#this is shorter but i wanted to make a separate entry for this prompt and for the next one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kayteewritessteve · 5 years ago

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DT - Just Drunk 3/3

Description: It’s finally your first date night with Steve, and everything starts out great. But then things start to take a drastic turn for the worst, and you are both left helplessly watching as the night crashes and burns before your very eyes. Whoever said that having best friends was a good thing, clearly lied to all of us... Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 11,470 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG. Warnings: Curse words. Awkward moments. Shitty friends.

Requested: Nah, this is just the third and final part to this mini series.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

It’s finally here!! The final part of Drunk Twitter! And my entry to @justkending milestone celebration!! My prompt will be in bold and was: “Ever wanted to smack someone upside the head with a frying pan?” “Cause I’m getting that feeling right now.” CONGRATS TO YOU, LOVELY, ON YOUR 1000 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE! Here’s to many, many more followers to come for you! You deserve the whole damn world. Oh! And HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEAUTIFUL!! I hope you had a wonderful day, locked in your house lol ❤️❤️❤️

That was hands down the worst date that either you, or Steve, had ever been on, in your entire separate lives. And that was saying a lot, considering Steve was just over 100 years old, and you weren’t exactly a spry young chicken yourself. At least when it came to the dating world, you weren’t.

So why, exactly, was this date such a colossal disaster, you ask? Oh, well, let us show you it in its entirety, from start to finish. Then you’ll understand exactly why, and when, it all went to hell in a handbag.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

Tonight’s the night. After 5 days of intense mood swings, calling your friends crying and begging for pep talks, hardly getting any tasks done at work, issues with sleeping, and a few very large glasses of wine—read, just the straight bottle. No glasses were used, because we aren’t about that life here— It’s finally Friday night AKA your date night with Steve. And—oh fuck, nope, no, nu uh. You can’t do this. You just can’t!

You flop down onto the ridiculous pile of clothes that is now your bedroom floor and try to bury yourself within it. You can’t do this. You really can’t. So instead, you will just burrow into these clothes and they will become your home now. Lindsey and Tyler can drop off food once a week to sustain you, and if you get an extension cord, you could totally rig up your laptop in here.

Note to self: regardless of if you stay buried in these clothes or not, you really do need to get an extension cord. They are honestly useful as fuck.

But back to the main issue at hand here, which was agreeing to this ridiculous date. That was a horrible idea! Honestly, what were you even thinking?! You know you don’t take stress well, that you overthink and panic over even the smallest of upsets, but shit—wait, where was I going with this again? OH! Right! Who do you even think you are? Going on a damn date with thee Steve Rogers! The most gentlemanly, gentleman that ever gentlemaned! Shit!

And then there is you, a washed up journalist with hair that never cooperates, pores the size of Russia, and—you swear that—you walk with a limp, because you are positive that one leg is just slightly shorter than the other. You swear it! On your damn life!

Okay, so maaaaaybe you are overreaching here just a tad, again. But the point still stands. You aren’t special, or a superhero, or ya know, God's gift to the world. You are just you. Y/N Y/L/N. So how is it that you scored a date with thee sweetest, most down to earth, most handsome guy out there? Damn. Maybe good Karma really is a thing?—No, no. You shake your head, vehemently. Because in that case, you would have ended up getting shit on by a bird or something, instead of going on a date with Steve..

Alright, it’s decided. You aren’t going on this date. You don’t deserve to go on this date. You’ll just pick up your phone and call—no! Text! Facing him...err, ya know, what your voice? Shit, doesn’t matter, what does though is the fact that you having to cancel over the phone would just be way too hard, and far too heartbreaking. A text is super impersonal, but much easier. And—hey! Don’t judge us! We never claimed to be courageous! We are basically the damn cowardly lion in human form over here. So come to terms with that. Own it. It’s a part of who we are now.

You groan, moving your arms around languidly over the insane pile of clothes beneath you, in search of your cellular communication device. The movement reminds you of making snow angels as a kid, so just for good measure you move your legs as well, and allow the random procrastinating train of thought to continue on for a few more minutes. Hoping it will calm your nerves even a little.

It obviously doesn’t, but it does cause you to giggle, and locate your phone, so that’s a win, you guess. You pick the phone up and bring it to above your face, your eyes instantly widening when you realize the time. 5:46pm. Shit! Steve is supposed to be here at 6! There is no way you can text and cancel now! You’re willing to bet he’ll be here at exactly 6, and he is probably driving as we speak, therefore he won’t even get your text till he is outside your apartment. And shit, cancelling at this point is just fucking mean. You have to go on this date now, you have no choice.

You groan loudly again as you barrel roll off the pile of clothes and awkwardly climb to your feet, heading over to the mirror to take a second look at the 15th outfit you’ve tried on tonight. But before you can give it a thorough re-looking over, your phone rings abruptly and you jump, almost chucking it across the room. Man, you are clearly far too jumpy tonight, and you always have this weird desperate need to involuntarily destroy your phone. Like what even is that? Your phone continues to ring, and you quickly answer it, not even checking who is calling. “H-hello?”

“Breathe. What are you wearing?”

Lindsey, it’s Lindsey. You glance down, “dark wash jeans, a black sheer blouse, and my black ankle boot heels.” You freeze, realization and then irrational fear taking hold, as you stare back at yourself in the mirror. “Oh shit, do you think I’m too underdressed? Oh crap! I am, aren’t I? I should have worn a dress! He’s from the damn 30’s! Oh fu—“

“Woman!” Lindsey cuts you off, “just breathe, babe, damn. You are overthinking this whole thing way too much. Your outfit is perfect, I bet you look like a freaking fox right now, and I know for a fact you will blow Steve away. So just simmer your shit a little, okay?”

You nod slowly to your reflection, realizing Lindsey can’t see the action you quickly mumble. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be okay, I look fine, I’m fine. I’m breathing now. Promise.”

“Very convincing,” Lindsey snarks and you can damn near hear her rolling her eyes at you.

You are about to snark back at her, but a few light knocks on your door halt the words in your throat. Shiiiiit! He’s here!

“Fuck! Linds!” You hiss. “He’s here! What do I do?!”

“Jesus,” she sighs, exasperated, “you get off the phone and answer the door! And then have a wonderful fucking night. It’s that simple.”

“Okay. Okay. You’re right, again, it sounds simple enough. I got this.” Yet the words don’t sound convincing at all. At least not to your ears.

“You do,” she reaffirms. “Now repeat after me, I look great. I will rock this damn date. I will blow him away with my looks and my interesting and funny conversation topics. Because I got this shit on lock.”

“Yes, I second everything you just said. But I have to go! Bye!” You pulled the phone from your ear and are just about to hang up, when you hear.

“Wait!!” Ring from the phone's speaker, and you halt from hanging up, putting the phone back to your ear.

“Yes?” You question in a rushed manner, needing to get off the phone so you can answer the door and not leave Steve Rogers standing idly in your hallway for all your neighbours to see.

“Call me as soon as the date ends!! Or there will be hell to pay!” She warns. “I want all the dirty details, so don’t forget a damn thing! And most of all, have fuuuuun!” She singsongs the last part.

“Will do! Bye!” You hang up quickly before she can say anything else. Was that rude? Probably. Do you care at the moment? Not in the slightest. You’ll make it up to her later.

You rush from your room, closing the door behind you so he can’t catch even a small glimpse of the chaos that has become your bedroom floor. Then you make your way to your front door, pulling on your heel booties and grabbing your jacket from the back of your dining room chair before pulling it on as well. With one last look at yourself in your entryway mirror, you pull open your door and your heart damn near leaps from your chest at just the sight of him alone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

Finding her address took way less time than he thought it would, and once he parks he realizes just how early he is. He couldn’t go up yet, could he? No, no, arriving too early is ‘bad form’, as Sam had put it, and ‘makes you look too eager,’ as Bucky had added. Both men were not being overly helpful, at all. But then Nat had piped up, and said to ignore both guys, and the true reason you don’t want to show up too early is because she probably won’t be ready, and it’s never good to rush a woman’s pre-date prepping process. So after Nat’s words of wisdom replay in his mind, he decides to wait it out, and head up closer to 6. Not wanting to rush you in any way, shape, or form.

But the second the clock clicks to 5:55, he is out of the car and halfway to your apartment's front door. He is just about to buzz your number, when another resident exits the door and sees him standing there. The residents eyes widen comically upon realization that Captain America is currently standing outside their apartment, and with a few stuttered words of praise and thanks, the resident steps aside, still holding the door, and allows Steve access to the apartments lobby.

With a sincere and rushed ‘Thank you’, Steve makes his way into the building and up to the 4rd floor to your apartment door. He glances down at his watch and sees that it’s now 5:59, right on time, he thinks. He quickly pats down his clothes, trying to smooth them out and eradicate the wrinkles from sitting in the car for so long. And just as the clock ticks over to 6:00, he takes a deep breath, and raises his hand, knocking loudly on the fake wood door.

His super soldier ears pick up the shuffled sounds of movement and the murmur of a soft voice through the door. Though he can’t make out the words, and yes, if he focused himself he probably could, but your privacy is still important to him. Even though he’s sort of taken it away from you once or twice in the past. Be it by looking at Tony’s file on you, or constantly creeping your social media accounts. Granted, social media is you putting it out there to the world, so it’s not exactly a breach of privacy. But yet, it still made Steve feel weird and creepy for doing it, so that sort of counts, at least in his mind it does—

The door abruptly opening cuts off Steve’s train of thought, and then the sight now before him causes his mind to just blank. With no hopes in it recovering anytime soon, because you are breathtaking. More beautiful than the last time he saw you, and that’s saying something because he was almost rendered speechless the first time. And this time, he is.

How the hell is he going to make it through this night, if he can’t even say a word from just the sight of you, alone?! Oh hell, he’s doomed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

A silent moment goes by, neither one of you uttering so much as a syllable. Just both standing there, staring at each other and speechless. Finally you find your voice and drag it back from its hiding place. “Uh, hi,” you wave awkwardly—And woooow, clearly you only dragged a part of it back. And also, a freaking wave?!? What are you, 12? You’d facepalm right now, if it weren’t for the tall blonde standing directly in front of you currently.

Steve gives you a shy smile, and an awkward wave in return, “Hi.”

Okay, so at least you aren’t the only awkward one. That’s good, you guess. “Shall we?” You ask, pointing past Steve at the empty hallway.

He nods quickly, “yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” And then he steps out of the doorway to allow you room to exit your apartment. You quickly do, turning to close and lock your door, and then you direct your attention back to the Adonis beside you, as you both begin to walk towards the stairwell door.

A silence looms over you both, you aren’t exactly sure what to say, and it would appear Steve has the same sentiments. You make your way down the stairs and out your apartment buildings front door, and then you freeze. Completely. You gape at the all black car, currently parked on the curb outside your building. “Is that,” you pause, your voice barely coming out above a whisper, so you clear your throat, “is that a Mclaren P1?” You turn to look back at Steve, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open.

He gives you a bashful look, “it is. I’m sorry, I was planning to bring my bike, but then Nat told me you might be wearing a dress, and that even if you weren’t, the helmet would just mess up your hair,” he trails off, glancing at the car and mumbling, “So Tony forced me into taking this ridiculous car.”

You chuckle softly and turn to look back at your dream car, sitting just 25 feet away. “Not ridiculous at all. If I ever won the lottery, that’s the first thing I’d buy,” you gesture to the car and then a cold sweat rips through you, and you quickly look down to inspect your clothes. Or rather, the ass of your jeans.

There is no way in hell you are getting in that car, until you are positive there isn’t a single thing on your jeans that could accidentally be transferred to the seats. You could NEVER afford to replace one of those seats, they are insanely expensive and your measly junior journalist pay would not cut it. You’d be back paying till you were old and grey. No! Longer than that, you’d have to leave your debt owing to Tony Stark in your damn Will. So that your poor children and grandchildren could continue to pay it off after you’re dead and gone. That’s how expensive they are.

A soft chuckle from behind you causes your eyes to flick up and realize that Steve is watching your every move. Including how you just checked your own ass out. Wonderful. Way to go, smart one!

“Ah, shall we?” You ask, yet again, as clearly that’s the only words you have in your repertoire tonight. Some journalist you are. Steve gives you a large grin, and nods, then he places his hand on your lower back and leads you towards your dream car. And if this wasn’t a first date, and that wasn’t Tony Stark's car, you’d have totally asked if you could drive it. But you refrain, this time.

Steve lifts up the passenger door for you,—yes, ‘lifts up’. Butterfly doors are just far too damn cool for words!— like the gentleman he is and you thank him quietly as you slip in. And the second the door is closed, your eyes excitedly bounce around the car's interior, taking in all of it as you may never get a chance to sit in a Mclaren again. And you don’t want to miss or forget a single detail about this damn car.

Steve slips into the driver's seat and clicks in his seatbelt, reminding you that you should probably do the same. So you quickly click yours in as well. Then he turns to you, “you like cars, I take it?”

“Something like that,” you chuckle as he pushes a button to start up the car and it roars to life. Which yeah, that causes your insides to do a little happy dance of excitement at just the sound of this beast alone. “My dad was a mechanic, and an avid supercar enthusiast. So I grew up around cars and at race tracks.”

Steve hums his acknowledgement of your words, as he pulls away from the curb. “I’m more of a bike guy, myself. But I can appreciate a beautiful car.”

You smile at him, happy that you’ve both managed to get over your initial awkwardness and settled on a topic you are comfortable and knowledgeable in. “I like bikes as well, though I’m nowhere near coordinated enough for two wheels, so I stick to four.”

He chuckles, and takes a second to glance over at you before focusing back on the road, “Well, I’ll have to take you out on my bike one day,” he pauses and then quickly adds, “If um, if you’d be interested in that?”

You nod enthusiastically, “I’d really like that.”

You see the hint of a smile form on the side of his lips, “okay. I can make that happen.”

Then what his words actually meant hits you, and you freeze up again. Because, wait, did he just ask you on a second date?! Did he just imply that he already knows he wants a second date? Even before this one has actually started? Shit, what are you supposed to do with that information?! Thank God your frazzled and slightly slow mind hadn’t clued into this until after you’d answered him. Or you could have just ended up not replying at all, and making the poor guy think you didn’t want to see him again. Or that you weren’t enjoying yourself so far. Which couldn’t be further from the truth.

You pull your head out of your ass, and decide to ignore your insecurities and fears, and just talk to Steve. So you start asking him simple questions about himself, nothing too deep, just surface stuff, and as the car ride continues on, you find yourself relaxing more and more.

You both just talk the entire way to the restaurant and before you know it, the car is coming to a stop and Steve is climbing out and handing the valet his keys. He quickly makes his way around to your side and opens up the door before you can even attempt to get it yourself, he offers you a hand and helps you out, and yeah, that makes you swoon a little more. But just a little.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

As he pulls open the restaurant's door for Y/N, and guides her inside, he starts to finally calm down. Thank God his implication of wanting a second date so soon into the first one, hadn’t scared her off. Bucky had told him to play it aloof, leave her wanting more. Sam had told him to be cool, and to think before he spoke. And Nat had told him, once again, to ignore the guys and just be himself. If he wanted to say something to her, to just freaking say it. Be open, and honest, and not some fabricated asshole or casanova. Because that wasn’t him, and girls could usually see right through that shit. So he’d once again decided to go with Nat’s advice, as hers seemed the least scary. And the most realistic.

But when the words had left his mouth, he’d almost groaned and banged his head against the steering wheel. Because who the hell brings up a second date, 5 minutes into the first? That was way too eager of him, to just assume she’d even be interested in the first place. But yet, it had worked out in his favour, because she’d replied instantly, and excitedly, that she’d really like that. So maybe just being himself, and saying what was in his head was the best option after all. It did score him a second date, so clearly this was going well. If he was any judge of things, that is.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

Your eyes land on the beautiful young woman standing behind a podium, and the moment her eyes flick up and locked on you both, a large grin forms on her lips. You honestly don’t know what to make of the smile, it’s not exactly one you’d have expected, and you can’t place why it makes you feel so awkward.

It’s odd for sure, but then she speaks and her voice is a polar opposite to her grin. It’s sweet and soft, and calming. “Good evening you two, do you have a reservation? Or just looking for a table?”

“We have a reservation, under Rogers,” Steve answers and you aren’t sure if he is getting the same odd vibes as you are, maybe he is used to people reacting weirdly to his presence. Or maybe, you are just finally going fully crazy, but one glance up at the large blonde, and seeing the slight furrow of his brow, tell you that this isn’t normal, or maybe he is picking up on the same weird vibes that you are. So you aren’t going crazy—at least not this time, you aren’t.

She nods quickly, then picks up two menus and asks you both to follow her. She leads you through the restaurant and to a back corner table. “Here you are,” she says as she places the menus down on the table. “Your waiter will be with you shortly,” she adds, and you are positive that she is trying not to laugh. But you have no idea why. So far, every moment you’ve spent in this restaurant has been so damn weird. But you put that thought out of your mind as she leaves you both alone and scurries off back to her podium.

Steve helps you out of your jacket hanging it on your chair, then he pulls the chair out for you, and you thank him as you sit. He moves to sit across from you, as your eyes flick back over to the woman at the podium, and you notice she is watching you both. Clearly trying to hide that fact, but it’s pretty damn obvious. Once Steve is settled, you snap your eyes back to him, “that was weird, wasn’t it?”

He peers over his shoulder and also glances at the hostess for a second, before turning back to you. “Yeah, that was odd.”

“Does that always happen to you? Do people react to you like that all the time?”

He shakes his head, “sometimes they react, but never like that. That was a first for me.”

You nod, chuckling quietly as you pick up your menu and open it, “okay, so I wasn’t the only one that thought that was weird.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

“No,” Steve chuckles as he opens his menu as well. “You weren’t.”

He has never had someone react to his presence like that, he’s had people cry, scream, and laugh uncontrollably. Hell, he’s even had a few people faint, but never has a stranger reacted like that to him before. He isn’t sure what to make of the grin she gave him, it was almost like she was in on something that he wasn’t. And he did not like that thought, not one bit. He pushes the thoughts from his mind, as they both take a few moments to peruse the menus quietly.

A shadow falls over the table and Steve assumes the waiter has arrived, he continues to look over the menu as they place two waters on the table and begin to speak. “Good evening, my name is,” there is a strange pause and then a very awkward sounding, “Will,” is added. “And I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you both off with something to drink?”

Steve furrows his brows, because he is sure he recognizes that voice. He is 100% positive that he’s heard it many, many times—You have got to be kidding him!? His eyes snap up and lock onto a very familiar set of brown eyes, and then his narrow into a glare. And even with very real looking facial hair, he could spot Sam from a damn mile away. What the fuck is Sam doing here? And as his waiter, no less. And just like that, the hostess’ reaction now makes perfect freaking sense.

Steve quickly glances at Y/N, hoping she hasn’t looked up just yet, seeing that she is still buried in her menu, then he flicks his eyes back to ‘Will’ and he narrows them. The aforementioned ‘waiter’ just gives him a cheeky grin in return. ‘What are you doing here?’ He mouths to his soon to be ex best friend.

‘Taking your drink orders,’ Sam mouths back with a ‘duh’ expression on his face, causing Steve's eyes to narrow even more in warning.

“I’ll just take an iced tea,” Y/N pipes up and Steve shakes his head before begrudgingly saying, “and I’ll take a beer, whatever’s on tap.”

“Excellent choices,” Sam says excitedly and shoots Steve one more cheeky grin before he damn near runs away from the table. Leaving Steve feeling super confused, very irritated and entirely nervous as to just what his friend—hold that thought, he quickly glances around the restaurant, and his eyes lock on a table on the other side with three men and a woman, all in horrible disguises and he instantly knows who they are. Bucky, Tony, Clint and Nat—what his friends, he corrects in his head, have planned. Seriously, what the hell are they doing?!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

After ordering your drink, you finally decide which meal you’d like and then you place your menu down and glance up at Steve, curious if he’s decided yet or not. But before you can ask, you notice that he looks super out of it now. Like he is lost in thought, and he is entirely focused on something at the other side of the room. You glance over and see that he is looking—read, glaring—at a table with a few people sitting at it. “Do you know them?” You ask quietly, as you just continue to stare at them as well.

“Hmm?” He questions, “who?”

You turn to look at him again, seeing that his focus is now back on his menu. And once again, you feel extremely weird. “The people at that table over there,” you tip your head in it’s direction.

He looks up at you for a second, silently, before he rubs the back of his neck and glances back down at his menu. “Ah, possibly. I just ah, I think I know them from somewhere, but I can’t really remember exactly where.” He shrugs, “probably from work.”

You nod, his answer seeming a little forced and awkward, but you decide to just drop it. “So, any ideas on what you’d like to eat?”

“I was thinking the steak. It sounds delicious.”

“That’s what I was thinking about getting as well,” you smile to yourself, realizing you both seem to enjoy the same foods. Clearly that’s another thing you both have in common. Score!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

His eyes continue to dart between the table with his so-called ‘friends’ and the beautiful woman across from him. He is furious at his team for crashing his date, and with each passing second he only becomes more and more angry. How could they do this to him? He was nervous enough about this date, and now they had to go and add more stress onto his already frazzled nerves.

It’s taking everything in him not to go over there and tell them all to leave. His eyes snap back to Y/N, and he wants to smack himself for barely paying any attention to the story she is midway through telling. Here he is supposed to be learning all about her, or at least learning about her first hand, instead of only going on the outside information he learned from Tony’s invasion of privacy folder.

And if barely paying any attention to his date, isn’t bad enough, he also lied to her about the occupants of that stupid table. He knows exactly who they are, but in a split second decision, he chooses to not inform Y/N of that. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable in any way. And his nosy friends crashing their date to spy on them, yeah, that makes him uncomfortable and he knows them. He can’t imagine how she’d react to this all, so he decided to keep their presence to himself. At least until he figures out exactly what they have planned, and why the hell they thought it was a good idea to crash his date.

He vows right then and there to tell her about his shitty friends once they leave the restaurant, and apologize for his white lie at that point. But that doesn’t really relieve his guilt over all of this, nor his stress.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

It’s not hard to tell Steve is distracted by something, and you’d have to be blind to not notice him constantly glancing over at that table. To his credit, he is doing a pretty good job at hiding his immense interest in the four occupants, but you still noticed.

