#i have not gotten to the actual paper part yet and am still chipping away at annotations

[kachinnate]

i have never been this thoroughly fucked re: writing a paper imma be honest lads

[kissbentennyson]

I have no idea if you'd do this but I need a nega ben x reader. He's my favorite out of the alternates. A softer one shot would be nice but whatever you're feeling is good too! I'll take any content I can get!

*Emo Boy by Ayesha Erotica begins to play* Yeah me too.

Nega Ben x Reader | reader uses they/them pronouns, but dresses femininely.

Spill

He’d been waiting all day, and I mean, all day. Classes always seemed to drag on and on longer when he wanted something, and sure, he could have skipped. But that would have taken too much effort not to get caught. He isn’t afraid of the cops or the school administration… But dealing with his parents? Yeah, no. Not worth it. He’d b-lined it across Bellwood, all the way to the “café” he frequented. Truthfully, it wasn't much of a café seeing as how they specialize in more smoothie like drinks, but whatever. It has been rather crowded, too crowded, and everyone just wanted to get in then out.

He should have expected to bump or get bumped into someone, but it didn’t dawn on him until his espresso smoothie was all over your bright pink, fuzzy sweater. Both of you stood there with slack jaws and wide eyes as the brown liquid dripped from your chest and down onto an equally as pink lolita-esque skirt. It looked expensive, not in a daddy's money way, in a “I saved up to buy this” way. And so, he was prepared for hell.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!”

When it left you, Ben was confused. “Gosh, I should have been looking where I was going… But I was too distracted. Ugh, I-” You were flustered , more than actually, embarrassed is the correct word. “Um… Give me a second and I'll buy you a new one…”

“What?”

Watching as you tried to pat away the coffee with one of the recycled paper napkins the café gives out, a million thoughts passed through him. Of course he took the offer, he wanted that coffee. The line was a lot shorter this time around, and got by a lot quicker too. You ordered for him as he zoned out suddenly looking over your shoulder at him. “What?” He asks, watching you get even more flustered. “I just asked if you wanted anything else. Do you?” “Oh, uh, yeah.” he clears his throat, raising his voice. “The kale chips.”

You both walked out together, your head was down and you watched your shoes as you walked. “Again, I’m really sorry.” He glances at you with a slight side eye as he sips on the coffee, this was the gazillionth time you’ve apologized in just the last few minutes. “It’s… whatever.” He lets out a quick and breathy chuckle. “You apologize to me, but I ruined your sweater.” All of the sudden, your embarrassment seemed non-existent. A light and bubbly laugh leaving you. “Ruined? Oh, trust me, I’ll be just fine. I've dealt with worse.”

“Anyways! I have to get home and change, It was nice meeting you!”

-

The lunch room was beyond packed, packed like the reunion tour of a popular punk band from the 2000's. The doors and tables overflow with hungry and impatient mouths. You had managed to get in before the rush and snag a serving of less than okay school food, but by the time you got out of line, they had all flooded in. People had no concern for others around them, pushing and shoving like toddlers over toys, and you were getting the brunt of it. Not actually, but it sure felt like it.

You were halfway across the room and were looking around the tables for a free space- but it was too late for that already. A body slams into yours hard, you hit the ground as your food falls and splatters all of the chest of the sweater you had just gotten the coffee stain out of. Feet come down around you as you struggle to get up, the other person now looming over you. “Could you have watched where you were going!?” This whole situation was not intentional, but they had no right to get angry at you for that.

You felt the tips of your ears heat, unable to answer. Her eyes bore down on you as she sways with every passing body bumping into her. Suddenly, you feel a hand grab the back of your sweater and pull you from the ground, as if they were scruffing a cat. “Or, maybe you could stop play fighting with your friends in the cafeteria, like a bitch.” Her jaw drops and her freckled face goes red with embarrassment, obviously on the fact that she can't pawn her mistake off on someone else this time. The voice was rather monotone- in a way- compared to the words spoken. And rather familiar.

When you look up it’s the guy from the café, his neutral expression was a thin vale to hide his irritation- at least to you. His hand still had a grip on the back of your shirt, it was a firm hold, and it made you just a tad bit nervous. You swallow as the person swallows her embarrassment, rolling her eyes desperately to try and hide. “Whatever freak, sorry…” she turns and disappears into the crowd. You watch her do so, completely shocked at the situation at hand. Your lips part to say something, but his grip on your sweater releases, being replaced by an arm around your shoulder. Suddenly, you’re being dragged through the crowd and towards the cafeteria door.

He walks you out into the hallway, which is mostly empty at this point. “Thank you.” you choke out through the lump in your throat. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking with you- and you aren’t in any position to object.

Eventually you reach the stairs. Under it is a mostly empty black backpack, and there’s a light reflection of gold from inside. The weight of his arm leaves your shoulders and he walks ahead, sliding under the stairs and sitting with his back to an old AC unit. You hesitate for a moment, you’ve only met this guy one other time�� maybe you should just wait…… nah.

Sliding under the stairs right after him, you sit straight across from the guy. He’s already looked away. “I think we have third period together. Your name is Ben, right?” His phone is already out, and he’s scrolling through it. “Well I'm…” you give him your name, and all he does is look up at you with a nod before going back to his phone. The volume is low, but there are noises coming from it, ones you recognize. “Is that the Sumo Slammers mobile game?” There was no judgement in your voice at all, and suddenly the losing end sound plays.

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Yeah?” “My little brother is obsessed with that series. He says that the mobile game isn’t that good, but he still played it to the end.” He let out a little huff like laugh through his nose, pressing the power button and finally giving you his full attention. “Yeah, maybe the old one wasn't that good, but this one is a new release- Doesn’t even have dubbed lines yet.” He clears his throat, slouching a bit as his hands slide into his pockets. “Actually, it’s not fully released in the states yet. I got pre access to the game.” He watches you smile, and suddenly there's a slight tense feeling in his chest.

“That’s really cool, are you a beta tester or something?” He shrugs. “No, and it’s whatever.” He glances away, gaze holding on the wall. “Well I think it’s really cool, especially since it's a series you like.” “How do you know that?” His gaze snaps back to you, suddenly defensive. “Your backpack is open and the sun is reflecting off of the cold backing of the trading cards.” You lazily point to the stairs above you, and there is the reflected image of the symbol on the cards. “Those are the collectors additions, from japan. I know because I’ve been looking for that exact deck for my brother.”

You watch as his cheeks dust a light pink color, lightly nudging his bag so it falls over. He starts avoiding eye contact, leaning back fully against the old AC unit. “Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be cleaning up your sweater?” You lean back against the stairs. “Yeah, maybe. But I think you’re kinda cool, and I’d like to stay.”

It was rather silent the rest of lunch, when you tried to hold a conversation- he would end it with short answers that gave you nothing to build off of. The bell rings above you like the screech of an angered bird. You both get up, him raising from the floor before you. You brush the dirt off of the back of your thighs, the light sound of unzipping catching your attention. You watch as the zipper of his hoodie comes down as he pulls it. Yanking it off of his shoulders, revealing the greenish-grey long sleeve he had under it.

“Here. Even if you get the food off, it’ll still stain.” He hands you the coat, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, the already open flap lolling open even more. “Oh, thank you, I don’t know what to sa-” “Don’t. Don’t say anything. This never happened.” He walks past you and into the crowd of students, with his head down.

You watch as he does so, eventually looking back down at the hoodie in hand. You feel your face just slightly twinge with heat. “Yeah… Alright.” You say under your breath as you rush off to the nearest bathroom to scrub the food scum from your sweater.

-

It was a game day.

Not that he kept track of that, he had never been into football. Once upon a time he played soccer, but after he got the Negatrix any hopes of that former love returning was gone. Ben knew it was game day because his cousin was in her cheerleading outfit- and it was no were near time for cheer competitions. Her makeup was done and her strawberry blonde hair was pulled up, and she sat in the front seat of her boyfriend's car chatting to said boyfriend about the routines she had to do.

Ben sat in the back, as he always did, waiting for the drive to be over. It came soon enough as the car pulled into the drop off area in front of the school, slowing to a stop. Neither Tennyson waited for it to fully stop before opening their doors. He got out, closing it with a slam and without a thank you. Gwen still leaning in and talking. The chatter of the hoard of tired teenagers flocking into the building almost drowned out the shouting of his name.

Almost.

He groans, looking over his shoulder, spotting the mass of pastels jogging towards him with something in their arms. “I’m so glad I got here on time! They were packed this morning- and I thought I'd be late- but I made it.” In your arms is his hoodie and an espresso smoothie. You hand him your gifts with a large smile. “I um, washed the jacket for you. Thanks again.” The bell rings and you give a quick wave before pushing into the school building yourself.

His jaw hangs slack, looking down at his freshly cleaned jacket- lint free, folded, and still warm- and the smoothie. When he moves there's a light cracking from inside the jacket, like the sound of a chip bag. He pulls back one of the folds and there is a bag of kale chips, stuck to it is a yellow sticky note written on with a pink gel pen. A phone number with “See you at lunch.”

“Who was that?” Ben looks over at his cousin, an impressed smirk on her lips.

“You’re getting mileage out of this, huh?” “Soooo much.”

[tryingmybestpls]

Not A Team-Part 1: The Start

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The Reader tries to live a normal life, but her memories won’t leave her alone. Rhodey comes to visit the reader with a proposition.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Talks of death, talks of mental illness, mentions of feeling alone

Four Months Ago

"Y/N, do you think you can tell me why you're here?" The female therapist asks, clicking her one before setting it down on her notepad. The ex-hero shifts on the charcoal grey couch, wanting to be anywhere but here. While she knows that the room should be sort of calming, but it has the directly opposite affect on Y/N. Her stomach is twisting in knots and she feels like her breakfast is going to come up.

"I was told I had to come here." Y/N replies, looking down at her chipping burgundy nail polish. There was hardly any color left on her nails, but what was left was stubbornly holding on, a constant reminder of what she had painted them for.

"Yes, but why were you told to come here?" The doctor-whose name was escaping Y/N at the moment-pushes, shifting in her own seat. Y/N continues to stay silent, which makes the therapist sigh, "Look Y/N, you have to be here. The only way you are able to get out of this is when I am able to determine that you aren't a danger to yourself or others. The government needs to know that you are okay. It's apart of the Acco-"

"I-I messed up. I messed up bad." Y/N cuts her off, wanting to get this all over as quickly as possible.

It's the understatement of the century.  I messed up bad. That's what you say when you crash your car or get too drunk and text your ex. "Messing up bad" doesn't land you in court mandated therapy. No, Y/N hadn't "messed up bad", but she couldn't say what she had actually done. Even if she couldn't get the words out of her mouth, she was well aware if she had done. The smell of burning flesh used to be something she would wear like a perfume. Now it threatens to invade her nose, forcing her to go back to that night. Y/N tries her best to ignore it, but it's so hard to forget a smell like that.

"And when you say mess up-"

"I used my powers and people got hurt." Y/N answers, her hands getting hot. She glances down, trying to will away the heat and the fire that will surely follow. The therapist writes down a few more notes. Y/N finds herself hating the way the pen scratches at the paper, the sound almost deafening.

"Is it hard to control your powers?" The doctor asks, to which Y/N immediately shakes her head. She looks back up at the therapist, clasping her hands tightly together. Y/N is trying to look as normal and okay as possible, hoping that the therapist believes her little act.

"No. It-They're just slightly influenced by my emotions and I was just really emotional that day." Y/N replies as she feels the heat move away from her hands. She shifts on the couch, hating the attention she's getting right now, hating the way the therapist's eyes seem to notice every little movement and thought. The therapist writes that down, nodding.

"Why were you so emotional, Y/N?" The woman questions. The ex-Avenger looks back down at her hands, her wedding ring shimmers in the light that's streaming through the windows. Just seeing it makes her stomach sink, her throat tightening with that same emotion.

-

Now

Y/N has always hated silence.

It's the reason why she loved being in the city so much. It was constantly awake. There was never a moment of silence, no the city was always screaming and shouting. Y/N had welcomed the sound with open arms. Even when the Avengers moved out of the city and went upstate, it was still loud. Everyone kept different hours, everyone had different tasks so the base was never completely quiet. Life on the run with Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Nat wasn't quiet either. The five of them were a family, always constantly talking and bickering.

But now, she lived alone.

It was raining out today. The incessant pounding of the water droplets against the roof and the ground outside provided a much needed melody as Y/N moved around the house. Boxes still littered the rooms, precariously stacked on top of each other. She's been leaving here for a while, but some boxes she can't bring herself to unpack. For example, the large one in the middle of the living room that was labeled "WEDDING DRESS + BOUQUET" was now being used as an impromptu side table. Another one that was shoved into the second bedroom had "PICTURES FROM COMPOUND" scrawled on the side in sharpie. She doesn't think she'll ever open that one, not knowing how she handle all of those memories.

Y/N forces herself to pick up one of the boxes in the kitchen, this one labeled "WINTER CLOTHES". Usually, she would be outside tending to the garden (her therapist had told her that she needed a hobby to keep herself busy) or doing small tasks that needed to be done. However, because of the rain she was stuck inside with all the boxes that she had yet to unpack. The box is heavy, most of the weight most likely coming from her bulky winter coats.

Y/N had left the city she had loved so much, packing up her life to move to a small little house upstate. The city didn't feel like home anymore. Living in Steve's apartment without him felt wrong. It had never felt like home, didn't feel like she belonged there. They never lived at the apartment together, they didn't share any memories here. No, this place was all Steve. She was constantly surrounded by Steve-his things, his memory, his smell. It was suffocating, being surrounded by a man that had abandoned you.

Five years she was gone. Five years he had grieved and mourned over her and then-almost immediately when Y/N came back, Steve decided he didn't want to stay with her. He didn't tell her what he was going to do. Maybe he knew that if he had, she would've tried to talk him out of it. Y/N knows that she would've begged for him to stay with her. She was a. proud woman, but she wasn't proud enough to beg.

She had expected him to come back to her. Y/N thought he was going to return the stones and come back. She had thought they were going to be able to continue where they had left off, they were going to able to be together after all this time. They were finally going to be able to settle down and start that family that Steve had always hinted at. Get a house with a white picket fence and get a cute little dog. The fucking American Dream.

And then he had came back as an old man, with a gold wedding band that she hadn't given him on his finger. Steve gave Sam his shield and his legacy, no longer able to carry the mantle of Captain America. And Y/N-well Y/N's world just crumbled around her, her dreams shattering because Steve decided that he was going to move on.

She still loved him, she even still loves him now. It was impossible not to love him, even though he had left her behind. Y/N tried her best to hate him-told herself that Steve had betrayed her and that he didn't want her. She tried to tell herself that Steve didn't even love her, because if he had loved her why would he be so willing to abandon her, especially after he had just got her back? It didn't matter how much he hurt her or what he did to her, Y/N's heart would always belong to Steve whether she liked it or not.

Feeling incredibly conflicted, Y/N had forced herself to stay her by husband's side as he got sick. She didn't ask for an apology, even as Steve told her over and over that he was incredibly sorry for what he did. Y/N knew that he wasn't actually sorry because if he was actually sorry, he wouldn't have lived an entire life with Peggy. She wouldn't tell him how hurt she was or how looking at her wedding ring made her feel sick now. No, Y/N had played the role of the dutiful wife. She held his hand as his condition worsened and made sure his affairs were in order. Her feelings didn't matter as she tried to make his last days more comfortable.

And then he died.

Steve died, leaving her behind. She didn't dare talk about what had happened, what he had put her through. Y/N, even with all of the bullshit he had put her through, didn't want to tarnish his legacy. Steve Rogers was a hero and she wasn't going to be the one that ruined that for everyone. Even Sam tried to ask her if she was okay and she had just brushed it off, telling him that she was glad that Steve had picked him to carry on the legacy attached to the shield he had received.

Y/N had tried to carry on after Steve was buried, but it was hard. She was dropped into a world where all of her friends were gone, a world that had moved on without her. It was a world that she didn't belong in and she knew it. Y/N tried her best to return to normal, but she quickly learned that there was no such thing as the normal she was used to. Everything felt wrong, felt off in some minuscule way that made her unable to adapt to regular life again.

Y/N just kept bottling up her emotions, the pressure continuing to build up as the days went on. She was drowning it and there was no life preserver in sight. Everyone else went back to normal, going back to school or getting a job or finding ways to get busy. Y/N knows that she should've gotten help, that she should've tried talking to someone, but she didn't. Maybe a part of her didn't want to admit there actually was a problem, that Steve hadn't been the perfect husband and she felt abandoned by the man she married.

And that had led to her completely losing it.

Y/N would later be told that it was a nervous breakdown. A nervous breakdown. She felt-and still feels-like that name wasn’t what she experienced. It was so much more than just a nervous breakdown.

It had led to innocent people getting hurt, people that hadn't cause her pain, people that were most likely suffering just as much as she was. Her emotions were just too high and her powers-her powers decided to act on her impulses and her feelings. She had just been so God damn angry at Steve-

Y/N has to drop the box she was holding, her hands growing hot. She mutters curse words as she hears what sounds like glass shattering inside the box as she forces herself to calm down. She does the breathing exercise that the therapist had told her to do, attempting to rein in her emotions. Her eyes shut, breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Y/N tries to pull the heat back inside of her, but it just won't go back in.

Her heart is beating fast in her chest as she quickly moves back into the living room, her feet carrying her to the front door. Her bright red hand grabs ahold of the doorknob, throwing the door open.

The rain is much louder now, making it almost hard to see with how much is coming down. It hits the ground violently, a cold wind trying its best to cool Y/N off, to no avail.

She quickly walked down the steps of the porch as the heat crawled up her arms, her temperature rising. Y/N knows she won't have the time to take off her clothes and she also knows that she's gone past the point of attempting to rein her powers in. Her hands catch first, bright yellow and orange flames quickly covering her skin, coating them until no skin remained.

The flame crawls over her body, burning away  her clothes before the flames take over her entire body. The rain turns into steam as soon as it hits her fire covered body, a cloud surrounding her. Y/N feels more relaxed as the flame licks at her skin, covering her from head to toe. It's easier to calm down after she does this, getting some of those stronger feelings released in order to return back to normal.

-

Hours later while she is in the middle of cooking, someone knocks on her door. Y/N sighs softly, putting her slotted spoon back down on the counter, quickly wiping her hands on a dishcloth. She makes her way to the front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before she opens the door.

Rhodey stands before her, dressed in far more causal clothing that he usually is in. Y/N's eyes are immediately drawn to the thick manila folder in clutched tightly in his hands. He gives her a small smile. Y/N knows that he isn't just here to visit. No one ever comes to visit.

"Hey." Rhodey says gently, almost as if he's testing the waters. They haven't seen each other in a few months, not since the events that had led her to moving all the way out of here, not since she got out of the psych ward she had voluntarily gone to after her accident. Voluntarily is the wrong word here. The US Government had all but strong armed her into going.

"Hi. Uh-Here, come in. It's cold out." Y/N responds, opening the door a little wider. Rhodey's smile grows as he steps inside. He stops for a moment, looking around at her home. It's small, almost more of a cottage than an actual home. He takes note of the lack of any personal items, no pictures out on display, no tchotchkes. Boxes still litter the living room even though she's lived here for a few months.

"It looks good. Real cozy." Rhodey comments as Y/N shuts the door. She nods, giving him a polite smile as she moves past him to go back into the kitchen.

"Why'd you come by? I know it isn't for dinner." Y/N cuts straight to the point. She doesn't even bother looking at him as she checks to see if her pasta is ready. Rhodey's smile falters for a moment while she strains the pasta. He clears his throat, quickly regaining his composure.

"I-Well I stopped by because I wanted to talk to you about something." Rhodey walks into her kitchen, leaning against the counter as she pours the pasta back into the now empty pot. Y/N holds out her hand for the folder, which he immediately hands over. She flicks through it, seeing the plans for an exhibit honoring her husband. Rhodey shifts slightly as he sees her eyebrows knit together. As she goes through the pictures, she can see that it wasn't in the preplanning phase. They had their exhibit ready, all done up with a fresh paint job.

She's seen the exhibit before. Y/N had teased Steve constantly over it, thinking it was the funniest thing that he had a whole exhibit dedicated to him, a man who couldn't even use a cell phone. Steve told her once that he didn't mind the teasing, told her that it was one of his favorite things about her.

But that was then and this is now.

"The Smithsonian wants to expand their exhibit on Steve. I don't exactly see why this has anything to do with me." Y/N's eyes catch on a picture of her and Steve at their wedding, big stupid smiles stretched across their faces. The page notes possibly names for this part of the exhibit, all of them making that emotion crawl up into her throat.

"They want you to speak at the opening. You and Sam." Rhodey answers, watching as her face drops. Y/N closes the folder, still looking down at it. The papers suddenly feels like they're a million pounds, weighed down so many memories. For a second, Rhodey gets his hopes up, thinking that she is actually considering it.

"Get someone else to do it." Y/N tells him, handing the folder back over to the man. Her voice is a lot colder than it was before and her friend could practically see Y/N building her walls back up. Rhodey sighs, holding it for a moment before setting it down on the counter.

"They want people who knew him, Y/N."

"Then get someone else because I sure as hell didn't." She snaps, the fire on the stove growing. Y/N quickly shuts off the burners, shaking her head, "Ask Barnes, ask literally anyone else."

Rhodey opens his mouth before shutting it. He didn't know how to respond. He knew that his friend was upset, but as soon as Steve did what he did, she had shut herself off. Rhodey had tried and tried to get through to her and after what she had did...Rhodey knew she was going through a lot and that Y/N wouldn't tell him or anyone else how she was feeling. She just wasn't that type of person, never has been.

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat that threaten to swell up, serving Rhodey a plate full of food without him asking if he wants one. She ignores all the memories that flash in her mind, trying to keep it together. She hands the plate to Rhodey without saying a single word before serving herself . Y/N grabs them both drinks and napkins, moving around the kitchen in complete silence. They both sit down at her little table, the only sounds being the two of them breathing and their forks hitting their plates.

"How are you doing?" Rhodey breaks the silence, looking across at her. Y/N pushes her food around her plate, shrugging her shoulders.

"Doing better. I go to therapy once a week like I'm supposed to. It's-It's a lot easier to breathe out here." She replies, setting her fork down. Rhodey gives her a small smile.

"I'm glad you're doing better. I'm sorry I haven't been checking in on you. I know you wanted space and some time." He says softly, to which Y/N shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink. She knew that Rhodey felt guilty over her situation, but the man has enough on his plate. He doesn't need to adding 'taking care of Y/N' to his long list of tasks.

"You've been busy. There's a lot of rebuilding that needs to be done and you shouldn't have to be checking in on me." She looks up at him attempting to give him some peace of mind, "I'm doing better, I promise."

It wasn't the biggest lie she's ever told. She was doing better, but she still wasn't herself. Although, Y/N didn't know if she could ever return to being herself pre-Blip. Before all of this shit, she had Steve to lean on. Now...well now she didn't have anyone, and she didn't want to burden any of her friends with her issues. They had their own shit they were going through. They didn't need to deal with hers.

Later on, long after dinner had finished and the rain decided that it was done working for the day, Rhodey stood up from his spot on the couch. Y/N smiled warmly at him, walking with him to the front door. When they step outside onto the porch, the night air is cool and calm, the lovely smell of rain surrounding them.

"Y/N, I just wanted to say that I didn't want to ask you. I know-I know you're still healing. They told me I had to ask, but I didn't want to. I just want you to know that." Rhodey suddenly announces, turning towards her. Both of them were barely illuminated by the porch lights and the light spilling out from her front door. Y/N nodded, that lump in her throat returning.

"I know. I know, Rhodey." She replies, her voice cracking slightly. Y/N stands there for a moment, both of them looking at each other before she decides to throw her arms round him. Her friend is a little surprised by the action, but hugs her back happily. Y/N shuts her eyes for moment, resting her chin on his shoulder. He rubs her back soothingly, wondering if this is the first hug she's had since Steve's funeral. They pull part, once again looking at each other.

"You take care of yourself okay? I'm going to try to come and visit more, but I need to take care of yourself." Rhodey tells her, giving her a kind smile, "And don't be afraid to text, okay? You can tell me about anything, it doesn't even have to be important."

"I'll be sure to text you all about the growth of my sunflowers and whether or not I am capable of fixing a sink." She teases, which makes the man laugh.

"That's all I ask. It was nice seeing you Y/N." Rhodey tells her, making his way down the steps of his porch. Y/N leans against one of the posts, wrapping her arms around herself.

"It was nice seeing you too." Y/N responds as she watches him walk over to his car. He gives her a small wave before climbing inside. She stays on the porch until he drives away, not moving until she can no longer see his tail lights.

Y/N relaxes her shoulders, sighing softly as she turns on her heel and walks back inside. The ex-hero shuts and locks her door. She walks back into the kitchen, gathering the discarded and used plates. As she is putting them in the sink, her eyes land on the manila folder resting on the counter.

Y/N knows that Rhodey most likely deliberately left it behind. She reaches out and picks it up again, a picture slipping out and falling into the floor. Y/N bends over to grab it, holding it gently between her thumb and forefinger. She flips it over, being greeted with the sight of her husband smiling back at her. Y/N knows the picture well-it's one she took.

She finds herself smiling back at him, her finger tracing over the image. She took it after a mission. Steve's hair is a mess from his helmet, his face dirty and he has a split lip. The shield is propped up in the seat beside him and he's just smiling at her. He looks incredibly tired, but he's still smiling at her. This is the Steve she fell in love with, the Steve that had promised to give the world. The one she had seen herself raising a family with.

Y/N leans against the counter, resting the photograph beside the open folder. She flicks through it again, her eyes studying the exhibit dedicated to her and her relationship with Steve Rogers. 'Two Heroes United' was the name they ended up on. It makes tears brim in her eyes as she looks over all of the pictures that make up this part of the exhibit. While normally she didn't like sharing her personal relationships with the world, this felt okay somehow, it felt almost cathartic.

