#saw a kid carrying one of these down the sidewalk in the middle of a city today and had an epiphany

[maybe-a-dinosaur]

BABY IWA WITH ONE OF THESE

mud caked under fingernails four (4) bandaids on his person shorts on backwards he carries it around with him Everywhere won’t leave the house without it he’s like a little buisness man with a brief case but he swings his arms like a madman when he walks so if there’s anything alive in there it won’t be for long. he takes his job very seriously anytime he sees a Critter he bolts after it to catch it, contain it, and study it for science. he’s very adamantly a catch and release kinda guy, but sometimes the Critter is just Too cool and he carries around for a little while to show other people (his mom and oikawa).

tooru absolutely REFUSES to go within five feet of the Critter Cage after an unfortunate incident involving a loose door and a flying beetle and lots of screaming. if iwa is carrying it tooru has no choice but to walk an uncomfortable distance away no matter how much he’s cajoled and reassured that it is in fact empty. hajime chases him around with it and tooru YELLS “IWA-CHAAAANNN” it’s like magnets repelling each other they Can’t Get Close. oikawa finds it years later snooping around in iwaizumi’s house and trips over himself trying to get away he shrieks and hajime comes running and fucking loses it when he finds out he’s still scared of it.

anyway the Critter Catcher™️ is an extension of baby iwa’s arm for an entire year of his young life he covers it in stickers and mud and the paint is almost completely chipped off the wire is dented irreparably from the time he caught a squirrel and put it in there even when he goes to restaurants it sits on the table next to him.

[1d1195]

Dolcezza II

Read the first part here: Dolcezza

Glad we liked the first part so much! More tooth-rotting cuteness, sweetness, fluff, and the tiniest bit of angst.

This part (as is tradition with my second parts) doesn't really make a whole lot of cohesive sense, but the next parts should be a little more put together as a whole.

~6.7k words

“I think I would let her break m’heart,” he told Niall while they cleaned the kitchen at the end of the night about a month after she had moved in. His infatuation never wavered. But he admired her from afar. “I’d thank her,” he smiled to himself as he pretended the gravity of such a statement was a joke. Not nearly as big a deal as Niall knew it to be.

He knew he was staring. From the second he laid eyes on her, the staring started. There was no other way to describe what had happened. Harry was overwhelmed with how pretty she looked. She emanated beauty and kindness like perfume. Harry was sick with how much he adored it. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was her sole purpose in life just to look so beautiful and make him, specifically, speechless. Principessa rolled off his tongue the moment he saw her. Even though she was stunned and uttering a sad little sound of injury that he regrettably caused when she tumbled to the ground. It was instinctive. She was a princess. It was obvious.

But after only a few moments of time spent together... Maybe it was only obvious to everyone but her.

Or maybe Harry was just so overwhelmed it was just one of those things. He wasn’t kidding when he told her. Compulsive. It seemed wrong to call her anything but Principessa.

In the time that she moved in, to the present, Harry was the butt of most jokes when it came to his infatuation with her. “Is that our Principessa?” Niall teased Harry frequently. Especially when he looked longingly out the front window. The restaurant was set up so there was an opening from the kitchen peering over the main room. It wasn’t the biggest restaurant in the world, but people lined up on the sidewalk in any weather every Thursday, Friday, Saturday night without fail. The other nights were comfortably busy, and Harry was so grateful to work in a place as nice as this. Antonio was the best boss and Niall was one of his best friends.

Even more of a reason Niall teased Harry when the pretty girl got in and out of her car parked out front of the building with her phone pressed to her ear or something on her hip carrying it up the steps to her place. It took every ounce of Harry’s self-control not to run out there and take her stuff from her in the middle of cooking something every time he saw her so that he could help her.

Harry knew Niall was kidding but he didn’t like the way he said it. The teasing didn’t feel nice, and she deserved—no needed—everything that had to do with her be the nicest and sweetest thing in the world. “Ni, she’s so pretty and sweet,” he reminded him as they chopped the veggies for the day. Niall smirked at his friend who was staring at carrots and onions like they were the features of her face.

“She is pretty,” he nodded knowingly, toning down the sound of teasing in his voice. It was nice to hear Harry talk about someone like that. It had been a long while since he cared for someone the way he seemed to care for her already. Niall saw how captivated Harry was by her the second he saw her. He knew his friend was totally done for; but it was nice.

For a number of years (and after several bad bouts of heartache) Harry claimed he didn’t have time to fall in love. He worked six nights a week. On his day off, he often found himself at the restaurant anyway because his best friends were there. Work didn’t feel like work for Harry. So, dating would have been a distraction, a complication. Something Harry couldn’t fathom because of how busy his work kept him.

But Niall knew it was really that Harry thought it was too much to bear another heartbreak. Heartbreak that may not even happen, as Niall liked to point out. But Harry couldn’t see it that way.

Not until she was there, knocking Harry off his feet literally and figuratively.

“I think I would let her break m’heart,” he told Niall while they cleaned the kitchen at the end of the night about a month after she had moved in. His infatuation never wavered. But he admired her from afar. “I’d thank her,” he smiled to himself as he pretended the gravity of such a statement was a joke. Not nearly as big a deal as Niall knew it to be.

Harry thought it was fate he always managed to catch sight of her whenever she was outside the restaurant; usually at her car grabbing something or putting it away. Other times, when she entered the restaurant, he was always able to see her kindly holding the door for an older couple or waving to a small child. Harry thought it was some unknown power that drew him to her and made him catch her eye every time she was within vision and distance.

She gave a wave to the host and sauntered through the main room to get to the bar just on the other side of the opening to the kitchen. A perfect view for him to admire her while he peeled veggies for Niall to chop throughout the night.

“Hi Principessa,” he smiled at her through the opening from the kitchen, just as he did every time that she situated herself in his view. Maybe Harry was reading into it. He knew he was a little lovesick with the idea of her. He tried to dial it back as much as possible so as not to scare her. But there were some things he simply couldn’t help.

On Wednesdays, she sat at the bar, ordered a drink, and ate some food. She always asked for a side of extra garlic bread and always asked if she could have a bigger portion (the angel she was, she promised she would of course pay more; she just wanted some for lunch the next day). Harry loved Wednesdays so he could gaze at her extensively from that opening to the kitchen. She usually read a book or chatted with whoever was bartending. Every so often, she would strike up a conversation with someone near her making them fall hopelessly in love with her as well. It was usually a sweet older woman who wanted to set her up with her son who was much too young for her.

Harry couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that wracked his body when someone else flirted with her. There was a bit of possessiveness to his infatuation, but he was good at separating himself from it. She wasn’t his and it was okay. If she wanted to date someone, it had nothing to do with him. He would continue to admire her from afar.

But then she would make eye contact with him. He was already looking at her and her eyelids would droop a little and she would look up at him shyly through the prettiest eyelashes he had ever seen, and he hadn’t once thought about eyelashes in his entire life. “Hi Harry,” she smiled so prettily, it made his stomach flip. He felt like a child, the way his cheeks warmed to hear his name on her lips. He busied himself with another task—stirring the tomato sauce to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pot while it simmered. If he could, he would have stared through that opening and watched her the whole time.

Harry was considering quitting his kitchen job so he could be a bartender on Wednesdays just to be another ten feet closer to her. If it weren’t for her kind smile and her sweet voice, Harry would think he was being a bit of an overwhelming presence. But other than making sure all her furniture was properly anchored, he tried to maintain a normal distance from her and only asked her how she was doing each time he saw her. The last thing Harry wanted was to worry her about his presence in her life. Yes, he was effectively in love with her just at first glance. But he wasn’t so enveloped in the feeling that he couldn’t separate himself from it. He would much rather be friends with her than scare her with unwanted attention.

“Go talk to her, it’s slow,” Niall encouraged.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice and hurried to behind the bar and made small talk with her. It took a half hour, and her smile made his stomach churn in the best way. He hadn’t felt this way in so long and he was so glad she was there.

It was unbelievably easy to talk to her. They talked about the restaurant and how her job was going. It was nice she didn’t have to commute far and got to work from home most of the week. She inquired about the coffee shop up the road and if he had any good recommendations for shopping. Harry leaned against the bar and handed over the food from Niall from the window. She asked him if this is what he always wanted to do. He wasn’t sure but he liked it a lot and for now couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He attended culinary school and Antonio was one of the guest chefs in one of his classes. Harry took to him immediately and wanted to work for him and help however he could. He took over the old Italian bakery that was here before him, from his parents and turned it into Dolcezza and while he kept a lot of recipes it was nice to make it a place of his own.

Harry wanted to spend the rest of his life at the bar gazing at the pretty girl while she ate her eggplant parmesan and garlic bread. He wanted to ask her more about herself. Because Harry got the feeling that people didn’t really check on her. There was also an uncomfortable look in her eye when he asked about her job and her life. It was more evident by the moving herself in nearly alone.

“D’you need help with anything, kitten?” He asked.

The furrow between his eyebrows made her want to reach out and smooth the wrinkle there. Harry seemed distraught. But the idea that he was asking if she needed anything made her uncomfortable in a way that was hard to explain. Her parents relied on her a lot—the oldest of three. Her younger siblings relied on her a lot too. Her sister was always sending her essays to read. Her brother asked her for help on his math assignments at least once a week.

They lived more than an hour away from her and the only time she saw them was when she was the one going to visit them. While there, it made her anxious to see her sister leave their parents’ house, a mess from all of her belongings spread on every available surface. Visiting her brother made her anxious for a multitude of other reasons. She thought he was on the fast track to a drinking problem and was constantly reminding him of such to the point he would say things like “don’t worry, Mom.”

She loved her family. There was no question about it. But it was nice to have space between them. It was hard to move away during college and watch them struggle for a few months without her presence to essentially keep everyone in line. Her mother called her the project coordinator of the family. Stuff didn’t get done without her. It felt like she had to tell her mom and dad how to parent her younger siblings a lot of the time. It was exhausting.

So, space was good, regardless of how much she worried about them and their ability to take care of themselves.

As for her friends, Eleanor moving away was worse than any heartbreak she had ever experienced. It was fresh still and she felt really alone without her there to paint her toes or read trashy romance novels while they had spa nights where Louis would bring them pizza. Other than Eleanor, her friends walked all over her. Eleanor watched it firsthand and was happy to tell her it was happening.

She had to separate herself from the group as well—especially once they finished school because if she didn’t, she would probably be cooking dinner for some of them each week or doing their grocery shopping because they were too lazy.

She had done everything on her own for most of her life. She rarely even asked Eleanor for anything. Eleanor usually forced her help onto her which was a necessity in Eleanor’s eyes.

So no. She didn’t need Harry’s help with anything.

But she sort of wished she did, just so he would chat with her for longer.

“Hey Harry,” Niall called through the window. Harry took a quick glance around the restaurant seeing the dinner rush filling in quickly. Unfortunately, he had to get back to Niall’s side and leave her.

He enjoyed talking to her so much, enjoying her gentle laughter. He wanted to give her a kiss good night.

For as long as he could remember, Harry’s favorite color was always orange or blue. But now his favorite color was pink—the color of her cheeks whenever he flirted with her. “Have a good night, Principessa,” he smiled. A wink to replace a kiss he so desperately wanted caused the color to flood her cheeks and he was so grateful that he got to see that pretty, favorite color of his.

“Night, Harry,” she looked so utterly pretty it made him feel like he was melting.

*

Leonardo was Antonio’s four-year-old little boy. He was full of energy and life and made the restaurant a mess when he was around. His skin was olive-toned and with dark wavy hair. He looked like the prince of Italy and acted like it when he arrived.

It was all hands-on deck when he was around. One second without supervision he would be under a table in the main room or sneaking a meatball from the sauce in the kitchen on a plate ready to be served. At least, that’s how it usually was. Today, Leo was situated at the bar coloring in an activity book with the help of the sweet angel that Harry didn’t think he could possibly love more. But somehow here she was, a delight with kids and another piece of Harry was completely captured by her lovely persona.

“Hey Leo, who’s y’pretty date?” Harry asked ruffling his hair as he passed into the kitchen. Leo held up the book, a few of the markers he was using fell to the floor. He winked at the sweet girl as she hopped down from her seat to grab them. Her face turned that gorgeous pink he dreamed about at his sweet words and the little gesture he made toward her. She grinned back at him with a little eye roll at his kind compliment.

Leo giggled sweetly as he showed off his coloring book. “We’re coloring.”

“Oh? S’lovely. Can y’color something for me t’hang in the kitchen?” Harry asked. He nodded excitedly and went to work on the next page. “Y’on Leo duty?”

“M’babysitting,” Leo explained before she could get a word out.

“Excusa,” Harry chuckled. “You’re babysitting, Leo?” Harry repeated, while she put the markers back in front of Leo and got back into her seat.

“He is,” she smirked. “Mumma and Dadda came in to eat with Leo. Their sitter cancelled and they mentioned they haven’t been on a date since they found out about the baby almost four months ago,” she explained. “So, I asked if Leo would want to keep me company tonight.”

Harry’s heart warmed as it always did because of her kindness. Selflessness. It was overwhelming. “S’nice, Principessa.”

“Prin-pessa?” Leo asked, his little lisp messing up the nickname. He turned his attention back to the girl beside him with wide eyes. She shook her head at Harry.

“Oh yeah, Leo,” Harry nodded affirmatively ignoring her little brush off—noticing that her cheeks were once more warming at his nickname for her. “Don’t y’think she looks like a princess?”

He nodded in agreement. She rolled her eyes again, but the smile and pink of her cheeks remained on her face, which made Harry feel like he had won the lottery. “I’m hungry,” Leo told her.

“Yeah? Want some spaghetti?” She asked.

He nodded. “Can I help make it?”

She glanced behind her at the rush of people coming in and knew that a little one in the kitchen would not be ideal. “Hmm...I think we better let Harry take care of dinner. But after you eat, we can head upstairs and make something yummy for dessert. How’s that sound?”

He nodded. “So, we can keep coloring?”

“Absolutely.”

Harry didn’t want to cook. He didn’t want to move from that window and move his gaze away from the angel sitting at the bar. She was too good and Harry was too in love. It seemed impossible that he would get anything done for the rest of his life if she was going to be around.

But he wouldn’t want her anywhere else.

*

Leo was getting cranky toward the end of the night. He wanted to see his mom and dad and she was struggling to maintain a bit of control. He was in a t-shirt she had from a 5k she and Eleanor had walked for charity. He was missing his mom and dad, and she knew it wasn’t going to be easy to keep him calm until they came to pick him up. By then, he would be sound asleep.

Hopefully.

“Do you want to watch a movie, honey?” She asked as he got more teary and grumpier by the second.

He shook his head. She could see the frustration in his little body. She frowned at his response. “Hey, Leo?” She said softly. “I know you’re upset and you’re missing Mommy and Daddy. We gotta pass the time a little bit so they’ll be back faster. Can you think of something you’d like to do while we wait?”

“Can we color more?”

She had left the coloring supplies at the restaurant. Leo had his own little cubby out back in the staff room behind the kitchen. Harry had brought it back there for her after they left to make their cupcakes. It didn’t seem like something she needed when she moved in because she hadn’t necessarily planned on babysitting. But now she was already considering her Target run tomorrow to get activities the next time she offered to watch Leo.

She was quick on her feet though. “Yeah, let me just...see if Harry can bring it up.”

As she dialed on her phone to call the restaurant, she wondered who would answer. By now she had lived above the Italian oasis for nearly three months. They all knew her name and she was surprised they didn’t have her number saved. “Dolcezza Ristorante, how can I help you?”

“Hi...uh...can I talk to Harry?”

“Harry?” The voice asked curiously. She didn’t know who it was unfortunately. She was hoping it would be one of Antonio’s nephews but alas. She could tell the girl at the other end of the line didn’t like that she was requesting Harry’s attention.

She felt a wave of awkwardness wash over her. “Err...yeah.”

There was a bit of silence, some chatter as whoever answered walked toward the kitchen. She could hear the clanging of dishes and pans, the dishwasher humming as she got closer. There was a muffled exchange of words. “Me?” Her face warmed at the sound of the voice that she was certain she could pick out of a crowd. It made her feel ridiculous that she recognized Harry’s voice.

Even more ridiculous that her heart skipped a beat at the sound of it as well.

“Hello?” He sounded confused as he answered. But his voice sounded so warm. Like someone reading a bedtime story to her. Even though he only spoke one word.

“Hi Harry,” she smiled into the phone.

There was a loud clang from his end as something clearly toppled to the floor. There was an uproar of voices shouting and a few curse words. She had to pull the phone away from her ear at the noise and she glanced at Leo briefly. She was grateful he was feigning calmness as he waited utterly patiently—especially for a for a four-year-old, close to bed time, and missing his mom and dad. “Uh...sorry... Hi, Principessa,” he murmured. “Y’okay? Something wrong?” He asked nervously.

There was a pang of adoration for someone that cared about her well-being. No one ever really worried about her. Except for Eleanor. It wasn’t her fault but there was only so much Eleanor could worry about from a plane ride away. “No, no... we’re fine,” she promised. “Just...I hate to bother you, but if you have a minute, could you bring the coloring book up here? Leo’s missing Mommy and Daddy and wants to color some more to pass the time till they get here,” she explained.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Course,” the sound of the kitchen dissipated as he walked toward that back room to get Leo’s book. “I’ll be right up,” the phone call ended and shortly after she heard his footsteps coming up the steps and a gentle knock on the door.

She hurried to open it, Leo following behind her and peering from behind her legs. There Harry was, leaning against the door frame. Looking like a model even though he was holding a children’s coloring book. “Hi Principessa,” he smiled brightly.

“Hi Harry,” she grinned and knelt beside Leo. “Can you say thank you to Harry?” She asked.

He looked up at Harry. “Thanks, Harry,” his lower lip stuck out and he sniffled rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

“No problem, lad... y’okay? Y’miss Mummy and Daddy?” He nodded, looking at the floor and turned into her embrace to hide the tears as he sniveled. She rubbed her hand along her back. Harry crouched in front of them as well. She frowned and Harry reached out to smooth his hair down. “I know y’miss them, but y’get t’hang out with this pretty Principessa and color. And when y’go t’sleep Mummy and Daddy will be back,” he reminded him.

He sniffled and rubbed his eye, turning back to Harry. “Can you color with us?” He asked.

“Aw, Leo, honey. Harry’s working right now,” she whispered rubbing his back and kissed the top of his head.

His lower lip wiggled with a threat of tears exploding from him again. “I can stay a minute,” he smiled gently. Leo turned again and reached out for Harry who grabbed him up and cautiously stepped inside the homey little place of the girl he liked so much. “S’different huh, lad? From how Mommy and Daddy decorated.”

He nodded. “Prin-pessa lives here now,” he told Harry with another little sniffle.

“She does, that must mean this is a castle,” he winked in her direction as he settled himself on the sofa and put the book in Leo’s lap. She handed him some colored pencils and let him color in the book on his lap. His little sniffles subsided, and he showed Harry the picture frequently. “Nice job, Leo,” he said encouragingly. She sat in front of Harry, helping Leo color. She tried not to touch Harry, but it was nearly futile with the closeness. She couldn’t get close to Leo without getting close to Harry. She sat on her coffee table facing the pair of boys. Her knees slotted on either side of one of his. She wondered if Harry felt the heat of her body waving off her just by their thighs touching.

Harry was lucky he had to focus on keeping Leo company and making sure he was okay. He can’t imagine a scenario in which they would be in this position, but if it weren’t for Leo, Harry would have focused solely on the way her jeans were pressed to either side of his leg. He watched her color like she was an artist from the Renaissance. Her smile was gentle while she spoke quietly to Leo praising his skills.

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but she stopped coloring almost abruptly. She put all the items beside her on the coffee table. Harry looked at her curiously and she smirked, putting a finger to her lips. She stood, removing the warmth of her leg around Harry’s, making him feel like it was the dead of winter without a coat. He wanted her body back near his.

She slid her hands around Leo’s small frame and her hands brushed Harry’s fingers. He had to restrain the moan that was bubbling in his throat from how much he liked the feel of her skin against his. He thought the warmth from her would make his heart explode. She pulled Leo into her embrace and carried her to the bedroom. Harry followed her quietly and quickly. He stood in the doorway and watched her lay the little one on the bed. She left the door cracked so light could get in and she smiled kindly. “Thank you, Harry,” her voice dripped with gratitude.

Harry didn’t know restraint was an emotion, but he felt it all throughout his body. Every bit of self-control was used to not kiss her over and over until his lips hurt. “M’pleasure, Principessa.”

Harry’s favorite color appeared on her cheeks. “Do...you want something to drink or anything? Before you head back to work—oh my, are you okay?” She asked grabbing his hand and turned it over between his.

Harry had an angry burn on the back of his hand. When he heard her voice on the phone he had a visceral reaction—the adoration for her causing him to spill some hot soup on his hand as he carried it toward the counter ready to be taken to the main room. Harry didn’t even feel it. Working in a kitchen, it was likely you would get burned. Harry wasn’t sure he had any nerve endings in his fingertips anymore.

At least, not until she was holding his hand.

“Oh...yeah. M’fine. Spilled hot soup.”

“I’ll have to remember how hot it is when I order it,” she looked at it nervously. “Can...do you need a bandage?”

“Oh, we have gloves in the kitchen,” he shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal to him. The only thing he could think about was how nice her hand felt holding his.

She frowned which made him sad. “Can... Can I wrap it or something for you? It looks painful and the glove will probably rub it raw or something,” she was already tugging him toward the kitchen, so he had no choice but to agree. Not that he wanted to argue. A few extra minutes with the pretty girl was well worth it. Harry had spent a good chunk of time in this apartment but somehow it was completely new. She released his hand, making him fraught with emotion. He nearly wanted to order her to hold it again. In the kindest of ways of course.

It seemed like this was something she really needed to do. Like it was hard for her to ask Harry for something without doing something for him in return. She gathered the supplies she needed and carefully slathered some ointment on his burn, holding his hand again making him forget all coherent thought. She was so gentle and careful. The burn was no big deal but it was so nice the way she tended to it. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal.

But Harry was undeniably in love with her.

“Thank you, Principessa.”

She smiled looking at his hand in hers. “You’re welcome, Harry. Thank you for helping with Leo. Sorry I bothered you.”

“Not at all, kitten. Y’don’t bother me at all,” he murmured as she smoothed the bandage on his hand.

It was cold again when she released him.

“Well, thank you anyway.”

“’Course. Always,” he promised. She smiled and put the supplies away. She wished she could have asked Harry to stay, but she knew he had to get back. He started for the door and flexed his hand a bit with the bandage wrapped around it. There were a lot of kitchen injuries he had suffered over the years and somehow this was his favorite because she tended so sweetly to it.

“I’ll...see you tomorrow,” she said softly.

“Yeah?” He smirked. “S’not Wednesday.”

She looked at her feet. “I know...but...I like seeing you,” she admitted glancing back at him with those pretty eyelashes and the pink cheeks he loved so much.

Harry was certain this was what winning the lottery felt like. He leaned down toward her and pecked her cheek so quickly, he barely even felt it on his lips—even though there was electricity pulsing through him as he did it. “I like seeing you too,” he whispered in her ear and headed down the stairs before he did something crazy like proposed to her. “Good night, Principessa,” he called over his shoulder.

*

“Eleanor Jane!”

Harry would recognize her voice in the dead of sleep, in a coma, halfway across the world.

Her voice was muffled by the door. As well as the thudding of someone knocking on the door. It was a few hours until they opened and if it weren’t for Harry hearing her sweet voice, he might have missed it or ignored it.

Harry hurried through the main room, unlocked the door, and looked at the three people in front of him. “Oh, you’re definitely Harry,” Eleanor smirked as she pushed past him.

“Jesus,” she sighed and put a hand on her forehead. “Louis, she’s insane,” she said to the guy who sauntered in after her.

“That’s my girl,” he said proudly and nodded to Harry as he brushed by him.

“Hi, Harry,” she smiled softly.

His heart softened. Harry loved the way his name sounded on her lips and in her voice. “Hi, Principessa.”

“Eleanor is in town,” she explained. She twisted her fingers together awkwardly.

“I see,” he chuckled as he glanced behind him to see her friend checking out all the artwork on the walls.

“We have a very busy couple of days. We’re getting a chunk of Louis’ stuff packed up and such. But...she really wants pasta and it’s,” she sighed looking a little ill as she spoke. “It’s the only time we really have...and you can say no. I told her we would just order takeout later—”

Harry understood. She didn’t want to bother him of course. Despite how hard he had tried to explain that she could never bother him. “Course, kitten,” he stood against the door to let her in finally. “Niall and I would be happy to,” he smiled.

“You really don’t mind? Antonio won’t mind?”

“Not at all, Principessa,” he promised pressing a hand on her lower back as he guided her further inside to join her friend.

“I told you he wouldn’t care.”

She rolled her eyes at Eleanor as the three sat at the bar.

Harry helped her onto her stool in the most chivalrous and gentlemanly fashion, Eleanor was grinning ear to ear as he did. He squeezed the top of her arm and winked as he headed back into the kitchen. “D’you want eggplant?” He asked through the window, and she blushed, then nodded. It made her feel warm that Harry knew what she wanted. Even though she had ordered it once a week since she moved in. “Eleanor, Louis? What can I make?”

“Cacio e pepe sounds good to me,” Louis smirked looking over the menu.

“Oh, I’ll take anything you want to make Harry. I’m not picky.”

He nodded and started preparing the dishes. Niall glanced through the window at the sight of the pretty girl and her friends. “You’re a mess,” Niall laughed.

Harry shrugged but there was a smile plastered on his lips.

“So, Harry, I hear you’ve really taken my best friend’s interest.”

“Eleanor, shut up,” she hissed, covering her pretty face with both hands.

Harry smiled, his cheeks warming. “Yeah? S’good. Can’t get her off m’mind either,” he winked at her through the window. Eleanor giggled and Louis rolled his eyes at her forwardness.

But Harry saw the splash of her pretty irises peek through the space between her fingers as she registered what Harry said. “You can’t steal her from me,” Eleanor said knowingly. “She’s my best friend.”

“Would never take her from you, Eleanor,” he chuckled with a shake of his head.

While Eleanor and Harry chatted like they had known each other their whole lives as well, she tried not to think about how Harry said he couldn’t get her out of her mind.

Tried.

She very much failed and thought that maybe she wouldn’t mind falling harder for Harry.

*

Harry was organizing the bar while the three of them ate. She was used to the pasta—of course it was delicious, but it was easier for her to pace herself knowing if she wanted, she could have more at any hour of the day.

She nibbled on her garlic bread—the extra portion that Harry had placed in front of her with a wink.

Eleanor was picking at Louis’ and hers at the same time. “Aye! Eat your own,” he said protectively and pulled his plate toward him so Eleanor couldn’t reach. She frowned and turned her attention back to her best friend, stealing some of her pasta and snagged a piece of garlic bread. She passed a piece to Louis and finally tried her own meal. “There’s been no sign of your stalker, right?” Eleanor asked as she put the first bite in her mouth. “Oh, this is delicious,” she moaned. She didn’t get to remark on how good the pasta really was because her comment was overshadowed by Harry’s head snapping to attention at the words coming out of the best friend of his Principessa.

She tilted her head back to avoid Harry’s eye contact. She hated bringing up this topic. Especially in front of other people. Even if Harry was slowly becoming her favorite person now that Eleanor wasn’t around, Harry was going to get worried. That was the last thing she wanted. “I could strangle you,” she murmured to her friend.

“What?” Eleanor frowned.

“M’sorry t’eavesdrop,” Harry said apologetically holding two bottles of wine in each hand as he restocked the wine cooler. “Did...did y’say stalker?”

Her cheeks turned pink. Eleanor frowned and turned back to her best friend. “You didn’t tell them?”

She sighed heavily and shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she shrugged.

Harry’s eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead. He begrudgingly turned his attention to Eleanor assuming that she would give him the details for such a worrisome topic. Eleanor sighed. “Maybe you can convince her. There’s this guy who follows her.”

“Not now,” she grumbled. “He doesn’t do anything. He just... follows me.”

Harry felt utterly uncomfortable with such a statement and how neutral she seemed to feel about it. His heart started to beat erratically at the thought of something happening to her. He wanted to handcuff her to the bar just so he could keep an eye on her. Harry put the bottles into the cooler while Eleanor filled in the full details. He listened with rapt attention. She ate her garlic bread and pasta as if this was a normal situation. Truly, nothing to worry about.

Louis added in a few details as well. “There haven’t really been any events that were... scary,” Louis added for her benefit. Eleanor glared at him viciously. “But it makes El and I pretty uncomfortable. Really worried,” he told Harry with a smirk to Eleanor as her glare softened at his words.

Harry, on the other hand, was nearly shutting down with the influx of information. His pretty Principessa. It wasn’t fair. It was scary. He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t lead with that. “Principessa, s’not okay.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “He hasn’t followed me since I’ve moved,” she put her forehead on the bar.

Harry frowned and made eye contact with Eleanor. “Hmm...”

Eleanor patted her back. “You’re fine. We all just care about you,” she rolled her eyes. “I know that’s a hard thing for you to consider,” she smirked with a shake of her head.

