#i spat coffee all over my keyboard dude

[melancholyghoul]

i just fucking died

[anightflower]

Come and Find Me Chapter 5: The Game

Sorry this chapter is a bit short, I am in the midst of finals and final projects. Thank you for sticking by my side, despite the crazy schedule 

Spencer Reid x Reader 

Masterlist

Warnings: Stalking, Swearing, Violence

Spencer made his way to the counter, a smiling Ava greeted him. 

“Spencer! I’m surprised you’re not with (Y/N), not that I’m not happy to see you of course.” 

Spencer returned her smile with a slightly nervous one, “She’s still in bed, I thought I would bring her some coffee before I head to the office. I also wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Oh Spencer, if you’re confessing your undying devotion to me now, I’m afraid it’s a bit too late, I have my own sexy superhero boyfriend now.” Ava said, doing her signature eyebrow waggle, causing Spencer to laugh. 

“I do have a confession, but it involves (Y/N).” Spencer said, a smile spreading across his face.

Her expression became more serious. “Wait is (Y/N) pregnant?” 

“I- no, that’s not what-” Spencer stuttered, Ava let out a giggle out Spencer’s flustered face. 

“I want to ask her to move in with me.” Spencer said finally. 

“Oh my gosh Spencer, that’s fantastic! And I’m honored that you’re asking me, as (Y/N) was mine first, so it’s only right you ask me permission.” Ava grinned, pressing a hand to her heart. 

“Do you think she’ll say yes? I don’t want to rush her, I know we’ve been only dating for 8 months, but it just feels right. I love her so much and I want to wake up to her every morning and kiss her goodnight every night. Besides it will be so much easier because she basically lives at my apartment now and I just want to make it official, you know?” Spencer rambled. 

Ava’s face radiated pure joy. “Oh Spence, she’ll definitely say yes! God (Y/N) will be over the moon are you kidding? You two are the cutest fucking thing, oh my god this is so exciting!” She squealed. 

“I’m going to ask her when she gets back from Florida, I know her lease is almost up so that will make things a lot easier too. I’ve been looking at different apartments that are slightly bigger because I know she wants an at home office and I’m sure it will be nice to have her own space-”

“Spencer, I am so glad she has you. You make her so happy and treat her so well. I know she’ll be happy with whatever. But beware, her full interior designer will come out if you guys get your own place.” Ava warned teasingly. 

“I’m looking forward to it.” Spencer grinned. 

________________________________________________________________

His hand shook as he opened the door to his apartment. As he slammed the door shut, he met the worried face of his roommate, who was putting on his jacket to leave.

“You okay man?” His roommate Nick asked, eyes filled with concern. 

“Don’t worry about it dude.” The Boy said with an angry shrug making his way to his room. 

“Uh, okay dude, if you need anything shoot me a text. I’m meeting up with Ava, I’ll probably stay at her place for a couple days.” 

“Cool bro, have fun.” The boy said flatly. 

Nick looked like he was about to say something, but he shut his mouth and shrugged.

“Later.” Nick said quietly, grabbing his bag and fleeing out the door. 

The Boy didn’t respond. He just stomped into his room, red filling his vision. 

The Doctor was going to take you away from him permanently, he could feel it. 

Moving in leads to marriage, then kids. How could he have let it get this far? The Boy should have intervened earlier, opened your eyes to the truth. 

The Boy let out a scream and punched a whole in the wall. It felt good to let his anger out. He pictured the Doctor in place of the wall, the image brought of that man bloodied and pleading sent pleasurable shivers through him. The Boy made his way to his bed and pulled out a box from underneath it. It was an obvious spot to keep it underneath there, but Nick respected his space, so the boy had not been worried. 

He pulled out his pictures of you. Each image lovingly taken of you, images of you getting ready for work, smiling with Ava, and then his favorites, the ones of you sleeping peacefully in your bed. He had to resist reaching out and caressing your face. He knew he couldn’t risk waking you up, it wasn’t time for you to see him yet, but now it was. 

The boy had started to calm down, until an image of you kissing Spencer fell out of the pile. Red filled his vision once again. He had purposely taken this picture to remind himself of his goal; being in the Doctor’s place. 

He ripped the image to shreds, and threw the box of goods causing your pictures, some of your old coffee cups and Drew’s home videos to fly all over his room. His rage filled him as he flipped his desk. He couldn’t stop himself as he ripped his rooms to shreds, breaking things and tossing various items at the wall in rage. 

When his breathing finally returned to normal, the boy grabbed a bag and began packing. He threw in all of his essentials and grabbed the tapes and photos he could of you. He wasn’t coming back here after this. You and him were going to start a new life in Florida, he had already set everything up. He had his own secluded place and sent ahead some of the things he needed ahead. 

He would leave tonight and be down in Florida a day before you. He had planned to arrive a day ahead of you so he could get your home ready. He had even made a little room for you to adjust to everything, knowing how this big of a change would affect you. But he knew you would do it once you realized that you two were meant to be. 

Joy filled the boy as he looked around his mess of a room, he felt relief at the thought of never seeing this place or the Doctor again. Yet in his happy stupor, he failed to see the photos and tape he had missed to pick up.

________________________________________________________________

Present Day

Reid had reached speeds of nearly 110 as he raced back to the precinct with Emily. SHe had not chastised him for his speeds, too worried about the sorrow in Penelope’s voice and what that could mean. 

They raced into the precinct and found Penelope, JJ, and Morgan in the meeting room. 

“Hotch and Rossi are still talking to Curtis, but they should be back in 30.” Morgan explained. 

“There is no time to wait.” Penelope growled. “I can show this to them once they get here.”

“Any luck at Special Delivery?” Emily asked JJ. 

“It shut down 5 weeks ago apparently. So whoever we saw, still had access to a uniform. They probably did it to copy Curtis.” JJ explained, her face solemn. 

“Shit.” Emily said, flopping down into a chair.”

“I received this ten minutes ago.” Penelope explained, drawing everyone’s attention to the screen at the front of the room. “Reid, you aren’t going to like this, I’m so sorry.”

Spencer’s blood ran cold as he prepared himself for the worst. 

The screen was black for a few seconds and then an automated voice rang out from the speakers. “Ring! Ring!”  the deep voice said. “Have you figured it out, Dr. Reid?” 

Spencer’s heart stopped as images of you flooded the screen. Photos of you and Spencer flashed across the screen. None of which either of you had taken yourselves, each of these was taken from afar. He felt ill when he saw the ones from outside of your apartment. He nearly vomited when the screen switched to photos of you inside your apartment, peacefully sleeping, completely unaware that a completely crazed man was inches away from you. 

“I’ve been to your lectures, Dr. Reid.” A voice narrated from the screen. “I know you’ve studied men like me. It’s very fascinating to hear someone talk about you like they’ve known you since birth, when the two of you haven’t even met once. You took one of my dearest friends away from me. But we adapted, your small victory didn’t stop him from guiding me to my love and taking her from you. Do you think with all your knowledge, all of your cases, all of your team, that you can find her in time?” 

A timer appeared on the screen, counting down from a minute. 

“What?” Penelope cried out, “That wasn’t there before, how in the hell is it there?” She rushed to her computer and began messing around on the keyboard. 

Spencer shot out of his chair and raced over to Penelope’s side. “Penelope, what does this countdown mean?” He asked, panicked.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! It didn’t appear before this. The email didn’t even mention a countdown! I tried to track the email, but it was a throwaway.” Penelope looked ready to cry. 

“Spencer, it could mean anything.” Morgan said, trying to calm him down.

“Oh yeah Morgan?” Spencer spat. “Well considering it was showing images of my girlfriend before it, my hopes aren’t too high!”

“Spencer.” JJ snapped, “Yelling isn’t going to solve anything.”

“What if it was Will JJ? Would you be calm?” Spencer growled back at her. 

The timer was quickly reaching its end. 

“Penelope do something, please.” Spencer begged, his voice breaking.

“I’m trying, I don’t know what to do.” Penelope cried out, horrified at her helplessness. 

Tears began to flow down Spencer’s face. The room watched in horrified silence as the timer reached zero. 

It was silent for a moment and then Spencer’s phone rang.

He looked down at it to see it was an unknown number. His heart stopped as he realized “Ring! Ring!”

“(Y/N) promised to call me after her meeting, if she had been there, she would have called me now.”  Spencer said quietly. 

“Spencer, if you answer it, I can try and track the number and centralize the area it could be coming from.” Penelope explained urgently. 

Spencer took a deep breath and answered the phone. They all jumped up in shock as a video feed came on at the same time he pressed answer. 

His heart swelled with relief, you were alive, you seemed unharmed, but god you looked terrified. 

“Penelope, scan the room, see if you can find any recognizable items.” Morgan mumbled quietly.  

As Penelope’s keys began clacking a way, a voice that sounded eerily like the one in the video of you smugly said, “Hello Doctor, so nice to finally talk to you. Or have we talked before? You never know, let’s see if that big brain of yours remembers.” 

“Who are you?” Spencer hissed into the phone.

“Someone who you’ve taken so much from. My mentor, the woman I love- but luckily this ends now.” The voice purred.

“What do you want?” Spencer tried to keep his voice calm. 

“I want to play a game with you Doctor, let’s see if that genius brain of yours is as good as they say. You have 24 hours to find your girl. If you are so smart you’ll be able to find her. But when you don’t, and you won’t, it will prove that you don’t don’t deserve her. That you never deserved her. If you can’t find her in time, you will never see her again.”

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST

@andiebeaword @haylaansmi @parkastoria @possessedjoker @amronsparty @generaltheoristexpert @sierraraeck @coniumalces @tamedbyafox @anotherr-fine-mess @adoregin @rainsong01 @canyonnmoonn  @mggshoe @boxofsparklingmuses @richardpapensmuse @deanlenaz​ @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @annesauriol @itsametaphorbriansblog @secretpickleprofessordean @shameleswhorehourstm @stepsofthefbi​ @iifloweringnightsii @mggsprettygirl​ @bravegirl221​ @messyhairday-me​ @n1ghtsh4d3-67​ @abbeypaw7​ @findmedontlooseme @hiiwouldlikesomesleepplease @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @ajeff855 @astronomynous

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Sunset Swerve - Part 5

Pairing: Luke x OC

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: swearing, partial nudity (the mooning scene in episode 4)

A/N: With this chapter we are all the way through with episode 4 and partially into episode 5! This is a longer one again but I really wanted to end this chapter where I did so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also, on an entirely unrelated note: Happy Ace/Aro Awareness Week! As always, please let me know what you think and send me a message if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Part 4  Masterlist

___

“I got the music mm mm mm,” Julie hummed, dancing slightly to the music pumping through her headphones as she made her way to her locker.

Jordan grinned, following behind her. She’d been bored that morning and she and Luke had gotten in another meaningless spat so she had decided to find Julie at school. She probably should’ve made her presence known earlier but Julie had been in such a zone that she didn’t want to interrupt; she really did have the music.

She didn’t say anything until Flynn arrived.

“It’s nice to see you back to your weirdo self,” the black girl said sincerely and Julie laughed.

“Thanks?” Julie laughed and Flynn grinned.

“How’s the band? Still hot? Still talented?” Flynn asked before leaning in closer and whispering, “Still dead?”

“Good, yes, yes, and rude!” Jordan answered, gasping dramatically at the last one and Julie jumped in surprise, whirling around to face the dark-haired ghost who was leaning against the neighboring locker.

“What are you doing here?” She hissed and Flynn’s eyes widened.

“Wait are they here?!” Flynn gasped, sounding slightly embarrassed by her previous statement.

“Ohh, right, it looks like you’re talking to no one, sorry.” Jordan apologized, moving to stand between Julie and Flynn, forming a sort of half-circle around the open locker.

“It’s just Jordan,” Julie explained to her friend and she nodded.

“Hey Jordan!” She waved at the now empty space that the ghost had been in and Julie and Jordan laughed.

“She’s over here,” Julie explained, pointing to what appeared to be empty air between them. “Anyway, the band are amazing. Luke, Jordan, and I spent the whole weekend writing songs.”

“Hell yeah we did!” Jordan cheered.

“Do you wanna hear them?” Julie asked, laughing at her ghostly friend.

“Duh!” Flynn gasped excitedly and the girls exchanged grins.

Jordan followed them through the halls to the band room, trying to get used to the layout of the school. When they arrived the room was empty and Julie made a beeline for the piano bench, Flynn leaning on the opposite side. Jordan opted to sit on the piano, something she hadn’t been allowed to do when alive because of the fragility of the instrument, however, as a ghost she was made of air and therefore weighed nothing.

“Ooh, please play Great!” Jordan begged, settling herself in a cross-legged position as Julie lifted the piano cover.

Julie laughed but complied, “Okay, so here’s a bit of the chorus of the first song we wrote,” She told Flynn before beginning the piano part.

“Cause we’re standing on the edge of great,” she belted and Jordan jumped in with some back-up vocals.

“On the edge of great” Flynn jumped in surprise when Jordan materialized on the piano in front of her. Jordan grinned and sent a wink to the girl before continuing to belt alongside Julie.

“Great,”

“On the edge of great,”

“Great,”

“On the edge of great,”

“Cause we’re standing on the edge of great,” they harmonized the last line together.

“Wow! I like it!” Flynn complimented and Jordan beamed. “Definite Gaga vibes.”

“Thanks!” Julie smiled and Jordan frowned, confused.

She leaned back on the piano to whisper to Julie, “What’s ‘Gaga’?”

Julie laughed. “She’s a famous singer.”

“You don’t know who Gaga is?” Flynn gasped and Jordan shrugged.

“I died in ’95, dude.”

“We’ll educate you.” She stated and Julie laughed but nodded.

“I think we have an anthem with this next one, it was something my mom and I were working on.”  Flynn gave her a sympathetic smile. “Luke and I finished it. Check it out.”

“And it’s one, two, three, four times that I tried for one more night, light a fire in my eyes,” Julie sang and Jordan came in on the harmonies in the last line, “I’m going out of my mind.”

“That’s… That’s beautiful,” Flynn said sincerely and Jordan nodded in agreement before vanishing once more as the performance was over. “And my girl’s got a crush and his name is Luke.”

Jordan just about did a spit take without any water at the revelation.

“What! No!” Julie protested, staring eyes-wide at Jordan as if trying to convince her. “Luke’s a ghost.”

“A cute ghost.” Jordan snapped her fingers and pointed at Flynn for the point.

