#i get a kick out of you

[eminsunnytoons123]

Class of 3000: back to the SING!

I get a KICK outta youuuuu~ 🧡☀️💙🧀

Ever since I have Said that I have imagined Sunny And cheddar man singing "I get a kick out of you" by Frank Sinatra and I Said that I'm gonna draw them singing it, so here they are =^_^=

So, in this picture, y'all can see Sunny and cheddar man in their karaoke night outfits that I have made for them, And Sunny is singing the "I get a kick everytime I see you, standing there before me" And Cheddar man is singing the "I get a kick though its clear to see, you obviously do not adore me" And theyre on the stage =^/////^= 🧡☀️💙🧀

And! I have even drawn Sunil singing "Alice's tango" song =^//////^= And, I'll even draw Meiyao, the Pokemon made for Sunny that I have saw on Instagram =^.^=

This is the original song:

And this is even for @ducktopia90264 @nightkit92 @classywinnerpeace @ghostytoastynights @iggyguyy @nia1sworld and all my other loved ones in my tumblr family that love me And support my work and they always Bring me so much happiness and Joy in my heart, And I'll always love And support them all And even Bring them sincere Joy And happiness =^///////^= 💛❤️💚🩷💖💜

I hope y'all will like this =^.^= 🧡☀️💙🧀

[jazzstandardspoll]

Descriptions & Propaganda

Invitation

Composed by Bronislau Kaper, with lyrics by Paul Francis Webster

Notable versions: John Coltrane (x), Bill Evans and Eddie Gomez (x), Roy Hargrove (x)

Propaganda: None submitted.

I Get A Kick Out Of You

Composed by Cole Porter

Notable versions: Ella Fitzgerald (x), Louis Armstrong (x), Dinah Washington (x)

Propaganda: cole porter is suchhhh a clever lyricist & i think this is one of his best!!

[dragon-kazansky]

I get a kick out of you

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x Reader

Platonic! Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x Reader

[Masterlist]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Warnings: Ice’s health is getting worse. I don’t specify what it is, but just a heads-up if you find it hard to read about declining health.

30 years later and Maverick is back in Top Gun. This time to teach it. It’s his turn to deal with his past, but it’s going to be OK. You’re there to help him. Both of you have someone to look out for.

Admiral Tom Kazansky and yourself are still going strong. Married life is treating you well, but his health is taking a turn. Tom wants to do his best by Pete, but some things are out of his hands.

They both need you now more than ever.

Word count: 2.5k

Chapter Eight - In sickness and in health

♡♡♡

You fussed over Tom from the moment you sent him to bed. You had him change in his pyjamas and get in bed, telling him off if he dared look at his emails on his phone, which you confiscated at one point. You told him he could have it back if someone important called, but other than that, you kept it hidden away.

When you came to bed, he was still awake. He had been reading a book he kept on his bedside table. He looked up from its pages when you came in, smiling at you softly as you got ready for bed. You climbed in and tucked into his side.

“How are you doing?” You asked, keeping your voice no higher than whisper.

He closes his book and turns to you.

“I’m fine,” he tells you. Though the roughness to his voice tells you he’s been coughing again. You frown.

“Tom, please be honest with me.”

“I am. I’m fine.”

Your eyes flicker between his, trying to pick up on any sign of him just telling you that for your sake, but you don’t see anything. He seems to be genuine with you, which shouldn’t surprise you. Tom never lied to you. He was always open about things, which was a boundry you both set after what happened in the past.

“Alright.”

You kiss him on the cheek, letting your lips linger there for a bit. His eyes close and he smiles softly at the feel of your lips on him. When you pull away, his cheek feels cold without your touch. 

He turns and watches you get settled in the bed, as you did every night. You normally, when he decides to read in bed, turn over and get comfortable, allowing him the space to read quietly some more, but tonight he didn’t feel like it. He moved the book back to the table and turned out his light, getting comfortable.

You feel his arm drape over your waist and pull you closer to him. You smile softly as you move yourself, getting comfy next to him. His lips brush against your shoulder.

“I love you,” you hear him whisper.

You smile to yourself.

“I love you too, Tom.”

You know then he’ll sleep soundly. Well, he normally would.

Tom’s health hadn’t been great for some time, but it had been at a level that wasn’t too worrisome, but the coughing had been a lot today. It only got worse during the night.

You’re not sure what time it was. Still pitch-black outside. You didn’t feel him leave the bed, but you could faintly hear the sink running. You didn’t worry too much, as it wouldn’t be the first time one of you got up for a drink in the middle of the night. It was when you heard his coughing as he came back that you sat up and turned to the door.

Your husband comes back into the bedroom with a half full glass of water. He doesn’t realise you’re awake right away, focusing on closing the door and getting back into bed. As he pulls the covers back over him, you turn to face him. Tom lifts a hand to his mouth as he coughs again.

“Do you need anything?” You ask.

He startles, having not known you were awake. He waits for the coughing to stop, shaking his head in the meantime.

“No,” he says, but his voice sounds all the worse now. You sit up and place a hand on his back, rubbing circles there. He takes some deep breaths and gathers himself again. Tom leans into your touch, and you’re quick to wrap your arms around him.

You don’t care that’s some stupid hour of the morning, Tom needed you.

When he feels a bit more comfortable, you both lay down in the bed, but you keep your arm around him. You can’t see his eyes, but you just know he’s looking at you.

“I love you,” you whisper into the dark.

Soft lips press against your forehead.

“I love you too,” he whispers back.

No more words are shared for the rest of the night. You run your fingers through his hair until you know he’s fallen back asleep. Sleep doesn’t come back to you easily.

In the morning, he’s still asleep when you wake. You lay there and watch him for a little while, thoughts running through your head. Worry has set itself in your heart. The man you love is suffering in front of you, and you’re worried it’s only going to get worse.

You get up and decide to make a start on breakfast.

The house is quiet when your family aren’t visiting. Though you have no doubt they’ll be around later. Right now, you’ll focus on giving your husband something wonderful to start his day with.

The plan was to cook him breakfast and bring it to him in bed, but by the time you’re dishing it up, he had woken up, got up, got dressed, and come downstairs. You turn to see him enter the kitchen with the glass he used last night for his water.

“You’re supposed to be resting!” You scold him, glaring at him softly.

Tom doesn’t look the least bit apologetic as he smiles at you and puts the glass in the sink behind you. He stands close, grinning at you with his handsome smile. You lose the glare and chuckle at him.

“Tom, you need rest.”

“I will rest, later.”

You roll your eyes and kiss him. His hands settle on your hips as he kisses you, loving having his hands on you. You have to give him a soft push with your hands on his chest to get him to stop. He chuckles against your cheek. You know he would happily stand there kissing you all over if he wanted to.

“Behave,” you say, trying not to smile.

“Never,” he replies, winking at you.

“Eat your breakfast, Admiral,” you tease, patting his arm and walking around him to get your breakfast ready too.

Tom laughs softly as he takes his plate and heads over to the table.

He seems fine while you both sit down and eat. You both talk a little, eat, drink some juice, laugh a bit. It’s not until you’re clearing up that he coughs into his fist again. You stop what you’re doing to look at him.

“Tom...”

He shakes his head.

He won’t admit anything is wrong because he hates making you worry, but it doesn’t matter anyway. You are worried. He hasn’t been this bad since the first time he got sick. That was so long ago now.

You clear the plates and keep your back to him as you wash up.

Tom watches you from the kitchen table. You’re trying so hard to not let your worry show, but he can tell you’re crying quietly to yourself over there. He gets up slowly, making his way to the sink. He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

He hears the sob that escapes your lips.

“Let me call your doctor,” you say, keeping your voice quiet.

He’s silent for a moment, but then he replies just as quietly, “alright.”

Tom holds you a little while longer. You finish up your task, dry your hands, and then go and give his doctor a call. While you do that, Tom sits in his office, looking out his window.

He knows he’s not well. He knows it’s getting worse.

He can’t hide it.

He can’t deny it.

Tom doesn’t want to think about the worst-case scenario. About what will happen to Maverick if he gets worse. About his children. About you. He can see your heart breaking right in front of him, and if he doesn’t recover again this time, it will surely shatter your heart into pieces.

Tom wants to take away all that worry and sadness from you.

He wants you to be happy and loved by him forever.

You open the door to his office quietly, poking your head into the room. He still hears the door open and turns his head in your direction. You walk over to him, reaching your hand to him. Tom takes it when you’re close enough, bringing to his lips.

“He’s coming up to see you today.”

Tom nods, wordlessly.

You can’t help the tears from coming again as you look at him. Tom pulls you into his lap quietly, wrapping his arms around you. He hates it when you cry. He pulls you close enough to kiss your cheek, wanting you as close as possible.

“Don’t cry,” he says.

“I can’t help it. I hated watching you become sick in the first place, and now it’s happening all over again. Tom, they told us it could be so bad if you got like this again. I can’t.... I don’t... I...”

Tom stops you from talking by pulling you into a hug. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

You want to believe his words. He spoke them so confidently, but the worry hasn’t faded.

You sit with him like that for a short while before leaving him. You had tried to get him to go back to bed, but he refused. Knowing he wouldn’t do that, you left him in his office, letting him catch up with anything he missed yesterday. You had given him his phone back, but even then, he had put it away until now.

Tom’s doctor came by a couple hours later.

Tom was still in his office when you brought the doctor up. You stood by the door as the doctor went in and greeted your husband. Tom looked at you.

“You can stay,” he said.

You shook your head.

“I’ll get out of the way for now... Leave you both to it. I... I’ll go make your tea,” you said, heading out.

Tom watched you go.

The door to the office shut quietly behind you and Tom turned his eyes to the floor. He wanted to hold your hand and tell you everything was fine, but you had called his doctor for a reason. You were scared.

Tom turns back to the doctor when his name is spoken.

You watch the water boil as you wait. You grip the kitchen counter hard. You fear the worse. The warning last time that if he got sick again, it could be severe, you weren’t ready to hear that, never mind see it happen.

You loved Tom more than anything.

If you lost him....