She shuts the folder, taking another glance at it. Her finger traces the embossed Smithsonian logo on the cover of it. If she did it, she wouldn't be doing it alone. If Sam could do it, it couldn't be that bad.

Right?

[spaceorphan18]

Head Over Feet (1/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other's orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Yes, I know I have a bunch of other WIPs - and I am still working on all of them! But I’ve been so excited about this one, I just want to get it out there... 

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :) 

***

Chapter 1: Loser Like Me (Part One) 

Fall 2028

Blaine is dreaming.  It’s all fuzzy, but there are hands… familiar hands that are on him clasping his own, cupping his face, trailing down, down, down to where it feels good.  He begins to feel the warmth spread throughout his body.  He feels good, so good… Lips are against his, rough and hungry, he is enveloped in want, in need… He lets out a groan, letting the pleasure overtake him.  He reaches out, desperate for more, but as he does so, that good feeling starts to float away.  He makes a grasp for it, but it’s no longer there, and he is left cold and wanting more.  

And then his alarm goes off.  

Blaine wakes up hard as a rock.  He can’t remember the last time he had a dream about sex.  Maybe when he had been a teenager? Or possibly college?  But he doesn’t remember any of those dreams ending him with his dick actually aching to fuck something.  

He stares at the ceiling for a good long moment, thinking the urgency will eventually wear off.  He turns his head, slightly, to see the outline of his husband on the other side of the bed.  He doesn’t bother to wake Sean -- not that morning sex had ever been a part of their marriage.  They’re on opposite schedules; the show Sean is doing the costumes for is in the middle of its workshop, and if it gets picked up by a good producer, it could mean big things.  And Sean is cranky in the morning, anyway.  

Blaine can just as easily take care of himself.

He gets up, slowly.  The erection still hasn’t died down, and Blaine begins to wonder if this is even normal for someone his age.  Maybe he should call a doctor.  He laughs to himself.  Or maybe he should jack off and not worry about it.  

He moves off the bed, having to go around it to get to the bathroom.  In the process, he has to step over a huge pile of Sean’s clothes.  Blaine takes a moment to pick them up, and throw them into the laundry basket.  Two seconds, it takes.  Is that really so hard?  

The clothes also smell like booze and cigarettes, which means Sean has been staying out late with the company again.  It’s fine, they used to both go all the time to the afterparties and the clubs, but some time after Blaine hit thirty, he didn’t find them as enticing any more.  Something about feeling almost twice as old as everyone around him killed the spirit.

Blaine gets into the bathroom, turning on the light, and easily stripping out of the boxers that he wears to bed.  His dick is still throbbing to be touched, so he gives himself a few hardy strokes before turning on the water for a shower.  It’s weird, he thinks, as he gets in.  Sex used to be the a staple of his marriage but, as the years passed, he and Sean manage once a week if they’re lucky.  He hasn’t really missed it, or maybe he hasn’t noticed he missed it.  Because getting off with just his hand doesn’t normally feel so good.  

He indulges a little, thinking about that dream, and those hands on him.  Letting someone else take over, take control, take him apart.  He thinks, at first, of Sean, pulling from the catalogue of their sex life.  Sean being the one to hold him, and stroke him, and suck him down.  But as much as he tries to concentrate on his husband, the scene keeps pulling away, and there’s someone else there -- a faceless man with deft hands who knows exactly how Blaine likes to be touched.  

He speeds up his hand, and yet somehow it doesn’t feel like enough.  He braces himself against the tile of the bathroom wall, fucking furiously into his hand until his hips take on a life of their own.   Eventually he comes, jolting hard into his hand.  The orgasm tears through him, and he lets out a near scream that he hopes doesn’t wake Sean.  

It takes a moment to come down, and he leans against the tiles, enjoying the blissed out feeling as the hot water sprays over him.  He’s not sure what had brought all that on but he does feel more relaxed.  He’s been too pent up lately.  Maybe he does need to start seeing his therapist again…

***

On Wednesdays, Blaine only teaches one class and he is back home by noon in time, usually, to make himself lunch before heading out to do afternoon errands (or stay in and grade papers).  Before the workshop started, he and Sean would usually make Wednesday nights their together time.  But those have faded away over the past year or so.  Blaine has gotten used to spending the evenings alone, to the point that when Blaine arrives back at the apartment that afternoon, he’s startled to see Sean there making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  

Sean stands against the counter, chewing the sandwich slowly as he watches Blaine put his bag and coat on one of the kitchen table chairs.   “You okay?” Sean asks, taking another bite.  A bit of crust lands in his red beard, and he brushes it off and onto the floor.  Blaine shakes his head, now he understands why the floor is always so filthy.  “You’re looking at me as if I’m a stranger in the house.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine says.  Maybe it’s not.  It feels, weirdly, like an intrusion on his private time, but the thought is laughable.  His husband is home -- he should be happy.  Blaine begins to rifle through the fridge, pulling out a container of tuna fish to have for lunch.  They could eat together, at the table, like civilized people.  “What happened with the workshop?”

“Remember me telling you about Ashleigh and Karyn and their obsessive ambition to be the first to win a Tony? Or whatever the fuck they’re actually looking for.”

“Yes.” No? Maybe? He can’t keep all of the cast members of Sean’s show straight.  But Blaine doesn’t really feel like listening to a who’s who tangent.  He finishes making the sandwich as Sean explains further.  

“Well, I don’t know how it started, but I know how it ended -- with the both of them in the hospital,” Sean says.  “So with both the lead and the understudy out, the workshop is on hold for a little while.”

“Wait, who was the lead again?” Blaine asks.  Sandwich made, he grabs some chips from the pantry and a bottle of water and heads to the kitchen table.  Sean follows him, leaving his now empty plate on the counter, before taking his usual seat across from Blaine.  

“Karyn,” Sean says, stealing some chips from Blaine’s bag.  “The blonde.”

“Right.”

“So, I guess you have me home for a while.”

Blaine plasters an immediate smile to his face.  He’s not entirely sure how to feel, though.  “Are you still getting paid?”

“Yeah,” Sean grabs more chips.  “Marv’s gotta girl lined up in case it takes longer.  Shouldn’t be more than a week.”  

“Ah.”  

Sean taps his fingers on the table.  Blaine sips from his water bottle.  There’s a siren outside somewhere, and the upstairs neighbor’s dog sprints back and forth, causing the ceiling to creek.  

“I paid the water bill,” Sean says after a long moment.  

“Great,” Blaine says.  “I still say we should get reimbursed for the neighbors tapping into our pipes.”  

“I’ll talk to Greg about it.”

“Great.”

Blaine eats his sandwich in a strange sort of silence as Sean watches him.  He feels like they should talk about something.  What do they usually talk about these days? Work? The apartment? The new musical mini-series Netflix put out?  Sean doesn’t ask how Blaine’s class went.  Blaine doesn’t offer to talk about it.  Nothing really feels like a good conversation.  

Which is why Blaine decides to mention it… “So, I had the weirdest dream last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was some kind of sex dream,” Blaine says, licking the tuna from his fingers.  “I woke up hard as fuck.”

Sean gives a smirk.  “I can’t tell if this is your way of telling me you want to fool around tonight, or if you’re concerned and want to see a doctor.”  

Blaine laughs into his water.  “I decided I’m too young still to have dick problems, and jacked off in the shower.”  

Sean’s eyes go wide with amusement.  “Shame I missed that show.  If you’re still feeling it, we can mess around after lunch if you want.”

Blaine gives an unenthused shrug.  “I’ve got some errands to run.  Then I’m having dinner with Santana tonight, but if you want to catch the late show, it can be arranged.”  

“We’ll see,” Sean says.  “I told some of the guys I’d meet them out for drinks tonight.  There’s a new bar opening over in SoHo.”

A flash of irritation runs through Blaine.  It’s not the turning down of sex that bothers him.  He really doesn’t want to spend his evening at a bar in SoHo.  He really doesn’t want to spend the evening with Sean’s questionable friends ‘Way-Too-Flirty’ Don and ‘Drinks-Too-Much’ Steve.  He doesn’t even really want to go out, especially when he has to teach an early morning class.  But he’s not there to tell Sean what to do.  

He finishes off the sandwich without a word.  It’s not like Sean feels differently about Santana.  

“You know, speaking of Santana, that reminds me,” Sean says, getting up from his seat.  He goes over to the counter and brings back a red envelope.  “This came for you today -- from McKinley High.”  

Blaine takes it with interest.  He gets mailers from Dalton Academy all the time -- even if he didn’t graduate from there, he had still technically been an alumni.  But something from McKinley?  That just seems weird.  It isn’t the right time for there to be a reunion.  He has no idea what it could possibly be.  

He opens it up to find a black and gold invitation. “Oh,” he says a little fondly as he reads it.  “My old glee club teacher is retiring.  He’s inviting everyone back for homecoming weekend to celebrate.  Cute.”  

Sean grabs at the paper after Blaine lets it drop back to the table.  “Do you want me to come with you?” he offers quietly.  

“Would you want to go?” It’s not often that Sean comes with him on the rare occasions he heads back to Ohio.  

Sean hesitates before he speaks, and snacks on another couple of chips before replying.  “I probably should stay to make sure Marv has a handle on this whole Ashleigh-Karyn thing.  That is, unless you’d like me to go.”  

Blaine stares hard at the paper.  It’s not like he couldn’t go.  He doesn’t have to teach on Fridays, and the school is having a holiday weekend that same weekend.  In theory, he could and it wouldn’t be a problem.  “I don’t even know if I should.”

“Maybe go to see your parents, Blaine,” Sean says.  “It’s got to be at least a few years since you’ve seen them.”

“I saw them last year at…” Blaine considers.  Has time really flown by so quickly? “Huh, I guess it has been at least two since that Christmas we spent in Ohio.” He sits back in his chair to think about it.  

“Hey, Blaine…” There’s suddenly a heaviness in the air.  There’s something behind Sean’s eyes that hadn’t been there earlier.  Something that Blaine catches glimpses of every once in a while.  Something that they’ve been avoiding and, for a moment, Blaine fears that Sean is actually going to bring it up.  The room gets darker, just a cloud passing by the sun, but everything is still -- too still, and Blaine’s heart begins to race.  The moment passes, though, and whatever Sean had been about to say changes.  “I guess talk to Santana about it, and see what she says.”

Blaine stares down at the paper again.  Suddenly, a weekend away from the apartment, away from the city, away from Sean doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.  “Yeah, I’ll do that.”  

***

The fall wind is sharp in its crispness, but it’s still a nice enough evening to go for a run in Central Park.  Three days a week, he and Santana Lopez go out for a jog then grab dinner at a nearby taco truck so they can sit and gossip.  Santana, who’s office isn’t far from where they meet, is already waiting for Blaine when he arrives.  She is stretching her legs, bent over in a V, wearing her usual black spandex pants with a bright, blue bomber jacket that billows slightly.  Her designer sunglasses rest on the top of her head.

Because he has been thinking about high school all day, he can’t help but think that she hasn’t changed much.  Her face has hardened a little with age, but Blaine knows her beauty care routine is much more extensive than his, and he knows how much she spends on wigs and dye jobs.  Today, though, her long, black hair is pulled back tightly in a high pony, amusingly reminiscent of how she wore it in high school.  

“Okay, so I have some hot goss for you today,” she says, immediately after they exchange pleasantries.  She waits for him to do his own stretching, but continues to launch into her news.  “So, you remember how I’ve been endlessly talking about the cute redhead on the floor below?”

“The one who works as a secretary for the greasy lawyer?” Blaine pulls his leg back.  The stretching feels nice, he is glad he is able to get out of the stuffy apartment in some capacity tonight, even if he can tell Santana is a bit more ramped up than usual.  

Santana nods.  “So for weeks now, it’s been flirty glances, and unbuttoning buttons to show off some pretty pricey brassieres, but you know, nothing direct.  Well, today she comes up to my floor, claiming the bathroom is not working in their offices -- and I checked, she was totally lying -- and she’s wearing this tight, and I mean tight, nearly see-through button-down.  With no bra.  She had on no bra.  I could see her fucking nipples, Blaine.”

“The nerve,” Blaine teases.  They begin to walk down their usual path.  They have a good quarter of a mile before they usually start jogging, though they might go the first half of their two miles at a walking pace just so Santana could release her pent up energy verbally.  

“Who doesn’t wear a bra in a professional setting?” Santana continues.  Blaine arches an eyebrow at her.  “Okay, so I have totally done it, but I promise you it was warranted.  Anyway, I think she’s trying to kill me.  I took all of my restraint not to pull her directly into the janitor’s closet and make out with her.  And play with her tits.  I can’t unsee her fucking hot tits, Blaine.” Santana grumbles, putting a fist to her head, as if it’ll magically erase the image.

“You know, you could ask for her number,” Blaine suggests, for maybe the third time since Santana has started talking about the woman.  “Or, you know, find out her name.”  

Santana looks at him sharply.  He knows, she just wants a minute to bitch and revel in her janitor closet fantasies, but it’s not in him not to offer suggestions.  “Her name is Liz.  I at least found that out today.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Blaine offers.  

“Alright, what’s up with you?” she asks abruptly.  “Usually, you’re talking my head off about school, and I’m always having to catch up to you.  You’re trailing me by nearly a foot.  Something’s going on.”

Santana’s senses are rarely off, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by it.  He tries to quicken his pace but she is right, he is been in his head all day.  “I’m thinking of going back to therapy.”  He says it simply, laying it out as if it’s another fact, and not something that’s been weighing on his mind.  

She gives him a concerned look.  “Is this a ‘just you’ thing? Or a ‘you and Sean’ thing?”

“A ‘just me’ thing,” he admits.  They are nearly at the lamp post where they usually start to jog, but he’s not feeling as up to it as he had been when he arrived at the park.  “Sean’s staying home for a few days, and I’ve been restless lately…” he doesn’t quite say the things he’s thinking.  “And, I don’t know, I had a weird sex dream this morning.  I’ve been off all day.”

“Well, what does Sean think?”

“He offered to fuck, but I told him I had it taken care of.”

“What, no, not about the sex dream,” Santana stops in her tracks.  They have to wait a moment for an older woman walking a doberman to pass in-between them.  “What does your husband think about you going to therapy?”

“It didn’t come up.”  

“God, Blaine,” Santana says, exasperated.  “Well, if you really would rather spend your evening with me than reconnecting with your husband who is, as you well know, built like a fucking viking, then maybe therapy is what you need.”

It’s more complicated than that.  She knows some of it, but maybe not all of it, and it’s more than Blaine would really like to get into on their fairly public walk through Central Park.  But Santana has also grown to be one of his closest friends and, if nothing else, he can confide in her.  

“I’m going to set up an appointment,” he tries to play it off as just another thing.  She knows better, and gives him one of her infamous staredowns.  “And if it’s something I think I need to continue to do, I’ll keep you informed,” he tries to assure her.  

“You better, Anderson.” Her voice is sharp.  “I may have a cold, dead heart, but I want you to be happy.  And you know I’m always going to be blatantly honest with you, so I say this with all the love I can muster, but I don’t think you are.”  

“I know, I know…” He’s not not happy.  He loves his job.  He loves his little apartment.  He loves being in one of the greatest cities in all of the world.  He and Sean are…  “So, hey, did you get your invitation to Mr. Schue’s retirement party?”  He begins to walk again.  He knows he’s avoiding the conversation, so does Santana.  But she rolls with it.  

“He’s retiring?  Dear god, he’s barely over fifty.”

Blaine lets out a little laugh.  “Well, that’s what the invitation said.”  

“And, fuck, no, I haven’t gotten one,” Santana says.  “Though, it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve checked the mail.  Who sends invitations through the mail these days?  Just start a text chain like a normal person.”

“Would you go?” He asks.  He’s been back and forth on the idea all day.  Does he really want or need to see anyone from high school again?  Possibly?  Would it be nice to get away for a weekend? Most definitely.  Can he really afford to skip town for a little while? That is the big unanswered question.  

Santana bites her lip, thinking it over.  “I mean it really depends on who else got these magical invitations.  Oh, god, will Rachel Berry be there? Please tell me Rachel Berry will be there.  Because I have got to see how little Miss TV-Princess does in a place that does not revolve around her ego.”

Blaine has never had the issues with Rachel that Santana had, but he does remember college.  He does remember Funny Girl.  “Sorry, Santana, I don’t actually have an answer for you on that one.”

Santana throws her hands in the air.  “You keep in touch with everyone, right?  Well, isn’t she part of everyone?”

“I think she’s become a little out of my status level,” Blaine replies, with a smirk.  “Besides, I don’t keep in touch with everyone .”  Truth be told, Santana might be the only person he talks to from high school.  At least on a regular basis.  For all the promises made during the time of staying BFFs forever, real life managed to get in the way of the magical thinking.  

“Alright, let’s work it out, right now, cause this will be the determining factor,” she says.  She pulls at a leaf from one of the trees above her, causing the branch to bounce.  It nearly whacks him in the head, which causes her to giggle a little and shake her head.  “Let’s see… Rachel Berry, possibly.  Said ego might drive her back to the place where it all began.”  

“Sam Evans will probably be there,” Blaine says.  “He does still live in the area.” He and Sam don’t have a lot of contact, but occasionally they’ll do a long distance Fantasy Football thing or chat about a new video game they both own.  He hopes Sam will go - he could use more of that laid back charm in his life.  

“Artie clearly won’t be,” Santana continues.  “I know, because I’m the one who put him on the European press tour for his new film.”

“I doubt Tina will be there either,” Blaine adds.  “She just had her third baby, and she and Ron probably don’t want to make the trip from Boston to Lima with three young children.”  

He thinks of Tina’s Instagram, the only way he really communicates with her, and the constant updates for her hectic life.  She’s happy and looking good, and way too busy to drop everything and run back to Ohio.  Blaine makes a note to give her a call at some point to congratulate her formally on the new baby, even if he had already left a cute note on the Instagram pictures.  

Santana is too caught up in her thought process to say more about Tina.  “Finn won’t be there for obvious reasons.  What the fuck happened to Puck? I doubt he has an address to even send anything to.  Quinn’s too prideful to drag her divorced ass out of Connecticut.  You know she’s already taken a new lover ?  She’s in her mid-thirties, and still hitting up the sugardaddies.  I mean, have some goddamn respect for yourself.”

“Well, Mike’s in Chicago,” Blaine offers.  Mike had been part of the Chicago Ballet for a long time, and had since become a dance instructor.  Blaine had been at Mike’s wedding to his wife, Marie, a couple of years ago, and he’s another one whom Blaine wouldn’t mind seeing again.  Maybe he, Mike, and Sam could have a nice guys’ night out that weekend.  He’ll have to get in touch.

Santana nods.  They walk by a woman sitting on a bench with two screaming children.  Blaine feels bad for the woman, but he and Santana share a look -- both of them glad that they don’t have to deal with that kind of hot mess at home.  

“Then there’s Mercedes,” Santana says, looking up and out into the world.  “Goddess among women.  We do not have the privilege to be in her presence.”  Santana laughs at her own comments.  “Seriously, though, I love my girl, but I don’t judge her for continuing to live her best life.”

“What about Brittany?” Blaine asks, tentatively.  He has no idea if this is a sore subject for her or not because he doesn’t think Santana has brought her up once over the course of their friendship.  

Santana becomes stoney-faced, as if not to give herself too much away.  “No,” she says simply.  “Brittany’s living in some commune in LA where she does Fondue for Two and runs a cat babysitting service.”  

“That’s a thing?”

“In LA it is.”  A fond smile climbs on her lips.  “In any case, as much as I am always up for seeing my girl again, I highly doubt she’ll be back.  I mean, we were still hooking up for a while the few times I made it out to LA, but recently she’s found someone a little more… permanent.  And before you go on pitying me, let me assure you, I am more than fine.”  She’s quiet for a moment as she reflects.  For a person who is almost always open about her thoughts, she’s decidedly reclusive when it comes to matters of her heart.  Blaine knows better than to try to pry it out of her. “Anyway, if we’re going to be upfront about exes, I believe there’s only one person left, if we’re not counting random chicks with mafia dads or weird Irish exchange students.  And I’m sure we both know that there’s no way in hell Lady Hummel is coming back to Lima, Ohio.”

“Oh!” Blaine says, as if it’s a complete revelation.  Kurt hadn’t even entered his mind, and it is surreal to think that his brain didn’t go there first.  

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you actually forgot about Lady Hummel and his heartbreaking ways,” Santana scoffs.  “Pretty sure years of therapy couldn’t undo all the trauma that did.”

She isn’t wrong, and she would know, because she helped pick him up a year after everything had happened.  But that’s the funny thing -- it’s not that he doesn’t remember Kurt.  (God, he remembers all of Kurt.)  He doesn’t remember the person he used to be when he had been with Kurt.  There had been a time when he would have shifted the Sun and the Moon and the entire Earth for Kurt Hummel.  A time when his heart had pointed in only one direction.  And a time so dark that when Kurt had ended it, Blaine didn’t know how he would ever move on.  

And yet he did.  

The person he had been is now such a faded memory he can barely remember what those feelings were like.  Kurt Hummel is just another name from his past, a person who, yes, helped shape him into the person he is now.  But long gone are the emotions once attached to that name.  Funny how things can change.  Someone could mean so much to you at one point in time, and yet after time…

“I didn’t forget about Kurt, clearly,” Blaine says. He grabs her arm, and loops his own through it.  The jog isn’t happening today, and he’s fine with that.  Some days, it’s best just to have the company rather than the exercise.  “I just think you’re right, unless Burt is dying or something.  But doubtful that he’ll return for a silly retirement party.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

Blaine shrugs, and gives a smile.  He doesn’t know how he feels about whether or not Kurt will be there.  He hasn’t thought about him so long.  But he does know that after all this talk of the past, maybe he is ready to go back and see if anyone else is feeling the same way.  “I think we should do it.  Go back.  I mean, why not?”

Santana shakes her head.  “Oh, this whole idea sounds like the worst, but if there’s a chance I get to make-out with Quinn Fabray again, then I’m in.”

For the first time in a while, Blaine feels a little lighter on his feet.

***

Not a few weeks later, Blaine is on a plane back to Ohio.  

He and Sean talked it over and, while Sean had been technically free to go, they agreed that maybe it would be better if Blaine went himself; the unspoken dialogue being that space isn’t the worst thing they could give each other.  Blaine had not been able to help but be fidgety with his wedding ring during the flight but, intent on giving himself a weekend off from real life, he drowned himself in his favorite podcasts, and had tried not to think about his life in New York.  

The party is on a Saturday afternoon, but he’s there on Friday so to spend time with his mom.  They end up having a nice lunch together, and she takes him shopping.  She’s as feisty as ever, somehow managing to remind Blaine of Santana, and he wonders if she’s always been like that or if that’s a new trait of being in your sixties.  They end up FaceTiming with Cooper and the kids, and Blaine indulges his little nieces by singing them Disney Princess songs.  The whole day weirdly feels like the family they usually are only around Christmas time, but he’s in good enough spirits that he doesn’t question it.  

Later that night, his dad comes home, and they have pizza before his parents go off for one of their social benefit parties they often frequent, reminding Blaine of the old days when his parents were never home on a Friday night.  He doesn’t mind so much because McKinley’s Homecoming Football game is that night.  

His original plan had been to meet up with Sam since Santana’s plane isn’t coming in until tomorrow.  But Sam declined, stating that Mercedes Jones is coming late that night and she needs a ride from the airport.  Sam didn’t ask Blaine to come with him.  Blaine calls up Mike, who is happy to hear from him, and says that he will be at the party but is only going to make the trip to Lima once on Saturday.  He doesn’t bother trying to get a hold of anyone else, and ends up going to the game alone.  

Coming back to McKinley feels like going back in time, and yet the kids running around make him feel entirely too old to be there.  He half expects Sue Sylvester to pop out and start yelling at the cheerleaders, or Mr. Figgins to make some sort of half-time speech, but the world of McKinley has moved on, even if the campus has remained remarkably the same.  The game is fun, but kind of boring, and he’s not surprised when the team loses by seventeen points.  Still, seeing the array of alumni all cheering around him, he feels a strange sort of connection to the place in a way that he really didn’t when he actually went to the school.  It’s a bit surreal.  

Afterwards, not ready to go home to an empty house, he drives around for a bit, until by chance, he drives by Scandals, Lima’s decrepit excuse for a gay bar.  Feeling somewhat amused, a little nostalgic, and a lot in need of a drink, he decides to grab a beer for old times’ sake.  He decides, on a whim, to put his wedding ring in his pocket.  He’s not actually planning anything, but it’s also not like Sean wears his anymore, anyway.  

Scandals is even more in a sad state of affairs then he remembers, even if ‘Funk-It-Up-Friday’ is trying to give the place some of that Mid-Western Charm.  He orders a bottled beer, and sips as he thinks fondly about the time he watched Dave Karofsky try to line dance.  God, that had been so long ago…

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you.  Mind if I buy you a drink?”

It takes a moment for Blaine to realize the pick-up line is directed at him, but he does instantly recognize the voice.  Much to his shock, when he turns around, he’s face to face with a much older, and yet still dazzlingly magnificent, Kurt Hummel.

[detectiveran]

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything, practically a year and 2020 was awful and 2021 didn’t start off well either because of a relative’s death. But anyway, I hope you guys like what I’ve written.

If you wanna support me, I would be highly grateful. My paypal is: paypal.me/filterish

It was truly horrible that Ran was dealt such a awful card in her life. An alcoholic father, a workaholic mother and an innate disposition of wanting to please people whom she loved.

She could have lived with the first two cards but it was the third one that made her life difficult. Wanting to do the best she could at academics so she could get praised by her absent parents, wanting to have friends so that she could answer her mother’s questions about her friendships with conviction, wanting to work so that she could take care of the monetary burdens... wants, wants, wants.

To be honest, all she wanted was peace. To not be involved in her separated yet together parents’ tumultuous relationship. Sometimes thinking about her family made her chest hurt and throat tickle. She loved her mother and she loved her father. But she didn’t love them together. And when she came to realize that at the age of twenty, she finally let go.

