#sorry i just thought that last sentence made a good punchline.

[frosnpls]

hey ignore that i like, spent multiple hours hunting down an active blog of yours, have you seen the new dhmis and opinions if so? -bill bill

Hello I know you said to ignore it but where were you looking for me? I'm genuinely Very Curious about that -- but anyway though,

Oh My God.

To be honest getting to watch all of it was entirely worth the Six Year Wait. I've seen a few people saying the pacing was awkward or whatever but honestly I think it was perfect. It was everything it needed to be.

[SPOILERS FOR DON'T HUG ME I'M SCARED AHEAD I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO A READ MORE ON MOBILE BUT YA'LL'VE BEEN WARNED. ALSO THIS POST IS JUST LIKE, REAL LONG. SORRY]

We got so much from it. I was NOT expecting the episodes to be twenty minute features and I did actually say when we started watching (my friend group had a lil watch party) "I wonder how they're going to fill that entire runtime?" But that did it so well. The decision to have the episodes expand the theme rather than just stay on one particular beat worked out so well and yet the episodes still stuck faithfully to the theme they were on and it was just, so well written.

I love that they've given Harry (I made a post about this the other day I'm being stubborn and still calling him Harry I don't CARE) so much more personality, like, they really built up to it in the YT series but they didn't get the chance to explore it as fully as I think most of us would have liked to see because the majority of it was in the last episode. The fact that he yells so often in the show is so fun and the parts where he gets annoyed about something trivial (like the fact he was looking forward to doing nothing or when he got jealous about not being dead) make me so happy like. He's a guy. He's a guy with thoughts and feelings he's REAL. The freakout when they were in the car and he so desperately wanted there to be something, anything else just like. Fucked me up. He knows it's not real and that life isn't meant to be like this and he needs out but it's the only life he HAS!!!

I loved the comedy in it! They've kept the brand of humour from the youtube series but it feels like, actually a little more unhinged in places?? Idk how to put into words ig, it feels different in a way that I can't really put my finger on. It's still very unexpected, but it's not as rooted in just. Violence and gore, I guess? Like it is but not in the same way. Idk. I don't know how to say it. The 'electric chair' joke made my partner LOSE IT and my friend group keeps saying "OK, Stop." at every comment that could be taken as even a SLIGHT insult. I think one of my favourite ones was the bit where Stain starts existing and Yellow goes "eurgh, claymation" sbdjfj

The plot overall was just. Encapsulating. They've kept the elements of mystery that made it work the first time around and turned it up to eleven. We were SCREAMING at the scene with the shredder. I'm begging they get a second season because you can't just do that and leave it there forever. That would be so much.

One thing in particular that I found interesting in episode 6 (aside from, y'know, everything) was the part where Yellow can see the puppeteers and they're dressed like the background. I mean obviously the implication is that they're always there but does that mean that the teachers are entirely just fabricated by someone? Again I mean the obvious answer is yes, by possibly Lesley, maybe even someone higher than her, but. Y'know. Why are they there???? Are the puppeteers aware they're in a show or is Lesley (or someone else) forcing them to do this as well?????? They saw that Yellow was looking. They know he knows. FOR THAT MATTER, the fact nobody ever noticed the staircase in the kitchen until Yellow gained higher consciousness and was able to see the kitchen from a different camera angle is genius. They've never seen the stairs because it's usually in the missing wall for the camera. Of course they haven't. That's their fourth wall.

OOH OOH OOH something ELSE I found interesting is how the train guy had Lesley's name written on him. When I first noticed that I assumed it was his name. I'm thinking about rewatching to see if the name pops up anywhere else and I just didn't notice it. She's such an intriguing character -- the idea being that she's. Essentially their god. She did all of this. At least the main cast. We're shown there's a floor even further than hers, and it blends in with the wall. The fact it opens on it's own would say to me that she knows it's there, but what if she doesn't?? Who's above her?? Did something create her in order for her to create them?? I NEED to see up there. I HAVE TO. And anyway, why is Yellow one of her favourites - and why does she let so many bad things happen to him if that's the case? In fact, why does she let so many bad things happen at all? Is this all just for her amusement? Is she being manipulated by someone else to be that way?

There's not a doll of her in the dollhouse, because assumedly from her perspective she is the higher being and doesn't need replacing. There's something above her but she doesn't know that. There's also not dolls of the big and bigger boys, though, despite their room still being in the house after her and Yellow fix things. So did she not make them? She has to be aware they're there. She can't just think there's two completely uninhabitated rooms in the house. I'm fascinated. It's literally all I can think about.

So in summary -- yeah it was alright I guess.

[catzula]

(Don't) Let me be the judge of that

a/n: enemies to lovers w Osamu. Nothing more to say.

genre: mostly fluff, enemies to lovers au, fem!reader

warnings: Osamu being an ass in the beginning, swearing, mentions of social anxiety, 5.6k

《Synopsis: Osamu Miya is too judgemental for his own good, never accepting he's simply wrong. You're here to change that.》

Osamu Miya had a habit of judging people. It would take him one look and a few seconds to decide whether he liked someone or not, the answer often being the latter. But the worst part was just how stubborn and maybe a bit self-centered Osamu was. He trusted himself a little too much, and it was impossible to change his opinion of someone after he had made up his mind, and if he didn't like someone, that was it, he would never grow to like them.

Or so everyone -including Osamu himself- thought until you entered his life.

~

You weren't surprised to feel the brown pair of eyes looking your way when your professor announced the project was in pairs. "Decide on your partners until the end of the hour and give me a list of the groups." He told the class and leaned back in his chair.

"Y/N!" You heard him before you saw him, a mop of bleached blond hair coming into your view right after. "Hi, Atsumu." You offered him a smile as you pocketed your phone, tilting your head when he frowned in response. "I already told you, Y/N, it's 'Tsumu to you!"

"Why?" You sighed annoyedly. Having had the conversation once before, you knew damn well he wouldn't stop until you did what he wanted, but you still chose to resist.

"Because," the boy whined, "it's a sign of our friendship. Only my friends and 'Samu call me that, and I want you to call me by my nickname, too." You chose not to talk about how he excluded his twin from his friends, knowing that would only lead to another argument. 

"Who even came up with this stupid name? It doesn't make any sense, it's only one syllable shorter, and it's even harder to say!" Atsumu's warm-brown eyes narrowed. "It's not stupid!" He protested, pouting until you gave up.

"Okay, okay, whatever. 'Tsumu-kun. There, happy?"

"Tsumu." The blond corrected with a grin.

"Kun." You added (to rile him up)

"Only Tsumu, goddammit! We're close enough."

"Are we, though? We only know each other for... what? A week?"

"A month!" Atsumu gasped as he corrected you. "And it doesn't matter how long we know each other, okay? It's a matter of how well we connect." His frown got deeper when you made a face, muttering something about him being cheesy, so he decided to switch strategies.

"But you always call me by my name when we're alone, Y/N-chan." Words spoken as flirtatiously as possible, Atsumu never missed the chance to tease you.

"A-atsumu, what the fuck, don't make it sound weird!" You exclaimed, already aware of the murmurs starting to spread around the room and the eyes turning on you both.

"There we go," Atsumu grinned when he heard his name falling from your lips, "wasn't that hard, was it?"

"You just had to be a little shit." You sighed, and his grin only spread wider. "I am a little shit, aren't I? Thank god I'm handsome. Anyway, I'm writing our names down." 

"It feels like we're getting married, seeing our names standing next to each other like this." He sighed, wiping the nonexistent tears from the corner of his eyes as he handed the paper to the person sitting behind you. You heard someone gasp at his words, and you never wanted to hit someone with a chair this much in your life.

"Shut the hell up!" You whisper-yelled, only feeling your anger growing when he sent you an innocent look. "What? I'm just saying-"

"I swear to god," You flared, "I'll tell everyone that one time you ran out of the library screaming when you saw a cockroach if you don't shut up." His grin disappeared as soon as you spoke the words, eyes widening and mouth shutting.

"You promised to never talk about it!" You had to admit that it did feel powerful to see him so panicked, face flushed, the sleazy look that was almost always in his eyes nonexistent and replaced with something similar to fear.

"It's up to you wether I talk about it or not." You shrugged.

~~~

"Woah, you look tired." You heard a familiar voice say as he plopped right next to you on the bench, holding a homemade bento in his hands, wrapped too neatly to be made by him.

"And whose fault is that?" You muttered, trying to conceal your murderous intent towards him. Even just thinking about your day gave you headaches. You groaned when he shrugged, focusing on unwrapping the bento box. "Yours, idiot!" 

"What did I d-" You winced when he spoke after taking a big spoon of rice and showing you everything that was in his mouth. 

"Your fans wont let me be! Ever since we started hanging out, it's almost like I'm being harassed."

"That's not necesarrily my fault." Atsumu shrugged, proceeding with another bite of his food. 

"It is, actually. I know you like to tease me, but if you keep saying shit like 'oh look our names together, feels like we're getting married' or that fucking 'you call me by my name when we're alone' you make it worse! You know how many people came up to me and asked if we were sleeping? One even asked me if we were engaged! We've known each other for two weeks, for god's sake!"

"A month." Atsumu corrected, shutting up when you sent him a look. "That's not even the worst part. Whenever I don't give an answer, or the answer they want to hear from me, people start to-" 

They started to get mean. Some even insulted you without batting an eye, speaking of how you weren't even pretty, that you had to be sleeping with Atsumu to be near him, and many fucking more.

"What?" He asked. "People started to what?" You knew he could sense how tense you were starting to get, but you always started to fight with him whenever he asked if people were bothering you, never answering his question, despite the answer being obvious. 

"Nothing, its just frustrating." You shrugged, taking a bite out of your meal to stop yourself from talking -or crying-. 

"Look, I can guess what's going on." Atsumu sighed, "and the only reason I can think of of you not telling me what's happening is that you don't want me to interfere, but you should tell them to piss off, already." He advised you the same stupid sentence he had been advising the past few days, ever since he noticed how his fans acted towards you. 

"Yeah, thanks for the advice, jackass. It would be easier if you stopped being so extra." You muttered into your cup full of coffee, feeling a tinge of guilt, putting the whole blame on him and not admitting you probably should tell people to mind their business already.

But you just weren't the type of person that was comfortable with talking to people you didn't know or know well enough, and you certainly weren't going to tell people to 'piss off' so comfortably.

You gulped when he sighed. "Okay, sorry, you're right, and I went overboard. But I gotta go to training now. It'll end around 5 p.m, so come to my place at 6?" He raised to his feet as he took one last sip of his drink when he finished his food.

"And if anyone asks you if we're married again, you have my permission to say yes." He grinned, patting your hair twice before you rolled your eyes, but couldn't stop a giggle from escaping your lips. "Oh, thank you, gracious lord." You cried out dramatically, scoffing when he pinched your cheek. "Exactly."

~~~

"I'm going into shower." Atsumu announced as Osamu shuffled through the fridge. 

"And?" The grey-haired twin asked from the fridge without pulling back, locating the eggs, and taking some out. "Do you want my help or something?

He expected an equally sarcastic comment from his brother, lifting his head as he closed the door of the fridge. "Cook for 3 today, a friend's coming over." He heard him say instead.

"A friend?" Osamu quirked his brow, ready to laugh given the punchline, but it never came.

"Yep." His twin answered instead, popping the p like some idiot middle schooler. "She's nice, you'll like her." He grinned, and Samu was already sure that wouldn't be the case. "Is this the girl ya can't stop talking about?"

Osamu couldn't say he wasn't interested since it was rare to see his brother drawn to anything but himself and volleyball, especially not to a girl. And judging by how Atsumu spoke about you, it was evident he had a particular liking to you.

The smug grin on Atsumu's face gave Osamu his answer, to which he grimaced. "don't wanna hear a fucking sound."

"She's coming over to study, you pervert! We have a project together."

