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dirtyhelen · 3 years

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with you, a girl could get bolder (i just wanna be a little bit closer) - part one

PART ONE: can you feel it? (Series Masterlist) Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Featuring: Smut; Angst; Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiacs; Dubious Consent; Loss of Virginity; First Time; Vaginal Sex; Cunnilingus; Creampie; Dirty Talk Words: 5484 Summary: For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume. “Oh, fuck.” You and Bucky get hit with an extremely powerful aphrodisiac, resulting in some mind-blowing (but dubiously consensual) sex on a quinjet. And if sleeping with a coworker in a drug-fueled haze wasn’t bad enough, you’ve also had an unrequited crush on him for months. A/N: My first multi-chapter fic! My first attempt at something resembling a plot! There will be 3 parts, about 15k total. Titles are from Want You In My Room by Carly Rae Jepsen. Part 2 will be out next week!

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“Thanks, Steve,” you say as he sets your bag in one of the quinjet’s storage compartments. Ever the gentleman, he’d insisted on carrying your luggage for you, since he was headed the same way anyway. Just a few minutes ago the jet was bustling with technicians packing away carefully labelled silver briefcases, but now it’s just you, Steve, Bucky, and Bruce. Bucky is headed to Wakanda, summoned by Shuri with the promise of impressive new upgrades for his arm. The briefcases are samples of chemical solutions the Avengers recently confiscated from an enemy base. They’re also headed to Wakanda, to be examined in one of the country’s laboratories even Tony - begrudgingly – has to admit are more advanced than his own. Along the way, Bucky will be dropping you in Zurich to meet up with Pepper. She’s attending a fancy business retreat there and snagged you an invite under the guise of professional development and maintaining the relationship between Stark Industries and the Avengers. As though being married to Iron Man isn’t enough to cement that relationship. Really, she just hates being outnumbered by arrogant, misogynistic billionaires and wants the company. You’re certainly not complaining. A chance to eat ridiculously expensive food and shit talk gross old men in view of the Swiss Alps? Beats running around after the team, keeping track of a thousand conflicting schedules and chasing down late mission reports. You spend another minute or two idly chatting with Steve and Bruce as Bucky makes himself busy at the instrument panel. The jet can basically fly itself, but you suspect Bucky gets a bit of a thrill any time he gets to be in the cockpit, tech nerd that he is. “You sure you have everything?” Steve asks you with a teasing smirk. “It’s a whole two days, you know. Pretty sure that requires at least a dozen books.” “Oh, har-har,” you grumble. “God, you overpack one time and it turns into a whole thing!” “Didn’t you take like four pairs of shoes and two books for a day trip?” Bruce calls as he walks down the ramp, heading back to the lab, you’re sure. “It was three pairs and you can’t always rely on weather forecasts!” you shout after him. Steve jokingly rolls his eyes. “Of course. And the books?” “Two is a perfectly reasonable number of books to bring on a day trip,” you protest primly. “And if I recall correctly, you ended up borrowing one of those books on the way home, so you’re welcome.” “Fair enough,” Steve laughs, holding out his hands in mock concession and turning to say his goodbyes to Bucky, currently bent over the panel, confidently pressing buttons and flicking toggles. It gives you some comfort. You’re a bit of a nervous flier, but Bucky seems to know what he’s doing and the Avengers’ personal jet has to be a lot safer than any commercial plane you’ve ever been on anyway. Though it’s more than just the thought of crashing into the Atlantic ocean that has you on edge. Three hours. That’s approximately how long you’ll be confined with Bucky in a high-tech tin can. Three hours to sit in awkward silence, or worse, awkward conversation if your previous interactions are anything to go by. Chances are you’ll try to make small talk but somehow end up saying something stupid while Bucky just sort of looks at you like he’s wondering how you managed to get this job in the first place. It’s a reasonable question, to be fair, and one you’ve asked yourself at least once every day since you started. Not that you’re a notably skilled conversationalist in general, but around Bucky, you can barely manage to string two coherent sentences together. You can’t help it! You just like him so fucking much and you want him to like you even just a little, so you try to be cool and relaxed and chill. Like Natasha or Sam, the two people who, apart from Steve, he seems to actually be comfortable around. Unfortunately, you are neither cool nor relaxed and you definitely are not chill. No, you are a grab-bag of somewhat less attractive personality traits like excitable and dorky and perpetually-fucking-nervous, all wrapped up in sensible shoes and practical, un-sexy clothing. Basically the anti-Nat, or any person you can imagine Bucky being attracted to. So when you try to converse with him like a normal person you usually end up rambling on like an alien who watched one episode of Gilmore Girls and thought that was how humans really communicated with each other. Not exactly a turn on. Sadly, knowing you have absolutely no chance with him does nothing to stop your feelings. If anything it only makes them stronger somehow. No harm in letting yourself become totally obsessed with the guy since it’s not like you’ll ever tell him how you feel, therefore there’s no chance of rejection! Foolproof! Really though, you don’t know how you could have avoided falling for him anyway, even if you had tried. As a member of the team’s admin staff, you see them basically every day. Relaxing, training, doing press and charity events – everything but actually going on missions. After months of chatting during meetings, discussing schedules and events, and working in the same place they live, you’ve gotten to know them pretty well, you think. And despite Bucky’s taciturn demeanor, the White Wolf seems more like a puppy to you. Sure, his resting expression has a tendency to read as slightly murderous and he's undoubtedly deadly in the field, but there's another side to him too. Bucky is enthralled with all things technological. Whenever there’s a presentation on new tools for the team Bucky is there, bright-eyed and attentive, with thoughtful, clever questions on how it all works, and he’s not shy about making suggestions either. He shamelessly enjoys all things soft and cozy – fuzzy blankets, knit sweaters, his cat. Alpine was a stray Bucky found wandering the grounds of the compound. Now she wanders the residential wing instead, usually wherever Bucky is. He could be bitter and angry and cruel after everything he’s been through – and God knows he’d have every right – but he’s not. He has his bad days, of course. Days at a time where you hardly see him except for mandatory meetings or training, and then with dark shadows under his eyes and a heavy blankness that seems etched into his face. But most of the time it’s clear he wants to be part of the world. With his never-ending curiosity about all the things he missed, or never had the freedom to enjoy. With his dark, wry humor and the fond way he can’t help but look at Steve whenever he says something that must remind him of before the war. With the way he tries so goddamn hard to put some good back into the world, to make up for things that weren’t even his fault. You truly don’t understand how anyone could know him and not love him. You certainly never stood a chance. “See you, pal. Text me when you land.” Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been staring into nothing for longer than you realized. “Say hi to Pepper for me!” he calls to you as he leaves. And with that, it’s just you and Bucky. For the next three hours. +++ The awkward silence – apart from a quiet, “You ready?” from Bucky just before take-off – lasts all of ten minutes. That’s as long as you can go before the pressure to say something becomes irresistible. Being bad at talking to Bucky has never kept you from trying, unfortunately. “You excited to go back to Wakanda?” you ask. Bucky nods. “Yeah. It’ll be nice to see Shuri again.” He says it with a soft smile and you know he means it. He clearly has a deep affection and respect for her. “I bet. She seems ridiculously cool. Honestly, I wanna be her when I grow up,” you joke, then immediately cringe. I wanna be her when I grow up? Come on! Bucky laughs politely and the jet is once again silent. Bucky seems content to just sit with his thoughts, but the jet’s at cruising altitude now so you take the opportunity to get out of your seat and grab one of the only two books from your bag. Can’t say anything stupid if you’re too busy reading! Check and mate, Rogers. You’re elbow deep in toiletries and underwear, having decided blindly digging around would be preferable to actually taking the bag down and fully unzipping it, when you decide to try speaking again. “So do you know what upgrades you’re getting? You know, for –” you gesture at your left arm, or try to, except you use the arm currently being eaten by your suitcase at the exact moment the jet hits a patch of turbulence, jostling you and your luggage. Bucky jumps up, darting over to steady you with a hand on your back. As a part of your mind becomes consumed with thoughts of, holy shit he’s touching me, you manage to wrench your arm out of your suitcase, sending it to knock against the silver briefcase next to it. The impact shifts the briefcase slightly. The next bump of the jet a moment later has it falling out of the storage unit entirely. The silver briefcases used by the Avengers to transport dangerous or delicate materials are very cleverly designed so that – properly clasped – they could be used as a football for an NFL game with no ill-effects. Which is how you know this case has very clearly not been properly clasped because as it falls it springs open, and a small vial of clear liquid hits the floor. And shatters. For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the thin, silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume, filling the space around your bodies. “Oh, fuck,” you breathe. Bucky snaps into action, grabbing you by the arm and tugging you toward the sleeping compartments in the back of the jet, calling for FRIDAY along the way. “Get us back to the compound now,” he orders. “And get Stark or Banner on the line.” He shoves you inside the nearest cabin, following and sliding the door shut behind him. Immediately he’s gripping you by the shoulders and turning you to face him. “Did any of it get on you? On your clothes?” he asks urgently, eyes scanning your body. “No! I mean, not the liquid, I don’t think. But what about that mist or vapour or whatever? What if we breathed it in?” You have no idea what was in that vial. “Oh God, we’re gonna die,” you moan, anxiously pacing the tiny room. “Or I am, anyway. You’ll probably be fine. Fuck. Oh my God. What if it’s like, some flesh-eating poison? Am I gonna turn into the Hulk?” Your heart races and you feel hot. You can’t tell if it’s just fear or something worse but whatever it is must show on your face because Bucky gently guides you to sit on the narrow bed as the call finally connects. “Hey, Bucky, what’s up?” It’s Bruce, thank God. You’re not sure you could handle even the briefest and most well-meaning witticism from Tony right now. Bucky very quickly briefs Bruce on the situation, finishing with, “Any idea what the fuck was in that case?” You can hear the anxiety in Bruce’s voice. “Shit, I don’t know. Not unless you have the label. And we didn’t really examine them, just packed them up.” “Fucking great!” you can’t help but interject, throwing your hands in the air and receiving a concerned look from Bucky in return “But listen, guys. You’re on your way back to the compound – FRIDAY says 30 minutes tops. I’ll have medical and biochem ready as soon as you touch down. And it’s already been what? Like five minutes? If nothing’s happened yet, you’re probably fine? Just sit tight and don’t leave the cabin. The doors seal airtight so nothing can get through.” And with that, Bruce hangs up to get everything ready for your return, leaving you and Bucky at opposite ends of an very small space. You’ve never been claustrophobic before but you must be developing the fear because the walls feel like they’re closing in and your heart feels like it’s about to beat its way out of your chest. “Okay, wow. Great. ‘Sit tight.’ That’s awesome, just awesome.” You look around the room, empty except for the bunk you’re sitting on. “What are we supposed to do now? Play twenty fucking questions?” Your relaxing weekend abroad has disappeared and apparently taken your brain-to-mouth filter with it. Between that, your racing heart, and the increasing heat spreading through your body you’re not entirely sure that you’re probably fine, but you’re chalking it up to anxiety because it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it anyway. Except sit tight. Looking up at Bucky you can see his cheeks have taken on a pink flush, but again, that’s probably just stress. Or maybe annoyance at having to be trapped in a tiny room with you and your panicked blathering for the next half hour. Sighing, he sinks to the floor, resting his back against the door and stretching out his legs in front of him. “Nothin’ to do but wait, doll.” Your eyes flash to his. Doll. He’s never called you that before. He’s never really called you anything before. Bucky seems to have noticed it too because he furrows his brows, looking like he’s just as surprised as you are. There’s a brief moment of eye contact before you both quickly look away, choosing not to address it. Probably just a habit, you think. A remnant of the Bucky that existed long before you were born, jumping out in a moment of stress. A heavy silence falls, leaving you both to your own thoughts. You try to focus on breathing, on staying calm, but your mind keeps straying and it feels like there’s too much energy in your body. Your skin practically itches with it and you squirm, unable to get comfortable but not sure exactly why. You can hear Bucky tapping his foot on the floor, the sound of him shifting around. You wonder if he feels it too. Bucky… Doll. The way it had fallen out of his mouth so casually, so easily. As though he’d said it to you a hundred times. You feel a spark bubble up inside you picturing Bucky’s flushed cheeks and that word. You imagine him saying it breathlessly, reverently, just before his lips touch yours. Or growling it out as he moves inside you… Fuck, doll, just like that. You nearly let out a whimper and you feel a rush of slick in your panties, shocking you out of your fantasy as you become uncomfortably aware of just how wet you are. That spreading heat flares even more than before and you realize you must have been dripping into your underwear for longer than just the last few seconds. There’s a deep throb of arousal in your core, stronger than anything you’ve felt before, like that unbearable energy under your skin has been pulled to settle deep inside you. It’s confusing – far too powerful to be the result of a vague, half-imagined fantasy. But even as you wonder at what’s happening, it’s like a fog settles over you, the confusion half-hearted, nothing compared to the growing urge to touch, to quell the burning fire inside you. Before you can even consciously register the movement, your hand is making its way to your pussy. Any shock or embarrassment at your wildly inappropriate behaviour is slow to appear and dulled when it does. Snatching your hand back just as it nears the apex of your thighs is like walking through deep water, like you have to convince yourself why you shouldn’t get off in front of a co-worker. Your eyes flash to Bucky, wondering if he’s seen, if he’s affected the same way you are, only to find his gaze already fixed on you, blue eyes blown nearly black. His fists are clenched at his sides and his lips are bitten red and spit-slick. He breathes in deep, nostrils flaring, and you realize he can smell you. It should be humiliating. You should be turning away in humiliation, but instead, you feel yourself get – somehow, impossibly – wetter and this time you can’t contain the helpless whimper when Bucky groans and licks his lips in response. It’s as if with that sound the floodgates have opened because in an instant you’re slipping off the bed and throwing yourself at him, desperate to be closer, as close as physically possible. You scramble on top of him, graceless and frantic, straddling his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you closer and grinding you down on his cock, pressing hard and hot against you even through your clothes. There’s a moment – a tiny fraction of a second – where you catch each other’s eyes. A pause, where you think you see something, some emotion on Bucky's face, but you don't have time to decipher it before he’s surging up to press his lips against yours and a bomb is set off inside you. You have no idea what you’re doing – your experiences up to now have been limited to a handful of lackluster kisses with people not worth remembering – but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He holds your face firmly in his hands, turning your head to suit him as he licks into your mouth and you do your best to mimic his actions, clumsy in your mindless passion. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and you gasp, rocking your hips against his, trying to get some friction on your throbbing clit. He thrusts up against you and you move together but it’s not enough. It’s clear whatever was in that vial has created a thirst in you that won’t be quenched by a heated make-out session and you pull away from Bucky's mouth, moaning as he tilts your head back to kiss your neck, licking and sucking at the tender skin. “More,” you gasp. “I need more.” You feel him nod against your throat and with one last, deep kiss to your lips Bucky grips you by the hips and lifts you off him, shifting to rest his weight on his heels before reaching to push your dress up over your waist. Almost all of your higher brain function is devoted to being as close to Bucky as possible but far in the back of your mind, there’s a small part of you that’s simply shocked at what’s happening, at the sensations coursing through your body. You have never felt this uninhibited in your entire life. You were a shy, anxious child who grew into a somewhat less shy, anxious adult, easily embarrassed and prone to overthinking. But now, with that silvery mist working its way through your system, you’ve never felt so shameless. Bucky is feverishly slipping off your shoes and tugging down your tights and you’re not thinking about how you haven’t shaved your legs in weeks or how you’re wearing an old pair of plain cotton panties or any of the dozens of worries that would be running through your head under normal circumstances. (Not that Bucky would be undressing you at all, under normal circumstances.) No. Instead of overthinking and paralyzing yourself with fear, you’re pulling your dress over your head and reaching back to unclasp your bra so you can get your own hands on your breasts. You could almost just sit and bask in this unfamiliar feeling of freedom if it weren’t for the hot ache in your core that threatens to burn you alive with every moment you go untouched. As soon as your tights have been pulled off and tossed aside, Bucky is shouldering your legs apart and leaning forward to press his nose against the wet patch on your panties, breathing deep. “Fuck, doll. I need to taste you.” You whimper as his tongue darts out to lick a wide stripe up the length of your covered cunt. His hands move to your hips and in an instant, your panties are torn from your body and his mouth is on your bare skin for the first time. You can’t help but gasp as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your folds. His tongue licks up your opening and circles your clit before moving back down and slipping inside you, drinking up your slick. Bucky growls against your pussy. “So fucking good.” His tongue moves back to your clit and he laps at it in short, teasing flicks. You begin to buck helplessly and Bucky’s metal arm brackets your hips, holding you still for his mouth. He switches to deep, firm circles over your clit, alternating with wide laps over the whole of your cunt. You’re losing your mind, flat on your back with your legs thrown over Bucky’s shoulders, heels pressing into his back. You’ve never felt anything like this. You haven’t even come yet but it’s already more intense than any orgasm you’ve ever given yourself. You feel two fingers against your opening and you fight Bucky’s grip over your hipbones, trying to grind yourself down onto him. He chuckles at your efforts and presses just the tips of his fingers inside you. “So needy, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don’t you?” You have no idea how he’s able to tease right now when you're ready to fall to your knees and plead just for the chance at an orgasm. You whine, trying again to slide down onto his fingers but his metal arm keeps you from moving a single inch and you toss your head back with a wail. “Please, Bucky,” you sob. “I need it, I need you. Please.” You feel no embarrassment at your begging. The fire inside you is growing hotter and hotter. You need him. You need to be filled, fucked. You feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you now. The teasing tone drops out of Bucky’s voice and he presses messy kisses to your inner thighs. “I know, I know. I feel it too. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna fill you up so good. Stuff you full. Gonna make you feel so good, make it better.” His fingers finally slip into you, sliding easily through your wetness. He starts thrusting and his tongue circles your clit again as his fingers curl. He focuses on your g-spot, stroking roughly as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks. You’re coming in seconds with a series of breathy moans, thighs clamped tightly around Bucky’s head. He doesn’t let up, only pulling away when you tug at his hair, the sensations too much. He kisses you, sliding his tongue against yours and you can taste yourself in his mouth. It reignites the fire your orgasm had dulled slightly and you pull away, about to plead for more, but it seems Bucky has finally reached his limit. His hands work at his belt and he shoves his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock. You’ve never really seen one in person before and maybe under different circumstances you’d take a moment to get familiar, but right now all you can do is spread your legs and beg. Bucky quickly positions himself above you, lining his cock up with your entrance. He drags the head along your pussy a couple times, groaning as he slicks himself up and begins to push into you. He’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had inside you hardly notice the sting. It’s nothing compared to the raging chorus inside you chanting more, more, more. In one single, hurried thrust he’s fully inside, your bodies pressed flush together. Bucky moans. “So fucking tight, fuck. You feel so goddamn good, doll,” he pants above you, leaning down for a filthy kiss, wet and open. “Fucking move, please,” you beg, hooking your legs around him and digging in your heels. Bucky growls into your mouth and pulls out almost entirely before thrusting back inside hard, pulling a sound from deep in your throat. He repeats the move a handful of times before settling into a harsh, pounding rhythm with his face buried in your neck. You cling to his back, senseless, unable to focus on anything but how good you feel. Your brain feels fuzzy and empty and every thrust drags his cock along your g-spot and it’s too much, too good. You’re a gasping, panting mess. It’s not long before his hips start to stutter, his rhythm breaking as he moans out above you. Your hand slides down your body to your clit and you rub firm circles around it. A few swipes and you’re coming, harder than you ever have in your life, with a high, keening moan. The tight squeezes of your cunt have Bucky coming too and you feel a warmth release inside you as he collapses against your chest. Neither of you moves for a long moment, your heavy, mingled breaths the only sound in the room. There’s still some lingering fog as you soak in the afterglow of your drug-intensified orgasm, but it seems like the chemical has run its course and clarity is quickly returning to you. The silence is broken by FRIDAY announcing your approach to one of the landing pads, and you feel the jet begin its descent a moment later. Her voice hits you like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of what’s really happening here, what you’ve just done. It seems Bucky feels the same, because he leans back just enough to look you in the eyes and a long moment of horrified recognition passes between you. Your breathing picks up again as panic surges through you. You start to squirm under his weight but he’s already moving. You wince as he pulls out of you, suddenly aware of a deep soreness between your legs. In seconds, Bucky has tucked himself back into his jeans, and he storms out of the cabin without a backward glance. So eager to get away from you he doesn’t seem to care that he might be walking directly into a toxic cloud. Like anything would be better than being trapped with you for another moment. You lay there on the floor, naked and shivering, with Bucky’s cum starting to leak out of you as you struggle to take a breath, all the anxiety and uncertainty the drug had masked flooding back to you at once. You force yourself to sit up and pull your clothes back on, cringing as you feel the mess between your legs seep into your tights. You hastily stuff your ruined panties in your pocket. You take a few deep breaths and try to still your shaking hands as you hear footsteps approaching the cabin. You’re given a respirator and guided off the jet into a throng of people awaiting your arrival, Bucky nowhere to be seen. White-coated staff swarm you and lead you inside. +++ You wish you could say the next several hours are a blur, but they are, unfortunately, exceptionally, horrifically clear. You’re taken through a decontamination shower, though you’re really not sure how much good it could do at this point, then poked and prodded with needles and swabs while having the most mortifying conversation of your life. You feel nearly choked with a shocking, burning shame. This morning you woke up nervous and excited for a weekend away, and now you’re telling a handful of strangers how you just had sex for the first time in an uncontrollable, frenzied state of lust with one of the Avengers. And as though it couldn’t be worse, it’s made all the more humiliating by the lingering throb of arousal thrumming through you the entire time. It seems whatever this drug is, the two orgasms you’ve already had weren’t enough to neutralize it, though at least you have enough self-control now to keep from shoving your hand down your pants in front of everyone in the room. Finally, after what seems like hours and unfortunately really is hours, you’re told to go home and rest. You’ve been given an emergency contraceptive, a pamphlet for the Employee Assistance Program, a number to call if you feel any strange symptoms, and told that someone will follow up with you in the next day or so. You feel numb as you enter your apartment, tugging off your med-bay issued scrubs on the way to the bathroom. You get yourself off in the shower, and though it’s the most joyless orgasm of your life, it seems to finally clear any lingering arousal from your system. Wincing at the tenderness between your legs, you scrub yourself clean under the hot spray, half wishing you could dissolve into a puddle and wash away down the drain with the soapy water. You’re getting ready for bed when your thoughts take a sudden turn to Bucky for the first time in hours. You’d been so overwhelmed by all the tests and questions, so cocooned in your own embarrassment you’d practically forgotten about him. Guilt rushes through you at your own selfish thoughtlessness. Feeling so sorry for yourself like you were the only victim. Like you were the victim at all. You’ve had a crush on Bucky for months, have spent more time than you’d like to admit imagining being with him in ways both innocent and obscene. But he’s never looked twice at you, barely speaks to you except for unavoidable work discussions. Not that you expect anything different. Someone like him would never want to be with you anywhere outside your daydreams. Except now he has been with you. Forced against his will to take part in some horrific act, because surely that’s how Bucky must see it, now the fog of uncontrollable lust has cleared. You had sex for the first time in decidedly unwanted conditions, but at least it was with someone you’re genuinely attracted to, someone you have feelings for. Bucky had been forced to have sex with someone he didn’t even like, much less desire. After everything he’s been through, how hard he’s worked to find a place where he can feel safe and in control of his own life – his own body. Only to have that control taken from him again in the most indecent way. Shame, viscous and thick, swells in your throat like sickness and your eyes fill with tears. No wonder Bucky ran out of the cabin the way he had. You feel so much worse because of your feelings for him. Dirty and wrong because you would have enjoyed the sex even without the drug. You know, deep down, it’s not your fault. You didn’t mean to knock the case over and you had no idea what was inside – not to mention you weren’t the one who forgot to latch it – but you can’t help but feel responsible for what happened and you wonder if Bucky feels the same. If he knows about your feelings and thinks you orchestrated the entire thing on purpose. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. And the rest of the team! If they don’t know already, they will soon enough. What if they blame you too? What if they’re disgusted by you? Anxiety spreads through your body from your pounding heart, filling your limbs. You can’t breathe, you can’t think. You feel boiling hot and ice cold all at once. Collapsing to your bedroom floor, you bring your hands to your thighs, digging your fingernails into the skin. The sharp pain distracts you from the heavy panic flooding your body enough to let you focus on breathing in, then out, repeating the words in your head until you feel your heart rate settle, the panic easing a little. You pull yourself up off the floor and push yourself through the motions of getting ready for bed. The intrusive thoughts are still there (everyone hates you. You’re going to lose your job. Are you sure you didn’t do it on purpose?) but you try to ignore them. There’s nothing you can do about anything right now and thinking yourself into a panic attack won’t do any good. You turn on an old episode of your favourite show and get in bed, tugging the covers up to your neck and focusing on the screen, allowing the familiar storylines to dull the intensity of your thoughts until you finally fall asleep. A/N: And that’s the end of Part 1! Thanks for reading and feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog and let me know what you thought! I spent a truly ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out the whole sex pollen aspect and I’m still not totally happy with it hahah but I hope it doesn’t seem too shoe-horned in 😝 Anything else that you’d like to see tagged/warned for, let me know!!

#bucky barnes x reader #reader insert #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #smut #series

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bloody-britt26 · 4 years

Note

Hello! Inspired by that pastel crush post, may you share headcanons or a drabble of Raihan falling for a witty n strong jock/goth trainer who is basically trying to become the flying type gym leader in Galar (w a few dragons on their team too, like a noivern or an altaria), they came to the region due to their fascination w history/ruins, so Raihan's first meeting w them is in the vault as they admired the tapestries? (the dragon finds a new treasure within his vault 🤭) Love your writing btw 💖

Thank you! Again, I apologize for the delay. I have no excuses besides being a slow goof who is easily distracted by absolutely everything. I made a drabble for this, so I hope you enjoy! ♡

🐉 Raihan crushing on a future Flying-type gym leader 🐉

The atmosphere of Hammerlocke's vault was eerily quiet, not a single sound from the outdoors pierced the walls. It was the perfect environment for you, allowing you to be lost in your thoughts as you admired the tapestries. They told the story of Galar's beginnings, and it was fascinating to you.

Galar was a region filled with such a rich history, supported by vaults, ruins, monuments and art. It was the perfect region for a trainer that held passion and fascination for history such as yourself.

You held back a chuckle as you felt your pokéballs containing your main partners, Altaria and Salamance, shake impatiently. They hated being contained for long periods of time as they would rather soar through the skies, keeping a watchful eye on you.

They have been with you since you were a young child. The three of you have been through many adventures together, and they have travelled all around your home region of Hoenn by your side. They were the ones who fought their hardest for you to achieve your dream of someday becoming a gym leader specializing in Flying-type pokémon.

"Simmer down in there. I swear, I'm almost done," you said, lightly patting your pokéballs.

As you plunged back into your own little world, you hadn't noticed that a new presence had entered the vault.

When Raihan was notified by one of his gym trainers that a newcomer had entered his vault, he was curious to see what kind of person it was. Needless to say, he was pleasantly surprised to see how invested you looked. Hell, you hadn't even noticed him enter the vault, or approach you. He was a man of history himself, so he could respect any trainer that showed the same respect and admiration for Galar's history.

As you were admiring historical treasures, he found himself admiring you. You had a style that he was particularly fond of: varsity jacket, ripped jeans, baseball cap and military boots, all in dark shades and colours. You seemed to be going for a darker jock look, and it suited you quite well, in his opinion. Your eyes seemed to shine, expression cutely contorted into one of concentration.

With a smirk, Raihan cleared his throat, wanting to get your attention

Your eyes darted to your side, blinking at the new presence. "Oh, sorry…. I didn't notice you there."