She had worried and schemed to get her parents back together practically her whole life but now, she knew that if they didn’t want to be together, all her efforts would be in vain. So, at the age of twenty, with a heavy heart, she decided to let her family go. She stopped calling her mother to fix a date with her father, she stopped pestering her father about giving a fuck about her mother. And then came the realization that she was lonely. So lonely that her heart ached.

She hadn’t managed to make friends, life long friends people would go on about, because she was focused on bettering herself so that her parents would praise her. On the flip side, she had gotten into one of the best universities in Tokyo and was studying her desired subject about Medicine. Most days she could live with the pay off. Having a stable career would help in surviving alone a lot.

People in her class would invite her to hang out and she would say yes, just to sit there and observe them. For some reason, the buzzing chatter of her classmates soothed her a lot. They would gossip or discuss about classes or professors and Ran would sit there with a slight smile on her face and her heart feeling lighter. She craved companionship. 

With that thought in her mind, she decided to open up with her college classmates. She knew the names of the people in her class, thankfully and so, with a cheery smile she used to plaster on at her high school, she slid into the conversation about the college’s professors.

“... And Tsukiyama-sensei gives us so maaaany diagrams to draw,” Hayami-san was whining, “I have a part time job to do and then that teacher’s homework... I don’t get the time to unwind at all.” 

“He does push us a lot,” Ran said and noticed the sort of surprised looks of her three classmates, though they quickly covered it up. 

“You find it hard too, huh, Ran-san?” Sonoko-san said, “With your grades, I thought it would be easy for you to catch up.” 

Ran quickly grabbed the opportunity to continue the conversation, thankful that the atmosphere didn’t turn awkward at her sudden interruption, “Ah, well, I don’t actually have a lot to do, you know? Mostly studies and a part time job as an assistant at a detective agency.”

“Detective agency?!” The three of them exclaimed and faced Ran fully.

Her smile grew sheepish as she said, “Ahhhh, but, nothing interesting happens when I’m there. Usually, I just have to compile all the data and file them.” 

“But, still! You must have found something interesting there!” Aoko-san said, with her eyes shining with excitement, “A case? Or a person? Have you ever helped the detective, Ran-san?” 

Ran shook her head no, “I’m not allowed to work on the cases, Aoko-san. As a matter of fact, I’ve not even seen the detective yet, I usually work in the evening, after my classes are done.”

Hearing that, the three of them looked concerned and Hayami-san spoke, “Ran-san, are you sure that’s safe? I mean,” she shared a look full of concern with Sonoko-san and Aoko-san, “you have never seen whom you work with, right? What if it’s some super shady guy?” 

Ran chuckled a bit and said, “It’s okay, Hayami-san. I’m trained in karate. Plus, the agency I work at is super reputed. It’s just that the guy whom I’m assigned to is very, very busy and even other employees have said that it’s rare to see him in the office. He works at very odd hours.” 

That did nothing to alleviate their concern and Ran felt a bit touched. This was the first time she was having a proper conversation with them and the four of them were practically strangers yet Hayami-san, Sonoko-san and Aoko-san were so concerned about her well being. 

Aoko-san was apprehensive and she murmured, “If you say so, Ran-san,” and then in a more chipper tone asked, “Which agency do you work at?”

“Kudo Detective Agency.” Ran replied.

Hearing that, the three of them were even more animated in their response, “THE Kudo Detective Agency?” Aoko-san gasped in disbelief. 

“Wait, the famous ex-policeman one?!” Sonoko-san exclaimed.

“The one that has this hot, handsome guy working there?” Hayami-san said.

All of them turned to look at Hayami-san and she shrugged sheepishly, “What? Everybody knows that there is this rumored handsome guy who works there and is seen like once in every millennia,” she said sarcastically.

Sonoko-san swatted her friend and Aoko-san clicked her tongue, waving her comment away and turned her attention back to Ran, “You really work at Kudo Detective Agency, Ran-san? Oh, wow. It houses the best of the best detectives.” 

Sonoko-san nodded and said, “Damn, you must have impressed the Kudo husband and wife duo a lot. Seeing that they have such a strict policy and criteria to employ people.”

And with that, the three of them were off chattering about the elusive Kudos. Ran chipped in whenever she could but mostly listened while they were talking. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that only reason she works there is to spite her father in an act of rebellion. 

The Kudous were not the reason her father was a piss poor detective but she had spent her teenagers listening to him whine about how Kudo Yuusaku was responsible for the lack of cases in Mouri Detective Agency. And at that time, Ran did what she could to help him, guide her high school classmates in need, put up posters, advertise in newspapers... she did what she could but her father was too prideful to take small cases and too incompetent to work properly on big ones. And by then, the ex-policeman Yuusaku and ex-actress-turned-housewife had established a proper detective agency housing some of the brightest, youngest detectives. 

When she cut ties with her family, she decided to do what she wanted. And so, she offered her services to the Kudous. She knew she could be an excellent assistant and she proved herself by working for a week under Yuusaku Kudo herself. From organization to appointments to little treats or snacks for the clients... she did what she could have been doing for her father. 

And by the time the week had ended, she was employed with a good salary. She thought that working there would hinder her Medicine study course but the detective whom she was assigned to had a set of orders ready when she entered his office. 

She was surprised at first because no one was there to greet her on her first day, just a piece of paper telling her not to come during day time and that her work was to organize the papers that were kept on the table. Sure, there were scribbled notes scattered everywhere on the table but a quick glance clued her in that those were case notes. Case notes of multiple cases, to be exact. 

She found it extremely odd that the detective whom she was supposed to assist had never shown himself. All she knew was that his name was Kudou Shinichi, Kudou Yuusaku and Yukiko’s son, and was an excellent detective. He had grown up in the States and had come back at the age of twenty with plethora of experience under his belt. 

Ran chalked up never seeing him to some weird quirk of his. Truthfully, she liked working there. The Kudou couple treated her kindly, the assistants of other detectives were warm and welcoming, even the other detectives greeted her and indulged in small talk. The work wasn’t difficult, the pay was excellent, the timing fit her college schedule perfectly; everything was great except for never having seen her superior’s face.

Ran sighed as she brought herself back to present. Aoko-san was talking about the lab work they had just finished and Ran smiled lightly. Having friends like them would be nice, she thought. And swore to herself that she would make the effort to know them better. 

That day, she felt very calm as she entered her office. The Kudo Shinichi plaque at the door greeted her and she opened it, mentally gearing herself up for the stack of papers that was bound to be there, only to be greeted by a man, who was shuffling through them. 

“Umm... hello?” Ran asked hesitantly, not wanting to jump to conclusions about who this man was.

The man faced her and smiled a bright smile, which left Ran disarmed. “Hello, you must be Mouri Ran-san?” he asked.

Ran felt a little discombobulated, she hadn’t anticipated someone being inside the office. “Uhh... yes, I am. And you are...?” she didn’t want to presume who he was but she had a little inkling of whom he could be.

“Ah, sorry for introducing myself late,” and he walked up to her and held his hand up for a greeting, “My name is Kudou Shinichi... and ahh, I’m supposed to be working here,” he said in a playful tone with a smirk that showed a dimple on his left cheek.

The only thought that crossed her mind at that moment was what Hayami-san had said a few hours before. He really was a gorgeous man. 

[t-o-m-hollands]

Tom x You

Summery: Tom and his brothers have a pub. You, trying to avoid working on your new album, spend most of your time in there. Lots of flirting and bickering ensues.

Themes: Sort of frienemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual attraction but they are both to dumb to realise. General dumbness all around. Idiots in love.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Drinking and swearing. Smut in future chapters.

PART I of IV

***

At 8 years of age your father hands you a worn guitar and with the patience of a saint teaches you how to make it play the holiest of sounds. Every day you practise, until your fingertips has hardened and they move effortlessly over the strings.  

At 10 years of age you write your first song. It’s a puerile little tune about a sweet boy with hair like honey and an opportunity lost. It’s repetitive and nonsensical but your mother hums the chorus for weeks after hearing it.

At 14 years of age you meet up with a record label and when signing the dotted line on the contract you feel a chill down your spine and your grandmother’s stories about the crossroad demon comes back to you verbatim. With determination you still put your name on the paper in a signature you’ve spent hours practising. Only days later you hear your voice on the radio for the very first time.

At 17 years of age there are headlines in magazines about you, photos of men they claim you’ve dated and interviews with people who claim to be a ‘close source’ to you, even though you’ve never met them, spilling lies on every page. You find out your closest friend has sold information about you to the tabloids for over a year.

At 19 years of age you go on a world tour, though the only parts of the world you see are airports, hotels and playing venues and then later at night: nightclubs. You travel the world, but you learn nothing about it.

At 22 years of age and your boyfriend breaks up with you for an actress. There isn’t a day that year that tabloids don’t ‘report’ on it. He spends most of the time telling the world how much happier he is in his new relationship, and you spend most of your time staring down into a bottle.  

At 24 years of age you feel drained, dog-tired and worn out. On a regular basis there’s photos of you stumbling out of pubs, bars and restaurants all over the internet. Your record label is threatening a lawsuit and you haven’t talked to your manager in weeks. You have no friends and your family doesn’t know what to do with you.  

Okay, so maybe being a successful singer isn’t all that it’s cut out to be. Especially not when the entirety of the internet is making fun of you.  

And yes, maybe you’re in a flunk and haven’t written anything decent in months. And okay, maybe you haven’t even picked up a guitar in weeks. And maybe throwing away your phone in order not to have to face the record label was a bad idea. And maybe, hand on heart, the right solution to your problems is not to waste your days away in a well-hidden pub in a backstreet in London with the cutest pub owner you’ve ever seen, with biceps that makes you want to drool. A pub owner who has no interest in you and finds you annoying beyond belief.  

Yet here you are,  

again.

***

“It’s Tuesday” Tom informs you as he hands you cherry coke and a straw.

So, it goes like this. Tom is obsessed with time. He’s always informing you of either what day of the week it is, or the time of day. As if he’s trying to shame you into realising that 10 am on a Tuesday is not an acceptable time to order a dry martini.  

“So?” You ask, feigning ignorance as you open the can. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that this is a coke and in fact completely free of alcohol. I mean in the good ol’ day they at least had the cutesy to put cocaine in there.”.

“Don’t worry” he says, scrubbing the surface of the already clean counter-top “there’s a shit load of other stuff that’ll destroy your insides in there”.

You try not to roll your eyes, honestly you do. You fail. “Oh no, is it sugar? Please, doctor say it isn’t sugar!” you wail dramatically.

“No, not just sugar” and you can tell he’s also trying not to roll his eyes at your exaggerated play acting. “You know, I saw this documentary once about what they put in coca cola and –”

“No, nope, no, no. Absolutely not” You shake your head vehemently as if that will stop his words. "I would literally rather hear you talk about goddamn golf for an hour than put me of one of life’s few great pleasures”.

This time he doesn’t manage to stop himself from rolling his eyes at you. “Oh, I think we both know you find more pleasures in life than coca cola”.

Before you can answer him something insanely witty the door to the office behind the bar opens and an anxious looking Harrison step out. “Tom, Sam says the fish delivery didn’t show up again so we’re out of cod and therefore fish ‘n chips.”  

Tom rubs his face, looking worried. “Alright, I’ll call him up and see what happened.”  

But Harrison still looks tense. “Also…” he trails off, losing courage.  

“Also, what?” And Tom too sounds tense now.  

“Well, Downey from the bank called, he says the invoice is way over due and he wants a meeting. I told him you’d call today”.  

Tom keeps rubbing his forehead, as if to literally fight of a migraine, and his shoulders tense. “Yeah, yeah I’ll call him this afternoon”. Harrison nods and walks back into the kitchen

“You know, I cou –” but you don’t get to finish your sentence before he interrupts you. “Don’t” he says, voice sharp as a whip.

“But, it would just be a loan, honestly I – ”

“No, and I mean it.” And you judging by the tone of voice he uses and the stern look he gives you you’re well aware that he isn’t joking. It’s like his usually warm and kind eyes are nailing you down into your seat. “I’m not gonna borrow money from a customer, as you well know.”  

The problem is that really wouldn’t be a big deal for you to offer him a loan or give it as a gift really. You love this pub. You love the people working here and the patrons and coming in for a drink or a meal or simply a chat and a laugh. It’s your safe haven. No one ever hardly ever bothers you here. No one asks you for a selfie or asks you about when more music is coming out. No one tugs at your sleeve or try to sneakily take a photo of you. Here, you are normal. And it would devastate you to see the Holland boys lose it all when you know you can help. You have more money than you know what to do with.  

However, you know there’s no arguing with him when he’s got that look on his face so you don’t, just keep sipping on your cherry coke as your foot taps along to the song on the radio. From inside the kitchen you can hear the faint sound of the Holland twin's laughter.  

Tom turns away from you to sort out the whiskey glasses on the counter behind him. But when picking up a glass he fumbles, and it falls out of his hand and lands right on his foot, though it fortunately doesn’t break.

“Ah, fucking bastard!” he shouts, grabbing hold of his injured foot.

“You shouldn’t swear in church, you know” ¨you say, as you finish your coke.

He looks at you indignantly, pouting like a child, “well, lucky for me, this is a pub.”

“You say potato, I say tomato, now make me a real drink.”

“For fucks sake, darlin’, you gotta eat something.”

***

So, it’s either late or early, depending how you look on it. On tube stations all across London early worker are already gathering on the platforms to take their commute to work. Not you. Not Tom either.  

Now, Tom is an early riser and has been since childhood. His nanna used to say that he had energy enough for three children. Despite regular closing shifts at the pub he likes to be up at dawn. Says he likes to get an hour at the gym and a walk with Tessa in before he heads to the pub to make sure everything is in order. After having checked with Sam that everything is stocked for the day, he has his protein loaded breakfast while ordering supplies or read through whatever paper work he need to be on top off before opening up the pub for the day.  

Tom hates having this routine disturbed.

So, it goes like this. Harry had been the bartender most of that night, since Tom had ‘other business to take care of’. Whenever Harry was bartender he’d usually spent more time drinking with you than he did serving up the other costumers. When Tom came back and saw the state of you, he’d sent you home, telling you that you’d had enough for one night and asking Harrison to walk you home. Then he’d giving Harry a proper telling off. You had dutifully walked with Harrison to your apartment, thanked him sweetly, and then as soon as you saw that he had passed the corner walked into another pub just across the street for more. It wasn’t as charming a place as The Hollands and their bartender sure wasn’t as handsome or as fun to annoy as the regular one at Hollands. But in a pinch, anything will do.  

Upon closing hour however, as you made your way home, you’d discovered that your keys were missing. Being absolutely wasted this did not worry you in the slightest. You just strolled back on unsteady legs to The Hollands to see if you’d dropped them there. Tom, who had closed the pub for the night, was still in. From the windows you could see him going through stacks of paperwork in front of him, a frown on his face. Upon hearing you knocking on the window at 2 am he’d jumped out his chair to see what was going on. When seeing you three sheets to the wind, dressed in a thin dress on a cold summer’s night the frown on his face had gotten worse.

Now here you are, in his apartment, in the dead of the night, and he’s offering you a plate of tortellini. Tessa had been overjoyed to see you and after having been allowed to greet you she had then been sent to her place and out of the way of your drunk, stumbling feet.

“But I hate tortellini” you whine.

“Christ sake, Popstar, just eat the damn food”

“No, I hate it, Tom, I hate it so much, it makes me think of- of- ” you hiccup.

“Are you actually crying right now?”

“It makes me think of- of - cheese sauce and -”

“Sorry, but what now?”

“And – I – I – I hate cheese sauce”. You’re full on sobbing and he just stares at you in disbelief.  

Then, somehow the world seems fall the wrong way around. It takes you a second to realize that you’ve slid down on the floor and that you’re staring up at the ceiling. Tom’s strong arm take a hold of you and he guides you to a sitting position, leaned up against the wall. With your face in his hands he stares at you in indignation but there’s something else there too. You’re drunk enough to dare to call it tenderness.  

Suddenly you’re aware that you’re sobbing, but you can’t remember why that is.

“Fuck who knows” he responds and when you give out a sound that’s something halfway between a sob and a laugh he starts laughing too. “If I make you something else to eat, will you eat it then? You’ll feel better in the morning if you do”.

Your head feels heavy, so you lean it against his hand and nod. “No cheese sauce, please”.

He rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing too. “Sure, no cheese sauce for Pop Princess.”

“Oi!” You call out “You promised to never to call me that!” Pop Princess was the title the tabloids had given you early on in your career. He keeps smiling, but it’s a gentle smile, and trace the frown between your eyebrows with his finger, as if he’s trying to erase it.

“Will you please just sit here while I cook?”

You nod again, too tired to say anything. He gets up, and you can hear some pouring water and then he places a glass of water in your hand. “Drink” he orders, then he’s gone again, and you can hear the clattering of pots and pans as he starts cooking. You’re just staring into the wall, trying to make it stop spinning; limbs heavy with sleep and whiskey, a nice buzzing numbness in your head.

Then he’s in front of you again, looking at you with a frown “I thought I told you to drink that” and you look at the full glass clasped in your hands. “Seriously, you’ll feel better if you do”.

You roll your eyes “oh, please, Tommy. Remember who you’re speaking to. I’m the local drunk, there’s no need to lecture me in hangovers”. But you do as you’re told and chug down your drink and hand him the empty glass. “Good girl” he says and gets back to his cooking. Before long the delicious scent of food is spreading through the tiny, cramped kitchen.

You start humming a song you wrote years ago but never released, low enough so you think Tom won’t hear you over the sizzling pan. But he does.  

“What’s that?” he asks, curiosity in his voice.

“Oh” you say, leaning your head back against the wall as you close your eyes in the hope that the world will stop spinning. “Just a song.”

Everything goes quiet for a while and you find yourself wondering if you’ve fallen asleep. But then you hear his voice. “Keep singing, please”.  

It surprises you, the amount of tenderness in his words; such a gentle bequest. So, you do as you’re told. In a voice raspy from the whiskey but sweet from his kindness you sing.

“I’ve been holding my breath, I’ve been counting to ten, 

Over something you said, I’ve been holding back tears 

 While you’re throwing back beers, I’m alone in bed

You know I, I’m afraid of change, Guess that’s why we stay the same, 

So tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags, get on the road, 

Find someone that loves you better than I do, darling, I know, 

'Cause you remind me every day, I’m not enough, but I still stay”

You trial off and he keeps quiet too and goes silent again. Then he slides down beside you, a plate of pasta carbonara in his hands which he offers you along with a fork. “Eat” he orders gently. You do, and it tastes delicious.

“God, Tom, you could rival Sam in the kitchen”.

He snorts but you persist. “Seriously Tommy, I’d hire you as a private chef if I didn’t know you’d be an insufferable employee”.

He snorts again, but you can tell he’s amused. “Wow, thanks a lot”

“Seriously, you’d always complain about my lack of organization, or the fact that I keep all of my face masks in the refrigerator, or that I never have any food at home or that I don’t eat at regular hours or that I sometimes just forget to eat and just have a Red bull for dinner instead or that I – ”

“Jesus Christ” he interrupts you “who the fuck let you be an adult? What’s wrong with you!?”

You’re wolfing down your food, so it takes you a moment to answer. “Someone said my problem was ‘a mind-boggling lack of general discipline and a staggeringly low ability to organise’” you finally say.

“Who said that? I mean they’re not wrong”.

“You said that” you point out as you finish your plate of carbonara. “Also, this was scrumptious, and also, may I sleep here tonight?”

He looks at you in disbelief “Yeah, duh, I’m not kicking you out? I mean, I thought that was the general idea of this”.

He grabs a hold of your plate and takes your hand in his other as he guides you both up to a standing position. He places the plate among the other dirty pans in the sink and then lead you to his bathroom. Giving you a new toothbrush, he orders you to brush your teeth while he changes his sheets. He hands you a shirt to sleep in and when you’ve changed you argue for a good 10 minutes while about who’s to sleep on the couch before he puts his foot down and say he’ll ban you from his pub unless you take the bed instead of him. So, you do.  

His bed soft and comfortable and smell of his detergent. From the living room you can hear Tessa’s deep breaths and the sound of Tom tossing around on the sofa. You wonder how uncomfortable he is.

“Tommy just come in here instead” you call out, voice drowsy.

“No, I told you, you take the bed”

You snort. As if you were going to give this bed up, no chance. Not now that you know how comfortable it is.  

“Yeah, duh” you answer. “Wasn’t planning on taking the sofa, but the bed’s big enough for the two of us, innit?”

Dead silence from the living room. Even Tessa seems to have been struck silent.

“You sure?”

You sigh. “Yeah, I'm sure, for fuck’s sake Tommy, just come in here”.

You hear the sound of footsteps slowly making their way across the floor, then he’s in the doorway. Clad in a pair of black boxers and a black t-shirt, awkwardly scratching the back of his head as he avoids looking at you.

You pull down the covers and he lay down beside you, keeping his distance in the bed. You have your backs against each other, staring into separate walls and even through the whiskey you can tell this is awkward. You want to ask him to hold you, but you’re scared he doesn’t want it. Scared he doesn’t even want to lay beside you. You are after all just a costumer in his bar. A costumer you know he can’t afford to lose.

You don’t know how long you lay there in silence, his scent surrounding you, the soft sound of his breath lulling you into further relaxation but eventually you drift off to sleep.  

When you wake, he’s gone. A note on his pillow tells you he’s gone to the gym, telling you to take anything you want for breakfast and just leave the keys at the pub later.  

When you close the door behind you you can’t help but feel that something tender happened in there, something important; but you know he doesn’t feel the same.

***

It’s Monday night, as Tom has been so kind to remind you off, and you’re plastered.  

Earlier the pub had been full to rim of football supporters shouting and singing and sharing pints before a big game, filling the entire place with an excited buzz. Now they’ve all gone off to cheer for their heroes on the field and only the patrons remain.  

Harry is bartender tonight, and Tom has placed himself in the back of the pub, a stack of paper in front of him that he keeps leering at. With a drink in your hand and a happy-go-lucky attitude you seat yourself on the opposite side of his table, determent to cheer him up.

“’m gonna write a song about you.” You inform him, voice only somewhat slurry.

“Go on then.” He doesn’t look up at you, just jots something down on the form in front of him. He’s wearing glasses tonight and they make him look so handsome you want to scream in frustration.

“Well, what rhymes with Tom? Rum!”

“Oh, Christ, no. No, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Tom, he serves rum and tequila.” You sing. “Wait, what rhymes with tequila?”

“Please don’t”

“Heliophilia!”

“Okay, ’m literally begging you not to do this.” He’s looking at you now, his caramel eyes filled with both amusement and genuine dread. You don’t listen, no, you sing.

“Tom, he serves Rum and tequila,

he loves the sun, it’s called heliophilia

his pub needs fundin’, he lives in London”

“Wow. That is a hell of a forced rhyme, pop princess.”

“No, no wait!”

“Wait? I will literally pay you to stop”.

But then you start singing for real, in a voice so sultry that it makes him freeze mid motion, hand just about to turn the page over.

“Have you’ve seen my bartender

he’ll serve you whiskey, he’ll pour you rum

so sweet it’ll make you tender

but all the whiskey in Tennessee

couldn’t have that man agree

to ever share a drink with thee

no, all that sweetness’s just for me

cause babe, he’s my bartender

Yes, have you’ve seen my bartender

He’ll hand you wine, he’ll sell you gin

I think it’s a sign when he hands me my wine

When hand’s touching hand, skin touches skin”

Tom seem to be frozen in place when you stop, and over at the bar you hear Harry give a loud whistle. “Fucking hell, popstar” he cheers.

Tom still doesn’t say anything, just observes you, seemingly speechless. And maybe you’re imagining it, but he’s cheeks seem pinker than usual.

"Well, at least I didn’t rhyme rum with cum” you say, trying to get a reaction out of him. And then “I did think about doing it though” and you lift your glass to him as if in a toast before you down it.

He snorts, back to his normal self and stare down at the paper again.

“Now, honestly, Tom. What did that piece of paper ever do to you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring at it like you want to set fire to it. You’d like me to do it for you?”

“No thanks, reckon he’d sue”.

“Who is he?” you lean over the table and closer to him and you swear you can practically see him ordering himself not to look down at your cleavage. “Is he god?” you whisper in mock horror. “Cause, I wouldn’t worry too much, Tommy. You see, God can’t sue. Well, someone in America tried to sue Satan once and they couldn’t cause they couldn’t hand him the papers. Turns out Satan hasn’t got an address. Reckon the same goes with God”

He rolls his eyes “oh, this guy definitely has got an address. He lives in Knightsbridge.” And then, in a voice unusually bitter he adds “posh twat”.

“Oy” you warn, jokingly, “those are my neighbourhoods'”.  

A sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh escapes him “Oh please” he laughs “please, you might live in Primrose Hill now, but you’re not Knightsbridge posh. Sorry to disappoint, Pop Princess”.

You glare, but it’s all in good humour. “So, who is this not-God-but-rich-as-God man sending you paper?”

The humour disappears from his face. “Downey, from the bank”.  Then he turns to the bar and shouts, “Harry, hand me a pint, ye?”

“And a whiskey for me, please” you request sweetly.

“No way, Harry, she’s cut off for the night. Tell Sam to make her something to eat” he orders his younger brother who rolls his eyes but obediently begin to head into to the kitchen.

“Not tort -” you begin shouting as an instruction.

“Not tortellini” he shouts at the same time. “And no cheese sauce either” he then adds.

You smile at him and this time you swear he’s blushing.

“Who’s Downey? You ask. And you know you’re prying, but you also know that Tom needs help with something and if there’s anything you can do to help, you will.  

“A bank man who wants me to pay my loans back”. He answers eventually after a long silence, when he figures you’re not going to give up and talk about something else. Harry comes back and hands Tom a pint and then leaves to take care of a costumer at the bar.

“A bank man, who lives in Knightsbridge?” You ask, bemused.

