#and it was the same coffee cup i drank from when i visited him

[antennatoheaven]

i called my dad and talked for like an hour but he interrupted himself in the middle of a conversation to greet his cat by singing a little song to him which implies he does this frequently I love him so much :')

[koolades-world]

hiii i was wondering if you could write abt an asian mc ? with the brothers or the dateables i don't mind! i just think it would be funny to see yk asian mc who's a high achiever (so even at RAD when they know nothing abt magic they'll try to score high), always take off their shoes before entering a place (entering a place with shoes is forbidden !!), always cook rice or stuff from their country when on cooking duties ("wdym we already ate that when it was my turn last time?"), will make you special herbal tea if you're sick (first time i suggested to make tea for my ill white friend they laughed :( ), tells you to eat more and in the same fashion, whose love language is giving you food, etc... bonus point if mc swears in their mother tongue. And if the MC was living in their native country before going to the devildom, their ability to just nap anywhere as if it's normal.

As someone who grew up in an asian household it's just regular to me but i can picture the face Lucifer would make if the first time mc enter Dia's castle they take off their shoes casually or like MC stuffing Beel's mouth with food as if he just didn't swallow the biggest mouthful of udon ever saying "come on Beel you need food, you need strength to play Fangol"

For the nap thing i was thinking about my relatives who take nap on their wooden bad or just the floor during summer (cause its fresh yk). My grandma always said a hard bed is good for the back lol

Anyway no pressure!! Have a nice day and take care !

hi!! yes of course :)

i'm a different flavor of asian but some of the culture overlaps so this was fun to write! haha the amount of times my grandma has urged me to eat more is hard to count. oh and the amount of tea i drank when we went to visit. i'll never forget watching her make the tea because it was a whole experience

i'm half indian and someone actually requested an indian mc so that will be out tomorrow because doing these requests back to back easiest for me!

enjoy <3

Asian Mc

Lucifer

you're ALWAYS on him for the amount of coffee he drinks

you also always make sure he takes a break to eat dinner because he needs to eat in order to continue his work

despite how bothered he might seem sometimes, he really does value what you do for him

plus, you not only keep yourself in line, sometimes you do his brothers for him too. thanks on his behalf!

Mammon

once you grow closer, he's asking you to teach him swear words so he can cuss out lucifer

if you don’t, well, he’ll just pick them up when you swear and hope he can figure out what it means haha

if you want, feed him random words, or even compliments so when lucifer hears them, he'll just be confused haha

despite the fact that he's the demon, maybe you can help him in class

Levi

when he first meets you, he'd not sure what to expect

however he quickly learns you're the best at everything you do

this includes video games and everything of that manner

he's got competition now, but he has no clue how you got so good considering it was probably your first time at all of the games you've tried

Satan

he's impressed by your work ethic and desire to achieve

you got dropped in a totally new environment and instead of struggling to adjust like he predicted, you bounced back almost immediately and were at the top of your class like it was nothing!

he tried to ask you once why you seemed so determine to get the best grade and never asked again after the look you gave him

something the two of you can bond over, though, is tea! he can often be seen with a cup of tea so that's an easy conversation starter between the two of you if not homework instead

Asmo

while initially he thought you two might not get along, you actually do quite well

he's huge on no shoes in the house and especially in his room

after all, he wants to avoid bringing as many outside germs into his room as possible

can and will ask you to teach him how you make your special herbal teas because he hates being sick and genuinely just wants to know

Beel

he falls in love with your rice cooker

rice that easy and that quick? sign him up! if he didn't already love rice you've put him on it

he doesn't think he could ever part with you and your wonderful cooking

even if you do cook the same thing every time it's your turn, he will inhale it because not only is it delicious, but you're an amazing cook

Belphie

even he's impressed by your ability to fall asleep anywhere

at least he's always with his pillow and maybe a blanket but he's seen you just curled up on the porch waiting for someone to get home

but that sighting was rare, because he felt like he always saw you doing something

however he really appreciated all the little things you did for him, such as making his bed

[waldau]

wanna be yours — chwe hansol | 2,208 words | fluff

i'm asexual as fuck (the irony) but friends with benefits to lovers is a delicious trope i would love to see more of. title from i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys.

gender neutral reader. college!au. warnings: mentions of sex but no actual descriptions of anything. also reader is mentioned not to like coffee, because i dislike coffee. soz <3

the last person you expected to see tonight was chwe vernon, dressed in his usual bomber jacket and slacks. yet here he is, crashing into the empty place on the sofa next to you. he doesn't say a word, simply squeezes his eyes shut and throws a hand over his eyes. dino keeps talking like there's been no interruption, but you're hyperaware of the way your legs are almost touching.

you and vernon didn't really run in the same circles before you got together, so it is odd to see him here amidst all of your friends.

"hey," you say, ducking down so you don't disturb the others.

"hurts," he says back, pressing his face into your shoulder. you look around, but no one really seems to be paying attention to you, some of them engrossed in beer pong and the others making idle conversation.

"what does?"

"my...head."

you wince in sympathy. "drank a lot?"

he shakes his head. "not that much. but i can't find seungkwan, and he has the keys to our dorm."

"so you decided to find...me?"

"better you than anyone else."

you don't respond to that, and you can tell by the way his head grows heavier on your shoulder within the next few minutes means he's asleep.

the first few months of your relationship with vernon were based solely on sex. it's the usual story — you met at another of minghao's parties (really, a catalyst for trouble), and hit it off surprisingly well with vernon. there was something you saw between you both and following it ended up with you in his bedroom.

when it was time for you to leave, it somehow didn't feel awkward. so you decided to test the arrangement another time. and another. and it's led you to whatever you have now, which is arguably more complicated than a normal relationship.

for starters, the past few weeks vernon's been visiting your dorm haven't been about sex. no, you've had actual arguments about which lord of the rings movie is the best and why shrek deserves yet another sequel. you've even baked with him, for heaven's sake (which ended not so well).

it's been less about sex and more about you fighting the urge to cuddle vernon when he throws an arm over your shoulder, or when he shares his blanket with you when you're feeling cold (which happens to be your blanket in the first place).

long story short, you like him, and he makes you feel some type of way you can't possibly let him know.

vernon twitches a bit when you pick up your cup from the table, toying with it but not actually drinking from it. you rest your hand on his thigh, hoping he doesn't wake up, while you contribute to the conversation every now and then. you pointedly ignore the looks dino's giving you.

this means nothing. vernon only found you because he knows you the most out of everyone here. he'd be in his own place by now if he'd found seungkwan.

still, there's something about the fact that he trusts you enough to fall asleep on you in front of people he's not entirely familiar with. that has to count for something, right?

people keep entering and leaving the room as the party goes on into the night. when the person next to you gets up to leave, you shift a bit down the sofa and pull vernon's head into your lap so his neck doesn't hurt when he wakes up. dino asks if he should wait for you before he leaves, but you make him go. it's not often you get to be like this with vernon, and you'd much rather he got back in one piece.

it's only when your back twinges and the music begins dying down and you remember you have an essay due next week you haven't begun working on that you decide to wake him up. you look down at the boy in your lap. he looks so much at ease, face devoid of the frown he sports every now and then. you feel almost guilty waking him up.

"vernon," you say, pushing his shoulder. "get up, both of us need to sleep."

vernon blinks his eyes open slowly. "wha'?"

"you. me. sleep. now."

"you want to sleep together? now?"

you trip on your words. "that's not what— i just need my sleep, sol." you bite your tongue at the name that slips out of your mouth. he doesn't mind his close friends calling him that, but you don't think you're there. or you'll ever get there.

"oh," he says, pushing himself up to sit.

"feeling better?"

"much," he says, running a hand through his hair. "but i had to tell you something, actually." he looks shifty. that gets your attention — vernon is many things, but he's never hesitant.

"i, um. i think we should stop seeing each other."

that shocks you the way falling into an icy cold pool would, the water taking no time to permeate your clothes and sting your skin with the cold and rendering you somewhat unable to breathe when it finally hits. "i'm sorry?"

"i said, i think we should stop seeing each other. not that the sex was bad," he says hastily, and you wince. that's a weird thing to say. "no, really. it's been great. it's just...i like someone, like, actually like them, and i feel being in this relationship would be weird."

you can't resist. "do i know them?"

vernon meets your eyes briefly before they dart away to the blank television screen in front of you. "i guess you could say that."

you rack your brains for who it could be. some names pop up in your mind: a girl from his friend group you've spoken to a few times, another from the library, the guy in english lit — but none of them shine as the number one contender for his affections.

you're one of the few close friends vernon has, but it doesn't matter. of course he wouldn't like you like that.

"fine," you say, feeling anything but. "okay."

vernon's looking at you like you're an injured puppy.

"i hope you get with whoever it is," you say, aware you sound a bit snappish, but you don't care. it's not your fault for liking someone as brilliant as vernon, only to be reminded that he doesn't really like you back. you're certain he likes your body more than he likes you, anyway.

"that's it?"

"what?"

"you're fine with it? just like that?"

you frown. "i'm not going to stop you if you want to go. we're not together. you should be with someone you really like."

"sweetheart..."

you shudder at the nickname that falls from his lips. you always like hearing it, more so the fact that vernon says it unconsciously. but now it sounds like a nail scraping against a chalkboard. you're not the sweetheart he wants. "i have a couple of classes in the morning."

"wait. it's a saturday."

"so?"

"we don't have classes on saturdays."

"yeah, well, that's you," you say, pulling out your phone to check the time. it's much later than you expected it to be. "dino's in the lab on weekends and i promised to help him out this time."

"listen—"

"i'll be glad if you let me go, vernon. i shouldn't have stayed this late in the first place."

"why are you acting so weirdly?"

you look up to see him frowning at you. why are you acting so weird, huh?

"i'm not. i just— i don't have to justify anything to you." you know you're being ruder than the situation calls for, but vernon is one of a kind. he'd taken to you despite the fact that you weren't one of the "popular" ones when you started out, and you'd managed to find a lot of common ground with him.

but the fact that you thought he'd like you back was stupidity on your part. you curse dino for hinting vernon might like you back.

"i'm sorry," you say, resting a hand on vernon's arm for a moment. he moves back at the touch and your stomach sinks even further. "i'm sorry this didn't work out. i hope you get with whoever you like. i'm just...tired. a bit. i hope this doesn't mean we'll...stop being friends?" it's a stupid thing to ask, but it's your last resort.

"i would," vernon says, crossing his arms, "if they weren't so dense."

"what?"

"i'd love to get with them if they realized i don't call anyone else sweetheart."

you freeze. you become aware of the people still present in the room, someone laughing, bottles clinking, bass still thumping, but— sweetheart?

"what are you trying to say, vernon?" you ask, making your voice as steady as possible.

"i'm trying to say that the person i want to get with doesn't really understand what flirting is."

you almost drop your phone. "no. vernon, you're not doing this. you don't mean it."

"i do."

"vern—"

"i'm not drunk anymore, see? and i do mean it. i don't just want us to be friends with benefits. i want us to be more. i want to take you out to dinner and stay up hearing you talk about why freud is the worst person you've ever had to read about. i want to watch whatever the heck it is you like. i want to date you. if you want me to, that is."

you're more surprised at how lucidly he's speaking, without a pause, more than what he's saying. but the meaning of his words slams into you like a tidal wave hardly a minute later. "if i want to, he says," you laugh helplessly.

vernon raises a perfect eyebrow. "well?"

you sigh and fiddle with your phone cover. "i don't— i've never been in a real relationship. not a long term one."

vernon moves closer to you, your knees now pressed against each other despite the fact that there's no one else on the sofa you're sharing. you can't even bring yourself to care about all the other people in the room. "really?"

you nod, feeling a strange sense of embarrassment creep up your neck. vernon simply lays a hand on your thigh. "hey. you know that's not a bad thing, right?"

you shrug.

"it's not," he repeats, rubbing his thumb across your knee. "and it doesn't bother me. is that what's troubling you?"

you shake your head. "you're just...the first person to want to be with me, even if it's just for sex."

"hey, it hasn't been all for sex. what about all those movie marathons we had? and that one time i helped you bake a cake for jun?"

"you mean you tried?"

vernon flicks your forehead, but moves in immediately to kiss it. the slight touch has you burning up, and you pray he doesn't feel it. "yeah. tried. but that's the thing, isn't it? it wasn't always about the sex for me. was it...the same for you?"

you can't get yourself to lie now. "it was," you say, putting your phone down and taking his free hand, fiddling with his fingers. "it is. i didn't mean to clam up like that. it's just...i want this with you, too, vernon. i've spent so long thinking about it. i'm sorry."

vernon sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "don't apologize, sweetheart. and it's a relief. i've never felt this way with anyone before. also, i've only had a couple of flings before you, but i really want this to go somewhere. and i want to try it with you."

you try to speak, but nothing comes out. you bury your face in your hands. "aren't you supposed to be drunk?" you ask.

"you always sober me up, sweetheart."

you shake your head and let it fall against the back of the sofa, vernon's hand cushioning the fall. there's silence for a while before he speaks.

"you know, no one's like that."

"like what?" you ask, slightly affronted. "is that supposed to be an insult or a pick-up line?"

vernon laughs a breathy laugh. "no friend with benefits offers to look after their partner when they're bored or drunk or whatever. and they certainly don't show up to basement music shows. you're...really the only person who gets me, you know? but now that i know you, like, really like me..."

"like you back."

you love his grin. "can i take you out on a date?"

"i...don't drink coffee," you say breathlessly.

vernon raises an eyebrow.

"milkshakes. or i could drink coffee, maybe. you like it, so i can try."

"there. again. you're too nice for your own good."

"it's just...me. i can't help— mmph," you get cut off when vernon leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. and another. you push him away before someone notices and teases you.

"i'm going to get some sleep, and we'll meet tomorrow. at a good place. not in my bed."

"you mean today."

"do you want me to cancel on you?"

"no," vernon laughs against your hair. "tomorrow. anything you want."

[andavs]

Drinking Preferences in 9-1-1

Quick note: All of this is free from paid product placement because the show doesn’t have the characters interact with/drink real alcohol brands. They only use real brands for set dressing when they aren’t the focus and wouldn’t really be recognizable unless you already know that bottle/label.

So Maddie and Chimney have Grand Marnier and Monopolowa vodka (real brands) sitting out on a bar cart but the one bottle anyone interacts with is the fake brand of Glencallan scotch. The bar Chimney worked at was fully stocked with real brands of vodka (Deep Eddy, Stolichnaya, Tito's, Absolut) but no one actually touches them.

The fake prop brands fall into two categories: totally fake and generic, and lookalikes.

The totally fake brands are things like Glencallan scotch (a mashup of Glenlivet and Macallan) or the piscos behind the bar in Peru. Buck has Meichtry Draft beer in his fridge, which is a common prop beer that other shows use too, and a lot of characters in the show drink the generic Genuine beer.

The lookalikes are things like the beer Buck serves Connor that's called Cerveza Extra but it's written in a similar font to Corona Extra so to the passing glance, it’s recognizable to most people as a real brand they’re familiar with. When Buck and Hen are doing shots, the tequila is Carlos Medina Especial, made to look like Jose Cuervo. (Judging from the bottle shape and back label, Buck and Taylor were also doing shots of a different fake Jose Cuervo.)

Because they aren’t restrained by product placement, the show can give the characters their own drinking preferences instead of having them all drink the same brand with the clearly visible label conveniently turned towards the camera.

And because I was watching anyway, I kept track of how many times each character drinks what. (Scenes that show them drinking and what they're drinking, not counting up every drink they've had.)

So as of 6x12:

Chimney

Beer: 15 | Wine: 9 | Spirits: 4 | Cocktails: 0

Chimney seems to prefer beer, and he also drinks wine with Maddie pretty often. His go-to spirit appears to be tequila, but he also had scotch while his dad was visiting.

When he’s hanging out, he has a beer or two.

When he's misery-drinking, he has more than two, like when Albert first showed up or when he felt responsible for letting Shannon die.

When shit’s going down that he's not directly involved in, like when the Buckleys were coming or when Karen thought Hen was cheating again, he goes for tequila. It's a fake Don Julio called Señor Suertes.

But when things were really wrong, when Maddie first left and he was falling apart trying to figure out what happened to her, there was no evidence of him drinking at all. The entire apartment was covered in baby stuff.

Maddie

Beer: 2 | Wine: 18 | Spirits: 0 | Cocktails: 0

Maddie almost exclusively drinks wine, and in their new house, she and Chimney have a small, full wine rack on the counter.

She first drinks a beer after dispatch was taken hostage, when both Chim and Buck are also having beer but Josh is having wine. She seems to have another beer at May's graduation party, but everyone's drinks are in plastic cups and look more like juice than their usual prop beverages.

She stops drinking through all of s4 (pregnant) and doesn't seem to have another drink until the balcony with Buck at the end of s5.

Athena

Beer: 2 | Wine: 26 | Spirits: 4 | Cocktails: 3

Athena drinks the most out of the main characters.

She usually drinks wine, but she'll also go for something stronger, usually when she's out at a bar. She often has a glass of wine with dinner, and seems to favor having one after a rough day. After she slapped Harry, she drank a neat whiskey at home. She's added whiskey to her coffee twice.

But like Chimney, when she's spiraling and obsessively cleaning the entire house after realizing Hudson was in there touching their belongings, she was totally sober.

Bobby

Beer: 0 | Wine: 0 | Spirits: 3 | Cocktails: 0 | Club Soda: 2

Obviously Bobby doesn't drink, but when he was struggling with relapsing in Starting Over, he was holding the same prop Glencallan scotch that Chim has. When he did relapse in Worst Day Ever, he was drinking a fake Jack Daniels. In Point of Origin, he was drinking a generic vodka.

(Interesting that he chose a 35 year scotch, which is not cheap, when he previously drank Jack, which is about $25.)

When he's out with people who are drinking, he usually goes for club soda or water.

(The same scotch being used for Bobby, Chim, and Buck could be intentional, but this is also a common fake scotch brand used all over the place, so it could just be that they had it on hand.)

Hen

Beer: 9 | Wine: 11 | Spirits: 1 | Cocktails: 1

Hen is mostly seen drinking beer or wine; beer when she's out at a bar, and usually wine when she's at home or at Athena's. Hen and Karen have a full wine rack in their kitchen (added after s4), but clearly neither one of them will turn down tequila (I like to think it’s Chim’s influence).

Eddie

Beer: 13 | Wine: 5 | Spirits: 1 | Cocktails: 0

Eddie generally sticks to beer. He's also the one we see drink the least out of everyone who does drink, but Maddie's only one scene ahead of him.

We've seen him drink wine a few times (always red) and he also had a cognac or brandy at dinner with Shannon (judging by the type of glass). But when he's most comfortable and relaxed, having a drink with Buck or the team, he's drinking beer.

