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starkerforlife6969 · 4 years ago

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He’s Just Not that Into You- Starker AU

It's the first week of summer and Peter's got a date.

Jacob is nice, and Peter's changed his shirt three times, and the bar is warm on this June evening, and thriving. Dancing bachelorette parties, the game on the big screen tvs hanging from the ceiling and-

Jacob's twenty minutes late.

But that's fine, Peter's fine, he pulls at his cuffs, tucks a curl behind his ear, bites his lip, refuses the temptation to look at his phone.

Maybe he should call Ned, Ned would know what to do-

"You waiting for someone, gorgeous?"

Peter looks up, feels colour rush to his cheeks. Dark eyes, a mouth that's sinful, smirking, in a tight fitting shirt and- "Oh um, no-yes- I mean." Peter manages a smile. "I might've been stood up? But, he probably- something probably came up. Or maybe I had the date wrong."

Smirk looks at him. Sizes him up. "Let me buy you a drink, bambi." He says.

After two drinks, Peter Parker thinks Tony Stark might be his saviour.

He's twenty two, the same age as Peter, but he's got it all- got it all figured out.

"So- Jacob didn't really like me. The phone number was fake." He realises aloud.

"If the guy likes you," Tony nods sagely, sipping his dakiri, "he'll take your number and give you his. He gave you a fake number, bet he didn't ask for yours, right?"

Peter wilts a little. Sighing at his own foolishness. "Right. I thought we had a good time."

Tony reaches over to nudge him. "You need to know what to look for, that's all. When to reel them in. When to get keen. I know guys like you, sweet guys- no disrespect, but you take every little thing as some sort of sign. Oh, he smiled at me or he picked up my pen-"

"But he smiled at me and he did not smile at anyone else-"

"Pete," Tony chuckles, "romcoms have ruined you. Naive-"

"Optimistic."

"Naive." Tony insists, bright-eyed. "Just because you met in a library and you both reached for the same edition of Harry Potter at the same time-"

Peter smacks him. "You're such a Slytherin." He glares.

Tony winks at him. "Hufflepuff, you gotta know how to play the game."

Peter mixes his drink. Muses. "I didn't think love was a game." He admits softly, deflating. The bar's deflated a little now too. Emptier. The TVs are off. The music is quiet and gentle. Here are he and Tony, cluttered over a small table.

"Love is a game, Peter. And we're gonna help you win."

They stay there for a few hours yet. Going over Peter's past relationships. Flash, MJ, Gwen, Jacob-

Going over Peter's blind date tactics, how to read people, how to know when to cut the chord- but Tony doesn't mind Peter's bumbling idiocy. He likes helping people. And Peter's sweet, the sort of sweet Tony hasn't seen in a long time. That isn't available in the private boarding schools he grew up in. That wasn't allowed through the pristine hard wood front doors.

"Oh, hey," Peter says, slurring just a little. The drinks he'd had were mostly sugar, not alcohol. "It's empty- is it closed?" He gapes, looking around, all fawn-like.

"It's fine, bambi," Tony grins, sliding his arm under Peter's, guiding him to the door. "My dad owns the place. I'll lock up. You all good getting home?"

"I'll call a cab." Peter nods, wincing at the cool night air. Tony locks up, before turning to look down at his new friend.

"It's good meeting you, Pete." He says, grinning, and Peter beams up at him.

"I know you said not to read into anything, but- wouldn't it be romantic if we fell in love? Like, you saved me from being stood up-"

Tony clamps his hand over Peter's mouth, tutting fondly. This kid. "Not that kinda movie, sweetheart. I'll be the mentor. The guide. The Yoda to your Luke."

Peter nods, and Tony removes his hand. Peter smiles beatifically up at him. "Alright. Thank you, sensei. I will resolve to follow your council."

Tony likes him. Wants to see him do well. Had hated the sight of the kid (not a kid, the same age, but Peter doesn't seem it. Full of idealism and princess stories) being stood up. Tony wants to see him happy. In love. Not getting played. Just because it's not for Tony, doesn't mean he doesn't want Peter to have it. "Here, take my number." Tony says, taking Peter's phone, typing in his number and sending himself a text. "Call me whenever you have a question."

Peter takes the phone gratefully. Cradles it in his palm. "Take you up on that I will."

Tony flicks his head. "I'm Yoda, nitwit."

"Hurt that did." Peter pouts, and Tony laughs into the night air, and hopes Peter calls.

Beck is hot, hard muscle, and Peter's only slightly uncomfortable from his position being pinned on the couch- the bony arm rest digging into his back, but that's all fine, because Beck tastes like toothpaste and his hands make Peter shudder-

They'd met yesterday, at a coffee shop. They'd both reached for the pumpkin spiced latte. Had both laughed. Exchanged numbers. It was a perfect meet-cute.

And Beck had called Peter. He's reading all the signs right, he's sure of it.

Peter curses when his phone buzzes. His boss wants his article done by tonight. New deadline. He sighs, pulling out from Beck's grip. "Sorry," he says earnestly, "I've gotta go. My boss needs this."

Beck nods, flushed, half-hard, hair falling attractively into his face. "I get it, but you can do your work here? Hm? I'll order take out, you can spend the night..."

Beck's hands slide up Peter's shirt, massage the taut muscle there. Peter relaxes into the touch, just a little. "That sounds nice..." he confesses, before laughing, "but I would never get anything done with you here."

Beck kisses his neck, bristly, goose-bump inducing. "Would that be so bad?" He murmurs.

"I really can't..."

"It just sucks," Beck sighs, pulling away. "Because I'm going out of town tomorrow and won't be in touch for a while. I'll just miss you."

Out of town? Peter's head rings. He's not sure what to make of it. Is it a play? Does Beck like him? Does he just want sex? If Peter stays tonight, will he never see Beck again?

"Can I go to the bathroom?" He blurts, like he's in school and Beck blinks at him, bewildered, but gestures with his hand.

He finds Tony's number under Sexy Yoda which is just- mental images that Peter does not need right now- and he dials.

"Pete, you called." Tony says warmly, answering on the second ring.

"Oh hey, hi- Tony," Peter bleats, sitting on the bathtub and thrumming his fingers. "I'm in a situation- need advice."

"Ah, amazing- one sec." Then, quieter, "Hey, Pep, d'ya mind? I'll be back in 10."

"Hope I'm not interrupting!"

"Not at all. So, where we at?"

"Okay, so, making out- I say I have to go, he says I should stay- I say I can't- then he says that he'll be leaving tomorrow so will be out of touch."

"Run." Tony says immediately, and Peter's face falls.

"What? No," he whines, "What if he really is just going out of town?"

"Peter." Tony says, in that no-nonsense voice, "Where could he possibly be going in the world that would mean he couldn't talk to you over the phone? He wants a hook up. Do you want a hook up?"

Miserably: "No."

"Well then, like I said: Run."

Peter sighs. "So, he doesn't like me?"

"Sure he likes you. Likes the thought of you in his bed. Who wouldn't? You're very cute. But he does not want a relationship. I sure don't respect the guy for trying to trick you into it, I'm upfront with all my one-night stands. It's just sex: nothing more."

"I'm thrilled for you." Peter remarks dryly. "So, run?"

"Run."

Peter runs.

***

In yoga class, the new instructor, Stephen, compliments his form and then asks him out to dinner.

"Run." Tony says, mouthful of something, on his lunch break.

Peter pecks at his own chicken salad. "Why? We haven't even gone out yet."

"Pete, do I have to spell it out for you? Yoga? Bending over, flexibility, bet you've got tight yoga pants and everything."

Peter wipes a drop of dressing off his keyboard. "Not everyone is as physically minded as you are. Maybe he thought we'd get on."

"He's asked you out based on nothing but the way you look doing the downward dog. Waste of time."

"I think you're wrong. I'm going to meet him for dinner."

Tony sighs. It crinkles down the receiver with disapproval. "Go for it. I'll eagerly await your apology."

When Peter does apologise, two days later, Tony is nice enough not to rub it in.

***

Mr Jameson is tough on the edges, but a softie deep down, Peter knows that.

Which is why he tries not to let the very brutal edits on his latest piece get him down. They're all very fair. So, he works through them methodically, learning, trying to improve, and not let them get him down.

It's late afternoon, he's in the zone, when his phone buzzes.

He picks it up absentmindedly, one knee drawn to his chest on his bed, other hand still scrolling through the word document.

"Hello?"

"Hey Pete, how goes the search for love?"

"Tony." Peter beams, warm all over, pushing away his laptop and collapsing back into his pillows. "How are you?"

"Good, good, bar's busy. Dad's happy enough with me managing it. New receptionist hates me, though."

"Pepper?"

"Yeah. I told her it was just sex- she misread the signs. Don't be like her, Peter."

"If a person wants to be with you, they'll ask you out, they'll make it happen." Peter recites: Tony's number one rule.

"Atta boy. What about you? Jameson like your piece?"

"A few edits. I'm working through them now. Actually- the photographer, Eddy, he's nice, handsome, might be into me?"

"Might?"

"Well, I don't know. He's never said anything. Am I allowed to ask anyone out? Or is that against the rules?"

"You can definitely ask someone out." Tony hums, "just make sure you can read their response. Ask him out, if he's busy- he's not into you. If he leaps at the chance, well, you've nailed it."

"Okay," Peter nods, excited. "Where should I ask him to go? Dinner? Is that too boring?"

"Hockey game, a movie, hell, a stake-out, it doesn't matter, just don't read into anything that isn't there."

"I won't. Thanks for the help, Tony, really," Peter says, "And sorry to call you on a Saturday."

"No worries, Bambi. Let me know how it goes with Eddy."

"Let me know if Pepper forgives you!"

Peter falls back into his work. Doesn't realise until just before he goes to sleep that actually- Tony called him.

***

"He said no." Comes Peter's voice through the ear-piece, as Tony debates whether to make himself a kale or spinach smoothie at home later. Both packs of green look equally healthy.

Tony dumps them both in the basket. Ignores the guy leering at him in favour of turning Peter up a little. "I'm sorry, kid. But better you know now than later, right?"

When Peter speaks, his throat sounds clogged "I guess." He says forlornly.

Tony cocks his head. Listens. Thinks. "How far into that tub of Ben and Jerry's are you, Pete?"

A pause. Tony grins: got him.

"I'm not...It's chocolate Fudge. There's um..." a spoon scrapes again soggy paper, "not much left?"

"No wallowing, rule number two, you know that."

"I know." Peter whines, "but I thought he liked me, maybe he did- you know he said, he was going through something right now, a recent break up, but that maybe someday-"

"It's a brush off." Tony insists, "don't read into anything that isn't there-"

"Maybe he did really just-"

"Okay." Tony says, setting his basket on the conveyer belt and pinching the bridge of his nose. "We need to get you back on the horse. I know a guy who might be into you: Steve. Wholesome, boring sort. Your kind of guy?"

"Well, when you say it like that, how can I resist?"

Tony shakes his head, smiling. "C'mon now, he's handsome. Very American. Tall, blonde, served in the Army for a bit, now he's some sort of do-gooder activist."

"Well that doesn't sound- so bad."

"And the best part? I think he might like you."

"I was beginning to think that was impossible."

Tony hands over his card, snorting. "No pity parties. You're easy on the eyes. Got those big bambi ones, those little freckles, long legs too, considering you're so short. It's nice. It's a good look." He can picture it, actually, those long legs wrapped around his hips. Peter's slender neck, fluffy hair spread out over the pillow- he needs to get laid today. Again. "I'll invite him to dinner, introduce the two of you. How's tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" Peter squeals, excited, the sound of an empty ice cream tub being tossed aside. "I haven't got anything to wear."

Tony thinks of Peter's cream skin. Of his honey eyes. "Something tight. Maroon if you have it, anything sheer. Please, for god's sake, not that mustard monstrosity."

"I love that sweater!"

Tony carries his bags out to the car, feels the warm sun beat down on his face. "Oh hey, it's kinda nice out." He realises.

Peter sighs contentedly over the line. "It really is. DJ Ravioli loves it."

Tony stops by his car. Closes his eyes. "Who the fuck," he says, "is DJ Ravioli?"

"It's my cat-"

"Of course," he laughs, getting into the car, turning on the AC. "Of course it is. In every Romcom, what does the main character have? Some ugly ass cat-"

"Hey!"

"And DJ Ravioli! What kind of a name is that?"