"Yeah, whatever, I said what I said." Osamu shrugged, turning his back to Atsumu and started to chop the vegetables, unable to shake off the unlucky feeling pooling in his stomach.

~~~

"Oi, shit-head, does yer friend have any allergies or somethin'?" Osamu knocked on the bathroom door that had steam coming from the gap beneath it. He waited as Atsumu closed the water. "Eh, I'm not sure." 

"Yer not sure? How long do you even know her?"

"A month." Atsumu answered, turning the water back on. A month? It wasn't like Atsumu didn't get close to a girl he knew for such a short time, but Osamu had never, ever seen Atsumu bring a girl home.

"Hurry up, already, what the hell are you even doing in there?!" Osamu shouted, knocking on the bathroom door and holding back an urge to kick down the door when he heard the happy humms of his brothers.

"Oi, idiot, I'm telling you- goddammit." He clenched his teeth when he heard the doorbell. 

"Hurry up or you're not eating." Osamu knocked one last time before he rushed to the door to let you in. 

He opened the door without thinking of opening the lights as well, and since it was well after the sun had set, he couldn't see what you looked like, but he knew he wasn't expecting- well, you.

You were bent forward, trying to undo the messy knot your shoelaces had formed when the door opened. Sending a glance at the silhouette standing at the door, you turned your attention back to untying the mess your shoes were. 

"Hey, Atsumu." You muttered without taking another look, assuming it was Atsumu who had greeted you. You didn't see how Osamu's face soured, dark-grey eyes narrowing at your form with some hostility he couldn't help.

In your defense, the light wasn't on, and you hadn't taken a good look at the boy standing before you, so it wasn't exactly your fault for not realizing it was Osamu, right?

No.

Strike one.

Osamu hated when people mixed him with Atsumu. Did they not see the bright platinum gray hair, clearly different from his twins piss colored one? Osamu hadn't dyed his hair for the sake of looking nice, and he certainly hadn't sat in the hairdresser for hours long just to get mixed up with his twin again.

You had noticed your mistake as soon as you stood up and looked at the tall figure staring at you, leaning on the door frame and his arms tied on his chest almost defensively. "O-oh," Osamu heard you mutter softly, not sure as to why your voice sent goosebumps down his arms. "You're not Atsumu."

The somewhat disappointed tone of your voice made him furrow his brows. The smile you had on your lips dropped as soon as you locked eyes with the grey ones, familiar yet strange, and Osamu could feel himself getting more irked by the second.

The truth was, you weren't exactly disappointed, mostly embarrassed and a little surprised, although the unsatisfied look his eyes held kept making you even more nervous. He waited as your eyes wandered over his face, over the scowl resting on his lips, looking so mean and hostile, you found yourself taking a defensive step away from him.

"I- uh," Osamu's scowl didn't move an inch when you forced a smile at him, and you checked the time on your phone to break the eye contact. "Atsumu told me to come by at 6, and... is he- is he home?"

"Yeah," The boy talked for the first time, and you noticed how his voice was deeper than his twin's. It was nicer, too, you thought. "He's in the shower, though he should be-"

"Y/N, you're here!" You heard the twin you were familiar with speak your name, standing in the entrance, hair still wet and dripping with excess water. 

"Don't get cocky, I'm here for the project." You rolled your eyes with fake annoyance, unsuccessful at hiding your smile. Osamu felt something in him shift as he watched the change in your demeanor, feeling- what, jealous? 

"You met 'Samu?" Atsumu approached you, not missing the tension hanging in the air. "Y/N, this is the inferior twin, 'Samu, as you can also tell. And 'Samu, this' Y/N." He introduced you, making you laugh awkwardly, but Osamu kept his glower. 

"Don't mind him, he can be an asshole sometimes." Atsumu whispered at you, which anyone even passing by outside the house could hear. "Look at who's talking." You told him with a snarky quirk of a brow, making Atsumu frown. "Mean."

The blond pulled you towards the living room, making you settle on the couch and plopping next to you. Osamu caught the glance you sent his way when he didn't sit, leaning against the wall that was across you, instead, and you found he still had that frown that seemed to be imprinted on his face.

Osamu's frown was deepening on his lips at how comfortable you looked next to Atsumu, the friendly banter you had the exact opposite of how uncomfortable you looked next to Osamu. Maybe it was the natural competitiveness that came with having a twin, but Osamu hated this feeling. Why couldn't you smile at him like that, too? Yeah, maybe he was acting like a dick, but wasn't Atsumu also?

"Go dry your hair, idiot, you'll get sick!" Osamu heard you tell his twin, watching you hit him with the nearest pillow. "Hm?" Atsumu turned to you with a grin, leaning towards you for easy access to his hair. "I thought ya could do it for me?"

Osamu watched you with interest as you glared at his twin with annoyance. "I hope you get sick." You narrowed your eyes at him. "If you keep this attitude around other people, I'll kick you."

"Alright, alright, I won't flirt with ya when other people are around." Atsumu grinned, and Osamu felt his appetite vanishing. "I'll just leave." He muttered to himself, closing the door behind him just after hearing your answer to his twin.

"Don't flirt with me, ever?" 

You had spoken it with such genuine annoyance that if you had listened closely, you could hear Osamu laughing from the other side of the door.

~

So, the meeting with his twin was anything but successful.

Osamu was very blunt with how much he hadn't liked you, his glare reminding you of the ones Atsumu had whenever his fans approached him, cold and cruel.

Grey was clearly the superior choice, though, that you found yourself thinking as you gazed at the blond. "What? Lost in my handsomeness?" Atsumu teased you when he noticed you weren't paying attention to the project. You had to hold yourself back physically before you said something along the lines of how his twin was hotter, but you knew he wouldn't talk to you ever again, so you shut your mouth and took the teasing. 

Luckily, Osamu was barging through the door before Atsumu could continue, bored-looking eyes finding you two where he had left you. "Dinner's ready." He told you and left the room.

"Food," Atsumu salivated, jumping on his feet the moment he heard his brother, ready to sprint to the kitchen. You shuffled awkwardly in your place when you felt his warm-brown gaze on you, expecting you to stand up, as well, and eat.

"I- uh," you muttered. "I'm not really hungry, and I ate before I came here." Lies. "Can't we just finish this project instead?"

Strike two.

Just as he started to think you weren't horrible, Osamu gasped from the other side of the wall when he heard you (the walls were thin), his teeth clenching in annoyance. Really? Did you prefer doing a fucking project over his food? The food he had cooked?

Osamu was never a forgiving person, but this- this was something he could never forgive, he decided on the spot.

"Oh, come on, stop bein' a baby." Atsumu told you, pulling you by your hand on your legs, he knew you well to understand you were hesitating to go there because of his brother. Or more as he was making you nervous and you would rather not eat than go in his presence. "Osamu's the best cook around, you'll see." He joked so you could relax a little, making you giggle nervously.

Strikeout.

Osamu flinched at the words, eyes narrowing on you as you entered the kitchen. Did you doubt his abilities? 

You thanked the boy as he placed your plate in front of you, steaming hot food, smelling so good that you wanted to bury your face in it, but the grey gaze hovering over you was making you so nervous that it made it impossible for you to take even a small bite.

"Do ya like it?" Atsumu asked you, noticing how you were nudging the food with your fork without eating. You flinched in your place, your friends' voice pulling you out of your thoughts and back to reality, to which you mustered a smile and nodded. "Yeah! Yeah, it's- it's delicious. Thank you." You turned back to Osamu, who scoffed at your words, causing you to frown. 

You could tell he didn't like you one bit, even though you weren't sure as to why, but you discarded the thought. He was free to like or dislike you, which, in this case, was the latter, though it stung a little since you thought he seemed nice when- well, when he didn't frown at you.

He seemed like the type you would either get along or hate mutually.

He had obviously chosen the latter, and both Atsumu and you could feel the almost hateful air coming from Osamu as he glanced at you with a disinterested, blank face. "Did ya have a bad day or something, 'Samu?" Atsumu broke the silence, and you felt like you could finally take a breath. "You look like someone kicked ya in the nuts."

"Fuck off, 'Tsumu." 

"Nah, you've been acting like a dick all day. What's with ya today?"

"I said fuck off!" Osamu warned his twin another time, this time successfully silencing the blonde. 

"Thank you," You broke the awful silence that followed Osamu's voice. "The food was delicious." You told him after you finished your food. You could still feel his gaze over you as you placed your plate in the sink and retreated to the living room. 

"Your brother didn't like me very much, did he?" Osamu heard you mutter to his brother after he had left, too, feeling a fracture of guilt in his chest as he caught the disappointment in your voice.

"It's just... 'Samu. Don't worry about it." Atsumu told you, closing the door behind you.

~

Osamu was hesitant to knock on the living room door.

It had been about two hours since you had gone in, and knowing his brother- he couldn't be sure as of what's to happening.

"Oi, 'Tsumu!" He barged in the room, discarding the thoughts before he gave up. 

"Shut up." Atsumu whispered, eyes lifting from his phone screen for a second and glancing at you. You, who was lying on the sofa and- sleeping?

"She fell asleep." Atsumu grinned at his brother's questioning gaze. "I'll carry her back to the car. Can you drive her home?"

Osamu didn't hold back his snicker when Atsumu's voice dropped volume as he asked the favor from his brother, still not able to admit to himself the defeat.

"Your hair is still wet, idiot," Osamu mumbled, his eyes wandering over your figure. "And I will not take care of you if you go out and get sick."

"What?" Atsumu grinned mockingly. "Are you gonna carry her then? Be a hero for the girl you've been acting like an ass all day? What the fuck was up with you today?"

"I don't like her." Osamu shrugged.

"She's not the kind of girl you think of her as." Atsumu quickly responded, already aware of what his twin had decided about you. Atsumu knew Osamu too well, his stubbornness even more, so he wasn't exactly surprised when he shrugged. 

"Let me be the judge of that, and I don't have to like her."

"Whatever, you do you. But you know, you don't have to dislike her just because she's my friend, too."

Osamu stood silent, eyes falling back on you. He knew Atsumu was partly right, but he had his reasons not to like you, right? Osamu pocketed his car keys, nodding at his twin and lifting you off the couch.

Atsumu grinned at the audible gulp his twin took when you shifted uncomfortably in Osamu's arms, snuggling your body closer to him, your hand fisting his shirt unconsciously. 

You woke up with Osamu hovering over you, and it took you a second or two to notice you were in a car and he was tying your seatbelt. He was so close, yet so careful not to touch you, his smell -a different perfume than his brother's- filling your newly awakened senses with him, him, him. Your eyes met his when he tied it and pulled back, a brow quirking up as his frown settled on his lips. 

"Did I wake you up?" He muttered as he retreated to his seat, running his fingers through his hair as he fixed his mirror, pushing back the few stray strands back from his face. Osamu turned back to you when you stood quiet, a sarcastic smile quirking his lips upwards, but it fell as soon as you talked.

"Wh- uh, where's Atsumu?"

Osamu clenched his teeth, not knowing why it angered it so much that his twin was the first thing that came to your mind as soon as you woke up.

"Home." Osamu gritted through his teeth. "I'm dropping you home, 'Tsumu gave me the address."

He glanced at you when you stood silent. "He doesn't have a license." Osamu couldn't help but add, a feeling stirring in him when you laughed at that. "So he failed the exam and you passed? That must've been a blow on his ego."

"Oh, you have no idea." Osamu found himself laughing with you.

Silence. He could feel your growing anxiety, and you could tell he was nervous as well, the taps of his fingers on the stirring wheel echoing in the car. His hair reflecting the colors coming from the road, yellow, red, and green, the features of his face illuminated, you thought he looked too handsome to be true.

"Why are you friends with him?" Osamu blurted out after a few seconds of silence, but the question didn't seem to surprise you. "Why is anyone friends with anyone?" You teased.

"Atsumu isn't exactly the type people wanna be friends with." 

"Hm," he heard you humm thoughtfully, not answering the question. "If we're asking questions, well, here's one. Why don't you like me?"

He could feel your light gaze on him as he kept his eyes on the road. It wasn't if he liked you or not, but you asked him why. He found himself wondering where that annoying meak girl he had met inside went. "And you don't like me."

"No," you answered honestly, which he found amusing. "You're mean."

"And 'Tsumu isn't?"

He turned to you when you shrugged. "Well, Atsumu is, too. But there is a difference, you know."

"And what is that?"

"He's a naturally mean person." You explained as if it made perfect sense. "He's just mean, he doesn't try to be meaner or nicer. You, on the other hand," you looked at him. "I don't think you're naturally mean, not as much as him, at least. I think you're purposefully being mean, and thats why I don't like you."

You met his eyes when Osamu turned his eyes from the road to you when the car stopped at the red light, grey eyes glistening with reds and yellows from the road. Your eyes followed the small smile that appeared on his lips, and you couldn't help yourself from thinking how soft they looked. How much more handsome he looked with a smile, even with one as cruel as he had now.

"I just don't like you." He told you with as much spite as possible, not sure why he was deliberately trying to hurt you. His brows furrowed when you laughed at his answer, instead.

"You certainly aren't the first." 

"What does that mean?" He asked without missing a beat, the tension now almost solidifying in the air. His heart was hammering in his chest, eyes watching your smiling lips as he waited for your next words, your chest heaving in sync with his, and you were so close, so close that if he leaned even just a little-

"You only met me today, Osamu-kun." He felt goosebumps climbing his back as he heard his name from your lips for the first time. "You know me for what, a few hours at most, and here you are telling me you just don't like me." The cynical tone of your voice made him send you a glare, his hands working over the gear when the red illuminating the car turned green.

"People like you do this a lot, you know. Judge people by one or two mistakes they do, not even anything major, but things you don't like, and deem them unworthy of your time. And how much I hate it when they boast about it, too. What, do you think you're so perfect? Don't you ever make any mistake?"

"People like me?" Osamu repeated, uncharasterically silent after all those words you had spat. "Yeah, shallow people." You answered, but you weren't looking at him anymore as you tapped the window instead. "We're here." 

You were silent as he stopped the car, pulling to the side, and watched you open the door. "You know," he finally spoke, rolling down his window before you were too far. "You say I judge people so quickly, but you did a full-blown analysis just now, and you say I'm the one to judge quick?"

"Tell me, Osamu." You bent forward a little, leveling your face with his. "If you can promise me that you didn't think, ah, I know this type of girl, even once tonight, I'll take it all back and apologize to you."

You smiled when he stood quiet. 

"Goodnight, Osamu. Thank you for the ride." You told him before walking back to your house.

~

"Ya know, with the amount of time you spend here, you may as well move in." Osamu told you gruffly, eyeing you from his side of the couch. Your eyes followed him as he took a bite out of his food, adam's apple bobbing up and down.  

"I'll move in as soon as you leave." You answered with a fake smile, turning your eyes away from his as soon as you realized you were staring, hoping he hadn't noticed, but he had. 

"Yer sure ya want me to leave?" He quirked a brow at you, making you grimace. "Never been more sure." 

It had been about a month since you met Osamu, and it was like this ever since. Osamu never missed the chance to take a jab at you, or he couldn't sleep. You never backed down from it either, the fights going back and forth until either Atsumu got bored and pulled you away or one of their friends called you out.

You didn't enjoy it like they thought you did. In fact, it was getting tiring and annoying, but you couldn't stop yourself from taking a jab at Osamu whenever he shot you a remark.

He looked at you when you sighed, brows quirking up in a silent question. "When's Atsumu gonna be here?"

Atsumu had told you to come to his place that day, telling you he would be there in a few minutes after you and he had something to do, but as always, he was late at least an hour, and you were now stuck with his brother. 

"I'll just go home and meet you up later." You had told the blonde, but he had insisted you stay. 

"Have you ever seen 'Tsumu come somewhere not at least two hours late? I bet he won't be here for at least an hour more." Osamu chuckled. "I'm hungry." He added right after, eyes finding yours.

"And? You need me to cook?" You snickered, not expecting him to stay silent, looking at you for a few more seconds and rolling his eyes as he turned around and went to the kitchen. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion at the antic. Surely Osamu wasn't- he wasn't asking you if you wanted something, was he?

"At least open a movie or something as we wait." Osamu muttered from the kitchen. 

"Do you have something on mind?" You asked, feeling weird at how soft he suddenly was acting. "No, pick one."

"Okay," you muttered to yourself, emphasizing the 'o'. You thought of opening a volleyball match, Atsumu always liked it when you did, and maybe he would- no, why were you even thinking of what he would like? He told you to open whatever, hadn't he?

Still, despite reasoning with yourself, you were jittery as you opened a random comedy show from Netflix. Trying to focus your thoughts on the show playing, you did your best not to think about the silver-haired boy inside, failing miserably by how your mind wandered to him and the odd way he was acting today.

"Say, ya never gave me an answer as to why yer friends with 'Tsumu." He entered the room, carrying a tray with two plates and forks inside. The crooked smile on his lips was making your heart beat twice as fast, even though you didn't want to admit it, and the way he focused on holding the tray on balance, the slight crease between his furrowed brows. Osamu Miya was too handsome for his own good.

"Thanks," you muttered half-heartedly as you took the plate from him, not even aware it was an olive branch he was sticking out. Osamu's face fell when you didn't spare him or his food another look. "You never gave me an answer of why you don't like me, so I guess we're even." You laughed, smile wavering when he didn't laugh along.

He sighed, eyes glancing at you and then back at his hands. It made you antsy, making you feel like something was wrong.

"You chose this to watch?" He turned back to the not answering you. He shifted in his place when you hummed, "I can change it i fyou want." The way he hadn't made fun of your choice of the movie yet, was too uncharacteristic of him.

"No, its okay." He answered instead, ending the conversation -if you could even call this one. You ate in silence, tv playing in the background, though neither of you cared of it, your gaze meeting now and then until you couldn't take it.

"What is wrong with you?" You couldn't help but blurt out, turning the TV off and facing him. You watched him as he quirked his brow up, looking at you questioningly even though he knew what you meant.

"What is wrong with me?" He repeated.

"Why are you being nice?"

He turned back to face the tv after a beat of silence, looking somewhat... shy? What the-

"Wh-what was that?" You asked when he mumbled something, the answer so silent that it was inaudible. "I said," Osamu repeated, eyes still focused on his plate. "You told me you didn't like me because I- uh, I was rude."

His voice was still uncharacteristically quiet, but this time you heard him loud and clear. That didn't mean you understood it, though.

"What do you mean?" He heard you ask, your voice laced with something resembling suspicion, you scoffed when he stood quiet, standing up to your legs and picking your plate off from the table. "If you're trying to tell me you want me to like you, I'm not buying it."

"You're not buying it?" He repeated, mirroring your movements and standing up, making you realize how much taller he was than you. The way he was looking at you- what was it, hurt? No, it couldn't be. Anger would be more like it. 

"Is there no way of winning with you?" He asked, following you to the kitchen and placing his plate a little too roughly on the counter. "You say you don't like me because I'm rude. I try to be nice and you fucking ask me what's wrong with me? What do you want me to do, disappear?"

Now, there was no denying that Osamu was, indeed, hurt, as his face soured when you stood quiet, staring at him blankly at his question. "So you hate me this much." He muttered to himself, running his fingers through his hair. 

"I don't know why you expected me to like someone who has been nothing but rude to me since the moment we met." You shrugged, but a part of you wanted to tell him it was a lie, and despite everything that you- well, you liked him. 

The glare he sent your way was enough to make you choke on the breath you took, taking a step forward to you, close enough for you to feel dizzy with his scent.

"Well, that concludes it, I guess. This was stupid, anyway." Osamu muttered, but he was so close- so close that you could almost feel the heat radiating from him, your eyes fixated on his lips, and if you just leaned forward- a few millimeters was all there was.

"What was- what was stupid?" You whispered, noticing his gaze was also wandering on your lips. Your heart suddenly started thundering in your chest, and you couldn't even ask yourself what's happening? What are you doing?

"This," Osamu breathed against your lips, his gaze so intense over you that it sent chills down your spine. He finally leaned forward, doing what you wanted but couldn't do, the word "apologizing," being the last thing you hear before you felt his lips on yours.

It was a soft kiss, nothing similar to how you thought Osamu would kiss -not that you had thought on it, or so you told yourself-, this kiss was deeper, irrational, amazing. 

"Do you always apologize to people by kissing them?" You asked when he pulled back, smirking at the way your chest heave, feeling a tinge of pride at how breathless he had left you.

"Hm?" He hummed, not wiping that damn smirk off of his face, it even grew wider when he noticed you pressing your fingers on your lips, still in shock, "I don't apologize to people." 

It was true. 

No one had ever seen Osamu Miya change his opinion about something, about someone. He would never admit he was wrong yet apologize.

But here he was, standing before you -just as breathless as you were- apologizing. 

"Maybe you should apologize more." You told him with a sly smile, to which he happily complied.

~

"I wanted to make peace." He told you, sitting on the couch right beside you, refusing to look at you, though. "I've been trying to act nice for a while now, but you seem to- you don't like that."

"A while?" You repeat. "You were never nice to me!"

"I was trying." His brows furrowed at your protest. "But you always had something snarky to say, and I couldn't just stay silent, could I now?"

"But- what? You were always the one who started them!" 

"Was I?" He asked, giving you the time to think, watching your face in disbelief fall into a look of 'fuck, he's right.'

It was you who started the fights, despite thinking it was him all this time. Upon recognizing that, you started to see the times he actually was nice to you, which you had always discarded or turned a blind eye.

Biting your lip guiltily, your turned to him. "I might... owe you an apology." You muttered, very aware of how his eyes glinted, gaze falling back on your lips. "Well," he told you, smiling. "I can't disagree."

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 19 - Holy Ground

Masterlist; Chapter 18

Summary: In the days before the mission in Tallinn, you and Neil have a few conversations to clear the air of doubts. Only, the mission itself proves to be a disruption...

Warnings: Swearing; mild violence.

Author’s Notes: Here we go, my favourite mission (and favourite Neil outfit too). This is only part one of the Tallinn action because so much happens... as you’ll see. I’m sorry. I really am. Hope you enjoy and please leave me feedback if you feel like it!

Song mentioned is: ‘Holy Ground’ by Within Temptation (I’ll share it in a post later but basically listen to it after reading and you’ll know why I’m obsessed)

Edit is courtesy of my amazing friend @sh3tani​ once again (ilysm and thanks for everything 💕)

The upcoming days were busy. You have been assigned the task of getting hold of some of the vehicles and artillery TP wanted for the heist in Tallinn. It was difficult, not only because it is actually rather hard to acquire a fire truck with no records left from the transaction, but also because you barely had any clue what you were actually doing. And so, most of the time, you were sat at the dining table in the flat, calling various shady people Neil gave you contacts to. Sometimes, a tea would appear in front of you, courtesy of the other team members thoroughly apologizing for how they handled the ‘alley situation’.

It seemed like your late-night walk and the cold treatment you gave everyone (including Neil) for the next 24 hours afterward worked. The jokes have ended, and contrition took their place, usually in the form of extreme helpfulness, random acts of kindness, and, in Neil’s case, a break from teasing. At least for a short while.

The only development you were not so sure of was the fact that the whole team decided to label your relationship. Not just any label but dating, verging on a couple. And that was rather terrifying. It struck you especially the night before when you have minded your own business in the kitchen. Watching over the pasta boiling on the stove, you listened to the plans made by Ives. He was trying to settle on the best way to track Neil during the heist when he suddenly turned to you with a question:

“Has your boyfriend told you what kind of car they are going for in the end?” the neutral tone made you skim over the term at first.

But then your brain caught up. What?! You almost toppled over the whole pot of pasta onto the floor when trying to drain it. Fuck. Ives was staring at you quizzically, as though confused about your current state.

“I… Who?” you stammered out the question, knowing it will only make everything worse.

“Neil” Ives grinned, “Unless you’ve gone for an open relationship and there’s another boyfriend involved”

“Christ, please stop” sighing, you tried to calm down just enough to function “I believe he’s going for a BMW, don’t know what series but something fast enough just in case there was a chase” triumphantly, you poured the sauce over the noodles.

“I’ll need to give him a call about it” Ives smacked his tongue thoughtfully.

“Feel free” using the opportunity, you grabbed the cutlery and escaped into your room.

Boyfriend? Now that was something to cause anxiety. Because despite everything that happened, all the things you have told Neil and got in return, you had no clue what you were supposed to be. Not really. Yes, sometimes you let yourself entertain the idea that maybe you were together, maybe he was your lover. But… was he? Could he ever be that?

With those thoughts occupying your mind, you only managed to last until afternoon the next day before giving in. After failing to contact a car dealer for the fifth time and realising that you have completely messed up the route plan due to forgetting about important details, you closed the laptop. It was hard to think when all your brain did was give reasons for why Neil would never actually want to be with you. To summarise: you were not enough, naïve, hopeless, and dumb enough to think that someone this incredible could think about you seriously. Stifling the sudden desire to breakdown and give up on everything, you dialed his number. He picked up almost instantly.

“Yes, my love?” your heart clenched at the nickname.

“Hi… um… Do you have a moment?” you cringed at the awkwardness.

“For you? Always”

Maybe, on another day, that would have made you smile. But that was not that kind of a day.

“Neil, I’m serious,” sighing, you rested your head on the cold wall behind your bed.

“What’s wrong?” his tone switched from playful to concerned.

Okay… now there’s no turning back.

“I’ve just been thinking...” you started, debating on the best way to breach the topic.

“Oh no”

Damn him. You cracked a small smile, knowing that was the intention. You could almost picture him at this moment, sat in some absolutely strange position in the armchair, nothing but long legs and ruffled hair. You did have it pretty bad.

“Shut up” you took a deep breath and blurted out “It’s probably stupid, and feel free to ignore this but... what even are we?”

There it is. Your whole existence hanged on his reply. But, of course, Neil needed more clarification than that…

“How do you mean?” his careful tone made your heart rate elevate.

The result was a string of sentences you shot out with the speed of a machine gun.

“Because everyone here assumes we’re dating. And Ives called you my boyfriend last night, and I don’t... I don’t know if that’s what’s going on and-”

“Okay, calm down,” he interrupted your rant “Take a deep breath” he waited until he could hear you exhale to continue “What do you want this to be? Because we’re the only people who have a say about it” the diplomatic tone made you frown.

But then maybe he just wanted to get your point of view before saying anything substantial… Trouble was you had no clue. Picking on a loose thread on your sweater, you sighed:

“I don’t know” maybe this was the right time to give him another piece of mind?  “I always hated labels because when you name something, it becomes real” you admitted, letting yourself slide down onto the pillows.

Nothing could hurt you there. Apart from potential rejection from the likely love of your life. Basically, fml, as the kids say.

“What about good things?” his question caught you off guard.

“Well, yeah, but… once there’s a couple, then there can be a break-up” the insecurity had an answer for that too.

Your cheeks heated up upon saying the word. Because even that felt like a step too far. Like maybe you were clingy. Obnoxious. Someone he could want to get rid of as quickly as possible. Before you decided to back out of the conversation, he replied:

“That’s a rather bleak way of looking at things” it was still that thoughtful tone.

A burden then.

“I know” you groaned, frustrated with yourself.

But the next thing he said was rather surprising…

“I’ll need to work on making you more optimistic. Not because I don’t like you the way you are, but because I want you to realise how wrong you are sometimes” the conviction and practical implications of the statement made you speechless.

The future tense. The admission that he did like you, with your countless issues and overbearing anxiety. It couldn’t be, could it? Neil took your stunned silence as permission to say more:

“From my side, let me say that dating doesn’t quite cut it because it implies not being sure... And…” despite yourself, your ears perked up, wanting to know what he meant.

“Yeah?” you prodded, trying to toe that precarious line between curiosity and fear of rejection.

“I’m not really in the trial stages anymore. Don’t think I’ve ever been” he clearly wanted to tell you more but was holding back.

Maybe it was for the better. Before you could think about a response to that, Neil added:

“Basically, we don’t have to use any labels. We’re just us” the simplicity of that statement broke through your resolve, making tears well up “Me and you. We know best what that implies and no one else matters” quietly, you sobbed, and he laughed before choosing to put that final nail in the metaphorical coffin “You’re my love, and that’s the only nickname I need” Neil sounded happy, as though despite your worries, he wanted to say that “I can be your idiot, as long as I’m yours” the punchline came with an audible smug smile.

Oh my god. You laughed, with tears still silently falling down your cheeks and heart hammering in your chest. He was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Suddenly asking that crucial question was not that scary. Because maybe today was the day when would tell you, without alcohol or worries prompting the confession. Taking the plunge, you spoke:

“Neil, do you-”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted you with an answer.

“I haven’t even asked the question” you frowned, unsure whether that kind of an answer was better than a confession.

Because, yes, he already said it once (almost twice), but both those have been anything but thoughtful. And your ever doubting brain was quick to use that fact against you.

“But I know the answer” he sounded certain.

Perhaps too certain.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to tell you over the phone” Neil sighed heavily on the other end “Listen, I have to go… but call me or text if you need to talk” he hesitated before adding, “No matter what I want you to remember what I said that night in London”

Oh… It was the first time any of you brought it up. You just assumed it was one of the things that just slipped out in an unguarded moment. You wanted it to be true, but then that was too risky. But maybe not…?

“I heard you” you whispered despite being alone in the room.

“I know” you could picture the soft smile he sometimes gave you “Goodbye, my love. Good luck with work” at the reminder of the piles of papers still waiting, you groaned, causing him to laugh.

“Will be needed since what you’ve assigned me is close to impossible” the change of the topic was dearly welcomed.

Grabbing the laptop again, you opened it up and felt all the motivation dissolve upon the sight of the route waiting to be planned. Coffee will be needed. And maybe whiskey too.

“I believe in you,” Neil broke your brooding with a comment, “And it’s not really me who assigned it” you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, idiot” unable to stop the grin on your face, you ended the call.

So maybe it was worth calling… Even if only to learn that he was in fact yours. And that he did not mind your insecurity or moments of anxiety. Maybe all this had some more potential than heartbreak and tragedy? Ignoring all the thoughts, you focused on the workload. After all, someone had to get all those bloody vehicles on time for the boys to play with.

*** The closer it got to the day, you could feel the tensions rising within the team. Partially it was your own fault and the fact that you were nervous. The plan was vague enough. What you and Ives’ squad knew was that TP intended to take over the plutonium 241 on the move, specifically on the highway leading out of the city. For some reason, he needed a fire truck and a firefighter suit for that. You had no clue why, but you blamed it on the boyish dreams of being a firefighter. Sure they all had those.

Neil was simply the designated driver and mission coordinator, and you hoped that meant he would stay out of harm. As much as that was possible for an idiot like him. You were not allowed to meet to stop TP from getting suspicious, and so all you could do was rely on texts and daily phone calls to keep you from going insane. The downside of the situation was that you could not slap Neil when he said questionable things. Examples being referring to the heist car as sexy (“And what if I told that it’s not the BMW that’s sexy?” “I’d be flattered”) and calling you his girlfriend on the call with Ives. That second incident resulted in the squad leader acting all smug because he apparently ‘figured it all out’. He did not, but who were you to prove him wrong.

