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junghelioseok · 3 years

Text

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

Note

Do you have any autistic Scout headcanons? :P

Hell yeah!

I’ve actually thought about this a lot. A lot of people might think that Scout has ADHD, but I think he either has both ADHD and autism or just autism.

This is both because labeling Scout as having just ADHD is kind of a low-hanging fruit, and I also want to explore his symptoms a little more. So, in a word, I do, and thank you for asking about them!

*****************

Scout’s Spectrum:

So, where exactly does Scout fall on the autism spectrum?

First of all, he probably has both ADHD and autism, but wasn’t diagnosed with the latter until much later. This means that some of his symptoms were taken into account, but not all.

The ones that were paid attention to ramped up out of control, and the ones he didn’t hear about were stuffed away.

His ADHD symptoms include impulsiveness, need for stimulation, hyperfixations, forgetfulness, and insomnia; his autism symptoms include trouble with social skills, stimming, near inability to remember names and faces, lack of eye contact, hyperfixations again, and sensory processing issues, especially with noise and touch.

He used to have a lot of meltdowns when he was younger, usually about wearing new clothes and the amount of noise his eight brothers generated.

However, he was teased and pushed into masking nearly all the time, and made his whole personality about his ADHD, since that was what everyone accepted.

As he got older, he usually wrote off any autistic tendencies as either his ADHD or just “little habits” of his.

During his middle school years, he used energy drinks to bounce back from being exhausted every day after school. This would work, except those energy drinks would upset his ADHD, and would make it much harder to focus on even basic conversation.

After a while, he got such bad grades and had such a hard time making friends that Scout just stopped going to school altogether.

Baseball helped his focus, and the quick movement and thinking made a lot of sense to him. He never had to wait very long for the next development, and the instant gratification and community it provided supplemented what he never got at school.

With sports on his side, he rarely ever drank any energy drinks (the coach would never let them on the field), and he drank bucketfuls of water during every meet and game. Those teenage years were probably the healthiest he ever was.

However, with the amount of rumbles he got into with his brothers, and the turf wars that constantly raged in those neighborhoods, it was only a matter of time before his crime caught up with him.

After his first incarceration, he was booted from the team, which led to a downward spiral of unhealthy coping mechanisms - which included fighting someone tooth and nail whenever he could.

Even if he lost the fight, it not only catered to his impulsive nature and impatience, but also gave him roughly the same sense of friendship and camaraderie that baseball had.

One thing led to another, and by the time Mann Co. found him, Scout was a monster in hand to hand (and bat to bat) and had racked up quite the criminal record.

A perfect mercenary, ripe for the picking.

On The Team:

Scout very quickly adopted the “stupid, scrappy Boston boy” persona.

It was the only thing that made sense, and it kept him from having to try too hard in both the battlefield and socially.

Besides, that meant that he could be as silly, forgetful, and fidgety as he wanted, and no one would bat an eye.

And if he ever needed to take a break from the team, he figured everyone would appreciate the quiet.

The only thing that ever gave him away was him occasionally dissociating right when battle began, especially if the day had been stressful.

It was usually how he calmed down after a fight when he was young, but now he sometimes slid into that state when he was overwhelmed.

However, a yell from one of his teammates would usually snap him out of it.

Medic noticed this pretty early on, and wanted to look more into it, but Scout would keep making excuses not to get a mental examination.

He would blame it on zoning out, being tired, drinking too many Bonks - whatever it took for people to stop asking.

And, eventually, they did.

Even Medic stopped asking after a while - he couldn’t get a thing out of Scout.

This “try so little that when you do try it’s above average” charade worked for a long time. In fact, it went on for so long that Scout forgot how much he was actually capable of.

He began to internalize the stupidity, the exacerbation, the many comments on how dumb he was, everything.

The only time he ever gave his all was on the battlefield - moving fast, memorizing strategies, doing complicated footwork, knowing exactly how much force it took to crush someone’s skull with his bat.

That was one of the only things that he felt good doing, the only thing he could really work on without him being “found out.”

That and drawing, though he never showed the actual pieces to anyone. It was all stick figures and crooked lines with everyone else.

Sometimes, though, Scout wouldn’t be paying attention and he’d let something slip.

One time, Engineer was looking for his screwdriver, and couldn’t seem to find it anywhere.

Scout, not looking up from his comic, said, “Under the couch cushion, hard hat.”

Engineer bent down and reached into the couch, and his hand came back with his red and yellow striped screwdriver.

“Well I’ll be damned…”

At first Engineer thought Scout had just hid it, but Scout explained, still not paying attention:

“Last time we went out on th’ field, you had it on your belt, like always. But I was walkin’ by your workshop, you were usin’ a quarter to tighten a screw or somethin’. Your screwdriver had to be somewhere between the battlefield and your workshop. Engie, you’re like freakin’ clockwork. Every day, after a fight, you go to the kitchen, get a water, go to that couch, between the second and third cushion from the left, and sit there. Then ya go back to the fridge to get lunch and a beer, and ya go to your workshop until somebody needs you for somethin’. Your back loop in your tool belt is looser than all the others, ‘cause the screwdriver pulls against it when you sit down. The shank was probably in between the two cushions, and when you got up, it fell in. Demo, Pyro, and Heavy all sit on the second or third cushion at some point, so it got shimmied down. And since that’s the only time you sat down, ‘cause you woulda heard it if it dropped on the floor, and I…uh…”

“I’ll be damned,” Engie repeated, and felt the back tool belt loop. It was indeed loose.

Scout finally looked up, and realized what had happened.

“Uh, uh - l-lucky guess, huh Engie?”

Engineer squinted behind his goggles. “Yeah…real lucky…”

What ensued was Engie trying to get Scout to turn into a B.L.U Spy by chasing him around with his wrench. After a few good hits, though, Engineer saw that it was the teammate he knew and loved.

“But…how didja…?”

Scout threw his hand up, the other rubbing the back of his head where he’d been hit.

“I toldja Engie! Lucky guess! Jesus!”

Ever since then, Scout chose his words more carefully.

The Breakdown:

But, unfortunately, Scout could not pretend forever.

There was one week where Scout’s assignment count was so high that, if he wasn’t in a fight, he was on a mission.

Usually, Pauling wouldn’t trust him with so much, but no one else was available - or willing - to do the jobs.

Even when she was getting concerned about the amount of hours Scout was putting in, he blew it off.

“It’s no sweat, Miss Pauling! Their practically givin’ me the pay day. Those yahoos don’t know who they’re messin’ with.”

Over time, though, Scout had a harder and harder time staying focused and alert.

He’d sleep through alarms, stare off into space, zone out completely during briefing (not that he didn’t already do that), have a hard time hearing people in battle - even through his headset - ignore Spy’s taunts, and even forget to bring his bat onto the field.

Nothing seemed to help - Bonk!, warming up, stretching, cold showers, setting reminders, nothing.

And the team was starting to notice.

At first it was with the regular frustration - maybe Scout was just being lazy.

But as time went on, and his condition grew worse, their scorn turned into worry. They implored Medic to do something, but he had no way of getting through to Scout.

The doctor wasn’t above simply sedating him and dragging him into his lab for a check-up. However, he had a feeling that this was more than a physical issue.

The worst came when Scout was doing a routine battle with the B.L.U team on the field.

Everything had started out okay - he even remembered to bring his bad this time - but suddenly, everything was ear-splittingly loud.

He couldn’t focus on more than one sound at once, much less communicate the best course of action to his teammates.

He ended up hiding in a dilapidated shed, in a dusty, dark corner, somewhere between zoning out and panicking.

Scout’s head was in his knees, he was shaking, close to crying, when a sudden splitting of wood roused him.

A B.L.U Soldier had kicked his way into the shed, either having heard Scout or to hide from the other team.

Scout was stunned at first, but something of a blind terror filled him. He picked up his bat, screamed, and started pummeling the surprised Soldier.

At some point, he threw aside his bat and began to swing punch after punch, just like he did in his gang days when he had felt overwhelmed. Still screaming. Still crying.

By the time Scout had dissolved into a rocking, sobbing mess, the Soldier was long dead, with a gigantic pool of blood staining Scout’s shoes.

No one even knew where Scout was until a few hours later, when Spy heard a faint note of “Sexbomb” coming from Scout’s Walkman.

Scout had crawled into the shed’s framework, between the outer and inner wall, and was playing a specific verse over and over and over again, looking like he was on another plane of existence.

Spy immediately called for Medic, who had to lift Scout out by the underarms through a jagged hole in the side of the building. By then, the fight was over, so they could take him directly to the lab.

Medic’s Evaluation:

“I’m guessing zhis is your first mental breakdown?”

“Mental…doc, I ain’t crazy. Wait, you’re not goin’ to put me in a straight jacket, are ya?”

“If you’re not doing anyzhing later.”

Medic started to laugh, but quickly realized this might not be the time.

“No, Scout, everyvun has a mental breakdown at least vunce in their lives. It’s a…how do you say…a vake-up call of sorts. Vhen your body has no other options left.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“For zhe past few months, you health, both physical and mental, has been deteriorating. You eat less. You talk less. Your attacks are lackluster. You have bags under your eyes. You flinch vhen somevun yells for you. You stare off into space. Your routine, vhich usually has at least some changes, has become stringent, as if you can’t possibly expend any more energy into extra activities. You have avoided Demoman on zhe battlefield, even though you usually use him for cover.”

Medic flipped through his notes.

“I have pages and pages of your decline. However, as a scientist, I believe it is caused by zhe same source. And, though I usually respect my patient’s right to privacy vhen it comes to these sorts of matters, I believe you’ve been keeping something from me. Something that I should know as your general practitioner…your doctor.”

Scout shrugged, already shutting out the conversation.

Medic sighed.

“Maybe I tried to talk to you about zhis too soon. After all, you’ve just had a very sudden and exhausting episode. But…perhaps…”

Medic took a sheet of printer paper from his clipboard and a spare pen from his pocket.

“…zhere is an alternative.”

Scout was still unresponsive, but Medic continued.

“Zhere is a patient in my vaiting room vis a metal pole through the chest. It vill take me at least an hour to properly remove it, and a few minutes more to heal zhe area. Vhile I do zhat, vhy don’t you draw how you feel?”

Medic smiled.

“I know how much it grounds you.”

It wasn’t until Medic left that Scout actually picked up the pen, but he began drawing immediately.

For the first time in a while, he wasn’t trying to hide his strokes or scratch up the cleaner lines. No more stick figures. No more pretending.

Five minutes later, he was fully engrossed.

Medic started to walk in at one point, but, seeing how relaxed Scout was, decided to give him a few more minutes.

He deserved it.

#tf2 #tf2 scout #scout tf2 #tf2 headcanons #headcanon requests #tf2 mercs #autism #autistic community #autistic culture #red team #blu team #valve games

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charliedawn · 3 years

Text

How would they react if you ask them to dance?

Freddy :

"Heck yeah !"

Freddy is one of the only slasher that is musically cultured. He can spot good hard rock from a mile away. He is a rock and roll fan to the end. Just, put on any hard rock song and you will see his eyes literally sparkle in delight. He would dance with you until the end of the night. Literally.

" Come on darling, let me turn your world upside down !"

He would pretend having a guitar in his hands and laugh while shaking his head up and down with the rhythm. In rare moments, he would actually forget where he is and start singing with the lyrics.

"~She's got a smile that it seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky

Now and then when I see her face

She takes me away to that special place

And if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry..."

Surprisingly, Freddy has a great voice and, when given the opportunity, will make the slashers enjoy a live concert of his. In those moments, not even Pennywise dares make fun of Freddy. Freddy understands your love for old music, and god, does he got the moves ! You swear that when he is dancing, you forget all about who he is and who you are. If you weren't dancing before, you certainly are now. 😂

Surprisingly enough, Arthur would not join right away. He would first see you dance and enjoy himself watching you having fun with the other slashers. But once he is sure that nobody will judge him ? He will join and dance to his heart content. Many people have ways to express themselves, hobbies that help them de-stress..But unfortunately for the slashers, that hobby was mostly killing people. You try to make them see that they can do the same in many different ways. Joker, however, is a very special case, because he actually tried to escape with dance and jokes..People destroyed his dreams. Now, you have to help him get back his hope and the dreams he lost. The first step to do that ? Make him remember what he loved, before becoming the Joker.

" Why do you want to make me believe in something that is gone ?"

" Because I believe in you, Arthur."

He waited for someone to actually believe in him for so long that he can't help but cry at your words. He would then take you for a dance and make you laugh for the rest of the night. He doesn't mind you old-fashioned taste, as he prefers old songs as well, especially the catchy ones.

" Dance ?! Dancing ! Yesss !"

Penny screams while throwing his hands in the air. He loves dancing. It was the only thing he had when he was alone and penniless. He was dancing in the street in his old clown costume, hoping for some generous souls to find him entertaining. However, when he became Penny, his dance became the last thread of his old life he hanged on to. It may have been a way to lure his victims in as well, but it was also much more for Penny. He loves dancing. He is also very good at it, being a very flexible person with a great creativity. His dance may look childish at first, but it's only because he never got the proper training. You asked the hospital to give him some lessons, but unfortunately, they didn't want the dance teacher to become dinner. This is how you had gotten the idea of Friday's dancing nights. It allows the bond between the slashers to strengthen and for Penny to learn more about what he loves.

" Penny dances ! Penny is so happy !"

Well, just make sure he has the dance floor to himself, as you wouldn't want any of the slashers to receive a slap or a kick on accident..He doesn't really care about the music, as long as he can dance on it.

Dance ? What is dance ? When he sees you and the other slashers dance, it makes him think of those teenagers at Crystal lake. He is not too fond of dancing. He will however stare at you and sometimes, even nod his head up and down with the music if he likes it. But, if you try to make him dance with the others ? He will freeze. He is not used to dancing and never cared enough to learn. For a long time, it had only been his mother and him, therefore he hasn't had the chance to make friends or open up enough to dance at parties. He likes watching though. Most of the time, he will stay with Five or Michael, the only ones to understand his predicament. Plus, he doesn't know or understand most of the songs you're playing. He tried to ask you what they meant, but most of the words you used to answer him only made him more confused. Love ? Hope ? Loss ? He doesn't understand them. However, he does understand grief and sorrow. Those are feeling he can relate with as he felt them when he lost his father. When a sad song comes in, he will pay more attention and feel a tug in his chest.

" My boy. You have to live your life as you intended. Don't let anyone tell you what you should or shouldn't feel. One day, the ones who bullied you and called you names will see how amazing you truly are."

The words of his father echo in his head as he listens to the music. He has nearly forgotten about his face, but his voice is still with him, advising him wherever he goes. He just never took the time to listen to him until now. He always thought that his mother was everything he needed, that she was the only one who loved him, but maybe was he wrong after all ? Maybe other people could accept him ?