And maybe that has something to do with the fact that you’ve been talking about Eggo waffles and Oreos for the last 5 minutes, having ran on a hunch that he wasn’t really paying attention to you, and that hunch having turned out to be correct.

So here you are, telling him all your favourite flavours of Oreo, and describing exactly how you eat them. You are curious just how long it will take him to clue in and question you on your current conversation topic. So far, the timer just passed 5 minutes and is still going strong.

You have no idea who the people at that table are, but you figured Steve would tell you if you had anything to worry about. And since he hadn’t yet, you were trying to ignore the small pang of fear that they were bad people, hell-bent on hurting him, you, or both. He did deal with lots of bad, bad people in his line of work though. Or rather, he pissed off a lot of them. So you could only imagine how many wanted to cause him harm, or the people around him—But we aren’t focusing on that at the moment. One issue at a time here.

The waiter returns to drop off your drinks and take your food orders, and you don’t miss the small glare Steve sends him, which yeah, that’s fucking odd as well. You have no idea what this waiter did to him, but you can only assume it probably has something to do with the table of four. Maybe the waiter is a baddy as well?—Shit, if that is the case, then they have you both surrounded.

And what if they poison the food? Oh God! Maybe you should fake a tummy ache and see if Steve will take you home early? Ya know, just to be safe—you shake your head gently. Don’t be silly, like you already thought, if anything was wrong or if you were in any danger, Steve would have told you. Or at least made sure to protect you, he was a freaking superhero after all—

“Oreos?” He asks finally, the cutest furrow in his brows at his confusion on the current topic. The one you’d picked right back up the second the waiter walked away.

And you chuckle, that only took him 10 minutes. Not bad. But not really great either, you guess. “I like Oreos,” you shrug, trying to act casual. “So tell me a little about yourself. What kinds of sweets does Steve like?”

He chuckles, “I guess Oreos are pretty good, I’m also a fan of them. But my all time favourite are Reese’s peanut butter cups.”

“Really?” You ask leaning forward on your hand with your elbows on the table, genuinely intrigued by his choice in chocolate.

“Yeah,” he chuckles again. “When I woke up from the ice, I was really surprised to see that Reese’s were still around. I remember when they first started selling them, or at least when I first started buying them, back in the early 30’s. Though they were sold individually back then, and at only 2 cents a piece,” he chuckles a little more, shaking his head as he does. “It still boggles my mind how much has changed since then, but yet, some things have stayed exactly the same.”

“I can’t even imagine,” you say honestly, “what else has stayed the same?” And just as he starts to tell you a few other things, your eyes catch movement behind him and you glance towards it. Seeing an older woman sitting at a table, one away from yours, and facing you. With what looks like an older man sitting across from her, but you can only see the back of his head. But then you notice that she is looking down at the phone in her hands, intently, as it’s raised up in the air, above her table. What is that woman even doing? Is she—is she taking freaking pictures of you!?

Your eyes focus in on the phone in question and—wait a fucking second! Is that a damn cat DJing a pizza, in space?! You audibly gasp, as your eyes snap back up to lock on the ‘old ladies’, who is now looking at you and then yours narrow, accusingly. And at least the woman has the good sense to avert her eyes, quickly, but the damage has been done. So you then assess the back of the ‘old mans’ head, and come to an unwavering realization.

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” You flick your eyes back to Steve’s. “Oh, yeah. Yep. I’m just dandy,” your eyes again lock on the stupid ‘old woman’. “I just have to use the ladies room, I’ll be right back.” You abruptly stand, barely getting the words out before you quickly run away from your table. You glance back to make sure Steve isn’t watching and then forcefully yank the ‘old’ woman and man from their spots and drag them to the bathrooms with you. Not giving them a moment to protest.

Then the moment the door shuts you whirl around on them, grabbing the woman’s grey hair and pulling on it, leaving you holding a wig in your hands and glaring daggers at your, so called, best friends. If you weren’t so angry right now, you’d have commented on this being a wig snatching great time. But you're furious. Fuming, even.

“I really shouldn’t be in here,” Tyler points out unhelpfully.

“Oh please,” you scoff, “I’m more likely to check out the women in this bathroom than you are.”

He presses his lips together, nodding in agreement but he is smart enough to keep his lips zipped. Your eyes move over to glare menacingly at Lindsey.

“Look, we can explain,” she puts her hands up in submission.

“I sure fucking hope so,” you scold, crossing your arms like a pissed off parent. “Well, let’s hear it then. Come on, out with it. What could have possibly possessed you both to crash my date? Hmm?”

“It was his idea,” Lindsey points to Tyler, at the same time he points to her, “it was her idea.”

They both gasp, scandalized, and glare at each other. “Liar!” They say in unison. Another gasp from both, “I am not!” and again, in unison.

You feel like they rehearsed this, they had to have. And if, by the off chance that they didn’t, then they clearly share the same wave link. And obviously a dumb one, at that.

“Okay, whoever’s idea it was aside,” you wave a dismissive hand around. “You both not only agreed to crash my date, but followed through with that stupid plan. So how I see it, you are both at fault here.” You sigh, some of the wind in your sails vanishing, “now, the real question is what the hell guys?” You shift your eyes between the two, “you both knew how excited and nervous I was for this date, how could you think this was a smart idea? The last thing I needed was more stress added into the mix. And the fear of Steve realizing you are both here, now that adds a lot of unnecessary stress onto me.”

“Sorry,” they both mumble with their heads down, like scolded children. And you believe you are getting through to these two knuckleheads. Buuuuuut then Tyler has to go and ruin it, “but it was actually Lindsey's idea, just to clarify.”

Linds jerks her head up and glares at him, “it was ‘our’ idea, traitor!” She hisses out. And just like that, they are back to bickering again.

You groan loudly and clench your eyes shut, taking a deep calming breath before you intervene, “okay, enough!” They both snap their mouths shut and turn to you. “I don’t have time to stand here and listen to you both argue. Unless you forgot, I’m sort of supposed to be on a date right now, and I’ve now been standing in the women’s bathroom for an entirely too long amount of time. Steve’s going to think I encountered a damn basilisk or something,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Do you think he’d even understand that reference?” Tyler asks the room, then turns to Lindsey, “do you think anyones shown him those movies yet?”

Lindsey gives him an odd look, “of course he’s seen them. They are a huge part of this generation, there is no way that no one in his life has shown him the Potter franchise yet.”

Tyler nods slowly, “unless his friends all suck, I guess.”

“Very valid point, Ty—“ Linds starts but you cut in.

“Not important at the moment, guys,” you say as you uncross your arms and point a menacing finger at them. “Now, I’d ask you both to leave, but I know you won’t listen to me. So instead, I’ll ask that since you both are hell-bent on crashing my date, the least you could do is not be so damn obvious about it. Please, no more photos, and for the love of God, do not let Steve know you both are here, got it?”

“Got it,” they both mumble. Then Tyler quietly says, you think mainly to himself, “but Harry Potter is always important.”

You ignore his comment and walk passed both of them and exit the bathroom, not having anything else to say to either of them. Because honestly, it would just be a waste of time, those two do exactly what they want, no matter what you say or how you reason with them. So there isn’t even a point in wasting the breath at the moment. They will stay and lurk on you and Steve either way. However, you honestly wouldn’t change either of them for the world. They may frustrate the hell out of you, but you get them back all the time. It’s a 50/50 thing, for sure.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

The moment she is up from the table and has walked off, he pulls out his phone and brings up the group chat to fire off a message. ‘What the hell are you guys doing here?’

His eyes flick up to watch his friends, as they each pull out their phones and read his text. Then they all look over at him and give him their best innocent smiles, and then his phone vibrates with a message and he glances down to see it’s from Tony. ‘We are just here for dinner, such a coincidence that we happened to pick the same restaurant as you two.’

Steve shoots Tony a glare before checking that Y/N isn’t in sight and standing up to stomp over to their table. “Oh yeah? Just getting dinner, hey? Then what’s with the get ups,” he flicks the obviously fake wig on Bucky’s head, causing the Jerk to swat his hand away just as he continues on to hiss out, “and why the hell is Sam our waiter?”

“Look, Steve,” Nat starts and his heated glare snaps to her, causing her to put her hands up in surrender. “I had no hand in this idiotic plan, it was entirely their idea,” she points at Bucky and Tony, causing the latter to gasp and the former to—well, to look pretty fucking guilty, if you ask Steve. But she just turns back to Steve and continues on, “I only chose to join them to make sure they didn’t fuck your date up too badly.” Then Clint pipes up, also putting his hands up in surrender, “and I’m just here for the food.”

“Traitors,” Tony accuses in a hissed whisper.

Clint just shrugs, and Nat looks at Tony and crosses her arms, “you can call me whatever you like, Tony. But I refuse to get on Steve’s bad side because of your stupid ideas. No fucking thank you, that’s a bullet I won’t take for you.”

Tony shoots her one last glare before correcting his features and turning to Steve, clearly trying to salvage the situation. “We just wanted to be here for moral support. In case you needed any backup. Isn’t that right, Manchurian Candidate,” he elbows Bucky for support, but the Jerk knows that no matter what they say, Steve will be pissed. So best to keep his mouth shut for now, which is blatantly obvious by the way he presses his lips together and refuses to look at Steve.

“Bullshit,” Steve says as he crosses his arms. “Your choice to be here has nothing to do with backing me up, but I don’t have time to stand here and argue with you. I’m supposed to be on a fucking date and I can barely focus on Y/N with you assholes sitting here. So eat your food and get out, we will talk when I get back to the tower,” he says that last part like a threat. They are so fucking in for it when he gets home, and he wants them all to know it. “And tell Sam to let a real waiter take over, I dunno who you all bribed to let you pull this shit, but if a real waiter isn’t the next person to approach my damn table, I’ll be even more pissed off,” then with that said, he spins on his heel and quickly makes his way back to the table. Glad that Y/N hasn’t come out of the bathroom just yet, so she didn’t see him scolding the table of assholes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

You quickly make your way back to the table, seeing Steve sitting by himself and feel like an asshole for taking so long, scolding your shit ass friends. You quickly retake your seat and feel the need to apologize. “Sorry that took so long,” you pause, because what the hell excuse are you supposed to use!? Shit, you should have thought about this before you sat back down! “Ah, just as I was washing my hands, my um, my mom called.” Shit, that was a horrible excuse. What is wrong with you?!

“Oh?” Steve asks hesitantly, “is everything okay?”

“Oh yes, yeah,” you nod quickly. Maybe too quickly but no taking it back now. “She just forgot I had a date tonight, I told her I’d call her back later.”

He seems to give you an odd look for a moment, before finally nodding and glancing around the restaurant. “Does it feel like the food is taking a really long time, or is it just me?”

You glance around as well, not seeing a single waiter or waitress in sight, “no, it’s not just you. I think we ordered like 30 minutes ago, maybe?”

He nods, “yeah, something like that.”

“I’m sure it won’t be much longer,” you comment, trying to be positive. “And it just means we get more time to talk.”

He smiles at you, “well, in that case, let’s hope the food never comes.”

And swooooon. You couldn’t not swoon over his words even if you tried. You give him a grin, and you know for a fact that it’s probably the biggest, goofiest thing he’s ever seen, but you can’t help it. “Fingers crossed,” you trail off from starting a new conversation as you see your, so called, friends doing the walk of shame from the bathroom and retaking their seats at their table. And before you can stop yourself, the words are already leaving your mouth, unfiltered. “Ever wanted to smack someone upside the head with a frying pan?” You abruptly ask, and then mumble out, “Cause I’m getting that feeling right about now.”

Steve snorts and you realize he was mid sip of his beer when you asked, and you watch as he quickly gulps down his mouthful, before his eyes flick over to the table of four for a second, then snap back to you. “All the time, actually.”

You give the table an inconspicuous side eye, and notice there are actually now five people sitting around it. So they have clearly gained another occupant, you see. And, that’s neat. Glad to see the baddies are growing in number. Excellent. Just freaking excellent. This night is not going to plan, not one fucking bit. And seriously, where the hell is your food!?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

He glances down at the watch on his wrist and sees that it’s now, 7:27. Their reservation had been for 6:30, and so they have now been waiting on their food for at least 40 minutes. He is willing to bet that his ‘friends’ have something to do with why their food is taking so long, just another thing he will scold them all for later.

And the longer the food takes, the more intense of a scolding they’ll get. Mark his words now, this will be the last time they ever pull a stunt like this on him or anyone, ever again. He’ll make sure of it.

“Sorry for the delay,” a new voice chimes in from about them, and Steve glances up to see his first unfamiliar face since the hostess. “Ah, Will had a um, an emergency, so my name is Kyle, I’ll be taking over for him.” He places two new drinks down to replace the now two empty ones. “These drinks are on the house, as an apology for the wait. But it shouldn’t be too much longer for your food to be ready.”

Y/N thanks the new—actual—waiter, and Steve just nods, a small triumphant smile on his face as he glances over at the table, to see Sam now sitting with the others. Good, at least they can still follow orders, that will win them some points with him tonight.

The new waiter—Kyle—scurries off back to the kitchen door and Steve turns his attention back to Y/N. “Did you have a better time at work, this week?” He asks, genuinely curious how this recent week went, since he was more than aware that her last week hadn’t been very fun for her. He’d been meaning to ask about how she was doing with the media and the new popularity all night, as he had worried all week about her.

And just as she started to tell him all about her week, he lifts up his fresh beer and takes a very generous gulp. Only for the fact that as a super soldier, Steve can’t get drunk. At least not off regular beer. Though he furrows his brows once the cold liquid slides down his throat, because—does this taste different than the last beer he had? Wouldn’t they give him the same one he’d ordered before?

He internally shrugs, maybe they just ran out of the other beer so they gave him this one instead. It’s no big deal, he really likes the taste of this new one, and it was free. If there is anything Steve’s learned since waking up from the ice in this new—and expensive—era, it’s that you should never ever pass up free things. So he’ll drink it either way, even if just for that simple fact alone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

After a few more minutes of just talking about both of your weeks, the waiter returns and finally places your food on the table in front of you. And not a moment too late, you were seriously beginning to weigh the pros and cons of cannibalism—Okay, maybe you were going that extreme yet, but you were getting pretty dang hungry for sure.

You and Steve don’t waste a second, and both cease the conversations as you start to eat your respective meals, as the waiter scurries off to wherever waiters go while the patrons eat. Probably to check on the other customers. Your eyes drift back to the table of fo—five now, and you see them all eating their food now as well. So you allow yourself a moment to just breathe, and eat, and pretend like that table still isn’t worrying you. A lot.

After another few moments, and most of both your plates now empty, you see that Steve has finished his beer. But you only make that observation because he accidentally slams the glass down on the table, not breaking the glass, but the look he gives it after the loud clanking bang, leads you to believe he didn’t mean to be that forceful with it.

Your eyes flick up to his face, and you see he is a little flushed now, his eyes a little bloodshot and—wait, is he drunk?

“This food was amazing!” He damn near yells, and yep, yeah, you believe he is in fact drunk. Oh lordy, this should be fun..

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

Something isn’t right. He don’t feel ..right. He glances around the room, but quickly halts his eyes when he feels like the room is rocking. Spinning almost and that makes his stomach do somersaults. His eyes look down to his now empty glass, his brows furrowing, he can’t get drunk. But yet, he feels drunk. He feels just like he did that day Thor let him try the Asgardian mead—his eyes snap over to the table of his ‘friends’ and it instantly hits him—The beer didn’t taste weird because it was different, it tasted weird because they freaking spiked his drink.

Oh, they are so going to pay for this one. He huffs, as he attempts to glare holes in the sides of his ‘friends’ heads. They are all making a point to not look his way, they know they're in shit now. The fuckers—

“Who’s going to pay?”

Steve’s eyes widen as they flick back over to meet Y/N’s. Shit, did he say that out loud?! And before he can even attempt to come up with a quick cover up, his lips are moving and spilling the truth, much to his surprise and dismay. “My horrible friends,” he manages to get a hold of his lips before he says anything more, he presses them together in an effort to keep the rest of his words in. However, the adorable confused expression now on Y/N’s face makes him smile, and he is sure he looks like a crazy person at the moment. But honestly, he doesn’t really care at the moment. Maybe he will later, but not right now. “You’re adorable when you frown,” he chuckles.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

You were still trying to figure out what he meant by ‘his horrible friends with pay for this’, but then he has to go and say you’re adorable and that halted all your thoughts, immediately. Damn, who knew you were so weak to compliments. Once again, some journalist you are. Geesh—Focus woman! Your eyes drift back to the table of five, and you give them a more thorough looking over and—holy fuck, is that Bucky Barnes. Wait, wait, wait, and Tony Stark. AND Natasha Romanov. Oh shit, and Clint Barton. And freaking SAM WILSON! Hold up, Sam looks exactly like your last waiter, Will.

And oooooh, it all makes so much sense now. You burst out laughing at the realization that not just your shitty friends crashed this date, Steve’s did too. Oh God, this is just too damn good. “Steve?” You ask softly, bringing his attention back to you. He’d been inspecting the table, as if to make sure it was structurally sound.

“Yeah?” He asks, sounding slightly out of it.

“Question?—err, actually maybe two questions,” you hastily amend and he chuckles.

“Okay,” he nods, a little too quickly, and hiccups as he speaks his next words, “W-what are they?”

“Is that your team over there?” You nod with your head towards the table of five, but keep your eyes fixated on the large blonde.

He scrunches up his face and opens his mouth to speak, but then sighs deeply and lowers his eyes to the table, then mumbles “yeah, it is.” But then as if it just hit him in the face, he snaps his head up and starts speaking again, a little louder this time—read, damn near yelling again. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea they were going to be here—“

You cut him off with your laugh, and he furrows his brows, his mouth still open as he clearly tries to figure out what’s so funny. You try valiantly to reign in your laugh, but this is all just too damn hilarious. “Y/N?” He asks hesitantly, confusion in his voice.

And you realize you have to say something, anything, so between laboured breaths and chuckles to manage to spit out in a whisper, “see the old couple behind you, a table away?”

Steve’s lips form a frown and he glances over his shoulder, not even remotely in a graceful manner. Then his whips back around and nods at you, “yeah,” he says slowly.

“Those two ‘old people’,” you make quote signs with your fingers, “are my two idiot best friends in disguise. They also crashed our date,” and those words make you laugh all over again at this whole weird situation. Your words clearly take a second to sink in, but as if a light just lit up, Steve’s frown disappears and he starts to laugh with you. Louder than you, actually. And so loud that it draws the attention of everyone in the rest restaurant, including both tables of your date crashing friends. Every last one of them.

“You’re joking?” He manages to say between boisterous laughs. You shake your head as you say, “not even a little bit.”

He laughs a little more, shaking his head as well. “That is too funny.”

You nod, agreeing with him, “that it is. Looks like both our friends are,” you raise your voice so all the people in question can hear you clearly, “nosey assholes.” Though your words are more directed at your two best friends, but maybe also a little at Steve’s. And one quick glance at both tables, and the scandalized expressions around both causes you to burst out laughing again. After a few moments, you both manage to calm down a little, enough to speak again at least. You quickly rub the tears from your eyes, as Steve takes a few deep breaths. Then you think of something, “and here I thought my friends were invasive. At least they didn’t fake being our waiter,” you giggle.

Steve groans, then chuckles a little more, “were you really surprised they’d go to that length? They did sort of force you to goto that press conference.”

“Oh shit,” you chuckle a little more, “I didn’t even think of that!”

“Yeah,” Steve shakes his head, “they are always sticking their noses in other people's lives. It’s rather frustrating,” he mumbles the last part, and you believe more so to himself.

“Wait,” Steve abruptly says, “you said you had two questions?”

You grin, nodding slowly as your second question pops back up into your head. Though you’re going to amend it a little. You were going to ask if he was drunk, but you're positive now that he is. So your question is a little changed, “so I’m guessing they spiked your drink, which means you can’t drive?”

“Shit,” Steve mumbles as his face pales and all the humour leaves his features. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I can call you a cab, if you want? I’ll pay for it.”

“No,” a sly grin works its way onto your lips. “I have a better idea.” You stand up from the table and Steve slowly stands as well. Though you can see his very evident wobble from the booze. “Come with me,” you gesture for him to join you, offer him your hand for what little support you can give him. Ya know, since he is much larger than yourself, and if he starts to go down, you won’t be able to save him. But the gesture is what matters, right?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

He is feeling the full effects of the mead as he stands, wobbling a little before quickly gaining his balance. If he falls flat on his face in front of her, he will be out for blood. She offers him her hand and he glances down at the outstretched appendage, then almost laughs. If he does go down, there is no way in hell she’ll be able to stop him, and he’ll just end up taking her down with him. But the chance to hold her hand, can’t be passed up, even in Steve’s mead muddled mind, he knows that fact clear as day.

He smiles and takes her hand, allowing her to lead the way and he quickly realizes where she is taking them. And the slightly panicked eyes of his friends makes him chuckle again. They reach the table of five, and Steve gives a curious look to Y/N, unsure where exactly she is going to take this. But he isn’t gonna lie, he’s excited to see what her master plan is.

“Avengers,” she nods in hello and smiles at each of them.

His friends all give each other strange, nervous looks before Tony speaks up, “Y/N,” he nods then looks at Steve. “Steve.” Before his eyes move back to the little woman holding Steve's hand tightly. “I see you’ve figured us out,” he chuckles awkwardly.

“That I have,” she giggles, “wasn’t too hard, once you spiked Steve’s drink.”

“That was Sam’s doing,” Tony quickly says, earning a gasp from the aforementioned.

“It might have been my doing, but it was Tony’s idea,” Sam quickly defends, pointing a menacing finger at the billionaire. Ugh, here we go again, Steve thinks.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

Tony is just about to speak, but you cut in before he can. You aren’t interested in their bickering about who did what, and who’s behind this whole thing. You got enough of that from your own friends. “It’s okay, we aren’t mad,” you glance up at Steve, and see him about to refute your words, but one pointed look from you and he presses his lips together and nods in agreement.

“We aren’t,” he mumbles, the words not sounding overly convincing but it’s the thought that counts.

You bite your lip to prevent the new laugh from escaping. “But,” you abruptly say, “there are conditions to us not being upset.”

And Tony clearly tries to fight the grin that wants to show through, as he narrows his eyes at you, “and those are?”

