#we want a happy ending. that doesn't mean you need to tie up every loose end but it does mean you gotta give the story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deerestapologies · 3 years

Text

5 times you called him by a pet name + one time he called you by a pet name

(Diluc + Zhongli x GN!Reader)

Diluc

1. "Oh, hey hon." You greet mildly.

The candles have begun burning a bit low, the long shadows making his pout even more obvious.

"I apologize, I was held up for longer than anticipated."

He produces a small bouquet from his coat, a cluster of wildflowers, and approaches like he's about to give an offering instead of a gift. He kneels by your chair, face stoic as usual, but you can see the worry and shame in his eyes.

You twirl the stems to absorb their delicate scent, and then carefully drop them in your water glass. You cup his face in your hands, and press a kiss to his brow.

"It's okay." You kiss his brow again, "I am not mad." You kiss his nose. "I am hungry though."

You laugh lightly at his rush to sit across from you. An evening eating cold roast was worth being able to spend it with him.

2. "I understand your frustration, but perhaps we had best move on." You place a hand on his crossed arms.

"Their behavior was unacceptable, especially for those who would call themselves knights."

The stubborn clench of his jaw tells you just how angry he is. The idiots were lucky to have only gotten the verbal bludgeoning earlier instead of the literal one he wanted to dish out.

"Yes, but you've already made them apologize, and they do seem repentant," the fool knights in training nod frantically, "so why not leave this mess for Kaeya, darling?"

He sighs, but loosens his posture to wrap a protective arm around you. The hell the Knights were going to catch for this was still to come, but at least no one lost any limbs. Yet.

3. Tucked into your pile of pillows, book in hand, you waited as you do most nights. Diluc had a late meeting scheduled after dinner, but he promised it was truly to do with the winery and not of the vigilante variety.

So you bide your time, until you hear his heavy boots come up the stairs.

"I'm home." He calls softly.

"Welcome back." You say just as softly.

He goes through the motions of undressing, refreshing himself, and redressing without missing a beat, but his posture seems wilted. You mark your page, and turn over the blanket for him.

"How did it go?"

He heaves a deep sigh, and crawls over to you. Pulling you close, he lays his head on your chest but doesn't say another word.

"Oh, sweetness." You embrace him, one hand holding his face and the other in his hair. "It's okay. I've got you."

4. You lengthen your steps, but the increased pace doesn't seem to deter the boy following you. He isn't dangerous per se, but his persistence is damned annoying.

"But, if you'll just listen," he jogs back up to your side, "I just need your help for a little while!"

"I am neither a Knight nor an Adventurer," you cut him off with a sharp wave of your hand, "And you have nothing I want. Now leave me be."

He sputters, "M-master Diluc said-"

As if he's had his tongue plucked out, he suddenly stops talking.

You turn around only to find Diluc himself, a stifling hand on the kid's shoulder. His face is a stoic mask as always, but his energy is thunderous.

"I agreed to help you out of deference to your mother, but you," You see the boy wince as the hand tightens, "failed to listen to a word I said. Harassing my staff and my partner has only earned you banishment from all of my properties. Now go, before I report you to the Knights as well."

You both stand stock still as the boy sprints from the winery back to Mondstadt proper.

"Your going to report him anyways, right?" You mumble, after he is just a speck on the horizon.

"Of course," He finally relaxes his stance to look at you, "Though I doubt Jean will be happy about it."

Your chuckle, already imagining her face when the letter reaches her desk. Heaving a sigh, just grateful for the problem to have moved on, you grab Diluc's hand.

"Thank you," You pull him into a tight hug, "for protecting me as always, angel."

5. You gently rap on the door frame to his office. He looks up from his work just long enough to give you a soft smile.

"I was wondering," You lean against the frame, avoiding actually entering lest you get sucked in as well, "If my dear husband was going to come to bed tonight?"

The bright lamp on his desk means you see his blush even from across the room. He huffs an embarrassed laugh, but starts shuffling paperwork into orderly piles.

"I hadn't realized the time, my apologies."

You hum, "It is understandable. But I cannot rest if you are not in bed with me."

You watch as he tucks away his tools, pulls his gloves off, and undoes the tie in his hair, all with a much to pleased smirk on his face.

He pulls you into a delicate, lingering kiss with a hand on your neck. The warmth of his skin makes you shiver. You lean into him, letting him wrap you in his arms.

He chuckles, "Well, I would hate to neglect my husbandly duties."

1. The lingering warmth from your bath and the softness of the sheets has you dozing in minutes. You toss a hand onto Diluc's side of the bed, wanting to be present when he comes to bed as well but the ache of a long day is catching up to you.

After several moments you feel a calloused hand grasp your own. You are too tired to properly see, but feel the dip as he climbs into bed.

Still holding your hand in a delicate grip, he presses a kiss to your palm, and then your cheek.

"Sleep, my love, I am here."

Zhongli

1. Zhongli re-enters the house not even ten minutes after leaving. He is patting down his jacket and looking about the entryway in wonder, and you can't help but chuckle.

"Forget something?"

"Yes," he plants his hands on his hips, "I can't seem to find my wallet. I could have sworn I remembered it this time."

You get up from where you were leisurely awaiting his return, and snag the 'disappearing' wallet from where he left it on the table.

"Not quite, old man." You wave it, teasing.

"Ah, of course."

Tucking it into the pocket of his jacket, you tug him closer to plant a kiss on his flushed cheek.

"My apologies, it seems I was a bit distracted this morning."

He tucks a piece of hair away from your face, gaze so blatantly loving you can't help but crash your lips against his. Damn whatever appointment he may have, he shouldn't be so handsome in your direction.

2. It is not every day you wake up before him, so you try to make the most of it. You prepare his clothes for the day, just so you can pick out your favorite of his shirts. You start a light breakfast, and brew an energizing blend of tea for both of your sake.

You spend some time simply waiting at the table, content to sip your tea and watch the morning birds.

When the soft shuffle of feet brings Zhongli into the kitchen, you stand up. He is mostly dressed, minus his tie and shoes, jacket loose around his shoulders.

You steer him to the table, and press a kiss to his cheek when seated.

He hums contentedly, still a bit sleepy, "Good morning."

You pour him a cup of tea as well, and his smile grows a bit wider. He tilts his head up, "Thank you."

You meet him half way, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth, "Of course dearest. Do you have anything pressing today?"

A hand comes to rest on your hip, preventing you from moving back to your seat.

"No, nothing more important than this."

3. Squished between the mattress and the press of his body, you couldn't imagine being more content. The warmth, the scent, the feel of his breath ghosting across your skin.

You run a reverent hand through his hair, spread loose over his back. It seems impossible for you to be this happy, like you would only read about in unrealistic fantasies.

Amber eyes are already watching you, when you open yours. His gaze is soft, unbearably so, so you look at the ceiling.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He answers it so easily, as if it is among the many universal truths that exist in his head.

"You must understand," You wet your nervous mouth, "I mean it. Truly, I love you."

You feel his head tilt in confusion, but power on, emotions spilling.

"You are my starlight. My life would be unimaginably dark without you. I am scared constantly by the sway you have over me, but I cannot stand the idea of living without you. I want be here with you, forever, no matter the cost."

You squeeze your eyes shut against the flood of tears that threaten to spill, waiting for his polite retreat. His body lifts off yours and you pull a shuddering breath in, unused to laying yourself bare in this way. He could end you now, destroy you by just walking away.

But you feel tremoring hands grasp your face, almost too tightly. He doesn't say a word, can't, but presses his forehead to yours.

4. "Zhongli?" You call into the empty hum of the parlor, hoping it will carry to his office. It's not far, but he gets absorbed in his work easily.

You lean out the door a bit, and try to project your voice more, "Hey, honey?"

The door to his office clicks open, and his head pokes out. "Do you need assistance?"

"Yes, please," you adjust the pile of books in your arms, "Would you mind grabbing this other pile? A client requested reference material from just about every era, and I don't think I have the wing span to carry all of it."

He presses a quick kiss to your head, and scoops up the remaining books with no problem.

"Of course, would you like me to relieve you of those as well?"

"Not a chance, show off, you're gonna have to deal with the doors."

As if to prove your point, he balances the stack in one hand to hold the front door open for you, smile only slightly smug.

5. Given how busy your lives were, and his propensity for letting time fly, you figured he would forget again. It would not be the first anniversary he forgot, and you imagine it wouldn't be the last.

It's not like you could hold it against him, especially not when he was so earnest and loving all year round.

So your surprise was genuine when he led you, dressed in his best, to a private booth at Liuli Pavilion.

The food was made by the head chef, as a show of gratitude for Zhongli's long patronage (you send a quiet thank you to Childe), and the service superb. The evening is relatively quiet, you converse as normal but with the additional soppiness that comes from acknowledging romance.

You are especially glad for the privacy when you cannot help but practically ravish the man over the table, his face being too handsome to bear just looking at.

Shortly after, he looks at you with burning eyes, and finally says, "I am quite full. Perhaps we should head home."

"That sounds perfect."

You continue to stare, sappy and sated, as he blindly pats at his pockets, equally unwilling to look away.

After several moments, it dawns on you, and then immediately on him.

You can't help it. You laugh. Hysterically, because no matter what Zhongli is Zhongli.

He's standing now, flustered like you've never seen, pacing the room as if his wallet would be anywhere but the table at home.

"This was not my intent." He huffs, "I had planned the evening meticulously."

"And it was lovely," You choke back another laugh, "But, sugar, you are not living this down for the rest of our lives!"

You are laughing as you pull out your own wallet, giggling uncontrollably as you hand over all the money on your person, and can barely walk you're so light headed when he leads you out the door.

He doesn't once let you go, from the pavilion's steps to your front door. Indulgent to the end, your man.

1. It is always a pleasant surprise when your errands overlap. Working nearly in conjunction makes it happen quite often, but still, it makes your day brighter.

You have just finishing bartering your lunch into existence when you spot Zhongli headed your way. Quickly, you slip the chef a few more mora to add another dish.

He is at your side in an instant, bringing your hand to his lips in that coquettish way he has.

"There you are," he lowers your hand but does not drop it, "I've been looking for you, treasure."

You twine your fingers together, relishing the warmth. You snug up to his side, taking the liberty of placing his hand on your hip just to see him blush.

"Have you now?"

"Always."

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin diluc #genshin zhongli #(the chef after zhongli +1: excuse me this is a wendys)#an informal apology

220 notes · View notes

honeysidesarchived · 3 years

Text

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude ii ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.4k

warnings: none really! just an impending, pervasive sense of doom.

rating: m/t

notes: so happy to have finally gotten this little interlude edited and pieced together! just more soft moments because they deserve it considering what's going to be coming up. thank you everyone who has been reading/interacting with this little love project of mine; it took a minute to get myself dug out of the trenches and posting bite-sized chapters because this is a short-fic is definitely doing something to me (lmao) but we're here!

as always you can find translations on ao3, where it's easier to store them in a place that doesn't get in the way.

