Nose Scrunch ála Sebastian

point of no return | nick fowler

pairing: nick fowler x mob daughter!reader

summary: nick and mace make a bet regarding the mob boss’ innocent virginal daughter.

warnings: 18+ topics 

the bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn …

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Reblog if you’re over 20 and still read/write fan fiction.

I’m curious!

Chris Evans as Frank Adler in Gifted (2017)

Sebastian Stan in The 355

Sebastian Stan for GQ Style “Newman’s Own”

My Protector

✧ summary: After Goose's death, Maverick was sworn to protect three people. Carole, Bradley, and you. A woman who Maverick had always thought fondly of, a woman who stole his heart.

✧ a/n: oops i did it. so this is def based on the first Top Gun, so if you've never seen it – i guess spoiler alert? idk, but brb crying in the club with my aviators on 🥺

✧ pairing: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x Bradshaw!Female!Reader

✧ warnings: character death, mentions of death, angst

Your eyes welled with tears as you sat there with Carole and Bradley. Your nephew was in your arms, he had no earthly idea what was going on. All he could see was his mother and aunt crying continuously. Pete was stowed away, gently boxing up Goose’s things, knowing that there were two women and a little boy waiting in the other room. 

Maverick blamed himself. He couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t care who said that this incident wans’t his fault, that it was an accident no one saw coming – Mav knew. He inhaled sharply as he folded up Goose’s aviators and clutched his dog tags in his hand, a keepsake he’d hold onto for a little while longer. 

You and Nick had a strong relationship. He was your older brother and you adored him, you looked up to him. You thought he was the bravest soul to go out there and do the things he did, to become this Naval Aviator… It took guts and glory. And when he was being sent to Top Gun, you expressed how proud you were of him. But when you received the call that an accident occurred, your stomach dropped. You had just came along with Carole and Bradley to visit your brother, only for a short amount of time to pass before he was killed. 

You heard as the door opened and your eyes glanced up to see Pete. His face was stone cold and you knew he was trying his hardest to suppress his emotions. 

Carole covered her mouth as she saw him emerge. “God, he loved flying with you, Maverick,” She whispered, her voice cracking. She was still in utter disbelief that her husband, her best friend, and the father of her son were gone. 

You stood to your feet and wiped your eyes with a soft smile. “He would have flown anyway… Without you,” You admitted. Maverick looked over at you with a broken stare. 

“He’d have hated it, but he would have done it,” Carole added as Maverick carefully handed her the box full of Goose’s things. Carole grabbed them and got Bradley’s hand, knowing the two of you needed a moment alone together. As the door to the room closed, you felt your eyes water even more with tears. 

“I just can’t believe he’s gone, Mav,” You exhaled. Maverick felt his throat tighten as a hard lump formed that he tried to swallow. 

“It’s all my fault,” He whispered. 

Your eyes snapped up. Walking forward, you reached up and rested your hands on his cheeks. “Maverick, this was not your fault,” You told him sincerely. “Accidents happen.”

But deep down, Maverick knew. He knew that his feud with Ice is what caused this. Both of them were on the hunt of being the best pilot. Cockiness got the better of Maverick and for that, he paid the price with his best friend’s life. He snatched him away from his wife, his son, and his sister. A sister who Maverick turned his eyes to stare at you, remembering oh so fondly the decree Goose made Maverick take. 

“If anything happens to me while we’re out here, you take care of three people dearest to me. Carole, Bradley, and Y/N. Especially Y/N. That girl needs you more than ever, Maverick. And I’m not just saying that because I saw her doodle hearts around your name one time.” Goose laughed as he and Maverick sat at the piano together after their rendition of Great Balls of Fire. 

“I’ll protect them all with my life, buddy,” Maverick promised him as he clapped him on the back. 

As he was brought back to the present, he stared at you with a sad expression. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” He whispered. “I’m so sorry,” 

You saw his green eyes give away and the tears began to spill. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms tightly around him and pressed your hand to the back of his head. Together, the two of you stood there, sharing the river of tears as you mourned the biggest loss you’d ever faced. 

Maverick’s arms wrapped around your waist and he buried his face into the crook of your neck. He broke with sniffles, soon pulling himself together. 