You debate calling Pete, looking at your phone on the counter, but that might be a little immature. The doctor was only examining him, there was nothing set in stone yet. For all you knew, this was nothing but a cough that would clear up in a few days. But with how bad it sounded, and the affect it had on his voice when he was done coughing, you wondered. You worried.

All you seem to do is worry over him.

The water is boiled. You make his tea. You take your time putting his tea set together on a tray to take up to him. You walk slowly back up to his office.

You take your time.

Standing outside his door, you hesitate for a moment. You had given them some time, but you wondered if you would be disturbing them if you went in now. You were about ready to turn and leave, giving them more time, but the door opened, and you looked up to see the doctor standing there.

“He said you might be out here,” the doctor smiled.

You chuckle softly and step inside the office. Tom turns in his chair to look at you, offering you a smile. You return the smile and set the tray on his desk, but he doesn’t even glance at it. He reaches out and holds your hand.

“I think you should stay,” the doctor says to you.

You glance at him and then at your husband. Seeing the look on Tom’s face, you nod once and sit down, letting Tom hold your hand.

“What is it?” You ask, seeing the look on the doctor’s face.

“It’s not great news, I’m afraid,” he tells you.

You give Tom’s hand a squeeze as you try to keep calm. Tom doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you listen to the doctor. He’s not worried about him. He’s worried about you.

“Tell me.”

“Your husband’s health has worsened. The coughing is an early sign, but you knew this from last time.”

You nod your head.

“The good news is, he could recover from this, but there is a high chance he will get worse. From what I have gathered from my examination, his body has taken a much more severe hit this time around. I would hope that you only have to deal with the coughing, Mr Kazansky, but I fear you may feel much more than that. You may grow tired quickly, lose some of your strength, if your coughing gets any worse, you may do some damage to your throat. You may feel dizzy and nauseous if you stand up too long.”

You have to close your eyes and take some deep breaths.

Tom brings your hand to his lips and kisses it again.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t guarantee anything. I fear this may get worse. If it does, you must contact me. There is a high chance this will be life threatening if this goes beyond the coughing.”

You can’t do it anymore.

You cover your mouth as tears fall.

You didn’t want to hear that.

The doctor gives you a moment as Tom pulls you into his arms and holds you. You fall against him, unable to brave face it anymore. No one wants to hear there’s a chance you’ll lose the one person you love.

Tom is the one to see the doctor out while you sit in his office staring at his desk.

The tea is cold now, but Tom doesn’t care. When he sees you sitting there, his heart aches. He walks over to the chair you’re sitting in and crouches down, taking your hands in his.

You turn your eyes to him.

“You’re not allowed to be sick...” You say, kind of teasing, but unable to laugh at your own words.

However, Tom smile at you softly.

“I’m sorry, darling.”

You lean forward and wrap your arms around his neck. Tom catches you and hugs you tight. You bury your face in his shoulder, hiding away from the world.

“You have to get better,” you mumble.

Tom doesn’t say anything, he just looks at the wall behind you as he holds you.

You know you’ll have to tell the children about this at some point, but you’ll tell them later. You’ll make an excuse for them not to visit today, wanting to be alone with Tom for now. You need time to think.

Tom agrees with this idea, because though he has a family to look after should the worst happen, he is more worried about you in this moment.

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper softly in his ear.

Tom swears his heart just broke.

“Not if I can help it,” he replies.

You fear what the future has in store for you both.

♡♡♡

@callsignscupcake - @topgun-imagines - @sitkafay - @theghostofshadows - @shianshian4315 - @mischief-siriusly-managed - @sarahissilent - @mackycat11 - @alphabetsalad - @byebyebreezywrites - @nyx2021 - @alanadetigy - @luckyladycreator2 - @fxngsfxgxrty - @snubug - @almondtofu1 - @criminalmindsandmarvel - @jakexfmc - @marchingicenotes7 - @mavericksicybabe - @some-lovely-day - @poppet05 -

[piovascosimo]

today my dad would have been 79 years old. i've been trying and failing to go to bed early all week. anyway, i think a good way to pay homage to him is to post all the music that he loved and that i've learned to love with him. kicking this off with one of his greatest loves, ella fitzgerald (i'd say, his second favourite singer of all time).

[chimerqa]

Weekend pełen wrażeń!

Upiekłam dla Pana Rowera ciasto z cukinii. No chłopaczyna mi się rozpływa w zachwytach, jakie to pyszka i chce bym piekła częściej : D

Z okazji okresu wyjebało mi libido poza skalę. Najbardziej stratny na tym jest Pan Rower. No, zepsułam sobie chłopaka. Chłopak dzielnie leczy rany i nawet nie marudzi.

Poza tym z drugiej cukinii upiekłam obiad: cukinia faszerowana mięsem. Tu już Pan Rower marudził: ze jest za mokra, a potem za sucha i za mało doprawiona.

Z tym doprawianiem jesteśmy tak różni, ja lubię jak pali w ryj, aż łzy po plecach lecą, wiec dla niego doprawiam jałowo : D No ale chuj, obiadu wyszło na dwa dni : DDD

[iscariotapologist]

today in church one of the priests referred to trans people as "those who are growing into the gender they were called to be" and i'm kind of enjoying the idea of like....divinely ordained top surgery

[canisalbus]

*carefully picks you up and peeks into your conch snail shell*

Ehm... Sorry to bother, but... Could we, maybe, possibly... see Vasco's wife and her lover pictured by your hand? Sorry again, thank you for listening. Take care.

*delicately lays you back into the water to prevent any stress or dehydration*

Unfortunately I don't have her lover figured out yet, but I think Ludovica looks something like this:

[n0anix]

whatever *domesticates your Carnivàle Lecroux*

[koobiie]

i love boys in a car simulator

the first pic is a redraw of an in-game selfie! here's the original:

[rollingstonesdata]

ROLLING STONES UNRELEASED: 'I GET A KICK OUT OF YOU' (1993)

Rolling Stones unreleased: I Get a Kick Out of You*Click for MORE STONES UNRELEASED TRACKSWritten by: Cole PorterRecorded: Windmill Lane Recording, Dublin, Ireland, Nov-Dec. 1993 Support the page here!Your donation helps to do what I do and keep updating the page daily. Thanks in advance!$10.00

[slasherscream]

She Likes a Boy (And I’m Not Just a Boy)

pairing:  jordan li x fem!reader

summary: You and Jordan are friends with benefits, and Jordan is trying so hard to be okay with that. Somehow, they still fell in love with you despite their best efforts to not fucking do that. But you've only ever fucked them when they're a guy, so they assume you're only interested in them one way. Just like everyone else. You've never said anything to make them think any different so it's obvious, right? So they take what they can get. Which is only half. And they keep you at a distance, because anything else will kill them.

A/N: flashbacks are in all Italics. some smut.

gif credit: artemidosgifs and stannyramirez

“Oh shit, Jordie, wait-” You can’t catch your breath, legs shaking where they’re thrown over Jordan’s shoulders. 

“Stop fucking squirming.” Jordan huffs, licking some of your wetness off your thigh.

Your vision is swimming a little. How long have you been in this position? Or in Jordan’s room? It’s hard to keep track of anything, when you’re with them. His tongue finds your clit again. Insistent, rough swipes. You’re too overworked now for anything gentle to even register. How many times have you cum now? 

“You always taste so fucking good.” Jordan moans, voice hoarse and low.

He puts a hand under your back to press you further into his mouth. With only your shoulders pushed into the mattress you can’t move. Jordan’s eyes are always glued to your face when you fuck. As if he’s daring you to shy away from whatever he’ll do to you next. 

Considering that his favorite thing to do is overstimulate you, you’re not sure the irritation is fair. What are you supposed to do when he’s made you cum four times and is still going? According to Jordan, the answer is simple: lie there and take it. 

Lifting you up. Pinning you down. These are the solutions he’s arrived at. Jordan hates having to chase you just to give you the orgasm you begged him for in the first place. 

“You ready for my fingers again?” Jordan asks, but it’s not a real question, because you don’t get to so much as gasp before he’s plunging three fingers into you again. 

He’s rough as he rocks his fingers into that soft spot inside of you that always makes your eyes roll back into your head. He knows the angle you like him to use by heart. 

“Fucking shit, Jordan!” Your hands fall into his hair, grip like a vice, and Jordan half moans and half laughs against you.

It’s the vibrations that send you over the edge again. The breath leaving your lungs in one rush as that coil inside releases and makes the world go white and your ears ring. 

You come back to yourself slowly. Jordan hovering over you, pressing kisses into the side of your neck. You grasp at his shoulders, pulling him down so that he's laying on top of you. The weight is comforting after the overwhelming head rush. You still feel shaky. He goes down easily, wrapping one arm underneath you.

“I can feel you smirking, jerk.” You laugh weakly, hitting his arm.

“You soaked my fucking fingers. Think I'm allowed a smirk.” Jordan says. 

He lifts his head from your neck and there's that smug look you love to see him wear. It's enough to make you ready to have him all over again. You settle on gently massaging his scalp. 

“I'll tell you what you're allowed.” You tease, grinning at him. 

“Hah! Always have enough energy to be a fucking brat, huh?” Jordan rolls his eyes. 

You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer. “I've got enough energy to make out too! Gimme a kiss.”

“Fucking insatiable.” Jordan scoffs, but gives in. Because he always does. 

It's hard to think when Jordan kisses you. He kisses like he doesn't need to breathe. Or be anywhere else but with you. One of his hands finds yours, locking your fingers together. You squeeze tight. Try not to imagine holding his hand like this outside each other's dorms. Because that only ever makes you feel empty afterwards when all the hormones from the orgasms should leave you floating.

You get a third wind when Jordan rocks his hips against yours and you feel he's hard again. You reach a hand between the two of you, grasping his dick to angle him back inside. Thank God for Supe refractory periods. You sigh when his tip pushes into you. 

“Yeah princess? You want me again?” He tries to sound teasing, nonchalant, but he only sounds like he wants you just as bad.

You rock your hips so that he slides inside fully. Watch him tilt his head back and moan for you as you move. Hungrily taking in the way every sound shapes his mouth. You lean up to kiss at the underside of his jaw. You can't leave any hickies on him but you always kiss him like you want to. God you fucking wish you could. Maybe if you could leave marks people wouldn't chase after them so much. If everyone knew Jordan was yours. But Jordan isn't yours. 

