#Yeah I kicked my feet a little when I saw your name in my inbox what about it

[sapphosdickandballs]

hi Saphho!! How is the prettiest girl doing? How was your week??

Hiiiiii. I’m slaying. I found a new artist this week and I’ve been going insane. Do you need a list of songs to listen to because I can provide. Lilyisthatyou marry me. College is going good, I hate math, what’s new. How’s your week been?

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Vienna. One.

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

pairing - carmen berzatto x reader

warnings - cursing. references to mikey’s death.

word count - 2k

authors note - strap in, this one’s gonna be a rollercoaster!! can’t wait to get into this a little more. I love this show, and we’re gonna have so much fun getting lost in that world. this series is going to make you laugh, cry, scream, and want to throw your phone at my head. get ready <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

part two. series masterlist. inbox. masterlist.

home (hōm) - the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

You’ve been staring at the outside of the building for fifteen minutes.

It looks so different that you had to check the street sign, ensuring you are where you thought you were.

The Bear.

It was The Beef, the last time you were here. Stood in this very spot, tears dripping down your face, you bid farewell to the life you once knew.

Now you’re back.

It looks slick, professional, high end. It’s all polished glass and sharp edges, a drastic contrast from what once stood here.

You wonder what Michael would think.

The thought sends a pang of sadness through your heart, which you shake off as quickly as possible. Today should be a happy day, you remind yourself. Emphasis on should.

You take a deep breath and try the door of the restaurant, surprised when you find it unlocked. Walking inside, you have to stop and take in what’s in front of you.

No more sticky floors or peeling paint or arcade machines. No more flickering lights or red pleather booths or plastic cutlery.

The restaurant you’re currently stood in is slick, spotlessly clean, perfectly laid out. It’s like something out of a magazine. You’re in shock, bewildered by the transformation.

“Holy shit.”

The kitchen door has swung open, and across from you stands Richie Jerimovich.

“Am I hallucinating, or what?”

You laugh, and before you know it, he’s striding towards you, throwing his arms out for you to jump into. He wraps you in a bear hug, spinning you in circles like when you were a kid. You’re dizzy when he puts you down, his hand grabbing your shoulder to steady you on your feet.

“You hallucinate often these days, old man?”

“Old man,” he scoffs. “Yeah fuckin’ right. Do I look old to you?”

“You want me to answer that?”

He shoves you playfully, shaking his head.

“Thought I was seeing ghosts when I saw you stood in here.”

“If anyone’s hallucinating, it’s me. How… how did you do this? It’s like a whole new restaurant, Cousin.”

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Really cool. I think I stood and stared at the sign outside for like twenty minutes. Seriously.”

He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in.

“He’d have liked it, right?”

You can hear the slight waver in his voice, well disguised insecurity peeking through.

“He’d have fucking loved it, Richie.”

He presses a kiss into your hair, bumping your hip with his affectionately.

“So what, you’re like, a big boss here now?”

“I’m in charge of front of house, actually. I’ve been professionally trained and shit. Oh, guess what?”

“What?”

“I wear suits now. Every night.”

“You’re kidding. Bet you wear them well, too,” you tease, laughing when he kicks your foot with his. “You always scrubbed up well.”

“You gotta see it for yourself. We’ll make you up a table tonight, get you to try everything.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I’m not gonna put you guys out like that.”

“Vi, you’re not putting us out. And you and I both know Carmen isn’t going to take no for an answer.”

Your heart skips a beat at the very mention of his name.

“I just don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“Babe,” he practically whines, pulling you into him, “you are never an inconvenience. For any of us.”

“Okay, okay,” you relent, resting your head on his arm. “I can’t wait.”

Richie grins, excitement vibrating off him.

“Okay, let me look at you. You look good, Vi!”

You mock a twirl, spinning with a curtsy for good measure.

“I like your hair like this,” he compliments, plucking at a strand. “Suits you.”

“Thanks, Casanova,” you laugh. “How’s Eva?”

“Oh, she’s good. So good. Did you see all the pictures I posted from the Taylor Swift concert? I’m officially the best dad in the world.”

“I did, and they were the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. She’s so big, now. Can’t wait to see her soon.”

“I’m sure she’ll be excited to see you. Cousin tells her stories about you all the time.”

“…he does?”

“Are you kidding? Of course he does. Sugar does too.”

A cool sense of relief washes over you. It’s nice to know that they haven’t forgotten about you, as stupid as it sounds. There’s something comforting about knowing they still talk about you, even when you’re gone.

He plants a kiss on the crown of your head as the kitchen door flies open once again. Marcus, Tina and Ebra file in, along with a girl you’ve never met before. They’re looking at you with curious expressions on their faces when you hear it.

“Does anyone know where the fuck I put my good knife?”

When he doesn’t get an answer, he strides into the restaurant, stopping in his tracks at the sight of you at Richie’s side.

He tries to speak, but he can’t.

Instead, he practically runs across the room, wrapping his arms around you as your feet leave the floor.

You bury your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of home that you’ve missed so much. He’s murmuring into your ear, but you can’t for the life of you work out what he’s saying. It’s all low and slow, careful to not be overheard. You tangle your fingers into the hair at the back of his head, nudging his face back into your shoulder. He presses a gentle kiss to your skin, which sends a shiver down your spine that you’re praying he doesn’t notice.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, he pulls away to look at you. His hands are on your waist as if they belong there, as yours cradle his face.

“You’re home.”

He breathes it, as if he can’t quite catch a lungful of air.

“I’m home,” you say, sweeping your thumbs across his cheekbones. “You’re home.”

“I’m home.”

You’re completely unaware of the group of people watching you. They all know they should tear their eyes away, but they can’t seem to. It’s new, seeing Carmy like this with someone. They’re all wondering what the hell has happened.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you,” he laughs, pulling you back in for another hug.

Pressing a kiss into your hair, he rocks you slightly, as if you’re both completely thrown off balance by the presence of the other.

You step back, giving him a once over.

“I like your tattoos, Carmen. Very hipster.”

“Shut up,” he chuckles, shoving you lightly. You shove him right back, both of you grinning like idiots.

His eyes flicker up, catching Sydney’s gaze. She looks completely bewildered, and a little uncomfortable. Carmy tugs you into his side, turning to face the crowd.

“Syd, this is Vienna. Vienna, Sydney. The rest of you guys know her.”

They all smile, meeting you in the middle for hugs and hellos. You hold your arms out to Sydney, who steps into them somewhat apprehensively, giving you a quick squeeze.

“My name isn’t actually Vienna, but it’s been a nickname for as long as I can remember. So you can call me Vienna, or Vi, or Enna. I get them all.”

She nods, visibly still a little confused. The door swings open one last time, and out walks Natalie.

“Oh my God!”

You give her a careful hug, on account of the bump she’s sporting.

“Oh, you look so beautiful, Sugar. You’re glowing!”

“It’s sweat from the kitchen babe, I swear.”

The blonde sits down at a table, and you join her, eager to catch up with one of your oldest girl friends. As you do, Sydney and Carmy reconvene a distance away.

“She’s pretty.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Carmen’s watching you as you talk to his sister, as if he’s worried you’ll bolt out the door at any given moment.

“Your… girlfriend?”

“Oh, no,” he’s suddenly a little flustered, hand scratching the back of his neck. “Best friend. We’ve known each other forever. Literally. Our mom’s had us a day apart. We were neighbours, grew up on the same street.”

“Ah. And she’s been away?”

“For a long time. Think it’s about five years, maybe more. I went to culinary school, she went to art school, both ended up living in different places.”

“Did you know she was coming back?”

“Jesus, Syd, is this twenty fuckin’ questions?”

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, fiddling with the end of her braid. “You just seemed surprised to see her.”

“Yeah. I was. Had no idea she was back in town.”

“Did you guys keep in touch?”

He gives a look that says really?, but answers the question anyway.

“Not as much as we should have. It’s hard, being so far apart. We saw each other a few times, texted and called when we could. But it’s not the same.”

He glances in your direction to find you laughing with Natalie, a delicate hand placed on her growing stomach. Nat looks happy, carefree, like the young girl she once was. You seem to have that effect on people.

Richie pulls out a chair next to the pair, knocking into Carmy’s shoulder as he sits down.

“Told Vi we’d give her a table here tonight, so she can try everything. You should join her, catch up.”

Carmy reacts as if it’s the stupidest idea he’s ever heard, so Richie continues quickly.

“We need to be able to run this shit without you. One evening with you dining instead of cookin’ won’t hurt.”

“We’ve done it before,” Sydney adds, alluding to that fateful opening night. Richie snickers. Carmy doesn’t.

“And you’ll be here, it’s not like you’re a thousand miles away. We’ll come out and get you if we need help, Cousin.”

Carmy’s known his answer since the very first second Richie asked the question, but he’s trying to play it cool. He doesn’t want to give away just quite how excited the thought of an entire evening with you makes him.

“Fine.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You and Sugar have ended up practically on each others laps at your table, whispering and giggling like old times. She’s telling you a story about something funny Pete said when you look over at Carmy, to find him already staring at you.

Your heart skips a beat as you catch his eyes, smiling gently at the fact he refuses to look away. He’s so timid with everyone else, so worried about what people think of him. He’s never as bold as when he’s with you.

You wink at him, quick and cheeky, and heat blooms across his cheeks instantly. He winks right back, stifling a grin by biting at his lip.

“You never told him, did you?”

Nat’s watching the two of you intently, gaze flicking back and forth between her brother and his childhood best friend.

You take a deep breath. And then another.

“No.”

“Vienna.”

Her tone is stern, almost scolding, and you suddenly feel sorry for the child who’s going to be on the receiving end of it one day soon.

“I couldn’t do it.”

She grabs your hand, resting them both in her lap.

“Secrets like that eat people alive, Vi.”

You squeeze her hand before dropping it, desperate for the conversation to be over.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll tell him when the time is right.”

“The time is never right when it comes to Carmen. You and I both know this.”

You refuse to admit she’s right, even though deep down, you know she is absolutely is.

“You haven’t told him? Richie hasn’t either?”

“It’s not our place to tell him. You have to be the one to do it.”

You inhale carefully, risking a look over to where Carmy is stood up, pointing at a table in the corner of the restaurant. He’s clearly in Chef Mode, both him and Sydney speaking in a language you can’t even begin to understand.

He catches your eye and smiles, all bright and bashful, before resuming what he was saying.

You don’t want to hurt him.

You think it might be inevitable.

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

@agirlcandream84 @diorrfairy @raging-panda @melancholicmelanin @nolita-fairytale @jacxx2 @huang-the-geek @2guysonascooter @stxxllaaa @an0nym1ss @thereisnoowl @dreamingofleon

[lovedrots]

little moments

iii . little moments  -  p.p. x reader ᥫ᭡

synopsis : you spend the last days of your trip to italy with the boy you admire most. ( includes one-bed!trope and mutual pining )

warnings : creepy pedo old(ish) men, mild swearing, very, very rushed. this is the first time i have written in a while. :( unedited, not proof-read !!

a/n : this is my first time writing in . . . a long time ! so please note that this likely isn’t very smooth, nor is it proof-read / edited. also i am begging you guys to give me requests in my inbox .. i gotta write more !!

word count : 6,921

italy ; 1:56 p.m.

venice was supposed to be fun.

this was supposed to be your opportunity to get away from your parents, to live out your cliche teenage late-night dreams with your closest friend, betty.

but instead, you were stuck trailing her and her new boy-toy, ned leeds.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like ned. no, he was funny. kind. but what bothered you was that he had wormed his way right into the middle of your plans. betty and you had put together list of what you wanted to do: sneak out at night to drink hot cocoa on the roof, pet the pigeons, take every boat you saw … of course, those were all thrown out the window.

and it didn’t really help, that ned’s best friend, peter parker wasn’t around. you hoped that he would at least have his – rather cute – best friend by his side, but it seemed that even he wasn’t content on watching ned and betty suck each other’s faces off.

understandable.

turning your attention from the pale waters, you tried to catch your blonde friend’s gaze – mission failed. you pursed your lip, fingers picking at each other. you were getting antsy, with a need to go something. anything.

“have you guys checked out the saint mark’s basilica yet?” you quipped, sliding in front of them. you were sick of trailing them like a helpless dog.

“doesn’t look fun,” ned muttered, dark eyes glued to betty’s grinning face. and the other didn’t even think it proper to reply. neither of them seemed to notice you, as they brushed past, the girl’s shoulder bumping yours in the process.

your face flushed with something resembling anger – both because of their lack of attention, and the fact that you may have been a little jealous of the couple. just a little. who wouldn’t be? sure, you could say they were just in the honeymoon phase, but the way they looked at each other still had you yearning for more than your life offered. when would you get to experience that? just thinking about it had you kicking your feet, fireworks going off in your tummy.

though you would never admit it, some nights, you would imagine yourself sleeping beside someone. it made you feel … safe, when no one else did.

that’s when you realized that you had stopped dead in your tracks, ned and betty out of sight. you frantically looked around, e/c eyes scanning heads as you stood on your toes. shit. gone.

“lost, amore?” a old, sultry voice rasped. you turned to see a man – likely in his fifties – looking you up and down. though he was smiling, it was certainly nothing kind.

lost? you weren’t lost. just exploring, yeah? you knew where you were; the cream walls, beige roof of the building to your left … the totally familiar waters …

okay, sure. you were lost.

but you couldn’t tell a stranger that!

“no, sir,” you replied, and though you tried to put strength into your voice, it still managed to come out as nothing more than a squeak. “i was just – just looking around. i’ve been here tons of times.”

you began inching backwards, uncomfortable with the older man and unfamiliarity of the situation. though you were sure he had no ill intentions, (were you?) you were rather put off by his use of such an intimate name. after all, you were a teenager; very obviously one, too.

“please, miss! you look –”

you stumbled into a hard surface, warmth seeping into your back, an oomph leaving whatever it is that you crashed into.

you spun on your heel, whipping your head up to look at – peter parker. oh, just the person you needed to see, you thought, sarcasm pounding your head. your gaze shot from man to boy, as if unsure where to focus. you were jet-lagged, disoriented, and maybe a little creeped out.

setting your eyes on peter, you tried to channel your feelings of long (momentary) suffering through the irises. though, in all honesty, you probably looked like a drunken madwoman. but when your e/c eyes met his, the honey-brown so enchanting, you felt a little more secure. it wasn’t quite a warm, safe blanket; after all, you didn’t really know the boy. you’d only watched him from afar. stuffing books in his locker (they often fell out), sneakily mixing chemicals in the lab (you could never tell what, exactly, it was), tapping his foot to taylor swift songs when he thought so one was looking.

yeah, you were smitten.

“sorry mister;” came his wavering voice, “she’s got me!”

sorry? you ‘got him?’ needless to say, you were baffled. never had you ever spoken to the brunette, yet he was acting as if you were the best of pals. you gave him a quizzical look, nearly crossing your arms. but the silence, the bothered look on the elder’s face, had you playing along. “pete!” you choked out, the nickname forcing itself through your teeth, “i was looking everywhere for you.”

“i was down by the – the docks,” he quipped, scratching the nape of his neck. he – rather reluctantly – placed his palm on your shoulder. Though his composure was stiff, and his acting skills horrible, you had no other choice.

feigning annoyance, you crossed your arms, thick brows knitting. “you could’ve answered my texts!” for the fun of it, you fished your cell phone from your back pocket, swinging it between your fingers.

he huffed, tapping his foot. now you were really getting into it, the little squabble. “my phone was dead! you try replying to messages with a pitch-black screen?”

the two of you shot back and fourth for god knew how long, pointing, grumbling, and prodding at each other. To the two of your, your humorous scene was only a few moments long. but, by the time you’d calmed down, laughter at the tips of your tongues, the man had drifted away. last you had checked, he was staring down the two of you with awe and anger, mouth opening and closing each time there was a heartbeat of silence, as if to interject.

the giggles finally bubbled up, leaving your lips in a string of gurgles as you attempted to suppress them. your newfound travel companion, upon hearing your racket, couldn’t help but explode. Peter doubled over, clamping a hand to his mouth, as if to stifle his guffaws; but, it was no use. both of you look utterly insane, like drugged maniacs.

but he thought your laughter was one of the prettiest things he had ever heard.

though, you didn’t know that. you were convinced that you sounded like a crow that had just drunken twelve bottles of whiskey. plus, you were too busy admiring his joy, through the whisps of hair that fell into your face as he chuckles subsided.

you averted your eyes, pupils refusing to shrink back. “thanks. for helping me back there, i mean. that guy was … something.”

he nodded in agreement, a boyish, lopsided grin plastered to his face. “oh, um, anytime!”

you suspected he would be on his way. that he’d turn around, and you would be left alone again.

instead, he analyzed you, head to toe; the hydrangea-print top, the sun-kissed cheeks and nose. you thought you looked like a sloppily put-together mess, but peter thought you looked dream-worthy. “i didn’t know you knew who i am.” he said once he collected his thoughts.

you blinked, your only sign of surprise, ‘till you spoke. “who doesn’t know peter parker? you’re basically the only reason our decathlon team wins every show-down. smartest guy we know!”

was that too much? perhaps you had made him uncomfortable. you only just topped yourself before you could have slipped out something along the lines of, plus, you’re gorgeous. very handsome. i like to watch you in class, you’re so pretty.

but, even when he wore an embarrassed blush on his cheeks, his grin grew impossibly wider, his chest puffing in pride. “i mean – i try. not the smartest, though. try mr. stark. he’s a real genius,” he rambled. “and, hey, you’re pretty smart, too. mrs. warren seems to like you! you always get good grades in her class.”

“you notice?” you rose a brow.

“well, i sit directly behind you, so it’s kind of hard not to listen to it. that’s the only reason. it’s not like i’m a stalker or anything!”

of course, he wasn’t watching you because of some feelings. it was just by chance. if you sat at the opposite end of the room, he probably wouldn’t even know that you’re in his class, for thor’s sake.

needless to say, you were butthurt. but you couldn’t let it show through.

even so, you only found the strength to nod, watching the waters of venice ripple. how could you have gotten your hopes up? you rubbed your arms, droplets of the rivers spraying them with each crash of the tides. you hated the silence. it was your chance; your chance to prove that you were worth becoming friends with. but your awkwardness, your shyness, kept you from saying a word.

you looked up at his face, expecting him to be looking right back – but instead, those puppy eyes were glued elsewhere, to the dark wood planks at your feet.

maybe, he was as nervous as you were.

you cleared your throat, shifting your posture a few more times than it would be, if you were casual. “you haven’t got anyone else, or any plans right now … right?” you tried, foot tapping.

“No, no no!” he quickly ushered, hands that were once behind his back now set in a defensive position. “none at all. i just wanted to walk around, y’know?” he bit his already rouge lips, the action only emphasizing the color in his face. “d’you want to join me? if you don’t, that’s fine! i mean, we only just really met, and it might seem kind of weird. not that i’m weird. am i? i don't think so, i just –”

oh, you were helpless for this man. the way he went on a tangent, deep eyes sparking, you had fallen far before you could really acknowledge it. your stomach was doing summersaults, head feeling light, but not quite dizzy. when were you going to wake up from this dream? you wanted to pinch yourself.

“oh, no, i’d love to . . weirdo,” you added with a quick wink. you weren’t flash, after all; you’d never intentionally bully the poor guy.

peter shook his head, curls bouncing as his face contorted further into a content happiness.

you slipped your phone into the front pocket of your jeans, slipping past him to launch into a slow stroll. you almost instinctively reached out a hand for him to take, as though to guide him, but you pulled away as quick as it came up.

the two of you were oh-so close, shoulders nudging every so often as you walked. it wasn’t always this way; at first, you’d been feet upon feet apart. but as you spoke, you seemed to gravitate towards the enter – or, towards each other.

“but, blueberry pie has such a good balance of sweetness, and the texture is so much more . . it’s just nicer!” you insisted, upon peter bringing up his favorite pie.

“but –” he countered, “that place down the street from delmars? best cherry pie ever.”

you shrugged, mocking offense. “well, i’ve never had it! how should i know?”

he scoffed, hand to his heart. “fine. when we get back from europe, first thing we’re doing? i’m taking you there. and ordering two slices of cherry pie, extra ice-cream.’

if we even make it that far, you wanted to mutter, but held your tongue. instead. you jabbed at his shoulder. “yeah, yeah. i’m holding you to that.”

your bantering, since the little skit you put on, never seemed to stop. but your differences never made your heart beat less for him; it only made you more curious. one of the most interesting, being his view on heroes in comparison to yours.

“i appreciate them; i do,” you had said, “but they can’t save us all. kids still go missing. murders still happen. it’s impossible to stop.”

“but they try! they’re humans, too,” he countered. though his tone was harsher than you were used to, you didn’t miss the kindness, the understanding, in his eyes.

“i know,” you said softly. “but – they always say they’re going to ‘save everyone.’” you paused, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “it’s – it’s why i like spider-man, actually.”

you found it curious, how his eyes widened, and his cheeks grew crimson. “what do you mean?” he squeaked out.

“well; he’s not like those other heroes. he looks out for all of us. robberies, drunk drivers … stuff that most of the avengers wouldn’t bother watching out for. i admire him.”

“somebody’s gotta watch out for the little guys,” he murmured as if you couldn’t hear. and those words, stuck in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.

somebody’s gotta look out for the little guys, huh?

italy, 6:34 p.m.

it was dusk, by the time you had left again. hours before, peter parker had walked you to your hotel, where you weren’t surprised to find betty missing. likely with ned, peter had scoffed. you nodded, shrugging. at least you has some peace to yourself. you had shared an awkward moment before he left; he had gone in for a side-hug, while you had expected a full-on one. this had both of you struggling to find a comfortable way to meet, before you settled on a less-than-shitty … fist bump. yeah. a fist bump.

you groaned at the memory, shaking your head. you needed something to clear your head. and that ‘something’ was a boat ride!

you wove through the busy streets, eyes glued onto the boat-stop, humming with delight as you watched one pull into view and –

“rose, lovely?”

you jolted once more, struck into reality as a man in a cap resembling a beanie held out a singular red rose. you shook your head, cursing yourself for not avoiding the packed walkways.

“american, yes?” he tried again, signaling the flower in his hand with the dip of his head.

opening your mouth to offer a curt reply, you instead felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. “um – hi, sorry to interrupt, man. y/n?”

you quickly spun to see peter parker behind you, yet again. “peterrr … hi!!” you quipped, a fake grin splat on the panes of your face.

“hey,” he smiled back, sliding his fingers from your shoulderblade to your hand, entwining them with yours. “let’s get our boat, yeah?” he gave your hand a gentle tug towards the dock, his other occupied with a small pale bag, making a point to raise the one holding yours just enough for the capped boy to see. and, though you shouldn’t have, you squeezed his palm just a little tighter. to remind the fluttering of your heart, that it was real.

when you sat on the slick bench of he raft, peter, alarmed by the pools of water on said bench, shrugged his jacket off, swiftly placing it where you were aiming just before you took your seat. you gave him a quizzical look, to which he replied, “i just – i just didn’t want your jeans to be ruined! they’re pretty.” his voice wavered, soft.

his little display of respect had you over the moon. and though everyone else was out of sight, you hadn’t let go. side by side, hands clasped, the two of you seemed to look opposite ways. you towards the city lights, and peter towards the open waters. but, in reality? you were looking at each other when the other turned away. it was like a game of whack-a-mole, to catch one another red handed. the few times your eyes met, you felt your skin ignite.

the entire ride, not a word was exchanged. but you never moved away. you would feel the occasional squeeze to your hand, which you would respond with one of equal gentleness. They seemed to communicate, ‘is this okay?’

it was short, sweet, the crossing not lasting anything more than ten minutes. when you stepped out, you seemed frozen. his irises, illuminated by fairy lights, were so sweet, like pools of milk chocolate.

but, nothing good lasts forever. the worker on the boat coughed once. twice.

right; money.

you slid your hands into your pockets, grabbing from your wallet … but the boat as gone as soon as you looked back up. peter was sliding a wrecked, leather-bound square back into his pants. you sighed deeply, rolling your eyes. “oh, please. you couldn’t have let me pay you back at least once?”

“pay me back for what?” he asked innocently.

you scoffed, dropping the wallet back where it came. “yeah, yeah, mister hero …” you shook your head, though you could feel tingles of a smile warping the edges of your lips. he had let got of your hand to pay, and though it did not find yours again, you could feel the ghost of his touch linger on your skin. “we have got to stop meeting like this,” you added, referring to the assistance he offered you. two times, now, had he led you away from odd men in this foreign land.

peter shrugged, fiddling with the handle of his paper bag. “at least i means we meet, somehow.” though his words came off as casual, there was a strain in his voice. as if he wanted to say more. “besides; if i didn’t turn out, where else would you be?”

rolling your eyes, your eyes followed the sun, watching it sink below the horizon. “i had it covered …” but, upon seeing his face drop a fraction, you felt yourself soften like warm wax. “okay, maybe i didn’t. you saved my ass, i admit it.” you rose your hands in surrender, a tight-lipped beam lighting your face.

he seemed to perk right up, like a dog receiving praise, posture straightening with delight. you could practically envision a wagging tail.

and you didn’t mind it, when your fingers drifted into his once more as you led each other back to where your class was gathered.

italy, 2:12 a.m.

you kicked your feet beneath the thick bedsheets, the absence of your friend hitting you like a ton of bricks. originally, the two of you planned to stay up late in face-masks, drinking smoothies and eating chocolates. but, where was she now?

with her new boyfriend, obviously. and thor knew how the hell betty managed to sneak into his room.

actually – never mind. your teachers were too much of a deadbeat, to pay attention to the lot of you the middle of the night.

you wrestled with the duvet for a few more moments, both hot and cold wrecking your body. blanket on? too hot. blanket off? too cold. how did people even manage, in such conditions?

you felt your feet touch the fuzz of your slippers as you swung up, laced night-dress crinkling against linen. you wanted to sleep, so badly, yet it never came. each time you closed your eyes, stars would appear, and you would replay your walk home with peter in your head. it was all so strange. you had met only today, really, and it felt like he was your ‘soulmate.’

or, maybe it was you trying to convince yourself that things could work out between you and the coffee-eyed boy.

you kicked your legs, emitting soft thuds to the mattress, unsure of what to do. you’d tried listening to ambience between the time of 1:34 to 1:56, but that didn’t seem to work, though it often times did. you also attempted the classic, ‘counting sheep.’ but, when does that ever really work. you even got so distracted, that you had begun to name the damned sheep that were jumping over your little imaginary fence.

your personal favorites were sir mcwooly and baaa-rney.

toddling over to the small desk by the hotel’s queen’s bed, you rubbed your arms, feeling the goosebumps spiking up on your skin. you sat on the swiveling chair, the small lamp as blinding as the sun when you turned it on. you seethed, squinting as you made a grab for the miniature sketchpad and pen assortment you had packed

you scribbled away, filling pages with tiny stars, before your hand began to flow out portraits of your friends. first, betty; with her shining blonde hair, her sugar-sweet grin. you doodled her and ned, despite the small crack in your heart at the thought of them so happy together. you drew them on the flight together, when you had been kicked out your seat to sit behind them, watching the new couple giggle through the cracks. you added little notes, complaining about their mushiness, about how empty they made you feel.

Needless to essay, the page was ripped from the booklet.

your pen found it’s way to paper once again, this time, the lines forming the familiar silhouette of peter. you started with his doe-brown eyes, making emphasis on the shining in them, the familiarity. though you enjoyed drawing each part of him, something about those eyes had you grounded to them. and it showed; when you were finished – or, more specifically, you noted how cliche you were acting – anyone could see the emphasis you’d placed on his irises. darker than all else in the portrait, white cut-outs of hearts and stars, if you looked close enough, bright against the ink.

you shook your head, gingerly, not to break the paper, tearing the page from the notebook. you set it aside, atop your previous project. the cold was getting to you; you were shaking like a wet dog, and, god, did you feel like you were sick. the small blotches of pen-gel on your hands didn’t help the look. it was like you were catching the plague.

padding for the suitcase propped against the wall, you dug through it, slipping a alpaca-fur sweater over your head. it would leave a mess of hairs, later, but in the moment, it was worth the suffering.

only issue was, your hands were still cold as ever. but you knew just what to do.

italy, 2:59 a.m.

the aroma of milk chocolate wafted through the room, the small kitchen’s floorboards creaking as you twirled and bobbed your head like a bird. you had your earbuds shoved deep into your ears, ramones blasting through the tiny speakers. you were careful to avoid the odd, slimy bits in the floor. though venice was a beautiful city, your academy didn’t seem inclined on letting the lot of you stay in a nice hotel.

whatever; the trip was free, anyways. you’d take what you could get.

you dipped your spatula into the thick, italian-style cocoa, buzzing with delight as you licked a speck of the liquid from your finger. heavy, yet delicious. even just a drop, was like a cup’s worth of flavor of those sad, little packets of hot-chocolate at home.

you poured a bit of the mixture into a small mug, surprised to find a good half of it left in the pot. you groaned, realizing that you did not, in fact, have a personal fridge to store the drink in for later. and you didn’t trust anyone from your class to not steal it from the hotel’s storage unit, if you chose to keep it there.

you’d have to gulp down the whole damned container. it was like sipping on melted-down icing.

you absent-mindedly poured the rest into a matching cup, grumbling at the spare dish you’d clean. you whispered the lyrics to the song playing through your ipod, foot tapping – rather noisily – on the old wood planks.

but, your peace was short-lived.

a small voice seemed to echo you, repeating the very lyrics you thought only you could hear. you pulled one of the buds out, head whipping about until you came face-to-face with peter, who was leant against the cracked doorframe, muttering to the very lyrics you were whispering.

you froze up, quarter-full pot in hand. like a deer in the headlights. “a ramones fan?” you squeaked out as soon as you remembered that you had a voice.

