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[heliads]

Loved the Newt Bridgerton AU! Thank you for writing it

thank you!!

[heliads]

finals are next week 🫢

AAAA. you've got this though!!!! mine are coming up soon too, we will get through this together <333 and then we will be free <333 so close!!!!

[heliads]

Newt x reader Bridgerton AU. Reader, the diamond of the season, is the Duchess of Hastings. She wants to marry someone who likes her as a person and isn’t after her money. Newt, son of a widowed viscountess, needs to marry to save his family’s reputation because his sister Sonya was seen alone with her fiancé Lord Aris before they were engaged. The anonymous writer Lady Whistledown is Ava, a widowed modiste who has her nose in everyone’s business, and Aris is the only one who knows.

'foxes and hounds' - newt

masterlist

The start of a new social season, although intended, supposedly, to be a cause for joy, feels rather more like a fierce uprising of dread, not celebration. Across the ton, young maidens find themselves new entrees– or, entrants– to the marriage mart. This game of rings and dances, men with ambition and women with more, will end in blissful happiness or deepest discontent. And all will be witnessed by every worthy family from one corner of the country to the next.

If all goes according to plan, an eligible would-be bride will find herself engaged to a man she loves, a man in possession of a handsome fortune and a sterling reputation. If luck slips past her, she’ll settle for someone decent, or someone without any income at all. If nothing goes in her favor, her first year in society will not be her last as a single woman. She will have to repeat her attempt the next year, this time without the glimmering aura of a new arrival, and hope that something within her has changed enough to attract a proposal. Otherwise, she will sink to the bottom of the pile of dance cards, ignored, abandoned, and grown up into a spinster. All that hard work gone to waste.

You’ve heard many young women discuss the marriage mart with nothing short of absolute terror in their voices. A good opening season can seal a girl’s fate forever. Attracting the eye of a worthy man is an impossible task for all but the best of the rosebuds, or so it seems. Most of us will settle for something halfway decent– a tidy sum per annum but nothing extravagant, a man with casual disinterest but nothing harsh. Something that can be shaped into something good, or at least ignored in favor of not being alone. Such is the romance of a married life.

You, however, hope to extract a little more out of the whole affair. As the Duchess of Hastings, you have no need for money. A marriage would be nice, the final touch on the portrait of a successful lady, but you do not require the financial stability of a husband. You have plenty of money and plenty of friends. You will inherit your estate. If you look for a husband, you will look only for love.

One would think, then, that entering your first season among the eligible women of the ton would be bereft of the panic permeating through most of your friends in search of husbands. However, when you line up with the rest of the young women to be presented to the Queen at the start of the season, you find that it couldn’t be less true. 

Your stomach is in knots, even as you sweep confidently through the corridor to wait outside the door. The white feather in your hair stands tall and proud. Your dress is crisp and finely stitched, the highest of fashion yet never gaudy. You attract stares wherever you go– from the other girls, envious and jealous and heartsick, from the men, longing and cutthroat and mercenary– but pretend they don’t phase you in the slightest. As duchess, you’ve had plenty of time to grow accustomed to onlookers. You won’t allow them to interfere with you on this all important day.

At last, your name is called, and you enter the throne room, your mother behind you. You keep your steps small but light, and seem to float towards your queen. When the time is right, you sink into an elegant curtsy. The moment seems to last forever, your knees bent, your hands shaking slightly, but when the queen calls you to stand, you look up to find her smiling benevolently at you.

“I believe I have found my diamond of the season,” she announces.

The room erupts in polite applause, and you do your best to smother a smile that’s entirely too giddy to be proper. As you retreat from the room, you gaze at the faces surrounding you, trying to remember which ones look genuinely happy for you and which seem to be identifying a prize pig for the slaughter. When the town gossips all gather later to share their thoughts on today’s proceedings, you’re certain that some of them will attempt to discredit you, saying that of course the queen would choose the duchess as her diamond, but you know just as well as all of them that you deserve the honor today. You were the best of everyone here, and it’s plain to see.

Among all of them, your gaze catches on a singular man, almost lost in the crowd from all the bodies packed together but no less entrancing. What strikes you the most is that his face seems kind, and his eyes sparkle with pride as they watch you go. Pride for you, for your accomplishments. As if he couldn’t be more delighted that you of all people were named the season’s diamond.

Then you’re gone from the room, and the kind man is no longer before you. Still, you puzzle over the encounter long after your carriage takes you home. You don’t believe you recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything to sway you towards any decision. An image of the young man swims in your mind– short, dirty blond hair, an upturned mouth, dark eyes, his face almost spritely. Clever, for sure.

You know better than to mess with clever men. Clever men are the type to try and twist your mind, convince you that they only love you then attempt to make off with your money. You know full well what marriage to you will offer any would-be suitor. This season, you may be looking for affection, but every man in the room will be after your fortune. The task of finding someone who truly cares for you will be a difficult one indeed.

So, clever men or not, you’ll have to keep your heart under close guard. When the first ball of the season comes to be, you don one of your finest dresses, and firmly admonish yourself to be careful. The game of hearts is not one that you lose. Either you win, or you destroy yourself.

You time your arrival carefully, so as to make the best entrance, and your efforts are rewarded. From the moment you’re announced, all eyes turn to you. Were it not for your extensive experience with being scrutinized in the grand magnifying lens that is the ton, you’d be nervous to have that many people looking at you. Even still, you can’t pretend you don’t feel a small flutter in your stomach.

It gets easier once you sweep further into the room, once people start smiling at you again, when the conversation picks up and you’re asked for your first dance of the evening, which you accept. Your partner is a charming man named Minho– dark hair, witty eyes, an excellent sense of humor. He’s athletic and a decent dancer, and by the time the music stops, you’re back to your usual self again. You can’t stop yourself from mentally sizing up your dance partner. He seems nice, and you wouldn’t be bored around him, at least. His family owns land. Although he’s not of your precise social standing, few are, and he’s close enough to you that it would be a respectable match.

Still– still, you think to yourself, as you move away from the center of the floor once more to consider your dance card, it’s not quite enough. You want love, you want a spark, and you didn’t quite get that with Minho. There are plenty of eligible suitors here, though, and many more balls to come. You’ll have other opportunities to select a match.

A few dances later, though, your feet are beginning to feel heavy and you’re still no closer to finding someone of interest than you were at the start. A good lady of extensive training such as yourself should have no problem dancing the entire night through with a pleasant smile on her face, but you’re still human, still tired, and your charming demeanor is beginning to pinch at the seams before long.

The music for the latest dance ends, and you curtsy to your partner, praying silently that no one else will be looking to fill your dance card for the next rotation. However, when you turn around, you’re greeted with the sight of many anxious faces. Something inside you wilts, perhaps your endurance.

Before the mobs can descend upon you, however, a figure appears in front of you. You sigh in relief to see one of your closest friends, Miss Teresa Agnes. “Teresa! And here I thought I wouldn’t have a single good friend all evening.”

Teresa laughs, her dark hair shining. “I would never abandon you. Certainly not when our diamond is sparkling so spectacularly tonight.”

You smile at her. “I’m not the only one who’s sparkling, Teresa. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” Teresa says sincerely. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce someone to you. This is Viscount Newt, a good friend of mine. I met him through Thomas.”

You smile to yourself as Teresa turns to beckon someone towards you. Teresa has been harboring a not-so-secret admiration for Thomas since you were all small. This is her first season in the social circles, too, and if she doesn’t come out of it with a proposal from Thomas, you’ll think the sky has fallen. Even now, he’s watching her fondly from across the room, trying to pretend as if he isn’t pining madly while Minho teases him for it.

“Here he is at last,” Teresa says, and all of a sudden you can’t think about Thomas’ case of lovesickness for a second longer, because Teresa has brought her friend before you, and you know him. It’s the stranger from your presentation to the queen. The nice one, the clever one. The one that caught your eye, and then your imagination.