“With a perfect smile,” Julie admitted and Jordan snorted.

“Ha! I knew it!” Flynn cheered. “Just remember he’s made of air.”

“Cute air,” Julie shrugged.

“Just… don’t get hurt,” Flynn warned and Jordan’s heart warmed at the girls’ friendship.

Julie nodded to reassure her before turning to Jordan, with a look of concern. “Is that okay?”

“What? That you have a crush on Luke?” Jordan repeated, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed in confusion. “Just because I hate him doesn’t mean everyone has too!”

“I’m serious Jordan,” Julie insisted and Jordan frowned, “There’s a thin line between love and hate.”

“And it is a line I am careful not to cross it.” Jordan was firm and Julie shrugged, dropping it.

She shook her head amusedly at the girl before turning back to Flynn and filling her in.

“Anyway, it’s obvious you guys have a connection,” Flynn spoke. “Everybody’s been wondering when you’re playing again.”

“Play again? We don’t even have anything planned. We’ve just been focused on writing songs!” Julie protested but Flynn grinned conspiratorially.

“Luckily, your new market team has your back,” she smirked and Jordan’s jaw dropped as she connected the dots.

“Flynn, you didn’t!” She gasped, however, Julie was still confused.

“We don’t have a marketing team.”

“You do now,” Flynn grinned, pulling a flyer out of her backpack and handing it across the piano to Julie.

Jordan scooted over the top of the piano to get a look at the flyer, having to lean over and read it upside down.

“Julie and her Hologram Band?” Julie read aloud and Jordan grinned.

“Cute,” she muttered.

“You’re playing the school dance tonight!”

“Our first real gig! Flynn you’re a goddess!” Jordan squealed, jumping up to go squeeze the girl, her excitement waning only slightly when her arms just went right through the living girl. “I gotta go tell the guys!”

___

“We have our first gig!” She shouted when she materialized in the garage.

“We have a gig?” Reggie gasped, jumping up from his chair excitedly.

“Yes!!” Jordan yelled and before she knew it they were both yelling, holding hands, and jumping up and down in the middle of the garage.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Luke asked tiredly, interrupting them as he stepped through the garage door.

“We have a gig!” Reggie told him, the pair having stopped jumping to face the other ghost.

“We have a gig?” Luke’s jaw dropped.

“Yes!!” Jordan and Reggie answered in unison, the two ghosts nearly buzzing in excitement.

“We have a gig!” He shouted, finally getting on their level of excitement, and Reggie and Jordan echoed his words in their own shouts.

All of a sudden the three were bouncing around and screaming again, Jordan having jumped up onto the coffee table to scream the news to the sky.

“We need to practice!” She gasped, and the shouting stopped. Reggie pointed at her to affirm her statement and nodded.

“Let’s get to it. There are some Sunset Curve songs we can play,” Luke said, sliding on his guitar and immediately getting to business.

“I can pick up the missing rhythm guitar part,” Jordan offered, and Luke tossed her his music journal.

“First earmarked page,” he instructed and she nodded, flipping it open and looking it over.

___

“A school dance!” Luke repeated in shock before turning to Jordan, “You didn’t tell us it was a school dance.”

“Oh get off your high horse, Mr. We Play Bookclubs,” Jordan rolled her eyes and Julie nodded.

“Jordan’s right,” Julie agreed and the ghost in question smirked triumphantly. “This’ll be a good opportunity to build a following.”

“Yeah, we need to play whenever we can, wherever we can,” Reggie added.

“You guys are right,” Luke nodded. “Let’s rock those kids’ faces off, then play the clubs.”

“And then record a single that gets a billion streams,” Julie continued.

“I don’t know what that means but hopefully it gets us a manager and a tour.”

“And then we release a bunch of hit albums.”

“Put out a country album that does surprisingly well,” Reggie chimed in and the others turned to look at him funny. “What? I shred on the banjo.”

“Ooh! I play the fiddle!” Jordan gasped excitedly and Reggie grinned at her.

“And before you know it, we’re being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!” Luke brushed past, sending them a judgmental look.

“Ooh! But one of us isn’t there,” Reggie said, “Because we had a blowout in 2032! My money’s on Jordan, just cause… y’know.” He shrugged awkwardly.

“Nah, that’s valid,” Jordan brushed him off with a shrug of her own.

“So what’re we waiting for?” Luke asked, filling the silence that had fallen upon them after Reggie’s comment. “Let’s get to work!”

“Uh, where’s Alex?” Julie asked, pointing out the blond ghost’s absence.

“Oh, he’s with his ghost friend,” Reggie answered and Jordan wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Alright, well, I guess we can get started without him?” Julie said, unsure but the ghosts all grabbed their instruments.

The three ghosts gathered around Julie’s keyboard, Luke counting them off into the first song. Even without their drummer, it was a productive practice, Stand Tall and Great were really starting to shape up. They’d been running through the former when Alex walked through the door.

“Hey Alex!” Jordan greeted and Reggie waved.

“Where you been man?” Luke asked, skipping the greeting altogether. “We need to start practicing!”

“For what?”

As if she had heard Alex’s question, though they all knew that was impossible, Flynn walked in.

“Dance news!” She exclaimed, “I don’t have a date. But, I don’t care because I’m so psyched to see you perform!”

“Aw, we’re playing a school dance?” Alex whined.

“What do you guys have against school dances?” Jordan asked, equal parts exasperated and curious. “Is it cause you’re all dropouts or…?”

Luke glared at her before explaining to Alex, “Dances are how we get a following nowadays.”

“Yeah, c’mon Alex, get with the program,” Julie teased and Flynn lit up.

“The guys are here?” Flynn asked, eyes wide.

“And Jordan!” Reggie added, pouting on her behalf.

“It’s 2020, ‘guys’ is a non-gendered term now,” Jordan informed and Reggie nodded, his mouth going to an ‘O’ shape and Alex nodded affirmatively.

“Aw, Jordan, you’re one of the guys now,” Luke said sarcastically, insincerity dripping from his tone, and Jordan stuck her tongue out at him. “Anyway, now that Alex has graced us with his presence, can we start working?”

Apparently, they couldn’t start working. In addition to the previous distractions, Julie’s little brother walked in to make an attempt on their lives. The boy threw salt around the room, claiming it burnt the souls of ghosts. Luckily he was a hack or they might’ve lost Alex. With Flynn gone to distract Carlos in the house, Jordan thought they might actually get to rehearse for their first official gig.

“Alright, let’s get back to it,” Julie said and Jordan nodded, moving back to her spot in the setup but Luke stalled them again.

“Yeah but remind me later, we have some Sunset Curve songs we want to show you.”

“Ooh, show me now!” Julie insisted and Luke grinned at the attention and interest.

Oh, that crush is gonna go right to his head, Jordan thought to herself with a sigh.

“‘Home is Where My Horse Is,’” Luke read as he pulled a piece of music out of his song notebook, “Reggie, I told you to stop putting your country songs in my journal.”

“Hey, that was a gift!” Reggie protested.

“Yes, it was,” Jordan affirmed, snatching the song out of Luke’s hand and examining it herself, “Ooh, we are gonna work on this, buddy.”

Reggie brightened and Luke rolled his eyes, handing the journal to Julie with instructions to check out the dog eared pages.

“Who’s Emily?” She asked as she flipped through the pages.

The ghost band froze while Luke lunged for the notebook. “That one’s not dog-eared!”

“‘If you could only know, I’d never let you go,’” she read teasingly completely misreading the song and the situation, “I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Luke.”

“He’s not,” Alex piped up, and Jordan felt simultaneously more and less stiff. “That one’s about-“

“No one.” Luke cut him off harshly and the whole subject was dropped immediately but the thick tension still remained. “If you go to the next page, I got a tune with a killer beat.”

He stepped away from the keyboard and picked his guitar back up and started playing the main riff.

“So you wanna sample.” Julie shrugged.

“Sample?” Luke asked, and the group gathered around the keyboard again.

“Yeah, sample someone else’s music,” Julie explained. “My mom and I used to sing that song at the top of our lungs in the car, it’s a classic Trevor Wilson song.”

“Uh, no,” Luke said. “It’s a classic our song.”

“Nuh-uh, I don’t mix up songs,” Julie insisted, pulling up her laptop. “I used to be best friends with his daughter, I know his music. Here, look, his first album had a bunch of hits but his more recent stuff isn’t as good.”

Julie turned her computer around and the ghosts froze, all of them recognizing the photo covering half the screen.

“Isn’t that…” Jordan whispered and the guys nodded.

“That’s Bobby,” Luke confirmed and Julie huffed.

“I just told you his name is Trevor Wilson.”

“Yeah, that’s great, then he changed it, okay?” Alex said, bouncing on the balls of his feet lightly as his anxiety kicked up. “Cause that’s Bobby, he was our rhythm guitarist.”

“Trevor Wilson was in your band?” Julie said skeptically but she was ignored by the guys who were still obsessing over their old bandmate.

“He looks like a substitute teacher,” Alex spat and Jordan couldn’t help the laugh she let out.

The guys all turned to glare at her for making light of this situation and she apologized quickly, looking down at her shoes.

“What’re his hits?” Luke finally asked quietly and Julie began to list them off, each one a Sunset Curve song.

Luke made his way to the back of the garage, throwing darts aggressively at the dartboard hanging on the wall. Jordan looked between the boys nervously as they coped with this news.

“Wait, this is… this is freaking me out,” Julie spoke, having a crisis of her own. “Trevor’s songs are kinda big to me. He introduced me to rock.”

“Yeah, Luke introduced you to rock,” Jordan sighed.

“Back when Carrie and I were friends, the three of us used to talk about music all the time,” Julie spoke, readdressing the guys, “He never mentioned you guys.”

“And that’s unbelievable!” Luke protested and everyone nodded. “I mean, he takes all the credit and he doesn’t even mention us?”

“Well, he was always kind of a self-righteous asshole,” Jordan pointed out.

“He’s rich too,” Julie informed them sadly, pulling up another set of pictures on her laptop. “He even has a helicopter with his face on it.”

The ghosts all gravitated back to the computer perched on the keyboard to see the photo. It was really an outrageous use of money, Jordan thought, to put your face on a helicopter. It was disgusting, it didn’t even look good.

“Where does he live?” Luke asked, bouncing slightly due to the magnitude of his anger.

“Above the beach in Malibu,” Julie shared defeatedly and the three boys shared a look before vanishing.

“Can you look up any of my songs?” Jordan asked quietly, wondering what had happened to her own legacy.

The ghost rattled them off, none of them showing up in the search and she breathed out a sigh of relief, though she also was a little upset. She was grateful that none of her previous bandmates had betrayed her posthumously like Bobby had, but she could help but be sad that Apollo 81 didn’t go on to fame without her. Instead, it appeared that the band broke up completely after her death.

“Alright, well, at least there’s that,” she muttered softly before poofing out herself.

____

“Moss, why are you here?” Luke spat when she appeared and she rolled her eyes.

“I’ve grown soft in death,” she sighed dramatically, leaning against the glass banister. “You all seem to have forgotten that I didn’t just hate your band out of principle. That asshole,” she jerked her thumb towards the top of the stairs where ‘Trevor’ had just disappeared, “Was always a condescending dick to me. And besides, I thought bandmates had each other’s backs, right?”

Luke narrowed his eyes but Alex and Reggie mustered up genuine smiles for the girl.

“Right,” Luke needed, “Welcome aboard, Moss. Now let’s go haunt his stealing ass.”

Jordan and Reggie whooped as they followed Luke up the stairs.

“Wait!” Alex called and they all stopped to peer at him, “It’s just my first time haunting someone, I wanna make it special.”

They all gave him various looks of shock and disbelief, each clearly portraying how weird of a statement that was.

“Yeah, I hear it,” Alex sighed, answering their unspoken questions. “Okay…”

They found Bobby in probably one of the most rich-white-guy rooms Jordan had ever seen. He was meditating, just like he had told Carrie he would be but the practice and the room reeked of Hollywood’s insincere obsession with Eastern cultures. This was going to be way too much fun, Jordan thought before the ‘haunting” began. They caused all kinds of chaos: blowing out candles, starting the CD player and the shower, and topping it all off with Reggie writing “Hello Bobby” in the fog on the bathroom mirror and Alex trapping him in the room. They followed the grown man as he ran down the stairs and into his helicopter.

“Quick! Let’s moon him before he gets away!” Reggie suggested as the watched the chopper take off from the pool deck.

Jordan rolled her eyes while Luke grinned, both boys already reaching for their belt buckles.

“He can’t see us,” Alex protested and Luke laughed.

“Oh, it’s not for him bro,” he explained and Alex shrugged. “C’mon Moss, drop trou.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” She said, crossing her arms.

“What happened to bandmates having each other’s backs?” He dared, throwing her words back at her.

She narrowed her eyes but reached for the button of her pants, never one to back down from a challenge, especially not one from Luke Patterson. They all laughed as they wiggled their bare asses at the helicopter but the moment ended quickly as Julie stalked outside towards them.  

“So, did you guys have fun in there?” Julie asked rhetorically, crossing her arms angrily as the ghosts pulled their pants back into place.

“Okay, you would’ve done the exact same thing if he stole all your songs,” Luke protested, matching her outrage.

“But you have new songs, with me, and with Jordan,” Julie argued. “The best way to get back at him is for this band to do great. And for this band to do great we need to play dances, then clubs,”

“And then tours, I know,” Luke finished apologetically.

“I’ll see you guys at the school,” Julie sighed, “We go on at nine. Please don’t be late, there’s gonna be a lot of people there.”

“We got it, alright? Don’t worry,” Alex reassured and Julie nodded, heading back inside the house.

“I don’t care what Julie says, I’m glad we scared Bobby,” Reggie spoke up after a moment. “In fact, I wish we had done more. Maybe written ‘thief’ across his forehead!”

“And Alex, how did you shut the door?” Luke asked, amazed. “Yesterday you could barely open the garage door!”

“Learned that from your new friend Willie, didn’t you?” Reggie theorized and he and Jordan shared a knowing look.

“Yeah, he taught me some things and we screamed in a museum,” Alex shared gleefully, though a little shy, and Jordan awed at how cute it was. “…Long story,” he covered, not wanting to explain it.

“You think he has any other tricks up his sleeve?” Luke asked.

“Only one way to find out,” he shrugged.

When they reappeared they were in a park by the beach, not far from where two skateboarders were being ticketed.

