#i hate capitalism as much as the next guy but stop acting like id be soooo healthy (the ideal of all humans ya know) if it werent for capita

[transkeiichi]

i love to unfollow+block people who put antipsychiatry on my dash 😊

[araluenrangerdanger]

The airport AU

Remember when I said I was writing the airport au from this post? I’m done with it - read under read more or AO3

Halt was used to travelling by plane. As a governmental officer, he often had to leave the country and – such misfortune - he always got seasick when he went by boat. So, due to these things, he was well familiar with the Araluen airport, located in the mainland near the capital city.

It was a simple process, really. Go to the check-in desk, get a boarding pass, go through the passport control, security check. Halt knew it all. He could practically waltz around the airport with his eyes closed.

One day, however, it all changed. Well, not all of it. Mainly the passport control. Where once stood real, living people, there were now machines. Halt and machines didn’t go together. If he even passed his own microwave, it broke down and Halt always had to spend such a ridiculous amount of money to get it repaired.

These machines came with an animated manual subtitled in several languages. Halt took out his diplomatic passport and frowned at the small screen. It seemed simple enough.

Just when he was about to put his passport inside of the machine, he appeared. A man with a bright green uniform of the airport’s information workers. He had red hair and he was smiling at him.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asked, completely oblivious to the fact that Halt was giving him his famous death glare. Still, he politely declined.

“No, thank you. I know how to do this.” As it turned out three seconds later, he did NOT know how to do it. He put a wrong page inside the machine. Halt didn’t notice this, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see the information worker standing a few feet away, looking at him with anticipation.

“Do you want help?” the guy asked again, trying to hide his smile. Halt had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Really, he got this. So he rejected his offer for the second time and tried again.

Machines truly seemed to hate him. After he put his passport in for a second time, correctly if I may add, a red icon showed up telling him to go to the police officer. Halt narrowed his eyes at the screen. When people were doing the passport check, it was so much better. Why did the management of the airport think this was better? Halt glanced at a sign telling him that this was a much easier way to pass the check. As if, Halt thought.

He took out his passport, determined to not deal with that thing for the third time when the information guy swept in.

“You should try pressing it down,” he suggested. Halt paid him no mind and continued on his merry way to the police. He left the man standing there as he made his way through the control.

From now on, whenever Halt travelled, he had the luck to meet this guy. Apparently, he belonged to a new team of information workers that was created after the installation of these machines to help people pass through easily (not that Halt cared. He certainly never, ever opened the airport’s website to do a small research. Not at all). Halt tried his best to avoid them, but he was never completely safe since they were everywhere. Well, almost. At least they didn’t occupy the toilets.

The next time Halt passed through the new passport control was when he returned from Skandia. It was around noon and there were only two workers in bright green T-shirts that pegged them as members of this new team. Neither of them had red hair though and Halt relaxed.

He didn’t need help this time. He remembered the words of the redhead and pressed his passport down and it actually worked! His happiness didn’t last long. The machine broke down when he was inside and it took forever to get him out.

When he was inside of it for a few minutes already, he exasperatedly turned his head towards the information workers who were watching him like hawks.

“Sorry, you have to wait! We’re not in charge of those,” he heard a vaguely familiar voice and of course, there he was. Halt sighed. He was totally going to file a complaint against these stupid, useless things!

“How long?” he shot back. He was unusually grumpy – well, grumpier today. His flight was delayed by four hours and by now he was supposed to be in an important meeting. Instead, he was stuck at the airport. In this demonic machine. What a great day.

The redhead leaned against the device. For a second he looked somewhere behind Halt, where the baggage reclaim was, then replied: “Don’t know. A police officer has to come and get you out.”

He smiled. Halt wasn’t sure why; he was stuck here. It seemed as though the information worker wanted to chat while he was trapped. There weren’t many people around he could help, he must’ve been incredibly bored.

“Don’t worry. This is not that bad of a situation. I mean, the machine’s still working. At least from where I’m standing.” Halt narrowed his eyes at him and turned around so he faced the exit, leaned against the shiny silver wall of the compartment and waited. He was not in a mood to chat.

The next time Halt took the plane actually was not an official journey. No, it was something much more frightening. He was going on a family vacation with his brother and sister to Arrida. Halt hated holidays with a passion and it didn’t help that his younger brother always tried to play tricks on him. While his younger siblings were outfitted for a proper vacation (Caitlyn wore a pretty summer dress and Ferris had a dark blue shirt with flamingos printed on it, shorts and a straw hat), Halt was dressed in his formal attire. He wasn’t about to embarrass himself at the airport where some of the check-in workers already knew him (if not in person then by sight); it would ruin his entire reputation.

As they stood below the departures board and waited for their check-in number to appear, they heard a very cheerful voice: “Hello, can I help you?”

Halt didn’t even have to look to know who it was. “Oh. It’s you,” he grumbled under his breath quietly. Unfortunately for him, Caitlyn heard him since she was standing just a few feet away.

She looked between the two of them. “You know each other?” she asked, curiosity seeping through her voice.

She was given two different answers.

“Of course,” said the stranger.

“We’ve... met,” Halt admitted. Caitlyn took in his expression and decided to not pursue this matter further. Instead, she smiled and looked at the guy’s ID card that hung around his neck.

“Tell me, Mr. Crowley. What should I do if I’m terrified of flying?” Halt grumbled. That wasn’t true. Caitlyn had never been afraid of flying. If there was someone who would’ve run out of the airport if he could, it was Ferris. His younger brother was afraid even of his own shadow.

Crowley momentarily stiffened, then turned his ID card around and gave her a bright smile in return. Halt turned his attention back to the departures board and while he, in fact, did listen to what this Crowley guy had to say to Caitlyn, he just wanted this vacation to be over already. He noticed that Ferris moved in closer to them to get tips on how to conquer his fear of heights and they both listened intensely.

Halt had to admit; Crowley knew what he was talking about. Even though he tried to ignore his incomprehensible babbling, Halt couldn’t help but stand there. Both his younger siblings seemed to cling to his every word; it was fascinating what effect this guy had on people.

But, he wasn’t beating around the bush and actually gave them helpful tips which surprised Halt a little. From how their last meeting went down, he assumed that this Crowley cracked jokes on every occasion he got, so seeing him act so responsible had taken him aback.

“And what if I travel by myself? What should I do?” Caitlyn asked, pulling Halt over to her. He wasn’t sure why he did that, though. He did NOT want to listen to Crowley’s excited babbling. He already knew how the airport worked. If Caitlyn wanted to know, then fine, but he could be getting a coffee that very moment and he wouldn’t complain in the slightest. 

At one point during the conversation, he met Crowley’s eyes. An unusual feeling shot through Halt, but he shrugged it off fairly easily and broke the eye contact. He patiently listened to the end and let Crowley tell Caitlyn everything she wanted to know. Afterwards, his little sister spent the whole vacation talking about how amazing this guy's advice was and Halt couldn't help but think that maybe she had a small crush on Crowley. 

His concerns about whether he had to go break someone's neck were in vain as Caitlyn introduced her new boyfriend to them two weeks after they returned from Arrida. 

The next time the two met, Crowley was in a tight situation, getting yelled at by a passenger whose flight had been delayed by three hours and when he wanted to use the coffee machine, it just ate his money and he had no coffee. 