You curtsy automatically, and Newt bows. Once the two of you straighten up, you’re able to observe him more closely. You’d only gotten a fleeting glimpse earlier, but now you can drink in the sight of him, and you do. His eyes are dark, but catch the lights like stars. His mouth has a habit of twitching up at the sides, as if he’s always thinking of a joke but just barely managing to keep it at bay. When he looks at you, he really looks at you. You’ve been stared at all night by would-be suitors, but their gazes never went farther than surface level. Right now, it’s as if Newt can see through to your very soul, and most intimately of all, appreciates it.

Teresa gives you a confused look, and you realize you’ve been standing in silence for longer than is probably courteous. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say.

“I must return the sentiment,” Newt returns. “Teresa has talked about you many times. I’ve been quite eager to meet you.”

“I hope I’m worthy of what she’s told you,” you say.

Newt smiles again. “I believe you’re even better than that,” he tells you.

Teresa is looking at you with an odd smile. “I believe I’d better let the two of you get to know each other, then,” she says, and sweeps away before you can stop her.

Newt laughs. “She’s been wanting to set us up for ages. For a friendship, I mean,” he breaks in hastily. “Apparently, she thinks we have a similar sense of humor.”

“I look forward to finding that out myself,” you smile.

Newt’s eyes flash with mirth again, delighting you. Behind you, the music picks up again. Newt extends a hand towards you. “Would you mind if I shared a dance with you? Unless, of course, you’d rather sit for a while.”

“I’d love to dance,” you say quickly, and it’s true. All of a sudden, the pain in your feet is gone, as if it had never existed at all.

Newt smiles and takes your hand to lead you to the dance floor. The orchestra begins its melody, and you start your dance. You make a mental note to ask Teresa a little more about Newt later; he dances like an aristocrat, but he speaks so freely to you. It’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced in a suitor before.

Newt arches a brow as he steps through the dance. “Sizing me up, are you? It may be improper of me to ask, but I do hope I’m meeting your requirements.”

Your cheeks heat up. “I’m simply appreciating your mastery of this dance. Nothing more.”

Newt laughs easily. “Of course not. It’s not as if everyone else here is doing the same thing right now. Every dance partner is a strategy meeting. In just a matter of minutes, you’ll walk away knowing if I am a worthy wager, and I will do the same. This ball is full of hounds and foxes, my lady. We all know our parts.”

You glance at him, feeling a curious grin tugging at your lips. “And which am I? Fox or hound?”

Newt returns your proud gaze. “I suppose we’ll find out at the end of the season, won’t we?”

You laugh, feeling oddly triumphant. Newt has this way about him that you find enchanting. It’s  almost breaching impropriety with how candid he is around you, but it only makes you trust him more. The dance ends far sooner than you’d like. Newt relinquishes you to the storm of suitors outside, hopefully with just as much reluctance as you.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Newt is truly the only one that stands out to you. You don’t have a chance to dance with him again, but you keep making eye contact as you dance with other partners. You can practically hear his clever words in your head, catching you in the act of evaluating the suitors in front of you. Fox or hound?

When the ball ends and you return to your carriage for the ride home, you’re blissful, practically dreamy. You’ve had enough time with Newt to dream about it until the next ball, where you’ll likely repeat the same cycle over and over again until the season ends.

However, your golden mood is shattered when your chaperone sits down across from you. Her face, by contrast, is twisted with disappointment. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’re getting yourself into?” She asks once the carriage pulls away.

Still caught up in the heady dream of a merry boy who smiled the brightest when he danced with you, you don’t realize the trap descending around you until it’s too late. “What trouble?”

Your chaperone’s lips purse. “You’re meant to be dancing only with eligible gentlemen, my lady. I should hope that you’d be able to recognize the suitable candidates from the unseemly by now.”

The veil is pierced, and you’re beginning to be brought back to earth. “What are you talking about? I thought I made perfectly reasonable choices with my dance partners.”

Your chaperone shakes her head, a quick, sharp gesture. “All but one. Goodness, haven’t you heard about the trouble with that one family? I can’t believe Miss Agnes had the nerve to introduce him to you, but perhaps the fact that she’s so besotted with Lord Thomas is upsetting her mind.”

Your heart freezes in your chest. “You can’t mean to say that the Viscount is not a suitable bachelor? What else could he be?”

The other woman sighs. “You don’t know, do you? My lady, I would not interfere if I did not feel the need, but I can assure you, his motives with you are purely mercenary. That man is desperate for something to cover up the follies of his family, and you, my dear, are the perfect gilded shield.”

You feel cold. “What follies?”

“His sister, Miss Sonya, was seen alone with her fiance,” your chaperone murmurs at last. “Lord Aris. I would think you would have heard his name, although perhaps not connected it with Viscount Newt. Miss Sonya and Lord Aris were happily engaged, and by all accounts it was a fine union, but they were seen together without a chaperone past dark. Quite the scandal. The Viscount knows it and is eager to get the ton talking about anything but his sister’s misdeeds. Entering into a courtship with you would do just the trick.”

She’s right, and you know it, and you hate it. “He seemed so genuine,” you whisper, and instantly know how foolish it sounds.

Your chaperone, to her credit, is kind enough to take pity on you. “He did,” she tells you, “and you looked happy together. You would be less happy, however, when you found out the truth. I would rather you know now and stay away. Men like that are nothing but trouble.”

You nod solemnly, turning your head to watch the dark landscapes rumbling past. The sun is already beginning to rise, a hallmark of a late night out. It had been a beautiful night up until this, and now the entire evening is ruined in your mind.

“I feel for Miss Sonya,” you whisper. “She was already engaged. They were just talking.”

“She knows the rules of society, and so do you,” your chaperone reminds you. “We all have our roles to play.”

And the consequence of setting a foot outside your role is instant public mortification. Yes. What a forgiving world. You immediately plant your exhausted body in your bed when you return, hardly sparing the time to wash and dress, but the only things to bloom from your rest are troubled dreams of the boy that could have been yours. Now that you know the truth– that Newt was only trying to use you for a better reputation– every interaction with him is tainted.

You’d meant what you said in the carriage, though. You did think Newt was genuine. Hadn’t he laughed more than usual when he was with you? Hadn’t he regarded you with that fierce pride of his, as if he’d finally found a mind that was an equal to his? Hadn’t he watched you with something akin to jealousy when you danced with the other men that weren’t him?

Hadn’t you wished he would only dance with you? And don’t you wish that you could truly do what you promised yourself and marry only for love, never mind the rest? It is a simple dream to think that love is easy. Marriage is not simple, not in the ton, not in your lifetime. Every one of your days will be shaped by the whims of society, even when they take Newt away from you.

When it comes time for the next ball, you do your best to strengthen your spirits before you go. You intentionally avoid him, making sure to always have your dance card full whenever the music ends. It’s easy enough to find a crowd large enough to hide you from him, and yet you still catch glimpses of Newt from across the hall, several partners down, in a carriage many behind yours. You successfully go two balls, then three, without seeing him, but it aches like a knife in your ribs when you think about what could have been.

As it turns out, you’re not the only one wishing you were with him. At the fifth ball of the season, your attempts to distance yourself from the viscount are foiled at last. Newt tracks you down, signing his name on your dance card before you can stop him before leading you out to the dance floor.

“That’s a rather abrupt way of asking a lady to dance, don’t you think?” You ask as you curtsy.

Newt bows. “I felt it was the only way of guaranteeing that you would dance with me.”

“A lady never declines a gentleman in need of a dance,” you remind him.

The music picks up, and the two of you begin your paces. “A lady also never avoids a gentleman as thoroughly as you have at the last few balls,” Newt says. “Were it not for the fact that I know you to be as perfectly agreeable a duchess as there could ever be, I would say that it was personal.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, even with his hands on you, guiding you through the steps. “It’s not meant to work out, my lord. Us, I mean. We cannot forget the rules.”

When Newt speaks again, his voice sounds hurt. “Why not? Forgive me, my lady, but I remember what it was like that first night. You were happy. We were happy, and happy together. What changed?”

At last, you risk a glance towards him, and instantly regret it. Newt’s eyes are filled with genuine hurt. Are you wrong? Did he actually want you as more than a cover-up? “I heard about your sister,” you say as delicately as you can.