“Hey, what’s up man!” Willie called as he boarded over, “You brought friends.”

“Yeah, these are my bandmates, Luke, Reggie, and Jordan,” Alex introduced and Willie alternated between bumping fists and forearms with the other ghosts.

“Cool, I’m Wille,” The long-haired ghost introduced himself, “So, did you guys come to learn some tricks?”

With a small flick of his wrist Willie set off the sirens on the cop vehicles, and the skaters scattered as the officers panicked. Just as easy as he turned them on, Willie turned them back off and they watched as the cops huffed, realizing the skaters were long gone.

“Do it again! Do it again!” Reggie cheered, slapping Jordan’s arm excitedly.

“Actually, we were thinking something a little bigger,” Luke said, sliding slightly in front of Reggie. “An old bandmate stole our songs and we wanna confront him.”

“Ah. Is this old bandmate of yours a lifer?” Willie asked and the other ghosts gave him a confused look at the terminology.

“Oh! ‘Lifer’ is fancy ghost slang for the living,” Alex chimed in and realization dawned on his bandmates’ faces and Reggie let out a quiet ‘ohhh.’

“Then yeah, he’s a lifer,” Reggie said, adding extra emphasis to the new term.

Willie’s face fell at the information.

“I’m sorry guys, even I don’t have the ability to make ghosts visible.”

The guys’ faces fell and Luke shoved his hands in his pockets, turning away from the group.

Jordan sighed defeatedly, “So much for that.”

“There is a ghost who might be able to help,” Wille finally said, obviously uncomfortable with their sadness. “I’ll take you to him. Meet me where Alex and I met at eight o’clock.”

The guys all nodded and Jordan smiled thankfully. Though she didn’t have an uncontrollable need to get revenge on Bobby, she couldn’t handle the guys’ moping over it.  

Willie poofed away not long after and the rest of the ghosts returned to the garage.

“We’ll only have an hour,” Jordan warned as they got ready for the night. “Remember, Julie said we go on at nine.”

She was currently sitting on the floor in front of the couch braiding her hair into a half-up style while the guys lounged around the garage, already changed into their outfits for the performance.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Luke said, leaning over to grab the eyeliner she had left on the coffee table. “If we even make it on time.”

She had managed to find some of her own belongings in the loft including some makeup, however, it had long since expired so Julie lent her some of her own. They figured it would be safe to share the products as it’s hard to get diseases from someone made of air and vice versa.

Jordan rolled her eyes at the comment, tying a small elastic around the second braid. “There. Finished and it’s only seven-thirty.”

“It only took you an hour,” Luke scoffed and Jordan rolled her eyes.

The hour had been spent picking out an outfit (she had opted to stick with her usual look of a cropped shirt, mom jeans, converse, and a flannel tied around her waist), borrowing makeup from Julie, applying said makeup, and then doing her hair. It was an hour reasonably spent, she thought, especially with the constant distractions from the ghost boys.

“I haven’t done makeup in twenty-five years,” Jordan shot back, “Excuse me if I’m a little rusty.”

She was. It had taken her several attempts to get the winged eyeliner down when she used to be able to get them reasonably symmetrical in one go while alive. She’d nearly thrown the pen across the room in her frustrations but remembered it was Julie’s so she couldn’t lose it.

“Whatever,” Luke said, sitting up from his position lounging across the couch and swinging his legs over to rest next to where Jordan was sitting. “So what’re we doing for the next half hour?”

Jordan made a show of picking up her book, waving it at the boy slightly to answer his question before opening it to pick up where she’d last left off. Luke groaned, reaching over to grab the book from her hands.

“Nuh-uh. Not cool, Patterson. Give it back.” Jordan scolded, reaching out for the book.

“Why can’t you do something more interesting,” While Luke was busy whining Jordan grabbed her book back from his hands.  

“Reading is interesting, though I know you wouldn’t know since you can’t read.”

“I can read!”

“Oh, my bad,” She feigned an apology, “I’ve just never seen you do it.”

“I read music all the time!”

Jordan just blinked at him for a moment.

“Yes, obviously, Luke.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m aware that you can read. Now can you let me read, please?”

Luke grumbled something under his breath that Jordan couldn’t be bothered to try to decipher before falling silent. Jordan smirked slightly at her victory and began reading but after a few minutes, she felt the couch shift behind her and could suddenly feel the ghost boy breathing on her neck.

“Do you mind?” She asked, turning to glare at him but nearly smashing their heads together, not realizing how close he was.

“Nope,” he said cheekily, popping the ‘p’ sound and continuing to read over her shoulder, “Who’s Annabeth?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Jordan muttered exasperatedly.

“She seems kind of stuck-up.”

“Patterson I swear if you don’t give me some space I will find a way to kill you again and it will be painful.”

“I’m just trying to read your book,” he pouted. “It seems interesting.”

“You can have it when I’m done,” she compromised. “You’re missing the whole beginning anyway.”

This seemed to be a good enough answer for the boy as he nodded before poofing to where Reggie and Alex were hanging out in the back of the garage. They stayed like that for the last half hour, no major spats between Luke and Jordan which was quite impressive given their track record, and Jordan was able to get through a couple chapters of her book. With the ability to get lost in her book, it felt like hardly any time had passed before they were all gathering around Alex to go meet Willie.

They didn’t stay on the Walk of Fame for long, Willie almost immediately teleporting them to the interior of one of the classiest looking buildings Jordan had ever seen. Multiple chandeliers hung from the ballroom ceiling and it seemed like nearly everything was lined with gold.

“I gotta go make sure everything’s cool, but I’ll be right back,” Willie said, heading down one of the hallways and leaving the four ghosts to look around.

“The Hollywood Ghost Club,” Jordan read a nearby plaque out loud.

“This place is creepy,” Reggie said, scrunching up his nose.

“Well, so are we,” Alex chimed in and they all leaned over the balcony railing, overlooking the ballroom.

It was packed with well-dressed people, all of them older than the teenage ghosts. Jordan looked down at her own outfit, fiddling with the sleeve of her green flannel.

“I think we’re a little overdressed,” Luke smirked, nudging Jordan with his elbow and she rolled her eyes but she felt comforted by his words.

Just then Willie reappeared, leading them down the grand staircase and into the ballroom with a dramatic flourish of his hand.

“Just so you know, we only have until nine. We’ve got a gig with Julie,” Alex explained and Willie nodded.

“No worries,” he reassured.

Willie was just explaining how the people in attendance were all lifers who had paid a lot for a glimpse at the afterlife when a sharply dressed man approached, offering to walk them to their table. They had front row seats for the stage and Jordan could tell they were all excited to see whatever performance would be occurring. Jordan also noticed the large clock hanging over the stage that read 8:30.

“Hey guys, I’m gonna head to the school to help Julie set up,” Jordan said, patting the back of the chair that was meant for her as the rest of the group sat down.

“You haven’t even seen the show,” Willie protested and Jordan smiled apologetically.

“What about confronting Bobby?” Luke asked, face hardened at the thought of the traitorous former bandmate.

“You guys can teach me everything you learn, right?” She said, smiling reassuringly at the boys. “Besides, I don’t want Julie sitting alone before our first gig, she’s probably super nervous.”

The boys nodded thoughtfully at that.

“Right. Don’t forget, we go on at nine.” Jordan said before poofing out.

She reappeared at the school. Julie was sitting backstage with a piece of equipment Jordan didn’t recognize.

“Jordan! You’re here!” Julie exclaimed and the ghost girl grinned. “Where are the guys?”

“I wanted to get here a little early, figured you could use the company,” she answered, trying to reassure the clearly nervous girl.

“They’ll be here though, they’re just wrapping something up with Alex’s ghost friend.”

Part 6

___

Taglist: @oopsiedoopsie23 @meangirlsx @angryknightstatesmantrash @onlygetaway @deni-gonzalez @advicefromnixxxx 

[sad-boy-mono]

High school casualties

Chapter 1/?

Word count-1,779 

Masterpost with Ao3 link

Damien sat at his desk, the typing on his keyboard slowly coming to a stop as he finally finished the essay he had been working on for the past few hours. He looked at the bright screen of his laptop and quickly skimmed the concluding paragraph. Satisfied with his work, he closed his device and sunk into his chair as he let out an exasperated sigh. His bed looked more inviting than ever.

Damien, enjoying this new found sense of relaxation, threw off his glasses and rubbed his strained eyes so intensely that colorful dots and random patterns began to flood his eyelids. His head ache pounding harder than it had been over the past few weeks, but hey, at least he finally finished that essay.

Once his eyes felt somewhat hydrated again, he pulled himself out of the old office chair he had been sitting in. He stretched his stiff body, joints popping loudly.

Pretty sure that wasn’t there when I started, Damien thought to himself as he saw the sun peak up from behind his curtains of his window, What time is it anyways?

Damien scanned the area for his phone, spotting it buried under a small stack of papers and sticky notes, as well as some gum wrappers. He grabbed it and turned it on, hissing at the sudden brightness. Letting his eyes re-adjust to the light, he checked the time. It was almost 5:30.

Well I’m only gonna get 2 hours of sleep if I go to bed now, Damien thought to himself as he made his way to his bed, but ya know, it’s gonna be fine. Maybe I can convince my brain it’s only 3! Ya hear that ya dumb stupid brain, it’s only 3 in the morning! Not 5:30! You’re gonna be fine! Everything is fiiiiiiiiiine.

As the delusional teen concluded his thought, he collapsed into bed, falling asleep within moments of his face hitting the pillow. School was going to be rough that day.

===

Yo sorry but Damien REALLY can’t come to the phone right now, so try texting like a normal person

Shayne let out an audible sigh. He had already texted his friend that he was waiting for him outside, like he did everyday. At this point, Shayne was ready to barge into Damien’s house and see if he was dead or not.

Ok if he doesn’t answer this time, I’m gonna murder him. Shayne thought, as he began to call again.

===

Damien’s eyes slowly opened to the sound of a barely familiar ringtone. No one ever called him, let alone at this hour. But without even thinking to check the caller ID, he answered. It was probably important if it was at this hour. Or one committed spam caller.

“Hello?” Damien answered groggily, sleep heavy in his voice.

“Dude where are you? I’ve been waiting for you for the past 15 minutes!” Shayne said, pacing up and down the old wooden porch that lead up to Damien’s house.

Shit, Damien sprung out of his bed so fast his head hurt (Even more then it already did) and he became slightly dizzy. He already started looking around for his clothes, “Uh-yeah sorry! I’ll be out there soon!”

“Ok hurry up, or we’ll be late!” Shayne said hanging up the phone and forcefully putting it back in his pocket with a huff, continuing his pacing.

Damien took a look at his phone and winced. Not only from 8 missed messages and 1 missed call from Shayne. Or the fact it was 8:16 and he had to be at school at 8:40 and didn’t have a car. But his headache was worse than ever. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that made it worse, or the sudden blinding light of his phone; either way, he was not having a good time.

Damien fumbled around his room, putting on whatever clean clothes he had, not really caring if it would look good in the end. He stuck a piece of gum in his mouth to substitute brushing his teeth and began the search for his backpack.

About 5 minutes later Damien was fumbling out the door, adjusting the beanie that seemed haphazardly put on at the last minute, still putting stuff in his bag and his shoes half on.

“Let’s go.” Shayne said, not even bothering to let Damien fully out the door before he started walking off.

“Dude wait up!” Damien said forcing on his untied shoe. “Look, I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I slept through my alarms.”

“Yeah it’s fine, but- Holy- Dude you look like shit!” Shayne said, actually getting a look at Damien.

“Thanks, I feel like shit.”

“What happened?” Shayne asked. It looks like you got hit by a fucking truck

“Well Shayne, that’s exactly what happened!” Damien joked punctuated his statement with finger guns and a yawn.

“What?” Shayne asked.

“No, I’m just kidding. I was up all night working on homework.”

“Oh, um, alright then, why didn’t you work on it earlier? Dude are you ok?”

“Shayne, buddy, don’t worry about it, everything is fine, totally fine,” Damien said, in an ominously cheerful tone. “Let’s just get to school and meet up with Court.”

“Ok…”

===

“Finally! There are my BOYS!” Courtney exclaimed as Damien and Shayne approached the main entrance of the school where Courtney was waiting for them. “What took you 2 so long?” She asked and wrapped her arms around both of their shoulders.

“Well someone,” Shayne rolled his eyes towards Damien and punched his shoulder slightly, “worked on his homework all night and slept through his alarms!”

“Yeah Shayne, why would you do that!” Damien said, crossing his arms

“Wha- ME!” Shayne spat, taking a small step back. And Courtney, with her arm still around him, stumbled back as well.

“Yeah you!”

“You son of a bi-”

“Ok enough,” Courtney cut them off after regaining her balance, “save the arguments for later, we’re gonna be late! And Damien,” Courtney dropped her arms from the boy’s shoulders and dug into her bag. Then after a moment or two, handed Damien a travel mug, “drink this, it’s coffee. Not exactly the way you drink it but hopefully that’ll wake you up a bit”

“Mmmmmmm, bean juice.” Damien mumbled and took a drink.

“You can have the rest, you look like you need it much more than I do.” Courtney said. Damien gasped in mock offense.

“What doth thy meaneth? Art thou saying I looketh like shit?” Damien said dramatically, lazy hand jesters included.

“Yes that’s exactly what I’m saying.” She deadpanned and began walking into the school, Shayne and Damien following.

“So what where you working on last night then?” Shayne asked.

“Yeah what was so important that you worked on it for so long it sucked the soul of you?” Courtney asked, once again wrapping her arms around her boys as they walked.

“That essay for Mr. Hecox’s class I was telling y’all about a few weeks ago.” Damien confessed.

God he really put it off for that long? Damn is he okay?

“Yeah Shayne I’m fine. I’ve just had this awful headache for the past few weeks and I wanted to work on it when it went away, but it didn’t.” Damien looked and saw confusion clear on both of his friend’s faces. “What?”

Shayne glanced at Damien, then Courtney, trying to figure out how Damien heard him.

“Um, yeah no it’s nothing. Just… never mind.” Shayne gave a confused glanced at Courtney, who gave one right back.

“What, what’re y’all looking at?”

“Oh uh, it’s nothing, just drink your coffee. This is our class anyways so we gotta shut up now.” Courtney pointed at the door, patting Damien’s arm and dropping her own arms from the boy’s shoulders.

