#i am not dealing with a new naming convention for him I’m too tired

[waitimcomingtoo]

Evans

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: Tom gets jealous after he witnesses a moment between you and Chris Evans

Masterlist

As much as you loved filming the movies, your favorite part about being in the MCU was going to the conventions.

You loved getting on stage with your cast mates and answering questions. You especially loved when you got to attend the conventions with your best friend Tom. Your fondest memories with him were made during nights following a convention. You’d always get a joint hotel room and stay up late, too buzzed on adrenaline from the panel to fall asleep.

Going to conventions with Tom usually opened up a whole new debate on the nature of your relationship. Snap chats and Instagram stories made from the same hotel room always set off more theories that you were dating. You weren’t, but you didn’t mind the theories.

The current panel you were at was no different from the others. The whole cast stood in a line, with you sandwiched between Tom and Mackie. You listened along to all the questions asked until you heard your name.

“Chris, you and Y/n worked together in the past on Scott Pilgrim vs The World, where you played one of her evil ex boyfriends.” The journalist said to Chris Evans. “How did you react when you heard she was joining the MCU cast?

“I was really happy about it.” Chris said into his mic. “I’ll admit, I had a bit of a crush on Y/n when we were filming Scott Pilgrim so I was very excited when she got added to the cast.”

Tom felt his ears turn pink when he heard Chris’s confession. It was no secret that he liked you, but he had no idea Chris liked you too. He looked to you to see your reaction, mouth going dry when he saw the shocked smile on your face.

“Are you serious?” You laughed in surprise. “I had a crush on you too.”

Tom turned away a little, suddenly feeling a sick feeling in his stomach. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. “How did I not know?”

“Because I was awkward and shy and didn’t know how to talk to you.” You said sheepishly as you pressed a cold hand to your face. “But I swear, I told Michael and Anna all about it.”

Tom lowered his microphone so the crowd couldn’t hear him gulp. He didn’t know why it bothered him as much as it did to know you and Chris had feelings for each other. You had filmed Scott Pilgrim a few years back, so the feelings were long gone by now. Still, it sent a white hot jealously through Toms veins as he watched you and Chris smile at each other.

“I can’t believe you never told me.” Chris chuckled. “I actually remember being upset that we didn’t have a kiss in the movie. I was like, how am I playing one of her boyfriends but we don’t get to kiss?”

“Aw.” Tom forced a laugh. “Poor you.”

The audience laughed at his joke, but you never took your eyes off Chris.

“I was genuinely upset about it at the time.” Chris continued. “I think I called my mom to complain.”

Tom watched with a tight jaw as you held your hand over your heart and beamed. You were obviously loving the attention from Chris while Tom was hating it.

“Hey, I didn’t write the script.” You shrugged. “I definitely would’ve thrown one in there if I had.”

“I think the movie is perfect as it is.” Tom cut in, earning a few laughs. “I don’t think there needed to be a kiss. Kisses are stupid anyway.”

“Wait a minute, we almost kissed in the last movie too.” Chris remembered. “To like hide our faces from HYDRA agents or something.”

“That’s right.” You gasped. “They took it out before we ever shot it.”

“Such a shame.” Chris clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “Missed you twice now.”

The reaction from the audience made you hide your face in embarrassment, feeling your face hot to the touch.

“I promise, you’re not missing much.” You laughed shyly.

“Yeah, well.” Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “I bet I was.”

Just when Tom thought it couldn’t get any worse, he saw an idea pop into your head.

“Wait, hold my mic.” You said as you handed your microphone to Anthony.

Tom could only watch as you walked across the stage and put your hands on either side of Chris’s face before pulling him into a kiss. The audience was deafening as Chris kissed you back. It didn’t last long, but it was long enough to make all the color drain from Toms face. You both pulled away laughing, Chris with his signature hand over his left side. You clapped your hands as you laughed before walking back to your spot.

“Well damn.” Anthony said into his microphone. “I didn’t get to kiss her either.”

“Yeah.” Sebastian teased. “Do we all get some of that?”

“Shut up.” You laughed shyly as you fixed your hair. “There. Now you got your kiss.”

“Thank you.” Chris laughed into his microphone. “I was not expecting that.”

“Neither was I.” Tom mumbled, his microphone hanging limply at his side. The rest of the panel went by without any further flirtations, but Tom wouldn’t have known if there had been. He had completely zoned out, too upset with what he had seen to focus.

~

You unlocked the door to your shared hotel room and saw Tom sitting at the kitchen table. His face was buried in his phone and he skimmed through the endless amount of tweets about the kiss from earlier. It was only making him more angry to see thousands of gifs and pictures of it, as well as all the messages from fans saying what a cute couple you and Chris made, but he couldn’t stop. He was too busy scrolling to hear you come in.

“Hey.” You smiled at him as you set your stuff down. “You did such a good job out there. I swear, you always get the most laughs. It’s not fair.”

“Hm.” Tom nodded, keeping his eyes on his phone. “Thanks.”

“Is everything okay?” You frowned when you noticed his standoffish behavior. You walked over to him and reached out to touch him, but he moved away.

“Yeah.” He shrugged unconvincingly. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“I didn’t ask if we were fine.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Are we not fine?”

“I said we were fine.” He held up his hands in annoyance. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” You rolled your eyes a little. “Sorry I asked.”

Tom gave you a sarcastic smile and went back to his phone, completely ignoring you now. You didn’t know what his problem was, but you knew you didn’t want to fight.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something? You can pick this time.” You offered, trying to offer an olive branch.

“Actually, I’m kinda tired.” He said faintly. “I think I’m just gonna turn in.”

“Really? It’s so early.” You checked your phone and saw it was only 8 pm. “And I’m bored.”

“Yeah?” He finally looked up at you. “Then why don’t you go see what Evans is up to? I’m sure he’d love to finish what you started on stage today.”

You jutted your head back in surprise, not expecting that to come out of his mouth. He looked partial to guilty for snapping at you, but his anger was the most prominent emotion.

“What?” You laughed in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you kissing Evans in front of all those people.” He snapped. “I didn’t even know you liked him like that.”

You laughed again, thinking he had to be joking. You never said it out loud, but you assumed Tom knew you liked him. After all, you were the only cast mates sharing a hotel room.

“I don’t.” You said, unsure where that accusation came from.

“Yeah?” He cocked his head. “Cause it kinda looked like you did.”

“I don’t.” You repeated. “I used to when we were filming Scott Pilgrim a few years ago but I stopped before we even wrapped.”

“Then why did you kiss him?” Tom asked, his voice wearing thin.

“I don’t know. We were joking around.” You shrugged it off. “It was for the fans, if anything. You know how much they love that stuff.”

“They would’ve loved it just as much if you had just blown him a kiss.” Tom said. “You didn’t have to kiss him.”

“Who cares?” You asked. “Everyone loved it.”

“Not everyone.” He stated, keeping his eyes on the ground. You looked at him for a moment, realizing you had never seen him act like this.

“Why are you getting so upset about this?” You asked calmly, still not understanding.

“Because what you did upset me.” He shouted as he gestured to himself.

“Why?” You raised your voice as well now. “It was just a stupid joke. It had nothing to do with you.”

“It wasn’t a joke to me.” He shook his head. “Watching you practically run across the stage to kiss him in front of all those people was not a joke.”

“I didn’t run across the stage.” You said, starting to get annoyed. “I walked to him and kissed him. That’s it. It’s not a big deal.”

“Did you like it?” He asked with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

“Did you like kissing him?” He repeated as he let out a shaky breath.

“You know how it feels to kiss other actors.” You shrugged. “It just felt like lips on lips.”

“You must have some sort of feelings for him to kiss him like that.” He said, his eyes looking glassy.

“So what if I do?” You retorted, angry with him now for yelling at you.

“What?” His voice came out in a whisper. “Do you?”

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying? I don’t have feelings for Evans. But if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business. Because maybe you haven’t realized this yet, but you’re not my boyfriend.” You yelled, making him retreat into himself.

The silence that followed was deafening, making you feel guilty for what you said. You felt like you popped the happy bubble that you and Tom lived in, the one where you never confronted your feelings for each other but understood that they were there. Tom sucked in a sharp breath and let out a long sigh as he looked you in the eyes. He gave you a sad smile and nodded his head as if he was reluctantly agreeing with you. You opened your mouth to speak, but Tom was already moving past you. His shoulder brushed yours as he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

You stood there in shock, unsure of what just happened. You felt like you had just broken up with someone you were never actually with. You covered your mouth with your hand, ashamed with what you had said to him. You hit him where you knew it would hurt him and now he was gone.

~

Despite sharing a hotel room, you didn’t see Tom until the next morning. He was eating breakfast at the kitchen counter, not looking at you as you made coffee. You sighed and sat down next to him, knowing you had to make things right before you went out to do press. You didn’t want to spend a full day doing interviews with him without resolving the fight.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday.” You began as you watched his face for his reaction. “It was mean of me to tell you you weren’t my boyfriend like that.”

“It’s okay.” He mumbled as he stirred his tea. “You don’t have to apologize. You were right. I’m not your boyfriend.”

“We need to talk about yesterday.” You said softly as you looked at him. You could tell he was still bitter about the kiss.

“I don’t want-���

“We have to.” You cut him off. “We had a fight and now we need to talk about it.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes before slumping in his seat.

“You start.” You said as you put your folded hands on the table.

“I don’t know where to start.” He mumbled.

“Just tell me how you feel.” You suggested. Tom sighed as he put his words together in his mind, wanting to make things right just as much as you did.

“I didn’t like it even you kissed Chris.” He said softly, keeping his eyes on the table.

“I got that part.” You tried to joke. “Why?”

“Because he’s older and taller and bigger than me.” Tom listed off.

“And?” You were confused.

“And I can’t compete.” Tom whispered, hanging his head in shame. The fragility in his voice made your heart break and you realized he was never angry with you.

He was heartbroken.

“Tommy, you don’t have to compete with anyone.” You said softly as you stroked his cheek with your thumb.

“I didn’t think I had to.” He continued. “I thought I had you. I know we don’t really talk about…us, but I thought we had an unspoken agreement that we liked each other. I know I liked you and I thought you liked me back until you…”

“Until I what?” You asked.

“Kissed another boy.” He laughed sadly. “Sorry. A man. Captain freaking America.”

“You were jealous.” You realized, trying to fight back a smile. “That’s why you threw your little tantrum.”

“How could I not be?” He looked up. “Have you seen how broad his shoulders are?”

You had to laugh, which made him crack a smile. The tension had disappeared and you had entered new territory, so you decided to keep going.

“And have you seen the way I look at you?” You teased him. “Or the way I immediately go to you in a crowded room? Have you seen how I’m always finding a way to touch you? Does any of that sound familiar?”

“Yeah.” Tom smiled sheepishly. “It does.”

“I like you too.” You admitted. “Of course I like you too. But I already told you, that kiss was just a joke. It was just for the fans.”

“I know.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “It just shook my confidence, you know? I figured if he wanted you too, I didn’t stand a chance.”

“I don’t want him.” You assured him. “I want you.”

Toms lips curved into a smile, a proud look coming across his face. He reached over and put his hand on top of yours, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“I never should have yelled at you.” He said quietly as he stared at your hands. “I just hated that he got to kiss you before I did.”

“I get that.” You nodded. “But you can’t flip out and yell at me when you get a little jealous. You have to be okay with me being close to other people.”

“I know. I’m sorry that I got so jealous.” He shook his head at himself. “I’m not that guy. I don’t want you thinking that’s who I am.”

“I know who you are.” You leaned over the table and tilted his chin so he would look at you. “Why do you think I like you as much as I do?”

“I like hearing you say that.” He mumbled, keeping his eyes on your lips.

“I like saying it.” You smirked at him as you began to lean in.

Before your lips could touch, his phone buzzed, making both of you jump. Tom sighed and picked up his phone to see what the interruption was.

“Shoot. That’s Rachel.” He frowned. “She wants me down at hair and makeup. Can we talk about this later? This is really important to me and I don’t want to rush it.”

“Of course.” You nodded. “Go get your hair done. We’ll talk later.”

Tom gave you an apologetic smile before getting up and putting his cup in the sink. He moved to the door but you stood up.

“Tom, wait.” You called, quickly walking to where he was. You put your hands on his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek, letting it linger until you felt his cheeks heat up.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You told him, making him feel better about missing out on the kiss. He smiled softly and nodded before leaving the hotel room. You left to get your own hair and makeup done, an idea forming in your mind as you sat in your chair.

~

After getting hair and makeup done, you walked down to the lobby and went into one of the conference rooms. You saw the rest of the cast standing in a circle and went up to to them.

“There she is.” Anthony clapped as you walked up to the group. “Mrs. Evans.”

“Don’t start with that. You’re just mad it wasn’t you I was kissing out there.” You teased him, making him laugh.

“Maybe. I have a feeling I know who else is mad.” He said as he nodded his head to gesture to something behind you. You turned around and saw Tom approaching, a smile taking over your features at the sight of him. He gave you a knowing look and stood next to you as he joined the group.

“Hey guys.” He greeted, shooting Chris a quick look.

“There you are.” You smiled a little before grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a kiss. You felt his wide eyes flutter shut, eyelashes tickling you as he closed his eyes. He stepped forward to get closer to you before bringing his hand to face. The cast exchanged knowing looks right before you pulled away, a smile on both of your faces.

“Woah. When did that happen?” Scarlett nudged you.

“I thought it’d been happening for a while.” Anthony snorted. “Was I the only one?”

“No, I definitely saw something there. That’s why I was so surprised about yesterday.” Chris chuckled. You felt Tom tense up when he mentioned it, so you gave him a look. He relaxed and nodded, reminding himself he had nothing to be jealous of.

“I was surprised too.” He said, keeping his tone playful. “So don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t.” Chris held up his hands. “Dodger and I are very happen on our own. He’s not willing to share me with anyone.”

“He and I have that in common then.” Tom said as draped his arm around your shoulders.

“Whats that?” You asked as you looked at Tom. He gave you a soft smile before pulling you closer to kiss your forehead.

“I don’t like to share.”

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[cloudycrystalkpop]

SMOKY | Heaven Above

Blind! Prince! Mingi x [unstated skin deformity] fem! Reader

words: 3k+

warnings: childhood trauma, smut

au: crown royal au | moodboard 

series masterlist: SMOKY

~

You lay in bed, just a bit away from the edge of the king sized mattress. Tonight was your wedding night, dressed in a silk slip that left little of your figure to the imagination, you looked to the other end of the bed, where your husband lay.

The boy was curled in a ball, his large frame made incredibly small and just a breath away from falling off the edge of his bed.

His body twitched and shook every now and again, you could only assume it was tears.

You couldn't blame him, in the madness of the last month youd cried yourself a sea of saltwater, watching as your future slipped away like sand from your fingers.

"... Mingi?" you spoke as softly as you could to the other end of the dark bed. The man jumped at the sound of his name.

"... Y-yes?" his voice shook in his throat, laced with fear. This caused you to frown.

"I know youre upset but, would you like to talk about it?" you offered gently. He stiffened at your words.

After a long minute of silence, and no movement from the other end of the bed, you assumed that perhaps he had fallen asleep, turning back to gaze up at the canopy.

"... Im sorry." the voice was so quiet you thought you might have imagined it. "Im sorry for everything. Im sorry youre stuck with someone... Someone like me."

"Someone... Like you? Marrying a stranger isnt something i resent you for." you tried to comfort him.

"No-well, yes but... You didnt have a choice..."

"Neither did you." you turned to face him, watching the outline of his back.

"... Mother says I should have run away and died in the woods." you felt shock fall on your chest at his confession. "Mother says im an embarrassment, that i shouldnt have been born. All ill ever be is a burden... And im sorry... Sorry that it falls to you know, and when im nothing more than a stranger... "

You felt a piece of your heart break at his words, the sniffles in his voice and the shaking of his shoulders now falling into place.

"Mingi, you are my husband. Which, means we are meant to be a team. I... Understand all of this is frightening, but, will you please give me a chance? So we can be... Not strangers anymore?"

After a long pause, the man rolled over, now facing you. You saw the stains on his cheeks reflected in the moonlight peeking in from the silk curtains.

Upon instinct, you reached out to tuck the hair away from his eyes, but you hesitated.

"... May i touch you?" you asked.

Mingi nodded his head, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow.

He flinched only slightly as you brushed his hair away from his eyes. Watching as he blinked them open, the smoky, empty irises stared back at you, tears still hidden in the corners.

"Mingi, I think... We can prove your mother wrong. With practice, you wont be a burden on anyone," you placed a hand on his cheek, watching his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

"With time, i think you can be a good king." the boys body racked in sobs once more as you pulled him close.

You slept that night, with your husband wrapped up in your arms. Tomorrow, is your coronation. You are to be the crown princess, and the sleeping man in your arms, the prince.

~

Mingi disliked walking with a cane. it was loud and he too often found himself still tripping on his own two feet. at home he knew the halls by heart, navigating them even when tired like any other resident. but in this new strange place, he had to keep one hand pressed against the wallpaper, feeling his way to build his map of this castle. the castle that was now his new prison.

he had been assigned a guard as his guide, a charming young man who gently guided the prince, Mingi’s left hand resting on his shoulder, his right hands fingertips brushing the walls.

you trailed behind the pair, watching curiously. Mingi’s head rested bent, his chin almost touching his chest. his resting state seems to always involve making himself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

the guard’s playful voice chimed in, interrupting your studying of your husband.

“I must say, I really expected you to deny the request for me to join you today, Your Highness.” he smiled over his shoulder, clearly speaking to you.

“oh? and why is that?” you asked.

“well, you have that knight of yours~ he speaks so fondly of you, and I almost never see you two apart. I was almost frightened id make him jealous.” the man giggled.

“hmm, Seonghwa has been loyal to me since I was a teenager. I trust him very much as I'm sure you've seen.” you nod. “may I ask your name sir...?”

“Hongjoong!” he smiles over his shoulder, bowing his head.

“...are...we in the main hall?” a quiet voice speaks. Mingi’s hand fell from running along the wall, instead laying limp at his side.

“ah, yes! it would seem we have arrived!” Hongjoong chimed.

~

the coronation was, a frightening experience. you stood at the head of the hallway, almost envying Mingi for not having to look the countless royals in the eye. see the seething and loathing, and plots for your murder, just to take a crown you never even wanted to begin with.

you placed your hand on your husbands bent arm, and it was then you realized, he was shaking. it was customary that the now crown prince lead his princess out of the hall, but Mingi still had only half learned the layout of this castle. never mind the panic he was hiding under the circlet on his head.

“Mingi,” you spoke, not even a whisper. you felt his arm flex under your hand. “match my footsteps, and lets get out of here.” he let the smallest nod, and the two of you set off.

you held your head high, eyes forward, not even bothering to return the stares from the court. you would be queen, weather you liked it or not, and now was not the time to show weakness. now was the time to prove that you were unshakeable. your “unroyal appearance” be damned.

~

when you arrived back at your bedroom, Mingi asked if he could have a moment alone. the poor man was close to tears once more, arms wrapped around his body as he shrunk into a chair, curling in on himself once again.

a part of you wanted to go and pull the shaking man into your arms just as you had done the night before. cooing soft words into his hair. but, you didn't want to invade his space, so instead you ventured out, closing the door behind you.

“my Lady!” a new voice called from down the hallway. you turned to see a head of dirty blonde hair, as a court member walked up to you. you braced yourself, turning to face the man head on. “my Lady, I don't mean to intrude, but I wanted to introduce myself. I am Duke Kang Yeosang, of the west valley.” he kneeled before you, head bowed low.

you blinked in surprise. a duke? on his knees in an introduction?

“you needn't be so formal, Duke Kang. there is no guard here to pierce your breast for sneezing at the wrong time.”

the man let out a hearty laugh, raising to his feet.

“ah, I see you dread such social conventions as well. and please My Lady, just Yeosang.” he smiled. the man before you was incredibly handsome, his speaking voice a gentle but deep baritone. he then took your hand, placing a kiss to the back of it, bending in a low bow with his eyes closed as his lips lingered just a moment on your skin.

your heart beat echoed in your head as the warmth of his mouth on your bare skin. swallowing your blush down, you gently pulled your hand away from his touch. his eyes opened, staring up at you through his lashes.

“I am sorry my Lady, have I made you uncomfortable?” his brows furrowed in a frown, before the edge of a sword meets his neck.

“step away from the princess please.” a growl like voice calls from behind the Duke.

“Seonghwa! this man means no harm, leave him alone.” you glare to the man with the sword.

“if that is true perhaps you should answer his question Princess-”

“no. no, he did not make me uncomfortable. he simply took me by surprise.” you stated, staring down the man with the sword. he sighed, but sheathed his blade nonetheless.

“you should speak to your future Queen with more respect.” Yeosang stated.

“you shouldn't touch people without their consent.” countered Seonghwa.

a sigh fell from your lips. so this is a new dynamic you are going to have to deal with.

~

as the days bled into weeks, you found yourself within the company of the young Duke often, your guard dog never far behind. the pair could never get along, Seonghwa seeming to think every time Yeosang breathed, it was a threat to your safety.

you’ve spent countless hours in the library, Yeosang at your side, coaching you through politics, philosophies, and ideologies. his eyes sparked every time, he as well fit for the part of a Duke.

you’d be lying to say that the closeness with the young man didn't stir something within you. his curious eyes, his intelligent speech, the way he guided you.

more than just a flutter in your stomach, Yeosang’s long thin fingers dancing across the pages, the small dart of his tongue to his lips before speaking. this man sired feelings in you you had ignored since your girlhood.

days curled up in the library, hiding away from prying eyes, reading the strangest erotic poems you could find. most so ridiculous they made you snicker. but others... that was the same warmth you felt when Yeosang grabbed you by the wrist to keep you from knocking off your water goblet.

“my Lady, you must be careful! you could have stained your dress.” he placed your hand back in your lap.

“nonsense, water will dry. it leaves no stains anyway.” you huffed. Yeosang let out that hearty laugh once again.

~

Seonghwa complained about the Duke while escorting you back to your quarters. you simply laughed and rolled your eyes at his childishness.

“princess, please promise me you will call me if that... that mockingbird, ever lays his hands on you.” you laughed once more at his words.

‘mockingbird’ for his deep and ‘droning’ voice Seonghwa hated so much.

“you are not my father Seonghwa. you needn’t be so protective over such things.” you teased. “or are you perhaps, jealous?”

Seonghwa’s cheeks tinted pink as he looked down. “...you have not called on me for such... help, in a long time.” he admitted.

ah, that explains his borderline possessiveness.

“...Seonghwa, I am a married woman.” you stated.