Halt could hear Crowley say: "I'm sorry about the inconvenience, sir, but there is no way I can solve your problems. Can I suggest calling the number on the machine and telling them it doesn't work? Or there is a nice coffee shop if you continue in that direction." 

The passenger didn't listen and tried to argue some more. Crowley sighed exasperatedly and run his hand through his red hair. This was proving to be a difficult day for him and this person certainly didn't help. 

"Yeah, well, I’m sorry, I can't do anything about it," Crowley said and half-turned to leave before he was stopped by another passenger who was on the same flight. 

An elderly woman came up to him and started complaining in broken English. "You give us wrong information! You say check-in open at five but it’s opened now!" 

Crowley's tired eyes looked over to where the check-in for the flight to Teutland was supposed to be. Indeed, they were open already. Around the check-in desk were tons of people belonging to other flights. 

Halt watched as a man with an ID card in a business suit came up to Crowley and they chatted for a while, from time to time looking at the chaos near the check-in desks. That must be his boss, Halt thought. Actually, he had no desire to go check himself in, mainly because he also had a reservation for that Teutland flight.

Crowley continued to walk around, asking people if they wanted help. Eventually, he got to Halt. 

"Hello, sir, can I help you?" he repeated his default phrase as Halt had heard it twenty times for the last fifteen minutes. Halt saw the hopeful look in his eyes. So many people rejected his help, some because of the language barrier, some because they were aware of what to do. Halt would have to disappoint Crowley yet again. 

"No, thank you," he politely declined. Crowley sighed. 

"Do you know the number of your check-in?" He asked. Halt scoffed. Of course, normal people didn't have the airport's mobile app where they could easily access this information, but Halt already knew what his check-in was, and right now, it was swarmed with people. 

But Crowley looked so eager to help someone and Halt gave in. "No, am don't know the number but maybe you could tell me?" 

Crowley visibly perked up. "Of course," he all but shouted. A bright smile appeared on his face as he opened an application similar to Halt's and asked: "Could you tell me your destination and the departure time, please?" 

Halt told him the details with skilled precision that he practiced ever since he got his job. It was fundamental to listen to and remember the useless things that some diplomats let out of their mouths. 

Crowley's bright smile disappeared as he looked through his iPad. 

"That's check-in number 125 and 126," he said and waved his hands in the direction of the crowd. "Over there," he added quickly, then went silent as he studied Halt's expression carefully, like he wasn't sure if he wasn't about to get yelled at for yet another time.

Halt may have been displeased that his flight was delayed, but he sure wasn't about to shout at some poor airport employee, even as one as annoying as Crowley. It wasn't his fault the plane didn't arrive on time and he was trying his best. 

"Thank you," he said simply, grabbed his suitcase and went over to wait in the (non-existent) line. 

Their next meeting happened a month later. Really, Halt was getting quite sick seeing Crowley every damn time he had to take the plane, but the night before his trip, he stood in the shower and a stray thought invaded his brain. Halt, with an expected amount of surprise, discovered that he actually wouldn't mind seeing Crowley again. Even though the guy could be annoying as hell, the few times he talked to him proved that he was in fact a pretty good company. 

Halt dismissed the thought when he stepped out of the shower. There was no use dwelling on something like that. 

But here he was, yet again waiting under the departures board for his check-in desk to open. And, of course, he could already guess by the mane of red hair who exactly was the information worker for today. Halt could swear that Crowley never even left the airport; he was there all the time. 

He was surprised when his bad mood (he didn't have time for his morning coffee. He had to get up at five o'clock in the morning and now, at almost six, none of the coffee shops was open yet) improved the second he saw him. He could tell that Crowley recognized him, too. He smiled tiredly and went to him. 

"Hello, can I help you?" He also sounded tired. Halt never had night shifts, but after seeing this poor guy barely stand, nobody could ever convince him to take on night shifts. 

"No, thank you," he declined his offer, even though he immediately regretted it. He was never a social butterfly, but, for some reason, he wanted Crowley to stay. 

However, Crowley knew when he wasn't wanted and made his way to the few people awake at this hour. Halt had to wait for another half an hour before Crowley came round again, stealing glances at him. 

In a matter of seconds before Crowley made his way to him, asking how default question. 

"You already asked," Halt grumbled. He crossed his arms on his chest. Crowley ran his hand through his hair. 

"Sorry, sir. You looked a little lost and I thought-" he cut himself off. Halt sighed. 

"You know what? If you really want to help me, you can go fetch a coffee."

Crowley looked both directions. Ah, there he was. His boss, Duncan, was strolling between some self-check-in machines. There was no way Crowley could abandon his position now. 

"Sorry, sir, but I can't really leave this place, even if it's to go for a coffee," he explained, taking in Halt's immediately irritated expression. 

"But," he continued quickly. "My shift's ending in fifteen minutes, so after that we can go fetch a coffee? I could use some myself." 

Halt didn't even know he nodded. It must've happened though because Crowley went on to help other passengers before disappearing from sight. 

A few minutes later, a cheerful but tired voice came from behind him.

"So, shall we go fetch that coffee?" 

[dc-fics-and-pics]

Jason Todd X Harper Reader pt 3

Warning: Smut

Word Count:3500  

When Jason pulls into the parking garage you don't even notice till he opens your door for you, he grabs both of your food and walks next to you towards the entrance. It is dark now and you shuffle closer to Jason as you walk along the sidewalk. Gotham has an eery feeling that you don't get in Star. You shiver at the cold breeze brushing the hairs up on your arm. The lights of the lobby are comforting when you finally get out of the darkness that is Gothams night time. You welcome the nice warm lobby relaxing from the newfound heat. Much to your surprise, Jason doesn't leave you there, he continues with you to the elevator all the way to the top floor and even into your apartment. The elevator ride was quiet. Like any other trip, the buttons dinged and boring music chimed, and when the door opened for you, you both shuffled out into the hall.

Apartment number 203 was your stop and you unlocked the door gleefully. Welcomed into your temporary home you sit down at the kitchen counter and Jason plops next to you pulling out the food container and even opening it for you. You push it away and put your head down on the counter in front of you still upset from earlier. Jason sighs, "You know y/n Nightwing himself design this burger to be the best of all the burgers on the menu."

"Cool."

"Can you try it I will tell him what you think."

"I'm not hungry."

"Dick is going to be very disappointed if you don't eat his specialty burger."

You laugh at the real name of Nightwing. "His name is Dick?"

"Yup, Dick Grayson."

"Well," you sigh, "Kids are cruel."

"Yes they are, so don't put poor Dickie through any more pain and try his burger so I can tell him how much you loved it."

"What if I don't like it?"

"You will."

"If I don't can I not wear a Knights jersey tomorrow?"

"Sure."

You take a bite out of the Nightwing burger and it practically melts in your mouth. Two thin patties each with Their own American cheese and some special sauce you groan just tasting it. Then you look back at Jason who sits next to you with a smug smirk on his face, "I hate it," you deadpan

He shakes his head rolling his eyes at you, "No you don't dork eat it."

You both sit in a comforting silence eating your burgers and fries. You both get to talking and you learn Jason has never seen any of the High school musical movies.

