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stylesluxx · 4 years

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allergic reaction – h.styles

[warnings: allergic reaction (obv), hospitals, crying but not really angst?? swearing and mentions of sex (no smut)]

summary: in which y/n develops an allergy to her favorite food

word count: 2,106

masterlist

Harry made the best sandwiches. And you can't believe that for three years, you didn't know you were in a relationship with the Gordon Ramsey of sandwiches.

Ever since your trip to London last year, it was a tradition for the two of you to share a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at least once a week. And you would only eat it if he made it, no exceptions.

The two of you were on a plane to London to visit his mom and sister; you were cuddled into his side, watching Phineas and Ferb on his laptop, when your stomach grumbled loudly.

You looked up at Harry sheepishly, causing him to chuckle and kiss your forehead. He got the attention of the nearest flight attendant and let you order.

"What are you hungry for, Baby?" He asked and rubbed your arm with the hand that was around your shoulders.

"Do you think I could get a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?" You shyly asked the woman.

PB&Js aren't something people would usually get on a plane but you thought maybe you'd test your luck.

"Chunky or smooth?" She asked, making you smile happily.

"Smooth please."

"Do you think I could get one too?" Your boyfriend asked.

"Of course!" She nodded and walked off.

She came back after a few minutes, one plate in each hand, making you sit up to bring the tray down in front of you.

You and Harry both thanked her as she walked off, leaving you two to your sandwiches.

"What made you want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?" Harry asked before biting down into his sandwich.

"Just had a taste for it," You shrugged. "What made you want to copy me?"

"Just had a taste for it."

"Oh, I bet," You giggled and bit into the sandwich. You took a couple more bites before nodding in amazement. "This is the best PB&J I've ever had in my entire life. Like the perfect ratio."

"I bet I could make it better," Harry challenged, eyebrow raised and looking at you from the corner of his eye.

"H, in the three years we've been together, the only things I've seen you make are ramen and cereal," You teased.

"Watch. When we land, I'm gonna make you the best sandwich you've ever had."

"Okay, Chef Harry," You giggled and went back to eating your sandwich.

When you got to his apartment in London, he dropped the bags off in the bedroom before running back to the kitchen and getting started on a sandwich.

"Har, I'm sure it can wait for the morning," You laughed and kicked off your sneakers, setting them by the door.

"No, because I need to prove you wrong," He shook his head and continued.

You shook your head, sat at the island, and watched him make what would soon become his specialty meal.

He cut the sandwich into two triangles and cut off the crust the way he knew you liked. He made sure to leave as much sandwich as possible, but still getting off all the crust, before pushing the plate toward you and smiling in anticipation.

"Go 'head, baby," He urged you.

"You know... it's okay for you to not be good at something. Singing is phenomenal; sex is phenomenal; you're a phenomenal boyfriend, a phenomenal person even! So, it's okay if you're an average sandwich maker," You played with him, trying to put off eating the sandwich.

"Just try the damn sandwich, Y/N!" He playfully yelled and banged his fist on the counter.

"Okay, okay," You giggled and picked up one half of the sandwich.

You looked at it carefully before putting a piece in your mouth and taking a bite. You slowly chewed it, taking in all the flavors, before swallowing and going for another bite. You repeated the slow chewing two more times before you set the sandwich back on the plate.

"So?"

"It's actually... really good, Har. Like really good," You admitted and gave him a big smile.

"You just saying that?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.

You laughed and shook your head. "The only thing that makes yours an A+ and the flight attendant's an A is the fact that you know how I like my sandwiches cut and the crust. Like I told you, phenomenal boyfriend," You shrugged and picked the sandwich back up to finish it.

"Told you!" He yelled victoriously and pumped his fist in the air.

"Yeah, yeah, you told me."

Harry was finally back home after touring and doing press, so for a week you just left him to relax. You cuddled whenever he wanted, cooked his favorite meals, danced with him to his favorite songs. It was actually stuff that you normally did when he was home. But for the week you didn't pretend to fight it or playfully groan.

But now his week was up and you were craving a sandwich.

"Harryyy," You sang and squeezed his nose while he watched tv.

"Stop it," He whined and swatted your hand away.

You just moved your hand to his cheeks and pinched them as if he were a tiny baby with cute, fat cheeks. "Harryyy," You sang again.

"What do you want, you pest?" He teased and tore his eyes away from the tv to look over at you.

"I was just thinking... it's been a while since we had your special sandwiches," You hummed while rubbing your chin as if thinking.

He let out a laugh through his nose, making his body jerk slightly. "Y/N, you haven't had a sandwich since I left, have you?" He asked.

"It appears I haven't," You continued playing clueless and pursed your lips.

"Alright, Baby, your PB&J is coming right up," He nodded and kissed your forehead.

His feet moved from the coffee table to the floor as he stood up and made his way into the kitchen.

You smiled brightly, clapped your hands together, and rested them on your stomach. You had been waiting months for this moment and you were in pure bliss that you were finally getting what you wanted. As the saying goes, good things come to those who wait.

Harry walked back into the living room with two plates, one for you and one for him. "Harry Styles, singer, songwriter, actor, and Y/N Y/L/N's personal PB&J chef. Here you go, Baby," He introduced himself with a playful smirk and handed a plate to you.

"You're so silly," You smiled before thanking him.

He nodded and sat back in his spot next to you, putting his feet on the table and arm around your shoulder.

"Bone apple teeth!" He cheered and held up half of his sandwich.

"Bone app the tea!" You toasted and raised one of your halves to tap his.

You both bit into your sandwiches at the same time and smiled at each other, ignoring the bread sticking to your teeth.

You finished your sandwiches quickly and set the plates down on the table. You leaned into your boyfriend's side and focused on the Avengers Assemble cartoon that Harry had playing.

After an episode of, you felt your lips start to tingle but you brushed it off, not thinking much of it. But once you were running your tongue over the top of your mouth, trying to get rid of the itch, you figured something was off.

"What kind of peanut butter and jelly did you use?" You asked Harry, looking up at him with an uncomfortable expression, eyebrows scrunched together.

"The same stuff I've been using," He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the tv.

"Do you think it was expired?"

"No, it wasn't. I checked. What's wro-" He went to ask but stopped when he looked at you. "Okay, so we should probably get you to a hospital."

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"Baby, your face is all swollen. Come on, put your Crocs on so we can go," Harry gently ordered and shot up from the couch. He walked over to the coat hanger and grabbed two of his jackets. He put one on himself and grabbed the car keys.

"What do you mean my face is swollen?"

"Y/N, is something wrong with your throat, why are you scratching at it?"

He walked over to you and wrapped his other jacket around your shoulders.

You hadn't noticed your hand was scratching at your throat until he asked and now that was all you could focus on.

"I don't know. It's itchy, Harry. A-And it feels like it getting harder to breathe," You frowned. You felt your eyes water and the scariness of it all was starting to set in. "Harry, what's happening?"

"Baby, just put your shoes on, okay? You're gonna be fine," He tried to assure you but you let out a sob anyway, making his frown grow deeper.

You trudged over to your shoes by the door and slipped them on while trying to contain your tears and regain control over your breathing.

The ride to the hospital was quick and, before you knew it, you were lying on a hospital bed, hand gripping tightly onto Harry's.

"You're gonna be fine," He assured you and kissed your hand softly.

He pulled away and kept rubbing circles with his thumb while the doctors and nurses surrounded you, hooking you onto machines and giving you antibiotics. You nodded and closed your eyes, not to sleep but to try to relax, and hoped this nightmare would be over soon and, you'd be back home.

–

Spending three days in the hospital wasn't ideal but Harry wanted the doctors and nurses to be thorough. You were hooked up to monitors the whole time and nurses were coming in and out to check your temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, and blood oxygen level. Not only that but you had a small tube in your nose to help with your breathing. You were completely against it at first, claiming you could breathe just fine, but one look at Harry's pouty face made you give in. You were taking blood and urine tests to monitor your organs and see what exactly you were allergic to, but you had a pretty good idea of what it was before the doctors could break the news.

Harry stayed by your side for all three days, not bothering to go home and change. No, you weren't dying but he wanted to be there to make sure you were as comfortable as possible.

Once you were back home, Harry texted your parents, Anne, and Gemma to let them know. Anne and Gem wanted to fly out to see you but Harry assured them that you were going to be just fine and you'd call once you were all settled in at home. There was no stopping your parents though; they were on a plane to New York from their vacation home, ready to baby you once they landed.

Harry marched into the apartment and went straight to the kitchen, not hesitating to throw the practically full jar of peanut butter in the trash. He went to the bathroom and started a bath for you, even carried you to the tub once it was ready. He helped strip you of your clothes and get you into the bath as if you were a fragile baby that needed help.

"Har, I'm okay. Come get in the tub with me; you deserve to relax. Please," You breathed out and looked up at him with soft doe eyes.

"Since you asked so nicely," He teased and gave you a reluctant nod.

He undressed and sat at the other end of the tub, before pulling you into his arms and holding you tight.

"I'm gonna be okay?" You asked. You knew the answer but you just wanted to hear him say it. It always calmed you when he said it.

"You're okay, Baby. Just allergic to peanuts," He sighed and let his wet hands trail down your back.

"I eat peanut butter all the time. I'm just not understanding how this happened," You frowned, shaking your head in disbelief.

"It happens but you'll be okay."

"Our tradition is ruined though," You grumbled and moved away to look up at him.

"We'll have a new tradition. We hate peanuts in this house! Fuck peanuts!" He yelled out and stuck up two middle fingers, making you burst into laughter.

Once you calmed down, you leaned back into his chest, sighing happily, completely in awe at the fact that you had the perfect boyfriend.

"My face isn't back to normal yet?"

"Not quite. You're still my little marshmallow for few more days."

[AN: I was gonna make this a part of my Quaratine Series but I decided not to overcomplicate things with the hospital and stuff. but yeah, hope you enjoyed ! feel free to shoot me a message about literally anyhting !]

#stylesluxx #harry styles imagine #Harry Styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb

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stevesnailbat · 4 years

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routine | steve harrington

summary: Steve is stuck in the same, boring routine for months until someone finally helps him understand that change can be good.

warnings: some angst

word count: 2.2K

a/n: gif credit to the WONDERFUL @harringtown !!!! and i bounced a lot of the ideas for this fic around with @comedy-witch @jxnehxpper and @lovesong-remastered so credit to them for this inspo!!

Life was just one big routine for Steve. He’d wake up, do his hair after he brushes his teeth, put on his Family Video Uniform, make himself the mundane breakfast of eggs and bacon and buttered toast, then head to work. At work, there were the same routines of cleaning, taking people at the register, putting movies away. After getting off work, he’d run on the treadmill for forty-five minutes exactly, take a shower, make one of the three over-simplified dinners he always ate, then go to sleep.

Everything was the same all the time, and he needed it that way. Any bump in the road sent his heart rate spiraling, sent his mind into a frenzy of everything that could go wrong. The things that could go wrong were never anyone else’s fault—it was always his fault in his mind.

It was different now that he wasn’t in school. He couldn’t stay distracted with school and sports and homework anymore. It was a matter of battling with his own emotions and he’d found out quickly that routine was the only thing that he needed in his life.

He hated when Robin would ask him last minute to go out, to when she’d invite him to go somewhere after their shift. Those things weren’t part of his routine, so he couldn’t bare the thought of them.

Y/N coming into his life wasn’t any different than any of the other irregularities in his strict schedule. The feelings he caught so quickly terrified him so much that he felt the need to shove them back down his throat every time she was around. Steve’s walls were built high and she could barely reach to get through to him, but she still did somehow.

She became a regular at the video store, mainly out of curiosity of the familiar yet distant boy she saw at the counter the first time she came in. Of course, she knew of Steve; who in the town hadn’t? But, she didn’t know how much he’d changed since high school until she saw it with her own eyes. He was quiet, kept to himself, and was even friends with someone he never would’ve associated with a year before. His change piqued her interest and she wanted to know more.

“Do you always sit in the break room and do nothing for your whole lunch break?” Y/N questioned one day after Robin invited her back room, she had picked up on one of Steve’s many habits already.

“Dingus never eats, I’m not even kidding.” Robin said while stacking some returned movies onto a cart to put out. “I’ve never seen him bring a single morsel of food back into this room.”

“I eat after my shift every day, thank you.” Steve quips, shooting a glare in Robin’s direction. “I’m just never hungry enough to eat during this time, I guess.”

“For a full eight hour shift? You don’t feel hungry at all?” Y/N implored, Steve nodded in an unbelievably confident manner. “You’re lying, Harrington.”

“I’m not—“

“I’m packing you lunch from now on, Steve.” she said, the tone of her voice leaving no room for him to protest. “I promise you that it’ll help you!”

Steve doesn’t say no to the food, but damn, does he want to. Not because he’s not grateful for her, but because it messes everything up. He did the same thing every day in the break room—he listened to his walkman and looked through the return movies pile in the back room. But now, he had Y/N—along with Robin sometimes—pestering him about eating the food from the brown paper bag. It was completely out of his routine and he hated it.

He had to tell himself over and over again that it was just a lunch, and that he could fit it into his routine. Truthfully, it warmed his heart that Y/N cared about him enough to visit him every day, let alone pack him a lunch with every visit. The first few times she brought him food, it was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a bag of chips and an apple. Nothing too exciting, but enough to satisfy his hunger and make the feeling of adoration he felt towards her blossom.

Steve became accustomed to her sitting in the break room with him, cracking jokes with him while he ate his sandwich. He slowly slips back to his habitual tendencies, and Y/N and the PB & Js become apart of them too. It seems to be something to look forward too and Steve enjoys the company. Sometimes there’s a pang of hurt in his chest when he catches her staring at him, but he pushes it away. Steve wanted something constant and this was it, he didn’t want to push it any further and he doesn’t expect her to push it any further.

Of course, Steve knew that Y/N didn’t just want to be his sack-lunch bearer forever, but he didn’t want to think about it. He wanted damn near everything in his life to be on autopilot, nothing left for his mind to overthink about. As much as he might’ve liked her, he forced himself to think of her as nothing but a friend. Getting into a relationship was out of the cards.

When the sandwich she brings changes, something in Steve switches.

“What’s on this?” he questions, lifting the top piece of bread with wide eyes.

“It’s just a turkey sandwich, Steve. There’s some cheese and mayo on it too, but that’s it.” she says casually, watching as he closely examines the sandwich.

That’s when Steve shuts down, for some reason. If the sandwich he gets every day isn’t even a constancy, then what is? She could almost literally see the walls come up around Steve again, the same ones that she’d worked so hard to tear down. Steve had lost his appetite, he felt so dramatic for it, but he couldn’t help it. He forced the first bite down his throat, holding back any bitter words that he might have had about the change.

“Do you not like it?” she asked after a minute of deafening silence, filled with watching him pick at the sandwich. “You don’t have to eat it.”

“I was just—just expecting the usual, you know.” he sighed, feeling defeated by himself.

“I thought you’d wanna change it up? I didn’t think it’d be fun eating the same thing every day.” she suggested, chewing on her lip as she watched him battle with himself.

Steve only nodded and gave her a weak smile, a feeling of uncertainty and dread filling his stomach. Neither of them spoke after that, tension and silence filling the room instead of the typical giggles and teasing. She didn’t really understand why he was so upset, but she knew she could never fully comprehend it. It was obvious that Steve had seen some shit, and that she might not ever get through to him to figure out what bothered him so deeply about the stupid turkey sandwich.

The next day, she brings him the usual lunch, in the typical, boring brown paper bag. Steve’s eyes light up when he sees the peanut butter and jelly, and something in Y/N’s chest aches at the thought of something so simple and so routine bringing him so much joy. He was talkative again, making jokes about some of the new movies they got, making her laugh like the day before hadn’t happened. It didn’t sit right with her.

She couldn’t even bring herself to drive home after Steve’s lunch break. Curiosity was keeping her from putting her car into drive, she wanted to find out why he was such a creature of habit. And more importantly, why he kept pushing her away. She waited three hours for Steve to come out of the Family Video, eyes trained to the door the whole time. He looked bored when he walked out of the store, like he was dreading going home for the night.

“Harrington!” she called after rolling down her window, motioning for him to come to her car.

“Hey, have you been here this whole time?” Steve asked, brows nearly knitted together as a confused frown grew on his lips.

“That’s not important, will you get in the car? I wanna talk to you.” she said, throwing her chin in the direction of the passenger seat.

“I’m—I can’t, I have somewhere to be—“

“Do those plans include going home for the night? Because you looked like you were not looking forward to it five seconds ago.” she said matter-of-factly, giving him an incredulous glare as he looked at her in silence. “That's what I thought. Get in, Steve. It won’t take long.”

Hesitantly, Steve rounded the car to get in on the passenger side.

“I can’t stop thinking about yesterday.” she blurted out as he closed the door, making his eyes go wide.

“What about it?” he asked cautiously.

“About how you went radio silent for the hour over a stupid turkey sandwich. Just because I switched something up on you.” she said bluntly.

“I—I don’t know.” he stammered, refusing to look at her as he felt her eyes fixed on him.

“But you do know! You just aren’t saying it! You can’t just have everything in your life be the same all the time.” she huffed.

“What if I want to? I don’t like change! I don’t want things to change!” Steve exclaimed.

“Things always change, Steve! You can’t just live the same, boring life every day and be okay with it. Live a little!” she retorted, watching as he rolled his eyes and let out a small, bitter laugh.

“I don’t want change, Y/N! I’m happy with where I am right now, nothing at all needs to change. I’m okay with living this same, boring life every day!” he mocked, a hand running through his hair nervously. “I do the same thing every day, and you bring me the same lunch every day. I don't care about variety, I care about not giving things the opportunity to fuck up again! I—I like the way everything is right now and I don’t want to get my hopes up for anything more, because sometimes something more never comes.”