And so, you perfected the plan, finished all the assigned tasks, and waited on instructions concerning the day of the mission. When they came, the message was simple – sit on your assess and wait, just in case the Cavalry was needed. You did not specifically like that ‘waiting’ part. Especially since Ives began insisting that you do not actually join them in the field. In his mind, the safest place for you was the flat. Not being a part of the squad and not having enough experience were the main factors acting against you. And you hated the fact that he was right. That is until the evening before the mission when an unexpected text from TP came. You were busy trying to understand the rules of a strange competition show on the television when your phone buzzed. Expecting something nonsensical from Neil, you picked it up instantly. Only to get shocked by the number on display. The message was straightforward:

“Join the squad in the field in Tallinn. You must be there”

Right… When you were asking the universe for help, you did not expect that. But it was better than nothing.

Without a further ado, you got up and wandered over to Ives, who was sat with Wheeler and Michael at the table. Upon your approach, the Brit looked up:

“Don’t tell me you’ve got some last-minute changes from Neil” his blue eyes were hazed with concern.

“No, I’ve got something better” you passed him the phone and waited for a response.

The widened stare and arched eyebrow was the initial reaction.

“He wouldn’t have sent if it wasn’t important” you added, hoping to win the case.

“I don’t get it” Ives sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair.

He glanced at Michael, who nodded and left the room. You just assumed that the discussion was not meant for any ordinary squad member.

“Apologies for my language, but you’re not a bloody soldier, and it might get rough out there” Ives spoke up again after a beat “And I don’t want to fucking worry about your safety amidst all the other mess” he met your gaze warily.

It was a little embarrassing to be considered a burden. You flinched internally before trying another approach.

“I know, but Neil might need me” as soon as you said the words, Ives scowled.

Of course, that just sounded like a lovesick teenager fighting for a hopeless case. And you hated that. But his very next words triggered the remains of resolve.

“Frankly, darling-”

You broke into a laugh, knowing the quotation well.

“I swear, if you quote Gone with the Wind right now, I’ll do something stupid” as a warning, you grabbed hold of the knife lying on the table, making Wheeler snicker quietly “Please, let me go out there. I can track his GPS signal or something. And well, you know that I’ve got a good aim. It might count for something” pleading was not your forte either but at the end of the speech, Ives’ gaze softened.

Maybe? He sighed once again before leaning his forehead on the folded forearms on the table.

“If you get hurt, he’ll kill me” he muttered gloomily.

“You’re exaggerating” you bit back a dry chuckle.

“No, he’s not” your head snapped up at the sound of Wheeler’s voice “But I’ve got to back you here if TP sent that text, then it’s probably important” she looked at you with a small smile.

“Thank you” you grinned back, grateful for the support.

With the days spent among men almost exclusively, Wheeler’s company meant a lot. Soon she became the only person you were willing to discuss your worries with. Because she was not keen on cracking dumb jokes about your relationship and asked questions that did not only concern Neil. And that was a welcomed change.

“You really need to be careful though, because Neil cares about you. Which probably makes you the most important person on this squad” her voice broke through your thoughts.

You knew she meant well, but the statement still made your cheeks heat up. Because did he really care?

“Don’t. You’re making me all flustered” deciding you’ve had enough of the awkwardness you got up to fix a tea.

“Well, I’m only speaking the truth here” turning back to the table, you saw Wheeler shrug “The physics boy took his fancy upon you, and that’s no funny business” she grinned at your perplexed expression.

Briefly, you glanced at Ives, who seemed to have given up on fighting with you and instead was listening in to the conversation with a neutral facial expression. The kettle boiling was your cue to respond:

“Great” semi-aggressively, you threw the tea bag into the mug poured the water “Did he though?” you asked, not even looking at them or expecting an answer.

“Yep,” Wheeler stood up and gave you a quick reassuring shoulder squeeze.

“I’ve never seen him like this before” Ives added once you turned to face him again.

That tea could not brew any longer…

“Not even with…” you hesitated before adding quietly, “Alex?”

“Not quite,” the man gave you an enigmatic smile, only increasing your frustration “You’ve convinced me though. You’re coming with us. Just please, for the sake of my sanity, be careful out there” you resisted the urge to jump up in relief “Because I’d rather not deal with an angry Neil. He’s a pain in the ass enough” Ives added darkly before getting up and joining you by the kitchen counter.

Smiling, you finished the tea.

“Thanks. I’ll do my best” playfully, you nudged his shoulder with yours “You can always blame me though” picking up the mug, you turned towards the corridor.

“As though he’d care” Ives muttered at your back.

The sudden surge of confidence was surprising yet also inspiring:

“I’d make him care. There are some things even he can’t say no to”

The last thing you heard upon closing the door to the bedroom was Ives choking on water.

*** The Tallinn mission for you began with an early morning phone call from Neil. You got as far as getting out of bed after having been staring at the ceiling anxiously for the past three hours when the phone rang.

“Morning,” you muttered, stifling a yawn.

Espresso was certainly needed. Maybe two, before you would have to head out.

“Hey,” the soft tone felt like a mild punch “I’m glad you’re up already” Neil’s sleepy voice made you wish you could wake up together again.

There was always that slightly husky tinge to it, the way he lazily pronounced some words just because it was early still. So different from the enthusiastic overenunciation when he was preaching another messed up plan of his. Or the cheeky inflections he tended to use with you during banter. It was terrifyingly easy to get to know him that well because of how open he was with you.

“I couldn’t sleep. But it’s okay I’ll manage” you admitted, distracting yourself from the sudden thoughts “I didn’t tell you last night, but I got another text from TP… he wants me to join the squad today”

From the moment you have shut the bedroom door the previous night, you have debated calling Neil about it. But then he initiated another rather amusing texting exchange focusing on his fashion choices, and you felt bad disrupting the peace. It could wait. Not anymore. You held your breath until Neil responded with a simple question:

“Why?” he was careful, and you could not blame him for it.

You perched on the windowsill and looked out at the quiet cityscape. The streets were strangely empty for a weekday morning. Sighing, you answered in the best way possible:

“I don’t know, but Ives said yes after some coaxing, so I might see you out there” smiling despite yourself, you waited for his response.

Since recently you had to rely on phone calls, it became increasingly easy to determine his mood based on the tone of the reply. Or on the various nonverbal noises he sometimes made. Now there was a quiet hum proceeding the sentence. A surprise, mild confusion, and worry. Brilliant.

“As much as I’m happy we might meet… and that you can see me in that sexy car,” you rolled your eyes awaiting the point “Please, be careful. I need you safe”

It was not disappointing. You knew he did not intend it that way, and yet the anxiety fuelled brain was onto it instantly. I need you… safe. Unable to stop the comment, you muttered:

“Just safe, then”

“What?” any hope that he might have missed it dissolved with that single question.

Could he for once not listen to what you say? You know, like men tended to do. But then Neil was by no means an ordinary man.

“Nothing. Don’t mind me” the attempt at saving your dignity failed too.

“I thought it goes without saying that I do need you. And that I want you”

Oh god. At once, you wanted to smash your head into the wall and to kiss the bastard for being the way he was. Adding to that sentence, the mental image of his sheepish smile was enough to make your heart speed up. When the silence stretched, becoming awkward, you whispered a reply.

“It’s good to hear it sometimes” the coldness of the window glass cooled off your blazed cheeks, “Especially when I don’t actually believe it” he knew that by now, undoubtedly.

Here the nonverbal cue was a half-choked sigh. Annoyance. Frustration.

“You should. I don’t go around telling everyone that” Neil’s confident voice was trying to pull you back “And I certainly don’t have moments as we do with anyone else” at the implication, you felt flustered again.

Because there did not an hour go by without you thinking about what happened. The pull between you was startling at times. The absolute desire you felt. The way Neil knew exactly how to make you remember every second of every moment. With the memories flooding your brain, you could only utter a single question:

“Why me?”

It was curiosity. Because apart from that evening months ago when you first tried to make sense of your budding relationship, he never said why he cared about you. And you would never dare ask. But now, with everything that happened, it was worth trying. And Neil was willing to deliver:

“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because you’re the bravest, kindest, most beautiful person I know” you could only keep on listening with your mouth agape “You fascinate me, and I want to discover all that you’re willing to give me” he finished in a reverent whisper.

That was not what you expected to hear. Not now. Not ever. Speechless, you wondered whether maybe this time it was not a mistake to give your heart away. It was too late. He had everything but your body; that was just a matter of time.

“Neil, I…” this was all you could manage, afraid you would give away another confession.

“Well, you’ve asked,” he chuckled lightly and then asked, “Are you okay?” you could picture that crease between furrowed eyebrows.

“I suppose-” a loud knock on your door interrupted the sentence; it was time, “I think I should probably join them for the final briefing…” hesitantly, you jumped off the sill.

Only two of you could be interrupted during such an important conversation.

“Go, I won’t keep you. Believe me, though, when I say that I want nothing but to be with you. In every way possible” your breath hitched at the connotation behind the sentiment.

Jesus, this man…

“That’s rather mutual,” like a secret you passed it to him on a sigh “But only when you’re not an ass” that was a much-needed distraction for you both.

There was work to be done, after all. You could hear the commotion in the apartment rise in volume and strength.

“I’ll do my best then. Good luck, darling” you grinned at the nickname he was determined to use.

Darling, you could do with. It was better than the ‘love’ that always made you feel like you were just another one among many.

“Don’t do anything stupid I still owe you a few slaps… and a payback” you added the necessary suggestive tone to the last word.

The rest was up to him to figure out. Which he did, if the pleased laughed was anything to go by.

“I’m very much looking forward to all of those” you missed that smirk.

“You should. Bye, my idiot,” you debated saving his number as that in your phone.

Maybe it was the way forwards.

“My love,” laughing, you ended the call when he uttered the words just for the sake of it.

But then that was Neil’s essence – doing things just because. Or to get a reaction from you. And you would not have it any other way.

*** Only when sitting in that bloody SUV, you learned the true meaning of waiting. And how much you hated to do that. There was nothing to do apart from sweating in the protective gear and avoiding the awkward small talk others were susceptible to. The squad has cramped into two non-descript vehicles, and you being the so-called precious cargo, ended up in the same car with Ives who have sworn to protect you. Only, for the first half-hour, there was nothing to protect you from. Apart from anxiety, boredom, and frustration.

Your role was rather simple – follow Neil’s signal on the map to know where you might be needed should he call for backup. As much as you did enjoy the possibility of tracking his movements somehow, you did not appreciate the cheeky smile Ives had on his face when he gave you the job. Or the comment combined with it: “Well, he’s your boyfriend, it’s only fair you keep him on the metaphorical leash here”. That is how the small blinking dot on the map of Tallinn became your sole focus for the past hour. Just before everything kicked off, Neil radioed you with a simple message: The mission is about to start. Wait for further instructions.

Ever since your morning phone call and the revelations that came out, you only exchanged a few texts concerning the practicalities of the action. Despite the nerves, you did hope to see him in near future. Even if just to check whether what he said was true. Looking for a distraction from the sudden thoughts, you glanced at the screen again. They were near, on the main junction of the highway, heading towards the port. Your SUVs were parked underneath a small overpass, five minutes away in the current traffic conditions. Which proved to be convenient, as it turned out.

“Is he still following the set route?” Ives’s question brought you to the present moment.

“Yeah, they’re-” you glanced to double-check the exact location when you realised that something has changed.

The dot was not moving. It was still blinking, but clearly, they have stopped at a crossing. Traffic lights? Your brain somehow knew that it could not be that simple. You opened your mouth to voice the thoughts when the comm came alive on the dashboard with static crackling:

“We need back up here. ASAP”

“Roger that” Ives tossed you the radio “Ask him about the details”

Without waiting for more information, Michael fired up the SUV engine as Ives contacted the second vehicle.

“Neil” you spoke into the receiver “What happened?” you flinched at the louder noise from the radio.

Gunshots?

“We’ve been ambushed by Sator’s people. TP’s status unknown”

Bloody brilliant. Swallowing down the rising worries, you asked another question:

“How many people?” another gunshot pierced the silence.

“Not sure. They’ve gotten clean up orders” a strained breath from Neil told you how bad the situation was.

“Okay. We’ll be there soon” you glanced at the road ahead.

Still, 2 mins to go. Anxiety was threatening to overpower you at any moment. But now was not the time.

“Hurry up” Neil closed the channel with a final dose of static.

Fuck… Forcing a deeper breath, you could only watch as you got closer to him. The sheer thought of something happening to Neil was unimaginable. That was enough to trigger panic. So you pushed the idea to the back of your head, focusing on the distance disappearing.

There was no mistaking the fact that you have been led to the right place. Crashed cars, asphalt littered with glass shards and broken parts, gunshots piercing the air. The destination looked like a car pile-up from an action sequence. Frantically looking through the windows, you tried to spot that blonde head. To no avail. The SUV came to a sharp halt as the squad members began jumping out of the vehicle. Once everyone else disembarked, you moved to follow them, only to be stopped by Ives:

“You’re staying here. I can’t have you out in the shoot-out” his blue gaze was stern, hand blocking exit out of the car.

The idea that you were so close to Neil and could not see him was enough to make you angry.

“I can handle myself. And he’s-” you spit out the words in the face of the squad leader while trying to push him away.

“I said no. The conversation’s over” with a final glare, he stepped away and scanned the horizon for immediate danger “If someone approaches the car, you know what to do,” he threw as a parting remark and disarmed the rifle.

Fucking hell! Groaning in frustration, you kicked one of the seats. He was so close. You glanced at the device in your hand. He could not be further than behind the first line of crashed cars. Biting on your lip harshly, you quickly went over the options. One was to obey Ives and stay inside the bloody SUV like a well-behaved child everyone apparently took you for. No one seemed to care about the vehicles you parked on the outskirts of the action. Flinching at the further salve from the heavy artillery, you knew that the squad had joined the fray. You could be safe here… but… Taking a deep breath you knew there was no possibility you could stay away from the action. Not when Neil was there, potentially in danger. It was not possible to give up on someone that important just because you were told to. Christ…

Glancing through the windows again, you could see Sator’s people attempting to clear the place. The squad evidently attempted to push at them from one side, hoping to get a clean sweep that way. Then, just as you were about to go back to the internal crisis overwhelming your thoughts, you did a double-take. Surely not? You would recognize that hair colour everywhere. There he was attempting what was looking like a skirting manoeuvre to circle the mercenaries with the Cavalry on the opposite side. Only that left him completely uncovered, in the direct line of fire. Bloody idiot. The instinct to jump out and run to him kicked in. The only thing holding you back was the fact that you would disobey the orders. And leave the car unguarded. All the hesitation disappeared once the comm in the car crackled with static:

“Emergency assistance needed. ASAP” the tension in his voice made your pulse quicken.

The lack of response from the team made all the blood drain from your face. You could see him trying to hide behind some overturned car. The henchmen were near enough to get him with no problem.

That thought was all the convincing you needed. Swearing, you quickly pocketed the tracking device, adjusted your protective gear, and grabbed the gun. You have been offered a rifle (just in case), but you preferred the classic. At least it was something right?

In two leaps, you have covered the distance. With the team trying to get through the attack line on the other side, it was just you and Neil. You shot a round in the direction of the approaching merc, missing the target yet earning attention from the main object of your focus. His eyes met yours across the plane. You could see shock, worry, and something else there. Suddenly a salve whizzed past you. The bullets cutting through the air all around, shooting past your head and piercing the car behind. A strangled yell from Neil was a surprising reaction, yet you did not blink twice. He was all you could see. With a final surge through the field, you reached him. The pure fury and anguish in his eyes took you aback. Have you missed something? But there was no time to ask questions.

“Go, I’ll cover you” you whispered, looking at the approaching group of mercs.

Neil took an additional moment to stare at you as though he could not quite believe you were there. But then he jumped up, aiming the gun at the man closest to you. The same that undoubtedly attempted to take you out seconds prior. When the mercenary fell with a bullet in the head, you stared in shock. There was no time to recover as Neil pushed through, barely looking behind at you. It was surprisingly easy to tune out the emotions, taking out anyone who could threaten him or halt your advances. You worked well together, movements in sync enough to stun the opponents on a few occasions. For a second, you wondered whether it was only bound to get better the closer you get to each other. That was certainly an interesting idea… In no time you have met with the line of the squad, watching on as Ives dealt with the last man standing. You have won. The adrenaline started to leave your body, resulting in tremors and shaking hands. Clutching the gun to prevent it from cluttering to the ground, you met the exasperated gaze of the squad leader. Your only response was a shrug. You did not regret the decision, seeing as you have evidently helped them in the field.

“Neil? Do you know where TP is?” Ives took his attention off you and looked at the blonde man.

You followed his gaze, for the first time actually looking at Neil since you spotted him across the plane. At the moment, you were struck by what a sight he was. Navy shirt with sleeves rolled up to expose the forearms covered with veins. The same tie he had on during your walk. Your pulse quickened. The vest drawing attention to the ratio between his broad shoulders and narrow hips, accentuated with a belt. Brown loose-cut trousers and scrapped leather shoes adding a classy touch. You were aware that you were staring yet unable to look away. Not knowing whether to blame it on the adrenaline rush, you wanted nothing but to touch him. Take off those driving gloves that piqued your interest at the first sight. Or have them be wrapped around your throat with just enough pressure. Get rid of the tie again. And…

“Think Sator took him” Neil’s response broke through your increasingly hazy thoughts.

Shaking off the images that started appearing, you looked up at his face again. The ruffled hair and flushed cheeks were not helpful. Fuck’s sake. It had to be stress. Because what else?

“Their place in the port?” Ives asked, his tone nothing but strict business.

“That’s my bet” Neil shrugged, looking around with something dark in his eyes.

He was tense, like a feral animal that could lash out any moment. You were not wrong. The cold blue gaze settled on you almost remorsefully, but before you could open your mouth, he snapped:

“What the fuck were you thinking?” the hostile edge to his voice was new.

You flinched as though you have been hit. The lack of physical impact did not matter. Your heart stammered. He need not explain what it was about. Please no.

“You needed a cover. They weren’t responding, so I did the obvious” you shrugged, feeling the anger grow “And I could ask you the same question” spitting the sentence into his face, you took a step closer.

You have never seen him that furious. Not even in Oslo after your little fuck-up. The sight was both terrifying and alluring. The dark blue eyes blazed with fury. Jaw clenched. Slight pink tint on the cheeks. And yet, still, you had no idea why he reacted like this.

“I knew what I was doing. That’s the difference” the coldness of his voice threw you off.

So it was real. He did mean it. You tried to save him, and here he was, pissed off at you. Making you almost regret it. Almost, because the love was there too. Not giving away no matter what.

“That’s bullshit” it felt good to admit, “You were reckless, as always, and expecting me to-” your rant got interrupted by a strangled yell.

Nothing prepared you for the revelation then. Or the sudden anguish on his face.

“You were almost shot!” Neil’s eyes glistened as though he was close to tears.

Suddenly it made sense. The rain of bullets you were hit with just before getting to him. The way he reacted. But you made it. Nothing happened. So why was he acting like that?

“Almost” ignoring the growing pain in your chest, you pointed out the obvious.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ives and the rest of the squad observing you. You would rather not have an audience, but then Neil seemed determined to drive his point forward. His face scrunched into a pained scowl.

“Fucking hell,” turning away from your gaze, his back tensed even more “You can’t do shit like that just because I’m involved” the defensive tone took you aback.

What? It was getting worse. You could feel the confidence leaving your body as you struggled for a response. You would never think Neil would do something like that. Not after everything you have told him. Figuring out the only way you that could work, you took your own line of attack.

“Who says I did it only because it was you?” the implication hurt because it was partially correct “Quite an ego you’ve got there” his back was still turned to you.

That angered you even more. Crossing the distance, you placed your hand on his shoulder, making him turn to you. He flinched upon the contact as though your touch burned him. Oh my god. The tears welled up in your eyes. It could not be real. But the emotionless look in the eyes you thought you knew was very much real. It was as though before you realised Neil has built up a wall, guarding himself against you. And there was nothing you could do to get through. You got shocked by the cruel smirk that split his face.

“I can see the way you look at me. As though you wanted to-” you interrupted him sharply.

“Neil”

It was too much. Perhaps because it was true. But he was not done. Persistent to keep going.

“Admit it. It’s because you said some things, and now you can’t bear the thought of losing the object of your affection” the careless tone and the words pierced your heart with gut-wrenching pain “Well, you see, sometimes feelings need to be put aside” he added, almost casually.

Fuck. You gasped, unable to keep a straight face. He might as well see what he has done. Some things. So this is how much your confession meant to him. Good to know. You wanted to slap him, but you felt like that could turn back on you. So instead, you made sure to straighten your back, putting on the familiar mask of neutrality. You have done this before. Probably should have expected it. Only why did it hurt ten times more?

“Can we leave the bloody lovers quarrel till later?” Ives’s voice pierced through the tension.

But you were not ready. Raising your hand in a stopping motion, you turned back to Neil. His face was terrifyingly indifferent. Maybe it was all an act. Or maybe it was just that easy for him to get over whatever you thought you had. A lie. Gathering the smithereens of confidence, you forced a levelled tone:

“Says you. As though you’re acting out of reason right now” you gave him your best impression of the sneer visible on his face.

You could crumble at any moment now. Only the pounding in your ears and the wounded pride were keeping you upwards. But Neil wanted to destroy everything.

“More than you” he glanced at the team waiting impatiently “I really thought you’d know better than this” the punchline was more than you could take.

No. Please no. Your knees buckled, and you swayed. But then you caught the flash of concern in his eyes. Just for a split of a second. So it was not all cold and hatred? You heard Ives huff out a string of curses. There was no time for this. Whatever it even was. Honesty it was then.

“Better than to give away my heart to someone like you? Evidently not” you met his eyes for the final time before walking away in the direction of the SUVs.

The shock you saw in Neil’s face was enough to fuel the survival instincts. With the heart broken or not, the mission was still on. And the rest was silence.

[babybakuu]

Hey I have to request for Bakugou x reader prompt: 11 & 18 pls

request from this prompt list!

11. Wow, you look..amazing. & 18. That was kind of hot. 

A/N: im so sorry these are taking so long to come out lmaooo i have writers block and im really hating editing rn so this will be half way unedited,, thank u for requesting and waiting babie,, also its under a read more bc i can’t believe i wrote mfing 3k words for this 

“Wow,” Katsuki says almost breathlessly, “you look..amazing.” 

Your eyes narrow in on the blonde who’s currently standing in your doorway. You can’t tell if he’s lying or simply just pulling your leg. Did he always have to be so sarcastic? “Haha, very funny Katsuki.” You’re rolling your eyes with a pink tint on your cheeks and your hands start to fidget with the bottom of your dress. “Can we just get this over with?” 

“I’m being serious you know. You look good.” He says as he holds out an arm for you to grab and you do. But you were waiting for it- the punchline, the teasing- “I didn’t know a gorilla could dress up so nice.” 

There it was.

“Shut the hell up.” You deliver a solid punch to his arm as he leads you to his car but he doesn’t even flinch. “Remember I’m doing you a favor, if you’re not nice to me maybe I’ll slip up and tell your parents during dinner that we’re not really dating.” 

He pauses and glances in your direction. “You wouldn’t.”

You shrug. “Maybe I would. How long has this been going on for Katsuki? 6 months? 8? How disappointed would they be to hear-”

“Alright, just shut up.” He huffs, holding the car door open. You’re cocking an eyebrow at him, arms folded against your chest, and the expression has him hesitating. “I mean uh, please..shut up?” 

A scoff slips past your lips and you find yourself rolling your eyes. “Better.” You sigh, while climbing in. “Not the best but better.” The door closes with a thump next to you and you’re scanning his car. It’s spotless like usual, the leather seats didn’t have a speck of dust on them, and it smells just like burnt caramel- a scent that was growing on you a little too much. 

“Brief me.” You say as he climbs in. “What have we done since we last saw your parents?” 

“You tell me.” 

“How come I have to think of everything in this fake relationship?” A prominent pout is on your face and for a second, you swore you saw him staring at your lips. Was your choice of lipstick too much? Not good enough? You’re suddenly self conscious but he turns away, buckles his seat belt, and starts driving.

“Well, if we were really dating- what would you like to do?” He catches a glance from the corner of his eyes and you’re sitting there, arms folded against your chest and that pout on your lips fades. 

“If we were really dating huh.” You absentmindedly repeat. The sentence settles in your mind and the butterflies in your stomach start fluttering. 

If you two were really dating..how nice would that be? You wouldn’t see him every once in a blue moon when he asked you to come to dinner with his parents. You’d probably get to eat more of his cooking. And maybe, just maybe- he would hold your hand just because he wanted to, not for show. 

“Hello? Earth to planet dumbass?” He questions, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

“Uh..camping..” You reply. “I’d really like to go camping.” 

“Camping..huh. I didn’t expect that from you.” 

“Well, I’d want to do something you enjoy and I’ve never been so..” 

“Maybe we should go.” He pauses, throwing another glance in your direction. “Just you and me, it’ll be fun.” A small smile spreads across your face and your stomach is doing backflips at the thought. Just you and him? How many days would you spend together completely alone? “Can’t wait to see you eat shit while hiking.” 

“Fuck you asshole. I take it back, I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” He does this ugly laugh snort thing and you can’t help but smile as your heart flutters a bit for the millionth time in the past 10 minutes. Maybe you should go see a doctor for that. 

“Seriously- clear your schedule for next week, I’ll take you for your birthday.” And suddenly, you find yourself holding a hand against your heart and you’re warm, so so warm. 

“You..remembered?” 

“Why would I not remember my girl’s birthday?” He asks as if it’s the dumbest question ever.  

My girl. 

Your head is spinning and that smile tugging at the corner of your lips won’t go away no matter how hard you’re trying to make it disappear.

“What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?” 

Oh.

Right. 

This wasn’t real. And like magic the smile on your lips is gone. 

“Yeah..haha.” You’re forcing a laugh but the disappointment on your face is evident. Your gritting your teeth and mentally cursing at the fact you are so so so head over heels in love with him. Curse him for being so handsome, for being so tall, for being so charming but at the same time annoyingly sarcastic, for being-

“Are you okay?” Katsuki asks breaking you out of your thoughts. He gives you this look. His eyebrows are furrowed, his head is tilted, and there’s genuine concern in his eyes. “We’ve been parked for ten minutes and you haven’t said a word.” 

“Sorry, I was uh, thinking about something.” He’s staring at you with those red eyes that make you squirm in your seat with an intensity that rivaled the sun itself. Those eyes could pierce through metal just with a glance and he was looking at you with them? You’d probably die if you made direct eye contact. 

“You know you can talk to me right?” 

And when those words slip out of his mouth, you have an urge to confess right there and then. You want to tell him you’ve been in love with him since you’ve started this whole charade. But you don’t. Instead, you nod your head at his comment and reassure him you’re fine. He sits there, staring at you with those piercing red eyes and lets out a sigh. You know he doesn’t fall for it, he knows something’s not right, but he gets out of the car anyways.

“Watch your step.” He says. His hand is outstretched, inviting, big and warm. You take it and when your hand intertwines with his, you feel better. 

“Thanks.” You mutter while attempting to memorize the feeling of his skin pressed against yours. What if this just ended tomorrow? What if he finds someone else that he genuinely likes? His fingers are laced perfectly between yours as if they were built, molded, and created just for you. But you don’t notice your head getting a little too close to the car frame because you’re so memorized by the warmth radiating from him and-

clunk. 

“Ouch.” You wince. 

“I guess I should’ve warned you to watch your head.” He laughs. 

“Shut up.” Your hand is rubbing your sore head and there’s this adorable expression on your face but Katsuki would never tell you that, not in a million years. Instead, he places a large hand head on your head, he pulls you in close, and kisses the sore spot on your head. It doesn’t hurt so much after that. 

“Aren’t you two just the cutest?” His mom’s voice rings from behind you two. 

Greetings are exchanged alongside a few hugs and kisses and you’re laughing while watching the poor boy next to you get smothered in his mother’s lipstick. He swears he’ll get you back later and mutters something under his breath about “smothering you in kisses to see how you like it” but you ignore his empty threats and wipe off the prominent red on his face with your thumb. “My handsome baby.” You coo, imitating his mother, and pinching his cheek. He tells you to knock it off as he swats away your hand and that he “hates being treated like a 5 year old” but that smile on his face tells you otherwise. So you poke a little more fun, tease a little more, and he’s on the verge of leaning down and peppering your face in kisses but his father clears his throat when his hands are roughly cupping your face, and he remembers- he’s in public, in front of his parents, about to kiss the shit out of your face. 

He lets it slide this time. 

Everyone’s sitting at a table now. You two are poliety taking sips of your water and his mother is going on about their jobs, their daily lives, and maybe even possibly having another kid. Katsuki practically chokes as soon as he hears this comment and you’re attempting to hold in a laugh and at the same time juggle the liquid in your mouth while watching the blonde boy attempt to hide his coughs with a red face. 

“Just kidding.” His mother says while folding her hands and placing her elbows on the table. For a minute, she’s sitting there with her head resting on her folded hands watching you attempt to gulp down the water but choking at the same time. She’s watching Katsuki point a finger at you and choking a second time on his spit. So now, you’re both looking at each other having a laughing and coughing fit, all the while struggling to just breathe. Ah, just how cute could you two be? But when she opens her mouth to say something, her husband cuts her off taking the words right out of her mouth. “You two really love each other, don’t you?” 

And suddenly you two are caught like a deer in headlights. Katsuki’s cheeks are burning red and yours are a matching shade. “No need to be embarrassed!” Masaru exclaims. “It’s just that- you two look at each other with..uh..” 