*internal panic*

He knows how to dance, that's not the problem. It's just that it's been so long that he's afraid he's gotten a bit rusty. This is why you will most likely find him hidden in a corner, watching over you all. At this point, he is more likely to play the role of the quiet big brother who is making sure none of his siblings accidently hurt themselves or have too much to drink. However, if you really insist, he will try to enter the game and make a few tentative steps on the dance floor. But, dont expect too much of him. He is embarrassed enough as it is. However, he will help in the kitchen if you need to bake something of prepare some snacks for the slashers. Another thing to know about Michael, is that unlike Jason that doesn't mind raising his mask a little to eat or drink, Michael will prefer to wait until everybody is gone or asleep before letting himself do the same. He is very keen on his mask and doesn't want anyone to see him without it. So, maybe prepare a little space away from prying eyes for him to have intimacy ? As for the music, he doesn't mind. Everything is fine with him.

Unlike Penny, Pennywise is not that much of a dancer. Penny is a dancing clown, Pennywise is a grouchy clown. He would rather be sarcastic all evening than partaking in the fun. However, something that he is good at is inflating balloons. He will help organize the party and will try to entertain Penny as much as he can. Pennywise may not be a dancing clown, but he cares about Penny. Penny is the closest to family he has left, and even though he would never admit it, he would do anything for him. He is protective of him and if it meant making Penny happy ? He wouldn't mind playing the clown for a night.

" Stop looking at me like that. I'm not gonna dance. You can't make me. Invite Penny instead. He's far more excited to make a fool of himself than me.."

He would reply when you invite him to dance. He doesn't care about the songs, as long as they don't have any curses in them. He loves cursing, but he doesn't want Penny to follow his example. He wants him to keep the little innocence he has left.

(couldn't find a gif with Five, so imagine it's Five in the second gif.)

He will not dance. Not even if you beg him. He will be happy if you leave him alone with the drinks. He will mostly stay with Michael and drown his bad mood in alcool and most likely complain.

"Goddammit. Can't we have decent whiskey in here ?!"

However, if you really insist and he has enough alcool in his system ? He may follow you and make some moves on the dance floor. Maybe.

" I swear you all suck. It seems I'll have to step up to level the game. It's not because I'm having fun or I like any of you, it's just because you bunch of idiots can't differentiate good dancing and monkey dancing."

Five got many classes on how to be the perfect spy while being trained. Let's say that there were some more enjoyable classes than others. He knows how to dance as a result and will steal the dancefloor when given the chance.

#fandoms #fanfic #imagine #pennywise 1990 #pennywise 1990 x y/n x pennywise 2017 #pennywise 2017 #pennywise x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #number five x reader #the joker x reader

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triptuckers · 3 years

Text

New In Town (part one) - Kaz Brekker

Request: nope Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: after fleeing ravka, you hope ketterdam can bring you new opportunities Warnings: mentions of guns, violence, blood, bruises, scars, death oh boy we really are going full in and it's just the first part sjflksdflsj Word count: 2K A/N: new series alert !!!! got this idea a while back and the outline got so long I decided to make it into a series! I think this'll be about seven parts! enjoy reading! PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART TAG LIST (all grishaverse fics): @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15@dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha@story-scribbler @romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey @sanktaesperanza @whymyparentscheckmyphone@aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1 @marlenaisnthappy @tomridlessecretvampiredemigod TAG LIST (Kaz Brekker): @mufnasa @janesofia7 @stairscortana add yourself to my tag lists here (bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason!)

You liked to live on the edge. Not too much, of course, but you could never say no to a little adrenaline. Your life had always been busy, no time for slowing down.

And how could you slow down, with the skills you have?

All around Ravka, you're known as a highly skilled thief, assassin and spy. Of course, they don't know your true name. You hide your identity and make sure if you're meeting with a client, they never see your face or any other distinctive marks such as scars.

You're always on the move, going from place to place. Going wherever someone was in need your particular skillset. You never questioned their reasons, only did what needed to be done and got your payment. It was part of the job. You get instructions, do the job and don't ask questions.

Over the years, you'd grown rich with knowledge and the secrets of the most powerful men and women of your time. If only they knew how powerful you were, even without your skills. You could bring down a dozen of highly ranked political advisors, generals, counts and more, if you wanted to.

But you never threatened them like that. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. You didn't like to blackmail them. And on top of that, it was bad for business.

Sometimes you weren't very proud of the life you're living. Basically your whole identity is a lie. On some days you think you could forget it all, start a new life somewhere in Novyi Zem or the Ravkan countryside.

You had tried it once. You settled down on a farm. Your new life had lasted a week. Then it was back to business.

Even though no one knows your identity, you're famous among the tales that go around in Ravka. You can't help but to feel pride when you're in a pub and overhear some locals talking about you, having no clue you are sitting right behind them.

You try your best to hide you identity, you have to. Though you are more than capable of handling an ambush, you'd rather not have to run for your life. While your unique skill set is valued, it also made you a target.

Less than a week ago, some men had followed you after a job. You were on your way to the local inn you were staying at, when you noticed someone following you.

You pretended you didn't notice them and kept on walking. Soon after, two more men joined the first one. You could handle them. After all, you had weapons hidden all over your body. And even if they took them, you'd still be able to fight with your body.

As you were walking, making calculations on which escape route you could take, you noticed three more men in the distance. It was a small town, so it was odd for so many of them to linger at this time of night.

The only reason why they would be there, was that they were there for you. You slowly reached a hand to your hip, where two revolvers rest. But before you could even touch them, one of the men had rushed toward you and slammed you against a wall, pinning your hands to the wall next to your body.

But this is what you had trained for. This is what you had been doing all your life.

After a split second, you slammed your knee upward, into the man's stomach. He instantly released go of you as he doubled over. You kicked him again for good measure and finally pulled out your revolver.

So long for staying hidden.

You fired off a shot at the man closest to you and watched as he crumbled to the ground, clutching his chest. You shot the third man, who fell to the floor as well.

Before you could shoot the fourth, he knocked the revolver out of your hand. But you were too quick for him, you pulled out a knife and sunk it deep into his chest.

As you pulled it out of him again, sending blood everywhere, the fifth man approached you. This time, you were too slow. He slammed you into a wall again, your head hitting the stone hard.

You could feel blood slowly leaking down your cheek, and cursed under your breath. Oh, he was going to pay for that. You flung the knife, which you were still holding in your hand, through the air. It hit him in the neck.

You watches as he staggered backwards, eyes shocked as he looked at you. You pulled the knife out of his neck as the life left his eyes.

The sixth man seemed to have changed his mind after witnessing what you had done to his companions. But as he ran away, you sighed and pulled out your revolver. You couldn't leave any witnesses. Muttering a sorry to whichever Saint was listening, you pulled the trigger.

You couldn't stay in Ravka any longer. That incident had been the last in a string of people trying to ambush you. Even though they didn't know any facts about you such as your name or your age, they did know what you looked like.

Staying in Ravka would have been dangerous. You couldn't go to Fjerda, they were searching for you there as well. And you definitely didn't want to go to Shu Han. Novyi Zem seemed like the place people went to if they wanted to settle down. So, Kerch seemed like your best option.

You didn't even stop by the inn to collect your bag, knowing soon people would come to see who had fired a gun in the streets of a small town.

Instead, you went straight for Os Kervo, to get on a ship. Luckily, it wasn't a long journey, and it is still early in the morning when you arrive at the docks.

You walk around, trying to find a ship that is headed for Ketterdam and willing to take you with them, and ignoring the throbbing pain in your head. After trying three captains, the fourth one agrees to take you aboard. But only if you work on your way.

Deciding it is probably the best offer you would get, you accept.

You spend your time at sea scrubbing the floors, cleaning the glasses, fixing things and making sure the crew has enough water to drink. Part of you is a bit disappointed you have to work. You'd only been on a ship once before, and you hoped you could enjoy the sea. But the captain makes sure there are enough chores for you.

The journey takes a couple of days, but eventually you finally make it to Ketterdam, eager to get off the ship and explore the city.

You heard a lot of stories about Ketterdam, mostly hushed conversations in pubs. They were all bad. People claimed the ones that went to Ketterdam only visited the city to have fun. And by have fun they meant drinking, gambling, and visiting the pleasure houses.

But you didn't care about that. You are interested in the gangs. Most of the people who didn't like Ketterdam blamed it on the many gangs that ruled the streets. You knew the city was supposed to be controlled by the Stadwatch, but you also knew how easy it was to bribe someone with money or knowledge.

The more stories you heard about Ketterdam, the more curious you got.

When you get off the ship after thanking the captain, you take a look around you. The docks you arrived on are crawling with people.

Rich people who want to have fun, young kids with dirty faces holding out their hands for money, people waiting for loved ones to get off the ships that are arriving. You're eagerly watching all the kinds of people you pass.

As you're making your way through the crowd, you spot a few people going the opposite way. You watch them closely as they approach the rich tourists, talking about the best places to eat and offering a place to stay.

The tourists seem pleased by all the attention, but you've been taught to look at people a little differently. You see how one of the people talking to the tourists shakes a hand and slips the rich man's watch off of his wrist.

You smile to yourself as you continue walking. Ketterdam seemed like fun to you. It would be ideal for someone like you, with the skills you have and the knowledge you carry with you.

When you're out of the swarm of people on the docks, you pull out your money bag. It wasn't much, but it may be enough for a room. You start walking around the city, looking for a place to sleep that wasn't too expensive.

You try every inn you find, but with the small amount of money you have, you would only be able to rent a room for a couple of nights.

It's getting late when you enter a street with a lot of pubs. Laughter and music pours out into the street through the open doors and windows. You smile as you listen to the sounds of the night, ignoring the ache in your feet and the pain in your head.

You stop at a promising looking pub. As you're about to keep on walking, you notice a sign, telling you they have rooms you can rent. And for a reasonable price. You'd be able to rent a room for at least a couple of weeks.

You step into the pub, ignoring a man who cheerfully invites you to his table. You make for the bar and signal to the bartender.

'I saw you have rooms I can book for a couple of weeks?' you say to him.

He nods at you. 'You're lucky. Only got one left. Right above the entrance. It'll be noisy, but it's good.' he says.

'I'll take it.' you say.

The bartender nods again and reaches for something underneath the bar. Instinctively, you rest a hand on your revolver that's hidden beneath your coat. He doesn't even seem fazed by it. Maybe it's part of being Kerch.

'I'm just reaching for the keys.' he says in a calm voice.

And indeed, when he reaches out his hand, he throws a key on the bar. You let go of your revolver and reach for you money bag instead. You take the keys and hand him the money.

'This should be enough for a couple of weeks.' you say.

'Enjoy your stay.' he says, returning to serving drinks.

You look at the room number, seven. After asking someone for directions, you find the stairs that lead to the rooms.

When you get to the first floor, you see that your room is indeed right above the entrance. You unlock the door and are met by a small room.

There's only room for a bed, a small closet and a tiny desk. The bathroom is not as clean as you hoped it would be, but you'd stayed in worse rooms. And after all, you hadn't expected much from Ketterdam. For now you're just glad you have a place to sleep.

You shrug off your coat and boots, and place all of you weapons on the desk. You step into the small bathroom to wash the dried blood off of your face and comb your hair with your fingers.

After locking the door, you open the window a little. You lay down on the bed and listen to the sounds outside until you fall asleep. You already wondered what Ketterdam could offer you.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

#new series incoming !!!!!#kaz brekker #shadow and bone #grishaverse #Kaz Brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #Kaz Brekker fanfics #Kaz Brekker fanfiction #Kaz Brekker fic #Kaz Brekker fics #shadow and bone fics #shadow and bone fanfics #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fic #new in town

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cherryblossomtease · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

You’ve only left Madripoor a couple of times. Mostly it’s the cost of traveling that stops you from going overseas. You don’t need anything cutting into your “retirement” fund.

Amazing how quickly monetary problems can disappear when you’re involved with a very generous Baron.

“Would you like anything to eat before we arrive?” Zemo asks you. He’s got this sleepy sort of content smile on his face as he looks over from his seat facing yours on the plane, his plane to be exact.

“No, I’m fine thanks” You reply. You can feel your expression mimicking his, and why not. Its peaceful up here, alone with him above the clouds.

“You look exquisite in this light.” His tone is sort of teasing as he beats you to the punch because you always make fun of his erudite speech, but you can see that he really means it.

“I don’t think anyone could look bad flying past a sunrise.” You say dreamily, looking out at the fluffy white clouds and the colorful sky, the warm tones hinting at the oncoming day.

He agrees with a little laugh and looks out the window but his mood darkens like it tends to do without much warning. It’s not anger, is that—guilt?

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long.” He says slowly, his attention on you again. The last time he saw you did not go as planned. He’d met the car at the curb before you could even get out at his place and climbed into the backseat with you, telling Oezenik to head back across the bridge. He gave a very cryptic explanation as to why he had to cancel the weekend, something about being in a tight spot that involved his prison escape and whoever helped him do it. You still don’t know that that means, but you can vividly remember how it felt to stand at the top of your street, dreading going back to your apartment on a Friday for the first time in weeks. But it wasn’t just the disappointment. You’d been afraid for him. “Watch your back” You’d whispered to Zemo with that final kiss before you watched him go.

He’d been gone for days.

So when the text came a day early this week you must have sat there in your kitchen staring down at it for a solid minute before picking up your phone.

Would you like to take a trip with me?

You had no idea what to say, had someone stolen his phone? He had never, not once text you anything other than a confirmation of pick up time and certainly not on a Thursday.

Zemo?

Yes

A trip where?

I have business in New York

Yes!

You might have been a little hasty in agreeing to fly across the ocean, but how could you say no!

The car came for you early Friday morning and you’d been spoiled by Oeznik with mimosa’s and pastries and taken a long nap once the private jet reached cruising altitude. Now, you were sitting across from the Baron wondering where this was going…not the plane. The relationship.

Today is the first time he’s ever felt the need to apologize for anything.The gesture is kind but unnecessary.

“I told you, I understand. I know you have… a lot going on.” You have to work your way around your words with him sometimes. You do what you must to keep up with what the Baron does outside of your fantasy world with him, but you’re still unsure of letting him know that. After all, It’s his life away from you that keeps the relationship perfectly balanced. Theres no time for feelings to grow when he comes and goes so often, at least you keep saying it over and over as you try to keep your emotions under control, but fuck. Look at him.

The sunrise looks as good on Zemo as it does you. Bands of pale pink break through the small windows bringing out the lighter strands of his brown hair —especially that thick lock that falls out of place so perfectly, like an arrow that directs your gaze towards his eyes which glow with flecks of gold. He’s so easy look at it’s nearly impossible not to. The fact that he’s just as attentive and genuine as he was in the beginning only helps, or doesn’t. You can’t decide, but you take a deep breath, letting it out slowly with a smile as you feel your heart ignore your head yet again.

“You’re going to spoil me rotten once we land, aren’t you?” You ask grinning and focused on the fun ahead.

Zemo laughs and shrugs. “I might have a few things in mind.”

“You’re too good to me,” You say speaking of so much more than this trip alone. He’s been taking care of you so much so that these days work at the club is only needed to pay for luxuries you never considered before, and yet you’re still free to do as you please, Monday through Thursday.