In that moment, she could tell he wasn’t talking about the turkey sandwich anymore. Steve was talking about her, and what they had going for them. His biggest fear was pushing forward and getting nothing in return, or feeling like he wasn’t loved again.

“You know why I take the longest shifts I can here?” he asked, breaking the saddening silence. “So I can avoid being in my big, lonely house. I don’t like being alone, but I know I am. It’s become my routine for me to take long ass shifts so I can feel okay, so I can feel again, just for a little bit every day. And—And as much as I hated letting you in at first, I like the little routine that we’ve created, too. I like talking with you and making stupid jokes about the new releases. I—I don’t want what we have to change. I don’t want to lose it because of one small change or because I’m being selfish.”

“You’re being selfish right now, Steve.” she said softly, and he finally looked over at her with his wide, pain-filled eyes. “You aren’t letting yourself understand what other people might want. And I know for a fact that you don’t want me to just be the girl who brings you lunch every day, is that right?”

Steve nodded slowly, taking the moment to let his thoughts catch up in his whizzing mind.

“I can see it in your eyes when we sit in the break room. When you catch me staring sometimes, you freeze up. You get a little blush on your cheeks or you frown to yourself for a moment, because you don’t want to fuck it up.” she continued, reaching for his hand across the console. “But you’re digging both of us into a deeper hole by not letting me in and not changing your routine. I just want to help you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes trained on where their hands met. Her touch was gentle and soothing, her thumb rubbed circles along the back of his hand to calm him down as she spoke. It was a bit overwhelming for him at first, but he was growing to accept it quickly. Before he could fully grasp what was going on, her other hand reached to cup his cheek. Their eyes met once more and she could almost see the shift from sadness to adoration in his doe-eyes. Steve couldn’t help but lean into her hand, catching her lips in a soft, quick kiss. It was a bittersweet moment for Steve, but he told himself that change was good, and that love was good, too.

“Will you finally let me help you?” she asked after pulling away from the short kiss, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah, I’ll let you.” Steve said with a weak smile, a feeling of warmth filling his chest as he spoke.

tags: @sourapplebaby @harringtown @jxnehxpper @charmed-asylum @heart-eye-harrington @daddystevee @queenofthehairharrington @a-magey @lemonypink @igotmadskills @ilovebucketbarnes @simplesammyx @willowrose99

#steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things 1 #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #steve harrington angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things angst #stranger things fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #stranger things x you #steve harrington imagine

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goldenraeofsun · 4 years

Text

the best day with you

Part of this verse!

Dean taps Claire on the shoulder. “You got plans for this weekend?”

Claire twists on their couch to see him and sets aside her laptop. With narrowed eyes full of suspicion, she grabs the remote and mutes Dr. Sexy. “Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

Dean rolls his eyes. This is why he became a teacher. To help teenagers. Not to strangle them for sassing him to his face. Sure, Claire might be a sophomore in college now, and she’s not really a teenager anymore, but Dean’s never going to see her as anything but an angsty junior in high school. Especially if she keeps up the this attitude. Dean says, as evenly as he can, “Because I want to do something with you.”

Claire grimaces. “Really? Don’t you have other boring old man friends to do things with? Like, for instance, your boyfriend?”

“No,” Dean says. “Cas is going to visit Gabriel in LA this week.”

“And you chose to stay behind with me instead?” Claire says, her eyebrows rising to her hairline.

“Yes.”

“Are you dying?”

“What?” Dean gapes. “No!”

Claire squints at him. “Are you hoping I can score drugs for you?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I can get my own drugs, thanks. It’s one of the perks of being a real live adult.”

“Do you need money?”

“If I did,” Dean starts incredulously, “why would I ask a broke college student?”

“I don’t know,” Claire says with a shrug. “Dementia? That kicks in about now for you, right?”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “I’m barely thirty-four!”

Claire shrugs. “Alzheimers?”

“That’s a kind of dementia,” Dean tells her flatly. He runs a hand down his face. “Look, are you free or not, kid?”

Dean is pretty sure she doesn’t have plans, judging by the way she’s religiously camped out on their couch for the past two weeks straight. She's abandoned her spot only to go to the bathroom, eat meals, and, on one memorable occasion, visit her parents for Sunday dinner. The living room her space now - which is fine with him, Dean’s been doing his summer school grading at the kitchen table. Along with her computer, Claire’s got the coding handbook Charlie Frankenstien-ed for her out of a bunch of different documents, probably all downloaded and printed illegally. On the television, she cycles through daytime soaps and CW evening dramas.

Claire grins. “On Saturday or something? Yeah.”

He rolls his eyes. “Was that so hard?”

“No, but it was fun.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a handful?” Dean says as he turns to head back into the kitchen. Lunch wasn’t going to make itself, and Cas was due back any minute from his errands.

“Just my parents, every day from age thirteen to eighteen,” Claire says casually as she reaches for the remote to resume Dr. Sexy.

Dean freezes. “Hey,” he starts, not really sure where he’s going with this.

“What?” Claire snaps as if annoyed, but her face is guarded.

“Your parents were asshats, you know that?” Dean says. “They shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about family,” Claire mutters as she turns up Dr. Sexy.

In the middle of her junior year of high school, Claire moved in with Cas for about six months.

Early in the year, she had an explosive argument with her parents about transferring from their preferred private school to Edlund High. She also came out to them.

Dean has the sneaking suspicion Claire doesn’t think she had it that bad. Her parents didn’t hit her. They didn’t kick her out. They didn’t even stop giving her her allowance. But they didn’t talk to her for days on end. They ignored her until she needed something from them, or the other way around. By Christmas, Claire had had enough. She left.

Back then, Dean told Claire her parents were in the wrong as many times as she would let him - which wasn’t many.

Cas took the lead with her, instead. She was his family. He found her a therapist and encouraged her to make friends at Edlund. Dean didn’t really feel like it was his place. She was Cas’s niece, and Dean was the guy who stayed over a couple times a week when she was crashing there too. And then he became her teacher when the transfer to Edlund became official. Still, she wouldn’t consider him family.

“My uncle always said, ‘family don’t end in blood,’” Dean tells her seriously.

Claire slumps back on the couch. “Right,” she says dully.

Dean takes a step back, rubbing his neck as he swallows down his next few words. He’s not about to give a heartfelt lecture on family and healthy boundaries to someone who’s going to grumble and groan through it. He jerks his head towards the kitchen. “I’ll get started on-”

Claire interrupts, “But that’s not grammatically correct. Aren’t you an English teacher? Who gave you a license to teach?”

Dean snorts. “Just think about it, will you?”

“Uh huh,” Claire waves him off. “If you’re going to the kitchen, can you make me a sandwich?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty. Cas finished off the strawberry jelly while he was grading essays last night, so you’re gonna have to settle for grape.”

Claire makes a face but nods. Dean’s almost at the kitchen door when she asks, “Your uncle, was he really your uncle?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not by blood. He was a good friend of my dad’s. But he was as good as family - better than, sometimes.” He swallows. Bobby’s been gone two years now. Dean had thought the grief when his dad passed was bad, but it was a whole other beast with Bobby.

Claire squints at him, looking so much like Cas Dean can’t help the warm feeling in his chest. “This is your show, right?” she asks out of the blue, gesturing to the television.

Dean blinks. “Yeah?”

And that’s how Cas finds them ten minutes later, eating PB&Js on the couch, watching Dr. Sexy - with Claire skewering every characterization and costume choice, and Dean defending Dr. Sexy’s cowboy boots with his life.

* * *

“Minigolf, really?” Claire asks as they pull into the parking lot on a bright Saturday afternoon. The early-summer temperatures are already high enough to make Dean sweat in the Impala, and Claire’s shorts could double as bikini bottoms, they’re so small.

She adds, “You realize I have a fake ID and we could probably go to a bar or something.”

“One,” Dean says as he slams the car door shut, “minigolf is a classic American pastime. Much better for your liver than drinking. And B, don’t ever tell Cas about that fake.”

Claire clambers out of the car. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Just making sure,” Dean says airily as he starts walking. He holds out his hand as she jobs to catch up to him. “Lemme see it.”

“Why?” she asks suspiciously as she digs for her wallet in her purse and fishes the ID out.

“Nice job,” Dean says as he holds it up to the sunlight shining overhead. “Ash?”

Claire stops short, surprised. “What?”

“Did Ash do this one?” Dean asks. “Come on,” he tells her as he nudges her shoulder to keep her moving out of the middle of the parking lot. “Nobody else does ‘em this good.”

“How do you know that?” Claire demands.

Dean laughs. “I told you I can get my own drugs.”

“Ash deals too?” Claire asks, looking hopeful.

Dean leans over to ruffle her hair. “His dope is a little out of your price range, squirt.”

“Hey!” Claire squawks as she tries to smooth everything back into place. “And nobody calls it ‘dope’ any more, you doof.”

Dean grins. “Yeah, I know.”

They enter the main building and get in line to rent the putters. It smells strongly of sunblock and worn down parental patience. A few parents wait ahead of them, all older than Dean with kids younger than Claire. A group of high schoolers are inspecting a row of putters on display on the far wall. Through the windows to the back, Dean can see a splendid display of mostly-intact astroturf and course obstacles with sun-faded paint.

The guy behind the counter is wearing an obnoxiously bright shirt and smile. “Hiya,” he says cheerily as they step up to the counter, “I’m Garth, welcome!”

“Two adults please,” Claire says quickly, like she knows Dean was going to ask for a kid’s ticket to mess with her.

“You got it,” Garth says as he bends down to grab two putters. “The bathrooms are by Hole 7, and if you want to grab lunch across the way at Fenris’s Diner, show them your receipt and you’ll get 15% off.”

Dean steps forward with his wallet. “Do you know if they have pie?”

Garth smiles wider, showing even more teeth, which Dean didn’t think was possible. “You bet! The best darn cherry pie I’ve ever tasted.”

“Awesome,” he says. “Thanks, man.”

“Thank you!” Garth says as he rings them up. “And good luck on the course!”

* * *

Dean is uncomfortably sweaty by Hole 2, and Claire piles her hair on top of her head in a messy bun to cool off her neck halfway through Hole 4.

“Swing batter, batter, swing!” Dean shouts from right behind her as she hits the ball at Hole 6.

Claire glares at him as her ball knocks against the windmill blade and skips off to the side. “That’s for baseball, idiot.”

“But you still missed,” Dean points out as he sidles up to tee. “So does it really matter? Hey!” She kicks him in the ankle as he strikes at the ball. “You cheater,” he gasps dramatically.

“So what?” Claire asks, putter swinging ominously at her side, “You gonna tell on me?”

Dean frowns. “No, but I won't buy you any pie when this is all over.” He keeps his eyes peeled for an opportunity to mess with her as she takes another stab at the windmill.

“Fine with me. I like cake better.”

Dean raises his head to gape at her. “Seriously?”

Claire throws him a funny look. “Does it matter?”

Dean’s mouth works furiously. “You ate the last slice of pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving two years ago.”

Claire’s eyebrows climb to her hairline as she leans against the windmill and watches him take another stab at it. “You remember that?”

Dean hardly watches where his ball goes. “Of course I do.”

Jimmy and Amelia had elected to have Thanksgiving at Cas’s mother’s place. Cas, whose frosty relationship with his mother wasn’t helped by her dismissive attitude towards Claire, hosted a separate Thanksgiving at the (then) new house he shared with Dean. Sam and Jess flew in from California, and Claire was, of course, invited too. They were having a fucking blast, until Claire stole the last slice of pie right out from under Dean’s nose.

Claire snickers under her breath. “You’re so weird.”

Dean glares. “I called dibs.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about, McMurphy,” Claire says, the liar. She crouches to get a better look at the windmill.

Dean tries to suppress his smile. “Was that a One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest reference?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “I paid attention in your class, you know. Even if you gave me an A-minus.”

Dean grins. “But you got a 5 on the AP Exam.”

Claire does a little jig as her ball falls into the hole.

* * *

“What the fuck?” Dean howls as his ball stops just short of Hole 9. Parents chaperoning a group of five kids at Hole 10 glare daggers at him.

Claire laughs uproariously. “Sucks to suck, old man.”

“Hey!” Dean glowers as she sinks a hole in one.

“What’s that?” Claire holds her putter up in victory. “Did you see that? Did that go in the hole? I wasn’t watching. Did the ball go in the hole?”

“Shut up, kid,” Dean grumbles as Claire smirks. “It wasn’t funny the first time.” He concentrates on his next shot. God help him if he fucks up with his ball barely half a foot from the hole.

One of the toddlers at Hole 10 lets out an ear-splitting shriek, and Dean’s ball skips off in the direction of Hole 13.

Claire doubles over laughing.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles as he sidesteps her to go fetch it, “Like you would’ve done any better.”

“I just did. Or did you miss my hole in one?” Claire asks from right behind him.

“I’m hungry,” Dean declares.

“Okay…?” Claire squints at him.

Dean nods to a hotdog stand by Hole 14. “Whaddya say to a dog?”

“Mystery meat at a roadside attraction that hasn’t been renovated since ‘97? Sign me up,” Claire says sarcastically.

Dean claps her on the back, just a shade too hard. “That’s the spirit.”

She stumbles but doesn't fall - exactly Dean’s plan - and glares at him. “If I get E. coli, it’s your fault.”

Once hotdogs are in hand, they sit and eat on a worn bench that’s more chipped paint than bench, facing a dinky little fountain. A few pennies glint dully from at bottom, almost obscured by the bright midday sunlight reflecting off the surface of the water.

“So,” Claire says after she takes her first bite. “You wanna tell me what this is all about?”

“What?”

“This whole distant dad trying to reconnect with his kid routine,” Claire says.

“I - I’m not your dad,” Dean stutters, face heating.

“Duh. Dad was more of Church retreat guy.” She leans back on the bench, stretching out her legs, and tilts her face up to catch more sun. “I would’ve had a better time if there was no singing and 100% more hitting things.”

Dean asks haltingly, “So you don’t think this is weird?”

“What hanging out with you?” Claire asks, her smile guileless. “I heard elder enrichment is important to prevent cognitive decline, so I’m just doing my duty.” She laughs at his disappointed frown. “Relax. This has been… great.”

“Really?”

Claire finishes off her hotdog and balls up the aluminum foil wrapper. “Yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Dean gets up to put her trash and his in the garbage and manages to stow his broad smile before he gets back.

* * *

“Hole in one!” Dean crows at Hole 15.

“Do you want a gold star?” Claire snarks as she tees up.

“Shut up.”

Claire swings, and they both watch as her ball deftly navigates around the bumps and turns to sink neatly into the hole.

Dean’s smile falls off his face as Claire jumps around in victory. “Lucky shot,” he tells her as they troop to Hole 16.

“Uh huh,” Claire says. “And that makes, what seven lucky shots for me? And how many holes in one have you had?”

At the next hole, they have to wait for the large family ahead of them to finish up.

“Oh my god,” Claire mutters as one of the parents demonstrates how to properly swing the putter for the youngest child, “it’s minigolf. Not the Olympics.”

“I know, right?” Dean says in an undertone. “Who cares how she hits the ball? If she wants to bowl it down the course, let her.”

“Seriously, who gives a fuck?”

“I bet she’s gonna scream before they’re done with the lesson.”

“What?”

“Water works in 5… 4… 3…”

They wait with bated breath as, sure enough, the child sits down in the middle of the course and wails. She refuses to even touch the putter.

“How did you know that was gonna happen?” Claire asks as the family moves on. She eyes him critically. “High schoolers aren’t the tantrum type.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean snorts. No matter the point of spending today with Claire, he wasn’t about to tell her how he became an expert in toddler care. Christ, he can still remember the sticky feeling of Sammy’s vomit all over his front when he cried so hard he puked. Dean’s crime? Telling Sammy his favorite blanket needed to be washed. Dean hadn’t even taken it away yet.

Dean tells Claire instead, “I’ve seen more meltdowns over bad essay grades than I’d like. And it’s not like I can say, well, you should have read the damn book, Ava.”

“You wouldn’t say something like that,” Claire says as she bends down to set up her ball.

“Of course not,” Dean rolls his eyes, “that makes it worse.”

Claire straightens. “No, I’m saying, you would probably ask her why she didn’t have the time to read the book; if she’s tried the audiobook instead; if you should talk to Mr. Lafitte for her since she spent too long on Algebra and didn’t get to your homework.” She shrugs, meeting his eyes briefly. “You would do something like that.”

Dean blinks because she’s got him exactly right. He’s a firm believer that there’s no such thing as a lazy student. There are unmotivated students; there are students with undiagnosed ADHD or dyslexia; and there are anxious and/or depressed students. Hell, there are students with side-jobs, bills to pay, and little brothers to look after.

“Yeah,” he agrees, discomfited. Claire was his student for one year, but her presence in class was kind of eclipsed by her rocky home life. In senior year, she was back with her parents, but she also caught up regularly with Cas. In class, she faded into the background - Kaia’s blonde shadow. Cas’s stories provided Dean with more insight than any discussion on The Plot Against America ever did.

“All the seniors loved you,” Claire says. “Max Banes would’ve slept with you if he could.”

Dean hits his ball right into the mini sand pit. “What?”

Claire smirks. “You didn’t know?”

“No!”

“Uncle Cas was right, you are oblivious,” Claire says as she whacks her ball straight into the hole.

“Hey,” Dean says, but the protest is weak. “Cas wasn’t much better.”

Claire grins. “No one’s arguing that.” She waits until Dean’s mid-swing to say, “Max would’ve slept with Uncle Cas too - which, gross.”

“Dammit, Claire!”

* * *

“Okay,” Claire says as they walk away from Hole 18. “I’m gonna need to sit in AC for at least forty-five minutes.”

They’ve been out in the sun for nearly two hours now. Dean pulls his damp shirt away from his stomach with a grimace. “You down for pie?”

“Sure,” Claire says gratefully as they leave minigolf behind them.

