okay to lead this boy on?

“Hey, Bokuto.” He frowns at the use of his last name, but before he could complain, something else caught his eye. 

“You’re crying?” And softly, his hands went to wipe the tears that were on your face. As gentle as he was when you first hugged you when he confessed. 

“No! It was just the wind got something on my face.” You smile at him as you rush to wipe your face. And when the frown didn’t leave his, you opted to kiss him on the cheek to forget about it instead (you winced in the back of your head to stop it though).

“Practice good? Did you bring an extra jersey for me?” Proudly, he whips out a clean jersey from his bag and as he moves to put it on you hastily, you couldn’t help but giggle and laugh. 

He really did keep his promise of being the best boyfriend to you, didn’t he?

“Perfect fit!” He exclaims, you couldn’t help but twirl and pull a curtsy for him after, missing the fond gaze he gave as he did. 

“Now let’s get home shall we? You have to be well rested for tomorrow’s game anyways!” 

“Your boyfriend’s pro enough to not let fiddle things like sleep affect his game anyways. Haven’t you noticed, Y/N?” You shook your head as you clung to his arm. 

Any girl was lucky to have him as their girlfriend, weren’t they? It was ironic how you only started to notice now. Now that you’d fucked up any change of being the right girl for him. 

“Whatever you say, Koutaro.” Again, you missed that fond gaze he gave as you looked up ahead. A million and one thoughts were in his head and you barely knew half of it. 

“No, really, Y/N. How bout we make a bet?” You could only indulge in whatever Bokuto says at this point. He deserved nothing less but that. 

“If we win tomorrow, I’ll tell you two things I want you to do for me after.” 

“That sounds a bit perverted, Koutaro.” He blushes and pulls his arm away for your grasp. A babbling mess was what you left him in. It got you curious how gentle his voice shifted into though. 

“Not that, Y/N! I would never ask you to do that unless you wanted to so no, not that.” You could only laugh at his attempt to not look at you. 

“I know I know. You were probably gonna ask me on a date weren’t you?” You teased but deep down you were already dreading for what he’d ask you. Because then you knew you’d have to to break his heart even more for his own sake. 

“Maybe, but maybe something better.” 

It took you all but everything in you to not jump the stands as Fukurodani gets the winning point to the game. For a practice game, this was seriously exhilarating. 

“Hey hey hey!” Bokuto’s voice rang out the gym like a marching band, the whole team chorusing after him. 

“Koutaro babe! Congrats!” Shit, you hadn’t meant to call him babe. But seeing him smirk at it sent tingles to your spine, wanting to scream to whomever if it meant seeing that expression again. 

“I know, babe, and now you owe me two wishes.” Ah shit, that. In the side of your eye you could see Akaashi glancing at you two. Reminding you of how you had to set things right. 

“Before that Bokuto can we go talk somewhere about something?” You already held his hand in yours as you dragged him to the empty side of the bleachers, letting it go reluctantly as you faced him. 

“Bokuto, I actually think it’s best if we brok—“

“Hear my wish first.” His voice never sounded like this before. Not even when he had confessed to you and it made you wonder just what was his wish that made him want to interrupt you? He basically knew what you were trying to say, didn’t he?

“Okay..” And as his hand went to scratch the back of his neck bashfully you couldn’t help but get worried. Was he going to say—

“I want to go to that wedding with you.” He what?

“Bokuto, why—“

“I know you’re going to break up with me and that you only accepted my confession so you had someone to bring to the wedding and I don’t care if we have to pretend but I want to be there for you on that wedding.”

Tears started spilling again before you knew it, this was the most you’ve ever even cried this year and all in two days. 

“Akaashi told you?” 

“No, I overheard you two yesterday.” So that’s why he was so flustered when you mentioned anything lewd with his ‘bet’. He was thinking of something completely different and here he was, despite being lied to by you, still offering himself to help?

“Bokuto, I can’t let you do that. I don’t wanna lie or hurt you any further.” 

“But I don’t mind, Y/N!” Your eyes widen at the sudden raise in voice. No matter how loud he was he never held that tone in it— a frustrated and annoyed tone even. 

