#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹looking at you through the glass⊹ — visual

[ateotd-izzy]

ceilings | stiles stilinski x fem!reader

PART ONE | part two

summary: in an attempt to bring stiles back from the ghost riders, lydia, scott and malia try to help y/n to search her memories and remember him completely.

warnings: set during 6a, kissing, possibly swearing? idk how i feel about this tbh

taglist: @brvceyamada

☾

ceilings, plaster

“okay, y/n. imagine you’re in your bedroom.” lydia’s voice calmly echoed through the room. “visualize yourself in your bedroom.”

you looked around. your bed, your shelves, your desk, it was your bedroom.

“can you see it?” lydia asked and you nodded. “okay, good. can you see your shelf? the one with all your movies?”

you took a few steps over to the bookshelf, dvds filling each individual shelf and only a few books lay around.

“yes.”

“y/n, imagine each dvd is a memory of stiles. every movie is a different memory.” lydia spoke. “you need to find the correct memory. the one that’ll bring him back.”

you pulled the first dvd off the shelf and opened it, putting the disk into your player.

can’t you just make it move faster?

“what the hell?” you wiped your cheek with your hand as the boy in front of you laughed. “what the hell was that?”

he shrugged, still laughing.

you were in your kitchen with stiles, the afternoon sun spilling through the window as you went through the cupboards.

“seriously, babe, what was that?”

“it was just water.” he chuckled, dipping his fingers into the glass beside him and flicking it at you. “don’t need to worry.”

“you’re such a dick.” you rolled your eyes, fighting the smile that grew on your face as he slowly made his way over to you.

“you love me.”

“mhm.”

“go on. say it.” stiles whispered into your ear, his arms wrapping around your body from behind and his chin resting on your shoulder. “you know it’s true.”

“fine.” you spun around so you were still facing him in your arms. “i love you, stilinski.”

he smiled and leaned in, pecking your lips.

“i love you, too.”

lovely to be sitting here with you

“can you see him? can you remember him?” lydia asked.

“it was just water.” you mumbled. scott and malia exchanged a confused look behind lydia’s back.

“y/n, you need to find a stronger memory. keep looking.”

you’re kinda cute, but it’s

you ran your hand along the different dvds before stopping on one.

you pulled it out and glanced at the cover. it was blank.

they were all blank, so you knew it would be a hard search to find the right memory.

“find a stronger memory, y/n.” lydia’s voice guided you and you placed the new disk into the dvd player.

raining harder

“you guys won!” you cheered, grabbing both of stiles’ hands in yours.

you were standing on the lacrosse field at the high school, and he was wearing a beacon hills jersey.

he was number 24.

it must’ve been winter, or just cold, because it was raining.

the grass was all soaking wet, and water dripped down your face and near your eyes as you looked up at him with the biggest smile.

my shoes are now full of water

“did i look super hot out on the field?” he joked. you knew he had only been out there for a few minutes.

“totally.” you pulled him by his shoulders and kissed him on the lips, drops of water falling off his hair.

“i did better than scott, right?” stiles asked after you pulled apart and you laughed.

“well…”

the boy made a face at you and you scoffed.

“okay, well, he’s team captain for a reason.”

“it’s fine, i know i was better than him.”

“you keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

lovely to be rained on with you

“did you find a good one, y/n? something strong?” lydia asked and you shook your head.

“keep searching, y/n.” scott’s voice was just as soft as lydia’s, but she quickly shushed him.

“y/n, you need to find a stronger memory.”

it’s kinda cute, but it’s

you looked through the dvds and picked one out at random.

it wasn’t like you could pick and choose when they were all blank.

you thought, ‘better than nothing.’ and put it in the player.

so short

“again?”

“come on. please?” stiles made a sad face as he held out the star wars dvd to you. “we haven’t watched it in like… a month.”

“we just watched a star wars movie like a week ago.”

“yeah, but that was a new hope, so now we have to watch empire.”

“okay, fine, but my mom wants me home right after.”