“I know that! but you are not married to that Duke-” you cut him off with a sharp turn on your heel.

“enough.” Seonghwa fell silent at your stern tone. “watch your tongue, for you speak above your rank and I have little interest in hearing it.”

he clenched his jaw, but did not speak further.

“I have no further need for you tonight. you are dismissed.”

“as you wish, my princess.” he bowed low, but he never dropped his eye contact with you. Seonghwa begged you silently, begged for the affection you used to wrap yourself in. Seonghwa was a loyal knight, one who would carry out any request you had of him, be it sinful or murderous.

but you had little interest in making an adulteress out of yourself tonight.

you turned your back to the man, and entered your room.

it took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, but once you had settled into the darkness, you could see the figure of your husband sitting on the bed, head in his hand.

“Mingi? are you alright?” you quickly rushed to his side of the bed, kneeling before him.

“y-yes, I'm alright, I'm sorry to frighten you.” he spoke softly, raising his head from his hands. you felt a twitch of pain in your chest at the puffiness around his eyes.

“have you been crying, my darling?” you asked, raising to wipe the dampness from his cheeks. his breath hitched, before he sniffled. grasping at your wrists, Mingi raises his head, empty eyes level with your own.

“...will you be honest with me?” he asks.

“of course, Mingi you are my Husband, I have nothing to hide from you-”

“stop. do not- please... please don’t say that until I've asked you my question.” his face is pulled in pain and sorrow, cracking your heart. you fall to your knees once again, placing your hands in his lap, and leading your head against one of his bent knees.

“what is your question, my prince?”

“is it true you have slept with the Duke?” his voice is small as tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“no. I have never had any form of physical intimacy with Duke Kang. the man kissed the back of my hand when we first met, never have we done more.” your words were true, and you saw relief flood Mingi’s chest.

“...thank you... thank you thank you thank you...” he let out a hiccup just as you cupped his cheek.

“who told you such an awful rumor?” you questioned, raising to your feet.

“i... I overheard some of the guards speaking about it.” he admitted. “people forget... I am blind, not def.” you nearly jumped to ask who he had heard saying such things, but thought better of it for the moment.

“and people are fools for such a thing.” you lifted Mingi’s head gently, before placing yourself on his lap. “and they are bigger fools for gossiping about something with no evidence.” gently, you lay Mingi’s head to rest on your collar.

the man melted at your touch, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your chest.

“...you smell... like honey...” he mumbled, voice far away and almost intoxicated.

chuckling you petting his hair, “perhaps you are hungry, my darling prince.” Mingi let out a whine at your words. quickly pulling your hand away you raised his head again, thinking you had caused him pain from the sound.

his eyes were glazed over, cheeks pink, and breath panting in his chest. ah, not pain, pleasure.

“Mingi... have you ever slept with a woman before?” you purr. the man swallows hard.

“no. you think... any woman would want to crawl into bed with me.” he sighs. you tisk, grabbing a fist full of his hair and pulling his head back.

Mingi lets out a squeak of surprise, that quickly turns into a high pitched moan.

“you are the fool now, little prince. I understand you may have not had the privilege of seeing yourself in the mirror, but” you lean down so your lips graze the shell of his ear. “you are one of the most attractive men I have ever laid eyes on.” you feel Mingi shiver beneath you.

grabbing his jaw tightly, you twist his head, turning it away from you. “I do not care about your blindness Mingi, if I hear such negative self speech from you again, it will earn you a punishment.” he whines once more, before you begin peppering his open neck with kitten kisses.

“p-pl-please-” he whines, hands fisted in your dress, chest rattling with every breath he takes.

“please what? my darling prince~” you coo softly, hands now scratching through his hair.

“p-please... please... use me... I need you...” his voice cracks, barely speaking each word. you coo, cupping the mans cheeks.

“we have been married for almost a month, my prince, and yet we have yet to consecrate our marriage~” you tease, tracing your fingers down his throat.

~

Mingi may be blind, but it takes little time for him to map out your whole body.

his head thrown back against the pillows, neck on full display for you. one of his large hands with a bruising grip on your hip, the other’s fingers tangled with yours above his head. you coo softly to the man as he gasps in pleasure, your free hand bracing yourself on his chest.

you press your forehead to his, panting from the energy it takes to keep bouncing on him. you are thankful he never asked if you had experience in sex, for you worried he might be saddened at the truth.

yet even still, the mere... size of Mingi had your eyes rolling back in your head when you first sunk down on him.

you heard his voice hitch in his throat, hand pulling more on your hip.

“..I-i-ahh-” you could feel him pulse within you. shushing him, you leaned over to place more kisses over his throat.

“its alright, little prince, let it go. will you cum for me?” you cooed softly.

right at your command, Mingi came, spilling himself within you. his voice cried out your name, shoulders shaking as he squeezed your hand.

you softly cooed as you helped him ride out his orgasm, petting his hair and running your hands over his torso. his body finally stilled, and you felt him begin to go soft within you.

your thighs burned slightly as you lifted yourself off of his lap, feeling his cum drip and pool out of you. Mingi whined at the loss of warmth, hands pulled at your hips.

“I-i’m sorry, you didn't...” his face still burned pink, hair a mess on the pillows as he finally began to catch his breath.

“its alright Mingi, you can make it up to me another night.” you chuckled. He swallowed, but nodded.

after leaving to the attached bathroom to clean yourself up and change into your night clothes, you returned to the bed to find Mingi had managed to change the blanket the two of you had soiled. you smiled, noting not to underestimate the man in the future.

“can we... can we do that more?” Mingi mumbled as you crawled into bed beside him.

“of course~” you cooed, stroking his cheek. he sighed in contentment, mumbling to himself.

“what have I done to deserve you...” he wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you against his body. “...I am no good for a husband... and probably worse choice for a king... but, for you..” he blinked his eyes open, somehow managing to stare at you. “for you... I'll be whatever you want me to be.”

“is that so? you’ll do anything I ask?” you cooed.

“yes. yes, I promise. you... you own me, mind, body, whatever you want from me... take it.” he begged, eyes hazy once more.

“lets not worry about such things now, little prince.” pulling the man against you, Mingi quickly fell asleep against your chest.

“you own me, mind body, whatever you want from me... take it.”

“oh sweet boy, you should be more careful with your words. you’ve already got me falling in love with you.”

[codythecheshirecat]

Binary Sunset Ch 1: The Prophecy

Story Summary: Obi-Wan finds himself decades in the future on the ship of a Mandalorian that seems like the last thing he wants is to be sidled with another lifeform. Or two, because suddenly they have a little...tiny... Yoda to deal with. Not actually Yoda, Obi-Wan knows, but still. It's weird, and stressful, and there's an entire Empire that's come and gone (going?). He just wants to rest. Figure out what exactly has happened and maybe, maybe find a way to stop it, if he ever gets back to his own time. Better that than wallow in misery and pain of a past he got plucked from, yet still feels the pain of.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30771671/chapters/75953153

    Obi-Wan rubs his face. Christophsis-- and the entire ordeal with Jabba the Hutt’s son-- has been incredibly tiring. And this is only the beginning. The only thing he has to look forward to now is more fighting, more war, and the exhaustion that comes with it. Jedi aren’t generals. They shouldn’t be in this position. But who else would be able to? The army was made for the Jedi. They’re fighting against Sith. There’s no other option, really. And so peacekeepers become the leading force in a war that barely seems to make sense.

    Cody left him a cup of tea a few hours ago. He glances at it, but it’s long gone cold. He supposes things could be worse; after all, Christophsis had been an approximate success, all things considered. While there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight, that doesn’t mean one won’t come. Quickly, even. Stay positive. He sits back in his chair. His quarters are small, but he’s not particularly bothered by it. A Jedi doesn’t need worldly possessions. Even… even if they do enjoy them, sometimes.

    The world seems to flicker around him. Obi-Wan pauses, looking around. No, everything is just fine, just as it should be. But what..? He could’ve sworn something just happened. I need some sleep, he decides. I’m starting to see things. No need to have a repeat of the time Anakin decided to stay up for three days straight and forced me to do the same.

    The world flickers again. This time he’s ready for it; he sees gray metal walls and a space not much larger than his quarters. Then everything is right once again. A ship. I’m hallucinating a ship? He stands. Perhaps a bit too quickly, because the world twists in a spout of vertigo and he very suddenly collides with the floor, face first.

    He groans. His nose hurts, now. What the kriff?

    There’s a blaster pressed to the back of his head. That shouldn’t be there, not at all. None of his troopers would do that. Have I been poisoned? And someone has snuck onto the Negotiator to kill me? No, that doesn’t make sense. Why poison me and shoot me? Maybe they want to take me prisoner?

    “Who are you?” A voice growls, sounding just so slightly off from a vocoder. His attacker is wearing a helmet, then. Maybe this is some sort of a joke from the troopers..?

    Obi-Wan frowns. “You’re in my quarters.” He mutters. You should know who I am.

    “...What?” The voice says.

    Obi-Wan lifts his head from the floor, ready to tell his attacker off (it’s unlikely they’ll shoot him now if they haven’t already, him being an annoyance be damned), only to freeze. This isn’t his quarters. This isn’t his quarters at all. It’s some sort of… cockpit? He really can’t see much from his position on the floor, unfortunately.

    “Ah, nevermind.” Obi-Wan says. “I’m afraid I have no idea where I am.”

    His attacker grunts. “Who are you?”

    “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

    “And?”

    He raises an eyebrow, despite knowing his attacker can’t see it. “And what?”

    “How did you get on my ship?”

    “I have absolutely no idea. I was on my ship, and then I was here. I don’t even know where here is.”

    There’s a pause. “Turn over.”

    Obi-Wan does as told, rolling onto his back. He keeps his hands carefully out in the open. His attacker-- or apparent partner in crime, if they’re both equally confused with the situation-- is an armored Mandalorian. Obi-Wan studies the shiny silver helmet for a moment, and then moves to the rest of his armor. Rusty red paint covers most of the rest of it. He wears a tattered black cape. The Mandalorian continues to point the blaster in his face.

    “You really don’t know how you got here?”

    Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I was in my quarters, on my ship. The world seemed to flicker around me and I thought it might be from lack of sleep, so I stood to walk to my bed. I got dizzy and fell, and then you put a blaster to the back of my head.”

    The Mandalorian tilts his head. “One second I was alone, the next you were on the floor.”

    “It seems we’re both a bit confused about this.”

    “Yeah.” The Mandalorian says. After a moment, he lowers his blaster. “Where was your ship?”

    “Orbiting Coruscant.” Obi-Wan shifts. “Where are we now?”

    “Heading to Nevarro.”

    Nevarro. Hm. He can’t say he knows where that is. He says as much.

    “It’s in the Outer Rim. Coruscant is Core, right?”

    “Right.” Obi-Wan agrees. “Seems I’ve managed to travel from the core worlds to the outer worlds in… I’m really not sure how quickly, actually. Or how.”

    They lapse into silence. There really isn’t much else to say. Yet there’s very much to say. But how to say it? Where to begin? And Mandalorians haven’t worn armor like this in years, if he’s remembering correctly. Not mainstream Mandalorians, in any case. The New Mandalorians. Jango Fett had been an outlier himself. Perhaps when Satine… this Mandalorian may not have wanted to give up his armor. It would explain why he’s in the outer rim.

    “If you would bring me to Coruscant, I would be very happy to pay you for your efforts.” Obi-Wan smiles. “Ah, after you bring me there. I don’t believe I have any credits with me at the moment.”

    “Are you Imperial?”

    That’s- what? Imperial? He frowns. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

    “Are you Imperial?” The Mandal- Mando- repeats, more insistent. “Were you a follower of the Empire?”

    Something grows in the pit of his stomach. “What Empire?”

    “The Galactic Empire? The one that ruled the galaxy for almost three decades?”

    Oh, no. This doesn’t make any sense at all. “What, ah, year is it?”

    Mando’s helmet tilts. “Nine.”

    “Nine? Nine what?”

    “ABY, I think. Why do you want to know what year it is?”

    He presses his lips together. “I think… I’ve never heard of the ABY calendar, and if it’s used on Coruscant now... and there hasn’t been an Empire in a very long time.”

    “The Empire fell about five years ago.” Mando says flatly. “So yes, there has been an Empire lately.”

    “Well, then something is seriously wrong.” Obi-Wan says. He swallows thickly. “I suspect I may not be in the time I should be.”

    “Like… time travel?”

    “Like time travel.”

    Mando sighs. He steps back, collapsing into his pilot’s chair. “I have no reason to believe you.”

    “Well, I have no reason to believe you, either.” Obi-Wan sits up. He crosses his legs. “Except, of course, that I’ve somehow managed to appear on your ship with no discernible reason.”

    Mando grunts. “Right.”

    Something occurs to him. He has no frame of reference as to the date, when his time is in relation to the one he’s in now. If he’s in the past… or the future. He doesn’t know the ABY calendar, but it’s something that could easily be lost to time and renaming conventions. But Mando might be able to help with that. “How long ago did the Clone War occur?” If it’s occured at all.

    “A few decades.”

    “Ah, so right on time for the Empire, then.”

    “Yes.”

    I need to meditate on this. He sucks in a breath. “So, the Clone War occurs, the Empire takes over, a few decades later the Empire collapses, and a few years later here I am.”

    “Are you from the time of the Clone Wars?”

    “Right at the beginning. I think. Enough for me to have suspected it would be known for years to come, which seems to be the case. Well,” he rolls his shoulders. “At least if I manage to make it back to my time I’ll have an idea of what to stop in the future.”

    “I don’t think one man can take down an empire.”

    “I wouldn’t be alone. I’d have the entire Jedi Order to help.”

    Mando glances at him, tilting his head yet again. “Then why didn’t they stop it in the first place?”

    “I-” A feeling of cold dread washes over him. “I couldn’t say.”

    “Well, I’ve never heard of a Jedi Order--”

    “You haven’t? Not at all?” Obi-Wan asks. His chest is tight.

    “No.”

    “Oh, kriff. Oh, kriff.” He squeezes his eyes closed. “Every word out of your mouth only serves to make me feel worse.” Mando doesn’t say anything to that. Obi-Wan swallows. “Do you mind if I meditate here?”

    “Go ahead.”

    He should tell Mando his name. It’s only polite. “My name is Obi-Wan, by the way.”

***

    Obi-Wan meditates the rest of the way to Nevarro. He cracks an eye open to stare at Mando as they enter the atmosphere. “I suppose you have business here?”

    “You could say that.”

    “And I suppose you won’t want to be seen with me if you don’t have to?”

    “Not really.”

    Obi-Wan grimaces. He stretches. “Is Nevarro big enough that a newcomer won’t be noticed?”

    Mando pauses. He glances at Obi-Wan. “You should stay on the ship.”

    He quirks an eyebrow. “I would have imagined you’d want to be rid of me as soon as possible.”

    “I do. But I want to know why-- and how-- you’re here more. I’ll do my business in town, you stay on the ship and don’t touch anything, and when I’m done we can talk more.”

    “And if I want to stretch my legs?”

    That earns a glare. He can tell, despite the helmet, that Mando is glaring at him. “Then make sure you blend in.”

    ...Alright, he doesn’t actually want to piss Mando off more than he already, unwittingly, has. So he sighs. “I’ll stay on the ship. For now. Would you mind at least telling me the business you have here, or is it confidential?”

    Mando stands, taking a moment to stretch (as much as he can, wearing all that armor). He walks to the door of the cockpit. “Bounty hunting.”

    And then he’s gone. Obi-Wan hears him moving around on the lower levels of the ship, and then the door opens, closes, and he knows, for the moment, that Mando is gone. With a groan, he lays back, letting his hands flop and hit the floor maybe a little harder than what’s comfortable. He stares at the ceiling.

    I am not where I was. That’s the only truth he has. I am not on my ship like I am supposed to be, and I don’t know how I got on this one. He might have been drugged, kidnapped, and Mando is lulling him into a false sense of security. To be turned over to the Separatists and the droid army and Dooku. Make it seem like he time traveled to keep him confused. Don’t let him out of the ship or he’ll realize it’s all false.

    Or, he really has time traveled. Space traveled, too, without a ship or any other obvious means. One second he’s here, the next he’s there. Time travel is so… unlikely. Unheard of. Fanciful, strange, absurd. And yet it cannot be ignored. I am not where I was. I have traveled through space instantaneously. Why not add ‘traveled through time instantaneously’ as well? Is it really that much less absurd?

    He’d meditated on this all already, but it’s a topic that’s impossible to just let go of. He just… circles through the thoughts, theories, over and over again, to try to make sense of it. There’s no sense to be had. It must be the will of the Force, and the Force is rarely easy to understand. It’s still exhausting, though, and no amount of meditation will truly fix that, so for the time being, Obi-Wan allows himself to fall into a shallow sleep.

***

    He wakes to Mando standing above him, helmet tilted slightly to the side. Obi-Wan peers at him. “Yes?”

    “Get up.”

    Ah, so maybe I have been drugged and kidnapped. “Where are we going?” He asks as he does so.

    “There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

    They leave the cockpit, go down a ladder, and Obi-Wan finds himself in the main part of the ship. It’s small, crowded with a lot in a little space. Mando shoves something into his arms. Obi-Wan looks at it. He looks back at Mando. “A coat?”

    “Make yourself look less posh. Take the robe off.”

    He does as told. He’s not entirely sure that just exchanging his Jedi robes for a beaten up coat will do much, but he won’t argue. It’s not like they have a lot of options, after all. Mando clearly doesn’t wear coats. He doesn’t think much of it as he leaves his robes in a pile on the floor and follows Mando out of the ship.

    They walk through the streets. They’re fairly busy, with people at various stalls along the streets buying this or that. Nobody pays any attention to them, except for a small glance here and there. Mando must be old news, enough that they won’t even pay attention to his companion. They turn down a side street, and then another, and Obi-Wan really doesn’t pay as much attention as he should because suddenly, they’re underground.

    In a dimly lit cave system.

    He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. His hand twitches to his belt, where his lightsaber is, except-- it isn’t there. Of course it isn’t there, because he’d set it on his desk, confident that if he needed it he could grab it easily from the desk and move on to whatever he needed it for. He doesn’t have his lightsaber. He doesn’t even know where to begin looking for it, or if it’s even worth it. Obi-Wan shoves down the discontent curling in his stomach. A Jedi’s lightsaber is their life, yes, but a Jedi is not useless without it. Only at a disadvantage.

    They turn a corner. There are more Mandalorians here, sitting along the walls in chairs and carved outcroppings. This must be their home, he realizes. Are they hiding? Nobody says anything as they pass, but he can feel their eyes boring into his skull. They don’t want him here. Why did Mando bring him? Because somebody wants to talk to me?

    Mando leads him into a room. It’s a forgery. Obi-Wan watches the flames of the forge for a moment, lost in the blue-white of them. A Mandalorian with a gold helmet sits at a small table.

    She tilts her head. “Sit.”

    Obi-Wan knows she’s talking to him, and he takes his place in the chair across from her. Mando stands behind him. Obi-Wan knows without looking that he practically towers over him. To anyone else, it would be intimidating. Obi-Wan isn’t particularly concerned.

    He nods his head respectfully. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure what this meeting is about.”

    “Our bounty hunter came to me and told me of you. I wish to speak about what may have brought you to his ship.”

    “I see.” It’s what he expected, really, and nothing more.

    “I am this covert’s Armorer, and it’s leader. You are a Jedi.”

    “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He says, expecting something of a similar reaction to Mando’s.

    “He said.” He would almost call her voice amused. “I know that name, even if he doesn’t. And I know your face. You are either the true Obi-Wan Kenobi, or you are a very good fake.”

    A smile twitches across his face. “Oh, I’m the real Obi-Wan Kenobi, I assure you. Whether that’s good news to you, or bad news, I suppose I can’t say. I can say, though, that I really don’t know how I ended up on that ship.” He shrugs. “The will of the Force, I suppose.”

    The Armorer hums. “Indeed. You must have a lot of questions.”

    “I do. And I’m sure I have many more questions I don’t yet realize I want to ask. Is it… is it true there was an Empire?”

    “Yes.” The Armorer’s voice is heavy, if not in emotion then in the finality that she says it. “The Empire destroyed much in its reign of power. Your Jedi order being one of them. Alderaan. Mandalore. Many more planets, many more people. Even with the Empire gone now, the galaxy is still trying to find order.”

    He hates the way his chest constricts, how his throat feels raw. He swallows. It doesn’t do anything. “Are you the last remaining Mandalorians?”

    “There are others, scattered, as I expect there are other Jedi scattered and hiding. Not as many as there once was. Not living as we once did.” She looks at him, she’s been looking at him, but somehow, her gaze freezes him with its intensity, filtered as it is through her helmet.

    Gold, for vengeance. Red for honoring a parent. Or perhaps the colors of her armor have no meaning at all.

    “Mandalorians and Jedi were enemies, once. We fought great battles and adapted to the others’ weaknesses. But now is not the time for enemies. I am no Jedi, and I hold no esteem for the Jedi way of life. The Force is real, however, no matter the name it is called by, and I, too, believe that you were brought here by the will of the Force.” She leans forward almost imperceptibly. “You are here for a reason, Obi-Wan Kenobi. So you will stay with our bounty hunter and discover that reason.”

    He licks his lips. “I can certainly do that.” I have nowhere else to go.

    With that, he’s dismissed, and he follows Mando back out of the sewers and into the open air, turning over the conversation in his head. Mando must have known this was coming from his previous talk with the Armorer, or if he didn’t, then he knows she isn’t one to cross.

    When they step onto the ship and the door closes behind them, Obi-Wan turns to Mando. “So… where to next?”

    “Saleucami.”

    “Oh… lovely.”

[elvendara]

Sugar and Spice Day 3

July 14th

Rock concert (Rockstar/Fan)

“Five minutes till curtains up!” the man ran backstage shouting over the din. Saeran expected a knock on his door shortly and sure enough, it came. Without waiting for an answer, the man opened the door to let him know the time limit. Saeran locked eyes with him through the mirror and nodded.

Once the door was again closed, he stared at himself. He’d long ago bleached his hair white to differentiate himself from his twin. Saeyoung worked in the shadows, it wouldn’t do to have a famous brother who looked exactly like him. He also utilized colored lenses. It served two purposes, he didn’t need to wear glasses, in fact, his fans didn’t even know he needed them, and the mint green was a stark contrast to his regular, amber-colored eyes. The pink tips were a more recent addition, but he liked them.

