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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

Note

From the list of ship tropes--I would love to see a Steggy drabble with modern!Peggy casually sitting on Steve's lap during an Avengers meeting :D

This is not what you wanted but this is what came out? I am not sorry. warning there is semi description of violence

If there was an opposing eye in the room about the love of his life slowly waltzing towards him with a slow sway of her hips, no one said a damn thing. And good for them to learn not to, to finally learn not to oppose the Captain unless it was vital to do so. Steve was not a cruel man. He has lived far too long to become cruel and heartless, but he is a man who rules with a hard iron fist. He will take the debates and other people’s points of view and he will consider them, but at the end of the day, his word is the law.

And the only people to oppose them, well they are no longer under his organization now are they?

After waking up in the ice and being told that all he knew was now gone, Steve dropped off the face of the earth. How could anyone expect him not to? He was a man who no longer knew himself, no longer knew what was going around him. Who had to figure out just who Steve Rogers was behind that mask. And with it, came meeting a little brunette far, far away from the city he once called home.

When he finally emerged two years later, Steve had long made a name for himself as leader of the Avengers. The public would know them as saviors people with power, money, and well, powers who did right for the public. Who took the corrupted politicians, the corrupted cops, and grounded them to a pulp. There was no warning with them, there was no buying their votes or buying their good sides. There was swiftly handling the matter. Swift and clean, leaving no mess behind, but they always knew who killed them. There was always a calling card left behind.

And once you started to take out a few of the politicians and cops, well the matter basically handled itself. At least until you got those brave, stupid souls who thought they could challenge Steve. Who thought they could attack the public rather that was with relentless taxing or bills or ridiculous laws or even cops who killed mercilessly and without reason. Those are the ones Steve loved to personally get his hands dirty with, otherwise, he had people who did his work for him.

He made the public a better place. He made the schools safer with hired veterans as guards, stronger laws opposed to gun violence, with more money fluctuating into schools than anyone ever dreamed of. He made more laws protecting the poor, protecting immigrants, easier processes in all to become a citizen. Laws and personal hand went into making it easier for veterans to get assistance rather that was with money, food, therapy, or even a home. He made medical access much easier for those around them. He did not want anyone to suffer the preventable loss of a parent, just as he had. Several times.

While the media might call him a villain or mobster, Steve just called himself a civilian doing the right thing. He never wanted to lead the Avengers, it just happened and he was damn good at it. He took his point of view from living through the horrors that he did, where being gay could’ve gotten you killed, where being poor was a death sentence, and made sure that no one would suffer in that matter. While politicians tried to tarnish his name and call for his head, the public willingly protected and loved him.

And Steve was loved by his peers. He loved them as well. They worked well together, making New York in whole a better place. Slowly they turned their eyes towards the rest of the States, but that was a long time coming.

Everyone knew who Peggy was. Her word was rule as much as Steve’s was, even if her accent made the rules seem a bit posher than his Brooklyn accent. The last politician who underestimated her as she went undercover to see if a civilian’s tip was true on rather or not the bastard was dumping toxic waste into public water, he was no longer among them. Not just for the tip being true, but for the fact he tried to corner her in the office with bad intentions on his mind.

Peggy didn’t even get to blink twice before Steve was there, piano wire in hand, face streaked with blood, as were her clothes and his. She was furious for two minutes, insisting she could handle herself and didn’t need Steve to save her until he pointed out the man was intending to kill her with poison on his lips. It still wasn’t good to her pride that Steve had saved her.

“You look well-rested,” Steve hummed as she walked around the meeting table and plopped down into his lap with ease. He wrapped one arm around her waist tightly, the other tapping on the tablet that Clint had slid him.

“I told you I wasn’t that tired,” she sighed, giving a roll of her eyes. Her legs tucked underneath his, making herself more than comfortable as she studied the tablet too. “When’s the next meeting?”

Steve hummed as he looked up at Clint who shrugged his shoulders before looking down at his watch. “Oh,” the archer breathed. “Two minutes from now. Security just said Natasha and Banner are back from their medical run. Thor and Tony are coming up now. Sam is stuck in a few meetings at the VA but he’s sent over the reports via Red Wing.”

“That’s fine about Sam, I expected with the added hands and funding he will have his hands full. I’ll text him in a few to remind him Banner had hired a few more doctors to be on sight and a few more psychiatrists so Sam isn’t trying to do it all.”

Peggy yawned and stretched, very cat-like, tucking her face into Steve’s neck. Her breath tickled his ear. “Hm. Sam is still going to try,” she reminded him. “He reminds me too much of you, biting off more than he could chew. You’ll have to physically drag him away if you want him to rest.”

“I’ll just send you to do it,” he chuckled. “He likes you better than me.”

“Of course he does. Who wouldn’t?”

Childishly, Steve stuck her tongue out at her, one Peggy captured in her mouth. Clint politely looked away at the pair kissing, relieved when the rest of their team finally came in. The heavy thump of Thor’s hammer made Steve look up, unembarrassed about them kissing.

“Christ,” he breathed at the bags under Tony’s eyes. “The hell happened to you, Stark? I sent you home to rest!”

Tony, still in the armor with the face mask melted back, shrugged his shoulders as he leaned back into the chair. It wasn’t odd of him to have these bags under his eyes. They were just about a permanent part of his feature as his trademark goatee. “You did and I decided that was a stupid order.” At Steve’s pinched face, he rolled his eyes. “Stephen - Dr. Strange - and I got discussing a few possible solutions to the toxic waste still hanging around the public water. We’re confident we’ve found a solution but it’s taken long hours to even complete the formula.”

Steve’s tongue clicked on the roof of his mouth, lips firmly pressed. “That’s amazing and I thank you both for that but you need rest or you will be useless. Don’t make me order Jarvis to ban you from the lab again. Please get some rest tonight. No lab work. I’m glad, really glad about what you two have accomplished and I am sure it will work, but it can wait 24 hours. We have Hill and Peggy’s niece guarding the areas and setting up ropes and cameras. It should be enough for a week.”

“You two were doing more than just working,” Clint snickered, ignoring the look Tony threw his way. “Oh c’mon, I walked in on your naked ass being pounded by Stephen. That’s a sight I’ll never forget!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t knock, Barton. Learn to knock.”

“Anyway,” Peggy sighed, already rubbing at her temples. “Anthony please refrain from fucking in the public labs. If you must insist on doing so, just...clean up properly. Natasha, doll, did we learn anything about Hydra or Aim’s whereabouts?”

Natasha’s lips pursed at Steve visually stiffening, trading a look with Peggy. Peggy’s fingertips dipped below the table to rub at Steve’s knee, offering comfort through touch. “We did,” she finally said, carefully. She could feel Steve’s eyes boring two holes into her. This was a delicate subject for all of them.

“You are aware of Clint’s brother still in the circus?” Another pair of baby blue eyes were staring right at her. “I made contact with him. He’s constantly on the move and no one suspects a carnie. He’s made a lookout in Hydra’s old spots during the war. Lots of them have abandoned labs that I’ve noted in my report, but there’s one that Barney has said that still looks to be in some use. It’s in the report as well. But…”

She took in a deep breath and tapped on her own tablet, flicking her wrist to airdrop a file to Steve’s screen. “Those are the shots of the Winter Soldier. Barney is sure of it. His last two victims mirror where we’ve sent donations to in order to help with the last few disasters. They’re following us.”

Steve clenched the tablet in hand, tight enough to threaten to crack the screen. Even Peggy murmuring soft words in his ear couldn’t distract him as he studied the face on the screen. Hidden behind mask and goggles, it was impossible to make out just who was under that mask. Knowing Hydra, knowing how personally they are at hand, it was even harder to make out with the recent string of murders if they were a puppet or not.

“I’ll call a few people in Germany and Russia,” Peggy said immediately, forcefully taking the tablet from Steve and replacing it with her hands. “They’ll keep a lookout. The Howling Commandos are still about, unknownst to the public thanks to Erksine’s serum being repeated. They’ll follow up with Barney’s lead too. Relay the message that we are in favor of Barney and he will be granted pardon when he’s in New York.”

“But-” Clint started, Natasha, silencing him with a look.

“Not now, Clint.”

“But,” Clint insisted, gritting his teeth. “You need someone to trail him too. Change every few days. Not that I don’t trust my brother, I don’t trust the company he keeps. Anyone can slip in and kill him the second that they are aware he’s working with the Captain.”

“That’s a good point,” Steve sighed, scrubbing at his face. “We’ll send in Daisy Johnson. She can easily blend in and I think would enjoy the chance to stretch her new powers. Thank you for this, Natasha. It’s going to come in handy. We’ll lead a trap to lead him here. Eventually, I or Peggy will be on that list. Hydra isn’t stupid enough to go after one of you.”

“Let them try,” Thor murmured, palming at the hammer and making the table shake with each stroke. “I am still behind in my friendly bet with an Agent Coulson on our count of Hydra agents down.”

“Same bloodthirsty man I’ve always loved,” Bruce laughed, looking about as tired and strained as they all felt.

“Aye, Captain, there are few more camps set up on the local borders that are being prevented from coming into the states. I know of the governor who says they are on our side but they refuse to allow them in. I was able to drop off medication and supplies with Tony’s help, but they will not last long. How should we proceed?”

“Of course he’s not. I didn’t expect him to,” Steve sighed, pinching his brow. “Peggy, are you up for a quick handle of the situation? If not, I can send-”

“I’ll go,” she replied at once, kissing his temple and hopping to her feet. “Meet me in the bedroom, will you? Once we’re done here?”

Steve watched as she paused on her way out to tussle Tony’s hair and hug Thor around the neck. She always loved to try to make him jealous in some ways, it just never worked with the team.

“Take Peggy,” he told Thor with a friendly nod. “Tony as well. You can sleep on the jet, I’m afraid it won’t be much of a cat nap. How severe do you think the medical situations are?”

“Severe enough to deplete the supplies I gave them that are to last a week three days ago,” he sighed highly, shaking his head.

“I can go,” Bruce said at once, surprising them all. His feet were always on the ground in-home. No one bothered to tell him elsewhere. He had plenty of medical and special cases to attend to. “It sounds like they’ll need my help if we’re to get the camps inside the border and processed already. I’ll pack my bag. Tones, c’mon.”

