#anyways have you ever seen a man more classy and handsome than him i adore him

[likesummerrainn]

AEW Dynamite | 04.05.23

[shania-twain]

au. the met.

She caught his eye from across the way. He was leaning against a column, looking at her curiously.

Used to men staring at her, she quirked a brow at him and he shook his head slightly, looking away. His cheeks were pink from embarrassment. She found that a little endearing. Usually men didn't give a shit if they were caught ogling her.

Amanda is enthusiastically greeted by her friend Lara with a kiss on the cheek and a friendly hug. Over Lara's shoulder, she spots the tall man again. He's turned slightly and she takes the opportunity to study his side profile, her interest piqued. A quick glance to his hands to check for a wedding ring and she's excited to find it bare. His hair is gray, but she likes the silver fox look. Face clean shaven, body lean and a lopsided, closed mouth smile.

"How are you liking the gallery so far? Isn't it neat?" Lara interrupted her thoughts and Amanda tried to focus on her friend. "Find any pieces you like?"

"I like most of 'em," she answered with a small shrug. Her first time at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City was uneventful, as she wasn't the biggest fan of art pieces. Though she chalked it up to never having been to a real museum like this and her parent's lack of interest in taking her and her sister anywhere cultured.

Her friend Lara dragged her here with a promise to return her to her hometown in Georgia "a sophisticated lady." She had scoffed at that, but agreed to go, glad to have a reason to dress up nicely.

With it being her last night in New York, she wanted to have a nice dinner and then maybe a bar afterwards with a group of her friends from college. They had been at the museum for nearly an hour and she was ready to go. She could use a drink after another full day of activity. She was really dreading the flight home tomorrow.

"Hey," Lara told her, taking her out of her thoughts. Her friend probably sensed her discomfort by the way she had her arms crossed, but really she was just chilly. "Let's go say goodbye to Steven and then we can get an early dinner. Sound good?"

Amanda nodded, smiling pleasantly as Lara began to lead her over to a friend of hers she had been introduced to earlier. Catching the gaze of the stranger again, she watched him curiously this time. He doesn't look away, even goes so far as to send her a small, friendly grin, dimples in his cheeks. She thought he was damn adorable.

She briefly wished she was alone so she could approach him without ditching her friend.

She watched him try and smoothly break their gaze by pretending to be interested in a painting nearby. She let out a laugh as he placed his large hand on his chin, feigning contemplation on the artwork. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, seeing her smile flirtatiously at him. He swore his heart jumped at the sight.

She was beautiful. Sexy in every way. Her long legs were accentuated by red heels. She wore a white dress that complimented her figure and hugged her curves. His eyes didn't miss the plunging neckline either. Her hair was golden, styled on her head and flowing in waves down her back. She was elegant, classy, and had a smile as bright as the sun.

Noticing that she seemed to be leaving with a girl friend, he felt himself moving toward the exit. He hoped to have some sort of interaction with her, somehow.

He found her outside the museum, shivering, her friend nowhere to be found. Taking a deep breath, he casually walked up to her.

"Hi," he said, trying not to sound too eager. He was shoulder to shoulder to her, though she was a tad bit shorter than him in the heels.

She glanced up at him, a surprised look on her face. He felt his own face flush at the delighted smile on her lips. She detected an accent from him, a smidge different from the regular New York one she had been hearing for days. "Hi," she said.

She had a deep southern accent. It may have been the first time he ever thought it was adorable. He may already be a little biased, though.

"Did you friend ditch you?" He looked around and didn't find the other woman she had been with.

"Nah, she's still inside," she said, gesturing behind her to the building. "Ran into someone. I told her I'd wait out here."

He smirked at her slightly bouncing in place, clearly freezing. "Ya regrettin' that?"

"I'm fine," Amanda defended, rocking on her heels now.

Sonny found himself taking off his jacket and offering it to her. She raised both eyebrows so high, he almost laughed.

"Thanks, but you're a stranger."

He held the jacket over one arm, holding out his hand to her. "I'm Dominick, nice to meet you."

When she took his hand and shook it, she shivered for a different reason. His hold was light, hand warm, his eyes gentle and soft on hers. "Amanda."

Letting go of her hand, he offered his jacket again with a dimpled grin. "Now we're not strangers. Take it while you wait, it's fine."

She still looked doubtful but she did grab it. She was shivering in front of this handsome man and it was embarrassing. "I didn't know it could be so cold in April." As she slipped the large jacket over her shoulders, she gave him a look. "Sure you're not a serial killer?"

At his nod, she left the jacket on, eyeing his professional suit underneath. His blue tie had polka dots on it and she got the sense that he wasn't like the guys she was usually attracted to. "I'm a criminal prosecutor."

Impressed, she lifted a brow again. "So you've been in the room with serial killers?"

He laughed and she found herself mesmerized with the sight of his eyes crinkling. "Not very much, I usually prosecute sex crimes."

"Oh, wow," she said in surprise, "that's gotta be a damn hard job."

"It is," he said honestly. "What do you do?"

She tugged his jacket closer to her, smelling the cologne inside of it. "I'm a social worker. I help kids in difficult domestic situations at home. Among other things."

Her eyes held something dark in them, he noticed, as she told him this information and he thought maybe she could find the same darkness in his. She stepped closer to him, excusing it for the body heat and not the way he smelled and the way he looked at her. Like she was something more. As if she could offer something more than just a body.

"That's incredible," he smiled, "you must be a hero to those kids."

She shook her head humbly. "They're amazing kids. It's wonderful to see kids in awful situations thrive despite the odds against them."

Amanda couldn't believe she was opening up in any way to this man. A stranger, no less. But she figured he could understand, as he's probably seen troublesome things in his own line of work.

"Anyway," she tried to lighten the subject, "back home people don't believe in these kids enough. I want to help them as much as I can."

Smiling softly at her, he asked, "where's home?"

"Georgia," she answered, waving her hand, "small town."

"Amanda!" A voice called out and she turned to see Lara waving at her from the entrance, the person she had been talking to still at her side. Amanda waved back and turned her attention back to Dominick.

"I think she wants me over there," she told him. She started sliding the jacket off but he stopped her.

"Keep it," he said, "I have plenty, trust me."

"Oh, no, I'll be fine," she reassured. He was about to tell her again not to worry about it when her friend walked up.

"Hey," Lara said, looking him up and down. "Who's this?"

"Lara, this is Dominick," Amanda introduced, "we kinda just met."

"Oh," Lara blinked, then when she realized Amanda was wearing the man's jacket, the woman's eyes widened. "Oh!"

"Yeah," Amanda deadpanned, slightly amused. Lara caught the hint Amanda was giving with her eyes and gestured back to her friend. "I'm gonna - forgot to tell them something."

Dominick watched her friend walk away, also amused. He didn't catch Amanda taking something out of her red wallet.

"Hey, so," Amanda said, capturing his attention again. Her eyes were gorgeous. Light, bright pools of blue he could drown in. "I'm actually leaving for Georgia tomorrow."

Ah, damn.

He couldn't even pretend to hide his disappointment. He really thought he might have had a chance with her. Or at least even one date.

"But," she said, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling at his obvious disappointment. "I'll be coming back for a visit pretty soon. Maybe you can show me around?"

Grinning widely at her, Dominick enthusiastically agreed. Amanda could feel butterflies swarm inside her at his excitement. She had never encountered a man quite like him before.

"Amanda, you ready?" Lara called again, from a distance, this time alone. Amanda sighed as she had to part with him, wanting to know more about him but she had made plans already with others.

"It was great meetin' you," she told him in her charming accent.

"Yeah," he stumbled over his words, not quite ready to let her go yet. But he knew he had to. "Yeah, definitely."

She smiled brightly again, taking his jacket off and handing it to him. He took it numbly. "Call me." He watched her walk away, hips swaying, heels clacking against the pavement as her and a friend got into a cab further down the street.

It wasn't until she was out of his sight that he realized he didn't have her number. Cursing to himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Why didn't he get her last name? Why?

How many Amanda's in Georgia could there be?

Grumbling, completely irritated, and feeling like a moron, he put his jacket back on. He harshly shoved his hands in his pockets when he felt something in his left pocket. Taking it out, he noticed with extreme delight it was a business card.

Amanda Rollins - Social worker. With a phone number at the bottom.

He smiled.

[t-lostinworlds]

Lost You (Shawn Mendes)

Feat. Tom Holland

A/N: Here is me trying to get back to writing haha and yeah, Tom Holland is here. First time ever writing him so please don’t kill me if it’s bad lakslaksal. This was written quickly too, supposed to be a blurb but got carried away. Also I don’t think this is the best I've written thus far so I’m sorry in advance if it sucks :/ Anyways, hope you still enjoy!

Requested: 

First of thank you so much sweets 🥺 that means the world. Second, I changed it up a bit, I hope it’s okay ❤️

Warnings: None and Typos

Word Count: 3.2k+

Masterlist in Bio

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[Images not mine]

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"Nervous?"

That all-too-familiar British accent made you look away from the car window, eyes landing on a handsome man who was sitting right beside you. A worried smile was etched on his lips as he tilted his head to the side, hand resting on your bare leg in a comforting manner, the car ride quiet aside from the soft music that the radio was playing and the soft mumbles of the other people accompanying you.

You couldn't stop yourself from admiring him as he was all groomed up, wearing a classic black suit that fitted is body perfectly, a white dress shirt paired with a bow tie, radiating that James Bond feel with his hair gelled back to give him that clean and sleek look.

You gave him a small nod. "A little bit. Thank you so much for coming with me Tom." You flashed him a grateful smile, placing your hand on top of his as you gave it a soft squeeze.

"Hey, of course, it's your first VMA's, I wouldn't miss it for the world. And I know how much you hate red carpets but still, you join me when I ask you to walk with me. The least I can do is return the favor."

You know that there was something more between you two other than being just casual friends, even Tom does too as he's already confessed to you how he really feels, but none of you has bother to do something about it yet, being that you've just broken up with your boyfriend not too long ago.

_______

You're still figuring yourself out and Tom being the kindest, most understand and sweetest person that he is, he respected that and has done nothing but be there when you needed him most.

"Have I already told you how gorgeous you look?" The young man grinned, eyes admiring you in a way that made your stomach do a flip.

"Yes, now quit ogling, your making me melt." You joked with a roll of your eyes, feigning a slight hint of annoyance in your voice that only made him chuckle. Tom was about to says something but didn't get a chance to respond as the car came to a halt, a crowded red carpet in full view once the both of you took a glance at the tinted window.

Tom interlaced his fingers with yours, giving it a comforting squeeze before his free hand took hold of the door handle. "Ready?"

You took one deep breath as you gave him the go signal, the door sliding open seconds later as he slowly stepped out of the car.

Tom helped you out like the gentleman that he is, your grip on his hand tightening as the flashing lights invaded your eyes in a matter of minutes, your name being screamed by dozens of photographers as they try to get a hold of your attention.

You wore your best smile as you threaded down the carpet, following the usherette assigned to guide the two of you and then stopping to pose as how these things always go.

Tom lets go of your hand to wrap an arm around your waist, your eyes meeting his as he gave it a reassuring squeeze to let you know that he's got you. The amount of time the two of you had walked the red carpet this past few months made him understand why you don't liked carpet. You do get a bit flustered with this much attention, like your being held under a magnifying glass and that one wrong move could be seen even if it's miniscule.

You mirrored his smile as your turned around to fully face him, hand coming up to fix his bow tie as both of his took home on your hips.

"Why did you wear a bow tie? You know very well that you can't keep this straight not matter how hard you try." You teased, hand sliding down his chest once the tie was straight enough for your liking.

The flashing lights and the screaming were never ending but you've learned to tune it out for the amount of times you've done this already. Tom chuckled as he guided you further down the carpet again, stopping to take another pose before he spoke.

"I mean you do like it more when I wear this than a regular tie. You think I look ravishing, you just hate to admit it." Tom retorted with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at that. "Oh please, don't be so full of yourself Holland."

It was going great so far, all laughs and smiles between you and Tom but of course, that only lasted for a moment as you heard the paparazzi scream the names of the people you weren't exactly keen to see.

What a way of the universe to joke that they had to arrive just after you did. You were praying, begging that you could at least walk the carpet without seeing that specific familiar face, but we don't always get what we want in this world do we.

Tom felt you tense up a little bit his head turning to see what was wrong, but when he finally heard who has just arrived, he was quick to switch from playful to overprotective mode, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you closer to his side.

"You alright?" Tom leaned closer to whisper in your ear. You nodded with a hum, your faces just an inch away as he pulled back, the concern on his features only lasting a split second as it was quick to change, his smile now wide and bright as he looked at you adoringly.

"He's watching." He spoke between his grin once he took in your confused expression and you were impressed at how fast he can change his mood all of the sudden, but then again, he is an amazing actor after all.

You flashed him a thankful smile, glad that he understood why you're suddenly uncomfortable without having to explain it. So grateful that he was here just as how he's been from the beginning.

With a deep intake of breath, you willed yourself to ignore them, to not even have a peek as you focused on the tasked at hand, focusing more at the gentleman beside you.

Just grin and bear it Y/N, carpet is almost done.

Shawn however, was having a really hard time ignoring you.

Though he was walking with someone else, he can't stop himself from stealing quick glances in your direction whenever he can, making sure that he was doing it as discreetly as he could. The internet would go crazy if he gets caught longingly looking at someone who they only knew was his friend. You never did go public, you didn't get the chance to as everything when south in a blink of an eye. But seeing you right now in the flesh after many months, Shawn feels like his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

He was in awe to say the least.

You wore a fitted sheer dress covered in silver stones and glitters, the garment hugging your body in the right spots giving you a beautiful figure that was making Shawn's head spin. More so with that plunging neckline that showed just enough for it look classy, along with a low back that made the dress look even sexier. As if that wasn't enough, the dress had a slit that showed off those legs in the most elegant way possible.