He had to be strong for you. He couldn’t break anymore. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead, his eyes closing tightly. 

“I’m going to protect you, Y/N… Goose made me promise.” He muttered. 

Your heart faltered. “What?” You asked.

Maverick cleared his throat. “Before we ever went to Top Gun… Goose made me promise that if anything ever happened to him – I’d look out for Carole and Bradley, but especially you,” He whispered. “And it’s a promise I’ll hold forever.” 

You blinked, nodding your head. Another soft kiss was pressed to your forehead and the tears spilled even more. 

Maverick would protect you with his life.

opposites attract

pairing: steve rogers x villain!reader

summary: based off of the lyrics:

“you and i are two oceans apart

we’re on earth to break each others hearts

in two, and it’s hard

with you, when i’m too far

from you, i look at the stars,

do you?”

from ‘ferrari’ by the neighbourhood

warnings: injuries, sparring, mention of blood and bruises, angst, fluff, and banter

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i am a simple woman. i think of a hurt/comfort concept and am morally obligated to write it. (this is a repost from the other day so if you saw it before, no you didn’t)

if you’d like to be added to my taglist, click here! as always, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

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A Tale of Two T-Shirts (6/?)

Pairings: Collegehockeyplayer!Steve rogers x female reader (Cappy x bug)

Warnings: Cappy being a doofus, frustration, explicit language, talk of violence/threats of violence (female towards male) but no violence actually occurs, banter- lots of banter, idiots in like, slight manipulative behavior (must be 18+)

Work Count: ~2.2K

A/N: not beta read. All mistakes are my own.

Cappy and bug: hockey AU

Lucky Charms: hockey AU

The intercom at your campus apartment buzzed, signally Sam was here- right on time. You walked over to your front door, buzzing him in before returning to your bathroom, toothbrush still in your mouth.

After getting a late start to your day, thanks to a restless night's sleep, you had just finished brushing your teeth- putting your toothbrush away and turning off the water. Walking back down the hall, you heard Sam knock at the front door before a loud thud and string of curses followed.

When you unlocked the door, pulling it open, you couldn’t help but laugh. There Sam was stuffing shirts back into an oversized box in a hurry.

"Hey, Sam" you greeted, forcing a smile even though your nerves were a little fried.

"Hey, y/n... I'm uh... sorry" he flashed you a nervous smile from where he knelt on the floor.

"About this or about Captain Meatball?" you teased, bending down to grab the last few tshirts before tossing then into the box.

"Thanks" he looked up at you, "so where do you want these? I still got a couple more boxes in my car… do you need them all now?”

"Oh... come on in" you said, standing and stepping out of his way while holding the door open, "the table is fine" you said, ushering him into your small two bedroom apartment, “and I can ask my roommate to help when you leave- we’ll come out and each grab a box…”

"OK” Sam nodded and then his face fell serious, “so....um... about the shirts..." he started, placing the box on the table and avoiding eye contact.

"Sam... I swear to god... I'm going to strangle him..." you grumbled, grabbing a tshirt from the pile and holding it up for inspection.

It didn't look any different, the pretty impressive Pucks for Paws design Cappy had sketched with several dogs and cats was on the front- just as you submitted. You turned the shirt over finding a crisp number 17 with Storm scrawled across the top. The bottom of the shirt had the information for the adoption drive- same design you had submitted to the printing shop.

"I don't get it?" you asked, looking up at Sam, "it's the same..." you narrowed your eyes at him.

"Not all of them" Sam grimaced. You could tell he was uncomfortable- waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Sam... I don't have time for this..." you huffed, grabbing a handful of shirts and turning them over, "will you just tell me what that asshat did?"

"He changed the quantity of shirts ordered per jersey number... got rid of all the number 7's" Sam blew out a heavy exhale, shaking his head as he shrugged his backpack off and unzipped it.

"What?" you squeaked, "why would he do that?" your voice had gone all shrill, "he knows his jersey is a best seller, right?" you were starting to panic as you riffled through the shirts, "he has to know..."

Sure enough, out of the hundreds of shirts ordered, not one was a number 7. All his other teammates were accounted for- including the underclassman.

“Well… they’ve gotta be in the other boxes” you rationalized.