"How have you never seen a high school musical!" you shout at him shaking his shoulders.

"I was kinda deceased at the time."

"That's no excuse they play it on repeat in hell!"

"Who said I went to hell?"

"Batburger wouldn't have made you a villain if you didn't"

Jason sighs and you hop from your seat over to the couch and rent High School Musical one, two, and three. Jason flops beside you with a blanket and you even make a bowl of popcorn before your marathon. You curl into the nice warm blanket letting the buttery smell of popcorn coming from the bowl in your lap entrance you.

"I'm going to warn you I will sing every single lyric to every single song."

"I'd expect nothing less."

The movie opens and we are only about 5 minutes in, right during Troy and Gabriella's duet when your phone rings. You stop your solo to look down at the phone seeing Connors face light-up the screen. You pick it up and answer it on the third ring standing from the couch and abandoning your comfort you walk behind the livingroom towards the kitchen. You hear the singing from the living room pause. You walk to the counter sitting on it before you speak, "Hello."

"Hey y/n it's me," Connor says over the phone.

"Yeah I know Conner I have caller ID."

"Oh yeah right," he laughs."Is everything okay you stopped responding to my texts after you went out to dinner."

"Yeah I'm sorry Roy and I got into an argument."

"I'm sorry y/n/n. What about?"

"He is being a jerk about the people I date." "He thought we were dating," I laugh.

Conner chuckles over the phone, "Yeah that's totally weird why would he think that."

"I don't know but he made me promise not to date any superheroes."

"Well, that's unfair."

"Yeah, I know." In the corner of my eye, I see Jasons dark figure lean against the doorframe.

"You should be allowed to be with a guy who is nice and strong who can protect you and is a good person I don't see what he sees wrong about dating a hero."

"Yeah I know but you know me I'm still going to."

"I hope so. Look y/n/n next time can you please tell me if you're busy. I was worried sick about you. You are in the crime capital of the country I don't want to think about what could happen to you."

I hear Jason scoff from his position in the doorway. "Yeah, but don't worry I can handle myself."

"I know but I'm still allowed to worry about you."

"All you ever do is worry about me, Connor."

"Well, it's my job to make sure you don't get hurt again."

"I know Conner and I love you for that but I gotta go."

"Where are you going?"

"I have a High School Musical marathon to watch."

"Really y/n/n High School Musical Marathon all by yourself? That's kinda sad."

"I'm not by myself Jason is here."

"Who the hell is Jason?"

"Roy's friend don't worry."

"Don't worry! That's not Jason Todd is it?"

"Anyways got to go tell Oli I said hi."

I hang up putting the phone in my pocket and walking back to the living room but I'm stopped by Jason who stands in the doorway. "I thought you weren't dating Connor," Jason asks the question but his eyes never drift down to you. Instead, he gazes over your head at nothing  which irritates you,

"I'm not."

"Then why does he act like your boyfriend?"

"He doesn't."

"Uhm yeah he does y/n," He mimics Connor in a high pitch voice, "I'm so strong I'm so hot I can keep you safe."

"That's not what he was talking about Jason!"

He keeps mimicking, "I was so worried about you. Gotham is too dangerous for a girl like you. I need to know where you are twenty-four-seven or else I get insecure. oh, y/n I love you so much. You can't talk to any other guy!"

"Jason stop it!"

He stops looking down you as you scowl at him," Why do you date a tool like Connor Hawke."

"Why would you even care?"

He stops, finally looking down at you. It is then that you notice how tall he really is. Even in the darkness his light blue eyes practically glow. Those big blue eyes hold so much more emotion than you have noticed, it is overwhelming and you are unable to detect what emotion he is holding. You wonder why the front of his hair is white making a cute little floof at the top of his forehead. It is a strange way to get your hair dyed. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy for a routine root check on his pure white streak.

His lips are on yours.

You don't even register it till you are backed against the kitchen counter. He is kissing you. And you aren't kissing back. It is then that your lips move with his trying to find his pace. He pulls away taking a breath and places little kisses on your lips. "You're so short." he groans lifting you to sit on the counter in front of him.

"You just freakishly tall," you say between kisses.

He puts his hands on the inside of your thighs and pushes your legs apart standing between them. He attacks your lips and his hands slide up around your waist pulling you into him. You wrap your arms around his neck arching into him. You note the slight buttery popcorn taste on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth. He breaks the kiss of frequently, your lips stick to his every time he pulls away before he dives back in again. Every time you get more into it he pulls away than jumps in before you can complain. You had never been closer to him. You could smell his fading cologne, something expensive you assume. Seems like something Connor would wear, You don't want to think about Connor. Jason and Jason only, he is here kissing your puffy lips hard and passionately. He detaches himself once again this time placing his forehead on yours catching his breath as you do the same.

"Becuase I like you," he whispers so quietly you almost don't hear it over your pants.

"What?"

"You ask me why I care if you date Connor. It's because I like you."

"You do?"

He looks at you like you are dumb, "Yeah duh."

"Good thing I'm not dating Connor then."

You grin and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back into you. Your fingers tug at his hair when he moves his lips down to your neck. He trails his lips down to the bottom of your neck kissing above your collarbone. You try to hold it in but when he continues to suck on that one spot you can't help but let out muffled giggles.

Jason releases the skin on your neck, "What is it?"

"I'm ticklish."

Jason rolls his eyes and dips down to kiss you once more before grabbing your legs and hoisting them around his waist. He wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you off the counter. You squeeze your legs around him in order to not fall. He turns around and walks out of the kitchen as you kiss up and down his neck dragging your hands down his shirt and under the soft fabric reaching out for his skin.

Jason eventually finds the bedroom and practically throws you down on it making you yelp. You look up at him sitting up on your elbows pouting at him as he towers at the end of the bed. He grabs your ankles sliding your feet down to the end of the bed, "Let's get this shit off you," he growls.

"Hey I like my Spartans gear don't mess it up," you whine at him as he tugs harshly at your many layers of merch.

He laughs like you are joking and lays over you holding his weight up on his elbows, "I'll buy you new ones." he kisses your lips lightly than stands back up.

"No, you won't," you sigh.

He chuckles again, "You are right I won't."

You are about to say something back when he pops all the buttons off your Jersey, "Jason!" you squeak out his name surprised and smack his shoulder.

"Don't worry you have another one," he whispers huskily in your ear

Even the black sweatshirt you have on underneath has star city Spartans on it. He pulls it over your head and throws it across the room. You try to follow it to see where it lands but Jason pulls your head back to him. You were even wearing a Bra that had the Spartans logo on the band. He groans at the sight of it you could see Jason was not amused. If he didn't like that he is in for a treat. He yanks the black leggings off of you revealing your red Spartans thong. You laugh at his face scrunching up. "Wh-whats wrong Jay?" you laugh

"You know y/n that's really a turn-off." He yanks your underwear down your legs and tosses it over his shoulder.

He crawls up kissing you and lifts your back up with one arm and reaches behind you unclipping your braw with the other. "You have no idea how long it takes me to undo that with two hands." You mumble.

"Don't worry Doll I can do it for you anytime you want."

You teas him saying," Where did you even learn how to do that? Are you a frequent bra wearer Jay?"