“Shit.. I’m sorry. But Y/N, what I’m trying to say is you don’t deserve to have to go through all that toxic bullshit and all I want—hell the only reason I even wanted to win this game even—was so you would let me be there for you.”

His steps were hesitant as he walked up to embrace you. But as soon as you fisted his shirt like your life had depended on it, effectively soaking the front of it with your tears as well, he’s never held you any firmer than he has then. 

“I just— I’m so sorry for using you, Bokuto.” Your voice was scratchy and muffled against his chest. Nothing like his deep and smooth baritone answering back. 

“Oh, but don’t be too sorry now. You still owe me one more wish.” You sniffle. 

“I do?” Seeing your tear streaked puffy face, Bokuto almost couldn’t stop himself from kissing you right then and there but even he knew it wasn’t the right time for that. Not when you’re literally crying buckets out of guilt for him. 

“Yup, but I’ll only tell you after the wedding.”

“Okay.”

“And can you believe the look on her face when I said I probably won’t be able to take care of her shop while in college? God, it was a nightmare.” Right now felt like that midsummer night’s dream as you walked the empty streets of Tokyo— both you and Bokuto dressed in a long dress and a nice dress shirt with slacks for him.

Your heels were off and his once neatly parted hair was a bit of a mess, some pieces now just laying on his forehead. 

“I know you said they were crazy but I didn’t expect them to be that crazy, you know? How are you even related to them?” His hand held in yours as you balanced yourself on the edge of the river bank. 

“I don’t know either. They probably just picked me up somewhere, I can’t see myself having the same blood as them really.” And when it was right at the opening of the street to your house did you guys stop (your parents wanted to catch up with a few of your relatives so they stayed at their house instead, hence you walking home with Bokuto at the moment). 

End of the line, you thought. “Bokuto, I—“ Your voice instantly quivers. 

“Now don’t go starting the waterworks on me again.” His hand immediately goes to your face to wipe whatever tears fell and you couldn’t help but think how this might be the last time you’d feel them against it. If only you could change the way you did everything. 

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to say how grateful I am to you and for everything you’ve done when I’ve been nothing but dishonest—”

The way his lips crashed down on yours was everything you needed to relax and calm your nerves. It was chaste but extremely effective in shutting you up in an instant. 

“Sorry, I had to stop you somehow.” He chuckled, putting a hand to the back of his neck again— that same bashful look on his face. 

“You still owe me one more wish, remember?” His eyes held a glimmer to them you couldn’t figure out. Was he going to ask you to serve the vbc for the rest of your high school life now? ‘Cause you could see him asking you that. 

“A do over. That’s it.” Your mind drew a blank at what he said— a stark contrast to the boy’s who was thinking a mile a second. A million scenarios just running constantly. 

“A what?” Was your genius reply. And he couldn’t help but chuckle at your dumb founded face. Frankly, it was Akaashi that gave him this idea (Bokuto wasn’t clever enough to put his wants into words). 

“I went to the wedding to pretend like your boyfriend as a friend. The whole relationship that happened this past week will be cancelled essentially if you exchanged it for one thing— a do over!” 

“I don’t under—“ 

“First thing’s first! Well.. first thing’s second now actually, but I’m Bokuto Koutaro. Y/N L/N, I like you very much and would you be my girlfriend?” 

Nothing like his first confession where he was so rushed and just wanted to get it over with, Bokuto was careful this time. A serious glint in his eyes as he gazed into yours. 

You couldn’t help but cry like an idiot as you laughed at his pathetic attempt of a curtsy, but despite that your heart was beating in your chest, thinking if you really deserved this. 

“My feet are starting to cramp, you know.” Still bowing, you could see how his arms and legs starting to tremble. 

Oh, but fuck it. Who could resist a man like him? “Yes, Bokuto. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

Guess now you’ll just have to spoil him. 

bonus. during the wedding

bonus.

“Kou baby~” Your voice rang across the hallways

As you ran up to your boyfriend of 2 weeks. “Y/N!!” He easily catches you in his arms and in any other location this would’ve been a cute couple’s moment. 

