#with my right to the other and still got an okay ish score on both lol. But I do forget arcades can be very sensory overwhelming like

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various recent pictures of things

[stilesssolo]

Okay.. let’s hear it! Initial thoughts of the new album!

Ugh sorry for the delay on this. I listened to the (first) album when it dropped at midnight, finished it and saw her say “double album, 15 more songs!!” went “that’s nice. I’m going to bed” fully intending to spend most of today listening and relistening to fully take it in, but then there was a crisis at work and I suddenly had a shitton to do in a very little amount of time which was not a conducive environment to fully digest these *very* dense songs. I still haven’t sat down and done nothing but listen to half the songs on the anthology, so. I am never more jealous of west coast time zoners than during new music drops. 😂

I immediately logged off the internet when I heard it had leaked Wednesday so I truly went into this blind. My initial thoughts are… well… okay! I don’t dislike it. But I don’t love it, you know? The songs are very dense but I still don’t think it’s her best writing (and I’m a Bruce Springsteen girlie; I love a cryptic lyrically dense album). There are a whole bunch of songs that I really enjoy and some REALLY good lyrics. But I remember hearing Cardigan or YOYOK for the first time and how that felt and I just don’t get that on anything here. I also cannot acknowledge the implications of how many goddamn songs are about Matty Healy and how in love with him she was without risking a mental breakdown!!! The idea that CARDIGAN was written about him… I cannot do this… take me back to when we thought The 1 was for sure about Harry Styles. I was present for the Gillette rain show “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been” psychotic break and I STILL was not prepared for the amount of psycho behavior on this album regarding the rat man!!!!

I think I have two main problems with this album. 1: it is too goddamn long. I am not one to complain about getting more content but I feel like a lot of these songs are just saying the same thing and not doing it in a way unique enough to justify having both of them. Like I think we could have EASILY trimmed a lot of fat and gotten these both into one 20-ish track album that would have read better. I feel like a lot of this has to do with the social media culture now of more, more, more, always racing towards the next thing— like how a day after we got 1989 TV the swifties were clamoring for rep TV. Like we just got 5 new songs!!! Slow down!!! I would have preferred quality over quantity lol and this album very much felt like quantity, quantity, quantity.

And then 2: I miss when she used to really push herself to try different things and to get better at her craft. Not that I want her to be attacked and get backlash, but her insane levels of fame have made her so untouchable that no one can say anything remotely constructive without being crucified and I feel like it eliminates some of the drive she has to push herself to be better and write better (hello Speak Now and Red!!!). I saw Rolling Stone gave this album a perfect 100 score like???? Hello???? The album is not bad, but to grade it as perfection compared to others? Over Red? Over Folklore? Over 1989??? Let’s be real. And I feel like this album has a lot of “well it’s good enough” moments where I’m like… but is it good enough? Could we have worked to make this better? I feel like she needs new collaborators too. She does great work with Jack and Aaron but I feel like they know each other too well and it’s getting to the point where they’re not editing or pushing her as much as they should be. A lot of the songwriting here just felt complacent. Get Liz Rose back in the room I am begging!!!!!

Now that I’ve typed all that out I feel like I am being increasingly harsh, but idk. It’s a fine album. There are some songs I enjoy and I’m sure it’s gonna grow on me more as I listen and really digest, but it doesn’t really have any super stand out moments to me right now. I saw a tweet saying this album is not to top the charts, not to draw in new fans, this is for the swifties who know and care about Taylor’s lore and want to listen and know what was going on during this period of her life, and she just needed to get it out there and say it so she can move on. And I do enjoy the lore, don’t get me wrong, but I kinda hope that’s the case and the next album is a clean slate, because… other than the lore, there’s nothing really new or interesting here, sonically, lyrically, etc. I really hope her next album she takes a big risk and does something different. I also feel like she needs a BREAK. Like I don’t want any new music for the entire year of 2025. Go recharge and take a break and come back to us with your best work, queen. I feel like the rerecords and the constant churning out of new music and content is just watering down her undeniable talent.

I wanted to like this a lot more than I did, but you know. C’est la vie. I never was a big poetry girlie anyways, and I’ve seen some people say they love the album (and to them I say I’m happy for you I clap I cheer and i’m gonna let you rock!!) but for me… idk. We’ll see how I feel in a week. But throughout the day today I kept feeling the temptation to put Chappell Roan back on, so… I think that sort of sums up my initial feelings on the whole thing. 😂

[masterqwertster]

For the hurt/comfort prompts I'd love to see 15 with Orym or 27 with Ashton.

I'll do both prompts, thank you. Prompt

15 "My mom used to do that" A bit awkward for Orym, as his mother is implied to still be alive while this prompt vibes towards (believed) dead mothers. So have a little indirect use of the quote during Orym's 5-ish years of wandering after Will's death.

"Help! Marna's in labor!" comes the panicked shout from one of the covered wagons.

Orym can mentally hear his ma tutting about how a woman in the last month of her pregnancy shouldn't be risking the stress of a bandit attack on a caravan using a lesser trade route. Especially without a midwife or someone who knows how to deliver a baby at her side and ready to act at all times.

He's got blood and cuts and bruises on him from said bandit attack (which is what happens when you hitch a ride as a guard), but it doesn't stop him from stepping up.

"We're going to need lots of boiled water and towels, alcohol for disinfectant, and a waterskin to keep her hydrated," Orym calmly instructs, wetting a cloth from his own canteen to start a pre-cursory scrub of himself.

The other members of the caravan are surprised to see the small halfling warrior take command, but they don't argue his matter-of-fact tone and hop to it.

______________________________________________________________

It's hours later that Orym is once more scrubbing blood off his hands. This time with the sounds of joy over a newborn child in the background.

"I can't thank you enough," Marna's father says. "How did you-?" he gestures back at the celebration.

"Know what to do? My ma is a midwife, she used to take me with her sometimes when I was little," Orym explains with a shrug. "Some things just stick with you."

"Right. Well, I think you've certainly earned this," and he holds out a small coin purse.

"I couldn't possibly," Orym demurs, folding the larger hand back around the bundled coins. "Seeing a new life safely into the world is more than reward enough."

A displeased frown crosses the older man's face, but he relents and puts the coin purse away. "At least let me buy you a drink when we reach the next town."

Orym hesitates a moment before excepting. "Sure. To the health of your new grandchild."

A grin splits the new grandfather's face and he gives a hearty pat to the halfling's shoulder before dragging the smaller man over to enjoy the impromptu festivities.

This was mostly inspired by chapters 18-19 of Fullmetal Alchemist, where Winry helps deliver a baby. Since Orym's mother is a single midwife, I'm betting as long as Orym wasn't squeamish, she probably ended up bringing him along sometimes, instead of possibly dropping him off with Derrig and Nel.

27 "I'm going to carry you, okay?" Ashton's just kind of built for carrying with their high Strength score, isn't he?

It's been a while since Ashton's gone off in a blind rage (or rage in an actual fight in general). A state of true fury fueling every blow that won't slow until every enemy drops.

He pants as the adrenaline fades to a level where he can think about more than what to smash next, the surging magic dying down to its constant buzz at the edge of his awareness.

And he hears Milo whimper behind him.

In a moment he's dropped to one knee beside them, hands hovering, unsure of where is safe to touch, desperate to do something to help. Another whimper escapes the tinkerer, and he settles on risking a gentle hand on their shoulder, just enough contact to let them know he's there.

Milo's eyes blink open behind their cracked glasses, finding Ashton's face. A calloused hand comes up to grab his wrist.

"I know you're not okay, so tell me what's hurt," Ashton says, a bit more growl in their voice than normal. But fuck it, they've just come out of a deep battle rage and the adrenaline's not gone yet.

"My- My leg. Think that- that fucker broke it," Milo stutters out, gesturing to their right leg laid out before them, the left pulled up against their chest.

"Thigh or shin?" Ashton asks, reaching for a piece of splintered bo staff and pulling out some cording.

"Sh-shin," they whine, wincing as stone fingers gently brush along the indicated area.

It doesn't take Ashton long to splint Milo's leg with the fragment from one of their attackers weapons. Milo tells him it broke because the dumbass who owned it hadn't accounted for his literally rock-hard head when they tried to brain him.

"I think Anni can heal this, if she's home," Ashton declares once they finishing tying the splint in place. "And it's going to fucking suck, but I'm going to carry you, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Milo agrees. They've hardly got room to object. It's either be carried or use Ashton as a crutch, and they'll certainly get home quicker if Ashton carries them.

"Alright, here we go," Ashton says, getting his arms beneath Milo's thighs and back, lifting with a small grunt. Not because Milo is heavy (the human is maybe one hundred pounds soaking wet), but because the adrenaline has completely faded now and everything hurts. But that's his new(ish. It's been some months since the Hexum Job) fucking normal. Nothing worth bitching about when there's things to do.

He's as careful as he can be, winding through the streets of the Core Spire and down into the Fownsee Hollow, but it doesn't stop Milo from wincing and whimpering at the jostling of their leg. There are eyes on them once they enter the Hollow, whispers following them down. Milo is a pretty well-known and respected figure in these parts, their skills making them highly sought-after, and Ashton isn't without reputation himself, if less exceptional being muscle with a highly memorable appearance even before the patch up.

Eventually, though, the journey comes to an end at the Krook House. Thankfully, Anni is, in fact, in. And while she is hungover, she also has enough magic and sobriety to pump some Healing Words into Milo's leg, taking them from a sharp ache to a dull throb.

"Thank you, both of you," they say after their two tenants get them comfy on the battered old couch.

"Whatever."

"Fuck off."

They just sigh and smile.

[odinsblog]

Okay, I enjoyed this - the animation was great, and there was a lot of relatable humor - but did anyone else feel kinda sorry for Carmen? Don't get me wrong or anything, I liked Meadow too, but usually in a love triangle(ish?) they give the odd person out a noticeable flaw that makes it easier for you to hate on them, but somebody gotta tell me what Carmen’s flaw was?

Was I the only one who felt a little sorry for her?

Like yeah, I totally get the main (implied) dichotomy: bougie, straight haired, uptight, uptown, Black girl vs. natural haired, down to earth, down ass, Black girl …. I get alla that, but Carmen seemed to actually love Jabari? It just feels like a scratch that I can’t quite itch tryna explain why one of these Black women was better for Jabari than the other. They’re BOTH Black women, right? Again, I know that it’s “just a cartoon,” but yeah, I’m stuck on this plot point because apparently it’s an idiosyncrasy of mine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If you think I’m wrong, just dm me and let me know why - but don’t be an ass, okay? I block assholes - we can talk without anyone trying to score tumblr points , aight??

If there’s been any lit written on this point (or any other points about Entergalactic), please drop me a link or something

Anyway ….. I’m still amazed that this movie somehow flew under my radar. Maybe I was dead or something when this got promoted, but I cannot believe I didn’t hear about this until I saw a post on Tumblr.

SN: my 8yr old niece likes animation and I was about to watch this with her..! Whew boy am I glad I decided to watch it myself first. Be warned, there are graphic sex scenes depicted and mild drug usage, so definitely not for young children.

[thedaveandkimmershow]

When we look back on February, the month that just was, we probably won't remember what we did in February at all. It was a lot of wall to wall work. Top to bottom. Front to back. An 18-wheeler's worth of lived experience just rollin' rollin' and rollin'.

Interestingly, it was like January but without the diversity of experience. 

The thread, of course, running through both months was figuring out memory care for Kimmer's aunt in southern California who was widowed on the last day of last year. Kimmer flew down at the beginning of the month to figure this out in person with her cousin... and within those days she was there, a solution was found and her aunt was moved a few days later into a memory care community under excellent care.

Excellent care? How would we know that?

Because Kimmer continued to coordinate with them by phone and text and email throughout the month.

February was also the month where we had to up our game on the remodel on our house which is less about adding to it or making it something it originally wasn't... but correcting mistakes in the original build or in subsequent attempts by other homeowners to add onto or modify that build. 

Yup. I'm talking about electrical and heating. Neither of which are a walk in the park. Also, we ourselves created a modification to the original design that we now sought to undo. Years ago, we added a walk-in closet to our bedroom by robbing the space from the guest bedroom on the other side of the wall. Which pretty much made that bedroom the tiniest and awkwardest space you've ever seen. So February bore witness to the restoration of both rooms to their original conditions (ish) except now they're connected, turning that end of the house into a pretty sweet suite.

We've got expert help with all this, of course but we've still got a lot of furniture and equipment in the house from the apartment in Bellingham and the work space in Lynnwood. All of which needs to find a new home. So there's been a lot of cleaning and rearranging and donating and donating and donating and dump runs and runs to public storage back n forth and back n forth and back n forth n so on.

The silver lining about all this work that invariably consumed the entirety of our weekends... is that we ended those days with ice cream cones from McDonald's.

It's the small things in life, right? 😁

Unfortunately, because of all the momentum created by work on the house and care coordination for Kimmer's aunt, we had to postpone Valentine's Day. Now, we always celebrate Valentine's Day a day or two late because chocolates are on sale by then and restaurant reservations are easier to score. Plus, Valentine's as a day of celebration always works better for us on the weekend.

Now, we are ready to celebrate. We've both got gifts and cards for each other and we have it in mind where we wanna be in the day. We're just waiting on an opportunity where celebrating the two of us isn't shoehorned into or piggybacked onto something else.

Okay.

Linzy's side of the fence was a bit more chill in its lead up to a busy Spring. I went to a couple of her gigs at the Rustic Cork this month which is always a fun and relaxing time, especially with some of our family friends joining us at the Lake Stevens location. Otherwise for Linzy it's figuring out her transition to a teaching gig for which she was recommended. She's also in the process of finishing production on five of her songs, including incorporating some newly recorded background vocals contributed by some of her musician friends. And she's in rehearsals for the new band Midnight High.

So February for Linzy turned out to be a getting ready kind of month.

As far as what Kimmer n me'll remember specifically from February, here are some contenders:

First, the whole house thing was really intense, hard work.

Second, the lightning strike on Capital Hill by the broadcast towers that wiped out my cell service while I was across the street at Trader Joe's waiting for a grocery list to be texted my way.

Third, the cold, the cold rain, and the cold slushy snow that left me with with soaked clothes, soaked shoes, and wet, freezing hands and head several times down at the end of the month.

Fourth, the whole thing about AI and search, AI and writing and education, and then how AI tools have found and are finding more ways into the edit suite.

Fifth, the fact that it snowed a bunch and nothing stuck and there were no consequences to it. (Remember, we still have the freezing rain event of December 2022 indelibly stamped into our memories. So any snow event that isn't traumatic and doesn't mess anything up is quite the dodged bullet.)

Sixth, the text from Kimmer that read "The meat pies are found in the frozen section. I love you."

And last, the neighbor who said this to me on Valentine's Day...

"You know, I can tell you and your wife are really in love."

😊

[karlheinz-sama]

If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog!

icl i wanted to answer this as karl but i remembered some funny stories so yh

my great grandmother, so my mothers grandmother was a great woman. i mean she slayed, im talking 1920s housewife who lives on the border of the slums dealing with every bullshit possible this was before the partition of india pakistan. she dealt with insane amounts of racism, she lived through the partition, then the independence war from bangladesh because we live sea side ish. she lost one husband left with my grandfather, she married again and fought against every attempt of ostracisation her community threw at her, then she got married again. a love marriage too. and she live she really did to the best of her abilities both her sons studied till class 12, one even attempted college. she got mad at people, once she dragged a woman by her hair in our lawn and beat her with a sandal, other times she was so happy when we finally got a movie thing ( im not quite sure if it was a projector) in the community that she bought everyone a saree told their husbands to fuck off and do the house work because she wanted to watch a movie with her friends. she made homemade facials, and took meticulous care of her hair oiling it every day, she taught my grandmother and my mother all her favourite recipes. she refused to go a day without wearing gold because it was a bad sign , whether it be a thin necklace or heavy 9 carat earrings that covered her entire ears.

then there was her second son, my step- grandfather who wrote erotic letter for money. fun story okay. im talking top of his class, he's like smart asf he reads indian, persian, english AND french literature. all self taught, and one day his friends like i wanna write a romantic letter to my gf so he consolidates my step-grandpa for some writing tip and my s-grandpa writes him some next level french/hindi love letter for lunch money. his fame grows there are boys paying left and right and it finally happens someone asks him to letter sext a gal. and he does he does it so well the seniors are coming to him for help. but then remember still the mid 90s sex and love is very taboo. one of his (muslim) friends runs away with his (hindu) gf and her father finds the letters he storms into the school and find out my step-grandpa's writing matches with the letter and he gets the living fuckery beat out of him. eventually, he does graduate, but he's so smart that even though his family is beyond disappointed, i mean they won't even look or talk to him, he's given money to go over to the next town my train and take an exam to get into college he rides the train halfway and gets off at a city where he goes to watch a projection of a french burlesque club idk what made him go, he liked the arts, music, literature his parents never understood why this meant he had to like the taboo parts of these things. anyways he shows up to his exam late but early enough to be allowed in. finishes all 3 exams and falls asleep with 20-25 mins to go. he came out with the highest score in the state. still got his ass beat when he came home.

anyways the reason i found out about him was i woke up to my mum crying in the middle of the night in the corner of my room, and i was confused to what was going on. when she finally showed me my iPad where i found reiji x yui smut fanfic still open on a tab. and that's the day 11 year old me found out how taboo the whole sex thing was in the family, they didnt look at my step- grandpa the same for the next 35 years. until he ended up paralysed and bedridden but he still wasn't allowed to see his nieces and nephews properly cuz they thought he was a creep now.

[cap10froggerguy]

Tenth Anniversary recap

So, as my little celebration of the Ninjago 10 Year Anniversary, here’s a little recap of every single season, including the pilots and a few bonuses. I also added totally arbitrary scoring based on my own preferences. Ready? Here we go!

The Pilots:

Local man joins gang to save sister, gains awesome powers and dragons along the way. Featuring the Wise Old Mentor(C) and Generic Evil Overlord(C), as well as FIYAH, the main character with a firey temper, AT-AT, blue guy with motor mouth, Frosty, local “real boy” who is super aloof, and Bucket of Rocks, who is the “leader” and has a personality like a rock. Is that a compliment? You decide!

Choppy animation and okay storytelling, but excellent characterization creates a surefire laugh fest!

0/0, they were trying their hardest, so no ranking for you.

Season 1: Rise of the Snakes

Ninja team angers young and bratty boy, who unleashes snake army. Prophecy threatens to tear the team apart at the seams with contests to prove who is better. Winner ends up being FIYAH’s sister, but instead of becoming The Chosen One(C), young and bratty boy (henceforth known as Green Angst) gets the title. 

Animation is slightly better, and the storytelling style leads to an okay season.

3/13, Room for improvement.

Season 2: Legacy of the Green Ninja

Green Angst gains superpowers, ages up, and beats up his dad, who has become possessed with evil. Plot of Return of the Jedi ensues, dad is good, and everything wraps up. 

Thinking this was going to be the last season, the showrunners pulled out all the stops, and it shows. Good job!

5/13, This makes a good ending.

SIKE

Season 3: Rebooted

Series tries to pick up where they left off. Unnecessary love triangles and robot battles ensue. Frosty dies, totally for realsies. 

The whole atmosphere feels a bit rushed, and about half of the story is there for unneeded drama.

1/13, did not age well.

Season 4: Tournament of Elements

In stunning turn of events, Frosty is not dead. Ninja must battle in hunger games in order for Colonel Sanders to release him. FIYAH develops a crush on his daughter. 

A fun season with quippy writing and tons of lore, it works really well!

8/13, this season ages wonderfully.

Season 5: Possession

Ghosts are a thing now! Green Angst gets possessed, and so the ninja must learn ghost fighting to fight ghosts. Also, FIYAH’s sister (From now on called Water Girl) gains water powers. 

While a neat story concept, the fact that Water Girl has only NOW been told about her powers kinda starts to weaken the story for me.

4/13, could do better.

...

...

Oh, and Bucket of Rocks is a ghost now. But the writers don’t care, so lets move on.

Season 6: Skybound

AT-AT gets a season, where he had to battle a genie pirate while Water Girl tries to be a Strong Independent Woman(C) despite the love triangle fiasco. Season ends up retconning itself out of existence. 

While a good season pre-redesign, some of the story choices cause it to feel a bit drawn out in hindsight.

6/13, a fun season concept.