Raihan shook his head, waving you off. "Don't worry about it. You looked like you were deep in thought there."

You chuckled. "What can I say? I've been a sucker for history ever since I visited my home region's ruins when I was a child."

"Foreigner, huh?"

You grinned. "Yes! Proud Hoenn native!"

"Well then, welcome to Galar. The name's Raihan, Hammerlocke's vault keeper and gym leader," he said, puffing his chest slightly as he was very proud of his titles.

"Gym leader, huh? Lucky man, it's always been a dream of mine to be a gym leader. I'm (name), by the way," you said.

"Really now? Is that why you came to Galar?" He asked.

"Well, partly. I also happen to think that Galar is one of the richest regions in history, and it's absolutely beautiful. It's nothing like the humid forestry environment that Hoenn has," you said.

"Hm… maybe we should battle someday. We could test if you've got what it takes to be a gym leader," he said, partly joking.

You looked at him with a small smirk gracing your features. "Sweetheart, I know I've got what it takes, and I'll gladly take you up on your offer. That is…. If they're not just hollow words, yes?"

Raihan blinked, surprised at your eager acceptance to his little challenge. You had a similar confident attitude as he did. He couldn't help but smirk slightly as he wondered what kind of pokémon batted by your side for you to be so at ease in the presence of a powerful gym leader.

Once again, you felt your pokéballs shake, making you roll your eyes. "I should probably go… my Altaria and Salamance will have my head if I don't let 'em out of their pokéballs. Plus, I promised my team that I would let them roam around the Wild Area."

You chuckled when Raihan stood there, visibly looking like the cogs in his brain were spinning at the mention of Altaria and Salamance. The man was a dragon lover, you could tell that much by his physical appearance, choice of colours and clothing.

"Be seein' you, right? I still need to kick your butt in battle," you said with a brow raised.

As you started to walk away, Raihan snapped out of his stupor. "H-Hey, wait!"

You peaked behind your shoulder. "Yes?"

You had to hold back a laugh as Raihan fiddled with his hoodie. He looked like a child that was about to ask his parents something outrageous.

"Would it be weird if I come with you? I just-"

"You want to meet my dragons, right?"

He nodded rapidly, a big dorky grin on his face. "We don't have them here in Galar! Pleeease?"