“Jeez, El. Why don’t you just stab her,” Louis chuckled.

“I like Louis more than you,” she murmured into the bar.

She flicked the back of her head and looked at Harry.

“Harry,” Eleanor smiled sweetly.

“Oh boy,” Louis chuckled sipping his drink.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed looking up at Eleanor and tried to put a hand over her mouth to keep her from talking to Harry.

Harry thought it was funny, even if his heart was racing with worry. “Would you mind keeping an eye on her?” She fluttered her lashes sweetly as her best friend turned bright red with embarrassment. Harry smiled softly.

He didn’t want to upset the poor thing when she already seemed so distraught. Harry knew a bit about her but didn’t know everything, obviously. It was abundantly clear that she would rather die than inconvenience someone on her behalf.

“Of... of course,” Harry nodded at Eleanor. “But... m’sure she’s... sounds like she has it under control,” it tasted like sour milk to say those words. He wanted to say something along the lines of he would sleep outside her door and walk her to and from the grocery store. But Harry wasn’t her boyfriend—even if he was already, completely, and obviously in love with her.

Even if she wasn’t ready to notice just yet.

“Ugh, you have him fooled too,” Eleanor frowned.

She smirked patting Eleanor’s back. She turned to Harry for a moment and met his gentle gaze. It made her feel soft. When he pecked her cheek, or held her hands, each time he touched her lower back, or when he was coloring with her and Leo. Harry made her feel so completely warm with the smallest of touches and now he wasn’t even touching her. She was frustrated Eleanor brought it up. Even more frustrated Harry was worried about her. He had plenty of more important tasks to deal with than worry about her.

But she didn’t want anyone to worry about her. So, if asking Harry for help every now and again appeased Eleanor...

“Harry,” her voice was so soft and gentle. He was captured immediately by her voice and gaze. “Even though you’ve already done about a million ridiculous things for me,” and he very much had not. The little tasks he did to help her move in weren’t anything. Chatting with her, making food for her, and even coloring with Leo were all easy and nothing special. They weren’t even the bare minimum because they were so easy and simple. He wanted to do more for her. “If... if it’s not too much trouble,” it looked like she was struggling to say whatever words were in her head. It seemed ridiculous that she was going to ask Harry for help solely to make Eleanor feel better. Not even herself.

But he wasn’t going to make her say it when it clearly frustrated her to worry about herself.

Maybe he could help her understand that it wasn’t a big deal to worry about her, eventually.

“I’ll keep an eye on y’Principessa. S’pretty easy when I can’t stop staring at how pretty y’look anyway,” he winked and headed to the kitchen hoping to leave Eleanor to gossip about something other than the guy following her best friend.

He caught a glimpse of his favorite color painting her face while Eleanor was giggling and hitting her arm with excitement through the window.

But most importantly, he saw the faintest smile on her lips. Like she was happy that Harry cared for her even a little bit. Hopefully with every little baby step, Harry would convince her she wasn’t a bother.

In fact, he hoped to convince her that she really was a princess in his eyes.

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[chaossmagic]

I need stucky au from post-endgame where Steve left Bucky. There is not enough angst from the scene. Bucky had been in love with Steve since they were very young, however, Steve was naïve to notice his best friend’s feelings. After Steve left, Bucky needed to go to therapy since he was under government supervision. I love the quote from that one scene “If he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.” We do not discuss enough the passage from Bucky in Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Maybe you can add a little plot between the lines? Basically a story about Bucky’s situation after Steve left

Bucky can count on one hand the times he's outright, deliberately lied to Steve.

Once, when he was fourteen and he told Steve he'd kissed Maria Gracewski behind the grocery store one day, when it was the middle of summer and all the kids they knew were stepping out with each other. He hadn't; in fact, they'd done nothing more than hold hands and pass a bottle of ice-cold soda between them, each taking in turns to sip from the straw to quench their thirst, each feeling too awkward to make an actual move.

He wasn't sure, at the time, why he'd bothered lying; it was only later he realized it was because he had been trying to make Steve jealous, thinking about Bucky kissing someone who wasn't him.

The second time was when his draft card came and he told everyone he enlisted instead. It was easy to pretend to be the dutiful son doing the brave thing, the right thing, going where he was needed to serve his country, a true honour to his family. That's what people told his parents on the street, in the store, in the bread queue that ran around the block twice at nine in the morning. That's what he told himself when he spent the entire journey from New York to Portsmouth, England cooped up in his cabin, nauseous not with seasickness, but fear, knowing it was impossible to admit he never wanted to go to war in the first place.

The third time was after Kreichsberg, after - that. He didn't really like to think about it. Tried to actively avoid it, in fact, would be more willing to open up about plenty of other things that had happened to him in the last seventy years except where it had all started. No way was his mind ever going back there, to the cold, dank cell and the sizzling of burning hair and flesh, syringes full of substances he had no idea what they were and - screams. The screams were the worst.

I'm fine, he'd kept telling the nurses who insisted on examining him. I'm fine, he'd told Steve, after he'd suggested for the fifth time that he lie down and get some real rest. Really, I'm fine, he'd said to Dum-Dum and Morita and Falsworth and everyone else who asked him when they saw the dark circles under his eyes and the way his bones stuck out from under his uniform a little too much. He was fine. Tired, hungry, and missing home just like every other soldier. Fine.

Then, a dingy and sparse apartment in Bucharest, where the fridge only worked half the time and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls, but he paid his rent each week in cash and nobody bothered him if he helped fix a few lightbulbs or carry heavy pieces of broken furniture out to the sidewalk.

Steve, standing in the middle of his damn kitchen, a photograph of his own face in his hand and one of Bucky's notebooks in the other, head-to-toe Captain America monkeysuit on but eyes wide and pleading. Looking at Bucky and wanting answers Bucky himself had been too afraid to give.

You pulled me from the river. Why?

For a fraction of a second, the real answer had been on the tip of his tongue. If he could just say it, then maybe everything would be okay. Maybe Steve could save him. Maybe Steve could help him save himself, if let him. If he stopped being so fucking afraid all the time of being dragged right back to where he'd been for the last seventy-odd years. If he didn't feel constantly sick with nerves and fear, if his entire body wasn't one screaming hunk of bone-deep pains and muscle aches and joints that didn't work properly. If he could actually fend for himself instead of living off of chocolate bars and the few types of fresh produce he could actually eat with vomiting.

Because I didn't want you to die, he'd wanted to say. Because I love you. I remembered that I love you.

But once again, he'd been too scared to tell the truth. Chickened out at the last minute. Lied, again.

I don't know, is what had actually come out of his mouth, moments before the ceiling above them exploded in the thumping feet of the SWAT team, come to make sure he didn't do anything else terrible again by shutting him up permanently.

The last time had been right before Steve left to return the Infinity Stones. He'd wanted so badly to tell him not to go, to beg if he needed to, to tell him, Stay with me. Choose me. I'm the one who's always loved you more than anyone else, and I know you love me too, so why won't you fucking STAY?

But he hadn't done that. No pleading, no begging, no last-minute confessions of love despite almost a century of it burning beneath his ribs, right where his heart was, and where he knew, if only he'd asked, the same thumping beat pounded in Steve's own chest, crying out to him. Crying out for him. He'd feel it if he put his hand there, he knew, if he'd even dared to try instead of smiling and nodding in the right places and saying all the right things that Steve wanted to hear to justify his decision to himself.

Bucky was a lot of things. He'd been called a lot of things. Charmer. Casanova. A mother's biggest dream for a son-in-law.

Asset. Winter Soldier. The Fist of Hydra.

Killer. Murderer. Monster.

Sergeant. White Wolf. Buck.

Now, though? There was one thing left that people didn't really know. Opening and closing the fridge door for a fourth, fifth, sixth bottle of beer that did absolutely nothing for him intoxication-wise and only made him want to pee, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV while a football game played that he wasn't even watching -

Simultaneously wanting to scream, cry, or throw something -

Sergeant James Barnes was a war hero, museum display and all.

The Winter Soldier was the most dangerous assassin on the face of the planet for 50 years.

But Bucky, though? Just Bucky? Plain old scared-to-death-of-his-own-shadow, walks everywhere for miles because getting on the subway makes him want to pass out and throw up at the same time, even with noise-cancelling earbuds, Bucky?

That Bucky Barnes was a fucking coward. That was the real him. And he only had himself and his messed-up, broken brain to blame.

[chai-lemonade]

Tw: child death

I’m currently fucking ugly sobbing because my neighbor just got a bench outside their house on the bike path

I hadn’t spoken to her in years; she was a few years older than me and lived three houses down, but we shared three years in elementary school together; she was the cool older kid at the bus stop who organized games together for the rest of us and always had a tennis ball in her pocket, and we always ended up coming outside like 20 whole minutes before the bus actually came. After that, we didn’t overlap any years in middle school or high school, and she graduated a year before I entered the high school. The only time past elementary school I ever saw her was when she ding ding ditched our house two halloweens ago with her friends, and they ran as my dad tried to scold them, typical teen stuff

I hadn’t thought about her in a long time despite always being in the same grade as her brother, we never really talked despite living near together. One day, there was the news that a previous graduate was hit by a stray bullet in the big city where she was attending college, right to the head and had died, that was circulating around the school. I didn’t hear a name for a while until I googled it, and found that it had been her.

It’s been strange watching things around her old house when I happen to pass; Her brother didn’t come to school for a while, you can see a shrine to her in the front window if you look in, and with their house situated on the side of the bike path, there were candles and lights and photos for a long while.

I hadn’t seen anything in a while, but when I passed the back of their house on the bike path today, there was a new bench along their fence, right by the parks and fields that everyone goes to. It had her name and there were some patterns in the new sidewalk, and it felt so strange to see a new bench alongside the path, as there hasn’t been any new ones in years, even if it’s wonderful for the community to honor her with something so beautiful.

The level of sadness I have with her feels absurd for how much I knew her. We hadn’t talked in over five years. I saw her nearly every day for three years when we were young. I only knew her when we were kids. She was still just a kid. I know absolutely nothing about her. I still carry a tennis ball and things in my jacket to be like her and the other older kids at the bus stop. I never spoke to her brother. I acutely noticed his absence after her death. I hadn’t thought of her in years. I felt sick for the rest of the day when I learned it was her that had died. I have no idea who she had become. I knew that she was incredibly kind when she was in fifth grade. How do you mourn someone you knew so much and so little about at the same time?

[202310271]

Dream

(Link)

2023-11-14 (Tuesday) - -2:21 A.M. - Andre Rieu

I imagined an old sad Andre Rieu, and I just saw an Instagram recording of him holding his arms out and he looked tall. I was amazed. I try to feel this a lot, usually with ceratin same people. I could feel he was carrying me around, maybe with his wife and the fair Italian lady watching me in private since sometime late in Orlando and a few shorter people. They were like cartoons. It was amazing I could feel it was more about feeling it was okay and could feel the size of things. Why… I did want to. If I felt anxious, he made me feel a little more and then cover it. It must have been my covers and a kids show on while asleep. I did this a lot but some was done to me. Another miracle was I could feel lots of the architecture, rubbing my hand across brick walls with tops. Of course they all appeared, but everything I could feel like real consistently, I knew I was asleep and I kept rubbing my hands on the brick and it felt real and stopped when I reached the air. Near the end, I climbed some, 2 walls and like a diamond dome in the middle. I know my younger brother younger grabbed the bottom limbs of my legs when having fun up there somehow. I did have one, two, or three times I jumped back down to Andre Rieu and he was able to catch me, like without wobbling or getting hurt or having a hard time breathing. I woke myself up because of my younger brother. Andre Rieu never really turned me away or got weird about it. Oh, and another very miraculous trinket to take away from this sleep is I remember Christmas music was on and I put my hands behind my back and felt bricks and realized you could have Christmas cozy but also real. The trick is to think about business under it all like in the air after the cozy feeling has gone with the Christmas music, It was sorta like a flowerless garden or public square, kinda creepy colors, the reddish brown brick dividers and border standing walls, the not very bright green grass, and the regular grayish sidewalks. I’d also think of small dark figures of other people farawy on streets. There were probably other people.

[pandarpposts]

VTM 5.0: Bryanne - Memory Lane

Bryanne was restless, another night in the massive penthouse apartment, that oddly felt like a cage. She could hear Nate, tipsily laughing as he played games on the Xbox, Robert was playing his Gregorian chants at that level where it was just a tic to loud but complaining would make you look like a jerk. Pushing from her bead she, moved to her closet, it caused a faint smirk. One side held the lovely clothes Marco had designed for their court nights, the other side look like she did several goodwill hauls. Grabbing a plain black t-shirt, jeans, socks, and boots, getting dressed was quick work. Slipping from her room to hear Nate mid conversation.

“Yea well, Phoebs, just how us professionals roll you know. I got your back, no worries.” His tone was more then a bit flirty, and Bri could feel her teeth grit a touch. When did this stupid jealousy shit start? She had come to terms with this whole crush thing, and it was annoying her how much her brain was locking on it. With an eye-roll accompanied by a low grumble, her jacket was plucked from the hook on the wall. She made her way to the door, hoping to slip past, but to no avail. “Oh, Hey Bri…�� A pause in Nate’s voice as he saw her en-route to the door. “Uhhh where you headed?”

“Out.” Was her clipped, cold response. The door almost coming to a slam behind her, she missed the frown at her back from Nate, as he turned back to his game. She pushed the elevator button, her foot tapping lightly, fighting the urge to run down the stair well, this odd choking sensation in her throat. Thankfully the ping, and swish of the door opening. Stepping on, she pressed the ground floor and leaned her head back on the cool marble of the compact box.

Soon enough she was offering Ed the doorman a nod of hello as she stepped out into the night. The moment the night air hit her skin she let out a pained, heavy breath. Perhaps not even the breath, but the muscle action of it, her shoulders dropping. It felt like someone had thrown the door to her jail cell open. She turned walking down the busy sidewalk, the night a buzz with couples, tourist, and late-night office workers coming home. She wasn’t interested in any of that, she stepped to the sidewalk and flagged down the first taxi she was able to. 

Once inside, she gave the address and settled back, her eyes locked on the window. The spires of downtown gave way to the lowered roofs of suburbia, and Bri watched as a familiar path started up, her eyes locked on the late-night streets. She could almost see shadows of 3 kids walking home from school, laughing, and carrying on. Not a single thought of the future ahead of them. Signaling the driver to stop a few streets back from the address, she paid him out, slipping from the cab. 

As he pulled away, she walked back up a few blocks, standing outside the middle school they attended. Her mother had been ecstatic when she realized the school was so close. She could work later hours and they could walk home a as a pack. And they did, you never found any two with out the third, in any combination. Everything was so much simpler, her eyes roved over the windows and doors as her mind remapped halls long ago walked. Her fingers curling into fists in her jacket pocket, bitterness welling in her mouth like an ichor. 

Turning back, she walked towards the sidewalk once more, heading down a familiar path. Turning up two streets before her old one, she moved silently along backyards until she found the old fort tree. It was still an empty lot, locked up in legal battles, they had made it their wonderland. She leapt easily up the tree, landing on branches above the creaking wood structure in the larger lower branches. Shifting a bit to make a seat she settled, looking across the roofs, into the backyard of a single home. 

The large bay window into the kitchen glowed like a movie screen. She sat patiently watching the small glass rectangle, and sure enough in a few moments, an older woman was in the kitchen. She was putting food away in the fridge, one still covered in pictures of smiling faces of a boy and girl, along with the shy grin of a third boy. No one would think looking at the image, those faces where now lost to the woman in the kitchen. 

As she closed the door, she paused, gazing at the images on the white surface. Bri felt her fingers dig into the bark of the branch as she watched those slender shoulders tremble then shake. The hand gripping the handle of the appliance turning white knuckled, struggling to keep the grasping woman upright as grief rolled down her body in a near visible wave. Bri felt her own cold tears well, dripping crimson stains down her cheeks, everything in her screaming to burst through that window and hug her mother. Tell her everything like she used to blurt out the nightmare of her new existence. How she felt so lost. But that, that was selfish. Her jaw hardened as a male figure, supposedly the boyfriend, rushed into the room. Her fangs slid into the soft flesh of her lower lip, her body coiling to strike. But then she watched how he wrapped his arms around her mother, pressing her tear-streaked face to his shoulder and held her. No eye rolls, no mocking shaking of his head like her father would do at her mother’s emotional outbursts. There was gentleness, patience. He reached up and pulled off a picture, speaking to her. Her mother’s head lifted, and she looked at the picture and gave a watery laugh. She started to talk, animatedly, about the photo, her tears giving way to precious, happy memories. Bri knew the photo; it was of their 13th birthday. In the picture Robert and Bri where beaming, Nate tucked between them, arms around necks, looking like an adolescent set of musketeers. It had been a big one, both being teens, Robert was given his own laptop to do his research, Bri was given her first iPad to work on her art. Nathan had moved in the summer before, and their mom had worked hard to include him in the planning. He was almost as excited as the twins to show off the surprise. Bri would never forget that day. It was the one-time Nate called her pretty. 

Bri had been thrilled to get her first little make up kit. One her mom had worked hard to make sure was perfect for her daughter. Opening the gifts, she squealed and looked at her mother breathlessly. “Oh mom! Thank you!!” She was bouncing in place. “Now Lindsay won’t make fun of me!! Who has the best look now??? HAH!” “What do you care about what LINDLAME says any way, Bri. You don’t need that goop, you’re pretty with out it…” Nate had rolled his eyes, looking confused as to why she was so excited. And with that simple kindness, Nate won her heart. She could still feel the heat in her cheeks, shoving the make up back into the box. She didn’t touch that make up for another two months, until Nate was mooning over some silly girl in their school. She shook her head with a faint laugh, wiping the tears off her cheeks. Stupid Nate. STUPID Nate.

The golden glow suddenly snapped out, making Bri almost jerk back. But her mother and her paramour were going back into the rest of the house. The sudden darkness reminding the young kindred of exactly her lot in life now. Her head hung a moment, her fist slamming into the trunk of the tree, indenting the bark. Rage and anguish swelled up in her throat like acid, the lump making her jaw clench, fangs bared. It wasn’t FAIR. DAMMIT. Nothing was how it should be, the world was wrapped in shadow, and pain. Why didn’t she just DIE on that damned floor? This was worse. Being Dead but Not. Alive but rotting. She didn’t want to live forever; she had wanted to live a LIFE. Maybe convince her idiot best friend to have babies and a house. Her brother to become a renowned historian, his own damned Discovery show. Her mother to be a grandmother. But NO. Some stupid game, making them pawns. She turned her gaze towards Nate’s old home. Someone who KNEW and did SHIT to help them. Someone who placed them in the sights of a world they NEVER needed to know about.

She RIPPED her claws along the tree bark, jumping down, as she landed, she shifted towards that house. For a moment, she thought about the nuclear option. Just RAZING it to the ground, and kicking the cart over, letting the oil and fire burn the world down. The beast CHAFFED at the waiting, urging her towards that spiral of chaos. Eat your fill then DIE. Leave the world in ashes. God how she WANTED TO. Release all this pain on the very world that inflicted it. But what then, with her dead, who would protect Robert? Look after Nate? Keep their mother save from Bri’s actions.

“Fuck off” She whispered to the beast writhing in her skin, turning she walked back towards the sidewalk. Checking the sky, she knew she had enough time to make it back to the haven, even if she had to jog. She kept herself walking, her eyes glowing that faint amber, hopefully by the time she got home she would feel a bit normal. Hah. Normal? What the FUCK even was that? Nothing was ever going to be normal, at least as she understood it, again. Normal was now shadows, intrigue and learning who you could trust. Which now was a horridly short list. With that thought, she made her way back to the Haven, just a little colder on the inside.

[thebuckblogimo]

The Dutch battled the Japanese in the war over elm trees.

June 18, 2023

There's a giant Dutch elm tree in front of a neighbor's house down the street where I live, one of three elms that I'm aware of in Grand Haven. It reminds me of the biggest elm tree I ever saw--the one that stood at the southeast corner of Tireman and Reuter in the Dearborn neighborhood where I grew up.

During the '50s, I thought of it as a miniature Sequoia (oxymoron?) which I learned about by watching the Mickey Mouse Club on TV. Embedded into its trunk, about ten feet up, was a cream-colored sign with red lettering that marked the corner as a bus stop for the DSR (Department of Street Railways). Under the tree stood a U.S. mailbox, painted OD (olive drab) green.

As a kid I used to hide behind that big 'ol elm on the corner when I played hide-and-seek with Butchie, Jerry and all the other neighborhood rascals. That tree was humongous. I thought of it as being indestructible.

Until it wasn't.

Tireman, the street where I lived, marked the northern border of Dearborn. The city of Detroit was on the other side. It happened to be one of the busier streets in the area, an avenue that carried cars, busses, taxis, milk trucks, panel vans and frequent deliveries from Awrey Bakery and J.L. Hudson's department store. Every home on both sides of the street had at least one elm (either a Dutch elm or an American elm) between the sidewalk and curb. The trees grew tall, spread out at the top like a couple of rows of opened umbrellas, creating a shady, arching canopy--a tunnel--through which vehicles were "supposed" to travel at the posted speed limit: 30 MPH.

People who visited our house for the first time would invariably say, "This is such a beautiful neighborhood...I just love all the trees..."

A couple times each summer, usually while my buddies and I were jumping off garages or hopping fences, we'd hear the sound of a low-flying airplane--a crop duster--spraying some sort of mysterious substance over the neighborhood. When I asked my mother for an explanation, she told me it was an attempt to eradicate Japanese beetles, which were killing off the elms.

We always ran for cover when the plane buzzed our homes. But if what they were spraying was DDT, we sure as heck inhaled a lot of it. Perhaps the effects of taking it in was what caused so many of us to act out like borderline juvenile delinquents.

In any case, my Mom went on to explain that Japanese beetles ate the leaves of the elm trees, causing them to die. I have since learned that it was actually bark beetles that attacked the trees.

By the early-to-mid '60s, the elms in my neighborhood started to slowly decline en masse, including the one in front of my house and the three that stood on the property of the house next door.

But that mammoth elm at the bus stop continued to stand tall in defiance.

You could always tell when an elm was under attack because leaves near the top would turn brown and fall off during the summer, leaving that part of the tree naked, with spindly branches. By contrast, the leaves of healthy elm leaves would begin to turn yellowish-brown in September.

And, oh my, the smell of those leaves when neighbors would burn them at the curb each October and November. It was intoxicating while we played touch football in the street on Reuter, Morrow Circle, Bingham, Calhoun or Oakman Boulevard. The aroma was a rite of autumn.

I can't pinpoint the exact year that the massive elm at the corner of Tireman and Reuter finally succumbed, but it was one of the last in all of East Dearborn to go down. I do know this:

The trees on Tireman completely vanished by the early '70s. It looked as though the military had come through and sprayed agent orange. Meanwhile, the white middle class on the other side of the street began to move from the area in the aftermath of the Detroit riots and the beginning of school bussing in the Motor City. On the Dearborn side, as "teaching nuns" (a source of free labor for Catholic schools across the country) were becoming a dying breed, a statewide referendum on "Parochiaid" for religious schools was voted down by the citizens of Michigan. Thus tuition began to skyrocket at St. Al's, stressing the household budgets of parishoners. And, simultaneously, the hordes of babyboomers, who as children had clogged area sidewalks on the way to school each morning, had grown up and started moving out of state, or began hopscotching to places like Dearborn Heights, Livonia, Westland, Plymouth and Northville after attending college or fighting in the Vietnam War.

The point is that Dutch elm disease was the first of a series of events that conspired to alter the stereotypical, Ozzie-and-Harriet character of my old stomping grounds.

During the late '70s while I was single, I purchased a home of my own in a Detroit neighborhood called North Rosedale Park. City workers had just taken down a huge elm that stood in front of the house before I moved in. Still holding on for dear life was a monstrous elm that stood on the property line between my house and the neighbors' house next door. Within a year it died, and we split the cost to have it taken down.

During the early '80s, my neighbor and I both purchased woodburing stoves to supplement the heat in our homes. With the last of the elm trees still dying off, we never had to travel far to secure a load of firewood. We purchased a 4X8 trailer for hauling "rounds," as well as a hydraulic splitter, because elm is a dense, "stringy" wood that is virtually impossible to split by hand with with an ax.

Joyce Kilmer wrote a poem called Trees. I learned it as a child by watching Our Gang comedies on TV. In one episode called "Arbor Day," Alfalfa, dressed like Robin Hood for a school play, sang the words to the poem. The first line goes like this:

"I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree."

I saw that episode many times, and when I would watch it on a VHS recording with my children, while bonding with them on weekend mornings during the late '80s, I would sing along with Alfalfa. Except I always forced the word "elm" in front of the word "tree."

And that's the truth.

[maes-flowers]

We’ll be okay [4] (Marc Spector/ slight!Steven Grant x Reader)

Part 1  Part 2   Part 3

Summary: After Marc Spector leaves your life to focus on his own goals, what happens when he comes back into your life at full speed after years of being apart?

Word Count: 7K ( I got so carried away im so sorry lmfao)

Warnings: Canon violence, angst, fluff, sexual tension, and swearing.

Authors note: its 4am as i'm uploading this and I didnt even bother to edit this so sorry for any mistakes but if you like this part please reblog and comment what you though and if you want to be on the taglist let me know down below!

It took just over a day to reach Cairo from London.

Had you taken a direct flight, with no layovers it would've taken 5 hours, maybe a little less but as Marc explained it wouldn't have been possible to smuggle his guns and gear through security without getting caught. Which led to you now, sitting in a small cramped seat, right next to the aisle as Marc managed to snag the seat by the window as you used the middle seat to hold your bag. 

You ignored the fatigue that your body held over you, your back had felt better after some rest, more than the recommended amount of Tylenol, and three extra shots of expresso into your latte. because you knew if Marc saw just the slightest amount of pain or exhaustion he would try to make you go back to London and wait for him to come home.  So you sat, keeping yourself busy with books and a crossword puzzle in a newspaper you found tucked in the pocket in the seat in front of you. Marc wasn't in the mood to talk, most likely kicking himself into a bloody lump of guilt for losing the scarab. You were hoping to have a more productive and less emotionally fueled talk rather than the yelling, sobbing, and pushing conversation you had the night before. So you just watched him and the steady rise and fall in his chest, his hand gently thumbing his necklace around his neck, and the slight bounce of his foot making his leg shake.

“You're pretty.” A tiny voice said, making you snap from your trance, cheeks turning crimson under the embarrassment of getting caught making eyes at your closest friend. You turned to where the voice came from and saw a little girl, no older than nine staring at you from the seat across from you, the man you assumed was her father tried to tell her to leave you alone but you waved your hand in dismissal. You ignored the way Marc's head turned to look at you from the corner of your eye as you smiled at the girl.

“Thank you, you're very pretty too.” you laughed lightly.

“Where are you going?” she asked and you raised a brow.

“What's your name, kid?” you asked.

“Akilah!”

“Well Akilah, I'm going to help a friend that's why I'm on this train.” You said the little girl's happy personality gives you a nice break from everything going on.

“That's cool,” Akilah shrugged. “I'm going with my Papa to see my uncle.”

“Oh man,” you laughed warmly. “I used to love seeing my uncle! I wish I could see mine. It was one of my favorite things to do. I'm sure you’ll have so much fun.” 

“Why can't you see him?” Akilah asked, her eyes full of curiosity and you paused for a moment swallowing thickly before you responded.

“He… moved very far away, so I can't visit him as much anymore.” you gave her a sad smile. You were used to death and loss in your life but the loss of your uncle was always a hard topic for you as he was the one who gave you advice and a place to stay after the death of your father and your mom turned to alcohol for comfort the majority of your childhood. Some nights it feels like only yesterday you were standing on the sidewalk in front of the steps that led to Marc's place.

The cold November air made your whole body tremble as you stood in front of the familiar steps of Marc's house. You debated just going home and going to see Marc in the morning but the light to his room was on and the only thing you wanted was just a hug,

Or a slap to the face to wake yourself up from this nightmare. You spent all day in the hospital as you waited for your uncle to get out of surgery to see if his dying large intestine was still viable enough to perform another life-saving surgery. Needless to say, after 40 years of severe chronic illness and 3 organ transplants your uncle's body was at its final straw and couldn't keep up anymore. So you said your goodbyes to him as a machine kept him breathing as held his cold limp hand in yours whispering your thanks to him and pouring all your love into a final kiss on the forehead and then you left, you didn't think you could stand watching the doctors pull the plug.

“Y/n?” Marc's voice called out and you looked up, Marc was standing in the doorway seven steps away from you. Just seven steps and you'd be in his arms and everything would be okay.

So why can't you move?

Your legs gave up from under you as if they couldn't handle the simple chore of keeping you up. You caught yourself on the hand railing before lowering yourself down on the steps, as you hang your head. Silent sobs wracked your body as Marc ran down to your crippled form.

“Y/n? What happened” Marc asked, panic lacing his features.