In the diner, the air conditioning hits them like a bucket of cold water to the face. Claire throws herself into the first both they see as Dean troops off to relieve himself in the bathroom. He checks his phone - one grumpy text from Cas about Gabriel’s inappropriate choice of swimwear for a hotel pool - and exits with a smile on his face.

Back at the booth, Claire is twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger, smiling coyly up at the waitress from lowered lashes. But Claire's inviting expression flips off like a switch as Dean drops down into the opposite seat.

The waitress’ own sunny smile takes on a distinctly plastic sheen at his arrival. “Hello!” she chirps as Dean picks up the menu. “Is there anything I can get you besides water?”

“Can I get a coke?” Dean asks the waitress - Maggie, according to her nametag. She’s tall, probably taller than Claire, and dark-haired. She seems around Claire's own age, so Dean would bet she’s only working here as a summer job.

Claire is still glaring daggers at him, so Dean asks, partly to be a dick, “And what’re you getting, Claire?”

“Water,” she says through gritted teeth.

“A coke and a water, please,” Dean says cheerfully to Maggie.

She bobs a nod and casts a lingering look at Claire. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”

Claire kicks him under the table as she disappears into the kitchen. “You couldn’t have waited another five minutes?” she hisses “I was just about to get her number.”

Dean grins. “My bad.”

“Now she thinks I’m here with my dad or something.” Claire crosses her arms across her chest.

Dean rolls his eyes. “You call me an old man, but I’m, what, twelve years older than you? We’re more likely to be on a date.”

Claire’s flat-out horrified face is enough to make Dean’s week. He’s still laughing as Maggie makes a return, one water and one Coca Cola in tow.

“So what can I get you both?” Maggie asks as she reaches for her pad and pen.

“One slice of cherry pie, thanks,” Dean says brightly.

“Nothing for me,” Claire mumbles.

Maggie looks from Claire to Dean and back again. “One cherry pie,” she confirms slowly. “Should I bring out two forks?”

Over Dean’s fresh bout of laughter, Claire says loudly, “We’re not together!”

Maggie blinks a few times, and Dean can’t tell if she’s more shocked by his reaction or Claire’s. “Okay.”

As she leaves, Claire buries her head in her hands. Her voice is muffled by her hands and hair, but Dean can make out, “This is all your fault.”

“How?” Dean asks as he sucks on his straw. “It’s not my fault if you’ve got no game, kid.”

Claire slumps onto the table. “I used to.”

“Stalking doesn't count as ‘game’ or else Cas and me would have gotten together way before we did,” Dean says sagely.

Still face-down on the table, Claire flips him the bird.

“Have you spoken to Kaia lately?”

Claire doesn’t move for a long moment. When she finally raises her head, her expression is pinched. “Not since Spring Break last year. She was doing good, I guess.”

Awkwardly, Dean says, “It’s okay if you’re still hung up on her.”

Claire waves his assurances away. “It’s been a whole fucking year."

Dean sighs. “These things can take time. You were with her while a lot was going on in your life, and she was there for you through all of it. Just ’cause you're young doesn’t mean it meant less. But if you want to move on, sometimes you don’t have to wait until you’re 100% ready.”

“Thanks, Senpai.”

Maggie approaches carrying a large slice of cherry pie.

“Here you go,” Maggie says as she sets the plate down. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Nothing for me,” Dean butts in before Claire can get a word in edgewise, “But Claire, here, would like your number.”

Maggie goes bright red.

“Dean,” Claire hisses, completely mortified. “What the fuck?” She turns to Maggie. “Forget what he said. He’s a moron who doesn't know what he’s talking about.”

Maggie glances to Dean before settling back on Claire. “So… you don’t want it?”

Claire splutters, “I - no - yes, but not if-” She takes a breath, clearly trying to compose herself. “Yes, I would like your number. But not because he said so.”

“You don’t have to decide now.” Dean fishes out his wallet and takes out a five. “It won’t affect your tip,” he says with a wink as he shoves the bill under the napkin dispenser.

Maggie bites her lip. “I’ll think about it.”

Once Maggie’s left, Claire leans over the table and punches Dean, hard, in the arm. “Oh my god, are you actually braindead?”

“Hey, watch the pie!” Dean yanks his plate closer, out of Claire’s line of fire.

“What on earth possessed you to do that?” Claire demands.

Dean eyes his pie, planning his perfect plan of attack. “You needed a push in the right direction.”

Claire’s eyes flash. “I don’t need your help.”

“Tough luck, because you got it anyway,” Dean says with a shrug as portions off his first bite. “You’re only here for the summer. You don’t have the time to pine from across the softball field for a whole season.”

Claire frowns, saying warily, “I know Maggie isn’t Kaia.”

Dean points his fork, dripping with pie filling at her face. “So you gotta try a new strategy.”

“How?”

“Well, get yourself a capable wingman, for starters,” Dean says around his next bite of pie.

“Who? You?” Claire asks incredulously.

“Probably not,” Dean says, shuddering at the thought. He’d intervened with Maggie because was fucking funny as hell to see Claire get Cas-levels of awkward, but scoping out any more romantic prospects for Claire makes him feel sleazy. “I’m more of a pinch hitter.”

“What?”

“You really didn’t pay attention to a single softball game, did you?” Dean says, almost impressed.

Claire glares.

“They’re the guys called in last minute to fill in for a batter,” Dean says. He shovels the last bit of pie into his mouth, saying, “Did you keep in touch with Krissy?”

Claire shakes her head. “They were all Kaia’s friends first, so…”

“She got them in the divorce?” Dean says sympathetically.

Claire nods, her expression darkening.

“I know she’s back home for the summer too, taking care of her dad,” Dean says. “I bet she could use someone to hang with - if you ever get bored coding from our couch. Data entry for Charlie can’t be that exciting. Don’t tell her I said that.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “You don’t need to set up playdates for me, Dean.”

Dean shrugs. “Suit yourself. But none of Krissy’s other friends are back home - Josephine’s abroad, and the rest of ‘em are staying in their college towns.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Dean nods. That’s probably as good as he’ll ever get with Claire - she’s not the type to gratefully accept help. She’s more likely to complain to his face while going behind his back and doing it anyway. Which, fine, if it gets Claire out of their apartment and out of her funk.

On their way out, Maggie leaves her number on their receipt.

* * *

Claire slams the Impala door shut and relaxes in the passenger seat. “Well that was fun,” she says sarcastically as Dean twists around to pull out of the parking lot without mowing down an unfortunate 1999 Toyota Camry. “Let’s do that again soon.”

“Really?” Dean asks. At her blank stare, he adds, “I never know with you. Did you really have a good time?”

She fiddles with her seatbelt, biting her lip. “I won’t say this again, so cherish this moment: today was not the worst day I’ve ever had.” She huffs out a long breath. “It was almost fun, if you forget that shit in the diner.”

Dean laughs. “I’ll take it, I guess.” He taps his fingers against the wheel as he waits for an opening in traffic to merge onto the highway. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Claire mutters, so low he can barely hear her.

Dean lets the noise of the road take over for a few minutes: the reassuring rattling of the toy soldiers in the back air vent; his baby’s engine purring like a dream; the low ambient hum of her tires carrying them across miles of pavement.

Once he’s as calm as he’s gonna get, he says, “I have a question for you.”

Claire shoots him a look. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Dean shouldn’t have bothered asking. She really is incapable of being anything other than a teenager.

“I’m thinking of asking Cas to marry me,” Dean says quickly. As Claire absorbs his words, his heart kicks up to double-time, hammering away in his chest. “Would you be okay with that?”

“Why are you asking me?” Her eyebrows are drawn together in that same furrow that Cas always has whenever a student stumps him with a question.

“Because you’re his family.” He’s honestly surprised he has to say this part out loud.

“Shouldn’t you be asking Grandmother instead?” Claire asks.

Dean shakes his head. “Cas doesn’t care about her opinion - or Jimmy’s.”

Claire takes another long moment to think that over. “So… are you, what, asking my permission?”

“Yep.”

“To marry my uncle.”

Dean shoots her a look. “I really don’t think the concept is that hard to understand.” Claire’s a smart kid. She’s probably drawing it out on purpose.

“Yeah, but -” Claire breaks off, “It’s weird, though.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You literally called me a weird old man yesterday.”

“But… not this weird.”

“It’s a yes or no question, Claire,” Dean reminds her testily.

Claire waves him off. “I mean, yes, obviously, but what the hell?” Her eyes narrow, accusatory. “Is this why you made me do this weird bonding thing with you today?”

“I -” Dean stutters. “I didn’t make you-”

“It is!” Claire crows. “Were you thinking about it for all 18 holes?”

“No,” Dean says shortly.

“I don’t believe you.” Claire grins. “Were you nervous?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I’m calling BS again. You gotta work on that poker face.” She sits back in her seat, her smugness practically radiating off her in waves.

Dean has the strangest urge to hug her.

Claire lets her hair fall over her face as she picks at her nails. “Just so you know,” she starts in an undertone, “I know it was you who convinced Uncle Cas to take me in. Back in high school.”

“Cas wanted to be there for you,” Dean says quickly, “He just didn’t know how. Honestly,” he says with a laugh, “Cas was scared he’d piss you off more, and then where would you go?”

“Really?” Claire asks, surprised.

Dean nods. “The guy is a great teacher, but he’s not great with kids if there isn’t a desk between them, you know? He's been working on it, though. Having you around taught him a lot.”

“That makes sense,” Claire says, almost to herself. “Anyway, I’ve only really known Uncle Cas while you were together. It’d be more weird if you didn’t get married.”

Dean doesn’t bother turning on the turn signal as he pulls over to the side of the road.

“What the-?” Claire starts, twisting in her seat to look out the window. “Why’d you - oof.”

Dean wraps his arms around her, squeezing tightly.

“Ugh,” she groans, “You smell.” But she hugs him back anyway.

#fanfic #supernatural fanfic #profoundnet #offscreen destiel #established destiel #claire novak #dean winchester #snark #banter #so much snark and banter #destiel fanfic #destiel #the story of us verse #rae writes fic

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chocolatemillkk · 3 years

Text

Party (JS)

I put the final bottle of champagne behind the mini bar and adjust the cocktail bowl slightly to the left. I look around the living room, the grand Christmas tree was still up as it usually was until after New Year’s. The whole place was covered in string lights, outlining the furniture and hanging from the ceiling. This was the famous New Year’s Eve party my parents have been throwing since before I was even born and this year was the last one I’d be attending for a while, I realise sadly. This time next year I would be living in LA, in my first year of university and my parents planned to come down for Christmas and be back here for New Year’s. I wouldn’t come along. I always looked forward to this, guess I’d have to savour it the best I could.

Both my mom and dad were only children which meant growing up they made a lot of friends along the way and each year our parties got a little bit bigger, more and more families coming together for their New Year’s eve party. I always looked forward to two though, the Michaels and the Suggs.

“Are you done daydreaming?” My sister comes up from behind me. “Because there should be appetizers that need rearranging or something according to mom.”

“I’m on it,” I say mock-seriously. My mom really went all out with the food and my sister and I always teased her about it. My sister, Liz, had started uni this year but luckily she was only in London. A lot of our friends her age weren’t though, so we were missing a lot of people this year. But at least Joe would be around, I think. And Zoe.

“Put these near the piano,” my mom hands me a plate as I make my way to the kitchen. “Don’t drop them!” I pretend to struggle under the tray which earns me a stern look. “You should get ready,” my mom reminds me. “There’s only an hour before guests start coming!”

I run up to my room after gently placing the tray where my mom wanted it and put on the dress I had bought for the occasion. It was deep green satin with a plunging neckline and a leg slit that went up to my hips—a shorter skirt lay underneath so I wasn’t flashing the whole party. I usually wasn’t this risky but I figured the occasion called for it. The sleeves are almost bell-like, and I do a twirl before the mirror, excited to see how people liked it.

Who was I kidding, I wanted Joe to see me in it.

It was silly, there was half a year before I was leaving this place, but more than half my life that I’d been crushing on Joe Sugg. Sometimes, I thought he knew how I felt, I thought I was quite obvious as a kid. For a second, I thought maybe the feeling was mutual. But after truth or dare in the seventh grade, I’d tried my hardest to hide whatever feelings I had for him. I wondered if he’d noticed.

“Truth or Dare,” Olivia asks my sister, Olivia Michaels was our neighbour growing up and the one who introduced my sister and I to the world of beer and rock and roll. My sister and I were good friends with her and her younger brother Felix.

My sister choses dare and Olivia has her eat one of the gross drink concoctions we made earlier. A few rounds later, my sisters asks me.

“Dare,” I say, feeling brave.

“I dare you to kiss either Joe or Felix,” my sister says smugly.

“What? I-“

“It’s a dare!” Zoe laughs and I look at Felix, he was a couple years younger than me-he was a child...and Joe was my huge crush. There was no way I was going to have my first kiss with him like this; with popcorn in my teeth and my lips stained with popsicles.

“Unless you’d like to kiss them both,” my sister teases.

Not wanting any more pressure, I lean over and peck Felix on the lips. I can’t help but sneak a glance at Joe as I go back to my seat and everyone laughs at Felix’s flushing cheeks. But he looks uninterested.

A few rounds later, Felix asks Joe and Joe picks Truth.

“Who would you date from this circle?” Felix asks. My heart plummets into my stomach. Joe looks around, avoiding my eyes and that makes my heart race faster. He had to know how much I would die to date him. To call him anything more than my best friend.

“Liz,” Joe says my sister’s name and I felt sick. Of course he liked her better than me, she was smarter and prettier than me. I was just his best friend.

“Aw you’re cute,” my sister pinches Joe’s cheeks and his sister joins in. I excuse myself but I didn’t think anyone even noticed.

A knock at my door reminds me there was a party about to go down, or already going down, I realise as I hear voices already. “How long are you going to take? Mom wants you downstairs to greet everyone!” Liz calls through the door.

“I’ll be a minute!” I say. I take my new christmas present-an eyeshadow kit my mom had given, and the lipstick my sister gave after I used most of hers, and put on my makeup, feeling like a grown up already. So much was changing and I was buzzing with excitement.

I skip downstairs and greet everyone the way I usually did every year. This year everyone asks about school, I tell them my LA plan and they wish me luck. Over and over. Until Joe walks in with a bottle of something in his hand and I run to him, nearly knocking him down as I throw my arms around him. He smelled like the cologne he reserved for special occasions, and the soap he always used. I could never tire of it, of him.

He was as handsome as ever, a clean white button up tucked into black trousers. He’d cut his hair recently but I sort of liked the way he styled it, the soft layers looked bouncy.

“You look handsome! Where’s Zoe?” I ask.

“Food poisoning,” he hands me the bottle and I take it from him, stepping a bit back so he could see my outfit but he continues on without comment. “Mum’s stayed home with her, the bottle’s from her.”

“Duh, as if you could afford this,” I tease, pretending like my heart wasn’t just stabbed by his nonchalance. He follows me in as I sneak the bottle past my mom and hide it in the kitchen, it was a tradition for us kids to get drunk on our own stash we steal throughout the night.

“Where’s everyone else?” Joe asks. “Your sister?”

I ignore the ache I get in my chest, “Oh doing her rounds probably. Pretending she’s an intellectual because she’s done one semester at uni.”

Joe laughs and I love the sound, especially when he laughs at a joke I make.

“You-“

“Y/N! There you are!” Felix and Olivia pop in, interrupting Joe, and I give them both hugs. Olivia had brought her boyfriend this year so we get introductions and a quick catch-up before Olivia goes to find Liz and I’m left with Felix and Joe. Felix had grown to be surprisingly handsome, in a nerd chic sort of way. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was younger than me, I could have even considered dating him.

“So Y/N you look really amazing tonight,” Felix says.

“Aw thank you,” I say. “You look quite chic tonight too, is that suspenders you’re wearing under your jacket?” I tease Felix until he’s pink in the face before I turn to Joe who looks bored. I loop my arm through his, “Want to get something to eat? I’m craving some shortbread cookies.”

“Yeah. If we’re having our own party later on we don’t want a repeat of ‘09,” Joe jokes. That was the first year we had all snuck a bottle of wine from the party and drank it on an empty stomach. None of us had a good time.

“Don’t remind me,” I shudder before I call behind me. “Felix you coming?”

Joe stiffens beside me but we walk on.

•••

After a dozen devilled eggs and shrimp cocktails, I lose everyone to the crowd and find myself alone near the stairs. I watch the crowd and bask in the togetherness the holidays brought on, I would miss this a lot. I almost didn’t want to go when I was in moments like these, but I knew what I wanted from life and I knew I couldn’t stay in dreary UK for it.

As I look around with the room so full of lights, the corners of my vision suddenly warp and distort into a blurry mass. I blink a few times but it remains. This was so not happening.

I sit myself on the step and close my eyes, placing my head on my knees but as I do that, the nause creeps in. This was getting serious. Perfect.

I go up to my bedroom quickly and close the blinds, shutting the room in darkness. I unzip the side of my dress to give my room to breathe and lay down.

Of course I had to get a migraine the day of new year’s eve. My last party for a while. I groan and turn to the side, blindly groping for any pill bottle, not wanting to risk turning on my phone light.

I lay in the dark, I don’t know how long. Time passed slowly in the dark, the only thing I could hear is the muffled sound of the party downstairs. My phone vibrates a few times but I don’t dare look at it. I wanted to nip this migraine before it could come full force. I couldn’t believe this was how my year was going to end, I think. And without meaning to, the tears leak out from my eyes. Stupid migraines and stupid Joe Sugg! He hadn’t even noticed what I was wearing, he didn’t even care. He fancied Liz more than I and I was still crushing on him like an idiot. I wasted my high school years waiting for him. And now I was going to graduate soon, with no history of a relationship and no...

A soft knock interrupts my pity party. I wait again as the knock sounds, just to make sure I wasn’t hearing it.

“Y/N,” it was Joe.

I swipe at my face, pulling my blanket over my face. “I’m here,” I say. “You can come in.”