Sam just shook his head apologetically without saying a word.

"He did have one number 7 made..." Sam offered, pulling the shirt from the bag and handing it to you.

"How is one shirt going to help?" you were fuming as you took it from Sam, "are we auctioning it off to the highest bidder? He's such a narcissist..." you rolled your eyes with a snarl.

"Well... it's not for sale" Sam said, "it's... uh... for you..."

"For me?" you scowled in confusion, trying to make sense of all of this until your phone vibrated to life in your back pocket. You continued grumbling under-your-breath as you fished it out of your pants, scoffing before you answered it.

"You better have a good explanation for this, Steven" you growled, holding the video call up so he could see the box of shirts, "why would you pull all your shirts from printing when you know everyone's gonna want your number?"

Cappy smirked at the use of his full name- he had never heard you call him Steven before now.

Sam busied himself by digging around in his backpack again.

"Bug... did Wilson give you the other shirt?" Cappy asked.

"What other shirt?" you huffed, looking up at Sam as he presented you with another folded shirt.

You took a deep breath before snatching it from Sam's outstretched hand, scowling at him as he backed away slowly with his hands in the air. You knew it wasn't Sam's doing, but you really felt like shooting the messenger right about now.

"What is this, Cap?" your tone was a little more whiny then you were going for, but you were frustrated and tired, just wanting this to go off without a hitch.

"Read it" Cappy instructed, smirking.

"What?" you snapped, not understanding how any of this was even remotely funny.

"Have any plans tonight, bug?" he asked so nonchalantly it made another wave of fury course through your veins.

You didn't even answer him, just shot him a glare that should have melted your phone screen.

"There's a thing at the barn, my house... tonight before the game tomorrow..." Cappy continued as you ignored him, propping your phone against the box and holding up the shirt.

You let out a dry huff that almost resembled a laugh. OK... this wasn't half bad- but how exactly was this shirt going to help the adoption drive?

"Team Cappy" you read, the screen printed words were crossed out and underneath it in bold text read "Team literally anyone else" holding the shirt up as you smirked.

It was silent for a moment before you spoke again. Steve looked nervous on the other end of the call.

"I don't hate it... but I'm still not following your game plan, Cap" you scowled down at his pretty face on your phone screen.

"Turn it over..." Cappy said, flashing you his boyish grin that made you want to slug him.

"Resistant to Meatball Charms" you snorted a laugh, reading off the text on the back of the shirt. The bottom of the shirt was, thankfully, the same as the others with the info for the adoption drive. You blew out a frustrated exhale, annoyed that this was working- yet again.

"Why don't you try it on... I'll watch... I mean wait" he winked.

"Steve..." you whined, "this isn't a game... those animals are depending on this... on me... I can't let them down."

"Bug... you won't" he insisted as a hiccuped escaped your lips, eyes prickling with tears.

"Shit..." Steve's voice cracked, "are you crying?"

"No" you frowned, but a few more angry tears fell as you tried to sniffle them back.

"Bug… baby... I'm sorry!" Steve sounded genuinely concerned, "shit... I swear I was just trying to be sweet..."

"By messing with the order?" your voice was watery as you scoffed.

"No!" his voice was determined, but you were so frustrated and didn't want him to see you cry- opting to end the call instead.

"Stupid, stupid, pretty... stupid... dumb boy" you huffed, marching into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water. But you nearly ran into Sam who had escaped to the kitchen to give your heated conversation some privacy.

"Sorry, Sam" you sniffled, walking to the cabinet to take a glass and fill it from the faucet.

Sam stood motionless, not really sure what he should do or say. He had a feeling Cappy's bonehead plan would backfire.

"He's just so stupid... ya know?" you sighed, after taking a sip of your water. You wiped away a stray tear with the back of your hand, eye lashes wet with your emotion.

"Tell me about it" Sam agreed with a chuckle, “there’s still time to figure this t-shirt thing out… I can…”

"Hey, y/n" your roommate called, from down the hall, "you OK?" she squeaked when she saw Sam standing next to you, her eyes going wide as she looked down at her bright pink pjs with cupcakes all over them and matching fluffy slippers.

"Yeah... I'm fine... just stupid Captain Meatball" you huffed as your roommate's gaze flicked back to Sam.