Tom smiles “oh, believe you me, Downey’s not your average bank clerk.” Then, in a serious tone, “look, I know you want to help, but there’s nothing you can do, ye? So drop it”.

“But I-”

“Drop it. Seriously, pop princess, there’s nothing you can do, I’ll figure something out”. He doesn’t sound harsh and the way he looks at you is positively adoring. Then he does something unexcepted. He reaches over the table and pulls a loose string of hair behind your ear. It’s a soft and sweet gesture and you want to reach over and kiss him but before you can he removes his hand and seconds later Harry places a dish of steaming pasta carbonara in front of you. You smile and thank him and he makes his way back to the bar.  

You eat in silence for a while as he continues to read through stashes of papers. You decide to leave the subject, for now at least.

“Yours is better, by the way”. He looks up at you, confused. “Your carbonara” you clarify. “I mean, Sam is an incredible chef and you’re lucky to have him, but yours is my favourite”.  

His cheeks heat up, again.

***

R E A D    P A R T   T W O     H E R E

[moyaxhi]

high on loving you [renga]

 summary: 

“Someone is here for you, his name is Kyan Reki?” 

“My boyfriend?”  Or: langa gets his wisdom tooth pulled out and reki is tasked with picking him up from the dentist. langa introduces reki as his boyfriend, but they’re not exactly boyfriends yet.

[ao3] 

It was three months ago when Langa complains that there’s soreness on his gums. Now, Langa has always had a track record for having great teeth. He’s never gotten his teeth filled (his mom made sure that his teeth were sparkly clean, practically drilled it in him when he was young), never had to get braces (there was a time where he  really wanted them, even begged for braces, and his dentist, the traitor, had said that there was no need for them.), he’s never even had gingivitis.

 Langa has always had perfect teeth.

 It was quite alarming that his teeth were feeling sore. It happened while he and Reki were together–when are they ever not these days. Reki had been showing him some of the local sweets around. A kind older woman had flagged them over while they were skating.

 “Hi Reki!” She calls out enthusiastically. Reki came to a stop in front of a house and held his board in between his hips. Langa followed and stopped as well. The older woman was wiping her hands with her apron. She wore a soft pink ruffled apron as well as a matching bandana. There was a smell of something sweet that filled the air. It smelled familiar like fresh pancakes he would have as a child back when they were in Canada, like the ones his own grandmother would make for him.

 She was smiling brightly, this was the thing in Okinawa that he noticed, everyone was smiling. They were familiar and so close to each other.

 She turned her attention to the both of them, “Wait here boys, I have something to give to you.”

 “Oh!” Reki exclaims excited, “Thank you Grandma Iki!”

 She waves her hand in dismissal. When she came out, she was holding five bags filled with sugar-coated peanuts.

 “Just made these peanut brittles today!” She handed one to Langa and gave the rest to Reki, “Make sure you share some with your sisters and your boyfriend!”

 Langa blushed at that, he spared a look at Reki, who for the most part laughed it off.

 She was already walking away, not waiting for a reply, the two of them bowed and yelled ‘thank you’.

 On their way home, the two of them were munching on the peanut brittle. Langa bit into it and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like sweets, but it had been uncomfortable.

 “Ouch,” He mumbled, holding on to his cheek. Instead of biting into the brittle, he started sucking on it.

 Reki looked him over, “What’s wrong?”

 “I think,” Langa sucks air tiding away another painful throb in his jaw, “I think it’s my tooth?”

 “Huh,” Reki walks over in front of him. Too close. He can feel Reki’s breath on his skin. He was an inch taller than Reki but now, it felt like Reki was towering over him with how he scrutinised every inch of Langa’s face.  

 Langa feels a blush make its way to his cheeks, his ears, his neck. God he wishes Reki wouldn’t notice.

 Instead because whoever was up there had mercy on him, his best friend and current crush replies with, “You sunburnt again?”

 And Langa exhales mentally and shakes his head externally.

 Reki sighs. He taps on Langa’s jaw, “Did your filling happen to chip?”

 Langa shakes his head, “I don’t have any.”

 “What?! For real?” Reki cups Langa’s cheeks trying to pry his mouth open. Okay, totally not invasive at all.

 Slurred, Langa tried to say, “Yeah, I’ve never had to need them.”

 It all came out gibberish, but because he and Reki happened to share a brain cell, Reki was able to understand all of it.

 “You lucky bastard,” Reki’s eyes are still solely focused on him whilst letting go of Langa’s cheeks. Langa, feeling shy, has to avert his eyes elsewhere, “If I even forget to brush my teeth once, my teeth start to decay.”

 Reki backs away and walks forward. Langa follows and the two of them settle into a comfortable silence. The sun was setting and it coloured Okinawa in an orange-red hue. The air was cooler these days. Summer was ending soon it seemed.

 Langa kept running his tongue on the back of his left molar. The gum line, even if he couldn’t see it right now seemed to be swollen.

 Guess that meant a trip to the dentist.

 ---

 “It’s an impacting wisdom tooth.” The dentist says.

 His mother was still at work and Langa came to the dentist office by himself. His mother had offered to drive, but he was quick to shoot it down saying that he would skate to the office.

 “We’ll need to take it out,” Langa’s mouth is wide open as the dentist probed on his gums gently, “It’s going to be a quick surgery. Do you have anyone with you right now?”

 The dentist took out his dental probe. Langa shook his head, “No, I’m alone.”

 “We’ll have to get consent from your guardian.”

 Langa sighs and calls his mother mentally apologising for calling her at this hour knowing that she would be busy with work.

 “Hello?” She answers, “Langa?”

 “Hi mom,” He says, “I need your consent.”

 “Oh!” She perks up, “What for sweetie?”

 Langa sighs, “The dentist says I have an impacting wisdom tooth. So, they need to perform emergency surgery.”

 There was the sound of rustling papers on the other line. His mother must be busy in the lab then.  

 “Oh of course!” She replies more rustling, “Have them send over the forms and I’ll sign them immediately with our insurance policy.”

 “Okay.”

 With that, he hangs up.

 Seventeen years of not having a single cavity and here he is having to tide over an impacting wisdom tooth. Just his luck.

 Well, at least he has a free pass for school today.

 ---

 Langa is really hazy.

 The room is spinning. He thinks this is what it might feel like to be drunk. He’s so nauseous that he might actually puke.

 He blinks a couple of times but the lights around him are so offending he wants to hurl something at it.

 There are voices, but for the life of him, he can’t understand. His brain is short-circuiting for sure. Is this what it feels like to sit on a marshmallow? It’s so soft and warm, but also everything is displaced and it keeps spinning.

 “ I’m gonna puke,  ” He says in English  .

  Immediately, there’s the cool feel of metal as a trash bin is pushed to his hands. He puts his head in it, but then it’s too dark and he sleeps so well in the dark, so he just ends up staring into nothingness, huh, that feels really nice, he might fall asleep–

 “Langa,” someone, he’s not sure who nudges him, “Langa, it’s Dr Sawada, can you hear me?”

 “Huh?” He intelligently replies, his brain has not caught up, and it takes a minute for him to comprehend that he’s speaking in Japanese.

 Right.

 He’s in Japan right now, he moved with his mom half a year ago. He met this red head, no scratch that, the love of his life here, oh and the love of his life doesn’t know, he skates, that’s right, oh and where is he right now?

 “ Where am I? ” He says in English before he remembers; Japanese, he has to speak Japanese. And so he repeats, “Where am I?”

 The Doctor, he’s going to call him Doctor with a capital ‘D’ because he can’t remember the doctor’s name all he remembers is Reki and who he wants to get the–

 Oh. Reki. Yeah. That’s right.

 With his red hair, his nice fingers, his cute freckles, what Langa would do to kiss each of the freckles on his face. What Langa would  kill for to kiss Reki.

 Oh yeah, wait the Doctor is saying something, “You’re at the dental clinic right now.”

 Huh.

 But he could have sworn he was on a marshmallow, “Okay.”

 “We had to give you some anesthesia.”

 “Not good?”

 Doctor Doctor laughs, “Someone is here for you, his name is Reki Kyan?”

 “My boyfriend?”

 “Sure.” Doctor Doctor walks out of the room with a smile on his face.

 Oh my god, his boyfriend Reki is here to pick him up. He could cry. What a good boyfriend. His  boyfriend .

 Reki comes in yellow hoodie and all, red hair, he’s so beautiful Langa could cry, “Langa, hey, your mom called me to pick you up.”

 That’s when Langa cries because Reki came to pick him up, he’s the best boyfriend Langa has ever had.

 Langa has fat tears coming down from his face and he groans covering his eyes with his arm.

 “Langa?” Reki’s voice is panicked and he reaches over to touch his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

 More tears come down, it’s a waterfall at this point, he’s just so overwhelmed with everything. Reki, his boyfriend, is here to pick him up and he can’t stand up from the marshmallow, and Doctor Doctor is nowhere to be found.

 “Uh,” He can hear Reki coming closer trying to pry his arms out of his face, “I don’t know what to do.”

 “He’s gonna be out of it for a couple of hours because of the anaesthesia, but he’s going to be okay.” Oh, that’s where Doctor Doctor is.

 “Oh,” Reki says because he’s so good, he’s the best Langa knows, “That’s fine. Alright buddy, come on.”

 As gently as he can, Reki is pulling him up to stand up, but his legs, oh my god where are his legs?

 He cries even harder, “My legs!”

 “What? What’s wrong with your legs?”

 “It’s gone!” Langa wails, “It’s gone and I can’t find them.”

 Reki laughs. It sounds like the best thing Langa has ever heard, but this is hardly the time to be laughing.

 “Don’t laugh at me,” Langa protests, “A good boyfriend would help me find my legs.”

 “Boyfriend?” Reki asks like it’s news to him, they’ve been boyfriends since Langa woke up and that felt like ages ago, years even. Langa has it in good account that they have been destined for each other, he knows this because he said so, “If this is your way of asking me out then it sucks.”

 His boyfriend thinks he sucks.

 “You what sucks even more?” Reki says his face so close. Oh my god Reki has a freckle under his nose, it’s so cute, he could kiss it, “Is that you won’t kiss me.”

 That does suck.

 He has to fix that.

 He’s the worst boyfriend ever.

 He cries even harder.

 “I’m the worst boyfriend ever.”

 Reki laughs and pulls Langa’s arm around his shoulder, “Yeah you are. You better ask me out again when you can remember.”

 That strikes a chord into Langa’s whole being. He turns to face Reki and as serious as he can get, he wanted to say that he won’t ever forget about Reki but all that comes out is, “I won’t remember.”

 Nailed it.

 ---

 He will know a little bit later that he did not, in fact, nail it.

 ---

 It’s not like he forgets about the whole thing.

 In fact, he remembers the whole thing in clear picturesque quality, like 1080p 4K quality.

 Langa remembers Doctor Doctor (now Doctor Sawada), remembers the marshmallow, and how he has made a fool out of himself in front of Reki.

 He’s in his room, covered in his black and blue striped blanket and all he can do is duck further into his bed and scream as loud as he can into his pillow.

 He also remembers that Reki technically  told him to give him a kiss.

 ---

 It happens like this.

 All of them are at ‘S’.

 Miya, Shadow, Cherry, and Joe all witness as Langa challenges Reki to an ‘S’.

 “Terms?” Reki says leaning onto the wall of the ramp.

 “If you win, I get to kiss you.” Langa says and he calls it a triumphant win as he witnesses Reki turn as red as his hair, “If I win, I get to take you on a date.”

 “This is all too one-sided.” Reki counters without any real bite to his words. There’s a blush sploshed on his face, “It’s a win-win for you.”

 “It’s a win-win for the both of us.” Langa says.

 “Why can’t you two be normal for once and just do things normally?” Miya, his face contorted in disgust.

 Reki laughs, “You’re the worst boyfriend ever.”

 Despite this, they gear up to get ready for the starting point. 

 At the end of the night, it didn’t really matter who won (Joe says it was Reki). 

 At the end of the night, both he and Reki were holding hands. 

 At the end of the night, Langa has given Reki about ten kisses. 

 ---

 Reki never lives Langa’s wisdom tooth extraction story down.

 “And that’s how he asked me out, he’s so lame.”

  ---

[everythingshawnmendes]

“Are you… making cookies at 3:30 AM?” and Bucky Barnes being the biggest teddy bear when it comes to going to bed

                                                    or

Bucky and Y/N’s night routine, plus some late night snacking

tooth rotting fluff, smut, fem! receiving oral

Y/N loved scrolling through her phone before going to bed. All her life, after a busy day, nothing would distract her mind like mindlessly going through social media. When she became an Avenger, nothing changed. Whether she was exhausted from a strenuous day of training, plotting, investigating or completing a mission, she loved escaping from it all mentally to see what was going on online. It wasn’t the best, she knew, all the blue light and whatever, but in her line of work, high quality deep sleep ran kind of thin anyway. Tony used to tease her about it, calling her a teenager, but he shut up rather quickly after she retorted that at least she didn’t pull 3 all-nighters in a row just to work on some suit. The rest of the Avengers laughed with her that day, as he walked away muttering something similar to “some suit that saves all of your asses-” under his breath.

The rest of the team used their cell phones differently. Steve could barely count as having a cell phone, that old flip phone that had the numbers key pad where you had to press 1 three times just to type out the letter ‘c’. He answered the group chat, just always 3 hours late with 1 sentence at most. Bruce and Tony both used their phones a lot, mainly for backing up their research. Tony actually left the group chat twice, annoyed at the spam of stupid “childish” memes, but agreed to be back again when Peter sent a link to an article explaining how Iron Man is the strongest Avenger. The memes, they were mostly sent by Scott and Thor. They were at first almost always followed by a concise paragraph from Nat, who broke down the meme for Steve and Bucky to understand. They got the hang of them at one point.

Bucky didn’t love technology, let alone social media. Before Y/N was in his life, his night routine was quite simple: lay down and wait for sleep to come. After all that time being manipulated and used as the Winter Soldier, sleep had lost its peacefulness. He would just lie there with his eyes closed and drift in and out of consciousness.

It changed with Y/N however, for the much better. Bucky looked forward to going to sleep now, because that meant he got to hold Y/N in bed, which made him all soft and warm, until they both drifted into sleep. With her, he slept like a literal baby, holding his favourite blankie. Y/N never previously slept better either, having her own big Bucky shaped body pillow. 

Tonight was no different than any other. The two were cuddled together under their blanket, Y/N’s head propped on Bucky’s chest, where his shoulder met his chest. Luckily for him, the arm under her was his metal one, and could barely feel the weight of her head. The whole squad had gotten home from an intense mission, and the second they got back to the compound, Bucky dragged Y/N into the shower so they could get into bed as quickly as possible. After Y/N not being able to resist having her fun with Bucky under the warm water and sinking to her knees to wrap her lips around his pretty cock, the two scrambled into bed and were officially tuckered out.

Y/N sighed happily, scrolling through Twitter. Bucky’s chest was so built, and thick and so comfy to rest on. Bucky’s eyes were shut, his head heavy. His nose was buried in the back of Y/N’s neck and the sweet smell of her hair was lulling him to sleep. Her back was pressed against his chest, and his hand wrapped around her waist squeezed her close against him. Y/N hugged the arm that was around her with her free arm, stroking his forearm softly with his fingers absent-mindedly as she read things on her phone. Occasionally she’d laugh out loud at something and tell Bucky, who chuckled back, kissing her head. Y/N felt so relaxed, so in bliss and the reason was so simple. She was just so happy to be this in love with someone. She shifted slightly and moved to turn onto her other side. Bucky, half-asleep, whimpered softly and pouted, but curved his lips upwards in a smile when Y/N settled back into him to face him. She looped a leg with one of his and rested her hand with the phone on his chest. Bucky flexed his pec, bouncing Y/N’s hand on top of him, sending the two giggling softly. 

“Heyyy.” Y/N whined, nudging him.

She kept scrolling slowly on her phone, Bucky’s heartbeat slowing down to a soothing pace underneath her. One of his hands reached up into her hair, playing with the strands gently.

“Wow-“ Y/N snickered. “Bucky, did you know you have a large fanbase of thirsting women?” Her thumb paused at a tweet. She felt Bucky’s chin move on the top of her head and craned her neck up to look at him smiling. He felt her eyes on her and opened his halfway. “Listen; one writes: If Bucky Barnes shoots me, do NOT prosecute him. He caught me slipping, that’s on ME.” Y/N laughed heartily and Bucky just shook his head, burying his face in Y/N’s head, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Oh, oh - wait, I have a fanbase of my own too. “Y/N Y/L/N is so damn fine, if she were to ever same from something, I’d die of a heart attack afterwards”. HA.” Y/N nodded, laughing harder. Bucky perked up at this and frowned, his eyebrows furrowing together adorably. He held her tighter against him, a sound almost like a “hmmph” leaving his mouth.

“Aww baby.” Y/N simpered amid her laughs, looking up at her pouty boyfriend. She loaded him with kisses, one on his chin, his lower lip, the crook of his neck. Bucky found his smile again and opened his eyes a bit to lower his lips onto hers.  

Y/N settled back into his side and felt her eyelids go heavier and set her phone away. A couple minutes later, she had fallen asleep. Bucky sensed her breathing get heavier, kissed her head through her hair and drifted off to deeper sleep as well.

Y/N awoke some time later, squinting her eyes open and stretching slightly. She looked at the clock which indicated 3:00 and looked up and down to see Bucky softly sleeping, his arm still loosely around her. She closed her eyes and opened them again, thinking of why she might be unable to sleep. She didn’t have to go to the bathroom, she wasn’t too hot or cold… Cookies. She wanted cookies. A craving that was so random, yet she couldn’t seem to quite shake it off. Fuck it, she thought. She slithered out of Bucky’s hold and out of bed. Looking around the room, she put on some socks and quickly threw on one of Bucky’s hoodies to cover her naked body. It wasn’t likely for anyone else to be in the kitchen at this hour, but she still didn’t need to run the risk of someone seeing her butt naked. Plus, expert-skilled assassin and all, she was still clumsy as fuck, and she felt like being naked was some kind of dangerous being around an oven. As if she had not taken on 7 armed guards single-handedly with only one gun the day before…

Bucky stirred in his sleep, turning onto his side, his arm reaching out. The empty space beside him confused him, as he slowly rose from his slumber. Still heavily tired, he palmed the bed, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. 

“Friday.” He grunted, his voice raspy with the sound of sleep coating the back of his throat. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Scanning. Miss Y/N is in the kitchen, sir.”

“M’kay, thank you.” He said, cracking his neck slightly. He fell back and closed his eyes again, the initial panic having subsided knowing Y/N was safe. He pulled the blankets to him and sighed. Clambering out of bed, he huffed and put on his pajama pants, setting off for the kitchen. He thought Y/N just needed some water, so he was not expecting the sight he entered upon.

There, in the middle of the kitchen, was Y/N spinning around, dancing to reach up to the counter for chocolate chips. Bucky recognized his hoodie on her slip up slightly, showing off most of her leg. His cheeks warmed. She turned around and spotted Bucky, nearly falling back out of fright.

“Jesus- baby, you scared me. Hi.” She walked towards him, cupping his cheek with one hand as she gave him a sweet kiss. Bucky joined his hands together at the small of her back, pouting down at her.

“You left me all alone in our room.” He said, pouting slightly, eyes squinting from the contrast of the open lights. Y/N’s gaze softened at his bright blue eyes, who were looking at her with equal tenderness.

“Aw, I’m sorry, you big softiee…” Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her and rocking softly from left to right. She relaxed in his frame as Bucky hugged her, his sleepy demeanor not yet fully shaken awake. Finally, he pulled his head back, scanning the room.

“Are you… making cookies at 3:30 AM?” He chuckled, running his hands up and down her back soothingly.

“Yeah! You wanna join me?” Y/N grinned at him, leading him to the counter. “I’m almost done.”

Bucky sat himself on the counter as he watched her tiptoe to get her big bowl of dough and set it down right beside him. He ripped two sheets of parchment paper to coat the trays.

“You’re so cute you know that, doll? Bucky eyed her. Y/N looked up at him and gave him a toothy grin and continued rolling out little balls of dough onto the baking sheet. “Especially in my sweater.” He reached his hand out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Y/N stepped in between Bucky’s legs, leaning on his beefy thighs. “And I’m not wearing anything under it.” She looked up at him, eyes wide. Bucky groaned, pressing his forehead to hers as his face winced slightly. She was really testing him…

He took her face in his hands, pressing his lips down against hers. Her hands snaked up his legs to caress his abdomen, Bucky capturing her lips between his and kissing her hungrily. He licked her lips, sliding his tongue in her mouth to run it against hers, sucking her lip into his mouth as she parts them slightly out of breath. Catching it, she brought a hand to the back of his neck, lowering him onto her lips once more. Bucky pet her neck softly with his cool, metal hand before wrapping it around softly, not too strongly to stop her breathing but slightly to assert himself. Y/N gasped at the feeling, both cold and hot at the same time, Bucky flicking his tongue into her mouth, and grazed his teeth along the soft flesh of her bottom lip. Y/N swallowed heavily and pulled back.

“We have to preheat the oven.” Y/N panted slightly, going to the oven to turn it on. Bucky ran his hands through his hair and leaned back on the palms of his hands. A tent had formed in his loose cotton pants and his cock gave a twitch as he watched Y/N prance around the kitchen with her lips slightly redder and her bare legs on display. She was floating in his hoodie and she looked so impossibly soft, a part of him wanted to hold her, squish her, cuddle her, nuzzle his nose into her neck but the other, wanted to run his hands underneath the fabric, trail kisses along her divine legs and suck pretty bruises on her neck.

Y/N returned to the counter and caught a glance of Bucky. Smooth contoured abs moving along with his breathing, his manhood standing up straining against the fabric of his pants, which were loosely hanging off his hips. His blue eyes were soft to her, his eyelids hooded probably from what hour of the morning it was.

“You’re pretty.” Y/N hummed. Bucky scoffed, curling his finger motioning for her to ‘come here’.

“You’re pretty, doll.” He answered.

Y/N picked up the bowl and the wooden spoon and stood beside Bucky, who was still sat on top of the counter. It’s crazy how even if she was standing, he was still taller.

“Personally, I like the raw dough much better than the actual cookies. Hmm?” Y/N picked at the spoon, then giving it to Bucky. He tasted a piece and nodded. 

“I still think that I prefer the actual cookies.” He gave her the spoon back.

She shook her head. “You’re wrong.” She said, bringing the spoon to her mouth. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows slightly, feeling a tingle trickle down his spine. Y/N ran her tongue up the back of the spoon, locking her eyes with his, and hollowed her cheeks to eat the cookie dough. She continued to lick along the head of the spoon, cleaning it off of any remaining dough. Bucky gulped. She saw his pants tighten even more and laughed against the spoon, lapping up the sweet mixture.

“Baby girl…” He said huskily in a low voice, sending heat to Y/N’s core. She knew that pet name, and that tone of voice.

Y/N bit her lip, eyes becoming pleading as his blue ones stared into hers, while he licked his own lips. 

Ding!

Y/N huffed, as she turned around to see the oven was ready. She looked at Bucky, who smirked at her.

“The oven’s preheated, doll.”

“I know.” She exhaled frustrated, and took the trays, turning on her heel and walking to the oven.

She bent forward to slide the cookies in. At the sight of that, Bucky was a goner. He slid off the counter and lunged toward her. A second after Y/N had closed the oven door safely, no later, Bucky’s hands were on her. 

Y/N gasped, and then moaned at the feeling of his big hands sliding up the back of her thighs all the way up inside her hoodie, pressing at her lower back and coming to reach in front of to her bare stomach. He spun her to face him, Y/N’s hands placing themselves on his broad chest while his toyed with the bottom of his hoodie on her, palming her ass. They backed up, taking big hurried steps until Y/N felt herself hit the counter behind. Bucky’s hands slipped from her butt to the back of her thighs, lifting her and placing her down on the countertop slightly roughly. She immediately spread her legs apart, letting Bucky stand between them. He looked down and groaned, his hoodie ridden so high up it exposed all of her thighs, barely covering what’s in between. 

“Should we feel how wet you are, baby?” Bucky kissed behind Y/N’s ear, licking along the lower of her earlobe. Her soft whimpers contained in her throat resonated in his ears deliciously. “Hmm?”

“S-so wet. So wet. For you.” Y/N panted, feeling Bucky’s hands explore everywhere under her shirt, kneading her breasts. He was everywhere, but she desperately needed him lower.

Bucky took pride in her “for you” and slid his flesh hand down, dipping his middle finger in her heat. He himself moaned at how warm and wet she was, Y/N desperately whimpering, bucking her hips for more. He brought the one finger back up and before he could do anything, Y/N took his hand in hers and directed his finger into her own mouth, sucking harshly making her way from his knuckle to the pad of his finger. Bucky chuckled a low laugh, coming from his abdomen.

“So you’re not going to let me taste you, doll?”

Y/N shook her head repeatedly.

“Because-“ Bucky began lowering his head, large palms rubbing up and down her thighs. He kneeled on the floor. “I’ve been eyeing these delicious legs of yours ever since I saw you in only my hoodie.”

He turned his head to one side, pressing his lips into the plushy inside of Y/N’s thigh. 

Y/N opened her legs for him, begging him to just, dive in to her. She knew Bucky was ever the tease, and she knew he was going to make her work for it. But, he was so close, he was right there, all he needed to was to lean forward.

“Yeah, open up for me baby girl. Let me see how pretty you are.” Bucky licked his lips, his blue irises darkening slightly at the sight of your bare core. Y/N whimpered at the praise, arms reaching up into the hoodie to touch her own breasts. 

“Here, let me.” Bucky said, standing back up. Nothing turned him on more than to rid Y/N of his own hoodie, the larger loose fit revealing her beautiful body concealed underneath it. He pulled it above her head, throwing it on the ground. “Gorgeous.” His eyes trailed up and down her body, drinking in the sight of her.

“Bucky, please.” Y/N whined, the way he looked at her got her dripping wet and she was grinding against the counter to get any type of friction going against her needing center. His eyes flicked to her face.