Your hair was up in a messy bun with a simple yet glamorous makeup, and that beautiful smile of yours that he'd always fall for. Shawn was at a loss for words at how breathtaking you look, you always do that to him no matter the occasion, and you never fail to do so, even to this day.

But his daydreaming was cut short when he finally noticed that you weren't alone too, a certain pang in his chest when you seem to look so happy in the arms of another.

The break up was entirely his fault.

He made a choice thinking that it was for the best, but now he was starting to think otherwise and he was slowly and painfully swallowing the consequences thus far.

Shawn got pulled straight out of his thoughts once your eyes met his the moment you looked over your shoulder. He blinked a couple of time to check if he wasn't hallucinating, seeing a bright smile painted on your lips as you gave him a curt nod, no ill-will written on your face before you broke his gaze, turning to face the person who stood too close by your side for Shawn's liking.

The way his arm was laced on your waist was not sitting well with Shawn at all, especially when this Tom guy was looking at you in a way that he used to. But what truly hurts was that familiar look of adoration on your beautiful face, the one you always gave Shawn whenever you're proud of him. That certain look that was used to be for him and him only, keyword: used to.

This made him think that maybe he was too late, and that you've finally moved on. That he's truly lost you fully this time.

He shook his head with a clear of his throat, standing straighter as he shoved all his thoughts in the back of his head, wrapping his arm around the girl beside him as he smiled at the cameras.

This was going to be a long night.

***

It was commercial break and you were thankful, your bladder just couldn't seem to hold it for much longer. You turned to Tom, nudging his arm as he was busy talking with someone's brother that you didn't quite catch the name of.

"I'm just gonna go the bathroom real quick." You whispered once his attention was on you, slowly getting out of your seat only for Tom to do the same. "I can take you–"

"No silly, it's fine. I'll be back as fast as I can I promise." You giggled, gently pushing him back down as you waved at the person he was taking to.

"Okay then, be careful you clumsy woman." Tom gave you a playful wink with a soft chuckle, you shaking your head in response, mumbling a soft 'shut up' before you walking off.

You reached an empty hallway that one of the staff members pointed you towards, the door of the bathroom coming to view moments later but that's when you heard rushed footsteps behind you, your mind immediately thinking that it was Tom following you as he was the only one who knows where you've gone.

"I thought I told you I can handle myself and pee alone Tom?" You giggled, turning around only to stop dead in your tracks as you were met by a familiar man, too familiar for your taste, one that sported those unruly curls on top of his head.

"Shawn." You breathed out, face contorted in sheer surprise as you were not expecting him at all.

"Y/N, hey." He flashed you a shy smile, both hands in his pockets as he slowly walked closer to you, stopping himself once you took a step back, sadness flashing across his features and you tried your hardest not to scoff out loud.

"What are you doing here?" You asked skeptically, crossing your arms over your chest, but not in an intimidating way, no, it was more as a defensive stance, shielding yourself in a sense.

The break up wasn't a mutual decision, nor did it end on a good note. It was painful, very painful.

It left you in such a dark place and you worked so hard to get yourself out of there. You've made your progress but you aren't exactly fully out yet, you are still in the process of healing as wounds are still a bit fresh, and there is no way in hell you're letting him pull you right back in.

"Just wanted to see you... I miss you."

You shut your eyes tight with a sigh as you shook your head at him. "Don't. Just don't."

Shawn didn't seem to get the hint as he only took a few more steps closer to you, lips parted slightly as he took you in completely. "You look so beautiful." He gushed, fingers absentmindedly pushing a strand of hair behind your ear once he was in close proximity, so close that you just had to look up at him.

You stood there frozen in your spot, heart beating rapidly against your chest as you found yourself stuck under his gaze. Those familiar brown eyes will always have a hold against you, especially when he's looking at you so yearningly, a certain glow crossing his features as is if he was too glad to be close to you again.

The more you stared into his eyes, the more you felt your walls slowly slip, so you pulled your head away from his grasp, clearing your throat as you took two steps back, a deep frown quick to appear on Shawn's lips but you paid it no mind.

"I'm sorry but I need to go." You hastily walked pass him but being the stubborn boy that he is, he took hold of your arm to pull you right back.

"No, wait." Shawn spun you around to face him again, both hands now gripping your elbows to keep you in place, his grasp firm but not too much for it to hurt. His action only made your annoyance grow, a slight anger now slowly boiling to the surface as you gave him a pointed look. "Let go of me Shawn."

The slight waver in your voice made Shawn drop his hands, the frown on his face never leaving as his brain slowly processed how you actually didn't want him near at all. It hurts to say the least but Shawn can't blame you.

He can only imagine what you've been true. The pain he's caused seemingly unforgivable that he, himself would want nothing to do with him either.

"Can you at least give us the chance to talk?" Shawn sounded so desperate but he didn't care. He was holding onto his last beacon of hope, that maybe deep inside, you still have feelings for him, that you still love him just as how he still loves you.

You let out an exasperated sigh. "There's nothing left to talk about Shawn. We broke up months ago. We are done. I've been moving on and you have no right to try and pull me back in now when I've been doing so much better than when you left me. And just to clarify, you have a girlfriend."

Shawn ran a frustrated hand through his curls. "Please honey, I've been regretting things a lot and I can't apologize enough for what I've done. I was stupid and I've been wanting to kick my ass every single day from the moment I hurt you. And seeing you today with Tom, how you look so happy with him, it fucking hurts so bad. I miss you so much, I want you back angel, I need you back Y/N."

A sarcastic laugh left your mouth before you could even stop it, eyes rolling as you shook your head at him in pure disbelief. "Wow. You're being unfair Shawn. Now that I'm happy and have been better, you suddenly want me back? When you see me with someone else you suddenly miss me? You had months to reach out to me Shawn. Fucking months, but not once did you ever think about calling me. I'm not going to be some girl who you only show interest to when it benefits you."

Shawn shook his head, bottom lip trembling as he took your hand in his, and you let him but never did you show him that it affected you in any way. "No that's not the reason. I still love you Y/N, I really do. Please just give me another chance."

You sighed, gaze softening as you watch him slowly break in front of you, but you weren't giving in, you've grown stronger since that day and you've learned to stand your ground, to do what's best yourself. "You've been living your best life during those months, touring the world, frolicking the streets while I was suffering in the pain that you've caused. I don't want to go through it again because it fucking hurts Shawn. It was a hard battle but I've overcome it. Maybe not fully yet but I am getting there, and I'm not letting you jeopardize that. You were a beautiful mistake, but I can't anymore. I'm done. Now will you please, let me go."

"No, angel please just–"

"Y/N! Is everything alright?" A huge relief washed over your body as that familiar voice bounced off the cream colored walls. Shawn's whole body going rigid as he closed his eyes, jaw clenching at the interruption.

"I'm sorry Shawn, but I think it's best that we keep our distance. You need to sort yourself out as do I." You whispered, slowly pulling your hands out of his grip and making your way towards Tom.

"Hey Tom, you know Shawn and yeah, everything's fine." The curly boy turned at his name, a tight lip smile on his face as he gave you both a curt nod.

"Hey man, nice to finally meet you." Tom moved forward as he reached a hand out, a friendly smile on his lips but you didn't miss his tight grip once Shawn took it, the tension between the two rising as Tom shook Shawn's hand hard and firm.

You saw Shawn's jaw visible clench as he slowly nodded his head, standing tall and strong with his nostrils slightly the flaring once Tom lets go of his hand. "Likewise. Big fan of the films."

You couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes as Shawn's voice got deeper than normal, the stare between the two looking like some high school confrontation.

Tom only chuckled with a nod. "Thanks mate. Appreciate it." He didn't wait for Shawn to respond as he turned his attention to you, hand wrapping around your waist in a sweet yet protective manner. "Tricia's been looking for you. It's almost your turn to perform love."

You flashed him a bright smile, a silent communication happening between you two and Shawn felt his heart sink to his stomach, eyes falling to the floor as he couldn't bear to watch you two any longer.

"Let's get going then. I still need to change. I'll see you around Shawn." You gave him one last smile before turning your back on him, walking down the hall to where you came from, wondering what both of your futures hold.

Shawn only watched as you disappeared out of sight, heart breaking into pieces as he slowly felt his knees give out, a tear slipping out of his eyes at that the thought that he's pushed you away, so far and into the arms of someone else.

He really has lost you for good this time, another consequence of his mistake that he has no choice but to endure and face.

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[v-hope]

Watch Out, Gucci Boy

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Word Count: 5k

Request: “Hello! Can you do a Taehyung scenario in which y/n is a total badass and catch a thief who wanted to steal his Gucci watch before he even realizes that he's being robbed and before a thief could run away? Make him fall in love with this girl but she would refuse everything because she thinks he can't handle someone with such bad memories as her. Angsty with fluffy ending 💜💜💜”

A/N: Omg this turned out to be so long??? I thought it would be like 2.5k at most but as I kept writing I realised there was no way I was fitting the whole plot in that “small” amount of words. It’s just, this story needed a good development, ya feel? Okay, bye. And enjoy, hopefully.

“Oh my God, Y/N, it’s BTS” Haeun whisper-shouted, your gaze instantly going where she was looking at and tilting your head as you checked out the two guys she pointed out walking down the street. “I mean, it’s not all of them but holy shit, I need a picture with them” she didn’t hesitate to grab your hand, crossing the street as she practically ran towards where they were, dragging you with her.

She suddenly slowed down a few meters away as a guy approached them first and initiated a conversation with them out of nowhere, mumbling to herself something about having to wait until that man went away. So you just stood there, both of you resting your backs on the wall to one of the buildings – you hugging yourself since the night had turned out to be a little bit colder than you had expected and your thin sweater wasn’t doing much for you.

You sighed as you looked to the guys from the group your best friend would not shut up about and wondered how could they be so famous and yet look so normal – although one of them did seem rich; his classy clothes and the watch wrapped around his wrist which looked expensive as hell giving away his social status. His friend, on the other hand, was simply in a black Puma sportswear.

Your eyes travelled from the two idols to the man in front of them – your heart skipping a beat the second you realised you had most definitely seen that face before. “Shit, Haeun, he’s the guy from last week” you took a step further.

Her alarmed face snapped towards you. “What guy?” she inquired, deep down knowing the answer but not really wanting to believe it. She knew what was coming.

“The one who stole my phone” your reply was straight to the point, not taking your eyes away from him. “Stay here”.

“Y/N, no” she pleaded grabbing your hand; feeling the anxiety build up in her whole body, scared of any of you getting hurt if you got any closer. “Let’s go home, call the police, anything”.

But it was as if her words were not even heard by you. She just stood there, watching you go towards that guy. What else could she do? It wasn’t the first time something like this happened and she knew better than to get in your way.

As you got closer to the three of them, it looked like they were having a really nice chat, all of them were smiling and from an outsider’s view the guy would look friendly and even inoffensive, but you knew better. Seeing the guy gaze down to the watch you had also noticed moments ago, your hands turned into a fist. It had been the same for you: he had asked you for directions, nice little chat, and then boom, your phone had been taken away from you before you could even react; being too taken aback to do anything.

There was no way in hell you were letting him get away with yet another rob.  

“Okay, buddy, I think you need to keep walking” you barged in with a blank expression. As you positioned yourself in front of the two boys, you could feel their confused stares on you.

The delinquent, though, scoffed – his friendly façade immediately being dropped. “And who are you?”

“The girl you stole her phone from last week” the cynical smile you gave him was enough for his expression to harden. A small gasp was heard from behind you. “Now go” you took a step forward.

He glared down at you, taking a step closer as well to frighten you, but you were not moving. “Look, bitch, why don’t you mind your own–“

“Hey, don’t call her that!” you heard a deep voice being raised.

That made the man’s stare move from you to the voice’s owner. “You better go handing me that watch, kid” he threatened, no longer minding you as he began walking to the idols.

Only you didn’t let him get anywhere near them.

Moving to the side so you could block his path, you hit his nose with your lower palm, his hand instantly covering it and a loud groan leaving his mouth. He did not give up, though, going back at you with the intention of punching you back – but you were faster. Your knee went up, hitting his balls with all your strength. As he went to the ground groaning in pain, you turned around to face the two very shocked guys.

“This is when we run” you informed them, starting to walk backwards to make sure they followed. When it seemed like they finally came out of their trance, they did as you told them. “Haeun!” you called your friend, who was hiding behind one of the street lights.

The four of you ran a few blocks away from there, stopping only when you felt safe enough to do so.

“Holy shit” the one in the sportswear let out, placing his hands on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. “That was awesome!”

“Yeah!” said the one with the watch, allowing you to see a very pretty boxy smile. “Thank you so much” his words earned a smile from you, shrugging to let him know it was no big deal.

“You’re so badass!” his friend spoke again, not quite over it yet. It was Haeun’s turn to smile, finding his reaction kind of adorable.

“You get used to it after seeing her do that a few times” the girl beside you amusedly informed them before focusing her eyes on you. “But I still get worried you will get hurt, you idiot! Stop putting yourself in danger!” she slapped your arm, making you feign an offended expression.

“It’s done, no need to worry” you stated the obvious, at which she rolled her eyes – yours went back to the boys in front of you. “Be more careful when you speak to strangers, not everyone is as nice as they seem” they nodded at your motherlike advice. “Shall we go?” you spoke now to your friend, turning around so you could finally head home.

“Wait!” the one with the deep voice stopped you, not being able to hide the sudden shyness he got the moment you locked eyes with him once again. “Um... I’m Taehyung, this is Jungkook” he pointed to his friend, who shyly nodded.

“I know!” Haeun jumped up in excitement, the three of you looking at her with an amused smile. “This is Y/N, I’m Haeun” she was the one to introduce both of you.

“Y/N” Taehyung repeated your name, gazing at you with a smile. “Is there a way I can repay you?”

You were taken aback by his words; that thought not once having crossed your mind. “No, it’s okay”.