Black eyeliner was expertly applied, years of practice making it almost effortless. He took a sponge and smudged it, giving himself that perfect edgy look. The earrings were already in, silver crosses dangling on each side of his face. Ironic really, considering he didn’t believe in God. The thick black silver studded collar was snuggly around his neck as was the matching cuff around his right wrist. He stood and grabbed his leather jacket, sliding it on and glancing into the full-length mirror he had been given in his dressing room. He was comfortable in this persona. The music had been a way for him to deal with his life. Writing down his anger, confusion, and loneliness was a way to get it out of him. It became bigger than him pretty quickly and he found that hiding behind rock stardom meant he didn’t have to answer any real questions about his true self. It worked. Except it kept him lonely and alone. He’d come to terms with spending the rest of his life that way. It was easier than imagining being real with someone. Who could ever love the real him anyway?

He smirked at his reflection as he laced up his biker boots. Time to bring the house down!

..

He was soaked in sweat but didn’t feel tired. In fact, he felt invigorated, like every time he finished a concert. Feeding off the audience was one of the biggest perks to his career. Someone handed him a towel and he wiped his face with it.

“Great show Saeran!” one of the concert coordinators told him. She held a tablet to her chest and had a handful of fans behind her. Five doe eyed girls and one shy looking boy. Well, now that he looked closer, he was definitely a man, close to his own age. He looked sheepish being with the teenaged groupies. “These are the VIP’s for tonight’s afterparty. Thought I’d introduce you before you change.”

“Nice! Great to meet you, I’m glad we’ll be hanging out tonight. Hope you have a good time. Congrats on winning the backstage passes.” He regurgitated. There wasn’t always an afterparty but there were some special guests, rich, who had paid for the whole thing, so he’d been pressed to oblige them with an appearance. He hated the politics of being famous, but he did love his fans. It was because of them that he could enjoy what he did. If it was up to him, he’d fill the party with fans and not rich entitled groupies. He knew he would spend the night fending off offers to ‘get to know each other better’ all night.

“Oh my GOD! It’s really you!”

“Wow! You’re so HOT!”

“Ahhh, my friends are never gonna believe this!”

The girls were just cookie cutter versions of every other girl he’d seen. He couldn’t blame them; it’s how they sold his image. The man looked embarrassed; he wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He took the chance to check him out. He appeared to be a tad shorter than himself, with blond hair and pink clips holding back his bangs. He wore one of his concert shirts and tight-fitting skinny jeans. His nails were painted alternating pink and black with the black ones having his band’s logo on it, a mint green eye. So he really was a fan. Cute too.

“Uh, well, like the lady said, I have to go get changed for the party, I’ll see you all there. And be sure to grab your swag bags before you leave, don’t let them rip you off there! There’s a CD with a snippet of some of our new songs.” He winked and walked off. There was a lot of oohing and ahhing as he left.

He took a quick shower and dressed in a ripped black T-shirt, black jeans and his biker boots, putting all his accessories back on and reapplying his eyeliner. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked out to the convention center next to the arena. Of course he wasn’t alone, he had security that surrounded him and paparazzi snapping pics as he made his way to the party. They screamed questions at him that he didn’t answer, he smirked, the signature look the media had come to know him by. Surrounded by so many yet feeling so alone. Making it next door took longer than it should have because of the circus around him, but make it he did.

Once he was inside he was taken by the arm by the coordinator who had introduced him to the fans, he couldn’t remember her name but she seemed nice enough. At least she didn’t flirt with him like other women did and took her job seriously.

“You’re here, great, first you should go say hi to the Han family, they’re the ones footing the bill for this afterparty, then you can have a few minutes with the fans before talking to some reporters…”

“Whoah.” He stopped in his tracks and could swear she left skid marks with her heels she’d been going so fast. “I want more than just a few minutes with those fans, and who are all these people anyway?” He saw his bandmates and some of the roadies, but everyone else was a stranger.

“Nobody you need to worry about, uh, I’ll see what I can do with the schedule.” She seemed frazzled but clicked away on her tablet while heading off again. He assumed he should follow, so he did.

“Mr. Han, I appreciate you taking the time and effort for this function.” Saeran greeted the elderly man.

“Ah, of course of course, anything for my new bride!” he had his arm around a young woman who was clearly less than half his age. The rumors about C&R’s head were obviously true. Standing on his other side was a tall and elegant man who appeared to wish he was anywhere but here. He’d seen that face plastered on magazines of all sorts. The heir apparent, Director of C&R, Jumin Han. They nodded respectfully at each other, Saeran feeling sorry for the man and having to deal with his father’s escapades, but the old man seemed like a descent sort. After a few minutes of his ‘wife’ fawning all over him, making him feel uncomfortable, the coordinator pulled him away. He was thankful to her for saving him.

She escorted him towards a section in the back, past all the dancing and the loud music, that was closed off. The music was still loud but at least he could hear himself think. In the section the fans sat, eating and drinking snacks on the coffee table. They all stood up and rushed him. Well, the girls did, touching him and giggling. Where were their parents? They didn’t look old enough to be out. They sat him down and pressed against him. The blond man sat to the side in a chair and continued to sip his cola and eat the snacks, sneaking a look now and then. He wished he could just be alone with him and have a conversation. At least he wouldn’t try to crawl on his lap like these girls seemed to want to do. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind if the blond tried that.

After about 30 minutes, which felt like a lifetime, the coordinator gathered up the girls and took them out. It was past midnight and he guessed he had been right about their age, couldn’t have minors out at all hours of the night. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It felt like they had leached some of his life force out and he was drained.

“I guess that happens all the time to you huh?”

Saeran sat up abruptly, how could he have forgotten about the blond?

“Sorry, I’ll go if you want to be alone.” He stood and Saeran panicked.

“NO!” he stood, banging his knee on the coffee table, sending him on his ass back on the sofa. He grabbed at the knee, eyes scrunched, “Ow ow ow…”

“Let me see.” Suddenly there was a presence by him as the blond sat beside him, his fingers touching his knee. Because of the ripped jeans, it was easy to see his skin in that area. “Doesn’t look so bad, at least you didn’t break the skin. You’ll have a hell of a bruise though.” The blond raised his gaze to Saeran and he finally got to see the full view. Wow, those eyes knocked him out, was that color even natural? Maybe he was wearing amethyst-colored lenses like what he himself wore. His face was kind, a soft pink flush growing across his cheeks and bridge of his nose. It was adorable.

“Ah, that was really stupid of me. But…I’m glad you didn’t leave. We didn’t even get a chance to chat.” Saeran tried to regain his coolness but found he couldn’t seem to be bothered to try and act in front of this man. “Uh, what’s your name?”

“Yoosung. Don’t have to ask yours I guess.” He smiled, lighting up the entire room.

“Yoosung…I like it.”

“Thanks. I…uh…like you. I mean…I…your music…I…I…like your music…and…uh…I”

Saeran laughed and waved off Yoosung’s explanation.

“So you’re a fan huh? And what…a doctor?” he asked, placing his foot on the ground gently, still rubbing his knee.

“Not quite. But I am going to medical school. And yes, a BIG fan!” his eyes got large, as did his smile. “Your songs spoke to me when I was at a really low point. I don’t know, it felt like you knew what I was going through and understood my pain.” The smile faltered as his thoughts went back to those days. Saeran reached out and placed his hand on Yoosung’s, yes, he knew what it was like to be in pain, he could see it in his eyes.

Their eyes met, an understanding passing between them.

[tokugou]

do you have your favourite tdbk fanfics? (share pls i'm out of things to readdd) ♡

Finn!!! I gonna try my best to share something and hope you gonna like at least one of them. Also I didn't have time to read anything for a past month (?) so I am not very up to date with new ones.

okokok I need to share this one first because it was written for me (well i requested it but it still counts!!)

the right kind of home by @dabibones​

“comfort food”

I will start with on-going I really liked so far (I need to catch up with them too)

love lies bleeding by twopinchesofcinnamon - the best setting I could ever ask for - Zombie Apocalypse AU

“We could. Y’know,” Red-eyes sucks his teeth hard, as if his own words physically pain him. “Compromise.” Shouto lets himself slip down the railing until he’s propped against it. “What do you propose?” “Easy,” he zeroes in, contemplating, and Shouto can’t quite decipher him anymore. “Split the food and go our separate ways. We never need to speak again. Deal?” Shouto tips his chin up at the clouds. He blows out a breath, counting to seven. “Can I get two thirds?” Or: a loner, a wanderer, and flowers that glow in the dark.

20:04 by redonthemoon - it is finished already but I still didn't finish it

He’s now lying on his floor, naked, listening on repeat to the same song trying to come up with an idea of what he is supposed to do. He has watched all the movies that are out there about the topic. He has even taken the car and drove as far as he could. He has even taken a plane to another country and landed there but the second the clock hit midnight, he woke up on his bed, alarm pounding and the same date: Friday, October 28th. He can’t do it anymore. He can’t repeat the same day over and over.

let's ignore my 200 tabs opened on my phone - to read later - cos I am lazy, so I went through my bookmarks to pick the ones I think are good (and not embarassing to share) - under read more because yeah there is a few

better late than never 

Bakugou and todoroki get hit by a body swap quirk, and physical contact seems to be the only answer to their predicament

My Hero Love Story 

After the two of them are spotted at a Valentine's Day hero convention while on a mission, Shouto gets the brilliant (and extremely bad) idea to pretend he and Bakugou are there on a date together. It's brilliant because it's the perfect cover story. It's bad because he's desperately in love with Bakugou, and Bakugou has no idea.

Whatever It Takes 

That one where Bakugou agrees to pretend to date Todoroki just to piss off Endeavor, and ends up falling in love instead.

Bam Went My Heart 

Bakugou Katsuki is 100% not on a date with Todoroki Shouto

A fishy deal

Bakugou Katsuki, a rebel spy, attends an auction and leaves with more than just intel.

better than myth

Amidst domestic disasters, the infernal water bill and the armchair in the shower, there was a comfortable rapport between them. Bakugou was falling disgustingly in love with it.  

The Energy Between Us Blossoms Colors In My Heart

Todoroki Shouto has always been a bit curious about his punk roommate with red hair tips, but he never had the opportunity to get to know him better. That's until they get assigned as partners for their university projects.

Teenage Rebellion

Shouto dye his hair

Can I Get A Name For Your Order?

Coffee Shop AU

i like you so much (what do i do?)

Katsuki is really good at what he does, except when Shouto's there. another coffee shop au

i wanna ruin our friendship

Todoroki and Bakugou make out, become friends, and fall in love, all in that order.

You Set My Soul Alight

When enrolling into college, Shouto thought he’ll be freed from under his father’s thumb, but that’s not true. Never was true. Even here his father is controlling his life. To be more specific, his dating life out of all things. After witnessing his roommate, Bakugou, arguing on the phone with his mother about significant others, Shouto gets an idea. They form a compromise. Shouto is tired of his father orchestrating dates for him and Bakugou wants his mother to leave him alone. Nothing could go wrong.

Sweeter than Victory

In which Katsuki sets out to slay a chimera, ends up hunting down an elusive, mystical flower, and encounters a nymph known for being beautiful and unattainable. He really needs to have a damn talk with the Fates. Or Aphrodite. Because seriously, what kind of bullshit quest is this?

Sorry (Not Sorry) For The Distraction

Bakugou Katsuki may have made a mistake. Not that he'd call it that, of course, but he probably should've thought more about what he chose to wear when he allowed Todoroki into his home to work on their shared case.

He just hadn't exactly anticipated that Todoroki would notice his piercings. Or more importantly, not shut the fuck up about them.

hope you think of me high, hope you think of me highly

Shotgunning

Raising the Steaks

Inasa serves dishes, Bakugou serves food, Camie serves customers and Shouto serves looks.

threadache

Todoroki asks Bakugou to make his outfit for the Met Gala - nothing is what it seams.

love you sideways

Katsuki is the undisputed King of the arcade until some asshole comes in and starts beating all his high scores.

Synergy

Katsuki, a top pro gamer, encounters a worthy and very irritating rival—who may also be about to become his teammate.

Bloom

In recent years, it's been assumed that the appearance of soul bonds has disappeared. Katsuki, a cocky pro hero, and Shouto, the barista at Katsuki's favorite coffee shop, are about to discover that's not quite true.

Upon My Back

the soulmate au where every time your soulmate cries a flower tattoo appears on your skin

Vampirism wasn't in the roommate contract

“You’re a vampire?!” “And you’re a werewolf. You don’t see me complaining even though-“ Todoroki’s nose scrunched, and Bakugou could feel the vein in his head about to pop. “If you say I smell, I’m going to kick you out right now, dead blood.”

The best kept secrets aren't secrets at all

In which, Todoroki dates the edgy chemical engineering student who keeps stealing his friends parking spaces and is only just learning how to get along with others.

i want you (to want me)

invisibilia (or voyeur, of the unwilling kind)

Hagakure Tooru is invisible, and that is sometimes a lot more trouble than it's worth.

Just One Bite

This particular fuckup begins when he saves a cat from a demon in a sketchy alley.

How To Lose A Costume Contest But Still Win At Life

Bakugou Katsuki was determined to win a costume competition with the most realistic werewolf costume he could feasibly put together.

Without Hesitation

The first time Bakugou told Todoroki he was in love with him, he thought he’d die.

did i say a few? i overdid it I AM SORRY but i do hope you gonna like/read a few of these, I liked them. Also thank you so so so much for the ask! It made me so happy no one ever ask about my favorite things it was such a nice thing to do!

[avengerscompound]

The Surrogate - Chapter 2

The Surrogate:  A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  1746

Rating:  E

Warnings: None

Synopsis:  A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people.  When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want.  Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 2

 “Clint and I just had sex!”   You hadn’t meant to blurt the words out like that and they had almost definitely signed your death warrant, but they’d burst out of you out of your control.  Things had gotten out of control, but in that good way, where your adrenaline had been up and with the alcohol and the way your powers worked, when he’d suggested you both go to the public restroom, you couldn’t think of anything you wanted to do more than that.

Now that you could see that Natasha and Clint were in a relationship, the guilt about being the one Clint had cheated with had made you spill immediately.  Even if it did mean the Black Widow would gut you like a fish.

Natasha Romanoff looked back at you with her head tilted to the side.  “Oh, dorogáya,” she soothed, before turning her attention back to the controls of the jet and taking flight again hovering up away from the bar she’d picked you up from before shooting off away from the city.  She took a moment to smack Clint on the back of the head in between flicking different switches.

“Ow, Nat,” he complained, rubbing the back of his head.  “What was that for?”

“You can’t do that,” she scolded. “You need to tell them what your deal is before you seduce them.”

“Seduce them? Me?”  Clint argued.  “Who am I seducing?  Shit just happened.”

“You know what I mean, durak.  You can’t just sleep with people and not tell them you’ve got a girlfriend,” Natasha snarked.  She tilted her head back and raised her voice so you could hear her better over the jet engines.  “Clint and I are in an open relationship.  I’m sorry he didn’t tell you that first.  He’s an idiot.  But you didn’t cheat on anyone.  I just hope he didn’t lead you on.”

“No,” you assured her.  “I knew it was casual.  But … I wouldn’t have… if you two…”

“It’s fine,” she assured you.  “I promise.  Have as much sex with Clint as you like.  I don't care.”

“Gee, thanks, Nat,” Clint snarked.

“Well you won’t be getting any from me if you’re gonna be an idiot,” Natasha said.  “Might as well see who else is offering.”

“Nat…” Clint whined.

You relaxed back in your jump seat while they argued in that loving way people who were completely comfortable with each other do, glad that for once your libido and need for complete honesty hadn’t gotten you in trouble.  The last thing in the world you wanted was to piss off any of the avengers because you weren’t thinking with your brain.

“It's gonna be a bit of a flight, so just relax and get some sleep if you can,” Natasha called back to you.

You already knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep.  You were running on pure adrenaline now and the jump seat was far from cozy.  You did close your eyes and listen to the engine as Natasha guided the jet back to New York.  Things were about to change for you, you knew that.  Even if the Avengers deemed your powers to be useless to them, things weren’t going to be the same now.  You couldn’t go through life after seeing the end of the world come so close and pretend like you weren’t gifted with something special.  You had to find some way to use it.

By the time the Quinjet touched down at the Avengers Compound you had been up for well over a full day and you were exhausted.  It was that level of exhaustion that went right to the bone.  Each turn of your head caused your vision to go blurry as your brain tried to catch up with what it was processing.  Each time you spoke you found it difficult to modulate your voice.  You were also hyper-aware that you probably smelled terrible too.  You’d been wearing the same clothes since you got up the day before and since you’d put them on you’d been running around the city and you’d had sex in a public restroom at a bar. The thought of any of the Avengers meeting you like this was quite frankly, mortifying.

You followed Natasha and Clint off the jet and they were greeted by Captain America and a tall, brunette woman wearing a grey pencil skirt and a black turtleneck. The exhaustion you felt made it really hard to process the fact that Captain Steve Rogers was less than a yard away from you.  Especially given your current state.  He was always going to remember that when he met you, you were the human embodiment of the living dead.  Smell and all.

“Welcome home,” Steve said.  “This must be the healer.”

“That’s right,” Clint said.

You introduced yourself to Steve and offered him your hand.

“Welcome to the facility.  This is Hill,” he said, indicating to the woman with him.

“Alright, you two go get some rest. We’ll debrief after you’ve slept,” Hill said, scratching something down onto the Stark Pad she was holding.

“See you then!  Totally gonna go and sleep right away, nothing else!”  Clint said, saluting.  Natasha stifled a laugh and the two of them headed off down the corridor.

Hill turned to you and continued tapping away on her tablet.  “You’ll have very limited access to the facility until you’ve been cleared by security.  I’m guessing you might need sleep?  A shower?”

“That would be fantastic,” you agreed.

“Follow me,” she said.  The two of you began to walk in the same direction as Clint and Natasha at a brisk pace.  “The compound is run by an artificial intelligence.  Her name is FRIDAY and she'll let you into the parts of the facility you are allowed in and keep you out of what you're not,” Hill explained as you walked.  “I appreciate that you have come here voluntarily to assist us, but we are still a private military installation, so security is important.  For now, you will be primarily restricted to your room, however, if you need any medical care I can take you to the medbay.”

“No.  I never need that,” you said.

“Oh, right,” Hill said, shaking her head.  “So used to the script.”

“Carry on,” you said with a soft laugh.

“I'm also giving you access to the smaller pool and gym,” Hill continued.  “It's the one used by the administration staff and generally fairly quiet.  Ask FRIDAY.  We would prefer that you go straight to the security clearance and debrief, but we understand after an event like you just experienced you may need to let out some stress.  For this reason, you can have access to any onsite psychiatric services.  We have many therapists on staff.  At some point you will need to speak to one but if you feel you need one sooner than later that can be arranged.”

“Oh… I'm… I think I can wait until after security clearance,” you said.

“If that changes just let FRIDAY know,” Hill replied.  The two of you rounded a corner and then she opened a door that led outside.  It was bright out and there were teams of people in sweats running in formation.

She led you down a path to a large white building with huge windows and an A on the side.  “That building is the main hub, that's where you'll go when you're ready to speak to us.  For now, we're just going to housing,” she continued as you made your way through the facility.  “Barton said you helped him in the field.”

“Yeah, he fell off a building,” you answered.  “I used my powers to heal him so he could get back.”

“That certainly sounds like Clint,” Hill said.  You thought she might have stifled a laugh, but you couldn’t be sure.  “You're okay with us running some tests?”

“Yes, of course,” you answered. “I wouldn't have come…”

“Great,” she said, cutting you off.  “Ideally the run down when you're ready will go, security clearance, debrief and interview, then we’ll run some tests.  But it's up to you how much you can handle.  It's a big adjustment coming here.  It can get a bit much for some people.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know if I'm feeling overwhelmed,” you said as a set of glass doors opened for you, letting you into the accommodation building.  “Getting close to that now.”

“Right, sorry, you must be tired,” Hill said.  “We’re nearly there.”

Your room was on the first floor and Hill opened the door to let you in.  It reminded you of a cheap hotel.  There was a full-sized bed, with gray linens, that offset the grey of the walls.  The walls were unadorned and the only other furniture in the room was a side table, desk, and dresser.

“The bathroom is in here,” Hill said, opening the bathroom door. “There are towels and toiletries.  We're not a hotel though so if there's anything missing or you need anything, and I do mean anything, let FRIDAY know.  She’ll place an order.  Inside the dresser is a Stark Pad.  You can use it to find out what the kitchen is making and have it sent up.  Make sure you eat.  You can also browse the internet.  Please do not post on social media about where you are until your security check.  We’ll know so don't think you can get it by us.  You haven't signed an NDA yet but you will and what you post about will be taken into account when we're deciding if we’ll actually recruit you.  When you're ready to have the security run let FRIDAY know and someone will come and collect you.  If you want to back out, we understand, just let her know that too and we’ll take you home.  Any questions?”

Your head was reeling from the amount of information just dropped on you along with your complete exhaustion.  “Uhh…” You said blinking slowly.

“Right, well if any come up…”

“Ask FRIDAY,” you finished.  “Got it.”

She smiled and closed the tablet.  “I'll leave you to it.  You’ll be fine, kid,” Hill said.  “Just get sleep, eat, and you’ll be part of the team in no time.”

“Thank you,” you said.  “I’ll do that.”

“I'll be seeing you,” she said and left you alone.  You peeled yourself out of the clothes you were wearing, collapsed onto the bed, and were asleep almost immediately.

// NEXT

[songtoyou]

Mr. Evans and the Congresswoman - Part 2

Paring: Chris Evans x Politician Reader

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,858

Warnings: Political topics such as Biden, Harris, our current White House occupant and the current administration. 

Description:  It is the week of the DNC and Chris is once again interviewing you for A Starting Point. 

A/N: The DNC inspired me to write a second part for this story.  This is pure fiction as I do not know what Chris believes when it comes to politics and policy issues. This is a complete work of fiction.

I do not permit my work to be to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Note: Updated for grammar and punctuation edits.

"Hi, Congresswoman Y/L/N?" Chris Evans asked with a smile.

He was once again interviewing you for ASP. This time it was during the week of the Democratic National Convention. Chris and Mark had already talked to other politicians such as Senator Cory Booker and Representatives Ro Khanna and Alma Adams. You were the last elected official he was slated to interview to wrap up the DNC week.

Truthfully, Chris was happy to get the chance to talk with you again. Your previous interview for ASP was such a hit that it garnered a lot of attention from fans and the media. However, it was not because you helped bring more legitimacy and attention for ASP, but instead, Chris found himself genuinely admiring you.

"Hi," you said to Chris, giving a small wave through the Zoom screen. "I told you to call me by my first name."