“yes! also, don’t worry about that. i’ll drive you.” he smiled brightly as he put the disc into the dvd player in his living room then dropped onto the couch beside you. “you know, this is why you’re my favorite.”

“what?”

“scott would never watch this with me. especially not multiple times.”

“scott never watches movies with anyone. you should know this by now.” you bumped him with your elbow.

“i know, i know.” stiles slid his arm around your shoulder and kissed your cheek. “you’re still my favorite, though.”

then you’re driving me home

you sat in the passenger seat of stiles’ jeep, which sounded like it was going to fall apart as he drove it, later that night.

you glanced to your side, staring at his face.

you could tell a smile tugged on his lips and he looked to you for a split second.

“what are you staring at, weirdo?” he asked and you looked out the window again.

“nothing.”

“liar. you were looking at me.” he teased. “cause you think i’m so hot.”

“is that a crime?”

“oh, definitely not. you can look at me all you want.”

there was silence between you two for a moment as he pulled into your driveway. you sighed.

he looked at you this time.

“do i have to leave?”

he chuckled and gave you a kiss. “i’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

“see you tomorrow…”

and i don’t want to leave

“keep pushing, y/n.” lydia motivated. “search deeper. you can find the one you need.”

“do i have to leave?” you muttered the words. “see you tomorrow…”

lydia sighed. “y/n, try searching deeper. you’ve got this.”

there was a growing stack of dvds being dumped on your bed after going through its memory.

you picked out another one.

but i have to go

“come on. you don’t need to go in there.” you pointed up at the building beside you inside the large gates. “you’re not crazy.”

“i don’t want to hurt anyone, y/n.” stiles spoke, sheriff stilinski standing beside him. “especially not you.”

“but eichen house?” you stared at him sadly. “stiles…”

he reached out his hand and pulled you into his chest, hugging you tight. he kissed the top of your head.

“i love you, y/n.”

you sighed, your arms keeping him as close as possible. you didn’t want to let him go. “i love you too, stiles.”

you kiss me in your car

“come on, stiles. breathe.” you cupped the boy’s face in your hands. “try not to think about it. think about something else.”

“like what?” he panted, looking up at you with sad eyes and a broken expression.

you were both sat on the locker room floor, he was having a panic attack.

“happy things. friends, family-” you stopped yourself after he gave you a look. “okay, not family. try not to think about your dad. just breathe.”

“i…” he hyperventilated. you adjusted your hands on the sides of his face. his eyes met yours.

that was all you could see. his eyes.

“stiles, just breathe.” you could see there wasn’t really a difference in his actions. you leaned forward and attached your lips to his.

his eyes went wide, but he seemed to melt into the kiss.

you pulled apart and he stared into your eyes, his breathing slowed down, the panic attack over.

you grabbed his hand and he intertwined your fingers.

and it feels like the start of a movie i’ve seen before

“i kissed him.” you spoke to lydia and the others, your eyes closed as you sat at the table in front of them. “he was having a panic attack. i kissed him.”

“holding your breath stops a panic attack.” lydia nodded, explaining to the others. “now, y/n, find something deeper. something more important to you. something more important to him.”

“to stiles.”

“exactly.”

the next dvd was higher up on the shelf, you grabbed it easily.

bedsheets, no clothes

you were lying beside stiles, running your finger along his bare chest.

he pulled you closer to him with a smile, pushing some of your hair away from your face.

“hey.” he whispered.

you smiled back. “hey.”

“that was something.”

“a good something or a bad something?” you asked, still whispering.

“definitely a good something.” he rubbed his hand up your arm. “probably the best something. i don’t know if there’s been a better something—”

“alright, i get it.” you chuckled softly.

there was no need for the whispering, it was the evening and no one else was home, but you still did.

his hand ran along the side of your face. “you’re so beautiful.”

there was no way you could’ve fought off the smile on your face as your cheeks warmed.

touch me like nobody else does

“definitely a good something.” you recalled. “he said it was definitely a good something.”

“what was?”

you went quiet again, searching through the different dvds.

some memories were shorter than others, just conversations or things like that.

