#They aren’t going to take a female led show and shift focus to a guy…. right….

[iheartsteve0704]

sorry teen but I need the next four episodes to focus on lesbian witch pining and agathario endgame because in full honesty, we need a kiss more than we need to learn more about wiccan

[dilfbane]

Your Weeping(Your Need For His Touch)

Summary: When things go south on a mission, you have to confront more than just the sketchy town, cartoon villains, and one-bed hotel room you’re forced to share with Loki. You have to come to terms with not only the consequences of being captured, but also the God of Mischief’s feelings for you - Because for all that he might be an asshole, sometimes, he really does have a heart. Written for the Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words 6k Follower Writing Challenge by @startrekkingaroundasgard 

Pairing: Loki/(Female)Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and medical treatment, as well as discussions of the inevitable mindset around sacrificing oneself for the mission that I feel like being part of the Avengers would entail. Also swearing, because at its core, this story started out as a bit of a crack! fic. 

Word Count: 7.8k. 

A/N: So apparently when I have mental breakdowns they result in me writing crack-fic that takes a 180 veer into angst and fluff for absolutely no reason. For the sake of the crack-fic, in this timeline Loki was forced to help the Avengers take down bad guys directly after the end of the first Avengers movie, so… Is that a confusing plot hole I didn’t know how to account for except by making this AU? Maybe. Did I do it anyway?…. Yeah. This really was meant to be a crack-fic about Loki and the reader confessing their feelings set in the bizarre world of meme culture, I didn’t realize there were going to be feels in it until it was three in the morning and all of a sudden this happened. That being said, your girl went there, so enjoy! 

“Oh, shit,” You say, as you take in the grimy hotel room. The walls all smeared in what looks like dried blood, the putrid smell of rotten eggs, a crack-screened television with a fine dusting of some suspiciously white powder. And, of course, “There’s one bed.” 

“Hmm?” Asks Loki, turning towards you, briefly, from unpacking. He had dumped his suitcase(Magically plucked out of a chaotic liminal space) unceremoniously on the bed’s scratching, pilling coverlet without so much as a second glance at the rest of the room. And why do you need a suitcase, anyways?? You wonder. It isn’t like we’re planning to be here that long. In fact, you hoped with every fiber of your being that you’d be here for as little time as possible, because this town might actually be the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life; no small feat, for a bona-fide member of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

You’ve kicked alien ass on a mutated purple Mongolian death-worm three thousand feet over New York City. You’ve run reconnaissance to rescue debatably-magical items sequestered away in an ancient cave labyrinth plastered in paintings and untranslatable runes, gunfire and what could only be described as the baying of hellhounds in the near distance. You’ve fist-fought a gigantic hive-mind robot in a field of artificially sentient feral steel suits - You’ve even survived Tony’s parties. 

Yet none of those scenarios hold a candle to this fucking town. 

And Loki, the asshat, seems utterly, competently - no, maniacally - unfazed. 

“There’s one bed,” You repeat, into the air. 

“Ah,” Says Loki, straightening. 

“You don’t see that problem with that?!” 

“Should I?” He asks you, walking across the room in long, graceful strides to stand in front of you. He wears the same expression he always wears, amused and indifferent, but this time with the addition of a single, elegantly-arched eyebrow. You drop your head, refusing to meet his somewhat-curious gaze. It physically hurts, how attractive Loki is. Not for the first time, you curse whatever god decided that you and him would once again be mission partners - in this case, you belatedly realize, and choke back a thick laugh, said god is, unsurprisingly, Thor. 

If you survive this, you make a note to beat his head in with Mjolnir. As it is, you are here in this room with Loki, with perhaps twenty IPP agents and a reckless poisoner dogging your every move, and there’s a high chance that you won’t live long enough to navigate whatever the hell sleeping with your crush-who-has-murdered-men. Ok, so ‘murdered men’ isn’t entirely accurate. More like ‘caused the murder of men inadvertently through his schemes’. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, right now. 

And what about Loki? He is still staring you down, like you’re some wind up toy moments away from going off. Funny, that, you think. If ever there were a time to not have a mental breakdown, it would be here, with him. You’ve crossed a lot of moral lines in your life, but you will be damned if you let Loki Laufeysson see you cry. Loki is graceful. Composed. Sarcastic. Lithe. Rolls his eyes at almost every statement that comes out of somebody’s mouth. But he is, also, beautiful. Shockingly comforting, in his own nihilistic way. You don’t know what it says about you that you find comfort in statements like, Try not to die, you know that I hate funerals. Part of you - most of you - doesn’t want to. But it gives you strength, somehow, to shrug off the day and ground your flailing mind in evading Loki’s calculated manipulation. I won’t show you my weakness, you think to yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. 

“No,” You tell him - too quickly, he’ll pick up on that - “You’re right, you shouldn’t. It’s fine. We have - a lot to deal with, is all.” 

Loki nods, seemingly accepting your answer, but his eyes are still narrowed, watching you like he’s calling your bluff. You talk right past that look - have to, to keep yourself sane, to not think about the one bed that looms large over this entire conversation. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable bed. 

“We have two days,” You say, to stop yourself thinking of it. And, also, to talk your way through your disarmingly disjointed thoughts. Loki nods. It would really help if you said something, you think. Swallow the thought, hot and thick, down your throat. What’s the point of a mission partner if you can’t even soundboard off them? “The Pink Cobra could strike anyone, anytime. The IPP is planning something in New York - “ 

“Isn’t everyone, these days, planning something in New York?” 

He sounds regretful, and for half a second you want to offer him the reassurance that his very presence offers you. But you are sure he doesn’t know what he does to you - with his words, with the sidelong glances that you’ve felt linger on your form far too long in the heat of a fight. If you didn’t know any better, you would say Loki worries about you. 

“We have to shut him down,” You say. Focus on the Pink Cobra, because honestly, that’s easier. “Find out where he manufactures. Not get poisoned,” You add, at the end. 

“Yes,” Loki says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “We should certainly try not to get ourselves killed. Failing that, I suppose, we can at least request that no one in H.Y.D.R.A gets autopsy access.” 

“Loki?” You ask. Rhetorically. “You’re not helping.” 

He smirks at you, then. He knows. 

“What do you propose that we do then?” He asks, taking a step towards you, getting so close that you can feel his hot breath. “About the Pink Cobra?” 

“Find him.” You say, fumbling, blush rising high on your cheeks. 

Tonight? 

One bed? 

You are screwed. 

                                                             ***

When you were a kid - think really little, Capri Sun pouches and still believing that true love wasn’t complicated - your father told you that every story needed a good supervillain. You aren’t sure if the Pink Cobra counts as a good supervillain, but he’s the least confusing one that you have to deal with - and, as far as villains go, a fine enough challenge to face. He’s like a madman out of some high fantasy novel, with dark eyes and a sable-sewn cloak and a penchant for poisoning. He is adept in all the arts of the woman’s murder; he has a keen grasp on the side-effects of arsenic and camphor and tansy and cyanide and strychnine. He’s been found to have dropped crystal phials filled with belladonna and ricin while fleeing a scene. If all else fails, he’s more than practiced with daggers. 

In other words, he’s the kind of villain that none of you, with your flying suits and telekinesis and super-strength, are anywhere near prepared to waylay. 

The plan, as far as team Avengers is concerned, is easy: 

You and Loki. This town, where the webs of his manufacturing production and the few glimpses of information that Thor has totally legally excavated out of his captured minions has led to. Two days until some undefined grand attack bears down on the city you live in. Two days to find the Pink Cobra and kill him. The more time passes with no headway, the more you think that this is an impossible task, but you know what Tony would say. We have our best minds on it. 

The thing is, you aren’t sure that that’s true. The minds that have been set to this task are you and the God of Lies. It’s hardly the best they could have come up with, considering your track records. Actually, you take that back - Loki was a good choice for this mission, because, not three hours after arriving in this hellhole of a city, he seems to have somehow developed the ability to read minds. More specifically, yours. And that could prove stunningly useful. 

The scene, as it stands: Loki, sprawled across the lumpy bed, three pairs of crisp white shirts, a plaid scarf, and a full set of Asgardian battle armor neatly hung in the mothball-infested closet, flicking through channels on the grain, cracked television with an apathetic expression and one arm thrown haphazardly over bent leg. Propped up in such a way that he could jump or spin or parry at a moment’s notice, yet perfectly, devastatingly languid, leafing through Nick Fury’s dossier on the Pink Cobra. He looks at you like a god, you think, and then remember. He is one. 

You, on the floor, because on top of all the other things this hotel doesn’t have, like two beds, there isn’t anything even resembling a desk, shifting through a glowing, holographed file archive from headquarters that barely runs on your severely outdated laptop. It’s a point of pride to you, keeping the laptop - not because it’s good, but because it’s survived five years of being an Avenger, which is something not even all the Avengers can claim to have done. You’re also fairly certain that Tony’s attempts to update the firmware had infested it with some sort of renegade virus. Elevated above your screen, the files are split into two groups, the sum total of everything that you know about both of the groups that are avidly trying to kill you. 

There’s the wealth of information containing the Pink Cobra’s poisoning sprees, but those aren’t the files that interest you, and you know that Loki’s not much interested in them either. That honor falls to the fanatics at the IPP, the Imminently Predictable Psyops organization, which you know even less about than you do about the Pink Cobra, chief among which the fact that they need a new name. Imminently Predictable Psyops?, Tony had said, when you’d finally apprehended one of their proxies. What do they think this is? Some type of ARG? 

What you’ve gleaned, from months worth of studying the network, is that they operate as a sort of cringe-oriented death cult intent on ‘reshaping the universe through meme agents’. They’d been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for a long time - upwards of a year - before anyone at team base learned they existed - which, you can almost hear Loki saying, was a failure in the extreme. Currently, it was your job to obsessively worry over whether they were going to send ‘meme agents’ to bust through the door of your seedy hotel room and off you both. You hated - truly loathed - how casually Loki was taking it all. 

He’s acting like nothing was wrong with this situation, when, in fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this night will end up with one or both of you dead. It is, to say the least, disconcerting. 

Kill switch, the holograph files read. Cross-referential Neil Cicierega acoustic weaponry. Your mind sees the words, but doesn’t comprehend them, and you run a hand up to rub at your bleary eyes with annoyance. You risk a glance upwards; on the bed, Loki scans page after page after page with disinterested nonchalance, punctuating the flipping over of each document with a noncommittal hum; as if to say, I understand you. As it to say, This could be worse. You try to slip into that mindset. Certainly, things could be worse. 

Actually, though? Not really. 

Because, for all the world, the holo-file in front of you just said ‘Pepe The Frog Chaos Banking Laser Initiative’. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?!” 

“Sorry?” 

You whip your head around. Loki, raising an eyebrow. Damn that - perfect - eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” You echo back at him, rubbing your eyes again, perversely glad for the break, even if it is this awkward. “I … said that out loud, didn’t I?” 

“Marginally,” He tells you. “Yes.” 

“Sorry,” You - well, it’s not a whine, not exactly. You’re tired, and there’s no way you’re going to sleep tonight, so you feel like your tone’s justified. “I didn’t mean to do that. I think I’m just - this is. Completely nonsensical.” 

“Show me?” He asks, and you snort. He could totally just look up, but - 

“Do you have a P.h.d in memes?” You ask him, and, before he can answer, “Because unless you have a P.h.d in memes, I don’t think you’ll be able to help.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Loki says. Vaults over the bed with the speed and grace of a panther, filling the air with a cringing wheeze as the rusty springs bend underneath him, and landing in front of the holo-file, pushing you aside slightly to get a better view. When his fingers brush against your side, cool and firm, you flinch. 

“Tired,” You offer, when he shoots you a momentarily concerned look. “Just. Need to sleep, later, I think.” 

But Loki is already scanning the file, and when he looks up, not five seconds later, you want to hit somebody. Preferably, you think, him. 

“I would assume,” Loki says, “That they’re using time travel in order to obtain and store monetary value by way of a Pepe-the-frog inspired laser array.” 

“Oh,” You say. You blink once. Blink twice. Still have no idea what that means. “Right.” 

“Do you not know your memes, love?” He asks you, smirking. And oh, if you don’t feel things. 

“I don’t go on the internet, much,” You tell him. “Too busy, you know, trying not to get killed.”

 Loki shrugs. Sidles away from the file. The groan and squeak of those springs tells you he’s back on the bed, giving you some well-needed space, but you can’t bring yourself to look. 

“You can sleep,” He says, “If you want.” 

“Ha!” You yelp/choke/embarrassingly bleat out into the room’s stale silence. Underneath the rotten eggs, you catch a whiff of bong-water. “No.” 

“There’s a bed,” Loki says, cocking his head pointedly and patting the lumpy covers. 

“Yeah, that’s - kind of the problem.” 

“Why?” He asks you. 

“You - really?” 

“I was only asking,” Says Loki, re-focusing his attention on whichever Pink Cobra document’s next in the folder. “If you aren’t comfortable telling me - I merely thought, seeing as you were tired, you might take this opportunity to rest.” 

“Yeah,” You  tell him, “Of course, that’s - nice of you.” 

It comes out stilted. Patently off. If he notices, he doesn’t say. 

“Are you going to - um. Do you need help, with the rest? The ones I have seem kind of hopeless. I mean,” You say, when he doesn’t look up, “I don’t think that we have to worry about getting demolished by trans-dimensional Agarthian wormholes.” 

“Of course not,”” Loki says, scoffing and incredulous, gaze, you are sure, on his page. “If they wanted to kill us, they’d send someone with a gun.” 

In reality, it’s several someones. 

                                                             ***

“You jinxed it,” Is the first thing you tell him, when the men leave you. They’ve thrown you into a one-room warehouse, rickety shelves stacked with cartoonish tubs of green goop and mildewing boxes filled with grenades and machine guns and what appears, at second-glance, to be twelve-fingered latex gloves. You’re tied wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and your throat feels uncharacteristically parched. Fear, you tell yourself. Apprehension. “Can’t you just - use your seidr to magic us out of this?” 

If you could see him - which you can’t, because you’ve been tied back to back - you’d swear that Loki was glaring. 

“Do you - do you have a plan?” You ask, after a moment. 

“I’m working on it,” He says. 

“That’s all?” You say. “We were dragged out of our drug-dealer’s hotel room by a bunch of robed men with guns and the only thing you have to say is ‘I’m working on it?’” 

“I’d get it done faster,” Says Loki, “If you wouldn’t interrupt me.” 

“Ok,” You tell him, “No interrupting you. Got it. That’s - Alright.” 

Unfortunately, not interrupting him is easier said than done, because without the sound of your voice, you are left to your thoughts. 

The men had broken in nearly immediately after Loki’s glib, sardonic retort to your worries, shooting the glass out of the room’s already half-smashed-in window and kicking the door in simultaneously. A bit much, isn’t it?, Loki’d asked, and you had wanted to smack yourself on the forehead. Really not the time, you had hissed, but Loki hadn’t seemed to hear you. Do you do this with everyone they send you to assassinate?, he had asked, instead. The men had been dressed in long, billowing cloaks of bright red, embroidered with orange snakes framing a picture of Beaker from the muppets with early 2000’s emo hair. Chaotic meme agents, you had thought to yourself. So that’s what they’re supposed to look like. 

You hadn’t picked up, until now, on the snakes. 

“They’re working together,” You say, when you can’t stand the playback of Loki being disarmed after spinning and tossing his silver daggers at the men, of the men kneeing him in the balls and twisting your arms behind your back, holding a gun to your head to stop you from trying to fight. Waking up in the back of a van that smelled like microwaved fish. Being tossed like garbage onto the floor of the warehouse, painted in bruises and cuts from the small pieces of glass that had dug their way into your skin. “The IPP and the Pink Cobra.” 

“Obviously,” Loki says. Sharply. 

“Did Tony not -“ 

“Stark,” Loki practically growls, and, ok, you’re not losing it but that did make you jump in your skin, “Is an idiot. He wouldn’t know how to connect the dots if they were presented to him in a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.” 

“That’s - You had that on Asgard?” You ask him, momentarily distracted. You wish that you could see Loki’s face, and are very glad that you can’t. 

“That isn’t the point,” Loki says. 

“I know,” You tell him. You’re scared that your voice is trembling. Scared that he can tell, even though he’s not facing you, how badly your fingers are shaking. Scared that he knows your worst, biggest secret - 

That, despite being an Avenger, you are anxious. That, despite him being Loki, despite him being here, and wonderfully, infuriatingly himself, he cannot help you, this time. 

You are going to die, covered in cuts and abrasions, on the floor of a meme network’s headquarters, at three a.m in the morning. They are going to come in with umbrellas that shoot poison darts or the ex-presidents Point Break masks and mow you down, and Loki has no fucking plan. You feel the ropes tighten where they’re knotted, itchy and fierce, and you have to fight to keep yourself from whining in terror and nerves. Whining isn’t what Loki needs right now. Whining’s not going to save you. 

What is going to save you, you try and remind yourself, is Loki. If you can shut up. If you can let him decipher what needs to be done. If he can figure out some way to do it before the blowtorch-wielding robed vigilantes or some disincarnate meme god comes back and draws their electronically-sharpened fingernails across your throat hard enough to split skin and sinew, send waves of blood down the front of your shirt like a river of sweet, thick red honey and toss your corpse in a ditch by a highway and - 

“Y/N?” It is foggy, barely-heard. Posh. “Y/N!” Louder, this time. There are fingers on your wrist, bent backwards to grip you. Squeezing, insistent and there. “Breathe.” 

Fuck, you think. You’d started to hyperventilate. To shake, with a full-body tremor that forecasts a great, unstoppable wave of sobbing panic. And Loki had noticed. “I need you to trust me,” He says. “Trust me to get us out of this. Can you do that for me, darling?” 

He has never called you darling before, but God how you’ve wanted him to. You feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart - because there is no way he means it, no way that this is anything other than a desperate and cruel attempt to get you to calm down. Something that belies how obvious you are. How needy you are. How pathetic. And yet - 

And yet, he doesn’t say it meanly. He speaks like he cares about you, and in the face of your impending death, you want to think Loki cares. You’d let him say anything, do anything to you, right now. More than that, though, more than any of that - as you think back to meeting him, to your blossoming late-night friendship and twitchy banter and the quiet moments you’ve shared with him in-between battles - 

“I trust you, Loki,” You tell him, and feel your breath quiet in you. Feel yourself growing still and calm with the certainty that Loki will do as he’s said. 

That you will survive this. 

That -

“Good,” Loki says. Not relieved, but determined. Leaving you no room to argue. 

“So what do we do?” You ask him. 

“Nothing,” Says Loki, and you can hear his wide grin. 

“Nothing?” You ask him, gawking.

 “Nothing,” Says Loki. He gives your hand a tight squeeze. 

And then the Pink Cobra walks in. 

                                                             ***

This will end badly, you think. It’s about the only thing that you can think, preoccupied as you are with - 

It might be easier not to - 

Fuck. 

The thing is - and you really do try not to move, not to groan, not to scream - the thing is, you thought that when Loki said he had a plan, that said plan wouldn’t involve you being collateral damage for a LARP-er who’d most likely broken out of an asylum. I wish that we could be back in that shitty one-bed hotel room, you think to yourself, and - alright, not the best timing, but it rips a laugh out of you, spiraling and unhinged, before you feel the Pink Cobra, resplendent in coral cloak and villainous swagger, slug you one in the jaw. It hurts worse than you’d thought it would - you’ve never really gotten injured on missions, you’re usually good at talking yourself out of things, which is why the Avengers keep you around. You can speak any language, as long as you’ve heard it once, and your customary daily awkwardness can shift into persuasion like flicking a light-switch on. 

Usually, though, you had an opportunity to speak, and weren’t rendered speechless by - 

Loki, if you’re being honest. How much you want to kiss him. How much of an asshole he is. Trust me, he’d asked you. Can you do that for me? The Pink Cobra’s grip is sharp and bruising on your side; he’s slipped his fingers up your shirt and is pressing the point on your side that threatens to make your knees buckle, making bile rise up in your throat, driving you wild with the aching need to flee. He has one hand clasped over your mouth, now that you’ve quieted, and you can feel something - pain, and a pill - pressed snugly into his palm. He will force it down you, you know, if Loki so much as sighs wrong. 

You’ll never trust him again. 

You wish that you knew what the time was. If you end up dying at 4:20, you’re going to throw fists with somebody in hell. 

You wish, also, for aspirin. Avengers training has left you woefully unprepared for the reality of getting punched in the face. You can already feel your jaw starting to swell, taste an egregious amount of blood. You’re pretty sure that the force of the blow knocked a tooth out. 

What strikes fear into you, though - a fear somehow deeper than the absolutely bone-chilling, blood-curdling knowledge of what the Pink Cobra might do to you - is the look you’d seen on Loki’s face in the seconds after he’d grabbed you, before it fell into practiced, amused apathy. He’d gone white, and his eyes had blown wide. His fingers had spasmed with anger. 

He’d looked as scared as you feel. 

And you have no idea why. 

It isn’t like you’re anyone special. Not any more than the rest of the team. Less so than most of them. You aren’t a god, like Loki and Thor are. You don’t have stealth-assassin training, like Bucky, or super-strength like Steve. You can’t seamlessly pilot mechanical suits over the New York skyline like Tony, or use a crossbow like Clint, or beat thirty people in single-hand combat like Nat, or change into a nitro-fueled rage machine like Bruce. 

You can’t do anything, much. 

Except, apparently, die.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not letting yourself look at him. You won’t let Loki’s disinterested face be the last thing that you see. It makes the Pink Cobra’s words all the worse, when he speaks. His voice is dark and sick and timbered, and you feel maggots crawling over your skin as he slots you closer to his body, tightening his already painful grip on you so that you can’t move even an inch away from his tensed, coiled muscles. 

“So,” He says, “You are superheroes? How long did it take me, to apprehend you? Ah - three and a half hours? Tell your boss-man, do better next time.” 

“I’ll pass it along,” Loki says. His voice sounds different. You can’t place why. Still won’t look. 

“You won’t,” The Pink Cobra says. You can feel his shoulders rise, then fall. Feel him smirk. You love Loki’s smirk - secretly delight in drawing it from him, sometimes - but the Pink Cobra’s only fills you with yet more terror. You’ve pursed your lips tightly shut against the intrusion of his hand, but when Loki speaks he forces your bruised, bleeding jaw open and shoves the pill into your mouth. The pain of your injury tears through you like white lightning and you thrash, trying to escape. A keening sound claws its way out of you, fevered and anguished, and you feel your hands, still bound up in ropes, trying in vain to push off and away. The man behind you sighs, and then aims a swift kick at the back of your knees, which sends you down before you can so much as yelp. Your knees hit the floor, and he’s holding you by your hair now, twisting it so hard that you’re almost sure he’ll scalp you. He’s pulled something - too big to be be a knife, some kind of shortsword?! - Out from beneath his cloak, and is pressing it up against the column of your throat. You feel the weight of the capsule between your teeth heavily now, and realize what it means in the split-second before the Pink Cobra bends and whispers, Your choice; stale and rancid into the shell of your ear. 

Next, he addresses Loki. 

“You’ll be wanting to know what our plan is,” He says. Our, you think. We were right. “Hmm? I know how you people are. Always wanting to know. Tell me this, Mischief Man. What will I get, if I tell you? What price are you willing to pay?” 

You know what this is. You know it like the ache in your heart when Loki brushes you off. Like the safety you feel in his arms. You open your eyes. Take in Loki’s face - he’s trying to hide, but you know, you know how he feels. You know what he’s going to choose. 

And you know that you can’t let him choose it. 

“You’ll let her go,” Loki asks, “If we let you leave here?” 

“The thing could be managed.” 

No, you think. No, Loki, don’t! Whatever the Pink Cobra’s going to do, whatever the IPP’s planning, knowing’s worth more than your life. 

“One thing I want to know,” Loki says. He’s twirling a knife of his own, a slim silver number he keeps on him at all times, and you feel the blade on your own throat start to dig in - not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. The threat of it. The promise of it, and the coldness of the gleaming metal. “You and the IPP? How does it fit?” 

“You want information from me?” The Pink Cobra asks. Lets his blade bite you, just barely, and the strength it takes for you not to scream is more strength then you’d known you possess. 

“Yes,” Says Loki. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”

He meets your gaze. You meet his. You hope that he cannot read it. His eyes are so worried, so desperate, you nearly break down. 