“But you’re so pretty begging for me doll, don’t you know that?” He sunk back onto his knees, prying Y/N’s knees open once more. He moaned at the sight. There, right in front of him was her glistening cunt, the folds noticeably coated in her arousal, her scent seeping into his nostrils. He had never seen anything more delectable.

“Mhmphn.” Y/N grunted, her face contorted in frustration. “Baby.” Bucky’s deep blue eyes turned upwards to look at her. 

“Please.” She begged, nudging her thigh against Bucky’s cheek.

“Please what, sweetheart?” He leveled his mouth to her clit and stuck his tongue out, giving the sensitive button a hard, slow, long lick.

Y/N arched her back, throwing her head back at the feeling, breathing out. That initial lick was not followed by others, though, as the oven ding’ed once again to signal the cookies were ready.

“Fuck!” Bucky swore, licking his lips. “I’m going to go get those goddamn cookies and after that sweet doll, I’m going to eat that pussy of yours until you forget your own name.” He squeezed her thighs roughly, before standing up violently, turning the oven off and opening the oven door, grabbing the cookie trays one at a time with his metal hand and chucking them aside on the stovetop.

He returned to his spot on the ground, opened Y/N’s legs gently with his flesh hand (he wanted to make sure his metal one had cooled off, scared to burn her), locked eyes with her one last time and stuffed his face into her pussy. They both moaned, Bucky’s tongue running up her slit a couple times to lap up all the slickness and fully taste it. He gave her clit a quick kiss before sucking on it, taking it in between his lips. 

“Fuck, r-right there.” Y/N breathed out, finally feeling an ounce of her desire fulfilled. She brought both her hands to his luscious hair, running her fingers through it. She swiveled her hips, opening her legs as she maintained his head in between them with her hands.

He licked sloppily at her clit, drawing wet circles with his tongue as his entire face was engulfed in her, her wetness dripping and coating his chin. He sighed contently, closing his eyes as he ate her out, his own cock plumping at the feeling of her hips and legs trembling against his head.

“Oh, Bucky, oh-“ Y/N moaned, face scrunched in pleasure. The coil in her abdomen wound tighter, she was getting closer and she tugged on his locks of hair, pulling him closer against her. Bucky groaned into her cunt, sending her clenching her thighs around his head. He loved it. 

He loved having all he can smell, taste and think about Y/N’s pussy. The slight pain at the root of his hairs from being pulled by her spurred him on further, suckling, licking up at her clit just to swivel down to her hole, a mix of her arousal and his spit lapping at her folds. Suddenly, Y/N let go of his head, her hands flying in back of her onto the counter to support her, as her entire body arched backwards.

“I-I’m close baby, baby, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum - I’m gonna cum-“

Normally, Bucky would have said something filthier to send her over the edge, he liked hearing his name come out of her mouth, but he didn’t dare take his mouth off her. He maintained his pace, lapping against her clit.

“Mhmhmn, Bucky.” She pursed her lips together hard to not scream out. Bucky looked up at her, his girl, saying his name while he made her cum… Y/N caught a glimpse of his deep blue orbs staring up at her and let go, falling back onto her elbows as her orgasm ripped through her.

What a sight, a vision. Bucky’s eyes glued to her, as her head was thrown back, he trailed his eyes from her jaw, breasts, shaking arms and hips, to the legs on both sides of his head. He slowed down the pace of his tongue until she sat back up, bringing him back up to his feet with her hand in his hair.

“Taste yourself.” He whispered through hooded eyelids as he kissed her lips. Y/N giggled tiredly. Bucky turned around to grab a paper towel, wiping the bottom half of his face clean. He leaned against the counter opposite Y/N, grabbed a cookie and grinned at her, who just merely looked at him from on top while catching her breath. 

“Are they good?” She finally managed to ask.

“I’ve had better desserts to eat.” Bucky picked up his hoodie to throw it on Y/N’s shoulders, settling in between Y/N’s legs. He brought a cookie up to her mouth.

“Mhmmm they are good.” Y/N gave a light moan, chewing. “Don’t look at me like that, you know exactly what sounds I make for you, just heard them.”

After cleaning up the counter, they set off to brush their teeth once again (Bucky insisted because “Cavities!”) and before they knew it, Y/N was settled comfortably back into his side, with her head on his chest.

Neither needed social media to fall asleep this time.

the mouth and eyes on him I’m——-

my first bucky fic!!! and first really nsfw!!! plz lemme know if u enjoyed it loves x

[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】Tears of Themis: Main Story 5-29 Translation

--

Translated parts: Chapter 5 – Sounds of Falling Snow (Part 1, 2, 3): 5-1 / 5-3 / 5-5 / 5-7 / 5-9 / 5-11 / 5-13 ♦️ ♦️  5-14 / 5-16 / 5-18 / 5-20 / 5-22 / 5-24 / 5-26 / 5-28 ♦️ ♦️ 5-29 / 5-31 / 5-33 / 5-35 / 5-37 / 5-39 / 5-40 / 5-42 / 5-43

  Translation Masterlist: here

Video: (0:01) https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV15a4y1j7CW?

Stellis City Police Station

Tuesday morning, 7AM, Stellis City Police Station.

10 hours had already passed since the laboratory Heirson built at Rainbow River Village caught fire.

I could no longer remember how I was able to get through these past 10 hours.

The pictures in my mind were like stained glass that the sun couldn’t shine through. The colours were sharp, but they were blurred out of clarity.

Xia Yan: You must be tired. I’ll send you home first.

A thin and light blanket wrapped on my body. Unable to control myself, I toppled towards Xia Yan’s shoulder.

I was indeed very tired, from my heart to my body. Fatigue had chipped away my ability to think. For now, I just wanted to follow my instincts and find something I could rely on.

MC: Was there really nothing left in that laboratory?

Xia Yan: I’m sorry. I couldn’t bring out that bottle of samples.

MC: Xia Yan, I’m not talking about that bottle of samples. You being able to run out from the fire, safe and unharmed, is already the biggest comfort to me.

MC: Not to mention that you were able to catch Wang Han, who set the fire.

MC: I just think it’s a pity that some fire could actually burn that laboratory so thoroughly, leaving not a single bit of worthwhile information.

Xia Yan: It is true that Wang Han appeared outside the laboratory, but I think he was actually just finding out about our movements.

Xia Yan: With Wang Han’s ability, devising a plan on the spot to set some fire shouldn’t be enough to burn everything so thoroughly.

Xia Yan: This laboratory just might have a self-destruction mechanism. The fire might be an internal, self-starting installation.

MC: Either way, Wang Han has already been brought to the city police station. No matter what suspicious points there are, we’ll wait until we can ask him.

MC: We also don’t have to pretend to deal with him with sincerity. We can uncover all his lies in front of him. 

Xia Yan: Right, what’s up with Sun Heping? Why did he follow us to the city police station?

MC: He came to be an eyewitness. I really need to thank Grandpa Sun well, he helped me a lot.

--

[Flashback]

In the warlike turmoil and chaos, I finally finished the whole process of calling the police.

I took up my phone and kept dialing Xia Yan’s number, mechanically and repeating, just like a programmed robot.

MC: Xia Yan, pick up the phone… hurry and pick up, I’m begging you.

MC: Let me hear your sound - even just replying with a number is enough. 

All my attention was set on my phone, so I naturally wasn’t aware of the gradually-nearing danger behind me.

Sun Heping: Little brat, get smacked!

???: Ow!

The cry of pain coming from behind me startled me to consciousness.

I turned around, pulled out the lipstick tranquillizer gun that Xia Yan had given me from my pocket, shooting towards the man who was holding his leg and collapsed on the ground.

Just as Xia Yan said, within 30 seconds, that man lost consciousness.

Sun Heping: Whoa, the young woman brought a self-defense weapon. Not bad, not bad.

MC: Grandpa Sun, what are you doing here?

I looked carefully at the man lying down. It was an unfamiliar face.

MC: Who is this person? He snuck into the yard, wanting to… assault me?

Zhao Yuncui’s agritourism guest house was one floor, connected to the little yard outside. The yard perimeter was surrounded by plants. A grown man could’ve easily gotten past them.

The push-pull door connecting the house and the yard was wide open. It would have been as easy was blowing away dust for this man to intrude in…

Sun Heping: He’s Wang Han’s son, just called back from the city by his father.

Sun Heping: Your phone is right there, so call the police. I’ll go be a witness for you.

[Flashback end]

--

Xia Yan: So it was like this…

I thought that Xia Yan would be very angry after listening, but his expression was very calm – it was just that his tone when talking…

This expression of his looked extremely like the calm before a storm. He must not be thinking about personally teaching a lesson to Wang Han’s son!

MC: Xia Yan, you… though Wang Han’s son is pretty hateful, he didn’t manage to do anything…

MC: We live in a lawful society, so please don’t act rashly.

From when we were small to now, Xia Yan’s always been the person who is most defensive of me, but…

MC: Think about it - if you hit him and got taken into custody, that wouldn’t be worth it at all.

I suddenly had an “idea”, and what escaped from my mouth sounded as if it were missing something.

MC: If you got detained, then Peanut*, that one bird, will starve to death at home.

Xia Yan: …

MC: (What am I saying…)

Xia Yan: I didn’t think that if I got detained, then the one you would be worried about wouldn’t actually be me – it would be Peanut!

Peanut was a myna bird that Xia Yan raised. After going through professional training, it was very smart.

I thought it strange, why Xia Yan would raise a defense animal like a myna bird.

Thinking about his agent identity now, it must be some special reason having to do with that.

MC: You really have gotten more and more “mature” - splitting hairs with a bird.

Xia Yan: Alright, I know you’re teasing me.

Xia Yan: Don’t worry, I won’t directly do anything to Wang Han’s son.

Xia Yan: My mission is to protect the order and maintain the safety of society. How could I do illegal things?

Xia Yan: But…

He leaned close to my ear. The hot breath brushed over my ear, tickling it.

Xia Yan: I’ll definitely give him a taste of suffering and blow off steam for you.

MC: Okay, then I’ll look forward to it.

Just like in years of youth, how children will often mutually “shelter” little secrets about mischievous actions – this was Xia Yan’s and my secret.

Xia Yan: I should send you home. You really need rest.

MC: There’s no issue, I’m still fine…

Sun Heping: Didn’t you two say that you specifically planned to go to the village to find me?

Sun Heping: Why is it that I’ve been troubled for a day and a night, yet I still haven’t seen you ask me anything?

I hadn’t finished speaking when Sun Heping appeared from who knows what place. “Disappearing and appearing randomly” really is an apt description for him…

MC: (Grandpa Sun… it was clearly you who refused to talk, alright…)

MC: Your willingness to provide help really is great. How about we find a quiet place to slowly talk about it?

Sun Heping: No need, here is fine. This old man is open and candid. I’ve got nothing that I need to hide from people.

MC: (I just wanted to ensure that the investigation wouldn’t leak…)

Xia Yan: I just greeted Leader Yan. This office won’t have anyone come in for now, don’t worry.

MC: Okay, then let’s talk here.

INTERROGATION START

Sun Heping’s whereabouts that day

MC: Last year on September 12, did you not know Kong Moli was coming?

Sun Heping: No, I don’t really use cellphones, and I didn’t keep any ways of getting in contact with Moli.

Sun Heping: Originally, I thought that either way, I wasn’t going out of the village, so she’d be able to find me anyways. Who would’ve thought… ah.

Sun Heping: That day, my home suffered a thievery. I caught the little thief and went to the police station to create a record.

Sun Heping: Who would have thought that the thief wouldn’t admit it no matter what. We spent a good half of the day at the police station. Moli couldn’t wait, so she left first.

Xia Yan: Is the thief you are talking about Qiu Heng?

On the return road to the city, I told Xia Yan about the information from Zuo Ran’s investigation yesterday.

Sun Heping: It was indeed him. He even said that he thought that the mutated Rainbow heart fish was worth money, so he went to steal it, hah hah – you could clearly tell it’s a lie from listening to it.

MC: He even had the face to say this kind of reason…

MC: Do you know the reason Kong Moli left in a rush?

Sun Heping: I heard from Wang Han that it was for someone’s birthday. It should be the birthday of the child she adopted.

Kong Moli’s reason for coming

MC: On September 12, what was Kong Moli’s reason for visiting you?

Sun Heping: She wanted the mutated Rainbow heart fish I had raised.

Xia Yan: Mutated? What kind of mutations are you talking about – could you explain in detail?

Sun Heping: Mutated was actually just what Moli called it. From my perspective, those fish were just smaller than typical Rainbow heart fish, and were unable to grow large.

Sun Heping: Moli had taken pictures of the mutated Rainbow heart fish before, but according to her, those photos were stolen by people, so she needed the living fish as physical evidence.

MC: Stolen?

The stolen pictures made me think of Kong Moli’s notebook that had two pages ripped out.

Up to now, we still didn’t know exactly what the notebook was missing.

Sun Heping: Before that lawsuit of Moli’s, the paper mill was closed. Heirson also stopped operations. Both sides weren’t able to collect water samples.

Sun Heping: Without any way to examine again, the fish I raised was the only proof.

Youyou’s origin

MC: You know Youyou? That is, Mu Ziyou.

Sun Heping: I don’t quite remember the name. I just know it’s a boy.

Sun Heping: Kong Moli met that child the first time she went to the laboratory.

Sun Heping: No one knew who or where the child’s parents were. When we asked if he ran out of the laboratory, he also didn’t say.

Sun Heping: The only people from outside in Rainbow River Village were those from the paper mill and the laboratory.

Sun Heping: If it was a child lost on vacation, he would’ve been found much earlier.

Sun Heping: Thinking about it, that child most likely ran out of the laboratory.

Noticing Kong Moli’s death

MC: Do you know how Kong Moli’s accident was discovered?

Sun Heping: It was me who noticed it. It was also me who called the police.

MC: Weren’t you unable meet with her that day?

Sun Heping: It was because I didn’t find her, and I knew that she urgently needed those fish, that I thought about sending it to her in the city.

Sun Heping: I drove the house’s tractor to the passenger terminal at the bottom of the mountain. Halfway, I saw Moli’s car stuck on the guardrails.

Sun Heping: I didn’t see her, so I called police.

Xia Yan: At the scene of the accident, did you notice anything abnormal?

Sun Heping: No. I also didn’t dare to touch anything at the scene, fearing that I would end up causing trouble to the police.

[Got Sun Heping’s Testimony!]

Household situation

MC: We heard that you live alone. Your family members aren’t with you?

Sun Heping: …

Seeming to not expect that we would ask this, Sun Heping froze.

Sun Heping: The situation in my house doesn’t have any relation to this case. You two, don’t ask without grounds.

Looking at it, there really is no need to investigate Sun Heping’s family situation. I just asked casually. If he’s not willing to talk about it, then we’ll just forget it. 

INTERROGATION END

Sun Heping: I’m finished being a witness for the police, and you’ve finished asking the questions you need to ask, so I’ll return to the village.

Xia Yan: Grandpa Sun, I’ll send you.

Sun Heping: No need. If you have time, you should accompany your little girlfriend instead.

Xia Yan: …

MC: …

Sun Heping headed off, while Xia Yan and I had more, harder questions to solve.

Xia Yan: Combined with my investigation at the laboratory, I can basically guess where Mu Ziyou came from.

--

TL notes:

* “Peanut” in Chinese also sounds nearly identical to the Chinese for “Watson” (both are “huasheng”).

[geeky-politics-46]

The Asgardian Candidate

Loki/The West Wing FanFiction Crossover

Chapter 6 - “A Stranger To The Rescue”

The White House was still in a state of shell shock.

They had suffered two massive blows to their re-election campaign back to back at the hands of Mr. Loki Laufeyson.

The pounding they got in the 2nd debate was one thing. They had one more debate left. They could recover from that, even if it was bad.

What had essentially crippled the campaign nearly beyond salvage was something that had been completely unthinkable, until now. A sitting vice president announcing he was leaving the ticket he was currently on, for the administration he was currently serving in, to run as his challenger’s VP.

The tickets were now Laufeyson/Hoynes & Bartlet/?

After the announcement the president’s poll numbers plummeted, & campaign donors had started to bail. Everyone understood why. They had to find a candidate to run as Bartlet’s vice president. It couldn’t be just a replacement for Hoynes, they had to be better than Hoynes.

If they were going to make any sort of rebound in the polls they had to find the human personification of America itself. A patriot. Someone who could have been born on the 4th of July & made from apple pie.

It was Leo who had stepped forward with the only suggestion. He said he knew a guy who might fit that bill. That he knew him from when he served in the military, well he didn’t know him exactly, but he knew of him. After a few calls, & maybe even a bit of pleading on Leo’s part, the man had agreed to meet the president & discuss joining the ticket.

He too was a novice in politics, like Loki, but if he was half as good as he seemed on paper it wouldn’t matter.

Jed was studying the man’s records & FBI file when Leo opened the door to announce that their potential VP had arrived.

Leo’s assistant led him in & then stood behind the man utterly transfixed. “Thank you Margaret.” Leo said holding the door open for her to exit, but to no avail. “Thank you Margaret… Margaret! Thank you.” Having finally gotten her attention, Margaret quickly turned & left somewhat embarrassed at her own behavior.

Both Jed & Leo could understand why she had been so hypnotized. The man standing before them appeared perfect.

He was tall & broad shouldered, with well defined muscles. A firm yet subtlety squared off jaw, vivid blue eyes, & dirty blonde hair perfectly combed into place. He looked like Disney prince did a stint as a G.I. Joe, & then come to life.

He snapped to attention & saluted as the president rose from his seat. “It’s an honor Mr. President, sir.”

“At ease solider.” Jed responded chuckling, slightly startled by his salute. “Err… actually it’s captain isn’t it?”

The man relaxed & dropped his salute as he responded, “Yes sir, Captain Steve Rogers. If I may speak freely sir, having already been told why I’m meeting with you today. As an officer of the U.S. military I have sworn, as you have, to defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign & domestic. Frankly sir, after watching him & hearing his views on how he plans to run this country if elected, I do believe Loki to be a threat to the US & the constitution if he were to be elected as president. I don’t like bullies, no matter where they’re from. Therefore it is with honor & duty that I accept the offer to serve as your running mate.”

Jed & Leo both exhaled deeply for the first time in several days, feeling the muscles in their necks immediately relax.

Jed smiled eyeing the man curiously. Could he feel it too? He had assumed most people younger than Leo & himself couldn’t feel the air of the great dictator that Loki gave off. How could they? They had never seen it in person before, or heard the tails of war while watching the flashes of pained memory in their parent’s eyes. Sure there were movies & museums, but real first hand memories of the last World War & those who could share them were all but completely gone now. This man seemed almost out of his time. As if he escaped from an era long gone, but remained untouched himself by the hands time. A memento of what America could be at it’s best.

Captain Rogers did have a couple caveats of his own to offer in negotiation with President Bartlet. He wanted to serve with honor, & he wanted to make sure he was able to execute the office in the best way he could if they won. “I do have a couple requests to make of you sir, if I am to serve as your vice president. The first is that I want us to be completely honest with each other, & if we disagree we hash it out in private together. The second is that I want to be the last person in the room on major decisions. If I’m going to serve as your right hand then I want to really participate.”

Bartlet was slightly taken aback at the younger man’s forwardness & candor. It was a far cry from John Hoynes, who had at times roiled against Jed’s decisions. Even going so far as to on occasion leak a disagreement to the press when he was really in a snit with him. Leo had always attributed John’s ill behavior to Jed coming from behind in the primaries to steal the nomination away from him. However in just a few sentences Steve Rogers proved he had more heart & backbone than John Hoynes had managed in nearly 5 years.

It Jed’s mind it wasn’t even a question. He knew he could trust this man. He felt it in his bones. He still dutifully glanced toward Leo awaiting his silent approval. Leo simply gave a single nod. They agreed to Captain Roger’s requests without hesitation.

President Bartlet then gratefully held out his hand towards the captain, “Well I guess I shouldn’t get too used to calling you Captain Rogers then. By the time I remember I’ll have to start calling you Vice President Elect Rogers instead.”

The two men shook hands & sealed their political fates to each other. If they won then they won together, if they lost then they lost together.

Captain Rogers smiled brightly & gave a slight nod as he clutched the President’s hand “Thank you, sir. You can just call me Steve. I’m with you until the end of the line.”

Leo smirked & jokingly added “See, it wasn’t all that hard finding someone.” For the first time in a long time, lately Leo had found himself tempted to retreat to alcohol. He hadn’t told Jed, but this campaign had him more rattled the longer it went on & Captain Roger’s words seemed to confirm that Leo wasn’t the only one who sensed something very wrong in Loki. To comfort his thoughts he had found himself wanting to escape the campaign problems in the bottom of an empty bottle. After all old habits die hard, & it had been a habit during the first campaign. Now he stood, his hands in his pockets, holding one of his AA chips. Thanking god (or whoever really controlled everything) for Captain Rogers. Without even knowing it, Cap had already protected one person from an enemy. Even if it was just an internal one.

The ticket was now officially sealed. It was set as Bartlet/Rogers.

—————

Perhaps he had underestimated the Midgardian this entire time. Perhaps Bartlet really was a foe worth his time & effort. It made him almost respect the man a little.

He held the front page of The New York Times in his left hand, right hand resting under his chin, studying the headline & image before him. Brow furrowed, causing his gleaming horned crown to shift slightly higher into his raven hairline.

How quaint.

There standing with him arm around the president was Captain Steve Rogers. Both men smiling & waving to the crowd where they announced their new ticket. The papers had already started calling him “Captain America”. Fawning over him as if he was some sort comic book superhero. Some of them had even gone so far as to draw him into one themselves, complete with a stars & stripes jumpsuit & matching shield.

Loki pictured a battle between “Captain America” in full costume & himself in full Asgardian armor. Fine tailored suit morphing into black & green leather with ornate gold plating, & his gold horned crown transforming into his full elaborate helmet. While comical on one hand, Loki was quite a showman. Perhaps in the event of a recount he could conjure up that outfit for the captain & solve the election that way instead. Leaving Bartlet & Hoynes to fight it out amongst themselves.

To Loki’s ears he even spoke like some sort of cartoon as well. All sugar & sweet, yes sir & yes ma’am. He questioned whether this Captain Rogers was even capable of telling a lie. Although the American’s had already had one president who used that schtick before. It was still something the crowd seemed to be eating up. Loki almost wished he’d thought of it himself, but what fun would that be for him really? The god of mischief & lies having to play nice. His nose crinkled & upper lip snarled as his thoughts soured at the very suggestion.

For every devious act or trick Loki had implemented, the Bartlet campaign seemed to be trying to one up him in a the wholesome department. Perhaps it was time to simply match wit for wit. Maybe Loki’s silver tounge had finally met it’s match. His lips pressed into a tight line, ever so slightly pulling his bottom lip in with his teeth as he thought.

The third debate was open topic, questions could come from any area. He figured that would allow him to fair better than the first debate, no need to try to memorize budget statistics or job numbers. He could just as easily pluck a number from someone else’s head. He was sure the intrusion into their mind would go unnoticed if he only did it when he absolutely needed to.

The president though would also surely fair better on the topic of defense this time around. His team would be going through Loki’s responses from the last debate as he sat there. This debate they would be on much more even footing.

He would not hold anything back this time, now that he knew Bartlet could clearly play the game just as well as he could. He would actually have to prepare & study for this debate. As much as he loved reading the idea of spending hours reading about Midgardian matters made him wince.

Loki quickly stood up from the desk. He had to act on his plan quickly before his distaste for spending time with mortals had a chance to outweigh the importance of the debate. He really wanted to win the presidency, otherwise he would never stoop this low.

He walked briskly to the door of his office, yanking the door open so hard it hit the wall with a deep thud. All of Loki’s campaign staffers froze at the sound & a thick silence fell over the entire room. Eyes wide on many of their faces. Loki had them terrified of him.

He resisted the urge to giggle with delight at the terrored faces he had evoked. Instead he calmly & quietly took 2 steps forward into the large open office space. He scanned their faces & inhaled deeply. His mind searching for who could best fulfill his need.

He found 3 faces. A male & 2 females. All rather mousey & plain. Their desks each piled high with binders & newspapers. Computer monitors cluttered with open windows. Yes, these 3 should work nicely.

“You, you, & you.” Loki pointed to each of the 3 as he began his verbal command, voice deep & thick with passioned energy. “In my office. Bring everything you have on Bartlet’s policy positions, & whatever we’ve said mine are. You have 5 minutes! Don’t test my patience.”

Loki immediately turned & strode back into his office,leaving any questions about his order hanging in their air. Eyes quickly darting from person to person around the room in both confusion & curiosity. They only snapped back to the present & returned to their work as they heard the door to Loki’s office slam shut behind him. Time seemed to suddenly unfreeze as staffers began talking again & phones started ringing.

Back in his office Loki positioned himself behind his desk. He had made it this far. He could practically see himself behind the resolute desk in the oval office. It was no golden throne of Asgard, but god he wanted it. His birthright was to rule, & he fully intended to.

[evilmortys]

“Well, it’s great to have you back here in our chambers again. And by that, we of course mean that it’s literally the worst to have you back here in our chambers, C-136.” There’s a definite familiarity in the way Riq IV utters his indicative numerals that rings almost personal, but understandably, there’s little fondness behind his severe greeting. Jesus Christ, he thinks to himself sourly, this fucking Morty again. “You know how this goes, so let’s get right to it. State your name and dimension number for the record, turd.”

“Yeah, well, here’s somethin’ for the record: I’m not- I’m actually not too jazzed about it myself, y’know? Every time I get hauled here, I gotta- I gotta look you guys in the faces for like, an hour. And they’re really ugly ones.” Morty rebukes, arms folded over his chest defensively. His insides quiver like jelly. Deep down, he’s actually really not so good with this confrontation stuff, believe it or not. What Morty is? Still, he can’t half pretend to be unflinching when a situation calls for it. Nerves sufficiently steeled and outward appearance nothing short of done with this shit, he obliges the demand. “Mortimer Smith, Earth Dimension C-136. No additional numerals applicable.”