“find something, y/n. good or bad.”

lovely to just lay here with you

you picked out another dvd. it was blank like all of the others, but it seemed different.

you took it off the shelf because it seemed to be staring right at you, practically calling your name.

you played that one.

the memory didn’t give you a feeling that it would bring him back, but it felt like something you needed to see.

you’re kinda cute, and i would say all of this

“come on, stiles.” you whispered. “you can talk to me.”

he was ignoring you. and you had no clue why.

he sighed and your eyebrows knitted in confusion.

it was late at night and you were both lying in his bed, him with his back to you.

“can you just… drop it?” he mumbled. “i’m not in the mood.”

“what happened, stiles?”

“nothing, just go to sleep.” he adjusted himself in the bed slightly, but didn’t face you.

“stiles…”

but i don’t wanna ruin the moment

time seemed to skip and he was sitting up, facing you.

“what? do you not trust me or something?” you asked.

“no, that’s not it—” he cut himself off. “i just don’t want to talk about it.”

“stiles, i get that, but i want to know what’s going on with you.” you put your hand on his shoulder and he, quite obviously, winced. “what’s up with your shoul—”

“nothing, y/n. just leave it.” he winced again and pushed your hand off. “i don’t need your help.”

“seriously?” you scoffed as he turned his back to you again. “you know what? whatever.”

you pushed the covers of his bed off and stood up, slipping your shoes on.

“where are you going?” stiles asked, sitting up again.

“home.” you answered. “you obviously need space, so i’m respecting that. i’m not gonna push it anymore.”

“wait, babe,” he started getting out of his bed. “i don’t want you to go.”

“i’m still going, stiles.” you picked up your backpack. “we can talk tomorrow.”

“it’s late.”

“i’m aware. my car’s outside, remember?”

“please stay.”

“i’ll see you tomorrow, or whenever you’re ready to talk about whatever the hell’s going on with you right now.”

lovely to sit in between comfort and chaos

standing in your bedroom, staring at the tv as you left stiles’ bedroom, you remembered the fact that you didn’t talk the next day.

stiles just never said anything about it to you.

not until after everything with theo was practically over.

basically everyone else knew about it, but you.

he didn’t think you would understand, which was probably the most upsetting part for you because you did.

you understood it was self defence. you understood he did it because if he didn’t he would’ve died.

but it’s over

“y/n? are you okay?” scott asked, ignoring lydia as she shushed him.

you nodded. being hypnotised was weird.

lydia had taken notice of your saddened expression too.

“find a different memory, y/n. i know you can do this.”

then you’re driving me home

the next memory you found was not long after theo was literally sent to hell.

you were with stiles in his jeep. he was driving you home again. except this time going home from scott’s house.

the car was silent, but not in the usual comfortable way. neither of you had really spoken to the other since that night, only really for pack stuff.

you were terrified that he thought the two of you had broken up, and he was scared of the exact same thing.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you that night.” stiles spoke up. “i should’ve said something.”

“no, i get why you didn’t. i was being pushy and you didn’t want to—”

“i did want to tell you.” he sighed. “i was so scared, y/n. i thought there was a chance that you wouldn’t understand or something and i’d lose you.”

he looked right at you.

“i mean, scott didn’t.”

“that was theo’s fault.” you told him. “scott didn’t know the full story. you know he knows the truth now.”

“mm.” he seemed to agree, but you could tell something was still off by his body language.

you took the hand he didn’t have on the wheel into yours.

and it kinda comes out as i get up to go

“you know, i still love you, right?” you told him after he stopped and he looked over at you.

“wha— oh, yeah. yeah, i know.” he nodded, avoiding your eyes, looking outside the car.

“do you know?”

he didn’t answer for a moment, then shrugged.

“i do, stiles.” you kissed his cheek. “i love you, and that never changed.”

“never?”

“not for one moment.”

he smiled, then laughed softly, then leaned forward and kissed you on the lips.

“i love you too.”

you kiss me in your car

“it never changed.” you sniffled slightly. “i still loved him after everything. he was so scared i wouldn’t, but it never changed.”

“after what, y/n?” lydia asked, hoping more elaboration would help them bring back stiles.