"He's such a cutie-wootie, yes you are my little ravioli-cannoli."

"Goodbye, Peter!" Tony yells, hanging up the call.

He can't stop smiling the rest of the way home.

***

Peter's early. That's because he was raised with Ben's if you're not early, you're late mantra, and now he's sitting in a fancy restaurant, fiddling with the tablecloth.

MJ's done his hair. Crimped and weird, but he thinks overall he looks okay. He's taken Tony's tips, in a thin, flouncy maroon shirt tucked into very tight jeans. He better not eat too much. Not sure he could if he wanted to.

"Good evening, Sir," says the waitress, eyes kind, "are you ready to order?"

"Oh um, not just yet," Peter smiles, "I'm waiting for..." he gestures to the two empty seats.

She nods, stepping back.

Oh god, is he being stood up again-

Relief and pleasure seeps through him as Tony appears. He's in a plain black sweater, but he might as well be a model in how it stretches over him. He leans down, pecks Peter's cheek (warm, he's warm, and he smells like cologne) before collapsing into one of the seats and gesturing the waitress over.

"I messed up, Pete," he says, by way of greeting, having a glance through the menu.

Peter blinks, a little dazed. "Huh?"

"Steve. He's not free tonight. I'll reschedule it, I promise."

"Oh." Peter nods, "okay, so-"

"It's just us two tonight, that alright? You can bear my company?" Tony wiggles his eyebrows, and Peter laughs. His nerves leave him, he can relax now.

"I think I can just about tolerate it. How's Pepper?"

Tony winces.

Peter laughs.

***

Tony, for all his playboy moves, is such a gentlemen, Peter thinks. He'd picked up the whole bill, hadn't given Peter a chance to offer half.

And now Peter's full of lobster, warm and sated, and Tony is a warm line of heat against his back as he unlocks his front door.

"Mm, it's cozy," Tony hums into his ear, as they shuffle inside and Peter closes the door, sleepy and a little- excited. To have Tony here, in his apartment, late at night- "Oh, there he is. Little monster."

And to Peter's surprise, Tony leans down and scoops DJ Ravioli into his arms. The fat cat barely protests, using the new position to stretch his spine.

Peter grins, can't help, it and takes a photo on his phone.

Tony glares at him.

"What?" He giggles, "I thought you didn't like cats."

"Never said I didn't like 'em," Tony hums, thumb rubbing beneath DJ Ravioli's ears, "just said they're a cliche, that's all. In every love story, there's the damn cat. And it hates the bad guy- scratches them up- and loves the good guy, because somehow, the cat knows who you're meant to be with."

Peter lifts his eyebrows. "Well, DJ Ravioli likes you."

"Guess I must be the good guy." Tony quips, rolling his eyes. He takes his own phone out then, arranging himself for a selfie. He'll send it to his mom. The cat blinks lazily at the camera.

Just as Tony takes the picture, Peter slides into frame, stretching onto his tiptoes, finger's bunny ears behind Tony's head.

Tony shoves him playfully. "You're a photo crasher, Peter Parker. A photo bomber. A fiend. A nightmare." He sets the cat down, watches his waddle away. "And you're overfeeding that cat."

Peter flips him the bird then, and is rewarded with Tony's loud bark of laughter.

They drink coffee, Tony judges the way Peter organises his kitchen, and then at 2am, Peter pouts and says:

"These jeans are really tight. Do you mind if I change?"

Tony sips his coffee, side-eyes him. "Don't try to seduce me, Parker."

Peter snorts, grateful to shuffle into his bedroom and peel the jeans off him. He pulls on his Hello Kitty Sweat Pants and an oversized science tee, feeling immeasurably more comfortable. He pulls on his fluffiest socks, feels a little bad he can't offer Tony something to wear. They'd all be too tight.

He presents himself with a twirl. "Seduction at it's finest." He teases, and Tony looks him over; something warm and soft in his gaze that makes Peter blush.

"It's not bad." Tony murmurs, turning back to his coffee cup. "Well, it's-" he clears his throat, "late, Pete. I should go."

Peter wiggles his toes in his socks, wants to crawl into bed. "Okay. Thanks for dinner."

"Thanks for..." Tony looks around, chuckles. "Having me. You should come by tomorrow. See how the other, better half lives."

Peter walks him to the door. Tony stoops down to rub a knuckle along DJ Raviol's back. The tail wraps around his wrist. Tony disentangles himself gently. "Around 6?"

Tony beams at him. "Perfect."

***

When Peter wakes up in the morning, everything becomes clear.

Tony likes him.

He tries not to get swept away in the realisation of it. Tries to be rational, to follow the points.

1) Tony had given Peter his number and taken Peter's.

2) Tony calls him. They talk all night, sometimes. Tony's left dates, make-out sessions, to talk to Peter.

3) The mysterious 'Steve' that never showed up. Or perhaps, never existed at all.

Peter scribbles these into his notebook. Could it be? Tony's so...handsome. Clever. Funny. Why would he be into- but no-

Tony thinks he's handsome. Said so himself. Said Peter had bambi eyes (a pet name- that's a sign, Peter writes it down) and long legs. Said he looked nice in maroon.

They're saved under cute nicknames in each other's phone. DJ Ravioli likes Tony! And there's Tony eyes- something warm and soft that Peter sees from time to time.

And the fact that Tony saved him from being stood up. It's a perfect meet-cute.

Peter squeals. Tony's invited him over tonight. Never pressured him into sex- it must be something.

He spins on the kitchen stool and dreams of happily ever after.

***

The radio plays as they wash the dishes. Tony washes, Peter dries. Their hips bump.

It's nice, Tony thinks, as they hum along. His penthouse- big, empty, most of the times- except when he's having parties loud enough to upset the neighbours, but even those- they don't compare to this quiet company of Peter Parker.

Peter screeches as he hits a high note, so Tony turns the faucet on him, laughing as Peter splutters, slapping him with the rag.

Tony doesn't want to point out he he has dishwasher. He likes this.

Once they're done, he collapses onto the couch, watches as Peter ambles around before coming to stand in front of him. He looks thoughtful. He's wearing that gross mustard sweater that Tony kinda likes now, if only for the way it makes Peter looks soft and cuddly.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks, trying to read Peter's mind. He's good at reading people, great at reading Peter, but not tonight. He can't quite gauge it.

Then Peter, in his ugly sweater, beautiful, with a grace Tony suspected but didn't know Peter possessed- straddles him on the couch, and kisses him.

Tony feels those long legs, spread wide over his own knees, feels the heat of Peter's core, those lily hands against his cheeks, that soft, soft mouth against his own.

He moans appreciatively, opening his mouth, taking control. His own hands coming to wrap around Peter's waist and-

"I knew it," Peter whispers, pleased as punch against his cheek, "we're in love."

Tony splutters, a cold wash of water against the pleasing heat that was working it's way down his body. "We're- what-" he pushes Peter away a little, from where those teeth were nipping his ear.

Peter sits back, still fucking straddling him, still looking as innocent as a wall-flower, one hand still poisoned above Tony's denim-clad dick. "We're in love," Peter repeats, beaming. "We're dating."

Tony scoffs, erection wilting. "Well, gee, Pete, was I ever gonna know about any of this? In what universe are we dating?"

"We-" Peter frowns, swallowing hard. "I- you liked me? The signs-"

"What signs?!" Tony fumes, pressure mounting, pushing on his chest. "Jesus Christ, Pete." He pushes Peter off him, gets to his feet. "What the fuck?"

"I..." Peter sits, mussed, on the couch, staring up at him. "You- you took my number. You call me, S-Steve didn't show up- you- you- we talk all night, we made dinner, we washed up- you came over- I thought-"

"What did I say? What did I say?" Tony hisses, raking his hands through his hair. "If a guy is into you, Peter, he will ask you out. Or you ask him out. Did I ask you out?"

Peter eyes are swimming with tears. He looks flushed with humiliation and great, now Tony's a massive jerk. "N-no."

"Peter." Tony can't look at him, turns and bangs his head against the wall. "Why- why do people do this? Read into nothing. There is nothing between us but friendship. And now..." he whirls back to Peter accusingly. "Now you've ruined our friendship. You look for all these tiny, insignificant moments. I gave you my number because I wanted to help you, Steve genuinely couldn't make the day, I invited you over here because we're friends. I've never made a move on you, never asked you out, and you've never asked me out. You know, you know I don't do relationships. Why? Why do people think that they're the exception? You're not the exception, Pete, you're not gonna change me. You're the rule, and the rule is: if I liked you, I would've asked you out. But I didn't, so I don't."

He has to catch his breath once he's done. Peter's still sitting there, eyes watering- but not crying. The air is tense. Thick.

"God, Pete," Tony says gently, "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but- no. We're not in a relationship. We're not dating. I'm not into you."

They're mean. Cruel words. But they're true. Tony's a straight-forward, up-front kind of guy. He turns to his kitchen, pours himself a drink. Fuck, what a night.

"I don't want to be like you." Comes the quiet voice from the living room.

Tony sets down the brandy, whirls towards Peter with a scoff. "Excuse me?"

Peter looks up at him, still red-faced, but brave. "I don't want to be like you. Going around, using people. Never finding love, never looking for it. Never getting- excited at a smile, or wondering what your life with someone might be like. I like hoping. I like dreaming and meet-cutes, and big, unrealistic romantic gestures, I like that."

Tony sneers, shaking his head. "Fine. I'll be over here, living in the real world."

Peter gets to his feet, grabs his bag, wipes his face. "You do that, Tony, you live all alone in the real world. You won't find any happiness like that."

"At least I won't get rejected twice a week!" Tony yells, as Peter heads for the door.

Peter turns back, hand on the door knob, angry. "I'd rather get rejected knowing that it means I'm closer to my happily ever after. I'll take rejection after rejection, Tony."

"Well done," Tony claps, "this is another one to add to your dossier."

The door slams and Tony's alone and there's no one to yell at so he throws his glass of brandy across the kitchen. The stupid sturdy glass doesn't even break, the liquid just drips down onto the tile and he'll have to clean it up later.

It's been three days.

Surely Peter's still not angry with him after three days. Sure, Tony said some stuff, but it was- heat of the moment. They're friends.

He rubs his temples, puts down the paper work- can't read the words. He needs to sign off on payrolls, order more stock, sort out the overtime policy-

He takes out his phone. No messages. No calls.

The door opens, and Pepper walks in, professional, the last dredges of her anger with him mostly gone. "Hey Tony, a few more for you to sign." She sets down the papers.

"Thanks," he mutters. No DMs on twitter. Nothing on instagram. He opens Facebook.

"Oh my god."

Tony looks up, startled at Pepper's expression of delight. "What?" He asks, eyes flicking down- nothing on Facebook. Email, maybe?

"Who are they?"

"Who are who?"

"The special someone." She laughs, eyes bright with disbelief. "Who's got you checking your phone obsessively, wondering when they'll call."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tony says, putting his phone away. "You may go."

"You haven't been able to concentrate all day," she muses, perching on the edge of his desk, perfectly comfortable. He misses the days she couldn't stand to be in the same room as him. "You put Javier on dishes and Rebecca at the bar- rookie error. You keep asking if anyone's called the bar for you- you haven't shaved. And is that the same shirt as yesterday-"

"No." Tony says emphatically, self-conscious and sweaty, "just go. Please."

Pepper gets to her feet, laughs again. "The world of love. Welcome to it, asshole."

When she's gone, Tony sits there. Fingers itching for his phone.

"Shit." He mutters to himself.

***

He sends Peter a message. A text. He says: Pete, I'm sorry about what happened. Can we talk? Brunch, maybe? I want us to be friends.

He doesn't get an answer.

He wants to hurl his phone against the wall in frustration. What the fuck.

He paces relentlessly. Keeps his phone charged.

Peter posts on instagram, it's a photo of DJ Ravioli asleep in a sunbeam, with the caption another nice, sunny day

What does that mean? Tony had said to Peter once that it was a nice day- is this a reference to that? A secret meaning? Should he like the photo? Should he not?

He finds himself driving past Peter's apartment late at night. Sometimes the lights are on. Sometimes they're not.

Tony wonders if he's eating ice cream. If he's in those stupid pyjamas. If Jameson liked the latest revisions. Wonders if he's petting the cat.

Wonders if he's thinking about Tony.

His phone buzzes, and he nearly drops it in his haste to check it.

It's from his mom.