You bite him a little harder.

Jordan's hand finds your throat. You whine, the noise strangled against his palm. You go lax as he pushes you back into the bed. Gently. His fingers flex, a little tighter, and your eyes flutter shut. 

“Gonna be good for me?” Jordan asks.

You nod your head frantically, legs dragging him closer. It's never close enough. No matter what you do. 

“Yeah, I'll be good, Jordie.” You say the words he wants to hear, feeling your head go soft and thoughtless again.

“Fucking liar.” He grinds his hips into yours and chokes you harder when you clench around him. 

You’d been fast friends, best friends, since the moment you stepped on campus and met one another as freshman. Talking to Jordan. Spending time with them. Everything that first year didn’t even feel like getting to know one another. It just felt like coming home.

You didn’t say as much to Jordan. They would have rolled their eyes and scoffed at how sensitive you were, if you had. But you knew they felt the same way. You were the one Jordan went to whenever they were sad. When they were excited. When they were coming into themselves, learning to love who they were after a lifetime of everyone else telling them not to. 

You were the first person to see them. Before Brink, even, you saw them. All their potential. All their greatness. All of them, and Jordan had never forgotten that. 

Jordan saw you too, in turn. You’d never felt like much more than a pretty face, before Jordan. 

You were the type of beautiful that made people look twice when they walked past you. When you were a little girl you soaked in all the praise like a flower. Every: ‘she’s so pretty’, and ‘well look at her!’, or ‘oh wow!’ was nourishment to your little soul.

It would be impossible to pinpoint the moment you realized that was all anyone saw. Even once your powers manifested. Advanced healing, advanced reflexes, limited invulnerability, energy manipulation. You were the whole nine yards. Your parents, when you were thirteen, had sent a video of you using your powers off to Vought. 

A man and woman showed up a day later in suits, wanting to meet you personally.

“She sure is a little looker, isn’t she?” The man had said, and he’d held your hand for too long before he let go. 

They’d come prepared. With ideas for costumes. Which team of teenage Supes you should be placed with. If you should just go straight for television. The adults talked around you. Not paying you any mind as you stared at the costume that would reveal so much skin. You’d never worn a skirt that short before. You hadn’t been allowed, hadn’t even wanted to, really. If you’d come home from the mall having bought anything like that on your own, your parents would have blown a fuse. Now they just sat on either side of you, mile wide grins plastered on their faces. 

All the voices faded to background noise. You realized maybe you were too young to be a superhero. You thought it would involve more... saving people. Running into burning buildings. Getting the bad guys. Saving the day. The people from Vought were only talking about magazine spreads. About what persona would fit your look. 

“What about school?” You’d asked, quietly, and everyone in the room had turned to look at you baffled. 

“What about school, sweetheart?” The woman laughed. “You’ll get a private tutor, of course. But your future is big. You won’t even have to worry about stuff like that anymore. Goodbye lame homework. Hello red carpets!” 

You sat very quietly until they left. Your parents were more angry than you’d ever seen them, when you told them you wanted to wait until after high-school to pursue being a hero. 

You knew telling them you weren’t sure you wanted to do it at all was off the table. 

During high-school you noticed people didn’t listen to you. You would be telling someone about your favorite book; or talking about a movie that changed your whole worldview, only to realize the other person had been staring at your lips the entire time. 

You stopped talking so much about things you cared about. No one listened anyways. 

‘Bimbo.’

‘Airhead.’

‘Slut.’ 

Were all things you’d heard before you’d ever gone on your first date. Gotten so much as your first kiss on the cheek. High-school was lonely, and you couldn’t talk about it being lonely without sounding like an asshole, you quickly realized. The few friends you had would roll their eyes when you’d try and vent. You thought it was just playful ribbing. Friends tease each other. It made you feel included! Until you caught them mocking you behind your back to one another.

‘Look at me, I’m Y/N, and life’s so hard because I’m so pretty and popular. Is she fucking serious? Stuck up bitch.’ 

You stopped venting.

When you got to God-U, you weren’t sure what to expect. College was a chance to reinvent yourself. Even if you weren’t sure you wanted to be a Superhero you knew this could be a chance to find your people. Lifelong friends. 

People who you could get coffees with between classes. Who would go to all your birthdays and want to be there. People you would spend hours on the phone with. Fall asleep studying together. Girls who might like you enough to make you their maid of honor. Guys who would high five you when you did something cool and not try to sneak a glance at your chest. 

You were imagining it all as you unpacked your boxes. Your stomach twisting itself into knots. Living in a half world between excitement and dread.

Then you met your roommate and she gave you the look. The look you’d gotten all your life from girls, and you knew you’d never be real friends. Girls who looked at you like that kept their boyfriends away from you at parties. And they never shared the secrets that friends share because they thought you’d put them in a fucking burn book. The look alone almost made you give up and just go home. 

You went for a walk instead, fighting back tears. That’s when you ran into Jordan. Literally, ran into Jordan. You knocked the both of you to the ground. 

When they’d snapped, “What the fuck dude?” at you, harsh and angry and very them, you’d burst into tears. 

It wasn’t the perfect way to meet your person. But you were glad you met them at all. 

 “Stop moving your eyes away from the screen.” Jordan says. 

“I’m not allowed to move my eyes away from the screen?” You laugh.

“No, this part is really important. You have to pay attention. I wanna see if you catch it.” 

You try your best to keep your eyes glued to the screen, as instructed. But you can’t help the way you keep glancing towards Jordan. She looks good. She always looks good, but right now you don’t even want to look away from her. The colors of the movie flashing across her face, blues and golds, make her look like a painting. 

“Are you watching?” Jordan asks, and you smile at the excitement in her voice. 

You look back towards the movie, wondering what she wants you to see so badly. You look just in time. A small detail catches your eyes and you gasp, reaching out a hand blindly to shake her in your own excitement. 

“Did you see that in the background?” You shake her again, for good measure.

“I saw it.” Jordan laughs.

“That means that he killed the wife!” 

“How do you figure?”

You pause the movie, ready to explain where you think the plot is heading. When you turn to face Jordan you have to take a deep breath. You don’t know whether you love or hate that look. Your feelings on the matter change day to day. 

Jordan is leaned up into the arm of the couch, relaxed, and she’s staring at you with The Smile she wears sometimes. She started doing it a few months into your friendship. Back when you used to talk and then slowly stop. So completely sure that nobody wanted to hear what you had to say. 

Jordan had asked you, back then, why you always stopped telling stories halfway through, or stopped talking about your day, or the latest book you’d read. 

You wanted to lie, at first. Eventually you told a half truth, “I never have anything interesting to say.” 

Jordan had looked at you for a long time. You were worried that somehow, up until that moment, they hadn’t realized how boring you were. But you acknowledging it out loud had made them think about it, and now they were going to ditch you for a friend who was interesting, funny, and smart. 

Instead, Jordan had told you that she loved the way your mind worked, and she’d smiled The Smile at you, for the first time. You hadn’t known how to respond, to the words, or the smile. You turned the conversation back towards Brink’s latest class assignment. 

Later that night you’d gone back to your dorm room and cried, but you’d felt happier than you’d ever felt. 

It made you feel warm and soft that three years later Jordan still smiled at you like that. It felt like your cue to say anything on your mind, no matter how dumb. Green light means go. The Smile means talk. 

“Well?” Jordan nudges you with her foot, still smiling, and waiting for you. 

You shake your head to break free of the spell she puts you in, “Well, look at his sense of style for the entire movie. All his stuff is modern and sleek and then the first time we see his bedroom all the rest of the decor is in line with the rest of the house, except that one thing. All the camera shots are so purposeful and they lingered a little, after he walked away. They wanted us to see he was keeping a trophy. He totally killed her, didn’t he?” 

Jordan pauses for a second and then laughs. “I don’t know how you always guess right. I didn’t see the twist coming at all the first time I watched it.”

“Secondary super power.”

“Connecting all the dots?”

“Connecting all the dots, yeah.” 

“Y/N! Y/N, thank fucking god, you gotta come with me.” Cate grabbed you by the arm, rougher than she’d ever touched you before. 

“I was on my way to class.” You tripped over your feet as Cate pulled you the opposite way you needed to go.

“Forget class! Jordan’s gonna get themself expelled.” Cate snapped. 

“What?!” 

“They’re beating the shit out of Peter in the locker room. Luke’s not on campus. I can’t get close enough to stop them-”

You’d broken into a sprint towards the fighting arena. You didn’t know what the hell was happening. Peter and Jordan had spoken maybe ten times to each other in all the years of attending the same university. 

You’d never gotten anywhere so fast in your life. Andre was standing steadfast in front of the entrance to the boy’s locker room, a small group of other students standing outside. You could hear the sounds of fighting pouring out from the door. 

“Back it up you fucking vultures.” Andre snipped. He might not have super strength but he was still Number 4, and could look intimidating when he needed to. 

“Andre, what’s going on?” You pushed to the front of the crowd. 

“Thank fuck Cate found you. You gotta get in there. Jordan’s gonna fucking mur-” Andre glanced at the phones pointed at the both of you, trying to record even a drip of gossip about top students trying to seriously hurt each other and lowered his voice, “Jordan is actually gonna fucking kill Peter. I’ll keep the crowds back. Get in there.” 

You moved past him into the locker room and your jaw dropped at the state of the place. 

You thought these lockers were bolted down. Apparently not. At least four rows of them were knocked to the ground, heavily dented. A water bottle refilling station had been crumpled to nothing, exposed pipe spraying water across the floor.

“Get off of me you fucking animal.” You heard Peter cry from further in the room and ran. 

Jordan had shoved Peter up against the wall. You were surprised Peter was still conscious. He was lucky he healed so fast. You could see his black eye fading even as Jordan broke his nose. 

“You fucking stay away from her. You understand? I hear you fucking talking like that again and I take the tongue out of your fucking mouth, you asshole.” 