“yeah – yeah. they’re cool,” he replied with equal eagerness. though he made an attempt to look casual, the constant shift in position and blush staining his cheeks opposed it. “how many song d’you know?”

“not many. this just showed up on my playlist, i guess,” you clarified, not quite meeting his gaze.

“oh! that’s fine. music is kinda subjective. and the ramones aren’t exactly in style now, so –”

you cut the poor boy off with a chuckle, holding out a cup of chocolate to him. “now, don’t undermine your tastes over me. hell, i’d be happy to listen sometime.”

“really?” the panes of his face seemed to heighten with joy. “awesome. people don’t usually .. they don’t tend care about that, y’know?”

you nodded, letting go of the mug as he took hold if it’s handle, fingers brushing yours with a spark. “it’s the little things that matter, though. i mean, imagine having someone who just knows everything about you like that?”

he gazed into the cup with wonder, as if pondering your words. “yeah … i mean. it would be easier than having to explain every little thing to ned,” he stuffy joked, scratching at his neck (again; a habit, it seemed) as if there was a switch to turn his awkward energy off.

you gave a polite giggle, leaning over the dusty counter, drink in hand. this silence seemed to be a reoccurring thing between the two of you. you would look anywhere, but each other, until you caught one-another red handed in the act. each time your eyes met, you melted a little, seeing the warmth behind them. and a sprinkle of something else. something dark. lonely. sad.

peter cautiously swiped a tinge of chocolate from the inner rim of the pot, tasting it, with a hum of approval. he took a soggy paper towel off the rack, wiping his fingers free of the sweet treat, before clearing his throat once. twice.

you looked back up, watching him frantically digging through the pockets of his jeans; front left. front right. back left. back right.

… the item he was looking for was, actually, in his hoodie.

when he at last came across it, a wide grin spread across his face, a depiction of relief. you caught a glimpse of red, shining against the soft light of the kitchen lamp.

“turn around?” he pleaded, fiddling with … whatever it was.

though you weren’t sure if you could trust it, the innocent, hopeful look on his face had your knees weak. so you obeyed.

you nearly gasped as you felt warm, calloused hands caress your neck, shifting your hair over your right shoulder. and as, in contrast, a cool metal chain was placed around your throat. as he clasped it together, he seemed to linger there, hands unnecessarily raking through your strands.

not that you minded.

you took the jewelry – a necklace – between your fingers, heart puddling to find a rose made of red glass resting on your skin. “oh, pete … why?”

“i just – i-admire-you, you-know? i-mean,have-you-seen-how-you-work-in-decathlon? or-how-you-help-mrs. warren, even-though-she-can-be-a-little … difficult. not-that-she’s-bad! no! and, um. you’re-gorgeous. not-in-a-creepy-way, but – still. yeah.”

boy, was he out of breath. you could barely understand a thing he said. “peter … i seriously didn’t catch a word of that. slow down, yeah?”

his cheeks grew scarlet as he nodded. “i was just saying that i, kind of, admire you i guess?”

you blinked, fingers that were fidgeting with the bud now frozen. “you admire me? peter parker? well, i must’ve done something right,” you laughed – not quite understanding that his words were, actually, a confession, and not words similar to that of a student and a mentor.

you didn’t catch the grimace of disappointment that passed over his face.

“right … yeah. of course,” he assured, taking a large step back. did your breath smell? you pondered, shoulders tensing. but he only padded to the spare cup, giving you a look of inquiry – to which you nodded – as he picked the ceramic up, taking a swig from the thick drink. you grinned as he pulled away from the mug, upper lip lined with deep brown.

“you’ve got something there,” you quipped, jutting your chin towards his face. he took a swipe at his mouth, missing the small puddle by an inch or two. again. again. by the time he’d given up, you were struggling not to spill your hot chocolate as you guffawed. you tip-toed to his silhouette, napkin in hand, and quickly swiped the dessert off his skin. “there, dork. all fixed up,” you declared.

the smile on his lips quivered, as though to keep it from turning into a full-on, toothy smirk. you lingered, body soaking up the heat radiating off of him. how you longed to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. and oh, gods, how he smelled. warm apple pie, laced with fresh rain.

you wondered if he tasted just as sweet.

but you couldn’t think that way. you shouldn’t have. what you wanted, what you knew, was nothing more than a fantasy. you only ever watched peter parker from the sidelines. hell, you didn’t know what his favorite food was. his favorite colors. all you knew was his favorite subject, how he tugged at his curls while we was stressed. the way he bounced his leg as your teacher spoke, pink lip tugged between his teeth. though, you could never really tell if he was really focusing; the boy’s eyes were always glossy, clouded. like he wasn’t really there. at this point, you were confident he lived inside his laptop screen.

except for the fact that he answered every damned question he was asked.

seriously, it had you rethinking your own intellect.

you didn’t grin back, your own foolishness taking a toll on your mood. you stumbled your way to the sink, his heat leaving your body feeling empty. setting your mug down with a clunk, you couldn’t meet peter’s curious gaze. “i’ve – got to sleep. early day tomorrow, yeah?” your voice was weak, no matter how hard you tried to bring humor to it.

and as you tuned to leave, what you didn’t catch, was the crushed look on your love interest’s face.

the moment you had reached your hotel, you were rather dejected to see betty missing. you scoffed, face-planting on your side of the queen-sized bed, right hand unconsciously shooting up to protect the glass art around your neck from the harsh impact. you gripped it just a fraction tighter as you sighed into the pillows, the heaviness of silence dragging anxiety from the depth of your heart.

it took you a few minutes, to find the strength to get up. but when you did, you slipped into a silken night gown, wrapping your skin in a thick robe to protect it from the cold air. your face was slathered in a gray mask, hair pushed back by a baby-blue headband. you could feel the clay on your face drying, sending a strange tingling sensation through your flesh. ick.

your eyes welled with disappointment as you stared at yourself in the mirror. were you selfish, for wanting your best friend back? you were supposed to be doing this together, face-masks and all. but instead, you had been abandoned for some guy. you blinked back your worries, determined not to let your sullied mood ruin your almost perfectly dried clay. instead, you took a deep exhale, eyes trained on the knob of the hotel’s front door.

it was as if you had summoned it with your eyes; a sharp, quick knock at the dead of night.

you blinked, almost confident that you had been hearing things. but it came again, once. twice. three timed, before you approached it, scowling. if she was going to stay so long with her boyfriend, why come back now?

“you should have just stayed where you were,” you bit out as you swung the door wide open, huffing. your voice was venom, and deep down, you were sure you’d overreacted. but you were hurt. “really, bett! it’s – what – three in the –”

were betty’s eyes always such a deep shade of brown? you didn’t remember her hair being so short.

oh.

oh.

you blinked back your angry tears, wishing you could take each little word back. you’d been a fool, for lashing out at your friend – much less, the wrong one. you rubbed your eyes, barely missing the crusted clay inches beneath. “peter?” you coughed.

“bad timing?” he swallowed, taking a step back from the door; an offer to leave, if you so chose. you felt your heart crack, just a fraction, as you shook your head quickly, opening your door a bit wider.

“more like, bad situation,” you shrugged, far too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “what . . .” you continued, “what are you here for?”

peter’s mouth pinched, as if he was thinking carefully for his next line of words. “i got kicked out,” he finally admitted, a sheepish grin pulling at the panes of his face. “betty took my side of the bed, and i didn’t really want to listen to them flirt all night.”

you giggled, a warm rush coating your skin as you nodded. “you should have seen them earlier,” you replied, spirits lifted with his caring presence. “i couldn’t even get a hold of the girl, for god’s sake. she’s infatuated.” you took a deep breath. the memory wounded you, but it felt nice – to laugh about it with someone who understood. “did you . . want to come in?” you finally asked after a heartbeat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. you looked like a grizzly bear, in your fluffy turtleneck and your dark clay mask.

but he didn’t seem to mind. hell, little did you know, he thought you looked beautiful. sure, he enjoyed watching you from his seat in chemistry. enjoyed gazing at you as you bit your lip while working through an equation, or how you raked your hand through your hair idly, when your fingers had little to do. but above all, he enjoyed this the most. you, in your rawest, most natural state.

“yes. yes, please,” he quipped, slipping past you, into your dimly lit hotel. you trailed after him, the air far heavier than it had been moments ago. what were you to do? the boy you’d been eyeing for ages now stood in the center of your room, looking lost and helpless.

sucking on a tooth, you sighed, “just . . . sit, yeah?” you pulled out the office chair to your right, rolling it just behind him, like the gentleman (gentlewoman, you supposed) you were. “i’ve got to wash this—“ you gestured to your skin, caked in product, “—off my face.”

you excused yourself with a forced grin, despite the butterflies in your stomach. even if you were happy, you were far more bashful than anything else. you gazed into the mirror as you shut the bathroom door behind you, noting the texture of your skin, the dryness of your lips, the bags beneath your eyes. you looked like the devil herself, ruined and exhausted.

you gently scrubbed the mask off, turning the mini-towel you had brought a light grey, so as not to irritate your skin. you didn’t want to teeter out looking like a seeded strawberry.

once your skin shone with water, not a trace of dirt beneath, you dug through your bag for a plethora of items; chapstick, moisturizer, a nightgown, a hairbrush . . . it took you little over twenty minutes, to took anything like the girl you were, this morning.

slipping out the washroom, you tugged at the sleeves of your nightgown, the beige a contrast to the deep red trousers he had chosen.

“so!” you clapped, falling back onto the plush mattress of the hotel bed. “you can take the bed, and i will take the . . . couch.” though it was soggy, and looked a strange color, you couldn't bear the guilt of making him sleep on it. he’d already been kicked from him own room, for christ’s sake.

you had expected relief to wash over his face, but instead, he panicked. “no. no! i can’t let you do that,” he gave you a pointed look, his eyes darting between the cushions and you. “i intruded. i’ll take the couch,” he announced, sitting up a bit straighter.

you were having none of it. “oh, please. you cured my loneliness. i wasn’t the one who got kicked out of my own hotel, was i?”

the brunette’s lips tightened, as though he was about to give in. you watched him hopefully, your tummy fluttering with absolutely glee as a sigh loosened. “yeah. yeah, okay.” he broke out in a grin, and though it looked sweet . . . mischief lurked beneath it. “if,” he continued, peter’s nervous aura replaced with a sly air, “and only if you’re willing to share. i know those couches suck, probably full of germs and mold . . .”

you cringed, remembering the soggy floorboards and furniture of the foyer. did you really want to sleep on . . . that? you could already feel the stale, reeking water encasing your arms. shaking your head, you finally replied. “you’re . . . awfully stubborn. fine. only because i can’t stand the smell.”

the boy before you, however, seemed taken aback, cheeks glowing a red hue. had he not expected you to agree? you stifled a giggle behind a cough, padding to the bed, testing the springs of the mattress with your fingers. “are you tired?”

“very,” he admitted, wincing. “being out all day . . . yeah.”

“right.” guilt washed over you. it was your fault, wasn’t it? you had wanted to explore, and he complied, for your benefit. you sat, patting the space to your right. “please, sleep. i’ll be in soon! i just need to text bett.”

he looked up at you curiously, honey-brown eyes sparkling in the dim light.

you giggled, resisting the urge to ruffle his already-messy hair. “i don’t want her coming back in te morning to a boy in my bed, with no explanation.”

“oh. oh.” his expression as it kicked in, had you rolling. he was distressed, burning up, his words incoherent and quick as lightning. you – gently – slapped his shoulder. 

“get your mind out of the gutter, and go to bed,” you ordered, leaping to your feet to retrieve your phone. you could hear the rusting of duvets and sheets, as he settled in. and only then, did you let yourself really think. you had just invited your gods-forsaken crush to sleep in your bed. with you in it. you were so wound up in nerves, you didn’t even text your friend. you doubted she’d even come back, anyways.

so you simply stood there, for a few minutes, simply . . . watching. watching the way his lashes fluttered, the pattern of his breathing. he fell asleep widely fast, already steady and deep in his dreams. you tip-toed back, until you were slipping into the now-warmed cotton, humming in content. the sound of his breaths, his subtle heartbeat, lullied you to sleep like a sweet song.

the last thing you felt, that night, were his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist.

italy, 9:34 a.m.

it was cold, when you woke up. freezing, in fact. that human warmth from the night before . . . it was gone, but what did you expect? a romantic morning-after scene? you two hadn’t even kissed for christs sake.

you laid there, feeling defeated. had you just made things awkward, between the two of you? would you ever get to speak to one another again, or would he avoid you? but, eh wasn’t like that, was he? no, he was kind, and sweet. and he wanted to share, no? he offered, and you accepted. he couldn’t do this to you.

almost an hour passed before you got up, soles of your feet warm against the ice-cold flooring.

and that’s when you saw it. a single note, crumpled and messy, on your nightstand, amongst the pile of drawings – a few missing, you noticed. his.

oh, shit.

you picked up the sheet of paper, eyes scanning the pages, reading each syllable aloud to yourself.

“you know, it’s rude to draw someone without showing them. i’m awfully offended, and am keeping these!

. . . not because i don’t like them. i love them. a lot. god, you’re talented. they’re cute.

i would have stayed. i wanted to. but i had an emergency, from mr. stark, and didn’t want to wake you with a call, y’know? please don’t be upset. i liked last night. i haven’t slept so well, in a while. maybe it’s a sign we should do it again? if you wanted? maybe?

– peter.”

perhaps this trip wasn’t so bad, after all, you decided as you tucked away the sheet. you’d keep it forever, if you could.

[hearteyespierce]

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favourite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

oof this has been sitting in my inbox for AGES ella sorry!! i have so many opinions about music and i didn't have the energy to pick 5 when you first sent it lmao, i'm so sorry i forgot about it!!!

i've been on an I Only Listen To The Mountain Goats kick lately (in the literal sense, not in the podcast of the same name sense), but i will refrain from listing 5 mountain goats songs lmao, i do actually listen to a variety of stuff i promise 😅 though it will be difficult to narrow it down to only 1 TMG song if i'm being honest. edit post list creation: same w/ all the listed artists tbh. i think i got too involved/detailed on this lmao sorry.

when in comes to music, i get really connected to songs based on memories that get attached to them and am particularly invested in lyrics (vs my partner who is a musician and much more interested in bands doing things musically/technically unique/interesting) so my favs tend to be based on loving the lyrics first and the sound/what is interesting musically second.

but in no particular order:

Autoclave - The Mountain Goats (god this was a tough choice. Idk if heretic pride is my fav album of theirs but it IS very good. my fav album of theirs is, i think, impossible to choose. my friend dan made me a mixtape of TMG songs when I was 18 or 19 because he thought i'd dig them, and he was right. i've been in love with them ever since.) When I try to open up to you, I get completely lost / Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost / And I reach deep down within, but the pathways twist and turn / And there's no light anywhere, and nothing left to burn

Jealous - Camp Cope (this is from Running With The Hurricane, which is their latest album and it's gorgeous. it came out during the early days of COVID and i was living alone in LA in this miserable bachelor unit and would go on walks in the middle of the night in K-Town, where i was living at the time. i very vividly remember the first time i listened to it on one of those walks. this was also my Izzy song back in my intense ofmd days lmao. Camp Cope, my best friend Camp Cope) I'm so jealous / I'll take anything you give to me / Yeah, I'm so jealous / Oh, I'm laying at your feet / Take me, baby / You're never in the wrong / I'm so jealous / Yeah, I'm so jealous of your dog

Cactus Tree - Joni Mitchell (would have been very easy to pick literally anything from Blue but this is, i think, my fav of hers to listen to/sing along to. It's so full of longing, and Songs to a Seagull was her first album. it's so gorgeous. i've loved Joni since i was a little kid because she was my mom's favorite and i have so many good memories of listening to Court and Spark and her live album Miles of Aisles over and over and over again on the floor of the living room or in the car or on my portable cd player in the hallways at school. i used to both sing along to the songs and talk along, reciting her commentary between songs on Miles of Aisles 😅) She will love them when she sees them / They will lose her if they follow / And she only means to please them / And her heart is full and hollow / Like a cactus tree / While she's so busy being free

Easy to Love - Cayetana (i've been attached to Cayetana for years ever since I saw them open for Lemuria many years ago. even finding them through an experience w my abusive ex is not enough to dull my love for cayetana. this song makes me feel so many things and i love this whole album) And sometimes I can't articulate the words trapped in my head / The way the morning does its dizzy dance / And I can't get out of bed / I learn too late / I learn too late

Delicate, Petite & Other Things I'll never be - Against Me! (very difficult pick, Transgender Dysphoria Blues is my fav album of theirs, but I also love a lot of their earlier stuff. This song from Shape Shift With Me - and the whole album tbh - is excellent) I'm still waiting for the visions / Possession has yet to take hold of me / We all want to burn on a pyre / So tell me what kind of witch are you / The skin on your neck looks like a little thin / Don't go sticking it out for me / Like a beggar with a cold cup to fill / I am the dirt under your nails

some honorable mentions:

Easier - Nate Roy (Nate is a former coworker/friend of mine - we've drifted apart but he came out as trans when we were working together and the whole album is about his transition. i've listened to it countless times and it was part of what led to me realizing i was also trans.)

Red Wine Super Nova - Chappell Roan (idk that i need to link this one everyone knows Chappell lmao but still. I'm late to the game on Chappell Roan. i never actually listened to the album in full until this past August right after my cat died because i desperately needed something fun to listen to while i was driving bc most of my music is either sad or angry and would just encourage me to cry which is Not Safe while driving lmao. i fell in love instantly and i love this song so much)

Love Me, I'm a Liberal - Phil Ochs (i just love Phil Ochs and this song is just. funny and depressing and funny. so much of it is sadly still relevant and every time i listen to it, i think about writing an updated version of it with modern references. have genuinely asked my partner to teach me to play the guitar so i can do this. idk if anyone would even want to listen to it though lmao)

will send this ask to a few people but if anyone sees this and wants to do it, please feel free and tag me, i'd love to see your favs!

[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

if it’s not too much could you do stiles stilinski with a masc! reader? maybe the reader is like the new guy or something and stiles is totally bi panicking

no pressure of course! have an amazing day <3

YES. STILES MY BELOVED. Tysm for requesting, I was literally giggling kicking my feet excited when I read stiles in my inbox.

Also, first non-maze runner fic! Hope you enjoy ❤

New kids

Stiles x masc!reader

Set at the start of 3B, you come at the same time as Kira.

Notes: first stiles fic!! *party poppers going off* many more to come, there's already one in my drafts. hope you enjoy!

Warnings: language

You shift your bag on your shoulder as you scan the chemistry classroom for an empty seat, and your eyes fall on the vacant side of a bench near the back of the classroom, beside a girl who quickly darts her gaze away when you meet her eyes.

As you move to sit down, you give the girl a friendly smile and a short wave. "Hey."

"Oh, uh- Hi," she says, a little nervous.

The girl looks kind of familiar, and you remember her as the other new person from the quick orientation session you'd had.

"Is it Kira?" you ask.

At her surprised nod, you grin. "I'm Y/n."

She gives you a shy smile that is just insanely endearing. "You remembered my name," she says, incredulous.

"Yeah, we met yesterday." You unpack your bag as you speak, grabbing a pen and a notebook.

Your pen clatters to the floor as it falls off the bench, and you let out a groan. "Shit."

The pen rolls towards the table beside yours, and you hop off your seat to grab it.

Before you can pick it up though, another hand darts out and swipes it off the floor.

You look up and oh.

Chocolate brown eyes swallow you up as the guy blinks at you, apparently surprised.

"You uh- you dropped your..." he hands the pen to you, fingers brushing against yours slightly as you take it.

"Yeah, thanks," you say, giving him a grin.

The two of you stay like that, crouched on the floor gazing at each other for just a second, before you hear the teacher clear his throat and start the lesson, breaking the moment.

"Thanks," you say again, moving back to your seat.

"Yeah sure, uh, no- no problem."

As the lessons starts, you turn your gaze back to the guy, watching him lean over to whisper with his friend.

There's something about him that... "Stilinski," the teacher snaps, interrupting your thoughts. "Quiet."

Stilinski... You catalogue the name away in your mind.

⭒----⭒

"Scott."

"What?"

"Holy shit, have you seen the new kid?"

"Yeah, she is so-"

"No not her," Stiles cuts off his friend's dreamy sigh. "The boy. Holy shit."

"I think I saw him at the start of the class?" Scott scrunches up his forehead in thought. "Why?"

"He is- I mean, I'm so... I think I- fuck." Stiles' hands clench as he paces around restlessly.

"What, you like 'im?"

"I mean, aggh. I don't know, he just- he dropped his pen, and I picked it up, and oh God. He's literally perfect Scott. He's amazing."

"You... picked up his pen. And then..." Scott's expression is sceptical.

"And then nothing! I gave it back. But I just-"

Stiles sits down, pressing his palms together. "Haven't you ever looked at someone, and just known. You just know you're about to, I don't know, but you're about to."

"I guess," says Scott thoughtfully. "I mean A-"

"Do not say Allison. This isn't like her. And you're not meant to be thinking about her anyway. I thought you moved on." Stiles smacks his friend lightly.

"Okay, well anyway, why don't you just ask him out?" suggests Scott like it's the simplest thing in the world.

Stiles sighs. "It's not like that."

"You don't? ...like him?" asks Scott, confused.

"I do, but- look, you're you, you know," Stiles gestures at 6 feet of werewolf strength.

"And you'd be asking out a girl. I'm me, and I'd be asking out a guy who is probably straight."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"You're totally attractive though," says Scott (bless him).

"Right, thanks buddy," Stiles claps Scott on his shoulder as he moves to walk out.

⭒----⭒

You're rushing to get to the bus when you run straight into someone in the hallway, colliding painfully.

"Sorry," you apologise immediately. "Oh, hi," you grin as you recognise the guy, remembering him as the one from your chem class, then one who picked up your pen.

"Hi," he blinks at you, presumably just blindsided from crashing into you. "Hi," he says again.

"It's Stilinski, right?" you ask.

Before he can respond, you see the bus pulling into the stop over his shoulder.

"Shit, I gotta go. See you 'round!" you call over your shoulder.

You don't catch his dazed "Yeah, bye."

When you've left, Scott turns to Stiles. "So, was that him?" he asks, elbowing Stiles with a teasing grin.

"What even- I don't...." Stiles shakes his head. "Shut up, Scott."

"What's going on?" Lydia walks up to where Stiles is resting his head on his locker groaning, with Scott giggling (yes, giggling) beside him.

"Stiles just met the new guy," explains Scott.

"The hot one?" Lydia arches an eyebrow. "Well, that explains it; I haven't seen Stiles speechless in years."

"God, let's just-" Stiles gestures helplessly to the exit, rolling his eyes at his friends.

⭒----⭒

It's a little while later that you properly meet Stiles.

"Hey, Y/n, I was thinking about going to the library to study with another... uh- friend. Do you wanna come?" Her gaze betrays her as she slides her eyes to a familiar lacrosse player.

"Oh yeah?" you give her a smirk. "Is that other friend McCall?"

Kira crosses her arms, giving you a mock-defiant glare. "Are you coming, or not?"

You laugh. "Yeah, I am."

You meet the group at the town library after school.

"Hey," you greet. "I'm Y/n."

Scott gives you an easy grin as he introduces himself, shaking your hand.

"Stilinski," you say with a smile, turning to the other guy.

"Oh, uh- Stiles."

"Sorry?"

"Stiles is fine, as in, my name."

You blink. "Oh, cool. Stiles it is."

The four of you walk into the library, following Scott to a table, and before you sit down you push Kira ahead.

"He's half in love with you already, you got this," you whisper to her.

"What?" she whips around to give you a scandalised look, but you back away with a grin.

"Hey Stilinski- Stiles." You lightly tug on his elbow. "Help me find a book."

"Wha- oh, sure." He stumbles after you into the bookshelves.

"Uh, what book were you looking for?" he scratches the back of his neck nervously.

"Oh," you send him a sheepish grin. "I just wanted to give Scott and Kira alone time. Cute, aren't they."

"I mean, if disgustingly sugar-sweet is 'cute' in your book, then yeah, they're cute," says Stiles, kneeling down and peering through a gap in some books to look at the pair.

You laugh, covering your mouth with a hand to stay quiet.

The way Stiles looks up at you, before hastily glancing away does not slip past you.

It's a tiny, miniscule thing, but it's interesting.

You spend the rest of the afternoon barely studying, just messing around in the library with Stiles.

After that, you start to meet up with him constantly.

It starts off as more study sessions, and the two of you split off by yourselves under the guise of giving Scott and Kira alone time.

But secretly you just want to spend time with Stiles.

Even in a group setting, you find that Stiles voluntarily talks to you more than others now.

You meet Allison, Lydia, and Isaac, and the whole gang seems to welcome you into their group, but Stiles (plus Kira) is still the person you talk to the most.

It took a little while for him to warm up to you at the start, but you grow to genuinely like him a lot.

He's funny and caring, and he makes you comfortable even as the new addition to the group.

He seems to reciprocate too, snorting at your deadpan jokes and always choosing to sit beside you, leaning over to whisper little comments.

You start to wonder if he likes you too; not just in a friendly way.

You're pretty observant (and Stiles is pretty obvious) so you spot the signs quickly, but you worry that you're being too hopeful.

You've definitely read too much into interactions with guys in the past, and it's rarely easy to tell if someone actually likes you.

Still, you can feel the lingering glances Stiles gives you, and you notice him checking you out when you put that extra effort into looking a little nicer on certain days.

You love to randomly turn and catch his eyes when he's staring at you in the dark during movie nights, making him blush and look away, or, better yet, hold your gaze with that little half-smile.

"Y/n." Kira's voice jerks you out of your thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming? Some of us are going for ice cream."

"Oh, I can't; I'm meeting Stiles this afternoon."

"Oh." She gives you a knowing grin, one eyebrow raised.

You roll your eyes and flip her off, hearing her laugh echo behind you as you walk out.

⭒----⭒

"And then I was like 'fuck you', but obviously I didn't say that, but he's such a dick! He'd deserve it." You throw up your hands in frustration as you complain about a teacher.

"But I avoided detention, so it's fine," you finish.

You look at Stiles to find him gazing at you with a fond expression, a slight smile glowing on his face.

The story was definitely not that riveting.

"Okay, enough." You hop off the beam you've been walking precariously on, and land face to face with Stiles.

"What?"

"I like you. I like you a lot," you tell him. "And either you like me too or you're just giving me all these weird signs that I've been taking the wrong way. You gotta let me know."

He looks taken aback, and you step away carefully, to give him space.

"Do you? Like me?" you ask softly, biting your lip.

Stiles huffs out a laugh. "Damn. Yes, absolutely. Definitely, 100%, I am completely gone for you. I like you, Y/n. I was just scared to ask you out, or tell you, or do anything, cause you know, you could be straight-"

"You thought I was straight?" you ask incredulously.

"Well, not really, but you never know right?"

You smile. "So you like me."

"I like you." Stiles grin matches yours.

"I like you too," you say.

"Great," says Stiles.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you pull him into you and press your lips to his.

Stiles leans into the kiss, and you can feel him smiling against your mouth.

You break apart for air, and you grin at him.

"So..."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

New fandom new format that's fun - the most insane bonus points if you can tell where the silly line under the fic is from (not teen wolf related).

I'm so so glad I finally got to write Stiles, and there's definitely more of him coming up.

Also, I'm so sorry I skipped the request before this - I promise I'm working on it! I just really wanted to write this fic first. Plus writing has been pretty slow lately cause life is hectic, you guys get it. Part 2 of Shields will be up soon ❤

Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed!