He smirks at you," Practice."

He laughs and stands up again making you shiver at the loss of heat. He slowly undoes every button on his jersey at an agonizingly slow rate as you lay there before him completely naked.

"Can you hurry up?" you groan.

"Eager much?" he teases.

His muscles are well defined and have a soft sheen from sweat. You notice the scars that litter his chest and wonder what had caused them. You follow his V line down watching as he every so slowly pulls down his jeans just leaving him in his bulging Calvins that cling to every part of him.

"Nice package, let me unwrap that for you " you wink smirking at him.

"Oh god y/n no jokes."

You laugh and he pulls his underwear down and kicks them off to the side. You hum at his large size approvingly.

He quirks his eyebrow up, "What does that mean?"

"Oh sorry," you clear your throat dramatically," Oh my goodness gracious Jason!" you start dramatically.

He rolls his eyes mumbling, "Oh god."

"You are so big Jay how will I ever fit you inside of me!"

"That's enough."

You giggle at his annoyed behavior. Even though he is much bigger than you expected you couldn't give him that ego boost. He certainly doesn't need one.

Sitting down at the end of the bed on his knees Jason grabs your legs pulling you up to him stopping your laughter. You're mere inches from his mouth and he spreads your legs open till your knees touch the bed you lay on. "You're so flexible," he comments.

"Yoga," you chirp and he hums in response.

He kisses up your thigh first making sure to hold you down when you wiggle. His tongue quickly licks a stripe up you fold making you take a sharp breath and he holds your waist down, "Be still." You nod your head at him and he kisses your clit, "Good girl," he hums sending vibrations up to your core.

His tongue draws a line from the base of your entrance up till you let out a soft moan when he reaches the right spot."Right there," he hums to himself. His tongue finds that spot on you again and he wiggles you around sucking and even bitting on it at some points.

Your breathing is heavy and your hips curl up into him begging for more. He swirls your sensitive nub in his mouth till you are heaving in front of him. He goes to slow to make you cum but just fast enough to make you feel so close to it. When you let out a soft moan his tongue flicks faster your hips buck into him as a response but he holds you down with his strong arms.

You can feel your wetness pooling out of you probably seeping into the blanket underneath. Jason decides that his tongue isn't enough. He must torture you more. He adds two fingers into you stretching out your walls. You let out a full moan as he pumps his fingers the same pace as his tongue making sure to hit that spot he knows will drive you wild. You have to push yourself onto your elbows now your body completely hollowed out curving up to him trying to give him all the access he needs to bring you to your release. You moan again throwing your head back as his speed continues.

All the tightening in your stomach releases and you just relax into Jason completely letting go. Your orgasm rips through you. Your chest flies up with your hips and Jason tries to push them down with his one free hand. You whimper and shake until it's over and you let out a loud groan. Jason detaches his mouth from you and pulls his fingers out and you attempt to catch your breath. He crawls up to you and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss his plump lips.

You kiss him till you think you have caught your breath and you push him over and you straddle his thigh kissing him. Jason pulls away chuckling "You think you are in charge now?"You look at him smiling and nodding your head. He shakes his head at you and grips under your thighs lifting you up and turning around and plopping you over on the bed. He gets up off the bed and walks towards the door. You are about to think he is leaving when he grabs his pants off the floor and pulling out his wallet grabbing a small square foil packet. "You just always have one of those in there?" you comment from your position on the bed.

"Not always," he shrugs.

"Why do you have one tonight Jay?"

"I love it when you call me that baby girl."

"I love it when you have sex all planned out in your head."

"Nothing was planned Doll this is for just in case situations."

He throws his pants back down and bites the foil ripping it off the top of the packet."

"You know you shouldn't do that."

"What you don't think it's sexy?" You just shrug and he slips the condom on and crawls back to you placing kisses all along your jaw finally trailing up to your lips. He pushes you against the bedframe and tucks his arms under your legs hoisting you up as he enters you.

He groans, "You're so tight."

"Thanks, you're pretty cool too Jay."

He growls and scowls his eyes at you ramming himself up into you starting with a quick rough pace. He pushes up into you until you are a moaning mess, pushing your legs back until they are stinging. The headboard behind you that continuously slams into the wall behind it thumping with the same pace.

"What not in the," you moan between words, "Joking mood?"

He drills up into you as his lips kiss up and down your neck leaving love bites and hickeys on all your sweet spots. You moan as he continuously slams into the sensitive spot inside you over and over again harder with each thrust.

"No, not really y/n."

You try to contain a giggle but a laugh slips out anyway. Jason, however, is not amused and instead decides to cease your laughing by kissing you. His lips are hard and long, no more pulling away, he kisses you and nibbled on your lip. Your close proximity made the sex even hotter and you wrap your arms around Jason's shoulders gripping the back of his neck. Jason pulls his lips away from your and rests his forehead on your shoulder groaning into your skin. You can feel yourself getting close. Jasons' eyes are scrunched up in concentration and he maintains a consistent pace, but you can tell he is reaching his end. You release finally comes and you drag your nails down Jasons back probably leaving scratch marks. One he hears you finish Jason cums quick, as he releases himself he dove his head back toward you pressing a hard fiery kiss on your lips.

Even after he has finished and the thrusts have ceased Jasons lips stay on yours. You give him soft kisses that he returns with little kisses he nudges back to you. After a moment of this, he finally pulls away from you and releases your legs that you in turn wrap around him. He holds hour waist and slowly falls back onto the bed.

 You lay on Jason's chest closing your eyes and lay small kitten kisses up his chest. He turns and lays you down onto the bed placing a kiss on your lips and stands from the bed, "I'll be right back."

Jason comes back a minute later with a warm washcloth after disposing of his condom and uses it to wipe up your thighs cleaning you up sufficiently and laying next to you. He lays on his back and you crawl upon his chest laying your head on it and close your eyes while he plays with your hair. You can tell his eyes are open but you lay there curled up into him. you don't question why he chooses not to sleep. You are ore surprised by the fact he hasn't passed out yet. But you lay their warm in his arms until you slowly drift off to sleep.

[leporellian]

how i got into opera (unabridged)

i realize i’ve never mentioned how i got into opera before and it’s like. it was a whole ass Odyssey and i really feel like confessing my sins today.

‘so how do you find a special interest’ watch this.

RIGHT so i actually was exposed to opera all the damn time as a baby because my grandmother thought, for some dumbass reason, that opera calms babies down. which she was apparently right so i’m not gonna debate that shit but has she ever been to an opera. literally every damn minute of the ring cycle could traumatize a baby. literally what the fuck. but that’s not where this story begins because i don’t remember ANY of that shit.

anyway so as a kid i was always on that bullshit with THESE fucking things

these were supposed to make your baby smart or something but they didn’t work because i have the processing speed of the fuckin Pony Express. but they were good. (except for the beethoven one, which terrified me. fuck beethoven.) they were like, soothing images/puppets/toys with a backdrop of classical music scored on a marimba, which was like CRACK COCAINE to an autistic kid like myself so i watched these until i was in 4th grade despite the box saying ‘for ages under 3′ which really shows you how ineffectual these were at actually making kids smart. now this was like, the opera gateway drug, because it buttered me up into liking opera/classical music, which is a CAPITAL Sin.

so by this point i already like classical music. unless it’s by beethoven because he freaked me the F u c k out. which is where... 