“Hardly good enough.” He says, his voice deep but quiet. "But I will continue to try."

You swallow feeling a little nervous. You really can’t fall for him. This has to stay fun you tell yourself. This man comes with baggage. Scratch that— a Louis Vuitton full set and it’s packed with nothing but trouble.

But wouldn’t you risk it all for another day with him… No! Stop that!

“Are you feeling well?” He asks, catching you off guard. You’ve got to get better at hiding your thoughts. They show on your face like a silent film star when you’re not careful.

“Oh, I’m fine!” You smile trying your best to look it. “When do we land?”

“Soon.”

“Where are we staying? I would assume you can’t just go waltzing into a hotel?" He gives you a funny look but you just shake your head at him. “Don’t think that my being here means I’m ignorant to the things you’ve done. I may not know it all, but I know enough to keep myself safe”

“Safe from who?” He asks with a curious head tilt.

“People like you, without the heart” You say with your brow raised as you make him chuckle softly.

“You’ve been doing your research.” He nods waving a finger at you.

“Google is a hell of a thing. Plus, you forget, my dad was well loved. I can ask questions that other people can’t in spaces most aren’t allowed to go.”

“Ah, that’s right. Your father the fixer.”

You smile feeling proud. It may not be honest work off the island, but on that shitty little rock, you are the daughter of a very important man. He’s gone now, but Madripoor remembers, and if they forget your mother has a knife to their neck to see that they don’t.

“Well, for what it's worth, i promise to always keep you safe. No need to worry about that.”

“I don’t doubt it. I just like to know the plan so if it goes south I’m not left hanging”

“And when have I ever --left you hanging?” He seems insulted.

“You were gone for two… never mind. I’m not mad about it I’m really not Zemo.” He gives you a suspicious look and you smile. “I promise!”

“Sure.” He shrugs with a very unconvinced nod.

You just sigh and stare at him until he looks away. “I need to use the bathroom” You say realizing it. Those early a.m mimosa’s knocked you out for the first leg of the flight, and now you’re full to the brim.

He nods towards the back of the plane and you’re up and in the little bathroom.

It’s a quick trip, maybe a little faster than Zemo was expecting because when you open the door, you overhear him on the phone.

“This is me holding you to your end of the bargain. I need the name now. You see if they find me, they find you. Unless of course you want to come through on those promises and give me the name.”

Name? Is that why he’s going to New York? You know it’s business, but just how involved will it get?

“There.” He draws the word out with a smile. “That wasn’t so hard. Please, next time let’s skip the suspense. ” He says and listens. “Yes I have a way in. What time?” Another pause. “Formal I take it?” He laughs softly. “You always were the funny one. Until next time.” He says and hangs up.

You’re standing in the isle looking at the back of his head wondering what this is all about.

“Spying is not your strong suit.” He says glancing back.

You give a huff and walk over, standing next to him.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes” He says but he’s distracted.

“Zemo?”

“Yes. Everything is fine.”

“What was that call about?”

He looks up, his brow raised as he thinks, He wasn’t going to tell you at first, you can see that but then he sighs through his nose and lowers his chin thinking. “I need to change our plans tonight, I’m sorry. The reason for the trip has changed. There is an event I need to attend.”

“What sort?”

“The sort that requires a tie.” He mumbles.

All you hear is a reason to dress up and promptly swing your way down onto his lap making him start. “Let me go with you.” You say making sure to look at him with your eyes as big and innocent as your can pretend to be.

“No. Absolutely not.”

You pout just a little. Not enough to be obnoxious, but he can’t resist this face. No one can. “I won’t get in the way.” You say sweetly.

“It’s too dangerous.” He says rubbing your leg. You've almost got him, just a quick whine as you put your arms around his shoulders. “Please.”

Zemo laughs and shakes his head. “Stop that.”

“Zemo… I think you’re forgetting. I may be yours, and I may follow your rules. But I’m a product of Madripoor. You never know when having a girl like me at your back might come in handy.”Zemo rests his chin in his hand, stroking his lips with his finger as he thinks it over. You don’t mind waiting. You like the way it feels sitting on his lap and asking pretty please, so you turn it up a little. “If, I do anything. Anything at all that breaks your rules… you know I’ll gladly accept my punishment” You tell him softly, stroking the shorter hair at the back of his head.

He leans away to look you in the eyes and sees the truth in them. You can talk to him as sweet as sugar but you're not afraid to face danger and he knows it. The way he lowers his hand and gives in with a sigh and a smile as he rubs your thigh makes it clear, Zemo likes this just as much a you do.

“You’re going to need a new dress” He says and you grin kissing him, never breaking your smile.

#zemo fanfic #baron zemo #zemo x y/n #zemo x you #zemo x reader #brace yourselves #daddysgoodgirl #sugardadddy #dangerous man #trouble?

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sasa-gay-yo · 3 years

Text

Just Us (Chapter 1: His Eyes)

Sometime before The Fall of Wall Maria

The hum of customers seemed louder that day. Normally four or five regulars were sitting in the corner, drinking coffee and sharing baguettes, but today, it seemed most of the tables were filled. Newspapers were being passed back and forth between people and if I cared much about the news, I might have taken myself away from kneading bread to glance at the pages. Just by hearing the customers, I filled myself in on the town gossip without having to be confronted by the old ladies trying to make me marry their sons.

“I can’t get married right now, Miss. Schmidt. There’s too much to do with the shop that I have no time to give my attention to anyone else.” Those excuses and a smile seemed to hold them off for a few days.

“Eva! Can we get a refill of coffee here?” I looked up to the three Garrison soldiers who were hiding away from their morning watch duties. At least they weren’t drinking whiskey. Nodding, I put the dough in the oven to prove and wiped my hands. Now, I would have to talk to some people. If it made them want to come to the café more, I guess I would sacrifice a little of my sanity.

“Here you go,” I held up my hand as they tried to slide a few more coins my way, “You already have had three, this one is on the house.” The Captain looked up and smiled at me before putting them back in his pocket. The, too, had a newspaper laid out in the center of the table.

“Have you heard about the Survey Corps recently, Eva?” I shook my head and he held up the paper.

“Apparently they’ve gained some recruits worth our tax dollars! They didn’t lose half of their people on the last expedition. It’s front-page news for some reason.” One of the subordinates pointed at the portrait on the front page of what I assumed to be the new commander of the Scouts. Last week's news was the retirement of Keith Shadis and the promotion of various Corps peoples. Perhaps with the promotion also came the recent success.

“I think anyone who goes out to fight titans on our behalf is worth my tax dollars. If I recall, soldiers only pay a fraction of our taxes. In fact, I’m paying for you to sit here in my café and drink away my coffee supply. It’s hard on me to travel to the capital markets every month.” I raised an eyebrow at them and it seems the pleasant conversation they wanted to have had ended, especially with the other customers listening in. They made it a point to stand up, leave the coins on the table, and walk out of the café.

“Finally doing their job.” I picked up the untouched pitcher of coffee and wiped down the table. They didn’t even have the decency to put their cups in the dish bin. I rolled my eyes and cleaned up after them, going back to kneading more bread dough and warming up their coffee for the next customer.

Maybe the success of the Scouts will make the Garrison and MPs care about the people inside the walls. You can only be self-serving for a little bit before it comes to bite you in the ass.

“Delivery!” Again, I’m distracted from my bread making. This is why I should have prepped last night. I wiped off my hands, noticing how dry they’d become, and turned to get what I assumed to be my portion of flour.

“Hi Jonas, just put it on the table here.”

“Eva, did you hear the news?” I poured him a cup of juice and handed it to him, nodding.

“The Survey Corps?” He nodded hard and drank it all in one big gulp.

“You should’ve seen it when the scouts came through the city a few days ago. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people cheer for them, but this time they did. Did you watch them come by?” I took his cup and put it in the sink before turning back to him.

“No, I was stuck in here. I did see the tops of some of their heads though, but the crowd around the window was pretty thick.” I decided to lean against the front counter and take a break from baking to talk to Jonas, one of the only people my age who seemed to come around here and stay. If you were young in Trost, you were always working. They would come in and right out of the café, never staying to talk or look out the windows. I only know a few of their names, but all of their drink orders by heart. The only ones who seemed to talk a bit when they came in were, in fact, Scouts who got a few days off. No conversation ever really amounted to anything and I didn’t take time to memorize their orders as they would always stop coming a few weeks after they first arrived.

“How is Reeve’s doing on orders? I heard that there might be a shortage of meat soon.” He shrugged at me and I signed his papers.

“I don’t have a clue about that. I just go where they tell me to. I mean, I haven’t been delivering a lot of meat lately. You don’t need it though, do you?”

“No, I just need flour, coffee, and sometimes tea. I go to the capital for the last two. If anything, I’d just stop being a bakery.” Jonas pouted and pointed to the croissants in the glass case.

“I’d fight to get those if there was a shortage. You have the best bread in Trost!” I smiled and waved my hand.

“No, I don’t, Jonas. I kn-”

“Tea, please.” Jonas jumped and turned around to see the man behind him. His grey eyes bore holes into Jonas who was in his way. I’d seen him before, but it was his first time into the café.

“C-Captain Levi!” Jonas even bowed to him, slightly shaking. I tilted my head, looking at the man, no taller than me. Why was this shorty making Jonas shake in his shoes? And Captain? He didn’t seem like the type to be in the Garrison.

When I was done looking at his form, I looked back up to his eyes which seemed annoyed that he was having to wait for his tea. They were a pretty grey but were almost overshadowed by the dark circles under his eyes. I’d seen those type of eyes...tired from death, not from lack of sleep. He was definitely a Scout.

I stood up and wiped my hands again, slightly wincing at their dryness.

“What type of tea, Cap’n?” He didn’t seem to be amused at my abbreviation of his title and I lost my customer-friendly smile. Guess I didn’t have to play pretend around his negative attitude.

“Black.” I raised an eyebrow and looked at his form again. Tired, strained, busted, sad even… He needed something less… anxiety-inducing than straight black tea. He needed something soothing.

“May I make a suggestion?” He looked up again having already put the money for plain black tea on the counter. I didn’t fail to notice how when he looked up, so did everyone else in the café. Was he radiating some form of intimidating energy to everyone in this place? He didn’t look scary, just tired and stressed. I guess the darkness of his features didn’t help his cause.

“What?” Every answer was short and low. He did have an impressive voice for being short, but it also sounded like he had a scratchy throat. A mental note to add honey.

“Mint?” He looked at me for a few seconds, probably deciding whether or not I could ruin his tea routine, “No extra cost. You just seem like you don’t need any more caffeine at the moment. Perhaps a few more hours of sleep.” The last sentence was mumbled, but I’m sure he had to hear it. Hopefully, he heard it and took me up on it.

“Sure.” He waved his hand and walked over to the corner table where the Garrison was sitting, staring out the window. It seemed that he was far away enough for everyone to start gossiping about him. I stared at him for a few more seconds before taking out one of the few teacups I owned. No one wants to drink tea anymore… such old taste.

“E-Eva? How did you talk to him like that?!” I glanced over at Jonas who was crouched over the counter and whispering to me.

“What do you mean? Why is everyone so afraid of him? He’s no taller than me, Jonas.”

“He’s Captain Levi! Humanity’s strongest soldier. It’s said that he’s killed over 100 titans by himself! And, and, and he just joined the Corps this past year. He used to be a…” He leaned in even more and put a hand in front of his mouth like that was going to help block out this secret, “a famous gangster in the underground.” I looked back at him again and met his eyes. He quickly looked away, but I did notice he was still staring at me from his peripheral. It was the way he was sitting that made it possible to spy on me unsuspectingly.

“He does look a bit mean, but I don’t see danger...I think he just intimidates you and you don’t like it because he’s shorter than you.” Jonas was exasperated at my comment and looked back and forth between the Captain and me.

“But he’s from the underground! You know how dangerous those people are! Kenny the Ripper and The Sniper… he’s one of them!” I rolled my eyes again and watched the tea as it brewed.

“You forget I was born in the underground too, Jonas.” It was a low whisper to keep gossip down to a minimum and he shook his head fast, tapping on the counter.

“But you’re different, Eva. You didn’t live there for very long either and you were adopted by Mister Flynn. I know he’s murdered like so many people.” I held the honey jar up, debating how much I should put in. He didn’t seem like the type of person who would like something overly sweet, but his throat sounded like it needed a bit more honey.

“So, if I wasn’t adopted and you met me on the streets, would you be treating me like you’re treating him?” He groaned again and tried to grab my hand to get me to understand his point better. I moved my arm so he fell a bit farther on the counter.

“I’m happy that someone who knows how to kill is now killing titans. You read the newspapers. What if he’s the reason the Scouts are doing better now?” I put the teacup on the tray along with a small bowl of honey. I couldn’t decide.

Everyone in the café watched as I walked over to his table and put the tea down.

“Peppermint tea. I don’t know how you like your tea so there’s some honey. You should put it in.” I pointed to the tiny bowl and he looked down at it too, grunting. I guess that was his way of saying thank you.

Something made it so I didn’t move from standing in front of him. Maybe I was just curious why everyone was afraid to meet his eye or why they thought he was so intimidating. I mean, Jonas was shitting his pants talking about him and here I stood, not feeling anything like that. I was grateful, if anything, for his service in the Corps and just how many titans he’s rumored to have killed.

“Do you have a question?” It was harsh and it woke me out of the trance while looking at him. I had to recover quickly, or it’d be a bit embarrassing to just admit I was staring at him. He really… wasn’t so bad looking either. Just short.

“I’m waiting for you to put the honey in your tea.” A good recovery with a hard tone behind it. Hopefully, he didn’t see through it. He groaned again, taking one spoonful and making a grand gesture about putting it into the tea and stirring. I smiled when he followed my fake orders, but it was funny. The titan serial killing maniac gangster had done something that I told him. I nodded once before walking away from his table, noticing, again, everyone's eyes. It was easier to face his grey ones than it was to look at all of theirs. Annoying.

“Jonas, get off my counter! You’re making it dirty!”

Orders and people kept flowing in as the hour passed by, but as it reached lunchtime, everything slowed down. No one would want pastries until later in the day for an after-work snack and coffee and tea had lost their use as everyone was now knees deep in work. The only people left in my café were three older women gossiping, two men playing chess, and the Captain himself.

He was still in the same position, staring out the window, and he slowly sipped his tea as if he was savoring it. I noted that as a victory for my tea-making skills and also noticed that he had used up all the honey I had given him. Interesting. He did like his tea sweet. Maybe he is scary and I’m just not good at judging someone’s character.

All there was left to do was keep the bread and pastries rotating in and out of the oven and tend to the customers who came every fifteen minutes or so. When I was on downtime, I would debate on whether to go talk to him again or just let him be. Maybe me talking to him would make him more tired and a waste of the peppermint tea I gave him. Just a bag of that tea costs a fortune in the capital, but I was now glad for my decision to buy it.