"It's fine with me. Come on, dragon boy."

~~~~~~

Your time in the Wild Area had quickly turned into a playdate between your pokémon and Raihan's. His Goodra rested her head in your lap, seeming to have taken a liking to the head pats you had to offer.

Your Gliscor, Talonflame and his Flygon raced each other in the sky. His Duraludon and your Aerodactyl were play fighting while your Gyarados preferred to swim in the lake on his own.

Your Altaria and Salamance were getting smothered in attention by Raihan. He was an absolute dork when it came to dragons, and it showed quite a bit.

Raihan was ruffling Altaria's feathers, cooing about how fluffy she was. Altaria had no idea how to react, she sent you confused glances here and there that screamed 'Help, mom'. Salamance sounded like he was laughing at her, which probably was a bit of revenge for him as Altaria had laughed at him when Raihan kept taking selfies with him.

Raihan glanced at all of the pokémon that surrounded both of you. He had to admit: he was impressed with your team. Specializing in a specific type meant that you would need to have good type coverage to counter your weaknesses, and your team delivered. Your Gliscor could deal with rock and electric pokémon, and your Talonflame and Aerodactyl could deal with ice pokémon.

Your pokémon definitely looked well trained. Looking at Aerodactyl and Duraludon who were play fighting, he noticed how his ace dragon was visibly struggling to keep up with the prehistoric pokémon. The urge to battle you was growing as he felt that you could give him a run for his money.

He looked back at you and smiled softly at the sight. You were laughing loudly as his Goodra nuzzled you affectionately, you didn't even care that you were all slimy.

If you would let him, Raihan would love to get to know you on a more personal level, and maybe he could help you achieve your dream of being a Flying-type gym leader right here, in Galar. You had so much potential.

In the end, he ended up finding an extra treasure in his vault.

#pokemon imagines #pokemon sword and shield #raihan imagines #raihan headcanons #raihan x reader #raihan #reader insert #pokemon #pokemon headcanons #pokemon shield #pokemon sword

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nsheetee · 5 years

Text

The Intricate Art of Being Enemies

Pairing: Rich Kid!Chenle x Rich Girl!Reader Genre: College AU, Rich Kid AU, Enemies to Lovers AU || Fluff, Angst Length: 14k Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, a kissing scene Summary:

Step 1: The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him your friend Step 2: Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake Step 3: When you are confronted with an opponent, conquer him with love

Key: Sections in italics indicate the scene happened in the past

»»————-✧༺♥༻♛༺♥༻✧————-««

A four-leafed clover, a rare variation of the common three-leafed clover, is said to bring luck into the life of whoever finds it. To you, a four-leafed clover brought Chenle.

You found the clover in a sandpit during recess in kindergarten; maybe it got stuck on the bottom of someone's shoe or maybe the wind blew it this far from its home, but you didn’t care. It was pretty and your favorite color and you wanted it, but you reached for it at the same time a little boy with the chubbiest cheeks you’ve ever seen did. Chenle quickly snatched the clover out of the sand and clutched it to his chest. When he looked back at you, seeing tears well up in your eyes from the sudden fright, he sighed. His parents always told him to be nice to little girls, and he didn’t know much but he did know his parents are smart people. So he crawled over, sand sticking uncomfortably to his shins, and held out the clover to you.

“Here.” The smile that lit up your face made Chenle blush and quickly scurry away, but you called out to him.

“Wait! What’s your name?”

“I’m Chenle, you can call me Lele.”

“Thank you, Lele.”

“No problem, Clover.” And with that, he ran towards the swings and joined the rest of his friends with the reddest face, yours mirroring the same shade from the unexpected nickname.

Unfortunately, that would be the last innocent interaction between you and Chenle for a long, long time.

Your teacher took extra care so that you didn’t make any contact with Chenle after the day in the sandpit. As a small child, just being introduced to the world outside of your family, you couldn’t understand why your parents didn’t want you hanging around Chenle. He was in your class, sat at your work table, and was just a little dorky.

Your mother gathers you in her arms and sits you down on her lap, picking up a heavy brush from the table and begins brushing your hair in soothing strokes as she explains.

“Chenle is part of the Zhong family. Do you know who they are?” She asks you.

“No, Mommy.”

“The Zhong family runs a make-up company, just like we do. But they are very, very bad.” Your mother’s tone changes, but her steady hands keep brushing your soft hair. “They do a lot of bad things, and when you grow up you will learn more, do you understand?” No, you didn’t really understand, but her tightening grip on your hair makes you nod your head obediently.

“I’m glad. Remember: Don’t talk to Chenle. He and his family are the bad guys. We are the good guys.”

Your mother held true to her word, as you grew up you learned all about the Zhongcology Cosmetic Company. The company was run by the Zhong family, more specifically Liwei Zhong- Chenle’s father. Being the rivals of your family’s cosmetic company, Nuvane, you learned about their sick and twisted method of testing their products on animals. Although these were speculations, the amount of rumors that built up over time along with the consistency in stories made it seem as if it was fact. Unlike your parents, you waited to believe these rumors until hard facts were released that completely proved these stories.

Nuvane prided itself in complete animal-free testing of make-up products; from the beginning to the end of production, not one animal is harmed. Your parents taught you the importance of respecting animals and nature. You picked up the value instinctively, making them proud. Before you really knew how to hate, you started hating Zhongcology; just the thought of them testing their products on animals made you nauseous. Once you were old enough, you decided to wear your families make-up products with pride, knowing that they were safely made.

Chenle spent his childhood learning the same thing about your family. He was taught that Nuvane was filled with a bunch of sneaky, conniving tree-huggers who spewed lies about his family's company because of jealousy and hate for what was true: Zhongcology didn’t test on animals and made products that were superior to Nuvane.

Once you learned and understood the hatred between the two business, you still couldn’t understand the feud between the two families. You wouldn't believe that business practices could have your parents spouting venom about the Zhongs, and even pre-teenager you could understand there was something more that the families hated about each other. When you tried to ask your parents about it, you were met with a wave of a hand and the old, overused story of the Zhong’s business practices. It confused you, Chenle too, but after several years, you both learned to stop asking.

Regardless of the disputes, you and Chenle still went to the same school. From elementary to high school, and now the same private college, Carlston University, where your parents and grandparents once attended. The competition naturally continued here, through you and Chenle. You had so many rivalries that it was hard to keep track; everything from academics (who got the highest score on standardized tests), to how many titles of club president you could possess in the short four years of high school (you were the president of the Ecology Club, Chenle was one of the lead singers in Choir), even to how many hours of community service each could rack up (currently, it was you).

Maintaining this imagine of competitiveness was important for both of you; not only did it fuel your family’s image, but also yours as the next heirs of the two biggest make-up companies in the world. Before you could take the reins of the company, this seemed to be the only way to make your family proud; and if hating each other was the way to go, then you thrived in it.

You practically searched for things to hate in each other. Like the meticulous nature of Chenle, a micromanager, which is not a very good quality in a business man. Yet, people praise him for it left and right. He didn’t really fancy you that much either: you jumped to conclusions and were too willing to dive into what could possibly be a socially dangerous situation.

As the saying goes, keep your friends close but your enemies closer. You never would have guessed how close in character and mindset you and Chenle actually are.

During your lunch break, you spend your time in the library. Some days you studied, some days you mindlessly ate your lunch, some days you read; it was quiet and no one bothered you, a perfect break from all of your responsibilities. Today, you decide to venture into the book-keeping part of the library, where all the historical books about the school are located. Your eye catches the row of yearbooks dating back to the 50’s and you immediately search for the one from 1982, the year your parents would have been freshman at this University. You flip through the old pages, aimlessly looking through the black and white photos to find one of your parents, but instead you stumble onto something else.

You stare at the old, grainy photograph as if you can’t believe it exists. A woman, one who you have seen several times in your own family photo albums, stares back with a secret smile on her face and the man next to her wears the same expression, both of their eyes taunting you with something you don’t know yet. A shudder runs down your back as you read the description underneath the picture.

“1982, Wilson and Zhong prepping for their upcoming debate.” You recognized Wilson as your mother’s maiden name. But Zhong… There is one Zhong family that you’re very aware of and that family is a forbidden topic in your household. Something in your head tells you to shut the yearbook and put it away; if you act like you didn’t see it maybe you’ll forget about the man named Zhong that stands so close to the woman who you know you have a connection with, but don’t know how. Instead, you turn your head from side to side to scan the vicinity, and quickly rip out the page. Shoving the picture into the deepest depths of your backpack, you continue with your day and hope that your curiosity will be repressed.

Chenle learned to pick locks when he was 12; his nanny at the time taught him and Chenle has used this skill more times than he would like to admit. Like now, as he shoves a bobby pin into his father’s desk drawer lock. Chenle does this with the quietness of a mouse and the swiftness of a crook, excitement coursing through him but he swears he isn’t doing anything bad- He just wants the book his father keeps saying he will give him. He never meant to run into the picture and he only slightly wished he never did. Chenle holds the picture up to a light to see the caption better, eyes widening at the caption: “1982, Wilson and Zhong prepping for their upcoming debate.”

Chenle scans the room, as if waiting for someone to come in and catch him in the act. He sets the photo down and walks towards his father’s bookshelves, scanning the photographs that are placed at random on the shelves. One of the photographs closer to the bottom contains a picture of the man from the photograph Chenle just found, standing next to the younger version of his father. Chenle knows he’s seen this face before and his curiosity becomes too great to ignore. Chenle runs back to the desk and takes out his phone, snaps a shot of the old photo, quickly putting things back to where he found them and leaving the room as quietly as he came in. The photo burns a hole in Chenle’s phone as he sits at the dinner table later that night, thinking of the eyes of the man who he knew was somehow important to him.

Step 1: The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him your friend

Despite the differences that you Chenle have been grown into thinking you have, you both think quite similarly. So when you make your way to the classroom that the photograph had been taken in so many years ago, it shouldn’t have been surprising to see Chenle there, too. You walk through the door and immediately scoff, ready to walk back out. Chenle turns around at the sound and rolls his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” He asks harshly.

“What are you doing here?”

“I asked first.”

“Aren’t we a little too old to be playing this game?” Your patience wears thin every moment he opens his lips and you consider walking out once more.

“Then just answer the question.” You were about to throw some witty comment back at him until you see the familiar, grainy picture on his phone. You grip your own copy of the photo in your perfectly manicured hand and Chenle notices the motion. His breathing hitches as you try to hide the all-to-familiar photo behind your skirt and he steps forward, eyes on your hand.

“What’s that?” Chenle takes another step forward when you don’t answer, the back of your thighs hit a desk and the sudden feeling makes you sit down on the table. The photo drops to the tile floor and Chenle scoops it up. He could tell it was the same picture from ten feet away, but now that he holds a physical copy of it in his hands, his mind swirls with ideas.

“Let me guess… you know the woman in the photo?”

“I’m guessing you know the man, then?” You ask back and Chenle lets out a pained sigh.

“You can never just answer a question the normal way, can you?” It’s your turn to let out a sigh and you snatch the photo out of Chenle’s hand.

“I don’t know the woman… but she’s in a lot of my family's pictures from a long time ago. In my family, we don’t take pictures with people who have the last name Zhong.” You lean forward during the last line and your tongue practically drips with distaste at the last word. Chenle lets you push him away, but his next comment makes you stop before you leave the room.

“That man in the photo- I don’t know who he is either, but I know he’s somehow involved with my father. If you want to know what happened to the woman, I don’t think it’s something you can figure out alone.” As much as the thought triggers your gag reflex, you have to admit that Chenle is right. If that man is connected to the Zhong’s, Chenle is the best way to get the inside scoop. Your head is telling you no, but your gut is telling you to take the risk.

As if the universe could sense you needed a push, the door suddenly opens to reveal Dr. Krabbenhoft, the Forensics teacher. He’s an old and stout man who smells a bit like mothballs and earl grey tea, but he’s one of the oldest teachers in the University and most likely was teaching speech and debate back in 1982.

“Sir… My apologies for the intrusion. I was hoping to ask you a few questions.” Your eyes sway over to Chenle and you make quick eye contact- an even quicker decision made in your mind. “I mean…. We were hoping to ask some questions.” Chenle then steps forward and Dr. Krabbenhoft looks both of you up and down, scrunches his nose to push his glasses into place, waving at both of you to follow him as he walks further into the classroom.

“I don’t remember either of you in any of my classes.” He lays his briefcase down on desk.

“We’re freshman, we can’t take any of your graduate courses, sir.” Chenle chimes in, his tone different from the bitter one he used to talk to you only a few moments ago.

“Then what questions could you have for me.” As if on cue, Dr. Krabbenhoft notices the picture in your hand. You smooth it out before handing it over; the old man gently grips the paper at the edges and moves it in front of his sight until he sees the grainy image.

“We were wondering if you knew who those people are?” Dr. Krabbenhoft sends both of you a glance over the top of the photograph.

“I know I may look like an ancient relic, but I wasn’t working at this school in 1982. The Forensics teacher at the time was Dr. Jones. She can tell you about these kids.” He hands back the picture and starts sorting through his papers, completely unbothered.

“Where could we find Dr. Jones?” Chenle asks hesitantly.

“The last I heard she was in a nursing home in Parksville.” You and Chenle share another look. This woman could be dead by now, and that could be a major dead end to what is only the beginning of this mystery. You thank Dr. Krabbenhoft on your way out and silently walk down the empty halls.

“So… we’re a “we” now, huh?” Chenle jokes from beside you, knocking you out of your thoughts and making you send him a pursed look with a raised eyebrow.

“We are only working together to figure out who these people are, that’s it.” You concisely define your new relationship. A chill runs down Chenle’s spine and he fixes the silk tie on his uniform to keep his reaction from showing.

“We need to head over to Parksville. There’s only one nursing home there and if Dr. Jones is still alive, we need to ask her some questions.”

“Okay… So, let’s go tomorrow? After classes?” You suggest.

“Meet me in the baseball field parking lot. We can take my car.”

“You really want to meet all the way by the baseball fields?” You stop and turn towards each other.

“Don’t you think it would be a little suspicious if people saw you getting into my car after classes one day? Especially the type of people that attend this University… our parents will hear about it in no time.” Ah, your parents. Of course, wandering around with someone who is your lifelong enemy and taking a trip with him would probably not stand so well with either of your parents. You realize you hate how Chenle keeps making valid points, or maybe you just hate how you can only agree with all of the others who praise him: he really does think about all the details.

“Fine.” Chenle starts to walk again until you speak again. “Just so you know, this is only until we figure out who these people are.”

“What you’re trying to say is… you don’t trust me?” Chenle asks.

“What I’m trying to say is… There isn’t a “we” and there never will be. Let’s make sure we can go back to the way things are after we figure this out. Got it, Lele?”

“Fine, whatever you’d like, Clover.”

The next day, after you changed out of your uniform and Chenle picked you up at the baseball field parking lot, you make your drive to Parksville. The car is quiet, only the radio silently playing in the background and the sound of wind hitting Chenle’s Mercedes-Benz as he drives down the highway. You pull down the sun visor and open the mirror, retouching your make-up; Chenle rolls his eyes when he sees the familiar blue label of “Nuvane” on all of your products from the corner of his eye. The eye roll did not go unnoticed by you, and you spend the entire ride in stubborn silence.

The “Sunny Hillside Retirement Home,” despite the chirpy receptionist and the cheerful name, looks dull: old, slow-tempo jazz music plays, the wallpaper is an incredibly dull yellow color, and several buff men are wearing the same dull yellow polo with “Sunny Hillside Retirement Home Security” printed boldly on the back.

“Hello! Welcome to the Sunny Hillside Retirement Home! How can I help you?”

“Hello, we are looking for Dr. Jones?” Chenle asks. The receptionist tilts her head but her smile stays strangely stable.

“Dr. Maria Jones? Of course, can I ask what your relationship is?” The receptionist starts fiddling around on her desk. You and Chenle take the time to share a look; unfortunately, you both didn’t think this far. If you answer with the truth, they’ll never let you see Dr. Jones, but what lie could you come up with in one shared glance? Thankfully, the receptionist’s assumption answers for you.

“Oh, I’m guessing you’re her grandchild? And you’re the spouse, right?” You didn’t think about the implications of saying you’re married to Chenle, or how stupid the receptionist must be to think that two college freshman are married.

“Yes, we are.”

Chenle naturally wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, and you both give a fake, warm smile, pleasing the receptionist. You resist the urge to show surprise on your face as the receptionist hands over your pre-made name tags. Chenle was given the one with “Sam” on it and you got the one with “Amanda” on it. Chenle guides you away from the receptionist’s desk with a hand on your lower back and leans over to whisper in your ear.

“We must be the luckiest people ever because that was way too easy.” You push his arm away, giving it a look of disgust as you walk further into the building.

“Don’t be so lax, someone is supposed to be here instead of us. The receptionist will figure it out soon.”

You and Chenle walk into a living room-looking area; it smelled of medicine and dust, several people were sitting around and watching the television, some were playing board games, and some were looking out the window. You tap Chenle’s arm as you spot Dr. Jones, a perfect older version of her picture from one of the older yearbooks. She looks old in every sense of the word. Her skin sagging and her hair whitening, she looks fragile enough to fall apart if the wind from the open window blew too hard. Walking up to her seat by the window, you gently clear your throat to get her attention.

“Hello, Doctor. I’m Y/N, and this is Chenle. We were hoping we could ask you some questions about some students you once had?” She woman stares at both of you, looking down at your name tags, and opens her wrinkly mouth.

“You kids have nothing better to do than to bother old ladies?” Her boisterous voice blew you and Chenle out of the water and you both physically take a step back, shocked at how deep her face could frown. “Questions? What questions could you want to ask? Are you from the NSA? They really train ‘em young, don’t they?” She continues. You and Chenle look around at the rest of the people in the room, panicking at all the attention that now seems to be thrown your way.

“Whatever it is, it’s not worth my-”

“It’s about these people.” Chenle suddenly pulls out your crumpled piece of paper, catching Dr. Jones attention. Her hand reaches forward and snatches the paper, squinting at the grainy photograph.

“What about them?” She asks.

“Who are they?”

“They were some of the best debaters I have ever taught. I am still proud of what they achieved despite the sins they committed.” She nonchalantly hands the paper back as your and Chenle’s eyes widen at the word “sins.”

“I’m sorry, sins? What sins did they commit.” You ask but before Dr. Jones could answer, your attention is drawn to the slamming doors at the front of the room. The receptionist stands with two security guards at her side, surveying the room until their eyes land on you.

“There, those two.” The receptionist doesn’t seem to be as preppy as she was before, and could even be more angry than the woman sitting in the chair next to you. You freeze as the two security guards march towards you, but Chenle grabs your hand tightly in his own and pulls you through the door at the other end of the room. You hear the stomping of feet from behind you as Chenle rushes you down hallway after hallway in what seems like a labyrinth more than a retirement home.

“Where are we going?” You tug on his hand in an attempt to slow down.

“I’ll tell you when I know.” Chenle stops at a cross in the hallway, looking down all ways before pulling you out of the doors with the big red “EXIT” sign over them. The alarm system screams from behind you and the harsh wind whips at your faces as you run through the parking lot to the car, kicking up the few yellow and orange leaves that have already fallen to the dirty concrete. You and Chenle don’t get a chance to breathe until you're in the car, on the highway heading back home.

“God, that place was a prison.” Chenle heaves and you silently agree, still out of breath.

“I never would have thought that an old lady could have so much pent-up anger.” You sigh and it’s Chenle’s turn to agree with you. Slowly, giggles arise as Chenle thinks about the insane situation you both were in. Before you know what’s going on, you and Chenle are pulled over to the side of the road with unstoppable laughter filling the car.

“Oh, my god.” Chenle gasps and continues to cackle. You try to not shove your fingers in your ears from the loud sounds coming from his mouth.

“What is that?” You ask as he calms down.

“What?”

“That cackling sound?”

“That was laughter… Oh, sorry. You wouldn’t know what that is, right?” You roll your eyes but before you can say anything else, Chenle speaks up again. This time, he sounds a bit insecure. “Is it… annoying?”

“What? No, it’s just different. Good- different.” Chenle turns away to hide his smile at your answer. You've never heard him laugh like that before, not even with his friends at University. You feel a little flutter in your heart from the thought that he let you hear something so raw and pure like his actual laugh. The adrenaline still in your system, you realize this is the first truly teenager-ish and rebellious thing you’ve done, and you did it with Chenle, of all people.

“Lele… Do you think these people actually committed sins? Is that why we don’t know who they are?” The mood in the car shifts with your sudden questions.

“Dr. Jones seems a bit… exaggerated. I think we should take her words with a grain of sand.” Chenle reasons.

“But then… why don’t our families talk about these people if they didn’t do something bad.” You and Chenle think it over; the visit seems to have raised more questions than answers.

“Let’s go home.” Chenle sternly says and starts the car again. The ride back to school is more quiet than the ride to Parksville.

Although it seems like you and Chenle hit a dead end with the visit to Dr. Jones, you refuse to believe the story ends there. After some more research in the yearbook, you find names of other people on the Forensics team from 1982. You’re not surprised to find that most of them moved to other cities and that some of them have already passed away. What you were surprised to find was that one member from the Forensics team was your own neighbor, Paul Reizter. He lives a few houses down from you, and you’re all in for the idea of paying him a visit until Chenle refuses.

“Can you stop being such a walnut, Lele? Mr. Reitzer was on the same team as these people, he probably knew them well. This could be the way to figure out who they are.”

“Absolutely not. He lives two houses away from yours. Two. You’re practically asking to get caught. All your parents have to do is look out the window and they’ll see us, and then what?” You sigh in frustration, all the reasons why you couldn’t stand Chenle in the first place filtering through your mind.

You want to argue that the forest in your backyard and the fact that Mr. Reizter’s house is a gated mansion would make going to his place more discreet, but you keep your mouth shut. The answer to your questions could be, literally, down the street and you wonder if it would be a big deal to visit your neighbor without Chenle. Just the thought of it creates a weird, uneasy feeling in your stomach that makes you retract the statement from your mind. You hate to admit it but after visiting the Sunny Hillside Retirement Home, you started to slightly respect Chenle for his quick thinking under pressure, a skill that you obviously do not possess.

“Fine, we won’t go. Do you have a better idea?”

“I might. But it’s a bit… meticulous.” And that’s how you and Chenle end up at the city registrar's office, a small corner of city hall that doesn’t look like it has been used in several years. The office was stacked high with shelves of newspapers and documents dating back from several decades ago. This time around, you and Chenle thought through your plan carefully before visiting the registrar. You walk in separately, ask for different documents, and sit at different sides of the work room that’s adjacent to the office. Once the registrar left the work space, you and Chenle move to sit together in the far corner of the dusty room.

After taking the time to grimace at the old paper smell and the continuous sound of a fan working in the corner, the work room became your second home over the next few weeks. You spent hours sifting through several different newspapers from 1982 trying to find any traces of your mystery people.

It seems like it was the hundredth time you’ve sighed, the toll of hours of research coming onto you. Chenle walked out of the room a while ago and you cursed him out in your head for leaving to make you do all the work. Almost exactly after that thought, Chenle walks back into the room. He sets down a large cup in front of you and you quizzically stare at it.

“It’s hot chocolate,” He says as he sits and takes a sip from his own cup, “Don’t you know what hot chocolate does?” He muses. You take a sip, the chocolate melts on your tongue and the whipped cream mixes in to make just the right amount of sweetness to calm your frustration.

“No, what does it do?” You ask, almost distracted by the drink in your hands.

“It helps you think better.”

“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes.

“I’m serious! Just watch, we’ll find something in no time.” You continue your work, and silently appreciate Chenle’s efforts to lift the spirit in the room.

You always take Chenle’s car to the registrar’s office, leaving yours at the school. You once pointed out how it would be less suspicious if you took your own car, making Chenle snort. “I’ve seen how you drive around the parking lot at University, you can’t handle driving through downtown.”

Chenle parks the car and walks out towards the meter. You watch him from inside the car, picking at the meter with his finger before he walks over to you. You slowly roll down your window.

“What’s wrong?” You ask teasingly.

“The parking downtown is expensive and someone told me I can put coins into one of those… things. I don’t have coins, give me some.”

“Expensive parking?” You ask, before your face raises in realization, “Do you mean… parking tickets? Lele, it’s illegal to park here if you don’t put coins into the meter.” He blinks at you with a blank face, as if you were speaking to him in an alien language.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s not my car, why should I pay for the meter?” You explain and cross your arms stubbornly.

“C’mon, stop playing.” Chenle whines, a particularly harsh gush of wind blowing his blonde hair over his face as he reaches through the window and shoves your shoulder until you cave.

“Only if I get to drive tomorrow.” Chenle groans at your ultimatum.

“Fine, fine, whatever. Do you have to be like this, Clover?”

“Only for you, Lele.”

Sometimes, after searching through several documents and newspapers for a long time, you and Chenle lean back in your chairs and stare up at the off-white ceiling in almost-defeat, waiting for some motivation to pick you back up.

Chenle’s breathing almost lulls you to sleep. Whenever you blink, all you can see are the printed letters of newspapers in the back of your eyelids.

“This is so hard. I didn’t realize how hard this could be.” You mumble.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” Chenle answers. You pause.

“You know the whole thing about bat poop in mascara? Yeah, that was all an urban myth.” Chenle laughs at your unexpected comment, turning to face you.

“What?” He can’t help but giggle at your how your hair sticks to your face as you turn your head to look at him, and he helps you move it away. “You really are a tree-hugger, huh?”

“What?” Now it’s your turn to be confused.

“You know… the whole thing about Nuvane products being 100% free of animal testing and all that… You’re a tree-hugger.” Chenle explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I think you need to look up what “tree-hugger” means.” You roll your eyes, “Nuvane is 100% free from animal testing. I can swear that fact up and down and I’m proud of it. Thousands of animals are still killed through testing every year, it’s not really funny, Lele.” Your disapproving tone makes Chenle look away, a bit embarrassed at being called out. You bump your knee with his.

“Hey,” He turns to look at you, “My family are not tree-huggers, or whatever, they just don’t stand for that kind of stuff and neither will I.” You turn to focus back on the newspapers, and Chenle can’t help but admire you for a moment. You have a serious value that you uphold, and your pride in yourself makes Chenle admire you more than he already does.

Eventually you try the Internet, but the city’s digital records don’t go as far back as the 80’s. You check newspapers from 1983 and 1984, and expanding out into the nearby towns to see if their newspapers have the information you need. You refused to believe that the only trace of these people are one picture in an old yearbook. Unfortunately, luck was nowhere to be found and researching only became difficult as you proceeded; it was physically hard to keep sitting in the rickety and uneven chairs of the small work room.

Chenle watches you sit up, a hiss coming from your mouth at the feeling of your neck and back pushing into place after so many hours of hunching over papers. Your hands come up to massage the place your shoulders and neck meet as you try to get comfortable in your chair. Chenle barely realizes that he’s out of his seat, gently taking your tired hands in his own. You’re startled, but you let Chenle take control. His own hands replace yours, his delicate but strong piano fingers play a melody on your sore muscles, making you relax and lean your head back into his stomach. You occupy the room in silence for a few moments, Chenle expertly massaging until he realizes what he’s doing and suddenly stops.

“You weren’t doing it right. You’ll hurt yourself if you massage it like that.” He mumbles and sits back in his seat. You try to focus on your own work, but the lingering feeling of his fingers distracts you for the rest of the night.

You and Chenle tried to make the most use of your time, but every day you came back, the registrar seemed to become more and more suspicious of your endeavors. She’s an older woman, her wardrobe seems to consist of only tweed suits, and she wears wire bifocals that leave marks on the side of her nose when she takes them off. At first it seems like she was unbothered by your presence in her office, but after almost two months of research she decides to poke her head into the workroom. It takes you a minute to comprehend her presence and you jump away from Chenle, making him sloppily jump away from you.

“You kids have been camped out here almost every night for the past couple months. I think I now have the right to ask what you’re here for. There must be something I can help you with?” You and Chenle start to deny her request.

“Alright, but if I leave this room I may have to go make a phone call to the local news station. I bet they would be interested in why the two heirs of the biggest make-up companies-”

“Wait.” You tiredly call out when you realize what the registrar was hinting at, checking her name tag as she turns around. You had no idea if her threat held any substance, but you’re too tired to care. “Miss. Rose, we could use your help, but please don’t call anyone.”

“We’re trying to figure out who these people are.” Chenle sluggishly stands up and hands the ripped yearbook page to the registrar. “We haven’t had any luck so far, as you can tell.”

“This is what you’ve been slaving away for?” She tsks. “You could’ve just asked me first. I went to school with your parents. I was a scholarship student.” She explains and hands the photo back. You and Chenle physically slump at the realization that your answers have been this close to you all along. “Well, I was a freshman when these people were seniors. They were very popular while in school. College sweethearts, I think.”

“Wait, wait… they dated?”

“Yes, from the gossip that I heard. It was kind of obvious, too.” Miss. Rose leans against a desk and lifts her head up to the ceiling to remember. “They were always together, sitting at lunch under the apple tree in front of the University…” She trails off.

“Who are they?” You ask. The registrar gives you a perplexed look.

“You really don’t know? She’s your aunt.” Miss. Rose looks at you and then towards Chenle, “and he’s your uncle.”

“No, that’s not possible. I don’t have an uncle.” Chenle refuses and the registrar shakes her head.

“I specifically remember being told to keep away from them because they were one of the sons and daughters of the people who ran Zhongcology and Nuvane.”

“You were told to stay away?” You furrow your brows.

“My parents told me to not associate myself with them... since their companies just formed and I was just a… poor student.” Miss. Rose looks away. “I guess that was a smart idea since they started to rival against each other a few years later…” She trails off, “but that looks like it’s changing?” She smiles suggestively. Before you can deny, she speaks again.

“Why are you looking for these people?” The question threw you and Chenle off guard. Despite the months spent looking for these people, this was a conversation you have yet to share. As if Miss. Rose could sense the tension her question brought, she quickly spoke up.

“It doesn’t matter, you kids better head home. It’s almost nine.”

“Wait.” You call out before she turns around to walk out of the room. “What happened to them? Where are they now?”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that. I didn’t see them during the second semester of that year. I don’t think they ever graduated either.” With that thought, she walks out of the room. As you pack away the files you checked out and put on your coat, you think about the last words Miss. Rose said. “They never graduated.” These people, who are apparently close family that you never knew you had, are out there somewhere. Living their lives and probably not thinking about what they left behind. Do they know you exist? Do they feel guilty about leaving? Why would they want to leave their family?

“What are you thinking about?” Chenle gently nudges your shoulder, and you only now realize that you’re outside, halfway to the car. It’s cold; it feels cold and smells cold and the cloudless night sky does not help heat up the city.

“Why do you want to find out so much about these people?” The repeated question stuns Chenle to his spot and you both stop walking. Your toes are beginning to lose feeling from staying outside for too long. Yet you still face Chenle, who recently dyed his hair a vibrant green color and somehow manages to pull it off with a navy Burberry coat.

“Well… at first I was just confused and curious. Now that I know that man is my uncle… I really want to find where they are.” Chenle admits. You nod and Chenle reciprocates the question. Before you can stop yourself, you let all your thoughts out, forgetting about the history between the two of you. Whatever you were taught to believe about Chenle, you refused to believe now; especially after spending so much time together these past few months.