Sorry, got a new phone, didn't see this till just now- what a cutie! Is he yours? (I don't mean the cat), you look so happy, sweetheart. Also, are you eating enough? Your dad says hi!

Tony clicks on it. Sees the photo he sent her. Captured mid-laughter, Tony is beaming, face turned to Peter, who's gorgeous, beaming, lovely-

Tony looks at his own expression. Has he ever looked at someone like that before? The way he's looking at Peter in this photo?

He does look happy. He looks...home.

"-ey Tony. Is this recording? Hey Tony, it's Steve! I just wanted to let you know I ran into Peter- your Peter- at the flower garden in Harlem today. How crazy is that? Must be fate. He's amazing, you're a matchmaker. We've got a date tonight- I'll let you know how it goes!"

Tony listens to the message three times. A voice mail, of course, because Steve might as well be from the 1940s.

There's a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. What does that mean? That the very person Tony thought Peter would get on with is the one he bumped into in Harlem? In a flower garden. Peter was probably surrounded by foxgloves, ridiculously beautiful in his dandelion cardigan, streaks of suncream still on his face.

Maybe Steve had come up to him, said that Peter was a more beautiful view than the flowers. Steve is gross like that.

And Peter probably- probably liked it. Thought Steve was handsome, because Steve is. Probably blushed the way he blushes whenever someone compliments him, like he never received enough. The amount he deserved. Probably said something lame like "you're not so bad yourself."

He wonders how Peter reacted when Steve brought Tony up, brought up their link. Their almost.

Did he ask about Tony? Steve's message hadn't said anything- so Peter obviously hadn't said anything bad. That must mean something.

Going out tonight. Peter's going out tonight.

Tony doesn't want Peter to go out tonight. He wants to lie in Peter with bed, with that fat cat, and watch TV and talk and order Chinese. Wants to kiss Peter- wants to-

"Oh," he whispers, fingers shaking, he presses his hands together. This is love. He's in love. With Peter. He's been in love with Peter since-

He remembers the sight of him at the bar. Beautiful. Sweet. Idealistic like Tony couldn't believe and-

Goddamn it. Tony's loved him the moment he first laid eyes on him.

And he's fucked it all up.

***

He sees Steve on the way up. He hides behind a plant, peeks out behind leaves. Steve is whistling, smiling, pleased. Okay, well, so, they had a good date- but Peter didn't let him in for a nightcap. That must mean something.

Tony hurries upstairs, heart pounding. He knocks on the door of Peter's apartment, tries to control his hair and-

"Oh good, you forgot your coat!" Comes Peter's voice, pleased, and the door opens and-

It's Peter.

He's in Steve's coat. It's draped over his shoulders. There's stardust in his eyes, he's wearing chinos and a hideous flannel shirt and-

"Peter." Tony breathes, wants to kiss him. Wants to pull that coat off him and burn it.

Peter stands firm in the door. Doesn't move to let him in. His face closes off. "What are you doing here, Tony?"

"I can't sleep," he blurts, aware of the wreck he must look. "Can't eat. Can't think straight. I keep- driving past this place, wondering if you're up, what you're doing, if you're thinking about me. I keep- wanting to call. To find any excuse to- I keep replaying all our- moments, I'm- I'm becoming-"

"Me." Peter finishes, he looks up at Tony with his huge eyes.

"Bambi," Tony whispers, and Peter flinches away, shaking his head.

"Tony, I just...I just went on a date with Steve-"

"I know." He whispers. Hating himself already. He's left it too late. Should've come sooner, should've realised earlier.

"And I think he- he actually likes me, Tony. He doesn't see love like it's a game, he calls when he says he'll call and he's not scared of relationships-"

"I'm not scared anymore." Tony whispers, taking another step forward, "I can be yours-"

"But you didn't want to be!" Peter cries, shaking his head. Pain etched across his face, and Tony remembers his words. How cruel, how wrong he was. "I threw myself at you, and you didn't want me-"

"I was wrong. I was wrong, Pete, and you were right. About everything. I didn't- I'm so used to doing the same thing, of keeping people at arms length, that when I actually fell-" the words choke in his throat, "-in love- I didn't- I didn't know. I didn't realise."

Peter stares at him, closes his eyes. There's a long beat of silence. "Tony," he whispers, composing himself, "a wise Yoda once told me that if someone wants to date you, they'll make it happen. That I'm the rule, not the-"

He can't take it. Not another moment. Not another unbearable second of Peter thinking that Tony doesn't want him-

So, he kisses him.

It's awkward, and desperate, and then- gentle. He cradles Peter's face in his hands, kisses him long, and slow and endless. Tries to pour all the love, and the hope and the fire he's been carrying for Peter since the moment he saw him.

When they pull apart, Tony doesn't step back. Stays close. Hopeful. Pleading.

Peter's eyes flutter open, like a prince in a fairytale, like the leading star in a romance. "I'm the exception," he whispers, hands on Tony's chest.

Tony's heart thunders with truth. "You are my exception." He breathes, pulling Peter and his gorgeous smile in for another kiss. His hands push Steve's coat from off his shoulders, he steps on it for good measure, and he swallows Peter's laughter, nearly trips over DJ Ravioli, and kicks the door shut behind them.

They spend the next day in bed, watching tv, and they order Chinese food.

Peter checks his work emails, and Tony reaches over and kisses him like he can't help it. Peter laughs, kissing back for a moment, before pulling away. "Am I that irresistible?" He teases.

Tony looks up at him from his side of the bed, eyes earnest. "Yes." He says solemnly. "You are."

"Does that mean I get the last spring roll?"

Tony winces. "I already gave it to the cat."

"Oh well," Peter sighs, collapsing into Tony's arms, tossing the phone away. "You'll just have to make it up to me somehow."

Tony starts to pepper him with kisses. Hands slip under Peter's shirt. "I can do that. I can do that every day for the rest of our lives."

Peter hums, vibrating with glee, "and is this the first day of Happily Ever After?"

"Baby," Tony grins, brushing the cat hair from Peter's forehead, and kissing him again, and again, "I think it just might be."

#starker #peter x tony #young tony #romcom au #angst with a happy ending #mutual pining #he's just not that into you au #precious peter parker #tony stark has a heart

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

sing me to sleep, bastard

pairing: sterek

word count: 2.5k

rating: mature

warnings: swearing, slight angst

notes: published a little while ago (on ao3), but not on here and is edited! Because sometimes, Stiles just has to get his feelings out.

Stiles was tired.

Like pulling at his soul, trying to drag him into an early grave, tired. He’d say he wished for the sweet relief of death but after everything he’d faced, that would be a crappy way to go. So, Stiles continued to trudge through his shift at the open 24/7 coffee shop and tried not to think about how he could be sleeping right now.

His co-worker noticed.

“Stiles, the bags under your eyes literally have their own bags.”

Stiles screwed up his face and groaned, dropping his head onto the counter. The shop was empty other than one other person— another college student, by the looks of it— because no one else in their right mind would come out this late. On weekends, Stiles’s shifts didn’t end until four in the morning. So of course, he was exhausted.

“Thanks,” he said, turning his head toward Milo. “I didn’t notice.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

In truth? Stiles had not been sleeping. When he wasn’t working, he was attending classes at Beacon Hills Community College. When he wasn’t attending classes, he was chasing the monster of the week around town. Quite frankly, he never seemed to be sleeping.

But he couldn’t tell Milo that.

“Of course I’ve been sleeping,” Stiles said with a laugh. “Who doesn’t love sleep? I love sleep. I would marry sleep if that was acceptable.”

Milo raised a brow. Stiles could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“I’ve just been stressed with school,” he said, shrugging. “You know how it goes.”

That finally made Milo grin. The guy chuckled, turning back to the mug he was cleaning, and nodded. “Damn right I know how it goes. Life’s a bitch, man.”

Life was a bitch. And Stiles was just doing his best to survive it.

He lifted his head off the counter and focused again on the book he’d sneakily read between customers. The last thing Stiles’s brain wanted to do was read Hemingway at the moment, but his professor insisted the author was a classic and therefore a must-read for the class. Stiles thought it was a miracle he hadn’t thrown the book out a window yet.

He’d gotten close. Multiple times.

Suddenly, the bell over the door rang. Stiles slapped his book shut and stuffed it out of sight, raising his head with a smile that was all sorts of professional. Only, the expression melted when he saw who’d entered. One such figure who’d frozen the moment he’d seen Stiles too.

“Derek?”

Derek blinked, staring at him for a long moment. Then he turned and walked right back out of the cafe. Stiles stared in shock and Milo shot him a confused glance. “Dude?”

“Did you just see that too?”

“Um, yeah. Do you know that guy or something?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles ripped his apron off. It really had been Derek— Derek Hale— the bastard who’d left town four months ago without so much of an explanation, and hadn’t been in contact since. Milo was looking at Stiles like he was crazy.

“Stiles, is everything alright?”

“Can you finish the rest of this shift without me?” Stiles asked, still struggling to pull his apron up around his head. “I swear I’ll be in your debt forever, seriously.”

“Sure, man,” Milo said. “I got your back.”

Stiles finally ripped off his apron and shot Milo a grin, dropping it to the floor. He didn’t even bother with his book— Hemingway could suck it— and scrambled over the counter. “Thank you so much, dude! I owe you!”

He didn’t hear Milo’s response as he stumbled outside. Derek’s camaro was already peeling out of the parking lot, but Stiles had him in his sights. The bastard wasn’t going anywhere.

Roscoe, thankfully, started without a struggle. Backing out, Stiles hit the gas and started in the direction Derek’s car had vanished. He couldn’t believe Derek actually had the nerve to come back to town, to see Stiles in the coffee shop, and then leave. Like Stiles was going to grow fangs of his own and rip his throat out of something.

Though, shit, if Stiles did have fangs, he just might. He was pissed.

Of course, Derek headed to his loft. The same loft that had been empty for four months, no matter how many times Stiles had driven past. And he did drive past. Every day at first, then weekly. Eventually, he’d just given up, because it was obvious Derek wasn’t coming back.

Stiles had moped for weeks. Scott didn’t even understand why.

Stiles wasn’t willing to admit why.

Derek must have gotten there in record time because the Camaro was empty. Stiles stuffed his keys into his pocket and stalked toward the loft. He punched in the security code to the alarm, because the last thing he wanted was to let Derek known he’d followed him, and stalked upstairs.

Still, he imaged Derek would catch his scent. Good, he thought. Let him. Stiles was willing to make Derek squirm.

He pulled the door open and stalked inside. Derek was pacing in the middle of the room and spun around, freezing as Stiles approached. His eyes were wide like a deer caught in headlights and Stiles jabbed a finger right into his chest, fury billowing over.

“Derek, you asshole, what the hell? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were back in town! No, no, actually I totally can, but I can’t believe you just ran like that. Dude! What the hell? ”

“Stiles.”

“Stiles? Stiles? That’s all you have to say? That’s so messed up, Derek!”

Derek reached up, taking Stiles’s hand, and pulled his finger away from his chest. Stiles did his best to continue scowling, but it was hard when Derek was practically holding his hand and looking like Stiles’s words had somehow gutted him. Even though he was the bastard who’d gone missing for four months. “Hey, Stiles.”

Stiles gaped at him. He couldn’t believe Derek had come back to Beacon and the first actual sentence he said was ‘Hey, Stiles.’ It was so terrible. So wrong. It wasn’t fair.

“I hate you,” Stiles said. Derek flinched away and Stiles cursed himself, trying again. “Okay, fine, I don’t really hate you. But dude, where the hell did you go? Do you realize how long it’s been? Do you realize how worried I was?”

“You were worried?”

Shit, fuck. “The pack was worried.”

“But you said you.”

“No, stop twisting my words, Sourwolf. I meant the pack.”

Derek raised a brow and Stiles wanted to punch him for having the audacity to look like that. But instead, he deflated and glanced around the loft.

“How long have you been back?”

“Only tonight.”

Stiles looked back at him. “You couldn’t have called? At least once to let me— to let us— know you were okay? The last time you vanished we found you buried in Aztec temple with a werejaguar out for revenge, dude. Anything could have happened.”

“I needed some time to get my head straight,” Derek said, letting go of his hand. Stiles tried not to feel too disappointed at the loss of contact. “I had to think about some things.”

“Things? What things could possibly be more important than the pack?”

Derek wouldn’t look at him. Stiles felt something in his chest twist and snap and he pulled away, crossing his arms over his chest. A chill raced up his spine.