Still, Newt flinches as if you’ve hit him. “You don’t know the full story,” Newt says raggedly.

“Then tell me,” you beg him. “I would choose you if I could, but everyone seems to think that you are only interested in me to advance your station. Give me a reason to believe in you, not them.”

“I can’t say it here,” Newt whispers. 

“I can’t go somewhere with you alone,” you tell him quietly. “Especially not after what happened to your sister. You must tell me now, or we will never have another chance.”

“Alright,” he says at last. “But you mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

Once you agree, Newt begins to speak in a hushed whisper hardly audible to you, let alone the other couples around you. “Sonya is deeply in love with Lord Aris, and he is in love with her. So much so to the point that he has been battling a deep rage ever since that awful gossip rag, Lady Whistledown, slightly disparaged her last season. He took it upon himself to find out Lady Whistledown’s identity, and somehow, he did. The only problem is, Lady Whistledown is not someone Sonya would consider a friend. He wanted to warn her about the dangers of being anything less than perfect around that insidious writer, and he didn’t want to waste a moment. He called on her to meet with him as soon as possible. He didn’t think they would be seen, but they were, and of course Lady Whistledown ran with it to discredit them in case they would reveal her.”

You suck in a harsh breath. “It was never anything wrong, then. He merely wanted to protect her.”

Newt nods. “Lord Aris is a good man. He never would have done something like this if he realized how it would backfire. He regrets it daily, even though all he wanted to do was keep my sister safe. The ton knows their characters, too. Neither of them would do anything unseemly. The rumors diminish by the day, and soon, it will all be over. They will be happily married.”

He sighs and looks at you again. “I tell you this to explain myself, and to clear my name. I have nothing to hide from the situation with my sister and her future husband. In fact, it is only because they directly asked me not to spread this information that I haven’t gone public with the identity of Lady Whistledown herself to spare their reputations. I have nothing to fear, my lady. Certainly nothing that would make me risk the happiness of my marriage on a good rumor. I would court you because I have never met anyone like you before, nor do I think I ever will. You are utterly entrancing in every possible way. If you do not wish to be with me in that fashion, I would understand.”

You shake your head quickly. “I do want that, my lord. I want you.”

A careful smile slips across Newt’s face. “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” you tell him. “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you at my presentation. I would have found you no matter what lies they spread.”

Newt grins. “I believe I have decided something important, my lady. About your inner nature.”

You arch a brow as he spins you. “And what is that?”

“You’re a hound,” he informs you matter-of-factly. “Sharp and bright. Brave, too. But, then again, I am a hound as well. We make quite the pair, I think.”

“I think so too,” you tell him. In the days to come, rumors will abound about the viscount and the duchess. At first, there will be surprise across the ton, but then, even the most tenacious of gossips will realize that this makes perfect sense. The most clever of men and the most ambitious of women, bound together in holy matrimony. Even the best of poets couldn’t concoct a story that beautiful.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

the maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[heliads]

Just wanted to say I love your writing and you’re so incredibly talented!!!

awww thank you so much!! this made my day <333

[heliads]

Hiiiiii <3

BESTIE HELLO!! how are you??? hope you are doing so so well and thriving and succeeding in everything you set your mind to xoxo

[heliads]

wait didn't you have a suits work? More specifically a Harvey fic?

i think you're thinking of a different writer, sorry! i've never written for suits, in fact i've never watched it haha. it's been on my watchlist for a while though lol!

[heliads]

REQUESTS OPEN OMG EVERYONE CHEERED. hi i was thinking.. what if… hmm.. what if.. guardian angel y/n x connor lassiter where in unwind instead of lev saving him after the happy jack explosion its y/n. (they kiss at the end PLEase)

ANYWAYS ILY u survived exams i’m so proud !

'angel ex machina ' - connor lassiter

masterlist

They find Connor Lassiter staring at a billboard. He’s slumped against a wall, eyes hollow and vacant, like nothing in this world could possibly be more fascinating than a couple hundred square feet of boastful advertising. The bright colors seem to laugh at him, tantalizingly out of reach from where he crouches now, separated from the rest of the world by the walls of a harvest camp.

We have guardian angels! Low prices, high protection! 

Even if Connor somehow managed to piece together enough cash for their exorbitant prices, it’s obvious that a guardian angel would be wasted on him. Connor is days away from his own unwinding. Not even a real guardian angel could pull him out now, let alone the vapid models in suits they’ve got bedazzling that billboard. Everyone knows you can’t actually hire a guardian angel. They just show up somehow, save your ass however many times you need it, then disappear. There, then gone. Intrinsically a part of your life, and then it’s like you’d never known them at all.

Guardian angels are extraordinarily rare. The closest Connor’s ever come to meeting one is hearing a story his dad used to tell, and even then, Kirk Lassiter had only briefly glimpsed one of his neighbors getting saved from a car accident by one of the angels. Not exactly a core memory for Connor. His mom had never seen one at all.

That’s the way it usually goes. There aren’t that many guardian angels in the world. Rare things, they are. Somehow, they decide that a person is important enough to save, and then they swoop in and do what they do best. That’s usually saving them from disasters– floods, tornadoes, you name it. There’s an iconic photograph of a guardian angel rescuing someone from a burning building that Connor sees annually in his textbooks; something about the wings silhouetted against the flames is irresistible to school publishers. Hayden swears that he heard about somebody who got a guardian angel to do their taxes, but Connor figures that’s another of the boy’s bad jokes. Guardian angels are for real problems, not tax fraud.

Hell, no one even knows what guardian angels look like. There are photographs, sure, but they always turn out strangely blurry, like when the sun’s too bright outside and all you can do is squint. Even the people who’ve seen guardian angels say that their memories faded oddly quickly after the incident. No one can decide if they look like people, if their wings always appear, if they’re even recognizable as guardian angels at all. The only thing the masses can agree on is that guardian angels do exist, and they’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Least of all Connor. He’s harbored a hope that he’d get to meet one at some point, obviously, everyone has. Imagining that you’d be important enough to warrant an angel sent to watch over you is everyone’s secret fantasy.

Connor’s a few hours away from getting unwound, though, so he’s pretty sure that dream will die like the rest of his:  unwanted, unclaimed, unfulfilled. He’ll go to pieces as yet another boy who dreamed of being great, another poor soul ignored by the angels. The only difference is that, unlike most of the teenage population, he’s not even mediocre enough to live past sixteen. He’ll be in parts by tomorrow. Then, who knows? Maybe his elbow will go to a kid worthy of an angel. Connor wasn’t, but maybe his unwound pieces will be.

Connor shakes his head slightly to rid himself of the thoughts. He’s not usually like this. He’s not a quitter. He’ll go under the knife protesting his unwinding. It’s just a little difficult to keep up the fighting spirit when he knows that at last, despite all his running and hiding, he’ll be unwound anyway. There’s no fighting the Juvenile Authority. All his great efforts just delayed the inevitable. It cuts him to say it, but it looks like they were right after all.

In an attempt to get his mind out of obviously dangerous waters, Connor rips his gaze away from the offending billboard and glances around him. Only now does he notice another future unwind drawing close to him. Connor stretches and stands, forcing the corners of his mouth to upturn slightly so Y/N, his closest friend here and only ally among the cops and lambs to slaughter, don’t think he’s totally deranged.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asks, coming to a stop by his side.

Connor shrugs listlessly. “Nothing. Drafting my will.”

With anyone else, he’d probably stay silent, but Connor learned a long time ago that trying to hold his tongue around Y/N L/N is a losing game. They met in the basement of Sonia’s antique shop, Y/N having arrived barely a few minutes after Connor and Risa. Talk about a coincidence. They quickly hit it off, and as proof of their friendship, they’ve even ended up at the same harvest camp after it all went south back at the Graveyard.

If Connor were trapped with anyone, though, he’s glad it’s them. Not even Hayden can make Connor laugh as much as he does with Y/N. They understand him in a way that no one else ever has. If he were feeling particularly stupid, he would call it love, but Connor knows better. They’re both about to get stripped to pieces. If he spills his guts now and they friendzone him, Connor will have ruined the best part of his life for nothing.