“I’ve only seen that woman in photo albums… And now… I just want to know who she is. What does it mean that they never came back to finish school? Actually, thinking about it now, can we even trust Miss. Rose? She said she was only a freshman when they were seniors, and she didn’t know them personally-”

“Hey,” Chenle gently grabs onto your elbow. If he was as confused and nervous as you, he didn’t show it.

“We’ll figure it out. We know more now, that’s a good thing, Clover.”

“Yes, but why does it seem that answering one question just leads to four new questions?” You ask and he pulls you closer in response. In the past, you would have shoved him away, threw him a nasty glare and told him to bug off, but now you accepted the close proximity, even leaning towards him more. His cold hands hold your colder cheeks, timidly rubbing comforting circles as if asking if this was okay.

“Whatever it is, whatever happened, we’ll figure it out together. We seem to be good as a pair. Too bad we only found that out now.” He smiles and you offer a weak smile back. The look you give each other lasts longer than expected, and you feel gravity pull you to him. You can’t stop it, it feels too natural; like the pull of the moon to the Earth or the pull of waves to the shore. Chenle’s heart thumps in excitement and want when he realizes the moment is just right, his hands sliding down to hold your neck, but you’re yanked out of the moment by the stark honking of a car.

Jumping away, you both look towards the nearby intersection where two cars angrily honk at each other. You sighed in defeat, but Chenle feels agitated. With the moment broken, you seperate and a new type of cold engulfs both of you. You make your way to the car and the drive home is silent once again.

“Chenle.” A voice from the top of the staircase echoes out into the foyer. Chenle freezes in his steps and quickly turns around. He gives a half-smile to his father who begins to cascade down the staircase wearing his matching Prada robe and slippers, looking like he’s supposed to go to a photoshoot rather than to sleep.

“Where have you been, son? You keep coming home late nowadays.” His father reaches him and pats a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. Chenle appreciates the gesture, too bad it isn’t sincere. He knows the look on his father’s face: “Tell me the truth, what have you been doing.”

“I’ve been studying at the library.” Chenle half-lies.

“I’m glad to hear that, Chenle. You don’t want to study here?” “Who are you with every night?”

“I would, but I might get distracted.”

“Ah, yes. Focus on school for now. One day, you’ll be in my shoes.” “Don’t let this happen again.”

“Yes, sir.” Once Chenle is secure in the private walls of his room, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He doesn’t have many interactions with his father: some in passing in the hallways, some when he visits his office, or some at dinner every once in a blue moon. The intimidating air his father carries makes him a great negotiator and businessman, and a horrible father at the same time. Chenle then remembers the new information he learned just a few hours ago: that man has a brother, a person who has been kept secret from Chenle for his whole life. He feels strands of anger pull at his chest; his father is many things, but he prides himself in not being a liar. Chenle’s head hurts as he thinks about how that’s not the case anymore.

Just as quick as they came, Chenle’s heavy thoughts dissolve when he pulls off his coat and the smell of you permeates through the air. He stands in the middle of his room, shamelessly pushing the coat into his nose to smell more. He sighs as he pulls it away from his face, thinking about what could’ve happened on that sidewalk if the cars didn’t bother you. His tummy goes static and his heart swells, making him close his eyes in bliss at just the thought of pulling you close and feeling your lips on his own.

Chenle was sure he began to feel these feelings for you as soon as he realized you’re not what his parents told him you are. You’re not a reckless, lying tree-hugger, but a compassionate and hard-working person with a love for animals. He feels that anger come back to him; he has been lied to for so long by the people he trusted. Chenle would feel lost and confused right now, but he knows he has you, no matter how much either of you want to deny it. He thinks about you some more as he gets ready for bed, and when he lays in his dark and silent room, he smiles at what tomorrow could bring.

Little does Chenle know, on the other side of the mansion, his father walks into his office after his encounter with Chenle, and situates himself behind his large desk. Liwei Zhong’s office mirrors his personality perfectly: dark velvet curtains covering the windows and the desk chair, mahogany wood cabinets with neatly filed papers, and not a speck of dust to be seen. Leaning back in his chair, Liwei pushes a blue button on his phone, and one of the butlers of the mansion glides through the doors.

“How can I assist you, sir?”

“Find out where Chenle has been going in the evening. I don’t care how you do it, but I need hard evidence.”

“Right away, sir.” The butler exits the room as quick as he entered and Liwei glances over at the portrait of his family that hangs over the burning fireplace. He’s standing behind Chenle’s mother with an indifferent hand on her shoulder and Chenle sits next to her; the picture was taken years ago when Chenle was beginning high school. Despite the youth in his face, he held seriousness in his eyes and it made Liwei’s chest fill with pride. He pulls out a picture of his brother that sat snugly in his desk drawer, holding it up to the portrait. If only there was a fourth person who could be added…. He sighs and throws the picture back into the drawer. His son, whatever he was doing, was not going to be put to waste like his brother was. Liwei can’t do anything for his brother now, but he can do something for his son.

Step 2: Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake

The next day, Chenle walks through the courtyard at school, a pep in his step and a smile on his face. Chenle’s good day started the moment he woke up thinking about you, excited to see you today. He practically runs up the stairs and races down the hallways towards your locker. Approaching you with so many other people around was risky, but a discrete wave to each other every morning has become routine and something Chenle looks forward to. When he rounds the corner, the sight in front of him made him stop dead in his tracks. His good morning was officially ruined.

Yangyang, your incredibly fun and loud chemistry partner came up to you to talk about the recent lab. Your mind was still reeling through the events of yesterday (not just the information you learned from the registrar, but the near kiss with Chenle) and you didn’t even realize he was speaking to you.

“Y/N?” Yangyang asks and the sound of your name broke you out your thoughts.

“Yang? Oh, gosh, you were talking to me, weren’t you? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. What’s wrong? You look troubled.” Yangyang was such a pure soul, so happy and innocent. You decide to spare him the unwanted details.

“I just have a lot on my mind, and I didn’t get that much sleep.” Both statements are technically correct. Not the full truth, but Yangyang didn’t need to worry about it. He pulls you into a hug, a very Yang-type thing to do, and holds you back at arms length after he feels you relax.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Whatever it is, you’ll figure it out, you have a good brain up there.” He ruffles your hair and it makes you laugh.

“And,” he leans in, making you lean in also, “I’ll let you sleep behind your book in chemistry today if you let me copy your notes from last week.”

“Deal.” You both giggle and Yangyang waves as he walks away. A flash of green catches your attention and you turn down the hallway. Chenle was staring at you, eyes wide and mouth set in a stern line. You smile stiffly and wave, but he doesn’t wave back. Only giving you a nod, he turns and runs down a different hallway. You furrow your eyes, a new feeling creeping into the concoction that’s already in your chest- anxiety. What if you screwed things up with Chenle last night? You don’t have too much time to think about it when you realize your next class starts in five minutes.

Chenle spends his morning classes thinking about the interaction he saw between you and the guy from this morning. The way he hugged you and leaned in to you and you both laughed. It rose the ugly green monster of jealousy in his stomach and no matter how much he tried to push it down, Chenle couldn’t. He realized there was still a large gap between you and him that was created by the social pressure to hate each other, since that’s what your relationship has been so far. He thought you both had come further than that; he wanted that gap gone.

So instead of having lunch, Chenle went to the library where he knew you would be. Once he sees your belongings laying at a table, he throws his stuff down and walks down aisle after aisle, peeking down the rows until he sees you leaning a shoulder against a bookcase with all of your attention on the book in your hands. Chenle takes a deep breath, finding whatever courage he could muster to move his feet to you. The movement causes you to look up, just in time to watch Chenle gently take the book out of your hands and set it down on the bookshelf somewhere behind you. He comes closer to you- close enough to push you back into the bookcase and brace yourself against it. Your heart beats wildly as he stares at you with so much confidence and boldness, you can barely think about anything else except how close he is to you.

“Let’s finish what we started.” He whispers and you barely have time to breathe before his lips are on yours. He snakes an arm around your waist to pull you against him while the other hand pulls at the ends of your hair. His lips mesh with yours so perfectly, you barely have to think when you kiss him. He pulls you closer like he can’t get enough and kisses you harder, patience and self control leaving both of you as time goes on.

“I’ve been waiting for this.” Chenle mumbles between breathes for air, opening his eyes for long enough to see the glossed over look in your eye, and quickly diving back into the dessert that is your lips. The words repeat in your head and send butterflies straight through your chest and to your stomach.

Suddenly, the clatter of books somewhere in the library brings you both back to earth. You try to jump away but Chenle holds you close, the hand that was in your hair now holding your jaw to keep you looking at him. His green hair sticks up and you only now realize that it was your doing, both of your lips a bright red color from all the rushed activity. You bite your lip as you think about the dirty actions you just committed and Chenle finds it to be the cutest thing ever.

“C’mon, let’s go to my car.”

“Your car?”

“Yeah, where else are we going to continue this?”

When the pictures land on Liwei’s desk, his continuance first washes over with anger and then betrayal. Grabbing the pictures in a tight fist, he flips through them, the anger spreading and churning. Pictures of his son pushing his enemy's daughter against the bookshelves with lips interlocked, pictures of them walking out of school to his son’s car, more pictures and more anger. Chenle’s father dismisses the man who delivered them, and promptly throws the pictures across the room once the door shuts. He paces in front of the fireplace pensively as he smooths his hair back; whatever was going on between the two of you, Liwei cannot let it continue. He cannot let Chenle think it’s okay to lie to him, he cannot let this type of insubordination take place under his own nose. Liwei pushes the blue button on his phone once again, a butler cooly walks through the door a second later.

“Tell Moon to release the file.”

“Which file, sir?”

“He’ll know what I mean.”

“Right away, sir.” And with that, the butler leaves the dark room, letting Liwei marinate in his own frustration.

It was everywhere, it spread like a virus. The news was on the tip of everyone's tongue, the twisted information spreading like vines on a brick wall, but much, much faster. You heard it on the radio as you were studying one night.

“This just in, a new report has been released from an old employee of Nuvane stating that Nuvane has been using animals to test their products before sending them to consumers. This company, who has been a known leader in animal-free testing...” you couldn’t even hear the rest, your heart beating too loud to pay attention to anything else. You reach for your phone, fingers shaking as you type in your passcode and press the call button on your father’s contact.

“Honey, I wish I could talk to you right now but there’s a situation-”

“So it’s true?” You try to keep your voice even, but the pregnant pause from the other side of the line releases a whine from your lips. “Oh, my god. It’s true?”

“No. No, it’s not.”

“Then why did you hesitate?”

“Listen, I don’t have time right now. We’ll talk about this when I get home.” and the line cuts. You stare at your phone, not believing your father hung up on you. The news then hits you, cutting through you with a knife that lets you know one of your oldest and strongest values has a foundation as shaky as a leaf. Before you can think of anything else, you stumble into the bathroom, barely turning on the lights and dropping your phone onto the counter. The water that runs out of the tap is close to burning hot, but you don’t let that stop you as you scrub your face raw with whatever make-up remover was closest to you. You’re not sure what’s more effective, the remover or your tears, but when you turn off the water and look at yourself in the mirror, strands of your hair and the front of your shirt are soaked from the frenzy. The rims of your eyes burn from the friction and your skin is rubbed into a red color that makes it look like you just ran a marathon. Despite the endless scrubbing, your face still feels dirty, tainted. You fear that feeling won’t go away anytime soon.

The events that progress on only happen within a few short weeks: You don’t go back to classes, the fear your parents have of you being ridiculed and bullied too great to overcome the need for you to become an heir, especially since there is no need for an heir if there is no company. Your father explained that Nuvane will be going bankrupt by the end of the year due to stocks dropping and several strikes against their products, leaving them out of business. Unless, by some miracle, the report is withdrawn and redacted by whoever released it in the first place.

The report, which your parents assured you was fake, left you stunned for two reasons. Firstly, that you could go back on your family’s word and be sent into the type of episode that you had instead of believing your father. It made you think about where your loyalties lay, and how they might have been skewed because of your recent activities with a certain someone. Secondly, if the report was fake, then the person or group who released it must have some sort of vendetta against the company or against your family.

You can’t help but let some tears fall down your cheeks at the thought of this having to do with the Zhong’s.

You didn’t need to communicate with Chenle about stopping your little investigation, the message of you not returning to classes and the photographs in the news of your family walking to and from the lawyer's office with bowed heads, despite not being guilty, proved enough to both of you that solving the mystery should be put on hold. Still, Chenle was curious about several things: The fact that you swore up and down that you would never wear make-up from a brand that abused animals made it hard to believe that Nuvane could pull off something like this without you knowing about it. Of course, Chenle couldn’t assume anything, but he would like to say he knows you better- he knows you aren’t a liar.

At one point in time, Chenle hated when you would make huge mental leaps, but now it was his turn to take the jump. Which leads him to the same conclusion as you: someone who doesn't like your family or their company is out for you, and he can’t help but think of his own.

He turns up at his father’s oak door, a hand raised, ready to knock whenever he gets enough grit to move his wrist. A wave of courage overtakes him, and knocking fills the hallway as Chenle waits for his father’s permission to enter. When Chenle walks in, the room is as dark and musty as ever, and he wonders what your father’s study looks like. Is it the same maroon and ebony color scheme with dread dripping down the walls? He wonders how you’re doing, a thought he’s been having a lot lately, but quickly shakes it off as he approaches his father’s desk.

“Son, what can I help you with.” His father had the lightest smile on his face and it scares Chenle. He only smiles when he’s happy, which is not a regular occurrence.

“I was wondering…” Chenle trails off and his father gives him a stern look.

“Chenle, what did I tell you about that look on your face? If you’re unsure about something, why say anything in the first place. It makes you look weak.” His father turns back to the papers on his desk, no longer entertained by Chenle’s presence. Chenle feels a streak of frustration burn a stripe through his chest and he let out his thoughts, uncertainty and fear out of sight.

“The scandal with Nuvane. I want to know the truth.”

“What truth? The truth is that they have been testing on animals this entire time, this report just allowed everyone to see that.” Chenle’s father continues his work and Chenle continues with his incessant grilling. “You hate them so much, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had something to do with that report.” Chenle dares to suggest, earning a glance from his father over his papers. The man drops them and opens a drawer in his desk, all while keeping steady eye contact with Chenle. The photographs land in front of Chenle, and despite the darkness of the room, he sees them clearly. His stomach plummets. There’s pictures of him pushing you up against the library bookshelves, completely unaware of the world around him and oblivious to the photographer that was taking pictures of this private moment. Chenle first felt embarrassment, which turns into confusion, which turns into anger.

“And you seem to love their daughter a lot.” Lewei states but Chenle can’t seem to look him in the eye, all previous confidence lost. “Let me ask you something, Chenle. Was it worth it? Was it worth dating some girl for a while just for it to end up like this. Look at what you made me do. Her family is probably going bankrupt. If she knew about these… she’ll probably blame you for the rest of her life-”

“Don’t.” Chenle manages to growl out.

“Don’t twist yourself into a knot, Chenle. Take this situation as a lesson to be learned. Your enemies are your enemies for a reason.” Hatred fills Chenle to the brim and he feels like he’s drowning in it, like he can’t breathe and his father is the one that pushed him into it all.

“Why did you do this?” These are the only words that Chenle can say at this point.

“There are some things you don’t know- you can’t know about.” With that, Chenle’s father gathers up the spilled photos, tucking them back into his cabinet and shoo-ing Chenle off. He numbly walks out of the office, his father’s last words hover over his head. There is something Chenle doesn’t know, and it’s finally time to find out.

You didn’t expect to be back in the small registrar’s work room so soon, but the light green letter that was slid into your families mail caught your eye the second it came in; you find yourself sneaking out into downtown that night. Your beanie covers your hair and your scarf covers your face as the strong wind blew you into the registrar’s office. She smiles somewhat sympathetically and continues to look at her book as you pass by. Chenle was leaning against a desk when you walk into the familiar work room, foot bouncing up and down with nerves.

“You came.” He sounds surprised. You slowly take off your winter gear as you sit down.

“Yeah, you said you had something to say.” Chenle almost couldn’t recognize you as he takes a good look at your face. Not only do you look tired, you sound like it, too. Your usual good posture is gone and your eyes look dead. Chenle walks closer to you and kneels down in front of you, turning your fatigued frame to face him.

“How are you?” He asks, not knowing where to start. Chenle reaches up with a gentle thumb pad to trace over a scab on your cheek. “What is this?”

“It’s nothing.” You try to look away, but Chenle gently cups your cheeks in his hands and turns you to face him again. You try to look away, but Chenle cranes his neck to make eye contact.

“Please, tell me what happened. I’m worried about you.”

“I scrubbed all the make-up off my face when I heard the news…” You trail off, not needing to finish. Chenle’s heart chips a bit, he slowly leans in to place a lingering kiss over the scab. You look so worn out; the worst thing is that Chenle can do nothing about it, and that’s what hurts.

“It’s all fake. You know it’s fake, right?” Chenle almost pleads to you. You nod your head, looking like you just need to be held right now. Chenle pulls you off the chair and down on the floor in front of him, wrapping you in his embrace; the floor was cold and dirty but you don’t care. Chenle tucks you away under his chin, and kisses the top of your head as you wrap your arms around his middle, hiding away from everything else in the world. He holds you for awhile, and you don’t realize how much you needed another human’s contact these past few weeks, specifically Chenle’s.

“I know, but how do you?” Chenle tenses at your question, and you pull away when you feel the change.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” You start to grow nervous at the look on his face. “But you have to promise not to freak out.”

“With the way you’re looking at me, I don’t think I can promise anything.” Chenle nods, preparing himself for your reaction.

“I talked with my dad,” The pause between his next words is almost unbearable. “He’s the one who released that report.” You completely unravel yourself from him to look him fully in the face.

“Why?” The question is simple, but Chenle has a hard time answering. For once in your life you don’t want to jump to conclusions, so you wait for him to respond.

“I was followed… that day in the library,” Chenle can see the gears turning in your head, “And there were some pictures taken of us that my dad saw.” A chill runs down your spine; you can only imagine what kind of pictures his father has his hands on. Embarrassment slowly overtakes what seems like every empty cavity in your body.

“So that’s why he released that… that fake report? We’re the reason-”

“No, no. This is not your fault-”

“Damn right, it’s not my fault.” You slightly push yourself away from him. Chenle cringes at how the words that came out of his mouth must sound to you.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“We caused this, Chenle.”

“No. What I’m trying to say is that it's not our fault. My dad should have never released that report because of what we did. That’s not fair to us.” Chenle thinks back to the words his father told him: “Look at what you made me do.” Neither of you did anything wrong, it was a few kisses. No one had any right to invade your privacy like this.

“Does it really matter now. That screwed my family over.” You wail out, “Nuvane is probably going bankrupt by the end of the year, Chenle. That’s it, I’m done after that. All because you couldn’t keep your lips to yourself” You spat out, the stress and anger shakes your shoulders and you feel like you could explode.

“Are you telling me you regret it.” Chenle asks as you stand up. He looks so small in front of you right now, but you’re too mad and embarrassed to care. “Because I don’t.” He finishes. Your head hurts too much and you were too confused to answer, which hurts Chenle, but he continues.

“We can still figure out what happened to those people in the picture-” You groan at the mention of the photograph, wiping the stubborn tears that fell down your neck.

“Chenle, do you think that’s what’s on my mind right now? I don’t think that what happened to those people can save anyone now.”

“We need to at least try, if we know where those people are we’ll have more than what we do now.”

“No, Chenle. I said I’m done, I mean it.” And with that, you put your coat and hat back on. “For the record, I didn’t regret kissing you. But now, I’m not so sure.” You turn and storm out of the work room, leaving Chenle’s heart worn out from your hasty confession.

The next day, Chenle approaches the mansion with the last of his hope. The electronic gates part and he drives through to the front entrance of the grand house. It snowed overnight, a hefty five inches covered the house and the yard; winter never looked more persistent than at this moment. Walking through the front door, an attendant leads him to a large tea room with light filtering in through the curtains and the smell of matcha mixed with old books fills the stagnant air. The man who Chenle is here to visit sits in a chair by a large window as he reads his book, his legs crossed and glasses perched on his nose. The attendant who led him here introduces Chenle, but the man does not pay any attention. Chenle gives the attendant a confused look but he walks away, leaving Chenle to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Well sit down, have some tea. Don’t stand there like a log.” Chenle is startled by the man’s voice but does what he is told, and the man continues to look at his book. “What are you here for, Chenle.”

“I have a question about one of your old classmates.”

“Which one?” Chenle reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, pulling up the picture he took months ago and handing it over to Paul Reitzer. Despite what Chenle told you months ago about visiting Mr. Reitzer, he had no idea who else could solve the mystery of these missing people. He sent you an apology through his head this morning; he knows you’re mad at him and he hopes you’ll forgive him for everything he has done. Mr. Reitzer nods as he looks at the picture.

“I was wondering, where are they?”

“You are very straightforward, you know that, Chenle? You also seem like you stay true to your word.” The comment sent Chenle off guard as he looks around the room in confusion, anywhere but at the man in front of him.

“I… guess?”

“I am about to answer a lot of questions for you, I will need something in return.” This makes Chenle sigh. People like him are always out for something. Although Chenle didn’t understand why this information is kept so tightly hidden, it was starting to be irritating.

“What do you need?”

“Just for you to promise not to say where you got this information from.” The man finally turns to Chenle, startling him at the sudden attention.

“I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good.” The man stands up and walks to a bookshelf, running his fingertips over some spines before hooking a book with his finger and swiftly pulling it out. A photo album is set into Chenle’s hands with several pictures of the man in front of him and the two people from the photograph Chenle knew so well.

“Jun Zhong would be your uncle, and Lena Wilson was his girlfriend. We were close friends. All three of us were on the Forensics team, we spent almost all of college together.”

“They really did date.” Chenle continues to flip through the photos. They seemed to begin at the beginning of college and continue through the years. Chenle watches as the three friends grew up picture after picture, holding trophies, eating food, and simply sitting around, laughing.

“Yes, they did. For a long time. I thought they were perfect for each other, I wished I could fight and quarrel about stupid little things with someone and still embrace them in my arms and laugh it all off in the end. It is a special type of love that you should not let go.” The words rang through Chenle’s head, his heart suddenly heavy as thoughts of you invade his mind.

“Their parents never liked the two of them dating, and they never wanted to be the heirs of their family company. They tried to run away.” Chenle looks up in shock. Run away? Is that why they never graduated from Carlston? “They failed.” Mr. Reitzer finishes and Chenle gulps at the ominous words.

“What do you mean?”

“They ran away in the middle of the night before New Years Eve. They slid on some black ice on their way out of town and crashed into a tree. The car caught on fire.” He collects the photos from Chenle as he sits back in shock. Chenle has more thoughts running through his mind, but one rose above the rest: He understood why they would want to run away. If you ask Chenle about his future four months ago, he would’ve proudly told you he wanted to be the President of Zhongcology. Now, Chenle could only think about how his father lied to him and blamed him for your family’s downfall. He would be anything but proud and happy to take over the family company.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” Chenle stands up and backs out of the door, an absentminded “thank you” leaving his lips as he practically runs out of the house to his car and throws himself into the driver’s seat as his mind races with ideas. The death of both of these people has to be the reason the fight between his parents and yours started- Chenle was sure of it. He shakingly picks up his phone, calling you over and over again. Once he realizes you aren’t going to pick up, he flings his phone into the passenger seat and speeds home.

Step 3: When you are confronted with an opponent, conquer him with love

The gala is in full swing. The chandelier shining over the whole foyer, where people of high social status roam with their respective plus ones on their arms. Several people showed up for the last big hurrah of Nuvane. It was surprising how many of these people were trash talking your family’s company only weeks ago, but can turn around and flash a charming smile at your mother and father when they bring up giving away the assets of the company. It was your parents’ last way of making some fast money before shutting down production of Nuvane products. The company your family has built from the ground up decades ago will soon crumble, and you can’t help but be confused; Chenle was right, this isn't your fault. Then why did you feel so guilty?

Your royal blue Dolce and Gabbana dress cinches your waist and your Cartier diamond earrings are as heavy as your broken heart. You stay near your parents the whole night, the memories of what happened several days ago with Chenle repeating through your mind on a loop as you mindlessly talk to people who come up to you. You have yet to tell your parents the new information that Chenle told you, not really sure how to bring it up and scared of the consequences when you do. Suddenly, attention turns towards the front doors as the Zhongs enter. You nervously crane your neck to look for Chenle, but when you don’t see him walking with his father and mother you quickly lose interest. The inquiring eyes from other guests glance over as they walk up to your mother and father to start “friendly” conversation.

Attention is drawn to the front doors as they open once again, this time louder and not as elegant. The sip you took of your bubbly drink almost spews out of your mouth as Chenle runs in, tuxedo disheveled and his new brazenly-dyed orange hair making him stand out from everyone else. The room quiets down as Chenle shuffles through the people scattered around to reach you, his eyes looking at you only. He can’t help but admire how beautiful you look, the light from the room makes your skin glow and the color of your lipstick makes Chenle hungry for more kisses. Your heart lifts in your chest when he’s only a few steps away, he has the same look in his eyes as the day he approached you in the library. Liwei calls out before Chenle gets too close.

“Chenle! Don’t you dare take another step.” His voice booms throughout the foyer. Chenle’s familiarity made you want to dive into his arms, bury your face into his chest, and hide from it all, but you remember the last conversation you had. You were probably not his favorite person right now, but the past week spent without him, knowing that you said the things that you did out of anger and not truth, was killing you. You need him to know you didn’t mean it. He was so close, yet so far.

“Stop all of this. I know why you and the Y/L/N’s are fighting.” Quiet murmurs fill the previous silence and you try to get Chenle’s attention, but it’s no use as he walks towards both of your families. You watch his adam’s apple move as he gulps, but it doesn’t seem like anyone else notices his nerves.

“Your brother, Jun and your sister, Lena… I know all about them.” Chenle continues, “How they dated in college, how they tried to run away, how they died in that horrible car accident.” Your eyes widen along with the rest of the audiences at Chenle’s story.

“Lele… Is it true?” You whisper to him coming closer, until your mother grabs your wrist and pulls you away.

“Yes, Clover. It’s all true.” You never would’ve guessed that stupid nickname would make you feel relieved, but somehow you relax under Chenle’s soft gaze.

“Can you please control your son.” Your mother’s voice raises over the voices of the chattering guests. Liwei approaches Chenle and grips his elbow, pulling him away as if the strong grip could contain Chenle’s wrath and confidence.

“No.” He pushes himself away from his father. “What is all this fighting for? These decades of hating each other, what has it accomplished? Has it brought Jun and Lena back? Has it made you feel better about yourselves?” Chenle accuses.

“How did you even find out about this. What have you been telling him.” Your father points an accusatory finger at the Zhongs and they turn to Chenle for an answer. Everyone leans in to listen, and Chenle suddenly doesn’t feel as confident or big as before.

“I… can’t say.” The crowd grumbles at Chenle’s answer and he looks at you again. You know this look; he’s asking you to trust him- to have faith in him.

“I have been trying to figure out who Jun and Lena were.” You speak up and your mother and father looking at you in shock. “With Chenle. We’ve been doing it… together.”

“That’s what we were supposed to be doing in those pictures.” Chenle whispers to his father, but the comment was overheard by your father.

“Pictures? What pictures?” Your eyes widen.

“Chenle.” You hiss quietly, and he gives you a pointed look.

“You didn’t tell them about the pictures?”

“Not yet!” You hiss back. After a moment of silence, Liwei’s low laughter fills the foyer.

“Oh, the pictures? You mean the ones of you two in the library? Chenle pushing you against the bookshelves, kissing each other? Or the ones of what you did in the car afterward-”

“Stop.” Chenle whispers, but the crowd’s reaction covers up his voice.

“You sick bastard!” Your mother shrieks.

“Y/N… Is this true?” Your father asks. You bite your lips and try to look away, but the betrayal in your father’s eyes is too strong for you. Despite that, you don’t feel guilty anymore. Maybe it’s because Chenle still seems to be on your side, or maybe it’s because of the fact that the family feud had been about something as unstoppable and unfixable as the death of your relatives.

“Yes, it’s true.” You stand your ground.

“I thought we raised you better than that. I am so disappointed in you.” The quiet anger your father radiates sends a chill of fear through your spine, but is quickly replaced by the stuffy feeling of wanting to cry. It was unfair; other than meeting each other behind your parents’ backs, which was something you were forced into doing, you and Chenle didn’t do anything wrong. You were about to retaliate before your father held up a hand.

“I’ve had enough. I can’t let this continue, not with what our family is going through right now.”

“Dad…”

“No, you need some time away from all this, it’s obviously made you lose your mind. You’ll be staying with your grandparents from now on.”

“What!” You yell out, “You mean… in Canada?” The look your father gives you makes you assume you are right and your jaw drops. You couldn’t believe he thinks you’re the crazy one. You have not lost your mind, if anything, you see more clearly than before.

“No, wait, sir-” Chenle spoke up when he realizes that your father was serious about sending you away. The chatter of the audience rose when your mother tries to push you out of the room. Chenle reaches forward to grab onto any part of you that he could, but you could only send him a pleading look at you’re whisked up the stairs and Chenle is held back.

“Chenle, let’s leave.” His mother spoke from behind him, but he’s still trying to understand the events of what just happened. Your parents were really going to send you off to some other country, just like that? And for what, some pictures that were taken of you and him?

Chenle turns and runs out of the house, grabbing his coat and scarf along the way. He runs on the path that led around to your backyard garden, jumping over ice chunks as he rushes through your lawn. Once he reaches the area of your backyard under your bedroom window, he yells out your name, his voice cracking from the cold. When there’s no response, he gathers up some snow and throws it at your window.

The window opens a few moments later, your head peeking out.

“Clover!” Chenle yells again, this time in relief. “Let’s go.” He calls out.

“What?” You answer.

“I said let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere, somewhere other than this place. Those people are crazy, Clover. They want to send you to Canada! C’mon, we can find somewhere to go. I know you might hate me, but I can’t stand the thought of leaving you here with these people. You don’t deserve this kind of life.” Chenle calls up to you.

“I’m sorry!” You shout down to him, and Chenle squints in confusion.

“Why?”

“What I said, about regretting that kiss. I don’t regret it, not one bit. I was just… angry and embarrassed.” The cold, winter air stills around Chenle as he digests your confession. “I don’t hate you, Lele. I think… It may be the opposite.” He felt tears prick at his eyes as he looks up to you, your upper body hanging out of the window as you shout your confession.

“Do you trust me? Because I trust you. Fuck, this might be the wrong time to be telling you this, but here I go.” Chenle sighs and you lean a bit farther out of the window to hear him.

“I think all the shitty things we have been taught about our families have been... untaught by spending so much time together. Not just untaught, I relearned. I learned how the things I once hated about you, that those are the things I love now. Yeah, I love you. And if you leave for Canada I know there’s not a chance I’ll ever see you again. I’d rather take the chance to get out of this city than to stay here without you.” Delicate snowflakes fall from the dark sky as Chenle confesses his love to you, laying it all out for you to either catch or throw away. You can't believe what you’re about to say, but you want it, too. You want to get out of this town and go. Most importantly, you want to do it with Chenle.