Maybe he's sitting there, try to get me to notice him and go talk to him. I can feel it when he looks at me while my back is turned. Is that a call to come over? Has my wit and good looks made him interested in me? Or, my last hypothesis, he can’t read me like I can’t read him. He is a Scout, so maybe he’s surveying me as they do. I was definitely trying to study him behind the pastry glass.

Around one, almost four hours after he stepped foot into my café, he stood up and walked the teacup and plate to the counter next to me. The dish tray wasn’t empty, so he either hadn’t seen it, or my second hypothesis was right and he had finally gotten annoyed that I didn’t approach him.

“I don’t know where this goes.” His voice was still as stiff as ever, but perhaps it sounded a bit less scratchy. Up close again, I got to study his features. He was handsome, but not your average Trost brown-hair-brown-eyes boy. His eyes told stories the longer you looked at them. Stories of titans and death and the underground. I wish I could stare at them for longer, but he lowered his head again, pushing the cup forward. I got to see his side profile from the other side and it was the same. He was perfect and symmetrical. Sharp jaw and nose hide under strands of raven hair. Everything about him was so… not dark, but I guess the right word would be intimidating or... hard. He just seemed to be hard. Nothing would break his shell, not even small talk, but damn, did I want to try.

“I can take that for you, Captain.” He nodded and stood there as I put the dish in the sink. He was studying me like I had when I delivered the tea. I decided to use this against him.

“Did you have a question?” He opened his mouth to say something, probably a quick remark, but it didn’t come out. I turned, smiling, looking at his stance. He still had a blank expression, hiding any emotion, but I knew deep down that my question affected him.

“How much is that?” He pointed to the baguette in the glass display which conveniently already had the price marked. Humanity’s strongest wasn’t very perceptive if he missed two things. First, the dish tray, now the price tag. Jonas couldn’t have been right about him… it was just a mirage for people inside the walls. For someone to kill that many titans, they had to be some sort of killing machine. They needed him to fit the narrative and his past and facial expression helped him to mold into it seamlessly. The narrative I broke out of as a child.

“For Humanity’s Strongest? Free. Thank you for fighting the titans, Captain.” Without a word, I put the bread in a paper wrap and handed it to him. I had hoped he would say something back so I could talk to him more, but like every Scout, he just turned to walk out of the doors and probably back to the outside of Trost.

“How long till you don’t come back, Captain?”

Chapter Two →

Chapter Masterlist

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi x oc #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x oc #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan levi #original character #aot #levi aot #levi heichou

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help-i-need-a-cool-username · 3 years

Text

Been reading a lot of twitter fics recently and its got me thinking how the Avengers would actually use twitter

(written by someone who has never had a twitter lol)

Bruce — i feel like he wouldnt even have a twitter and if he did its because Tony set one up for him. He either never touches it or its on private

Tony — being a celebrity and all i feel like Pepper or someone else was responsible for the majority of his account. And then he actually got into twitter and started posting whatever he wanted. He's not actually all that active on it. Still has a massive following though

Steve — used to pretend he didnt know how it worked when Tony made him a account. He has periods of lots of activity mixed with periods of no activity. He says a lot of political stuff but the majority of his content is everyday stuff. His most popular content is whenever he tweets about learning something basic or watching a old classic. Has a massive following

Natasha — Tony also made her a account but being a spy and all she never uses it. Whenever she does come on its to embarrass or bully her teammates. Massive following

Clint — has a private account and that was only to stay in touch with his family while he was working at SHIELD. Tony couldnt find it because his account and his family's accounts were under fake names so Tony made him a account with everyone else. He only has like five original tweets and the rest are retweets. Is one of those people who's on all the time but never actually presses the like button. Has a large following solely because he happens to be a superhero

Thor — the only Avenger other than Tony to have already had a twitter (Jane and Darcy helped set it up). He knows how it works but doesnt quite grasp when he should use it. He'll try and tweet when he's off-world and doesnt understand that its not posting. He has a phone but he doesnt carry it around with him so pretty much all of his actually working twitter activity comes from him on a ipad on the couch because he's bored in the middle of day because everyone he knows has a job or something. His tweets either make sense or they dont. Has a massive following anyways

Alright now that the mains are out of the way lets talk about the others

Peter Parker — definitely has two or three accounts. His Peter account is private and his Spidey account is public. His third is either a Peter account May doesnt know about or a "intern" account where he can post about stuff that happens with the Avengers when he's not in the suit (so the Avengers don't figure out who he is and his school friends dont know he actually hangs out with the Avengers). His private account is normal high school aged twitter user stuff, Spidey account is mostly just public announcements but he does Q and As pretty frequently, and the Intern account is a lot like Natasha's in the sense its almost exclusively embarrassing content of or light bullying of the Avengers. Spidey has a massive following and Intern has a large amount. Theres a lot of controversy over whether the Intern account is real despite Tony Stark saying it is because all Stark employees have to sign a form saying they won't talk about what happens at work on any social platforms

Rhodey — uses twitter like a normal person. He didnt have that big a following until he got a suit. He debated turning his account private but decided not to. He does use his account as a platform occasionally

Bucky — he's like Steve, it took him a while to get into it but when he's on it he'll be on it all day. Has the same types of tweets/tweet ratio as Steve. Has no trouble embarrassing Steve online. A large following, almost entirely made of Captain America fans

Sam — a normal person twitter. Sometimes he posts about Steve or the other Avengers and thats gotten him a lot of followers

Dr. Strange — has a twitter but is never on it

Wong — has a private twitter with more followers then Strange. Will never let Strange know he has a twitter

Scott — Luis made him a twitter to help distract him after he got out of prison. He has like 15 followers but posts like he has 1.5 million followers. Really wants to make a Ant-Man account

Hope — has a twitter but for work

Hank — has a twitter but doesnt use it

Luis — a normal person twitter

Shuri — only one from Wakanda to have a Twitter. She has a lot of fun knowing people cant stop her and don't know she's talking about them (cough T'Challa cough). Im not sure if she's using her real name though. When the outreach program begins (i forgot what it was called) she makes several accounts for it

Fury — does not have a twitter

Maria — was only allowed a twitter to monitor the Avengers. Posts a few "normal" things to make the account look real (especially after SHIELD went down)

Carol — does not have a twitter. Enjoys looking at tweet screenshots though

Shaun — a normal person twitter. Private account

Katy — a normal person twitter

Did i forget anyone? I feel like im forgetting someone. Many if this gets some notes i'll do a TikTok account one

EDIT: I FORGOT WANDA AND VISION AHHHHH

Wanda — has a private account because she's smart and values privacy (also scared of public disapproval (i.e. CA:CW)). Was thinking of going public because all the Avengers (minus Bruce but he's not around) have public accounts but Clint recommended she wait till she was adult to get a public account if she wasnt sure about it now. She posted a lot of justice and political stuff when she was in Sokovia

Vision — Actually made himself a account because he wanted to feel included. Does not need a phone to tweet he can do it "mentally".

#hinacu mcu #marvel #mcu #avengers #twitter #twitter fic #chat fic #the avengers #aaou #spider man #shang chi #captain marvel #black panther #iron man #captain america #black widow #hawkeye #bruce banner #thor odinson

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spectrumed · 3 years

Text

10. contact

The key to success is networking. Oh, God, how am I ever going to succeed? Networking? Talking to other people? Making friends? That’s not me, that’s not me at all. I don’t want to make superficial connections with other people just so that I can one day use my connections to get ahead in life. I don’t want to force myself on others, trying to convince them that I am some decent guy that’s totally worth getting to know and be friends with. I don’t know if you’re going to like me or not. I imagine some people would like to be my friend, and I imagine some people would hate to be my friend. I’d rather just forget about the latter group, and not torture myself trying to make friends with people who are fundamentally at odds who I am as a person. I’d rather have a small circle of close friends than a thousand acquaintances. But the key to success is networking.

I’ll never be an insider. This is not me just doubting myself, not some decision to undermine myself. I know that making statements about things that are impossible for you to achieve comes across as very self-defeating, but I know that I will never be an insider. I will never fit into a social clique. I am not going to be part of the boys’ club, yucking it up with my mates. I’m not going to be in any gangs, no bands, most certainly no crews. I am a solo-player. I prefer to work on my own. All my life, I’ve kept to myself, one way or another. I don’t ask for help. Growing up, my sister used to get a lot of help from my mother with school assignments, because she wanted it and she asked for it. My sister and my mother would spend a lot of time together making sure that my sister’s schoolwork turned out well. Looking over spelling, fixing grammatical errors, making sure that the text was easy to read and had a flow to it. Normal parental stuff, really. Kids are supposed to get help from their parents, it’s part of the learning process, no-one gets by all on their own. Well, except for me. I never asked for help.

I actually found it really unbearable to have my mother look over my schoolwork to see if I made any errors. Not because I am such a horrid narcissist that I refuse to admit that there were any errors, but rather because… well, it felt invasive. Like as if you spot someone spying on you through your window. It made me feel very self-conscious, in a way that I realise now is similar to how I feel when I make eye contact. Yes, I am bad at making eye contact, especially when I am speaking at the same time. I don’t mind making eye contact when you are speaking, but I don’t want to make eye contact with you when I am speaking. Is that funny? Is that odd? Well, the way I feel about it is that eye contact is intimate, it’s almost like touching. It’s mental touching. If you share eye contact with somebody you are sharing a connection. You are mind-touching each other. Oh, well… I guess that maybe it’s not quite like that, but I still don’t find it easy.

At times, I find much of the discussions about neurodiversity online somewhat off-putting. Especially when it comes to those people who are really keen on being all out positive, all the time. Those people who see any shade of negativity as outright hazardous. Don’t bring up the fact that being neurodivergent can be difficult, don’t mention the difficulties that come with being on the autism spectrum. Engage with self-empowerment! Celebrate what makes you different! Go out there and be proud of yourself, be happy about your autism, it is cool to be autistic! And, sure, I understand the importance of injecting optimism into the neurodivergent community. We need optimism, we need to profess our desire to be happy, to show the world that you don’t need to be neurotypical to be content with your life. No-one wants to be around a sourpuss just wallowing in their discontentment. But, sometimes things just suck, okay? Having a positive attitude may project confidence, may make others think you’ve got it together, but be wary when that positive attitude just becomes a mask you hide behind.

Look, we live in a society. Whether you like it or not, you live in a society. We need to rage against this society, because this society is no good. Things may look good to some people, but those people are wrong, and I am right. I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore! Let’s have ourselves a little revolution and see if we can piece a new society together, one that doesn’t commit to the same mistakes as the last one. Oh, wait, how do we do that? And how do we make sure that we win the revolution, we could easily lose, and that might actually just make things worse for us. What if this society we live in got even worse? Yikes, that’s a thought too scary to even really consider. Can things get worse? I don’t want things to get worse. Maybe I just shouldn’t rock the boat. Let’s calm down, and let’s not make any rash decisions here. We can overthrow society at some other point. For now, let’s just have some tea.

Yes, society stinks, but what can you do about it? It is absolutely the case that neurotypical people have it easier navigating modern society than neurodivergent people. Others expect you to function just like they function. If you wish to fit in, you are required to act more neurotypical. People expect that from you. Learn to adapt, to hide amongst them. Trick them. Make them think you are one of them. Be the wolf in sheep’s clothing. They’ll never know the truth of who you are. An outsider that managed to get on the inside. You stand by the watercooler, and by gosh, you make yourself laugh at their jokes even though you’d rather not be there at all. You partake in the small talk, talking about the weather, feigning interest in the footballs, and pretending to be an all-around wholesome compatriot. You’re not at all secretly some kind of anti-social misfit, who’d rather stay at home sitting behind a monitor and playing strategy games on your own. Do you want to come and join your workmates for a drink or two later? Oh, yes, of course you’d like that, but you might need to limit your alcohol intake so that you don’t get too drunk and begin to let the mask slip. It’s too easy getting into hyper-specific rants about obscure topics no normal person would care about when you’re inebriated, so let’s not risk that.

“Be yourself.” Pfth, bah, humbug. Neurotypicals love to state empty platitudes. You don’t want me to be myself. You’ve made it very clear that you don’t want me to be myself. Call me a cynic all you want, but you can’t get nowhere in life simply by being yourself. For better or worse, authenticity is nowhere near as desired as some people make it out to be. Name a single really successful person who is truly themselves. Fake-authenticity does better than the real deal. True sincerity, of the kind that’s naked, shameless, ugly, and challenging, it is difficult to love. And that’s not all bad, it’s just a fact of life. We all need to cover some things about ourselves up, and need to keep some secrets, because that is what is expected from us. Just as we wear clothes to cover up our naked bodies. No shame on the nudists, they’re free to embrace whatever alternative lifestyle they want, but I don’t want to see your naked body. Don’t get nude in front of me. I already struggle with eye contact, I sure wouldn’t struggle less if you stood in front of me nude as well.

Actually, to a certain extent, these social rules we all conform to can actually be quite appreciated by those of us who are on the spectrum. It is easier to know what you must do in a formal social situation than in a casual social situation. Casual people, they’re just so… unpredictable. Sticking their casual bits everywhere, acting like guests at your house who don’t seem to understand that your home is not their home. Even as a kid I hated having friends of mine over at my place. They’d play with my toys, place my toys where they don’t belong, or even worse, they may break some of my toys. Don’t touch that, it’s mine. Don’t put your icky hands on my bed, I sleep there. Don’t rip pages out of that book, it’s my favourite book. Don’t breathe in my room, I breathe in my room. I just can’t handle you coming here and disturbing the peace. I had it all ordered, I knew where everything was, and I liked it. Now you brought with you the forces of chaos, and dealing with that is just now what I had in mind for today.

I could never be a freemason. Sure, I have some good ideas for how to secretly rule the world, but if you’re a freemason, you’re expected to be part of the team. There’s no “I” in freemasonry. The secret cabal that controls all of the world’s governments, they don’t want independent folks like me to show up thinking that I can do my work assignments on my own. The Illuminati is run by a committee. You don’t get far in that world by being some freewheeling bohemian incapable of getting along with others. You don’t establish a New World Order by promoting self-reliance. Institutions are great for those who like to get chummy with their pals, the gregarious sorts who know exactly who to talk to in order to advance in the ranks. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. Favours for favours. One of the reasons why I inherently distrust many institutions is because they are rife with nepotism. You know that whoever gets to sit on the high council of the Illuminati didn’t get there via competency alone. No, they knew a guy, who was cousins with this other guy, who used to work for this guy, and y’know, you pull one string and suddenly there you are on top of the social hierarchy. Most often people get promoted, not because they do good work, but because they happen to know the right people. But again, maybe I’m just being cynical.