There is very little time between when Santino cooks her dinner and when he moves her into his apartment. It happens without much acknowledgment from her; she finds herself swallowed up in moments of casual intimacy that break her down to nothing except a girl in love.

Santino wakes her up by kissing her neck and pulling her against his chest; she makes him dinner barefoot in the kitchen, all of the recipes that her mother taught her, and he drags his hand along her hip to reach over her into the cupboard; he stands still and obedient while Euphemia slides his tie into place, and when he zips her dress for her, he peppers her shoulder with kisses. He tolerates taking a walk through the park, even in the chilliness of late Fall or Winter, because Euphie can’t stand to not get some fresh air once a day. When one of her friends asks why he lets her bully him into the cold weather, he wraps his arms around Euphie with a sly smile and says, “How could I not, when I am the one who gets to warm her up after?”

He is an exceptionally tactile man. There is always a reason for him to touch her, trace each line of her, put his lips against her skin. Santi isn’t a man who loves; he covets. And Euphemia shouldn’t like it as much as she does, but she does. Her therapist says that it isn’t uncommon for a girl who grows up without touching to crave it, desperately, like an addiction.

So, she finds herself living in his loft to feed that addiction—which becomes their loft—and teaching him words in French, and feeding him olives while sauce simmers (and does not boil), and kissing the red-wine taste from his lips. It’s all very romantic and greatly overshadows the moments where Santino comes home raging mad, or when his bad mood takes over their conversation and stirs a fight between them. They’re both hot-headed—her more so than he—and he knows all of the ways to diffuse her while she knows none about him.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end; because Santino always kisses her, and always says, Mi dispiace, cara mi, ti amo, ti amo, ti amo, lip-locking between each break in words until her lungs ache.

Euphie has never wanted to be loved sensibly, anyway.

Making money stops becoming an issue. Santino might have been fine letting her wrap up her loose ends, so to speak, encourages her, even—“You should never leave business undone, my Euphie,”—but he’d never tolerate her continuing to skim out of the pockets of his associates. Not out of respect for them, of course, but because Santino is more than happy to provide.

“I have to do something,” Euphie insists, often. But Santino clicks his tongue and shakes his head, inspiring indignation in her. “That money goes to my mother, Santi.”

“Princesa, what are you worrying for?” He replies every time. In this instance, he is reading over some documents, his voice casual, simple, effective at bringing her to heel. “If your mama needs money, she’ll get it. Tutto quello che vuoi è tuo.”

Euphemia used to think that he was doing it to be generous, but as time goes on, she knows that isn’t the case. If Santino didn’t think he was benefitting from sending her mother money every month, he wouldn’t do it: but he does. Euphemia stops playing at arm candy for other powerful men; he endears himself to her by taking care of her mother; he endears himself to her mother; he’s afforded a sense of control. There is no facet of it where he isn’t getting something out of it. And she thinks, too, that maybe Santino likes it like this, where she is completely reliant on him for everything.

She doesn’t mind so much.

She would, if Santino didn’t drench her in his longing, if he didn’t make her feel, every day, that he is desperate to treasure her. She has always heard about this kind of love—and it is love—and never thought she would have it for herself.

But she does now, and she doesn’t want to let it go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Tea or coffee, mama?”

Santino is busying himself in the kitchen. They’ve been together for a little over a year now, and they’re on a tour of Italy—not for fun, necessarily, but for integration. They have just spent the last week with Santino’s father and sister, and now they will spend the next two days in the Tuscan countryside with her mother.

Two days for her mother, instead of the week that they gave Santino’s father and sister, in part because his father deserves more time and in part because Euphemia doesn’t think she can tolerate her mother in much more than two-day increments.

“Coffee, please,” her mother says, very charmed by Santino.

“Tea,” Euphemia interjects. She looks at her mother—her face is tired, and older than she really is. Euphie knows that this is a side effect of heavy, abusive drinking and years spent in emotional terror, not the passage of time. Still, she finds it hard to drum up anything except distant pity in her heart. “You don’t need the caffeine.”

“Oh, you always ruin my fun.”

Santino re-enters the room with a small cup—it’s an espresso cup, but he’s poured it with regular coffee.

“A compromise,” Santi explains, handing the cup to her mother, smiling handsomely. “To make both of my girls happy.”

Her mother preens, glows under the affection. “You are so sweet, Santi. A perfect son-in-law.”

He has always called her and her mother his girls. His own mother had passed since before Euphemia; and while he knows that Euphie’s relationship with her mother is strained at best, he does what he can to ease it. Because it makes her happy, he says, and if she’s happy, he’s happy.

“Not yet a son-in-law,” Euphie corrects, and Santino flashes her a quick, amused little smile.

“You see how cruel she is to me, madonna? I have asked her to marry me, you know.”

“Santi,” Euphemia sighs, but it has had its desired effect; her mother looks scandalized, mortified at her daughter’s resistance to marrying a man as good and handsome and charming as Santino.

“Effie, tell me that you haven’t been bullying Santino like this?”

“Mama, there is no reason—he is just teasing. Ascoltami, you don’t need to look so horrified.”

“I do not know where I went wrong with you, Euphemia Sancia.” Her mother clicks her tongue, muttering something under her breath and taking a drink of the coffee Santi made her, and Euphemia can’t bring herself to say that not everything she has done wrong in her life is a slight against her mother’s parenting skills.

Santino smiles and leans across to Euphie, bringing her hand up to kiss it.

“Don’t worry,” he says to her mother, his voice blooming with practiced warmth. “I will ask her as many times as it takes for her to say yes.”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest. She knows that he means it; he’s suggested it to her three times, now. It seems to be the only thing he doesn’t mind asking more than once.

“She’s always been fussy, my Euphemia,” her mother says, breaking the magic of Santino’s eyes on her. “Never happy with what she has, just like her father. Except for you, Santi—you are the only thing she holds onto.”

Exasperation and disgust flood over her. Both the mention of the man considered to be her father and any similarities they might share has her mood souring. “Mama—”

But Santino is sweeping in, like he always does when he can tell Euphie is getting tired of her mother, coming to a stand and asking her, “We should get started on dinner, cara mia, don’t you think?”

Just like that, he’s taken control of the conversation again. He sees her flailing and steadies her. Euphemia is certain that he doesn’t love her mother—that he doesn’t even like her—but that he can spend his time tolerating her with charm and grace despite knowing what her mother allowed to go on under their roof is indicative of the man that Santino is.

“Yes,” she replies, standing as well. “You look tired, mama. Take a rest while Santi and I make dinner.”

She wanders into the kitchen with Santino trailing after her. As soon as they’re alone, he winds his arms around her waist and kisses the juncture between her shoulder and neck.

“Is it true?” he asks coyly. “That you don’t hold on to anything except for me?”

She doesn’t want to tell him very much, because he knows already, and because to say it out loud will give it legs. A year together, and she still doesn’t want her feelings for him to have legs. Santino splays his fingers against her sternum and kisses her jaw.

“You know that it is,” she says at last, her voice a little unsteady. She can feel Santi smiling against her skin.

“Euphie,” he purrs, “marry me.”

Yes, she wants to say, as her eyes flutter shut. Yes, I’ll marry you, Santi. Anything that you ask. I’ll do anything for you, if you would just keep saying my name like that.

She wants to say it but the words won't come out. There is nothing quite like the feeling of Santino peeling back each individual layer of her defenses, piece by piece; so close, she knows, he is so close, but not quite. Not yet. She is most comfortable keeping him at arm’s length as much as possible—to kiss and to fuck and to let someone hold you at night is one thing. To let someone in past the barbed-wire of defenses is yet another, impossibly reckless. To be seen feeling anything deranges you, as the poets like to say.

“Sancia, hm?” he continues instead, when she can’t bring herself to answer, as the words stick in her throat. It’s one of those things where Santino seems to exercise a surprising amount of patience, this whole ordeal of to marry or not to marry; later, Euphemia will come to understand that it is because Santino believes their life together to be inevitable, that she will always say yes to him, one way or another.

For now, she turns in his arms, cocking a brow at him. He continues, “It means sacred.”

Euphemia nods sagely and props herself up on the counter. “Buon ascolto, my love. I suppose that means you should work very hard to worship me well.”

Santino laughs. He leans in, trapping her against the counter—though it isn’t much of a trap if she’s a willing participant—and noses the slope of her jaw.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I suppose that it does.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the last leg of their tour of families, Santino insists that they spend a few days in Rome by themselves.

The days are used mostly for doing a lot of nothing; neither of them are particularly interested in sight-seeing, but rather interested in seeing each other, a thing which they don’t seem to tire of particularly quickly. Instead, they shop, or lay in bed together until the afternoon, or go out to eat when street lights kick on and the city takes on a life of its own.

“You are much happier, Euphie,” Santino says one evening, smoothing out his napkin on the table absently, “when you are not around your mother.”

It’s not a question, per se, though she knows that he expects an answer. But she is still young and a little petulant, and she likes to push his buttons and make him say exactly what it is he means, so she takes a sip of her wine and replies, “Yes.”

He arches a brow at her. He looks particularly handsome like this, she thinks—not around his family, just eating dinner in a streetside restaurant in Rome, illuminated in warm candlelight and the glow of the streetlights outside.

“Are you going to tell me why?” he asks, amusedly.

“If you ask.” Euphemia sets her wine glass down on the table, and when Santino reaches for her hand, she lets him take it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But it is so boring, Santi, to talk about my mother. Why don’t you ask me about something else?”

The brunette’s mouth is curving in a little smile. “Like…?”

“Like…” Euphie gestures with her free hand, like she has to really think about it. “Euphie, how did I get so lucky to have a woman like you? That is a good place to start. Or, what will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel? Or, Euphie, will I ever be so fortunate as to call you my wife?”

Santino laughs, leaning into their conversation, bringing her fingers up to kiss them. He has long lashes; soft, and dark, and they brush the tops of his cheekbones when his eyes close. Santino glances from her fingers up to her, that boyish grin on his face.

“I already know the answers to the first and last question,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal, but he’s grinning wickedly at her when he says it. She scoffs.

“Dimme poi,” Euphie insists. “I am dying to know, Santi.”

His expression is very sage, very wise, and he nods his head. “Il destino,” he says, winding their fingers together, “e tra un anno.”

There is something very heart-stopping about the way Santino articulates il destino, as though it is fact, as though there is something undeniable about their coming together.

“How do you know?” she asks. “In a year?”

“Because if you do not want to marry me by then,” Santino replies matter-of-factly, “then I am certainly not suited for marriage at all.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a drink of her wine and savoring the way his eyes trail over her, admiring, drinking her in.