“after donovan.”

scott knew what you were talking about, that was something he had remembered when he thought about stiles.

“after i knew, i still loved him, and he still loved me.”

and it feels like the start of a movie i’ve seen before

then you picked up one more dvd. you just stared at its blank cover and seemed to know what it was.

putting the disk in, you watched as you ran with stiles to his jeep in the school parking lot.

this was the last memory you had of stiles. the last time you had really seen him.

but it’s not real

“y/n, babe, listen. you’re going to forget me.” stiles’ voice seemed to echo around you as you recalled the night.

“no, i won’t. stiles, i won’t.”

“you will.” he cupped your cheeks and made you look him in the eyes. “you will.”

you shook your head as tears threatened to spill. “i won’t.”

“it’s okay, just find some way to remember me. any way.”

“stiles…”

and you don’t exist

“i was the last person to see him.” you spoke to your friends. “i was there when they took him. i saw it happen.”

that night was so long ago, but all the details were rushing back to you now.

you were starting to remember it all.

not just that night, but everything about stiles.

and i can’t recall the last time i was kissed

“i know you’ll find some way to remember me.” he squeezed your hand. “ do you remember the first time we danced at the winter formal? you were the first girl i ever danced with.”

you had gone together as friends, despite everyone knowing you had crushes on each other.

“remember how we started dating that summer.”

“the summer before junior year.” you nodded.

“yeah.” he stroked your cheek, wiping away a tear. “that was the best summer of my life.”

you chuckled. “mine too.”

“remember all those sleepovers we’ve had. remember when we’ve fought. remember every time we’ve kissed, or…” he paused and just stared you in the eyes.

the interior of the car was silent, but the wind blew violently outside.

“just remember i love you, okay?” he kissed your hand. “please just remember that. i need you to.”

then he was pulled from the car. the wind stopped and he was gone.

it hits me in the car

you sat there, curled into a ball in the passenger seat, sobbing.

you muttered over and over. “i remember. just remember. i promise.”

you hated the silence, and you hated that he was gone. you didn’t even notice that he had started to slip from your mind.

not until you walked into school the next day, anxiety overwhelming you as your brain tried to remember why it felt like you were forgetting something.

why it felt like a whole piece of you was missing.

just then, remembering what it was like when he was taken, every single memory of yours that included stiles came rushing back.

memories from when you were friends as kids, up until high school. memories from after scott was bitten, back when stiles had his buzzcut.

memories from when he was possessed by the nogitsune. memories from all the times both of you had almost died.

memories of the two of you before and after you started dating. memories with scott and the pack, memories with his dad, memories alone.

all of it.

and it feels like the end of a movie i’ve seen before

you opened your eyes and looked around. you weren’t in your bedroom anymore, you were back in argent’s underground bunker with lydia, scott and malia.

“y/n.”

lydia had tried to get your attention, but stiles’ voice played over and over in your mind.

you could see bright lights coming from outside the room, and you rushed out. the three of your friends who were still there ran after you.

you stopped in the corridor, the lights so bright you couldn’t see anything.

then you could see him.

not his face, or any defining qualities at all, but you knew it was him.

he was more like a silhouette, but you could recognize stiles stilinski anywhere.

“stiles.” you breathed out, a smile breaking out onto your face.

you were finally going to have him back. after months of the awful anxiety and feeling that something was missing.

he was like the last piece of your puzzle, and you were going to be complete.

then the light faded.

before

a/n: first post on tumblr help this is scary

[insomniumstella]

something in the orange

bucky x witch!reader 

summary: the pretty witch James met in Bucharest holds his heart. she’s been there ever since he regained his freedom, mending the soldier’s broken soul through tender loving, but if the aching suspicions deep in his bones are correct, she’ll soon become nothing more than a bittersweet memory. 

warnings: angst-ish fluff, memories of trauma, a lil’ sprinkle of nsfw — implied smut

word count: 1,615

author’s note: words we never said ☾ if you enjoy listening to music while reading, please play the song je te laisserai des mots. it captures the emotion behind this perfectly:( this is a link to a post about Bucky’s Bucharest apartment, which i used for both inspiration and visualization, and absolutely recommend reading

The little apartment is enveloped in the smell of chicken noodle soup when James steps through the door, dropping a bag of plums on the sofa. Though every window is blocked out with newspapers, the dying sun manages to flicker through the pages, casting an orange glow on the single room.