[creativeashproductions]

What If...? I // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: The story of Sunset Curve if someone had been able to stop them from the fatal street dogs. A rock and roll family legacy, the reader meets Luke at a concert where he decides she is his endgame, this is a story of their life together.

Warning: Swearing, fluff, female!reader, do street dogs count now??

Words: 3.0k

Requested: By @beautifulblogsblog . The request was detailed so this request with be 5 parts and shorter since I have no clue where 3.0k came from?! Enjoy.

A/N: Interesting fact about the stand where the guys get the streets dogs is the name of shady business is a play on words. Say the name fast and you’ll catch on.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

Los Angeles, Early 1990s

Sunset Curve started as a fun little project for a group of four teenagers from all walks of life and different stories. It came about when a kind blonde boy was trying to find a socially acceptable way to hang out with someone he was currently seeing. It worked because Alex had learnt drumming as a way to work his frustrations out, he didn’t feel like he could punch someone, so boxing was a no go. Luke, the guy he was seeing, had received a guitar from his parents and self-taught himself how to play. The Patterson parents believed it would be a phase and he’d get serious about education.

The duo found out that an acquaintance had been having taken guitar lessons for several years, as a date Luke and Alex discovered him in the music room at school. Somehow another guy, Bobby, joined and then when the relationship between Alex and Luke mutually ended the band floundered. Alex, however, refused to let the breakup affect their friendships. Luke refused to give up the band. Sunset Curve was then forever changed to a permanent band.

In 1993 Luke attended one of his favourite local bands at a venue where he bumped into you. Chemistry and attraction instantaneous between you two, unlike anything before. IN that few second you both knew that you had see the other again.

“Hey! Sorry!” You called out over the loud music glancing over his shoulder at your friends grinning in response. After a bad breakup, Jay and Ro had been pushing you into failed blind dates.

“No worries!” Luke replied, “Gnarly song, hey?”

You nodded glancing at your friends once more, “I better get back to my friends.”

Luke frowned as you gave no indication you felt the spark, he did in the minute of interaction, but he hoped he could change your mind. The encounter settled in his mind as the concert finished, and the clock struck midnight.

Ro and Jay hounded you for leaving a gorgeous guy with the same music taste, but you just felt wrong to lead him on. Sure, you felt something for the guy but look how the previous relationship turned out.

“After James…”

“He’s an ass,” Ro spoke frowning at the tone you used for your ex. A two-year relationship with a guy you thought would be your forever love, “Girl, I would date you in a second! You’re a strong woman who doesn’t need a man. But that doesn’t mean having a little fun…”

“He’s gorgeous.” Jay supplied looking over at the boy whose attention was sucked back into the music by the band Weezer. The band is an inspiration for his music, “Look at his arms. Cut off muscle shirts were explicitly made for him.

“If I see him again. I’ll think about it.” You sighed chuckling as Jay made a face at the song being played. Jay didn’t like this kind of music, but she loved you too much to not be there when you were still hurting.

A few weeks later in a bookstore, you waited for your Aunt’s book club to end so you could help close the store and go home. The sound of a guitar brought your head over the couch to see that guy with a band from the concert; all of them playing instruments. Godlike he couldn’t get any more perfect, then he started singing. You were a goner.

“You should try the cheesecake bites.” You spoke coming up behind the guy at the snack table, “So you like Weezer, play guitar in a rock band and you sing?”

Luke was surprised at the sight of you, “Hey. I..uh…yeah. Always been a fan of rock.”

“I grew up on it. My parents met at a Rush concert, and a year later they were married.” You spoke leaning back against the wall, “Dad’s on the road right now.

Alex noticed Luke talking to a girl across the room as he packed up his kit, a pinch of sadness felt, but he pushed it away. They ended for a reason, and they just didn’t care about each other the same way. Alex was happy for his friend.

“Is he in a band?” Luke asked glancing at the band shirt you tied into a crop top and a pair of shorts. It was gorgeous but straightforward on you.

“Yeah. The tour bus was kind of my first home, I guess.” You chuckled looking at the guy, “Hey sorry for being standoffish at the concert. It was lame of me.”

Luke smiled, crossing his arms and smiling when he noticed your eyes wander to his arms before you met his gaze again. He usually wasn’t so confident, but God, there was something that drew him to you. He’d hoped he would bump into you again.

“It’s cool.” Luke shrugged, “If I say something really cool, could I get your number?”

You smiled, grabbing the sharpie in your back pocket before gently taking his arm. Scribbling the number on his arm to glanced up to his awed expression.

“Call me.” You replied before pushing off the wall to head to the where your Aunt was starting to close up, “I have a personal line.”

Luke beamed happily following Reggie out the door, a grin that didn’t leave his face. He called. After a date, he called nightly, and a relationship was born.

Your converse slapped on the sidewalk as you sprinted to the band studio beyond excited to see Luke after two weeks of family time on the road. You missed him. He was coming out of the studio they rented when he glanced up. He stumbled back when you slammed into him full force.

 “Whoa!” Luke yelped as he caught his balance and squeezed you close to him, breathing in the scent that was just you, “I missed you so much.”

“Me too.” You breathed hurriedly kissing him in response, “I just got back, and I had to see you.”

The entire world fades away as you guys kissed as if you hadn’t seen each other in months rather than a few weeks. His one hand moving to cup the back of your neck and the other squeezing your hip. Yours wrapped around his neck.

Your heads tilting to deepen the kiss when a voice interrupted you.

“Gag me with a spoon.” Bobby spoke, walking by with a grimace, “Nice that your back so Luke will stop moping but too bad since I’ll have to see that.”

“Oh, shut up, man.” Luke shoved him playfully before he picked up his abandoned guitar case and held your hand tighter, “You’ll understand when you find someone.”

Reggie and Alex waved as they continued on, Reggie would have to endure a tense supper with his parents, and Alex had family plans as well. Luke, however, was bringing you home to see his parents; out of his life choices, Emily and Mitch adored you.

“Come on.” Luke smiled, kissing your cheek as he tugged you to the sidewalk refusing you let you go on the walk to his place. Luke listened as you told stories from your time with your parents; he had allowed to meet them. Every time, however, last-minute details kept Luke from meeting your father.

“So, I have some news…” You playfully said coming to a stop at the front door of his house with a grin. Luke’s little grin appeared at how happy you looked and the sunburn on the tip of your nose.

“Yeah?”

“You know Poison Monarchy, right? The club.” You questioned moving to lean against the brickwork, you were expected to see his reaction. Luke’s eyes brightened at the mention of a famous club that jumpstarted a few bands.

“Of course! The guys and I snuck in to see this radical band. We got kicked out, but man it was such a cool night.” Luke grinned slipping into the memory of being where local bands got big, and most went on to place The Orpheum.

“Well-“

“Luke.” Luke’s dad Mitch spoke from the open doorway with a look of displeasure at the guitar case resting at the teen’s feet.

Luke automatically straightened his posture at the sight of his stern father waiting in the entrance. His hand keeping yours when it started to slip out.

“Dinner is getting cold,” Mitch spoke, turning his attention to you. His stern expression breaking into a genuine smile, “Y/N, it’s nice to have you over.”

Luke was led into his own house by you as you enthralled Mitch in a story about something you saw on the road. His Mom was putting the last dish on the table when the kitchen livened up with the new additions. Emily was quick to tug you into a huge before everyone washed up.

Luke was kind to walk you home after dinner with his parents where he could breathe again from the expectations in his home. His arm slung around your shoulder, humming a new melody that had been in the back of his mind.

“So, I hope you guys are free Friday.” You spoke nestling further into his side content in his jacket he had draped over your shoulders.

“Why?” Luke questioned, tilting his head to kiss your temple. His fringe tickling your forehead as he did so.

“The regular band isn’t able to play, and they were looking for a replacement. My Aunt-“

“-who owns the book store you finally talked to me at-“

You chucked at Luke’s words, “Anyways, her brother-in-law went to high school with the owner, and I may have dropped your band, and well you have a gig.”

“I love you,” Luke exclaimed stumbling back at his words. Your eyes widened in response, “Oh god. That is not how I wanted to tell-“

“You love me?” You shyly spoke, staring at the boy that held your heart in his hands ever since the first real conversation. Luke’s face turned bright red as he stuttered out mindless words. Something in your eyes changed that, and the confidence returned with a shade of shy.

“Yeah. I do. I have for a while, but I know how that loser broke your heart, and I didn’t want to rush you.” Luke spoke cupping your cheek in his hand, “But I really love you. Like, not some puppy love either. I see two things in the future. Sunset Curve and you.”

“Luke-”

“And I know it’s only been a year, and we’re barely seventeen, but I’ve only been sure about two things in my life. You don’t have to-“

“Luke! I love you too.” You laughed, reaching up to kiss him with all the love you could pour into it. Love you loved him, and God help him, he adored you, “Well Rockstar, better plan your setlist.”

You breathed cradling his hands still cupped on your cheeks each bearing a grin of pure happiness because this was a perfect moment; just Luke and you in love. That was all that was needed.

Two years flew by for Sunset Curve and your relationship with Luke did as well and with every relationship came ups and downs. After a nasty fight, you came to a compromise to never go to bed angry, Luke had spent the entire night on your porch. He got sick, and you made up. After performing at Poison Monarchy, the first time they had monthly gigs there, they would busk on the street for extra cash. Luke bought you a promise ring with his busking savings just before the big blowout with his parents on Christmas.

“Luke?” You yawned opening the door to a sobbing teenager. You were quick to yank him in the house out of the cold.

Luke broke down that night after running out on his Mom for the usual argument he had based on his dreams. The next few months he would alternate staying at Reggie, Alex’s or your place if your parents were gone. The subject was too sensitive, so you ignored the elephant topic in the room instead of addressing it.

“Babe, we did it.” The glee in his voice was by far one of your favourite things to listen to. You were sitting on the bar with him leaning back between your legs. Both your eyes scanning the empty area of The Orpheum.

“You guys did it.” You breathed, “You pour yourself into this band. You guys finally get the accomplishment.”

The rest of the band had joined you guys in complete silence to take in the monumental moment in their lives. Something you didn’t want to tell the boys was that with a little nudging, your father had spread the word of an up and coming band. His words would be bringing people in the business tonight.

“So, I’m thinking we close with Now or Never.” Alex offered, “It’s our high-level energy song, and to close with it would be perfect.”

“Our third song could be ‘Home is Where My Horse Is’ and go int-“Reggie cut himself off when the band gave him the usual look, “Oh come on! We need to give a little taste for when we dropped a country album.”

“I-“ Luke shook his head disregarding the same thing that happened at every gig they had done, “We’ll start practising. See you in a bit.”

Luke swiftly kiss you before shoving around with the boys to the door backstage glancing over with a heart-stopping smile. You watched intently as they began their soundcheck for the gig buzzed on the excitement.

“They’re good.” A beautiful girl spoke wiping down the counter beside you—her brown eyes watching the band perform.

“They are. I’m Y/N.” You grinned as she introduced herself as Rose, “The two on the ends are single.”

Her chuckle spoke for itself as she moved away to put glasses away behind the bar, her tight curls bouncing as she walked. You see Bobby and Reggie had their eyes pinned on her while Luke’s head was in the clouds or his eyes meeting yours.

“So, the restaurant is ready when they are.” The gritty voice spoke from behind you. Standing in the flesh was your father who you immediately jumped at.

“Dad!” You exclaimed happily that he had finally been able to come to see the guys play. It was always a wrong time when he was supposed to meet the band.

It’s what happens when he happens your father happens to be in one of the biggest rock bands around. Little people knew who your father was, even Luke just knew he was in a band and called him by his last name out of respect. He had never met him face to face, however.

“So, the frontman is Luke?” Lancaster, Lance for short, questioned his daughter leaning beside her, “Remember when your type was a football player?”

You snorted at his words since he had never liked your ex-boyfriend James. Lance had heard stories from your mother and you about Luke. Lance so far liked the teenage boy. He trusted you wholeheartedly to make responsible decisions.

“Oh, shut up.” You spoke, pushing his shoulder, “How was London?”

“Same as usual. Met up with the guys.” The sombre tone was enough for you to know he had been celebrating a close friend. Even with Freddie’s illness, your father hadn’t been able to leave his side and even four years after the death of Freddie Mercury, it still cut Lance up.

“I’m happy you’re home.” You spoke smirking when the band finished their soundcheck heading to the waitress immediately after. Bobby, no doubt flirting while the other searched for you, “Man, this is gonna be good.”

You raised your hand to your boyfriend, who quickly made his way over with a huge grin and heavy breathing.

“Man that was as exhilarating as our-“

“Luke!” You nervously chuckled quickly kissing him before he could embarrass himself in front of your father. Luke frowned at your tone before he glanced over to the side. Alex and Reggie making their way over, “Guys, things aligned perfectly. I want you to meet my father.”

Luke’s eyes widened as it clicked that he had almost told his girlfriend’s father he was sleeping with her. His Adam’s apple gulped at the fear that flooded his veins. The father in question turned, and the band as a collective released the most hilarious gasp of shock.

“That’s-“

“Lance Y/L/N. By your expressions, I assume you know my stage name.”

“Lancaster Jameson.” Alex squealed having to grab Reggie’s arm to keep himself upright.

“Your father is Lancaster Jameson?!” Luke exclaimed, “You didn’t tell me you’re a literal rock legacy!”

You could hold back the laugh waiting to fall from your mouth at their reactions to your family history. The excitement was overpowering everything else.

“He just watched us perform.” Reggie breathed, hitting Alex in the chest, “My dream has been reached. My goal is finished.”

“While they calm down, I’ll see you later,” Dad spoke kissing the side of your head as he whistled his way to the entrance. The group was collapsing almost only regrouping to make fun of Bobby. You are tugged with them.

“Ok, well, I’m thinking we fuel up before the show. I’m thinking of street dogs.” Luke announced happily, whereas you made a disgusting face.

“No.” You shook your head at the suggestion. There was no way you were going to down a street dog before their gig.

“It would be fitting.”

“No. I have a feeling that street dog would have been your last. The place is called Sam N Ella’s guys, if you say it fast, it comes out salmonella.” You spoke glaring at Reggie went to say something, “No. We’ll head to have food with my folks and some of their friends.”

“Getting food with a rock legend? Heck, yes!” Alex spoke already heading for the door with Reggie right behind, “Street dogs are in the past!”

It was a beautiful night. Sunset Curve got a ton of offers, and many demos were taken from the group as well. They also didn’t die.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED!)

@safehavenmuse​ @siennanoelle01​ @whiterose291​ @mell-bell​ @blackhood5sos​ @ficrecsideblog​ @ifilwtmfc​ @deadpoolgirl23​ @crappy-unicorn​ @sunsetcurve-h​@elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals​ @popcrone818​ @lolychu​ @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[volleychumps]

Heyy!! 💙 Selena here! Would It be posible yo request a scenario, please? So its a normal day at school and suddenly the reader overhear a conversation of her current boyfriend with one of his friends in which he confesses that he's just dating the reader to win a bet of 1.000 yens? Completely crushed she doesn't know how to react but she was not the only one accidentally listening.Noya who has a huge Crush on reader was also there... ¿ What would he do now? Nsfw included please! Enjoy!

It would be possible!! This turned out really fluffy instead of nsfw content just because I like to have a build-up of things, I hope that’s alright<3 🥺

And my inbox has been flooded with need for more Noya so🥰

On the Line. (Nishinoya Yu x Reader)

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Noya, you’re drooling again.” 

The libero wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, shooting a glare at a grinning Ennoshita, who casted a glance at your laughing figure a few seats away as his grin widens. Before Nishinoya Yu could completely deny that assumption, he stills in his seat when your eyes flit over to his brown ones, your lips stretching out in a warm smile as you offer a timid wave. 

God, why did you have to smile like that?

Blinking out of a trance, the libero turns away from your direction abruptly as Ennoshita continues to sip his box of strawberry juice, somewhat used to his friend’s odd behavior when it came to you as the second year hums, a teasing tone to his voice. 

“Considering the amount of girls you’re known to fawn over-” 

“excUSE ME-” 

“Y/N’s been kind of a long term thing, no?” Ennoshita questions casually, flipping a page in his manga he had open throughout the lunch period as Noya goes to defend himself- only to open his mouth and shut it again quickly, for he had no defense to that statement. 

“Don’t kid yourself, Y/N’s just a close friend.” Noya chuckles somewhat forcibly as Ennoshita’s eyes lift from his page to arch a challenging brow. “Besides-” 

Brown eyes soften, voice cracking a tad bit as he watches your boyfriend poke his head into the classroom door as a smile- a smile that wasn’t for him- brightens your features more than when you looked at him did. 

“Close friends shouldn’t cross lines when they’re obviously drawn.” Noya finishes, and Ennoshita’s eyes fall back down to his manga, his wrist flicking to throw the empty juice carton at his friend’s head as Noya catches it with a glare. 

“Stick with drooling over Kiyoko- you’re scarier when you say serious stuff.” 

“I’ll have you know- wait, scarier?” 

“Dude, have you met yourself?” 

Before a snarky retort can be made about Ennoshita’s lack of empathy, Noya quiets down to realize you were no longer in the classroom, and Ennoshita had successfully distracted the libero from watching you leave with your boyfriend. 

“I don’t know whether to thank you or punch you.” 

“The former would be great, thanks.” 

--------------------------------------------------------

“uGH practice is such a pain.” Noya whines as Tanaka whistles lowly in agreement from next to him, the iconic duo feeling lucky practice was delayed for the day due to Ukai’s tardiness, the coach getting held back by a prior engagement. 

“I’ll meet you in the gym later?” Tanaka questions after Noya had released a groan after the realization that his notebook had been left behind- a notebook that held at least a dozen late homework assignments that needed to be in by tomorrow. 

“Yeah, man- Tell Daddy Dai I’ll be there in a few.” 

“Still can’t believe he lets you call him that.” 

“Oh he doesn’t- on second thought he does. Tanaka, if you love me you’ll call him that when you see him.” 

“Who the hell loves you?” His best friend sneers as Noya puts up a peace sign accompanied by a wide grin as he walks off, his smile lessening when his back turns again to his lonely trek in the mostly empty hallways of Karasuno. 

Yeah, who would?

Before he can stifle it, your face popped up into his mind along with a tug at his heartstrings as Noya continues his slow walk back to his classroom, a glazed look taking over his eyes as he wonders if you made it home safely with that asshat of a boyfriend- 

Until he saw it. 

Noya pauses mid-step, the glazed look being blinked away as he saw you standing outside a classroom that wasn’t yours, the door open slightly ajar as your hair skewed the image of your face. An excited smile spreads on the libero’s face at the thought of an unexpected conservation with you, his pace picking up until he sees something that made his breath hitch in his throat as he stands two steps away from you. 

Your eyes were brimmed with unshed, shining tears that seemed to threaten to spill over at any moment, and before Noya can ask you why on instinct, you had grabbed his arm in a tight grip, putting a weak finger to your lips as you signal him to stay quiet. 

With furrowed brows, the libero complies, leaning against the wall next to you as he remains focused on your grip on his arm, an involuntary blush rising to his cheeks at the situation at hand-

but it didn’t last very long. 

Noya’s ears perk up at the sound of a very familiar voice- a voice that he dreaded hearing call your name every day during break times. 

“...yeah, man- I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” 

He felt your grip seem to loosen on his arm.

“With Y/N? Dude, I don’t know why you would go so far for 1000 yen-” 

He watched a painful expression cross your face as your eyes widened in absolute disbelief. 

“Right? I thought it would be easy, but she looks at me like I’m the best thing to ever happen to her, what would you do in my situation?” 

But the instigating factor? 

“Dump her. You agreed because she seemed cute and easy, right?” 

When the tears tipped over the eyes he loved, his vision turned into a blurry fit of rage, shoving off the wall before ripping his arm from your grasp as you attempt to keep him next to you. Noya stops for a second when your hand reaches out to grab at the back of his shirt material, your reddened eyes widening when the libero smiles a closed-eye grin at you, mouthing the words you needed to hear most. 

It’ll be okay. I’ll be back.

“1000 yen richer, I guess. Anyways, I wonder where that airhead-” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as a fist collided with his cheek, Nishinoya seething so angrily he hardly spared a glance at the friend that made a dash for the exit at the arrival of the school’s known-troublemaker.

All those days watching you be with him. A hidden part wishing he was him. The convincing of himself that he was happy you were happy-

 Noya’s eyes mimicked the ones in which he was on the court, eyes spinning dangerously serious as brown eyes narrowed, a fist grabbing at your boyfriend’s collar from where he now laid with a slightly cracked lip. 

When this was how things were all along? 

“What the hell are you doing?!”

A humorless chuckle. “What does it look like? A fucking tea party?” 

When his fist reels back again, he stops when he feels a hand rest gently on the back of his elbow, Noya just knowing from the touch that it was you as his tense muscles relax almost immediately. 

“N-Noya...” 

At the sound of your cracked, stuttering voice, the libero releases a heavy sigh, releasing your now ex-boyfriend’s shirt so that at least his head hits the classroom floor as Noya stands protectively in front of you. 

“Bastard...you think you’ll get away with something like this?” Your ex seems to chuckle a tad deliriously as Noya ignores him, shuffling through his pockets before dropping a few crumpled bills at his feet, your ex finally taking notice of you with widened eyes.

“I don’t care. I just get suspended again, but you?” Noya sneers, kicking the bills towards what he had always considered not good enough for you. “You fucked with the wrong person, asshole. Here’s 4300 yen (about 40 USD), whatever shitty bet you had going on is off, don’t even look her way anymore. Not like you deserved it in the first place anyway.”

With that, Noya spun on his heel to grab your hand hastily, adrenaline running through his veins before he feels you freeze at the sound of his voice. 

“Y-Y/N, baby please-” 

“I don’t know if he didn’t make it clear enough,” You glance at him once more, etching the image into your mind before mentally discarding it. “But we’re through. If there was any we to begin with.” 

Noya’s brows reach towards his airline before he releases a low whistle at you’re words, surprised when you’re the one to lead him out of the class, stopping only when you reach the exit of the school. 

“Y/N-” 

“Have anywhere I can maybe, I don’t know, cry?” 

Noya’s eyes widen as a million thoughts flit through his head as he takes a chance. Slowly, he turns your figure so you’re facing him fully, gently prying the hands that covered the features you now deemed ugly away before tucking your face into his chest- 

the libero determined to make you feel as beautiful as he saw you as, feeling the sobs wreck through your body as your hands tightened at the shirt material on his chest.

Looks like he’ll be missing practice today. 

----------------------------------------------------------------

“You didn’t have to go that far.” 

You smile a little at Noya’s look of seriously? from his place in the kitchen, causing you to giggle a little from underneath the blanket he had given you as you relaxed a bit more into his couch. The smile dwindles as you wonder how you had gotten here, puffy-eyed and broken-hearted in the house of someone you deemed as a close friend- 

but why had your heart beat picked up when his back was to you in that classroom as he faced your ex? Why did that smile he casted to you before rushing in to defend your dignity make you loosen your grip on his shirt as a newfound feeling emerged in your stomach?

Had he always been there? Just in that little pocket in the back of your mind, waiting to be seen, as someone simply stood in front of him? 

“I left my homework at school for you. I’m expecting my payment in m&ms.” 

You shake your head of those thoughts just as Noya sets down a steaming mug of hot tea in front of you, and your eyes widen before you subconsiously raise a hand to his hair, retort falling silent. 

Noya blushes, eyes narrowing at the small giggle that slips your lips as he occupies the couch seat next to you. “What?” 

“Your hair’s not being held up by like, three different products of hair gel.” You observe, genuinely interested in his soft locks as the heat in the libero’s cheeks deepen before he scoffs. 

“Two actually, imagine being uneducated.” 

“Imagine assaulting someone because of a childish bet.” 

“It was self-defense.” 

“In what way?” You find yourself laughing as Noya turns fully towards you, a lopsided grin on his lips that had your laugh dying down at the pounding in your chest.

“You’re pretty when you laugh.” 

Embarrassed, you retract your hand from his hair hastily before picking up the mug and taking a deep sip, flinching at the heat as Noya calms his nerves at the girl he’s been in love with acting so cute next to him.

The mug hits the table gently as you set it down, a far-off look in your eyes as Noya takes his share of the blanket, wondering if you were uncomfortable with the proximity before you relax into his side, your head leaning on his shoulder. 

“I have to wonder...if all I was had been a game all along.” 

“Apparently the no sad talk rule I put in place before we entered my domain was ignored, and it shows.” 

You go to swat him playfully before Noya catches your wrist, brown eyes soft and looking at you as if he were afraid you would break at any moment.  

“Y/N, you’re literally the prettiest, nicest girl in the grade- it’s not your fault you decided to make the worst possible choice.” 

A pink dusts across your cheeks at the compliments before you pout. “But it kinda is.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Oh yeah?” You laugh into your mug, not realizing Noya had been watching you with a gaze you were used to catching in the middle of breaks or class. “And who would be a better choice?” 

“Are you joking?” 

You blink at the deadpan of Noya’s voice before he scoffs as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Ennoshita. Are you dumb?” 

“I was thinking more you, but yeah I could totally-” 

The couch is soft against your back as the blanket drapes over Noya’s back as you find yourself sandwiched between him and the couch, his hands placed firmly next to your head to support himself as he keeps his weight off of you. Your eyes trace over his features as his brown eyes seem to seriously stare into yours, your faces inches apart.

“You can’t take it back.” 

You melt into the feel of his lips upon yours, smiling into it as something in you just feels so right in this moment, pushing him back a little as soon as his hand trails down to your waist. 

“Noya, I just got out of the worst day of my life-” 

“Then I’ll make every day better than the last.” 

“It’s not too soon?” You ask worriedly as Noya digs his face into your neck, and you blush when his lips move against your neck. 

“Nothing’s too soon when I’ve been waiting this long, babe.” 

Noya smirks when your skin seems to heat under his touch, feeling you squirm when his hands move to rest on your waist gently as he peppers your neck in kisses. 

“How long have you been waiting?” You pout, pulling Noya out of your neck as the libero scoffs, his lips moving to trace up your jawline before making his way across your cheek sweetly, stopping only when his lips hover over yours. 

“Too long, apparently.” 

“C-Can I kiss you?”

Rolling his eyes, Noya cups your face gently as his thumb traces your cheek, speaking against your lips as he feels your lips curl upwards into it. 

“I don’t know if I have to make this clear- but you don’t have to ask your boyfriend for permission, babe.” 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @dreebbles @savemesteeb

[wkemeup]

James

inbox request: “Hii, I was thinking that you could write for the By Any Other Name one shots about (all) the times she still called him ‘James’?“ and “...reader ever gets triggered back to any traumatic situations that happed when she was with brock...” by anonymous ❤️ pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: PTSD symptoms, dissociation, nightmares, attempted sexual assault a/n: for the anon who requested her calling him James, I swear I didn’t intentionally start out to make this angsty, but it felt right. Also doesn’t surprise me that the angstiest one shot so far is definitely the longest lol. oops.  🌹series masterlist 🌹

“Don’t get cocky just because you survived your first assignment,” Bucky warned, rolling his eyes as Sam sprawled out on the chair in Bucky’s office. Wide toothed grin and the lipstick of an agent on his cheek welcoming him back to HQ after four months under in a biker gang outside of Albuquerque, Sam’s ego had nearly tripled.

“I can and I will,” Sam replied with a snort, sinking further into the chair and kicking up feet up to rest on the desk.

Before Bucky could retort, a short vibration from his cell buzzed against his pocket. He didn’t have a chance to speak as he put the phone to his ear before the voice of a woman came through, firm and calm, though there was a slight edge in her tone. A bated breath. And then -- 

“Is this Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, throwing a look at Sam that quickly faded the playful smile from his face as he straightened in the chair. 

“Yes. Who’s this?” 

“My name’s Maria. I work with Y/n at the university,” she explained, a little rushed. “Somethings happened... a fire in the break room and... well... she keeps asking for James.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was rare when you called him by that name. In the beginning, it had slipped out on occasion; little moments here and there when you were absorbed in your book or focused in the kitchen and the unconscious habit spilled through the cracks. It was always followed up with dozens of sweet apologies because you knew how much it meant to him when you called him by his name – his real name -- even though he told you as many times that he didn’t mind.

But lately, he only heard that name through your screams in the middle of the night, under the faint glow of moonlight seeping in through the curtains and sweat beaded on your forehead, through stammering heartbeats and tears streaming down your cheeks. When you couldn’t quite remember where you were or the last year since your husband had died and you’d been freed from under his reign. It disoriented you, threw you back into the midst of Hydra and James Karpov and sometimes it took longer than Bucky could bare before you came back to him.

Maria sighed. “I don’t know who James is, but I thought you might be the next best bet.”