PURRPALS FOR THE DS comes in

this game was literally a shameless nintendogs clone that was made to sell purina cat food. it was absolutely fucking bizarre. however i was a seven year old with a nintendo Dee Ess and toxoplasmosis gondii practically running in their Bloodstream i was on this shit like a hare in heat. but the important part of the gameplay was this guitar hero clone where you had to stage a fucking cat acapella group

it was easy as shit, being a badly designed game made for selling 

PURINA 

CAT 

LITTER, 

so i would immediately go to the hard levels, which were as follows.

- THE MAGIC FLUTE - RIGOLETTO - LA HABANERA - TORADOR

first of all these motherfuckers took one song from the magic flute and one song from rigoletto and said it was the WHOLE OPERA but THEY COULDN’T EVEN FIND A FOURTH OPERA SO THEY WENT WITH CARMEN TWICE. what WACKADOO Chicanery. also why the FUCK was rigoletto there it’s really the third wheel of this whole affair. anyway so since i played this shit regularly enough i was able to remember the song names, which, i had no idea what the fuck they were about but as a kid you never know what the fuck anything is about so i really was not bothered. i think i thought the magic flute was a ballet in the same cinematic universe as the Nut Crack Ker or something

anyway.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE FRESH BEAT BAND

I HATED THIS SHOW WITH EVERY CORE OF MY BEING. i don’t know WHY but i felt such extreme secondhand embarrassment when i saw this show at the ripe old age of seven that when the school’s music teacher, which was the same one that loudly declared her loyalty to Mitt Romney in class one day (which is a different but no less entertaining story) showed a clip of this to us it was the first time i realized nothing was stopping me from walking out of the school. (which i didn’t. because i was a pussy. but fuck this show.) there was some dumb ass episode where all of the characters were doing different music styles or whatever- i really wasn’t paying attention i was on the computer in the same room of the television looking up how much my littlest pet shop toys were worth on ebay- and then they start singing 

LA FUCKIN HABANERA.

“i know that song!” i said, which sounds like joyful recognition, but in my head i was thinking something more akin to “WHAT THE FUCK THAT BITCH IS STEALING THE SONG FROM PURRPALS ON THE DS. LEARN YOUR COPYRIGHTS YOU HOE.” my parents immediately went ‘nah it has to have a different name’, which is when my ENTP really came out. i don’t believe in meyers-briggs but i got entp on the test and it basically means ‘stubborn little bastard who will start an argument with Literally Anyone” which is Kin Me Id. anyway i started being all ‘no i KNOW because PURRPALS on the DS told me’ so my parents were like ‘fine let’s just make the kid be quiet’ and looked it up on itunes. No Shit, i was right, because i knew my

PURRPALS 

LORE.

so anyway my parents knew my grandmother was crazy batshit for opera, which my grandmother actually used to hate opera but then a friend of hers who liked opera killed herself and then she decided to listen and went ‘nah this is actually kinda a bop’, which again a whole nother story, so they immediately tell her that i know about opera. which i DIDN’T i just knew about PURRPALS on the DS. so now my grandmother decides “aight i’m taking the grandkid to carmen at the LYRIC OPERA HOUSE”. 

i was seven and i didn’t know what ANY of those words MEANT. but my parents made me wear a dress and a purse so i figured it was an Occasion. (i filled the purse with nothing but goldfish crackers. they weren’t even in a ziploc baggie inside the bag i just dumped like half a carton of them directly into the purse.) 

so anyway i liked watching carmen but it wasn;t like it was anything special to me at the time. like you could have replaced it with Madagascar 2: Escape 2 Africa and it would have the same effect. 

UNTIL ACT FOUR. 

my grandmother was never exactly aware of my reading abilities until i was maybe like, 13. she didn’t think i was actually understanding anything in the little program thing they give you. but i realized, right as act 3 finished, that carmen was going to be stabbed in the next act

ON STAGE

and i lost my shit.

“that doesn’t even make sense!” i told my grandmother as we left the building. (i thankfully didn’t make a scene but i was shaking like an abused grayhound, or some shit.) “don jose is a bad guy carmen would have stabbed him first.” (thankfully there’s a production where that actually happens. so some day i will sue them because they plagiarized from my filibuster in the lyric ladies’ bathroom about carmen when i was seven.)

“there are operas with happy endings!” she said. i wasn’t sure i believed her because i watched that one bugs bunny episode where they do wagner. 

so anyway, like 7 months later my grandmother tells my parents she’ll take me to see the magic flute, also at the lyric, because it’s a child friendly opera, which, it’s

AN OPERA ABOUT FREEMASONRY CULTS AND RACISM AND SEXISM WITH TWO OR MORE ATTEMPTED SUICIDES AND A HITMAN PLOT

but by this point nobody really cared and this time i was sure i wouldn’t freak because i had trained myself into not crying at movies, because my parents didn’t allow me to watch movies that made me cry so i exploited a loophole, which again, another story. i knew about the magic flute vaguely because it was in Purrpals on the DS. 

now that i knew what the magic flute was- vaguely, my grandmother told me nothing about it except that it was an opera- i asked my grandmother what rigoletto was. “oh it’s the same thing as the hunchback of notre dame!”

i still don’t know what the fuck she meant by this.

anyway i loved the magic flute- which had the same music as that baby einstein tape all those years ago so it immediately felt familiar- and as soon as i got home i went and decided that i was going to know everything to know about it. 

and that’s how i got into opera.

[officialjkhogan]

STRAY: Chapter Eight

STRAY: Chapter Eight

by J.K. Hogan

Noah’s stomach cramped with hunger as he tapped the glass touchpad that controlled the holographic display. He was using the library’s public data-deck to take a practice test for his level twos. If he got the grades he thought he would, he might be able to escape his almost certain future of working in a factory or a plant, and instead become an engineer. Level two proficiencies were the highest level of education for everyday citizens—doctors, for instance, went on to level threes. Noah knew from his history lessons that back in the days of brick-and-mortar schools, level twos were referred to as “university.”

He sipped bitter coffee that someone had left sitting on the machine, obviously having forgotten about it while it was being filled. Gods, he was hungry. He hadn’t made many sales at the Bazaar last Tuesday, and a couple of his regular customers had stopped coming around, so he had literally five dollars to his name at the moment. He just had to manage not to starve to death before he took the tests, then he could get a decent job and find an actual place to live and, like, food and stuff.

At least he had a current roof over his head, as undesirable as it was. And crashing with Cousin Tom was definitely undesirable. Being a dealer meant that Tom had a revolving door for customers at any time of the day or night, and they were always eyeballing Noah real creepy-like. Sometimes even Tom did. Noah had gotten used to living with the hunted feeling, that need to constantly be on his guard and look over his shoulder. He always felt like there was someone just around the corner, waiting to grab him—be it Tom’s addict friends, stalkers on the street like that one time years ago when the blond guy saved him, or even goons from his parents’ church-cult, deciding they were going to force him to join after all. He’d never, ever felt at ease. Well, only once. With that guy. Whose name, irritatingly, he couldn’t ever seem to remember.