Except now—in the middle of the cramp lunch-crowded hallways—it was frankly far from cute. Especially considering how this was almost the 4th time in the row you’ve done this already. 

“Hey, isn’t that Y/N? I thought she always rejected guys that confessed to her? She was dating the volleyball captain the whole time?” 

“Whoa, so Bokuto’s the man ain’t he? My dude’s buff as hell too now that I look at it.”

“They’re a hot couple but man are they obnoxious.”

“Unbelievable, Y/N. I know you were already so all over Bokuto since you started dating 3 weeks ago but how is it that you’ve gotten worse ever since that wedding?” Your best friend trudged behind you. And you and Bokuto could only laugh in response, it was funny though—how only you two knew what truly happened and how you got together. 

You two plus Akaashi anyways, you learned recently that him and Bokuto were a set package truly, no point in complaining. 

“Awe don’t be so jealous that I have an amazing boyfriend bestie~” Pinching Bokuto’s cheek, your friend gagged in response. 

There was nothing you could do, when you said you spoil Bokuto— you truly meant you would spoil him. He deserved nothing less, really. 

“Baby, watch me practice later?” And Bokuto was all for it. He literally feeds off all the affection and love you gave him, and whenever you came to practice to watch and cheer for him? His head grew bigger than the moon from your shower of compliments. 

“Of course, babe!”

“Hey, Y/N babe, tell Konoha would you? Was it my spikes or my serves that you fell for?” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s question—a cocky smile on his face. 

With a sigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle as Konoha shakes his head disapprovingly. “Both, baby.” You also learned a peck on the lips would shut him up easily. A trade secret you must say. 

Because as much as you loved making the boy who stuck with you so happy, sometimes it was easier to have him content with himself rather than having to share it with the whole of Tokyo, if a possibility. 

“Hehe, I knew it.” But really, at this point you knew that whatever he did, you’d follow him to the end. 

another bonus. bokuto wants bokuto gets

a/n. this is my longest work :) hope yall liked it <3

[mikauzoran]

Platonic Alyanette/Background Adrienette/Eventual Ladrien: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Two

Read it on AO3: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Two: The Aftermath

Marinette awoke with her face buried in a familiar pair of breasts and feeling like she’d been hit in the face by an akumatized opera singer who had been turned into a backhoe all over again. (It was a rather unique experience that had occurred almost three years prior, but it was not something Marinette was likely to forget anytime soon. Getting clotheslined by the backhoe akuma had been more painful, but this was a very close second.)

“Alyaaaaaa,” she whined, not bothering to extract herself from the comfort of their snuggling position.

Alya groaned, rolling over onto her back and taking her squishy warmth with her. “What is it?” she inquired groggily, giving a stretch.

“I feel like death,” Marinette whimpered.

“I’m not surprised,” Alya hummed, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. “You got yourself blind drunk last night. I practically had to scrape your carcass off of the floor and drag you in here.”

Marinette made an overly dramatic sound to emphasize her wretchedness. “I’m dying.”

Alya shook her head, chuckling as she ruffled her best friend’s hair fondly. “No, you’re not, you goof.”

“I feel like it,” Marinette grumbled, screwing her eyes closed against the light trickling in from the gap at the top of the curtains.

“Sit tight,” Alya instructed, crawling over Marinette and out of bed. “I’ll be back with some food, water, and pain pills. You going to be okay for, like, fifteen minutes?”

Marinette made a doubtful sound.

“Hang in there,” Alya encouraged, giving Marinette’s shoulder a gentle pat. “I’ll come back with some water before I start on the food.”

“Thanks,” Marinette replied sheepishly through her misery.

“No problem, Girl,” Alya assured. “What are friends for, right? I’ve got your back.”

 Fifteen minutes later, Alya returned with a croque madame sandwich and some pain killers.

“I read something about eggs and meat being good for hangovers,” she explained, carefully setting the tray down across Marinette’s lap.

“You are a godsend,” Marinette sighed happily as she dug into the meal, savoring the way the flavors and textures of the ham, bread, cheese, and egg combined in her mouth.