“Y-yeah,” Bucky chocked out, snapping himself from the strange sense of shock. “I’m on my way.”

He lunged for his keys, gave Sam a short grimace to which he nodded in understanding, and rushed out the door.

“What happened? Is she hurt?” Bucky questioned as he sprinted through the halls, pushing past agents and shoving aside interns carrying dozens of files in their hands.

“I couldn’t find any new burns,” Maria confirmed, though there was a trembling ache in her voice she was clearly trying to push aside. “She seems alright physically. I don’t think she got too close to the fire, but… I’ve never seen her like this before. She won’t say a word to anyone without James. Do you know who she’s talking about?”

Bucky gritted his teeth as he flung open the car door, slid inside, and threw it into reverse. “Yeah, I do.”

Sam must have called in for a police escort it seemed, because they met him at the gate with flashing lights and sirens at the ready. Bucky told them through the windows he needed to get to Columbia as fast as possible, and they nodded without question, even though his voice was wavering in every syllable.

By the time he got there, as he burst through the front doors and raced through the halls, it felt like he was drudging through sand, through mud up to his waist, with anvils tied to his ankles and weights shackles on his shoulders. He didn’t stop to pay attention to the students as they stared at him as he ran past.

He found Maria standing at the edge of the hallway next to a fireman and a yellow tape blocking off the area. She softened as he saw him sprinting towards her. Maybe she noticed the sweat on his shirt or the panic in his eyes, but she stepped aside quickly and gestured for the fireman beside her to do the same.

“She’s down by the break room,” Maria told him. “I couldn’t get her to move. EMTs are with her but I’m not sure if she let them examine her yet.”

Bucky nodded, muttering out a short ‘thank you’ before he pushed down into the hallway.

Sure enough, there you were. Sitting on the floor, knees tucked up to your chest, staring straight ahead at the lockers opposite you. There was a vacant look in your eye as you ran your right hand across the scars on your left; discoloration and raised edged that extended around your wrists where the wires had once dug through your skin and the scorch of a fire burned.

An EMT was standing beside you, trying to grab your attention, but you wouldn’t even look at him. He exchanged a look with his buddy as they noticed Bucky approaching. He gave them a quick flash of the badge tucked into his pocket and they stepped back.

Slowly, Bucky knelt down at your side. He could see the faded burn marks on your forearms, nearly seamless to the color of your skin, but still raised and distorted, though they were clearly from the fire over a year earlier. There didn’t appear to be any new marks; no burns on your clothing or red patches upon your skin save for the imprints of your nails upon your hands and you dug them in for relief.

“Y/n?” he called gently, though you didn’t turn in his direction, almost as if his voice were miles away. 

He’d only seen you like this once before; the night Rumlow had roped Peter into the underworld of Hydra’s crimes. You’d been so still, so petrified, that you practically looked right through him. It took a while for you to come back to your surroundings, to recognize where you were. He thought about what your friend Maria had said and who you were asking for. 

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s James. I’m here,” Bucky eased, soothing a hand along your shoulder. You blinked a few times, recognizing his voice, his name, and you turned to him.

“James?” you whispered, relief quickly sweeping through you. You threw yourself into his arms, causing him to stumble back against the wall, but he held you steady.

“Yeah, honey. I’ve got you.”

He could feel the tear marks on his skin where you pressed your face to the crook of his neck. He tried not to stiffen his body, to prevent the muscles from turning to stone and his hands from curling to fists. He couldn’t stand that Rumlow still had this power over you.

It made his blood boil and rage churned like fire in his chest, but he held onto you with the tenderness you needed. He nodded as you called him James, as you stroked your fingers through the short wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, you pulled back. You seemed to recognize what happened, remembered the fire as your turned back to look at the break room and the firemen exiting the building. Realization clicked and you glanced up at him; eyes red with tears.

“Bucky?”

Instant relief. 

He offered you a gentle smile, prepared, because he knew the wave of apologies that would follow. He’d hold you in his arms, whisper over and over again that it wasn’t your fault, that he didn’t mind you called him James, that he understood. You didn’t always believe him, but he tried.

***

That name quickly became a warning. You’d loved James Karpov, but you loved Bucky Barnes, too. It mattered to you that you called him by his name, no matter how many times he told you otherwise. So, when you used that name, when you called him James, he knew something was wrong.

“Agent Barnes?”

Bucky glanced up at the intern standing in the door frame; nervous grimace on his face and a tie hung a little loose around his neck.

“You have a visitor, sir.”

Bucky shook his head. The sun had already gone down hours ago and he’d been up for days trying to find a connection in the financial records of a white-collar businessman to an underground trafficking ring for Sam and the rest of his former team. It meant another all-nighter at the office, but he knew Steve wouldn’t have asked if they didn’t need the help.

“It’s late, Miles,” Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “See if they’ll reschedule for tomorrow. I’ve got a lot of work to do on this case.”

“Sir, I really think you should see this one.”

Miles stepped aside, moving back to his desk sitting outside Bucky’s office, and leaving the entrance open. Then, almost as if he were imagining it, Bucky heard a muffled meow just beyond the door.

“James?”

Bucky dropped the file in his hands as you approached the edge of his office. Dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt two sizes too big for your frame, dark circles under your eyes, and Cheddar held tight in your arms amongst a pile of blankets inside his carrier, you looked as though you hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/n?” Bucky walked around the side of his desk, making his way to you and gently pulling the carrier from your hands and setting it upon the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you replied with a shrug. 

It had been two days since he was home. It happened sometimes, not often, but enough that you knew what it meant; that the team needed him. You understood, you always said as much, and Bucky called when he could, had takeout delivered to the apartment for you and promised to make it up to you when he got home.

But something was different this time.

“I, um,” you started, glancing around the office nervously. “I keep thinking I’m seeing things. In the dark. In the shadows.” You cleared your throat as Bucky furrowed his brow, a sort of embarrassment seeping through. “I keep seeing Brock.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He led you to the couch in the corner of the room and as he eased you down, he turned to find Miles closing his office door with a sad smile. Bucky leaned down and opened Cheddar’s carrier, letting the cat roam freely around the office, though he decided rather quickly to jump up onto the couch beside you and curl up against your thigh.

“I know it’s crazy,” you said, running your fingers along Cheddar’s spine as he began to purr, “but I… I keep wondering… what if he’s out there? They never found a body, right? I mean… it’s possible he escaped and—”

“It’s not,” Bucky interjected as gently as he could. He remembered the vacant look in Rumlow’s eyes, how he dropped to the ground in a mess of his own blood. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind. As you looked at him again, there were tears in your eyes. “I promise you, sweetheart. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you.”

“I want to believe that,” you whispered, stare dropping down to the floor.

Bucky could see the tension in your jaw, in your shoulders, and how your eyes flashed over to the windows. He pressed a short kiss to your temple and let the silence take over. It was comforting, just listening to the crickets outside and the typing of Mile’s keyboard outside the office door.

“James?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Can I stay here?” you asked, voice as small as a child’s. “With you?”

You looked at him with a strange kind of hesitation in your eye, like you might be afraid he’d turn you away. It broke his heart, but he tried not to let it show and pushed out a smile instead.

“Of course, love. I’ll see if we can find some blankets for you, alright?”

You nodded, relief quickly spreading through you as you pulled Cheddar into your arms, hugging him tight to your chest. Bucky quickly got up and opened the door a crack to find Miles sitting at his desk, typing away.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky started, “can you track down some—”

“Already got them, sir.” Miles grabbed a stack of blankets from under his desk and a cushion he must have stolen from the lounge and handed them to Bucky.

Bucky nodded, taking them into his arms. Miles was a smart kid. He overhead a lot more than he should, but he never asked questions, never pried, never so much as considered gossiping to the other interns about the personal details of Bucky’s life. Bucky made a note to write him a hell of a recommendation letter.

“Go home, Miles. I’m good for tonight.”

“You sure?”

Bucky smiled. “Yeah.”

Miles jumped up, gave him a quick nod, and practically jogged his way to the elevator.

As Bucky made his way back into the office, he turned to find you already asleep on the couch. He paused, watching as Cheddar tucked himself against your chest as you laid on your side. Your hand was still rested on Cheddar’s back. The cat looked up at Bucky as he approached, his purring loud enough to overshadow the crickets outside.

“You take good care of her, huh?” Bucky whispered to Cheddar, scratching behind his ears. He purred a little louder in response.

Then, Bucky draped a blanket over your legs, letting it fall by your waist. He leaned down and brushed the hair from your eyes, pressed a kiss to your temple, and slowly made his way back to his desk. He had a lot of work to do, but a few glances over at your sleeping form and the ease with which you slept were enough to keep him going through dawn.

***

“That smells incredible,” you gasped as you walked past a bakery in Queens. 

You dragged Bucky by the hand to the window where you could see dozens of rows of cookies lined up inside; gooey and warm and wafting through the air enough to make your stomach growl. You turned to him with that pleading look in your eye, teeth biting down on your lower lip.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky chuckled. “I’ll be right back.”

You grinned, clapping your hands together as you waited for him outside. It was a small shop, with barely enough room to walk around inside without knocking into the tables filled with sweets, so you opted to wait by the edge of the bakery. 

The sun was setting into a beautiful orange and pink in the distance, and the street lamps barely illuminated the alleys beyond the shop. Across the street, you watched as a young man walked by with two dogs, whistling to himself with every bounce in his step. You smiled.

“Ah, what do we have here?” a voice growled from behind you.

You jolted, heart skipping a beat as you whipped around to face the man standing behind you. Tall, burley, with a long-jagged scar along his jawline, you recognized him only as Markovich; one of the men who worked at the docks under your husband. Ex-husband. Dead husband.

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Rumlow,” Markovich sneered and suddenly, a hand snacked around your forearm, digging razor sharp into your skin and you felt the violent tug as he dragged you into the alley. 

You couldn’t speak, could hardly move, you wanted to scream but you couldn’t find your voice. It all happened so fast. You couldn’t have prepared for it.

Your back slammed to bricks, head pounding in the effort as Markovich pinned you to the wall. 

“I’ve been looking for you for a while. The pretty little bitch that put Hydra in chains...”

Markovich drew a line down your cheek to your jaw with his finger. You struggled to stretch out from his reach, but he held you firm.

“But I slipped through the cracks, didn’t I?” he continued, sinister grin upon his thinned lips. His hand slid lower, daring to touch over your neck, your collar bone, over the rapid rise and fall of your chest and the thunderous pounding of your heart. “Now, I’m going to take what’s mine, take what’s been owed to me now that you’ve destroyed Hydra. Stay quiet for me, Mrs. Rumlow.”

You screamed.

“James!”

A hand slammed down over your mouth, dirty and suffocating. You desperately looked up to the streets, but they were empty, filled only with the dark overcast of the sunset and faded flickering of the street lamps.

“Karpov’s dead,” Markovich spat. “He can’t help you now.”

You whimpered, tears burning in your eyes. Your whole body felt numb, shaken, frail, and as Markovich put a hand on your thigh, sliding up your skin and seeking under the hem of your dress, a surge of rage came over you.

You raised your knee with as much force as you could swing between his legs and suddenly, Markovich doubled over in pain. He released you in favor of clutching his crotch, and you stumbled back towards the streets.

“James!” you screamed, voice breaking in the effort. “James!”

Bucky swerved around the corner in a panic, paper bag dropped to the concrete as he saw you rushing towards him. You slammed into his arms, shaking terribly, and Bucky only had seconds to react when he sat Markovich stumbling back to his feet. Bucky quickly pried you from his arms though it killed him to do so.

“Sweetheart, I need you to call Steve.” Bucky kept his eyes on Markovich.

You shook your head. “James, I… I….”

“Do it now,” he ordered, firmer than he ever wanted to be with you, but as he watched Markovich crack his knuckles, baring his teeth, Bucky knew he didn’t have much time. He kept a hand on your shoulder, stilling you at the edge of the street, before he made his way into the dark shadows of the alley.

“You’re supposed to be dead, Karpov,” Markovich growled.

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to be in jail, aren’t you?” Bucky shot back. “We’ve had outstanding warrant for your arrest for over a year.”

“Should have figured you were a narc.” Markovich spat, sizing Bucky up as he stepped forward. “Always so soft with the boss’s wife. Heard you were fucking her too. Tell me... was it good?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. Over his shoulder, he could hear your voice quietly on the phone with Steve. It wouldn’t take long. Maybe a few minutes before backup arrived. He didn’t like to carry his firearm when he was off duty, especially around you because you’d be subject to enough violence in your life and you didn’t need the constant reminder that Bucky had perpetrated it himself, too. But now, as he stared down the rather large figure of a man with an intent to kill, he seconded guessed his choice to leave it at home.

Markovich rushed forward, lunging straight for Bucky’s neck, which he was able to side step easily. He had more agility than Markovich and he’d use it to his advantage. He got in a few hits before Markovich landed a punch, but when he did, it nearly sent Bucky spiraling to the ground.

“James!” your voice yelped out from behind him. He didn’t dare turn around.

It took until the both of them were panting and Markovich has a steady stream of blood down his nose and Bucky was limping on his left ankle before the cops arrived. 

They rushed into the alley, separated Markovich to the wall and cuffed him. Bucky didn’t say a word as Markovich shouted at him through the window of the cop car, threatening him, threatening you.

Hydra didn’t have resources anymore. Markovich couldn’t hurt either of you the way Rumlow had once threatened. Steve would find a way to make sure Markovich stayed silent. It might mean a reduced sentence or privileges behind bars, but he’d keep the two of you safe. Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second.

“Oh, thank god, James,” you rushed towards him, throwing yourself into his arms. It was nearly suffocating how tight you were holding him, but he didn’t mind. You needed this, needed to remember that he was real and safe, and maybe he needed that too.

“I’m alright,” he exhaled, wiping the blood from his cheek. He pulled you back just enough to see your face. “Are you okay? I shouldn’t have left you out here alone. I didn’t think— I should have come faster— I—”

“I’m okay,” you confirmed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “But I guess ‘okay’ is relative.”

He chuckled at that, nodding as he pulled you back to his chest. “I’ve got cookie dough in the freezer and that movie you’ve been wanting to watch on rent. You up for that?”

He could feel your smile against his chest.

“Yeah, I’m up for it.”

Bucky gave a short nod to the officers clearing the scene behind him and guided you back to the sidewalk. It was a short walk back to the apartment from where you were.

“Hey Bucky?” you asked, and he felt a wash of relief in his own name.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Thanks for keeping your promise.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What promise?”

“To always protect me,” you said simply, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

Bucky nodded, a soft kind of smile pushing at his cheeks. “Always, sweetheart. Always.”

[bemybstar]

Legoshi x reader? Whatever species you want. a transfer student who Legosi's curious about, always wearing a scarf around her neck & covering her mouth, he thinks he's bothering her since she doesn't reply back to him, until saving her one night from a carnivore, strangely she showed no fear, wanting her scarf back, which he gives to her, as he then sees bite marks around her neck... she's a mute, survived a attack from childhood, and she breaks down, first time someone's been kind to her...

A/N: Thanks so much for requesting! Inbox is still open for requests and feedback is highly appreciated! Gif doesn’t belong to me.

It’s been over a month since you first made your new life here at Cherryton Academy. You had just transferred from your old school ever since your parents moved to the city because of their new job promotions. You weren’t all that pleased with the overall decision since leaving the country side in exchange for city life wasn’t something you had in mind, but because they were your parents you had no where else to turn to.

The school had its pros and cons like anything you were faced with but you still managed to make the most of it starting with your first new friend, Haru. She spotted you sitting alone during lunch and asked if she could join you which you happily agreed to by nodding your head. The conversation if you could call it that was mostly one sided since Haru did all of the talking. You would agree by giving a small “mhmm” as an answer to any of her questions, you weren’t much a talker to begin with but Haru wasn’t one to pry about your past. That’s what you admired most about her and that’s why you trusted her as your very best friend.

“What class do you have now?” Haru asked as you followed her down the hall. You pointed to the class on your schedule and stopped once you made it to the door. “Seaspeak huh? That’s interesting I have history but I’ll meet you back at the dorm. Bye Y/N!” Haru said as you waved back and entered the crowded classroom filled with animals already in their seats.

You walked up the aisle to take yours, placing your bag down and opening your notes to the chapter that was highlighted on the board. “In the sea communication is done by using sounds and bubbles rather than words,” your professor started off with as you began to jot everything down.

Grabbing your interest on the topic you were suddenly distracted by a male voice who asked for your attention. “Hey Uhh. Do you happen to have an eraser I can borrow?” You knew who that voice belonged to, a male grey wolf by the name of Legosi, this is the first time he’s spoken to you since you joined the class.

“Mhmm,” you replied handing him your spare eraser you keep hidden in the front pocket of your backpack. “Oh thanks,” he says taking it from you. The bell then starts to ring as your professor yaps on about a paper that’s due next week when the smell of egg salad sandwiches invades your concentration. You lift up your nose to catch a whiff but Legosi notices and offers you a piece.

“Here, take it. It’s the least I could do since you shared your eraser with me. Egg salad sandwiches are my favorite especially on Wednesday’s,” He informs as you take the other half giving him a soft nod in return to his kindness. You quietly gather up your things, push your chair in, and wave goodbye before you head back down to leave in time for your next class.

“You sure love those egg salad sandwiches,” Jack approaches Legosi right after adding, “Hey! What happened to the other one?”

“Oh! I gave it to Y/N since she let me use her eraser,” Legosi tells him. “I never knew she liked them,” Jacks says. “Neither did I...,” Legosi adds.

“Hmm,” Jack hums. “Isn’t this the first time you’ve talked to her?”

“Well... yes and no,” Legosi answers shyly. “I did say hi to her that one time in drama club when she dropped something off for Louis but before I could ask her anything... she was gone.”

“Maybe she had somewhere else to be,” Jack encourages him. “Or maybe... she doesn’t like me,” Legosi says with his head hanging low in guilt. “What! Come on, no way! Maybe she’s just as shy as you are when it comes to making the first move. Try to get to know her and see.” Legosi took his friends advice to heart, one way or another he was gonna keep trying and get this right.

The night was drawing in as you headed back to the girls dorm after a long and tiring lecture from your final class of the day. The lamp lights paved the way as your guide to the dorms main entrance where you would be greeted by Haru and get a chance at some well needed rest. But your peaceful state would soon come to a hault when you stopped dead in your tracks and perked your ears up in defense. Someone was following you...

You started to pick up your pace but your feet weren’t fast enough for the large carnivores chasing after you. You quickly turned around ready to incounter them only to be tripped by an overgrown tree root causing you to fall back onto the dirt road. Fear clouded your eyes as the mysterious figures stepped into the light baring smirks of succeeding in getting a kick out of you.

“You should have seen the look on your face!” The first guy said as his friend began to laugh maliciously, both of them carnivores and ironically both of the same species; Western Coyotes.

“She probably thought we were gonna bite her face off,” the second one said as you glared furiously at them. “You wolves are dumber than ya look.” That’s what got you the most so you decided to do something about it. By the time he turned the other way you managed to kick him in the face so hard he went flying. And by the looks of it his friend didn’t appreciate your temper.

“You little bitch,” he growled coming straight into contact with your now exposed face and gripped you by the collar of your school uniform. “Your gonna pay for that,” he snarled as he lifted his arm up to reveal his sharp claws. You closed your eyes and were ready to accept your fate once again when suddenly a familiar voice broke through the air.

“Enough!” It was Legosi. “Leave her alone. Now!,” the coyote turned to look at him suspiciously. “I SAID NOW!”

“Oh yeah?” Who are you her boyfriend or something... What are you gonna do? Make me?” He was toying with Legosi and he knew it. The coyote let go of his grip on you and took a fighting stance next to Legosi waiting for the perfect moment of attack. “He-he’s not worth it. That’s the same wolf who nearly killed Bill on stage,” his friend who managed to dust himself off finally spoke up. “Just forget it,” he added.

The coyote began to growl heavily when his friend snapped him out of it by the tug of his arm. “Come on, let’s go!” He said as the other obeyed following in pursuit as they both took off in a hurry.

Legosi stared them down until they were long gone from his sight, he quickly turned to check on you and what he saw was enough to shatter his heart into a million little pieces. You were crying... and this time weren’t trying to hide it. He approached you carefully and sat down leaning his back against the cold concret wall. He spotted your silk scarf across from him and held it out for you to take as you started to calm down little by little.

“H-here,” he says nervously. “I think this belongs to you,” Legosi says as he catches a glimpse of your face for the first time. “T-thanks,” you sniffle and take the scarf from his hand but don’t decide to put it on just yet. “I-I’m sorry you have to see me like t-this.” The secret you intended to keep hiding was finally revealed... the scars of your past.

A bite mark roamed the left side of your neck, little traces of fangs can be seen leaving their print on your fur... forever. The incident happened a long time ago and it isn’t a day you like to remember. The bite mark came from a coyote during your childhood days, you saw him picking on a rabbit and decided to step in. One thing led to another and all you have now is this scar to remember it by. The incident shook you so badly that you decided to go silent ever since and only speak when spoken to.

“You have no reason to apologize,” Legosi said wipping a tear from your eye. “Your scars don’t define you. You being the best version of yourself you can be, does. Your beautiful inside and out and if anyone bothers to tell you differently then... they aren’t worth your time.”

“That’s the first time anyone’s ever stood up for me like that.” You say shyly trying your best not to shed another tear. He gets up from his spot and offers his hand to help you up from off the ground. He stares at you and you stare back before going in for a hug, you can hear his heartbeat grow faster by the sudden show of affection.

“Thanks Legosi,” is all you can say. He gives in and holds you in his arms finally opening his mouth to complete, “Your welcome.”

You stay like that for what feels like forever. But why do you feel so safe in his arms and why don’t you want him to stop? You guess time will only tell but until then all you can do is enjoy this sweet moment with the boy who saved your life.

———

Tag list - (just ask to be added)

@starr60

Hope y’all enjoyed! Let me know if y’all want a follow up!

[songficsbyrissi]

Ain’t No Way (Spooky x Reader)

“Ain't no way (ain't no way), I'm gone let you down (let you down). I know it's hard right now (hard right now), To see (it's in me). But I'm gone make you say you love me.” - Chris Brown

A/N: I know y’all think when tf did I become a Spooky writer but listennnnnnnnn I’ve caught up on On My Block and that man is Fine with a capital F. Gangsters ain’t even my flavor! But seeing him and watching season 3 got my creative juices flowing. The way I got this going, this is most likely gonna be a mini series. Aight now let’s get interracial! (I’m making a joke so don’t nobody come butthurt in my inbox. I will delete your shit.)

Oscar Diaz, also known as “Spooky”, was not your type at all. You hated to admit that once upon a time, he was. It was back in high school. He was this wannabe gangster and your young dumbass was into that. It was the whole “bad boy” image that almost every teenage girl drooled over. Once you got to your senior year, you grew tired of Freeridge and the gang bullshit so you went to college far away, got your degree, and came back home hoping to make Freeridge somewhat of a better place by opening your own restaurant that held a lot of community events. Unfortunately, coming back to Freeridge also meant coming back to Oscar, who was the head of the Santos. He didn’t know you were back. You planned to keep it that way. “Hey mami!” You stopped in your tracks. No, it couldn’t be. You decided to keep on walking until the familiar voice called you by your name this time. “Y/N!”

You slowly turned around and realization dawned on you. You moved into the only apartment with vacancy, which so happens to be a couple minutes away from Oscar’s house. This was a really bad day for your car not to start. When you’re walking and completely forgot that Oscar’s house was on the way to your restaurant. You were right in front of his front yard and could see his little brother Cesar walking out the front door with his school bag around his shoulder. He’s gotten so big since the last time you’ve seen him. When he was little, he had a little crush which you were both flattered and annoyed by. “Cesar....look at you! You got so big!” “Y/N!” He gave you a quick hug. “You got...um....” You tilted your head in confusion. “Got what?” The 14 year old sighed out of frustration. “You got hotter! But I’m not supposed to say that because I’m dating Monse!” You found yourself laughing at his confession and even more at the blush coming on his pale face. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell her but thank you. Have a good day at school.” “You too.” He rolled his eyes groaning. “Fuck!” You snickered as he went on his way and followed behind him only to have your name called out again by his older brother. “Oh my God. What?!” You stared fiercely at the Mexican gang banger as he strolled up to you, checking you out from head to toe. Once he was a few inches away from you, he smirked. “Damn you look good.” “Is that all you gotta say? Because I got somewhere to be.” Oscar let out a soft chuckle before eyeing you down again. “When did you get back?” You raised an eyebrow. “Why you need to know?” He said nothing and just stared at you which meant you had to say something. You sighed deeply looking at your feet. “I came back a couple days ago.” “You’re lying.” You looked up at him with an expression that said “the fuck?” “Look Oscar-“ “Spooky.” You snorted. “I ain’t calling no grown ass man “spooky”. His smirk came back. “You used to. Back in high school.” You rolled your eyes. “That was high school. We’re both grown, Oscar. Now if you excuse me, I gotta take my grown ass to my grown ass job.” You pushed past him and continued your journey on foot. “Where you work at? I could drive you there.” You let a dry laugh turning to to glare at him. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m fine.” “Yes you are, mami.” You scrunched your face up in disgust and went back to walking to your restaurant. Oscar kept smirking as he went back to his front porch where some of the Santos were chilling in the front. “Who’s that hyna?” One of them took a drag of a cigarette, smirking in lust. Oscar’s smirk dropped as he slapped the cigarette out of his mouth. The Santo grew wide-eyed and the leader got close in his face with a menacing look. “That’s my hyna. I claimed her so nobody even look at her or even think about her. Entiendes?” All the Santos present held the hands up in defense, saying they understood. The Santo in question spoke up. “I’m sorry, Spooky. From what I saw, she didn’t seem like your hyna.” “But she is.” Oscar declared as he stared at you in a distance.                                               *********************