Day of the Departed:

Bucket of Rocks cant catch enough of a break to get a season, gets Halloween-ish special instead. In it, he becomes No Longer A Ghost. Hooray for... writing? 

There’s not much to say about this one, it is what it is, and for a while, this was the only content we got centered around good ol Bucket of Rocks.

0/0, a ranking of this one wouldn’t be fair.

Season 7: Hands of Time

Angst! Drama! Time Travel! Technology jokes! Old Mentor is dying from Too Many Secrets, so Green Angst must lead team. FIYAH and Water Girl find their parents. I bet that’ll be important later!

The story feels choppy, and leaves a lot of threads hanging. It’s still fun, but less so that what came before and what comes after.

2/13: Guys, you had one job.

Season 8: Sons of Garmadon

The ninja get a facelift, and Green Angst gets a girlfriend! Guess which one is permanent. Evil Ex summons Evil Overlord(C) 2.0, causing Green Angst to loose Green and gain Angst.

The animation bump is stellar, the new voice actor for Green Angst really shines, and the story, while not new by any stretch, is filled with plenty of twists and turns.

9/13, Stellar Season.

Season 9: Hunted

The OG 4 in Mad Max on one hand, while Green Angst and Water Girl resist against tyrannical overbearing ruler on the other. Now with even more daddy issues, inspiring speeches, and of course, ANGST.

The storytelling and atmosphere increases in quality, and the show does a good job of balancing angst and hope. Also, then end is really cool. 

12/13, Great Atmosphere.

Season 10/March of the Oni

Everyone teams up to stop faceless CGI army! Wait, does that count if everything is CGI?

There’s not much to say on this one either. It feels both too short and too fast, and many of the story beats don’t hit like they should.

(6 1/2) / 13, Pretty OK.

Season 11 pt 1: The Fire Chapter

Local team gets lazy, unleashes witch, FIYAH looses fire, Frosty dies again. OR DOES HE!?

Even better animation, and the voice actors are really having fun for this season onwards. It’s one of the weakest of the newer seasons, but the shorter episode time helps every episode pack a punch.\

7/13, Would recommend as a starter season.

Season 11 pt 2: The Ice Chapter

Frosty becomes Frostbite and commits genocide. Is redeemed by power of friendship and amnesia. Let’s move on.

Character development, great moments, and thought provoking storytelling!? This season has all that AND a good grasp on the aesthetic!

10/13, Please forgive Frosty. He didn’t mean it.

Season 12: Prime Empire

AT-AT gets his own season again, enacts plot of Tron Legacy, but better! Also, Frosty becomes a detective.

The obligitory videogame plot is done really well. Lots of fun is poked at videogame mechanics and it makes for a quippy and fast paced season. Just like AT-AT! 

11/13, videogame movie(?) done right. 

Season 13: Master of the Mountain

Bucket of Rocks finally gains own season, proves that he is the best character. Gains a best friend and beats her dad in combat. 

Beautiful set pieces, awesome character development, lore, jokes, and heartfelt moments, I consider this to be the single best season of the newer ones, and possibly even the whole show. 

13/13, amazing season

BONUS!

The Lego Ninjago movie:

Kung Fu High School AU with a dash of Star Wars. Different from the series? Sure. Super fun? Absolutely!

8 out of 10 Meowthras.

Wu’s Teas:

Wise Old Mentor(C) opens teashop. Shenanigans ensue.

10 out of 10, if you don’t laugh at at least one, something is wrong.

[uswntxfootball]

we’re just rivals (on the field) (leah williamson x chelsea!reader)

the “epilogue” / part 2 to we should be rivals

of course, the game she decided to come to was this one.

word count: 2418 ish

rated F for fluffy, I for idiocy (or injury), and C for charles.

——

it’s been about two weeks since you showed up to that arsenal game.

and about two weeks since you’ve talked to the english defender.

it wasn’t like you weren’t trying to talk, you just never had the time to.

training had been hectic for the both of you, and it always seemed like one was busy while the other one wasn’t.

“why do you look so blue?”

“jee maybe it’s because i’m wearing a chelsea shirt?”

jessie rolled her eyes before huffing:

“come on y/n you know what i meant.”

“do i?”

“you’re impossible.”

“no i’m y/n.”

“oh my god.”

you let out a loud cackle at jessie’s frustrated cry.

you ran your hands through your hair quickly, letting out a sigh of relief when jessie stopped questioning you.

truth is, you missed leah more than you’d like to admit.

you missed her flirty glances and slightly cocky demeanor, and it began to eat up at you a little bit.

by focusing on the task at hand, which was the upcoming manchester city game, you attempted to distract yourself from it.

it helped a little.

jessie could tell something was up, but after your previous exchange she stopped pushing it (for now) upon seeing your refusal to give in, and partly for the sake of her sanity.

you let out a sigh of relief when the whistle blew, signaling the end of training.

you grabbed your water bottle and jumped when you felt someone slap you on your shoulder.

“okay now spill.”

you turn to see jessie giving you a concerned look, the midfielder’s cheeks red and hair messy from the exertion of practice.

“you look like a sunburnt lion,” you snort, before taking a drink of water.

jessie scoffs.

“lions don’t get sunburnt. i thought you’d know tha-hey!”

jessie lets out a yell of protest when you spray your water in her face.

you shoot her a cheeky grin before making a run for it.

“get back here! y/n!”

~~

on the other side of the spectrum, leah felt the same.

she was however, less of a mess than you, and held it together much better than you did.

~~

you let out a little sigh as you stare at the tv.

there she was in all her glory, fuming and talking to lisa after a game, a sight which you rather enjoyed.

after all, it was kind of hot.

you rewinded that section for a little bit, and nearly shit your pants when you heard the apartment door open.

“hey i brought lunch what are you-“

jessie stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the tv.

she let out a snort when she saw you.

you were crammed behind the couch in a failed attempt to hide yourself.

“watching leah are we?”

you let out a grumble from behind the couch:

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

jessie rolled her eyes and you heard a rustle before letting out a yelp of surprise when her bag hits you on your head.

“you bitch you hit me.”

“yeah yeah whatever.”

you wriggle your way out from your “hiding place” and plop down on the couch, still rubbing your head.

“i think you made me lose a bunch of brain cells.”

jessie snorts.

“to lose them you’d need some in the first place.”

you growl and shoot her a glare before crossing your arms and huffing:

“i’m ignoring you now.”

the canadian rolls her eyes and shrugs.

“finally some peace and quiet around here.”

“you’re mean.”

“i thought you were ignoring me.”

“shut up.”

~~

the next game was a tough one.

manchester city was a tough opponent and you’re now realizing why.

it was chelsea’s first game against them since they signed the uswnt players, and good lord have they improved.

you watched from across the pitch as jessie was struggling to get the ball from white, your chest heaving slightly while doing so.

you were already exhausted and it wasn’t even half time yet.

your head snaps up when you see a movement to your right, and you took a quick glance to the stands to see the top of a red jersey peaking out behind a black coat.

that’s all you could see before your name was being called and you turned to receive a pass.

and then you got caught up in the game once again, too busy to realize what it meant.

chelsea went into halftime down 1-0.

your halftime talk was brief, mostly just emma giving quick pointers here and there.

when the talk ended and break finished, you were so determined and focused that you nearly walked into the door frame on your way out of the training room.

the second half was going just like the first.

the possession was deadlocked, opportunities were deadlocked, and if it continued like this manchester city would win.

so you decide to fuck it.

you’re getting this corner kick in no matter what.

as reiten prepared to take it, you positioned yourself right next to the keeper and the post.

just for a moment, you let your eyes drift to the stands, your eyes catching a blonde’s as you do so.

it took you a second to realize who that was.

almost instantly, butterflies tore through your stomach, and you barely miss the whistle signaling the corner kick.

just barely.

now you have to score.

leah’s here.

you have to.

reiten sends the ball into the box, and almost like magic it’s heading for exactly where you’re standing.

you could see roebuck beginning to grab for it, and you didn’t care, you were going for that ball.

just as your head makes contact with it, you hear a resounding crack and yours eyes start watering in pain as you hit the ground.

your hands were covering your face and you could taste blood in your mouth, but you couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

jessie’s hand and concerned voice brings you out of your thoughts.

“hey are you okay? what’s wrong?”

you groaned a little in pain and whispered:

“did we score?”

jessie let out a halfhearted eye roll before saying:

“that’s what you’re worried about? well you scored, but please don’t kill yourself trying to do that next time.”

you let out a soft chuckle before taking jessie’s hand and getting to your feet.

one of your hands were still covering your face, and when you put them down jessie lets out a surprised yelp.

“oh jesus! okay uhm we need a medic here!”

pretty soon you were surrounded by the medical staff, and taking one look at you they ask for a substitute.

there’s a ringing in your ears so you can barely hear snippets of the medical conversation, but you hear enough to know what’s going on.

broken nose. punched in the face by the goalkeeper. need to set it.

it’s when you’re being led off the pitch that you remember about leah.

your eyes widen and you turn to the stands, and you couldn’t tell if it was your angle or not, but you couldn’t see her anywhere.

you shook your head slightly and continued your walk off the pitch.

emma joined you in the room along with a few guys on the medical team, and said:

“listen, we can set your nose now, or we can wait until after the game. we’ll give you a few moments to decide.”

you give a nod and with that everyone left the room.

it was quiet for about a minute before you heard footsteps again.

“hey i haven’t…”

the rest of your sentence gets caught in your throat when you look up.

in the doorway stood the girl who’d been on your mind for the past few weeks, and you blushed a little at the sight.

“um uh i-how are you?” you managed to stutter out.

leah lets out a light chuckle before saying:

“shouldn’t i be asking you that?”

the defender walks up to you and gently places her hands on your cheeks, quietly examining your face.

“well it’s definitely broken,” she mutters softly, and in a sudden jolt of confidence you bring your hand up to cup hers in yours.

leah smiles a little at that and takes your hands down to rest in your lap.

“how did you get down here?”

leah blushes and smiles sheepishly:

“i may have had to sneak around a guard or two..”

“you wanted to see me that badly huh?”

leah gives a slight eye roll at your teasing tone.

“be careful, i could leave at any moment.”

you let out a loud laugh before wincing slightly, the action shooting a fresh wave of pain over your face.

“be careful, don’t want that pretty face to scar,” leah says teasingly.

“why would you like me less with a scar?”

“well i didn’t say that.”

you try to wink, only getting halfway before wincing in pain again.

it’s now that emma walks back in with the medical staff, who looks up in surprise when she sees leah.

“we can’t have visitors here-“

“have her stay.”

“y/n we really can’t-“

“nope she’s staying.”

your coach lets out a defeated sigh.

“fine.”

and you hear her mutter something that sounds like:

“i don���t get paid enough for this.”

leah shot you a look before letting go of your hand, much to your dismay, and moved to a spot next to you, out of their way.

“so y/n, did you decide t-“

“set it now.”

emma gives the medical staff a thumbs up and  the go ahead and glances quickly at you and leah with an expression of oh look, more gays, before heading out back onto the pitch.

a gruff voice focuses your attention back to the foreground.

“alright y/n, my name is charles, and i’ll be setting your nose today.”

you give an attempt at a snort, and wince before saying:

“sounds like you’re my waiter or something.”

charles gives a hearty chuckle, and as he examines your face says:

“this one’s got a sense of humor huh.”

you let out a wink in leah’s direction before saying:

“oh you know it.”

charles turns with his back to you, looking through his equipment bag and says:

“okay this might hurt a bit, so i recommend grabbing something, not me preferably.”

“do people do that?”

charles turns to you with a bit of tape and gauze in his hands and places them on the table beside you.

“like you wouldn’t believe.”

you let out a laugh.

“alright let’s get this over with.”

“okay then, since they still have a game going on, please try not to yell.”

you felt his hands on your face and you braced yourself for it.

“alright ready? on the count of 3.”

“1.”

“2.”

your hand shot out in leah’s direction and the defender took it without hesitation.

“3.”

charles moved his body with his hands and the pain was almost instantaneous.

still, you gritted your teeth as your eyes start to water, not noticing how tightly you clamped onto leah’s hand.

it’s only after when charles is wrapping your nose that leah whispers:

“i know we play football but i kind of still need my hand.”

“sorry,” you mutter, relaxing your grip, and at the same time refusing to let go of her.

“all righty! took it like a champ, you didn’t even yell.”

you shrug before saying nonchalantly, “yeah i’m not much of a screamer.”

you grinned cheekily when you notice leah’s eyes widening and cheeks reddening.

as charles was packing up his stuff, he asks:

“so is this your girlfriend?”

it was silent for a few seconds, and charles turns to look at the two of you.

“i’m sensing like a we’re friends but we flirted a bit and now we don’t know where we stand kind of a vibe.”

you and leah speak at the same time.

“yeah.”

“exactly.”

charles picked up his bag and said:

“i figured. anyways you guys look cute together, and i’m gonna go back to the game now.”

and with that said, he gave you a little wave and walked out of the room.

“well he was fun, i liked him,” you said to leah, who smiled and nodded a bit in agreement.

the two of you chatted about meaningless things for a little while, before you shot up suddenly and pulled her with you.

“come on, let’s get out of here.”

leah scrunched her eyebrows up in confusion.

“where are we going?”

you grin at her.

“well i promised i’d take you on a date if you came to my game didn’t i?”

leah’s cheeks flush a little and she says:

“w-“

jessie’s voice cuts leah’s response short.

“y/n! how are you doin-oh.”

the canadian’s eyes flickered between your face and leah’s face, before moving towards your joined hands.

a teasing smile made its way onto her face and before you could stop it, jessie stepped forward and began talking to leah.

“hey, i’m jessie, also y/n’s best friend, you must be the one who-“

you let go of leah’s hand and cut in with a pitiful attempt to stop her from talking.

“NOPE I’M GOING TO LEAVE IM-“

leah crossed her arms and watched the two of you with an amused smirk plastered on her face.

“got y/n, a diehard chelsea fan i tell you, to-“

“NOPE NOPE NOPE JESSIE LETS NOT-“

“buy an arsenal jersey. yours to be exact.”

you groaned and your face flushed red with embarrassment, closing your eyes and turning to face the wall.

you spun around and took leah’s hand, dragging her out of the room while flipping off jessie.

you hear jessie yell from behind you:

“love you too y/n!”

it’s when the two of you made your way out of the stadium when she says:

“so an arsenal jersey huh?”

your cheeks flush redder and you mumble:

“shut up.”

“i’ll bet it looks great on you,” leah added with a wink.

“it’ll look even better on your bedroom floor,” you retort.

leah’s eyes widened a little as her face became blood red.

“what?”

you grin cockily.

“nothing!”

leah just looked at you in utter disbelief.

[danidrabbles]

Cowboy Like Me - Part One

Story Summary: HERE.

Chapter Summary: Three months after your arrival at Statesman’s Kentucky department, Jack and yourself are sent out on your first assignment together. You find out you didn’t know your partner as well as you thought you did, while Jack is forced to confront the decisions he made one year prior.

Rating: M ......for now.

Word Count: 11.2k (I know...) (also, the irony of this blog being named danidrabbles vs. this word count is not lost on me, trust me)

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence (mentions and use of weapons, mentions of death and murder), alcohol, innuendo but no smut, feeeelings, way too many creative liberties with / assumptions about the art world - I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: Absolutely terrifying to share my child in fanfic form with the world, but here we are... This story (even this first chapter) has known many versions, but this final one would not have been here if it hadn’t been for Astrid @javier-pena​, who quite literally dragged me through this with her constant encouragement and unlimited enthusiasm. Please read her wonderful Mandalorian fic ‘The Hunt’. Astrid, I’m tipping my imaginary cowboy hat down to say that I can’t thank you enough, darlin’. I also want to mention @frannyzooey​ and @jura-moon​ who, with their stories, have inspired me endlessly and relit the writing flame within me that had gone out. Thank you!

PART ONE: LONDON.

“No, wait,” you whisper, and you hold two fingers up to emphasise your words.

“Wasn’t gonna do anything,” Jack hisses back.

The two of you are taking cover behind a broad column, face to face to fit the space together. The footsteps to your side stop, and then there’s the sound of hushed voices, too soft to make out what they’re saying. There are five of them, that much you know, all equipped with a gun.

You nod down at the hand resting on the holster under his arm, raising an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Not yet,” he clarifies with a sigh. “But hiding here ain’t it… Eventually, it’s only gonna expose us more.”

“We’ve got to wait,” you say. “Listen, they’re eager, right? They’ll come to us, and if we wait for them to come to us, we can take them out in close quarters instead of at long range.” Your head perks up at the soft sounds coming from the other side of the room.

“That’d be a perfect idea if you had your little knives and I had my whip, but we gotta take ‘em out with these,” he reminds you, holding his gun up for you to see. “Remember?”

You sigh, palming the gun still sheathed in the holster on your hip. He’s right, you acknowledge with a nod, it is different without your weapons of choice. “What about visibility?”

Above you, there’s a light flickering on and off, colouring your surroundings in bright red at steady intervals, forcing your eyes to refocus every time colour bleeds back into the room.

“Think it’s a disadvantage for all of us,” he provides.

The sound of footsteps is back, this time almost rhythmical, on your left and right. “They’re probably splitting up,” you whisper, listening again before you add, “Three on the left, two on the right? Maybe?”

He listens, too. “Sounds about right.” Then, he grins. “How ‘bout a little competition, hmm? First one to take out three wins.”

Your face falls and you manage a sharp, “Jack, no,” but shit—  He’s already rounding the corner. You have no choice but to come out of hiding to cover him, following only a second after he emerges from behind the column. The sight of the both of you, guns raised, fills the room with silence, until Jack fires a warning shot, which makes the footsteps turn frantic. There’s a sound to your left, and you turn, quickly firing at one of your assailants who has their gun pointed at Jack’s back, hitting them right in the chest.

Jack’s head whips around in surprise. “Thank you, darlin’,” he says, an appreciative smile apparent in-between the flickers of light. “But that one was on my side, so that makes the score one to zero in my favor.”

“All I heard was, ‘First one to take out three wins’, nothing about sides,” you counter. “Which would make it one to zero in my favor.”

“Hmm,” is all he says, and it sounds far too amused.

“What’s that?”

“S’nothing, I just… knew you’d play along if I made you.”

You roll your eyes at his remark, then refocus, scanning your surroundings. There’s crates, columns, some furniture; plenty of places to obscure you from view. You can’t see a thing during the little intervals where the lights aren’t on and it makes you feel dazed, like you’re moving in slow-motion. There’s also no footsteps, so you decide that forcing everyone to the back of the room by checking the hiding places is probably the best course of action, as it will eventually leave them cornered, easier targets. Turning to convey your plans to your partner, you find him gone from your side.

Then there’s a grunt, and a thud, and then Jack’s voice echoes through the room, “One-one.”

Before you can even think of replying, a shot flies over your shoulder, and you dive behind a large crate. You look over the top with narrow eyes, spotting someone hanging from the ceiling. It’s a smart move in theory, but only if you don’t miss; it draws attention, reveals your position. You wait, and when no shot follows, you look over the crate again, seeing the person who just shot at you struggle with their weapon.

You raise your gun, take your aim and hit them in the chest at the exact same moment as the room lights up. Another shot rings out behind you, followed by a groan, and you immediately turn towards the sound. You find Jack standing there, looking far too proud and with a body slung over one of the chairs behind you.

“Thought I’d return the favor and make things exciting,” he says. “That’s two-to-two.”

You offer him a short, fake smile, then move through the room with him. It’s nearly impossible, with Jack wedging himself into your path to be the first to check your corners on account of the current score, and after some frantic shuffling from your target, and some missed shots from you and Jack, there’s only one spot left. You will yourself to focus on the far corner of the room, cross stepping closer and closer with Jack hot on your heels.

“You’re paying attention, right?” Jack says, picking up his step again until he’s slightly ahead of you. You can see the grin on his face form between the flickers of the lights overhead. “’‘Cause I would just hate for you to lose, doll.”

God, you hadn’t even agreed to participate in this pointless bet, but you can’t help but think about how satisfying it would be to wipe that grin right off his face when you win…

Suddenly there’s a shuffle from behind the couch in front of you, followed by a click, and it makes you both duck just before two shots come your way in quick succession. Jack’s hand closes over your upper arm, dragging you behind the fallen table he’s found cover behind, and you’re both silent for a second to listen to more shuffling from your target’s hiding place, followed by two more shots.