“My uncle, he had to go to the hospital last night and he died this afternoon.” You looked up at him, eyes rimmed bright red as salty tears fell and landed on the pavement. “He's dead Marc, I lost my second dad so why does this hurt so bad when I've done this before?” you asked, no begged. You wanted to know why you couldn't breathe and think straight as you felt this sense of gravity crushing your body until you were flat on the ground. 

“Marc, I'd rather die than do this again.” you cried.

“Hey, don't say that.” He whispered, he leaned forward and grabbed you by the arms and dragged you into his lap. Your hands went for his sweatshirt, clenching so hard your knuckles went white as you sobbed into his neck. “You survived this first time, you can do it again. Even though you should've never had to deal with this in the first place.”

“Please don't leave me.” You begged, you wanted to feel embarrassed. Sounding like a small child crying for its mother but you couldn't bother.

“I won't sweetheart, I promise.” he said, the sincerity in the statement calmed you enough for Marc to carry you into his house and let you pass out in this bed.

Marc ended up leaving to join the Marine corps four months later.

You blinked and saw Akilah staring at you, her dad was now awake and watching the interaction with sympathy, while Akilah's small face scrunched up in worry.

“Are you okay?” she asked, the train came to a stop and the conductor's voice came through and announced you made it to Cairo. You gave her a big smile and nodded.

“Yeah, I just miss my uncle.” you admitted and moved to grab your bag as Marc grabbed him, you and marc made your way down the aisle before a voice called you out.

“WAIT!” a tiny voice screamed in the crowd, You and Marc's heads both snapped behind you as you saw Akilah and her father running up to you.

“I'm so sorry,” her father said as he jogged up to you, holding his daughter in her arms. “My daughter said you needed this.” He said and reached into his pocket pulling out a small object. “She loves this necklace but she took it off and kept saying you need it more than her and said she wouldn't talk to me until you received this.” 

You held back a chuckle as you held out your hand as the man dropped it into your hand, you held up the necklace and saw a small pendant on it.

“The Ankh symbol?” You gaped. The man leaned forward and whispered to you.

“It has a lot of meanings, protection, and balance but the symbol of eternal life is one that is called out to me. I know you said your uncle… moved away.” he paused using the same words you did to avoid explaining to Akilah the cycle of death talk in the middle of a train station.  “But just know just because he's not here with you in this life anymore he's watching and waiting for you in another one.” the father explained, you stared at him wide-eyed as you nodded.

“Thank you so much I love it,” you reached around the clasp of the necklace around your neck. You bend down to Akilah's level and pat her head.

“You too, Akilah. you were right I really needed this.” the little girl grinned, happy to know her instincts were right.

“We have to go, but I hope you have safe travels.” the father said, you nodded and reached to shake his hand.

“You too, I hope you have a wonderful time seeing your brother.” 

You watched them walk away until you couldn't see them anymore before you turned to Marc. He looked at you so softly, almost guilty. The creases around his eyes relaxed with a small turn of his lips. But once he noticed you looking at him his face dropped back into his normal frown.

“Come on, we should head to the hotel,” he said.

 The room had one bed, for some reason Marc could care less. Probably due to the fact, there are way bigger problems to worry about. but for you, sharing a bed with Marc for the first time in years was pretty high up there. 

“Please don't tell me you still kick in your sleep,” Marc said, shrugging off his jacket and leaving him in a tight black t-shirt. You cleared your throat and avoided your gaze so you wouldn't be staring at his arms, opting for kneeling down and opening your suitcase.

“Is this a bad time to tell you I've upgraded to night terrors? I don't think I'll kick but I might scream and punch you.” you laughed nervously, grabbing a pair of sleeping shorts and an old tee shirt.

“When did that start?” Marc asked.

“A while ago, around the time you le-” Your voice faltered as you realized what you said. You turned and saw Marc watching you, his jaw set tight as he looked down.

“Marc I didn't mean-” 

“I'm gonna go shower.” he interrupted. before abruptly standing up and walking to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. You closed your eyes and sighed, ignoring the want to go after him in the shower and instead opting to just change and crawl into bed and hope you'd be asleep before he came out.

Your plan failed.

You were still awake when he came out in nothing but his boxers as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and walked to your side of the bed before he sat down on the floor and started drinking. You could smell the scent of cedarwood and cinnamon invading your senses. But you welcomed the scent with open arms, along with memories of Marc holding you while you both fell asleep and wearing his favorite jacket when you got the chance. Here was something there a long time ago, a feeling that was more than just friendship. It had been years since then, and you weren't sure Marc had those feelings anymore but you knew you did. In fact, you were almost positive they never left.

“I know you're awake,” Marc grumbled, you cracked open an eye and saw Marc still looking out the window. You sighed in defeat as you threw the cover off your body and climbed out of bed and moved to sit on the cool tile next to Marc. You leaned over and snagged the bottle of whiskey out of his hands, taking a swig for yourself. your face puckered up at the burn as you put it on the table beside you.

“Why are you here Y/n?” Marc asked.

“I told you already, Ammits control would kill-”

“No, why are you here,” Marc repeated. 

There it was, the pieces clicked as you looked at Marc in thought. Why wouldn't he bother to talk to you, let alone look at you? It's because he thought he didn't think he deserved a friend to help him during this or with anything in general. You played with your new necklace in thought before you spoke.

“When I saw you at the shiva a few months ago it stirred a lot of really complicated feelings I've been ignoring for years. I had mostly gotten used to you only being in my life on your own terms, on your schedule never mine. And I thought I was okay with what I really did.” you laughed sadly. “I grieved the time of my life where I had you, I mean actually had you. I mean, hell- I even got a tattoo for it and everything, and then I shoved those emotions away so I didn't think about it and moved on with my life.” You pulled at the collar of your shirt and exposed your collarbone so Marc could see the tattoo.

“We’ll be okay.” he read, he raised his hand so his fingers could ghost over the last words he said to you that night embedded into your skin. You fixed your shirt but put your hand there as if you were protecting the skin.

“And then you cut me off, with no way for me to know you were safe or even alive and it just killed me on the inside and I just kept thinking about if I had a chance to change things, to be able to fix whatever happened with us I would do it in a heartbeat,” you said. “And then Steven called, and I decided I couldn't just sit on the sidelines anymore so I went after you. Because I wanted to, and I think deep down you wanted me there but maybe I was wrong, and maybe I was selfish to do all this without even thinking about how you would've felt but I just wanted you back,” you said hoarsely. “Because a life without you, Marc Spector. is a life I don't want, no matter how stubborn, grouchy, and sometimes just mean you can get.” you finished avoiding looking at Marc in fear to see how he would react. Although, you weren't expecting his large hand to wrap around your wrist and yank you on top of him. You held your breath as your thighs settled on each side of him as he stared at you. His hands are trailing to your waist and settling there.

“I'm sorry if that means anything at this point.” He whispered. you could see the pores on his cheeks, his long eyelashes touching his eyebrows, and his dark brown eyes that kept flicking down to your lips. “You were right, I wanted you with me but I couldn't  allow myself to bring you into a life like this. That's full of death and blood that's on my hands and when I'm not in the best place mentally. You deserve so much more.”

“Marc.” You whispered, your hands cupping his face. “I don't care about what you think I deserve, I just need you, that's all I ever needed.” you said, fervidly gushing from your voice. You leaned forward and placed your forehead against his, Marc sighed in content.

“Just no more secrets, yeah?” you asked, so close to his face you can smell this whiskey and feel the heat from his mouth. The only response you got from him is a nod and tight grips on your hips. You smiled and pulled away,  placing your hands on his shoulder and rubbing at the muscle.

“Let's get some rest.” you mumbled, sleep already gripping at your selfconcius as you dragged yourself up from your spot on Marc's lap and threw yourself into bed. You heard the man above you chuckle. You grabbed his wrist and yanked on him, just as he did to you not long ago and pulled him into bed with you. He grunted on the impact but quickly settled onto the mattress.