"I know, but I still want to show respect," Chris responded with a teasing smile. Was he mildly flirting with the congresswoman? Yes, but he had no shame in doing so. "How are you? You are looking well."

"I am doing well. Thank you. How about you?"

"Same. Just trying to stay sane through everything. I'm actually currently in London. Working on a project." Chris admitted.

"Uh oh. You better be staying safe and following the right procedures and protocols," you lightly reprimanded him.

"My fans ratted me out. They found where I was just by the hotel door. Can you believe that? That is some FBI-level investigating, right there. I'd be impressed if I weren't also terrified of the lengths some of these fans will go to scout my location," Chris ranted. He did not understand why he was sharing this with you, but a part of him felt comfortable doing so.

"That…is quite impressive, I must say. Creepy. Scary. But impressive. You need to learn how to put in a Zoom background. It would solve all of your problems," you suggested to him.

"I would, but I'm technology deficient. Maybe I should look up some Zoom tutorials on how to do it. Give it a try."

"There is no try…only do," you advised cheekily.

"Now you're quoting Yoda. A woman after my own heart," Chris replied. He knew he needed to refocus. "So, as you can tell, Mark won't be joining us for this interview. I'm going to hit record if that is okay?"

"Okay. I'm ready when you are," you said.

When the record notification appeared on screen, Chris introduced you and immediately went into the first question.

"How do you think the DNC is going so far, particularly how this year is more of a virtual setting rather than in-person due to COVID-19?"

"Despite not having the big in-person celebration/gathering, I think the virtual setting is working very well. Better than I expected, actually. It gives off a more inclusive and intimate vibe to the DNC that we haven't felt before. I like the whole documentary approach and feel to it," you replied honestly.

"Were you excited that Joe Biden chose Senator Kamala Harris as his running mate?" asked Chris.

"Oh my God! I was so happy that Vice President Biden chose Senator Harris as his running mate. Like, my staff and I were beyond ecstatic. There is no one better to be Biden's running mate than Harris. She is amazing. Such an inspiration. I'm not going to lie, but I'm really excited for the debate between her and Pence."

That made Chris laugh. "Yeah, me too. Senator Harris really knows how to pull all the punches. Her nomination as VP has been met with overall positive response. The Trump Administration and Republican pundits appear to have a hard time painting a negative image of Harris. Why do you think Trump and Fox News are struggling to provide a negative image for her?"

"That is an excellent question. The public's overwhelming response to Harris' nomination is because 1.) she is the first black and south Asian woman to be on a major presidential ticket, and 2.) she is likable and charming. She has this exuberant energy that attracts people to her. You know, black and brown women and girls finally have someone that looks like them running for the second-highest office in the land. That is huge!

"I also have to wonder if people have smartened up in the last four years and won't tolerate the…hypocrisy, sexism, and misogyny…in this case misogynoir that is thrown towards Senator Harris from the media, political pundits, social media bots, etc. So, what we are seeing with Trump and Fox News struggling to attack her is because…well…they just aren't smart. All we have seen from Trump in his attacks against her is that she was mean to Kavanaugh when questioning him during his nomination process. But none of what Trump says holds up because we all know that smart, confident women intimidate him," you finished off your point.

"There is also the left…or more of the progressive left who are unhappy with Biden choosing Harris," Chris spoke up and continued, "They say she is a cop and put people away for weed. That she took kids away from parents when the kid didn't show up for school. That Harris is too conservative. What do you say to that?"

"All of that is…you know…. Senator Harris one of the most policy progressive senators we have. Her voting record is more progressive than Bernie Sanders. All people have to do is research her time as a district attorney and Attorney General for California to find out what she actually did concerning policy. But as we both know, people nowadays don't know how to critically think, which scares me. Progressives need to look at the overall big picture. This election in November is crucial. We are in the fight for our democracy, for our country, and for our lives…literally."

"I talk with my brother, Scott, all the time about certain political issues," mentioned Chris. "He is a tad more progressive than I am. I can admit that I tend to be more centrist. The district you represent is a mix of blue and red areas; how do you balance opposing views from your constituents?" 

You took in a deep breath before you answered. That was a loaded question. Representing a district that was not solely red, or blue could be difficult from time to time. You wanted to be respectful of the different viewpoints from constituents, but maintaining a neutral balance was hard and frustrating at times. 

"The majority of Americans are centrist/moderates. You need a balance of both liberal and conservative policies. Bipartisanship is crucially important when developing and passing laws. We are currently seeing an overt of one-sidedness while sabotaging the other side, which is detrimental to our country's growth. It is important to reach across the aisle to talk with those who may have opposing views than you. At the end of the day, people just want to feel that their concerns are heard and valued. We all want to feel that way. So, as an elected official, I make sure to take the time to talk with those in rural areas, along with urban areas, about their issues and concerns," you shared.

"Do you ever get any pushback from Trump supporters in the red areas?" Chris inquired.

"Well, it is important to note that not all residents in rural areas are Trump supporters. They just tend to keep that to themselves. I have actually talked to Trump supporters in blue areas. We can never and should never assume that one area has this type of person and vice versa. I learned that the hard way when I was campaigning for city council early in my career," you revealed to Chris with a small chuckle. "But overall, my constituents will talk with me and have been respectful. Some of the concerns that have been shared with me do fall under the QAnon conspiracy theories, which do disturb me, I'll be honest. Um…when being confronted with someone who has that extreme of ideals, it is important to remain calm and not to come off combative. Meaning that I have to remind myself that I am not quite dealing with a rational person. The only thing that I can do is calmly talk to the person and respond back with facts. Either they listen or brush me off and call me a radical lefty."

"The majority of people are good, like you said," Chris reminded you.

"That's right. It's a good mantra to live by. I think the American people are tired and have been tired for the past four years with this Administration. We need a sense of normalcy and decency. Compassion and empathy, which were two of the big themes during the DNC. This week was a nice reminder that we, as a country, can have that again."

"I agree. Very well said. You always end on a positive. I appreciate that. Thank you, Congresswoman Y/L/N, for taking the time to talk with me. You always provide great insight into the world of politics and your experience as an elected official," said Chris and ended the recording. "That was really great, Y/N. I know Mark, and I really appreciate you taken the time to do these interviews for ASP," Chris added.

"Oh, it is no problem. Like I said before, I like what you both are doing with the site. Are you happy with how everything turned out?" you asked him.

"Yeah… it's…it took a while to just get the website up and running. I know there is still work that needs to be done. Some areas need to be fixed, but with a project like this, we can adjust. There is more room for improvement and growth," Chris communicated to you.

You nodded in agreement. "Politics is a whole different ballgame. Not many people are willing to venture into the field. It can cause a lot of annoyances and headaches. So, hats off to you, my friend," you said, giving Chris a salute.

"Thank you. Well, I better let you go. I know you must have a million things on your plate."

"Ah yes, I have to go and save the United States Postal Service from corruption. Talk to you later, Chris. Take care," you waved goodbye and signed off.

Chris had to admit, he was in awe of you. There was something about you that fascinated him. None of the elected officials he and Mark talked to for ASP had the liveliness you had. You were not jaded or defeated by the system, at least not yet, since you were still considered a junior member of congress. Chris hoped that the energy and enthusiasm you had for politics and helping people would not diminish. When his Uncle Mike was still a congressman, he shared with Chris that D.C. can cause a lot of strain on a person's values and beliefs. "I have seen too many of my colleagues succumb to the pressures of dirty politics," Uncle Mike once said.

Chris just hoped that you would not succumb to those pressures.

[jowritesthingss]

Un-Convention-al

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): Logince (Logic | Logan + Creativity | Roman)

Rating: Teen (for swearing and Remus being Remus)

Content Warning(s): some swearing, a couple of typical Remus-like comments (nothing too bad here tho), food

Length: 3,679 words

Brief Summary: Soulmate September, day one! While at a convention, Roman ponders his rather unconventional soulmark. And maybe, just maybe...he might find the person whose name is encoded onto his arm.

TS Masterlist + AO3 Links

*

“Heyy, Spock!”

Roman rolled his eyes as his brother raced over to a black-haired, pointy-eared cosplayer. This had to be the stupidest thing he had ever done, and this wasn’t the first time Remus had dragged him into weird shit, so that was really saying something.

Watching as Remus spoke excitedly with the dude, Roman couldn’t help but wonder why he had allowed his brother to drag him to one of his nerd convention thingies. The only acceptable thing about this was that this Captain James T. Kirk character was obviously exactly like him, so even if he was acting as some geeky TV show character, at least it was a valorous protagonist, he supposed.

Roman tapped his foot impatiently, looking around the hotel lobby at all of the booths advertising anime and mango and cartoons and whatnot. Yeah, yeah, he was supposed to be supportive of his brother and whatnot after everything, but couldn’t he have held off the supporting thing until tomorrow, at least? Roman could’ve—should’ve—been across town, meeting that famous soulmate linguist guy that was in town, but nooo.

Remus snagged the cosplayer by the wrist and dragged him over, grinning madly underneath his facial prosthetics. Which, of course Remus had to choose one of the weird characters to cosplay—what was his name? Wolf? Wharf? “You two match! We gotta get a picture!”

“Very well.” Sighing and rolling his eyes, Roman acquiesced, moving over to the poor kid. He slung one terra-cotta arm around the kid’s shoulder, striking up a pose. Best to let Remus have and do what he wanted without fighting too too much; then maybe he’d get tired sooner and they could leave sooner.

Remus backed up, bringing out his phone to take the picture. “All right, say tribble!” Remus called to them.”

“Say what?” Roman puzzled, while the cosplayer said, “That is highly nonsensical and—”

The flash of the camera interrupted them both.

“Fuck yeah,” Remus enthused. He looked appraisingly between Roman and the other cosplayer, and nope, Roman did not like that look one bit. Remus always got that look when he was up to no good. “Say, Spocksie,” he drawled, “if you’re not meeting up with anyone, wanna hang with us today?”

“I could’t possibly intrude in such a manner,” Spock tried to politely decline, weakly attempting to disentangle himself from Roman.

Wait but no, that was actually a good idea for once. If this guy stuck around with them, Roman wouldn’t have to deal with Remus on his own. He could share in the shame.

“Oh, but I insist!” Roman said quickly, tightening his hold ever so slightly. He winked, hoping his stunning self could win over the nerd. “As your captain, I command you,” he joked. Wait, uh. Kirk was Spock’s captain, right? Gosh, there were too many Star Trek series to keep track of. How did Remus do it?

“I...very well, if you insist,” the cosplayer said carefully. “If you truly do not mind.”

“Of course we don’t mind!” Roman let go of the guy to splay a hand across his yellow-clad chest. “I’m sure you’ll love the chance to bask in my glorious presence.”

Spock turned to look at Remus, who was practically vibrating with energy. “Tell, me, is he in character or is he always like this?” He raised an eyebrow. “I do not recall Captain Kirk being so...self-absorbed.”

Roman squawked as beside him Remus howled with laughter, and maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

---

To retaliate for the whole “self-absorbed” comment, Roman sentenced the Spock cosplayer to sitting in a panel for an hour with Remus, while Roman aimlessly played on his phone outside the auditorium, thankful that they only had two tickets and that the rest of the tickets had sold out before they got there.

Judging from the smile on the kid’s face as he and Remus walked out of the door, debating amongst each other, he realized that sitting in a stuffy, crowded fandom panel was probably paradise for a nerd, not a punishment. Ah, well. At least he’d had time to try looking up some new online translators, even if he’d had no luck actually translating what he’d been trying to translate for five years now.

As he stood to meet the two, Roman’s right hand slipped over to his left wrist, where it slipped under the sleeve of his sleeved yellow command shirt and unconsciously began rubbing at the characters tattooed across his skin.

Soulmates were something that everyone had, and without fail, the name of your soulmate appeared on your wrist at thirteen, so there was nothing to be confused about there. And there were so many different languages and writing systems out there that having a name written in a different language or in different characters wasn’t out-of-the-ordinary, either.

What was out-of-the-ordinary, however, was that nobody could decipher the characters written across Roman’s arm.

Five years since he turned thirteen, five years since those weird-looking letters appeared on his wrist—five years of family and friends and schoolmates and teachers and even linguists gaping at them, five years of not being able to figure out what they said, what name and secret they held.

And who knows? Maybe if Roman had gone to meet that linguist instead, today could’ve been the day he finally figured it out.

But no, that wasn’t Remus’ fault. Remus had planned on this con for over a year now. He couldn’t take his frustration out on Remus.

“Did you have fun, nerds?” he asked as he strode up to them.

“I got to ask about pon farr.” Remus grinned leeringly, and Roman wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about, but he was fairly certain that he didn’t want to know. “And Spocky-wocky here totally nerded out about Klingon.”

“Oh. Uh. Excellent,” Roman said jerkily. Did he want to know what that was, either?

His grumbling stomach made the decision that no, he most decidedly did not. At least, not for the moment.

“Why don’t we find something to eat?” Roman asked the two. “I don’t know about you two, but I myself am famished.”

Remus immediately turned and flounced away from the two of them. “Sounds dee-lightful to me, broski. I saw this stand selling astronaut food!”

Roman and the cosplayer—Roman really would have to ask his name at some point, he couldn’t just keep calling them “Spock”—hurried after Remus, and soon enough, the three were eating (more like gagging on) freeze-dried ice cream, animatedly discussing Kirk and some gal Uhura who apparently had been part of the first interracial kiss on television (“Could be gayer,” Roman said. “Could be gayer,” Remus agreed, staring mournfully at the empty packet in his hand. He had been the only one to actually enjoy the space food.)

The conversation had moved to Kirk and Spock, Remus adamantly insisting that the two had been more than friends and coworkers. He and the Spock cosplayer had a rather lively debate over it—none of which Roman understood in the slightest, so he let himself get distracted. He couldn’t help but wonder what the cosplayer would look like beneath the cosplay. The guy’s bright eyes were mighty pretty while he argued with Remus.

Mid-sentence, Remus’ eyes drifted over to Roman, and he looked away, hoping his staring hadn’t been caught. He wasn’t one to look at people that weren’t his soulmate—all the same, when you didn’t know what your soulmate’s name was, it was quite hard not to. If Remus got any ideas, though, Roman was doomed.

Sure enough, That Look appeared in Remus’ mischievous brown eyes, and he abruptly interrupted the debate to announce that he was going to go buy some more food, racing off before either Roman or the Spock cosplayer could respond.

Roman and the cosplayer instinctively turned to exchange a glance with each other, then Roman quickly looked away, flushing. Now he’d realized that the dude was kinda attractive for a nerd, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Great.

“So,” Roman said awkwardly in an attempt to break the awkward silence between the two. He fought the urge to run a hand through his hair, reminding him that Remus’ soulmate would murder him if he messed up the borrowed blond wig.

“So,” the Spock agreed. He paused before continuing, glancing between Roman and Remus. “The two of you are...friends? Boyfriends?”

“Ew. Oh, god, no.” Roman gagged. “Ew ew ew.” He looked across the floor at his brother, standing in line to buy some odd foreign candy or something. “He’s my brother.”

Spock nodded sagely, staring as Remus paid for a handful of...something. “Your brother?”

Roman watched Remus shove the entire handful of candy in his mouth, gagging. “...He’s adopted.”

Roman caught Remus’ eye from across the room, and Remus grinned at him, his deep brown cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as chunks of something slipped out of his mouth.

“Very adopted,” Roman emphasized.

The cosplayer let out a light chuckle, and oh, that was a nice sound. “You’re clearly out of your depth here. You are a good brother for indulging him in this.”

“I...suppose,” Roman said slowly, tamping down on the sudden rush of guilt over having wanted so badly to leave the convention. “So, do you have any siblings?”

The Spock nodded. “I have a younger brother of my own. Unfortunately, he lives across the country with our mother, so he could not come today.”

“Oh.” Roman blinked. Oh, shit. Had he just brought up a sore subject? Shit. “I’m sorry.”

“It is quite all right,” the cosplayer said mildly. “When we graduate, we have plans to attend the same university, and we see each other enough on holidays.”

“That’s good! That’s good,” Roman said. Oh, by Zeus’ thunderbolt, why were his attempts at maintaining conversation so miserable today? Usually he was so good at this.

Across the floor, Remus seemed quite content eating on his own, not coming back to the two of them standing so awkwardly together. He couldn’t rely on Remus to figure out some dorky topic to talk about.

Finally, grasping at straws, Roman lowered himself to asking about nerdstuffs. “So what was that thing Remus you were talking about during the panel? Cling wrap?”

The cosplayer looked mildly affronted, and dammit, if Roman fucked up again—

“Are you referring to Klingon?” he asked, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“Yeah! That!” Roman rushed out. “What’s that?”

The Spock gazed at him in wonderment. “You truly know nothing about Star Trek, do you.”

Roman shrugged helplessly.

“Klingon is a species of alien, alongside a language,” the cosplayer said, moving his hand up to his face and jerking it away at the last second. “Apologies, I forgot that I was wearing contacts for this cosplay.” He cleared his throat. “Your brother is cosplaying as one of the few Klingon characters, Worf. The Klingons are portrayed largely as bloodthirsty antagonists throughout the series.”

“Ah.” So that was why Remus had chosen to be one of them.

“Personally, I myself am more fascinated in their language than I am anything else,” the Spock explained. “They actually hired a linguist to create an entire language and alphabet for the series. Klingon is one of the most widely-spoken fictitious languages.”

Wait. Roman frowned, confused. “People speak fictitious languages?”

“Well, yes, of course,” the cosplayer said evenly. “All language is made-up, and besides, it is logical that dedicated fans would pick up some throughout the television shows. I myself speak a bit.”

Roman snorted. “What do ya know.” Maybe that’s something he would have to add on his list of language to look up—he had almost exhausted dead languages and alphabets, might as well see if his stupid soulmark matched a fake language. It wasn’t like it could hurt anything; he wasn’t going to find them regardless.

“Aw, you’re not making out?” Remus was back, standing in front of them once more.

“I—no, of course not!” Roman blustered.

“Why ever would you think—” the cosplayer stammered at the same time.

Remus grinned widely at them, flashing a pearly white, seemingly threatening smile.

“Wow! Would you look at the time!” Roman exclaimed loudly, not looking at all at the time. “Why don’t we go and look at some of the booths and tables, Commander Spock!” He grabbed the other cosplayer’s hand and rushed the two of them away as a snickering Remus followed from a distance.

As the trio navigated the crowds of people and tables of merch, Roman ignored the fluttery feeling in his stomach and the childish glee over how the cosplayer had yet to pull his hand out of Roman’s.

---

Before Roman knew it, the end of the day had reached them, and they were ushered out alongside other convention-goers. The rest of the day had passed much more quickly than he had expected, with someone else to share his grief over Remus being Remus, and good hour or two he had completely forgotten why he’d been sulking about going in the first place.

Roman, Remus, and the cosplayer that Roman still hadn’t gotten the name of lingered on the sidewalk outside of the Marriott. There was no real reason for them to stay, but despite the Spock cosplayer’s nerdiness, Roman had discovered a shared interest in Broadway and analyzing Disney, and he almost wanted to ask for the guy’s number, awkward and embarrassing as it was.

But Remus thankfully beat him to the punch. “Say, Jabberspocky, can I get your number? My brother over there is too boring, so he never likes to talk about nerd things. I could use more cute geeks in my life!”

The Spock nodded. “That would be amenable,” he agreed. “It has been most invigorating to discuss the intricacies of the Star Trek universe with you.” The cosplayer swung around to look at Roman, looking almost...nervous? “Would you like to exchange numbers as well? You are a worthy debate opponent when it comes to Disney media.”

“Oh.” That was a compliment, right? Well, Roman was taking it as a compliment. He preened. “Of course! It would be an honor! ...For you, of course.” He grinned jokingly.

The cosplayer rolled his eyes good-naturedly, fishing his phone out of his back pocket, unlocking it, and handing it to Roman. “If you wouldn’t mind filling out your contact information, please.”

“Most certainly!” Roman pulled out his own phone and tossed it at the Spock cosplayer, who just barely caught it with his fingertips. Aw, cute, the nerd was clumsy. He focused in on the phone in his hands, typing in his name and his phone number. “There we go.”

When the cosplayer took his phone back, he glimpsed briefly at their contacts in his phone, then glanced away.

He froze.

Baffled, Roman watched as the cosplayer’s wide eyes retrained themselves down on the cell phone screen.

“Is...is everything all right?” Roman asked, feeling a spark of worry. Did they somehow know each other from elsewhere? Had he or Remus done or said something in the past?

“Oh, my,” the cosplayer said in a slightly-strangled voice. “We...I never asked what your names are, did I?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Roman mock-bowed. “Roman Sanders, at your service.” He gestured over at his brother, grinning. “And that oaf is Remus.”

“Oh, my,” the cosplayer repeated, breathless. He looked almost anxiously up at Roman. “My name is Logan Lehrer.”

Roman smiled reassuringly. “A most lovely name!”

“Is it....” The Spock cosplayer—no, Logan—hesitated. “Is it, by any chance, a familiar name?”

Furrowing his brow slightly, Roman pondered it. “...I don’t believe so,” he said at long last. “Why? Do we know each other from elementary school, or middle school, perhaps?”

“No, I just—” Logan sucked in a breath. He fiddled with the hem of his blue science shirt. “May I—” he said haltingly. “May I see your wrist?”

“My wrist?” Roman tilted his head, bewildered. He held out his right wrist. “Why?”

“No, no, I mean your—here.” Logan reached out a shaky hand, gently grasping at Roman’s left wrist. And—oh.

Oh.

Roman held his breath as Logan slowly tugged back his sleeve. There was no way—was there? Or...maybe?

Logan stared at the white symbols etched across Roman’s tannish brown skin. The five symbols, Roman now realized. Five symbols, five letters...just like Logan’s name, maybe?

Then Logan began to laugh.

Roman blinked. He had only known the guy for, like, six hours, max, but the quiet, reserved nerd he had seen so far did not seem like the type to burst into mad fits of laughter.

“Are—are you all right?” Roman asked, totally lost. What was happening here?”

“Oh my—” Logan wheezed, and Roman now was genuinely concerned. Should he call an ambulance? Should he go back inside and find the medics they had at the event?

“Whatever is going on that’s so funny?” Roman questioned.

Trying and failing to speak through the chuckles running through his body, Logan rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and practically shoved his wrist in Roman’s face, still trembling from laughter and nearly whacking him in the face.

“Oi—” Roman prepared to snap, mildly offended, but the name written across Logan’s wrist caught the words in his throat.

Roman.

Sweet Sif, Roman was Logan’s soulmate. That meant—

That meant Logan was Roman’s soulmate. That mean that, whatever language it was written in, Logan’s name was written on his arm. Logan’s. Logan.