Peter laughs through a mouth full of blood,“Not my fault she gave it up so easy, Li-” 

Jordan throws him into one of the last standing lockers and you see that they are indeed bolted into the ground. Evidently, Jordan throws stronger than Supe resistant steel can take. When Jordan moves to lift Peter out of the crater his body made in the downed locker you rush in between them, putting a shield up. 

“Y/N?” You can see some of the anger fade from Jordan’s face, just a little, at the sight of you.

“Hey, Jordie. Think Peter has had enough.”

Jordan scoffs, “No, he really fucking hasn’t,” he leans around you to yell at Peter, who’s trying to push himself onto his knees, “He’s still running his fucking mouth!” 

“Pussy whipped asshole-” Peter groans.

You glance at Peter on the floor, aghast, “Peter! Stop antagonizing, Jordan. What’s wrong with you?” 

“Unbelievable, honestly. You walk in on Jordan kicking my ass and you tell me to stop antagonizing the fucker?” Peter huffs, pushing his nose back into place so it won’t heal wrong. 

“Name calling isn’t gonna make him stop kicking your ass. I’m trying to help.” You shoot back.

“Well, no one needs your help, you dumb-” 

“Hey.” Jordan interrupts. He’s not yelling anymore, but his voice is the loudest thing in the room. “Watch your mouth, Peter. I fucking mean it.” 

You look back and forth between them. They watch each other for a long moment. Jordan looking eerily calm. Peter looks away first. 

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought. Come on, Y/N.” Jordan grabs your hand and marches you out of the locker room. Past Andre and Cate, who try to stop you both but Jordan waves them off and muscles his way past the crowd too. 

He doesn’t stop until you’re back in his dorm room and he’s shut the door behind the two of you. 

“You were fucking that loser?” He asks, clicking the lock into place.    

“You’re lucky Andre and Cate kept people out of the locker room so there’s no video of everything! You could get expelled, Jordan! What the fuck happened?” 

“He hit me first and he’s not even in the top ten. What’s he at? Number 14? No one’ll give a shit what happens to him. When did you start fucking him?”

“I’m not fucking him! Or… I’m not just, fucking him. I’m… I was dating him. Why were you two fighting?” 

“Dating? For how fucking long? You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone.” Jordan’s hair is already a disheveled mess. He yanks his fingers through the strands and makes it worse. 

“We’ve been going on dates for like… three months? Kinda? Maybe.” You say quietly. 

“Three months?! Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me? What the fuck?” 

“Why are you so mad?”

“Friends talk to each other about shit like this! And if you’d talked to me, I would have told you that Peter is a clout chasing piece of shit that’ll never amount to anything. You should’ve heard the shit he was saying today. Fucking piece of shit!” 

“That’s why you were fighting?” You wring your hands together, a knot tying itself over and over in your stomach. “What did he say?”

Jordan stops pacing the room, goes still and turns away from you. 

“Well? What did he say? It was bad enough to make you two beat the shit out of each other! So what was it?” 

“He just… You don’t have to worry about it, okay? He won’t go near you again.” Jordan says firmly.

“Whatever he said he’s gonna keep saying. Just behind my back. I should know.”

Jordan sighs and moves to sit beside you on his couch, knee bouncing with anxiety. “He was… bragging to his shitty friends. About being the first guy on campus to fuck you. About how it didn’t even take that long and… how… he was thinking of recording you. So he could show them how slutty you are. It was…. fucking disgusting.” 

“Oh.” You say. 

You swallow around the lump in your throat. You’d done everything you could to avoid something like this happening. Had kept your dates off campus, to make sure he actually wanted to date you and not just the hot girl ranked Number 3. You’d spent nights staying up on the phone laughing and talking. You’d put off sleeping with Peter for a whole two months, even though you liked him, because you wanted to make sure he liked you. 

You hadn’t even let him call you his girlfriend until a few days ago. You thought he really liked you. But no matter how hard you try… you guess this is it. You’re just something pretty to look at. Even Vought doesn’t take you seriously, despite your powers. You’re the top ranked student in everything. Right behind Jordan. Forensic analysis. Combat. Battle strategy. Still, you only ever get asked about makeup routines and how to maintain your figure in interviews. 

You wipe at your burning eyes and try not to cry about something you’ve already accepted. 

“Fuck that guy. Fuck him. He’s so far beneath your level I’m surprised you can perceive his plane of fucking existence, okay? He’s a fucking single cell organism. He doesn’t even know what a brain is.” Jordan gets up from the couch to kneel in front of you, tries to look you in the eyes. 

“I’m so fucking stupid.” 

“No, you fucking are not. Don’t say that about yourself. He’s fucking stupid. It’s genuinely insane you even wasted your time with him. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing anyone?” Jordan asks, voice quiet.

“I just…. I wanted to make sure he was actually gonna stick around before I even brought him up to you. You’re so … important, why tell you about someone who isn’t? It’s not like you write home to me about any of the people you mess around with! We’ve never really talked about this kind of stuff.” 

“Yeah, but it’s different. I’m not serious about anyone! You were actually dating, Peter. And I would have told you not to.” Jordan rolls his eyes.

“Well, I wanted to make sure it was serious. Before I even said anything.” 

“It wouldn’t have gotten serious if you’d told me about it in the first place. I wouldn’t have let Peter within ten feet of you!” 

“We’re talking in circles.” You huff in frustration, pressing your palms into your eyes to stop the stinging.

“Sorry, I just…. Fucking still wish I was beating the shit out of him, honestly.” Jordan says.

“You are not leaving this room for the rest of the day, Li. Even if he is Number 14, you can’t walk away from a fight then go back for seconds cause you didn’t get it all out the first time. That won’t hold up too well in court.”

“He heals too fast for there to be any marks left on him. It’ll all be hearsay.” Jordan smirks.  

You let out a weak laugh. Jordan reaches out, touching the corner of your lips. “Can we shoot for something a little bigger? If I don’t see you smile soon I’ll actually go kill him.” 

You roll your eyes and slide to the edge of the couch, so you’re resting your head on Jordan’s shoulder, leaning all your weight against him. He wraps his arms around you, rubbing circles into your spine.

“I really wanted it to work out, Jordan.” You mumble into the skin of his collarbone.

“With fucking Peter?” 

“With… anyone.” Your voice wavers and Jordan’s grip gets tighter. “It’s so fucking lonely. I just want to be someone’s favorite person. Not because of how I look, but because they like me. Really like me. And no one fucking does, no matter how hard I try.” The tears start falling now and Jordan pulls back and makes you look up at him, one hand on your cheek. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I fucking… I like you. I’ve always liked you.” Jordan says, frantic as he wipes away the tears as they come.

“It’s not the same, Jordan!” You shake your head, and bite your lip. You’d almost said it’s not enough. Because it isn’t. But you can't think about that for too long. It makes the hole in you ache a little worse. 

“Yeah….guess it’s not.” Jordan says quietly. He keeps wiping away the tears, dutiful and gentle as he goes. 

“You said he hit you first?” You ask, after a long moment of him quietly soothing you.

“Come on, I’m not stupid. Had to let him get the first swing in.” Jordan smirked.

“What did you say to make him hit you?” You ask.

“Told him he was lucky you believe in charity work and giving back to the fucking needy.” 

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of you. You smack his arm weakly before pulling him into another hug. He kisses the top of your head so softly you don’t notice it, too busy laughing. 

“Y/N, good to see you dear. You keeping our Jordan out of trouble?” Brink asks as he comes out of his office, not surprised to see you perched on Jordan’s desk. 

“Professor, we both know that I’m the one getting Jordan into trouble.” You flash the older man your most mischievous grin. 

“Ah, my apologies. I assume that means you’re distracting her from doing her work, as well?” Brink raises an eyebrow teasingly. 

“Yes.” You say.

“No.” Jordan protests, at the same time. 

You throw your head back with a laugh. “It’s a goal I hold most dear to my heart, to distract Jordan from grading these papers. I think I’m succeeding wonderfully, you’ll be happy to know, Professor.” 

“She’s joking, Professor.” Jordan smacks your thigh and you glance down just in time to burn the image of her hand on your thigh into your brain. She almost never touches you, when she’s like this. 

“You know, Jordan, I didn’t happen to lose my sense of humor after I hit sixty.” Brink waves off Jordan’s concern and leans towards the two of you, whispering conspiratorially, “I know the gray hair gives the illusion of being a boring old fart, but I do like to laugh every now and then.”

Jordan shakes her head with a small laugh and you can’t help but watch, entranced, at the way her hair brushes the olive skin of her cheeks. When you look back towards Brink you find him already watching you, a knowing smile on his lips. You laugh nervously, and look down at the wood grain texture of Jordan’s desk. It’s suddenly fascinating. Is it real oak? Cherry?

“You close to being done, Jordan?” Brink asks casually. 

“Uh-” Jordan’s face blanches and you suddenly feel genuinely sorry for distracting her from her work. 

“-relax, kiddo. You’re not in trouble. Geez, what am I, a work nazi? Those papers don’t need to be graded for another four days, right? You work too hard. I was just asking cause’ I was getting a little hungry myself and wanted to know if you could use a break? There’s a great new Indian place nearby, apparently. Professor. Karp was telling me about it yesterday. It’s only a twenty minute ride away. Wanna tag along?” 

“I should probably finish up a few more papers-” 

“She would love to take a break, Professor.” You reach over, saving the work Jordan’s done and shutting down her laptop at lightning speed. 

“Brat.” Jordan mouths the word at you quickly, so Brink won’t see. 

You stick your tongue out at her, not caring if anyone sees. 

“You should come along too, Y/N. Been awhile since we last caught up.” Brink has a twinkle in his eye that you can’t quite place.

You slide off Jordan’s desk anyways, not willing to pass up any valuable Time Spent With Jordan, “I’m not sure if I trust Professor Karp’s recommendation on restaurants, but I’ll try and be very brave about it if the food is awful.”

“Jordan, have I ever told you how much I love this girl?” Professor Brink shrugs on his coat with a laugh. 

“Yeah.” Jordan watches Brink help you into your own coat with a small smile. “Yeah, Professor you have.” 

“Fucking fuck me!” Jordan throws her phone onto the coffee table in front of her.