“Well?” he prompts. She looks at him expectantly, and he reiterates, his gaze set on her, “What will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel, belladonna?”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest when he looks at her like that; like she is the only person in the entire universe, like she has become the sun that snags him in her planetary pull, like he will never, ever grow tired of looking at her. It sweeps the breath out of her.

“Anything, mio amato,” she murmurs. “Anything you want, if you promise to never stop looking at me like that.”

#john wick fic #santino d'antonio/original female character #santino d'antonio #c: euphemia volpe #f: where there is no temptation there is no glory #spilled ink #john wick oc #i'm fine we're fine this is all fine nobody panic #gonna #q #this so that i can pretend i don't see it djhfbjdf #x: senza tentazioni senza onore

54 notes · View notes

curioskitty · 3 years

Text

THE・Rarest Bakugou

Given Bakugou-kun's description as a "juvenile delinquent" (Horikoshi sensei uses the term 不良少年, or furyou shounen, meaning juvenile delinquent boy), it's expected that he wouldn't conform to standard. So obviously, it's not possible to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie properly................

What is up with this perfectly tied nonsense right here?!

Bakugou-kun, I thought I knew you!!! THE LIES! THE BETRAYAL!!!

But, it's probably just a fluke. You didn't mean it, right Horikoshi-sensei?

WTF?! WHY?!!! Horikoshi-sensei?!

Yep. Contrary to expectations, Bakugou-kun wearing a tie correctly only ranks at Ultra Rare status: difficult to find, but not impossible.

So, what's rarer than a tie-wearing Bakugou-kun? Go Beyond, Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In fact, it's even harder to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie improperly. Given proto-Bakugou's loose tie design, I would have expected that to be the likelier delinquent-esque tie option. But I've only seen Horikoshi-sensei draw him like this once:

(Horikoshi-sensei's one year celebration illustration. This is still fairly early in the publication.)

On top of that, Bakugou-kun consistently wears his uniform tie-less and with at least one button undone on his shirt collar. His pants are always slung low on his hips and legs bunching up at his feet (except when he had to wear jeans for Best Jeanist). You can even see panels where Horikoshi-sensei drew in the rips at the hems near the heel where they drag on the ground.

So why the inconsistency, Horikoshi-sensei? I see you over there, stop pretending you didn't notice. I know you're paying attention.

Horikoshi-sensei gave proto-Bakugou a loosened tie, so what is the reasoning for taking Bakugou-kun's tie away?

Some No-Tie Theories

Fan Theory #1: HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW

//Like Midoriya-kun, Bakugou-kun came from a middle school with gakuran uniforms. They never learned how to tie them. Midoriya-kun messes up his tie, while Bakugou-kun doesn't even bother to try.//

I actually think this is the least likely reason. Bakugou-kun was designed to be a naturally talented genius. I think this applies to anything he wants to do. If he does something, it's always perfectly done.

Bakugou-kun can (and does if you look above) tie it perfectly when necessary.

CONCLUSION: If Bakugou-kun doesn't do something, it's completely out of personal preference or because he doesn't see a reason to.

Fan Theory #2: REBELLIOUS NATURE

//Bakugou-kun is a delinquent and maintains that image because he thinks it looks cool. Or maybe he is rebelling against fashion designer parents. Either way, because of his family background he knows how to tie a tie, but wants to be a rebel.//

I'd give partial points for this one. I'm pretty sure he wears his pants loose at least partially because he thinks it looks cool. However, Bakugou-kun's parents were noted to be designers and not specifically fashion designers.

Despite appearances, this is the kid that sleeps at 8:30pm, doesn't break school rules, and yells at his friends for smoking.

He zips up the collar on his gym track suit all the way. Both the summer and winter versions get the same treatment. He doesn't feel the need to "make a statement" by wearing his track uniform incorrectly. Outside of class, he can and does sometimes wear his track jacket unzipped, but during class he always wears it properly.

So then why does Bakugou-kun refuse to wear the band T-shirt and Christmas party Santa outfit? Because he isn't cooperative. In Ultra Analysis, his Cooperativeness Stat was the lowest rank: E.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun may be non-conformist and uncooperative, but he isn't a rebel.

Fan Theory #3: TRAUMA/PTSD

//This is one of the more popular theories. Between Dabi grabbing his neck, the Sludge Villain and being restrained at the School Festival, our boy has been through the wringer. As a result, he just doesn't like stuff around his neck because it gives him anxiety.//

The Western Fandom is definitely concerned about the mental health of the kids. But I don't actually think this is the reason. Not that I don't think they all need some therapy and self care, especially right now, but there just isn't evidence for this specific trauma in Bakugou-kun.

He wears scarves and even turtle necks without a problem.

On top of that, Bakugou-kun ALSO unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and gakuran in middle school; even from before the Sludge Villain incident. There isn't any evidence Bakugou-kun changed his dressing habits due to trauma. He wore a scarf to the entrance exam for UA, too.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun has ALWAYS worn his shirts with the top button unbuttoned.

These 3 theories are inadequate, too. Even if they did explain the reasons Bakugou-kun doesn't wear a uniform tie, they don't factor in the reasoning for why he DOES wear his other ties properly sometimes.

HC#1: Bakugou-kun's preference

Bakugou-kun doesn't seem to care about his image and how "extras" see him. Even during the press interviews after his hero debut, he wore the same style of open collar look. He's not shy about being nude or taking his shirt off.

But what he hates is being uncomfortable.

He is "explosively brawny". Just look at how thick Bakugou-kun's neck is when compared to Midoriya-kun's. It isn't just that Midoriya-kun is supposed to be scrawny, but also that Bakugou-kun has a thicker than average neck.

Bakugou-kun doesn't like to button up his shirts all the way because it's uncomfortable. It's reasonable that he zips his track suit and everything else up because those are looser at the neck or made of stretchier materials.

As for why he doesn't wear the uniform tie at all... Don't forget Bakugou-kun is a perfectionist and a bit of a neat freak.

He always tucks his shirt in. For the band performance he wore a collared black dress shirt. From what we saw of his room, it's minimalist and clean. I don't see him wanting to look like a slob.

A sloppy loose tie would probably irritate him more than just not wearing it (which is even funnier when you think about Midoriya-kun's chonk tie. It probably makes him want to strangle Midoriya-kun, or maybe just tie it himself...)

Bakugou-kun has difficulties compromising when it comes to his high standards. So if he has to wear it, it's going to be either 0% or 100%.

HC#2: Explosiveness

Why draw Bakugou-kun with either 0% tie or 100% tie? If Horikoshi-sensei is going for a delinquent image, wouldn't the 50% tie option make more sense?

Taking a look again at Bakugou-kun's profile page, Horikoshi-sensei describes him to be explosive in every way. That includes his whole body being "explosively brawny", but also adds a note that he looks slender in clothes.

Horikoshi-sensei put an effort to make every element of Bakugou-kun's character in some state of either fully compressed or explosive.

His slimming clothes, general appearance and even his speech patterns are highly compressed (blunt/terse) and loud. The extremes of his attitude are compressed too; if Bakugou-kun is not loudly raging, then he's quietly observing.

This contrast is key to his character. You can't explode if you aren't compressed first. It's supposed to be shocking to see how brawny he actually is under his slenderizing clothes. And I always feel shocked whenever I see this kid compressed into a tie.

HC#3: Deku & Kacchan

These two are set apart from the class by design and very much on purpose. Horikoshi-sensei designed them to be at opposite ends of the same spectrum.

If Bakugou-kun has muscular arms, then Midoriya-kun needs muscular legs. If Midoriya-kun buttons up his shirt all the way to the collar, then Bakugou-kun's collar has to be loose. Their designs reflect their connection.

So if Midoriya-kun has a poorly tied tie, the opposite of that is either non-existant or perfectly tied. If it's perfectly tied, he'd just blend in with the class.

The no-tie option just makes more sense.

Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou

Horikoshi-sensei only ever draws Bakugou-kun with a tie in specific scenarios. Costume events that require the neck tie as part of the costume or "fancy" events where everyone is in formal wear. And even in those, Bakugou-kun manages to not wear his tie 90% of the time.

So, I just imagine that when Horikoshi-sensei makes Bakugou-kun wear his tie, he's super grumpy! Just look at his face in every illustration he's wearing a tie in. He's probably hot, uncomfortable, and really not enjoying himself at all.

Ultimately, the "Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou" is a Bakugou-kun who wears the tie and SMILES while doing it.

(Yes, I know that's NOT actually a tie. Shut up Bakugou-kun. You're only smirking in this one because you won the Popularity Poll for the 5th time in a row...)

(Well that's random, you say? Welcome to my blog. Considering the stuff going down on canon, I figured I should give fans, and myself, a break from angst to talk about something silly.

Please note that this applies only to the manga. I've found that the anime isn't quite so strict about how Bakugou-kun looks.

Regarding the headcanons, I just want to clarify that everyone is free to think whatever they like. I enjoy all headcanons and support your right to have them.

I wrote this a while ago and then debated posting it because it's such a huge meta about... Bakugou-kun's tie. I had regrets. But now it's become my new years post. Regrets were for 2020, it's already 2021!

Demons out, fortune in!!! I know it's not setsubun for another month, but 2020 was such a demon.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!)

#why did i write this #does this even qualify as meta #bnha headcanons #bakugou katsuki #bnha randomness #bnha spoilers #bkdk #bakudeku #decchan #if you squint #bnha meta #boku no hero manga #Bakugou Katsuki's tie

245 notes · View notes

bitchfitch · 3 years

Text

Copper artfight resource

big soft boy. if a cup of spicy hot chocolate was a massive apex predator/ obligate carnivore.

mikely stabbed him the first time they met and he fell in love Instantly.

an excerpt:

Death crept through the lavish halls of a rich man's home. Old cracked paint flaked beside sun faded tapestries and over well worn wood floors. The raged leather soles of of his boots softly thumping along with the creaking of old wood that accompanied his every step. He found the room easily, following the sound of a fading cough and short not quite gasping breaths that failed to draw enough air.

He ducked through the door and the dying man greeted him with age hazed eyes and a broad grin.

"Copper!" his exclamation carried joy even if his lungs couldn't support more than a creaking whisper, "Bastard, it's so good to see you again," he stopped to catch his breath, his eyes closing as he did so,

"And you as well," Copper returned the smile as he sat in the chair beside the bed, "But to be honest I'm a touch surprised, both that you can see anything through those cataracts, and that you would… Appreciate my presence,"

The rich man chuckled, "Not many people have hair that color, even fewer are as tall as you. I may not be able to see much, but I can still see that,"

"I suppose you're right," Copper huffs with a hand going to his dark red mess of a mane "Still, you must remember the terms of our deal and what my presence means for you now?"

"I do," he nods, "I'm going to die tonight, going to see Min again,"

"Min?"