"Not Captain Meatball" Sam thumbed his chest in clarification, "I'm Sam" he gave your roommate a soft smile, "hi, there, cupcake" Sam's timbre was molasses on a hot summer day as he offered his outstretched hand to your roommate.

Your roommate froze, looking down at his hand without saying a word before turning in her fluffy slippers and practically scampering back to her room.

"What the hell was that?" you eyed him up.

"That..." Sam smirked, "was cute lunch lady" he said, craning his neck to look down the hall towards your roommate's bedroom.

"Her name's your roommate's name" you corrected, "and she's single, ya know..." taking another sip of water as you leaned against the counter.

"That so?" Sam smirked, "she works in the caf…and she doesn't charge me extra for my breakfast burritos... I always ask for double the filling after morning practice and she never charges me..."

"How romantic" you teased, pushing off the counter and walking back out to the table where the box of shirts sat.

"An' she always gives me more sweet potato breakfast tots then the other guys..." Sam continued, smiling from ear-to-ear.

"Definitely a story for the grandkids..." you continued teasing when a knock sounded at your apartment door.

"Can I get her number?" Sam asked, his gaze following you to the door.

"No way!" you snorted with a laugh, "you want her number you gotta ask her... and don't call her cute lunch lady when you do it..." you said opening the front door- you smile immediately turning to a frown.

You turned around without saying a word, leaving the door open when you walked back into your apartment.

"Bug... lemme explain..." Steve said, rushing in and closing the door behind him.

"And that's my cue..." Sam said, nodding at Cappy and grabbing his bag to leave. He gave you a quick wave before exiting your apartment in a hurry.

"Bug..." Cappy started again when Sam had left, walking over to stand across from you at the table, “I…”

“Screwed up my order… who knows why… and sent Sam to do your dirty work?” you huffed.

“No!” Cappy started again.

“Then why?” you raised your voice, nearly yelling, “why would you do this to me?”

“Bug… I got rid of all the number 7 jerseys because I want you to be the only one to wear my number from now on...” Cappy blurted as his cheeks flushed pink, “I thought I was bein’ sweet... a grand gesture or something... but I think I just fucked it all up” he harrumphed, squirming on the spot.

It was the first time you've ever seen him anything but cool, collected and cocky- noting the sweat beading at his forehead.

Your chest tightened and your stomach did a flip. He did this for you?

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and forced your face to remain stoic. In your stubbornness, you refused to give away any emotion as you pursed your lips together.

"I had my number made on one shirt..." he continued, "just for you... if you want... or if you're still unsure... you can wear the other one... they both have all the Pucks for Paws information on the back" he exhaled, sinking into a chair before he grabbed his water bottle from his backpack and chugged it.

"Did you run here?" you asked, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite him.

"Yes" he grunted, finishing off his water. Cappy sat silent, watching you and waiting for any indication as to how you were feeling- if you were planning on strangling him or if the next step in his plan was working.

You sat quietly glaring at him, arms crossed as you chewed your bottom lip in contemplation.

"Well, actually... I lied..." he added, unzipping his bag and pulling out a small bundle of fabric, "I did have this one made for Mary" he held up a tiny shirt with the Pucks for Paws design and you couldn't help but swoon when he flipped it over to reveal his name and number 7 on the back of the baby sized shirt.

"Damnit" you frowned at him, your arms still tightly crossed at your chest, "you're such an ass."

"So you're going for option 2 then?" he smirked, "you know you won't match Mary if you do..." he goaded, leaning back in his chair with a soft smile.

"I'm going to kill you if this doesn't work" you huffed, fighting the tug at the corner of your mouth as you pictured you and Mary wearing matching Rogers jerseys.

"I figured" Steve smiled, laughing when you balled your shirt up, throwing it in his stupid pretty face.

The hockey divider was made by the lovely and talented @firefly-graphics ❤️

As always, thank you for all the love and support. Please check out my archive blog where I only post new fics @drabblewithfrannybarnesfics ❤️

'til the morning comes (6/?)

steve rogers x reader (fluff and angst)

summary: you need to get some air, and see some friends.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of the death of a father, super vague mentions of MCU-typical violence/terrorism

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 7) (series masterlist)

 “Trouble in paradise?” Helen peers above her sunglasses, frowning.