“But, I mean, you did risk your life for us” Jungkook spoke his mind; his friend effusively nodding by his side. “Well, for Tae, more like. It was his beloved Gucci watch the guy wanted to steal anyway” he added in a mocking way, still not understanding his hyung’s obsession with that brand.

“Exactly” Tae agreed. “Let me take you out to dinner, or for coffee, whatever you like”.

You stood still, trying to process what was happening. Was he asking you out?

The mere “are you kidding me?” look Haeun gave you after you remained quiet for longer than it was considered normal made you snap out of it.

“It’s okay, really. It was also kind of personal; take it as my revenge towards that guy”.

You looked at Haeun and tilted your head, implicitly telling her the two of you should go home.

“Can I at least get your number in case you change your mind then?” Tae stopped you once more.

You tried to hold your laugh back at the little squeal that left your friend’s mouth – one of the idols she loved so much was desperate to keep in touch with her best friend, how could she not freak out?!

“I don’t have a phone” you reminded him, which made his hopes of ever getting to know you instantly dissipate. “See you around, I guess” you pressed your lips together, forming a small smile before you turned around to walk away for once and for all.

It was after you had already taken a fair amount of steps away from there that you noticed Haeun had not followed you. Looking around for her, you saw her from afar, still talking to the boys – the phone in her hand telling you she had asked them for pictures. A sigh left your mouth as you crossed your arms; with the adrenaline of the moment you had completely forgotten it had all started because she wanted to meet them.

After that eventful night, you carried on with your life like it didn’t even happen. Of course, you did not forget about it because your best friend would not shut up about those two guys for the love of God. You swore she was so whipped for them. You had to give it to her though, they were indeed pretty handsome – especially the Gucci guy. His nicely shaped dark eyes and his bright boxy smile remained stuck in the back of your mind, and a part of you regretted not having given him at least one of your social accounts’ username so the two of you could’ve kept in touch. The reasonable part of you, however, told you it had been for the best; a guy like him wouldn’t be able to put up with a girl like you.

It was a week later, when you got home and saw a package placed in front of your door along with a note that signed “Kim Taehyung”, that you knew the boy wouldn’t give up on you that easily. Picking the box up and entering your house, you rushed to get your scissors so you could open it. And when you finally did, you almost dropped it out of surprise.

“He did not” you mumbled to yourself, holding in your hands a smaller box containing a brand new phone he had apparently bought you.

Taking the note attached to the box, you proceeded to read it.

You didn’t give me your number because you said you didn’t have a phone. Now you do!

So I’m hoping now we can keep in touch and once you get to know me you’ll let me take you out, maybe?

This is my way of paying you back, so don’t you dare send it back.

P.S. Please don’t block my number :(

You shook your head, biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh at the last part of the note – sadly, it only proved how cute he was and why the two of you would never work out.

You went to your sofa as you turned your new phone on. When you were done setting it up, the first notification you got was from an unknown number. You didn’t even have to read it to know who it was from.

“Hey, this is Taehyung! I hope you like your new phone. Also, Haeun gave me your address the other night, I’m not a stalker. Please don’t kill her.”

You face palmed yourself – of course your whipped best friend was not going to let you walk out of it. You were indeed going to kill her; how could she not tell you she had given him your address? She might as well had given him the keys to your place.

“Oh, trust me, she is dead to me. You really didn’t have to buy me a new phone, I was going to buy another one when I got payed later this month. Thank you anyway!”

It was a matter of minutes before your phone announced another text.

“Please don’t, I bribed her into this. But how was I supposed to get your number if you got a phone by yourself? :(”

This time you didn’t bother in holding your laugh back. He really was something else.

After that day he would constantly text you, either if it was to ask you something about yourself or just to tell you about his day; and you wouldn’t answer as soon as he’d like you to, but with you trying to balance your studies and your work so you could make ends meet, you didn’t really have as much time as you’d like to sit at home texting. Well, that and the fact that you didn’t want to speak too much to Taehyung because it would only end up with you getting attached to him, and you could not let that happen. On his side, he didn’t really have that much time either, but he did try his hardest not to lose contact with you.

He would try to have you go out with him from time to time; your answer always being negative. You liked talking to him, and even though you tried your best not to get used to his constant attention on you, you found yourself looking forward to his texts, feeling kind of disappointed whenever he didn’t do so for a while. But, the thing was, although there was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you, he was a sweetheart, and you were a tough girl. Your manners were not like the ones from girls guys would usually go for. It was hard to keep up with you, and men used to get bored of you sooner or later because it felt to them as if the roles had been reversed – with you being so independent and reckless, they didn’t feel needed; and God forbid you didn’t need their help to do basic daily chores.

Your life hadn’t been easy, not in the slightest, and that shaped you into the woman you were today. You were not sweet, you were not delicate. You were not a damsel in distress, and for some reason, guys didn’t like that. And the ones who did like it and claimed they wanted to be with you, promising you the moon and stars, had ended up not being able to keep their word – at some point realising it was not as simple to date a girl like you. Because, let’s be honest, men do find it hot when a girl knows how to put up a fight, but a relationship is not based on sex only. Once in a relationship with you, it was not all fun and games like they thought it would be.

Taehyung, you thought, belonged with the second type of guys. He was just infatuated because he saw you as this badass goddess who didn’t need anyone to rescue her. He probably thought it was hot, too. But you knew how things were going to end if you did give him a chance. Again, he was a sweetheart, the nicest guy you had met so far – how was he supposed to deal with you when not even the tough guys you had dated succeeded at that?

To him, on his end, his feelings for you were crystal clear. He liked you quite a lot, to say the least. Or so it was simple as that in the beginning. As the weeks passed by, however, he felt himself falling harder and harder for you. He absolutely loved talking to you, he felt like he could tell you anything and you would understand – not once had you judged him, although you did always untactfully tell him what you thought. He loved your sarcastic humour. He loved how upfront you were, how bold your words usually were. He loved how independent you were, and how you somehow managed to go to university and work at the same time – how you managed to fend for yourself overall.

And although you always refused to go out with him and he had seen you only once in his life, after two months of the two of you exchanging messages, he knew: he was irretrievably in love with you. That being the reason he couldn’t bear not seeing you anymore, which is why he looked up the address of the music store you told him you worked at and went there to give you a quick visit. You always used your studies and work as an excuse whenever he asked you out, so why not instead of you adjusting your schedule for him, he adjusted himself to yours? You didn’t need to go out to a fancy place to spend some quality time with each other.

You must admit it was in fact such a nice and spontaneous gesture of him; he had even brought you coffee. He stayed there with you for quite a while, chatting during the moments there were no clients in the store. The way his heart beat on his chest the second he saw you and the shivers he got whenever you locked eyes with him only confirmed what he already knew. You, on the other hand, tried not to pay attention to the clear signs of your feelings for him being there – like how your heart would race whenever his boxy smile was plastered on his face, or how you found yourself unconsciously getting closer to him anytime you got the chance.

The time went flying that day, your shift finishing before you even knew it; and then Taehyung walked you home, sweetly kissing your cheek goodbye.

He found himself going to visit you more often, either showing up at your uni or your workplace – always wearing a mask and a hat, being careful enough not to get recognised by people, of course. And the more time you spent together, the more he felt he needed to be with you in a non platonic way – the more you felt yourself starting to fall for him as well.

You could not let that happen.

It was when your meetings moved to your place, becoming regular for him to be there at least once a week, where the two of you would order takeout and chat about your lives or watch a movie from time to time, that you felt things definitely start to change.

When you felt it was becoming too late for you to keep denying what you felt for Tae, you did what you thought was best for the two of you – what, in your eyes, was best for him. You told him you should not see each other anymore, and asked him to stop visiting you. He was not having it. So you went with a bolder choice, your harsh ways only then coming to the surface: you told him you saw him as nothing more than a friend and that you were trying to prevent him from heartbreak before it was too late, because you did not have feelings for him nor would you ever have them.

Little did you know, it was already too late.

Your words did not save him from heartbreak – if anything, they were the cause of it.

He loved you. God, did he love you. Not seeing you like he had grown used to was awful enough itself but the fact that you were now not even replying his texts hurt like hell. Because he did keep texting you after that day; it was you the one who refused to talk things out. He felt delusional, but he put his pride aside for as long as he could, until it became too much for him to bear.

Haeun would constantly go to keep you company, knowing deep down you were hurting even though you didn’t show it. It had been your decision to cut him out of your life anyway, so why would you even be hurt? If anything, you should’ve been glad you stopped things before they went too far. But you were hurting, because you missed him almost as much as he missed you. You had tried to prevent the two of you from hurting each other but instead you had ended up hurting both of you all by yourself.

It had been a little over a month when you arrived home after your shift at work and saw him sitting down in your doorstep, waiting for you. Your hands turned into fists out of nervousness, not knowing how to behave around him anymore. It had been a while, how were you supposed to just look him in the eye after having been ignoring him for so long? It didn’t matter, though, because he was right there in front and there was no way you could avoid him, especially not after his gaze moved up and his dark eyes locked with yours.

“Hey” you mumbled, taking a seat beside him. Your greeting had came out kind of shy, since when were you like that?

A nod was his way of greeting you instead, a weak smile curving up his lips. “I, um... Just wanted to give you this” he reached into his pocket, handing you what at first looked like a bracelet.

Your eyebrows furrowed before you took it in your hand, only then realising it was the Gucci watch that you had stopped from being stolen the night you met. Your eyes went to his, the sheer confusion reflected on them letting him know you didn’t understand why he was doing that.

“I know this might sound idiotic, but whenever I look at it I can’t stop thinking about you and it honestly hurts right now” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to throw it away and if I was giving it away it only felt fair for you to be the one to have it”.

You bit your lower lip, not being able to ignore the twinge in your heart as you realised this was his way of saying goodbye. After this, the two of you would part ways for good.

“Is it that bad to remember me?” you joked in a soft, sad voice, looking down at the watch in your hands.

He sighed.

“It is when I am in love with you and you cut me out of your life without giving me a say on it”.

You froze at his words. In love? Did he just say he was in love with you?

“You’re not in love with me” you said in denial. Your words made his head snap towards your direction, “it’s probably just a crush, it’ll pass”.

“No” he snapped at you. “No, you don’t get to do this” his scolding tone took you by surprise; not once had you seen him mad at you, or at anyone for that matter. “You don’t get to tell me what I feel or don’t feel for you, because there is no way you would know it for sure” you bit the inside of your cheek, feeling so little under his piercing stare; finding this whole new side of him quite intimidating. “I love you, okay? Yes, it all started with a simple crush, of course. But the more I got to know you, the harder I fell for you. I know without a doubt how I feel about you so don’t you dare belittle my love for you”.

To say you were left speechless was an understatement.

“Why?” was all you could manage to let out after a few seconds of pure silence, for the first time in your life being scared of saying something wrong.

“Why what?”

“Why me?” you elaborated, only getting a confused expression as his answer. “I mean, honestly, Taehyung, there are so many beautiful girls who are a perfect match for you, who are bubbly and sweet like you. Why out of all of them, would you fall in love with me? I am nothing like that, we are complete opposites– “

“Exactly” he interrupted you, “you’re different” you rolled your eyes, as if you hadn’t heard that enough from every single guy who had tried to score with you. “I am serious. I love how you don’t need to rely on anyone, how you can fend for yourself and even win a fight against a robber” he couldn’t hide the small smile on his lips from forming as he said the last part.

“Trust me, all those things you now say you love about me? If we ever were to be together, you would hate them not even three months into the relationship” you shook your head, avoiding the eye contact as you looked somewhere else.

“If we ever... were to be together?” he repeated your choice of words in a breathy voice. His heart went wild at the glimpse of hope he got from the idea of you liking him back.

You cleared your throat, realising how your wording had left you on the spot. Was there any point on denying it anymore?

“I didn’t push you away because I didn’t have feelings for you” you confessed. His eyes opened wide, desperately looking for any kind of lie in yours – his heart finally feeling at ease when he found nothing; you were being sincere. “It’s just… Why do you think I am still single after so long? Guys get tired of me, Tae. I am too much to handle. And you are such a sweetheart; if not even the toughest guys I’ve dated were able to put up with me, what makes you think it would be any different for you?”

He got closer to you, pulling your chin up so he could look into your eyes. “The difference is that I love you” he mumbled, his breath itching your skin, and your heart beginning to race before you could even notice it.

“Don’t– “

“No, listen to me” he prevented you from looking away by cupping your face between his hands. “Those guys you’re talking about probably only wanted to get in your pants; they liked the idea of being with such a tough woman. But my feelings for you are so strong, I swear, they’re not going anywhere no matter what. And I know how you are already, it’s not like we are only now meeting each other. I fell for you; all of you. With your badass manners and all”.

How were you supposed to keep pushing him away when he told you things like that? When every word that left his mouth made you believe everything would be alright? When his beautiful eyes didn’t fail to show you just how genuine his feelings were for you?

“I’m trying to help you. It’s not easy to date me” you whispered.

“I don’t want easy, I want you” his thumbs traced small circles in your cheeks.

You softly shook your head once again. “You could literally be with anyone you want”.

“I want you” he repeated, his eyes not once looking away from yours, at least not until they travelled down to your lips.

Given how close you were, you felt your heart skip a beat at that realisation.

“Taehyun–“ you cracked out, only to be hushed by him before his lips were softly moving against yours.

It was loving and tender, your head going dizzy at how pleasant his plump lips felt against yours. As he took his sweet time savouring your mouth, an overwhelming sensation didn’t wait to reach every single inch of your body, leaving you longing for him as soon as it came to an end.

He gave your lips a small peck before fully pulling apart; resting his forehead against yours. Only then his eyes opening and burning into yours. Neither of you said a thing, having to take a few moments for your elation to cool down and to completely process what had just happened.

When you came back to your senses, though, you sighed. “One of us is getting hurt at some point, we’re too different” you couldn’t help to express your thoughts as always.