“It’s,” Logan wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye, straightening up and slowly composing himself again. “Th-that is my name on your wrist, Roman.”

“It is?” he heard himself say dumbly, as if from a distance away, still not sure that this was really happening.

“It is,” Logan confirmed. He carefully lifted Roman’s wrist to his face and traced the characters with a thin fingertip.

Roman bit back a whimper. Oh, god, he never wanted Logan to stop touching him. Hell if that sounded inappropriate.

“This is my name,” Logan said, struggling to maintain a straight face, “in Klingon.”

Roman was silent for a good minute, processing this information, until finally he realized, “Wait, Klingon? Like, that made-up alien nerd language?”

Logan’s cool facade cracked, and he grinned down at Roman’s wrist, cheeks a rosy red. “Indeed, it is ‘that made-up alien nerd language’ Klingon.”

“Why the hell...?” Roman wondered, bemused.

“I am afraid that I have no idea,” Logan informed him, still scrutinizing Roman’s wrist. “There have been records of soulmate names being written in Ancient Greek and the like before, but I don’t think anyone has recorded any in Klingon before.”

Roman could have puzzled over this for ages more, but as it finally occurred to him, this was his soulmate standing in front of him. Shouldn’t he do something about that?

Wriggling his left wrist out of Logan’s loose grasp, he cupped the other teen’s face gently in his hands. Logan’s pale whitish green makeup was coming off in his hands, and the two of them no doubt looked ridiculous from an outsider’s perspective, but he found that it didn’t matter to him in the moment.

“I must say,” Roman said quietly. “While unexpected, this is most certainly not an unwelcome development.” A suave grin danced its way across his face. “I’ve been eyeing you all day, cutie.”

Logan’s breath puffed out softly against Roman’s face. “I....” The loquacious cosplayer seemed lost for words again as he pressed closer. “I—”

“Oh, go get a room already!” a warbly voice interrupted them.

Roman and Logan sprang apart, their cheeks heating up equally in embarrassment.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Remus grumped. “I’m still here.” After a moment, though, he brightened. “Oh, wait! This means you two can go on double dates with me and Janus and we can make out and embarrass you!”

“Please, do not,” Roman groaned, He reached out for Logan once more, reveling in the tiny squeak he let out, and he buried his face in Logan’s hair. “You ruin everything, asshole.” It was a playful jab, though; without Remus there to drag him to the convention, he might not have ever even met Logan.

So it had been a good thing after all that Roman had gone with Remus to this geeky convention thing, instead of to hear that linguist’s lecture. All the linguists in the world couldn’t have helped him beyond deciphering the words on his wrist. All the linguists in the world couldn’t have quite literally grabbed his soulmate by the arm and dragged him over, like Remus did.

“Thank god!” Remus realized, gleeful. “This means you’ll finally stop complaining about being lonely forever!”

“We’re soulmates,” Logan realized, sluggish. “We—I have your name on my wrist. You have my name on your wrist.”

“Oh my god,” Roman realized, dismayed. “This means I have a nerd language stuck on my arm for the rest of my life!”

Although, if it meant being with Logan for the rest of his life...perhaps a permanent nerd tattoo was a small price to pay.

Roman untangled himself from Logan and pulled away, biting back a grin when Logan instinctively chased after him. “Wanna come get milkshakes with us?”

“That would be satisfactory.” Logan nodded his assent. “However, we might want to take off our cosplays first.”

“Nah,” Roman dismissed. As a theatre kid he’d been to plenty of Steak ’n Shakes in full stage makeup, and he was pretty sure all the local Cookouts knew his order by heart at this point. “That’s part of the fun!”

Roman reached out and grasped Logan’s hand in his own, pulling him with as Remus began honest-to-god skipping to the car. The three broke into easy banter about the best milkshake flavors, and this time Roman couldn’t hold back the grin as Logan passionately decried the practice of dipping fries in shakes.

A small price to pay, indeed.

Fin

Day 1 || Day 2

*

Day one of @tsshipmonth2020​ ’s Soulmate September! I’m almost an hour late in my time zone, but hey! It’s still September first in Alaska, so this totally counts as on time! ...Right?

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

[xparadisexlostx]

So this is a little drabble in my verse with @stcriestcld. We never did really talk too much about how Beck got to SHIELD. There’s some dialogue in here I am not in love with because I tried to cut some length down. I might go back in an tweak it.

For some back story Beck works with a group who helped save her from her brother/mother (verse dependent). They masquerade as nuns under the name The Sisters of  Holy St. Marciana of Mauretania but another common name is The Sisters of Emily, which pertains to their founder as well as some of their coded language. They operate out of several “churches” as well as a convent that is a front for their headquarters. This is just a glimpse into how Beck interacts with them that I thought was fun to write out. Plus it helps me get my mind around how Beck came to work for SHIELD despite zero qualifiers. 

Exchanging favors for favors was always messy. Beck had known that from the time she was small. Witch’s deals weren’t unheard of in the magical community, but it would be a stretch to call them common. Her people didn’t tend to enjoy being held to anything--not laws or contracts--but Beck had always found that in a tight spot a clever witch could twist her words and strike a deal that wouldn’t turn around to bite her in the ass. In hindsight she should have realized that her silver tongue was bound to turn to lead at least once or twice.

When she’d picked up the drop she figured it would be the same as any other job: meet the client, make a plan, execute, and run. She’d done it dozens of times. Almost all of them, apart from the occasional retrieval of a magical artifact, were domestic violence cases. The wife of some asshole cop that no one was ever going to hold accountable for his violence, the queer kid being beaten down by their devout and religious parents, the foster teen tired of being abused in the home that was supposed to provide them refuge. The Sisters, and Beck in particular, were very good at helping people who wanted to disappear do just that. Beck agreed not because of a contract or any kind of payment, but because she’d been those kids. The difficult child with the saintly, blameless parent. That’s what most people had seen… but only because they didn’t want to see the truth. If she could help anyone trapped like she had been, she was happy to do it. After all, if it weren’t for the Sisters, her mother would have likely killed her years ago.

Beck pulled open the enormous oak door to the convent chapel and entered silently. Wood pews without cushions lined the barren stone walls up to the front, where people knelt with clasped hands murmuring softly. Wayward souls seeking the kind of religious guidance that places like this were meant to offer. They didn’t know---couldn’t know---what this place actually was.

She stepped out of the way as a small party of nuns walked two-by-two down the aisle in perfect sync. They positioned themselves in front of the wooden altar, fanning out so that there were six on either side of the entrance to the dias. A clock chimed in the distance, low and solemn, the bell sounding three times in total before beginning to echo off into the early night air. By the time the ringing had left her ears, the room was in total silence, and without looking at one another, the nuns began a slow, harmonious chorus in a language Beck didn’t understand.

Once the song began, she knew she was free to wander back into the aisle. She kept her head down, her hands clasped in front of her, and cautiously approached the left side of the chapel where dozens of flickering candles lined the wall. There the abbess stood, rosary wrapped around her aged fingers as they pressed together in prayer. Her eyes were closed, and Beck didn’t want to startle her. The witch lit a candle, mimicked the sign of the cross she saw them make a thousand times, and knelt at the altar beside the feet of the abbess in waiting.

It felt like she knelt there for an hour, struggling to sit still and quiet. Finally the singing stopped, and a gentle hand reached down and squeezed her shoulder.

“What can I do for you, child?” The abbess asked, and even in the silence, Beck scarcely heard her.

“Revered mother, I have come in search of a miracle.” She didn’t look up. Staring into the flames, she summoned tears to her eyes. 

The abbess hummed. “What would you ask of our Blessed Mother?”

Beck didn’t particularly enjoy the song and dance, but she knew the script well. “God’s eyes are so much greater than my own. My sister has gone missing, but I know none of us can stray from the Lord’s gaze. Can he see her? Can he see my sister, Emily?”

The hand on her shoulder squeezed, and raised her head to look into the knowing grey eyes of the abbess.

“Dear child, you must be so tired. Come, we will pray together.” 

Beck accepted the hand up and let the woman lead her out into the halls. There was a gate that separated the private quarters from the public area of the abbey, and she unlocked it with a skeleton key that looked older than the abbess herself. The metal groaned as the gate swung open, and Beck followed closely behind as they crossed the threshold and into the old stone corridors. They were dark, only lit by an occasional lantern hung from an iron hook.

When they came to a room near the end of the hall, the abbess opened the door and led her inside. 

Beck waited until the door shut behind them to speak. “Out of all the people to contact me, I didn’t think it’d be you.”

She could hear the older woman shuffle through the darkness fearlessly, and then the sound of a match being struck, before a vibrant flicker of firelight came to life at the end of the little wooden stick. Abbess Fina transferred the flame to a candle and took a seat at a little wooden table. She unraveled her rosary and pulled off a bead, which she rolled between her fingers until it began to glow. It clicked quietly against the wood of the table, and streams of light shot up into the air, creating a picture.

“New target?” Beck tried not to be irritated by how cagy Fina was being and how long this whole thing was taking. It was why she rarely took jobs directly from headquarters. 

The man in the shimmering picture was pale. His eyes were brown, similar in shade to his hair, from what she could tell, which appeared to have been disappearing for some time. His expression was deathly serious, and it looked like he was holding something. A file, maybe? She couldn’t be sure with the distortion. 

“Your new boss.” Abbess Fina said. She saw the way the younger witch’s jaw clenched and the dark shadow that passed through those blue eyes. “Eleven years ago my people brought you here to this abbey. We hid you for months while you recovered, and when we gave you the choice to run off into the darkness or stay in contact and help us on our mission, do you remember what you did?”

Beck pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I asked you to make a deal with me.”

“I tried to tell you no. Said I didn’t want to extort favors from you in the state you were in.”

“And I told you that you saved me, and if it ever came down to it I would return that favor… at any cost.” Beck didn’t like where this was going.

“Beck, I’m in trouble. We all are. Ever since New York was attacked the humans have been foaming at the bit, looking to punish anything or anyone they don’t understand because they never got to string up the idiot responsible for the whole mess.” Fina said. She looked older than Beck remembered, which was odd for a witch. Eleven years meant nothing to a skilled practitioner like Fina… but stress could kill anything, she supposed.

Beck fished in her pocket for her packet of cigarettes, her noise snarled up a little as she spoke. “Asgardians have been fucking things up since the vikings. Can I smoke in here?” 

A wave of the abbess’ hand and the little window over the barren cot on the far wall flew open. Beck extended the box to Fina first, and the old woman gladly took one and lit it off the candle on the table. Beck followed suit, looking back at the image the bead was still reflecting. 

“So what is this, exactly? And how do I fit into it?”

“The mortals have made up this---organization. They call it SHIELD. It---keeps track of us and-”

“No.” Beck said, her voice taking on an immediate edge.

“Listen to-”

“No.”

“Beck-”

“No!” She wasn’t one to yell, but the venom in that word made it echo around the room. Beck lowered her voice to a whisper again. “Are you out of your mind?! Out of all the witches on Earth you think it’s a good idea to feed me to these fucking wolves? Have you forgotten that my brother is still out there, half mad off sacrificial blood magic and looking for me? You saved me from him, and now you’re going to sell me out to a bunch of suits that will dig into my ugly past. He’ll find out. He’ll kill whoever he needs to, and he will drag me back to Cali and throw me in a hole so deep I’ll never get out.”

“Beck! Listen to me!” The abbess grabbed her hand and pressed it to the table. Her grey eyes blazed with intensity as they locked with Beck’s. “That is not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

“SHIELD’s director has made contact with a few of our agents. I wouldn’t call him pleasant to talk to, but he says he doesn’t want any trouble, and for the most part I believe him. He’s well aware that the---sensitivity of the mortals could result in another witch trials and if that happens it won’t just be you that has to fear the wrath of your brother. Or your ex, for that matter.”

Beck put her head in her hands and groaned. It was true. Fenris and Harper both wouldn’t hesitate to go to war with the humans if they started killing witches. The other clans would have no choice but to get involved. It would be a bloodbath---and one she doubted the mortals would win. Witches didn’t fight in mobs of mindless hordes, converging on a single city, fighting out in the open. Cities would burn with no indication of who started the fire. Crops would shrivel no matter how well tended. Assassins would carefully pick off anyone that mattered. Chaos would be carefully cultivated, and when people were at their weakest, then armies would rise. Their only hope would be Asgard stepping in, but they’d be breaching a treaty thousands of years old with the witches. Even if they were willing to do so, it’d likely be too late.

She had a very limited love for mortals, but she loathed war.

“So what does your new friend suggest to stop this impending chaos?”

“Our visions aren’t unaligned, Beck. Director Fury has agreed that it’s best the magical world stay in the shadows where it is. At first he asked us to submit all our agents to this index he has, but I refused. Instead, as a gesture of good faith, I agreed to send him a handful of agents to aid SHIELD in its different departments. No--wait. Before you get upset.” The abbess squeezed her hand, and Beck looked back at her. Concern was writing lines into her tired face. “I made my own witch’s deal. With him. That I would send him aid, send him some of my best people, but with my own files. The deal forbids him from digging any further. Even if he suspects the information on them is nothing but lies. In return for your help, SHIELD will pay you and help protect your identity as best they can. Just like with any other agent. I’m just asking for a couple of jobs, Beck. After that, consider our deal fulfilled. We’ll extract you, and you’ll be free to do as you please.”

“But they’ll have my face.” She said, still not convinced she wasn’t marching off to an early grave. 

“They can’t be any harder to shake than Fenris. And the deal explicitly states they aren’t allowed to track you or listen to you without consent. Please… I don’t have a lot of people I’d trust to be smart enough to swim with these sharks and walk out whole.”

“I want Boda to look at the file.”

Fina nodded. “Of course.���

This wasn’t going to end well for her. But she reached out her hand anyway, and Fina smiled as she shook it.

“Right then. So who is this guy?”

“His name is Harry Pearce. He’s in charge of the anti-terrorism department based out of London, England. He’s expecting you there in seventy-two hours.”

[patandpran]

Gone but not Goodbye

A Waykim ficlet because I can’t get over that season finale and needed some more resolution for them...

Summary: What if the Angel of Death gave Way the ability to see Kim as a gift for selflessly helping Pan get back to her body?

“…Way.”

Kim’s voice sounded from behind Way just as the coin flipped over onto Way’s palm. Way had never been a particularly religious person so he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him because he was not used to being in a Church.

“Way?”

Kim’s voice wasn’t much more than a whisper but it was more insistent this second time. It made Way’s heart ache immensely and he wondered why his consciousness was torturing him with a memory of how his name sounded in Kim’s mouth.

“Can you hear me?”

The voice now sounded like it was getting desperate and closer. The hair on the back of Way’s neck lifted as his body was sensing a presence before he was. But he knew there was no way that Kim could be behind him as he had just said his final goodbye to Kim’s body with his conversation with Pan. Way did not understand why he was being mocked by his own mind when the wound of Kim’s passing was so fresh. 

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Way spotted Kim slowly making his way in front of him. Way wondered if he had passed out from the grief and he was just having an incredibly vivid dream. The concerned look in Kim’s eyes made this all the more difficult to navigate.

Way forced his eyes closed, “You’re not real. Kim is gone. You’re not real.”

The mantra was repeated many times until there was a long enough span of silence that Way trusted he was once again alone in the Church. Whatever figment of his imagination had hopefully dissipated and yet, when he opened his eyes, there Kim stood looking as alive as ever.

“You can see me…” Kim murmured and it seemed like this was a new experience for him as well. “Don’t pretend you can’t. Please don’t ignore me. You can finally see and hear me. I’ve been trying to get through to you for so long…”

A swell of emotions took over Way and he turned away away from Kim, his head swimming with confusion. Way did not understand what was happening and it made the whole situation feel even more difficult to handle.

“Please.” Way was practically begging at this point. “I can’t… I just said goodbye to you… I can’t deal it all over again. I hurts too much.”

“Way. But that’s just it. We don’t have to say goodbye.”

Kim’s words sunk in but Way was not sure how to process them. What did this mean? Was the Angel of Death somehow going to bring Kim back to his body? But Pan said it was final… that Kim was gone and it wasn’t coming back…

“I know this isn’t what we wanted.” Kim murmured, disappointment clear in his own tone but then his voice lifted slightly. “But at least we get to be together in some way…even if there’s some restrictions on it. I can even come with you wherever you end up choosing!”

“Wait.” Way slowly turned back to face Kim. “This means… you don’t have to pass over? You can just… stay with me?”

“If you want that.” Kim looked suddenly nervous as if he was worried Way was going to reject him. “I know I wanted you to move on but technically you still can. You can go on with your life but whenever you need some company, I will by right there.”

Kim was suddenly worried by the very closed look on Way’s face. He seemed to be in deep contemplation and the silence was killing Kim. It had been such a long time since he had been able to talk to Way properly and watching Pan parade around in Kim’s place had been torture for Kim, especially when Way started to recognize how he felt about his best friend.

“If it’s better or easier, though, I can go.” Kim started to back away and the edges of his being started to blur.

“No!” Way cried out in protest and Kim snapped back into full form. “Please don’t go. I just need some time to wrap my head around this… it’s obviously not going to be the same but… if you’re here and you can stay with me, that’s the best possible option until…”

“Until what?” Kim interrupted Way suddenly, adopting a very serious look on his face. “Don’t you even think about it, Way. I won’t let you cut your life short just so you can join me sooner. I will be beside you in whatever you do until fate tells us the time is right. You have to promise me that or I am leaving right now.”

Way sighed dejectedly. “…Okay. Having you around, even like this, will be enough… Wait, you said earlier, ‘I know you can see me’…. Have you always been here and I just couldn’t see or hear you?”

“I was always there.” Kim’s cheeks burned slightly, realizing how strange it must sound for Way to hear that Kim had never left his side. “As soon as I was able to get away from Heaven, I found you. I have gone to see Khet and my family a few times but, otherwise, I was with you.”

“That’s more than a little embarrassing…” Way thought back over the past weeks since the accident and wondered if there had been anything suspect that Kim had to witness. “I didn’t know I had an audience!”

“Don’t worry. I gave you privacy when I thought you needed it.” Kim chuckled slightly, his gaze falling to the floor.

It was crazy to Way how quickly they were falling back into their old banter. It was as if Kim really had never left and now, thanks to some miracle, he would be able to live the rest of his days with Kim by his side.

“Will anyone else be able to see you?” Way wondered suddenly.

“Just you.” Kim explained and Way was surprised that there wasn’t disappointment in Kim’s voice based on this restriction. “If I ever need you to pass something along, I trust you’ll find a way to do that.”

“Of course.” Way promised and sat down on a pew. He was completely exhausted by Kim’s sudden appearance but the reality of their new arrangement settled him in a way that he had not felt in weeks. “I’m just glad I can see you again.”

“This doesn’t mean that you get to halt your life.” Kim expressed, an urgency to his voice. “I was serious about before. You have to make your own decision and make your own life. Just know that I will always be here to support you and cheer for you no matter what choice you end up making.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Way responded, a smile spreading across his face. “I am just happy that you are here…it doesn’t matter the context or how it works… you’re here and that’s enough. My life will continue, I swear.”

“…I meant what I said before.” Kim shared, looking nervous as he slowly approached Way. “I didn’t just say that because I thought it was our last chance to speak…”

Way got a mischievous look in his eyes and he feigned confusion, “What did you say before?”

“Way!!!” Kim whined before rolling his eyes at his best friend.

Way looked Kim in the eyes and sobered slightly, “I know you meant it and I will never get tired of hearing it…. Can you say it again?”

Kim chewed his lip slightly, a smattering of pink appearing across the bridge of his nose. Who knew ghosts could blush? Way was delighted at the discovery and couldn’t wait to continue to explore the confines of their relationship.

“I love you.”

The words were no more than a whisper but they inspired a wave of emotions to roll over Way. Even though he could not wrap his arms around Kim, at the very least he could still hear his calming voice saying the only words that could make up the for the fact that they no longer technically lived on the same plane.

“I love you too.” Way repeated his favourite words back to Kim.

This earned Way a smile from Kim. While the pain would always still linger between them as fate had stolen away their opportunity to truly be together, this was a fairly good consolation prize.

“I wonder…Why can I see you all of a sudden?” Way wondered, even though he did not necessarily need an answer.

“You helped Pan.” Kim explained as it made perfect sense. “Even though you wanted me back, you ultimately asked for me to help Pan and the Angel of Death rewarded your selflessness with the ability to see me.”

Way had never felt so thankful that he momentarily sacrificed his own wishes for the benefit of another. He had always been quite focused on himself but Kim had taught him to think beyond his own needs which is what had inspired him to take action to help Pan.

“I think that’s the kindest thing you’ve ever done.” Kim continued, looking at Way fondly.

“I learned from the best.” Way answered, not missing a beat and Kim’s cheeks warmed once again with a blush.

Way knew he would never be able to properly thank the Angel of Death for her generous gift. He knew that Kim and he would never have a conventional relationship but he was happy to defy convention for the sake of happiness and love. It seemed like a worthy sacrifice to make, especially since they had been given a second chance at it.

“I know you are gone, Kim.” Way expressed, staring at Kim and promising himself never to stop finding out new things about his gorgeous best friend. “But now, at least, we won’t ever have to say goodbye.”

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (8/10)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: Mature

a/n: as always, this is for @xemmaloveskillianx​ as part of my fic giveaway, and this chapter is also for @carpedzem​ because I accidentally made her think I’d written some more of Indirect Deposit yesterday 🙈

ao3: beginning | current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

-/-

“I am so bloody exhausted that nothing could keep me awake.”

“Have you tried caffeine?”

“Three cups of coffee.”

“Ah,” Ariel sighs, “you need a nap. If three cups of coffee aren’t working, you’re beyond the point of caffeine helping.”

“Can’t nap,” Killian yawns, his eyes watering. “I’ve got to study these laws for my practical tomorrow and then head over to Emma’s.”

Ariel clicks her tongue.

“What, A?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She pauses, and unlike Ariel, Killian holds his tongue. She’s obviously about to tease the hell out of him. He knows that without even having to see her face. “It’s just that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Emma lately, and you’re going over to her apartment for her birthday. That seems like kind of a big deal.”

“Aren’t you also going over to her apartment for her birthday?”

“I am.”

“Well, you don’t see me making it a thing with you going.”

“That’s because I don’t have a thing for Emma.”

“I do not have a thing for Emma.”

“I wish you could see my face right now. I’m majorly rolling my eyes.”

“I can imagine it. I’ve seen it enough times.” Killian sighs and leans back on the couch, closing his eyes and pinching his nose with his free hand. “Emma and I are friends, and she mentioned the thing tonight that Mary Margaret and Ruby are having at her place. I was supposed to take her out for dinner anyways, so this kills two birds with one stone.”