With the pair gone, Steve rubbed at his face and stood up, throwing the tablet onto the table so it clattered. “Clint,” he sighed. “I’m sorry about dealing with your brother and not telling you about it. It was...an insistent matter. We’ll make him safe. And I know that will be on your mind with worry but for now, I need you to go make a round of the police precincts for me. Natasha, do you mind doing the hospitals? Switch off midday so no one is suspicious. I have intel telling me there’s a mole somewhere and I suspect there. Soon as we get it, kill them silently. No card.”

He paused, considering the situation with a shrug of his shoulders. “Moles are important to catch, but look out for the corrupted ones. Doctors abusing their power. Not listening to people. Police with too many tickets, especially close to their end of shift. Check where their money is going. Inform the captains that their disband is coming soon and the other programs are going to be up and running by next week. We’re pushing it hard. It gives them time to reconsider where they will go within the system and if they resist you know what to do.”

With Clint gone, it left just him and Natasha. He wasn’t surprised when she hugged him tightly around the shoulders. He sighed into her, tension melting away. “Do you think it’s him?” he asked, pulling away with knitted brows.

“I know it is,” she sighed, patting his cheek. “That doesn’t mean he is a lost cause. The Howling Commandos will lead him to our trap and it will work. It has to work. Shuri and her brother are already working on means to accommodate him and take in the facts of his brainwashing. It won’t be easy but we’ll have him safe soon. Then…”

“Then we can send someone in his place to get the intel we need.” That was part of the plan Steve didn’t like but they had no choice. If they were to destroy Hydra, it would be from the inside out.

“Any ideas as to who that will be?” Natasha had to half jog to keep up with Steve’s steps.

“Right now? No. I need to make a decision soon, but everyone is useful elsewhere and I can’t afford to pull them away. Most of us are too recognizable. I am wary about sending Peggy in. She...knows the history but living it is another matter. I know she will argue otherwise but…” He rubbed at his brow and shrugged his shoulders.

“Clint can do it.” This wasn’t the first time Natasha had insisted on these ideas. “If we can get Barney to slip in as his handler, it will be added cushion if something is to go wrong. Trust me on this one.”

She did bring up a few good points, but the consequences heavily outweighed the benefits if he was to get caught. Clint was valuable and yes, Steve was wary about losing his team. “I’ll consider it,” he said, stepping onto the elevator. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Just make sure he sleeps tonight.”

“And you make sure you sleep. The world’s problems are not yours to bear,” she reminded him, even if he rolled his eyes.

“It is when you’re me,” he huffed, kicking at the door. “When your decisions, when your actions fail and you make the world a worst place when you’re trying to do better. I won’t let any more people needlessly die by their hands or any others. For now…”

He pressed the button to his floor in the penthouse and smiled warmly at her. “I’m going to go enjoy a night with my wife.”

As expected, Peggy was waiting for Steve. Unexpectedly, she was waiting for him in the hot tub. She watched him under hard eyes as he stripped out of his clothes and slowly sunk into the warm, roaring waters. He ignored the fruit and champagne as he swam towards her, arms wrapped around the woman he called his life partner.

She sighed in content against his lips, sitting in his lap with her legs around his waist. The way he held her close, it was desperate need of contact, for the grounding sensation to keep his head on straight. She would always be there for him. She’d been his rock for so long and she would continue to do so.

“Tell me you’ll be safe,” he whispered, despite how he knew she’d do everything in her effort to come home. This was a simple mission. In and out. Get the people in, on the jet, and to safety.

“You know I will be,” she whispered against his lips, cupping his cheek. “I promise you I will be safe and I won’t die out there. I won’t even scar.”

He smirked and nipped her lip at the teasing remark. “Not after last week you won’t,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “Much to your disappointment.”

“It only means you can stop treating me like a glass doll. And that I’m thankful the serum worked on me too.”

“Good,” Steve sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple and resting his head on her chest. “Because my world will shatter if I lost you, Pegs.”

“Then don’t plan to ever lose me.”

Tip Jar

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steggy Prompt #WS Bucky #Nonny Prompt #Barney Barton #ThorBruce #TonyStrange #Iron Strange #Mobster Steggy #Mob Boss Steggy #Its not what you wanted #But I weirldy love it

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broadwayyaddict · 3 years

Text

Oscars (Smut)

Jasmine smoothed her hands over her white dress before she knocked on the door to Anthony's dressing room. "It's me," she said.

"Come in baby girl," he responded.

She opened the door and entered, laughing when his jaw dropped. "You look...wow," he said.

"And you look very wow as well," she told him.

He pulled her against him, softly kissing her. She cupped his face, melting into it. His lips trailed down to her neck and she giggled until they started to get rougher.

She nudged his shoulder, pushing him away and saying, "No way are we fucking in your dressing room before this after party. You can cover up the marks, I can't."

She went over the mirror, checking her reflection. "It's a damn good thing you didn't leave any marks either," she told him.

"Okay fine," he pouted and Jasmine smiled.

"When we get home," she whispered in his ear, before taking his hand and leading him out of the room. When she looked back, Anthony had a shocked look on his face and Jasmine laughed out loud.

When they entered the room, Anthony immediately asked, "How long until we go home?"

Jasmine scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You can wait bub," she responded, leaning up and kissing his cheek.

He stayed almost glued to her side the whole night, constantly asking how much longer until they could go home. Every time Jasmine would laugh and tell him he could wait, never giving him a specific answer. He kept his hand on her hip or shoulder almost the entire time. They took plenty of cute pictures for themselves and the short video Jasmine posted on Instagram. They also danced together most of the night, keeping to themselves. They didn't know that many people there which meant that they didn't have anyone else to talk to.

It was around 2 am when Jasmine finally whispered to him, "Let's go home."

He took her hand and they nearly flew out of the room. Jasmine tugged on his hand, slowing him down. "Ant, you may be fine, but I'm gonna trip over my dress!" she exclaimed, laughing. He did when she told him to, but continued walking with a hyped up look on his face.

She kept her hand laced with his the whole car ride, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand.

As soon as they got home, Anthony led her to their room, immediately shutting the door and pressing his lips to hers. Jasmine wrapped her arms around his around his neck, pulling him back to the bed. She separated from him for a couple seconds to push his suit jacket and starting unbuttoning his shirt.

As soon as it was off, they fell down onto the bed and Anthony climbed on top of her. What started off as rough kisses quickly turned into Anthony trailing down to Jasmine's neck. She turned her head to the side to give him more room and laced one of her hands through his curls.

Anthony pulled her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing him deeply. She guided his hand to her zipper and he took the hint.

"Can I?" he asked softly. She nodded, kissing him again and he pulled the zipper down. Jasmine let the dress pool around her waist and Anthony attached his lips to her neck again.

She pulled the dress off, tossing it somewhere in the room and trailed her hands down to his belt.

"Go ahead," he mumbled in her ear and Jasmine shivered at the huskiness in his voice.

She pulled his belt and pants off and placed her hands on the back of his head as he sucked marks into her chest.

His hand came to rest on her bra strap and she nodded, telling him, "You can take it off."

He undid the clasp, slipping it off and tossing it somewhere in the room as well. He pushed her down onto the bed again and hovered over her, taking one nipple into his mouth.

Jasmine let out a breathy moan, threading her fingers through his hair. He flicked his tongue over her nipple and she gasped, arching her head back.

He continued to press kisses against her chest and stomach, sucking marks into her skin.

"A-Ant," she gasped, tapping on his shoulder.

"You okay baby?" he asked, moving back up to her face.

She nodded and said, "Let's jus' skip the foreplay, I'm ready now."

He nodded, pressing a few soft kisses to her lips and neck again. He positioned himself at her entrance and asked, "You sure you're okay with this?"

"Yes, and you?" she responded, lacing her fingers with his.

"Me too," he said, pushing himself in.

Jasmine gasped louder, her mouth hanging open. "Oh god," she moaned, running her fingers through his hair.

He trailed kisses down to her neck again, sucking marks into her skin.

"F-aster," she gasped out and he obliged.

Her breathing grew heavier and he groaned, burying his face against her neck.

"Close baby, I'm close," she mumbled, dragging her nails down his back.

"Me too," he responded, speeding up.

Jasmine fell apart in his arms, her moans growing louder.

"N-now," she gasped, squeezing his shoulder. Her walls tightened around him and he came at the feeling of her.

He collapsed against her chest, both of them taking a moment to catch their breath.

"That was amazing," she whispered, cupping his face and kissing him softly.

"I agree," he responded, getting up and handing her one of his shirts and grabbing boxers.

She snuggled up to him, pressing little kisses to his chest. "I love you so much," she mumbled.

"I love you too," he responded, tipping her chin up. "You might want to go heavy on the concealer tomorrow though."

"And who's fault is that?" she asked, smirking at him.

"Yours, for lookin' like a damn queen," he told her and she blushed, hiding her face in his chest.

She sighed, snuggling closer to him and closing her eyes. "Night," she mumbled.

"Night sweet girl, I love you so very much," he responded.

#janthony #oneshots #fanfiction #smut #engaged

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cherryyharryy · 4 years

Text

Burning Words

Chapter Five: Regrets

WC: 7.9k

Previous Chapter

Songs for this chapter

Extra piece in Harry’s POV (I suggest reading this first)

I have to say my intuition is pretty decent. The only time it’s failed me, is when I’ve chosen to ignore it. There’s a fine line though, between me wanting to listen to myself, and the nagging feeling in my gut. I’m an easy person to dismiss.

So when I spent all of last week brushing off the insistent aura of regret from my shoulders, I didn’t expect it to manifest itself in such a tame manner. My life is the embodiment of ‘when it rains, it pours,’ and I’m constantly trying to find a place to feel good within my own existence.