“Are the parental units being emotional terrorists again?” You ask from your spot on her bed, turning the page of your textbook, mindlessly highlighting another sentence that could be important for the upcoming final. 

“No, it’s just the whole fucking roster is busy.” Jordan roughly runs a hand through her hair, disheveling her bob. 

“Huh?” You look up from your notes.

“The whole roster is locked in for finals but I really need to let off some fucking steam!” Jordan sighs.

“How big is the roster?” You try to sound curious, like a best friend would be, and not irritated, like someone in love with their best friend would be. 

“Too big for me to not be fucking someone right now.” Jordan snips. 

“We are studying right now. Or I’m studying, and you should be studying too, instead of thinking about needing to get your rocks off.” You say coolly, flipping to the next page. 

“I can’t fucking focus.” Jordan groans, but comes back over to the bed and flops down beside you, throwing her arm over her eyes. “What concept are we on now?” 

“Theories on limiting public and private property damage in fights with other Supes.”

“There is no fucking way I can focus on something that fucking boring without having an orgasm first.”Jordan groans, again, “It’s not even about limiting loss of human life or injury?”

“Nope. Property damage.” 

“Fuck me!” 

You both fall into silence. You studying. Jordan, you assume, weighing the pros and cons of downloading Tinder. The thought makes your stomach drop.

Then you get an idea. An awful, horrible, no good, rotten fucking idea. 

Your mouth is opening before you can stop yourself, “You could fuck me.”

“Huh?” You’ve never seen Jordan sit up so fast.

“I just mean- … we really gotta focus and I... I mean if you just need to let off some steam we could always…” You try your best to fumble your way into proper usage of the English language but even the thought of fucking Jordan makes that impossible. 

“Are you serious right now?” Jordan shifts halfway through the sentence, eyes glued to your every nervous, jittery movement as you sit in front of him.

“Wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t a real offer.” You say quietly, not looking up from the book. 

Jordan snatches said book from your lap and tosses it away, ignoring your noise of protest. “You don’t think it’d make things weird?” 

“Weird was when I had to take you to get your wisdom teeth removed and you kept saying the green man was gonna get us while you were still high off the good stuff. Sex is just sex, right?” You try to say it casually. 

“Would… would it be a one time thing?” Jordan asks slowly.  

“It could be more… we could be-” You say, equally as slow. 

“- could be?” Jordan echoes, voice sounding oddly tight and expression carefully blank.

The look is so strange it makes you panic, and if you’d thought of saying something stupid and desperate for one second like ‘a couple’, well, that look on his face is more than enough to send you straight back to reality on the ‘my-life-fucking-sucks’ express in no time flat.

“We could be like friends with benefits!” You blurt out in one breath. 

“Oh.” Jordan says. 

“It was just an idea.” You reach for the textbook again, which landed near Jordan’s thigh. You’re careful not to touch him when you grab it, or sound too disappointed, or heartbroken at the completely lackluster reaction Jordan has to the thought of having sex with you. “A stupid idea, forget it.”

“Why’s it stupid?” Jordan’s brow furrows, tone teetering on the edge of defensive. 

“I mean…” You can’t think of a reason fast enough. “We’re probably sexually incompatible.” 

“Why do you assume that?” Jordan goes from staring at you, to glaring at you. 

You’ve always hated how once Jordan latches on to a line of questioning, you can’t get them to drop that interrogation for shit. A dog with a bone has nothing on a Jordan who wants an answer.

“I don’t… know?” You say, but it sounds like a question. 

“I think we’d be compatible.” Jordan states this like he’d state the sky is blue or water is wet. 

“Have you thought about it before?” You ask, bewildered. 

“What, are you into something really kinky?” Jordan answers your previous question not at all.

“No!” There goes that nervous body language of yours again. 

“Only way to really know if we’re sexually compatible is to actually try it out.” Suddenly, Jordan is within your personal space bubble. 

You don’t really know how to react, your body freezes up on instinct. Jordan’s hand comes up to rub soothing circles into the crook of your elbow. Your shoulders fall away from your ears.

“Can I kiss you?” Jordan’s voice is quiet, soft as he tilts his head to knock his nose against yours. Playful, teasing. But the look on his face is something you can’t place at all. 

You feel his breath on your lips and nod absentmindedly. 

“Don’t want you to nod when I ask you a question like this. Yes or no, Y/N?” 

“Ye-” The words not fully out of your mouth before Jordan is kissing you, a heavy hand pulling you closer by the nape of your neck. 

You pull yourself into Jordan’s lap and try to focus on how good it feels when he nips at your bottom lip, instead of how much you wished you’d asked him to be your boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Partner. Everything. Even if he’d said no, at least then you would have had an answer. Now you’ve only made your life harder. 

You stop thinking so much when Jordan puts a hand on your hip and guides you to grind yourself against him. 

“Y/N’s right.” Jordan mutters, not looking up from his phone. 

“No, she is not. You’re just agreeing with her because that’s your default factory setting. Listen to the context of the argument please.” Andre snaps, drowning his Vought Triple meat burger in ketchup.

“I did. Your grim dark theory on children’s media is lame, and Y/N knows more about the Monster’s Inc universe than you ever will.” Jordan shrugs.

“Hah!” You laugh in Andre’s face.

“Is it really such a flex to be an expert on the lore of a Pixar movie universe?” Cate asks teasingly. 

“Yes.” You say. 

“No.” Andre says, like a sore loser.  

“I agree with Y/N, it’s literally in the explicit text of the movie, Monsters Inc isn’t a post-apocalyptic world. It’s a separate dimension from ours. The monsters come to our dimension to harvest screams of children to get clean, scream energy. God, Andre, pay attention during movie night.” Luke jumps in on the tormenting Andre train, grinning wildly at the other man from across the table. He gets a middle finger for his troubles. 

“I’m glad someone pays attention to the intricate lore of the greatest movie of all time.” You sniff haughtily. 

“I literally agreed with you first.” Jordan looks at you from over the top of her phone in a way that makes you blush. 

“I’m glad two people are paying attention to the intricate lore of the greatest movie of all time.” You clear your throat. 

“Thank you.” Jordan’s intense brown eyes fall away from you and you take a gulp of your drink. 

“Bathroom alert, Y/N. A stall just opened up.” Cate tells you pointing to the bathroom door right as another girl exits. 

“I am kissing you on the lips, telepathically.” You say, sliding from the booth you’re all sharing.

“Don’t you telepathically lip lock with my girlfriend.” Luke calls after you, laughing.

“Get some powers of telepathy yourself and make me, fire boy.” You enter the bathroom, shutting out the sounds of laughter from your table with a smile. 

You take the biggest stall at the back and try to go about your business quickly. You hear two faucets turn on, someone washing their hands, and try not to get pee shy. 

“So how was it?” A monotone voice asks, you assume one of the hand washers.

“You know I don’t usually kiss and tell, but it was insane.” A higher, more giggly voice answers. 

“So they really are good in bed then, huh?” The monotone voice sounds a little more curious. 

“Incredible. All the rumors are true. They’re a little… uh, brusque, about the after sex part, if I’m putting it lightly, but the sex itself was great!” The high voice chirps. 

“What? Did they throw you a towel and tell you to kick rocks?” The monotone voice asks. 

“Pretty much.” The high voice sighs. “But they made me cum so many times I think I’d still pick up if they called me again. You think they might?” 

“I say this with all the love in the world: girl stand up.” Monotone voice drawls. 

“You wouldn’t be telling me that if you knew how good it felt to sit on her face.” High voice says.

You stifle a laugh, trying not to get caught eavesdropping, but with Supe hearing it really is hard to mind your own business. Besides, they’re not being that quiet about the conversation anyways. 

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Or you could experience it for yourself. They were just as good as a boy as they were as a girl. Maybe better. I dunno. She was more aggressive as a girl, which was kinda hot.” 

“Jordan Li, pussy eating extraordinaire. Can we go now? Our food is probably ready.” Monotone voice sighs. 

“Fine, but I’m telling you, the things they can do with a strap are-” 

The voices fade away with the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. 

You find you don’t really want to finish eating your food, when you get back to the table. You spend the rest of lunch trying your best not to look at Jordan, and also ignoring Cate’s concerned gaze boring into the side of your skull. 

You pretend to be sick to avoid having to face the reality of Jordan being more than happy to touch other girls as a girl. They just don’t want to touch you when they’re a girl. You wonder what about you is so uniquely off putting. You wonder why it can’t be you. Why can’t it ever fucking be you? 

Jordan barges into your room on day three of the silent treatment that you told the group chat was due to a raging fever. 

Luckily your eyes, swollen shut from all the crying, and the red nose to match, corroborate the story. 

“We got it all. We’ve got tissues. We got soup. We got pain meds. We got liquid meds. We also have all the ingredients for a hot toddy, if you want to mix your poisons a little.” Jordan begins to unpack everything onto your counter. 

“I don’t want to take anything.” You say morosely, and a little mean, kind of wanting to hate them but just feeling sad. Jordan’s your best friend before anything else, and you could never hate your first real friend. 

“Come on, just a little something. You sound fucked up.” Jordan practically coos, touching your forehead. “Feels like your fever’s gone down a little. Sit up for me.” He says, and pulls you to sit up when you don’t do it on your own.  

“I don’t want to fucking-” Jordan puts two pills in your mouth as soon as you open it to bitch at him. He hands you water to help you swallow it down. 

“Thanks for that. That was really fun for me.” You snap once you’re done.

“It’s for pain and should bring down the rest of your fever.” Jordan lays you back down, tucking the covers all the way up to your chin. You marvel at the way he doesn’t rise to the bait of your very clear attitude. Jordan, catching the look on your face offers you a small glare. “I’m worried. You usually don’t get sick. I’ll check that attitude when you’re better. Now, do you want the damn hot toddy or not?” He rubs your head soothingly.

“Yes, please.” You try not to pout as you watch Jordan make the drink for you. You really hate how hard it is to hate them. “Sorry, Jordie.” 

“Oh, you can go ahead and save that apology for when I make you cry into your pillow, yeah?” Jordan doesn’t even look up from measuring the ingredients.