“Tomorrow we’ll go find another way to Ammits tomb, I think I know a guy who can help.” You said, but the only response you got was soft snores.

~~~~

 “God damn it Marc!” you cursed as your lungs gasped for air, Cairos heat and you stumbling and climbing over roofs and ledges had made you a sweaty mess as your medorcore parkour skills were stomped and buried into the ground as you watched Marc fly over rooftops and vault over walls like it was the easiest thing in the world. You went really sure if Marc knew you were behind him, the only reason you knew he left without you this morning was due to the fact he accidentally slammed the door closed this morning which resulted in you scrambling to get into decent clothes made for climbing and running and your bag of gear before you ran out the door after Marc. only finding him once you saw him jump to another rooftop while you were on the busy streets. Only catching up to him when he stopped to talk to a group of men as you jumped right after him but stayed on the other side of the ledge to listen for a moment.

“You killed him? I needed to talk to that guy.” he dropped down off a box. “About dig site actually, but I guess I'm gonna have to talk to you instead.”

“You're too late,” Another man said. “You're not going to find Harrow.” His accent is strong and thick. You heard the sound of metal scratching against the ground and you decided to peek over the ledge. 

“Oh what, are we dancing? Are we fighting? What are we gonna do?” Marc taunted, his arms in front of his face, ready to attack as a man jumped forward and grabbed Marc. he dogged and smacked him into a wall, quickly twisting to kick the second man in the stomach. As a kid, couldn't be older than 15 drag his blade across his back and you winced at the sound of Marcs cry. You scrambled on the ledge, your feet balancing on the six inch margin as you waited for a chance to strike. When one of the men swiped his knife near Marc's face you jumped down on top of him, your leg wrapping around his neck as you brought him down to the ground with you. You grunted as he twisted in your grip his knife ready to stab you in the side before you bent his wrist back, you grabbed the blade before you chucked it off the roof and kicked him away from you. 

You stood up eyeing the man, he wasn't much taller than you so when he came at you, you scratched your nails across his eyes before reeling back your hand and shoving the heel of your hand and slammed it against his nose, making him shout in pain as his eyes watered up. You grinned and slammed your steel toe boot into his ankle to bring him as you turned and sidekicked the tip of your boot into his spine. You grinned triumphantly but the moment died quickly as you felt a hand grip your hair and drag you back. You saw Marc infront of you panting, his eyes wide when he saw your position. 

“If this is a lesson about not pulling my hair back before a fight,” you hissed at the sting of your hair pulling at your scalp. “Message received!”  you bent down and turned in his grip and shoved your elbow into the underside of his chin allowing the grip on your hair to lessen as you stepped back stumbling right into Marc. He placed a hand on your shoulder to balance you before walking up to the man and pressed the knife into his neck. You watched as Marc gazed into his reflection in the knife and shook his head.

“Not now Steven!” Marc shouted, but his eyes rolled back into his head and he lowered the knife. The man pushed Marc away and made a run for it but you sprinted and jumped on his back. Putting his head into lock with your arms until he passed out in your arms. Dropping the man to ground you turned and saw the teenager standing in front of you, holding his knife. Marc was off to the side as he woke up from Steven fronting.

“Don't you dare, kid.” Marc said with irritation. You chose to raise your hands in sign of surrender.

“I won't hurt you, I promise.” you said gently but the kid's glare grew more angry before he threw the knife, gliding through the wind before it sliced through the sleeve of your shirt and cutting open a slicing a small gash on your upper arm. You grimaced in pain as the teen fled down the stairs. Unwrapping the scarf that pushed back your hair from your face you tied it around your arm tightly. 

“Are you alright?” Marc said, his hand holding your arm as he inspected your homemade bandage. You shrugged him off as you went to the stairs the boy went down.

“You go after him up high where you can see, I'm going after him on the street.” You commanded, “I'll follow you!” you yelled as running down the steps and busting open the door. You watched what direction Marc went in before you ran. You ran through the busy traffic and the small market in the town. Rushing out apologies as you shoulder checked people on accident as you kept an eye on the teen. 

You were close to the boy when you felt a hand grab your shoulder, dragging you back. You looked behind you and saw the man whose nose you broke giving you a sick grin, his face smeared with blood as he dragged you back. You were panicking as he dug his fingers into your fresh wound. You shouted in pain before you snatched a vase from a seller's table and smashed it on his head. Once he dropped your arm, you made a bolt for an alley that had a small wall leading up to a dirt road. You looked behind you and saw the man stumbling after you. Bouncing back and forth for a moment before you sprinted down the alley and launched yourself up off a crate your hands gripped the rock and climbed up. When you turned around you saw the man after you with his fingers holding onto your ankle. You twisted in his grip and ended smacking your boot right into his temple, knocking him out and dropping back into the alley. You pulled the rest of your body over the ledge.

“Khonshu, he's just a kid.” you heard Marc debate, you looked up and saw him and the boy a few feet from you. You watched as Marc listened to who you could only assume was Khonshu and picked the kid up from the collar of his shirt and took him to the ledge using his scarf to hold him over. 

“Where's Harrow?” Marc demanded but the kid stayed quiet. “Where is Harrow!” he yelled. The teens face was hard as stone when he pulled his knife out his pocket.

“Praise Ammit.” he proclaimed, raising his knife.

“Dont!” you and Marc yelled at the same time before he sliced the knife through the thin fabric and fell off the cliff.

You covered your mouth as you gasped in shock watching as Marc just held the scaf in his hand before he dropped it. You watched as Marc yelled at Steven for some reason while you bent down and grabbed a brick. You waited until Marc turned to speak to the empty space in an abandoned car. You knew Khonshu was appearing before you threw the brick. The window shattered on impact you stalked over to the car.

“You stupid fucking bird.” you spat. “That was a child! What did you expect to get from that?” your chest heaved, Marc looked at you in shock before he turned his head.

“What did he say?” you asked, but Marc just shook his head.

“What did he say, Marc?” you bit out.

“He said he was an insignificant human.” he mumbled. You laughed in disbelief.

“Remember you old pigeon, without us insignificant humans you wouldn't be able to be in this realm.” you said, glaring at the car before you turned around and sat on a rock.

“Well, if we can't find Harrow's digging crew, we'll have to stop him another way.” Marc said walking over to you, giving you a once over before he turned to Khonshu. 

“What about the other gods,” you asked. “Are they going to sit on the side and allow Ammit to be released?” you watched Marc as he listened to what the god had to say.

“That doesn't sound so bad to me.” Marc said, looking at you. “He said getting an audience with gods means might anger them enough to incase him stone.”

“Sounds like a Christmas miracle to me.” you sighed. “As much as I don't like the bird, you need the armor to stand a chance against Harrow.” 

“What do we do then huh? Any ideas?” Marc asked. 

“Khonshu?” Marc called out.

“What happened?” you asked, getting up.

“He just disappeared.” 

As if on cue, strong wind blew through the air as the sky above you started to darken.

“Holy shit.” you watched in amazement as an eclipse covered the sky making the world around you darken. Marc grabbed your hand and started walking down the steps back into the town's streets.

“That was a bit over the top, don't you think?” Marc asked Khonshu, you tried behind him. “Aren't all the Avatars scattered across the world?”

“It doesn't matter,” you say. “If it's a meeting for the Ennead they can summon you from anywhere with a portal.”

“So, where is mine?” Marc questioned, the sound of rumbling made you and Marc turn around.

“I think we just found it.” you swallowed nervously as you nudged Marc to walk though, your hand on his shoulder as you followed behind him. The long tunnel was pitch black until the very end when it opened into a large room. You gasped in awe.

“My god, we're inside the great Pyramid of Giza.” you whispered.

“Can you and Steven stop geeking out for a second?” Marc huffed as you and Marc walked down the Stairs. One by one you watched gods in their avatars walk through portals. You ignored your shaking hands as you let go of Marc's shoulder to let him walk into the center of the room. You stood off to the side trying to be unnoticed in a room full of powerful beings.

“Khonshu theatrics are unparalleled.” A woman said walking up to Marc, her long black hair complimenting her dark complexion. She was beautiful in every way possible.

“I'm Yatzil, avatar of the goddess of music and love, Hathor.” the woman said, Marc just eyed her suspiciously.

“Cool.”

You wanted to smack Marc for not being respectful but you froze when Hathors avatar announced who was present.

“In Attendance, Hourus, Isis, Tefnut, Osiris, and Hathor. To hear the account of Khonshu.” she presented, you watched Marc's eyes glow for a brief second.

“You've been banished once for nearly exposing us, Khonshu. And you know we desire your garishness, your showy mask and weapons.” Osiris spoke, Marc stared at him in confusion. “But manipulate the sky again and we will imprison you in stone.”

“Spare me your self-righteous threats!” Khonshu yelled, Marc's body stiffened. “I was Banished for not abandoning humanity, unlike the rest of you!” Marc flinched once Khonsu stopped speaking through him.

“We have not abandoned humanity, they abandoned us.” Osiris said. “We simply trust our avatars to carry out our purposes without calling undue attention to ourselves.

“Avatars are not enough! We need the might of gods or else we'll lose this realm.”

“The avatars that remain here are simply here to observe. We decided long ago we did not wish to meddle in the affairs of man.” Osiris spoke.

“We will decide the best course of judgment and speak your purpose.” Tefnuts' avatar spoke.

“I call for judgment against Arthur Harrow!” Khonshu exclaimed.

“The charges?” Isis asked.

“Conspiracy to release Ammit!” Khonshu shouted, you saw a tear run down his face and it made your stomach twist in knots.

“That is a heavy accusation, Khonshu.” Osiris warned. “Let us summon the accused.”

Rumbling from the earth below made you body shake, you stumbled back once Arthur Harrow came out of a portal right next to you. Marc's gaze went to you but you waved your hand signaling you were fine.

“So, I see by the presence of Khonshis current makeshift avatar and its sidekick, the purposes of our meeting must be nefarious.” Harrow said, you rolled your eyes at the remark.

“You know exactly why we are here!” Khonshu yelled.

“I do not miss the sound of that voice, but speak old master to the point.” Harrow said.

You listen to Khonshu accuse Harrow of attempting to release Ammit but you watched Harrow act oddly calm and collected.

“I was in the desert. But if visiting the sands were a crime, the line of sinners would be longer than the nile.” Harrow pointed at Marc. “Khonshu vision is obscured by jealousy, paranoia, and-”

“A deceiver!” Khonshu shouted, Marc doubled over in exhaustion. 

“Do not trust the word of a shamed unhinged god and his unwell servant.” Harrow persuaded.

“What do you mean?”

“This is a man who literally does not know his own name, he has passports under the name Marc Specotr and employment records under the name Steven Grant. He speaks to himself, and threaten himself and I have no idea how many personalities he must possess.” Arthur explained, you slowly moved forward once you saw Marc's eye twitch.

“This man is clearly insane!” Harrow exclaimed, and Marc swung his fist back.

“Marc dont!” you yelled as you jumped forward and grabbed his fist, at the same time Osiris used his powers to yank Marc's arm back and make him kneel, your grip on his arm making you go down with him. You wiped the beads of sweat that gathered on his forehead.

“We will not tolerate violence in this chamber!” Osris yelled.

“If you won't listen to a man who is so called “Insane” and  is the avatar of Khonshu, then listen to me!” you shouted. Moving your hands from Marc's arm , you stood up and looked at the gods.

“And who are you?” Osiris asked, you rolled your shoulder back and held his gaze intensely.

“My name is Dr. Y/N L/N and I'm one of the very few who hasn't abandoned the gods,” you said.

“Are you an avatar?” Hathor asked and you shook your head.

“No, I'm not but I have spent the last 15 years of my life reading about your lifes and  running exhibitions to return artifacts from your land that were stolen and sold by black markets back to their proper temples.” you explained, you glared at Harrow for a moment.“Which is how I recognized the scarab that leads to Ammits tomb and when Arthur Harrow took it back after Marc had taken it back to stop Harrow's plan.” you pointed an accusatory finger at the old man. “Do not let Arthur Harrow's faux concern about Marc Spectors well-being fool you, it's his sad attempt to shift the focus off himself.”

You took a few steps forward so you were on the first four steps of the stairs leading to Osiris' seat.

“I understand your mistrust towards Kohnshu, but just because his words are coming from a man who just needs some help does not make Marc Spector an unreliable source. If you let Arthur Harrow go and he gets to Ammits ushabti, millions  of souls will be judged in the Duat before their time.” you concluded.

“I have no pleasure to tell you that this is a deeply troubled man, Khonshu is taking advantage of him the same way he abused me and is using Marc Spectors closest friend to make a story that will feed his own goals.” Harrow glanced at you for a moment.

“Take action now before it's too late.”

“Let us speak to Marc Spector.” Horus demanded, crossing his arms and breaking the bind Osiris used on him. Marc tipped forward, breathing heavily as he looked up.

“Are you unwell?’ he asked.

Marc looked around sporadically, his eyes welling with tears and nodded.

“I am, I am unwell. I need help.” He said, his voice cracking at the end. “But that doesn't change the fact this man is…” Marc pointed, but he dropped his head and you heard a small cry come from him.

“This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by khonshu.” Hathor comfated.

“This is not about my feelings! I'm not the one on trial here! This is about how dangerous he is, if you would just listen to us for a second.” Marc begged. 

‘He has committed no offense.” Osiris said. “This matter is concluded.” you watched in shock as the gods left their avatars and went through their portals, going their separate ways. Watching Harrow leave as you jogged down the steps to Marc kneeling form, joining him on the floor you lifted his head.

“Are you okay?” You said, Marc shook his head as his eyes opened clearly.

“I'm so sorry, I tried so hard to convince them I really did.” you apologized, how the gods didn't see how dangerous that man was you will never know.

“Marc? Dr. L/n?” Yatzil called, and both of you turned to look at her.

“There is another way.” she said.

You and Marc looked at each other before you helped him up, Yatzil walked the two of you in a secluded place hidden from sight before you talked.

“Ammit was buried in secret, the location hidden even from the gods.” Yatzil explained. “Ammit had many followers so i didn't know who to trust”

“But someone had to know something?” Marc said, Yatzil nodded in agreement.

“One man. A medjay named Senfu. He was tasked with recording the location of the tomb in case the god changed their minds and decided to show mercy. If you find Senfus sarcophagus, you'll find Ammits tomb.”

“Okay, how do we do that?” You asked. 

“His sarcophagus was stolen and sold on the balck market, I would start there.” Yatzil seguested. You reached out and shook her hand in thanks.

“Thank you Yatzil, I promise you won't regret telling us this.” you said, smiling at her.

“Hathor was touched about your passion for the gods and your friend, don't let anyone take that from you, Y/n.” Yatzil said before walking away into her portal. You turned to look at Marc and grabbed his hand.

“I need to go looking for Senfus sarcophagus.” Marc said but you shook your head.

“Marc you need rest and so do I, but first thing in the morning we will go look I promise.” you said. Marc looked down at you for a moment as if he was going to argue but he just sighed.

“Yeah okay, first thing tomorrow.” he echoed. 

 The walk back to your hotel wasn't long, neither of you spoke as well, too tired and uncomfortable from your wounds and the sweat, blood and dirt plastered to your skin. When you walked in the door to your hotel room you and Marc sat on the bed for a moment. 

“Let me see your arm.” Marc mumbled, too tired  to do anything. You held your arm up to him and let him drag the bloody scarf off, sticky blood making fibers stick to the sensitive skin you winced at the feeling, Marc hummed quietly to himself.

“You definitely need some stitches.” he said before getting up and grabbing his suitcase and pulling out his first aid kit. He came back over to the bed and got his gaze and antiseptic wound spray ready.

“This is gonna sting a little.” he warned.

“I'll consider it a really shitty pregame for the stiches.” you said as Marc gingerly held your arm. You prided yourself at the small laugh you got from him, but it didn't last long as the sting from the spray made you hiss as you curled your hands into fists as he cleaned away the debris in your cut.

He dabbed the wet area dry before he turned and grabbed the needle holder, the needle and some nylon thread.

“You ready?” Marc asked, and you shut eyes tight.

“Yeah I think so.” you whispered.

Marc pushied the point of the needle through the teared skin as fast as possible without messing up the suture. You cringed in your seat as clamped your mouth shut, the sound of your teeth smacking together audible in the otherwise silent room.

“I know sweetheart, you're doing so good just keep breathing yeah?” Marc praised.

“Just talk to me, please? Just distract me.” you begged with tension in your voice.

“Okay, how did you fight like that today? Are you a secret spy or something?” Marc mumbled as he got closer to your arm.

“No,” you scoffed. “I was on a work trip in Greece and stayed late at the place we were cleaning the artifacts we found that day, I ended up getting jumped.” you flinched at the needle pricking your skin again. “When I got home I started going to self defense classes, then it grew to boxing during my free time.”

He pushed the needle through your skin again and you let out a small goran and titled your head back.

“Jeez, When I was getting stabbed by like 30 needles in one go when I got my tattoo it hurt less compared to this single needle.” You joked, Marc smirked a little before he sewed the last suture  and tied it off.

“There you go, good as new.”  he said leaning back, you raised your arm and looked at his work. You looked over at him and froze when you realized how close your faces were. 

“What about you? Any wounds?” you whispered and he shook his head.

“It's mostly bruising, I'll be fine.” he reassured you. 

You stared at him in silence for a moment, his face was covered in dried blood and sweat but he somehow managed to look just as beautiful. His curls were puffed out from the dry heat and all you wanted to do was touch it. When you met his eyes again he was looking at you softly.

“Don't look at me like that.” you said, laughing a little.

“Like what?” Marc said, his tone steady and calm. His half lidded eyes watch you with such intensity you stood up from the burn of it. You debated your next words for a moment.

“Like you actually feel the same as me.” you whispered. “Like you love me.” you stared at him as he stood up from his spot and walked over to you.

“What if I do?” he asked, “What if I told you my feelings for you haven't changed?” his hand came up to cup your cheek before he trailed it down until it reached your chest, his thumb rubbing over your tattoo. You let out a shaky sigh and he stills for a moment before he brought both hands back to your face and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Please don't do this to me.” you said, a broken crack at the last syllable giving away your emotional state. “Don't give me hope that things will be different than last time.”

“I love you.” Marc said, and you sucked in a breath at the confession you have waited over decades for. One that has almost been said by you over the phone, in your dreams, and on that god forsaken night Marc left. Did he want this just as much as you?

“I love you too” you breathed out, almost breathless at the whole situation. Marc pulls you in by the back of your neck and smashes your lips together. Your hands went for his hair, fingers carding through the soft curls. It was messy for a moment, teeth clacking together and kisses that trialed of your each other mouths for a second before you got over the intentional shock allowing you bite marcs bottom lip, then smooth the mark over with your tongue. Marc pulled away to kiss down your jaw and neck before finding his way to your collarbone. Kissing the inked covered skin repeatedly.

“I'm sorry, for leaving.” Marc panted as he kissed across your chest. “I should've been with you this whole time, i'm so sorry.” you pulled him away so you can look at him. His hair was wild thanks to your fingers, his pupils blown, and red swollen lips from kissing you.

“It's okay,” you cooed but Marc shook his head. “I'm serious I forgive you Marc.”

You reached down and grabbed the hem of Marcs shirt before you reached for you own shirt, pulling it off.

“Let's shower?” you asked, “then we need to sleep so were ready for tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” he said, before leaning down and kissing you once more.

   Taglist:

@ayocee

@admin-in-residence

@trash-panda99

@dopeqff

@lunnybunny12​ 

@bored-as-hell-666​

[hlficlibrary]

Happy Valentine's Day 2022! The library's gift for you is this fic rec of amazing Valentine's Day themed fics! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed!

💖 Love Is on The Radio by perfectdagger (sincerelyste) / @whatevertearsyou & star_k / @regulusarcblack {E, 35k}

“So Louis, who’s the lucky person that will not only get to see Arsenal and Manchester United facing each other, but will also possibly become your girlfriend… or boyfriend? I mean, that’s a good catch, to ask someone out like this on the radio. It will be hard to say no after this.”

“It’s, hm, his name is…” Oh boy, Harry was about to pass out, he couldn’t bear to hear what Louis would say. Susie was looking at him, worried eyes watching him from the till as she noticed that Harry had simply abandoned his cupcake duties. “Harry. Harry Styles.”

To win a pair of tickets to watch Manchester United playing, Louis may have possibly lied to Nick Grimshaw on the BBC Radio 1 Breakfast Show, asking Harry, his best friend, to be his boyfriend. Problem is - Harry has always been in love with Louis and so, this Valentine’s he’s gonna see his dreams come true, with a tiny bit of a twist, in order to watch the football team they have loved together since they were kids.

💖 Kiss From A Rose by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10 {T, 15k}

Harry is the quiet one in the office no one ever notices. Until Louis does, that is. When notes start appearing on Harry’s desk, he ponders who is behind the kind words, oblivious to Louis’ attempts to get his attention...

💖 Loosen Up My Buttons by @softfonds {E, 13k}

The beautiful man opened this bakery about a year ago. He remembered the exact day he came: a glum, rainy morning in the middle of February, which instantly turned brighter the minute he saw him. The man had come in with some paint buckets and tools, and Louis doubted he would be able to fix up the drab place all by himself. But as he walked down the stairs at the end of the day and saw the man standing there in the middle of a gorgeous pink and white shop, clearly proud of his work, Louis fell in love at first sight. If only he knew how to talk to him.

Usually, Louis knew how to flirt. He prided himself on it. But every time he looked at the beautiful man, he completely forgot how to form sentences, and there was no way he could go up to him only to make a fool of himself. That was the last thing he needed.

Or, Louis owns a tattoo shop called Pretty in Ink, Harry owns a bakery called Rolling Scones, they haven't been introduced, and Valentine’s Day seems like the perfect opportunity to finally talk to the man Louis has been pinning over for the past year. And they both end up with more love than they bargained for.

💖 your heart is glowing (and i'm crashing into you) by anyadisee {T, 11k}

If this were a fairytale, maybe even a Young Adult novel or a chick flick, this would be the moment where Louis would stare right into his soul and whisper, “You. It’s you, Harry,” before pulling him in for a kiss right there and then in the middle of the sidewalk. They’d confess their never-ending love for each other then hold hands for the rest of the walk home, and then they’d go to uni together and become the ultimate power couple of their campus. They’d start a family together a few years after they graduate, find a large house somewhere nice and preferably warm, get two pet dogs and five cats, and then adopt enough children to start a football team. If only men could get pregnant as well, Harry thinks wistfully. He’d love to carry Louis’ babies given the chance.

But. This isn’t a fairytale, nor is it a movie based off the latest YA bestseller. This is real life.

(harry is in love with love, volunteers to hand out valentine gifts for a week, and somehow becomes the football captain's secret admirer.)

💖 Be Mine, Little Valentine by @kingsofeverything {E, 7k}

Louis wants to find someone who'll love all of him. There's just one tiny complication.

💖 young hearts on the chase by daffodilsforlou / @polaroidlouis {G, 7k}

Before he can question him any further, Harry’s holding out a drink to him, ‘Louis’ written on the side of it with messy, pink letters. Warmth spreads all throughout Louis’ body when he takes it, starting from the tip of his fingers where they brush Harry’s to curl around the cup and settling in his chest.

“I also got us– um,” the omega starts, nervous fingers fumbling to get the paper bag open. “Got you an egg muffin. Or– or a normal muffin if you don’t like egg ones.”

“Who doesn’t like egg muffins?”

The smile that breaks across Harry’s face in response is as bright as the one yesterday. Louis almost expects it to be kissed into his cheek as well. It looks like Harry’s considering it for a moment, too, dreamy gaze gliding all over Louis’ expectant face. He seems to decide against it with a sigh though, and Louis’ not disappointed when they start walking side by side instead (he’s not).

harry’s a hopeless romantic, louis’ oblivious, and it’s going to be Valentine’s Day.

💖 In Like a Lion by Cori Lannam (corilannam) {T, 7k}

Of all the frozen yoghurt joints in all the world, he walked into Louis'.

Or, Louis got over Harry a long time ago. Sort of.

💖 you bring me home by @solvetheminourdreams {G, 6k}

OTRA Melbourne — 14th of February, 2015

It's Valentine's day. It's Valentine's day and Harry's annoyed, because instead of spending the night with his boyfriend after a day packed with promo and a show—he can't find him anywhere.

Or the one where the boys trash a dressing room, Liam and Zayn just want a gift wrapped, Niall's life is in peril, Louis is MIA, and Harry's just a tad frustrated.

Did he mention it's Valentine's day?

💖 Before I Fall Too Fast by orphan_account {G, 6k}

‘Hey Lou, want to hang out after work? Order in some curry?’

He’s slightly surprised, because, well. “Didn’t you just say you had plans?”

Harry’s cheeks flush as he shrugs it off.

‘I just wanted them off my back. Truth is I’m gonna be terribly single and alone, but I thought we could be single and alone together - maybe we could make a proper night off of it? Play some FIFA, watch Grease...’

He trails off with an impish grin, and Louis is pretty sure that his own face shows just how easy he is for his favourite musical.

“Fine, I can’t say no to Danny and Sandy. That’d be mean of me.”

It’s probably a really bad idea to spend Valentine’s Day with the guy that you’re actually crushing on, Louis knows that. However, it’s also really hard to say no to spending the most romantic day of the year - supposedly - with the one guy you’ve been crushing on for almost a year.

💖 their lips are lying only real is real by @vanillabeanniall {G, 5k}

“We have a special deal for couples through the next two months,” she was saying. “A free 48-hour movie rental of anything in this redbox, as long as your purchase is $10 or more. And, I have to say, you two are one of the cutest couples I’ve seen throughout this whole sale.”

Louis smiled politely and glanced behind him, opening his mouth to say that he and this stranger weren’t together. Then the words died in his throat. Louis abruptly grabbed the boy’s hand and turned back to the saleswoman, smiling widely.

“Thanks, yeah, we’ve been together for three years.”

The salesperson grinned and started selling the movie thing. Louis could practically feel the waves of confusion rolling off of Tall Fit Banana Boy, so he turned to him and whispered, “Just go with it, they have my favorite movie.”

Or, the one where Louis and Harry pretend they're in love to get a few free movies until suddenly they stop pretending.

💖 trust me to take you home by @hattalove {T, 4k}

“I made breakfast,” says Harry, and Louis can feel him smile where his face is smushed against Louis’s shoulder blade. “Full English. All for you.” Louis finally opens his eyes, and blinks. “What about the others?” “Asleep,” Harry whispers, “it’s five in the morning.”

or, a clichéd tale of two boys in love and their first valentine's day together.

💖 Love is the Devil by @taggiecb {E, 3k}

It's Valentine's day, and Louis has never celebrated before. He tries to make the perfect date for Harry.

💖 Happy Valentine's Day, You Cockroach by @allwaswell16 {NR, 2k}

Harry Styles, new director of the Milltown Zoo, has a great idea for a Valentine's Day themed fundraiser. For a donation, they'll name cockroaches after people's exes and then feed them to the meerkats on a live stream. He just didn't foresee how many cockroaches would end up with his name...

[goodlucktai]

Could you write something about natsume getting a hug?? Just, from whoever n for whatever reason. I keep thinking about how no one ever really hugs him n it makes me sad

x

The absolute last person Joji expected to see today was Natsume Takashi.

Joji slows to a stop on the corner of the street, a block away from the train station, and stares shamelessly.

It's been a decade since the last time he saw Natsume, but he recognizes him immediately. Of course he does. His light hair and eyes aside, Joji has thought about him on-and-off since junior high.

Joji remembers that rainy day when he was thirteen, an empty desk in the middle of his eighth grade classroom, Ito leaning over in his chair to whisper, "Did you hear? Natsume was in the ER. He almost died. The police are looking at his foster parents."

It was as if he'd been plunged into a pool of ice water. He sat there, frozen, while their teacher called them to attention for homeroom and announced that Natsume wouldn't be in their class going forward.

What was the last thing Joji had said to him? "It's no wonder your parents didn't want you." Why the hell had he said that? A book, if he remembers right. He'd lent it to Natsume and Natsume gave it back all water-damaged, like he'd gone for a swim with his backpack on. Natsume's eyes were on his hands, on the ruined book, and he'd tried to apologize, said he'd pay for it, but Joji just snatched it away, ticked off.

"This is what I get for trying to help you, I guess. It's no wonder your parents didn't want you."

Joji is almost twenty-four now. He's going into pediatrics. His fiance, Sakura, is a foster parent. She is currently the proud and fiercely protective mother of two beautiful twin girls.

Sora and Miu are terrified of adults and they go everywhere together and sometimes they make up stories. Sometimes they lie, about why their uniforms are torn, why they're home late, why their lunchboxes are covered in dirt. They have this look in their eyes sometimes like they're just waiting to get hurt again.

Sakura has the patience of a saint. She never raises her voice. She stitches their torn uniforms, replaces their lunchboxes, and, on more than one occasion, has marched into their junior high school and threatened the staff with physical violence if her babies come home with bruises one more time.

Needless to say, Sora and Miu adore her. It took them longer to warm up to Joji, but they're there now; no longer flinching when he moves in their direction, greeting him happily when he comes over for breakfast, smiling shyly when he staggers into the apartment underneath the weight of two giant stuffed rabbits that cost nearly half his paycheck, because it's their birthday, Sakura, they need them.

Joji tries to imagine someone telling them "this is why your parents didn't want you" and goes absolutely breathless with rage.

Natsume glances up from his phone to look right at Joji, as if someone had pointed him out. Caught staring, Joji shuffles in place for a moment, and then squares his shoulders and heads over.

He's expecting the Natsume of his memory; he's expecting him to curl his shoulders and duck his head, the way Joji's girls still sometimes do when a stern auntie wants to talk to them.

He's not expecting Natsume to level him with a clear, politely confused gaze. He pockets his phone, and shoves his hands into the front pockets of the cardigan he's wearing; a size too big, like something he borrowed out of someone else's closet, but it's a charming look on him. He's dressed well, in dark-washed jeans and white high-top sneakers, and his silvery hair is long, probably long enough to fall past his shoulders if he didn't have it piled up in a bun. There's a squat calico cat at his feet, glaring up at Joji with judgmental green eyes.

"Can I help you?" Natsume asks kindly. His voice is a shock to the system; Joji remembers him like it was yesterday.

"Oh," Joji says, stymied. It never occurred to him that Natsume might not recognize him in turn. "Um, I'm Watanabe Joji. We were classmates in eighth grade."

"That's right," Natsume says with gratifying quickness. He looks a little embarrassed now and returns Joji's short bow. "Sorry, it's been a long time."

And we weren't exactly friends, he doesn't say, but that common knowledge sits neatly between them.

"Ten years!" Joji replies with some forced enthusiasm. "Is that why you're here?"

"Sorry?"

"The, ah, reunion this weekend? Ito, from our homeroom back then, put together a whole thing. Our whole class is getting together for dinner and drinks."

It occurs to him that Natsume might not have been invited. Joji thinks that's less because he isn't welcome and more because Ito almost certainly didn't have his contact information. The few times his name has come up, Joji's friends have gone quiet and melancholy. A few of them are parents now, or aunts and uncles at least. All of them know better than they did when they were mean, shitty little teenagers.

Joji opens his mouth to assure Natsume that they'd love to have him, but Natsume cuts him off with a laugh.

It's not a mean laugh. It's not unfriendly in the slightest. But it stings anyway, because Natsume is laughing out of pure disbelief.

"No, no," he says, waving a hand, "god, no. Could you imagine?" he adds, glancing down at the cat. The cat huffs, settling a little more solidly against Natsume's ankle. "We're just passing through, actually."

"We?" Joji asks dumbly. Did he mean himself and the cat?

It's Natsume's turn to get cut-off, this time by a long, drawn-out shout of "Takashiiii!"

A short, russet-haired young man around Joji's age comes barreling down the sidewalk toward them at a flat-out run. Joji's first inclination is one of alarm, but Natsume steps forward with his arms outstretched, and the stranger collides with him in an embrace that looks like it hurts.

Natsume is laughing again, but it's softer this time. It's the warmest sound Joji has ever heard him make.

"What's this for?" Natsume is saying, patting him on the back.

"Just missed you," his friend replies.

"You saw him twenty minutes ago, Satoru," comes the exasperated call from further down the road, and Joji glances over to find a small group headed their way, laden with shopping bags.

"Yeah, exactly," Satoru says, leaning back without letting go, just enough to gaze up at Natsume with a cheeky grin. "I'm all Takashi-deficient. It's pretty serious."

"Sounds serious," Natsume replies, and agreeably keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders as the rest of their group catches up.

A tall, dark-haired man stoops to pick up Natsume's cat, and it settles agreeably in the crook of his arm. The brown-eyed woman beside him lets out a coo, shifting all her bags to one hand so she has one free to scratch it behind the ears.

"We're being rude," the dark-haired man says in a soft, pleasant tone. "Who's this, Takashi?"

Natsume introduces Joji as an old classmate, giving absolutely none of their history away in tone or expression, but somehow all of his friends seem to clue in to something anyway. Their collective demeanor shifts, in an unidentifiable way, even if their polite smiles don't slip an inch as Takashi introduces each of them in turn.

All but Nishimura Satoru, still tucked up against Natsume's side, who gives Joji a positively poisonous look.

"Okay, Satchan, you're going to lose privileges if you can't be nice," Kitamoto says dryly, and extracts him from Natsume's person with a deftness that speaks of years of practice.

"Nooo," Nishimura says, but it's curbed quickly by Shibata shoving a bag at him and snapping, "Carry this! It's that stupid lucky cat statue you just had to have, and it's heavy!"

"It looks just like sensei! Tooru loves it, too!"

"I do," Taki admits.

It's a warm afternoon, right at the end of August, the sky turning golden with the beginnings of dusk. Joji still manages to feel cold.

He grew up, but Natsume did, too. He always regretted what he did, he always wondered if Natsume was okay, wherever he went, but Natsume hasn't seemed to spare him a second thought. He's got his own friends now; bright, kind people who look like they'd raise hell for him. Who run to meet him.

Joji missed the chance to have a place in Natsume's life. He's a footnote, now, and not a very good one.

"Jojojojo!"

The bright voices have him spinning around, forgetting everything else, and he lights up when he spots Sora and Miu waving at him from the other side of the street. Sakura has a firm hold on their jackets so they can't go spilling out into the street until the pedestrian crossing sign lights up, and then she releases them like a couple of eager hunting dogs.

Natsume's friends shuffle to one side politely, and Joji steps forward to catch his girls when they reach him. They're so beautiful and he missed them so much, this weekend they were away to visit Sakura's parents. He kisses them each on the head, and then kisses Sakura on the head in the name of fairness, and it makes all three of them laugh.

Taki coos just like she did with the cat, hands clasped together under her chin.

"What sweet girls!" she says. "Are they yours, Watanabe?"