And right now, I really regret being such a pushover. If there’s one moment I could do over again, it would be earlier today when I turned down the overtime my boss offered. Because Jessie is sick. She isn’t, but she says she is; I’ve known her for too long now. We’ve survived a lot together:

That’s three drunken nights, five catcallers, one early morning jog right after the New Year when we said we’d get healthy. Two fake Instagram accounts to spot a cheater, six tampons thrown over bathroom stalls, eight missed calls—then a hurried drive down Park Street to find yours truly in the midst of a panic attack. And now, nine minutes for me to figure out that she’s not ill. That’s like, 75 in women years. No wonder we’re so tired all the time.

I’d put money on a phone call from Anthony. She says she’s never had phone sex, but she does so with a smile, and I’m not an idiot. She’s not ashamed; I don’t think Jessie could ever feel embarrassed with the confidence she has. This only twists the ropes surrounding my organs, pulling tighter and tighter until…

I hope to have secrets with someone one day, and then I can tell Jessie a sweet lie about how I’ve never gone skinny dipping, or Russian kissed, and she’d be content with my fib and cherry smile, because she’s my best friend.

And because I’m her best friend, I’m zipping up the back of my black dress with a hanger, praying it doesn’t pop when I exhale.

“I promise, I’ll owe you,” Jessie whines.

“No you don’t. Just tell me I don’t look terrible.”

“You’re gorgeous as always, babe.”

She’s curled up in her bed, such an actress, with a heating blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a phony stuffed nose that makes her words gel together in a tight knot. I thank her anyway.

“Don’t forget the book.”

“I know, I know.” I push off the threshold of her room to gather my things: a winter coat that looks somewhat classy, my purse, and Beowulf. I button up to my neck and yell my goodbye as I cross the apartment.

We have a small mirror that hangs against a brick wall when you first enter our home. I’ve watched Jessie nudge at her lashes and scrape tiny bits of strawberry lipstick off her teeth before we leave, dozens of times. I usually pass by her while she’s doing her last touch-ups, but now I’m alone, and I have to make the quick decision to look or not. I hope Jessie’s right, that I don’t look terrible, because I close my eyes until I’m locking the door.

***

The theater is frigid, and nearly empty when I arrive. I guess the majority of Jessie’s class isn’t as desperate to watch a reenactment of a book for extra points as she is. Tickets are five dollars, and the water I bought is warm. I am overdressed, and take out my diamond earrings after a girl in sweatpants sits at the end of my row.

At intermission I debate whether or not I should leave. I can hide in my room all night and finish Jessie’s assignment, in my pajamas, with a glass of gas station wine in hand. But I guess Jessie is in love, so instead, I wobble up to the concession in her borrowed heels to buy more junk food that can promise me a breakout by morning.

“Y/n?”

Like an eruption; his voice triggers more physiological responses in my body than a lab rat. My senses have never crossed borders with each other, and yet I stand here, hunger clawing its way up my ribs, past my larynx, banging on the back of my eyes so I’ll open them.

“Hey.” My voice is filled with saliva, and I pray he doesn’t notice.

“Are you here for the extra credit, or to watch a bunch of middle aged call-backs try their hand at acting?”

My laugh is airy and sore. “Uh, Jessie. It’s her class. She’s sick, so I’m saving her.”

“Ah,” he nods. “I’m a life jacket too, tonight. Elliot’s visiting his cousin or something.”

The lights flicker above us, and he blushes like a cherry. “I uh, I guess we’d better head back.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you, would you like to sit together?” He holds up his copy of the book. “Compare notes?”

I nod. I respond, but I’m not exactly sure what comes out of my mouth. All I know is that he has me lead the way, and deciding where to sit becomes an insurmountable task, as if my seating choice is the determinate in how he will see me in the forthcoming days, weeks. Does he like to sit in the front? The back? Close to the aisle? Where had he been this whole time? Had he noticed me when I had my mouth stuffed with gummy bears?

“If you don’t mind,” he answers the questions in my head, “I don’t care for sitting close to the front.”

“The middle then? I think I read that, two-thirds back was the best seating or something.”

“Perfect.”

We settle into our seats, the theater now nearly vacant other than the two of us, and a few people tucked away in the back.

It’s a bizarre group of words to use—the two of us—in reference to Harry and I. Technically, it’s sound. There are two in a pairing. I think it’s the us that plays my heartstrings like a violin. The vibrating in my chest escalates, echoing off the hollow of my bones, wrapping around the fibers of my muscles, weakening my nervous system like a dying light bulb.

He flips through my copy of the book where I haven’t made as many notes as I should have, nodding along to my scribbles which outline the differences between the original story and this live adaptation. “We’ve got a lot of the same.” He’s smiling big when he hands my book back. “Guess we’re doing something right then.”

I feel his energy for the rest of the play. Every move he makes is somehow worthy of interest. The grip he holds on his knee, the tilt of his head, roll of his lips, bounce of his foot. He clears his throat at one point, and I turn back towards the actors as if they are the disturbance. Each time he flips through the book to scribble a note, the pages brush against his thumb, sometimes catching on his ring. When he pricks his skin on the edge of a page, he drives it straight into his mouth. I have to remind my heart to keep beating.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear me? Do you need a ride home?”

When had we walked outside? When did the sun disappear? When did his hair become such a mess?

“Um, no. That’s alright. Thank you though.”

“How did you get here?” His lenses are a pink champagne color, and I hope the filter makes me aesthetically appealing, as I never have been before.

“The bus.”

“The b—you’re going to take this bus? But it’s late?”

I study his face, his eyes through the tinted glass, the lines across his forehead with his brows pushing them up towards his hairline. My intelligence is working overtime.

“I’ve taken the bus at night before. I’ll be fine.” I shrug and he frowns.

“But, I—if I give you my number, will you text me when you get home? Just, I mean, I just need to know you make it back. It’s nearly eleven. And it’s the bus.”

I stand there too long, contemplating the actions he wishes to pursue. His number, in my phone. He says my name.

“Uh, yeah, I can do that I guess.”

Vertigo and an imposture buzz seize my nerves. My hands shake; I always spend so much time waiting for things to end, so I can just live in the memory. Things are easier that way.

And I’m more vulnerable under moonlight, so I hand him my phone.

“You won’t forget?”

“No. no. I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good.” He passes my phone back, clearing his throat. “Um, I enjoyed this. Tonight I mean. Was pretty pissed at Elliot when he asked me to go for him, but...guess things worked out okay after all.”

“Yeah, not bad.”

“You um, you look...you look very pretty.”

“Oh,” I’m caught off guard, and have to take a second to scrape the word liar off my tongue. “Thanks. Thank you. You, so do you.”

He snickers, but it’s lighthearted, like a feather was tickling his chin. “Thank you, love.”

“Yeah…”

“So um, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“O—okay.”

His lashes flutter against his glasses, and his tongue darts out to swipe over his lips. “Uh, I—do you—are you sure you don’t need a ride home?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he sighs like he’s relieved, but there’s pent up nervous energy leaking out, that contradicts the lax drop of his shoulders and the fidgety hand scratching the back of his neck. “Well I’ll see you later then?”

“Okay.”

His lips are twitching when we say goodbye. He goes one way and I the other. He goes to his car, and I go towards the bus stop. My phone weighs heavy in my bag. How did I end up looking forward to admiring a sequence of numbers? I run through my options of what exactly I will text when I get home. What punctuation I will use, if I am warranted in picking an emoji, what he might respond with.

The bus driver gives me a funny look when the doors close behind me. I can’t find anything inside me to care enough though, as I normally would, and find a seat in the back. I’d give me a funny look too, if I was smiling so big at nothing in particular.

***

I almost forget to lock our door when I hurry into the apartment. I’m out of my coat and shoes by the time I reach my room, flopping down on my bed with my phone in hand.

Seeing Harry’s name at the top of the screen slows down my movements, making the moment more serious. My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I’m stifled on picking how I want to word my text.

I made it back alive

I’m home, no need to worry

I’m here:)

I consider not texting him at all, but brush the intrusive thought that he was just being nice for show, as far away into the corner of my mind as I can manage.

I’m home now

My teeth sink further and further into my lip, the skin stretching and pulling with the corners of my mouth playing tug of war. The three little dots of his incoming text seems to last forever.

How many stops did you have to make? You know how to make a man worry. I’m happy you’re home safe xx

Without much thought, because I know I’d change my mind, I send a smiley face and lock my phone, then quickly make my way to Jessie’s room. Part of me wants to gush to her about tonight, about how he asked to sit together, and how he gave me his number.

But I also have no reason to be so...giddy. His actions are easily explained if you look at them from a different angle. He didn’t want to sit by himself, that’s all. I’m a familiar face. And any decent person would offer a ride home to their...student.

I freeze in the space between our rooms, trying to pick a lane for my mind to travel down. I know myself well enough to know that my first reaction is to dismiss the entire evening, and my brain is pulling on the reins in that direction. But a selfish part of me just wants to relish in tonight’s events. He didn’t have to sit by me, and no one made him give me his number. I need to stop assuming that my presence is so revolting

When I knock on Jessie’s door she hacks a dramatic cough, and mumbles for me to come in.

“How are you feelin’?”

“Oh I’m better, yeah, so uh, how was your night? Did you like it? Did you have fun?” The covers are pulled up to her nose, her big eyes wide and shining right above them. “You look happy? Why’s that?”

“It was good,” I sigh, leaning against the door frame. “I’ll type up your notes in the morning.”

“I’ll probably feel up to it tomorrow,” she nods and I roll my eyes. “So uh, what did you like about it?”

“Oh...just...it was a good play. Really good.”

“Yeah? That’s it?”

I shrug. “What were you expecting?”

“Nothing, you just came in here with a big smile on your face, thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, sighing. “Nothin’, nothin’.”

“Alright, well, m’gonna go to bed then.”

“Okay...thanks for saving me tonight. Glad you enjoyed it.”

My lips twitch, but I manage to reign in a smile. “Yeah, I did.”

***

I’ll be at the Library this afternoon, so you can stop by. 4-ish.

I read over his text and check the time again. It’s four o’clock now, but I feel early. Fashionably late, that’s a thing, right…that I should have done? He said ish. Does ish mean early or late? My poor brain.

I slip the continuing rewrite of my report from my bag, as if to say when I walk in: I’m here for help with school, that’s all, no assumptions, please. It’s cool outside, and when I walk in there is no relief, and yet my hands sweat. I swipe them over the back pockets of my jeans.