So he stays silent, and watches Y/N laugh at his joke. “I want your car after they unwind you,” they inform him. “Maybe even the house.”

Connor pretends to be outraged. “Both? That’s absurd.”

Y/N snorts. “Who else would you give them to? The tithe?” Then, in a quieter voice, they glance towards the billboard Connor was staring at, and add on, “Maybe an angel?”

Connor sighs. “They can’t sell real guardian angels. No amount of flashy billboards can hide that.”

Y/N nods. “You’re still tempted, though?”

Connor lifts a shoulder. “Who wouldn’t be tempted? The idea is great. I’d love for someone to save me right now. Or maybe just care enough to try.”

“I care,” Y/N offers.

Connor gives them a wry smile. “I know you do. But you’re stuck in the same mess as I am, so maybe I’ll hold off on believing in your escape plan until you’re out, too.”

Y/N looks at him for a second, too deep for Connor to understand, then cracks a grin. “You should believe in me, Lassiter. I’m tunneling out from under the dorms with just a spoon. I might make it halfway to Florida by the time we get the unwind order.”

Connor scoffs. “That only works in movies. You’d need a miracle to break through an inch of concrete, let alone all the way past the borders.”

Y/N smiles at him, a little secretively, a little knowingly. “I’m pretty good with miracles.”

“Sure you are,” Connor says, stretching his arms to rid himself of an unpleasant pinch in his muscles. “Any chance you can whip one up to save me from my impending doom?”

He isn’t expecting Y/N to respond, obviously, but when their face drops at the sight of something approaching behind him, Connor knows it’s not just from his lack of belief. “I’d have to make it quick, wouldn’t I?” They mutter under their breath.

Connor turns around to see a squad of Juvey-cops bearing down on him. He swears under his breath. “This is it, right? They’re going to take me away?”

Y/N’s face looks ashen and wrong. “I should have saved you. “

“We should have saved each other,” Connor corrects gently. Usually, he isn’t the sentimental type, but as the guards get closer, he can’t resist the urge to lean closer to Y/N and whisper to them, “Hey, I’m glad for the time we had, alright? It meant– It meant a lot to me. You know. If I was going to talk to anyone on my last day, I would have wanted it to be you anyway.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “Don’t say that.”

Connor stares at them. “Why not? It’s true.”

Y/N looks like they want to argue– why, Connor isn’t sure, but the guilt in their eyes is like nothing he’s ever seen before– but before they can say a word, the Juvey-cops close in around him, cutting Connor off from Y/N like slamming a door in their face. They give him the usual speech about how it’s time for him to be unwound, but Connor can’t find it within himself to pay attention. It’s so typical of him, honestly, to be zoning out during what may be his last hour whole, but all he can think about is Y/N, who disappears into the distance as the cops drag him away, Y/N, who he’s now left here alone, Y/N, who will join him in this fate not long from now.

Connor doesn’t want to be unwound. Obviously. He doesn’t want this, and the sheer force of his not wanting overwhelms him as they lead him closer and closer to the doors of the Chop Shop. A crowd of other unwinds has gathered by the door; apparently the final moments of the Akron AWOL make for some good entertainment. The band is playing. Connor wants to run, run far and fast like he always does, but for the first time in his life he realizes how pointless it is. If he tried to flee, they would catch him. They would drag him back, and it would be like nothing ever happened. There is no way this day ends with anything but Connor in pieces.

Connor forces his legs to move him mechanically towards the Chop Shop entrance. Just before the darkness of the place swallows him whole, something tells Connor to glance over his shoulder one last time and he sees Y/N staring at him beseechingly. He doesn’t know how he’s able to spot them so easily in the crowd, but he can. Like he would know them anywhere. Like doing anything but looking at them is impossible.

Then the guards shove him into the Chop Shop, and Y/N is gone, replaced by the dark certainty of Connor’s unwinding. The hallway seems to stretch out forever, but before Connor can take even one more step, a few very confusing things happen all at once.

First:  there’s this shift in the air. Connor can’t describe it. It feels strange and wrong, burning on his tongue like electricity. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and Connor knows at once that something is about to go wrong.

Second:  the room erupts in fire and smoke. The bone-rattling boom of the explosion comes later, a little delayed, but Connor sees the white flash of heat and light first. He’s knocked off of his feet, and time seems to slow down. The entire world is gone, replaced only by Connor, floating hazily through the smoky air, and the blossom of fire around him, searing off everything else.

Third, and most confusing of all:  out of nowhere, Y/N is right in front of him. Y/N, yes, but Y/N different somehow. It takes him a moment to realize why. Their eyes glow white, brighter even than the explosion, and their skin is radiating off this cool, pearlescent light. He has no idea how they could have possibly gotten in front of him so fast. He has no idea how they’re seemingly immune to the heat and force of the explosion around them.

Y/N reaches for him, pulling Connor into their arms. Their head presses against his, and they whisper quietly, forcefully, “Be safe, Connor.”

The command reverberates through Connor’s entire body. He doesn’t even remember hitting the ground, and when the explosion clears, he’s– He’s fine, actually. Nothing hurts. When Connor stares at his body, he’s utterly unharmed. Not even a scratch on his skin. He is totally untouched by the explosion that has just decimated the entirety of the Chop Shop.

Connor looks around him and realizes that Y/N is sitting in front of him. They’re both on the grass outside the Chop Shop, although he doesn’t remember getting there. Y/N is unharmed also, although Connor can say for certainty that there is still something wrong about them. It takes him a moment to get his scattered thoughts in order, and then he remembers. Y/N’s eyes wink pearlescent at him from a few paces away, and he knows.

“You’re a guardian angel,” Connor stammers out.

Y/N nods. “I am.”

Easy as that. They say it like it’s nothing. Like Connor hasn’t just had his life saved by a supernatural being currently sitting criss-cross applesauce in front of him on the waving grass. He’s had a lot of time to wonder what it would be like to meet a guardian angel, but it never would have occurred to him that one would have been in his life this entire time without him knowing.

Connor stares unseeingly at them. Try as he might, he can’t force himself to believe that Y/N is anything other than, well, Y/N. His friend. His best friend. The person he’s been crushing on since they stumbled into him by accident in the dark of Sonia’s basement. He remembers the flighty beat of their heartbeat when they were in his arms then, and he remembers what it felt like when they embraced him again in the smothering heat of the Chop Shop inferno. All Y/N. All an angel.

“You were trying to save me,” he begins, then stops. That really sums it up.

“I was,” Y/N agrees. “It was always about you, Connor.”

The idea doesn’t compute to him. “Then why wait until now to save my life? Why not make sure the Juveys never found us out in the first place?”

Y/N tilts their head to the side, considering this. “The job of a guardian angel is to save their primary assignment, sure, but also to minimize suffering wherever they go. I knew the Chop Shop explosion would happen if I didn’t save you. This needed to happen so everyone else here could be rescued. Worse things would have happened if I didn’t interfere now. It may not seem that way, but it is.”

Connor can practically feel gears in his head spinning. “So you knew how this would end the whole time?”

“I knew the great catastrophes of your life,” Y/N corrects. “I knew many paths you could take. This was the big risk, though. I didn’t get to see any more after that. Now I know just as much about your future as you do.”

Connor whistles under his breath. “That’s comforting.” Then, a terrible thought occurs to him. “Wait, that means I was your assignment. Like a job? Were you ever really my friend at all, or was that just something you had to do to complete your assignment?”

Y/N rears back as if hurt. “I have always been your friend. Guardian angels aren’t supposed to ever reveal themselves. I was actually meant to never talk to you until I saved you.”

“What changed?” Connor asks. He can’t stop himself.

Y/N smiles softly. “I saw you. You looked like someone fun.”

“Someone fun,” Connor echoes. He tries to think about his life, if anyone could see that and decide he was someone worthwhile. Someone fun. Someone an angel could watch and want to befriend. A warm feeling blossoms in his chest. Pride, maybe. Or the realization that the one secret he’s been keeping may go both ways after all.

“Yeah,” Y/N says, growing a little embarrassed. “I like you. My bad.”