“Looks like we’ve successfully trapped our rat in the corner,” Jack says, voice low.

You nod. “Okay, I’ll go, you c—”

“Oh, hell no.” Jack chuckles softly. “Nice try, but I ain’t handin’ you the victory on a silver platter like that.”

Your shoulders drop with a sigh, “You know I don’t actually care about this bet, right? Just need you to cover me.”

He makes a face, then pulls another 10-bullet magazine from the clip around his waist as he thinks. After sliding it into place and pulling his hand back overtop the weapon, a tick confirms the reloading of his gun, and he gives you a quick nod.

“I’m going to need verbal confir—”

“Just fuckin’ go. I’ll cover you.”

Before he can change his mind, or do something decidedly Jack-ish, you step over his body, staying low, as you sneak out of hiding on the opposite side of the table during a moment where the room is covered in darkness. Behind you, you hear Jack mutter a soft curse before he begins shooting in the general direction of where the shots had originated earlier.

You approach carefully, operating out of sight. When you’re close enough, you press your back up against the nearest column. Quickly checking your gun between the flickering lights, you nod to yourself, then hold it close to you as you start to count when your distracted opponent fires back at Jack.

One, two, three…

four, five…

six.

Bingo.

You approach the couch, pointing your gun over it. The man behind it immediately raises his own weapon at you, aims for your chest and fires, but all that follows is a soft click, accompanied by a look of horror on his face at the realization he’s emptied his magazine.

In the split-second you contemplate your options, the bet entering your thoughts again, Jack comes up to stand beside you. You take him in from the corner of your eye. He’s not looking at you but has his gun still firmly held in both hands. When you turn slightly to look up at him, your eyes meet, and you’re sure that in that moment, the exact same thought crosses your minds at the exact same time. You both point your gun down and pull the trigger.

It’s impossible to tell who lands the kill shot in the end.

Jack scoffs, hands dropping to his sides with a shake of his head. “Christ, you liar.”

You’re about to retort when you hear it: a click behind you.

The realization makes your eyes widen, but it’s too late. You hear the shot before you feel it, and it lands right in the middle of your back, making you wobble. Next to you, Jack huffs, hand landing on the back of the couch at the pressure that he’s no doubt also feeling at his back.

It’s silent for what feels like the longest time, save for the heavy breathing behind the two of you. Until…

“You’re out, agents.” Ginger’s voice crackles over the intercom.

The lights flicker on in the room, bright and almost yellow, and the loud buzzer that rings through the practice space indicates the end of training. Around you, everyone rises up from their fake-deaths. They gather around, shrugging out of their protective clothes and celebrating their win, congratulating the last woman standing as they make their way to the exit.

“What the hell, Ginger!” You shout. “You said there were five!”

There’s a soft noise coming through the intercom, before Ginger’s voice is back, “Here’s a refresher: Always verify the information you get, don’t just blindly follow it.”

“Oh, come on…”

Next to you, Jack pulls the magazine of practice bullets from his gun before he holsters it. “It’s not like it really matters,” he says.

“We were just taken out by the recruits,” you scoff. “It matters.”

Meanwhile, your mind is already racing, going over the details of the training, thinking on where you went wrong, but it’s a short contemplation because Ginger is right: You should have confirmed your targets before running out in the open and exposing yourself, have a better plan... Which reminds you—

“Hey,” you say, drawing Jack’s attention again. “Next time I would appreciate a little heads up if you’re going to disappear on me like that,” you say, jabbing your thumb over your shoulder. “I mean, if I can’t even trust you during training, how am I supposed to trust you when we get back out there?”

His eyes narrow and it’s like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it and turns away from you. “We ain’t going anywhere anytime soon anyway.” His voice is stained with spite and immediately after he says it, he starts making his way towards the exit.

You huff as you pull at the velcro straps to get the vest off your body and drop it into the container with the rest of the protective clothes next to the door, before following after him.

He isn’t wrong, per se. You don’t know about the details because it seems to be a sensitive topic judging from the one time you brought it up, but Jack had been put on non-active months ago after a mission in Cambodia and hasn’t been sent out by Statesman since. After a bit of an unconventional first meeting between the two of you, Champ, the head of Statesman, had decided that partnering you two up would be a good idea. Truthfully, it made sense; Jack’s a senior agent who needs to be eased back into things, you’re a junior agent who could learn from him while you could keep him reined in.

But it’s been three months since and you still haven’t been sent out on a mission, and it isn’t how you envisioned your transfer to this division of Statesman to be.

You imagined high-stakes missions, traveling the world, learning from the best—

Okay, maybe that last part had worked out.

Truth be told, Jack had proven himself a very capable agent from the very moment you met, but it didn’t really sink in until one of your first training sessions, when you discovered Jack insisted on carrying around a lasso and whip on top of this Statesman issued gun. You laughed it off at first, thinking it was just part of his cowboy-like fashion sense. Then he opted to practice his lasso skills on you, betting he could catch you with it in under a minute. Figuring it would take him more than a minute to even find you in the large training space, you agreed. In hindsight, the smirk on his face when he asked should have been enough for you to realize your mistake right away. He found you, got the rope looped around your body, and, rather indignantly, forced you to the ground; all in under 36 seconds.

It wasn’t until after, when the rope was looped around a rubber target dummy, that he showed you the lasso could turn electric…

You continued your sessions together, learning to anticipate each other’s moves, play off of them to use it against your opponent; getting a routine down and using the training time to prepare for your missions. But there’s only so much preparing you can do, especially with someone who is as much of a wildcard as Jack, someone who often makes his own plan. But the missions never came, causing Jack to become somewhat of a ticking time bomb, closer to exploding with each passing day that you weren’t sent out. You’re sure Champ has noticed by now, but still, he insists on having you train together more. And, on occasion, that means playing target practice for the new Statesman recruits.

“Being taken out by the recruits isn’t going to improve our chances, you know.” You jog after him until you’re walking next to him.

“That mean we should just take it?” Jack asks, manoeuvring through the corridors back to the main building, bumping your shoulder occasionally.

“Whatever happened to, ‘You know me darlin’, I’m always jumpin’ at the chance to pencil in a little extra training time with you’?” you manage in your best impression of his voice to echo the words he said before the two of you entered the training space earlier.

“I changed my mind and thought of something better, that’s what happened,” he says, looking at you before gesturing between the two of you. “Us two, puttin’ all our hard work to good use out there in the field. And I don’t mean any funny business.”

“Hmm, yeah, no, exactly, ‘cause we don’t practice that kind of stuff.”

You set it up for him, and you have a feeling he knows but can’t help himself. One corner of his mouth turns up, and you consider the slight change in his demeanour a small victory.

“But we could.”

You chuckle, open your mouth to reply—

“I know, I know.” He grins, before you can say anything. “Just puttin’ it out there, lest you forget.”

He stops walking, so you do as well, standing next to him and leaning against the wall as to not obstruct the hallway. He turns towards you and for a moment you just look at him as he sighs and combs his fingers through his hair while the furrow returns to his brow. “But… Christ, don’t you wanna get back out there?”

“Of course I do,” you say with a sigh. “At this rate that recruit dangling from the ceiling is going to get a mission before we do.”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about, partner.” He leans in, lowers his voice like he’s about to tell you a secret, “I say we—”

“Hey, Whiskey!” The exclamation echoes through the hall, followed by your own code name. Both your heads perk up at the sound, finding one of the recruits at the end of the hall. “Ginger’s asking for you two!”

--

Ginger Ale’s promotion to handler meant that she was able to enjoy a lot more of Statesman’s luxuries, including her own office. As you walk in, you can’t help but notice how nice it is: It is spacious, but modest with the way she has decorated it, has a gorgeous view and is full of the latest tech; it is exactly what she deserves.

You’ve gotten to know her well during the past few months. She is intelligent and resourceful, warm and encouraging. Her work is thorough and precise; she cares a great deal about the details of a mission, and you have no doubt that you could always trust her if she were to ever guide you through one.

But training is another story, apparently…

“I’m not accepting any repercussions for that training,” you say the moment you spot her by the window.

Ginger chuckles at that, and it sounds unlike her, like she’s nervous. It’s almost as intriguing as the next words she speaks, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t call you in here for that. Why don’t you have a seat?”

You shoot a quick glance at Jack, who looks equally responsive despite his silence; lips pursed, an eyebrow cocked. He strides towards her desk to take her up on her invitation, and sits down in one of the two chairs opposite her workspace. You follow quickly, taking a seat in the empty chair beside him, looking up at Ginger as she makes her way to the see-through screen on her desk.

Ginger taps the screen twice, and it lights up. It’s full of pictures of the same man, all taken on different occasions. He’s slender, mid-40s, you’d guess, with a pair of round glasses perched on his nose and has blond, wild hair, some of it missing on the top of his head.

“Nathaniel Jones,” Jack says, leaning in to take a closer look at the pictures. “Nathan resurfaced?”

“Yes,” Ginger says.

“I’m sorry, um, who is Nathan?” you ask, looking from Jack to Ginger and back.

“He’s an art thief,” Ginger answers.

“Not just an art thief, he’s one of the best, even wanted by the good folks at Interpol,” Jack corrects, turning to you. “Steals pieces all over the world and replaces ‘em with fakes, good fakes, then sells ‘em. They even suspect him of stealin’ an ancient Chinese gu from an exhibition in Nanjing, which he kept for his own personal collection. Think he might be capable of puttin’ the Gardner Museum theft to shame someday…” He trails off.

You nod, not entirely sure what that means, but you’re sure it would be an impressive feat. And Jack would know. While he’s been on non-active, Jack has taken up a new hobby: art history. You didn’t think he’d be the man for it, but apparently when Jack sets his sights on something, he goes a little hard, and if the many times he’s threatened to ‘leave the agency and live off that sweet, sweet art appraiser salary’ are anything to go by, he is quite good.

“However, no one has been able to catch him. He leaves no physical evidence, but he always allows himself to be photographed, as you can see,” Ginger says, gesturing towards the screen.

“Show off,” Jack scoffs. “Where did they spot him?”

“London,” Ginger replies, tapping the screen again to reveal an aerial map of the city centre, two red dots corresponding with some of the pictures she’s shown you earlier. “There’s a big auction coming up and he’s expected to strike.”

Suddenly, her words are kicking in. Nathan is like.. he is kind of like a target, isn’t he? And he was spotted in London… Expected to attend an event where he could get caught...

“Ginger, are you—are you saying what I think you’re saying? You’re sending us on a mission?”

“Yes and no. It’s…” Ginger hesitates, eyes flickering to Jack quickly, then continues, “It’s a mission, but it’s not our mission. It’s… It’s at the request of Kingsman.”

But it’s a mission. A real mission, in London. And it's perfect. With Jack's art expertise and both your skills as agents, you’re sure you’d be an excellent addition to the Kingsman team for this mission. A mission. Finally—

“We ain’t goin’.”

—and then Jack says that. His voice is low and dead serious, lacking any hint of sarcasm. “You know I’m not fucking doing that.”

It takes you completely by surprise, and you whip your head around to him so quickly that the muscles in your neck protest. "What?"

He ignores the question, stares straight at Ginger. Something is seriously wrong. He’s tense, maybe even more than you’ve ever seen him. It’s in the way his jaw twitches, and how he’s gripping the arms of the chair, but most of all in his eyes; it’s something you can’t place.

“They just need someone who can look at the pieces they have at the auction house, to authenticate and appraise them before the auction,” Ginger says, “and an extra couple eyes to do surveillance during the auction.”

"You should send someone else, ‘cause I ain't doin’ it."

Ginger sighs. “You think I would ask this of you if there was someone else who could do it?”

“Come on, Ginger,” Jack laughs bitterly, a thumb coming up to swipe at his bottom lip. “No art appraisers available in London?”

“You know they can't just get a civilian in on this.” Ginger sounds frustrated now.

"Well, it’s what Kingsman is gonna have to do."

You raise a brow at the way he snarls at the word ‘Kingsman’. So that’s what this is about. “Okay,” you begin, speaking in the kindest, most understanding tone you can manage as you turn towards your incredibly stubborn partner. “Okay, clearly there’s something going on here, with - with the Kingsman, right? But maybe by going there you can…,” you gesture with your hands to find the right words, “work it out?”

He seems to consider this, lips pursing further, not looking at either you or Ginger, and after some moments of quiet contemplation, he begins to sit up. “Hypothetically — and by that I do mean hypothetically — if I were to agree… Do they even know I’m the one comin’ to consult?”

“Jack—”

“It’s a simple question,” Jack interrupts, voice slightly raised. “Yes or no?”

You give Ginger a hopeful look, but her silence says enough.

Jack lifts himself out of the chair, drawing the same conclusion. “Then there’s no chance in hell.”

"Well, do I get a say in this at all?" Your voice comes out angrier than you intended, but it’s fitting. You are angry. Angry that he’s making decisions without you again, angry that he would blow this chance for the both of you after he hasn’t shut up about how he wants to get sent out on a mission.

"Not in this one,” Jack all but barks at you.

You rise up from your chair. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, doll, but I’m not going all the way to London to help Kingsman as some sort of… last hurray before we're back to bein’ fucking… practice bait for the recruits!" Rounding the chair, Jack makes his way to the doors to Ginger’s office.

You're about to go after him, demand he tell you what the fuck the big deal with Kingsman even is, when Ginger speaks,

"What if it isn't one last hurray?"

Jack keeps walking. “Don’t bother.”

“If you go, I can talk to Champ about sending you out on more assignments.”

Now that makes Jack stop in his tracks. He doesn’t quite turn around yet, his back is still to Ginger and yourself, but he does angle his head to the side to indicate he heard her. It’s something. You can feel your anger simmering down and your heartbeat picking up; hopeful at Jack’s hesitance, giddy at the prospect of more missions. “And all I have to do is look at the pieces?” His voice is barely any louder than a whisper.

“Look at the pieces, authenticate and appraise them, surveillance,” Ginger summarises. “That’s it.”

His hands find his hips with a sigh, and he tips his head down. He stays like that, oh so still… “Tell them I’ll do it,” he says, “but not because I want to.” Then he pushes the door open and walks away.

--

­­­“So…” You draw the word out before clicking your tongue.

You’re sitting across from Jack on the jet, still a long way from London. Ginger has arranged for one pretty much right away. Once you’ve gotten over your initial, dazzling impression of the jet – it is enormous, far too much for just two people, with a literal pool table in the middle and a fucking bar with two doors next to it that lead to the sleeping compartments – you begin quietly observing him.

He hasn’t spoken a word since you left Kentucky and, if anything, he seems to get more miserable the closer you get to your destination. The longer you see him like this, the more your enthusiasm for the mission cools, and the more you actually start to get worried this is a bad idea after all.

You have waited as long as your curiosity, and the tension, allow for it, but given the explosive start of this whole thing, you’re certain you have to know the apparent history between him and Kingsman. You’ve tried asking Ginger, as she certainly knows more about it, but she insisted it wasn’t her place to tell you. So, really, you have no choice but to bring it up now.

“When are you going to tell me what the deal is with you and Kingsman?”

“Nothin’ for you to worry about,” comes his instant reply, clearly having anticipated your question. He’s got one hand cupped along his jaw to support his head so he can stare out the small circular window, while his shoulders, judging from his posture and the expression on his face, are currently supporting the weight of the world. “It’s all gonna be just fine.”

You scoff. “Please. I’ve known you for some time now, I’ve seen you in a lot of moods, but I’ve never seen you sulk, and…,” you gesture towards him, slumped back in his seat as he is, “…you’re sulking, Jack. Clearly there’s a good reason for that.”

He sits up at your remark, adjusts his hat, then pinches the bridge of his nose, giving you a clear sign that he doesn’t want to have this conversation – at all, but especially right now. You give him a few more seconds, but when it’s clear he isn’t going to speak, you try another direction.

“Is it um, is it about Cambodia?” you gently pry.

“Woman, can’t you take a hint?” he grunts. “Or do you just like getting a rise outta me?”

“I’m not asking just because I’m curious what can get such a rise out of you,” you say. “This is an assignment, technically it’s our first official one - the bank doesn’t count,” you add quickly. “And I would just like to be a little more prepared than last time.”

“The bank counts.”

“We didn’t even know—”

“The bank counts,” he repeats, and he probably thinks he’s being oh so funny and clever right now, focussing in on your mention of your first meeting like he isn’t doing it just to try to change the subject.

“I want to know what I’m about to walk into, Jack,” you say sharply.

“We all want things, darlin’,” he says with a sigh, getting up from his seat. “I for one would like ya to stop bringin’ this up.” And then he walks off to quite possibly the only place he can escape to right now, announcing, “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Sooner or later I will find out about it, you know that, right?” you call after him, your final attempt to make him just tell you what happened.

He hesitates – it's brief, but he does, a slight change in his step, a twitch of his upper arm. But he doesn’t stop, leaving you to watch as he slips through one of the doors next to the bar and disappears out of sight.

You will yourself to keep working and wait for him to return, thumbing through the thick files Ginger sent along. But as more time passes, the letters begin to dance in front of your eyes and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Had this seat been this comfortable before? Your body sags into the leather and you allow your thoughts to drift away from your partner’s mysterious history with Kingsman. After all, you think, naively, trying to justify letting the sleep overtake you, if Jack has decided to accept the assignment, how bad could it really be?

--

Okay. So. Turns out it could be really bad.

After touching down in London, you’d been escorted straight to the auction house, where Agents Galahad Sr. and Galahad Jr. would meet up with you. Jack had been fidgety the whole ride, leg bouncing as he resorted back to gazing out the window. You don’t know how long he had locked himself away for on the jet, but when you’d woken up, he was back in his seat across from you, case files in his lap but fast asleep, or doing a pretty good job pretending. After arriving, you entered through the sliding glass doors, and spotted two men, both sharply dressed. One was a bit older than the other, and the older one wore a pair of glasses that left one eye obscured from view. The older man had barely taken your hand in his to introduce himself, when his colleague spotted Jack, and all hell had broken loose.

Currently, you and the man you now know as Harry, if all the frantic yelling from the other agent is anything to go by, are forced to settle what has become a standoff between Jack and Harry’s colleague. They’re standing across from each other, weapons pointed at each other after Harry’s colleague aimed his at Jack, to which Jack pulled his own gun from its holster and pointed it at the other man.

“What the fuck is this, Harry? What is he doing here?”

There’s something about his tone that confirms beyond his actions that he’s more than furious. You feel a flush creep up your neck in response to the situation you find yourself in; you feel embarrassed that you have no idea what’s going on.

“Eggsy,” Harry says. “There’s no need for theatrics.”

“He’s right. Jack, put the gun away,” you say.

“Like hell – I’ll put my gun away when he puts his gun away,” Jack answers, his eyes never leaving Eggsy’s hands.

“I— Me? I should put my gun away?” Eggsy scoffs. “I’m not even puttin’ my gun down around you. Last time you pulled a gun on me, you tried to kill me—” He looks at Harry, “You tried to kill us.”

Jack sighs. “Listen, things are different now—”

He’s saying more after that, but all that you’re hearing is that he isn’t denying it, and it replaces the flush from earlier with goosebumps that break out all over your body. That’s why he didn’t want to come here. Jack, your partner Jack, had attempted to kill two Kingsman agents.

“Why are you so calm about this, Harry?” Eggsy’s voice comes out strained, and it almost sounds like a plea.

“Agent Galahad,” Harry says sharply. “You know we can’t let our personal feelings get in the way. I simply think we should give Agent Whiskey a chance to do the job he came here to do.”

“Yes,” you blurt out. “I swear, that’s all we came here to do; do the appraisal and help with the surveillance later. After that, we’ll be out of your hair.”

Eggsy looks from you to Harry and back, gripping the gun so hard it shakes, then lowers it with a sigh. “You better.” He turns his attention back to Jack. “Or I swear, I’m gonna put so many fuckin’ bullets in you that no amount of Alpha-Gel can fix it. You got that?”

“Loud and clear.”

You heave a sigh of relief when the men holster their weapons, and as if knowing exactly when to appear, the auction house assistant enters the room, blissfully oblivious to what she had just missed out on.

Her accent is posh, especially compared to Eggsy’s, when she says, “I see everyone has arrived. Shall we?”