“Our bill still needs to be paid,” you say calmly, commandingly so that Tony is aware you mean he will be paying it. And as you speak you are fighting to not look too excited for your next words. Tony nods slowly, hesitantly, and says, “okay, and?”

Your grin breaks through, and you see Tony shiver from the smug smile. “Since Steve is unable to drive currently, I will be driving him home and will return your car to you in the morning—“. Tony cuts in, “what? No, no, that doesn’t seem—“. “Tony,” Steve cuts in this time, sternly, clearly trying not to laugh.

“You all were the ones who crashed our date and spiked his drink,” you say, “therefore, hindering him from being able to drive. So these are the consequences, I’ve driven supercars before, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Tony doesn’t seem convinced, at all, but everyone else at the table seems highly amused by all of this. “I think it’s only fair,” Nat pipes up, a smug grin on her face to match yours. “I agree with Nat,” Clint mumbles through his mouthful of food. Tony shoots them both a glare, then sighs, “fine, you can take the car for the night.”

And you are just about to squeal and jump up and down, when he abruptly adds, “but,” he points a finger at you then at Steve, “if there is so much as a single scratch on it tomorrow, Steve is covering the repair bill.”

Steve gives you a look, one that screams ‘now just wait one second, let’s talk about this a little first’ But you just ignore him, and nod at Tony, “Deal.” And before Steve can say a word, you begin to drag him away from the table, hearing Tony chuckle and say quietly, “I like that one,” to the others. Which only causes your smile to grow as you continue to pull Steve towards the front door of the restaurant.

As you both stand on the sidewalk, waiting for the valet to bring the car around and you are vibrating with excitement! This is your damn dream car and you GET TO DRIVE IT! Aaaaah! Shit!! Is this real life?!—A deep chuckle from beside you, causes you to come back to reality, and you glance up at the tall blonde. This day has been the weirdest one in your entire life, not only did you get to go on a date with thee Steve Rogers, but now you get to drive your dream car?! This is all just too much! Too damn much! But in all the best ways. “Sorry,” you smile bashfully up at him, as you tuck a few wayward strands of hair behind your ear, “I’m a little excited.”

“I can see that,” he nods, a glorious smile playing on his own lips. Just as you are about to speak, the beautiful sound of the supercars exhaust can be heard coming towards you, and before you know it, the Mclaren P1 is directly in front of you. In all it’s shiny black glory, and you are sure you’re dreaming. You have to be. Either that, or you’re drooling.

The valet goes to hand the keys to Steve, but you intervene and take them before he can, and then you get an idea. You quickly unlock the car and open up the door for Steve, who gives you an odd look, so you say with a shrug, “it’s my turn to be the gentleman.”

Which causes him to chuckle and hesitantly slip into the passenger seat then you close the door and make your way around to the driver's seat.

And before you know it, you are pulling up out front of the Avengers Tower. Steve had told you on the drive that he normally lives out at the compound now, but still has a room at the tower and stays there from time to time.

You shut the car off and quickly gesture for him to wait, receiving another odd look from the blonde. You quickly get out of the car and race around to open his door, you are determined to be the ‘gentleman’ this time. Steve deserves as much.

He chuckles again as he clues into what you’re doing, then climbs out of the car and you begin to walk him up to the tower's front doors.

Once you both reach the doors, you halt your steps and turn to him, he does the same but in reverse, halting and turning towards you.

“I had—“. “Thank you—“. You both speak at the same time and laugh, then he says, “I’m sorry, go ahead.”

“I just wanted to say I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“Even with our friends crashing the date?” He asks, one brow raised.

You giggle, “yes, even with that. It made for a very memorable first date.”

“That it did,” Steve nods. “And I just wanted to say thank you, for not only going out with me, but for putting up with my shitty friends.”

You wave it off, “they aren’t so bad. I think it was rather sweet that all of our friends crashed our date. Really shows how much they care, even in their own weird ways.”

He nods again, as he glances down at the ground, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, “would you be interested in doing this again sometime?”

You grin brightly, you couldn’t stop it even if you tried. “No, I wouldn’t be interested in doing this again.” Before you can finish your sentence, Steve's head snaps up and he gives you one of thee saddest looks you’ve ever seen in your life. “Just wait,” you giggle, putting your hands up to halt him, “let me finish. But yes, I’d love to go on another date with you, preferably one without our friends being present.”

His frown morphs into a brilliant grin, “yes, no friends on the next one for sure.”

“Okay, well I should get home,” you say reluctantly, “but I’ll call you in the morning before I head over to drop the car off, and maybe we can do coffee and a walk? Just the two of us?”

“I’d love that,” he nods. “And yes, just the two of us.”

“Perfect,” you smile, and lean up to plant a kiss on his check, but at the last second you change course and lightly place your lips upon his. And just as you are about to pull back, his arms move around your waist and pull you into him as he deepens the kiss.

Which yeah, you fucking swoon at that too, and if he were to let go of you right now, you’d melt into the sidewalk. You’d become a human puddle.

But luckily for you, he doesn’t release you right away and you both drown in each other for a few moments before you reluctantly pull back and he does that same. “Goodnight, Steve,” you say softly, breathlessly as you take a step back.

“Goodnight, Y/N. See you in the morning.”

You smile, “see ya then.” You turn and head back towards the car, a skip in your step that you know Steve can clearly see, but you don’t care. You are too happy right now, for a bunch of different reasons.

You glance towards him as you pull up the driver's door and see he is still standing there, watching you, and your tummy does flips. You wave, receiving one in return, then climb into the supercar and close the door.

The whole drive home you can’t wipe the grin off your lips, no matter how hard you try. So maybe you were a little over dramatic in the beginning of this story, maybe you made this night out to be a lot worse than it actually was. Because it wasn’t the worst date you’d ever been on, not by a long shot. It was actually the best, if you’re being honest.

This all started with you being a Drunk Twitter tweeter, and ended with Steve being, well, being Just Drunk honestly. But you wouldn’t change a damn thing, not one second, because even the bad moments all lead up to this glorious one. The start of something so, so special.

And now you have a coffee date with Steve in the morning, and—if you have any say in the matter—many, many more dates to come. This is just the beginning, and you can not wait to see where this all ends up. But something deep, deep down is telling you, that you’re going to love the journey to the end. More than anything, because you’ll get to make that journey beside Steve. And honestly, what more could a woman want than that? Nothing, that’s what.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

@caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tfandtws @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @strawberry-gothchild @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @viarogers @pixieferry @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @capsicledoll @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @ivannagotthebeat @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @steverogersxreader @cjhorseback @jasminecalia @secondstar2disney @jessiedaeum @betsynodak @capricornprince118 @just-ladyme @pinkleopardss @drayshadow @sister-of-stars @wiserebelpartypie @dark-night-sky-99 @patzammit @cs-please @troublermalik @bratstopmom @anika-ann @wxstedhexrt @rynabarnesrogers @ab-baybay @scentedsongrebel @captainchrisstan @kelbabyblue @fckdeusername @murdermornings @dreamlesswonder86

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers au #steve rogers x reader #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #Drunk Twitter #part 3 #Just Drunk #au fanfiction #fanfiction #steve rogers #justkendingwritingchallenge

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lesetoilesfous · 4 years ago

Note

for the dadwc, fenders + 48 from the dialogue prompts? 🥺👉👈❤️

Ah what a brilliant prompt, thank you!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Anders/Fenris

Characters: Anders, Fenris

Tags: da2 adjacent, pre-relationship, boys figuring out their feelings, idiots in love, brief reference to implied sexual assault

Rating: Mature

“You know, considering the fact that we’re in all likelihood buried alive and doomed to die beneath several thousands tonnes of blighted stone, you might as well tell me why you refuse to do anything but look down at your nose at me.” Anders is trying very hard not to panic. It’s been a week since Bartrand had trapped he, Hawke, Varric and the moody elf in front of him in the Deep Roads. It’s been about three hours since he and Fenris had been separated from Varric and Marian by a rock wraith. The spell wisp above his head is blind and bright as a firefly, but it’s not doing to much to chase away the heavier shadows from the stone corridors, or the incontrovertible knowledge of the mountain that sits above his head.

Anders almost thinks he’d take the itching whisper of darkspawn in his head over the rising, clawing panic of his own idiotic claustrophobia. Almost.

One way or another, he’s in need of a distraction. The elf in question, appropriately enough, glares down his nose at him: a feat which Anders thinks is especially impressive given that Fenris is about a foot shorter than he is. Around them, the air is dusty and still and unnaturally warm.

“For what purpose are you asking, mage?”

Their footsteps echo as they walk, glancing off the sharp cut edges of the finely carved stone halls around them. Anders shrugs, sweating palm tightening around the rough wood of his staff. “World peace?”

Fenris huffs, glancing in both directions at an intersection before promptly going left. Anders thinks it says something about the weight of panic pressing against his chest that he doesn’t even bother to argue. Fenris doesn’t look at him when he replies. “So this is more of your inanity, then.”

“Are you sure that Trade isn’t your first language?” Anders asks, only half joking, as he hurries after him. Fenris is distracted when he answers him, and it’s difficult to tell in the darkness of the tunnels, but for a moment Anders almost thinks he’s blushing.

“Considering that I remember nothing of my life before my entry into Danarius’ service, no.” From far off, there’s a trilling shriek of the kind that populates every sane person’s nightmares. Both Fenris and Anders still, for a moment, listening. There’s the skittering sound of a dozen feet, or claws, or tails, shivering against the stone. Slowly, the echo fades.

In silent agreement, both Fenris and Anders turn in the opposite direction to the creature. As they walk, Anders tries to get a good look at Fenris’ expression. The lyrium on his body is glowing dully, though whether the phenomenon is deliberate on Fenris’ part or simply a natural luminescence in the dark, Anders isn’t sure. For a moment, silence falls heavily down over their heads, almost drowning out the muffled shuffle of their footsteps.

(There are footsteps in the corridor. And that’s good. It’s good, because it’ll hurt, and he’ll scream, but at least that’ll break the blighted quiet.)

“Seriously though,” Anders says, loudly, and ignores Fenris’ glare at what he is sure the elf would like to tell him is a volume that’s practically begging the creatures of the Deep Roads to eat them alive, “Why do you hate me so much?”

Fenris snorts, swinging his greatsword from his back with breathtaking ease and poking at a thick veil of web hanging from the ceiling above them. “You mean apart from the obvious?”

Anders frowns, following Fenris carefully, eyes scanning the ceiling carefully for errant giant spiders. The things could move far more quietly than what Anders considered sporting. He feels magic thrumming through his veins in response to his rising anxiety, and the gentle, cool presence of Justice at the back of his head, keeping him steady.

“It’s not just that I’m a mage. You don’t look at Merrill the way you look at me.”

Fenris does not turn around. In the dark, his hair is white as snow and almost bright against the shadows. Seemingly without thinking, he lifts veil of web for Anders. Anders ducks almost double to pass under it. “Merrill is not human.” Fenris points out, mildly.

Anders rolls his eyes. “Bethany, then.”

He barely has the soft sound of skittering feet on stone to warn him before the spider is upon him. Fenris dispatches it easily in one great sweeping arc of his sword. The creature’s body falls in two heavy thumps with a hiss on either side of Anders’ torso as Fenris sheaths his sword. Anders stares, magic still clinging uselessly to his fingers. Fenris smirks at him, and turns away, walking further down the tunnel. “I told you before. She is strong. You are not.”

Anders scowls as real anger rises in him in a bright flush of heat that almost washes away the shivering nerves of his anxiety. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

As if on cue, another spider drips down from the high ceiling above Fenris’ head. Anders’ doesn’t think. He freezes the thing solid, and follows up with a heavy crack against its bulbous body, electricity shivering from his staff as he does so, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Fenris steps back, shaking chunks of spider out of his hair. Breathless, Anders stares at him in the thick white cloud of dispersing mist, shot through with jumping arcs of electricity.

“Tell me the truth.”

An expression crosses Fenris’ face then, and it’s one that Anders isn’t sure he’s ever seen before. It’s certainly one that’s never been meant for him. At the back of his mind, Anders feels Justice rising, drawn to the look of hopelessness on Fenris’ features, driven by the desire to comfort, and fight, and make amends. After a long moment, Fenris shrugs, and the mist disappears into the stone around them. “You make me want things that I cannot have.”

Fenris’ voice is a rough, low whisper. Then he turns and walks quickly away. For a moment, Anders’ finds himself rooted to the spot, unable to move. When at last he unglues himself from the stone, Fenris has reached the next intersection, and Anders has to jog to catch up with him. Without thinking, Anders reaches out and takes Fenris’ arm.

Fenris bristles immediately, and Anders lets go, but he doesn’t back away. “What do you mean? What things?”

Fenris’ brow pull up in his forehead, rumpling the skin around his lyrium tattoos. “You know. You must know.”

For longer than he can measure, all that Anders can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears, and the heavy, rapid pounding of his heart in his chest. Then he’s leaning down and clutching at the straps of Fenris’ armour, pulling him close as he bends down, bringing their lips together. Just before they touch, Anders pauses, nearly sick with the force of his heartbeat against his ribcage. “Tell me you want this.”

Fenris’ response as to reach up and catch Anders’ head in his hands, gauntlets catching sharply in his hair as he pulls him down for a kiss.

All of Anders’ breath leaves him in one great, dizzy rush as his nose fills with the stinging scent of lyrium, and the rich spice of leather, and the salt tang of sweat. Fenris is warm against him, and his lips are soft, and Anders can barely think past the wet, slick heat of him.

“FENRIS! ANDERS!” Marian’s voice is distant, and echoes dizzily around the tunnels. Anders frowns, but doesn’t move. Fenris does, pulling back and away. A string of saliva catches between their lips, and Fenris’ hand falls from Anders’ head, breaking it as he wipes his own mouth clean, leaning back and away with an unreadable expression.

“Do you see, mage?”

Then he turns, and hurries down the tunnel in the direction of Marian’s voice. “HAWKE! We’re here!”

It’s only later, when they’ve regrouped with Varric and Marian, and she’s fussed over both he and Fenris to her heart’s content, that Anders realises it.

Just for a moment, in Fenris’ arms, breathing the warmth of him into his lungs, Anders forgot to be afraid of the dark.

#dadwc #curseheap #fenders #fenris #anders #da2 #my fic

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eddiesasspbrak · 5 years ago

Text

“I read your diary.”

Prompt inspired by one line of dialogue.

Read on AO3

Eddie reads a diary he believes to be Richie's and is pretty sure he just admitted to being in love with him.

3k+ words. Oneshot

That day at lunch, when Richie had announced that his parents would be out that evening, it was decided they would have a little Losers get together at his house. At least once a week they gathered at one of their houses for a game night or to view a movie or TV show they all wanted to watch. All seven of them squished on a couch, under blankets and just enjoying being with one another. Not having any parents around to yell at them when they got too loud was always a bonus.

Upon entering the Tozier home, they kicked off their shoes before going up to Richie’s room to peruse his collection of movies, ditching their backpacks by his bed. The only downside to being at Richie’s, for Stan and Eddie at least, was that most of his movies were of the horror genre and neither particularly liked them. There was a good chance Eddie would end up staying over at Richie’s so that his mom didn’t find out he’d watched something scary in case he woke up with nightmares.

Eddie sat on Richie’s bed while the rest looked, knowing that nothing he said about their choice of movie really mattered. Either way he’d be traumatized for the next week. He looked at the movie posters on his walls and the scattering of polaroids of the seven of them he’d taped up haphazardly. They’d spent so many years together and with their senior year coming to an end, Eddie couldn’t help the feelings of anxiety that gripped him whenever he thought about going their separate ways. Stan had asked once if they’d still be friends when they were older, and Eddie thought about that a lot now. He hoped so. He didn’t want to lose any of them, but they couldn’t be sure what would happen until they lived it.

“Eds, we picked a movie, let’s go.” Richie said with a grin that made Eddie fall in love all over again.

He looked to the door to see all of his friends were already leaving the room. When he stood to follow, he bumped their bags and knocked a few of them over, spilling the contents. He cursed under his breath and knelt down to pick up the things that had spilled while also mentally berating his friends for leaving their bags unzipped. Stuffing a textbook back into Bill’s bag, he went to stand only to stop when something under Richie’s bed caught his eye. Amongst the clutter that littered the floor beneath his bed was a blue notebook with a sticker of the hear, speak and see no evil monkeys on it.

Eddie glanced at the door to see he was alone, his friend’s voices carrying up the stairs. Reaching for the notebook, he felt like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Sure, it crossed his mind that it could have just fallen from one of their backpacks when they fell, but it was far under the bed, partially covered by a sweatshirt. Given the number of things under his bed, there was a chance it had just been dropped and forgotten. Still, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking that it had been hidden there on purpose. Listening carefully for any of his friends coming back up the stairs, he cracked the notebook open and read at the very top “Dear diary”.

He let the cover fall from his fingers and close. There was no denying it then. Richie kept a diary, and this was it. Eddie knew he shouldn’t read it, but he was so, so curious. Richie was the last person he expected to keep a diary and he had to know what kind of things he wrote about. He’d honestly been expecting it to be filled with jokes he’d thought up.

Maybe it was because Eddie had been secretly in love with Richie for years, or maybe it was just curiosity getting the better of him, but he opened the notebook to the last entry and began to read.

“Dear diary, I’m in love with my best friend.”

Eddie inhaled sharply and read that first line over and over again. Who did Richie consider his best friend? Sure, Eddie wanted to say it was him, but there were six of them to choose from. He could mean any one of the Losers. He had to know, so he kept going.

“He was cute again today.” That ruled out Beverly.

“Everything about him is cute. He’s shorter than me, not by a lot, but enough to be adorable.” Richie and Bill were the tallest of the group, with Bill standing an inch taller, so that ruled him out too.

“At lunch there was a spider on the table, and he freaked out. It was so cute I couldn’t stop looking at him.” Eddie, Stan and Ben had all three been afraid of the spider, and Mike had been the one to kill it. So, not Mike either.

“His locker is by mine and I just stand there and stare at him when he gets his books. I don’t think he’s noticed.” Stan’s locker was in a separate hallway, down by Bill’s. Both Eddie and Ben had lockers near Richie’s.

“His locker is so organized and clean and precise, not at all like mine. I’m probably too messy for him.” Ben’s locker wasn’t a mess, but it was usually cluttered, and he often dropped things while trying to pull out books. Eddie’s on the other hand…

Eddie closed the notebook, unable to read anymore. He’d read enough to confirm that it was him that Richie was writing about. Richie was in love with him and Eddie didn’t know how to proceed. Did he tell him that he knew? Did he confess his own feelings and hope that he wouldn’t deny that he loved him too? Not in a million years did Eddie expect this. Richie was always talking about the girls in their classes that he liked and making vulgar jokes about them. Maybe he liked boys and girls. Or girls and Eddie.

“Eds! Are you coming?” Richie’s voice came from the stairs, causing Eddie to jump and throw the book back under his bed.

“Yea…I’m coming!” He shouted back.

Eddie stood and placed his hand to his chest, trying to calm himself down. He had to go downstairs, squish on the couch next to Richie and pretend like he didn’t know they were both in love with each other. Easy, right?

Occasionally Eddie was brave, but when it came to matters of the heart, he was a coward. He’d chosen not to stay at Richie’s that night, too afraid to have that conversation with him about what he’d read. Too scared to admit that he’d read what he wasn’t meant to. Instead, he let it torture him over the weekend, the words playing in his mind repeatedly. Every dream he had was about Richie, he invaded his every thought, causing his stomach to churn with a mix of butterflies and anxiety.

When Monday came and he could no longer avoid facing him, he thought he might actually become sick. He’d met his friends like he did every morning. He was the last one to pull up the bike rack, locking his bike up and avoiding eye contact. His first two classes of the morning he was alone, but by third hour he was with Richie again, sitting side by side and pretending like he wasn’t on edge. Apparently, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it as Richie noticed and stopped him after class when he tried to speed off.

“Eds, what’s going on with you?” He asked, pulling him to the side of the hallway by some lockers.

“Nothing.” Eddie answered too quickly.

“You’ve barely spoken all day and won’t look at me. Did I do something?”

The look on Richie’s face was worried and it made Eddie feel bad for making him make that face. He didn’t like a sad Richie. He liked when he was smiling and cracking lame jokes that made him laugh. It was his fault he was looking like that and he couldn’t keep it in any longer. Had to let him know what he’d seen and admit that he’d done something wrong. Betrayed his trust. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset when he told him he felt the same.

“I…read your diary.” Eddie lowered his voice, leaning in a bit so only Richie could hear.

“You did what now?” Richie cracked a confused smile as his eyebrows knit together.

“I’m sorry. I know it was wrong. I found it in your room and I only read one page, but it was where you were talking about your crush. Richie…I know…”

“You know what?” Richie was full on grinning now and it made Eddie nervous for some reason.

“I know who you like!” He said in a harsh whisper, darting his eyes around the hall to see if anyone was listening.

“How could you, Eds? That’s such an invasion of privacy.”

“I know. I’m really sorry, but I think we need to talk about what I read…”

“What did you read?”

“That you like m-.”

“Richie!” Eddie’s words were drowned out by Bill, who was rushing toward them.

“What’s up, Billy?” Richie asked, his eyes lingering on Eddie’s red face a moment longer before turning to their friend.

“I think I left s-something at your house last week. Can I come by after school to look for it?”

“Yea. What did you lose?”

“It’s my…um…noteb-book.” Bill said, his face flushing slightly.

“What’s it look like?”

“B-b-blue, with a monkey sticker on the f-front.”

Eddie felt like time slowed down around him as he came to a very abrupt realization. It was Bill’s dairy he’d read. He was talking about Stan. Stan was shorter than him, Stan had freaked out about the spider, Stan’s locker was by his, Stan was just as organized as Eddie was, if not more. He felt his cheeks heat up and felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Just a minute ago, he’d been about to confess his feelings because he thought Richie felt the same. Now he felt sick and so, so stupid. God, he was so stupid! Of course, Richie didn’t keep a diary. He didn’t love Eddie.

“You ok, E-Eddie?” Bill asked.

When he focused on them again, they were both staring at him. His eyes met Richie’s and his fight or flight instinct kicked in. He chose the latter. Turning on his heel, he took off down the hall. He heard both boys yelling after him, but their voices only pushed him to run faster. He pushed through the doors that lead out to the fields where he made a beeline for one of the dugouts. They were well hidden and wouldn’t be in use this time of day. Sometimes other students made out there or smoked there, but usually not so early in the morning. He sat on one of the benches, dropping his bag by his feet, and put his head in his hands.