“I know I am.” Alya preened as she grabbed her desk chair and pulled it over next to the bed. “So…”

She bit her lip, looking down at the toast, jam, and banana she had grabbed for herself. “…How much of last night do you remember?”

“Not much,” Marinette responded through a mouthful of sandwich. She was almost already halfway done with it. “I remember Adrien is an idiot with no appreciation for beauty. I wore my ‘battle armor’ last night, and he barely checked me out. Like, I’m beginning to think that he’s gay, Alya, and just doesn’t feel like he can tell anyone because of his stupid, controlling father.”

“Maybe he’s demi,” Alya suggested, trying to be helpful. “Maybe he doesn’t get attracted to people like that unless he’s in love with them or something.”

“I don’t know,” Marinette snorted, giving her head a dismissive toss to cover some of the hurt and frustration she was feeling. “I’m starting not to care. I’ve wasted enough of my time on this.”

“Time to try to get over him?” Alya very pointedly didn’t add “again” to the end of her sentence.

Marinette had been going through this cycle for the past seven years: she’d fall hard for Adrien when he did or said something particularly sweet or vulnerable that set her off, pursue him wholeheartedly for a while, get her hopes up only to invariably have them crushed, and then vow to get over him. She did her best for a month or two (or sometimes even five or six) to treat Adrien as a friend and push her romantic feelings for him aside…only for Adrien to do or say something that made her fall for him all over again.

Alya had learned long ago just to ride out the cycle and be there for her friend no matter what as it ran its course.

Marinette nodded sadly. “Yeah. I think it’s time. Last night was bad, Alya. I’m lucky I wasn’t akumatized. I need to get this under control.”

Alya nodded supportively.

Suddenly, Marinette looked up as if remembering something. “Oh, yeah. Thank you for last night. I’m sorry if I was a pain. I didn’t interrupt you working on your article, did I?”

“No, no.” Alya waved her concern away. “I was actually calling it quits for the night when you got here, so you didn’t interrupt anything.”

Marinette frowned, scanning her fuzzy, fractured memories. “When I got here? Did I take a cab or something?”

Alya bit her lip, knowing that it was time to come clean. “Marinette, don’t freak, but you crashed landed onto my balcony.”

Marinette blinked several times, lips moving slowly around the words, repeating, “crashed on your balcony” under her breath, trying to make sense of it. “How did I…?”

She nearly dropped her sandwich as her eyes widened as she realized what must have happened.

“No,” she gasped. “Nonononono. No.” She began to laugh, on the edge of hysteria.

“Marinette, listen to me,” Alya commanded, setting her plate aside so she could move onto the bed beside her friend. She grabbed Marinette’s hands and squeezed them tight. “Everything is fine, so don’t freak out.”

“Don’t freak out?” Marinette giggled. “Don’t freak out? I can’t—Do you even know how—”

“—Marinette, calm down,” Tikki coaxed, coming out of hiding to assist Alya in breaking the news.

“Tikki, how am I supposed to calm down?” Marinette squeaked, clearly panicking. “My identity—! I can’t—!”

“Shh,” Alya cooed, wrapping her arms around Marinette as she began to tremble and hyperventilate. “It’s going to be all right. Your identity is safe with me, Marinette. I promise you that. No one else is going to find out, and I’m not telling anyone, even if they torture me. I promise.”

“You’re not… But what about the Ladyblog?” Marinette asked, pulling back just enough to peer up at Alya, looking mystified. “You’re not going to write an article?”

Alya could only stare at her friend for a moment in utter disbelief. “You really think I would do that?”

Marinette had to think about it for a minute. “…I don’t…know? …No?”

“No,” Alya stressed in a tone that left no doubt concerning the matter. “No, Marinette. I would never,” she assured with a quiet solemnity. “I get it. Maybe I didn’t when I was thirteen and superheroes and akumas were new and exciting. I know I was obsessed with finding out your identity for a time, but it’s different now.”

“It is?” Marinette whispered, feeling lost, confused, and afraid.