As she leads you to the room where the paintings are being kept, the auction house assistant informs you about them. They’re all part of a week-long event, an auction to help out up and coming artists. It’s all information you already know from the preliminary work you did for this assignment. What you don’t know is that artists usually make little to nothing from their art being sold at auction houses, but that this auction has a scoop: The artists will receive royalties from works sold on the secondary market. The works up for auction tomorrow are among the most anticipated, and they’re expected to sell at a high price. And even though you’re no art expert, you can certainly see why when the assistant leads you into the room where the works are stored.

The white walls are adorned with paintings of the most beautiful artworks. They’re all landscapes -– cherry blossom by a lake, a cave lit in a way that could be described as enchanting, a waterfall between oddly shaped high rocks, a lavender field at sundown. But they’re painted in a way unlike anything you’ve ever seen on account of the dazzling colours and unusual brush strokes. It instantly makes you want to look closer; it makes you want to touch, flit your fingers over the bumps of dried paint – an instinct you obviously don’t act upon, but you want to. It’s bitter to imagine how such stunning works would not have benefitted the artist if it would be sold at another auction house…

Jack looks equally impressed, whistling as he looks around the room before he gets to work. As he does, you watch curiously, from a distance as not to disturb him – Eggsy’s leaning against the wall next to him, much less subtle about his observant role. While you watch, you take note of the care Jack is putting into his work right now, unusually patient in his methods, evident in the way the gloved tips of his fingers brush along the canvasses, how he uses his pocket magnifying glass to inspect the painting from top to bottom, and the soft tone he uses with the assistant. It’s the kind of stuff you’ve never really been able to see him do, you realize, so different from all the tactical training you went through the past few months.

By the time he’s nearly done, you’re deep in conversation with Harry. He’s polite and to the point, with a rich voice and a kind laugh. And clearly, he’s no fool. You had struck up the conversation in hopes of prying some information out of him about Jack’s history with Kingsman, but Harry changes the subject each time you try, focusing back on the “extraordinary artwork”. It’s like the universe is conspiring against you, waiting to drop the other shoe at the right moment – or maybe these agents are just too well trained…

“That fuckin’…” Lost in thought as you are, you’re startled when you suddenly hear Jack’s voice sail through the room. “We’ve got a problem,” he declares, rounding the corner, coming back into view with Eggsy hot on his heels. He’s striding over with large steps as he plucks the latex gloves off his hands, and the concern on his face is apparent; his lips are pressed together in a thin line and his brows are furrowed. He comes to a halt in front of Harry and yourself, his fingers brushing along his chin before he explains himself, “So, all of ‘em are exactly as I expected ‘em, right? Until I get to the last one, inspect the brushstrokes and… something don’t add up. I think he’s already made the switch.”

--

Jack’s unexpected discovery at the auction house had led to a small crisis. From Eggsy, who demanded to know how Jack was so sure and if he wasn’t aiding a wanted criminal again. And from the auction house personnel, who started a frantic investigation into how someone could have gotten in and out of the secured room. It was a mystery that was quickly solved when they pulled up the security footage from last night, which showed Nathan, dressed as someone from the cleaning crew, rounding the corner where the switched artwork was located with a cleaning cart, and reappeared with it moments later.

No one expected Nathan to strike before the auction; the thief usually operates in plain sight during the events he targets. It forced Harry, Eggsy, Jack and yourself to rethink your strategy, and you had agreed to meet up early next morning to come up with a new plan. The stiff goodbyes you’d shared with the Kingsman agents served as a cold reminder of how you’d arrived here.

And even now, as you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, it’s an unpleasant feeling you can’t shake, a feeling that’s keeping you from sleeping more than the jetlag. Before you can think any better of it, you’re up, through the door, walking down the hallway, and knocking on Jack’s hotel room door. He opens almost immediately, and that, combined with the way he’s still dressed in yesterday’s clothes and is doing a poor job of hiding the half-empty whiskey bottle on the dresser behind him, leads you to believe he hasn’t slept a wink, either.

“Hi,” you say, brushing past him and into the room.

“You know,” he says as he closes the door, a slight slur in his voice apparent. “This isn’t how I imagined it.”

The comment throws you off. “This isn’t how you imagined what?” you ask with a frown.

He gestures towards you. “You, barging into my hotel room.”

“I—”

“Usually less clothes involved,” he interrupts with a chuckle as he walks toward the dresser and plucks the bottle off of there.

“Yeah, well…” you look down at yourself, at your sweatpants, the soft dark blue T-shirt you’re wearing, “I’m sorry this isn’t doing it for you, Jack.”

He looks up at you, cocks his head with a grin. “Oh, I didn’t say that, darlin’.”

You sigh. You’re used to this endless back and forth, the pet names, it’s what Jack does with everyone, but you’re no longer in the mood to play into his little game. “I’m not here to get you into bed, Jack.”

“Good,” he says, and he doesn’t miss a beat when he adds, “in my dreams we don’t make it to—”

“I’m here to give you one final chance to tell me what happened between you and Kingsman,” you say with a raised voice before he’s even finished.

He makes his way over to a glass table by the window where his tumbler is waiting for him, and he pours it half-full. “And what if I don’t?” he asks.

You take a deep breath. You don’t want to give him the chance to derail the conversation by hiding behind his wit. Or walking away. You’re serious, this is serious, and you want him to know it is. “If you don’t, then that means I can’t trust you.” This time, it’s you who doesn’t miss a beat when you add, “and Jack, if I can’t trust you, I can’t be your partner.” Maybe it’s a weak threat, but it’s the truth. This is your first mission together and he’s already keeping things from you. How could a partnership possibly work like this?

You’re surprised when he doesn’t immediately have a smart retort for you. Instead, your words make him freeze, and if you didn’t know better you swear it makes him sober up. You know that he can tell you’re not kidding around, can practically see the cogs turning in his head in what you assume is him making a quick list of pros and cons. After some time, he reaches for a second glass, pouring two fingers before simply asking, “Drink?”

“Depends.”

He thrusts the glass in your direction. “Take the drink and sit down.” He gestures towards one of the leather chairs next to the table, but you stand your ground, looking at his extended arm but not taking the drink from his hand. “Please,” he says, and with the way his voice slightly goes up at the end, it’s almost a question.

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that, and your legs are walking you towards him before you’ve even really accepted his invitation. You take the glass from him and plop down in the chair with a huff. You still can’t really tell if he’s serious, so you wait for him to speak.

Jack brings the glass to his mouth, throwing its contents back with one big gulp before refilling it and taking a seat himself. His hand moves up to his face, two fingers rubbing along his moustache as he looks at you and gnaws at his lip. “I erm— It’s not—” Then he averts his gaze, and after a beat of silence he settles on, “It’s a long story, though.”

You’re taken aback, not used to seeing him like this. You’ve gotten to know Jack as charming, confident, cool, but while he is stuttering out his reply, the flush in his neck creeps up to his face, and his shell seems to be cracking. He is flustered, maybe even anxious, and you have a feeling that he’s not exaggerating when he says that it’s a long story.

You nip at your drink, the oaky taste with hints of vanilla settling pleasantly in your mouth before burning down your throat. “I have plenty of time to listen.”

And so you do. You listen to him explain how Kingman and Statesman worked together to stop Poppy Adams and take down her toxic drug empire. But that, somewhere along the mission, his personal feelings got in the way. After purposefully breaking a vial of the antidote they’d stolen from one of Poppy’s facilities on Mont Blanc, he had been shot in the head by Harry, who suspected him of being a traitor. Luckily, Eggsy had reacted quickly by using Alpha-Gel, effectively saving his life. (“Even got the battle scars to prove it,” he says, pointing at the scar on the side of his face). The next thing he remembered was waking up in Kentucky, where Ginger brought his memory back. He followed the Kingsman agents to Poppy’s hideout in Cambodia, where he nearly kept them from releasing the antidote worldwide, before they overpowered him and brought him back to the States in cuffs. Naturally, he was suspended indefinitely.

Throughout his story, you’re dead silent, hanging onto his every word as you sip your drink.

“Guess I kept this from you for so long ‘cause… I didn’t want this partnership to end before it properly began. But with you comin’ in here at two in the mornin’, demandin’ to know the truth or else, I figured…” He pauses with a sigh, face twisting into a something you can’t quite place. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

Your brain is failing to process all this information at once, and Jack takes your silence as a prompt to continue,

“And I hate it. ‘Cause for the first time in a long time, I was havin’ some fun again.” He nods at his own statement, then looks up at you, his eyes searching your face. “When we were training together and you picked up on everything I was doin’… You anticipatin’ all my moves made me wanna anticipate all o’your moves, to become attuned to you and your…your stupid little knives.” His smile falters, and there’s that look again. “I mean, we’re a good team, aren't we?”

Jack’s always chatty, but the way he’s talking right now he’s being downright loquacious. It’s probably on account of the whiskey, but it still makes you choose your words carefully, unable to be as blunt or demanding as you were earlier. “All of that training stuff,” you begin, “I think it means nothing if we can’t be honest with each other.” You pause, so your words can really land with him, before asking, “Can I trust you to do that?”

“After all that, can you trust me to do that?” He’s making that face again, and the flush on his cheeks is back and—

Oh.

Oh.

You completely forget about his question because suddenly you can place the look on his face: He’s ashamed.

He’s ashamed and he thinks you’ll see him differently from this point on and that that’s why— Wait. Do you? The weight of his story is starting to catch up to you. Because holy shit, the Poppy Adams situation last year was intense. You remember the TV broadcastings, the utter chaos across the globe, but nothing about Cambodia that could have made you connect the dots previously. Had Jack succeeded when he went after Harry and Eggsy to stop them from releasing the antidote, millions of people would have died – literally millions. Which— Yeah, that’s a lot to process. Your partner almost played a key part in allowing that to happen…

Almost.

Because here he is, all the tell-tale signs of shame suddenly apparent; the way he’s turned away from you, how his eyes keep darting away from yours, the red splotches on his neck, his quivering Adam’s apple. However, you also know that feeling ashamed isn’t the same as feeling guilty. You can feel ashamed over something that you’ve done, freeze and feel your gut twist at the memory, but still feel like it was a necessary evil. Does he feel any remorse for what he’s done? Just like that, there’s only one thing that really matters, that you need to know.

“Do you regret it?” you ask. He’s silent, and as you watch his finger trace the rim of his glass with a frown, you can tell that wasn’t what he was expecting, so you elaborate, “Cambodia, I mean.”

It makes his frown ease up. “All the time.”

You can feel yourself sag into the leather in relief before taking another swig from your glass. The whiskey seems to make you lose-lipped as well, because before you can really debate if you should push this any further right now, you’re firing another question at him. “Then why did you do it?”

It doesn’t sound accusatory – or you don’t mean it that way, at least. It’s simply curious, but it still makes Jack twitch, the liquid in his glass sloshing around with it. And as flushed as he was before on account of his candour and the alcohol, your question seems to drain all the colour from his cheeks.

“No, don’t—” He cuts himself off and grimaces at his own sharp tone, quickly correcting himself to something softer, “I think that’s enough story time for tonight, alright?”

It’s not enough, not really, but still you find yourself nodding, setting your empty tumbler down on the glass table that separates you. “We should...get some sleep, be prepared for tomorrow,” you say, standing up from the chair, wincing when you take note of the clock.

Jack makes a noise that somehow sounds detached; it’s not agreement, but not disagreement either. He makes no haste to get up, so you simply look down at him from where you stand. “See you in the morning?”

“Sweet dreams, darlin’,” is what he offers with a lopsided smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

You return the sentiment with some words of your own, but have a feeling it’s in vain, that his bed will stay unkempt as it is, before you let yourself out of his room. And when the door closes behind you with a soft click, you’re left with your thoughts again, and you realize the conversation has done nothing to make you sleep easier either.

--

“Excellent, there you are.”

You’re fresh out of the car that has escorted you to a tailor shop in London. It was early. So fucking early. You hadn’t slept and can still taste hints of oak and vanilla in your throat every time you swallow. But now, inside, after passing through a secret door behind one of the changing rooms in the tailor shop, Harry’s voice is warm, dare you say pleased, when Jack and yourself report for duty, and something about his optimistic tone makes you forget about the early hour and the hotel whiskey. It makes your shoulders straighten and your head cock with interest.

And you’re clearly not the only one.

“Found anything?” Jack asks.

Harry leads you to a wall full of screens, where a Kingsman agent is frantically typing on the keyboard in front of him. “One of our agents found the stolen piece for sale on the black market.” One of the screens displays some sort of advertisement on what looked like the dark web; it had several marketplaces for illegal stolen goods.

“Son of a bitch is trying to get rid of it before the auction’s even started.” Jack scoffs.

You jerk your chin at the screen. “We need to ambush him, catch him red-handed.”

“Arrange a meeting,” Jack agrees.

“Precisely,” Harry nods.

“I’ll go,” Jack says instantly.

“Fuck no.” You hadn’t even noticed Eggsy until now. He’s leaning against one of the walls, then pushes himself off, making his way over with his arms crossed over his chest. “Absolutely not. I’ll go.”

 “‘course you are” Jack scoffs. “Probably couldn’t tell the difference between a watercolour and an acrylic painting to save your life.” The statement is more of a murmur, but it sets Eggsy off all the same.

“What’s that?”

“You couldn’t sell the bit, Galahad!” Jack exclaims. “We ain’t got the time to fight about this while someone else steals the piece from right under our sorry noses. I’m the most competent man for the job and this bastard has been doing this for years now, so we really should be fixin’ to get ourselves this meeting.”

It’s Eggsy’s turn to scoff. “Oh, so you can excuse mass murder, but draw the fuckin’ line at art theft, Whiskey?” He all but spits out Jack’s codename, walking up to him until their toes almost touch.

Jack’s chest rises as he takes a deep breath, no doubt firing up to counter, but before he can even open his mouth, you raise your voice.

“Alright, stop puffing your chests out at each other, Christ.” Neither of them so much as bat an eye. “Obviously we both want this target, correct? You asked for a Statesman agent with art knowledge, and well, this is him. So, let’s just work on this together, be professionals, and then be fucking done with this assignment. We send Jack to the meet—”

“No—” Eggsy immediately interrupts.

“Jack is going to the meet,” you repeat louder, giving Eggsy a look. “He’s the least likely to be made because he actually possesses the art knowledge to make it convincing and…,” you pause for a second to swallow, and the taste of whiskey still prevalent in your mouth immediately takes you back to the night before, “…and I know you don’t trust him, but I do. I can vouch for him, hell, I’ll even go with him if it makes you all feel better, but Jack goes.”

You don’t miss the way Jack’s head whips around to you, but before you can turn to meet his gaze, Eggsy is speaking again. “He’ll make you right away.”

“You have a tech guy here, right?” You ignore his statement to continue explaining your plan. Your hands land on the shoulders of the man behind the keyboard. “Pretty sure he can put together some fake credentials and create the fake online presence of a pristine, wealthy art collector – a website, social media, news articles, the works. We’ll suggest a public place to meet up, like a restaurant, all to give the target some false sense of security… and then we take him in.”

No one says anything for a while, until Harry, who had been watching the scene before him silently, finally gives his verdict, “I think it sounds like a fine plan. Get to work,” he orders the Kingsman agent behind the keyboard.

“And what about you?” Eggsy asks you, clearly displeased.

You shrug. “I don’t know, I can pose as like… a waitress?”

--

You adjust your tie in the mirror or the restaurant bathroom, then fold the collar of your dress shirt into place and smooth your hands down over the apron you’re wearing; to play the part you have to look the part. Although… You’re pretty sure the average waiter doesn’t have knives and a gun hidden away in a thigh holster under their apron. You hadn’t been entirely serious, but you were nothing if not true to your word, playing the role you’d suggested. You take one last look at yourself in the mirror before exiting the restaurant bathroom to take your position.

As you enter the restaurant, you find it’s mostly empty, just like Kingsman has arranged it to be. Your eyes find Jack, tucked away into a corner close to the door, having also done his best to look the part. His hair is in its usual side part, but somewhat slicked back, and he’s wearing a navy suit that’s much fancier than the ones he usually wears. You pass his table quickly, your eyes meeting briefly, and he nods at you once as you take your place in front of the window across from his table.

Daytime is the perfect time at a restaurant to clean the windows, right?

Your supplies to really sell your performance are already waiting for you, and you reach down to dip a cloth into the warm water, wringing it out above the bucket before bringing it up to the window. Via the glass, you can see the reflection of the table Jack’s sitting at, and the look on his face makes you want to turn to him, to reassure him one last time—

“I’ve got eyes,” Harry’s voice suddenly informs you through your earpiece. “Target approaching on foot, alone.”

Behind you, Jack sits up at the message, face transforming, relaxing, visibly slipping into the role of rich art collector. You focus yourself back on your work, rubbing the cloth along the window as your eyes search for the target through the glass. And then you see him approaching the restaurant with quick, short steps. He’s even more slender in person, but has the same pair of round glasses perched on his nose. His short, blond hair dances in the wind, and he brings one hand up to smooth it back down onto his head while the other hand carries a black briefcase.

You bring your hand up to the side of your face and press the little button on the earpiece. “Target confirmed,” you say. “Permission to continue mission?”

“Message received,” comes Harry’s reply. “Continue mission. Good luck, agents.”

Nathan enters the restaurant shortly after, and you will yourself to focus on your fake task at hand. Leaning down to wet the cloth again before getting back to work, you hear Nathan and Jack making introductions, and in the reflection you see him take his place across from Jack, setting his briefcase down next to his chair.

“I must say I’m surprised about getting an offer so soon.” Nathan checks his watch. “The auction hasn’t yet ended and the piece we discussed is… at the auction.”

“Technically,” Jack replies.

The man chuckles at that. “Technically, indeed.” He pauses, narrows his eyes. “Tell me, how did you know?”

Jack folds his hands and places them on the table as he begins his story. “Given my… reputation, I was allowed to view the pieces ahead of the auction and I found myself… distressed, when I realized my personal favourite piece was, in fact, a forgery. You see, it was damn near perfect, but then I noticed the brushstrokes; the way they were angled. I know about your…” Jack pauses, searching for the right word, “methods, and I knew I had to get in contact. Figured I could get the piece for a much better price from you than I could at any auction.”

“And how would you know about my…,” Nathan pauses, mirroring Jack’s earlier intonation, “methods?”

Shit. There’s a slight hitch in your stroke of the cloth along the window. What if he just made Jack? In the reflection you can see your partner’s look of contemplation, how he’s almost calculating what to say next and how to do it. You drop the fabric from your hand to land into the bucket by your feet, and take the dishcloth that’s slung over your shoulder to wipe your hands dry as you listen.

“I’m simply an admirer. Of this work, o’course,” Jack says, gesturing towards the briefcase next to the chair. “But also of your work.” Jack leans in, speaks softly when he asks, “Is it true, about the Chinese gu?”

Nathan doesn’t answer definitively, but his lips purse in a pleased smile before he pushes his glasses farther up his nose. “You’ve done your homework.” He sounds impressed, and you can’t help but be amused at the way Jack’s feeding this guy exactly what he needs to hear right now.

Leaning back in the chair, Jack matches the other man’s expression and gives him a casual shrug. “Told you, I’m an admirer.” He pauses, eyes drifting down to the case next to the chair, then asks, “Can I see the piece?”

There’s a long moment where Nathan doesn’t answer, but then, without a word, he reaches for the briefcase, clicks it open and gives Jack a view of the artwork inside.

Jack whistles. “Gorgeous,” he says, looking up at Nathan with an impressed smile. “Your replica looks just like it.”

Nathan smiles proudly, and you know you’ve got him when you hear what he says next, “You won’t believe how easy it is, especially with these smaller pieces.” He seems to catch himself, too; cheeks flushing the slightest bit before he’s checking his watch again. “Listen, I hate to cut this short, but I have another appointment; let's wrap this up, shall we?”

Jack shifts, looking down as if he’s contemplating the question. “I don’t think so.” He reaches inside of his suit jacket, produces his gun from its holster and points it at Nathan under the table, removing the safety with a soft click. “You’re gonna come outside with me – calmly, quietly, no need to make a fuss – and we’re gonna make sure every bit of stolen artwork is gonna go back to their rightful owners.”

Across from him, Nathan moves fast – surprisingly fast. He pulls his own gun from his jacket, points it at Jack. “Do you think I’d come here unprepared? I’ll tell you how we’re gonna do this: You’re gonna let me walk—”

As he talks, you glance over your shoulder, take in their positions, guns out but hidden from view of the rest of the restaurant. You look at Jack, and he doesn’t look at you, but his head jerks in a short nod. You turn away again, hand slipping under your apron, fingers flitting over one of the smaller blades in the holster before slowly slipping it out of the leather.