He shook his head no, his thumbs once again caressing your skin. “We made it this far as friends despite our differences” he smirked. He did have a point. “Will you please give us a chance?” he pleaded; his lips slightly brushing against yours. “Let me show you I am good enough for you”.

And right then, with Taehyung being so close to you and both your heart and mind going wild because of him, you decided to push every insecurity and past experience of yours aside and answer his request with a brief kiss to his lips. You didn’t know if it was because he was right there and his presence made you not think straight or because you couldn’t ignore your feelings for him any longer, but none of that mattered anymore. Feeling him smile in between the kiss and tangling his fingers in your hair so he could pull you closer to him and deepen it, you thought to yourself that maybe all this time you had been reading too much into things. He loved you as you were – he had fallen for you even after he realised the kind of girl you were. Maybe it was about time you let your guard down, because, so far, he had proven to be worth you doing so and giving him a chance.

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

A Saint with the Lips of a Sinner (Steve Rogers X WOC! Reader)

Summary: Y/N is forced to attend the biggest mob in New York party, dealers from across the country coming in to discuss business, with Steve and Bucky’s whereabouts in the center of all of it. Y/N must entertain the guests and keep everyone happy, but a surprise guest shows up in need of a drink, unbeknownst to the danger that lies ahead for him. And the secret he uncovers. 

Author’s Note: So.... I hope you guy’s liked the last part, it was very short and eh but this one I’m proud of and it’s the start of something very AWESOME, mob au’s are so interesting to me and I love Tony Stark but I needed a villain. I’m excited for this and please leave feedback! I love it :) and head’s up, Steve isn’t so gentlemanly in this chapter ;) IT’S SO SHORT I’M SORRY

Warnings: Some fluff, my dudes, a little angst, mild language, and SO MUCH SEXUAL TENSION *awkward winks*

Word Count: 2058

FC: Tristin Mays

The bar bustles with life, patrons of the service and people dancing all unaware of the inner workings going on right under their noses, secret dealings and trades with the people that run the town. Tony Stark buttering up some of his colleagues in one corner, and a deal being made in the next. A speakeasy vibe hangs in the air along with the stale cigarettes and booze, paired with the scent of deceit and mischief. 

Y/N steps lightly in her stiletto heels, red, satin, slip dress clinging to curves and fitting her frame nicely. So used to wearing baggier or casual clothing that she rarely notices the lingering stares on her body when she passes tables, staying out of the limelight as much as she can. She’s not used to being so dressed up.

Her involvement in Stark’s business starting to cost her more than just her time, now proving fatal for both her and a certain new friend of hers. But she holds her head up, anyway, keeping her shoulders back when she walks, because mobsters, do smell fear. If you’re not completely confident or sure of yourself, you’ll be the first to go, and even if she wasn’t an official member, the same rules apply. 

Then, while passing the entrance to speak to Tony, she hears a familiar voice speaking to the security guard, old friends by the tone of conversation. She pays no mind to the idle muttering, casting it off as a figment of her imagination or side effect from lack of sleep, until her eyes move past a head of blonde hair and eyes that resemble emerald, flecks of sapphire and gold in its rims. 

Her eyes go wide when she finally realizes and she turns to him, both of them locking eyes and his mouth opening to say something, ask why she’s here. But she’s quick, taking his hand in her own and dragging him into a forgotten hallway no one goes into, holding him against the wall until they’re out of sight.

She places a hand over his mouth and speaks furtively, “Why the hell are you here?”

His eyes crinkle with amusement, slowly pulling her hand out of the way with a hesitant smile in its place, “To get a drink?” he says, as more of a question than an answer. “Why? Is there something wrong with that?” he looks her over once before smiling, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Her skin burns from his flattery but she shakes herself out of it before he can take notice of it, so she drops her hand completely, “Do you have any idea who runs this place?”

“The Columbos, why?” he furrows his brow.

“Do you know what else they run?”

It takes him a minute to realize his grave mistake before he sighs aloud, throwing his head back in frustration, “I’m an idiot,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“You know, for a wanted man you sure have a way of making yourself known in exactly the places you shouldn’t,” she takes a step away from him. 

He looks her over quickly, meeting her eyes again, indignantly, frowning slightly, “You work for them... don’t you?”

Her heart leaps into her throat and she evades the question, looking to the floor instead of answering, and he doesn’t meet her eyes either.

“You set me up,” he concludes with a sullen expression and guilt etches itself into her features. 

“I didn’t,” she says quietly, stepping closer to him when she hears footsteps nearby, threatening to find their location. “My brother’s Sam Wilson...”

“What does that have to do with anything? You know I trusted you-”

“I’m sorry!” she says, a little too loudly than intended before dulling her voice down to a stealthy whisper. “Will you let me finish, Rogers? I promise it’ll make since when I’m done,” she pleads. “Okay?” her voice breaking towards the end. 

He nods after a moment and the lump in her throat finally leaves way for her to breathe again, heart still hammering in her chest, but not just from the secrets. 

“I have no choice to be here, Hercules, my brother betrayed Stark and took me as collateral, if I mess up or step out of line, Sam’s dead, along with the rest of my family. The worst part is I’ll be the one forced to do it with a gun to my head, but knowing this business, I’ll get a bullet through the skull too even if I do comply.”

The words are thick in the air like a fog none of them can see through, until he finally breaks it, “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.

“You don’t need to be,” they lock eyes and neither one dares to lets go. 

“So the other day... talking in the coffee shop, that was all fake?” he stares her down, but rather than intimidation, she’s met with vulnerability and confusion. 

She rolls her eyes, both conflict warring and indifference in her expression, attempting to keep a calm exterior, holding her scarlet lips closed until letting the words slip, “No, Rogers... that wasn’t fake. But is that what you’re really wondering in this moment? You need to get your priorities straight if you ever want to get out of here.”

“No need, I’m pretty comfortable here,” he looks you over, now pressed against him with his back to the wall, room filled with heated whispers and hot as hell despite the cool air condition pouring in from the ceiling. His voice is inflicted with challenge and trickery, playing the game you intended to start yourself.

“Not so shy when we’re in the face of danger, huh? How classy of you, Rogers,” she rolls her eyes for what seems like the fifth time tonight, but there’s a coy smile playing at her lips, 

She steps away from him, but finds herself unable to move when his arm snakes its way around her waist, quietly spinning them around so her back is against the wall, his hand over her mouth. 

He places a single finger to his lips and she nods in compliance, heat pooling in her abdomen at the intensity of his gaze, green meeting brown, footsteps dangerously close by with a knock on a door and Tony’s voice on the other side of the wall.

“Where the hell is that girl?” Stark’s muffled voice sounds through the drywall.

“Maybe you should keep her on a leash, Tony, the girl’s proving to be nothing but trouble for you.”

“You’ve seen the bruises on her, she knows her place. Talk about her again like she’s a pet, and you’ll soon learn yours as well.”

The voices soon die out until silence thickens the atmosphere once again. They’re both frozen in place until he raises a single eyebrow in inquiry and she nods quickly, allowing him to take his hand away from her face, her ample chest heaving with each strenuous breath.

“You have bruises...” he states and she looks him in the eye, shaking her head not to question it further, before he lightly moves her hair out of the way of her neck, her head turning to the side with her eyes clenched shut as he examines the fingerprint marks indented in her skin, purple blossoming on her deep skin. His fingers brush over the mark and she winces slightly, an action he catches with a frown before sweeping her hair back in place, hand still lingering on her skin. 

“You know what they do to people who don’t follow orders. I happen to be one of them. It’s nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, Hercules, I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just telling you you’re not alone in this anymore.”

She looks at him, grateful, afraid tears might surface at the compassion he’s showing her, sympathy she doesn’t feel she deserves.

“You’re lucky we’re so cramped here, I would hug you right now,” her ruby lips curl upward, softened eyes not straying away from his.

“Raincheck,” he smiles weakly, letting his hand drop back to his side and she smiles. 

“Who says that anymore?” she rolls her eyes with a quiet laugh, the conversation back to a lighter tone. 

He chuckles gruffly, “Do you think if I kissed you right now that you’d finally be quiet?“

She smiles, pleasantly surprised by his question, “Depends on where you kiss me,” she replies coolly. 

Her steely resolve crumbles slowly when he continues to undress her with his eyes, the gentlemanly act he put up when they first met gone along with it. 

Steve half smiles, cheeks a shade of rosy pink, eyes glittering, he lifts an expert eyebrow, “Not so ladylike now, huh?”

She smiles, finally, the light switching on in his chest when she brings that familiar sunshine into the room, “You’re certainly not so gentleman now yourself, Rogers. Don’t act so high and mighty.”

“I would never.”

She looks at him for a moment, growing serious, “You and I both know that if I fall for or start liking you, Steve, it will become a weapon, used against the both of us. So I suggest you stop looking at me like that,” 

He tilts his head curiously, smiling smugly, “Like what, doll?”

There goes that doll again. “Like you can see under my dress.”

He pinches his brow, adorably so, “Why, are you wearing scandalous lingerie I shouldn’t know about?”

“Usually I would say yes.”

“Why do you say usually?”

“Because now... I’m not wearing any,” she flashes a feigned demure smile, leaning her head back against the solid wall. 

He gulps audibly, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously but he soon regains control, despite the fifty shades of scarlet that adorn his handsome face, clearing his throat with a shy smile, “And... w-why is that?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Rogers, it wasn’t for you, I was in a rush to leave.”

“You never told me the rules of if the roles were reversed and I ended up falling for you first. What happens then, doll?”

“You prove you truly are the idiot I took you for,” her lips twitch in a smile, looking at the floor at the thought of him liking her. Her stomach’s flipping  and she finds herself questioning this intoxicating feeling fluttering in her chest. 

“You can’t just do things like this and expect me to get rid of this crush that I have on you, Y/N.��

“Seriously? I’ve not done anything,” she laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being me, Steve. 

He laughs, “That’s exactly the problem... well, n-not a problem, more like... a-”

She steps up on the tips of her toes to reach his full height and cup his cheek in her hand, placing a tender kiss on the corner of his pink mouth, catching the tail end of a lovestruck smile from Hercules himself.

“You’re rambling, Rogers,” she mutters with a small smile. 

He rubs his thumb over where her lips left and flicks his eyes back up to meet hers, “What was that for?”

“I was indulging myself,” she whispers, flitting her gaze to his. “Because nothing can happen between us, Rogers, not when I’m the one supposed to be turning you in.”

He studies her features for a moment, like it’s the last time he’ll be seeing them, “I know.”

She contemplates something over in her head for a moment before saying, “Meet me at the coffee shop tomorrow night, alright?” she raises her eyebrows and he nods quickly without stopping to think for an answer. “We need to talk.” 

She slips out from beneath him and walks to the edge of the hall before hearing his voice after her. 

“That’s great and all, but now how am I supposed to get out of here?” he whisper-yells.

“There’s a door right behind you,” she smirks, pointing to the doorknob to his right.

He looks to the door and back to her, then over again before furrowing his brows together, “You knew that was there the whole time and you didn’t say anything?”

“What can I say?” she shrugs with a demure smile. “I was pretty comfortable...” she slips from the hall with one last wave, dreading to see what happens on the other side of that wall.

[imagine-by-susu]

Percival Graves x Male!Reader - What a Tease

A/N: I never did a Male!Reader so this is the first ^^’‘. I am sure that I could’ve done better but well...it is here now anyway XD Thanks to anon for this request (I hope I didn’t mess up that bad) A big thanks to @huxy-baby

Requests are open

Fandomlist Masterlist of 2017 Masterlist of January 2018 Masterlist of Feburary 2018 Masterlist of March 2018 Masterlist of April 2018 Masterlist of May 2018 GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Word Count: 1.578 ________________________________________________________________

Ever since you were a child, you were smaller than the other boys in your classes and way more fragile. So, it was never easy for you, always being teased by the bigger and stronger boys.

It got even worse when they found out about your attraction to boys. A boy liking another boy? How disgusting, so they said at least.

Up until adulthood, it never changed for you. Always being pushed around and hearing not so nice names being called after you, but you lived with it.

You needed to learn to not listen to them. Being free to say and do whatever you want. No one could tell no for going with boys.

As best as you could, you tried be more confident. It started when you applied for a job at MACUSA and as they accepted you, you were more than thrilled.

It was just pure and boring paperwork, but sometimes you brought coffee or tea to the Aurors. Most of them were nice to you and chatted with you.

The Sunny Boy, they would say to you. Always smiling and ignoring the insults of others.

Queenie Goldstein, one of your coworkers, was very found of you, she treated you like you were a brother to her.

“How did it go with the man from San Francisco?” she once asked, smiling brightly. Raising an eyebrow at her, you question yourself how she knew about that and quickly she pulled a hand over her mouth.

“Oh god, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to read your mind.” And this is how you found out about her abilities of reading others minds. Still, you liked her. She was the female you, if you can say so.

-

Straightening your tie, you entered the MACUSA building one morning. You greeted every familiar face with a nod and a tap of your head before you walked to your desk where you laid down the hat and your suitcase.

The classy side part (Y/H/C) hair was still neat despite the hat you had worn. Pulling off your suit coat, you placed it around your chair and unbuttoning the sleeves of your white blouse to pull them up to your elbows made you feel a bit more comfortable.

Just as you sat down onto your desk, Queenie walked up to you and half smile on her pink lips.

“Morning Sunny boy.” She greeted you and you smiled back a bit.

“Good morning, Sunshine Girl.” Queenie shook her golden locks.

“Listen, Mr. Graves asked for a coffee, he stayed the night in again. Can you imagine? Anyway, neither of us have time right now. Would you be so sweet and do it?” she blinked with her eyes and you smiled at her.

“Of course, Queenie. How can I say no to such a sweet face?” Queenie laughed a bit and then took off not before waving a goodbye to you.