“Leaving was an asshole thing to do, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek said softly. Stiles glared at him.

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please when you vanish for four months straight and then turn up out of nowhere without an explanation.”

Derek’s eyelashes fluttered. Struck by sudden guilt, Stiles took a deep breath.

“Don’t you realize Scott still needs you around? Just because he’s an Alpha and we’ve all graduated from high school doesn’t mean all the big baddies of Beacon Hills have suddenly gone away. They haven’t decided to give us a break just because we’re growing up, Derek. Hell, Lydia almost died last week because of a vengeful fairy!”

“I’m sorry,” Derek muttered, flinching away. He actually looked pained and that broke Stiles’s heart. Because everything Stiles had said was true. But not the whole truth. More people than Scott needed Derek Hale to remain in Beacon Hills. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Are you going to leave again?”

“What?” Derek looked at him in shock, eyes going wide. Stiles resisted the urge to curl up in on himself at the expression.

“Are you going to leave again? Or are you back for good?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, voice cracking slightly. The older man stepped forward, then hesitated, hands clenching in and out of fists at his sides. He ducked his head. “I’m here now.”

“But for how long?”

“As long as you’ll have me.”

Stiles looked at him in sharp confusion. Derek’s eyes searched his own, looking more vulnerable than Stiles had ever seen them. He looked cautious and scared. It was wrong.

“... Is that okay, Stiles?”

“Why did you leave, Derek?” Stiles asked shakily. “What were things?”

“I—” Derek trailed off. Stiles clenched his jaw.

“Derek, why the hell did you leave?”

Derek suddenly squared his shoulders and turned away, stalking across the room. The sudden change of mood was startling. “You should go, Stiles. I’m back now and you said what you came to.”

Stiles stared after him. Derek grabbed his bag and started unpacking, acting like Stiles was already gone. The man wouldn’t look back at him. Stiles blinked, turning toward the loft door, but then he stopped, turning back around. Frustration and anger crashed over him.

“You know what? No, Derek, you don’t get to do that!” Derek looked up at him, startled, and Stiles stalked forward again. “You don’t get to push me away, not again! Now, I’m sick and tired of thinking about you and wondering if I’m being an idiot caring about you—”

“Caring about me?”

“— Don’t interrupt, Derek, I’m ranting here! It’s been three years since I got my head out of my ass and considered the possibility of having feelings for you, but that’s kind of hard when your always angsting and disappearing off the face of the earth—”

Stiles was cut off again, but this time because Derek’s lips were pressed against his.

He gasped in shock and went still, and Derek started to pull back with the word ‘sorry’ already falling off his lips. But then Stiles was wrapping his hands around Derek’s neck and pulling him back in. He kissed the man back, hard and hungry.

Derek pressed back with equal ferocity. It was a battle of teeth and tongues, and Stiles had no idea why they hadn’t started doing this sooner. He stumbled back until he hit the wall and then Derek picked him up so Stiles could wrap his legs around his waist. He did so, nipping down the man’s neck before shoving his lips against his again. Derek growled deep in his throat. Stiles felt the sound go straight to his groin.

“Der—” Stiles gasped between breaths. “Derek, we should—”

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, pressing a hard kiss against his lips again. Stiles closed his eyes with a moan and a shudder ran through the older man’s body. Stiles couldn’t help but smirk as he moaned again, thrusting his hips forward this time. Derek’s grip tightened. “Stiles.”

“Derek,” Stiles responded raspily. He closed his eyes as stubble traced down his neck and Derek’s lips breezed over skin, trailing down to his collarbone. The man latched on and sucked a mark there, making Stiles moan again. He could feel the way Derek reacted to that, hands clenching tighter around his hips. Derek pulled back again and before Stiles could whine about the lack of contact, Derek’s lips were ghosting across his again.

“Derek,” Stiles murmured.

Derek finally pulled back then, breaking them apart. His eyes were hazy. Stiles smiled back at him, feeling like he’d just been dunked underwater. His lips felt warm and puffy.

“So… you’re back.”

Derek blinked a few times. “Didn’t we just establish that?”

“I’d have you stay,” Stiles whispered. “If you want.”

“Of course,” Derek said. “I’ll stay.”

“Good,” Stiles smiled again. “Because now that I’m broken, I’m bought, and you’re stuck with me.”

“I broke you?” Derek said incredulously. Stiles grinned.

“Well, not yet. But that can always be arranged.”

Derek’s eyes darkened and he growled, hitching Stiles up higher on his hips. Turning, he carried him to the bed and dumped him down unceremoniously, making Stiles squawk in protest. But instead of kissing him again or doing anything else, Derek righted him up and pulled the covers aside, before stuffing Stiles in. Then he pulled the covers back up. Stiles stared.

“Derek, what the hell are you doing?”

“It’s two in the morning, Stiles. You reek of exhaustion.”

“But Derek,” Stiles whined, trying to thrust his hips back up. “I was promised a good and proper breaking!”

Derek smirked down at him. “You look pretty broken to me.”

“Okay, now that’s just rude. You can’t leave me like this!”

Derek sat down on edge of the bed and carded his fingers through Stiles’s hair, face softening. Stiles relaxed unconsciously into the touch and nuzzled Derek’s giant hand, making the man chuckle. Stiles stiffened and narrowed his eyes at him.

“Stop that.”

“What?” Derek asked innocently, drawing his hand away. “That?”

“No, you asshole,” Stiles whined. “Laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” Derek said, leaning over to press his lips against Stiles’s once more. Then he pulled back an inch, so his breaths were hot on Stiles’s face when he whispered, “I was chuckling.”

“Asshole,” Stiles shoved him away. Derek laughed openly this time.

Stiles didn’t want to admit it, but he was tired. He’d been tired even before all of whatever this was. Oh god, whatever this was. Stiles would have a panic attack about that in the morning. He was too tired to think straight right now.

Ha, he thought. Think straight.

Stiles thought about mentioning his genius to Derek, but the man’s fingers were in his hair again. Stiles closed his eyes automatically against the touch and he sighed, relaxing back into the pillows. He could still taste Derek on his lips; like cinnamon. It was nice, he decided sleepily.

“Derek,” he said softly. The man’s ministrations paused. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Stiles.”

“No really,” Stiles repeated, already half asleep. “Don’t leave me again.”

He felt Derek lean forward, lips touching his forehead. Gentle fingers pulled the blankets all the way up to Stiles’s neck. “I promise.”

“Good,” Stiles murmured. “Now sing me to sleep, bastard.”

Derek chuckled against his skin. The vibration sent a shiver down his spine, somehow making his body relax even more. Carefully, Derek pulled back, though his fingers traced down Stiles’s arm and sketched circles over the back of his hand. Stiles could feel himself dropping.

The last thing he heard sounded suspiciously like humming.

#sterek #idiots in love #ao3 #when-she-writes-stuff talks #stiles stilinski #derek hale

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hatari-translations · 5 years ago

Text

Hákon interview on ‘Vloggað um ekki neitt’ - translation/summary

This video is a 25-minute interview of Matthías by Hákon from Iceland Music News, about a play that Matthías was commissioned to write for the National Theater (Þjóðleikhúsið). In the process, they talk about how they met, the beginning of Matthías’s interest in theater, and the experience of being a teenager being constantly lectured at.

As it's quite long, I'm not going to translate word for word; this will be mostly summarizing, with choice quotes.

The play in question is called Vloggað um ekki neitt (Vlogging about nothing), and it's written with a specific age group in mind - the theater commissioned him to write a play for two actors aimed at ~13-15-year-olds. The theater's educational department does this, selecting demographics and commissioning educational shows meant to appeal to those groups.

Matthías thinks it's a challenge to write for this particular group; it's not obvious that a play for teenagers should be such and such. "I think teenagers just want to be treated like sapient beings, people with taste, and then it's pretty hard to be deciding, 'Yeah, this is like this, because you're teenagers.'" What's annoying about being a teenager, he posits, is that society as a whole is always trying to patronize you.

Hákon says that he remembers, from being a teenager, that there's also a pretty huge maturity gap between thirteen- and fifteen-year-olds. Matthías agrees, and adds that when you're a teenager you're developing your tastes and your self-image, feeling yourself reflected in the things that you like that somebody else might not, and that makes it difficult to categorize you as an age group. The last thing you want is being told, "This is for you, because you're fifteen" - either you like the thing or you don't.

"I also think that teenagers are generally... you aren't going to be telling them anything they don't know. I can imagine that if I were fifteen and I were invited to see a play that some random Matthías Tryggvi dude has written with your age group in mind, I'd just be like 'Okay, this is going to be some drug prevention bullshit, I've heard it all before, I know exactly what it's going to be like, I've been to the theater, I know what this is.'"

Hákon says teenagers as an audience vary a lot. He brings up Skrekkur, a popular youth talent competition for the 13-15-year-old stage of Reykjavík schools, where groups of teens will put together a short theatrical performance, each school will pick one to represent them, and then the schools compete. Matthías notes Hákon has hosted Skrekkur and participated in it, but Hákon corrects him, saying he never participated; at the time, as a young teen, he didn't think theater was very cool at all. Matthías says, "Those upbeat, positive types were just a bit intolerable. That's where I was at, too, at that age." They agree that they were basically the 'difficult' teenagers that might be in the audience.

Matthías says that he saw Leg (Uterus), a black comedy musical about teenage pregnancy by Hugleikur Dagsson, at this theater, and thought it was awesome. (This was in 2007! I saw it too, and it was pretty great. I was 17 at the time; Matthías would've been thirteen.) He loved Hugleikur's books and their grotesque humour, which he still jives with. Leg really opened up the world of theater to him, surprised him with what theater could be. And he hopes Vloggað um ekki neitt could be that for at least one teenager.

They move on to talking about the play itself. Matthías notes it's still in progress, and he's been working on writing it on and off for more than a year (I'm going to guess he was contacted by the theater about doing this during or after Hatari's participation in Söngvakeppnin; Hatari's huge popularity with youth probably made the directors of the theater immediately pin him as likely to write something teens could get excited about). He expects it to go into rehearsals this fall.

The play is about two people trying to become successful vloggers on YouTube. Matthías says really it's kind of like what they're doing right now, "just projecting yourself, and what you have to say, no matter how ill-advised it may be, out into the world." Hákon will be playing one of the two characters, Konráð.

Matthías notes that one thing about writing teenagers, and characters on social media or YouTube or the like, is that you're entering their domain. His main source on YouTubers is his fifteen-year-old sister. "It's their home field, they know how this works, they know what's cool. So very early in the process, I just admitted defeat. I'm not about to write cool social media content for these characters, or write it to be cool. They're always going to fail. It'll be some kind of attempt the characters are making to make good content on YouTube, but it's doomed to fail, because it's the audience that knows what good content is."

Hákon does think the characters are making honest attempts, having read the script so far, and they're honest characters, critical of themselves, perhaps too critical at times. "Yeah, they're scared to take the leap, scared to publish the material they're recording." Hákon says that's probably a common issue for vloggers, whether to publish something or ditch it or start over. Matthías says he's pretty sure PewDiePie, who his sister introduced him to, records a deluge of material and has somebody else editing it for him. It's become a bit of a production, even though it's just him at his computer playing video games (or other things). The characters in the play have that dilemma, as they're making content but are unsure how to present it and edit it.

Hákon talks about how as an artist you have to have a degree of self-reflection and be able to recognize when an idea isn't going anywhere. Matthías says when you're recording or writing or creating something, you enter a bit of a manic state, start to have delusions about how awesome it is, which the characters do, only to hit a wall and realize actually that sucked. Hákon: "And then they might also get delusions about how terrible it is, because it might be neither amazing nor completely awful." Matthías: "Maybe just a little tacky."

Hákon goes over how this isn't the first time the two of them work together, having attended the Academy of the Arts together. He notes Matthías wrote Þvottur when they were in their first year, as a side project, and that was how they met. He says Matthías has a recognizable style; Matthías says "That's fun." Hákon asks if Þvottur was Matthías's first play; he says no, but it was a kind of first effort anyway, as it was the first one he directed. He also notes that Hákon helped him with that, having more experience, and others - at which Hákon brings up that Klemens helped as well, as he built the set. "Which was 'simple but clever' according to a critic," Matthías adds.