"Yes," Joji says proudly, putting one arm around each of their shoulders. They've come so far, not hiding behind him from the group of strangers, even if they press into his sides shyly. "This is Miu, and this is Sora. We're adopting them."

Sakura shifts her weight imperceptibly, a barely-there tell. Waiting, he knows, for the surprise, or outright condemnation. She's dealt with a lot of bullshit for taking these kids in, from family and ex-friends and even total strangers. It rolls right off her, and she usually gives as good as she gets, but she hates when Sora and Miu have to hear it. They don't deserve to hear it.

Joji will have to explain it to her, later, why he brought it up. Why he knew it would be safe to bring it up in front of these strangers.

Sure enough, all their faces soften immediately, a gentle transformation. Natsume crouches, gazing at the twins with an expression that Joji remembers from his childhood. The delicate resilience, the willingness to reach out even if he got hurt.

The look on his face ten years ago when he handed back that ruined book, owning up to his mistake and trying to fix it, buying Joji a replacement even after Joji said something unthinking and cruel.

"I was adopted, too," he says.

"Really?" Sora asks quietly.

"Really," Natsume tells her. "My parents died when I was little. I wasn't an easy child to care for, even though it wasn't my fault, so I got passed around a lot. It took me a long time to find my place, but I found it. Did you find yours?"

"I think so," Sora says, glancing around Joji at her sister.

"Me, too," Miu adds.

Sakura clutches Joji's hand hard enough to bruise. She won't cry here and now, but he already knows it's going to be an ice-cream-for-dinner kind of night.

Natsume looks up to meet Joji's eyes when he says, "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

It's forgiveness. Joji hears it plain as day. He didn't get a chance to ask for it-- isn't sure he deserves it-- but there it is, freely given. And it's reassurance, too.

When Joji's daughters used to curl their shoulders and duck their heads, it would always tug at the memory of a boy he used to know, who was as kind as he was desperate for kindness.

Now, he thinks, when his girls are making a mess of the kitchen trying to follow a pancake recipe with their friends, or dragging a stray cat inside with big, hopeful eyes, it'll remind him of this afternoon. Natsume's clear, bright eyes, and the protective cluster of friends surrounding him.

The world wasn't fair to him; it left a mountain in his life that he had to climb, complete with all its pitfalls and crumbling paths and bad weather.

And here he is on the other side, goodness intact. Smiling. Loved.

He found his place. Sora and Miu found theirs.

And god, if that doesn't give Joji hope for everyone else.

"It was nice to see you," he says thickly, hoping Natsume hears his honesty. "Don't come to the reunion, that was-- a stupid thing to say, but-- would you-- dinner?"

Natsume hears it. He tilts his head, considering, and then says, "We missed our train, anyway."

"And I'm starving," Tanuma says agreeably. Clearly, he says it more to agree with Natsume than anything.

Nishimura is the hardest sell, watching Joji with hard eyes. But then his gaze dips to Sora and Miu, and all his sharp edges go soft, like butter melting in the sun. After a handful of tense seconds, he visibly gives up on his anger with a huff. His friends, watching patiently, all give absurd little cheers when it's clear he's on board.

"Fine, but if you live farther than three feet away, we're getting an Uber," Shibata threatens, rustling the shopping bags in his hands with annoyed fervor.

They drift in the direction of Joji's home, and Kitamoto talks Shibata down from the Uber with the promise of ducking into a 7-Eleven for ice creams instead, and Taki and Sakura are fast friends, rolling their sleeves up to compare tattoos-- Taki's is a strange, occult-looking circle that Joji makes a mental note to ask about-- and Tanuma lets Sora carry the fat cat, while Miu pets it with reverent fingers.

Natsume walks beside Joji, calm and unhurried, with Nishimura on his other side. He grew up with so much grace.

"Can I add you to the class groupchat?" he asks without thinking.

"Good luck with that," Nishimura butts in, not unkindly. "He's the most unreliable texter you've ever met. He left me on read for like two days once, and we live together."

"You'd have better luck with an email," Natsume says apologetically.

It's more than Joji thought he'd get; they exchange contact information, in the middle of this chaotic, noisy group making its way down the street toward the well-lit combini on the corner and then, beyond that, home.

Natsume doesn't seem to have any interest in reconnecting with his old classmates, and Joji doesn't blame him for that. Even though it will certainly piss Ito off to be kept in the dark, even just for a few days, Joji decides it's for the best.

Nishimura's goodwill can't be stretched that far.

[peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology]

27 and 28 with college!Peter please? 🥺🥺

Here you are darling I hope you enjoy! Reminder that I am accepting requests until the end of summer so please keep sending them in!

On the Run

27 - Running from the police after a party gets busted

28 - Falling asleep during a long drive home

Pairing: College! Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You and Peter run from the cops

Summer of Love

Masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Music thudded through the house, vibrating the walls and drowning out almost all other sound.. They’d had to drive nearly an hour out of the city for someone’s birthday, and had to park nearly a mile away from the actual house. Had it not been for (y/n)’s enthusiasm about the event he never would have gone. The same could be said about nearly any party the couple attended though. Peter was always much happier to spend the night at home, cuddled up on the couch together. But his girlfriend was much more of a social butterfly than him, and really he was happy to attend anything at her side.

“Let’s dance,” she tugged his arm towards the middle of the large living room.

Peter chuckled, setting his hands on her hips as she walked him to the floor, “You know I can’t dance.”

“I’ll teach you,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, “Just sway a little P, it’s not that hard.”

“I’m not that coordinated.”

She burst into a fit of laughter instantly, “Shut up you are by far the most coordinated person here, Spiderman.”

“That’s different,” he rolled his eyes, “I can’t dance.”

“Not really,” she agreed, “That’s okay, you’ve got plenty of other athletic abilities,” she poked his chest, giving him a wink before she spun back around.

Peter laughed, holding her waist while she danced against him, smiling at the happy look on her face. It was easy for them to get caught up in each other, forget that they were at a party, that the rest of the world even existed. Lucky for them, Peter had a sixth sense to pull him back to the real world.

“Hey, I think maybe we should get going,” he squeezed her waist.

She frowned at him, “Why? We don’t have anything to do tomorrow.”

“I know, but I’ve just got a feeling we should go,” he insisted, just as red and blue lights became visible in the windows.

“Shit,” she groaned, “We can sneak out the back.”

He nodded, pushing her in front of him as they weaved through the crowd. The backyard was emptying out quickly as most people had begun to crowd the front door.

“Nobody leave!” a voice shouted from the front door, causing both of them to turn and see who it was.

“Come on,” (y/n) tugged Peter along, “We’re gonna get held up for hours, let’s just hop the fence.”

“Yeah, you’re right, come on,” Peter continued to wiggle them through the crowd, finally entering the backyard, “Here, I’ll help you over.”

“Such a gentleman,” she giggled as he grabbed her waist, helping lift her over the fence, “Oh shit,” she swore as she hit the ground.

“What happened? Are you okay?” he lifted himself up over the fence as quickly as he could, only to be met with the same problem, “Shit.”

“What are you kids up to?” one of the officers smirked.

“We were just trying to get home,” (y/n) tried to explain, “We didn’t want to get held up in there all night.”

“Alright,” the second officer sighed, “Let me see your ID’s.”

Peter handed his over but (y/n) could only blushed, “I left mine in our car.”

The officer hummed, “I can’t let you go without ID.”

She groaned, “Fine, fine, we can go run and get it or-”

“No, I need to see it now,” the officer insisted, “Otherwise I’ll have to take you in until I can verify your identity.”

“Take her in?” Peter went wide eyed, “Like to jail?”

“To the police station,” he corrected, “So if you don’t have your idea I’ll have to ju-”

“Run!” (y/n) had grabbed Peter’s hand and started running, causing Peter to go wide eyed and stumble over his feet.

“Are you insane?!” Peter snapped, looking over his shoulder to see if they were being followed.

“You’re a superhero, you should be able to outrun the police!” she snapped back.

“I can, but...” he glanced over his shoulder again before rolling his eyes, “Oh just come on!”

He pulled her towards a park, hoping it’d make it easier to lose them. The cops yelled at them to stop, (y/n) erupted into a fit of giggles while Peter prayed that neither of them got tazed. They stumbled around some bushes and Peter led them towards the playground, where he hid them both behind one of the slides. They peaked around the corner, the cops were still heading there way.

“We should keep running,” (y/n) whispered.

“Just give it a second,” Peter insisted, “I’m sure they don’t want to chase us all around when they have a whole party to bust.”

“I don’t know they kind of seem like dicks,” she mumbled.

“They’re cops, what did you expect?”

“Did you see where they went?” one of the cops asked.

The other shook his head, “No, I saw them running into the playground but that’s it.”

“Do you really wanna spend all this time looking for them?” the first questioned, “We’re gonna be in trouble if we don’t help them bust the party.”

“Yeah yeah,” he sighed, “Let’s head back, this is a waste of time.”

“Thank god,” (y/n) sighed.

“I think we should take a break from parties for a while,” Peter stood, offering her his hand, “Come on, we can cut through the park to get back to the car.”

“Good idea,” her head fell onto his shoulder while they walked, “I don’t know about you but I’m definitely ready for bed.”

“Yeah, me too,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to her head just as a whirring sound overtook the park, “What the...”

(y/n) squealed and clung to Peter, attempting to shield herself from the sprinklers, “Peter!”

“I didn’t turn on the sprinklers!” he laughed and took her hands in his, “Come on, it’s just a little water.”

“It’s freezing,” she shivered, scooting closer to him in an attempt to shield herself from the water.

“I think it feels nice,” he kissed her forehead, a smirk came to his lips as he mocked her words from earlier that night, “Run!”

She burst into laughter again as he pulled her through the park, stumbling as she tried to keep up with him. He didn’t stop until they reached the sidewalk, safely out of reach from the sprinklers. She stopped to catch her breath while he started laughing again, flicking his wet hair out of his face.

“We’ve still got a bit of a walk,” he hummed, “You want my jacket?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think your wet jacket is gonna do much for me.”

“No, but I thought I’d offer,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Well come on, we gotta get you to that nice warm car.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Finally,” (y/n) groaned when she spotted the car, running up to the passenger door excitedly, “Hurry up!”

Peter rolled his eyes as he unlocked the car, “It’s gonna take a minute to get it warmed up.”

“That’s okay,” she hummed as he turned on the car, letting her eyes fall closed as she settled into her seat, “I can’t wait to get home and take a nice warm shower.”

“I doubt you will be awake when we get home.”

“I will be,” she assured, placing her hands against the rapidly warming vents.

“We’ll see,” he hummed, “My money’s on you falling asleep though.”

“I’m staying awake,” she insisted, “So we can take a nice warm shower and cuddle up in bed together.”

“That sounds nice,” Peter squeezed her hand before he pulled into the street, “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” she hummed, “Nothing better than snuggling up with my Peter.”

He blushed as he nodded in agreement, “Yeah, nothing better than that.”

Sure enough, fifteen minutes into the ride, she was half asleep, head against the windows and her eyes half closed. Peter chuckled at the sight and set a hand on her leg, causing her eyes to dart to him. She smiled and set her hand over his, squeezing it before returning her eyes to a window. He squeezed her leg and looked back to the road.

Another five minutes passed and it was clear she had fallen asleep. Peter turned down the music and the heater, hoping to keep it quiet so she could sleep for the rest of the drive. She was a light sleeper so he tried to make the drive as smooth as he could, and by some miracle he managed to pull into their parking garage with her still asleep. He picked her up from the passenger seat as gently as he could, but she still began to stir.

“Peter,” she mumbled, only half awake at that point.

“It’s alright, we just got home,” he kissed her forehead with a smile, “You just sleep, I’ll carry you to bed.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, letting her head fall against his chest.

He smiled as he carried her through the halls towards their apartment, kicking open the door as gently as he could, “Do you wanna change for bed?”

She nodded, curling up into a ball as he set her on the bed, “Yeah, let’s just lay down first.”

“Alright sweety,” he chuckled and laid down beside her, wrapping his arms around her middle, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she mumbled with a yawn, “Thanks for carrying me in Peter.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he kissed her forehead, “Now get some sleep, we might have to run from the cops again tomorrow.”

A tired laugh left her lips, followed by another yawn, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be ready.”

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒ 

Taglist:

@niallberry @namoreno @spideyssunshine @zspideyy @roseke @andreagf956 @thevery-firstpage @emistrash @tomsirishgirlx @peachyafshawn @agbspidey @spideyspeaches

[lumelii]

PANDA ~|~ NANAMI x FEM!READER

Summary: Nanami and Yuuji stop into the local bakery. Nanami finds something he wants that’s off the menu.

Content warning: fluff, little bit of pining, child-parent relations, singledad!Nanami

Note: thanks again to Moni for beta-reading 🥰

word count: 1.6k

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

“Daddy! Look!”

It was a bakery they had passed multiple times on the way home, living just next door to it. It was small, tucked into one half of the ground floor of the low building it occupied, sharing a wall with a pharmacy. It served reasonably priced pastries and sandwiches, as well as some of the best coffee in Tokyo. Nanami usually took Yuuji there once or twice a month and let him pick what he wanted for breakfast.

The window display was almost always the same, Nanami would have missed the slight change as he tried to juggle the various bags they had accumulated from their early Saturday morning errands if his young son hadn’t pointed it out. He looked over to see the small bag of fruit he had asked Yuuji to carry on the sidewalk, a lone apple rolling away while his son stood on his tiptoes, his nose practically pressed to the glass. 

Instead of the standard fare on the very top shelf, there was a row of buns in the shapes of various animals, with different fillings for each shape written neatly on cards next to each. Nanami had to admire the work, they were incredibly detailed. 

“It’s a panda!” Yuuji looked back at Nanami and pointed at the aforementioned bun in the middle. “Can we get one?”

Nanami caught himself before denying Yuuji outright. He had been especially good today when they were running their errands, not complaining once as his father dragged him through town and entertaining himself in the various shops without getting into trouble. And they could go to the park later so Yuuji could run off his energy. A little sugar wouldn’t kill him.

“Sure. Go pick up your bag, though.” He pointed to the forgotten paper bag.

Yuuji quickly ran to pick up the bag (as well as the apple, adding it back to the bag before Nanami could tell him no), and grabbed his father’s hand to all but pull him into the bakery. It wasn’t as crowded as Nanami would have thought for a Saturday morning, something for which he was grateful. When there was a crowd, Yuuji liked to use people as obstacles and run around and through them as fast as he could. Only the obstacles moved, and he usually ended up on his butt more times than he would have liked.

They were able to go straight to an empty table to drop off their shopping before moving to the counter, and after a few seconds, one of the workers packaging cookies turned around, and Nanami’s breath caught in his throat.

It wasn’t like the bakery didn’t have pretty women working there-there were several, ones who would shamelessly flirt and try to butter up Yuuji as a means to get closer to his father, but Nanami didn’t indulge or even notice them. He was polite, got what he needed, then left. He never played into whatever fantasies the cashier of the month decided to dream up. 

However, this time, it was hard to remind himself of that conviction when easily the prettiest worker he had ever seen there walked up to the register and smiled at him. Was she new? She had to be new, he’d never seen her before. He would have remembered seeing someone like you. 

“Hi, welcome in.” You greeted and leaned against the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“Panda!” Yuuji yelled, his nose peeking over the top of the counter as he looked at you. 

“Yuuji.” Nanami scolded and picked him up so he could actually see you. “Ask politely, son.”

Yuuji smiled at him then turned to smile at you. “Can I please have a panda bun please?”

You smiled and nodded. “Of course, sir.” You replied, making him giggle. Your smile widened and you finally looked at Nanami. “And for you?”

“I’ll just have a black coffee.” Nanami didn’t think he could focus on eating without choking if you were going to be walking around the bakery.

“Me too!”

“He’ll have a hot chocolate.”

“I want what you’re having.” Yuuji pouted. Nanami sighed and turned back to the counter.

“Make mine a hot chocolate too.”

You took his money and handed him a number for the table. “Give me just a second, I’ll bring everything to your table. Make yourself at home.”

Nanami nodded and lead Yuuji away from the big display case by the register back to their table, helping him out of his heavy winter coat when he was seated safely. He tried his best to listen to his son as he talked about a dog they had seen earlier today during their shopping trip, but he was finding it very hard to focus.

His eyes kept wandering back behind the counter, watching as you made their drinks and talked with the other workers, laughing along with them at a joke someone had said. He’d never felt this kind of attraction toward another person. It was irrational. He didn’t know you. Yet he still felt that draw.

There had been other women before Yuuji had come into his life, even a few dalliances on nights when Gojou would take him out and Toji would stay home to watch the kids, just to satisfy that primal need. There was even a girlfriend at one point. But Yuuji had declared he didn’t like her after several months, and that was enough for Nanami to end the relationship. There was no point in pursuing a woman who couldn’t to get along with his son.

So why was it now, after finding contentment in being alone for so long, that all he wanted to do was go up and ask you, a complete stranger, on a date?

“You boys are lucky.” Nanami looked up and saw you were now standing next to their table, placing their to-go cups in front of them as well as Yuuji’s panda bun. “This was the second to last one.”

“Do you normally sell out quickly on the animals?” He heard himself asking, like the back of his neck wasn’t on fire right now.

“We only just started making them this week, but for the most part, yes.” You straightened from setting the food down and hugged the tray to your chest. “The red bean panda usually sells first. I suppose people are more used to the flavor.”

“What’s your name?” Yuuji asked suddenly, taking a big bite out of the head of his panda.

“I’m Y/N.” You smiled at the young boy. “What’s yours?”

Thankfully, Yuuji took the time to actually swallow his food before speaking, which was uncharacteristic of him. “My name is Yuuji.” His son said proudly. “I’m five.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Yuuji.” Your eyes turned to Nanami expectantly. “And your name?”

“His name is Dad.” Yuuji told her before Nanami could reply. She laughed, and he thought he hadn’t heard anything quite so wonderful today.

“And is that your first or last name?”

“Our last name is Nanami.” Yuuji answered again, cutting off his father as he opened his mouth to speak. “We live in the building next door.”

“Really? So I do. I just moved in. We’re neighbors.”

“Can I come visit you?” Yuuji asked excitedly.

“Yuuji, let’s not take up any more of the lady’s time.” Nanami interjected, noticing another customer had walked in, but also slightly embarrassed at his son’s oversharing.

“You’re fine, don’t worry. We already had our big morning rush.” You leaned in closer so the young boy wouldn’t hear what you were saying. “I put a shot of espresso in your cup. It should help if you need the caffeine.”

Nanami merely stared back when you pulled back and smiled again. He didn’t know how to respond to this kindness from a total stranger. You didn’t even know him, yet you spoke and cared as if you had been acquainted for a lifetime.

“Y/N!” A voice from the kitchen yelled before Nanami could open his mouth to thank you properly. “We’re almost out of spritz cookies!”

“Coming!” You yelled back and bowed slightly to Nanami. “It was nice to meet you, Dad-san.”

You were gone before he could reply. “It’s Kento.” He murmured to himself. However, Yuuji heard him and fixed him with a frown.

“Your name is Dad.” Yuuji said resolutely.

“I had a name before you came along.”

“And now it’s Dad.”

They sat quietly finishing their drinks, Yuuji swinging his legs happily as he finished his bun and watched the people coming and going in the bakery with wide, curious eyes. Nanami tried hard not to stare at you behind the counter as you worked, but his eyes kept drifting your direction of their own volition. He’d never felt this kind of pull before. He had to be imagining it. He was being irrational.

His line of vision as he watched the door to the kitchen, waiting for you to come out again after disappearing several minutes ago, was blocked when another server came up and set a brown bag with the bakery’s logo on the table. Nanami immediately picked it up and tried to hand it back.

“We didn’t order this.” He told the teenage boy.

“They’re on the house,” was all the boy said before going back behind the counter.

Nanami looked behind the counter and saw you had appeared again, now watching them. When he caught your eye, you smiled widely and gave him a small thumbs up. Looking inside the bag, there was a pair of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, along with the last panda bun. When he turned the bag to put it in with one of the larger shopping bags from their trip, the black ink of a marker caught his eye. Pulling the bag back out, he noticed the same neat handwriting from the display case.

‘Thanks for coming in, neighbor ^_^’

He was truly fucked.

tags: @oikawaandkuroostan (let me know if you want to get added to my tag list-either for this story or any of my writing!)

[binbogummy]

Hii! I love the Christmas prompts! Could I get C with Boris and Kamal finding out that the reader/fk can't go home for Christmas this year or just isn’t really celebrating this year for one reason or another and was just going to sit this one out because they don't want to intrude on their friends' Christmases?

Another one! Thanks so much for requesting!

C: "I...really wasn't going to do much this year..." "That's okay, you don't have too, we've got it all planned out, you just have to tag along!"

~

The crunch of salt under you feet was oddly satisfying. It had been laid last night and was doing its job well, you even gave the sidewalk a couple test slips for safety just to make sure before continuing without much mind to how you were stepping. Snow still lined the streets, plowed against the curb and blanketing the roofs of houses as it began to take on a wetter texture to it in the early winter sun. You guessed it wouldn't be long until the next snowfall at this rate, and the sky would be overcast for the better part of the next couple months, so you didn't mind these last few sunnier days until the temperature really started to drop.

You probably should have been a little more careful even under normal circumstances considering the bowsaw you were absent-mindedly swinging in your right hand. You briefly considered how unusual you might have looked since it was the only thing you were carrying as you walked down the street in the middle of the day.

But you fast approached where you were heading, surprised to see the reasons for your visit already outside. Kamal and Boris were standing at the latter's car. Kamal seemed to be fumbling around with something in the driver's seat while Boris stood at the other side, drumming his hands against the roof of the car as he waited. When he noticed you approaching the patient smile on his face widened and he waved. "Ah, you brought eet! Very good, thank you very much!"

"Yeah, no problem." You assured, lifting the saw in demonstration. "The blade is kind of rusty but it should work for whatever you need."

"Eet's perfect!" Taking it from you carefully, he lifted it to give it a quick look over then opened the door he'd been standing in front of and placed it in the back seat of the car. "Thank you again for making the trip, we do appreciate it!"

"It's no trouble, I was gonna head into town anyway, you guys' place is just a short detour." You glanced behind yourself than to Kamal who was still furiously fiddling with something in the front seat and curiosity got the better of you. "If you don't mind me asking, what are you guys up to?" You had a pretty good idea of what it might be but you didn't feel like continuing on your way just yet.

"I am so glad that you asked; Kamal and I are going to get our Christmas tree!"

"Oh? That's awesome, where are you going?"

"There is a little place right outside of town that Kamal said looked good. You get to cut your own, which I have never done before, so eet is going to be so much fun!"

"There's nothing like cutting your own, even if it's at a tree farm it still feels special." You agreed. "But a place like that would probably have saws for you to use, not that I mind lending you mine."

"That's what I told him!" Kamal finally spoke up from the other side of the car, stopping his work for a moment to look at the two of you over the roof. "Hiya, kid." He greeted more casually then bent down to lift something out of the seat, a second later throwing some kind of strap over the top of the car as if testing its length. "Finally got these untangled, should work just fine." He nodded, winding it back up and tossing the rest of them into the back seat as Boris had done with the saw. "I think that's all we need." He brushed his hands off, stepping around the car to stand by the two of you and give Boris a sly smile. "Now, you gonna ask 'em if they want to come or am I? That's the only reason you had em bring that saw anyways, right?" He finished his rhetorical question with a wink and began putting his gloves on.

"Oh, I uh..!" Boris' face went red, not expecting to have been called out like that but it didn't last for long before he was smiling at you again. "Would you like to come with us? If you're not busy of course!"

"For real?" You questioned, pausing in thought, there was no harm in coming along. "Yeah, okay, why not? If you don't mind me coming, sure, I'll help where I can!"

"Yay!" Boris cheered, clapping in celebration then began climbing into the passenger seat of the car. "Let us go!"

"Oh, right now?" You questioned, but you knew you shouldn't have been surprised seeing as they were prepping to leave right as you showed up. "Alright!" Running to the other side of the car you climbed in behind Kamal.

"Happy to have ya," Kamal said, adjusting his mirror to meet your gaze and the three of you fell into casual conversation as he began the drive out of town, with the two of them discussing decorations, baking, shopping, and finally the subject of the actual tree when Kamal mentioned that you were drawing close to your destination

"I want a really beeg one!" Boris mused, holding out his arms in demonstration.

"How big we talkin'?" Kamal asked.

"Ooh, if eet's okay, at least a little taller than I am, I...want to be able to look up at eet," Boris admitted, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.

"Heh, I'm sure we can make that work, might be a challenge to get it in the door but we've got room by the stairs."

"Goodie!"

Turning your attention from the window you decided to join them. "You said this was your first time cutting your own tree, right?"

"Yes, it ees! I am quite excited, it is going to be just like in the movies!" His expression seemed to soften in a kind of wistful way. "A real Christmas tree..." He whispered to himself as if this was so exciting he couldn't believe it was real.

"Didn't..." You took a second to think your words over before you spoke, almost deciding to ditch the question altogether until you noticed that you had his full attention and he was waiting for you to continue. "Didn't your family ever have a tree for Christmas?"

"Hm? Oh, we did, when I was younger at least!" His previously cheerful expression returned as he reminisced and you were relieved to see that your question hadn't bothered him when he continued. "But from what I can remember they were not real; bright silver and already covered in decorations, very pretty but I like the way others do it better, turning it into something special, I mean. Back then I would wake up and it would be in our living room, there wasn't much more to it then that and it was never brought up".

"That's unfortunate..."

"And this..." He paused. "This will be the first year that I've attempted to celebrate since I was younger, so...I am looking forward to it, very much so. I would like to make up for all the years I wasted!" He finished his sentence with vigor, pounding his fist into his palm as he grinned back at you.

"That sounds like an amazing plan, B." Something about his hopefulness left a melancholy knot in the pit of your stomach, and despite his unwavering enthusiasm, your smile saddened with a feeling you couldn't quite place. Boris seemed to notice it, tilting his head with a look that seemed like he was about to question you until you were both interrupted.

"We're here!" Kamal cheered, and you looked out the right window to see a field of evergreen trees planted in perfect symmetry but ranging in sizes from big to small.

An ecstatic gasp left Boris' mouth as he pressed his hands to the window. "They are so pretty!"

"And one of 'em's gonna be ours soon," Kamal added, turning into the Christmas tree farm.

Boris bounced up and down in his seat and you got to work neatly winding up the roof straps that sat beside you as Kamal pulled into a parking spot near the front. As soon as you came to a stop Boris was the first one out of the car and you followed, bringing the saw along with you.

Kamal was out last, zipping up his coat slowly as he mosied around the vehicle to join you. "Alrighty..." He began, looking around until his eyes landed on what appeared to be the "front desk" that took the form of a small shed outfitted for people to pay at, borrow cutting tools and ask questions. There appeared to be a small line there already.

"Howzabout you two go start picking one out and I'll catch up in a few after I see what the rules are?" He offered, thumbing towards the stand.

"Okee, let's go, Y/n!"

"Sure thing." You agreed and Boris gripped your free hand in his and began heading towards the trees, taking you by surprise but you followed after happily. "Not too fast, I'm holding a saw, you know!"

As soon as you entered the tree field it seemed like Boris couldn't decide between bouncing from tree to tree to see as many as he could or spending an extra long time inspecting them one by one to find the perfect one. Thanks to his excitablness the two of you ended up making a bigger scene than even the entire families that were picking out their trees alongside you. You didn't have the heart to stop him though, allowing him to pull you around as he sized them up.

"What do you think of this one?" He asked, letting go of your hand to step around it and look at the other side.

"Honestly, I don't know, they all look good to me, especially these big ones." You remarked, looking up at the large tree. It had to be at least 8ft tall.

"Yes, they are all very nice." He agreed, raising a hand to inspect its needles. "This one...is a white spruce!" He announced proudly, stepping around the tree once more to look up at it by your side.

"I didn't know you knew about trees too, that's impressive."

"Oooh, not really." He fluttered a hand at you bashfully. "I just did some research for today!"

"Still, you're so passionate." You smiled, turning back towards the tree.

"Aww, hehe, thank you. What kind did you get?"

"Hm?" You hummed questioningly.

"Sorry, what kind of tree, I meant. Maybe I can get the same type and we can be tree twinsies!"

"Oh, I-"

"Oh, it is alright if you don't know! Just describe it to me and I can probably figure it out! Like, what shade of green is it? Were the needles flat or more pointy? That kind of thing."

You paused as the little anxious corner of your brain began telling you not to start this conversation. Not because it was any kind of big deal, or because you didn't want Boris to know what your plans for December were but because as soon as it started you knew exactly where it was going to go and you were unsure of how to handle it.

"I...don't have one."

"..."

"Yeah, I was just gonna-"

"That is perfect!" His sudden outburst took you by surprise and he gripped you by the shoulders, smiling down at you. "What luck that you came along today then, yes? We can get our trees together, it will be twice as much fun!"

"Boris, no, I wasn't...I just wasn't gonna get one this year." You admitted, playing it off casually and his face contorted once more with realization.

"Oooh! I am so sorry, I understand! You won't need one, if you're going home for the holidays, no? That was silly of me."

And just like that, you paused again. Maybe it was because he was so excited that you felt like talking about yourself would be a bit selfish, especially when you knew how he'd react.

"I'm staying in town this Christmas too actually. I...just wasn't going to do much this year... No reason really, I made that decision back in November since I wasn't going home and I'm gonna stick with it."

Why did this feel like such a big deal? You were so sure of yourself up until now and he had no reason to be so surprised by this, so why did that heavy feeling appear in your gut once more when you felt him looking at you.  The overly enthusiastic goofball that had been pulling you around all day went oddly quiet and you took a step back as he lowered himself into a squat beside you and looked up at you with a soft expression that made you feel all too vulnerable and you weren't sure why.

"Y/n, do you not like Christmas?" He asked, but it wasn't accusatory at all, just curious.

"What? No, I love Christmas, I just-"

"That is what I thought." He placed a hand on his chin and nodded, seemingly in deep thought. "But you do not want to celebrate because you are not going home, yes?"

"K-kind of? I just didn't see the point of putting in the effort just for myself."

"I see...I suppose I just assumed, if you weren't able to celebrate with family, you'd come celebrate with Kamal and me." You could only think of a few times that you'd seen him this deep in thought, he didn't even seem particularly upset just very focused on you and what you were saying. "Did you really not wish to?"

"That's not what a said!" You waved your hands out in front of you, trying to backtrack. "I just-

"Turns out we just gotta cut it and tote it upfront, that all there is to it!" Rather anticlimactically, Kamal approached from around a tree, stopping once he noticed your flustered expression and Boris' crouched position, his eyes darting between the two of you. "Alright, what did I miss?"

"I was just-

"Y/n does not want to spend Christmas with us," Boris interjected, raising a finger.

"Really?" Kamal eyed you, half amused and half surprised. "Cold, kid, real cold." He joked, obviously aware that there was more to it than that.

"That's not what I said, I- I just...give me a second!"

"We've got all day," Kamal remarked with a smile, propping his elbow against a still crouched Boris and they both watched you expectantly.

Gosh, why were you so flustered, this is not how you imagined today going. "I wasn't going to do anything this year, not much at least. Please, it's got nothing to do with you guys, I wasn't even gonna say anything. I'm super happy Boris is gonna get to have an awesome Christmas, I just don't want to get in anyone's way."

"Who said you are getting in our way?" Boris asked, his brows rasing in annoyance at whoever might have told you such a thing.

"Yeah, who told you that?" Kamal parrotted, clearly finding some kind of enjoyment in this holly jolly interrogation.

"No one, I just-"

"So you just don't want to celebrate with us then?" Kamal asked.

"That is NOT what I-

"So, you just do not want to celebrate at all then?" Boris asked.

"No, I-

"So you do want to celebrate?

"YES!" You finally yelled in frustration, catching a few stares from passerbys and clamping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment. Once the attention had faded you turned back to them, and that melancholy feeling from early found its way to your face. "I...I want to celebrate it's just that, like, I'm getting older and I thought maybe since I wasn't going home there wasn't much of a point doing it all by myself. But then there's you guys, and Parsley and Trencil and Borbra and Questionette and, well, I knew how you'd react if you found out, but I didn't want to be any trouble so I was just gonna keep to myself this year."

"..."

"It's dumb, I know."

The two of them shared a glance and Kamal was the first to speak up.

"Listen, kid, whatever preconceived notions you got about where you stand in this little family of ours, let me tell ya, Christmas ain't gonna be the same without ya. Especially if we know you're stewin' away all by yourself for no good reason. So if you don't want to celebrate with us, I'm not gonna force ya, but you can be sure as snow that we want to be celebrating with you."

Boris nodded and stood to his full height, stepping over to rest a hand on your shoulder once more. "We have got it all planned out, you just have to tag along!"

Now how could you even feasibly respond to that with how absolutely full your heart was feeling right now? The touched expression on your face must have been readable because Kamal soon walked up beside him and elbowed him in the arm cheekily. "I think ya got 'em, bud."

"Okay!" You nodded fast, finally giving your answer as you struggled to put everything you were feeling into words. Luckily your near speechless seemed to convey how you were feeling well enough, at least for the two of them to understand and you and Kamal were soon squished together as Boris pulled the two of you into a hug.

"Alright!" Kamal shoved his gloved hand into your hair, ruffling it gently before turning to look up at Boris. "Did you guys find manage to find one you liked?"