If Bill had interrupted them even a second later, Eddie would be in a much worse spot. At least this way he didn’t have to deal with rejection and messing up their friendship. He’d think of an excuse for why he’d ran away, think of what he was going to say to make up for the misunderstanding. For now, he was going to wallow and deal with his self-loathing in peace. Part of him wondered if he should call his mom, tell her he wasn’t feeling well so he could go hide out at home for the rest of the day. As it was, she was probably going to get a call that he had missed his fourth class of the day. He didn’t really care about that at the moment though. Her lecture would be a welcome distraction from the noise in his head.

Eddie heard the footsteps approaching and tried to make himself small so he wouldn’t be seen. There was a chance it was someone looking to use the dugout for some debauchery, but they could use the other one. This one was occupied, and he wasn’t leaving. It could also have been a teacher doing a scan for students breaking rules because of course they new what they were used for. What Eddie hadn’t been expecting was for the person to jump down and sit beside him on the bench.

He tilted his head to the side and looked up to see Richie sitting there, leaning back slightly on his hands and looking up and out at the sky. Eddie’s stomach sank as he kicked himself for not just going home where Richie wouldn’t be able to find him so easily. He dropped his hands from his face but stayed hunched over, his elbows on his knees.

“You ok?” Richie asked, still not looking at him.

Eddie nodded. It didn’t matter that it was a lie. He didn’t want to talk about what was going on in his head. Especially not with Richie.

“What happened back there?”

“Nothing. I made a mistake. Sorry.” Eddie pushed up off the bench and stood, but before he could walk away, Richie grabbed him by his wrist.

“You said you read my diary.”

“Yea. It was Bill’s. I know that now. Like I said, I made a mistake.”

“So, you aren’t upset anymore?”

“I wasn’t upset in the first place.”

“You can’t lie to me, Eds. You looked like you were about to cry. So, who did you think I liked that was so terrible and isn’t now that it’s Bill who has a crush?”

“I can’t tell you that. It would be betraying Bill.”

Richie huffed out a laugh and tugged lightly on Eddie’s wrist, willing him to sit back down. Eddie complied but kept a distance between them, gently twisting his wrist out of his grip. They were quiet for a moment and Eddie wondered why he wanted him to stay if he wasn’t going to speak. He still wanted to be alone, to be very far away from Richie. He could practically feel the heat radiating off the other boy and he was too hyper aware of every small move he made next to him.

“It’s Stan, right?” Richie finally said, startling Eddie out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Bill’s crush. It’s on Stan.”

“Yea.” Eddie said, because obviously they all knew.

“So, you thought I liked Stan?” Richie grinned.

“Yea.”

“And it’s a bad thing if I do?”

Eddie’s throat went dry and he thought about bolting again. He didn’t want to hear Richie say he had a crush on anyone else. Especially not another boy, especially not their friend. It would kill him, and he definitely could not handle it.

“No…” His voice came out in the whisper.

“Well, I don’t.”

Eddie closed his eyes and let out a silent breath of relief, thanking whoever was listening.

“Eddie.” There was something in Richie’s voice that made all the hairs on Eddie’s arms stand on end. A softness when he said his name that was so laced with caring it made him want to cry. How could he not love this stupid mother fucker?

“Eddie. Look at me.” He said when he got no response.

“We have to get to class.” Eddie said, ignoring him and reaching for his bag.

“I love you.” Richie said as Eddie stood again, stopping him in his tracks.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Seconds turned to minutes, Eddie standing with his back to Richie, not responding to his confession. He screamed at himself inside his head, tried to will himself to move, to say anything instead of leaving Richie to sit there agonizing over what Eddie might be thinking. It wasn’t until he heard Richie move to stand up, that he finally snapped out of it and turned to face him. The frown on Richie’s face was enough to knock the wind from his lungs and make his heart hurt for him.

“Richie…” Eddie managed to say.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Richie said. “Just forget it.”

“No. No, I can’t. Richie…” The tears began to fall before Eddie could stop them. It was too overwhelming, too many thoughts racing through his head all at once. “Richie, I love you.”

His hands gripped the front of Richie’s shirt, his knuckles turning white against the fabric. Richie’s raised his hands to softly hold Eddie’s face between them. His expression was unreadable as his eyes searched Eddie’s face.

“You know I don’t mean as a friend, right?” Richie asked.

Eddie nodded, afraid to try to speak as the tears wouldn’t stop. He loved him so much. So much that it hurt sometimes. He was all he wanted, all he thought about. Knowing he felt the same was too much. Richie’s thumbs swiped at the tears that trailed down his cheeks as he continued to stare at him for a long moment. It made Eddie nervous but the look in Richie’s eyes was enough to push those feelings away. A look like he was gazing upon something so precious.

Richie leaned down and kissed him on his forehead before pressing his own against it. Letting his eyes drift close, Eddie let himself enjoy the moment of closeness with the person he loved. Let himself get lost in the feel of his hands on his face, the way he could feel his chest rise and fall beneath his hands as their breath mixed together between them. This, Eddie thought, was a little taste of what heaven must be like.

“You really love me?” Richie asked.

“Yes.” Eddie said without hesitation. “Only you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Eddie nodded and a second later, their lips were pressed together causing his breath to catch. He released Richie’s shirt with one hand and trailed it up to rest against his neck. Richie brushed his fingers against Eddie’s cheek as he let go to grab Eddie’s other hand with his, lacing their fingers together. In this moment everything was perfect, and they felt indestructible. Together.

#Reddie #Richie Tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak #Ro writes #It #it (2017)#it (2019)

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spacegaywritings · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 1 - Communication of Silence

ao3 link *clicky* masterpost link (contains ALL works - the last entry is CoS!) monthly updates until finished Logan and Virgil work at their university's library at the side of their studies. As Virgil calls Logan late at night, he knows something is wrong and decides to visit him - turn out this was a good decision. He temporarily moves in with Logan. Turns out there were so many things he didn't know about Virgil after all these months of working together. Analogical, minor moceit and ThRo. The warnings are for PAST THINGS and especially warned for in specific chapters! you CAN skip them

It was silent and dark as Logan was about to lock the library and go home. The lights shut and silence engulfing him, giving the place a ghastly yet calming atmosphere, he only realised the call incoming as his the display of his phone started blinking. It illuminated the the library like the our days and he was quick to speed up his steps as he walked back to the counter to gather his things.

Instead of leaving as planned, he took the phone and call, not minding the displayed name. It was probably his boss asking about whether he was done already or maybe write something up, grab a thing before leaving because Logan was trusted with these tasks and this information. As the librarian pressed the phone against his ear as he picked up the bag he had brought with him, the black fabric weighing from his shoulder as he let it rest. But every expectation he held for the other side, everything around him and all his worries and plans suddenly dispersed into nothing but thin air as his attempted to prompt the caller.

All he heard was a choked back sob and his heart twisted painfully, his mind stretching like the universe as his thoughts spread into every direction.

‘’Virgil’’, he answered mindlessly and suddenly his mind was void. Every question and advice died in its beginning before it could even reach his conscience and he felt ready to cry, just hearing his co-worker pretending to not cry. Logan did not know what had happened but he was ready to battle everything and everyone that had caused this massacre of tears that were likely to fall from Virgil’s usually pale cheek. It probably was not pale right now. And honestly, the usual image in his mind of Virgil - curling in laughter, holding his stomach with one arm and hiding his smile and flushing cheeks behind his left hand - was blown away as the other must have received his lame attempt at prompting the conversation.

Virgil seemed dissolve into tears, the realisation of Logan being on the other side of the line gave him a feeling that released his fears and cries. Logan stopped walking. He was not able to focus on his usual way right now and after his hands had automatically locked the library, the nerd just stood before the building and tried it again.

‘’You hate phone calls’’, he stated weakly, his prompting helpless and he looked at his feet. If he knew where Virgil was, he would just come to him.

’’y-yeah’’, the other’s voice came. It sounded too calm and suddenly all tears and sobs were gone. However, Logan was able to detect the breathless gasps the younger student seemed to hide.

Why was he calling him if he could not talk? If he did not want to reveal what was up? All evening, Virgil had not texted him at all. Since they parted after his shift, he had not even heard a word from the other. Not even from social media.

’’Virgil’’, Logan tried again, a frustrated sigh following and he wiped the blank expression back into his face as he tried desperately to remain calm, ‘’can you breathe? Where are you right now?’’

Logan waited, listening intently. He did know that Virgil was prone to messaging him, blinking through tears and trying to breathe when one of his panic attacks overwhelmed him. He never told the science student why they happened or whether this was usual.

It happened to often for it to be a rare occasion. Virgil knew too many coping mechanisms and facts about panic and anxiety attacks to be new or strange to these. And he had only worked with him for about nine months by now.

‘’Hmm’’, the tiny male said on the other side and Logan could hear a sudden crashing sound in the back and a sudden, distorted yelp from directly next to the speaker. ‘’home’’, he tried again, voice sounding as if it was cowering to Logan’s feet and about to beg for help and protection.

It was everything he needed to hear. His body mechanically pushed into motion by the subtle call for something apparently only Logan could provide. Questions whirled in his mind as he speed walked around the corner and started walking to the street he knew gave home to his fragile yet mysterious co-worker.

‘’I am coming, Virgil’’, he mused, his voice sharp and sudden and he could basically hear him flinch as the breathing on the other side suddenly became thin and erratic again and Logan wanted to apologise for his words but there was no back. Not on his way nor on his track of words. ‘’I am coming to get you and you can stay with me. I want to know you safe.’’

There was nothing but a weak sound, akin to a whine coming from the other side of the line. He did not seem powerful enough to put up a fight as usual.

The line did not go dead. Logan stayed all the while and listened to Virgil’s breathing evening out.

Soon enough, he arrived and rung the bell at the door. The lights were on, scarring the night’s protective coat of the night and Logan pocketed his phone instead of hanging up. The half-giant waited patiently for a few moments before he heard steps and a shadow approaching.

To his surprise, not Virgil opened the door but someone else. A male stood before him, older and taller than Virgil but still shorter than Logan.

The man seemed insecure on his legs, the feet a little askew on the floor as if one had decided to go one way while the other had its mind on another direction and they just could not agree on one solution. His brown, neck-long hair was lacking in colour and almost looked like fallen ashes from a long-gone fire, his grey-blue eyes seemed distant and unfocused as he took in Logan’s appearance without a word at first, his empty mind desperately trying to grab a word, make up a sentence and ask why this man, this stranger, suddenly showed up at his doorstep in the middle of the night without a word. Every time he seemed to make sense of the scatter letters in his brain, he let let his grip on them slip again and all the effort was for nothing. His clothing was baggy and dirty and it reeked of alcohol. Behind him, a scene of chaos and dirt could be seen

‘’I am looking for Virgil’’, he stated, feeling oddly out of place. His voice was blunt and direct as much as his words but the underline seemed like the aftertaste of unpleasant medicine and a tone of ice could be felt. It was not the winter’s temperature that gave the man before him a sense that messing with the stranger who filled the entire door frame with his height was more than a lost cause and wasted try.

Logan was so properly dressed, so neat and tidy and not even a single strand of his hair seemed to be out of control, out of a special frame despite his fast-paced steps that had brought him here through the night. He was too good for this neighbourhood, for these houses that were more ruins and the street lights that have given up on life too long ago. This place honestly looked as if it had seen war and the buildings and street suffered from too much depression to try or really give any fuck of what was going on.

The man before Logan was just a sad representation of this place. But a thought tugged at him and it made his heart ache.

Virgil did not belong here. Virgil, bright and shy student Virgil with his dark humour and slow affection did not belong into a place that had given itself up, that had declared its own death as it lost hope in its own potential.

Virgil had potential and Logan would be damned if he did not try to help him and make his dreams come true,

The man before Logan - probably Virgil’s roommate? Maybe his father? He did not know - shrugged and pointed at the corridor behind him.

‘’’Little Virgil is not happy right now’’, he spat out as Logan passed him but the nerd tried to ignore him, tried to not shake and shiver when these words crawled under his skin and rubbed into him. ‘’Virgil was bad and he will be bad to you, too.’’

Stay calm, he told himself, Virgil needs you, needs you there for him and not make a fuss and break up a fight.

As he stepped further into the house, which was just remotely warmer than the icy air outside, he started noticing the foul smell everywhere, the mold creeping up the walls and turning the white walls into a piss yellow that faded into a brownish shade around the edges and corners. Dirt and trash cluttered the floor and there were glass shreds and red droplets. Pieces of wood could be seen there and they gave him the impression as if they used to belong to each other and Logan pieced the mental image of a dark brown old chair together that had given in under too much force.

Soon enough, but not fast enough for Logan’s taste and less in favour of his stomach and nostrils, he arrived at a door that looked stabbed and mistreated, just as abused as the rest of this house. But this one was Virgil’s door and seeing it wrecked and hurt just let him assume the pain it laying behind it, the misery it was shielding his sight and body from.

‘’Virgil, I am here’’, he whispered softly as he picked his phone up with one hand and knocked with the other, ‘’please let me in.’’

Hastily, before his mind could really grasp it, he added a more silent yes very much audible ‘’I am alone’’ and it turned out to be the ‘’open sesame’’ for the wooden shield that kept him separated from Virgil.

A few moments later, he heard a click to his ear and the call ended. His display shut itself after blinking the notification into his eyes with a purple light. He had purple lights assigned to messages from Virgil. Right after, the door’s lock made a heavy shoving sound, a dull and brazen sound that resonated in his chest before the wood creaked open and a slender hand pulled him into the unknown.

Logan was faster out of the corridor and in Virgil’s room than he had anticipated and now he was standing in a dark room, merely illuminated by the agonizingly white screen of a laptop that seemed to be next to ... a bed?

Logan could not tell but his dark blue eyes tried their best to adjust to the darkness around them and find some sort of orientation in this strange setting.

‘’Lo’’, the hand holding onto his arm seemed to whisper and he directed his attention to the small student before him, looking so small and tiny in the scarce light on the other side of the awfully small room. The bed was a singe sized and would probably fit up to five times into the entire room if every furniture was kept out and the floor was taken up completely.

Logan narrowed his eyes on the black cluster of fabric before him, the oversized hoodie sitting on the thin frame and wearing Virgil rather than being worn by him. The lack of proper light somewhat gave the librarian the impression that there was even more hidden than his co-worker seemed to let on.

But instead of asking, instead of making the other talk and force him into opening up, he simply opened his arms and gently tugged the tiny student closer with a loose grip on shoulder. Virgil flinched a bit at the contact and a soft sob broke from his throat but he easily followed the tug and fell into Logan’s arms with a relief that carried their weight together.

‘’Why are you here?’’

Logan gently rubbed over Virgil’s back, trying to calm him down as he shivered and sobs kept resonating in his body and making him shake and jerk his fragile bones in his co-worker’s arms who loosely held the student close. His voice sounded as if he had smoked a whole packages of cigarettes and strummed down his vocal chords like an instrument.

Logan just wanted this voice to be full of sarcasm and spite again, or even better, just laughing shyly and with a hand in front of his mouth to muffle the sounds of his joy even though it made Logan’s heart warm up as if these nice sounds ignited a fire within his chest to stay over and camp. Actually, Virgil had more than a campfire in his chest but rather a special place, a true palace compared to his actual living conditions.

‘’I am here because you called me, Virgil. I am not letting you stay here, do you understand?’’

His voice rang through the thin student’s frame and he let out a silent whimper before he gave a soft sound of approval before he started crying properly. The statement seemed to have broken any restraints within him that had him try to keep it together and not cry or anything.

However, now he was full on sobbing, his choking tears and desperate gasps like sirens to Logan and he carefully scooped him up and carried him to the bed to really inspect him and make it more comfortable for his tired feet and Virgil who must be more than exhausted after all the panic and crying he seemed to be through. After all, Logan had not been holding him in his arms but also up on his feet as he had embraced the shivering form of his friend.

A few steps and a few careful movements later and Logan stood before the bed, about to set the other down when Virgil seemed to realise what was happening and started moving in a sudden jerk backwards, his head snapping from Logan’s shoulder into a further distance and the two looked at each other as Virgil frantically tugged and pushed at Logan. The latter had no idea what was happening but the punk with the purple hair squirmed further until Logan carefully let him down again, putting him gently down onto his feet again and holding onto his sides as he tried to stabilise him. The librarian was not sure whether the other was able to stand without him after all, so he just wanted to make sure.

Virgil stood on his legs, seeming like a thin single stick poking out from the ground and bending in the slight breeze of the world. He carefully walked to the side and placed his sleeve-covered right over a light switch next to his bed and the hooded figure ducked away a bit, hiding from the light as the painful orange shine hurt his unprepared, honey coloured orbs.

Logan averted his gaze from Virgil to the bed to understand what was wrong and the sight made his heart quench painfully. Shreds of glass were scattered over the black sheets of the bed and tweezers laid by the glossy cherry that tainted the transparent edges and shreds of tiny pieces.

The elder turned back to the student and carefully cornered him as the other took as step back with every inch Logan approached him. It felt as if the shreds on the sheets might as well pierce into Logan’s heart as he saw his trusted and beloved friend squeeze himself into the corner of his wall and bed until the barriers of matter did not allow his legs to escape any further.

’’n-nu’’, he whined and Logan stopped, his mouth slightly agape. His blue eyes teared up and his gut twisted painfully as Virgil pleaded, begged him with his words and movements to not come any closer. To not hurt him further.

He was scared of Logan being angry at him, of him letting his anger out on him.

Of course, the science student would never do such thing but Virgil, in his panicked stance, did not seem to understand this. He was less than convinced.

Logan would just prove him wrong. If logic did not help, then empirical evidence would show him right.

The librarian shook his head and offered him a joyless, shallow smile as he pushed the corners of his mouth into an empty smile and his eyes seemed just as apprehensive as Virgil as he started crouching, never breaking the precious eye contact that seemed to bring the honey-eyed storm of emotions calm into a stillness of wind.

The stormcloud glanced at Logan and seemed less pressed into the wall as the giant lowered his height as he knelt down, one knee on the floor and the other following suit before he reached out with his hands to tug at Virgil’s sleeves.

‘’I want to make sure, Virgil. Is that okay? Please just nod or shake your hand. You do not have to talk if you cannot or do not want to’’, he asked softly and his voice lured Virgil into believing him and the light yellow of his eyes seemed to glow in a darker brownish, golden gleam as he nodded, allowing Logan to push his sleeves carefully up to his elbows.

The fresh cuts, deep and others shallow, along with some scars of several shades from fresh red to faint pink were revealed as he was left without the usual protection of his black and purple patched up hoodie.

‘’Virgil, this needs to be treated’’, he said sternly and carefully looked back at the bed. Tweezers, shreds. At least all cuts seemed to be void of the shreds that had caused the breaks in the skin’s tissues in the first place. His eyes roamed over the black sheet and soon found what he had suspected: sanitising solution and cotton pads. Something within him calmed as he realised he could probably treat his friend right here and there without problems and the day after still drag him to a doctor to make sure nothing would happen. Another part of him realised that this had not been the first time Virgil was hurt like that and had to patch himself up.

It also explained the constant appearance of Virgil in his hoodie and the need to be covered at all times. Logan was scared of imagining what other kind of injuries the other must have suffered from and for a moment, a seething flame of rage bubbled up within him as he realised that someone or even multiple people had to be the cause of this.

For how long? And why did Virgil never reach out for help?

Logan carefully pushed the student down onto the floor into a sitting position and grabbed the sanitising solution, tweezers and pats.

It was time to patch up his friend.

It took long, painfully long but Logan wanted to make sure nothing would get infected. But every time the cotton pads touched Virgil’s skin, the other would let out a weak moan or even flinch back even though he seemed to try his hardest to not move to much, Logan understood that the second burn of cleaning the mess of his pain just hurt even more and stretched the traumatising experience even further.

The nerd resorted to talking a bit as he wanted to keep Virgil’s focused on something other than the pain. He just wanted the young student to look less as if he was a big bad wolf about to devour him, the defenseless victim of the story. But it was less the case. Logan was more of the friendly giant who turned out to be more approachable than expected.

Actually, that was pretty much who he was. To Virgil, at least. Every other person saw him as nonchalant being or huge threat when they got on his bad side but this was not his calling right now.

All that mattered was getting the wounds clean and Virgil out of this mess and as the librarian started talking about the usual topics such as work and their friends Patton and Roman, the punk seemed to ease up just enough to sometimes mumble an answer or whisper a few comments.

It meant the world to Logan. It felt as if he was operating on a dying bird and every minute of life was a precious gift from the universe to him as a single person and he could not have been more grateful than in the moments Virgil trusted Logan enough to let him in, to touch and bandage his wounds and even talk back to him.

He would have early shift in the morning and it was only a few hours until then but he and Virgil were set on packing his things and leaving for good.

This night, Logan did not ask about how and why Virgil was in this situation. He did not press him into saying anything he did not seem ready to but he did patch up his wounds, cleared his bed and dried his tears before cuddling up with him and tucking him in.

Virgil was situated in Logan’s lap as the other trained his eyes on the paper before him and started reading the only book he had with him and the tiny room suddenly seemed to be in another world and instead of being caught up in blood, scars and unanswered misery, the two dove into the world of unraveling mysteries with the impressive deduction by Sherlock Holmes.

The arrogant character, albeit fictitious, made Logan smirk and erupted some small chuckles from the fragile frame of Virgil. He was not helpless anymore. He did not feel wrecked down by panic and choked on the pain of his hot and salty tears.

For the first time in forever, the punk curled up against someone’s warmth in this hellhole of a trap and he let go and did not cry himself to sleep but drifted off with a faint smile on his pink lips and a couple of slender fingers stroking over his hair as a melodic voice lulled him into Morpheus’ arms.

Soon, this would all be over. Forever. And the new start would be with his best friend who held him close to his heavily beating heart and the comforting heat of acceptance.