"My wife," he smiles as he speaks of her even as his words become more labored, "That quill you gave me, I wrote a letter to the girl I had fallen in love with when we were young. I didn't know she couldn't read, so she had to get someone else to read it to her, but when she'd heard what I wrote she came all the way into the valley to slap me and call me an idiot," he laughs, "Told me we should've eloped when we were both still fresh, before she'd found another man to call her own,

I'd not even thought that she'd have gone on like that. It made sense, she could have, and did, do so much better than me. But luck of lucks saw that husband of hers dead not long after. I felt bad for being so happy, but I couldn't stop smiling when she and I married,

That quill- You, gave me the happiest life I could have imagined. I'm glad to pay my end of the deal now, because it means I get to see her again,"

"It's a rare treat to find someone with no regrets, thank you for your story," Copper smiles softly, genuine and warm,

"Oh, I've got regrets," the rich man say "Many, but I don't care to dwell on them, not now… or… Well, one, there's one,"

"Hmm?"

"Min and I, we had a fight right before… She was so mad at me last time I saw her. Do you think she still is?"

"I don't know, but you will have plenty of time to make it up to her soon,"

"Yeah, yeah that's true… It's close now is it?"

"Moments if I had to guess," Copper shrugs, "The clot in your lung is migrating and will soon block off blood flow to the area completely. After that happens you won't be able to get enough air and will… fall asleep, then you will suffocate over a few minutes. It won't be the most pleasant of deaths, but it won't hurt badly," he simplified things greatly, not caring for the slight inaccuracies so long as they helped keep the rich man calm and peaceful in these final moments.

"Any final requests?" Copper cocks his head,

"I think… yeah, I think I want to be alone for this. Thank you,"

"Of course. Rest well then, and may your sleep bring great growth" Copper stood from his seat, the blessing leaving him without thought as the rich man closed his eyes a smile still tugging on his old, withered face.

The door to the rich man's room shut with a light thud as Copper drifted down the halls, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He rarely visited the dying, usually he only came to the deceased caught between their death's and their afterlives to guide them across, and this was why. He knew where the clot was, it would only take a moment and a little bit of concentration to break it up enough that the rich man's body would be able to handle it on it's own. Sure, doing so would probably only buy him a few more bed bound days, a week maybe, but healers can rarely be trusted to leave the sick and dying to the whims of nature and he was no different.

He wandered through the empty halls decorated with treasures that, do to a single deal made half a century ago, would soon be his, and found his way into a shrine room. Shelves upon shelves of precious jewls and metals, fine fabrics and sculptures filled the room. Though the alter beneath the stained glass window held only sea glass and shells that glittered from around a poorly made tapestry that depicted a stormy ocean.

The threads were too loose in some places too tight in others and there were places where it was clear the weaver ran out of one color and had attempted to dye more only for it to come out just wrong enough to be noticed. It was clearly made by inexperienced hands and now stood displayed still in it's loom in the place of honor on this shrine. Pride in its existence radiated from it and that made it stunning despite it's flaws.

Distantly, he felt the rich man die, quietly and peacefully.

One of Copper's aspects would guide him across and later while Copper slept he'd dream of the conversation that aspect and the rich man would have, and he would dream of the conversations his other, near innumerable, aspects would have, and have had, and have been having with every other human who has crossed into his domain since he last slept. Then he would wake, and forget almost everything said during those conversations as they meld together into a messy but beautiful tapestry. All the threads visible and traceable in their places but ultimately he saw it not for the individuals, but the grander thing they made together.

He picked at the stones and shells scattered on one of the shelves, his dulled claws scraping against the rough surface. He should probably go find someone to deal with the body…

The soft creaking protest of a floor board that no longer fit in it's place being tread on called from behind him. Copper turned, curious to who or what would be intruding on this moment, but he was left slack jawed with a greeting trapped behind his lips as he saw the man.

Surrounded by gold and silver and precious gems that glittered in the low moonlight that flowed through the windows, this man outshone them all. He was tall for a human, coming up to just below Copper's collar bones, with broad, strong looking shoulders. His sharp features highlighted by the silver light caressing his warm tan skin and haloed by that same light echoing through the broken strands of bleach blonde hair that fell from his neat bun to frame his narrow face.

Light agitation turned to wonder and awesrrucked silence as Copper struggled for a second to find words, but once again those words died when he met the man's eyes, they were probably a deep brown but the low light turned them onyx. His gaze was sturdy, not cold or calculating, not bored. Determined but practiced.

The strange, beutiful, human man wore the expression of a butcher or a slaughterer, he did not draw perverse pleasure or joy from what came next. He was so obviously merely doing a job as he moved faster than Copper's confusion addled mind could react to that that alone struck more fear into Copper's core than if the man were hissing and snapping with rage.

The ice hot cut of an iron blade dug past the flesh between his ribs and into his chest even as he recoiled. On pure instinct he growled an awful rumbling sound that made the butcher- the hunter, flinch as Copper managed to stumble away, nearly falling to one knee as his own lung struggled to inflate. He could feel his magic burning along the wound as it tried, and failed to pull it closed. His hand going to his bloodied side in a vain attempt of staunching the flow.

The hunter advanced, cautious and silent, his blade, slicked with Copper's own viscous black blood, raised as he followed the retreating god.

Copper hissed as his back collided with a shelf, cornered he pulled his attentions together just enough to attempt to teleport away, only to feel his magic jolt painfully within him as it failed completely.

The hunter advanced, already readying another swing.

In that moment Copper forced himself to focus on the warm summer night air, on the flickering candles and the heat of the hunter's body, most seals could be overpowered, he just needs to rush it hard enough.

Heat leaves the room, the hunter stumbles with a pained gasp as the heat leaves him too. Copper doesn't see if the hunter falls because the seal gives as he uses all of that stolen energy to burst against it.

He drops to his knees on the cold stone floor of the cave he calls home. His blood singing through magic seared veins, his hands shaking as he braces one against the floor below him as his world swims, both from blood loss and the disorientation that always came with pushing his power that hard,

He struggles with his wound, gasping with effort as his magic finally starts working again. The wound tieing itself closed beneath his palm, a thick black scar forming as he comes down from the mountain top high of fearing for his life for the very first time since before the advent of this universe.

Copper slumps against the water-carved wall of his home, his head falling back against it with a deep buzz running beneath his skin, and he Laughs, deep and hearty and Alive in a way he has not felt in centuries.

---

A day passed, and Copper's wound still ached every time he bent wrong, sending a pang through his chest as his heart picked up at the memory that accompanied it. Truly, he could only go a few moments without thinking of the death dealing adonis that had, very litteraly, struck him to his very heart. He needed to find the man again, to see if a second meeting would make his blood race the way the first had.

Perhaps he would even find out why he'd been attacked, but if Copper was being honest with himself, he didn't care to know. The Hunter was a mystery, and like many mysteries, he was one that could be enjoyed as is, and did not need unraveling quite yet. Still, Copper couldn't wait around for fate to bless him with a second chance meeting. He needed to find The Hunter on his own, and that meant doing a little investigating.

The moment Copper had had time to rest he laid in his bed and let his consciousness drift to the aspect that could interact with the grand tapestry. The Hunter had not hesitated for even a moment, had not flinched at spilling blood, and so there was no denying that he was experienced. That, perhaps, killing was something that either came easy to him or that he was very well practiced in the art of it.

The hunter was young, maybe mid twenties to early thirties, which narrowed his search, and the location narrowed it further. That valley was a hard month long trek through ice capped mountains from the next nearest settlement. The Hunter probably lived and prowled within its confines.

Copper focused on the last ten years worth of threads from that area that ended in white knots, the tragic, violent deaths. This would be where he found what he would need.

Going by date he gently tugged the ends through the weave so that he could examine them closer. He was careful to not pull anything more than an hours worth at a time, dreading upsetting the careful balance of the fabric and the places of the souls that he examined within it. It took a few tries, a few years worth of deaths until he found the first one that he could catch a glimpse of The Hunter from.

And oh how Copper dreaded what he saw. Five years before he'd met the man, an older boy, maybe sixteen with sharp, fearful and wild, onyx eyes and short, jagged ink black hair cried with blood stained hands, one still holding a blade, the same one Copper would become familiar with, it was still slick with the red of human blood as the boy stumbled back against the wall as the man he'd just killed gasped his last breath.

Copper found the conversation he'd had with that spirit, a man who'd heard screaming from within a home. He'd gone to help only to be found by the Chief's boy before he could find the source of the screams. Copper had reassured him, had praised him for his bravery, had not paid enough attention. He'd guided the kind man to his afterlife while the chief's boy who would become The Hunter silently wept beside the man's body, struggling against the tears as someone called out for him.

Tucking the tread back into place with one hand and pulling another free with the other. He grimaced when he realized it was merely a visitor's thread. Someone from Copper's own home universe who'd come into this one for one reason or another only to find their end here.

The visitor's soul had not been theirs to keep stored away amongst those of their creations and so had already been returned home. Where it would have dissipated into the background energy to eventually become the fuel for something new. No life was stored in this thread, it was merely a place holder.

Copper found more threads like that in his search, nearly twenty pale threads all from the last few years lined side by side. Tragic human deaths surrounding them but none of those human deaths involved The Hunter. That was odd, very few places in his tapestry looked so strange and knotted, and most patches that did were of wars and disasters not… whatever this was.

If he had been tangible in that moment he would've been nipping at his claws as he tried to piece together what something so strange could mean. But no answers came to him.

He found the next, and most recent, human victim of The Hunter, a man now, still too young, but undeniably a man by Copper's math, cold and stoney eyed, tangled bleached hair and a badly bruised and swelling jaw. Copper would have been surprised if The Hunter didn't have a few cracked or missing teeth from the injury, the mandible itself might be broken, a serious wound that needs setting and cleaning imeaditly. Copper's mind supplied him with the diagnosis without him meaning to think of it, so focused was he on that wrecked face and the lack of answers it presented that his mind tried to give him what few answers it could, even if those answers were worthless.

The woman The Hunter had killed had sat silent and glaring at The Hunter who silently watched her die, his blade dripping with her blood. She'd not spoken a word to Copper. Fuming as she stormed through the gate without any guidance from him.

He wished he had insisted on actually speaking to her, on finding the answers. The iron eyed Hunter was a far cry from that sobbing boy, and yet they shared a thread.

More visitors, more tragedy, and no more answers came from the grand tapestry.

He needed to return to that valley, surely if tragedy struck this often they'd welcome a healer? Even if they didn't, the Oracle made her home at the very center, and while Copper tried to avoid his sister's emissaries, The Oracle would be able to tell him what he needed if all else failed. Besides, her daughter was such a cute little thing, it would be a joy to hold a chubby baby again. Would the daughter still be a baby? maybe she was toddling about already, having her first little prophecies as she explored the world she would be entrusted to protect.

Oh Copper couldn't wait to visit.