Matthías's actual first foray into playwriting was when he and a friend took part in translating-slash-adapting Gertrude Stein's "Doctor Faustus Lights the Lights". "It's a really interesting piece, very experimental, in some sense not very conventional in its textual structure. And it was really - again, a whole new world opened. Whoa, is this a play? Okay, wow." Working on this adaptation/translation with director Brynhildur Guðjónsdóttir was hugely inspiring for him. "After that process, I've really gotten into it, seeing students at the school acting out lines that Ingólfur and I had been polishing."

From there, he moved on to Ungleikur, where young people work together to write, direct and act in their own plays. He wrote three pieces for it all in all, and then Þvottur independently. He says it was really good to be able to make that connection and try this out at the Academy of the Arts.

Returning to Vloggað um ekki neitt, Hákon asks what besides his sister sparked the idea for this piece. Matthías talks about how he attended his sister's civil confirmation ceremony (the non-religious version of a Christian confirmation; confirmations are so commonplace and important in Iceland that any thirteen-year-old that simply doesn't have one would be considered weird, so there's a non-religious version done by the Icelandic Ethical Humanist Association). At the ceremony, there were a bunch of speeches by various speakers, and he thought it was really clear there how much everyone was trying to lecture them. One of the speeches was a parable about frogs. The frogs were all hopping, but then some people came and yelled insults at them. All of them immediately floundered somehow and fell out of line, except one of the frogs, and the punchline of the story was that that frog was deaf. He could just see in the faces of the thirteen-year-olds that nobody could make heads or tails of this story; it was completely irrelevant to them. He thinks this desperation to push you to succeed and not do this and that and think about your health and your mental health all just becomes noise at a certain point. He can relate to that, remembering when he was a teenager himself.

Hákon agrees that that tends to be how you experience this stuff as a teenager, and that this is also visible in the play, which includes that parable about the frogs. The play also shows a sort of exaggerated version of preventative education. Konráð and the other character, Sirrý, are trying to educate teenagers watching their vlogs ("a hopeless project when everyone's just watching PewDiePie," Matthías quips). So the characters are including a lot of hard facts about drugs, cigarettes, sleep, exercise, screen time, bullying, etc., which they're kind of aggressively trying to convey to the audience. The idea, for Matthías, was to create a character who's just spewing all that stuff and all that noise at a camera, not knowing who's even watching.

They talk about how Matthías has been appointed as one of the City Theater's two playwrights for next winter, after Vloggað um ekki neitt is done, though he expects to still attend the rehearsals ("You're not chained to the City Theater" - the National Theater and the City Theater are the two big competing theaters in Reykjavík). He also might become one of three people working on "Þjóðleikur", a project where playwrights write short plays with many characters, to be produced and performed by groups of teens around the country.

"And then Hatari gets mixed up with all this." "Yes. Hatari will be - maybe there's a performance of Vloggað um ekki neitt, and I'm there in costume, and Klemens and Einar are there, and we do a song or two and then introduce the play." (He's joking.)

As they sign off they sanitize their hands and remind everyone to keep two meters apart (Matthías is unsure if they've quite been placed two meters apart here; Hákon thinks it is two meters, but I'm with Matthías in thinking it seems like a bit less).

#matthías tryggvi haraldsson #vloggað um ekki neitt #interview #translation

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kweebtrash · 5 years ago

Text

Why Stop Now (M)

Pairing: JohnnyxYutaxReader

Genre: PWP, One Shot, College Au (barely)

Summary: I literally just wanted to write about getting DP’d hardcore with my bias and wrecker. that’s it. It’s just fucking, short and sweet

Word Count: 4.2k

Features: blowjob, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, anal, squirting, grinding, a smidge of public sex, a little bit of overstretching,

A/N: Probs will edit some more later like tomorrow when I’m not so tired.

MasterlIst Buy me a Ko-Fi

It was a mistake coming here tonight. I didn’t want to be surrounded by a house full of idiots but I most certainly didn't want to run into my ex. Lucas was currently the bane of my existence after I caught him cheating on me at a party similar to this. The moment I saw him I took to drinking my sorrows away in order to forget. I hoped I looked good enough to ever make him regret being the world's biggest asshole to me. The unfortunate part was that I hadn't really eaten much for a good part of the day and the alcohol hit me harder than I wanted it to. I slowed down and worked through clusters of people to head upstairs and rest in Taeyong's bedroom. I hoped it wasnt occupied with a fucking couple as I didn't need war flashbacks to top off my already sour mood. His room was thankfully barren and I closed the door and set the lock.

The bed looked perfect for me to just take a quiet nap and I shuffled slowly to the mattress before throwing myself across it. I wanted my head to stop spinning a bit so I could start making good decisions. Once I was a bit more sober I would head home instead of wallowing in misery and chatting with guys I had slept with in the past. Almost the entirety of my track record was in attendance here which was the cherry on top of my clusterfuck sundae. There was Taeil from my college writing class, Taeyong, the host of the party, from my media class, Jaehyun from the Student Democrats club, and I was sure my most frequent suitors, Johnny and Yuta were floating around somewhere. All in all I was making mistake after mistake in the grand scheme of things.

I shut my eyes and tried to focus on sleep but the music was still too loud even through the closed door and I could hear voices pouring in from the open window. Those voices sounded way too familiar and I winced the moment I recognized them. I hoped to all hell they didn't notice me in the room as they were sitting on the mid roof right outside of Taeyong's bedroom. I curled up and tried to stay as quiet as possible but my plan failed entirely when I heard my name called out in a weed induced slur.

"Heyyyy baby! What are you doing here?!" Yuta giggled.

"Fuck I haven't seen you in forever!" Johnny added.

I grumbled and squeezed my eyes tighter. "Leave me alone. I hit the bottle too hard and I need to sleep it off for a bit."

"Ooh did you see Lucas downstairs? Is that it?" Yuta asked.

I stayed quiet, refusing to answer.

"Yup," Johnny said. "Definitely saw Lucas. Come here babe. We'll help you get your mind off it."

"Absolutely not." I said, finally sitting up. "You two are the worst trouble makers of them all. I don't need you trying to play games tonight."

"When have we ever played games?!" Yuta took a long drag from the joint he and Johnny had been sharing.

"Hmm, let's see, leaving me on read, ghosting me, dumping me out of your room after we were done fucking, being complete fuckboys. The list goes on, truly."

"We're not that bad! Besides...you always come back for more, don't you?" Johnny smirked.

My face flared up instantly at his truth filled statement. Little fucker. "Be quiet." I snapped. "That's not the point."

"Yeah, your point should be coming out here and joining us. The breeze is much better up here and it's not as hot as it is in the house."

Yuta was right. The summer weather had been unforgiving especially when a couple dozen people were crammed in a small two story house. The breeze was coming in nicely through the windows and I contemplated actually going out there in hopes that the air would help clear my head.. I sighed and used the bed for leverage to crawl out the window and sit on the roof area. Yuta passed the blunt to Johnny and I laid back against the paneling, staring down at the mess of people on the lawn.

"We've been people watching all night. That dude on the left has been trying to get in this chicks pants for like an hour now. It ain't gonna happen." Johnny laughed.

"Hmm, he doesn't look like he's got game. I wouldn't sleep with him."

"What he's not your type? I thought you liked big dumb idiots?"

"I mean that's why I fucked you, didn't I?" I smirked at Johnny who glared at me.

Yuta snorted and laid back with me, clasping his hands behind his head. "This party blows. Taeyong's cool and all but something needs to happen."

"What would you even want to happen?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Something. Anything. I could get laid or be at home stuffing my face with frozen burritos and passing the fuck out."

"That sounds so titillating."

Johnny snorted. "Heh, tittle."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, you giant man child."

"Do you wanna hook up?" Yuta asked suddenly. He was never one for subtlety.

"Uh...like right now? I still kinda feel like crap."

"Fucking will help with that. We could all fuck." Johnny propositioned.

"Like a threesome?" I looked between the two of the as they shrugged, playing it off real cool. I blushed hard not knowing how to respond. It wasn't something I really had experience in but Yuta and Johnny were my two favorite people to fuck. Johnny was commanding and a little rough with a secretive soft side that poked through every once in awhile. Yuta was dirty to the core, bending me every which way and unabashed at anything he suggested we do. Things usually ended up messy with him but I never thought about fucking the two together. Having Johnny's thickness invade every inch of me while Yuta fucked me from behind; being so completely stuffed that my stomach would clench and I could feel so whole and perfectly ruined. I bit my lip and pressed my thighs together as scenes began to flourish in my mind.

"Hello?" Yuta snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Did you hear us?

"Huh? Uh...yeah, the hookup. Threesome. Um, I've never had a threesome before." I admitted shyly.

"I had one once but it wasn't that great. Dude was hogging the chick the whole time. So Yuta if you pull that shit I'm dipping out."

"Trust me dude. I've got my own plans. You can do whatever you want to her pus-"

I slapped my hand over his mouth, keeping him from saying that vile word. "We get it. You want to fuck my ass."

"You do that?" Johnny questioned.

I sighed and laid back down. "Only with Yuta. He gets excited over it and we'll…"

"She literally cums so hard when we do it. Don't let her fool you, she's just as big of a slut as I am."

"Shut up, asshole! I am not. Well...maybe a little but you don't have to point it out."

"Alright, let's cut the crap. Threesome of not? It's been awhile since you've gotten fucked, right? You and Lucas broke up like a month or so ago." Johnny said.

"Yeah, don't remind me…"

"Agree to fuck us and we'll make sure we can help you forget." Yuta said.

I sighed and gave in, too easily for my liking but the images I created where already burned into my mind. "Sure, why the fuck not."

Yuta said no more and dove to capture my neck in slow and methodical kisses, nibbling ever once in awhile. Johnny's large hand was working itself over my stomach as he leaned down to capture me in a kiss. His lips were so fucking amazing that sometimes it made my heart ache to have them against me. They were full, soft, and he knew exactly how to work them so I would get wet in an instant. I parted my lips and let his thick tongue creep into my mouth, sucking on my own and making sure I couldn't breathe. His fingers wiggled beneath the hem of my shirt and pushed it upwards to expose my chest to the cool breeze.

"Whoa, wait. We can't do it out here!" I whispered harshly.

"Shhh, it's just the beginning. We'll finish everything inside; we need the room anyway. For now I just want you legs spread open and to see if we can make you squirt off the rooftop." Yuta said deviously.

"D-dont you fucking dare!" My face was red at the thought but it shook me to my core. I ached for them to prove that they could make my body do such things.

"Take them off, Yuta." Johnny commanded.

Yuta slipped his hand under my skirt to grab a hold of my panties and yank them down. I fumbled to try and keep them on, embarrassed that someone might see us but they got tossed to Johnny who pocketed them with a teasing smile. My legs were forced open then, the front clasp of my bra worked apart, so every tender area was exposed. Johnny latched his lips around my nipple, sucking deeply as his long middle finger trailed up the length of my slit. "She's already starting to get wet."

"Of course she is. Told you she was dirty." Yuta commented.

"If you two don't stop talking I'm going to-" I gasped softly as I felt Johnny push his finger inside me. It was slow and precise, dragging up and down my walls to work me up even more. He went back to teasing my breast while Yuta licked his fingers and set them over my clit. He circled them over the sensitive spot, pairing it with more bites to my neck that flowed down to my chest. I didn't know where to even put my hands at this point and I was already arching slightly against all their teasing. I felt Johnny hook his ankle over mine and nudge my leg to rest between his strong thighs. The center of his jeans pressed against the junction of my knee and thigh and he rocked against me, creating as much friction as possible. He moaned deeply against my chest and I couldn't help how frenzied it made my brain.

Yuta nudged his free hand between us, grabbing a hold on my wrist and guiding me to touch him. My fingers rubbed against the denim, feeling the way he was starting to bulge beneath the fabric. I closed my eyes then, letting my senses get overridden by their exploring hands and tongues. Johnny licked his way up my neck so his lips could rest by my ear. "I know you like getting stretched out but how many fingers do you think we can fit in there before you cum." He whispered in his slightly deepened voice. I turned away from him, trying to hide how embarrassed his words were making me and ended up catching Yuta's lips instead. Johnny chuckled softly as he watched my lips get occupied but someone else and shoved another finger inside me. With how big his hands were just those couple of digits had my entrance already working to accommodate him.