“—I mean, what’s your plan, hmm?” Nathan asks. “To shoot me here? For everyone to see? Whether you’re law enforcement or not, I know you’re not gonna do that.”

Jack’s grip on his gun tightens. “And you are?”

You turn and bend down, and to the untrained eye it would look like you were about to tie your shoelaces. During your movement, you swing the knife and throw it towards the table in front of you. There’s a soft swoosh, and then the knife lands in Nathan’s thigh with a squelching sound. He yelps, reaches for his leg, and in the process, the gun drops from his hand. Jack catches it effortlessly before it can clatter to the ground, then kicks at the bottom of Nathan’s chair. It sends the man tumbling backwards, the wood hitting the floor with a thump. You’re back on your feet in no time, rushing over to shield the man from the view of the few people in the restaurant, shoulder to shoulder with your partner who had the same idea.

“Oh, sir! Are you okay?” you ask, kneeling down to pull the knife from his thigh. He keens in response as you hide the blade away in the pocket of your apron.

“Oof,” Jack says, making a face and holding the lapels of his jacket as he looks down at the squirming man at his feet. “Came clattering down harder than a screen door in a storm.”

“I know,” you say with faux-concern, taking a hold of Nathan’s hand and pressing it down over the wound with a wet sound. “That was quite a fall! Let’s get you up, we should get you some air. Come on.” He struggles against you, but with a firm grip on his arm, you still him, then haul him onto his feet. You look at Jack with a knowing grin. “Sir, can you help me get this man outside?”

--

You find yourself watching from below the overhang of the restaurant, sheltered from the London weather, as Jack escorts Nathan to Harry and Eggsy, who are waiting by a dark car. As Eggsy helps Nathan into the backseat, Harry sticks his hand out at Jack, who contemplates the gesture for a split-second before taking Harry’s hand and shaking it. They exchange some words, briefly look in your direction, but you’re too far away to really make out what they’re saying. Eggsy closes the car door and watches the two agents, seemingly contemplating if he’s going to follow his colleague’s example, and you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he does. Jack says his goodbyes in the form of a two-finger salute, then turns to make his way to you.

“Well?” you ask when he stands next to you, leaning back against the window as you both watch the car drive off. “Did we save the art world?”

“Close enough,” he says. “Harry said to thank you on Kingsman’s behalf, and that they’ll handle it from here on out. They just… want our mission reports within the week.”

You groan, eyes closing and shoulders dropping at the reminder. “That was the one thing I hadn’t missed about going on missions…”

Jack grunts softly, in agreement, you think, then says, “Think it was a successful first assignment together?”

“I’d say all the training’s paid off,” you say, shifting and knocking your shoulder against his. “Be sure to mention that in your mission report, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jack chuckles shortly, then shuffles his feet and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Been meanin’ to ask you… Did you mean what you said earlier? ‘Bout trustin’ me?”

You look at him, trying to determine whether he’s really asking or just being a dick, but he keeps looking straight ahead, his expression giving nothing away.

“I did.” You pause before adding, “I wouldn’t be much of a partner if I didn’t, right?”

He cracks, the corners of his mouth turning upwards, a slight hint of a smile appearing. He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You are a good liar…”

You can’t help but match his expression, thinking back to how exasperated he looked in the red flickering lights of the training space days ago. “I’m not that good.”

He’s quiet after that, head tipping down to look at his shoes as his eyebrows knit together and his tongue comes out to wet his lips. It feels tense, suddenly, and you don’t know if it’s because you said something you shouldn’t have. Does he not believe you? Maybe it’s just your imagination. You think of something to say to break the tension, or to at least change the subject.

“It was my wife,” Jack suddenly says, head shooting up to look directly ahead again and straightening his back.

Your mouth opens, then closes, seriously doubting if you’ve heard him right. With a confused shake of your head, you ask him, “Sorry, what was that?”

He clears his throat. “My wife. She’s why I turned on the agency.”

You frown, even more confused than before. “You never told me you’re married.”

He’s pausing again and your heartbeat picks up, cheeks heating at the idea that he has mentioned his wife and that you simply forgot. It’s just that Jack… He didn’t seem to be the type to be in a serious relationship. You rack your brain, going over the interactions you’ve had with him and scanning for the word ‘wife’ or ‘spouse’ or—

“Was,” he corrects. “It was years ago and... she died.”

—oh.

There had been so much emotion in his voice, and it’s all so unexpected that he knocks the absolute wind out of you with it. He almost doesn’t look like himself when he finally looks at you. He takes a breath before he continues, “Two methamphetamine users killed her durin’ a robbery. She was pregnant with our son and… and I guess, in my fucked up mind, that justified—”

“Stop,” you say. “You were right earlier. It’s— You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.”

“You were right,” he presses. “And I thought you oughta know it, ‘cause I—” He stops himself with a bitter chuckle before continuing, “Christ, this is gonna sound so fuckin’ cheesy, but… The whole thing in Cambodia, that’s not who I wanna be. I wanna be… better, y’know? Do the right thing, be a good agent, not be a shitty partner, the whole nine yards, and I… I’ve been thinking on it and I think it starts with trust.” He cocks his hip, hooks his fingers in his belt loops, and it might have been somewhat funny if he didn’t look so bashful when he peers up at you after. “And me workin’ on my communication skills and bein’ earnest, which I’m honest to God tryin’ my damnedest at right now,” he adds with a hint of a smile. “That sound acceptable to you?”

Blinking up at him, you let his words wash over you. You had truly meant it when you said you trusted him back in the hotel, and with the way he is standing across from you, all but wearing his heart on his sleeve, you trust him to be truthful and genuine with you now. There is only one answer you could give him.

“Yes.

[januaryisnotanartist]

KanSang Week Day 07 Victory

Pairing: Kan Jian/Liu Sang (future), Pangzi/Piaopiao (background/established)

Genre: fluff, school festival (canon ish universe) Tropes: getting together, (background?) found family, school festivals, Liu Chang and Waer Liu Sang and Kan Jian: Babysitters extraordinaire  Special spotlight thief Guest Star: Xiao Mei Word Count: 1,400 ish

-

Kan Jian and Liu Sang looked at the mountain of clay before them. Clay was no stranger to either of them, over many years and various dig sites, they'd both become familiar with clay. Digging it, crawling through it, clambering over it.

But this... this was not their expertise.

“It's okay if you aren't any good at making pots,” Xiao Mei said, but even Kan Jian could hear the sadness in her voice.

Three tables over, halfway across the room, another girl looked over at them, a smirk on her face.

“Oh, A-Mei, haven't you started yet?” The tone was saccharine and mocking. “My parents and I are making great progress, you don't want to fall behind and not make the judging.”

Kan Jian leaned down, turning a little to hide his mouth and whispered, “I can totally wreck their pots if you need me to, no one will be able to prove it.”

Xiao Mei shook her head, fists clenching.

“Even if we lose to her, we'll do it fair and square.”

Liu Sang scoffed quietly, “I'm pretty sure that damn Fa- uh, that your dad would be with Kan Jian on this one.” Xiao Mei looked up at him in consideration, but nodded in agreement.

“Mum wouldn't, not over a school festival,” she said at last, “we'll just have to try our best.”

“Right,” Kan Jian agreed readily, but like Xiao Mei, he didn't move to start shaping the clay.

“You know, when Pangzi asked us to go with you today, he only did it because we were the ones available,” Liu Sang said while he rolled up his sleeves and began getting ready to deal with the clay. “But you actually got a bit lucky, I use listening urns in my work, and my teacher actually taught me the art of making them. Allegedly to better appreciate them as well as to know how to find good quality ones... or replace them if I was clumsy enough to break one.”

Xiao Mei looked at Liu Sang with new hope.

“Let me show you what to do?” Liu Sang asked the pair.

-

Xiao Mei hadn't been sure about her dad's friends, she'd been hoping her mum and dad (her awesome new one, not her mean old one) would be able to come with her to the school festival, so they could take part in the family competitions together, but so far her new big brothers were really cool.

They hadn't really come first at anything yet, and she could tell it was annoying Sang-ge, but they were placing second and third in most of the events, so technically they were 'overall' winning.

Xiao Mei wasn't really looking for first place, any placement was fine... as long as it was better than Feifei's. Feifei was the worst, she'd teased Xiao Mei about not having a 'normal family unit' since, well, for as long as they'd known one another.

So beating Feifei wasn't just a personal mission, it was justice, for all non-nuclear families out there.

Also it would be so satisfying.

-

“- which is how you figure out the best angle for the balloons on the fly,” Kan Jian finished, looking away from the special slingshots they were to use as water balloon launchers, to make sure Xiao Mei and Liu Sang understood.

It was the last event of the day, the water balloon fight. Each family unit was to be hidden in an identical cardboard base with a supply of water balloons. The goal was to wreck someone else's base before theirs was destroyed.

It was also their last chance for an Event based First Place.

Xiao Mei looked determined, a fire in her eyes. Liu Sang was watching Kan Jian with approval in his eyes.

“We have ten minutes left to decorate our bases,” Xiao Mei reminded her big brothers, “and to reinforce the cardboard if we want. Should we get started?”

“How are they reinforcing the cardboard?” Kan Jian asked, looking around at the other nearby families.

“By gluing on additional cardboard layers,” Liu Sang told him, a smirk growing on his face, “with wet glue.”

Kan Jian grinned back, “we have wax crayons to colour don't we?” He looked at Xiao Mei, “orders laoban?”

Xiao Mei looked back and forth between the two men, confused at first, then she joined their smiling as she realised what their words meant.

“Colour everything, start with the weakest points, no glue allowed.”

-

Two minutes to go, Liu Sang leaned in close to Xiao Mei.

“Young girl with the blue hair ties,” he murmured, “doesn't like that girl you want to crush, what do you think about an alliance?”

Xiao Mei nodded, “I'll be back in a minute.”

-

The battlefield was a circle of cardboard bases, and theirs was the most colourful one on the field. That was fine, because theirs was also the driest. The wet glue hadn't dried as quickly as people thought it would.

More importantly, Feifei was directly across the circle from Xiao Mei and her brothers. Feifei would be the first to fall.

The starting whistle blew and the air filled with flying waterballoons.

Three flew from their base across the way to Feifei's. Xiao Mei's first shot fell short of the target, dashing across the concrete. She didn't miss her second.

-

Receiving the first place ribbons for the Water balloon fight and the Overall scores, was actually the second best feeling of the day for Xiao Mei. The best was hearing her dad's loud applauding and cheers along side her mum's slightly quieter cheering as Xiao Mei closed her hands around the ribbons.

She waited long enough to be polite before leaving the award area and flinging herself at her dad for a hug. Her mother was still sore from her accident and recover, even after two months.

“We won,” she told her parents, aware they'd seen the award ceremony.

“Good job,” her mum told her, pressing a kiss to Xiao Mei's hair.

“Glad those two didn't hold you back,” her dad said cheekily.

Liu Sang scoffed from nearby and proceeded to ignore Pangzi.

Xiao Mei started telling her parents all about the day, several sentences in she paused and turned to call her brothers over to help, but stopped at the sight of them.

They both looked nervous and on edge. Xiao Mei and her parents, when they noticed what had caught her attention, shamelessly eavesdropped.

“-and I was just wondering if you wanted to get ice cream with me, later,” Liu Sang asked, his hands worrying the hem of his shirt.

Kan Jian looked devastated, a slow dawning of grief emerging across his face.

Liu Sang didn't move much, but somehow he looked like a turtle retreating into its shell, “it's fine if you don't want t-”

“I'm lactose intolerant,” Kan Jian cut Liu Sang off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Liu Sang's brows scrunched, “they have dairy free at the place I wanted to go, if that...” Liu Sang looked tentative, too scared to be hopeful, but Kan Jian smiled and nodded.

“Awesome, I'd be happy to go with you, I just have to be careful cause not all the ice cream places do dairy free.”

Liu Sang steeled himself.

“Just to be clear, I'm asking you out on a date. With me.”

Kan Jian laughed and reached out to take Liu Sang's hand, “oh good, I was hoping that was what was going on here.”

Quietly Pangzi cheered and told his girlfriend and daughter, “just won a bet with Xiazi, he reckoned it would take them another few months to work it all out... just lost a bet with Xiao Bai, I thought it would be Kan Jian to make the first move.”

“You bet on us?!”

“Don't use your hearing to eavesdrop on good and decent people!”

“Eh? Who's decent? Not you!”

Kan Jian used Liu Sang's distraction to thread his and Liu Sang's fingers together.

“My boyfriend,” Kan Jian said, barely audible, just to test it out. Liu Sang heard it of course and flushed bright red.

Piaopiao laughed, leaning against Pangzi, “alright, how about you boys come with us for a victory dinner? To celebrate your win, and as thanks for being here on our behalf.”

Xiao Mei and Kan Jian cheered, Liu Sang... continued to blush.

[kinksvt]

behind closed doors (m)

requested

→ pairing: actor!mingyu x actress!reader

♕ summary: you and mingyu have a secret relationship and before he leaves for two weeks, you both decide to tie the knot.

✱ genre: celebrity au

✱ warnings: cursing, humor? (i tried), slow sex, angst at some parts

✱ word count: 5.9k

You knew that being in the movie industry would not be easy. You knew you had to work and sacrifice many things to avoid scandals, drama and rumors. So when you and Mingyu met on a set of a movie that your agent recommended, you had no idea what was to come.

The movie's plot included two characters—you and Mingyu—sent back in time to "save the world." You and Mingyu are friends in the movie but slowly fall for each other during the quest. You both shared a few kisses in some scenes in the movie and that was it. Yeah, maybe the storyline was a bit cliche but, a gig is a gig, you always thought.

Over the course of a few months, outside of your roles, you and Mingyu got close due to rehearsing and making sure it all went as planned. Closer than you would've guessed. You've heard of costars falling for each other during the filming of a movie and end up dating in real life to be admired by everyone? Well, unfortunately, this wasn't the case for you. Your agent, Seungcheol, did not like the idea of you dating in your career. He said that it might distract and hold you back from getting certain roles for future parts. You tried to tell him that it wouldn't change anything but Seungcheol didn't listen. He just waved you off and answered a phone call outside of the room.

And that's how you ended up in the situation now. Since the filming for you and Mingyu's movie ended, you haven't been able to score any parts that involved him as the lead as well. Not even a substitute role either. You enjoyed working with Mingyu, even if you didn't consider it working and more like just having fun with him while in character. He was an amazing actor and he was so passionate as well. You've heard many actors and actresses that's worked with him compliment on how dedicated he is in roles and how serious he takes his career.

Everyone loves Mingyu, he's handsome, funny, sweet, tall and not to mention, well built. Who wouldn't fall for him at his feet? But, what no one knew was that you and Mingyu have been seeing each other on the low. After those months of working with each other, texting and getting to know each other truly, you developed feelings and so did he luckily. He asked you out and, though you wished you could date freely, you two dated in private. It was still something though, even if you couldn't hold his hand out in public or even be seen in public—it was still nice to know that he cared for you and wanted to be with only you.

It had been six and a half months since he asked you out and what a wonderful six and a half months it had been. Six—and a half—months of pure and utter affection and dates at home that involved binge watching movies and shows, ordering out and spending as much time as you both could with your busy schedules. Including tonight.

Tonight was one of the few nights that you and Mingyu were available this month and of course, he called you and asked you to come on over. Both of you were initially cuddling on the couch, watching a random show that you put on when he put his hand on your thigh, accidentally sparking something inside of you that you've been dying to push down since the moment you laid eyes on him.

You guys have kissed, plenty of times and during those times there's been plenty of moments where it escalated to the point of almost having sex. Although neither of you both were virgins, you both were somewhat afraid of "sealing the deal." You knew at least that if you were to have sex with Mingyu, it would be hard to let him go eventually, like you knew you would one day. Mingyu knew if you guys were to have sex, he'd fall harder for you and wouldn't want to leave you. But at this moment, both of you didn't care.

You ended up on Mingyu's lap, the blanket that covered the both of you tossed to the side and the movie long forgotten. Mingyu's hands wandered all over your back, moving down south to grip your ass, making you moan into his mouth. Your hips subconsciously began to grind on him, making him moan into your mouth. The only sounds that were present in the room was the sound of your mixed heavy breathing and the television on low.

"Y/N," Mingyu panted as his cock began to get hard under your movements.

You whined against his lips, feeling yourself get wet at the friction. Mingyu broke the kiss, kissing your neck and nipping only slightly at the skin, knowing that if you suddenly showed up with a hickey, the press would get suspicious. "Mingyu," you spoke softly.

He stopped his movements, "Yeah?" he replied. He was sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks flushed.

You wanted to have sex with him. At this point you didn't care about the consequences or the possible feelings that you might have hurt. You just needed him then and there or else you felt like you'd explode. "I think I'm r-"

Ring ring!

Are you fucking kidding me?

Mingyu groaned as you felt disappointed. You got up off of Mingyu's lap and let him answer his phone which laid face up on the table. "Hello?" He said when he picked up, mouthing an I'm sorry to you. You sat quietly, listening to Mingyu's responses and also straining to listen to who was on the other line. "Oh, hey Jeonghan. What's up?" He spoke nonchalantly as if you two weren't dry fucking on his couch.

Jeonghan was Mingyu's agent who—to put it nicely—wasn't the biggest fan of you. He knew that you two had a thing and when he confronted you about it, he made you stop speaking with him. Of course you didn't listen to him, sticking it to the man. You couldn't help yourself, trying to cut ties with Mingyu for the better of your career. But every time you tried, you imagined his sad little face in your mind and didn't have the heart to really end it.

"Really?" Mingyu got up suddenly, visibly excited. He glanced at you and his face dropped. "Okay. Friday? This Friday? That's too soon." You were on the edge of your seat, curious to know what was happening. "But- Jeonghan- I," Mingyu sighed, "Okay. Alright, thank you. Yes Jeonghan I am thankful. Yeah, I'll talk to you later. Okay, bye." You looked at him, waiting for him to talk to you.

"Jeonghan got me a role."

...

After hearing those words, you felt something in your heart. Mingyu would be gone for, God knows how long and you were—to say the least—devastated. You wouldn't see him, feel him, touch or hear him for whatever many months and it upset you. He would be leaving this Friday, only—technically—two more days. Two days to spend as much time with him as you can. That night you wanted to seal the deal. To hell with your fear of it because in reality, you were already in deep with Mingyu. You cared about him and you knew he cared about you too. But not yet. You wanted it to be meaningful.

You picked the absolute fanciest hotel you could find and were pleasantly pleased to find a private house for you and Mingyu, for two nights. You got there before nightfall, just before 6 o'clock, giving yourself time to set up and build up your confidence. When you entered the house, it was breathtaking. You knew Mingyu was going to love it.

The house was secluded, overlooking the mountains and the Pacific ocean. It was huge, beautiful wooden floors, the most expensive decorations and up to date appliances. Two master bedrooms, both with gorgeous bathrooms that made you wish you could stay in forever.

"It's that nice?" Mingyu's voice echoed throughout the living room as you had him on speaker.

"Yes, it's more than nice, it's amazing. You're seriously gonna freak out when you get here." You smiled at the thought of Mingyu's reaction. You can already see his eyes sparkling with his pearly white canines showing.

"Well, I'm only about an hour-ish away according to my GPS."

"Okay, drive safe for me. Come here in one piece."

"I will, Mom."

You groaned at his words, earning a laugh from him.

...

"Ho-ly shit, Y/N, you were right." Mingyu said right after you had opened the door. The sun set by the time he arrived and it made everything look so much more beautiful. Mingyu looked all around, taking his jacket and shoes off, setting the small bag he packed on the floor.

"I told you," you replied, giggling. You showed him around, every room making his eyes grow wider and wider. After Mingyu came to his senses, the sound of his nose sniffing filled your ears. "Y/N, you didn't." He turned to you, his eyebrows furrowing together while he pouted.

You winced jokingly, "I did."

"You made dinner for me?" Mingyu looked at you, pouting even harder that it made his lower lip ache.

"For us. I just wanted to do something nice for the two of us. You know," you trailed off. "Before you go." You said sadly.

Mingyu cooed and grabbed your hand, pulling you into his arms. "You're such a sweetheart, Y/N."