On her — the girl who inadvertently saved him.

She stands by the stove in nothing but his woolen sweater. It reaches her knees, and she pushes the sleeves up to her elbows at times to prevent the edges from broth stains. The otherwise silent atmosphere is saturated in delicate sounds of piano creeping out of her broken laptop, and as the soldier continues to observe her, a bittersweet wave of emotions drowns him. Brooklyn is no longer his home, she is.

“Hi.” James chuckles softly at the sight before him.

Ancient spells books and corked glass containers clutter the counter. Bundles of herbs, dried and fresh alike, float around her as she studies the open grimoire, waving her fingers in a circular motion to stir dinner.

“Hi, bun.” She mutters without paying him a glance, hastily reading the last bit of instructions for a healing potion. “Are you feeling better?”

The witch buries her nose in the crinkled pages often. The words that lay upon the paper are peculiar to James. Dragon’s blood, wormwood, lapis lazuli are several terms he stopped seeking to understand, focusing to unravel the boundaries of the relationship between them instead. Friends was the only label ever spoken, and yet somewhere along the way of the pair’s whirlwind journey, the edges of their connection became stained.

Almost a year ago, when James stumbled into a hidden coffee shop by accident, or fate, it was unmistakable she was merely a stranger, but then she shared her cinnamon bun because he only had enough money for a cup of tea, and their destinies blurred together. She shared again and again until it was two strange months later that she announced, “we’re friends, bun,” after James questioned the reason she’d always split the pastry. Suddenly, the days were brighter, and the nights not as lonely. The shoebox of an apartment turned warm. She spent many hours exploring the world, but James would find caramel bars on his refrigerator and fresh flowers on the counter, he’d light the candles she’d accidentally leave or read the loose pages that slipped out of her journals. If his kitchen was empty of food, she’d arrive at his place with a tote of ingredients to prepare a homemade meal. James never witnessed where she sleeps most nights, except she goes thrifting a bit too much and rarely pays for bus tickets, sneaking in when the conductor isn’t looking. She has very little of her own, and she chooses to care for him in every way she’s able.

He doesn’t deserve it, he often thinks. Solitude was written in his future as a punishment for the crimes he committed. James earned to suffer in the constant chaos of his rotten mind, and he shouldn’t come home to a friend, whose cooking chicken noodle soup because the harsh Bucharest weather provoked a simple cold.

Friend. Trust was a word forgotten in his vocabulary, and she returned the meaning, melding the broken pieces of James Buchanan Barnes through tender love. Before the soldier could truly grasp the imprint she’d forever leave on his soul, he was subconsciously searching for her in the sunsets or the olden books in the city’s library, catching her in the morning’s dew or the bright stars. The diary, which stored his memories, adopted stories of her, and the single cup of coffee doubled. Gentle smiles painted over his usual frowns, and the metal arm abruptly became capable of affectionate touches.

She is not a friend, for the words he’s scared to say are I love you.

“As a matter of fact,” the soldier wraps his arms around her waist from behind before placing a tender kiss on her cheek, “yes.”

The girl melts into his embrace. While she’s a resident of the world, escaping to faraway locations when the circumstances twist sour, Bucky’s embrace is the only place in which she could ever sincerely find safety.

“Good,” she grins, turning around to capture his lips. The kiss is brief, and before James could steal another, she’s clutching a glass vial to push it into his hands. “The potion has cinnamon and ginger to relieve the cold and is infused with moonstone to banish anxiety.”

The weight of her statement rests in his stare, “anxiety?”

Caressing Bucky’s biceps through his red henley, she grimaces at the tinges of betrayal in his tone. “I promised to stay out of your head,” she begins, tracing his rigid chest muscles, “and a promise is sacred,” especially the kind a witch would grant to a former assassin, “but I can sense the anguish that plagues you without hearing, or seeing it, in the first place.”