“So much love.” Mitsuki interjects. 

“W-what?” Katsuki stutters. 

“It’s the same way your father looks at me.” She says. “Don’t be embarrassed, tell your girlfriend how much you love her. I mean, you must’ve said I love you to each other already. It’s been about 7 months, right Masaru?” Katsuki’s reaching for his glass, pretending to be incredibly thirsty in hopes someone changes the subject. 

“He’s said I love you already, hasn’t he (Y/N)?” 

“Oh- are we ready to order?” You’re attempting to change the subject, you really are but Bakugous are relentless. You would know. 

“Has he not?” Mitsuki gasps. 

“I- uh-” 

“Don’t meddle so much!” Masaru interjects. And for a moment you thank the lord for making Masaru Bakugou. 

“We’re ready to order!” Katsuki yells for the waiter halfway across the restaurant, turning multiple heads in your direction and earning several glares. 

“Smooth. Real smooth.” You whisper low enough for him to hear. You’re stifling a laugh as you land a playful smack on his thigh.

“Shut it.” He’s biting back a smile and before you could pull your hand away, he takes it in his, giving it a little squeeze. 

Ah.

Dinner was always fun with the Bakugou’s. 

Before you know it, the night is over. You’re hugging his mother goodbye and she invites you to a family gathering in two weeks, which you politely accept. His father on the other hand is in the corner giving him what seems to be a heart to heart talk but the way the blonde keeps on glancing in your direction every so often has you curious. What were they talking about? 

“You know he loves you right? That boy won’t shut up about you.” Mitsuki laughs. A blush forms on your cheeks. “And you know how hard it is to get him to talk about anything.” 

You’re simply nodding your head as she continues to talk about anything and everything and at the same time you’re absentmindedly rubbing your arms. Why was it so cold today? “I think it’s time to go.” Katsuki appears behind you, dropping his big coat on your shoulders. Thank lord he was practically a human heater thanks to his quirk. You’re burying your face into his jacket. 

Was your face cold? Yes. 

But did you also want to engulf yourself into his scent before the night was over? Yes.

 “Come on, let’s go before you freeze to death.” You both say your goodbyes a second time and make way to his car. “Don’t hit your head.” He muses holding the door open. You shoot him a glare but he’s chuckling at the sight. “Cute.” He snorts. You’re sitting the car now, his jacket around your frame, and you look up at him- your mouth ready to shoot back a sarcastic remark but you freeze. His eyes are soft, he’s wearing this small smile that could probably melt the sun itself, and at that moment, he just looks so..content. Your heart is swelling at the sight. 

“What are you looking at idiot?” He snaps but that smile on his face grows wider and you feel your heart skip a beat. You gulp. Why did he just have to look so handsome- so perfect? It was almost as if he was asking you to confess-  to let him know how much he meant to you, how much you liked him. 

“You’re a little ugly looking.” You reply. He does that ugly snort laugh again and he rolls his eyes while slamming the door shut. 

“Yeah fucking right.” You hear him scoff through the car door. “Me? Ugly?” He’s inside now, taking his seat and placing his hands on the steering wheel. “You just have really bad taste in men.” 

“Yes, exactly why I’m dating you at the moment.” 

For a minute he’s taken back at the fact someone could match his energy- his sarcasticness but a smile is on his lips nevertheless. “I am not fucking ugly.” He says, he’s half joking half serious and you can tell he’s actually concerned..? But the Great Katsuki affected by your comment? Wow, dinner and a show. “Right..?” 

“Mhmm, yeah sure. You’re the handsomest man out there.” 

“You just have shitty taste in men.” He repeats. “I was voted the sexiest hero of the year- of the decade! Any woman would be happy to have me.” 

“Okay Katsuki, whatever you say.” You’re giggling at how hard he’s taking this, it was almost as if his pride was being ripped to shreds by one small comment. 

“And I was voted the best dancer, singer, kisser-” 

“Kisser? How the hell did they come to that conclusion?” 

“Word of mouth.” 

“You? Kissing a girl? I’m your first girlfriend and our relationship is fake.” 

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t kissed someone before.” His tone is cocky, his chest is puffing out a little, and what was with that annoying ass smirk on his face? 

“Yeah right.” You laugh. “Come on, just take me home so I can watch my show and eat ice cream.” 

“You don’t believe me?” His raising an eyebrow and his eyes had a little glint in them. What was that? Cockiness? Pride? You didn’t know but whatever it was- it was making you nervous. 

“I don’t know if I would believe a teen magazine.” Your eyes are rolling and you’re getting semi annoyed with how adamant he was being. Did he really have to insist he was the best at everything? How the hell did you even measure how good of a kisser someone was? 

“Kiss me then.” He says, your heart skips a beat and your cheeks instantly flush. 

“W-what?” 

“I said kiss me you idiot. I’ll show you I’m the best fucking kisser in all of Japan.” You’re laughing, you’re laughing so hard to the point tears are brimming in the corner of your eyes but when you look over and his face is as serious as can be, you gulp. “I think I’ll just take your word for it Katsuki.” 

“What? You scared or something?” Damn that blonde always knew how to push your buttons. 

“Me? Scared of what? Kissing? Pfft.” 

“Seems like you’re scared.” He says relaxing back into his seat and then his eyes grow wide and realization hits him. “Could this be..your first kiss?” 

“WHAT NO- I mean- I’ve kissed plenty of boys before.” 

“Then what’s the problem with kissing me?” 

“You really want to do this?”

“I’m just trying to prove a point.” He shrugs. 

You’re sitting there, cheeks flushed as you chew on your bottom lip and then you look up at him. His arm is now resting on the side of your seat and he’s dangerously close. Why was he ten times more handsome up close in a dark parking lot? Did the waiter spike your drink? Why were you suddenly dizzy and unable to breathe properly?

“Let’s get it over with then you idiot.” You sigh. You have to put up this fake act. You had to beat that cocky blonde at his own game. And you had to show him that he wasn’t the best at everything.

So he leans in and you do too. The smell of burnt caramel is stronger than ever and you swear it was intoxicating. Also, where did he get a mint from? Was he planning on doing this all along? Pressuring you into some kind of kissing competition because he knew you wouldn’t refuse? But that meant he would probably like you too. That couldn’t be..right? 

But when his lips are on yours and your mouths are dancing together, there’s one thought that pops into your head.

Fuck. He was good.

One hand is under your chin, tilting your head up and the other is pulling you in deeper- closer, and you’re desperately trying not to melt into his hands. If he wasn’t careful, you’d probably let him know how head over heels in love you were. 

He pulls away, his lips now pink and swollen, and he cocks an eyebrow. His face just screams it-was-great-wasn’t-it-? and you’re sitting there unable to even think straight. 

“So?” He asks, folding his arms against his chest. He knows he won the argument and he knows he proved his point, so did he still need to ask? Oh. Because he’s Bakugou Katsuki.

“That..was kind of hot.” You admit. He’s laughing as your cheeks flush a bright red but you can’t get the feeling of his lips on yours out of your mind.

“So now that we’ve officially kissed, we should officially date as well.” He’s throwing you a glance as he buckles in his seatbelt but you’re too dazed to hear what he said. 

“Hmm?” You question, your finger is on your bottom lip and your mind is attempting to wrap around the fact that you and the boy you’ve had a crush on for the past 7 months just kissed you. 

“I said,” He leans over a second time, this time placing a small peck on your lips, “be my girl.” 

[elithehill]

Syria Girl

It was Friday, a school day, and once again I was stuck in court.

I wore ripped jeans, a baggy hoodie and a slightly muddy pair of converse sneakers. It was meant to be a joke – they were the same clothes I’d worn breaking into the bottle store.

The stiff-looking lawyer they’d assigned me didn’t seem to get the punchline though.

‘This is your third time meeting Streisand,’ he whispered to me as he ruffled through his case notes, ‘You know what she’s like.’

I ignored the twat and looked around the small courtroom. Two eyes glared back at me. The bottle store owner was trying to be a tough guy. I snorted and glared back until his stare shifted away. I glanced at the police prosecutor, some old dude with a big moustache, and then up front where the court-aide was getting to her feet.

‘All rise for Judge Streisand.’

I heard heels clicking on the oak floorboards. We stood. The lawyer was sighing. My feet started to heat up. I moved my weight from one foot, and back to the other.

I’m done for.

The clicking heels grew louder and more prominent, and then bursting through the double doors was Judge Margaret Streisand. She had a hawk nose, hawk eyes, and a hawk’s brain.

‘Scared?’ my lawyer whispered.

I shrugged. ‘She just acts like she’s disappointed in me you know? No one else does that.’

Judge Streisand didn’t look at me as she strolled past. Instead, she said hello to the police prosecutor, checked in with her court staff, then pulled out a stack of paperwork from behind her desk. I wanted to run away. I could feel my muscles tensing up.

I won’t make it through the door, I thought, But so what? I shouldn’t have come in the first place.

The judge finished consulting with whoever needed consulting, gave her paperwork a slight rustle, then declared court open. I shut my eyes.

‘Mr Danny Frey.’ She boomed from the front of the room, ‘I thought we’d made a deal.’

I opened my eyes. Everyone was staring at me, ‘Sorry miss.’

‘Sorry? Sorry works the first two times you come to court. As they say in the U.S – third strike and you’re out.’

I stared at the picture of the Queen, and the Union Jack that sat behind her desk; trying to avoid those eyes.

‘Anyway….’ She shook her head, ‘Let’s hear what the police have to say.’

As per usual, the police prosecutor mumbled his way through what had happened. There was security footage of a group throwing bricks through the bottle store windows before helping themselves to what was inside.

One of the youths was wearing the same jersey I’d been found in. Three bottles of scotch had also been found on me (there’d been a fourth but I disposed of the evidence at a party the night before). The total cost of the theft ran to around £2000 – not a big deal, but the fact that I’m not rich and this was my third time sort of made it a big deal.

When the prosecutor had finished, the bottle store owner spoke. Then my lawyer spoke. Then the police prosecutor said something which my lawyer refuted and they all descended into a technical-term festival.

I was struggling to stand still. I needed to run or have a fight or jump off a pier or something. My eyes flicked about; I noticed a rather large woman walking through the court doors. She wore a white hat with a red cross on it and when she caught Streisand’s eye the judge smiled which was something I’d never seen before.

The red cross lady squeezed into one of the aisles and stared at me. She looked like she wanted to smile at me or something so I turned away and pretended to watch my future being decided. When I looked back she was still watching me.

Back in the realm of court decisions, things were happening too fast for me to keep up. The judge finished with the police, my lawyer, and the liquor store owner, and concentrated her full attention on me. I gulped again, wondering if it was still too late to run.

‘Mr Frey,’ she said, ‘The police and your lawyer have mentioned that there were other youths on the scene with you.’

I stared ahead, not looking at her.

‘Mr Frey,’ she repeated, ‘You could cut the time of your sentence if you were to add a few names to our list.’

I stood silent, she had to ask me again, ‘Well?’

‘I don’t rat.’

‘Even for a reduced sentence?’

‘Even for a reduced sentence your honour.’

She gave a sharp nod.

‘How old are you Danny?’

‘I’m seventeen your honour.’

‘Well right now you’re not making many smart moves. This is your third offence and what’s stopping you from committing another?’

She paused, waiting for me to speak, I just crossed my arms and stared towards the ceiling. When I didn’t answer she looked across at my lawyer, ‘At the moment your jail sentence is looking like six months in juvenile detention.’

I tried to keep a straight face, but inside I was kicking myself for not bursting into tears or something. A few of my mates had been to juvie and they all came out colder.

Streisand stared around the courtroom, ‘Six months of juvenile detention, there’s no telling what a young man will learn there… It could scare them off a life in crime, give them a deterrent. Or it can harden them. Push them over the edge.’

She paused like the narrator of a play… letting her sentence roll out to fill the courtroom.

‘But Mr Frey, I also have a second option on display today.’

Judge Streisand turned to the large woman in front, the one who’d been watching me.

‘Donna Appleby from the Red Cross has alerted me to a new youth program they’re running.’

The judge pulled out a sheet of paper and read from it, ‘The scheme takes young juvenile delinquents to places where they can do some good. In two weeks, Donna will be heading to Turkey to work in a refugee camp housing people affected by the Syrian civil war.’

I stared at this Donna woman; she was nodding along. Then her eyes flicked to me and she smiled. I pretended I hadn’t made eye contact by turning back to the judge.

‘In five months, you’d be finished Mr Frey, so this is shorter than your juvenile detention sentence, but still long enough to have an impact on your life.’

She peered over her glasses at me, ‘What do you think?’

My lawyer put his hand up like he wanted to say something, but I beat him to it – anything was better than juvie.

‘I’ll do it.’

What could have been a smile twitched on her lips, ‘Is our police prosecutor happy with that?’

The policeman consulted with a deputy before nodding.

‘Very well then,’ said Judge Streisand, ‘I hereby hand Mr Frey over to the Red Cross.’ She hardened her tone, ‘If you ever turn up here again Mr Frey, you’ll be serving everything in full. We want you to be able to contribute to society Mr Frey, but this is your last chance to come clean.’

I nodded, ‘Thanks, your honour.’

Then my lawyer and I were walking out of there, halfway down the aisle the Red Cross woman stepped out in front of me.

‘Nice to meet you Danny,’ the woman gave a big wide motherly sort of grin, ‘Our plane leaves from Heathrow the Monday after next, I’ll be in touch.’

‘Thanks,’ I grunted, and as my lawyer and I walked off I was thinking about the bullet I’d dodged. There were worse prison wardens than the Red Cross lady.

But one thing made me pause for a moment as my lawyer hailed a cab.

Where the hell is Turkey?

Next

[samthemarvelfan]

Goodbyes: Chapter Eight

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark

Warnings: ANGST, Bucky is a dick, mutual pining, self sabotage, slow burn, alcohol, flirting, swearing. I think that’s it!  Def not following a specific MCU canon or timeline.

A/N: I legit can’t believe the love from you all! Gosh my lil heart might burst! Please stick with me after this chapter and please don’t hate me! Patience is a virtue after all. Thank you for every comment, like, message and reblog. Love you endlessly. <3

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @heartofagamotto @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)  (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry! Tags are OPEN!)

Three fucking weeks.

At this point, you were almost positive you were losing your mind.

Everyone was still in Romania, and you hadn’t had any actual contact with the team. Sam occasionally gave you the smallest of updates, usual in the form of a message that said “we’re alive.”

Gotta love that detail.

Wanda had checked on you too, making sure you were eating, as you had a tendency to forget to when you were stressed.

What drove you mad more than anything was that you hadn’t heard from Bucky. Was it really all in your head? The two of you connecting finally, and then he just vanished without a word?

Sure, maybe you were being irrational and needy. He was working; risking his life for the greater good after all. That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.

“Miss Monroe, you’re receiving a call.” FRIDAY’s voice announced.

You jumped off the couch and ran to comm beacon in the middle of the table.

“Hello?” You ask, hopeful.

“Hey, Punchline! Miss me?” Sam’s humorous tone asked.

You couldn’t even speak, the only sound escaping your lips was an almost sob of relief.

You hear Steve chuckle in the background. “I’ll take that as a yes, meet us on the roof in 5?”

“You bet.” You reply quickly.

You pull your gray, half-zip hoodie over your head as you jog to the elevator. “Flight deck.” You announce as you enter.

The doors close and you hear and feel the rumble of the Quinjet docking. “Finally.” You whisper to yourself.

You get to the roof and see the bay doors opening as the ramp drops. Steve is the first one out, followed swiftly by Sam.

“You guys look the shit.” You jest, running at Steve with open arms.

He wraps you in the tightest hug, “Missed you too, Ella.” He laughs.

“How ‘bout me?” Sam asks. You turn to him with a smile, and he embraced you too.

“Is everyone alright? Did you...did you guys...is it done?” You couldn’t really formulate a thought, your mind still wondering how the hell they survived.

Steve nodded. “Every ounce of data we could extract, we did. That base wasn’t even close to inactive. In fact, it was the hub for HYDRA’s new order.”

Your mouth dropped, “What?”

Sam spoke, “Don’t worry, there’s a debriefing tomorrow, we’ll let you know everything we know.”

Your eyes glance behind Steve and Sam. You see Wanda and Vision exit the plane, relieved that they’re okay. You were chewing on your bottom lip, feeling the impatience take hold of you.

Where the hell is he? You thought.

“Hey Ella, listen—“ Sam said, but you tuned him out, hearing more footsteps on the ramp.

There he was, Bucky, safe and—what?

He was holding someone. A woman. Carrying her like a parent does their child after they’ve fallen asleep in the car.

She was stunning. Milky skin with gorgeous red locks. You knew who this was without a doubt, recalling her photo from the file you’d read months ago. Natasha, the Black Widow.

She was smiling. He was smiling. A real, genuine, happy look graced his face as he walked towards you all.

“Barnes, you can put me down now.” She laughed.

He shook his head, “Not a chance, Kitten. Can’t have you runnin’ off on me again can we?”

She pushed some hair out of his face, “I’m not going anywhere this time. I found what I was looking for, and I don’t intend on letting it go.” She smirked her perfect lips at him, causing him to blush.

Bucky places her gently on her feet before looking at you. His eyes looked panicked as he took in the expression on your face.

“You must be Ella! Nice to meet you, I’m Nat. Steve’s told me so much about you.” She smiled, pulling you in for a hug.

Why didn’t Bucky tell you about me? You think begrudgingly.

A smile graced your face nonetheless as you return the hug. “Its an honor, you’re a legend.” You say in an attempt to control your tone. It was true, too. Natasha Romanoff was infamous in your line of work.

“Don’t boost her ego, Kid.” Tony says walking by you.

You smiled politely, eager to escape to your room. “Well you guys must be exhausted, I’ll let you—“

“Hell no. I need a drink and I need one now.” Sam said as he walked towards the door leading back inside.

“You think you get to drink alone, Wilson? I don’t believe that’s how this relationship works.” Tony said as he completed his retinal scan by the keypad.

“We’re gonna have a ‘hey look at that, none of us died’ dinner tonight. Pizza, beer, booze, music. 8 o’clock in the lounge.” Tony said disappearing inside.

You turned around to see Bucky whispering in Natasha’s ear, both laughing like giddy fucking schoolgirls.

Are they...does he...is she... you’re brain tried to think, but it couldn’t seem to complete a thought.

You wanted to punch him in that smug face of his. He didn’t even have the balls to say goodbye to you when he left, and now that he’s back he has the audacity to not say two words to you?

“I’m always down for pizza, how ‘bout you Ella?” Steve asked, swinging an arm around your shoulder and leading you back inside.

Bucky eyed Steve with a curious look, but you couldn’t help smiling at your friend, “Is that even a question, Steve? Pizza is a main food group in my opinion, you know that.”

He and Nat were swiftly on you heels. “You sure about that Els? You look exhausted, have you been sleeping?” Bucky asks from behind you.

You stop suddenly and turn on your heel. Is he serious? The first thing he says to you is basically ‘you look like shit’ and ‘please don’t come to this party’.

“Now that you mention it, Sergeant, I haven’t been sleeping. I was worried about my friends. Wondering when and if I’d see them again, I’d hate to leave thing left unsaid,”

You grab Steve’s and Sam’s hand in each of yours and lift them, “But it looks like everyone I care about made it back on one piece.”

You turn back around and head into the elevator with everyone.

You stood in your room, fuming.

Is this really who you’ve become? This pathetic teenager pining after someone who will never be hers?

It sure seems that way.

Your stomach churns at the image of he and Nat...together.

An excessive groan leaves your lips as you flop on the bed, ready to let yourself wallow.

Your plans, however, are interrupted by a knock on your door. “What?!” You scream.

The door opens slowly, “I thought you’d have missed me?” Wanda says.

You shoot up, and smile like an idiot. “Of course I missed you, Wan. I’m so glad you’re back!” You embrace her.

The two of you had become quite close recently, and it was so nice to have a girl friend around again.

“Then why do I get the feeling I interrupted a wallowing session, hm?” She said slyly.

You raise an eyebrow at her, “Wan...” You scold.

“I know, I know—stay outta your head. But Ella, your thoughts are so loud I can barely hear my own!” She laughed.

You sigh and sit on the edge of your bed, Wanda joining you.

“I’m just mad. I’m mad at myself for acting like a love struck teenager, I’m mad at him for yoyo-ing me all the damn time. I’m just...”

“In love.” She finished your sentence.

You laugh aloud, “Wan, you have to know someone to love them. That big oaf of a man is too damn stubborn to let anyone in! Besides, I don’t think it’s me he wants.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” She asked.

You stand heading to your closet, looking through clothes to wear for tonight.

“Nothing. Forget I mentioned it.”

Wanda’s footsteps followed you, “I know you say Bucky’s stubborn, but so are you, Ella.” She smiled softly, her nimble fingers landing on a black velvet dress.

“This one.” She says. The long sleeved, deep v dress was your absolute favorite, and also very fancy.

“Isn’t that a bit much?” You ask.

She raised her eyebrows at you. “Uh, have you met Tony? He says ‘pizza and beer’ but he means a gala... with less people.”

“Fine, but I swear to God if you don’t dress up too then I’m coming back here and putting on pajamas.” You hold your pinky out to her.

She hooks it with a smile, “Deal.”

8 o’clock comes far too fast in your opinion.

You’d spent the last two hours in your bathroom doing your makeup and hair, and you look damn good.

The dress rested a bit below mid-thigh, and fit you perfectly. You make a mental not to thank Wanda later for forcing you into it.

“Breathe, Ella.” You say to yourself as the elevator carries you to the lounge floor.

Your black heels click through the corridor, the sound softening as your ears fill with classic rock from the end of the hall.

You slowly push the wooden door open, and spot everyone mingling. Maria Hill was there, as was Rhodey, and another man you’d never met before.

“Oh shoot! I didn’t know we had a supermodel living with us!” Sam shouts.

You laugh, “Oh shut up, you’ve clearly already been drinking.”

He shook his head, “So what? I still got eyes, don’t I?”

“You look beautiful.” Steve says cutting Sam off, placing a kiss on your cheek.

You blush, “Thank you, Steve. You boys clean up pretty nice too. I don’t think we’ve ever seen each other like this.”

Steve shakes his head, “Not exactly the suit I’m most comfortable in.” He took a sip of what you assume is scotch. “What are you drinkin’, sweetheart?” He asks.

“Honestly? Anything with vodka. Then I’ll have a shot or two.” You say, taking a seat at the high top table next to him.

“Coming right up, Sam why don’t you come with me fore you dig a deeper hole for yourself?”

You hear Sam grumbling as Steve drags him away, and you suddenly feel yourself being watched.

You scan the room, and spot him almost instantly. He’s standing with Nat, her back to you, leaning on the bar.

Bucky’s eyes, though glassy from the booze no doubt, had never been more focused.

His gaze roamed your body from your feet to your face. He licked his lips slowly, before capturing his bottom one in his teeth.

Shaking your head, you look away from him. “Don’t even think about it, buddy.” You mutter to yourself. You glance at him quickly one final time and see Nat waving her hand in front of his face.

Bucky’s trance seems to get broken and he falls back into conversation with her with ease.

“Moscow Mule? I think that’s what the bartender called it.” Steve says approaching you.

A light bulb suddenly goes off in your head.

“Steve? Can I ask for a favor?” You say, squeezing the lime into your drink

He nods, “Anything, what’s on your mind?”

You let out a large breath. “Okay, please don’t think I’m immature but I’ve been thoroughly pissed at your best pal over there,” you gesture with a nod of your head.

“and I’d really like to get him back for all the shit he’s put me through.”

Steve sips his drink again, as Sam places 3 shot of Jameson on the table. “What did you have in mind?”

Bucky’s breathing stopped the moment he saw her. He didn’t think she could get anymore beautiful.

Turns out he was incredibly, outstandingly wrong.

He felt his heat racing and his blood pumping, drowning out whatever Nat was telling him about her plans for the evening.

Ella’s eyes were everything to him. They bared her soul and showed him her heart at the same time. He’d never been able to see a future for himself, until she fell into his life.

He worried about her constantly. Not being able to see her or talk to her or hear her voice for nearly 3 weeks drove him crazy. Then seeing her in the state she was in, so obviously sleep deprived and stressed. He hated himself for making her worry so much, and it was clear she wasn’t too happy with him when he got back this morning.

“Hello, Earth to Barnes? Did you hear me?” Nat said, waving her hand.

Bucky shook his head, “No sorry, what was that?”

Nat smiled slyly. “Mhm, your girls got you in a tizzy, that’s for sure.” She said, sipping her martini.

Bucky smiled shyly. “She’s not my girl, no matter how much I wish she was.”

Nat slapped his lapel, “So what the fuck are you doing fuck standing here with me?!”

“Ow! Okay, okay! Christ, shouldn’t you be fucking Banner in a utility closet or something?” He laughed stepping away from her.

“All in good time, Barnes. Now go get your girl.” She said spinning away from him.

Bucky’s eyes traveled to where she was standing, but she wasn’t there. Sam was in her spot, downing a shot Bucky was sure he’d regret in the morning.

He maneuvered around the groups of people, searching for her. The soft rock music playing poignantly through the speakers, he sees a few couples dancing.

He scoots around them and spots Steve.

Good for him. He thought happily to himself.

When Steve sways around with his partner, he sees its not a random guest he’s dancing with. Steve is dancing with a beautiful girl, a woman, Bucky’s girl.

Bucky wants to throw up and kick his ass all at once.

But then he sees Ella.

She’s smiling, and comfortable. She’s happy as she rests her head on Steve’s chest, and sways to the rhythm of the song.

The alcohol in his system doesn’t make these feelings any easier to handle. His vibranium fist clenching and unclenching.

A whirring sound get both Steve and your attention. That’s when you see Bucky standing about 10 feet away from the two of you as he watches dance.

“Hey Buck, wh—“

“Shut the fuck up, Steve.” Bucky slurs.

Your eyes widen at the words he says to his friend. Bucky is visibly shaking, and obviously drunk—probably more so than you, and that’s saying something since Sam kept the shots coming.

“Bucky, stop.” You say before your mind can stop you.

He lets out a sarcastic laugh, “Not fucking him, huh?” He spat in anger as he pushed by you, leaving the lounge all together.

Steve looked to the door, then to you. Your eyes brimming with tears as you swallowed a sob.

He looks at you with a sad smile, and nods his head toward the door. “Go get him.”

Chapter Nine: Seen

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

Three Simple Rules

Summary: Jim Hopper is a fan of three simple rules in all aspects of his life. Easy to follow. Uncomplicated. That is...until he decides to break rule #3, with his secretary, on his desk. Pairing: Jim Hopper x Female Reader Warning(s): Smut 18+, possessive Hopper, canon level cigarette smoking, implied age gap Word Count: 2,014 Beta Reader: The stunning and sexy @supersoldiersruined-me.  Notes: This was my first request! I hope I did your wish justice, @fandomfic-galore.  Request Message:

For the Jim fic I was thinking of something like he has a new PA and she gets caught doing something she shouldn’t. Something naughty and he wants to teach her a lesson in his office. Haha. After your exam of course.

**************************************************************************************************

It’s 10:15 a.m. There’s not a clock in sight but you know it must be true. The squeal and slam of the Blazer’s door followed by the heavy crunch of gravel up to the police station door are as good as second and minute hands. Hopper isn’t much for reliability in other areas but he is reliably late to work.

“You know that is just so interesting.”

The extra flirty inflections on your words is unnecessary, truth be told, but it felt like a cherry on top. You’ve slung your torso over the young deputy’s desk in a way that’s far too inviting. Your shirt, usually quite office appropriate but currently unbuttoned an extra button, crept down just deep enough you could tell he had a good look down your front. Your pencil skirt rode up high enough you should move to adjust it but—

The door slams open as Jim Hopper enters the office. He’s mid-sentence, trying to brush off Flo’s chiding, when he greeted by a prime view of your ass propped up in front of him.

“Is Callahan bothering you, sweetheart?”

You can see his jaw tick and the tone of his voice is just above growl. Flo’s eyes flit back and forth between you and the chief.

“I’m so sorry, Hopper. These young ones nowadays. She’s still learning her duties.”

It’s true. You had only been hired as a secondary secretary at the Hawkin’s Police Department just about a month ago. In actuality, you were quite bright. You’d picked up on all the secretarial tasks rapidly. If anything, you were bored at your job. Which could possibly explain your current antics.

Jim eyes you up and down analyzing the scene before him. His eyes pause on the swell of your breasts visible and plump under the undone button, the extra length of silky exposed thigh from your tight skirt, and then back up to your blushing cheeks. His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. Busted.

“That’s okay, Flo. I’ll have a word with her.” You and Florence begin to apologize in unison but it’s clear the topic isn’t up for discussion. Hopper places a large hand on your shoulder gently directing you to his office. “Let’s talk...alone.”

The last word had a deadly lilt to it. For a split second, you wonder if you’ve taken this whole thing too far. You don’t get to continue the thought as the heavy oak door of his office clicks closed. Hopper stalks over to the only window in his office and harshly tugs the blinds closed. It’s with an eerie grace, he sits down on the edge of his desk and lights a cigarette.

“Hopper, I…” The look he shoots you stops you in your tracks. “Jim, I’m sorry.”

He huffs a heavy cloud of smoke out from his lungs that would make a steam engine jealous. At the end of the exhale, his lips play into a sharp smirk as if he’s enjoying your discomfort. The two of you sit in the office in silence with only the clicking of his clock proving the time is passing. He stares you in the eye before beginning.

“Okay, so let me get this straight in my head…” The pause between his sentences is pregnant with anticipation. He takes a long drag from his smoke and continues, “You thought it was a brilliant idea to flirt with Phil Callahan.”

“I can explain.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“You’re the one who—” His brows raise towards his hairline but you trudge on with as much conviction as you can muster. “You’re the one who started something he couldn’t finish this morning.”

He takes a third drag; groaning as he exhales. The smoke curls in tendrils around the coarse hair of his mustache before dissipating into the room. The sound shoots tingles straight between your thighs. He strides with a grace all too foreign on his large frame and sits in the chair behind his desk. Another guttural sound escapes his lips while he contemplates your sin. The smoke and emotionally charged atmosphere have turned the small office into an oppressive sauna.

“That’s fine. That’s just fine.” His tone indicates it’s anything but fine. “You’re a needy little one aren’t you? Was last night not enough for you?”

The temperature of your skin, near boiling in anticipation, deepens across your chest and cheeks under his accusation. Despite the shame and heat radiating off your skin another heat has settled at the apex of your thighs. Hopper had made the terms of your arrangement very clear. Three simple rules.

You were his and no one else's. He does not share.

This could end at any time. Attachment isn’t his thing.

Absolutely zero discussion of the arrangement or acting “familiar” at work, in town, or around anyone else.

Yet, here he wasn’t actively talking about the two of you, like that, at work. Sure, you were behind closed doors in his office but that seemed menial protection at best.

“I asked you a question, dammit.” His hand slams on the desk. He manages to keep the volume of his voice in check. “Last night wasn’t enough so you thought it was a good idea to come in here advertise yourself like some ten dollar hooker for Phil?”

He’s not being fair. You had certainly been looking for punishment but he’s hitting low blows. Your instincts wants to curse and spit; anything to fight back and defend yourself. Your body seems to have other thoughts. The timbre and power behind his voice have you soaked and your brain clouded.

“I just wanted…”

“What? What did you want that was so damn important?” You hang your head shamefully. His posture changes. “I see. You wanted to be punished.”

The booming chuckle stings. You know it’s mocking. His first cigarette is gone. He tamps down the last of the ashes in the tray in time with his laughter.

“Well since you know best, get on with it.”

Your face screws up in confusion. What was he asking? For you to beg? Ask forgiveness? He couldn’t possibly be giving you what you want so easily. He flicks his lighter open and ignites before leaning back in his desk chair. He holds the white stick between his plump pink lips and rips open the belt and zipper of his pants.

He takes a long drag. You always found it annoyingly attractive how he holds them, pinched tightly between his thumb and index, gesticulating with them when he needs to make a particular point in a conversation. The smoky undertones that cling to his lips whenever you dipped your tongue inside.

“You know I looked up one time how long it takes a cigarette to burn down. Average is five to seven minutes. I even timed myself when I was younger and first started smoking. It’s a stupid thing.” You’re still paralyzed on the chair across from him waiting for the punchline. “I used to average five minutes. No idea how long it takes me now. You have until this is finished to do things your way, since you seem to want to call the shots, and bounce that pretty little ass up and down on my cock.”