You sighed in his chest, "Just wanna make our last few moments a little special."

...

After Mingyu arrived, you served him his food and you both sat on the luxurious and quite comfy couch and ate together. You found a show to put on and you two cuddled. You glanced at the microwave that read 9:46. Mingyu had his arms behind his head while you laid on his chest, your left arm wrapped around his torso. Without looking at him, you called out his name. "Mingyu?"

"Yeah baby?" He looked down at you—well, the top of your head actually.

You paused for a second, thinking over what you wanted to say. "You remember what happened yesterday?"

At this moment, you sat up to look at Mingyu in the eyes. "Which part exactly?"

"When we were making out, I was gonna tell you something." You played with your fingers, nervous that you were ready but Mingyu wouldn't be. You didn't want Mingyu to feel pressured to have sex with you. He nodded his head slowly, waiting for you to continue. "I was going to tell you, that," you took a deep breath, "I'm ready."

Mingyu tilted his head a bit, "Ready for?"

"Sex. I, uh, I want to have sex with you. B-But if you don't want to that's fine! I don't want to if you don't want to."

He scoffed and sat up to grab your hands. "I thought you'd never be ready." You furrowed your eyebrows. "No! I didn't mean it like that! I meant," You stared at him, allowing him to dig his little hole. "Like, I meant- I thought that I was the only one ready and I was like, just, waiting.. for you."

You stayed quiet, internally giggling at his nervous state. "I know what you meant, goof." You leaned in and gave him a kiss on the lips. Standing up, you held out your hand for him to grab. He looked at you curiously but took your hand anyway. You led him through the house, into the main bedroom.

The room was filled with soft lighting—thanks to the candles that you lit beforehand and you bought a few rose petals to scatter on the floor around the bed, just to make it a little more cheesy. "Oooh," Mingyu said as you two walked entered and he admired your handiwork.

You laughed and turned back around to face Mingyu. He pulled you closer to him, connecting his lips to yours. Your face began to heat up, flustered at the situation. His tongue glided over yours as his hands rested on your waist. Your hand gripped the back of his neck while you stood on your tippy toes.

The kiss got hot quickly and you weren't sure if it was because you two were finally going to have sex, or if it was the romantic scenery that made you want to dive right in.

Mingyu began walking you backwards toward the foot of the bed. Your legs hit the edge and you pulled away from Mingyu, noting how cute he looked while his face was flushed. You smiled shyly at him as you hesitantly hooked your fingers under your shirt, pulling it over your head. Mingyu's face seemed to grow more pink, as he carefully watched your every move. He was trapped in a trance as more and more of your skin was exposed to his fortunate eyes. He always thought you were perfect but he didn't think you were this perfect. His eyes raked over every curve, dip and wonder of your now bra-clad torso. "You're so beautiful Y/N." Mingyu said quietly, a smile forming on his face.

You avoided his eyes, looking at the ground in shyness. "Oh stop," you replied jokingly.

Mingyu followed your actions and took his own shirt off. You knew Mingyu was built and despite seeing him shirtless plenty of times during a few of his previous movies, it felt more personal. Sure, he's shown his body on screen but seeing it in front of you, in a way that only he wanted to show you made you feel special. You were also in a daze as your eyes traveled over his defined abs and bicep muscles. "You're beautiful too," you said mindlessly.

He laughed at how adorable you were. Mingyu walked closer to you, grabbing your hand and sitting on the bed while you stood standing. He pulled you down gently, reconnecting your lips. He backed up on the bed to rest against the pillows and you ended up sitting on his lap, running your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging when you felt that addictive feeling down south.

Mingyu's tongue ran over yours, making sure no inch of your mouth went untouched. Both of your moans merged together, the air in the room slowly becoming hot. Your hips instinctively began shifting underneath Mingyu's, receiving a whine from him. He moaned, "Fuck, keep doing that, baby." Your clit pulsated at Mingyu's voice—he sounded so hot yet so cute at the same time. Mingyu's hair began to stick to his forehead, sweat quickly building up on the both of you. You halted your movements to unbutton the pants Mingyu wore, following your own afterwards.

Mingyu's cock strained against his underwear, giving you a clear outline of what you've been only dreaming about seeing since you two started dating. You definitely underestimated him though. Lost in your thoughts, Mingyu noticed you spaced out, basically drooling over his crotch. "Are you enjoying yourself, Y/N?"

You snapped out of it, your cheeks heating up from embarrassment. "Sorry.." you whispered.

"Your underwear is cute." He pointed. Your underwear were red with a black bow at the top. He messed with the bow You rolled your eyes playfully, ignoring him. Mingyu leaned up and pulled you down with him, kissing you once again. Your heat came in contact with his cock, making the both of you moan. Mingyu's hips instinctively bucked up, rubbing against you in a way that had your clit beating harshly and arousal building.

The kiss was sensual and soft, yet also rough at the same time, due to the both of you waiting for this moment for as long as you both could remember. In the past, you and Mingyu shared some heated experiences with one another before, but nothing at all like this before. The getaway, the room, the warm lighting that shined against both of your faces made the two of you stop and smile.

"I know this might not be a good time- you know, since you're leaving but, I'm really glad that you asked me out." You confessed to Mingyu.

Mingyu awed at your words, giving you a slight pout. "Well, I'm really glad that you didn't reject me."

You laughed, looking down and back up at him. "How could I ever even think of rejecting you?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, maybe you thought I was ugly."

Scoffing, you gave him a bewildered look. "Ugly?" You said, a bit too loud for your own liking. "Who could possibly think you're ugly?"

Mingyu winced. "I know a few haters that could tell you otherwise."

You rolled your eyes and leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek. "You're perfect to me, Mingyu." He smiled shyly up at you, avoiding your eyes. "Whaat? It's true, baby. You are perfect."

He shook his head, disagreeing with you. "There's so many other guys out there that could treat you so much better than me. I'm going to leave you for weeks, maybe even months in just a few days." He said in a sad voice.

Leaning down, you gave Mingyu another kiss on the cheek, rubbing your thumb on his cheekbone softly. "Mingyu, I don't care if you leave me for a year. I'm always going to have the same feelings for you."

Mingyu's eyes began to water, guilt settling in the entirety of his heart. Mingyu thinks that he might love you, but he's afraid if he says it out loud, it'll ruin everything. He knows his feelings for you are strong but he didn't know that they were strong enough to make him consider turning down the role Jeonghan got for him in order to stay close to you. It scared him.

"We can do long distance. We can Facetime whenever you have the chance or call or text. Whatever it takes. I just know that I can wait for you." Your own eyes began to tear up, your heart aching at the sight of Mingyu beginning to cry.

"I just-" he paused for a second, looking up at the ceiling as a tear slips down his cheek. You wiped to off, waiting for him to finish. "I don't know, I don't want you to wait all this time for me and give you false hope that the production time won't extend or whatever. I don't know, Y/N. I don't want to hurt you accidentally or whatever because I love you and I want you to be happy and-"

"Wait, wait. What?" Your thumb stopped caressing his cheek, and you sat up straight. "You what?" Your heart felt like it stopped, or maybe that's the loud thumping you hear in your ears.

Mingyu looked puzzled, "I want you to be happy?"

Your heart began beating faster. "Y-You-you love me?"

"Oh fuck." Mingyu mumbled, covering his mouth with one of his hands. He wanted to slap himself. He just said that he didn't want to say he loved you because it would ruin everything and now he did and you're probably freaked out and a million thoughts began racing in Mingyu's mind. He wanted to literally slap himself so hard right then and there.

"Mingyu-"

"Don't say it. I know that you don't feel the same way. I'm sorry, I didn't even mean to say it. I don't know why that came ou-"

You shut him up with a kiss, a deep, soft kiss that took his breath away. Which was what you were going for. After breaking the kiss, you paused for a second. "If it came out that easily, then that must mean that it has to be true."

"Y/N, I'm really sorry. I didn't want to say this then leave for who knows how long."

You shook your head, letting the fact that Mingyu actually loves you settle in. "I think I feel the same way."

"You know you don't have to say that if it isn't true. I didn't say it for you to say it back." Mingyu looked really sad and you knew that what he said wasn't how you really felt.

"I do though. I don't know for certain but I do believe that the love for you is there, Mingyu. Trust me, okay?" You gave him a small smile, making him smile back.

Mingyu nodded his head and rubbed your arm softly. "Okay. Do you still want to do this, baby?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

He sniffled, wiping his eyes. "Well, I kinda just cried and shit so I wasn't sure if that turned you off or anything."

You laughed as you caressed his cheek lovingly. "You didn't. I'm glad we had that moment." Sighing, you reached behind your back, unhooking your bra. "Now, can we continue?"

Mingyu's eyes dropped to your chest, "Yes ma'am." He grabbed you and pushed you backwards, attacking your neck.

You moaned as he licked your neck, dragging his teeth against it since he couldn't mark you officially. He kissed from one side to the next and moved down to your collarbones.

Mingyu kissed and licked his way to the valley between your breasts, sucking a small hickey right beside your nipple. "I hope you don't have any roles that involve you being braless anytime soon." He said, making you laugh. Mingyu's lips were soft against your skin, giving you goosebumps as he reached your stomach, going down further and further before stopping above your underwear. Glancing up at you, he looked at you curiously.

"Please," you whined.

Mingyu smirked as his fingers slipped under the band of your underwear. Before pulling them down, he kissed your clothed clit and dragged them down your legs. You shyed away from him, hiding yourself. Mingyu moved his hands onto your knees, "You're beautiful, Y/N."

You pouted, his slightly cold hands making you shiver lightly. Mingyu placed his hands on your thighs, spreading you open slowly. Your breathing got deeper, the knowledge of how much you're exposed to him making you throb. Mingyu took note of the way your wetness shined from the candlelight, edging him to finally taste you.

His tongue flattened against your pussy, making sure he got every drop of your arousal. You let out a whine, as his tongue flicked your clit. "Fuck, you taste so good baby." Mingyu's lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently while swirling his tongue around it.

Your back arched off the bed while your hands tangled in his hair, pushing his face closer to your pussy. He took his right hand and used one of his fingers to slowly push inside you. You bit your lip as your walls clenched around his finger. "So warm too." Quickly taking his finger out, he scooted up close to your face, "Say 'ah,'" he said, opening up his own mouth for you to mimic.

Obeying his order, your mouth dropped open and you stuck your tongue out a bit. Mingyu pressed two of his fingers on your tongue. You closed your mouth around them, sucking on them and looking into Mingyu's mouth. "If you don't stop that I'm gonna have to put my dick in you right now."

"Do it then." You challenged as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth. Honestly, you wanted this to move along already. You were aching to have Mingyu inside of you, on the edge of begging for it.

"Really? You want to?" His eyebrows raised up as he held up his saliva covered fingers.

Giggling, you nodded your head. Mingyu laughed nervously, "W-Well okay then." His back smacked onto the bed, lifting his hips up to take off his underwear a little too eagerly. You started laughing as he struggled slightly. While he did, you stretched over to the nightstand on the side of the bed, grabbing a pack of condoms you placed there before his arrival.

Opening the pack, you noticed Mingyu's underwear were off and you stared for a moment. A breathy "wow" left your lips before you realized. His confidence peaked a little bit but didn't let it show. "Thank you," he smiled and grabbed the condom from your fingers. He opened the condom, pinching the top and rolling it down his length. You watched his movements carefully, admiring him in all his glory. Your eyes traveled up to his eyes, seeing his concentration and you felt your heart beat at the sight.

You laid down on the bed, in front of Mingyu who began positioning himself. He took a deep breath, "Ready?" You nodded your head and closed your eyes. He held his cock in his hand and slowly pushed into you. You winced and Mingyu groaned, both of you not used to this feeling. Mingyu was a bit thicker and you felt yourself stretch to his girth. Your walls clung onto Mingyu, making him feel like he was in heaven. "Tell me when," he grunted. You took in the sight of him inbetween your legs, his hair sticking to his forehead slightly and cheeks a light pink hue. Mingyu looked at you suddenly, "What did you just do?"

You looked at him, clueless as to what he was talking about. "Huh?"

Mingyu chuckled, licking his lips. "Your, uh," he scratched his head. "You kinda clenched around me."

Your eyes widened a bit, not even knowing you did so. "Oh," you said quietly.

"I'm not complaining though! I-It felt good actually," Mingyu admitted.

When you knew you were ready you told him and closed your eyes. Mingyu mouthed an okay, moving his length almost all the way out of you before pushing back in. You gasped, eyes popping back open as you seen his mouth drop open and a quiet moan leaving his pink lips. Grabbing the back of Mingyu's neck, you pulled him closer to kiss him. Mingyu developed a steady pace—slow yet forceful at the same time.

"Mingyu," you purred in his mouth. His cock hit the sweetest spots of you when he pushed himself the furthest he could go.

His tongue swirled around yours, caressing it lovingly and making your insides fill with butterflies. "Y/N," he breathed sensually.

The kiss broke, but Mingyu kept himself close to you. His forehead touched yours, resting it gently on you as his hips kept the pace. Mingyu's hips ground into yours tenderly, making you see stars. You looked into Mingyu's eyes, "I love you."

Mingyu smiled, brushing a piece of hair out of your face and holding your cheek. "I love you too, Y/N."

After saying that, Mingyu picked up his speed. Both of you moaned, drunk off the way the two of you made each other feel. Mingyu's cock felt warm in you and your walls hugged him in a way that you knew you'd miss when he left. At the thought, you wrapped your legs around Mingyu's lower half, wanting him to be as close to you as possible before he would be gone.

Mingyu laid on his forearms that were right next to the sides of your head. His breath mingled with yours, making your head spin slightly as his lips brushed your own. Your hand rested on his jaw, admiring his facial expressions. He moaned, feeling your pussy pulse around his cock. "You must really be whipped for me because every time you look at me, your downtown gets affected in a way."

You smacked his face gently, "Shut up, dork."

"No you." He said desperately, his hips going faster and faster. You whined while Mingyu placed his head in the crook of your neck. His breath tickling your collarbones as he moaned into your skin. "Fuck, Y/N," he rasped.

Your arms hugged his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair as you felt your orgasm building. "O-Oh my god, f-fuck," you stuttered. You swallowed harshly, broken moans slipping past your lips.

Mingyu grunted, his own orgasm building quickly alongside yours. "God, you feel so, so good, Y/N fuck." He moved away from your neck to kiss you again. His teeth caught your bottom lip, making you giggle.

Mingyu swallowed your high pitched moans, as you felt yourself get closer and closer to the edge. Your fingernails raked down his back, making him growl in your mouth. "Do that again," he mumbled against your lips.

You repeated your actions, your fingernails scratching red marks down his shoulder blades. "Shit, I'm close. Mingyu," you pleaded.

"M-Me too," he whimpered.

You slipped your hand between the two of you, rubbing your clit messily to edge yourself closer.

"That's hot," Mingyu chuckled as you rolled your eyes at him.

"I'm almost there," your walls began pulsing around Mingyu quickly.

Both of your moans got higher and higher until waves of pleasure washed over you two. Mingyu's hips halted as he came into the condom while he grunted softly. Your walls clenched around his length as your back arched off the bed. You collapsed back on the bed, your clit beating in a rhythm that you felt in your toes.

Mingyu sighed, pulling out of you gently as you mewled. He took the condom off of himself, careful to make sure nothing spilled out. Mingyu searched for the trashcan before looking back at you. You laughed, checking out his butt before pointing to the bathroom. He waddled his way into the room, flipping the switch on and tossing the contraceptive in the bin. Mingyu walked back in the bedroom, running his fingers through his damp hair.

You smirked, looking him up and down. "You know, you're really sexy, Gyu."

He waved you off, bending over to grab his and yours underwear. You gave him a wolf whistle and he covered his butt with his boxers before throwing your panties in your face and tossing your bra at you as well. Both of you laughed as you slipped your undergarments on and you put your bra on. Mingyu plopped back on the bed next to your right side. You and Mingyu stared at the ceiling, knowing that his indefinite leave will be even harder now.

After a long moment of silent staring, you spoke up. "If you find someone else, I don't want you to hold back."

Mingyu shifted his head to look at you. "What?"

A tear slipped past your eye. You turned your head to look at Mingyu as well. "I don't want to hold you back, Mingyu."

"But Y/N-" "No," you interrupted him. "You're an amazing guy, Mingyu. And I know that I'm not going to forget us or this night or any other nights we spent together. But Jeonghan doesn't approve of us. What if he wants you to be with someone else?"

Mingyu then turned his whole body towards you, laying his head on his hands. "I don't care what he wants. If it comes down to it, I'll tell him about us. I love you, Y/N. I want you and only you."

More tears began to fall, slipping out of the corner of your eyes. "I can't affect any of your decisions when it comes to your career though, Mingyu."

"Y/N, please. I can't lose you. Please just, let's give this a try? Please, just don't give up yet. I know we can do this." He cradled your cheek, wiping your tears away with his thumb. "Please," he begged.

You saw his eyes water, a tear forming before it slipped down the bridge of his nose and landing on the pillow. Taking a moment, you thought about what he asked. Could you really make this work? Will this make Mingyu deny roles that will keep him away from you longer? Was it selfish to want to make it work? Was it selfish that you wanted him to stay? Yes, but you knew you couldn't do that. "Okay," you whispered.

...

The next morning, you and Mingyu woke up in each other's arms. The two of you got up from bed, yawning and walking to the main room. You made breakfast while Mingyu helped in any way he could. He stopped you midway to finish and served you before himself. The day consisted of lounging around, watching tv, napping and making small meals whenever either of you got hungry.

The day after, you packed your things while Mingyu cleaned up and made sure everything looked the way it did when you got there. After you and Mingyu finished, you both stood in front of the doorway, taking in the last moments you'd be able to spend next to each other. You faced him. "I'm going to miss you so much."

He nodded his head, facing you as well. "Me too."

Both of you started tearing up before he pulled you in for a hug. His arms held your head, hugging you in a way you'll desperately miss when you wish he was there while he's away. You sobbed in his arms, muffling most of the noise in his shirt. Mingyu's tears fell in your hair—which he tried brushing off sneakily but failing. You laughed, pulling away and shaking your hair.

It was time.

You stood and looked at him one last time. You couldn't even go to the airport to say goodbye. Not only because of Jeonghan but because of paparazzi and fansites. "I love you, Gyu."

Mingyu pressed his lips together, his eyes glossed over from his tears as more shed down his cheeks. "I love you too, Y/N."

"Call me when you land?" You grabbed his hand and held it for a bit.

He nodded, picking up his bag with his unoccupied hand. He opened the door, and looked back at you. His hand slowly pulled from yours, a pout forming on his face. Mingyu's warmth left your palm as he looked away from you and began leaving the rental.

...

The whole ride back home, you cried your eyes out. Before getting back, you put on some black sunglasses, hopefully hiding your puffy eyes. You entered your house, already missing Mingyu's presence.

The rest of your day, you spent watching tv alone. At night, you got on your laptop, checking Twitter and seeing Mingyu's name trending.

Actor Kim Mingyu seen boarding plane with tear-filled eyes. What could possibly be breaking the 23 year old's poor heart?

You scrolled down the tag, seeing fansite photos and seeing how sad he looked. You got your phone out, sending him a message.

[11:19 pm] You: Hey babe. I seen the airport photos, I miss you and I love you. I hope you landed safe <3

You clicked your phone off and scrolled through a few more photos before heading to bed. He must've been too busy to call you.

...

Ring ring!

A phone call woke you up at the crack of dawn. You answered as fast as you could. "Hello?" You croaked, your morning voice definitely worse from all the bawling yesterday.

"Hey baby, I'm so sorry I didn't call yesterday."

You smiled at Mingyu's voice. "Hey, it's okay."

-

a/n: yerrr finally posted after ten years, hope u all enjoyed! <3 i feel like this wasn’t super interesting at all so feedback would be appreciated :(

[translightyagami]

Hello!

I love your fanfic “in your shoes”

(It was the first thing I read about your work and since then I have fallen in love with your writing)

For the fic prompt... Could you write a little more of that AU, please.

(Oh it was so fun to return to this AU! L is a professor at the university Light's attending and they've been together for a little while. You should read "in your shoes" first, but its not imperative. anyway! hope you enjoy!)

cross-posted on ao3!

It was spring break, and L sulked in Light’s apartment. He planned to host his boyfriend during the long academic holiday, but Light surprised his family with a last-minute visit back to Japan. L fiddled with his pockets, taking in the Light’s plastic apology while he laid out instructions on cat-sitting Ryuk.