I hear the door creak open, the noise from downstairs flooding through before the closed door muffles it again.

“Migraine?” Joe asks. We’d been friends long enough that he knew exactly what was going down. I sense him standing at the edge of my bed, the room still in darkness.

“Yeah,” I inch the blanket off my face. It’s not like he could see my makeup streaks in the dark. “Great timing right?”

“Can I do anything?” Joe asks. God, I scoff, I thought I could just turn my feelings off for him but him just asking that brings them back full force. “Maybe some water...”

“I’ve got water,” I say. I sense him shifting around the room.

“Didn’t you used to have those ice packs?” Joe knows his way around my room, he often came over when we did homework, or in the summer before we would go out with our other friends. He locates where I kept the freeze packs and he cracks them, walking towards my bed and sitting on my sheets. “Here.”

He places one on my neck and I flinch at the cold.

“Sorry,” he mumbles before putting it back on.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, the cold already numbing the throbbing in my neck. “Thanks Joe.”

“It’s nothing,” Joe whispers back. I take the pack from where his hands hold it and hold it myself as I gently turn in bed, the little light streaming in outlines his sitting figure.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I let him know. “Go back to the party.”

“It’s no fun if you’re not there,” Joe says. He slowly inches himself down beside me and the smell of him invades my nose. Oh no.

“Joe your cologne-“ I say and he quickly gets up.

“Oh shit right,” Joe stands and I see the shape of him pace away from the bed. “Uh, I can go home and change-“

“Oh my god,” I let out a laugh and cut it short as my head throbs. “You’ve left so many shirts here when we go swimming in the summer. Just put one on if you want to stay here so bad.”

“I’m just here to avoid everyone asking what my plans after school are,” he jokes. “Are they in the bottom drawer?”

“Yeah,” I respond. “Tell them you’re still figuring it out.”

“Everyone here has kids who are doctors or some shit,” I can hear the Joe changing and I try to keep the inappropriate thoughts at bay. “That’s not an acceptable answer.”

“Who cares what they think though,” I say. Joe joins me back in bed, laying down to stare at the ceiling as I look at his profile, barely illuminated by the light peaking through my blinds.

“Sometimes I do,” he says quietly.

I find his hand and squeeze it. He squeezes back and then turns to me. “So are you going to tell me why you were crying before I came in?”

“I was not crying,” I lie.

“You so were.”

“Was not.”

“Was too,” fingers graze my jaw and I’m busted. “Your face is still wet.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “I was just upset I was missing the party.”

“And?”

“I dunno, it’s my last party for a while!”

“Oh yeah,” Joe quiets down. A moment passes. Then another. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“We still have like 7 months together, don’t cry for me just yet.”

“You’re the one that was crying,” Joe shoots back.

“Shut up!” I joke. “Can’t you let me win? I have a migraine!”

“How is it?” Concern creeps back into his voice.

“The usual, I just have to tone down my senses. It’ll get better.”

Joe’s hand moves up to my face and cups it, my heart fluttering, the blood rushing to my face and joining the dance my migraine was putting on in my head.

His hand creeps up into my hair and suddenly his hand is plucking out the pins from my hair, and putting it on my bedside. Of course he was just being helpful while I was getting all bothered. “Do you want to get into something more comfortable?” He asks. I try to ignore the way I felt with his body hovering over mine in the dark but my mind blanks for a moment. “Y/N?”

“Oh I have every intention to go back to the party later,” I say. “This dress stays on.”

“It’s a great dress,” Joe says.

“It is isn’t it,” I say, noticing how uncomfortable Joe was getting. He actually noticed. Why didn’t he say anything earlier?

“I mean,” he clears his throat. “You looked...beautiful.”

I pause, pure joy rushing through me. Joe noticed me, he said I was beautiful. And oh god, all these things happening in my body were not helping my migraine. But I wasn’t about to tell Joe that.

“Thank you,” I say softly, too afraid to break the moment.

“It’s nothing new though,” he says just as softly. “You always look beautiful.”

I look at him, squint in the dark to try to read his face but it’s hard to. Was he saying this because I was having a shitty time or did he actually mean it?

“Not as beautiful as Liz though,” I deflect, deciding he was just taking pity on me. “She’s the one with the looks in the family.”

There’s a deafening silence around us, I can hear my heart beating in it. He wasn’t denying it, I want to cry.

“She is...beautiful sure, but you’re something different Y/N. You bloody take my breath away every time I see you.”

I want to cry for other reasons now. Was this really happening?

“Sorry,” Joe interprets my silence as rejection and begins sitting up to go. “The dark’s just made me stupid, I said way too much and-

“Joe,” I try to cut through.

“You obviously just, you need to rest and I’m-“

“Joe Sugg,” I say again and grab his hand. “Lay back down you big idiot, your blabbering is making my head pulse.”

“Right,” Joe lays back down but I can hear his quick breathing. I was glad to know he was just as nervous. I still have hold of his hand and I place it around my waist, inching closer to him.

“When?” I have to ask.

“Do you remember when we had our second friendiversary?” He asks. I did. We met when we were both 7 after our parents had set up a play date and we got along so well we knew we would be friends instantly. We’d spit on our hands and shaken them, declaring that day our friend anniversary, and we’d celebrated most years since. “You had your parents drop you off on your way home from your nana’s because it was our friendiversary and we didn’t see each other all summer. And your nana gave you cookies for the ride home, and you saved me the peanut butter ones? I don’t know, when you came in that day I just took a look at you and I had butterflies in my stomach. You were there ever since school let out and I’d missed playing with you for so long. I think I realised I missed you more than just a friend that summer. And when I saw you-“

“I actually remember.” I join. “Because you had just stared at me with your mouth open. And I just put the cookies in your open mouth. I was angry I thought you were looking at me like that because Liz had put gum in my hair a week before and my nana had to cut a lot off.”

“Yeah,” Joe chuckles. “I remember that too.”

“And since then?”

“Yeah,” Joe’s hand curls around my waist.

“What about the seventh grade? Truth or dare?”

“You bloody kissed Felix!” Joe exclaims.

“I...you picked my sister because I kissed Felix? He was like 10!”

“I was stupid.”

“Was? If I was feeling better I would be slapping you right now.”

“Good thing you’re not,” Joe tugs me closer. Our faces are inches apart, and I want to lean over and just kiss him so bad.

“What’s taken you so long,” I whisper, my fingers resting on his face.

“Scared I would ruin our friendship. You’re so much better than me, I thought you would laugh if I told you.”

“You are so ridic-“

“Shh,” Joe shushes me. “Do you hear that?”

I quiet down and listen as the party downstairs begins counting down to New Year’s. Suddenly my hands are clammy, this was it. I was going to kiss Joe Sugg once and for all.

“5...4...3...” Joe whispers between us.

“2...” I get out before Joe closes the space and kisses me, his lips so soft, my head feeling like it would explode. And not just because of the migraine.

“Wow-“ Joe gets out before I go in for a second kiss, the cheering downstairs drowns out as I pull Joe closer to me, closer, finally the love of my life was in my arms.

We’re moving too quickly, a wave of nausea hits me and I pull away.

“Sorry was that too quick?” Joe panics.

“Head,” I say as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Shit,” I feel him sitting up and hovering over me, probably looking for the ice pack because soon the cold feeling returns to my temples.

“Thank you,” I whisper. He places a kiss on my lips as I stay still, trying to ease my nause. I feel a kiss on my jaw, then my neck. “Do you have to go home?” I ask.

“Nope,” Joe shifts beside me, I feel him get under the blanket, and he pulls me close to him. He lays his hand gently over me and I settle in beside him. What a New Year’s.

•••

“Y/N!” My sister’s voice wakes me and my eyes fly open. She stands in my doorway with her jaw open and I realise she’s staring at the weight on my right side. Joe.

“What?” Joe mumbles, awakened by my sister barging in.

“Oh my god!” My sister squeals. “It’s happening!” She runs out my door. “It’s happening!” She yells out to whoever was awake. And if they weren’t awake, her commotion sure woke them.

“She’s crazy,” I mumble before turning to Joe, the evening rushing to catch me up. He’s still only half asleep. When I call his name, he only groans and pulls me closer to him, hiding his face into my neck. My heart flutters, it felt like we’d always been together like this.

I allow myself the small pleasure of running my hands up into his hair and he groans into my neck, lifting his face up to look at me. Suddenly he starts laughing.

“Way to make a girl feel confident,” I’m suddenly self conscious as I get up.

“You do realise you’re in yesterday’s outfit? Including your makeup?” Joe asks, his voice hoarse.

“Shit!” I run to my mirror and laugh at what I see. “I’ll be back!”

I grab a spare shirt and move to the bathroom where I clean up and brush my teeth. My skin looked awful having slept in makeup but the glow I felt from waking up next to Joe kills any issue I might have had with it.

When I get back to my room he’s already up, the bed is made, and he’s folding his clothes from yesterday.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” I say as I walk to him. Immediately he catches my hand and pulls me in.

“Your head?” He asks.

“Great. Yours?”

“Clear as day. Glad it listened to my heart this one time.”

A smile creeps onto my face as the realisation of what he said settles in but pulls me in and kisses it off.

“Happy new year Joe,” I whisper when we part, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“Happy new year Y/N,” Joe whispers back. “I think it’s going to be the best one yet.”

#joe sugg #thatcherjoe #joe sugg imagines #joe sugg imagine #buttercream imagines #buttercreams #youtube imagines #jack maynard #caspar lee #fic #new year imagine #qd

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strangerfictions · 4 years

Text

The Fight

Request/ Prompt: so basically, I was tagged in the prompt in December by @1998--js and I knew I had to do it!

Character A tilting Character B’s chin up to get a better look at their face and the evidence of the fight. A delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by B’s mouth, saying nothing as they examine it. After a brief pause, B’s heart skips a nervous beat as A looks them dead in the eyes. Their voice is quiet and tense, their anger barely restrained.

“Who did this to you?”

- @whumpster-dumpster

Summary: Rumors are spreading about you and Billy which leads to you both fighting. You have it out with the people who started it and Billy has to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: A bit of violence, lots of angst and fluff!

Words: 3416

A/N: So, I’ve been working on this for the past week or so and I am super happy with how it turned out. Thanks to @1995--js for tagging me in this prompt I loved it so much. Right now, things are very crazy since I’m back at college but requests are back open now for a limited time so if you have anything in mind send me an ask! I also want to thank everyone for 400 followers and for all the love on my shitty fics! Hope you enjoy this. Likes, reblogs and comments are all welcomed! Let me know if you would be interested in a part 2 of this!

The Hargrove’s had moved in across the road almost a year ago and you still weren’t sure what to make of the California natives. You remember meeting the family for the first time and feeling very uneasy around Neil Hargrove. You would come to learn that you should follow your intuition a bit more.

Billy hadn’t left you alone since that day they turned up on your doorstep. Every day he would drop you home and you would talk about stupid stuff until you were both laughing at nothing. Of course, being friends with Billy had its up’s and downs. The first few weeks of your friendship a rumour spread around school that you were hooking up together which was far from the truth.

You both usually ended up arguing about a rumour every now and then and today was no different. You had brought up a rumour you heard being spread about you and Billy which made him snap at you about it like it was your fault it was being spread.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking player you wouldn’t have rumours following you everywhere you go Hargrove but you seem to like that kind of attention so why would you even care” You hated that rumours followed the both of you just because you were friends. You both knew that Billy loved that kind of attention, but you didn’t enjoy it.

“So fucking what? Do you know how much trouble you cause me? I have been turned down by more girls around here because of you so I suggest you keep your mouth shut!” You were stunned by what he said but you were even more stunned that he was raising his voice.

“Pull over” You ask in a calm, steady voice.

“What?”

“Stop the fucking car Billy. I’m not putting up with you and your fucking shit anymore. If you want better chances with girls here it is. Don’t fucking talk to me until you respect me as a friend” As soon as the car came to a stop you get out slamming the door and walking down the path. You hear Billy’s car door open as you continue to walk away.

“Seriously Y/N? Get back in the car and stop being stubborn!” You walked towards your street throwing up the middle fingers at him as you left him standing beside his car.

You managed to get into your house before he passed you and once you were home you could finally let the emotions flow. Tears slipped down your face at a steady pace quickly but soon your sadness turned into anger as you paced around your room. Billy was one of your only friends except for Robin and so hearing him say things like that to you really hurt. You suddenly remember the party Billy had mentioned and you walk straight for the phone.

“Hey Robin! I’m going to that party tonight will you come please?...great come over here when your done…great see you in awhile!” You put down the phone and started to get ready waiting for Robin.

After about an hour there is a knock on your bedroom door and Robins head peaks through the crack.

“Hey! Have you been crying?” Robin walks in placing her jacket on your bed.

“I had a massive fight with Billy over those fucking rumours going around about us. He said I get in the way of his hooking up!” You say dramatically as you apply some mascara to your lashes.

“Wow I mean that’s such a contradiction of what I saw today. He was with Tommy and Carol and he was having a pretty big fight with Tommy about spreading those rumours. I’m sure I heard him say that if he heard any more rumours about you that he would kill Tommy personally” You look up out of surprise almost blinding yourself with the mascara wand.

“Really?” You couldn’t believe it. Was Billy really going to lie about it all just to reclaim as much masculinity as possible?

“Yeah I mean it was pretty badass of him. I was going to call you later after work to tell you! It’s weird that he would lie though don’t you think?” Robin looked at you concerned as you cleaned up the mascara on the bridge of your nose.

“Yes, I do Robin but that’s Billy for you!”

You both finish up and walk to the party since it was only a few streets away. As soon as you get in all eyes are on you. You tug at the bottom of your dress suddenly feeling self-conscience. You spot Billy at the back of the room before Robin pulls you towards the kitchen to do shots.

You are on your fourth or fifth shot when you hear Tommy come into the kitchen.

“Well if it isn’t Billy’s little bitch!” You slam your shot glass down on the table hard smashing it in the process.

“What the fuck did you call me?” Robin is instantly trying to keep you back as you walk towards Tommy who’s suddenly looking very scared.

“It was a joke Y/N” Tommy tries to defend himself as you walk closer to him Robin still struggling to hold you back. Before you know it, you have hit Tommy straight in the face connecting with the side of nose. Before you can think Carol is on top of you trying to pull at your hair and a fight breaks out between you both. You manage to get Carol to the ground straddling her and punching her in the face but before you could get anymore in you are being dragged away by Steve Harrington.

“Let go of me Harrington! I swear to God I will…” Before you can finish your sentence, Billy comes into view. As he looks up, he locks eyes with you seeing the mess you are in as Steve drags you away from the kitchen. You suddenly begin to feel pain in your face as Steve lets go of you and walks away mumbling something about an icepack.

Billy walks through the living room to where you are sitting on the sofa and without saying anything, he sits beside you. He tilts your chin up getting a better look at your face and the evidence of the fight. He delicately thumbs away the streak of blood on your bottom lip, saying nothing as he examines you. After a brief pause, your heart skips a nervous beat as Billy looks you dead in the eyes. His voice is quiet and tense, his anger barely restrained.

“Who did this to you?”

You couldn’t look at Billy you felt so stupid for getting so angry over what Tommy said. You didn’t think you just did which you never do. You always think about things before doing them. You did the thing that you were always telling Billy off for doing when he turned up at your window with blood all over his face.

“I may have punched Tommy for calling me your bitch and then Carol attacked me I just got so angry and since I was already angry it just happened which is so hypocritical of me because I’m always telling you to think before you punch someone and now instead of me picking up the pieces it’s you which it shouldn’t be because I’m still mad at you” It was clear to Billy that you were going into shock and adrenaline was the only thing keeping you from feeling the intense pain of your face.

By the time you had stopped talking Steve returned with a bag of ice and a shot of vodka to “help the pain levels”. You take them both graciously thanking him.

“I can’t tell if you are stupid or a real badass” You feel Billy stiffen beside you as you half-heartedly laugh at Steve’s joke. Robin comes up behind him with a first aid kit handing it to Billy without saying anything.

“I ruined your night, didn’t I ?” You look at Robin who has a slight smirk on her face

“No, it’s about time you stuck up for yourself. It was going to happen to them eventually it was just a countdown to see who it would turn out to be. Clean her up before bringing her home please!” Billy nods in agreement and you say goodbye to Steve and Robin. You are both left in silence as they walk away. Neither of you knowing what to say to each other.

“You’re very quiet Billy. Are you okay?” You look up at Billy who refuses to even acknowledge you are talking. He quickly stands up causing you to get a little dizzy. The realisation of a probable concussion setting in.

“Stay here. Don’t move I’ll be back to help you clean-up” With that Billy storms off towards the kitchen probably to see the lack of injuries on Carol and Tommy. You were never a big fighter, but you had learned how to defend yourself at a young age. That kind of thing never really leaves you and so you instinctually knew where and when to punch. You lay your head against the back of the sofa closing your eyes and slightly grunting at the sudden pain searing through the left-hand side of your face.

You wanted to access the damage but knew better than to get up without Billy. You could feel blood dripping down your face potentially from your eyebrow. Your scalp was beginning to tingle as your adrenaline wears off. From the way Carol had a grip on your hair you wouldn’t be surprised if you had a few bald patches.

“You really got them good!” You open your eyes to find Billy standing over you with an impressed look on his face.

“Probably not as good as Carol got me though my head is killing me” Billy chuckles deeply as you wince in pain.

“No seriously Carol has a split lip, a bloody nose which might be broken and two very swollen and bruised eyes and Tommy…well his nose is broken and is bleeding everywhere…it looks like a murder scene in there.” You can’t help but feel like Billy is exaggerating but you knew better than that. Billy would never exaggerate about the results of a fight.

“I just want to go to bed. Can you help me clean up first?” You try to stand up but almost fall back down. Billy instinctually wraps an arm around your waist before you have the chance to fall back onto the sofa. He carefully helps you up the stairs, first aid kit in hand. This wasn’t something Billy was used to. He was usually the one with cuts and bruises littering his face not you. He wasn’t even sure if he knew how to patch you up properly. You were the one with all that knowledge.