Alya nodded, reaching up to pet Marinette’s hair gently. “I know I’m still a little fanatical about my blog and capturing the footage and getting the scoop, and I know I do those speculation posts about your identity, but…I would never publish this sort of thing when it could put you and all of Paris in danger.”

Alya took a deep breath and swallowed at the resurgence of dark memories. “I know what it felt like for me when my identity was exposed. I know how it felt to be terrified that Papillon was going to come after me as a civilian or attack my family and friends to get to me. I know what it was like for me to be outed, and I would never do that to someone else, especially not you.”

“Oh,” Marinette breathed, finally starting to feel the air enter and exit her lungs normally again.

Alya nodded, cupping Marinette’s cheek and giving it a loving pat as she smiled reassuringly. “You are my best friend, and I would never put you through that. And I get how important it is to keep Ladybug’s identity a secret, not just for you but to keep all of Paris safe. Even if it wasn’t you, who I love like family, I still would never have published Ladybug’s identity. I’m not a dumb kid anymore,” she explained softly. “I get it. I really get it, Marinette, so don’t worry. You’re safe. Okay?”

Alya held Marinette’s gaze for a long moment as Marinette searched her face, heartrate gradually coming down as she realized that there was no danger.

Slowly, Marinette began to nod, and a tentative smile spread across her lips. “Okay. Yeah. Okay. Okay…. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Alya assured, pulling away and going back to her breakfast. “I’ve got your back, Girl.”

Marinette blew out a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and sitting quietly for a moment before wearily returning to her croque madame.

“You okay?” Alya sought to verify.

Marinette laughed self-deprecatingly, shaking her head. “I am such an idiot.”

Alya clicked her tongue. “No, you’re not. You’re a crazy genius.”

“No,” Marinette insisted, taking a savage bite of her sandwich. “I’m dumb. Super dumb. I bet Chat Noir has never gotten drunk and crashed onto anyone’s balcony and exposed his secret identity through sheer stupidity.”

“Girl, I’ve met Chat Noir. I’m sure he’s done plenty of other dumb things,” Alya snorted flatly. “So, you screwed up once in seven years. It’s a big deal, but it’s not the end of the world or anything. It’s just me, and the buck stops here.”

“But what if I screw up again?” Marinette fretted down at her sandwich.

“Don’t get so drunk in the future,” Alya suggested matter-of-factly. “If you do want to get that drunk, have me there to chaperone so you don’t crash into anyone else’s sliding glass doors trying to get home. It’s that simple. Problem solved.”

Marinette pressed her lips together, considering for a moment. “I mean… Yeah, but…”

“But nothing,” Alya dismissed her arguments with a wave. “This is the first time you’ve slipped up like this, right?”

“Yeah. So?” Marinette shot Alya a quizzical look.

“So, I’ve given you a fool-proof solution to the only problem you’ve encountered in the past seven years,” Alya replied confidently. “There’s no point in worrying about solutions for problems you haven’t run into yet and can’t anticipate. The case is closed, so enjoy your sandwich and tell me all about what it’s like to be Ladybug already. I’ve been dying for the exclusive all this time. Marinette, you’re killing me.”

A bout of giggles caught Marinette by surprise, and she found herself genuinely smiling at her friend. “You won’t publish any of this?”

“Not a word,” Alya swore, holding up her hand as if taking an oath. “So, spill. What’s Chat Noir like? You know I ship you two. What are Catboy’s chances? You two have kissed before, right? Is he a good kisser? Do you two have a secret thing? Have you been holding out on me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

“Alya,” Marinette groaned.

“Marinette,” Alya parroted, a wide, self-satisfied smirk stretching from one ear to the other.

[friendlyneighborhoodsecretary]

3. Prompt: Gardening

By his third day of hiding out at the lakehouse post-Beck, Peter had run out of distractions. Going anywhere near his phone or the TV was out of the question. He couldn't concentrate well enough to do any of the suit tinkering or web fluid adjustments he would usually have fallen back on. He'd already made the rounds of the house, fixing the little leaks and squeaks and anything else he could mindlessly turn a wrench to (not that there were many in a Stark-built home). And there were only so many times a person could take a stroll around the same lake and skip the same stones and swing their legs off the same dock before they went thoroughly and irreversibly insane. He was all but vibrating with restless nerves. And being cooped up out here, where the silence of the woods pressed in on him like dungeon walls and the empty hours yawned ahead of him like a life sentence, wasn’t making it any easier.