#Logan #ts logan #logan sanders #fanf #fanfiction #fanfic #fanficion #fanfic fluff #hurt and comfort #virgil sanders #vrigil sanders #joey writes

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supersoldiersruined-me · 5 years ago

Text

Caelus

A/N: This is my entry (super late yet again) for @ruckystarnes Summer of AUs challenge! And for a lack of inspiration, the titlte is space in latin! loll I had an inital idea when I signed up but this honestly took me so long to grasp and then it just poured out! So here it is, thank you for being so patient love! 💖 Beta: babyboo @eyesfixedonthesun22 Warnings: language, smut, gay sex, mention of blood Word count: 5714 Prompt: Space AU, Stucky

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“Steve, you jackass! Come back!” There’s no point in yelling twice. Bucky knows. But his best friend is storming towards the recruiting line-up with a mighty will. When they had denied him to join the army, Steve jumped on every last occasion to prove himself.

Not two weeks ago, Stark Industries announced a new advanced project that would allow a select group of candidates to participate in a space camp tryout. They’d be secluded into experimental ships, given some basic training and then experts would monitor their behavior, their reactions to simulated situations. If they made it out alive - and sane - a month later, they’d be taken to Stark’s secret facility and given proper training and instructions. Every boy in New York reached out like little kids given the gift of their lives.

So Bucky is standing there in the busy streets of Brooklyn, arms up in disbelief. The sick boy was going to go against the odds once more. He was a foot shorter than the men around him. Arms frail, and thrown into an asthma attack once he reached the building. Security threatened to keep him out - much to his safety - but Steven Grant Rogers does not back down because of some disability.

“I swear to God,” Bucky mumbles under his breath as he begins to make his way towards the atroupment of testosterone.

“There’s no reason for me to be doing less than these men!” Comes as a shout out of Steve’s mouth. He’s red and Bucky isn’t sure if it’s the rage or yet another one of his problems surfacing.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s go home,” he tries to reason with him.

“No Buck! Don’t you get it?” Steve turns back to the guard. “I’ll fucking die anyway! Might as well it be doing something important…” His face winces at the thought; he’d never mentioned his illness as something so weighing, so dark.

“Steve…” He brings his hand to his best pal’s shoulder as he tries to comfort him. “Your value isn’t measured with what you can do for the world. You take care of me and that’s plenty.” Steve sighs and accepts defeat.

“Fine,” he looks into Bucky’s eyes, tears of anger filling his own, “I guess we can go.”

They turn towards the street and start walking home. As he looks over his shoulder at the line of people still hoping to get a shot, he sees a strange man scribbling down a notepad, looking at the two of them leave with a smile. Round glasses frame his face, he hasn’t shaved in a week. From his outfit and his demeanor Bucky knows he’s German. He shrugs it off and turns his attention back to his friend, throwing his arm around his neck.

It’s a week later when a knock at the door startles the boys out of their sleep. It must be around three in the morning, as far as Steve can tell. He turns on the lamp on his nightstand and looks over at Bucky in annoyance.

“Jerks,” he whispers as he recalls the nights of torment the kids from the neighbourhood had him endure - it was the reason Bucky had moved in with him.

“Let me take care of it,” the dark haired man replies.

“Bucky, stop. I can take care of myself.”

“See, the thing is, you don’t have to.” He shakes his shoulder before walking over to the door. There’s a paper taped to it, bright and clear texts surround a pointy, metal ship image. There’s the Stark logo on it, and it makes him shiver in excitement.

“Steve…” He trails. “Get your ass over here.”

He hands him the poster and gives him a minute to read. It begins to tremble in his hands when he reaches the last sentence: “We are glad to announce that you have been selected to participate in an experimental camp supervised by the Stark Industries.”

There’s a place and time for them to be the next day, and they spend the rest of the night getting their luggage ready, along with making up stories and tripping out over the opportunity.

The rustic walls of brick have transformed into sterile steel. The floors are made of a plastic-like material - something easy to clean, Steve notices. It would be impossible to reach the ceiling and he’s wondering how they even managed to build this facility anyway. It’s highly distinct from the level of ingenuity of the current construction standards. The white building stands out absurdly in its secluded forest location.

Robots roam around, tacking and bolting steel plates to one another. Prototypes of deadly weapons are hung on the walls as they walk behind a seductive lady to what they presume is the reception. Their stuff, along with themselves, go through metal detectors - something they had only heard of until now - before making their way to a large office.

“Good evening, boy.” There’s a thick accent to the greeting, one that both can easily distinguish. “I hope we haven’t given you too much trouble.”

“Not at all, um...” Bucky begins, words failing him as he’s still processing the amount of discoveries they are about to do. He sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping.

“I’m Dr. Erskine. Responsible of the Biological Enhancement department here at Stark Industries. This here is Lady Carter, she’ll be assisting you on your journey.” The voluptuous woman nods their way and it has them both swallowing hard. She has a confidence they had never witnessed, and it has them nearly humiliating themselves.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve manages to say as he struggles to gain composure. He hopes she doesn’t notice him drying his palms on the back of his pants.

“Likewise,” she says. Her British accent runs a shiver up Bucky’s spine.

“Now, we wouldn’t want to keep you up too late. If you please follow Miss Carter to your assigned pod. We’ll go through the logistics in the morning.” The German man hands them a pair of overalls; nothing flattering, Bucky thinks.

It takes only three weeks for the boys to be fully independent, allowing them to be part of the first team to launch the program. Their uniforms along with their tools and weapons get a significant upgrade. They’re already anticipating the look of their new quarters.

“Can’t believe we’re doing this,” Steve mentions.

“Really? After twenty-something attempts I would highly believe that you’d be given a chance,” Bucky answers with a hint of sarcasm. They both laugh until a voice requests them to be at the main quarter in the next ten minutes.

The spaceship is a hundred feet tall or so, its body is quite narrow and it feels pretty sturdy. They gulp nonetheless, this would be for real and they couldn’t just drop out with a snap of their fingers. The team of eight wait by the cabin door, ably putting on their masks and equipment.

“This is it!” Bucky shouts.

“We’ve been working so hard for this. Maybe a few years after this we’ll be able to finally see what Earth looks like from up there.” Doug, who’d been the fittest one of them until he took Bucky under his wing and made him an even bigger beast, contemplates the unimaginable.

“Remember when just last year they presented the concept of flying cars and it failed. Seems like they were either lying to us or they made phenomenal progress since then…” Bucky remembers his astonishment after the Stark Expo; he was always a fan of progress and technology used for the good of the population. This journey would be an experiment of a life-time.

“Alright everyone settle in.” The German accent demands over the intercom. The small group walks into the ship and find their respective seats. With his wit and quick thinking, Steve was assigned board commander. Bucky was in charge of the combat tactics. It felt like, for once, their lives had meaning and it was an honour to be going through this together.

“‘Til the end of the line.” Steve captures his friend’s hand in his.

“‘Til the end of the line,” Bucky answers. They feel the ship ‘shake off the ground’, and the team howls in enthusiasm.

Once the orbiting procedures are done, they find their way into their seperate quarters, each sharing rooms in teams of three, except for Bucky and Steve who have the room to just the two of them. They walk to the door as they chit chat. Their smiles fade when the door slides before them and they notice the size of the room.

A large window gives out to a realistic CGI galaxy. The moon roams by slowly and it’s enough to have them holding their breaths, eyes watering at the beauty.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. He turns to see his friend nodding at him, his lower lip bitten as he tries to hold in his emotions. “This wouldn’t have happened without your stubborn little head.”

“You deserve this as much as I do Buck.” They turn around and freeze at the sight of the one king sized bed that sits right in the middle of the room. Around it is a flowy drape they can pull closed - something to keep the sun out as it never sets, they think. At the corner of his eyes, Steve can see Bucky blush. His body shivers, his numerous dreams coming to his mind again.

“Is, um. Is that okay with you?” He asks.

“Yeah. Yeah it’s fine Stevie.” He walks over and sets his bag on a small bench. They begin to set their things in the abundant storage space. Neither of them talk for the next couple of minutes, too shy, perhaps. Too caught in their own fantasies to acknowledge their separate peaks at the one bed as they eyeball the distance that will be left between them.

“I’m exhausted. I’ll hit the showers and be right back.” Bucky is first to say, a foot already out the door.

Steve sheds his clothes, leaving only his briefs on. The sheets are the softest thing he’s ever touched. Everything is plushy and so welcoming. There’s Bucky’s sweatshirt on the left side pillow; he’s tempted to take it and wear it, knowing he’s always cold at night. But he only pulls it close and brings it to his face, feeling the material on his heating cheeks, inhaling the masculinity of his best friend. It’s inevitable he’s growing hard at the thought of being able to smell it directly from his neck. To have his head on his chest.

His free hand reaches under the band of his briefs, tentatively groping himself to try and relieve some tension. He loses himself in it though, and starts moving and twisting his hand faster. He’s staining his underwear but he doesn’t care. He knows Bucky’s hand would feel much better, much more unforgiving. There’s a pinch in his gut at the thought of teaching him all his sweet spots - or worse even, letting him discover them as he becomes a panting mess on this very bed.

“Shit,” he whimpers into the balled up sweater. His hips find a slow rhythm to go along his hand movements. His dick is out of its hiding spot by now; he’s big for his frame and he needs the extra room to pump harder. The door opens but he’s too lost to notice. There’s another muffled moan before he hears someone clear their throat.

“Steve, I-”

“Fuck! I’m sorry.” No no no! he thinks. “Buck I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine Rogers, just... Maybe finish in the bathroom?” He suggests with an uncomfortable smile. He’s scratching his scalp, looking anywhere around the room but the bed. When Steve doesn’t budge, he allows himself to look down. His friend had simply pulled the cover over his head, and he knows Steve is cursing himself for being careless.

“You can keep the hoodie, if you’re cold.” Steve nods no and doesn’t move. “Alright,” he adds before shuffling into his spot. He’s careful to stay along the edge of the bed, enough not to fall off but granting his friend personal space. He closes his eyes and tries to let his mind wander into sleep. It’s no use now that he’s seen his pal touching himself like that. Not that he’d never imagined it - he was much smaller in his mind though. He didn’t sound as heavenly either. Bucky had caught Steve jerking off already, their apartment being quite small for two people, but it was always discreet and he mostly had to spy on him to see anything.

The more he thinks about it, the more each scenario comes out clear. Steve had touched himself whenever they had been close, like when they got back home from the drive-in, or if Bucky walked around shirtless after a rather intense training. Steve had touched himself every time he felt bothered with Bucky’s presence, and fuck if that wasn’t something he’d dreamed about.

He inhales deeply before shifting to face Steve. His hand slowly lifts and comes to rest on his friend’s shoulder, which surprisingly relaxes under his touch rather than tense up.

“Bucky, it’s late. I’m sorry, okay?” It’s a half plead, half demand as the physical effects of his actions still haven’t dissipated. Bucky knows from the speed of his heart when his Stevie is nervous of agitated. Or in this case aroused.

“No. I’m sorry Steve.” Without turning completely, Steve gives him more of his attention. His silence is enough to note his questioning. “I should’ve realised before.”

“Wh-what do you mean, Buck?”

He answers with his body rather than try to explain his thoughts out loud; Bucky could be the clumsiest person when his mind got hazy. His hand moves to Steve’s chest, and in a swift pull he brings him closer. Close enough to kiss along his shoulder, then up his neck, until his nose tickles the base of his scalp.

“Buck,” Steve shivers.

“Let me. Please Stevie,” he says, his breath warm on the poor boy’s frigid body. When he doesn’t feel a protest, he lowers his hand onto his stomach, takes extra time just under his navel before he ventures under the waistband of his briefs. He’s perfectly hard under his touch, it takes a longer stroke than he anticipated before his thumb can reach the soaked tip. Steve hums deep in his throat. Bucky’s hip jerks forward in response. He’s already a mess and he’s only been touching him for a few seconds.

“Yes,” Steve whimpers. It earns him a soft bite to the shoulder; tender action meant to stifle a moan. “Bucky, don’t hold back.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear this,” he answers.

He’s got Steve on his stomach as soon as he’s done answering, a low grunt escapes his lips when he kneels over Steve’s legs, admiring the boy’s slender body. He snakes his hands over his shoulders, over his arms. He feels every inch of his skin as if he’d seen it for the first time. It feels new, strange even, to be able to give his pal what he’d always dreamed of; but it’s the best sentiment he’s ever experienced. From the soft moans he can pull from Steve, Bucky knows he’s enjoying this as well. Once the muscles under his touch have gone slack, he proceeds lower, kissing the trail he makes in the valley of his back. Steve jerks his hips up slightly when Bucky’s thumbs come to rest over his back dimples. He’s longing for what’s next; for the frightening act of intimacy.

“Bucky, you don’t-” He’s cut short in his suggestion by the inevitable. He moans Bucky’s name over and over every time his tongue flattens over his puckered hole. Bucky’s at work like a hungry man who’s just discovered the sweetest fruit. He licks and sucks and pokes intently at the flustered mess of man underneath him; and /he’s/ already done for. He’s rock hard in his own boxers at the way he can get Steve to squirm.

“Ja-james! Ah!” Steve’s got both hands fisting the sheet and his face flat into his pillow. He moves his hips along with the tactful intrusions. There’s a sticky mess already glueing his stomach to the mattress but he doesn’t care. If anything it allows for the lack of friction on his aching dick. “More. Please,” he pants.

He can hear Bucky spit but his rear is already too worn out from the previous actions to feel a thing. There’s a light poke, then a sting as Bucky’s slowly inching two fingers into him.

“So fucking tight, Stevie. God… You’re going to ruin my cock, aren’t ya?” His words send shivers up their bodies.

“All yours Buck,” Steve adds before choking on his words when he feels a third finger joining the others. “Always been yours.” With that said, Steve stretches back as best he can and brings a hand to the brunette’s hair. He plays with the curls, eyes fixed on the icy blues and his stomach tightens when Bucky leans into the touch. He moves his hand to his chin and pulls him up so their eyes are leveled.

“Will you let me take care of you now?” Bucky asks and regrets the way he phrased that.

“I can ta-”

“No, punk.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “It’s not about bullies anymore Stevie. I want you to feel wanted. Desired. It always pissed me off to see how the ladies treated you. They don’t know what they’re missing.” There’s a moment of silence while Steve turns around and sits straighter. His brows furrow but he doesn’t argue.

“Bucky, it’s fine. Those girls didn’t really have anything going for me, anyway.”

“So… Will you?” He’s still not looking at Steve. Afraid that maybe this was all he could allow himself to take. He ruined his chance, he thinks. But then Steve’s thumb comes to his chin and he’s forced to look up. The pretty blond is all smiles; the sweet pink on his cheeks warms Bucky’s heart. Steve dives in and crashes his lips to his friend’s. His boyfriend? Lover? He isn’t sure yet but that doesn’t matter for the night.

“Would that include letting me come before the morning?” There’s a gasp coming from Bucky as the question comes out, but he smiles and nods stupidly at Steve’s confidence. He pounces on him, their lips meeting again in a heated kiss.

“Only if it’s while I’m fucking that prefect little ass,” he taunts.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Steve answers.

The following nights are spent identically. Several years of hidden feelings are finally being rewarded and the boys know exactly how to make up for lost time. Most of their breaks are spent in their room, in the sauna or in the private lounge each team gets to share alternatively. Between trainings and meals, before, during and after showers. It’s an insatiable feeling to be wanted and taken care of, which never came easily to Steve until the very moment Bucky had his face between his hands and seemed to dwell into his eyes. Everything went on so quickly. Too quickly, perhaps, for Bucky soon found himself feeling guilty. Dirty. To be filling his needs with his favourite boy, while he knows he’s building a really fragile castle around them. To be imagining a life of happiness that had no place to be. Amongst the group, none seem to have caught up on their shenanigans. They were safe. Safe in the confines of this ship until the mission was over and they’d have to go back to being best buddies; friends since playground. It’s a thought that has Bucky’s stomach churning. He’d been glued to bed with a pounding headache for two days, and a raging boner he kept denying Steve. This has to stop, he thinks.

The curtains rush open, startling him out of sleep. Through the bright, manipulated daylight he sees Steve’s silhouette standing in front of their window.

“What’s up, Stevie?” His voice barely makes it out of him.

“I could ask you the same,” Steve accuses right away. He can hear Bucky fall back into his pillow and grunt.

“Care to explain…”

“You’re unbelievable.” He paces, his hands on his hips. “What’s so hard for you to accept? I thought you realised that we had been hiding these mutual feelings. I thought you were on my side, Buck. You haven’t touched me, haven’t even looked at me in the eyes for a week…”

The anguish in his voice has Bucky up on his feet in a second - he’s ready to lay down his point of view but Steve retorts faster.

“Look around! We’re in a fucking ship that’s meant to be in space, man.” His finger taps the glass behind him. “Everything around us is astonishing progress.”

“Yeah, simulated,” Bucky says.

“But progress nonetheless. Forget what people think. Gosh I wish this thing could take us to the future. Maybe things would have changed…” Bucky takes a step closer and he’s ready to fold. He wants Steve in his arms. Wants to keep his word and hold him tight. He reaches his arms out but quickly retracts when a sharp object flies over his upper arm.

“What the-”

There’s a rush of wind that sends a dozen more pieces their way. The back wall of their room is fractured, smoke coming in from the adjacent room, followed by a muffled scream. The strident screeching of metal makes it hard to focus. Alarms have gone off and an external team is running around, trying to find everyone.

It suddenly becomes hard to breathe but the medics have surged to rescue the guys who were stuck behind the flames. When Bucky turns around to grab onto Steve, he finds him lying on the ground, hands clenching his stomach and he swears that even through all the back-alley fights he’s never seen Steve’s face so contorted. A piece of steel bigger than his hand pokes out of a gash just under his left rib. Bucky knows not to pull it from him. He’d seen the consequences first hand on the field.

“Don’t move, don’t move.” He’s got a hand on his shoulder and the other beneath his head. There’s a glance around his body before he’s sure he can lift him up. Luckily, Steve’s about half the size of the guys Bucky had to carry in boot camp. He makes sure to keep the wound close to himself, and he heads towards the nearest door, the floor plan of the ship something he knows like the back of his hand.

“I got you Stevie,” Bucky says when he hears him weep.

Bucky’s fidgeting on the chair around the corner of two narrow hallways. His arm still burns from the alcohol-drenched bandage someone put on him while he was passed out. He turns to the one on his right. It’s bright from all the fluorescents and much too lifeless to his liking. The same nurse keeps shuffling through the different doors with a pad in hands. His head is about to explode from all the beeping of the life support machines and the aftermath of inhaling so much smoke. Someone at the end of the hall in front of him keeps coughing and Bucky’s throat is suddenly tingling. He’s a moment away from bolting up from his seat when Peggy walks out of the room.

“Barnes.” She has an apologetic look, but she offers a sweet smile. “He’d like to see you.”

There’s a blink before he can react, before blood goes back into his legs and he can head towards her. She reaches for his arm and guides him over, stopping just before the curtain around the bed.

“Now,” she begins. “We’ve had to um… They did someth-”

“He’s fine?” He practically screams.

“Yes. Yes James he is fine.” She takes a step back and stretches her arm to direct him forward. He takes a deep breath, flattens his shirt over himself as a habit and nervously pulls onto the edge of the curtain.

His heart skips a beat when he lays eyes on him. He recognizes the flowy blond hair; he wants to run his hand through it. But he’s taken aback when he gets closer. The under shirt they put on him is about to burst from the width of his shoulders. His jaw, man, his jaw is square and strong, just like the rest of him. He scans him up. Once. Twice. He thinks it’s the illusion of Steve being laid down, but he knows he’s gotten taller. Before he can wonder further a hand comes to his shoulder.

“Stark. What happened?” He asks, not taking his eyes off his friend.

“The infection spread like wildfire. His frail disposition made it impossible for him to surpass this. He needed a little...boost...if I can say so.”

“Well, a boost he got!” Bucky answers a tad enthusiastically. He sees Peggy smirk and his cheeks heat up. “Sorry,” he mouths.

“Yes. Well. We had this experimental serum going around for a while. A project run by Dr. Erskine. It was meant to help soldiers heal faster. Make their ability to bulk up easier. Let’s say we might have dosed up a little on him.”

“Is it permanent?”

“So far.” Peggy joins in.

“Did it... hurt?” There’s a new concern in Bucky’s voice. The same gut wrenching feeling he had whenever he found Steve beat up to the ground. He closes his eyes to keep the imminent tears from spilling out.

“Did it like a champ,” comes Steve’s voice next.

“Steve, listen,” Bucky begins as they walk into their apartment, bags of groceries in arms - the first one since they’ve been back from the mission. He’s walking behind him, still astounded by the two inches Steve has won. Their elbows bump as they walk around in the kitchen - they’ve yet to adjust to the two of them taking a lot of space; the conversation of them moving out into a new place was impending.

“Bucky, stop. I know you didn’t want to hurt me.” He means it, but Steve continues to set the things away without looking at him.

“I got caught off guard, Stevie. The lady asked the question but the tone in her voice made me uncomfortable. I should have s-”

“Yes. You should have said we were together. But it’s fine,” he adds. Bucky steps up and grabs one of the blonde’s hands. He brings it to his chest, over his heart, and his eyes begin to water when they get lost in his. There’s a synched deep breath before Bucky composes himself.

“I’m sorry.” Steve’s shoulders loosen at the small admission - he watches as Bucky kisses his fingers one by one before leaning into him. His lips come to his neck and Steve can’t help but shiver. The serum surely had enhanced everything.

“Why is it still so hard for you to acknowledge this,” Steve says as he rubs Bucky’s back. “Every time you say ‘friend’ my stomach flinches.”

“Strict family. It’s been coded into me when I was young. Every time I would hang out with you I’d get deathly stares at the dinner table.” Steve hugs him tighter. Bucky had never mentioned this before. Never said a word about being roughed around as a kid. He feels guilty. A feeling of remorse stikes through him as he recalls the numerous times he asked Bucky to pose for his sketches. Or when he needed a hand climbing somewhere and Bucky would hold onto him /just that way/. He didn’t know that his father was overlooking their every move from his office window. Didn’t know that his own mother was being lectured about their behavior.

“Plus, I still look at you and kind of freak out that I don’t have my little Stevie anymore. But you know… I’m really looking forward to what /this/ Steve can do.” He takes a step back to better look at him. His hands are on his hard chest, making their way onto his shoulders and he can feel Steve relax under his touch. One hand moves up to his nape before settling onto the side of his face; the other has made its way south, tracing every muscle on the way down.