“Hi!” Harry’s not in his work clothes, not in his school clothes either. Faded, light-washed jeans are not something I like, but this day is starting to feel weird, so I might as well throw that out the window too. They’re nice. The t-shirt is nice too. How is he not cold? “You made it.”

“Are you sure this is a good time?”

“I’m free all afternoon,” he chirps.

“Okay.”

He’s at the same table we worked at last time. When I sit down, he adjusts his glasses, and I notice his nails are painted black again. It’s just a color. Black. And yet he makes it look brand new, like he discovered it.

“So what questions did you have?”

How do you always look so good? “Um, I don’t like Henry Miller.”

He chuckles. Everything about me is porous, and I absorb him. I can count his teeth, brow hairs, the depth of his dimple; weird how the lines deepening around his eyes are so divinely explicit. He laughs again. “Me too, love.”

When you laugh like that I wanna pass out. “But I don’t know how to write about him like that. Everything I come up with sounds...childish.”

“I think one of the best things you can do is provide examples. Scour the text—believe me, there’s plenty to choose from—that display his character. The whole book is his autobiography with a fictional twist.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I stay in my head, and he waits for me to speak. I feel like he is always waiting for me to talk. “Um, and then the issue of feminism.” I pause and he nods. “One of the things I kept seeing online is that, um, well people were saying that the book upheld women because the man, Henry, he uh…um...”

“Couldn’t get it up?”

It’s not cold in here anymore, oh God. “Uh, yeah...that part.”

“Okay then. Tell me why.”

“What!?”

“How does that make you feel when you read it?”

I shake my head. What I feel? “It’s...shit. A man not, um, performing, does not and should never, be attributed to the value of a woman. Um, some people think this scene gives her...some kind of power or hierarchy. Or that she is this automatic winner. He doesn’t get to...y’know...and all of a sudden there’s a shift. He fails as a man, so by default she wins as a woman. And that’s how she earns her value. That’s gross.”

“Write that down,” Harry says.

“What?”

“That’s very well put. You took reference of the source, gathered your feelings, and produced a well thought-out conclusion. You can clean it up later, but go ahead and write that down before you forget it.”

***

Our conversation veers off the path once the questions I came with are answered, my report pushed aside. I’m much more calm now, and at times forget that we’ve only known each other for a couple months.

We talk about high school and then books and food. And he’s easy to talk to, I’m reminded. He laughs a lot and blushes a lot.

At one point he jumps up like a child on Christmas morning, urging me to follow him through the aisles so he can show me a book he just finished reading. There’s something very boy-like about him...very cute and sweet and cuddly. I consider making up questions about my report just to see this again...see him again.

Soon the sun starts dipping down, casting globes of shadows over the first floor. Ms. Bortnick flicks the lamps on and the room lights up, although there’s still a dark glow of evening around us. I’m busy flipping through Dickenson, looking for a poem I read years ago to show Harry. Once I find it and peer up, I’m frozen.

He’s standing right below a window, weight leaning on one leg, while he slowly turns the pages of a book. It rests in his open palm, fingers splayed out across the spine and both covers. I gulp. His hands are huge. There’s peace in his reddened cheeks, an artistic contrast to the crease between his brows. Lips are in a content line, and I’m buzzed with the thought that I now know the different looks of his lips. How to others he may appear annoyed or disturbed, but I can tell he’s quite happy.

He is serene, golden; a lighthouse beckoning me towards him. He picks up stray beams of light and swallows them whole, right before my eyes, without moving a muscle. Strikingly bizarre, his features. He’s one of those you don’t want to stop looking at. So I don’t, until he notices me and smiles, nodding back to our table.

I keep my finger in place of the page I’m on, but close the book when I sit down. He follows suit after me.

“D’you find it?”

“Mhmm.” I flip the cover open and spin the book around to face him.

“Read it.”

It’s a gentle request, soft, with the hint of a question mark at the end. I clear my throat as quietly as possible.

““Hope” is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all.

And sweetest in the Gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land

And on the strangest Sea;

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.”

My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I have to take a moment before looking up at him. He stayed foggy in my peripheral while I recited, mouthing along with his hand lazily hung over his lips, pretending not to know the words.

“I love that one,” he croons, “haven’t heard it in a while.” He slides the book across the table and starts flipping through the pages.

I watch his nails dance, and after a minute I have to clear my throat and look away, like I’m watching something I’m not supposed to, and don’t wanna get caught.

“Ah, here.” His face grows serious, lips sewn together.

My heart somersaults, because I know I’m about to be gifted with strings of moments filled with his voice. I straighten in my seat and hold my breath.

“Remorse is a memory awake,

Her companies astir, —

A presence of departed acts

At window and at door.

It’s past set down before the soul,

And lighted with a match,

Perusal to facilitate

Of its condensed dispatch.

Remorse is cureless, — the disease

Not even God can heal;

For ‘t is his institution, —

The complement of hell.”

“I remember that one,” I whisper. There’s something about myself that I suddenly don’t like, and it’s how attractive I find sadness dripping off his tongue. In a much different way than his nails.

“Yeah,” he sighs, lost in his head. I can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. “How about something more...upbeat?”

***

We share more poems, and get back to a place where we’re smiling. Although, with each passing moment, Harry grows more and more fidgety. His hands can’t seem to stay still, traveling from his mouth to his neck to his rings. He’s the one who keeps starting new conversation topics, in between finding books, but I’m scared it’s me that’s got him anxious.

“I uh,” he starts, after he closes one of Edward Lear's books of limericks. His voice has softened like butter. Smooth like whiskey when it’s 2 am. I forget what time it actually is when he looks at me, his eyes watery, and suddenly, I wish I was drunk. “Um. Can I—is it alright if we—” he shakes his head, eyes tired, tongue-tied. “I—”

“There you are!”

We both jump when a tall, thin guy runs up to our table, out of breath and frantic, he starts tugging on Harry’s arm.

“C’mon, we’ve got a gig. Last minute. Been tryin’ to call you for an hour. Let’s go.”

Harry’s stuttering, looking between me and who I assume is a friend of some sorts, while he eventually complies with the man’s actions and rises from his seat.

“I uh, I’m so sorry...turned my phone off…” I can’t tell who he’s talking to, all I know is that he looks devastated for some reason.

“It’s okay, Harry,” I urge, gathering my things. “We were finished anyway. Thank you for helping me. Again.”

The friend, now standing by the front door, calls Harry’s name repeatedly. Harry’s clearly reluctant in moving towards him, offering up more apologies.

“It’s fine, really.” I push down the disappointment filling me up, and force a smile on my lips. “Go...do whatever you’ve got to do.”

“Right, right, uh—”

“Let’s go!”

“Well, if you need any more help, just let me know. Just text me whenever. Whenever you want.”

“Harold!”

“I will.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll see you then?”

“You’d better go,” I laugh, “he’s about to pop.”

“So am I,” Harry mumbles, and trudges off towards his impatient friend.

***

Pickles. Pickles are everywhere. All over our counters, in the sink, the table, the chairs. Jars of pickles. On the couch, the floor, the window sill.

Jessie broke up with Anthony.

When she broke up with Charles, it was sour kraut. Devin was jello. Kaiden was black licorice. Brian was pomegranate. She should make a scrapbook.

“One to ten?” I ask, opening a jar of kosher dill. My mouth waters when the salt hits my nose.

“Five.”

“That’s better than yesterday.” The corners of my jaw tingle unnecessarily when I bite into the green spear. I twitch and wait for it to pass.

She didn’t go into detail about what happened, or even who broke up with who. I came home from my evening with Harry at the library, to find her amongst a storm of soiled tissues on our couch.

There isn’t much to a Jessie breakup. She cries, swallows her feelings emotionally, and whatever random food—physically, calls the guy on the phone to tell him he’s a bastard, and then starts looking for someone new.

In the meantime, I pretty much steer clear of her. With Anthony living so far away, I never had to worry about coming home to them undressing in the living room, or shoving my head under the pillow while I tried to fall asleep. But I’m sure it won’t be long until she’s gushing about someone again, so I need to enjoy my boy-free apartment while I can.

“Y’know, he really pisses me off,” Jessie thinks aloud. She’s sprawled out in the armchair—my chair by the window, where I haven’t sat in a week—with her legs dangling over the side. She bites a pickle in half, and speaks through her chewing. “I mean, here I am, basically just waiting on him every day to call or text or send me a picture...like I really thought he was happy. He got a relationship without all the bells and whistles. Guys dream of that, right?”

I shrug. How the hell should I know?

“Bastard. I’m gonna call him.”

She caps the jar and springs from the chair, slamming the door to her room behind her.

I just hope the next guy has his own place.

***

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. New York, I mean. Sometimes it feels like forever, but then I remember my childhood existed elsewhere, high school sucked, and traffic had nothing to do with it. I’m pretty sure each time I leave and go back home, I’ve aged an extra ten years, like I’ve traveled to space and back. I keep finding traces of this city, in every nook and cranny of my life.

Mom was worried about me when I left. But moms worry about everything. I worry about everything, too. So her not so restrained fears, that she kind of pushed out of her mouth with a hiss, like she wasn’t sure if I was capable of absorbing the truth, didn’t really help me.

It’s a biiiig city. You’re not used to that. I just don’t want you to get swallowed up.

She was right. Sort of. Because you don’t move to New York. New York moves into you. It has its own heart and bones and skin, separate from the rest of the country. And soon your own body starts to wrap around this. Your heart becomes more tolerable to grease-soaked dinners at three in the morning. Your bones strengthen like cement so you can stand still through a harsh stop by a train. Your skin grows so thick, any number of insults bounce right off until they hit the pavement.

What New York hasn’t prepared me for, in the however long I’ve been here time-frame, is Harry Styles in my home. Using the words Harry and home in the same sentence makes me feel like I’ve jumped right into one of the chalk drawings from Mary Poppins.

Right now he’s standing at the big window, in the exact spot where I like to stand, running his hand over his stubble. He adjusts his glasses, and then I think he sees me in the reflection of the glass because he smirks. I duck my head back down and continue on the dishes.