We don't see him drinking after a rough day unless he's talking things through with Buck over a beer. If he keeps anything beyond beer in his home, it’s kept out of sight. There was no visible alcohol in his house in Texas either.

Buck

Beer: 12 | Wine: 11 | Spirits: 6 | Cocktails: 2

Buck is pretty evenly split between beer and wine.

He worked as a bartender, but he doesn’t seem to have much interest in alcohol beyond having a drink with other people. This makes me think he wanted to bartend for the social aspect of it, not because he particularly cares about spirits or making cocktails.

Buck also doesn't seem to care about the quality of what he drinks. Chimney's go-to bottle is about $40-50, while Buck's doing shots of bottom shelf tequila with Taylor and Hen, and drinking a full pint glass of watery margarita with Lucy. (This man should stop drinking tequila.)

The first time the Buckleys all have dinner together, Phillip has scotch and Buck has wine, but the second and third times, Buck opts for scotch with his dad. These are the only times we've seen him drink scotch, so I assume he did because his dad did.

The only time we've seen Buck drink alone was while he was depressed after the blood clot, as there were a few empty beer bottles scattered around his kitchen when Eddie showed up, and he was sitting with an empty beer bottle when Eddie and Chris came by after the tsunami.

He has a small wine rack on the kitchen counter that has a few bottles in it, and occasionally there's a wine bottle grouped with the olive oil/other cooking bottles.

Random Observations:

Buck and Eddie didn't have a beer together on screen until 3x9, the Kitchen Scene.

Athena frequently drinks wine at Bobby's apartment in s2. They keep alcohol in their home (out of sight) and he has no problem pouring wine for others.

I'm pretty sure that the only time we saw Buck drink in all of s1 was (trying) to have a glass of wine on his date with Abby.

Hen and Athena almost always drink wine at each other's houses. I think they only had beers once.

Anyway, I think prop alcohol is really interesting and I have a passion for label design, and this is what I've chosen to do with that. Hopefully I didn't miss too much.

[fragileruns]

oops hehe sorry i got super excited i forgot to give a plot line!!! as for plot, could we get smthing where reader is the complete opposite of tangerine (shy, timid sweetheart) and yet he’s still so drawn to her so he starts to routinely visit the place she works at (book shop, cafe, wtvr u want) and she has a bf who’s not the best to her n takes advantage of her kindness and trust, so tangerine helps her n talks her thru standing up for herself and even teaches her self defense just in case. tan starts to fall for her more n more and sees her as smthing precious, and reader is so captivated by this sexy intelligent man. n then one day tan is chilling at the cafe drinking coffee and reading (basically guarding her bc he’s protective hehe) bc she decided she was gnna break up w her bf and then when said bf comes in and she tries to end things, he starts getting aggressive and causing a scene so then our sexy tan just steps in all casually and shuts him down real fast and then that’s when reader’s heart skips a beat bc she realizes she likes tan (and tan may actually like her too) and so tan kicks ex’s ass to the curb and then checks on reader and calls her his “little badass” since she used her self defense on her ex when he tried getting handsy with her.

basically just some cuteeeeee fluff with some witty banter and unrequited love at the beginning but watching it grow into smthing more <3 thank again love

hi! sorry this isn’t exactly what you wanted but i didn’t feel patient enough to make it into a long fic, and i didn’t want to trigger anyone by adding actual abuse in here so i switched it a bit! let me know if you want something redone but hopefully it’s still good

tangerine x reader. content warnings: mentions of violent tones & the guy pushes tan but that’s it, cussing, female!reader, i didn’t realize how off i had written this until it was almost done so i’m sorry please rerequest if you’d like me to retry!

Tangerine was currently sitting in his usual seat, one right to the side of the counter you were working at. It granted him the best possible view (you) as he drank small sips out of this coffee cup, ‘reading’ the book in front him. Really, he was much more focused on watching you work.

He had been here for well over two hours and usually, he would have forced himself to leave by now. There was only so long he could stay without causing suspicion. Even when it was you - poor, oblivious you who couldn’t seem to realize that the only reason he ever came in was to see you.

However, after finding out about your asshole of a boyfriend from eavesdropping on your conversation (you were standing right beside him on your break, and how was he meant to ignore the insults being thrown at you when they were so blatantly untrue?), he had decided to make a bold step and tell you that you needed to stand up for yourself. Ever since then, you seemed to continuously have new questions about how to go about it since.

You opened up to him once, just a few days ago, about how you wanted to leave your boyfriend, how you were tired of feeling torn apart everyday, but you were scared. He had never been directly violent to you, but he was a strong guy, and you weren’t sure how he would take it. You didn’t want to become a victim. So, Tangerine had quickly suggested doing it in a public place where there were more people around to make sure you were alright. When you still didn’t seem sure, he asked if it’d help if he was there. You said yes.

So, he was spending the day at the cafe, the both of you waiting for your boyfriend to walk through the doors. You were nervously glancing up everytime the bell rang, and Tangerine desperately wanted to rub soothing shapes onto your back and tell you it would be alright. But, sadly, it wasn’t his place to do so.

After another few minutes of rereading the same sentence, the man Tangerine recognized from the last time he saw him in the shop with you walked in. He seemed in a fairly okay mood, or at least, he showed no outward signs of being upset.

Tangerine was instantly more alert, noticing the way you sucked in a breath and told your coworker that you’d be going on break, and he watched both you and the man as discreetly as he could. He could vaguely hear the conversation going on, and nothing seemed wrong at first.

You had given the man what seemed like a sympathetic smile, and from the way you were moving your hands around while you spoke, and from the way the man’s expression shifted to one of anger, Tangerine could assume you had told him it was over. He didn’t move though, smart enough to know that going to be by your side wouldn’t help matters any, not until he saw your now ex-boyfriend’s eyes flash with something ugly, hand raising.

That was when he jumped up. Reasonably, he didn’t think the guy would do anything even slightly violent in such a public space, but he didn’t want to take the risk. He wedged himself in the space between the two of you, his back facing you as he reached a hand back to grab onto your arm.

“You alright, love?” He asked, head tilted slightly back to look at you as you nodded, though he could feel how tense you were.

“Who the hell are you?”

Tangerine finally turned to acknowledge the man in front of him at the question, and his face hardened from the soft expression he had with you.

“None of your business. You should really get away from ‘er, if you know what’s best.” You were still hiding behind him, eyes filling with concern as your boyfriend only got more angry.

“She’s my girlfriend. Our conversation doesn’t concern you.”

“Ex. Ex-girlfriend.” You finally spoke up, your voice still soft and timid despite the spite that your words held. Tangerine felt proud, and he squeezed your arm to show as much.

“See? The lady doesn’t seem to want you here, so why’re you still hanging around? Go on.”

“Stay out of this.” The man was only getting more riled up, nose flaring and stepping closer to Tangerine. Clearly, he didn’t know who he was talking to. The thought made Tan smirk slightly, but it made you (who vaguely knew of Tangerine’s strength and abilities from the stories he had told you, though he still changed them as much as he could as to not scare you off) shake in place.

As soon as your ex boyfriend tried to push Tangerine out from in front of you, failing at even making him budge, you reached out to grab your friend’s arm. You could feel the anger radiating off of him, and you didn’t want to cause a scene - or more of a scene - in your place of work. Luckily, the few customers that were there had mostly filed out onto the street and your co-worker only stood close by enough that she could break it apart if anything should happen.

“Tan, it’s okay. I can handle this,” you spoke in your sickly sweet voice, and that and the feeling of your tender grip on his arm was the only thing holding him back from throwing the man against the nearest wall.

“Can you just - please go? I’m not going to change my mind, and it’s not going to be good for either of us if you stick around. So just go. Please?” Your attention turned to the other man, less kindness in your eyes now, and he only scoffed with an eye roll.

“Whatever. You’re not worth this shit anyway.”

What an idiot. Tangerine thought as the man walked out, and he only calmed down once he was out of sight and he could turn to you.

“I was handling it, y’know. You didn’t have to come in all… you-like. I would’ve been okay,” you sighed and Tangerine would’ve thought you were upset with him if it wasn’t for the concern in your eyes and the fact that you were still holding onto his arm. He made sure not to draw attention to that, not wanting to risk you pulling away.

“You think I was going to even slightly risk him hurting you?” Tangerine questioned as if you were insane, using one hand to reach up and brush a stray hair out of your face, needing any excuse to touch you. “Are you okay? D’you want me to take you home or anything? I’m sure if you explain, they’ll let you clock out.” He threw a glance over to your co-worker, who was kindly pretending not to notice the almost disgusting lovefest that was going on between you two (not that either of you could really view it that way, since you had just become single.)

“Um - actually, yes. Please. I don’t want him to come back after you leave.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving, but of course. Get your stuff, I’ll wait outside.” He gave you a small smile, squeezing your shoulder right before you walked off as he gathered his own things, and went to stand outside by his own car as he waited for you.

Once you come out, he turned to face you, frowning at the expression on your face. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I just - thank you. For intervening. I know I said I could handle it, but thanks anyway. You’re a good friend.”

“I’ll always protect you, love. You’re my favorite girl,” He grinned and stepped forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, reaching down to grab your bag and throw it over his shoulder.

“I’ve just never really had someone on my side like that, and it felt nice.” You admitted, appreciative that he chose to ignore the flush of your cheeks after his innocent kiss.

“Well, now you do. And, since we’re being honest here, I really wish you would stop telling me what a great friend I am.”

“What? Is that - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” you rushed to apologize, even though you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for. You were friends, right?

“No, don’t - I didn’t mean it for you to apologize. I mean, I like you. I thought that was obvious?” Tangerine seemed genuinely confused, as if everyone knew this fact, but you were almost jaw-dropped.

“It - uh, it wasn’t. You like me?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, choosing to open up the passenger door and gently set your bag in the floorboard to hide away from the rejection he was about to face. He was such a confident man, yet was reduced to nerves just by being around you. “Sorry, I just thought you knew. I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

“It’s not. I just didn’t know,” you say quietly, looking like you were off in another world as you thought over things. Was that connection you felt with him shared this whole time? Did the way your stomach fluttered around him mean you liked him, too?

“Do you still want me to give you a ride home? I can call you a taxi, if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“No, no - I’m sorry, I-” you shake your head quickly at his offer, reaching out to grab his arm and then dropping it like it’s burned you. “I think I like you, too.”

He grinned, then, and his head tilted slightly. “Think?”

“Yeah, I mean - I don’t think I want to be with anyone right now, seeing as I did just get out of a relationship with-”

“The most vile man alive?”

“A not great person.” You finished, and Tangerine only chuckled. “But, I do like you. And maybe, if you’re willing to wait a little while, we could… you know. Be more than friends.”

Tangerine looked down right merry, and when his hand reached up to cup one side of your face, you leaned into the warmth almost embarrassingly fast.

“I would love to be more than friends with you. But, by the way. We’re going to have to talk about you having more of a back bone. Like - all those please go’s to him? Babe, I know how much of a fucking badass you are, you should’ve kneed him in the sack.”

“Maybe next time.”

[writtenjewels]

Zain Interferes

Baba was being really weird lately. He was generally in a good mood anyway, but it seemed like he was smiling all the time and getting these far-off looks in his eyes. It seemed to happen more often on certain days of the week. Zain could not figure it out. Finally, he decided to follow his father. To his disappointment, Baba led him to a regular coffee shop. Baba drank tea and chatted with one of the servers. The server was a man, though Zain couldn't tell much else about him.

Zain figured there must be something else going on. He observed a bit more. Baba went to the same coffee shop, sat in the same spot, and talked to the same server every visit. Zain noticed that Baba's moods were always better after visiting the coffee shop. Was the tea there really good or something?

Zain went in to see for himself. It wasn't bad, but not that much better than what they made at home. He hid in a corner booth to watch Baba's actions in the coffee shop. That was when he saw Baba really start acting weird. The almost awkward way he was with that server he always talked to didn't seem like Baba at all. He stumbled over words, and kept ordering refills that he didn't even drink. It wasn't until the server came by for the fourth time and Baba blurted out a dumb joke that Zain finally realized what was going on.

[Hey, Baba, why don't we go out into town together?] Zain suggested.

[All right,] Baba agreed. [What would you like to do?]

[Well, there's this coffee shop that I heard is pretty good...] Zain tried to make the words sound as casual as possible. He named the shop Baba kept visiting, and added, [Have you heard of it?]

[Oh.] Baba's face went red. [Yes, I think so. Are you sure that's what you want to do today?]

[Yeah, it might be fun!]

So they went to the coffee shop. Baba tried steering them away from the seat he usually took, but Zain pointed them back to it. It didn't take long for the server to come their way. The guy flashed a smile and touched his fingers to the brim of his cap.

“Looks like you got some company today, Salim,” he remarked in an American accent. Zain read the name-tag: Jason.

“Ah, yes, I do.” Zain tried not to gawk as Baba started fumbling with words. “He's my son. We're just out, um... spending the day together.”

“And you thought to treat him to our great tea selection, huh?” Jason's lip quirked up in a smile. “Then I better get the kettle on. Be back in a bit.” Baba nodded; Zain just stared.

[Baba!] he burst out the moment Jason was out of sight. [Are you kidding me?!]

[What's wrong?] Baba frowned, a little taken aback by Zain's outburst.

[Tell me you don't always do that when you talk to him!]

[Do what?] Zain sighed in exasperation. He was spared any words when Jason returned with two seaming cups of tea. Baba took his with a stammered thanks, his eyes darting briefly to Jason's face before dropping. Zain was about ready to scream.

“You'll have to tell me what you think of the tea,” Jason said to Zain. “Your dad loves it; he asks for at least four refills every time.”

“You don't say.” Zain shot a look at his father, who was busying himself with the tea. “Weird to come into a coffee shop to drink tea.”

“That's what I said!” Jason agreed, laughing. “Weird ain't a bad thing, though. 'Least, I don't think so.” His eyes darted briefly to Salim. “Anyhow, I'll leave y'all to it. Salim, you know how to signal when you want a refill.”

[Oh, my god, Baba,] Zain groaned once they were alone again.

[What?]

[It was like watching a car crash. So horrible, but I couldn't look away.] Baba stared at him in confusion. [Dont make me say it,] Zain sighed, [it's too embarrassing.]

[I really don't know what's gotten into you, Zain,] Baba said with a baffled shake of the head.

[The feeling is mutual, Baba. Or are you this flustered around all Americans?] Baba's eyes went wide. [I'm going to get him back over here,] Zain decided. [Please don't be weird.] Baba opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Jason was back. “Hi,” Zain greeted. “Baba and I were talking, and I wanted to know about your accent.”

“It's Southern,” Jason told him. “I think the phrase your dad used was 'cowboy accent.'” Jason glanced over to Salim. “You're kinda quiet today,” he observed. “Am I interrupting time with your boy?”

“No, no, it's not, um...”

“I don't mind,” Zain butted in. [Should I pretend I need to use the bathroom so you can talk to him alone?] he asked his father. Baba choked on his tea.

“Shit!” Jason was by Baba's side at once, gently patting his back. “You okay?”

“Y-yes, I... it just went down the wrong pipe.”

“You sure you're good?” Jason's hand was still there, now rubbing in gentle circles. Baba looked up and caught his eye. Zain hoped neither of them realized too soon just how close they were to each other.

“I'm good, Jason,” Baba answered softly. Jason's pale face went pink and he drew away from Baba.

“I'm gonna get you a fresh cup of tea.”

[Baba,] Zain spoke up, [please do us both a favor and give that guy your number when he comes back. I don't think I can handle this much longer.]

[plussizefantasia]

Spookifying

Flufftober Day 27: Decoration

Tony Stark x reader

Word Count: 0.9k

AN: Thank you to @unholyhuntress for letting me know that my post hadn't gone out today. Tumblr deleted my qued posts, I uploaded this as soon as I could.

I can't believe we have less than a week left. As always, Reblogs and Feedback is really appreciated. See y'all tomorrow.

divider credit @royallaesthetics

On October 1st, you decided that you’d try to play a fun little prank on Tony. You had moved in together a few months before and Halloween was going to be one of the first major holidays that you’d celebrate while living together. It was also the first one that you could decorate for.

Tony was not the one who decorated his suite, he had hired an interior designer to design pretty much the whole compound. And while it looked very nice, it wasn’t very personal. Everything was modern and sleek. Blacks and whites and the same shade of blue ran throughout the entire space. It looked straight out of a magazine, but it didn’t look like a home.

So for Halloween, you decided that you would decorate. Without Tony. But you figured it would be too obvious if you did all the decorating at once. That is why, once a day since the first of the month you’ve taken a piece of decor and replaced it. At first, it was small things, you swapped out a random bowl of rocks that was sitting on the bookshelf with a little foam pumpkin. You swapped the towel hanging in the kitchen and even took down one of the paintings in the living room and swapped it with a framed Friday the 13th movie poster. You swapped out boring white candles for ones in pumpkin jars that smelled like cinnamon apples. 

You figured that Tony would’ve said something by now. At first, it was fun sneaking around and swapping decor, hoping that when Tony noticed it would be a fun laugh, and then the two of you could decorate the rest of the house together. But he hadn’t said anything, he hadn’t even looked at any of the new decor when you two were spending time together.

You didn’t know what to think. Was he just really oblivious? Did he not care? Was he annoyed that you had swapped things but just didn’t want to say anything? You decided that you would pull out the big guns today and hopefully, he would finally say something.

Tony drank a lot of coffee, but he always drank it from the same mug. It was an Iron Man-branded mug that he was given by a little boy when he visited the children’s hospital for a charity event. He cherishes it, he gets grumpy when it's not clean. And you stole it. You replaced it with a mug that looks like a jack-o-lantern. It even lights up.

You camped out by the island counter, perched on one of the stools that surrounded the side sipped from your own ghost-shaped mug, and waited for Tony to emerge from your room and come to the kitchen.

He walked out in a pair of sweatpants and a Black AC/DC tee shirt that had seen better years. A pair of slippers adorned his feet and his hair was still a little wet in front of the shower. He walked past you, placing a kiss in greeting on the side of your head and running his hand across your lower back as he turned the counter of the floating counter and towards the coffee machine. 

You were practically buzzing with excitement as you watched him open the cabinet that held your cups and mugs. He blindly grabbed for the mug that was in the same spot it always was and placed it under the spout that the coffee would come from as soon as the machine finished warming the water. 

As he placed it down though you watched him do a double-take. He shot his head back up to the cabinet and turned his head left and right, scanning all the drinkware inside. He searched for his mug for about a minute before he turned towards you.

“Very funny sweetheart. Where is my mug.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You took another sip out of your own mug.