Noah had been avoiding going back to Tom’s, because the way the man looked at him had been making him increasingly uncomfortable. Sure, they were family—at least, he thought they were. He’d only met Tom after his parents had dumped him. They ran in the same circles, and Tom approached him one day, saying that he was the son of Emmy Cowan’s estranged brother. Noah had been so desperate for any kind of connection to another human being that he hadn’t questioned it. Still, occasionally Tom’s stare became sort of possessive, and even…predatory. Sometimes.

Noah scored nearly perfect on the practice test before his hunger started making him lightheaded. He had two more days until the Bazaar opened again, but he’d starve before then. He had no other choice but to back home—not that it was his home—and find someone to blow for a twenty. There were always some tweaked-out druggie closet-cases around to hit up. They consumed more when they got off, so it was lucrative for both Noah and Tim. As much as he hated doing it, Noah refused to let himself feel ashamed. It was survival, pure and simple.

As he walked home later, Noah passed by Sanctuary just like he did every time he went to the library. And each time, he remembered the masked man who suggested there might be a job for Noah inside. Hell, the guy probably just wanted Noah to come in because he thought he was pretty. It had been a nice fantasy, but Noah didn’t believe a word of it. It was rare for businesses to have enough capital to employ an in-house engineer to keep their tech up and running. Still, every time Noah walked by, he wondered if he’d given up before he even tried.

Tom lived in a ramshackle house on the edge of a former residential district that hadn’t survived the last purge. No one had bothered to claim the land and redevelop, so people like Tom and his ilk had colonized it, squatting in buildings in various stages of disrepair. The front door rocked on its hinges as Noah swung it open to reveal stained tan carpeting and puke green walls that were peeling enough to expose the sheetrock beneath the paint. The sickly sweet smell of ganja was a physical cloud in the hallway, so Noah followed it into the dark den with its blackout curtains and psychedelic tapestries.

Tom lounged on the threadbare couch with two men who were obviously sampling the wares, and a woman was asleep—or unconscious—in the recliner that hadn’t reclined since they’d found it on the side of the road. Tom looked over and gave him an oily grin.

“Eyy, Noah, my dude! Have you been at the fuckin’ library this whole time?”

With a sigh, Noah half sat, half fell into the only empty chair left. “Yep. Killed my practice test though. I’ll be ready for my level twos. I only came home because…I got hungry.”

Tom took a sip of his lager and eyed Noah for a moment, before jerking his chin at the guy to his left. “I’m sure Adam here can help you out.”

Noah’s stomach rebelled, and he had to swallow down the urge to vomit air—because that’s all he had in his stomach—but a guy had to eat. At least Adam was somewhat attractive, built like a tank, with a razor-sharp jawline and a crooked nose, but he also looked like he could get mean with very little provocation.

“My cuz here needs some work to make a little extra cash,” Tom said to Adam. Some kind of silent communication must have happened to inform Adam just exactly what kind of work Tom meant, because Adam gave Noah a long onceover and licked his lips.

Fuck. The guy was definitely down for it, and Noah should be happy because he would get to eat but, fuck. Noah stood up and headed for the door, looking over his shoulder and raising a brow until Adam got the picture and followed him. As he climbed the stairs, with Adam’s fingers brushing the top of his ass, Noah hated himself just a little bit more.

****

Tonight I am a creature. A man but not a man. Who dreams of nothing but murder.

****

Tuesday, the Bazaar was swamped. Noah sold half the inventory he’d brought from the crypt, and he should have been flying high on the accomplishment, his full belly, and the wad of cash in his pocket, but he was just…numb. All he could think of was the feeling of Adam’s beefy hands on his skull, pulling his hair, and Noah wondered why he did it.

He had no one. No family, not really, no real friends, only people who seemed to want to use him, so why the hell did he fight so hard not to starve. Why didn’t he save himself the trouble, and his jaw the strain, and just go fall off a bridge somewhere.

Shaking his head, he stuffed his remaining tech into his duffel. How fucking melodramatic. He’d never been suicidal…not really. Honestly, he’d always felt like there was something just offstage, waiting in the wings, something that he was meant to do but couldn’t quite see the full picture yet. Some days it was the only thing that kept him from knotting sheets together.

He piled up his boxes and crates behind an old food stand from the bygone days of the amusement park and hoped no one would steal them before next Tuesday. The back of his neck prickled as he bent to pick up his duffel, so he spun around and scanned the almost empty Bazaar. There was no one near. No one, except for a big white cat.

This time, the coincidence of seeing the cat again made Noah’s hair stand on end. He was half convinced he’d been hallucinating the creature this whole time. His fingers clenched on the leather strap of his bag, but he tried to act like he wasn’t afraid he was losing his mind.

“Hey, there, um…cat. I don’t know how you keep finding me. In fact, I’m ninety-five percent sure I’m seeing things. I’m surprised you haven’t gone home by now. Hell, I’m surprised you’re still alive.” Noah scrubbed his hands over his face, then shook his head. “I’m surprised I’m still talking to a gods-be-damned cat.”

The creature meowed, then slinked over and wove its way between and around Noah’s legs, leaving long white hairs all over his jeans. He brushed off the denim-myolene blend and glared at the cat. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

The cat purred and let out another plaintive moan.

“Ugh… I know that look too well. You’re hungry, yeah? All right, then, follow me. Today, we eat like princes.”

Eating like princes for Noah meant one of the mobile kitchens that frequented the park. He ordered some falafel, with curry chicken and rice, and hauled it all over to a picnic table. He sat down on the table part, while bracing his feet on the bench. Inexplicably, the cat followed him like it thought it was people. With a sigh, Noah spread out a napkin and spooned some chicken onto it for the cat, who eagerly wolfed it down, snarling a little as it chewed.

“Easy, killer,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t choke. Damn, you must’ve been starving. Been there, pal. Hey, at least you found a generous benefactor to keep you in curry, and you didn’t even have to blow anybody to get money.”

As if it understood, the cat froze. It stopped eating and stared at him, blinking slowly. It sat back on its haunches, ignoring the food, and waited, as if it expected him to continue. Embarrassed about talking to a cat, Noah gave an agitated wave of his hand.

“It’s nothing. When you’re homeless, you do what you need to do to get by. Every day I see people who are way worse off than me, so I try not to complain.”

The cat padded closer, curling up and pressing against the side of Noah’s thigh, purring. Noah stroked its back, running his fingers through the soft fur, and felt the knobby bumps of its spine as it arched up to chase his touch. Looking down at the cat, Noah noticed something he’d never seen before—a flash of black on the inside of its ear.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, as if the cat was going to answer him. He swiped a finger along the pink, paper-thin skin of the cat’s inner ear. It was ink. A tattoo. He knew that animals were often tattooed with ID numbers by shelters, or even their owners, but this marking was unusual. It was a glyph of a small, five-pointed crown. Beneath it, letters spelled out a word he didn’t recognize. “I wonder what this means. Basti.”

When he said it, the cat whipped his head around to stare up at him, and it let a garbled little growl. It sounded so disgruntled that Noah had to laugh. Obviously at some point, someone had cared about this cat enough to mark it, but he’d seen it on the streets too many times for it to be anything other than a stray.