Connor laughs. “That’s not bad. I like you too, by the way. In case you didn’t see it when you were receiving visions about my life.”

Y/N’s eyes dart up to his. “Really?”

“Really,” Connor says. “What, you didn’t know?”

Y/N shakes their head. “Like I said, I could only see what happened to you up to the Chop Shop exploding. Everything after that is a mystery.”

“Well,” Connor says, drawing closer to them. “I’m glad I get to surprise an angel once in my life.”

Before Y/N can ask him what he means, Connor kisses them, and after a moment of shock, they kiss him back. He’s not sure if he’s the first person in the world to have kissed an angel before, but he wouldn’t mind having that accolade under his belt. Just so long as he gets to be the person to kiss an angel two times, or three. Or forever.

requested by @julysn, i hope you enjoy!

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @locke-writes, @sirofreak

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[heliads]

Hi, I know your requests are closed but I was just thinking of like this idea I had. It's a Minho x fem!reader where the reader is touch-starved and craves his touch (they're dating) and Minho isn't big on touch and reader overhears him talking to his friends about how sometimes shes 'too clingy' and she gets sad and kinda stops being so touchy and if she wants anything she goes to Newt for hugs and cuddles or even if shes sad and Minho gets jealous and it's all fluff and a little angst. Thanks.

so you know the requests are closed. why send this in then

[heliads]

okay, hopefully you have room for more than one request from me !! this time, could i pretty please request billy rocks with a gender-neutral reader, since you know i have to send in my obligatory magnificent seven request ? the reader is a member of the seven and their resident medic, in charge of patching up everyone else’s injuries after a fight. they’ve had a kind of flirting banter thing going on with billy for a while, but neither of them are planning on really doing anything about it anytime soon, until the reader collapses after a battle because they ignored their own injuries in favor of helping the others and billy completely freaks out. when the reader finally wakes up, the others tell them that billy hasn’t left their side the entire time they were out, and after billy soundly scolds them for ignoring their own health, they finally confess ?

again, obviously you don’t have to right this if you’d rather not, but if you do, thank you so much in advance, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'living, surviving' - billy rocks

masterlist

He will die tomorrow morning, but now, while the town of Rose Creek is still quiet and dark, Billy Rocks is alive. Alive and alone. No one sees him, no one knows him. He remains invisible, curtained by deep shadow. He looks around him at the wavering lights of candles in windows, and wonders, depressingly, when they’ll get blown out by gunshots. When every glass pane shatters, when every roof collapses, when each body falls and friend goes missing, Billy will remember this night, back when nothing had gone wrong yet.

The wind whistles through the slots in the door out back, bringing with it the vague lilts of laughter and conversation from a few doors down. There are people here who still harbor hopes of walking out of tomorrow morning’s fight alive, and they’ve gathered around fires or drinks to convince themselves that it’ll happen. Not Billy, though. Billy, as per usual, is alone.

He likes being alone, though. It lets him see what others don’t. Billy remembers being a child once, a long time ago in a place that was not this one. A schoolmate of his, a friend, maybe, had shown him a print of an ancient warship in the book with a proud figurehead at the front cut out to look like the head of a god. It was meant to guard the ship, apparently, and keep it from harm.

It had always struck Billy as a rather lonesome thing. One god, brought down to land in the form of a wooden carving, always staring ahead sightlessly and separated from the crew. Forever bond to solitude. Watching out for the men aboard that would never look it in the eyes.

Now, though, Billy thinks that he quite understands it. He is alone now, hidden comfortably in the shadows such that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Tucked away in a dark corner, he can see the various inhabitants of Rose Creek nervously passing the time before they’ll likely lose their lives. Lost in drink or card games, doing their best to do too much so their minds can’t sit and think about how little time they’ve got left, nobody has the patience or nerve to check for things hiding in the shadows. They certainly don’t look hard enough to find him.

They wouldn’t if they tried. Billy has had a lot of time to perfect the art of remaining out of sight. He shows off when he wants to, twirling a silver knife just right so the lithe blade reflects the sun like an arc of pure light, but he prefers being quiet. He’ll let Goodnight do the talking, or Billy’s knives. When he’s quiet, he can watch. When he’s quiet, he can learn the secrets about people that they aren’t aware they’re telling. He can guide his crew from the shadows. He can lead them from his place alone above the stormy water.

Usually, no one can find Billy unless he wants them to. The exception, of course, is Goodnight, because as business partners, it became somewhat of a necessity to find Billy when need be, so he’s let that slide. Tonight, though, with Goodnight gone and everyone else highly strung due to the battle looming ahead, Billy doesn’t think he’ll be found.

That makes it even more surprising when he is. Billy sees this new arrival coming, of course, but he assumes they’ll veer off towards the bar, or that they’ll go laugh with the drinkers or the dancers like everyone else sees fit on this restless night. Instead, their path stays true, and they not only find Billy at once but pull up a chair next to him. Like the only thing they want to do on what may be their last night alive is to spend time with him. Like Billy is the only person worth seeing at all.

Ordinarily, Billy Rocks has no problem holding his tongue. He’ll whisper a few biting jokes here or there, typically never above the volume of a sigh, but he’s never had a problem with keeping his peace. Tonight seems to be a night of surprises, though, because Y/N L/N, their resident medic, has hardly sat down before Billy’s asking them cautiously, “You don’t want to be with the others, then?”

Y/N glances towards him, surprised, as if they hadn’t even realized this would be an option. “Now, why would I do that when I’ve got such pleasant company here with me?”

Billy chuckles in spite of himself. “It’s not the most entertaining of company.”

“Mmm,” they hum, “but I like it better that way, I think. Tonight’s not a night for shouting. Seems wrong that way.”

Billy lets out a slow breath. He can feel his fingers curling at his sides, readying themselves for triggers or blades come the next morning. “No, it doesn’t,” he agrees.

Quiet falls. Billy waits for them to leave, but they don’t. They stay, and they smile at him, warm in the lamplight from across the room, and say, “You don’t mind me being here, do you?”

“Of course not,” Billy replies hastily. “Besides, what sort of man would I be to kick out our medic the night before a fight? I can’t risk upsetting you now, sweetheart. You might do something wild, like sew me up with pink thread.”

Y/N laughs. Billy finds himself glad for the isolation again– out there in the main room of the bar, the sound of Y/N’s laughter might have blended in with the stomping of heels, the creaking of wood, but out here, with nothing else to disguise it but his own bated breath, Billy delights in it entirely. The sound curls around him like music, and his fingers twitch again, this time not to reach for a weapon but to hold their laughter. To hold them, maybe. It’s a good thing he knows better. It’s a good thing he doesn’t want that more than anything, because if he did, he might do something foolish like try.

“I’d never mess with you,” they grin. “Promise. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Wouldn’t just ruin your reputation, it would ruin my skin,” Billy grumbles, but he’s smiling again.

Y/N knows it too. They always seem to smile all the brighter when he’s smiling too, like it’s a bet they’ve won. “I wouldn’t dare,” they promise. “Besides, I can’t go threatening one of our best shooters the night before I fight, can I? What sort of friend would I be? I need you on my side to keep me safe.”

Billy arches a brow. “I’ve seen you with a gun, darling. I’m pretty sure you can keep yourself safe all on your own.”

Y/N’s lips curl suggestively. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Something hot rushes through the back of his neck. “I leave it to you to find the fun in a gunfight,” Billy says hoarsely. Changing the subject is the safest thing to do right now. It’s safer than leaning closer, than returning Y/N’s fire with fire. Safer than touching them, which is what he wants to do right now most of all.

This is not the night for that, Billy reminds himself. They’re going to die tomorrow and he won’t cloud either of their judgment. So, even though he wants nothing more than to keep testing this theory and see where they break, he forces himself to pull back and resume a normal conversation. He encourages Y/N to get some rest before everything goes to hell tomorrow, and hopefully, they will. Y/N’ll have a lot of hard work headed their way by dawn. He doesn’t want them any more stressed than they need to be.