“Oh- alright then.” Damien mumbled to himself and walked in with his friends.

They made it in the class by 8:45. So yeah, they were late. But by the looks of the empty desk right by the door, so was their teacher.

“Oh looks like we don’t have to shut up now.” Shayne said.

“Damn all that stress for nothing!” Damien sighed.

“Well, let’s just relax and chat then! Like Shayne said, we don’t gotta shut up just yet.” Courtney said, walking to her desk, the boys once again following her.

The three slid into their desks, Shayne sitting to Damien’s right and Courtney in front of Damien. They began chatting with each-other and a few people around them. Well, two of them were chatting. Damien was silent, resting his head on his desk. He may as well exploit this time to get a little more sleep, or just zone the fuck out. Either way he was resting up to the best of his ability. Trying to make the pounding in his head go away.

===

“-ien? Hello~ Earth to Damien~” Shayne said, gently rocking his sleeping friend.

“Wha-,”Damien hummed, glancing around at the classroom, hearing it quiet down.

“Sorry to interrupt your nap, but Mrs. Whittle’s here.” Shayne said with a sympathetic smile, then turned around to face the front.

Damien began to sit up reluctantly. He dug through his bag and got out the materials that his teacher listed on the board. Looks like they didn’t need much. Which Damien won’t complain about, the less work he has to do today the better.

“Alright class, why don’t you guys take a seat! I’ve got all my bearings so we can finally start!” Mrs. Whittle unlocked her computer. “Ok attendance, you guys know the drill!”

As she went down the list, Damien noticed quite a few people missing. People he was sure he noticed in the room when he first entered. Damien checked his phone again. It was now 8:57. So their teacher was almost 20 minutes late. It looks like people decided not to wait and just left.

“Alright, got that done!” Mrs. Whittle stood up from her desk and made her way to the board. “Again class, so sorry I was late today. We had an issue with one of the cats this morning and it was not pretty, ended up having to take the lil guy to the Vet but he’ll be ok! But anyways I hope you enjoyed this extra time to chat with your classmates. It works out in the end since today I planned something simple for us to work on today!”

As the class carried on, Damien barley paid attention. It’d be fine though, he would just ask Shayne or Courtney what went on and what he needed to know. It would be fine, this was a simple lesson anyways.

===

[jowritesthingss]

A (Demi)Boy and His Demon: One

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): LoSleep (Logic | Logan + Sleep | Remy)

Rating: Teen

Content Warning(s): lots of swearing, religion mention, demons mention, drugs mention (just once in passing), one sex joke (a la Remus)

Length: 2,584 words

Brief Summary: Sleep-deprived writer Remy accidentally summons a serious-and-seriously-fed-up demon named Logan. One. In Which Remy Does Something Even Stupider than Summoning a Demon

Fic Masterlist!

*

“Hello,” the person standing in front of Remy said, staring disapprovingly down at him through their glasses.

Remy looked the dude up and down once, twice. (‘Dude’? He wasn’t sure if they were a dude so nah, they’ll stick with ‘person’ moving forward.)

The person standing next to his table was a tall, thin brunette, with no-nonsense rectangular glasses and a no-nonsense expression on their face to match. They were admittedly well-equipped in the looks department—that is to say, they were most definitely hot, Remy’s bi little heart skipped a beat—even if their fashion sense was seemingly nonexistent. They had on a plain black collared shirt, jeans, and what looked like a name tag of sorts—so maybe they were a new barista at the café then? Although Emile hadn’t mentioned any new hires.

“Uh. Can I help you?” Remy asked, arching a perfectly-trimmed eyebrow.

“I believe that I should be the one asking that of you,” the person returned, and...were they glaring at Remy? As much as Remy understood the wrath foodservice workers felt towards particularly Karen-like customers, they really didn’t think the current situation warranted it.

“I’m good right now, actually,” Remy dismissed, hoping the weirdo would get the message, “but thanks for asking. I guess.” They looked back down at their writing again, shuffling the paper with the summoning circle to the side and focusing back in on their laptop.

After a few moments of typing, though, Remy became aware of the shadow that still fell over his keyboard. He glanced up to see the person still staring intently at him—only this time they were closer than ever, standing right at his left shoulder.

“Uh, babe.” Remy wasn’t feeling so nice anymore, and they let the irritation seep into their voice. Remy was on a deadline. Remy had no time for nosy strangers. “Ever heard of personal space?”

“No,” the weirdo responded, and Remy honestly couldn’t tell if they were being serious or sarcastic. It seemed they were being serious, though, when their brow wrinkled in confusion. “You are the one who summoned me, are you not?”

“I...don’t think so?” Remy wracked their brain, trying to recall if there was anything he’d done that might make a barista feel obligated to come check on him. Were they really that much of a pathetic gay? Was it really so obvious that he hadn’t slept in like two days and desperately needed yet another refill of iced coffee? “Yeah, like...I really don’t think I did.”

“And yet you are the one with my summoning circle written down,” the person insisted, gesturing down at the sheet of looseleaf paper, and—wait, what?

“I’m sorry, what?” Remy gaped.

Now that they were closer, Remy could read the name tag on the other person’s—no, the demon’s?—chest, which read “Supreme Lord of Dark Knowledge”, with Logan neatly written in parentheses beneath it.

‘Supreme Lord’ Logan picked up the piece of paper that Remy had aimlessly scribbled a summoning circle upon at random, for use as a reference in designing his own. A few faint droplets of his blood were spattered across it from the papercut. They looked Remy in the eye, and it occurred to Remy that the person’s—Logan’s—eyes were oddly maroon and almost glow-y.

“I am a demon,” Logan said, leaning in to Remy, so close they could practically kiss him, “and you are the one who summoned me. So how may I help you? What is your purpose behind summoning me?”

Remy stared.

Logan returned his gaze, obstinately inching yet closer. Eventually they were getting way too much into Remy’s personal space, rude, so he caved and let Logan win the unspoken battle of wills, yanking their head back almost violently.

Remy started to laugh.

“Oh my god,” they said, gasping for breath. “I haven’t reached the hallucination stage of sleep-deprived caffienation this quickly before.”

“—I. Uh. Pardon?” Perhaps realizing just how uncomfortably close the two were, Logan backed up a respectful distance before looking down at him, confused.

“I’ve gotta say, you’re the most realistic hallucination I’ve had since I tried LSD that one time back in high school.” Remy wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. They looked Logan up and down a bit more appreciatively, now that he knew that they were a product of his own imagination. “Damn, my mind knows how to appeal to my...well, everything. You’re pretty hot.”

“It is hot in hell, yes. So naturally my temperature runs higher.” Every time Remy thought it not possible, Logan became even more perplexed. “Excuse me—if I might request clarification for a moment here. You think that I am not real?”

Logan reached out a hand and closed it securely around Remy’s wrist where it lay on the keyboard of his laptop, his hand steadily pressing the “p” button on the forgotten word document that was chapter seventy. “I can assure you that I very much am not a product of your imagination.”

Remy swore.

“What the fuck,” he said, not caring as his voice gradually grew louder, “what the fuck.” They jerked their arm away from Logan, accidentally knocking over his precious iced coffee, and they swore again as they raced to pick up his laptop and his notes to save them from a watery death.

“Bitch,” Remy hissed at the iced coffee that now steadily inched its way across the table. They then looked up at Logan. “You made me spill my coffee,” he accused. “What the hell, man?”

The supposed demon raised an eyebrow, snapping his fingers, and Remy’s coffee slid back into his cup and righted itself again, good as new, what the fuck. “I do believe that we just established that I am in fact a demon and not a man.”

Shit, shit, yeah, right. “All right, then what are your pronouns?” Remy asked. He wanted to rip them to shreds, yeah, but all the better to not misgender them as he did so.

“Gender does not work for demons as it does for humans,” Logan informed him, “however, in your language, xe/xem/xyr pronouns are particularly...satisfactory...for me.”

“Cool.” Remy nodded. “I’m Remy, they/them and he/him.” He paused. “Okay, like, back to business—what the hell?”

“Yes, that is where I come from.” Logan nodded, and was xe serious or was xe patronizing Remy? They were pretty sure xe was patronizing him.

“Okay.” Remy glared up at xem. “Then like...can you go back already?”

Logan let out a long-suffering sigh, pushing xyr glasses up on the bridge of xyr nose. “Tell me what deal you would like to make, and then yes, I will gladly depart from this ridiculous world.”

“I’ll remind you that you’re the one who appeared in this ‘ridiculous world’ out of literal fucking nowhere,” Remy snarked, half under their breath.

“And I shall remind you that you are the one who summoned me,” Logan snapped. Xe scrutinized Remy carefully. “Although I must say, I was not expecting the likes of you to be intelligent enough to summon me at all, much less as unintentionally as it appears to have been.”

“Hey! Watch what you’re sayin—nope, never mind that.” Remy exhaled loudly, exasperated. “Just tell me how to get rid of you already.”

“Very well.” Logan pushed xyr glasses up on the bridge of xyr nose. “It is quite simple, really. In order to break our connection, all you must do is destroy the summoning circle that initially began the connection. In order to do that you must—”

“Oh, really?” Remy relaxed, shoulders lowering slightly. Nice and easy. That was good. “That’s easy.” He grabbed the paper in both hands and started to tear.

“Wait, no! No, not like that, you are going to—” Logan leapt on top of Remy, knocking them and their chair to the ground.

But it was too late. Remy had already ripped the paper—and, consequently, the summoning circle—in half.

A snapping, burning feeling coursed through Remy’s body as he crashed to the ground, hard.

The torn halves of the paper fluttered to the ground around Remy and Logan as they lay on the floor, disoriented, Logan on top of Remy, Logan’s face in Remy’s neck and Remy with their vision impaired by Logan’s hair.

Remy spat out a mouthful of Logan’s hair, shoving xem off of him. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed once more, not unlike a broken record.

“I should be asking the same of you,” Logan spat, straightening xemself up and adjusting xyr glasses, and holy hell, if Remy had thought xe was glaring before, it was about fifty times worse now. “You are supposed to burn the circle and destroy it, you half-wit. By merely breaking the circle as you did you didn’t release me, you bound me to you for life.”

“Well, like, how was I supposed to know that?” Remy shot back through clenched teeth, trying to stave back the anger and panic churning in the pit of his stomach.

“I was just about to tell you that,” Logan seethed, and shitshitshit, abort mission, maybe Remy should back off, maybe angering the supposed demon wasn’t a good idea, xyr eyes were literally shining with literal fire and xyr hair was starting to float up and that couldn’t be good—

“Hey now! What’s going on here?”

Remy and Logan looked up to see Emile standing in front of them, short and chubby and blond and arms crossed and wearing his bright purple apron and scary-calm, which was somehow even more terrifying than the literal demon, even as he was practically an angel (not literally—or at least, Remy didn’t think it was literal—god, please tell them it wasn’t literal).

“Why don’t we take whatever this is to the back?” Emile asked the two of them, only it really wasn’t a question.

Oh, yeah. They were in the middle of a busy coffee shop full of witnesses, weren’t they.

Remy shoved themself to their feet and hastily grabbed his things, while Logan righted the chair xe had knocked over when xe took Remy down. Then, meekly and not unlike scolded children, Remy and Logan followed Emile to the employee break room. And boy, Remy was not looking forward to the conversation that no doubt would ensue.

-

“...So you’re saying you’re a demon,” Emile said slowly, eyes wide as he stared at Logan.

“Indeed.” Logan waved xyr hand and extinguished the indigo flames that had previously been dancing across xyr palm.

“Ooh ooh ooh! Like Bill Cipher?” Emile asked excitedly.

Remy lowered their face into their hands.

“Like—ah, yes, of course,” responded Logan the actual literal fucking demon, “although I personally prefer to take a more humanesque appearance on the rare occasions that I am summoned. I find it is more calming for the humans that summon me.” Xe tilted xyr head, looking curiously at Emile. “You’ve met Cipher?”

“I—” Emile gasped, eyes practically starry, and hell, could this get any worse for Remy. “He’s real? I knew it!”

The bell jingled back out in the shop, then not two seconds later the employee door swung open, and hell, this could get worse for Remy.

Remus stepped through the door, eyes bright with mischievous delight and clad in a hideous combination of jeans, some obscure band tee, and an honest-to-god camouflage-patterned tutu. “I heard through the grapevine that some major shit is going down.”

Remy glared half-heartedly at Emile. “You did not text him.”

Emile laughed awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Babe,” Remy groaned. “You didn’t.”

“He did!” Remus garbled out, grinning wider than the Joker. “So our dear little Remsykins has a boyfriend now?”

“Not a boy,” Logan said, while at the same time, Remy groaned, “Not my boyfriend.”

“Details.” Remus waved Remy off, although he at least had the decency to ask Logan xyr pronouns before opening his mouth to continue harassing the two of them with questions.

Remy held up a hand. “Uh, nope. I’m dealing with enough bullshit right now, babe, and I’m still mad at you for falling so far behind on art. None of your weird questions about, like, fucking demons or eternal torture or whatever, please.”

Remus’ mouth clacked shut loudly, and he looked rather put-off. Then what Remy had said fully sank in. “Wait, demons? As in, demons existing? For reals?”

Remy turned to Logan, despairing, and thankfully xe seemed to get the message, stepping in.

“Indeed they are, as you put it, ‘for reals’,” Logan affirmed. “I’ll give you...ah, I believe humans still say the ‘Spark Notes’ version of our present circumstance. In researching for their comic, Remy inadvertently copied down my summoning circle. When he got a paper-cut, blood got onto the circle, and he spoke the incantation—” Logan turned to look at Remy, “—which, by the way how on earth did you manage to accidentally say the summoning incantation?”

“I didn’t,” Remy said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Did you say anything at all?” Logan asked.

Remy thought back. “Uh, I think I said...‘goddammit’?”

“Ah.” Logan blinked. “Yes, well, that isn’t the traditional incantation, but...it suffices.”

Remy threw up their hands, walking away from Logan, Remus, and Emile and glaring mightily at the overly cheery coffee-themed wallpaper. “What the fuck,” he said to no one in particular for the umpteenth time. It was rapidly becoming his favorite phrase.

“Incantations aside, I was summoned,” Logan continued, as if xe had never been interrupted in the first place, “whereupon your friend panicked and accidentally bound me to them for the rest of their life.”

Remus cackled, delighted. “Damn, Remsykinsies, haven’t you gotten yourself into a mess!”