 “What?” As if you hadn’t spent ten minutes inside the hotel bathroom washing your face with cold water, minimizing its puffiness. “No.”

 “I just thought your hot-shit husband would be the one driving you around,” she explains while you buckle your seatbelt. “He seemed really excited to pick you up last night.”

 Back then, you had expected a text to light up your phone at eleven o’clock, followed by excusing yourself from the bar. But Steve actually found you and walked to the rental car. He greeted your friends charmingly, shaking hands and joking about the late hour, but mostly he ushered you out the door to kiss you again. And again and again—

 “We’re not married,” you mutter.

 “Like, really excited.” She elbows your ribs. "Did you have sex?"

 You roll your eyes. “Can I not just wanna see my best friend?”

 Helen removes her sunglasses in time for you to spot her side-eye. “Not when she’s hungover, and late to work.” She exits the roundabout driveway and starts toward the Fairmont. “Honestly, a school night. You’ve changed.”

 At least these drinks celebrated an accomplishment. Once, you went with Joaquín because a student vomited on your favorite patterned dress and her mom had shamed you for failing to nurse her precious daughter back to health. Still, Helen’s chastisement—no matter how lighthearted—makes you squirm. “I missed you,” you tell her, “Doesn’t that count for something?”

 She checks her mirrors. “How was your art thing?”

 You haven’t given her an update yet. Your friend group had agreed to a No Work Talk policy on nights out. Though, the art festival never felt like work—so unlike the long days you spent prancing around Steve’s office, providing help where it probably wasn’t strictly needed. The event meant something to you. And to Steve, who apparently hid his creative talents from you.

 Paling in comparison to what you hid from him.

 “It was fun,” you say honestly. “It was… everything.”

 Helen gives you a sidelong look. “You don’t sound enthused.”

 You cross your arms. The festival should spark a dozen happy memories: a triumphant return to the elementary school you loved, to doing what you do best. Plus, a definite win for the campaign, the entire night brimming with your favorite people.

 Maybe twenty year’s time will allow you to forget all the bad that happened after. “I wish I could stay longer.”

 “Shut up,” Helen laughs. “I’ve never seen you so happy.”

 Your face warms, because No Work Talk inevitably meant Steve Talk. Your futile attempts to discuss Joaquín’s abrupt switch to kindergarten or Helen’s new roommate or Dane and Sersi’s next vacation all failed to overshadow the rapid questions regarding your fiancé.

 You answered them like a lovesick schoolgirl, the corners of your lips lifting as you pictured him, especially his slightly mussed hair when you reluctantly left the heat of your first real kiss.

 Now, thoughts of Steve turn sour. Nails scraped across his scalp out of frustration rather than passion. His height towering over you. The room filled with his anger, floor to ceiling.

 He made you feel small. Maybe you are, or maybe you should be.

 “It was fun while it lasted.”

 Helen interprets your shift in tone as your mind shifting to Shangqi, and the spirit inside her car lessens. Jerking a thumb toward the backseat, she explains, “I have two things of pajeon. One for him, one for Xialing.”

 You squint at the truly giant containers, crammed with steamed-up food and strapped into each seat. “You cooked?”

 Helen huffs, pulling into the Fairmont’s driveway. “Well, I bought it and then lovingly transferred it to a different container, creating the illusion that I can cook.”

 Apparently, no amount of misery can ever overpower Helen making you laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” You gently dismiss the valet driver as you unbuckle the comfort food.

 Helen doesn’t return your smile, mocking seriousness. “You realize how much takeout I eat now that you’re gone?”

 “Thanks for the ride.” You haphazardly balance the Tupperware against your torso while shutting the door. “Y'know, I can send you my recipes.”

 “Too much work.”

 “For one of the smartest people I know, you’re awful at following directions.”

 “Hey.” Helen stretches across the console. “Double checking. You sure you’re okay?”

 She needs to get to her lab. “Yeah,” you lie. “Love you.”

 “Love you.”

 You weave effortlessly through the bustle inside the Fairmont. Enough red-vested employees give you vague nods of recognition that you sneak inside the staff break room without arousing too much suspicion. There, you find Shangqi poking a vending machine, his crisp white sleeves folded to his elbows.