“Damn, boss. You look pissed.” Your employee, Simone, observed as you approached your place of business. You put your glare on her, causing her to apologize and you waved her off. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that this morning has been really annoying. I’m sorry for being late and leaving you out here.” “It wasn’t that long. It’s fine. Shit happens. Let’s just open this restaurant up!” You managed to put a smile on your face and you pulled out the keys to open the doors. You got the place open and your other employees came later in the day for lunch rush hour. When 3 o’clock hit, in came the kids who just got out of school. You didn’t want to be that person but you had to kick them out if they weren’t buying anything. “Hey beautiful. You sexy when you’re all assertive and shit.” This medium skinned cholo bit his lip at you and it took all your power not to gag right then and there. His friend came up to you two, pulling him away. “Ay chico, that’s Spooky’s hyna.” He informed him in a cautious tone and the one flirting with you backed up with his eyes widened. “Oh shit. My bad, mami. Don’t tell your man.” The two cholos scurried away as you stood there in confusion. You spotted Cesar and his friend having burgers and fries in a booth, diagonal from you. You approached them with a huge sigh. “Oh hey Y/N.” Cesar greeted you first. “Wait this is Y/N?!??!?!” Ruby stood out of his seat in the booth and got close to your face. “Hey girl. You might not remember me but I’m Ruben aka your future baby daddy.” You placed your hand on his right cheek and pushed him back down in his seat. “Eat your food, Ruby.” “What it do, cousin?” Jamal greeted you. You forgot one of Cesar’s friends was your annoying ass cousin Jamal. “What the hell does “hyna” mean?” You questioned the group and they all looked at each other in puzzlement. “So no one knows what it means?” “It means pretty girl. Beautiful girl. It’s a compliment.” Monse stated as she popped a fry in her mouth. “Ok but two cholos came in here and one tried to flirt but the other told him I’m-and I quote “Spooky’s hyna” you explained with air quotes. “So what the hell does that mean?” The group got quiet at your explanation and you stared at all of them anxiously. What the fuck did they know that you didn’t? “Hello? Earth to the Core 4?” You waved your hand trying to get their attention back on you. Cesar drummed his fingers on the table before looking up at you. “Let’s just say.... you finding a husband in Freeridge is probably never gonna happen.” Your eyebrows were knitted together in confusion and you folded your arms. “What do you mean by that?” “Oh wow it really do be the pretty ones that are slow.” Jamal whispered out loud and turned to you slowly. “It means that......Spooky....got dibs on you. He claimed you meaning nobody else can date you because if they do, they’re signing their death certificate.” You had to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from screaming “WHAT THE FUCK?!” In your professional establishment. You turned on your heel and just got back to work. Once it was close to closing time, no one was at your restaurant. You were walking to the front doors to flip the sign when Oscar showed up and walked through the doors. You sighed deeply. “You know we’re about to close.” Oscar pointed to the sign. “The sign says open.” “I was just about to flip it ov- what do you want from me, Oscar?!” He shrugged his shoulders in response. “I just wanted to talk to you. Maybe hang out sometimes.” You laughed loudly and sarcastically at his answer and the look on his face was not one of amusement. Is it ever is? “You got me fucked up if you think I’m hanging out with a fucking gangbanger. A fucking Santo at that.” You snorted and grabbed the dishrag to clean the tables. “You must be using some of the product you be selling.” He slammed his hand on one of the square tables, glaring at you. You were a little shell shocked but tried not to show it. “You talk all this shit about gangsters and shit like you weren’t feeling one in the past but you gonna feel one soon.” “And what the fuck do you mean by that?” You found your voice after taking a large gulp. “I’m gonna make you say you love me.” It took everything in your power not to laugh in his face in that moment because that shit was hilarious but you could tell he was serious. Word on the street is Spooky was the last motherfucker you wanted to piss off. You looked at the table he slammed and noticed a tiny piece of paper that read: 213-456-7893 The next day, your car ran smoothly today so you didn’t have to see Oscar on your way to the restaurant. That made you really happy. When it was close to closing time, before you could flip over the sign, a group of young boys pushed themselves inside and stared at you. You looked from side to side and back at them. “Can I help you?” “Are you the owner?” The one that seemed like the leader asked quickly. Straight to the point. You respected that. “Yes, I am. Why? Do you have a complaint?” “Yeah I do.” The leader glanced at the other two boys with him and focused his attention back at you. “This is 99th street territory and since your little restaurant is on it, you gotta pay us rent.” You let out a boisterous laugh at the audacity of these boys. Everyone was on a mission to make you ugly laugh lately. “I’m not paying you shit. You ain’t the government.” You spoke once the laughs subsided. “Now it’s either you order some food or get the hell out. I prefer the latter so you could run back home and do your homework.” You finished in a baby voice, ruffling the young boy’s hair. The group of boys began to chuckle as they began to walk out. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, lady.” The leader warned before heading out of the glass doors. You giggled to yourself as you wiped the tables. Suddenly you got the sense that something wasn’t right and you gut was right because as soon as you went into the kitchen, bullets sprayed throughout your restaurant. You grabbed Simone and forced yourselves to duck down. Once it finished, you remembered you had your employee, Marco, outside taking out the trash. “Marco!” You yelled out running outside which was probably stupid as hell because if the shooters were still there, now they got an easier shot. You found Marco slumped against the building with a bullet in his arm. He was holding onto it to prevent more blood from releasing. You heard footsteps approach you and you fearfully looked to see the boys from earlier. “We warned you, lady. Next time, the bullet goes in his head.” The leader stuck out his thumb, index, and middle fingers to make his hand look like a gun and gestured towards you. “Or maybe your head.” He began to chuckle and his boys joined in on the laughing fest. He stopped chuckling and they stopped too. “Don’t mess with us again, lady.” You waited until you were sure the gang was gone before dialing 911 to get Marco an ambulance. “Marco.....I’m so sorry.” You were on the verge of tears seeing your employee on a gurney, ready to go to the hospital. “It’s ok, Miss Y/N. I’ve gotten shot before. 7 more times and you call me 50 cent.” You began to smile as they wheeled Marco away. That’s what you always appreciated about him. Always finding light in a dark ass situation, even when that situation was his. You took out your phone and dialed a number as Simone stood next to you. “Who are you calling?” “Probably my biggest regret.” Too vague for her to understand, Simone shrugged her shoulders and went back inside of the restaurant. After your phone call, you sat down in one of the booths just waiting. After a while, he appeared right in front of you, saying nothing. He just took a seat in the booth facing you. You leaned in close. “First things first, take that stupid ass gang claim off of me. I’m not anyone’s fucking hyna, especially not yours. So cut the shit.” Oscar remained silent and just stared at you intensely. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Is that it?” You took a deep breath, already regretting your next words. “No. I need protection.” He raised one of his thick eyebrows. “From?” You gestured towards the glass and bulletholes in your windows. “Do you see this shit? 99th street did it. I have employees and a reputation to protect. So I need protection from the Santos.” Oscar began to crack up suddenly at your words and you stared at him in annoyance. You knew you were going to regret this shit but you didn’t have a choice. The police said they’ll get them but that’s not enough. Besides, they are used to gang activity so they’re barely gonna do anything. “You know you’re one funny hyna. First, you talk all this shit about gangs and then giving me attitude since I first saw you. Shit, you gave me an attitude right when I sat down. And now, you’re asking me for a favor. Maybe food ain’t your thing, mamita. You should go for stand-up comedy.” “If I had any other choice, I would’ve took it but I don’t. So are you gonna do it?” Oscar sat in up in his seat, folded his broad hands, and leaned in close to you. “Protection ain’t free, mami.” You cleared your throat and tilted your head to avoid showing him that the look on his face kinda turned you on. Your fingers drummed on the table. “I know that. I’m willing to pay you for your tim-“ “Nah you not paying in money, hyna.” Oscar’s hands found yourself on the table and when you met his hands, you stopped thinking for a minute. You came back to your senses and removed your hands in disgust. “I rather have 99th street put a bullet in my fucking eye before I do that.” You hissed, gesturing to your left eye. “I don’t need sex from you, mami. Well, at least not now. But I need you to make it worth my while.” You shrugged your shoulders, completely defeated. “What do you want?” “How about you be my personal chef? Cook me and Cesar breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You do that and you, your employees, and your restaurant are under the protection of the Santos.” Oscar stuck his hand out to you. “Do we have a deal, mami?” You scowled at the man in front of you as he waited for your hand to meet his. To be honest, you rather slit your wrists than cook for him. But you’ll be cooking for Cesar too and you cared about Cesar. You knew he probably wasn’t having proper meals at home and you needed Santo protection. Fuck. You shook his hand. “You got a deal.” He slowly brought your hand to his lips, giving it a kiss, stood up, and left your restaurant. Simone emerged from the kitchen, staring at Oscar leaving and turned back to you, confused. “Wait what just happened?” You exhaled deeply, struggling to get your next words out. “I just made a deal with the devil.”

Tags: @cancerianprincess​ @drtycomputerx​

(whoever else wants to be tagged just let me know :)

[when-they-write-stuff]

For @theladyandthewolves because my inbox noped your ask/prompt out of nowhere for some reason.

❛ please … i have money , just let me go . ❜

Stiles didn’t go to a bar that night expecting to be kidnapped. 

He had struggled through an entire day of classes and Scott had promised to take him out afterward if he didn’t kill himself first. But then Allison texted and… well, Allison. That’s all that needed to be said about that subject.

Stiles hadn’t gone to a bar that night expecting to be kidnapped, but he really should’ve. Things like that always seemed to happen to him these days.

After his day of craptastic college classes, he just wanted to drink his sorrows away and unwind. And things were going great until the bartenders switched out and the woman opposite him took one look his way and proceeded to go all serial-killery.

Stiles had been nursing his rum and coke for about an hour now, so it wasn’t a refill he was looking for when she practically zoomed over. The woman had dark brown hair and sharp green eyes, and she looked a little scary if Stiles was being honest. He really didn’t want to make conversation.

She didn’t give him the opportunity to say no.

“Well,” the woman said, resting her elbows on the counter and leaning toward him. “What do we have here?”

Stiles arched a brow and chuckled nervously. “Um, hello?”

“You don’t look twenty-one, sweetie.”

A lump formed in his throat and Stiles fished out his wallet, showing his ID. It was fake, but it well done, and he’d never been caught before. Even if Scott did like to say he still had the face of a high schooler.

The woman looked over it and Stiles could tell she wasn’t impressed. But to his surprise, she didn’t kick him out, just passed the ID back over. Her smile was even sharper this time.

“Well, Mie—”

“Stiles,” Stiles said, cutting her off before she could even attempt to butcher his real name. “Everyone just calls me Stiles.”

“Stiles,” the woman said, eyes glittering. “What are you doing here, Stiles?”

That was not the type of question he’d been expecting. Stiles cast an eye around the bar, noticing nervously how empty it really was, and chuckled. If she decided to murder him, would anyone see? Someone would have to see. But surely she wouldn’t murder him. That’d be bad for buisness. 

“Uh,” he said, wetting his lips. “Getting a drink?”

“Is that all?”

Stiles really didn’t know how to answer that, so he just stayed quiet. The woman’s smile turned darker.

Before he could react, she was taking his drink and turning away. Stiles made a surprised noise of protest but the woman just waved a hand over her shoulder, grabbing a few bottles and filling it from an angle so Stiles couldn’t quite see his glass. 

“It’s just a refill, sweetie. On the house.”

Stiles’s heart was thudding nervously against his chest when she turned back and pushed it over the counter toward him. It looked like rum and coke but he still didn’t think he wanted to drink it. Except, from the look in the woman’s eyes, he was terrified she might rip his throat out if he didn’t.

So, putting on a grin, Stiles lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink. The woman watched and Stiles drank until the glass was half-gone. Then he set it down again.

“Thanks for that,” he said, starting to push himself up. “But I really should be going.”

“Already?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve got classes tomorrow and— Woah.”

The room was suddenly spinning and Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet, grabbing onto the counter for support. He felt like he’d done a lot more than drink a little bit of rum and as the room continued to spin, all he could do was sink back onto the barstool again.

His mouth felt weird. Like cotton. 

The woman had moved around the counter and Stiles blinked as she approached him. Fingers danced along his shoulder and panic started to build up in his throat. Stiles tried to say something— or maybe scream for help, but his mouth wasn’t moving. All that came out was an intelligent ‘hrrrrgh’ noise that made her smile.

Drugged, Stiles realized. He’d been drugged.

His dad was going to kill him.

“It’s alright,” the woman said, and Stiles could’ve sworn her saw sharp teeth when she smiled. “You’re just going to answer a few questions.”

He didn’t know what the hell that meant. But before he had a chance to protest, he was sliding sideways off the stool, surprisingly strong hands were catching him, and Stiles hear a whisper of other words before all he knew was black.

- -

Derek didn’t expect to come back to his apartment that night and find a boy tied up in a chair in the middle of the room. In fact, he didn’t expect to come back to his apartment and find that. Ever. 

For a moment, he just stood there. His keys dangled from his fingers and he was pretty sure his mouth had dropped open. The boy was clearly unconscious, heart beating slowly and a thin line of drool running down his chin. His wrists were bound to each of the chair’s arms and he didn’t look any older than twenty. Or maybe he was even younger than eighteen. Derek couldn’t quite tell.

 Derek stared for a moment longer and then snapped back to reality as Laura came strolling out of the kitchen, wiping her hands off on a dishcloth. She was smiling and raised an eyebrow as her eyes snapped from Derek, to the boy, and then back. Something mischievous danced in her eyes.

“Hey there, little bro. Have a good day off?”

“Laura, what the hell is this.”

“This?”

“That,” Derek said, gesturing in frustration at the boy. “It, him, whatever. Why the hell is there a teenager tied up in our living room?”

“Oh,” Laura said, smirking. She settled down on the couch and rested her chin on her hands, eyeing the kid. “His name is Stiles. I think he goes to Beacon Community College.”

None of that information did Derek any good. He stared at her for a long moment, not quite sure Laura hadn’t completely lost her mind.

“Laura,” Derek said carefully. “Why have you kidnapped and tied up a college student?”

“Smell him.”

Derek blinked. That had not been what he’d expected to hear. “What.”

“Smell him, Der. Just do it.”

Derek gave his sister a long look before moving toward the kid. If this was her idea of a joke, then he was definitely moving out. Except, when Derek leaned closer and took a deep whiff, he was yanking back in the second. The kid smelled the cinnamon and autumn leaves, and all of that was fine. But he also smelled like electricity. Electricity and the unmistakable scent of a strange Alpha.

“What is he,” Derek said in a growl. Laura smiled all teeth.

“Human.”

“But he smells—”

“Spark, maybe,” she amended. “One with an Alpha.”

“How’d you come across him?”

“He came into our bar.”

Derek felt his hackles rise and glanced back at the boy. His heartbeat was picking up a little and Derek could tell he was on the verge of waking up. Which could either be a good thing, or something very bad. “Laura, are you sure this is a good—”

Amber eyes snapped open and the kid made a noise between a squawk and a squeak.

This was a terrible idea.

“Oh my god!” Stiles said, trying to yank away. Except, he was firmly bound to the chair and Derek knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Clearly, the kid realized that too because his heartbeat picked up and his scent soured with fear. 

Derek wrinkled his nose and took a step back. Stiles looked at him in terror.

“Are you going to kill me? Please don’t kill me. I have money! A little bit of money. Please, just let me go.”

Derek gave Laura a flat look and she grinned, pushing herself up and moving over. Stiles made another noise of panic and wiggled around in his chair.

“We’re not going to kill you,” Laura said. “As long as you answer our questions correctly.”

Derek resisted the urge to facepalm. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, babbling. “Okay, okay, I can do that. I can answer questions correctly! I mean, as long as they’re not insanely hard questions. Like, I suck at math. But I’m really good at memorizing old and unimportant facts, so I’m pretty excellent in history. Are you going to ask me questions about history?”

This was such a terrible idea. Laura glanced over and her expression was nothing but amused. Derek wanted to say that this was all her fault. 

Then she turned back toward Stiles and flashed her red eyes, and Derek flashed his blue ones. Stiles froze, heartbeat picking up in pace again, and Laura’s smile widened. For a moment, the kid just stared at them. And then he picked up in his struggles all over again.

“Oh my god, oh my god, why is it always me? Why am I always the one kidnapped? How is that even fair?”

“Stop struggling,” Derek said, crossing his arms. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“And why the hell do you care, Mr. Werewolf? You’re the one that kidnapped me! Probably to kill me or something even worse.”

“There’s something even worse?”

“I don’t know! This is like an every other week occurrence now!”

Derek’s eyebrows flew up and Laura looked intrigued. Stiles finally stopped struggling after a few more tries, slumping in his seat and going lax in submission. But when Laura stepped closer, he flinched a little.

Derek wasn’t sure why that bothered him.

“So,” Stiles said, voice small now. “What is it, huh? You want to know about Scott and his pack? Because I’ll die before I hand them over. I just hope you know that.”

And Laura stilled. She glanced back at Derek, but he didn’t have any words. Gently, she laid a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. He shivered. “I told you we’re not going to hurt you.”

“But you do want to know about Scott?” Stiles sounded bitter. 

“We don’t even know who Scott is,” Derek said. “But you went into Laura’s bar smelling like another Alpha werewolf. Usually… that’s a warning of future conflict to come.”

Stiles looked at him in surprise. Then he glanced at Laura and tilted his head. “Laura, huh? Well, at least I get one of the names of my kidnappers before I die.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m Laura and that’s my little brother, Derek. And he’s right. You should know better than to walk into a wolf’s territory smelling like another wolf.”

“Well I didn’t know you were a werewolf,” Stiles said in a grumble. “Although I guess that would make sense. You’re seriously scary. And strong.”

That startled a laugh out of his sister. Derek just narrowed his eyes and stared.

He didn’t know what to make of this kid.

“I seriously just wanted a drink,” Stiles said. “Guess it’s a good thing Scott didn’t come with me, though. Would that have started like, a pack war? Oh my god, would you have ripped our throats out?”

“Your Alpha would’ve realized I was a wolf,” Laura said. “But it wouldn’t have been good.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “He’s not my Alpha. I mean, not really. He’s my best friend and I’ve basically saved his werewolf ass a dozen times these past few years, but I’m kind of distanced from the supernatural stuff. I still get kidnapped, but that’s just life, you know?”

Derek stared at him. Because that wasn’t just life.

Laura seemed baffled too.

“So, can you cut me out of the ropes now?” Stiles asked, glancing between them. “Because scary brows was right and I think I did hurt myself just a little bit. You tied these things really tight.”

“Scary brows?” the words tumbled out of Derek’s mouth before he could stop them. Stiles looked at him with a smirk and shrugged.

“Dude, the eyebrows. Very scary. A little sexy. Probably shouldn’t be such a turn on.”

And Derek felt his face turn hot. 

Laura choked on a laugh and leaned forward, slicing through the ropes with a claw. Stiles grinned, rubbing at his slightly red wrists. He pushed himself up and glanced around, before whistling appreciatively. 

“Nice place you’ve got here. So running a bar comes with some perks, then?”

“Some,” Laura said, sounding amused. “Sorry for kidnapping you.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles said, waving a hand through the air. He started to wander around the apartment and Derek didn’t know how to react to that either, as he touched things that didn’t belong to him and even poked his head into the kitchen before coming out with a grin. “It happens a lot.”

“You do realize it shouldn’t,” Derek said, the words spilling out before he could stop them once more. “Right?’

Stiles arched a brow at him. “I mean, I guess?”

“You guess.”

“Come on, dude, squishy human here! When you smell like the werewolf that people seriously like to attempt to kill for some reason, it just makes sense. I’ve seen witches, warlocks, and a fair amount of hunters. I think they’re the worst.”

Derek stared at him. For some reason, he wanted to snarl at those words. But at the same time, he couldn’t wrap his head around Stiles and the words that he was saying.

“I mean, it’s usually fine,” Stiles said. “I’m not dead yet, so…”

Derek didn’t know what to say and what to do. From Laura’s face, she didn’t either. Stiles finished his self-tour of the apartment and glanced toward the door.

“So, am I allowed to leave then? This has been quite fun and all, but I’ve got classes tomorrow. And I, uh, haven’t studied for my Psych exam yet.”

Derek wasn’t sure why, but the idea of the kid leaving now that he had admitted all these things made Derek uncomfortable. Next to him, Laura seemed to be thinking the same thing. Because shewed on her lower lip for a second before shaking her head.

“No, sorry, you are kidnapped now. Consider this an intervention.”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. He froze in place and studied them both before chuckling nervously. “You’re joking, right? This is a joke. Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I’m not kidding,” Laura said. “Derek, grab more rope.”

Stiles’s eyes rounded and he took a step back, throwing up his hands. Derek hesitated, giving his sister a questioning look, and she raised an eyebrow. But then Stiles was babbling again.

“Okay, okay, okay, look,” he said. “It’s really not that big of a deal. You can’t kidnap a guy for getting kidnapped! That’s counterproductive! And my dad’s the Sheriff. He’d be severely pissed and probably throw both of you in jail.”

Laura huffed a laugh. Stiles slowly lowered his hands.

“You’re not really keeping me here, are you?”

“The Alpha’s not your Alpha,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “But you still get involved and get hurt.”

“Well, he is my best friend.”

“Some best friend.”

“I’m sorry, Sourwolf, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Derek blinked at the nickname. Laura looked like she was trying not to choke on a laugh again and Stiles crossed the room, poking a finger into Derek’s chest. He resisted the urge to snap at Stiles’s hand. 

“Scotty would be dead a thousand times over if not for me. And don’t forget that I never ask to be kidnapped! If a bullseye on my back is what happens for protecting my best friend’s life, then I’ll take it. You don’t have the right to dictate my life!”

Derek glared at him. Laura quickly stepped forward.

“Fine,” she said, surprising them both. “You’ve made your decision, you can go. We’re not going to hold you back.”

Stiles looked suspiciously at her and slowly lowered his hand. He glanced back at Derek, then over at the door. “Really?”

“Really. Do you need a ride somewhere? We’re only a block down from the bar.”

Stiles eyed her again. Then he moved toward the door and placed one hand on the knob as if he expected her to suddenly change her mind. Derek didn’t know what the hell his sister was up to, but he really didn’t think Stiles should be walking out right now.

He also didn’t know why he cared. That was stupid. So stupid.

“Go ahead,” Laura said. Stiles twisted the knob and opened the door.

Derek could hear Stiles’s heartbeat pick up in pace as he placed one foot out into the hall, still watching them. Then he placed the other. He was half leaning into the apartment now and a small grin cracked across his face as he realized Laura was serious. His suspicious attitude melted away and he straightened.

“Well, thanks for the kidnapping then. This was fun, we should do it again! Except not. Because you both still scare me.”

Laura’s smile was all teeth and Derek just stood there. Stiles grinned at him, blowing a kiss, then the boy was stepping back, the door swung closed, and Derek blinked at it.

Then he rounded on his sister. But before he could get a word out, she lifted a finger.

Silence reigned for a moment. Laura waited for another few seconds and then sighed, dropping her hand. She started toward the kitchen and Derek chased after her.

“Laura, what the hell was tha—”

“I’m taking you off your shift tomorrow,” Laura said. “Also, Stiles’s jacket is in a heap next to the door. I trust that should be enough for you to find his scent again?”

Derek blinked at her. Laura smirked.

“If his Alpha best friend won’t keep an eye on him then we will.”

“You’re willing to do that for the kid.”

His sister shrugged and started making herself tea as if this as a normal everyday occurrence. Derek was pretty sure it wasn’t. But then again, he didn’t Stiles was a normal everyday occurrence.

“I like him,” Laura said. And that seemed to be that.

And… maybe it was.

Derek turned back to look at the door, along with the red hoodie that laid in a crumpled heap next to it, and he couldn’t believe this had become his evening. He hadn’t expected any of this. Ever.

But that seemed to be that.

- -

So, I didn’t mean for this to reach 3k words, but here we are. I had a lot of fun with the prompt! And honestly, I could see there being a pt2 or something. Which might have to happen at some point ;)

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your underpaid student writer? Seriously, I’d adore you guys so much). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[thepartyresponsible]

another whumptober fic! the prompt for this one is isolation. so here’s steve rogers waking up in the wrong century and moving into clint barton’s apartment building.

warnings for depression and angst, but, again, this one is fairly sweet.

SHIELD puts him in an apartment in a building in Bed-Stuy, citing ongoing concerns that he is exhibiting an alarming lack of social integration. Steve doesn’t see how the hell they expect him to stop being lonely. His whole generation is dead or dying. And the older people, the men and women he looked up to, are bones buried under untended gravestones.

A man should lose his mentors one-by-one. Like baby teeth. One bloody bit of bone in your palm is a life lesson, but a whole mouth full of blood, a graveyard full of teeth, that’s a tragedy. That’s a nightmare.

He went for a swim, and, when he came up to breathe, everyone he ever knew was gone or changed.

Every night, he dreams about putting that ship in the water, and, somedays, all he can think when he wakes up is: It was supposed to be quick.

God knows, by the end of the war, he didn’t have the heart left for anything slow. But he’s here anyway, plodding along. Breathing, walking, fighting. These days, people never quit, never slow down, never take time off. There’s always a war somewhere. Always somewhere for him to be.

There’s a woman that SHIELD wants him to talk to. She asks him questions that are probably meant to help. “How are you feeling, Steve? What do you do in your spare time? Have you spoken to any of the Howling Commandos? What about Peggy Carter? Have you made any new friends, Steve? When was the last time you left a SHIELD facility for a reason other than a mission? Did you go outside today, Steve? Are you sleeping? Are you eating?”

Honestly, he’d probably have a better time if she dispensed with the questions and just started ripping his fingernails out with a pair of pliers. It’s a hell of an exaggeration and a disrespect to Bucky besides, but sometimes, after an hour with her, all he can think about is Bucky, strapped to a table, repeating his name, rank, and serial number with empty eyes.

He spends one too many nights walking the hallways after particularly murky missions, and SHIELD gets unnecessarily proactive about it.

“We’re worried about you,” Phil Coulson says. There’s a heaviness in his eyes that isn’t quite disappointment. Steve remembers when Phil used to look at him with the feverish light of hero worship.

“I’m fine,” Steve says.

There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s not hungry, not tired, not cold, not sad. He’s nothing. It’s like his brain and body woke up, but his soul stayed in the water. Like every human part of him is still frozen solid.

“If you need time,” Coulson says, “if you need a break from the missions--”

“I don’t,” Steve says. He tries to be patient about it, but the words feel like a threat. He doesn’t know how he’d fill the days if he didn’t have the missions to keep him occupied. There are only so many punching bags in SHIELD storage. There are only so many times he can reread the obituaries of people who died simultaneously four days and forty years after he saw them last.

“We’re worried,” Phil repeats. And he looks it.

From a hero to an object of pity. Well, he’s had worse falls.

“I’m getting better,” Steve says. “I’ve been reading the reports. I have an email account.” One of the SHIELD agents on the latest Strike Team told him he needed a private email address to sign up for things online. Steve’s not sure what he wants to sign up for, but he dutifully checks the empty inbox every morning.

It’s good, he thinks, to be prepared.

“I haven’t broken a phone in two weeks,” Steve tacks on, when Phil still seems unconvinced.

He’s trying. He doesn’t know what the hell they expect from him. Six months ago, he lived in a pre-atomic world. Now people walk around with technology in their pockets that far exceeds what they used to walk on the moon. He can use his phone to check baseball scores and grocery store stock and the weather anywhere in the world. He can order food he’s never tried from a place he’s never been made by people he’s never met, and they’ll deliver it to his door, and he can do all of this without seeing or speaking to a living human being.

No flying cars, though. Guess Howard never did figure that one out as well as he wanted.

“We’ve found an apartment for you,” Phil says. “You need to reintegrate.”

Steve is baffled as to how Phil expects him to reintegrate. His whole world is gone. He’s not coming home. There is no home left. He’s homesick for a time and place that don’t exist anymore. Like a refugee who can’t ever go back. Uprooted, transplanted.

He’s a woolly mammoth, a sabretooth tiger. A reanimated extinct species, brought back to pace the bars of a cage he doesn’t understand. Useless and ludicrous and out of place. A man out of time.

“Sure,” Steve says. It’s no use fighting about it. No reason to upset all these people who just want to help. “That sounds fine.”

  What he appreciates most about Clint Barton is that he never once tries to pretend like he isn’t Steve’s assigned babysitter. “Hey,” he says, that first night, crashing into Steve’s apartment with a couple of beers in one hand and the other holding a freezer bag of peas to the side of his face. “I’m Clint Barton. I kinda own the place.”

“Kind of?” Steve asks, blinking as Clint careens a little unsteadily from one corner of the apartment to the other, apparently looking for a place to land. He settles, finally, on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah,” Barton says. He arranges himself on the cluttered kitchen counter, squeezing between the boxes of unpacked dishware and kitchen appliances SHIELD thought he’d need. “I mean, legally. I do. I’ve got paperwork.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. He’s been thinking about getting unpacked. He was coming up with a plan. He got a little distracted staring out the window after all the helpful SHIELD agents disguised as movers left, but he won’t sleep tonight anyway, so he’d figured it didn’t matter how long it took him to get started.

He hadn’t been expecting a guest.

“Um,” Clint says, after a few seconds of silence. He juggles the peas, pinning them against his face with his shoulder, and then pops the caps off both of the beers. “Here. To your new place.”

Steve thinks about asking him to leave, but the ghost of his mother hisses at the discourtesy inherent in refusing a gift-bearing guest. He crosses the apartment to take the beer, knocking the bottle gently against Clint’s before lifting it to his lips.

What the hell. He doesn’t know a poison that will kill him. And he figures SHIELD will have vetted the place from rooftop to basement.

“Thanks,” he says. The beer is cold and hoppy. Decent, he thinks. It tastes vaguely medicinal, the way most food tastes now.

“No problem,” Clint says. He’s blonde-haired and blue-eyed. There are bandages on his hands, and, when the peas droop, Steve catches a glimpse of a still-blooming shiner that’s going to cover a quarter of his face.

“You have some trouble?” Steve asks, tipping his chin toward the bruise.

Clint shrugs. He takes a drink of his beer and kicks his feet, looks perfectly at ease in Steve’s apartment in a way that Steve decidedly does not. “Milk run,” he says, offhand. “Guess I got a bit expeditious about things toward the end. Wanted to be sure I got back in time for your first day.”

Steve blinks. Milk run, he thinks. He hears the word in old echoes, memories of soldiers reporting back. Some of the old slang survived. It’s nice, hearing it. He wonders if someone gave Clint a list of terms to work into casual conversation.

“You’re SHIELD?” Steve asks.

Clint shrugs, grins up at him. His smile is slanted sideways, held down on one side by the bag of peas. But his eyes are bright and friendly, and there’s something comforting in the lazy disregard of his body language, like he doesn’t know or care who Steve used to be.

“Don’t tell them I told you,” he says. “I have a bet going with my buddy that I can make it at least a week.”

Steve snorts. He’s quiet for a second, weighing out the mischief in Clint’s eyes. It’s been a long time since anyone dragged him into anything even remotely playful. “Sure,” he says, caving the second Clint waggles his eyebrows. Something aches and splinters in his chest. He ignores it, clearing his throat while he turns to regard the mess of boxes and bags scattered around the place.

Someone’s going to have to do something about this mess. He figures, as usual, that the someone is going to have to be him.