“And when it's done?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see won’t you, sweetheart?”

You should have been embarrassed at the speed of which you jumped up to take his hardening cock out of his pants. You lick him only twice; engulfing him all the way into your mouth the second time before straddling his lap. You’re still sore from the events of last night. You ruck your skirt up higher and pull your panties to the side. You try to have him enter you slowly but his hips buck into you; stretching you so deliciously from the inside.

“Don’t pretend like you’re not dripping, sweetheart.”

He wasn’t wrong. He makes no move to touch your breasts or guide your hips. You’re on your own working yourself up and down on his length while trying to balance your weight on the desk chair.

He’s leaned far back taking drag after drag off his smoke. When a quarter of it is gone, you’ve settled in your rhythm. When half is gone ripples of pleasure have settled low in your pelvis; the beginnings of something begging to be unleashed. When a quarter remains, your fists are bunched in Hoppers uniform biting the back of your hand to keep your pants and moans at an acceptable volume. The entire time Jim hasn’t moved. One hand is tucked smugly behind his head as he leans and the other only moves to bring the cigarette from the ashtray to his lips and back again.

“Times up, sweetheart.”

“Wait! I’m so close!”

“I don’t fucking care! Times up!”

He stands, easily carrying the weight of you, and roughly presses your back against the cool wood of his desk with his own wood still deep inside you. His hulking frame hunches over you briefly planting a sloppy but much needed kiss on your lips. He tugs your hips off the desk so they’re supported only by his huge palms.

“Look down, baby. Look at me inside you. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this. Spread wide, taking my cock so fucking well on my desk.” Your core clenches as he pumps in and out of you wildly. You adored when he was like this; brutish and wild. A Hopper only you got to see.

A knock on the door interrupts your haze of lust.

“The door isn’t locked! Hopper, the door isn’t locked?!”

“It doesn’t have a lock.” His palm smacks a stinging blow against your ass. “That doesn’t mean I’m stopping.”

His pace is bruising and brutal only interspersed by the occasional biting smack from his hands on your flesh. You feel yourself inch further away from him from the power of his thrusts. A frustrated hand grips you hip tightly and the other plants firmly on your neck. Using each pressure point of your body for leverage, he resumes his punishment. Another knock sounds against the door; louder and more urgent.

“I’m busy!” He bellows at the door. “Can you imagine it, sweetheart. Phil barging in here seeing you choked out, ass red, and taking my fat cock.”

That nearly pushes you over the edge. Your tiny hand sandwiches his on your throat pressing a bit harder. He meets your gaze knowing what your asking. The pressure increases on your windpipe. You couldn’t tell him how much you loved it even if you wanted to. He grinds his pelvis into yours like he does when his own release is close. Another couple of thrusts and you’re clenching and spasming around him while he empties in you warm and sticky.

The first breath of air is cold and gulped down greedily.

“Chief!” The knocking returns. “We got a call. I really think we should go check this out.”

“In a second!”

He kisses you tenderly and helps you straighten yourself before tucking himself back in his pants.

“Too far, sweetheart?”

“No, Hop. Just far enough.”

“I don’t hate it by the way. The whole, flirting with the other guys in the office thing.” You straighten his tie and press out wrinkles in the shirt. “You were right. It turns me on. Knowing I’m the one to get to go home and be the one to fuck you into the mattress.”

“The only one, Chief.”

You wink before throwing the door open to the office and returning to reality. Phil stands there eyeing the both of you guiltily. Before you make it back to your own desk, you hear him apologizing to Hopper.

“I’m sorry, Chief. Truly. Shouldn’t be acting like that here at work.”

“You’re right, Phil. Don’t let it happen again.” He sneaks a glance at you, still preening from your words, while he shrugs on his blue jacket with the sherling lapels. “But between you and me, I think she kinda likes it.”

[mypassionfortrash]

Nothing Serious: Parts 1-3

With all your friends having married themselves off, having kids and getting boring, you turn to Tinder to fill your time. When you match with a familiar face, you quickly realise you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. (Modern Sugar Daddy AU).

Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!Reader Warnings: Filth, angst, daddy kink, morbid humour, strictly 18+. Notes: This was originally posted on my Queen blog (BoRhapRogerina) before I deleted it. If you’re new here, welcome. If you’ve read this before, I’ve reworked this quite substantially. I’m planning on finishing all of my fics for NaNoWriMo this year, so stay tuned for updates on all my WIPs!

[1/4]

It was a Friday evening, and you had just got off work. Not that you had plans. 

All your friends had partnered up and gone away on romantic weekends away. 

Leaving you alone, with no plans. 

On the plus side, you had a laundry list of shows to binge watch, and a full fridge of goodies, that would most likely last until Saturday morning. If you were lucky. 

Flopping down on the couch, you fired up the first show on your list and settled down, fully prepared to fester for two days. Bliss, you thought, absentmindedly opening Tinder for a glimpse of what could be. If you could stomach the dating game.

You must have swiped left on a hundred people in the space of ten minutes, never bothering to read their self absorbed ‘about me’ sections, or to look at more of their photos. Until Roger (37 years old, 20 kilometres away) caught your eye.

He was handsome. Recently divorced. And a musician. 

He looked familiar, too.

But 37 was too old. Curiosity got the better of you when you set your search parameters, casting the net as wide as possible to see what the app would throw up. 

It threw up Roger.

He was too old. 

But too intriguing to reject. 

So you swiped right. 

And then went back to your show.

The Umbrella Academy wasn’t boring, per se, but every now and again, your eyes would be drawn towards your phone on the coffee table. You wondered whether Roger had noticed you. Surely not.

When the first episode was over, you padded through to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. You couldn’t help but kick yourself for not giving his profile enough attention. He caught you by surprise and you didn’t fully absorb his profile. Apart from the obvious. You swiped right without thinking. And now, he was all you could think about.

What did he do for a living? Did he have kids? Was his ex-wife a total nutter?

You stood, drumming your fingertips against the kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. Until you heard your phone vibrate.

Never in your life had you moved so fast, darting through to the living room and almost knocking over a lamp. You picked up your phone and looked at your notifications. Sure enough, there it was, ‘you have matched with Roger.’

Throwing yourself back on to the couch, you could feel your cheeks burning. It felt utterly alien to you to even match with someone you were actually attracted to, so you were determined to make a good impression. Staring up at the ceiling, your lips moved slowly, trying to verbalise what you were going to open with and all the ways you could woo him straight off the bat. A simple, ‘how are you?’ wasn’t going to suffice.

‘How YOU doin’ tonight?’ Uncool. 

‘Any plans for the weekend?’ Boring.

‘If you were a cocktail, what would you be?’ Better.

And then your phone vibrated again.

You looked down to see a notification flash up and disappear. ‘Roger has sent you a message.’

Your stomach churned. They never messaged first. At least he was keen, you thought, unlocking your phone to read what he had sent. 

‘If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.’

You snorted, feeling your face burn up even more. It was a stinker of a line. A stinker that somehow made your heart flutter.

Just as you were hovering your thumbs over your keyboard to type a response, another message popped up.

‘Sorry, that was rotten.’

And another.

‘It’s really nice to match with you. Any plans for the weekend?’

He stole your boring line.

Game on!

[2/4]

You and Roger spent the entire weekend messaging back and forth about everything from your favourite films to your favourite holiday destinations (he cited dirty weekends away at his villa - wherever that was - as a top pick). It turned out he was charming, witty and ever so slightly filthy, without being disrespectful. Despite your qualms about his age, you were aching to see if he was as enthralling in real life.

It was Monday morning. Sat at your desk, you desperately clung to any focus you could muster for your work. But, in the back of your mind, you couldn’t help wondering when Roger's next message would appear. You prayed it would be soon. You had a mountain of paperwork to do, but precisely zero focus to follow through.

By midday, you lost hope. 

Maybe he was too good to be true? Perhaps your joke about being ‘An Old Man Fucker’ was a step too far?

Packing up your desk to go to lunch, you decided to leave your phone behind. But as you walked away, you heard it vibrate.

You darted back to your desk and grabbed your phone.

Roger had a funny habit of appearing on your phone, just as you were about to do something. You scanned his latest offering.

‘What’s the difference between a tyre and 365 used condoms?’

Even without a punchline, it earned a giggle, which in turn earned you disapproving looks from your colleagues. You hurriedly tapped out a quick, ‘I don’t know,’ before stowing your phone in your pocket and following the mass exodus to the canteen.

Your heart felt like it was going to escape from your chest as you waited for the punchline to yet another dirty joke.

His response came quickly: ‘One’s a Goodyear, the other’s a great year! Doing anything nice tonight, gorgeous? Hope you're having a lovely day! I hate Mondays :(’

———————————————————————————————————

A few hours later, you were sprawled on the sofa, bouncing your leg impatiently. A typical weeknight consisted of a quick change into your pyjamas, scarfing down instant noodles and a side of hating the single life. 

But not tonight. Roger was coming over. And you were determined to impress.

You had swapped your joggers and a plain old t-shirt for a short, black tea dress. Makeup on. Hair done. You even wore a bra; a rarity at home.

The seconds ticked by at an impossibly slow rate and Roger was late. He said he'd be there for seven. It was five past. 

You got up to pace back and forth across the living room. Your mind wandered, anticipating what your evening with Roger would entail. 

What would you talk about? You had covered a lot of ground over the weekend. 

Would you watch a film? You knew he was into sci-fi. You could do sci-fi. Get drunk? On a school night, really? Maybe not.

Sleep with him?

That last question stopped you in your tracks. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to. That was precisely the reason you joined Tinder, as tough as it was to admit. After speaking to him all weekend, you actually kind of liked him. But you just didn’t know him that well.

Your brain felt like it had just run a marathon when there was a knock at the door. 

It made your stomach drop, and your legs turn to jelly as you scrambled to answer it; your mind blank and exhausted. With a deep breath, you turned the handle and cracked the door open, peering out into the hall. 

Roger peeked through the gap, a mischievous smile on his face. “Hi,” he beamed. "Sorry, I'm late."

You flung the door open, eyeing him with a shy smirk. “Hi." That was all you could muster.

Roger quickly pulled you into him, squeezing you tightly. “It’s so nice to meet you,” he mumbled against your hair.

He smelled incredible. Like sandalwood and pine forests, enticing you to bury your face against his collarbone. “And you,” you sighed.

All those worries in your head melted away, but there was something between both of your bodies. Breaking away from Roger’s embrace, you looked down to find a bunch of flowers and two bottles of wine tucked into the crook of his arm. You gazed up at him, forgetting how to form sentences. It seemed like he did too. 

Luckily he noticed your stare trailing down to the flowers and the wine. Red and white. He rocked on his feet, remembering what was happening. “Oh! These are for you. Couldn’t come empty-handed and I wasn’t sure…” He babbled, passing them to you.

“They’re perfect," you smiled, waving him inside, "Come in.”

You led roger through the hall and into the living room, motioning him towards the couch. “Make yourself at home. What do you want to drink?”

Roger shrugged. “Whatever you’re having.”

The kitchen felt like it was worlds away, granting you a short reprieve from Roger’s company. He was so much more handsome in real life, you thought, rifling through your cupboards. So handsome, in fact, that you had forgotten when you kept your wine glasses. “The ones above the sink, fuck,” you grumbled to yourself, throwing open the cupboard and snatching the glasses. You tried to even yourself out with what little time alone you had, pressing your hands into the edge of the counter and bowing your head. Deep breaths.

A clatter from the living room pulled you back to reality. You hastily dunked the flowers in the sink and grabbed your drinks, to see what the commotion in the living room was. 

When you got back to Roger, you found him picking some records up off the floor. 

Roger looked up at you wearing a coy smirk. “Sorry. Had to make sure you weren’t a crazy fan.”

You gave an awkward laugh, wandering past him.

“It’s happened before,” he added, getting to his feet and giving a shrug. “You’ve got good taste though.”

“I thought you looked familiar.” You sat the bottle and the glasses down on the coffee table and joined him over by your boxes of records. 

He skimmed through your collection. “I can’t believe people still buy these,” Roger laughed, taking out a copy of Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born in the USA.’ “Don’t tell me this is some new hipster wanker thing? Buying LPs?” he asked, eyeing you with his eyebrows raised.

You snatched the record from his grasp, screwing up your features. “I’ll have you know, vinyl is far superior.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Yeah, with all that crackling and popping, it’s bound to sound better.”

“It’s all about the listening experience,” you sneered, taking the record out of its slipcase and placing it on the turntable. “You can’t be passive when you’re listening to records. It gives you more of a chance to absorb it.”

“I believe you,” Roger chuckled. 

“You haven’t told me what kind of music Queen play,” you added, waltzing back to the sofa.

Roger flopped down next to you, watching as you poured his drink and handed it to him. As he was about to take a sip, his eyes narrowed. “Do you know something? I’m shocked you haven’t heard of us.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, glaring at him.

“Well, you’ve got the music taste of a forty-year-old man for starters.”

You choked on your wine. He was on to you. But now wasn’t the time to tell him you had spent the entire weekend researching his band. Or the shame you felt when you realised how big they were. Or that you had overlooked them this long. Or that you loved their work. “Maybe you’re just not that good,” you grinned.

Roger shrugged. “That’s just one woman’s opinion, I suppose.”

“I suppose it is.”

“I’m glad, actually.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not into me because I’m a rockstar.”

“But it helps,” you admitted.

Roger smirked. “You’ve got a thing for musicians? Never would have guessed.”

“You could say that.”

“So why are you on Tinder?” Roger asked, turning side on to face you. “I’m assuming picking up handsome drummers ranks pretty highly.”

“Well,” you began, moving closer to him, “all I wanted was an easy lay if I'm honest.”

The corners of Roger’s mouth perked up into a devilish smile upon hearing those words. “You know, out of all the members of a band, drummers are definitely the easiest. Speaking from experience.”

Your stomach fluttered. But you just couldn’t stop yourself. You weren’t even drunk yet. “Are you?”

Roger’s face was dangerously close to your’s at this point, his nose was practically pressed against yours. “Don’t you want to know what I want?” he prodded.

“Not particularly. No.”

“I love a girl who knows what she wants,” Roger chuckled, drawing his calloused fingers along your jawline, tilting your face up ever so slightly. Roger wasted no time in replacing his fingers with his lips, pressing kisses along your jaw, before settling on your mouth. His hand was firm at the back of your neck, pulling you into him. 

You put up little resistance when things became heated, slinking over his lap to deepen the kiss. 

Roger’s hands squeezed at your thighs when your tongue slipped past his lips. He was feverish, needy, almost, in the way that he kneaded your flesh, letting out breathless gasps.

The feeling that things were moving too fast began to claw at your gut. Your movements slowed, eventually breaking away from Roger. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, sweeping a stray strand of hair behind your ears. His eyes moved across your features. They were loaded with concern.

More aware of the music playing in the background than before, you moved in time to the last few bars of ‘Downbound Train.’ “I’m fine,” you whispered.

Roger took your hand and kissed your palm. His eyes saddened, peeking through your fingers. “Are you sure?”

You didn’t respond. All you could do was take Roger’s hand as you scrambled to your feet. Leading him out into the centre of the living room, you pulled him into you, swaying along to ‘I’m On Fire.’ “Do you like dancing, Roger?”

Roger gave a quiet laugh and pressed his nose to yours. “Only if I have the right partner.”

You danced slowly, intimately, until Side A spun out, leaving the pair of you rocking aimlessly away in silence. Your face rested against his chest, revelling in his scent. His arms bound you to him, and his chin perched on top of your head. And for just a second, you thought you had died and gone to heaven.

“Tell me something,” Roger said, breaking the quiet calm. “Are you really just looking for an easy lay?”

You continued to dance in circles while you thought up a response. Your heart was beating frantically at the thought you might have been wrong about what you wanted. “I don’t know. Are you just looking for the odd dirty weekend at your villa?”

Roger’s chest rattled with a warm laugh. “Touché. Are you going to flip that record or are we gonna dance in silence all night?”

You groaned into his shirt at the thought. It was near impossible. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to move away from Roger. 

So he did it for you. He moved over to your record player and flipped the album over on to side B, while you got to work on refilling your glasses. “I love this song,” Roger said, nodding in approval. 

“Are you a big Springsteen fan?” you asked, handing his glass back to him. 

“Yeah, I mean I like the E-Street band more than the stuff he did on his own. But his songs just resonate a lot with me.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you said, raising your glass.

Your glasses clinked together. And then your brain decided to remind you that this was your first date. The nerves were back. For both of you. 

The quicker either of you set about drinking more, the faster any awkwardness between you could dissipate. Before you knew it, you were on your fifth glass. And you had worked your way through yet another of Springsteen’s albums, ‘Nebraska.’

You and Roger sat side by side giggling away on the couch, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. It had you conflicted, though. Not wanting to come on too strong, or be too intense. But you weren’t keen on being sidelined by Roger. He was handsome, witty and it was so easy for you to feel comfortable around him. You could see yourself being happy with him; you felt it in your gut that he was more than the easy lay you wanted. But there was so much you needed to know. Your mind raced. And your face sank.

Roger noticed and he softened his gaze, running his fingers through your hair.

“What exactly are you looking for, Roger?”

“Do you want me to be honest?” Roger slurred.

You nodded.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Just tell me.”

“I hate being on my own. I don’t want it to be that way.”

“I get that.”

“Now what do you want?” Roger asked, jabbing his finger against your chest. “Really want.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing your motivations weren’t so different to his. “I hate being alone too,” you admitted, not being able to look at him. Instead, you stretched out your arms lazily. “Guess that makes us a pair of losers.”

Roger looked away, his eyes misting over. “Guess it does.”

Roger’s sudden, sullen demeanour had you desperate to change the subject. “So where is this villa of your’s and how dirty are we talking?”

“What villa?”

Your heart sank. “You said you had a villa.”

“I have more than one, but I like the one in Ibiza the best.”

Your mind became a hamster wheel, wondering just how rich Roger was. “You have more than one?”

Roger was nonchalant as he shrugged his shoulders and nodded. “I have the filthiest times in Ibiza, but I’m not averse to the one in LA. Especially in the winter. I hate the cold.”

“How filthy do I have to be for you to take me out there?” you joked.

Roger snorted. “I reckon I could turn you into an absolute whore.”

“Well that sounds like fun.”

“You look like you could use a holiday.”

[3/3]

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing as you waited patiently by the window. Pressing your knuckles to your lips, you paced, keeping your eyes trained on the street below. Roger would be here any minute now. A suitcase and a bag sat beside the door, containing everything you thought you needed for your trip.

It had taken you three days to make the decision. You lay in bed every night since Monday, wide awake, trying to suss him out. 

It was insanity at best, agreeing to it. But, you knew it wouldn’t exactly be a conventional romance anyway.

He made you laugh and put you at ease. And you would be lying if you claimed he didn’t make you smile exactly when you needed it. One particular remark - 'that villa’s where I keep all ten of my wives, chained up in the basement' - that was the kicker. It tipped the scales all the way to a resounding ‘yes’ from you.

‘Any time now,’ you repeated to yourself, trying to block out the racket of your phone. You had lost count of the number of frantic messages from your friends. All of them tried to dissuade you. But the backflips your stomach did when a strange, black Mercedes slipped into view told you everything you needed to know. 

Grabbing your handbag and your suitcase, you burst from your flat, trundling your brimming case noisily down the stairs. Your heart felt like it was working overtime as you flung open the front door. 

A chauffeur stood by the back door of the car as Roger fell out on to the street, beaming at you.

“There she is!” He stretched out his linen-clad arms, ushering you into a hug. He felt even softer and smelled even better than he did on Monday. He certainly hugged you tighter, propping his chin up on your head. “You all set?” he mumbled, kissing your hair.

“God, I’m so nervous," you squeaked.

Roger held you away from him. From underneath his dark tinted lenses, you could tell his eyes were darting over the windows of the flats behind you, searching for intrusive gazes and curtain pullers. Then his attention snapped back to you, a look of seriousness cloaking his features as he gripped your shoulders just a little bit tighter. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. It’s your trip, you can enjoy it however you want.” He paused, looking down. The corners of his mouth perking up. “And I’m a bit nervous too, actually.”

Shattering the moment into millions of tiny fragments, the chauffeur cleared his throat audibly. “I’ve just put your suitcase in the boot, Miss. We should be going soon.”

“Yeah, thanks Lewis,” Roger piped up. 

The pair of you bundled yourselves into the back seat. The saloon was cramped, unaided by you and Roger’s need to sit almost on top of each other. Both of you searched for something to say, but, over the week, you seemed to have covered everything in your texts and long-winded phone calls. From Queen’s creative differences in the studio to stakeholders messing you about at work with their half-baked briefs and their fake deadlines. You touched on it all. And now, you were wondering what else there was to say, as your knee constantly knocked against Roger’s.

Your thoughts turned to spending an entire flight in his company. How awkward that might be if you didn’t find something. And fast. 

Luckily, the townscape whizzed past you at breakneck speed. You had only spent the longest ten minutes of your life in the car beside him before it was navigating its way through the airport complex. A wave of relief loosened you up, seeing the ‘drop off’ sign straight ahead. But those hoped were dashed when the chauffeur bypassed it.

“I think you’ve missed the drop-off,” you said, leaning towards the driver.

“Oh, he never misses,” Roger smirked, focusing on the view from his window.

You sank back, furrowing your brow as the car pulled up to a security barrier. You couldn’t quite pick up on what Lewis was saying, but it was enough to grant him access.

Your jaw dropped as the car rounded the corner on to the tarmac. “How the hell are you able to do that?” you asked, turning to Roger. “What about security? Baggage-”

Roger laughed, placing his arm around you. “When you’re in one of the world’s biggest rock bands, normal airport procedure doesn’t really apply, darling. But if you’re shocked by this, wait until you see the plane.”

“The plane?”

Roger pointed to the small plan directly in front of the car. “That plane.”

Your eyes widened. “You own that?”

“Well, it’s chartered. It’s very nice inside, though. Comes with a couple of stewardesses.”

It turns out ‘nice’ was an understatement. Never in your life had you seen that level of classless opulence. Your eyes were on everything as Roger led you into the cabin. Every gold accent, every marble surface, every red leather seat. Complete with two blonde and beautiful stewardesses who handed you a glass of champagne each. It was jarring, tacky and screamed ‘money.’ 

You followed Roger to the middle of the aircraft, where he threw himself on to one of the sofas with a relieved groan, sprawling out like a starfish. You roamed towards the bathroom, swigging away at your champagne, your mind overloaded by the situation. You poked your head inside the obnoxiously pristine cubicle. Ryanair hadn’t a patch on this. You could throw an entire orgy in here, and still have room for a few more. There was even a bottle of lube and a bowl of condoms sat on the counter. You had a feeling people like Roger used the plane for just that. “You could easily join the mile high club in here,” you thought aloud. 

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t touch anything if I were you. Steven Tyler was in here last week. God knows what he gets up to.”

“Lovely,” you replied, sauntering back to Roger. 

“I’m glad you like it." Roger observed you throwing back the rest of your drink. “You look like you needed that.”

You simpered, not wanting to meet Roger’s line of sight. “I did. And I think I’m going to need more.”

“More’s definitely good,” he laughed.

Without him asking, one of the stewardesses brought over a bottle, bending down at the waist to present it to Roger. It granted you both an impressive view of her cleavage. But Roger was having none of it. “That’ll be everything, thank you, Claudia,” Roger said, taking the bottle from her, his attention still on you. 

Roger’s shirt was unbuttoned down to his chest, and your head had somehow found itself resting on his bare skin. You gazed up at him while he poured you both drinks and slipped your glass back into your hand.

Settling into a comfortable position as the plane took to the skies, Roger’s arm found its way around your shoulders and his lips littered kisses over your forehead between sips of his drink.

“You must be loaded,” you pondered. “How many years have Queen been going?”

“Well over twenty now, I think, why?”

“You must have seen a lot.”

“I’ve seen everything,” Roger chuckled. 

“Where’s your favourite place in the world?”

“Hm, that a tough one. I love Japan. It always has this amazing energy to it. It’s brimming with people, everywhere, but it still manages to have a lot of calm about it. And the food? God, it’s delicious. Could eat Japanese food all the time.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Never would have thought that about you.”

“I’ll take you out there someday, you’ll love it.”

“Bet the industry’s changed a lot from when you started out,” you mused, turning from your side to your back. 

Roger’s arm dropped around your waist. “You have no idea. It’s sort of soul destroying. All this streaming business," he began. You hung on his every word. "If people really knew how little we get from that, I hope they’d think twice and just buy a bloody album like they used to. I’ve seen a lot of good bands go under because they can’t afford to live.”

“And how have Queen lasted this long?”

“Because we’re not just ‘good.’ We’re more than that.” He sighed, draining another glass. “I’m glad we made our millions and constantly toured in those early days. Enough to outlast everyone else in the long run. Now, we can do what we like. God, I sound like I’m giving an interview.”

“I like hearing you ramble, by the way,” you encouraged. “Bet you’ve met some crazy ones though.”

“Some of them can be intense… yeah, but-”

“And you’re out there on Tinder for the world to see. Dating women half your age,” you jibed, sitting up straight. You turned around, looking at him. His cheeks were flushed as he nodded away, agreeing with everything that came out of your mouth. “How have you not ended up dead, yet?”

Roger batted his hand through the air. “No one pays any attention to the drummer. It’s that rotter, Freddie, everybody fawns over! And besides,” Roger paused, moving just inches away from your face, “You’re not planning to kill me, are you, darling?”

“How would you know?”

Something in Roger’s demeanour changed. His sleepy, half-lidded eyes turned glassy. Sinking in on himself, he looked away. “I’m a good judge of character. Or at least I hope I am, after everything.”

Unsure of whether your newfound courage was down to the champagne or the chip in Roger’s happy-go-lucky facade, you felt emboldened to ask. “Is this about the divorce?”

Sure, you had done your research. The internet was awash with gossip about his drawn out, acrimonious divorce from his wife of ten years. The vitriol. The scandal. But you wanted to hear his side of it.

Roger nodded.

Backing away, your hands fumbled in your lap. You crossed the line. Too much too soon. How could that possibly have been the case with you and Roger was anyone’s guess, but the silence that fell over you two had you eyeing the emergency exit, wondering if you could survive a 27,000-foot drop.

“Put some music on, will you, darling,” Roger said, taking your empty glass and refilling it. “Anything you like. Just plug your phone in.” He nodded towards a towering sound system at the back of the plane. 

You went over to it and pulled out your phone. You felt like an idiot, but you had already made a playlist loaded with songs that reminded you of him. All before your time. Your finger hovered over the shuffle button, deliberating whether to put it on. You gave in and hit the button, letting the first few bars of Moonage Daydream to pour from the speakers, making the cabin vibrate. 

“I love this song,” Roger said quietly.

You turned back to him, feeling the rush of nervousness in your chest, seeing the way he stared at you. Aided by the champagne, you began to dance. You could feel his gaze relishing every inch of you and the way you moved. The way you swept through the blistering rays that shone through the windows. The halo it created around you.

“Aren’t you going to dance with me?” you pouted, nearing the end of the track.

“I prefer watching you, darling,” Roger said, lowering his sunglasses over his eyes. 

“What if I put on something you’ll really like?” you pushed with another quick twirl.

“Try me.”

You went back over to the sound system and scrolled through the collection of songs, pressing play on the perfect number. You glanced over your shoulder at Roger’s reaction. 

“Cover Me?” Roger asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m tempted.”

You shimmied over to him. 

His foot, tapped away. His fingers drummed against the back of the sofa. A smirk on his lips as he looked up at you. “You’re gonna have to make me.”

You accepted the challenge. 

In one fell swoop, you grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him to his feet, sending the remainder of its buttons popping free. 

Roger quietly stood in front of you, dying to break out in a fit of hysterics. He desperately wanted to move with you. Instead, he made you do all the work.

But that was how you wanted it to play out. You wanted to be in control. To tease. He was so strung out that even the feeling of your fingertips curling through the hair on his chest made his breathing hitch. You prowled around him, working the fabric down his arms, pressing into his shoulders. “You’re so tense,” you remarked. “Don’t tell me I got you all worked up this fast.”

“You should be so lucky,” Roger quipped, attempting to play it cool. Full circle, you stalked into view again. His expression flipped from a broad grin to a look of false seriousness. 

“That’s funny,” you began, pressing yourself into him, “because that cock of yours feels pretty hard to me. Did you like what you saw?”

Roger still wore a wicked smirk, trying to avoid eye contact. Instead, he concentrated on something over your shoulder, leaving you both in silence for a moment. 

Then, when you least expected it, he barged past you, seizing your hand on the way to the back of the plane. He dragged you all the way to the bathroom. Bundling you inside and slamming the door closed. 

Before you knew it, you were sandwiched between Roger and the counter.

His hands shook, fumbling with the buttons on your blouse, distracting himself with nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck. And taunting you. “So you like teasing me, Princess?” He murmured, yanking your shirt off.

Your fingers snaked into Roger’s hair, while your free hand took the opportunity to ghost over his cock through his jeans. “You’re easy to tease.” 

Your sass was short-lived; Roger had taken to pinching your nipples through your bra, in time to his lips marking you up. It made you throw yourself back against the mirror, granting him easier access to the rest of you.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, moving lower over your chest. 

All you could do was tug your lower lip between your teeth, watching as he made his way down. Your bra was gone before you knew it, and his hands had already found their way to the zipper on your jeans. Roger kneeled down, lavishing your stomach with slow wet kisses, looking up at you through his lashes. His fingers clawed at your waistband, dragging them lower - your underwear with them - into a pool around your ankles. 

You could feel that need spreading through you like wildfire. You struggled, even just to breathe, driving your hips against Roger’s efforts. Your fingers laced into his hair. It was a feeble effort at leading him to where you really needed him.

Of course, Roger noticed, smiling to himself. He grasped at your thighs, causing you to falter. “I can’t wait to taste you, Princess. Would you like that?”

“Yes please,” you sang, clutching the edge of the counter for support.

“Hop up there. Let’s get a good look at you.”

Without missing a beat, you hauled yourself atop the freezing marble counter, lewdly presenting yourself. 

He seemed like all his Christmases had come at once. Like he wasn’t sure where to look, or even where to place his hands. They just skimmed, ponderously over your inner thighs, never quite going anywhere. 

“Are you going to keep gawping at it, Roger?”