3 notes · View notes

superhusbands-superfan · 5 years

Note

What if Steve is planning to propose to Tony but the night they go out they see pepper and Steve doesn't propose and to throw Tony off he starts to talk againts marriage which pisses Tony off, pepper tells Tony she wants to marry him, Tony and Steve have a fight and Tony goes to pepper for comfort but turns her down eventually and when Steve arrives at pepper's Tony's gone home and when Steve gets home Tony proposes( as the rest of the gang have finally told him about Steve's plans) / next ask

/ so Tony gets down on one knee and says: I never thought I would be so lucky ... You know , the whole, monica chandler proposal scene :))

I blame this entirely on @avengersnewb who has CLEARLY determined that Friends-related Stony prompts are apparently a weakness of mine ;). Sorry for the delay in response to your ask, but I hope this little fic makes up for it. I really hope you enjoy!

The Proposal that Wasn’t (and the one that was)

“It’s really great, Steve,” Natasha said, smiling down at the ring and then glancing at Steve. “Tony’s going to love it.”

“Really? You think so?”

Nat stood on her tiptoes to kiss Steve’s cheek and then squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

“I know so,” Nat said with a sharp, definitive nod. “When are you going to ask him?”

“I’m thinking tonight at the benefit I’ll convince him to sneak off with me for a minute alone. The event’s at the same place where we had our first kiss, so I know there’s a private balcony Tony can get us access to. And it shouldn’t be too hard to get him to agree for nostalgia’s sake.” Steve smiled at the memory and then grimaced a little when he realized he was definitely wearing his dopey, lovestruck smile. “Is that horribly cheesy?”

Nat shrugged with one shoulder. “Maybe a tiny bit,” she admitted, smirking. “For me? Absolutely. For Tony? It’s exactly the kind of cheesy romance Tony not-so-subtly lives for. It’s why you’re so perfect together.”

Steve smiled. “You think he’ll say yes?”

“I’d bet my life on it.”

Coming from Natasha, that was all but a guarantee.

Read it on Ao3.

They were on the dance floor when Steve finally worked up the courage to suggest they slip off to somewhere more private. Steve was sure Tony would take the suggestion to be sexual in nature, but he could work with that. And hey, if there ended up being a post-proposal sexual encounter, well… it wasn’t like Steve was going to have a problem with that.

Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time they… repurposed, for lack of a better word, these dragged-out black-tie events for something more exciting.

That said, it was also almost eleven fifteen. That was a perfectly respectable time to call it a night if they wanted to head home.

“Is it horrible that I’ve completely forgotten what this event is for?” Tony asked, his voice pitched low and his mouth near Steve’s ear as they continued to dance in small circles to the rhythm of the classical music being played.

Steve laughed a little and shook his head. “No, that’s what you have me for. We’ve made a sizable donation to the charity in the spotlight this evening. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

“My hero,” Tony said, meeting Steve’s gaze with a soft, flirty smile and love in his eyes.

This was the right moment, the right night. Steve could feel it.

Steve cut their dance short and grabbed Tony’s hand in his to pull him away from the dance floor and toward a quiet corner. “What would you say if I suggested — ”

“Tony?” a voice called from somewhere over Tony’s shoulder.

Seconds later, the one and only Pepper Potts emerged, smiling and looking as flawless as ever in a brilliant green dress that complemented but didn’t clash with her red hair, which fell down her back tonight in loose curls. The dress had lace on top and across the off-the-shoulder cap sleeves, but the skirt was simple silk and fell elegantly to where it almost brushed the floor.

Tony turned to greet her with a bit of tension in his shoulders, but no hint of annoyance or genuine discomfort. At least, not anything that Steve could detect — and after more than a year of dating, Steve considered himself fairly adept at reading Tony.

“Pepper?” It was almost more statement and greeting than question, but not quite.

“I thought that was you two,” she said, smiling at Steve as she moved to hug Tony hello. Tony reciprocated easily and then stepped away.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked after Pepper had also given Steve a quick hug.

It was a fair enough question, Steve thought. They generally divided and conquered at these sorts of things. Pepper would attend some in her capacity as CEO and Tony and Steve would attend others as the still-incredibly-public faces of Stark Industries and the Avengers. Usually, they divided the events by location. Pepper was living in L.A. so she took the west half of the country, and Tony and Steve covered the East coast. International events were a toss-up and were typically decided based on availability and proximity to wherever the Avengers last averted world-ending disasters.

In short, it was rare that the three of them ended up at an event together.

It wasn’t that they avoided each other, really — the three of them got along just fine — but the media tended to make Steve and Pepper’s every interaction out to be part of a jilted lover saga and none of them needed or wanted that sort of press. When they spent time together, it was generally in the safety of their respective homes.

“To keep a long story short, the host of the evening is a close friend from college. She specifically asked me to show up tonight and I had a last-minute cancellation that made it possible for me to fly out.”

“And here you are,” Tony said easily. “Looking stunning, as always.”

Steve wasn’t going to be jealous about that, he decided resolutely. Tony had told countless people how great they looked tonight; it was practically protocol at these events, like chatting about the weather and complaining about uncomfortable footwear.

Besides, Steve's evening had started with Tony describing in detail the things he wanted to do to Steve when he saw him in his tux.

“Thank you, Tony,” Pepper said, a faint pink blush on her cheeks. “You’re sweet. And you both look great as well.”

It was kind of her to say, but her eyes were on Tony the entire time. Steve couldn’t exactly blame her — it’s where his eyes had been all night, too — but he wasn’t necessarily thrilled about what a look like that might mean. He was probably reading into it far too much.

“Thanks, Pep,” Tony said. “How’ve you been lately? I’ve received surprisingly few phone calls berating me for missing one thing or another, I was starting to worry.”

Steve caught just the slightest hint of an embarrassed flush across Pepper’s cheeks.

“Yes, well you’ve been surprisingly mindful of your commitments and almost startlingly punctual recently, so there hasn’t been much of a need for my nagging,” Pepper said, voice full of good-natured humor. “I suppose that’s your doing, Steve?”

“Me?” Steve asked, incredulous. “I doubt it. I certainly can’t get him to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

“I guess your responsibility is just rubbing off on me, then,” Tony teased, grinning up at Steve.

Steve smiled back at him, but he glanced at Pepper in time to catch a look of hurt flash across her features. It was gone before Tony would notice, Steve noted, but it had definitely been there.

Now Steve was getting a little worried.

He knew plenty about Tony and Pepper’s failed relationship and enduring friendship. He appreciated Pepper’s place in Tony’s life even if he didn’t always understand it, exactly. They’d split on amicable, if awkward terms.

According to Tony, he’d ‘always been more interested in talking about future plans’ than Pepper had been, and he’d always been certain that he wanted to keep the option of having a family on the table. Tony had also emphasized that his being Iron Man had been a major part of why their relationship broke down.

Tony had been heartbroken and hurt, but he’d healed. He and Pepper were still friends and colleagues. Tony had found Steve. He’d fallen in love with Steve just as much as Steve had fallen in love with Tony. Things were good between them.

They were good, Steve knew that. He did. He and Tony had talked about what they wanted in their lives many times. Lately, they talked about their future as a definite, shared entity. It was why Steve wanted to propose.

So why the hell couldn’t he shut down the voice in the back of his head whispering that maybe, just maybe, he’d become an easily-forgotten ex if Pepper happened to have decided that she wanted the same things as Tony?

It was ridiculous. Steve knew Tony would never do that.

“How fortunate,” Pepper said, drawing Steve out of his spiraling thoughts with her easy teasing. “Have you two enjoyed the evening?”

Steve nodded agreeably, but for the most part, he let Tony field the question. He distantly heard Tony praising the food and decor, but his focus had drifted to the ring tucked into his jacket pocket that now seemed unnecessary.

The moment had slipped away. It was more than a little disappointing, but it couldn't be helped. Steve wasn’t about to cut the evening short now that Tony had a chance to catch up with Pepper, especially considering the wide, genuine smile he was wearing.

Steve could be a good sport about it. Pepper had no idea she’d interrupted an almost-moment, after all, and Tony didn’t have a clue that this night was meant to be anything more than another dull black-tie affair.

“Steve?” Tony sounded worried. Steve snapped to attention, eyes on Tony’s face even as he relaxed and forced a smile. “You okay?”

“Yes, sorry I got a little lost in my head,” Steve said, happy he was at least telling the truth on that front. “I’m a little warm, actually. I might step out and get some air, if you’ll both excuse me.” Also true, and not a half-bad excuse; Steve was always hot and regularly ducked out of stuffy places full of people for a breath of fresh air.

Tony knew that, but he still narrowed his eyes at Steve skeptically, clearly not buying it. Before he could say anything though, Pepper cut in.

“I bet we could squeeze in a quick dance before the band packs up for the night,” she suggested with a friendly smile. “If you wanted, Tony?”

“Oh uh, sure,” Tony nodded, still looking at Steve for signs of distress.

“Great idea,” Steve said, firmly ignoring that a part of him he didn’t want to examine too closely that thought that was absolutely the opposite of what might reasonably be considered a great idea.

He managed a quick smile and then made a break for the nearest balcony. When he made it outside, he pulled out his phone and navigated to the secret group chat he’d requested JARVIS keep carefully hidden whenever Tony was in the room.

He had 27 unread messages from their friends, a pointless engagement ring in his pocket, and what felt like a massive headache forming.

SGR: Proposal’s on hold for now. Will explain later.

His phone rang approximately thirty seconds later.

“Hey,” Steve said, finally letting his disappointment and general frustration seep into his voice.

“Hey man,” Sam said, sounding sympathetic already without even know what happened. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing bad, really. Honest. We just ran into Pepper and — ”

“Tony’s ex, Pepper?”

“How many Peppers do you know?”

Sam snorted a little. “Good point. Why’s that getting in the way of your proposal though?”

Steve shrugged even though he knew Sam couldn’t see him. “I can’t explain it really, but there was a moment — the moment — but then we were interrupted and now…” Steve glanced behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows and spotted them on the dance floor, easily picking out Pepper’s green evening gown. “Well, now he’s dancing with Pepper.”

“What?!”

“No, nothing like what you’re thinking. It’s just friendly. But it’s…” Steve didn’t really know what else to say.

“Yeah,” Sam said after a minute. He was using that unfairly sympathetic tone he used sometimes that always managed to convince anyone who heard it that he fully understood whatever you were going through, no matter how bizarrely specific of a situation it happened to be. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

Steve sighed. “A little bit, but I’ll survive. Just didn’t want to keep you all waiting on big news that wasn’t coming.”

“What a shame, we’ll have to hide all the champagne for a little while longer.”

Steve’s mouth twitched up in a smile.

“Hopefully not much longer, though,” Sam said. It was a nudge if Steve had ever heard one.

“Definitely not.”

“Okay, good. We’ll see you tomorrow then. We’re all going to bed now.”