You sighed and got up from your chair to prepare said coffee for the Director of Magical Security. Mr. Percival Graves.

From far you had seen a few times, but never did you have a conversation with him. When you could believe the rumors that roamed around MACUSA, Mr. Graves was a stoic man who followed the rules strictly, but he did a very good job.

-

Humming slightly to yourself, you walked to the elevators to go down to the office of Mr. Graves. You greeted the Goblin, Red, who operated on the elevators.

“What are you humming, son?” Red asked in pure curiosity.

You looked down to him.

“Oh, just a little song that I heard in…a bar.” Red instantly knew what kind of bar you were talking about and only nodded at that. For a Goblin he was a very nice fella.

As you arrived you took your Farwell to him and marched up to Mr. Graves office. Right as you wanted to knock on the door it flung open and Abernathy walked out, crashing right into you.

The coffee you held in your hand spilled all over your once white shirt. The hot liquid ran down your chest as you looked down at your now ruined suit.

Abernathy huffed at you and pushed you to the side.

“Watch where you are going, boy and clean this mess up.” He could be such an asshole.

“Mr. Abernathy!” a deep voice came from the office and Abernathy immediately gulped.

“Bring the young man a change of clothes and clean this mess up.” Came the voice again and Abernathy only nodded before he walked off.

Great, this is not how you imagined your first encounter with the head of the Aurors.

“Come in, Mr. (Y/L/N).” Mr. Graves invited you. How did he know your name? Shaking your head, you entered the office and the door closed itself after you entered.

You gulped a bit. At the desk sat the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. A white blouse adorned his chest together with a dark grey vest. The sleeves were, just like yours, rolled up to his elbows.

His dark hair was slicked back while it was cut short on the sides. His sharp figures were even more visible in the light the room gave away.

Dark brown eyes fixed onto the spot you stood.

“My apologize for Mr. Abernathy’s behavior. He thinks a bit too highly of himself sometimes.” Mr. Graves said in a deep voice as he eyed you closely.

To be honest, it made you shiver a bit, but a good kind of shiver. The man gestured to a chair that sat in front of his desk and told you to sit down. You did as he said.

Percival laid down the papers who currently worked on and gave you his full attention.

“I have heard a lot of you Mr. (Y/L/N).” he told you and it made your eyes go wide. What exactly did he hear about you?

As if he could read your mind, like Queenie, he shook his head.

“Don’t worry. Everything I heard about you is positive.” You smiled a bit nervous, his expression was stern.

The silence made you nervous and you started to wipe with your leg, creating a tapping noise on the ground. Not realizing it you tapped to the rhythmed of the song you were humming in the elevator, the one you had heard in the bar on your weekend.

“Say, do you enjoy your job at MACUSA?” he suddenly asked and you looked at him a bit confused.

“Sir?” you asked back not quite understanding what he meant by that. A tiny smile adored his lips. God those lips looked seducing.

“You are a smart young man Mr. (Y/L/N). I think the paperwork is a bit too unchallenging for a izard like you.” This compliment made you turn red a bit. No one ever, told you something like that.

“Well, Mr. Graves, thank you, but I think you mean someone else.” Mr. Graves couldn’t but let out a low chuckle that reminded you of the howl of a wolf.

The door opened and Abernathy walked in, with a fresh pile of clothing for you to change.

“Thank you, Mr. Abernathy.” Graves nodded at him and gestured for him to leave.

As the door closed again, the older male stood up and took the blouse Abernathy had left on the desk and walked up to you.

He kneeled before you and you gulped once again. Percival was so close to you now that could smell his cologne. A bit spicy but it had woody scent to it.

“May I?” he asked as he pointed to the ruined blouse that you still wore and you could only give a nod, your mouth went dry as his fingers started to unbutton every button of the blouse.

You weren’t sure if it was an accident or of he did it on purpose but sometimes his slightly cold fingertips brushed over your chest or belly. It made you shiver once again.

Turning your reddening face away from him, you failed to notice that he pulled the fabric down your shoulders and laid it down onto his desk.

His dark eyes wandered up and down your torso before he clothed into the new blouse, slowly and steadily buttoning each button up. His face coming closer and closer with each button that was closed.

As he finished, he buried his face slightly into the crook of your neck, his lips nearly touching your skin.

Your breath hitched at the contact of his lips on your skin, your heart beat increased by a million miles per minute.

His face went up from your neck to your jaw, to your cheek and then to your lips, while one of his hands supported him on the armrest of your chair and the other laid comfortably on your shoulder.

The hand that rested on your shoulder slowly went up to your cheek and he turned your face so your eyes could meet.

Slightly, his lips brushed yours and you couldn’t say anything nor could you move. You stunned by these sudden actions but neither did you wanted him to stop.

But then he suddenly stood up, making you widen your eyes. Mr. Graves straightened his tie and sat back onto his chair.

“I am still waiting for my coffee Mr. (Y/L/N).” he said a mocking grin on his face.

What a tease this Mr. Graves was…

[pantstomatch]

msdistress said: I saw that civilized werewolves being super competitive when it comes to other packs, and now I can only imagine an AU where (adult) Stiles and Scott are renting a house together, and Derek moves in the same area. And while the McCall pack and the entire Hale pack (Talia, Laura, etc.) are on civilized terms, Scott and Derek just can’t help themselves. And maybe a part of the showing off is actually a way to impress (court) Stiles, as in “My lawn ornaments are much nicer than his!”

So this is kind of that, but kind of not? This is pretty silly :) Happy Halloween!

“You’re not dead,” Stiles says as Scott bangs open the door and shucks off his shoes in the next movement. They hit the wall and then bounce into an ungainly pile in the middle of the hallway that Liam will no doubt trip over when he gets home.

“Nope,” Scott says. He looks confused by that part.

“So… That’s good?” Stiles has pumpkin guts all over his hands, but offers Scott a fist bump anyway.

Scott follows Stiles back into the kitchen and then plops down across from Stiles’s half-finished jack-o-lanterns at the counter. He’s a couple weeks early, but Halloween has to be taken seriously. These are practice pumpkins.

Scott says, “It was weird. I think they’re all models. They force-fed me pie.”

Stiles arches a skeptical eyebrow.

“I mean, the pie was great,” Scott says, face screwed up. “I think they were happy I ate the whole thing?”

Werewolf metabolism, Stiles thinks sourly. He’s getting to that age where he has to watch his beer and pizza intake. It sucks. He says, “I’ll make them brownies,” and then apparently it becomes a thing.

*

Stiles doesn’t know if the Hale pack are actually all models, but they’re definitely taking the supernaturally hot thing to a whole other level.

Scott’s betas are reasonably attractive, sure, but Liam’s the size of a cave troll and Mason’s on this whole hippie-chic kick that makes him look like a train hobo.

Stiles holds out the plate of brownies and tries not to stare at Erica’s boobs. Boyd has the bulging chest of a roman gladiator and Stiles could cut his hands on Isaac’s cheekbones, it’s insane.

Stiles says, “Nice to meet you guys,” and Erica’s lip curls up and her hands hover around the plastic-wrapped plate like it’s made of poison and-or possibly oatmeal. He waggles the plate back and forth. “Promise they’re wolfsbane free.”

And then Jackson fucking Whittmore comes swanning down the staircase and Stiles says, “You’ve got to be shitting me. Jackson?”

“Stilinski,” Jackson says with a scowl.

“Lydia told us you got eaten by a giant lizard.”

Jackson scowls harder. “Fuck off.”

Stiles would like to say that the addition of Jackson makes the pack less appealing, but despite having the personality of a canned ham, Jackson still looks like he was carved out of marble. Balls.

And then someone says, “Do I smell chocolate?” from behind Stiles and he definitely does not jump three feet into the air, but it’s a close call.

He flinches and spins around and says, “Fuck my life.”

The hottest mountain man Stiles has ever seen is frowning at him and Stiles wants to bury his entire body in his beard. He wants to weasel his way under that soft-looking Henley and lick his collarbones. Stiles is ninety-nine percent sure this is Alpha Derek Hale, even though Scott had failed to prepare him for the way Derek’s eyes are eating Stiles’s soul.

Stiles wordlessly holds out the plate of brownies.

Derek takes them with a resigned silence. No one else is saying anything either, and the back of Stiles’s neck is starting to prickle with unease. Are they going to eat him now? They’d moved into town so Liam and Mason could go to the local college, expecting some kind of resistance, territorial posturing, possible brawl for dominance, but Scott had been tirelessly optimistic—even more so since the pie eating thing.

Stiles slinks around Derek, hands up. He says, “I’ll just, uh… leave now,” and backs down the sidewalk so he can see any kind of attack coming. He’s got a taser in his back pocket and he’s not afraid to use it.

The Hale pack all watch him with narrow, calculating eyes and Jackson gives him the finger.

Stiles thinks that if this is the way they react to brownies, he’s going to bake them a motherfucking cake.

*

Originally, Stiles thought it was a giant mistake on Scott’s part to rent a place nearby the Hale pack house, but now Stiles thinks it’s good to be able to keep an eye on them. They’ve never had to deal with another pack so close before. It’s both nerve-wracking and exhilarating, and Stiles tries not to think too hard about why and focuses on the important stuff: decorating for Halloween.

Stiles starts out with three jack-o-lanterns in front of their modest little pack house, but when he sees Derek staple-gunning orange lights around the entire front of their porch, he comes home with a six foot dinosaur skeleton with glowing red eyes.

“You spent actual money on this,” Scott says, hands on his hips. He doesn’t seem mad, just sort of baffled.

Stiles very carefully doesn’t tell him that it cost almost two hundred dollars. They don’t have ‘pack money’ and Stiles has a very good job, but there’s spending money on a video game and then there’s buying a giant skeleton that’s probably going to break the minute Liam tries to ride it.

Stiles can’t exactly explain it, the way Derek was aggressively hanging lights and glaring at him. It could have had something to do with the way Stiles was openly gaping at Derek’s butt when he was at the top of the ladder, but Stiles is going to up his game anyway: no one actually hangs Halloween lights unless they’re going to war.

Scott would probably not appreciate Stiles telling him this, though.

Instead, he pats the dinosaur’s back fondly and says, “He was on sale.”

*

Five days into October, Stiles blearily makes his way into the kitchen at seven AM to find Liam, Mason and Kira halfway through a giant dish of lasagna. They have full forks and zero table manners.

“Seven AM?” Stiles says, pouring himself an enormous mug of lukewarm coffee because he lives with heathens. “Where did that even come from?”

Mason mumbles something about a handsome roman gladiator while shoveling pasta into his mouth.

Kira says, “I want to marry this. I want to have this lasagna’s babies.” She stabs Liam with her fork and flashes orange eyes when he goes for the corner of the dish she’s staked out.

Liam says, “Did you just hiss at me?”

“If you marry this, I’m gonna eat your babies,” Mason says, and Stiles moves forward curiously, taking a deep sniff but careful not to get too close—he’s pretty sure Kira will take out his eyes.

Steam is still rising off of what’s left. Someone got up super early in the morning to make this fresh. Huh.

So they’re resorting to full meals now. Stiles can deal with that.

*

Stiles bakes a cake. Three layers of chocolate with vanilla pudding in between, and he covers the whole thing with an entire can of orange icing, using Oreo cookies to make bats. He also makes a cheesy chicken casserole in Boyd’s lasagna dish and has Mason take them both over in a wagon.

Stiles peeks through the window shades and gleefully watches Isaac open the door.

“What are you doing?” Scott asks, coming up behind him to peek too.

Stiles rubs his hands together and says, “Winning.”

“Winning what?” Scott says. He’s adorably befuddled, and Stiles pats his tummy and says, “I’m not sure, but whatever this is, I’m really good at it.”

“Is whatever this is why we have an entire ceramic haunted town on the front bow windowsill now?” He waves his hand to where Stiles is carefully kneeling in between a giant light-up Gothic mansion and a half-ruined churchyard.

“Exactly,” Stiles says.

Derek’s yard is now riddled with headstones that have each of his betas’ names on them. Cool, but not cool enough. Stiles is going to go with an undead army, he just has to convince Scott to sign up for Amazon Prime.

When Mason finally turns around he’s got a dazed look in his eyes and what looks like a homemade scarf wrapped around his neck. Damn it. He’s underestimated Isaac.

“Scott, buddy, you’re gonna have to learn how to knit.”

“What? No,” Scott says.

“Crochet?” Stiles says hopefully. “Cross-stitch?”

“No,” Scott says, but he scruffs a hand through Stiles’s hair. “I think Liam knows how to latch hook?”

“Everyone knows how to latch hook,” Stiles says, but he places a curled finger over his bottom lip and hmmmms.  Liam is very impressionable. “Would you call Liam artistic?”

“Uh, no,” Scott says, “but his enthusiasm will probably make up for it.”

“Right,” Stiles says. He’s gonna need some red paint and a lot of old clothes.

*

“What is supposed to be happening here?” Derek says, standing on the sidewalk with his hands on his hips. He’s wearing some kind of fleece lined flannel jacket that is fucking with Stiles’s head. He wants to slip his hands inside and around and have Derek try and button it around Stiles’s back like some sort of comfy two-man cocoon.

Stiles rolls his shoulders and resolutely turns away and really takes in his masterpiece. “It’s the undead rising to defeat the skeleton army.”

“Is that one riding a dinosaur?”

“Yes,” Stiles says proudly. “If you walk past it, it cackles.”

It’s only October 10th. Mrs. Carbunkle to the left of them has stopped speaking to them completely. Scott’s the only one who complained about it, though.

Derek has an enormous blow-up spider that he’s somehow managed to attach to his roof, and someone rigged up his lights to a sound system that plays This is Halloween.

Stiles finished a carved pumpkin that is, quite clearly, Derek’s face. It’s prominently placed at the top of the front steps.

“I’m finding this incredibly satisfying,” Stiles says, grinning over at Derek.