I’ve had a recurring fantasy, in the past, of being a lighthouse keeper. Living out somewhere all on my own, not having to deal with any human relationships. Maybe I could befriend a seagull, but even that seems a little too much. Seagulls can be very needy. No, I’d just get on with whatever I’d most like to be doing, writing or making art, just enjoying my solitude. I imagine that the toughest thing about being a lighthouse keeper is the loneliness, but the loneliness is only a plus for me. I’ve long ago decided to like being lonely. I don’t want to face the fact that I too yearn for company, I like to pretend as if I am fine with being alone. So the fantasy of being a lighthouse keeper is perfect for me, I could get far away from society and I could earn a living not having to give a fuck about what others think about me. I could allow myself to get as weird as I would want to get, not having to wash my image, acting like I’m all rational and well-adjusted. It would just be me and my seagull. How simple life would be. Too bad I think most lighthouses are automated, these days.

Maybe being the perpetual malcontent cynic incapable of fitting with mainstream society isn’t all so bad. In some regards, I have made that my brand. Generally, I like to think that I don’t take myself too seriously, but like a lot of people, I’ve turned those edgier parts of my personality into armour that I wear to protect myself from the scorn of others. You can’t accuse me of being a miserable piece of shit when I’ve decided to make being a miserable piece of shit my thing. It’s what I am, and I am not going to change. I’m not really all that mean, or nasty. I am fairly cynical, but I don’t act like some asshole. I don’t think anyone is upset with me for how I act. I’ve only occasionally gotten told off for being too gloomy. But the problem here does not lie with how I end up treating others, but rather how I end up treating myself. I don’t want to make cynicism part of my sense of self. I don’t want to be this person, this misanthrope who only sees problems, and never celebrates the good things in life. I should engage with self-empowerment. I should be happy.

It’s okay being neurodivergent! Sure, you may find other people strange or foreign, with their yapping mouths and their over-eager desire to look you directly in the eyes, but just ignore them! Neurotypicals are just so last century, the future is all neurodivergent! You’re on the right side of history, bud! You’re cool, and radical, and you’re absolutely a sexy little cupcake. You either learn to love yourself, or you lose yourself. Make funny memes, find some online community to be a part of. You can absolutely be a freemason if you want to be a freemason. Don’t let your diagnosis get in your way, so long as you’ve got that inner fire driving you, you can be anything you want to be. Go ahead and rule the world, babe. Remember, what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, and right now, it’s good vibes only.

#neurodivergent #neurodiversity #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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rebeccatherine · 3 years

Text

Reconnaissance

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Rating: Mature Characters: Sharon Carter (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Arthur Parks Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Espionage Summary: Sam Wilson accompanies Sharon Carter on an undercover SHIELD mission.

Read on AO3 under the pseud rebeccavis or below.

Sam had offered to sleep on the floor. He said he was used to it from his days in the military, which Sharon understood; Steve had mentioned to her offhandedly before that his bed never felt quite right. However, on this occasion the bed was probably the safest place for both of them. As she had pointed out to Sam, they had a clear view of the window from there should they need it and, if anyone decided to check in on them, it would look a little strange for a doting wife to be alone in a king-size bed. Sam, after looking horrified by the notion of someone spying on him while he was asleep, eventually conceded.

“Sorry.” Sam’s whisper had been preceded by the sound of something soft hitting the floor. “Why do they give you so many dang pillows?”

Sharon chuckled. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “Rich people shit?”

Their backs were turned to each other and, even if they hadn’t been, Sharon doubted she’d be able to see much of anything in the darkness of their isolated cabin. She heard a soft rumble from next to her, though, and could see Sam smiling in her head. “Rich people shit,” he agreed.

Sharon supposed she was meant to go to sleep now. While she hadn’t served in the military, she’d had her fair share of sleeping in strange places as a SHIELD agent, many of which had been far less comfortable than where she was at the moment. Even so, this was maybe the first time she was worried about having trouble drifting off. Her mind was usually where she felt it should be: focused on the job and what steps she needed to take to ensure its success, including getting a good night’s sleep. Tonight, her mind was for some reason lingering on terms of endearment, unexpected compliments and arms wrapped tenderly around her waist.

She felt Sam’s weight shift slowly next to her and suspected he was turning over onto his other side. It was something she had been thinking about, too, although now it meant they’d be face to face, which would be weird. Or would it? She settled for rolling over onto her back instead to stare at the ceiling. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and she could just about trace the outline of the wooden beams above her head.

“Hey, Shar?” Sam’s voice was soft, but so unexpected that she froze for a split second. “Can we talk?”

“Sam? Is my purse out there?” Sharon had raised her voice a little, hoping she’d be heard from outside the bathroom where she was putting on her makeup.

“Uh...yeah, I see it, baby,” she heard Sam reply, emphasizing his last word significantly more than was necessary, “Do you need it?”

“Oh, I think I left something in there, but I can…” Sharon trailed off as she heard footsteps in her direction and then a gentle rap on the door she hadn’t bothered to lock. “You can come in. I’m almost done.”

The door opened with a click and Sam stepped in, offering up a smile as his eyes met hers. She could tell there was a slight nervousness to his expression, at odds with how comfortably the bespoke dark suit he was wearing fit him.

“Almost, huh?” he said, his tone playful.

“Wouldn’t want to forget my lipstick,” Sharon explained, reaching over to take her small silver clutch from his hand, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, you’d look terrible without it,” Sam teased, to which Sharon chuckled.

Having reclaimed the missing item from her purse, Sharon turned back towards the mirror to apply the deep red shade to her lips. It reminded her of the colors her aunt had always been fond of wearing, perhaps even more so because, like her aunt once had, she was currently sporting brunette shoulder-length curls. Her dress, on the other hand - red, full-length, with a front slit and a mostly open back - was probably something Peggy would not have opted for unless she had also been undercover.

“Just to be clear - you look amazing, Shar.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Sam’s words, then directed a grin at him.

“So we’re not going with ‘baby’?” she asked.

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Damn it.”

“It’s OK, you don’t have to worry. While you were out I put a bug killer in one of the lamps by the bed, so nobody’s listening in on us,” Sharon assured him as she turned around, “It’s good to get some practice, though.”

“I just thought ‘baby’ would be easier,” Sam explained, “I’m worried I’m going to forget to call you by your cover name.”

“‘Baby’ works great. I’ll go with it, too.” Sharon gave a nod to indicate she was ready to go, then emerged with Sam into the bedroom. “Look, I know this undercover stuff isn’t exactly your thing, but I promise you’re in safe hands,” she added, “Besides, it’s not like you have to put on a British accent or anything.”

“Thank God,” Sam noted, “I bet you can do a great British accent. You have family from there, right?”

“Yeah, that’s an easy one for me. My grandfather’s whole side of the family is British.”

“Did they teach you any fun British slang?”

“Plenty, but I’m pretty sure it’s all from the fifties so I’m totally out of date.” Sharon gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “You know my aunt used to call me ‘Shaz’ sometimes?”

“Shaz?” Sam echoed. His eyebrows raised as he shot an endearing glance at her, clearly entertained by the idea. “That’s amazing. Can I call you ‘Shaz’?”

“Absolutely not,” Sharon replied, though she kept her tone light.

“Noted. Although I make no promises after this mission is over and I’ve found the nearest place where I can get a daiquiri,” Sam noted, “You don’t have to join me, though.”

“Maybe I’d be OK with it under those circumstances,” Sharon conceded with a smile, “I do like ‘Shar’, though.”

Sam looked pleased with himself. He made his way over to the bed to pick up Sharon’s coat, which he offered to her. “Trust me, I’ve worked with you enough and heard enough to know I’m in the safest of hands,” he affirmed, “I just don’t want to get in your way. Do the photos look good?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re perfect. All you need to do is distract Parks and I know exactly where I need to go,” Sharon slipped her arms into the outstretched garment, shrugging it over her shoulders and gently tugging her hair out from underneath it. “Tell Redwing I said thanks.”

“I will,” Sam replied after a small pause, “So we’re in, we talk to the party guests for a bit, you go download the files, and we’re out. Pretty straightforward apart from the fact that our ride isn’t coming until tomorrow morning.”

“So unlike Maria to not come pick up her friends after a party, but what can you do?” Sharon joked, “I think we’ll be OK to spend the night in our luxury log cabin.”

“I can always take the floor,” Sam said.

“We can talk about that later. Let me give you your comm.” Sharon’s purse didn’t have room for much besides her lipstick and some cash, but the communication devices - one of which she handed to Sam - barely took up any space at all. “Is there anything else we need to go over?”

“I don’t think so. I’m glad we have these,” Sam admitted, then something seemed to occur to him, “Oh, I was going to ask you about ground rules. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I know we’re supposed to be married...I guess I don’t know how this usually works.”

“When we’re in the field pretending to be a couple we tend not to go overboard on public displays of affection unless the intention is to make someone else feel uncomfortable. Honestly, though, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I trust you.” Sharon exchanged a small smile with him, and was glad to see he looked a little relieved.

“Alright, then, Mrs. Dixon. Let’s go.” Sam offered up his arm, which Sharon took as they made their way down the wooden staircase to the living room. “This is some really weird rich people shit, you know. What kind of person owns what looks like an English mansion in upstate New York and makes his friends hire out nearby log cabins with no cellphone service just to attend his party?”

Sharon laughed, partly because it sounded a lot like something Tony Stark might do. “I’m glad you got that off your chest,” she commented, “And you’re right. Unfortunately, tonight I think we’re going to have to deal with a lot of rich people shit.”

“Name?” The man at the entrance to the mansion was dressed as a butler and peering at Sam as if he was a curiosity, which gave Sharon a strong urge to kick him in the face with one of her high heels.

“Dixon. Sean Dixon,” Sam told him with a confidence that meant Sharon didn’t have to force a smile. She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze, having kept her own wrapped around it for most of the drive over.

“Ah, yes, and you must be the lovely Cherie Dixon.” The butler pronounced her name with a perfect French accent, so Sharon naturally had to correct him.

“Oh, it’s ‘Sherry’, but believe me, if I could say it your way I would,” she declared. The giggle she gave along with her words was fake but well-practiced, unlike the smile the butler gave her in return which was simply fake.

“If you would be so kind as to step into our testing area,” the butler instructed them.

Sharon gave a small nod which Sam mirrored, and the two of them made their way inside. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon noticed that their ride - a chauffeured limousine that had been provided by the owner of the mansion - was still waiting in the extended driveway. She wondered what instructions the chauffeur had been given should she and/or Sam turn out to be mutants.

They had both been briefed early on that the party had a strict policy against mutants attending. It wasn’t a particularly new development; there were many, particularly those in power, who didn’t like that mutants could often hide in plain sight unlike most of the Avengers. What wasn’t clear, however, was how such policies were being enforced, and that was one of the things she and Sam had been tasked with finding out.

“Please give me your left index finger.” Sharon had been ushered along with Sam through the first door on the left, where a line of men and women dressed as old-fashioned footmen and maids were holding anachronistic devices that were roughly the same shape as a large calculator. She glanced at Sam, who just barely raised his eyebrows, then turned to the woman who had addressed her.

“Here you go,” she said, letting go of her companion’s arm to present her left hand to what she assumed was a lab technician-turned-maid. The woman clearly didn’t have much in the way of bedside manner, as she pricked Sharon’s finger with a needle without so much as a warning. She then instructed her to press the small drop of blood to a pad on the device she was holding, where a bright light shone behind Sharon’s finger before she received a reading.

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed.

“Is that good?” Sharon asked, her eyes wide.

The woman who had tested her all but rolled her eyes. “Yeah. That’s good,” she said, then turning to Sam, “You’re up next.”

Sharon’s eyes darted around to the other would-be house staff while Sam was similarly tested for his lack of a mutant gene. The devices they were using were unfamiliar to her, and she could almost make out a logo on the back of them but not quite. For now, she just made a mental note to try to steal one of the devices before they left the mansion for the night.

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed again, and Sam was also cleared to go out the door and back into the foyer.

“I feel like she drew way more blood than she needed to,” Sharon remarked, shaking her head. The needle prick didn’t really bother her at all and she’d had far worse injuries in the field, but Sam had been very quiet so far and it was starting to unnerve her how differently he was acting compared to his usual self. She hoped that she might be able to help him relax by drawing him into a conversation.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam’s response wasn’t very encouraging but he did offer her his hand, which she took.

“Maybe she was just jealous,” Sharon mused playfully. Sam had taken her hand in both of his and gently turned it over. “What are you doing?”

“Just surveying the damage,” Sam said with a hint of a smile, “You think she was jealous of your ring?”

Sharon had managed to almost forget about the 2 carat, heart-shaped engagement ring and matching wedding ring on her left finger. Sam clearly hadn’t, though, and she was glad he seemed to be settling into his role. “I think she was jealous of my gorgeous husband,” she replied, “You do look very good in that suit, baby.”

“Well, you look good in pretty much everything, baby,” Sam replied. Something about the way he was looking at her took Sharon off guard, and she was surprised to feel the back of her neck grow hot. Sam was apparently a better actor than she had given him credit for.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she intended at first. She cleared her throat and then added: “You’ve always known how to compliment a girl.”

“Isn’t that why you married me?” Sam teased. He let go of her hand and offered his arm to her again.

“One of many reasons,” Sharon replied with a grin. She accepted his offer and then nodded towards an open doorway that led into what appeared to be the living room. “Everyone seems to be heading in there and it looks like they have drinks, so I vote we go check my coat and then we follow,” she suggested.

“Lead the way, Cherie.” Sam managed a pretty decent impersonation of the butler from earlier, and Sharon laughed.

“Shut up.”

“Sher-ee.”

“Sher-ee,” Sharon repeated, butchering the French guttural ‘R’ sound as if she hadn’t had plenty of practice speaking French in her line of work.

“Eh, close enough.” The woman seated in a small, cream-colored armchair across from Sharon and Sam shrugged her shoulders with a smile, tossing her shoulder-length blonde bob. Sharon didn’t know too much about her yet but she did know that her name was Marie, she seemed to speak better French than Sharon did even when she wasn’t pretending, and - most importantly - she was their ticket to the person they were looking for. She seemed younger than Sharon, maybe twenty at most, and eager to make conversation. Sharon had spotted her chatting with the host of the party earlier, and all they needed to do now was get her to lead them to him.

“Didn’t you tell me your name means ‘darling’?” Sam asked, glancing at Sharon. They were sitting on a powder blue couch, his arm resting gently around her shoulders.

Sharon all but batted her eyelashes. “That’s what my mom always said.”

“Yes, she was correct,” Marie said enthusiastically, “From chérir, to cherish.”

“Like the Madonna song,” Sharon joked. Sam chuckled, but Marie’s blank expression suggested to Sharon she’d been right about the other woman’s age.

“Clearly your mother chose well,” Marie continued, “You make a wonderful couple.”

“Thank you. I feel like I can barely remember what life was like before Sean,” Sharon said, all smiles, “We’re a good team. He makes up for all the things I’m missing.”

“Come on, baby, there isn’t anything you’re missing,” Sam insisted.

“It’s OK, I know I’m not the smartest cookie in the cookie jar,” Sharon retorted, “But you, on the other hand...I’m telling you, Marie, you’re looking at the world’s next Tony Stark.”