“I don’t. Want. To think about it,” Remy seethed, turning back around to face him and the others again. “I’d much rather we focus on how you should really be leaving to go finish up chapter sixty-five already, thank you very much.”

“Like I’d miss out on watching you humiliate yourself?” Remus was getting the last of the giggles out of his system. “Fat chance.” He swiped a tear of mirth out of the corner of his eye before he continued to speak. “Anyhow, so you’re telling me that demons actually exist in this world, and I’m not one of them?” he asked, his tone mildly indignant. “Rude.”

“And thank god for that,” Remy muttered under their breath, collapsing onto the overstuffed pink couch in the break room. Even if Logan didn’t kill them and steal their soul or some shit, Remus simply being Remus was about to do him in. “The moment you become a demon is the moment the world burns.”

“Exactly!” Remus grinned at him, and how did his teeth look sharper than that of the actual demon in the room? Maybe Remus really wasn’t human after all.

“Eh, whatever! Moving on!” Remus rounded on Logan, expression alight with all the fires of hell, and Remy was really having a difficult time remembering who, exactly, the demon was in this scenario. “I just want to know—are you a demon in the sheets?”

Remy lowered his head into his arms and screamed.

(That night, as Remy and Logan awkwardly lay on opposing sides of Remy’s bed, resolutely refusing to face each other, Logan would ask how on earth could it be possible for xem to not be a demon in the sheets, as xe is a demon everywhere xe goes, and Remy would fall off the bed.)

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Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

*

Chapter two should be up either Friday or Saturday, and if not then def by next Wednesday. Also btw if you haven’t figured it out by now, Remy’s a demiboy who uses he/they pronouns in this, and Logan uses xe/xem/xyr, although as a demon human concepts of gender don’t really apply. ^^

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

[gwiiyeoweo]

Prompto learns the intricacies of living with a god.

Pairing: Prompto/Noctis Rating: T

Surprisingly, having a god as a roommate wasn’t too complicated. Noctis seemed content to sit on the couch and play video games or borrow Prompto’s phone to play King’s Knight (until one day when Noctis pulled out his own smartphone from seemingly out of nowhere). Which was great, especially on days when he was swamped with homework or had to study for an exam; he’d hate to leave Noct just hangin’ like that. Sometimes Noctis poked his nose around in Prompto’s study material or borrowed library books, but not usually without commentary — especially when it came to the Cosmogony texts, or anything relating to the Astrals, for that matter.

“Really?” Noctis nearly spat out his drink one night, the night Prompto learned gods could get drunk. In one hand he held a volume of the Cosmogony, in the other was a can of cheap beer.

“Listen, it says here that Bahamut, and I quote, ‘handpicked a pious maiden and bestowed upon her the power of the Stars and his trident.’Bullshit.” He looked up from the offending text and squinted at Prompto, traces of pink dusting his cheeks. “Listen, Prom. Listen,” his words came in a slur. “Bahamut. Bahamut’s a little bitch, y’hear me? And, and a fuuuhh — a fuckboy.”

Noctis rolled his eyes and slammed his beer down on the table. “‘Bestow his trident,’ huh? Yeah, he gave her his trident alright.”

Prompto choked on his poptart, eyes bulging out his sockets as he coughed out cheap cherry filling and crumbs. “No w-way, man.”

“Yes way. Bahamut got around back in th’ day. It said somewhere, that us Astrals don’t show up around y’humans a lot. Yeah? Well, Bahamut, my man. Nuh-uh, not ‘im.” Noctis tossed his head back and threw his arm up, laughing into the back of his hand. “He would make himself look like, like a sex god, you shoulda seen it. Like a damn twelve-pack and Fabio hair and everything, the whole package. It was ridiculous.”

Noctis lifted his head just enough to share a deadly serious look with Prompto. “Between you and me? I think the only reason he’s stuck in that, uh, that Crystal is ‘cause he’s too sex’d out.”

Afterwards, Noctis fell onto his side and cuddled the Cosmogony into his chest, silent for the rest of the night, save for the occasional soft snore, leaving Prompto alone to process his emotional and mental turmoil on his very new, very disturbing piece of information.

And that was one concern that had quickly come up — the problem of sleeping accommodations. Sometimes Noctis would just stay up until Prompto fell asleep, would wait until the boy slapped on his chocobo pyjamas and crawled into bed. On those nights, Noctis would just smile sweetly and tuck him in, pat him on the chest a couple times, turn the light off, and leave the bedroom. Prompto would strain his ears to hear the tell-tale click of the front door. Sometimes he heard Noctis leave the apartment, sometimes he didn’t. In the morning when Prompto woke up, the god would be waiting in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. He never asked about what Noctis did on the nights that he left.

On other nights, Noctis would fall asleep on the couch; and not wanting to disturb him, Prompto would tiptoe around the living space and switch off the lights after carefully draping a blanket over him. But like always, Noctis would be waiting for him with his coffee once morning came around.

So when two weeks passed and Prompto had let the guilt and curiosity break off the final chip, he finally got the guts to ask Noctis. “What do you do when I sleep?”

On the floor, Noctis was hunched over. His hands stilled, and he looked up from the 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle he was working on, a photographic rendition of the Citadel. “I sleep. Like you.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you leave.”

“Sometimes I go for a walk. Then I go to sleep,” Noctis shrugged, turning his attention back to the puzzle, “You could say I go ‘back’ to the Noctis ‘tree,’ or to the stars, or whatever. Then I come back in the morning.” He ran his fingers through a small pile of pieces, when his brows quickly came together in a frown. In one swift motion, he stood from the puzzle and flopped onto the couch, where Prompto was studying. “Prompto, I told you. I’m here to stay. If you’re worried that I might just ditch you —”

Prompto shot up a defensive hand. “No! It’s not — well, sometimes I still wonder if this is all a dream and that you’re just like, some hallucination or something. But that’s not really why I’m asking.”

“Okay, so?”

“Well, sure the couch is nice, but it kinda hurts my back after sleeping on it for so long. And, like, I dunno how this ” — he gestured with his hands at Noctis — “really works, or if you even get stiff shoulders from sleeping on a couch, but… My bed’s, uh, a lot more comfortable. So, you could… Maybe, join me instead.” Oh boy, he could feel the heat creeping up his neck and his cheeks.

“You’re asking me to sleep with you?” Noctis asked, lips curling into a sly grin.

“Not like sex! But, well, basically? I mean, not like I wouldn’t want to! Like, Noct, you’re totally hot, with this whole dark and mysterious cool vibe going on, but uh. Just, I mean, I totally see you as my bud. But it’s not like we could get something more going on later — and how would an Astral and a human even do this dating thing anyway — and does that, did that even happen before? I, I mean Bahamut was going around banging everyone, like you said, and I’m not slut-shaming any gods or I might get electrocuted or something but… I, uh.” Prompto covered his face with both his hands. “I’ll just shut up now.”

He knew this was a bad idea. Oh gods, he just wanted to sink into the couch and let it eat him. Hell, he’d even be okay with Bahamut striking him down right here and now for blasphemy or whatever.

Noctis, however, took it in stride and laughed it off. “Sure, Prom,” he said, reaching over to pat the poor guy on his shoulder.

And just like that, it was done. Prompto felt the shift in weight on the couch, and he peeked through his fingers to see Noctis back on the floor, working on his 1000-piece puzzle.

That night — and for most nights thereafter — once Prompto packed up his textbooks for tomorrow and threw on his cactuar PJs, Noctis slinked through the door in a pair of black boxers and a loose tee, climbed into a bed that seemed to fit two people just right. Somewhere along the way Prompto discovered he liked being the big spoon and that Noctis had no problem tucking himself in between his arms.

(Prompto did have to wonder, though, how and where Noctis got all his clothes when he never went shopping.)

“Hey, Noct.”

“M’yea?” he answered through a mouthful of pizza. Apparently Astrals didn’t need to eat, but Noctis could still enjoy flavors and spices and textures. He had quickly developed a habit of picking bits and pieces from Prompto’s food, or digging around the fridge for some cold meats or half-eaten leftovers that were a touch too ripe. Which worked perfectly, actually. Prompto wasn’t a starving college student, as he had a government stipend as well as a decent sum gifted from his parents to tide him over. Thing was, his budget was meant for himself, and himself only; he couldn’t really spend funds on feeding an extra mouth. So the fact that it was impossible for Noctis to starve definitely came as a plus.

“How come you look like that?” Prompto kept his eyes on the screen of his laptop, fingers typing away on his keyboard, only stopping when he realized that maybe his words weren’t the best choice. “I mean, like, my age. Some people said you were a little kid, or an older guy.”

‘Or a dilf,’ he thought to himself. Many of the posts that claimed Noctis as an older man, definitely did not leave out their biases and chose descriptions like “hot dad” or “daddy Noctis.” But the Noctis who was with him now, in the flesh and in his apartment, was scavenging his fridge with a half-eaten slice of pizza hanging from his mouth like some backstreet raccoon. And his looks barely passed as a young adult. There was still some softness of youth cushioning his features, a fairly slim but lean physique that girls would absolutely gush over. With his long eyelashes and smooth skin, he was the picture-perfect “pretty boy” Prompto had seen and heard his high school classmates squeal about way back then.

But, as Prompto paused to glance at Noctis, he could kinda see it — the whole “daddy Noctis.” He imagined an older Noct, the baby fat melted away to reveal sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut mythril, and maybe a trimmed beard to add some age. Would older Noctis have longer hair? Or maybe a cropped hairstyle? Noctis would probably keep his lean muscle, but maybe broader shoulders or something. What were even the requirements to be “daddy” anyway? Obviously it didn’t include having an actual kid though. (Did… Did Astrals even have children? Could they?)

“Well,” Noctis said, shutting the fridge door with his hip, each hand holding cartons of two-week old takeout, “I pick whatever floats their boat.” He set them on the kitchen counter and picked the lids off, leaning his face down to sniff the contents. He wrinkled his nose at one of the leftovers but chose to stick a fork in it anyway, twirling the cold noodles around before taking a bite.

“Dude, I don’t know how you do that,” Prompto gagged. “Or why, even.” He supposed it was his fault for not eating them sooner, for letting them go rancid. But that’s just one of the perks of having an ancient deity for a roommate, he justified. In the same way Noctis didn’t have to eat, he didn’t get sick from eating expired food bordering on mold and fungi. What would otherwise go into the trash or down the drain, went straight into the god’s stomach. Recycling at its best.

“If you’re talking about the food,” Noctis said, after swallowing down the slippery noodles, “It’s not that bad. Does taste kinda funky though, like artisanal cheese or something.” He swirled his fork, the carton making a distinct sound of something disgustingly wet and thick. “There might be some mold though, unless that’s just fuzzy cilantro.”

Prompto was pretty sure there was a blasphemy law or something out there, that strictly forbade people from offering gods old-ass food and moldy noodles. He learned last week to not think about it, however, and to let Noct eat what he wanted.

“But if you’re asking why I’m a twenty-something-year-old, it made the most sense.” Noctis tossed the empty carton into the trash and pointed his fork at Prompto. “Figured you’d want someone around the same age. I’m ninety-nine percent sure you wished for a friend, not a little brother or a dad.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Fair enough. I guess it’d get kinda old having to stop for old ladies that want to squish your baby cheeks.” Prompto paused, remembering the posts of people drooling over middle-aged Noctis. “Or crushing on hot dad Noct.”

That managed to pique Noctis’ interest, however, and his fork stopped mid-air on its way to the second carton. “Hot what who?”

Prompto realized then and there that Noctis did not, in fact, realize how badly people were thirsting for him.

“Oh, man, Noct buddy. The thirst out there is real .” Prompto laughed and pulled up a new tab, clicking on a link he bookmarked long ago. He scrolled through a few pages as Noct made his way to stand behind Prompto and look over his shoulder. The blonde stopped at a juicy string of replies and posts, angling the laptop screen so they could both see. “Your fans are so wild, my guy.”

   > I hope all the gods are as handsome, if only i saw him shirtless lol         > Omg ur not the only one. If i knew he looked like a hot piece of tall dark and gorgeous, i would’ve been soooooo much more specific with my wish. ;P

Some of the posts were a little more flattering. Others, less so.

   > do u guys think that if i wished hard enough, he’d sit on my face         > honestly? I don’t know if i want to pound that sweet ass or get rekt by him                > y not both? ;D

Prompto wasn’t sure what he had expected, but Noctis took it… Pretty well. In fact, they spent a good few hours bonding and laughing over the sheer thirst of these people. At some point in the night, they even came up with a drinking game.

“I mean, technically, this one mentions ‘daddy,’ ‘bondage,’ and ‘babies.’ So that’s what? Half a beer?”

Which quickly became a bad idea. Prompto was sure his liver was going to fail on him by his umpteenth bottle. Noctis — and damn him, and his stupid Astral powers — seemed to be unaffected despite having just as many drinks. He was cheating, using magic or whatever, to flush the alcohol out of his system, and Prompto whined as he was guided into the bedroom. This was so unfair. He was never going to have a drinking contest with Noctis ever again.

Unceremoniously, he was dropped onto his bed, and a pillow bounced off the mattress. “Ugh, ‘eyy, I’m delicate goods, y’knoooow,” Prompto groaned, rolling onto his side and burying his face into the blanket. It wasn’t a soft landing, and it probably would have actually hurt if not for the alcohol numbing his systems.

“Yeah? Pretty sure those posters would be more than happy to be thrown into bed by yours truly.” Noctis picked up the pillow and gently tossed it at Prompto’s head.

“Pfft. And now what?” Prompto pulled the pillow off his face and tucked it under his head. “You’re gonna ravish me, oh Mister Noctis?” he said, with half-lidded eyes, though his wiggling eyebrows killed whatever attempt of seduction he was aiming for.

Noctis snorted and crawled into bed, shoving Prompto to make space. “Pretty sure you said you’d rather do the ravishing, oh Mister Prompto.”

“Mmm, too tired to do any ravishing.”

“Then stop talking and get some sleep.”

“Okay-dokay,” he said, a pinch too chipper. ”G’night, oh Mister Noctis.”

Noctis placed a chaste kiss on his nose. “Night, nerd.”

It was winter break when Prompto would finally introduce Noctis to his acquaintances. (He had gotten an A on that research paper; not because of his stellar writing, but because Noctis insisted on meeting the professor himself, and that was a whole story for another day.) The Amicitias were having a potluck, and Gladio had invited Prompto and Ignis. It went without saying that Prompto was freaking the fuck out, when he read the text.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” He had been pacing back and forth, hands rubbing nervously at his face, for a good while now. “I'm invited to the Amicitia's. The house of the Shield. This is, like, huge!”