“I suppose,” The Pink Cobra says, “That you’ve earned it. Getting here - getting this far - it must have been no easy task. Fine. There is no Imminently Predictable Psyops organization. They were a - what do you call it? Red herring? A scent of blood for the shark.” 

“You fabricated them,” Loki says. “Why would you fabricate them?” 

He is losing his composure, you can tell. You will never be ready for this. He will never be ready for this. You hope that he will forgive you, and you know that he never will, and you swallow the pill in your mouth. 

“Because it was fun,” The Pink Cobra says. 

And then your body knows pain. 

                                                             ***

“He didn’t think I would do it,” You say. Your mouth feels thick, clotted with blood and shock, and your body is one raw, gaping wound, but the giddy feeling of victory has begun to course through your veins. Pure, unfiltered adrenaline. You had waited for the moment of death to come, and it hadn’t. The pill is fake, your mind had screamed. But there’d been one thing left, that might work. You had breathed as slowly as you possibly could, forced every muscle of your scared, writhing body into single-minded limpness, rolled your eyes backwards into your head,  drew one last breath in, and fallen. Twitched, for a few seconds, like a rag-doll. Then made yourself still. 

Loki had slit the Pink Cobra ear to ear, beaten him within an inch of his life as he bled out, screaming like a man deranged. He’d left him a wet, bloody mess on the floor, and the blood had run down the not-quite-steady plane of it, pooling around you and mixing with the blood from your jaw, from the evening’s earlier glass cuts, from the deep, burning stab wound the Cobra had got on your arm. 

You breathe, and your body knows pain. 

You look at Loki, and your body knows pain. 

He is shaking. Visibly shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he looks as pale as bleached bones. His eyes are shot red - he had sobbed, when you fell, and a howl had torn through his body. You don’t know what to do, what it means, what the hell even to say to him. His cheeks are tear-stained, his breaths ragged. 

You blink, and your body feels pain. 

“We won,” You croak out. “Loki, we won.” It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. “I think he broke one of my ribs.” 

You don’t mean to say that last part, but you do, and you are the one crying now, because it feels like he probably has, and you can barely even stay awake through this pain. It feels like the Hulk is pulling you limb from limb. Like all of those nightmares you’ve had where Loki decided to leave you - to go back to Asgard, and never speak to you again. 

Stupid, you think. He won’t, again. Not after this. 

Loki still hasn’t spoken. He’s looking at you, and his eyes are wild. Desperately, jaggedly roaming your body. His fists twitch with every new part of your body they land on. 

“That bad, huh - Oh, fuck.” 

And just like that, the tension leaves Loki’s body. The dam that had held him firmly in place is broken, and he’s running towards you with none of his usual grace. Dropping down by your side. He hoists you, and you hiss, and the tears won’t stop coming, so you bury your face in his shirt, nose pressed at the crisply ironed collar. Don’t care that it’s bleeding, because Loki’s here now. Holding you. Keeping you real. He’s got one hand stroking your hair and his touch feels right, nothing like the Pink Cobra’s, and he’s whispering: You brave, precious, idiot, how dare you, how dare you throw your life away like that?! 

“It worked,” You exhale - it’s the most you can manage. You would laugh, if it wouldn’t shred you to pieces. Loki cradles you fiercely, hands grasping at the sweat-and-blood soaked fabric of your shirt, running over you as if he doesn’t believe you’re alive. “It - hurts,” You get out. Barely. “Loki, it - I can’t -“ 

“Don’t,” He tells you. His voice has gone brittle, choked with thorns. “Don’t talk. Don’t - Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me? You will never do that again.” 

If I need to, I will, you think. And you wonder if that’s why you’re here. Wonder if that’s why you’re strong. You wonder, and hurt, and believe. Feel the strength of him, clutching you like you’re the only thing in the world, taking in greedy lungfuls of your weeping, your need for his touch. 

You can’t talk, anymore. It hurts too badly. But you surge, upwards, up into where he’s holding the back of your head, pressing your forehead into the dark, warm space under his jaw that smells like smoke and peppermint. Loki is taller than you are - you fit right into the curve of his neck, and his long curls curtain you in a bubble of warmth and content. 

“Promise,” You say, but it comes out unintelligible, and Loki’s hands are running, so gently, over your skin. 

“What was your plan?” You ask him, forcing it out of your body. 

“Hush,” Loki says, “Later.” 

There might not be any later, you think. Not like this. 

                                                             ***

In the hotel room, an ocean of scattered pages and ceiling mold and blessed privacy, you balance, cross-legged, on the bed. The wind blows wet and cold from an earlier rain through the busted out window. You have managed this out of sheer stubborn-ness, because it is the most that Loki allowed you to do. You’d passed out, twice, on the journey back - he had magicked you there, though it had taken a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t sure you really deserved - and had immediately propped you up on the pillows and stooped to ruffle through his suitcase, emerging not long after with binding tape, cat-gut thread, and a needle so sharp you could feel it slicing your flesh. You had opened your mouth to protest, but Loki had silenced you with a glare that could fell Director Fury. So you had gone quiet, and caved, letting him kneel over you on the distinctly lumpy mattress and begin inspecting your wounds. It had taken a few tries and a Please to convince him to let you sit on your own, and it hurt much more than the manner in which he’d arranged you. You were starting to, slightly, regret it. 

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, pulling it from bleeding lips. He shushes you with a harsh, stern tut. “You’re not my mother,” You tell him. 

“You could have died,” Loki says. There’s a snarling undercurrent to it that you can’t even start dissecting. “What were you thinking?” He asks. It is easier, though still painful, for you to answer him - he had used nearly half of his Thor-limited magic reserve to perform a basic stasis spell on your injuries, but the spell wouldn’t last forever. You’ll need stitches, he’d said, choking it out like he was the hurt one when he’d seen the number the Cobra’s blade had done to your arm. 

“I’ve had worse,” You say, grinning weakly. 

“Are you lying to me?” He asks you, with the tone of someone who’s distinctly not in the mood for joking. 

“I thought,” You say. Steel yourself. “I thought you weren’t going to do what needed to be done. So I - Did it myself.” 

“What needed to be done.” Loki says, enunciating every word. 

“We couldn’t let him walk away,” You say, meeting his eyes. Emerald, clouded with fury. You don’t let yourself flinch from that anger. You don’t let yourself run from your choice. “You know what he would have done.” 

“I don’t,” Loki says. “I know nothing. I know - I know that you think that your life means so little I wouldn’t care if you were gone. That I could - Live, without you.” 

That’s… different. 

“And I know,” Loki continues, “That I told you to trust me, and I meant it.” 

“I do,” You say. There is no hesitation. “I trust you - Loki. Of course I trust you. It’s not - it wasn’t -“ 

“Stop talking,” He snaps. Gentles, when you jerk your head away, blink back a fresh wave of tears. “You need rest,” He says. “And - This is. This is going to hurt.” 

You nod. 

“Best get it over with, then.” 

“You should keep your eyes closed,” He says. 

“No! I want - I need to look.” You bring your eyes up to your arm, which he’s settled onto bed’s chewed, scratchy quilt without you realizing, but Loki tilts your head up with a barely-there graze of his fingers, achingly gentle to avoid aggravating your swollen jaw. He holds your gaze for a long time. Doesn’t look mad, anymore. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you. Like all of this could be over with, if you wanted. 

“How bad it could it be?” You ask back. 

The injury is horrendous. You’d thought - honest-to-God, you’d thought the pain was terrible, but you weren’t ready for what your arm has become. The line of the wound runs in a craggy jigsaw from just under your shoulder to the tip of your elbow. Small wonder you can’t move it, can barely think through it at all. 

“Y/N?” Loki asks, “Are you -“ 

“Fine,” You say. Blink, and your body knows pain. Try not to let how scared you are show, when you look back up at Loki. The Pink Cobra’s dead. You shouldn’t be scared, anymore. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?” 

Loki sighs. Long and low and sad. 

“Will I have to - “ 

“Bite,” Loki says, and shoves something - the sleeve of his shirt, crusted in blood which you realize, sickeningly, is yours - into your mouth. “It’ll help.” 

It doesn’t, but he holds your hand through it, hushing you through the pain with furrowed eyebrows, thread and needle flying deftly through skin, air, skin again. His fingers move precisely, deliberate,  quick, and when, on one stitch, you audibly whimper, he pauses to lean down and press a soft, utterly unexpected kiss to your hairline. You are unable to fully express how much it means to you, so you do the next best thing and kiss him yourself, pressing him back once he’s finished the last of his stitches and breathing all the the words you can’t say into him. You press every fear and gratitude and lingering nerve into the warmth of his lips, wending your fingers through his dark hair despite the pangs of agony still thrumming through every inch of your body. Your face hurts, but the kiss is all you’ve ever needed and more, and Loki is so, so gentle with you, pulling away with creased eyebrows and a look of genuine concern. 

“I wanted to,” You tell him, mustering all of your strength. “It didn’t hurt.” 

“Stop,” He tells you, voice cracking, “Stop lying.” 

“I’m not,” You say. “I wanted to, Loki, I did.” 

“And you wanted to -“ 

“No.” You are vehement about it, for a broken-ribbed, broken-jawed, freshly-stitched person coming off the high of his teeth and his tongue. “Not that, I swear, never that.”

 “Why did you do it, then?” Loki asks. He has steepled his fingers under his chin, and his narrowed eyes pierce through you to the soul. You couldn’t lie to this man, you think, if your life depended on it. 

You know that you have to tell him, this time. Really tell him. You don’t. 

“”Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“You know why,” He says, and you do. You’d remembered it as the white pill turned to white powder in your gums, as the Pink Cobra’s knife had carved its way into your flesh. Thor had put a set limit on it, as condition of Loki’s release - Proof, he had said, We can trust you. Loki had thought to save it for later, that you wouldn’t need him right then. He had thought you’d talk them out, to safety. 

You’d failed him. 

“You didn’t,” He tells you, voice raw. He goes to grip your chin, to force you to listen to him, but with a glance and ill-concealed wince at your purpled jaw he thinks better of it. “You think that you failed me? You let yourself be - be beaten and stabbed - just so people you’ve never met in your life wouldn’t die, and you call that a failure?” He runs a hand through his hair. Bites back a snarl. Drops your arm. “I need you to listen to me,” Loki says, “Very, very carefully. You’re going to tell me why now, love. And then we’re going to fix it.” 

You raise an eyebrow. Worse than he does, you’re aware. 

“Sleep,” He amends, with a pointed look at the bed underneath you, “And then we’re going to fix it.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, “And I feel like I just got run over by a truck.” 

Loki huffs, a puff of warm air that you feel, from how close he still is. A grin twitches at the edge of his lips. It sets off sparks inside you. 

“I thought -“ You say. Shake your head, and restart. “You would have let the Pink Cobra attack. You would have let him just walk away, and I couldn’t just - let that happen.” 

“Enlightening.” 

“No,” You tell him, “I mean it. I couldn’t - I’m not - I’m not worth more than anyone else. We’re the Avengers. It’s our job to save people, Loki.” 

He’s regarding you carefully, eyes still narrowed, all vestiges of softness gone from his face. When he opens his mouth, it’s to close it. Form thoughts. Discard them. Exhale. 

“My mother once told me,” He finally says, “That I would never know what it meant to be human until I found the person who made me want to bleed the world dry. Take all of its’ suffering, all of its’ cruelty, and leech it out of the very fabric of time, just to keep that person from anguish, from harm.” 

“I don’t -“ 

He holds a hand up. You still. 

“She never said they would infuriate me,” Loki says. “She never said they would make me laugh, or smile, or question my sanity on a regular basis. She never said that they’d try and get themselves killed, and that I’d have to watch, and that I would feel like my heart was being ripped from my body and torn to a bloody pulp; that I would make the sky rain blood and fire at the sight of it alone. But she was right about one thing - Many things, but also this. She told me that it wouldn’t matter. That I would - love you - anyway.” 

“You don’t,” You say, not daring to hope. It’s an automatic retort. 

“Foolish girl,” Loki chides, and you blink back fresh, stinging tears. How long have you wanted to hear Loki say that to you? How many sneaky looks have you stolen in the heat of your missions, just to see his smart mind and tricky magic at work? How many nights have you sat up together, sequestered from your insomnia in a bubble of hard-earned banter and peppermint tea, fighting the tight, coiling urge to push aside your steaming mugs and pull him into your needing? 

He could not - he can’t - feel the same. 

“Loki,” You say, stumbling over the words, “You can’t - This is - This is me we’re talking about.” 

“Is there anyone else here,” Loki asks you, “That I could be talking about?” He seems nonchalant, now, as if this - this cruel fucking joke, when you already feel you’re on fire - is merely a fact of his life. “We’re going to leave this excuse of a town, and get you - proper care. Fix it. Because I will not, on my honor, watch you suffer in pain. But first, you’re going to sleep.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, and feel your resolve as it shatters. You cling to the statement like it’s the last remnant of the girl you were and the woman that you’ll never be, “And the shower doesn’t work. And I’m covered in blood.” 

But when you look at Loki, his eyes twinkle, mischievous. 

“Will you stay with me?,” You ask him, biting your lip. 

“You astound me,” He tells you, and rolls his eyes, and it feels - it feels normal. Good. A tender heat unfurls in your heart like orchid petals in the sun, numbing the persistent ache in your ribcage. “To even think that I would do anything else.” 

Later, you will ask him why. Why do you love me?, you will ask, and Loki will hum, low in his throat, curled around you just like this first night; your back pressed into his chest, your legs tangled up hopelessly, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns onto your spine in the dawn-light’s syrupy gold. Because, he will tell you, trailing a line of soft kisses up the scar on your arm - an ugly thing, but it functions, mostly, and only ever seems to hurt on the days when he isn’t there - I was given no choice. 

But if you’d had one?”, You will ask, and spin around, propping yourself on your elbow. 

You tempt me, He’ll tell you, baring his sharp teeth. Shouldn’t you know better than that? 

You will lie there, next to each other, not needing a single word. Because you will know. Because he will have told you, a thousand times, a thousand ways, exactly how he feels about you. 

Tonight, though, isn’t that night. It takes a moment to get settled in his hold, and the rain spits and drums against what glass remains in your window, slicking the carpet with dark, greasy splotches. It figures, you think, that even the rain in this city has the smell and the texture of oil. You feel like a bag of bones, stretched too thin. But safe, in his arms, in a way that you’ve never felt, before now. Loki is with you, you realize. Wrapped around you like a traveler’s cloak, the comforting weight of a slim, balanced blade at your side in a fight. He is cool, around your afraid. Warm, where his clever fingers whine and needle their way through your skin to your heart. 

“I hate you,” You tell him, “You know that?” 

Loki laughs, a deep, rumbling purr. 

“Go to sleep.”

[imaginationintowords]

Folklore [song series]

mad woman

Modern Day AU! Bucky Barnes x OC!Reader; Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff

Plot: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s new album Folklore. The story follows the timeline of Bucky and Elizabeth’s relationship throughout the years.

Word count: 1803

Warnings: swearing, angst

Previous part

Series Masterlist

Age: 17

Year: 2011

Location: Brooklyn, NY

Elizabeth had the whole weekend to prepare for what was to come when she went to school on Monday.

Word had quickly spread about what happened at her place with Bucky.

She decided that Saturday morning to block Inez's number, along with a few other students. Everyone had shifted over the villain role from Bucky to Betty, Elizabeth. She even set all her social media accounts to private, blocking those who were being nasty towards her.

To be honest she wasn't even sure if Bucky had even gotten as much crap over the last month that she was getting in just the last 48 hours.

How is she the woman he cheated on suddenly the villain?

Was she harsh to him? Maybe.

Did he deserve it? In her eyes, yes. Her reaction was a normal reaction for any person that would be in that position.

She had given him everything the last three years.

She was gone for one summer and he betrayed it all within those ten weeks. He couldn't even tell her why when she first found out a month ago. Now here he was showing up uninvited, crashing a student council meeting, not caring how it all made her look.

She could no longer hold it in. She just snapped.

Now here she was the bad guy, because Bucky decided to make his infidelity public. Because he didn't give her the respect of having this discussion in private.

She had never felt more disrespected. She had never felt more betrayed in her life.

She had never felt more alone.

Sure she had other friends besides Bucky and Steve, but once word got around about her outburst, no one really cared about her feelings but more about the gossip.

Forget student council, the secretary, Kelsea Cash texted her Sunday night saying:

"Student council doesn't need any bad press. So it's best if you just sit out until student elections. Also, if you think about running for student body president this year, it's probably best if you don't."

That text crushed Elizabeth. She had given student council that last three years of her life. The meeting that they had on Friday was partly discussing about her running for student body President, with Steve running as her Vice President. She had done an amazing job all throughout high school her classmates had praised her and wanted to help her run again. Looks like all those years were a waste. Just like her relationship with Bucky.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't cry herself to sleep that night. The anxiety and sadness seeping in. She knew she couldn't fake sick because her parents would ask what was wrong. She had already lied about why she and Bucky broke up, she couldn't lie to them about this.

She took her time getting ready that Monday morning. She didn't want to get to school until the last possible moment.

When she pulled into her assigned parking spot in the student parking lot, she waited until she heard the school bell ring.

Elizabeth made the dreaded walk up the steps that led into the hallways of her awaiting doom.

As soon as she stepped foot through the doors all eyes were on her. As if everyone was awaiting her arrival.

She slowly made her way to her homeroom, looking down at her feet to avoid eye contact. She could hear the whispers, she's pretty sure everyone wanted her to hear them.

"What a bitch."

"Bucky really dodged a bullet."

"Never knew she could be so mean."

"It's always the quiet ones."

"Bucky deserves better."

Elizabeth fought back the tears, her main focus was just to get to her homeroom. She was going to have to take today one class at a time.

As soon as she got into class she found her seat and let out a sigh of relief once she was seated. That was until a shadow loomed over her desk.

She looked up to find Alex Taylor standing over her desk, with a sly smile on his face.

"Hey Elizabeth," he gently greeted her.

His soft tone took her by surprise, but Elizabeth knew better than to let her guard down.

"Hi Alex," she said trying to ignore by pulling out her notebook.

"Listen, I'm sorry about what happened. Barnes shouldn't have done that. It wasn't cool," he sat down in the desk next her, which was not his assigned seat.

"Uh thanks."

"Barnes never did deserve you," Alex's voice got quieter, he leaned over his breath now on her face.

"Bet I can make you forget all about that jerk," he whispered in her ear, placing his hand on her upper thigh.

Elizabeth abruptly shot out of her seat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she shrieked, alarming the whole class along with the teacher, who started making her way towards them.

"Come on Liz, let me take you out."

"How many times do I have to tell you no?"

"Do you not know what that means? I don't want to go out with you Alex. Not now, not ever," Elizabeth continued, she caught a glimpse of the class recording her outburst.

"What is going on here? Mr. Taylor. Ms. Sanchez," Ms. Marquez asked looking between the two.

"I was just trying to be a friend to Betty here," Elizabeth snapped her head towards Alex at the mention of her nickname, "When she totally freaked out on me."

Elizabeth was speechless.

"Everyone back to your original assigned seats. And put your phones away," Ms. Marquez instructed, walking back to her desk.

"No wonder Barnes cheated on you," Alex whispered to Elizabeth's face.

What happened next not only took the whole class by surprise, but Elizabeth herself as well.

The sound of the slap was heard throughout the classroom.

"Bitch," Alex sneered, clutching his face.

The sudden realization sunk in.

"Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. I-I don't know what came over me."

"Elizabeth, principal's office, now."

Elizabeth gathered her things and made her way to the principal's office. She was completely stunned. She couldn't believe she just did that.

When she arrived the secretary informed her that Principal Alvarez was waiting for her inside.

"Ms. Sanchez, please have a seat," Principal Alvarez pointed to the seat on the other side of her desk.

Elizabeth closed the door behind her and took the seat opposite the female adult.

"When Ms. Marquez called to tell me why you would be making your way up here, I was completely stunned. Never would I have thought you would be in here for a physical altercation."

Elizabeth glanced down at her hands on her lap. She was completely embarrassed by her actions and behavior.

"Now normally I would call a student's parents or suspend them."

"What?" Elizabeth's head snapped up.

"But this is a very difference circumstance. You have never gotten into any trouble. You've been a star student, and unfortunately even though the staff and I are adults, we aren't privy to school gossip," Principal Alvarez informed her.

"Oh," Elizabeth's eyes widen.

She knew. Everyone knew.

"Being a teenager isn't easy. Especially in today's modern technology world. I can't even imagine half of the things you kids have to go through. The mean, hurtful comments they follow you all home, it's not fair."

Elizabeth glanced back down at her hands, to try and hide the tears threatening to fall.

"I'm sorry you're going through all of this, and having to deal with classmates' inputs. You're first heartbreak is never easy. It's hard enough having to deal with it privately, but having to deal with it publicly while in high school. It's tough."

Elizabeth could no longer hold in her sobs. She covered her face with her hands to try and contain the sound. She could hear Principal Alvarez get up from her chair. She sat on the chair next to Elizabeth, and gently rubbed her back.

"It's not fair," Elizabeth sobs, "I didn't do anything wrong, yet everyone hates me."

"How is all of this my fault? How am I the bad guy? All I ever did was love James. I gave him everything. Everything. And now I have nothing."

"I'm sure you have some friends you can talk to through this," Principal Alvarez says.

"No. Not really. People just want the gossip. No one. Not one single person has asked how I've been," she looks up to meet Principal Alvarez's eyes, "My best friends were Steve, Bucky, and Peggy. Peggy is no longer here. And of course Steve is siding with Bucky. They've known each other their entire lives. And the way Steve looked at me on Friday night after what I told Bucky, forget it. He's never going to talk to me ever again."

"I'm sure he'll come around eventually."

"No, he won't. He's very loyal to Bucky. He isn't going to turn his back on someone who's practically his brother."

"Have you thought about telling your parents?"

"No. I don't want them to know. It's embarrassing enough that you know," Elizabeth sniffles, wiping away the last of her tears, "Thank-you though. You didn't have to let me of so easily."

"Like I've said before, you're a star student. Plus you're going through enough, I'm not about to put more on your plate," she patted Elizabeth's knee before getting up and going back to her side of the desk.

"Now do you think you'll be able to handle the rest of the day? I will let you head home early," Principal Alvarez asked, standing behind her desk.

"No," Elizabeth shakes her head, "I have to stay. I have to at least get through today. I can't let them know they're getting to me."

"Smart girl," Alvarez winked at her, smiling, "My door is always open if you need to come by again today."

"Thank-you, I'll keep that in mind," Elizabeth nodded, grabbing her backpack and heading for the door, "Bye."

"Bye."

As Elizabeth walked out of the office, she glanced at the clock over the secretary's desk, everyone would already be in first period. She grabbed a slip from the secretary excusing her tardiness.

She walked through the silent halls, taking her time, the only sounds coming from her boots clacking. Elizabeth knew that to get through today she is going to have to show everyone that they're not getting to her.

In order to get through today she's going to have to give them what they've been calling her.

She's going to have to be a cold bitch.

This is the new Elizabeth.

Naïve, sweet, innocent Elizabeth is gone.

This Elizabeth will no longer show people what they've done to her. She will no longer be open with herself.

This Elizabeth is going to be just like all of them.

Selfish.

The only person that truly cares about her is herself.

This is the Elizabeth they've created.

[thatfanficstuff]

Battle Scars - 18 The End

Pairing: Tony Stark x Soulmate!Reader

Warnings: it’s so fluffy! And punching. There’s punching. And kicking. some language, maybe. Oh, you know what to expect by now.

A/N: So we have arrived at the bittersweet end my friends. What started as a little idea for a challenge turned into a story that so many of you fell in love with. Thank you for taking the journey with me and I hope the end does the rest of it justice. (and FYI Pepper went on a date with Hammer and bitched about Y/N the whole time. That’s when he developed his evil plan. Pepper was not directly involved. Just thought I’d put that out there since it’s not addressed in the fic)

***

You had forgotten what an incredible pain in the ass it was to get Tony on the line if you didn’t have his direct number. You tried twice before you gave up, cursing yourself for not memorizing his number. Or anyone else’s for that matter. Why would you need to? You always had your phone, right? You groaned in annoyance.

“Can I get up now?” Hammer said below you.