Steve laughed. Eleven thirty at night and half the team was going to bed, Steve was mourning his failed proposal, and Tony was dancing with his ex-girlfriend. “We’re getting too old for this shit.”

“Honestly,” Sam said. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night, Sam.”

Steve should have known things wouldn’t quite be that simple. They made it back to the Tower without trouble, Tony regaling Steve the whole time with a story Pepper had told him — Steve was trying hard not to be bitter about that because it wasn’t Pepper’s fault, damn it — about a recent SI investor who’d turned out to be horribly sexist, and whom Pepper had swiftly and humorously dealt with.

Unfortunately, when the doors of the elevator opened to the communal Avengers floor, Clint was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his crossbow entirely deconstructed in front of him.

It was close to two in the morning — Pepper and Tony had talked for a while — and based on all available intel, Steve realized a few things at once.

One, Clint only ever took apart his bow when he wanted to deep-clean and polish it and he only ever wanted to do that after he’d spent hours using it on a mission or at the Tower range. Two, Clint never used or checked his phone when he was shooting — the whole point of range practice was to get out of his own head and his phone had the exact opposite effect. Steve understood that, but just today, he also resented it. Because it meant Steve was about ninety percent sure Clint hadn’t heard the news that he’d called off his Propose to Tony mission.

The way Clint perked up as they shuffled out of the elevator only served to prove Steve’s theory.

“Hey lovebirds,” Clint said, looking at Tony. “What did you think of the — ?”

“The benefit was great,” Steve said quickly, his voice too loud and rushed to be considered casual.

“Right,” Clint said, his forehead creased in confusion as he stared at Steve. “But you were going to ask Tony to — ”

“I was,” Steve said, cutting Clint off sharply in a tone of voice he typically reserved for missions. “But I haven’t gotten to it quite yet.”

“Uh,” Tony looked from Clint — who suddenly found his scattered bow parts utterly fascinating and all-consuming of his attention — to Steve. “What’s going on?”

Steve squeezed the bridge of his nose and prayed for a miracle.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Steve said, trying to infuse his voice with the natural softness that typically came to him whenever he addressed Tony. It was more difficult than it should be, but then he had been dealt a few more disappointments today than usual. “Just a little miscommunication, that’s all.”

“Sure… but about what?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, especially this late,” Steve said, placing his hand at the small of Tony’s back and trying to guide him gently toward their room. “I’ll explain in the morning.”

This was a problem for future-Steve, he decided. The headache he’d felt coming on earlier had arrived in full-force and Steve was just… well, sad. Sleep sounded good.

Tony went with him to their room, calling “Night, Clint!” over his shoulder for the both of them, but he was watching Steve wearily the whole time. It continued even as they silently got ready for bed and when they crawled under the covers together, curled into one another, same as always.

Steve knew he was being unreasonably unfair to Tony, who had absolutely no idea what had caused Steve’s sudden 180-degree mood swing, but he also couldn’t fully reign in his emotions.

“I love you,” Tony said. He sounded so… tentative. Like he wasn’t sure how his words would be received and that was just entirely unacceptable, no matter how Steve felt about the direction the evening had gone.

“I love you too, Tony,” Steve said, trying to infuse as much certainty and love into the words as he could. He pulled Tony close so his spine was pressed tight to Steve’s chest. Tony relaxed almost immediately and Steve cursed himself for being stupid enough to allow Tony to doubt anything about their relationship, even for a second. “Very, very much.”

Tony sighed pleasantly and mumbled, “G’night, Steve.”

“Night, Tony,” Steve whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

In the morning, Steve’s head was clearer, but Tony’s questions were also more pointed.

“So…” he said, broaching the subject before they’d even gotten out of bed. “Do you want to tell me what Clint was talking about last night?”

“Hm?” Steve asked, pretending to be absorbed in something on his phone that he actually couldn't care less about.

“He said you were going to ask me something,” Tony said, his voice a little bit sharper now in an effort to command Steve’s full attention. It worked. Steve put his phone on the nightstand. “And you uh. Well, you freaked a little. So?”

Yeah, Steve should have spent less time sleeping and more time working out his cover story for that nightmare of an interaction. Hindsight.

“I told you, it’s really nothing — ”

“Steve.”

“Alright, fine,” Steve sighed. He scrambled for a minute, remembered Natasha’s advice that the best lies were always grounded in a little bit of the truth, and decided to run with his first instinct no matter how stupid it may be. “I’d been planning to talk to you last night. To um, well, I guess I just wanted to ask you… how do you feel about marriage?”

Tony’s eyes widened and there were too many emotions in them for Steve to attempt to decode first thing in the morning, even if it was already ten.

“How I feel about marriage as in…?” Tony made a vague gesture between the two of them.

“No, no, nothing that serious,” Steve shook his head quickly, hoping that he was doing a good impression of someone who definitely hadn’t dreamed about calling Tony his fiancée on numerous and increasingly sappy occasions. “Marriage as an institution. The concept of it.”

Tony’s expression slipped from cautiously surprised and maybe pleased to suspicious in an instant.

“And you talked to Clint about this conversation you wanted to have?”

Yeah, that was a glaring flaw in his plan. He confided in each of his teammates in different ways, but no one ever really consulted Clint for relationship advice. Steve snorted.

“It came up in a way that would be very difficult to try to explain, but yes,” Steve said. He was aiming for it to sound like an awkward admission, and he thought he was at least close. “Against my better judgment,” he added for good measure.

“Right…” Tony sighed. “Well. I feel like I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here, if I’m honest. Lobbing a question at me about the institution of marriage without any idea how you feel about it all?”

It was a probing question if Steve had ever heard one, but he decided not to answer.

“But all right, fine,” Tony said finally. “I guess… I’m generally in favor of marriage? I mean, what’s not to like, right?”

“Well, high divorce rate, all the business with joint finances…” Steve trailed off, already out of potential drawbacks.

Tony’s face fell a little, shifting from confused by the direction of the conversation to disappointed and Steve hated himself just a little bit more.

“Oh, so. You’re… not a proponent of marriage, then?”

“I’m not necessarily opposed,” Steve hedged. “I just read this article about how same-sex couples getting married could be playing into our largely heteronormative culture in society — the idea that being married is what makes a family, for example — and I got to thinking.”

It was all true. He’d read the article in question and thought about it. It was interesting, no doubt. Food for thought and something to keep in mind. But even after he’d finished the piece, he’d still overwhelmingly wanted to be Tony’s husband and have Tony be his as well. It was probably old-fashioned and meant they’d be conforming, but he wanted it nonetheless.

“Fair enough,” Tony said with a small shrug. “It’s not for everyone, I guess. It’s an excuse to get all your friends and family together, though. Celebrate the importance of your relationship.”

“True.”

“Is it… Is it something you’ve ever thought about for us?”

“Sure.” Steve shrugged as nonchalantly as he was able. “In the abstract, maybe.” No stretch of the imagination could make that true. There was nothing abstract about mentally drafting wedding vows. “You?”

“About the same,” Tony mumbled, staring down at the sheets he was twisting in his hands. God this was miserable. What the fuck was he doing?

Mercifully, Tony’s phone rang. He answered, seeming as grateful for the interruption as Steve was. It was a short conversation, but when it ended Tony was headed straight for the shower, apologizing for having to cut their conversation short.

Steve rolled over and smashed his head into the pillow to silence his frustrated groan.

Tony wasn't sure he’d ever been more grateful to be called into the office for a weekend manufacturing emergency. Anything to bail out of that conversation which, in all honesty, had been breaking his heart a little.

He’d just… he’d really thought they were on the same page. Tony did want to get married, and whatever he told Steve, he'd absolutely thought about it in more than abstract terms.

He tried to put it out of his mind and fend off phone call after phone call from one of their overseas plants.

When the storm had mostly passed, Tony busied himself by fiddling with the specs for a new prototype he was toying with the idea for. If he was honest with himself, he was stalling.

“Oh, you’re still here,” Pepper said, peeking into the office Tony rarely ever used. She sounded a little breathless. “I expected you’d have gone home already.”

Tony looked at her and could pick out the signs of tiredness and frustration, same as always. She’d been dealing with the crisis this morning in her own ways, too.

“Not yet, no,” he said. He knew she’d sense that something was off and Pepper didn’t disappoint.

“Is something wrong?”

Tony shrugged.

“What’s going on?”

“Just a weird conversation with Steve this morning. It’s throwing me off, I guess.”

Pepper nodded thoughtfully. “Did you ever figure out why he was acting strange last night?”

“He said it was nothing. Had a headache, I guess. But…”

“But you’re worried?”

“I was under the impression we were on the same page. But it’s starting to look like I was mistaken.”

“On what front?” Pepper asked, before seeming to remember herself. “If you want to talk about it, that is.”

“Marriage. And who knows what else, honestly.”

Pepper frowned, her expression soft and understanding. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“You should know where he’s coming from,” Tony said, trying for teasing but mostly sounding tired and sad. “You weren’t exactly gunning for the chance to marry me.”

Pepper didn’t say anything for a long pause. She looked conflicted, like she wasn’t sure whether to say anything in response to that.

“I think about that a lot, you know. About how I never really wanted to talk about our future together or make things more serious. It was a mistake, Tony. And if you give Steve the chance, I’m sure he’ll realize the same thing.”

Tony blinked at Pepper in confusion. He sort of felt like he was missing something. “What?”

“Anyone would be lucky to call you their husband, Tony. I wish I’d realized that sooner. And if Steve really can’t see that, well. Maybe he isn’t the person you’re meant to marry.”

Yeah, okay so Tony couldn’t have asked her to make that plainer. But he also wasn’t really sure what to say when his ex — a woman he’d been head-over-heels in love with for years and had, at one point, wanted to marry — told him that she’d been wrong about him. Said that anyone would be lucky to call him their husband.

It felt good, sure, but it felt just as wrong if not more so because he didn’t want Pepper to be the one saying it. Not anymore.

“Maybe,” Tony said, though the word tasted bitter and all just plain false. “I don’t know. But thanks, Pep. For talking with me, and uh.” He shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure how to phrase any of the rest of it, but he thought Pepper would understand.

She smiled her soft, genuine smile and nodded a little. She stood up and was almost out the door when she turned back and said, “I hope you two work it out. I like Steve. You guys are great together.”

Tony sighed as she pulled the door to his office closed and decided it was probably about time he went home.

Steve wasn’t there when he arrived, and Tony supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. No matter how long they were together, every time they fought their first instinct was to avoid each other. Tony didn’t even really consider this a fight, but he’d avoided Steve so it only made sense that Steve was also avoiding him.

What he hadn’t expected was Clint being in the shared Avengers kitchen. He was in almost the same position as last night, except he was sitting at the counter with his bow spread out in pieces across the countertop instead of on the ground.

Tony was surprised to find that he was frustrated with Clint because of last night, no matter how unfair that was.