“Hm,” Clint says. He slithers to the ground, heavy boots clattering on the kitchen floor. He surveys the kitchen counter and then visibly perks up, dropping the peas so he can grab a box, cuddle it lovingly against his chest. “C’mon, Steve,” he says, hefting the new coffeepot onto his hip, “we’ll start with the important stuff.”

  Clint leaves around midnight. The living room and kitchen are unpacked, and Steve hasn’t even started on the bedroom, but he’s not worried about it. He goes out to wander the neighborhood until dawn. Just keeping his feet busy, shushing the buzzing hum of his mind. He tests his tether, climbing up onto the roof to watch the sunrise, but, if he has a tail, he never sees them.

When he goes back to his apartment, he encounters Clint in the hallway. He’s mussed and sleep-dazed. There are red lines on his face from where he slept too hard on his pillow. There’s a bit of toothpaste stuck to his chin, and he has a piece of toast shoved in his mouth, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a dog’s leash in the other.

“Mmph,” he says, greeting Steve through the toast.

“Morning,” Steve says, going stock still at the sight of such disarray.

Clint’s wearing pajama pants with little purple bullseyes on them. They’re tucked into combat boots. That bruise got ugly overnight, but all those dark shades really set off the bright blue of his eyes.

“Hey, Steve,” Clint says, after he hooks the dog’s leash around his wrist so he can take the toast out of his mouth. “You sleep okay?”

“Oh, sure,” Steve says. “You?”

“Like a fucking rock,” Clint tells him. And then, with a grimace, “Sorry, I gotta—this is Lucky, and Lucky really needs to pee.”

Everyone Steve’s encountered on this side of the new millennium is efficient and serious and professional. Everyone’s been so bloodless. He thought that was how they raised people these days. But Clint’s a loud, frazzled, mussed-up mess. Clint’s the first living thing Steve’s seen in this century.

Well, right up until the dog sticks its cold nose into the palm of Steve’s hand and whines like a thing with a heart breaking clean in half.

“Oh, hey,” Steve says, crouching down. “Sorry, pal. Didn’t mean to ignore you.”

The dog pants kibble-scented breath in his face. He’s missing an eye. His fur is soft and warm under Steve’s hands.

“Oh, for—Lucky, stop guilt-tripping Steve. He’s a nice guy. C’mon.” But for all his complaining, Clint doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. He’s standing unsteadily, sloping slightly to the side, with one eye closed like he’s letting that half of his brain catch a quick nap.

“You gotta go,” Steve says, giving Lucky one more gentle scratch behind the ears before he stands up. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, definitely,” Clint says. “Just come see us whenever.” He straightens up, gives himself a little shake, and then smiles sweet and sleepy, right in Steve’s face.

Like they’re friends. Like Steve’s a real person. After all this time, after everything he’s done, he can still just be someone’s neighbor.

“See you, Steve. Let me know if you need any more help unpacking.” And then Clint shoves the rest of the toast in his mouth and reaches out to pat Steve on the shoulder as he walks by. He misses pretty catastrophically, getting a handful of Steve’s chest and then just committing to it anyway, patting him like Steve had just patted Lucky, before he dozily meanders his way up the hall.

Steve stares after him for a long moment and then he goes into his apartment, locks the door, and makes some coffee. He drinks it sitting up on his new couch, and he doesn’t expect to fall asleep, but he does anyway.

He dreams about the water. He always dreams about the water.

But he keeps getting flashes, little glimpses through the ice. A black eye and a friendly smile. Soft fur under his hand, a dog’s sad whine echoing from years and years away.

Coffee. He tastes coffee.

And he feels something on his chest, a warmth that spreads outward. A patting. Or maybe a knocking.

Wake up, he thinks. And he does.

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Banished (Part 2)

*Not My Gif*

Part 1

Requested: Nope! (Send some in if you want!)

Paring: Bellamy Blake X Reader, The 100 X Reader

Word count: 2827

Post Date: 5-11-19

Summary: When the 100 was sent to the ground, Y/N Y/L/N was one of them. Having been locked up for almost 8 years, how will she react to surviving on Earth? Especially when she gets banished...

A/N: Ok, here is part 2! I’ve felt really productive this week, so hopefully you guys are liking this! Let me know if you guys want to be tagged when the next when comes out! I also really appreciate your feedback, so let it all out! My inbox is always open unless I say otherwise, so send me requests! Enjoy!

- Ria

~Master List~

~Open Requests~

*Based on episodes 1x02 “Earth Skills” of the 100

You couldn’t feel your feet, or really anything. You’ve been running for just a couple minutes, but your head was pounding, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Jasper was dead, you were certain of that, there was no way he could’ve survived that, right? Keeping up pace with Monty, who still had your wrist in his hand from pulling you up, you weren’t paying attention to anything around you. Sure, Monty was his best friend and you had just met him the day before, but losing people, you were tired of that. One second you all are running and then the next you feel Monty’s hand pulling you towards the ground, inches away from a skull, one that definitely didn’t look normal.

“What are they?” Clarke asks voicing everyone’s thoughts. You and Monty scramble to your feet as a distant scream echoes through the forest. Looking at each other with wide eyes, you race back to where you left him, only to see it empty, Jaspers body missing upon the rock. If you weren’t completely in shock you were now. You sat down on the rocks, pulling your knees up to your chest, taking in deep breaths as thoughts file into your brain. What the hell is happening? Where is Jasper? Is he even alive? How were you supposed to survive on the ground? Could you even survive? You knew you couldn’t stay there for that long. Looking at the rest of the group, watching as some of them shed some tears, you shook your head and slowly stood up, making sure not to stand too high that someone might see you.

“We need to go.” You say, earning a few head nods, “Guys, seriously, if we want to find Jasper and actually make it through another night we need to get going. Now!” you half whisper and half shout, gaining the rest of their attention before the whole group begins their journey back to the camp. Your brain still refusing to grab onto the fact that this was actually happening, but it knows that you all needed to get the hell out as soon as you can. Running once again on your throbbing legs you all ran back to camp, getting there mid-day. Your heart was racing as you arrive back at camp only to witness Murphy and Wells fighting. You couldn’t take anymore, Before Clarke or anyone could say anything, you marched over to the boys and pulled them apart, swiftly giving Murphy a kick in the stomach knocking the knife out of his hand, then turning to Wells who was staring at Murphy. Rage filled you up completely, you clenched your fists and you wanted to do something, but Bellamy’s arm wrapped around your torso made it quite hard, your head shot up to the man who immediately tightened his grip, eyes meeting yours to try and calm you down. Only when he saw your shoulders relax did he let go, once again watching you as you take a step away from the group, looking at the blood rolling down your hands from your nails. Your face softened for a half a second before returning to a stone-cold stare. Bellamy’s eyes finally left yours only to look at Clarke at the rest of them.

“What the hell happened out there?” he asked, his voice barely dripping with concern as everyone began to notice the lack of one person in the group. Clarke and Finn explained everything, from being attacked, to not being the last people alive, and Jasper being taken. Your attention returned to the group when you heard Clarke ask Wells where his wristband was. Looking around you noticed that lots of people didn’t have them. ‘They’re taking off their wristbands?’ you thought glancing down your wrist. I’ve hated that thing, it was uncomfortable and made your wrist sweaty, and you’ve never been one for jewelry, besides your necklace. After Murphy told Clarke how many people took their wristbands off, he noticed your sudden interest in your wristband, smirking as he watched you fumble your fingers against the clasp. He takes a small step closer to you, leaning over to your ear.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to take it off Miss Crazy.” He whispers, you feel a shiver in your spine at his sudden closeness, turning your body a little to face him, only to see him holding out his knife. You furrowed your brows at the weapon before understanding and locking eyes with the smirking delinquent. Glancing around the camp to make sure Clarke and Wells aren’t watching, you quickly grabbed Murphy’s arm pulling around the other side of the drop ship.

“Fine, let’s just get this over with and don’t call me crazy.” You say moving your sleeve and holding your arm out.

“You know, most girls are more than happy to spend some alone time with me.” He says, you roll your eyes before punching him on the arm. When he finally takes the bracelet off you, you felt relief wash over you. You didn’t care if the ark came down, you didn’t have anyone up there worth living for. Murphy put the knife in his back pocket before coming closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You could’ve shrugged it off, but you didn’t care. He wasn’t going to do anything, and if he did, well then you could always just kick him in the stomach again. You both walk out from behind the drop ship, catching a few people’s eyes before you separate. Murphy watching as you walk away, much to your hatred. But unknown to you, so was Bellamy. Bellamy didn’t know why the hell he was always watching you, but there was just something about you that pulled him in, something that intrigued him. And watching you and Murphy had just made his head spin more.

You walked into the drop ship and over to the wash bins, picking up a towel there to scrub the blood on your hands off. You give a little hiss when the towel makes contact with the cuts that are deeper than you first thought. You’ve done this before, cutting your hands with your nails, but lately you’ve done it so much the marks are almost always visible. When you were finished you walked around the ship, and heard Clarke and others talking about leaving again, you strode over to them just catching the end of their conversation as Clarke stormed off.

“Hey!” you yelled, the blonde turning around before rolling her eyes and continuing on, “I know you saw me. I want in.” you say as you jog up to her, matching her strides.

“Why? So, you can just ‘relax’ with someone else now?” She spat, surprising you at her bitterness. You knew you were rude earlier, but you hadn’t thought it meant something.

“Woah, Clarke, look I know we both said some things earlier, and I know we are all a little overwhelmed with the situations at hand, but there’s no reason to be a bitch about it, alright?” You say pulling her arm a little to stop her. Her eyes bore into yours before mumbling a fine and continue walking. You let a smile fall upon your face as you follow behind her, eager to go and get your friend back safe.

Your smile fell as you realized where you were headed. Right to Bellamy Blake. After a minute of Clarke convincing Blake to join them, he agreed, and unfortunately taking Murphy right along with him. After you all started walking, and Spacewalker deciding to join, you’d found yourself playing with the knife you took out of your jacket, running your fingers along the side. Occasionally, you would run the blade across your palm, not cutting yourself, but leaving a red line.

“You keep doing that and your gonna cut yourself… Y/N” Bellamy speaks as his lips raise in the corners. “Finally learned your name.” you scoff at his comment, unable to take your eyes of his face.

“Congrats, what do you want a medal or something?” He chuckles at your comment, taking the knife from your hand and before you could protest he stuck it in his pocket, picking up speed until he was about feet in front of you, turning around and giving you a wink. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face, grabbing the straps on your backpack before catching up with the man.

“You know, if I die because he grounders attack and you stole my knife, that’s on you Blake.” He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes before huffing and handing the knife back to you, which you gladly accepted.

“You took off your bracelet.” He says when he noticed the prick marks from the metal. You pull the fabric on your sleeve down a little and shove the knife carefully into your pocket.

“Yeah, what’s it to you Blake?” you ask raising your eyebrows. He stares at the ground in front of you two avoiding your mocking gaze.

“You don’t like me, do you?”

“Blake, I don’t even know you.” Your pace quickens when you see Clarke and Finn stopping a bush ahead of you all. You crouch down with them as you all exchange looks of worry at the blood on the ground. When a similar moan from earlier filled your ears you shot up, and you all ran towards the sound, stopping when Jasper’s body stung up on a tree comes into your field of view.

“Jasper!” you yell as you start to rush over to him, completely unaware of the giant hidden trap in front of you until you were falling in it. Your mind went crazy staring at the sharp poles beneath you that you never hit. Your head turned to see Bellamy’s hand grasping yours holding you up. After you make eye contact and he hasn’t pulled you up you got worried. ‘Why wasn’t he doing anything?’ you thought.

“Bellamy…” you pleaded before you heard the shouts of your friends telling him to pull you up and his eyes widening in realization before everyone is grabbing your arm. When you are all the way up you roll onto your back and stare at the sky, calming your breaths as the group comes up with a plan. You roll your eyes as you stand up, bending over with your hands on your knees, making eye contact once again with Bellamy. As Clarke and Finn get Jasper down from the tree, you make your way over to Bellamy, shoving his shoulders making him take a few steps back into the bushes around you two.

“What the hell, Blake?! You weren’t gonna pull me up? Just let me hang there as you watch?!” You scream at him, your fists shaking from how hard you were squeezing them, opening up the cuts again, “Hey! I have an idea! Why don’t next time we have you dangle over the death trap and me holding on your arm refusing to pull you up!” Your shouts scared yourself, you’ve never really yelled at someone like this, but you weren’t about to let him see that. You were fuming, and Bellamy could see that, he didn’t say anything because he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know why he didn’t pull you up, just that he couldn’t.

You stop your rambling when Murphy points out a growling. When you hear it, your hearts stopped, the sound coming from the bushes 30 feet away from you and Bellamy. Staring at the bushes you slowly back away, Bellamy following your lead. Your eyes widen as a black panther begins making its way toward you, faster than you could think.

“Bellamy, gun!” Clarke yells as Bellamy reaches for his gun, only for it to not be there. When you hear the gunshot ring out you relaxed for a half of a second until you realized it was Wells shooting, and the boy couldn’t aim at all. When the panther was just a few feet in front of you it caused you to panic. Without thinking you pushed Bellamy away, causing yourself to get trusted towards the panther a little. Just enough that allowed the panther to claw you before falling to the ground from Wells finally hitting it. You fall to your knees as you feel the sharp pain in your shoulder from the animal, but you don’t do anything, just stare at the panther. Clarke and Finn hurryingly got Jasper down from the tree without hurting him.

“Now she sees you.” Bellamy says to Wells before turning to look at you in awe, the same look that Clarke had given Wells before rushing over to look at your shoulder.

“I’m fine.” You mumble, refusing to look up. Bellamy can’t help the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He left you dangling over the pit and then you save his life while risking yours. You stood up, your shoulder hurting but you didn’t care, you walked over to Jasper making sure he’s ok, ignoring the silence that overcame your friends. “Let’s go.” You said sternly before walking back to the camp, the gazes of your friends following.

That night, after Clarke had sewn you up and tried her best to help Jasper, you all made your way out of the drop ship to get food. Bellamy and Murphy had carried the Panther back and cooked it up for everyone. Well everyone who had taken off their wristbands, which luckily for you, you had. When you went for a stick of food, Clarke and Finn had too, only they didn’t take them off.

“Woah, woah. Wait, wait, wait. What, you think you play by different rules?” Murphy says grabbing Finns arm from pulling the meal away.

“I thought there were no rules.” Finn whispers feigning confusion before walking off, Clarke following suit. Everyone watched, you loved the defiance, but you knew that wasn’t good, something would happen from that decision. Your suspicions didn’t last long as a kid had stepped out of line to grab some food, just like Clarke and Finn did. You sucked in a breath as Bellamy made his way over to him, punching him right in the jaw. The kid stumbled away, and your eyes flickered between the boy and your own skewer. Making a choice, you walked over to boy who was confused at your presence until you stuck your skewer out to him.

“You gonna take it?” you asked after a few minutes of awkward staring. The boy snapped back into reality before he took the skewer giving you a short nod and smile. “Don’t take it off if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to.” You shake your head at the situation before making your way over to the food, taking another before Murphy had grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Hey, you and Spacewalker need to learn how it works here. You don’t get another just cause you gave yours away, Y/L/N. That’s not how it works.” He snapped, pulling your elbow causing you huff at the pain in your shoulder. You hated Murphy. You really did. Without even thinking you slammed your fist into his jaw, sending him stumbling backward releasing you. You could’ve walked away, you could’ve grabbed the food and called it a night. But you didn’t, instead you continued your assault on the boy. Punching him in his stomach, causing him to double over. He takes a swing at you, but you easily block it, coming to the back of him and kicking his knees out so he landed on his back gasping for air at the sudden impact of the ground. You stand over him, glaring down at the boy as he rolls on the ground a little.

“Touch me again and learn how it works here when I’m mad, Murphy.” You spat out his name with disgust. Before you turn around grabbing a stick of food and walking away, seeing Octavia eating alone and taking a seat next to her, surprising her. “So, you and Atom.” You say breaking the silence, causing the girl to blush.

“So, you and my brother.” She retorts getting a dry chuckle to come from you. You tilt your head at her assumption, both of you now bursting out in laughter at your awkward boy troubles. Even though you and Bellamy weren’t a thing, no one could deny the connection between you two. And no one could ignore the fact that Bellamy loved the sight of you and Octavia in a stress-free situation laughing like old friends, right after you beat the shit out of Murphy.

“You going to do anything about Little Miss Crazy, Bellamy.” Murphy grunts wiping the blood off his mouth onto his sleeve. Bellamy glance at the boy then back to you.

“Nah, don’t touch her and you won’t have a problem.”

Part 3?

[7-wonders]

Pour One Out

Summary: After lashing out at Michael, you find yourself at the receiving end of his rage. You stand up for yourself and decide to, in the words of Tom Haverford and Donna Meagle, “treat yo’self” to a night out with friends. Alcohol and anger make for great choices, right?

Word Count: 3973

A/N & Warnings: Warnings first: Alcohol, physical violence, people being mean to each other, cussing, partying. Hi there! Once again, I’m terrible at posting this story. It’s one of my favorite long-form pieces that I’ve ever written, but I’m still incapable of sticking to a schedule. Anyways, this is part 5 of my ‘Mad Love’ series, which I’ll have linked below. Feedback is always appreciated; leave me a like, reblog, comment, or ask letting me know what you think. My inbox is always open if you want to chat :)

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE

The cursor on the screen in front of you blinks constantly, silently asking you when you’re going to start typing. This essay isn’t going to write itself, but you can’t seem to muster up enough willpower to actually start putting words onto the paper. In all honesty, it’s hard to work on homework lately. Being the Antichrist’s unwilling wife and knowing of his plans for the apocalypse really makes essays on Plato’s Allegory of the Cave seem trivial, if they weren’t already trivial before this ordeal started. So you stare at the screen, zoning out while occasionally nodding your head so that it seems like you’re invested in the conversation your friends are having.

You jump when a hand touches your shoulder, staring wide-eyed at the classmate sitting next to you. She’s nice and you’ve worked with her on a few projects for this particular class, but you don’t really talk to her when it doesn’t relate to school. She smiles comfortingly at you while the rest of the group stares at you, all with different levels of bewilderment on their faces.

“What?” You ask, trying to make it seem like you weren’t on a completely different wavelength.

“We’re all getting ready to leave and I asked if you were okay. You’ve been really off recently, no offense.” The same classmate, Kate, repeats.

“I’m fine, I’ve just had a lot on my mind recently.”

“I can tell.” She jokes, gesturing to your blank screen. “I’ll send you the notes and what I’m basing my essay off of, if you want?”

“That’d be great, thank you so much.” You reply gratefully.

You hurriedly pack all of your items in your bag, not wanting to hold the group up anymore than you already have. Luckily the parking lot of the cafe you all met up at is fairly small, which means your cars are all parked next to each other. Still, the trauma from what happened that fateful night in the library parking lot has you locking the doors, jamming your seatbelt into place and driving out of the parking lot almost before everybody else has even gotten their cars started.

It’s probably not the best idea to get Chinese takeout when you’re already on a budget and you definitely have leftovers at home, but you figure you can splurge a little bit tonight. The bag that you’re carrying has you tempted to just sit in your car outside of your apartment and eat it all, but that’d be a little difficult since you have no utensils with you. So you make the trek to your apartment, which seems ever-longer with the food basically calling your name.

Unlocking your door and turning on the lights, the first thing that you see is that your cat is once again on the table, a habit that you’ve been trying to curtail for a few days now. The second thing you see, Michael Langdon petting said cat, has all thought of complaining fleeing your head.

“Jesus Christ!” You gasp, throwing your hands up in fright at the surprise intrusion. By some miracle, your food doesn’t go flying everywhere, so you place your things on the table before you do ‘accidentally’ throw them at Michael.

“Kind of the opposite, actually.” Michael smirks, placing his hands behind his back and walking towards you in the way that you hate so much.

“Michael, what the fuck are you doing here?” You huff, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “It’s Thursday, you’re literally going to see me tomorrow.”

You had actually kind of been expecting for him to show up somewhere in your life. After eating a single bite of toast before rushing out the door after your early weekend last Saturday, you knew he had been pissed. That much had been made clear when he called you Monday, as well as yesterday. A little bit of warning would have been nice, though.

“Well, seeing as how I already used my allotted two calls for the week,” his nose scrunches in distaste at the rule you had set, “I decided that I would drop in and see how my beautiful wife is doing. You never told me you had a cat.” He mentions when the little brat starts rubbing her head against Michael’s hand, begging for attention.

“It never came up in conversation.” You mutter, pushing past him so that you can take back the control of your apartment. “You dropped in, saw I’m fine, got to pet my cat; can you go now?”

Michael pouts teasingly before shrugging.

“Are you really just going to kick me out like that? You’re not a very good hostess, (Y/N).” You squeeze your eyes shut and clench your jaw, patience wearing thin with each second that Michael remains in your home.

Maybe if you had had some forewarning, been given some time to prepare for having to be around him, you wouldn’t be getting so angry. But now, not only has he invaded your home, he refuses to leave as well. Even worse is that stupid fucking smirk that is ever-present on his face. God, if you knew there wouldn’t be any consequences, you’d love to knock that look right off of his face (and maybe a few teeth out, too, although you’re sure that his Antichrist powers would grow them back right away).

“Look. I’m tired, hungry, I have a mountain of homework to do and I still have to finish my laundry. All I want to do is eat my dinner, maybe watch some Netflix while I work on homework, and then go to bed. Please, Michael, just go home.” You plead with him.

“I can help you, you know. Or you could just quit school and mo-”

“What happened to letting me have my alone time?” You question, reminding him of the contract you just went over less than a week ago. The smile fades off of his face as his blue eyes turn to a steely color, and you watch as he clenches and unclenches his fists repeatedly.

“I don’t ask for much from you, (Y/N), just for you to cherish and obey me.” You glower at him when he comes closer, attempting to push him away, but he snatches your wrists easily in one of his large hands. “Do you know how many men-- how many women worship my father? How many of them would have thrown themselves at my feet for a chance to be my bride? But no, my father had to make you as my soulmate. You, a stubborn, whiny little bitch who can’t just shut up and be grateful for the position of power you’re currently in.”

You yank your hands out of his grasp, and before you can even process it he slaps you across the face. One of his large rings caught against your lip, and you bring a hand to your face to catch the blood that’s starting to pool on the floor. Poking your tongue out at your lip, you can feel how it’s already starting to swell from the force of Michael’s hit. The man in question holds his hands up by his head, eyes wide as he pants loudly. He repeatedly shakes his head, like he’s trying to convince both you and him that he didn’t mean to hit you.

“(Y/N)-” He’s silenced when you spit at him. It lands on his cheek, and you watch with eyes blazing as the mixture of saliva and blood trails down his face.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.” You don’t look him in the eyes, instead choosing to focus on the blood you’re cupping in your hands. When he doesn’t move, you start to yell. “Leave! I swear to God, if you don’t leave, I’ll get my landlord up here and he’ll haul your ass out!”

The door never opens, but when you look up again he’s disappeared. You’re still beyond pissed, but the adrenaline is wearing off and the throbbing in your lip is starting to become more prominent. Stumbling off to the bathroom, you get a washcloth and hold it to your lip to stop the bleeding. Somehow the cut’s not deep, it just landed in an area that produces a lot of blood. You get cleaned up fairly quickly, and within twenty minutes you’re laying on the couch with an ice pack pressed to your lip. The cat sits on your lap, kneading your thighs with her little paws.

“Next time he shows up here, claw his eyes out, okay?” You request. She blinks her large eyes at you once before yawning and rubbing her nose. “Thanks.”

Your phone chimes with a text message that you almost ignore, thinking that it’s Michael. When the name on the text isn’t just the devil emoji that you use for him and is, instead, the name of your best friend, you unlock your phone.

“Hey girl! Thirsty Thursday tonight @ Stadium House, you in?”

Stadium House, the frat house closest to the campus’ football stadium (nobody ever said frat boys were good at naming things), offers what is arguably the best Thirsty Thursday you’ve ever experienced. Frat parties aren’t normally something you enjoy going to, choosing instead to do your social drinking at friends’ houses. Even though they’re not normally your scene, you still find yourself mulling over the idea. It’s been a while since you even drank, let alone went out with your friends and drank. Besides, after the hellish past few weeks, partying doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

“Sure, we riding together?” Within seconds, she’s responded.

“OMG YAY REALLY??? Yeah we’re getting a Lyft. Wanna come over to mine and get ready/pregame?”

“Be over in 10.” You reply.

Since you both live in the same building, all you had to do is get everything together and take the elevator to her floor. The cat, although not pleased that you’re standing, quickly settles down again in your spot as you go to put the ice pack back in the freezer. As you gather the ‘essentials’ for a night out, you realize that this is the first time you’ve been genuinely excited for something since the day you were kidnapped. Locking your door behind you, you head out with a purpose: to get fucked up. Classily fucked up, but still fucked up.

Stadium House is just like you remember it from the last party you attended, which would have been almost a year ago. It’s insanely loud, with enough bass to make your teeth shake. There’s an insane amount of people that you’re sure violates some sort of fire code, none of the furniture matches, and there’s enough booze to give the entire school alcohol poisoning.You’re already mildly buzzed, the alcohol that you pregamed making you feel a good kind of fuzzy. Making your way into the kitchen to grab a beer takes twice the time that it normally would since inebriated-you likes to hug everyone that you see.

“(Y/N)!” A voice shouts. You turn around to see Kate waving at you, beckoning you towards her. “Hey! Thought you didn’t come to these types of parties?”

“Normally I don’t, but tonight I decided to.”

“God, what happened to your lip? Did somebody punch you?” You almost forgot about the cut on your face, having covered it with enough makeup to hide the bruising and swelling.

“Oh, I tripped and busted my face against the stairs earlier today.” Kate grimaces, but obviously believes it.

“Well hopefully that means you won’t bust your face while you’re drunk. Anyways, you wanna play pong with me? I need a partner.” You shrug before nodding, letting her take your hand and lead you to the living room.

All of the couches are pushed up against the walls, allowing people to sit and catch their breaths. There’s a long table set up in the middle of the room, the classic red cups creating pyramids on each side.

“Katie, you found someone!” Kate giggles and blushes when a guy slings his arm around before kissing her cheek.

“(Y/N), this is my boyfriend, Brennan. Brennan, this is (Y/N).” You both wave at each other awkwardly. “Oh my God B, do you know who (Y/N) would be absolutely great with? Lucas!”

Brennan chuckles at the look on your face.

“Kate likes to play matchmaker when she’s drunk.” He explains. “Go play then, everyone’s waiting on you.”

Kate pouts before kissing Brennan and jogging around to the side of the table that you’ve already migrated towards. Picking up a Solo cup, you glance inside to see what the poison of choice is tonight. One sniff of the clear liquid tells you that it’s vodka, and definitely not the good kind. Kate fakes a gag when you hold the cup under her nose, making you giggle.

“Guess we’ll have to play extra good, then.”

Both teams suck, but you somehow manage to eke out the win. Even with the win, you still had to down an ungodly amount of vodka. Couple that with the two beers you’ve had since starting the game, and you’re definitely feeling the effects. Everything has you laughing, from the posters on the wall and your opponents’ jokes to the outfits of some of the women here and how they all line the walls, looking for their prey. You and Kate had almost collapsed against each other when the familiar chorus of ‘oh fuck, shit, BITCH’ coursed through the entirety of the frat house. Another side effect of being drunk is just how loud you are. You know that you’re nearly yelling whenever you open your mouth, but you’ll be damned if people don’t hear what you have to say.

After the game is over, you end up heading outside to get some fresh air. A good number of people have the same idea as you, standing together in small groups. Pushing past a couple making out, you lean against the wall and pull your phone out of your back pocket. There’s a few notifications from various social medias, mainly your friends tagging you in their stories. Unfortunately, there’s also a text from Michael that simply reads ‘I’m sorry.’ The sensible part of you that remains sober tells you to not do what you’re thinking of, but since that part of you is stupid, you click on Michael’s contact anyways. It only rings twice before he picks up the phone, which makes you roll your eyes.

“Hey, are you okay? I’m so sorry about what happened earlier, I shouldn’t have done that and I’ll never do anything like that again.” You hear the words that he’s saying, but they don’t actually register with you while you wait to finally speak.

“Y’know, you’re the--the biggest jerk I’ve ever met!” You huff, sitting down on top of the cool grass.

“I know, and I deserve th-”

“No no no, mister, you listen to ME! All my friends’ boyfriends are so fucking nice, and they care about their girlfriends, and they certainly didn’t kidnap them. One of my friends even told me there’s a guy she knows that’d be--that’d be perfect for me!” You pause to take a sip of the beer in your hand. “But I had to say no, all because I’m married to the fucking Ant-Anti-crust!”