The sun rises, bringing trouble with it. Bogue brings a lot of men, too many by Billy’s estimate. He grits his teeth as he watches them ride in, and prepares himself for a long, bloody morning. They’ve set up a small medical center in one of the better protected buildings where Y/N can practice their craft. If Billy can only make sure none of Bogue’s thugs make it to them, he’ll die a happy man.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to like the idea of sitting pretty while their friends die. Ordinarily, Billy wouldn’t blame them for that, but he can’t deny that his heart starts racing whenever they sprint out into the streets to tend to the wounds of their fallen friends. Once Goodnight turns up, the other man wastes no time in teasing Billy about his obvious partiality to the brazen medic, but Billy’s only half listening, anyway. He can’t both partake in snide comments and keep Y/N alive, and he’s really only interested in one of those things.

The battle rages on, then, startlingly enough, quiets. Bodies line the streets, both the dead and the injured. Y/N has been moving non stop almost the entire time; how they haven’t passed out from exhaustion, Billy has no clue. He sees them swaying slightly on their feet as they move from patient to patient, and mentally reminds himself to make sure they’re doing alright. He just needs a little more time to clear the enemy from the town, then he’ll be free to check on them.

Once the final thug has been killed or chased off, Billy starts scanning the area for Y/N. A couple friends mention that they saw the medic recently, but none of them can point him in the right direction. He checks the medical center, but it’s only inhabited by the groaning injured, not sunny would-be doctors with a spark in their eye and a quick joke on their tongue. 

Heading outside again, Billy completes a slow loop around the building, but he can’t find them anywhere. Panic starting to grow in his chest, he pulls aside Sam when the other man walks by.

“You haven’t seen Y/N around, have you?” Billy asks hastily.

Sam gives him a slow, worried look. “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure that I have. They were keeping plenty busy while the fighting was hot, but it’s been a while since they crossed my path.”

Billy nods, not even sparing the time for a thank you before continuing on his careening search through the city. As he paces down the streets, some of his friends make to approach him, but he brushes them all off. Nothing matters except finding Y/N. Nothing matters except finding Y/N.

And then, almost by accident, he does. It isn’t how he’d expected. Somehow, some naive part of him was hoping he’d find them in the tavern, already with a drink in hand, or surrounded by some awestruck sharpshooters, dazzling them with their wit. Anything that would guarantee their safety. Anything that would keep them out of harm.

In reality, when he finds Y/N, it’s no different than finding any of the other fallen bodies. They’re slumped against the wall of a building, a roll of bandages fallen loosely from their hand. There’s a man unconscious next to them, a friend of theirs who’d evidently suffered from a gash across the arm. Billy spots Y/N’s expert handiwork in the form of a clean wrap across the injury, but the one who seems to need medical care now is Y/N themself.

Hurriedly, he crouches by them, lifting a hand to check for a pulse. “Y/N?” He asks, his voice wavering.

Y/N stirs slightly, their eyes half-lidded. “Billy? That you?”

“It’s me,” he confirms. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

They move slightly, grimacing in pain, and that’s when Billy notices the dark splash of red seeping out of their waistcoat. “Sweetheart,” he repeats unsteadily, “Don’t tell me you got shot, now. You can’t just bleed out like that without getting yourself some help.”

“I had to help him,” Y/N whispers. “That’s what mattered.”

“No, you’re what matters,” Billy hisses. “Fuck the rest. You were supposed to put your health above theirs.”

Y/N manages a slight slip of a grin, not even a half-smile, and the obvious pain it causes them makes Billy’s heart clench in his chest. “Now, what kind of medic would I be if I did that?”

“A safe one,” he sighs. “Now, come on. I’m going to pick you up and get you some help, alright? Don’t you dare close your eyes. I need you to stay with me.”

“I like staying with you,” Y/N mumbles as Billy picks them up.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he tells them. 

Y/N feels deathly still in his arms, and Billy doesn’t want to give that a single moment of his attention. All that matters is sprinting back to the medical center; calling for someone, anyone to help him; carefully setting Y/N down on a clear bit of space. He has to be moved away from the table so the doctor can treat them, so intent is Billy on staying within reach, and the second they tell him that Y/N’s going to be okay, he’s right back by their side.

Y/N will wake up soon, they tell him. Just a bit of exhaustion and blood loss. Y/N’s made of tough stuff, they’ll be alright. When they open their eyes again, Billy will be right by their side. This time, he has something he’d like to tell them, and this time, there isn’t anything holding them back from the love they were always meant to share.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[heliads]

I’d like to request a Pietro imagine. Pietro survived and became an Avenger. The female reader doesn’t have powers and isn’t an Avenger. She’s really smart and works with Tony and Bruce in the lab. She was hired after the whole Ultron fiasco. People underestimated her intelligence in high school and college because she’s a girly girl and loves the colour pink, but the Avengers aren’t like that. Pietro likes her and wants to date her.

'waiting around' - pietro maximoff

masterlist

When they tell Pietro he has to go to the labs, his first thought is to run.

He knows it’s silly. These are not the same doctors who made the Maximoff twins strong and fast and utterly alone in this world, these are the scientists with the Avengers. They’re the good guys. Apparently. But Pietro has learned fairly quickly that people calling themselves good aren’t always good in the end.

Pietro has a lot of learning to do since he and Wanda escaped Ultron a few months back. He’s doing his best to be patient and take things ‘one step at a time,’ as the Americans keep telling him. Mainly, he would like their steps to be faster. Pietro has things to do, and they don’t usually involve waiting in line for someone else to decide if he’s worthy of their loyalty or not. The Avengers are trying, he knows that. It’s just hard sometimes.

Especially when Pietro is still trying to shake off the feeling that he should have died back in Sokovia. He came away with his share of narrow escapes, but there was one moment towards the end, when the ships were firing at him, when Clint needed his help, that Pietro thought would be his last. Luckily, he was faster than a few bullets, but there’s still this nagging voice in the back of Pietro’s subconscious that whispers to him late at night:  what if you hadn’t been fast enough?

So he’s been uneasy as of late. What about it? Stress is common in inhumans and Avengers, one glance around this coffee-dependent complex could tell him that. Still, it’s a good thing to get checked out. That’s part of the reason Pietro is being directed to the labs, along with a need for a good annual physical.

It sounds good, too, were it not for the fact that Pietro has had plenty of experience with laboratories in the past few years and none of it was good. The Hydra labs made him strong, in a sense, but they were torturous. He can still remember the pile of corpses ushered out every day, the experiments that failed. He remembers curling up in a corner of his cell, begging his body not to give out, not to make him another body in a bag. He lived, but he remembers.

This is not Hydra. Pietro knows that. He left them behind. Still, there will always be some part of him that shrinks away from every syringe, that distrusts every doctor who comes poking and prodding at the bizarre novelty that is an inhuman. That will never go away, no matter who’s side he’s on.

Still, the lab remains. He has to go in, the others will know if he doesn’t. At first, Pietro hesitates just outside the door, afraid to knock, afraid to listen. There was always a chill in the air throughout the Hydra complex, he remembers the gooseflesh forever on his skin. Signs that nothing good happened within the walls. Or maybe it was just because of the stone buildings in cold climates. Everything has an explanation.

He can’t back out now. Pietro grits his teeth and swings the door open in one broad movement. For a moment, he stands there, waiting to walk back into his old cell, his old life, and then he looks around and realizes with a grin that he’s going to be fine. This isn’t a Hydra ploy to get him back under their thumb. For one thing, Hydra never used this much pink. Just barren walls and gloomy, monstrous skull logos. In retrospect, that should have been a bad sign. Pietro has a problem with ignoring details, though, and it tends to get him in trouble.

These details, however, are quite difficult to be ignored. Everywhere Pietro looks, he sees pinpricks of pink– the handle of a pipette, labels on equipment, notebooks full of scrawled data points, hair ties in a carefully organized container. No, Hydra never had this much fun, and Pietro is starting to think that this is going to be very fun indeed.

Smirking to himself, Pietro weaves further through the lab. He sees a few assistants scurrying around in the back, but they pay him no mind so he does the same. Pietro almost reaches the end of the room when a sudden voice calls out to him:  “Don’t take another step.”