“Hey Tony,” Clint said, still focused on putting together a portion of the bow. Looking closer, Tony realized this wasn’t the same bow from last night. It was a different, older model.

“Hey,” Tony said, grimacing at the sharp tone he couldn’t manage to keep out of his voice. “Have you seen Rhodey? Or Natasha?”

Tony had enough of a handle on his emotions these days to know when it was important to turn to his friends for help.

“Uh, no. Not lately.” Clint looked at Tony now that he’d caught onto his mood, and his expression shifted from one of intense focus to concern. “Why? What’s the matter?”

Tony opened the fridge and pulled out a container of raspberries. Might as well stress-eat snacks if he had to have this conversation.

“Steve and I finally talked about what you were asking about last night, and we… well let’s just say we don’t exactly have the same mindset.”

Clint’s eyes went wide and his hands stilled. “You don’t — not the same mindset? What?”

“Yeah, I know. Shocking. Tony Stark playboy-bachelor-extraordinaire turned guy-who-just-wants-to-settle-down. I just can’t figure out how I’ve been reading things wrong this whole time.”

“Reading things wrong how, exactly?” Clint was choosing his words carefully, his tone reserved and measured as he stared at Tony through narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know, I just thought marriage was something we were both excited about. Not, you know, like right now. But at some point. I didn’t realize how ambivalent Steve was toward the idea.”

Clint stared at him in complete silence.

“Have you lost your mind?” Natasha said, entering the room and the conversation simultaneously. “I could not possibly have heard you say that.”

Tony turned to her. “Right? See, this is what I mean. Didn’t Steve seem like the marrying type to you?”

Nat shot a look at Clint who raised his hands in a way that clearly said ‘don’t look at me, I had nothing to do with this.’ She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, he’s absolutely the marrying type. God, you’re both idiots.” She sighed loudly, her eyes falling closed as she allowed herself a moment to decide what to say next. “What has Steve done now?” she demanded, finally.

So Tony explained. He talked about the sense of wrongness last night at the benefit, the way Steve had cut Clint off in the kitchen and gotten all twitchy — at which point Natasha glared at Clint and said, “I thought you said this wasn’t your doing” — and his disheartening conversation with Steve that morning. He even mentioned his chat with Pepper, against his better judgment.

By the end, Nat was rubbing her temples like she needed assistance from a higher power to fend off the mother of all headaches. Clint was just sitting there looking vaguely uncomfortable, and Tony couldn’t really blame him. Clint looked at Nat for help, but she only shook her head and then waved him out of the kitchen. He fled, leaving the deconstructed bow behind.

Nat looked at Tony again. Her expression was a unique mix of frustration, concern, and fondness. Tony didn’t know what to make of that.

“Nearly everything you’ve just said is the result of a frankly incredible culmination of several misunderstandings,” she said after a contemplative pause. “Except for what Pepper told you. Anyone would be lucky to call you their husband; she was entirely right about that. And Steve would probably die a little inside if he knew that Pepper was the person to tell you that first instead of him. So, please, let me clarify a few things…”

“Welcome home, Captain Dumbass,” Natasha said by way of greeting when Steve got off the tower elevator a couple of hours later.

Steve winced. “I take it you’ve talked to Tony?”

“You could say that. How exactly did you manage to fuck this up so spectacularly?”

“I’ve been asking myself that all day. I’m an idiot. And I really need to talk to him. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s holed up in the workshop, I think. I mean, he knows you, Steve. He’s pretty positive you want to get married someday, so he’s just thinking you don’t want to marry him.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, basically. I tried to explain, but he didn’t really want to hear it from me. Would you please go talk to him?”

“Yes. Yeah, of course. I’m going.”

Steve took off for the stairs, taking them two at a time when he reached them. In his hurry to get down to Tony, he completely missed Natasha’s small, mischievous smirk.

Tony was wearing a welding mask and holding a blowtorch when Steve got to him. He was working on something Steve couldn’t see.

That wasn’t the most confusing part of the scene in front of him. Oddly enough, in the main clearing of the workshop, Tony had clearly called the bots into action.

Dum-E was holding a bottle of champagne by its neck and had a print-off image of a bouquet of flowers taped to his metal arm.

U was on camera duty as usual, but Tony didn’t seem to be testing a new type of suit so Steve really didn’t understand the need for a camera. Especially considering JARVIS could just film everything anyway, and usually Tony only asked U to film so the other bot wouldn’t feel left out of the Important Stuff.

“Tony?” Steve called over the quiet roar of the blowtorch.

Tony jumped up, turned off the blowtorch, and pulled his mask off. He turned to Steve with a wide smile.

“Hey!” His smile faltered a little and he looked frustrated for a second. “JARVIS, what the hell happened to my warning?”

“I delivered it, sir. Several times. I believe you opted to ignore me.”

Tony rolled his eyes and walked over to Steve and the bots.

“Nat said you were upset…” Steve said, clearly confused beyond belief. Tony was, well, the opposite of upset. He looked happy, excited even. Maybe a touch nervous? But otherwise, fine.

“Nope, not anymore.” Tony was wearing a black wife beater that allowed the blue glow of the arc reactor to shine through just a little, and a pair of work pants he only ever wore when he was in the shop. He patted at his right pocket for a minute until he found whatever he was looking for. Steve didn’t realize it was a ring box until well after Tony said, “Natasha said it was important to you that this was a surprise, so I thought I could manage that,” and got down on one knee.

Steve was speechless. He’d just been hit with a wave of emotion so strong that he didn’t think he could form words if his life depended on it. He’d come down here to explain and beg for Tony’s forgiveness and now. Well.

“Steve, I never thought I would be lucky enough to fall in love with my best friend. I mean — don’t get me wrong, I knew when I met you that I was going to fall for you. But I never could have predicted how much you mean to me.

“You’re more than just the love of my life. More than just my best friend. You’re my partner, in every sense of the word. My other half. I'm not half as good at anything as I am when I'm doing it next to you. And I would really love to marry you, if you’ll have me. So.” Tony opened the box to reveal that he did, in fact, have a ring. “What do you say?”

Steve let out a small, wet-sounding laugh as he nodded aggressively and reached out to pull Tony back to his feet. Tony let himself be manhandled into a forceful kiss that he melted into immediately. “Yes,” Steve said, the words hot against Tony’s mouth, just to be certain there were no more miscommunications.

After a minute or so, Steve pulled back with a wide smile. Tony returned the smile in force.

“So Nat lied, then?” Steve asked, teasing.

“Same way you did,” Tony shot back just as playful.

Steve’s expression turned serious. “I’m sorry about all of that. I was being stupid. I thought that it mattered what I said or where I said it, but that’s not what’s most important.

“The only thing that matters is that you know that you make me happier than I ever dreamed I could be. When I woke up seventy years in the future, I never even let myself hope that I’d find what we have. You gave me a place to call home and a family — people that make it a home — without even really trying. You’re everything to me. And if you’ll let me, I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you make me.”

They both had tears in their eyes all over again. Steve pulled his own ring out of his pocket and held it out for Tony to see. It wasn’t in a box because, well, boxes weren’t exactly easy to hide when you were aiming for the surprise factor.

“I think I can live with that,” Tony said, his voice a little shaky. He took the ring from Steve’s hands and slipped it on his finger. They both smiled when it was a perfect fit, and Tony kissed Steve again.

“I think your ring is on the floor,” Tony said when they parted. “Your fault.”

“Yep, that one’s on me.” Steve was pretty sure he’d knocked the box out of his hands in his desperation to kiss Tony after the proposal. He glanced around them and remembered Dum-E and U. “I guess I don’t have to ask what the bots are doing now, do I?”

“Nope,” Tony said, delighted. “They had to be part of the big surprise. Dum-E, I’ll take the champagne now.” The robot whirred toward them and relinquished the bottle to Tony, the paper flowers taped to his arm swaying slightly. “The flowers were JARVIS’ idea, by the way.”

“Captain Rogers, I feel obliged to inform you that I suggested Master Stark order a bouquet of flowers from the store. Not make use of the printer he uses so infrequently he forgot it existed.”

Steve laughed. Tony patted Dum-E’s claw affectionately before he popped open the champagne with practiced ease.

“It’s perfect.” Steve noticed Dum-E preening under the praise. “And thanks, U, for dutifully recording it all for us.”

The other bot made an excited sound, and Tony smiled fondly as he handed Steve a glass. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Tony.”

“J, you can send the others down if you want.”

JARVIS did, and a minute or two later Steve and Tony were engulfed in a huge group hug to celebrate their newly-engaged status.

- The End -

I do apologize that I deviated a bit from your prompt @avengersnewb (and also from Friends lol!) but I wanted to really flesh out every part I wrote, and I couldn’t quite do everything the way it was done in the show. And I also adore Pepper Potts and can’t ever really imagine her throwing herself at a man in a relationship, so we ended up with what I put here. I hope you still enjoyed it, though! Please let me know what you think

Also: all my lovely followers and readers are more than welcome to send me all your prompts and headcanons you like because I love hearing them, but (regretfully) I can’t promise to write something for every prompt I receive. That said, I also can’t promise not to write something either — clearly ;).

#stony fic #marvel #stony #superhusbands #superhusbands superfan writes #ss replies #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #steve/stony

46 notes · View notes

mama-ghostie-61542 · 2 years

Text

Daily Essay 18March2022

1026 Central Standard Time

Sorry that my essays have gone a little off of the rails for a while...I was wrestling with some heavy stuff.

Like that wall between Haka and I. The only way I can explain it is a frosted bit of shatterproof glass between the two of us. We can both hear the muffled sound of each others words and can see the shadows of each other, but nothing is clear. I have looked for an alternate route, but the only way to do it is through. Trust me, I am pretty close to just tearing the whole thing apart, piece by piece.

The Elders used to keep mists and fog between us, so we could just make out bits and pieces; a hand through the fog, a voice in the distance. It's like they are actively trying to keep us blind to each other. So neither of us knows what the other really looks like. But oddly, they allowed us to be able to communicate. Swear, this is all just to drive us crazy. I mean, every single time we have tried to tell each other where we are, or meet up, it's either garbled or Fate kicks up a fuss and neither of us make it.

And then, there are times that I try to step back and look at my life objectively. I look at everything and wonder who the hell would want this craziness.

But that same heartbeat, I can almost hear him whisper, "I do. You may see crazy, but I see peaceful. It's all perspective, Babe. My schedule, right now, seems like it was made by a psycho with insomnia. Seriously, just today, there are four phone interviews, two live stream interviews, two one-hour long choreo's, a photo shoot, a tv ad to film, and a talk show. I won't have time to eat until after six. So even with the kids running all over, what you see as crazy; I see as so relaxing. I won't have to run all over hell, or hurry quite as much. I can just relax and just be Haka, just be my Mami's Papi. And anyways, real love should make you crazy; if love doesn't make you a little crazy, is it really worth having? Why do you think I hung around yesterday? That place, where you are, holds the peace that I crave," Haka sighs. "Mami. It may seem to you like anyone who would want that is bat-shit crazy. I am happy to inform you...I am that shit-balls insane s-o-b that LOVES it. I cannot WAIT to be home."