Michael’s silent while you ramble on, waiting patiently for you to finish. You snicker at your oh-so-clever wordplay, repeating ‘Anti-crust’ quietly to yourself.

“(Y/N)...are you drunk?” You sigh, humming a tune that you’re not quite sure of while you look up at the sky.

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Stay where you are, I’m going to come and get you. And don’t hang up the phone!”

“You’re so lame, Michael.” You groan loudly.

“I know I am, so incredibly lame.” He agrees with you.

“Whatever, I gotta tell my friends I’m leaving, ‘else they’ll think I got kidnapped...again.” Stumbling to your feet, you squint your eyes to spot your friends. Sure enough, the three of them are all sitting on the couch under the large oak tree. What is it with frat guys leaving couches outside? Is that like a requirement for frats?

“Why is there a couch outside?” Michael asks incredulously, and you clap a hand over your mouth when you realize that you said that out loud.

“Oops.” Your friends all wave to you, and you fall sideways on top of their laps. “H-hey guys!”

“(Y/N), where the hell did you go?”

“Oh, I kicked ASS at pong. Did you know that I’m good at pong? ‘Cuz I didn’t know I was good at pong.” Your mumble, reaching a hand up to stroke your friend’s cheek. “Anyways, I gotta go. My husband is gonna pick me up.”

You can hear Michael gasp as your friends all laugh and giggle.

“Fuck off, you don’t have a husband!” You’re about to argue before you remember that you totally should not have said that.

“You’re right, I don’t have a husband.” You agree, sobering up long enough to panic before realizing that they’re just going to think you’re joking. “Anyways, my...friend Michael is gonna pick me up.”

“(Y/N)’s gonna get DICK tonight!” She yells, making them all cheer loudly.

Before you can argue, a sleek black sports car pulls up. Michael doesn’t even have to unroll the windows for you to know that it’s him; nobody else would be driving around in a college neighborhood with a car like that. Your friends help push you up, and you grab all of your stuff from where you threw it on the ground. Your goodbyes are all long and exaggerated, all of them hugging you and kissing your cheeks before letting you leave.

You throw open the car door dramatically, sliding not-so-gracefully inside. Michael stares at you, and if you were more sober you’d try and attempt to figure out what he’s thinking. Instead you give him a wide smile, waving excitedly while you try to buckle up.

“Here, let me help you.” He says finally, easily buckling you up.

“Thank youuuuuu!” You sing out, leaning back against the cool leather.

“I, uh, brought you a water.” He hands you a bottle of water, making you gasp excitedly.

“How did you know I was thirsty! You’re the best, Mikey!” You open the bottle easily and down half the bottle in one go.

“Don’t call me that.” He’s obviously not too impressed with having to pick you up, but whatever.

“But-but I like calling you Mikey! It’s my nickname for you! Isn’t that what married couples do? They have nicknames for each other!” You argue while Michael maneuvers through the deserted streets.

He decides that keeping silent is the best course of action, which makes you pout. There’s no music on, and the only sound you can hear is the engine purring. His eyes are focused on the road ahead, so you decide to creep your hand up to touch his hair, which is something you’ve always wanted to do. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and you’re pretty sure he thinks you’re going to hit him. He flinches when your hand lands in his hair, sending you into another round of giggles while you feel his golden curls.

“So soft.” You mutter to yourself, running your hand through his hair. “Mikey, I’m gonna need you to drop your haircare routine.”

“Tomorrow.”

“We’re at my apartment! How do you know where I live?”

“I was here four hours ago.” You hum, nodding.

“Riiiiiight.” You basically fling yourself out of the car, bouncing on your heels while you wait for Michael to catch up to you.

He politely slides his arm around yours, keeping you steady while you both make your way to your apartment. Standing still in the elevator makes you realize just how tired you are and you yawn repeatedly and rub your eyes, undoubtedly smudging your eye makeup.

“Drink the rest of your water, please.” Michael requests, gesturing to the near-empty bottle you’re still holding.

You do as he says, letting him guide you to your apartment door. He opens it without using a key, and you look at him with wide eyes.

“Oh no, did I leave the door unlocked?”

“No (Y/N), I unlocked it with my magic.”

“That’s right, I forgot about that! That’s how you left so quickly after you slapped the shit outta me.” Michael winces at your words, but you ignore him and walk into the apartment. “Hi, kitty kitty!” You greet the cat, who doesn’t even bother to wake up.

“Go get some pajamas on, I want to make sure you make it to bed alright before I leave.” You glare at him, but do as he says. When the cat hears his voice, she eagerly jumps up and hops off of the couch, padding towards him and meowing. You stop at the sight, mouth hanging open while he crouches down to pet the cat.

“What the fuck?” You whisper, and Michael has to stifle a laugh when tears start to fill your eyes. “You little traitor.”

Michael remains on the floor while you get changed, giving his attention to the small cat. When it’s been a couple of minutes with no sign of you, he begins to get a little concerned. What trouble can a drunk person get up to when they’re just getting changed. Michael stands up, cautiously making his way to your bedroom. If you are still changing he really doesn’t want to walk in on you, knowing that there will be absolute hell to pay. His concerns are instantly wiped away when he sees you laying in your bed, eyes already closed.

“(Y/N).” Michael whispers, shaking your shoulder. You groan and try to push him away. “(Y/N), you still have makeup on.”

He’s not sure you string together a full sentence, but he does make out the words ‘makeup wipes’ and ‘bathroom,’ which is all that he needs. Thankfully you left the package of makeup wipes on the counter before you left for the evening. Pulling one out of the package, he walks back into your room and crouches next to you. Your nose crinkles at the feeling of the cool cloth against your skin, and your eyes flutter open before closing so he can take your eye makeup off. When he reaches your bottom lip and chin, he frowns.

“I am so sorry.” He apologizes before he starts cleaning your lipstick off. You both know that he’s not just apologizing for the hiss of pain that escapes your mouth.

“You’re so mean, you know that?” You mumble, licking your chapped lips while Michael examines the damage.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why I did that. I’ve never hit anyone before.” He’s telling the truth; he’s murdered people and animals before, obliterated people’s souls, but he’s never slapped anyone. If there’s one useful thing his grandma taught him while growing up, it’s that you never hit a woman.

“You did it because you’re mean.”

“I promise you, (Y/N), that I’ll never lay a hand on you like that again.” You look at him from under your lashes, causing his heart to clench painfully.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Your eyes close again, and Michael gets up to throw the makeup wipe away.

When he comes back into your room, you’re already asleep. Michael smiles at the small snores that escape you and how absolutely comfy you look, slipping out to grab you some water and pain meds for the morning. Placing it on your bedside table, he spares one last glance at you before going to leave, petting the cat once more and disappearing again.

Tag List: @sammythankyou @let-me-try-mom @ultragibbycentralworld@sebastianshoe @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @alexcornerblog@everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @dolceandchalamet @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @dextergirl12345 @americanhorrorstudies@sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @coloursunlimited @punkysouls @kahhlo@storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonsdemon @langdonslove @carousallie @cuddletothecake

[blossom-hwa]

Love a Demon - JAEMIN

uh.... yeah.... i was on hiatus.... sorry for my super long absence. school’s been kicking my ass and i’ve really been hating everything recently... i wasn’t in such a good place. but i found some time to write and that coincided with some lucky inspiration for this fic, so i’ve finally finished it! as for the messages in my inbox, i’ll answer 

thank you thank you yet again to @chenle for the idea of guardian devils that gave birth to this entire series! if you want to read it, here it is! 

Pairing: Jaemin x fem!reader 

Genre: angst, fluff, angel/demon!au

Triggers: death, cancer (I tried to portray things as accurately as I could which was difficult because I don’t have experience in the matter; I did not intend to romanticize anything and if you find that I did, please please message me and let me know how I can fix it!)

Notes: reading “Trust a Demon” or “Kiss an Angel” isn’t required to understand most of the story, but it might make some things less confusing. Both of Mark’s and Chenle’s stories are mentioned here anyway. 

Word Count: 7.6k

Loving a demon comes at a price. 

NCT Masterlist | Angels and Demons

Love begins slowly.

. . . . .

Jaemin walks out of Lucifer’s throne room, wincing. Two new characters are imprinted into the curve of his wrist, visible only to him.

They’re paler than he expected.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, testing your name out on his tongue. “Y/N L/N.”

“Who’s Y/N?” Haechan asks out of the blue, slinging an arm around Jaemin’s neck. “New girlfriend?”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, shoving Haechan’s arm away. “No. New assignment. And I’ve only ever had one girlfriend!”

“Hence the ‘new’,” the older boy huffs, replacing his arm.

“That makes it sound like I’ve had more than one already!” Jaemin complains.

“Connotation, Hyuck, I’ve told you about this before,” Mark says, walking up. “Just because you were born in a century when connotation wasn’t a word doesn’t mean you don’t understand its meaning. New assignment, Jaemin?”

“Yeah.” Jaemin almost shows Mark his wrist before remembering that only he can see it. “Y/N L/N. Her last guardian demon… he almost left her to die. Lucifer wasn’t happy, so he’s serving punishment now.”

All three demons wince.

“Cute,” Haechan finally says, making a face.

“How is punishment cute?” Jisung says, startling them all.

“Stop sneaking up like that!” Mark snaps.

“It’s a colloquial term used to describe pretty much anything,” Haechan explains. “Shouldn’t you know, Jisung, since you literally just got out of preschool?”

Jaemin just pinches Jisung’s scowling cheek and smiles. “Jisung is cute. Punishment is not,” he decides, looking at his wrist again. “I should probably go and check out this Y/N girl. So I know what she looks like and all. I’ll see you later, I guess.”

There’s the usual chorus of goodbyes, and then Jaemin touches his tattoo and is sent to earth.

“I’ll never get used to this,” he mutters, blinking rapidly. The sun is almost too bright compared to the darkness of hell, and it takes a while to adjust. The nauseating feeling of being pulled apart and put back together again eases quickly though, and after a few minutes, he feels well again.

“Y/N L/N,” he whispers, listening intently for any sounds of the name. “Y/N L/N.”

“Y/N!” someone shouts nearby. Jaemin whips around, turning towards the shout.

And then he sees you.

You’re laughing, bag slung over your back, hair tumbling over your shoulders as you talk animatedly with someone Jaemin assumes is your friend. He can see your twinkling eyes, your wide smile, your tanned skin, and for a moment, he’s mesmerized.

He’s glad that his friends didn’t come along, or they’d probably be teasing him about his flaring cheeks. He’s also glad that no one can see him, because he’s sure that they’d think he’s a creep for staring.

With a start, he realizes his time is running out. You’re walking away anyway, going someplace else. He weaves through the crowd and ends up behind a row of shops, full of the shade and shadows that characterize his home.

As he melts into the darkness, Jaemin thinks to himself that he’ll never forget your face.

. . . . .

Love is complicated.

. . . . .

Jaemin’s first time saving you happens not two weeks after he first sees you, and it’s nothing like he expects.

“What are you doing here?” he yells at the boy who’s glaring at him with just as much hatred.

“She’s my assignment, what about you?” Jeno sneers, refusing to back down.

Anger gives way to confusion which in turn gives way to guilt over how lost and scared you look, caught between the two boys, eyes wide with fear and bewilderment.

“How can she be your assignment when she’s mine?” Jaemin asks, the venom fading from his voice.

Jeno’s eyes fill with the same confusion he’s sure are in his, and he shakes his head. “Stop lying,” he snaps, but Jaemin knows that Jeno’s bluffing.

“No lie, Jael,” Jaemin smirks, regaining some of his former confidence. “Lost your touch? Can’t tell when I’m lying or not anymore?”

Jeno scowls, his eyes turning murderous. “Don’t call me that,” he seethes. “You don’t deserve to.”

“Uh… guys?”

Both boys turn their heads to you, eyes softening immediately. You’re gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles are turning white but the fear in your eyes is mostly gone, replaced by cautious curiosity. “What… what’s going on?” You take a deep breath, loosening your grip. “I saw the block falling… and someone pulled me away… who was it?” You look between the two boys, and Jaemin swears his heart stops beating when you look into his eyes for that one split second.

“Me,” he finally gets out. “It was me.”

Jeno scoffs quietly but doesn’t argue. If there’s anything good about the angel, it’s that he won’t tell lies.

Your soft smile is worth seeing his enemy again. “How… how did you do it so fast? It was…” You laugh a little shakily. “If I hadn’t almost died, I’d be raving over how cool that was. Anyway, uh, thank you.” You laugh again. “I owe you.”

“No, you don’t,” Jeno interrupts, looking annoyed. “It was his job.”

Oh, fuck you, Jael.

“Job?” you echo, looking lost yet again.

“Why do you ruin everything, Ja - Jeno?” Jaemin snaps, ignoring Jeno’s slight flinch. “Now we have to tell her!”

Jeno blinks once, then twice, then shrugs slightly. To anyone who didn’t know him well, they’d believe his casualness, but Jaemin can still read his former best friend like a book. He knows Jeno is just as confused by his actions as he is.

A sigh escapes Jaemin’s lips, but he forces a gentle smile just to put you at ease. “We’re… well, he’s a guardian angel.” Jaemin gestures slightly at Jeno. “And, uh, I’m a demon. A guardian demon.”

There’s a long moment of silence between the three of you.

“Angels and demons exist?” you finally ask.

“Yes, they do,” Jeno replies, cutting Jaemin off. A flash of annoyance runs through the demon and he knows Jeno noticed. Jaemin didn’t miss the angel’s tiny smirk.

Your voice cuts into Jaemin’s thoughts. “I’ve never heard of a guardian demon before.”

“Well, now you have.” Jaemin laughs slightly, edging a little closer to you. He doesn’t miss the way Jeno’s eyes latch onto the small movement and a slight sense of triumph runs through him.

“So I have a guardian angel and a guardian demon?” you ask. “How come I’ve never seen either of you until now?”

“Well, technically you’re only supposed to have one,” Jeno breaks in. “Either an angel or a demon. But I guess the universe screwed up this time.” The glance Jeno sends Jaemin is brief but full of venom that Jaemin returns. “And we only appear when you’re in a life or death situation, like just now.”

You nod slowly. “Interesting,” you murmur, looking between the boys curiously. “Well, it was nice meeting you…” You trail off, realizing you don’t know their names.

The two boys look at each other instinctively, wordlessly coming to an agreement. They look away just as quickly.

“Jaemin.”

“Jeno.”

“It was nice meeting you, Jaemin and Jeno,” you finish sweetly, bowing slightly to them both. “I’ll leave now. Thank you for saving my life,” you add, flashing Jaemin another sweet smile.

Jaemin can feel his heart thumping.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he replies, smiling back. A tinge of satisfaction runs through his veins as he sees Jeno’s eye twitch. “Try not to get into too much trouble,” he teases gently.

“I will,” you tease back conspiratorially, and with a slight wave, you leave.

Once you’re gone, the tension between the angel and demon becomes palpable again, so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“Of course if the universe screwed up, it’d have to put me with you,” Jeno spits bitterly.

“You think this is any fun for me?” Jaemin snaps back.

Jeno scoffs once, then disappears in a flash of light.

“Well, fuck you too,” Jaemin mutters, melting into the shadows.

. . . . .

Love grows quickly.

. . . . .

“I’m only seeing her to make sure she’s okay,” Jaemin whispers to himself as he walks down the street. “Just to make sure she’s okay.”

Deep inside, he knows that’s a lie, but he shoves that thought away. You’ve nearly died twice now, and though you didn’t look too shaken up the last time, Jaemin could see that you were trembling slightly. He could feel you shaking in his grasp as he gave your hand one last squeeze, ignoring Jeno’s glare, before you walked away.

Maybe it’s just Jaemin, but he can’t seem to forget the way you smiled that first time he saved you. He hated the terrified look in your eyes that last time and he feels he’d do anything to see you smile again.

Humming slightly, he opens the door to the music store where you work. His eyes sweep the shop until they land on your figure as you arrange CDs on shelves. He immediately makes a beeline for you.

When he’s a few feet away, you turn around, perhaps hearing his footsteps. It’s with surprise that you greet him with a quiet exclamation of his name as you put away the last CD. “Why’re you here?” you ask, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

Jaemin swallows, his cheeks turning a bit red. “Just…” He swallows again, then composes himself. “Just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay after what happened… last time.”

Your eyes darken slightly and Jaemin feels bad for making you remember, but the look clears after a bit and you smile at him a little sadly. “I’m fine, Jaemin,” you say softly, eyes flitting around. “There are worse things than death.”

He frowns a little. What is that supposed to mean?

“Anyway, where’s Jeno?” you ask, clearly trying to divert the topic. “I thought you two were a package deal or something. You two always appear together.”

A sour expression twists Jaemin’s face. “Not willingly,” he mutters.

“Oh. Uh… sorry.” Your awkwardly apologetic face tilts the corners of Jaemin’s mouth though, and he laughs. “It’s alright, Y/N. It’s a reasonable question.”

“He’s an angel and you’re a demon, right?” you ask. “Mind explaining to me how this works in more detail? I know you said some stuff the first time we met, but I didn’t quite grasp it.”

Jaemin bites his lip, looking at the clock at the back of the store.

I’m going to be in so much trouble when I get back, he thinks wryly. He isn’t supposed to even see you outside of life and death situations, and now you’re asking him to explain this convoluted world of angels and demons. It’s all technically forbidden.

But for some reason, he doesn’t care.

Mark did it, didn’t he? Jaemin reasons. Plus, he wouldn’t pass up a chance to see your eyes light up with wonder the same way they did when you first met.

“Sure,” he hears himself say. “When’s your break? We can go to the café next door.”

You wave him off, grinning. “It isn’t busy and my brother owns this place,” you say. “Let’s go!”

And later, when Jaemin looks at you over his cup of Americano, seeing your eyes sparkling with curiosity, he wonders if love can really come this quickly.

. . . . .

Love comes steadily.

. . . . .

A lashing the first time, two lashings the second. Jaemin doesn’t care. Seeing your face is worth the pain.

Mark tells him no, it shouldn’t be. But Na Jaemin doesn’t care. Doesn’t Mark have a girlfriend, anyway? A human girlfriend?

“It’s - that’s a special case!” Mark sputters, trying to dissuade the younger boy, but Jaemin later notices that Mark’s stopped trying to persuade him so much.

Sometimes, though, Jaemin wishes Mark tried harder to stop him. Because with every time Jaemin sees you, he wants less and less to leave.

He also wishes Jeno could just butt out of his life, but clearly the universe has other plans.

“Leave her alone,” Jeno hisses one day, cornering Jaemin as he’s coming out of the music shop for the nth time. Jaemin flinches slightly in surprise before setting his features in a hard, cold, look.

“And why should I?”

“You’re corrupting her,” Jeno spits. “And you’re not supposed to be with her, exception or no.”

“Too bad I’ve never quite been one for rules, though, Jael,” Jaemin replies with forced lightness. He refuses to look at the older boy but can feel his gaze boring into his skin. “And corrupting? I think that’s a bit of a strong word, don’t you think?”

“Clearly not if I just used it,” Jeno snaps. “I choose my words carefully, unlike you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

There’s a sigh, and then Jeno’s forcing Jaemin to face him, ignoring all the strange looks he’s receiving from passerby. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses. “Telling her sweet words, making promises you can’t keep, revealing everything? She’s a human, she’s your assignment, for heaven’s sake. All you’re doing is hurting her!”

The words strike a little close to home but Jaemin’s face remains neutral. “If I didn’t know better,” he replies coolly, “I’d think you cared for her.” A smirk twitches the side of his lip. “But we both know that isn’t true, right?” He spins around to walk away.

“I may not be able to stop you,” Jeno says behind him, “but your kind most certainly can.”

Jaemin’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look back.

He can’t stop the slight guilt in his chest, though, the next time he sees you.

Jeno wasn’t completely wrong about Jaemin’s words.

. . . . .

Love is difficult.

. . . . .

One year passes. You grow closer to Jaemin. Jaemin becomes more attached to you.

And the tattoo on his wrist begins to lose its boldness and becomes lighter.

Jaemin wonders if you know your life is ebbing away. He wonders if you know that this tentative romance between him and you cannot last. That it likely won’t even reach full bloom.

If he had more time, if he didn’t have Jeno on his back, Jaemin thinks you could have a beautiful love, just like the one Mark has with his girlfriend. Mark doesn’t know it, but Jaemin envies him and his luck.

“I find it intriguing how some people have happy endings while others don’t,” you remark one day. Jaemin’s helping you put away records and CDs on the shelves but he stops when he hears your words.

“Intriguing.”

“Yes, intriguing.” You turn around to face him. “Some people have happy endings but don’t deserve them. Some have sad endings but don’t deserve them. Is that really fair?”

A cold awkwardness begins to settle in the air. Jaemin looks at you, really looks at you, and notices the changes in your appearance. Eye bags, listless hair, pale skin. Your eyes aren’t sparkling like they usually are. Your lips don’t smile like they usually do.

He realizes you have less time than even he thought.

“Have you been speaking with Jeno?” Jaemin whispers. His mind kicks into overdrive. If you have, then just how much has he told you?

You don’t answer, instead opening another box of CDs.

“Have you?” Jaemin presses.

Finally, you look up. “And if I have?”

It hurts, knowing that you’ve met with his sworn enemy with the full knowledge that they hate each other. Still, Jaemin tries to understand.

Trying to understand doesn’t stop him from wanting to spit in Jeno’s face. Seeing as the angel isn’t here, however, he settles for taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“Jeno and I have very different beliefs,” he begins carefully. “He believes that all should be fair. If someone has done good deeds, why should they have their life cut short when they could be given the gift of life for longer?”

You don’t look at him, but Jaemin knows you’re listening. He continues. “And yet… who is he to decide whether or not someone may live longer? Who is God to decide that? If the universe ordained someone’s life to be as long as it is… who has the right to change fate?”

Placing the last few CDs on the shelf, you finally turn around again. Jaemin sees the pain in your face and knows that you know how short your life will be.

“Angels believe some lives should be prolonged, while others may be shortened. Demons believe lives should stay the same length they were preordained to. I am a demon, so you know what I believe. I do not know which side is right or wrong. Beliefs do not mean truth. But that is what I believe.”

You nod slightly.

“Nothing is truly fair. You can divide your candies into two piles of equal amounts but none of the candies are the same size. You can try to pour equal amounts of milk into two glasses but they will never be the same. Bad people may die rich. Good people may die poor. But at the end of the day, as callous as it sounds, it is their fate. They will be rewarded or punished as they must be in the afterlife.”

The silence between you two extends until the bell at the door rings, signaling the arrival of another customer. Without a second glance, without another word, you brush past Jaemin to greet them.

Jaemin sighs. While you’re busy, he walks out of the store. The bell rings, signaling his exit, but you don’t follow him.

He sets off to find Jeno.

. . . . .

Love is hard.

. . . . .

“Jael!” Jaemin yells, startling the angel into turning around. His mouth twists into a snarl.

Jeno only looks at Jaemin haughtily. “What do you want?”

Jaemin sneers, eyes flashing with fire. “So you told me to stay away from Y/N,” he seethes, “but then you go and tell her a bunch of crap about me, right? Hypocrite, much?”

The angel stiffens slightly but still says nothing.

“What is wrong with you?!” Jaemin yells. “What is your problem?! I get that you hate me and I do too but for fuck’s sake, I would never purposely try to ruin your happiness!”

“So you admit it, then?” Jeno’s quiet voice startles Jaemin. “You admit that she’s your happiness?”

Wind rustles through the trees, picking up the leaves and sending them swirling around. Agitated, Jaemin doesn’t realize that the leaves are starting to swirl around him as his powers react to his emotions.

Jaemin’s stuck. He can’t say no, because Jeno knows when he lies. And he basically just admitted it. So why doesn’t he say anything? Why doesn’t he loudly declare his love for you?

As the leaves swirl around him faster and faster, whipping through his hair and crackling in the air, Jaemin stares at Jeno’s eyes, and he knows why he doesn’t loudly claim his love.

Jeno’s eyes, so dark and mysterious, so beautiful and dangerous, hold no anger. No resentment.

Only sadness.

And Jaemin realizes that Jeno loves you too.

He doesn’t need to say anything, though. The look in his eyes, the swirling leaves, his flushed face all speak volumes of the truth. Jeno doesn’t need words to know.

The angel gives the demon one last, long look before disappearing in a flash of light.

All the fight leaves Jaemin’s body and the leaves flutter to the ground, scattering themselves around him. He sinks down, staring at the leaf that’s fallen onto his lap.

It’s a burst of orange, yellow, red, a bright sunset captured in a single leaf. But there’s a touch of soggy brown at the tip, hinting at its inevitable decay.

Like you.

Jaemin sighs, twirling the leaf in his fingers before slipping it into his pocket. His eyes flutter to your name on his wrist, and his chest tightens at how light the writing is getting. Then, making sure no one is around, he disappears into the shadow of a nearby tree.

As he fades into the darkness, he wonders if you really, really know just how little time you have left.

. . . . .

Love is powerful.

. . . . .

Jaemin knows when he next sees you. The sallow bags under your eyes, the pallor of your skin. The hair hanging limp across your shoulders, the tired upturn of your lips that you send him when he walks in.

“Hi,” you greet listlessly, trying and failing to conjure your usual verve. Jaemin regrets all the weeks he spent avoiding you, thinking that you hated him.

But still, how did you change this much in a mere few weeks?

“Hi,” he replies cautiously, his heart aching.

“Nice of you to see me again,” you say.

When I’m dying.

You don’t say the words, but they hang in the air, unsaid but heavy. Stifling.

Jaemin swallows. “I’m sorry.”

The tired smile on your face grows a little warmer, your eyes regaining a little bit of their past brightness. “It’s okay,” you say. “I’m sorry, too.”

Silence.

You finally laugh a little. “You probably know, don’t you?” The glance you give his wrist saves him from answering. “I’m dying. Got the diagnosis last week. Cancer.” You lean down to pick up a box of CDs, but Jaemin rushes over and takes it from you. “Sit down for a bit,” he says. “Where do you need this?”

“Jaemin, I can do it,” you protest, but Jaemin shakes his head. “Let me.”

Silence falls in the shop. It’s late, and Jaemin knows your brother must be home by now, but he’s not. He asks why.

“He’s at the hospital. Figuring things out.” You huff a little. “I was supposed to go but I didn’t want to. I hate hospitals.”

Hearing those words almost makes Jaemin break down, but he forces himself to stay calm. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“Don’t worry.” Suddenly you’re next to him, a hand on his arm, looking up with bright, sad eyes. “I understand. I’m sorry I didn’t before.” You muster up a small smile. “I guess it’s just my time.”

A tear rolls down your cheek.

Jaemin places the box down with a thud, spinning around to pull you into a crushing embrace, feeling your tears begin to soak his shirt. He closes his eyes, burying his face in your hair, breathing in the slight scent of your shampoo while trying not to cry himself. But despite his efforts, a tear escapes his eye.

When you finally pull away, face teary, Jaemin takes your hands, looking deep into your eyes. “I’m sorry for one more thing,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry I never told you I loved you.”

. . . . .

Love is inopportune.

. . . . .

Maybe Jaemin is neglecting his other duties. Maybe he isn’t being a proper guardian demon, and maybe Lucifer has a legitimate reason for being angry at him. But in his defense, nothing’s been happening with his other three assignments. And as much as he doesn’t like it, he knows he would leave your side in a heartbeat, if only for a short while, to save them.

Skin blistering, Jaemin blinks tears out of his eyes as he walks out of the throne room. He winces, catching a glimpse of the red, inflamed flesh of his shoulder.

“Jeez, Jaemin,” Haechan comments. “Maybe you should really take a step back.”

“Who are you to talk?” Jaemin snaps. “You spend all your time mooning over a girl who can’t even see you!”

Haechan reels, looking hurt.

“Don’t tell me I wouldn’t understand, because I do!” Jaemin ignores the screaming pain in his shoulder, gesticulating wildly. “I fucking love her, Haechan! I fucking do! This is killing me! And you expect me to take a fucking step back?!”

“Shut up, Jaemin, just shut up!” Haechan yells. “Shut up!”

“SHE IS DYING, AND YOU WANT ME TO LEAVE HER SIDE?!” Jaemin screams, tears of pain and sadness springing into his eyes.

“YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO LOVES SOMEONE AS MUCH AS YOU DO!” Haechan yells, scraping his arm across his face.

Jaemin whirls around, ready to stalk off, but someone blocks his way. He looks up, ready to go off again, but softens slightly when he sees Jisung looking between his two friends. “Hi, Jisung,” he says in a clipped tone.

“Hi,” the younger boy says cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing -”

“Jaemin here is being an idiot,” Haechan spits.