Derek has the flat mouth of a man who’s trying very hard not to smile. There’s pink on the tips of his ears.

Derek says, “Last year we put out a bowl of candy and a sign that said ‘Go Away.’”

“Classy,” Stiles says, grinning even wider.

“I hand painted those tombstones,” Derek says, tilting his head toward his yard.

“I’d make fun of you, but that dog skeleton over there is made up of squeaky bones that I glued together.”

Derek chuffs. Not even his beard can hide the way his cheeks bunch up when he smiles. “It’s a very good dog.”

“Is there any other kind?” Stiles says.

Stiles becomes acutely aware that Derek and him are just staring stupidly at each other when Kira clears her throat from the top of the driveway and says, “Uh, Stiles? Your boss is on the house phone.”

“Shit.” Stiles is, technically, supposed to be working. He should probably take that. He waves at a still adorably amused Derek and then runs for the door.

*

Kira says, “These are the cutest cookies I have ever eaten in my life.” There are crumbs all over her sweater and icing smeared over one of her cheeks. She’s halfway through a plate of ghostly sugar cookies. When Mason comes near her she throws one of them at him and then mourns the loss with a, “Oh, darn it.”

Liam says, “I think those were for all of us,” but backs off when Kira bares her teeth at him. Stiles is unsure whether a wolf or fox is more vicious, but Kira’s the only one of them that also owns a deadly sharp weapon, so.

Mason holds up a little card and says, “This says they’re for Stiles, Yukimura.”

Stiles grabs for the note and smiles down at the little, “for Stiles,” and “-D” and then shoves it into the top pocket of his flannel. He says, “That’s okay, she can keep them,” and thinks about how hard it would be to make cinnamon rolls from scratch.

*

“Aren’t gingerbread houses a Christmas thing?” Scott asks, leaning his elbows onto the counter and resting his chin in his hands.

“Not gingerbread murder houses,” Stiles says. He’s putting the finishing touches on the little Jackson werewolf, sprawled out on the ground with his guts spilling everywhere. He’s using spun sugar.

“Huh. Why don’t you and Derek just do this together?”

“What?” Stiles straightens up, blinking at him.

“I mean. He likes you, you like him.” Scott knocks their shoulders together, grinning.

“He doesn’t like me, Scott,” Stiles says, cheeks heating. “We’re in a competition!”

“Right,” Scott says skeptically. “That’s what this is.”

“Yeah!” Stiles hunches his shoulders up around his ears and ignores the fact that his entire face is probably red by now.

Scott wrinkles his nose. “A competition.”

“That’s what I said.” Little Jackson keeps trying to fall apart, so Stiles lets it crumble—he can just add more blood.

“Right,” Scott says again.

The lengthy silence after that is damning, but Stiles is totally not going to talk about how Derek might like him. He’s not twelve. He’s gonna paint a sugar glaze on this thing, put it on Derek’s front stoop, ring the doorbell, and then run away.

*

Derek tops off his cemetery by adding stone-like walls and an archway that is, somehow, twined with real night blooming flowers. It’s impressive.

“I’m impressed,” Stiles says to Jackson.

Jackson sneers at him and says, “Who cares?”

There’s also a witch on a broom hanging from a big oak tree, and some kind of animatronic black cat that—

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, backpedaling away from where the cat jumped up and lunged at him. Stiles clutches at his wildly beating heart while Jackson nearly busts a nut laughing.

“I almost fucking peed myself,” Stiles says indignantly, while the black cat winds himself around his legs in greeting.

The front door of the house flies open and Derek appears like an avenging angel, chest heaving, wolfed-out. He says, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Jackson has his face covered, hysterical.

Stiles says, hands flailing, “Did you buy a cat for this?”

“Did I…?” He trails off, staring at Stiles with crazy eyes. The beta change melts off until he’s normal, stern-looking, hot Derek. He looks from the cat to Stiles to the cat and then back again before saying, “We’ve had Jinky for five years, Stiles.”

Jinky? Stiles thinks. “You named your cat Jinky?”

“Erica named the cat Jinky,” Derek says, stomping down the steps to pick him up. Jinky goes boneless in his arms, instantly purring, and Stiles stares at the big hand Derek splays over Jinky’s belly. It’s a good hand. It would fit nicely all over Stiles’s body. Yep.

“Um.” Stiles is having trouble concentrating.

Derek says, “Are you here for a reason?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean…” Stiles looks down at his shoes and tries to remember why he came over here in the first place.

It’s the middle of October. He’s three days behind on his latest work project. There’s a huge pumpkin that cost him fifty bucks waiting to be carved in his kitchen. What was he doing here?

He says, “Um,” again and presses his palms to his cheeks, mind completely blank. Then he takes a deep, bracing breath. “Right, yes, this is,” he waves an arm around, “really good, Derek! Like, super good, I’m gonna go—”

“Jesus Christ, Stilinski,” Jackson says, now done with laughing and just staring at him like he can’t believe Stiles is upright, walking and talking.

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles says, and then marches back across the street to his own much better decorated yard.

*

Stiles comes home from the supermarket on October 21st to the entire pack lying in wait for him in the den. Allison and Lydia’s faces are even on separate laptops propped up on couch cushions in between Scott and Liam.

Stiles freezes in the doorway and says, “Is this some kind of intervention?”

“I don’t know,” Scott says carefully. “Do you think you need an intervention?”

“No!” Stiles has this thing with Derek perfectly under control. Obviously. He did not just buy ingredients to make even more fake blood.

Scott nods his head. “Okay. Then this is about the Halloween party next Saturday. Allison and Lydia are driving down!”

“Are we sure that’s wise? What with,” Stiles makes fangs with his fingers, “you-know-who and L-Y-D-I-A?”

“I know about werewolves, Stiles,” Lydia says dryly. “And also how to spell my own name.”

“Did you also know that Jackson Whittmore is in the Hale pack?”

Allison says, “I thought Jackson was eaten by a giant lizard,” but her eyes are sparkling.

Lydia purses her lips and says, “I am a grown woman, Stiles.”

“I know you.” Stiles points a finger at her. “There will be bloodshed.” Jackson broke up with her via text in high school before his family moved away. He’s a spineless asshole.

“He’s a werewolf. He’ll heal.” She’s got a dangerous but pleased look in her eyes. She nods at him and he winks back, because she knows he’ll help hide the body.

“All right, so, Halloween party.” Stiles drops down into a chair. “Are we adulting or slumming it with Liam and Mason’s friends?”

“Everyone’s invited!” Kira says with jazz hands. “I’m making jello shots.”

“Not everyone is twenty-one,” Stiles points out. They’ve never had to really worry about that with pack, since none of the werewolves can get drunk anyway.

“The neighbors are invited,” Scott says, straightening up into Pack Dad mode. “And Liam and Mason can each have one friend.”

“Balls,” Liam says, scowling.

“Adulting, cool,” Stiles says. He rubs his fingers together, already thinking about candy, and bobbing for apples, and scaring the shit out of Jackson. He’s gonna need lots of sheets. And fake eyeballs. And spaghetti.

*

“Sexy or scary?” Stiles says, holding up a Little Red Riding Hood costume in one hand and a distressed mummy one in the other.

Mason makes a face. “Overdone,” he says, pointing first to Little Red Riding Hood and then to the mummy, “not scary.”

“Overdone can still be sexy,” Stiles says, frowning down at the skimpy little dress. “I can wear heels!”

“You do not want to wear heels,” Mason says. He’s wearing a Tina Turner wig and Hulk hands, but he’s got his serious business face on. “Nobody wants to wear heels. Heels disintegrate your toes over time and ruin your arches.”

“While I have no idea if that’s bullshit or not,” Stiles says, “I’d only be wearing them for a couple hours.” Stiles had been leaning toward the mummy outfit, but now it’s a matter of principle.

Behind them, Stiles can see Liam pretending to make out with a Freddy Krueger mask. There are several hovering employees with mixed reactions.

Mason says, “It’s a cliché.”

“It’s only a cliché because it works!”

“That would only make sense if werewolves were openly known,” Mason says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “The same could be said about your argument, dumbass.”

Why is this a thing that’s happening? Why did he bring Mason and Liam with him? Why did he bother to ask Mason anything at all? Liam’s going to get them thrown out of the store, and Mason is a terrible judge of costumes.

Liam runs up, flushed and bright-eyed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He says, “Stiles, please, please,” and holds up a ridiculous red, black and white costume. “I will give you fifteen dollars if you wear this.”

“Twenty, and you can’t get the money from Scott.”

“Deal.”

*

Despite anything that Scott says, Stiles thinks the fog machine was money well spent.

“You can’t even see the yard anymore!” Scott says. “The entire Quince family fell into a horde of zombies!”

“So maybe I need to turn it down a little.” Stiles kind of tossed the instructions somewhere and forgot about them, but it’s probably pretty easy to figure out, right?

It’s 8:15 on a Saturday night, the neighborhood kids are all in the backyard getting an impromptu archery lesson from Hawkeye, Stiles has already soaked himself trying to get three apples out of a barrel with his mouth, and none of the Hale pack have shown up yet. Stiles is in no way anxious about that at all.

Instead, he crouches down by the totally awesome fog machine and starts poking at it indiscriminately. It sort of beeps at him, like an angry robot.

“What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m a ladybug,” Stiles says absently, fiddling with the side knob—is it getting even more foggy?—before registering the looming leathered presence of Derek Hale. He sees his black sneaks and cuffed jeans first. And then the belt, tucked in white t-shirt, beardless face.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, head tilted all the way back. He’s sort of struck by the dimple in Derek’s chin, the cut of his cheeks and the awkward jut of his ears under slicked hair. Stiles is in awe, he wants to press his hands over his jaw and see if it’s as baby smooth as it looks. “Are you Danny Zuko?  Please, please, please tell me Isaac is Sandy.”

Derek rolls his eyes, grabs Stiles’s arms and hauls him up to his feet. “Isaac isn’t Sandy.”

“You’re lying,” Stiles says, curling his hands around Derek’s wrists to steady himself. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life, does he have on a crop top?”

“Stiles,” Derek says, glancing around the yard. “Is it supposed to be this smoky?”

“It’s fog, Derek, atmospheric fog,” he steps back out of Derek’s hold and waves his hands around, “to really set the mood on this spooky All Hallows’ Eve.”

“It’s the 28th.” Derek has this look on his face, like he’s amused but trying not to be. He eyes Stiles up and down. “You’re not even a zombie ladybug.”

“Yeah, no, why would I want to dull down this sexy little number?” Stiles pats his stuffed hips.

“You look like a donut with antenna.”

Stiles frowns. He looks adorable, thanks very much. He says, “And you look like a…” Sexy greaser werewolf, basically, but Stiles isn’t sure he wants to give Derek that kind of ammunition.

After an only slightly uncomfortable silence, Derek says, “Boyd made profiteroles.” A curl of gelled hair falls over his forehead. Goddamnit.

“Boyd can suck my dick,” Stiles says, awkwardly creasing his ladybug costume as he crosses his arms.

“Don’t tell him,” Derek says, grinning a little now, moving closer so his chest brushes Stiles’s forearms, “but I like your brownies better.”

“Are you saying I win, Hale?” Stiles says. It’s dark, and the Halloween lights are muted around them, but Stiles is pretty sure Derek’s newly shaven cheeks are pink. It’s a novelty.

Derek sighs heavily. “I’m saying this fog’s as thick as peanut butter, and I want to kiss you where the Quince family can’t see.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve been conscripted into the undead army,” Stiles says faintly. Kiss him. Huh.

“Good to know,” Derek says, and then cups his hands around Stiles’s face.

Stiles holds his breath.

From the front of the house, Scott yells, “Stiles, just turn it off before we lose even more children!”

“Even more,” Derek says, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s…concerning.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says. He can feel his heart beating in his throat. “Do you want to kiss me or not?”

Derek’s expression goes strangely serious; the strategically placed spotlights make his eyebrows look like bat wings, and his mouth parts slightly to reveal the cutest bunny teeth known to mankind. It’s incongruous, especially when you factor in the level of hotness Derek exudes on a daily basis.

Stiles says, voice nearly a whisper, “I bet your chest is super hairy.”

“What?”

“Never mind, crap,” Stiles says, and then fists Derek’s tight white t-shirt and kisses him instead.

Vaguely, Stiles registers Liam yelling, “Onward, mighty steed!” a howling crash, and Scott’s pained, “Oh no,” but Derek has his hands wormed inside his giant foam shell, so he really can’t be assed about it.

Derek says, “Should we turn off the fog machine?” in between sucking bruises along Stiles’s throat.

Scott’s voice rises over the engulfing fog, “Stiles! Off!”

“Are you kidding me? That’s the only way we’re going to get out of here alive.” He tugs at the short hairs of Derek’s nape. “Let’s go make out in your graveyard.”

“We have leftover lasagna,” Derek says, threading his fingers through Stiles’s and then dragging him through the yard, deftly dodging skeletons and tiny screaming kids.

“I know what you’re trying to do here.” Stiles hooks his free hand into the back of Derek’s extremely tight pants as they sneak onto the open sidewalk. “You already admitted I won, big guy. You can’t beat me with reheated heaven.”

Stiles takes a deep bracing breath of clean air, fog clinging to their legs as they start to stagger across the street. In front of the Hale house, he grabs onto Derek’s wrists and walks backward to hitch his butt up against the fake cemetery wall surrounding the yard. He wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, forcing him to lean down into him, caged between his knees.

“Uh, Stiles?” Derek says, arms braced on either side of them.

The wall creaks ominously underneath him.

“This is styrofoam, isn’t it?” Stiles says, and then the wall rips in half and Stiles goes sprawling back on his ass, pulling Derek down with him.

*

Stiles wakes up to off-key warbling and the intoxicating smell of bacon and coffee. He stretches and groans. There’s a warm arm thrown over his middle, he can feel Derek smiling into his nape, scraping his skin with a truly astounding amount of stubble for having shaved the day before.