It’s an odd string of events that places him here. Odd for other people—not so much me. Jessie apparently badgered Elliot while they were in class, complaining about her breakup, to the point where she convinced him to go out drinking. And then because Elliot doesn’t drink, and Jessie found that reason enough to drink more, I was awoken at midnight to Elliot banging on our door and Jessie singing her own version of The Way You Make Me Feel. And standing behind the two of them, after I swung the door open in my pajamas, while taking my retainer out, and swiping acne cream off my chin, stood Harry.

Harry was not in his pajamas, and he didn’t have a string of spit connecting his mouth to a piece of plastic, and he didn’t have a giant volcano ready to erupt on his face.

After Elliot dragged Jessie inside, he was left standing there, a quirky smile on his face while he did a kind of half-wave, short and dry in front of his body, and whispered out a soft hey.

Now it’s one am. I’m doing dishes because I’m nervous with this man in my space. Nervous that he’s going to pick up on details about me that I haven’t given permission to be leant out just yet. We can hear Jessie’s drinks making their way into the toilet, and Elliot encouraging her like she’s in a race. I didn’t know what to do with my hands or my mouth, so I filled the silence and busied my limbs with everything that had piled up in the sink the past few days. If they don’t leave soon, I may have to start washing clean forks and knives.

“This is a nice view.”

“Yeah,” the word drifts off, mixing and popping with the bubbles in front of my face.

“I like your apartment.”

“Thanks...most of it’s Jessie’s stuff.”

He nods. “Here, let me…” His face is stern, like he’s preparing to start working on a car engine, and not sliding the dish towel off the counter. He tosses it over his shoulder and starts rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. I forget where I’m at and what I’m doing and even my name.

“Oh you don’t have to…” Dear God his nails are still painted.

“No, no, it’s the least I can do.”

The tendons in his hands pulse, rippling, like when you skip a stone into a calm pond as he dries the first plate. His fingers are long, and there’s generous space between his thumb and the rest of his digits that, for whatever absurd reason, I find attractive.

We work in relative silence, only the slight sloshing of water and the clinks of his rings on the dishes. I regret not turning the tv on at least, and I can feel us both sorting out conversation topics in our heads.

“Is that your report?”

When I look at him, he’s pinching his glasses in his hand, and using a free finger to swipe a few suds that had found their way to the side of his nose. He nods to the coffee table where all of my school works lays in a mess.

“Yeah, among other things.”

“Mind if I have a look? Have you worked on it since we last talked?”

“I haven’t done much...but go ahead. You may have to dig a little to find it.”

He dries his hands and strides around the counter, sitting on the edge of the couch. His sleeves are still rolled up—a blood orange sweater, and charcoal slacks that rise up to reveal matching socks. He picks through piles of paper and folders and flash cards until he finds what he’s looking for. A few of his curls fall and I can only see the bottom half of his face.

I finish washing before he’s done reading. And on a random act of impulse—there’s that New York in me—I dry my hands and make my way over to Harry.

“The quote you added, on the third page,” he sweeps his hair off his forehead when I sit down in the chair beside the couch, “brilliant.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you did an excellent job. And honestly, the entire thing, it’s incredible. It’s easy to talk about your opinion, but it’s difficult to actually back it up. You make it look easy.”

“I can assure you it’s not.”

He laughs without looking up. When he finishes and sets my paper down, he starts sifting through all the other work laid out before him. “How’s your chemistry class going? Didn’t you say you were having trouble?”

“Oh that was at the beginning of the semester. I think I was just overwhelmed.” I swallow and push my brows together. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Well, yeah,” he laughs bashfully. His elbow rests on his knee, cradling his face in his hand with his mouth hidden by the heel of his palm. He blinks slowly, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “How about the homework for our class, the analysis on Slaughterhouse Five?”

“I finished that this morning, uh, I squint down at the table until I remember, “oh it’s in my bag.” I point to the space beside him where my school bag lays on the floor. “It’s right in there. You can look over it if you want.”

He slides my bag over and props it up on his lap, and I keep a hurdle of curses from leaving my mouth when my phone ringing beside the sink startles me. I hurry over to the kitchen only to see it’s just a voicemail from school, reminding me to register for next semester. On my way back, Harry’s face is set into a frown.

“Are you—did you find it? I thought I put it in there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he holds up a piece of paper, “I got it.”

When I sit back down it takes him a moment to drag his eyes off me, clearing his throat and straightening his glasses, then reading over the one page we were supposed to write.

“Very good, well thought out,” he nods along to his comments, “I like your comparison to Ubick...you made really insightful connections.”

“So...I’ll get an A, right?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, slipping the page back into my bag. After he zips it up, we’re sitting in silence again, but not for long. “So, I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Harry clears his throat, and shifts on the couch to better face me, “would you—”

“Oh my God, don’t ever let me drink again.” Jessie hobbles through the bathroom door, Elliot right behind her as he helps her to her room.

“What were you saying?” I ask once they’re gone.

“I—”

“That was intense. Horrific, actually.” Elliot bounds into the living room, plopping down beside Harry with a dramatic sigh. “And she only had like, four drinks!”

“Yeah she’s a lightweight. She doesn’t think she is, but I’ve spent many long nights holding her hair back for hours because of a shot or two.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Elliot asks.

“No I’ve got her from here. Thank you for getting her home, Elliot.”

“Anytime,” he chirps. “Okay, well,” he pats Harry’s thigh, “we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry adds, pushing up from the couch with his friend. “I’ll see you in class Monday, y/n.

“I’m sorry you spent your night drying dishes.”

“What are you talking about? It’s basically a hobby of mine.” The words are cool when they slip out, but it takes me a second to register the joke before I laugh.

“Thanks again,” I say while opening the front door.

“No problem,” Elliot assures me. “Hey, tell Jessie I like her tattoo.”

“She showed you her tattoo?”

“She showed the whole bar her tattoo.”

All I can do is shake my head and laugh.

“I’ll see you.” Harry’s movements are much more collected than Elliot’s. When I look past the threshold of the apartment, to the pair of them standing there, I have to hold back a smile that I don’t want to have to explain. It seems like Harry and Elliot are just...altered versions of me and Jessie. A bit opposite—Harry’s hands are stuffed in his pockets while he rocks on his feet, and Elliot pulls a miniature Rubik’s cube from his jacket.

“Bye, Harry.”

When he nods his dimple grows, and I know he’s fighting a smile.

***

The bell over the door jingles, and I force my eyes to stay focused on the menu hanging over the counter, and not acknowledge the attention I’ve drawn to myself. In a few strides, I’m across the room and waiting behind a short, bald man to order a sandwich.

My foot taps impatiently on the sticky floor, and I second guess my decision in coming here. It’s a little everything shop on the street corner by my dentist. And by everything, I’m including the line of ants crawling up the wall. It’s one of those places where layers of paint and wallpaper disguise the previous month’s investor. A seafood diner, an El Salvadoran bakery, pawn shop, and most recently—and with a wash of baker-miller pink slapped on—Don’s Place.

It’s eerie and unnerving inside, but cheap, and I didn’t want to eat all day before my teeth cleaning, so I’m kind of desperate at the moment. Light chatter fills the space, until someone starts coughing, and the strident atmosphere this place held disappears. When it’s ready, my order is nearly tossed to me over the counter. I grab the once frozen sandwich and fries before they hit the floor, and find a cramped two-seater booth in the corner of this place. I’m right below an air vent, so I keep my jacket on.

I pick the lettuce, that I asked not to have, off before taking a bite, and it doesn’t take long, now that I’m settled and still, for my mind to drift to Harry. He’s really set up camp in my brain—but I’m not complaining. My daydreams are stirring, a little less innocent than I’m used to, and at times I have to catch myself from drifting too far off. Even when he’s right in front of me in class, I wander, practically drowning in my own imagination, getting washed away in him. And I think he notices...I’m not sure if he knows what I’m thinking about, but judging by the smirk he gives when he calls my name, I think he might

Jessie keeps teasing me too, and it’s getting harder to keep my composure. All she has to do is stare at me for a few seconds after I come back from class, and I break. I’ll tell her what he was wearing, what words sounded particularly better from his accent, what questions he asks me in class. I don’t ever answer, just mumble out a come back to me, which spares me until the next class.

I’m rapidly finding a reason for addiction in every minuscule movement he makes. How domestication and carnal activity fuse together under his touch. Pushing his glasses up his nose is both endearing and erotic. The way his tongue hovers over his teeth when deciding his words is hypnotic and wholesome Quickly, he is turning into an adoration. He’s really almost too good to be true, and not the arrogant son of a bitch I pegged him as when we first met.

“Hey.”

I jump. This time his voice is not in my head. I force the bite down my throat and smile. “H—hi.”

“I uh,” Harry starts, eyes glistening, “saw you come in. Just thought I’d say hi.”

“Oh—yeah, hi, um—”

“Can I sit?”

“Yeah, sure,” I squeak.

He sits himself across from me, and I notice the flush creeping up his chest. His fingers dance all around each other, and his energy alone makes me nervous.

He gulps in a breath and smiles awkwardly. “How are you?” He asks.

“I’m good, just,” I nudge my half-eaten sandwich, “stopped for lunch.”

“That’s good, uh, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Okay…”

“You—I mean I—” he clears his throat. “Would you like to go out sometime? Just...nothing fancy, the two of us? Not school related? Is that something you would like?”

If I’m being honest, I have many regrets in life. Too many to count. Most too personal to share. If there’s one moment I could do over again, it is this one. I don’t know it yet, though.

I don’t know it as I scramble out of the booth, as I blurt out something about how I have to go, as I weave through this disgusting place, my feet sticking to the floor, plowing through the door.

I run all the way home. He only calls me twice, and when a third never shows up on my phone, I start to cry.

It’s such a weird place to be in. When you know you’re right in the middle of a mistake.

If there’s one moment I could do over again, it would be the night he came into the bookstore.