“Wow. You’re such a romantic,” she jokes. “You should take her out for dinner anyway. She’d love that.”

“I will see you tonight, love,” Killian tells her as another yawn takes over. “Try not to be an asshole while we’re there.”

“No promises. You should bring her flowers. I can ask Mary Margaret what her favorites are for you.”

Ariel hangs up before he can protest, and he’s left sitting in the silence of his apartment. Will is at the bar working a double today, and it’s quieter than usual without his nagging and curses under his breath about every little thing. Killian’s thirty years old. He really shouldn’t still be living with a roommate, especially when he can afford his own place, but living on his own has always been few and far between.

After Liam died, his apartment felt barren and like it could never be full again. Everything was full of Liam from the items in the fridge to the novels on the shelf. When Milah moved in shortly afterward, the place had been full of Milah and her clothes and the smell of her perfume on every pillow in the place. He thought maybe, just maybe, having her around more would make the emptiness better.  But then she’d left, and the only trace of her was the ring she left on the kitchen countertop.

Maybe he needs his own place where everything is his and his alone. That might be nice for a change.

Emma Swan: Did you know Boston is named after Boston, England? I feel like that’s a sign or something for you being here.

Killian snickers and drops his phone to his chest before picking it up.

Killian Jones: Why do you know that?

Emma Swan: I got a pamphlet listing fun facts about Boston with my lunch takeout.

Killian Jones: Fancy.

Emma Swan: I know. You still coming tonight?

Killian Jones: Aye.

Emma Swan: I’ll have to regale you with more facts about Boston.

Killian Jones: I look forward to it.

-/-

He brought her flowers like an idiot.

They’re lilies with a few other flowers and stems mixed in. Killian’s always enjoyed flowers, but he’s never taken the time to know anything more than the most basic of brands. He didn’t know what Emma liked, didn’t want to ask someone despite Ariel’s offer, but the damn thing was what put the idea in his head. Emma specifically said no gifts, but he showed up with a gift card to their smoothie place and flowers.

What the hell is this woman doing to him that he actually wants to do things like that again?

Possibly making him crazy while also driving him crazy with how she looks tonight.

Emma’s wearing a white sweater that dips down her back, showing the curve of her spine and the freckles on her back until it stops right over the curve off her ass that’s shown off by a pair of sinfully tight jeans. He’s not sure how the damn sweater is staying on or how she even managed to get those bloody jeans on. All he knows is she looks absolutely stunning, and if he stays in this apartment for much longer, he won’t be able to handle himself.

As if he’s fifteen and not thirty.

And there’s not a lot of places for him to look around. Emma lives in a studio apartment, and as spacious and open as it is, it is still one big room with what he assumes is a bathroom in the back.

What has he gotten himself into with this woman?

If he asks himself that question enough, maybe he’ll figure out an answer.

“If it isn’t the husband,” Ruby exclaims when she sees him, and Emma quickly turns around so he can see her face. It’s no less distracting than the view of her from behind. “Fancy you coming to your wife’s birthday party.”

“Is this going to be the joke we all make all night long?”

“You two got drunk and got married in Vegas. I have to make fun of it every single day. It’s the greatest thing.”

“For the record,” David starts, “I don’t think it’s the greatest thing.”

“David, right?”

“Yes.”

Killian sticks his hand out to shake David’s, but the man doesn’t take it. Instead he crosses his arms over his chest and stares Killian down. Well, this is certainly going great. His wife is obviously the nicer one.

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles, walking over toward them and slapping the back of David’s head, “don’t be a dumbass. I’m an adult, you’re not my guardian, and every person in this room knows my history with Killian. We fucked, we drunkenly got married, and now I kick his ass on our morning runs. Does anyone have anything else they’d like to say?”

“I mean, I’d say that we made love, not – ” Emma turns to slap him this time, and he deserves it. He was fully expecting her to do that. In response, he dips down and brushes his lips over her cheek. “Happy birthday, Swan.”

“Thank you, asshole.”

“The flowers are for you.”

She takes them out of his hand and examines them, a small smile still pressed to her lips. “They’re beautiful and definitely against the no gift policy.”

“Cut the man some slack,” Ruby huffs. “He’s just trying to woo his wife with flowers.”

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret interrupts, “do you not have any plates?”

“Of course I have plates. They’re…shit. I don’t have enough plates. Someone text Ariel and ask her to pick some up before she gets here.”

“How do you not have enough plates for eight people?”

“I live by myself and don’t have much company. I don’t need eight plates.”

“You knew we were coming over.”

“I was also told that you would take care of everything since I didn’t want to do anything big to celebrate.”

“And I am, but pregnancy brain is a very real thing.”

“Your wife is pregnant, mate?” Killian asks David, not wanting to intrude on Mary Margaret’s conversation with Emma. “Congratulations. That’s wonderful!”

David is still studying him, and Killian might as well have committed some unspeakable crime. Eventually, though, the corners of his lips turn up. It’s very obviously got little to do with Killian, though, and everything to do with his love for his wife. “Thank you. We’re excited.”

“Alright, lover boy,” Ruby sighs as she wraps her arm around his shoulder, “I’m going to save you from David. Mulan wants to talk to you about how you’ve been keeping Emma out of her gym.”

“I feel like that’s not a safer conversation.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not. You were not smart for showing up here.”

He’s definitely in over his depth when it comes to all of Emma’s friends, and while David should terrify him the most, he thinks Ruby might take that crown.

“I’m starting to pick up on that.”

His life gets significantly easier when Ariel and Eric show up, especially since they come with a small bag of paper plates so everyone can start eating, and with more people there, less attention is on him. He rarely shies away from it, can usually handle it, but he doesn’t know Emma’s friends enough to be truly comfortable with it all.

That is until everyone – except Mary Margaret of course – gets a drink or two into them and is full of lasagna and overly sweet cake. They all settle in Emma’s living room area, Ariel and Eric on two barstools from the kitchen, Ruby and Mulan sitting on the bed, Mary Margaret and David sharing an oversized chair, and he and Emma sitting on her couch. Emma’s got her feet curled underneath her and her head propped up in her hand. She looks relaxed, comfortable even, and it’s a wonderful thing to see after the last time he saw her.

They haven’t managed to go on their runs in the past week. He’s been too tired from training and she’s had shoots in New York and in Connecticut, and the last time he physically saw her he’d taken his teasing too far and tried to get her to share information she wasn’t ready to share. They seemed to have mended things over their texts, but he could never be sure until now.

Three months ago when he knocked on this front door and had it slammed in his face, he never could have imagined he’d be so willingly let inside.

That he’d be invited inside.

It’s easy to get swept up in the way that everyone here is comfortable with each other. Even with Ariel and Eric here, he’s the odd man out, but that doesn’t matter as he gets to hear stories of Emma and her adventures with tequila, a pair of heels that were one size too small, and she, Ruby, and Mary Margaret having to hide under a table in a bar from a man who was not too happy with Mary Margaret losing her dinner over his shoes.

“That doesn’t sound like you at all, Mary Margaret,” Ariel snickers.

Mary Margaret shrugs. “Give me some tequila, and you can see that side of me.”

“After the baby is born, we’re going out then.”

It’s fun and relaxing, and Killian likes learning more about this woman who slowly but surely is allowing him to know and understand her layers. He doesn’t know much about her past, but he knows how she is now: funny and graceful and fiercely protective of the people she loves.

As well as a badass runner who likes hazelnut in her coffee and smoothies and spends far too much time trying to decide what to watch on TV until she ends up not watching anything at all.

How did they get so lucky to have to work together at that convention? It could have been any two people who work in this insane industry, but all of the bumps and stops and goddamn roadblocks enabled him to meet her.

He’s so damn screwed when it comes to her.

Killian looks down to see Emma’s fingers ghosting over his wrist and moving up and down his forearm until she’s messing with the rolled up cuffs of his flannel shirt. He doesn’t even think she knows she’s doing it. She’s been slowly inching closer to him all night, and he can feel every single breath that he’s taking.

He’s got training in the morning, so while he’s only had two beers, he might as well be drunk on Emma.

And really, he should get up and leave. Everyone else has left, giving their excuses and saying their goodbyes over an hour ago, but he’s stayed and kept watching episode after episode of Friday Night Lights. Mary Margaret had put it on. It’s older, but it’s apparently what she’s been watching while working lately.

“I know I didn’t attend high school in America, but is this what it was like?”

“I was a foster kid. I didn’t exactly have the quintessential high school experience. I don’t know, maybe if you’re athletic and look like you’re thirty when you’re sixteen.”

“Those are actors, love.”

Emma scoffs and squeezes her nails into his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do. So this wasn’t what it was like for you?”

“No,” she laughs, shaking her head from side to side. “God no. I – ” She stops, turning to look at him, before looking away and moving her hand down his arm again. She’s going to mark him with her nails if she keeps this up. “It’s nothing.”

“What? You can tell me? You were secretly prom queen, weren’t you? Did you play a preppy sport? Or were you on the debate team? You’re damn good at arguing. I mean – ”

“I slept with an older guy who apparently had a thing for girls much too young for him and got arrested for his dumbass crimes that he fucking framed me for, so I didn’t get the high school experience like these obviously too old actors.”

Wait. Where the hell did that come from?

“Swan – ”

“I think it’s so ironic that one of the only jobs I’ve been able to get because of Neal is modeling wedding dresses. He made me not want to ever get married, and yet here I am having to pretend I believe in some kind of happily ever after. What if I’d wanted to go to college? What if I’d wanted to be a cop or a teacher or something? What if I didn’t have to check the box on job applications that says I’ve got a felony to my name? But it’s fine. It’s normal. It happened, and I don’t care.”

She likely doesn’t even hear how contradictory she’s being.

He’d like to punch that asshole and break his nose so badly it can never be repaired. Of all of the shitty things that have happened to him in his life, at least no one ever ruined his life for work. Any troubles he’s had have all been his own doing. He can be as fucked up as possible emotionally, but at least he can work wherever he wants.

At least he can follow his dreams.

At least he can be a regular human being without restrictions.

“What that bastard did to you isn’t normal, Emma.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it.”

Emma stands from the couch and walks to the other side of the room, arms crossed over her chest as her feet keep moving back and forth. He has a feeling she’s going to be like this all night. He may not have been in the foster system, but he had a rubbish father who left him after he’d had to move countries to be with him and a mum and brother who both died. Birthdays haven’t been happy days for a long time, and if Emma is anything like him, her emotions are running a little higher than they would normally be.

Birthdays aren’t truly the same when you haven’t lived your entire life having someone to celebrate them with.

The two large glasses of wine swirling around in Emma’s stomach likely won’t help. At least she hasn’t had any tequila.

“You know,” Killian starts, figuring he might as well just go for it. He’s nowhere near buzzed, alcohol not giving him any liquid courage, but Emma makes him want to let her know him. Something about her makes him want to share, and he’s never been able to pinpoint what it is. “I was with someone for a long time.”

She stops pacing and turns to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Aye. She was brilliant and beautiful, and without getting too much into it, I proposed to her. For months she wore the ring on her finger. She had been with me before Liam died and when Liam died, she was the only thing that kept me from…she kept me from lashing out at the world, and then one day she left the ring on the kitchen counter with a note telling me she was going back to her husband and her child. I didn’t know they existed, but looking back, I should have seen the signs. So, the not wanting to get married part, I get that.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“People are such assholes.”

“You’re speaking a lot of damn truths tonight.”

Emma huffs and then walks back toward him until she plops down onto the couch and shifts. “I’m sorry about your fiancée.”

“I’m sorry that bastard did what he did to you.”

“It’s okay.”

Killian knows that it’s not and that Emma knows it’s not, but if this is the way she wants to deal with things, he can’t change that. Just because he wants to channel his anger and his disappointment over life into some kind of action doesn’t mean Emma wants to. And the way that she’s biting her lip and tapping her leg makes him think maybe she doesn’t want to talk at all right now.

That’s fine. He can be the one to fill the silence, not that they really need that. So he tells her of his mum and her kindness and the way she would sing him lullabies even as he grew older. He tells her of his father and the way he left and how Liam was basically his father despite only being five years older than him. He tells her the simplified version of most everything, at least the big moments, but as easily as it was to fall into spilling his heart, it’s even easier to fall back into talking about the simple things: favorites movies and hobbies and telling stories about their friends or the weird things that have happened to them on the job. Neither of them have made their livings in a conventional way, and it will never not be nice to talk about how insane the industry could be.

“So what do you want to do, Swan? If you could do anything.”

It’s verging into dangerous territory, and he fully expects Emma to tell him to shove the leftover birthday cake he’s eating up his ass.

She shrugs. “That’s kind of a loaded question.”

“Try me.”

Emma hums as she scoops up a glob of yellow icing and licks her fork clean. Killian shifts to adjust his jeans. She’s eating cake. He should not in any way be thinking about how her lips wrap around the fork.

It’s two in the morning. His thoughts are not his own.

He’s really getting old if two in the morning feels this late to him, but it’s that time of the night where the world is muted in a way. Either every noise is cause for alarm or nothing quite seems real, a place between sleep and awake where there could be something new at every turn.

Where there could be a new set of green eyes that aren’t actually new and a silhouette he hasn’t yet learned to trace and where things might actually work out for him for once.

If only, if only.

“I don’t know,” Emma sighs after about a minute of silence. “Maybe I’d want to work with foster kids, tell them that it gets better even when it doesn’t. Maybe I’d like to be a cop like you or David or Graham. I always say I would never, but I think it could be interesting. Maybe I could do something a little less emotional and be a freaking party planner or be an Instagram Influencer and promote, like, charities instead of one-hundred-dollar lipstick. I don’t know. I don’t…I’ve never thought about it because nothing has ever felt like a possibility.”

“You know, some people will see how young you were on this record and see that it’s non-violent, and they will give you an opportunity because it’s been a decade. You could try to get your record expunged or even sealed since I’m assuming it’s not. And then when you decide that you want to quit modeling for every wedding dress designer and boutique in New England, you can find something else you love.”

“Can I be a professional birthday cake eater?”

Killian leans his head back with laughter. “I’ll look into that for you. I’m sure there’s something like that.”

“That would be the dream.” Emma huffs and turns her head to hide her smile. “Are you scared the same thing is going to happen to you? That happened to Liam?”

He swallows as his heart races that little bit quicker. He wasn’t expecting that. He’s never expected that despite thinking the question himself almost daily. “Aye. I know the risks. I know the possibility. But if there’s one thing you need to know about me, Swan, it’s that I’m a survivor.”

“Good.”

They both end up eating two more slices of cake, something he regrets no later than fifteen minutes after putting his plate down, but he soon forgets it all as they sleepily watch a movie, the flickering of the television lights now the only thing illuminating the room and casting Emma in a subtle glow. He should get up and go home. It wouldn’t take much, no longer than ten minutes, but with the heat of Emma’s body radiating toward him and little strands of her hair tickling his skin, he can’t find the motivation to be anywhere but here.

Bloody hell.

They’ve spent the night together once before, but he got up and left before she could wake up. That feels like a lifetime ago, and he doesn’t think he’d make the mistake of walking away again.

“Killian?”

“Yeah, love?”

Emma leans forward so he gets a glance of her bare back, her sweater having shifted even more. “Do you think you’d ever change your mind about not wanting to get married?”

Tonight is full of all of the questions, he guesses. All he hopes is that she doesn’t regret this in the morning.

“I imagine if I met the right person, maybe. I’ve never been completely opposed to marriage or falling in love again. I think, maybe, I simply needed reminding that I could.”

If he fell in love again.

If he trusted again.

If he felt the way he’s feeling right now where his stomach can’t seem to settle and his mind is pretty much the same.

She blinks at him, her mouth parted and the smallest bit of yellow icing on the corner of her lips. Without thinking, he reaches forward and thumbs it away as little sparks of electricity move from his fingertip up his arm and eventually down his spine, joining in on his unsettled stomach and the nerves that can’t seem to settle. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her. How many times has he thought that? Tonight and this week and over the past few months. The night they met they couldn’t keep their hands – or their mouths to be honest – off each other, but now, every touch burns him alive.

There’s so much at stake, so much to lose, and he never thought this woman would be anything more than one night.

He never thought she might be the one to remind him that not everything about love is terrible. He’s not there yet, but he could be.

It’s all in the possibility.

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, falling back to the couch so her shoulder hits his and the outside of her thigh brushes his thigh. He can feel the heat of her skin through his jeans even more now, and he’s thankful that she was the one to move first and stop their staring contest. “I guess I can understand that.”

-/-

There’s a bang of a door and Killian startles awake.

He blinks, looking around at the blurred furniture only to realize this is Emma’s apartment. Shit. He fell asleep.

Shit. He’s got to be at training in…he looks down at his phone on the coffee table.

Fuck.

He’s got to be at training for his exams in twenty minutes.

Quickly, he grabs his phone, sticking it in the pocket of his jeans, hitting there to make sure he has his wallet and his keys, and his mind is in such a panic that he doesn’t notice that Emma hasn’t moved from her spot by the door until he’s standing in front of her trying to walk out.

His breath has got to be horrible right now.

“Emma, sweetheart, I’ve got to – wait, what’s wrong?”

She blinks up at him, her green eyes bright even with the smudged and flecked mascara underneath her eyes, and he’s so entranced by her that all he wants, even now, is to lean down and softly brush her lips over and feel the gloriousness of her mouth once more. That feeling has only been in dreams for so long, but it was real once, even if the circumstances were different.

“N-nothing,” she stutters, backing up to the door. “It’s just that, um, I went and got my mail because I hadn’t in a few days, and our annulment papers came in. We’re officially no longer married.”

-/-

-/-

@xemmaloveskillianx​ @therealstartraveller776​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells  @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​

[hawkbucks]

Y’all like SteveTony? Good! So do I! Here are some of my absolute favorite fics ever written for the pairing. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do, and don’t forget to kudos and/or comment :D 

(There are so many soulmate fics here. So many.) 

All-Time Low by Sineala Rating: E Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 12060 Summary: Tony's lost his company to Obadiah Stane. He's lost it all: his money, his friends, his Avengers team... and his sobriety. Drunk, homeless, Tony is living on the streets, and when he runs out of liquor money, he sells the only thing he has left: his body. And one day, he has the exact wrong customer.

All That You Love, All That You Hate by laireshi  Rating: T Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 25106 Summary: Director Stark is happily married to Steve Rogers. They have no secrets from each other, and quite a lot from the world—mainly that Steve Rogers is really The Captain, an infamous villain.

Unfortunately, the truly important secrets rarely stay hidden, and when Steve's identity gets revealed, Tony will do anything to keep them both safe.

He's a hero, but it might mean crossing a line that a villain would never even approach.

Amor Fati by citsiurtlanu Rating: T Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 15712 Summary: Tony Stark has always known what the words on his wrist are supposed to lead to. What he's never known is who the words are for. 

Bereavement by nightwalker Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 3786 Summary: She sets her clipboard down on her lap and folds her hands over it. “I am very sorry for your loss, Agent Rogers.”   

colours by laireshi Rating: T Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 1330 Summary: Steve draws in charcoal, sometimes thinking of how it would be to see colours. Everyone’s heard the legends, myths, stories; every person who’s found their soulmate has exclaimed in wonder, looking around. But it’s not something that could be described.

He doesn't see it for himself, not until he meets Iron Man. 

Convention Exclusive by Sineala Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 5545 Summary: "I'm interested in commissioning a sketch," Iron Man said. He leaned forward, edging into Steve's personal space, splaying his gauntleted hands on the table. "I'd like you to draw me wearing only a tiny thong, with Captain America staring at my nearly-naked body in horror."

(Or: Steve Rogers, former artist for the Captain America comics, is signing autographs at a comics convention when he meets his biggest fan. Not an AU.)

Dispel by faite, laireshi  Rating: T Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 3918 Summary: Steve is hit with a love spell, but he doesn't want it undone: he loves Tony and he's never been happier.  

Follow in Your Footsteps by Sineala  Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 6788 Summary: When Tony is twelve, his soulmate's name appears on his wrist. Unfortunately, it's hard to find out anything at all about Steve Rogers.It turns out there's a reason for that. 

for none of them would save him by laireshi  Rating: T Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 3288 Summary: “I'm dead, in your timeline,” Tony said, not a question.

Steve shrugged, quiet and broken. “Everyone is.”

Hard Reset by Kiyaar Rating: T  Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 8798 Summary: “You used me,” Steve says, like he expected better.

“What are you going to do about it?” is all Tony ends up saying, pathetic and petulant and tired, though Steve has only ever recognized it as arrogance.

“Now?” Steve says, as if there will be a later. “Now, I’m going to beat you bloody.”

Hide Your Love Away by Sineala Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 33514 Summary: Tony has suspected for a long time that the soulmark on his chest matches Steve's -- but he's never told Steve about it. And then it's too late to tell Steve anything at all ever again. In the wake of Steve's death, the Skrull invasion, and Norman Osborn's rise to power, the identity of his soulmate is just one of the many things Tony cuts out of his memory forever.

When Tony returns to consciousness, he's forced to deal with the aftermath of a war he no longer remembers fighting, not to mention a Steve Rogers who can barely stand to be in the same room with him. Surely the last thing Tony could ever need in his life is more amnesia. But that's what he gets. And Tony's new missing memory just might be the key to finding out the truth of his soulmark... as well as his chance to make things right once and for all.

Nothing Pure Enough by Sineala Rating: M Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 2623 Summary: You shouldn't be able to develop a Hanahaki fixation on someone you've never met who's been dead for decades. But Tony has always been special.  

now that we have seen each other by Mizzy Rating: Gen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply  Word Count: 5235 Summary: Steve's crush on Iron Man seemed to him to be much more reasonable than his crush on Tony Stark. A meeting with some identical Avengers from another reality raises some important identity questions, though, and with their shattering revelations in tow, will Steve's heart survive this experience?

Secrets of a Successful Marriage by valtyr  Rating: M Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 24118 Summary: Tony Stark lives a double life; he's secretly the supervillain known as Iron Man. But his loving husband Steve has a few secrets of his own, as Tony is about to discover.  

Slipping off the Page into Your Hands by Sineala  Rating: M  Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply  Word Count: 68149 Summary: Soulmates have their first words to each other written on their wrists. This should make it easy. For Steve and Tony, it is anything but. Steve's problem is that the future he has awoken into is nothing he was ever expecting: he has a soulmate now. Who might be a robot. And if his soulmate is Iron Man, how can he be so attracted to Tony Stark? It should be impossible. Tony's problem is that he is Iron Man, his soulmate is a man whom he in no way deserves, and he is going to fight everything in his heart and do his best to make sure Steve never, ever finds out the whole truth.