“How about you knock some sense into me?” Bucky taunts, eyes dark and glimmery. It takes Steve out of his thought - pulls him out quite harshly in fact - but he lets the brunette palm him through the thick fabric of his chinos.

“But, Buck. We always-”

“I know. But I want to, baby. At least once…” There’s a soft whine along Bucky’s words and Steve melts into his embrace. Their lips stand close, waiting patiently for the right opportunity; though Bucky’s hand has made its way past Steve’s zipper by now. “For once, Stevie...please fuck me.”

It’s beastial. The way Steve picks his lover like he’s not heavier than a pillow. How he has him pinned to the wall by their room - they had finally started sleeping in the same bed, and eventually turned the spare room into a small art studio.

It takes a minute for Bucky’s hand to land onto the door handle, and another second for his mind to command it to turn it open. Steve’s grunt follows when it finally pries wide, allowing them to adventure further. Three steps later, Bucky finds himself thrown onto the stiff mattress, shirt gone missing while strong hands are already working at the button of his pants.

“Don’t break anything, Rogers.” He lifts himself onto his elbows to look down at the brusque man between his legs.

“The only thing I might be breaking is the bed,” he begins, his words muffled as he bites down on his tongue in concentration. He looks up at the headboard. Surely this was the first time they’d be intimate since ‘the change’. It most likely frightens Bucky more than it does Steve. A grin autographs his next words. “We need a new one anyway.” And with that he hooks his fingers into the waistband of both Bucky’s pants and underwear, and glides them off his thighs.

“Always so fucking hard for me,” Steve growls. “No wonder, you had /me/ on my back like that. I could get used to this view.”

“Don’t linger, Stevie.” Bucky’s words are low, but stern. His hips buck in agreement.

“Was I so whiny all the time?” They both chuckle before Bucky swats him on the chest.

“Only when I was balls deep in that fantastic ass,” he answers, both hands on the plump flesh he mentioned. The action causes Steve to grind into him - and he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t the plan all along. Bruises would appear on his shoulders the next day with how hard Steve’s biting down on them.

“I swear to God-" The enhanced man has his prey on his stomach in a flash, barely taking a breath of effort. He reaches forward to present two fingers to Bucky who gladly coats them in a generous amount of saliva. A hum rumbles into his chest when he feels them swipe over his hole, Steve taking his turn in exploring his man. The stretch is new, although Bucky had done this to himself in the past. The sweet tickling feeling of the intrusion is brain numbing. He's not sure he’s going to last. Surely Steve’s new physique could give more than he bargained for.

“Holy shit,” he cries when he feels the head of his dick press against him. They both moan when Steve inches into him with ease until his hips meet with Bucky’s ass and he stops, giving both of them a moment to adjust.

“Never thought it would be this good,” the blond grunts, eyes shut as he focuses on not painting the walls that so tightly envelop him. He pulls out just a tad, before pushing back in and establishing a smooth rhythm. Bucky contorts and mewls beneath him, his eyes go white as they roll to the back of his head.

“Like that, huh?” Steve asks. “I sure as hell fucking like it.”

Bucky can only make faint noises. Steves and ahs and what not escape his lips in the smoothest symphony Steve has ever heard. He’s fucking him relentless, unsure of how he can even get his hips to move this way as he never found himself in this exact position. But he’s going. And going. And he’s loving every moment, so much so that he’s not sure he can ever go back to the old ways. Inevitably him or Bucky would succumb. Both giving and receiving felt amazing, but he’d always be James’ little Stevie.

“You take me so well, fuck,” he adds.

“Ste-eve.”

“I know. Poor little face is all red and hot. You’re so close, love.” The praise comes naturally from Steve, but it seems to have Bucky blushing even more. He bends down and snakes an arm under Bucky so his hand can come around and hook onto his neck. His right knee spreads his legs even further, allowing him to bottom down into him; the head of his cock nudges that sweet spot and as if the words weren’t enough, it has Bucky pulsing and making a mess on the bed.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” He exclaims as he empties himself completely while Steve still pounds into him. He reaches back and grabs his lover by the head to bring him in for a heated kiss. A moment later it’s Steve’s turn to fall over the edge. He groans and shakes as he gives three more thrusts before pulling out and letting his seed splatter over the spent brunette’s back. Hot spurts reach up to his shoulders and onto his cheek. Steve is quick to lean forward and lick him clean.

“So good,” he says.

“Stevie, that’s your own cum,” Bucky replies with a shy smile. Who’d have thought Steven Rogers would be the kinky one.

“Mmm. And?”

“And… I want some.” They both chuckle before Bucky can grab onto the man’s broad shoulders and fetch what he wanted.

#rae'sausummer #rssummerofaus #challenge entry #my writing #stucky smut #steve x bucky #space au #stucky space au

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rrrawrf-writes · 6 years ago

Note

For the prompt: Unbind me + actual, sci-fi/fantasy binds

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LOOOONG i had trouble writing it and i am not sure why? i know why it’s because i can’t do soft fluffy stuff it took literal months and i apologize, i have had the worst writer’s block. also i uh i guess i kinda wandered away from the initial prompt? but here we are, i’m actually fairly happy with this nonsense.

nanoni belongs to @lisauras and these nerds asked me to tag them because they like me or something??? @gingerly-writing @haphazardlyparked @kclenhartnovels @lux-scriptum @knightedwriter

Mal does not like mages.

Sheisha’s an exception, of course, and, sometimes, so is Keo, when he’s being quiet and useful. But otherwise, mages are a nuisance at best, and a travesty at worse.

This one is somewhere in between, but he continues to slip closer and closer to the travesty side of things. Mal crosses his fingers behind his head, the pastel blue bands wrapped around his wrists tugging at the peripheries of his vision. Black veins wrap through the magical constraints - Keo would call it a sign of haihaiā magic. Unholy, unhealthy, forbidden, and perfect for a double-dealing haole bastard.

More of the bands encircle his ankles, and there is one more around his neck that, unlike the other four, Mal could actually feel, like an itch that won’t go away. That means - something. He isn’t sure what. Mal is so completely devoid of magic that he can’t really feel the slight fizz or whatever that most everyone else does. He’s fine with that.

No bars or doors stop him from getting off his cot and wandering around the building, but Mal doesn’t bother. Redding’s spell stops him at the threshold of any exit and window, and prevents Mal from getting within arm’s reach of the man. This is unfortunate, because Maluko’oi longs to stab him through the neck.

He hears Redding’s shuffling limp stop at the doorless entry to the small room Mal had claimed the night before. Instead of acknowledging the mage, Mal closes his eyes.

“Get up,” Redding demands, his voice gruff. Mal ignores him, until Redding sighs, adds, “Your wife is here.”

Mal’s reluctance evaporates. He swings his bare feet over the side of the cot to stand. Redding has to crane his neck to squint up the near foot of height difference.

“She brought your daughter, as well,” Redding says. Mal is careful to keep his expression blank. “Perhaps not the wisest choice she could have made.”

He looks expectantly at Mal, but eventually Mal’s bland stare disappoints the mage. Redding huffs, then jerks his head to the side. As the older man scratches his short, salt-and-pepper beard, Mal follows.

Redding has designated an old warehouse on the very edge of a near-dead town to meet with Nanoni. It had probably stored farming or construction equipment, once upon a time, but now it’s dusty and empty, though a corner of the top floor shows evidence of Redding having camped out for a few days. The cot, for example, that he, surprisingly, hadn’t forced Mal to give up the night before, once the islander’s resigned himself to being held for ransom.

At the very least, Redding doesn’t talk overmuch. Mal doubts he could handle it if the bastard is smug and gloating. He stands silently in the middle of the open bottom floor, and Mal stays as close as the spell allows him. He crosses his arms over his chest while they wait, rocking back on his heels.

For once, Nanoni is on time. Mal doesn’t doubt that she and Sheisha have already scouted out the warehouse, but he’s glad she isn’t going to play games.

His wife is rattled. It’s difficult to tell for anyone who doesn’t know her well, but Mal can see it in the way Nanoni stalks across the warehouse floor. Her lips are pressed into a small, tight smile, but while Nanoni at least makes an effort to hide her anger, Sheisha does not. Shorter than her mother by a good six inches, Sheisha otherwise looks like the spitting image of Nanoni, kicking the warehouse door shut behind her so that the slam of it echoes through the room. Mal’s lips twitch towards a smile when Redding flinches. Regardless, Mal holds one hand to the side in a calming motion - this isn’t how Sheisha should behave during business exchanges.

Sheisha scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Darling, are you all right?” Nanoni asks, her glance skipping right over Redding as if he doesn’t exist. Maluko’oi gives one single nod and the slightest hint of a smile in return, and watches her relax by a millimeter.

Redding taps his cane against the floor. “That’s close enough,” he says mildly, and Nanoni stops a few yards away, shifting her weight onto her right foot. Sheisha stays so close behind her mother that she nearly bumps into her.

Nanoni flicks a finger at the blue bands Mal wore. “What are those?” she asks, her voice taut. Redding doesn’t look away from the cloth-wrapped bundle Sheisha carries. It looks like they’ve taken one of the hotel blankets to make an impromptu wrapping for the vase.

“Merely restraints,” Redding says, waving a dismissive hand. “I didn’t fancy getting murdered in my sleep. Put the urn down, please.”

Nanoni tilts her head towards Sheisha, but the teenage girl hesitates. “Aren’t we going to make him let Dad go, first?” she hisses at her mother, speaking Kamean. Nanoni keeps her eyes on Mal.

“Sweetheart,” she says, “just play along for now. We’ll sort things out in a moment.”

Growling in frustration, Sheisha stomps forward until Redding motions for her to stop, midway between him and Nanoni. Sheisha opens her arms, dropping bundle to the ground with a muffled clang.

This time, both Maluko’oi and Redding wince.

“If you’ve broken it, you stupid girl,” Redding snaps, showing the first sign of frustration Mal has ever seen in him. Both Maluko’oi and Nanoni whip their heads around to glare at him, Nanoni’s hand disappearing behind her back. Redding narrows his eyes and wisely swallows whatever he had been about to say.

“Relax,” Sheisha says in a flat voice. “It’s copper.”

It’s also completely useless, but none of them were going to tell Redding that. Whatever curse the urn once held, it faded years ago. Even legendary magic doesn’t last forever.

Redding takes a quiet breath that Mal barely hears, and then forces a smile on his face. He shuffles forward as Sheisha backs away, her arms crossing over her chest with her fingers digging into her skin. She chews on the end of her long black braid, a habit her parents had tried - and failed - to break for years.

The three Neokois stand there in silence as Redding, with obvious difficulty, kneels to inspect the vase, partially unwrapping it. After a moment, he grunts and stands, hefting the bundle under his free arm.

“Redding,” Nanoni snaps. He makes it to the exit before turning to give them a thin smile, and then taps his cane against the ground. The bands around Maluko’oi’s neck, arms, and ankles disappear, and Nanoni’s composure finally cracks.

She rushes towards him, just shy of running; Mal’s quick to meet her, one hand circling around her back, and the other getting lost in her hair before his mouth is on hers.

It’s the easiest way for him to let her know he’s all right.

Sheisha pauses just to the side, as eager as her parents, but hesitant to interrupt. Nanoni breaks away, then nuzzles into his collarbone. Her hands curl into fists against his chest.

“I’ll tear him apart,” she promised, her voice low. Mal grins into her hair, but then he shakes his head.

“No need,” he murmurs. They can worry about Redding later; Maluko’oi just wants to see the back of him, for now. He shoots the limping mage a look over Nanoni’s head, and Redding coughs, straightening as he uses his cane to shove open the door.

“I’d say enjoy what short time you have left,” Redding says blithely, angling the top of his cane in Maluko’oi’s direction. The knob of black glass on top of it flashes blue. “But I don’t think you will.”

Nanoni pulls away slightly, frowning. Mal lifts a hand to his neck. It itches.

“What was that?” Sheisha demands, whipping around so quickly her braid bats against Mal’s side. Nanoni sucks in a sudden breath, and Mal looks down to find his hand wrapped around her throat.

“Mal,” she starts, but then his foot snakes behind her ankle, and Maluko’oi slams his wife to the ground.

He stares at her for one horrified second. The black-veined bonds are back around his wrists, and Mal opens his mouth to tell Nanoni he’s sorry, he hadn’t meant to - hadn’t even realized he’d done that until they’re both on the ground, his knee on her torso, thumbs pressing against her windpipe.

But instead of saying anything, Mal chokes.

“Dad!” Sheisha’s voice is a startled yelp. He catches her moving towards him from the corner of his vision, and his hands let go of Nanoni. Instead, as Sheisha closes in, they latch onto her, and he flips his daughter over his shoulders.

It’s enough of a distraction for Nanoni to eel her way out from under Mal. Sheisha hits the ground with a grunt, and Mal straightens up, bouncing his weight to the balls of his feet.

What is he doing?

“Maluko'oi!” Nanoni snaps angrily, one hand going to her throat as she scrambles to her feet. He tries again to speak, to tell her that he hadn’t meant to, that this wasn’t him - but the band around his neck tightens and burns.

“You islanders make your men so obedient,” Redding says dryly. “Not an ounce of willpower. This was far too easy.”

“Kanapapiki!” Sheisha shouts. She rolls to her feet and rushes for the door. Mal, without thinking about it, without even wanting nothing but to crush Redding’s skull against the pavement, takes three long steps and catches Sheisha around the middle.

“Mal!” Nanoni shouts. “Stop it!”

He can’t stop himself. Something has - has split Mal away from part of himself, separating his mind from any control of his body. He kicks Sheisha’s feet out from under her, and as she drops, turns to meet his wife. From the corner of his eye, he sees Redding leave the building. Thick bars of blue magic appear across the door, locking them in.

Nanoni swings a fist at him. Mal blocks it with ease, shifting his weight forward to strike back. It isn’t someone controlling him, he realizes, as Nanoni skips away from his sudden barrage. These are all his moves, his reflexes and anticipations. He knows how Nanoni fights, and so he knows exactly how to block her, exactly how she’ll strike next.

And he knows when she’s distracting him.

He catches Nanoni’s fist and uses it to push her away, turning as he does so. Sheisha’s rushing him from behind, and she bounces one foot up into a high kick that Mal blocks with his shoulder, bracing against her painful impact. She rebounds off him with a force that will bruise Mal for days, but instead of pursuing, he returns his attention to Nanoni.

He’s too slow. Her elbow cracks into his jaw and he stumbles back. Mal - or whatever it is controlling him - remembers Sheisha behind him, and swings around to lash out. She slides easily under his guard, thumping his ribs before she flashes to her mother’s side. Mal stumbles one step, but his fists lift even as his hopes rise.

Maluko’oi’s sparred with Sheisha and Nanoni millions of times. He’s trained Sheisha; even as he knows all their tricks, they know all of his. And they beat him nine times out of ten. Both of them together could easily take him down.

He tries not to think how most of the time they spar, he holds back.

Nanoni makes it easy for him not to think. She swings a fist towards his stomach, and as he blocks it, strikes him again across the face, a blow that rings in his ears. Sheisha hangs back, and Mal clenches his teeth, wondering why.

“Snap out of it, Mal!” Nanoni skips away from him as he retaliates. He reaches for her, and she slides around him, kicking the back of his leg. Mal drops to one knee, but instead of following up, both Nanoni and Sheisha back away.

They could take him.

“Dad, please - you have to stop,” Sheisha begs, as he advances on them again.

Why did they hold back?

His daughter slips under his swing; Nanoni comes in to run interference, and Mal winces internally as he hits her on the ribs. Sheisha darts in, tripping him up.

They have weapons, Mal thinks with a snarl, feeling a slow anger welling up. They have weapons, they need to use them. He wants to yell, to curse, to tell them that he’s sorry, he’s so, so sorry, why did they hold back -

Sheisha isn’t fast enough.

He slams a fist into the side of her head, and she crumples. Maluko’oi freezes in shock, eyes wide. For one split second, he snaps back into himself.

Sheisha isn’t moving.

Mal stares down at her, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

“Sheisha!”

Nanoni stares at her daughter’s still form, and then turns her glare on Mal. Knives appear in her hands and Mal, hating himself more and more with every passing second, can only think, Finally.

“That is our daughter!” Nanoni yells, furious and enraged. Mal shifts back as she runs towards him. He snarls silently in frustration as, once again, his body moves without thought. For the first time, though, Nanoni has him retreating; he has nothing to keep her knives from slicing into his skin.

He moves back with the grace a lifetime of dancing lends him, but not quickly enough to prevent a handful of shallow cuts on his arms, as Maluko’oi blocks Nanoni from gutting him like a fish. She’s furious, and the longer they fight, with Nanoni trying to duck under her husband’s guard, the sloppier her attacks become, until Mal grabs her wrist.

The follow-through action is to give her arm a cruel twist, force her to drop the knife and break her wrist. His breath catches - he won’t do it, he can’t, this is his wife -

He hesitates halfway through, just before Nanoni’s arm would snap, his grip on her arm tight as they stare at each other. Then Nanoni stabs him in the ribs.

Mal sucks in a sharp breath, but instead of letting go, backing away, he pushes forward. The pain in his side flares as Mal bulls Nanoni to the ground. He traps both her hands above her head, straddling her waist with his knees. Pinning both her wrists down with one hand, Mal reaches to his side, and pulls Nanoni’s knife from his ribs.

Pain swamps his mind. Under any other circumstances, even Maluko’oi would have been laid low by such a dumb stunt. Pele, how long will it take him to bleed out -

When his vision clears, Mal realizes he’s pressing the knife up against Nanoni’s throat. All the pain disappears, overwhelmed by a sheer, panicked abhorrence.

The part of him that’s been split and shoved aside screams and struggles for control, as futile as grabbing at sunlight on the waves. Nanoni bucks beneath him, and the knife slides against her skin, leaving behind a thin red cut along the side of her neck.

NO.

Maluko’oi freezes. He can’t make himself let go of Nanoni, let her up - but he forces his hand to stop, the knife’s edge resting against her skin. Nanoni stills, staring wide-eyed up at him.

A tear drops onto the bloodied steel of the knife, leaving behind a track against the red. Mal’s hand shakes, trying so hard to finish the job - but he refuses. The band around his neck burns, constricts until he can barely breathe. Through a haze of pain and tears, Mal sees his wife smile.

There’s a sting in the side of his neck.

Mal blinks and looks away from Nanoni, to see Sheisha plunge another handful of paper-thin needles into his arm.

They’re coated in enough sedative to drop an elephant; maybe even enough to drop Mal. He knows this, because he’s the one who prepares the sedative for her. His arm goes numb, his hold slackening on the knife and Nanoni’s wrists. She twists her hands free, grabs his shirt, and rolls them both over. He’s out before his head hits the ground.

Maluko’oi wakes up to a dim room, staring at the ceiling. His neck burns and his head pounds; he closes his eyes again. Aches and pains litter his body, but not even the stab wound in his ribs is bad enough for him to worry over right now. It will heal.

But what he’s done to his family -

He puts a hand over his face, gritting his teeth against a ragged breath and holding it in until he can trust himself not to sob. Someone shifts to his right, reaches out to touch his shoulder. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

“Maluko’oi,” Nanoni says quietly. “Darling, you slept for far too long, I was so worried.”

When he doesn’t answer, Nanoni takes his wrist and gently tugs his hand away from his eyes. Mal knows he’s acting like a child, but he turns his head the other way, terrified that he isn’t strong enough to keep Redding’s filthy spell from controlling him again if he looks at Nanoni.

Her voice is a little sharper this time. “Mal, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve seen you cry before, love, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He attacked his wife. Mal attacked his wife, and his daughter, and he would have killed them. Nanoni’s hand slips into his own, and when he moves to sit up - his right arm and hand still feel a little lifeless - she’s there with an arm to brace his back.

He fumbles the blanket back with his numb, unfeeling hand, and slips the other out of Nanoni’s grip. Before she can protest, Mal slides out of the bed and straight to his knees onto the floor.

“Oh, Mal, what are you doing,” Nanoni sighs with impatience. “You should stay in bed -”

Mal hates talking, even more than he hates mages. His tongue is not silver; instead, it is a leaden weight inside his mouth, one that takes effort to move. But he can’t stay silent on this matter - and yet, his mind is completely blank. He clenches his fists on top of his knees, trying to force himself to speak.

All he says is the rote, “Nanoni, I am sorry. Please forgive me.”

Mal winces at how pathetic, how utterly inadequate the words are. He should be begging, but his mouth closes instead, and Mal stares at Nanoni’s feet, his mind completely blank of words, but his insides twisting with so much guilt and sorrow and fury at himself that he wants to heave.

Nanoni sighs, and then moves to her knees as well. Mal starts to look away, but she catches his face before he can, tips his gaze up from pointing at the floor. He freezes in panic when he sees her, his breath catching.

Nothing happens. Mal remains where he is, his hands gripping his knees so tightly that both ache, but his body is his own, and stays where it is. Nanoni brushes a hand over his tear-stained cheek, then wraps it gently around the back of his neck. Maluko’oi closes the distance, pressing his forehead and nose against hers and closing his eyes.

They breathe in each other’s air, and Maluko’oi feels himself relax. He can never tell if the overwhelming love he feels, mere seconds into their hongi, is his or Nanoni’s or both, but it soothes him for a moment, forms the base for what’s to come next.

Anger, sharp and hot, for what Redding had done to them, and guilt, for having to hurt each other. Mal puts a steadying hand on Nanoni’s waist, feels her take a shuddering breath, and knows that he’s not in much better shape. But there is no healing without pain, and so Mal lets himself feel it from Nanoni’s point of view, tears rolling down his cheeks.

And then he’s hit with a wave of comfort and forgiveness, so hard that he has to bite his tongue to stifle a sob. Mal’s first reflex is almost to break away - he hardly deserves this, he hurt her - but Nanoni’s hand on the back of his neck holds him in place, and then he realizes that these are Nanoni’s reactions as much as his.

An extended hongi is exhausting, but they ride it out together, and at the end of it, Mal feels - well, not good, but better. The pain is there, but dulled with understanding. Nanoni does not hate him.

She does not hate him.

They’re both crying when they break the hongi. Nanoni shifts angles and kisses him, deeply, before she pulls away.

“Oh, ipo, of course I forgive you,” she tells him, cupping his cheek in one hand. “How could you ever think otherwise?”