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

Thank you for beta reading for me!!! @cosmospy @aileenacoustic @afterstylesmadeit

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2-for-a-penny · 6 years

Text

The Hat

Spelmer, based on this picture of Anthony Zas

Words: 900+

Warnings: Just some super cringy “I’m a tough guy” Spot

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Spot was tough. He was the guy that when you saw him coming on the sidewalk, you crossed the street to get away from. Everything about him was intimidating. His stern face, with his eyebrows constantly furrowed, the deep frown that was paired with eyes that could kill. Overall, he was a really scary dude. He was the scariest guy in New York. Nothing could break the stone cold composure he had. Well, nothing besides Elmer. But he didn’t know that yet.

Spot was walking out of a coffee shop, armed with his black coffee, yeah he was fucking metal, and his signature frown. He was headed to class when a voice called his name. He turned around and thought he was going to pass out. The voice calling out to him was none other than Elmer. Only, Elmer didn’t look like he normally did, he was wearing a floppy black hat, and Spot was practically drooling.

He had always thought that Elmer was adorable. He was just always so happy and cheerful, he was basically the human embodiment of the fucking sun. Sometimes when he and Spot would hang out he would get excited about something, like a video game, and Spot would want to reach over and kiss him senseless. His big bright smile, the way his eyes would squint as he laughed his laugh that was like music to Spot’s ears. But Spot never did kiss him. Spot kept his composure and watched the beautiful boy in front of him. He, Spot the big tough guy of New York, could not have a weakness. He had kept this up for about two years, but all of that was about to end.

“Wh-what, Elmer. What are you wearing?” Spot managed to stutter out. Elmer cocked his head at Spot’s question, then his eyes widened and he placed a hand on top of his head.

“Oh, this? It’s a hat Spottie. That’s a little obvious isn’t it?” Elmer giggled out. Spot thought he was going to faint right there on the concrete.

“Obviously I know it’s a hat Elmer. Just, why are you wearing it? It’s not your normal style is it?” Spot tried to compose himself, attempting to keep the breaks in his voice to a minimum.

“I was out shopping with Katherine the other day, and I tried it on as a joke, but she told me I looked hot. So I bought it and thought I’d wear it out. Do you think I look hot Spottie?” Elmer stuck out his lips into the most sexy pout Spot had ever seen.

Spot melted and whispered under his breath, “Hell yeah.” Elmer looked stunned for a second. Spot’s eyes widened as he realized Elmer had heard him. “I-um. I mean, sure. Whatever.”

Elmer took in Spot’s shifting figure, the nervousness in his voice, and his inability to look him in the eye. Then, Elmer took a step closer to Spot. Their faces were nearly touching, and their breaths were mixing in the small space in front of them. Spot frantically looked anywhere but at Elmer.

“You think I’m hot Spottie?” Elmer asked him, his voice low and barely above a whisper.

“I-I.” Spot struggled to get out while still avoiding eye contact. When their eyes finally met, Spot felt himself give in. “Yeah. I have for a really long time.” He sighed out.

Elmer suddenly smiled the brightest smile Spot had ever seen, and then their lips met. Spot was stunned at first. He went stiff as Elmer placed one hand on Spot’s shoulder, and the other on his cheek. Then, after a few seconds, Spot understood what was happening. Elmer was kissing him. Holy Shit!

He instantly responded, his lips moving against Elmer’s, his hands wrapping around his waist. When Elmer bit down on his lip, Spot groaned and he took that opportunity to sneak his tongue into Spot’s mouth. Spot’s arm wrapped even tighter around Elmer’s waist, pulling them as close together as possible. His other hand traveled up his back, then to his neck, then accidentally knocked the hat off. The hand rushed into Elmer’s hair and pulled gently. It was Elmer’s turn to moan then. Spot felt his stomach do a flip at the sound. They broke apart and Spot continued his kisses down Elmers jaw, nipping and soothing as he went along.

Elmer laughed as Spot continued his hungry actions. He placed a hand in Spot’s hair and tugged, but Spot didn’t stop his path. Elmer pulled his hair harder so that he would look up at him.

“Do you want to continue this in my dorm?” Elmer asked, still panting from the earlier activity.

Spot felt like he would die if they didn’t. He started shaking his head in agreement, and brought one of his hands to grab onto Elmer’s. “One thing though.” He said before they moved from the spot.

Elmer nodded, prodding him to continue. “Keep the hat on.” Spot blushed after he said it, and dropped his gaze to the floor.

Elmer laughed and threw his head back. “Wow, looks like Katherine was right. Remind me to thank her later.” He bent down to pick up the hat, and started to drag Spot with him down the sidewalk toward his dorm.

“Shut up.” Spot tried to sound tough, but it wasn’t working. His tough guy image was ruined, for Elmer at least.

Let me know if y’all want a part 2. Maybe NSFW? idk. Thanks for reading, like, reblog, comment, and all that stuff <3

#Newsies #newsies live #elmer newsies #elmer kasprzak #spelmer #spot conlon #spot x elmer #2forapenny fic #newsies fic

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crimsonbluemoon · 6 years

Text

BBS Cops Squad 2

So a lot of people seemed to enjoy my AU about the BBS as cops in a precinct together, so I took some time to add some other minor characters to the story. If you didn’t see the first list, come check it out here. If you have seen it, then please enjoy this second part!

Basically: Marcel is a lawyer who works with the BBS precinct on the court side of things. He can play both sides pretty well; he’s intellectual and graduated at the top of his law school, but spends a lot of his free time working in shelters and youth clubs for kids in the city. Has worked with the city (with BBS support) on getting fundamental necessities for lower income parts of the city. Can come in handy if a teen-on-teen violence case comes around. Tends to hang out with Scotty, despite their differing jobs, because he doesn’t want to become a “stuck-up lawyer kind”. Sometimes, his anger can cause him to have a mouth on him. Can handle small pranks, but tends to blow up if constantly picked on (Vanoss is may be the main cause of this). Is one of the smarter members of the group, and enjoys debating with Moo or Ohmwrecker when they have downtime. Actually listens to his clients. Tries not to take hate crime cases, as he doesn’t want to be “type-casted” as a specific type of lawyer. Has been known to embarrass court officials, police officers, and other lawyers when they make racial comments or assumptions, but does it professionally. May later rage to his friends about the incident. Is known to “quit” on cases when overwhelmed, but a phone call from WildCat or Moo normally gets him back on track. Has a good heart, just sometimes wants to punch Nogla someone in the face.

FourZer0Seven: A medic for the team, Scotty also assists in the morgue on occasion. Despite being a medical professional, loves watching trashy medical/crime show dramas. WildCat refers to him as “kid”. Is a ray of sunshine who sometimes gets into trouble when hanging around Mini Ladd too long. Ohm desperately tries to can keep them corralled most of the time. Has a secret corkboard in the nursing area where he keeps “tabs” on the relationships going on in the squad. Mini Ladd and Panda may both know about this. Ship his friends like a teenage girl, and is pretty attuned to their relationship status (fighting, getting along, tension, etc). Is never in the fights between the teammates, and seems to genuinely get upset when they do butt heads. Will make himself the butt of jokes if it helps the fighting stop. Is positive that a zombie apocalypse could happen thanks to Panda claiming a body “walked away from him” once (”Damnit, Anthony, stop scaring the kid.” “But look how pale he is!”). Checks in with Smii7y daily, despite never really getting to see him. Makes Marcel take him on “friend dates” to ridiculous places (mini golf, museums, a submarine) as he’s afraid his friend will lose the idea of fun in his career. Is scared one day he’ll make a medical mistake and kill a cop-friend, though he never shares that anxiety with anyone. Binge watches Anime with Mini and Delirious on their days off.

Moo: Hostage negotiator. Is probably the friendliest man you will ever meet. May actually shit rainbows. The only person that WildCat cannot yell at, no matter the situation. Never wanted to learn how to use a gun, as his philosophy doesn’t promote any forms of violence. This mind frame sometimes put him at odds with Brian, despite the two having a good chemistry. Has only agreed to carry a gun if Brian and Tyler come to “Mindfulness” classes once a week for their anger (Tyler refuses to admit they’re working). Brock is sometimes used as a venting post for the officers, as he has a motherly nature about him. Makes the best brownies, and has been known to bring them in when “things are tense” in the squad room. Has an optimistic view of life, despite watching several people kill themselves/others in front of him. Probably has seen the most killed besides Cartoonz and Terroriser. This has made him value his friendships with the squad, and has learned first aid training from Scotty in case of emergencies. When he’s nervous or lying to friends, he has a tell (laughs very loudly), but neither of these traits comes out when he’s in a hostage negotiation. Has once used himself as a hostage substitute to save a little girl from a bank robbery, Brian later killing the man in his attempt to rescue Brock. This incident is a sore spot for Brian and Brock, neither of them speaking about it despite its obvious impact on them and their relationship.

Terroriser: Works with the BBS as a criminal profiler for high-risk crimes. Works mainly with Brock and WildCat because this type of profiling is less about everyday crime and more of wide-scale situations (high stalk robberies, serial killer, active shooters, etc). Can have a massive bit of a chip on his shoulder, and takes his Irish heritage very seriously. Has an expectation of always getting his target, and takes it hard if someone slips away. At a young age in Ireland, Brian solved a serial killer case that officers couldn’t, which has haunted him throughout his life and made him leave his country to come to the USA (”You’re the serial killer kid! Can I have your autograph?”). Has a love/hate relationship with Nogla and Vanoss, depending on the day, as he sees them like brothers (hence why they also drive him up the wall faster than anyone else in the precinct). His “friendship” with Brock is complex. Despite this, has an unreasonable need to protect him. Will not talk about what happened in the bank. Anyone who mentions it, except Brock, is asking for a tongue lashing. Doesn’t deal with emotions; would rather shoot something. Does seek out physical comfort (hugs, snuggling, etc) from his friends when overtired. Will always get hit on if they go out somewhere, despite being the one with the least amount of sexual experience in the group.