You drove your heel into his side again. “No. Be quiet. I’m thinking.” There was a beat of silence as the solution came to you. “And I’m an idiot.”

You called the operator and asked to be connected with Stark Tower again. This time when the receptionist answered, you asked for Happy. “Please advise him that it is a code 3 priority call.” Code 3 meant there was a Tony problem and usually you were on the receiving end of those calls. The three being a reference to his mental age when he was at his most annoying.

“Who is this?” Happy answered the phone a short time later.

You rolled your eyes. “Is that how you answer the phone? We’re going to have to rethink your nickname.”

“Y/N?”

“Got it in one.”

“Holy shit. Where the hell are you? Everyone here is going nuts trying to find you.” You heard noise in the background as he moved around.

“You won’t believe me when I tell you. Are you anywhere near Tony?”

“Taking you to him right now. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay, Hap. Just pissed off but I found a way to relieve some of the anger.” You kicked Hammer in the other side this time and wondered if you’d managed to actually break any of the ribs yet. At least it was keeping you from being bored.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned and you grinned at his discomfort.

***

Tony and the rest of the team were bent over a map laid out on a table. Fury was on the main screen as they argued over strategy. Nat’s intel on Igor and who he usually worked for had made finding you a more urgent priority. You might be fine for the moment, but that wouldn’t last.

“What is that going to accomplish?” Steve asked in response to Fury’s latest idea.

“Wasting time. That’s what it will accomplish,” Bucky muttered and Tony doubted Fury even heard him.

“Boss,” Happy said trying to get his attention.

Tony glanced at him to see the phone in his hand and quickly dismissed him. He didn’t have time for this right now. He circled a section of the map. “I still say we should focus our energies here. Ran scans for heat signatures. The bad guys always use warehouses.”

“Boss,” Happy said again, a little louder.

Tony made a shooing motion at him.

“And I say it’s a waste of resources to send everyone there. What if she’s not there, Stark? What if the bad guy is smarter than you this time?” Fury argued.

“Boss!” Happy yelled.

Tony spun with a scowl. “What? We’re a little busy trying to find Y/N here, Hap.”

“Maybe I can help with that.” Your voice coming through the speaker of Happy’s phone had everyone freezing for a beat.

“Y/N?” Tony asked, not quite ready to believe it was you just yet.

“Last time I checked. Have Jarvis trace this call and get me the hell out of here, would you?”

***

It was a matter of minutes before shouting drifted to you from the depths of the building. You turned your head to hear better, but no further sound came to you. Just as you were prepared to dismiss it as nothing, a large thud came from the hallway. You started to get up then turned back to Hammer. “Stay.”

He nodded between wheezing breaths. Dipshit.

A light knock came at the door even as you approached it. “Housekeeping.”

You snorted a laugh at the horrible, high-pitched voice then swung open the door. Barton stood on the other side. When he saw it was you, he lowered his weapon and grinned at you. “I’ve got eyes on Y/N.” He stepped past you into the room as he spoke to the rest of the team. “And Hammer.”

You peered into the hall to find the thug on the floor, slumped against the wall.

“Christ, Y/N. What did you do to him?”

Clint’s question had you turning to look at him. He had moved your chair and was looking Hammer over for injuries. You stood with your arms crossed over your chest appreciating your handywork.

Clint’s lips twitched in amusement as he helped Hammer to his feet.

The idiot pointed to you with a shaking hand. “She’s crazy. I was just talking to her and she kicked me.”

“She kicked you?” Clint asked with his brows lifted.

Thinking he had a sympathetic ear, Hammer continued. “In the head. And she punched me in the throat and look what she did here.” He shifted his clothing around so Clint could see the forming bruises on his ribs.

“That looks painful. Did she kick you?”

“Yes. I told you she’s nuts.”

Clint leaned forward to examine the other man. “Did she kick you here?” As he said the last word, he slammed his fist into the other man’s ribs. If they weren’t broken before, they certainly were now. He caught Hammer to keep him from falling. “What about here?” Another punch followed the words.

Footsteps sounded behind you and you stepped to the side as Nat, Tony and Steve joined you. You went immediately to your soulmate’s side but scrunched your nose at the realization you’d be hugging metal. At least the helmet was retracted. “Sorry I worried you,” you said as you stretched to kiss his lips.

He arched a brow. “Yes, because this was all your fault.”

You shrugged. “Thanks for the rescue, anyway.”

Nat scoffed. “This is the least dramatic rescue in history. We literally could have just jumped out and yelled boo to the same effect.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I used your training.” You gestured to the ropes on the floor.

She smiled. “Nicely done, Y/L/N.”

“Not to interrupt the female bonding, but who hit you? Was it Hammer? Please, say it was Hammer.” Tony may have been smiling for you, but his jaw was set. He was pissed and wanted someone to take the anger out on. You supposed that was fair, you’d gotten to take yours out on Hammer after all.

“Kevin.”

Tony’s brows shot up. “Kevin? Isn’t that the name of one of those little yellow things?”

“They’re minions, Tony,” Clint protested. They’d had this conversation multiple times.

Tony rolled his eyes and turned toward you so Clint wouldn’t see his smirk.

You shook your head and gestured into the hall. “That is also Kevin.”

Nat snorted a laugh then covered her mouth with her hand. “No wonder he goes by Igor.”

“Cap, can you take my girl home? I have a delivery to drop off at SHIELD.” You weren’t sure you liked the way he emphasized the words ‘drop off’.

“It would be my honor, Tony.” Steve offered you his arm and you gave your boyfriend one more kiss before taking it.

“Don’t be too long, Stark. We’ve got a party to go to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His helmet slid back into place and Clint followed him from the room, dragging Hammer along with him.

Steve led you into the hall. “Let’s get you home, Y/N.”

That was the best idea you’d heard all day.

***

You got ready for the party in Nat’s room which had always been the plan. Wanda joined the two of you and it wasn’t long before you were giggling like school girls. You blamed it on the tension of the day needing to be released. Whatever the reason, by the time you were dressed and Wanda had fixed your hair and make up for you, your cheeks ached from smiling.

“Well?” You spun in a little circle showing off the dress that made you feel like a princess the moment you put it on.

Both women grinned at you. “You’re going to take his breath away,” Nat said and Wanda nodded in agreement.

You glanced at the time. “I guess we should go.” Despite all the chaos of the day you managed to only be fashionably late. Of course, since it was your party you could make the argument you weren’t late at all.

Once you arrived at the floor where the party was being held, the three of you split up. Your eyes found Tony and you immediately gravitated toward him. Your gaze ran over him as you made your way through the crowd. He had one hand in his pocket and the other hooked around the back of his neck as he leaned forward listening to Rhodey.

You saw the moment Rhodey noticed you. He smiled and said something to Tony who instantly turned to find you. His expression was stunned for the brief moment it took him to rake his gaze over you then a bright smile lit his whole face. He met you half way, his fingers trailing down your cheek.

“You are stunning.”

You gave him a little curtsey. “You aren’t so bad yourself, Mr. Stark.”

He took one of your hands in his and pulled you to him. His other hand settled in the small of your back. Effortlessly, he began to move the two of you to the rhythm of the music playing softly over the speakers. He rested his head alongside yours and hummed with the tune. You closed your eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of being home in Tony’s arms.

“You scared me today,” he said. His voice was so quiet you almost didn’t hear him.

You tilted your head back to look at him. “I’m sorry.”

He kissed your lips. “Not your fault, sweetheart. But it did make me face the horrifying prospect of my life without you in it.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Stark. You’re stuck with me.”

“Thank God,” he said with a laugh and spun you before pulling you in to kiss you again. “I would like to make absolutely sure though. So, I’m going to need you to make me a promise. And do it rather publicly, I’m afraid.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you want me to do, swear a blood oath?”

He hummed and pursed his lips. “I was thinking something slightly less dramatic. And with more jewelry.” As he said the last, he pulled a small velvet box from his suit jacket. He opened it and your gaze darted from the most beautiful ring you���d ever seen up to him. He grinned but you could see the worry shining from his eyes. “Marry me?”

Your heart raced as you took in everything about this man you loved. Everything about him complemented every piece of you. You beamed at him. “Of course, I will.” He slid the perfectly sized ring on your finger and a cheer went up from the crowd around you. You had honestly completely forgotten they were there, you’d been so lost in your soulmate.

His arms looped around your waist as he pulled you back to him. Your hands rested on his chest, the diamonds sparkling against his suit. He kissed you then. A sweet kiss full of promises for the future. As the two of you separated, he laid his forehead against yours. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Mr. Stark.”  

***

Thank you for reading! Have any lingering questions? Let me know.

[kee-writestrashh]

Soot & Healing Salve

Charlie Weasley x Reader

ao3

words: 2120

summary: anon request- I was the anon aking if you write for Harry Potter. Do you think you could do something with Charlie or Bill? They don’t get enough recognition

author’s note: okay, but whoever you are, i want to kiss you. I love, love, LOVE the Weasley family and had so much fun with this! enjoy!

It was the opportunity of a lifetime. How could you have said no? It was like everything in your life had led up to this moment. Not many mediwizards got this chance, and especially not American mediwizards. But here you were, about to start your first day on the job as a mediwizard in Dragon territory Romania.

This is what you were made for. Growing up in Boston to a muggle father and witch mother. Your father was a captain of the Boston FD and your mother was a healer in a private Bostonian wizarding hospital. Your life was full of emergency services. You wanted to be like your father, a fireman. Upholding the family tradition of firefighting. But then your Ilvermorny letter arrived, as your mother knew it would, and your only focus was to be the wizarding equivalent to a paramedic, a mediwizard.

Working under pressure came easy for you. Almost as easy as preparing potions while people in pain were screaming at you. You had an uncanny ability to prepare doses and make immediate diagnoses at the drop of a hat. Fresh in the field you gained attention from the higher ups and long time veterans of the field. And your heart was bursting when your commander told you he had put your name in for a job opening as a mediwizard in Romania. But getting the owl to tell you that you had been selected almost made your heart stop. How could you be so lucky?

And now you stood near the medical tent, going through routine wand check and a basic rundown of your skills. You took the shiny badge from your new commander and pinned it proudly on your uniform. A warmth glowing inside of you that surely shone through your eyes.

“Aye, everything seems to be in order. Your partner will escort you to your first station and get you settled in. Welcome aboard, (Y/N).” The commander said, giving you a wan smile.

You fixed your uniform robes and walked out of the tent, eyes scanning the vast land before you. You couldn’t wait to take some pictures to send back home. You were just making mental note of what you would take pictures of first when a voice came from behind you.

You turned at the voice and noticed a redhaired young man roughly your age. He was covered in black soot, which made his smile dazzling against the sun. “You’re (Y/N) then? I’m Charlie. Your partner asked if I would come show you the way. He’s a bit tied up at the moment helping one of the other dragon wranglers who got in a spot of trouble.”

You eyed Charlie up and down and raised a brow, “A spot of trouble, huh?”

Charlie gave a broad smile and a shrug, “The job gets boring sometimes, and well, you can’t just turn down a dare. Word of the wise, pepper makes a dragon sneeze just as well as a person.”

You gave a small laugh, “No wonder you lot are in need of more mediwizards.”

Charlie gave another innocent shrug and pointed his thumb over his shoulder, “If you’ll follow me then.”

You fit right in with the crowd you worked with. There was really never a moments peace. Sometimes lunch and healing salve went almost hand in hand. Dragon wranglers were wild, and that’s all there was to it. They seemed to have no sense of self preservation. ‘Live in the moment’, Charlie would tell you every time you tended to his burns. You almost came to the conclusion that he was stained in dragon fire soot. 

“You smell like a house fire.” You said, tending to the seventeenth burn on Charlie in two weeks.

You were beat. Working around the clock. There were shifts, but even in your few hours off, it wasn’t enough to actually rest. The mediwizard force was really outnumbered and overworked. However, the job was so high stress, not many could make the cut. And now you understood why. You were running on dragon fumes. Quite literally. The constant brimstone smell made your head a bit light from time to time.

“Uh, (Y/N)...” Charlie said, wincing in pain and jerking his arm away from you. “That’s peanut butter.”

“Peanut butter...” You mumbled, dipping the butter knife back into the peanut butter jar. Then the weight of the words hit you and you snapped awake, “Peanut butter!”

You looked down, and sure enough, you had slathered peanut butter on Charlie’s burn, but only after you had made a healing salve and jelly sandwich for lunch. You gave a frustrated sigh and shook your head. “So sorry, Charlie.” You said, pulling your wand from your robe and giving it a small wave.

Charlie reached in his pocket and held out a flask, “You could do with a pick me up.”

You looked from flask to Charlie and raised your brow as you often did with him. He was a trouble maker. He gave a crooked grin and shook the flask at you.

“Go on. A shot of firewhiskey will do you some good.” He urged.

You took the flask and a small swig. the heat in your throat waking you at once. You gave a small cough, feeling like you could breathe fire as well as any of the dragons in the field. A small shake of your head, handing the flask back.

“Is it always this busy?” You asked, hearing a dragon roar, shouting, and feeling the heat of the dragon fire, even if it was a ways off. You moved the peanut butter away and pulled the salve toward you.

Charlie gave a huff, “Not usually. It’s breeding season. And there are more males than there are females that are ready to breed. It’s a nightmare out there. Males will try to eat everything in sight that even moves. Thinks it will try and make a move on his lady. Watched one rip a tree from the ground and chew it up into splinters because the wind made the branches move too much.”

You applied the ointment and tutted. “Males.”

Charlie laughed, a small sigh of relief leaving him as you applied more of the ointment. “Your salve is the best. It soothes immediately and takes the burn out.”

You gave a small shrug, “Spearmint and lavender.”

“When do you get off?” He asked, catching you off guard. 

Your voice seemed to stick and you stared stupidly at Charlie.

“Next crew should be in in about three hours.” Adam, your partner, spoke up as he walked into the tent to set up the cauldron and start another batch of Draught of Peace.

“Well then, how about an actual lunch?” Charlie said looking from Adam back to you.

“What?” You said stupidly.

“She’d be delighted.” Adam answered for you, prodding the bottom of the cauldron with his wand to light the fire underneath.

“I’ll see you in three, then.” Charlie said brightly, leaving your table and slipping out of the tent.

“You’re kinda slow on the uptake aren’t you?” Adam chuckled, ducking under your table to grab the potions kit.

“I am not!” You said defensively, feeling your cheeks warm.

“He’s been hinting for like two weeks.” Adam continued casually, taking out a set of brass scales and giving his wand complicated little waves.

“Tuh.” You hissed in indignation, pulling out your patient report, and pausing slightly when you wrote down Charlie Weasley. Had you really been so obvious at becoming dumbfounded about being asked out? Though, you couldn’t remember the last time you had even made time for a date, or even an event out with friends. You were always too busy with school work you’d say. You’d always take extra shifts.

You shook your head at yourself, consulting your watch to guesstimate the time in which Charlie had walked into the tent for medical attention. “I’m headed to the station.” You said, gathering up your items to move from tent to the station, fifty meters away. Adam simply grunted, biting his tongue as he carefully added potion ingredients to the cauldron.

“Well look at that.” You said, throwing your quill down and standing from your seat three hours later as the next crew came in. “I actually got all my reports done today.”

Adam looked over your shoulder, “And in legible writing even. Go you.”

“Oh hush. My writing is so much better than yours.” you quipped, placing the thick stack of papers in a file folder. “Good luck guys! See you in thirty six!” You tittered, waving at the new crew as you hung up your uniform robe to leave. Alice gave a dismissive wave and her partner Chris gave you a rather rude hand gesture. he looked as tired as you felt. You giggled, stepping back outside of the building, waiting on Adam.

“Chris seems real enthused today doesn’t he?” You said, falling into step with your partner until you reached the apparating point on the edge of the field.

“Commander denied him vacation until breeding season is over because we are so short handed.” Adam said with a small yawn. “I’m sure Charlie will be here momentarily. I’m headed to take a loooooong nap.”

“Enjoy! See you tomorrow-ish.” You said with a small smile, giving Adam a small wave as he turned on his heel and disappeared with a faint ‘pop!’. 

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Charlie called loudly, waving at you. You turned and smiled at him. “So, late lunch. Early dinner. Whatever it is. I owe you for the great care you’ve given.”

“Hows your arm?” You asked.

Charlie held up his arm, there was a very large, shiny scar forming.

You frowned at the scar, “I should have been quicker.” You said, taking his arm and running a finger along the pink skin.

“I think it adds a bit of flavor.” Charlie chuckled. “There’s a pub in the nearest little town. They make amazing sandwiches. Their beer selection is pretty great too. What do you say?”

“Lead the way.” You beamed, taking him in. He was soot free for once. You weren’t even sure that was possible. He smelled nice too. Not like brimstone or healing salve.

He was right. So very right. This tiny pub was exactly what you needed. You felt like some starved animal as you ate two sandwiches and... how many glasses of beer was it now?

Charlie told you all about his time at Hogwarts and his love for magical creatures. He pressed you endlessly for information on Ilvermorny. He then continued the conversation by talking about his family. Very large family. his four youngest siblings still at Hogwarts. His youngest brother being best friends with Harry Potter, and how a couple years ago they had written to him asking if he would pick up an illegal dragon from the school. 

“She’s a real beauty. We call her Norberta. As beautiful as a Norwegian Ridgeback as there ever was. I’ll have to introduce you sometime.” He said fondly before telling you about his older brother Bill, who was in Egypt breaking curses for Gringotts.

You told him about your family, and how your father was a muggle. This made Charlie laugh and tell you all about how fascinated his father was with muggles, and plug and batteries. That made you laugh loudly.

“You know, they’re working out all the kinks... but they’re going to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament. Going to be hosted at Hogwarts. They want us to supply some dragons for one of the three tasks. I’ve been put on that detail. We’ll need a couple Mediwizards on hand, to make sure nothing too horrible happens. You and Adam should put in. I’d love to show you Hogwarts.”

You gave a small grin, elbows on the edge of the table as you held another pint in your fingertips. You took a sip and gave your lips a small smack. “It almost sounds as if you plan on getting hurt.” You quirked your brow again. “I was going through my reports. You have some pretty novice mistakes going on for a top dragon wrangler...”

“Would you believe me if I said that maybe the dragons and I have an agreement that they only slightly maim me so that I can see you? I wasn’t lying when I said your healing salve is the best.”

“Oh, so you only like me for my medicines?” You asked in a mock scandalized tone.

“That, and your soft hands.” Charlie said giving a shrug as he often did when he was called out on something.

“No shame in you is there? You are very charming, Charlie Weasley.”  

[sandersidess]

Tried Intervention

TW: Drug mention, Drug addiction, Death mention, Death threat, No happy ending, ask to tag

Characters: Patton, Logan, Emile, Deceit (named Dolos), Nate, OC Boyfriend, and friends

tag: @pllandcompany

@pursuingconsonance​ sent me a pm of a video from Private Practice, and it inspired me to write this. Head the warnings, and if anything, let me know if I should tag something else. Again, sorry for any typos

                                                          -

Patton watched as Logan stood there, hair tousled, hands shaking and seeming to pull on their fingers, eyeliner smudged under the waterline, eyes shifting around and seeming scared. The man he walked in with, his boyfriend, seemed much calmer but he knew that wasn’t the case. The boyfriend was only better at managing because he has been doing this for years, but even he had shifty eyes and was holding Logan close to him.

“Logan, what’s wrong with you?”

Patton knew the answer already, but he needed to hear it from Logan. He needed to hear his ex-brother-in-law say those words, to admit to his wrongdoing. Logan didn’t respond, instead wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and gripped onto the leather jacket.

“You’re using again, aren’t you?”

Patton looks over to their old friend, who was staring in disbelief as Logan just shifted his eyes away and mumbled in the boyfriend’s chest. Patton sat down, needing to take it all in. He couldn’t believe this, and just the thought of having to tell his ex-husband about his brother was too much.

“We’re getting married.”

With that, Patton’s head snaps up, seeing Logan now facing the group of people and was staring at the ground. Logan was definitely back on opioids, after two years clean, he relapsed. Logan, his best friend, and a little brother to him had not only relapsed but is now marrying his equally drug-addicted boyfriend.

“No, you’re not,” Emile stands up, shaking his head and walks over, glaring at the boyfriend, “You get out of here. He’s got to go, now. Leave.”

“Ryan and I are getting married,” Logan says in a low voice, which was cracked, “We are getting married soon. Do not speak to him like that,” He lays his head on his chest, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

“Logan, you won’t get sober if you stay with him,” Another colleague speaks up, standing up and slowly walks over, “You need to leave him.”

“Shut up,” Logan glares at them, “You shut up. You know nothing about us.”

“Listen,” Dolos stands up also, letting out a sigh, “Logan’s addiction isn’t Ryan’s fault. If Ryan wants to get sober too, then we can help him. Ryan, this is an offer you shouldn’t give up,” Dolos looks at Ryan, who was just looking away and down at Logan, keeping him close.

“No, no we are not,” Emile shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, “We will not be helping the person who did this to him.”

“We are not here for Ryan,” Patton finally speaks up, walking over quickly, “We are here for Logan. He is our main focus.”

“But if Logan gets sober with someone he loves, then it will make the recovery much smoother and he will want to get involved with the program,” Dolos interjects and lowers the hand he had put up, “There is research on this, guys come on, back me up.”

Patton tuned him out, staring at Ryan’s wrist as he had his arm around Logan’s shoulders. He frowns, taking two steps forward as he recognized that watch. He couldn’t believe his eyes, looking at Ryan and then at Logan with an agape mouth, storming over and grabbed his wrist. Ryan moved back, glaring at Patton and Logan just kept his eyes down,

“You gave him the watch?” Patton whispers, grabbing Logan’s chin and made him look into his eyes, “Logan, look at me. You gave him your father’s watch?!”

“Do not touch me,” Logan roughly shoves away his arm, glaring at him and steps away, “It’s just an engagement present.”

“It’s your father’s watch!” Patton exclaims, wide-eyed and pinched  the bridge of his nose, “You don’t just give that away!”

“Leave me alone,” Logan walks off and grabs his jacket and bag.

“Just let him be-“

“This is none of your business!” Patton raises his voice at Ryan, shoving his hand away from  him, “I am talking to my brother!”

“I’m not your brother,” Logan mumbles and grips his jacket in hand, twisting it.

Patton grabs Ryan’s arms and raises up his wrist, showing the watch on him, “You do not just give this away! This is from your mother! Do you know how this will make her feel?! Logan, say something!”

Logan stumbles with his words, looking between Patton and Ryan, giving a small shrug in response. Patton was getting irritated, but his concern over Logan was also growing. This was not normal, and he needed Logan to realize this. To give away a watch of big importance, this wasn’t Logan. This was someone else.

“I’m sorry, but what does that watch have to do with all this? What is the significance of it?”

They all look over at the female colleague who spoke up, and Logan once more just shrugs. He shakes his head and looks at them,

“It’s just a watch. It’s nothing.”

“Say the truth, Logan,” Patton places his hands on his hip, tapping his fingers on them as he held his composure.

“Fine,” Logan clears his throat, “My mother gave it to my father for their anniversary-“

“That is not the truth!”

“Patton-“

“Emile, you and I both know that is not the truth,” Patton raises a finger to stop him talking and turns towards the group, “Two guys came into his father’s store when he was little-“

“You shut up!” Logan stomped over and grabbed Patton by his arm, gritting his teeth, “You shut up! You do not tell that story! That is not your story to tell!” He yells at him, Ryan stepping forward and grabbed Logan.

Everybody stared at Logan in shock, seeing how he had reacted angrily to Patton of all people. Patton just stood there, knowing this would happen.

“He was not your dad! He was my dad! My dad!” Logan cries tears started to edge up and soon down his cheeks, “You shut your mouth! Shut up!” Logan starts to fight against Ryan, trying to go after Patton in a fit of rage and despair, “You stupid, ignorant, monster bitch! You do not tell that story!” Logan cries on Ryan’s shoulder, Ryan trying to control Logan, “You do not ever tell that story!”

Ryan places a hand on the back of Logan’s head and rocking him gently as he kept crying, trying his best to keep him calm as Logan just cried, sobbing almost at this point. Logan grips onto Ryan, looking at Patton over his shoulder, tears now smudging his makeup and showing his dark bags,

“You ever tell that story, and I will kill you with my bare hands! I will kill you, Patton!”