“Okay... Let’s go.”

Your elegant dress is thrown down onto your bedroom floor as you change into jeans and a sweater, not giving the room a second glance as you climb down the side of your house. The flimsy coat you grabbed before leaving barely did anything to keep you warm, but you keep running through the forest behind your backyard like you can’t feel the frostbite nipping at your skin. The trees in front of your path were only illuminated by the moon and the stars, your breath fogging in front of you as the small specks of snow land on your hair and eyelashes. Despite the burning of your lungs and muscles, the cold snow that reaches halfway up your shins keeps you cold.

“Chenle, wait. Slow down.”

“No, we don’t have time.” The rising of your knees to run through the snow was tiring and Chenle’s hand that tightly held yours practically pulls you through it all. Chenle looks behind him at your freezing figure, suddenly stopping despite his previous words. He takes off his scarf, wrapping it around your exposed neck and tucking it into your coat.

"Lele, you're gonna freeze." You say, noticing how his neck is now exposed, his skin turning more pale than usual.

"I'll be fine, as long as you're okay, Clover." The words warm you up, but you don’t get another second of rest as Chenle grabs your hand and pulls you further through the forest; you’re not sure if he knows where he’s going, but you trust him. Eventually, the sound of passing cars pulls Chenle into one direction, and you’re thrown out of the forest and onto a highway. Chenle pulls you down the street until you see the sight of his familiar car haphazardly parked on the side of the road.

He hastily retrieves his keys from inside his tuxedo jacket and opens the passenger door. He helps you in and buckles your seatbelt, grabbing the sides of your cold cheeks with his numb fingers and pressing his lips to yours for just a second before pulling away. His lips sends warmth through you that makes running through a snowy forest and the cold you’ll get later worth it. Before he can get too far, you grab his hands and pull him back.

“I love you, too.” You confess. “I can’t believe you said it first.”

“I’ll never let you live it down, Clover.” He grins, and leans in again, pressing his lips to yours several more times, relishing in the simple fact that it’s something he can do now, without restraint- without the eyes of anyone watching. He closes your door and rounds the car to the driver’s side, starting the car and driving onto the highway. You and Chenle drive out of town, to the next city, and the next one after that- not stopping until the sun rises and you don’t know where you are. For once, the car is not filled with silence, but of music from the radio that’s turned all the way up, of Chenle’s shrieking laughter as you tell him story after story from your childhood, and of your kisses that you press to his hands to warm them up.

City after city, one highway to the next, your hand on his over the middle console. The nerves of a pair of runaway covered by the beating of your heart, thumping with adrenaline, love, and contentment. You are free.

Indeed, keep your friends close but your enemies closer; until your enemy becomes your friend, and that friend becomes your lover: this is the intricate art of being enemies.

»»————-✧༺♥༻♛༺♥༻✧————-««

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We Are A Family-Part 31

Title: We Are A Family. Pairings: Steve x tony, Peter x Wade, Nat x Clint, Sam x Bucky. Part: 31/? Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slowburn. Summary: When Nat comes into the avengers tower with baby Peter Parker, the avengers didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. But now that Peter is here,Steve and Tony both feel protective over him. It doesn’t help that Peter hates everyone other than Steve and tony. But as Steve and tony raise Peter, they start to fall for one another. Will this superfamily work out or will it all turn to hell? A/N: I’m going to start wrapping up this fic within the next couple parts but i have a lot planned. I’ve been hit with insane amounts of inspiration whilst in quarantine, hope everyone is staying safe

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30

Steve couldn’t believe it when tony had first told him. They were going to get back together, they were going to get Peter back, and then things would be right again. They’d get to live out the rest of their lives together and happy and in love. I love you Steve. It had taken Steve’s breath away to hear it, it was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to hear again. Each passing day he’d longed for the sound of tony’s voice forming those words, but he hadn’t thought he’d ever actually get to this point. Get tony back and explain himself.

“When this is over, we’re going to therapy.” Tony said as he made his cup of coffee.

“What?” Steve shook his head and Tony looked up at him.

“We’re all going to need it Steve. You especially, this is a fight you’ve been battling for years.” Steve looked down at his hands.

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t but he wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

“Then go for me, so I feel less alone.”

“We’ll talk about it when we get back, once we bring everyone back.” They were waiting for the others. Because they were going into space to get back Peter.

“You sure I can’t come with you?” Tony asked and Steve met the eyes of his husband.

“You’re still recovering. I don’t want to lose you too.” Steve said and Tony nodded his head.

“alright, I’ll have dinner waiting for us.”

“Chinese?” Steve quirked an eyebrow and Tony narrowed his eyes.

“if you’re lucky.”

“Thank you.”

“I might even make us some cookies.” Steve couldn’t contain the grin as he thought back to that one night in his tiny kitchen in his apartment, all those years ago.

“wait until we get back. It can be a family activity.” Tony nodded and Steve crossed the room to him. He wrapped his arms around tony and rested his chin atop Tony’s head. They were going to bring Peter back, and then they would recover from this nightmare.

“Stay safe out there Stevie.” Tony whispered and Steve nodded but still didn’t let go.

“Rest up here. I love you.” Steve kissed Tony’s forehead and forced himself to step back.

“I love you too.” Nat had complained that the two of them were extra gushy with one another, but she’d been smiling as she said it. she said it was good to see them together again, after all this time.

“I’ll see you soon.” Steve promised and then left the room before he kissed Tony for real.

Tony had everything set up, he’d ordered the food and set the table and had bought ingredients for cookies. He hummed to himself as he got everything organised, they were getting Peter back.

“I should have gone with them.” Wade complained and Tony glanced to the young teenager. It was still adjustment, with all the scars. But Tony was getting used to them.

“we’re still not sure of your powers yet.”

“Cut off a limb and it grows back.”

“That doesn’t make you invincible Wade.” Tony told him and Wade looked down at the floor.

“I don’t know if Steve told you this, but I was meant to go in the snap.” Tony’s hands stilled and he frowned.

“meant to go?”

“I started to get all dusty, started to disappear, and then I didn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Bruce said it was this new power I have. My cells regenerated faster than the stones could get rid of me.” Tony just stared at Wade in disbelief.

“so you’re telling me you’re meant to be…” Tony trailed off and Wade nodded.

“I should have gone with them.” Tony looked down at the floor. They’d be back soon if things had gone to plan. They’d come back home and Peter would be with them and Tony’s life could get back on track. The plates rattled on the dining room table and Tony nearly collapsed with relief. Right on time. He thought to himself as he and Wade rushed downstairs and outside onto his not-so-green-grass-anymore. The ship was landing, they were back. Tony’s heart hammered in his chest, he could hug Peter again. Could move on from that awful memory of Peter begging for his life. Tony hobbled and Wade helped him over to the ship as the doors opened and the Avengers emerged. Steve was the last one out.

“What happened? Where’s Peter?” Tony asked and Steve pulled Tony into a tight embrace. Everyone was watching, everyone knew the news Steve was about to tell him.

“I don’t know what to do.” Steve sobbed and Tony clung to him.

“We’re bringing him back, what’s going on? What happened out there?” Tony whispered as Steve’s body shuddered against his own.

“Thanos…” Bruce’s voice trailed off. Tony craned his neck to look at Bruce but his view was blocked by Steve’s shoulder.

“Stevie?” Tony whispered and Steve’s grip tightened.

“What the hell happened out there?” Wade asked and Tony rubbed Steve’s back. Whatever it was they could fix it, whatever had been said or done could be fixed. They just needed to get Peter, they’d be alright.

“When Thanos used the stones, it was so he could destroy them.” Tony didn’t understand, usually he knew what was going on, could analyse a situation perfectly, but he didn’t understand.

“What’s happening?” Tony whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

“We lost.” Natasha said, answering Tony’s question.

“I know we lost!” Tony snapped and Steve finally pulled back, his need to comfort his husband more dire than the grief.

“Tony…” Steve’s voice was hoarse but Tony just shook his head. He wasn’t listening to them, he didn’t want to listen to them.

“That’s what we do. We’re the a-vengers. We lose but then we fix it, that’s what we’re doing. We’re getting the stones and we’re bringing everyone back and-“ Steve placed both hands on Tony’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. Steve’s were red and shining and Tony hated seeing Steve like that. Hair all ruffled and eyes swollen.

“Stevie?” Tony whispered and Steve’s eyes squeezed shut.

“There’s no stones Tony. There’s no way to bring them back. Everyone’s gone.” Steve’s voice shook with each word and Tony went to step back but Steve held tight.

“No, but Peter, we need the, I have to bring him back. You don’t get it, he begged me. begged Steve. He knew what was happening and I have to-how could you say that?” Tony began to cry and Steve nodded, pulling tony into his chest. Steve clung to the Captain America uniform his mind unravelling. I don’t want to go. the sobs racked out of him and his whole body began to tremble.

Steve clung to his husband as he sobbed, the others all looked away and shed their own tears. Steve had been a mess and probably wouldn’t have made it back onto the ship had Natasha not dragged his ass back onto it. the whole time he wondered what he’d say to Tony, but now the words were out there in the world and Steve was crumbling. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

“He’s our son.” Tony sobbed and Steve nodded.

“I know.” Steve whispered, where did they go from here?

Wade felt like he’d been submerged into a fish bowl. The whole world looked funny and no one was talking. Well, they were talking but he couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t make out the words. No one was looking at Wade, too focused on Tony and Steve who were visibly breaking before everyone. But Wade couldn’t comprehend it.

“Wade?” someone asked but he wasn’t sure who it was. The only thing that could brutally shatter Tony and Steve would have been losing Peter. For real. Which would have meant that they’d lost, but the Avengers didn’t lose. At least not the second time around.

“No.” Wade whispered and wrapped his arms around himself. There was no way that his dorky best friend and boyfriend was dead. No way that Peter was gone, not his Peter.

“Wade?” someone had wrapped an arm around him but he shrugged them off.

“No. no fucking way.” He stumbled backwards and then he was running, bolting for the compound. Once inside he raced upstairs and found his phone in the kitchen, he dialled Peter without a second thought.

Ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…ring..ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…ring

“Hey it’s Peter, you know what to do.” And then the god awful beep.

“Petey? It’s me, I just, there’s no way you died. That’s not possible, not when I’m still here. I think we can both agree that you’re the better one out of the two of us and it’s wrong that I’m here and you’re not. We were supposed to bring you back and something went wrong and I just, you need to call me back. You need to be here. Please Petey. I don’t know how to breathe without you here so you call me and I’ll come get you.” Wade hung up and began to tremble. He was gone, he wasn’t going to call Wade back because he was gone.

Wade curled in on himself, a cry falling out of him as he curled up in a ball on the floor, he was really gone.

Steve felt like an empty shell as he walked into the kitchen three days later. He poured himself a cup of coffee and Natasha watched him carefully.

“How are you doing?” her own voice was raw, Steve’s hand trembled slightly and he spilled coffee.

“Fuck.” He whispered underneath his breath and Natasha snorted.

“good to know.” Steve grabbed some paper towel and began to clean up the mess he’d made.

“I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Grieve?” Steve hung his head and let out a slow deep exhale.

“I feel wrong for grieving Peter.” He admitted and Natasha straightened.

“Why? He was your son.”

“but that’s just it, I wasn’t around. I wasn’t a good dad to him, for years. He’d changed so much since I’d left the picture that it makes me wonder if Tony and I are grieving the same person. I mean, Peter died in Tony’s arms and I wasn’t there and I feel terrible for grieving and being so broken because Tony is so good to me and I just…” Steve trailed off and Nat sighed.

“You didn’t actively walk out on them Steve. That was Thanos’ doing and you know it.”

“But I still wasn’t there, I still missed out. I didn’t know Peter the way I should have. I wasn’t his dad in the end.” Steve drank from the coffee, his head was pounding with exhaustion. Natasha began to laugh. “What?” he snapped, not having the patience for her.

“I’m going to take this opportune moment to remind you that I was the one who brought Peter in. I was the one that found a baby on our doorstep and hand delivered your son to you and Tony. And I remember the agreement that we all made, that we’d all take care of him. Tony had first watch, then you and then Clint.�� She was smiling but Steve still didn’t understand.

“I remember Nat, what’s your point?”

“When you gave Peter to Clint nothing happened, but when you left he started crying and screaming. I was on the phone with Clint for six hours trying to help him with Peter but it didn’t matter what we did. Not until Clint turned on the tv and an old recording of an interview with you came on.” Steve tilted his head, he’d never heard this story before.

“and then what?”

“He just stopped crying. And then the next day Clint brought the kid in, handballed him to you and Tony. Even as a baby, Peter knew who his parents were. He knew you were his father and he chose you just as much as you chose him. Don’t forget that. Maybe you weren’t there as much in the end as you would have liked, but you had no control over that. But he still wanted you, even in the end.” Steve shuddered, and then Peter said that pops should be here.

“Where do we go from here?” Steve asked and Natasha sighed.

“I’m not giving up on bringing them back, there’s no way that Thanos just destroyed the things that created the universe.” She shook her head and Steve rose a brow.

“They’re gone.”

“Just because he said that doesn’t mean it’s true. We didn’t get the chance to interrogate him further because Thor cut off his head, but I’m not giving up. I can’t.” Steve nodded, glad to know that someone was still fighting to bring everyone back.

“Then I’ll help you. I don’t want Tony to know though.”

“because keeping secrets from Tony has worked so well before.” Steve set his cup of coffee down.

“because I can’t give him false hope again. I can’t tell him that we’re bringing Peter back if we’re not. I won’t do that to him.” Nat nodded.

“if you say so. I strongly advise against it but you’re a grown man.” Steve nodded, he couldn’t break Tony’s heart again. Couldn’t tell Tony that he had failed again. He’d work with Natasha, bring Peter back, he didn’t care how long it took. He would do this, Thanos wouldn’t get away with this.

#superfamily #super husbands #stony #stony fic #Avengers #The Avengers #avengers fic #avengers fluff #avengers angst #tony stark #Steve Rogers #peterparker #tony stark rogers #steve stark rogers #we are a family fic #wade wilson #deadpool #spiderman #spideypool

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raayllum · 4 years

Text

i can’t lose you like this :: rayla’s fears and callum

Rayla is a character with a complicated relationship to fear. Most of them stems from her upbringing as a Moonshadow assassin, and some likely from her inherent personality. She isn’t scared by many things and does her best to be dutiful. For the most part, she’s able to overcome her fear... but she doesn’t see such effort or practice as noteworthy, nor does she should see fear as anything other than a weakness... to an extent.

Fear is introduced alongside each of the trio, which I’ve talked about in greater detail here, but with Rayla, she’s set apart from the boys. Callum is reassuring a startled Ezran in the face of the storm, but Rayla instead is presented as someone to fear, at least from the point of view of the fleeing guard. She’s not humanized until we see her face, which is also the moment that her target’s humanity gets too much to bear.

Rayla, later in 1x08, reflects that Marcos’s fear, and personhood, shouldn’t have mattered to her, mirroring how Runaan chided her in 1x01.

R: But when I caught him, he looked up at me, and he was so afraid. And then I just… let him go. I don’t know why. E: Because you felt for him. R: But he was a human. My enemy. E: Yeah, but then you saw he was scared, and you knew he was a person, just like you. R: That shouldn’t have mattered. I had a job to do.

R: Runaan, I’m sorry. The human, he looked up at me and I saw the fear in his eyes. Ru: Of course he was afraid, but you had a job to do!

Fear, to Rayla, is weakness. Something to normally suppress and bury, both her own and of other’s. But over the course of Book One and Two, her relationship to fear changes radically, and there’s one main reason for those changes: Callum.

Rayla has four main fears, and in each of them, Callum plays a crucial part. With her fear of water, Callum is what pushes her into having to put up with it in 1x05. Then, once her bond to him and Ezran grows, she worries they’ll hate her if they know the truth (but more on that later, because that extends specifically with Callum into S2). Expanding upon not wanting the boys to hate her, Rayla is afraid of hurting Callum in S2. Finally, from 2x04 and then 2x07 onwards, Rayla is afraid of losing him, flat out. But again, I’ll get to why I’ve given the meta the title I did later on.

Most of these fears, as well, and her lack of acknowledging them stems from a fear of being vulnerable, which is really just being scared of being ‘weak’ in a way others may reject you for.

But for now, let’s break down each of these fears as we go.

Scared of a little splish-splashing

Water is the first fear we see Rayla experience (outside fear for her team, anyway) and it’s shown briefly in her crossing the river under the palace cliffs in 1x02, although we don’t know why yet. Then, Rayla hesitates about getting on the boat in 1x04 and protests for a second, and that’s enough for Callum to start putting the pieces together. And although he is making a jab at her, his teasing is still rooted in his undeniable admiration for her:

C: Is there maybe another reason you don’t want to take the boat? Something you’re not telling us? R: No, there’s no secret reason. C: So wait, are you like this back-flipping, tree-climbing, sword-stabbing elven warrior, but scared of a little splish-splashing?

But Rayla can’t admit he’s right, so she storms off to the boat, far more angrily than either of the boys were expecting. In their family, after all, fear is something to be reassured and also overcome, through a group effort, even if they occasionally try to hide it too.

I’ve talked more about the boat scene here (within a different context, mind you) but I will talk a little about how important this scene, and all of 1x05 is, for the trio’s dynamic, which explains Rayla’s fears in the following episode. 1x05 is the turning point in which Rayla goes from seeing the princes as dorky but annoying travel companions she’s stuck with, to being her friends.

And we can see why. Rayla actually opens up for the first time, with a little prodding from Callum. She tells them about her home and eventually about her parents. He successfully cheers her up and distracts her from her motion sickness too. But when Rayla decides to put her walls back up and shuts him down, she’s then confronted with her fear. It takes the threat of going down for Rayla to even admit it.

C: So, this may not be the best time to bring this up, but are you sure you’re not scared of the water? R: I’m done with questions. C: I-I know, it’s just—the-the water’s about to—look! R: Pull the boat over. C: I don’t think there’s time. R: Pull it over! I admit it, I hate the water, I’m afraid of it, it makes me sick, all the bad feelings.

They can’t stop the boat, but Callum does the next best thing, and helps her up so that she’s in a better, safer position to face the oncoming waterfall.

One the other side, Rayla is disgruntled but soaked, the boys having enjoyed the ride, and Callum in particular makes his stance clear with his typical brand of optimism:

C: You faced your fear! Do you feel better about water now?

But seeing that she’s now feeling worse than before, Callum makes a joke to try and cheer her up (even if it doesn’t work). Then the fish comes and they go spilling into the water, he saves her from the fish (aka “just jump!” really means “just trust me!” and she does) and they wind up on the shore. It’s then, and only then, that Rayla is able to open up, and only because of how Callum pushes his praise:

C: That was brave, Rayla. R: No, I already told you, I’m afraid of water. C: I know. That’s why doing what you did was so heroic. R: Oh, thanks.

Rayla thinks that fear discounts bravery — she doesn’t know quite how to take what Callum’s saying, shown on her face — but he presents a new opinion, that her fear is what makes her so brave in his eyes, that he admires her because she doesn’t let her fear hold her back, even if it’s also okay to feel that way in the first place.

I’m going to save more of what Rayla says here for when I dissect her issues with vulnerability down below, but I do want to talk about the note the scene on the shore ends on. The boat drifts back, and Rayla seems to resign herself that it will be used in the future... until Callum pushes it away for her. The fear he once teased her a little on is now one he fully respects, willing to give up faster travel for her comfort.

Callum says that her fear is nothing to be ashamed of, that it deserves to be respected, that it doesn’t detract from her worth, and that it’s what makes her brave.

This continues into S2, with Callum offering to walk around a sea for her: “You know what? We’ll just walk around it somehow, with our legs.”

But speaking of things that continue into S2, let’s talk about

When they find out, they’ll hate you! Shut up!

This is the exchange that takes place between Corvus and Rayla in 1x06. I’ve written about it in a few other metas, but it cements one of Rayla’s fears: she’s scared Ezran and Callum will hate her when they find out Harrow is gone. Perhaps more specifically that her leader (and unknown to them, her father figure) was responsible and that she’s known all this time.

Many people have speculated that given Rayla’s status as a prodigy, and a few remarks here and there—that’s okay, she says to Ezran when he admits he has trouble making friends, fitting in is boring anyway—in addition to shame over her parents likely being put on her shoulders that Rayla didn’t have many friends growing up.

It would also explain her fast attachment to the boys as well. They’re the first people she’s ever been this open with for a variety of reasons, and they accept her and are encouraging and supportive and she likes them just as much as they like her.

And we see that every time Callum remarks on her behaviour, it really unsettles her:

R: I can’t believe that you’re such a jerk. C: What? What’s wrong? R: You called me a bloodthirsty monster. You have no idea how that feels. C: But I don’t actually believe any of that, I was just trying to scare her. I thought she’d back down.

And then again in 1x06, although this time it’s enough to make her angry:

R: There is a solution you know? You could just let me carry the Egg. You realize I could just take it, right? I could just take it from you any time I wanted. C: Yeah, that’s good Rayla, way to increase trust. R: But I don’t, that’s the point! C: Oh well congratulations! You haven’t threatened us and forced us to give you the Egg? You deserve a medal! You’re a hero! R: I could take it, I could return it to xadia on my own, and as a matter of fact, I would be a hero!

She cares about what Callum thinks of her, and deeply. She cares about having his trust, she wants it, and we can see how much it tears her up instead when he finally gives it, and she feels utterly undeserving of it. While Rayla tells the truth about her binding — explaining how something hurts her — this is also her first attempt to tell the boys, specifically Callum, about Harrow.

C: Thank you, for telling us, but we need to focus on the situation. R: There’s one more thing. The night I met you, something bad happened. C: Rayla, there’s no time. R: Callum, I need to tell you, the king—

Yet once the incident on the ice transpires, Rayla does not try again until S2. Her bond with the boys has deepened to the point that Ezran is her and Callum’s primary concern with everything over and on top of the ice, the egg a thought only once they know Ezran is okay. The trio’s bond is solidified and, unlike in the previous episodes, Callum and Rayla’s relationship no longer causes the main emotional conflicts/resolution of each episode. They trust each other now, even if that doesn’t mean it will never be tested again.

But as for why Rayla doesn’t want to tell Callum (and Ezran, but predominantly Callum) about his stepfather is simple, and one that S2 looks at far more extensively:

I’m afraid of hurting him

Rayla doesn’t admit her fears often. It takes being on the verge of going down a waterfall for her to actually admit she’s scared of the water: “I admit it, I hate the water, I’m afraid of it” and she never actually says the words, “I’m afraid,” out loud again... until her conversation with Lujanne in 2x02.

More than being afraid of his opinion of her, Rayla just flat out doesn’t want to hurt him. She actively avoids it, to the extent that she’ll let him hurt her to avoid having to hurt him. When Rayla is trying to convince him not to trust Soren and Claudia, Callum reluctantly turns away from her. The proof she has is flimsy and poorly explained, and she knows it, but she also asks for his trust.

“I’ve known Soren and Claudia for years,” he says. “You and I don’t have that yet.”

Yet the proof she has, because she knows Harrow is dead, is one she refuses to use in her case. She can’t bring herself to do that to him. More than it being difficult, hurting him is something she legitimately fears. And she knows the longer things go on, the worse it will be, and her face says it all:

Perhaps one of the reasons why Rayla never struggles like this with Ezran is because she never had to earn Ezran’s trust in the some way. For her and Callum, the question was “should I trust you” rather than “do I trust you,” and Ezran never wavered on his answer. Callum did until he displayed that he did trust her regardless of whether he should, and Rayla felt utterly undeserving of it. So now she’s on the other side, keeping another secret, this time not about her own hurt, but his.

And then when Claudia tells Callum, Rayla is heartbroken for a variety of reasons, because seeing Callum cry like this

was the absolute last thing she wanted, and this isn’t even getting into her fears of him possibly doubting just how much she cares about him. It’s no wonder she’s so pissed at Claudia, and even when she knows Callum has forgiven her for everything, Rayla still doesn’t quite feel like she deserves it: “I still should’ve told you. You had the right to know.”

Seeing Callum hurt, or in pain, breaks down all her barriers, no matter how upset she might be with him over something, as the almost confession scene in 2x09 demonstrates so incredibly well.

So when Rayla feels like she’s the cause of that hurt? It must tear her up inside all the more. And just as she helps Callum through his grief, Callum helps her through this fear. While hurting him, however necessarily, will always be scary, it will not be something that tears them apart from one another, and instead bring them closer together at the end of the day.

Because, what I think Rayla’s biggest fear going forward will be, is also the most heartbreaking:

I can’t lose you like this

1x03 is the first time Rayla is seriously concerned about Callum, which is to say: the second she’s not trying to kill him, she starts worrying about him. When Runaan draws his bow against him, Rayla looks back at Callum with a horrified look on her face.

When she finds Ezran, she quickly sees that Callum is not there with him. He’s gone up into the tower to speak with their father, and she immediately expresses worry over it.

I also do want to talk about how Rayla responds when Ezran is in danger too. I think she cares about Ezran just as much as she cares about Callum, but I think she expresses that care differently because of the different types of love she holds for each of them. In scenarios where Ezran is in danger or trips and falls, Rayla always helps him, but she always remains very level headed and rational in doing so. Even when Ezran is in the most danger he’s ever been under the ice, Rayla keeps a cooler head than Callum does, to the point of holding Callum back from going after him, and her faith in Ezran doesn’t waver.

C: Ez no! Ezran! I’m going in after him. R: No, don’t! C: What, why? R: He’ll get it, he’ll save the egg. We have to believe in him, and we’re going to need to be up here to pull him out. C: But he’s just a kid! R: He’s brave and strong, he can do this. C: Come on, come on! R: It’s going to be okay. Ez will get it.

Rayla responds far differently to when Callum is in danger. It doesn’t actually happen that often because she’s usually there to take care of things herself, or he’s able to defend himself adequately with magic, but in 2x04 the fear of losing him sneaks back on her. Keep in mind that this storm is significantly less dangerous, Callum has Zym, and he’ll likely come back very wet and cold at worse. And yet Rayla still lets him go very reluctantly, covers up her worry with anger, and responds to him going and returning like this:

Ezran is happy, but Rayla looks relieved, like she’s seeing the sun for the first time in a long time. She was also far more worried to begin with, even though she had arguably less worry about Ezran doing something far more dangerous, and with far more faith in him. That’s not to say that Rayla doesn’t have faith in Callum, because she definitely does, but again, that she responds differently. Losing Ezran in some capacity, even just with him going home, is one I think Rayla can stomach. I don’t think losing Callum would be something she could recover from as easily.

While Ezran is her friend, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say Callum has become her best friend. He’s this infuriating, incredibly kind hearted and forgiving, jerk of a boy who’s gotten under her skin, and wormed his way into her heart when she wasn’t paying attention and even when she was.

Callum is the one who has radically transformed her, in both her worldview (“An assassin doesn’t decide what’s right or wrong, only life and death” -> “I’m not sure being an assassin is my dream after all” -> “I’ve been thinking about something someone once told me. About how when one person hurts another, then that person hurts them back, it becomes a cycle that never ends”). He’s given her a new perspective on fear that allows her to admit them, even to another Moonshadow elf, even if Moonshadow elves are never supposed to show fear. Callum is the one who encourages Rayla to be vulnerable and accepts her vulnerability whenever she chooses to be.

Rayla opens up to him about their mission, and all that means to her, about what she feels is her parent’s legacy and how she has to make things right, and Callum says, “We’re in this together,” and she knows that he means it enough to then quote it to Corvus. She trusts and values him, immeasurably so, because he trusts and values her just as much, and even when everything dictates that he shouldn’t. Slowly, Callum is helping her get over her fear of being vulnerable, to the point where she will initiate far more intimate contact with him than in the past, in ways that clearly catch him off guard even if he happily settles into it.

Even when Rayla is mean or nasty to him in a way she nearly never is to Ezran, Callum doesn’t stop trying with her or chasing after her. He’s the one who goes after her even when she says she’s fine, like in 1x09. He’s the one who goes after her even when she says he doesn’t have to and this is just the right thing for her to do.

I’ve written more in depth about Rayla’s worry in 2x09 before, and her possible abandonment issues, but I think there’s still much to be said, and other things worth reiterating.

1) The way the camera zooms in on Callum’s unconscious form in 2x07, like Rayla’s vision is tunnelling down to him, and the way she then runs over to him and we can see the immense worry and momentary relief on her face that he’s at least somewhat okay.

2) Then, even though she was somewhat reluctantly tending to him before, and then more sympathetic despite him using Dark Magic, one of the worst things, in her eyes, a person could possibly do, the second his breathing shifts, Rayla goes into full on panic mode.

3) She cries and starts pleading and bargaining with him to stay with her. I think the screencaps alone say it all, really.

Then, there’s the line I titled this after: “I can’t lose you like this.”

To say, “You’ve got to stay with me,” and “I can’t lose you,” are already statements of love, however you interpret that love. They’re desperate pleas and revelations about one’s feelings. We know that due to her desperation and Callum’s unconscious state, this is the most honest Rayla has been about her feelings for him to him, as well.

But what interests me most, arguably, is the “like this,” because it indicates that Rayla fully expects to lose him at some point in their future. She refuses to lose him to illness or death, but Rayla still fully believes that she is going to lose Callum in some way or in some capacity. Whether it’s when he goes home without her to Ezran, or she’s scared to tell him her feelings because she thinks she’ll lose him as a friend, or for a variety of other reasons. But Rayla doesn’t expect Callum to stay, that he’ll leave without her or won’t come back. She believes she’s going to lose him.

And I, for one, cannot wait to see him prove her wrong.

#rayllum #tdp meta #tdp rayla #rayla tdp #tdp #analysis series #s1 #s2 #rayla #analysis

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dem-obscure-imagines · 5 years

Text

True Love’s...Energy Transfer?

Ben Tennyson x Reader

Prompt(s): “I love your fics!! Please can you make one of Ben Tennyson?? Something really cute? Thankss” and “Can you make one where the reader is dating Ben Tennyson? And she has the same powers as Gwen??” and “Ben Tennyson one shot? Where he is already dating the reader and they are really goals and badass?”

Note: I asked for prompts and y’all came through, god bless. So, for this, I kind of played around with someone that had powers similar to Michael Morningstar? But like in a healthy consenting way, obviously.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 0.9k

The first time Ben met you, he was a dorky kid with a watch and you could barely bend a spoon with your powers. Flash forward. You were standing in front of a giant alien who was trying his darndest to kill you. Your arms were extended forward, fingers spread. You were shaking, but you had to hold up the purple forcefield pulsating around you. It was the only thing protecting you from the onslaught of energy blasts being fired in your direction.

“Hang in there, (Y/N)!” Ben pressed the button on the Omnitrix, raising the ring in the center. He quickly scrolled through the aliens at his fingertips before picking one, and then, suddenly, your boyfriend looked very different, growing, broadening, his skin hardening as he took on the form so lovingly titled ‘Diamondhead.’ “Hey ugly! Over here!”

Once the alien heard Ben’s call, he diverted his fire onto the giant crystalline creature. His mistake. As soon as you released your forcefield, your chest aching, you instead began to fire blasts of energy at the large tentacled creature alongside Ben, who was absorbing and firing the alien’s own shots back at him. Eventually, the two of you managed to weaken him enough to apprehend him, Kevin slapping a pair of cuffs across the alien’s wrists and hauling him off.

The second the fight ended, you dropped to your knees, breathing heavily. There was a bright flash, and when you looked up, Ben, your Ben, was kneeling in front of you, a gentle look in his green eyes.

Tentatively, he reached out to touch your arm, and when he did, you were warm, raw power boiling beneath your skin. You were similar to Ben’s cousin Gwen, sure, and yet you were different. Your energy was purple instead of pink, and unlike her, you could fly. Something the two of you had in common was an alien ancestor, although yours was from another planet. Fighting took a lot out of you, and Ben knew it too.

“You okay?”

“Fine…” You exhaled, stumbling forward into him.

“Woah, easy. Do you need to…take some?” Ben offered, his arms quick to support your faltering form. His energy, he meant. That was how you operated, harnessing energy, and given that Ben had the power of the Omnitrix, there was always a lot to draw from. Still, you didn’t like having to leech some of his life force. It made you feel icky, even though he was okay with it.

“I think I’m alright. Just…help me stand?”