Once in the bathroom he helped you sit down on the edge of the bath while he opened the first aid kit to see what he could do to help you. You watched as he opened the green box confusion written all over his face.

“You need help, don’t you?” You asked as you tried to get comfortable on the side of the tub.

“No let me figure it out. You do this for me all the time it’s the least I can do for you this time round” You laugh as he pulls things out to inspect them before placing them back in the box.

“Billy I would rather not be sitting here all night. I promise this isn’t some sort of defeat on your half just let me talk you through it” Billy sighs nodding his head as he places the first aid kit on the windowsill above the toilet.

“Okay first get a facecloth and soak it in warm water so we can clean the blood off, then you will need some sort of alcohol or antiseptic if there isn’t any get a bottle of vodka from downstairs.” With instructions in hand Billy begins to move quickly around the bathroom. He sits on the toilet in front of you and starts to clean your face gently trying not to hurt you.

Billy reaches behind him to look for the alcohol but realises there is none so has to go downstairs for some vodka. When he goes downstairs you decide you want to get a good look at the damage done. You stand up from the edge of the tub and steady yourself on the wall. You carefully walk to the mirror hanging over the sink. You begin to survey the cuts and bruises on your face carefully. You check to see if you have any bald spots but luckily it seems Carol didn’t pull too much out.

“Are you sure this will work?” You jump glancing behind you at Billy who is standing in the door of the bathroom holding a full bottle of vodka.

“Well if it doesn’t, I’m sure if I down half the bottle it will have a desired effect” You sit back on the edge of the tub while Billy soaks some cotton wool in the vodka. Sitting back on the toilet he brings the soaked cotton wool to the large cut on your bottom lip. Gently he presses it against the cut soaking it. Your reach up to Billy’s hand and pull it away slightly as you feel the effect of the alcohol.

“Sorry” You mumble as you take your hand away from his.

“It’s alright at least we know it’s working. Here…for moral support” Billy offers you his other hand and you graciously take it as he continues to gently dab at the few deep cuts on your face. Once Billy feels like your face is sufficiently soaked in vodka, he throws the cotton wool in the bin behind him.

“Now what?” he asks turning around looking at you for further instructions.

“I think they should be fine until I get home. Thanks.” You look up to find Billy’s blue eyes focused on you. Your heart skips a little as he raises his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“That’s alright princess. Come on lets get you home” Billy helps you up for the tub and you both walk to his car. As you walk past the kitchen you catch a glimpse of Tommy and Carol who are looking worse for wear than you.

“I did tell you that you got them good. Here I was thinking you were incapable of punching anything!” You feel Billy’s grip on your waist get a little tighter as both Carol and Tommy look up at you both. Despite the fact that you just got beaten up you feel safe. Safe because of the arm around your waist.

As you both walk to Billy’s car you begin to laugh. The realisation of the seriousness of the situation setting in. You knew it was the mixture of drink and adrenaline causing you to feel this way, but you felt on top of the world. Was this how Billy felt after he got into fights? You slide down into the front seat of the Camaro feeling the pain creeping in.

“Why did you lie to me this afternoon? You acted like I was such a bother to you which I probably am, but Robin told me she saw you fighting with Tommy earlier and warning him about spreading rumours about me…us. If you really thought I was that much of a nuisance, why would you even bother saying anything to them in the first place. I’m just really confused about it all Billy.” You slouch down in your seat as you hear Billy sigh from his side of the car.

“Fuck…fine okay you’re not a problem you never have been. It was easier to make you think that than tell you the actual truth okay!” You watch Billy’s hands tighten on the steering wheel his knuckles turning white. Without warning he pulls over and turns the engine off.

“I don’t want you to say anything okay. I just need you to listen to what I’m going to tell you because everything is fucked anyways so might as well tell you. If you don’t like what you hear I will bring you home and you will never have to talk to me again…Y/N Y/L/N…I like you a lot and I didn’t want to tell you because there is no way a girl like you wants to date a mess like me and plus I really like our friendship and I don’t want to ruin that. You hate me, now don’t you?” You couldn’t wrap you head around what Billy had said so you stay silent looking through the windscreen in front of you. After a few minutes of silence, the engine starts again, and Billy is driving towards your house.

“I don’t hate you. I just…I think I have a mild concussion and so I’m not sure what to say” You glance over at Billy who has turned very pale.

“Fine” Billy huffs as you pull up outside your house. He refuses to look at you as you turn towards him. You reach out and place a finger on his jaw turning his head towards you.

“I like you Billy, but I’m concussed and need time to think so less of the mood. Can you help me inside?” Billy nods jumping out of the car quickly running over to your side to help you out. He helps you up and wraps an arm around your waist steading you.

“I like your arm around my waist it makes me feel safe” The concussion really starting to take effect. Billy walks you towards your front door as he listens to you.

“I also really like that you came over to me as soon as you saw I was hurt and how you brushed your finger over my bottom lip that was really nice Billy. I like this side of you. I like to call it soft Billy.” Billy hums in approval as you both stop at the front door. You fish your keys out of your denim jacket and hand them to Billy who pushed them into the door opening it wide so you can both get in without it being awkward.

“Soft Billy? I kinda like that princess. Need help getting upstairs?” You nod as you rest your head against Billy’s shoulder. You both make it upstairs without any further injury. You remain quiet well aware you have said plenty. Billy walks you into your room and helps you sit on the edge of your bed.

“You okay now? Need anything else?” You shake your head as you take you denim jacket off and throw it on the ground beside your bed refusing to change before getting into bed. You pull the covers back and slip into bed awkwardly.

“I’m going to get some pain killers and water for the morning princess. I’ll be back in a few” Tiredness hits you hard and you close your eyes as Billy leaves your room. He knows your house like his own and so it takes him less than a minute to find some pain killers and a glass of water. By the time he gets back upstairs he finds you fast asleep. He places the glass of water on your bedside table along with the pills. He notices that your blanket isn’t all the way up and so he pulls it up over your shoulders and tucks you in. Placing a small kiss on your forehead.

“Night princess”

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Read Part Two Here!

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@an-antisocial-writer @charmed-asylum @takemepedropascal @technolilly @multifandomgirl16 @dreamin-of-dacre @1998--js

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kanawhipped · 4 years

Text

*cracks knuckles*

Beware I'm about to give out some truths, don't like it don't read. Also, honey, if you don't like it I don't see what you're even doing in the ttts tag. :) Anyway, that being said, let's get started shall we?

Lately, I've been seeing a lot of hate towards TharnType. I want to start by saying why do you even bother spreading hate on something? Like, if you dislike something that's fine, you're allowed to but is it too hard to just move on to the next series without spitting out hateful comments about what you call toxic and problematic?

Well, apparently it's too much to ask for certain people. :) You wouldn't like to have people being hateful towards the series you love in the tag so why would you do that to others? Of course the ones who love the series will find the hateful comments and of course they are going to defend it. You should not put your hate in the tag if you're not ready to have people defend it, js.

Now, let's talk about the 'problematic and toxic' series that is tharntype.

3/4 of the people saying that haven't even watched the whole series, and if you did actually watch the full thing, I think you're just missing out the point of tharntype.

First of all, it is said as soon as it starts raikantopini. It's a series for mature audience, it's a series that touches and speaks about heavy topics so why do you even act so shocked that rape or homophobia is being mentioned?

Now, stop attacking the ones that love this series because "we agree with rape and homophobia" sweetie, we really don't. Unfortunately rape is something very real that happens in real life, and goddammit tharntype showing it in its raw, awful way is exactly what makes this series so good. It's real. If you want rainbows and sunshine then yeah, I suggest you don't watch it because this series is not perfect, the characters are not perfect. They both fuck up, and we know it. But hey, do you know what else happens? Growth. On both sides, you know why? Because unlike other series these two communicate A LOT. They talk and talk and talk and they might not agree with each other, they might not like what the other says but in the end they come to compromises because they love each other and that's what a healthy relationship is supposed to be about.

Type learns how to come to terms that he is in fact dating and in love with a man and slowly he also learns that not all gay people are bad. Tharn is good, Khom is good.

Remember that the reason for his homophobia is because he was molested as a child. He was a kid and he got traumatized, so the only way he found to protect himself and keep on living his life is by hating gays, it's something that has lived with him since he was 11. In a way he still thinks like his 11 year old self, the one that was traumatized. You can see it in the very first episode when he tells Tharn that he hates gays, he looks angry as fuck but the second Tharn comes too close, his angry face completely crumbles and is replaced by fear. He's just scared.

Yes, homophobia is bad, believe me I'm the first to attack homophobes when I see one, but try to see things from Type's perspective and you might understand why he acts the way he does, is all I'm saying.

Now to what Tharn does. Ah geez, I must admit that in the first episode I was a 100% on Tharn's side until part 4/4 happens and then I was 100% on Type's side. I wasn't sure if it was a series for me because well, I'm not about all this noncon shit. But after spitting out all the anger I had for Tharn, I sat down, took a deep breath and thought 'well shit, this is the first episode they might show it for a reason, I still have 11 episodes to go, just keep pushing you might be surprised' and surprised I was.

I don't think Tharn takes it too seriously. (I still do get pissed when I re-watch that part but I'm trying to understand him even if it's harder for me to understand his point of view, probably because I'm more like Type LMAO) Does he realize what he's doing is noncon? I mean, I'm pretty sure he does. The kiss especially was unnecessary. But he's doing that because Type keeps being a homophobic little shit and trying to push Tharn to move out. He does take it too far of course he does, but keep in mind that when he does it, he still doesn't know about Type's past. I'm not defending what he does, I'm just trying to understand why he does it in the moment.

Next morning you can immediately see he feels guilty for doing it when he sees the panic in Type's face and when he eventually learns about his past, he knows that what he did was very wrong. Don't forget that he says "I'm sorry" to Type while crying (well both are crying) after Type tells him everything.

It's also one of the reasons why he takes all the blame in Type's stade for the boy's homophobic comments. Tharn not only already likes Type at that point, he also still feels extremely guilty for what he did to him which is why he doesn't hesitate to go see the two seniors and put all the blame on himself.

Man, tharntype is so complex and yet beautiful. As soon as we reached that point I knew I was going to be extremely whipped for the series because that is exactly what I like seeing on TV. Realism. They did it so beautifully and without fear.

They really went "Here, have these two. They're not perfect, they fight, they fuck up, but they love each other and communicate a lot hope you like the reality of it." why yes!!

I might make a pt. 2 of this bc I have so much to say about this series but I'm always a mess when it comes to expressing my emotions, just ask my therapist LMAO.

But anyway, my point is, we know this series is not perfect. And in my eyes, it's exactly what makes it perfect.

I can't wait to see them fuck up again in season 2 because HEY HATERS, KEEP ON HATING BUT WE KEEP ON WINNING. BYE NA :)

to my fellow ttts stans, you're doing amazing sweetie, let's be friends ❤️

#tharntype the series #mewgulf #gulf kanawut #mew suppasit #tharntype #.text post #man my fingers hurt.#tw homophobia #tw rape

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dearestlouis · 3 years

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𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅,

Today is our 6th month of being together and I'm so happy to have you in my life. I'm not a perfect one for you, but you always told me that I'm the prettiest ever. Who's lucky? Absolutely me. Through this, I want to show you that there are so many people who support us. And I'd love to welcome the baby together with you. We shall to hold each other's hands tightly, I love you the most! xx

𝑨 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 :

⋆ Hello, dearest Joy and my twin Johnny.

I'm so glad to see this couple at first. You guys look so great together and I must say that you guys are the best couple I've ever seen! I wish you guys nothing but happiness; I hope your marriage life will always be romantic and last long. Can't wait till I see you guys have a kid.👀 Wishing all of the best for you guys! —JOHNTSUH

⋆ Starting off this message to Johnny oppa and Joy unnie for reaching another month together! It probably was not an easy road but both of you went through it well together and I hope it'll stay that way for a loooong time! Congratulations and happy monthsary once again! 🥳 — KlMSOHYUNN

⋆ MEMLO LOVEBIRDS! Congratulations for reaching another happy moment together. I hope both of your love will keep getting bigger every day! Thank you for taking care of my unnie well ❤️ stay longlast! —KAGNMlNAH

⋆ Hello Joy and her husband, I am very happy to see you have come this far and I hope you will be together forever. Your marriage is proof and witness that your love will always be united until your hair turns white. I pray for your good, make it last guys. 🤍 —roisiepark

⋆ Hello, Johnny hyung and Joy noona. J2(?) so there will be J3? i believe it will since Joy noona is having something called cutiebean inside her tummy right? i'm so happy for the two of you. Wow time flies that quick now Johnny hyung will become a father, Joy noona will become a mother and i will become an .... uncle? omg congratulations to both of you i'm very happy for both of you! not only that, i also want to congratulate you both for spending 6 months together. it is quite a long time, you guys have gone ups and downs together for so long. I hope you two will always be happy, your time always filled with love and always cheerish each moment together. I'm beyond happy for both of you. 🤍 — HENDEURl

⋆ happy monthsary lovebirds! anyways, as you guys going to be a parents soon, i have a strong feeling that this is the beginning of many great things. have fun discovering the surprises and perks of being parents. i will keep you in my prayers and also thank you so much for making me an auntie. can't wait to meet your ray of sunshine💛 — withlovewheein

⋆ Hello there, my sweetest brother and his beloved! I am feeeeling so great to hear that both of you have reached the sixth months of living with each other. I only have one wish that i want both of you always stay together and sharing bunch of memories together. Thank you for taking care of my brother, and please love him and take care of him well. 🥺 Happy 6th monthsarry! 💗 — Kakak Ayel sayangnya Tobi.

⋆ Good day, johoenny the peepee 👉🏻👌🏻💦 HAHAHAHAHA.

First of all, damn your wife is sweet ay. I can see now why you were so eager to make the baby🤡

But well! Happy 6th monthsarry to both of you🔥🔥🔥 it may be a short yet long journey but i know both of you can last really really long. Hope you 2 will stay sweet and lovey-dovey like this.

And also for Joy, i wish the best for your pregnancy! Im sure the baby will be as strong as the parents *lets pray that johnny's horny genes wont get into the baby 🤡*.

Best luck for everything, guys!

P.s please do tell me the birth date so i can come unlike the wedding 💀 — bobbyrxnika

⋆ Hi, lovebirds. It’s been a while since my last wishes on your wedding day and now i’m gonna throw some words again for you two. So, how’s your marriage life? It’s fun right? Even i don’t really know how you treat each other, but i can see Johnny can be a perfect husband for Joy since she always talk about how lovely Johnny is. And i’m very thankful for keeping my sister safe with you, Johnny. Also, congratulation soon-to-be parents! Promise i will buy some good stuffs for my niece/nephew later! I hope you both will only meet the happiness in life for a very long time! ♡

Sincerely,

kembang desa cicaheum.

⋆ Happy 6th monthsary, my favorite love birds.

May you both love and care for each other as you do today till infinite. may you create countless memories in coming years and grow stronger each day. may this monthsary be magical enough to add great love, care, and compassion in your live.

With love,

Vira [TAENGIM]

⋆ Hello to the cutest couple ever, Johnny oppa and Joy unnie! First thing first, thank you so much for inviting me to your wedding (it is one of the most memorable things that I’ve ever had in this world!) so for you two.. I wish you two for always be surrounded by happiness. Please enjoy all those quality time you could spend together. I hope nothing would butt into you two’s happiness. Stay healthy and happy! <3

Love, Siyeon.

⋆ To the most adorable and sweetest couple on earth, Alodie and Louis, congratulations for reaching up another milestones in your relationship! I notice how both of you being a simp for each other and that's wonderful. Louis, I would bid my utmost thanks for taking care of Odie really well, you know I always count on you when it comes to her. May both of you be blessed with happiness and more love for another upcoming journey, another anniversaries, to no end. Keep on sailing and be happy, always.

With love,

Buna Lily.

⋆ Happy 6th Monthsarry to you, lovebirds! 🕊❤️

There’s nothing as wonderful as seeing a happily married pair. Your happiness always reflects by the smile in your face and the delight in your eyes. And I as Alodie's beloved mom would like to personally thank Johnny for taking a well care of my daughter. Thank you for making her the happiest she ever been! May the love you have for each other continue to blossom like a rose with each of the passing month (and even year). You have all my greatest wishes and blessings. 🤍 And oh, I'm praying all the best for the baby too. 😜 Grow healthily, little one.

With love,

Adrianne L. Edelstein

⋆ Congratulations for being 6 months together with Joy unnie. Thank you for taking care of her well and make her happier than before. The road is still long way to go, so, i hope the love will always lights up the way. Please always be the lovely couple and lovely siblings for me.

— Kim Yerim

⋆ Best wishes to both of you on your Monthsary. May the love that you share last your lifetime through, as you make a wonderful pair. Happy Monthsary Johnny hyung and Joy noona.

- Doy

⋆ This message is aim to the dearest couple, Alodie and her husband. Time flies, I bet your relationship as a husband and wife is finally reaching a month old. Congratulations for that, I sincerely happy for you two. I wishes both of you to be happy with each other and I wish it'll wrapped with abundant blessing, jolity, and prosperity around so you could have the dream life you've dreamt about. Long live the couple! ♥️

— Calliope, X.

⋆ Happy mensiversary, Joy unnie with her beloved husband. 💗 May the ties that bind you grow ever stronger and hold you steadfast amidst your fears and uncertainties. Never stop being each other’s best friends, and always be each other’s priorities. I love seeing you both in love. Stay this way forever! 🌹

— Aeri

⋆ Hello, Johnny and Joy, oho I just realized that you both are Js. I am here going to congratulate both of you for another months you guys have spent together. Also the fact that Johnny is going to be a daddy soon!