That made Patton back up a step, eyes wide once more at the words. Logan had never gotten this bad, but he was over the edge. He opened his mouth to speak, but Logan was begging Ryan to leave. Ryan just nodded, kissing his head and led him to the elevator.

“Logan, stay, please.”

Logan sniffles, pressing the down button and looks at Nate, eyes blank at this point. He scoffs, letting out a sarcastic chuckle.

“Nate, I will never, ever, love you back,” He sniffles and raises an eyebrow, “You know that, right?”

Logan didn’t wait for a response, stepping in the elevator and Ryan is behind him. He looks back at Patton, letting out a small sigh.

“It’s nice to see you all,” He nods, “Hope to see you all again once everything is calm.”

With that, he steps in the elevator with Logan, pressing the button to close the door. Patton just watches as the doors shut, last seeing Logan’s dark glare as tears still fell.

[overlyobsessedgaygal]

Less of A Man

Words: 1,537

Fandom: TUA

Characters: Siblings

Summary: Someone says Klaus is less of a guy because he wears girls clothing. Diego, Luther, and Five show up all dolled up and honestly what is Klaus supposed to say to Diego in a dress?

Trigger warning: homophobia

The siblings were at dinner when they heard Klaus screaming insults. He had just gone to the bathroom, honestly what kind of trouble could he get himself into.

�� “I'm sorry that your fragile male ego is going to be all broken by a hot guy in a skirt, maybe once you hit puberty you'll feel better about your pathetic existence,” Klaus said with venom dripping  from every word.

   Diego, Luther and Five went into the bathroom just in time to catch Klaus saying that and the boys instantly knew what this was about. When Klaus came downstairs wearing a form fitting, red leather skirt that stopped just below his knee and a red crop top none of the Hargreeves even batted an eye.

   The rest of the world though, they were to narrow minded to let Klaus eat dinner without so much as a sneer or a disgusted glare. This was the first time they had been witness to someone confronting him physically.

    “It's not me that has the problem buddy. It's people like you!” The man did not use the word people and Luther and Diego both growled.

    “Are you referring to my brother as a bundle of sticks? Because that can be very rude,” Five some up. He stepped forward threateningly.

     “Your brother is a disgrace. No man should wear female clothes, if I was your father I'd be disgusted!” Luther and Diego both stepped forward, ready to knock this guy to his ass but Klaus got between them.

     “Don't guys, he isn't worth it.” Klaus shot a glare his way. “Narrow minds like his are what makes being me so fun.” With that Klaus winked and then strutted out of the bathroom. His three brothers followed him, giving the offender warning looks on their way out.

     They joined the girls back at the both. “Is everybody okay?” Vanya asked. Klaus just nodded.

    “Ben, I don't know if they have waffles I haven't looked at the menu yet,” Klaus ignored the way his siblings were staring at him. “Yes Ben. I know we want strawberries with our waffles.”

    Meanwhile Ben was screaming at Klaus to stop ignoring his siblings because they were concerned for him. Klaus was doing an amazing job of ignoring them and Ben.

     “Klaus,” Diego started, his voice soft. Klaus angrily flipped his menu closed. The siblings prepared for him to yell at Diego. Instead Klaus just smiled.

    “I know what I'm getting,” Klaus let out a satisfied groan. “The grilled cheese is to die for here, I heard.”

    “You hate cheese,” Vanya spoke. None of the other siblings knew that. “I'll pay, get what you want.”

   Klaus shifted in his seat. “Now,” Vanya gave him a sweet smile, “what happened in the bathroom?”

   Klaus sighed and threw his head back. “The boys here are being dramatic, dear sister. There's no reason to concern yourself over little old me, I can take care of myself.”

   “Bullshit,” Five argued without looking up from his menu.

    “What happened is that people suck and I made a mistake dressing like this, I knew it would upset people. My fault. I handled it. Moving on.” Klaus said and Vanya gave him a heartbroken expression.

     “It's not your fault. No one has a right to tell you how to dress,” Alison coaxed. Klaus laughed bitterly.

     “I knew me dressing like this would make people uncomfortable and I did it anyway so it's my fault,” Klaus sighed, “anyway, that didn't go as bad as usual so I feel like I should be celebrating.”

    The joking tone was back to his voice, it was the worst attempt to block out emotion with humor that Five had ever seen from him.

   Luther went to argue more but Vanya cut him off. Klaus looked like he was crying and they didn't want it to get worse. So the siblings stayed quiet and didn't bother him the rest of the night, except for Five ordering chicken strips for him when he tried to get the grilled cheese.

    The rest of the week Klaus avoided his siblings like the plague. Vanya had moved back to her own apartment, Luther had moved out, Alison got her own house, Diego stayed in the gym and Five liked to stay in different places every night. So it wasn't hard for Klaus to avoid them since he lived there all alone.

     One thing Five did notice; however was a leather red skirt cut up and half burned on the staircase.

   The next week they agreed to go to a upscale restaurant that Alison insisted on. Vanya, Alison, and Diego were splitting the check. Klaus wasn't worried about paying, he didn't want to go there because he didn't belong and he knew it. He was a homeless crossdresser.

    He tried to get out of it but Alison begged. Then Five had threatened him that if he didn't show up then he would teleport him there in his underwear.

       So Klaus dressed in his most masculine outfit, which was not very masculine at all really. His nerves were eating him up the whole way there.

   He entered the building and walked to the hostess. She gave him a once over and a nasty look. “You have to have a reservation sir, it's 700 to get a table.” Klaus nodded mutely. The hostess raised her eyebrow.

   “Sir, if you don't have a reservation then leave please.” Two security guard looked over as the hostess raised her voice.

   Klaus was beginning to panic. He didn't belong here. Men in fancy suits were staring him down, women were giving him distasteful looks and the staff were intimidating him.

   “Hargreeves,” Klaus muttered, he was quieter than normal. This place had an atmosphere that was so unlike anything Klaus had ever experienced and he couldn't even find his usual sarcasm through the nerves.

    The hostess checked her book and then smiled up at Klaus. “Perfect, right this way Sir.” The hostess led them to a table in the back. “You're the first person to arrive, the waiter will be over shortly. We're going to ask you to pay in advance,” The hostess looked the slightest bit uncomfortable at saying this.

   Klaus cringed, he was used to people asking him to pay in advance but he was just worried about embarrassing Alison. She was in her element, hell,  she probably knows someone here.

   Before anyone else could come over and embarrass Klaus he head footsteps on the floor. He looked up expecting to find Alison, after all the tapping sounds were definitely high heels. He looked up and met the face of his thirteen year old brother.

    He glanced down to see a pair of high heels on his feet, they weren't exactly tall but they were women's shoes and Klaus didn't know how to respond. He chose to say nothing. Five seemed not to mind as he sat down across from Klaus.

  Vanya and Alison arrived next. Vanya in sweats and Alison wasn't dressed nearly as well as the other rich ladies in the establishment. Alison must have been upset about something to not focus in her appearance.

  Five was sticking his feet out so that his shoes were visible to the girls, Alison smiled and winked at him while Vanya muttered a quick compliment.

   Diego and Five arrived a full thirty minutes later. It was Alison who caught sight of them first and she let out a giggle. Klaus whipped his head over to see his two brother awkwardly standing there. Everyone was staring. Every. Single. Person.

    Klaus couldn't blame them though. The sight of his giant brother wearing a full face of, poorly applied, makeup and of his badass brother in a black dress was enough to make him stare to.

    The meal was very awkward at first, but then Vanya manages to reel everyone back to a sense of normalcy with a retelling of her violin failure today at work.

    “Are you guys making fun of me?” Klaus asked. He didn't think they were, not with the way they were acting. All of them looked worried at once. “You pick a fancy restaurant you know I don't belong in. You come dressed up like this.” Klaus paused and shrugged.

    “We’re doing this to support you, idiot.” Five once again managed to be supportive while also being a twat. “That guy said you were less of a man because of the clothes you wore so let's see what the hell people have to say to us.”

   His other brothers both nodded and voiced their agreement with Five. Vanya was grinning at Five while Alison just tentatively put her hand on Klaus’ knee.

    “Aren't you worried about embarrassing Alison?” Klaus blurted out. Alison full out laughed at that. Klaus felt like the idiot Five said he was.

   “Klaus, I couldn't care less what anyone says about what you wear. You're my siblings, they're a bunch of gossip girls.”

  Klaus smiled. He really wished he wore a more suitable outfit now. He wouldn't have been alone doing it. But in a way he's glad that he wore a masculine outfit, this way they were all out of their comfort zones.

   They all suffered together.

[nalufever]

A Solidly Constructed Kiss

Many, many thanks to @fic-writer-appreciation for organizing the summer gift fic exchange. My fic is for @tuxiedjabberwock ~ I hope you enjoy! 

Summary: High School AU ~ Erza strong-arms Lucy and Natsu into working the Kissing Booth to raise funds for a school trip. Lucy's never been kissed and Natsu acts like he's never entertained even the idea of kissing another person. Things naturally come to a head when Lucy and Natsu are given the task to build the actual booth. Will they fight over construction or build themselves some kind of relationship? Read and find out ;P Rated:  teen. (2770 words)

Erza smiled sweetly and held onto Lucy's hand with an iron grip. "The student council already agreed you would be one of the female additions to our fundraising activity."

"Why me? I have too many other obligations." Lucy shook her head and failed to remove herself from Erza's hold. "I'm practicing for the debate team that night!"

"You can practice before or after. Just show up at the kissing booth."

"I wouldn't be good at it, I haven't had my first real kiss!" Lucy looked down and away, unwilling to meet the student council's president's eyes. "…you were talking about debating, weren't you?"

"Excellent! We can add novice kisser to the posters to drum up interest." Erza grinned and released Lucy's hand. "I wonder if Natsu is any better equipped to man the kissing booth?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Of course not. You've never had a boyfriend, never dated, not ever had one chance to kiss." Erza ticked off each point on her fingers and continued mortifying her friend. "You're pretty but your dad's reputation scares off all interest in you, doesn't it?"

"…"

"Well, it's only a two-hour shift and after that, you and your tested lips will be free to go." Erza rummaged in her book bag, withdrew a ledger and scribbled notes. "Remember, it's for a good cause."

Some of her smarts making a comeback, Lucy looked perplexed at the student council president. "We're raising money for our class trip, not for charity."

"You must be magic at the debates." Erza nodded with a wide smile on her face. "Thanks for proving my point; our class trip is the greatest of causes. Three days and two nights of semi-supervised fun in the big city!"

"Fine." Lucy rubbed her forehead. "I never had a choice anyway, did I?"

"Excellent! I also put you down for construction. I'll send Natsu over to you with the schematics of the booth and you two can get building it straight away." Erza nodded, pivoted and strode with confidence, away from Lucy's mumbled complaints.

><><><><

Natsu found Lucy hunched over a book in the library. He tapped her shoulder twice and failing to get a response, he cleared his throat. "You ready?"

"How'd Erza rope you into this?" Lucy sighed, bookmarking her place. "She could have gotten any of the woodworking students to make the structure. Laki loves that sort of thing! Why would she need us to do this?"

"I volunteered!" Natsu grinned affably. "And all the woodworking students are already busy with fixing the old booths and working on projects. Laki is super busy - so I told Erza we could do it together."

Distracted by her own special thoughts of 'doing it together,' Lucy stared blankly at Natsu.

"Eyes up here!" Natsu waved the work instructions. "We can pick up what we need from Shop class and get most of it done tonight."

"Wha? Okay." Lucy shook her head and blinked rapidly. "This is going to be more fun than working the booth."

"Oh, I don't know. You haven't seen how handy-challenged I am. And at least during the festival we get to people watch." Natsu admitted his less than stellar workman abilities with a giant smile. "It's only two hours and like Erza says, it's for a worthy cause."

"Not you too! The whole point of the booth is to raise money for the class trip, not charity." Lucy shuffled her homework papers, took her book and stuffed both of them into her satchel.

"Having fun is a pretty good cause," Natsu spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "But would it make you feel better if we donated any extra over our goal to an actual charity? I bet more people would shell out the big bucks if they knew they were supporting both."

"I don't want to get Erza upset."

”Heh! Only someone suicidal would, but it must be important to you, so we should at least try. I'll mention the idea to Gray and he can bring it up at the next student council meeting." Natsu led the way out of the library and towards the Wood Shop classroom. After a few minutes of Lucy struggling to carry her heavy satchel, he tugged her sleeve to make her stop. "Do you need all that stuff? Can't you dump it in your locker?"

"Um, no." Lucy bit her lip and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I finished my homework, but I need to study every night. If I don't get straight As my father …" She trailed off, breaking eye contact with Natsu. "Anyways, he wouldn't be happy."

"Give it to me then." Natsu didn't wait for Lucy to answer, taking the school bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "I'm good at carrying things at least." He started walking again, cheerfully whistling.

Bemused, Lucy scurried to follow. Even if Natsu had never been romantically linked with anyone in school, it seemed he was capable of gentlemanly behaviour. "Tell me why you agreed to help make the booth when by your own admission you're not that good with construction." Lucy flinched. Way to sound like a controlling harpy. "I mean, I'm curious about that."

"Easy answer! Cana told me I'd learn a thing or two if I did."

"I'm not that experienced with hammer, saw and wood either." Lucy scratched her head. "But I'm excellent at reading and following directions. Maybe this won't be so hard."

Natsu agreed, "Ya, we can figure it out together."

Lucy got lost in a small personal fantasy - Natsu had such a nice smile. She pressed her lips into a straight line. Time to focus! No time to daydream.

Inside the Wood Shop classroom, they found a beehive of activity. Elfman, Lahar, Mest, and Vjeter worked on with various projects while Laki ran back and forth helping each of them in turn.

Carefully Lucy and Natsu made a pile of the framing lumber and plywood, checking and re-checking the instructions. The regular shop students worked, shouting at one another casually. An alarm sounded from Laki's wristwatch. As one, all the students stopped working. They turned off their equipment and cleaned their messes - exiting one after the other.

Surprised, Lucy jogged over to Laki who was evidently also leaving. "Hey! Is anyone staying who could help me and Natsu?"

"Ooh, shouldn't think so. We've got time during class for this, today was just a bit of extra time before my date with Max." Laki grinned, tugging Lucy closer to the door, further from Natsu. "You dating Natsu?"

Lucy sputtered, "W-what, what, what? Why would you even think that?"

"My bad." Laki did not look sorry. "All you have to do is lock the door behind you once you guys finish whatever you can. I'll have a few students work on the rest of it tomorrow."

"Erza seemed to want us to do all the work."

Laki shrugged. "If you want, but are you really prepared to stay for hours and hours?" Another softer alarm sounded. Laki smiled and silenced it. "I'm leaving. Work safe!"

Lucy turned around, the whole room was empty save for her and Natsu.

"C'mon Luce!" Natsu waved the instructions. "I need you! We gotta measure and cut the frame first."

"Coming!" The imp inside of Lucy's brain giggled. 'That's what she said.'

The shop room echoed without extra voices and the noise of saws.

Lucy giggled. She couldn't help it. Natsu had managed to tangle the measuring tape - again. Holding out her hand she requested its return. "I'm gonna have to demote you." Shaking her head, Lucy held the end hook securely against the end of the two by four that was their first planned cut - and then grabbed Natsu's hand and moved it into place. "You get to be the anchor." Lucy extended the tape measure and marked off four spots. "We'll check it twice and then cut."

"Won't that take longer?"

"Yes and no." Lucy explained, "If both marks are at the same point, I've got them in the right spot - but if they aren't, then we look to see where we made a mistake. It's all about checking and double checking before we do something we can't fix."

"Y'mean kinda like, 'least said, soonest mended'?" Natsu gave Lucy an earnest look. "Or if I'm punching Gray as hard as he deserves, but if Erza is about to show up, we pretend I wasn't kicking his ass?"

"More like the first example, but yeah." Lucy nodded. "Or like how a pound of 'cure' is worth the ounce of 'prevention.' If we don't make mistakes, we don't have to rip apart our work."

"Hmm." Natsu shrugged and held the end of the measure against the end of the board. "Then let's double-check our work."

"Okay!"

Lucy and Natsu measured all the cuts listed in the instructions twice and then began cutting. Never one to shrink away from new tasks, Lucy took command of the saw. Without complaint, Natsu held the other end still and encouraged Lucy. Alternating chores, they finished sawing quicker than anticipated.

"What's next?"

Lucy flexed her hands, they were a little sore. Picking up the blueprints, she scanned the information. "We can cut the plywood next."

"Ugh. Measuring and cutting is boring. What about starting to assemble?"

"We can't put together pieces that aren't ready."

Natsu looked at the much larger than expected pile of cut pieces. "But we're not gonna make any progress if we don't start assembling."

Blueprints still within her grasp, Lucy settled her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. "You may have a point. This isn't a puzzle, so, sure, let's get the frame done and then do the rest of the cuts."

"Huh. Cana was wrong about you." Natsu confided, "She said you wouldn't be open to changing plans."

"…" Lucy nodded jerkily. A lot of the fun of this experience had gone out for her right there. Most of her schoolmates didn't really know her, so it was easy to shrug off the popular misconceptions. But - in this short work project, it had felt like she and Natsu had started to become friends.

"She says a lot of dumb stuff, things that only make sense way later, but I think this time she was wrong." Natsu continued speaking, all without noticing how stiff Lucy had become. "You're a good student, I knew that from the posted grades - but you're an even harder worker than I guessed. I bet I could learn a lot from you." Finally noticing Lucy's rigidness, Natsu put down his hammer and the nails he'd been holding ready. "What?"

"…" Lucy looked down and away. This was her standard response to every awkward situation. She flinched as Natsu tentatively touched her shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

Lucy bit her lip and steeled herself. She could face him. Not everything he'd said had been hurtful. Matter of fact, after the first bits, Natsu had sounded like he admired her - which was weird. "More than what we both have time to deal with." Forcing a laugh, Lucy looked into Natsu's eyes. That was a mistake. They were concerned, not condemning. "At first I thought you were saying I was stuck-up."

Natsu frowned and shook his head.

His confusion egged Lucy into saying more. "I've heard that time and time again. People think that I think I'm too smart and won't follow anyone else's advice."

"D'uh! Of course, you're smart! We all can see the posted grades!" Natsu smiled - and it was his smile that convinced Lucy he wasn't being cruel.

"I'm sorry. I'm used to most people getting defensive. I don't know how to react when people are sharing honestly." Lucy picked up a hammer and then a nail. "Why don't we start putting this together like you suggested?"

"That's a good plan, even if it's mine." Natsu laughed and Lucy relaxed.

An hour later, very pleased with their accomplishments, Natsu and Lucy tidied their mess. They swept and dumped the sawdust into the dustbin, hung the hammers and saw back onto the peg-board, and put the nails away.

"This was … an experience." Lucy smiled at Natsu. "I’m glad we got to work with each other."

"I had fun," said Natsu, "and I think you did too."

"Fun isn't usually one of my goals," Lucy admitted, "I have to keep my grades up so my father doesn't freak. Fun doesn't rate high on his list of things to do."

"Pity." Natsu picked up Lucy's schoolbag. "I understand about keeping a parental figure quiet, but y'know we're only young once. Fun shouldn't be forgotten."

"I have some fun. I take dance lessons every Thursday."

”Oh, ya got me there." Natsu's tone did not agree with his words. His voice picked up some pep as he continued speaking. "Pfft. I'm talkin' stuff your dad doesn't approve of kind of fun! The fun that is spur of the moment - somethin' you can't believe you had the nerve to do right after ya do it!"

Hardly able to wrap her brain around calling her father, 'dad,' Lucy stood lost in thought. Natsu had made a lot of good points. Fun was a commodity she hadn't experienced enough. "Will you be mad if I take your advice?"

"Naw, I'd be proud. I bet people wouldn't believe me if I told them the Lucy Heartfilia had taken advice from me." Natsu smiled.

"Remember, you can't get mad." Lucy bit her lip and giggled softly. "I suppose I could apologize ahead of time. You sure?"

"You look like you need fun."

Taking all Natsu's words to heart, Lucy gathered her courage. Heart beating wildly, she moved in front of Natsu. "May I kiss you?"

"Are you joking?"

"Even though your words made me think I could steal a kiss - I respect you too much to do that." Lucy knew her cheeks were climbing way past pink and into tomato red territory, but she wanted to explain herself. "The fun I want is a mutual experience. If I take without your consent, then I'm not respecting your rights. I wouldn't want that for myself so I will not do that to you. I like you. I like you because you're nice to me."

"You're not joking." Natsu blushed. "You're not that good at jumping into fun, but you are so not joking."

"Nope." Lucy swallowed hard. She cursed herself for not thinking harder about how awkward it was going to be after Natsu refused her request because she was too weird. Dammit!

"Okay." Natsu dropped Lucy's books and held her gaze. "You can kiss me - and then… can I kiss you?"

Lucy blinked, knowing her mouth had dropped open. "Huh?"

"I like you too," Natsu spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

"You like me?"

"Yeah." Natsu smiled. "For a long time now, not just on account of today. You didn't treat me like a dummy while we worked on the booth. I know my reputation. Most people think I'm dumber than a box of bricks."

"You sure?" Lucy inched closer to Natsu.

"I'm sure." Natsu inched closer to Lucy. "Everyone in school thinks I'm stupid."

"You know that's not what I meant." Fire flashed in Lucy's eyes. "You like me? The girl everyone in school thinks is stuck-up? Too smart for her own good and so rich she can't understand anyone else?"

"Yeah. The thing is, I know you’re not like that. Not one bit.”

Lucy nodded, an anxious smile on her lips. They'd reached an agreement of sorts - mutual respect with a side of pining. She could do this - it was just a kiss, right? Well, she had permission and the time was ripe. Lucy leaned forward, angled her head slightly, closed her eyes and captured Natsu's lips against her own. Seconds later she pulled back, heart racing like she'd been running a marathon.

Natsu licked his lips, his fingers tracing where Lucy had touched him. This made the sudden experience more real. He slowly reached out; caressing Lucy's jawline, then cupped her chin as he kissed her. It lasted perhaps half a minute and felt like an eternity at the same time.

"Wow." Lucy was aware her response was inane, but Natsu still held her in his arms and the warmth of his body distracted her. "That…was…fun."

"You sound like you need more convincing." Natsu squeezed Lucy and then relaxed his hold. "May I kiss you again?"

"I'd like that." Lucy set her hands on Natsu's shoulders and locked eyes with him. "And then maybe I could kiss you again too?"

"Hells yes."

[mf-despair-queen]

From Dusk Till Dawn - Part 1 - Mitch Rapp

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Pairing: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 9,087

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Unprotected Sex, Oral (Female Receiving), Sexy Finger Sucking, Neck Kisses, Multiple Orgasms, relatively loving sex

Notes: Long awaited. I hope you like it. Please send me love and/or end my life for what happens

Prologue | Part 2

You were surrounded by darkness, the black abyss stretching far beyond the horizon. Your body ached as your floated in the nothingness around you, lungs throbbing and begging for fresh air. No matter how many times you opened your mouth, nothing helped, the feeling of being submerged washing over you. Your tired eyes failed to open, a weight atop them keeping them closed.

Am I dead?

You finally forced your eyes open slowly, staring into the blank space around you. There was not an ounce of life around you; you were alone. Your body wouldn’t move, refusing to budge from the lifeless state you were in.

I’m dead. This is how it ends.

Your eyes closed for a split second, a bright light beginning to twinkle on the other side of your eyelids. When your orbs fluttered open once more, you saw a figure surrounded by the light, their face unrecognizable. Their hand extended towards you, as if gesturing you towards them.

Is that you…? It can’t be. You left. You’re dead. Or… are you welcoming me to my hell so I can be in your arms again?

Your fingers twitched, muscles burning and screaming as your reached towards the hand, urging your body forward in the black space. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, your eyes widening as you closed in on the figure. You were drawn to it - or him, maybe? Even from this distance, you felt whole, the frozen heart you had developed over many years melted into a puddle. You willed yourself forward, the figure clearing up the closer you got. Your eyes widened, your body warming with completeness at the man before you.

It’s you…

The second your hand met his, your world went black again.