“Up we go.” Ben stood with you, slowly helping you until you were both upright again. God, you were dizzy. “Hey, woah, woah, you look really pale. I think you should take some energy, alright? I’ll be okay. You know I will.”

“It’s not about that, Ben.” You spoke quietly, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. “I…I hate that I can’t pull my own weight on this team. I hate that every time we fight something I end up incapacitated and have to drain you of whatever you have left.”

“Baby, do you think I knew how to…how to use this watch when I got it? No. Heck, I still don’t. Sometimes it breaks. Sometimes it won’t listen to me. Sometimes it does the opposite of what I tell it to. And you only found out about your full powers a year ago. No one expects you to know how to, you know, budget your energy yet.”

“You’re right.” You nodded, still a bit woozy. You pulled away from him to look at his face. “Are…are you sure it’s alright if I…”

“You’re gonna pass out if you don’t.” Ben chuckled and took both of your hands in his, guiding them to his cheeks. He had to admit…he was fond of the way you borrowed energy from him…

You leaned in and kissed him softly, the power flowing from him to you until you no longer felt like the world was spinning. You were careful not to take too much, stopping the flow after a few moments to rest your forehead against his while you each evened out.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah. Are you okay? Did I take too much?”

“No, baby. I’m fine. It’s okay.” He was quick to reassure you. He knew how bad you felt about needing to lean on him every once in a while, but he loved you and he just wanted to make sure you were alright. “I’m here for you if you need me. You know that.”

“I do. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

“Hey lovebirds! Do you want chili cheese fries or not?!” Kevin hollered from the car, prompting the two of you to pull away from each other, Ben’s hand slipping into yours and giving it a squeeze. Sure, maybe the two of you were still stupid teenagers with a lot to learn, but you were in it together, and you knew whatever came your way, you’d have Ben at your side.

#ben 10 #ben 10 imagine #ben 10 alien force #ben tennyson #ben tennyson x reader #ben tennyson imagine

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spiltscribbles · 5 years

Note

for the fic title thing : “ I’m sorry I had to leave you”

Notes: TYSM for the prompt bb!

Send Me A Prompt Or Fake Title

The first time he kisses a boy Whizzer’s sixteen and starry eyed over the baseball team captain who smiles at him with adoration and shyly brushes their hands against one another in the safety of Whizzer’s own home while they’re working on a shared Biology project—soft and questioning.

Whizzer somehow recognized the hints, thinks that people like them just find one another, that it might be some sort of means of survival. So he’s tactful when he responds with the same intent, is shocked when the other boy takes the hint and runs with it, leaning forwards and slotting their lips together, feverish and excited.

Sometimes Whizzer feels robbed of the moment— the first time he kisses someone with any meaning behind it— but other times Whizzer is perfectly content.

It was kind of rough and more than a bit desperate, but Whizzer didn’t mind. He liked the fact that this boy—All American jock with a crooked smile and pretty, blue eyes— wants him. All Whizzer could think, elated and gleeful, is that he’s not some abnormal freak for not wanting to take off Mindy Mendes’s bra last weekend in the backseat of her Dad’s Lincoln, because this epitome of American idealism is attracted to Whizzer in the same ways that Whizzer is him.

This is normal and he doesn’t have to hide his truth, it’s fine, he’s fine.

It’s a week subsequent to their first kiss when that same All American jock punches him square in the jaw when he thought one of his pinhead friends had seen them getting too close for comfort.

He tried apologizing that night, had brought Whizzer a joint to smoke and box of chocolates to share. His big blue eyes were pleading, and borderline terrified— terrified of what Whizzer knew, of what he could do. But Whizzer doesn’t bother to play out some stupid fucking tableau of being the sheltered gay kid pining for the perfect boy who thinks that coming out is akin to admitting a murder— love isn’t a fucking crime. So he just plucks the joint out of his hand, leisurely pops a toffy filled piece of chocolate into his mouth and tells’m that he won’t ever tell anyone what he knows, what they’ve done, but he also never wants to fucking see him again and he needs to get the fuck out of his driveway.

“Whizzer, please—“ He tries to argue, face scrunched and eyes shining with wetness.

“You come near me again and I’ll report that this lovely shiner was your doing, got it?”

He parts his lips again, probably another apology. Probably trying to ask if there’s somehow anyway that they could continue this tentative little flame they’ve been tending. But Whizzer doesn’t spare him another moment, just slams the door shut and pads off to the kitchen to get some snacks ready for his impending munchies.

He tells himself that he won’t ever be someone’s dirty little secret.

He has three, long term, boyfriends in the span of a decade… Before him. And a hole lot of one night stands sprinkled between.

Whizzer was sure that his first boyfriend was gonna be the one he would marry. Hemet’m at the LGBTQ club Whizzer’s sophomore year and his senior. His name was Juan and he was dorky in the most endearing of ways. He treated Whizzer like he was the most treasured part of his world, and was there for him when Whizzer came out to his parents.

Juan was everything for so long, which only made Whizzer feel even more guilty as hell when he woke up one morning leading up to their one year anniversary, and he suddenly felt nothing.

The second boy that Whizzer actually dates— and not just someone who he spends frequent, late night hookups with—is one of those in-between people. He met him his first week in New York. He was very pretty, and occasionally a bit to kind for Whizzer’s liking. He ran a non prophet that helped find homes for the homeless. He was brilliant and compassionate and they agreed on so many things, both politically and morally. And Whizzer thinks that he loved him, isn’t sure he was in love with him, but he’s always loved him for all the six months they were together.

He’s kind of ashamed to admit it, feels bad even now, but in the intersect of them growing apart, and finally calling it quits, Whizzer meets someone else.

He’s older than him by a decade or so. Dark hair beginning to pepper, and wrinkles surrounding his pale eyes. He kisses Whizzer hungrily, and buys him fancy dinner and flashy rolexes that his measly salary as a free lance journalist could’ve never afforded. But best of all he never tried holding him down. Didn’t care how or with who he spent his days as long as he was there, sitting pretty, when he needed a date to show off in front of his colleagues.

Whizzer was perfectly fine being a vapid, unattached trophy for someone he never had a chance in hell loving.

“Doesn’t it feel sleazy?” Cordelia asks with an owlish blink to her big pale eyes, in the midst of wrapping up the desserts she’s just finished baking for another bar mitzvah she’s catering. “This guy obviously doesn’t care about you.”

“I don’t care bout him either,” Whizzer shrugs, noncommittal before tossing another almond in his mouth. “I like the freedom of it Lia.”

She continues to frown, almost sympathetic.

And he knows, God does Whizzer know. He promised himself that this would never happen, that he’d never let himself fill this role. He knows that this’s the exact opposite of what he should be doing, but a part of him just doesn’t care anymore. Whizzer’s proud and loud, he’s gone to every Gay Pride Parade he’s been able to. He makes it a point to hold the hands of his dates in public, and to sneer at anyone raucously spewing slurs their way. And yeah, it’s gonna suck not being able to do that anymore, but also, this bloke likes Whizzer and buys him such wonderfully superfluous gifts and isn’t that the most important part?

When he meets Marvin everything kind of comes to a halt. Whizzer doesn’t know what it is, what it’s going to be.

It’s at Cordelia and Charlotte’s housewarming party, showing off how great their lives are, which Charlotte quite blatantly says a whole slew of times. “I get to save lives and love you.”

Cordelia had giggled and kissed her lovingly at that, and Whizzer only kinda felt wistful towards it.

Apparently Marvin’s an old college friend of Charlotte, and god damn Whizzer really should’ve been made privy to which ever university they had attended for New York’s prettiest and brightest. It might’ve inspired Whizzer enough to actually pursue higher education.

Marvin’s the one that introduces himself to him, bright eyed and deliciously athletic looking, and Whizzer doesn’t mind the fact that he spent the rest of that night lost in his orbit.

It’s around one in the morning, the party is still in full swing, but the pair of them sneak off to a spare room after Marvin had clumsily spilled. They’re laughing about something they wouldn’t be laughing at if they were teetering even slightly more on the sober end of things.

“I like your hair,” Marvin muses, carding a hand through Whizzer’s curls.

“Was born with it,” Whizzer hiccups, which makes Marvin start to laugh again, Whizzer gets the feeling that Marvin ordinarily doesn’t let himself act so uninhibited and careless.

They lean against one another, weak and bumbling. When they somehow collapse onto the bed that static passes— the one that Whizzer knows too well, has experienced literal countless times before, and only very rarely in an actual bed.

Marvin’s gazing at him, thin lips curved into a delighted smile. And God, Whizzer can’t help to liken him to the stars back then, think he’s got some of that old Hollywood swagger in him, even if it’s a trite point, but still. Marvin’s beautiful and he laughs at Whizzer’s jokes and he’s actually here in his bed. And this is like a sensory overload with Marvin’s hot wisps of breaths skirting against Whizzer’s lips and his hand still scratching his scalp, and his eyes are boring into Whizzer’s.

Marvin moves forward to kiss him full on the mouth, But Whizzer can’t help but stutter back.

“Are you even gay?”

Marvin, effortlessly cool, just shrugs one of his broad shoulders.

“I don’t like labels.”

Whizzer can’t help but snort.

“That is the douchiest thing you could’ve said, you know that right?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Marvin counters.

“Oh no, no, no you beautiful, angel looking fool. It most definitely was. Hell, I would’ve even excepted you borrowing the quintessential Fuckboy mantra of not for tonight, over that crap.”

Marvin dissolves back into giggles, and Whizzer hates how endearing he finds it.

“Will you just let me kiss you, please?”

And well, it’s not as if Whizzer could ever deny that.

Whizzer dips down and kisses Marvin within an inch of his life, and it’s all the brilliant things people wax poetic about in storybooks and fairytales.

Whizzer loves New York, loves how the freedom and liberation of it can seep in your bones and make you think that life is as open and wonderful as it is here, for everyone across the globe.

Whizzer thinks of the nonconforming nature of the folks in Tribeca. Of the history in Stonewall, of how he was a pilgrim from Nebraska trying to find purpose and acceptance in this world and found it in the most beautiful city in the world. Thinks he’s so proud to have adopted this place, how he loves it so.

Begrudgingly, Whizzer likes New York even more when he gets to wake up and find Marvin— who’s never fully— mind body and soul— in one place for a very long time, besides him. When he gets to watch how the early morning light kisses the tops of his sharp cheekbones, dancing across the muscles of his bare back and making it look like he’s got on a dark halo.

He’s beautiful, he’s always been beautiful. Whizzer’s never thought otherwise even when he thought he was being borderline cruel sometimes. They were perfect for one another in that sense. Marvin’s got silver tipped words and a cynical streak that Whizzer’s known for, and makes him laugh and blush (whether out of fury or amusement) in equal measures.

He’s kind of perfect, would be if it weren’t for everything else. If it weren’t for the fact he had a wife and kid back home in Manhattan. If it weren’t for how little he thought when he spewed out cruel words in their more heated disagreements. Would be if he had just let go of his stupid little folly of having a perfect family while getting to screw who he really wants in the background, like some fucked version of family values. God if he was only as decisive as he claimed to be besotted by Whizzer.

But no, that’s unfair. Despite it all, Trina— an open faced, kind hearted woman— is his wife, and if there’s a single thing Whizzer knows about Marvin it’s that he loves his son, that he’d do anything to make sure Jason got what he needed. Even if it was playing out some tableau of a sham of a marriage.

“If I get up, will you still be mad at me?” Marvin says in a rasp, voice still groggy from just waking.

Part of Whizzer wants to make a jab at how his dick must’ve took a number on Marvin’s throat last night, most of him wants to ask Marvin where Trina thinks he is.

Whizzer does neither.

“Dunno,” he averts his gaze, still indignant. “Does it really matter if I was? ’S not like I’m your problem or anything?”

Marvin winces, but Whizzer just gets up, doesn’t want to have this conversation now. He wants everything to be light and easy and he wants them to go hiking as planned and then out to lunch with the lesbians next door and just do all the things they were suppose to. He doesn’t want to have this conversation now, and doesn’t want to hear Marvin’s excuses, doesn’t think he can handle it.

“Whizzer, he says, pleading. He doesn’t say sweetheart, that’s for soft moments between them in the middle of the night, or when he’s feeling particularly playful. This right now, this is neither.

“I’ve gotta take the dog out for a walk.”

“Whizzer, don’t be like this.” He doesn’t say it cruelly in Marvin standards, but it makes Whizzer angry all the same.

“Be like what!” He pivots around, fists clenched and scowl melted onto his features.

“You knew my prerogative from the start! I’m a father-“

“And I’m a fucking person! People get hurt when the person their in love with, the person they’ve spent literal months of their lives with! Goes ahead and belittles all they have, making it seem like we’re shit.”

Marvin’s face goes pained, he steps closer to Whizzer, hands outstretched and open, helpless looking.

Whizzer doesn’t let him apologize again, because he’s right. Whizzer knew how Marvin viewed this relationship. How Whizzer’s nothing more than a side piece to Marvin’s tight nit family. Whizzer knows it, had known it. He was perfectly fine with it because he’s never been the settling down type, never had a monogamous relationship for longer than a few weeks.

Whizzer knew all of Marvin’s hangups and he thought that he could’ve handle it. Whizzer was accustomed in having a relationship without anyone else really knowing about it. He thought he could do that with Marvin, but then he fell in love with Marvin in ways he never had been before— he gave Marvin pieces of himself that he never gave to anyone else. So yeah, it hurts like hell when Marvin says shit like he wouldn’t consider them parters.

It makes Whizzer immeasurably mad and frustrated, especially when he has the nagging suspicion that he wouldn’t be this steadfast about staying with Trina if it were a woman he was in love with over Whizzer being a gay dude.

“Sweetheart, Whizzer. Please, just tell me what I can do. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know what to do here.” Marvin sounds desperate, looks even more so as he interlaces their hands together, shaking and unsure.

“I think we should take a break.” Whizzer doesn’t know where the idea came from, but it feels right, even if it hurts him like nothing else seeing Marvin’s face crumple and the light in his pretty eyes flicker out.

It’s almost a year since their break was made official.

Whizzer’s gotten a promotion, works at a magazine where he gets to travel all over the states to take photos of different festivals and landmarks and people, while getting paid for it. He gets to sleep with men from all walks of life, and it’s fun, and it’s free and there’s no heaviness to his heart— at least, not when he’s distracting himself from thoughts of Marvin’s half grin or his well built arms. How even the most drab outfits looked glorious on his Greek god body.

He still keeps in touch with Cordelia, is ecstatic when he finds out that Charlotte had proposed. And sometimes, if she slips in little details about Marvin, Whizzer isn’t upset.

“He looks sad, sadder than usual, ever since you left,” Cordelia had told him through the line, and Whizzer can practically see her twisting her fingers through the chord.

“I’m sad too Lia,” Whizzer admits in one of his sparing moments of raw honesty.

“Then come home Whizzer, we miss you. Marvin misses you, it’s not as if he’s been taken by any other fella.”

Whizzer can practically hear his lofty voice sniffing that it’s simply pointless because he loves Whizzer, knows that they’re the endgame, even if he’s married to another.

Whenever he said that— in the all too frequent conversations they’ve actually held in the past two years— Whizzer always wanted to just scream at him for not being as confident when they were together. For not taking a fucking stand. But then again, it’s not as if they were ever not together either…

They still called one another at least once a week, exchanging stories and bouncing banter while Marvin sifted through whatever paperwork he still had to get done, and Whizzer was cooking himself a meal. The way they use to while playing chess after a particularly long day. Cordelia and Charlotte still contacted Whizzer on a daily basis, still expected him to join them for the holidays that year, of course along with Marvin. Whizzer still checked up on Marvin, made sure that he wasn’t over working himself and was keeping up a normal persons diet. Reminded him that he never had to prove anything to anyone, that he was always amazing. And if they were in the same city by circumstance, they still kissed and fucked and clung onto one another like the world depended on it.

Whizzer would’ve never been able to let go of him, if even partly.

It’s Jason’s Bar Mitzvah.

Somehow, someway, Whizzer’s here.

He knows that the real reason is because Jason had actually been quite taken with Whizzer when they were all playing the ploy that Whizzer was still only Marvin’s friend from work. But a part of Whizzer likes to think that it was also partially because Marvin missed his face.

After hours of dancing and laughing and trying his hardest to avoid Trina’s far too introspective gaze, Whizzer’s finally sitting down for a break.

“Whizzer, You made it!” Marvin crows, collecting him in his arms for a far too friendly hug, as if Marvin paid no mind to the array of spectators surrounding them and the rumors they could stir up.

“Of course,” Whizzer responded, squeezing him tight before abruptly letting go. “I love Jason, so I’m here.”

“You’re here,” Marvin beams with the same glee from before coloring his baritone.

“I’m here,” Whizzer repeats, voice thick with an emotion he can’t parse out. “Oh erm, Have Charlotte or Cordelia caught you yet? They wanted your opinion on the hors d’oeuvres.”

Marvin shakes his head, eyes glimmering with mirth, before he retorts.

“I just want to be with you if that’s alright?”

It feels like something completely wonderful is blooming deep in Whizzer’s chest, god please don’t let him make the same mistake.

“Yeah, yeah of course. That’s alright.”

For the umpteenth time in their relationship they end the night in some bedroom, with their all too eager hands padding up and down one another’s bodies, and exchanging kisses that taste like lilac skies and promises meant to be kept.

Whizzer pulls back to shed off his shirt, blushes at the unguarded, vulnerable way Marvin’s gazing at him.

“I love you.”

“Love you too,” Whizzer echoes, because that was something else they never quit during this little break of theirs. “Now you really wanna keep talking or…?”

“Whizzer, I love you,” Marvin repeats, more urgent and voice shed of all it’s familiar lilts. He grabs for Whizzer’s hand and squeezes tight. “I love you and I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

It feels like Whizzer’s stomach falls out, and his heart contracts.

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” Marvin tells him, determined.

“That’s not much of an answer.” Whizzer points out.

“I’ve left my wife, I’ve left for you. We’re getting a divorce.”

“What,” Whizzer marvels, but doesn’t let Marvin explain it any further. He kisses him again, and again and again.

Yeah maybe that proclamation doesn’t answer all the unknowns, but it’s enough.

They’re still both too stubborn for their own good. Marvin can be a pompous ass and Whizzer to detached. But Marvin’s here, and Whizzer loves him more than he knows what to do with most days.

That’s enough.

#Falsettos #Marvin Falsettos #Whizzer Brown #Whizzvin #Whizvin #Spilled Ink #Cordelia falsettos #charlotte falsettos #fake titles meme #SPILT INK

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superbatson · 4 years

Text

tagged by @chestnutblondehead

Rules: Pick 5 shows, then answer the following questions. Don’t cheat. Tag some people.

roswell, new mexico

zoey's extraordinary playlist

the witcher

the healing powers of dude

high school musical: the musical: the series

Who is your favorite character in 2?

i feel like i gotta say leif bc he's my icon and i love mtg A Lot. and it wouldn't be wrong, i definitely think leif is my favorite from the show. but i do love zoey too, i have to admit. she's a very close second. (and she would be #1 if i didn't love hot villains so much, lol)

Who is your least favorite character in 1?

can i say isobel? i feel bad saying isobel but i guess with all the possession stuff in s1, i just felt i couldn't like her, especially before we found out about the possession stuff and i thought it was a dual personality thing. i haven't started s2 so maybe she'll grow on me in those eps.

What is your favorite episode of 4?

ughhhh they all really blur together. i mean, not in a bad way, but they were really so closely tied to one another - i guess episode 5, "middle school musical". it was sweet seeing noah and simon supporting amara, and i felt it was a good episode to represent disabled people. i mean, it really shined a light on the way society treats them, and it ended up with said disabled lead amara finally getting her time to shine. who knew she could sing so well?

What is your favorite season of 5?

it's only got the one so far, lol. so i guess i have to say that's my favorite for now, but it probably won't be for long with s2 focusing on a production of batb

Who is your favorite couple in 3?

they're not canon (yet) but geralt/jaskier. obviously. let the bard be gay for the hot monster killer!

Who is your favorite couple in 2?

can i just say leif/tobin to avoid any sort of controversy? so... leif/tobin. (the coder boyfriends!)

Who is your favorite actor in 4?

jace chapman is an excellent child actor. he particularly shines in the scenes where noah is experiencing intense anxiety. they're so similar to how i feel/act/think when i'm anxious, so i was really able to see myself in the character. i have to say, i do love larisa oleynik and tom everett scott too as noah's parents. they're fun, cute, and dorky without seeming incompetent and they really do have noah's best interest at heart. it was really sweet to see and i almost wish they could be my parents, lol. (though i also think they're pretty as hell so that probably wouldn't work out for me, haha)

Which do you prefer, 1, 2, or 5?

apples and oranges, man. like, one's a cheesy teen drama, another is a heartfelt musical dramedy, and the other is... well, a teen dramedy? okay, so there are some similarities, but it's hard for me to choose. i can say that zep is the one i enjoy most right now, just 'cause it's such a feel-good show to watch with everything going on in the world right now, but overall? i might have to say hsmtmts, just 'cause i really feel so attached to those characters/that world as a whole (even if the pacing of s1 got a little messy at times).

Which show have you seen more episodes of - 1 or 3?

roswell, new mexico. ironically, though, i really need to play catch-up on both. i now have several s2 eps of rnm to watch, and the second half of witcher s1!

If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be?

i literally am noah, let me just put that out there. like i relate to him so much, he's basically me when i was his age, just i'm a girl and he's a boy. i guess if i had to pick a character to be, maybe amara? bc she's a friend of his so she gets to kinda see things from the outside and help him out when he's struggling. (though poor girl is also pining for him hard, ugh, tween love is so messy. i never had a legit crush on a boy till i was 14, so i'd probably be safe in that regard.)

Would a crossover between 3 and 4 work?

wow i really mixed up my own numbers here and started writing about a witcher/zep crossover, whoops

hell no. witcher is a bloody adult fantasy and healing powers of dude is a sweet kids' show. a crossover would never work. (though now i'm thinking about jaskier and geralt being father figures for lost orphan noah and i'm emo. it's such a crack-y concept but i like it lol)

Pair two characters in 1 that would make an unlikely but strangely okay couple?

from what i can remember in s1, michael & liz had a fun dynamic. sort of a love-hate thing (as opposed to her and max which was nothing but love). i think they'd make an interesting pair. especially given the end of s1, as they'd bond over their shared grief over max.

What is your favorite episode of 1?

pffft i don't know. i almost wanna say the pilot, just bc it was the first scripted show i'd started watching after, like, a whole semester of barely watching anything, and it also brought me back to the cw after i quit watching the flash. plus, i obviously didn't really know what to expect, so i was impressed with the way the show got me invested in both max/liz and michael/alex in the span of one 42-minute episode.

What is your favorite episode of 5?

i also gotta say the pilot bc it was probably the funniest episode, in that it felt the most like some sort of self-aware mockumentary comedy, and the end cover of "start of something new" made me super nostalgic for the original hsm film. both of those elements kinda faded as the show went on and we got so invested in the characters, so, yeah. it was fun while it lasted.

What is your favorite season of 2?

it's only got the one, so again, that's kinda the only one i can give as my answer? but hopefully it gets renewed for at least a second 👀

How long have you watched 1?

it premiered in... like january, i think, of last year, so... since then. like a year, though as i keep saying, gotta play catch up on s2.

How did you become interested in 3?

henry cavill. yeah, that's it. he's hot and it was his first major project following the rumors about him being out as superman, so i wanted to see what it was all about. also, considering it's netflix, i was kinda hoping we'd see his ass, but apparently we do not. netflix can give us pine penis but not cavill ass. Sigh.

Overall, which show had the better storyline, 3 or 5?

i guess hsmtmts bc it kept me the most engaged? but it was also not bingeable, so. kinda hard to accurately compare the two. but i guess that's my answer, bc witcher was kinda confusing at times (and i haven't watched it since like late december/early january)

Which has better theme music, 2 or 4?

neither really has an official theme song, unless you count the music that plays over the title card at the beginning of their respective episodes. i guess i like the matching band sound of hsmtmts', but they're both so short to compare to one another.

if you ask me to compare soundtracks, i might also have to give an edge to hsmtmts just bc of the nostalgia factor and their amazing original songs. sorry, zep!

i tag: @waystobewicked @willlamschofield and anyone else who wants to do this bc i'm too lazy to tag rn lol

#tag game #long post

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eikyun · 5 years

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Eishi Tsukasa Essay; how I met him, and 10 reason why I love him

Caution: it will be pretty long. Please bear with me >_<

In this post, I’m going to spill out all of my feelings I have for this guy. Stay away if you hate him, okay :) Hating Eishi is a bad civilization :p

I met Eishi 3 years 9 months ago, exactly at November 2015. After I finished watching the 1st season of Shokugeki anime, I was interested to read the manga. For the most thing I was more curious about the rest of Elite 10. With the information I got from Google, I clicked ch 119 and... tada~ At a manga panel, I saw a beautiful white haired male sitting while drinking a cup of tea.

“Wow, he is hot.” I mumbled. Yes, I was attracted to his looks at first glance. He is totally my type, appearance wise. Two next pages later, the cool, collected guy I saw before suddenly turned into an anxious, shy dorkie boy.

“Is he actually the 1st seat?? Omg this is getting interesting.” I thought. How could soggy guy like him can gain the highest rank in the friggin Totsuki Academy?? This fact tickled my curiosity more, I wanted to know more about this guy. I skipped to ch 132, where Soma and Megumi met Eishi in his booth (I read the chapters in order later, though). It was more emphasized that our 1st seat is a true introvert, and a perfectionist. This guy... is very similar to me.

He automatically jumped into my most favorite SnS character. No, he became my most favorite anime/manga character at that time.

After I read SnS until the latest chapter (ch 145), I eagerly waited for his next apperance. When ch 148 released, I saw him on a pretty big panel, sitting leisurely while watching the Souma vs Eizan from the screen... my heart skipped a beat, my lip drew a wide smile. What’s up with me? I just knew him for like... less than a month, and yet I felt like an idiot when I saw him. Did I... fall in love?

It took 4 months until his next appearance (ch 161). I was extremely happy to see him again, and I couldn’t wait to know about him more and more. During that Souma vs Eishi battle arc, I learned more about Eishi, I was amazed that the way he talked... the demeanor he showed... is very similar to me. I never met a 2D character (or perhaps irl people) who shared a lot of similarity (personality wise) with me. I felt more kinship with him more than with Megumi, who is also a shy character. This fact just made love him even more.

***

From ch 118 until Le Dessert ch 1, plus Betsubara 6 and 7 and some extras, my feelings for Eishi remains same. Here’s my 10 reason why I love a chef named Tsukasa Eishi.

1. Let’s start from the shallowest thing; looks. Yes, he is undoubtly good looking, I’m sure everyone must admit it! Nobody can resist that beautiful pale lavender iris with outstanding long eyelashes, combined with that gorgeous shining white hair... Oh, how ethereal. His fair skin, slender and long fingers, his alluring neck, his collarbone, his body shape, his waist— aaaaah ok ok I’ll stop >////< in tl;dr, people would fall in love by his looks alone, but when they find out his true self, who knows?

2. Fashion sense. I know you guys might find his flying necktie weird, but I admit, it looks so damn cool on him. Not to mention, I love how he wears his uniform, both school and chef one. The unbuttoned collar, half-rolled sleeves... What an unexpected style for a shy boy like him, huh? But I don’t care, if it makes him looks hotter, I’ll take it~ Not to mention the collection of casual outfits he has. He’s not on the fashionista tier for sure, but he still has good sense. Well, I can say that he looks good on everything.

3. His voice. This is something I admitted way later. At first I wasn’t too fond of Akira Ishida’s voice on him. Too ‘husky’ for me, I thought. However, the more I hear him talking on anime, the more I’m used to it, then it grows on me. Now everytime he speaks, my heart throbs faster. The power of love is too strong haha.

4. The adorable gap moe! Gap moe! Gap moe! Eishi’s gap moe is... too cute and irresistable >///< I’m sure people’s first impression of him is... a cool, elegant, and handsome guy... he must be a very cool guy like heroine’s love interest in shoujo manga or Korean drama! Who knows if he’s actually a huge dork! He can show you his anxious, worry-wart side at unexpected time, wrecking his previous prince-like image completely. What a gap! Would he stay calm and stoic everytime people surround him? Please don’t scare this soft guy, he would be freaked out and get nervous >_<

His gap is also shown by his demeanor towards people. If it’s someone he barely knows and cares, he wouldn’t bat an eye, hence you call him an absolute selfish guy. However, he shows his care towards someone close to him. Just look how he treats Rindou (hmph, I’m so jelly :<) I’m sure he’d super sweet to his girlfriend and treat her like a princess, if he has one someday! >_<

5. If he is that spineless, is he actually an incompetent guy? Hell no! You all must know that he’s one of the best chefs in the series! If you’re going to deny this, you must read/watch a wrong series lol. He had sit on the throne of 1st seat of Elite 10 for freakin’ two years (there’s a plot hole about this, but regardless he gained the 1st seat on 2nd year or 3rd, my point still stands). The more amazing thing is, he gained it not by magic or ahem, plot no jutsu. Many said that he’s a natural genius chef, however, he worked hard for that sweet 1st seat. You can reread/rewatch the whole of SnS to prove his competence in cooking.

6. His elegance. French cuisine as his speciality alone proves that. His dishes always have luxurious presentation. The taste? If only I could actually taste it... ;_; Throughout the series, it’s proved that he never fails to make a lot of people amazed. Not only by his dishes, people are also enthralled by his elegance in kitchen. The way he keeps composure while cooking, the way he interacts with ingredients, the way he set the plating of his dish... it’s like watching a prima ballerina dancing in an opera. Oh, not to mention, his nickname sounds elegant and noble as heck! Let me say it; Weiss Ritter der Tafel! The White Knight of the The Table!

7. Have I said he’s a hard-worker? Sure he is. Since junior high, he had set his goal to be the 1st seat of Elite Ten, and he didn’t just sit down for the whole of his time in Totsuki. He was famous as ‘Teacher Crusher’ for his effort to drag teachers nearby to try his countless test dishes.

Even after he gained it and graduated from Totsuki, he still aimed to be a better cook! Can’t you just imagine how persistent—I mean, hard-working he is? His hardwork isn’t limited to cooking only; he is a diligent boy in general. As he got the 1st seat title, he didn’t throw his responsibility down to the rest and walk away like a boss. He hates paperworks and especially public speaking, yet he’s responsible enough not to ignore his duties. People might see him as a doormat for letting himself doing Rindou and the others’ paperworks, but not for me. Who’s the selfish one then? :p

He deserves my highest respect for his hard-working nature and being responsible.

8. His innocence— I mean, it’s more like his naivety. This trait might be irritating for some people, and in Eishi’s case, it lead him to earn the ‘bastard/asshole’ title by those who misunderstand him, due to his incompetence to understand people’s feelings. It’s emphasized by the fact that he tends to be straightforward, both in words and act.

His naivety makes sense, he lacks social/communication skill since he’s an introvert (not all introverts sucks in social skill, though). He doesn’t interact with a people much. Eishi’s own world is just around cooking and nothing else lol, that’s why he’s focused on his own cooking and prioritizes it above anything else. Sounds like an autistic person, you say? Maybe. As someone who has a tiny bit of autism, I understand this side of him well and I can’t blame him for that. I always find myself being busy in my own world, and I tend not to interact with people much. I’m not saying that he’s diagnosed with autism, no. He might have a bit of it, just like myself. So don’t blame him for forgetting Kuga after his match with him, he was just way too busy in his own world XD

Talking about innocence... isn’t he also actually an innocent, adorkable boy? I mean, he seems to have a relatively pure mind. He never actually means to harm people. If the others think so, it’s mostly a misunderstanding. He might be blunt with his words, but he’s just being honest, you know. He never lies.

Please give him a chance, I believe he’ll grow to be a better person in future.

9. The previous point has connection with this one, his introverted nature. I can say he is 90% introvert. Isn’t it obvious? He is undoubtly shy boy, hates public speaking, easily gets nervous in front of a lot of people, prefers to cook alone, lacks of social skill... he is socially impaired, Rindou said so. However, he tries to overcome his social anxiety for the sake to be a better chef. Isn’t it great?

As a fellow true introvert, I find Eishi very relatable, thus I feel a deep connection between me and him. Every time I feel anxious in front of people, I think of Eishi that he would feel the same and imagine that we would overcome our shared obstacle together.

10. Eishi isn’t Tsukasa Eishi without his dominant trait: perfectionist.

Let’s start with the fact that his blood type is A. People with this blood type (including me) tend to be perfectionist and organized. You can search more about it on Google, and you’ll find out that Eishi fits most of A-type traits! You might see his obsession for perfection a bit annoying, but that’s Eishi for you. Everything he does must be perfect. He’s someone who makes plans and he wants to follow those plans completely. It leads him to be a hard-worker, but it also makes him prone to stress and worry. Is being a perfectionist a good thing? Yes, but it would drain yourself if you’re way too obsessed with perfection. Eishi seems... quite perfection obssessive. I’d say it’s way too much because I don’t want to see him being trapped in the endless loop of reaching perfection and drained him both physically and mentally. I’m also a perfectionist, but not as much as him, yet I understand how painful it is. I love this side of him for another reason; he always has a clear goal; honing his cooking skill to be perfect, and works hard for that. I’d prefer someone like that than a hopeless person who has no goal in their life. I admire people who try hard to reach their dreams. Also, he always gets things done properly and never try to be half-assed.