You pull the covers over your head and leave them there until Jordan pulls them back down. 

You almost hadn’t come to the party. 

You weren’t in a partying mood, as of late. You were in more of a Shakespearean pining era than a City Girls one. But the group had bullied you in the group chat for a week straight until you’d promised to come. The group bullying hadn’t worked so much as Jordan asking you one single time to go had.

So here you were. 

You’d been nursing one drink for the better part of an hour and hadn’t done a single line of cocaine. Jordan had offered you some, but the line had already been placed on the back of his hand. You politely declined, much to his confusion. You only ever did hard drugs with Jordan, and only at big rager parties like this one. 

At the moment you’re nearly sober. Because you didn’t so much as want to touch Jordan right now. Let alone do something like snort a line off of him. Then you’d have to do something like lick the residue off his skin. Which would lead to kissing him. Which would lead to making out with him. Which would lead to fucking him. 

And you think, for the sake of your sanity, you need to be done fucking Jordan Li. 

It’s been about three weeks since you were “sick” and you’d dodged every attempt at getting physical that Jordan tried to initiate since. At first you were able to pass it off as still feeling icky. That excuse worked for a week. Now, you didn’t hang out alone with them and pretended not to see Jordan’s ‘you up?’ texts until morning. 

Your friendship just needs a hard reset. This time spent not having sex will do it. 

Besides, it’s not like Jordan isn’t swimming in fucking choices. What does it matter if you’re one less body off the menu? There are plenty of hot girls at this school. Jordan’s probably already fucked half of them.

You throw back the rest of the drink you’ve been nursing all at once.

“Are you okay?” Cate puts a hand on your arm and you offer her a blinding, completely fake smile. 

“Yeah!” You say, as chipper as possible.

“Jesus christ.” Cate replies, face going all sad and concerned. “What did Jordan do?” 

“Huh?” You blink, confused.

“You are the most pissed off I’ve ever seen you. What did Jordan do? You’ve been avoiding them for like two weeks. What gives?” Cate pulls you closer by the arm so that she doesn’t have to shout over the music. 

“Nothing!” 

“Can you try to lie again but do it better, this time?” Cate frowns.

“Jesus Christ, does everything have to be about Jordan? Must my whole entire goddamn life revolve around Jordan Li?” You snap, the way someone who isn’t mad about anything does.  

“Okay.” Cate says slowly. Like she’s trying to placate a wild animal. 

The tone alone makes you roll your eyes and move to disappear back in the crowd of drunk twenty-somethings. But she firms her grip on you, the leather of her glove digging into your skin. 

“Y/N-”

“I’m fine, Cate. I just have to get over it.” 

“Get over what?” Cate narrows her eyes at you. That shrewd look she sometimes wears when she knows something before someone else falls onto her face. 

You wonder if you’re completely transparent about your pining or if Cate missed a dose of her medication. Is she starting to hear the buzzing of your frantic, angry, miserable thoughts? Or is she just naturally perceptive? 

“So, this is where the real party is hiding!” An arm is thrown around your shoulders suddenly and you are careful not to sigh, because Jordan may not be as perceptive as Cate, but they’re pretty damn close. Especially when it comes to you. 

You’ve never moved away from them holding you close like this before, so you can’t do it now. You try to just be still. Don’t lean into his warmth, but don’t cringe away either. You probably used to melt against him, when he touched you. Pathetically. Desperately. A sunflower following rays of light across the sky. 

“-Princess?” Jordan gives you a gentle shake and your head snaps to the side to look at him. “You okay?”

“Yup!” Apparently, you didn’t say that convincingly because he starts to scowl at you. Surprisingly enough, the thought of withstanding a Jordan interrogation does not make you want to be at this party for much longer. “I’m gonna head out, though.” 

“What?!” Twin exclamations of confusion form Jordan and Cate both.

“Not feeling it. I think I need to get some more sleep. I got a headache, or… something.” You shrug.

“Or something?” Jordan echoes.

“You are not going anywhere, yet, dear friend.” Andre throws his own arm around you, appearing from thin air, and tugging you away from Jordan. You’ve never been more grateful to him. 

“How do you figure that?” You laugh.

“We’re about to play truth or dare in the other room and you dodged playing last time. You can leave after you’ve played. You can’t get known as the truth or dare dodger.” Andre says. 

“You say that as if being a party game dodger is like being known for dodging the Vietnam draft.” You snort.

“No, it’s worse. People that dodged the Vietnam drafts are heroes. Truth or dare dodgers are cowards. Come on.” Andre begins to drag you towards the other room and you go along with minimal dragging of your feet across the floor. 

The room is crowded, but all the faces are familiar. They’re all within the top twenty, or the groupies that hang around everyone in the top twenty. You pull Andre across the room to a spot on a raggedy couch you have to squeeze the both of you into. No room for Jordan, who you want to avoid. Or Cate, who is too fucking perceptive. 

You wish you’d grabbed another drink for yourself. Jordan winds up across the room from you, in an optimal position for trying to catch your eye and give you a concerned look every ten seconds. 

This does not make Truth or Dare more fun to watch. 

Vulgar dare from one classmate to another. Forcing someone else to admit an uncomfortable truth. One humiliation after the other. Pick your poison on whether you want to debase yourself through the damnation of your own words or a physical act. All challenges of self-mortification being doled out by people who secretly don’t like each other very much, but all call each other friends anyways. 

“Earth to Y/N the space cadet.” The girl sitting next to you gives you a playful shove. You try not to glare at her. Her name escapes you. You think she hangs around with number 6. Or something. 

“What?”

“Cate picked you. Truth or dare.” She says the words ominously, causing teasing jeering to rise from the entire group. 

“Well, Y/N, what’s it gonna be?” Cate raises her eyebrow at you challengingly. 

“She doesn’t have to play if she doesn’t want to, guys.” Jordan rolls his eyes.

“Dare.” You say, wanting to get this over with. 

The room erupts into excited noise. You don’t know why. Cate, of all people, would never force you to do anything humiliating. Or truly scandalous. It’s why you trust her enough to say dare, instead of truth. But you never pick dare, because anyone else would abuse the power. Everyone looks too eager to see Number 3 do something embarrassing. 

As if Cate isn’t your closest friend beside Jordan. As if she’d abuse the trust you place in her. It makes you sick. You don’t wanna be here. At this party, or at this stupid fucking school.

“I dare you…. to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.” 

“What?!” Jordan turns to give Cate the nastiest, most disgusted glare you’ve ever seen.

“She doesn’t have to do it if she doesn’t want to. You know I’m all about consent.” Cate shrugs innocently, crossing her legs together and giving you a smirk. 

You sit for a second, contemplating your next move. There are plenty of pretty girls at this party. In this room. If nothing else, the top twenty and their groupies are photogenic (hell, some of them are only in the top twenty because of their looks to begin with. You hope you’re not one of those.) But there’s only one girl you want to kiss at this party. 

There’s only one person in the world you want to kiss at all. 

You take a shaky breath, feeling like the walls are closing in. Andre nudges you subtly, catches your eye, as if to say: ‘you okay?’ but there’s something else in the look too. Something that says it’s not just Cate, who knows. Probably your whole friend group knows how you feel. Probably the whole school. Probably anyone but Jordan sees it. And Jordan probably does see it, because they’re too fucking smart not to, and they’re choosing to ignore it. Because it’s easier that way. Because your feelings are probably too inconvenient. Because you’re not their type. Because you’re clingy, and stupid, and not good enough- 

You stand up. The room is a wall of noise, and smell and sound pressing in on you. You see Cate smirk. You see Jordan looking away. You see every girl in the room sit up straight. Delusional, if they think any of them could ever be anything, compared to Jordan. 

You walk past every other girl in the room, and stand in front of Jordan, who still isn’t looking.

You kick his ankle with the toe of your heel, to get him to look at you. His head snaps around, the curls of his hair sticking to his forehead, and he looks comically confused. And it’s really too fucking much, for someone as smart as Jordan to look so confused. So fucking baffled, about what’s happening here. But it’s a pretty convincing act. That only makes you more angry. 

You make an impatient motion with your hand. A ‘do it already’ movement of your wrist. The same way you’d crossly signal for another driver to go first at a fucking four way stop. 

He just blinks up at you, owlish. 

"Well? Are you gonna let me kiss the prettiest girl at this fucking school or what, Li?" The room has gone a little quiet, or maybe the blood is rushing in your ears so bad everything is quiet in comparison. 

Jordan stares up at you for a moment longer than is comfortable. And you really start to feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you. You don’t let yourself shy away from the attention. Not Jordan’s, not anyone else’s. You straighten your spine and look down your nose at him, and tap your foot. Try to look like the mean girl everyone expects you to be because no one cares who you actually are. 

As if you could care less if Jordan leaves you stranded right now. As if it will be their loss, if they don’t kiss you, instead of the worst moment of your entire life. 

Jordan shifts. 

You try not to think of how desperate you must look, when you reach out at a speed that isn’t human to hold her face and angle it up, so you can finally fucking kiss the girl you love. 

You wish you could kiss her like it didn’t mean anything. Like she’s nothing. Like you hate her. But you don’t know if this is the only time you’ll ever get to kiss Jordan when she’s your girl, and not your boy. This might be the last time you kiss Jordan ever. 

It has to be. 

You close your eyes tight. Try to ignore the way they’re stinging. You kiss Jordan slow and tender. The way you’ve always wanted to. You tangle a hand in her hair, to bring her closer. You try not to marvel at the way the longer strands tangle in your fingertips. She gasps against you, and her hands find your waist and you are too sober to cry over Jordan touching your waist above your clothes. Like a fucking middle-schooler. 

But the tears start falling anyways. You let out a quiet sob against her lips that you try your hardest to stifle, and Jordan may not have kissed you like this before. But she’s kissed you plenty. She pulls back, startled, like an animal. Big brown eyes full of concern. 

And the spell is broken, and you are standing in front of about thirty of the world’s worst, most unsympathetic human beings, crying, because you kissed your best friend who doesn’t want you back. 

You’ve got ten seconds to leave before someone pulls out their phone and records you. If they haven’t already started. 

So you run.