“Are you a yeti?” Stiles says, and Derek’s soft laughter rumbles all along his spine.

He says, “Erica’s making pancakes. Do you want bananas or chocolate chips?”

“The clear answer is both,” Stiles says. He flops around onto his back, struggling his way out of the blankets tangled over his legs, and then jabs a finger into Derek’s nose. “You’re still not winning.”

“Of course not,” Derek says, expression soft and fond. Stiles doesn’t trust the misty-eyed bastard for a second.

“I’ll have Scott make empanadas for you, don’t think I won’t!”

Derek nods solemnly and says, “We’d be honored.”

“This is some sort of fucked up werewolf crap, isn’t it?” Stiles asks, suspicious.

“Isaac says breakfast’s almost ready,” Derek says, tilting his head in an I’m listening to the cosmos way. “We should get dressed.”

“You didn’t answer.” Stiles sits up, watches Derek slip from the bed with a healthy appreciation for his bare ass. “Am I gonna have to start saving up for Christmas lights?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says with a grin, “depends on whether you think I found someone willing to rent me a reindeer.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, clambering out of the bed. “All right, Hale,” he says, just as Derek slips into the hall, laughing. “You’re going down.”

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 4

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 5,361 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Also on ff.net and AO3.

Merry Christmas, everyone! Thanks for your patience, here's part 4~

See me here in the air Not holding on to anywhere But holding on so beware I have secrets I won't share

-t.A.T.u., "Clowns (Can You See Me Now?)"

Then.

“Psst.  Hey look over there, it’s that Brown girl.”

“The one hanging out with the freak in computer class?  You think they’re dating?”

“Ew, gross.”

“You know I heard she got knocked up by some loser in high school.  I bet she has like, no standards.”

“Wow, what a skank. So she’ll sleep with anyone, huh?”

Look who’s talking, Queen Jezebel.

Stephanie tried her best to ignore the snobby gathering of rich sorority girls as they gossiped and giggled loudly behind her back in the gymnasium locker room, mingling and clinging onto the clear alpha’s authority.  Hiding and huddling under a protective umbra, umbrella safety in numbers.  …So much for college being better than high school when it came to cliques and bullying.

As they passed by her change station – all the adulating acolytes swarming around their leader like an amoeba – one appendage broke away from the buzzing cluster just far enough to bump blatantly into her bare shoulder.

“Whoops.  Sorry.”

The drone drawled in an excessively sarcastic tone that didn’t sound sincere at all, to the observant master’s smug approval.

Really, just like high school.

As tempted as she was to make a snide remark on the obvious imbalanced power dynamics, Stephanie managed to swallow her pride and suppress retort.  Biting her tongue until they were out of sight, upon which she stuck it out in an equally mature gesture in their wake.

“So like anyway, I hear this new gym opened up on the outskirts downtown.  It’s kinda out of the way – like, by the boonies almost – but apparently the instructor there is really hot.”

Stephanie couldn’t catch the statement that ensued, as the distance between them had already advanced to the point their fading words were muffled by rows of metal.  There was a shrill burst of shrieking laughter before they exited though, harpy peals mixed with a round of half-appalled gasps, rebounding and resounding raucously off steel.  Odd, she could’ve sworn she heard something about pirates…?

She sighed and shrugged as she got dressed, wiping the workout sweat from her face with a towel and pulling her sweatshirt over her sports bra.  She didn’t much mind being lumped in with the outcast crowd; frankly she was used to being looked down upon by others by now, but the derisive comments still stung her self-esteem – especially when she was already having a bad day, due in part to being so bluntly turned down by the public pariah she was supposedly “associated” with.

Face it, girl, not even the “freak” is interested in you. What were you even thinking, blurting out something stupid like that.  It must’ve come off as totally desperate; someone as smart as him probably doesn’t want to bother spending time with some dumb blonde chick who can’t even find her way around campus anyway.

She had come here to blow off some steam after being grilled on her grades in addition to the above gaffe, but now thanks to those sickening sycophants she was sorely reminded of her own poor social – and subsequently intellectual – standing.  Missing culture and class (in all senses) often made her an easy scapegoat, much as she endeavored to rise above those who stooped to such low level of insult in order to make themselves appear somehow more “sophisticated”.  She couldn’t help being a bit ruffled though, bile riling spitefully in her stomach as self-doubt simultaneously rolled about her conscience.

I mean come on, who are you even kidding?  All you’re really good at is PE and pretending to be from a decent background instead of another broken dysfunctional family.  Doesn’t matter what his type is, he’s way out of your league.

While she normally tried to cover up lack of conviction with clever wit, this was just the newest in a long series of successive failures (though it certainly didn’t top the ultimate blunder she’d made once).  Chalk another one up to the slew of screw-ups and setbacks that plagued throughout her past, piling up to the point she may as well be called the Leaning Tower of “Please Kick Me”.   Despite exertions to deny at least one side of her upbringing, the dominoes were stacked against her since birth.  Any psychoanalyst worth his salt (assuming she could even afford one) would point to a mess of complications stemming from childhood, starting with “daddy dearest”. Freud would likely have a field day with her “father figure” fixation – in the more negative than positive association. While both parental “role models” had problems with neglect in the past, it was the paternal ones that particularly persisted.  Thanks to her poor excuse for a pop, she’d suffered her share of blows (both emotional and physical) that defeated and deflated a daughter’s dignity, culminating in a personal vendetta against crime and clueless adults who can’t even properly take care of their kids.  (Which in itself was one of the reasons she sadly but firmly determined in the end to give her own offspring up for adoption.)

Objectively, it was no wonder she had terrible luck – if not taste – with men, chasing endlessly after a string of doomed relationships (and consequently consecutive rejections), sought as a self-diagnosed surrogate to replace the male attention and affection she never received growing up.  …So she idly acknowledged the full irony of the situation when, in order to distract from her dejection, she considered the inadvertent advertisement mentioned earlier as a potential solace.

Maybe I’ll go ogle some eyecandy for peace of mind.

She had promised her mom she’d come home for the weekend after all.  She could stop by on her way, scope the – ahem – place out a bit.  From the sound of the discussion, it was located fairly close to the suburbs, and establishing affiliation with an exercise facility near her neighborhood would be pretty convenient during vacations, compared to commuting back and forth like she did in high school.  (Having a certified hunk for a fitness instructor as well would just be a nice bonus, icing on the cake.  Given her strict regimen, surely she deserved to treat herself to some confectionary “consolation” on the side.)

…When she stepped off the bus in the middle of Gotham’s busiest shopping district though, she realized she probably should’ve done more research into its exact whereabouts first.

Dear Diary, remind me to print out directions next time.  Or at least a map.

As she wandered hopelessly through the streets, now without the benefit of a guide or even a destination address to go by, eventually probing enough passersby bore fruit.  By the time she arrived there though (out of breath as if she had already run a marathon), the sun was starting to set.  Craning her neck to gaze up at the building sign towering above her, she snorted slightly at the lofty title.

“Out of the Nest Aerial” – what a weird name.

A bell chimed as she entered, alerting a man who was bent over some boxes in the back of the lobby (which smelled of fresh paint and renovation), apparently busy packing away some materials.  He must’ve been surprised by a customer at this late hour, as she caught a cursory lift of his (lean yet muscular) arm to glance at a wristwatch.  Still, he called pleasantly over his shoulder:

“Be right with you in a moment.”

Eyeing the robust frame of his behind, she assured:

“Ah, take your time.”

donotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbutt

Damn, those gals seriously weren’t kidding about the view.  …As the ass-umed target of their talk turned around though, she realized what they must have been chatting about that set off such a funny fit, following screeches with shushes.  Steph felt her own face flush as she admonished herself for inappropriately zoning in from one conspicuous feature to another.

donotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseye

Despite the discernible… “deficiency” in the other’s visual department, the defect didn’t detract from his overall attractiveness, magnetic movie star looks unmarred by partial eclipse. One shining moon’s force of gravity was sufficient enough to draw her into its depths.  …If anything the shadow blocking the opposite sun’s reflection only enhanced his handsome appeal by augmenting an alluring air of mystique and intrigue – a Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious if she ever saw one.  Hell, the rest of his heavenly body’s figure was practically flawless, revealing the results of what must’ve amounted to years of intense physical training.  Aside from deducing self-discipline as part of his personality, he carried himself with the convivial charisma of a cheerful showman presenting some grand performance (which she vaguely recollected from her father’s former game show hosting days). A voguish comportment vaguely cobbled from the kinds of classy male caricatures generally seen strutting on red carpet catwalks, peacocks fanning their feathers for their – in this case – drabber female counterparts (fans who would squeal and fall over themselves with glee if given a chance to even get within vicinity, let alone dare to lay claim of victory).  Suave and stylish – if slightly synthetic.  All preened plumage and perfect poses, placid and practiced.  Like plastic roses, permanently planted for all to adore – parading proud and prominent down a promenade.  Whose upbeat character’s charm was hardly diminished as he grinned gregariously in greeting, the gorgeousness of such a stunning smile more than making up for any handicap.  …Although she noted the guy’s gait seemed somewhat rigid for somebody of his stature, walking with a minor limp towards her.  Her blush deepened as he approached, exuding a masculine musk as his powerful paw extended to shake.

“Welcome.  How can I help you, miss…?”

“Brown.  Stephanie Brown.”  She babbled rapidly, tongue tying again as she tripped over her response. “Nice booty- I mean, nice butt- I mean, nice to meet you.  …You know what, I’m so sorry, I’m just gonna go.”

Fortunately, he seemed to take the semi-suggestive (if perhaps politically incorrect) comment in stride, simply chuckling aloud with unalloyed aplomb.

“Trust me, I’ve heard it all.  Richard Grayson, at your service.”  The dreamboat flourished a forgiving bow, adding with a flirtatious smirk:  “You can call me Dick though, all the ladies do.”

ohmygod please stop

“Um, I was wondering if I could check you out-” She hastily checked herself again.  “Er, check out your equipment?”  God, why did that still sound so embarrassing to say.  “I was thinking of signing up to join if you’ve got memberships available.”

“Sure, although we usually close around this time.  Was just about to lock up soon actually.  I’ll make an exception for such a lovely little lady though.”

Red crept further onto her cheeks.  “Thanks, I’ll just take a quick peek.”

He nodded.  “Feel free to look around, most of our stuff’s upstairs. Would you like me to give you a special tour?”

“N-no, that’s okay.”

She squeaked, subduing an internal squee.

“All right.  Let me know if you need anything.”

She skipped swiftly up the steps, heart skipping beats.  Today was turning out to be a pretty good day after all.

When she reached the upper floor though, she stopped short to see someone was unexpectedly there before her: the very person she had intentionally come to forget about.

What’s he doing here?

He didn’t seem to notice her presence, focused intently on a pair of uneven horizontal bars before him. Muttering something to himself under his breath, clenching his fists and flexing a few times.  After the limbering stretch, he inhaled deeply before charging at his opponent, clearing the first hurdle with ease by using it as a springboard. He appeared to have some trouble latching onto the second, but managed to rectify his grip in time, righting himself as he swung up and over in a circle.  Adjusting his center of weight, he settled into a handstand, still facing away from her.  Gradually, he removed one palm from the pipe, impressively relying on a single limb’s strength to maintain balance.

A memory pricked in the back of her mind.  Gotham High. After dusk.  An empty gymnasium.  She had forgotten her homework at school after practice, so she hopped on her scooter and raced back.  As she neared the gym though, she heard a groaning crash within, followed by an angry curse. Poking her head cautiously through the door crack, she spotted someone lying prostrate on the floormat beneath the parallel beams (which were presumably set up again by said individual after having already been put away prior), alarmingly appearing unconscious.   At first she panicked, and was about to run and call for an ambulance when the comatose corpse stirred, sluggishly staggering to its feet.  Despite dragging them a little, he wobbled over to take previous position at the end of the pad.  Stabilizing himself, he waited a minute for dizziness to dwindle before tumbling and backflipping across the entire expanse, vaulting high into the air to land – almost, but not quite – on the mark.

While she winced in his place, he merely picked himself up and gave it another go, repeating the routine over and over, for what felt like hours.  She stood there and watched with silent marvel, gaping in spellbound, slackjawed awe at each graceful arc and twist, utterly mesmerized by this bizarre boy’s sheer determination to get it all precisely right – nearly bordering on desperate, if not suicidal.  No matter how many times he tried though (nevermind shocking disregard for the quantity of bruises gained in the process), each attempt produced little improvement.  Even if he managed to successfully pull off the whole maneuver, his hands shook so much upon descent that he still slipped off the perch – almost as if some part of his subconscious were involuntarily compelling himself to hold back.  Finally, he kicked the dual poles over in frustration, storming off towards the outlet.  She hurriedly ducked around a corner, but was able to get a good glimpse at his visage before he vanished.

She knew his name straightaway from face alone; everyone did.  She’d seen him around in the halls, heard the whispered rumors, but had never spoken to him before.  Most people strove to avoid interacting with the “world class weirdo” if they could help it, and his raging outburst at the end was admittedly a bit disturbing.  …But the bitter expression of disappointment he wore as he glumly gave up became burned into her brain, ingraining irritation on his behalf.  He evidently possessed extraordinary talent, yet still wasn’t satisfied with himself. (Her own signature moves paled in comparison, and not even the most senior members on the team could come close to the caliber of coordination and dexterity – let alone stamina – required to execute the intricacy of the initial sequence.)  No one else seemed to recognize his raw skills either; or rather, he didn’t allow anyone to witness them for whatever reason.  When he showed up to class the next day sporting so many injuries, everyone speculated how the infamous “delinquent” must have gotten into some kind of brawl outside of school, and steered clear even further.  He didn’t say anything in his defense, but she found herself privately lamenting the misunderstood look of loneliness in his eyes – that in a way felt so achingly familiar from when she’d spend her mornings carefully concealing her “loving” dad’s last night beatings with makeup in the mirror.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to openly express sympathetic sentiment.  She had her own pressing business to attend to, as shortly after that she discovered she was pregnant.  Her louse of a boyfriend had already long broken up with her, dumped and ditched to fend for herself as soon as the quake of ’09 hit, fleeing like a coward while she stayed to try and help other survivors.  Not only that, he completely skipped town in the aftermath – coincidentally for the entire duration of her gestation period – only coming back when chaos died down and the coast was clear, in all contexts.  After she gave birth, he actually had the gall to try and get back together with her, but she kicked him hard in a certain place and then punched him in the face – twice – when he wouldn’t stay down.  (Okay, so admittedly she was taking out more aggravation at herself; maybe he didn’t thoroughly deserve the brunt of such brutal treatment, but she hadn’t had the best experience with guys who refused to take “no” for an answer either.)