My conclusion: Eishi isn’t perfect, despite of being obsessed with perfection. He isn’t a perfect husbando material, but he’s perfect in my eyes. He has flaws and weakness, but I’d embrace those and keep loving him. I love you, Tsukasa Eishi.

#Shokugeki no Soma #tsukasa eishi #sorry for the tldr #long text post

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yuckitup-jwd · 4 years

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Men VS Women

Women have many faults Men only have 2 Everything they say And everything they do

RELATIONSHIPS: First, a man does not call a relationship a relationship - he refers to it as "that time when me and Suzie were boinking on a semi-regular basis."

When a relationship ends, a woman will cry and pour her heart out to her girlfriends, and she will write a poem titled "All Men Are Idiots." Then she will get on with her life.

A man has a little more trouble letting go. Six months after the breakup at 3 am early on a Sunday morning - he will call and say "I just wanted to let you know you ruined my life, and I'll never forgive you, and I hate you, and you're a total floozy. But I want you to know there's always a chance for us." This is known as the "I Hate You/I Love You" drunken phone call, that 99% of all men have made at least once. There are community colleges that offer courses to help men get over this need; alas these classes rarely prove effective.

SEX: Women prefer 30-45 minutes of foreplay.

Men prefer 30-45 seconds of foreplay. Men consider driving back to her place as part of the foreplay.

MATURITY: Women mature much faster than men. Most 17-year-old females can function as adults.

Most 17-year-old males are still trading baseball cards and giving each other wedgies after gym class. This is why high school romances rarely work out.

COMEDY: Let's say a small group of men and women are in a room, watching tele- vision, and an episode of "The Three Stooges" comes on. Immediately, the men will get very excited - they will laugh uproariously, and even try to imitate the actions of Curly, man's favorite Stooge.

The women will roll their eys, groan, and wait it out.

HANDWRITING: To their credit, men do not decorate their penmanship. They just chicken-scratch.

Women use scented, colored stationery and they dot their "i's" with circles and hearts. Women use ridiculously large loops in their "p's" and "g's." It is a royal pain to read a note from a woman. Even when she's dumping you, she'll put a smiley face at the end of the note.

BATHROOMS: A man has at most seven items in his bathroom - a toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, shampoo, a bar of soap, and a towel from the Holiday Inn.

The average number of items in a typical woman's bathroom is 437. A man would not be able to identify most of these items.

MAGAZINES: Men's magazines often feature pictures of naked women.

Women's magazines also feature pictures of naked women. This is because the female body is a beautiful work of art, while the male body is hairy and lumpy and should not be seen by the light of day.

GROCERIES: A woman makes a list of things she needs and then goes to the store and buys these things.

A man waits until the only items left in his fridge are half of a lemon, and something turning green. Then he goes grocery shopping. He buys everything that looks good. By the time he reaches the checkout counter, his cart is packed tighter than the Clampett's car on The Beverley Hillbillies. Of course, this will not stop him from going to the 10-items-or-less lane.

GOING OUT: When a man says he's ready to go out, it means he's ready to go out.

When a woman says she's ready to go out, it means that she WILL be ready to go out, as soon as she finds her other earring, finishes putting on her makeup...

SHOES: When preparing for work, a woman will put on a Mondi wool suit, and then slip into Reebok sneakers. She will carry her dress shoes in a plastic bag from Saks. When she arrives at work, she will put on her dress shoes. Five minutes later, she will kick them off because her feet are under her desk.

A man wears one pair of shoes for the entire day.

CATS: Women love cats.

Men say they love cats, but when women aren't looking, men kick cats.

MIRRORS: Men are vain; they will check themselves out in the mirror.

Women are ridiculous; they will check out their reflections in any shiny surface - mirrors, spoons, store windows, toasters, Joe Garagiola's head...

GARAGES: Women use garages to park their cars and to store their lawnmowers.

Men use garages for many things. They hang license plates in garages, they watch TV in garages, and they build useless wooden things in garages.

MOVIES: For women, their favorite movie scene is when Clark Gable kisses Vivien Leigh for the first time in "Gone With The Wind."

For men, it's when Jimmy Cagney shoves a grapefruit in Mae Clark's face in "Public Enemy."

JEWELRY: Women look nice when they wear jewelry.

A man can get away with wearing one ring, and that's it. Any more than that, and he will look like a lounge singer named Vic.

MENOPAUSE: When a woman reaches menopause, she goes through a variety of complicated emotional, psychological, and biological changes. The nature and degree of the changes varies with the individual.

Menopause in a man provokes a uniform reaction. He buys aviator glasses, a snazzy French cap, leather driving gloves, and goes shopping for an expensive foreign sports car.

THE TELEPHONE: Men see the telephone as a communications tool. They use the telephone to send short messages to other people.

A woman can visit her girlfriend for two weeks, and upon returning home, she will call the same friend and they will talk for three hours.

LOW BLOWS: Let's say a man and a woman are watching a boxing match on television, and one of the fighters is felled by a low blow.

The woman says, "Oh, gee, that must hurt."

The man doubles over and actually feels the pain.

DIRECTIONS: If a woman is out driving and she finds herself in unfamiliar surroundings, she will stop at a gas station and ask for directions.

Men consider this to be a sign of weakness. A man will never stop and ask for directions. Men will drive in a circle for hours, all the while saying things like, "Looks like I've found a new way to get there," and, "I know I'm in the neighborhood. I recognize that White Hen store."

ADMITTING MISTAKES: Women will sometimes admit making a mistake.

The last man who admitted that he was wrong was General George Custer.

RICHARD GERE: Women like Richard Gere because he is sexy in a dangerous way.

Men hate Richard Gere because he reminds them of that slick guy who works out at the health club and dates only married women.

DRESSING UP: A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the garbage, answer the phone, read a book, get the mail...

A man will dress up for: weddings and funerals.

NUDITY IN MOVIES: Every actress in the history of movies has had to do a nude scene. This is because every movie in the history of movies has been produced by men.

The only actor who has ever appeard nude in the movies is Richard Gere. This is another reason why men hate him.

DAVID LETTERMAN: Men think David Letterman is the funniest man on the face of the earth.

Women think he is a mean, semi-dorky guy who always has a bad haircut.

CAMERAS: Men take photography very seriously. They'll shell out $4000 for state- of-the-art equipment, and build darkrooms, and take photography classes.

Women purchase Kodak Insta-matics, and often produce better-looking shots.

POLITICS: Men love to talk about politics, but they often forget to do political things such as voting.

Women are very happy that another generation of Kennedys are growing up and getting into politics, because they will be able to campaign for them and cry on election night.

LOCKER ROOMS: In the locker room, men talk about three things: money, football, and women. They exaggerate about money, they don't know football nearly as well as they think they do, and they fabricate stories about women.

Women talk about one thing in the locker room - sex. Not in abstract terms, either. They're graphic and technical, and they *never* lie.

LAUNDRY: Women do laundry every couple of days.

A man will wear every article of clothing he owns, including his surgical pants that were hip about eight years ago, before he will do his laundry. When he is finally out of clothes, he will wear a dirty sweatshirt inside out, rent a U-Haul and take his mountain of clothes to the laundromat, and expect to meet a beautiful woman while he is there.

WEDDINGS: When reminiscing about weddings, women talk about the "ceremony."

Men talk about "the bachelor party."

GYM SOCKS: Men wear sensible socks. They wear standard white sweatsocks.

Women wear strange socks. They are cut way below the ankles, have pictures of clouds on them, and have a big fuzzy ball on the back.

TOYS: Little girls love to play with toys. Then, when they reach the age of 11 or 12, they lose interest.

Men never grow out of their obsession with toys. As they get older, their toys simply become more expensive and impractical. Examples of mens toys: miniature TV's, car phones, complicated juicers and blenders, graphic equalizers, small robots that serve cocktails on command, video games, and anything that blinks, beeps and requires at least six "D" batteries to operate.

PLANTS: A woman will ask a man to water her plants while she is on vacation. The man will water the plants. The woman returns five days later, to an apartment full of dead plants. No one knows why this happens.

NICKNAMES: With the exception of female body-builders, who call each other names like "Ultimate Pecs" and "Big Turk," women eschew the use of nicknames. If Gloria, Suzanne, Deborah and Michelle get together for lunch, they will call each other Gloria, Suzanne, Deborah and Michelle.

But if Mike, Dave, and Jack go out for a brewski, they will affectionately refer to each other as Peckerhead, Scumbag, and Louse.

There are five things that women should never, ever ask a guy, according to an article in last April's issue of Sassy magazine.

The five questions are: 1 - "What are you thinking?" 2 - "Do you love me?" 3 - "Do I look fat?" 4 - "Do you think she is prettier than me?" 5 - "What would you do if I died?"

What makes these questions so bad is that every one is guaranteed to explode into a major argument and/or divorce if the man does not answer properly, which is to say dishonestly. For example: 1 - "What are you thinking?"

The proper answer to this question, of course is, "I'm sorry if I've been pensive, dear. I was just reflecting on what a warm, wonderful, caring, thoughtful, intelligent, beautiful woman you are and what a lucky guy I am to have met you." Obviously, this statement bears no resemblance whatsoever to what the guy was really thinking at the time, which was most likely one of five things: a - Baseball b - Football c - How fat you are d - How much prettier she is than you e - How he would spend the insurance money if you died

According to the Sassy article, the best answer to this stupid question came from Al Bundy, of Married With Children, who was asked it by his wife, Peg. "If I wanted you to know," Al said, "I'd be talking instead of thinking."

The other questions also have only one right answer but many wrong answers: 2 - "Do you love me?"

The correct answer to this question is, "Yes." For those guys who feel the need to be more elaborate, you may answer, "Yes, dear." Wrong answers include: a - I suppose so. b - Would it make you feel better if I said yes? c - That depends on what you mean by "love". d - Does it matter? e - Who, me?

3 - "Do I look fat?"

The correct male response to this question is to quickly, confidently, and emphatically state, "No, of course not" and then quickly leave the room. Wrong answers include: a - I wouldn't call you fat, but I wouldn't call you thin either. b - Compared to what? c - A little extra weight looks good on you. d - I've seen fatter. e - Could you repeat the question? I was thinking about your insurance policy

4 - "Do you think she's prettier than me?"

The "she" in the question could be an ex-girlfriend, a passer-by you were staring at so hard that you almost caused a traffic accident or an actress in a movie you just saw. In any case, the correct response is, "No, you are much prettier." Wrong answers include: a - Not prettier, just pretty in a different way. b - I don't know how one goes about rating such things. c - Yes, but I bet you have a better personality. d - Only in the sense that she's younger and thinner. e - Could you repeat the question? I was thinking about your insurance policy.

5 - "What would you do if I died?"

Correct answer: "Dearest love, in the event of your untimely demise, life would cease to have meaning for me and I would perforce hurl myself under the front tires of the first Domino's Pizza truck that came my way." This might be the stupidest question of the lot, as is illustrated by the following stupid exchange: "Dear," said the wife. "What would you do if I died?" "Why, dear, I would be extremely upset," said the husband. "Why do you ask such a question?" "Would you remarry?" persevered the wife. "No, of course not, dear" said the husband. "Don't you like being married?" said the wife. "Of course I do, dear" he said. "Then why wouldn't you remarry?" "Alright," said the husband, "I'd remarry." "You would?" said the wife, looking vaguely hurt. "Yes" said the husband. "Would you sleep with her in our bed?" said the wife after a long pause. "Well yes, I suppose I would." replied the husband. "I see," said the wife indignantly. "And would you let her wear my old clothes? "I suppose, if she wanted to" said the husband. "Really," said the wife icily. "And would you take down the pictures of me and replace them with pictures of her?" "Yes. I think that would be the correct thing to do." "Is that so?" said the wife, leaping to her feet. "And I suppose you'd let her play with my golf clubs, too." "Of course not, dear," said the husband. "She's left-handed..."

#gender jokes #men vs women jokes #q&a

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adorkablephil · 6 years

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Fic: The Body Electric (Epilogue)

Title: The Body Electric Summary: Filmmaker Phil Lester finds his computer infected by a surprisingly endearing artificial intelligence virus that calls itself D.A.N. Phil just calls him Dan. Rating: Mature (But there’s no sex here.) Word Count: 1.8k Tags: Phandom Reverse Bang, Science Fiction AU, Computers, Virus!Dan, Rather Unconventional Romance Thanks: This story was inspired by a prompt from the artist @lilacskylester in the @phandomreversebang. Their art for the fic is here! The story is straying from the original prompt, but that’s still where the inspiration came from. You can also read the whole fic on AO3

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[ The Body Electric Chapter Masterlist ]

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Epilogue: Hacker

Sitting at one of the window seats at my favorite Starbucks, dipping an almond biscotti into my pumpkin spice latte, I notice a tall guy with a dark quiff staring at me oddly from the queue at the counter. He’s cute, in a dorky kind of way—kind of gangly and awkward, as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with the length of his limbs.

In my experience, that doesn’t necessarily translate into a lack of coordination in the bedroom. I’m just saying.

Also, even from this distance, I can see that his socks are two different colors. I have a weird thing for guys who wear mismatched socks. I like the way it implies a relaxed refusal to comply with societal expectations. I’m not a big fan of societal expectations in general, whether it comes to gender roles, sexual identity, physical appearance, sock choice, or pretty much anything else.

I’m just not a big fan of people telling me what to do or who to be.

I dip my biscotti back into my drink and take a bite. Biscotti by themselves taste like cardboard, but pretty much anything tastes good if you’ve got a tasty dip. I chew and swallow, then glance back toward the queue.

The guy with the quiff and the mismatched socks shoots me another strangely intense look, and I smile. Maybe he’ll have the guts to come over and say hi. I don’t have to be at work for another half hour, so I wouldn’t mind a bit of flirting with a cute stranger to start the day off nicely.

He lurks awkwardly near the pick-up area after placing his order, but then the barista booms, “Pumpkin spice latte for Phil!” and he jumps, then walks over to pick up his drink. He glances at me again, obviously nervous, and I give him another encouraging smile.

He sips from his drink, still standing near the counter, and jerks his mouth away from the cup abruptly. Probably burnt his tongue. He shoots me another glance and smiles sheepishly, so I finally just motion him over, and he comes to sit across from me at the table. He takes the lid off of his drink and blows on the hot liquid. I notice his lips are soft and pink, his face pale and narrow with killer cheekbones.

“Hi,” I say, and take a sip of my drink. “Pumpkin spice latte, huh?” Phil gapes at me for a moment, and I begin to question his intelligence. “They just announced it when you picked up your order,” I remind him with a chuckle.

“Oh, right.” He ducks his head and blushes, and I realize he’s just really nervous for some reason. And he keeps shooting quick glances at my face then looking away again. “I’m sorry,” he says in obvious embarrassment. “This is just really weird.”

“Why is it weird?” I ask, taking another sip of my drink. “Do you not usually talk to strange men in coffee shops? Or do you not usually drink pumpkin spice lattes?” That gets an honest laugh out of him, and his face looks much more relaxed afterward.

“No,” he says, still laughing, “I always drink pumpkin spice lattes. It’s an annual rite of passage. It’s the start of the lead up to the Big C.” I raise an eyebrow in question. “Christmas!” he explains.

I nod knowingly. “Of course. There needs to be a specific dividing line for when the festive season actually officially begins, and the arrival of the pumpkin spice latte at Starbucks is that line.” He nods solemnly, taking my fake seriousness as it’s intended, and then grins.

It’s a nice grin. A nice smile in general. And his tongue peeks out just a little bit out of the corner of his mouth, which is perhaps the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen on a grown man. It should look silly, but it just looks cute as hell.

“That’s why I’m drinking one, too,” I admit. “I think they’re too sweet, personally, but who am I to argue with festive traditions?”

Phil looks aghast. “There is no such thing as too sweet!” he insists.

I just shake my head sadly. “Here I had such high hopes for us, but we’re clearly hopelessly incompatible on a basic molecular level.”

His face lights up. Almost literally. It’s like something within him just shines, and I notice the beautiful color of his pale eyes, multiple colors all at the same time. One of the colors is actually yellow, as if sunshine itself is beaming from the center of his irises. I’m a little stunned by the sudden output of pure wattage, to be honest.

“You had high hopes for us?” he asks, still beaming at me like the freaking sun. “Based on what?”

“I like a guy with mismatched socks,” I say with a smirk, getting my metaphorical feet back under me. “But the real problem is that I need to get going to work soon.” I give him a more genuine smile. I wouldn’t mind getting his number.

Phil’s eyes grow wide. “It’s Derek!” he murmurs in this voice that sounds almost awed. He seems to be staring at my smile, but he must have seen someone else behind me.

I look around. “Did you see someone you know?”

Phil blinks a few times and shakes his head. “No. Sorry. Just … you were telling me about your job,” and the weirdness seems to have vanished, leaving just his cute sort of awkward oddness behind. “What do you do?”

I sigh. I hate my job. I hate talking about my job. I hate everything that even remotely pertains to my job. “I’m a solicitor, specializing in cyber crimes,” I admit with chagrin. “I love the cyber part, but the solicitor part is a huge drag. I don’t know why I ever studied law.” I’m leaving a lot out—such as my own extracurricular forays into the “crime” part of “cyber crimes”—but I just met this guy. “What about you?” I ask, taking another sip of my PSL and noticing that it’s only half finished. We’ve been talking longer than I realized, and my drink is beginning to cool. I set the remaining half of my biscotti on my napkin, not really interested in it anymore. And I really do need to get to work.

But you know what? Fuck work. I hate that job. All those classes in computer coding, and I end up a fucking bureaucrat.

So if talking to a cute guy makes me late for work for once, who gives a fuck? Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to get fired. I can become a pianist or sell Kanye CDs on the street or something. Become a fashion model for Alexander McQueen. Make baking videos on fucking YouTube. Anything would be better than this hell job. Talking to this cute guy is definitely better.

“I’m a filmmaker,” he tells me, and I’m instantly intrigued.

“Really?” I ask, and he nods.

“I started out making movies when I was a kid. I wanted to be the next Wes Craven,” he says.

“Ah! Horror films!” He nods. “I fucking loved The Ring!”

“Me too!” Phil enthuses, and then he just sits at looks at me for a long moment as we both sip our drinks. His has apparently cooled down enough for him to drink it normally now.

“Do you feel like we’ve met before?” Phil asks out of nowhere. He’s giving me that weird stare again.

I raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Aren’t we past those kinds of pick-up lines? I think we’ve already established that I’m into you.”

He blushes the prettiest pink I’ve ever seen, the shade of his cheeks almost matching his lips, and he looks away before glancing back at me, looking adorably shy. “No. It’s not a pick-up line. I really want to know. You don’t … I don’t seem familiar to you?”

I shake my head. “Should I remember you from somewhere?”

“No. No, you shouldn’t,” he replies, and I think there’s a bit of sadness in his tone. Did he think I was someone else, and now he’s disappointed? Well, I don’t need that kind of baggage.

“I should get to work,” I say abruptly, and scoot back my chair to stand, prepared to toss the rest of my stupidly sweet PSL into the rubbish bin.

But Phil jumps to his feet and pleads, “Wait!” We stand there a moment, just watching each other, and then he takes a deep breath and says, “I’d really like to see you again. If you want that. I … I like you. More than I thought I would.”

That seems like an odd thing to say, so I raise an eyebrow. “More than you thought you would?”

Phil shrugs uncomfortably. “Well, at first you reminded me of this other guy, but once I started talking to you … I don’t know…” Yup, baggage. I don’t need that.

I head to the door and toss my cup into the rubbish, and Phil follows me. Gotta give the guy points for persistence. “Look,” he says firmly, “I know I’ve been a little weird.” I shoot him a look and he sort of laughs. “Okay, maybe a lot weird. I’m just generally kind of awkward, but … you seem really cool … and I’d really like to get to know you better. Nothing about any other guy. Just … you. I like you.” He bites his lip, and there he goes again with the adorableness. I’m not immune to it.

I can’t help but smile, and his shoulders drop about two inches in relief. “Okay. Meet me here again for coffee tomorrow? Same time. We can talk more. And maybe you can show me one of these horror movies of yours.”

“One’s showing at the independent film festival next week,” he says with shy pride. The combination of humility and self-confidence makes him even more attractive.

“It could be our first real date,” I suggest, half joking. “Will it scare me enough to make me leap into your lap?”

“One can only hope,” he replies with a grin. “Some people really like it. I hope you will, too.”

We stand and smile at each other until somebody pushes past us to get out the door. I really do need to get to work.

“So … I’ll see you here tomorrow?” I ask, and I find that I’m really looking forward to it.

“Definitely,” he says. “I promise.”

**********

Author’s Note: Now THAT is the end! I hope you enjoyed it!

#phanfiction #phanfic #phan #phanfiction au #au phanfiction #phanfic au #au phanfic #virus!dan #the body electric #myphanfic

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softfics9 · 7 years

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Tell Me What It Is - Chapter 1

Fandom; SF9

Main Pairing; Kim Youngbin/Kim Inseong

Genre; Fluff, College AU

Trigger Warnings; Mentions of Insomnia, Mentions of Panic Attacks

Word Count; 1,940

Rating; PG-13

Beta’d; Nope

Cross-Posted; AO3

Other Chapters; Chapter 2

Author’s Notes; I just really couldn’t give up on these two characters, even though I was supposed to write a HwiTae fic first this ended up coming out a lot easier. It is of course set in the same universe as my Post-Its fic and I will have an Inseong chapter coming out sometime in the near future (hopefully).

Youngbin was slowly pulled from sleep by his body’s natural alarm. He always was an early riser ever since he was young, often waking up before the sun just so he could watch it rise. His mother always told him it was good to be an early riser, that he would always get more out of his day. So even in college, he woke up at a time most people would consider too early, he went running in the pre-dawn light and signed himself up for the first class of the day. He would not waste the precious time that he had been given, no matter how badly he slept the night before. That was the problem, even after nights where he was plagued by nightmares and only had a fitful rest, he still woke up early and went about his daily routine. This often threatened to catch up with him and tear his body apart, but he just drank more coffee and pushed himself even harder, stretching his body to its limit. His friends often told him to stop and rest, but he couldn’t, not while the sun was up and there were things he had to do. Even now, Youngbin felt himself grow restless despite barely sleeping four hours thanks to the overwhelming stress about his final exams. He moved to get up and out of bed when he felt an arm being thrown over his waist.

“If you even attempt to get up I will roll over and lie completely on top of you.”

It was Inseong, of course it was. The arm pulled him down and back against a warm chest. Youngbin felt himself melting into the embrace and the tension began to recede from his muscles. He turned around and faced the taller boy, and was graced with the angelic look of peace on his face. There was a faint ray of summer sun peeping through Youngbin’s flimsy curtains, and it illuminated Inseong’s light brown hair and honey coloured skin. There was no escaping these morning cuddles, he had tried before and it ended in disaster, so Youngbin just buried himself further into the bare skin of his boyfriend's shoulders and neck, and breathed in his earthy scent. To think, when they first moved into their apartment it took them two months to actually meet each other. And yet it only took two weeks after their dinner night for the pair to start dating.

“You woke me up with your stressing, so if you don’t go back to sleep right now I am hiding the coffee.”

“I’m thinking about us though, and how stupid we were not to meet each other for two months.”

There was a smile pulling at the corner of Inseong’s mouth, and it warmed Youngbin’s heart to see it. They had been dating for almost seven months, and he still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be in the situation he was. Just as Youngbin was about to say something extremely cheesy, Inseong opened his eyes and time froze. They glowed in the morning light and it seemed like they were looking straight into his soul. Youngbin forgot how to take in air as he started at the bewitching sight.

“Baby, you need to remember to breathe, okay?”

Now he was just smirking, and just as Youngbin got his breath back it was knocked right back out of him by a kiss. It was slow and gentle, his boyfriend was not awake enough for the energetic kisses they usually shared, but it had such love behind it Youngbin felt like he might cry. There were no words to describe how Inseong made him feel, but the closest thing would be “complete”.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what it was this time, hmm?”

Despite being a couple, Youngbin and Inseong still slept in their own rooms most nights. It was nice to share with one another but the beds were a little small and they both appreciated having their own space. Friday nights were designated “date and cuddle” nights since the start of their relationship, and they always stayed in Inseong’s room afterward. But they were in Youngbin’s bed this time, something that only happened when his stress really got the better of him.

For the longest time Youngbin didn’t tell Inseong about his trouble sleeping, only after being particularly cranky one morning had he finally admitted what kept him up. Ever since finding out, Inseong had insisted that if it ever got really bad to tell him, so he could help. At first, Youngbin refrained, not wanting to trouble his boyfriend and keep him awake too. But after the first time he had fallen into Inseong’s arms looking for comfort, he found that it was the best way to help him get back to sleep. Last night when Inseong had come home later than usual from his gaming night with his friends and poked his head in to check on his boyfriend, he found him still awake tossing and turning. So he made the executive decision he could deal with the early wake-up call if it meant Youngbin got to sleep for a few hours.

“It’s just the same as usual, my finals start next week and I feel so unprepared. What if I blank during the exam, or what if the professor hates my dissertation piece and marks it really harshly. I need to do well if I want to get that post-grad scholarship.”

He always felt bad voicing his worries, knowing that Inseong was also going through the same for his own degree. But when he felt a hand start slowly carding through his hair and was pulled tighter into his boyfriend’s embrace, he felt reassured.

“You’re so well prepared Binnie there’s no need to worry, and besides, your professor loves you. Even if you had chosen “Why beer-pong is real science in action” as your title, he would have seriously considered it.”

That topic had come from Sanghyuk, one of Inseongs best friends and a new close friend of Youngbins too. When their expanded group of nine had met behind the library in mid-December and Youngbin told them about still not having a topic, Sanghyuk had immediately had a suggestion. There were, of course, many suggestions from the entire group, ranging from mildly helpful on Seokwoo's part, to completely irrelevant from Chanhee and Sanghyuk. But they helped him come up with some general areas of investigation that eventually led to his final topic.

“I would love to hear Sanghyuk’s take on that topic honestly, it would be famous among students if he could prove it true.”

Inseong smiled wide and chuckled at that, it was exactly the kind of thing his dorky best friend would do, and he could only hope that when he finally reached fourth year he will have matured a little bit. He didn’t have to worry too much though since at least he had sensible Seokwoo and Juho with him until he graduated. That had been a huge worry of Inseongs since the start of the year, what would his young friend do when he and Jaeyoon graduated? Meeting Youngbin and integrating their trio into his group of friends worked out wonderfully. He was so grateful for everything Youngbin had done for him in their relationship, and not just inviting him to meet his friends.

“Well if Sanghyuk has to choose that as his topic, imagine poor Youngkyun writing his paper on ‘Why Yoo Taeyang is the sun personified’- that would be a whole new level for love letters.”

Youngbin burst out laughing at that, his two young friends crush on one another was blindingly obvious to everyone but them it seemed. Seriously, how Taeyang couldn’t see the heart eyes directed at him when they were together, or how Youngkyun didn’t question the constant skinship was truly a mystery. They were all convinced at one point that the two were dating in secret until Youngkyun had apparently thrown himself onto Juho one night after having a few drinks too many, and lamented about how Taeyang didn’t look at him the same way. Upon hearing this, Jaeyoon wanted to stage an immediate intervention to set them up, but it was decided they would let fate run its course. Only until the summer break though, and then they would intervene.

“If you could get Youngkyun to write anything akin to a love letter for Taeyang, I will owe you the biggest favour.”

Inseong's eyes sparkled mischievously at that, it wasn’t meant to be a challenge but he was going to take it as one. There was something he had been trying to get for the past few weeks and this was the perfect opportunity.

“You’re on, but I warn you, I already have what I want in mind.”

Now that was not exactly comforting to Youngbin, his boyfriend was known to be a bit crazy at the best of times, and had previously suggested some completely outrageous ideas for their date nights. He usually gave up after the first time his idea was struck down, but there was one that kept coming up over the last couple of weeks and now Youngbin was a little worried. Sure he was a good dancer, comfortable in his own body, and yes of course he loved and trusted Inseong, but there was no way he was going to audition for the dancer position in the bar his boyfriend worked at. There was a line, and that would be crossing it for sure.

“Inseong, I-“

Just as Youngbin was about to respond, his alarm started to ring, signalling the need to get up for their morning lecture. On Youngbin’s insistence, Inseong had taken one morning class in the second semester to give the couple a chance to get breakfast together and meet up with the whole group for coffee. The taller boy groaned loudly at the thought of getting up, but a gentle pat on the cheek and chaste kiss were enough to convince him it was worth it. As much as he hated early mornings, he loved spending time with Youngbin.

“I’m going to go shower. Your room is always so hot in the middle of the night, it feels like I sweated buckets.”

Youngbin shook his head and grinned, Inseong loved taking any opportunity to complain, but he always found it funny. It was just one of the many things he loved about him, and the more ridiculous the complaint the funnier he found it. Just as he went to sit up, Inseong rolled them over and pinned his shorter boyfriend to the bed. He pressed his lips insistently against the others and they moved confidently together. When he broke away, Youngbin was breathless and left wanting more, something that could be easily read on his face. Before he could do anything else though, Inseong had leaped out of bed and made a break for the door, singing notes high enough to rival the birds outside. Yet another thing Youngbin loved about his boyfriend was his loudness and insistence on singing at any opportunity. He really couldn’t understand how he hadn’t at least heard of Inseong before they met, seeing as the rest of the university apparently had.

Finally getting up and dressed, and preparing a simple breakfast for both residents of the apartment, Youngbin took a moment to think about how much had changed since that night back in October. Yet as he felt arms wrap around his back and smelled Inseong’s favourite shampoo, he knew he wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

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reivenesque · 7 years

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Shadowhunters Fic: Like a Lady Gaga Discography (Raj-centric)

Title: Like a Lady Gaga Discography Words: 1650 words. Summary: Raj only wanted three things in life: to do his job, to mind his business and to not get caught up in other people’s shit. Unfortunately he’s on the fast track to failing all three and in no way is it of his own doing. Why can’t these people just leave him in peace?

[ao3]

Aldertree was decent enough looking guy.

For a pompous, pretentious, British dickwad.

Get some tea, Raj. Get Fairchild a change of clothes, Raj. Fetch the vampire, Raj. Make me a cucumber sandwich, Raj. Shine my cordovans, Raj.

The last one isn’t actually true; Aldertree doesn’t wear cordovans. Not that he does either but that’s the difference between the upper echelon guys like Aldertree and the little minnows in the field like him. People underestimate how hard it is to get demon blood out of leather.

If Raj thought the Lightwoods were annoying when they were in charge, boy was he wrong. At least they didn’t pretend to be pleasant; Maryse didn’t anyway and Raj had to respect that, the way you’d respect a creature that was half protective mama bear fresh out of hibernation and other half blood-sucking, face chomping piranha.

Alec though was pretty enough and a pretty swell enough guy.

For a moody, party-pooping asshole.

That’s more than he can say for Senorita Lightwood, lover of Seelies and defender of Downworlders. Shame that such a pretty face and such a hot body is wasted on such an annoying know-it-all. He isn’t the grudge holding type. After all it takes way more effort to keep a grudge against someone then it is to amble on unconcerned and minding his own set of problems, but he hasn’t forgotten or forgiven her for that utterly dishonourable ambush after the whole hoo-ha with the Seelie, Wayland and Fray ménage à troublemakers. The lot of them always causing a ruckus; he expects it from the redhead what with being raised by mundies in the wild for however long, but they were Shadowhunters and they really should know better. Plus it was a fucking blow to his ego, not like he’d ever admit it to anyone—Branwell didn’t count. The only family Raj hated more than the Lightwoods were the Branwells. Sure they invented the portal or whatever yadda-yadda, but he thinks that a hundred or so years is more than overkill to keep harping on about something.

Plus who always ends up pulling the short stick in situations where someone inevitably gets fucked over?

Raj of course.

It’s always fucking Raj. He doesn’t recall where exactly on his file did it say ‘Institute’s go-to babysitter.’

Watch the Lightwoods, Raj. Watch the Frayed girl, Raj. Watch Branwell, Raj. Watch the Seelie, Raj. Watch the warlock, Raj.

But who’s watching out for Raj?

No one. That’s fucking who.

That’s why Raj looked out for numero uno.