“Watch it.” Another council member snaps suddenly, already infuriated by the blatant lack of respect, and Morty’s gaze drifts to the secondary speaker. Hazel eyes rest upon the decrepit figure boredly, and he inwardly debates whether it’d be worth it to point out he doesn’t even know the name of any of these other assholes- that’s- that’s about how relevant their input is to him right now. Probably shouldn’t, he concedes grudgingly. Don’t bite the bullet when it comes to spitting snark, y’know? Employing restraint now leaves wiggle room to get away with saying more once this discussion inevitably goes to shit. He looks back to their spokesperson wordlessly, gaze expectant.

“Yes, Rick Prime, you’re absolutely right. He says what we’re all thinking! Now... let me see what you’ve gotten up to this time, C-136. While I’m reading the report over, why don’t you go ahead and tell me: who the fuck do you think you are? And why do you think you can get away with this shit? We’d all love to hear it.” Riq IV gathers up the loose-leaf before him and taps the papers against the imperial desk he sits behind, neatening the stack before beginning to look them over.

“I don’t think I’m anyone- anyone... look, I didn’t do anything wrong,” Morty protests defensively. “There’s nothing I’d even be getting away with! That’s- whatever’s written there, it won’t- it’ll all be a bunch of bullshit!”

“Really? Because let me tell you, this is all lining up very well with what we’ve come to expect of your character.” Riq IV heaves a world weary sigh, bracing himself for what’s to come (this particular turd, and the circumstance of his Rick being such a generous contributor, always makes everything so difficult), and passes the report along for the other council members to peruse. Can’t effectively threaten this one, really. But like hell he won’t try. “Here’s our working theory, turd. You believe that you’re special, and brave, or some shit, and- and you think that because your Rick happens to donate to us often that we have to tolerate this kind of shit from you and take it on the chin. That your actions here don’t have consequence. Am I in the ballpark, C-136?”

“Not even close!”

“Then do you want to tell us what the fuck happened?! Do you want to, oh, I don’t know--- clue the council in on why you saw fit to push a Rick to the ground, stamp repeatedly on his ballsack, and punch him in the face until... he- cried---? Jesus Christ, in- in hindsight- this geezer’s not reflecting on us well. How does this even happen? He got fucked up by a Morty? I mean, at that point, you pretty much deserve whatever happens, right? What the fuck was I even reading there, y’know?” 

Riq IV isn’t quite addressing C-136 come the end of that impassioned order for an explanation, and is instead glancing at the other members incredulously, brow knitted indignantly. The other four Ricks murmur heatedly in irritable agreement, though they’re keen to point out Mortys should never possess the balls to lash out at a Rick violently regardless. With a nod of his head, the spokesman looks down upon the yellow-shirted bastard beneath him, and snaps, “Whenever you’re ready, C-136. Take your time! I know you think this Citadel bows to your goddamn whims either way. Go ahead and phone a fucking friend- why not? You’re- you’re a little monster.”

“Oh, I’m ready, you stupid haircut having- you’re a- dumb ass motherfucker,” Morty spits vehemently, gritting his teeth, before catching himself. His gaze briefly averts, as if in wordless apology for his blunt outburst. He draws himself up slightly, gesticulating with his hands as he attempts to get across his reasoning. “Look, I know it sounds bad. It was bad! It was! I know. But that Rick, he- he was, he was pushing this Morty around, being such a dick, making fun of him, and- there was... he didn’t even have a reason! That Morty was mute, y’know? He’d- he’d had his tongue cut out, or- or maybe ripped out by some sorta alien... I don’t know. He was making this awful gurgling noise, he was frightened, and- what, was I just supposed t- to walk on by? Pretend I couldn’t see that happening?!”

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.” Riq IV says pointedly, as if affronted he has to clarify the obvious at all. “We can only assume that Morty was behaving in a way to make him deserve that, just as you should have assumed, turd. Besides, I’ll have you know that tongueless Mortys are in, uh- pretty high demand, for the more morally ambiguous Ricks. In fact, I’m pretty sure we offer services for a humane snip of the tongue. We do that, guys, right? ... Maybe it’s more of a black market thing? Yes. It’s- it’s just an adjustment that can be made to you little bastards, for a price, much like implanting chips into your spines and weaponizing you for efficiency. And let me tell you something: it’s one that I plan to recommend to your grandfather if you continue to push your luck. Our tolerance only goes so far, no matter how much of an asset Rick C-136 is to the development of our Citadel. We won’t exactly crumble without him.”

“Fuck you! Wh- what the fuck is WRONG with you?! Y- you wanna know something?! You wanna know what I think?! Don’t answer: I- I know you don’t, but fuck you, and listen up anyway! Every single one of you BASTARDS are DEFINITELY gonna die with each other’s dicks in your throat from how much you suck each other off! How can you sit up there, and say shit like that, and- and not hear how fucking awful you all sound?!” 

His gesturing hands have long since returned to his sides, and his arms are tensed where they rest- C-136 is acutely aware of the fact that he’s trembling, shaking with anger that has never felt more well founded. Despite himself, he curls his fingers and balls them into fists, as if- as if he could swing for those smug motherfuckers up there from all the way down here. Morty has to jut his chin just to regard them with all this fury, and there’s nothing to goddamn do with it- his breathing quivers from his lungs tensely, and there’s a challenging look crystal clear in his blazing eyes. Can’t do anything about it, the reminder bangs in his brain. The Guard Ricks posted all around don’t even motion to grip their guns tighter, because they fucking know it, and the council fucking knows it, and they know he’s painfully aware of it, too. 

Their broad, shit-eating grins say it all--- at least, they do, until Ricktiminus Sancheziminius sees fit to glance upward briefly by chance, and winds up visibly starting, and fixing his gaze on something else entirely. Somebody else. Somebody other than the spectacle of that notoriously difficult Morty having an outburst. Ricktiminus Sancheziminius nudges Riq IV sharply in the side, and upon gaining the other’s attention and irritable acknowledgement, indicates the new arrival to the spokesman. He soon sobers, flashing the figure at the entrance to their chambers a bemused look- and the others are quick to follow his lead. Morty’s brows knit, and he glances over his shoulder- heart sinking---no, outright dropping---deeply into his stomach the very instant he’s processed it. 

Fuck.

“Ah, your keeper’s here, C-136. Rick Sanchez, earth dimension C-136! We presume our message reached you in a timely manner... and yet, enough time has passed for your grandson to spit vulgarities at us for quite a while. I certainly hope we didn’t pull you away from anything important...” Riq IV smiles strangely, almost as if simpering. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and there is something deeply false to the curve of his mouth. Belching, he waves a careless hand, as if to dismiss his own backhanded, apologetic sentiment before the other can even respond to it. “... Though it begs the question of what could be more important than the Citadel. We both have this society’s best interests at heart, after all.”

“Yeah, y-eeeuurgh-eah, what-the-fuck-ever.” Rick replies, sweeping into the chambers and standing at Morty’s side, flashing him a deeply vexed look. He probably heard that whole last part, and out of context, it doesn’t really reflect well on the flicker of patience he's been trying to maintain all the while. “I was balls deep in the concept of time when you motherfuckers called me, so ex-cuse me if I’m not particularly chirpy about being called over this time around. He- he better have at least killed someone, is what I’m saying. I was getting action. Literally fucking with time. I- I don’t wanna fucking be here for anything less.”

Morty’s mouth falls open as he hastens to try and explain himself, ready to trip over his own spluttering words until Rick comes to understand that he was just trying to help- before he realizes, dully, that it won’t even matter. Huffing, the teenager simply looks askance, knowing full well Rick won’t take his side on this. Almost can’t take his side on this. Though it’s not like the other ever strives to have his back anyway. 

This train of thought is a bitter one, and it rattles through his head so loudly, all the biting reminders that he’s in a room full of people who don’t give a shit what he has to say in the slightest, that he briefly tunes out from the exchange between the council and his disapproving grandfather. Their words are little more than buzzing in his ears, but he doesn’t miss much. They’re just filling his companion in on what shit trick he’s pulled this visit. A sharp flick against the side of his head soon bumps him back to reality, and a deep scowl curls the sixteen year old’s lip as he rubs it, fighting the innate urge to bitch. Rick scoffs at him, before turning his attention back to the six alternates perched up there.

“See that? Not even listening. Look, this time last year, Morty was all over the Citadel, just like I am. Nobody’s saying anything about taking issue with this place. Nothing but support in the C-136 household. He’s just going through a little phase, in case you can’t tell. You ever had a sixteen year old Morty? Nightmare. Rebellion, he’s all- all stick it to the Ricks, y’know? He’s just being a c-eeeuurgh-ontrary little shit. Christ, the whole reason he’s here is to pick some crap up that I ordered- did you even fucking get around to grabbing that, Morty? Before you started swinging for Ricks?”

“Yeah. I got it.” Morty says shortly. “Laruxion ore.” 

He finds himself physically biting down on his tongue, as if to chastise it prematurely as it twitches to run away with him about what a nightmare even just grabbing Rick’s shit was, too. The shopkeeper glared down at him, and asked a few dozen hostile questions about what a Morty was doing picking up something so volatile, so potentially dangerous, for his Rick. If it were up to me, he’d declared, unwillingly bagging the package up all the same, you wouldn’t be running around with something like this. Taking it to your Rick or otherwise. Guy can’t pick up his own shit?

“Aw, jeez. Well,” Morty had shot back, unable to help himself, “don’t you all think we’re too stupid to do anything smart anyway? Either you think Mortys are capable of falling the entire Citadel with this ore, and you won’t fork that shit over to me because of that, or you think we’re dumbass, i- incapable, um, y’know- sidekicks. In which case, there’s- there’s no harm in handing it over to me. Right? Just saying, y’know. Y- you guys should pick a lane. Aw, jeez.”

Suffice to say, Shopkeeper Rick was not impressed with his take on the matter, and all but threw the bag across the counter into Morty’s fumbling hands, before angrily shooing him off.

“Might as well have done it myself. Can’t even run an errand without getting stirred up in shit. Look, council,” Rick grouses, pinching the bridge of his nose in a show of utter annoyance, “Let’s just call this square. We all fucking paid for his shit trick today, right? I got blue balls, you had to, uh... rightfully bitch at him, waste your... precious time on a dumbass Morty. And he’s gonna get a fucking earful. I’d- I’d say it won’t happen again, but, Christ- is- was he even entirely in the wrong? If a Rick can get taken out by a Morty, he’s not exactly a valuable member of this society. The society I funnel a lot of fucking cash into on a monthly basis, might I add. G- g-eeeUURGH-etting pretty sick of the same old bitchfest about every toe my moron puts over the line when he’s here. Do you guys do this for every Morty that acts out? I’m just sp-eeEUURGH-itballing over here, but- I kind of thought I was donating to people that had slightly better shit to do than pull my Morty up for being a little- a little angsty, or whatever the fuck, right now.”

“... We do this for Mortys that repeatedly cause issues within our citadel. Which yours does to the point of notoriety, C-136. If you’d only rein in your Morty, this wouldn’t be an issue to begin with---”

“Oh, my God- shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck UP---”

“Morty, YOU shut the fuck up. Sorry for him, as usual. Are we done here?”

“... Of course. We, uh, we’d like to reiterate our gratitude for your contributions to maintaining the-”

“Yeah, yeah, leave me another f-eeEUrrrgh-ucking voicemail about it. Come on, Morty. Y- you’re gonna- I’m gonna fucking kill you when we’re outta here,” Rick chastises, and reaches out to grip his forearm and pull him along as he paces away from his six alternates, muttering darkly under his breath all the while. Visibly nettled by the threat, the sixteen year old bitches top note and makes several efforts to wrench his arm free- and easily manages it once they’re back in the sea of alternates that is the main hub of this hellhole as Rick reluctantly eases his hold.

“Don’t grab me! And- and y’know what, don’t bust my balls about this, either. Would it kill you to be on my side? Like, ever? Wh- why would I beat on anyone for no goddamn reason, Rick?!” Morty explodes, and his grandfather rakes a hand through his tufts of blue hair and glares.

“You know exactly why, Morty. Besides. I’m not exactly in the business of backing you up- not sure if you’ve noticed. Because you’re never actually in the right. You’re just taking everything to heart and poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, as usual. Got that?” 

There’s a certain bitterness behind his words. How the hell do you think it’s going to reflect on me if they know I’ve never been able to put a lid on your shit, Morty? Rick sets off walking, and for a moment, Morty hangs back- hesitating to follow, eyes narrowed fiercely at the other’s retreating back... before he groans, and hastens to scramble through the thick crowds and catch up, demanding an explanation all the while.

“Why do you even put up with their crap, Rick? I- I don’t get it. You’re throwing money at a bunch of dicks, t- to support something you don’t even- to support the fucking Shitadel?” Morty gesticulates wildly, hazel eyes narrowed and gaze intent as he regards his older relative, forearms raised and fingers splayed out in a demonstration of utter bewilderment. “I’m just trying to understand why- why the fuck you would do that! Y’know? Y- you don’t even like this fucking hellhole! The people who live here don’t even like it! I just, I- I don’t---”

Rick’s shoulders slump under this bout of badgering, and, if only to quieten the idiot down, he caves. Lowers his voice and mutters quietly, so as not to be listened in on by anyone around them. 

“You don’t g-eeURRGH-et it? Yeah, I heard you the first time. Look, M-Bomb, if I know those assholes---and I am those assholes---being, y’know, blatant about hating their fucking guts isn’t the way to go. If I say what I think, tell ‘em to suck my balls and shove their society up their ass, how- how exactly do you see that playing out for me?” 

Rick pauses, as if awaiting an answer. Bewildered, the teenager beside him blinks a tad owlishly, and at long last, opens his mouth in preparation to fumble for some sort of answer. The very moment he begins to speak out uncertainly, his grandfather purposefully presses on with his point, much to the boy’s visible aggravation.

“I’ll tell you how it’s gonna play out for me. I- I know it’s a little beyond your, uh, limited understanding, Morty. They’re gonna scout for a new paypig, come in the night, haul us outta home, take my portal gun, and make me a fucking janitor, Morty. Meanwhile your dumb ass is gonna- you’ll end up in that shitty Morty School, taking classes on how to bark great idea, grandpa, like- like some mindless little moron who can’t think for himself. They’d parade you around as an example of how well they break you little bastards down into yes-man sidekicks, since you’re such a stubborn piece of shit. And that’d be if y-eeEUrgh-ou’re lucky, by the way.”

“... Ha. Yeah, well, don’t- don’t talk like you wouldn’t like that. The last part, I mean.” He snorts, and a brief flicker of amusement brightens his companion’s resigned expression. Rolling his eyes, Rick rolls his shoulders into a shrug as they walk, moving through the sea of yellow-shirted teenagers and lab-coated fossils.

“Only if you don’t talk like you wouldn’t get a fucking kick out of seeing me scrub a toilet,” he snipes, and they exchange a glance. 

There’s a brief, strange moment wherein something shifts between them- all the unspoken anger, the seething temper, the typical wariness that clings to the air that hangs between them seems to all but ebb away. 

Morty cracks first. The corners of his mouth twitch upward slightly, a fit of snickers rises in his throat... and the second Rick clocks that he’s going to burst out laughing, he cracks up, too. They laugh, and they laugh, and just when it seems that they’re going to calm back down, they catch each other’s eye and lose it all over again. The other Ricks and Mortys waiting in line for a return portal to their dimension cast them strange looks as they all but giggle feebly beside each other, adamantly refusing to meet each other’s gaze in a fervent effort to recover, now; letting things lapse back into their norm. 

All good things eventually draw to a close, and sure enough, this temporary, shared moment of reciprocal sentiment is one of them. The teenager can’t help but push it, however. Let it last just a minute longer. I won’t hate you again, just for a fraction more time. Don’t hate me again, just for a bit longer. While Rick moves to procure his silvery flask from his pocket, amused grin easing in the corners as his expression becomes idly impatient once more, Morty inhales, picking at a loose thread on his sweater if only to busy himself with something, too.

“Hey, Rick?” His tentative broach at conversation is met with a grunt while the old man slugs back his potent alcohol supply. Casting his grandfather a tentative smile, he fidgets with his fingers. “... Thanks. And- sorry. I- I know you hate, y’know, this whole- paying off this shithole, so we don’t wind up here, and stuff. And seeing those motherfuckers, and their stupid haircuts, more than you have to.”

... The sentiment doesn’t quite have the effect he wanted. Rick doesn’t smile back, once he’s finished downing the last drops from his flask. His brow narrows as he shoves it back into the pocket of his lab coat, and he shakes his head dismissively, refusing to take the attempt to uphold their good mood at face value. Disdain creeps right back into his tone- that distaste and disapproval over Morty’s every choice today rearing it’s ugly head with a vengeance, it seems.

“Yeah. I do. So I guess you owe me b-eeUURGH-ig time, Morty.” 

He returns simply, and Morty’s heart sinks upon registering the snippy edge to Rick’s tone... before he soon finds himself frowning deeply, annoyed with himself for even trying; consumed with that aching anger once again. There’s a certain, undeniable comfort to be found in how familiar the feeling is. Losing the moment of enjoying one another’s companionship, of things being how they were some two years ago again, stings. Undoubtedly. But it’s better not to dwell on them. 

Part of him always wonders if it’s his fault they are the way they are. Keeping each other at arm’s length. Essentially communicating through picking fights over nothing, and bickering over absolute bullshit, with terribly occasional, painfully rare warm moments interspersed amidst all of their resentment. If he were only more wide-eyed and naive, Rick wouldn’t be like this with him. Right? Rick thinks that Morty doesn’t know precisely what his fucking problem is, but it doesn’t exactly take a genius to decipher why he’s so harsh with him most days. Read between the lines of his grandfather’s unspoken resentment. 

No. It takes a smart, capable Morty, unafraid to call him or anyone, really, on bullshit, and injustice. And he never wanted that. What sort of Rick fucking does? The entire point of a Morty is to stand beside you, go along with whatever you say despite their own rightful apprehensions, to freak out and struggle and be impressed, awed, and horrified by the shit you pull. They’re sidekicks, but they’re never supposed to be all that competent. That’s the role of the Rick, after all. C-136 was fearful and clueless when they adventured in his youth, sure. There was a time. But he outgrew it far too fast, picked up on things far too quickly, keen for approval he didn’t want to give purely because of how actually deserved it was. Jesus, even as a kid, he was perceptive. Intrusively so. Full of cutting observations--- with alarmingly poignant outbursts over how Rick conducted himself, dripping with disdain for his behaviour, being plentiful from the tender age of eight.

Rick speaks.

“... Quit pulling this shit.”

Morty snaps.

“Quit being shit, Rick.”

They fix one another with a long, lingering look. It feels like a game of chicken- daring the figure across from them to be the one to break the prolonged staredown they’re locked into... and in turn, out himself as the coward ultimately too afraid to face up to the other. It ends in a perfect draw; grandfather and grandson tear their gazes away at the same moment, scoffing over how stupid it was at all, deliberately shuffling to sit a few more inches apart from one another. 

Distance from it, the duo both decide sullenly. Never as different from one another as they like to insist, unbeknown to the two of them. All you can do. He can’t be told.

Rick and Morty, Earth Dimension C-136, await their assigned portal back home in silence; the balance restored in their uncaring world, and dynamic decidedly chilly once more.

[georgemackayhey]

Rules For Falling In Love: #3

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: So sorry I've been MIA! Here's the news. There are only two chapters left of this fun little story. And something else is in the works for which I'll be posting a sneak peek of very soon (bet ya can't guess what it is!) I hope you're all still just as in love with this plot, though, because I know I am. Let me know your thoughts as always, dudes

w/c: 3k

───※ ·❆· ※───

"What the hell are you doing?" You hissed through your teeth at your very own reflection. You were dressed for any imaginable occasion. If folks noticed you waltzing down the street, they might assume you were on your way to lunch with friends. They might think you were headed to the market, or to the movies, or shopping around. But they most likely wouldn't imagine you were on your way to get married. But you were.

You perfected your lipgloss and fixed your hair, and when there was nothing left to primp, you stood there, still, waiting for the girl on the other side of the glass to reach through, grab your shoulders and shake some sense into your head. But she didn't.

///

"That's it? We're done?" You asked in a stunned breath. The cheery old fellow who'd walked you through the process of signing a bunch of papers and reciting a few promises smiled, but studied you for a beat before nodding.

"You're married, now. Congratulations!" He escorted you and your group toward the door, waving a bony hand from the entry before slamming the old wooden door shut, abandoning you in the massive marble halls.

"Oh, that's absolutely not it." George's sister whined. The girl yanked you and her brother out into the warm sunshine. She shoved some wildflowers in your hands, forced you to stand in place, and shoved her brother to your side. George draped an arm around your shoulder as you both grumbled for the girl to stop making such a fuss.

"Just think of all the things I was talked out of doing. The party I could have- no, should have thrown. Now smile!" She rose her phone camera and snapped a few shots, humming with satisfaction when she was decidedly finished. Bless her, she really did only want the best for the two of you. And you and George were due for some new photos besides the ones snapped of your forced smiles at the latest award show.

"Well, I forgot to bring cake as promised, but let me take you round the cafe uptown to kick off my stress eating. " Dean sighed as if someone was making him pitch the offer.

"Sounds like ya need it." You jested. Dean rolled his eyes and gave you a real, soft smile. George's sister left with a big wave and a dramatic congratulations.

Dean was excited to choose your celebratory treats himself, and was the first to dart inside the posh cafe when you arrived. You and George followed, laughing about how your friend had transformed into the classic "kid in a candy shop." You lost Dean to the winding line and moved to find some big comfy seats in the busy shop.

The reality of your latest achievement hadn't quite set in yet. George's laughter was such a familiar, comforting sound, as you settled beside him on some ridiculously oversized ottoman. Today was just... another day.

"Please tell me that what Dean just told me is a big fat joke." A familiar lilt pipped up from the other side of the paint chipped coffee table in front of you. George's agent was stood, slack-jawed with a big, whip cream filled to-go coffee in hand. How funny she happened to be here, you thought. Only her surprise greeting was much different from the times you'd bumped into each other and chatted in line at the markets, before.r

"It's nice to see you too, Donna." George laughed, watching as she set her drink down and moved to sit in the claw foot chair at your side. The woman reached for your hand in a flash, focusing on the ring you'd grown rather attached to over the week.

"Surprise?" You laughed, a twinge of worry settling in your stomach as the woman glanced up to you, eyes full of shock.

"Why on earth did you get married?" She asked in a slow squeak, turning to George as you drew your hand out of her clutch. "More importantly why haven't you told me?"

"Well, it's only just happened. Like half an hour ago." George looked to you, then back to his agent. Donna let out a laugh, and you understood her shock, but her reaction was a bit unnerving. She continued to ask a string of rhetorical questions, how, why, where, why, why?

That was about the time Dean emerged from the line that was now flooding out of the doors and around the building. Was it filling up in here, or was the place closing in on you? A nagging unease settled at the base of your lungs as George told Donna some of the things you'd discussed and what led you to signing some papers, together.

Your favorite third wheel plopped down a tray of little bite-sized cakes, decorated in different shades of pretty pastel icing. They reminded you of the macaroons George brought home from the last award show after-party, and never shared.

"Care to join in the celebration? Tea is on it's way." Dean spoke in Donna's direction before casting his gaze to you, sitting across the way.

"Unfortunately, I've got to get going, but I do wish we could continue discussing what the hell you two have gotten yourselves into." Donna stood, with a wavering smile, grabbing her condensation covered to-go coffee, and spinning toward the door to the tune of your crew's goodbyes.

You glanced down to the cakes Dean had picked out, as he piped up to explain their fillings and flavors. George reached over to place a hand on your knee, as he nodded along to his friend's excited dessert-themed rambles. All the worry that had sprouted at Donna's confusion was swiftly put at ease when you noticed the ring on George's finger. This was your decision, together. You'd talked it all the way through and back. Anyone else's worry over the matter didn't hold value over that fact.

When your tea came, you had managed to ask Dean about the girl he'd been seeing. The three of you noshed on divine desserts and listened to your friend gush over the girl he'd taken on a fourth date, just the night before last. His eyes sparkled and you couldn't help but smile when he paused to think up just how to describe his new beau. He was lucky to have found someone who brought a blush to his cheeks at the mention of their name. Hers, was Claire.

You'd been enraptured by Dean's rose-colored chatter, so much so that your phone's sudden rhythmic buzz in your pocket made you gasp aloud.

"Oh shit." You muttered, past a bite of cake. "We're gonna be late for that thing." You turned to George whose face lit up in recognition. He had an interview today, one for a late-night talk show that would be on air long after you'd settled in for the night.

George thanked his friend for the desserts and for being there today, for the both of you. You knew George meant it, you knew how important it was to him. But to hear his genuine appreciation in his goodbye to Dean made your heart lurch.

"I know I've been giving you both a hard time about this, and I'm still a bit confused by the whole thing, but honestly, I'm happy for you both. And I'm glad you let me come along today." Dean shrugged as you all stood to head your separate ways. Now your heart was a puddle, as you flung yourself to the fellow, wrapping him in a hug and thanking him for being too good a friend. You were lucky too, you figured.

///

It was almost actually funny how uncomfortable these things made George. He was so keen to be a movie star, in the most romantic sense, of course. He could go on for days (months, even, you suspected) about the magic of storytelling and all the lessons to be learned from his chosen career.

But promoting his works, promoting himself, wasn't something he was fond of in the very least bit. So once, you tagged along to some garish dinner party that was really just a competition for best dressed, in disguise. He mingled with the people he knew, and the people he was meant to know, trying with all his might to make genuine connections because if he'd failed to learn at least one person's life story on a night out, he considered the evening wasted. And when they asked about him, he'd get it over with in a flash before turning his attention to you, introducing you, asking you to tell that one story. And when you were left alone to await the next celebrity encounter George begged you with his hands clasped together to come along with him to all of the ridiculous Hollywood shindigs he was ever required to attend. And of course, you couldn't tell the boy no.