By the time Pepper found him after lunch on the third day, he was dangling upside down from the eaves, absently shifting from foot to foot and counting the seconds to see how long it took before he fell. It was possible, Peter realized as he dropped sheepishly back down to the floorboards—just possible—that he might have already slipped over the edge.

“Trust me—I’ve seen worse.” Pepper hadn’t even batted an eye as she brushed off his sputtered explanations. She’d just gathered up the sunhats and the neat bundle of work gloves from the shelf by the door and towed him through the back door with the practiced efficiency of someone who was used to managing chaos before it tipped over into calamity. "Come with me.”

He trailed her reluctantly around the side of the house to the neat rows of raised beds that housed Pepper's garden. Carefully-staked tomato plants here, the scraggly foliage of carrot tops there, lines of squat goji bushes in one bed and the small round buds of new lettuces in another—there were a few things he could identify, but many more that were just...green. Green and vibrant and robust, leaves gently rustling in the hot July breeze and produce of varying sizes and shapes ripening in the sun. He was pulled from his inspection by Pepper pushing a pair of the gardening gloves into his hands and dropping a broad-brimmed sunhat over his eyes (“Yes, I know you’re superhuman, but I don’t think skin cancer discriminates like that”). There was a brief summary of which greens were intentional and which were intrusive, a deft demonstration of proper weed-yanking technique, and then Peter was shepherded to a row of carrots for practice. Pepper settled in amongst an adjacent patch of lettuce and left him to the job. For a moment, he just sat there, the grass prickling against his knees and the sweat beginning to bead up under the heavy gloves as he brooded. Gardening. What was he doing puttering around in the Starks’ backyard, gardening, while his actual life imploded out there in the real world? At least Pepper had earned the break—he caught snatches of her phone calls to the legal team, to the publicists, to all the people who were actually doing something about the mess he was in, and the reality that he wasn’t one of them stung every time.

Peter stared out over the sea of bobbing leaves and sighed. Still, if it wasn’t gardening, what else would it be? More waiting and wondering and wearing new tennis shoe trails in the track around the lake? One was about as productive as the other. Peter squared his shoulders and bent to the task in front of him. If he was going to lose his mind out in the wilderness, he might as well be helpful while he was doing it.

As it turned out after half of an hour’s worth of work, there was something weirdly soothing about kneeling in the dirt and burying yourself in the process of pinpointing what stayed and what went. In the careful concentration it took to yank up a stubborn weed without uprooting anything good that happened to be growing near it. In the calming repetition of pinching off a dead leaf here or a damaged stalk there. There were ladybugs crawling lazily along the stems, occasionally bumping against Peter’s fingertips a few times before they grudgingly redirected around him, and a few birds hopping cautiously along the rim of the beds, mining for unlucky creepy crawlies. It was a steady rhythm of activity—just enough of it to keep Peter’s mind from straying too far beyond the next bunch of nettles to dig out—with a refreshingly comfortable lack of pressure or tension.

Pepper didn't say much, but the silent companionship was…nice. In a way, it was soothing, too. Or, at the very least, a relief from May's fretting and Happy's hovering—not that there was anything wrong with either of those, per se, but when it was all you had day in and day out, it began to smother you alive. The summer sun beat down on his back, the breeze swept lazily across his brow, and for a while, time ceased to exist. There was nothing but the black earth under his hands and the scent of topsoil in his lungs and the steady cycle of the job.

"I started planting things a few months after we moved out here," Pepper said quietly, a solid hour into their work. "Not much at first—just enough to give us a reason to be out in the light rather than holing up inside."