Yuta scissored my lower lips open while the tip of his middle finger curled little strokes against my clit, leaving me open for more sensitivity. My hips bucked then and I squirmed, trying to move away for a moment to regain my composure. Pressure was building within the pit of my stomach as I could feel that orgasm creeping closer. As I tried to close my free leg, Yuta trapped it between his thighs, mimicking Johnny so I couldn't hide even if I tried. Anyone could look up and see me half naked and getting fingered to all hell and back. I knew they weren't going to let me go until I came. My breath burned in my lungs as I couldn't seem to catch it but I was just able to pant out a little beg. "P-please, m-more."

Yuta's fingers joined Johnny's then, forcing two more into me. While Johnny kept steady thrusts, Yuta curled his fingers in a beckoning motion, trying to dig the harshest reaction out of me. "Touch yourself." He commanded, adding a small nip to the shell of my ear afterward. I took over the attention to my clit while their fingers explored and bodies grinded against my thighs. My lower half trembled with the threat of release and I clamped my lips shut so I wouldn't draw attention from the other partygoers below. Both my nipples were overtaken by their mouths again just as I felt increased attention to a particularly sensitive spot within me. I grabbed at Yuta's hand to make sure he stayed in place and commanded Johnny to go faster. My own fingers increased speed as I heard my wetness echoing into the night.

My toes were curling within my shoes, my body dipping against the panelling, and suddenly a rush of absolute bliss washed over me. I shuddered hard, my body practically collapsing in on itself as I slapped at their hands to try and remove the intensity. They didn't let up, becoming greedy for the way my body was creating splashes down the rooftop. I finally grabbed their hands and pushed them away to snap my legs shut and breathe. I muttered out curses while Johnny and Yuta were all smiles and cheers, high fiving each other in victory of my glorious and wet defeat.

"Damn, I didn't think you could actually do it!" Johnny said as excited as a puppy.

"Dude, I told you! That was fucking hot!"

I wanted to ask myself why I put up with their absolutely idiotic tendencies. They were stupid college kids with minds wrapped around partying, getting drunk or high, and getting laid. Nothing remotely appealing about that- then I was harshly reminded why I sought out their company when Johnny's bulge grazed against me again. When I glanced down I could tell that his jeans were trying desperately to keep him contained and he would be growling in my ear at any moment if he didn't get more attention. "We need to get inside." Johnny grunted right on cue. Yuta nodded and crawled up to the open window, tossing himself inside. Johnny and I followed suit and we were a clash of kisses and tongues, pulling off the rest of our clothes until my head was between Johnny's thighs and Yuta had my ass raised.

He shuffled around, rifling through Taeyong's drawers, looking intently for something. I was curious as to what he was doing but still currently occupied by the way Johnny filled my mouth entirely. I swallowed around him and gripped at his base to try and prevent him from thrusting harshly. He was always trying to get me to deep throat him but I couldn't take everything at once. It would usually end in a glaring contest with his hand firmly pushing my hand down until I tapped out. This time he seemed to be a little bit gentle and focused instead on the way my lips looked flowing over his thickness.

Yuta finally came back after a victorious exclamation. He had found whatever he was looking for and finally joined us on the bed. My hole was perfectly presented for him and I felt the familiar chill of lube against me. That must have been what he had been searching for in Taeyong's drawers. I sighed around my mouthful as his fingertip nudged against the barrier, slowly rocking until he poked through. His slender finger was enough to make me whimper and reach back to tap his outer thigh when I needed breaks. He was always good about that and filled our pauses with kisses up my spine or his thumb grazing the entrance of my heat. Eventually he was able to work his knuckle in and get a consistent rhythm going.

I popped off of Johnny when I felt his pre cum splatter across my taste buds, making sure he didn't get too worked up. He fumbled around for his pants that had been discarded on the floor, getting into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a condom. He ripped it open and I helped roll it on, kissing the tip playfully. "Yuta, let her move up to my lap." Johnny demanded.

Yuta scooted us closer so I could straddle Johnny and he could remain behind me to work my ass open. As Johnny slid his cock through my wetness, Yuta started to pry a second finger into me. He added a bit more lube and latched his teeth onto my shoulder, his other hand coming to cup my breast and make small pinches at my nipple. Johnny grabbed onto my hips, lifting me just a bit so I could sink down on his length. I bit down on my lip as soon as I felt that heavy fullness even within my stomach. He let out a moan from deep within his chest, head tossed back against the pillow and lips parted slightly. My bounces were small at first, giving Yuta a pace he could still work with as I desperately needed them both in me at the same time. I wished he could hurry up but patience, time, and dedication were needed for him to fuck me senseless.

The second finger made its way in fully and I felt the slight sting of my muscles trying to accommodate him. I took a few deep breaths, letting him push forward on every exhale. He scissored his fingers little by little, chuckling when he saw me gaped open. My cheeks burned as I knew he loved seeing me spread apart for him. I elbowed him gently, trying to get him to stop as my embarrassment continued. His lips were by my ear whispering the softest of teases. "You look so good like this I couldn't help myself."

"Yeah, we'll save your tired old lines for-" My hand flew to my mouth to cover a harsh gasp that was about to escape. Johnny had bucked his hips particularly hard to gain my attention. His brows were furrowed in irritation and he landed a heavy slap on my ass.

"Less talking, more working." He grunted.

I pouted but rolled my hips, feeling Johnny's cock press against my walls while Yuta curled his fingers deep within me. It was getting easier for him to work me open and the third finger edged in almost seamlessly. With each roll of my hips I was fucking myself back against them, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to be too loud. I was sure the music would cover me but I didn't need the possibility of Taeyong coming in and see us defiling his bed.

Johnny dug his fingers into my thighs as he increased his pace. Heated skin on skin echoed throughout the room, mixing in with his slightly animalistic grunts and groans. Yuta gently rubbed my ass making my heart race as I knew what was next. "You ready?" He asked with a bit of concern.

I nodded and turned my head for a kiss, his lips morphing into a smile as soon as we connected. "Dude, slow down a sec." Yuta told Johnny who seemed peeved at the request. He stopped his motions entirely as Yuta bent me over Johnny's torso. I heard the rip of his own condom packet and a few moments later he was lined up against me, thumbs spreading my asscheeks apart. Once his head creeped in past the barrier I buried my face deep into Johnny's neck, whimpering helplessly.

"You ok?" He asked. I nodded, content that the both of them were showing their soft sides of being concerned for my well-being. It was a breath of fresh air given their usual antics.

"I got her. We've done this before." Yuta reassured the other man. More and more of me was filled, making my legs almost give out from their place over Johnny’s hips. All I could scream was 'oh god' in my head over and over and when Yuta finally was in the three of us groaned at the intense tight feeling surrounding around us.

"Please just fuck me." I said. I didnt want to waste anymore time as I needed my body turned into a pillar of pleasure between them. Yuta was the first to thrust and he grabbed a hold of my arms, pulling them behind me like reins to control his pace. Once Johnny joined in my eyes got lost in the back of my head and I was in a whirlwind of bliss. Each slam of their bodies into me created pressure that sent tingles throughout my entire being. I tried to keep up but it was hard to press into them when my body was getting destroyed. Veins and ridges crept up my walls, dragging through nerves and places I didn't think they could have ever reached. My thighs quaked as weakness set in but my lust wouldn’t be satisfied until I felt the warm heat of their cum inside me.

Johnny gripped my neck gently, nudging his thumb to lift my chin up so our lips could crash together. It was a sloppy mess of tangled breaths and soft groans, our tongues trying to stay melded as he fucked me harder. I clenched around him, bucking slightly when he pushed through the tightness. My second orgasm was approaching way too fast but there was no way to stop it. I pressed my forehead to Johnny, his whisper against my lips now. "Fuck, I wanna come for you."

"Don't say it just do it." I pleaded.

Suddenly I was yanked back to be pressed against Yuta's chest. "You complained about that other dude hogging chicks and now you’re doing the same thing. Share a little." He chuckled.

"F-fuck you!" Johnny managed to groan out as he started to swell against my tightness.

"Such a cop out, cumming first." Yuta turned my face towards his, getting a taste of my lips again. He was thrusting upwards, getting every inch of him to slam into me relentlessly. He parted from me to replace his tongue with the pads of his index and middle finger. They pressed down on my tongue and I sucked hungrily around them. "You want me to touch you?" He teased. I nodded vigorously. If he added that extra magical sensation to my clit we'd all be a symphony of chaotic messes. He shoved his fingers in deeper, almost touching the back of my throat before teasing the digits back out slowly.

He worked them down between my breasts and towards my stomach until they met my clit and worked steady circles into me. Occasionally, he would tease my entrance, getting his fingertip in besides Johnny's cock and crooking his finger just an inch or so inside me. My eyes squeezed shut as I couldn't help but left let a loud moan run free, practically screaming for him not to stop. Johnny forced through one last sloppy thrust, raising his hips so his cock crashed against the deepest part of me, and spilled all he had within the rubber. I still felt that comforting heat through my lower belly and a smile crossed my lips. God, I needed that again and again. Yuta still was vibrant as ever, continuing to ravish me until my body tensed and flushed with warmth. I clenched my thighs around Johnny’s waist as my next orgasm gushed out, leaving trails across his abs. “F-fuck, s-sorry.” I whispered. He shook his head and sat up, cupping my face to kiss my lips and tired body. I held onto him as I could barely keep up with Yuta though I could feel him ready to lose himself at any moment as well.

“Don’t be sorry. You felt so fucking good.” He purred as he slipped out of me slowly. He gave me a wink as Yuta began his greed tirade of final thrusts, bending me over completely and ramming my ass back against him. Johnny watched us, making sure my head was turned towards him so he could see every expression of pain and pleasure on my face. I curled my fingers around the wrinkled bed sheets whimpering out Yuta’s name. His hips stuttered and his blunt nails dug into my skin as he burst within me, shoving his sheathed released as far down as he could. Johnny laid back and Yuta pulled out, flopping beside me. I could finally give my body the break it deserved as my lustful greed was quelled for now.

“Not gonna lie, I kinda missed that.” Johnny said.

Yuta hummed in agreement which got me thinking. We did all have good chemistry together and it was all for fun and after the hell I went through fun was exactly what I deserved. “Should we do it again? Like hook up? The three of us?” He asked.

“Well we’ve all fucked and then had this threesome so why stop now?”

#Johnny Fanfic #JOHNNY SMUT #johnny suh #johnny seo #johnny nct #johnny fanfiction #yuta smut #yuta nct #yuta fanfic #nakamoto yuta #yuta fanfiction #nct yuta #NCT #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 fanfiction #NCT 127 #nct 127 smut

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years ago

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Ninety-Nine: Lawnmower ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Mikoto, Uchiha Fugaku ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life] [ AO3 Link ]

“So, got any summer plans, Sasuke?”

“Hn...not really.”

“No big trips, orrr...anything?”

“Nope,” the Uchiha replies, leaning his chin in a hand and regarding Naruto boredly. “Just a plain, boring old Summer.”

“Well that’s…” Lips purse. “...dumb.”

“Well what are you going to be doing?”

“My godfather’s taking us to the beach in a few weeks! And I’m thinkin’ about applying for a part-time job!”

“...oh yeah?”

“Yeah! Get some spendin’ money, man! There’s some games coming out this summer I wanna get, and you know my PC’s gonna need some upgrades if I’m gonna be running the new stuff. And I might see about saving up for a better car. I mean, the one I’ve got runs, but...it’s a gas guzzler, man...and it’s a pain to take Sakura anywhere cuz it’s so expensive!”

“Mm.” Mostly tuning the blond’s rambling out, Sasuke instead focuses on one aspect in particular: that being jobs. He hadn’t really considered it, but...that might not be a bad idea. Sasuke gets an allowance for keeping up with his chores, but...well, it’s never a bad thing to pad his pockets a bit, right?

But what would he do…? Surely everyone else is going to have the same idea and snap up any jobs for their age group the minute classes get out for the Summer. Actual employment might not be the way to go about it. Maybe something that he can just...do on his own...but what?

“...sucks cuz I hate mowing the lawn, y’know? It’s so boring and it takes forever...I’d rather do dishes!”

A blink, and then - “...that’s it.”

“Huh?” Naruto perks a brow as the last bell of the day rings out.

“...never mind. Have fun at the beach, huh?”

“That’s not for a few weeks, ya dummy! Weren’t you listening?”

Turning back from the doorway, Sasuke shrugs. “Guess not.”

“You -!”