Instantly, Pietro freezes. The owner of the voice walks towards him, a young woman about his age in a lab coat. She must be the owner of the lab, too, because he spots a pink tie in her hair matching the others near the door. The name stitched onto the left breast pocket of her lab coat reads Dr. Y/N L/N, so Pietro knows she’s the one he was supposed to find.

She points to Pietro’s feet, where he notices are just touching a line of caution tape on the ground. “If you went any further, you’d be at risk of getting your eyes blinded by the lasers,” she informs him cheerfully.

Pietro’s face drops. Only now does he notice the hazard signs. “Huh. Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

Y/N arches a brow. “Do you always wander around lab space without watching where you’re going? Seems like an awfully dangerous habit for me.”

Pietro grins. “Well, I usually rely on my reflexes to get me out of trouble. I’m pretty quick.”

To prove it, he uses his speed to instantly move right behind the woman. She spins around, donning an indignant look that Pietro decides is very cute. “Don’t do that,” she scolds him.

Pietro folds his arms across his chest, grin broadening. “Why not?”

“I’ll tell Steve you’d like to do some weight training with him in the gym, and you think you can outlift him,” she threatens.

Pietro feigns surrender. “Anything but that, please.”

At last, Y/N’s lips twitch up into a smile. “That’s what I thought you’d say. Now, let’s focus. Tony sent you in to get a checkup, right?”

Pietro nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Wrong,” she tells him. “Tony actually sent you in here to get on my nerves. He does that a lot. I’m busy and he likes distracting me. We’re going to get through this as quickly as possible, alright?”

Pietro has to fight not to laugh. “And here I thought everyone in the labs gets along.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Most of the time, yes. Except when he sticks me with babysitting duty.”

“This isn’t babysitting,” Pietro protests, “I’m getting to know you. I already feel like we’re the best of friends.”

Something that might be a smile flits across Y/N’s face, but she takes great pains to hide it to him. Pietro, who has always cared a little too much about getting people to laugh at his jokes, follows her like a dog as she walks through her lab. “You can laugh, you know. It won’t kill you.”

The smile is gone as quickly as it appeared, and Pietro instantly wishes he hadn’t said a word. “I’m working right now,” she tells him abruptly. “That means I’m focused. Don’t get in my way.”

Surprised and somewhat hurt by her shift in mood, Pietro goes quiet, but he can’t resist asking a second later, “I’m not trying to interfere with your work, I promise. Does that often happen?”

Y/N goes still. Pietro is half expecting her to just ignore him when she finally speaks at last, very quiet and very unlike the fiery personality he’d seen before. “Every time someone new comes in here. And with half the people I’ve already met, anyway. You’d be surprised what a few pink accessories can do to someone’s reputation, and their credibility in a lab.”

Pietro grimaces. “I’m sorry about that, honest. That’s not what I was going for, by the way. I joke with everyone.”

At last, Y/N meets his eyes. There’s a faint tint of humor swimming in her gaze. “I think I got that.”

She’s smiling, though, so he takes that as a good sign. Once that initial barrier was crossed, Y/N opens up a little more, and then Pietro finds himself stopping by her lab almost every day when he’s not off on a mission. He sees her thrilled with success after an experiment worked, and desolate when they don’t. He sees her consumed with stress. He sees her brow knit with careful concern as she patches him up after a mission. Through all of it, Pietro is increasingly risky with his heart, and then one day, he knows he loves her.

It’s a foolish thing to do. Y/N has confided in him many times that she’s afraid people only will see her as a girl first and a researcher second, someone who can be taken out for drinks but never a valid source of knowledge. If he makes his move now, she’ll never forgive him for being just like the others.

So he doesn’t say a thing, and descends further and further into hopelessness. Wanda says he’s ridiculously obvious, but Y/N still doesn’t seem to have noticed a thing, so maybe the only person more oblivious than Pietro is Y/N, and that’s saying something. Pietro doesn’t want to ruin their friendship, but as the days slip by and Pietro only falls more in love with her, he wonders if he hasn’t already ruined it by always wanting more than he can have.

He’s starting to wonder if he is simply going to carry this secret with him forever, until Y/N catches him at it one evening. The night is growing late, and Pietro has retreated to one of his favorite hiding places in the Avengers complex, Y/N’s lab, to watch her conduct her experiments and indulge in some idle chatter. They’ve grown quiet, and Pietro is leaning against a benchtop, doing nothing but watch her. Some of the motion-sensor lights in the corners of the lab have gone off from inactivity, giving the lights above them an extra glow. The light plays upon Y/N’s face and makes her eyes shine.

Pietro is just thinking that he’s never seen someone more beautiful in his entire life when Y/N looks up and catches him in the act. Instantly, Pietro pretends as if he’d simply been watching her pipette some samples into the well plates in front of her, but her brow is already furrowing and she’s asking him what’s wrong.

Pietro shrugs elaborately. “Nothing, nothing. Just thinking.”

“Really?” She asks, grinning slightly. “I didn’t think that was a normal thing to you.”

Pietro rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” Y/N hums. “What were you thinking about? You seemed very preoccupied.”

“Nothing,” Pietro repeats, but Y/N doesn’t seem convinced.

“Come on, I didn’t think we were the type to keep secrets from each other. What are you trying to hide?” Y/N asks.

Pietro scratches the back of his head, suddenly awkward. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Even better,” she says, laughing slightly. “What is it?”

Pietro should stay silent, but he can feel the secret rising up his lungs and forcing itself out before he gets the chance. “I’m in love with you,” he blurts out.

Y/N’s eyes widen. Whatever she was expecting him to say, it obviously wasn’t that. “Oh,” she says quietly.

“Yeah,” Pietro says, wanting to stab himself in the eye with a nearby multitool. “Oh.”

He eyes the door, and has just decided that a strategic retreat is the best move when Y/N interjects, “I love you too, you know.”

Pietro turns around so hastily that he almost upsets a nearby rack of micropipettes. “What? You do?”

She’s glancing at her work, but he can tell that she’s embarrassed. “Yeah. Thought you knew.”

“Obviously I didn’t, or I would have done something about it,” Pietro blurts out.

Y/N glances up again, smiling again. “Like what?”

“Like take you out on a date,” Pietro returns. “How about it? This Friday. Seven. I’ll pick you up.”

Y/N laughs. “That sounds good to me.”

It sounds good to Pietro, too. When he leaves Y/N’s lab at the end of the day, he’s practically giddy. All this time, he was afraid of telling her, and now he’s wishing he spilled his guts much earlier. Regardless, he has what he wants. They’ll have their date, and Pietro is going to feel like he’s on top of the world.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

marvel tag list: @mayfieldss, @blondsauduun, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @callsign-scully, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43, @deafsuperhero, @fadedver, @alex-1967s-blog, @crazyhearttragedy, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[heliads]

LISA !! your requests being open again is a glorious occasion, i’m so happy !! 

now, could i pretty please request spot conlon with a gender-neutral reader who’s a brooklyn newsie ? the reader’s newsie nickname is sunshine because they’re known for being super cheerful and sweet and pretty much always having a smile on their face, but thing is that spot’s kind of closed-off and gruff with them, even more than he is normally, because he finds it kind of grating how relentlessly happy they are when as newsies they live the way they do. but the reader just keeps on being the way they are, being kind to spot and smiling whenever they see him no matter how he always responds with a scowl, until finally he snaps at them and tells them to quit being so weird and happy all the time, but then they actually do and it makes him realize that he’s relied on seeing their smile every day and that he actually likes seeing it, so he goes to find sunshine and apologize, telling them that he actually admires how strong they are to keep being kind and happy despite everything and how much he appreciates it. it doesn’t have to end with a confession or anything, but hopefully at least some romantic undertones ? now, as always, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but thanks in advance if you do, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'cloudy days' - spot conlon

masterlist

For once, it’s not a gray and blustery day in New York. Spot Conlon doesn’t know what the hell he was thinking, settling in a place like this, although he supposes he never really had a choice about it at all. It’s a cold and shady city, and that mood translates to its people. No one here would give him the time of day unless they absolutely had to, and he wouldn’t give them a damn thing either. That’s the tune of the city, and Spot drums it daily. Eat or be eaten. Kill or get killed.