You rolled onto your side, coughing up the water that was filled your lungs, taking deep breaths of the air around you. You heaved fiercely, droplets of waters dripping from your lips onto the tile floor, purging every bit of liquid that you had swallowed. Your body shivered from the cold air, arms weak as you tried to push yourself up.You were clad in just a black shirt, the cotton clinging to your body, nipples poking upwards in the wet fabric. Your legs rubbed together to try and generate heat, no pants or underwear to shield your nethers from the night air.

You heard shuffling against the floor, foggy eyes taking a second to focus on the man against the wall. Mitch Rapp sat with his head in his hands, fingers running through his fluffy, slightly curled chocolate locks. Bits of water dripped down his bare torso and arms, a solemn look on his face. It took a moment to remember what had happened, but you sighed when it clicked. He drowned me… you told yourself, sitting up slowly. You assumed the water was because of holding you under and your constant flailing and your heart sunk at the nearly nude man in front of you, looking more than distraught despite his occupation. Your lips tingled as you stared at the disheveled man, his lips slightly swollen and failing to be hidden from his downcast gaze. But he also saved me...

“Mitch…” you whispered, the man’s partially red eyes upturning at you. His veins hands gripped harder at his hair before moving along his jaw, scratching at the scruff on his cheeks and chin, fingers unconsciously tracing over the constellation of moles he had littering his skin. You frowned at the man, unsure what to say.

He shifted against the wall, knees bent as he stared you down. His arms moved to rest on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. He pursed his lips together into a tight line, eyes a dull shade of brown. “Just tell me the truth. Please,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am,” you replied, unable to look him in the eye. You ran your fingers through your hair, wringing some of the water from it. “My name is Y/N, and I am a prostitute that was hired by Sharif Hamdi while he was doing business in Istanbul.”

“That doesn’t tell me shit,” he growled slightly, his conjoined hands tightening until his knuckles were white. “How do you know about this guy named Ghost? How do you know about Rome? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Mitch…”

“Just tell me, Y/N!” he yelled, fist finally colliding with the wall behind him, a dent left in its wake. “Please. I need to know. I… I need to.”

You bit at your lip, finally looking up at him. The assassin looks slightly fragile - something you hadn’t seen since he showed up in the hotel room. But the look on his face was familiar to you and you wanted nothing more than to make it go away, holding him close and telling him everything would be ok.

“I’ve been in Istanbul for a while now,” you told him, Mitch looking up at you slowly. You kept your gaze on the ground, your fingers playing with the wet shirt you wore. “I was just trying to make a living. I couldn’t get a job, I had no money, and I couldn’t keep playing people just to get by, day by day. So I did what I could…”

“You resorted to prostitution?” he asked, looking for the confirmation he already knew he would get.

“It’s the only thing I knew I could do,” you admitted to him. “I’ve done it for years, Mitch. When I met Mecnun… I pleaded for him to give me a job. He only brought me in because of the man I was with before coming to Istanbul. That was the day Sharif requested someone. That someone was me.” You paused, licking your lips slowly. “Mecnun mentioned that Sharif was in town doing business with some man named Ghost.”

Mitch looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Really?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know what that meant, but when you came in and killed Sharif, saying he was a terrorist, I kind of figured that you would be going after him next. If Sharif was doing business with him, that means this Ghost man has something he shouldn’t, right?”

“That’s quite deductive,” Mitch mumbled.

“I’ve always been told I’ve been smart for my age,” you told him. “I told someone to hurry and kill me when I was ten because if he were to escape before the police showed up, he couldn’t leave me alive.”

“Fuck,” Mitch mumbled. “That’s intense.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle, seeing the ghost of a smile appear on Mitch’s cheeks. “So they say,” you joked. “It just makes sense that if Sharif is some terrorist that was making some deal or exchange with this man they call Ghost, you would be going after the man he was in cahoots with. He got away, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Mitch mumbled. “Killed the other member of our team and took off with some… package. Hurley wouldn’t tell me what it is. At the time, Hurley just that we would know when we see it. Since he took off before we could stop him, there’s no way of telling what he got.”

“Something bad, I assume,” you said, Mitch chuckling under his breath.

“Just a little bad,” he hummed. “What about Rome? I never said anything to you about Rome.”

You took a shaky breath, fighting back tears. “Look. I-I didn’t want to seem like I was eavesdropping when you guys were talking, alright? But when that lady… Irene, I think, and Hurley were leaving, I faintly heard something about some bank account in Rome that they were tracking movement on.”

“Did they?” He questioned quietly. He thought back to his superiors’ departure, their low mumbles as they passed through the house to the front door. It wasn’t impossible that you could hear them as they were out of his own earshot.

“I-I think so,” you stuttered out, visibly shaking in the cold air. “I don’t know what it’s all about and maybe I was wrong. But you mentioned having to go somewhere tomorrow, right? You’re going to meet them? So you’re going after the bad man that got away. And he has something to do with this bank account, right?” Mitch didn’t answer, making you head drop. “I get it. You won’t tell me and for good reason, I’m sure. I’m just a lowly prostitute and you’re… this badass assassin. I probably shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I know too much,” you muttered. “I don’t know what this guy has or what you’re doing in Roe, but if you are going to join your team, you should dispose of me, right?”

Mitch watched you closely before standing from the ground, disappearing out the door. You blinked after him, confusion on your face. The man returned a minute later, a dry shirt and boxers in hand. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing,” he said lowly, holding them out. “Get changed and we will talk more in the bedroom.”

“Why?”

Mitch knew what you were asking, the single why having multiple questions buzzing behind it. Why was he helping you, giving you warm clothes? Why was he so calm? But most of all, why wasn’t he killing you?

“You’re innocent,” he said, glancing back at you to watch you change out of the wet shirt, bare breasts aking his mouth water, your hard nipples putting a strain on his boxer briefs. He scratched at his stubbled jaw, leaning on the doorframe. “I’m not here to kill innocent people. I joined the CIA to kill terrorists so people didn’t have to suffer the way I have.”

He walked away before you could question him further, forcing you to stumble after him on cold, semi-numb legs. “Then what are you going to do with me?”

“That’s… negotiable right now,” he stated, opening the bedroom door to let you in. He gestured to the bed, silently telling you to sit, no questions asked. You complied without a word, staring at the bare-chested assassin. “Irene and Hurley were going to decide what to do based on what you know. You know a bit-” you face fell slightly, Mitch seeing the fear in your eyes, “-but I don’t think you know enough. A few mentions here and there and very interesting deductive reasoning skills led you to know more than you should, but you don’t know what the package was, right?”

“No.”

“Who is Ghost?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is he going to Rome?”

“I don’t know, Mitch,” you told him repeatedly. “Whatever he is using money in that bank account for is what you are after. Whatever the package he acquired is, that’s what you are after. But I can’t help you. Sharif told me nothing. Mecnun told me nothing. I never met this Ghost character! I can’t tell you what he looks like. I can’t tell you what he needed or what Sharif was giving him. I just hear his name, stayed in that hotel and wasn’t allowed to touch anything or speak to anyone.”

Mitch pursed his lips, crouching on the ground in front of you. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew about Ghost anyway?” He asked, his strained voice dropping an octave, trying to relax your anxious being. He took your hand, your hands lacing together instinctively. “Why didn’t you just tell me all of that straight out?”

“I…” you started, a few tears slipping down your face. “I didn’t want you to think I was involved. I barely know anything and I was afraid that if I said I knew even one thing, you would think I knew it all. Or,” you swallowed thickly, shaking your head to clear your eyes of the tears. “You would torture me. Kill me. I don’t know. I was scared to tell you because I didn’t want you to judge me.”

Mitch sighed, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’d never hurt you,” he said. “I just wish you would have told me before…” He went silent unable to admit the treacherous action he had done. “I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you told him. “I get why you did it. It was all my fault.”

“No it wasn’t,” he told you. “I don’t know why, but… I feel very strongly about you. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I want to see you happy, Y/N. But, when you mentioned Ghost and Rome, I lost it. I thought you had lied to me.”

“Well, I did lie,” you pointed out, squeezing his hand. “Just not what you thought I was lying about. I told you I didn’t know anything, Mitch. But I knew the few things Mecnun had mentioned. I heard Irene and Stan talking about that bank account in Rome. I don’t know more, but I told you I knew nothing.”

“I’m still sorry,” he sighed, the stone-hearted man, resting his head on your lap, your fingers lacing in his hair. You smiled at him, your heart rapidly hammering against your chest. It had been forever since you felt like this - needed, warm, full, complete. Mitch warmed your heart and made you happy, even though you had only been with him for a few hours. The feeling was new yet familiar, the look in his eyes something from the past but the color of the future. It was unnatural to feel so close to him - to feel a love for him already - but you gladly welcomed it.

“I’m sorry too,” you told him, Mitch lifting his head from your lap to look up at you. Your fingers dusted along his jaw, tracing the outline of his lips. “For lying to you. I know I hurt you and I don’t want that, Mitch. I should have just told you. But why would you believe me? I’m just…”

“A prostitute,” he frowned. “That doesn’t define you, you know. You are way more than that, and I wouldn’t judge you because of your occupation.”

“I know,” you whispered under your breath. Your fingers pressed to his lips, Mitch taking a short moment to kiss the tips tenderly. You smiled, shifting slightly atop the bed, your body craving more from him. “You know, I can totally make it up to you, Mitch.”

“What?” he wondered aloud.

You carefully tilted his chin up to look at your fully, fingers tracing his stubbled yet chiseled jawline. “I said I could make it up to you. I know I hurt you and that was never my intention. So, let me make it up to you.”

“How do you plan on doing that?’” he asked. You just smiled at him, your hands running down his bare arms until they were at his hands, giving them a light tug as an indication to stand. His forehead wrinkled slightly as he did so, his form towering over your small stature. “Y/N?”

“Let me do what I do best,” you hummed quietly, releasing his hands to palm at his groin, cock semi-hard in his boxer briefs. Mitch bit into his lip to suppress his moan, mouth parting to try and utter anything that came to mind. “Just let me please you and make up for for everything. Let me please you as a way to apologize.”

“Y/N-”

He couldn’t finish his thought when you pulled him down onto the bed, his back hitting the plush cushion and bouncing slightly. You propped yourself on your elbow on his side, hand dipping into his boxer briefs to properly fondle his growing erection. Your eyes locked with his before you leant forward, connecting your lips to his. Your eyes fluttered closed instantly, a spark between your lips igniting a fire deep inside you. It was the same spark you felt when he ‘punished’ you for not telling him what you knew or when you swallowed every drop of his essence in the car ride to Romania.

The same spark that made you feel complete inside.

Your lips dragged against his, the sound of smacking lips filling the room, Mitch’s low, breathy moans following when your lips disconnected for the briefest moment. Even though you were trying to please him, his lips found a way to control the pace and ferocity of the kiss, his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip until your lips could part and his tongue could slip inside for not so pure actions. The wet article traced along your cheeks, memorizing every inch of the inside of your mouth, even though he had spent plenty of time inside it already, before it swirled with your own tongue, playfully messing with each other. His hand moved to the back of your head, threading through your locks to keep you pressed into his face, ignoring the way your teeth clashed or your noses bumped from the contact.

Your hand inside his boxer briefs gripped him firmly, stroking his shaft as it elongated and hardened in your hold. Your thumb casually swiped over the tip, feeling him twitch in your hold as you smeared the precum that seeped out fromt he slit around the head, your mouth watering slightly in the middle of the kiss. His moans reverberated in his throat, his hips bucking upwards slightly as if to tell you he wanted more. The material around him restricted your movements much to your dismay and you struggled to pull yourself free, trying to push the material down his legs. You were growing desperate, kisses growing sloppy before they started trailing along his jaw to his neck and chest.

“Wait, wait,” he groaned out, the word almost jumbled. His hand hastily moved to your own, stopping you from trying to remove his boxers. You blinked in confusion, astounded that he had stopped you when you were mere moments away from giving him a handjob and a blowjob. You lifted yourself from his chest, eyes meeting his whiskey ones. “I just…”

“What?” you asked, frowning at him. “Don’t you want this? We’ve fucked before, Mitch. I thought you’d like my lips around your cock again.”

“I would,” he muttered, sitting up on the bed. You followed his lead, watching the assassin run his hand through his hair, the chocolate locks flopping and curling in various directions in their fluffy goodness. “But I just have to know one thing.”

“What is that, Mitch?”

The man pursed his lips, eyes darting to you occasionally as he tried to string together his thoughts. Part of him wasn’t sure why he stopped you. He should be elated to have a beautiful girl willingly sucking his off, especially one he was highly attracted to. The first girl he had been with since Katrina, the same girl that made him feel things stronger than Katrina even though he barely knew her, and he was turning her away. And for what?

“Why are you doing this?”

You cocked your head at him, brow knitting together. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you a prostitute?” He continued.

You stared at him, shock written all over your face. “W-what?”

“You said you would make it up to me by doing what you do best. You mentioned that it was all you knew you could do. That you’ve done it for years. But why?” He asked. “Why is this your life?”

“Because it is all I know, Mitch,” you sighed, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. “The man that killed my family… he took me in.”

“Your family was killed?” he asked, watching you nod. “That’s when you told the man to kill you then?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “It was kill or be killed, in a way. Either I die with the rest of my family, or I work for him. Sure, I was ten when he took me in, but he taught me how to be… me. I started fully when I turned eighteen. He taught me how to use people for my advantage. For eight years, he drilled into me these principals of prostitution and what to do to get what I wanted and when he thought I was ready and, as he said, a ‘woman’, he allowed to me use those skills. Though, he kept me pretty close and didn’t really let me sleep with anyone. I was mostly used to lure people in and they were left with other prostitutes that worked for him. But…”

“You did anyway,” he said, voice falling lightly. You could have sworn you heard the sound of his heart breaking inside his chest, your own heart cracking.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “He was… um…” You hesitated slightly, Mitch risking the chance of taking your hand in his for support. “He was different, I guess you could say.”

“You loved him,” Mitch mumbled.

You sighed, squeezing his hand. “I did,” you told him, knowing it was hurting him to hear these things. “I didn’t mean to fall for him, but I did. He showed up randomly and Crowe didn’t want me to help him, but he was injured. Badly. And things just seemed to escalate from there. He showed up once or twice a month for two years. And over that time, I was the only one he saw. And he was the only one I saw.”

“You slept with him.”

“Multiple times,” you admitted, Mitch letting out a long sigh.

“Is he the reason you aren’t with that guy now?” Mitch pondered. “Or why you came to Istanbul? Why didn’t he save you from that lifestyle?”

“No,” you sniffled, rubbing at your eyes slightly. “He disappeared one day and never came back.”

“Did he die?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Most likely. When he showed up injured and asking for help, he mentioned he was a street fighter. I thought he wanted to stop though because he got better. No more cuts or bruises. Just scars to remind him of that life. I guess when he stopped showing up, he went back to that life and the fighting got the best of him finally. When he never came back, I figured he was gone for good. I just kind of felt it. I knew he was long gone and I was alone again.” You paused, looking back up at Mitch. “You know, the look in your eyes is the same as his.”

“What look?” Mitch asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Determination, passion, endurance. There is this ferocity in your eyes that tells me you have a drive to complete whatever you put your mind to,” you revealed to the male assassin. “But there is a hint of compassion as well. You can love and you want to be loved. You desire happiness just as much as you want to protect those close to you.”

“I doubt that,” he said, a small smile gracing his lips.

“No, you do,” you told him, lacing your fingers together. “Maybe that’s why I feel so strongly for you already. There’s something about you, Mitch, that I can’t put my finger on. There is something about you that makes me feel… special and unique and wanted. And I can’t explain why I’m drawn to you or why I like you as much as I do. But I am. I really like you, Mitch.”

“Like?”

You knew what he was talking about. I love you, Mitch. You vaguely remembered uttering those words as he held you under the water, your world darkening. “I don’t know,” you told him. “I probably said it in the midst of the moment. It’s too early to say if I do love you.” Right? “But that’s not saying I can’t love you. I just… I don’t know.”

“You still have feelings for this guy from your past, don’t you?” He asked, catching your nod from the corner of his eye. “I get it. I really do.The moment I saw you huddled in the corner in that hotel room, my heart stopped. The world around me stopped. And the only time that has ever happened was when I was with Katrina.”

“Who is Katrina?” You asked him.

“She was my girlfriend,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “My fiance. She was killed almost two years ago in Spain when some terrorists landed on the beach and shot up the place. She died right in front of my eyes not even minutes after I proposed to her.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Mitch.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he hummed. “It led me here, didn’t it? If she never died, I wouldn’t have joined the CIA. I wouldn’t have come to Istanbul. I wouldn’t have met you. I can’t say that I don’t love her anymore because I do still love her to some extent. She was my world and that just doesn’t leave. I would give anything to have her back. So I understand why you still care about this guy. I just don’t get it.” He licked his lips slowly, scratching his scruff. “Why do I feel so strongly for you? We barely know each other. I feel split between my past love and your potential love. It’s hard to describe.”

“Love at first sight?” you joked, Mitch’s face never changing. “Maybe we’re just two messed up people in this messed up world.”

“I guess so,” Mitch agreed, chucking lightly. “You know, you never really answered my question. Why are you still doing this?”

“Well, Crowe died when I was twenty-one and I was left to kind of wander and fend for myself. And I just did what I could do to survive. What else can I say? Why do you care, Mitch? I’m a fucking prostitute and that’s all I ever will be. I sleep with guys for money.”

“But that’s not true,” he sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened to you. Your family dying, your lover most likely dying. I get it. My parents died when I was fourteen. They died in a car crash in Tunisia. I told you about Katrina and losing her. I know what it feels like to lose the people closest to you. But, I don’t get why you are still doing this. Sure, you did it for what, eleven years? But you are a million times more than just a prostitute. You could anything you wanted with your life now because you are amazing. The guy died so you can do whatever it is you want with your life. But you’re still doing this?”

“Mitch, I…” you started, failing to finish your thought in one fluid statement.

“I may be out of place saying this, but you’re wasting your potential,” he said. “You are way more than you admit you are. And I wish you could see that. You say all you are is a prostitute, and maybe that was true in the past. But you are amazing and I wish you could see that. I hate that you lived like that.” He paused, biting on his lip. He tilted your head to look at him fully, his eyes meeting yours. His eyes sparkled in the dim lighting of the room, emotion he tried to hide evident in his beautifully golden orbs. “I hate that you are still living like that.”

“It’s fine, Mitch,” you whispered, inching towards him unconsciously. “If it wasn’t a prostitute, I wouldn’t have met you. I should be thankful because it brought us together.”

“You know you’re more than a whore, right?” he asked once, pushing some loose, wet hairs behind your ear. “You can be happy and do whatever you want. I can make sure you are safe and get the life you deserve.”

“If it means I can be with you, I would go with you anywhere,” you hummed.

Mitch leaned forward to connect your lips, both of you falling back on the bed. Your head hit the pillows, Mitch straddling your body with ease without breaking the connection he initiated. You mewled into him, arms wrapping around his neck and fingers lacing through the hair on the back of his head. His hands pushed the hem of the shirt you wore up, playing with the elastic lining of the boxers he leant you. Your tongues tangled together in perfect harmony, swirling together between your cheeks. Your lips dragged against each other passionately, the smacking of lips resounding around the room from each disconnection and reconnection.

He broke away long enough to pull you up, stripping the shirt over your head. He eyed your form for a second before dropping you back onto the bed, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck to your chest. You missed the feeling of his lips on yours but the second they wrapped around your nipple instead, you whimpered loudly, find your way back to his hair to tug at his lusciously smooth locks. His name slipped from your lips, Mitch tugging at the nipple with his lips, kissing relentlessly at the hard peak. His long digits grasped the other carefully, palming it between his fingers. His lips lavishly ravished your breast, listening to your countless moans whenever he pulled at the bud, nibbling on it, and flicking his tongue across it in different directions.

“Mitch,” you mewled at in, back arching into his body. You tugged more at his hair, Mitch releasing your current nipple with a pop and moving to the other, repeating the same process. “More.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed seductively, kissing at every inch of your chest. “You don’t realize how beautiful you are, do you? Guys want you for your sexiness, but they should be embracing your beauty. Mind, body and soul.”

“Stop trying to flatter me,” you whined, clenching your eyes shut at the pleasure that rolled through your body. Your heart warmed when he chuckled against your chest, slowly moving down your stomach to the lining of the boxers you had on.

“It’s not flattery when it’s true,” he said, kissing along the elastic band. “I’m going to show you that you are more than a prostitute. You are amazing and, if you’ll let me, I will take you back to Virginia and show you that you can do more than this.”

“Why?” you asked him. “I don’t have a clean past, Mitch.”

“Neither do I,” he hummed as he looked up at you, referring to his current occupation. “But I don’t care. I don’t care that you’ve spelt with other people because of what you do for money, even if it’s just one guy. I don’t care that you lied to me about this man named Ghost and him meeting with Sharif. I will talk to Irene and Stan about that and we will make sure you are safe and taken care of. I won’t let them harm you.”

“You’re too good to me, Mitch,” you sighed. “I don’t need you to help me like this. I can manage.”

“I want to help you,” he hummed. “I want to see you happy because you deserve it.”

He didn’t allow you to respond, tugging the boxers down your legs and dropping them over the side of the bed. He tenderly pushed your legs apart, licking his lips once before he dipped down, sliding his tongue through your folds.

“Oh God,” you moaned, back arching off the bed. Your fingers gathered the blankets in your fists, Mitch’s restless kisses and licks at your folds and clit tightening a knot inside you. “Fuck, Mitch. Just like that.”

“You liked that?” he mused, wrapping his lips around your clit and tugging it lightly to hear to moan again. He glanced up through his lashes to watch you nod your head rapidly, practically begging him for more. “Moan for me than, baby. I love hearing my name from your lips.

Flashes of your events earlier that evening ran through your mind, hearing the assassin between your legs telling you to scream his name countless times so all of Romania knew who was pleasing you - who was inside you. His name bubbled from your core to your throat, threatening to release already. The scratching of his stubble against your thighs and core didn’t help that feeling, a normally uncomfortable feeling being one of ecstasy instead. Your body was flaming hot from the contact, the assassin lavishly licking at your core.

His tongue dipped into your pussy, swirling in circles. He scruff on his upper lip scraped pleasurably at your clit, your head falling back into the bed. “Shit, Mitch,” you whimpered his name. He held an obvious grin against your nethers, the circling of his tongue inside you speeding up. His low, throaty groan vibrated you, your body twitching when the tip of the wet article inside you skimmed against you sweet spot at the same time. You had never felt that good, and that's saying something after what had happened with the same man mere hours prior.

He pulled away with a low pop, his lips puckered together, doused in your arousal. They instantly moved to wrap around your clit, tugging at the swollen nub with his lips before the tongue darted out, flicking it left and right. You withered and writhed under his hand, Mitch having to bring is hands to your hips to keep you still. Your moans grew louder, hands moving from the bed to your chest, palming at your breasts to stimulate yourself and increasing the pleasure you felt from his restless assault on your pussy and clit.

While his tongue and lips focused on your engorged nub of a clitoris, two fingers suck back inside you, letting out a nearly inaudible sloshing sound when his fingers curled into the wet hole. His thrusts started slow, gradually speeding up to match the pace of his mouth against your clit. His partially untrimmed nails, only dulled recently by constant nail biting from his training with Stan Hurley, scratched at your sensitive walls until they hit your sweet spot,your body shaking in bliss. The digits spread you wide when he pulled out, coming back together to slip easily back inside you.

Your walls wrapped around his fingers, signally you were close. Mitch’s ears perked up at the sound of your labored breathing, your squirming against his hold increasing. His fingers disappeared from inside you, replaced shortly thereafter by his tongue once more, feverishing licking at your aching pussy, urging you to your climax. You whimpered his name to his delight, his hum against your folds telling you to cum without true words. Your right hand slid down your chest and stomach to his hair, giving the tendrils one harsh tug mied with your loud moans. Your hips bucked against his chiseled jawline, walls trying to cling to his tongue as you came on it. Juices leaked from inside you, dripping onto his tongue like a waterfall, the man happily lapping at the sweet arousal you offered him without a second thought. The assassin felt himself harden more than before from the delicious taste, your juices stimulating not just his taste buds.