“My wife likes to brag about me,” Sam told Marie, “I also love to hear it, though, so it all works out.”

“So you are interested in technology?” Marie asked.

“I’m working on starting up my own tech company,” Sam explained, “Cherie’s father is an investor and I’m looking for a few more.”

“In that case, you should definitely talk to Arthur if you haven’t yet. I know he’s always looking for new collaborators,” Marie said, “You know the mutant detectors that scanned your blood when you first arrived?”

“So that’s what they were?” Sharon mused out loud.

“Wait, did Parks provide the lasers they use in those?” Sam piped up.

Marie grinned. “Yes. He and Trask are hoping they’ll be able to make them available to the mass market soon.”

“That’s impressive,” Sam said with a nod, “Do you work with him?”

“Oh, no.” Despite Marie’s reply, Sharon could tell she was flattered by the notion that she might be involved in Arthur Parks’s company. Nice going, Sam. “I’ve just known him since I was very young. Arthur’s wife, Lucy, knew my father and when I was growing up he wasn’t around very much...the Parks practically raised me.”

“Well, clearly you’ve picked up a lot from them. I’m around Sean all the time and I still don’t really understand his work,” Sharon said with a laugh.

“I actually had been hoping to get a chance to talk to Mr. Parks. I’ve never met him directly but from talking to friends of his I really think we’d have a lot to offer each other,” Sam affirmed.

“Then allow me to introduce you,” Marie offered, “Trust me, it would be my pleasure.”

“Alright, Sam, I’m in the study. Clear your throat if our friend is suitably distracted.”

Sharon soon heard Sam’s subtle assurance over her comm, although she almost didn’t need it because she could also hear Arthur Parks droning on in the background. She felt relieved that she had only had to stand next to Sam and pretend to be interested in the man’s work for a relatively short time before, as she had expected him to, Parks had invited ‘Sean’ to join him and a couple of other men for a cigar. Sharon had then spent a few minutes in Marie’s company before excusing herself to use the powder room. Her companion had offered to go with her, but Sharon had managed to convince her that she needed some privacy when she implied that she might be taking a pregnancy test.

“I’ll be as fast as I can and keep you updated. Sorry this has to be a one-way conversation,” Sharon told Sam.

When she thought about it, there were quite a few things she felt as though she wanted to apologize to Sam for. This wasn’t supposed to be his mission in the first place, for one. The original plan had been for Steve to accompany her, until the discovery that more than a few guests at the party had ties to HYDRA had made it impossible for Steve to go incognito. Sam had the technical expertise to both help in the field and impress Parks, so he had been the natural choice. The world of espionage was far from Sam’s natural environment, though, and even though he’d been doing well so far, Sharon felt a sense of responsibility in making sure nothing happened to him. That feeling was coupled with a decent-sized amount of guilt that she would actually rather be on a mission with Sam than Steve at the moment.

“I’ve got to admit I’m a little envious of you, Dixon. It sounds like your story’s just starting and you have a world of opportunities ahead of you. I remember when it felt that way for me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes as she took her lipstick out of her purse and popped a concealed flash drive out of the bottom of it. She had little to no sympathy for the plight of someone like Arthur Parks.

“I do feel very lucky,” Sharon heard Sam’s voice say, “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely had to hustle, but the hustle was worth it.”

“Hacking in now,” she informed Sam quietly, the flash drive now inserted into Parks’s personal laptop.

“Mmmm, and I’m sure having a rich wife can’t have hurt. I wasn’t so lucky.”

Arthur Parks’s use of the word ‘wasn’t’ gave Sharon pause. They hadn’t been given any intel on his marriage having recently fallen apart, although it was a little odd that his wife Lucy didn’t seem to be in attendance at the party.

“A word of advice, Dixon, although it’s probably too late,” Parks continued unprompted, “Always sign a prenup.”

Sam gave what sounded like a slightly nervous laugh. “I don’t think I need to worry about my wife.” Sharon was about to tell him not to be afraid to throw his wife under the metaphorical bus if he needed to, but a third person with an English accent spoke up before she had a chance.

“I think this one’s a lost cause, Arthur.” Sharon had heard the man introduce himself as Jonathan Wilson a little bit earlier. “You and your wife seem very much in love.”

“I really think it’d be hard not to fall in love with Cher,” Sam declared. Sharon noticed his ‘Cher’ sounded a little close to ‘Shar’, but hopefully nobody else would pick up on it. “I mean, you’ve all seen how beautiful she is but on top of that she’s so...brave, and talented, and just so competent…”

Sharon couldn’t help the smile that crossed her features for a moment, even if it quickly vanished as she realized she was listening to a bout of silence. Either something had gone wrong with the comms or Sam had paused awkwardly mid-sentence and although the latter was preferable, it still wasn’t ideal.

“...at making me happy, you know what I’m saying?” Sharon heard a few ripples of laughter following Sam’s joke, and she breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Nice recovery,” she told him, “Alright, I’m in. Just keep doing your thing, but maybe don’t lean into the doting husband role too much. I don’t see so much as a picture of Athur’s wife in his study and it sounds like things got ugly.”

The conversation took more of a business slant again and Sharon was able to relax ever so slightly, continuing to listen while she went through the files on Arthur Parks’s laptop. She had always found it a little ironic that the objective of any given mission, like this, tended to be the easiest part. Getting in and getting out were usually the parts that you had to worry about.

“Looks like the intel we got was solid. Parks is definitely trying to build himself some kind of team, but I think SHIELD will have to dig deeper to find out what for,” Sharon informed Sam, “I’m copying the list of contacts and his correspondence. Lots of familiar names here, several associated with HYDRA...and Georges Batroc. Interesting.”

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re tired of listening to me by now. Maybe I can get my laptop and show you some photos of all the places Parks lasers have been used. Who knows, I might even give you some ideas about where they haven’t.”

Sharon stiffened as she glanced at the progress bar in the corner of the computer screen. “I’m not done,” she said after hearing Arthur Parks’s words, “Sam, can you stall him?”

“I...think I already have some ideas, actually,” Sharon heard Sam say, “Marie mentioned you were interested in music, and I…”

“Marie thinks she knows a lot more than she actually does,” Parks interrupted, “My wife is the music lover. Not that her taste in music is any good.”

“Marie’s just a kid,” Sam noted softly, “They always think they know a lot.”

“Not that much of a kid.” Arthur Parks’s voice was quieter than before and Sharon was having a hard time hearing him. “It’d be nice if she acted like more of an adult every once in a while.”

“Almost there,” Sharon said to Sam. Her fingers were hovering over the flash drive, ready to retrieve it the moment it was finished copying the files. “Just keep him talking.”

“Well, she has nothing but nice things to say about you and your wife, so it seems like you taught her something,” Sam said, managing to keep his tone jovial, “She said you practically raised her?”

“You seem to be very interested in Marie,” Parks commented. Sharon thought she might have heard the sound of a clinking glass. “Wilson?”

“Yeah?” Sam answered at the exact same time as another voice that Sharon presumed belonged to Jonathan Wilson did.

Shit. Sharon watched the progress bar creep towards the end far too slowly for her taste as Arthur Parks offered Jonathan Wilson a drink.

“Sorry. I thought you said Dixon,” Sam said sheepishly.

“Well, I was also going to ask you a different question,” Parks said, “You a Scotch drinker?”

“Sometimes,” Sam answered.

“Sometimes,” Parks echoed with a chuckle, “Where are you from again?”

“New York,” Sam replied, “City. The City. Harlem.” He clearly remembered his cover story but seemed to be having trouble keeping his nerves under control.

“Right, right.”

“Got it,” Sharon declared, “I’m going to close up here and I’ll come knock on the door looking for you.”

“There’s something about your accent, though…” she heard Parks muse while she stowed the flash drive away back in her lipstick tube, “Sometimes it sounds a little off to me.”

“I can’t pick up on anything...but then, I don’t suppose I’d be able to,” Jonathan Wilson commented with a chortle.

Sharon stood up after closing Parks’s laptop, making sure it looked just as it did when she had first found it. She felt as though she could practically hear Sam’s heart beating faster, or perhaps it was just her own. “Hey, don’t be afraid to change your backstory a little if you need to,” she encouraged him, “The easiest lies to tell are the ones with a bit of truth.”

“How did you know?” Sam said, feigning being impressed, “My dad is from Louisiana. I don’t even notice it most of the time but Cher tells me sometimes the occasional word slips out.”

Sharon smiled to herself. The door to the study was closed behind her and from there it was only a quick trip across the hallway to where she needed to be. Granted, it was quite a large hallway.

“I knew it,” Parks declared, “I’ve been to Louisiana a couple of times. New Orleans is a great…”

Sharon knocked loudly at the door. When Arthur Parks pulled it open, he was greeted with the sight of her with her hair slightly dishevelled and grinning from ear to ear.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Dixon?” he asked.

“I just thought I’d stop by to rescue my husband,” Sharon answered.

It was getting in and getting out that you had to worry about. Getting to the party had required a lot of planning, from SHIELD providing Sharon and Sam with aliases and a mission briefing to their conversations on the flight to New York. During that time they had also planned how they’d be getting out, but that plan hinged on everyone perceiving them as nothing more than party guests. To that end, what they couldn’t do was leave the party at the nearest opportunity. Rather than make more small talk, Sharon had suggested they head to the ballroom and she didn’t think she’d ever seen Sam look more relieved.

“So do you think I thoroughly destroyed your chances at entering into a business deal with Arthur Parks?” Sharon wondered playfully. She had to lean in close to him to be heard over the music, but that was easy to do when they were dancing.

“Oh, I think those chances are pretty much roadkill by now,” Sam replied, making her chuckle, “That’s alright. I think if I’d had to listen to him for another half hour I’d have lost my mind.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. It’s his loss, at any rate.”

“Sure is. For a successful businessman, he seems pretty good at losing things.” Sam lifted his arm and gently twirled her around while she barely hid a grin.

“You can spin me more than that,” she said, “I used to be a figure skater, you know.”

“Wait, really?” Sam closed the small distance between them as the song changed to one with a slower tempo, his hands coming to her waist.

“Oh, yeah. My mom taught me to ice skate when I was a kid,” Sharon explained, “Have you ever tried it?”

“No, I haven’t, but I always thought it looked fun,” Sam replied, “I guess it’s probably a bit like flying.”

“Well, I’ve never flown, but to me it feels a lot like flying.” Sharon let her arms rest around Sam’s shoulders almost without thinking about it. “I’m a little out of practice, but I still go sometimes. I’ll take you - maybe before rather than after we go to a bar for that daiquiri.”

Sam seemed to like that idea if his grin was any indication. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He glanced over his shoulder momentarily and then leant in so that he could lower his voice even more, speaking softly close to her ear. “You just need to go on a few more ops with me if you ever want to try flying.”

Sharon was surprised not by Sam’s gesture but her own reaction to it. She’d seen him harmlessly flirt with other people before, especially Natasha, and she enjoyed flirting herself when the occasion called for it. The unusual part was feeling her neck grow hot and letting her gaze linger on his lips when he pulled back. “I’d like that,” she admitted, “You’re a good partner.”

Sam smiled again.

Sharon swiftly decided that she should keep talking, mostly because she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she didn’t. “Hopefully next time you’ll get to have a little more fun,” she told him.

“Hey, I’m having fun,” Sam insisted, to which Sharon raised her eyebrows. “I am now, at least.” Sharon laughed. “I do wish the music was a little better.”

“Mmm, some Marvin Gaye, maybe?” Sharon suggested.

“For starters,” Sam replied, a hint of suspicion in his smile.

“You know who probably would’ve picked better music?” Sharon said. She was struggling to keep a straight face before the punchline of her own joke, which she decided to attribute to a combination of both the high and relief from having completed a large part of their mission. “Arthur Parks’s wife,” she just about managed to get out before she burst into laughter, hiding her face in Sam’s shoulder. She heard him laughing as well, which only made it more difficult for her to compose herself, but at least she figured the other party guests wouldn’t think much of it.

“You’re a great partner,” Sam declared, then adding, “We’re good to stay here for the rest of the party, right?”

Sharon nodded, pressing her lips together to suppress any remnants of her giggles. “I did just tell you that I’m pregnant, after all.” Sam’s eyes widened almost comically for a moment before he seemed to remember the excuse Sharon had used to get rid of Marie.

“Of course,” Sam joined in, “We can name the kid Laser.”

Sharon had to cover her mouth with one of her hands to muffle a guffaw.

“Hey, Shar? Can we talk?”

Somehow, Sharon had a feeling Sam didn’t want to talk about the mission, which had gone remarkably smoothly, all things considered. The intel they needed was stored on the flash drive in Sharon’s purse, which was sitting on the nightstand next to something else they had also managed to bring back. Just before they left the mansion, they had returned to the testing room with an excuse about Sharon having misplaced her wedding ring. While Sam distracted the woman who had tested Sharon earlier, Sharon had managed to grab one of the mutant detectors and the staff seemed none the wiser. The only real concern now was the fact that they had to spend the rest of the night in their cabin, which meant if Arthur Parks or anyone else did suspect them, they would know where to find them. Sam was aware of all of that, though, and she would be very surprised if he wanted to go over what to do if they caught a glimpse of someone staring at them through the window.

“Sure,” she replied, her eyes still on the ceiling. She let out a small exhale before she rolled over onto her side to face Sam, barely able to make out his expression in the darkness. “Is everything OK?”

“Yeah. I just...I’m not even sure I should be saying anything, but...y’know, aside from almost forgetting New York was both a state and a city and being called ‘entertaining’ by some weird British folks, I actually had a really good time tonight.”

Sharon couldn’t help a small smile. “I kind of meant it when I told Marie we made a good team.”

“Did you mean it when you said we should go ice skating and then for drinks?” That question caught Sharon off guard, particularly in how hopeful Sam sounded when he said it. “It’s OK if you didn’t,” he added quickly, before she had a chance to respond, “We’ve known each other for a while, but we’ve never…” Sam paused. “Tonight, when we were dancing, I just felt like…”

“I felt it, too,” Sharon said quietly.

“OK.” She was starting to be able to see his face better as her eyes continued to adjust to the light, and she realized a smile was slowly spreading across it. “OK,” he repeated with a nod, “I’m kind of getting the feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming, though.”

“There’s a ‘but’,” Sharon admitted. His delight at the notion that they both felt similarly was already making her reconsider what she was about to say, but she wanted to be honest with him. “I’m not ready, Sam.”

“Ah. There it is,” Sam said. His grin vanished, as she expected, and he gave a small nod. “I understand. You did break up with Captain America. That had to have been pretty crazy.”

“Or, as my extended family likes to tell me, I’m the crazy one.” Sharon flashed a humorless smile. “I don’t...I’m not in love with Steve anymore, but that breakup wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even anyone’s fault, really, it was just...well, I’m sure the last thing you want to hear is gossip about your best friend.”

“I did just kind of admit to having a crush on my best friend’s ex-girlfriend, though,” Sam noted.