“YOU LITERALLY KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I’M GOING THROUGH, AND YOU’RE GOING TO CALL ME AN IDIOT?!”

“Whoa.” With an authority Jaemin didn’t know he had, Jisung places a calming hand on his friends’ arms. “Okay. I think I know what’s going on.”

Haechan scoffs, but Jisung takes no notice. A sad, faraway look envelops his young face, and he hangs his head slightly. “Let’s go talk somewhere else.”

So that’s how three demons find themselves on a quiet field, sitting stiffly on the grass, two of them refusing point-blank to look at each other. Jisung glances at both of them, sees their animosity, and sighs.

“You’re both in love with humans. People you’re supposed to guard.” He states the fact simply, without glamour or fanfare.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaemin sees Haechan nod slightly. He does the same.

“I loved someone once. First love. We met through dance at the academy, started dating in high school. Then I died.”

The admission falls out of Jisung’s lips as naturally as water over a cliff, but the words seem so alien that for a moment, animosity forgotten, his two friends only stare at him open-mouthed. His words are so frank, so utterly honest and natural, and yet they can’t believe it. How could Jisung, their quiet and innocent friend, have ever loved someone to the depth that he claims he has? Sweet, quiet Jisung, who never knows what’s going on? 

But his eyes tell the truth. And right now, they convey a knowledge far beyond the boy’s years. Jaemin listens intently, ears straining to catch every word.

“I thought I’d never see her again. I became friends with you guys and the others in heaven, then we joined Lucifer, and long story short, I thought she would have forgotten about me. At least ten years had passed by then. I wouldn’t have blamed her.” Jisung stares into the distance, plucking at the grass absentmindedly. “And then her guardian angel almost failed her, and by some stupid trick of fate, I got assigned to her instead.”

Haechan sucks in a breath.

“She hadn’t forgotten about me.” Jisung sighs. “Every year she went back to my grave. She talked to me as though I was still alive. She never stopped, not even… not even after she got married.”

It’s Jaemin’s turn to gasp.

“She’s happy now.” Jaemin looks over to see Jisung smiling slightly, the brightness truly reaching his eyes. “And I am too. I’m glad she’s happy, and not still hung up over me.” He pauses, and his smile grows wider. “I’m not hung up over her, either.”

There’s a small silence, broken only by the wind whistling across the field.

Jisung clears his throat. “Point is, I get what you guys are thinking. And it’s hard. Haechan, you know how hard it is. She doesn’t even know you exist. So be a bit more understanding to Jaemin.”

Haechan nods almost imperceptibly.

“And Jaemin, it’s difficult, yes, but keep her in mind. Make her days feel as full and bright as possible. Let her leave with as few regrets as possible.” Jisung smiles a little. “You’ll always love her, and she’ll always love you.”

And the more Jaemin thinks about it, Jisung is right. He looks over at the younger boy with a newfound respect, marveling at the hidden wisdom behind the boy’s young face. “Thanks, ‘Sung,” he says, before turning to Haechan. “And I’m sorry, Haechan.”

Haechan nods. “I’m sorry, too.”

Jisung breaks the short silence that follows by standing up, dusting blades of grass off of his pants. “Mark’s girlfriend invited us to dinner when I was with them earlier. We should probably go now.”

Jisung and Haechan disappear into the shadows, but Jaemin lingers a bit longer, lost in his thoughts. They still whirl around his mind, just as chaotic as before, but not so fast. A little calmer.

Maybe he feels a bit more at peace too.

Jaemin closes his eyes, feeling the wind on his face. It ripples through his hair, his clothes, and brushes gently, coolly, against his skin.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was the universe, telling him that things will be alright.

. . . . .

Love has no kindness.

. . . . .

“I’m back,” Jaemin says softly, reappearing in your hospital room long after the place has closed. In one hand he carries a bag of food, and in the other, one of your favorite books.

“Good.” Your muffled voice is tired but when you roll over slightly, careful not to disturb the needles in your arms, your eyes are happy. You make small grabbing motions with your hands. “Food.”

Jaemin laughs. “Always hungry,” he teases, setting the bag carefully on the table. Laughing at your whining, he pokes a cookie in between your lips. “Here.”

You hum in delight, chewing the cookie, and reach over to turn on the bedside lamp. With it, Jaemin can see your sunken features, your overly pale skin, your shaved head. And his heart hurts.

Something hits his chest. “Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, gesturing at the snack now lying on the floor. “I’m fine. Now eat something!”

“Sorry.” He picks up the snack, unwrapping it slowly as he sits on the bed next to you. “I just… never mind.”

“Hey.” You pause in picking up another cookie to take his hand instead.

Your hands are warm. They fit perfectly in his.

“You’re the one who told me things can’t be changed, right?” you murmur, looking up at him. “Nothing is going to change. I wish it wasn’t like this either, but what can I do?” You shrug as best you can, lying down in the bed. “What can you do?”

Nothing. The word hangs unsaid in the air, enveloping the room in a dark cloud of sadness.

He can’t do anything.

As much as he wants to, he can’t. Maybe if you were supposed to die in a car crash he could save you from that. Pull you out of the car. Shield you from something.

But against this illness? He can’t do anything to prevent it from spreading. He has no medical knowledge. He knows nothing. And even if he did, he couldn’t do it.

Not even Jeno can try to turn this matter around.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything.”

Your hands squeeze his with surprising strength. “Don’t be.”

“I wish I were as strong as you.” Jaemin’s voice is choked, a little broken, and full of guilt.

“But Jaemin, you are.” You smile a little, its brightness reaching your eyes ever so slightly. “You love me. Loving takes strength. To love someone broken takes even more.”

“You’re not broken.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.” Jaemin presses a kiss to your forehead. “Maybe at one point you were, but you aren’t now. Broken would imply you’re missing something. Or some part of you isn’t working. Is that true?”

“Yeah. My immune system.” You snicker, watching him roll your eyes. But the mischievous glint fades away to a peaceful glimmer, full of warmth and love, that dissipates the cold, damp sadness that had settled in the room.

Jaemin idly begins to play around with your fingers and you let him, closing your eyes in contentment. A tiny smile plays on your face, and Jaemin can’t help the kiss he presses to your lips.

You open your eyes. “Do that again,” you whisper.

And with a smile, he does.

. . . . .

Love has a price.

. . . . .

“Jaoel.”

Jaemin stiffens, turning around to come face to face with Jeno.

“Who’s the one that didn’t want me calling them by their God-given name?” he mocks.

Tension crackles in the air as the two beings stare at each other. Jeno bites his lip hard and Jaemin smirks. He knows that habit. Jeno does it whenever he’s trying to hold back his anger.

“Are you really going to let her die?” Jeno finally says, raising a tense eyebrow.

The hairs on Jaemin’s neck stand up. “Don’t you dare,” he says lowly.

“Don’t I dare what, Jaoel?” Jeno laughs mirthlessly, eyes fixating on Jaemin’s with an intensity that can’t be matched. “Tell me. Don’t. I. Dare. What?”

Dead silence.

“You’re not the only one who loves her, you know,” Jeno whispers.

“And you’re not the person who knows best for her!” Jaemin snaps.

“And are you, Jaemin? ARE YOU?!”

Jeno’s shout makes Jaemin flinch slightly, but he holds his ground. “No,” he hisses, “but I know that she doesn’t deserve to suffer even more than she already is.”

Pure pain flashes through Jeno’s eyes for one second and Jaemin can commiserate, remembering with a pang at how weak and pale you seemed the last time he saw you. “Would you really want her to suffer like this?” he murmurs. Heart heavy, he turns around, ready to leave.

Behind him, Jeno snorts derisively. “Do you really love her if you would let her go so easily?” he spits, eyes full of pain and fury. “Is that really love, Jaoel? Is that all she’s worth to you?”

Jaemin whips around, eyes ablaze. “Don’t you dare insinuate that I want her to die!” he yells.

“If you truly loved her, you’d want her to live as long as possible,” Jeno snarls back.

“This is what I hate about you angels!” Jaemin’s shouting, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the pain in his heart whenever he thinks about your smile and the sacrifice he has to make. “You always think everything can be perfect, but it can’t! Nothing can be perfect! No one, just because they are who they are, can live longer than they are supposed to! You can’t decide that!”

The angel snorts derisively. “And look at you,” he mocks, “all high and mighty because you think you’re doing the right thing. But should some lives not be preserved for as long as possible?” Tears brim in Jeno’s eyes and Jaemin can tell it’s taking all of his effort not to crumple into a crying mess, but the angel remains standing. “You can’t tell me you don’t believe she deserves it. No, not even her - you can’t tell me you’ve never met a single person who deserved to live longer than they did!”

Jaemin squeezes his eyes tight as he tries to shut away all the memories of you. But it doesn’t work. Your face flits through his mind. Your laugh, your smile, your eyes. The way you cry. The way you shout with joy. The way you clasp his hand in yours, grinning as bright as the sun.

He remembers the way you looked in the hospital, paler, weaker, but with a smile still bright enough to light up the entire room, and Jaemin knows that if there was anyone he knew that deserved to live longer, that would be you.

The demon finally looks up, all signs of his usual flirtatious smile gone. His eyes bore into Jeno’s, which are teary and full of pain. Jaemin’s heart does ache for him, because he knows now just how much Jeno loves you.

But you love Jaemin. You chose him. And there’s nothing he nor Jeno can do to change that.

“Do you think I want her to die?” he whispers. “Do you really think I want her to die?”

Jeno doesn’t speak.

“Life is only precious because there is death. The only thing people can do is treasure life as long they have it,” Jaemin says, practically choking on his words. He latches onto them, grasps them like a drowning man with a rope because they have to be true. If they aren’t, he… he doesn’t know. He will have chosen sides for nothing. Lost half of everything important to him over nothing.

Watched you die for nothing.

“Then,” Jeno says quietly, voice still carrying like a gunshot, “shouldn’t people have it longer?”

Jaemin swallows hard. “If that is so, Jael, then why aren’t humans immortal?”

Silence.

“Part of loving someone is knowing when you must let them go,” he whispers.

. . . . .

Love is tragic.

. . . . .

Jaemin freezes upon entering your room. Jeno does as well. You look between the two boys, a weak, amused smile twitching your lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jaemin replies cautiously. “Why’s he here?”

“We were discussing things,” Jeno says shortly. Surprised, Jaemin turns to him, not having expected him to answer. “Can you leave us for a bit?”

Reluctant, Jaemin looks at you, but the content expression on your face convinces him to leave. Outside in the hall, he waits impatiently, tapping his foot anxiously against the floor. Then, the door opens and almost knocks him flat.

Jeno looks at him blankly. “Sorry.” He then starts to walk off.

“Hey!” Jaemin snaps. “What were you talking about in there?”

The angel’s back tenses, but he does turn around. “I was giving her some closure. About me.”

It’s Jaemin’s turn to tense, and he has to force himself to remain calm.

“Don’t worry.” Jeno laughs a little, mirthlessly. “She still loves you.”

Looking down that hospital hall, Jaemin feels a twinge in his heart. A twinge of pity. His shoulders untense and he looks into Jeno’s eyes which, for once, are not angry. Only sad. Upset. A little hopeless.

And Jaemin finds it in his heart to say something to Jeno that he never thought he’d say, ever since he left the white purity of heaven for the dark flames of hell.

“I’m sorry.”

The angel’s eyes widen, and ever so slightly, they soften.

“Don’t be.”

“But I am.”

It’s not just about you. It’s about everything else. Betraying his friend. Leaving heaven. And maybe the bad blood will never be cleared between them, but at least he knows he apologized.

Jaemin bites his lip, hoping his eyes can convey everything he’s leaving unsaid. For ten long, agonizing seconds, the two boys stare at each other, unblinking. Then Jeno nods slightly.

“And I am too.”

He turns around and continues walking until he disappears into another corridor. When Jaemin’s sure that Jeno won’t come back, he lets himself into your room again.

“Finally, I was about to call for you!” you exclaim as Jaemin sits on the chair next to your bed. “I thought you and Jeno were having a fistfight out there or something, you were gone for so long.”

Jaemin smiles a little. “Not fighting. Just… talking.”

“From your expression I take that it went well,” you comment, looking up at him.

Jaemin shrugs, but the smile doesn’t fade. “I guess it did.”

. . . . .

Love is loss.

. . . . .

Jaemin is with you when you die. He is there, holding your hand with a grip invisible to everyone but you and him. He is there, watching the heart monitor become slower. He is there, listening to your breaths become fewer and fewer. He is there, pressing a last, soft kiss to your lips, and he is there, feeling your tiny sigh of content against his face, seeing the slight flutter of your eyelashes as you make an effort to look at him, hearing the faint ‘I love you’ that passes your lips.

A few hours pass. Your family and friends congregate in the room, watching you sadly, not noticing the demon in the room. And then the heart monitor goes flat.

You’re dead.

You’re dead, and everything hurts.

For two days, Jaemin locks himself in his room, alternately crying and staring into space. Your name on his wrist has faded away completely. It’s as though you never existed. But of course, he knows you did.

Why do I get this fate? Jaemin wonders. Even Chenle got a happy ending. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he begrudges the fallen angel slightly for his newfound freedom to spend the rest of eternity with the risen demon he loves.

Why?

What did I do to deserve this?

It’s selfish, he knows. Jeno must be suffering just as much as him. But at least he might find you in heaven, whereas Jaemin isn’t sure if you’d give up heaven to come to hell.

It ends up being Jisung who drags Jaemin out of his bed and to the field where they talked before with Haechan. It seems like ages ago.

They don’t talk much. Jaemin mostly stares blankly into space while Jisung sits next to him, just as a pillar of support. Jaemin doesn’t cry.

Jisung takes Jaemin to a convenience store. Together, they order cups of noodles, then sit at a table in silence. When the food arrives, it takes a lot of effort for Jaemin to swallow it down. Everything still hurts.

When they finally leave the store, a familiar figure is walking down the street. Hands tucked into his pockets, eyes downcast, dressed in dark clothes, Jeno makes his way slowly to the two demons, seemingly not even registering their presence. As they pass, though, he looks up slightly, and he shares a look with Jaemin.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry, too.

A moment of understanding passes between the two, and then Jeno turns away, ending the moment almost as soon as it began. With a sigh, Jaemin turns back to Jisung and together, the two of them melt into the shadows.

. . . . .

Love always finds its way back.

. . . . .

“Jaemin, Lucifer wants to see you,” Mark says.

“I don’t want to see him.” After the king of hell told him to stop wasting time with you and to get back to work, later flogging him for disregarding his orders, Jaemin hasn’t seen him since. And he likes it that way.

Mark shrugs in sympathy. “You can’t ignore him though.”

Jaemin smiles mirthlessly. “Bet.”

“No, I don’t bet,” Mark says firmly. “Now go.”

A heavy sigh leaves Jaemin’s lips, but he nods. “Fine.”

Jaemin’s will to continue weakens with every step he takes, but after what seems like an eternity, he finally ends up in front of the throne room. The flaming doors greet him as per usual, hissing and screaming with the pain of eternities of souls trapped in eternal punishment. Unfazed, he waits for the doors to open.

“Jaemin.” Lucifer’s voice booms as the demon kneels and bows his head.

“My lord.” Jaemin bites his lip.

“You may rise.” As Jaemin stands up, head still bowed, Lucifer continues. “We have a new member in our ranks. I would like you to train her and act as her mentor until she grasps things.”

With his head bowed, Jaemin can only see the new demon’s feet as she walks across the floor. He lifts his head, ready to greet her, then stumbles backwards in shock.

Jaemin barely remembers seeing you with your skin looking so healthy, with your eyes so bright, with your smile so wide and exhilarating and full of joy. But that’s how you look, standing mere inches in front of him.

He’s so shell-shocked that he barely remembers to bow to Lucifer. “I will teach her as best I can,” Jaemin says, voice trembling with overwhelming emotion. He looks into his king’s eyes of flaming pits and sees, amidst the flames, a touch of feeling.

Just as quickly as he saw it, it is gone, but Jaemin knows his eyes didn’t lie. He makes a last deep bow of gratitude, and then Lucifer waves you two out of the room. The second the doors slam shut, Jaemin’s arms are around you and yours are around him as you clutch each other for dear life. Little choked noises escape your throats and neither of you can string together a coherent sentence, but words are unneeded. Jaemin can only clutch you tighter and tighter, unable to believe that this is truly happening.

“How?” he finally manages, loosening his grip slightly so he can look into your eyes. They’re teary and a little red, but you look as beautiful as ever. “I… we only managed to escape from heaven after months of planning. How did you…?”

You wipe your eyes. “Jeno,” you say. “Jeno helped me.”

A whole rush of emotions hit Jaemin at once, as though someone’s just punched him in the stomach. Overwhelming surprise, wariness, and gratitude fill his throat and all he can come up with is a startled, choked noise. “Jeno?”

There’s a hint of sadness in your eyes as you nod. “Yes.”

Maybe Jeno didn’t do it for Jaemin. Maybe he did it just for you. That’s highly likely, and Jaemin almost believes it. But some tiny part of him wonders if maybe, just maybe, Jeno did it for him. At least partially.

He thinks that might be the case. It makes him smile, just a bit. 

As he pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your lips with a raw fervor that almost lifts you up off your feet, he thanks his former best friend. He thanks the universe for aligning the two of you together. He thanks Lucifer for allowing you in, for allowing him to mentor you.

And he thanks his lucky stars that you could ever love a demon such as him.

[amazingmsme]

Even in Death, I’m Watching You Kid

WARNING: Major Far From Home & Endgame spoilers, so you’ve been warned. Hope you enjoy!

Peter had to rush home as soon as he saw the broadcast in Time Square. The Daily Bugle had it out for him since day one, and now because of Mysterio's message, they twisted the truth to turn him into a villain. In reality, he was just a nervous kid doing his best to save everyone. He climbed in through the window of their apartment, and ran to May. He ripped off the mask, tears of fear streaming down his face as he ran into her arms.

"I saw the news, are you okay?" she asked in a panic, stroking his hair to comfort him. He shook his head.

"E-everyone knows. The whole world knows May, a-and n-now, they think I'm a b-bad guy," he choked out between sobs. The phone had started ringing, and once it started, it pretty much rang nonstop. Tons of messages flew in on all his social media and his email inbox was quickly flooding. Everyone wanted to know the truth. 

His phone started ringing, and he was afraid to answer until he saw who it was. "Happy?"

"Hey kid, I just heard the news." He sounded worried and a little sad.

"They know who I am, and everyone hates me now." His eyes were red and puffy, and his hair was messy from running his hands through it.

"Kid calm down, listen to me," Happy started off slow, making sure Peter took some deep breaths before continuing. "We're gonna help you through this, alright? We're not gonna let him ruin your life from the grave. I already talked to Fury and he's brainstorming ways to clear your name. Your an Avenger, and he's not just gonna let the media rip you apart without a fight. Pepper's already talking to news sources and is starting to try and clear things up. Don't worry, she's an expert at that kind of stuff, she did it for Tony all the time."

A lump formed in Peter's throat at the mention of his name. He swallowed it down and forced out an, "Okay, thanks Happy."

"We'll get through this Peter." He nodded, even though he couldn't see him.

"Bye Happy."

"Bye."

He hung up and looked at May. She had been staring at him, her whole body tense as she chewed her nails.

"I don't know what to do." He sounded broken and hopeless.

"We'll figure it out. But for now, let's stay at the compound, we'll probably be safer there." He nodded and they loaded into her car. The drive upstate was tense and silent, the only sound being the music from the radio.

Happy greeted them at the compound and welcomed them in, telling them to make themselves at home. May was able to stay in Vision's old room, right next to Peter's.

It wasn't the first time he had been to the compound. He had been there quite a few times before the Blip, but it was a lot more empty. It felt weird for such a large building to hold so few people. It was like seeing those pictures of abandoned malls: once teeming with life and energy now hollow and slightly menacing. It felt wrong.

He saw two people down the hall and walked towards them curiously. He was only slightly shocked to see Bucky and Sam. He knew Sam was the new Cap, and the nerves instantly hit him just like when he had met Steve. He hadn't really left things off on a good foot with them, and now because of the news, he wasn't sure where they stood. He was about to back track when Bucky noticed him.

"Hey you're Spider-Man right? We met at the airport, remember?" He had a wide smile on his face and Peter froze, unable to form words.

"I-uh-"

"You kicked our ass?"

"I thought I held my own pretty well," Sam mumbled before turning to face the startled teen.

"I remember," he squeaked out. Sam smirked.

"Damn you look pretty young, how old were you when we fought?"

"Fift-fourteen," he had started to lie, but stopped halfway. Bucky let out a low whistle and chuckled.

"Can't believe I got my ass handed to me by someone who can't even legally drive. I'm Bucky," he held out his hand to shake, followed by Sam. Peter took them, "Nice to meet you sirs."

A beat passed, and a heaviness filled the air. Sam gripped his shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. "I heard what happened. Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah I guess so," he said, though he sounded unsure.

"It's okay, everyone know's the Daily Bugle is shit, and that Mysterio guy popped up out of nowhere! He has no credit to his name, and everyone knows Spider-Man. You've done a lot of good for the world, and people don't easily forget that," Sam reassured.

Bucky slung his metal arm over his shoulder, and Peter flinched slightly. Bucky backed up, but Peter made sure he knew he was okay. "It was just cold."

"Well in that case," Bucky said and pressed his hand to the nape of his neck, making him squeal. He chuckled, "Seriously though, we all got your back. We were fugitives after the little spat on the tarmac, but there were still plenty of people who defended us, especially Steve 'cause, well, he was a famous hero. And you are too, don't think that everyone's gonna turn on you over one thing. And not everyone believes what they see on the news."

"I hope so."

"I know so. Hell, I was an assassin and I'd say I've been accepted back into society pretty well, so I think you'll do fine. And if not, you got a whole team rooting for you kid." He ruffled his hair before Peter could swat him away.

"I am curious though, what did happen in Europe?" Sam asked.

"It's a long story."

Sam looked at his wrist lacking a watch, "I got time. And something tells me you need to get it off your chest." And so Peter told them almost everything. He made sure to leave out the parts about his crush on MJ and getting caught undressing with a foreign girl, he knew they'd do nothing but tease him for it. He explained the extravagant lie that Quentin had created and how he posed as a friend and hero, using Tony's tech to create the elementals and putting everyone in danger. When he finished, the men were in shock. Sam was the first to speak.

"Damn, that's rough." Peter nodded. Bucky looked at him.

"I didn't get to know Tony, but I wish I had. I feel like we could've been friends, and I don't blame him or you for what happened. His anger was justified, and he was a pretty good man. I can tell you meant a lot to him, and I think he'd be proud of you." Peter's eyes filled with tears that he tried to fight back.

"Thanks."

"That Mysterio guy is a fucking lunatic with a bad superiority complex, I don't think many people will believe him. Do you have a plan to try and clear your name? Do some damage control?" Sam questioned. Peter shrugged.

"I don't know, it's really overwhelming and scary. What if they don't believe me?"

Bucky sighed. "I'm gonna be honest with ya kid: not everyone will. But there will be plenty who do, and in time, people won't really care. There will be bigger threats, and you'll do something to win back their hearts."

"Yeah people are pretty easily won over by someone in a costume," Sam said. They left him sitting on the couch. It was getting pretty late, and he was exhausted from the day he had. He and May ate take out and he went to his room to sleep and hopefully when he woke, this would all be a bad dream. He gave him a tight hug before letting him go. He collapsed on his bed and was greeted by the comforting darkness of sleep.

When he opened his eyes, he was back in his bedroom in Queens. He sat up groggily and looked around, freezing when he saw a familiar figure hunched over at his desk. There was no doubt, it was him. He bolted upright and stood to his feet. His limbs felt heavy and everything was in slow motion. He choked out, "M-Mr. Stark?"

He turned around at the sound of his name being called and smiled. "Hey Pete."

Peter rushed into his arms and started crying into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry Mr. Stark, I messed up. I-I gave away EDITH to someone I thought was more capable but he was bad and people got hurt and it's all my fault! I stopped the drones and broke the illusion and Mysterio died but he blamed it all on me and I don't know what to do! He told everyone who I was and now villains know who I am a-and I put May and my friends in danger! I messed it all up, I'm so sorry, I wish you were here," he rambled.

Tony rubbed a gentle hand up and down Peter's back to calm him down. "I know Pete. That's why I came." He pulled away so that he could look him in the eye, a comforting yet firm grasp on his shoulders. "I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty pissed when I watched you give away EDITH. I gave her to you for a reason, and you doubted yourself and my decision. But to your credit, you woke up and did what you could to stop him. And you did a damn good job too."

Peter stared at him, eyes wide and taking in every word he said.

"You're your own worst critic it sounds like, but that JJJ guy sure does give you a run for your money," he joked. Peter let out a sad, hiccupy chuckle. "Take it from someone who's been in deep shit more times than I can count, there's always a way out. Whether you gotta sift through the shit with your hands, dig yourself out with a shovel, or if some rich genius digs you out with a crane, you'll find a way out." Peter's nose crinkled in disgust, and Tony laughed. "Not the most pleasant analogy, I know, but I hope you get my point. Now I'm not there anymore, but if I was you bet your ass I would fight with everything I have to clear up what happened. As much as Fury hates the press, he won't leave you out to dry. He'll do his best to defend you and clear up what happened, Maria will too. And Pepper's basically a master at damage control thanks to me, and Happy's really warmed up to you. You'll get through this, don't worry. And yeah, there's gonna be some assholes who won't believe you and might hate you, but remember, there's still plenty of people who hate me, so don't beat yourself up about it. 'Kay?"

Peter nodded, "Okay." He was still in awe that Tony was here in front of him. And he had to ask, "Is... is it really you? I mean, I'm not just making this up am I?" He knew he was dreaming. Dreams just felt different than real life, and with his spidey sense, he could tell when he was dreaming. Tony wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

"It's a fair question, I don't blame you for asking. I'd do the same if I was in your shoes. But yeah, it's me. Thought you could use some wisdom and guidance right about now." Peter nuzzled closer to him.

"Thanks Tony."

"No problem kid." Then he delivers a light smack to the back of Peter's head. He rubbed the spot with his hand.

"Ow! What was that for?"

Tong rolled his eyes, "Don't be dramatic, I know that didn't hurt. And that was for thinking Back In Black was by Led Zeppelin," he said mock seriously. Peter's brows furrowed and he tilted his head in confusion.

"You mean it's not?" Tony let out a deep sigh and ran a hand over his face. Peter noticed he didn't look as old as he did when he died. He was much younger, and the circles under his eyes didn't cut as deep. His face wasn't weathered with worry or wrinkles, and there wasn't a single gray hair in sight. He was youthful and seemed much happier than he had been in life.

Tony looked up at him with a fond smile, "You're killin' me kid."

"You're already dead Mr. Stark," he tried to keep up with the teasing atmosphere, but there was still a lingering sadness in his voice.

"Then you're just making me roll in my grave. Do me a favor Pete, and learn the classics." He clapped him on the shoulder, and Peter nodded vigorously.

"Will do Tony." A beat, and then, "I wish you were still here." Tony looked away.

"I do too kid. Honestly it felt like my life was only just beginning before it ended, but I wouldn't change what I did. Not for the world. I couldn't let him take away my family. And I couldn't let him take you away. Not again. Not when I just got you back." Peter could see the tears welling up in his eyes. "It's worth it to see you all grow and be happy." He wrapped Peter in another tight hug that he happily returned. "I'm so proud of you Peter. You'll get through this, don't give up."

"I won't."

When they pulled away, it was quiet. Tony broke the silence. "Peter, just- don't forget to live."

He nodded, "I won't."

Tony looked out the window and sighed. "I gotta get back. You'd think there wouldn't be any rules in the afterlife, but everything's gotta have a killjoy."

"Bye Tony. Uh, I guess have a nice trip?"

He chuckled, "Yeah, sweet dreams to you too. Don't get any bright ideas about joining me too early," he said with an authoritative tone.

Peter shook his head, "Don't worry, I won't."

"Good. I love you Peter."

Peter felt the lump in his throat grow. "Love you too Tony."

"Tell Pep And Morgan I said hi and I love them."

"I will." With one last nod, Tony turned and walked out the window and into the sky. Peter could've sworn he saw a gilded stairway in the clouds leading to the sun. He was surrounded in a warm golden glow as he ascended, and right before he disappeared, he turned around and gave him a wave. Tears were slowly streaming down Peter's cheeks as he waved back.

He awoke with a start back in the Avengers compound. He looked around before settling back into the bed. He wasn't as anxious as he was before falling asleep, and he had a feeling that everything would be okay. He could sense it the same way he could sense that Tony would always be there, watching over him. It was nice to know that your guardian angel was none other than Iron Man himself. It would be okay.