The Truth of It Is by nightwalker Rating: Gen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 635 Summary: You can't lie to your soulmate, everyone knows that. Tony's always thought it was just hype until he tries to sass Steve and the words freeze in his throat.

Think of This as Solving Problems (That Should Never Have Occurred) by Sineala Rating: T  Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 35216  Summary: No one knows Tony is Iron Man. Then Tony gets amnesia, and literally no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

Fake It by laireshi Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 1159 Summary: “Is it true you and Captain America are dating?” the journalist asked.

Tony gave her his most charming smile. “Captain America likes to keep his life private,” he said. “But he knew who I was when he kissed me.” Another fake, wide smile. “We’re very happy.”

Veridicality by Sineala  Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 2480 Summary: When Steve is accidentally exposed to a truth serum, Tony learns that Steve has been keeping a lot of feelings hidden.

A Certain Affinity by miobambiino Rating: T Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 14956 Summary: "They were like that a lot nowadays, ever since they got back from their little kidnapping escapade. Sure, they’d been close before then - they all had - but now… it was different. They were close, close. Squishing up next to each other, whispering to one another, playing with each others hair, apparently.

Steve inwardly grimaced at himself. He was being bitter and petty, he knew that. But he couldn’t figure out why, though. His teammates were getting along, which is only a good thing. Especially considering how they started things off way back on the helicarrier. But since when were Tony and Nat this cosy?"

Aka Steve is jealous of Tony and Nat's friendship, gets the wrong idea, and requires a little help from Nat herself to get some well-needed perspective.

And Then There’s You by someonelsesheart  Rating: T Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 5933 Summary: And it’s funny that they’re like this, isn't it, because there's Tony, too-clever and too-fast, always having to be moving, selfish and desperate and cruel, and then there’s Steve with his kindness, his slow smile and his patience, selfless and calm and kind to everything and everyone. They’re fire and ice, good and bad, and somehow, somehow, it works.

Or, Steve Rogers teaches Tony Stark how to love, one year at a time.

Be No Stranger (All Your Saints and Soldiers Remix) by jibrailis Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 5973 Summary: That's the twenty-first century love song, baby. Glitz and glamour and every one of us is a liar.   

finding my way back to you by theappleppielifestyle Rating: Gen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 7266 Summary: Ten minutes after a botched attempt at proposing to Tony, Steve is thrown back in time.

Lost Together by FestiveFerret Rating: E Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 67977 Summary: Being trapped in a horrible world where some things are like home, and some things are terrifyingly not, is bad enough. But when it becomes clear that the people here come in pairs - and unpaired people are a threat - Steve and Tony are forced to pretend that they're a pair too, if they ever want to make it home alive.  

The Spaces (Silences) Between by missbecky Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 4159 Summary: A sudden accident leaves Tony unable to speak.

Thumb, Index, and Pinky Extended by Eudoxia  Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 4848 Summary: Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn't matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

A Thousand Kisses Deep by laireshi  Crossover Between: Earth-616 & Earth-1610 Rating: M Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply  Word Count: 3547 Summary: Steve doesn't seem too happy when Steve Rogers of Marvel Ultimate gets transported into their universe. He seems even less happy when Tony and the new Steve get closer to each other.

Imperfect Mirrors by Sineala Crossover Between: Earth-616 & Earth-199999 Rating: T Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 9181 Summary: Two months since Ultron. Two hours since the mindwipe. Things haven't been going well for Tony Stark lately, in two different universes. But they just might be able to help each other out.

Did I forget a link? Did I link to the wrong story? Any other mistakes? Message me and I’ll fix it ASAP! 

Please read all tags for the stories I have linked! 

Happy reading! 

[blancheludis]

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Bucky Barnes / Tony Stark Tags: Love, Friendship, Pure Fluff, Engagement Words: 3.065

Summary: When Tony picked up Bucky from the streets for a quick tryst, he did not think he would find the love of his life. Thankfully, Bucky is more than ready to deal with any doubts Tony has from time to time. (They are not quite as good at telling Steve that Tony is not paying him for sex. Not anymore, at least.) 

---

“And then Hammer had the gall to act like we were going to work on that together. Like, can you imagine?” Tony twists his torso around to look at Bucky, who has his arms crossed behind his head as he lies in bed, watching Tony with a private smile and not enough outrage. “As if I’d ever ruin my good reputation by even looking at the same project as Justin bloody Hammer.”

“You done yet?” Bucky asks, his voice a low rumble the way it sometimes gets at night.

He looks gorgeous, he always does. The blanket pools around his waist, leaving his upper body bare for Tony to drink in. The hard muscles lining his abdomen, the strands of hair sticking to his glistening neck, still sweaty from their former activities. Even the thick line of scars around Bucky’s shoulders that it took months for Tony to be allowed to touch.

Sometimes, Tony fights with feeling inadequate compared to Bucky, but by now he knows to voice these thoughts when they get too loud so that Bucky can show him how very much he thinks that is not true. They have a working system, at the very least, silencing both their demons.

It might be a crime to talk about Justin Hammer while he is in bed with Bucky, but Tony has needed to bitch about his supposed business rival all day and now is finally the time. Bucky knows how to shut him up when it becomes too much.

“I’m paying for your time so I can choose how to spend it,” Tony scoffs with a half-wink, and turns around to fully face Bucky again.

The hotel room has less than adequate lighting, leaving them mostly in shadows, but he sees the amused glint in Bucky’s eyes.

Mostly, he is just glad Bucky is here at all. They said their handsy goodbyes four days earlier when Tony left for the tech convention, but today Bucky was waiting for him in bed when he stumbled back into his room, exhausted from making nice with business rivals all day long.

“I just thought we could do something more satisfying than talking about than scumbag.” Bucky’s lips curl into something that is mostly a smile but tinged with disgust. There is a reason Tony did not smuggle Bucky into the convention. It would have certainly been more entertaining, but Tony could do without the bill for extended damages.

Tony tugs at the blanket, looking at Bucky through his eyelashes. “I’m not sure I should take life advice from a prostitute who chose to call himself Bucky.”

He laughs when Bucky presses his lips together and sits up. “Still my name. Still not a prostitute, doll.”

Tony watches Bucky’s muscles, transfixed enough that he falls into the banter without thinking about his words. The sight is heavenly, so no one can blame him. “And yet you keep taking my money.”

If he had his wallet nearby, he would be tempted to shower Bucky in dollar bills right now. He does not wear enough to stick them somewhere, of course. Perhaps it is time for some new jewellery. Or gold lining for the prosthetic arm. Not that Bucky really needs any enhancement.

“What did that terrible reporter call me?” Bucky asks, amused more than irritated at the press showing up at the most inopportune times. “Your kept man?”

Tony winces but hides it by running a hand through his hair. One of these days, Bucky will grow tired of all the complications coming with Tony. “It was boy toy,” he says, keeping his tone light and adding a suggestive grin. “And that’s easier to write than fiancé.”

It is still a miracle from Tony’s point of view, that he not only stumbled over Bucky and managed to take him home but that they are still together a year later, taking giant leaps towards promising each other forever. Pepper did not believe him and Happy ran a dozen background checks and Tony still expects to wake up one morning and find Bucky gone. This must be a dream. Or one of these truly good things that always, without fail, end too soon.

Bucky hums as he takes his time to look Tony up and down, smiling at what he finds even if it makes Tony rather self-conscious. “You know, my rates go up when I’m with a married man.”

“What?” Tony shakes his head in mock-outrage to hide the way he shivers at hearing Bucky say married. “The penthouse in the middle of Manhattan is not enough?”

They spend most of their time there already, but then it will finally be theirs.

Tapping his hand on the blanket, Bucky looks like he is thinking hard. “I want your weekends,” he then says, sounding snotty like one of the wanna-be business men Tony left downstairs. “Completely. No work, just us.”

And is that not the dream? Waking up next to Bucky, perhaps never even getting out of bed. Eating their meals together, working quietly, just content to be in each other’s company. Tony spent so much time alone, he never figured he would like a simple life like that instead of new conquests every other night. Perhaps he is getting old. Or he was a fool for thinking that he was immune to love when it finally came around.

“You’ll have to clear that with Pepper,” Tony offers instead of saying yes, please.

And Bucky, the smug bastard, simply smiles. “Pepper and I already have a deal. JARVIS and I too. Only you need to get with the program.”

Tony sniffs in mock-annoyance. “Why is it that everybody in my life loves conspiring against me?”

“Because we love you,” Bucky replies without missing a beat, making Tony’s heart swell. “And because you don’t know how to take care of yourself. And now come back to bed.”

Such a little, enormous thing. Love. Tony is done hiding from it.

Yet, he crosses his arms in front of him, trying to emphasize the muscles in his arms. He might not be built like Bucky, but he is not to be dismissed either.

“I am in bed,” he says and does not move.

The bed is too small for that game, really, a far cry from Tony’s king-sized one in the tower. They would only have to reach out their hands to touch, without putting a strain on themselves.

Bucky clicks his tongue. “You’re not in my arms because you needed to yell about Hammer.”

Because Hammer is a dick who insists on following Tony around as if they are actually friends. No matter how direct Tony is getting, Hammer just does not understand a no. Still, Bucky has a point. Hammer has no right to come between them.

“When you say it like that, it does sound like a crime,” Tony says and pushes himself on his knees to lean forward. He does not yet cross the distance completely but Bucky’s hand is there all the same, carding through Tony’s hair in the sweetest of caresses.

“Capital,” he murmurs, voice dripping low again, which makes need stir in Tony’s stomach.

“I’ll reimburse you,” Tony says, leaning into Bucky’s touch. With a small grin, he adds, “I was thinking four hundred bucks?”

A laugh bursts over Bucky’s lips, making him look more delectable than ever. “Stevie will have a heart attack. I’m in.”

Tony can just imagine how Bucky, who is proficient in being a little shit, has been putting crisp hundred-dollar bills into his and Steve’s shared and very battered household cash box. It was nothing but a joke in the beginning because Tony, drunk and lonely, had thought Bucky to be a prostitute one night outside of a club. He had offered a horrendous amount of money if Bucky would come with him, and Bucky, who had been fairly into his cups, too, and tired of Steve pushing him into “having some fun again” agreed. After that, they just kept meeting and sex turned into talking and becoming friends and then something more. One of the luckier mistakes Tony has made while drunk.

“As long as he doesn’t kill me when he finds out the truth.” Tony shrugs. He knows all of Bucky’s friends by now and, surprisingly, gets along with all of them. Some of them might at least be upset if Steve made a move to get rid of him.

Bucky runs his thumb over Tony’s lips. His intense gaze does not match his light tone. “He changes between being horrified and amused that you would dish out your money so easily.”

Steve does know. Or at least he strongly suspects. He gave them both the shovel talk, even if no one called it that, and he would not bother with that if he thought Tony to be nothing more than Bucky’s sugar daddy, or whatever the kids call staged relationships between rich people and their arm candies these days. They have just never explicitly talked about it.

Tony suspects that Steve does not like him very much. That he disapproves of Tony’s fast-paced life and his tendency to spend money without a care. Bucky has repeatedly told him that’s nonsense. Apparently, Steve is glad someone managed to make him enjoy life again – after the military and the whole thing about losing an arm.

In the end, it is easier to send Bucky home with some cash every time, which Bucky can then, sneakily, use to pay Rogers’ bills. Tony is getting some pretty fine artwork out of it, and never-ending reasons to laugh with Bucky, so it is a win-win situation, really.

“You’re worth every penny,” Tony says, as if he has ever cared about money. He also regularly finds neatly folded stacks of dollar bills in his pockets and, one time, his shoes, that he has definitely not put there himself.

“I know.” Bucky grins and then holds out his hand to beckon Tony closer. “Now, come back here. Your hour’s not yet over.”

 ---

Later, thoroughly exhausted and aching in all the right places, they lie in the darkness of the hotel room, Tony cradled in Bucky’s strong arms. It is his favourite place in the world, hidden away from searching eyes and utterly safe.

Tony sometimes wishes Jarvis were alive to see him like this, happy and in a committed relationship. Howard, too, after he spent Tony’s entire childhood reciting his flaws and how he would never amount to anything. Perhaps this is his greatest achievement. Not Stark Industries’ miraculous turn away from producing weaponry. Not the countless patents under his name. Not even his continued friendship with Pepper and Rhodey. But this. Being in love. Being loved in return.

He is running careful circles over Bucky’s skin, wandering from his arm to his back and up his chest. When Bucky sighs, he feels the slight tremor more than he hears an actual sound.

“Do we have to tell the rest of the world?” Bucky asks into the darkness. “Can’t things just stay like this?”

Tony stills, forgets to breathe for a long second. He has a good poker face, but that does not help him while he is naked in another person’s arms.

“They can,” he says belatedly, even when Bucky’s arms have already stiffened around him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a coward,” Bucky hurries to say.

The mood is already ruined, though. The sweet post-coital glow replaced by the harsh coldness of reality crashing back in.

“You’re everything but a coward,” Tony says, but the vehemence in his tone falls a bit flat since he pushes himself into a sitting position even while he speaks. Bucky tries to keep holding him close but does not force it when Tony wriggles free. “It’s just, people will find out, and it’s better to just get ahead of them. It will still be a shitstorm when I announce you as my husband, and I wish I could spare you all that bullshit, but –”

He shrugs, imagining all the shitty things people will say about him and the “poor guy” he is dragging down with him.

“But it’ll be worse if they find us sneaking around. I know,” Bucky finishes his sentence. He props himself up on his elbow, looking apologetic.

“You don’t –” In his head, Tony had this conversation a thousand times; him nobly offering Bucky an out. It will never be easy, being connected to him, and since Bucky has demons he prefers to remain buried, Tony knows it is unfair to pull him into this mess, especially knowing how it will end. “I mean, you should really think about this. Talk to your friends.”

Bucky rolls his lips together, then pulls them up in an estimate of a smile. Neither of them comments on how strained it ends up. “You mean Steve, who still pretends to believe you’re paying me for sex and nothing more?”

The joke falls flat and still Tony wishes he could pick it up, could pretend he does not have to take Bucky’s worries seriously because everything will turn out fine in the end.

“You know what I mean,” he replies a little impatiently. He does not want this to culminate in a I told you so situation before they part forever. “Don’t do this because you feel obligated or anything. I won’t hold it against you if you want to back out.”

Tony cannot look at Bucky, afraid of what he will see. Even the slightest bit of hesitation will be his undoing. He never knew how to do anything half measure. If he falls for someone, he does so with his entire being. He never much cared for saving himself, and he does so even less now.

Bucky reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing until Tony gives up and finds Bucky’s eyes.

“I want you, Tony,” he says, with his voice and his gaze, and means it.

Still, Tony tries to harden himself against that. “You’d get a nice sum so you won’t have to worry about the flat or the maintenance for the arm and –”

A finger on his lips cuts him off and he complies happily, even if does not allow himself to feel relief yet.

“You should shut up know and kiss me,” Bucky says, orders really and tugs at Tony’s hand, trying to pull him back down.

“I mean it, Bucky.” Tony raises both their hands to his lips and presses a small, desperate kiss against Bucky’s skin. “What we have is nice but I come with a lot of baggage.”

He does not mean to sound dismissive and yet he catches the hurt flickering over Bucky’s face. What they have is not just nice.

“Don’t tell me about baggage,” Bucky snaps, but his face immediately softens. He sits up too, then, and scoots close enough that his knee rests against Tony’s thigh. “You know all of my bullshit too.”

True enough, Tony’s story is a lot less bloody than Bucky’s, a lot less traumatic too, although Sam likes to preach that they cannot compare trauma, that everybody reacts differently and objectivity has nothing to do with it.

“But yours doesn’t come with stupid reporters following your every step,” Tony argues and that, at least, is true. Nobody can dispute that.  

Bucky’s eyes crinkle when he looks at Tony. “I love you, Tony,” he says and the words, as always, break free a storm in Tony’s chest. “Don’t worry about me. I love you and that’s all that matters.”

That should be enough, but Tony is a worrier. “You say that now,” he says, very quietly, almost hoping that Bucky will not catch it. But Bucky is practiced at gauging his moods and reading between the lines.

Bucky shrugs, carefree enough that some of the weight drops off Tony’s chest. “If they become too much we’ll simply fly to your private island and hide until they grow bored.”

Against his will, a smile tugs at Tony’s lips. “It won’t be that easy.” But he imagines that it could be. They could take his plane and vanish before anyone knows what is happening. Pepper would murder him, of course, but she wants him happy, too. They could work it out.

“I know but I don’t care.”

They should leave it at that. Tony leans forward, rest his head against Bucky’s shoulder. Sometimes it is still unreal, the way Bucky is always willing to hold him.

“What if you’ll regret it?” Tony asks against Bucky’s skin, barely more than a whisper. “What if you’ll regret me?”

That is how his greatest fear shifted. From not wanting to die alone, from never finding what Jarvis and Ana had, to losing this.

“I won’t,” Bucky promises, soft and determined enough that Tony cannot help but believe him. “And before you protest, I could ask you the same thing.”

Tony snaps up his head to squint up at Bucky. “You’re brilliant,” he intones, full of the conviction he always lacks when it comes to himself. “The best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Bucky smiles as he did something clever. “There you have your answer.”

A grimace pulls on Tony’s face. He does not like being played, not even for his own benefit. “But I’m me and you’re – you,” he tries, one last time. He gets tired of doubt, does not want it to ruin the good moments they have.

“And don’t you ever change.” With that, Bucky pulls him closer again. “Now, let’s talk about nicer things. Or better yet, stop talking.”

That is the best idea Tony has heard all night. All week, really, with all those bumbling idiots here for the convention.

“You’re insatiable,” Tony says as he shifts to better fit against Bucky, skin against skin, lust blooming again inside his gut.

Chuckling, Bucky presses his lips against Tony’s neck, slowly working his way upwards. “I just want you to get your money’s worth.”

That stupid joke will never grow old. “Then better get working. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a billionaire.”

Instead of wasting any more air on words, Bucky pulls Tony closer, sealing their lips together in what feels like a promise. Tony still does not know how he managed to get so lucky to have Bucky in his life, but he knows he would not change a thing.

[geekkatsblog]

Grey's Anatomy 16x21 review

Wow just wow

We start with the most minor event of the episode.

___________________________________________

Deluca

Finally realized he needed help, I had kinda found myself on the 2 way fence with him because on one hand I knew that he was having problems mentally, but he was right and I've experienced people ignoring what I know and have to say because of my mental health, so I was livid that everyone was just ignoring him, but then I also could see where Bailey and the others were coming from. Deluca was acting quite irrationality and it's hard to listen to someone who seems so rash and aggressive as well as ignoring orders, allow allowing him to be around patients would have been a mistake, (that hospital has had enough bad press.) I'm glad he had his breakdown because now he can get the help he needs to function rationally, we can see that he's clearly an amazing surgeon and I could definitely see him going into the diagnostic aspect of things. That would be a great addition to Grey's If you asked me. He has a lot of potential to be a great surgeon and when he gets the help that he needs he can do even better because his coworkers will support him now.

___________________________________________

Teddy/Owen /Tom

😬🤦🏾‍♀️ (They actually managed to make me feel sorry for Owen.)

When Teddy first came to Grey's, I loved her she was one of my favorite characters despite the mess with Owen and Christina, she was sweet and peppy without being over the top with it and she was one of the most respectful women on Grey's but now just like Alex they just poofed away her character development. I guess I should be glad that Henry died because she would have probably cheated on him too. I couldn't believe that after sleeping with Tom she had the audacity to marry Owen that SAME NIGHT (WTF). How could she do something like that to anyone? That's low. At this point I'm thinking she should end up with neither and be alone because this is just a hot mess.

Never thought I'd ever say these words but poor Owen, this is the healthiest he has been in any relationship and I want to say he deserved it for what he did to Christina and then to his other girlfriend when he slept with Christina but then he just found out in the most brutal way, in front of all of his co workers who weren't buying the wedding gift thing at all, so now not only does everyone basically know that he was cheated on but he found it out at the same time as them.

Tom I feel sorry for but as the situation went further and further I started to feel a little less for him. He loves Teddy, yes but continuing to sleep with her when you know she's engaged and has a kid with them is down right awful. Then he went to confess his love for her and even after she turns him down he still sleeps with her. I was so proud of him when he had dumped her but now he's in the same position once again and also at the back end of the stick. Teddy is probably going to choose Owen just like she was going to in this episode.

They can stay in that circle but as long as Amelia is officially out of that mess at this point i couldn't be bothered.

___________________________________________

Amelia/Link

Speaking of my darling Amelia, she got her baby, a health little boy. I'm so happy for her, she even managed to have her baby without a hitch a rare treat in Grey's. When she walked off on her own after her water broke I'll admit I was a little scared. I love how they brought in Bailey although I would have preferred Link, I enjoyed the parallel they did between George helping Bailey and her helping Amelia. It gave me major nostalgia vibes that has now confirmed my urge to rewatch the series. Amelia trully was a trooper and was so adorable. The few moments we got to see with her and Link were adorable. They're going to be an adorable little family.

The baby currently has no name which is probably going to be revealed next season which gives them enough time to read all of the request that people have for the baby to be called Derek.I read someone saying the baby is going to be named after Bailey but I don't think so, Derek was her brother and besides Meredith already has a son named Bailey, three Baileys might be to much.

___________________________________________

Richard

Thank God he is alright, it turned out to be a hip replacement gone bad, (I knew the diagnosis would have been something I saw on House.) Deluca like everyone suspected was the one to solve the case. I'm glad it wasn't a wrong diagnosis and everything went well, but what I want to know is wouldn't he have been feeling pain in the hip prior to his episode because an infection gone that long should have been painful but Idk I'm not a doctor. He actually had very little screen time for being the major storyline of the episode, but this wasn't meant to be the season finale so I'm guessing they were going to focus more on the recovery.

Then there was him and Catherine, he put Catherine out which I guess was fair enough, his memories would have ended during the fight so he doesn't have any recollection on anything else. I'm glad that they're going to make her work for it a bit and more importantly that she's ACTUALLY learning her lesson. I do think they're going to end up together again. How?? Idk especially because I don't think money is going to be of much help seeing that that was a large part of the issues so she might actually have to work for it the normal way.

She's definitely getting there after all she was willing to step down from her organization to look after him and that right there is love.

___________________________________________

Meredith

Now I love Meredith, she's awesome. However, Her and Deluca...... am I happy that she was there for him? Yes, because no one else was on his side not even his sister, but at the end of the episode when he finally admitted something was wrong then would have been a good time to check him into the hospital. Taking him to her home isn't going to help. He needs an evaluation and possibly meds, especially now when he seemed to be accepting to the help. I just hope this isn't going to be another Alex and Rebecca moment again.