“I guess you did.” Sharon’s smile was genuine this time. “God, I wish we’d figured this out sooner.”

“I’ll take some of the blame for that. I was too busy staring at redheads.”

“And I was too busy thinking if I stuck around long enough Steve might fall in love with me.”

“Shar…” Sam’s voice was soft, and Sharon suddenly felt like she might have said too much.

“If you were just a hot stranger this would be a whole lot easier,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Sam teased back, “It’s OK, Sharon. Sometimes the timing just isn’t right.”

“I just meant that if it was someone I didn’t really care about, maybe I’d go on a date or two and it wouldn’t end well but it wouldn’t be a big deal. If it was you, though...I wouldn’t want to mess it up.”

“If it was you, I wouldn’t want to mess it up, either.” Sharon’s breath caught in her throat. “Can I...can I ask you a favor, though? If you do feel like you’re ready someday, and assuming you haven’t met anyone even hotter, can you let me know?”

“What if you’re dating Natasha Romanoff by then?” Sharon asked, not entirely unseriously.

“In that case I would like everyone to please give us as much privacy as possible,” Sam replied with a smirk.

“Wow, OK. She’s really your type?”

“Are you jealous, Shaz?”

Sharon couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe a little. Is that OK?”

“Yeah. That’s OK.” Sam’s eyes had what could only be described as a twinkle in them. “You still haven’t answered me.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

#SamSharon #Sharon x Sam #Sam x Sharon #Sam Wilson #Sharon Carter #MCU #Marvel #One Shots #Shasam

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starlight-thoughts-ao3 · 3 years

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Handle With Care

Summary: For a moment, he considered walking back out of the room, give her the privacy she clearly desired, but she wasn't stopping, so he kept watching. She kept dancing to the delicate music and he sank to the floor in front of her, his legs crossed over themselves, a captive audience. Her lips quirked up into a smile, and as the song came to an end, she bowed in his direction.

TW: Nothing, so far as I’m aware. Let me know if you disagree.

Notes: This is part me being poetic and pretentious and part me being unable to get the image of Natasha dancing for Tony out of my head. I just, their relationship in the MCU is one I find fascinating. The "I should not care about you, but I can't help it" on both ends of that is something I can't help but play around with, and I've been toying with this fic for months and I'm not entirely happy with it, but I have it written so here. Cross-posted on AO3.

Human beings like to tell themselves such pretty lies. Things will get better. Everything happens for a reason. Love always wins. We tell ourselves stories where the good guys win and the bad guys get put away behind bars because we can't cope with the concept that sometimes, life just doesn't care. Tony Stark was born into a world that would always know his name, though not for the reasons he'd wish they would. Such careful manipulation of the facts made sure that no one would ever think that the man who was known as the Merchant of Death was so full of life and energy he was drowning in it. He poured all his passion into things he'd never publicize but they were his children; they were made of metal and code, but they were real and he loved them enough to hide them away from prying eyes. Act like you don't care about anything or anyone long enough and eventually, people stop caring about you.

Tony Stark was born a disappointment, and he learned early on that he'd be allowed more freedom if he didn't even try to change their minds. So he wore a mask made of recklessness and failure and watched as the world forgot that he was brilliant. The problem with masks is that some people will see them and decide it's far more interesting to see what they're hiding.

James Rhodes watched as the boy who was way too young to be sitting in the college lab twisted lines of code into a simple, but charming, personality like it was magic, then build it a body, sketching designs for the robotic arm over the blueprints his father wanted him to look over, just to see if his son had a mind for weapons as he did. James watched as Tony fixed all the issues his father's designs had, then go back to creating life like it was nothing special. James watched as his best friend was told his parents were dead and he watched as Tony shut himself off from the world and created JARVIS. It would occur to him later that AI was the first bit of armor Tony built.

Virginia Potts was the most terrifyingly competent person Tony had ever had the pleasure of being yelled at by. He had stumbled into her -- literally -- one night while leaving the R&D offices and she had given him hell for it, all while towering over him in her high heels, not a hair out of place. Her fury mixed with her composure startled a genuine laugh out of him. He promoted her on the spot. He liked the way she treated him as human, instead of a toy or a trophy. Things were easier with her at his side. The world didn't seem as overwhelming when she was there to take care of the practical things. She didn't judge him for having his head in the clouds, she just tied a string around his wrist and guided him like a balloon while she stayed firmly on the ground. It had taken him much too long to realize that there wasn't enough money in the world to keep someone with him, so her continued presence in his life had to be because she genuinely cared, and that was when he gave her the codes to his personal lab. He found her, his Pepper, asleep on the couch more than once, hair loose, feet curled up under a blanket she had brought down because she liked to watch him work.

One kidnapping and betrayal later, Tony began to distrust everything and anyone connected to his father. The only ones who actually seemed to care about him were the ones he chose himself.

Steve Rogers was everything everyone had wanted Tony to be and having all that rush back into his head out of nowhere put him on the defensive. He knew Pepper would tell him that none of that was Steve's fault and could he please get his head out of his head now? But he couldn't. This was the man that his father had idolized and searched for until the day he died. This was the man that Howard had poured all his time and energy into instead of his son, and while Tony knew, and he did know, that Rogers had no part of that, Tony was tired of the past coming to haunt him. Realistically, anyone his father had liked was bad news for him and there was no one, save Aunt Peggy, that Howard Stark liked more than Steve Rogers.

They clashed and shattered against each other, the whole world watching as Tony Stark and Steve Rogers fell into synchronization, the pieces of shared history falling to the wayside in the light of victory.

Natasha was difficult for Tony to process. She was the only person he'd ever met who wore as many masks as he did, and he tried desperately to not think about the fact that she was so deadly because of it. People underestimated her, didn't see how clever her eyes were, didn't see how she'd change everything about herself to fit the image they wanted to see. He saw how it wore her down. He could relate, and she knew it. It was strange, the art of being seen as what other people wanted shared between a man who was always in the spotlight and a woman who learned to blend into the background.

He liked to watch her dance. It wasn't that it made him forget that she was lethal -- quite the opposite, actually -- but more that she looked more human while she did. It was almost like whatever it was that allowed her to drift seamlessly between personalities melted away and left just a woman who loved to dance behind. She was talented and beautiful because of course, she was, but it was how carefree and unguarded she was as she twirled around that caught -- and held -- his attention. The funny thing is, he almost didn't have this, he almost let it slip through his fingers. The shooting range was originally going to be both Clint and Natasha's "welcome to the dysfunctional family" present, but the archer had a different idea.

"You want her happy, Stark, you give her a place to dance," Clint had said in such a no-nonsense tone that he almost thought that he was playing a prank on him, and if he followed through, she'd kill him without mercy. But the glint in Clint's eyes told him to take a chance, and so he lined one wall of the gym with mirrors and had a barre installed, much to the confusion of the builders. When he took all of them around the tower, the way her fingers trailed along the metal was reverent. She and Clint shared a look, he nodded, and suddenly Tony's arms were full of a redhead who could kill in an instant if she wanted.

"Thank you," she whispered into his ear. He's still not sure what platitudes he said, but a second later, she was across the room, no hint of the raw emotion she had just displayed on her face. And that was that.

He hadn't expected to ever see her actually use the space he had carved out for her, as it was well known that she was in the gym late at night when the more sensible members of their team had long since gone to sleep or pretended to. But he was no stranger to aimless insomnia, and had wandered into the gym one night, just walking around, and had been startled out of daydreams by slow music, and it would have been ethereal if not for the haunting melody. The sound of her feet hitting the floor came after and his eyes drifted to her. It was in that moment he had reconsidered the meaning of the word "revealing". He had certainly seen more of her skin than the leotard was showing, but he had never seen more of her. He looked so much like his father that they tended to forget that he was Maria's son as well. He'd been to enough ballet performances to know that while her movements weren't the most technically accurate, that was only because she didn't want them to be. He also knew she was aware of his presence. For a moment, he considered walking back out of the room, give her the privacy she clearly desired, but she wasn't stopping, so he kept watching. She kept dancing to the delicate music and he sank to the floor in front of her, his legs crossed over themselves, a captive audience. Her lips quirked up into a smile, and as the song came to an end, she bowed in his direction.

"You could do that professionally, you know. Drop the whole spy thing and just do that," he told her as she offered him her hand. She shook her head.

"No, I couldn't," she said. He looked her up and down, and smiled sadly.

"No, you couldn't," he agreed, "but you should dance for us, sometimes. Pretty sure that little number you just did would scandalize our dear captain." He wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed and laughed. Tony pulled her into him and began a simple waltz in the silence. She fell into step so effortlessly that it almost startled him, but only almost.

"Maybe I'll dance for everyone one day. We'll see. It's not personal, it's just," she sighed, unsure how to finish the sentence.

"It's just too personal," he suggested. She nodded. His hands on her body felt warm and distracting in a way she was not accustomed to. They were not wandering; they stayed exactly where they were supposed to be for the dance, and while his embrace was steady, it was not strict. She could walk away from this moment, and he would let her.

"I don't know how to let people in, Tony. I don't know how to be a person, not really." Her steps never faltered, but her voice wobbled, just a bit.

"One person at a time, one little truth at a time," he said, switching the dance from a formal ballroom to a playful mishmash of whatever he wanted. She grinned and teased him with chaos of her own. She twirled away from him, and as just as he pulled her back to him, he whispered into her ear, "and sometimes, Miss Rushman, you don't let them in at all. They come barging in anyway and you hope and pray they don't break your heart."

#ironwidow #mcu #fanfic #bad ideas #ao3

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sj-thefan · 4 years

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Welcome Home - Legacy (Tony Stark x daughter!reader)

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Previous --

Y/n Stark was a secret. She had been one since before she could remember and she loved it. It made her feel special, like it was a privilege for people to know her. She had close relationships with the few people who knew her and she treasured them deeply. She liked pretending to be a spy, sneaking around the house and avoiding being seen by anyone she didn’t know. It was fun, almost like a game.

Of course there were some downsides of being a secret too. She had to stay on the property, which meant no public school and no outings with her father, although Happy and Pepper would sometimes sneak her out for supper. She also didn’t have many friends her age, but she didn’t mind that as she didn’t play as much as other kids, preferring to learn or build stuff with her dad.

The worst part was that Tony often had to travel for work, visiting army bases and attending galas around the world, meaning Y/n would be alone. When Tony would travel overseas, Happy would stay behind and watch Y/n. Other times, when he was traveling within the US, Pepper would stay with Y/n. Every now and then, Y/n would get lonely, but her dad never missed her calls and he always told her when he would be back. At least, until now.

It had been three months since Tony was supposed to return to the United States. Three months since he was supposed to be home. Three months of his daughter not knowing how her father was.

Pepper had got the call that morning. It was her week at the Stark mansion but Happy and her had decided to take Y/n out for breakfast, so he was already there. They were just waiting for Y/n to put her shoes on when Pepper’s phone rang.

“Pepper Potts,” Pepper said as she picked up the phone.

Y/n waited patiently in the car. She was lucky that she had even been allowed to come; she never got to go to public places. This was too important. They had found Tony Stark. No one could tell her to stay home. That would have been heartless. So, after a brief talk with Pepper about staying in the car, Y/n hurriedly followed Happy to the vehicle with Pepper trailing behind.

When they got to the army base, Happy and Pepper stood outside the car. Y/n was thankful to be left alone. She didn’t like being anxious, especially around other people, and her nerves were definitely getting the best of her. She chewed on her lip as she scanned the skies for the plane that was carrying her dad.

When the plane finally arrived, Y/n felt the butterflies in her stomach lift to her throat. Her hands clutched into tiny fists as the plane’s ramp slowly opened. As soon as she could see him, her eyes filled with tears. He was home. He was safe.

Tony knew she wouldn’t be there—she wasn’t supposed to leave their home—but all he wanted to do was see his daughter. He smiled at Pepper as Rhodey helped him off the plane, pausing to shoo away a medical team with a gurney.

“Your eyes are red.” He stopped in front of Pepper. “A few tears for your long lost boss?”

“Tears of joy,” Pepper replied, trying to keep her happiness at seeing him out of her voice. “I hate job hunting.”

“Yeah, vacation’s over.” His smile faded from his face. “How’s Y/n?”

Pepper was quick to direct him to the car, climbing in after him.

As soon as he saw her, Tony grabbed Y/n and placed her on his lap in a tight hug. Her face was red and she was crying, but she gladly accepted his hug and tried to return it with as much force as she could muster.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Y/n cried into Tony’s suit.

Tony pulled back so he could look at his daughter’s face. He pushed some hair away from her face, but she refused to meet his eyes. He sniffled as he spoke. “Why are you apologizing, Pumpkin? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Y/n mumbled her response. “I wanted to run and see you as soon as you came out of the plane, but I didn’t want all the people to see me. I missed you so much!” She collapsed back into his chest, holding tightly.

He smiled slightly at the little girl. He didn’t want her to apologize for her feelings. If anything, he was the one at fault. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. So sorry. I’m not leaving you for a long time.”

When the crying had calmed slightly, and everyone was in their seats (except Y/n who was still sitting on her father’s lap), Happy spoke up.

“Where to, sir?”

Pepper was quick to direct him to the hospital, but Tony interrupted. “No.”

"No? Tony, you have to-"

"No is a complete answer."

"-go to the hospital. The doctor has to look at you."

"I don't have to do anything." Tony's voice rang out loud and clear. He turned to face Pepper. "I've been in captivity for three months. There are three things I want to do. I want to spend some time with my daughter," he glanced down at Y/n. "I want an American cheeseburger, and the other..."

"That's enough of that," Pepper interrupted.

"...is not what you think. I want you to call for a press conference now."

"Call for a press conference?"

"Yeah."

"What on earth for?"

He ignored the question, instructing Happy to drive. "Hogan, drive. Cheeseburger first."

Pepper let out a sigh, before picking up her phone and calling to arrange the conference.

Tony leaned down to whisper to his daughter, "Tonight, Pumpkin, it's just you, me, and Frodo Baggins."

Y/n smiled as she cuddled further into her father’s chest.

After the press conference, Tony and Y/n went to the Stark Industries Arc Reactor. He had needed to think for a bit and he was certain that that building would be empty and he could bring Y/n in with him.

Y/n was very excited to visit the arc reactor. Her eyes quickly widened as they took in the size of the energy source. “It’s so big, Daddy.”

He chuckled lightly as he leaned against the safety railing. Y/n joined him in staring at the machine.

After a few minutes of silence, Y/n asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Tony wasn’t a sugar-coat type of parent. He told Y/n the straight-up answer to everything she wanted to know, even if it wasn’t kid appropriate to some people. Still, despite his usual attitude towards her questions, he wasn’t quite sure how to answer this one.

“What did they tell you about what happened to me?”