While the calamity exposed some awful realities about human nature, she wasn’t the only one who chose to remain behind to aid relief efforts.  Among the scattered, smattering handful of Samaritan citizens left, she had observed another teen around her age (maybe a little younger, if his size was anything to go by).  Although for an excruciating amount of time, he seemed frozen absolute, suspended animation amidst the burning wreckage.  Glazed pupils in a trance, as if unable to process surroundings – before snapping out of stunned stupor into action.  Festinating, fighting frantically through the frightened crowd, urgently racing to rescue as many as he could from the rubble.  At one point he even recklessly risked his own life to dive under a crumbling, unstable column, reacting on impulse in order to save a small child from the structure as it collapsed.  He almost looked more terrified than the toddler afterwards, whole mass trembling (and not just from the aftershock tremors), but he held the crying kid close and soothingly promised it would be okay, that they’d find his parents, that they were okay.  He was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t learn who he was until later, when she and the majority of the refugee student body were relocated to Gotham Heights High nearby, since their own cheap institution was devastated beyond immediate repair.  (Eventually it would be rebuilt and renamed, dedicated in honor of the late Mayor Hamilton Hill, who perished during the upheaval.)  The noble sacrifice that stranger demonstrated on that day seemed a stark contrast to his cold reputation, and she admired wonderingly from afar, confused as to how someone could portray two totally different impressions in such a short span.  Deep down, she was sure the brave hero she saw emerge back then was but a flicker of the real self buried underneath frigid fortress’s exterior, convinced that a closed off heart was far kinder and more courageous than the owner let on.

At any rate, she had enough concerns on her own plate for the time being, dealing with the “reminder” her ex had left her of their time spent together.  While she tried to keep the matter discreet, there was no way she could hide such a (literally) huge secret forever – from her mom or from faculty. When the truth came out, some of her (idiot) friends thought it was cool she was having a baby, envying the attention and constant excused absences.  Others displayed their disdainful opinions on the affair, albeit in a more “indirect” manner.  Maybe they were also jealous, or more likely her teammates were mad at her for having missed so many meetings under the pretense of “not feeling well” – only to announce she was officially taking an extended leave right before the big tournament, forcing them to scramble to redo the group floor routine.  (They were already reluctant to let a transfer “rival” join, even though she had easily wowed their coach during tryouts.)  Either way, she arrived one day to find her temp hallway locker coated in graffiti, resentful remarks ranging from “slacker” to “slut”. There were worse labels as the list went on, effectively exhausting the devil’s dictionary:

Bitch.

Bimbo.

Tramp.

Trollop.

Hussy.

Harlot.

Whore.

Dreg.

Some of the comments were so harsh and hurtful she couldn’t – didn’t want to believe they came from anybody she knew.  Given the setting’s free access and availability, anyone could’ve written (and read) those things.  So rather than instantly alert authority, she resolved to stake out between breaks to see if any vandals returned to the scene of the crime.  …By the end of the day though, no one had come forward to gloat or claim responsibility.  She was about to resign herself to letting the culprit(s) go when he of all people suddenly turned up in the vacant corridor – carrying a spraycan.  Crushed by the thought he could’ve been involved – that he was really no better than his hoodlum image – she nearly called him out then and there to give a piece of her mind… when she noticed he was also holding a rag in his other hand.

He had brought cleaning supplies.

Quickly and quietly, he set to work, applying solvent and scrubbing away all the abusive slurs, leaving the cubby sparkling new.  He promptly departed without a word, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She didn’t know quite what to make of this random act; lending assistance in a crisis was one thing, but for someone to go out of his way to do her a favor when they weren’t even acquaintances went well above and beyond altruism in its own merit.  (It was possible he was erasing evidence out of remorse, but somehow she doubted that.)

She never did get a chance to ask him about it – or to thank him – as her mother marched straight into the administration office upon hearing of the incident and pulled her out for the remainder of the semester, insisting on homeschooling – at least until the fetus finished its own term.  Steph had never seen her looking so strong as in that moment.  The scathing, scolding speech and matronly outline she sharply cut were striking, if somewhat startling.  Their relationship had always been rather rocky, what with the pill addiction and alcoholism and all-around abandonment, but almost losing one’s daughter in a nigh-apocalyptic event tends to put things in perspective.  Maybe she felt guilty for not fully being there for her up through adolescence, blaming herself for any shortcomings.  She took the catastrophe itself as a sign of self-punishment, almost as if it were own fault rather than Mother Nature’s.

Whatever the motive, she really tried after that to make up for lost contact, God bless her.  She got clean – for good this time – started working double shifts at the hospital to pay for damages to the house, all the while singly supporting Stephanie through the labor and adoption proceedings.  Even went on a diet and lost some weight, though they still made sure to set aside time to eat waffles together every morning. Steph wasn’t sure why the woman specifically chose something that only offered empty carbs as their “healthy” bonding agent (she supposed since it was a warm, go-to comfort food; personally she was partial to mashed potatoes herself), but it became tradition, and it stuck – as did their adherence to each other, nonartificial sweetness strengthened with syrup.

When she returned to school, she was mildly more anxious to face friends than foes; to that end, she wasn’t even sure where on the spectrum “that person” lay.  (Incidentally, she gathered he’d also spent some time “away” in the interim, which didn’t do much to dispel his shameful status.)  At this forgone stage, she was uncertain how to broach topics long past to someone she’d still never even had a conversation with.  Plus he always seemed so… difficult to approach, exuding an overwhelmingly daunting lone wolf aura. Finding courage or commonality to confront him was a bold challenge, and she always awkwardly lost her nerve whenever she came close.

Despite his history of misconduct, he was perceptibly bright – brilliant even – when it came to academics. His high exam scores earned him enrollment in accelerated classes in their senior year (although even then it seemed like he was still withholding some superior source of knowledge, moderating only enough surface energy to scrape by), and the advanced placement ahead of her only broadened the unattainable distance between them, no matter how hard she struggled to catch up…  Which made it all the more astonishing that, in the end, he’d willingly accepted a spot in the same local state college rather than a private university.  One might then cynically accuse her of seizing opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, but it was purely by chance she happened to secure a practical arrangement that put them in rough proximity.  Ostensibly though, the only other times their paths managed to fleetingly cross outside of lecture hall took place behind separate, if adjacent bookshelves – until today’s accidental encounter, that is.

As she retrospectively looked on, it seemed he couldn’t sustain the stance for long, dropping posture to hang upside-down for a moment before dismounting.  Again, some kind of subliminal instinct seemed to kick in before he hit the ground, and he stumbled with a heated swear.  She clapped politely in appreciation though, and he jolted at the noise.  Swerving, he snapped without warning:

“Damnit, will you quit bugging me?!”

Her hands halted, shocked by the sudden shout.  He blinked as he registered the spectator, growing more mortified as he became aware of his error.

“Shit.  Sorry, I- thought you were someone else.”

“It’s okay.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He gulped and shuffled uneasily, steadying respiration before attempting to start over.

“So.  It’s you again, huh.”

Hello to you too.

“Hey.  Fancy meeting you here.  We just keep running into each other today, don’t we?”  She ventured what she hoped came off as a friendly jibe to defuse tension, though there was some genuine suspicion behind it.  “You wouldn’t be secretly stalking me, would you?”

He didn’t fall for it. Rather than take the bait, he instead reached casually for a water bottle on the bench beside his bookbag, relatively unfazed by the half-serious allegation.

“That’s my line.”  His tone was almost eerily calm compared to before, as he unscrewed the cap and nonchalantly took a swig.  “I could inquire the same of you, I’ve got a legitimate reason to be here.”

“Oh really.  And what would that be?”

He jerked his head towards the staircase, jabbing a thumb for emphasis.  “The guy downstairs?  He’s my older brother.”

She squinted, distinguishing some physical resemblance now that he brought it up.   “You two are related?”

That… explains a lot actually.

“Not by blood,” he clarified.  “He was also adopted by Mr. Wayne at one point, so technically that makes us step-siblings.”

There was a pronounced privation of fondness in the terse, formal way he delicately articulated their former guardian’s designation, tongue tart and taut as a tightrope.  She hazily recalled reading about the second sensation in the tabloids at the time (alongside an exposé detailing the new ward’s scandalous criminal record).

“Oh right, I saw a, um, documentary on T.V. about that.  …Wait, you mean he’s Grayson as in ‘The Flying Graysons’?  The famous circus act?”

“You didn’t see all the posters in the lobby?”

He pointed over her shoulder at a giant flyer pasted over partition, the enormous wall scroll unambiguously inflating the centerpiece’s ego.

“…Ah.  Guess I must’ve been, er, distracted.”

Irises rolled in exasperation, as if expecting such a reply.  “He tends to have that effect on people.”

Curious concentration transferred from the glossy print back to him as he begrudgingly murmured this. Hard to think the two were connected to each other, if tangentially.  Like day and night, they were.  Tentatively, she tried to gear the dialogue in a different direction, nudging towards an encouraging compliment.

“So that’s how you picked up all the acrobatic stuff?”

“Uh- yeah.  Something like that.”  He winced and rubbed the back of his neck, still seeming uncomfortable with the subject.

“You’re really good at it. That was pretty amazing, what you did just now.  You should consider joining the gymnastics team, the males’ division could probably use some support.  I hear it’s in danger of being cut to provide more funding for contact sports.”  She scoffed inwardly.  Like those jocks need any more budget.

He simply shrugged. “I’m not that great.  My brother’s better.”  …It was pretty plain to see he had a heavily severe inferiority complex. Remarkably though, sourness seemed to subside as a reminiscent, reverent mist remotely shrouded his vision, looking longingly at the faded ruby and gold costume.  “You know he’s the only person in the world who can perform a quadruple somersault?”  There was a touch of envious excitement in his tenor as he placed a hand on the worn placard, smoothing over wrinkles in the parchment.  “…Or he used to be anyway, before the- accident.”

“…Is that also how he lost his eye?”

The clouded veil instantaneously evaporated.

“Sorry.  Was just wondering.”

A voice emanated from the stairwell:

“It’s all right.  I don’t mind you asking.”

The two turned to see the proprietor poised at the top of stairs, leaning over the railing as he took in the picture with an inscrutable countenance.

“It happened during the quake.   Was trying to help some victims trapped in a bus underneath the highway.  Got hit by falling debris in an aftershock.  …Pretty dumb, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that. That was really heroic of you.”

Meanwhile, her other company said nothing, but shot a peculiar look at his brother, who merely beamed benignly back.  There was a blank, stony sort of quality to both their semblances though. Impenetrable.  Stephanie had the inexplicable feeling she was intruding on some mute, confidential exchange between the two, and decided now would probably be a good time to excuse herself.

“…Anyway, would you look at the time.  Guess I should get going.  It’s getting late, and my mom’s expecting me.”

“Of course.  Thank you for stopping by, we hope to see you back again.”

“I’m sure you will.  …Oh, one more question before I go: How do I get to Widowstone Creek from here?”

A brief description of bearings later, Stephanie strolled out the door, now confidently armed with coordinates.  The manager waved with a sunny smile as she left – though it might’ve been her imagination, but the salutation seemed a tad subdued as opposed to earlier reception.

“Bye now!  Take care.”

He subtly elbowed his younger sibling, who sullenly put up a lethargic hand as well.

“Bye.”

Really, could those two be any more different.

The sky had grown grim, but she was still able to navigate her way around well enough as she approached an area she was accustomed to.  She had been right about the place being close to her house, it shouldn’t take her long to get there.  …Although now that she knew where she was headed, she opted at the last minute to cut through a back alley to get to her block without further delay – which turned out to be a colossal, costly mistake.

“Well well, what have we here?”

Stephanie stiffened as she heard the thrum of throaty sniggers and motorbikes, headlights peering through the gloom as they illuminated a score of whitewashed faces, arrayed in garish garb; bright polka dot and patchwork patterns that were even more blinding (like looking through a psychedelic kaleidoscope, or experiencing a bad trip on some of her mom’s pills).  She would’ve been amused by their gaudy guises, if not for the gleaming assortment of weapons they wielded: knives, chains, clubs, hammers, pipes, bats, and of all things – a spiked rubber chicken, which was the only thing that didn’t seem ridiculously out of place in this scenario.  (Scratch that, they still looked ridiculous.)  Brazenly brandishing rusted iron and brass to match their brash appearance, lurid and leering.  She’d seen reports of their mischievous miscreant behavior on the news, but had never directly run into them before.  Outlying residential regions weren’t typically their turf.  …But of course today had to be the day they chose to terrorize her territory instead.

Dear Diary, remind me never to try taking a shortcut again. …Assuming I even make it out of this mess alive, that is.

She thought as she backed up slowly, finding herself fenced in by whooping hyenas, sneering and snickering as they encircled their prey.  A gang of hellion hooligans, rebel riffraff risen up out of the ashes and anarchy following the cataclysm – even more enormous fashion disasters taking after their borrowed namesake:

Jokerz.

Clowns are here to let you know Where you let your senses go Clowns all around you It's a cross I need to bear