 “Hi,” you whisper. Then, you realize the room is empty.

 He tilts his head affectionately, flipping his soda can. “Hey, Mrs. President.”

 You wrinkle your nose, bashful at the stupid nickname. “Um…” You shove the pajeon toward him. “Helen sends her love to you and Xialing.”

 Shangqi hums. Then, he lifts the plastic from your hands, stifling any of your weak objections with a tight embrace. You shove your nose into the scratchy material of his uniform, which smells like the inside of a new car mixed with crisp laundry detergent. Reminiscent of home—or what home used to be. You mold yourself to his solid, secure body.

 You’re already sniffling. “Why didn’t you take the day off?”

 He sits at a small round table, cracking open his soda and poking the giant mass of food now in his possession. “Already, with the patronizing.”

 You fold your arms. “Sorry. I know.”

 “Maybe parking cars helps me process my emotions," he chuckles, while motioning you to grab a chair. “The lack of tips is a metaphor for my grief.”

 You place a hand over his, letting one finger trace the bumps along his scarred knuckles. “Shangqi,” you start again, “I’m really sorry.”

 He drinks his soda, his mouth forming a thin line. “It was unexpected but… bound to happen.”

 Thankfully, no foul play. His father passed in his sleep, an oddly peaceful death for such a violent person.

 Although, that side of Wenwu never revealed itself to you. Shangqi and Xialing openly disdained him, and although their tension thickened the air of his cold home, you mostly remembered an old, kind man who made you tea and inquired about your career.

 A nice girl, Shangqi relayed to you later, lightly mimicking his father’s accent.

 The nicest, you replied smugly.

 “Is there anything I can do to help?” You feel stupid asking the question, especially with the hours counting down before your flight back to New York.

 His smile returns, barely detectable, and he interlocks your fingers briefly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

 “Bothering you during your lunch break?” you tease, but your grimace keeps the mood dampened.

 He smacks the plastic lid. “I get to eat scallion pancakes for the next two weeks, thanks to you.”

 “Are you sure you’re okay?” Asking a second time usually earns you a real answer.

 Shangqi softens at your concern. “I don’t know. It’s my dad.”

 “He was intense,” you agree.

 “Not exactly the most healthy relationship I’ve ever had.”

 You bite the inside of your lip. The crack in his voice transports you back to the nights you spent at his place, the rare ones when he opened up about Wenwu. Even underneath the cover of darkness, you struggled to look Shangqi in the eye as he talked through the trauma of living under the Ten Rings’ oppressive shadow. A past he rejected without hesitation, favoring a cramped studio apartment and a low-paying job heavy with entitled customers. Something simple and uncomplicated, far from family.

 Still, you listened, both to his stories and to his heart beating steadily against your cheek, pretending—mostly for your own sanity—that throwing a leg over him and tracing patterns on his chest could protect him from the worst of it, and lull him into a sleep where thunderous nightmares wouldn't jerk him awake.

 “You’re the only one of my girlfriends to meet him.” He clears his throat, eyes going glassy at the realization. “Actually, you’ll be the only one to ever meet him.”

 “Well, I’m lucky then.”

 “You don’t have to lie,” he says bitterly. “He did some terrible things.”

 Six months into your relationship, you accepted Shangqi’s first—and extremely hesitant—dinner invitation to meet his father.

 You owed him. While your personal challenges could never eclipse his, he supported you, through frazzled weekend lesson-planning and long nights. Shangqi drove you to half a dozen art stores to find the best deal, kissed your shoulder when you cried, offered to beat up your administration when you texted him about losing your job.

 No, you didn’t owe him; it wasn’t an obligation. Rather, a privilege. To have a little bit of his pain be yours.

 “That doesn’t change the fact that he’s your father, and a part of who you are.” You nod decisively. “I got to be a part of that.”

 He sighs, a brief and shaky thing. “Thanks.”

 “But I…” You wipe away a tear. “I can’t go to the funeral.”

 “That’s alright. You’re busy.”

 The quickness of that response makes you wince. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I’m not—”

 “Hey." Shangqi takes your hand again. “S’okay.”

 “I should have answered my phone last night,” you choke out.