“Oh,” James sighs, and the rest of the sentence seems to die on his tongue.

It was a foolish mistake to imagine the girl could possibly miss the wrenching concern at the pit of his stomach. James attempted to bury it, but for the last three weeks, the sorrow was evidently carved in his stiff expressions and nervous glances. She continued to revel in the pleasure of his touch, but it no longer resembled peace, tarnished with an unspoken goodbye.

And perhaps, it is. Suspicions of The Winter Soldier’s potential attacks flicker in the air as a harsh reminder — he’s a complex affair in her heart solely because the perception of James as a mindless killer remains unchanged in the eyes of others. Someone seeks to find him, whether it be the government or Steve.

“Sit,” she urges, maneuvering to locate a set of ceramic bowls.

The table bears a cheap bottle of red and two clashing glasses she thrifted. A Nokia lies atop a pack of cigarettes, and James hastily shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. It’s not the scent of tobacco on her clothing that drives him insane, but rather the scent of cinnamon underneath it, which he cannot entirely reach. She sprinkles cinnamon on coffees or oatmeal, and into the bread she makes once every blue moon. Cinnamon envelopes James in a warm hug every time the soldier smells it, and it’s frustrating how easily tobacco seems to overpower the spice.

“Did I leave the door unlocked again?” Bucky questions, messing with the wax on an empty wine bottle before he decides to ignite the candle, situated inside, using y/n’s pink lighter.

A moment of stillness settles upon the couple, and when she speaks, her voice is a lot more gentle. “On the contrary, I used alohomora,” she bites the inside of her cheek, unsure if she should say the words swirling around in her mind, “you’re healing, Buck. Sometimes the pain may distract us from miscellaneous tasks.”

Pain is the single steady matter in his prolonged lifetime. It left a gaping hole in his heart and a rooted crack in his soul without remedies to cure it. At least she silences the constant buzzing in his ears the gruesome memories bring forward and patches up the endlessly crimson wounds. Some days, James is barely a man, and yet his rain never smothers the fire within her.

“Alohomora?”

“Mmmh,” she hums, mouth entirely full of soup. It’s when she swallows does y/n genuinely answers, “alohomora is a spell in Harry Potter to pick locks.”

“Does it work in our reality?” James asks, bringing a spoonful of steaming broth to his lips. The taste is nostalgic and comforting, and it makes him briefly reminisce of every time his mom or sister would cook a chicken noodle dinner from a can.

“No,” she shakes her head and reaches for the bottle to graze his glass, “but a bobby pin does.”

“Thank you,” James chuckles as his eyes soften, “for the soup, and the potion, and—“

“Stop,” she settles on his lap, the bowl of food forgotten. “I nurture you not out of pity but rather because in you, I see myself.” A corner of her mouth quirks up into a meager smile, one James seems powerless to understand. “I was eighteen, alone, and purple with bruises the human eye cannot see.” The witch’s tone is sprightly, but the tremble in her voice unveils the bitterness of the memory. “All I craved was for someone to offer me a touch of kindness, and just maybe, a hand to hold. People help the people,” she remarks, stroking a faded scar above his eyebrow, “you shall not express gratitude for such simple actions.”

Traitor. The gravity of the word claws at his bones. James needs to speak of the burdens and of the fears tormenting his head. She would always be a temporary destination in his peculiar journey. It was etched into the stars above. The universe bestowed an angel upon evil, proposing a restrained offer set to soon expire.

James Barnes is a coward, he decides, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss instead of confessing. Clutching her hips, the soldier brings the woman closer, tracing the curves of her body to store it deep within his consciousness. She straddles him, tangling her elegant fingers in his chestnut hair.

“I like to express my gratitude,” James whispers into the crook of her neck before kissing the delicate skin, “you’re too good to me, plum.”

And when she grinds on The Winter Soldier’s hardened length, savoring the roughness of his denim jeans against her thinly covered cunt and bare thighs, she doesn’t particularly care enough to argue.