“Is that your name, then? Basti? It’s cute.”

The cat narrowed its eyes, exhaled sharply through its nose, then mewed and went back to the curry chicken. That, apparently, was that.

While Basti inhaled his food, Noah ate at a more sedate pace, savoring the feeling of, for once, not being hungry. He looked at the cat, who in turn watched him. It was lithe and willowy, but not skinny. Its bones didn’t protrude past its thick coat, so it had to be fed with some regularity.

“I wonder where you normally get your food,” Noah said before he could quell the impulse. He sighed, setting down his now-empty food carton. “I know I must seem like some freaky stranger who speaks to you as if you were human, in a language you couldn’t possibly understand but…I don’t have many people—or animals, I guess—in my life, so I just can’t help myself. You’re safe.” Noah didn’t know if he meant that the cat was safe for him to talk to, or that the cat was safe with him. Maybe both.

“I have to go home. It will be dark soon.” The last place he wanted to be was Tom’s, but it wasn’t safe on the streets at night. “You should go on back to wherever you normally sleep and eat. Trust me, where I’m going isn’t anywhere you want to be.”

Noah tossed their trash into a nearby agri-dump receptacle, and set off west, toward Tom’s. The cat jumped down from the picnic table and followed. Noah sighed heavily, because with his work done and his belly finally full, all he wanted to do was lie down on his lumpy mattress and sleep for a week.

“Shoo! Get out of here! Trust me, you don’t want to go where I’m going.”

Basti grumbled and sat back on his haunches. As Noah continued through the rapidly darkening park, he pretended he didn’t know the precocious feline was still following him.

[freudensteins-monster]

Spy vs Poli-Sci

Initially inspired by this post. Just one of my many, many WIP's. I was going through my folder and reviewing some of them and figured I could get this one sewn up easily enough. Could have been better, and I could have tired harder with the ending, but I just wanted to get it out of my WIP folder without, you know, deleting it. :s

The Asset wasn’t built for espionage, as his metal arm could attest, but as it was mid-November his bulky layers and leather gloves wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. At least that’s what his handlers had said, in his general vicinity, and the Asset wasn’t capable of arguing with them. He wasn’t capable of wanting to argue with them.

The mission itself was simple; Go to the meeting point, approach the contact, get the package, go to the extraction point. Simple.

The dark van pulled up in the blind spot of a parking garage three blocks out from the agreed upon meeting place and the Asset’s handlers went over his mission parameters again.

Go to Starbucks across the street from the railway station. Locate the contact. They will be seated in the corner booth wearing a blue shirt. Give them the ID challenge and wait for them to respond correctly before taking a seat. Get the package. Get out. Go to the extraction point.

The Asset nodded in understanding and exited the parking garage, staying out of security camera sight lines, and walked the three blocks to the designated meeting point. If the Asset had the ability to question his orders he would have thought it strange that he was being sent to meet another operative. From what he’d overheard, and filed away as irrelevant to the mission, the contact worked for an organisation that was uneasy about hiring a ghost, they’d wanted to see him in the flesh (and metal) to see if he was worth the price tag. Not that it mattered to the Asset; he went where he was told to go, killed who he was told to kill.

The Asset approached the coffee house, his training and programming causing him to be on the lookout for any suspicious persons or vehicles. He stepped inside, automatically registering the exits and categorising potential threats in the room. He remained motionless as patrons tried to squeeze passed his broad frame while he quickly surveyed the room and located his contact; corner table, blue shirt, female. That last part had been omitted from his briefing but it was of no consequence to the Asset. He had worked with female operatives before, he had trained some of the best ones, and the brunette at the corner table, hugging a ceramic mug to her chest as she peered down at a book, was definitely one of the better ones, judging by how utterly comfortable she was in her surroundings.

He found the most efficient path through the maze of customers and approached her table, his gloved metal hand resting on the empty chair opposite her.

“How’s the coffee?” he challenged in Russian.

His contact tore her eyes, bright blue and framed by glasses, away from her book to glance up at him, a bashful smile playing on her lips as those same eyes looked him over.

“Uh… I wouldn��t know, I’m drinking tea,” she responded correctly in awkward, heavily accented Russian.

The Asset nodded in acceptance and sat down opposite Darcy Lewis.

** *** **

I hate blind dates, Darcy whined before reluctantly agreeing to one.

I really hate blind dates, she thought as she checked her watch to confirm that her date was most definitely late.

I am never speaking to my brother again, she swore half an hour later as she gave up all hope of her date showing up, digging a paperback out of her bag.

She’d been travelling around with Jane, zigzagging across Europe, from observatory to observatory, ever since SHIELD tricked them into going to Norway.

“It’s a perfect opportunity to blah blah blah…”

It had been exciting in those first few days, just like it had been immediately after Thor left and Jane kicked her research into high gear. Jane’s enthusiasm was contagious even if Darcy still didn’t really understand the science, but after four months of non-stop sciencing Darcy needed a break. So when Jane finally decided to call it quits and head back to the States (“There’s totally some space event that can best be viewed from deserts of Arizona, and an old college professor who can totally hook you up with some telescope time, isn’t there?”) Darcy decided to peel off and just be a twenty-something tourist for a while, with the promise of meeting back up with Jane when she finally ran out of money. It was when she’d just decided it time to move on from Prague and make her way to the pizza capital of the world when her brother finally got in touch with her after seeing facebook posts of her jealousy-inducing holiday snaps.

“How much longer are you in Prague for?” he’d asked.

“Uh, maybe another day or two. Why? Want me to pick up you up a souvenir?”

“I want you to meet my friend for a date.”

“What?!”

“You remember my first college roommate?”

“The guy that dropped out to become a metal guitarist before the end of the first semester?”

“Yeah, him. He’s been travelling across Europe with his band. He’s in Germany right now but he should be in Prague on Tuesday. You should meet him for coffee.”

“Why, Charlie?” she’d whined. “I’ve never even met the guy before, and you know how I hate blind dates… and you’ve totally already told him I’d do it, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” her older brother had laughed. “C’mon, Darce. He’s homesick and tired of being on the road with three Norwegians and a weird as fuck Estonian. He’s needs something familiar.”

“And nothing says ‘home’ like meeting a stranger in a Starbucks,” Darcy grumbled.

“Please, Darce? He sounded so miserable last time I spoke to him I wanted to Fedex him a freaking puppy.”

“Fine,” Darcy sighed loudly. “But I was planning on leaving on Tuesday at the latest so he’s going to have to meet me at the Starbucks across the street from the train station. At ten,” she added after quickly checking the train timetable. “So, tell me more about him. What’s the name of his band?”

“Nuclear Casket.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

Darcy’s thoughts of vengeance against her brother were halted by a shadow falling across her book.

“How’s the coffee?” a gravelly voice asked in Russian and Darcy groaned internally. Of course her brother had to tell him about her massacring the Russian language during Jane’s stay at the Pulkovo Astronomical Observatory, which led to her asking existential questions like, “Am I a coffee?”

Darcy took that embarrassment and folded it into her annoyance at the tardiness of her date, and had been fully prepared to rant at him, but one look at the man standing before her and she completely forget her frustration. His hair was long and his expression grim, but in his hoodie and dark jeans he looked more like an undercover cop than the politically active metal guitarist her brother had raved about. It was a really good look for him.