‘You think I haven't noticed what you’ve been doing?” He asked, walking back around the counter and stopping right in front of you, he took a step forward, forcing your legs apart and sliding in between them. “You think I didn’t notice on day one, that there was a bright orange pumpkin on my bookshelf? You think I haven’t noticed you sneaking around and spookifying my place?” As he questioned you, he pushed his face even closer to yours. You couldn’t really think not when he was so close to you, crowding you being. Filling all of your senses with just him.

“Our place.” was the only response you could come up with.

“Where. Is. My. Mug?” Tony asked, pacing kisses on your lips in between each word. Eventually, he pulled back and you could see the soft smile on his face. Now that he wasn’t the only thing you could see or smell, the rest of your brain started to come back online.

“Wait. You noticed? You noticed and you didn’t say anything? Tones I was seriously beginning to doubt your observational skills.” You were incredulous. He had known the whole time? “Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked him.

“Because you were having so much fun. Sneaking around, thinking you were getting away with it. Sweetheart, you were so happy, I didn’t want to burst your bubble.”

“That is sweet. But I’m not going to lie I’m still a little upset.”

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” He adopted a stupidly handsome pout and looked into your eyes, “What can I do, sweetheart I don’t want you upset.”

You smiled widely. “Well Halloween isn’t for a few more days, and I have a lot more decorations hidden in my office. Help me put them up?” And he did. The two of you spent the rest of the day decorating the suite, watching spooky movies in the background, and laughing together. 

[haveihitanerve]

We Drank the Poison From The Same Vine-

“I’m moving to Bludhaven. They need a Batman.” 

No. 

And suddenly dick was eight again, running around the cave naming things with bat at the front, cartwheeling and swinging from the rafters, never stopping for a breath, always talking. 

And Suddenly dick was ten, begging Bruce to let him become Robin, to fight crime alongside him. 

Suddenly dick was twelve, Dick with the flu and Bruce had stayed with him the entire week, singing him to sleep, tucking him in, reading him stories. That had been the first time dick had called him dad. 

Suddenly dick was fourteen, in high school, making friends and spending every night away from home. Bringing Barbara Gordon home and grinning ear to ear when Bruce had inducted her in as batgirl. 

Suddenly dick was sixteen, rebelling every night, staying out later and later only for Bruce to find him knocked out in an alley, bleeding. Bruce had almost tied him to the bed to keep him from leaving and dick had never left again. 

And now he is eighteen, telling Bruce he wants to leave. To establish himself in Bludhaven as Nightwing. Be their Batman. As much as it scares Bruce, he loves that his first born still looks up to him to such a degree. “Dad?” Dicks hand is on his shoulder. Bruce gives his son a weak smile. “You’re grown now chum. You can make your own decisions.” “Oh.” Bruce immediately notices that’s not the answer his son wants to hear. “I’ll miss you.” He chokes out. “So much. Come visit alright? Keep me updated?” His voice is so different than he thought he would sound. Choked. Near tears. “Oh dad.” Dick wraps his arms around his father, pulling him close. “Of course I’ll come visit.” Bruce just nods, holding his son close and breathing in that distinct dickie smell. “I love you.” He whispers. “I love you dad.” Dick whispers back, then pulls away. He’s smiling, but Bruce can see the lump in his throat, can see the tears forming. So he claps his son on the shoulder, tousles his hair. “Go pack.” He orders, smiling and crying at the same time. Dick nods, and turns to leave, before turning back and wrapping his father in another hug. “I love you. You’ll always be my father. Always be my first home.” Bruce just clutches his son close to his chest. “You’ll always be my first home too chum.” And then dick pulls away, smiles. Heads upstairs. And Bruce collapses into his Batchair, clutching at his chest as something inside him breaks. “Master Bruce?” Alfred’s hand is on his shoulder. A cup of coffee is pushed into his hands. “I never thought…” Bruce manages. “It is always hard.” Alfred agrees. “It will always be hard.” Bruce swallows, placing the cup on the counter. “I love it and I hate it at the same time.” He whispers, placing his head on his hands. “We drank the poison from the same vine.” 

“Oh I love it and I hate it at the same time.” Dick whispers, back pressed against the door to the Batcave. “You and I drank the poison from the same vine.”

[pedrito-friskito]

the domestication of steven grant rogers - a study in red, white, and blue

summary: when Steve came out of the ice, you were one of the first people he met outside of S.H.I.E.L.D., and quickly became the only thing that made sense to him.

warning: smut, fluff, my heartache over steve rogers, explicit sex, canon-typical violence

a/n: I wrote this last year (DAMN) in honour of my favourite star-spangled man with a plan’s bday, and since it’s been a whole year and I haven’t posted a steve fic on here yet, here ya go!

| main masterlist | ao3 |

2012

Steve Rogers has gone to the same cafe every day, sat at the same table, drank the same black coffee, since he came out of the ice. When the weather’s nice, he takes the table in the middle, with the clear view of the clock above Grand Central Station. If not, then the one just inside the cafe, right beside the front door. Sitting at the table, he fills journals with notes about what he’s learned, general musings, sketches in the corners of the pages.

He’s spent every night sifting through the files S.H.I.E.LD. provided him with, catching up on some of what he’s missed. His head spins over something new every day, and so he’s kept up some sort of routine. Same cafe, same table, same coffee. Something, anything to keep him tied to the earth, make him feel some sort of normalcy once more.

He learns the staff rotation of the cafe pretty quickly. During the week, there’s an older woman named Dolores who brings him his order without a word. She introduced herself the first day he went to the cafe, quickly understood Steve wasn’t one to talk, and kept the coffee coming. On the weekends, a tall, lanky guy named Eric who doesn’t have the same social radar Dolores does, and will talk Steve’s ear off for an hour before finally leaving him in peace.

And then, a few months into his routine, something changes, and it throws him through a loop.

He shows up Monday morning, a fresh journal tucked under his arm and a perfectly sunny day ahead of him. He takes his normal table outside, cranes his neck towards the cafe entrance, but instead of Dolores’s familiar figure, he sees you.

And damn it all if you don’t take his breath away.

He catches himself. His feelings for Peggy Carter are still fresh, the thought of what they could have had if he had survived hanging around the back of his head like an unwelcome shadow. He knows she moved on, that she married, had kids and built a life with her husband, and he can’t fault her for it. Knowing what he does, he’s glad, in a way, that she did, that she didn’t let the loss of him get in her way. Peggy’s still alive, he knows. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to go visit her in Washington, not yet. 

You walk towards his table, steaming cup of coffee balanced on the tray in your hand, an easy smile on his face. Y/N your name tag reads, and he commits it to memory. There’s a uniform for the cafe, a light yellow button up and a black skirt, and you wear it well, the shirt tied up at your waist, red chucks on your feet, hair piled atop your head in a messy bun. The skirt clings to your curves in a way that has Steve stifling the blush that creeps up the back of his neck, and his mouth goes dry when you come to stop in front of him, lifting the coffee cup from his tray and setting it in front of him.

“You must be Steve,” you say, and your voice is melodic in a way that makes Steve want to ask you a million questions, if only to hear you talk more. In an instant, he’s hooked.

He’s staring, he realizes after a moment, his mouth apparently forgetting how to stay shut and his palms going sweaty. “I…uh…yes.”

The smile you give him makes his heart stutter in his chest. “Dolores told me about you. You were her favourite regular. She told me to take good care of you.”

“What happened to her?”

You spin the tray once in your hand and then tuck it under your arm, pulling an order pad from the apron around your waist. “She retired. Her and her husband are moving to Florida, right on the beach.”

“Sounds peaceful,” he says.

You hum in agreement. “It does, doesn’t it? But I’ve got her shifts now, so you’ll have to settle for me instead.” Across the tables, towards the cafe entrance, someone calls your name, and your head turns toward it. Steve is still staring. “I gotta go, but let me know if you need anything, okay? Table’s yours as long as you want.”

He watches you go, until you’ve disappeared into the cafe once more, and an elderly man at the table beside him pipes up, leaning back over his chair. “Ask for her number, you moron.”

Steve spends the rest of the day hunched over his journal, pencil in hand, sketching. He’s never been great at faces, but you make enough appearances outside that he gets all the angles he needs. You catch him staring a few times, winking when his gaze meets yours, and he blushes every time.

The sketch is rough, and the paper is filled with a few different versions, but it’s still your face. He’s pretty pleased with himself, and tears the page from the journal. He scribbles a note beneath his sketches, and leaves the page folded beneath his empty coffee cup, a ten dollar bill along with it.

See you tomorrow.

+

When Dolores announced her retirement, and your boss at the cafe asked if you were willing to pick up the extra shifts, you were more than happy to oblige. You were bouncing between two jobs, the cafe at Grand Central, and some retail shop on Broadway, but you liked the cafe better. The atmosphere was nicer, the pay was better, and people tended to tip heavier when they were in a hurry to catch a train.

So you said yes, altered your schedule, and gave your two weeks at the other place. Dolores gave you the rundown of her day-to-day, when she’d come in, what she’d get done before the cafe opened. She also filled you in on all of her regulars; where they sat, their orders, how long they usually stayed. She had it down to a science, nearly, and supplied you with detailed notes in a tiny red book. 

Steve was the latest entry on the list, his details specific enough: table in the middle (outside unless it’s raining - right by the door if it is), black coffee (keep it coming), he’ll stay as long as he needs, handsome.

The last word was underlined three times, so hard the mark had scratched through the page, and it made you laugh.

She was right, he was handsome. However, she’d failed to mention who he was, though part of you wondered if she knew.

Captain America. 

Captain America was now one of your regulars. Captain America had spent the day drawing sketches of you from his spot outside, and had left you the evidence with a promise scrawled along the bottom of the page: See you tomorrow.

You certainly hoped so.

The history was common knowledge. You’d read the books in high school, listened to the lectures in the history elective you’d taken in college. You knew the story, at least what was shared with the public: the experiment that had turned him into the super-soldier he still was, all the lives he’d saved crashing a plane carrying enough explosives to level the state. They’d searched the world over for his body, but if they’d ever found him, you didn’t know about it.

Until you stepped out of the cafe with a black coffee on your tray and realized you were delivering it to Captain America himself. He’s just as handsome in real life as he’d been in the photographs you’d seen, maybe even more so. The same floppy blonde hair, combed to the side in true forties fashion, piercing baby blues that would make the ocean jealous, broad shoulders that were definitely something to write home about. He was…Captain America. Steve Rogers.

Your interaction had gone smoothly enough, and you’d kept an eye on him through your shift. You didn’t press him; he looked…spooked, in a way, like a deer in the headlights, and you didn’t want to make it worse. He didn’t once move from his table, only asked for a refill after you pressed him, and spent most of the day hunched over his journal. Towards the end of your shift, you’d stepped outside to find his seat empty, and gone to clear the table, only to find a folded piece of paper beneath his empty cup, with a ten dollar bill.

It was you. He’d drawn you. Over and over again.

It occurs to you that in another circumstance, maybe you’d maybe find it creepy, but the detail is so good that you find it almost…endearing? He even managed to sketch the clover-shaped necklace at your throat, a gift from your parents when you graduated.

You put the paper in your purse, hang up your apron, and head out of the cafe. The night shift has arrived, and you bid everyone a goodnight before stepping outside.

And straight into Steve Rogers’s chest.

“Oh!” you cry out, startled and nearly tripping over your own shoes. Steve catches your wrist easily, his grip warm and his skin soft on yours. “I thought you went home.”

“I did,” he replies, “did some thinking, decided to come back and ask if you’d like to have dinner with me?” His voice hitches at the end with the question, and you can feel a grin pulling at your mouth. He starts talking again before you can answer, dropping your wrist and taking a step back, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck and staring down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, if that’s too forward, I just…well, you’re very nice. And beautiful, and I…” He trails off, finally looking back up at you. “I am not very good at this.”

You wave him off. “No such thing. I like the forwardness. Dinner sounds great.” You look down at your shirt, stained with coffee from a rogue pot and your skirt dusted with flour from the pastries you’d helped bake earlier in the day. “But if we’re going to go to a restaurant, I need to change first.”

“Of course,” Steve says, gesturing with a hand in a way that makes you giggle. “I should have just asked for your phone number, like a normal person, made plans for another day when you haven’t been on your feet for eight hours.”

He pauses for a breath, but then opens his mouth to keep talking, and you lift a quick hand, pressing your finger to his lips. There’s something so endearing about him, you can’t get past it. The whole man-out-of-time thing is working, not to mention those blue eyes make you want to roll over and die. “Steve,” you say, laughing, “it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you drop your hand. “It’s been a long time since I asked a dame on a date.”

You scoff a laugh. “Dame?”

He blushes. “Sorry. Girl. Woman?”

He’s got you laughing again, and you shake your head at him. “I live a few blocks over. I’ll change, and then we can go to this little Italian place on the other side of the park.”

Steve doesn’t say anything more, but just nods. He offers you his elbow, bending slightly, and you slip your hand into the crook of his arm and lead him away from the cafe.

+

Half an hour later, Steve is standing outside your apartment building, leaning against the fence on the sidewalk. You’d asked if he wanted to come up with you, but he’d declined. Was that appropriate now? To be alone in an apartment with a girl you barely know? Woman? Dame? His head is spinning, but he’s hooked onto one thing: you said yes. If he’s honest, it’s the best thing that’s happened to him since he came out of the ice.

The door opens again and you step outside, yanking it shut behind you, and for the second time that day, you take his breath away. Gone is the coffee-stained uniform, replaced with dark pants that cling to you, and a white top made of flowing material that makes Steve think of fairies from stories he read a long time ago. 

You’re beautiful, and he’s struck by it. Again.

“Ready?” you ask, your lips painted a deep pink colour. He wants to kiss you. Is that appropriate? Damn it.

“Uh, yes,” he replies, and offers you his elbow once more.

He lets you lead as you walk through the streets of the city. It’s familiar to him in a strange way; the streets themselves haven’t changed much from what he remembers, but the buildings that line either side are completely different in some places, identical to his memory in others.

You both talk as you walk. You more than him, but you don’t seem to mind. He asks more about you. Did you grow up in the city? No, you’re from the South originally, but your parents had moved a lot when you were a teenager and you’d ended up in New York for school. Any siblings? Only child. What did you go to school for? You were a history major in Columbia, graduated a few years back with a minor in creative writing as well.

Learning what you studied answers his next question, the one he’s been dying to ask. “So you know who I am.”

You pause, seemingly choosing your words before you reply. “I do. The second World War was one of my focuses in senior year. I wrote my final thesis paper on Allied experimentation.”

Steve’s brows lift. “Impressive. I might know a thing or two about that.”

The easy smile returns to your face, and Steve’s gut clenches when you bite your bottom lip gently. “Your name came up once or twice. I did a lot of research, and I’ll tell you, I don’t usually know my dates this well before meeting them.” 

“I’m assuming you don’t usually date men from your history books.”

Something changes in your expression then, you brows pulling down. “We don’t have to talk about it, you know. What happened to you. I mean, if you want to, then I’m all ears. It must be…shocking, I don’t know.” You pause, put your hand on his arm, stopping you both. You’re in the middle of Central Park now, the streetlights just starting to come on. “Are you okay?”

Steve balks for a second at your question. The truth of it is no, he’s not okay. 

It’s been a strange few months to say the least, and he doesn’t know the last time someone asked him if he was okay. They’ve poked and prodded him enough to know he’s healthy, but save for Fury, few have had the courage to speak to him, let alone look him in the eye. Most people he’s encountered in public have either resorted to whispers behind their hands, or snapping pictures from afar.

And yet here you are. 

“I’m fine,” is what comes out of his mouth instead, hands clenching into fists at his sides and continuing on down the pathway. After a moment, he feels your hand around his wrist, your skin warm against his. He lets you unfurl his fingers, and your hand slips into his.

“I could try and help, if you’d like,” you offer, double-stepping to get a little closer to him. “Answer whatever questions you have, try and catch you up on the world. I know my history pretty well, and I’m a master of reality television.”

His brow lifts. “You’d do that? I’ve got a lot of questions. Lot of stupid ones, probably. Like, what’s a selfie?”

You let out a laugh, and Steve’s gut twists. Your laugh is just as pretty as your face, and he wants to drown in it, wants to hear it again as soon as it stops.

“Come here,” you say, your grip tightening on his hand and pulling him closer to you. You angle yourself in front of him, pulling something rectangular and metallic out of your pocket. Your finger swipes across a blank screen, illuminating it, and it takes Steve to realize that it’s a phone. The screen is covered in tiny icons of all different colours, and you press down on one. A moment later, the screen changes, and he can see the two of you reflected back on the screen.

You hold the phone at an arm’s length, reaching back with one hand to pull at his shoulder. He crouches slightly, positions his face close to yours.

“Now, smile!”

You press a button on the screen, there’s a strange sound from the phone, and you pull it close to you again, swiping at the screen again and pulling up the photograph. It’s the two of you, a beaming smile on your face, a toothy grin on Steve’s. He’s in awe, shocked that you can see the picture right away.

The confusion must be clear as day on his face, because you slip the phone back into your pocket and take his hand again. “Okay, maybe we need to start a little smaller. Do you have a cell phone?”

S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him some sort of phone when they’d released him into the world, with a quick tutorial on how to use it. He still didn’t totally understand it, but he didn’t have anyone to talk to, so he hadn’t investigated it further.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the silver flip phone, and hands it to you. You flip it open, start tapping away at the keypad, and then hand it back to him. “There. Now you have my number. Number two on your speed dial.”

“My what?”

“Press the two,” you say around a smile, “and it’ll call me.”

“Huh.”

He slips the phone back into his pocket and takes your hand again. “It’s a start,” you say, lifting a shoulder.

You go a few more steps before he asks another question. “What about the internet?”

“Oh.” You blow out a breath, shaking your head. “Food first, Captain. Then we can get into that.”

+

Dinner is lovely, and Steve Rogers is nothing short of a gentleman.

You sit out on the terrace, the whole patio covered in little twinkly lights that are cliche as anything, but still put a smile on your face. The food is delicious, as it always is, and the expression on Steve’s face when he tries your gnocchi keeps the smile in place. You share a bottle of wine, and he’s quick to offer you his jacket when he catches you shivering at the slight chill in the air.

He has a lot of questions, but you didn’t expect anything less, and you’d meant it when you offered your help. The internet probably takes the longest time to explain - and admittedly, there are parts of it you still don’t understand - but he has a decent grasp by the end of it.

By the time dinner and dessert are done, you’ve covered the important parts of 2012, best that you can think of. You’re sure you’re missing something, and you can tell by Steve’s expression that he has more questions, but you’re both tired with the information overload, yawning around your wine glasses when the waiter brings the check.

You reach for your wallet, but Steve waves you off, pulling a surprisingly thick money clip from his pocket and pulling out enough bills to cover the check and a decent tip. “Apparently whatever money I had back in the forties just sat in the bank collecting interest for seventy years,” he tells you, tucking the clip away. “I’d buy you breakfast too, if you’d let me.”