 “I didn’t even think you were in the city.” He shrugs. “Honestly, I kinda expected you to be asleep on the east coast.”

 You scoff. You would have preferred that. Instead, guilt calcifies inside your stomach.

 Mere months ago, you wouldn’t have so idly dismissed his name flashing on your screen. He seldom called you—never twice in a row. But you were too distracted by your friends, the drinks you shared with them, the prospect of spending the rest of that night with Steve. While you and Shanqi ended on good terms and you’d never purposely ignore him, maybe deep down you rebuffed even the possibility of something sidetracking your perfect night.

 Fucking selfish.

 “I just wanted to hear your voice,” he confesses. “I didn’t expect any more from you.”

 You shake your head, refusing his conjured-up excuses for your behavior. “I should have called back. I would’ve wanted to be there for you.”

 “You’re here now,” he urges. “Even if you are taking up my lunch break.”

 With a cheeky wink, Shangqi grabs a plate and two forks from the miniature kitchen counter. He cracks open the top container, carefully transferring a pancake and cutting it in half.

 The moment strikes you as alarmingly familiar: yet another one of the hundred meals you’ve shared, yet another time you’ve arrived with food to break up the monotony of his day. In fact, you could both name the exact Korean place where Helen got these pancakes. And if you thought about it, you could probably recite Shangqi’s regular order back to him.

 Earlier today, as you pushed through the hotel doors, the muffled yet cheery beat of Helen’s favorite pop music reached your ears, immediately relieving the burns in your heart after leaving your fiancé speechless on the hotel room floor.

 You suck in a deep breath. It’s been so long since you’ve felt at ease, among friends, your love mutual and long-lasting.

 It’ll never be this way with Steve. The realization crushes you a little.

 “I have to ask about your new guy,” Shangqi remark, offering you a sip of his drink.

 “No, you really don’t,” you mumble.

 “That happened quickly.”

 “Only because—” He wouldn’t believe the truth, if you could tell him. And if he did believe you, he’d pity you. “We should talk about you and your dad.”

 “C’mon.” He leans backward, satisfied with how flustered you seem. “Take my mind off things. Are you with him ‘cause of his money and looks? Be honest.”

 “No, Steve, he’s…”

 “He’s rich and attractive,” Shangqi supplies.

 “He’s… good to me.”

 Most of the time.

 “A very glowing review,” he says, every word drawn out in suspicion. “Not surprised though, I’d trust a politician as far as I can throw him.”

 You laugh. Steve is kinda strong, but Shangqi has mastered, like, every martial art under the sun. It wouldn’t even be a fair match. “You could throw him pretty far, I think.”

 “Not far enough.”

 You can’t finish your food with the funny feeling sloshing inside your gut. “He’s different, sometimes.”

 “Sometimes,” Shangqi repeats sadly. There’s the pity.

 “He won’t let me go to the funeral.”

 “Won’t let you?” Shangqi leans forward, his strong forearms bracing the table, the pale scars on his knuckles flexing.

 You hate this subtle macho display just like you hated Steve’s yelling. It’s not cute, this overprotectiveness, and you wish they would think to comfort you instead. “Most people don’t know, right?” you ask, deflecting. “That your dad was behind all that stuff. They've just heard of the Mandarin.”

 After a pause, he nods gravely, sitting back in his chair. “When it comes to Wenwu, most people just see a very rich and powerful man, with two kids who hated him.” His jaw ticks. “But most people doesn’t mean all people.”

 You wring your hands. “You’re right.”

 “I think your senator made the right call.” You catch the derogatory tone on Steve’s title, yet he doesn’t apply it to yours: “Future First Ladies of the United States shouldn’t be seen at a crime lord’s funeral, no matter how innocent it may seem.”

 You push your half-eaten pajeon toward him. “Yeah.”

 “I’m not voting for him though. Seems like an asshole.”

 A laugh, a real one. “That’s okay.”

 Win or lose, you don’t care. You just wanna get through this, whatever it takes.

 “Is this what you want, with him?”

 You blink. “Is it okay to say that I don’t know?”

 “You don’t have to ask if it’s okay.” Shangqi considers you for a long moment before picking at your food. “Whatever happens, you can always come home.”

— — —

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