Mal gives her a slight grin, and then leans forward, kissing the tears off her cheeks until she lets out a surprised laugh.

“Get off the floor, Mal, I don’t know the last time it’s been vacuumed,” she tells him, taking him by the elbows. He obeys, and lets out a surprised hiss as the knife wound in his side stretches. Mal shakes his head at the sharp look she gives him, but he does not stop her as she lifts his shirt.

A neat patch of bandaging covers the wound. “We had a doctor put in stitches,” Nanoni says, pushing Mal gently back onto the bed. At his questioning look, she adds, “We’re still in town.”

A chair is next to the bed, and when Nanoni sits, she sits so close their knees are in between each other’s. Mal takes in the decades-old wallpaper and the tacky hotel furniture as she goes on, his hands in hers.

“Sheisha is fine,” she adds, addressing his concerns before he could give voice. “She’s sleeping in the other room. We called Keo and had him put you under a sleep spell, and then I went after Redding.”

Nanoni heaves a sigh. “He’s going to Ember Island, Mal. The royal investigators arrested him on the spot. I wanted to kill him - I would have, but…”

Her voice trails off, and Mal waits patiently for her to look up from tracing lines in his palm. “She has a concussion - oh, love, it isn’t a very bad one,” Nanoni adds, looking up as Mal winces. He looks down again. “She’ll be just fine with a little bit of rest. I left her with Keo, to watch over you, but then - but then she caught up.”

Pursing her lips, Nanoni stares off at some point in the wall over Mal’s shoulder. “She wouldn’t have stopped me. She would have done it herself, I think, but - well, that isn’t her place, is it?”

It isn’t Nanoni’s, either. Mal’s killed before, and he’s sure he will again; it isn’t a burden he wishes for either of them to carry.

“Thank you,” he says, softly, and brings her hand up to his lips. Nanoni smiles a weary smile.

“We can always get someone inside the prison to finish him off,” she decides, and Mal smiles against her knuckles. “Let me see the back of your neck, that spell of his left some nasty burns.”

Obediently, he leans forward, resting his head against Nanoni’s chest. The burns can’t be that nasty, if he hardly feels them; there’s a bit of renewed pain as Nanoni’s fingers skim over the reddened skin, but Mal can ignore that. It will heal.

He tries, again, for words. “Nanoni…”

“Darling, you don’t need to say anything. I know.”

“You don’t.” Maluko’oi catches her hand as it slips through his hair while he leans back. Nanoni did not bruise easily, and yet there they are, small dark fingerprints against her brown skin where he’d nearly snapped her arm in half. Tears prickle at his eyes again, and he curses himself softly. He’s acting like a child, crying at the slightest instigation. “You don’t, because I don’t say anything.”

Nanoni takes in a breath to speak, and then stops, gives him a patient look. Mal presses a kiss into the palm of her hand, trying to put his thoughts into an order that will come out as words. It takes far, far too long. Nanoni waits, patient for him when she isn’t for anyone else.

“You are,” he says slowly, looking down at their intertwined hands, “heart of my heart. I would have never - never hurt you.”

Except he did. He did, and it doesn’t matter that Redding had spelled him. Maluko’oi hadn’t been strong enough to stop himself.

“I just need you to know that,” he struggles to say, “there is nothing in me that - that has ever wanted to do you harm. To you, or Sheisha.”

“Mal, honey, I know,” Nanoni says, her words just as quiet and somber. “I never doubted otherwise.”

He lifts his gaze, but Mal’s eyes snag instead on a thin red line along the side of Nanoni’s neck, cleaned up and already starting to heal. Mal reaches up and skims his fingertips over it.

Nanoni sucks in a sharp breath, her hands in Mal’s lap squeezing into fists. He snatches his hand back like he’s been burned - or like he’s burned his wife - and looks away again, closing his eyes against a flood of tears.

“Mal -”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fighting every impulse to run. Nanoni wraps her hands around each of his wrists, and he resists a little - only a little - as she tugs at them.

“Maluko’oi, look at me,” Nanoni says sternly. He obeys, out of habit, because he will do anything and everything she ever asks of him, even when his stomach churns, even when this is somehow the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Nanoni takes each of his hands and places them on either side of her neck. He stiffens, even though there is no reason to fear himself losing control again.

“Heart of my heart,” Nanoni tells him, “I trust you. I always will, and nothing you could do will ever change that. “

She drops her hands and Mal just cradles her face for a moment. Nanoni gives out a small laugh.

“After such a pretty apology, I don’t know how to say sorry for being the one to do any permanent harm.” Her hand slips up under his shirt, skimming over the gauze taped to his ribs. Mal scoffs quietly.

“You didn’t have a choice, I was trying to kill you,” he reminds her. And it’s hardly permanent, anyway.

“No, you were trying to stop it,” Nanoni says instantly. “I could see it, love, anyone could.”

She leans in to give him another kiss. Mal moves his hands down to her waist, and Nanoni murmurs, “But if you ever hurt our daughter again, I’ll shoot you.”

Mal laughs, startled and pleased, and leans back onto the bed, tugging Nanoni with him.

“I wouldn’t want anything else,” he tells her.

#iwrite #ythea #mal #nanoni #sheisha

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rueitae · 7 years ago

Note

Hey happy early birthday! I'm a recent follower to your blog but I love your plance works a lot. So I decided to send in a prompt because I love this idea but I'm not very good a writing so here it is. Prompt: November 3rd plance woth ice skates. It doesn't have to be a crossover I just wanted to use my birthday for this

Crossover with Meet Cute and Plance with ice skates!

Thank you for the birthday wishes! I did research to sneak in a reference to actually fulfill the crossover requirements. I also tried to do a bit of research on figure skating in general, so I hope I’m not too off.

~~~~~

Pidge tugged on the spandex near her chest, examining the emerald green sequence in the full body mirror. Her mouth moved from side to side and her nose scrunched up as she scrutinized every detail of her new outfit.

She turned to view herself from the side. The bodice itself was amazingly comfortable, something she rarely felt with even her jeans and sweatshirt these days. It didn’t have near as much sparkle as professional skaters, but Pidge was still pleased to have beading in the shape of leaves. A short asymmetrical skirt of darker green was sewed tightly around the waist. Pidge turned so that the shorter end of the skirt faced the mirror. She took a moment to adjust her ponytail, also angled on the same side.

She adjusted her sleeves last. Beads flowed down her arms like vines and per the design intent. Solid forest green cloth made a sort of cufflinks for her wrists, a single golden bead a little larger than the rest sat facing outwards.

Pidge turned to face the mirror fully. She braced her hands on her hips and nodded. The outfit had her approval.

She unlocked the door behind her and exited the dressing room.

Lance lifted his head as she approached. He uncrossed his legs and sat up from the chair in the waiting area. He smiled brightly as he took her in. “You look beautiful, if I do say so myself,” he preened.

“It is pretty cute,” Pidge admitted. A side grin of her own in place. She twirled around once, enjoying the feeling of the skirt. “It’s comfortable and not too flashy. Although you really didn’t have to add so many beads.”

“I wanted to,” Lance insisted. He stood and strode over to her, looking over the outfit itself with an expert eye. “Something doesn’t look right, one sec.” He unhooked his leather bracelet and stretched it out. He knelt down on one kneed and used the measuring tool to double check his work. He frowned. “The skirt is a little too long for what you wanted. I can trim it if you want,” he told Pidge as he looked up at her.

Pidge gulped. She probably shouldn’t have blushed, but seeing him down on one knee as he was gave her an out of body experience. They’d not been dating that long, but they’d been friends in grade school. She could see it in his eyes, that sparkle every time he’d see her enter a room, like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment. They’d talked about marriage intermittently, but she knew this wasn’t it.

Lance was a romantic. It was Pidge’s only certainty that when he did get around to a proposal, it would be one for Hollywood. Today was not that day. Whatever their future held it was going to be after Pidge finished her masters.

Which brought them to where they were now. She was two weeks out. Her paper was finished, but she needed practice for the demonstration that would go with her defense. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking or new, but it would prove she comprehensively knew what she was talking about.

“How much longer is it?” Pidge asked.

“A half inch,” Lance told her as he stood up. “Sorry, I know you were really specific with the measurements.”

“That little won’t make a difference, the extra weight is well within the margin of error. Or, at least it shouldn’t,” she corrected. “Let me get out on the ice and test it.”

“Let me get mine too,” Lance said. “I’ll join you. We haven’t skated together in like, forever.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow and gave him an exasperated grin. “We were at the park last week.”

“Still feels like forever,” he said. He took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss on her cheek.

“You’re such a flirt,” she chastised, not at all mean spirited.

“Only for you, Pidge. Only for you.”

~~~~~

It didn’t matter how many times she stepped onto the ice. Each time she first picked up speed and soared across the rink was freeing. Pidge allowed herself to glide, testing for any bumps in the surface. Not finding any, she landed herself a single toe loop to further warm herself up.

Weaving back and forth, she skated back towards the entry and propped herself up against the boards. Lance had just finished lacing up and hopped onto the ice with her.

“It took you long enough,” Pidge teased, until she looked down and her eyes widened. “Why are you wearing hockey skates?”

Lance skated around her and leaned over the boards. He made a point to look completely displeased. “Left them at home I guess. I now owe Keith a favor so I could use his skates.”

Pidge laughed despite it all. “Is that really all that terrible to owe Keith a favor?”

“Yes,” Lance said dryly. “Junior Worlds is coming up soon. He’s probably going to make me take care of his crazy cat again.” He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, having every intent to sulk this through.

Pidge couldn’t help but laugh. “Red likes you just fine. I think you two just have different expectations of each other.” She leaned in, wrapping him in a hug. “You’re out here now, might as well enjoy it.”

She felt Lance relax completely at her contact. His scowl turned quickly into a soft smile. “I wouldn’t miss a chance to skate with you while you’re all dressed up and gorgeous like this.”

Pidge blushed and found herself letting a chuckle loose. “You are the cheesiest person I know.” She took his hands with hers and led him out onto the ice. “Outfit felt pretty good in the warm up, but I want to make sure it works for the whole routine. Spot me?”

“Of course. Go for it,” he said, letting their hands separate and letting her take center stage.

Pidge began to build up speed, not concerned that Lance was still on the ice with her. He knew her routine nearly as well as she did and he’d skate out of the way if need be.

The idea was simple in thought. Nothing she was doing hadn’t been done before. She was going over the physics of figure skating; the conservation of momentum for spinning and moment of inertia for jumps. This was all based on her body though. All the science was her weight, her height, her speed, her routine. It would just go to prove that she could do the math and have the credentials to coach others.

Ultimately what she wanted was to be able to do was design the equipment. There was always a way to make things better, and that was exactly what she was going to do.

She and Lance made a good team that way. She would streamline and he would make it beautiful.

Pidge turned to skate backwards, looking behind her to see where she was going. She was by no means a professional, but she was still good at this. Gliding at her preferred angle, she lifted herself into a double salchow, landing with ease.

She didn’t bother with the artistry as she skated down the long side of the rink. It had never been her thing, only having focused on it when she was much younger and much newer to the sport.

Clapping interrupted her. She was used to a few dozen hands, but Lance’s were the only ones today so it was a bit jarring.

“Smile!” Lance shouted at her. “Put a little flair to it! Show ‘em what you can do!”

Well, Pidge thought, he did make the costume.

She began to move her arms more liberally. An extra gesture here, and a motion there. Brining her hands in and out from her chest at various intervals had always seemed to work when she was younger.

“Happy?” she asked with a smirk as she passed him on her way to the next jump.

“Perfect!” he replied. The double toe loop landed just right.

One more jump, a double axel. Well, two really, she’d follow it up with a single. The routine was as easy as breathing by this point. Nothing strenuous except knowing she’d be grilled after doing this for a panel of her professors.

She took her time skating around the rink, not really wanting the speed to end.

Pidge nearly fell when she felt Lance skate up to her from behind. “Mind if I join?” he asked. Even concentrating on her movements, Pidge could tell he was in a mischievous mood.

“What are you up to?” she questioned suspiciously.

“I got too caught up in watching you I couldn’t wait to participate. If I launch you, do you think you could still do the double?”

It had been high school the last time the two of them had done a jump in pairs. Pidge made sure her face showed all the concern she felt about it. “That was a long time ago. Maybe? I couldn’t guarantee a double, but a single I could probably still do.”

Lance lit up. “Good! That’s all! Let me know when you’re ready.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. She was happy to indulge him though. His hands felt right around her waist and even though it had been a long time, she trusted him completely not to let her fall.

“One loop around the rink. I’ll give the nod,” Pidge said.

He kissed her temple. “Thanks, Pidge,” he said softly.

“Thank me after I don’t fall,” she quipped.

They traveled together as close as they could, falling easily and comfortably into the old habit. Pidge savored the time. Cuddling on the couch was one thing, but trusting one another this close with blades on their feet was a different story.

And she did trust him. With everything.

Reaching their full loop, Pidge turned to face Lance, letting him steer them around the corners. “Ready when you are,” she told him.

“Okay, here we go then,” Lance said. “One, two, three!” On the count he lifted Pidge into the air and she twisted her body to give the the two full rotations. Lance helped, twisting her body with his hands.

Pidge got her rotations. She’d grown stronger since high school though, and had perfected her technique even more. Lance had gotten stronger too. Combined with the angular momentum, she had really enough time for a triple, something she was entirely unprepared for. With a yelp, she landed square on her bum.

Lance came to her side right away, his face bordering on panic. “Pidge are you alright? I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she insisted. She took his offered hand to get up. “Just a sore butt,” she said as she rubbed it, wincing only slightly. “It’ll pass in a minute.”

Lance sighed in visible relief. “Good, I was worried a blade might have gotten your arm with the fall.”

Pidge smiled to disarm his worries. “No, I’m definitely fine. This actually helps add to my report. My body has changed since high school. I can’t do jumps the same way I did back then.”

“Good! Because you’ll need to be healthy to enjoy this.”

He shoved two small pieces of paper in Pidge’s face. She took them and she gaped at what was printed on them. “Is��is this what it really says it is?”

Lance nodded, smile getting bigger with pride. “If you’re reading them as tickets to this years Grand Prix, then yes, it is.”

Pidge held the tickets to the biggest professional figure skating competition close to her chest. “Lance…this is amazing! You didn’t have to!”

“I wanted to,” he insisted. “You’ve been working really hard and once you finish school you’re going to need a break. So we’re going to the Grand Prix for starters.”

Pidge engulfed him in the biggest hug she could muster. “Thanks Lance, this is the best. I can’t wait until we can go.” She let go after a moment and slid away, crossing her arms. “But first I need to present to the panel, so I have to practice - without interruption,” she said pointedly.

“Even if the interruptions are for very important matters?” Lance said, pushing himself forward and gracefully twirling around so that he could hug her from behind, kissing the top of her head.

“You’ve already given me your surprise, what else could you possibly have in store?”

Lance continued to hold in her in a one handed hug, while his other hand soon produced a small black box. “I know you’re not much for traditions, but I wanted to make sure I beat you to the punch.”

Pidge knew what was in the box, but she opened in anyway. “You sneak!” she angrily. “You can’t butter me up with those tickets and then give me this!”

Lance kissed her cheek. “Is that a yes?” he asked, laughter prevalent in his voice.

“Of course it’s a yes,” she confirmed, a bit more exasperated. Pidge knew she should be more emotional for this moment, but Lance always had a way of subverting expectations. “You know I can’t wear the stupid thing yet, it’ll throw me off.”

He sighed dramatically. “Then I guess I’ll have to wear it until you’re ready for it. On my pinky finger if I have to.”

Perhaps it had been the long day, the exercise, or just the significance of the moment, because so many major things were happening in her life right now, but Pidge burst out laughing. She leaned up against Lance, who in turn starting to giggle and laugh himself. The both of them couldn’t stop, falling down to the ice in each other’s embrace.

The answer must be all of the above.

#voltron legendary defender #vld fanfic #plance #pidgeance #rueitae #my writing #ask #I had a lot of fun with this one!

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roastedlizlow · 7 years ago

Text

OTOGE HANAMI

Hey, folks! I’m here to introduce ( and advertise ) a collaborative project dedicated to otoge! You all can call me Pita (or Lizzy, whichever you prefer), I’m one of the hosts of this project!

WHAT IS OTOGE HANAMI?

Otoge Hanami (Otoge Flower Viewing) is our collaborative project in which both artists and writers with a passion for otoge come together! it's certainly not a paid-project, more so meant to be a digital gallery expressing and celebrating love for otoge!

the theme of Otoge Hanami is, of course, flowers! each game here is assigned a flower, which is to be used as a guiding prompt for the entries. Otoge Hanami is entirely sign-up based, first-come, first-serve, with art piece and one writing piece per character.

everything else will be under the cut ! it’s mostly a rehash of everything that can be found on the project site [here]

WHAT ARE THE GUIDELINES?

of course, in order to be able to run this smoothly, we have to have some overarching guidelines!

GENERAL

There will be one drawn and one written submission per character.

From the date you claim a character, and are confirmed for that character, you have three weeks to complete your piece.

If extensions are needed, please let us know, as early as possible. Please don’t rush your work!

Contributors are more than welcome to submit for multiple characters (and series), but only one may be reserved at a time.

This includes submission type – one person cannot claim both art and writing for their chosen character at the same time.

All submissions should be specifically created for this project!

All submissions should be set in their canon verse – while the timeline doesn’t have to be specified things like high school aus won’t be accepted! The idea is, also, that these will be pairing/route based with the heroine of the game and the character chosen, making it a pair.

While we’d advise to be careful of spoilers, some are rather unavoidable. This does make this project inherently not spoiler free, so keep this in mind.

And as another general note, no NSFW submissions will be allowed.

Writers and Artists can coordinate on their pieces for a character, if they choose to.

ART-SPECIFIC

The submission should be digital or scanned art, only. No pictures with a phone or camera for digital, but ones with a clear scanner are fine.

The submitted artwork should be on a 800x1000 canvas, and submitted as a JPG.

The piece should be fully colored.

Images do not require a fully-drawn background, it’s really up to the artist. It can be as simple or as detailed as the artist prefers. However, it’s preferable that the background isn’t just plain white.

Please keep the prompt in mind.

WRITING SPECIFIC

The submission should be no shorter than 500 words, but no longer than 2000 words. We know it’s not easy to write a lot for some people, nor is it easy to trim down for others, dependent on the writing style. That’s why we decided upon such a range.

The piece should be, preferably, in the third-person point-of-view, with a focus on the character chosen.

Try your best when it comes to grammar and spelling. We’re here to beta-read for you, if you need a fresh pair of eyes.

Going back to the note about rushing in the general section, but really rushing it tends to effect characterization – which we’d love to stay true to!

Again, please be mindful of the prompt at hand.

WHAT ARE THE CHARACTERS/GAMES I CAN CHOOSE FROM?

As of right now, we have SIX games to choose from, for a total of 92 entries (46 of each kind). These SIX games are our starting goal, but if there’s enough interest in this project, or a particular game that isn’t on this list is requested enough, we’ll expand it at a later date!

For the time being, we are sticking to official releases, namely localized ones.

Amnesia (Memories) – Shin, Ikki, Kent, Toma, Ukyou, Orion Bad Apple Wars – Alma, Higa, Shikishima, Satoru, White Mask Code:Realize – Arsene Lupin, Abraham Van Helsing, Victor Frankenstein, Impey Barbicane, Saint-Germain, Herlock Sholmes, Finis Collar x Malice – Aiji Yanagi, Kei Okazaki, Mineo Enomoto, Takeru Sasazuka, Kageyuki Shiraishi, Yuzuru Saeki Hakuouki – Toshizo Hijikata, Souji Okita, Hajime Saito, Sanosuke Harada, Heisuke Toudou, Chikage Kazama, Shinpachi Nagakura, Keisuke Sanan, Susumu Yamazaki, Kazue Souma, Hachirou Iba, Ryouma Sakamoto Ozmafia – Caramia, Kyrie, Axel, Scarlet, Hamelin, Robin Hood, Pashet, Caesar, Soh, Brothel Boys (Dorian Gray, Alfani, and Manboy)

WHAT ARE THE THEMES?

as stated before, the overall theme of otoge hanami is flowers! each game has a specific flower attached it.

Amnesia (Memories) – Amnesia Roses: Love at first sight, enchantment, mystery Bad Apple Wars – Red Spider Lily: Flower of death, flower of afterlife, remembrance/mourning, lost memory, may never meet again Code:Realize – Hydrangea: Heartlessness, heartfelt emotion, gratitude, thanksgiving Collar x Malice – (Red) Anemone: Hope, faith, death, abandonment Hakuouki – Cherry Blossoms, life, death, and renewal; life is beautiful, yet (tragically) short Ozmafia – Daisies: Innocence, purity, new beginning

HOW CAN I SIGN-UP?

fortunately, we have a handy sign-up form! go [here] and fill it out. since this is first-come, first-serve, not everyone is likely to get their first choice. we will do our best to update people on which characters are taken.

this is the link for what’s taken/available!

HEY, PITA, X GAME THAT I WANT ISN’T ON THE LIST, WHAT DO I DO?

good question! the sign-up form has a suggestion box! viable suggestions include other officially localized otoge! we can’t make any promises on adding them, but suggest away!

*note, if you do not plan on participating, but want to suggest a game for the future anyway, contact me using the information below.

WHERE DO I GO TO ASK QUESTIONS?

if you have any questions or concerns, contacting me is the best way to ask! Again, I’m one of the hosts of this project. in the document we have prepared, there’s contact information, but since there’s not a separate tumblr account for this, I’ll leave information here too.

the best way to reach myself or the other host is by sending a dm to the project twitter: otogehanami

you can also im or shoot me an ask here!

there’s the project email as well!

you can also contact me on my personal twitter: roastedlizlow

#otome #otoge #otoge hanami #collar x malice #code realize

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uci-fanfic-requests · 7 years ago

Note

can you write about the first day on the job? like how the escorts got recruited and the day starting it

Admin Notes: I always thought that the escort were picked up at different times, but to promote your prompt, here’s a story about the six escorts starting their first day as underworld escorts together. Fresh out of… I guess escort academy, good luck to them! -Admin Hirahara

The Gokuto Manor was much bigger than the six had thought it would be, having never visited before now. Kirishima, Saeki, Hirahara, Tagami, Tanizaki, and Kinoshita stood in front of the wooden doors, having just been assigned to this branch by Lord Enma himself. Apparently, the captain in charge (his name was Rokkaku) was known as a kind man, so they shouldn’t be two worried. However, they were told before hand that there was a lot of work to be done, as they were the first group to ever work under him.