“Look, I’m sorry, but my father’s been getting ill more often, you know, and you’re going to want to mix Ryuk’s wet food with some dry because he likes the texture, and my mom pretty much said he’s going to kill himself into retirement so I need to be there to convince him to slow down, I’m the only one he listens to about work matters, and this is Ryuk’s favorite toy, so use it with him for about, oh, an hour a day? My sister misses me. I have to go back. Here’s the litter you need to use, and the scoop for when you clean it.”

“I made plans,” L said and took the red scoop from Light. He held it in both hands, staring at the handle in the shape of three apples. Even to his own ears, his voice was pathetic. “I made a reservation at our favorite restaurant. I got really weird sex toys for us to try, because there’s all that recovery time.”

Light’s expression softened until his regret tasted genuine, if pitying. He stroked a hand through L’s hair.

“It’s only for the break,” Light said and kissed L on the forehead. “And then I’ll be back. Just switch the reservation, huh?”

While his soreness over the whole business still thumped under the skin, L liked snooping around Light’s place. He brought his grading work over and, after finishing up, wandered the square-ish space. Despite paying a deep-pocketed rent price, Light lived in a small, cramped studio – made all the tinier with the fat black Ryuk tottering around. His bed, a neat twin mattress with blue sheets that screamed department store boys youth section, had beneath it several plastic storage boxes. L flipped through them, pausing every so often to pet Ryuk or shake the cat’s feather toy.

Inside were stacks of birthday cards, letters from family, and, beneath all this communicative detritus, a pair of diaries. Or journals, as Light called them on the first page of each faux leather book. L flicked the pages of the journal dated the year before Light started at his university. Nothing interesting leapt out, save how Light’s kanji was cramped just like his handwriting in English. Some entries were readable only by squinting – although L didn’t care to read more than three or four since they all smelled of a closet Light didn’t occupy much anymore.

He did enjoy the entry about Light’s adoption of Ryuk. Apparently shelter cats with bad attitudes were Light’s favorite pets, and Ryuk marked the most recent addition. As L read the line, “He only likes when I feed him treats. We’re special to each other, because he chose me and I chose him,” Ryuk nipped him on the finger. L blew a raspberry at the awful little man but shook the feather toy to avoid another nip.

The next journal was more interesting, for it covered Light’s more recent goings-on: fitting in at a foreign university; cooking for himself for the first time; and L rubbed stubborn tears away reading about Light breaking down and calling his mom to ask her, please, how to make his favorite dessert. “I miss everything about home,” Light wrote in an entry marked a month before his first class with L. “There’s nothing for me here except school and Ryuk, and I’m tired of it. I can’t have made a mistake coming here, have I?”

And then The Entry: “I met the most interesting person today.” L knew the date – how could he forget the most important beginning he’d had lately? After that entry came others, more and more concerned with ethical boundaries, and whether this person (God, of course Light refused to acknowledge his crush on a professor, as though his journal judged him) felt the same as Light. One memorable paragraph fell on the day before Light first asked L on a date. Using the back of his hand, L tried to ward off more tears but nothing helped. Ryuk, no longer in a nipping mood, stamped himself a bed in L’s lap. His snore scored L’s reading.

“I wonder if it’s possible to know someone the way I know myself. Or is that too romantic? That’s another thing I sort of hate and love about him, how he’s romantic like me. We’re not moony or anything, but sometimes when he lectures I can feel how he feels – how his passion is a broad stroke. He loves concepts, ideas, the way that no one else I’ve ever met does … except for me. And then when I go to office hours and sit on the other side of his desk, all I can think about is how his mouth moves around words, makes them sound like they’re carved in stone. Even when they’re just so stupid! Because god, he says stupid shit sometimes. And I want to kiss him when he does, so he’ll shut up and hold me and tell me in that serious voice what a joy I am to have in class … maybe outside of class too, if I play my cards right.”

On Friday, a day before Light’s flight back, L woke up to his phone ringing. He was in Light’s apartment, snoozing on the twin bed with a Ryuk-shaped stone on his stomach and the last pages of the journal propped on his chest. His tone was mealy as he answered but perked as the sharp music of Light asking how Ryuk was played through the phone.

“Your little man is fine,” L said, stroking the little criminal in question. “Are you well? Is your trip giving you what you wanted?”

“Not really,” Light said. “I didn’t come on the trip to get something I wanted. My family is happy. Are you doing okay? I hope your bruised ego and our new reservation survived the week.”

L nodded before remembering Light couldn’t see him.

“Yes,” he said, laughing. “I’m okay. Actually, I wanted to ask you something, since you’re back home and everything.”

“Oh sure. Go ahead.”

“Are you happy you stayed?” L asked, licking his lower lip. “I mean, are you happy that you stayed at the university? You didn’t make a mistake?”

The pause was long, filled only by pen clicking on Light’s end as he kept quiet. As L geared up to wave away the question, Light sighed until his lung wheezed.

“I don’t make mistakes,” Light said. “Of course, I’m glad I stayed. Although if you read my diary again, I will make you wish I didn’t.”

[jpegjade]

Take Care - Spencer

diana has made an appearance for something! i have rewritten this 3 times and i feel like this time is the one. 

Request: I’ve never seen this story anywhere written but like Spencer x reader where the reader is a caretaker of Diana’s and Diana is always talking about Reid and reading y/n the letters he sends and Diana always talks about how good spencer + the reader would be together and then they meet and fall in love ugh 🥺

Warnings: none that i can think of. 

_______________________

“You look bright today, Diana.” You said, bringing her mail for the day. 

“I’m getting a letter from Spencer today.” She said, opening the letter for the day. 

“Yeah, that’s great!” You said, handing out the other residents letters from their loved ones. 

Diana was the only one who got something everyday because her son was some kind of big shot fbi guy, according to her, so he was able to tell her all this cool stuff. She reads the letters to you very formally, as you were letting her believe she was still a professor and she was just holding office hours. That always made her happy, when you played into the delusion. You weren’t on her detailed staff so you didn’t know everything but you knew enough. 

One day, a letter came in the mail, addressed to you. Your relatives didn’t write letters so you didn’t know who it could be from until you opened it. 

“Dear y/n, 

My name is Spencer Reid. I am Diana Reid’s son. I assume she has told you about me as she mentions how cute you and I would be together when I actually have the chance to talk to her on rare occasions. She speaks highly of your service to her. I wanted to thank you for that. I can not do so in person at the moment but I figured a letter is a personal way to thank someone for their service.

Sincerely, 

Spencer W. Reid”

Standing in the lobby, you read the letter a couple of times. What in the world? Why would he thank you? Why you? You must not have been special. He must have hand written a letter to all of the people who help his mom. But… You’re the one person who hangs out with his mom and isn’t on the official staff list assigned to her. You were obviously perplexed but you figured that you should write one back. 

You got out a piece of paper and started writing. Then scratching out. Then writing again. Then scratching out again. Finally, you got something solid and closed the envelope, dropping it in the building’s outgoing mailbox. 

You pushed it to the back of your mind and moved on with your day. You couldn’t wait to hear about Spencer’s “adventures,” as Diana calls them. Sure, they weren’t the most interesting things but he told her secrets that no one else knew. It was like you were in on something special without prying. 

Diana read you her letter and then you got her up and moving for lunch. After that, your morning shift was over and it was time for you to return home. You bid Diana goodbye for the day, although she wasn’t going to recognize that you were leaving. She had been in a weird space lately so it was harder for her to really know what was happening. 

Life went on, going through the motions of bringing Diana her mail of the day for a few days in a row. As suspected, she was the only one with mail today until you saw your name in the same handwriting as the last one. As you rushed to open it, something fell out. A piece of paper labeled, “read me to diana.” 

“Dear y/n, 

Yes, I am an FBI profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit (or BAU). Yes, I know you aren’t in my mother’s healthcare worker detail but I also know that you spend time with her every day. I may not see my mother but I might stop by every now and then to check in on her, even if she doesn’t know I’m there. And if she doesn’t know, you don’t know. But I know you. I know you were nervous to write to me, your handwriting was shaky and wouldn’t stay on a line. The way you gripped the pen was probably tighter than normal. You slant down, meaning something is weighing on you, but not low enough that you aren’t on a relatively straight line. I suspect you’re a little younger than me, based on the way you dot your i’s and cross your double t’s. It suggests that you still believe in impossible things. And of course, you’re curious because you asked me to profile your handwriting. I’ve also seen you before so I know we’re about the same age and yes, you are very cute. My mother is a schizophrenic but she’s not completely delusional. 

How did the letter reading go? 

Sincerely, 

Spencer W. Reid”

How had you never seen him? How did you never see him, as long as his mother has been here. Maybe you did see him but he was unremarkable? Diana was hardly unremarkable so her son must be of similar construct, right? 

You thought about this before you wrote him back. It was a quick message, nothing too intricate. You were a little bit more careful about how you held the pen, since he knew you were nervous last time. You wrote to him about how the letter reading went: she loved the poem. You guessed that Spencer would know that but sent it anyway to make her happy. But that still doesn’t answer the question, “why you?” 

Another few days passed but you couldn’t stop thinking of Spencer. You tried looking him up on the internet and found out he was just as brilliant as his mother. That was a plus. Negative was he was not on any social media unless it was an article about him. Eventually you gave up and just went back to trying to imagine him in your head. Was he tall? Was he short? What did he like to do in his free time? He has seen you but you haven’t seen him… That wasn’t fair. 

When you opened his next letter, you were sitting outside in the grass, across from Diana sitting on the bench. She was having a particularly tough day so she wasn’t up to reading you her letter. You told her you would still keep her company until your shift ended and she seemed to like that. 

“Dear y/n, 

You ask a lot of questions. Are you sure you’re not profiling me? And yes, I have witnessed your connection with my mother before but you wouldn’t recognize me in a crowd. I’m average, nothing special. You care for her in a way I never could… That’s why I wrote to you. I’ll see you on Friday.

Sincerely, 

Spencer W. Reid”

You didn’t think about how you interacted with Diana that made a difference. You just thought about why Spencer would want to talk to you… He said Friday. Which was today. Today was Friday… He could be anywhere! You had to find him and get some questions answered up close. 

You looked for anyone who might look remotely like Diana, frantically searching while looking nonchalant. Of course, he knows what you look like so you can’t seem desperate and like you’ve lost it. You also didn’t want to worry any of the residents. 

“Excuse me.” You said, trying to get past a guy who was standing in the doorway. He turned slightly and looked at you. He had a sad smile on his face and his hands in his pockets. He looked like someone who didn’t fit into the sea of people visiting their family members. Fridays were busier than the rest of the week so he could be anyone but you had a hunch by the way the guy was staring in the direction where Diana was sitting. 

“Spencer W. Reid?” You said, watching the sad smile get a little bigger. 

“You figured me out? How did you do it?” He said, scooting over so he wasn’t standing directly next to you. 

You didn’t take that as an offensive action. His mom did the same thing. They both had a thing about people touching them. 

“You were standoff-ish. And you’re dressed like you’re important.” You said, confidently. 

You had been googling what a profiler was and how to do it since the second letter. You thought it was the coolest job in the world but you liked where you were at, caring for people close to home. 

“So you profiled me.” Spencer turned towards you a little more.

“Yes, Dr. Reid, I did.” You triumphantly put your hands on your hips. 

“I never told you I was a doctor.” He said, knowing your nonchalant facade was going to fall apart that minute. 

“Well… Okay, I googled you.” You sighed. 

“The internet has its uses... “ He said, looking over at his mom again. 

He looked like he was getting cold feet of some sort. You saw him moving a little bit more and his eyes becoming a little flighty. 

“Do you want to step outside, into the lobby?” You asked, to which he nodded. He almost looked relieved not to be forced to go over there. 

“You don’t have to go over there. I don’t have to tell her you were here.” You said, sitting on the opposite side of the lobby bench to you. 

“No, she should know I came for her birthday.” He said, looking down at his hands. 

It wasn’t very often that the visitors got anything special on their birthdays. Unless their family did something within set guidelines, there was no celebration that happened here because it could set off one of the other residents in the facility. 

“That’s sweet. She would enjoy that.” You said smiling a little bit. 

“She’ll get her wish.” He said, wanting to chuckle. 

“And what’s that?” You wondered what he could possibly be talking about. 

“Seeing us together. I mentioned it in a letter previously, that she occasionally mentions that you and I would look cute together.” He said, finally looking up at you. 

“Oh, yeah. She has said that I needed to meet you once or twice before. We talk about you a lot. I feel like I know you.” You said, breaking eye contact. You were embarrassed that you told him that you talk about him when this is the first time you’ve ever met him. 

“Well, I don’t know much about you.” He paused. “Do you think you would want to tell me more?” 

“Oh well sure. Where do you want to start? My whole backstory is wild.” You looked up at him. 

It took a second for you to recognize what he was saying. 

“oh , you mean. Yes, that would be fun.” You said, attempting to remain calm. You just scored yourself a date and you didn’t do anything but write letters. Maybe you should be a pen-pal more often.

[tommysparker]

Movie Night: Hush (Baby Boy)

Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: So because everyone seemed to enjoy Movie Night so much, I decided to make a little series of unrelated events that happen during movie night in the Holland and Co. Household. Shoutout to @greenorangevioletgrass who was the BIGGEST help while writing this. Next week I’ll be posting the Peter Parker angsty fic titled Good For You, based on that song from Dear Evan Hansen, and after that is Black & White Ch. 2 so stay tuned! Also, this is the longest fic I’ve written so far so enjoy :)

Warnings: Smut (ish), handjob under a blanket, ‘scawy’ movie, couple no-no words, ruined orgasm and a bit of overstim, first time writing smut so I apologize if I did it wrong 

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It was a typical movie night. 

You snuggled into Tom under the warm throw-blanket, Harrison on the other side of the couch, Harry curled up on the sofa-chair and Tuwaine chilling on the floor. 

The choice of film that night was “Hush”, which is more thriller than a horror movie (Tom and Harrison disagreed). So after some arguing, and maybe a broken phone, everyone finally settled down in their designated seats and watched the film 

Well, almost everyone. 

You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on Tom’s face, specifically his lips. Every so often his tongue would poke out and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel against your--

A sudden yelp pulled you out of your thoughts, Tom’s hand gripping your thigh as his whole body jumped, the music shrilling through the speakers. Oh for fuck’s sake. 

In your defense, it had been a while since you and Tom had gotten together. Being stuck with three other divs in the house didn’t exactly leave room for much personal time. You were lucky enough to hook-up in the shower but never had enough time for it to go further. 

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. 

Slowly, you shifted your hand closer to Tom’s thigh, rubbing it slowly to make it seem like a comforting move. The brown-haired boy smiled, curling up closer and wrapping his arm around your shoulder so he could hold you against his chest. Big mistake buddy. 

You had your legs on top of his so you were basically sitting in his lap, but not quite. Honestly, it was an awkward position but it was comfortable so neither of you was complaining. At least now your movements were less obvious. You let your hand rest near his knee for a while, before slowly sliding it upwards. 

At first, Tom didn’t think anything of it and let you do whatever you were doing until the moment came when he felt a bit of pressure between his legs and his blood rush south. He tore his gaze from the television, only to meet your smug gaze as you ever-so-subtly moved your palm in agonizingly slow circles. 

“W-what are you doing?” He whispered as to not alert the other boys. He reached to grab your hand but froze when you tighten your grip on his groin, biting down on his lip to hold back a groan. 

You tucked your nose into his neck, speaking softly so only he could hear, “Just relax baby, enjoy the movie.” Your hand starting rubbing him through the material of his sweatpants, smirking against his skin when you felt his cock twitch under your touch. 

Tom mentally cursed himself for not wearing underwear, but in all fairness, he never expected to be biting his tongue so he doesn’t make any suggestive sounds while watching a horror movie with his roommates. 

After another ten minutes of painful teasing, Tom was fully hard, either from your consistent and steady rubbing, or the thrill of maybe getting caught (even though it would lead to a lifetime of embarrassment), he didn’t know. However, Tom would be lying if he said the thought of you getting him off while he was forced to suppress any noise trying to escape from the back of his throat didn’t drive him crazy. On top of all that, he was praying no one noticed how flush he’s become, and his prayers were answered surprisingly, for the most part. The boys seemed really into the film, however, you were enjoying an alternate source of entertainment.  

Seeing your boyfriend with his knuckles in his mouth and squirming ever so slightly every time you gently squeezes his hard-on was the best thing you could ever lay eyes on. Tiring from the pre-show, you decided it was time to progress the main plot. Slowly, you let your fingers dip under the waistband, planting a few kisses on the brown-eyed boy’s collarbone before reaching in and wrapping your fingers around his aching dick. 

Tom breathed deeply when he felt your skin touch his, and almost let out a whimper when you carefully pulled his member out so it stood hard against his lower stomach. His eyes fluttered closed at the feel of your thumb rubbing against the tip of his cock. And when you start to stroke up and down his length, he threw his head back and--

“FUCK!” Harry cursed out loud at a jumpscare.

It was a jumpscare alright because Tom practically jumped out of his seat and nearly blew the cover off. But you quickly held the blanket in place and ran a soothing hand on his chest, signaling that it’s all okay. 

You could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and wondered if it was from the scare or your little scandal. Probably both, you decided. 

Waiting ‘till everyone calmed down, you resumed your earlier movements, grinning inwardly when you felt your boyfriend tense beneath you. You lightly ran your hand over his cock, the pads of your fingers brushing against the head which made him shift.  

A few more minutes go by before you start jerking him off, slowly as to not surprise him, knowing full-well how prone he is to moaning out loud at any sudden contact. The pre-cum dribbled down his cock acting as a lube while you slid your palm up and down, twisting your wrist the way he loves. 

Tom was really struggling to stay quiet, to the point he had to stuff a pillow in his face, making excuses like “It’s too scary, man!” or “Oh god I can’t watch,” the Oh god being dragged out a little too long, not that anyone really paid attention. The short little dialogue you were whispering in his ear was not any help. 

“Gotta stay quiet baby boy, don’t want the lads to find out about our little secret, do you?”

“God, Tommy, you should see yourself right now. All red and flustered...can’t wait to see how you look from a lower angle.”

“You’re moving too much, my love. Be good and stay still for me will you?...yes that’s much better. Now I can go harder, and faster, and no one is gonna know.”

You knew your words were driving him crazy, could see it in the way he clenched his jaw and tightened his hold on the pillow. He was getting close. 

Unfortunately, just as he was about to cum, the sudden intense yelling coming from the others caused you to flinch, retracting your hand and curling up, all the while Tom used almost every bit of self-control he had left in order to not whimper aloud. 

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING MAN?!”

“She’s deaf why the fuck is he knocking?!”

“BITCH HE’S GONNA KILL YOU RUN!”

He jumps slightly in shock, and what little control he's trying to grapple goes out the . The adrenaline still pumping through his body proving to be his undoing as small spurts of cum ran down his cock, orgasm completely ruined. His head lolled to the side a bit, brain fogged with unsatisfied lust yet the energy spent taking a physical toll on his fatigued figure.  

You watched him closely, saw his bottom lip get caught between his teeth and the quiet pants that felt a lot louder in your ears. At that moment, you thought he had never looked so hot, and all you could think about was wanting more. So after giving him a few seconds to catch his breath, you waited for the next jumpscare, before taking action and resuming your previous antics, much to Tom’s surprise as a startled moan was ripped from this throat, but thankfully drowned out by the shouts of his roommates.

Tom looked at you with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, to which you returned with an innocent smile and a gentle squeeze to his tip, causing him to squirm and bite back the groan that desperately wanted to escape. “W-what are y-you doing?” He whispered, hiding his face in your neck. To the naked eye, it would seem like an ordinary couple move, however, in this scenario, he was trying hopelessly to muffle any sounds he wanted to make. 

You kissed his cheek, mumbling back “Your last orgasm was ruined, pretty boy. Only fair I give you a proper one.” With that said, your hand sped up, fisting his cock with ease and massaging the sensitive head. 

The actor knew you well enough to know you weren’t gonna stop until you got what you wanted, but that didn’t make the unexpected overstimulation any easier to handle. 

As the movie progressed, it felt as if your hand moved in rhythm with the score that played. Tom was truly trying his best to stay still for you, however you were relentless and the poor Brit was trapped in confusion of whether he wanted to buck into your hand, or shy away from the burning feeling his cock was endearing.  