Through your tears the layout of the house becomes unfamiliar. You try to hide your face a little, and hope people don’t recognize you as you pass them by, sobbing openly. 

Years of pent up feelings are bubbling out of you. The relief. The grief. The way you hate yourself for falling in love with the only person who has ever loved you. Wondering why you couldn’t just be grateful for the kindest, most understanding friendship you never even thought yourself worthy of. Why couldn’t that have been enough? 

Why did you fall in love with them? 

A hand closes around your wrist and you try to yank yourself away but you’re pulled into a bathroom and the door slams shut behind you. 

You wipe your eyes so you can see who’s tried to save you from embarrassing yourself any further. 

It’s Jordan. Because of course it is.

You burst into tears again. 

“Are you fucking drunk? What the fuck was that? Y/N what the fuck is happening right now?” Jordan sounds on the verge of a mental break. 

She’s probably wondering what type of things people are gonna start saying about the two of you on social media. She’s probably mad at you for giving her a PR mess to clean up. 

“I’m not drunk!” You protest, sounding a little like someone who might be drunk. 

“Are you high? What did you take? Lemme see your pupils.” Jordan reaches out to grab your face and you swat her hand away. 

“No one fucking drugged me, Jordan. I’m just a stupid fucking idiot who’s in love with you! There! Are you happy?! Why don’t you go laugh at me with one of your stupid fucking girlfriends. You’ve got so fucking many of them.” You wail, sinking down to the floor, and hiding your face in your arms. 

The room goes quiet, besides the sound of you crying. Loudly. You think you might be having an anxiety attack. You can’t breathe right. But maybe that’s just from the heaving, toddler-like sobs. 

“You’re in love with me?” Jordan asks, quietly. 

“As if you don’t know!” You snap your head up to glare at her. She kneels down in front of you, and puts her hand on your knee and you try not to get distracted by how pretty she is. “I follow you around like a puppy dog. Like your little shadow. And everyone notices except for you, because you don’t want to notice, because you don’t fucking want me. I got the message, Jordan. I got it!” 

“What message?!” Jordan grabs you by the shoulders, voice fraying at the edges, and looks like she wants to shake you.

“You don’t touch me!” Your voice raises to the edge of a yell, and the sound of it echoes in the small room. 

“What are you fucking talking about-”

“-don’t be cute, Jordan. You don’t touch me when you’re a girl! I thought… I thought it was maybe just that you didn’t touch girls when you’re a girl but it isn’t. Apparently you have plenty of fucking girls that you touch and fuck, when you’re a girl. It’s just me, that you don’t! What’s so fucking bad about me? Huh? What’s wrong with me? Why don’t you want me?” You demand.

You think you might sound like an insane person, and you wish you could pull the words back in but the hurt is bubbling out. A river relishing that first burst of freedom when a dam breaks, no matter how much damage it causes. 

Jordan is staring at you like you’ve grown two heads. Mouth agape. You wish you were dead, a little.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jordie.” Your voice goes small, and you sniffle. “I really tried to stop. But I can’t, I love you. I’ve probably loved you from that very first day. Because you’re wonderful, you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met and I don’t know how anyone…” You trail off, fanning at your eyes to try and pull yourself together. “...I don’t know how everyone else knows you without being in love with you. I wish I wasn’t in love with you, please don’t be mad, please don’t fucking-” You sob, again. 

You find yourself pulled into Jordan’s lap this time. It’s a foreign feeling, to be touching so much of Jordan when she’s like this. You bury your face into her neck and cry, and let her black hair block out the fluorescent lighting. She shushes you, cheek pressing against the side of your head, and that’s familiar. The way she soothes you. Your hands wrinkle the fabric of her jacket, clinging to her tightly. 

“I’m sorry. I can get over it, I promise. I just needed to tell you. I’ve never kept anything from you before. It was killing me, but I can get over it, Jordie, I promise-” 

“Hey, hey, hey, no-” Jordan’s turning you to look at her suddenly. “Don’t fucking… I’m not… I’m not mad at you or fucking… gonna leave you, Y/N. What the fuck? I love you.”

You could start crying from the relief of hearing those words come from her lips again. You thought she wouldn’t ever speak to you again. She grabs you by the chin and kisses you, hard, your teeth clink together and your noses mush and you go completely still and frozen, like a scared deer. 

“I could see the words not fucking register in your brain the way I meant them. I am in love with you. Romantically.” Jordan barely pulls away, you feel her lips brush against yours, every other word. 

“What?” 

Jordan laughs, “Good, now you’re just as confused as I fucking was. Why the fuck wouldn’t I want you? I’ve always wanted you. You’re…you.” 

“I’m me?” You echo. 

“I didn’t…. I didn’t want to make you feel… like everyone else has. Like I was just fucking waiting around for a chance to date you. Or fuck you. As if your friendship doesn’t fucking matter. Or was a consolation prize, if I couldn’t get you to date me. It isn’t a consolation prize. It’s the most important thing to me in the fucking world.” Jordan laughs, and the sound is suspiciously choked up. 

“Oh.” You say, and are crying. Again. Jordan laughs and wipes the tears away with her thumb. 

“But what about when we started having sex? You still… never touched me when you’re like this.” 

“You’ve never said anything about liking girls.” Jordan says quietly.

“You’re not just a girl. You’re the girl. And guy. ” You say, holding her hand against your face and kissing her palm fiercely. She laughs again, and puts her forehead against yours. 

“So what? I’m the one girl you’re into?” Jordan raises a brow and doesn’t look very happy saying the words, oddly enough. 

You tilt your head trying to puzzle out why, slowly, you arrive at a conclusion. “I literally talk about girls all the time.” 

“When?!” 

“I’m constantly pointing out pretty ones!” You snap. 

“I thought you were just being sweet!” Jordan snaps back. 

You close your eyes and breathe in the smell of her cologne. 

“You make me so angry I don’t know how to think.” You say, and kiss her bottom lip softly. “You’re not an… experiment, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re the…” You trail off, realizing this is not one of your romantic daydreams where you’ve thought of the words you’d tell Jordan over and over again. 

In real life you can’t tell people that they’re the love of your life if you aren’t their girlfriend. Unless you want to look crazy.

Jordan, who is your best friend, before she’s anything else, melts. Because she knows you well enough to know what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah.” Jordan nods, sniffling once and trying to look very tough even though her lip is quivering a little. “I… I love you too. Or whatever.” 

“If it makes you feel better I’ve slept with other women before, to make sure I wasn’t just in love with you.” 

“Weird fucking thing to tell me after I say I love you, but go off.” She glares at you. 

“I think you could do with feeling a little jealous. Why am I hearing stories about how good you are at fucking other women while I’m trying to piss at Vought Burger in peace?” 

“What?” Jordan’s brow furrows. 

“Three weeks ago I heard-”

“-I fucking knew you’ve been mad at me!” Jordan grabs your waist, pulling you closer.

“You would have been pissed too, if you heard the shit I was hearing!” 

“If I hear anyone talking about fucking you ever again I’m going to go to prison.”

“Hot.” 

“Shut up and be my girlfriend.”

“Shut up and be my everything.” 

“You’re gross.” But she kisses you, and it’s gentle, and no one else is there to see it. 

And it’s perfect.

A/N: this is my first time doing full on smut for a fic! it beat me the fuck up. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. and this fic took too damn long to write. xoxoxo

[eminsunnytoons123]

Im imagining Sunny And cheddar man singing the song "I get a kick out of you" =^.^=

Heck, I'll maybe even gonna draw them singing it =^//////^=

[jazzstandardspoll]

Descriptions & Propaganda

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Composed by Fabian Andre and Wilbur Schwandt, with lyrics by Gus Kahn

Notable versions: Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald (x), Doris Day (x), The Mamas & The Papas (x)

Propaganda: None submitted.

I Get A Kick Out Of You

Composed by Cole Porter

Notable versions: Ella Fitzgerald (x), Louis Armstrong (x), Dinah Washington (x)

Propaganda: cole porter is suchhhh a clever lyricist & i think this is one of his best!!

[dragon-kazansky]

I get a kick out of you

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x Reader

Platonic! Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x Reader

[Masterlist]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Warnings: Mentions of passing out. ICE’S HEALTH GOT WORSE. I’M SORRY. Also, one use of Y/N, because I need your name to be in there.

30 years later and Maverick is back in Top Gun. This time to teach it. It’s his turn to deal with his past, but it’s going to be OK. You’re there to help him. Both of you have someone to look out for.

Admiral Tom Kazansky and yourself are still going strong. Married life is treating you well, but his health is taking a turn. Tom wants to do his best by Pete, but some things are out of his hands.

They both need you now more than ever.

Word count: 2.3k

Chapter Twelve - Fear of losing

♡♡♡

You had never moved so fast before. All you could hear were your echoing footsteps down the hallway. You are aware Maverick was in pursuit, but you couldn’t think about that right now. 

It wasn’t until you were nearly at the office that you realised you didn’t have your phone. You swore under your breath. How could you be so stupid as to not check if you had it or not? You had told them to call you if anything happened, and now you were concerned about how long they had been trying to contact you.

When you reach the office, Cyclone is waiting at the door for you. You barely glance at him as you rush inside and pick up the phone. Cyclone stays at the door, keeping watch.

“Hello? Tom?”

“Thank God! We’ve been trying to call you for ages!” You hear Nikki say down the phone. Her voice was heavy, gasping. She has been crying.

“What is it? What’s happened?” You ask quickly.

“It’s... It’s dad...” She breaks down crying again on the other side. You hold the phone tight in your fist, ignoring the sorrowful gaze of Cyclone at the door.

“Nikki, tell me...”

She can’t get the words out. Tears are threatening to fall from your own eyes. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest. You’re trying to keep it together, but something has happened, and you need to know that. What has happened to Tom?

“Nikki?”

There’s shuffling on the other side and voices, but you don’t hear them clearly. Then your son’s voice comes through the phone. He’s clearly taken it from Nikki, who you can still hear crying in the background.

“Dad collapsed. You need to come home. We called an ambulance.” He sounds so confidant, but you can pick up on the wavering of his voice. You know your son so well.