"Us? Mr. Stark helped?" It was an odd image—Peter had always had trouble imagining Tony out in the country at all, let alone elbow-deep in a tangle of zucchini plants or hauling buckets of fertilizer. But then, most of life these days was odd—Tony was recovering from saving the literal universe with a snap of his fingers, Pepper was flicking aphids off of her tomato plants, and Peter felt increasingly more like he was just along for the ride.

Pepper’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace.

"I'm not sure 'help' is the right word given how some of those first few plants fared, but yes, he did pitch in. Under duress, sometimes, but it grew on him.” Peter let out an obligatory snort at the pun, and Pepper forged on, the faint smirk on her lips the only indication that she’d meant it as one. “I saw a quote once—a very, very cheesy Pinterest sort of thing—about planting a garden being an act of belief in having a tomorrow. And back then, right after the Blip, we needed any hope for tomorrow we could find. Or cultivate, as the case may be.”

“It was a good way to refocus. To step back and take a break from trying to put the world back together.” Pepper shot him a pointed look over the carrot tops, and Peter pointedly ignored it. “It was a good distraction, too. I think Tony spent at least five or six hours a day out here during the weeks before Morgan was born, when all we could do was wait for something to happen.”

Peter paused in chucking a handful of weedy foliage at the compost-bound pile that had sprung up between them. The relentless urge to find something, anything helpful to do had eased a little, but it was far from gone. He pursed his lips as he finally turned back to uproot another fistful.

"I just—I wish there was something I could do besides waiting out here. I mean, everything that’s happening is all my fault, but you're the one who's having to fix it and I know it has to be costing you an awful lot and—"

Pepper tipped her sunhat back to level him with a long, hard look that reminded him forcefully of May when she was gently, but firmly pointing out the obvious facts of life, such as "the homework won't do itself" or "the laundry will not make its way from the dryer to your room by magic" or “that Red Bull won’t give you actual wings, so you’d better not expect gravity to give you preferential treatment.”

"Peter. There isn't a single person in this house who wouldn't spend their last dime on making sure you get through this okay. And believe me when I say that we've got a long, long way to go before we even need to start worrying about burning through Stark Industries' supply of dimes."

Peter opened his mouth, a dozen arguments about his opinion of throwing other people’s money at his problems, about sitting on the sidelines while everyone else did the work, about running from the consequences of his own blunders all welling up on the tip of his tongue.  Pepper cut them off.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you in a few weeks, when things have settled a little more and there are fewer people agitating to have you arrested. When that happens, we’ll all work on fixing this together. Until then…try to take advantage of the rest.” Her voice softened. “I know it isn’t easy, Peter. But you’re wrong about it being your fault—and it certainly isn’t your sole responsibility to fix. You’ve got a lot of people on your team.” She coaxed the last tendrils of unwanted clover from her last row and rocked back on her heels. “And a whole lot of tomorrow to believe in. Even if it isn’t exactly what you were envisioning it would be a few weeks ago.”

"Thanks,” Peter murmured. It would’ve sounded trite from anyone else, but from Pepper—Pepper, whose practicality rivaled May’s and whose honesty could rival Happy’s (just in a more polished, less aggressively blunt way)—he could almost believe it. “Not just for this, but you know—for everything."

"Any time, kid.” Pepper shucked her gloves and brushed the dirt from her knees as she stood. She left him to it with a squeeze of his shoulder and an unshakably reassuring smile that Peter would hold onto for a long time to come. He stayed out in the green until the breeze blowing in off the lake had turned cool, and the twilight had started creeping in among the shadows of the pines. There was still a knot of unease in his chest when he finally meandered inside, but it was…smaller. More manageable. The driving restlessness of that morning had been driven out by the bone-deep exhaustion of a long afternoon in the heat and the distinctive tingle of a rising sunburn. It took a solid ten minutes to scrub the grit from his palms and the dirt from under his fingernails, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn't feel like he'd completely wasted his day. He stumbled through a hazy shower and an even hazier dinner before he fell into bed. And for the first time since he'd arrived, sleep came without a fight. For the first time since he’d arrived, he was too tired to dread it. And while he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe in tomorrow…he didn’t dread the idea of meeting it, either.