As for my wish is for you both to have a happy and healthy long lasting relationship, being supportive towards each other and take a good care of each other more, okay? Johnny is a good person and I trust him that he will be a good dad and husband too. Also you should love Joy more each day, or I’ll beat your peepee John. OK JK.

Happy 6th Monthsarry!

Love,

Chu.

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frontproofmedia · 1 year

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ONE MONTH TO GO – CANELO ALVAREZ AND JOHN RYDER CAMP IMAGES

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Published: April 07, 2023

Mexican ruler and British contender ramp up training ahead of May 6 showdown

There’s one month to go until Canelo Alvarez and John Ryder will clash for the Undisputed Super-Middleweight title in Canelo’s long-awaited homecoming bout at the Akron Stadium in Guadalajara, Mexico on Saturday May 6, live on DAZN and DAZN PPV. Canelo (58-2-2 39 KOs) fights in his homeland for the first time in over 11 and a half years, and defends his Undisputed crown for the second time after beating bitter rival Gennadiy Golovkin in their trilogy battle in Las Vegas in September, having ripped the IBF crown from Caleb Plant in Sin City in November 2021 with an 11th round stoppage. The Mexican superstar will make an emotional return to his homeland for his latest Cinco de Mayo showdown, and it will be 4180 days since he last stepped through the ropes in Mexico, when he stopped Kermit Cintron in Mexico City in five rounds to defend his WBO World Light-Middleweight title. The 32 year old four-weight World Champion fights for the 63rd time of his storied career as he closes in on 18 years as a pro. Cinco de Mayo weekend will see him fight for the 35th time in his homeland and it promises to be a spectacular occasion with the state of Jalisco marking 200 years of independence. Canelo left his San Diego base at the weekend to complete camp in Guadalajara, and Matchroom and DAZN shot with the 32 year old in one of his final sessions in the States before he flew to Mexico. “I don’t watch a lot of my opponents, but I’ve seen highlights of Ryder,” said Canelo. “I had my eighth sparring session yesterday and I did good, I feel good, and I can throw my left hand good. That’s made me feel confident that I am 100 per cent. “I don’t think so far ahead, there’s a lot of fights for me to come. Every fight is dangerous, I’m training 100 per cent for Ryder and I will be ready.” Ryder (32-5 18 KOs) is preparing for the fight of his life in Tony Sims’ gym in Essex, England, and will be looking to spoil the party, as the popular Londoner travels to Mexico for the biggest fight of his 12-year career. ‘The Gorilla’ landed the WBO interim title in his last fight when Zach Parker retired on his stool after four rounds of their clash in London, England in November. That win for the 34 year old followed a career-best victory earlier in 2022 over former Middleweight ruler and old Canelo foe Daniel Jacobs, with Ryder having also tackled three other Britons who have taken on the Mexican king, challenging Callum Smith for the Super-Middleweight World crown after fights with Billy Joe Saunders and Rocky Fielding. Ryder will head to Las Vegas on April 20 to complete his camp before going to Guadalajara and getting ready for a hot reception as he takes on a national icon. “I said I was happy to do the fight at the Azteca Stadium in front of 100,000 so I think I kind of called it on happening in Mexico!” said Ryder. “There’s going to be over 50,000 in Guadalajara and I just can’t wait. “Everyone was really welcoming there for the press conference but I’m sure that will change in a month’s time, and it’ll be hostile on fight night, but it was great to come face-to-face with him there and in San Diego. “I’ve had my ups and downs in my career, taken my knocks, and I’ve come back. I think this fight has come at the right time, I am at my best physically and mentally that I’ve ever been, and I am really looking forward to it. “Canelo is still up there as one of the best pound-for-pound and the best of our generation. He’s so dangerous and the best of him could still be to come.”

(Featured Photo: Meg Oliphant/Matchroom)

#HF #Canelo Alvarez #John Ryder #Matchroom Boxing #DAZN

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stovetuna · 4 years

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I really want to ask for stevetony + Exes AU? I'm so weak for the pining and angst of the getting back together trope

same??? I know I shouldn’t but I am nothing if not weak. I hope you like it! I want to say this is 616, because Tony’s self-loathing here feels like peak 616!Tony to me, but not set at any specific point in time.

- - -

For six months, nobody knew that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were dating.

Which means no one knows they broke up six weeks ago.

Looking back on it now, those six months were just stolen time, a pocket-life Tony knew he’d never get to live out to its fullest, but he likes to think he took advantage of every second of it.

That’s a lie. He wasted it. He knows that now, better than he’s known anything in his entire life, and that includes JARVIS’s coding and what it felt like when Obie forcibly removed the arc reactor from his chest. He spent six incredible, heartwarming, spine-melting, almost-picture-perfect months in a relationship with Steve Rogers, a man he’d been in love with for years before that, and no one knew about it.

Because as it turns out, Tony Stark is a coward.

Tony puts down the razor and stares at himself in the mirror. A mask of dread with a freshly sculpted goatee stares back. It’s too early for that much feeling, but this is the position he’s put himself in.

It’s also his first day back in the city after spending the past six weeks in Malibu, “to make sure SI feels equally loved,” as he told the team at their last group dinner (while pointedly ignoring Steve sitting across from him at the table and the fact that even then he couldn’t not see the way the man’s face fell at the news).

Obviously that’s only half of the story, but no one needs to know about how Tony spent most of those six weeks moping around in that big empty house wearing grubby shirts and eating pints of half-melted Half Baked ice cream out of the container (and then exercising himself sick to make up for it).

Now, he’s got a fresh full-body tan from time spent in the sun, a slew of new tech ideas for the team (including an infinitely better low-profile tracking device for Natasha, because who says he doesn’t do nice things for people), a mostly-rested brain, and a packed schedule that will allow for very little—if any—interaction with Steve.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself, watching condensation streak through the remnants of steam on the mirror. This is just like any other breakup, only slightly complicated by the fact that he leads a team of superheroes with his ex, and was best friends with his ex for years before they got together, and still thinks the world of his ex, and still wants his ex, and is still madly in love with his ex.

Just like he did in California, Tony doesn’t think about the bottomless pit of empty taking up valuable real estate in his stomach as he wanders from the bathroom and starts arranging himself into a vaguely Tony Stark-shaped person.

Autopilot is as useful a function in the Iron Man suit as it is in the rest of his life, especially these past six weeks—buttoning his shirt, Tony notices but doesn’t worry about how he can’t feel the fabric under his fingers, or the pinch of his dress shoes as he pulls those on; the world has been slightly out of focus ever since he and Steve broke up, and the feeling of walking through life with only half the lights on upstairs and a black hole where his viscera used to be is all too familiar.

It’s how he felt years ago, dying slowly, then quickly—not quickly enough—of palladium poisoning.

The device that is keeping you alive is also killing you.

He chooses a pair of gunmetal grey sunglasses with fluorescent red lenses to go with the Tom Ford suit he somehow managed to put on right. Before walking out the penthouse door, Tony checks himself in the massive, frameless mirror: everything is in its right place. He looks like had a nice vacation and came home without a care in the world. He doesn’t look like a man who broke his own heart out of cowardice and is now walking through life with self-inflicted blood poisoning.

If he tries hard enough, harder than he did back then, no one will notice anything is wrong.

It’s just Tony’s luck that the first person he runs into is Steve, glowing from a workout (it’s Thursday, Tony remembers, which mea ns cardio and time on the heavy bag) and just as beautiful as the last time Tony saw him.

“I’ll give you space, as much as you need, I promise. Trust me, this is for the best.”

Steve’s not crying, but it sounds like a near thing. His face is drawn, flush with emotions Tony doesn’t want to read into, but even distraught Steve is still the most gorgeous thing Tony’s ever seen. Then Steve is reaching out with both hands and he has to back away. “Tony, just, wait—”

He looks almost small, vulnerable in a way Tony isn’t used to, and the only thing he really wants to do in that moment, standing in Steve’s bedroom surrounded by moving boxes (an hour ago they were getting ready to move in together—funny, how quickly things change), is take Steve into his arms and keep him there where it’s safe. But that vaguely possessive urge living constantly under his skin is what led to this, this crossroads which finds Tony doing the one thing he never wanted to do: “I can’t, Steve, I’m…I asked you for all the wrong things and now you’re miserable, and you—God, you of all people deserve happiness. The least I can do now is let you go so you can find it.”

Tony manages to say it without dying, which might be a miracle. He’ll call the pope later and ask. When he leaves Steve’s room, it’s to the miserable sound of Steve’s voice breaking in the middle of Tony’s name. By the time he shuts the door behind him, it’s too late to wonder if this is all a huge mistake, but Tony still feels part of his heart splinter off to stay behind with Steve, where it belongs.

Funny how after six weeks away with no contact of any kind, all that R&R and R&D and B&Js and G&Ts, one look at Steve is enough to put Tony right back where he started, heartsore and winded like the hurt is forcing the air from his lungs.

Steve looks—he looks good, of course he does, but Tony was always especially weak for slightly disheveled and endearingly domestic Steve Rogers wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. It doesn’t help that Steve looks happy, like the past six weeks have done exactly what Tony dreaded and hoped they’d do when he broke up with him, like Steve’s had time to finally breathe freely, spread his wings a bit, experience the world in ways he never got to with Tony when they were together.

He looks lighter. Younger. Fuller. More. It’s enough to crush something in Tony that feels remarkably like one last ember of hope, the bitterly selfish hope that Steve was as wrecked by the breakup as Tony.

“Welcome back!” Steve says with a bright smile, wiping sweat from his brow with an end of the towel hanging around his neck. “How was California?”

Tony is distantly aware of his mouth hanging open, but he’s too caught up in how awful he feels seeing that smile on Steve’s face to respond. He shouldn’t be surprised, after all, that Steve is happier not dating Tony—it’s why Tony broke up with him in the first place. Steve was miserable, and now he’s not. Mission accomplished.

“Hey,” he finally manages to respond, even as he ducks out of Steve’s path toward the kitchen to make coffee (he’s already had a cup, but he needs to busy his hands and have something to look at that’s not Steve’s perfect fucking face). “California’s the same as it ever was. Rhodey says hi.”

Behind him, Steve hums thoughtfully. “Hi, Rhodey,” he says, knowing Tony will pass it on, because of course Steve would, and of course Tony will. Tony scoops ground coffee from a bag, not caring which one he’s dipping into, and fills the bottom of the French press as the electric kettle comes to a hissing boil.

“Anything happen while I was gone?”

When Steve speaks again, he’s much, much closer, and Tony wishes like hell that that didn’t make every single hair on his arms stand on end, that the low baritone of Steve’s voice didn’t make Tony shudder and want to bend himself over the counter. That part of their relationship is over. He has to move on.

“Not much,” Steve replies, easygoing, like having this conversation isn’t the last thing he wants to be doing this morning. Tony knows deep down that this is just Steve playing nice, doing his best to mend fences for the sake of the team. If possible, the knowledge just makes Tony feel worse, which he didn’t think was possible. “I’ve been working on putting together intel on possible new recruits, like we discussed. Want to take a look?”

Like we discussed, he says, Tony thinks to himself as the kettle clicks off, ready to pour. Steve’s sense of diplomacy is truly on another level, considering how this exact topic of conversation came up in the first place.

“I’m not saying we’re not enough, Steve,” he says, willing his hands to stay at his sides, “I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to have more bodies on the team so that the next time we get hit with a Galactus or something like it, we’re not scrambling for reinforcements at the last minute.”

Steve, still sitting at the now-empty conference table, pinches the bridge of his nose and frowns.

“What we need is for the team—our team—to work together better. We need to cultivate what we have, not pad the ranks and hope for the best.”

“And we will! But we can also think ahead and save ourselves a lot of stress and pain and suffering down the line.” Tony knows his frustration has reached its boiling point the moment he snaps: “I mean for fuck’s sake, Steve, I thought you were good at multitasking.”

The look Steve gives him is dark, but not exactly angry. It’s the kind of look he gets whenever he wants to make Tony listen to something Tony thinks he doesn’t want to hear. Usually it involves compliments or Steve verbally placing value on Tony’s life. It also usually involves—

Tony isn’t surprised when he blinks and finds himself pinned to the wall, Steve fitting himself in the space between his thighs like he belongs there (which he does. He absolutely does). One month in and the experience of Steve manhandling him like a pro still hasn’t lost its electric thrill; if anything, it’s only gotten headier, more dizzying, the best high Tony’s ever experienced, and it’s heightened by the fact that he’s the only one who gets to have it.

He opens up for Steve’s bruising kiss like he’ll die without it. Groaning, Tony falls deep into the pleasure of it, of Steve’s tongue fucking into his mouth like he owns the place, hot, wet suction unraveling any lingering arguments Tony might have. He throws his arms around Steve’s neck and a leg around his waist, a question in the gesture that gets answered immediately when Steve picks Tony up by his thighs and wraps both legs around his hips.

Everything is heat and the raw, jagged edge of their mutual frustration, Steve scrambling at the zips on Tony’s undersuit with fumbling fingers even as his clever tongue continues its single-minded precision assault on Tony’s. Tony whines when he feels the skin of his ass and thighs meet the open air of the conference room. They’re thousands of feet above ground aboard the helicarrier, about to fuck in a public space, and even as Tony moans lewdly at the thought of being discovered in flagrante delicto with Steve Rogers, a small and insidious part of him reels at it, desperate to keep this whole thing under wraps and to themselves.

Steve is the best thing—person—Tony’s ever had. He’s been half in love with him for years and now, having him like this, Tony can’t believe how much time he wasted. Sometimes he catches himself thinking about how it’ll be when they’re old and grey and married, the soft domesticity of their well-deserved retirement, Tony working on vintage cars in the garage while Steve fills the top floor of a house with paintings, and it doesn’t scare him as much as it probably should.

But he hasn’t told Steve how much the thought of going public scares him. How terrified he is of losing Steve to the rest of the world, which will tear them limb from limb the moment it learns of their relationship. The Stark PR machine will kick into overdrive to smooth things over, and on the surface everything will appear fine, but it won’t change the fact that they will never know privacy again; every photo taken of them in battle, out in the world, together or separate, will be subject to a level of scrutiny Tony knows only too well, but which Steve has never experienced. It’s horrible. Infuriating. Invasive, demoralizing, and not a little bit traumatizing. When Tony told Steve about Princess Diana’s death, long before any of this—them—started, he couldn’t wipe the memory of Steve’s devastated and furious expression from his mind for weeks.

They’ll talk, eventually. For now, Steve takes Tony apart with his fingers, slick with lube he keeps in his belt, his other hand curled over Tony’s mouth so he can press up hard against him and whisper things in his ear, dirty promises that make Tony’s toes curl: “Always like riling me up, don’t you, Stark,” he grunts, fucking his fingers up into Tony like it’s his job, slicking him inside and out and grinding the heel of his palm against the sensitive spot behind his balls on every third thrust until the only coherent thought running through Tony’s mind is Steve’s name.

Silenced by the hand over his mouth, Tony expresses his feelings by pushing back against Steve’s hand in perfect synchrony as he squeezes his bared thighs against Steve’s waist, which, fuck, he’s still wearing the suit, they need to have post-mission arguments more often. “Yeah, that’s it,” Steve rumbles against his cheek, burying a third finger, thick and dripping into Tony’s ass as he does, “you just want me to fuck you like this all the time, don’t you? Keep you pinned and open so I can slide in any time I want.” Tony keens against Steve’s palm, nodding so hard he dizzies himself; Steve groans and moves his hand to open Tony’s mouth with his thumb. “Say it, Tony,” he orders, and that’s definitely his Captain America voice, fuck—

“Want you to keep me open,” he gasps, helpless to stop from drooling all over Steve’s thumb still perched on his bottom lip as his other hand drives Tony into a frenzy, hard and insistent but not hitting him where he needs it, it’s not enough, “never want you to stop fucking me, want you to fill me up until I leak, plug me u-up—ungh, fuck, Steve…”

“I would,” Steve says before kissing Tony again, slow and sensual the way his fingers aren’t, fanning out and plunging in again and again and again until Tony can feel how exposed he is, gaping and trembling and so, so wet. Steve’s still kissing him when he pulls his hand out and, after a moment’s fumbling, drops his belt and opens the front of his uniform pants.

Tony moans into the scorching kiss when Steve drags the head of his massive cock through the lube dripping out of him, fisting the rest of his length with what’s left on his hand from fingering Tony open. “Can’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t want to,” he whispers, covering Tony’s mouth with his hand again as he guides his dick into that too-empty place inside Tony. He slides in, watching Tony’s face with a possessive gleam in his eye, cheeks and ears red with arousal and exertion. That hot, slick slide makes his head spin every time, the stretch an incontrovertible reminder that this is Steve, Steve who slots so perfectly into place like he belongs there, who fills Tony to absolute capacity and then fucks him so good it’s any wonder Tony can keep quiet. He holds Steve’s hand over his mouth and presses down to smother the noises leaking out him, high-pitched whines and gasps as Steve drives in deep and pulls out to the tip, looking down to admire the view with a dangerous smile before plunging back in hard and fast, pinging Tony’s prostate spot-on every time like it was a fucking doorbell. He does it once, twice, slow and steady as he considers the angle and the pace, watching his dick glisten before disappearing back into Tony’s all-too-willing-body, and then he gives Tony a look, and Tony knows he’s doomed.

It’s quick and dirty and wet and Steve has to bite Tony’s neck to keep himself quiet; Tony hangs on for dear life as Steve bounces him ruthlessly on his cock, holding him up against the wall by the strength of his chest against Tony’s and his broad, heavy hand over Tony’s mouth and the constant, driving force of his hips as he fucks him. The belly of Steve’s uniform brushing up against the head of Tony’s otherwise untouched dick every time Steve plunges into him is the most erotic kiss, a damp buss of sweat and pre-come against kevlar and leather that sets every one of Tony’s nerve endings on edge.