"Oh yes!" Boris exclaimed, releasing you to turn towards the one you'd been standing by all this time. "But, you never really did tell me what you thought of it."

"Well, what do you think, kid? This one good?"

"I think it's perfect."

~

🌲Request With These🌲

~Bonus~

As if you hadn't made enough of a scene at this little Christmas tree farm today, you received far more than a few strange looks as you walked through the pine field back to the entrance with your choice. Not that you could blame them, not many people can say they've seen a 7ft man carrying an 8ft Christmas tree over his shoulder like it didn't weigh more than a roll of wrapping paper. You'd never forget the way the attendant's eyes raised in surprise when the three of you approached the front counter to pay, you were sure they'd be telling this story for Christmases to come.

You and Boris worked to strap the rather large tree to the roof of his car and you realized they'd chosen his car in particular thanks to it having cargo bars on the top. It took a little bit of wrestling to get it secured and it hung over the windshield just a might but the two of you smiled proudly at the result once you'd finished.

"We all ready?" Kamal questioned and you nodded, climbing in behind the driver's seat once more and Kamal followed, giving the straps that held your cargo a test pull before sliding in behind the wheel. Boris on the other hand stopped at the passenger side, a contemplative look on his face. "You ready, bud?"

"Geeve me one second!" He raised a finger and then ran back towards the pine farm. "I will be right back!" He yelled over his shoulder and you and Kamal shared a confused look until he shrugged.

"Must've forgotten somethin'."

A few minutes passed and while Kamal didn't seem concerned, you considered going to check on him, at the very least to help him find whatever it was he forgot or was looking for. That was until you heard the click of the trunk unlocking. "He's back."

The trunk was hoisted open and when you looked back to see what he was doing, you were met with a face full of green as a Christmas tree was shoved through the back, up over the back seat, and up between the driver and passenger seats, earnings more than a few confused sounds from you and Kamal.

"What the heck is that?!"

"It is for you! Merry Christmas!" Boris suddenly appeared at your window, grinning widely as he brushed the remaining pine needles off of his hands.

"What, why?!"

"You said you didn't have one yet, so we might as well get it while we're here!"

"Boris, you didn't have to, I would have gotten one eventually! This is..." Your protests were cut off when you noticed Kamal cracking up in the front seat and your shock faded to laughter as well. "....You know what? Never mind. Thanks, and Merry Christmas to you too!"

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi so @self-absorbed-pretty-boy (💖💖) sent me an AMAZING list of prompts a week ago and while i had truly no time this week to do as much writing as i wanted, here is a 4+1 thing i whipped up between classes that is pure husband fluff— i hope u all enjoy<3

prompt: the first time mickey calls ian his husband in front of a stranger (could be a cashier, a pharmacist, a cop, some weed buying college kids, you decide)

--

The first time that Mickey did it, he didn’t even really realize it— it was a slow Tuesday morning, just after their “honeymoon,” when he woke to the abrasive, slanted sunlight streaming in through the blinds. He immediately noticed that the house was silent, surprisingly quiet from any of the classic Gallagher clamor that usually bounced through the thin walls in the mornings, especially these days with Franny and Liam in their final weeks of the school year—and the absence of noise made Mickey curious enough to rub his eyes and open them, finally pulling himself out from the last warm dregs of sleep.

Ian’s arms were wrapped around him, a comforting spoon bear-hugging him in close, and Mickey took a moment just to take in the sensation of the solid, sleeping weight of him— he could feel the rise and fall of Ian’s ribcage pressed against his back and the soft fabric of the t-shirt that clung to Ian’s chest, the only barrier between him and Ian’s pink, sleep-warmed skin. Mickey rustled in Ian’s arms, reaching for his phone on the bedside table; and no wonder there were no cabinets slamming or lunches being packed or Debbie screaming that they had to get out the door— it was nearly noon for some fucking reason, and he and Ian were still sleeping like babies.

Which, okay, maybe that had to do with the fact that last night involved lots of tugs of hair and searing kisses and bodies pressed together until late into the night— Mickey felt his lips tick upward at the memory of it. But still— ever since returning a few days ago from their honeymoon in the dingy motel with the musty satin sheets, they had both been tired; the last few months had been compounded by a release from prison, a murdered P.O., the engagement shitshow, and a wedding to top it all off, and each incident had pushed a sense of normalcy more and more off-kilter, until finally they both just had to crash.

There was no mistaking that this was harder, more draining, for Ian; he was trying to sink back into a routine existence in the Gallagher house after all of the events of the past few months, and it was clear that he was still reeling from the shift— Mickey could see it now, in the way that Ian was so deeply sleeping well past noon, a dead weight pressed close against him.

Mickey scooted himself up to a seated position on the bed, letting Ian’s arm limply fall off of him and cascade onto the bedsheets with a muted thud—and again, he let himself take a moment to just look at Ian, his mouth parted and breathing steadily, the light coming in through the blinds illuminating the constellations of freckles smattered across his face and cheekbones, threads of sunlight weaving between the strands of bright, rusty hair on the top of his head that were partly splayed onto the pillow. Since getting home Ian had been slicking his hair back less now, and letting it grow wiry and wild and curled—Mickey fucking loved it, and he couldn’t resist reaching a gentle hand out to brush Ian’s hair back from his forehead, feeling its mossy give. He took it all in; the tides of Ian’s even breathing, his fully relaxed face, and the blossoming blue rings of exhaustion that were still there under his eyes, even in his sleep; and Mickey felt a swell of gratefulness that Ian was still sleeping soundly, that he could sleep all fucking day if he needed to, at least for now while they were just getting back and settling into a rhythm—if Ian deserved anything, he deserved to recharge.

Mickey silently sat beside him, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone and every so often running a hand through Ian’s hair—because, fuck it, his husband was sleeping next to him, soft and warm, and something about touching Ian always grounded him. He was leaning propped on a pillow he’d shoved between his back and the wall, and was just beginning to contemplate putting on the tattered robe he’d found in one of the stray bedroom drawers and dragging himself downstairs to make some coffee when he heard a buzz from Ian’s phone on the nightstand, and saw the screen flash with a silent alarm:

“PICK UP MEDS”

So ultimately that was the reason why Mickey forced himself to crawl out of bed that morning— or afternoon was more accurate— and detached himself from the cocoon of his husband’s warmth to go for what was usually Ian’s own Tuesday morning walk every month before his shitty shifts with Paula to go over to the pharmacy and get his meds. He bounded down the front steps of the Gallagher house, turning the corner to walk down a few blocks to where the sagging houses turned to the brick storefronts and neon signs of the few ramshackle businesses that were left on the Southside. Since getting back a few days ago, he and Ian had barely done anything except lounge around the house with everyone, settling in— and now Mickey realized how long it had been since he’d gone for a walk outside, breathing in the not-so-fresh Chicago air that smelled of gas exhaust and cigarette smoke, but also of something earthen and familiar. Sunbeams were radiating off of the sidewalk, and the air was cool, like the late spring weather had finally just broken into something crisp and clear— Mickey let his feet carry him over the pavement past the dingy corner store with the faded sign hanging crooked above the awning, and then two more doors down to the business with the glowing red and white sign that read “SAVE RITE PHARMACY.”

Mickey entered the pharmacy, hearing the tinkle of a bell as he pushed through the glass door.

There was no one really in the store on a Tuesday afternoon— his eyes adjusted to the waves of artificial light bouncing off the white shelves that contrasted with the soft glow outside. Mickey made his way through the aisles to the pharmacy counter at the back of the store, and was met with a middle aged woman in a lab coat typing on a computer.

“Hey. I’m, uh, pickin’ up for Gallagher.” Mickey slid his ID over the linoleum counter, quickly doing a double-take to make sure that this was a real ID and not one of his fake ones; not that it would really matter anyways, no one was getting high off of whatever shit Ian was taking on the daily.

The woman glanced at Mickey’s ID over the rim of her classes, then clicked the mouse a couple of times.

“Gallagher. Just one moment.”

She turned and filed through a few organized-looking bins, and retrieved a crinkly white paper bag and placed it on the countertop. Mickey stood there in silence, listening to the heavy thud of keys typing on the desktop computer.

“And who are you in relation to Mr. Gallagher?”

Mickey opened his mouth—and for just a millisecond, he let himself pause. Usually he just said “partner,” or sometimes “family” when the situation required him to be vague—but in this moment, he had a flashing realization. They were married—and today he got to drop that word, and all the weight of it, into the empty aisles of the drugstore on a Tuesday afternoon. Mickey cleared his throat.

“S’my husband.”

Mickey couldn’t help it—there was some weird, warm, giddy rush in his chest as he said it. It wasn’t natural yet, and he almost fumbled over the word as it fell out of his mouth, like a kid trying to swear for the first time— but he said it. And the pharmacist barely flinched—which, thank fuck for that, after the whole geriatric florist incident a few months ago. She just gave him a curt nod, a half-smile, and she handed Mickey the paper bag and a printed receipt and sent him on his way.

And so what if Mickey stopped at the grimy corner store on the way home and bought a pack of cigarettes for himself and a fucking Kind bar for Ian, because he knew he liked that shit— and so what if there was a little extra bounce in his step as he walked back from the store, his arms swinging by his sides in the cool, early summer breeze as his feet hit the sunwarmed pavement and he headed home to his husband who was curled up in the warm safety of their bed, sound asleep.

His husband.

**

The second time it also just sort of… tumbled out of Mickey’s mouth, a little more naturally this time. It was a day or two later, and he and Ian had finally rejoined the land of the living— and to Debbie, that meant that the two of them were now available to be drafted into a circuit of random chores and errands with lists of shit to pick up, tasks that Ian tried to squeeze in between shifts at his new warehouse job and that Mickey mostly just ignored. But much to Mickey’s dismay, there was no getting out of their assignment this afternoon; Debbie had some hotshot welding gig on the Northside and Frank was nowhere to be fucking found, and Liam needed a parent or guardian to come to his parent-teacher conference at the end of the school year. Liam had softly voiced this information in the swirling hurricane of conversation at dinner the evening before, and Ian couldn’t resist saying that he and Mickey would go, even though Mickey had repeatedly kicked his shins hard under the kitchen table and passed him a series of dagger-like glares. Mickey didn’t realize why Ian had volunteered the both of them to go to this shit— it was Ian’s brother, not his— but after lots of long glances and fucking puppy-dog eyes and some very intense manipulation the night before, when Ian whispered into the crook of Mickey’s neck at a very inconvenient time and said with a mischievous smile “C’mon Mick, I don’t want to go alone”—well, let’s just say that was how Mickey ended up weaving through the sweltering, barren hallways of Liam’s public school on some random muggy summer afternoon with Ian, trying to find Liam’s teacher’s classroom.

As much as Mickey did not want to be here right now, in the paint-chipped locker-lined halls of the public school that mostly just brought up a lot of angsty memories of dirt under his fingernails and cardboard signs written with sharpies and pasted up with duct tape, the whole thing also felt vaguely nostalgic— like those days before everything went to shit and he’d gotten married to Svet, just after he’d busted the fuck out of juvie and was trying with all of his might to force down all the tidal waves of feelings he had about gangly fucking teenage Gallagher with his crew cut and his camo pants—and walking through the halls next to Ian, feeling his tangible presence beside him, was enough to keep Mickey’s mind from veering into other darker places about his own wasted potential.  

“Where the fuck is this room, anyways?” Mickey huffed out. All the rows of lockers looked the fucking same, and all Mickey wanted to do right now was go home and lay back on the couch and sip a cold beer, instead of standing in this stuffy hallway with sweat dripping down his neck.

Ian playfully elbowed Mickey between his ribs. “We’re in Liam’s school, Mick. You’re not supposed to say ‘fuck.’”

“Fuck you.” He flipped Ian off for good measure.

Ian halted in front of a closed classroom door, glancing down at the slightly crumpled piece of paper that Liam had written his class number on.

“I think this is it.” Ian softly rapped his knuckles on the classroom door, and a young woman in a pencil skirt appeared to open it.

“Hi, lovely to meet you both. You must be Liam’s dads?”

Mickey spluttered out a laugh, a surprised noise catching in his throat. His first feeling was a flicker of annoyance at this random lady, that always popped up anytime someone so immediately knew he was gay, which probably had to do with some deeply internalized shit— but his second feeling was a warm sort of astonishment. Liam’s dads?

He and Ian could be someone’s fucking parents someday. Fuck.

Ian’s cheeks had turned slightly pink, like he was equally as affected by the assumption— so Mickey spoke up, trying not to sound like his insides were squirming as much as they were.

“Nah, man, you got it all wrong. I mean— not totally wrong, he is my husband. But we’re not his dads.”

Ian’s ears nearly perked up when he heard the word— this was the first time they’d called each other husbands so casually out in the world, while they were both in each other’s presence. A crooked smile crept onto Ian’s face, and he tentatively reached out to ensnare Mickey’s fingers in his.

“Yup. Husbands.”

Liam’s teacher just looked at them, raising her eyebrows expectantly, like she was slightly confused.

“Alright. So, who are you to Liam, then?”

Ian let out a quick breath of a laugh. “Oh, right. I’m Liam’s brother.”

And as Ian led him by the wrist to sit beside him in a fucking uncomfortable plastic chair meant for ten-year-olds, chattering away with Liam’s teacher, all Mickey could think about was the blood rushing hot, hotter than usual between his ears.

He didn’t know if he’d ever get tired of calling Ian his husband.

**

Mickey had never given much thought to pet names, or any sort of frilly bullshit like that, with Ian—every time that he called Ian something that wasn’t just “Ian” or “Gallagher,” it was some punchy and witty nickname that he’d concocted in the moment in an attempt to make a smile burst onto Ian’s face, with “sugar-tits” and “babyface” being his personal all-time favorites; but never any of that sappy bullshit that other couples called each other, like “babe” or “honey” or other garbage.

But, fuck. Fuck if Mickey didn’t love the fact that he could call Ian his “husband” now, that he was allowed to just do that, whenever anyone was in earshot.

It was a late night at the Alibi, the first time that most of the Gallaghers had been out of the house since the pandemic started; the mayor had finally loosened some restrictions, and Kev had sent a text to the Gallagher family group chat with way too many cork-popping emojis telling everyone to come by the Alibi after their respective evening shifts—and when he and Ian had walked through the door nearly half of the neighborhood was there, including Sandy and Debbie, and a bunch of random Southsiders that most of them hadn’t seen for weeks or months.

Kev had immediately handed Mickey a foamy beer as he walked through the door, and readily poured Ian a shot of Jameson—and now the room was pressed tight with bodies, full of random-ass neighbors puffing on cigarettes and some music playing low, the air hanging heavy with the fog of secondhand smoke and boisterous conversation. At one point, after taking one too many sips of something, Sandy had convinced Kev to give her control of the aux cord—and now the music turned more upbeat, and some of the younger people in the room had started dancing, which obviously caused his over-enthusiastic husband to grab Mickey’s wrist from where he was seated at the bar and pull him into the crowd. And maybe it was just the fact that Mickey hadn’t been around so many people for so long, or maybe it was the fact that he could see that Ian was having a good time, his cheeks flushed and glowing in the dim lights— or maybe it was just that he’d had one or two more beers than usual, if he was being totally honest, but Mickey was feeling happy and light, feeling a buzzing in his veins.

And now they were dancing, and Mickey was just kind of shuffling side-to-side and probably looked ridiculous but he didn’t really care, and the room was getting hazier with smoke, and he could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks and the bass of the speakers thrumming in his chest and the rising tide of his pulse and he felt alive, alive—

And Ian’s body was pressed next to his, doing that stupid fucking dance move he always did where he just kind of bopped up and down with his hands raised above his head with the energy of a golden retriever— and Mickey couldn’t fucking help but lean in, pressing his lips close to meet the shell of Ian’s ear; and yes, they’d been married for a couple of months now, but he couldn’t help the airy feeling rising up, bubbling up in his stomach from the heat of the flames licking at his insides that made him whisper:

“We’re fucking husbands.”

Mickey knew Ian could feel his hot breath in his ear, could smell the whiskey on his lips—and Ian’s eyes lit up, his mouth splitting open in a tipsy grin.

Ian hummed and tilted Mickey’s chin up and pressed their lips together— there was light dancing in his eyes, and Mickey loved him, and he was his husband.

“Yeah. Husbands.” Ian murmured the words against Mickey’s mouth under the music, into the air between their lips.

“Fuck.”

And in that moment, Mickey realized that he’d never really known happiness before, not really— because nothing could fucking compare to the feeling of having his hands wrapped tight around his husband’s warm hips, while Ian’s arms were slung over his shoulders and Mickey could burrow his face into the sweet skin at the crook of Ian’s neck…

And yeah, maybe Mickey could get into the idea of calling Ian his husband a lot more often.

**

It was the evening on some run-of-the-mill weeknight after their security runs, and they were at that fancy hotel gym they’d gotten a trial membership of weeks before— Ian had loved the fancy weight machines and the steamed towels so much (and let’s face it, Mickey had also definitely enjoyed the fact that he could check guys out in the steam room) that Mickey had used some cash he had on hand (of questionable origin, which just made Ian frustratedly roll his eyes) to get them both a membership at the place for a month— and Mickey had to be honest, working out under mood lighting and mirrored walls with a bunch of chiseled gay dudes beat hauling kegs around the musty back room of the Alibi any day.

So now, they made a habit of stopping by the gym after work, typically parting ways after stripping off their camo by the lockers to go do their own thing in the weight room. At the current moment, Mickey was standing off to the side of the open floor plan, leaning against a weight rack and curling a 40 pound dumbbell into his bicep— but more accurately what he was doing was drooling over his husband, who was across the room with his tank top sticking to his skin, energetically hitting a static punching bag hanging from the ceiling. Mickey let his eyes bore holes into Ian from across the room, watching the sweat gleam on Ian’s body, watching his muscles ripple—and fuck, he was married to a fucking Greek god, like those fucking sculptures he saw in textbooks at school that made his blood run hot when he stared too hard, wasn’t he?

Mickey was so fixated on watching Ian that he barely noticed when his upper arm started to burn, and he realized that he’d forgotten to keep track of how many times he’d curled upward. Fuck it. Mickey bent down to place the weight back on the rack—and that was when he noticed another guy, some scrawny, slender dude wearing a neon-green tank top and with fucking hot pink sweatbands on his wrists, who had his eyes locked in on Ian from across the room almost intently as Mickey did.

Tank Top noticed Mickey staring at him and sheepishly smiled, putting a hand on his hip—and then in the spirit of light gym-time chatter, something Mickey was definitely not interested in entertaining, the dude opened his mouth.

“You think he’s gay?”

The old Mickey, Mickey from a few years ago, would’ve pummeled this guy’s sorry ass for even looking at Ian the wrong way, and even Mickey from a few months ago would’ve felt some sort of anxious panic or jealous fear that someone other than him desired Ian— but today there was a heavy band of silver pressing into Mickey’s finger, and he could feel the solid weight of it. So Mickey just raised his eyebrows, and gave a passive reply as he placed his dumbbell down and strolled past Tank Top Dude to walk across the room towards Ian:

“He’s my husband, asswipe.”

**

It was late— all there was in the empty room was a half-deflated air mattress, sinking under their weight. The streetlight beamed in through the paper-thin curtains— they would definitely have to invest in a better pair to block out the light, but that was an issue for tomorrow.

Right now Mickey and Ian were just sprawling out on the mattress, letting themselves sink into it—their few boxes of belongings were stacked along the wall, the papers had been signed, and now they could let themselves breathe.

Ian cradled the back of Mickey’s head in his hands, giving him a quick peck just above his eyebrow. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Mickey breathed out a low chuckle. “Yeah, man, me too.”

Ian rustled, turning onto his side on the wobbly mattress to face Mickey fully. “‘Man?’ You’re my fucking husband. I think we can do better than that.”

Mickey smirked, leaning in close to hover over him. “Whatever you say, husband.”

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Five

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 5 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: mentions of male masturbation and boners (lol); strong language; references to suicide, murder, and drug smuggling; abusive parental relationship; mentions of child death in a second flashback; dry humping (smut); 18+ only please!

Word Count: 16,500+

A/N: damn that chapter warning list was a trip to write down lmao

~

Westview, 2023, 1:32 pm

     An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the parked vehicle, daring either of you to take the first step. No one commented on the glares boring into your soul as you drove through the town or how heavily the three of you got patted down by the authorities right outside the state line. You figured it was completely justified - still a little insulting to a bunch of Avengers who literally saved the world three weeks ago. 

With a loud gulp, Bucky was the first to kick open his door and get out of the car. You glanced at Steve from the driver’s seat, biting your lip with a slight quiver as you went over the speech you practiced earlier today. Simple enough, and not too damning. 

Steve’s leg bounced rapidly a few more times before he too kicked open his door, leaving you in silence. You pulled the car keys from the ignition and took in a deep breath. Your legs were numb, the anxiety washing over you in uneven cycles. It was now or never. 

“Wanda, it’s us…”

Her grief seemed to emit from every crack in the sidewalk, every weak beg escaping the townspeople’s throats, every sound from the inanimate objects her powers had continued to turn from gray to red… to green… back to gray. She was crouched on the property, weeds brushing against her black pants and leaving their mark, mascara smudged with each new wet streak. 

Bucky unzipped his jacket, eyes wandering over the deserted plot of land as Wanda tried to control her sobs. She had already caused enough damage, both physical and psychological, the possibility of more government involvement looming over your heads. He carefully walked toward her and wrapped his jacket over her shoulders, all be damned as he held her and began to tear up himself.

“Wanda, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll get through this,” Steve sighed, still keeping a respectable distance from her in case she were to run. But you knew her better - she was all out of fight. One fight after another and yet she still lost her love. 

“I did something really bad,” she sobbed, eyes locked on the spot where Vision had just disappeared. Again.

“No, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Steve declared, shocked by the unexpected scoff from Bucky. 

“Save it, Steve. She may not have known in the beginning but she does now. She still did it.”

No one dared correct Bucky or argue with that logic because if anyone knew about causing harm with absolutely no intention, it was obviously him. Taking responsibility - that was the best course of action. 

Once you heard of a radioactive disturbance in a small town just outside the state, the team almost retired completely. So soon after defeating Thanos, so soon after Tony’s death, so soon after Natasha’s death - the team left it up to the proper authorities this time around. 

But the second you watched the broadcast of Wanda’s fantasies, the sitcom her powers were conjuring, her giving birth to her children… all you could do was wait until she opened the barrier. 

“I still did it,” Wanda said, her upper body beginning to rock back and forth as her fingertips brightened with red tendrils of magical grief. 

You shut your eyes and willed yourself not to cry. You had done so much crying these past few years and you were oh, so tired. You couldn’t possibly take another beating. 

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Bucky spoke, gently turning Wanda’s face and placing both his hands on her cheeks, mindful of the metal appendage he had forgotten to cover with his glove. “You already did it. It can’t be undone. But you can come with us and grieve properly.”

Wanda reached up and placed her hands over his, tears spilling from her eyes faster now. 

“Let us help you grieve.”

This wasn’t an unexpected goodbye. Wanda knew that. She had just voluntarily given up her husband and children - anyone would crumble from that sort of devastation. But now she had been given a proper goodbye, a somewhat proper closure, and the chance to accept it. “Okay.”

You and Steve remained frozen in place even after Bucky helped Wanda stand. Almost as quickly as you thought it, your feet had a mind of their own. You stood next to Steve, taking in the weed infested, rectangular plot of land - the remnants of Wanda’s fantasy still fresh and creating a tiny, refreshing tingle in the middle of your chest. You looked over at Steve and smiled sadly when you saw him inspecting the area as well. 

“They would have had a beautiful life together.”

Steve’s breath hitched as you finished your declaration, looking over at you and nodding slightly. 

“If I had the chance, I would have wanted a nice house with some decent air conditioning. Some weird, front yard garden where I could plant random flowers. A dog that dug them up and acted like it didn’t do it.”

You giggled, thumbnail between your incisors to try and disguise the wider grin forming. Steve kept speaking. 

“Maybe a kid or two. Never actually checked if I could even have kids after the serum.”

You dropped your hand from your face, your attention completely on him now. 

Steve sighed and kicked a rock over to the other side of the property. “I would have wanted a giant, king-sized bed. With ‘his’ and ‘hers’ towels. And every once in a while we would accidentally use the other one’s toothbrush, a secret we would take to the grave.”

Steve wasn’t even looking over at you as he said this. It was like a one-sided confession, rhetorical, not needing an immediate response or expression in return. And you couldn’t believe he was just saying this in front of you - you of all people - the same person who rolled their eyes whenever Steve struggled to comprehend a modern topic or argued with him when he was in one of his moods. He had been distant the last few weeks after returning the stones, only ever noticing you when other people were around to carry a conversation. 

The tingles in your chest were starting to disappear as the plot of land gave its last few magical rumbles. 

“Steve?”

Steve bowed his head, hands in his pockets and breath steady. “Yes, they would have been very happy together.”

You stared at the back of his head as he slowly walked back to the car.  

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

     The amount of times you reminded yourself to wake up early as you were drifting off to sleep last night was perhaps more than the number of sheep you had ever counted in your life. A quick reminder here and there as your mind got clogged with pointless information, the number eight behind your eyelids all throughout the night. 

And you did it. In the early hours of the morning, knowing Steve would wake naturally in about twenty minutes, you tip-toed out of bed to use the bathroom. Acting completely normal in case he did in fact hear you before your grand plan - an easy escape route if he decided to repeat his horrible morning ritual on you. But he was such an old man, getting older, losing that serum’s boost. This Steve, Steve who refused to call any movie made after 1945 ‘old’ because he literally didn’t get the chance to see them premiere - yeah, this Steve, was passed out like he had been hit by a truck. 

Bladder empty and teeth brushed, you quietly opened the bathroom door and peeked through. He still lay there on his back, wrapped tightly in his blanket, breathing steadily, and face completely unprotected. 

Could you die? Probably. Would this payback be absolutely satisfying? Hell yeah. 

You grabbed the biggest of your pillows and fisted the corner tightly, twisting it a couple times for a better grip. You signed the cross quickly before lifting the pillow above your head and bringing it down to Steve’s face. 

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up, “WHAT?”

His eyes flew around the room rapidly until they landed on you, angry and challenging.

“Payback!” you yelled, lifting the pillow high again for a second hit. But he reacted quicker, grabbing a pillow himself and swinging it toward you. It slammed you in the torso and practically sent you flying. You landed at the edge of your bed, mouth open in shock and racks of laughter bubbling deep within your chest. You stood quickly and hit him repeatedly, trying your best to also block his counterattack. 

He reached for your hip and pulled you in his bed, rolling the two of you over so he was straddling your hips. He brought the pillow down several more times before accepting your plea of surrender. 

You threw the pillow back to your bed and pouted, “Not a fair fight!”

Steve scoffed, “You caught me off guard! You had all the advantages!”

You shuffled beneath him and froze, hips stuck in a lifted position as you were too embarrassed to move them back down. “Jesus, Steve! How do you even sleep on your stomach with that thing?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he inspected your face and body, looking down at the two of you before he noticed the way he was pressing into your inner thigh. He scrambled off you, a blush spreading from his cheeks and all the way down his chest. He cupped himself and turned away, quickly shuffling for his suitcase and pulling whatever clothes his flustered hands grabbed. He was also repeatedly apologizing. 

“Steve, it’s okay. It just… startled me, is all.”

Steve cleared his throat a couple times before pacing around the room in search of his toiletries. 

You just sat back on your elbows, watching him scurry like a chicken with its head cut off. It was rather amusing. 

“I’m gonna - gonna, take a shower. Uh, I’m sorry again.”

You smirked at the super soldier, “Steve, I’m not mad. It isn’t like I’m new to that kind of thing.”

Steve blushed harder, “But I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

You shrugged your shoulders and dipped lower into his sheets, grabbing and lifting them higher. You snuggled deeper, “Still.”

Steve could feel the speed at which the world rotated and he shut the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, breathing deeply until he had all his inhibitions back. 

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing - reacting the way he did or you seeing him react the way he did. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t seen each other in awkward situations, some borderline lewd. There were plenty of missions that involved heavy flirting with the targets, undercover work in depraved settings, missions where nasty magic was involved and concocted a multitude of inappropriate visions. Hell, everyone had already seen each other naked. It was completely normal, a trustworthy environment, and sometimes necessary. 

As much as he wanted to give into the feeling and award himself some proper alone time, he refused to act upon it. He would regret it later once the stress pushed down harder than usual, but it just wasn’t appropriate in his right mind to masturbate with you in the other room. 

Why did he have to be such a good and honorable man?

He busied himself with washing his hair and scrubbing away any evidence of sleep from his face. Steve liked sleeping on his stomach, face smooshed in the pillows and arms extended to his sides. It allowed for more comfortable movement, more ways to stretch his hips, just overall comfort for his massive shoulders. Less pressure on the lungs, too. And unlike the enthusiastic yet almost mean accusation that he couldn’t possibly enjoy that position because of his… well, his dick, Steve would choose that position over sleeping on his back any day. But that morning, his body had decided to betray him in more ways than one. One, he was open to attack because he was on his back. And two, whatever dream he was having caused his morning wood to seem larger this morning.

He had washed up quickly, more time spent out of the shower where he fixed his hair and combed his beard. He thought about shaving it for the rehearsal dinner or wedding, but it gave him a more rugged look - like he was all tough and no funny business. As ridiculous as it sounded, the beard allowed him to lean into the criminal act easier, build a fake personality that already had your father eating out of his hand. 

Opening the bathroom door and having to face the music, Steve was almost certain you would continue to tease him. But you were already munching on the breakfast you had ordered, shoveling hash browns in your mouth as you swiped the mouse through pages and pages of intel. You didn’t even look up as he crossed the room to grab a pair of pants he had forgotten to pick up during his quick escape. That settled his nerves almost instantly and he was dressed and settled next to you soon after.

You worked in silent cooperation for a long while, handing each other files and passing phone calls like you had during every other mission before. Except now it was more comfortable, pleasant, and kind - the soft sounds from the television in the corner, the humming of the desktop, the soft hums of recognition whenever you two showed each other something. You didn’t even bother with what happened in the morning, if it really was anything at all, because you honestly found it normal. You were more focused on the conversation you had last night. 

Steve had offered to kill your father if you seriously couldn’t. Just thinking about his offer caused your stomach to turn. Because yes, you wanted him dead. You wanted to snap his neck in ten different places and feed him to scavengers. You wanted to steal his business from under him and tear it apart, bit by bit, and keep him alive long enough to see you do it. You wanted to see the look in his eyes when you revealed that you double-crossed him. And as the day inched closer, the overwhelming feeling of shame pushed down on your shoulders and swallowed your mind. Once your father was dead, you and Steve would never find true peace. His men would always follow you, probably take you down at the local coffee shop you and Peter frequented. 

The thought of dying in front of Peter caused a lump to form in your throat. No, you wouldn’t do that to your friends. You couldn’t do this to Steve. 

But you had to. Because even though your life will never be yours after this mission, you had to save the countless others your father was sure to touch and ruin. 

But was your life ever truly yours?

Steve’s voice pulled you from your clouded mind. 

“Huh?” 

“I asked if you wanted the last piece of fruit.” 

You looked at Steve then at the small piece of watermelon in the bowl, then back at Steve. He had a pen in between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked, and slightly puffy eyes due to the beer heavy sleep he had last night. You looked away as quickly as you could and stared back at the fruit, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. 

Ridiculous, you thought. Just looking at Steve had flustered you, squeezing your stomach in pleasurable pulses you hadn’t felt since high school. “No, no. You can have it,” you said, hoping your voice wouldn’t crack. 

Ridiculous. 

Steve watched you with a funny smile but he took your word and scooped up the last piece for himself. 

No, you thought again, this man will not give me freaking butterflies. 

It wasn’t like it was odd. Steve had you flustered countless times before, but it was never quite as tingly as it was now. You suddenly wanted to facetime Wanda and rant about these weird feelings; you wanted to curl in on yourself and squeal; you wanted to -

    “He’s what?”

You sat on your knees and leaned over the back of the couch, chin resting on your folded arms as you watched Steve pace around the common room. He was tugging at his dress shirt repeatedly, desperately trying to attach cufflinks without additional help. Sam sat right beside you, in the same position, snickering each time Steve cursed under his breath. 

“He’s nervous,” Bucky smirked, arm holding out Steve’s tie for the past five minutes. Steve had paced beside him various times already, completely oblivious. 

Steve groaned and readjusted his collar, snapping his head toward the three of you. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re sweating buckets, man,” Sam pointed out, one of his hands discreetly opening up his camera and switching to video. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” 

Bucky threw his head back and cackled, choosing to grab Steve and steady him to finally put that damn tie around his neck. “Same old, Steve. Can’t accept that a dame would ever possibly like you back.”