Noctis was on his bed, sitting up against the headboard when he swiped through Prompto's phone, reading the text that had gotten him so riled up. “Uh-huh. That's what it says,” he said, not impressed at all. “It's just a little party and some food.”

“Noct!” Prompto swirled around and stomped over to Noctis, clamping his hands on the other's shoulders. He looked at him dead in the eye, with all the seriousness of a soldier marching towards his death. “The Shield. They're like, almost royalty .”

Noctis shrugged, expression remaining bored. “So? Your parents are in Niflheim's Council. You're basically in the same boat as that Gladio guy, even if you keep calling yourself a pleb. Which, you know, you're really not.”

Prompto just gave an indignant shriek as he fell over Noctis’ legs and buried his face into the blanket. “It's not the same,” he groaned.

Noctis may have a point about their social classes being not so different, but it's not like a god could understand the struggles of lowly humans. Back in Niflheim, it wasn't as if Prompto was even well-known; he was just the kid of some government officials. The Amicitia family had this prestigious pedigree and a noble, gallant history to boot. If anything, Prompto really was a pleb in comparison.

Noctis drew his legs from underneath Prompto and laid on his side, parallel to the other. He gave a few sympathetic pats on his back but rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “You're really freaking out about this, huh?”

Prompto wordlessly nodded, face still glued to his bed.

“You can pass, you know. That's totally an option, in case you forgot.”

Prompto finally lifted his face to stare at Noctis, a stubborn frown pulling on his lips. “No way. This is an opportunity of a lifetime.” He rolled onto his back and sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “Gladio's pretty cool, but I guess the issue is with everyone else that's gonna be there. Everyone knows I'm a Niff, and well.” He waved his hands in the air, letting the implications speak for him.

“And Lucis is still on edge with Niflheim,” Noctis finished for him. “I know. I've seen the way people look at you.”

The sneers, the whispers, those eyes. But it wasn't as bad as it used to be, when Prompto was alone. Noctis’ presence itself was comforting, filled a hole in his life that had been there before he even arrived in Insomnia, but it also provided another form of relief. Walking the streets alone left him too vulnerable to the baleful stares and whispered curses. But with Noctis, who looked every inch a pure-blooded Lucian, walking side by side and laughing over shared drinks or stealing fries, it made all of them second-guess themselves. He could tell by the confused or surprised expressions, and he sometimes caught the weird looks they gave. It filled him with a sense of gleeful vindication.

(Noctis had easily caught on — or rather, he had known from the start. On their first outing together, he had made damn sure to be as touchy-feely as possible or laugh just a tad too loud at bad jokes, he had admitted to Prompto.)

Noctis looked at the message again, skimming over the short three lines of text. “You know,” he said, his eyebrows perking up, “I can come with. He said you could bring a friend along.”

“What?” Prompto shot up, and he reached over to snatch his phone back from Noct's clutches. He furrowed his eyebrows, read the text message twice over. “You're right. Oh! You, uh, you'd really be okay with coming with me?”

“Duh. It's a potluck. I'm always up for food.”

They spent three days looking up party foods, mostly at Prompto’s frantic insistence: “Dude, I can’t be the one guy who just brings the crappy off-brand chips and shitty dip.” Finally, Noctis took matters into his own hands and decided for Prompto, one hand dragging the blonde out for grocery shopping, the other pulling up a lasagna recipe on his phone.

“Ugghhh. Can’t you just use your magic and just, magically make some kind of one-food-satisfies-all sort of thing?” Prompto groaned, reading the label on a jar of tomato sauce. He tossed two in the shopping cart, then threw in another just in case.

“Technically, I could.” Noctis pushed the cart along, grabbing a few bottles of dried spices. “But you never filled out the ‘Stellarian Make-A-Wish Form’ and that takes four to six business days to get to me. And we definitely have less than four days to get this thing cooked up.”

“What. I didn’t know I had to sign forms! And business days? Dude, you’re right here.”

“Sorry, Noctis the Stellarian isn’t here right now. Please call again during normal business hours or leave a message after the beep.” Noctis walked off, leaving the cart behind. He never even said beep.

“Nooooooct!”

They had managed to make two large pans of lasagna, and it tasted pretty damn good in Prompto’s opinion. (Noctis’ opinion didn’t count, since he could eat practically anything, aside from his aversion to vegetables.) Better yet, they had managed to keep the kitchen intact, only burning one mitten and two hand towels. With the food out of the way, the only thing left was what the fuck was he going to wear.

Prompto was going to be late, and oh gods, his anxiety was spiking. He never asked Gladio if the dress code was casual or formal wear, and he wasn’t going to take his chances with guessing ugly sweater party. He rummaged through his dressers and tossed shirts and pants all over the bed and floor, only pausing to press a shirt against his chest and stand in front of the mirror every few minutes. He should have been out ten minutes ago, but here he was freaking out over what sweater to wear, and he was pretty sure being late would make for bad first impressions. It was a vicious cycle.

Noctis stood by the bedroom door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, when he rolled his eyes and sighed. He stepped through the whirlwind of clothes scattered all over the place, and stooped to pick up a long-sleeved shirt. Wordlessly, he shoved it in Prompto’s hands and manhandled the blonde out of the way, pulling out a pair of black slacks from the dresser. “Go, change. Now,” he ordered.

“Yeah, but —”

“Chill, Prom. It’s not like you’re meeting the King of Lucis or anything. So just change already.”

Noctis was a filthy liar.

Surprisingly, they made it to the Amicitia manor with three minutes to spare. Prompto had expected security checks or battle-hardened guards standing watch from lookout towers, maybe a couple black guard dogs too. So when he pressed a finger to the intercom and offered his name and reason for visitation, he was taken back when the gates opened only seconds after, with no vicious attack dog or security uniform in sight. Noctis looked a little too smug, who had listened to Prompto’s over speculation and frenzied rants, and sauntered right on in.

Prompto followed at his heels, and was greeted by cheery instrumental music and all sorts of tantalizing aromas, a blend of spices he’s never smelled before. He zeroed in on the long tables topped with food, some brought in tupperware or actual plates. It was reassuring to see aluminum trays lining the tables; he and Noctis brought in their lasagna in aluminum pans, too, and he had worried that maybe they should have splurged on those ceramic pans instead. They managed to find an empty spot for their dishes, though Noctis had to subtly rearrange a few plates around to make room for the tight fit.

“Hey, Prompto!” That gruff voice was unmistakable, but so was the hand that clamped itself on Prompto’s shoulder, nearly jostling him. “Good to see you made it.”

“Oh, hey, Gladio. Thanks for inviting me,” Prompto chirped, as if he hadn’t been rattled with anxiety and stress for nearly a week. He waved a hand over Noctis. “I brought a friend with me, if that’s cool.”

“Nah, you’re good. I did say you could bring one,” he said to Prompto, before turning his attention to Noctis. “I’m Gladiolus, but call me Gladio.”

“Noctis. Just Noct’s good. You’re Clarus’ son, yeah?”

“Yep, son of the Shield and all that.” Gladio paused a moment, an amused smile ghosting over his lips. “Noctis, like… the Stellarian?”

“Noctis, exactly like the Stellarian,” Noctis replied, ignoring the way Prompto coughed.

“Huh. Bet you get teased about that a lot.”

“You get used to it,” he said with a wry grin, throwing a sidelong glance to his friend.

It was mostly smooth sailing from there, despite Prompto’s prior apprehension but according to Noctis’ reassurances — which came in comforting whispers and light hand squeezes. However, they didn’t seem to escape the hawk-ish gaze of one Ignis Scientia, who gave them a knowing look and a tilt of the lips over the rim of his wine glass. Even Gladio the musclehead noticed, nudging Prompto with his elbow and blowing a low whistle. It wasn’t like they were trying to be inconspicuous anyway; having been caught, Noctis laughed and gave them a full view of a smack of lips on a freckled cheek, at the price of Prompto’s flushed embarrassment.

Prompto still wasn’t sure what was going on between them, and Noctis gave no indication of his own. It had been casual flirting here, an offhand comment there, and somehow it turned into little shared kisses on the cheek or forehead. What he did know, however, was that he enjoyed it and wanted to see where things would take them. It was a little awkward to be caught sharing their affections, especially when he himself was still trying to process his own feelings about them, but it filled him with a tingly warmth all the same.

And it was almost enough to ignore a familiar, unsettling gaze that bore through the back of his skull. No matter how many cups of eggnog he downed, Prompto would always know what that sort of look was; he had been on the receiving end of it for far too long to not know. It was the judgmental stare of a stuck-up noble, the prejudice of a narrow mind — or in this case, the animosity of a Crownsguard official. Having had enough and feeling his confidence bolstered by the buzz of alcohol, Prompto turned to see who was glaring daggers at him, to find who the burning gaze belonged to. The uniform screamed Crownsguard, his face the same stern expression of a military man ready to snap and bark, and Prompto had immediately turned back around the second he saw that scowl. Okay, so maybe he regretted looking just a little.

But he managed to get on, because out of sight, out of mind and all that, yeah? He could still feel the little pin pricks as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at guard, could feel the barb wired glances given his way, but as the hour wore on, he managed to relax until the perpetual stare melted like the ice in his punch, into nothing but a distant reminder. The man had seemed satisfied to just shoot scowls at Prompto, which he was able to fare with and mostly ignore, and nothing had happened so far. Not to mention he was in the Amicitia household, so surely he was safe. No one would want to start a fight in the Shield’s home, right?

Wrong.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

Prompto had returned to the punch bowl to refill his drink, leaving Noctis to carry on with Ignis and Gladio. And yeah, that probably wasn’t a good idea, to present himself vulnerable as a lone target.

Prompto set his cup on the table and turned to stand face-to-face with the Crownsguard who had been shooting metaphorical knives at him for the past hour-ish. And maybe it was the liquid courage that was in the punch and eggnog that had Prompto puffing out his chest, but damn it , he was at a party and enjoying himself for once! He really did not need some asshole bursting his bubble.

“I’m getting punch, what does it look like?” Prompto huffed, gesturing to the very obvious bright red of the glass bowl.

“Sure you’re not planning on poisoning us, Niff?” The Crownsguard scoffed, eyes narrowing in suspicion and scorn. “Wouldn’t doubt it if you poisoned the food either.”

Okay. This was guy was hella rude. Their lasagna was actually good — he and Noct worked very hard on that, for his information.

He opened his mouth in protest, to point out they suffered a burnt mitten to get the damn pan out of the oven, to point out all the hard work and mess that had gone into it, until Noctis came over, planting himself between Prompto and the asshat Crownsguard.

“You got issues with my lasagna?” Noctis crossed his arms across his chest, his chin tilted up. Prompto couldn’t see, but he was pretty sure there was a scowl on his face. He also couldn’t help the vindictive glee in his chest.

“I got issues with the Niff here, not you, kid. He doesn’t belong here.”

“Sure he does. He got an invitation from the Amicitia over there,” he said, motioning a hand to Gladio, who was looking in their direction with concern, ready to intervene. “And besides, you got an issue with Prompto, you got an issue with me.”

“Look, kid. You’re better off not hanging around Niffs —”

“I’m not a kid,” Noctis practically growled. Though Noct was technically right, Prompto figured his looks… Kinda barely passed as an adult though.

“And I can do what I want, so don’t you tell me what to do.” Noctis jabbed a sharp finger into the Crownsguard chest. At this point, Gladio and some other man — ‘ Oh shit, is that Clarus Amicitia ?!’ Prompto silently screamed — were making their way over. But they would be too slow.

“Watch yourself, kid, or you'll be seeing stars,” the Crownsguard hissed. His shoulders tensed, and Prompto could see the faint lines of muscle tightening. This was so not good. He could feel the stare and attention focused on them, the worried murmurs and hushed whispers. He wished he had refilled his glass so he had punch to swallow down all this tension he was surely going to choke on.

“Oh, yeah?” Noctis snarled, bristling like an angry cat, Prompto imagined, with his curled up fingers and stiff white knuckles. He saw Noctis’ head twitch, jerk ever so slightly to his left, when Prompto caught a glimpse of a foreboding smirk. He followed Noctis’ line of sight, and it took every ounce of steel willpower to not scream.

Because standing right there was King Regis Lucis Fucking Caelum.

Prompto felt his eyes bulge from his skull, as the blood drained from his face to be replaced with ice cold water. Oh, Six. He was breathing, right? In, out? He could barely hear the rush of blood in his ears, too busy internally screaming into the void and all that.

‘ Chill, he said! You’re not gonna meet the King of Lucis, he said. It’s gonna be fun, he said!’ Whoever told him gods didn’t lie needed to go check themself.

He barely caught onto Noctis, too busy freaking out over literal royalty over there to stop him when he heard That Tone in his voice.

“Well, guess what?” Noctis had dropped his knees slightly. And with all the fury of a burning star, he slammed his fist up into the Crownsguard’s jaw in a brutal uppercut before either of them had time to blink. Prompto was pretty sure there was a kungfu movie with a similar title. Fist of the — South? West? — Star or something. It was over as quickly as it had started, and the body dropped in a skin-crawling thump.

“ Twinkle twinkle, motherfucker .”

Noctis shook his wrist, grimacing lightly from the impact. But it was quickly replaced with a shit-eating grin when he turned his gaze back to King Regis, who looked pretty damn chill despite witnessing someone knock out his Crownsguard, as opposed to the panic rising in Prompto’s own chest.

“Hey, Reggie. Long time no see,” Noctis all but laughed, who was way too calm about all of this.  

A flash of confusion and irritation passed over the King’s face, but it quickly melted into shocked realization then mild exasperation. Prompto was still too stunned to think of anything, but he could have sworn there was a hint of fondness in the man’s eyes.

By the time Gladio kneeled beside the Crownsguard, Clarus moved in on Noctis, taking long strides with a definite purpose. Prompto almost threw an arm out to shield Noctis behind him, to point out that the Crownsguard was being an ass and Noctis was just defending him so could he please just —

“Clarus, stand down. It’s alright,” King Regis ordered. Clarus stopped dead in his tracks, hand left in mid-air as he was just about to grab Noctis. Regis ignored the unconscious guard and walked up to the Astral, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Nearly twenty years, Noctis, and not a single hello. I must say, you know how to make an entrance.”