Your brows raise. There’s an innuendo there, and you know he doesn’t mean it that way, but to say your mind hasn’t wandered in that direction a few times over the course of the evening would be a lie. “I start work at eight,” you reply, “but before that, I’m all yours. If you’re willing to get up that early.”

The waiter returns to collect the cash, thanks Steve for the tip, and he waits for the waiter to disappear before responding, leaning his elbows onto the table. “I slept for seventy years, Y/N. I’ve had my fill. Besides, I’d rather spend my time with a beautiful girl than dreaming of a life that isn’t mine anymore.”

The words are both sincere and sad, and it pulls at something in your chest. Before you can think any better of it, you lean forward, reaching for the collar of his shirt. Your fingers curl in the fabric, thumb pressing against a button, and you bend across the table, your lips meeting Steve’s in a sweet kiss that tastes like wine and tiramisu.

When you pull back, he’s flushed as anything, and you sink back into your seat slowly. “I’m sorry,” you mumble out, chewing your lip, “if that was too forward.”

His gaze goes far off for a moment, and then focuses on you again. “I like the forwardness.”

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” you ask.

He swallows hard. “…yes.”

You nod, reaching for your wineglass and draining it to it’s dregs. “Not bad.”

Steve just starts to laugh, a low chuckle that shakes his shoulders. His laugh is infectious, and it’s half a second before you’re following suit, laughing along with him. After a second, he gets to his feet, offers you his hand, and leads you off the patio and back towards the park. You’re both quieter on the way back, full of food and wine and information.

All too soon, you’re standing outside your apartment again. You give him back his jacket, thank him for dinner, and ask Steve if he wants to come up for a cup of coffee, but he politely declines. “I’ll see you for breakfast?”

You nod. “Pick me up at six thirty?”

“It’s a date,” he replies, and you go to turn away, stepping up towards the door that leads into your apartment. He reaches for your wrist before you can reach for the door, and spins you backwards, your feet slipping on the step. You all but fall into his arms, and he catches you easily, his arms around your waist, yours around your shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you murmur, and this time, he’s the one that kisses you.

It’s different than the soft kiss you’d shared at the restaurant, which was quick and gentle and over before it had even begun. This is much different, his lips moulding against yours in a way that has your toes curling in your shoes, your fingers twisting in the fabric at his collar. Your bodies press together, heat sparking deep in you, and you can feel his palm pressed against the small of your back.

He makes a noise when your teeth glance across his bottom lip, and you pull back, nearly stumbling out of his grip. He follows you up the step, crowding you into the corner beside the doorway, his arms finding your waist once more. You fist both hands in the front of his jacket, pulling him closer, your mouth on his. It’s…intoxicating.

You pull away before he does, and Steve’s lips are a perfect shade of pink, his cheeks flushed in a way that makes you want to kiss him some more. “Are you sure you don’t want to come upstairs?”

He chuckles again, and takes a step back, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “I should go home. To my apartment. Where I live.” There’s a pause, and he leans forward, kissing your lips once more before pulling back again. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You smile, the taste of him still on your mouth. “Goodnight, Steve.”

You watch as he heads down the sidewalk, waiting until his figure completely disappears from view before you head inside yourself.

+

Steve doesn’t get much sleep. Not that he’s really been getting any; since he came out of the ice, it’s like everything is constantly on high alert, and his body doesn’t want to stop. He can’t stop.

And then there’s you. You, who have completely turned the world on it’s head, before he could even recover from the first flip. You, with your pretty eyes and your voice like a song he’s never heard before, but somehow known all his life. With your laugh and your questions and answers. He could have sat on that patio forever, listening to you talk, watching you move.

It’s a miracle he didn’t stand outside your apartment and kiss you until the sun came up.

He spends the night as he normally does, sifting through the piles of information S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him, flipping through his journals. He finds himself sketching faces; Bucky Barnes, Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, the Howling Commandos. Faces he remembers, faces he’ll never see again.

But then, just as he had at the cafe, he draws you.

The sketches are different than what he’d drawn earlier in the day. You’d worn your hair down to the restaurant, the ends curling around your shoulders. He’d wanted to run his fingers through it, and cursed himself for not doing so when he kissed you outside your apartment.

By the time the sun comes up, his pencils are dulled and one of his journals is full. He changes quickly, swapping his button up for a white t-shirt and his leather jacket. Is it awful that part of him hopes it’s cold outside, just so he can see you wearing his jacket again?

The subway is bustling for six in the morning, and he hangs around the doorway, waiting for his stop with his hands stuffed in his pocket, foot tapping impatiently.

Bucky would give him hell, to see him all doe-eyed and anxious over a girl like this, but things are different now. Everything is different now.

You step onto the sidewalk as he’s approaching your building, dressed in your cafe uniform once again, a denim jacket tucked under your arm. You spot him quickly, stepping off the porch and heading for him. Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands, not sure how to greet you, but you beat him to the punch, a beaming smile on your face as your hand settles on his chest and you lean up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Good morning,” you murmur, and when you pull back, he can see your eyes are a little droopy with sleep, that infectious smile still on you lips. Your hair is tied up again, a stray strand curling around your cheek, and before Steve can stop himself, he reaches up and tucks it behind your ear.

“Morning,” he replies, then offers you his elbow. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, your hand slipping into the crook of his arm. He lets you lead again, and to his surprise, you don’t take him to a restaurant, instead to a bagel cart a few blocks down from Central Park. You order two everything bagels, bacon and cheddar cheese, and two coffees, one black, one with cream and sugar. He reaches for his money clip again but this time it’s you waving him off. “Put it away,” you say over your shoulder. “I got this one.”

Bagels and coffee in hand, you lead him through the park, down a few pathways he hasn’t ventured through yet, and come upon a mostly empty stretch with benches lining either side. You take the closest one, sitting down, tucking one leg up underneath you. Steve sits down beside you, and you hand him his bagel and coffee.

You eat in silence for a while, but Steve can’t help the groan that escapes him when he takes a bite of the bagel. You let out a little giggle, smiling at him around yours. “They’re good, huh? Best bagel in the city, I swear.”

“I think this is the best bagel I’ve ever had.” His knee knocks against yours. “Although, the company definitely makes it better.”

Your eyes light up in a way that makes his heart leap in his chest. “Are you flirting with me, Captain Rogers?”

Surprising both you and himself, Steve leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. You make a little startled noise that makes him smile against your mouth, and you taste mostly of coffee. A little bit like bagel, but he doesn’t mind. 

For a moment, he thinks, everything else can wait. It can all wait. For a moment, just a moment, he just wants to be this. He just wants to sit on this bench and kiss a beautiful girl until he forgets his own name.

It can all wait.

He’s been so tired. He’s the kind of tired that sleep won’t fix. The kind of tired that seventy years in limbo couldn’t fix. The man out of time, the super soldier, the good man. And he’s trying. He’s trying so hard, trying to feel like he has a place in this world that chewed him up nearly a century ago and spit him back out into a future he doesn’t understand.

And then there’s you. Bright-eyed and gorgeous and somehow knowing just the right things to say. He talks to you, and he feels…light. Like maybe things won’t be so bad. He’s getting ahead of himself, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to care.

So he sits on that bench beside you, one hand cupping your cheek, keeping your face tilted towards his, and kisses you until the coffee goes cold.

+

The weeks that follow are the same routine for Steve, only you have now implanted yourself into his daily life. And he’s grateful for it.

He still goes to the cafe everyday, you always waiting with a fresh cup at his table. You even put a little reserved sign on it, so no one else will snag it from him. Most nights, he has dinner with you, exploring the different restaurants New York City has to offer. Your favourite places, mostly, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

You’re off work from the cafe on the Fridays and Saturdays, and those days are for adventures, you decide. The Met, the Museum of Natural History, the Guggenheim, everywhere. You have to physically drag him into a Yankees game, but Steve doesn’t really mind it that much - especially when the two of you get caught on the jumbo-tron and you plant one on him.

You help him find a boxing gym, and Steve’s quick to get a membership. He’ll spend a few hours everyday there, practicing his kicks and punches until you’re off the clock or his body is too tired to carry on. It takes his mind off of everything, off the sneaking feeling he’s been having lately that something is coming, but he can’t put his finger on what it is.

His phone starts to ring more often. You always call him when you’re grocery shopping, talking his ear off while browsing the produce. You show him how to text, and it takes some getting used to, but he gets the hang of it pretty quickly.

There’s a number he doesn’t recognize that keeps calling as well, but those calls he declines without a second thought.

Whatever it is, it can wait. It can all wait.

Things between the two of you…escalate. He’d be a fool to try and deny his attraction to you, and there’s more than a few nights spent at your apartment that you end up straddling his lap, your hands in his hair, the two of you breathing the same air. He’s quickly become addicted to the feeling of your body in his grip. Your hips fill his hands perfectly, and more than once he’s slipped a hand up the back of your shirt, feeling the notches of your spine. It’s heat and longing and seventy years creeping up on him in an instant.

He wants to. There’s no question about that. On more than one occasion, he’s…taken care of himself once he got home from your apartment, images of you flashing through his mind. He’s not shocked at how quickly he finds a release, but he also wishes you were there to share it with him.

But Steve Rogers is a gentleman, through and through.

Nearly a month into your romance - is that what he’s supposed to call it? - Steve finds himself alone one Friday night. A few of your girlfriends from college had dragged you out to a bar to celebrate somebody’s birthday. You’d extended an invitation, but he’d declined. He wasn’t there…not yet.

However, when his phone rings at three in the morning, and he sees your name flashing on the screen, he answers in an instant. “Y/N?”

“Can you come get me?” Steve can barely make out your voice over the loud music in the background. You’re practically shouting into the phone, and repeat your request. “Please?”

“Where are you?”

You rattle off a street name, telling him you’ll text him directions once you hang up. He’s out of bed the moment you hang up, changing quickly and heading out the door without a second thought. He stops in the 24-hour bodega around the corner from his building, and the clerk gives him quicker directions than the mess you’d texted to him as he was leaving.

Twenty minutes later, he’s jogging up to the front of a club, a large man standing by the door, neon lights flashing and painting pictures on the sidewalk. He spots you, leaning against the window, teetering on heels that look sharp enough to kill a man. You have your face in your hands, and you’re swaying slightly. As he steps up to you, the large man by the door lifts a hand. “Hey.”

Your head snaps up, and your face is streaked with makeup, black smudges beneath your eyes. “Steve.” You turn to the man. “It’s okay. I know him.”

The man gives Steve a look, but lowers his hand. You step towards him, teetering like a newborn deer, and Steve grabs your elbows, keeping you steady and leading you away from the building.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Your arms wrap through his, fingers tightening around his forearms.

“My friends are assholes,” you say, and your voice is so sad that he just wants to hug you.

Before he gets the chance to, you wrench yourself out of his grip, and empty your stomach into the trash can beside you. Steve flinches, but reaches for you, pulling your hair back and keeping it out of the puke. It takes a while - he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone throw up that much, not even when Bucky dragged him on the roller coaster at Coney Island - but when you’re done, you stumble back away from the garbage can, and Steve pulls a tissue from his pocket, offering it to you. You wipe your mouth, smearing your lipstick in the process, and before you can say - or do - anything else, he scoops you into his arms, heels and all, and starts walking back in the direction of his apartment.

He has to stop once a few blocks in, you scrambling down from his arms to toss your cookies once more into a trash can. After that, he picks you up again, and you settle against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

Someone is walking out of his building as you two approach, and blessedly holds the door open so Steve can carry you straight up. It takes a little bit of manoeuvring to get his keys out of his pocket while you’re nearly comatose in his arms, but he manages. He nudges the door shut with his foot, flicking the lock before carrying you into his bedroom.

You mumble something unintelligible as he sets you on the bed, rubbing a hand across your face as you do. Steve just chuckles to himself, and reaches for your feet, undoing the multiple buckles on each of your shoes and pulling them off your feet. He sets them on the ground at the foot of his bed, but then freezes. You’re sweaty, your dress stained with what he assumes is alcohol (thankfully no vomit), and while the dress is pretty, he can only imagine it’s not the most comfortable thing.

As he’s sitting there contemplating what he should do next, if it’s appropriate to change you out of your dress or not, you sit up, mumbling again and smudging the makeup under your eyes further. Steve just watches as you shimmy off the end of the bed, grab the hem of your dress in both hands and yank it up over your head.

He definitely doesn’t miss the black lace panties and matching bra, and needless to say has to pick his jaw up off the floor before he crosses the room, reaching into his closet for a t-shirt and tossing it onto the bed. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Hm?” you mumble in response, but see the t-shirt on the bed and reach for it. He heads for the door, but out of the corner of his eye, sees you hold the shirt to your nose, inhaling heavily and breathing out his name. He all but sprints for the kitchen, pours you a glass of water, then retreats.

He doesn’t expect to find you sitting in the middle of his bed, your bare legs crossed beneath you, and his compass in your hands.

Your eyes go wide when you see him in the doorway, looking back at him like a little kid that got caught with her hands in the cookie jar. But you make no move to put the compass away, and say, “She’s very pretty.”

Steve inhales. “She is.”

“Peggy Carter,” you say, and his brows lift. “Right?”

“Right.”

“She’s very pretty,” you say again, your voice hitching a little. You snap the compass closed, and put it back in it’s place on his night stand. Your eyes meet his after a moment, and there’s something in them that makes his chest go tight. “I really like you, Steve.”

He steps towards the bed, hands you the glass of water, and then sinks onto the edge of the mattress. You sip the water, and he toys with his hands, staring down at his knotted fingers. “I really like you, too.” You give him one of your signature beaming smiles, and down the rest of the water. You reach for his hands, fingers twining easily between his. “Wanna tell me what happened at the bar?”

You just lift a shoulder, but your eyes go glassy. “I told you. My friends are assholes. They’re not even good friends, not really.” You shake your head. “I should have just spent the night with you, like we usually do. You’re a much better friend than they are.”

“Friend?” Steve asks. Somehow, the words feel like a punch to his stomach. “Is that what I am?”

Your brows shoot up, and you cover your mouth with your hands. “No! I didn’t…shit. I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant…” You groan, push your palms against your eyes and lean back on the bed. “I just meant I have a better time with you than anyone else. That’s all.” After a moment, you move your hands from your face and your eyes lock with his. “You’re not just my friend, Steve. I don’t know what we are, but you’re not just my friend.”

“I don’t know either,” he agrees, feeling the tightness in his gut ease, “but I know I like you. And…how I feel about you, I can’t just be your friend.”

You stare at him for a long moment, a smile tugging at your lips. “You know, if I wasn’t still kind of drunk, and hadn’t thrown up in front of you less than ten minutes ago, I’d probably have sex with you right now.”

“What?” He swears his heart skips a beat, and instantly his cheeks are on fire.

You, on the other hand, dissolve into giggles which quickly turn into a yawn you can barely stifle. Steve stands, trying his best to ignore the zap of heat that your words sent straight to his core, and goes to get you another glass of water. When he returns, you’re curled up on your side, your head on his pillow, eyes shut.

He sets the water on the nightstand beside the compass, goes to get a damp cloth from his bathroom, and then perches beside you, moving you gently and wiping the makeup from your face as best as he can. You don’t open your eyes, sound asleep in his grasp, eyelids fluttering as you dream.

Once he’s done, he goes to leave the room, content to sleep on the couch and give you some privacy, but before he can even get off the edge of the bed, your hand curls in the front of his shirt. “Stay.”

So he does, toeing off his shoes and settling on the bed beside you. You adjust yourself against him, one arm slinging across his waist, your head on his chest. The ends of your hair tickle his nose, but he doesn’t mind. He runs his fingers through it over and over, listening to the steady in and out of your breathing, and finds himself falling asleep with you.

+

You wake the next morning feeling surprisingly okay, despite the copious amounts of alcohol your so-called friends had shoved at you all night. You suspect your multiple puking sessions and all the water Steve had given you aided you some, and your head throbs slightly, but it’s not unbearable.

It’s early, the clock on the nightstand reading half past six, and your mind starts to race as you realize where exactly you are. And that you’re alone.

You’re sprawled in the bed, still in Steve’s t-shirt, pillow bunched beneath your head. Stretching your back and hearing a symphony of cracks and pops as your body moves, you reach for the empty space beside you, the whole bed still smelling of Steve. Your hand lifts to the pillow, and your fingers brush paper, spotting a note with your name scrawled across the front.

It’s a sketch of you, your hair tumbled across the pillow, arm slung around your face, peaceful and asleep, and below, Steve’s familiar chicken scratch.

Gone to the gym for a bit. Will return with bagels and coffee. There’s aspirin on the nightstand, and a towel for you in the bathroom. - Steve xo

You can’t hide the grin that breaks across your face, nor could you stop it. You smooth your hand over the note, fold it back up carefully, and set it on the nightstand, swiping the two aspirin and the glass of water waiting for you.

Sitting up, you toss back the aspirin and chase it with water, rubbing sleep from your eyes and peering around the room. Steve had brought you straight to the bedroom last night, and you hadn’t seen much of it before you’d passed out.

The bedroom is basic, his closet filled with neatly hung clothes and all the furniture matching. There’s a small stack of books on the dresser, and you recognize a few titles. The Hobbit. To Kill a Mockingbird. Fahrenheit 451. There’s a pile of papers beside the books, file folders all stamped with a strange logo you don’t recognize, CONFIDENTIAL stamped in big red letters across the top.

You leave those well enough alone, and head for the bathroom.

It’s hard, not having your shampoo and conditioner like you do at your own place, but the hot water is exactly what you need, and the pine-scented body wash is good enough. It smells like Steve, and you inhale deeply, letting the steam fill the bathroom.

The apartment is still empty when you’re done, and you pad around the rest of the space, curiosity getting the better of you. The living room is sparse, and the kitchen even more so, both rooms filled with the basics - a sofa and television, dishes and mugs and a coffee maker that looks like it’s seen better days -  but something in the corner of the living room catches your eye, tucked behind the small table and chairs.

It’s an army uniform. You recognize it; your grandfather had been a WWII vet, and you’d seen the old pictures of him and your grandmother on their wedding day, him in his dress uniform and her in a white dress.

There’s a number of badges on the lapel, most of which you don’t know the meaning of, but you recognize the Purple Heart, awarded to soldiers wounded or killed while serving in the military.

Your fingers are hovering over the badges, and a voice from behind you makes you flinch. “It’s on loan from the Smithsonian, apparently,” Steve says, and you whirl to find him standing behind you, a brown paper bag in one hand and two coffees balanced atop one another in his other. You take them from him quickly, setting them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He drops the bag beside them, shrugging out of his jacket, and you watch him carefully. There’s something about the expression on his face, something in his tone that has you on edge. Then he takes a step towards you, reaching for your wrist. “I gotta tell you something.”