“Hey, Steve don’t worry about it,” you started, shooting Steve a sympathetic look. Steve glanced back at you, expression swiftly changing due to your kind tone. “... when I was in high school,-”

Steve released a loud grunt, rolling his eyes and stepping away from Bucky’s hands. 

Sam rolled over and clutched his stomach as he laughed, pulling you into him. The two of you shook from your laughs together. 

“Guys,” Bucky warned, reaching for Steve in a ‘grabby’ motion. “Give him a break.”

Steve reluctantly stood beside Bucky again, head tilted upward as he tried wrapping the tie back around his neck. 

None of you heard the entrance of Thor and his brother, too busy with bullying, laughter, or moderating. 

“Did we miss all the fun?”

You shot up from the ground, kicking Sam away as you rushed across the floor and stumbled over the rug. “Thor!”

You rushed into his arms and he gripped you tightly, swinging you around and loud laughter matching yours. 

“Now, why wasn’t I greeted in a similar manner?” Loki questioned, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You pulled your face from Thor’s shoulder, “Oh, you want this too?”

You jumped back onto the floor and were about to jump into Loki’s arms, but he held his own out, stopping you. “It’s too late. It’s not the same.”

“Piss baby,” you quipped, rushing behind Thor for protection when Loki’s mouth dropped in surprise. 

“Can everyone stop what they’re doing real quick and tell Steve his date is going to go well tonight?”

You rolled your eyes at Bucky’s favor, but he just raised his eyebrows, challenging you to disobey the order. 

“The Captain has a date? Are they okay?”

Loki and you shared a comical gasp. 

Steve gaped, “Now, what in the world does that mean, Thor?”

Thor raised his hands in defense, “I’m just asking if she truly knows what she’s getting herself into! Don’t try and tell me she has no idea who you are.”

Steve was back to groaning nonstop. Bucky threw his hands up in the air, “I ask one thing of you guys. One thing.”

You stomped over to Steve and ripped the half-tied tie from his neck and smoothed down his collar. You patted down his shoulders and the front of his shirt, and gripped his shoulders to straighten his back. 

“Now,” you smiled up at him. The breath caught in your throat for a second, the blue of his eyes shining under the ceiling lights and the pink of his cheeks spreading slowly. You let out a tiny sigh, heart fluttering faintly from the small grin he was giving you. He looked so innocent, a renaissance subject created from light oils, signs of true aging showing in his forehead. “Whatever date you got planned, she’s gonna love it.”

Steve relished in the feeling of your palms pressed against his chest for a few moments before he nodded at your declaration. He stepped back and smoothed down his shirt. “Wish me luck?”

A chorus of ‘good luck’s sounded as Steve found his keys and shared a goodnight hug with Sam and Bucky. They both jokingly reminded him to use protection. 

You watched Steve leave, a newfound bounce in his step as he walked away. Your words had been so simple, so cliche, and yet he had dropped any visible nerves as he walked out the door. You weren’t the best motivational speaker, that was for sure, but the proof of at least an ounce of motivation was there. Maybe your words held a hidden meaning. Maybe.

You thought about him picking up this random woman, wine and dining her, kissing her cheek as he said his goodbyes at the end of the night. It was somewhat adorable to think about, but also weird.

Before you could dive more into the strange feeling, Thor’s voice sounded. 

“Should we order pizza or chinese?”

It’s like that snapped you from your trance, because next thing you knew you were back to your playful self, sprinting across the room and into Loki’s arms. 

     You cherished the slight, pleasant churn of your stomach as you watched him happily munch on the fruit. 

Okay, it was normal to have a tiny crush on your mission partner. God knows how many times you wanted to jump Thor’s bones whenever you were undercover together. A crush was normal, completely natural and expected. 

Except you had never gotten so much sane joy from a simple question of whether you wanted the last piece of fruit. 

You blinked a few times and shook off any trace of overthinking devils, grabbing at random files to occupy your mind for a while. After about fifteen more minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke.

“So, we think Ramirez is gonna get straight up murdered?”

Steve snorted, filing through a pile of papers Torres had delivered this morning. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”

“But it’s just a theory at this point. We can’t just go in guns blazing without enough proof.”

“And if there is proof? Do we protect him? The original mission was to arrest all four men.”

You groaned, “I don’t know. He’s never done me wrong.”

“Personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

Steve squinted at you with a playful smile. “You’d rather just arrest the bad ones, huh?”

“Obviously what Ramirez is doing is illegal and it’s horrific to think of what might be happening behind the scenes on his side, but either he’s serious or he’s been putting on this good guy act for his whole life.”

“Leaning towards the first option?”

Shrugging, you leaned toward your computer screen and scrolled through the massive list of emails. “It’s what my gut tells me, but ehh.”

There was one random email from Maribel, but random only meant coded. Reading it over a couple times, humming to yourself in concentration, you finally cracked the code she was trying to send. 

“Maribel says Ramirez acquired some land in Mexico… lots of it.”

Steve looked up from the files, “Any significance?”

“It’s probably for growing the products.”

Steve quickly typed key words that would alert him of any new transactions in the past few months.  “Who’s on the title?”

“Just him. And his oldest daughter. My father must know, right?”

Steve leaned back in his chair, releasing a heavy sigh as he thought about what this could mean. “Ramirez acquiring more land means more of Ramirez’s product. A three-way partnership would be split unevenly if he utilizes the land.”

“Make sure Bucky alerts us of any business my father might have with realtors authorized to work in that area.”

It functioned like this for another hour, the two of you sharing bits of information every ten minutes or so. 

“Torres sent us an update on White.”

You rubbed at your strained eyes, “What does he say?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, “That he’s been in the country for much longer than his passport says.”

You stood from your seat and rushed to look at the same screen Steve was reading from. “He traveling under a fake name?”

“Customs says he returned to Germany,” Steve stated, highlighting a paragraph on the screen for you to easily read. “Four weeks ago.”

It was your turn to snort out a laugh, “Oh, he’s so setting up an alibi.”

Steve nodded in agreement, “Looks like it.”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, voice raising an octave. “Look at us! Piecing together the puzzle!”

“We still got a few more pieces to attach before you go getting all cocky.”

You chuckled and decided to take a break. You speed walked over to your bed and plopped down, the mountain of pillows already relieving your tense muscles. “Hey, has my sister’s plane landed yet?”

Steve glanced at you quickly before pulling up Bucky’s morning emails. “Uh, landed about an hour ago.”

“She at the estate?”

He shrugged, “Torres hasn’t sent an update. Just her profile, hold up.”

You waved him off, a nonverbal way of telling him you seriously couldn’t care less. “I haven’t spoken to her since I joined you guys. You don’t gotta give me her origin story.”

“That long?” Steve questioned. 

You placed a pillow beneath your head, body horizontal and facing Steve. “We were never that close. I’ve got tons of half-siblings. Most of them were adults when I was born, anyway.”

With just a few words exchanged, Steve realized he had just stepped through your metaphorical door of reminiscing. So he stood to lay in his own bed, the simple action of giving you attention enough to keep you talking, he hoped. “Were you alone a lot? Growing up, I mean.”

You watched as Steve also placed a pillow beneath his head, “There were always kids around. Kids of the maids, cousins, neighbors.”

“A full house, sounds like.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, a small smile forming as you thought about old friends. “I remember this one time, we all ran into Ramirez when we were trying to get to one of the playrooms. But he grabbed me quickly and told me to not go in there.”

“Was it a threat?”

You grinned at his protective tone, “No, it was a warning. There were some really bad men in the other room. It was me and a few other girls. He told us to run back to my room and lock the door until he came to get us.”

Steve couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Ramirez joined the drug game. Sure, the function and presence of cartels had changed drastically over the last forty years, but it didn’t explain why he remained involved. In the eighties, the drug game was highly televised and spoken about, but the cartel violence was not as strong. Nowadays, and not even you could give a proper explanation, the violence was astronomical and basically advertised as something to expect when visiting certain countries. This was the mob game now, freaking Al Capone or the goddamn Godfather, absolutely meant to frighten whoever dare join or leave. For Ramirez to still be one of the big players even with that many internal changes, to be a good person in the middle of such hell, didn’t make any sense. 

“He protected you.”

You clutched the pillow closer to your chest, the memory a good one even if it was weird. “Oh, yeah. Those guys he was warning us about were no angels.”

Steve gave an awkward smile, “I feel like I know more about your childhood than you know mine.”

“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me about little, asthmatic Steve Rogers.”

He raised his index finger at you, “Hey, I was more than just my asthma.”

“Oh, excuse me. I totally forgot about your scoliosis.” 

The pillow under his head was now flying across the small distance to your face. You shrieked and sent it back. 

“Stop bullying!” Steve laughed.

You shielded your face in case he decided to continue the pillow war. “What? I’ve got my health problems, too! I just don’t have the serum to help me out.”

But he didn’t throw it again. He repositioned himself on his back and placed both hands beneath his head, gracing the ceiling with a grin. “I remember this one time, Bucky and I were around eleven-years old, and I had this really bad asthma attack. Bucky just freaked out. I was choking and he was just holding me, screaming for help -”

You blinked, “This is really depressing, what are you-”

“-and! Bucky threw himself into a full-blown panic attack. So we were both choking on air, but I was starting to laugh at him freaking out, which only made him choke harder. We ended up throwing up.”

You were silent at the end of his short story, mouth open in a wide smile. “I don’t know what else to say other than that was one of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard.”

Steve rolled over, a literal twinkle in his eye. “See? Don’t interrupt me before I get to the good parts.”

This simple moment catapulted the realization that Steve hasn’t spoken to you this much in two years, to the front of your mind. In these past four days, you had spoken like you had never stopped, like it was never awkward, like you two seriously didn’t need another person in the room to simply converse about what you wanted for breakfast. Yet here you were, more words exchanged in the past four days than you ever thought possible. 

After the fallout, you didn’t say one full sentence to him for seven months. Seven months. He hadn’t attempted a conversation with you either, but you actively avoided him like he was infected. Hell, he even moved out of the compound and into his own apartment to get away from you for most of the day. After your forced reconciliation, the awkward apologies, you still didn’t force any open conversation. But it was easier, lighter, and most conversations involved mission information. 

Talking this much now was so easy, so simple, like you didn’t need to force the comfort - there was already full comfort, a sense of community with this man. 

He was so different from when he insulted you while you were packing, annoyed by the fact that you pried too much. And now you were prying into his childhood and him yours without a lick of annoyance on either side. 

“We both had eventful childhoods, didn’t we?”

“What, with both of us in the middle of a war?” Steve asked, a genuine look on his face.

“Guess our wars never really left us, huh?”

There was a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting Torres again today. Steve muttered ‘room service, maybe’ under his breath as you went to open it. You were startled to find Scott standing outside, two massive suitcases in his hand. 

“Oh my god, I forgot you were arriving today!”

Scott scoffed, “Am I not as important as your other friends?”

You laughed and helped him inside, “Stop! You’re one of my favorite bugs!”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll leave right now if you two decide to pile on me instead of each other.” Scott placed one of the suitcases near the door but the other at the edge of your bed. 

“We’ll be nice,” Steve promised, standing to greet Scott with a hug. 

“You better. Catch me up, please?” 

The suitcase contained your outfits for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Whoever was in charge of costumes definitely went all out, hoping their work would make the big fight the most fashionable. Steve was given a perfectly tailored suit, navy blue and velvet. It was lined with vibranium, inside pockets covered with it. That would certainly be handy if you were forced to walk through metal detectors - vibranium couldn’t be detected. His suit for the rehearsal dinner was a lot simpler, the custom black and white aesthetic, but still protected with vibranium. 

Your clothes were certainly not styled to match Steve’s, giving you a sense of individuality. It was perfect really - it would allow you to leave Steve’s side, if necessary, when the mission called for you to split up. Your rehearsal dinner outfit was two parts: a black, velvet long-sleeved shirt, slight turtleneck, and gold cuffs. It was joined by a long gold skirt, high-waisted, the front shorter than the back and sides more curled than ruffled. You would have to wear tights underneath, but it was beautiful. Vibranium was also stitched in for added protection. Your dress for the actual wedding, however, was a total knockout. Red, spaghetti strap, tight on top but loose once it reached your hips, a long slit on the left side. They were even kind enough to give you a pair of heels to match. 

Yeah, Steve was Captain America and his appearance will shock the guests, but your attire will definitely be the second topic in gossip. 

Scott was filing through the same papers you and Steve had reviewed earlier, a bowl of potato chips at his side. And it was peaceful - you and Steve even had the chance to nap. 

“So, you’re gonna see Jackeline at the rehearsal dinner?”

You wiped the remnants of your nap from your face and groaned as you stretched, “She’ll probably be busy tomorrow when we go for breakfast, so yeah.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes practically attached to the computer screen. “And… she’s the one getting married?”

His tone started to worry Steve, “Yes, Scott. You good?”

Scott piled a handful of potato chips in his mouth, finger clicking the mouse every few seconds. His eyes were now wide, blinks forgotten. “Jackeline Vega. Jackeline.”

Steve ignored him now, “Hey, why isn’t your last name Vega?”

As much as you wanted to share about how and why you changed your last name, Scott’s demeanor interested you more. “Changed it when I became an American citizen - Scott, what’s up?”

He let out a tiny squeak, swallowing his snack quickly. “And she’s your father’s favorite?”

You rolled your eyes, “Mmm.”

Scott released a huge huff of air, shoulders falling as he raised his voice and turned the monitor to face you. “Think he knows anything about this?”

The photograph was blurry because it was enhanced, but you could still make out the face of a sister you hadn’t seen in years. Older, still with teenage features obviously, and tossed on what looked like a church alter-

Steve's eyes widened, “Is she…?”

Scott finished his sentence for him, “Fucking a priest?”

You covered your mouth in shock, “Oh my god, she’s fucking a priest!”

Bent on the literal church altar, skirt bunched around her hips, head thrown back in ecstasy and face in full view. And the damned priest, in between her legs and under the eyes of god. 

“That’s why I asked!”

Steve clutched at his chest, head thrown back as he howled, “I think you were wrong about your sister.”

Now your eyes were glued to the screen, “Oh, I was fuck all from correct!”

Scott cleared his throat, “Is the priest… her fiance?”

Steve came down from his laugh attack, “I highly doubt that, Scott.”

“This is actually really damning evidence.”

You grinned at Scott, “For what? Painting her out to look like the most sinful whore? I might just congratulate her.”

Steve stared at you, judging almost. “For fucking a priest?”

“For proving me wrong. She’s not so innocent after all,” you responded, cheeks strained from how wide you were smiling. 

“Clearly. This is… actually badass,” Scott admitted, turning the monitor back to him.

You teased, singing your next words. “Don’t let the Lord and Savior hear that.”

Steve glared, “Y/N.”

You leaned away from him, “What? Anyway, that’s gotta be one the worst sins to commit, right?”

Steve’s expression contorted from annoyance to disbelief. “We’ve literally killed people.”

“Pfft, but we’re not fucking priests. Right?”

Scott answered, nodding quicker than he needed to. “Right.”

“You’re literally asking that?”

You pressed your lips into a fine line and tilted your head at Steve. “Steve?”

He glared at you for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. “I’m not fucking any priests.”

Your response was immediate, “Alright! I gotta hand it to her, though. Who took the photo?”

Scott went back to fishing through the emails. “Some sleazy magazine that never got around to actually printing these out.”

“Someone paid them off. Or killed them.”

“I wonder who,” you replied sarcastically. 

Steve continued, “You honestly think he would support her doing that?”

You shrugged and scurried back over to your unmade bed. “Not my problem.”

Scott interjected, “Okay, okay. How’s tomorrow gonna work?”

Steve answered first, “Well, we’re driving out around eight.”

You hummed in agreement, reaching over to unplug your phone from the charger. “Scott, you’ll just ride on one of our backs as we walk through the estate.”

“I kind of want to ride Y/N’s back this time.”

You snorted, “Now that doesn’t sound sexual at all.”

He hid his face in his hands, “You know, I heard it once I said it.”

“Course you did.”

Steve jumped back into the conversation, Scott’s embarrassment seeming to grow under the weird tension. “Then you’ll hop off and plant the bugs wherever you feel like they’re needed.”

“Easy peasy!” you cheered. 

“Bucky and Sam gonna meet us Friday night?”

Steve nodded, “That’s what they said.” He looked over at you, scrolling through your phone and already smiling at something you found funny. He cleared his throat to get your attention. “You know they can be out here in under an hour if we seriously need them.”

You glanced over at Steve, his sincerity greatly appreciated. “I know. But all my faith is in Scott here.”

Scott moaned quietly, “Oh… no, let’s not put all the faith in me because I can’t handle that responsibility.”

You propped yourself up onto your elbows, “You saying I can’t trust you?”

“No, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all-!”

Steve rolled his eyes and looked at the man, a sheen of nervous sweat starting to form on his forehead. “Scott.” 

Scott lowered his hands from his chest, “O-oh. She’s messing with me, huh?”

You chuckled and laid back down. “You’re so easy.”

The easygoing atmosphere for the next few hours almost had you believing you were on vacation, away from the bad guys and space aliens for just a moment. Almost like you weren’t in the middle of a drug war, a mob business, the literal daughter of a king. Scott had that effect, his personality such a sweet refresher and such a contrast to every soul in the compound. 

Thor and Peter were also sweethearts and fun was always expected when they were around, but Scott had this different vibe. Maybe it was because he was relatively new, or that he had a child, or that he hadn’t suffered the same five years as everyone else did. Like he wasn’t yet tainted.  

“You guys mind if I run a job inside a job?”

Your head snapped up at Scott’s crazy question, “You stealing something?”

To run a job inside a job was risky. There was no exact plan to keep both missions balanced, to somehow rank the other more important. You prayed it wasn’t something insane. 

Scott chuckled under his breath, already grabbing his jacket and suitcase by the door. “No, I’m not stealing something. Hank needs me to speak to some guy he’s doing negotiations with about a space for a new lab headquarters.”

Steve tilted his head, “In Northern California?”

“Nah, the dude is vacationing out here for the time being. The lab will be in San Francisco again.”

You squinted at him, still cautious. “Where you meeting him?”

“Some nice Italian restaurant an hour out.”

Steve spoke before you did, similar thoughts running through his mind. “You check with Torres? We don’t know who might randomly show up there.”

Scott tried his best to reassure you, “Yeah, he said they’re following every car that leaves the premises and travels more than thirty minutes away. None of Ernesto’s men have been spotted further up north.”

You sighed. You didn’t want another member of your team to venture out in this area, let alone this goddamn state, without your eyes on them. You were protective, the proximity of your outside world with the one you had spent ten years building too suffocating of a reality. 

Still, you told Scott goodbye with a steady voice. “Then enjoy your dinner, Scott.”

His voice picked up again, that childish and upbeat feeling wrapping you around his finger. “You guys wanna come with? I’m sure you’re sick of icky hotel food.”

Steve waved him off, “It’s actually not that bad-”

“Breadsticks. Garlic pasta. More breadsticks.”

You laughed, “That sounds nice, Scott but we can stay here-”

“Three-cheese pastas.”

“Scott, you can try all you want but-”

“Unlimited breadsticks.”

You shared a look at Steve, puckering your lips at the suggestion. 

“.... We’ll sit far away from your table, okay?”

Scott opened the hotel door and started sprinting down the hallway. “I knew I could persuade you with that! C’mon!”

     California at night was a death trap. Potholes on every stretch of asphalt, construction halted for who knows how long, random opossums lingering in the shadows just waiting to get hit by tires. It was prettier during the day - less of a ‘lead me into this forest, yes, kill me’ vibe. 

You chilled in the backseat while Scott drove you guys to the restaurant. You had texted Bucky where you were planning to go, the message activating the group text chain. 

Peter: it’s Wednesday! Who died?

Wanda: she’s literally texting us

Peter: Y/N, you won???

Bucky: fuck do I owe the fucking spider money?

Peter: pay up dude

Y/N: tf Bucky? You bet against me?

      “You sure you two are good?”

The restaurant looked quiet considering it was a Wednesday night, but it was still crowded. There was a short line extending out the door and a… bouncer. You sucked in a breath and smacked Scott in the chest once you were out of the car. 

“Thought you said this was a restaurant?”

Scott rubbed his chest, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “Restaurant slash bar!”

“We eating with the Italian mob now? I can only handle one mob at a time, Scott.”

You nodded rapidly, pointing at Steve. “I agree with him!”

“Not every place has bad guys!”

You groaned and reluctantly stood at the back of line, pulling Steve’s hat lower on his forehead. It wasn’t like people couldn’t take one long, hard look at him and not know who he was, anyway. 

“Can you guys just… enjoy a night out?”

“While on a mission?”

“While living your long lives. God, Y/N, you getting old already?”

Your mouth dropped, “I’m twenty-six and I’m not complaining about a nice dinner, Scott.” You pointed at the bouncer. “I’m worried about the fact that our ID’s are gonna be checked.”

Scott’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “Yeah, that.”

“Next.”

You shot Steve a worried look but handed the bouncer your driver’s license. He just looked at the date of birth and moved you along. “Next.”

Scott handed him his, doing his best to smile proudly while the bouncer scanned him up and down. “Next.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard,” Scott joked, standing next to you in the far corner of the entrance. 

You rolled your eyes, “Wait.”

The bouncer took one look at Steve’s ID and gasped. Steve looked anywhere but the bouncer’s eyes, his bottom lip suffering the abuse of his incisors. 

“Cap-Captain?”

Steve gave a sheepish grin, lowering his cap further. “Uh, yeah.”

“Enjoying your day?”

You pinched your nose. 

“Would like it a lot more if you could lead us to a table with as much privacy as you can offer.”

You had to hand it to Steve for taking advantage of situations like this. 

The bouncer agreed immediately, speaking with the manager and promising discretion. The manager said it was no problem, that it was the least he could do for you guys after you brought his son back to him after those rough five years. 

The restaurant offered a somewhat real Italian setting, awarding their guests with as much real scenery and architecture it could. You could only compare it to the Venetian in Vegas as you had never actually been to Italy, but the live band and garlic smell was enough to transport you. 

The lights were low, older couples enjoying the food and wine, and there was a small bar near the back of the restaurant. It wasn’t really a place for some shady business, but years of experience let you know that wasn’t always the case. It was second nature to eye women reaching into their purses, only to pull out a pack of gum. Second nature to wince at the sound of a loud laugh cutting through the quiet atmosphere. 

As promised, you were led to a more private area of the restaurant, closer to the bar than to the band. 

“Go run the job, Scott. We’ll just be enjoying our unlimited breadsticks,” you said, letting out a heavy and relaxed sigh as you settled into the private booth. 

“That hat isn't really hiding those broad shoulders, Cap,” Scott laughed, slapping Steve on the back.

Steve slid into the same booth, ignoring the completely empty seat across from you. “Thanks, Scott. I’m aware.”

You tried to hide your blush as you squeezed deeper in your seat. Scott noticed though, side eyeing Steve who was none the wiser. “You know, I told him that he should have used those facial changing things SHIELD used to have.”

Steve grabbed the offered utensils and started unwrapping them from their napkins. 

“What are we if not superheroes who think a baseball cap and glasses hide our identities?” you teased, shooting Scott a quick wink. 

Steve answered almost triumphantly, “Uh, Superman?”

You giggled and grabbed the napkin he had unwrapped for you. “I’d argue Thor is more like Superman, but okay.”

“How am I not more like Superman? What-”

“Uh, guys? I see the dude so I’m gonna go. You two enjoy your meal,” Scott interrupted, running off to a booth located toward the middle of the restaurant. 

You sat for a few awkward moments before you squinted and looked at Steve, who was sitting to your left and way too close. “Are we annoying?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like,” you spoke with your hands, “you and I bicker a lot because we love to annoy each other but you think it gets on other people’s nerves?”

Steve chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with yours. “Do you really care if it does?”

That blush of yours was starting to feel warmer. “No, just wondering if you felt that way.”

He shrugged, “I quite like our relationship.”

“Oh,” you smiled, looking down at your lap.  “I quite liked it more a few years back but you know.” 

He immediately tensed, body leaning away from you as if you were burning him. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “Sorry, that was low.”

He sighed deeply, “No, I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

You took a risk and reached for his hand, squeezing gently. The kind gesture seemed to calm him, and he looked back at you. “I still shouldn’t have said it.”

He accepted that, and handed you the menu. 

The hotel food was grand, it did its job of filling you up and providing the necessary nutrients, but there was just something about the carbs in pasta and bread. It ignited the food critic inside you, because now you were cursing the hotel chef and dreading having to order breakfast in the morning. No, dinner. You were having breakfast with your father tomorrow. 

Scott was busy conducting his own business, bluetooth turned off but still glancing over his shoulder once in a while to check on you guys. Each time he did, he felt butterflies flutter in his breadstick-filled stomach. It was the first time he had seen the two of you so carefree, let alone with each other, and it was the most refreshing thing in the world. 

Steve was in the middle of telling another childhood story, his main plate already finished and practically licked clean. But the unlimited breadsticks were coming out by the pound, a new stick in each of your hands every five minutes. 

“I swear, she loved Bucky more than me!”

You covered your mouth and chewed, careful to not let anything through because of your giggle fit. “Steve! Your mother did not!”

Steve wiped at his under eye, clutching his chest as he continued explaining. “Bucky was always around and my mom would just linger every second she wasn’t working!”

“Bet she loved him.”

“See?”

“No, I mean she must have loved him like her own! Bucky was your best friend, your only friend. She probably thought of him like an angel sent from God!” you clarified. 

Steve smiled wider at your cheesy explanation. They were happy memories, joyful ones that he would often think about while writing or drawing. 

He continued with a soft confession. “I really wish I could see her again.”

You leaned your temple on your palm, “From everything you’ve shared with me, she sounds lovely.”

“She would have loved you.” The blush was back, and so was Steve’s, almost like those words were supposed to be kept in the back of his head. He cleared his throat. “God, she was so destroyed when Bucky first got his orders.”

“Was Bucky scared?”

“Scared? Absolutely fucking terrified. We talked about running away and changing our names so he didn’t have to go.”

The draft was such a horrible practice. The fact that men still had to enlist and hope no ‘necessary’ war was upon them. It was quite reassuring to know most of those men wouldn’t have to see battle today, they were given a choice, and there were agencies that managed people who could, like the Avengers. 

“Steve…”

Steve just hummed softly, “Life in the forties, am I right?

Your voice also got quieter. “Why didn’t you run away?”

Steve huffed out a laugh, swallowing the last of his bread. “We tried. Got all the way to the edge of town before Bucky’s dad wrung us both back to kick our asses.”

Almost out of instinct, you gripped his hand again. You rubbed soothing circles into his knuckles, knuckles that hadn’t seen hand-to-hand combat in so long. There wasn’t much danger in the world nowadays, just small missions here and there. It wasn’t like the team was itching for another alien invasion. But these periods of well needed rest were odd, periods where bruises completely healed up and little pockets of weight were gained. Steve’s knuckles were soft, only having seen the ends of paintbrushes for a long while. 

 “...Where’s your mother?”

His voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you had to repeat the question in your own head a couple times. 

“It’s not a happy story.”

There wasn’t much of a story anyway. 

“But is it a story you need to get off your chest?”

Steve didn’t want to push too hard. The long pause in your relationship definitely didn’t soften this blow, and it only added to the strings of resistance. If you decided not to tell Steve about this, Steve would have to accept it. If anything, this was one of the toughest questions to ask someone when all you’ve been doing is ignoring them for two years. 

“Not really much to get rid of.”

He nodded, only a slight hint of disappointment laced within his words. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Natasha was the only one with any knowledge of your mom. There was never an actual moment in which you freely spoke of her - inserting her likeness, her person, back into some alternate and fucked-up reality - you kept her legacy dead. It was obvious she hadn’t enjoyed this part of her life, no doubt it absolutely killed her to leave you trapped in it, so keeping her dead, even in conversation, was a favor. 

But one drunken night and you were showing Natasha the one photo you had of her, stuffed deep in your wallet and crinkled beyond repair. Her black hair to her shoulders, lip liner a darker shade than her lipstick, hands intertwined behind her back as she arched forward in a playful tilt, shooting the camera a smile that was stuck around the word she was saying as the candid was taken. There was no recorded voice but you had a record of her movement, frozen in time.     

Steve’s sincerity grasped you by the literal roots of your hair, because next thing you knew you were spilling the first thought you had. 

“She was twenty-three. Working as a real estate agent, very beautiful, and she was engaged. To an American.”

Steve chuckled around his champagne glass, “Was that bad?”

You grinned at that, like he was already fully and deeply invested in your story. “Not necessarily. But everyone knew she was taken.”

“And your father?”

“He wanted to buy some houses. Saw her, wanted her, tried persuading her into going on a date. Nothing really worked, she didn’t accept his money or gifts.”

Steve fumbled over his next words. “Did she eventually?”

“No, but her brother did. My father didn’t know it was her brother, so he thought she was accepting them. Got mad when she still refused his advances.”

He was digesting this little by little. Steve had heard horror stories of girls he grew up with, forced to marry at a young age when they were caught in a passionate moment with a man, or when they ended up pregnant. Bucky and his mother had always instructed him to treat women with respect, to never intentionally or accidentally ruin their reputation, to protect and use his voice to stand up for them. And although women weren’t getting frisky with him when he was all but ninety pounds at the ripe age of twenty, that didn’t stop Steve from exchanging a few words and punches with men who had no right.  “How did they end up together?”

You shrugged, reaching over for another breadstick. “No one knows. He invited her to a party one day and she didn’t come back for a whole week. Next thing her family knows she’s engaged to my father and no longer with the love of her life.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, her family had no choice but to accept that. Her poor fiance, though.” 

“Where is he now?”

Steve had this weird hope that the fiance may still be alive somewhere, waiting for your mother to find him. But that was just the hopeless romantic emerging. 

You sighed deeply, “My father told my mother he killed him. My mother believed him.”

“So, he’s still alive? He didn’t hurt him?”

“Apparently he’s still kicking, yeah. But my mom became severely depressed from that lie.”

The restaurant felt colder and the air became thinner. Steve didn’t want his next thought to be true. “She didn’t...?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, she found out he was alive.” Even if you weren’t witness to it, you could still imagine your mother charting the areas she would have to run and swim through to get away. Wasn’t like it was a heartfelt thought, but the mere fact that she had that much determination to risk her life for love, it was somewhat therapeutic to think about. Like it was genuinely satisfying to imagine her defying your father. Still, your face drooped as you gave Steve the sad conclusion. “She didn’t even make it across the border before he had her killed for betraying him.”

His face fell in time with yours, “Fuck.”

“She left me with Maribel’s mother. But my father found me and told me she had an accident. Didn’t find out the truth until I was thirteen.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You shoved his shoulder with yours, a light chuckle cutting through the sad moment. “Not like you had a hand in this, Steve. It’s just my life.”

You were used to Steve’s generosity, his ability to make any person feel a part of his family - you had been on the receiving end of his sincerity for the past week now. But as you held his gaze, his body seemingly towering over yours, your chest flushed with such warmness, a tranquil promise of safety. He leaned forward, breath hitting your cheeks, hand still gripping yours. 

“Not anymore. We’ll end this, Y/N. I promise you, we’ll end this.”

You took a risk and rested your forehead on his, his continuous promise still causing your stomach to twist pleasurably. “How’d we get so sad all of a sudden?” You pushed away and threw your arms in the air. “We need more breadsticks!”

Steve laughed loudly, the private booth still providing somewhat of a thin curtain to the other diners. “No, we need mints!”

Rolling your eyes, you blew your breath at Steve teasingly. “Weak.”

Steve groaned, “You and Scott are not getting into the car without chewing on a mint.”

“You got a thing against bad breath?”

“Take the mint.”

“I’m gonna fight you if you force the mint on me.”

He was reaching into his jacket and pulling the small case out. He winked at you. “I’ll win.”

He popped open the cap and held it out to you. He didn’t tip it though, as if he was waiting for you to extend your palm. Everything was silent for a minute, eyes challenging one another. 

He could easily lean in. He could easily just tilt his head a little to his left and capture your lips with his. Every damn molecule in his body was telling him to do it, every bubble from that champagne somehow giving him some extra courage. 

Your breath hitched slightly, and he leaned away. I’m such a coward, he thought.

You reacted swiftly, disguising the awkwardness. “You’re right, give me the mint. You should swallow like three.”

Steve snickered, “You ruined the moment.”

But you didn’t ruin the moment. And he just blamed you for it. Like he had already established - he was a coward. 

You grabbed the mints he offered and popped them into your mouth. “What moment? I didn’t see any moment.”

Okay, he could just lean in right now and hope the mint freshness in your mouth would mask the garlic in his. Yeah, he could just lean in and do what he’s been thinking of doing for the last day and a half-

“Hey, you guys finished? Getting dessert?”

Steve almost shot from his seat, “Jesus fucking christ, Scott!”

Scott slid into the seat across from you. “You scare easily. Let’s get dessert!” 

You were too flustered. Fine, okay. You’ll play along. If the gods want to reward you with this fun Steve, the Steve you were closest to years ago, then so be it. You’ll bite. And if he wants to resort back to his bitchy self, his hermit behavior, then you’ll fight him then. 

Scott ordered so much dessert. 

So much. 

The little moment you had with Steve was still fresh, you could sense he was thinking about it too, but you opted to simply enjoy the night out. You were here with two friends, protection was just a phone call away, and you were safe. 