That drew a response out of him. The realisation that he was required to actually do something, rather than admire you for hours. Not that he would have minded. “Right, boss,” he grinned. He settled between your legs, dragging his thumb over your slick, pink folds, savouring just how aroused you were. “So pretty,” he remarked, before leaning in.

One long, lazy lap of you was all it took for all your inhibitions to melt away. Those tense and taut muscles in every part of your body loosened, while Roger’s mouth devoured and savoured every dripping wet inch of you. And then an almighty shockwave hit you. Roger’s tongue circled your clit, stringing you out again, forcing a surprised moan from you.

Roger’s quiet chuckles reverberated through you like tiny aftershocks.

It had you wondering what his next trick was.

He was hellbent on making quick work of you, his tongue zeroing in on your sensitive little nub, making you writhe against him. Ratcheting up your pleasure until it felt like all your nerves were on fire. And then slipping a finger inside you. And then another. And another. Curling them in on themselves, like they were daring you to claw at Roger’s hair with just a little bit more aggression. Daring you to howl louder for him.

“You love having that tight little cunt of yours stretched, don’t you, Princess?” Roger taunted, moving back to look up at you, his chin glistening.

“Yes,” you sighed.

You could feel your orgasm beginning to build. You weren’t exactly in control of your body or the things that came out of your mouth. But the words that tumbled from them shocked you, urging him on. “Just like that, Daddy.” It was as if your body had been torn in half out of shame and pure ecstasy. 

Roger never said anything about it. In fact, you could practically feel him grinning as his mouth delved back down to finish what he had started. 

“Oh, god, Daddy, I’m so close.” There it was again. 

It raised nothing but a giggle from Roger.

Between that, his mouth and his fingers, you were teetering on the brink of something wonderful.

“Repeat it, Princess,” Roger urged, “tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Da-”

Before you could finish that sentence, you lost control, viciously trembling on Roger’s fingers. 

You still saw stars when you came to. Roger had flipped you over, leaving you face to face with your own reflection. He was fumbling away in the background with a condom wrapper. “That was amazing,” you panted, burying your face in your arms.

Roger ran his thumb over your slit again. “It’s not over yet, sweetheart.”

You swayed your hips in response, smirking over at him in the mirror.

“You want Daddy’s cock in you, Princess?” His expression was just as wicked. 

You nodded, still making eye contact with him.

But he taunted you. “I wanna hear you say it,” he said, drawing the tip of his cock through your folds, coating it until it was slick with your juices. 

“Please Daddy, I need your cock inside me,” you whined.

“I’m never gonna tire of hearing you say that, Princess,” he said, slipping into you. 

Roger was far thicker than you had anticipated, forcing a shocked groan from you as he stretched you to your limit. Of course, he was analysing you in the mirror, studying every small change in your expression. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, nodding vigorously, “I think.”

“You want me to go slow?” Roger asked, rubbing the small of your back, gingerly sinking back and forth.

“No. God no.”

“That’s my girl,” Roger beamed, thrusting into you harder. “Tell me if it gets too much for you, Princess.”

It was already too much for you in the best way possible. The more pace Roger gathered, the more unsteady your legs felt. The more he threatened to hurl you over the edge again. 

There was nothing left to do but babble on about how incredible he felt. You couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. Desperate to hold on for just a little bit longer.

“You’re taking Daddy’s cock so well, Princess,” Roger growled in your ear. “And you look so beautiful.” One of his hands found its way to your hair, pulling you upright while his other arm  squeezed around your waist. He goaded you. “Look at yourself, Princess, look how good you’re being. Open those eyes.” Even just hearing him say those things sent a shiver through you. 

But actually opening your eyes, watching him fill you. Seeing your skin, damp with sweat all because of what he was doing to you. The way you writhed against his grasp, your chest bouncing with every merciless thrust. The sheer lust in his eyes, glancing at your reflection, as he continued to taunt and tease. 

“Touch yourself for me. Touch yourself, Princess.”

You did exactly as Roger told you, spinning hasty circles around your clit as that warmth built in your stomach again.

“How does Daddy make you feel?”

There it was again. Sending another searing spark through your body. “You make me feel so good, Daddy. Oh god, Daddy, it feels so full,” you whimpered, nearing the end of your rope.

“Are you gonna come on Daddy’s cock? Be a good girl and show Daddy how much you like it.” 

Every time he said it, it drove you closer. And he wasn’t far behind. Your bodies were pressed so tightly together that you could feel the rattle of his breath and every animalistic growl that escaped him, growing more and more ragged.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Your head spun; he plunged you into delirium. Unable to focus on anything else, you lurched forward over the counter as it hit you. And Roger.

When it all subsided, you turned around to face him. He was already half dressed; jeans on, his shirt dangling from his hand. Your chest still heaved, your muscles ablaze. 

But the look that Roger wore was something else. A complete one-eighty from moments ago. Soft, and warm, he pressed himself against you, glueing you to him. He draped his shirt over your shoulders, placing a series of kisses on your damp forehead.

“That was amazing,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around him. 

“I never knew you were that filthy,” he chuckled.

“Well, you did say you wanted dirty weekends at the villa,” you mocked.

“How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted.”

“If you wanna sleep it off, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Right,” Roger began, unsticking himself from you and unlocking the door, “I’ll leave you to clean yourself up. My shirt looks good on you, by the way.”

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

The sound of waves crashing drew you back to consciousness. Rolling over onto your back, you enjoyed it for a moment. Your awareness sharpened. Your chest rose and fell steadily under a light layer of silk, and a gentle breeze filled the blank space around your body. The last you remembered was falling asleep in Roger’s arms. On the plane. In the air.

Your eyes shot open to find your reflection staring back at you. Sitting up, you took in more of the room. The vast, empty space in the bed. The impersonal feel of the dresser to your right, neither a book nor a photograph adorning it. The way the red curtains wafted into the room. You craned your neck forward, catching the view out of the open balcony doors to be met by a bright blue sea for miles ahead. But there was no one there. No Roger in sight. 

Panic seared through you as your legs dangled off the edge of the bed. 

You sighed and embarked on a journey down the hall. It was lined with gold and platinum discs from all of Queen’s albums and large prints of the band in action. Portraits of Roger and his bandmates looking much younger. ‘Like fine wine,’ you muttered to yourself, sauntering through to the staircase. It looked out on to a grand, marble reception area with huge, marble doors at the front. It was unlike anything you had ever seen or been inside, and certainly not what you expected from Roger when he talked about his favourite villa.

As you began to descend the stairs, something caught your attention. Music. Finally, some sign of life.

You followed the sound down the stairs and through the hall, into a rustic kitchen. Standing at the island, with his back to the door, was Roger. Clad in white shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, he shook his hips to the music, in time with the drinks mixer in his hand.

“This song sounds familiar,” you mused, causing him to jump.

Roger turned around, his glasses askew on his face. Realising it was you, his form softened. He beckoned you into a hug. “Did you sleep well, darling?” he asked, kissing the top of your head.

“I did, thank you,” you responded, beaming up at him.

Roger shook the mixer, filling the room with the shimmering sound of crushed ice. “I’m making margaritas,” he announced, “want one?”

“I’d love one,” you said, breaking away from Roger’s embrace. Hauling yourself up on to one of the wooden stools around the island, you watched as Roger poured the drinks, finishing them off with a twist of lime. He looked rather pleased with himself, sliding it across the counter to you. He watched, waiting with bated breath, as you lifted the glass to your lips. 

But then you paused, sitting it back down on the counter. “How did you get me in here while I was asleep?”

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” Roger shrugged. “Just asked the driver if he could give me a hand getting you in and out the car. You never stirred once,” he explained taking a sip of his own drink, nodding in approval. “Christ, that’s good. You must be the heaviest sleeper I’ve ever met. But you did nearly sink an entire bottle of fizz on your own so I won’t hold it against you.”

You laughed, taking a swig of your cocktail. “Good.”

Roger leaned over the counter, closer to you, smirking. “You know, the cleaning lady genuinely thought I’d snapped and brought a dead body back.”

That wasn’t the worst joke Roger had hit you with, but you had made a habit of hyping up the shock value in those little tidbits he shared with you, moving back in your seat, open-mouthed. “She didn’t?”

“Yeah. Guess what I said to her?”

“You told her you were getting laid tonight, didn’t you?” you said, slapping Roger’s arm.

He sunk his teeth into his lower lip, slowly nodding.

“Oh you sick fuck,” you scolded.

“I know you love it though.”

“That’s debatable,” you quipped, taking another sip. “I love this album. I feel like I’ve heard these songs before. What is it?”

“It’s 1989 by Ryan Adams.”

You slammed down your glass and slapped the counter. “That’s where I’ve heard this before! These are Taylor Swift songs!”

Roger narrowed his eyes. “No, they’re not.”

A mocking tone took hold of your voice. With your hands on your hips, you sat up straight. “Uh, yes they are!”

“She can’t bloody write songs like this,” Roger said, rolling his eyes. “This guy, though? Genius.”

“She wrote those songs. And, he’s a known sex pest, Roger,” you explained. “Come to think of it, that’s probably why you like him, right?”

“That’s a low blow,” Roger said, sliding his phone into his eye line. “So if I’m right about him writing these songs, what do I get?”

“A kick up the arse.”

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing, darling.”

“And if you’re wrong, you have to take me to all the villas you own. I quite like this one but I’m dying to see what the others-”

“You’re right.”

“What?”

“She did write those songs,” he said, showing you the Wikipedia entry. “You’re right.”

“Told you.”

“Well, short of going to the other villas, what are your plans for the rest of the day, darling?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you sighed, “what do you want to do?”

“It’s your holiday.”

“Honestly, I just want to get out of these clothes and chill out for a bit. I’m exhausted. Maybe you could show me around tomorrow?”

“We could go for a nice drive around the island if you want? Get some nice food, soak up a bit of sun.”

“Sounds good!”

“And just now, why don’t we take the margaritas upstairs and have a nice long soak?”

Like a pair of giddy teenagers, you and Roger raced each other up the marble staircase, and back into the master bedroom. You beat him, of course, and stood aimlessly in the doorway, wondering which door on the wall led to the bathroom. You hadn’t thought to find it when you woke up.

Eventually, Roger caught up. “It’s the first one, darling. But you missed the bigger bathroom, at the top of the stairs,” he explained, taking your hand and leading you back along the hallway. “We’ll never fit in that tiny little shower cubicle in my room.”

“Well I think you need a bigger shower,” you quipped. But you were quickly silenced by the sight of the free-standing tub in the master bathroom. Completely marble, again, with gold accents. You could easily fit an entire football team in it. But what struck you most was the view. The glass of the window stretched from floor to ceiling, providing you with a clear view of the sea and the beach below.

“Why would I get a bigger shower when I could have all ten of my wives in this?” Roger joked, sitting the margarita jug and glasses on the counter opposite the bath. 

“Don’t you get worried people might see you?”

“Why would I get worried? It should be a bloody treat for them.”

You waited patiently as Roger poured bubbles and bath salts into the tub. Awkwardly thumbing at the collar of your shirt, you wondered where this was going. If this was going to be anything like the situation on the plane. You weren’t exactly feeling flirtatious anymore. You suddenly felt gross. Unsexy. As Roger began to shed his shirt and shorts. Finally his underwear. Your hands shook as you did the same. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” Roger asked with one foot in the bath.

“What?” You asked. “Nothing.”

“Your face is like fizz. You sure you’re alright?” 

You laughed. “Guess I’m not as bold when I’m sober.”

Roger sank down beneath the bubbles and peered over the top at you. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sloshed. You could look like Elton John right now, and I’d still adore you.”

“You’re not helping,” you said, tugging off your jeans.

Roger watched you, utterly spellbound as you climbed in beside him. “You’re right, I just wanted to get you naked again. What can I do to help?”

You looked at him with one eyebrow raised. It wasn’t as easy as that, but you had to commend his desire to try. “I don’t know. I’m still really nervous,” you shrugged, allowing the warm water to soothe your weary bones.

He studied you. The way his eyes darted over your features, memorising every detail, told you he was deep in thought. Wondering what he could do to put you at ease. But you could tell he felt defeated. 

“This is all new to me too,” he sighed.

“You’re far better at this than I am. Waking up here, I had one of those ‘what the fuck am I doing?’ moments. I’m here. In a villa. On an island. With a man that I only met at the start of the week. And he’s far older than I’d ever usually go for.”

Roger’s shoulders sank. His eyes did the same, focusing on the margarita in his hand. “I don’t want you to think I’m some manipulative, perverted old man. I’m sorry if I’ve given you that impression.”

Roger was on the wrong track. You shimmied over to him and ran your fingers over his jaw. “Never! That’s the thing. I like you. This is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done, and here I am, too stuck inside my own head to enjoy it.”

He keened into your touch for a moment, enjoying the contact. “That’s good,” he began, taking your hand and pressing your knuckles to his lips, looking at you with those glassy blue eyes of his. “Because I like you a lot.”

That was it. That was all he had to do to make you melt and throw yourself into his arms. You could think of worse ways to spend your evening, than watching the sun go down, in the biggest bathtub you had ever seen, with a handsome, filthy rich rockstar playing with your hair. “It’s just gonna take a bit of getting used to. Nothing serious.”

>>NEXT PARTS>>

[leighlim]

It’s cool when tips come from trusted sources!

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(Hopefully by this point you’ve finished all episodes of all three seasons, the kind of person who isn’t bothered by spoilers, or are just deciding if you still want to keep watching.)

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As I skimmed through scenes from the episode. I was reminded about a realisation that Jim and Maggie needed to be apart in order to work well as a couple.

Hallie asking Jim about how he views her seems to be something that could have come up between Jim and Maggie if they ended up together after that Season 1 street chase. Then there’s Maggie who learned to ease up on her stubbornness after Jack helped her realise the hidden reason she sided with Hallie.

I’m looking at the IMDB page of the episode...and initially thought there was no credit for the HR guy...then at 38:07 I found out that his name is Wyatt Geary

PS: I also noticed that quick zooms are used whenever there is a gag or a punchline. Somehow it doesn’t ruin the parts of the episode that is serious. Now that’s walking the line!

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HIGHLIGHT:

INT. ACN OFFICES (BULLPEN) - DAY

SLOAN's POV: GARY in the conference room pounding files on the desk angrily.

DON emerges from MAC's office, like he's never going to smile again.

SLOAN I just heard. Sorry, Bubba.

She gives him a peck on the cheek and envelopes him in a hug. DON accepts and as they lean into the embrace more---

WYATT Good afternoon!

He is sitting on one of the desks at one end of the BULLPEN. Smiling smugly.

They pull apart. DON makes his way to him while giving him the death stare. SLOAN follows close by.

DON I'll tell you, Mr. Geary, this isn't the best time.

WYATT stands up, walks over to them, and consults his folio.

WYATT You two are a couple.

DON We're not, but maybe we can do this later.

WYATT No you are. I have a signed letter declaring that you are.

He waves a piece of paper and studies it.

WYATT It was sitting in my office in a pile of things I hadn't gotten to yet.

They meet WYATT and stand shoulder to shoulder.

SLOAN Somebody ratted us out?

WYATT Yes.

SLOAN Nobody around here would drop a dime. You're blowing smoke. Who cheesed?

DON Okay, Mugsy.

WYATT You did.

SLOAN Huh?

WYATT is still buried in the evidence.

WYATT. You did.

SLOAN Which one of us are you talking to?

WYATT I think you know

DON (to Sloan) What's he talking about?

WYATT Sloan wrote a letter to HR declaring the two of you a couple.

SLOAN Yeah, it was after you made $125 on the Chipotle trade I tipped you off to.

DON (to Sloan) We spent the last two weeks trying to conceal from this man that we're dating...

WYATT just sits there calmly and expectantly. Your serve 'couple'.

DON ...and the whole time you knew you'd sent him a letter saying we were dating?

SLOAN Mmmhmmm.

DON Why?

SLOAN Well, obviously I was hoping he'd never find out.

He faces SLOAN.

DON But you knew he was gonna read the letter eventually!

She faces DON.

SLOAN Eventually is a wonderful time of day. This was a cross-that-bridge-when-we-get-to-it situation for me.

DON whips over to WYATT.

SLOAN And here we are. We're at the bridge.

DON Wyatt---

WYATT Is lying to corporate something you do habitually?

He's fighting to stay unreadable...but a smirk leaks out for a microsecond.

SLOAN Don and I like to make decisions...

DON nods as she is saying this.

SLOAN ...about lying on a case-by-case basis.

But then realises that she's continuing to dig them deeper.

DON Maybe you've helped enough.

He takes two steps towards WYATT.

DON Please, do not transfer one of us.

WYATT's has a smile forming.

DON We don't work together enough, but the little we do works. And if you ask Sloan to choose between me and her job, you wouldn't be able to get that sentence out before she said 'her job', and I really like her and I'm trying to be good enough. And this here is the best thing that I do. And can I say one more thing? Its just occurred to me that your company is only going to own my network until the end of the day...

His voice gets louder as the epiphany arrives...he glances at SLOAN.

DON ...so what the hell has this all been about!?

WYATT is smiling now. The eyebrow shrug giving him away.

SLOAN gets there too.

SLOAN Come to think of it...

WYATT I'm blown away you let me do it this long.

DON's eyes scream bloody murder.

DON Why did you do it this long?

WYATT shakes his head.

WYATT Fun.

SLOAN's eyes narrows.

WYATT I work in HR. Our days aren't scored by the Hallelujah Chorus.

He looks from DON to SLOAN. She has a small smile now too.

WYATT I don't know anything about the story you were all working on, but I know enough to say sorry.

He gives each of them a long look.

WYATT Good luck to the two of you. I'm a big fan.

He taps his folio on DON's shoulder as he walks away. Thanks for playing.

WYATT Put those Instagram photos back.

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My verdict of the episode: 8/10

Link to the timestamp commentary: TBA (Though I don’t think there are any --- I will investigate)

[oh-styles]

Something About a Disturbance

Flashback to January 2016, this is the first thing I ever wrote for Harry, and what I didn’t know was it was the very beginning to our SAAF lovers. It’s not my best, but January-2016-me wasn’t the best at a lot of things, so really--

It’s a little passed two in the morning when it happens; the harsh clatter of heeled shoes staggering from his entryway, some steps more off balance than the others, when he hears it.

He couldn’t mistake the familiar Irish drawl bellowing below him, and he clenched his eyes tighter hope this was nothing more than false awakening, and soon enough you would come stumbling into his bedroom, hobbling over your own two feet, as you prepared yourself for bed. But it was the sound of a tumble, a yelp, and a hard, unmistakable male laugh that sent him slowly sitting up in bed, his mood quickly dwindling towards sour.

“Wha’ th’fuck?” His words mix together as he mulls himself through sleep.

After pulling a twelve-hour studio day, running on caffeine highs and scattered power naps in between booth sessions, he’d only made it home two hours ago, before he was pulled from his much-needed rest rather quite rudely. His muscles ached, drained of energy, as he lifted himself from his bed and dragged his worn body down the stairs, only to be met with his girlfriend laying on the kitchen floor and his brunet Irishman friend heaving over in laughter on the sidelines.

“Oi! D’ya remember the bloke you chatted y’up? He looked like’m!”

It didn’t take long for Harry to conclude that his two houseguests were completely and utterly sloshed.

What’s happened?” He exhales, frustration clear in his voice.

You tilt your head back to capture your boyfriend standing in the middle of his kitchen in nothing but his black Calvin’s, his hair sticking awry. “W-what’s happened with you, Harold? You look bonkers.”

The words sounded foreign coming from your mouth, and Harry furrowed his brows and narrowed his attention to his friend. “What have you done to her, Niall?”

“Showed’r a good time, that’s what! The girl knows how to enjoy herself.”

Niall, who has managed to keep himself upright for most of the night, leans against the kitchen island for support, watching as you toss your heels precariously off to the side.

“Clearly.” He mutters, running a single hand down his face. He asked for one thing of Niall this evening, and that was to show you a nice night our while he had to work. It was a simple request, and he felt confident with his choice of companionship. Now, he is wishing he would have sent you over to Liam’s for a nice, quiet night in with his dog.

After having to cancel on a date he promised you the weekend before when unwelcomed studio time needed his ungodly attention, he wasn’t about to have you sit and mope around his house all night while he worked.

Now, he was beginning to regret his choices.

“B-babe, want to hear a joke?” You’ve managed to flip over onto your knees and crawl over, the world still spinning far too fast for you to get back up on your feet.

“Not particularly.”

Harry was many things, and a patient man being one of them, but it was today, at two in the morning, standing half-naked in his kitchen with two drunk guests, that that said patience was quickly withering away.

“W-what’s the difference between a—” You snicker, holding a single finger up to your lips as you try to collect yourself. “Okay. A G-spot and a golf ball.”

Harry side-eyes Niall who has covered his mouth, waiting in anticipation of the punchline he more than likely had told you just earlier that evening.

“A guy will actually s-search for a golf ba—” You don’t have the chance to finish before you’re succumbed to such laughter that not much noise has the chance to escape your mouth.

He had to admit, he did feel the corners of his lips begin to lift.

“Niall, how did you guys get here?” Harry glances at his friend, who has joined you in a fluctuance of laughter, his entire body heaving over. “Niall.”

“A car,” he snickers. “How else?”

A smartass and a comedian are who he is dealing with tonight apparently.

“Tell me you didn’t fucking drive.” He looks back down at you for an answer, but he’s only met with your arm stuck awkwardly inside your dress. Before he has a chance to question your antics, you swiftly remove your bra from your attire with an achieved grin. “Babe, no—”

“I want to break freee,” you sing, throwing the bra in the direction of your shoes as Niall can only stare in awe.

“’Right, ‘M’taking her to bed. Niall, did someone drive you?”

He’s reaching the end of his patience, and the mere thought of Niall behind the wheel of the car with you in tow, as intoxicated as the two of you are, only adds fuel to the perpetual fire.

“M’man Nick. He—uh, he’s somewhere.” Niall finally responds, tugging a hand through his hair.

“Mate, is he outside?”

“Love, love! W-what’s the difference between anal sex and oral sex?” A small voice chirps up from below him.

“Y-yeah, he’s outside.”

“Then go, Niall. I can’t deal with both of y’drunk arses right now.”

“Oral sex makes your day. A-and anal sex makes your hole weak.” You’ve lost yourself in another mute fit of giggles.

“A-and where’s m’thank you for bringin’ yer girlfriend back unharmed, huh?” Niall looks at Harry with large eyes, seeming to be intimidating. The only thing that crosses Harry’s mind is he resembles a deer caught in headlights.

“Thank you. Now, go home, mate. Y’drunk.”

“Funny.” Niall responds, folding his arms across his chest. “If y’can’t tell, she had more than me, and I’m not the one undressing on yer kitchen floor.” Harry’s attention is brought back down below him as he catches you struggle to remove the second strap of your dress, one already managed to come loose.

He’s instantly hunching over, pulling the strap back up your shoulder, and leaning your body into his to keep you stood upright.

“I don’t feel good,” you mutter just below your breath, your body breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Niall—” It’s a single warning, and quickly understood. He reaches over to grab his jacket that was thrown over one of the bar stools, and pauses to sneak a glance over at your slumping body.

“Mate, she doesn’t look good.”

And just before anyone has a second to react, you lurch forward and purge your drinks onto the kitchen floor.

“Okay, pet.” He exhales a deep sigh. “Can you walk?” The words that do leave your mouth probably started off as a sentence, but got lost somewhere as you leave once more. “Alright, up you come.”

You’re suddenly lifted, laying against his bare chest as he carries you up the stairs. He lightly kicks open the bathroom door with his foot and sets you down on the floor before reaching back behind him and flicking on the light.

“’Right, you’ll probably be sick again so just stay put while I clean up the kitchen.” He exits the room to grab a blanket from his bed, returning it to you. “I’ll bring you some water and we’ll get you out of those clothes.”

But you’ll probably have done it yourself by the time I get back, he thinks.

On any other circumstance, you would have made a joke of, ‘Well, at least take me to dinner first, Styles’, but he’s only met with the sound of a groan and you leaning your forehead against the toilet seat for support.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice quivers, and it doesn’t go by him at the notice of your eyes welling up.

“Heeey, none of that, ‘right?” He pulls open one of the cabinet drawers to fetch a hair tie, and leans down to wrap your hair in a quick makeshift bun. “M’not mad at you.”

“Are you mad at Niall?”

“Not mad at anyone, pet.” He leans down to give you a quick, pert kiss against your forehead. “Let me take care of the kitchen and I’ll be back up.”

As promised, he returns to you with your heels and bra in hand, and discards of them properly in his room. And after a quick run through his dresser, he finds an old, worse for wear Queen tee and a pair of boxer shorts, and arrives back to where he left you. Except now you’re not looking much alive with your eyes plastered shut and mouth hanging open against the toilet.

“Y’with me, love?” Harry crouches down to your level and pulls you gently back up, only for your head to fall slack.

Out like a light.

He’s not entirely sure how he manages, but with efficient tugging and pulling, he removes the dress in exchange for his clothes, and picks you back up off the bathroom floor and lightly lays you down in his bed.

It’s nearly half past two in the morning, and Harry crawls back into the comfort of his bed, letting out a very unmanly groan as his muscles conform back into the duvet.

He’s never letting Niall show you a night out ever again.

*

When he is awoken some hours later to a swift kick to his shin, he can tell the sun hasn’t been up long. His eyes remain closed, quietly hoping that if he doesn’t many any sudden movements, his companion in bed will lose interest and fall back asleep without a word. And from what he can tell, he thinks he has succeeded, until one light poke to the side of his nose sends him exhaling with a flustered sigh.

“G’back to sleep.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“You know where the kitchen is.” Should be fairly acquainted after last night.

“But I miss you.”

It’s a small, soft-spoken, four syllable exchange, but it sends any evidence of irritation to disappear from his evident scowl.

“Is that so?”

You hum, snuggling your head into the crook of his shoulder and listening to his breathing, and the subtle wheezing that he insists with complete confidence is a part of your imagination.

“You’re the one wheezing, love. I hear yeh all night long. Keeps me up, y’know?”

You use your index finger to trace over the lines of his closest swallow, before dropping it down to his abdomen and lightly covering his butterfly.

“Mmm…tickles, pet.”

Mornings like these, the ones where you get to wake up beside him after weeks of separation and being locked up and isolated in the confines of your apartment, wasting away in the vast emptiness of your bed, you are thankful you get to hold him a little tighter than you did before.

A dramatic one, he calls you, but you digress.

He may he used to the distance, but you’re not like him.

You know he’s going to leave again; somedays it’s a week, others it’s the next day. Your lifestyle has kept you grounded; you have your life, you have your friends, and your school all plastered down, whereas the man beside you took a different approach. He understands what runs through your mind when you see it from the other side, because he’s been there already before. You on the other hand, watch him wake up at ungodly hours to make red eyes to get him to some country for some interview or photoshoot before he must fly back and make room for studio time or another interview, and maybe he’ll find time to squeeze in a meal somewhere in-between.

And that’s when the guilt hits you.

You stop tracing the butterfly and bring your attention back up to the boy resting peacefully below you, for once. He’s always on the move, never resting, always need to be getting one thing done before moving onto the next to fill his time. The dark circles below his eyes don’t go unnoticed to you.

“I’m sorry.” It’s so quiet you’re afraid he doesn’t hear it, but a single eye opens and is drawn to your direction.

He exhales a sigh and closes his eye. “’Bout what?”

“Last night. I know it was a dick move.”

You knew he was working late, you knew he’d return home exhausted, yet Niall insisted on walking you inside, which would cause a chain of events that brought you to this very moment.

A smile forms along his lips but he doesn’t make a move. “Which part? Waking me up or getting sick in the kitchen?”

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Unbeknownst to you about the finer details of the night before, you slowly sink deeper into the covers as realization hits you even farther. “I’m the worst girlfriend ever.”

“Oh, shut it,” he expels a sigh, turning over to grab for your limbs. “Could have made you sleep in the guest bedroom, yeah?”

“And you would have come crawling in there an hour later because I’ve spoiled you and you don’t know how to sleep alone anymore.”

“And that’s exactly right, love.”

He is certainly positive that ever since he brought you into his life, never once have you gone a night without sharing the bed. If he’s not at your place, you’re at his, and he’s finally reached a point where maybe the two of you would be better off if you said good riddance to your cramped, downtown apartment, and made a home for yourself in the very spot where you currently laid.

But that’s a talk for a different day.

“So…breakfast…? I can order some donuts or bagels on Postmates…”

“Whatever tickles your fancy, love… but first, please brush your teeth. You have vomit breath.”

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #12 (don’t move)

TW: none

Fandom: Good Omens (Aziraphale, Crowley)

Notes: This is hot garbage, these characters are really difficult to write, and I struggled with this one. Moving on...

—–

Hell, Crowley had decided, could kindly fuck off.

The demon didn’t know whose sick idea of a joke this was. (A lie. He knew exactly which perverse bastards would play this game, and once the angel was safe, he was going to rip them apart, starting from their colons.)

Somewhere between Hell and Earth, the punchline was lost in translation. Or more likely, there wasn’t any punchline to begin with, just a long set up followed by pain.

Those were the only jokes Hastur enjoyed, anyway.

Aziraphale sat, prim and proper as always, straight-backed in Crowley’s own fucking throne, hands folded neatly over his thighs. He smiled at Crowley, absent, the kind of polite expression one adopts when greeting a teller at the bank or some other long-suffering civil servant.

Those assholes won’t know what hit them, the demon growled, gritting his teeth as he conjured a thousand different scenes in which he would make. someone. pay.

“Is everything okay, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked, azure eyes rounding, his lips pursed in that particular way. The angel patted his thighs, a tell-tale sign he was about to do something ill-conceived, and Crowley’s non-existent heart leapt into his throat.

“No!” He shouted, snarling. “Don’t move!”

Aziraphale stiffened, obeying the vicious reprimand. Above him, the sharp metal weapon swayed, dangerously, drunk on its promise of death.

Crowley cursed under his breath. He didn’t understand the why behind it all. Tie the angel up under a scimitar of Hell, so any movement would trigger the blade to fall directly on the soft, exposed flesh of Azirphale’s neck.

Yeah, yeah, Crowley got the whole Damocles connection, as thin as it was, but it wasn’t like he or the angel were trying to rule over anything. Crowley had spent the past several centuries avoiding that any kind of responsibility, and with the Apocalypse behind them, his desire to do…well, anything aside from yell at his plants and annoy Aziraphale was at an all-time low.

But Hell did like to send a message, even if the subtleties were lost in their vapid imaginations. And botched literary references aside, they had managed to pull a doozy, with the combination of a literal damned sword hanging above Aziraphale’s neck and a well-executed (Someone help him, he hated to admit Hell sometimes could get their act together) memory-wipe which had the angel regarding Crowley as he did the waitstaff at the Ritz.

Caring, polite, and distant.

It was as if the last four months (nevermind the last 6,000 years) had never happened.

“Young man, there is no need to use such a tone, I was merely trying to help.”

Of course you’re trying to help, thought Crowley, bitterly.

“It’s - ah - no, it’s fine. Just, I need you to stay there. And not move. At all.”

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, squinting at the elaborate death trap suspended from the ceiling. If he crossed the circle, the sword would drop (and Crowley would be demon toast with a side of marmalade). If Aziraphale moved, the sword would drop, and while the angel might avoid its cursed blade, the ancient sigils burned into the floor (his floor, thank you very much. It was a good thing demons didn’t believe in security deposits.) portended a Very Bad Outcome if they were to interact with the blade.