Your brow furrows, and you pull him towards the sofa, sinking down onto it and settling close to him. He holds your hand between both of his, and your free hand goes to his shoulder, then his face, pushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Steve, it’s okay,” you murmur, and there’s a slight waver in your voice, but you hope he doesn’t notice. “You can tell me anything.”

“I have to leave,” he tells you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. “I have to go, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for. I don’t want to leave you, but…” He won’t meet your eyes, his gaze hard and far away. “But I have to do this.”

Slowly, you nod. “Does this have anything to do with those files in your bedroom?”

His brows raise, and he finally looks at you. “You didn’t…?”

“Read them? No. I know better than to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and his gaze goes far off again. You’re both quiet for a long while, and right when you feel that swell of anxiety starting to crest, he opens his mouth. “I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I like you. A lot. And I don’t know what…this is, between us, and I know I don’t want it to stop. But I won’t ask you to wait for me.”

“You don’t have to ask,” you tell him, shaking your head slightly, “and you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant-”

You crack a smile, and reach for his chin, turning his head and cutting him off with a soft kiss. “Go save the world, Cap,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

+

He takes you back to your apartment in the late afternoon, after you’ve eaten your bagels and spent some time kissing on his couch. Steve feels bad, having no other clothes to offer you except a grey sweatshirt, and almost laughs when you pull your dress back on and the sweater overtop. It’s comically large, the hem touching the tops of your thighs, but to put it simply, you look adorable. More so than usual.

He wasn’t sure what you’d say at the news of his departure, but he hadn’t been anticipating the kind words and gentle touches. He’s grateful for them. Grateful for you. For all of you. You’ve made things feel…normal in a way he hasn’t experienced since coming out of the ice. Things feel clearer, more concise, like a fog has been lifted. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, but he’s ready for it. He has you.

He’s falling for you, he thinks suddenly, you falling into step beside him in the sidewalk, one hand threaded through his. He’s falling for you hard.

If anything, it only motivates him further. Work with S.H.I.E.L.D., get the Tesseract back, do his duty.

And then come back to you.

You ask him if he wants to come up with you, but he declines. Fury had called him shortly after he’d walked out of the gym, confirming that he was actually onboard or not. When Steve had said yes, Fury had informed him there would be a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents at his apartment to pick him up later in the evening.

“I should…pack, I guess,” he says, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I wish I could tell you more, but I-”

You press a finger to his lips, standing a step above him outside your apartment. “Don’t. Just tell me what I need to know, and promise me something.” You don’t move your finger from his mouth, so he nods. “Keep yourself safe.”

There’s a glimmer of tears in your eyes, and it makes Steve’s chest ache. “I will,” he says against your fingers, and you throw your arms around his neck a second later, pulling him to you. “I promise.”

“And don’t get yourself killed,” you mumble in his ear, your voice a little thick, “cuz that would really suck.”

He chuckles at your choice of words, but hugs you back tightly, pressing his face into the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Your scent is a strange mix of his body wash, coffee, and something he has no name for, but it intoxicates him all the same. He waits for you to pull back slightly, then reaches for your face with one hand, his lips finding yours easily in a sweet kiss.

It’s a good few minutes before either of you break away, but Steve is the first. He needs to go home, needs to get ready, needs to disentangle himself from you before he changes his mind and stays with you instead.

+

The days that follow blow past you in a blur. You work double shifts, keep yourself busy at the cafe, mainly to keep yourself from worrying about Steve.

Your phone is too quiet, and you understand it, you do, but you wish you knew that he was okay.

You find yourself mulling over what happened between you and Steve, both of you admitting that you felt…something for the other, but still not entirely sure what it was, what it meant.

It’s insane, in the grand scheme of things. Captain America carried you home drunk from a club, made sure you were okay, made sure you drank enough water and left aspirin by the bed for you. Captain America kissed you goodbye.

The nights are spent on the couch, wrapped in the sweatshirt Steve had given you, your bed suddenly feeling too empty. True, you’d only spent one night together. You hadn’t slept in the same bed until that night, and yes, you’d woken up a little heavy-headed, but the truth of it was it was the best sleep you’d had in a long time. Steve makes you feel…safe. Content.

Happy.

The cafe is busy, even without your favourite regular taking up the middle table, and the steady stream of patrons keeps you distracted enough.

You’re standing inside the cafe when the bright beam of blue erupts from the top of Stark Tower, and you stumble through the doors as every head in the vicinity turns in it’s direction. The portal opens in the sky a moment later, and when the monsters start pouring through, people start to scream.

There’s a strange whoosh overhead, and then the explosions begin. Stone and brick are thrown through the air, the patio furniture outside the cafe turning into twisted heaps of metal in an instant. People start running, yelling, screaming as they push past you. Debris scrapes at your bare arms and legs, and you rush back towards the cafe, darting inside as one of your co-workers holds the door opened for the panicked public running inside.

“What are those things?” someone asks, and you shake your head in disbelief. This can’t be happening…

…can it?

+

The moment they land in the city, Steve’s mind drifts to you. He’s worried, and can only pray you’re somewhere safe, that you finished work and went home before the hole in the sky appeared.

You’ve been in the back of his mind the entire time, from the moment he set foot on the Quinjet. Agent Coulson was kind, and the conversation kept him focused on the task at hand. The debriefings and meetings were tolerable, even when Stark gave him a hard time, but Steve knew what needed to be done, so he did it.

He fights his way through the streets, through the ugly alien creatures and piles of debris. Anytime he catches a glimpse of someone running past, someone with your hair colour or about your height, his head turns and he has to see if it’s you or not. It gets him hit a few times, and he has to focus harder, a little voice repeating in the back of his mind that you’re fine, you’re alive, you’re safe.

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if you’re not.

When Clint tells him the Chitauri have cornered civilians in the bank on Madison, he rushes in that direction, his heart sinking into his boots when he sees that the cafe has been reduced to a pile of rubble outside Grand Central.

Steve sprints inside, brandishing the shield, and when he tosses one of the Chitauri over the railing of the upper floor, he sees you in the crowd below. Relief washes through him, despite it all. You’re alive. A little dirty, your uniform streaked with dirt and your face smudged with dust. He can see a few marks on your cheeks and arms, but you’re alive.

The bomb the Chitauri had detonated goes off, and he’s blown backward, the shield taking most of the impact, and he sees the look on your face go from happy to terrified in a split second.

He’s thrown through the window, and collapses hard onto an already-crushed policy cruiser, groaning as the metal creaks beneath him. Cops swarm forwards, trying to get to the civilians inside, and Steve struggles to his feet, turning to head back inside. He has to get to you. He needs to get you somewhere safe.

“Steve!” he hears, and his head turns in the direction of your voice, seeing you sprinting from the bank, pushing past people as you run for him.

He catches you with a quiet oomph when you launch yourself at him, your arms going around his neck. He’s got the shield in one hand, you in the other.

“Are you okay?” you cry, breathless, pulling back only to take his face in your hands, your thumbs swiping across his dirty cheeks, eyes darting across him, trying to find any injuries. “What’s going on? Why is this happening?”

He wishes he had an easy answer for you, and God only knows he can’t explain the whole thing to you right there on the street. “It doesn’t matter right now,” he tells you, his arm still holding you against him. “I want you to go to my apartment, okay? It’s far enough away that you should be safe there. You can get in through the fire escape. If the fighting gets closer, you leave, but if it doesn’t, you stay and wait for me to come get you. Understood?”

There are tears in your eyes, fears he knows he can’t ease right now, and you nod. “Understood.”

He kisses you hard, holding you as close as he possibly can before he sets you back on your feet. You almost don’t let go of him, and he has to give you a little nudge. You lean up on your toes and kiss him again before turning on your heel and sprinting down the road, dodging debris and heading in the direction of his apartment building.

There’s a wolf-whistle in his earpiece, and Stark’s smug tone. “She’s very pretty, Cap. Shoulda known you had something sweet waiting for you in the city.”

Steve rolls his eyes, readjusts the shield in his grip, and heads back into the fray. “Let’s finish this.”

+

The noise stops about an hour after you reach Steve’s apartment.

You’d gotten in through the fire escape, just like he’d said, squeezing your way in through an unlocked window. You’d landed on the floor in a heap, and just stayed in place, your eyes glued to the window, watching carefully in case anything came close.

You’re still shaking, your limbs caked in dirt and dust and your left ankle aching something fierce. You suspect it’ll be a while before the shaking stops, and your nerves don’t cease, your gut clenched hard, until, nearly four hours after that, there’s a careful knock at the door.

You rush for it, flicking the locks and yanking the door open to see a very tired-looking Steve Rogers on the other side. He’s still in his uniform, the shield held in one hand, a white plastic takeout bag in the other. His face is as dirty as you feel, and his hair is sweat-soaked, hanging over his forehead in a way that’s frustratingly endearing. You could have died - he could have died - and your first thought it how cute he looks.

“Left my keys in my other pants,” he jokes, stepping over the threshold. He hands you the bag. “Brought you some food.”

It’s the adrenaline, you think, and you set the bag down carefully, then take the shield from Steve’s hand and lean it against the wall beside the door. The door is shut, the locks slid back into place, and then you take his hand, pulling him down the hallway and into the bathroom without a word.

He’s just watching you, his brow slightly furrowed as he watches you move towards the tub, cranking the water on and moving the shower curtain into place.

Then you start undoing the buttons of your shirt, and you can see the wheels turning in his head, his mouth opening slightly as he finally catches on.

“Oh. Oh.”

Your shirt hits the ground, skirt, socks, and shoes joining the pile a moment later. Steve flushes red when you step towards him, clad only in your underwear, and reach for his belt. It takes some time and a bit of manoeuvring to figure out all the clasps and buttons keeping the uniform in place, but you manage, and soon enough, he’s just as naked as you are, only wearing a pair of tight black boxers that leave little to the imagination.

You’d turned the water hot, and there’s steam filling the bathroom. You’re still silent as you give him a quick once over, concern filling you when you see the series of bruises and marks that travel from his left hip and up around his rib cage. It looks painful, but as you look at it, you can almost see the bruises starting to fade, the super soldier healing from the inside out.

Steve catches the worry in your features, and his hand lifts to your cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, and his thumb swipes across your skin. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

Your heart is rioting in your chest, and you just nod. Your brain is still processing everything that’s happened, and the only thing that seems to make sense is the man standing in front of you.

Still without a word, you step out of his reach, moving the shower curtain and stepping inside, still in your underwear. Steve follows, reaching for your waist as he crowds up behind you. You both hiss at the temperature, Steve reaching around to adjust it slightly before you both step under the spray. You reach for a washcloth and his body wash, lathering the cloth and then reaching up, dragging it slowly across his chest, cleaning the dirt and blood from his skin.

He just watches as you do, and you feel both his hands settling on your hips, fingers twisting in the wet fabric covering you. Once you’ve cleaned him as thoroughly as you can, he takes the cloth from you, and it’s your turn. Then he moves onto your hair, and you return the favour.

You both move slow and languid, the hot water making both of you feel infinitely better, easing sore muscles and tense bodies. Steve barely takes his hands off of you, and the water is still hot when he crowds you against the tile, one hand slipping up your back, and puts his mouth on yours.

It’s a desperate kiss, an oh god we almost died kiss, and you can’t get enough, your hands plunging into his wet hair, holding him as close as you can. It’s not long before he’s hiking your leg around his hip, his body rolling against yours, pulling a noise from your throat that makes you both blush.

He pulls at your underwear, and the wet fabric slides down your hips a little awkwardly, pooling at your feet. His head dips, mouth skimming along the swell of your breast, and you make that noise again, unable to hold it back. Your bra is slipping from your shoulders, and you groan when you feel Steve’s fingers along the inside of your thigh.

“Do you want this?” he asks suddenly, lifting his head and staring you dead in the eye. “Do you want me?”

You nod, enthusiastic. “I do.”

“Are you sure?” His voice is low and husky, and it sends a zip of electricity through you.

You kiss him hard, your hips canting towards his hand, gasping when his fingers brush against your core. “I’m sure.”

He captures your lips again, his kiss searing it’s way into your brain, and then reaches around you to shut the water off.

+

Steve carries you to his bedroom, both of you dripping water the whole way, but he doesn’t care.

When he lays you out on his bed, almost completely nude except for the bra that’s leaving little to his imagination at this point, he knows he’s the luckiest man in the world.

He’s not a virgin - God knows Bucky had called in a favour or two and made sure he wasn’t back in the forties - and the attention he’d received after he’d debuted as Captain America had been enthusiastic. There’d been a few dames back then, a sweet redhead who’d caught his attention and held it for a while.

And then, of course, there was Peggy. Not that they’d…fondue-d, but the notion still stands.

You, however, are uncharted territory. An island he wants to explore every inch of. He wants to know how your body reacts, where he should touch, kiss, bite. Wants to feel every part of you, memorize it until he’s an expert on you.

He hovers over you on the bed, plants an elbow beside your head and finds your lips again. Your hands are soft along his jaw, your skin still damp under his touch, and his free hand skirts along your body, travelling over your ribs and down over your hip. The pads of his fingers skim the silky-soft skin at the inside of your thigh, and when he brushes over your core, finds you wet and ready, every instinct he has seems to heighten.

Your back bows off the bed when he pushes one finger inside, crooking it just so as you moan into his mouth. One becomes two, and one of your hands falls from his face and reaches for his waist, pushing the wet boxers over his hip, fingers dipping past the elastic and closing around him.

It’s been a long time since he’s been touched by a woman, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t come on the spot when your hand strokes him, your thumb swiping over his tip. You swallow each other’s moans, your other hand going to his waist to push his boxers down further. He thrusts his fingers once, twice, three times more before you’re gasping his name, your lips parted in a perfect o.

“Steve, please,” you whisper out.

He detaches himself from you long enough to kick his boxers off the rest of the way, and while he’s gone, you rid yourself of your bra, tossing it to the side and scrambling a little further up the bed. He follows, stretches out beside you, and you reach for his hip, pulling him back on top of you easily. Your hands skim up and down his ribs, your nails catching on his skin every so often, and he drops his face into  the crook of your neck, lips closing around his pulse.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says suddenly, pulling back, and you let out a quiet giggle, your hands tightening at his sides.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I’m on the pill.”

He nods once. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Steve, I’m sure,” you whisper, pulling him back down to you and kissing him hard.

Your legs widen around his hips, your body rolling against his as he ruts against you. He feels flushed and out of breath and everything is almost too much, but it feels so good he can’t stop. Your mouth moves along his jaw, teeth nipping at his skin, and he thrusts into you, sliding home, and it’s like the world stops for a moment. There’s only you, your breath against his ear and your skin against his. Your nails digging in ever so slightly, keeping him grounded to the earth, and your low gasp when he starts to move, pulls out almost all the way and then slides in again. “Oh god.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs, and he reaches up with one hand, using the headboard as leverage. His other hand plants itself beside your head, and he groans out, eyes almost rolling back when you clench around him.

With each slam of his hips, there’s a coil in his stomach growing tighter and tighter, and he feels your hands slide down his back, one grabbing a handful of his ass, the other pressing against the dip at the base of spine. He’s losing his mind, losing himself in you. “You feel so good,” he manages to say, unable to hold it back.

You moan, your head tipping back against the pillow, and then a second later, you’re reaching for his shoulders, tipping him sideways and rolling until you’re on top of him. He’s still inside you, and the new angle makes his jaw drop, his vision going nearly white when you plant your hands on his chest and grind your hips against his.

He thrusts up into you, and it catches you off guard. You collapse against his chest, your hair a curtain around the two of you and his arms go around your waist, holding you tight against him. His name stutters from your mouth, your eyes screwing shut, your hands flexing wide on the mattress on either side of him. “Oh god,” you say again, your voice hitching. “Steve, please.”

He can’t stop, won’t stop moving, and plants his feet, giving himself more leverage as you move against him. You gasp again, a moan following quickly after, and he knows you’re there because he can feel it. Your whole body goes tight in his grip, your insides clenching around his cock, and his own pleasure only grows. You go limp a second later, and he still can’t stop, the coil going completely taut before his entire body floods with warmth, hands tightening on you before his grip goes slack. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and you both heave out a breath.

It’s a long moment before either of you says anything, and you’re the first to speak, propping your head up on your hand and looking down at him. “We should have done that a long time ago.”

Steve chuckles, one hand trailing it’s way up and down your spine. Your skin is still damp, from the shower and with sweat, and his fingers catch slightly. “Guess an alien invasion is all it took,” he replies, laughing.

You purse your lips at him, shaking your head. “Remember what I said before, about you only telling me what I need to know?”

He nods. “I remember.”

“I think I need more than that.” He opens his mouth to say more, but you put a finger to his lips. “Not now. Now, I just want to lie here, and be happy you’re alive.”

+

A few days later, Steve has business in Central Park. You’ve been at his apartment since the invasion, barely getting out of bed - except for food and water - trapped in a perfect bubble of love-making and heavy petting. You don’t want to leave the bubble, but Steve also informs you that he has something planned once his business is finished with, and you find yourself stopping at your own apartment to pack an overnight bag before getting on the back of his motorcycle and heading for Central Park.

He’d filled you in, for the most part. The story had taken a while to process, and parts of it still made no sense to you, but Steve had done his best. You had some common ground, something that made no sense to either of you.

You hang back as Steve approaches the rest of the group that had saved the city - the Avengers. Their faces had been all over the news since the day of the Battle, and you already know who Tony Stark is.

Some words are exchanged, Stark saying something to Steve before gesturing to you. Steve turns to look at you, gives you a broad grin, and you lift your hand to wave. Tony waves back.

There’s a bright blue cube - Steve had called it the Tesseract - given to the man you know to be Thor. Then there’s a flash of rainbow-hued light, and Thor and Loki - who you now know orchestrated the attack on the city - disappear.

Steve says his goodbyes, then jogs back to where you are, still sitting on his motorcycle. He doesn’t say anything at first, but takes your face in his hands and kisses you softly. “You ready?” he asks when he pulls away, a giant grin on his face and a slight flush to his cheeks. You nod in response, and he swings his leg over the bike, kicking the stand up. You scoot closer on the seat, putting your arms around his middle.

The engine revs and you bury your face in the back of his leather jacket. The bike zooms forward, and you disappear down the road, holding on as tight as you can.