Prompto briefly remembered his first meeting with Noct’s shoe. Yeah, that had been an entrance alright.

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” Noctis shrugged and glanced over at Prompto, then past him at the tables behind. “Want to try our lasagna?” he asked the King.

“If I did not know any better, I would leap at the opportunity. But having past experiences with your cooking, I do think I prefer living. I’ve a kingdom to run, after all.”

“Hey!” Noctis interjected, smiling.

Still, the two laughed as if they had been old friends, ignoring the confused and slightly terrified faces around them. But knowing Noctis’ long, longhistory, Prompto didn’t doubt they truly had a bond.

He didn’t notice the King’s attention on him until Noctis nudged him on the shoulder. “Eh? What?”

“Prompto Argentum, was it?” King Regis asked.

“U-uh, yeah!” he stammered, feeling the pressure of the King’s gaze. Then he quickly added, “Your Majesty.” He couldn’t believe he was talking to the King, not to mention he even remembered Prompto’s name. And also not to mention, he was still not over the fact he had shaken his hand all those months ago, on the day he first arrived in Insomnia.

“I would love to hear how you met dear Noctis over here, whenever you’d be willing.”

“Noct? Um, yeah! Totally! Er, Your Grace.”

King Regis chuckled, deep and warm, and merely nodded. “Now, let’s try that lasagna, hm? You, too, Clarus! If I die of food poisoning, we die together.”

“Your Majesty, please,” the Shield sighed.

Prompto never really figured how it happened or when it all started. But one snowy morning, when he woke up to Noct's sleeping face and terrible bed hair, he was suddenly struck with a revelation.

‘Huh. I love this man,’ he thought. It was weird. He expected metaphorical fireworks and the heavy beating of his heart with that dizzying blood rush, waited for it with silent expectancy and any minute now .

But nothing came.

Two minutes, then five minutes. Ten. Nothing. Instead, he was left with the soft knowledge of his feelings, the gentle warmth that settled in his stomach as he watched Noctis and the slow rise of his chest with each steady breath. And this warmth, it was nothing new; it had been there for well over a year now, when his loneliness was replaced by this bright little star. And not even a month ago, Gladio and Ignis had referred to Prompto as their friend .

There were no grand explosions, no sparks of passion and heated kisses stolen between short, frenzied breaths. It had come silently. Like the slow rise of the morning’s light streaming in through the window, like the lazy snowfall covering Insomnia, settling so gently that he wouldn’t know how much had piled up unless he drew back the curtains and looked out into the heart of the city.

Prompto closed his eyes and smiled into his pillow, snuggling a bit closer to his favorite little star, and drifted back to sleep, falling to the comfort of knowing everything would work out, that everything already had. And Noctis, still deep in his sleep, responded to the shift and threw a cold leg over Prompto’s, eliciting a quiet breathy laugh.

Yeah, everything would be just fine.

Bonus

“So, you look pretty good. Older, but still good.” Noctis said over the rim of his glass.

Regis resisted the urge to roll his eyes and to fall back to his younger years of bantering and snickering, to the days of his youth spent with the Astral. “Yes. Well, ageing does that to mortals, Noctis. I would like to say the same to you, except you’ve gotten… Younger.”

He almost hadn’t recognized Noctis, when he watched the younger man knock his Crownsguard off his feet. He had felt the flames of angry retribution and indignation ignite, until that age-old smirk caught him off guard, when he recognized that smile, that specific tilt of the lips, but he couldn’t place it — not until he saw that set of steel-blue eyes that seemed to hide all the world’s stars behind them.

After all those years, Regis never expected to see him again. Ever. And especially not in Clarus’ home. Yet here they were again, sitting by the fireplace with plates of lasagna and glasses of champagne, basking in each other’s company as they had done in what seemed like a lifetime ago. (The lasagna was, surprisingly, quite good.)

“You were an older man, back in my youth. I almost failed to recognize you.”

Noctis was a bit taller, back then, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and age lines that looked to add wisdom around his eyes. Regis, being but a boy back then, had looked up to the god, for when his own father was absent in his royal duties as King. For when he had wished for a father, someone who could actually spare more than ten minutes a day for his son.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Daddy Noct,’” Noctis snorted. “Apparently that’s what I’m called nowadays, when I look like that. Y'know, you never actually called me dad.”

Young Regis had never gotten over that strange pride-ego-dignity trinity that teenage boys tended to have, and refused to call Noctis any version of the word “father” despite his wish being just that. They both knew he had been the closest thing to what a father should actually be, but those times were gone; however, Regis now saw a dear old friend instead. Plus, it'd just be downright weird for a grown man to call a younger one his dad.

“As I am aware.” Regis earned an incredulous look, to which he responded, “I know how to use the internet, Noctis.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird hearing that from you,” Noctis mumbled around his fork. He looked to the fireplace, the flames dancing in the dark of his eyes. “Time sure flies, huh, Reggie? You used to be so small. Now look at you.” He gently placed his fork down, lightly clinking against the ceramic, meeting his gaze with Regis��. “You grew into a fine king.”

They let a comfortable silence fall over them, save for the crackle of wood and the cheery music playing in the distance. Clarus had made sure the two could get their own little space, away from the rest of the party.

Finally, Regis spoke up again. “I never properly thanked you for granting my wishes.”

“Don’t mention it. All I did was get the ball rolling. You’re the one who pushed it to the finish line. Now look.” Noctis nodded over behind them, where Ignis was trying (and failing) to teach Prompto a proper waltz. “You finally got peace for your kingdom, even after the mess your father left behind.”

“Still. If it weren’t for your hand in all this—”

“Reggie, stop, you’ll make me blush,” he said wryly. “But, uh, sorry that it took so long. Had a hard time coming to a compromise. Don’t tell him I told you, but” — Noctis leaned in, and Regis mimicked the gesture — “I had a little argument with Bahamut. He kept insisting that Lucis wipe Niflheim out first, declare war and all that. Heck, that’s part of why Shiva’s doing her thing over there still, to soften them up and make the fight easier. It’s kinda hard to convince the god of war to not go to war, you know?”

“Ah. So Bahamut.”

“Yep.”

It was Regis’ turn to gaze into the fireplace. “I suppose you were right along,” he said after a brief moment. He turned to look back at Noctis in the eye and smiled with all the kingly grace he could muster.

“Bahamut is indeed, as you had put it, a fuckboy.”

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

Neuron, Ch.8

Bucky x Named (Mutant) Reader

Warnings: awkwardness, mutual pining, angst

Masterlist

Word count: 3,378

Note: Gifs aren’t mine, they will never be mine, I’m not that talented.  This chapter was rough for a number of reasons, so, sorry that there was such a big gap between the last and this.  Band camp and college started, and I’m so very bad at writing awkward things because I have to take cringe breaks... it’s... yeah.

Also - I changed my url, mostly because my roommate said something really funny about a gif and I just had to.  But it does encompass my personality quite well, so, enjoy!

Bucky didn’t know what to do.  He could think of several things he wanted to do.

Run.  Hide.  Jump out a window.  Stare dramatically into your eyes until he turned to stone.  Kiss you back, at least.

You’d kissed him, desperately, and you hadn’t hesitated a bit.  Your hand in his hair, your fingertips on his skin, how gently your body had collided with his, it had all knocked the wind right out of him.  It always came as a surprise how disarming your presence was, and when you appeared that morning you were the literal light at the end of a very unpleasant tunnel.

But he never imagined that you could have feelings for him.

Yeah, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore.  Yeah, feeling had returned to parts of his mind again.  But he still had those nightmares.  He still had to repress the instinct to kill first, assess later.

And, frankly, the threat alone that his mind could still be tapped terrified him.

He was still scared.  He was still broken.

And how was he supposed to tell you that?

His good friend Shuri loved movies, all kinds.  When she wasn’t inventing the world’s next coolest thing or being generally lovely, she was watching a movie.  While Bucky was adjusting in Wakanda out of the deep-freeze, she had a habit of arriving now and then to declare that it was movie night and drag him up to T’Challa’s theater.  She made him watch everything from Sabrina to Remember the Titans to the entire Lord of the Rings franchise. 

Honestly, Bucky loved movies too.  For a long time, it was much safer for him to feel things fully when he was feeling them vicariously, when they weren’t his and he could leave them on the coffee table when he went back to his goats.

He didn’t fight so tooth-and-nail against emotion, not anymore, but he’d seen enough chick flicks to know that if he tried to explain to you that he was simply too broken, that you were simply too good, you’d end up telling him some bullshit about how he was good too.  Which, frankly, he didn’t have the energy for.

That’s why, instead of following through with any of the things he wanted to, Bucky followed you to Strucker’s office silently.

You didn’t know what to do either.  Were you supposed to pretend that didn’t just happen?  Were you supposed to tell... someone?  As you passed the occasional recently liberated mutant, you pretended the floor was captivatingly interesting, hoping no one would notice the odd energy cast around you.

Bucky’s presence was loud in your brain, and you couldn’t say to save your life what he was thinking.  He had been so close to you, waking every sense to high alert.  It had seemed for a moment that he wasn’t completely disgusted by your sudden show of romantic interest, but his current silence suggested otherwise.

A whir and click were followed by a choked growl.  You shot a glance back to him; he was glaring at his prosthetic and pointedly ignoring you.

He had every right to be mad.  And, if you were honest, your timing was shit.

You just hoped you could go back to being friends after this.

When you arrived in Strucker’s office, Steve waved you over to the desk without looking up, frowning in rapt attention by a stack of files he sifted through.

“What’cha got there, Cap?” you asked, doing your best to sound casual.

Steve said nothing, but handed you the top file.

It was yours.

Heart beating quicker by the second, you scanned over the photos and notes of your life through years of surveillance.

“How long were they watching me?” you asked in an almost-whisper.  Bucky gently pulled the file from your shaking hands. 

“Since you worked with us in 2014.  There’s a computer too, but I wouldn’t know where to begin for a password,” said Steve.

Bucky finally spoke, sending goosebumps along your neck, “Why did they wait so long to make a move?”  He started rooting through the drawers until he found what he was looking for - a deep navy tee shirt that he promptly slid over his head.  Well that solved one of your problems.

Steve handed you another file.  On the top was a page that had a date and a single word.

“’June 14 - Nymph’?” Bucky read over your shoulder.  His breath graced your neck.  Jesus, could he not?  “Does that mean anything to you?”

Still staring at the page, you shook your head.

Tony, Peter following at his heels, pushed Strucker through the door.  “Relax, tin man, I’m going,” she grumbled.  You locked eyes for a moment and she smirked, calling a number of unpleasant emotions from your toes.  It took a great deal of concentration for you not to move between her and Bucky.

Steve ignored her completely and addressed Tony, “Civilians?”

“They’re out.  Vision’s contacting local law enforcement now.”

Steve nodded, “Good, then the clock starts now,” he turned to you to explain, “We don’t technically have jurisdiction... anywhere, so we’ll want to be out of their airspace.”

Strucker spoke up, “Are you going to hand me over to the police, then?”

“No,” Steve said, rigid, “You’re going to unlock this computer.”

She shrugged and wriggled out of Tony’s grasp.  Well that was easy.  She clacked on the keyboard, agitated, when you noticed a glimmer of a smirk on her mouth.  Oh, come on.

“Wait,” you said, grabbing her hand.  She hit the enter key with the other.

A staticky voice sounded from the computer over a low beeping, “Unauthorized parties detected in restricted areas A, B, C, and F.  Self destruct systems armed in 3... 2... 1.”

“Well that’s not good,” you remarked quietly.

Steve looked infinitely exasperated as he barked into his comm, “The building’s about to blow, everybody out.”

You turned to Strucker, who looked altogether too pleased with herself, “How do we disarm the system?”

She scoffed, “So you can compromise our operation?  I thought you were supposed to be a smart freak.”  Tony raised his eyebrows.

Agitated, you knew you shouldn’t respond, but you did anyway, “Smart enough to kick your ass, anyway.”

“Oh, please.  Without your mutation, you’re useless.  Admit it, as much as you want to deny it, you love the power it gives you.”

“Not everyone wants to rule the world.”

“You and I both know that what you want has nothing to do with your destiny.  Tyrant.”

Peter cut in, “Um.  Can you guys do this later?”

You said, “Shush,” at the same time Strucker said, “Shut up.”  You stared at each other, absolutely seething for a moment.  She was daring you to do something, to retaliate.  It was tempting.

A low whine preceded a higher, faster beep.  Shit.

Tony hoisted a protesting Strucker over his shoulder and yelled, “Let’s move!’  Bucky looked around, wheels turning.

He punched through the window with his metal hand, and the rest of the group seemed to get the idea.  Peter flung himself out first, followed by Tony.  

The beeping stopped.  Shit.  A deep boom echoed from further in and shook the floor.

You froze.  This building was exploding.  Exploding.

Bucky grabbed you round the waist and pulled you through the window.  You barely noticed when the shock blast hit you mid-air.  You barely noticed a lick of flame stopped by the suit.  You barely noticed when you both hit the ground.

He coughed, “I’m getting the strangest feeling of deja vu.”

You wanted to laugh.  You did.  Instead, you sat up and buried your face in your hands.

“See?  A useless freak,” Strucker spat.

“Could you get her outta here?” Bucky said, offering you a hand up.

Jaw clenched, you took it and said quietly, “Thank you.”

Steve beckoned with a nod of his head, “To the jet.”

Police lights flashed around, the building burned, people were wrapped in security blankets.  You managed to conjure a smile with the image of Sharkbait explaining where his had been and why he would not be using it.

A man with a microphone flanked by another man with a camera barreled up to you.  He said, “This is Ken Walter with channel seven news, we’re standing with some of America’s ‘Avengers’ at what appears to be a former Hydra base where several prisoners of Hydra have just been released.”  The camera panned along your faces, resting on yours.  Ken Walter continued, “We also appear to be standing with the star of the latest viral video.  I’m sure you all remember the internet sensation dubbed Lady Neuron.”  He put the microphone in front of your face.  When he said nothing, he continued, “What are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you asked, exhausted, “I’m a freak.”

“O-kay,” Steve grumbled, pulling you towards the jet.

You nestled yourself into a corner, as far away from Strucker, and Bucky, as you could get for the ride and turned on your cell phone.

You had some twenty unread messages, all from either your mother or your friend Raina.  You opened your friend’s first.