"Are you sure about that," I ask. "You know that I have a ton of loose ends to tie up. I promised you a safe place to land and I have to have the free cash to do that. I just don't have it. Money and I have a love/hate relationship; I love it and it hates me."

Haka just snickers. "Baby. Mami," he says, shaking his head, then continues, "I know. I already know. I have told you before, you don't need an empire. You are crushing abundance as it is. Think about it, anything you plant, produces a ton of food. Abundance doesn't always mean money," he laughs. "You are doing it, Sweetness. Even if you never get the shop built, you still have commissions coming in. You really don't see it do you? All those things that the mainstream says you need to have before union; you are already doing, just differently. True, there is one loose end, but I understand it, you NEED what little help you get. And when Papi gets home, that will fall away. You know it, and I know it. He probably knows it, too. Sweetness," he grins, "From where you were when I first found you, to where you are now is a night and day difference. You don't see just how proud of you I really am. It takes every thing I have to NOT crow about how awesome my Mami is."

"Really?"

"Yes!"

The kids have started fussing about lunch when he just laughs.

"Go fix our monsters lunch, Mami. I love you. I am an NOT signing another contract, I will be home soon. I fucking adore you. Kiss me."

I laugh but oblige him.

"Mmhmmm. Talk more later. Love you!"

I cant help the smile. "Love you too."

#the ancestors are at it again #original writing #my writing #daily essay #soul connection #astral travel #spirit projection

1 note · View note

warriorqueen1991 · 6 years

Text

Part: One

Characters: Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Hilarie Burton

Warnings: Drinking, Angst, Fluff and Awkwardness

Notes: There is another part to this coming out today so you guys won't have to wait too long lol

Now of course I don't know exactly what went down between these two but from the small amount of info given this is what I'd like to think happened ;)

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

“So I've got a girl you should meet”

Jeff let out a deep sigh as he shoved another shirt into his suitcase holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder “what the hell does that even mean Jensen?”

He could hear the younger man let out an annoyed huff “n-nothing...I just...well...you just got over that thing with Mary and Daneel’s friend just ditched her husband and I figured…”

Jeff growled slamming his suitcase shut “you figured a good rebound is just what the doctor ordered huh?”

“That's not what I said, I know it was rough man…” he sighed causing Jeff to feel a pang of guilt for snapping at him.

“just come out for drinks with us, talk to her...who knows you two might hit it off”.

Jeff snorted “yeah cuz that's exactly what I need, find out I'm not good enough for one women just to get rejected by another”.

“It's just drinks man, just some alcohol with friends” he chuckled.

Jeff ran his hand down his face with a sigh “fine I'll go, but don't try any of that fucking matchmaker shit..”

“I won't, scouts honor!!”

“You were never in the fucking scouts!”

***

“Whoa slow down pops” Jensen chuckled as Jeff downed his fourth shot of whisky. The man looked like he was about ready to throw up, as he eyed the door. Jensen was nursing a glass of scotch as he eyed the older man with great amusement.

Pulling back his coat sleeve Jeff furrowed his brow “h-have you talked to Daneel?”

Jensen smiled raising his eyebrows over his tumbler with a hum. Setting it down on the bar with a wince “take a breath man, they'll be here”.

Jeff rubbed his hands together before ordering another drink, he probably shouldn't of been drinking so much but he couldn't seem to douse the damn butterflies in his stomach. It never failed, every time he opened his heart to a woman they crushed it before tossing it to the curb.

The thought of going through it again while the wound was still fresh terrified him, what would she think of him?

Did she even know he was gonna be here?

Just as he was about to ask, the door opened with a loud jingle. Snapping his eyes to the door his eyes widened, Daneel came through first followed closely by the most beautiful woman Jeff had ever seen.

She was tall and lean, with soft brunette hair that hung to her shoulders in waves. her smile lighting up the room as she followed Daneel, her happiness alone seemed to give the room life.

Jensen caught on to Jeff's enamored look with a deep chuckle “well that's a good sign”.

Jeff didn't hear him, he couldn't hear anything. His eyes locked with the goddess heading their direction, the world going into slow motion like some sort of cheesy romance flick.

Both Jensen and Jeff got to their feet as the two women came to stand beside them. Jensen leaning forward to give Daneel a sweet kiss as she brought her hand up to rest on his chest as she grabbed her friends hand. Her chocolate eyes darting to Jeff with a sweet smile before pulling her around making her giggle.

Daneel’s friend gave him a sweet smile “you ok?”

Raising his brow in confusion he suddenly realized his mouth was still hanging open like a freak. Shaking his head to knock the fog loose he cleared his throat with a soft smile, he could feel the blush working its way up his throat making him drop his chin “y-yeah...sorry”.

Jensen was smiling like an idiot, Daneel biting her lip with a pleased smile as she tugged him away from them “Let's get some drinks”.

Jeff scratched the back of his neck nervously before gripping his earlobe, the woman watched her friend leave them alone before returning her gaze to him. Dropping his hands to stuff in his pockets he shifted before blurting out “I-I'm Jeffrey…”

She smiled “Hilarie”

He smiled brightly, he doesn't know what to say.

He didn't want to blurt out something stupid like…

“you have beautiful hair”.

Jesus christ!!

Hilarie’s bubbling laugh made him chuckle, the deep blush he was positive was burning his dimpled cheeks broadcasting his embarrassment. She toyed with the ends with a smile “thank you, s’not my natural color though” she pouted.

He couldn't stop smiling “m’sure any color looks great on you”.

He felt a wave of happiness flood through him at the blush that dusted her cheeks “you're quite the charmer huh?”

He chuckled “nah I'm a dope, but I'm a happy dope” he loved that he could make her laugh.

“I've uh seen you before ya know!”

He bit his lip with a smirk “ya have?” she nodded poking his chest playfully making him chuckle “you play papa Winchester right?”

He grinned nodding his head as he ran his hand through his hair, just then Daneel and Jensen arrived back with a tray full of shots.

“Let's get shit faced!!”

The girls laughed at Jensen while Jeff shook his head.

****

Hours passed and soon they were all pretty buzzed, Jeff had his head leaning against his hand as Daneel and Hilarie giggled. Jensen was attempting to tie a cherry stem in a knot with his tongue and failing miserably.

“Jeff, jeffy...jeeeeffff you got tequila at home? We...we should deeeefinitely go to your place for tequila”.

Jeff chuckled at his friends drunken ramblings “brother I don't think you need anymore alcohol…”

Hilarie leaned back against his chest with an upside down smile “oh come on...everyone knows it's safer to drink at home anyway!” her pleading whine made him smile. How in the world could he say no to that, Daneel suddenly grabbed Jensen's face pulling him into a fiery kiss making Hilarie cheer loudly.

“Hey, whoa alright kids keep it PG” he chuckled getting to his feet to pull them apart as the kiss gained enthusiasm. Hilarie was laughing uncontrollably as he herded them toward the exit.

Hailing a cab he furrowed his brow, how the heck were they all going to fit in the same vehicle.

Sensing his confusion Jensen and Daneel piled inside the car, the younger man lifting Daneel onto his lap as they both laughed. Jeff shook his head with a soft smile as he gestured for Hilarie to get in next.

Taking a deep breath he pushed in next to her, his heart pounding in his chest as he shut the door.

****

“So exactly how many dogs do you want?”

Jeff laughed as she giggled dropping her head against his shoulder, they were sitting on his couch as Daneel and Jensen slept on the loveseat. He lifted his glass in his hand with a bright smile “all of them!!” his boisterous declaration sending them both into hysterics.

Rubbing her heated cheeks against his shoulder, Hilarie smiled as he bit his lip “s-so how long you...uh... gonna be in town?” Blinking at him for a moment she shrugged “I got this thing in Paris coming up”.

It was probably all the alcohol but Jeff was gonna ride this wave of confidence until it failed him. “Y-you should cancel” she cocked an eyebrow at him with a smirk “and why would I do that?”

He let out a nervous laugh “I uh got a thing in Mexico I gotta get to Monday”. Her face scrunched up in confusion “what times your flight?”

He chuckled “about eight hours from now” she snorted gripping his shirt as he laughed.

“You should come with me”.

Her face lifted from his shoulder, her face shocked before smoothing out with a soft smile “and what does Mexico have that's better than Paris?”

He blushed dipping his chin before he smiled “m-me”.

****

Jeff was honestly shocked Hilarie agreed to trade Mexico for Paris.

Who does that?

Especially for a guy she just met?

The thought alone made his heart clench and his lungs seize up.

Jesus, she made him forget how to breathe.

Hilarie had arrived on the set of The Resident every day since their plane landed, they got two rooms next to one another but ate breakfast together every morning.

They even drove to the set together most days.

Jeff looked forward to seeing her everyday especially at lunch during shooting.

She was like a ray of beautiful sunshine chasing away his worries and doubts.

She was perfect.

“Kinda a bold move asking a girl to watch you play a pervert”.

He chuckled as they ate sandwiches on set, he hoped she couldn't see the nervousness blooming in his stomach.

“Uh...speaking of which…” he mumbled running his hand down his mouth “a-are you enjoying yourself?”

She smiled brightly “oh absolutely, you're …” she trailed off rolling her lips before meeting his gaze “your really sweet Jeff”. His heart clenched “I uh...y-your amazing yourself Hil... seriously, I don't think I ever thanked you for coming with me”.

She smiled “you really are better than Paris ya know?” he blushed his voice coming out deeper than he intended “that so?”

His eyes darted to the floor as he tried to control the heat washing over his face.

The shout of the director made them both flinch as he called for everyone back on set, Jeff swallowed roughly the next scene was the goddamn tub scene.

What if he made her uncomfortable?

“You know you uh don't have to hang around here all day, I know it can get pretty boring”. She eyed him suspiciously “why so eager to get rid of me all of a sudden?” he gulped “I-I'm not...it's just…”

“Jeff come on!!”

He looked over his shoulder as one of the P.A’s waved him over, Hilarie smiled cupping his face “easy tiger, it's just a movie I'm not gonna judge you by a character you portray...what kind of girl would I be?”.

Turning him around she rubbed his back before shoving him forward playfully.

“Now go strut your stuff handsome!”

He swallowed audibly.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck... she was actually going to watch him!!

#jeffrey dean morgan fluff #jeffrey dean morgan x hilarie burton #jeffrey dean morgan fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan smut #jeffrey dean morgan #real person fiction #real couple fic #jdm fic #jdm fluff #jdm fanfiction #jdm smut #jdm #jdm x hilarie #my fiction #the language of love #my fic #hilarie burton #hilarie burton fanfic

26 notes · View notes