BigJiggly: Working with dead people all the time (he’s a coroner), Anthony doesn’t take life too seriously. Tyler can be seen hanging out in the lab on days when he’s burnt out from work (though he won’t go down there while a body is out). One of the only people that the chief lets his guard down with. Always has a “friend of a friend” who knows information about the crime, but never tells his sources, as he “ain’t no snitch”. Despite this, gets along with everyone in the police department. Has an infectious laugh. He has no desire to be a cop, and respects cops for their work ethic and not their uniform. He recognizes there are bad cops in the world. This has caused some controversy with other precincts, but the BBS squad always has Anthony’s back. Is the one who would get pissed at someone getting his order wrong in a drive-thru, but could have a calm conversation with a man pointing a gun at him. Is blunt, and doesn’t get grossed out by most things. He and Scotty most definitely have might try to catch cheeseballs in their mouths next to a dead body (WildCat banned Scotty from the morgue for a week after finding out). Despite this, cannot stand animal abuse, and cries at any movie where an animal dies. Lets Vanoss sleep in his office if Evan brings him Doritos. A Halloween fanatic.

Smii7y: Computer hacker for the BBS squad. Is rarely in the actual squad room, as most of his work can be done in his own office. Does send a daily meme to Mini Ladd and Scotty, who both consider him a “meme god”. Might be the only one in the entire unit that knows Cartoonz and Ohm’s past, as he’s in charge of all personnel files, but has never said a word about it. He is known for leaving “Milk viruses” in computers of confirmed child pornography cases, which can track the strand of data back to the original source and corrupt the file. The file can then only be deleted by Smii7y in person, helping to convict those who share it. He worked on this encryption with Delirious, though the cop has asked for his name not to be connected to the project. Businesses like Apple or Google have offered him double his paycheck to come work for them, but Smii7y always refuses. Feels working the BBS squad makes a difference. Despite being extremely smart and sassy while doing his job, he’s not a fighter by nature and is terrified of getting into an actual fight. Keeps almost all of his personal information a secret, as he’s helped take down people with “friends in high places”.

And that’s the second part of the BBS Cop Squad AU. The more I think about it, the more I’m tempted to give this an actual story. So, yeah, hope you enjoyed this!

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nxrcissamxlfoy · 7 years

Text

“okay”

pairing : ron x pansy word count : ~1.7k prompt : "somebody else” the 1975 for : @ivecarvedawoodenheart and the @slytherdornet & @hprarepairnet love song challenge

Ron sits up, pushing the sweat drenched sheet aside and turning his back on her. He grips the edges of the mattress, holding on to it like it’s his nerve. “I have a date,” he confesses, “tomorrow night.”

Pansy’s heart clenches but her mind, her tongue, is quicker. “Congratulations?” she quips. She reaches over to the nightstand and pulls two self lighting cigarettes from their silver case and hands one to him.

He doesn’t want it, not really, it was a habit she’d given him, but he takes it anyway. He watches the odorless smoke curl into the air and wonders what she’s thinking. Is she really as nonplussed as she sounds? He hears her inhale, then blow out the smoke.

“Anyone we know?” she asks, a casual, almost disinterested even, lilt in her voice. He nods and she doesn’t ask who.

“How’d your date go?” Pansy asks, her back pressed against the wall and her legs wrapped around his waist. He pulls back, leaving a cold spot on her neck where his lips had been.

“You really wanna know?” His eyebrows are furrowed and there’s a glint of hope in his eyes.

She swallows but shrugs. “Not really, no.” He frowns, but she only catches a glimpse of it before he shifts her in his arms, pushing her harder into the wall and returning his lips to her body.

Her nails dig into his shoulder, holding him as close as she could as she tried not to think about how cold everything would be when he was gone.

She pushes him onto the bed, a devilish grin spreading across her face as she places a knee on either side of him. His hands instinctively go to her hips but he stops himself before he can pull her down, and instead holds her back. “I think we should stop,” he manages.

“Yeah, sure,” she laughs, and pulls her shirt off.

His heart speeds up as her hands run down his chest and the memory of his date grows hazier a they slip passed the band of his jeans.

Pansy scowls at her phone and throws it on to her sofa. She transfigures her clothes into something tight, something revealing, something fit for going out. She’ll be damned before she sits around moping because some idiot redheaded boy cancels on her.

The boy she brings home is well-dressed, sleek, confident, everything she should have been searching for in the first place, everything she should have wanted. But she just feels cold and lonely, even with the heat of his body on top of her.

The words leave his mouth for the second time and Pansy just blinks at him.

I think we should stop.

He can see the words bouncing around her head even if her faces looks skeptical. “Do you actually like her or something?”

He swallows but doesn’t answer, and the silence between them thickens. She scoffs and starts buttoning her blouse back up. “It’s been, what, like two dates?” she scoffs.

“Six,” he mutters. He sees her back stiffen for just a second before she adjusts her skirt.

“Do you like her more than me?” She’s trying to keep her voice light, unaffected, but he hears the crack in her throat.

He wants to say no, not at all, not even a little. He wants to offer himself up, all of him for all of her; to tell her he’ll stay if she does, tell her that it could be great, that it could be good. But his words stick to his ribs and his throat dries up.

She lets out a hum as she slips her heels back on. “Well,” she muses, strolling over to him, pressing her hands onto his bare chest, “you can try to stop seeing me, but it’s never worked before. I’m sure this isn’t the last time I’ll see your face.” She presses her lips to his and before he can grab her hips, pull her closer, she’s gone.

There’s a flash of red hair to her left when she wakes up, and for a moment she forgets that it’s not Ron. It’s only after that moment that she realizes what she’d done the night before, chatting up and and bringing home a pretty little redhead witch with eyes nearly as blue as his.

The girl stirs, the covers fall a little. Her hair’s a bottled red, or a charm maybe, but it’s way too bright to be genuine. Pansy grabs her cigarette case and slips from the bed, heading for her balcony.

It had been just over a week since she’d seen him, the longest since they’d started their… well, whatever it was. Had been. She stubs out her cigarette and lights up another, and is on her third when she hears her front door open and shut as the girl leaves.

She wipes her eyes.

He sees her over a month later at the Ministry’s fundraising gala, her shining rose gold dress a shining spot in a see of muted and dark colors. He remembers when she’d picked it out and how she’d worn it around her flat that entire day.

“You all right, mate?” Harry asks, his brow wrinkled with concern.

He blinks and his eyes refocus as he nods. “Yeah, just uh, just thinking-”

“About Hermione and Anthony?” Harry offers, sympathy in his voice. Confused, he looks around and sure enough spots Hermione dancing with Anthony. It doesn’t bother him, not in the least. She looks happy, and that’s all he’s ever really wanted. But he frowns, and lets Harry think what he wants.

His eyes cut back to Pansy just in time to see her duck out of the ball room and into the hall. “Yeah,” he mumbles, clearing his throat, “I’ll be back.”

In the hall he catches a flash of her dress entering the ladies’ lavatory and takes a deep breath before following her in. She spots him in the mirror as she’s touching up her lipstick. "If you’re here for a quick shag you’re out of luck,” she says, putting her lipstick back in her handbag.

“Oh, no, I- I don’t know why I’m here, really. I guess I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

She shrugs, a well practiced smile on her lips. “I’m wonderful.”

He nods, suddenly aware of his arms, his hands, how they’re just hanging at his sides. There’s a heavy, awkward silence between them.

“And you?” she finally asks, as if she has no other choice. “How are you and… whatever her name was.”

“We-” he mumbles, shaking his head, “it didn’t work.”

“What a pity,” she says, polite sympathy in her voice. “Well, there’s always next time. But if you’ll excuse me,” she said, reaching for the door.

She opens the door and steps into the hall. He feels it building in his chest and he tries to will it down, to stay there, but he can’t. His body acts of it’s own volition, retching the door open and bursting in to the hall. “It didn’t work out because I’m in love with someone else.”

She freezes in front of him, but doesn’t turn around. He sees her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep breath, and then she’s gone, striding down the hall without another moment of hesitation.

Pansy spends the rest of the night distracted, her eyes constantly searching for him, her brain replaying his words, her heart unable to find a regular beat. But she never finds him, and the words don’t change, and her heart continues to falter with every thought of him.

“Pansy,” Daphne says, a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

She blinks and something wet drips down her cheek. “What?”

“Are you crying?”

She touches her cheek, just under her eye. “I- I’ve got to go.” Daphne starts to protest but Pansy doesn’t stick around to listen to her. She clamors for the first lift she can find and moments later she’s in a phone booth on a muggle street, rain pounding on the glass sides. She steps out and takes a second to get her bearings, and to make sure the street is clear before apparating to the Leaky.

All eyes are on her, the drenched girl in the ball gown marching through the pub, but she doesn’t notice. She heads straight for the alley in the back, tapping the bricks as fast as she can before hitching up her dress and stepping through the arch.

The alley is nearly empty, most people having the sense to get out of the rain, and before long she finds herself in front of a garish red door, cupping her hands around the glass to look in. She pounds her fist on the door a few times but no one answers.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” she mumbles, turning and putting her back on the wall, letting her head fall back with a thud. She runs her hands over her face, rubs her eyes as she tries to think of what to do next. She’s a mess, and she doesn’t like it it, doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Pansy?”

She looks up and there he is, with an umbrella charm and a trash bag in his hand.

“No one answered,” she calls over the rain, eyeing the door.

“Shop’s closed, the door to my flat is around back.” He takes a step toward but she takes a step back, wrapping her around herself, and he stops.

“Is it me?” she asks, her traitorous voice cracking. She swallows, pushes through her fear. “Are you in love with me?”

He looks at her for a moment, as if she’d just told him she didn’t know what color the sky was, and then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. He sets the back down and starts walking towards her. “Of course it is, of course I am.”

She lets him step right up to her, lets him hold the umbrella over both of them. “Okay,” she says, nodding, leaning into him and resting her head on his chest. “Okay.”

His arms wrap around her, holding her tight against his body, and for the first time in two months, she felt warm.

#ron x pansy #pansy x ron #ronsy #ransy #hprarepairnet #slytherdornet #slytherdornetchallenge #hprarepairnetchallenge #mywords #ivecarvedawoodenheart #hprarepair #hp rare pair #rare pair #Ron Weasley #pansy parkinson

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the-girl-without-a-face · 7 years

Text

Best Buddies (And More)

SEBASTIAN STAN X READER

Request by @sebatianstanisbae : PLLEEEAASSEE Sebastian x reader where they r best friend and they r in a new movie together and they always hang out and r flirty on shows and just have fun together and then he realizes he loves her and he goes to tell her and then they start dating and everyone loves them together please I love you so much💘

Summary: You and Sebastian Stan are best friends, you two are the main characters in a new movie. Seb realizes he loves you. What will he do about it?