—————

steve rogers tags: @ancientbeing10 @woomen23 @itwasthereaminuteago @williamjzanders @enchantingqueenkitten @a-zterisk @i-simp-much @loonymagizoologist @pariahsparadise @greeneyedblondie44 @dead-pool-simp @ruhro7 @thevoiceinyourheadx @alyona-romanova

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[lonely-teddy-bear]

Could you do an Alpha Harry unintentionally scaring human y/n and now she is scared to go around the pack and nervous with Harry’s wolf? Maybe Harry tried to show her his wolf isn’t always mean an scary? Some fluff?….maybe some smut 😅

A/n: scaring human!y/n is my fave lol hope you enjoy it! NO SMUT IM SORRY. I wanted to keep it nice and sweet :)

warnings: a/b/o dynamic, anxiety/panic attack

——————————————————

You were on your daily walk, most specifically a walk towards the nearest pack, the one where your dearest friend lived. It wasn’t the first time you had visited the pack and it sure won’t be the last. There wasn’t many humans that were welcomed to packs, it was all with invite only and Harry was the one to invite you.

Harry and y/n had met in a park. They were both young but Harry sensed something about her, he wanted to meet her, know her and so he walked up to her and introduced himself. Y/n knew about werewolves, was not a secret in the world but werewolves only could shift on their own land. It was all to protect the human kind which the wolves thought was bullshit but they didn’t fight against them, didn’t want to cause any problems. Harry and his pack didn’t have much of a problem and yeah there was those that wanted to break the rules but because Harry is an alpha he has set a strict rule on it, so anyone who breaks the rule they would get punished. The woods was the furthest place werewolves could shift but most of the time humans would know before hand in case anyone wanted to take a walk on the trails. It was all strict rules around shifting but it worked for the most part. Since Y/n is one of the few humans that gets to go around the pack without the need to announce herself, walking into the pack was no struggle. Everyone greeted her like always, smiling at her and even some would bow down, still making you confuse as to why they did that.

You were heading towards Harry’s house, not really paying much attention around your surroundings since you have always felt safe. No one has ever bothered to mess with you or tried to scare you in any way. So when two giant wolves appeared out of no where, fighting each other and growling at one another, you screamed. The fear of seeing wolves fighting was one of your fears but seeing one of them looking at you as if you were their next meal was at the top of the list. The only thing that you could think about was to run and to the nearest place, Harry’s house. You didn’t bother to look back, all you did was run all while feeling someone following you.

Arms wrapping around you caused you to almost pass out of fear, screaming so loud and you couldn’t help but to cry.

“Shh, its okay its me. Y/n its me, Harry.”

Harry held you tightly to his chest, his arms holding both of yours pinned to your body while trying to calm you down with hush sounds and light kisses to the top of your head. You tried to stop crying, the small hiccups appearing while you tried to talk and breath at the same time.

“Don’t talk, love. Just relax and take a seat.” You did as told, Harry mostly taking you to the couch on his living room and placing you on your favorite side of the big couch which had a fluffy blanket— which he covered you with. Looking at Harry who was seating on the coffee table in front of you, he looked at you concerned, regret in his eyes. Sniffing and rubbing the blanket over your nose and eyes you took one last big breath and sat up, feeling slightly better. “There was wolves fighting,” you said, your throat feeling dry from the screaming and crying. Harry gave you a sad smile and without a word he got up and walked towards the kitchen.

You were going to ask him what he was doing but saw him walking back with a cup of water. “Here, its cold, I know you don’t like cold water but it’ll help with your nerves and sore throat.” You didn’t quickly drink it because like he said, you didn’t like cold water but drank it after a while just to make him stop looking at you a certain way.

“I’m sorry about that.” You looked at Harry, confuse at what he was apologizing about. “The wolves, that was me and a pack member training. I didn’t know you were coming and when my wolf saw you and heard you scream he thought you were in danger. He didn’t mean to go after you like that, I swear. You should have called me before you came over.”

That’s the thing, you had never called before hand. So after a couple of days later, after purposely ignoring Harry for scaring you, you texted him about going over to his pack, just like he had said. You didn’t want to run into his or someone else’s wolf, let alone get chased by one.

Go to my backyard when you arrive, I’ll see you there. xx

The text caused you to question his intentions, didn’t know what he was up to but obeyed his request. The walk over was no problem but the walk into the pack was scary. You could feel the anxiety and the fear creeping in, looking around the pack waiting for a wolf to jump out and attack you but got to Harry’s place in one piece and full of sweat, hands still shaking.

Walking inside his place you let out your breath, finally relaxing. After many years you had never thought you’d feel unsafe in the pack, in your best friend’s pack but here you are, hyperventilating and regretting leaving your house.

Heading over to the kitchen, slowly walking in order to try to get your heart to relax. Your hands were clammy and you felt tense but knew nothing will happen because Harry knew you were coming over and just like he said, he was outside waiting for you. He was standing in the middle of the yard but he was only in a pair of shorts which confused you for a minute. Opening the door to the back yard, his head snapped up at the sound of the sliding door, a smile appearing on his face which quickly dropped after seeing you tense.

“You okay hun?” Closing the door behind you, you nodded, trying to act as if you were cool with everything.

“I haven’t heard from you, thought you had ran up to the hills this time.” That caused you to chuckle because it was something that you had always joked about, running up the hills if you ever got chased by a wolf. You smiled at Harry and walked closer to him, making him see that you were okay but the little sweat on your nose told another story. “I considered it a few times but I’m here aren’t I?” Harry’s chuckle gave you goosebumps just as anything else he did when you were near, let alone when he was standing in front of you in just shorts, at this point you were probably on the verge of passing out.

“You are, but next time send me a text to let me know you are okay and safe at home. Almost had me go raid your place.” He walked the rest of the way to you, placing his hand on your cheek, causing you to close your eyes and relaxing on his hand. With a whisper he spoke, “but I am glad you are here and not 600 miles away on a beach.” Even in serious situations he tried to make you smile with some silly joke. Opening your eyes you saw Harry looking at you, he was admiring you but you didn’t know why and you didn’t really question him on why he was looking at you the way he was.

“So I actually wanted to show you my wolf.” At the mention of his wolf you pulled away from his hold and shaking your head quickly you started walking backwards towards the sliding doors.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You could already feel the sweat dripping down your neck and your forehead. Your hands were getting clammy and you just felt trapped while you were outdoors, how could that be fucking possible, you thought.

Harry walked up to you quickly, grabbing both your arms in a way to get you to calm down. “Listen, I want you to see it, get to know it. He is not mean, in fact he will be so gentle with you I promise you that.” Its not that you didn't trust him it was that you were officially scared of wolves and it didn't help that you were in their territory, maybe you should have listened to all the warnings that your family gave you when you were younger. Like always you were stubborn and wanted to be friends with everyone, that was one of the things that Harry liked about you, you gave everyone chances.

Your stomach tightened when you saw the facial expression he had. He looked betrayed and he didn't only look like that but he felt hurt because he knew you were scared to get hurt. All he has ever wanted was to care for you and protect you but instead here you are both in a situation that might change things.

That was the last thing that Harry wanted to happen. In fact the only thing that will change between them is their relationship status because he was fucking tired of being just her friend and that is the last thing he needed; lose his mate and best friend.

Fuck it.

Harry's thoughts left his head and figured that showing her his wolf could wait, but he couldn't wait on marking her. Just the way she was standing in front of him, looking scared and vulnerable, it just made him feel some type of way. He needed her now, no more best friend bullshit and she will have to deal with his werewolf side.

Harry moved his hands toward her waist and pulled her to his chest, his breath getting shorter the more he looked at her.

Meanwhile Y/n was feeling nervous, confuse, lost. You didn't know what to do or feel, one minute you were scared and feared that you would be attacked by a wolf and the next moment you are looking into your best friends eyes. The same green eyes that seem to change from green to black. Its as if they were playing a game on who would be decoration his eyes. You had know about the eye color changing, Harry having explained to you right after it had happened for the first time when he had shifted for the first time. Yet, seeing them change this close to you made you look at them with awe, they looked unreal and you just wanted to look at the different colors of them.

“Y/n.” Harry whispered, leaning closer to you but you didn’t really notice because the dark green, almost black eyes had you hostage. The swirls that were going through them were fascinating and enchanting.

“Baby.”

That caught your attention. Harry never called you baby, in fact he would only say love or hun but in a friend way, but baby? Didn’t help that the way he said it was in a way that he sounded desperate. He wanted your attention and even though he already had it, it wasn’t really to his words.

“You never call me that. Why are you calling me that, Harry?”

The close proximity was now obvious to you and your hands were in between both of your bodies, not being able to move away from him.

“I’m calling you that because I have always wanted to call you that. I’ve also wanted to call ya mine but I didn’t want to freak you out.” Mine… those words were something that mates said to their mat-

You quickly shook your head, not wanting to believe what you were thinking, because if you were right, if you were his mate, than that meant you would be loosing your best friend. “You can’t be. Please tell me we aren’t what I think we are.”

Harry’s hold tighten around you, his features darkening. It should have scared you but his eyes were back to green, which comforted you in a way.

“You are my mate, Y/n. You are mine and I want you know that I will never let another wolf, or me, to hurt you. Accept me as yours, as I accept you as mine, Y/n.”

Having come over to just visit him and get over your fears, you didn’t think this was going to be part of the night. Slowly, you raised your hand up to his cheek, caressing it and moving your thumb over his cheekbone causing his eyes to close and lean closer to your hand. He had always done it, lean at your touch, whether it was when you were running your fingers through his hair or hold his arm when walking, he always leaned towards you and you never questioned it.

Looking at his relaxed features, you asked, “why do you always lean towards me?” His glowing green eyes appeared when he opened them, he looked calmed like always. “Because its you who brings comfort and peace to us. You’re like a magnet and we can’t help but to react to that pull. You are what completes us, love.”

[boliv-jenta]

Joel Miller x f!reader

Based on the prompt by @misspearly1 and @munsonownsmyass

What is Joel Trading for Your Coffee beans?

Warnings: smut. P iv V sex. Trading sex for goods.

I Missed This

Being a woman wasn't all it was cracked up to be before the end of the world. The downfall on society hadn't hit the patriarchy that hard. You still had the same problems. Men thought the knew better. They thought you were weaker. Or a possession to be coverted or taken. A few men had learned that the only thing they were taking from you was the sharp end of your blade.

When you first heard of Jackson, you were amazed to hear that a woman was in control. You were less amazed to hear that the town was thriving under her leadership. When the Cordyceps virus had first started it was the female lead counties that fared the best. They didn't spent time arguing with the science or about profits, they did what needed to be done. 

Meeting with Maria had given you the confidence to move to a small homestead on the outskirts of Jackson. Maria promised you would be left alone, in exchange for your expertise and connections. It was a deal that worked well until Maria started sending her brother-in-law to trade with you. The first day he arrived at your fence, ringing the bell to let you know he was a friendly so you did blow his head off, you looked out of your window to assess the threat. You didn't expect the threat not to come in the form of any malice from him but from your own traitorous body. He stood in the morning sun, warm brown eyes shining. His well built arms folded over his broad chest. A tight waist and thighs caught your eye as well as the full lips of his chiselled profile as he turned to look around as he waited. It had been a very long time since you'd wanted a man so much just from looking at him. Maybe if you spoke to him it might slow the flow of the pool forming between your legs. 

The drawl of "Mornin' ma'am." only added to the depths in your panties. You managed to get through the interaction without making a complete fool out of yourself. Joel was barely off your land before you ran up to your room, peeled off your underwear to ride your pillow while thinking of Joel's muscle thighs flexing below you.

The next time he came by you had the good sense to cum first. The exchange of goods was accompanied by the exchange of more pleasantries this time. Joel was polite and more softer spoken than his gruff appearance may indicate. 

As the visits racked up, you became more comfortable with Joel. You even allow led him into the house to carry things in, once he's had insisted. 

"You know I am capable of carrying these in?" You'd told him.

"I know you are but two people will get it done quicker." His tone was earnest, he didn't doubt your capabilities, he just wanted to help. A torrent invaded your underwear this time.

Then came the terms of endearment. Sugar and honey, sounding as sweet as they were in that accent.

"Sorry, Darlin'. I need a minute. It's hot out today." He leaned against your porch as he dropped a bag of soil by his feet.

"Would you like a drink?" You turned back into the house leaving the door open for him to follow. "Water? Or I have some iced tea left. My own recipe. It's too hot for coffee." You muttered the last part.

Joel still caught it. "Coffee? You have coffee?" 

"Just a little. Enough for one cup maybe. Do you want one?"

The 'Yes' that left him was almost a moan. Your thighs involuntarily clenched as you turned to fill the kettle. 

The coffee mug looked tiny in Joel's hands. You wondered what those large hands could do as Joel happily drank his coffee. You daydreamed about giving him something else to drink down as he drained his cup. "God. I missed coffee."

"I never drank it. I could maybe get you some more on my next trade." It was a stupid thing to offer. The only person that you could guarantee that would have coffee was Darryl. Darryl was an asshole but he was a discreet one. At least if he upper his price, no one would find out what you traded for it. That night you send a message to Darryl by the morning you had your answer. His price for a bag was too high so you settled for enough for a couple of cups. The supply chain was in place. It would take about a week but Joel would have his coffee. 

"How did you…?" Joel marvelled at the same amount of coffee in his hands. 

"I have my ways."

"I bet you do." 

That almost sounded flirty. He must be really grateful for the coffee. 

"What else can you get?"

"That's a conversation for another time I think."

The possibility of Joel flirting was too much to risk with the truth. Joel drank both his cups of coffee that day sitting at your table, talking more openly than he ever had. The tone turn distinctly flirty before made to leave. Once he was up on his horse he asked. "What do I owe you for the coffee?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something." You smiled up at him. 

"Let me know when you do."

You didn't even make it up the stairs before your hand was bringing you relief. It was embarrassing that the man got you so worked up. On the bring side you could definitely Joel some more coffee now.

The next time Joel came over for his caffeine fix, he wouldn't take it until you agreed to let him give you something in return. What you really wanted caught in your throat. Maybe you could ask for something to help get it out. "How about you bring me some beer?" 

"Beer? We make that. You could just got to the bar and get some."

"Maybe I don't want to got to the bar and maybe I want to just drink it with you."

Before Joel could comment, his radio went off. Tommy needed help rounding up some loose horses.

Joel placed the coffee on your table. "I'll be back for this."

The next night he was, with beer for you and whiskey for him. Both of them went down very well. The two of you had moved to your sofa, lazily reclining with your head pressed back into the cushions.

"Now are ever going to tell me how you get coffee?" Joel's head moved closer to yours.

"I could but you might start looking at me differently."

"I doubt that."

"Really? What if it's something really shady?"

"I've survived in this world for twenty years. I doubt anything can shock me."

"I trade him pictures of my feet."

"You…?" The drunkenness softening his eyes disappeared for a second as they widened. "Pictures of your feet?!"

"Among other things. You said your friend Bill was a prepper?"

"He preferred survivalist."

"Well, imagine a whole community of Bills."

"Jesus."

"With a very well paid benefactor. Darryl was a genius with computers. He made millions. A lot of it was working for porn companies. That's where he got his particular tastes."

"So he likes your feet. Doesn't it bother you that he might be using them when he…?" Joel wrinkled his nose. It was so cute, it took all you remaining strength not to kiss the bridge of his perfect nose.

"No. I mean any man could decide to think about me when he…." You missed the way Joel swallowed hard. "This way I get something out of it."

"Isn't he talking advantage of you?"

"He give me stuff I want to get a glimpse of my feet. I'm not the one that's being taken advantage of."

"Fair enough. Wait, you said among other things?"

"There's a scale. Feet get me basic stuff or a small amount of good stuff. Other pictures get me better stuff depending on what they are. Panties gets me pretty much whatever I asked for and in a rush."

"Panties? You mean you give him yours?!"

"And he trades them on." 

"Did you give him your underwear for my coffee?!" 

"It was a good deal I had a ruined pair anyway. And it wasn't just for your coffee. I got some chocolate too. I saved some for Ellie."

"Thank you?"

"It's okay if you don't want her to have it. Knowing how I got it and all."

"I'm sorry. It's fine, thank you. I'm just a little bewildered by it all. I definitely feel like I need to give you more than beer and whiskey now."

The liquid courage and Joel's accepting attitude spurred you on. "Maybe there is something else you can trade."

"What's that?" 

"Well, some of the pictures Darryl wants are a little hard for me to take myself. Maybe you could take them for me?"

"P-pictures of what?"

"Me, naked."

"Sugar, I don't think that would be a good idea."

"It's just a simple trade Joel." You stood walking towards the stairs. Joel seemed to argue with himself for a moment before following. 

"Here you hold this while I…" you set the Polaroid camera in Joel's grasp. Standing in front of him you removed your shirt and bra. "Just take a picture of me from the neck down."

"Okay." Joel did as he was told, his sped up breathing made the camera shake a little but the photos came out well. 

"One more." You told him as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your leggings. Pulling them right down your legs you sat back on your bed letting your legs fall open. "I take it you know what you are taking a picture of here?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am." He groaned. 

"You know. The scale also includes if I had a partner."

"What do you mean?"

"If I had a partner and we took pictures of him inside of me, it would be worth a whole lot of coffee."

"And chocolate."

"And chocolate."

"I guess that would be pretty selfish of me not to oblige you."

The camera was thrown on the bed as he climbed up it. Covering you completely with his body as he kissed you. The camera flash would reflect off of your pussy with how wet you were just from his kiss. 

"Are you sure about this, Honey? I don't just give a fuck about trading or coffee. I just want you. It's been a long time, and you drive me crazy." His tone was as earnest as always.

"You can have me Joel."

With that permission, he stripped off his clothes before climbing back on top of you. Finally, he slid deep inside you. "God. I've missed this."

Even with your soaked cunt being so accommodating Joel was still a stretch. He filled you completely. The heavy drag of his cock every time he pulled out was a muted pleasure compared when he slammed it back with so much force your tits bounced against his chest. It stole the air for your moans, all you could give him was a choked gasp every time. Cumming around him you gave a high pitched whine as you body desperately tried to pull his release from him. Thankfully, Joel resisted long enough to come over your pusy instead. His load glistened on your red hot mount. When he was able to think straight he grabbed the camera to take a picture of his handiwork. "What do you think this will get us?"

"I think I'll keep that one for myself. A reminder that I made a pretty damn good trade. A cup of coffee for a night with the hottest bachelor in Jackson."

"You actually gave me several cups of coffee so I guess I owe you a few more nights."

"On second thoughts I will send that picture to Darryl. I don't want to run out of coffee any time soon."