Y/n tilted her head in thought as she recalled the research she did as she tried to figure out what had happened. “Happy and Pepper told me you were missing, Uncle Rhodey said you were taken, and Uncle Obadiah said he didn’t know what happened.” Tony nodded at her response, knowing that he would have to tell her the details he would rather forget in order for her to get an accurate response. “But, I did my own research. The news had many different theories, but I thought the most likely one was that you were captured by a terrorist group that wanted your money. But, I think they took you because they knew how smart you are and they wanted you on their side. I knew you wouldn’t agree to that, so I thought then they might kill you. But you escaped and now you’re here.” She paused. “At least, that’s what I thought.”

Tony smirked as he stared at the arc reactor. He was proud of his daughter for figuring out the truth for herself and not accepting the first response she got. She was quite accurate.

“That’s my girl.” Y/n smiled to herself, returning her gaze to the machine. “You’ve got it almost all right.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “They’re called the Ten Rings. And you’re right, they did want me on their side. They wanted me to build weapons for them, and when I told them no, they tortured me. I almost died when they took me; a bomb went off just a little bit away from me and I got a lot of shrapnel in my chest. Another prisoner, his name was Yinsen, saved me, and when I got better, I helped him build a little version of this,” he gestured to the arc reactor, “and we put it in my chest,” he tapped his chest,” to prevent the shrapnel that he couldn’t get from killing me.”

Y/n glanced at her dad. “Wow. That must be scary.” She paused. “What happened to Yinsen?”

Tony sighed. “He died, so that I could get free and come home to you.”

“I hope he knows I am very grateful for him.” She leaned her head against Tony. “He gave me my Daddy back.”

Tony rested his hand on her head, rubbing it playfully. “He knows, Pumpkin. His last words were ‘don’t waste it. Don’t waste your life.’ I’m just trying to figure out what I should do next. I can’t be responsible for killing innocent people.”

Y/n’s head jerked up. “You haven’t killed anyone!”

He smiled down at her. “Not directly. But Stark Industries weapons were used to capture me. They’re being used to kill the people I wanted to protect.”

Y/n thought about his words. “So you’re thinking about how you can protect people without hurting them?”

“Yeah, pumpkin.”

A few minutes of silence later, Obadiah came in to talk with Tony.

-- Next

#Sj writes #Tony Stark #Iron Man #avengers x reader #Tony Stark x child!reader #child!reader #Stark's Daughter

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omigiry · 4 years

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“𝗡𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗹𝘆, 𝗔𝘄𝗸𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗹𝘆”

synopsis: reader and Tsukishima likes each other but is too nervous and awkward to even talk to each other.

POV: Third Person (she/her)

notes:

mutual pinning

Yachi and Yamaguchi enjoys teasing Tsukishima

Pure fluff.

ry’s notes: I feel like Tsukishima is shy towards the person he likes, but that doesn’t stop him from being snarky towards his friends. I hope you enjooyy ~~ thank you for reading! ♥ ♥ ♥

Students hurry off to take their seats as the professor enters the room. While the professor prepares his materials, (y/n) glanced towards the other side of the room where Tsukishima is sitting. He was scrolling through his phone. She would always steal glances at him during the subjects they shared together. At first she really doesn’t care about other people from her class aside from her friends who take it with her. Then she started noticing him as time passed by. He would always sit at the same spot and before students started filling the classroom, he was already there. She thought that he doesn’t have any friends for this class, but it seems like he was just early.

The more she notices him, the more she starts catching feelings.

Sometimes she would find herself looking for him in the hallways of the campus too. Hoping that she would catch a glance at him during the days when they don’t share a subject together. There are moments that they would meet eyes but she would quickly avert her gaze, pretending that she’s looking elsewhere. She wonders if he noticed that she was looking at him for a while now.

She’s usually fine when someone approaches her, but when he does, it’s like her brain short circuited.

There was one time that he was asking if he could borrow some notes from the lecture to take a picture of it, she looked normal on the outside but she was a mess inside her head. When they get paired up for an activity she would always ramble her ideas about it and couldn’t stop talking about the said activity, just to avoid the awkward silence she was feeling, to the point Tsukishima would stop her. She would internally facepalm herself for being such a talker.

They never exchanged other conversations aside from school related works.

Tsukishima would always give her side glances. Sometimes he forgets about the time and he would miss a slide their professor was discussing. He had observed how she easily gets distracted and starts doodling on the side of her notebook or would start playing with her pen. When the lecture would really get boring, he would see her scrolling through her phone discreetly. It amuses him to see those habits she had during lectures.

After class ends, he approaches her and asks for notes on the topic he missed because he ends up looking at her. It was the only way he could think of to talk to her, even if it’s only a minute. He would purposely scan through the notes and take pictures in a slow manner just to stay with her for a little longer.

He didn’t know when it started, but he was growing fond of her. He would hide his blush whenever she catches his eyes. He wasn’t one to tell someone about a girl that he likes, but his friends catch on quickly. Especially when his eyes wander in the hallways to look for a certain someone.

“Who are you looking for?” Yamaguchi asked and was also scanning the crowd to see if there’s someone they know among them. When he looked at Tsukishima, he wasn’t even paying attention to the question he asked. “Tsukki?” He tried again, and this time Tsukishima’s head whipped in his direction.

“Did you say something?”

“I said, who are you looking for?”

Tsukishima cleared his throat. “It’s nothing.”

Yamaguchi wasn’t satisfied with his response, he knew that there’s something was up with Tsukishima and he wanted to find out about it. He let it slide this time, but he was going to tell this to Yachi.

When Tsukishima was in class, Yachi and Yamaguchi were at the cafeteria.

“There’s something odd with Tsukki.” Yamaguchi started. “He keeps searching for someone when we’re in the hallways.”

Yachi was quick to catch on, and she speculated that their friend likes someone. Knowing Tsukki, he usually just looks at where he is going and not for someone. “Maybe, he likes someone?” She added a little bit of uncertainty since there was still no supporting evidence for her claim.

“Maybe.” Yamaguchi gave some thought to it, Tsukishima has always been so secretive with his emotions. Rarely showing any of it, he would always keep his cool and would stay composed most of the time. “Wanna spy on him?” He suggested.

“How? Some of our schedules overlap with each other.”

“Dang it.” Yamaguchi slightly frowned at his failed plan. “Then, let’s just ask him until he tells us something.”

“That’s better.” Yachi agreed and suggested a place to meet and they have agreed to meet at the coming weekend.

“What’s the occasion this time?” Tsukishima asked, eyeing suspiciously and the two who dragged him out during the weekend.

“What? We couldn’t hang out during the weekends, like normal college students? Besides it’s the holiday, so we don’t have any classes.” Yamaguchi said.

“Normal college students would rather stay at home and sleep.” They ignored his comment, and they proceeded to enter the cafe.

After they ordered and found a place to sit, Yamaguchi immediately said, “So, who is it?”

“Who is what?” Tsukishima asked.

“Don’t give us that reply, Tsukki. Who’s the girl?”

“There is no girl.” He firmly claimed and as he said that as if everything was against him when a certain someone entered the cafe as well. He rested his chin on his palm to try and hide his expression.

“Oohh?” Yachi said in a teasing tone. “Are we suddenly flustered? Tadashi, why are we suddenly flustered?” They didn’t see (y/n) enter the cafe, and Tsuki couldn’t be more thankful. He wished that they wouldn’t sit near them, or approach them, or even notice them.

Of course not everything will go to what he wanted.

“Yachi?” (y/n)’s friend said, they were by the counter waiting for their drinks, and where they were sitting was near the counter.

Yachi turned around and greeted (y/n)’s friend. They were in the same department and the same year, they shared a lot of class together and became friends.

“By the way, this is (name).” Tsukishima avoided her gaze and just pretended that he was typing on his phone and hopefully no one of them notices that his phone was turned off.

“Tsukishima?” (y/n) said when she finally noticed him. She didn’t notice him at first since he was quiet and was bowing his head. When she realized who it was, there were certainly knots on her stomach.

He lifted his head and said a hello to her, he wasn’t prepared for this.

Yamaguchi mouthed an ‘ooohh’ and as if a light bulb had lit on the top of his head, he realized what was the reason behind Tsukishima’s flustered expression. He nudged Yachi and sent a message with his eyes expecting that she would catch on quickly.

“You could sit with us, if you don’t have anything else to do.” Yachi invited them, they were sitting at a table good for six after all.

Tsukishima glared at the two and that was the biggest hint for them.

“So, (y/n), how’d you know our friend Tsukki here?” Yamaguchi started. An amused smile forming on his lips.

“We share a class together, he would borrow notes from me at the end of classes.”

This was new information for Yachi and Yamaguchi. The Tsukishima they know, never borrowed any notes from someone and would always be the one who had complete notes even though it wasn’t organized.

“Really?” Yachi feigned innocence and sarcasm lacing on her voice as she turned towards Tsukishima.

“What? The professor’s voice was basically a lullaby and I would distract myself to stay awake.” He gave an excuse. Distracted by the girl sitting cross from me right now.

“What are your plans for today by the way?” Yachi asked. She changed the subject now that she has enough proof as of the moment.

“We’re gonna catch a movie. There’s still about 20 more minutes before it begins.”

Yachi and Yamaguchi were the one who kept the conversation going. Asking questions towards (y/n) from time to time, and Tsukishima would just listen. Noting the important things about (y/n) that they have talked about. Like what her major was, her schedule (because Yachi wanted to spend more time with her and they both have mutual friends), the place she usually hangs during vacant or free periods. Sometimes Tsukishima would join the conversation when he was being mentioned.

(y/n) was thankful towards Yachi to ease up some of her nervousness she was feeling, she was hoping that she would get the chance to talk to Tsukishima, but he would only nod or agree at some things. He would only say a few words in their conversations. She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, thinking that maybe Tsukishima wasn’t really interested at all.

When (y/n) and her friend said goodbye and went to the cinema, Yachi and Yamaguchi turned towards Tsukishima with a grin so wide it could reach their ears.

“Soooo… (y/n) huh.”

“Shut up, Tadashi.”

“Oh no no, Tsukki. This is certainly entertaining to see.”

Knowing that they wouldn’t give this up any time soon, Tsukishima sighed in defeat and admitted that he likes her.

“Could you repeat that again?”

“I like her, okay?”

After being truthful about his feelings to his friends, they would occasionally invite (y/n) to hang out along with (y/n)’s friend. Tsukishima was internally dying, but it did help him get closer to her.

Then he noticed another side of her. He noticed that she was more energetic if he wasn’t around, when he is she’s timid. Is she uncomfortable around me? When that thought came to mind, he felt like all hope was lost. If she is, then there’s absolutely no chance for a relationship to happen.

They didn’t hang-out without their newly formed friend group. As they got to be with each other more, his feelings for her had grown deeper and she has settled in his heart.

Yamaguchi and Yachi notice that Tsukishima and (y/n) mutually like each other. Yachi notices how (y/n) would always avoid eye contact with Tsukishima and the way a light blush forms on her cheek. Everytime that they would hang out, (y/n) was always timid and nervous around Tsukishima.

Yachi decides to ask her. If her speculations are true once again, Yamaguchi and Yachi will play cupid for their friends. Because they couldn’t do it without a little push.

“So, do you like Tsukishima?” Yachi asks when they were having an all girls hang-out. (y/n) choked on her milk tea at the sudden question, she was having a coughing fit for being flustered.

“You do!” Yachi clasped her hands together at the reaction she received.

“I don’t” (y/n) defended.

“You can’t fool me. The blush on your face says so otherwise!” (y/n)’s face got even more heated. She’s now aware that she couldn’t make up an excuse.

“You’re not saying no.” Yachi teased more. (y/n)’s friend was also teasing her and asking what she liked about Tsukishima and when did it start.

“A few months ago.” (y/n) mumbled under her breath as she avoided making eye contact.

“Oh, honey. You got it bad, just talking about him makes you shy and nervous that you can’t even look us in the eye.” (y/n)’s friend said.

Now that Yachi has confirmed it, she moves to her next plan. She messaged Yamaguchi that they would plan to watch a movie together and would ditch Tsukishima and (y/n) so they could have their moment. “Our shy little babies need to take a step further. Or else I would be the one to tell them to their face that they like each other.” Was Yachi’s last message to Yamaguchi.

“Why aren’t they here yet?” (y/n) asked Tsukishima, they have been waiting for about 10 minutes in front of the cinema. Tsukishima was calling Yamaguchi but he wasn’t answering and (y/n) messaged their group chat. After a minute, they all replied that they suddenly couldn’t make it.

“Uhh, Tsukishima?” (y/n) called out and tapped him so he could turn in her direction.

Tsukishima turned to her with his phone still in his ear as he still tries to call Yamaguchi. (y/n) showed their replies in the group chat and Tsukishima’s eyebrows raised then furrowed. “Give me a minute.” He said to her.

Tsukishima: If you don’t pick up your phone, you’re going to regret it.

Yamaguchi: Sorry, Tsukki. Enjoy your date! Don’t mess up!

“If you don’t want to, we could just go home.” (y/n) suggested. Though this was unplanned, Tsukishima still had the opportunity to be with her alone like how he wanted to for so long.

“We’re already here. I don’t mind, it would be a waste if we went home.”

In the end they decided to watch the movie. The air around them was really awkward and no one was saying anything. Tsukishima offered to buy them some drinks. (y/n) waited for him as she had an internal battle with herself. You got to say something, he might think you don’t want to be with him.

Tsukishima handed her drink, she took a sip as her throat felt dry due to their close proximity. You’re a college student now, why are you suddenly acting up like a high schooler? She scolded herself. “Thanks, by the way.” She said.

“It’s no problem.” There was still a few minutes left before they could enter the cinema, but they couldn’t think of any topic to talk about. “So.” Tsukishima tried to break the silence. (y/n) fiddles with her straw and she turns in his direction but still couldn’t look at him. Tsukishima felt uneasy about how she acts around him. “Are you uncomfortable being with me?” He asked her directly, he didn’t mean to but he wanted to know.

At his question her eyes widened in surprise and she trips over her words. “No, it’s not like that, I just. I’m just not used to us being alone. But I’m not uncomfortable being with you.”

“That’s good then.” Tsukishima quietly said, which she didn’t hear. “I’m also not used to things like this, but I enjoy being with you.” He said, trying to ease up the awkwardness surrounding them.

They both gradually got accustomed to each other and were exchanging a few conversations. After watching the movie, (name) couldn’t help but voice her thought process about the movie, the parts she liked and the parts she didn’t. Tsukishima was looking at her amusedly as she rambled on.

“Sorry, I rambled on.”

“It’s okay, your point of view is really interesting.”

Tsukishima asked if she wanted to grab something to eat, he wanted her to enjoy the day. It’s not yet an official date, but now he was certain that he wanted more of this. They ate at a fast food joint and they were now talking comfortably with each other.

“Thank you for taking me home.”

“You’re welcome. I really enjoyed today.”

“Me too.”

“If you would like to, we can do this again. Just the two of us.” With his reply, (y/n) was a blushing mess again.

“Like a date?” She fidgets with her fingers and her heart is hammering in her chest as she waits for his response.

“Yes, a date.”

(y/n) smiled shyly and said, “I would love to.” Tsukishima smiled in return.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima imagine

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