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, dear! I have a blast writing it :3 I hope you enjoy it. Tell me if you don’t and I’ll write an entirely new one just for you. Lots of love for ya 💘💘

Words: 2102.

Warnings: shameless FLUFF. Poker is mentioned but I’m not sure it counts.

MASTERLIST

It was your first day on set. Nervous didn’t even begin to describe the turmoil in your stomach as you looked at all the people you had never met.

You found the director and walked over to him. He smiled when he saw you. “[Y/]! I’m so glad you’re here!”

You smiled as he embraced you, being the warm and inviting person he usually was. “I’m glad you wanted me to be here.”

He laughed. “You’re perfect for the part, dear. No need to be nervous.”

You knew you were a good actress - great actually -, but the first day on set always brought a sense of fear to you.

“About your co-star,” he began, “I believe you’ve met him before.”

That made you arch your eyebrows. “Really?”

He nodded, smiling and throwing his hands up in self-defense. “At least that’s what he said when I asked!”

You were curious about who that mysterious guy was. You could only hope he was nice, you had a lot of scenes with him.

“And who would that be?”

“He asked not to say. He’ll arrive soon and you’ll figure it out by yourself,” he said and winked, walking away and leaving you be.

Your manager had the same instructions: not to say who your co-star was. All the team had the same instructions and that helped in absolutely nothing with your nervousness. You decided to sit in one of the chairs and read the script, trying to imagine the scenes in your head and what you could do to interpret them the best you could.

“Going crazy yet?”

You raised your head to look at the source of the voice.

“Seb!”

The script fell to the ground as you stood up and jumped to hug your best friend. His arms circled your frame as tight as yours did to his neck.

“Hey, [Y/n],” you could hear the smile in his voice.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, pulling away from him.

“I have to be on set for the shooting, now don’t I?”

That caught you by surprise. “I guess you do. Who are you playing?”

“Honey, I’m the guy you have to be with 90% of the time.”

That definitely made your eyes bulge. “What?” you slapped his shoulder and he laughed when you withdrew your hand with a pained expression. Damn muscles. “Why didn’t you tell me? What kind of friend do you think you are?”

Sebastian laughed again and sat on the chair you previously were.

“I wanted to surprise you and I know I’m your best friend.”

~/~

You had been filming for a month and the team was very caring and funny. They kept saying how you and Sebastian were cute together. Being best friends with Sebastian Stan meant that you had to put up with his dorkiness and the flirty way he joked around you constantly. As you acted the same, the team started suspecting.

Some of them, after a couple of weeks, had even asked if you were dating, claiming that you didn’t have to hide when you were in set. You thanked that you were in the dress room without Sebastian, so he couldn’t see you blushing from head to toe.

The director walked up to you and Sebastian after shooting a scene. You quit your laugh (from Sebastian’s joke) when you saw the seriousness in the director’s face.

“Okay, so the thing is… We’ve decided to change the script a bit.”

“What exactly?” Sebastian asked.

“We want romance. But before changing the entire plot, we wanted to check with the two of you,” he motioned for you and Sebastian, “If you had any problem kissing?”

You looked at your best friend as he looked at you, silently asking if you were okay with it. You nodded and then the two of you answered at the same time.

“No problem.”

The director smiled brightly.

“Then you’re free for the day. We have a bunch of writing to do.”

You did leave, but you and Sebastian did it together and decided to watch movies in his hotel bedroom, something you always did when shooting ended earlier. Or later. It was something that happened constantly, that was for sure.

~/~

“Now I can finally prove that you’re not a good kisser,” you said once you met Sebastian on set, your hair and makeup ready. Sebastian had a dark blue suit on which brought out his eyes, ready for the ‘go’ of the director.

“Let’s see if you’ll say that after I kiss your lips like a pro, [Y/L/n],” Sebastian smirked.

“Only in your dreams.”

~/~

Sebastian finished his lines and looked at you. His eyebrows furrowed and his hands on his hips, he was the vision of frustration that his character had to have at that moment. The camera came closer to you, focusing on your face for a moment before turning toward Sebastian again. Sebastian’s right hand came to the side of your neck as the other came to your waist. He leaned down and fit his plump lips to yours, his tongue already darting to caress your lower lip.

Your hands moved to his hair and gripped at short strands, making him moan in your mouth. His hands were warm and roaming your sides, squeezing you in the most delicate of ways.

He pulled back and focused on your eyes, his own orbs a color so unique that had you engrossed. You forgot you were shooting when he kissed you again, even if that wasn’t on the script for him to do that.

The director screamed “Cut!” but it fell on deaf ears. He tried again and it was only on the third that you and Sebastian finally came to your senses and scrambled to get apart.

The entire team came to congratulate you for amazing scene. “So real” they’ say.

When there was only you and Sebastian, you turned to him.

“I expected more.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

You were going to have to, because the truth was that it had been perfect.

Sebastian on the other hand, had a lot of thinking to do. He realized that night that it’s only a friendly love he had towards you. No. He loved you. But he would only tell you in the right moment.

~/~

You two sat lazily on the couch, eating s’mores and watching a new series you had started together when Sebastian asked.

“[Y/n], would you go out with me?”

“Sure. Where?”

It wasn’t new for you or him to ask something like that. You had quite a bit of flirting in the friendship, which lead people to think you were dating.

But this time wasn’t supposed to be a friendly thing.

“I mean like a date.”

You looked at him, curious. “A date? You and me?”

Sebastian nodded, a shy smile on his lips as his gaze focused on you. “Yes.”

You grinned. “Sure. Where?”

~/~

You two went to a restaurant that night. Sebastian wore a black suit, his muscles carefully defined by the tailored material.

He pulled out the chair for you and ordered the drink you chose.

Conversation was the same as always, jokes and laughter being a constant thing, but there was more touching. His warm palm would rest on your lower back whenever you were walking, he would kiss your knuckles very chance he got. When seated, Sebastian started by touching your foot with his lightly. Then, brushing your knee with his own. After you responded by brushing his knee with yours, he decided to let loose. Sebastian would rest his arm on the back of your chair, run his fingers on your shoulder or thighs, and brush his hand on yours.

The food was amazing and desert was your favorite. You made him split the bill with you and he knew better than to argue (too much). By the end of the night, he brought you to your hotel room and kissed you chastely on the lips.

You went to bed with a smile on your lips.

~/~

The next time you went out alone during shootings, Chris and Mackie were there too. They were in town, shooting some extra scenes for other movies where they just appear for a minute or two and invited you and Sebastian for a lunch.

Sebastian drove to the place and opened the door for you, holding your hand and intertwining your fingers with his on the way to the restaurant. You pecked his cheek with a quick kiss.

“They’ll be happy for us,” you told him.

He sighed and smiled at you. “I know.”

Chris and Anthony screamed “Finally!” and “About freaking time!” once they saw your clasped hands. They were truly happy about you and Sebastian.

When they were leaving, you heard Chris and Anthony discussing who would be the Best Man when you got married. They decided that one of them would be the Maid of Honor, just didn’t decide who.

~/~

“Goodnight, everyone!” The presenter greeted, a huge smile on his face as he faced the people sitting in front of him, the couch by his side bare still. The people clapped and shouted fervently. “I can hear you are excited and I believe I know why. It’s because of our guests tonight. But as the folks who are at home don’t know who they are, let’s tell them. Tonight, we have [Y/n] [Y/L/n] and Sebastian Stan!”

You appeared on the stage by the doors Sebastian opened for you. He helped you down the stairs because you were on high heels. You sat nearest to the presenter and Sebastian by your side, you both smiling excitedly.

“Hello, everyone,” you said.

“Hi!” Seb smiled big and unbuttoned his suit, revealing the shirt underneath it.

“So, new movie coming up,” the presenter said, “Tell me about it.”

“It’s called ‘Hands Up’ and it’s a thriller,” you answered.

“It’s about a woman who meets a guy and together they have to find the murderer of the city. A lot of action and fighting sequences, I believe people will enjoy it.”

“Oooh, I do love fighting sequences. Guns and explosions?”

“And knives,” you smirked, remembering your character’s favorite weapon.

The presenter squealed, “I believe you can’t me about that smile on your face?”

You laughed, “Sorry, nope.”

“I’m curious for the movie!” He revealed. “Now, let’s talk about another smile, shall we?”

“What smile?” Seb asked, draping his arm on the back of the couch behind you.

“Those smiles.” It was his time to smirk as a photo of you and Sebastian laughed, walking together on the street. You remembered that day. You and Seb had a free day during the shootings and decided to go out to have lunch. It was cold, regardless of your coat and boots, so Sebastian had his arms around you to keep you warm until you got to the hotel. You ended up ordering food service for dinner and falling asleep on your bed, after playing poker and dancing clumsily to 40s music. Sebastian had promised to teach you, since he played Bucky Barnes and learned to dance, but it was harder than you had expected.

“It was a good day,” Seb commented.

“It sure looks like it,” the presenter nodded then turned to the crowed. “And there’s no filter on this one, guys. They are that photogenic.”

The snow covered the majority of the photo, saved by the sunset lights on the sky and you and Sebastian looking cozy with huge coats, boots and gloves, hands around each other.

It was a great picture.

“Can I have that?” You asked.

“Sure,” the presenter beamed. “Perhaps for a black frame on the coffee table or up the fireplace when you guys get married?”

You blushed deeply.

“It would already have happened but won’t say ‘yes’ when I pop the question.”

Oh that’s how it is, Sebastian?

“It would already have happened, but Sebastian decided to wait a few years to ask me out,” you snickered and the crowd laughed.

“I did take a bit more than expected,” Seb admitted. “But now I have you and I wouldn’t change it for nothing.”

“Now, if Sebastian were to pop the question, how would you like it, [Y/n]?” the presenter asked, resuming the show.

“I’d like it to be a surprise.”

Sebastian looked at you, his lips stretched on a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

~/~

That night, Sebastian whispered “I love you” into your ear before sleeping with his arms around you and your head on his chest.

“I love you too.”

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