Tags @kirsteng42 @babydarkstar @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @graciexmarvel @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass

[crypticenbug]

Stuff from my time as a barista

I used to work for a local chain coffee shop, and here's some of the best stories I can remember

I had someone come through the drive through and order a cold brew with steamed milk. This prompted my coworker to scream into the headset as the person was driving away "WHAT KIND OF FUCKING PSYCHOPATH ORDERS A COLD BREW WITH STEAMED MILK". I had to look this person in the face as I handed them their lukewarm drink in a plastic cup. As soon as they left, I heard "Enjoy your microplastics!!" Over the headset

So usually, a caramel latte is 1.5 pumps caramel to a double shot espresso. To me, that is a mere suggestion, so when I had someone order a caramel latte with "extra extra caramel", I just grabbed the espresso pitcher and started going. I ended up getting distracted while filling the pitcher with caramel and ended up filling the espresso pitcher with what I think was like 6 pumps of caramel, which is half a pitcher. I was in too deep, so I made the latte. This customer was an old old white guy, and he didn't come back to complain about it being too much, so I take that as a win.

On top of recipes being a suggestion, I would kinda just add whatever amount of syrup I felt like, the only acception being drinks that will be literally awful with too much syrup (mostly our fizzy drinks or lemonades). I have had so many people come back up to me and say that it was the best drink they've ever had and I just go "Thanks! I have no recollection of how much syrup I put in that, so I will not be able to recreate it perfectly." They still enjoy whatever I give them. No two drinks I make are the same and it shows. My fiance will probably rb this talking about the drink I used to make them.

I once had a woman come in, completely covered in dirt and grass stains, handed me a 20, and said "I kinda want one of those fruity fizzy drinks, but I don't know what I want, surprise me." And then she went to the bathroom. I panicked cause I had no clue what to make, so I did blackberry with an extra shot of lime (we already add lime to most of our fizzy drinks to cut the sweetness of most of the syrups, I wanted to do something more tart so I added an extra shot). I present her with her drink and her change after ringing her up. She then says that this drink was the exact thing she wanted, then proceeded to ask me my name, then tell me her full name, and then talk about how she had just come back from visiting a famous person's grave. She then asked to shake my hand, saying she visited the grave of greatness and is now shaking the hand of greatness. She then proceeded to put most of her change (her change was like $14.60-something) in our tip jar and then hand me the remaining $10 bill. I almost started crying on the spot, she made my evening and I hope she's doing great.

The very last person in the cafe before close witnessed me put on a wonderful performance of 'Super Trooper' by ABBA while I used my broom as a microphone.

I loved whenever my coworkers started getting used to my dad showing up and them ringing him up for the drink I was making for him and every time without fail my coworkers would try and give him his drink for free and EVERY TIME he would argue with them because he "Can't leave a tip if he doesn't pay for the drink" cause he never carries cash. This would always end up with me yelling at my socially anxious coworkers to "LET HIM TIP YOU GOD DAMMIT JUST GIVE HIM MY DISCOUNT"

I once had a coworker make me and a shift lead try espresso mixed with lemonade. She then proceeded to excitedly tell us "It tastes like pee, right?!". I took a single sip, made a face, and then just dumped the rest in the sink. My shift lead doubled down and drank the whole thing. It did taste like pee but I didn't want to know why my coworker knew that (The drink was warm, too.. eugh...)

[moonpiepig]

Part One - When the stars weep for you

I recently watched the third Harry Potter in preparation for spooky season, and I'd forgotten how much I love this movie and Remus Lupin <3 So I thought I'd write a cheeky wee fanfic split into two or three parts with Remus and an OC. Sorry Tonks fans, I do love her and Remus individually, but I never really fell for their relationship.

__________________

Harry followed Professor Lupin into his office after being caught wandering the school corridors alone while everyone was out visiting Hogsmeade. He tried to ignore the persistent thoughts of Ron and Hermione having fun at Zonko’s Joke Shop or eating their weight worth of treats at Honeydukes without him with limited success and accepted the weight of disappointment drawing him down. 

In the corner stood a very large tank of water. A sickly, green creature with sharp little horns, had its face pressed against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers. A bookshelf groaning with the weight of tattered tomes stood guard to the left of a large oak desk painted with coffee stains. Piles of scrolls containing essays ready to be marked were scattered on top of the desk and as Harry scanned the names for his, he couldn’t help but notice a small, silver-framed picture of a young woman peeking out of the paper hills. The woman smiled out at him, clutching two potted plants in her arms. He recognised one of them and shuddered at the memory of the screaming mandrake he repotted during his first year at Hogwarts. 

Lupin poured sweet-scented, steaming tea for them both into chipped mugs while gently teasing Harry about his death omen the Divination teacher had found within the tea leaves of Harry’s cup, causing his classmates to tiptoe around him since then and talk in hushed tones as if they were attending his funeral. They sipped their tea and Harry seized the opportunity to ask Lupin about the Boggart incident during their first lesson. He was relieved to find that the professor didn’t think him weak but instead had been concerned about Voldemort appearing in front of the class, terrifying all the students. 

Lupin took a long drink and placed the mug down gently. Harry noticed his eyes flicker to the picture before focusing back on him. He didn’t wear a wedding ring and Harry had never seen him leave the castle grounds. “Professor, who is that woman?” He asked and immediately regretted opening his mouth as Lupin’s brows furrowed and his pallor grew pale, leaving him looking more sickly than usual.

“Oh,” he said and cleared his throat. “She was… is… someone dear to me.” He waved his hand, dismissing the topic and was saved by a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called. 

The door opened and Snape entered, carrying a goblet which was smoking faintly. He sneered at Harry when he spotted him and pointedly jerked his head towards the door. Harry drained his mug and excused himself, eyeing the goblet suspiciously. 

After both Snape and Harry had left, Lupin drank a mouthful of the foul potion and grimaced as he made his way over to the large, arched window overlooking the viaduct. He smiled sadly as he saw his younger self, the same age as Harry now, standing on that bridge, waiting in the cold for the woman in the picture. His fingers traced a chain hidden deep inside his collar, threaded through a simple gold band he could still feel the ghost of on his left ring finger. 

December 1973

Remus crawled up the steep, snowy slope leading to the base of the Whomping Willow feeling his muscles screaming with each nauseating movement and his teeth chattering from the cold, winter breeze. Last night there had been a full moon and, as usual, that meant he’d had to hide in the Shrieking Shack, far away from everyone. He had awoken alone despite Sirius’ promises to arrive in the early hours to help him sneak back into the castle and, after waiting one very long hour, the loud growling in his stomach made his decision to leave the dilapidated building by himself. Dizzy with exhaustion, he clambered out of the hole, lifting one heavy limb at a time, completely forgetting the vicious tree and its nasty habit of trying to squash people with its thick, club-like branches. With that threat now in mind, Remus hastily fumbled for his wand in his pocket to immobilise the tree and froze, realising a strange stillness in the air around him. He couldn’t hear the usual creaking of wood as the tree sensed his presence, in fact, the branches were suspended in the air, moving slowly as if they were wading through treacle, droplets of snow dripping onto the frosted ground. A figure dressed in Hufflepuff robes was standing a foot away from him, studying the wafting branches, wand in hand. She noticed Remus and yelped, jumping back, slipping on ice and hitting the ground hard. 

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, rushing over to the groaning girl and holding out a gloved hand. She took it and her eyes widened as she observed his gaunt face and dark circles under his tired eyes. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. “Do you need to go to the hospital wing?”

Remus shook his head, the thought of bringing attention to his condition made him feel queasy. “No, no, I’m fine.” She frowned, looking very unconvinced. “Honestly, I just didn’t sleep well. Nothing breakfast and a nap can’t fix.” He tried a smile and was relieved when she returned it. 

“I’m Aster Evans,” she announced, after a long pause. “I think we have Potions class together.”

“Remus Lupin. And yes, you shared your book with my friend Sirius last week when he forgot his. Saved us all from yet another Slughorn speech about organisation.” Remus found his grin was becoming more natural and his tension eased away slowly. She didn’t seem suspicious or acted as if she knew his secret at all. He was just about to suggest they go back to the castle together when a loud crack sent a flock of birds fleeing into the sky and the girl lunged towards him, grabbing his waist and throwing him to the ground just as a gnarled branch smashed into the snow where he’d been standing. They scrambled to their feet and rushed to a safe distance. They caught each other’s eye, him pale as a corpse with robes now soaking wet and freezing, her with ice dusting her hair that the tree had shaken off in its attack and a jagged tear down her tights, and burst into laughter. 

“That was a close one!” Remus chuckled once they’d started to calm down.

“It’s amazing it’s here unguarded,” Aster said, pointing towards the base of the tree. “There’s a knot that calms it when touched, but getting there isn’t easy.”

“How did you figure that out?” asked Remus, forcing his voice steady. Had she found the secret passage?

“Well… It’s been here for two years and we still haven’t covered it in classes and I can’t find it in my Herbology books. I just wanted to see it up close,” she replied, glancing at him strangely. “Weren’t you here for the same reason?”

Remus opened his mouth, excuses reeling through his mind. He couldn’t act enthusiastic about the Willow now, nor could he pretend he was just casually passing by so close to the dangerous tree.

“Remus!” 

Relief cascaded through his body when he heard a familiar voice calling out nearby. Sirius Black waved his hands in greeting, his thick, black hair windswept from racing down the hill. The exertion and cold had left his cheeks flushed, highlighting his already handsome features. “I had wondered where you’d run off to,” he said to Remus, acting as if they had separated for only a moment this morning and casting a brief questioning look towards the Hufflepuff smiling politely beside him. 

Remus introduced them and they made small talk as the sun slowly crept fully over the horizon, warming them, and the bustle of waking students grew louder over the peaceful grounds. They wandered up the path and into the Great Hall where the long tables were dressed for breakfast and overloaded with seasoned sausages, eggs made in a variety of different ways, jars of cereal in between large pitchers of fresh milk and any other breakfast foods imaginable. Remus clutched his stomach as it rumbled loudly and was surprised to find himself rather embarrassed about it. Sirius slapped him on the back, said his farewell, and hurried over to join James, who was helping himself to a tall stack of buttered toast while Peter begged him to help with his Charms homework. 

“It was nice to meet you properly, Remus,” said Aster. “I’ll see you tomorrow in Potions class.”

“See you tomorrow,” Remus replied and watched as she went to sit with her friends at the golden-decorated table.

[quackquackcey]

Ch. 20: Hedgehogs, Honey, & Hazelnut-Covered Strawberries

Written for @hdcandyheartsfest day 20 prompt: coffee date. 623 words. Many thanks to my beta @wqtson​! 💛

Start from beginning on AO3 here, or click the #fic: HHHS tag.

Summary:

A chance meeting—or is it a setup?—leads to the start of a relationship filled with buttery baked goods, sweet smelling flowers, and hedgehogs.~ 🌹🦔

They’d agreed to keep their relationship secret.

They’d agreed to keep their relationship intimate and private, out of sight of the papers and the articles and gossip rags.

But….

Well, in Draco’s opinion, Harry was barely trying at all—“I have a glamour on, so it doesn’t matter all that much” was his excuse.

(It turned out Luna had not been screwing with him that one time about Harry’s glamour being set so that only people he trusts to some extent can see through it.)

However, that didn’t mean Harry could just walk into Draco’s patisserie-bakery shop and hug him without everyone noticing.

“I brought a little lunch for us from your favourite café,” murmured Harry with a smile in Draco’s ear. “Join me when you’re on break?”

And then he sat down at a small table with a cup of coffee, a honey cake petit four, and a treacle tart.

To be fair, Draco couldn’t pin all the blame on Harry. He also forgot where they were, especially when the topic of Harry’s Amortentia cropped up over their lunch of jambon-beurre sandwiches and coffee, though Draco brewed himself a nice cup of darjeeling tea that he promptly choked on.

“Pardon?” he spluttered. “You drank the Amortentia on purpose?!”

Harry waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not, I’m not that daft. I didn’t know it was Amortentia. I just thought I’d found myself the perfect cup of coffee.”

“…That smelled like honey cake and chocolate and strawberries and golden butter,” echoed Draco.

Harry nodded as if that admittance wasn’t the same as saying that he’d been in love with Draco before he’d taken the Amortentia.

That everything he’d said while under the effects of the Amortentia…had been true.

“What’s the matter?” he asked Draco, completely clueless, then narrowed his eyes. “Wait, did I do something weird after all when I took it?”

Draco couldn’t hide the heat rising to his cheeks as the realisation that it’d all been true set in. “Well….”

“You said nothing happened!” Harry looked a bit mortified. “You said I just asked for food!”

Draco bit his lip. “…Why do you think, erm, the love potion smelled like that to you?” he asked instead—the way Harry was acting made him think that perhaps Harry was clueless as to what it meant.

But Harry, as usual, never behaved like Draco expected.

“What do you mean?” Harry had the gall to look at him like he was a bloody idiot. “It smelled like you, of course. I’ve fancied you since you visited my shop.”

Draco’s heart stopped from utter shock. “What?” he barely managed to breathe out. “But that was….”

That was the first time they’d even seen each other since the trial.

“I thought you were cute,” said Harry a bit defensively. “You know, you were kind of flustered and I wasn’t expecting you to smile like that when I made that bouquet, so it’s not like I could help it. You caught me off g—”

Draco cut him off with a kiss, his chair scraping back as he leaned over their small table. A few strands of his hair probably dipped into his tea, and he couldn’t care less.

Harry kissed him back just as ardently.

The next day, the headlines read “Shocking: Coffee Date between Saviour of the Wizarding World and ex-Death Eater?” with a photo of the two of them locking lips at their table in front of everyone in Draco’s shop—Draco didn’t think he’d ever been so embarrassed to open his shop and have both his friends and regular patrons alike give him wolf whistles and congratulations.

Harry, on the other hand, saved the clipping and put it on the checkout counter at his flower shop.

[el-im]

GOOD COUNTRY PEOPLE for Ed, Stewart, Charles, and the women they left behind. 

We had been living in a town only reachable by service roads, unnamed, dirt-packed, unpaved.  I hadn’t believed until seeing them that such things had survived the tumultuous transition between last century & this one,  our own.  The step away. 

You died unremarkably, quietly.  Having told me, and your daughter -- sitting still on my lap as though she could sense the need for peace -- that you loved us. That we two women were the wonders of your life  And boy were you grateful that we let you ‘stick around’ for the short time you had to be here.  You kissed my hand,  which had not let yours go for days. You kissed your daughter,  small and quiet as the field mice  that your brother used to catch in the wheat. 

We sat with you for a moment, feeling the sense of you exit the room through the hole in the ceiling fit with the flute of the wood burning stove.  Letting the last remnant of heat from your cooling body pass into my hand.  I heaved out a breath I’d been holding like a bellow and caught the sight of my daughter’s hair flutter with my breath.  I understood, looking into the room with her head  bordering on my field of view,  that I could not follow you.  That I had things to attend to here “mind the store” you always said. 

The next few days passed quietly.  Albert drove down rather than take a plane, saying he could pick up your mother on the way.  You know she hasn’t been driving, and it’s a long trip, but she wanted to come & it would not have been right without her.  I remember the sight of their headlights flooding in through the kitchen window.  My body leaning over the sink like a sentinel guarding our dishes. A basin full of soapy water,  which has sat so long it went cold. In it, the last cup you ever drank from. The last spoon you ever held. 

I had told your brother, over the phone, to come in when he arrived. They entered through the kitchen. The door swung out against the cabinets and only the screen was latched in place unlocked, as always.  By the time your mother had come to me, cradling my face in her hands, mine were pruned by the water.  I hadn’t thought to remove them from the sink,  though I hadn’t washed a thing.  She cooed some words to me that just passed through, handed me a towel to dry my hands on, and went to work draining the water and filling the sink again with hot, a gentle hand on my arm urging me toward the table where your brother with your same eyes was waiting for me while she washed our cups, our plates, placing them gingerly on the drying rack. 

In another day, Albert had gone out to visit the neighbors, knocking on the front doors of either side of us and trusting they’d let everyone else know.  For a moment, sitting at home, I wondered if they lost themselves a little at the sight of him. Someone at the door -- oh, surely not. Not up and walking again so soon?  Surely not. Only your eyes in his head, though they were enough to shock you for just a moment.  You could almost swear -- but surely not. 

by Thursday, our fridge was stacked with tupperware.  Casseroles, chowders, vegetable trays.  Soups, fruit salad, a pitcher of sweet iced tea.  The whole town dropped by to see us, solemn, in their own procession, beating the cars by a day.  Our daughter -- an anchor in my arms.  Roasted potatoes. Carrots crisped in honey. Good, strong coffee.  The containers arrived with Christian names printed neatly on their sides --  “to keep them straight,” Jeanette had said, making space for the baked apples in the crisper. “I told everybody else to follow suit.” She turned to look at me. “Oh, honey...  I know your head just spins.” And spins.  Polenta. Gravy. Cheese platter.  Vegetable lasagna.  “Good country people,” you’d said to me when we arrived,  driving through town and waving out your open window at  the Innkeeper. The grocer. The woman in the park.  “They’ll take care of you.” 

We ate from containers for a week, chewing those dishes -- an outpouring of love for you,  for me, and our girl,  made with such care --  mechanically.  But what bliss, even untasting. What a blessing,  not to be forced to trade my thoughts of you for wondering what to make for dinner. 

Good country people,  who loved you like this land loved you,  fostering and generous,  the foundation upon which you sprung up.  Who loved me as an extension of you -- without hesitation. 

Who grieve alongside me. 

[landothemuppet]

Smth with Tom and actress!reader where they're working on a movie together and everybody ships them and they secretly like each other, but he already has an overcontrolling girlfriend, so in an interview he tries to deny the rumors, but actually overdoes it and ends up offending reader? Your choice on how to end it, if angst to angstest or angst to fluff~

you’re a great actor, you know? || t.h x actress!reader (+18! smut!)

word count: 4.5k

pairing; tom holland x actress!reader

n/a:  omg i am so sorry it took me so long to write. I really didn't think this request was going to be more than 4K words long. I really hope you like it. I know you didn't ask for smut, but I was actually inspired for this one, so I hope you don't have a problem with this. I didn't proofread myself before posting so I apologize in advance if this contains any errors. I remind you that French is not my native langage.

warning(s) : smut (mutual distant masturbation) swear, angst, mention of alcohol.

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Your eyes burned with desire as they scanned your co-star's torso, his suspenders still hanging from his shoulders to prevent his civil war period pants from falling. Who's making the carpentry with the shirt off? Tom's manly hands worked the wood, his biceps contracting with every movement he made, his callused fingers smoothed the surface of the furniture under construction. You swallow hard before biting your lip. His brown curls were falling over his eyes and you suddenly dreamed of running your hands through them or that his curls tickle your inner thighs while his tongue took care of your warm and wet spot, just for him. You remembered that your colleague told you that he had trained as a carpenter, all like part of the male members of his family, as a back-up solution if he didn’t become an actor. He had told you that he was happy that it could be of use to him now, but you didn't think it would be so hot to see him work. Your whole body was a furnace, heat radiating every inch of your skin. You raised your cup of coffee to your lips, trying to suppress a grimace at the coldness of the liquid.