“Uh… I wouldn’t know,” she blushed, scrambling to remember the right words. “I’m drinking tea.”

He sat down across from her and as the lull in conversation became an awkward pause Darcy quickly rediscovered her earlier irritation.

“Seriously, you’re not even going to apologise for being, like, an hour late?” she snapped in English, earning her a confused expression.

The Asset wondered why his contact was affecting, rather perfectly, an American accent, but then he took stock of her appearance, and accepted it as a smart tactic; an American tourist didn’t warrant a second look.

“I’m two minutes early,” he replied confidently without needed to glance at a timepiece.

“What? What time did he give you?” she demanded.

“1100 hours.”

“Fucking idiot,” Darcy muttered, shooting off a text to that affect to her brother. “I swear, Charlie would have forgotten his own name if mom hadn’t written on his underwear. And yours is… Jimmy? Johnny? Jeremy? Shit,” she laughed. “I guess I’m just as bad.”

The Asset blanched as his contact stared at him expectantly. He had not been provided with a cover identity, it had not been deemed necessary. The Asset was not a person.

“Jimmy,” he replied, clinging to the first option. The name felt strange on his tongue, and didn’t sit quite right. “James,” he tried again. That was better, but still not right.

“Hi James, I’m Darcy,” she smiled, reaching across the table.

The Asset stared at her hand for a moment before shaking it. He hadn’t be prepared for such interactions. He hadn’t been programmed to make small talk. He was just supposed to take the package – an envelope with information on his next target – and go to the extraction point. Why was she dragging the meeting out? Did his new employers distrust his reputation so much that they would send one of their best operatives to size him up?

“So,” she sighed when he failed to make conversation. “I was expecting you, like, an hour ago, and now I’ve got to leave in ten minutes to make my train. I guess we’ll have to make do with the basics. So… name, rank, and serial number?” she teased.

The Asset flinched. He didn’t have an answer for her question, so why did it feel like he did? Why was he feeling anything?

“I don’t understand,” he muttered in disused English, more to himself than her. “I was just supposed to get the package.”

“Oh, right,” Darcy replied, remembering the request Charlie had made on her dates behalf. But perhaps she had this whole ‘blind date’ thing wrong. Or maybe Charlie oversold it to her just to be annoying. Apparently she was just supposed to act as the musician’s dealer.

She reached into her bag, not noticing how James tensed up and watched her movements, and dropped a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in front of him. She never travelled without an emergency stash of American candy and she decided she was happy to part with the last of it if it made the guy across from her lose the kicked puppy expression.

The Asset stared at the bag of candy in utter confusion. He looked at his contact again, studying her closely, noting her lack of defined musculature and an absence of any hidden weapons, and realised his mistake; she was an American tourist.

He stood up to leave, only for the girl to stand with him.

“Hey,” she called, pressing the bag into his hand. “It’ll be alright,” she promised him with a sweet smile. “Just… have some candy, go out and have a few drinks with some American backpackers, get a good night’s sleep…” she rambled.

Darcy deliberated a full second before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The Asset instinctively went to break her hold but froze when he realised it wasn’t an attack, it was an act of affection. The Asset wasn’t sure how he knew what affection was, his handlers certainly didn’t touch him like she did, but the Asset decided it was… nice.

“I have to go,” he said, reluctantly pulling away.

“Sure, just… call Charlie any time, regardless of the time difference, he won’t mind a bit,” she lied with a smirk.

The Asset tried to replicate the movement of her lips in reply before leaving the civilian in the coffee shop. He was barely halfway to the extraction point when a familiar dark van pulled up alongside him and ushered him in.

“We just got word that the contact was taken out in transit. You should not have waited so long to… what is that?” his handler asked him, all eyes in the van dropping to the orange bag held tightly in the Asset’s metal hand.

“Candy,” the Asset replied distantly as he recalled every detail of his interaction with the woman in the coffee shop. “32557038…” he muttered to himself, earning more worried glances from the heavily armed men in the van.

“What does that mean?” one of them demanded.

“I… I’m not sure,” he admitted.

His handler pulled out a red book and read from it, putting the Asset to sleep. He awoke screaming, strapped into the Chair, as electricity purged Darcy’s smile from his memory.

** *** **

Darcy was claiming a bunk in a rather picturesque backpacker hostel in Vienna when her brother called her back.

“Darce, I’m so sorry.”

“Say it with money transfers,” she shot back with a smirk.

“Jake was really looking forward to meeting you, but their van broke down as they crossed the border. They’re still stuck there waiting for it to get fixed.”

“Wait… what?”

** *** **

A few years later, after moving back Stateside following the Dark Elves debacle, Darcy stumbled out of her bedroom in search of coffee (an addiction she tried to kick between university courses) to find Jane sorting through a pile of notes that had been dumped on the coffee table whilst some breakfast news program played in the background. Darcy paid Jane no further mind until she took her first sip of coffee, sighing gratefully, and stood behind the couch to see what was happening in the world. Darcy blinked.

“Uh, Jane… why is my blind date making headlines?”

** *** **

Bucky had known Darcy Lewis was living at the Avengers compound for three months before he decided to approach her. She was seated in the lounge of the common room, holding a mug of something warm in one hand and balancing a tablet on her knee with the other.

“How’s the coffee?” he challenged, smiling as her shocked expression quickly softened.

“I wouldn’t know, I’m drinking tea,” she smiled back.

They regarded each other for several moments before nerves got the better of Bucky.

“Can I… Do you mind if I sit?”

“How about you get me a refill first,” she smirked, handing him her mug. “I feel like you’ve got one hell of a story to tell me.”

Boy, did he ever. And so he told her, all that he could remember, over several cups of tea. Darcy, he’d learnt, was extremely tactile, constantly reaching for him, and he couldn’t help but reciprocate in kind, and by the time he reached the part of the story that Darcy remembered they were practically sitting on top of each other. He’d thrown his metal arm behind her, resisting the instinct to yawn like he’d done so many times a lifetime ago, whilst the other strayed to her knees (she’d stretched her legs over his lap about five minutes into his story) as he recalled seeing her for the first time across a crowded café. He remembered the moment, and Darcy’s kindness, with great fondness, but the moment was ruined by an unladylike snort.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky grumbled as he attempted to glare at the girl in his lap.

“You thought I was a spy!” Darcy giggled hysterically.

Bucky groaned, burying his head in the crook of her neck, trying (and failing) not to notice the way Darcy’s ample chest moved against his as she laughed.

“What?” Darcy prodded as Bucky mumbled something into her skin.

“Corner table, blue shirt,” Bucky repeated when he lifted his head. “You fit the description, and you responded to the ID challenge correctly. How was I to know you weren’t my contact?”

“I think your first clue should have been that my blue shirt had cartoon breakfast foods on it,” she snorted. “What kind of spy wears shirts like that?”

“One pretending to be a college-aged American tourist,” Bucky retorted weakly.

“I was a college-aged American tourist.”

“Yeah, I figured that out. Eventually.”

They laughed about it for several minutes before Darcy got up to get refills on their tea. Bucky suggested they switch to beer, later that night, when he took her out to dinner. Darcy happily agreed.