Stepping out into the hall, Sasuke starts to formulate a plan. He lives in a...fairly decent neighborhood. Nice, but not too nice. Pretty sure nobody has a gardener. Which means less competition. His dad has both a push mower, and a riding lawnmower. Surely Fugaku won’t mind if Sasuke uses them...so long as he doesn’t break them, and makes sure there’s still gas in them when he brings them back. He can put up flyers and advertise. Even if just one household hires him, if they want him to come back once or twice a week, it’ll add up. And, if he does a good job, maybe word will spread and he can pick up more clients that way.

A bit old-fashioned, mowing yards for the Summer, but if no one else wants to do it, he’ll gladly capitalize.

After a pause, he snorts. Maybe Jiraiya will hire him if Naruto gets obstinate enough.

Riding his bike back home, Sasuke stashes it in the garage. His dad won’t be home for a few hours, but he’ll try shooting him a text

[ Hey dad, got a question for you when you’ve got a sec. ]

Waiting for a reply, he moves to the kitchen, raiding the fridge as his mother pours herself a glass of lemonade.

“Hey hun! Finally free for the Summer, huh? That’s exciting!”

“Yup,” he replies, munching into an apple.

“Going to spend some time with your friends now that you won’t be buried under a mountain of homework?”

Scoffing, he jokes, “What friends?”

“Sasuke Uchiha, I swear…”

Grinning, he feels his phone buzz as he heads toward his room.

[ I’m suspicious, but sure. What’s on your mind? ]

Apple in his teeth to free up his hands, Sasuke pushes into his bedroom and types up a reply.

[ Could I use the mowing equipment for a job? Wanna try maybe doing that for some extra cash this Summer. Promise I won’t break anything… ]

Powering on his computer, Sasuke opens up his favorite image editing software. Time to make up those flyers...even if maybe he’s getting a bit ahead of himself. Fugaku hasn’t agreed yet, but...surely he will, right?

[ Taking an entrepreneurial route, eh? Just like your father. ]

Scoffing at his dad’s teasing, Sasuke just asks, [ So is that a yes, or a no? ]

[ A tentative yes, but you have to do our yard for free. ]

[ I guess I can give you guys a discount. ]

[ Deal. ]

Grinning, Sasuke abandons his phone and keeps working on his ads. He’s not a genius with image editing, but...it looks decent enough. Add a few tabs along the bottom to pull off with his name and number, aaand...print!

A few copies in hand, he calls a temporary goodbye to Mikoto before heading out into the neighborhood, attaching the posters to some telephone poles with a stapler.

And now...all there is to do is...wait!

The first day, no calls...which honestly he expects. The next day...nothing. When four days pass without a peep on his cell (except Naruto being obnoxious…), Sasuke honestly starts to wonder if this was a stupid idea.

Grumpily browsing the net that afternoon, he barely reacts as his phone vibrates. A text. Plucking the mobile from his desk, he opens the message quickly, thinking it has to be the blond again. But...a double take shows no previous messages. This is someone new.

...wait a minute!

Refocusing, he leans over the screen, eyes scanning the message.

[ Hi, my dad saw your ad for lawn mowing? Are you still doing that? ]

A moment passes with a blank stare before scrambling to reply.

[ Yes, I’m still taking jobs. ] It’s not like he has to admit he hasn’t gotten any yet… [ All I need to know is the address and name, and whenever you want me there. It’s 15/hour. ] He mentioned on the flyer, but...well, it doesn’t hurt to remind them.

A few minutes pass in silence, and he assumes this guy must be talking to his dad. Trying not to just sit and stare, he busies himself with his computer again...and then another buzz.

[ Perfect! Is Friday afternoon okay? ]

[ That’ll be great. ]

With that arranged, he receives the address. The dad’s name is Hiashi, and...his name is Hinata?

...wait...that’s a girl’s name, right? It...vaguely rings a bell for some reason…? Oh well, he’ll find out Friday.

That morning, Sasuke loads everything onto the little flatbed trailer, ensuring everything is running okay before heading off. It’s a few blocks north...not too bad, really. Scanning addresses, he pulls to the curb in front of a sizeable white house with a nice front lawn. Seems this is the place.

Hopping out of the truck, he pauses as the front door opens. Rather than a grown man, however...a teenage girl walks down the path toward him, looking a little...apprehensive?

“Hi,” she offers, tucking hair behind an ear shyly. “You’re, uh...you’re Sasuke, right?”

“Yeah. Hinata?”

“Mhm. Sorry, my dad’s not here, he’s...he’s working. But he said to just do...whatever it is you do. I’ve got a signed check, so...I just need to fill it out depending on...how long it takes you…?”

Nodding along, Sasuke fights his foggy memory. She looks...kinda familiar? But he can’t quite place her. “Sounds good. Is it just the front, or…?”

“Oh, no - there’s a back, too. I, um...I went ahead and cleared it all off, so there’s nothing - there’s nothing on the grass.”

“...thanks.”

She gives a flicker of a nervous smile, then...about-faces back toward the house.

Huh...shy little thing.

Deciding on the push mower, Sasuke gets to work, trimming up the green grass and emptying the bagger into huge garbage bags to take and compost. Once he neatens up the edges, it’s into the backyard he goes.

And...wow. It’s...really pretty? There are flowers everywhere, a brick patio coming off the rear door. Trees make some shade and give the yard a bit more character.

Well...no time to gawk. He’s got work to do.

All the while, he doesn’t notice a face peek out every so often through a window upstairs at him.

All in all, it takes him two and a half hours, start to finish. Powering down the mower, he heaves a sigh, arm wiping at his brow.

It’s then the glass sliding door opens, and Hinata reappears. She carefully carries an icy glass of lemonade. “Here…”

A blink. “...thanks.” Taking off his gloves, he accepts the drink and tries not to just rudely down it.

“You...you did a r-really nice job!”

Swallow. “Thanks. You have a pretty yard.”

“Thank you...I take care of all the flowers.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Considering her as she smiles at them, Sasuke decides to just...ask. “Sorry if this is rude, but...do I know you?”

Glancing back to him, she blinks. “I...think we went to the same elementary school…? But I’ve been homeschooled for, um...for a long time now.”

...well that explains it. And at her words, it clicks. “...ohhh, now I remember. You were always stalking after Naruto, right?”

Her cheeks flare red. “I...I was n-not stalking! I was just shy!”

“...uh huh,” he replies, taking another sip.

“...a-anyway, it - it doesn’t matter. I haven’t seen him in...a long time. Just as well, really. He never really liked me.”

“Nah, he was just too preoccupied with Sakura. I dunno if Naruto’s capable of actually disliking someone, honestly.”

In spite of herself, Hinata smiles. “...yeah. He was always, um...a-always very friendly.”

“Almost too friendly at times.”

A light giggle escapes her...and then she stiffens. “Oh, I...I should get you your check…”

“I’m not in any hurry. I don’t have any other jobs today,” Sasuke assures her. “Take your time.”

“Oh...well, would you -? I mean, can you come back next week? You do r-really good work!”

“Thanks. And yeah, I can do that. Should I just...plan on making this a regular thing?”

“Sure! My dad said if you did a good job, he’d have you back. Um…” Making her way in, Hinata just...disappears.

Not sure if he should follow - he’s covered in dust and grass clippings - Sasuke instead moves to wait by the slider until she returns, check in hand.

“Here you go!”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you! And, um...I-I guess I’ll see you next week…?”

...something about her tone and phrasing makes him blink. “...yeah. Was this time okay…?”

“Perfect! A-any time in the afternoon is fine, really. Dad’s at work, and...well, I’ll be here.”

“All right.”

Packing up, Sasuke makes sure everything is secure before moving to get into the cab...then noticing Hinata by the front door. After a pause, he...waves.

...she waves back.

A bit...unsure, he gets in, revving the engine and heading back around toward home. What was that all about…?

...maybe he’ll find out next week.

.oOo.

Guhhh, late as usual, lol - tired, so I'll keep this short. Pretty basic idea, and...not quite as fluffy as I'd like, but I guess it works! I think someone's going to enjoy Sasuke working for her all Summer~ Anyway, I gotta head to bed, so...thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uzumaki naruto #uchiha mikoto #uchiha fugaku #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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agustdef · 5 years ago

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Here & Now - Chapter 2

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Fluff; Chill romance

Word Count: 1,963

Warning: None.

Banner Marker: @dee-ehn

A week of me constantly working felt like a month. I was physically and mentally drained, but I had to keep going. The light at the end of the tunnel was so close and I could just imagine the rest that I'd get as if it were happening.

"Kendall!"

The screaming of my name sent me jolting forward and out of the daydream, I'd slipped into. Blinking a few times I regained my bearings and stared at Marcus with wide eyes. He just frowned, his eyes holding what felt like disappointment.

"How much sleep did you get on the plane?'

"Three hours."

"And when you got home?"

"Three hours?"

He sighed and I guessed he wasn't appeased with my answers. "How much sleep did you get while in New York?"

For a moment I paused, thinking about it. After a few seconds too long he slapped the table, calling on my attention again.

"Actually, I slept every night for at least seven hours. The most consistent it's been for about a month. I'm just using too much of myself. Working my brain to meet all deadlines and also trying to get everything that I want to out of me. Too much creative output methinks."

Shrugging I grabbed the piece of Belgian waffle I'd been eating, dipped it into syrup and shoved it into my face.

Marcus released another sigh, his face softening. He was entering one of his big brother modes, I could feel it. I always did my best to not worry him that much, but sometimes it just couldn't be helped.

"You're taking a break from all work after this. You look dead most of the time, even with that sparkle of joy in your eyes. Plus your skin looks dull. Where is that radiant brown skin that you've honed with your sixty different skincare products."

A laugh escaped me and I almost choked on the waffle. He was a freaking dork.

"My skin looks just fine, thank you very much. Never come for it again. And I promise I will be taking a break. I'm going to be sleeping, eating and seeing several movies. Also catching up on music."

The last words had him narrowing his eyes and opening his mouth to say something.

"Not for inspo nor for work. I'm behind on some releases and need to catch up and expand my library. We both know that I'd be driven mad if I couldn't at the very least listen to music."

Marcus' lips pursed and then he nodded. He knew that I was right. I couldn't fully promise to control my impulse to get work of some kind done, but I would at the very least try for my sake, his and my literary agent, Ara.

"Okay. Even though I want to just ban you from work now we're having a brunch meeting for a reason." He paused and took a sip of his nasty earl grey tea.

Clearing his throat he turned his attention back to me. "You know the projects you have coming up, it's not a lot and you've worked with at least one person on all of them before. So obviously I'm not too worried about that. You have meetings with the producers for Halsey's album and then the ones for Bruno on Tuesday. Thankfully, they're hours apart so you have time to sprint to the other side of the city."

As he spoke I scrolled through my phone's planner, making sure that I had all those things noted somewhere. I'd have reminders, but I preferred to have it on me at all times. I'd end up cross-checking them with the things in my paper planner.

"Got it."

He nodded and scanned his own phone, then something in the air shifted. Marcus glanced up at me with this serious expression that had me prepared to shit myself.

"And then there's the meeting with Suga in a week."

His grave expression only lasted for a second and then he was smirking at me. Wiggling his eyebrows he did this weird dance that I never wanted to see again. I felt very embarrassed and also wanted to launch something at him because he was teasing me.

"Stop."

"Stop what? I'm just saying you have a meeting next week. A meeting with someone you fangirl over. Someone you've said some very interesting things about." He sounded so smug.

"And? I've fangirled about most of the people I've gotten to work with. Full on thirsted. Brendon Urie, Hayley Kiyoko, Tinashe, Halsey, Trey Songz, Rihanna. Hell, I'm in post-production with Hanbin. And everyone knows how deep that thirst ran." I rolled my eyes and sipped my iced green tea.

"True. But come on, we both know your composure can suck sometimes. Even you, woman with the resting bitch, sad and/or tired face slips up. And I'm more than sure that he will catch you slipping." He enunciated every word, growing more pleased with himself every second.

My cheeks were burning, from embarrassment and annoyance. I flipped him off and stared into his eyes. "Keep fucking with me and I will shave your head. All the hard work for those waves will go out the window."

And as usual, it shut him down. He knew I'd never go that far, but I was not above some form of retaliation that he wouldn't see coming. We'd known each other for well over six years, and even though we spent 2 years, not on speaking terms friendship wise his work as my agent kept him in the loop of my behavior.