"Cut!" you heard. "Y/N, you winced as you drank from your cup ..."

"Yeah, sorry, sorry. Would it be possible to heat the coffee or give me water instead?" you asked nicely.

One of the director's assistants reached out to grab your cup. Your eyes were lost in the direction of your co-star who was getting up from the top of the cabinet. Tom gave you a warm smile and your heart skipped a beat. It wasn't hard to play out the desire for his character when literally your whole body was reacting to his sight. Sometimes you could feel a connection with the British. The only major problem: Tom had a girlfriend. You weren't that kind of girl to get involved in an already established relationship. You liked your partner, found him attractive, you felt close to him but never revealed those feelings to him, because he was taken. It was not your place; the seat was taken. However, a little hope burned deep within you, the dream that he felt the same, an illusory utopia in which he would leave his current girlfriend for you. Tom's girlfriend was on set, visiting, and you could feel his frozen gaze on you. Your eyes locked with hers and you could see an authoritative, territorial glow. Tom was hers, not yours. Your eyes narrowed in an annoyed expression, your irises almost silently defying the woman standing in front of you. You would never attempt anything of course, but you didn't like to be stared at, you also hated possessiveness. Nothing about your behavior with Tom off the set could suggest any ambiguity. So, it turned out that Tom's girlfriend just didn't like you playing her boyfriend's love interest, on screen. But, hey, that was part of the job, right? This girl was dating Tom, she knew that her career required screen shares with actresses in a romantic plot, isn't it? The assistant director brought you your cup, warning you that this time it was only water. You nodded and your gaze fell on Tom again. His hairdresser was reworking his curls a bit to make them appear a little damper. A little pinch in your stomach reminded you that you wanted so badly to be in this woman's shoes.

"Is everything good on set?"

The director asked to everyone to get back in their place, you settled down correctly on your brand, leaning on the fictitious stoop and the boss then shouted "Action". The scene picked up a few moments from where it had left off earlier.

Your eyes scanned Tom, working with wood, and you drank your "coffee" - which was now water - dreamily. Your co-star glanced at you with a smirk that fell to the ground. He stopped in his movements, placing the hammer on his wood desk to turn fully towards you and approach.

"I will end up believin’ that you’re only callin’ me to look at me ma'am" he said in a somewhat gruff, country accent.

“You might be right, but if I am asked, I will deny everything altogether” You replied nicely. A smile almost as brazen as the Brit in front of you.

Tom grabbed your hip, slamming you against him. You half opened your lips by planting your feverish gaze in his eyes to reveal the desire that consumed between you.

"Ma’am, it’s not respectable from you, you’re an engaged woman"

Out of context, this scene looked like bad porn. The first time you read it you remembered laughing out loud, even more so the first time you repeated it with Tom, who had thought the same thing. It took both of you a lot of hours of preparation not to laugh today, during the shoot. But the film was beautiful, the context was even more beautiful, you were wearing that civil war pioneer costume.

"But I'm not married yet ... and my husband isn't giving me the attention I deserve"

Tom's leg was between your thighs and despite the petticoat and vintage underwear, the pressure was enough to make you really horny, without having to act for the camera. You let out a small moan as your co-star moved closer to you, delivering his cue before you jumped to his lips in a languid kiss. It was in the script but deep down you weren't sure if you were acting or not. Tom lifted you up while leaning against the wooden column on the porch, keeping your legs around him despite your petticoat. Your hands clung to his shoulders while taking care to drop his straps. With a hasty hand he pulled his pants down just below his butt. His lips were on your throat and your hands were running through his curls before you pushed him away.

"Not here. Someone could see us." you said, your voice a little rocky with horniness.

God you wanted this to be real. Your co-star grabbed you by the legs again in a rush, you let out a little cry of surprise before laughing, wrapped like a Koala around Tom who came through the doorway while kissing you again.

"And cut"

Suffice to say that it was not a good day to visit her boyfriend on a film set. Tom's girlfriend looked like a real dragon when you laid your eyes on her, still in Tom's arms, because he loved walking with you and laughing after the scene. His laughter filled the room as he let out another of his stupid jokes:

"Does my character get clamydia? Because by wearing this koala, I have doubts about my sexual health"

You burst out laughing before hopping on your own two feet, firmly on the ground, not without a little slip. The petticoat is really not suitable for the stunts. You dusted off your costume and your head turned to Tom's girlfriend again. You could almost believe smoke was coming out of her nostrils and if her eyes were daggers you would be dead by now. The film crew however found their joke very funny since a few seconds later, the entire set and its employees were laughing at Tom's nonsense, just like you had done a few seconds earlier. You slapped your fist on Tom's shoulder with an amused smile before tilting your head towards his molten girlfriend.

"You should join your girlfriend, Holland, instead of clowning."

Tom rolled his eyes before kissing your cheek and heading towards the thundering dragon, not forgetting to wink at you. Was he actually flirting with you in the presence of his girlfriend? You shook your head as you chased the idea, happy that the first part of that day of filming was over.

Everyone was going to sleep, well that's what he thought.

Comfortably seated on the sofa, t-shirt and boxers as the only casual outfit, sunk under a thin blanket, Tom was reading the script for tomorrow's scene. A scene he already knew and which had already warmed his cheeks at the first reading. But tomorrow he had to be ready. His eyes went through lines of text, little dialogue, a lot of action. And the more he read, the tighter his boxers got, he tried to stretch the fabric to make himself more comfortable but nothing helped. Tom had a fucking erection right in the middle of the living room reading his script. He heaved a sigh of desolation. He should have gone up to his room and made love to his girlfriend, reduced that tension between his legs ... but he didn't want to ... worse yet, he knew if he did, it wouldn't be her that he would think of. It had been a long day and the scene earlier had made him a little exhilarated. After all, the "bad porn" scene he and you were having fun portraying had the desired effect. And then his girlfriend flustered him. She wasn't wrong, the tension between you and him was there and he was attracted to you.

Tom put the script on the coffee table, glancing around him before repositioning himself on the sofa. His right hand to cross under the blanket and he came to feel his penis through his boxers, releasing a small sigh of comfort. His fingers began to weigh down his testicles as his thumb stroked up and down his cock through the fabric of his underwear. He tilted his head back on the armrest of the sofa, enjoying his own medicine, his lips and eyebrows pursed.

You stayed for the night. Despite the storm that was Tom's girlfriend, you had spent the evening in his rental house with several members of the team. Tom's girlfriend went to bed angry and soon enough and you stayed so late that Tom offered to take one of the extra bedrooms. You called it a night before your co-star, but now you were awake, uncomfortable with the room temperature. You needed some freshness and you got up slowly to go down to the kitchen. You only had reached the bottom of the stairs when you heard a noise, or rather, a sigh. Discreetly, you tilted your head and saw a figure lying on the sofa. A rustle of fabric caught your attention again, a soft moan accompanying it, making your body heat up more than it already was, but in a new sensation. Another moan was heard.

Tom was quite oblivious. His hand continued to stroke his hard cock through his boxers but he needed more. That's why he grabbed his dick straight into his underwear, making him sigh with glee once again. Images of this day of filming came back in his mind; how this period corset curved your boobs, so inviting ... How your breath was so erratic, the way he pressed his knee between your legs, wishing you weren't wearing this civil war costume. Tom leaned his head back on the armrest, letting his hand guide him into his own desire.

"So pretty for me, y/n"

You were still in shock at what you heard now, but an unseen force made you sit in front of the stairs as quietly as possible with your legs spread. It was incredibly sexy and the warmth you had felt before was nothing compared to that moment. Your hand slipped under the elastic of your improvised pajamas. It was bad, so bad. Someone could come down at any time and find you there, lying on the stairs, touching you as Tom did the same thing, without seeing you, a few feet away. Your fingers caressed your lace panties, putting pressure on your folds already swollen with desire. Tom's moans and his praise for your fictitious self, brought you into one of the hottest fantasies and you could imagine the British between your legs, your fingers replaced by his. You have inserted a finger in you, not without pressing your free hand against your mouth, pinching your nose to avoid moaning too loudly. But Tom was still unconscious, in his own high, as his hand picked up the pace on his hard red cock, about to unleash his intense pleasure just imagining you beneath him, moaning his name.

"Fuck, Y/N"

Your hips sank under your fingers at the hearing of your name coming out of her mouth again, you had just started your torture that you were already ready to losing ground. Your pace was rushed, strong and passionate but damn, you wanted this man, this man who had a girlfriend and yet moaned your name on the living room couch. You felt your toes twitch, your head thrown back against the staircase wall, your hand still pressed against your mouth to silence you. But the moan of your orgasm has escaped you.

For a moment, in his own orgasm, Tom thought he heard your muffled voice with lust, his cock contracting even more in his hand as his cum covered his hand. He threw his head back on the armrest again, closing his eyes to take a few seconds to recover from his orgasm. The guilt only invaded him a few minutes after the realization: He had just masturbated while thinking of you while his girlfriend was sleeping in a room above him; he was screwed.

You wiped your hand on your pajamas before holding on to the railing to gently get up. Without a word, you went up the stairs ... Never mind for that glass of water you wanted to take ...

The next day, Tom had asked his girlfriend not to appear on the set, out of respect for her ... Well, that was his biggest excuse ... he didn't want her to see how this sex scene disturbed him and how much he loved this idea of ​​him fucking you passionately in period costumes. You never talked about what happened, Tom never knew you were on the stairs the other night, he never knew your little secret ... The scene, well that choreographed, was so intense but so insincere at the same time. Sometimes you could hear when Tom wasn't playing but you also knew when one of his moans was real, even though you weren't actually having sex. Because it was nice to laugh about it but your film was not made in the framework of the porn industry.

Months had passed, the press tour had started last week. You weren't surprised to see Tom's girlfriend join in behind the scenes in a few interviews. She liked so much to analyze all the behaviors of her boyfriend to blame him later, initiating the argument. You could see that Tom wasn't happy but you were just the good friend. His makeup artist would go out of her way to try and hide the dark circles under his eyes and as your hairdresser added the finishing touches to your hairstyle, you smirked at Tom out of the corner of your lips.

"Tough night?"

"If only that was what you were thinking ..."

You wanted to yell at her "why don't you leave her?" but you held back. Your hand simply landed on your co-star's thigh in a reassuring gesture. But it did not escape the journalist's eyes. The man had worked with Tom before, so your co-star wasn't going into new territory. But without knowing why, you felt it really tense ... And you quickly discovered the reason for this tension.

"Y/N you're pretty new to the movie industry and for a big lead role you found yourself shooting some very intimate, nude scenes with your co-star. Tell us, how was that, being so intimate with Tom Holland? "

You let out an embarrassed chuckle, the question was meant to make you uncomfortable, and the fact that the reporter was talking to you like Tom wasn't in the room made you nervous. You sat back in your chair with a tight smile.

"I'm not sure. Whatever my answer would be, I could piss off his fans greatly."

"Oh, come on ... not even a small impression?"

"Let's just say he's not the most obnoxious person to play this kind of scene with or even watch in general."

The journalist's smirk reflected an "I feel you, girl" and a "I'm not done with this bullshit." He tilted his head, his eyes turning to Tom.

“That's a compliment to you Tom. And you, it was your first intimate scene in the movies for you too. And from the footage… it's scorching, you even seemed pretty comfortable with it. How did your girlfriend take it when she saw the first pictures? "

Tom tensed too, he bit the inside of his lips before looking at you and then at the reporter. He leaned down from his seat to take a sip of water and cracked his neck before letting out a laugh that sounded so wrong in your ear. It didn't amuse him, you knew that.

"Come on, man ... What can I say? Like a girlfriend watching her partner be intimate with another. But she knows it's cinema, it's our job."

There was a game between your co-star and the reporter, like a man-to-man, brother-to-brother bond. The advantage of having already worked together but above all, that Tom is so natural in his words. Yet this is what pushed the man further in his questions.

"Your on-screen chemistry is still intense. Those kinds of scenes should bring you closer, though."

"Of course, we get along well off the set y/n and I but yeah, you know ... it's still weird ... It's a bit like sleeping with the nice and shy neighbor that your mom has been trying to settle you with since you were a teenager ... It's nice but it's still weird and platonic. "

Your throat tightened at his words. The performance he had just made hit you in the stomach and you were hurt and angry at the same time. In your head you were screaming and your rage was telling you to retort that it was weird for him to say that when he had jerked off the night before your sex scene, whispering your name. But you knew it was better to say nothing at all, for your career and hers. You put on your best smile, hiding your hurt feelings, you just faked a laugh and looked at the reporter.

"Yeah, I was going to say he was like a brother, but the neighbor's shot is more original."

The interview ended with a few questions about the film to which you answered with the usual speeches already pre-written by the production team. At the end of the interview, you have to thank the reporter, your tongue pushing against your teeth, your smile twitching. Tom turned to you and sighed dramatically.

"Pfff, the hard part is over. Last interview of the day. Would you like to grab a bee..."

"Fuck off, Holland." you cut him off, releasing the tension you felt during the interview before leaving the room, your assistant on your back.

Your uber was already there and you almost jumped in to get back to your hotel. As soon as you got back, you undressed to put on a bathrobe and did what any girl would do in a cliché romantic movie: call room service to have champagne delivered to you. You told your assistant that you wanted to be alone and for once she listened to you, not without wondering if you were okay. She was a lovely woman, about your age, maybe a little younger, very concerned about your sanity and your interests. You assured her that you just wanted to have an evening of your own. And she left you alone.

The champagne drunkenness was the worst: it was delicious, you didn't feel the alcohol rising and you were quickly intoxicated. You were lying on your bed, your mouth full of chocolate - more cliché than you, you're dying! - the bottle of champagne completely empty. You leaned over the phone and called room service to ask for another bottle when there was a knock on the door. In your drunken state your eyes widened, surprise /

"Wow, that was quick" you said to the receptionist before hanging up.

You stumbled to the door. You were pathetic. Make you sick for a man, who wasn't even single. Speaking of the wolf - well rather the spider, in his case -. Tom stood there; his forehead creased by your appearance. You laughed at your previous thought - that of the spider -. Then you frowned, you didn't want to see him but he was still there.

"Can I come in or is the party private?" he asked in a half-amused, half-frustrated tone.

In a burst of contention, you opened the door and turned your back on him to your bed, which you sat on the end of, not caring whether Tom would come in or not. But he came in and he looked worried.

"Y/N, have you been drinking?"

"No, shit?! Good's on that, Sherlock" you said sarcastically.

Tom closed the door behind him before approaching you but you reached out to stop him. You shook your head negatively. No kindness, no kind Tom's best friend. You were fed up with this game.

"You are a great actor, you know?"

He wanted to speak, confused by your words but you stopped him in his tracks. It was your turn to speak, it was your moment. He had disturbed you in your drunken moment so he was going to listen. Why was he even there, after all?

"That sometimes you wonder what the line is between fact and fiction."

Your co-star wasn't sure where to look, he didn't understand why you were in this state and he really did care. Besides, you had been so cold after his interview, he had to understand. Did all of this have a connection?

You laughed alone, absorbed in your thoughts. You grabbed the champagne glass that barely had a left champagne in it - which is why you ordered another bottle in the first place - and then you kind of toast, pointing at Tom with your glass.

“You're an enigmatic character all on your own, Tom Holland" you said, by marking the intonation on his name. "You give sweet and funny, perfect boyfriend vibes, while giving off a fuck boy vibe that takes you against a wall bluntly. That's what makes you a good actor ... " you paused." "Just like now! A few months ago, you jerked off while blowing my name in your living room during the shooting ... and now ... you say about me that I am the nice little neighbor who 'we fuck for pity. "

You put your hands dramatically against your lips, hissing a little "oops" as Tom's eyes widened in surprise. How could she even know this intimate moment?

"Wh-what? How do you know that?" he asked with a shaking voice

You chuckled, drunk, the deceptively guilty expression. You could be such a bitch when you were drunk.

"It was supposed to be a secret."

You have swept your words with your hand, the champagne flute still between your fingers.

"You are playing with me, Holland. And I don't like it. What you said was hurtful!"

"I am not. Y/N, I am not play-"

"And you know what's funny, Tom? You know?" you cut him off, for the umpteenth time tonight.

"Uh no."

"No, of course not. Well, here's the funny thing: it's not respectable from you, mister. You have a girlfriend." You imitated his line from your movie with your own words and an attempt at a masked British accent in a South American accent wanting to sound like Tom and his character.

Tom really didn't know where to go. It was too much for him. He who had just come to get answers to your behavior now had some, but it was way beyond what he expected. You were drunk declaring your love to him while reproaching him for still being in a relationship, without taking his own feelings into account.

"And you know what's sad ... is that, damn ... I really thought you liked me."

"You're drunk, Y/N. We're not having this discussion."

You suddenly started to cry and Tom felt really helpless in the face of the scene in front of you. No lie, you looked pathetic.

Your co-star ended up approaching you and, in your vulnerability, you let him. Slowly, he took the glass of champagne and placed it on the entryway cabinet, then hugged you. You buried your nose against him, too drunk to care about your behavior. You were still mad at him, but the softness of his arms was so good, everything was heartwarming. Tom kissed you on the top of your head as he rocked you.

"I like you. I didn't know how to tell you." He spoke.

"What a romantic way to declare yourself." You joked, slightly laugh in his shirt.

“You said it,” he joked too, still hugging you.

"But you have a girlfriend."

"I was about to leave her. I didn't expect to receive a drunken outburst of love in the meantime, that's all."

You laughed again, lighter. The point of your feelings flew away, relieved to have confided your love, even in an advanced state of intoxication. Even more relieved to know that Tom shared your feelings. You frowned, however, as the words came back to you, your eyes plunged into hers in a confused pout.

"But ... earlier?."

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to offend you… I just didn't know how to shut up this guy…"

You pursed your lips, your brows furrowed, still nodding your head to say that you understood - well, more or less -. Tom smiled you really looked adorable when you were drunk ... well, when you didn't look like an evil bitch ... he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then when he got to the level of your lips, he hesitated, before kissing the corner of them.

"I really like you ... really, really like you. But I'm not an asshole cheating on his girlfriend. Let's leave some time to digest tonight. Let me break up with my girlfriend before I can properly kiss you."

You simply hummed an answer, his scent had invaded your nostrils from the moment he hugged you, his words were soft as cotton, just like the tone of his voice and without wanting to offend him, you had started to fall asleep. The Briton let out a laugh before kissing you on the forehead and pulling you over to the bed to tuck you in. Tom brushed off a strand of your hair admiring your beauty. Even with the mascara that had run off, even with the messy hair and the boozy breath, you looked beautiful. Fearsome, but beautiful.

"Good night, Y/N".

He kissed your forehead again before leaving the room with a smile, knowing that his feelings for you were mutual.

That night, Tom left his girlfriend.