Perhaps Scott had the same effect on Steve that he had on you. Absolutely demolished his ‘Captain’ self and released the guy who simply wanted to enjoy a mini road trip with his friends. 

     You were barely fifteen minutes into your ride home when Scott lowered the windows and turned the radio up high. 

“Woohoo!”

You screamed over the loud roar of the wind, “Scott, it’s fucking freezing!”

Scott yelled back, “We just had three desserts each! Your blood should be running warm!”

You blinked away the dryness, “Dude!”

Steve, surprisingly, agreed with Scott. “Enjoy it!”

Your mouth dropped open and you followed Steve’s movements as he turned the radio higher. 

The music blared and you were about to protest again, the air literally nipping at your sensitive cheeks, but the song that started was a non-skip. 

You would indulge in this childishness once. 

Once. 

You reached around the passenger seat and gripped Steve’s shoulders, shaking him in place. “Ah, California radio giving us the classics!”

Scott leaned over and turned it up higher. 

You swayed in your seat and sang along with Scott. “Bidi bidi bom bom!”

Scott pointed at you and recited the lyrics, “Bidi, bidi!”

Both of you sang, “Bom!”

Even with his eyes on the road, Scott was nailing some good dance moves in his seat. You both sang each lyric with your heart and soul, laughs escaping during the guitar breaks. 

Steve just enjoyed the show. He didn’t know the song, the melody a foreign one for him, but it must have been popular for both you and Scott to know it. He watched you sway in your seat, hands dancing and voice matching the volume of the radio. Just the other night, you had mentioned how you never sang anymore.

But here you were, singing through the most beautiful smile Steve had ever seen. 

He missed the sound of it. He missed hearing you sing in your room, no doubt you were dancing too since he usually heard your feet shuffling against your carpet. He missed the innocence you would casually portray, an invitation for anyone to befriend you. He missed teasing you lightly, and he regretted the roughness of his voice years later. He missed just walking into the common area and finding you there, cooking for yourself and anyone who wanted a plate - that plate usually for him. He missed you. 

You were right here, voice hitting those octaves Steve didn’t think he would ever hear again. You were right here, and he missed you. 

      Scott was staying in a separate room. The dessert and alcohol had run right through him, and he bid you goodnight after he threatened to plop down in your bed if you invited him in. 

The sound of Scott’s retreating footsteps seemed to suck all the air from the vents at once, whispering its song lovingly in your ear. It was both refreshing and terrifying to be left alone because now here you were, standing outside your hotel door with the super soldier you had gone to Hell and back with. 

You inwardly cringed, the tightness in your chest sending your childish ass back to sophomore year of college. A first date, the lost promise of another - a proper teenage reaction to a crush. But this man in front of you wouldn’t let you delete his number from your phone; he wouldn’t avoid eye contact in the dining hall; he wouldn’t sit at the back of the lecture hall just to keep a necessary distance. 

Granted, Elijah - poor, frightened Elijah - had seen you literally kidnap someone off the street under your father’s orders. This being before you went straight and moral, before you had met Fury, before SHIELD training. You were to blame for that sprouting relationship going south pretty quickly. So you avoided him, too - praying Ernesto or Seda could never track him. 

But Steve, beautiful Steve who reloaded your guns when you couldn’t, who jumped in front of stray bullets for you and those he loved, Steve who very quietly asked you for various salsa recipes when he was in the mood to cook. Here he was, eyes also watching Scott walk away, no doubt experiencing the same tight coil within his chest. He hadn’t run, he had worked and fought with and against you, and he wasn’t running away. 

No, Steve Rogers never ran. 

The low beep from the hotel lock snapped you from your thoughts. You sensed his hesitance because when your history was truly reviewed with the most unbiased of minds, there was absolutely no reason to overthink. Hell, when you ran through the halls of Thor’s Asgardian palace with Rocket tailing you, the first joke out your mouth was how Steve would probably instruct you to respect a place like that and speed walk. Your first thought when starting the pilot episode of a new show is to wait for Bucky… and Steve, who would pop the kernels over the stove and add real salt and butter. 

His first thought as he helped load people onto the planes in Sokovia was that your whiny ass better be on one of them. Or when Steve regrouped in the support circle, his first thought before he continued the discussion was that he really hoped you would walk through those doors and join - until one day you did. 

Whether the two of you recognized the severity of your unspoken feelings, they were there. Silent and at a gradual increase. Never rushed, not entirely obvious because of the temporary roadblocks of unnecessary separation. 

Steve was here in front of you, like he always was, and he was wearing the smallest nervous smile you had ever seen.  

And you were here in front of him, like you always were, and he could not entirely read the mixed emotions on your delicate face. 

You shuffled alongside your bed, stopping to shrug out of the heavy jacket you had on. “We should turn in early so we can be well-rested, in case we gotta fight tomorrow.”

Steve nodded in agreement but remained silent, hovering near the coffee table and monitors. Your back was facing him and he just watched you fumble with your boots and belt. It was like your back was on fire, bursting with fueled flames as you could literally feel his gaze boring into you. The overwhelming urge to simply snap and ask him what the hell he was looking at was strong, so in character, but you refrained. It was too intimate, too quiet, but before you could even ask him if he wanted the shower first, the warmth of his chest was near, inches away and calling. 

Your breath hitched, shoulders rising slightly and exactly what Steve needed to witness. It was awkward for him to just stand behind you with no actual intention of touching you first - no, he needed a proper signal. So Steve waited those few precious seconds more until you turned, sun-kissed by the California sun and hair no longer in tight curls, before he glanced down at your glossy lips. You followed his eyesight, all knowing in his intentions, and you glanced at his lips as well. 

A gesture of approval. 

Steve pulled you in, both hands settling on your cheeks, thumbs exploring the corners of your mouth. He watched them dance and how your mouth parted slightly in response. He looked back up, studying the small crease forming in between your eyebrows and the pinch of water filling the inside corners of your eyes.

His thumbs felt like a gentle sigh, a promise of a sweet caress in both the daytime and dead of night. Although all his focus was on you, his own features reacted to the moment. His lips were also parted, sweet breath with the scent of those classic tiramisu’s he had devoured, touching the tip of your nose and equally trembling lips. 

So goddamn intimate that you found yourself internally cursing those sitcoms Wanda had forced you to binge watch. Because the two love interests, albeit they had several months or years of growing tension, rushed into their first kiss for the sake of limited airtime. They didn’t prepare you for practically a ten-year build-up, a relationship that was both heavily work and friend related, the slowness of such a moment fans would most certainly be jumping out of their seats for. No, nothing could have prepared you for the warmth of Steve Rogers. 

Your Captain. 

You registered the soft feeling of his lips as they pressed against yours, overlapped only slightly. Eyes now fully closed in surprise and pleasure, you leaned into it more, hands placed on Steve’s rising chest. The squeeze of his hands cupping your cheeks caused your lips to pucker more, but you were relaxed in his desperate touch. He tilted his head a little to the left, your lips sliding against each other’s and noses bumping. Steve frowned in concentration, pouring whatever emotions he had felt throughout the last few years into this one kiss, and he knew he couldn’t possibly fully portray them. And almost as quickly as you thought about how sweet and innocent of a kiss this was, Steve’s tongue slowly peaked out from behind his teeth and greeted your bottom lip. 

His tongue traced over your bottom lip warmly, welcomed by yours as you followed his lead. God, you would always follow his lead. 

You tried to move in closer, but your elbows were already bent fully against him and his hips were only a few inches from your greedy ones. One tiny step forward and you would be completely flushed against him - but you chose to respect the distance Steve created. 

You let out a quiet whine, body shuddering as Steve applied more pressure. It was as if Steve had never heard such a sound - completely unexpected and causing him to pause momentarily. He leaned away a little, lips still barely kissing yours. He opened his eyes, gaze wandering from your flushed cheeks still squeezed between his palms and to your fluttering eyelids. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he debated leaning forward again, to be selfish for once and to pass forth the trophy for ‘waiting too long’. But as you opened your eyes, no trace of regret or hate swimming inside your irises, Steve froze. 

You were his friend. His friend who teased him about the paint streaks across his forehead, who followed his lead no matter how ridiculous the order. 

He didn’t want you to inspect him further as well, so he shut his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. It was only then that he felt you settle back down from your tippy-toes. 

You gulped loudly, throat dry and lips instantly craving him again. “Steve…”

Steve let go of your face and dragged his hands lightly down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He turned his head slightly, his breath now kissing your cheek. Although your cheeks were red, the absence of Steve’s palms made them cold. 

He took a small step back, hands straining to stay on your skin as he reluctantly pulled them away. The absence of any warmth finally woke you from that intense daze and you frowned at Steve as he pulled away altogether. The instinct to reach out was there, and you cursed yourself for being so clingy. 

“Steve?” you called again, voice hoarse but light enough to pinch at Steve’s fast beating heart. 

He looked up and locked eyes with your confused ones. Oh, you’re gonna hate him for this. 

He gave you a small and kind smile, one you had seen plenty of times when he was actually enjoying your company. He backed up to the door, gaze never leaving yours even as he reached for the handle and key card. 

And he wanted to bring his hands back to your face to rub away that wrinkle between your furrowing eyebrows. But he simply opened the door and left you standing near the edge of your bed, flushed with a deep sense of longing and growing confusion. 

Steve already knew the amount of heat he would receive from the moment gossip of the kiss spread. Whether he was first to tell or you were. Bucky’s going to kick his ass, for sure, no doubt about it. No matter his bond with Bucky, it could never excuse leaving you alone to unravel this situation. You had this hold over Bucky, a soft mutual understanding of mental torture, so this inevitable ass kicking would be justified. Plus, after years of being rejected over and over, mostly in the forties, Bucky might just kick his ass for simply being a dumbass. 

But Steve felt calm, an added relaxation due to the whiskey cooling in his hand. If there was anything Steve was an expert in, it was overthinking. You two had that in common - were you overthinking while absentmindedly watching TV? Overthinking while rubbing shampoo into your scalp? Overthinking while angrily stomping your way down to the hotel bar to hand his ass back over to him?

He let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see you burst through the doors. 

      “Anyone wanna start?”

Steve glanced around the circle of familiar and new faces. The group varied each week. Some people would try, share their anecdotes about lost loved ones, only to never show up for another session. Others often attended and never spoke, but they kept returning. Steve didn’t judge their choices - he couldn’t. No matter how many mornings he wanted to crawl back under the sheets and binge eat packaged foods, he never could. He had been at this job for two years. There was both pain and satisfaction in what he did. Sam would be doing this if he were here. 

And he had to do this for Sam. 

“My divorce was finalized yesterday.”

Steve looked over at the man who spoke first, a long-time member of this particular support group, and grimaced at his confession. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty, no wrinkles or gray hair, and he was ending a two-year marriage. 

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

The man, Michael, shrugged sadly, “We still love each other, man. But seeing your newborn disintegrate in your arms does something to your soul that’s just… we both knew we needed to move on. Even if it was from each other.”

Steve squeezed the small, red stress ball in his hand and tried to offer more condolences and a kind smile, but it came out rather painful. He opted to stay silent in case Michael wanted to continue. Instead, another member decided to comment. 

It went like this for almost an hour with Steve adding in his empathetic words of wisdom whenever he saw appropriate. It was good for everyone to share so openly, to carry the conversation with minimal involvement from Steve. Steve had shared snippets of his story with the group awhile back, careful to not mention the gruesome specifics. He had let out as much as he was able, not as much as he would have liked, but his main job was to facilitate. Besides, Steve went to confession every month to talk to someone - anyone - even if he wasn’t necessarily Catholic. But that’s just the thing - no one knew who they were anymore. 

The sound of a scraping chair leg caught everyone’s attention, and they all turned to the entrance in search of the disruption. You paused in your movements, face scrunched in embarrassment. Opening one eye, you mouthed a quick apology and rushed to carry the chair to the circle. 

“I’m sorry I’m late. Subway was a bitch,” you muttered, your embarrassed smile growing wider. 

For over a year, Steve had subtly urged you to attend one of these meetings. He was witness to your nightmares, your destructive solo missions that even Friday had no records of, and your sudden breakdown last week. You were casually jogging around the outdoor track when you suddenly stopped and fell to your knees, broken sobs seeming to shake the trees around you. You were crouched for a good minute before Steve had seen you wipe your eyes and continue your jog. As if nothing happened. 

To see you here, whether to share or to listen, prompted the proud and erratic beating of Steve’s heart. 

“It’s completely fine. Time’s almost up but we still got time for you.”

You sent Steve a funny smile, amused by his professional tone. “Uh, yeah! A friend convinced me to come. He was pretty persuasive.”

Steve blushed, head tilting downward. 

You introduced yourself and let the group know you were also an Avenger. No one seemed shocked and you were suddenly grateful for this mixture of people. 

Steve sat and listened, his nerves settling. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you all,” you started, thumbs dancing in your lap. “And I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

Steve sat up straight, eyebrows scrunching as he listened intently. 

You sighed, wetting your lips briefly. “The day before the snap, I was supposed to die.”

You wanted to avoid Steve’s gaze until the right moment. You continued, “I went on a mission to Mexico. Alone, which was completely against protocol but hey, we broke a lot more rules than that.”

Steve cleared his throat which earned a chorus of chuckles from the group. 

“And I was technically on house arrest but I found out a way to temporarily disable that ankle monitor,” you added, grinning from the laughs you were receiving. 

“Anyway, all my potential backup was nonexistent. I had friends on the run,” you paused, glancing at Steve with a somber expression. “And other friends literally fighting another battle on their home planet somewhere in space. So, I went alone.”

“While I was bleeding out from a bullet my own father ordered, Tony was already up in space. Loki was already dead.”

You hoped no one commented on Loki’s role in your life. He wasn’t exactly a nice figure to suddenly name drop in New York, but he was important in your grief. 

It was slightly unnerving to be on display here, but you weren’t exactly planning on returning. You just needed to rant. 

“I stitched myself up the best I could in that quinjet - which I almost crashed,” you muttered, smirking at Steve. “Sorry, Cap.”

“This is the first time I've heard you flew. You’re not even authorized to fly,” Steve declared, face scrunched in confusion and astonishment. 

“That’s not important,” you teased. “But the stitches were messy work. Horrible criss-crosses.”

Steve was in a tiny state of shock. He had known what happened to you, but to hear you talk so casually about the day before the world went to shit - it just made it more real. 

You had mentioned before that you never dreamed about the snap, but about everything leading up to it. 

“I woke up, betrayed yet again by my own blood, and Steve was suddenly there after two years. We were gonna fight an outside threat.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed lightly, “I was still healing but I was on the battlefield. Stayed close to Nat most of the time.”

The group was heavily invested in your retelling. “I couldn’t fight him, obviously. But I did see him. I saw how he ripped that stone from my friend’s head.”

A few winces sounded around the circle. 

“I guess I feel immense guilt. Like, I could have done something more even though realistically, I couldn’t. Kinda feels like I sat back and watched my friend’s die.”

No one spoke, but it was obvious everyone had survivor’s guilt. 

“And now, I’m living with the pain of having all three of my best friends stripped from me while also celebrating the fact that the snap took my father.”

Shrugging, you gave your last sad smile to the group. “I feel guilty for what happened while also being grateful it took someone who deserved it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Steve spoke. “You’re here today to tell your story. No one has to agree or disagree with you. It’s your story. Tell it like it is.”

You chuckled, “I could easily bother Steve with this at the compound.” You smiled at the teenager clutching what looked like a stuffed animal in his lap. “But I had nothing else to do tonight. My only friends are gone.”

“You and Steve aren’t friends?”

This time it was Michael that spoke, his eyes bouncing from you to Steve. You turned to Steve for some kind of answer. Was it a yes? Were you more like coworkers than true friends? 

Steve’s eyes softened and his kind smile was back. 

You answered, “I guess. I did come here for him.”

Steve rolled his eyes and kept his light-hearted tone, “I’m really glad you did.” 

Steve backtracked, clearing his throat as he addressed the circle. “I’m really glad all of you did. Same time next week.”

You busied yourself with stacking the chairs and dusting off your pants. Once most of the group had left, Steve gathered his things and walked over to you. “You take the subway?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and you stacked the final chair high. “I did. You drive?”

Steve hummed in response, “Want a lift?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re not staying at your place tonight?”

“Nah, I haven’t seen Nat in a week. I should pay her a visit.”

He curled his jacket around your shoulders as you exited the building. You held it tightly, relishing in the comfort. The walk back to the car was quiet but not awkward. After such a heavy night, silence was most definitely needed. And just the comfort of being around someone you trusted added to the relaxation aspect of it all. 

Steve kicked a loose piece of gravel to the street. You watched him for a few seconds before you spoke, voice light and a puff of cold air escaping your lips. 

“Steve?” 

He turned to you and waited for you to continue speaking. 

“You know Sam would be so proud of you doing this, right?”

Steve watched the cold air leave his own lungs as well. He felt the weight of that statement pressing down on his shoulders as he looked up at the dark sky. “I know.”

     Steve knew he was utterly fucked, so fucked that any line that had been established was stepped over and kicked a thousand yards back. His mind was made up, he would not run, he would not succumb to some former mindset 2016 Steve would have fallen victim to. He was a new person, a completely different person than he was out of the ice and after the snap. He deserved to cross the line, he deserved whatever happiness was afforded to him - he deserved comfort in the arms of another after years of denying himself. 

He downed the rest of his drink with a loud gulp, mind made up, and headed back to your room. 

    It was best to just pretend it never happened… no? But did you want to pretend it never did? So many moments over the years where this could have happened, where either of you could have literally just said ‘fuck it’. As overthinking was a specialty, quite a useless skill, you thought about the countless fights you had. 

Red in the face, hands clenched until nails imprinted little crescents, absolutely seething at the mouth. Some of the things you would yell were vile, none at all honest but with the intent to cause pain for only a moment, and mumbled apologies later. You were literally enemies for these past two, long years. Enemies who had to be seated and scolded, tricked into accepting defeat and living as teammates once more. 

Perhaps one of those arguments could have been remedied by simply leaning in like you had tonight, by throwing each other against the wall, by pulling the roots of your hair as he tugged-

Nope. 

Nope. 

No matter how much tension you were now realizing you had for this man, tension that could literally be fucked out, wasn’t it too late to act on it? You couldn’t pinpoint the chance you maybe had and missed. 

Steve walked through the door in the middle of your rapid brainstorming. He just grinned sweetly and slipped into the bathroom. 

As simple as that. 

Now you couldn’t discern between the feelings of wanting to fight him or fuck him. Not being able to differentiate between them ignited a sour mood, and once he stepped out from the shower, you basically pushed him to the side to lock yourself in. 

Even the warm water hitting your body couldn’t alleviate the pressure of overthinking. You disregarded your hair tonight and instead just washed your body. As quick as you could jump back out and go to bed, the better.  

Sucking in a deep breath, you opened the door and shut off the bathroom light. Your eyes landed on Steve’s torso, shirtless and the only thing not covered by the white blanket. He hadn’t shaved his beard either, the length evident when he kissed you earlier. It felt wrong and right at the same time, a battle that you seriously did not want to deal with. To get involved with your mission partner was dangerous - not because Steve himself was dangerous, but because it was a giant distraction. A distraction that you couldn’t afford. 

But as he put down his book and lay it in his lap, looking up to look at you through hooded eyes, sleepy but alert, the ‘danger’ was nothing but enticing. 

You cleared your throat and padded down your pajama shorts absentmindedly, slinging your hair over one shoulder and focusing on plugging your charger into your phone. It was so silent besides your pitter-patter, and god, did Steve find that sound so relaxing, until you climbed into bed. Once your shuffling was done, the slight buzzing of Steve’s desk lamp drowned out all your other senses. And the longer it was heard, the more it sounded like a ticking clock. 

Steve shut the lamp off, the only light now illuminating your figure from outside. He studied your breathing, watching how every so often you would bring your hand up to scratch your cheek or move a stray hair. You looked so gentle, so inviting, so small. 

You were turned away from him and facing the wall, eyes shut as you listened to his movements. There was a small part of you that wanted to stay up all night talking, to lean on his shoulder and simply feel his warmth, to feel that beard against your cheek one more time. As quickly as those thoughts flashed through your mind did you scold yourself, that this was inappropriate and wrong and so dangerous. 

You felt a dip in your bed, heavy and unsure, a lift of your blankets, and it happened so quickly that you could have sworn you dreamt it. Steve wrapped his arm around you, his broad chest pressed tightly against your back and his lips attacked the skin just below your earlobe. Your breath hitched, eyes shot open, and your hands reached up to grip his wrist. Steve stilled. 

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, lips hovering over your blushing skin and breath practically blistering. You could feel him now, hard and pulsing against your ass and ready to move. You felt dizzy, overcome with such a rush of desire that you couldn’t help but stiffen in his tight grasp. 

“Don’t,” you choked out, feeling his body become rigid and his breath begin to quicken. 

“I’m sorry I-” he began to move away from you, voice no longer a whisper and tainted with panic. 

“No,” you pulled back, tilting your head up to lock eyes with him. You brought your arm up to grasp the back of his head, and you tugged it back to your neck. “Don’t stop.”

Yeah, he was utterly fucked. “Fuck,” he groaned, continuing the attack on your neck. But he gained momentum now, arm squeezing you against him tighter, and voice cracking as he moaned your name. 

“Steve, please do something.”

Your hands found their way back to his arm, gripping it tightly as he fumbled with the waistband of your shorts. He played with it, teasing in his actions, almost as punishment for the years you tormented him with your attitude. His lips pressed harder now, finding each patch of available skin on your neck and flushed cheek, and Steve has never felt so aroused in his life. He wasn’t even inside you, but the quick gasps he heard from you did plenty in aiding the rush of blood from his head to his stiffening cock. 

“Tell me what you want. Please, tell me and I’ll give it to you,” he moaned, the slightest experimental role of the hips causing you to whimper. 

“Touch me,” you practically sobbed, rolling your hips back against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt all of him.  

And just like that, he gave you what you asked for. He gripped your hip and shoved you closer to him, hot and ready and pressed firmly against you. He rolled his hips into you, little whimpers of his own touching your sensitive ear. He quickened his pace and he found it hard to think straight when the scrunch of pleasure all over your face, making you look so willing, was all he was focused on. He focused on the way you bit your lip, a bite and then a gasp, and then you were back to biting as if you were trying to restrain any higher moan. And even with only the moonlight illuminating the room, he could see the sun-kissed color of your skin and the bruising he was causing. He kept his mouth on you as he rocked himself against you, indulging in a few more selfish seconds of pleasure before becoming his generous self. 

He dipped his hand into your shorts and found the sweet nub that so desperately needed attention. His brain almost short circuited, the feeling of his fingers finally sliding into your wet lips making his throat dry. He drew little but skilled circles, each twirl of his index and middle finger in unison with the grind of his hips. Your mouth fell open by such pleasure, and you braced yourself by placing your left palm on the mattress and pressed down, nails scratching the cotton fabric and alerting Steve of your excitement. You pushed back against him, timed and in perfect harmony. 

You knew the room wasn’t on fire, but even if it was you didn’t think to check. 

“Keep talking to me, Y/N. Keep talking to me,” Steve begged, each rotation of his hips gaining pressure. His eagerness prompted you to reach back up and grab him by the hair, yanking his head to your tilted one and smashing his lips against yours. Steve gasped at the pleasant sting, somewhat surprised with himself that he liked that form of roughness. But who was he to judge his kinks when the tip of your nose was turning redder, the blush in your cheeks mixed with barely visible silver droplets of sweat, and a purple outline was beginning to form on your plump upper lip? 

The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated, but still beneficial in getting Steve to rut against you even harder. 

He could so easily pull your shorts down and enter you, and if he was anything like he felt, then you knew it would sting. But you craved that sting and stretch, the thought of him inside you causing another gush of desire to leak from you. Steve dipped his finger deeper into you only to accumulate your juices and spread them higher. He went back to rubbing expertly, actions gaining speed to match your whimpers. 

“Fuck, Steve,” you moaned louder, and you swore you felt tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You pressed back harder, his hand rubbing and pressing down on your stomach simultaneously. Your head felt cloudy, the pleasure coursing through your veins and to the very tips of your toes. “Oh, my fuck.”

Steve paused his fingers to trail his hand back up your stomach and to your breasts, pulling your tank top down to spill them. The sounds leaving your throat set him on fire, desire pulsing everywhere - his head, his heart, his aching cock that was pressed so closely against you that he could feel you vibrating. He pinched your nipple and rolled it, closing his eyes in response to your dirty purrs. “Let me make you come, doll.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” you quipped, ass tilting at an angle that caused Steve to choke. He growled from the attitude he couldn’t believe you still fucking had during a moment like this and kissed you roughly, both your broken moans molding into one. His hand returned to your shorts. 

“Do that again,” he begged, hitching his leg up to rest on yours. The angle allowed him to drive his hips even harder. You maneuvered to provide the same tilt, grinning at the pleasurable cries that left your Captain’s mouth. 

“I think I’m gonna make you come first,” you chuckled and took his bottom lip between your teeth. You pulled lightly, concentration still in the circle of your hips. He looked back down at you, determination and undeniable lust in his eyes. He thrust his aching cock against you, sliding himself over your ass. He did it hard but slow, the pressure applied giving the head of his cock such a sweet squeeze as he bumped it against the curve of your lumbar spine. 

The heavy duvet was abandoned now, cold air from the hotel air conditioner failing in cooling you down at all. You both had a thin sheet of sweat on your clothed bodies, goosebumps standing proudly, and lips all plump and red from your harsh kissing. 

Steve held you so close, so tight, and his fingers were drawing such rushed and tiny circles that you swore his wrist had to be cramping up. But the sound of both your whimpers started to mesh together, alerting you of such a sweet climax up ahead. 

“Steve, fuck, fuck, ohh,” you mewled, voice now high pitched and yes, it turned Steve on incredibly but it also fueled you. Your pornographic moans ignited an even deeper desire within you, just the true fact that Steve was touching you, Steve was getting you to make these sounds, Steve is actually hearing these sounds, Steve is making the same exact sounds. 

 “I-, please, come for me,” Steve pleaded, cock twitching with each thrust as he neared his end. “Make me come.”

His begging, his equally high voice, his skilled fingers rubbing rapidly and the slight pain from that, his breath burning your neck, were all too powerful, their combinations causing the fire in your core to explode and make you see white in a flash, black dots later clouding your vision. Your nails dug into his moving arm, crescents branded into him. You clenched around nothing, walls fluttering and thighs shaking as they pressed around his hand and fingers. 

The inappropriate squelching sound of your juices spreading as your thighs clenched around his cramping fingers, the slide so sensual and dirty, had Steve rutting against you one, two, three more times before he came in hard but long spurts. His mouth hung open, breath still fanning your neck, and his eyes were so tightly shut that the force was enough to strain them. 

“Oh, fuuuck, yes, yes!” Steve groaned, his body taking longer than usual to recover. His orgasm was powerful, more powerful than when he got himself off in the shower or in the comfort of his bed at night, and he knew it was because you clouded his senses. Of course, there was an added benefit to getting off with someone else, aiding that person in the same endeavor, but because it was you, it made the climax even more forceful, more intense. The whole situation was both unexpected and calculated, gentle and rough, and Steve’s heart was beating so fast by the thought of what just occurred that he found himself wanting to spill into you all night long, and to apologize for overstepping an unspoken boundary. 

You could feel the wetness of both your own release and Steve’s, head still cloudy from such a sharp orgasm. You hummed in satisfaction, reaching your arm over once again to lift his head up by his hair. He hissed at the pull now, his body all fucked out and satisfied. “You good?”

Steve gave you a lazy smile, chest heaving in unison with yours. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good.”

Steve scanned your face for any regret just in case your words held other meaning, but all he could see was your satisfied expression, cheeks still flushed pink, hair tangled, and pupils dilated. He hesitated for a second before he leaned down and connected your lips, molding his with yours slowly and chastely. You both sighed at the feeling, highs now lowering and the coldness from the air conditioner causing a different set of goosebumps to appear. Steve pulled away, giving you one last peck as if testing the waters, and rested his forehead against yours. You both relished your post-orgasm bliss for a few silent minutes before cleaning up. 

You shared playful shoves as you cleaned up. It was almost innocent, a huge contrast to the sinful activities you two had just committed, but there was a genuine feeling of understanding in the room. Your heart clenched at the simple sight of Steve washing his hands, eyes meeting his in the mirror, a soft look in his that startled you. 

You gave him a smile so as to not alert him of your reaction, and exited the bathroom to climb back into bed. You drew the heavy duvet back over your body and cuddled in it deeply, chin hidden underneath and back facing Steve’s bed. It was a few more minutes before Steve came back into the room, shutting the light off, and looking at your resting form. He wanted to climb back in with you and hold you innocently, to have the feeling of your warm back against his broad chest, gentle exhales tickling the arm that would wrap around you. But he just looked back and forth from your bed and his, and he decided to not push the boundary further. He hesitated with this decision, but climbed into his own bed, the feeling of his cold sheets making him immediately regret it. He shuffled silently, his body facing yours. 

You wanted to lay beside him too. But whether you were making a smart decision or an absurd, cowardly one, one thing was certain: you could no longer ignore the stacking of such emotions you had for this man. 

It almost angered you, how much you denied yourself of even a simple crush for literally ten years, and it made you mad at Steve, too. Because if he hadn’t pushed you away, then maybe you could have accepted this sooner. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

[depressing-debbie]

Oddly Specific Modern Armin Headcanons

I used to be pretty strongly anti-Armin, but he’s becoming one of my favorite characters, so enjoy <3

He’s tried like seven times to watch Coraline, but he just cannot get through it, it’s so uncomfy

He still sits in the kids section of Barnes and Noble to read because it’s less busy and there’s fun chairs

His favorite flavor of ice cream is cookie dough, especially with rainbow sprinkles

He really likes scented candles, particularly warm vanilla or ocean breeze, but he’s not allowed to light candles on his own because he will burn down the building

He saw Mikasa fold the corner of a page in her book once, and he immediately went home and made her a bookmark with a little tassel on the end

Really passionate LGBTQ ally in middle school, everyone thought he was queer (they’re right)

He would 100% let people paint his nails, and he’d be really careful not to chip the polish

Every time it rains, he has to wear his rainboots, raincoat, and bucket hat (they’re all yellow)

He puts his hair back with a lil headband to wash his face and forgets to take it off all the time

He’s such a terrible baker. He really tries SO hard because it seems so relaxing and fun, but he’s awful at it. Literally keeps trying to make chocolate chip cookies and burns them worse every single time.

Hates the pulp in orange juice. Hates it.

He had a recurring nightmare in middle school where he was shoved in a locker

He has an entire bookcase of books that he doesn’t read anymore but he just can’t get rid of, they’re too sentimental.

When he does get rid of books, he always fixes them up a bit and gives them to friends or donates them. He also likes to leave little messages in the front for the next reader

Stickers stress him out to no end. He can never decide on a place to put them, so he usually loses them before he can put them up

He loves the beach, but he’s too scared to swim in the water. He mostly just makes sand castles and collects seashells.

He also wears a long sleeve rashguard with whales on it and a bucket hat, and he reapplies sunscreen every half hour

Talks to his squishmallows. They’re basically his advisory board because they hear about all of his problems before anyone else

He has a secret social media account for pictures of seashells he’s found, and he has like five followers (all of which are his friends because it’s really not as secret as he thinks it is)

Camp Counselor Energy, even though he’s literally never been a camp counselor in his life

Carries a backpack with water, bandaids, granola bars, and books EVERYWHERE he goes. Always forgets to bring his phone and wallet, though.

He has one of those Nalgene water bottles, and he bought it because he wanted to put stickers on it, but he still hasn’t

When restaurants ask him to pick a spice level 1-5, he says zero

Bends down on the sidewalk to look at bugs, always trips the people around him

Speaking of tripping, he cannot stay on his feet for more than half an hour without falling, and he always has bruises on his knees

He was a bug collector kid. You know those little kits with like nets and magnifying glasses? He had one of those, but his collection was oddly sophisticated, like it was actually pretty impressive and organized?

Smiles at people when he passes, even if he doesn’t know them

Cats HATE him, and it breaks his heart every single time. He’s looked up exactly what to do and how to act around cats, and he tries so hard, but they always run away.

Dogs on the other hand LOVE Armin. And he loves them, especially golden retrievers.