Dr Haynes asked her out, I don't know how I feel about it. I mean theh have cute conversations about their kids and past spouses. But besides that peek we got into his life at the convention, his only role in the show is to magically end up around her and I'm going to need more material on him before I can ship. Quite honestly I feel like Meredith is fine on her own right now TBH.

___________________________________________

Bailey

Finally listened to Deluca, I guess there were no chances to be taken with Richard, which is a very right way to go about it. And then she helped Amelia through her birth. It was sad to watch because not only was it a very similar birth to her own (besides husband on the surgery table as the patient) bringing up memories of her first birth. But she also had to deal with the fact that she would have been either just about due or already have delivered her baby girl around the same time but instead her baby is gone and she doesn't get to have that joy everytime they either mention or reference her miscarriage I die a little inside and when she brought up the pregnancy club😭😭😭😭 . She definitely was strong for staying through the birth.

(I still have my fingers crossed that they will adopt a baby or at least a younger kid, I've always wanted to see them raise a kid from young together. We only got peeks with Tuck and that's probably because his dad is still around.)

___________________________________________

Maggie

I was kind of disappointed with the lack of screen time she got with Richard, same with Bailey but anyway, what happened to her dream man? Where is he? I mean I know it would have take a while to settle things to take leave from his job,but no phone calls or any mention of him O hope the plot isn't just going to drop off.

___________________________________________

Jackson

Continuing the work of Mark Sloan, supporting his mother and possibly transitioning to Station 19.

___________________________________________

Notes and questions

What will Amelia's Baby be called?

How will Richard's recovery go and will he and Catherine reunite?

Is Meredith going to choose Deluca or Haynes? (Not gonna lie I'm tired of Mer a d love triangles.)

Who will Teddy pick? Tom or Owen? (I'm definitely over this love triangle as well.)

What happened to Maggie's new love interest? When is he coming back?

Is Jackson leaving for station 19?

Will Nico and Levi be in a relationship again?

What will happen with Jo and her new path in life?

Will Deluca get the help he needs and unlock his full surgeon potential?

[corpse--diem]

An Offer You Can’t Refuse | Felix & Erin

When: Very shortly before Big Felix Featuring: @streetharmacist Summary: During a drink to celebrate a job well done, Erin and Felix decide they’re not quite finished after all.

It wasn’t a conventional location by any means, but the way Felix saw it, they had left convention behind a few miles back. Dale was dead. Bea was alive. There was plenty of reason to celebrate. And what better way than watching humans embarrass themselves at the Siren’s Serenade? With an Absinthe Hemingway in hand, he sat at one of the tables farthest from the karaoke stage. He didn’t mind a spotlight or two in the slightest but...time and place. It could come later. Roy Chambers. The name Erin had mentioned. It made sense why it lingered in his dome for so long. It was a familiar name. The kind that bears repeating. A few utterances invoked the spirit of old connections and he was nonetheless eager to share. If only to see where the threads all went to. Felix took a sip and eyed the door as he waited. The way things were, it was a matter that certainly demanded to be discussed.

Finding Felix in the Siren’s Serenade crowd didn’t take long. Hard to miss the only guy in the place with sunglasses and Erin made a mental note to sensitively bring that up someday. She took just a moment to ready herself, straighten up, shake the tension from her shoulders. The job had been taken care of - Dale was dead. No cops were breaking down her door. Felix was being paid in full again. Generally speaking, things were that surface-level kind of okay that made meeting up for drinks not nearly as terrifying as it could have been. “Some real beauts in here tonight, huh?” She greeted him with a warm grin. Thank God he’d picked a table far, far away from that mess. The whiskey she ordered when she passed by the bar came as she settled into the spot opposite him, and was quiet otherwise until the plucky server left them alone. “How’s business?” Erin asked over the top of her glass, watching the curve of his lips in lieu of black glass. “Running smoother, I hope? Now that you’ve got that big ol’ bald roadblock out of the way.”

“You really missed out on a winner earlier,” Felix said as he sat up a little straighter as Erin approached the table. “Just when you thought folks got tired of Bohemian Rhapsody, bam, there it is again. Just a pitch higher and a pitcher more drunk too. You gotta love it.” He adjusted in his seat, propped an ankle up on one knee as he settled. At her question, he smiled and took a sip of his absinthe. “Business? Well, it’s business and business is booming. I think it’s the encroaching summertime. Really gets the people in a certain sorta way, y’know?” It wouldn’t do to mention how much he and Blaine had discussed how sad the youth of White Crest could be. It was an off time for most and when that was the case, it was an on time for them. At big ol’ bald roadblock, he gave a loud laugh and set his glass down. “Well heck, I can say that the push and pull is making a lot more sense and that’s always real nice to see in my line of work,” he admitted with a tilt of his head. “And yours? It’s not, ah, going under, is it?” He smiled. “Surely it’s not. Certainly not after a loss like that, huh?”

Erin spared a glance at the travesty on stage and immediately winced. “Does that mean that A Whole New World duet I was looking forward to with you is off the table?” She asked playfully, trying hard not to watch his smallest gestures and movements with too much scrutiny. Something had changed. She wasn’t sure what exactly, and it wasn’t something she’d be quick to call it trust. Maybe she should have been more unsettled by how easy it was to joke with a man who was basically an accomplice to the murder she organized. “Yeah? Glad to hear it. I’ll take it that means all is well.” She shook her head, eyes dropping to watch the ripples slam against glass. Oh boy. She’d need an emptier glass before she asked him to shine a light on any of that. Wouldn’t be good. She looked up again at his question. “Well, losses are my gain, generally speaking,” she shrugged. She sat back, tapping her finger against her glass as she contemplated her next words carefully. “Honestly?  Retirement is starting to look pretty damn good right now and I gotta tell you--the packages available in our line of work? Not great. I know our buddy Dale would agree.” Warmth flooded her cheeks and suddenly she swore she could feel the heat brimming from the crematory chamber that very same man had left this world in. She paused, pushing past it and ease into another smile. “I’m hoping maybe you do too.”

“Oh, I won’t turn down a duet but let’s see how things are a few weeks from now, huh?” Felix said, mouth more in a curved line of knowing than anything close to a smile. “I’m nothing if not in it for a chance at some old-fashioned theatrics.” He loved his shadows without question but put the right spotlight on him and even a guy like him wanted to shine. And on the off chance it was the light of an interrogation room, he could make do. If he were someone else, gifted with the same knowledge, maybe they’d be put off by the way Erin smiled post-murder. Maybe even by how he did. They’d certainly be put off by the way they laughed and clinked glasses. Their stomachs wouldn’t handle it. Some people were just hungrier. A fact of life that his teeth fit around just fine. He could smile around it and he did so. “Oh yeah, very well but things could always be better,” he said with a thoughtful hum. “But ain’t that just how it is? Place like this, with what it has going on, it’s hard to ever really be satisfied since the work is never really done. I mean, you get it, right? All things considered, you got job security for life.” He tipped his glass towards her with a low laugh. As she spoke, he considered what she said carefully. There wasn’t any buzz in his chest other than the absinthe on his tongue. Words were everything to fae. They meant the slimmest difference between being in or getting out of a bind. “Hoping I do too, huh? Sounds to me like you’re looking for a newer, better deal. Very FDR of you, I dig it,” he said as he leaned forward intently. “Since we’re on the subject and all, I’ve got some information you might like to hear. About the ol’ bossman of yours.”

Old-fashioned. Erin had to laugh at that. Seemed to be this guy’s MO. It worked for him. “Why am I not surprised by that?” But he wasn’t wrong, about any of it, and part of her wondered if Dale had done them both a favor. He’d been the catalyst, the wild card that had spurned all of this on. Pissed Felix off enough to darken her doorway that fateful evening, stirring up tempers and trouble for them all. She could admit she’d grown comfortable, almost complacent in her rage, stewing and simmering. Now it was boiling over almost recklessly. It’d brought her here. If there was any hope to be had, it was right in front of her. Felix was quick. More knowledgeable than he let on. And sharp. She could tell that much already. Judging what side of the blade she fell on here was harder to distinguish but she knew she wanted to one the right one. “There’s always a better deal,” she nodded at his words, matching his dry smile. “Just ask any of my vendors though--I’m a hell of a negotiator.” Her eyes jumped from her drink to his sunglasses, momentary uncertainty flickering across her well set poker face at the mention of her boss. So much for that. “Do you? And how much is that gonna cost me?” She asked, shrugging nonchalantly. If she’d learned anything, it was that nothing came free. “If it’s worth anything at all. If you’re about to remind me that he’s a son of a bitch, trust me. I’m well aware.”

“You’re not? Dang, I gotta keep working on my front then.” Felix said with a smile as he unfolded an old matchbook and lit himself a cigarette. He waved the match out, breathed in nicotine, then breathed it out the side of his mouth. The karaoke choice shifted to something poppy that he didn’t recognize. It was bold what he and Erin were doing. Discussing dark things in the dim light of a karaoke bar. That was half of the thrill, really, the likelihood of being seen by the forces they discussed. Even if they were, no one would think anything of it right then. They were just chatting. See them now, but when the knifepoint touched to a neck with a pulse that hammered so hard the knife trembled, they might have wished they looked harder. Death granted a keen hindsight to the dying. One last gift. “Oh, I believe it. Death is an awful expensive business and while dirt naps are cheaper sometimes, can’t fault someone for wanting to rot in mahogany,” he said as he pulled the cigarette from between his lips and tapped it against the ashtray. “But gotta say, it’s good to know that you ain’t satisfied with all this business yet because I ain’t either. I think we can get dealt a better hand here.” He smiled. Erin was sharp. Quick. That was good. He appreciated the kind of company that could cut thin but cut deep. “Not much,” he admitted vaguely. “As for what I know, this guy, Roy Chambers? He ain’t just here. I’ve got some fellas in New York that know the name. He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies. A lot of pies that other people have made. Now that? That doesn’t sit right with me at all. Between you and me, guys like that shouldn’t have so much. It’s unseemly.”

There was something so incredibly appropriate about Felix lighting up that cigarette. Shadowy booths, shady conversations, smoke billowing around them in the dimly lit bar. Theatrics, case-in-point. Erin shook her head slowly, barely suppressing the smirk that lifted the corner of her lips. All they needed now was a black and white filter and a costume change to truly set the mood. “New York?” she echoed, raising her brows. Shit. This guy was a bigger deal than she anticipated with a reach like that. She could practically see the cogs and wheels spinning behind Felix’s glasses. “Of course he did. He probably thinks he’s the Elon Musk of White Crest,” she said, rolling her eyes. Didn’t surprise her though. Greed fueled monsters like Roy Chambers. He was a glutton, and a comfortable one. Constantly hungry, constantly devouring. Already trying to take bites out of her with her mother’s bones still stuck in his teeth. Her jaw set tightly and she glanced up from the napkin corner she was picking apart. “That’s a lot of pie, though. Sounds like you’re thinking about taking a few slices for yourself, yeah?” They were tiptoeing around it but there was no mistaking what Felix was implying. “If you’re offering--I could eat.”

Felix nodded through the smoke. “Yup. Makes sense. White Crest isn’t exactly a hub for this kinda work. Not really,” he said as he raised a hand and spread his fingers out. “He’s got a nice web here, sure, but a guy like this, it’s always bigger.” He smiled to himself then as he shifted forward and lifted himself from the shadow of the wall. He grinned. Erin got it. He had a feeling she would. She was tired of it and when people got tired of bullshit, they got restless. Proactive, even. And they made it known in ways that wouldn’t readily be forgotten. “Precisely, precisely.” His word manufacturing slowed as he got to thinking, his tongue pressed against the top of his mouth. “You see, I’d be fine taking a figure off or two, free up some space,” he admitted with a shrug, his tone easy. “Could do that, sure. It’d make things a little easier, you know, for you and me.” He gestured between the two of them. The grin he wore lessened by the second. “But I don’t think we’d be satisfied. Half-measures don’t sit right with me. Half-measures get you right back where you started.” He shook his head and looked at Erin. There wasn’t any concern or doubt in him. She got it. “Nah,” he said as he stabbed his cigarette into the ash tray. “We take off the whole fucking hand.” He laced his fingers together and sat up. “These debts you inherited? A couple Roy phalanges ought to cover it. With interest.” Money was a motivating factor in plenty but getting a guy back, that went further. It lived longer. “We do this? Really do this? We’re square for life. So yeah, Ms. Nichols, I’m offering.”

There it was--the proposition Felix had been inching toward since Erin had sat down across from him. At some point she knew it was coming. Maybe he needed someone low on Roy’s radar, capable of stomaching the hard jobs with a motivation matched his own. He sure as hell looked at her like he’d found someone to fill that slot. She could do it. He just needed to say the words and make it real. When he finally did, something dangerously close to hope woke with a hard start beneath her ribcage. She hadn’t expected that but she couldn’t pretend that it didn’t feel good. Her mind had been made up long before she finally spoke. 

“Let’s really do this, then. Let’s cut off the hand. I’ll take the whole damn arm if that’s what it takes,” she answered without hesitation. Bit back a big, sharp grin. If they failed, they died. That wasn’t lost on her for a second. She’d been in survival mode for so long now though that it was easy to forget what she was doing now was purely existing. It didn’t sustain or nurture. Just kept her alive enough to trudge through the next day. It was time. She was ready to live again, even if trying was the last thing she ever did, and she met Felix’s hand halfway across the table. “I’m all in.”

[nomolosk]

Snapshots (AU Yeah August 2020)

read on AO3:

Day 5- Bed Sharing

Marinette sighed wearily. First the embarrassment at work, then the time travel, and… had there been an akuma battle? She couldn’t even remember at this point. It had been a long day, that’s all. And of course it just had to be the day before the Small Business Convention. It was something Marinette had been looking forward to, and she had the setup and layout of her booth all planned out. She’d even rented a hotel room in the same hotel that was hosting it, just so she wouldn’t run into unexpected morning traffic, and thus be running late and more anxious than usual.

Now, she just had to gather everything up and-

Marinette paused, her eye caught by Tikki. The little kwami was zipping from flower pot to flower pot, a sure sign that she was upset about something.

“Tikki?” Marinette asked, going over to the window where Tikki’s little garden grew. “What’s wrong?”

Tikki paused briefly and then zipped around Marinette in a tightening spiral before landing in Marinette’s cupped hands.

“I… I don’t know,” she said plaintively. “Something is wrong, but… but I don’t know what it is! I just have a bad feeling.”

“Hm,” Marinette said, frowning. Things didn’t usually affect Tikki unless they were immediate dangers. “Do you think we ought to go out patrolling? We’re not on the schedule for tonight, though, and Chat might ask questions if he sees us.”

Tikki squirmed a little, back to hovering back and forth, though slower than before. “I… no.”

“Are you sure?”

“No… no, this is,” Tikki stopped, frustrated. “If I had even a little bit of an idea on what to look for, I’d say yes, but I don’t.” She gave her whole body a shake and came up with an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry about it. You are Ladybug after all! Whatever is wrong, I’m sure we’ll catch on in time to do something about it. And in the meantime, you have that convention to go to tomorrow!”

Marinette smiled back. She was still worried, of course- it had been years since Tikki’s reassurances could wipe the existence of a problem entirely from her mind- but she trusted the kwami and appreciated her faith in her. And they had managed to defeat all the akumas (and other villains) sent against them to date.

----

Marinette snuggled into the hotel blankets, utterly exhausted. Her parents had helped her get everything packed into their delivery van and even agreed to let her drive it to the hotel so she’d have everything she needed to set up right there in the morning. Still, it had been a very long day. After taking a bath to relax, Marinette eagerly went to bed, secure that she’d done everything humanly possible to prepare for the morning.

----

Adrien sighed heavily as he accepted the hotel room key card from the desk clerk. This Small Business Convention wasn’t his idea of fun, but Father was insisting he spend the whole day there, as Gabriel’s representative, checking out any competition, and making as many business friends as possible. Gabriel might be a big name in fashion, but it was the ‘little people’ as Gabriel called them, who made everything run smoothly- caterers, professional launderers, and etc. And obviously Gabriel himself was far too important to ever stoop to paying attention to the ‘little people.’

Still, at least he’d managed to convince Father to spring for a hotel room- after the last minute photoshoot that had run far too late, not to mention the patrol he’d had to rush through, he wanted to actually sleep in for once and not face judgement from either Father or Nathalie. Both of them would have expected him to wake up extra early and arrive before the convention even opened, but Adrien knew that it would be better for him to arrive a little later, when the vendors would be warmed-up from interacting with a few other people first.

He let himself into his room, not bothering to turn on the lights. He didn’t have any luggage except a dress bag that he fumbled into the small closet he’d seen as he opened the room door, moving mostly by feel. Sighing again, he moved further into the room, toeing his shoes off. As soon as he felt the tell tale press of the bed against his lower legs, he flung himself onto the bed… only to get a sharp blow to the face, along with a decidedly feminine shriek in his ear. Rolling off the lump under the covers and back to his feet, he tried to regain his bearings. 

“What?” he said. “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?” The shock of it all sent adrenaline shooting through his system, waking him back up instantly.

“Your room? This is my room, thank you very much!” came the indignant reply. 

By now Adrien’s eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness in the room, helped along by the little sliver of light coming in from under the curtains over the window. The room wasn’t large- just big enough for a double bed, the bedside table and a small table and chair. There was a TV mounted to the wall opposite the bed, but nothing under it.

Adrien reached over and turned on the lamp. Sleepy blue eyes glared and squinted back at him. The girl- woman- sat up in bed. Now that the lights were on, Adrien could see other signs of her habitation- shoes on the floor, a purse sitting in the chair by the window, a portfolio and small overnight bag sitting on the table itself.

“I- I’m so sorry,” he said, beginning to feel foolish. “I just checked in, and this is the room they gave me.”

“Well this is my room,” the woman grumped, folding her arms across her chest. “Now, if you don’t leave, I’m calling the front desk, and then the police.” Adrien noted she already had her cellphone in her hand, still plugged into the charging cable that was likewise plugged into the USB socket on the base of the lamp.

Adrien held his hands up. “No, no, I’ll leave, don’t worry.”

He quickly moved past the bed, scooping his shoes up and had already pulled the room door open when he remembered the dress bag. “Sorry,” he muttered again, as he opened the closet door and grabbed it. She’d already turned the lamp back off. He thought about wishing her a good night, but figured he’d already ruined it for her and that would just be rubbing it in. So instead he just left.

Back at the front desk, the attendant was defensive, though Adrien suspected he was trying to come across as incensed on his behalf.

“There shouldn’t be anyone in that room,” he muttered, typing on his keyboard. “There!” he said in triumph. “The last guest in that room checked out this morning, and while that room was reserved for someone else for tonight, they never checked in. So of course, it should have been free for you.” He sighed in irritation and Adrien suppressed his own sigh. “I really don’t know how this happened.”

“Look, I just need a different room for the night, okay? It’s really late,” he said, trying to hurry the process along. But the attendant was now on a mission- he called the night manager out of her office. When that individual had been apprised of the situation, she looked briefly thunderous, and then smoothed out her expression with professional ease.

“I’m so sorry for this Mr. Agreste. I know our hotel doesn’t usually cater to the upper class, and I’d really have liked your first impression to be a much better one than this. We’ll get a new room for you, but in the meantime, please come with me. I can’t undo this bad first impression, but hopefully I can show you how we deal with freeloaders who bypass our security.”

“No, really, that’s not necessary,” Adrien tried to say, but she just swept past him to the elevators. Perhaps if Adrien had been less tired, he would have put up more of a fight, but as it was, his early training in shutting-up and coming-along asserted itself. 

So it was that he found himself back outside the fateful hotel room door, with the night manager knocking loudly on it. At- he checked his watch and cringed- nearly 2 am. Whoever was in that room was not going to have fond memories of their brief encounter with Adrien Agreste.

----

Marinette had just gotten over her previous irritation and gone back to sleep when there was a sudden pounding on her door. She jerked up, groaning. The pounding came again, and she was just about to slide out of bed when she heard the magnetic lock disengaging and the door opened and the lights came on.

“Alright you, up, up, up! You can’t stay here.” 

Marinette stared blearily at a middle-aged woman in a hotel uniform. “What?”

“You’re not supposed to be in here, this room is let to someone else. Now, we won’t press charges if you leave willingly, but I am prepared to call the police if you try to force the issue.”

Unbelievable. That jerk from earlier must have gone down to the front desk and complained. 

“I paid for this room,” Marinette insisted. “I checked in at 9, and I’ve been asleep since 10:30.”

“This room has been unbooked since the last guest checked out this morning.”

Marinette rubbed her forehead. It was way too early in the morning to deal with this. “Look, you want to see my reservation? Fine. Sure.” She got out of bed and walked over to her purse, pulling out the receipt the desk clerk had given her, along with the little paper packet with her room keys. “I reserved a room last month under the name Dupain-Cheng, and as you can see, I checked in around 9 pm.”

She handed the receipt to the woman, who reluctantly took them. She studied the paper minutely before checking and double checking the room number written on the keycard packet. Then she sighed heavily and uttered a begrudging apology. Marinette took her things back and stowed them in her purse before following the woman to the door, getting a good look at the sheepish-looking guy standing in the hallway.

He certainly bore some resemblance to the man who had unceremoniously dropped on top of her earlier, but she’d been too recently asleep to really recognize him. Still, given his expression, it seemed likely that he was the same one. Marinette glared at him, before starting to shut the door in his face.

She just caught the beginning of the woman’s apology to him- which sounded much more sincere than the one she’d received. 

“Again, I’m so sorry for the mix-up Mr. Agreste, something must have-”

The shutting door cut off the rest of what she was saying, but Marinette’s mind suddenly went into full-time panic mode. Gabriel Agreste was a big name in fashion circles- circles she was trying to break into, in her own small way- and now she’d inadvertently caused him considerable inconvenience and even threatened to call the police on him! Of course, she had been justified to do so, but still…

Groaning, Marinette put her ear to the door to see if they were still outside. But she heard nothing, so she cautiously opened the door and, seeing no one, slipped the Do Not Disturb sign onto the outer door knob before closing the door again and engaging the chain-lock. Hopefully that would assure no more interruptions until her alarm went off. But given that she’d just made an enemy out of Gabriel Agreste, she rather doubted she would be getting any more sleep that night.

Still, she flicked the lights off and stumbled back to bed, falling face first into her pillow and trying vainly to regain some semblance of the sleepiness she’d felt just a little while ago.

@auyeahaugust