He pulled himself from between your legs when your visibly relaxed into the bed, chest heaving from the orgasm he had given you. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he sat back on his legs, licking his lips slowly and tauntingly, his beard sparkling with untouched arousal. He carefully eyed his fingers, the digits too glistening from your juices, his tongue poking out at the ready. Before his fingers could reach his lips to savor the last bit of your juices, you caught his wrist, stopping him.

Sitting up, your eyes locked on his whiskey brown ones, never deterring from his hardened gaze His pupils dilated, orbs flicking from your hand wrapped around his wrist to your lips and finally back to your eyes. He never tried to break the staredown, watching you every move with utter silence. You licked your lips slowly, drawing his hand closer to you, taking the two arousal-coated fingers into your mouth, your tongue swishing around them carefully. Mitch’s head tilted as he watched you closely, fidgeting in his spot. You moaned around his fingers, ignoring the off taste of yourself on his skin. You stared directly into his eyes, watching the range of emotions he felt for you.

You pulled from his fingers slowly, a small string of saliva connecting your lips to the tips of his digits, your lips slightly parted. The assassin’s eyes flashed a dark color, his hand taking yours and kissing each fingertip before lacing them with his, leaning forward to connect your lips to his. You let your eyes close finally, pushing yourself closer to him even though he put his free hand to the back of your head, nails digging into your hair and skull. Your tongues playfully battling, both tasting similarly of your core. His mouth dominated yours with ease, lips dragging along yours as he kissed at you desperately, breaking for small bursts of air with a small smack before dipping forward again. Your noses brushed against each other, your heads tilting in opposite directions to allow maximum connection.

The man before you - the man you were slowly falling for - laid you back slowly, returning to hovering over you, his muscled arms flexing to support his weight. Your fingers ran along the veins in his arms, wrapping your small, dainty hands around his bulging biceps. He groaned against your lips, disconnecting long enough to utter, “I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you. I need to be inside you, Y/N.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” you asked, ruffling his locks slightly, pushing them off his forehead. “Show me how good I can feel.”

Mitch nodded quickly, struggling to kick his boxer briefs off his legs without moving off of you completely. He cock sprung free from its confines, slapping his stomach before coming to a rest between your bodies, throbbing and pulsing against your folds. He didn’t care where the black material landed. He focused on rolling his hips against yours, grinding his ever-growing erection against your moist, aching core. You mewled quietly, bucking upwards at him in return, quietly begging him to please you.

He hips rolled backwards, the tip prodding at your pussy once before slipping inside, filling you in one swift shot, his cock hilt deep inside you. You moaned for him, keeping one hand laced with his and the other arm slinging loosely around his neck. Mitch’s head buried into your neck, wordlessly rocking himself into you, his cock slipping free from your core before digging itself deep inside you again. His lips ghosted over the skin of your neck and shoulder, small kisses matching the gentle thrusts he started with.

“More, Mitch,” you whimpered lowly, tugging at his hair. “I need more. Please.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, never moving from your neck. You nodded once, a sharp sting in your neck when he nipped at it, his body moving harder and faster against your at a quick but steady rate. Slapping hips against hips resounded around the small room, Mitch’s thrusts growing harder, faster and more desperate. His cock pistoned in and out of you quickly, the tip finding your sweet spot with each thrust, the shaft pulsing against your tight walls. The kisses he place to your neck got harder to match his furious thrusting, countless marks littering your skin.  

“Oh, God, Mitch. Just like that,” you moaned into his ear, arching into him completely. Your nails raked down his bare back, red marks joining any he had developed earlier in the night, Your legs wrapped around his waist loosely, heels bouncing against his perfectly round asscheeks with each powerful thrust he gave you. “More, please. Fuck, I need you, Mitch.”

“God, I love you,” he mumbled lowly, your heart stopping. It had been years since you heard those words, and Mitch wasn’t entirely sure why nor was he fully aware that he said those three words to you. But you weren’t disregarding the way it made you feel. It wasn’t the way his cock pounded into your pussy, hitting your sweet spot every time and rubbing your walls, or the way his lips ravished your neck that made your stomach knot up tightly, your breathing staggering inside you. It was those words that topped the ecstasy charts, your stomach churning with happiness and bliss.

Your walls clung to his entire length, his cock filling you to the brim as you came around him, juices soaking into the skin of his shaft. His thrusts never relented, only getting smoother with the increased moisture. Your toes curled into his backside, legs hugging him close. Your head fell back into the pillows, drawing out a loud moan that was solely consisting of his name. Mitch had to stop sucking at your neck to keep his composure, feeling you hugging him closely, your bodies chest to chest, hearts in sync. Your hand tightened around his, knuckles white from the pressure but his returned the gesture just as much.

He came to a stop, your eyes fluttering open in confusion. You were about to question when he shifted position, his cock never leaving your pussy as he leaned back on his knees, lifting your back off the bed. You were perched in his lap, damp hair falling in your face as you looked down at him, the position you found yourself in perching you atop him. Your legs still wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass to keep upright. His hand disconnected from yours, both moving to your back to keep you against him. Our arms went around his neck, Mitch’s head buried in the valley of your breasts, taking a single second to glance up at you.

His hips awkwardly thrust upward, the angle giving you a new sensation. Even in the odd position, Mitch knew how to hit amazing spots, finding your sweetest spots each time. He bucked up into you, your body bouncing against along his enter length. It was almost the same sensation as if you were riding him, bouncing eagerly against his cock; just, this was a million times better. You whimpered at him, the man speeding up his constant thrusts, pounding into you at God-like speeds.

His lips found your breast, ravishing the nipple without compromising his thrusts. Your fingers threaded through his hair, head falling back slightly as you tugged at the dark chocolate tendrils. They scraped against his scalp, leading down his shoulders and back, feeling his shoulder blades and strong back muscles tense under your touch. The man never moved from your chest, only breaking from the nipple to move to the other without warning.

When he finally pulled away with a distinct pop, he looked up at you, your eyes locking together. His lips curled upwards slightly, his sparkling eyes never leaning yours before leaning up, smashing his lips against yours. Your own eyes fluttered shut, returning the kiss with equal vigor and passion, your body rolling against his to match his pacing. You stayed like that, tongues gently caressing each other and lips fitting perfectly together like two jigsaw pieces, bodies meshed into one unit, his cock hitting every spot inside you that made you see stars behind your eyelids. Your moans vibrated each other’s throats, thrusts growing needy and sloppy.

He broke the kiss for a gasp of air, his cock sputtering inside you, twitching against your tight walls that hugged him completely. He placed one final chaste kiss to your lips before resting his forehead on your shoulder, your head digging into his hair. Streams of white spewed from the tip, his seed spilling into you in massive waves and loud groans. You whimpered and mewled at the feeling, his warmth spreading from your core to your entire body, burning the knot inside you to nothing. Your juices splattered against your walls, your body clinging desperately to the assassin as you spill around him, juices mixing into one inside you. His thrusts upwards slowed to a gentle push, your bodies relaxing against each other, simultaneous orgasms washing through your systems.

He carefully laid you back against the bed, pulling from you as you twitched and shook from the orgasm. He rolled off the bed, stumbling on shaky legs as he trotted to the bathroom, returning with a warm cloth to clean your body. He cleaned himself quickly as well, dropping the towel to the floor and collapsing next to you on the bed with a loud but happy sigh. You rolled towards him the second his body hit the mattress, snuggling against him. His arm was behind your shoulders, pulling you into his side. His lips pressed to your forehead, returning his gaze to the ceiling after a moment.

“What was his name?” Mitch asked softly after a moment of silence, hugging you closer as you relaxed against his chest, taking the time to catch your breath from your vigorous activities.

“Whose?”

Mitch stayed silent upon your response, trying to decide who he was truly asking about. The man that dragged you into this horrid lifestyle? Or, the man that you potentially still loved and kept you from Mitch’s reach. He took a deep, silent breath before taking the plunge, answering, “The man that did this to you.”

“Did this to me?” you asked, looking up at him. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, but he nodded regardless. “Crowe. His name was Ragnor Crowe. He was the… pimp, I guess is the way to put it, that killed my family and took me away to London. He is the reason I sold my soul to prostitution.”

Mitch wanted to ask about your past lover, his curiosity growing to know the name of the man that ruined your life and your love, never saving you from the hell you grew up in. He scorned this man and didn’t know his name. But before he could gather the courage to ask, his phone rang from the bedside table, a groan from his throat instead. He waved around blindly for the device, finally grabbing it around the fifth ring. His thumb ran along the green button without looking at who was calling, pressing it to his ear.

“This is Rapp.”

“That’s not how we answer,” Hurley’s gruff voice came through, Mitch flinching slightly. You looked at him in confusion, as he moved you from his chest, rolling off the bed in search of pants.

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled. “What can I do for you?”

“I have your instructions for the morning. Are you alone?”

Mitch glanced at you, his eyes telling you enough. “I’ll go fetch some water or something,” you whispered so Hurley couldn’t hear you. Mitch nodded, watching your bare body slide off the bed, waddling your way from the room and out of his sight. Even as you padded your way across the room in slight pain, perky breasts free with hardened nipples and legs covered in a mixture of yours and his dripping arousal, he found you beyond gorgeous. And the fact that you didn’t bother to dress yourself as your stretched your arms up, easing your aching muscles and cracking bones, giving him a full view of your body before leaving, his cock was growing hard once more.

“Are you listening, Rapp?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Please go on.”

You returned a few minutes later, a glass of water in hand for the assassin. Mitch was sat on the bed, phone in hand, the call seeming to have just ended. He glanced up at you wandered in, adjusting his hard cock in the shorts he pulled on while he talked to Stan before you sat beside him, handing him the glass.

“What did he want?” you asked.

“You know I’m not supposed to tell you, right?” Mitch joked, taking a sip of the water. You giggled at him, wrapping your arms around his, hugging his muscled bicep and tracing your fingers along his veiny skin. “I am going to Rome in the morning and we are planning to stake out the bank the money is coming from.”

“For what?” You asked again. “What would this Ghost guy possibly need a bank account for?”

“Apparently some nuclear physicist,” Mitch said.

You perked up slightly. “Nuclear physicist? That sounds cool.”

“Not when the physicist is helping build a bomb,” he mumbled.

“Oh,” you hummed lowly. “Is that what he got away with?”

“No,” Mitch told you. “Whatever he got from Sharif is helping him build the bomb though. So, we are going to intercept his plan and nab the physicist he’s planning to use for his plan. And, hopefully, we can get him in the process that way I can get my revenge for him killing Victor.”

Mitch’s fist tightened, his knuckles turning white. You carefully took his hand between yours, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You’re going to break the glass in your hand if you keep that up.”

“Sorry,” he whispered, sipping the water again.

“So, where in Rome are you headed? I’ve always wanted to go so I’m curious. Maybe you can take pictures while you are there.”

“Who says you aren’t coming with me?”

“I kind of assume your boss won’t let me tag along when you’re tracking some nuclear physicist,” you laughed.

“Well, you’re right,” he said sadly. “While I’m on a plane to Piazza Navona, Rome, you are on a plane back to Langley. Irene will send someone to pick you up and take care of you until we get back. You might be on lockdown for a bit, but once I am back, I will make sure you get out of there and find a proper life.”

“Piazza Navona?”

“Yeah. The bank is there that the money is sitting in. Banca Rugerio, I think is what Stan said? He didn’t tell me much more than that. I’m hoping I can get more information from him while we are there, though I hope we get this guy before anything else happens.”

“I believe in you, Mitch,” you told him, pressing your lips to his cheek. You unwound yourself from his arm, standing from the bed. “And, I’m sorry.”

Mitch’s brow furrowed, his forehead wrinkling. “Sorry? For what?”

“For what I did,” you told him, finding his jeans and digging out his wallet.

“What are you doing?” he growled, attempting to stand. His vision blurred the second he stood up, the glass in his hand dropping to the ground and shattering. He wobbled slightly, trying to catch himself before he fell. “What the fuck?”

“I am just going to take this now,” you hummed, waving a wad of cash in the air. It was spare money Stan had given him just in case of an emergency and they weren’t together.

“What the hell are you doing?” he uttered, his words slurring together. His mind was growing fuzzy, his body growing drowsy. He sat back on the bed, his head bobbing. “What did you do?”

“I can’t change who I am,” you told him. “I’m a prostitute and this is my pay for all the times we’ve fucked.”

“You fucking bitch,” he grumbled lowly, trying to push himself up and failing.

“I told you I’m sorry,” you sighed. “But I can’t go with you right now. I appreciate all your kind words, Mitch. They really do mean the world to me. You mean the world to me. But, I am who I am. I’m sorry.”

“You fucking used me,” he growled, finally pushing off the bed. But his weakened state only stumbled forward, collapsing on the ground away from the glass. He tried to push himself off the ground, but he failed, his words slurring more often. “You used me for information. Why?”

“No reason,” you told him, dropping his wallet on his jeans. “I’ll just take my pay and go now. But, next time you need a good time, Mitchy Boo, hit me up.”

“Fuck you,” he snarled, crawling forward slightly. “I will fucking kill you.”

You frowned, kneeling in front of him. “No, you won’t,” you told him. “And know this. I never meant to hurt you, Mitch. I’m doing what I have to. It’s my job.”

“No,” he huffed. “You’re more than this. More than a prostitute.”

“I know I am,” you whispered, the man finally drifting off, the drug in his system finally taking effect. “And hopefully one day, you will understand that I’m doing what I must.” Your fingers ran through his hair, running down his stubbled jaw. “I really am sorry. But this is who I am.”

You stood from your spot, grabbing a pillow and blanket from the bed, placing the pillow under his head and covering his body. Rummaging through his bag, your found a blank shirt and athletic shorts you could throw on until you could buy fresh clothes, shrugging on one of his leather jackets. You sighed when the smell of his cologne wafted to your nose, his clothes covered in his aroma. You smiled slightly, hugging the jacket closer around your frame before looking back down at the man.

“I’m sorry,” you said one finally time, leaning over his body to place a kiss to his cheek. “I… I’m sure I do love you, Mitch. It was spur of the moment, but it feels right to say. And I’m sorry I can’t let you love me back. My job would never let me us happen.”

You disappeared from the room, grabbing the sedatives you left in the kitchen, having found them in one of the bags Stan left for Mitch. Pocketing them, you made sure you had everything you needed, leaving the small safe house cottage. Your heart broke slightly as you looked back at the house, knowing you were leaving such a perfect man. A man that made you feel like more than a person. He made you feel complete.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, shaking away the tears. “You can’t feel for him like this. Stay focused on your job.” You sighed, letting one tear slip, biting your lip as you walked away. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Mitch.”

And there you were, walking away into the dark dusk of the night, leaving the light behind you.

Until we meet again, Mitch Rapp.

Errthang Tag 2.0: @catcrown21​; @parislight​; @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone​; @savage-stilinski​; @honeymoonmuke​; @rumoured-whispers​; @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname​; @caitsymichelle13​; @addicttotw​; @fox-lau​; @xmadwonderland​; @kaelyn-lobrutto24​; @lobrien​; @kal-pal​; @espermirror​; @nowthisiswaar​; @little-nya​; @ashpie97​; @mixedupsammy​; @dylobrienlover​; @newtosaur250​; @bandsweyhey​; @crystals-marie​; @livinginadreamersparadise; @tommyswolves​; @veronicarapp​

Dusk Till Dawn Tag: @gamergirl765; @nooneelsethandylan​; @put-them-all-together​; @kristendonutz

Want to be tagged? Send as ask! - Bold accounts are ones I cannot tag.

Note: Tag list has been cleaned up as of 3.28.2018. If you were removed, please send me an ask so I can re-add you (you were purged as part of the spring cleaning as you did not participate in the survey).

[mshellbrat]

Hey guys! The next chapter of my Olicity Arrow/BTVS xover is now up! It went a little crazy on me...lol. I would love to know what you think! 

Chapter Summary:  Felicity finds herself dealing with a new unexpected aspect of her life and Oliver has to deal with her as she rides it out. The two finally get a chance to talk, but while Felicity may be left frustrated Oliver is confident it's for the best.

Rating: M (for language so far)

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!...except my original characters and their imaginary organization... :-)

HERE GOES!

Felicity was jumping out of her own skin. She was literally bouncing up and down. Her mind was going a million miles a minute, her heart was pounding, and her whole body was buzzing. She was buzz buzz buzzing like a bee, or a live wire, or a...really buzzy vampire slayer. She tried humming inside her head, she tried humming out loud (that got her bitched at by Roy because apparently 'Can't Get You Out of My Head' was not an appropriate post-fight anthem), and then she just settled for trying her very best not to look like a crazy person. From the smirks her mentors had been sending her way, Felicity was pretty sure she failed harder at that than Oliver had at Harvard.

Felicity winced at the mean thought. Oliver was her friend and she knew he wasn't stupid. He'd been an asshat who'd never really applied himself in college, but he definitely wasn't stupid. Which was totally beside the point at the moment because who cared about Oliver's old college transcripts? She'd killed two VAMPIRES tonight! HER! Felicity 'I'm Tech Support' Smoak!

“Lissy, you still in there?” Meredith drawled.

Felicity jerked and looked to her cousin. She nodded quickly. “Yep, still right here.”

The tiny brunette eyed her warily from where she was leaning against the bar. The whole gang stood around. They had debriefed and reviewed and Dare had talked about lesson plans for moving forward. Felicity probably should have paid more attention to that, but buzzzzzzz...she really really needed to do something but she didn't know what! She was going to explode!

“I said Cross said I can crash here tonight,” Meredith told her, “and they might give me a job.”

Cross lifted a brow. “I don't remember mentioning a job.”

“Eh...” Meredith shook her hand back and forth, “you were getting around to it. I can't be worse than Ryder. I'm psycho about being on time.”

“Ryder doesn't drink himself under the bar,” Dare pointed out. “Our bartenders are dry. You want the job? You quit drinking.” Meredith threw him a nasty glare, but the Pure just grinned and blew her a kiss.

Felicity frowned and bit her lip. “You don't want to stay with me? I'm supposed to look after you!”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Oliver said at the same time as he reached out and rested his hand on Felicity's back. “Meredith staying here for the night, that is.”

She jumped at the contact and cut her eyes his way. She tried to glare, but then she got distracted by his eyes...those blue blue eyes...and those thick lashes...and his nose was kinda cute now that she looked at it. Not feminine cute, but more manly cute...was there a manly cute? She decided there was definitely a manly cute because everything about Oliver was manly. So he had a manly cute nose and then there were his lips...those full strong lips that she wanted to bite and...

“I'd like to keep an eye on Felicity tonight, if she's willing,” he cocked a brow at her.

And DAMN, that was so hot, and was he actually expecting a response right now that wasn't drool or more catchy song lyrics? She could sing him some really dirty Ludacris if pressed, but that was about all she had. Her brain was so fried. She just blinked up at him and refused to let her eyes drop back to his mouth. He would totally notice and that would be inappropriate...inappropriate and unprofessional. Oliver was not a piece of meat!

“I thought you might,” Meredith stepped forward and poked Oliver hard in the chest. “But I've been catching up with Little Red over there,” she hooked her thumb in Roy's direction, “and you better handle with care, Ollie. I don't give three strikes. I give one. You fuck this up and I'll fuck you up. Understood?”

Felicity didn't know what her cousin was talking about. She frowned at Roy. Meredith already hated Oliver based purely off his reputation. She didn't need any help from the team gossip. The red archer smirked and shrugged.

Oliver slid his hand from her back to around her waist, pulling her attention back to him. He guided her into a turn and led the way toward the door of the club and outside to his car.

Felicity was still confused as she slid into the passenger seat and buckled the safety belt. She turned to Oliver. “I'm...very...” her words trailed off and she frowned.

“Buzzed, Felicity,” Oliver finished for her. “You're buzzed. It's the adrenaline. It will wear off and you'll crash.” He started the car and drove the familiar route toward her townhouse.

“Is that why I can't sit still?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And why I can't think straight?”

“Yes,” he said again.

Felicity took in slow deep breaths and counted as she blew them out. She tried to focus on calming down. Judging from her bouncing foot and shaky hands, it wasn't working. She looked around for something, anything, to focus on. Her eyes snagged on Oliver's hands gripping the steering wheel. She watched them clench and release as he maneuvered. His fingers slid across the leather and Felicity could feel the ghost of his caress against her back. His hands were so strong, so capable, and yet he was always gentle when he was touching her. What would it feel like when those fingers slid into other places? Felicity's breath hitched in her throat.

“Felicity...” Oliver groaned.

“What?” She bit her lip guiltily and jerked her eyes to his face.

His jaw was clenched and he stared at the road in front of them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Felicity's jaw dropped. “You want to TALK, right now?”

Oliver huffed a laugh. “That's not what I meant, Felicity.”

“Well good,” Felicity nodded, “because I'm working really hard to string together sentences that don't include vulgar rap lyrics about whistles and lollipops.” She groaned and banged her head back against the seat. “It would probably be better if I just didn't speak at all, but that doesn't seem to be an option. Is this what it's like to be high? Why would people do this willingly?”

“It can feel really good to lose control if you give in to it,” Oliver said.

Felicity felt a flash of heat through her whole body. Her mouth went dry. She looked back to Oliver.

He grimaced and shifted in his seat. “Which we are not going to do...because we have a lot of things to talk about and I'm not going to take advantage of you.”

Felicity scoffed. “You almost kissed me on a mission, Oliver! A MISSION! When did you grow scruples?” She thought back to the charity dinner and suddenly she wished they'd just kissed already and gotten the damn thing over with. Oliver totally wouldn't be playing the gentleman card right now if this wasn't their first go round. He was Oliver frackin' Queen! He'd banged half the women in Starling! Why was she so different?

“You aren't in your right mind, Felicity,” Oliver tried to reason with her.

The slayer snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew she wasn't being fair, but for once, she didn't frackin' care. “Oh please! Like it's a secret that I want you ALL the time. I'm a fangirl surrounded by hotness, Oliver. And unlike Laurel, who is some strange breed of female immune to such things unless she's in heat or something, I have spent the last year and a half dreaming up smutty smutty sex scenes in my head while I was supposed to be focused on finding your next target.”

“I can't,” Oliver sighed and blew out a long breath, “I can't fuck this up, Felicity. I can't lose you.”

“You aren't going to lose me,” she argued.

“You deserve better than some adrenaline fueled quickie.”

Felicity scoffed and rolled her eyes. “It never stopped you with Sara.”

“YOU AREN'T SARA!” Oliver growled. He jerked the car to the side of the road and threw it into park. He turned to face her in the seat and she could feel the anger rolling off of him in waves. “I love Sara, Felicity. I always will.”

Felicity jerked her face to the side and stared out the window. That certainly cooled her ardor.

Oliver reached out and grabbed her chin in his hand. He turned her face back in his direction and waited until she met his stare. Felicity ground her teeth and did her best to look unaffected. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut to calm himself and then continued. “I will always love Sara. What we went through together on that island formed a bond between us that no one else will ever understand. We're both broken, Felicity, and a lot of our broken edges fit together in just the right ways. We understand each other...we both know just how fucked up the other is...and we don't judge each other for it.”

Felicity's hands shook, but she buried them by her sides. She blinked at him and kept her face blank. “That's great.”

Oliver's eyes narrowed and he huffed. “I have never, however, been IN love with Sara, Felicity. Not before the island, not on the island, and not after.”

Felicity jerked, but Oliver refused to let go of her. He shook his head. “Uh uh, not until I'm finished....not until you listen to me and you understand.” He paused until she met his eyes again. “Sara and I should never have gotten involved...either time. Before the island I was a coward and an asshole running away from a relationship that I couldn't even admit to myself I didn't want. I wasn't ready to move in with Laurel. Laurel and I didn't work. I cheated and lied and ran away and she enabled me and took me back over and over and over again. Taking Sara with me was a last ditch effort to show Laurel exactly how worthless I really was. Sara didn't matter. She was just the latest weapon I used against Laurel...and I ruined her life, Felicity. I damn near killed her.”

Felicity jerked her chin out of his hold and glared him down. “Sara is responsible for her own bad choices, Oliver. You didn't kidnap her and drag her with you. She pulled that shitty move all on her own.”

“She was just a kid,” Oliver said.

“She was old enough to know better,” Felicity shot back.