“So good, Tony, oh, fuck—” Steve groans under his breath, palming Tony’s thigh before pulling the leg out wide to better accommodate his bulk. Tony can’t think; he can only barely remember to breathe. He might be making a noise, but if he is only dogs and supersoldiers can hear it, probably. What were they fighting about again? What’s his last name? The only word in his head is Steve, SteveSteveSteveSteveohfuckSteve…

“Take it so good, Tony, yes, baby, yes, yes…” Steve holds Tony close in his powerful grip as he comes, shaking and gasping, inside Tony’s ass. Tony can feel the throb of it against his rim, the heat and heft of Steve’s dick inescapably everywhere inside him, and then he keeps going, fucking Tony with his big, beautiful cock in a rapid battery of thrusts, loud and sloppy with his come, never letting up on Tony’s prostate even as he trembles and gasps against Tony’s shoulder like he’s just run a marathon. Tony’s eyes roll up inside his head. Everything is buzzing, his blood pure fire with the need to come; he hasn’t shot off untouched in years, but trust Steve Rogers to surprise Tony every which way from Sunday. Steve is whispering in his ear again, praising him as the fingers of his free hand drift down to feel where they’re connected, the froth of Steve’s come easing the roughness of that touch. Tony chokes on a cry. The knot of orgasm is right there in his pelvis—all Steve has to do is fuck him, there, right, there, yes, oh, fuck…

“So beautiful, Tony. Love watching you come for me.”

Steve pulls his hand away as Tony comes and kisses him, swallows the desperate sounds of his orgasm like he’s starved for them. He keeps Tony pinned safely to the wall as Tony’s legs give out and shoots ropes of come all over his own chest. He’s shaking like a leaf from head to toe and can’t even muster enough bandwidth to feel shame—Steve loves it, after all, and says so, kissing the words one by one into his mouth like tiny prayers. Loves the way Tony lets go, loves how he trusts Steve like this, how he looks when all he can feel is the pleasure Steve gives him.

“Could hold you like this forever,” he says, once Tony can open his eyes. Tony smiles, his bruised and tender lips straining: there’s a drop of come on the underside of Steve’s jaw. He brushes it off with a sigh and sucks it off his thumb. The glimmer of interest in Steve’s eye is echoed by the twitch of his cock, still buried hilt-deep in Tony’s ass.

“Deal,” Tony hums, leaning forward to kiss Steve long and heartily, one last time before they have to go back out into the world and pretend this—their relationship—isn’t a thing that exists.

They’ll talk, eventually.

Tony pours the hot water into the press and watches the grounds float up and swirl around in the dark.

“Sure,” he says, not turning around to look at Steve, as much as he wants to. It’s for the best, he reminds himself for the thousandth time that day. The less he looks at Steve, the easier this will be for him. For both of them. “Send ’em through the server so JARVIS can throw them up for me when I get back to the lab tonight.”

There’s a moment of silence so immense it’s any wonder Tony can’t hear his own heartbeat. Then:

“Tony.” Oh, no. He knows that ‘Tony,’ and it’s everything he can do to not shut his eyes as he braces himself for what comes next: “Could you—turn around?”

Steve doesn’t even have to use his Captain America voice to get Tony to do as he asks. By the end, it was like that all the time: Steve would ask, and Tony would oblige, and the ease with which they learned to communicate as a couple was unlike anything Tony could have hoped for, except for the part where Tony didn’t want to go public with their relationship and could never get Steve to understand why.

Looking at Steve now, Tony withers, wishing the kitchen floor would open up and swallow him whole. Steve still looks a million times better than Tony feels, but there’s a pinching around his eyes that Tony recognizes as concern, and it shouldn’t make his heart sing to know Steve can still feel that about him, but it does. Backlit by the morning sun coming in unobscured through the mansion’s massive windows, Steve looks like an angel come to earth, bright and warm and golden. Tony feels small and twisted and hollow in comparison. Weak. A coward, who let this man slip through his fingers for fear of losing him later on down the line.

“Are you doing okay? I know we—things kind of…ended, abruptly.” Steve says the word ‘ended’ like it tastes bad. His face screws up like he’s sucked a rancid lemon. It’d be endearing if it wasn’t directed at Tony for Tony’s sake. “I’ve been worried about you.”

Tony waves a hand at him, smiling beatifically like the words don’t make him want to drop to his knees and beg Steve’s forgiveness.

“I’m fine, Cap,” he replies, not Steve, and even Tony can tell Steve is pained by the change of address by the way his fingers clench around the towel in his hands. “You?”

Steve visibly swallows. “I’m fine,” he says, and he sounds like it. He certainly looks like it, smiling like the free man he is. Fine might actually be the truth, in Steve’s case, even if it isn’t in Tony’s.

“Glad to hear it!” Tony almost shouts as he pivots back to his coffee, pressing down on the plunger too soon, but he’s so harried by being there in the kitchen with Steve on his first day back to worry about a weak brew.

“Sir, I’m being told to remind you that your ten o’ clock is waiting for you at your office.”

Tony winces. “What time is it, J?”

“The time is currently ten twenty-nine.”

“I’ll let you go, then,” Steve says, already leaving the kitchen before Tony can respond with anything. He manages to catch Steve’s eye as he waves back at Tony on his way out. He looks happy, Tony reminds himself. You let him go so he could be happy. You have to let him be happy.

The coffee scalds when he drinks it, but the burn is good. It reorients the pain currently trying to wring the blood out of Tony’s heart, gives him something to focus on that isn’t this unbearable, overwhelming sense of regret. Heat to burn away the creeping chill that breaking up with Steve was the biggest mistake Tony’s ever made in his life.

After four months of pushing the conversation off for another day, four months of dating in secret—sneaking touches when the others have their backs turned, never spending the night in each other’s beds even after bouts of sex so intense they can’t remember how their legs work, pretending not to care more than is reasonable when one of them goes down in a fight—Steve finally sits Tony down and asks him why.

Or, more accurately, he makes love to Tony slowly and sweetly for what feels like hours, until Tony is literally crying from pleasure and the overwhelming need to come, and then when Tony finally, finally breaks and whispers that magic word, “Please,” Steve bends him almost in half with a groan that shakes the bed and then plows home until Tony is sobbing and tearing the sheets as he comes.

Then, when they’re both sated and clean and curled up on the dry side of Tony’s California King, Steve places a hand on Tony’s stomach. Tony can feel it shaking, and he knows what Steve’s about to say.

“I want to tell the team.”

Tony closes his eyes and groans. “Steve…”

“Please, Tony. We need to have this conversation. We should have had it ages ago.”

So much for enjoying the afterglow. Tony sits upright in bed, warmed by Steve’s hand coming to rest on his thigh. The other man stays laid out next to him, looking up at Tony like he’s his guiding light when all Tony’s done is drive him to this point: Steve, nervous, looking guilty for asking for something of Tony he doesn’t have the courage to give.

“I just…you remember, when I told you about Princess Diana?”

Steve looks confused for a moment. When understanding sets in, smoothing his features out to an expression of wary comprehension, Tony feels a rush of love so intense he has to lie back down just to keep the blood from rushing to his head. Steve Rogers is so much smarter than anyone gives him credit for. It’s Tony’s second favorite thing about him.

“You’re worried I’m going to get killed being chased by paparazzi?” He says, moving in close and reaching out for Tony’s hand. Tony takes it, weaves their fingers together in a perfect fit. He stares at Steve’s fingers instead of looking him in the eye. Steve’s fingers are his fifth favorite thing about his boyfriend.

“In a sense,” Tony replies. “I’m worried about what happens to us when ‘us’ no longer involves you and me, but everyone—the team, Pepper, the board, the government, our enemies…I’m worried that once the press gets a hit of us, they’re going to drain us dry, and all of it—the gossip, the speculation, the invasiveness…it’s going to drive us apart.”

“Tony,” Steve sighs, leaning forward to kiss Tony’s forehead. Tony can’t help but press into the gesture. He can feel Steve’s lips curve up in a smile when he does. “You’ve been holding on to this all this time?”

“It’s a valid concern, Steve.”

“Maybe,” he replies. “And maybe it’s something you could have discussed with me before unilaterally deciding to keep our relationship a secret.”

There’s a deep undercurrent of hurt in Steve’s voice, and Tony would beat himself with the Hulk’s fist if Steve would let him for putting it there. Tony wills himself to meet Steve’s gaze then—even in the semi-darkness of his bedroom, light seems to spill out of Steve. His eyes are bright and focused, tracking Tony’s face like he’s reading a tactical map. Naked, post-coital glow is a good look on Steve, as is pretty much anything, if Tony’s being honest.

“Can you blame me?”

“Tony,” Steve sighs again, like it pains him, and Tony winces at that tone coming out of Steve’s mouth. “I wish you loved yourself half as much as you love me.”

Wow. “Wow,” Tony says, jerking backward like Steve just gut-punched him. Already Steve is scrambling, tangling his legs up in Tony’s expensive sheets as he sits upright.

“That’s not—hell, Tony, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“And how did you mean it, Steve?”

“I just…you think this hasn’t crossed my mind before? Going public and losing our privacy in the process? You’re talking like you’ve already decided that the end of our relationship is inevitable because the world is going to drive us apart, and I know the reality is something else, something you feel like would be your fault, and I don’t like you thinking so little of yourself that I would let that happen.”

Tony gapes up at Steve, floundering like a fish for words that won’t come. Steve bends over him, brushing their lips together in the gentlest caress of a kiss in order to kickstart Tony’s brain.

“Just talk to me, Tony.”

Tony places a hand over Steve’s heart to feel it beating. It’s comforting in a way nothing else is. His heart’s far and away Tony’s favorite thing about Steve Rogers.

“It’s—this is my whole life, Steve,” he says. At Steve’s confused expression, he goes on: “The press. The world, thinking its owed every piece of your life story, including and especially the things you’re still trying to work through.” He thinks back to when he read an article about Sunset Bain shortly after her betrayal, an “investigative exposé” on their relationship and her seemingly-overnight rise to success. It was tabloid pablum, at best, but it still scraped at something raw and vulnerable in Tony. Or, even worse, the explosion of press following his parents’ death, the countless headlines, the day-in, day-out of it all, phone calls and bell ringers and paparazzi camped outside the tower. The cumulative effect put a stop to a healing process that had barely begun, and Tony was still dealing with the fallout of that.

“I’m also terrified you’ll wake up one day, look out the window and see a throng of paparazzi outside waiting to grill you about the latest cheating scandal or accuse you of abusing me because someone saw bruises on me after I fought a Skrull wearing your face, and you’ll decide you don’t want to put up with any of it anymore.” Tony takes a deep breath. “But all of that? That comes with me, Steve. I wish it didn’t. You can’t know how much I wish it didn’t. But that’s the reality we live in, and I wanted—I just wanted to keep you to myself for as long as possible, before they got their hooks in you and you decided I wasn’t worth it.”

Steve looks at him for a long time and doesn’t touch. He stays in place, leaning over Tony, one hand next to Tony’s head, the other trapped underneath it, and just reads Tony like the open book he’s revealed himself to be, cowardice and all. When the silence reaches the point of suffocation, Tony lets his hand fall from Steve’s chest.

That’s that, then.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” he says, moving to work his way out from under Steve when the other man stops him with a hand on his hip. Tony pauses and looks up, sees Steve staring down at him with all the love and consternation Tony’s used to seeing there in his smiling blue eyes.

“Stay,” Steve whispers before leaning down for a kiss. Tony gives it to him. He’d give him everything if he could. He’s helpless to do anything else, not when he loves Steve Rogers this much.

Tony finishes his meeting with the clean energy consultant—an engaging, exciting discussion about bringing arc reactor tech and associated jobs to underserved communities in the mid-west and Appalachia, for starters—just in time for a text from Rhodey: Don’t turn on the news.

He’d just managed to scrounge up a good mood during that meeting. It would be a shame to ruin it so soon. Naturally, he does exactly what Rhodey told him not to do and turns on the TV in his office. He does it expecting reports of a stock drop, or Stark weapons being sold on the black market. He doesn’t expect to come face to face with footage of Steve laughing freely with his arm around Sam Wilson’s shoulders, Sam’s hand wrapped snug around Steve’s bony hip, the two of them walking together down 5th Avenue in the sunshine.

The entertainment “news” “reporter” says this footage was taken minutes ago on a bystander’s cellphone. Tony sinks into a chair in front of the widescreen TV, helpless to stare as he watches the 15 second clip repeat itself over and over as the airbrushed talking heads gush and gossip about Sam and Steve, two all-American good guys making up the hottest couple since sliced bread.

Of course Steve would end up with Sam, Tony thinks. Sam is the kind of good Tony could never hope to be—no blood on his hands, at least not like Tony has and can never wash off, no matter how many lives he saves. He’s Steve’s age, and smart, and stable, and trustworthy down to his core. He’s also hot as hell, Tony can easily admit, even if Steve burns hotter than anyone who enters his orbit. Tony once joked with Steve that Tony was the ugly one in their relationship, but Steve’s sour expression had stopped Tony from expanding on that particular line of self-deprecating humor.

And, god, when did Steve ever laugh like that with Tony? Sometimes he got close, coming up with little bon mots that made Steve throw his head back and guffaw, but that beaming smile and the way his laugh booms and echoes across bustling 5th Avenue is unlike anything Tony ever saw when he and Steve were together.

He looks relaxed and happy in all the ways he never was with Tony. Because you never let the world see you together, a little voice reminds him. It sounds remarkably like JARVIS. Steve deserves happiness. It’s why Tony let him go. After their heavy-duty pillow talk (and another memorable round of lovemaking, with Tony taking the reins and fucking Steve on his stomach through the mattress until he was crying and begging for release), he’d asked for a little more time to work through his issues. Steve, ever the patient boyfriend, had granted it to him. Tony had offered up moving in together as a compromise, which had thrilled Steve endlessly. But when two weeks became a month, and a month became two, and Steve’s mood only soured further and further until every conversation became an argument and every argument ended in slammed doors and heavy silence, it became clear to Tony that this wasn’t an issue he was going to be able to work through in time to keep Steve, keep him happy, keep him his.

So he let him go. And now Steve’s with Sam, who’s seized the opportunity to show Steve off to the world, and who can blame him? If Tony had been stronger, more self-assured, more defiant of the assumptions placed on him by the world around him—if he’d loved himself even half as much as he loved Steve Rogers—that would be him taking Steve shopping, making him laugh and smile as he tucked his hand around that lovely hip and held him close while the world watched on in envy.

But he was a coward, and now he’s watching footage of Sam on a date with Steve play on a loop while vapid, boneheaded commentators speculate about their relationship.

Tony’s phone buzzes again with another text from Rhodey. I told you not to watch.

He tosses the phone away and buries his face in his hands with the beginnings of a sob, a sound he chokes down like the booze he kind of wishes he still drank. He’s not proud of the thought, but the misery of truly losing Steve—and any hope of fixing what he broke between them—has opened a window to everything he’d ignored while in Malibu, sunning himself and pretending he hadn’t wounded himself beyond repair.

Tony leaves the TV on, hunches over on himself, and just as he’s about to let the tears fall, an obnoxious beeping rouses him.

“Wha—?”

“Sir, there are reports of an attack on 5th Avenue,” JARVIS announces. Dread drops a block of ice down Tony’s throat, so cold and horrible it almost freezes him in place. What if Steve…

Tony is up and calling the suit before the thought can finish itself. It’s waiting for him in the lobby by the time he steps off the elevator, rushing to fill the vacancy as panic claws at his throat. “J, cross-streets.”

“The Wrecking Crew are currently being engaged at the intersection of 5th and 26th.”

Engaged is a nice euphemism for attacking, and Tony knows without having to ask JARVIS that the focus of the attack was on Steve and Sam, whose location was just broadcast to the entire world.

He flies faster than he’s technically allowed within city limits, but the law can wait. Steve’s life can’t. Unlike the armor, Steve can’t call his uniform to himself, nor can Sam sprout wings and fly them out of there at the drop of a hat; they’re two against four heavy hitters, and as much faith as Tony has in Steve and Sam’s abilities, those are odds he’s not willing to gamble on.

“For the last time, Tony, I’m alright.”

“Oh yeah, Cap? Tell that to the eighteen inches of rebar SHIELD medical just had to surgically remove from your thigh.”

Steve is struggling to sit upright in his hospital bed, one leg fixed firmly in place by a mummy’s worth of bandages. Tony keeps himself to the far wall so he can look at Steve—alive, thank Odin and Thor and any other Asgardians whose names Tony can’t remember—and not be tempted to touch him, hold him, kiss him like he wants to, has wanted to for years and has never admitted to. It’s hard to keep himself away when Steve almost just died, but he manages. He always does.

“Did everyone make it out okay?” Steve grunts. Tony knocks his head back against the wall hard enough to hurt.

“You got everyone out before you let the building fall on you, remember? Oh, of course you don’t, because a whole building fucking fell on you while you were still in it!”

“Tony…” Steve is squinting and holds a hand up to his head. Tony didn’t even consider Steve’s concussion when he started shouting, fuck.

“I’m sorry, Cap—fuck.” He wipes a hand down his face. “That rebar missed your femoral artery by a quarter of an inch. You’ve got a concussion and broken ribs and the only reason you’re still alive is because of the serum. Watching—ugh, I need to sit down for this.”

Tony takes the shitty plastic chair next to Steve’s bed and sits down hard enough he wonders if it will break. He’s close enough now to see the mottled bruising that’s made an Impressionist painting out of Steve’s handsome, perfect face, but somehow the discoloration doesn’t detract from the beauty of this man. It just makes him seem more human—precious, even. Tony folds his hands in his lap and does not look at Steve’s hand hanging over the side of the bed in front of him.

He draws a deep breath and lets it out with a rush of words: “Watching you almost bleed out on the street was the most awful thing I’ve ever seen, Steve. The thought of losing you was even worse. So don’t tell me you’re alright when you’re not, because I’m definitely not alright, and I wasn’t just shish kabab’ed by a rusty piece of metal through the thigh.”