If that meant other people thought he was an asshole, then tough. He was there to kill some fucking demons and get a lot of sex. But not too many demons. Not more demons then sex though, wouldn’t want the bosses to get ideas in their heads and heap on another responsibility on top of everything else he’s already pretending to suck at. For now Raj is completely happy with batting in at mediocre and letting Wayland take all the glory—not in some misguided sense of self-sacrifice like Alec though; he wasn’t the do-gooder martyr type and he didn’t have a pathetic and completely undeserving crush on the blond dick like Alec. Seriously what is it with these Lightwoods and their bad taste in men? First the floppy haired egomaniac Wayland who’s about as sharp as the blunt end of a Seraph blade, then the poufy haired, glitter lathered warlock.

Alec seriously needed sex and a lot of it then maybe he wouldn’t be such a stick in the mud.

But then again, it might explain his obsession with the warlock.

Besides Magnus was decent enough looking fellow.

For a fucking warlock.

He probably likes the warlock more than Wayland at this point but that’s no real surprise. He hates fucking Wayland and his carrot top girlfriend—or is she his sister now? He doesn’t fucking know, not like he cares enough to keep up. They’re demon killing hunter of shadows not some dysfunctional reality show like Sister Wives or some creepy shit like that. Either way they’re both annoying and it makes his current predicament, which is staring at a drawer full of—well, drawers, a slightly more complicated situation. At least they were Fraychild’s instead of Waylands’.

He could have closed his eyes and pointed to whatever and just been done with it, but just because he didn’t go out of his way to stand out, it didn’t mean that he didn’t do the job he’s assigned to pretty fucking well. And this is no exception. Besides they were Shadowhunters (even her) and they had a long honoured tradition to uphold.

Which is to look sexy as shit at all times.

It isn’t enough that she had to traipse across half of New York looking like a drowned redheaded chipmunk, then she has to go track no doubt polluted water all across the polished floors. Judging by his luck or lack thereof so far, three guesses as to who was going to be the lucky sod who was going to have to mop the fucking floor by the end of the day. Only that it’s a trick guess and you had three choices between just one person and no lifelines.

Yes. It’s definitely going to be him.

Sometimes Raj wonders if he was the only competent Shadowhunter in the institute or if he was the only one who got any sort of notable screen time. They needed to get like a janitor or something. Maybe Frayedchild’s dorky vampire third wheel. He was always good for a laugh.

Speaking of laugh, it was something Raj was definitely not doing right now.

Do women get asked the age old question, boxers or briefs? But instead of boxers the choice was between briefs and thongs or something? Cause he’s pretty sure he used to ask that question to himself and Raj from approximately five minutes ago would have been more than happy to have an up-close and personal demonstration. That is up until the moment the pulled open the dresser and his mind mentally projected Wayland’s face onto every undergarment in the drawer and two on the bra cups with little flags of Switzerland fluttering around like little white and red cherubs, mocking him.

Wayland is as much Switzerland as Valentine is about flowers and overpriced boxes of chocolates.

Fact is, the only person in the institute who is actually Switzerland is Raj because unlike Valentine and the Clave, Raj hated everyone equally.

Except Wayland. He abhors the git—now that’s a word he picked up from Aldertree and really the only notable thing he’s actually contributed since he goose stepped into the institute. That and prat. He thinks it’s high time for Wayland to get a new nickname, that way he can insult him to his face incognito. Maybe Spencer Prat, or Chris Prat. Nah, he didn’t deserve Chris Prat. Spencer it is.

Freudchild has way too many clothes for someone who’s just been at the institute for—what, two weeks? How many different versions of the same black jeans did a girl really need?

Eventually he settles for the ripped black ones because it showed a little skin and girls always looked cute in those, with an off-white muscle tee. But then with the muscle tee he needed to get a little tank top or something because there were occasions that called for side-boobs, and there were occasions that didn’t. This was the latter occasion, what with Alec like dying or something down the hall.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t sympathetic; he was pretty much the only person Raj genuinely liked (on occasion and to an extent) but Alec is an adult and he’s just got to deal with the repercussions of his own decisions like the rest of them. And really Alec had no one but himself to blame. He really should know better than to use magic stones obtained under suspicious circumstances from less than reputable sources. Sure Fairchild Senior was supposedly once a great Shadowhunter, but one might argue that she’s been making one terrible choice after another since then.

He grabs a nice simple choker on the way out. After all, it was Venus Williams that said ‘accessorize, accessorize, accessorize.’

He squeezes a slice of lemon into the tea too before he leaves the kitchen.

Freudenbergchild really owes him a giant thank you after this.

He’s mopping the mess on the floor when the perpetually disgruntled redhead stomps by from the direction of Aldertree’s office. Lots of shady shit seems to take place behind those closed doors and everyone always seems to be stomping out angrily which Raj thinks says a lot about Aldertree’s default personality, i.e. the aforementioned pompous, pretentious British dickwad-ness. But in a way maybe the guy is actually growing on him a little. Not that he’d admit to anyone.

But one thing is definitely for sure; Clary looked great.

Alec is still expiring. Spencer Prat is still a wanted fugitive and an inconsequential entity in any medium, especially in Raj’s own shit list. Valentine is still at large, orchestrating the uprising no doubt from some overly dramatic location like fucking Chernobyl or some national monument like under the Titanic Memorial or something melodramatic like that.

He can still smell the musky whiff of sandalwood in the air from when Magnus came angry sashaying through the institute doors earlier. The angel help the poor soul who stumbles into his iridescent path today.

But Raj did what Aldertree asked him to do and it did it pretty fucking well thank you very much. He gives himself a proverbial pat on the back because no one else was going to.

All in all, Raj thinks his day is off to a pretty good start.

Raj from approximately two hours later thinks that he want that phrase forever engraved on his headstone.

The end.

Really no logical explanation for the title outside the song, Fashion. That’s pretty much how my brain works.

#shadowhunters #raj #shadowhunters fics #fic: like a lady gaga discography #reiven fics #reiven shadowhunters fics

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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26 times it was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight Ch.1 (Alaskatox) - Chykopon

A/N: i know i have to update Girl, Get a Grip! but i felt the urge to think the plot over, because i wasn’t satisfied with what i wrote this far. This story had been a good exercise to gather ideas, since it’s more like a collection of small ficlets… well it is actually a collection of small ficlets (more like drabbles) based on a challenge i started in 2009: The Alphabet Challenge. Which - you can guess it from the title - asked author to write a collection of 26 short ficlets, each one based on a different alphabet letter. So here it is! Ficlets are not in a chronological order, is more like a bit of brainstorming about all the hcs i have about Alaskatox and some plotbunnies i didn’t want to develop that much. I cut the story in half, since i thought that 26 ficlets in a row would be a bit too much, lol

A/N2: the title is a quote from Lolita, by Nabokov. I have a love-hate relationship with this novel, so i thought it would fit perfectly with an Alskatox fic, kek. A huuuuuge thanks goes to Vixen, who offered to beta-read this piece, and i would always be grateful for that!

Aftersex. That was Matthew’s favorite part in having a relationship with Justin. Not that he disliked the actual having sex part, not at all. But every time, as he fell exhausted on Justin’s chest after pulling out, he would feel the lanky man’s long and thin fingers tenderly stroking his hair, Justin’s drawling voice filling the room as he hummed with content.

Justin caringly rubbed his back, all while kissing his forehead, and Matt answered all those loving gestures, wrapping his arms around Lasky’s shoulders.

“Hey”, Justin giggled, feeling Matt’s nose funnily poking his abdomen, “what’s that?” he chuckled. And Matthew kissed his chest in response, and then his neck, and his jaw line, just to end up on his lips. One, two, three kisses. As if they were 20 years younger and they were still teenagers handling their first awkward, but still lovingly sweet, sex experience.

Matthew was jealous of those moments, in which Justin – who was never too clingy, nor fond enough of people to open up with them – revealed the most inner and genuine side of his personality: his bratty – because he wanted all of Matt’s attention just for himself – but still tender and caring attitude, the way he gingerly looked at Matthew’s eyes with all the affection he could, and how he always caressed him just to have the chance to extend their usual after hug.

“I’m showing you how much I love you”, Matthew joked, searching for Justin’s hand on the bed, finding it and intertwining their fingers.

“But it tickles!” Justin lamented giggling, “and it doesn’t even make sense!”

Matt laughed, “Sorry ‘bout it”.

Oh, yeah, Matthew loved aftersex.

Justin chuckled as he leaned closer, just to poke Matt’s forehead with his own nose, receiving a puzzled look from the other, “Showing how much I love you too”.

He loved it just as much as he loved Justin.

Black. Pitch black, actually. That time they were touring and nothing was really settled between them and the power in the dressing room went out.

There was that unresolved sexual tension which neither of them could no longer ignore, and while they were actually having sex like more of a friends with benefits thing, they had never talked about all the romantic implications of what they were doing. There was something unspoken between them, something along the line of we both care for each other but we don’t know how to label that yet, and even though Justin was kind of pushy towards the subject – to the point he would bring it up every time they had the chance to talk face-to-face without the emotional outburst that often came after sex – Matthew continued to avoid the problem as it, in some crooked way, was fine for him as it was.

But that was the main reason they both were in the storage room, trying to figure out how they could actually handle the urge to touch and feel each other, while performing on the stage, when the lights went out. And Matt, taking advantage of the situation, had gently pushed Justin against the wall, kissing him deeply.

They were so caught up in their little unscheduled rendez-vous that they didn’t even notice the light come back, nor that someone has opened the door. They only actually stopped their too involved make-out session when a known voice called for their attention with a loud cough.

Justin blushed and Matthew rose his glance to the ceiling, because he didn’t really want to match Roy’s bewildered look.

“Told ya!” came Danny’s voice from behind Bianca’s back.

Car accident. Something Matthew had been really afraid of since he had been the person involved in one of them. He had tried to forget for so long, and although he couldn’t really remember what actually happened when he almost died, he was still sure he would never get rid of the memories of that uncomfortable feeling of life slowly slipping away from his body. With the frightening sensation growing inside him every time the subject was brought up by someone, he almost fainted when the Brians called him to say that Justin was caught in a car accident.

Laurie had driven so fast to the hospital that Matt – when he came to his senses – thought that if police have noticed them, she would have ended up with her driving license revoked.

His heart skipped a bit, and he almost felt as if he was having an actual heart attack, stepping into the emergency room, half of his makeup still on his face and barefoot because he had kicked off his heels somewhere before fleeing from the club with the growing fear he would never see Justin again.

I didn’t say I loved him this morning, was the first (ir)rational thought that came to his mind, when he couldn’t find him through all the hospital beds.

“Matthew!”

“Hey!”

But when he turned around following the known voices which called for him, he felt as if he could be the one actually dying that night. Of happiness. Because Justin was sitting on a chair smiling towards him as if nothing happened, a doctor fixing some stitching points to his forehead.

Matt didn’t remember precisely what he did, but with barely two steps he was there with him, hugging him so tightly Justin was coughing “I can’t breath!” he joked, and Matthew really wanted to punch him, because he had been so fucking worried and afraid of losing him he swore to himself he would never again entrust him to Trixie and Katya. He would punch them both later.

And as they tried to explain that it was really nothing – they actually hit a parked car at a low speed, because Katya wasn’t quite used to his brand new car – Matthew simply burst into tears of relief.

He cried for an entire hour, his voice quivering through tears at how fucking much – Matthew always cursed a lot, but that night he cursed even more – he loved him, while Justin was rubbing his back, even though he was the one who was literally hurt.

Detox. It was what brought them together. Not literally, but when Justin first moved to LA, he knew Detox was what doing drag meant in West Hollywood, and he looked at her with admiration and a little bit of envy, feeling himself captured in those sensual shows, where both Matthew and Detox’s attractiveness and charm would emerge.

Justin had time to figure out that there was much of Matt’s personality in Detox’s character, once he had the opportunity to know him inside and outside Drag Race, and he found himself a little more envious, but also a little more attracted to him. Detox was always selling sex, polished beauty, and funny sensuality, and Matt on the other hand was all of those things with a bit more dorkiness.

“I think I fell in love with Detox first”, Justin admitted one morning, while they were having breakfast. Matthew had just lit his cigarette, and he had stopped, hand frozen in mid-air, giving him a perplexed look.

“She made me question my sexuality”, Justin joked as if he was talking about someone else who wasn’t there at that exact moment, and Matt smirked.

Justin knew they were almost, but not completely, the same person; washing off all that make-up, Detox disappeared and Matthew always emerged, with all of his odd charm and quirkiness, and while they were both strong, because Detox was really Matt’s fiercest demonstration of what he had survived and fought in his life, Matt would give himself the space to be also the emotive and kind person he actually was.

That one guy who would cry watching dramas on tv, and would spoon into Justin’s back in his sleep, and lean on Justin’s shoulder when he felt discomfort growing in his heart.

Detox was the hot drag queen who would make out with her fans while on stage, leaving them with the lustful desire to get in her pants, while Matthew was that hot and tender guy, kissing the bare back of Justin’s neck with affection every time he got home.

“But I like Matthew the most.”

Exes. Something that gave both of them scars from the past, unhealed wounds they would not quickly recover from, even though years had passed and they were supposed to have forgotten everything. One night they talked a lot, while in England outside the club in which they had performed, already out of drag, Matthew had finally decided to address the elephant in the room.

“It’s all Aaron’s fault, isn’t it?”

But even though Justin pondered for a long time how he should answer the question, in the end he simply shook his head. He knew what Matthew was implying in that sentence, he knew he was talking about all his fucked-up trust issues, and he knew he asked because Matt cared the most.

“It was mine too, we were toxic for each other.”

It seemed like a sufficient answer for Matthew because he never asked again. One night it was Justin that was the one asking, making himself space on the couch beside him, it was Justin who chose to take a step further and open up about that subject, with a bittersweet smile on his lips, and the urge to feel Matt’s hand rubbing his back, hugging him and tenderly stroking his hair.

On the other hand, Justin never spoke about Matthew’s past, nor did he push to have an answer. Somehow, he always felt as if it was something Matt had the right to keep to himself, because through Justin’s point of view it seemed like he was so over it, he didn’t actually need help. Lasky would understand he was so fucking wrong few months later… with Matthew having a mental break-down because he was now fully aware of how serious their relationship had grown, and how he was not prepared for that.

They got into an argument, not like one of the ones Justin and Aaron used to have; it was mostly Matthew crying and sobbing,sliding down the kitchen counter as tears suffocated the words coming from his mouth:

“I’m so fucking scared!”

And Justin gulped, overwhelmed by the sense of responsibility for another human being, something he was feeling for the first time in his entire life. He wasn’t a guy to promise something he wasn’t sure of, because sometimes life was a cunt; he couldn’t promise he would be there forever.

He simply couldn’t.

It would be a lie, something which would hurt Matt even more, so he simply sat beside him on the floor, grabbing him by the shoulders, while Matthew buried his face on his chest.

“I ain’t your ex,” and that was true, because the difference this time around was that Justin knew how it felt to invest your whole life in someone else, just to find yourself dumped and with no reason to live. He had the luck to end what he and Aaron had started, because he had more than one pebble in his shoe and the chance to talk all that shit out, Matt didn’t.

“But as long as life gives me the chance to be here, I will.”

The day after, Matthew decided it was time to really ask for help and began therapy.

Friends. It was how it all started. Matthew and Justin knew each other from their first attempt to become big in LA, with the difference that Matt actually achieved his target, and Justin hadn’t. At the beginning they weren’t really… friends, but Drag Race brought them closer in some crooked way.

Justin didn’t know exactly how, since it was that time in his life when Aaron was always on his mind, and he was just so fucked-up he couldn’t bring himself to act naturally and comfortable towards another, but it seemed like Matthew was the one offering him a hand to free himself from the darkness he was diving in.

“I know you have a heart, we know!” Matt had said once during Untucked, and that was the time Lasky realized he really cared.

There had been all that Rolaskatox thing, which really tried Justin’s capability to handle stress, but at the same time gave him the chance to know better both Michael and Matt and he found himself more involved with those two than he had really expected. Then, filming ended and Justin didn’t really know what to do. It was Matthew who reached out to him, and Justin at some point took advantage of how a good person Matt was; he became so used to how Matthew was always the one comforting him inside and outside of Drag Race’s set, that their friendship slowly transformed in one of those twisted relationships based on the one-way need of someone who was fucking afraid to be left alone and confront his own problems. Matt got along with it, until both of them realized how wrong it was.

They argued. Not that much, but it was sufficient to make Justin realize that at some point along the road he had fucked things up and his life was totally deranged. It was then, when Matthew yelled at him in his living room, that Justin understood he really need to do something to stop complain and take the lead of his own life, with no more always relying on others.

“Fuck, you are more than this, Justin!”, he understood that Matthew really cared and he wasn’t doing anything to make him understand how much he cared too.

And even though they were already doing what friends were supposed to do, like hanging out together, going clubbing, spending time out, Justin felt as if it was all a delusional try for both of them to convince themselves they weren’t alone in this world. Yeah, Matt had Laurie, and his sister and his brother, and Michael, who was supposed to be Justin’s friend too, and Justin on the other hand had Jerick, and his brothers, and yeah, Aaron too, but something was missing and they both knew that. It was as if their relationship had started with a weak foundation, because neither of them chose to take the usual path to become friends and ended up being more companions in misfortune, as their past traumas were all too similar.

After filming All Stars 2, Justin had time to think things over, and the support Matthew gave him during all that AS2-information-leak-gate made thoughts clearer in his head; he went to Matt’s home one day, biting his lips on the entrance door he chose his words wisely.

“I’m sorry.”

Initially, Matt didn’t understand, and he gave Justin a puzzled look, and when Lasky spoke again, “I’m here to help,” Matthew understood – because in the end, despite all their bizarre failed attempts at being friends in their usual way, he knew Justin too damn well – he knew how that sentence sounded like an amendment for all the things he had did wrong. Matthew let him enter the house, and things started to take a step in the right direction.

Golden Girls. They chose to do that thing of being friends by the manual, starting with spending more time together like they were supposed to. Sharing thoughts, doing something funny together, and, yeah, opening up a bit with each other too; nothing really changed in the practical way they were acting with one another, but both of them were now aware of their mutual presence and the fact that they both cared for each other to the point they felt the urge to give mutual help when one of them was in need.

They became closer without even realizing it, building up a bizarre day-by-day routine, where three times a week they would have breakfast or lunch together, and every Tuesday, when they weren’t busy touring, recording or performing, they would hang out with Justin’s brother, Cory.

Matthew got to know a lot of things about Justin, for example how he couldn’t watch tv without an abundant bowl of milk and Count Chocula cereal, or how he would always start fumbling and looking around when someone brought up subjects he wasn’t comfortable talking about, or how he loved to look at his old photo album when he felt down, because it was full of his cat’s photos, but he would never bring home a new pet because he thought that Cerrone should be the only one.

And on the other hand, Justin got to know lots about Matthew too: how close he was with his sister, Heather, how he was always so worried about Michael being there in Orlando. Or the fact that he fell in love too easily with the usual bad guy that he shouldn’t get involved with, that he would call him two times a week for three hours or more, or how he always leaned on Justin’s shoulder lowering his face towards the plaid blanket they always shared when they were watching romcoms on tv, because he wouldn’t let himself be caught with his eyes watering as the movie played with cliché-d romantic lines and overdramatic scenes.

Justin didn’t know how it actually happened, but they grew addicted to one another’s presence to the point they really missed each other when they were apart.

One day, Lasky returned from one of his touring, beaten and wasted with a craving need to sleep for 12 hours or more, instead of driving home straight away, he paid Matthew a visit, because he felt as if he didn’t see him quickly, he wouldn’t even be able to fall asleep in the first place. Justin had been thinking a lot that day, he pondered a lot while in Australia, about how he had grown attached to Matt without even being aware of it, and he was sure Matt did the same, because once they were both on the couch as usual, the room was filled with nothing but than complete silence.

It was quite odd, because they would always talk, even though Justin thought that Golden Girls was sacred and no one should interrupt an episode with an uncalled for commentary. There was something bothering him in that bizarre behavior, to the point he felt the urge to ask what the problem was as quickly as possible, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he felt the new and quite amusing feeling of Matthew’s lips on his own.

And he suddenly understood what was going on, and that Matthew somehow shared what Justin had been thinking during his whole Aussie tour. Embracing the new awareness of being sexually attracted to someone he now called his best friend, Justin rose his hands to Matthew’s head, brushing his hair all while returning the kiss, and deepening it while pulling Matt down on the couch along with him, they made out for about two hours, Betty White’s voice filling the room alongside the sound of their kisses.

Hey Qween! They had been in a stable relationship for almost three months, when Johnny McGovern called Matthew for the first episode of the upcoming season.

He and Justin were facing what they would call a crisis, not that things were going bad between them, quite the opposite actually, but when they first started dating seriously, both of them agreed on keeping their relationship private.

Justin had learnt from the past that serving fans with facts from his personal life wasn’t a good thing to do, while Matt on the other hand had always been reserved towards specific things from his own life.

Not that they were hiding it: when they were together, they would indulge in more lovey-dovey gestures like brushing hands or a tender caress on the arm, but neither of them were sharing photos of them together on social network, nor had they been seen doing something unmistakable onstagewhich could lead their fans to think that they were actually fucking.

All of their friends knew it, but understanding their desire to keep it private, no one ever mentioned either of them having a boyfriend or being involved in a romantic relationship, and things had went smooth for a good 90 days, until…

What they were calling a “crisis” was the fact that one of Lasky’s thunderfucked-up fans had caught them kissing outside one of the club they went to for a show, and although it was somehow their fault to have let their guard down, a respectful supporter would understand that taking a photo of them in that situation wasn’t a good idea, but sometimes Justin’s fans weren’t what he would call good thinkers, and in less than two days the photo was spreading throughout social networks.

When Johnny called, Matt knew what he wanted to talk about on the web show, and they both thought that given the situation, it would be a good thing to actually admit they were dating, before people started to intrude their personal life to have a confirmation.

When the episode was recorded and when it aired too, Justin was in the UK, so he ended up watching it on the bed of his hotel room, still in drag before filming one of his Aftershow videos.

”So, are you and Alaska Thunderfuck dating right now?

“I knew you were gonna come for that!”, Justin chuckled at Detox’s reaction, while munching on his soy bun. “But yeah, there’s no reason to keep hiding it,” there was a bit of sarcasm in Matt’s voice, he was clearly referring to all those fans who wouldn’t stop prying in their personal stuff, “I love her, and she’s the best thing that happened in my life”.

Justin smiled blushing lightly, he really wanted to call Matthew right now.

Ireland. It was the first time they actually fucked. After the make-out session they had had on Matthew’s couch a week before, they kind of avoided the subject; they even stopped talking for about three days, before Justin decided it would be a good thing to at least try to act normal, since they were going to leave for Dublin together in less than seven days.

Things went smoothly before the trip, mostly because they didn’t really mention what happened and they avoided hanging out, because they both knew that it would be fucking awkward to speak face-to-face, but not on the plane, or once they arrived at the hotel did they actually interact with each other.

It was quite odd for Aaron, Willam and Brian, who were used to Justin and Matthew being quite clingy to each other backstage, so Sharon took the chance to investigate about it, when he was smoking outside the hotel and Justin reached for him to ask for a cigarette.

“You smoke only when you’re nervous…”

“Mmh—,” Justin mumbled, clearly trying to avoid the question which would surely follow.

But Aaron was a totally straight-forward bitch, especially when it came to Lasky.

“Are you and Matthew fucking?”

Justin gulped. But after a moment, he realized there wasn’t someone who knew him better than Aaron, and telling him his thoughts on the awkward situation was easier than had originally thought.

“Well, you should fuck.”

“But we’re friends! And I usually fuck things up…”

Aaron smiled, brushing his shoulder, “I don’t think so, that was the old Justin, you’re a grown man, and you can handle this,” Lasky didn’t seem too convinced, but then Aaron spoke again: “Do you like him?”

Justin fidgeted for a moment, “I think… yeah… maybe.”

“And do you think he likes you too?”

“Actually, he kissed me first.”

Aaron opened his mouth in a surprised “o” motion, while inhaling from his cigarette,

“Then, you totally should fuck him, or talk to him. Maybe it’s better if you just talk, or talk and after that, have sex.” Ok, so Aaron wasn’t a good life advisor, but what he had said made Justin think enough to realize that that situation was quickly becoming unbearable for him, and if he wanted his relationship with Matthew back the way it was before the accident, they really should talk it out. He knocked on Matt’s hotel door, but when he opened, words died in Justin’s throat.

The discourse he had prepared in his mind faded, and he realized how fucking much he felt attracted to Matthew the exact moment he looked Justin in the eyes. Matt probably felt the same, since he pulled him by the shirt, dragging him inside the room before pinning him to the wall and fuck the shit out of him.

They would have that talk two months later.

Joint. Justin had read lots of stories about people who fucked too rough to the point they popped a hip while having sex, but he didn’t really believe that something like that was possible. The hell were you doing to dislocate a fucking joint during sex?! But he had changed his mind after that one time when they were too high and fucking on the couch of Matt’s hotel room during one of their tour. If they hadn’t smoked weed a few minutes before, they would have heard the knocking on the door, and they would have remembered they hadn’t locked it, but they were too caught up in that rough petting session to realize what was happening around them until they noticed Jerick staring at them by the entrance, alerted only when he spoke. “Oh my god!”

They both jolted apart, but when Justin tried to lift Matthew off his body, he actually pushed him off the couch with too much strength.

“Fuck!” Matthew always cursed, so both Jerick and Justin didn’t mind him at first: Jinkx because he was too shocked to even think rationally, and the latter because he was too stoned to quickly think of a credible excuse.

But when Matt whined louder, the two glanced at him, realising he was laying on the floor, grabbing his right shoulder almost in tears, “Shit! It fucking hurts! Justin, what the fuck!”

Lasky understood how serious it was when all the other tour members popped up in the entrance of Matt’s door, looking at Matthew wearing only his boxers while crying in pain on the floor.

“I don’t know what the fuck were you doing, but I think he popped his shoulder, just saying,” Roy said, a bewildered look on his face.

“Fuck you, Roy! Fuck you Justin! Call a fucking ambulance!”

At the hospital, they all lied saying they were doing rehearsal and Matthew fell off the stage, but Justin knew that after that they wouldn’t be having stoned sex for a while.

Katya. Brian had become quite a good friend for Justin, mostly because they shared lots of time together during work, but Lasky thought that in his own quirky and odd way, Brian was somehow a good life-advisor. Especially because he was one hell of an observant bitch to the point Justin didn’t really have to speak out loud about what was happening, because Katya already knew.

“So, what’s happening between you and Detox?”

Justin pretended not to have heard him while still dedragging, but he could feel Brian’s glance on him and after a while he thought it was so fucking unbearable he actually chose to answer that question to preserve his mental health, “There’s this elephant in the room, none of us want to address and it’s become a bit uncomfortable.”

He had been quite vague, but he knew from Katya’s look that he understood what he was talking about. He and Matt had been friends with benefits for a while then, Roy and Danny had caught them when they were in Ft. Lauderdale making out in a locker room during a black-out, but they hadn’t really talked about the huge issue implied in what they were doing.

Justin had tried many times to bring up the subject, or at least to have a clear idea of what they were supposed to label their relationship, like… were they actually in a romantic relationship?

“Oh, yeah, I know, you’re like in that situation where you’re doing all those things a normal couple do, but at the same time you’re not actually dating, uh-uh.”

Justin thought for a moment that Brian had being doing the wrong job, and he should really take a degree in psychology, but thinking it about it twice he realized that maybe he understood the problem so well because his life was so fucked up that Brian had probably found himself in that situation too many times already.

“Well, the question is: do you want something more from this?”

Justin blinked a few times. He was always complaining and over-thinking about it, but he actually hadn’t asked himself the true question, which was actually stirring throughout the conversation. Did he want a romantic relationship with Matthew?

“Thanks,” Justin simply said, with a feeble smile upon his face.

“You’re welcome, bitch.”

Loneliness. Matthew realized he was so fucking in love with Justin, when one night, coming home from his last performance at the club, he found himself quite uncomfortable in the lonely emptiness and silence of his apartment. Laurie had moved out a month before, but he felt as if even her presence wouldn’t make him at ease. The thing was: he missed Justin.

He missed him like he never had before, and in that exact moment he would have sold his soul to Satan just to spend less than an hour with him. But Justin was in Canada, and it was 4 in the morning, and the awareness of not being able to reach for him made Matthew feel like shit.

That was what he had actually feared from the beginning: being so involved with someone, to the point he would suffer that fucking pain above his chest without them.

But this time was different, because his phone buzzed the exact moment he put it on the kitchen counter, and opening the new delivered text, he found himself smiling: “Miss you, baby ♡ my phone’s dead, but Jerick lent me his, see you soon in two days! J.”

The loneliness faded as he realized that they were not only sharing time together, but feelings. Matthew smiled, kissing his phone.

Moving in. Everything was going fine between them, but somehow Matthew felt as if something was missing. They were always together, they kept some time to themselves without the other one, especially when their duties didn’t overlap, and it helped things to go smoothly, but still, Matt thought that there was something unclear in how their relationship worked.

They never talked about what their plans for the future were. Yeah, it had always been kind of implied that they both wanted to share a future together, but Matt found himself thinking a simple implication wasn’t enough.

He knew that the reason they never brought up the subject was that they were still recovering from their past, mainly because Justin had already been through all that, and he probably wasn’t ready to replay it a second time. But going through therapy, Matt learnt that sometimes he should take care of himself, and not always postpone his own needs in favor of others. Not that he was going to push Justin to do something about it, but talking would be a good start.

Justin had probably sensed it, because one morning, while they were having breakfast together as usual, he said something Matthew wasn’t expecting

“We should live together.”

Coffee almost dribbled from Matt’s mouth, when he tried to process what Justin had just said. “ I already have a bunch of your clothes in my wardrobe, and your toothbrush has been sitting in my bathroom for a week now… and you’re always here.”

Matthew knew what he was implying – once again – and he didn’t expect Justin to simply speak out loud what he meant – because Justin wasn’t like that, and he had always been afraid to be outspoken about what he was thinking; sure, he had improved since they started their relationship, but he still had a lot of work to do – but Matt understood what he was saying through the lines.

Yeah, Matt’s apartment was larger – it was meant for at least three people – and he would feel better if they chose to live there, because it would make a great reassurance of their actual situation and what they were planning for the future, but Matt also understood that Justin’s trust issues weren’t completely healed even though he had grown really fond of Matthew, and meeting half way would be an important step to make that relationship work.

“I’m moving in next week.”

A/N3: at first i wanted to develop a bit more the issues within Detox’s car accident and his ex-boyfriend, but because it’s real people we are talking about, i didn’t feel comfortable, so… i hope it’s not a problem to have left everything implied and not outspoken.

For any other thoughs, let me know here or on my personal tumblr: @chykopon

If you want to know about the Alphabet Challenge, message me and i will gladly translate and like the rules page (:

#alaska thunderfuck #detox icunt #fluff #romcom #ficlet collection #chykopon #rpdr fanfiction #submission #alphabet challenge #26 times it was love #alaska x detox #s5

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