“Hey, have you seen this?”  “Den?”  “Deeeeeennaaaaaa”. “Dude, are you okay?”  “DENNA.  THE INTERNET HAS GIVEN YOU A NICKNAME.”  “Seriously, I just heard about the break in at Labyrinth.  Call me.”  “I’m getting really worried, Den.”  “Your mom doesn’t know where you are either.”  “Call her.”  “Call SOMEBODY”

You groaned and waited for cell service.

At around 7:30 AM New York time, a new message popped up, “Why are you on the Italian news?  With a bunch of superheroes?  At least I know you’re alive...”

You began to tap out a response, when she called you.  Ah, the joys of iMessage.

“Hey, Ra,” you said softly.

“DENNA MY BEST FRIEND REESE,” she screeched, “What the absolute hell?  What’s going on?  Are you okay?  Who are you with?  Have they been feeding you?  Because you look... rough.”

You laughed in spite of yourself, “Take a breath, man.  I’m okay-is.  This is a hella long story, and I’m about to land in New York and still need to call my mother.  Can I call you back?”

“Oh.  Yeah.  Sure, that’s cool.  Listen, it’s really good to hear from you, I was worried.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’ll explain everything as soon as I can.”

You both said your goodbyes, and you geared yourself up for talking to your mom.

At the Avengers tower, with Strucker and General Marino confined to their respective interrogation rooms, Steve pulled you aside.

“We need to talk.”  Natasha gave you a side eye before fleeing the scene.  You turned to face Steve, remembering your indignation from hours prior.  “That was reckless.”

“Yep.”

“Then why did you do it?  You didn’t just put yourself in danger, you put everyone else in danger, too.”

“We were already in danger.  We didn’t have a better plan.  We weren’t going to come up with a better plan and I was not about to waste time trying while maniacs were torturing people.”

“You still went off on your own, and that can get people killed, like yourself.”

“I’m not a soldier, Steve.  I don’t do exploding buildings, I don’t do hiding in safe houses, I don’t do nothing when I can because someone said so and doesn’t bother to explain why.”  When he didn’t respond, you continued, “I’m sorry that I have been putting your friends in danger.  I’m sorry that I am not perfectly level headed.  They’re my friends now, too.  I’m not sorry that I did and will continue to do all I can to keep them out of danger.”

“That was quite the speech.”  You sighed, exasperated.  He clapped you on the shoulder, “We can agree to disagree for now.”

“What will you do now?” Natasha asked you.

You glanced around a bit before replying, “I need to go home; I doubt they’ll come after me after being on the news.  Think you guys can handle it from here?”  You pretended not to notice Bucky’s expression.

Peter grinned at you, “Hell yeah, we’re Earth’s mightiest heroes!”

“Kid, watch it,” Tony scolded, then he turned to you to shake your hand, “You did pretty okay, Champ, for a civilian.”

You laughed, “You know, Mr. Stark, I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

You shook Steve’s hand next, then Wanda’s, and continued down the line.  Bucky was last.  He looked tired.

“Mr. Barnes,” you said as you offered him a hand that he took gently, “take care of yourself.”

“Denna,” he started.

You cut him off, wanting to avoid shedding tears by any means, “Don’t go falling off anymore trains?”  He nodded, a melancholy smile playing across his lips.  

As soon as he released you, you thanked everyone and said goodbye one more time, then got the hell out of there.  You may or may not have cried on the way to the airport.

Before you reached it though, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and composed yourself enough to call Raina.

Her voice was agitated, not in a wholly angry way, just, Ra, as she answered with, “Okay friend, it’s time to talk.  All of the internet knows about your mutation now; are you okay?  Why are you with the Avengers?  You got to meet Falcon and didn’t tell me?!”

Grinning through a creek of tears, the sound of her voice came as a relief, “I’m sorry I’ve been AWOL.  I’m on my way home, think you can meet me at my place in a few hours?”

“Ooh, is it a pizza or fro-yo kind of conversation?”

You sniffed, “Dumplings.  Definitely dumplings.”

“Oh boy, this is serious.”

The flight to Pittsburgh was marginally uneventful, but you did catch more than a few passers-by staring at you.

There were reporters waiting for you at your apartment, forcing you to fight and wiggle your way through them to your door.

Finally making it, you couldn’t contain any longer and shouted, “You all are a burden to the economy!” before slamming the door in their faces.

Ra, who had a key to your apartment and was already sat on your couch eating an egg roll, said, “They’ve been here since noon.  I couldn’t get them to leave.”

You shrugged, kicked off your shoes, threw yourself onto the floor and tore into your share of the dumplings.

“So,” Ra continued, “Tell me about your day.”

You filled her in on everything from the moment Steve popped up at your job to the awkward goodbye you’d just had with a certain cyborg.  At the end of your tale, you shoved your face into a throw pillow, and she started laughing.

“Den.  Oh, Den.  Why- I’m sorry, why?”

“I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

“You met a hot old guy.  You realized you’d caught feelings.  Then you saved him from Nazi’s.  Then you kissed him.  And then...  Nothing?”

“What was I supposed to do?  Hash out the details of my feelings in the middle of enemy territory?  With Steve freaking Rogers, who is mad at me, by the way, literally right there?”

“I mean, no, but you couldn’t have found a better moment?”

You lifted your head just long enough to give her a look then plunked it back down.  “He, I mean.  When was I going to have a better moment?  I just kept thinking about how important he became to me, and how he’d been away for a day and I couldn’t deal, and then how that nightmare was almost over, but that meant,” you waved your hands around, “I’d be leaving.  And, yeah, I’m an idiot. But I didn’t want to leave having not kissed him once.”

When she didn’t respond, you looked up to see her grinning with annoying enthusiasm.  

“What?”

“You like him.”

“I thought we’d established that.”

“No, I mean, you actually like him.  Like more than yeah cool let’s get drinks, or I also love board games let’s play Life.”

“Dude, we played so much Life holed up in that house.”  She hit you with a pillow.  “Don’t get too excited, I probably won’t see him again.  Maybe ever.”

“And this makes you feel...?”

“Sad.  Relieved.  Conflicted.  What else is new?”

She sighed and scooted closer to you on the couch, linking your arms together. “Well, at least you can still play Life with me.” 

Bucky had been in a sour mood since you left, and it had been a few days.  It had been a few days of thinking about everything his mind could get a handle on, and it was getting to be more than he could wrestle with.  At the heart of it all, he missed how easily you addressed heavy things, missed you.  And, sure, he knew it was partially his doing, but it still felt wrong somehow.  It didn’t help that his thoughts kept flickering back to wondering what you were doing.

In his and Steve’s apartment, he starfished on the living room floor and stared up at the popcorn ceiling.  Why would anyone make a ceiling popcorned on purpose?

He didn’t even say goodbye properly.  The whole team was there when you left; there was no good way to say what he’d wanted to.  And with Strucker and General Marino in custody, it was unlikely that he’d see you again.

The front door opened and shut.  Shit, he was supposed to be doing the dishes.

“Have you moved at all since I left?” asked Steve, a vein of humor in his voice as set an arm-load of groceries on the counter.

“I fell asleep,” Bucky lied.  He jumped to his feet with a huff.  “Sorry.”

Steve only nodded.

Bucky avoided his gaze and busied himself with the dishes he was supposed to do two hours ago.  If only you’d left him alone with his feelings, he may have been able to stifle them.  But you just had to go kissing him.  He could still feel you, he could still smell you.  And, while it wasn’t exactly fresh like a spring meadow, because apparently prisoners of Hydra don’t get to brush their teeth before an interrogation, it was wholly you.  And then you stopped.  And he was going to kiss you again; he hadn’t thought about it, he decided.  But then Steve had given him a moment to think about it, and he remembered why love was something he’d probably never be able to have.  After, though, when he didn’t and you had to say goodbye, he could feel how heartbroken your pulse was; he could sense it.  Bucky cursed his super soldier senses, accidentally shattering the plate he scrubbed in his hands.

“Hey!  I liked those,” Steve chided.  He paused at Bucky’s frustrated expression.  “Y’okay?”

Bucky worked his jaw a moment, “Yeah.  I’m good.  Just... I’m good.”

Not believing it for a second, as the locker room had surveillance cameras Steve happened to find at a very opportune moment, Steve played along and then sighed dramatically, “Shoot, Tony gave me the repo thing for Denna’s project,” he fished the thumb drive out of his pocket, “I forgot to give it to her.  Maybe I can mail it, I think I still have her address.”

Bucky snatched it out of his hand with a little more force than necessary, “I-I’ll get it to her.”  Maybe if he had a reason to see you he’d have the nerve to apologize.

“Buck, that’s like a six hour drive.”

“This is classified, you can’t mail it.  It’ll help me clear my head, anyway.  I’ll be back.”  As soon as Bucky made it out the door, Steve let a knowing smirk conquer his face.  Ladies and gentlemen, Bucky Barnes was smitten.

The takeout box of pad Thai you were working on was almost gone when there was a soft knocking on your front door.  You groaned, throwing your head back to look at the microwave clock.  It was nearly eight in the evening; there shouldn’t be any reporters lurking about anymore.

You thanked heaven you were still wearing a bra before squinting through the peephole.

James Buchanan Barnes stood outside your door, looking windswept and a bit guilty.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said to no one in particular.

[my-dear-anonym]

I’m pretty sure your girlfriend next door to me is cheating on you and normally I’d say it’s none of my business but when I met you that time before realising you were taken I pretty much fell in love AU with Jamilton please?

Masterpost

The Coffee God: Jamilton

Hamilton lived in an apartment building in New York. Of course, so did a lot of other people and one of those people just happened to be living next to him, imagine that. Not that he cared. Life was life and Hamilton lived through every second of it and by that, he meant that he didn’t sleep at all. he literally was awake through it all. Bless the coffee gods that smiled down upon him.

Speaking of coffee, he was out, which meant store trip, damn it, Hamilton hated store trips, it meant that he’d have to be away from his writing for at least half an hour depending on the traffic. Today, however, was totally worth it. Why? Because he ran into a coffee god in mortal form. That’s right. Hamilton wasn’t even kidding.

Hamilton had just entered the stair well, running down them like he was running out of time. Well, if you asked him, he was. The elevator was broken so he didn’t have much choice but the run was good for his legs since he never got out much. The trip up and down ten flights of stairs every time he ran out of coffee, which seemed like it was every other day, is was what kept him fit. His hand grabbed the railing, swinging him around the corner at top speed right into another body of pure muscle. Hamilton toppled to the floor, luckily on a flat landing, whilst the other person managed to stay upright.

“Fuck!” the wall of muscle swore.

Hamilton rubbed his head as he stumbled to his feet, “Watch it-” his sentence didn’t continue when his eyes landed on the beautiful man who stood before him, holding his arm out as he used his shirt to wipe the scalding coffee off his arm. “Holy shit-” Hamilton whispered. The man looked at him and Hamilton’s heart froze. “Sorry about running into you and spilling your coffee on your arm,” Hamilton found himself saying, weird, he never apologized.

“It’s all good. What’re you in such a hurry for?”

“Oh, I’m on my way to the store to get some coffee. I’m all out and I can’t function without it. Number one insomniac right here, ha. Where’ you headed? I don’t recall seeing you around.”

"I’m going to see my girlfriend, she lived on the tenth floor, 10B.”

“Oh! I know her, she’s my neighbor, good for you. Anyway, I should be on my way, I’ve got about twenty minutes before I crash and burn and the trip is about half an hour and I’ve got a meeting later so I can’t afford to crash and-”

“Dude, chill, here, you can have mine,” the man said, holding out his coffee for Hamilton. Hamilton just started at the cup like he was handing over a gold bar. “It’s not that big of a deal, just take it, I don’t need it.”

Hamilton gingerly took the cup from his hands. “I could kiss you.”

The man laughed, “Maybe if I didn’t have a girlfriend. Anyway, I better head up, she’s expecting me. See ya,” the man waved good bye, leaving Hamilton on the stairwell, clutching his cup of coffee.

“Dear God, I think I’m in love.” Hamilton chugged the coffee and immediately spat it back out and turned to shout up the stairs after the man, “YOU CALL THIS COFFEE THIS IS CREAM AND SUGAR WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?” His response was only distant cackling.

***

Several days later, Hamilton was typing away on his keyboard on his latest project when he heard his neighbor’s door open, being the nosy neighbor he was and hoping it was the coffee god, Hamilton peeked through his door’s eye hole and was astonished to find his neighbor making out with someone that definitely was not his coffee god. Maybe they broke up. That probably meant Hamilton was never going to see him again.

That actually broke his heart. He’d rather see the man again and not have him than never see him at all.

Hamilton returned to his work.

An hour later, he decided he needed coffee only to discover he was out. Goddamnit. Not again. Why did this keep happening? Oh right, because he was always drinking coffee.

Only one way to solve that problem, another mad dash down the stairwell. Only to find himself astounded for the second time that day. This time, when he went around the corner at full speed, he saw a blur as a man dodged out of his way and swore, “Holy shit!”

Hamilton skidded to a stop and turned around to find his long lost coffee god. “It’s you, the coffee god,” Hamilton whispered.

“The coffee god? That’s what you’re calling me?”

Hamilton shook his head, “Sorry for almost running into you again.”

“You never slow down, do you?”

“Never. What are you doing here anyway?”

“Same as last time, seeing my gf. You?”

“Oh, I’m making another coffee run-wait what? You’re seeing your girlfriend? I thought you broke up?”

“No? Why would you think that?”

“Umm, I’m not really sure this is my business...”

“Tell me.”

“I’m pretty sure your girlfriend next door to me is cheating on you and normally I’d say it’s none of my business but when I met you that time before realizing you were taken I pretty much fell in love,” Hamilton said almost too fast for anyone to be able to understand.

The cup of coffee he was holding dropped to the ground and spilled everywhere. Hamilton’s heart broke both for the man and for the spilled coffee. “What?” he asked.

“She was making out with some other dude outside her apartment.”

“Look, dude, I’m really sorry. You wanna come with me to get some more coffee? We can go to a little cafe or something? So you can sort this all out?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said in a daze, “lemme just go break  it off with her and we can do that.”

“Okay,” Hamilton stuck out his hand, “I’m Alexander Hamilton, by the way, we never really introduced ourselves.”

“Oh, right,” he shook Hamilton’s hand, “Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Thomas Jefferson.”

@hamilton-angst @unabashedinternetruins @purpledramallamas