So tonight was another one of many. You went home, tossed on a dress, and spun out of the door again without a second to breathe. All your focus was spent reminding George that this would all be worth it in the end. How selling his latest film to millions of viewers would ensure the story he was so proud to have been a part of would effectively become dear to most everyone who tuned in to hear his interview.

When you crept through the studio doors, hand in hand, the welcome George received was perplexingly warm. Interns offered both of you snacks and drinks, directors passed through the green room doorway with beaming smiles, and instructions for George to follow. Writers breezed in, covering the last of the bases, and a friendly old makeup lady fussed over his look just in time for George to float to the stage. When he did, he dragged you along with him. You let go behind all the cameras, promising you'd be near the door's he was meant to exit- near enough to give him the odd thumbs up and dash away when it was all said and done.  

A small audience murmured as the set changed, and cameramen fluttered about. And then it was off. A man in a casual suit sped through a nauseating, over-rehearsed introduction and you wondered how many of the audience members were laughing for real or because they'd been told to.

And then, out of nowhere, without any warning, the interview took a turn you hadn't prepared for in the least. After the usual quick nice to see you again greetings had been passed back and forth, the host asked George a question he already knew the answer too and presented a photograph you hadn't even gotten the chance to see yet.

It was the one his sister had taken this morning, with the wildflowers, out in the midmorning sun. She'd posted it to her Instagram, tagging you in the caption that featured some long-winded sentiment. And you knew that the girl only had you in mind. She probably wasn't dreaming of George's next interview when she uploaded the photo for the world to see. She most definitely probably wasn't thinking of a moment like this coming true, and how her brother would hate it. In the blink of an eye, you envisioned George angrily phoning his sister and her dramatic defense, and a big unnecessary row breaking out.

But then you zoned back to life and watched George answer the interviewer's question with a small smile. He confirmed that he was officially married, and glad to be. George swiftly moved the conversation toward the film he was meant to prompt, which didn't sway the host on a strict schedule to cover all sorts of topics in the next three minutes. But George wasn't dismissive of the subject. He didn't squirm when the aspect of his personal life was spoken aloud to a room full of strangers. He smiled and caught your eye from the stage. You were too stunned to give him the usual thumbs up from where you waited, you just watched as he grinned, and nodded when the host offered his congratulations.

Then it was over, and the audience flooded away, and you and George hurried to collect yourselves and leave in as big of a hurry as you could without seeming rude. He held your hand like a vice, and you led the way out of the exit, toward the car park.

Before you could reach sweet freedom, a small crew of George's fans had been waiting near the back, with hopes of catching a moment of the guys time they'd come to watch get interviewed. The three young girls held out a marker and asked for his autograph in a shy manner. You noticed most of the fans George encountered over the years were just as meek and mild as the guy himself.

So he smiled and agreed with pleasure, as you awkwardly shifted on the sidelines, unable to flee to the car across the way because he had the keys.

"We're really happy for you, by the way." One of the girls piped up, facing you. "You guys have like, always been our favorite couple."

"You restore our faith in love." Another one of the girls giggled, approaching George with movie posters in hand.

All the complex feelings in your gut the rose at the girl's comments didn't matter. It was entirely too sweet of them to say something. So you thanked them with a smile, and waved goodbye when the last of them had their selfie with George. He said goodbye and turned toward the car with a sigh. You could practically see the weight of the evening's events fall off of his broad shoulders.

You piled into the passenger seat, debating on what to have for dinner, already knowing he dreamed of nothing more than a self-indulgent end to the long night. When you both agreed on what to have, a silence fell over the two of you for the first time all day.

It was heavy with different versions of the same question, the same subject. You'd woken up in one era, one that ended around ten this morning. And neither of you had much of a chance to talk about the fact that you were married now.

"Are you... happy?" You spoke up, at last, watching the world float by on your drive through the city.

"I am. Are you?" George smiled, turning to catch your eye, glancing back at the road ahead a couple of times.

"Yeah." You laughed a little. You wouldn't have agreed to any of this if you weren't dead sure you'd be at peace when the decision was made. And you were filled with that same calm that filled you in the cafe, this morning when George rested his hand on your knee. You'd made the right decision for the both of you, and you were very glad for it indeed.

///

Three months had passed. They were quite busy, and filled with all the usual stress that any typical trio of months held. But as the days passed by, you found George was right, somehow. Things... were easier. Maybe you'd talked yourself into believing so, but you noticed celebrities had stopped leaving you out of chit chat when they breezed through after-parties. You notice stranger men had stopped pestering you at the bar, half of the time. And when you met new people and wound up in new places, you didn't have to go through the long spiel of who Geogre was to you, and why he was always around. He was simply your husband, now.

It was strange to get used to the tile at first, but by the time you'd made it to month four, it rolled off your tongue like melting butter. George seemed most keen to use your unity to get out of other plans.

"Sorry I'll have to miss the next gala, my wife wants to go kayaking." You'd never kayaked. You didn't know how, and you'd never brought it up.

"Ah yes, I am that guy from that one movie but sorry I can't come back to your motel, I've got to help my wife pick out dinner." He had rushed you along grocery store stalls in a hurry to escape the odd, unnerving encounter.

That's how your week started, avoiding the scary fan who kept stalking through the market, stopping George with strange questions around too many corners. It wasn't his most unsettling encounter, but one that left the poor guy on edge for another day or so. You'd get home after fifteen-hour shifts, too tired to talk about it. Too tired to ask what he'd been up to all day.  

By the end of your week, you'd barely seen George, and he'd been just as busy. You ended your last, hellish never-ending shift with tears in your eyes from the thousands of little things that had piled up and left you stressed till it was time to clock out.  

You got home to find George in the living room, reaching for the remote. He left the thing on the coffee table when he twisted to see you in the doorway, worn down, strung out, over it. He asked if you were alright as you kicked your shoes away and hung your coat up in a hurry to decompress.

You demanded George wait to watch whatever film he had in mind for you to join him. You desperately needed to shift your focus from your own worries to an unrelated fictional realm. In a hurry, you showered the day from your achy body and slipped into your comfiest nightclothes.  Then you piled up your best blankets on the sofa, using a couple as faux pillows while you and George shared one big, massive quilt, and flipped on the film.

"What'll be tonight then?" You asked, sinking into the cushions at long last.  

"That one my mum won't shut up about. About that couple who gets divorced? WOn a bunch of awards." George muttered, clicking on Netflix. He'd always made it a point to watch the films the public raved over, to find out if the fuss was worth it.

"What if this kick starts our own divorce." You joked, the thought escaping your lips as soon as it passed through your head. Regret might have seeded itself in you if George wasn't so quick to laugh.

"I solemnly swear I will not let a fictional couple's marital issues affect my promise... no, my genuine desire to continue working at being with you for better or for worse."

Where the hell did that come from? You gapped at George as he queued up the film.

"Damn. You're getting good at this whole husband thing." You let out a small, stunned laugh. It made the dull ache in your head hammer. George noticed as you drew a hand to your brow, waiting for the thrum to settle.

"I'm sorry you had another bad day," He whispered.

"Thanks, You softened, knowing he truly empathized.

George lifted his arm and bobbed his head, beckoning you closer. You took the invite to curl into his side with a sigh. He was warm, and comforting, and his bicep was the perfect pillow. You relaxed for the first time in forever, it seemed, closing your eyes in to soak up the calm, quiet evening. The sounds of the film faded as you fell into an accidental nap.

You were jarred awake by a dreadful buzzing coming from the coffee table. George's phone was ringing, and when he twisted too slowly to reach for it, you realized he'd fallen asleep too. You noticed Dean's name flash across the screen as George answered, lackadaisically holding the cell in the hand that wasn't still closely wrapped around you.

"You're on speaker," George warned, as you stayed lethargically content at his side.

"Good! I have a question for both of you." Dean 's voice crackled through the telly. His assumption that you were already wherever George was, made you chuckle.

"Claire and I are staying in that quaint little seaside town, this weekend. Fancy coming along? In fact, it was her idea to invite you both to join us." Dean explained, it sounded as though he was walking through the city, shouts and clangs passing through the call.

You glanced up to George from where your head still rested near his shoulder. Neither of your expressions held signs of disinterest so when George carefully responded to Dean that the idea sounded nice, and asked for more details, you grinned and relaxed back into place.

Dean listed off some more information as George hummed and murmured in response. When the call had ended and new plans were made, George tossed his phone back on the table, and settled deeper into the sofa, shifting the weight of his arm beneath you, but hardly disturbing your peace a bit. The sun was peeking through the cracks of your curtains, and the movie must have been nearly over. You both drifted back asleep without another word, and all seemed well. It must have been.

You and George were closer than ever before- and you had already been classified as inseparable. But you'd hardly gotten to enjoy each other's company since making whatever you had official. Rule number three of this marriage enforced you must take every opportunity to for a bit of fun, as possible. It was time for a small getaway. A peaceful sleep would have to do, till then.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes​ @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham​ @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama @haileymorelikestupid

[trashboatprince]

I had another idea for Tentoo and Rose, and I had to write it up.

Summery: Clearly, if you’re going to be living in a new world where you can’t just always get away with psychic paper to get into places, you’re gonna have come up with an identity for yourself.

And that includes a name.

So, Rose and the Doctor have an afternoon to kill, why not figure out what works best for the guy?

The name I give Tentoo is pretty much my headcanon name for him, do with it what you will. Also, the names suggested are mostly for fun.

On with the fic!

--

To Name a Doctor

--

A thwump sound caught the Doctor’s attention from the banana he was peeling, and his attention was drawn to the puce folder in front of him. It was still weird that puce was the color for folders rather than manilla in this universe, but it was the little things that seemed to catch his attention more than the big things.

Like how the chips here were terrible and he was working on genetically modifying a root vegetable in order to make actual, good chips.

The Doctor looked up at Rose who sat on the opposite side of the kitchen’s bar, gently pushing the folder closer to him. “Dad wanted me to give you these yesterday, but I forgot them in the car last night.”

“And they are…?” He asked, opening it up to see documents that required him to fill out information.

“Well, they’re identification papers that Dad and I wrote up yesterday over lunch. You’ve been here for over a week now and you’ve done a number of things but have not given yourself an identity here.” Rose replied and the Doctor set down his banana, giving this a little bit of thought.

Yes, in just his ten days here in Pete’s World, he’s built himself a screwdriver, bought himself some clothes, pretty much moved into Rose’s room (though he technically had his own in the Tyler estate until he and Rose found their own place), and had gotten on Jackie’s nerves at least thirty nine times. Oh, and he was able to properly identify and disarm an alien gas bomb that Torchwood had discovered through a phone call with Pete.

But Rose was right, he had yet to do anything about giving himself ‘official’ documents here. Rose had her own made forever ago, excellent fakes, no one could tell that they weren’t real, which means he’d have to get himself some too.

“Hmm… do we have anything planned today?” The brunet asked as he looked over the papers.

“Nope.” Rose spoke, popping the P. “So, wanna lie on some documents?”

The Doctor’s grin rivaled the one his girlfriend shared, and he took the pen she offered him. She got up from her seat, saying she was gonna make them some tea and he nodded, looking down at the papers in front of him.

“Alright, let’s fill out the easy stuff.” He commented, quickly writing down his weight, height, hair and eye color for IDs and ‘updated’ information, before hitting the roadblocks. “Birth date… hmmm, what do you think works best? Christmas Day, or when the meta-crisis happened?”

Rose looked over her shoulder, confused. “Christmas Day?”

“You know, when…?” The Doctor raised his right hand, wiggling his fingers.

This got a laugh out of the blonde as she put the kettle on the stove. “Oh, that’s a good one! I’d say Christmas, I mean, technically it was the day you were born, both as the hand and as the new Doctor.”

“Well, actually, I was regenerated on that day in the Game Station, and we arrived back on Earth on Christmas Eve, but still, close enough!” The part-Time Lord wrote down December 25th on the document before frowning. “Okay, parents… technically myself and Donna.”

“Then put down John Smith and Donna Noble.” Rose snickered. “Oh, I bet they’d have real laugh about that.”

“Donna might! Before she’d get angry about it. ‘Oi, spaceman! I am not gonna be your mother, even if I did help make you’!” The Doctor spoke, putting on his best impression of the fiery redhead, which sounded way too much like her, so he quickly shut his mouth. Rose burst out laughing at this and he scowled, before laughing as well. He quickly wrote down the names before pausing.

“I do have to give myself a name. John Smith won’t work. I mean, it’s worked a number of times, but some people are so suspicious of how generic it is, ya know? And I’m technically another version of the Doctor, still him, but upgrade, in a sense.” Like Hell he’d say he was downgrade.

Rose shrugged. “You could be a junior, or a second.”

The Doctor made a face. “Hmm… I dunno… maybe I could try for a new name? Something a bit different. What do you think of David?” He asked, saying the first name to come to mind.

“Hmm…” Rose thought, looking him over. “You sort of look like a David, but we’ll put that in the maybe pile. What about Matt?”

“Nah, don’t look much like that. Peter?”

“No, not that. Alec?”

“I feel like that name would make me ruder than I already am. Anthony?”

Rose snorted. “No, that’s my brother’s name! Though, if you were ginger with that name… Crowley?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Don’t think I could pull that off. Corin?”

Both paused and made faces. “No, no, terrible name, you’re right.” He shook his head. “Somehow that sounds ruder than Alec! Cassiopeia?”

“Doctor, I know I probably won’t call you these names except around people who don’t know you’re the Doctor, but there is no way in hell I’m callin’ you that.”

The Doctor looked at her funny. “What’s wrong with naming myself after a constellation?”

Rose just looked at him, raising an eyebrow, crossing her arms with an expression that basically shouted ‘are you seriously asking that question’.

“Right.” He sighed, scratching his head. “Jack?” He joked and she laughed. “Nah, good point. Oh! Wait, I’ve got one! Wilfred!”

This got Rose to raise an eyebrow. “Donna’s grandpa?”

“Yes! He’s a good man, really enjoyed his company, got to spend some time with him. Did you know he got a star named after him after he discovered it? Amazing, real proud of that man.” The Doctor smiled softly, toying with the pen in his hands. “I hope he’s doing okay.”

Rose knew there was a quiet, unspoken addition to that, but she didn’t bring it up. “Wilfred is a good name; do you want that?”

“I was thinking that’d be my middle name. I might go with John as the first, for old time’s sake, but Wilfred is the middle name. And… Noble, for the last name?”

The blonde gave this a bit of thought, tapping at her chin. “John Wilfred Noble… I like it.”

“Sounds good enough to tag on Tyler to it in the future?” The half-alien grinned and Rose walked over, giving him a little shove before a kiss on the cheek.

“John Wilfred Tyler-Noble? I think that’s an excellent name. Just don’t be writin’ that down on that paperwork! Don’t want Dad asking us a million questions!”

“Oh come on, it would be hilarious to show my ID card to your mom and watching her reaction!” He got a punch to the arm, making him wince. “Alright, alright, I’ll save that for later.”

Rose smirked and kissed his cheek again. “Right, so, for now you just leave the Tyler part off until we get that far. But this looks pretty good, now, onto figuring out your birth year.”

“Oh, that’s gonna be a challenge.”

END

--

Just something short and sweet. I’m in that group of Tentoo fans that loves the idea that he took on Wilfred’s name and Donna’s last name, especially cause I’ve been looking into the side content involving Ten and Donna and how much he seems to enjoy the Noble family (yes, that includes Sylvia, to a smaller extent, I mean, he even pretended she was his mother-in-law in an audio adventure). And yes, Wilfred does have a star named after him, its from one of the novels.

I might make this a little series of one-shots of Tentoo adapting to Pete’s World, spending time with the Tylers, and exploring this universe.

Thanks for reading! 

[cilldaracailin]

Killer Queen

Hello my Tumblr Lovely’s!

Happy Friday and Happy Holidays to me! At last a week off work! I am off an adventure down to the South West of Ireland and I am super excited for a ‘staycation’. Won’t come back with a tan but maybe a typical Irish accent instead!

On another side note, this is the last part to Killer Queen but Robyn and Taron will be back in a few weeks on another adventure. Thank you so much for all the love and comments. It’s been another fun time for them both!

Hope you all enjoy!

Suze xx

P.S The picture of the Spice Bag does not do it  proper justice but it is the closest one I could find that looks like what my local Chinese has but believe me it is one of the best things on an Irish Chinese take away menu and is so delicious!

7

“Because of you. "I believe I can love, and be loved with the heart.”

“Why haven’t you introduced me to this yet!” Taron said through a mouthful of chilli and salty chicken.

Robyn smiled at him as she dipped her fork into the paper bag to pull a chip out. “I am sure I have told you on many occasions that I can’t tell you all my secrets in one go. Otherwise you won’t come back and visit me again.”

“This is delicious. We don’t have these in Wales.”

“It’s an Irish thing.”

“I love everything Irish.”

“No, you just love food.”

“True.” Replied Taron as he took another piece of chicken from the bag. “But I also love everything Irish too.”

Robyn had walked him to her favourite Chinese take away in the town and ordered what she called a spice bag which was basically a brown bag filled with chips, breaded chicken strips, onions, peppers and carrots all coated in a salt and chilli spice flavouring. They took two forks with them so they could eat it as they walked but instead of going straight back to her house, Robyn directed him towards a picnic bench on the grass banks of the canal and they sat down to eat, sharing the food and a bottle of water between them.

“Taron?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you so much for the hug earlier and coming back stage. I definitely needed the hug and that’s twice now you have defended my honour.”

“And I managed to dodge the punch this time.” He added.

“Yes you did. Good reflexes.”

“And you are welcome. I think I needed the hug too. I will never let anyone take advantage of you like that Robyn. Never. No one has any right to take kisses from you, from anyone. Kisses are a gift that are willingly given.” He said as looked everywhere except Robyn’s face but he felt a cold hand on his cheek and he had to look at her. “Robyn?” He asked as she moved closer to him and carefully placed a light kiss to the right side of his lips.

“Just giving you a gift.” She said simply as she reached for the bag of food in his hands for herself. “This was a good idea. I was hungry.”

Taron licked his lips as Robyn was distracted by the Chinese and he begged his racing heart to slow down. Now was the perfect time to show Robyn what a proper gift of a kiss was but he was still so wary of what Keith had done that he wanted to be absolutely sure Robyn was ready for that moment.

“You were amazing again tonight.” Taron reached for the bag and stabbed two chips with his fork.

“I hoped the tension wasn’t too obvious.”

“Wouldn’t have known it was there if I didn’t know about it.”

“The judges from AIMs were there. I really just wanted to do the show justice and then that fucking arsehole had to fuck it up.” Robyn spat.

“You did chicken.” Taron assured her. “You have such energy on stage and this presence that you bring so everyone is caught up in your performance. You give everything you have to the songs and the way you portray your characters.”

“Well you have some experience with that Taron and know how important it is to give your all to the role you play.”

Taron chuckled. “Yeah I do.”

“I am glad your prep for the movie has gotten a little easier.”

“Me too. Getting my head around the script and Matthew’s vision has really eased some of my worries with it. It will be tough but worth it all.”

“No singing in this one though.”

He smiled. “No.”

“How will you cope?” Robyn teased him as she reached into the bag to pull a piece of chicken out with her fingers.

“Will you be sad when the show is over on Sunday.”

“Always. Probably have a tear or two as well. I get so emotionally involved and I hate saying goodbye to a character I have played. It has been the best week so far.”

“Two shows tomorrow?”

“Yep. It is probably best that you have to go back to London early. I will be pretty hoarse by tomorrow evening.”

“You hoarse and quiet? I don’t think so.” He laughed, giggling as Robyn tried to stab his hand with her fork but went for the bag of food instead. “You’ll miss Mimi?”

“Yeah.” Robyn ate the pepper she picked up with her fork. “She is fun to play. Don’t really wear hot pants and leather normally.”

“Or throw such risky dance moves around.”

Robyn chuckled. “I was waiting for you to mention those.”

“I did see a few moves that were more suited for an adult movie I think.”

“I was told to go for it and I did.”

“You definitely did. Maybe you could throw a pair of hot pants or a leather skirt into your wardrobe now that you have tried them out.”

“Sure, I will wear them to work on Monday.” Robyn looked to Taron. “Oh, you were being serious?” She half smiled. “You liked the outfits then.”

“Maybe.” He answered her, taking a drink of water from the bottle to distract himself from saying more.

“Then maybe I will think about it.”

Once they had finished their spice bag, they slowly walked back to Robyn’s house, Taron turning on the fairy lights once they were inside.

“You must be knackered Taron.” Said Robyn as she pulled her jacket off. “You didn’t have a great sleep last night.”

“I am actually ok and you are wearing my shirt again.”

“My shirt.” She countered. “We have had this conversation before. You give me your clothes, they become my clothes and returning to the conversation of sleep, let me shower quickly and we can sleep.”

Taron nodded. “Lyndsey told me I needed to sleep before Sunday.”

“You spoke to Lyndsey?”

“Oh yeah I never told you. I rang her when you headed down to the hall earlier.” Taron came to stand beside her, pulling the programme from his back pocket of his jeans and put it on the island beside her jacket. “Just to check out the photo. It was spread to the usual social media platforms but that was it. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“And she told you to get some sleep. Good.”

Taron leaned against the island once he had emptied his pockets. “I told you she looks after me on tour.” He reached over and tugged on the end of the shirt tails that Robyn had tied together. “I never thought to wear this shirt this way.” He grinned.

“Take note for future styling.”

“Hey will you do something for me?” He asked as he walked a little away from her and to the drawer he knew she had a sharpie in. “Will you sign this for me?” He handed her the marker and moved the programme closer to her.

“You want me to sign this?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

“Because I want your autograph.” Taron opened the programme to her page. “Right here.” He pointed to beside her photo. “Come on Robyn. To Taron, love you lots, your chicken.” He teased.

Robyn chuckled and pulled the lid from the sharpie and started to write a little note, keeping her left hand in the way so Taron couldn’t see, picking up the programme and blowing on the ink to dry it before she closed it, putting the lid back on the marker.

“Right I am going to go and shower.”

“I will be here.”

Robyn turned to walk away but turned back and gave Taron a hug.

“What’s this for?”

“Just trying to get some extra ones in and because I don’t think you actually realise how much your actions this evening mean to me and I can’t quite explain it in words so hugs work just as well.”

Taron returned Robyn’s hug, surprised she was lost of words. She was normally one to talk her way out of anything, to make him feel better with her words but now she was stuck with what to say and as he leaned his face into her neck, felt a little sad for her. It was crystal clear that Robyn was very much used to being by herself and strong for herself alone and she was finding it a little difficult to believe someone else was prepared to give their all for her. “Go and shower and then we will get set up for our second sleep over. I think you are tired too chicken.”

“A little.”

Taron kissed her cheek. “Take as long as you need.”

Once Robyn had left his arms and made her way to the bedroom, Taron picked up the programme and flicked to Robyn’s page. ‘Dearest Taron, thank you for being my only and number one fan, my knight in stripes and a hat and giving the best warm and cosy hugs in the world and my tent. I am glad I kissed you in Florida. My love always, Robyn xx’.

Closing the programme and with a grin fixed to his lips, he rubbed his eyes. It had been a roller coaster of a day and he was definitely ready to sleep and get his last cosy duvet sleep before tomorrow. He followed Robyn into the bedroom and hearing the shower start, knew he was good to quickly change into his shorts and a black tank top. He figured at some point during the evening he was bound to be in cuddle with Robyn and wanted to be cosy warm and not over heated warm.

Once back in the kitchen, he routed through the presses for the cupcakes and brought the full packet and two glasses and a carton of milk into the tent, smiling as he saw cwtch and draíocht still sitting and smiling.

“You two best buddies now?” He asked out loud. “Just going to have to move you both. It’s my time to sleep now.”

He picked the dinosaurs up and moved them to in front of the couch and pulled the duvet back so tonight himself and Robyn could actually sleep under it. Last night both had fallen asleep on top of the soft material but tonight he was going to get into the make shift bed and prayed it would help him sleep. His nerves for the upcoming tour were also contributing to his lack of sleep and it was normal for him to feel a little apprehensive about it all, even though he had done a promotional tour many times before. Robyn being the most popular topic of conversation lately always made him nervous as he tried not to become defensive with his answers and be factual and keep his tone light and cheery, almost by passing the topic at times but after his last few days working, it was definitely a smile instead of a frown that fill his features when he was asked about Robyn. Taron lay down on the sheet and closed his eyes, feeling completely exhausted all of a sudden. Coming to see Robyn always brought new adventures for him and these two days only further deepened if it was possible, his love for her and perhaps a little bit more hope that she loved him too.

As Robyn dried her hair, she couldn’t help the long yawn fill her whole body. She was ready to lay down in her tent that Taron had made for her and sleep. “Taron.” She sighed as she unclipped some wet hair and separated the strands, clipping one half back up again. With the brush in her left hand and hair dryer in her right, she thought about her day as she dried her hair. Her wonderfully chaotic day. Their walk on the beach that morning felt like it was days ago to her and she smiled as she remember how excited Taron was when he finally won the dinosaur from the claw machine and smiled even more when she remembered how he had asked Jane to lead him to her during the break in-between the musicals first and second acts so he could give her the most welcomed and incredibly close hug but also how he had stood up for her, again. She was slowly getting used to someone doing that for her and Taron was quickly becoming someone she knew she could depend on for anything and she hadn’t had someone like that in her life for a long time.

Finishing drying off the last section her hair, she blasted the cold air over her whole head before tiding the dryer away and getting into her new PJ’s and t-shirt, tying Taron’s top up again at the bottom so it didn’t hang so loose on her.

She strolled out into her living room and couldn’t see Taron anywhere so figured he was already in the tent. She ducked in under the opening and stopped when she saw him lying on his back, one arm above his head, one on his stomach, his eyes closed. She half smiled as she saw what he wore.