Oliver shook his head. He ran his hand through his hair. “That's not my point anyway. I'm getting off track.” He looked to the side. “When I found out Sara was alive last year, it was a weight being lifted off of my shoulders. One less sin for me to carry. And one more person who I didn't have to lie to...to pretend with.” He looked back to Felicity and she knew he was trying to make her understand. “Sara knew me, truly knew me, Felicity. She knew exactly how far I could sink. She knew I was a killer, a monster, and she didn't care because she had her own set of fangs.”

Felicity wanted to object, to argue that he wasn't a monster...that he'd come too far to keep pulling himself back down to that one-dimensional definition. There were too many shades of gray in this world for Oliver to keep painting himself the villain. If he really was that evil, if he really was as dark and irredeemable as he believed himself to be, then he wouldn't CARE about what he'd done. Monsters didn't fight the darkness, they reveled in it. Oliver was not a monster. He got up and he kept trying every day to be better, to do better. Felicity didn't know how to make him see that.

“But you were different than Sara,” Oliver continued before she could piece together her own argument. “You were good, Felicity. You were light, and you were innocent, and you were clean. Putting my blood-stained hands on you? Dragging you down into this hole with me? THAT would damn me far quicker than marking names off my father's list ever would. I didn't deserve you,” he shrugged and huffed a laugh, “I never will.”

“URGH!” Felicity growled and scrubbed her hands over her face. “You are such a frackin' buzzkill, Oliver! I cannot have a deep heartfelt conversation with you when all I want is to climb you like a tree!” She waved her hand out to indicate his body. “Do you have any idea how nummy you look right now?”

Oliver snorted and shook his head. Felicity glared at him. “Do you really think that I'm so stupid and naive that I don't see you for who you really are? That I don't know you still carry more scars inside than the ones carved into your skin? I'm not a fool, Oliver, I'm a fucking genius! I know who you are. And the fact that I want you has very little to do with how unreasonably attractive God made you, and everything to do with the stubborn passionate over-protective asshole you are beneath that skin.” She canted her head to the side. “If all I wanted was a hot body, I'd be back at 'The Bronze' with Dare.”

Oliver gritted his teeth. “DON'T say that!”

Felicity sighed. “Yep, there's the asshole now.” She leaned forward until her nose brushed against his. “I don't want Dare, Oliver!”

“And I don't want Sara,” Oliver countered, but then he thought about it, “or Laurel.”

A small smiled curved Felicity's lips and she leaned forward a little more. “Good...then, why don't we...”

“Uh uh,” Oliver shook his head again and pulled back away from her, “you still aren't in your right mind.” Felicity glared at him, but he only chuckled at her frustration this time. Turning back to face the front, he restarted the car and eased them back into the road. “Sorry, but I'm not taking any chances with you. You're it for me, Felicity. We're doing this right.” Taking in her dejected expression as she muttered to herself and slumped back against the seat, Oliver tossed her a grin. “You wake up tomorrow morning and still want to play? I'll be all for it.”

Felicity narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “I want that in writing.”

Thanks so much for reading! I would love to know what you think!

[cjostrander]

Mucc: Kyutai

Hello, due to the surprise popularity of my last review for The Gazette’s Stacked Rubbish album i am going to tackle another Japanese band today. I got the newest albm by Mucc and Angelo but havent gotten a chance to hear them yet. I Also got Rise Against’s newest one and so far it seems rather good. This album is a more obscure one by the band and features a song with the singer’s mom singing the chorus. it’s a more personal topic since it deals with the passing of his grandmother. It’s been awhile since i pulled this one out but from what i remember it had more a of speed metal like vibe than past albums. Hope you guys find it interesting and it motivates you to check out my other reviews for them and other band’s that i have done over the years.

Kyutai: We begin with a soothing instrumental track that features soft strings and moody guitar riffs. The light drum patterns give it a holy feeling full of tribal darkness. It has hints of electronica mixed in with it but it is careful not to take away from the organic of the track. Because it’s a short piece i won’t be scoring it on my assessment. 0/0

Hoko: This track begins with a speed metal vibe and highly energetic drum beats that flirt with power metal at times. The vocals enter with a slightly processed tone of anger and gradually he uses his spaced out shouts to infuse the song with sparking points for aggressive yet somewhat ambitious instrumentals. The backing vocals during the chorus is a decent lift for making this song stick out a little more. The breakdown is a decent element that will show off well during a live show and the following solo riffs will bring you back to your heyday thrash bands such as Megadeth and light Slayer; but with a modern tone to it. Overall this one is bit weak for them but is new in style so it’s going to be a matter of whether you appreciate the thrash elements of it or not. 7/10

Ageha (single): This only single for the album starts off with soft guitar melodies that incorporate very light hints of pop into it before venturing into a breakdown that will do a good job of playing to any fan of Avenged Sevenfold. The vocals ironically match the band as well in its gritty delivery and the raw rhythm of the drums and guitars will make this a simple but effective jam piece for a live show. The chorus comes off rather decent and touches on a more familiar sound for them before the breakdown segments take the lead. They lead into a very nice segment that is a perfect combination of beauty,speed and technicality. I will give the drums props as well because they do a good job of keeping the energy going and will help to make this song stick out a bit better than the first tracks led you to believe. Other than that; this is a pretty good choice for a single since it clearly shows a commercial aim at a more western audience than their more experimental stuff does. 8/10

Hide and Seek: On here we are approached by synths and a joining force of aggressive guitar instrumentals. The bass is very prominent in the mix as well as the synths. It will give it a more electronic feel and will give you a feeling of what their next album Karma would venture into soundwise. The vocals are okay and give a decent flow but really don’t touch on the level of strength that he is renowned for on early albums. The female vocals lifting him are a good approach and will help to stretch the song out when the solos aren’t around. The solos take on a slower and more blissful approach in terms of melody and are easily the shining light of this song. Other than that; i can already tell that this album is gearing up to be one of their more weaker efforts overall. 7/10

Kagero: Light and blissful guitar melodies open up and the drums enter to develop a very beautiful sound that will do wonders on the listener’s ear waves. The vocals enter with a sound of seduction and captivate the listener’s attention while the bass prominently rumbles underneath the drum beat. The vocals manage to establish a sense of catchiness for the first time on the album and already stick this one out as a highlight piece on the album. The chorus is full of emotion and seeks to lull the listener into a sense of ease while the cleverly echoed guitar solo softly chimes along. It is a nice piece for a night time outing and will do a great job of relaxing yourself before you are getting ready for bed. This is a nice surprise and a real shame that it didn’t get single status. Judging by what i see; i don’t think this album got much label support so that likely accounts for why this one is so hidden in their discography. Then again i really had to look before i found these guys. 9/10

Lemming: This song marks a return to the aggressive speed instrumentals but doesn’t go full blast at once for fear of upsetting the flow of the last song. It then shifts into some rather good thrash riffs before the vocals enter to balance everything out. He maintains a very catchy vocal delivery and the instrumentals support him in a very fluid manner without drawing too much attention from the vocals. The bass is a little more hidden this time around but does still maintain a presence if you look for it. This one is actually a pretty good piece on the album and helps to give it a little more focused life and the first couple tracks did. The solo is really nice towards the end and will be a killer piece for a live show. I’d say pay good attention to this song and the last one and your time on this album will pay for itself easy. 9/10

Oz: Groovy guitar riffs begin this one on a very danceable note. The rhythm relationship between the guitars and the drums will make this piece stick out nicely for a live show and the processed vocals enter with a rather nice show of flair. It’s club centric sound would be a nice companion piece for Screw’s Fugly track lol. The vocals then take on an aggressive shouting format for a few moments before returning to a rather lively and catchy chorus full. The vocals are a bit in the background in order for the backing choruses to give it more of a party vibe without appearing to try too hard. The growl vocals are solid and will do a good job of making sure that song retains a heavy enough edge for the expected metal listener to stand a chance of appreciating this song for what it is. 9/10

Fuyu: Energetic yet soft guitar melodies begin this song on a very satisfying note full of beauty and subtle pop elements. I use pop lightly in rock terms so you don’t think of Maroon 5 right away lol. The vocals have a layered approach which manages to provide a soothing atmosphere to the listener but overall his slowness doesn’t really allow for him to stick out much on the song and instead its the instrumentals that really achieve the spotlight moments. He does improve his catchy traits durig the chorus as he draws a little more life from his delivery before the instrumentals take over. A harmonica enters rather pleasantly and helps to give the song a more organic feeling that would be easily appreciated during an intimate live performance. Yeah, this half of the album is definitely miles better than the first couple tracks set it up to be. 9/10

Sanbika (about singer’s grandmother’s passing): This personal seven and a half minute song begins with poppy sounding keys that due well to invoke a nice level of emotion from the listener. The drums softly enter with a simple but effective pattern as that makes this song heavily remind me of Hotel California during its beginning. That comparison immediately helps to put this song on a nice track before the vocals enter. The vocals are soft and emotional and focus on a sound of mourning as one may expect given the nature of the subject matter. It’s somber tone is very soothing and connects easily with the listener and the chorus does well to ensure that this song further fills with ambition into the listener’s ears. The guitars liven up a bit as the singer’s mom begins singing very beautifully despairing melodies for the listener to develop empathy for. It is a beautifully long segment that will be another highlight on this album. The following solo takes on a softly slow jazz component where the guitar melodies are soothing and prominent while the bass retains a very synth like rumble in the background for the rest of the song. The singer and his mom continue with a rather enchanting duet for a good while before his band mates come in to add backing harmonies to them. The vocals then return to the sing who pours all of his emotion into his delivery to finish the last minute of this song on an outstandingly strong note. I would love to see this one live and could of easily seen this as a strong closing track for this album. 9/10

Sora to Ito: More classical instrumentals begin this one on a soft note as the vocals enter; then the guitars infuse a mix of rough metal riffs and positive melodies over it before the vocals return. The vocals contain an easily noticeable processed trait to them and utilize backing harmonies to prop them up before the energetic chorus enters. The instrumentals do a decent job of infusing just the right level of energy to support the vocals without smothering them. This is a good trait since the heavy production value on them would be very easy to do so if they werent careful. The solo is very nice and will be an easy spotlight moment during your first listening experience. 8.5/10

Hanabi: This lengthy six minute closer begins with just the vocals opening on a highly echoed note before keys enter to give the song a very classically driven format. The keys keep a slightly drawn out timing before the acoustic guitars begin to slowly seep their way in. It improves a bit when the strings and soothing drum patterns enter the fold. It continues in this way for awhile before the guitars take on a more energetic dance approach and the drums/bass join to improve the strength of this strong dramatically. The vocals then begin to develop a sense of catchiness and just enough life for the strings to come off rather strongly for this song. The complexity in it begins to show and as result makes the second half of the song a much stronger portion than the first half. The vocals definitely up their strength and infuse a climatic sense of farewell as the guitars roar in the background. Overall it’s a decent piece. I still think that Sanbika would of been a stronger pick but you can’t have everything you want ha ha. 8/10

Overall album rating: 8.4/10

Well, the scoring on this one wasn’t too bad. It earned a respectable B and isn’t the lowest ranking album on the list. It was close but beat Shangri Lah by a margin of .1 I’m in a bit of a rush today so i won’t give too much of a closer; but hopefully you guys like this review and decide to check out my older stuff. There’s a lot of good albums in there for you to check out.

[recentanimenews]

Bookshelf Briefs 1/21/19

Anonymous Noise, Vol. 12 | By Ryoko Fukuyama | Viz Media – Lots of things going on in this new volume. First of all, it’s a new year, and that means there’s potentially new club members—despite the band giving an absolutely wretched performance to the school. I’ll be honest, An feels a bit like she’s being introduced in order to be able to pair off one of the spares, but so far I’m pretty fine with that. Meanwhile, Nino seems to be maturing a little bit, but her relationship with Momo is still touch and go, and both Momo and Yuzu have a definite need for it to be Nino and only Nino who sings their songs. Yuzu is finally back towards the end of this book, but it feels right that he was away—the space has moved the plot forward. Not quite sure where yet, but forward. – Sean Gaffney

The Demon Prince of Momochi House, Vol. 13 | By Aya Shouoto | Viz Media – The most recent story arc of The Demon Prince of Momochi House starts off with a literal bang—after being shot by the villainous Kasha, Himari finds her spirit forcibly separated from her physical body. Understandably, it’s a dangerous state in which to exist, especially with the number of malicious ayakashi that pass through and by Momochi house. This certainly isn’t the first time that Himari has been in trouble, and I’m doubly certain that it won’t be last, but neither is she a helpless heroine. Himari’s underlying strength often seems to be overshadowed by the astonishing abilities of the other characters in The Demon Prince of Momochi House, supernatural and otherwise. In this particular case, however, Himari must not only save herself but the ones she loves, too—she’s not the ultimate target of Kasha’s schemes and many of the people she would normally rely on for help can’t. – Ash Brown

My Hero Academia: Vigilantes, Vol. 3 | By Hideyuki Furuhashi and Betten Court | Viz Media – To my surprise, this volume mostly seems to dial back the main plot in favor of character development with Koichi. But that’s fine, as these are solid chapters and help show why he’s being The Crawler despite not being a licensed hero. It also gives us more attention devoted to Captain Celebrity, the American All Might who is a selfish publicity hound and basically awful. And much to my surprise, it has some excellent backstory of why heroes came to be and why most people with powers aren’t heroes. It’s fascinating and makes sense. I also like the new girl, though her overly wide mouth makes me think of Tsuyu. This side series is growing on me. – Sean Gaffney

My Monster Secret, Vol. 14 | By Eiji Masuda | Seven Seas – I’m not sure whether I’m ready for actual drama in My Monster Secret, a series that still works best when it’s being as funny as possible. But they’ve been to the future, and it’s hinted it’s not a happy one for everyone involved. Sometimes this is played for comedy, as with Shiho finding that her future husband is the most annoying of “those three guys,” but there’s also a hint that Asahi and Youko are not going to get together. That said, when the series IS doing humor, it’s still pretty hilarious, even when the punchline is “please admire my awesome ass.” We’re clearly going to be dragging this on for at least a few more volumes, and may also be adding to the “I’m in love with Asagi” harem, but as long as it stays funny. – Sean Gaffney

Nyankees, Vol. 1 | By Atsushi Okada | Yen Press – Nyankees is “a tale of street cats portrayed as hoodlums.” When Ryuusei, a “dark tabby,” comes to Nekonaki Town in search of a male calico with a scarred eye, he first tangles with members of a gang led by Taiga, an orange tabby. Although winning a fight against Taiga entitles Ryuusei to take over as boss, he comes to respect the other kitty, and together they go to rescue a female cat who has been kidnapped by the calico’s gang. I wanted to like Nyankees but sadly it didn’t click with me. Probably its best attribute is that, after several pages of the characters in human form, a dramatic panel sometimes depicts them as cats, like the two-page spread in which Ryuusei and Taiga send a couple of adversaries flying. I didn’t find it funny—the “It’s pawback time!” line made me groan aloud—and the story’s not interesting, either. Too bad. – Michelle Smith

One-Punch Man, Vol. 15 | By ONE and Yusuke Murata | Viz Media – Saitama is back, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s bringing all the laughs, as he’s back to being in a funk about everything being so boring because he can easily defeat everyone. Of all people, King has the best moment of the volume, when he tries to convince Saitama that there are reasons to be a great hero other than finding stronger and stronger people to fight. Unfortunately, Saitama is not ready to accept that lesson yet. Meanwhile, the whole “become stronger by becoming monsters” movement is hitting up some of the older minor villains/heroes from prior chapters, sometimes with amusing results and sometimes not. Solid, but I desperately want this to be silly again. – Sean Gaffney

Shojo FIGHT!, Vol. 6 | By Yoko Nihonbashi | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – So much happens in the characters’ personal lives this volume, some of it monumental, that it almost feels like a soap opera. Michiru and Odagiri accidentally overhear that Shigeru has retinitis pigmentosa and is experiencing vision loss, causing Michiru to realize how blind he has been to why their father has been expecting more from Shigeru all these years. I love how often Michiru cries in this volume and nobody gives him crap for it. I also love that he gets more determined to win the spring tournament while Shigeru can still see it happen. On top of this, we get a lot more background about Hasegawa’s family and her friendship with Itami, which ties in to Odagiri’s brother the aspiring mangaka and to Atsuko and her contentious relationship with her stepmother. Every character gets some development and they improve at volleyball, too! Recommended. – Michelle Smith

Sweetness & Lightning, Vol. 11 | By Gido Amagakure | Kodansha Comics – It’s the penultimate volume of Sweetness & Lightning and things are winding down! After Inuzuka-sensei and Tsumugi work out some communication issues and visit family, the focus shifts to Kotori. She’s about to graduate high school, so the time seems right for her to confess to Inuzuka. I like that he evinces palpable dread about having to hurt her, but in the end she essentially proclaims her undying regard for him, Tsumugi, and food all at the same time. And she tells her friend “it was something more complicated” than love, so I guess that’s a relief. Too, though the restaurant will briefly close for remodeling, there are promises of cooking together in perpetuity. I’m not sure what the twelfth and final volume will contain, since this seemed plenty conclusive, but we’ll see all too soon. – Michelle Smith

Teasing Master Takagi-san, Vol. 3 | By Soichiro Yamamoto | Yen Press – I spent this volume admiring the cleverness of the title character. She clearly can read Nishikata like a book, but is also trying, in her teasing and bets, to get him to understand her feelings. That said, she is also content to merely tease him when he doesn’t get them—she’s not frustrated, and knows this is a long game. Possibly as Nishikata may not actually realize what’s going on till the end of high school. But it’s still middle school, so there are tests of courage, and measuring their height, and calligraphy, and even tickling. And even if they aren’t a couple, everyone else certainly seems to think they are, as the last chapter shows. This remains utterly fun and adorable. – Sean Gaffney

By: Ash Brown

[ruthellisneda]

All Women are Bilingual, and Should Be Running the World

Since I was a child, I have fluently spoken both Boy and Girl, and as a grown woman I’ve actually had an easier time speaking the language of Men than the language of Women. This isn’t because of anything special or interesting about me. It is, in fact, a competency shared by all women in our culture, whether they know it or not.

As children, we read and watch stories about little boys (and sometimes girls) having adventures and learning lessons, which is where we first learn the male-as-default mentality that will follow us for the rest of our lives.

According to an article from the Washington Post,

“No more than 33 percent of children’s books in any given year featured an adult woman or female animal, but adult men and male animals appeared in 100 percent of the books.”

Interestingly, when there is a gender-unidentified character, like an animal or a car, the parents reading tend to naturally give that character a gender using pronouns. Instinctively, because the male-as-default mentality affects us all, they will assign him the male gender. (If you have any doubt about this, go ahead and try using she/her pronouns for random animals you see in the park, or read about with your child. It feels super awkward, like… well, how do I know she’s a “she”? But ask yourself: how do you know he’s a he? It feels uncomfortable to think you might be accidentally misgendering a male, but typically it doesn’t seem like an issue to misgender a female.)

Representation Matters

Humans are a social creature, and feeling like we’re included and belong is crucial for a strong sense of self. We need to connect and feel like we belong, so we’re highly influenced by our perceptions of social rules and norms (especially as children!) and often internalize what we see without even realizing it.

That’s why representation matters—

The lack of female character representation in children’s books teaches children of all genders an important truth: that girls and women are less important, and hold a less important role in society, than boys or men.

This unequal representation continues as we grow up. In a recent study posted on the data visualization website Polygraph showed that in 78% of the Hollywood films analyzed, the lead character was male. Not even a third of speaking roles go to women, on average. Considering that women make up 51% of the population, this is pretty wild.

Check out this analysis, showing the dialogue breakdown between male and female characters in Disney movies:

The movies with 60% or more of the dialogue going to male characters is a long list (twenty-free movies) and many of them have men getting pretty damn close to 100% of the dialogue. Can you imagine a Disney movie with 98% of the dialogue going to female characters?? I sure can’t, since nothing like that exists. There are only four movies with more than 60% of the dialogue going to women, and those are all verrrrrry close to the 60% line.

If these facts surprise you, as they did me, that’s probably because we don’t register movies with mostly male characters as weird or out of place in any way. We’ve been conditioned since childhood to view this breakdown of male visibility as normal, and in fact when women make up half of the characters or dialogue, we often get a feeling of imbalance, like it’s gone from a universally relatable story to a “women’s story.”

And that’s exactly the point.

Men are People. Women are Women.

Hollywood has often claimed that they don’t make more female-led films because they just don’t succeed at the box office. Female-led films are considered niche, despite the fact that women make up more than half the population. This is because in general, only women are willing to show up to watch women-led films. Men aren’t expected to relate to female stories, because simply, they’ve never had to. Male-led movies are considered universal, because everyone is expected to relate to male stories.

This is the “male as default” mentality (or “androcentrism”) in which we think of men as gender-neutral, and women as gender-specific. Think about how often we mention someone’s gender in relation to their work. We rarely describe someone as a “male doctor” or “male author” since we all automatically assume it’s a male unless denoted that they’re female.

This male-as-default mode is everywhere in our society, from the way we use male-centric language like “hey guys” to mean a mixed-gender group, to the way most research is done on all-male groups and that is considered “universal” (while research done on all-female groups is considered only relevant to women), to the way we tend to approach sex from a perspective of prioritizing male arousal and pleasure.

In short, men are considered “people,” and their stories, bodies, health, and interests are considered universally relatable. Women are considered “women,” and it’s expected that only other women will relate to them.

Do you think this might have something to do with the fact that even as children, the stories we heard mostly centered the experiences of little boys?

What if our so-called “natural female empathy” isn’t about biology at all, but rather it stems from the fact that girls learn they have to connect with both the female and the male experience, while boys only learn to connect with the male experience?

Little boys never have to stretch their imagination to think about how it might feel to be a girl or woman, while little boys are asked to constantly imagine what it might be like to be a boy or man. Therefore, boys never have to learn to relate to or empathize with girls or women, while girls develop a strong capacity for understanding, relating to, and empathizing with the male experience.

Of course, the message is also loud and clear: based on representation in books and movies, girls are only about 33% as important as boys. So it eventually just starts to feel natural that boys and men can’t (and don’t) spend their time relating to girls and women. Why would a king spend his time learning to relate to the peasants?

Women Can Do Anything Men Do

At this point, feminism has given women the ability to do pretty much anything a man can do. I mean, we’ll be paid less to do it and we’ll probably never make it to a high leadership position, but we’re graduating from colleges, getting jobs in all industries, lifting heavy weights, choosing not to be working parents or not have children, and dressing in button-downs and slacks. Women have taken over the workforce and shown the world that women are good at way more than the traditional gender roles of domestic life that was presumed to be our “natural place” not so long ago.

Yay women! But isn’t it interesting that while women have completely crushed it in the area of “men’s work,” men have made almost zero progress in the area of “women’s work”? Men on the whole have shown very little interest in domestic duties and emotional labor (aka the unpaid work women have traditionally done for them), and in fact many men still consider these kinds of tasks inherently beneath them.

Where are all the men showing the world that they can raise children and do laundry and rock a dress and organize the kids’ schedules and plan vacations and remember to send thank-you cards after a wedding? Pretty scarce, it turns out, because that whole male-as-default thing makes it seem obvious that “men’s stuff” is universal, while women’s stuff is still just women’s stuff.

Women crush it in the world of men, not only because we have been studying and relating to men’s stuff our entire lives, but also because we’ve been convinced of its importance and validity, and therefore highly motivated to figure out how to have it for ourselves. But women’s work? Why would a man take on such unimportant and inferior tasks? Or more importantly, why would a man take on these tasks when he simply doesn’t have to, when he can always find a woman who will?

Men could probably do anything women can do if they were highly motivated, but that’s exactly the point. With the stigma and low status of domestic and childcare duties, there is simply no motivation to do so, especially when his female partner just seems “better at it.”

This lack of ability or interest to relate to women or take on traditional “women’s roles” is a huge problem, because while most men end up with free time to relax and have hobbies, most women end up working double duty— a full shift at the office, followed by a full shift of childcare and household chores. (And in case you’re wondering, when a woman makes more than her male partner, she actually tends to do more housework, rather than less.)

So we’ve got a world in which many women have double the skill sets as men, and are capable of relating to double the population as men.

It’s Bigger Than The Laundry

All of this leads to what we have now: a culture filled with grown men who are deficient in important life skills, like effective communication, maintaining strong relationships, organizing a family’s schedule, hosting a party, nurturing their children, or doing the laundry. But why does this matter? If his female partner is willing to do all those things for the both of them (as many female partners do), then who cares?