“I wonder… what he’ll be like.” Kinoshita laughed, although a bit nervously. Although the six were standing at the door, none of them were knocking. It was Tanizaki who finally stepped up to open the door, tired of everyone else being nervous. With three loud thumps, the six waited for someone to come to the door.

Rather than hearing footsteps, though, they were a little surprised to hear nothing at all. Being that the manor was made of wood, surely they��d hear the captain coming. And yet, rather quickly, the door was opened. Instead of seeing a man, though, the six found themselves facing a woman much shorter than most of them.

“Oh, guests?” She wondered, then, having seen their uniform, smiled. “Oh! You must be the escorts that were assigned here, am I right? Rokkaku-san did say to be on the look out for you!” She ushered them in with a warm laugh, really confusing the escorts. They hadn’t really expected to see anyone else, after all. “My name is Kirika,” she introduced. “But you can call me ‘Auntie’! Rokkaku-san asked me to stay later tonight to prepare something special for you all~”

“Um, Kiri-“ Saeki started, then quickly retracted his statement. “Auntie, where is Rokkaku-san? We haven’t met him yet…”

“Oh, well, he got his coffee and went to his office.” She directed the six down the hallway. “Don’t be so nervous, he’s a good person.” She winked and then hummed as she walked… no, slithered off. The escorts noticed her tail dragging behind her as she moved away. So she’s not an oni, they all thought.

Now that they knew where to go, they found themselves standing in front of Rokkaku’s office. Although clearly marked, the door was closed, and once again, they knocked before announcing their presence. From behind the door, they heard a deep voice ushering them to come in.

Although the office was spacious, there was only one person sitting behind a desk. He had things stacked on his desk, but they were all rather neat and tidy. a gramophone sat next to a type writer on a separate desk, a tall, three level drawer was next to a bookshelf, and a huge window that looked outside were all present, if not a little dusty.

Rokkaku himself was a tall man, even though he was sitting down. His skin was tanned, and he was smoking a pipe that didn’t give off a tobacco smell. His eyes were a piercing crimson, and it was almost intimidating. However, he smiled, making him seem like a kind person. “I wasn’t expecting you all to come at the same time, but this is fine too,” he spoke. “Now, then, introductions. I’m Rokkaku, the captain of the Court of Enma, Underworld Escort branch. You all are…?”

The six gave their introductions by name, not dropping their formalities. Rokkaku nodded, committing the names to memory. “Alright, well, I have a very important mission for you all today.” Right off the bat? the six thought, feeling nervous. What would they be asked to do so early on? Defeat a rampaging demon? capture a deceased one? Maybe even fight the captain?

But instead, it was none of those things. “The archives are quite a mess, you see. I’ve always wanted some helping hands. You all can start by organizing the place and the documents, preferably in a fashion that makes the books easy to find.”

And that’s how the six found themselves in the library. A thin layer of dust covered some parts of the shelves, and the books had clearly, at some point, all been removed and stacked upon the many desks. There wasn’t just one floor, either. Aside from the library, though, there was another room that led to more documents, also a huge mess. No wonder Rokkaku had asked the six to clean the place up. It was a huge task, for one person.

“I didn’t really think we’d be doing this,” Tagami complained, letting out a sigh. “So bothersome.” Still, if it was their first mission, it was best that they did well. So, with cleaning supplies, the six went to work, organizing the place and making it sparkle. The first thing they did was move the remaining books of the shelves to clean the dust off. Next, they moved the books off the tables to clean that.

Once all the surfaces were nice and shining, they had to go through the books and begin dusting them off and figuring out a good way to organize it. Only then could they think about getting the floors cleaned.

“Uwah, this is SO! Boring!” Hirahara complained, unable to clean one more book. The sun was already passed midpoint in the sky, and sooner or later, it would set. “I want to do something fun! Tagamiiiii!”

“Hirahara, come on,” Saeki encouraged while lifting a pile of books. “It’s only our first day.”

“What if,” Kinoshita said, rather mindlessly as he wiped one of the book covers with a wet rag, “we were requested to come here to do house work?” That made the other five nervous. There was no way, right? The Underworld Escorts preserved the balance in hell and served to capture and punish deceased ones. There was no way they were reduced to house keepers.

“Don’t kid!” Tanizaki finally spoke up, from the second floor. His voice echoed in the closed hall. “There’s no way that’s the reason we’re here!” That silenced everyone for a while. As they worked quietly, Kirishima paid more attention to some of the titles of the books. World of Stars, Herbal Medicines, all sorts of interesting things were in the library. It might actually be fun to sit down and read them, some other time.

It wasn’t long, however, before Tagami spotted someone peeking in through the door of the library. She had long hair and a blue kimono on, and had a basket of laundry on the floor next to her. “Hello…” She greeted, seeing that she was spotted. “Are you… the new escorts…?”

“Yeah!” Hirahara smiled, getting up and running over to her. “We’re cleaning up the library for our first mission!” That surprised the girl, and she jumped back a little.

“Watch it!” a different voice suddenly yelled out. “Don’t scare me like that!” The sudden voice was quite a shock for everyone, but soon they realized that it had come from the girl. To be specific, the back of her head, where Hirahara could see a second mouth.

“U-u-uh…!” The girl hurried to cover the mouth with her hand, bowing in apology. “I’m… Ayako. I do the laundry and cleaning…!” She observed the six before picking up a book near her. “I can’t… help right now because I’m washing your sheets but… maybe later, I can help.”

“It’s alright,” Saeki smiled, coming over as well. “We’ll get this place organized by the day’s end.”

“You know,” Ayako said, handing the book to Saeki. “Rokkaku-san has studied every book in this library. That’s why it’s such a mess.” She giggled a little to herself. “Sometimes he forgets to put books back after he’s done, so they’re scattered around.”

“You mean…” Kirishima looked around at all the books that were on the ground. “He’s read every single one of these?” Ayako nodded, inching back towards her laundry basket.

“Y-yes, he’s very well versed in this world, and the Living World.” She then excused herself, saying that she was pretty busy as well, preparing six new rooms.

“That’s… really impressive,” Tanizaki finally said, feeling like he had a newfound respect for Rokkaku. The six continued with their mission, at last finding a place for each book on the shelf, and a folder for each document in the archives. Before they even realized it, the sun had set already. Tired, but feeling accomplished, the escorts looked at their handiwork. The library was definitely better now, more organized and clean.

They were just about to relax when they heard someone walking towards them, followed by the deep voice. “Oh, you’re all done,” Rokkaku said, standing in the doorway. He smiled, seeing how the library was much different than before. “Good work on your first mission.” The escorts quickly got up to face Rokkaku, having not expected to see him. “Well done,” he smiled, giving each a pat on the head. Somehow, the action seemed… fatherly.

“Kirika’s been working all day on a feast for you all,” Rokkaku added, turning around. “To celebrate your first day, and your entry into our family.” The meal was even better than the six of them had thought. Kirika was an amazing cook, having many side dishes prepared, along with a festive main course. She also insisted on making many desserts, and it wasn’t until they started eating that the escorts realized how hungry they had become. Cleaning, to their surprise, really took a lot out of them.

The atmosphere that was created was very welcoming. Ayako joined them later as well, declaring that all their rooms were ready. Rokkaku had suggested everyone get a long rest, and in the morning, perhaps they would try a practice match against him. After all, being just one person in the manor could get rather lonely. It was needless to say, the six escorts found the Gokuto Manor to be the perfect place, filled with kind people. Today was, in summary, a perfect start to their new lives.

#Underworld Capital Incident #gokuto jihen #獄都事変 #anonymous #rokkaku (Underworld Capital Incident)#kirishima (underworld capital incident)#Saeki #kinoshita (underworld capital incident)#hirahara (Underworld Capital Incident)#tagami (Underworld Capital Incident)#tanizaki (Underworld Capital Incident)#Kirika (Underworld Capital Incident)#ayako (underworld capital incident)#UCI fanfic requests #requests #Admin Hirahara

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furederiko · 7 years ago

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*GASP* Great goodness!!! Kyuranger just refuses to let up, doesn't it? Episode 30 delivers a heart-shattering entry, all wrapped up in a graceful power-up package...

- I'll start with a somewhat unrelated rant: I couldn't watch this episode live last Sunday! Aaaarggh. My internet provider changed the fee (AGAIN... that I'm not even that much surprised anymore), so I'm stuck using free public wifi until yesterday noon. And get this, when I decided to renew it with such heavy heart, let's just say... I got duped BIG TIME. To the point that I'm still slapping my own face in utter disappointment and anger, for falling into the company's sneaky stupid ploy all over again. *SIGH*. Now that THAT's out of the way, on to the recap-view then... - Since the opening scene focuses mainly on Orion and Tsurugi, let's talk about what I forgot to mention on my previous recap-view. That sweet friendly river-side moment between them! Some audience might think that the conversation they brought up regarding Orion's newborn felt... a little on the nose. If you ask me, it's actually NOT. IMO, if you think about it logically and/or chronologically, that dialogue actually made good sense. How? After the supposed final battle with Don Armage, a wounded Past-Tsurugi was brought by Orion to Earth, and put in a cold-sleep aboard the Argo. Fast forward 333 years later, the Rebellions awakened Tsurugi in the present time. He likely spent at least 2 weeks after he woke up, in which during that time he: clashed with the Kyurangers, but eventually became one of them; went to Planet Tocky, and searched for the Horologium Kyu Globe; and along with the 'Time Travel' team, went back to the past to recheck history. Meanwhile, from Orion's side of things, having just completed his deed to the Past-Phoenix Soldier, he spotted the ORION crashing, ran into the Kyurangers, and was reunited with Tsurugi again. If one easily compares the two separate timelines from Tsurugi's and Orion's point of view, then it's become clear. Eventhough they have indeed been 333 years apart, thanks to Horologium, the reality was far more shorter than that! For Orion, it was merely hours if not minutes since he last left Past-Tsurugi in the Argo. Tsurugi on the other hand, had only advanced a month at most due to the cold-sleep. Logically, he still had all the memories prior to the sleep (of 333 years ago) in tact in his mind. THIS is the reason why the dialogue about family between them flowed very naturally! It's just a casual chit-chat between friends who haven't seen each other... fairly briefly. That's all! - Of course, that dialogue still serves as the key for the two of them to deduce that Lucky... might have been Orion's very own descendant. That means, Lucky isn't Orion's son, as the rumor suggested (for now at least, it's still a giant mystery anyway). Regardless of that, he's still an important figure who serves as a catalyst for the Kyurangers, due to having the blood of two Constellation Systems. That's the main reason why Tsurugi, the Kyurangers, and later Orion wants to protect him at all cost. - And that is also where the episode hurts. From the beginning of the episode (or the preview last week), it is teased that Tsurugi might give away his life to heal Lucky. Using the power of Phoenix Kyu Globe is taking the toll out of him, so the chance of him getting out unscathed is minimum at best. We even get to see Tsurugi's quick origin story, of when he first obtained the Kyu Globe when his spaceshuttle crashed. Basically, 'death flag' has been fluttering over Tsurugi, which is why the actual death comes totally unexpected and a lot more shocking. It's Orion's final moment instead!!! - On one hand, Orion IS hiding a severe bloody wound, due to shielding the Kyurangers from Don Armage's devastating attack. So he pretty much has been waving his own giant death flag too. On the other hand, he's a crucial legendary figure who will pass on the legend of the Kyurangers throughout the entire universe. Even the team smartly points out that, without Orion, the Kyurangers wouldn't have existed in the first place. Preview for this episode even showed him in battle, helping Leo Red debuts his new power-up. The general assumption is, there's no way, he's going to die, right? That's where Kyuranger throws us off balance once again, because Orion passes away anyway! It's a HUGE, and genuine "OH MY GOODNESS... NOOOOO!!!" (if not blatantly "WTH!!!") moment, and I'm positive the dead silence or echoes of jaws dropping are reverberating throughout the audience. My heart literally stops! And I'm still mulling over it until now... NOTE: Only several movies (like some Marvel Studios ones, though usually Oscar contenders) and TV shows (mostly anime titles) have managed to make feel so... heartbroken like this. Kyuranger positions itself nicely into this exceptional category, which is a rare accomplishment for a Tokusatsu series. I'm not trying to be sarcastic here, but huge thumbs up for TOEI! - Not only Orion's unfortunate demise works as a twist, but also as a major shakeup to the entire story. It is an unexpected alteration in the past, so there will be massive ramifications going forward. It raises even more questions that will make every fans feel concerned. If Orion no longer lives another day, then who would hand over Carina Kyu Globe to Eris' safekeeping? If Eris never has it, then that means the Argo would not be revived in the present time, and Tsurugi would never be reawaken! More importantly, as has been pointed out before, without Orion, the Kyurangers' existence is in danger. Which urgently prompts Commander Xiao to stay behind, taking Orion's place to spread the heroic legend. Ignoring the fact that it's another giant change to the past, does this mean his role as a Kyuranger also comes to an end? *gasp*. In a way, Champ (who will be part of the "Episode Stinger" V-Cinema, which apparently takes place some time later) is already hinting that he and Xiao will surely find a way back to the present. But it doesn't stop making me feel very... anxiously curious. With the two of them being left in the past... is the show trying to throw either of them as the possible face behind the new Don Armage? That would... still be a possibility, right? One more thing, the loss of Orion pretty much rules out my theory that he is the next Don Armage. For now, at the very least. Unlike Kuervo, the Kyurangers actually bury him for good, so he's truly dead. Then again, lest we forget HOW Darth Vader was created... - The grand power up, The Miracle Star Leo Red Orion debuts! It is channeled through the #315 Supreme Kyu Globe, which is realized through the unity of Lucky and Orion's powers and shared resolution to protect the universe. And of course, through the latter's sacrifice... *sobs*. It's undeniably a GORGEOUS design, with fluttering mantle and all. Probably one of the best White member I've seen throughout Super Sentai history. Assigning the color white is also a very wise decision. Not only because white is the combination of prime colors, but in case of Kyuranger, it also adds balance to the team. No wonder Phoenix Soldier gets to be another Red, because when Leo Red uses this form, each of the original colors are still represented. Speaking of combination, it has a dang fine-looking transformation sequence that unites all 12 powers of the Kyurangers too. Turns out, despite many fan-speculations, Supreme doesn't require Naga to be with the team to pull off. It likely falls inline with my theory that Lucky serves as a catalyst for the other Kyurangers, meaning he's the only one necessary for this upgrade. And that is also one wicked finisher. Nope, not the Gate of Babylon-esque with the Kyu the Weapons, which was... nice. I'm talking about that "ALL STAR GALAXY! IN-FINISH BLAST!" that channels the entire 88 Constellations. Dang it... I feel goosebumps when all those stars lit up and create a big bang. Wonderful, simply wonderful! Fun fact: Supreme Kyu Globe, or SAIKOU KYUTAMA in Japanese, has an odd numbering of #315. If you're wondering the reason why, then well... highly likely the answer is: because it's a nifty pun. 3 - 1 - 5 is SAN - ICHI - GO in Japanese, but it can also be read as SA-I-KO. Get it?! LOL. Also, 3 + 1 + 5 equals...? Yep... NINE or KYU in Japanese. Brilliant, right! The finisher "In-Finish Blast" is also a clear pun for the word 'INFINITE', which explains Leo Red Orion's ability to bend space and time. There's also one theory that the Supreme Kyu Globe is modelled after the 9 planets of the Earth's Solar System. It's unconfirmed for now, but I think it makes a lot of sense... - Before I move on to the last point, allow me to point out several bits of the episode that I find to be really interesting: 1) Don Armage's hideous humanoid form seems to be the extent of his power. He claims that he can't hold back his power in that state, which is probably why he's also more vulnerable to attacks. We also see him reviving Akyanba and Tecchu for the mecha battle, giving us explanation to why the Vice-Shoguns keep showing up and are still alive to the present time. And before anyone complains that he's so easy to be defeated, do remember one thing: we're not even in the finale yet, as the new/present-time Don Armage is ALWAYS meant to be the true big bad. 2) I LOVE how a wounded Lucky doesn't want Tsurugi to sacrifice himself. That's a powerful scene, amped up by Lucky's genuine emotion. The concern and also pain on his face feels so real, which means the actor does a truly fine job. Say anything you want about Lucky, this proves he's definitely one of the better Reds in the recent years. Meanwhile, Tsurugi himself is showcasing a wonderful growth in character. From someone who used to be self-centered, into a team player who would risk his own life for his comrade. 3) Although I'm not quite sure why Xiao doesn't just use his Draco Voyager to form Ryutei-Oh, him being assigned to use Leo Voyager and form Kyuren-Oh is indeed a wiser choice. This way, other Kyurangers (including Raptor who spends most of the time repairing the ORION) get to participate in the big battle. It's supposed to be a final-battle-esque showdown with Don Armage after all, so they need all manpower available. 4) It seems that contrary to what Tsurugi said, Phoenix Kyu Globe does NOT have the power to restore/revive life. It can only be used to regenerate health, as shown by Lucky's critical state, and also Tsurugi's own condition when he was adrift in space. Otherwise, Tsurugi can always use it again to revive Orion and keep the flow of history. Am I right? 5) I have a feeling we'll be seeing Orion again in the future. I doubt TOEI cast a great actor like Kai Shishido for brief appearances that lasted only two episodes (three, if we count that cliffhanger ending in episode 28). Heck, we even get to see Eris several times again. Which is why the theory that either he or Kuervo might be the new Don Armage is still very much in play. Then again, noone can really tell much when it comes to Kyuranger. This show tends to startle audience with genuine surprises... more often than not. LOL. At the very least, I hope we get to see him again somehow, because even in such a short time, he has truly left a strong impression. 6) A good amount of time must have passed between the moment the team discovered Orion, and the flower scene in front of his grave. I doubt Raptor is able to completely repair the ORION for their return trip in a flash, because it was left in such a bad shape before (notice that the ship visually looks much better?). Critical audience might want to consider this before they start complaining about how fast Lucky gets over Orion's death. I doubt that grave scene is Orion's funeral anyway. It's more likely the team comes there to pay tribute for one last time, before departing home (to their era). Oh and yeah, turns out this grave is very similar to a certain character's from "One Piece". Concidence? I doubt. 7) Lastly, regarding Xiao's new role in the past. Things are starting to make much clearer sense the more I think about it. Some folks at RangerBoard (Dukemon, TealMystechRanger, and TavionJackson to name a few) back this up, by speculating that the whole scenario could be a 'bootstrap paradox'. Meaning, it has always been Xiao, and not Orion, who started and spread the "Legend of Nine Saviours" that refers to the Kyuranger. This explains why it's NINE, instead of Ten, Eleven, nor Twelve, because Xiao knows that the team would start out with the number Nine (him being the Tenth and all)! Also, remember his story about Mr. Pega? That might not be a random tall-tale after all, but part of his quest to collect the Kyu Globes. But what about the history that says that it's Orion, and not someone who comes from a dragon-tribe who told the story? Like the whole situation with Eris that I've pointed out above. That would only mean a huge contradiction, right? Now this is where things get surprisingly interesting. Turns out, there IS a particular Kyu Globe that grants its user the ability to... SHAPESHIFT. It's still a speculation/theory for now, but I honestly won't be surprised if Xiao used that to disguise himself as Orion (thus bringing him 'alive' again to do the job), in order to prevent the new flow of history from erasing the Kyurangers in the present time. This one in particular, leads us to the final point... - As if the loss of Orion isn't enough, the show delivers another terrifying surprise. The present... remains the SAME. Jark Matter is still rulling the universe. Akyanba and Kukuruga are still alive and well as they did before. Dark-Naga is now taking Tecchu's place as a new Vice-Shogun, possibly their leader. And Don Armage is still reigning, despite his clear defeat in the hands of Leo Red Orion. It seems NONE of the alterations the 'Time Travel' has done in the past affects the present. Does this mean, everything actually goes... according to the way it should have been? Thus... that causal loop theory that I've stated above gets even more plausible! One thing for sure, Armage's sinister laughter in the cliffhanger, can only mean one thing... it's back to square one for the team!

Overall: To be honest, not unlike that wicked finisher, all kinds of logic was flying off the table in this episode as well. But dang it, if that wasn't another mindblowing rollercoaster episode. One that took my breath away, torn my heart into broken pieces... like a fierce punch in the gut that I haven't been able to fully recover ever since. For an episode that served as a power-up debut (which was simply marvelous on its own), it's still packed with all the right flavors. The humor, intensity of emotions, the high stakes? And yes, I totally couldn't hold back my tears when Orion closed his eyes for good... which says A LOT. If this were another show or Super Sentai season, this episode could easily serve as a finale or some sort. But nope, Kyuranger is not stopping anytime soon. The past might have been altered, yet the present remained the same. If the real Don Armage was eliminated in the past, that means the current Don Armage's identity is someone else entirely. Still a massive question mark that is shrouded in mystery. Personally, I can no longer predict what's going to happen next. It's one surprise after another, and to think that we still have (at most) 19 more episodes after this! This show is NOT pulling any punches, and continues to be a delight week after week. That's why I honestly can't believe some audience are still looking down on it despite a streak of strong features. Oh well, I guess it's their loss... Next week: 'Save Naga' Team is back on center stage! PS: Tsurugi makes his very first spotlight in the ending sequence, pairing up with Lucky. Oh and yeah, Gigant Phoenix and Kyutamajin have already been added to the opening since episode 28. I don't think I have mentioned about it before. LOL.

Episode 30 Score: 8,5 out of 10

Visit THIS LINK to view a continuously updated listing of the Kyutama / Kyu Globes. Last Updated: September 22nd, 2017 - Version 2.14. (WARNING: It might contain spoilers for future episodes)

All images are screencaptured from the series, provided by the FanSubber Over-Time. "Uchu Sentai Kyuranger" is produced by TOEI, and airs every Sunday on TV-Asahi. Credits and copyrights belong to their respective owners.

#tokusatsu #SuperSentai #kyuranger #uchu sentai kyuranger #uchuu sentai kyuranger #review #melancholymoments #awesome

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