“You would think it was twenty degrees outside.” She said as she sat down beside him. She knew he wasn’t asleep. Robyn could easily tell the difference in his breathing as he slept and now it wasn’t deep enough for him to be sleeping.

“I easily over heat.” He simply replied not opening his eyes.

“You should go and see someone about that.”

“That I am hot?” He opened one eye and laughed, seeing her roll her eyes at him. “You walked into that yourself.”

“Yeah I did. You look cosy.”

“I am. So cosy I don’t want to move to give you the cupcakes and milk.”

“You brought treats into the tent?”

“Do you even know me?” Asked Taron as he sat up on his elbows. “Course I brought treats.” Taron rolled onto his knees and pulled over the cupcakes. “We didn’t get to eat these last night.” He then brought over the milk and two glasses. “A quick bedtime snack.”

Robyn moved to sit closer to him and he opened the plastic container of cupcakes and took one out and handed it to her.

“Thought you were going to smush it in my face there for a second.” She said as she carefully peeled the wrapper off.

“I did think about it but that would be waste of cake and you have just come out of the shower and I know for a fact you would get me back and get me back worse.”

“I am glad you are learning.” She replied as she took a bite from the small cupcake, Taron stuffing a whole cake into his mouth once he got the paper off, Robyn shaking her head at him.

“What?” He asked through crumbs.

“Nothing.” She said with a smile, taking another bite from her cake.

“What?” He asked again once he had swallowed.

“Nothing. You mentioned milk?”

Still not convinced with her answer, Taron reached for the milk carton and poured the two glasses half way full, passing one to Robyn.

“Thank you.”

“No worries.”

Satisfied by chocolate cupcakes and two glasses of milk, and once both had made a trip to the bathroom, they settled in the tent. Taron was concerned about leaving the fairy lights plugged in but Robyn assured him it was ok because they were LED’s and she wanted to enjoy the tent for one more night before it had to come down.

“And you have left me to take it down.”

“Your father told me he would help you take it down.”

“I might just leave it up.”

“Your father will help you.”

“I am happy to leave it up.”

“Robyn?”

“You made it for me.” She answered him quietly as she buried her legs under the duvet and lay on her right side.

“You will have to get your sitting room back at some point chicken.” Taron pulled the duvet up over his legs and copied her stance but lay on his left side.

“At some point.” She agreed getting her head comfy on the pillow. “Thank you for coming Taron and coming a day earlier. It’s been another wonderful two days.”

“Yes it has.” Taron lay down, his body a little higher than Robyn’s. “You know what you would just perfect it?”

“No.”

“Taron cuddles.”

“Ok.” Shuffling over, Robyn lay her head on Taron’s shoulder, feeling his arm curl around her while he used his other hand to pull the duvet up over the two of them. “Night Taron.”

“Goodnight darling.”

Closing his eyes, Taron knew it wouldn’t be long before he fell asleep but he willed his body to stay awake for a little while longer so he could enjoy holding the woman in his arms who snuggled deeper into his body, her head now on his chest, her hand on his stomach but surrounded by comfort, Taron soon fell into a deep restful sleep.

They were used to the journey to the airport, having made it together many times before but for some reason, there was a different feel to the atmosphere as they rode the escalator together to get to security of the departures.

“We will see each other in two weeks chicken.”

“Yeah I know.”

“Ok well can you at least pretend you are not sad?”

“Ok.” Replied Robyn.

“And yet you have perfectly acted on sage the last four nights but still can’t get that sadness from your voice.”

“I am a little sad.”

“You haven’t been sad before when we were at the airport.”

“Sure I have but obviously managed to hide it better.”

“It’s two weeks. We have gone two months before without seeing each other.”

“I know Taron.”

“What is different about this time.” Robyn shrugged her shoulders. “It’s my tour, right? Robyn please don’t be worrying about me.”

“I always worry about you.”

He smiled a little. “I know but you don’t have too.” He saw the look she gave him and his heart melted. “And you are going to call me all the time to tell me I need to sleep after you have watched my interviews even though I have told you not too.” He gently tapped her nose.

“You know me so well.”

“I do and I know you need a hug.”

“Always.”

With a chuckle, Taron pulled her close smiling as her hands went to their usual place on his lower back and neck, while he buried his nose into her own neck. “I am not used to this.”

“Used to what?” She asked him.

“Having another person care so much about me but I suppose I should be used to it by now. Been that way since Florida.”

“Yep but I am getting used to it too.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not been easy opening up and you know why but for some reason with you, I just feel so comfortable and free and I trust you.”

“You just want more cuddles.”

“You benefit from those too.” She laughed but her laughter died down. “Please look after yourself.”

“I will.”

“And enjoy every minute of it.”

“I will.”

“And it’s ok to talk about me if you have too. Don’t avoid the subject of us ok?”

“I won’t and I will.”

“And sleep.”

“I will.”

“And drink lots of water.”

“I will.”

“And smile.”

“I will Robyn.”

“And make sure you promote the arse out of this movie because I know how proud you are of it and how hard you have worked to finish it and I am proud of you too.”

“I will and I know.”

“And Taron?”

“What chicken.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Taron chuckled against her. “You done?”

“You want me to keep going?”

“Would love too but I can’t miss my flight.”

With a tight squeeze, Robyn let him go. “I have something for you.”

“I figured. You brought a bag with you and once again I have nothing for you. Breaking all the present rules Robyn.”

She smiled as she picked up the backpack from beside her. “This was an unexpected gift.”

Taron watched with interest as Robyn unzipped the bag and his eyes opened as he saw a hint of green fur, even more so when she pulled the green dinosaur from the bag.

“Robyn…”

“Draíocht is yours Taron.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” She dropped the bag on the floor and held the dinosaur out to him. “I have cwtch, Rosie and Mari have theirs and this one, well this one is for you.”

“Chicken…”

“You told me that this was a girl dinosaur and because it was green it represented me. Well cwtch is you and he is mine so it only makes sense that you get draíocht and bring her home to London with you and then back to Wales.”

“Rosie and Mari will take her away from me.”

“Not when you explain about how we all have one. You need this Taron. You need to bring her with you.”

Taron took the dinosaur in his hands and looked to Robyn, his beautiful, sweet and considerate Robyn, who once more had managed to give him something so wonderfully thoughtful. “I will bring her home with me.”

“Of course you will.”

“And carry her through the airport?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. “And on the plane?”

“She makes a good pillow but I wouldn’t do that to you.” Robyn picked up the backpack. “This is for you too.”

Together they got the dinosaur back in the bag and zipped closed.

“Thank you Robyn.” He dropped the bag at his feet and wrapped his arms around her, suddenly feeling sad like Robyn was. He loved being around her, being with her and the distance was quickly becoming a problem. “You are too good to me.”

“I try.”

Both felt the deep breath the other took and the second one too.

“I really should go Robyn.”

“One more minute.” She spoke, her words a little muffled as her face was tucked into his chest.

Robyn didn’t want to let him go. Taron was so familiar to her now and she couldn’t even begin to describe how it felt to her to have him around and know he was around and there in Kilcreen just for her. She was beginning to truly understand what it was like to have someone actually really care for her and be interested in her and treat with the respect she absolutely deserved and getting a taste of it, she hated having to say goodbye to him.

“Minutes up chicken.”

“One more.”

Taron gave her back a rub and then with his hands going behind his back, awkwardly took her hands from him. “I really have to go Robyn.” He said to her as he held her hands. “I will call you when I can but call me whenever you want.”

“Ok.”

“And I will let you know about Paris as soon as I know.”

“Ok.”

“And watch all the interviews you want.”

“Ok.”

“Robyn, stop saying ok.”

“Ok.”

Looking down to her, he saw tears in her eyes. “Robyn?”

“Sorry I am being a girl.” She took her hands from his and wiped her eyes.

Taron chuckled. “Never apologise for being a woman, not a girl. I get it Robyn. I really do.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I will call you and see you in two weeks.”

“Ok.” She laughed when he frowned. “Sure Taron.”

With one last squeeze, Taron finally walked away from her, swinging the backpack onto his left shoulder and Robyn watched until she couldn’t see him anymore.

“See you soon rocketman.”

[purplesurveys]

1149

A

What is your age? 22, but there’s less than a month to go before I turn 23.

What annoys you? Literally every single person who still supports the government at this point. For context, we are back to square one and we’re under the exact same quarantine imposed in March 2020 because of the surge in cases. Nothing has changed and nothing has been done in the last 365 days while people are getting hungrier and poorer. I’m done feeling hopeful for this country and I cannot wait to abandon it forever.

Do you have any allergies? Apparently, grass. Can’t be exposed to it for too long otherwise the skin on my thighs turn red and occasionally even get rashes.

B

Do you know anyone named Billy? Kind of, but they’re girls with their name spelled as Billie.

When is your birthday? April 21st and spending it in quarantine once again this year...

Who is your best friend(s)? Angela and Andi.

C

What's your favorite candy? I like gummy bears and worms. As for sweets, I really like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Butterfinger, Twix, and the Hershey’s Cookies and Creme bar.

When was the last time you cried? Maybe a day or two ago while watching a snippet from Caught in Providence.

Have you been out of the country? Yes.

D

Do you daydream? Not so much these days. I’ve been better at keeping my focus at work.

What's your favorite kind of dog? I love alllllll dogs, but I’d usually be wary of smaller dogs because 87% of the times I’ve met some, they’re aggressive or a bit moody. I don’t like stereotyping dogs as much as possible but because I’ve had direct experiences to back it up anyway, *shrug*

What day of the week is it? It’s a Sunday.

E

How do you like your eggs? Scrambled, poached, or an omelette with lots of fillings. Balut is also great.

Have you ever been in the emergency room? Only when I was born, I’m guessing.

What's the easiest thing ever to do? Idk, what comes easy to me might not be the same for others. But my answer would be to smile, regardless if it were genuine or otherwise.

F

Have you ever flown in a plane? Yeah, many times. The child-like excitement I get whenever I get on one will probably never go away, either.

Do you use fly swatters? No, my mom usually uses old shoebox covers or rolled-up scratch papers we have lying around to swat them.

Have you ever used a foghorn?: Only in video games lol, never in real life.

G

Have you pet a goat? I don’t think I have. I’ve pet lots of animals before but I don’t think a goat has been one of them yet.

Are you a giver or a taker? Giver, but I’ve been allowing myself to take more these days.

Do you like gummy candies? Love them.

H

How are you? We’ve entered summer weather now, so I feel hot and miserable. It’s also Sunday and I am stuck at home, which doesn’t make me the happiest camper.

What's your height? 5′1″ or a tiny tiny tiny bit taller than that.

What color is your hair? It’s black but on extremely rare occasions I’ll catch a single light brown strand when I play with my hair.

I

What's your favorite ice cream? Cookies and cream and chocolate chip cookie dough. My friend Leigh actually started her own ice cream shop recently and I bought her coffee crumble ice cream, and it is sooooooooo fuckinggggggggg good??????? It’s so rare to find coffee ice cream where I live period, so I’m fucking stoked to have a close friend who makes literally the best one and in generous servings too.

Have you ever ice skated? Many times as a kid. I was never formally trained, but it was something I wanted to try from watching other kids play in mall ice skating rinks; and when I did give it a shot, I ended up enjoying it. Luckily my mom was encouraging and actually frequently dropped me off at a rink so I can practice gliding and all for a few hours while she ran errands.

Have you cheated the IRS? That’s like an American tax thingy, right? We don’t have that here and my employer handles my TIN.

J

What's your favorite jelly bean? Not a big fan but if I had to have Jelly Belly, I obviously would want to get the pleasant-tasting ones.

Do you tell jokes? Yes.

Do you wear nice jewelry? Only on special occasions.

K

Do you want to kill anybody? I don’t want to kill anybody but I certainly wish a good number of public officials would finally die.

Do you want to have kids? Yes. I really wish I could still have a future with them. Thanks for the trauma, my real asshole of an ex.

Where did you have kindergarten? Somewhere.

L

Are you laidback? I doubt my friends would use this to describe me. I for sure lean more towards the uptight side of the spectrum.

Do you lie? Eh, occasionally.

When is the last time you sent a hand-written letter? I have no idea. Christmas 2019 maybe?

M

Ever talked in a microphone? Sure. Many times.

Do you still watch Disney Movies? I very rarely get in the mood for them if I’m by myself, but yes, I’d gladly sit down and watch should an opportunity come.

Do you like mangoes? No.

N

Do you have a nickname? 99% of people call me Robyn while my family calls me Byn, but there are a select few friends who’ve stayed long enough with me to catch other names I’ve gotten over the years, which have since become inside jokes/nicknames. There’s Reben and Rolayn, and literally just yesterday ‘Roby’ happened when I ordered food for lunch so that will probably catch on as well.

What’s your favorite number? 4.

Do you prefer night over day? Absolutely.

O

Are you an only child? No, I’m two siblings away from that status.

Do you wish this was over? I haven’t felt that way, no.

What is the closet orange object near you? An orange tumbler my Kuya gave me as a Christmas gift in 2019. There is also orange tape wrapped around the charger adaptor of my company laptop.

P

What one fear are you most paranoid about? Waking up in the middle of surgery and being unable to speak nor move.

Do you play any instruments? Nope.

Do you think you are pretty? Some days.

Q

Are you quick to judge people? No, unless they are already blatantly showing their character like being rude towards service staff, tossing their trash to the ground, or cutting in queues. Whenever those things happen I give myself the space and freedom to guiltlessly judge.

What do you keep quiet about? How dysfunctional my family really is, and the things I really want to say about Gabie.

Do you have any quirks? Food-wise, I like peeling off the breading from fried chicken and placing them on the side of my plate so I can eat them last, because they’re my favorite part.

R

What’s a good reason to cry? Frustration. Crying can be really helpful in lessening stress.

Do you think you're always right? No.

Do you watch reality TV? Not religiously, but I love watching snippets of reality shows on Facebook because they’re all so embarrassing and it’s hilarious to watch hahahahah. Literally last night I was watching clips of Big Ed on 90 Day Fiance.

S

Are you a social person? More so now than I was years ago.

What states have you lived in? I lived in Manila briefly but it didn’t take long till we transferred to another city for a more peaceful life in the suburbs.

What is your favorite season? I wanna say winter because of what I’ve seen from it in movies and shows, but I’ve never actually experienced it before.

T

When did you last sleep in a tent? Sometime in March or April last year.

Do you like tomatoes? Mostly in diced form. Tomato sauce is fine but I don’t really like it in my pasta. Bloody Mary also tastes rather awful.

What time did you wake up? 8:30 AM.

U

Do you have an umbrella in your car? I think so, yeah. I finally placed one in there lmao.

Do listen to Usher? Eh, not really. 2000s R&B isn’t my thing, save for Beyoncé.

Describe the underwear your wearing? It’s light blue.

V

What’s the worst veggie? I never learned to like pechay. I’d still eat it, but only because I like cleaning up my entire plate.

Do you like movies with violence? Some. Like I hate action movies but I enjoyed A Clockwork Orange and Scream lol.

Where do you want to go on vacation? I recently bookmarked an Airbnb in Zambales and the accommodation is basically this super cute line of tipi-styled huts by the beach. I'd love to have a solo trip push through once this Covid mess subsides.

W

Ever been on a wave runner? No.

Where do you work? I work in a PR company.

Do you wish on stars? Just sometimes.

X

Have you ever had an x-ray? Only for mandatory medical exams.

Do you own a xylophone? I think I had a toy one as a kid, but it’s not with me anymore.

Have you watched the x-games? No, not interested.

Y

What did you do yesterday? I stayed at home; ordered food for Angela as a surprise; debated if I should buy a pair of Air Maxes – and ultimately decided I’ve already spent too much this month to deserve a new pair of shows lol; and just settled to buy a new night lamp for my bedroom. I also watched the newest episode of 2 Days 1 Night and ate more of Leigh’s ice cream while doing work.

Do you like the color yellow? Only in mustard yellow. I also like the song Yellow, heh.

What year were you born?: 1998.

Z

Do you believe in the zodiac? No.

Has your bank account been at zero? No. I remember when I was first opening my own account at the bank and the clerk told me to make sure I don’t go below P2,000, and my intensely by-the-book ass has been following the rule ever since, even though my dad has told me it’s absolutely fine to go below it so long as I have P2,000 back in the account after a month hahaha.

Ever been to the zoo? A few.

[fandom-collective-writers]

Reader x Jihyun Kim {MysMes} - Letters to Heal a Broken Heart

Title: Letters to Heal a Broken Heart Fandom: Mystic Messenger Character: Jihyun Kim Genre: bittersweet? romance Warnings: spoilers for his good ending!  Intended Gender Audience: Neutral Audience  Word Count: 2040 words POV: second person Other comments: no smut but im proud of this! please note that everything with the push back is a letter! i think its pretty clear, but i wanted to make sure it’s understood <3 Written by: @mythiica​ Req: 

Dear –

I’ll admit, it feels a bit strange writing a letter for you, but my therapist recommended it. He told me to explain my emotions with words, saying it would help me become more confident. 

See, the reasoning behind it, at least from what I remember, is that there is no pressure to think quickly. Writing allows a flow, a sense of movement between the words before you pick which one you wish to use. Talking is different because it follows a completely contrasting rhythm. To keep a conversation going, you have to speak rather quickly so the person stays engaged in the topic. 

It’s all really interesting, and my therapist has given me a book over the fundamentals of other practices like this. I read half of it on the plane to Japan. 

To clarify, I’m writing this from my hotel room in Tokyo. I landed a few hours ago and the jet lag has yet to hit me, so I decided to take advantage of this time to write. 

I think you’d like it here – the sakura are in full bloom and I have three days dedicated to photographing the sea of pinks as they ripple in the wind. Until now, I’ve only seen pictures of the famous parks, and I never thought that I would be able to witness them in person. 

I didn’t think I’d

I never conside

Ah, I should mention, I’m not allowed to erase or cross out sentences I start. Another confidence booster? It’s a bit sillier, but it’s meant to force me to say what is on my mind, rather than letting it fester. I’ll try again: 

During my years under Mint Eye, my vision was narrowed, and I had only one duty. However, I am learning to broaden my horizons and expand my mind to encompass everything. The urge to explore bubbles in my chest, waiting for the moment to come out. There are so many chances to do anything, and I’ve got all the time to do all of it. 

I’ve also realized that I went over my word limit. I have to stick to 300 words or under. Confidence booster #3! Express yourself with less words. Take a guess of how many times I’ve opened the thesaurus, looking for better synonyms for words? At least seven times in the past five minutes. It’s crazy! 

For now, I’ll sign this off and try better next time. 

                                                 よりご多幸を祈って

                                                           Jihyun Kim

PS, I’m practicing my Japanese! That says best wishes… I think. 

नमस्कार

Hello and greetings from India! I took a long nap on the plane, and forgot to write. Although I’m only passing through, I ate some delicious food (that I should really try to replicate for you). India is absolutely beautiful – from the sunrises to the bustling markets to the colorful fabrics hung at every corner. I’ll inhale the air and smell six things at once, albeit, not all of them are the best, but I embrace it nonetheless. 

More about what I’ve been doing: funnily enough, my phone died on the bus ride, but I made a new friend named Sunmi, and she was kind enough to lend me her charging cable. Instead of ending the interaction there, we spoke for a few hours at least. I learned she was traveling with her friends on a photography excursion. She gave me all the information, and I’d like to look into it when I have wifi again. 

You wouldn’t believe what they’ve seen! Last year they went to Antarctica through South America. She got to pet a penguin! Apparently the company also takes people to Greenland and New Zealand – some places I’ve been dreaming of visiting since I was a young boy. 

I’ll use my last 100 words to mention that… I’ve gotten a bit homesick. I miss the RFA – well, the people from the RFA minus… 

Don’t tell Jumin about the company though, he’ll insist on flying me around with his private jet. I want to experience for myself. Saeyoung is somehow messaging me when I don’t have service? I don’t… understand. Anyways, I also saw Zen landed a huge international role (someone had a magazine on the plane). Otherwise, I hope Jaehee and Yoosung are well. And Elizabeth the 3rd of course. Send them my wishes. 

I didn’t forget about you though! The keychain you gave me reminds me of home every day. It might have lost an eye, but I found a button and stitched it on. And I also wanted to ask you–

Ah, I’m over again. 

Next time. 

                                                           Jihyun Kim

Iyi günler! I am in Turkey now and actually writing this on a boat. The sun is setting over the horizon, making the sky change colors with every passing minute. It’s breathtaking, but I wish you were here with me. The other passengers and I take turns standing at the front of the boat, and I sometimes linger, trying to take pictures. 

Good news! My vision is getting better. I’ve been taking some Greek herbal remedies, and the seem to be helping. Either that, or they have a wonderful placebo effect. Has that ever happened to you? To think something is working, but you’re just imagining things? 

I apologize, maybe that stirred bad memories for you. 

Back to Turkey: I stepped out of my comfort zone and spent a night camping. Honestly? I was terrified of doing so, but now I want to do it every night. It is the perfect temperature for hiking, even though I am a bit sunburned. 

So many people have been commenting on my hair. Good things mostly, and I started styling it with a bit of gel to keep it out of my eyes. It feels good to look people directly rather than through a curtain. 

What are you up to? Hosting anymore parties? I imagine that you are keeping busy, as always of course. My therapist said it would be best to wait messaging you until I return home. I nearly called you a week ago, but I didn’t want to break my vow. It’s like lying to myself, and I know better than that now. 

Still, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming. 

                                                           Sending love, 

                                                                     J

I’m genuinely angry, but writing to you always calms me. Someone stole my bag – I luckily didn’t have much in it, but your keychain… can you make me a new one please? Now that I don’t have it, it’s almost like I’ve lost a part of you. It hurts a lot, but then I wonder if I am being silly. It’s just a keychain. 

Otherwise, France is nice. I didn’t want to go to Paris, so instead I traveled through the countryside to visit a few wineries. 

Yes, I did… drink a bit, but I wasn’t impaired when my bag was stolen! 

You would laugh at me if I told you what happened, so I will save the story for another time. Before coming to France, I went through Germany and visited some of the most beautiful castles I’ve ever seen. They all looked like they could be straight from a fantasy movie set, and I was convinced one – Neuschwanstein Castle – actually was. 

I’ve barely written anything despite so much happening. 

I got a haircut (finally), because it was becoming a hassle to tie it back at night. 

One evening, I fed some stray cats and they followed me home. 

And a drunk (?) tried to play cards with me. But he didn’t have cards. He was dealing an imaginary deck. 

Other stories will have to wait until I see you again, and I feel better now. It’s okay to be upset, but it won’t hinder my trip any more. 

                                                           Je t'aime, 

                                                                     Jihyun

Alaska doesn’t have a night. 

That’s not exactly true, but it’s basically true. The hotel has special curtains that block the light, and it is only dark for a few hours. 

It has been many miles since I last wrote, but I was caught up in visiting show after event after party after exhibit through America. Their art has given me a new perspective on point of view and emotions, so I hope that the ten camera chips I’ve filled with photographs will be able to convey the same sense of awe. 

I’ve also been mistaken for an idol? Like – multiple times. Interesting to say the least, maybe I’ll say yes to the next person that asks. What should my stage name be? I’ll spare you the embarrassment and not share my ideas. They are all very silly and no one would believe me if I told them my name was Cam Ra. Do you get it? It’s bad, I know. 

I’ll be returning home soon, unless I get distracted or impulsive and go down to California and Hawaii before coming back. I want to – it doesn’t feel right to return just yet. But that doesn’t mean anything about you! 

Really, I think about you and everyone else each day. 

Have you met new people? We’ll exchange so many stories… 

                                                           See you soon, 

                                                                     J K 

You pace around, waiting for the last guest on the list to appear. The party started an hour ago, but he still has not arrived. Then again, it has been three months since anyone heard a whisper from V, and you start to lose hope. Swallowing hard, you remind yourself that V is having a wonderful time exploring the world and finding himself. 

          Taking a handful of your dress, you turn and head through the doors to the main room. Jumin tries to pull Saeyoung away from Longcat, Yoosung explains his most recent surgeries to a group of nurses from his work place, and Jaehee receives many compliments for her majestic cake. 

         Everyone is happy and has moved on. 

         You hope V has too. 

         Maybe all the wishing and praying finally paid off, because you hear his familiar voice calling out behind you. It’s a long shot, but you turn around nonetheless, thinking it is a different guest. 

         Instead, you see Jihyun, wearing the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen, running towards you. He’s carrying a folder filled with papers, but that doesn’t stop him from embracing you. He smells rugged, like his voyage has transformed him, but you rather like it. 

         “Jihyun!” You melt against his hug. “You’re.. Here… you’re here!” 

         Your squealing draws everyone’s attention, but he focuses on you and only you. “Of course I’m here. I missed you more than I can verbalize.” 

         His stance is open, welcoming, and confident, much different from two years ago. He is a different person now, brave and proud. Jihyun offers you the folder. It is strange to gift something in the middle of a party, but you accept it anyways, happy he has returned. 

         Jihyun’s heart races as he explains. “I wrote you letters every time I went somewhere new. These are just a few of them, really I have so many. But each shows something I’ve learned.” He takes a breath and laces his fingers with yours. “This is sudden, and I’m sure you will need time to think about it, but I’m trying something new: asking without being afraid. Over the past two years, I’ve… longed for you. Art has shown me the power of friendship, joy, perseverance, and most importantly, dedication. I want to dedicate my art to you, if you’ll stand by my side.” 

         You can’t find the words to express yourself because you are so awestruck. He truly has changed, but he has embraced himself and his life. Tears start to roll down your cheeks from the overwhelming surge of emotions. Jihyun brushes them away and presses his forehead to yours. 

         “I still have much to learn, but I want to do it all with you.” 

         “I’d like that a lot, Jihyun,” you whisper, captivated by his intense gaze. 

         “And I can finally say this without fear–” 

         You tip your head up, and Jihyun kisses you the next moment. His lips are chapped and the warmth radiating from his skin envelops you. He doesn’t need words to communicate it, because you understand perfectly what he is trying to say.