Silence reigned as we finished off our food and waved down the waiter to order the burger we'd been eyeing. Once that was taken care of I felt this sort of shyness overtake me. It wasn't foreign, because I was naturally shy, but with a close friend, it felt misplaced.

Clearing my throat I felt my cheeks burning again. "So... um, any particular reason that they asked me? Like the email said that he wanted to work with me, but even then I have no clue why. I asked Hals and she denies having any part in it."

Marcus failed to keep the smirk from making its way back onto his face. He tried hard, the corners of his mouth quirking up and down. Eventually, he just gave up.

"Oh. Well, it's not like you're some unknown producer. You've made a name for yourself with how consistently good your work is. Plus people know that you dabble in a little of everything and are willing to experiment. Plus if you've forgotten you've done a fair amount of work in the world of k-pop. Stray Kids, Jackson Wang, Loco, Mamamoo. You just finished working with B.I., someone who is arguably one of the best producers and writers out there."

"But..."

Reaching across the table he used his hand to cover my mouth, "No buts. You've created a rep for being good at your job and great to work with, it's not surprising that he or anyone else might want to work with you. Stop it."

Swatting his hand away I glared at him, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

"Fine. What time is the meeting?" I asked.

Just before he could speak the massive burger was sat in front of us with a mountain of fries. My stomach felt tight after the waffles and bacon, but upon seeing the beauty made some room. I ordered ginger ale for burping purposes and then grabbed the knife, cutting the burger in half.

"It's going to be on Wednesday at two. You're free that whole day, including deadlines for Ara because those edits are obviously due tomorrow. So you can relax all day until that and perhaps prepare some stuff to show him to get the vibe he's going for."

I took a huge bite of the cheeseburger as I mulled over what he said. One thing dawned on me as I swallowed.

"What is this for exactly. You cut off all my access to the emails and I'd like not to be in the dark about it."

"Oh, he's releasing more Agust D music," he said nonchalantly.

My eyes widened and I felt like my eyes would roll out of their sockets because of it. I'd assumed it was a BTS thing or some other BigHit artists situation, not his solo stuff.

"I want to fire you so bad," I said once I regained my composure.

"Nah, you can't and you won't. You know I do my job too well and this is the only time I've withheld information for my own amusement."

"I hate you a little bit. Not gonna lie." I shoved several fries into my mouth and chomp as I glared at him.

Marcus just winked at me and continued stuff his face with food. No more talk of work happened, we just sat and eat our food occasionally making conversation of some random topic like the character I named after him and then murdered. It had been over a year since that book was written, but with the last of the edits being due his salt levels had risen again.

He ranted and raved about how rude it was, killing a dear friend. One would think I'd actually done the deed and somehow brought him back to life. I had to admit it was funny how riled he was about it though.

Right before he started listing the reasons why I should change the character name my phone vibrated on the table. An image of Hals flashed onto the screen and I thanked Zeus for the interruption.

Picking up the phone I wasn't given the chance to speak because she was whispering with someone in the background. When she stopped I interjected.

"Hello?"

"Ken! Hi, where are you?" She got right to the point.

"I'm out wrapping up a meeting with Marcus. Is there something you needed?" As I spoke to her Marcus waved down our waiter and requested the check.

"Yes, but depends on how you answer the next question. Which is are you busy for the rest of the day?"

She sounded too happy like she was up to something and I didn't like it one bit.

"Besides doing a read through no. Why?"

A laugh could be heard on the other end, which was very much so hers though she'd moved away. Another voice said something, but I couldn't quite make out what it was.

"I could hang up."

"Wait, no. I wanted to see if you wanted to hang out and work on some stuff. Nothing serious, just run a few things by you and we spend time together. You can even do your read through." She's pulled it together and sounded normal, but I was still suspect.

Glancing down at my watch I saw it was only almost one and I had all the time in the world to get shit down. That and I only had half the book left and that wouldn't take me much.

"Fine. I'll be there in half an hour."

"Good. You know how to get in. Love you. Bye."

She hung up quick, leaving me no chance to respond to her. Shrugging I pushed the phone into my pocket and looked up in time to see the waiter hand Marcus his receipt. When he got up so did I and we headed out of the restaurant.

"Need me to drop you off?" he asked.

"Nah. I can just Uber there, we're going different directions," I said.

The sun was so bright that my glasses weren't transitioning fast enough to save me and I couldn't really see him.

"Okay. Be safe." He reached over and ruffled my hair, sending the curls I'd worked hard to keep intact going everywhere.

Before I regained sight he was gone, knowing I'd hurt him. Rolling my eyes I ordered and uber and used the window the restaurant to reset my fro. By the time it was sitting how it once was the car pulled up and I eagerly fled to the safety of air conditioning.

It only took fifteen minutes to get to her place because for the first time ever traffic in LA was being kind to me. I hopped out of the car with a nod to the driver and made a beeline to her placed. Once there I knocked and was met with her smiling face. As usual her smile made me smile and she pulled me in for a tight hug.

"Thank you for coming."

"It's no problem, love."

She pulled away and let me in. I kicked off my shoes and was several steps in before I noticed the person standing across the living room. His back was to me and then he turned around, making my eyes widen a fraction before I got it together.

Halsey smiled and I could see the mischief in it. "I forgot to tell you I had a visitor. Kendall this is Yoongi, Yoongi this is Kendall. You'd be more familiar with the name Sailor V. You're working together soon, right?'

"Hi," I said still processing.

He also appeared surprised. "Hello."

#min yoongi #suga #yoongi #bts #original character #suga x oc #bts fanfic #fanfiction #bts fanfiction #producer!oc #writer!oc #oc #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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sofreakinmanyfandoms · 6 years ago

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Rebound - Chapter 4

@cryforfandoms, I know I have you beta-ing this, but it’s time to post it and I literally just finished writing it five minutes ago. I promise to have the next chapter done early enough for you to read it in advance.

That said...this has literally no editing because I got sucked into a Stony A/B/O fic and I’m dying to get back to it. I almost didn’t get the chapter done because I couldn’t pull myself away.

Why did writing this take so long? Because I hate totally BSing things, and that’s what I did. The farm is a real place in Queens, and some of this is stuff they have listed on their events page, but I’ve never been that far north on the east coast so I’m basing pretty much everything off of my experiences on the mid-western farms I visited while in college.

Word count: 1338

Warnings: Alcoholism starts to rear its ugly head. There are many thirsty thoughts. I mean, reader is spending the day with Steve, of course there are thirsty thoughts.

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

Was this a date? If it was, what were you supposed to wear? Heck, if it wasn’t, what were you supposed to wear? You stood in front of your closet mirror, a frown etched into your brow. With a sigh, you finally settled on your favorite sweater and some soft leggings. At least you could be somewhat comfortable physically if not mentally.

A knock on the apartment door brought you out of your admittedly less-than-productive thoughts. Opening it, you found Steve standing there in the same jacket he’d been wearing earlier, though he’d changed into a light blue button-down and… good grief, were those leather motorcycle pants? Either the man knew exactly how to make himself look his most attractive or he was completely oblivious to the effect he had on the straight female and gay male populations. You suspected it was the latter, which somehow made him even more attractive, and you almost hated him for it.

“Any recommendations for what jacket I wear?” you asked him, motioning him into the apartment. “You know, since I have no idea what to dress for?”

“Um, something fairly warm,” he said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. The man would kill you with how oblivious he was before the day was over. “It’s a little chilly out and we’ll be taking my bike. Oh, and shoes you can walk in.”

That caught your attention. Mr. Innocent’s leather pants were functional, not aesthetical. “You have a bike?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “bought her in high school and fixed her up when I got back from the war. I’ve found that just riding for a stretch of time on the highway helps clear my head pretty well.”

“Okay, then.” You grabbed one of Clint’s leather jackets from the closet (might as well wear something that would protect you if the hunk of masculine perfection turned out to be a bad driver) and slipped into your most comfortable pair of boots. “Lead the way.”

Your eyes widened at the two of you exited the building and your eyes fell on the sleek black Harley.

“When you said you had a bike, you really meant you had a bike. She’s a beauty.”

“Thanks,” he beamed, a hint of pride coming through. “I try to keep her nice.”

“You’re doing a great job from what I can tell.”

You mounted the bike behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Even through his clothing you could feel the flex of his abs when he shifted his weight for turns. How had you not noticed those muscles when you woke up this morning? If you couldn’t have alcohol to distract you, at least you had this specimen to keep your mind occupied.

Though you hadn’t asked where you were going, the ride was longer than you had expected. It was almost 40 minutes before Steve slowed and pulled into… a dirt parking lot. It wasn’t even gravel; it was straight up dirt with grass growing where it hadn’t been worn down by people driving over it.

“Well,” Steve said as the two of you dismounted, “we’re here.”

The sign said “Queen’s County Farm Museum,” and you fought back the urge to groan. What kind of date was this supposed to be?

“I, uh, wasn’t sure what sort of thing you’d like,” Steve said, seemly sensing your lack of enthusiasm, “but they’re doing a fall festival today. Haunted house, hayrides, live music, petting zoo – they’re even keeping their corn maze open late so people can do it in the dark.”

A fall festival with Halloween-type stuff? That… actually sounded kind of fun. You gave him a smile and linked your arm in his.

“It’s perfect. Lead the way, Steve.”

----------

Face painting. They’d even had face painting. You laughed as you looked at Steve, his face painted like an orange striped kitten. Your own panda design was getting itchy as it dried, but you didn’t mind. You hadn’t felt this light since the early days of dating Brock.

You’d started with the hayride. A lovely elderly couple had sat next to you and the lady had told you how she and her husband had met on a hayride nearly sixty years ago. They tried to go on one every year in memory of that first meeting. It had been a really sweet story, even if her implication for you and Steve had made the two of you blush.

The pumpkin patch had been next. You’d found a pumpkin small enough you could carry it back with you, but round enough that it would still make a good jack-o-lantern. It had taken almost an hour and Steve had looked ready to smash the next pumpkin you rejected before you saw it. He’d been so relieved you’d found one that he’d almost tripped over five others on the way to pay for it.

Then you’d found the face painting, followed by a trip into the haunted house. It was geared towards kids so you didn’t think it was very scary, but Steve had definitely jumped and grabbed your hand a few times. It had been that much funnier with his face paint on.

You’d probably never admit it, but the petting zoo had been your favorite. There were two baby goats that were just the cutest things you’d ever seen and a foal that seemed to really want to eat Steve’s shirt.

Now it was almost 9 pm and the two of you had just made it out of the corn maze. Steve was slightly freaking out because he’d stuck his hand in a spider’s web and couldn’t quite get it all off. The farm was closing for the night, so the two of you made your way back to his bike. You subtly reached out and brushed a spider off the back of his shoulder. He probably shouldn’t ever find out it was there.

The ride back was as peaceful as the wind down a highway on a bike surrounded by traffic could be. You kept your pumpkin tucked carefully under one arm, and Steve was careful around corners since you only had the other arm around his waist. At least, that’s what you assumed. (He was actually doing it because your grip tighten around him on the turns, and he was trying to draw out the time he could feel you pressed that much closer to him.)

He dropped you off with a smile and a request to see you tomorrow evening whether Clint let you back in The Archer or not. Why not? After all, he was practically a Greek sculpture of a man and you needed something to distract you anyway.

But even as distracting as the day had been, once you were alone in your apartment the images and emotions all came back. You needed a drink and you needed it now. With a sigh, you grabbed a coat and slipped your boots back on. It was too late to buy any hard liquor, but the convenience store at the corner had beer. That would have to do.

----------

Clint came home after a long day at the bar, ready to collapse in bed and sleep until the sun was high tomorrow. What he wasn’t ready for was the sight of you passed out on the couch, surrounded by a dozen beer bottles.

He tried to unclench his jaw as he pulled out his phone and dialed Steve’s number.

“Hello?” Steve sounded like Clint had woken him up.

“The point of not letting her in the bar tonight was so she’d have a night of not drinking.”

“Huh?” The man sounded genuinely confused. “What are you talking about, Clint?”

“Y/N. I thought you were taking her out so she could have a non-alcoholic distraction?”

“I did,” Steve insisted, suddenly sounding much more awake. “There was no alcohol involved, I promise. We went to a fall festival. It was a family thing, there wasn’t even hard cider.”

Uh oh. Clint sighed. “Then we have a problem…”

#rebound #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #reader #x reader #modern!au #au #queens county farm museum #date #date?#alcohol #addiction #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #masterlist #i still suck at tagging

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