So what are we supposed to do? Sit here for eternity with Aziraphale’s memory wiped and me fretting like a nervous old lady?

Crowley paused. Actually, that was a well-thought punishment.

Damn Hell. Again.

“Well,” the angel sniffed, moving to adjust his waistcoat and then thinking better of it. “If you are going to insist it just sit here, you could be kind enough to offer some form of entertainment.”

Crowley’s eyes popped wide.

“Entertainment?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale continued, ignoring Crowley’s indignant tone. “A book or two would be most welcome, but lacking that perhaps a rousing debate on the comparative ethics of…”

Crowley snarled.

“Right. A story, then?”

“You - you want me to tell you a story?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Yes.

“No, I suppose not,” Crowley sighed, kicking at the floor. Aziraphale wasn’t going anywhere, and if the angel was staying put, so was Crowley. At least until he thought of a way out of this whole mess.

“Fine, fine, just let me - “ With a snap of his fingers, a chair materialized just outside the binding circle. Crowley turned it around, longs legs straddling the back, arms perched on top.

He pushed his sunglasses up his face.

“Once upon a time - “

“Really, my dear boy,” Aziraphale scolded.

“What?”

“It’s a bit hackneyed, the opening.”

“A bit - “ Crowley gaped. “A bit hackneyed? This isn’t literature class, ang - gah. You’re getting what you pay for.”

“So it seems,” the angel muttered, discreetly wiping his palms on his pants.

“Anyway. Once up a time,” Crowley grinned at Aziraphale’s pained expression. “There was an angel and a demon…”

Crowley didn’t now how long he sat there, recounting the events of the past six thousand years - civilizations rising and falling, cities built and destroyed, humanity, eager and curious, pushing at the boundaries of the known. (Of all his demonic acts, he could never conjure quite as much guilt for the whole apple business as he would for anything else. Look at what the humans had done, after all!)

“Do they fall in love?”

“And then there was that whole business with the paintballs and you, I mean the angel - “ Crowley froze. “I’m sorry, what?”

Aziraphale worried at his lip.

“The way you talk about them, this demon and angel. The whole story seems like some kind of Regency romance.”

Crowley’s heart threatened to leap from his mouth.

“I - uh…don’t want to spoil the ending. I mean, I don’t know the ending. There is no ending, ha! That’s the great thing, it’s a story that keeps on going.” Crowley found sudden interest in the patterns on the floor. “Hopefully keeps going and if I could just - “ The blade shimmered in the moonlight. Crowley had talked into the night, maybe into several nights.

The glint of metal played across Aziraphale’s features.

“What do you think?”

“I couldn’t say.”

Aziraphale fixed him with a disappointed pout.

“Ahhhhhhh, fine,” he groaned, jumping to his feet. “I think, I hope, I mean I’d for - “

The angel giggled.

“This is your story, no reason to be embarrassed. You could say they were abducted by an overgrown cephalopod in roller-skates in the end, and no one would be the wiser, no one could argue with you.” Aziraphale tilted his head. “I mean, I would, it would be poor story-telling, but it’s your tale, my dear. You call the shots, as it were.”

It’s *our* tale, you stupid angel. And I can’t be the one to write the ending, not if it’s like this.

Crowley threw his arms up, hissing. “Ssssure. They fall in love. Live happily ever after. Get a cottage somewhere, by the sea and become horribly domestic, it’s cavity-inducing really. The demon finds some semblance of peace and the angel acceptance and it’s all lovely with flowers and a bloody red bow tied on at the end.” Dashed hope was a bitter elixir at the best of times. Crowley made a face, moving his tongue around his mouth, trying to rid himself of the sour aftertaste of having chugged a two-liter bottle of regret in one sentence.

“Please don’t move,” the demon whispered as Azirapahle made an aborted attempt to stand.

It was better this way, perhaps. Even if he was able to get the angel free, Crowley didn’t know if his memory would be restored and that might not…be a bad thing. No expectations, no guilt for fraternizing with a demon - Aziraphale could be happy, go back to his books, and Crowley would come around and bother him, drink wine with him, and bury every last emotion he had ever had towards the angel somewhere on Alpha Centauri.

If, if…he could get the angel free.

But the only way to free the angel was the angel himself.

And for that to happen, Aziraphale needed to remember.

“Crowley?”

The demon spun around. Aziraphale’s eyes, which had been clouded, a thick fog over a blue sky, were clear, an impossible shade of azure.

He smiled.

Light years away, hydrogen atoms fell, sucked into a dark, gravitational vortex from which they would never escape. Light years after, a small ball of light shone through the dusty, hazy aftermath.

And on Earth, for the first time in centuries, a demon felt hope.

legobiwan does whumptober

[shyficwriter]

Bet I Can

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader, Yondu, Peter, Rocket, Kraglin, Drax.

Summary: Rocket doesn’t get how you never seem to laugh and the team starts a bet pool to see who can get you to laugh first.

Author’s Note: Another one of those “I must write this down now to get it out of my head.” stories. Hope you enjoy. Maybe I can focus more on my prompts now lol. Inspired by this scene.

Word Count: 2,797

“Geeze! Don’t you ever laugh?!” Rocket exclaimed. He had just finished telling a joke that had the other’s wheezing, and you merely sat there and grinned.

“Well, yeah?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Just because I didn’t laugh at your joke doesn’t mean that I never laugh.”

“I’ve never seen you laugh. Not once.” the raccoon said indignantly. “I don't get it! I mean, you look at Quill’s face every day, that alone should do it!”

“Hey!” Peter protested. Drax laughed and pointed at him.

You stand, rolling your eyes and sigh with a smile. “I don’t know what to tell you.” you say shrugging your shoulders and heading off to finish your chores.

When you were gone Peter spoke to Rocket. “Bet you 20 units I can make her laugh before you can.”

“You’re on, Star-munch!”

“Can I get in on this? I can make anyone laugh, I’m hilarious.” Drax said, earning a snort from Rocket. “See.”

“Um, sure buddy.” Peter said with a grin. “Anyone else want in?”

Kraglin and Yondu opted to join the bet, while Gamora chose to stay out of it and Mantis and Groot were happy enough just watching to see who would win.

They set some ground rules.  Rule 1: No one could tell you about the bet, for obvious reasons. Rule 2: Only up to three attempts per day per person, too many and they thought you might get suspicious.  Rule 3: No physical humor, i.e: No trying to make you laugh by tripping or otherwise injuring someone else. (This rule was mainly for Rocket, again for obvious reasons.) Rule 4: If one of them did succeed in making you laugh it had to be in front of at least 2 other people or it didn’t count. Witnesses or it didn’t happen, in other words.

Not unexpectedly, it didn’t take long for you to figure out they must have had some sort of bet going on. It was immediately obvious they were all trying different ways to make you laugh.

First, there was Drax. He would come up to you at least twice a day with a joke, none of which were terribly good. He would ask you something like “Why did the chicken cross the road?” or “Why is 6 afraid of 7?” and you’d shake your head with a grin and say you didn’t know, even if you did know the punchline. Then he’d say the punchline, sometimes incorrectly or even the completely wrong punchline for the joke being told, but he would still laugh as if it was the greatest joke in the world. You’d smile and tell him “Good one, Drax.” and move on. His enthusiasm was endearing.

Peter was also trying his best. He’d also crack the occasional joke or tell you a funny story. The stories were better than most of his jokes, but by now you had figured out what they were trying to do and weren’t going to give them the satisfaction of getting more than a smile, knowing it would make them crazy. You had to have your own fun too, right?

Peter was slightly salty about not having gotten you to laugh yet. He knew one surefire way that was just bound to work, but unfortunately he couldn’t use it. You see, you were also Terran and therefore you were likely also ticklish. It could be an easy instant win for him, even if it might be considered cheating. However, because of the witnesses rule, he didn’t dare try it. To do so would be to inevitably out himself to the team on this closely guarded secret “Terran weakness” and he wasn’t about to risk it for a bet. He’d never live it down. The only other person who knew about it was Yondu, who Peter had convinced years ago that Terrans outgrow it as they got older and he planned to keep it that way.

You noticed that Kraglin was trying as well, though not quite as hard as the others. He did happen to have better jokes, however, most of them pun based. His embarrassing Peter stories were fairly funny too, and you almost forgot you were making an effort not to laugh when he told the one about Peter having a prank backfire on himself and Peter walked as he was telling it, complaining, “Oh c’mon dude! Not cool!”

Then there was Rocket. His approach was a little different at first, like how one day he jumped out of a cabinet you were opening and scared you half to death. “SON OF A FUCK!” You cried out, jumping back and clutching your chest to stop your heart from escaping. Rocket, of course, was laughing hysterically.

“What? That was supposed to be funny!” he half laughed, half complained. 

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, you demon monkey!” you scolded, panting. “Get out of here before I rip your tail off!”

He complained and accused you of having no sense of humor, but he did stick to more conventional methods to try and get a laugh out of you after that, none of which were successful in getting more than a grin out of you.

Yondu didn’t really seem to be trying anything at all and you assumed that perhaps he wasn’t in on whatever bet the other three had going, as it had been going on for nearly a week and he just went about his days as normal, same as Gamora and Mantis. However, you had a feeling Gamora at least knew about the bet even if she wasn’t participating, as you caught her several times rolling her eyes at some of Peter’s lamer attempts. Groot almost seemed oblivious to it all.

A couple more days passed like this and you were considering telling them you knew what they were up to. You weren’t sure how many more of Drax’s awful jokes you could take, they were starting to get grating.

You walked into the common area where the others were hanging out and sat at the table to doodle while you contemplated just how far you’d let this go. After a few moments Yondu walks into the room and sits down across from you.

You briefly look up from your notepad. “Hey.”

“Wo bolilo bolobo,” the blue man responded.

You raised an eyebrow, taken aback, and look back up at him in bewilderment. “I- I’m sorry?”

“Bo belly bolya boolya bo.” Yondu replied as he looked you dead in the eye.

“What?” you set your pen down.

“Bah beloo.”

“What are you doing?” you say, semi-exasperated and fairly confused.

Yondu leaned back and gestured as if he were just talking about the weather, “Bo belly bolya wobolilo.”

“Whatever.” you say, grabbing your pen again and doing your best to brush him off as he finished his sentence of gibberish.

Yondu continued to watch your expression as you tried to go back to doodling and saw the corners of your mouth twitch and your nostrils flare. Jackpot.

“Bo bolya belly belly.” he started again, this time in a tone one would use if they were being slightly overdramatic about being bored as he leaned forward and folded his arms over the table.

You looked back up at him, concentrating on looking annoyed. ‘So, he’s in on it too.’ you thought. 

“Obele ubelue bar berllo.” he continued, making expressions as if this was just a normal conversation about what he did over the weekend. “Bobillo wobilli bobilly.” 

The others had become intrigued by this and watched on as the blue man spouted gibberish and you became flustered. You could hear Kraglin cracking up over on the couch.

“Are you done?” you asked, trying to keep your composure. You narrowed your eyes in an attempt to look as irritated as possible.

“Bo belly bolya be bo. Bah beloo. Bo belly belly.”

You could feel the corners of your mouth start to twitch again and you clenched your jaw. You’d be damned if you were going to let this... this ridiculousness break you. Not after over a week of holding it together, dammit!

Yondu continued his babbling as he watched your resolve slowly chip away. He had a feeling this would work. While the other’s had been busy pulling all their tricks from their hats he simply watched on to see what didn’t work and what came close, feeling out what your sense of humor might be. After a few days it became apparent that you had a sense of humor closer to Kraglin’s, as his attempts garnered the biggest and most genuine grins from you. Therefore, something ridiculous like this, which always cracked Kraglin, was worth a shot trying on you.

You shook your head in feigned annoyance and looked back down at your notebook once again, cursing yourself as your mouth turned upward in a grin that you could no longer suppress.

Rocket noticed this and smacked Peter to get his attention and whispered. “I think she’s finally gonna crack!” 

Drax looked mildly confused, expressing that he didn’t understand why you would find that funny only to be shushed by Peter. Normally Peter would have been salty knowing he was likely losing the bet but as of right now none of them really cared who won anymore as long as someone could finally crack you. It had been over a week and they had already used up all their ideas and started to think the endeavor was impossible. At least now they might get to see if it was even possible to completely crack you.

“Wobolilobolobo Bo belly bolya wobolilo.” He took your notepad now to get your attention, turning it towards himself and pointing at different parts of your doodles and commenting on them in gibberish. 

You inhaled sharply through your nose and clenched your fists, clinging to the last strings of your composure as you felt laughter trying to force it’s way up your throat. ‘Dammit!’ This wasn’t fair. You were going to lose it to this buffoonery, of all things. It wasn’t just the fact that he was babbling gibberish that was cracking you, it was the fact that he was doing so without even cracking a smile himself. He was doing it all completely deadpan and that just made it worse.

Kraglin was in no better shape from across the room. He was biting his fist to try to quell his own laughter. He never could take it when Yondu started babbling. The rest of the team were intently watching now, realizing that this was going to be the moment. You were breaking.

He looked at you and turned your notebook back around, pointing at it once last time. “Ubelue bar berllo.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You finally broke with a short mix between a strangled chuckle and a snort, and from there it was over. 

As soon as you broke Yondu changed the tone of his babbling to one someone would use if they were trying to figure out what the joke was, and that only opened the dam wider for your giggles to escape. You covered your mouth but that couldn’t stop them. When this happened he changed tone again to one of mild offense. “Obele ube wobo berllo.” he said, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes and looking offended that you were laughing at him. This, of course, only made your giggles turn into full blown laughter.

You held your stomach and looked at Yondu with squinty eyes full of mirth. You uncovered your mouth and smacked the table to whine out “Whyyy??” through your laughter. You didn’t expect an answer, but that didn’t stop the blue man from providing one in gibberish to you, which made you bring your forehead to the table in helpless laughter as you held your sides. You laughed like this for a good 10 to 20 seconds before you were able to lift your head and try to catch your breath. Of course when you did that then he started back up with the gibberish and you broke down all over again, unable to stop yourself.

You were absolutely shaking with laughter by now. “Stop! Stop! Please stop!” you laughed. “I can- I can’t breathe!” you managed to choke out as you panted for air.

Most of the team broke out into grins and giggles as they watched Yondu don a mischievous grin and respond to your pleas with more gibberish, making you stamp your foot and double over once again as you wheezed. 

“Ok! Ok! HAHAHA You win! You- you already won! Please stohop! AHAHA I can’t take it.” you cried out. You couldn’t remember a time when you laughed this hard.

“Hey!” Rocket spoke up. “Who told you about the bet?”

“It-it hehe was obvious.” You get out through residual giggles. “You-you didn’t haha hide it very well.” You rested your head back on the table and closed your eyes as you swallowed lungfuls of much needed air. “Just pay the man... hehe... so he’ll stop.” You panted and avoided looking back up at Yondu, knowing if you did he might start back up with the babbling again and your stomach already hurt from laughing so much.

After a moment of grumbles from the others as they transferred the units to Yondu you finally look up, breathing deeply. You opened your eyes to see a mischievous smirk on Yondu’s face. “Don’t-” you started, but were interrupted with more gibberish from the blue man, making you erupt into giggles again.

“Yondhuhu I said-”

“Wobolilobolobo”

“AhahHAH youhuhu blue aSS-”

“Bo belly bolya wobolilo...”

“STAHP-”

“Bobbily bo bilo boli.”

You were now crying and howling with laughter so hard you couldn’t speak.

“Looks like we found your kryptonite.” Peter laughed. You flipped him the bird.

“I don’t know what kryptonite is, but it must be Kraglin’s too.” Mantis said, pointing at the Xandarian.

You managed to look over through squinty tear filled eyes to see Kraglin absolutely losing his shit along with you. His cheeks were flushed a slightly bluish color and you were momentarily worried before you remembered that would be his normal blush, because of the blue blood and all.

“Cap, please! Hahaha! You’re gonna make me pee myself!” he laughed helplessly, nearly falling off his seat.

Yondu chuckled and stood. “Fine, I guess that’s enough fer tonight. My work here is done.” He stretched and walked out of the room humming to himself, quite satisfied.

Rocket looked at you and Kraglin as you both took this as a moment to breathe, residual giggles still bubbling up. “You guys sure do have a weird sense of humor.” he said, shaking his head. He turned to you, “But at least we know you can laugh now.” he teased.

You waved him off and leaned on the table, exhausted. “Satisfied? Can you let it rest now, turd muncher?” 

“Hey! Don’t make me pick up where the blue guy left off and have you laughing until you can’t breathe again.”

Too exhausted from laughing yourselves silly to leave and sure he might follow if you did, you and Kraglin both just warned him at the same time. “Rat.” “Don’t even-”

He crossed his arms with a smirk and tried to babble like Yondu had been. However his smirk soon turned to disappointment when he noticed he wasn’t getting even a grin from either of you.

“Oh thank god.” you sigh in relief. “It’s not the same.”

“Good, I would had died.” Kraglin admitted, covering his eyes and slouching down in his seat.

“Oh, you’re no fun.” Rocket complained and left the room, Groot following close behind.

As one would expect, this became the new thing on the ship. Whenever Yondu was just in the mood to mess with you he’d come up and start gibbering as if it was normal conversation. You could always tell when that’s what he was coming for if you were paying attention as there would a a glint in his eye. Kraglin came to realize this too and it wouldn’t be a strange sight to see Kraglin quickly leaving a room while trying to suppress a goofy grin or trying to stifle his own giggles after realizing what the Centaurian was about to do and just "NOPE”-ing the hell out of there if he valued the ability to breathe.

Sometimes Yondu would leave you a giggly mess, other times he’d keep it up until you were wheezing. Either way was amusing to anyone else who happened to be in the room when it happened, especially Peter, who’d often tease you about getting Yondu to unleash your kryptonite if he thought you needed a laugh. 

Needless to say, you had much more laughter in your life after that bet.

[marvelous-heroimagines]

No Peace

College!AU

Requested by: Anonymous (Here are the specifics)

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Word Count: 1.9K Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, self-insecurity, self-hatred, swearing

A/N: Based off of Girl Crush by Little Big Town

You fiddle with the straw in your drink absentmindedly as you listen to Sam’s story. As Sam delivers his punchline, you, Steve and Bucky all burst out in laughter; as Bucky’s body vibrates next to you with his laughter, he sways into you - probably because he’s 5 beers deep and can’t find his centre of gravity anymore - but it makes you freeze, if only for the briefest of moments. The feeling of his body resting on yours lingers long after he’s straightened himself. Your skin tingles and your breathing can’t seem to return to normal. Even just the touch of his skin makes you feel like you’re floating.

“So Buck,” Steve says once everyone’s laughter has died down, “How’s things going with that chick?”

And just like that you’re yanked back to Earth, your stomach tightening and your heart sinking. Bucky starts updating you and your friends on how things have been with Rebecca, but you’re no longer listening. The alcohol had suddenly caught up with you, and you were praying that you didn’t dissolve into a sobbing, drunk mess in front of your friends.

None of them knew, and you desperately didn’t want them to find out. Steve may have guessed, you’ve been too freaked out to confirm his sly comments. But there was no denying that you loved Bucky - you’ve loved him since Freshmen year, and here you were in your final weeks as a college student and you still loved him. A love that had never been returned and you don’t think ever will be - but a girl can dream.

“I think she’s zoned out,” you hear Sam note, bringing you back to reality,

“Huh, what?” you say, your cheeks flushing red as the boys laugh at you,

“Bit too much to drink hey?” Sam teases.

You slap his arm from across the booth before turning to Bucky, “I’m sorry what did you guys say?”

“I was just checking that you’d all be free Sunday-”

“Yeah!” you say, with too much enthusiasm before he can finish his sentence,

“Great!” Bucky beams a smile at you, making your heart skip a beat, “I’m inviting everyone to lunch in the park near campus. Becca wants to meet everyone, and we thought we’d celebrate graduating,” you make sure to keep the smile on your face as you stare at your best friend, but you felt like you’d just been punched in the stomach, “I want the two most important ladies in my life to finally meet... And ya know, if you two become best friends that wouldn’t hurt either,” he beams an excited smile at you, and all you can do is smile and nod back - even though you were internally screaming.

The last thing you needed was to meet the girl that you wanted to be. You’ve already seen her Facebook, you know she’s gorgeous, you didn’t need that to be confirmed in person. But now you were trapped into spending a whole day with the man you love and his new girlfriend.

You’d successfully avoided Bucky all weekend - mostly by locking yourself in your room and only sneaking out for food when you heard him leave the apartment. But as you sit in the cab, squished between Steve and Sam, your heart begins to race. You’d been hoping that this day would never come, or that you could just skip it altogether.

You’d successfully avoided having to meet Bucky’s girlfriend over the last few months. The thought of having to meet her made your heart break all over again, just like it had when Bucky excitedly recounted his first date with her. Sure Bucky had been on plenty of dates in the time you’ve known him, but none of them had ever worked out, except this one.

You barely listen to the boys as you all walk through the park, Sam taking the lead and trying to follow Bucky’s vague instructions to the picnic area. You were too caught up in your own head about having to meet Rebecca. You knew that she was pretty - no, stunning - but you’d been secretly hoping that she was a terrible person. It wasn’t nice, you knew that, but you’d needed something to cling to, all these months, that gave you some kind of hope that Bucky and her would break up.

But you didn’t have anyone to blame. It was your own fault that you weren’t her. You’d had almost 4 years to tell Bucky how you felt, but you’d been too scared. So here you were, trekking through a public park and hating every second that brought you closer to having to face the reality that your best friend - the man you loved - was someone else’s.

"Oh, there they are,” Steve says as he reaches out to wave at Bucky. You’re still a few meters from them, but you can already see Bucky holding Rebecca in his arms. Your stomach drops and you can’t tear your eyes away as you approach.

“Hey, you guys made it!” Bucky beams at the three of you. Your eyes are glued to his arm, tightly wrapped around her waist,

“You didn’t make it easy, man,” Sam mockingly grumbles, causing Bucky to chuckle,

“Everyone, this is Rebecca. Rebecca, this is Steve, Sam and Y/N,” Bucky introduces.

You finally tear your eyes away to give her a polite smile and hello - but you can hardly do that. You stare at her, it felt like something was crushing your chest and someone that pulled out your heart with their bare hands. She was beautiful, her long, blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her lips were pulled into a wide smile. She looked like a model, which only made you feel horrible about yourself.

It was almost like you had an outer-body experience, as if you were watching Rebecca chat to Steve, Sam, Bucky and yourself without actually being in the conversation. You had no idea what was being said, but you had a fake smile plastered on your face and you couldn’t look at anything but the way Bucky stared at her. You could see the love in his eyes, and it made you wish that you saw that look when he stared at you.

You were frozen in place, unable to tear your eyes off of Bucky and Rebecca. Every time he lovingly looked at her, grabbed her waist, kissed her; it was like you were being stabbed. And yet, you couldn’t move. The more she talked and joked with your friends, the more you realised that she was perfect. You’d been hoping that she was a bitch, but she was far from it. If she wasn’t dating the love of you life, you probably would be best friends.

As the sun set behind the trees, you absentmindedly stare at the grass - lost in your own self-pity and hatred.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice breaks through your trace, “You alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” you mumble as you uncomfortably shift in your seat, “Just lost in thought I guess,”

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks in a low voice, his stare burning into you. You nod, push yourself out of your seat and follow Bucky as he leads you a few feet from the group, “So, what do you think?” he asks, excitement bubbling in his tone,

“About what?” a frown setting between your brows,

“About Rebecca,” he says through a half-laugh, “She’s great, right?”

You stare at Bucky, unable to answer right away. On one hand, this was your chance to be true with him, to tell him that he belonged with you instead. But more than wanting to be with Bucky, you wanted Bucky to be happy. You glance over your shoulder at Rebecca just as she throws her head back to laugh - her melodic laugh reaching your ears like yet another stab to the heart.

You wanted to deny that Bucky was happy, but the way he excitedly awaited your answer didn’t lie; you’ve never seen him his happy in the 4 years you’ve known him. And you can’t blame him, Rebecca was so amazing that you basically had a crush on her.

“Yeah, Buck,” you finally reply, heavily coating your voice in happiness to hide your true pain, “She’s wonderful,”

Bucky’s lips stretch into a wide grin, “Oh, I’m so glad you said that,” he breathes out. You watch with confusion as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little, black, velvet box.

If you thought that watching Bucky with her today had been painful, this was worse than death. Your breath catches in your throat as your stomach twists and your chest caves in on itself.

The reveal of the engagement ring was too much for you; the fake smile that you’d kept on your face all day finally fades. The ring was holding your stare, almost as if it was mocking you.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice now concerned as he notices your change, “Are you alright?”

You get a hold of yourself and tear your eyes away from the diamond ring, “Yep, I’m good,” you take a quick breath to steady yourself before plastering that fake grin back on your lips, “Bucky, it’s beautiful!” you were probably over doing it with your fake excitement, but Bucky doesn’t notice, “When are you going to-?”

“Tonight!” he blurts out. He was a giddy child, almost bouncing on his toes as he glances down at the ring, “God, I hope she says yes,”

“She will,” you reassure him as he slides the ring back into his jacket pocket, “Any girl would be crazy to say no to you,”

Bucky gives you a smile of thanks before something over his shoulder catches his eye. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before jogging back over to the rest of the group; leaving you frozen in place, unable to look away as Bucky pulls Rebecca towards him and kisses her deeply.

“Oh no,” Steve’s voice makes you jump, pulling you back to reality, “He showed you didn’t he?”

Your eyes begin to prickle with oncoming tears and a lump the size of a softball becomes lodged in your throat; all you can do is nod.

“Let’s go,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and forcefully turning you away from the man you love and his soon to be fiancee as they kiss.

Steve continually asked you where you wanted to go, but you were unable to give him an answer. It was as if knowing that Bucky was about to propose to someone else had sent you into a catatonic state. Your feet were on autopilot as Steve lead you up to his and Sam’s apartment, the whole time asking if you were okay.

The answer was no, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to say that. You were numb, and unable to think of anything but Bucky and Rebecca. They were probably having a cute dinner in the apartment right now, and Bucky would be nervously playing with his hair as he waited for the perfect moment to propose.

The thought of them together made your bones ache. The way that her hands would trace every inch of his skin, the way she knew what his lips tasted like. You wanted nothing more than to be her, to have Bucky wanting to marry and love you. But you had no one else to blame.

“Y/N,” Steve says as he crouches down in front of you, sitting on the couch and staring at nothing, “Can you hear me? Are you okay? I’m really worried,”

“Can I stay here for a few days?” you speak for the first time in hours, “J-Just until I can find a new place,”

Steve solemnly nods with a sad look in his eyes, “As long as you need,”

Tags: @redstarstan, @rosyfluffyprincess, @heismyhunter, @coffeeismylife28, @klutzly, @leahhavoc, @invisible2niall, @addictwithafandomblog, @hantu369mc, @thegreatestpilotinthegalaxy, @impala-moose, @stratmoxphere, @bearded-bucky, @meep-meep22, @caitsymichelle13, @pleasefixthepain, @strangermarvelthings, @specs15, @sebstanwassup, @wunnywho, @thedarknesswarrior, @girlwith100names, @addictionmarvel, @melconnor2007, @ipaintmelodies, @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked, @spookydoritos, @fanboyswhereare-you, @tcmhollnd, @providence-impoverished, @lilya-petrichor, @hells-princess, @sarahp879, @indecorousthoughts, @geeksareunique, @courtneychicken, @peter-spider-parker-man, @mizzzpink, @lovely-geek, @httpmcrvel, @sebstanismylife, @glitteringsarah, @sumafamouxx, @impossiblyteenagestudent96400, @lena-stan-xavier, @bexboo616, @jeanneblanche, @hdthdthdt, @marvelite1998, @srgtsprout, @theglowstickofdestiny

Tags that didn’t work: @hesitant-poison, @mo320, @xplumsceptrequeenx, @janellexox0, @yoyolovesbucky, @yoinkpeter, @mrs-stan-barnes, @spn-worm

[canonja-blog]

Sentence Starters from my Favorite Fanfics (Part 6)

“You fucking told them?”

“You fucking incompetent pansy, the first thing we learn is to never tell anyone and you fucking tell everyone?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Why didn’t you call the local radio station and announce it to the entire fucking town?”

“He deserved to know!”

“He told them and now we have to kill them all and hide the bodies. Did you bring any lye?”

“No, but I know where I can get some.”

“How many bodies?”

“We’re not killing anyone.”

“Oh shit. We are the worst agents in the history of ever.”

“He’s probably halfway to Mexico by now.”

“None of this would have happened if you had done your damn job.”

“He only had a couple minutes head start.”

“Why don’t you just shut up?”

“Do I need to be on the line for this?”

“What the fuck is with you and the fucking ninja stars?”

“I bought in bulk, okay? Haven’t you ever had an impulse buy?”

“This can be easy. Just put down your weapons and come with me peacefully.”

“Has that ‘come with me peacefully’ crap ever worked?”

“Now, where were we? Oh yes, you were making empty threats and I was leaving.”

“You’re the one who kept making those ridiculous Star Wars jokes.”

“That’s why you’re an asshole.”

“I am never the asshole. Everyone else is the asshole.”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

“They’re never going to be able to fix this suit. It’s finished, that’s it.”

“Ew, what are you doing?”

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for so long.”

“His suits are not ridiculous!”

“Look what I did!”

“That’s my girl!”

“I believe I owe everyone here an explanation.”

“Can we start with how the hell you got into the CIA and when and have you ever shot anyone?”

“It was a dark and stormy night in Baton Rouge, I can give you everything your heart desires,’ the woman said to him, ‘All I require is your soul—’”

“You shut up! I am telling a story, okay?”

“We only hire the best.”

“This is a case for the CIA.”

“The CIA cannot even fathom what I’ve done to the world. I have greater access, greater control over information than they could ever hope for. The CIA can go fuck itself.”

“Would you two stop being such fucking immature assholes? We need as much manpower as possible.”

“This is more important than staying online for some fucking sixteen year old to complain about their curfew—”

“You have one hour of downtime. That’s it.”

“You’re sulking. Again. When you really have no reason to.”

“Ever heard of multitasking?”

“You are insane. Legally insane.”

“What’s so difficult about saying sorry and moving on?”

“I lied to him, took his heart in my hands and crushed it.”

“You lied to him, and he booted you from his life when he didn’t get the answers he wanted, and you told him he didn’t love you.”

“He ignored you, and you nagged him too much and he showed up late when you were supposed to meet.”

“Love is not a scorecard.”

“I’m supposed to take relationship advice from you?”

“I’m an excellent observer of the human condition.”

“Why is that everyone’s reaction when I tell them this?”

“Anyway. Take my advice. Pursue something you want. Someone you want.”

“He’s grown so well, hasn’t he?”

“Let them concentrate.”

“He failed to defend my honor.”

“We need more Red Bull. And Red Vines.”

“Maybe if everyone would shut up, we could actually do this.”

“Just, uh, let him cool off?”

“You’re shit at comforting, by the way.”

“I got Schnapps too.”

“History dictates that now is the time to panic.”

“Stop changing locations just to stall for a few fucking minutes and get to the point.”

“I hardly think you’re in any position to criticize me.”

“Oh, yes, because I’m always wrong, I know, I get it.”

“Why do you always have to push me past my breaking point, huh?”