Steve hums thoughtfully, like he always does when he’s thinking something new and meaningful for the first time. Tony looks up and catches his eye, or rather Steve catches his—like a fish on a hook. When his lips turn up in a knowing smile, Tony knows something is up.

“You called me Steve.”

“Uh,” Tony frowns, “Yeah, ‘cause it’s your name.”

“You must have been really scared if you’re upset enough to use my name.”

“Don’t tease me, Cap. I don’t respond well to teasing.”

Steve’s eyes light up with something Tony might hazard to call joy.

“And what do you respond well to?”

Tony looks at Steve, then at Steve’s hand, which has turned upside down, fingers hooked ever so slightly inward—an invitation if Tony’s ever seen one, and he’s seen more than his fair share. He stands up from his crap chair and steps in close enough to breathe Steve’s air and feel the warmth—the life—radiating off of him like rays off the sun. Steve looks like hell, beaten and bruised and only a couple hours removed from standing at Death’s door, and Tony has never seen anything more beautiful. Steve’s resilience is a wonder to behold, let alone draw from. It’s his…fourth favorite thing about him.

But can it really be this easy?

Tony opens his mouth and says it. “Positive reinforcement?”

Steve’s answering smile cracks his lips again from where they split during the battle, but Tony is too caught up in kissing them—kissing Steve—to care. And then Steve takes his hand and holds it, and Tony vows then and there to never, ever let go.

The HUD is a brightly colored mess of information: live police reports from the ground, vital signs of wounded civilians, schematics of every building between 28th and the Flatiron, but all Tony needs to know is where Steve is, and if he’s okay.

Please, please be okay.

He dials into the Avengers main comm line as he scans each building for heat signatures. “Cap, pick up.”

“Tony!” Steve’s voice comes through loud and clear and audibly relieved, which melts some of that frozen terror still lodged in Tony’s chest. “124 5th Avenue—we managed to lure the Crew down to the basement, but—” Steve’s report cuts off with a startled, agonized cry. Tony curses and heads for the address, flying right through the front entrance (which isn’t really an entrance anymore so much as a giant hole in the wall) and dropping down through the gaping hole in the center of top floor all the way to the basement. The Wrecking Crew did some heavy damage in a short amount of time, as is their way, but Tony isn’t worried about the bill right now.

“Cap!”

A sound like a hammer on an anvil echoes through the basement, followed shortly by another cry. Angry, this time, not at all like Steve’s. Tony floods the place with light from the armor, both arms up and ready for action, drawing the attention of the four behemoths fighting blind all the way in the back.

“Candygram for Mongo,” Tony chirps as Thunderball takes a running start at him. He brings him down with a power-dampening electric net, which drops him like a sealed sausage onto the cold basement floor. Bulldozer is next, rushing Tony on his left flank while his hand is down. Classic mistake, thinking that just because Iron Man’s gauntlet is down he’s defenseless: Bulldozer takes a swing and clips Tony’s shoulder, which only unbalances Tony for a moment before he recovers and fires a volley of flares right into Bulldozer’s masked face.

Bulldozer roars and backs away, tears streaming as he tries to see his way past the fiery sparks.

“Cap, report!”

“Over here, To—agh!”

Fuck, no. Tony shackles Bulldozer with twin sets of reinforced power-dampening manacle and leaves him writhing on the floor in pain next to Thunderball before going off into the dark expanse of the old basement in search of Steve. Sam he finds on the way, locked in hand-to-hand combat with Wrecker—Tony pauses on his way to Steve to knock Sam’s opponent out with an iron hand to the back of the skull.

“I had him!” Sam shouts, even as relief washes over his strained features. Iron Man shrugs, hovering a few inches above concrete.

“You can take all the credit,” Tony says. He tells himself it doesn’t come out as bitter and envious as he feels, knowing that Sam has what Tony was fool enough to let go of, but now’s not the time for any of that. He jets off to look for Steve, Sam in hot pursuit; the basement is a labyrinth the further in they go. Old brownstones and their ridiculous planning are the bane of Tony’s existence, both as a landlord and as a superhero currently trying to find his ex-boyfriend in the maze of bricks.

He banks hard around a corner when he hears Steve curse, gauntlets up so he can see: Piledriver at Steve’s back with an arm around his neck, and even against Steve’s considerable size the guy looms large, threatening the choke the life out of Steve with a smile on his face.

“Ah, there’s your knight in shining armor!” Piledriver cackles, squeezing his arm harder around Steve’s neck. Steve is turning purple, scratching and kicking at the body behind him to no avail. It’s hard to get a good shot in a dark, contained space like this—a bullet might ricochet and hit Steve, or Sam, and absolutely no way in hell is he firing off a bomb down here. Tony doesn’t linger on the knight in shining armor comment. He lowers his hands, repulsors whining as they power down.

“What do you want, Piledriver?” God, seriously, the names these schmucks come up with…

“Just waiting for the cavalry to arrive!” With a bloody grin, Piledriver reveals his other hand: in it, an old Stark bomb that went off the market years ago.

That cold block in Tony’s chest spreads to his extremities. Oh no.

“Alright, Piledriver. You let Captain America and Falcon go, you can have me. Deal?”

Steve struggles harder, gritting his teeth against the pressure cutting off his air supply. Piledriver holds the bomb out to his side, cackling again—that manic laugh always unsettles something in Tony. All he has to do is drop the bomb on its tail to hit the pressurized switch and in seconds, they’re all goners. The only good news is that the blast radius itself isn’t significant: if he can get Steve and Sam far enough out of the way, that should be enough to save them.

“JARVIS,” he says, switching over to private comms, “single shot to the head should do it.”

“Sir—”

“Now, J.”

The concealed gun in Iron Man’s shoulder appears with a hiss of metal—the bullet is out in less than a second, hitting Piledriver square in the center of the head. It’s not enough to kill him, but it dazes him long enough for Steve to escape his grasp and knock him back with an elbow to the sternum. Tony rockets forward and grabs Steve, one eye still on Piledriver behind him.

“Tony!” Steve rasps, holding onto the suit like a lifeline.

“Falcon!” Tony shouts. Sam appears from behind the corner. “Go long, and take care of him.”

Even in the HUD display, Steve is the most beautiful thing Tony’s ever seen.

“Tony, what—”

Without another word and with all the grace of a major league pitcher, Tony pivots and launches Steve bodily at Sam, who catches him in his arms in a full bear hug before hauling him around the corner behind the brick wall. By the time Tony turns around, Piledriver’s hand has gone slack.

The bomb drops. In the spare second he has to react, Tony grabs Piledriver and hurls him across the room, mostly out of harm’s way, then launches himself on the bomb just as it hits the floor.

Even as the world whites out in a deafening blast of fire and stone, Tony thinks he hears Steve screaming his name.

I really do love him, Tony realizes, watching from his spot at the breakfast bar as Steve busies himself removing an entire cookie sheet’s worth of bacon from the oven. The oven mitts are the same shade of blue as Steve’s uniform and dotted with little shields, a novelty gift he bought Steve years ago that apparently has yet to yield the desired levels of embarrassment Tony had originally hoped for. He’s also wearing nothing but boxers and a white cotton tank, showing off the mountain range that is Steve’s shoulders to their fullest effect.

“How many pieces do you want?”

“How many you got?”

Steve laughs. “Enough for you, anyways.” He’s still glowing with happiness, hair mussed, pillow lines still etched into his cheek. They took a risk last night—slept together in Tony’s big bed and woke up to the sun shining through the bedroom window and an empty mansion. Steve was so excited, he could hardly wait for Tony to get his bearings before he was slipping underneath the covers and taking Tony into his mouth.

For once, Tony didn’t worry about how much noise he made in bed.

Now, he gets to reap the benefits of one of his favorite aspects of Steve Rogers: his enviable cooking skills. There’s bacon and eggs and waffles and whipped cream and homemade blackberry jam and lemon butter and toast. It’s enough to feed the Avengers twice over, which means it’s just enough for Steve, and more than enough for Tony.

They eat together side by side, playing footsie under the counter even though there’s no one here to see them, giggling like naughty schoolboys as they lick cream and jam off each other’s lips and fingers between bites of actual food. Steve still has a lot of eating to do even as Tony’s finishes, but that doesn’t mean Tony has to leave his mouth unoccupied in the meantime.

He says as much, and Steve’s eyes darken to that perfect shade of dark blue. He spins his seat around just enough for Tony to fit between his legs and still be able to eat off his plate. Before Tony starts to kneel, Steve drags him in for a buttery lemon kiss that almost makes Tony think twice about going anywhere that isn’t Steve’s lips. He steadies himself with both hands on Steve’s massive thighs, being careful of Steve’s freshly-healed puncture wound, before using one hand to take Steve’s cock out. Steve’s had two orgasms this morning already, but he’s hard and hot and leaking like they never stopped.

“God, I love you,” Tony gasps before licking into Steve’s mouth. He fits in Tony’s hand like he belongs there, big and hard, hot and wet. Tony works him slowly, firmly, the way he’s learned Steve likes: thumbing the frenulum in little circles until Steve is shuddering and making soft little ‘uhn-uhn-uhn’ sounds in the back of his throat, then slicking the shaft with pre-come with long passes of his palm and then taking him fully in hand to fuck him hard and fast within the tight circle of his fingers. Tony’s calluses bump over the gorgeous, pronounced vein in Steve’s dick, and Steve whimpers like he’s being driven out of his mind with pleasure every time they do, right into Tony’s waiting mouth.

Finally, Tony starts to pull away from Steve so he can kneel and put his lips to better use, but Steve groans and wraps a hand around Tony’s wrist as he jacks him, stopping his descent by pressing a desperate kiss against Tony’s lips with a whine and gasping: “Please—stay up here. Stay with me.”

Steve is so sweet like this, rumpled and needy and moving his hips into Tony’s touch with little hitching breaths, faster and faster as Tony speeds up his strokes. Tony says it, says I love you Steve, always loved you, always will, love you, love you, his hand a noisy blur over Steve’s big, slick cock, his own head cradled delicately in Steve’s big, soft hands as Steve kisses him and kisses him and kisses him like this is everything he’s ever wanted, ever needed, ever will.

His thigh is shaking violently under Tony’s hand. Steve’s cock swells and he moans into Tony’s mouth, pulling his face even closer to him by the scalp. “Love—oh god, Tony, I love—I love you,” he says, voice watery, breaking as he tips over the brink headfirst into orgasm, “Don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, I love you, love you, love you—”

One day, Tony will let Steve shout it from the rooftops—when he does, he’ll be right there next to him.

If there’s beeping, Tony thinks, he must be in Hell. That’s the only possible explanation for it. It doesn’t cross his mind that he’s in a hospital until he hears a sound like a relieved gasp somewhere out there where the world isn’t pain and nausea and everything spinning in the wrong direction.

“Augh, fuck.”

“Try—oh thank God, try not to move, Tony, hold on.” There’s a hand cradling the back of his head, all of a sudden, and a cold plastic cup is being pressed to his lips. Ice chips, he realizes. He remembers cold, a freezing sensation, terror, Sam, Steve—

“Steve…”

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.” Steve urges him to eat some of the ice chips with gentle nudges of the cup against his mouth. Tony obliges him, because of course he does. The water soothes his sore throat and clears the fog from his brain a little, enough to get a better sense of his surroundings.

He’s in a SHIELD recovery room. Nothing is immobilized, which means nothing’s broken, which is a relief. He can hear and see, but his head hurts like a building fell on it.

“That’s because it did,” Steve tells him.

Oh. “Was I talking out loud again?”

God, he missed Steve’s laugh, especially his Yes, I’m laughing AT you, Tony chuckle. He also missed that gentle brush of fingers against his forehead, right under his hairline, the way Steve knew exactly how to gentle Tony with his touch and voice and presence.

“I missed you too,” Steve says. Tony blinks but still can’t really see straight. Those bricks really packed a wallop. “Rest, Tony. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

True to his word, when Tony wakes again, Steve is there, sitting in the same crappy plastic chair Tony sat in last time and holding Tony’s hand, watching him come to like Tony is something magical to behold.

“Hey, mister,” Steve smiles. His eyes are red but otherwise clear. “How’s your head?”

Tony winces. “Harder than it looks.” Steve laughs, so, mission accomplished there, but he won’t let go of Tony’s hand. If anything, Steve just draws closer, brushing his thumb against the back of Tony’s hand like a metronome.

“Doctor says you can come home in the morning,” he says in a low voice. The lights are dim, Tony notices, and the blinds are shut. There are more ice chips on the table next to the bed, which Steve hands to him without prompting.

Swallowing around the nameless knot in his throat, Tony blinks up at Steve and asks, “How’s Sam?”

Steve smiles. “Sam’s fine. A little pissed off at you for not giving him enough of a heads up before you threw me at him like a glorified football, but he’ll live.”

Tony’s relieved, of course he is, but the knot in his throat starts to taste sour the longer he thinks about Sam waiting up at home for Steve while Steve fusses over Tony, who only has a concussion and a broken heart to show for having a building dropped on his head.

This time, he manages to keep all that to himself. Instead, Tony cracks a little smile and says, “Good. That’s…that’s good.”

Steve, however, looks puzzled. “You told him to take care of me.”

“I did? When?” Tony wheezes. He occupies himself and his mouth with ice chips and doesn’t look Steve in the eye when he answers:

“Right before you launched me at him.”

“Like a glorified football?”

Funny, the room has stopped spinning, but Tony still feels off-kilter, like everything is a little unbalanced. Or maybe that’s just Steve, and the way he’s looking at Tony, hard and scrutinizing but relieved. Tony’s felt the same relief before, with Steve—the knowledge that despite a dangerously close call, the man he loves most in the world is still alive, and is here with him, despite everything.

“Tony,” Steve says, leaning closer, squeezing Tony’s hand, “I’m not with Sam.”

Oh. “Oh. No?”

“No, Tony. And to spare you the suspense, I think the cat’s out of the bag in terms of you and me.”

“Uh. What?”

That cold feeling floods him again, freezing his heart in place as Steve reaches for the TV remote. The screen flickers on, vibrant colors taking shape as a reporter recounts the events of that afternoon’s attack by the Wrecking Crew and how Iron Man saved the day. The footage captures the moment the bomb exploded, windows blowing out onto the street and the structure collapsing into a heap of rubble and brick dust; it had been fully evacuated by the time Tony showed up on the scene, apparently, and thank goodness.

But what steals the show isn’t the bad guys being paraded out into the waiting SHIELD trucks, still immobilized by Tony’s tech—it’s Steve, carrying Iron Man out onto the street in a bridal carry while Sam waves bystanders back. Both of them are covered in dust, but Steve catches the camera’s particular attention: it zooms in on his dusty face, which is streaked with crisp lines of tears as Steve lowers Iron Man onto the pavement and rips off his faceplate. The camera is too far away and there’s too much ambient noise to hear it, but Tony can see Steve’s mouth shaping itself around Tony’s name, can see him gritting his teeth as he begs Tony to wake up and cries all the while like his world is ending.

Paramedics rush in even as Steve bows his head to Tony’s chest, palm covering the arc reactor in a vice as they try to pull Tony away from him. They’re trying to move him away gently, but Steve is inconsolable, throwing hands and spitting mad, all but launching himself at anyone who dares put a hand on Tony.

Unwittingly, Tony squeezes Steve’s hand, just to know he’s okay. They’re okay.

The reporter is breathless as she gives the play-by-play of everything that happens next on screen: Tony’s helmet coming off in Steve’s hands, Steve sobbing openly over his unresponsive body, Steve leaning down and kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, right before Sam and Thor come up behind him and pull him away so the paramedics can get to work.

Steve turns off the TV with a sigh. “It’s been playing nonstop for almost twenty-four hours,” he says. He won’t look Tony in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

“What—” Tony’s brain is still rebooting, recovering from the concussion and now trying to parse what he thinks his eyes just saw. “Why are you sorry?”

Steve looks at their hands where they’re joined next to Tony’s thigh on the hospital bed. Tony can’t help but think how much better it would be if they were at home, in bed, together.

“We broke up because you didn’t want the world to know about us,” Steve grumbles. “Now everyone definitely knows, and it took you almost dying for them to find out.”

He sounds—god, he sounds miserable, is what he sounds like. Tony can sympathize, since he feels just as awful, and that was before he jumped on a bomb to save Steve’s life.

The good news is, he and Sam aren’t dating. So.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Don’t be, it’s my fault for losing my head. Heat of the moment, you know how it goes.”

“Yeah, I do.” Tony squeezes his hand again, hard so Steve will look at him. He loves it when Steve looks at him—no one’s ever looked at Tony the way Steve does. He can’t even quantify it with words. There’s just Steve, and the way Steve looks at him, and Tony knows he’d do anything to keep Steve looking at him like that. Like Tony is everything, the way Steve is to Tony. “But I’m sorry, because I should have told the world about us ages ago.”

Steve blinks. Even struck speechless and dumbfounded, Steve is the most gorgeous thing Tony’s ever seen.

“What about your issues?”

Tony husks a laugh. When the coughing subsides and the ice chips ease a path down his throat, he says, “I’ll probably always have them. The press is awful and it’ll only get worse. Just means I’ll need you to reassure me more often.”

Steve leans forward. “Reassure you of what, Tony?” he asks, like it’s important that Tony says the words outright.

Tony lifts Steve’s hand and kisses his knuckles. He has so much making up to do, but now’s as good a time to start as any.

“That you love me,” he says, “as much as I love you.”

He can’t even finish grinning before Steve is on top of him, kissing every last trace of cold right out of Tony’s heart.

- - -

read it on AO3!

#ishipallthings #prompt fill #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #stony #superhusbands #nsfk #EYES EMOJI #wow I hope this doesn't suck I wrote it in a marathon session today and did absolutely nothing else I should have done #NO RAGRETS #rachel writes fic #I also just realized that I definitely quote IM2 even though I said it was 616 #because I LOVE MESS

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