Harrison, sitting opposite to the couple couldn’t help but see from the corner of his eye how much Tom was moving around. “Tom, mate you alright? If you need to wiz we can pause.”  

Tom really thought you were going to stop, but when you didn’t he had no choice but to power through the pleasure, or pain, he was still deciding. “N-No m’aright sunshine, j-just a-ah oh god…” his eyes slipped shut as his head fell forward into your neck. 

“He’s just being a scaredy-cat, aren’t you, baby boy?” You cooed playfully, but under the blanket giving his balls a harsh squeeze, emitting a small whimper-mixed-groan that was quiet enough that only you could hear. Tom could only nod along to your excuse. 

The blue-eyed boy didn’t seem convinced, but let it slide. Little did he know, his observation would send his best friend into a world of euphoria. 

The idea of you actually getting caught only spurred you on, pumping his cock vigorously and Tom was about to lose it. Sensitivity aside, he could feel another knot building in his lower abdomen and he wanted nothing more than to feel your walls hug his throbbing dick. He kissed your neck, slurring his words as he miserably tried to compromise. “D-darling, why don’t we finish this in our bedroom?” His voice was airy, like every time he opened his mouth he was gasping for oxygen. 

You adored the effect you had on this man, almost as much as you loved the effect he had on you. “Don’t be silly, Tommy. The movie is almost over… let’s see if you can cum before it does, shall we?” 

And he did, the pressure building up inside exploding as the girl in the movie stumbled out of the house covered in blood. Hey, everyone has their kinks. 

Tom moaned into your shoulder, cum flying out of his head and all over your hand, bits landing on his upper torso, but most of it getting caught on the underside of the blanket. 

Thinking quickly, you picked up your drink and “accidently” spilled it all over the cover, cursing loudly to drown out your boyfriend’s whimpers. “Ah, fuck shit! Fan-fucking-tastic. Ugh.” 

All heads turned to you, as you mock-complained while simultaneously riding out Tom’s climax. He panted heavily, eyes hooded as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. 

“I’ll put it in the wash. Tommy, do you mind helping me?” You looked down at the boy, face flushed and chest heaving. 

“O-Okay…” He knew there was no point in arguing. Like he said, if you want something, you’ll get it. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Tom quickly tucked his flaccid dick back into his sweats, using the blanket to wipe his chest subtly while he got up. 

“You boys have fun cleaning up,” You smiled before dragging your boyfriend to the laundry room. 

“....They’re gonna fuck, aren’t they?" “Oh definitely.” 

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Before anyone says anything, it’s canon Tom has called Haz “sunshine” before so that’s why I added at that in there definitely not because I ship them or anything

All: @greenorangevioletgrass @allegra-writes @soraitmnt @worldoftom @farfromparker @angel-spidey @parkerpeter24 @god-knows-what-am-i-doing​ @the-panwitch @rebekkah4766 @hollandsamor @theactualprincessofeverything

Tom Holland: @rubberducky-jrr

[uswntxfootball]

Worth the stitches (Lindsey Horan x Reader)

request: @kweens14 ; ooo could you do protective lindsey horan x reader? thanks! love your fics :)

word count: 1831 ish You’re a quiet, non-confrontational forward for the uswnt, and in the eyes of Allysha Chapman, the perfect target for her illegal tackles. What she didn’t factor into the equation however, was a certain protective, very confrontational blonde midfielder.  a/n: hfjsns the gif i wanted wouldn’t upload :( it was the one of horan shoving arod and i thought it would be fitting but tumbr was like haha nope so yeah :( anyways! its my first request that i’ve ever done! hope i did it justice! :)

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The game against Canada had been nothing short of brutal. It began with a quick goal for the US, courtesy of Carli Lloyd’s boot, but less than fifteen minutes into the game, the US found themselves tied with Canada after a sly chip from Sinclair. The game remained deadlocked in a tie for the next half hour, and just before halftime was when the Canadian national team began their attack. Illegal tackles began slowly finding their way into the game, with the refs turning a blind eye to what are obvious yellow and red card fouls. And when Alex Morgan is subbed off in the 31st minute with an injury, Canadian defender Allysha Chapman decides you’re going to be her next target. You were a quiet player, and you weren’t one to complain to refs or fight back against players. Chapman knew this, and she planned to take full advantage of it. ~~ You fall to the ground with a grimace as Chapman lands a particularly hard tackle on you, knocking you off of your feet. The first person by your side is your best friend and fellow Portland Thorns teammate, Lindsey, who’s patting your back and giving you a soft smile. “Are you okay?” she asks, you nodding your head, blushing, as she helps you to your feet. Your crush on the midfielder was painfully obvious to others, but lucky for you, Lindsey was oblivious to that fact and you planned to keep it that way. “Just a bruise on my hip but I’ll be okay” You reassure her. Lindsey nods reluctantly and walks away, not before giving Chapman a glare that could scare off a wild bear. The whistle sounds and just like that, the game continued. Even though there were only a few minutes left until half time, you had ended up on the turf six times after that initial tackle. Your uniform began to become stained green from the amount of time you spent on the turf. Lindsey had been at your side helping you get up every time you went down, your cheeks flushing every time. But it was now that you could see the rage swirling behind Lindsey’s eyes, watching as you went down and down again with no fouls being called. You give her forearm a reassuring squeeze, completely missing the way her eyes soften and cheeks flush, as you tell her you’re okay. The midfielder nods and lets out a few deep breaths to calm down, as you both head back towards the game. And not even a few seconds later, the seventh tackle hits and you’re back on the ground. You watch from the ground eyes widening as Lindsey grits her teeth and her hands begin to clench up into a fist all the while walking towards Chapman. You quickly scramble off the ground and run towards the woman before she can make it there. You put your hands on her shoulders and turn her head so she faces you. Your eyes widen at the sight of pure anger on her face, and just as you’re about to speak, the whistle blows, signaling the end of the first half. You grab her hand and drag the midfielder off the field, leading her into the hallway behind the locker room. ~~ You let go of her hand when you reach the back, opting instead to place your hand on her forearm, giving the midfielder a squeeze. “Just stay calm. It’s okay.” “But it’s not okay! The refs are literally blind considering that Chapman has made tackles that are definitely red card worthy!” She growls, throwing her arms up in frustration. “I know I know, but murder is unfortunately illegal”. You joke, hoping it’ll cheer her up a bit and lighten the mood. The blonde relents and gives a small smile and chuckle, leaning her head down onto your shoulder. Lindsey’s eyebrows furrow when you move out from under her, but her cheeks flush red as you then turn to wrap your arms around her, your head against her chest. “I’m okay I promise.” You say, pulling back to look her in her eyes. “I just don’t want you to get hurt”. “Aw you actually care about me?” You tease, Lindsey rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Of course I care about you doofus, I actually like having you around” She says, completely missing the way your cheeks heat up. You lean back into her chest, and you stay there, listening to her heartbeat. Lindsey stands there, cheeks flushed as she wraps her arms around you, silently hoping you don’t hear how fast her heart is pounding in her chest. Just as she opens her mouth to say something, Kelley yells from the locker room, “Eyo Horan! Y/LN! Time to go!” You pull away from the blonde reluctantly, and with a wave of courage, You lean in to give her a quick peck on the cheek and whisper, “Thank you for caring about me though”. Lindsey stands still with her mouth agape, hand on her flushed cheek as she watches you walk back towards the pitch. You’re halfway down the hall when you turn around to see the woman still standing there and you call out, “Linds?” “Coming!” ~~ Unfortunately for you, things weren’t much better in the second half. Chapman was still on you, tackling you left and right whenever the ball was at your feet. Lindsey was right by your side every time, you reassuring her every time, and her reluctantly agreeing to not rip Chapman’s head off every time. But at the 78th minute is when everything changes. Lindsey’s eyes widen when she sees Chapman coming in behind you, sliding in for a tackle, studs up. And to her horror, this time you let out a pained wail as you fall to the ground, gripping your calf. Lindsey like usual, is at your side, but this time, you weren’t telling her that you were fine. You weren’t telling her not to rip Chapman’s head off. You were crying and your sock and leg were soaked in blood. The medics are at your side immediately, and when they roll down your sock and take one look at your calf, they turn to Vlatko and give him the sign for the need of a substitute. Lindsey can only watch, frozen in shock, as you’re carried off of the field and into the back. The rage she felt inside her earlier was back, but this time, it was ten times stronger. Christen, who came on as your sub, along with the rest of the team, witness with wide eyes from across the field the result of Lindsey Horan’s fury. What she screamed at Chapman and the ref couldn’t be heard by the rest of the team, but what the team could see was the solid punch that sent Chapman sprawling onto the ground. Plus with the crack that came from the impact to Chapman’s face, what was most likely a broken nose if not more, and as a result, the look of true terror spreading on the Canadian defender’s face. Lindsey doesn’t even wait for the ref to pull out the red card when she bolts off of the field in search of you. ~~ You sat in the locker room with your leg stitched and bandaged. Chapman had left some nasty marks in your leg with her cleats, and you’re sure you’re going to have a permanent scar because of it. You could hear the roar of the crowd in the stadium, meaning someone probably scored, but you could care less as your mind was focused elsewhere. Specifically, on a certain blonde midfielder. Since the game was still going on, your brows furrow when you hear cleats clicking on the tile floor, and you look up to see the woman you had been thinking about a few seconds prior. “What are you doing here?” You ask, your brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s not important. How’s your leg?” She asks, before taking a seat on the bench next to you. “It’s okay, I got it stitched up. No major injuries, just some flesh wounds, so I should be okay playing next game.” “Can’t say the same about me.” Lindsey snorts, your brows furrowing in confusion again before you ask, “Linds... what did you do?” After much silence she mumbles quietly, “I may have broken Chapman’s nose.” “You did what??!” “Yeah” She muttered, looking down at her cleats. It’s then that you notice her right fist, knuckles swollen and colored with angry red and purple blots. “Oh Linds..” You sigh, grabbing her right arm to take a closer look at her hand. She turns to you with a blush, gasping when you take her hand in yours and place a light kiss to her knuckles. When you look up at her, you notice a glassy sheen over those green eyes you adored so much. “Wha-“ You’re cut off when Lindsey surges forward and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. You blink once. twice. Lindsey Horan was kissing you. And you weren’t kissing back. Before you can reciprocate, Lindsey pulls back and starts to apologize. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me and I jus-“ You shut her up by grabbing the front of her jersey and pulling her in to give her a kiss. The kiss is a short and sweet confession, and when she kisses you back, your life is complete. You pull back after a few seconds and press your forehead against hers, and all you can do is smile. “Go on a date with me.” Lindsey states after a while and you let out a snort saying, “Isn’t that supposed to be a question? Like will you go on a date with me?” “I mean duh right of course I’m sorry I meant, will you go on a date with me?” Lindsey stutters nervously, hand rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry I just assumed tha-“ You interrupt her with a kiss. “Yes of course I’ll go on a date with you, you dork.” You say while rolling your eyes. Lindsey’s face splits into a huge grin and she leans in for another kiss when the team bursts into the locker room. Megan’s eyes widen when she sees the two of you and she nearly screams, “KELLEY YOU OWE ME FIFTY BUCKS!” Kelley winces and opens her mouth to speak when Ashlyn steps up and slaps Lindsey on the back. “Y/N, you should’ve seen her dude. She went all Rocky Balboa on Chapman and totally rocked her SHIT!” This makes the whole team laugh and earns her a slap on the back of her head from Ali who chides her on her language. As you watch the team bicker amongst themselves, you lay your head on Lindsey’s shoulder and stare up at her, the woman looking back at you with a loving smile. And so a few months later when the US played Canada again, all it took was one glare from Lindsey (who by now is your girlfriend btw), and Chapman made sure to keep herself far, far away from you.

[skinks]

Food for thot.....Richie getting rug burn on his face from getting pounded into the carpet. Yes its before an interview and yes its is from a tiktok but I don't know anyone that would appreciate this like u would. Thank u 😔

no, thank YOU!!! WOW!!! I know @pineapplecrushface wrote about Eddie having face rug burn in this post here and it’s such a funny concept I want it for Richie too.

Like, the heat comes from the fact that they couldn’t even wait to move to the bed. They’re cuddling on the couch, sweet kissing turns hotter, heavier, they’re rolling off the couch and knocking shit over on the coffee table, wrestling like they always used to. But now Eddie’s shoving himself up and noisily ripping his belt through the loops like grabbing a snake by its head behind the metal fangs. Both of them panting and swearing and laughing, Richie goading him on like c’mon slugger, c’mon baby, let’s see you go the fuck to town, except he gets more than he bargained for because Eddie’s going NUTS like I wanna, Rich I really fucking wanna, on your front, your knees, let me, and Richie’s already trying to turn over, kicking his pants down his sweating thighs and grinning so hard he can hardly reply back yeah yeah yeah fuck me through the floor, Eddie, ‘course I’ll let you, you can do anything you put that batshit little mind to.

And y’know, Richie grabs a leg of the coffee table for purchase but that’s getting shoved across the floor with the force of it too. Movie’s still playing. Feels briefly surreal, the sound of a chic Soderbergh heist chopped up roughly between the louder sounds of fucking, and of getting fucked. His other hand’s ripping scores against the pile of the carpet, knees are burnt, glasses are nearly bent against his face until he pushes them up and off and Eddie takes them away because his hand is there, suddenly, grabbing Richie’s fucked up hair like he can’t bear not to be touching him everywhere for reassurance now that Richie can hardly see.

Eddie’s everywhere, the glide of his thighs and the scrape of his shoved-down jeans burning open the insides of Richie’s spread legs, the stretch and pressure angling down tight into his stomach as Eddie presses his cock balls-deep and yanks hard on Richie’s hips at the same time. Pulls up, buries himself hard in Richie’s body and holds him there for a moment to grind the ridges of his abs right against Richie’s lower back, mossy with dark hair flattened to his tailbone. Eddie moans between his shoulderblades and Richie chokes into the carpet, Eddie holding him fast and pushing, pushing, socks rasping against the carpet to brace themselves.

It’s one of those fucks of a lifetime, every time he swings his feet up next to Eddie’s on the coffee table he’s gonna remember how he was so glad Eddie kept him face down and ass up, cause otherwise his entire dick and balls would be chafing a slick band of precum into the carpet too, burnt and red as their skinny little forearms got as kids, when they’d attack and grab at each other with both hands, twisting opposite directions til it hurt, because violence was the only way to touch each other with an audience back then and apparently the habit takes some breaking.

Now they’re good at breaking all their worst habits together. They can touch each other gently, even in public. After Eddie’s rubbed him raw against the floor and come so hard in short, sharp, knocking thrusts that left him shaken and incoherent against Richie’s aching shoulders, after he grabbed his own discarded shirt and, still hard and throbbing, coaxed Richie to buck his cum into it instead of the carpet—he smooths some aloe vera into Richie’s stinging cheek. They were still both naked and dripping, but he insisted.

Eddie’s always achingly sweet when he feels he’s gone too far, still sometimes forgetting there are ways to love each other rough that aren’t cruelty, and ways to care for each other soft that aren’t coddling.

It’s nice though, nostalgic for the times spent just the two of them, when the need to compete against and for each other’s attention waned and Richie could make a production of kissing Eddie’s twisted forearm better. Big smacking kiss between the red imprints of his own fingers, to match the burn in Eddie’s face as he grabbed at Richie’s noodly arm to give one back, never to be outdone.

“Hold still,” Eddie murmurs now. “I’m kissing it better.” He cups Richie’s other cheek and draws him down to kiss long and slow where the arch of his dark stubble turns an angry pink underneath. Puts his other arm around Richie’s shoulders and kneels there next to him on the bed, held right back around his waist. Gentling his lips all over Richie’s face.

“You kissing me better, baby? You little sex demon.”

“Yeah. You feel better?”

“I always feel better now. You kissed me all better.”

“Loved you all better.” Eddie turns him so he’s kissing at Richie’s broad, smiling mouth. “God. Gross. I love you so fucking much.”

“Ghh-huh. Ah. I love you, Eds.” For a moment Richie stares at him, helpless. One of his eyes always squints up harder when he grins, but Eddie likes being able to see the crinkly corners when Richie’s not wearing his glasses. He strokes them. Richie makes a tiny noise. “And they say I’m the sap.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pine tree.”

“Yep!” Richie sticks his tongue out gleefully, straight into Eddie’s mouth.

“Don’t say it—!”

“You climb me, and I get you all sticky!”

Eddie wheezes as Richie nuzzles into his shoulder, tightening his arms around Eddie’s waist. His sore cheekbone is hard and hot against Eddie’s cooling skin. “What are you—giggling about?!”

Richie falls back to the mattress, tugging Eddie down with him. The breath shudders through Eddie’s punctured, healed chest like there’s still a hole there and he squeezes his eyes shut against Richie’s collarbones. He shakes with it sometimes, how much of this he gets to feel and have and keep to himself, overwhelmed giddiness lurching his stomach out miles above his body. That’d be bad. He’s already lost a couple organs just for loving Richie Tozier, but the difference is—he can live without the organs.

Eddie squeezes Richie’s thigh between his own and hides his crumpling face in the fuzzy ditch of his broad chest, in case Richie thinks he’s upset and stops laughing.

He pinches the soft give of Richie’s tricep. He’s hugging Eddie so tight, his little yelp buzzes Eddie’s ear. “What are you fucking giggling about!”

“I have—I have that promo thing tomorrow, I’m gonna look like I made out with a brick wall!”

Eddie’s jostled with the gusts of Richie’s laughter. He keeps his eyes closed. He supports Richie’s career, he really does, but no matter how hard he tries Eddie can’t seem to stop providing juicy fodder for talk-show stories. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, it’s okay, you can get them to cover it up before—”

“No! No way, and pass up walking out there like Harvey fuckin’ Dent because my hot as hell boyfriend railed me across the floor like a lawnmower?”

“That doesn’t—you don’t fuck lawnmowers, how do you fuck a lawnmower!”

“Very carefully! You sound like one sometimes, though, Jesus, how you get all revved up. Okay, something about carpets matching drapes, or—wait, wait, Dented? Harvey Dented? Dented my ass, or something, there’s a joke there, I promise—”

Eddie gives in to the snort building up in his sinuses. Richie’s whole face is pink with happiness when Eddie levers himself up onto an elbow for a look at him, not just the rug burn like a strawberry birthmark blooming from his temple to his jaw.

“That’s weak shit,” Eddie says. Richie’s grin only gets wider when he sees Eddie’s laughing too, so Eddie nudges a kiss against his endearingly goofy-ass overbite. “Two-Face is obvious. You wanna do a Batman joke, it’s gotta be like—you wanna know how I got these scars?”

Richie shrieks with laughter at Eddie’s nasally Joker (really just an imitation of Richie’s, and thank fuck it’s improved from sounding vaguely Pennywise-ish, that’s a real mood-killer) and piledrives him over into the bedspread. “Genius! Genius, holy shit, you know it gives me such a boner when you do Voices! You wanna know how I got these scars? Well, one day, Daddy Kaspbrak came home all riled up and wanting to play—”

Eddie pretends to gag though his laughter, rubbing at the backs of Richie’s squirming thighs with his heels like a cricket. “Do not call me Daddy Kaspbrak when we’re naked—or ever, what the fuck—”

“Whipped his belt off—”

“No!”

“Hey Eddie, you wanna know how I got this jawline?” Eddie’s careful with Richie’s sore cheek, even as Richie’s gnawing at his throat. Cups his hand to it for protection against Eddie’s own stubbly jaw. Then Richie’s groping at one of Eddie’s asscheeks, lifting his thigh, and, shit, looks like this afternoon might be a twofer. “Do ya, Eddie?”

“Fine, how?”

Richie waggles his stupid eyebrows. “Lemme show you the workout!”

“Oh, Christ—don’t hurt your face,” Eddie gasps, but Richie’s already moving south.

-

The host asks about Richie’s face—obviously. It had faded a little from that vicious red, but not enough to escape attention, especially since his entire shit-eating demeanour was clearly begging for enquiry.

“What happened, man, you get in a fight?”

“No—no! Look at me, dude, I can’t even get heckled without being like yeah, you’re right. Y’know, you’ve got a point. If someone tried to fight me I’d probably join in.” Richie grins and glances at the camera. “Nah, I’m more of a lover.”