“Does it make you feel superior to have that much control over me?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re the one who’s been playing with me. For weeks.”

“Why the fuck won’t you look at me?”

“I’m fucking terrified, alright?”

“You’re the only person, the only thing that consistently terrifies me. You’re the only person who has this insane power over me.”

“You’re the one who showed up in your stupid suits with your stupid face and your stupid hair.”

“Do you have any idea how your ass looks in those pants?”

“You seduced me first.”

“Oh, oh, like you have no idea how attractive you are.”

“And seriously, thumb on lip. Not exactly subtle.”

“The last time we were together and I told you about what I felt—”

“I was wrong. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

“I wanted to know where this was going. Us. But I’m pretty sure it involves a bed in the near future so let’s continue, shall we?”

“Think with your upstairs brain for a moment.”

“This is really important. I don’t want to lose you again. Please.”

"You were right, we should think about this. We should break up, we're broken up. Bye.”

“Since when did you start listening?”

“What does all that even mean?”

“Shut up. I was trying to tell you how much I love you.”

“Love is such an ugly word.”

"We waited. Three hours. Give or take.”

“You have a strange fascination with my mouth.”

“We should have been doing that earlier. Years earlier.” A pause. “Like the night we met.”

“Shut up and go back to sleep.”

“Just because you give me orgasms now doesn’t mean I have to listen to you.��

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“As an insult, that was beneath your intelligence level.”

“Your occupation is becoming less and less interesting by the minute.”

“Congrats on the sex”.

“I think Mommy and Daddy are back together.”

“Why am I the mother?”

“You always say that darling and yet you never mean it.”

“I don’t take assurances from naked men.”

“You’re going to get a headache like that.”

“I wouldn’t have to roll my eyes if you’d stop making me.”

“Why are you pointing at me? What did I do?”

“Is anyone going to eat this cake? It’s made with my love. My love!”

“Why does she have issues with the Queen of England?”

“You have a lot in common. Both of you have a complete disregard for civil niceties.”

“If you hurt him again, I will destroy you.”

“If I hurt him again, you won’t have to destroy me.”

“This isn’t exactly the kind of job where you put in your two weeks’ notice.”

“Ugh, did you just quote Star Wars to declare your love for each other?”

“We’re a day trip away. Day trips do not require souvenir.”

“We stayed overnight. Overnight means a gift.”

“We’re dysfunctional, like every good family.”

“Fine, play the family card.”

“What are you doing here? It’s four in the afternoon, shouldn’t you be at the office?”

“Do you really want to know or do you want me to lie?”

“Oh honey. You’ve always been this stupid. You’ve just never been this happy.”

“He’s really jealous and controls half of the modern world.”

“No biting, no scratching, no insulting each other’s mother unless they really deserve it.”

“We don’t pay you to eat ice cream.”

“I’m sure someone would be more than happy to pay me to eat ice cream.”

“Why aren’t you naked yet?”

“Why are you so hot when you’re fighting?”

“Why do you wear dress shirts for everything?”

“You could have borrowed one of my shirts.”

“So I don’t want to clean the bathroom with a hard on.”

“You get turned on by wearing my clothes?”

“Who even wears these things? And why do I need so many layers? Are we eating outdoors?”

“I thought you liked the idea of fashion.”

“I like the idea of being comfortable.”

“There wasn’t even a punchline.”

“I just had this shirt dry cleaned, you know.”

“I’m not going to pretend your aren’t easy.”

“Are you going to be there for him and man up and calm the fuck down, or are you going to panic and abandon him again?”

“Let me have a little fun, I’ll catch up with you in a couple minutes.”

“You’re making it very difficult not to shoot you.”

“I would listen to your boyfriend if I were you.”

“It’s much more fun seeing you panic over something outside of your control.”

“Why isn’t he saying he’s dying? He should be complaining loudly.”

“Shut up. You’re not giving me your dying words because you’re not dying.”

“I’m not going back to that. I’m not going to back a life without you.”

“Why am I not dead?”

“Idiots never die.”

“And no one gets coffee because you all broke your promise. These belong to me now.”

“You’re not going to drink six cups of coffee.”

“Please don’t challenge him on this.”

“I’m not talking to you. You should have told me that he was up. I’m drinking your coffee first.”

“It’s a hospital, not a school.”

“Children are not unheard of in public hospitals.”

“It wasn’t really a request.”

“And my answer wasn’t really negotiable.”

“I don’t barge into your meetings.”

“My job never tried to kill me.”

“Everything I do has a purpose.”

“You handled it. Not well, mind you, but successfully.”

“You’re leaving me again? Abandoning, abandoning us?”

“No, we had an agreement. You were supposed to quit.”

“They can fucking find someone else.”

“Not everything can go at your pace.”

“Mundane questions are my favorite kind.”

“My client would like you to stop digging into his activities.”

“Where does he get his dry cleaning done?”

“Are you in love with him?”

“What a tragic love story it is. The lonely genius and the rogue in denial.”

[ernmark]

You mentioned headcanoning Brown Jacket and Sir Damien as autistic - could you talk more about that? I'd love to read your thoughts on it.

Brown Jacket and Sir Damien have a lot of behaviors that remind me of students I had during my brief stint as a teacher, as well as my brothers and some of my friends. 

Autistic people aren’t a monolith or anything like that, so don’t take it that way. It’s one of those things where any of them in isolation might not be worthy of note, but so much of it feels familiar to people with this one thing in common that I can’t not see it.

This gets really, really long, so it goes under the cut.

Jacket

(All of Jacket’s lines are taken from Time Gone By unless they’re marked otherwise.)

He’s very literal and to-the-point. 

JACKET: So. Do you have a good reason forwalking out in the desert? Besides your death-wish.

JUNO: Besidesmy what?

JACKET: It’s well-documented.

JUNO: Documentedwhere? How long have you been watching me? Isthat how you found me out here? (PAUSE. NO ANSWER) Hello? 

JACKET: Hello.

JUNO: What the hell are allthose?

JACKET: Doyou mean the buildings or the tents?

JUNO: Idon’t know. Both?

JACKET: Well.Some are buildings, and some are tents.

JACKET: I am going to step into this shop andbuy a large decaffeinated Jovian tea with two sugars. You will stay here and watchto see what they do.

JUNO: Is the teasome kind of code? What does it mean?

JACKET: It means I am thirsty. It is largebecause I am very thirsty, and decaffeinated because I have a predisposition toaddictive—

JUNO: Where the hell did youcome from?!

JACKET: The door.

JACKET: How do you feel?JUNO: Sugar.JACKET: I do not know this emotion. (Monster’s Reflection)

I’m not kidding, I had two students who talked exactly like this.

One thing to note here is that he’s answering the questions that he’s being asked, but he isn’t addressing the unstated reason why it’s being asked in the first place. 

Another thing to notice is that it’s very important to him that instructions are clear; I’d argue that he elaborates because he isn’t entirely sure that the full meaning comes across, while Juno picks it up easily.

BUDDY: At any rate, once we’re open my big friend is going to work the bar; you’re going to play sad drunk at one of those tables by the door.

JACKET: You will be drinking carbonated tea. Focus will be crucial.  

JUNO: Alright, so. You want me to watch thedoor while you make your trade-off. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious,and… 

JACKET: Don’tuse your eye. 

JUNO: Yeah,thanks, I got that. Anything else?

Like Talfryn (who is canonically autistic), he has a hard time with jokes when they come from Juno. 

JUNO: Not a bad metaphor, for a giant, talking block of stone.JACKET: I did not get it from a stone. (Monster’s Reflection)

JUNO: Think I’ve got more sandstorm in my lungs than air.JACKET: A sandstorm is mostly air, Juno— (Monster’s Reflection)

JUNO: So,what, is his name actually The Big Guy?

JACKET: Thatwould be absurd.

JACKET: You make that noise a lot, don’t you.  

JUNO: Oh, sorry, does it bother you? Don’tmind me, just the guy who’s been playing peekaboo with his large intestine forthe past hour—OW, ow, ow. 

JACKET: You said your organswould not fall out.

JUNO: It was a joke! Do bigcaveman get joke?

JACKET: I do not know. I havenever met one.

Juno doesn’t understand how to deal with Jacket, which makes him interpret Jacket’s literalness as stupidity or malice, and leaves Juno acting like a big asshole. I see this a lot in real life. 

JUNO: Oh, hey, wasthat sarcasm? Maybe the big guy’s gotenough brain for a sense of humor after all.

JACKET: I have alwayspossessed a sense of humor, Juno. You are just not funny.

This is notably different from Buddy– he knows her well enough to understand what she needs and wants, and she communicates in a way that she’s sure he understands.

SOUND: A THROWN GLASS HITS THE WALLBESIDE JUNO AND SHATTERS.

BUDDY: Iasked for quiet.

JACKET: Iwill clean this. Would you like another drink, Buddy?

BUDDY: No thank you,darling. You may take his away as well; I believe he’s had enough.

BUDDY: Throwme the comms, darling. Then you know what to do.

JACKET: Ofcourse.

BUDDY: …And I waited.

JACKET: Fortwo years.

BUDDY: Well,so much for being allowed to keep one’s own secrets.

JACKET: Hewouldn’t have believed you if you said it.

He also uses a ‘script’ to deal with people that he’s not familiar with– something that somebody else advised him to do when dealing with people so that he has an easier time interacting with them.

JUNO: H-hey, what the hellare you doing? Put me down, you… The hell? I… I knowyou. 

JACKET: A correction: I know you.I have been told it is important to speak accurately, when beginning a businesstransaction.

JACKET: There are, in fact, many other things that could go wrong, but Buddy has told me that patients often find the truth unsettling— (Monster’s Reflection)

There’s also this sequence: like with a lot of the autistic people I know, he’s very rule-oriented, in this case on bike safety. He also doesn’t pick up on Juno’s clear (to me, anyway) agitation and discomfort until Juno verbally expresses what he’s wrong.

JACKET: Good.Be sure to strap in.

JUNO: Notuntil you tell me where we’re going… Of course. Another man of mystery.Listen, I’ve really had enough of these, so if you can’t even tell me wherewe’re going I’ll— (OOF, AS JACKET THRUSTS A HELMET INTOHIS STOMACH)

JACKET: I’ll tell you. I was just looking for ahelmet in your size.

JUNO: Whatthe… How many helmets doyou keep in that bag?

JACKET: Bike safety isimportant. 

There’s also this sequence:

JACKET: Have you used any of your eye’s specialfunctions since we entered the Cerberus Province?

JUNO: What? I haven’t—

JACKET: In the interest of fairness I shouldtell you that if you have, I will be forced to crush your head with thisdumpster lid.

JUNO: How is that anyfairer—(JACKET GOES TO CRUSH JUNO’S HEAD. JUNOIS REASONABLY PANICKED)Whoa, whoa, there! No, I haven’t usedit. You said that’s how Ramses is gonna track me, right?

JACKET: That is good.

If it were me, I wouldn’t tell Juno that I’d kill him if he said yes, because then he would have incentive to lie. But Jacket does, because it’s important for him to be clear and fair. He also takes Juno at his word when, once again, Juno has every reason to lie.

He is incredibly devoted to the things that he loves, and when the things he loves are threatened in any way, he reacts with a kind of growling anger that I’ve seen so many times from my brothers that it’s almost uncanny.

JACKET: And if you vomit on my hovercycle Icannot be held responsible for what happens to you next.

JUNO: Well,if I wasn’t concerned before, I sure as hell am now! Listen, I told you, if youmake me do anything—

SOUND: JACKET SLAMS THETABLE.

JACKET: Youlisten.

JUNO: Even to afforda low-end eye… that must’ve been a hell of a car.

JACKET: (IT HURTS TOTHINK ABOUT. THIS IS THE MOST EMOTION HE SHOWS ALL EPISODE. IT IS NOT MUCH.) We will not discuss this.

JUNO: Yeah, now that you mention it, I’ve been meaning to have a dermatologist take a—

JACKET: Do not complete this joke, Juno, or you will regret it.

(In this case, he recognizes the joke well enough to predict the punchline, and that he doesn’t want Juno to speak inappropriately to Buddy)

JACKET: Shedidn’t open at the correct time. I became concerned.

 BUDDY: Youtook the door off its hinges.

 JACKET: Iwas deeply concerned.

I’d like to draw attention to the fact that by the end of Time Gone By, Jacket is starting to like Juno– you can tell that by the way he tries to take care of Juno in the last scene. 

JACKET: Thesun is almost down. You areshivering.

JUNO: Yeah,well.

JACKET: Thereare coats downstairs—

JUNO: You reallyhave one of those Music Machine things up here too? Does anybody even go uphere?

JACKET: Wouldyou like me to turn it off?

JUNO: Didn’tsay that.

JUNO: StupidMusic Machine. Oughta be a law.

JACKET: Would you like me to turn itoff before we leave?

It’s the same way he shows affection to Buddy throughout the episode, and it’s not something he’s really shown toward Juno until this point, which is really sweet. 

Sir Damien

I started to get some of that vibe from Sir Damien back when he was first introduced. 

The first time we see him talking to Rilla, he’s recounting a story and she’s finishing his sentences, word for word– but he doesn’t catch on that she’s already heard the story that morning until she says so explicitly.

RILLA: (LAUGHS)DAMIEN: What is it? Is there something on my face? Have I done something foolish?RILLA: You told me all about your bedtime basilisk this morning, Damien. Remember? I made you the antidote to its poison.DAMIEN: Oh. Yes, I… suppose I did. (KotCLotS)

In that same exchange, he has to ask her outright why she’s laughing. He doesn’t immediately connect it to the fact that he’s retelling the story. He’s struggling with her body language, and it’s adding to his anxiety until she explains herself. 

He doesn’t dwell on his insecurity with her, though– as soon as that’s out of the way, he’s excited again:

Well, I’m just… ecstatic! What luck, a monster trying to kill me in my sleep! And when Angelo nearly broke our tie with that soggy parrot in the caves! (KotCLotS)

I mentioned earlier the rule-oriented behaviors, particularly about small rules that someone like me would overlook as unimportant. Like my brothers? They don’t lie, and they get super upset when you try to fudge the rules to take advantage of a coupon, or something like that. I see that behavior in Damien:

DAMIEN: I’ve acted a terrible fiend just now. I have lied to you. Yes, I was worried I’d be bored. Yes, I was concerned about my competition with Sir Angelo. (KotCLotS)

RILLA: Come on, hold my hand. We’re going to look out over the Queen’s balcony.DAMIEN: But I’m only supposed to guard, not enter the— Rilla! 

DAMIEN: I intend to have a fair fight, monster. Throw your knives, and I will throw my bow.

DAMIEN: Yes, she is certain to be furious with me. But it is to be my punishment and my penance. I challenged you to an unfair duel. I insisted we fight to my advantage. Half of my hands were armed, and only a fourth of yours were; an advantage two times over.

There’s this sequence:

DAMIEN: When… when will we be married?RILLA: You know that, Damien. Soon.DAMIEN: But… why not marry during the Festival?RILLA: You want to get married tonight?DAMIEN: It wouldn’t have to be tonight! The Festival lasts three nights! We have two full days to prepare! (KotCLotS)

Let me tell you about a regular conversation I have with my younger brother:

Me: No, I can’t hang out tomorrow. I’m exhausted and I need to rest.Him: How about tomorrow morning, then?Me: No, I’ll be resting still.Him: How about tomorrow at noon?Me: No, I want spend the whole weekend resting.Him: How about Monday morning?Me: I don’t know. I can’t schedule things right now.Him: What time can I call you to schedule things?

It’s an awkward disconnect because he has trouble reading the underlying feelings behind my words– namely, that I’m too tired to even think about making plans– and I’m too tired to communicate clearly in a way that would satisfy him.

With Damien, his struggle to read Rilla’s unspoken meaning contributes to his anxiety:

Did I ask her when? I don’t recall. Did I ask her and she didn’t answer? What does that mean, Saint Damien? Does it mean she doesn’t want to marry me? That she doesn’t love me? Perhaps she doesn’t today. Perhaps she never has, or what if—

…Have I pressured her too much? No, no… but what if I have? What if I always have? I’ll have to ask her. I could go right now, it would be just a moment, but what if some foul beast should come when I am tending to my weakness of theheart, what if— (KotCLotS)

He needs to verbally ask her for clarification (which, honestly, is rarely a bad move in a relationship) becuase he doesn’t trust himself to interpret her nonverbal cues. 

RILLA: I know it’s hard for you. I’ll say it as many times as I need to. I love you, Damien. (KotCLotS)

RILLA: Finally home. Saints, that was a longnight. 

DAMIEN: Yes, long, but, well, enjoyable, I thought? You hada good time, I hope?

RILLA: I had a good time, Damien. I’m just tired.

DAMIEN: Tired? Have I tired you?

RILLA: Actually, staying up all night at the festival mademe tired. Weird, right?

DAMIEN:Yes, yes, that makes sense. (Moonlit Hermit)

There’s a recurring thing going on about the way Damien interacts with people. Rilla and Angelo are familiar with him and usually know how to help him when he gets worked up.

RILLA: If you have to, fine, but let it slow down first. Do you want me to sing to you?DAMIEN: I… I… (HEAVY BREATH) Always. (KotCLotS)

ANGELO: Well… come now, this isn’t like you at all! Why don’t you just speak your heart, like you always do? That always seems to lift your spirits. Except for when it, uh, sinks them. (KotCLotS)

ANGELO: Oh, he does this quite often, Sir Caroline. I’vefound it best to let him ride it out. (Lady of the Lake)

ANGELO: Here, see, thisis how you do it. Come up here, my friend. (HE PICKS DAMIEN UP)

DAMIEN: (YELPS AS HE GETS PICKED UP) Ah! Let me go, Sir Angelo! My Rilla, I have to findher, I have to—

ANGELO: Shh, now. Speak your heart, Sir Damien. You did nottell me about this lizard’s eyes before. Do they… (HOPEFUL, AND ALSO GIVING AWAY THE ENTIRE SECRET) … have some sort of powers of manipulation? (LotL)

DAMIEN: But Sir Angelo, I must speak my heart—

CAROLINE: Again?    

ANGELO: No, no! I’ll stop you right there, friend. Take thistrial as progress in our mission. We will clear this curse upon the village ofBallast and come that much closer to understanding our adversary! (LotL)

For people who know and understand Damien, like Queen Mira, it’s simple enough to work with him to accomplish a task. 

QUEEN: His single-mindedness mayirritate you, but I suggest you learn to use it. He will fight when injured. Hewill never rest. When Sir Damien’s been convinced the demons of his heart canbe quieted with an action he will perform that action to the ends of the earth. (LotL)

For someone like Sir Caroline, who doesn’t bother trying to figure him out and just expects him to interact with the world exactly like she does, there’s endless frustration.

CAROLINE: But Sir Damien… I’ve been searching for nearly twoweeks now, and I can find no reason you should keep him as close as you do.

Sir Angelo, myself, and at least half a dozenother knights are stronger fighters than he. When given a research task hecollects turns of phrase instead of information. (LotL)

SIRCAROLINE: You see, this was the second piece of advice I tookfrom you, my Queen: making use of what you called Sir Damien’s singlemindedness,and what I might refer to as his incessant need to think and talk about thesame topics for hours, days, and weeks at a time.

(Collecting turns of phrase when he should be researching also suggests that poetry is Damien’s Special Interest. His trademarked singlemindedness is itself one of those things that makes me think of autism.)

Like I mentioned with Jacket, it’s something that I’ve seen a lot of with my family, with my friends, and with my students, where a person goes into an interaction assuming that the other person is neurotypical, and they misinterpret nerodivergent behaviors as rudeness or stupidity; meanwhile somebody who’s familiar with how that person works can better explain or ask for clarification. 

There are other little things that are harder to pin to one specific quote. He tends to ramble about one thing in particular for longer than some people may think is appropriate. He’s impeccably loyal to the Queen, to Rilla, and to Sir Angelo. The way he reacts to losing Rilla is itself uncannily reminiscent of the way my little brother has reacted to certain events– they seem disproportionate and extreme from an outsider’s perspective.

Of course, I don’t like spending too much time drawing parallels between Sir Damien and my brothers, because I write porn about Sir Damien, and I’d rather not ponder my brothers’ sex lives if it can be at all helped. 

[itsallavengers]

Coffee and Kisses

For @smarterest wHOMST I LOVE and who deserves much presents and fics and kindness. Merry christmas dude!! ! ! I’m sorry this is so late i oNLY JUST FOUND WIFI

There was a man who came in every Monday at 12pm sharp and ordered an Americano, stayed in the shop for exactly thirty-two minutes, and then left.

 That man was called Steve Rogers, he was twenty-six years old, and perfect.

 Not that Tony was stalking him or anything. He was just observant like that. And someone like Steve was very difficult to miss, after all, the guy was famous. Distinguished artist, even Tony had heard of him, and he hated art. That spoke volumes about how good and how- well- famous, he actually was.

And he always stopped off in the coffee shop Tony worked in, for a reason Tony could not yet fathom.

Not that he was complaining, mind- he would happily stare at that gorgeous man from behind the counter every single moment of every single day if he could. Damn. That ass alone would be enough- but then his eyes. His face. His smile, Jesus, it could kill a man from twenty paces and they’d die feeling happier than they ever had before in their lives. That was the type of person Steve Rogers was.

Tony’d had thirteen conversations with him during his visits to the shop, and he was already pretty much in love. Stupid, maybe. Irrational, definitely. But did Tony care? Not even slightly.

 He sighed into the coffee machine and wiped the stray cocoa dust off on his apron. Now was not the time to be thinking about Steve Rogers- he had to work. It had been stupid to wait for him, really- Steve was a society guy, and it was Christmas day. He was probably spending it at a party or something. Or, more likely, with his family. Friends. Etcetera Etcetera.

It was stupid.

Stupid stupid stupid- just because Steve had come in every other Monday in no way guaranteed any other visits. He probably didn’t even think the shop was open at all- most shops shut for Christmas. Tony had just been lucky enough to land with a café that didn’t- that required him to show up at seven a-fucking-m in order to take out the trash and start his shift. On Christmas fucking day.

But hey, at least the customers weren’t being as bitchy as usual. And he was getting tipped double, which was nice.

He wasn’t disappointed in Steve Rogers not showing up at his stupid café to order to his stupid americano and smile his stupid smile at Tony. He wasn’t.

 (Read more, mobile users!)

“You’re disappointed, aren’t you?” Clint nudged him in the ribs and Tony jerked away sulkily, shoving him over to the other side. Clint checked his watch and then sighed dramatically. “He’s not in at his usual time which means he’s not coming which means you’re disappointed-“

“Shut your face, Clint, I’m not disappointed,” Tony snapped irritably, wiping down the surfaces with newfound vigor, “I’m just annoyed that I have to work on Christmas day, that’s all.”

“Don’t bullshit me man, you hate Christmas,” Clint sing-songed, thwacking him over the head with a tea towel, “no, you’re pulling your sad face because dear Steven hasn’t turned up and flirted with you over the counter like he does every week. You’re pining after him-“

“I am not pining after Steve Rogers, Jesus, he’s just a customer!” Tony hissed in annoyance and turned around, definitely not pouting. That would just be childish.

“Come on, Man, when are you gonna write down your number on his coffee cup like he’s been waiting for you to do since this started?” Clint asked him, “we all know that’s what he’s waiting for. I see him check the damn thing every time he walks out the door.”

Tony spluttered a little. “I can’t just- that’s Steve Rogers. AKA world-famous-incredibly-rich-so-totally-out-of-my-league Steve Rogers! I can’t just write my number on his cup, Jesus Christ, don’t be stupid.”

Even with his back turned, he knew Clint was rolling his eyes. “Oh, Anthony,” he sighed dramatically from behind Tony, and then he felt something hit the back of his head and turned, looking down at the festive decoration that had been thrown at him.

“Don’t throw things at me-“

“Then don’t be dense-“

“-it’s what most normal people consider unprofessional, actually-“

“-you know the guy’s head over heels for you, fame or not, he’s obviously waiting for you to make the first move, dammit Tony, why don’t you just ask him out!” Clint grabbed his shoulders and shook, cutting Tony off mid-sentence. “Stop making it so hard for yourself to be happy, dude, come on. It’s Christmas.”

Tony looked at him, before rolling his eyes. “He’s not even here,” he muttered grumpily, “probably spending important time with his girlfriend. Who’s probably a supermodel.”

“Uh, we googled him buddy, and it said he was single,” Clint waggled a finger and then poked it in Tony’s chest, “and anyway, what are models compared to this? Only Tony Stark can pull off engine grease mixed with chocolate powder, all smeared on one face. Now that’s artistry.”

Tony grinned a little, striking a pose in the empty coffee shop whilst Clint pretended to take photos. “Mm, yes, how could Steve Rogers, the world-famous multimillionaire, ever resist me? Tony Stark, professional idiot and part-time coffee grinder? It is written in the stars, Clinton, you are right- no model could compare to my grace,” He did a twirl on his toes and then bowed, looking up and spotting-

“Oh no,” he blurted, hand slamming across his mouth as he stumbled mid-bow.

 In front of him, Steve shuffled bashfully on his feet, obviously holding back a rather large grin.

 Clint turned around and looked where Tony was, and then promptly lost his shit. Loud, annoying laughter filled the room, which was actually kind of lucky because otherwise Steve might have been able to hear the terrible squeaking noise that Tony had just made in his mortification.

He would have to move. There was no other option. Russia, maybe. They seemed quiet over there- probably wouldn’t ask questions. It would be a hard life, but he could make do.

 “Uh,” Steve said, tapping his fingers absently on the counter, “hey. So-“

“I was talking about someone else,” Tony blurted loudly, shoving Clint hard and sending him stumbling out into the corridor that led upstairs, then slamming the door before he could come back in, “there is… we have three Steve Rogers’, actually- the one I was talking about is also- uh, a millionaire. And famous. I don’t know, you heard of him? He does- he… uh, car design.”

Definitely Russia. He could probably get in one of tomorrow’s flights if he got the early one.

In front of him, Steve was smiling down at him; his cheeks a little pink. He ran a hand through his hair- of God, Tony loved it when he did that- and then licked his bottom lip nervously. “Shame,” he said in the end, “although I gotta admit, it seems me and that other Steve Rogers are pinin’ after the same guy.”

Tony looked at him, waiting for the punchline- but Steve just continued to smile anxiously. He was very… genuine, was Steve. It was crazy- Tony didn’t even know him that well (more’s the pity,) but he knew that there were very little people in the world like him. And so after a while, it occurred to Tony that there might not be a punchline.

Steve might actually be serious.

“You…” Tony started, shaking his head a little, “you and- do you mean-“

“I really shouldn’t be here right now,” Steve said hurriedly, leaning forward against the counter, “I’ve got to get to some stupid function like, half an hour ago- but I knew you were in today and I just…” he looked down a little and rubbed awkwardly at his neck, and Tony wondered very briefly what their children would look like, were that biologically feasible. “I wanted to see you,” Steve said in the end, looking back up and shrugging, “I always come in on a Monday hoping to score your number, and I thought you might be feeling extra generous today. Christmas spirit and all.”

Tony gaped.

And then gaped a little more.

And then choked on air, just for fun.

“Tony?” Steve asked, looking slightly concerned. His face turned down at the edges, which was honestly the most terrible thing Tony had seen all month, “Tony, hey- if you don’t want… sorry, I’m not- I’m not very good at reading people? Honestly, it’s fine-“

“Yes, oh my god, number, fuck, here-“ Tony had lurched forward and grabbed the very muscular arm before he could even think; letting his finger clutch at the slight rain-wet material of his jacket. He reached blindly for a pen, before Steve shyly held one up for him and then grinned.

“So that other Steve Rogers guy-“ he began as Tony started scribbling hastily over Steve’s hand, “- you think I could take him in a fight? Purely out of curiosity, of course.”

“Oh definitely,” Tony told him quickly, looking up for a moment and beaming, “the other Steve is like, sweaty. And tiny. You’d annihilate him.”

Steve nodded sagely, looking down at his hand. “Nice to know,” he said softly, a smile curling around his mouth. “Hey- when do you get off work?”

Tony paused, checking the clock. “2:30,” he answered, wondering what this was leading up to.

Steve nodded, and he looked slightly anxious again. Tony wanted to kiss him so bad. So so so bad. “So- you wouldn’t happen to be interested in joining me for a Christmas party with my friends, would you?” He asked, before holding his hands out and adding hurriedly “you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I know that’s… pretty forward- but they all know about you and they want to meet you, and you told me last week you didn’t have plans and I just- yeah. I thought- but you shouldn’t feel any obligation to-“

“You told your friends about me,” Tony cut in dumbly, staring at Steve in confusion. Why would Steve-

It hit him then. “Wait- you… you actually like me?”

Steve laughed, rubbing his neck again. “Well- I mean, yeah. I’m gonna be honest with you, Tony- I don’t even like the coffee. I just saw you in the window one day and-“ he stopped, shrugging his shoulders sheepishly, “-and yeah. That was it for me, really.”

He looked at Tony with soft eyes and a soft mouth and soft hair, and Tony just thought ‘perfect’; the word like a broken record in his head, just going over and over and over- Steve was perfect and Steve was wonderful and Steve wanted to take him to meet his friends-

“Of course I’ll come,” Tony told him, resisting the urge to jump up and down on his feet, “I’d love to. Where- where do you live? Or where do you want me t-“

“No no, I’ll come get you, don’t worry,” Steve waved him off and shook his head, “I’ll- oh shit, I really need to go- I’ll call you, okay? Tonight will be fun, my friends are nice, believe me, you’ll really- you’ll really like them,” Steve started backing off back toward the exit, and Tony didn’t miss the little spring in his step as he reversed, bumping into a railing as he went and then moving out of the way hurriedly, blushing even deeper. “Sorry, sorry, I really need to-“

“Go, Steve,” Tony laughed and waved him away, and Steve returned it, his blue eyes sparkling happily as he felt blindly for the door handle and then turned it, unwilling to turn back around until the last possible moment. Tony was giggling like an idiot, and kept waving until Steve was out the door, his blonde hair blowing everywhere in the sharp December winds.

Lucky, too- because at that moment Clint chose to make his dramatic re-entrance, slamming open the door and holding his arms out wide, as something ridiculous and green jingled on top of his head.

“Look, Mistletoe, now you have t- oh,” Clint paused mid-statement, looking around the room in confusion, “where’d Steve go?”

Tony stared at the stupid Alice band Clint had stuck on his head, and then an idea popped into his head. Rushing forward, he jumped up and snatched it off Clint’s head before the man could even yell out, jamming it quickly on his own head and then vaulting the counter.

“THIEF!” Clint screamed, pointing a finger.

“BORROWING!” Tony responded, already halfway out the door. He slipped out into the sharp cold before Clint could yell more obscenities at him, looking left and trying to find Steve through the milling crowds.

There- about fifteen feet away and hailing a cab, buttoning his coat right up to his throat and looking as edible as always.

“STEVE!” He called out, cupping his hands over his mouth and starting to jog forward. God, it was fucking freezing without a coat.

The man turned, looking in confusion to where Tony was running. When he realized who it was calling him, he smiled a little bewilderedly and then gestured for the cab driver to give him a minute before shutting the door. “Tony?” He asked, gesturing to Tony’s headpiece in confusion, “uh- what have you got there?”

“Mistletoe hat!” Tony said happily, landing a few paces from him and then jigging his head up and down a bit, the long extending antenna from which the obnoxiously green mistletoe hung jingling along with his movement.

Steve stared at it for a second and then burst out laughing. His face crinkled up beautifully, and his eyes shone in the watery Winter light.

Tony was gone, gone, gone.

“Ingenious,” Steve breathed after a moment, licking his bottom lip again and then stepping forward a bit. “I can’t go breaking ancient tradition now, can I?” He asked softly, taking Tony’s face in his hands and cupping his jaw softly.

Tony’s breath hitched, and he shook his head a little manically. “Certainly not,” he confirmed- and then before he could say anything else, Steve’s mouth got in the way.

It was very soft. Chaste. Only a few seconds, and then Steve broke away, moving off just an inch so that their noses were still brushing. It was the best kiss of Tony’s entire life, hands down.

“Consider that a preview,” Steve whispered, thumb stroking along the jut of Tony’s cheekbone. He smiled and then lifted his head up a little bit, pressing another small kiss to Tony’s nose, then higher still until his mouth was on his forehead. “And those ones were just for fun,” he added mischievously.

Tony briefly forgot how to breathe for a moment, but thankfully remembered just in time to say “darling, if that’s the preview, I really doubt I am going to make it to the grand finale.”

Steve laughed again, and then made a sad face. “Ugh, I really really have to go,” he whispered apologetically, making an aborted move to step back, “I Really really really really have to go.”

Tony giggled slightly hysterically, beginning to push Steve back in the direction of the cab he’d been originally getting into. “Then Go, Mr hotshot, don’t let some random barista keep you from your vital Christmas networking-“

“Ugh, don’t even talk about it,” Steve groaned and rolled his eyes back in frustration, “it’s hell, honestly, I’d much rather spend my time with the random barista.”

Tony’s face softened, and he looked down at his watch. “Give it an hour and a half,” he said, “and you can spend as much time with him as you want.”

Steve took another step back toward the couch and then, seemingly unable to stop himself, came right back to Tony and kissed him quickly again. “I’ll hold you to that,” he mumbled against Tony’s mouth, and then pulled away swiftly, spinning on his heel and getting into the cab before he could change his mind.

He wound down the window and then slipped on a pair of shades which he’d been keeping in the pocket of his jacket. “Merry Christmas, Tony,” he said softly, before the cab pulled away and Tony was left at the side of the road, wearing a ridiculous hat and an even more ridiculous smile on his face.

 He glanced upward, stuffing his hands into his pockets and nodding once. “Okay,” he muttered, “okay- merry fucking Christmas indeed.”