“He collapsed?” You gasp.

“He’s in bed right now. It’s.... It’s been... God, it’s been scary. We need you. He was asking for you, calling your name.”

The tears fall.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can. Don’t leave him, OK?”

“I won’t. I think I hear the ambulance coming. I have to go. Please, just... come home! He needs you.”

The phone goes dead. You slowly lower it from your ear. The tears fall some more. Cyclone looks at you with a mix of concern and pity.

“Anything I can do for you?” He asks.

“I need... I need transport home.”

He nods. Before he leaves the door, Maverick and Rooster enter the room together. They look at you. You look at them. Pete silently asks you what’s happening with one look. You break down. Pete is across the office in no time pulling you into his arms.

“What is it?”

“Tom has collapsed. Pete, I need to go home.”

He nods and guides you out of the office.

“I’ll take you,” Bradley offers.

You shake your head.

“No. You two need to be here. You don’t have long, do you?”

Maverick goes to say something, but Cyclone cuts him off.

“I will see to your ride home. Please update us on the condition of Admiral Kazansky.”

You nod and leave with him, leaving Maverick and Rooster standing in the hall. Bradley refuses to look at Pete as he walks away, needing to think. Pete watches him go before deciding to go and get your stuff from his house.

Within the next 30 minutes you have your things from Maverick, seeing the huge number of messages and missed calls you have, and you’re in a car heading home as fast as possible.

You’re unable to think straight as the car drives.

Pete: Call me if you need me.

You don’t reply to the message. You’ll keep that in mind though. 

Time seems to be passing slowly, or maybe the car just isn’t going fast enough. You need to be home. You never should have left him. You feared he would get worse and now it’s happening. You can’t lose him. You can’t lose Tom Kazansky.

In what feels like forever, the car eventually pulls up outside of your home. You rush inside without hesitation. Upon running through the door, Tommy is there waiting for you. You hurry to him and hug him tight. He holds you, needing the hug as much as you do.

“What happened? Where is he? What’s going on?” You ask.

Tommy grabs your upper arms gently and holds you like that. You look at him, waiting for him to tell you.

“Nikki found dad on the floor of his office. He has been coughing worse than normal. There... there was blood. He was conscious when she found him. He has calling for you before he passed out. Nikki freaked out and came to get me. I called for an ambulance and told Nikki to call you, but you weren’t picking up. She called Penny at the bar, but Penny said you weren’t there. She helped us call the base with an emergency.”

You cling to his sleeves.

“Where is he?”

“In bed. They’re up there with him. I called his doctor, too.”

“Good. Thank you, Tommy.”

Tommy hugs you again. You cling to him, needing him to ground you a little bit.

“Where’s Nikki?”

“I sent her to bed. She was panicking and I didn’t know what else to do. Her husband arrived a short while ago, he’s with her.”

You nod and let go of your son.

“I need to see him,” you whisper.

“They wouldn’t let us in...” He told you.

“I need to see him.”

Tommy just looks at the staircase and you get the message. You leave Tommy and hurry up the stairs. Nothing else mattered other than Tom. You needed to see him. You needed to know he was OK.

As you reach the bedroom, his doctor steps out, closing the door behind him. He sees you looking at him with anxiety.

“Ah, good, you’re here.”

“Is he okay? Is Tom okay?” You ask, pleading with him for good news.

He holds his hand up as if to calm you, but nothing can calm the raging storm happening inside of you. So many thoughts running through your head. Your heart was working overtime, it felt like.

“First of all, I need you remain calm,” he speaks gently, but it does nothing to help.

“Remain calm? I get a phone call saying my husband has collapsed and I need to come home. A phone call my daughter made while crying down the phone, and you want me to remain calm? Does that ever work? That man in there is the most important person in the world to me, and his health is failing, and you want me to remain calm.”

The doctor sighs.

“Firstly, take it a good sign we didn’t have to rush him off to hospital. Secondly, I understand that, but panicking isn’t going to either of you any good. Finally, I want to explain the situation to you.”

“Just tell me he is going to be okay,” you plead.

“Your husband collapsed due to lack of breath. His coughing appears to have got so bad; he was unable to catch his breath back. I fear this battle he is fighting as done some damage to his vocal cords and his throat. Talking may be an issue, sleeping may become troublesome for him for as long as his coughing fits remain, and I think it best he stays in bed. His body had been through a lot the past few hours.”

“But he will be okay?” You ask again.

“I can’t guarantee anything. Keep him on bed rest, have him try not to talk too much, make sure he takes his medicine, look after him. He could still recover from this.”

The doctor watches the way your eyes turn to the bedroom door as you place a hand flat on your chest over your heart.

“You can go in, but he’s not awake.”

You don’t say anything as you walk past him and enter the room.

You have to hold back a sob as your eyes land on your husband. He’s propped up by his pillows, his eyes closed, hands flat on the bed. If it wasn’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest that you could see, you would have thought the worst. You fight the tears as you approach the bed, but feel a tear drop from your chin as you sit beside him. You let out small gasp of breath as you reach for his hand.

“Oh, Tom...”

He’s lost a bit of colour to his face. This close to him, you can hear the raspy sound of his breathing. It’s the kind of sound people make when suffering from a chesty cough, the only difference being it’s so much worse than that for him.

You reach out and delicately caress his cheek with the back of your pointer finger. His face feels cold, and you try not to burst into tears.

Tom Kazansky is sick, and you weren’t here for him.

You wanted to do your best for Pete and Bradley. They’re both family to you, but Tom needed you and you weren’t there. You will never forgive yourself for this.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

You know he can’t hear you, but you had to say it. You needed to say it out loud.

The door creaks open and Tommy pokes his head around. You look up at him. His expression falls when he sees you crying over his father. He’s trying so hard to be brave for you, but you don’t need him to do that. You get up from Tom’s side and walk over to Tommy. You pull your son into another hug and feel him let go of that bravery. He cries with you.

Nothing is scarier than the possibility of losing someone you love.

“Come on,” you whisper. You take Tommy back downstairs. 

When you get there, Nikki and her husband are sitting on the sofa. Nikki looks up at you and then rushes over to you, hugging you tightly. Your children needed you and you needed them.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You did so well, Nikki. I’m proud of you. Both of you.”

You take a moment to comfort your family.

A little while later you’re all sitting together. Nikki is curled up with her husband on one sofa, you and Tommy take up the other. The TV is on, turned on by Tommy in the hope of being a distraction, but none of you are really watching it. You’ve been staring at the carpet for ages. Nikki is looking at the TV, but not at all watching it properly. Tommy is drawing circles on the arm rest with his finger.

You can’t take this anymore and stand up.

“I need sleep. Are you three staying the night?” You ask.

Nikki’s husband gazes down at her and then back at you. “I’ll take Nikki home. I left the children with the neighbour. I should at least go back is she wants to stay.”

Nikki shakes her head and grabs hold of his arm.

Tommy looks up at you. “I should go home too but call me if anything changes.”

You nod. “Of course.”

You see your family out. When the door closes behind them, the house becomes quiet. It’s too quiet.

You take a deep breath and head upstairs slowly. You approach the bedroom and open the door quietly. Peeking inside, you see Tom is still resting. You decide to just grab your things and sleep in the guest room. He needs all the rest he can get. You would only be a room away if anything happened.

As you gather your pyjamas and a couple other items, you hear coughing from behind you. You look up and find blue eyes looking back at you. You drop what you’re holding and hurry over to the bed.

“Tom,” you whisper.

He coughs. He reaches out for your hand, but you reach for the water beside him, handing him the glass. You help him drink, all the while he’s looking at you. You can’t meet his eyes for long, unable to help being overcome with guilt.

His fingers curl around your wrist gently when you put the water down. You avoid his eyes as you look at his hand.

“Y/N...”

“Shh, don’t speak,” you say, trying not to break down. Even the sound of your name sounded like a strain on him. His voice was broken and hoarse.

Unable to look away forever, you meet his eyes.

His lips twitch up into a smile and you find yourself at a loss. Why is he smiling?

“Did... you... miss.. me?” He asks.

You close your eyes and try to keep yourself calm.

“Don’t speak, Tom. You need to rest. You scared the hell out of me. You scared the hell out of Nikki! Getting back home felt like the longest journey of my life. I thought... I thought I had lost you...”

He moves his hand from your wrist to your shoulder. He shakes his head at you.

“Never...”

You lean forward and rest your head against his shoulder. You cry softly. His hands settle around you, holding you close to him.

What Tom Kazansky will never ever admit to you is that, when he fell to the floor of his office coughing harder than he had before, all he could think about was you. He had called for you in his hour of need, but only because it was all he could think to do.

When it comes down to it, even in his darkest moments Tom Kazansky can only think of you.

“I... love... you.”

You grab at his shirt, soaking with your tears.

“I love you too, Tom. Always and forever.”

That night, you stay by his side. You stay up with him when his coughing fit starts. You stay by his side. You promise to do this for as long as he needs you to.

Pete and Bradley would have to solve their issue out on their own.

♡♡♡

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[benevolenterrancy]

Zhuzhi-Lang, sincerely, what the fuck do you think gratitude means? I'm just curious. I just want to talk.

[sesamestreep]

I really feel like one of the best details in “A Scandal in Bohemia” that I never see people fixate on enough is that the story starts with Watson stopping in to see Holmes at Baker Street on a complete whim, because he happens to see that he’s home (and Watson is now married and living elsewhere). Like he doesn’t send word first, he’s not invited, he just shows up and surprises Holmes. Which is not that weird but then Holmes is like “oh good, I’ve got a case anyway, you might as well hang out!” which just makes it funnier when the King shows up and is like “I’d really rather speak to you alone, actually” and Watson tries to leave and Holmes is just like “anything you can say to me, you can say to my best friend John Watson, and if you ask him to leave, I would consider it a grave insult, you would be my enemy and I will not help you ever!!” And the king is like “…ok” and just moves on.

like, that is crazy behavior. Holmes is talking about how there’s probably lots of money in this case, and then almost turns away the client for…not knowing who the fuck Watson is?? He’s not even supposed to be there?? He just came to say hi?? “It is both or none”… girl, GET UP.