We all should.

Let’s take a look at what it means for men to be in charge of making laws about female reproductive rights. Men who can’t relate or empathize with women, who see the majority of women’s skills as unimportant and inferior, are put in charge of deciding what we can do with our bodies.

Not to mention the fact that while all genders know how to please men sexually, most men don’t have the foggiest idea how to be good lovers to their female partners. I mean, men can’t even enjoy a movie with an all female cast, is it any wonder he’s unable or unwilling to imagine sex from the female POV?

At best, many men simply focus on their own sexual feelings and desires, and don’t check in with (or recognize the meaning of) the body language or energy of their partner. This is where accidental sexual coercion and harassment come in, like the story that broke last year about Aziz Ansari, or every client story I’ve heard about a woman who had sex she wasn’t interested in because the guy was so wrapped up in his own moment. It makes sense that a man who has only ever had to relate to himself and people like him might assume that everyone wants what he wants; that everyone is turned on when he is turned on, and nobody is uncomfortable if he’s not uncomfortable.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard a man say he would love to be sexually harassed or raped, because it would be hot or he would be flattered, or genuinely wonder why women would dress or act a certain way if they didn’t want to have sex. Without the ability to relate to women’s experiences or stories, a man is very likely to overstep (often without even realizing it), and even more likely to dismiss or shrug off her allegations if she speaks up later.

At worst though, the lack of ability to empathize with women makes them feel less human than men; less deserving of respect or autonomy or kindness. This is where true predators and abusers come in, along with men who think of women as crazy bitches, conquests, or holes to fill.

It’s much easier to hurt, abuse, mistreat, oppress, and violate women when you don’t see women as fully human, and can’t relate to them.

Did you know that in a hostage situation, you’re supposed to share personal facts about yourself, like how old you are and if you have children and which is your favorite ice cream flavor? The goal is to get the person who is threatening your life to see you as an actual person, and relate to you. This tactic works because we naturally don’t want to hurt or kill people we relate to and empathize with.

In our culture, men are never taught how to relate to or empathize with women.

In our culture, men are the greatest known threat to female safety.

This is not a coincidence.

Women spend their lives in fear of being attacked, raped, beaten, or killed by men, with good reason. We’re smaller, weaker, and slower in general, yes, but we’re also aware that many men just don’t relate to us as people, which makes it quite easy for them to hurt or violate us. It also makes it hard for them to believe us when we report, and quick to write us off as crazy, overreacting, mistaken, or lying.

All Women Are Bilingual

Women grow up fluent in male culture, work, adventures, and socialization.

Even when we don’t actually understand men, we understand a basic truth– that men simply don’t think about women’s lives, feelings, or experiences, while women are constantly thinking about them and theirs.

Of course it feels perfectly natural that little girls wear pants to school now, while a little boy wearing a tutu would still be seen as embarrassing and wrong. Boy-stuff is universal, but girl-stuff is for girls. Of course it feels perfectly natural that many women now work, but stay-at-home dads are still extremely rare and stigmatized. Men’s work is universal, while women’s work is… for women.

It is because of this fact that most women are essentially bilingual, skilled at understanding and relating to all people, while most men are only skilled at understanding and relating to each other.

This multilingualism is exaggerated even more when we consider people of color. Since “white” is the default representation in books, movies, and popular culture, black people and other people of color must learn how to relate to, empathize with, and understand white culture, along with their own.

Just like male children who constantly see their own gender experience centered and represented, (therefore never needing to develop the skills of empathy or relating to others), white children sit down and see our own racial experience centered and represented, taking up 88% of children’s book characters and 75% of hollywood movie leads.

Can you see how in this way, people of all races and ethnicities learn that white people occupy a significantly more important role in society than people of color, and eventually it seems perfectly “natural” for people of color to want to do white-people stuff, while white people don’t feel a responsibility to learn about or care about the culture or experiences of people of other races? Given how much easier it is to accept violence against people when we don’t connect to them or empathize with them, can you see how a country with white-as-default would be facing rampant violence against people of color?

Likewise, most LQBTQ folks will spend their whole lives learning, understanding, and relating to heterosexual culture, rarely seeing glimpses of their lived experiences represented anywhere, and certainly not valued or held up as equally valid. Heterosexual and cis-gendered is the default, and considered more valid and important.

Given all this, why on earth would we allow so many straight white men to stay in power?

Let’s Start Rewarding Multilingualism

Why are we impressed with people who speak four or five languages?

In part it’s because we assume they’re especially intelligent and hard-working, and in part because we imagine they can maneuver through the world with a wider and more sophisticated scope than someone who only speaks one.

That’s exactly how we need to think of this.

Who would you rather have in charge of important decisions in the world— a person who speaks only one language, or a person who fluently speaks three? A person who relates only to other people exactly like them, or a person who relates to many different cultures, genders, and races?

Let’s stop promoting and rewarding people who have been singularly focused their entire lives. We need more women, LGBTQ folks, and people of color centered in stories and held up in positions of leadership— especially queer women of color! Not because of Affirmative Action, or even because of “fairness” or “equality,” but rather because these people are better equipped and skilled to handle the process of running the world.

The post All Women are Bilingual, and Should Be Running the World appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

https://ift.tt/2C7styF

[almajonesnjna]

All Women are Bilingual, and Should Be Running the World

Since I was a child, I have fluently spoken both Boy and Girl, and as a grown woman I’ve actually had an easier time speaking the language of Men than the language of Women. This isn’t because of anything special or interesting about me. It is, in fact, a competency shared by all women in our culture, whether they know it or not.

As children, we read and watch stories about little boys (and sometimes girls) having adventures and learning lessons, which is where we first learn the male-as-default mentality that will follow us for the rest of our lives.

According to an article from the Washington Post,

“No more than 33 percent of children’s books in any given year featured an adult woman or female animal, but adult men and male animals appeared in 100 percent of the books.”

Interestingly, when there is a gender-unidentified character, like an animal or a car, the parents reading tend to naturally give that character a gender using pronouns. Instinctively, because the male-as-default mentality affects us all, they will assign him the male gender. (If you have any doubt about this, go ahead and try using she/her pronouns for random animals you see in the park, or read about with your child. It feels super awkward, like… well, how do I know she’s a “she”? But ask yourself: how do you know he’s a he? It feels uncomfortable to think you might be accidentally misgendering a male, but typically it doesn’t seem like an issue to misgender a female.)

Representation Matters

Humans are a social creature, and feeling like we’re included and belong is crucial for a strong sense of self. We need to connect and feel like we belong, so we’re highly influenced by our perceptions of social rules and norms (especially as children!) and often internalize what we see without even realizing it.

That’s why representation matters—

The lack of female character representation in children’s books teaches children of all genders an important truth: that girls and women are less important, and hold a less important role in society, than boys or men.

This unequal representation continues as we grow up. In a recent study posted on the data visualization website Polygraph showed that in 78% of the Hollywood films analyzed, the lead character was male. Not even a third of speaking roles go to women, on average. Considering that women make up 51% of the population, this is pretty wild.

Check out this analysis, showing the dialogue breakdown between male and female characters in Disney movies:

The movies with 60% or more of the dialogue going to male characters is a long list (twenty-free movies) and many of them have men getting pretty damn close to 100% of the dialogue. Can you imagine a Disney movie with 98% of the dialogue going to female characters?? I sure can’t, since nothing like that exists. There are only four movies with more than 60% of the dialogue going to women, and those are all verrrrrry close to the 60% line.

If these facts surprise you, as they did me, that’s probably because we don’t register movies with mostly male characters as weird or out of place in any way. We’ve been conditioned since childhood to view this breakdown of male visibility as normal, and in fact when women make up half of the characters or dialogue, we often get a feeling of imbalance, like it’s gone from a universally relatable story to a “women’s story.”

And that’s exactly the point.

Men are People. Women are Women.

Hollywood has often claimed that they don’t make more female-led films because they just don’t succeed at the box office. Female-led films are considered niche, despite the fact that women make up more than half the population. This is because in general, only women are willing to show up to watch women-led films. Men aren’t expected to relate to female stories, because simply, they’ve never had to. Male-led movies are considered universal, because everyone is expected to relate to male stories.

This is the “male as default” mentality (or “androcentrism”) in which we think of men as gender-neutral, and women as gender-specific. Think about how often we mention someone’s gender in relation to their work. We rarely describe someone as a “male doctor” or “male author” since we all automatically assume it’s a male unless denoted that they’re female.

This male-as-default mode is everywhere in our society, from the way we use male-centric language like “hey guys” to mean a mixed-gender group, to the way most research is done on all-male groups and that is considered “universal” (while research done on all-female groups is considered only relevant to women), to the way we tend to approach sex from a perspective of prioritizing male arousal and pleasure.

In short, men are considered “people,” and their stories, bodies, health, and interests are considered universally relatable. Women are considered “women,” and it’s expected that only other women will relate to them.

Do you think this might have something to do with the fact that even as children, the stories we heard mostly centered the experiences of little boys?

What if our so-called “natural female empathy” isn’t about biology at all, but rather it stems from the fact that girls learn they have to connect with both the female and the male experience, while boys only learn to connect with the male experience?

Little boys never have to stretch their imagination to think about how it might feel to be a girl or woman, while little boys are asked to constantly imagine what it might be like to be a boy or man. Therefore, boys never have to learn to relate to or empathize with girls or women, while girls develop a strong capacity for understanding, relating to, and empathizing with the male experience.

Of course, the message is also loud and clear: based on representation in books and movies, girls are only about 33% as important as boys. So it eventually just starts to feel natural that boys and men can’t (and don’t) spend their time relating to girls and women. Why would a king spend his time learning to relate to the peasants?

Women Can Do Anything Men Do

At this point, feminism has given women the ability to do pretty much anything a man can do. I mean, we’ll be paid less to do it and we’ll probably never make it to a high leadership position, but we’re graduating from colleges, getting jobs in all industries, lifting heavy weights, choosing not to be working parents or not have children, and dressing in button-downs and slacks. Women have taken over the workforce and shown the world that women are good at way more than the traditional gender roles of domestic life that was presumed to be our “natural place” not so long ago.

Yay women! But isn’t it interesting that while women have completely crushed it in the area of “men’s work,” men have made almost zero progress in the area of “women’s work”? Men on the whole have shown very little interest in domestic duties and emotional labor (aka the unpaid work women have traditionally done for them), and in fact many men still consider these kinds of tasks inherently beneath them.

Where are all the men showing the world that they can raise children and do laundry and rock a dress and organize the kids’ schedules and plan vacations and remember to send thank-you cards after a wedding? Pretty scarce, it turns out, because that whole male-as-default thing makes it seem obvious that “men’s stuff” is universal, while women’s stuff is still just women’s stuff.

Women crush it in the world of men, not only because we have been studying and relating to men’s stuff our entire lives, but also because we’ve been convinced of its importance and validity, and therefore highly motivated to figure out how to have it for ourselves. But women’s work? Why would a man take on such unimportant and inferior tasks? Or more importantly, why would a man take on these tasks when he simply doesn’t have to, when he can always find a woman who will?

Men could probably do anything women can do if they were highly motivated, but that’s exactly the point. With the stigma and low status of domestic and childcare duties, there is simply no motivation to do so, especially when his female partner just seems “better at it.”

This lack of ability or interest to relate to women or take on traditional “women’s roles” is a huge problem, because while most men end up with free time to relax and have hobbies, most women end up working double duty— a full shift at the office, followed by a full shift of childcare and household chores. (And in case you’re wondering, when a woman makes more than her male partner, she actually tends to do more housework, rather than less.)

So we’ve got a world in which many women have double the skill sets as men, and are capable of relating to double the population as men.

It’s Bigger Than The Laundry

All of this leads to what we have now: a culture filled with grown men who are deficient in important life skills, like effective communication, maintaining strong relationships, organizing a family’s schedule, hosting a party, nurturing their children, or doing the laundry. But why does this matter? If his female partner is willing to do all those things for the both of them (as many female partners do), then who cares?

We all should.

Let’s take a look at what it means for men to be in charge of making laws about female reproductive rights. Men who can’t relate or empathize with women, who see the majority of women’s skills as unimportant and inferior, are put in charge of deciding what we can do with our bodies.

Not to mention the fact that while all genders know how to please men sexually, most men don’t have the foggiest idea how to be good lovers to their female partners. I mean, men can’t even enjoy a movie with an all female cast, is it any wonder he’s unable or unwilling to imagine sex from the female POV?

At best, many men simply focus on their own sexual feelings and desires, and don’t check in with (or recognize the meaning of) the body language or energy of their partner. This is where accidental sexual coercion and harassment come in, like the story that broke last year about Aziz Ansari, or every client story I’ve heard about a woman who had sex she wasn’t interested in because the guy was so wrapped up in his own moment. It makes sense that a man who has only ever had to relate to himself and people like him might assume that everyone wants what he wants; that everyone is turned on when he is turned on, and nobody is uncomfortable if he’s not uncomfortable.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard a man say he would love to be sexually harassed or raped, because it would be hot or he would be flattered, or genuinely wonder why women would dress or act a certain way if they didn’t want to have sex. Without the ability to relate to women’s experiences or stories, a man is very likely to overstep (often without even realizing it), and even more likely to dismiss or shrug off her allegations if she speaks up later.

At worst though, the lack of ability to empathize with women makes them feel less human than men; less deserving of respect or autonomy or kindness. This is where true predators and abusers come in, along with men who think of women as crazy bitches, conquests, or holes to fill.

It’s much easier to hurt, abuse, mistreat, oppress, and violate women when you don’t see women as fully human, and can’t relate to them.

Did you know that in a hostage situation, you’re supposed to share personal facts about yourself, like how old you are and if you have children and which is your favorite ice cream flavor? The goal is to get the person who is threatening your life to see you as an actual person, and relate to you. This tactic works because we naturally don’t want to hurt or kill people we relate to and empathize with.

In our culture, men are never taught how to relate to or empathize with women.

In our culture, men are the greatest known threat to female safety.

This is not a coincidence.

Women spend their lives in fear of being attacked, raped, beaten, or killed by men, with good reason. We’re smaller, weaker, and slower in general, yes, but we’re also aware that many men just don’t relate to us as people, which makes it quite easy for them to hurt or violate us. It also makes it hard for them to believe us when we report, and quick to write us off as crazy, overreacting, mistaken, or lying.

All Women Are Bilingual

Women grow up fluent in male culture, work, adventures, and socialization.

Even when we don’t actually understand men, we understand a basic truth– that men simply don’t think about women’s lives, feelings, or experiences, while women are constantly thinking about them and theirs.

Of course it feels perfectly natural that little girls wear pants to school now, while a little boy wearing a tutu would still be seen as embarrassing and wrong. Boy-stuff is universal, but girl-stuff is for girls. Of course it feels perfectly natural that many women now work, but stay-at-home dads are still extremely rare and stigmatized. Men’s work is universal, while women’s work is… for women.

It is because of this fact that most women are essentially bilingual, skilled at understanding and relating to all people, while most men are only skilled at understanding and relating to each other.

This multilingualism is exaggerated even more when we consider people of color. Since “white” is the default representation in books, movies, and popular culture, black people and other people of color must learn how to relate to, empathize with, and understand white culture, along with their own.

Just like male children who constantly see their own gender experience centered and represented, (therefore never needing to develop the skills of empathy or relating to others), white children sit down and see our own racial experience centered and represented, taking up 88% of children’s book characters and 75% of hollywood movie leads.

Can you see how in this way, people of all races and ethnicities learn that white people occupy a significantly more important role in society than people of color, and eventually it seems perfectly “natural” for people of color to want to do white-people stuff, while white people don’t feel a responsibility to learn about or care about the culture or experiences of people of other races? Given how much easier it is to accept violence against people when we don’t connect to them or empathize with them, can you see how a country with white-as-default would be facing rampant violence against people of color?

Likewise, most LQBTQ folks will spend their whole lives learning, understanding, and relating to heterosexual culture, rarely seeing glimpses of their lived experiences represented anywhere, and certainly not valued or held up as equally valid. Heterosexual and cis-gendered is the default, and considered more valid and important.

Given all this, why on earth would we allow so many straight white men to stay in power?

Let’s Start Rewarding Multilingualism

Why are we impressed with people who speak four or five languages?

In part it’s because we assume they’re especially intelligent and hard-working, and in part because we imagine they can maneuver through the world with a wider and more sophisticated scope than someone who only speaks one.

That’s exactly how we need to think of this.

Who would you rather have in charge of important decisions in the world— a person who speaks only one language, or a person who fluently speaks three? A person who relates only to other people exactly like them, or a person who relates to many different cultures, genders, and races?

Let’s stop promoting and rewarding people who have been singularly focused their entire lives. We need more women, LGBTQ folks, and people of color centered in stories and held up in positions of leadership— especially queer women of color! Not because of Affirmative Action, or even because of “fairness” or “equality,” but rather because these people are better equipped and skilled to handle the process of running the world.

The post All Women are Bilingual, and Should Be Running the World appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

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Korean Blogger Turns Herself Into Kylie Jenner

New Post has been published on https://universeinform.com/2017/03/14/korean-blogger-turns-herself-into-kylie-jenner/

Korean Blogger Turns Herself Into Kylie Jenner

This is so loopy! A Korean beauty blogger gave herself a makeover to make herself appearance precisely like Kylie Jenner and you simply must see how she does it!

Haye Min Park has a prime following with 2 million on Youtube and over three million on Instagram as Pony Make-up. The South Korean splendor blogger creates terrific Make-up seems and might absolutely transform herself like she did in one video where she made herself over to seem like none aside from Kylie Jenner, 19.

The 6-minute video is beyond enthralling as Haye makes use of a substantial form of products which include foundations, brushes, and false lashes to remake herself as Kylie. She does a quite awesome activity and by way of the cease of the video, she doesn’t appearance anything like how did at the begin. You just got to marvel how long the entire method took!

Kylie Jenner & Kim Kardashian Cleavage Snapshots — Their Most up to date Snapshots Inside the period in-between, the actual Kylie continues to make interesting new beauty and style alternatives. On Feb. 11, she appeared at The big apple style Week with a shaggy and edgy lab that we had been in reality passionate about. Slightly a month later, Kylie completely altered her look once more and went the exact opposite route of her NYC hair and showed off her waist period hair on Mar. 7. Now that’s a dramatic trade!

The hair fashion in Hollywood appears to be either wonderful lengthy hair like Kylie’s or Nicki Minaj, 34, who had her going all of the manners to her ankles or critically cropped like Kristen Stewart’s, 26. Even Katy Perry, 32, joined in on the quick hair motion after her smash-up with Orlando Bloom, 40. The track famous person opted for a brand new look with her natural hair peaking via her roots with preserving the rest blonde. Now that’s an exchange!

Korean Warfare: Victory or Defeat

On paper and in records, the Korean Conflict becomes seen as neither a victory or a defeat. A cease heart and peace treaty turned into written among them rather. The battles went on for 3 long years. On July 27, 1953, the 2 sides signed an armistice and a new border was established on a few miles from the unique 1950 border. In my view, the Korean battle/Conflict turned into an achievement in methods apart from the unique goals set through the united states.

The War led to a draw. Each facet agreed to a give up the fire and signed an armistice. The Korean War did no longer lead to a total victory for America or every person else. rather, Both aspects settled for an uneasy peace that still exists to this day at the time of the writing of this text 12-24-15.

Did us enjoy their first defeat? The answer to that query may be more inside the minds of individuals who examine what without a doubt befell and what’s happening nowadays. The way I see it, the give up result has been a victory whilst you evaluate what’s occurring nowadays in South Korea to what turned into happening before the attack, before one of the bloodiest wars our world ever noticed, and in comparison to North Korea nowadays.

Why did the united state’s input this Struggle? Many human beings felt and may even still feel today that us did now not belong there. I’ve heard this myself even in this 12 months of 2015. people grumble pronouncing, “we did no longer belong in Korea.”

I strongly disagree. My very own father turned into one who fought in Korea from 1950 to 1953. He turned into just a younger boy age sixteen coming into the navy at Fortress Knox, Kentucky Military base for a navy profession. He got despatched at once right into a violent and horrific bloody warfare all through a number of the roughest climate everybody ought to ever imagine. He spent plenty of his time there in battles in tanks. Quick undertaking breaks have been spent in Japan.

Considered one of his best memories of direction become the time he becomes wounded seeking to shop any other fellow soldier and did keep him. He could say again and again once more as though elated: “they included me up for useless, but I used to be nevertheless alive.”

This turned into a way accomplished by means of his fellow squaddies by using shifting the tank over his wounded body to hide him from the enemy as he became then pulled up into the tank to await the M.A.S.H. gadgets.

He was taken to a medical institution in Japan wherein they positioned a metal plate in his chest that he had no concept even existed until he observed out he had lung cancer later in lifestyles at age 56. He died of lung most cancers.

The experts stated, “we want to realize greater about this metal plate we located on x-ray for your chest.” Dad did not even understand he had a metal plate. It had to had been located there while within the Korean Warfare at the health center in Japan. He obtained a chest wound. Just think about that, and that I do very frequently now, most effective 16 years vintage playing now beneath a Military tank, not knowing if he might live to tell the tale or no longer.

That may Make You A success Blogger

Blogging is one of the satisfactory things that you could do to pass a while. It can effortlessly increase your information and information on a specific problem. There are so many sorts of blogs like innovative, history and humanities blogs that one could write. For this purpose, there also are many hints and tips that may be used to get your profile raised in the Running a blog enterprise or marketplace. The critical, as well as powerful hints for appropriate Running a blog, have been explained as under.

Get started with a platform

The first actual assignment is choosing a Running a blog platform. There are plenty of options which might be to be had for free like Tumblr, WordPress, Blogger and sort Pad. All of these can offer you free design issues and you can personalize some of these to get your very personal blog started. There also are plenty of tutorials to be had online and you can use them if you are not certain about how exactly to use them.

Do not forget integration

in case you take a look at it from a Search engine optimization factor of view, It may be worth getting your blog integrated with an present internet site which will build the content material and also make the search engines keen on your content. Search engine optimization is all approximately content and which means that you need to focus on this aspect as much as feasible.

Finding a niche

Whilst you are selecting an innovative subject matter for the reason of Blogging, you may have to attempt to best a selected niche. Your weblog has to be approximately something extremely precise and you’ll be able to please both the readers as well as the engines like google. additionally, by no means try to be very preferred and focus on a selected subject matter with a view to specializing in.

 Write about something that you love

While you write approximately something that you love, you will experience doing it and you’ll additionally be capable of being true at it. in case you aren’t able to have a positive amount of passion for it, your content material will go through. As a result, continually discover a topic which you are comfortable with and best write content in relation with it

Your Lady friend Says She Wishes to Find Herself – What This indicates for You

Your Female friend says she Needs to Discover herself. It’s one of those difficult things women say that guys cannot fully understand. Does it suggest that she’s just taking a step again from the connection so she will be able to attention on her very own Desires? Is it a signal that she’s so in love with you that she feels she’s dropping her very own identification or is it something else? Regrettably, when a lady says she Desires to Find herself it way she’s being typed in telling you that she’s no longer happy or feeling fulfilled in her relationship with you anymore. If your Lady friend tells you that she Needs some time or space to discern things out, you want to scramble if you have any desire of saving your dating.

whilst your Female friend says she Needs to Locate herself you have to take that declaration very severely. If you tell her that she’s being stupid or overly dramatic, you will harm your connection with her in a very long and lasting manner. She’ll feel that her voice is not being heard and she’ll resent you for now not knowledge her Desires. In turn, her choice to Find herself will cause an eventual breakup and any destiny that you could be planning will by no means take place.

Being thoughtful and compassionate throughout this time will move a long way towards helping her to experience toward you again. If you inform her that you take into account that she Desires to Locate herself, she’ll probably be pleasantly amazed by means of that. She’ll experience reputable and valued as a girl and as a partner. She’ll see you as someone who actually needs the pleasant for her although it would not look like the first-rate factor for yourself.

Encourage her to discover her existence on her personal for a time. Do not mention the idea of a break up at all. Permit her to set the pace for the way long she Desires and the way she makes use of that point. Stay in touch with her while you are exploring your lives one by one. Ask her questions on how she’s doing and what’s happening in her life. Be invested in the one’s conversations and be interested in what she’s feeling.