That’s the way it’s always been, the way it always will be. Spot doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy. He’s grown past the point of needing it. Spot will do what Spot does best:  look out for himself, never take handouts, never be dependent on anything save his feet to carry him places and that weird thing beating between his ribs to keep him alive.

The other newsies respect that, and look up to it. Brooklyn may have a reputation for being the meanest borough around, but the newsies protect each other like no one else. Even when the sun don’t shine for months on end. Even on rare days, like today, when it does.

The bright streets have Spot thinking a little funny, just like always. When the sun is out and the skies are blue, he starts feeling a strange thing some might describe as happiness. For once, everything isn’t totally terrible. It’s like the high he gets after soaking his enemies, ‘cept his knuckles aren’t bloody and his eyes aren’t blackened.

Maybe it’s got him in a good mood. Maybe that’s why, when a new fella comes looking for a spot in Spot’s growing army of newsies, he’s inclined to say yes. This new ally of his is nothing like Spot has ever seen before. They’re smiling at him before they so much as tip their hat or say hello. At first, it makes him wonder if they’ve got some sort of problem, then he realizes that the newcomer isn’t grinning like that to be threatening, just because they’re legitimately, well, happy.

Strange. Confusing, even. Still, the abundance of sunshine is rattling Spot’s brain, so instead of laughing in their face, he actually offers them a place amongst the ranks. Were it any other day, he’s sure he would have made them go somewhere a little more sickly-sweet, where friendship is magic and everyone can stand around, fuckin’, square dancing or something, whatever it is they do over in ‘Hattan or the other less serious boroughs, but he doesn’t. He welcomes them into his home. He pretends he isn’t completely baffled by their happy-go-lucky act. 

And, since it’s clearly on the brain anyway, he gives them a nickname then and there, a real Spot Conlon first edition:  Sunshine. He reckoned it seemed pretty true at the moment. As it turns out, he had no idea. Sunshine gets on his damn nerves every moment of every day. They’re so sweet it makes him want to throw up. If he ever saw them without a smile on their face for longer than thirty seconds, he’d suspect an imposter. They toss out compliments like they mean it or something, and they actually pick flowers to give to their friends.

Spot would think it was an act, except it actually isn’t. No way a human being could keep up a pretense that long and not go totally crazy. Spot, for one, does feel like he’s going crazy, but that’s neither here nor there.

Every day is the same. He wakes up too early, drags himself out of bed and gets ready, then pokes his head out of his space just to find Sunshine already up and at it, beaming at him and wishing him a very good morning, Spot, before turning to the next half-asleep newsie and repeating them message, and man, he wants to throttle someone already. In the line for papes, they’re excitedly talking to him about how they hope for a good headline, and whenever Spot runs into them while selling, they’ve always got something funny to say. If Spot wanted to laugh, he’d go to the circus. Although even he has to admit that New York feels like that half the damn time anyway.

It’s actually starting to make him angry. Who is this newcomer to burst in and disrupt everyone like this? Spot’s no fool. Even though he’s proud of his newsies and glad to be among the best company there is, this isn’t the life any of them would choose if they had other options. The newsies are here because they have no money and no prospects. They are the terrible youth, set out on the streets because there is no one else to watch out for them but each other.

Yet here’s this stranger, bounding down the halls of their lodging house, beaming and laughing as if everything were sugar and sweet. It feels as if they’re making a mockery of the whole thing, and Spot doesn’t like being taken for a fool.

It twists his judgment. Spot isn’t exactly known for his warm and caring personality, but he cracks down even harder around Sunshine. Maybe then they’ll figure out that the whole super happy thing doesn’t fly around here. Dreams don’t get you anywhere, and pretending otherwise only costs a lot of effort that could instead be directed towards selling some papes.

He should be better, Spot knows that. Already, his closest friends have started to scold him (very carefully) about how he’s treating sunshine. “Y/N’s no problem,” they’ve said. “It’s just you, Spot.” But he doesn’t listen.

One day, he gets to the breaking point. After another restless night, Spot drags himself out of bed despite not getting nearly enough sleep. He’s hardly stepped out of his room before Sunshine’s smiling cheerily at him, asking, “How was your sleep, Spot?”

As if they can’t tell by the look on his face. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Spot positively growls at them, “Terrible, obviously. God, can you just quit it with that stupid attitude? It’s makin’ me crazy.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just pushes right past them and heads downstairs. He’s a grouch all morning, purposely making sure no one is near him while he’s selling and not talking to a soul all throughout the day. He manages to pull himself together enough to sell the papes he needs, but other than that, Spot is barely functioning at all.

Even the Brooklyn newsie home base seems quiet and uneasy when he gets back. Spot sits by himself in his office, temper growing worse with every passing hour. He can’t put his finger on the issue until nightfall, when he hears a chorus of cheerful voices out in the hall and realizes that Sunshine hasn’t spoken to him all day. Not since he snapped at them.

Cursing faintly, Spot drags a tired hand across his face. He’s fucked up, hasn’t he? Thinking back on it now, he remembers the startled look in Sunshine’s eyes when he told them to stop being so fake all the time. It’s fine, he tells himself. Everyone gets their feelings stepped on in Brooklyn. Things will be back to normal this time tomorrow.

Only, it isn’t. When Spot wakes up, Sunshine isn’t there to wish him a good morning. They avoid him in the line to pick up papes, and they steer clear of him throughout the entire day. Even when he makes a point of emerging from his office to sit with the rest of the newsies, Sunshine talks to every damn person there but him. It’s enough to make anyone feel a little guilty. Even Spot Conlon.

As the days go by without a single word from Sunshine, Spot feels worse and worse. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see their smiles and hear their laughter until he didn’t get a drop of it. It’s like he’s trapped in permanent storm clouds. Only gray clouds and cold nights for him.

God, he’s getting poetic. This is horrific. Spot knows what he has to do, and even though he dreads the idea of having to admit he was wrong, he gathers his strength and goes to find Sunshine. At first, they try to duck out of the way when they see him coming, but Spot tracks them down, pulling them into an empty room so they can talk.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Spot says by way of introduction.

Sunshine doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

A sharp prick of guilt stabs through his chest. “I thought that, too. Turns out I was wrong.”

Sunshine’s head snaps up, and their eyes meet his. “Really?”

“Really,” Spot confirms. “I– I like being around you, Y/N. I like hearing you talk. I’m sorry for making you feel bad about being you.”

A slow, careful smile spreads across Sunshine’s face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Spot says indignantly. “What, you’d think I’d go around saying things that ain’t true? What a waste of time.”

When Sunshine starts laughing, Spot feels his cheeks start to rush with warmth. “It’s not– you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I do,” they grin. “I’m just glad to hear you want me back.”

“I do want you,” Spot breathes. “Back, I mean. I want you back. Yes.”

When Sunshine smiles knowingly at him again, Spot gets the odd feeling that he’s revealed more of himself than he really ought to, like he’s been caught showing his cards halfway through a bet. He gets the feeling he can trust Sunshine to not call him out, though. For some reason, he believes in them more than anyone. Maybe even more than himself.

The threadbare curtains on a nearby window shift slightly, allowing a thin, tenuous ray of sunlight to slip through the cracks. It slices neatly through the room, illuminating Y/N’s face in thin tendrils of gold. The sun’s back again. They’re back again, and Spot might be okay after all.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[heliads]

Just saw you reblogging all my bullet train fics ily!!!!!!!

i love YOUUU!!! finally got around to watching the movie and i knew you would have the best fics around. and you did!! i ate them up. was literally grinning like a maniac btw. will prob reread them again tonight

[heliads]

Waiting Around was good. Thank you for writing it.

glad you liked it!

[heliads]

I’d like to request a Pietro imagine. Pietro survived and became an Avenger. The female reader doesn’t have powers and isn’t an Avenger. She’s really smart and works with Tony and Bruce in the lab. She was hired after the whole Ultron fiasco. People underestimated her intelligence in high school and college because she’s a girly girl and loves the colour pink, but the Avengers aren’t like that. Pietro likes her and wants to date her.

'waiting around' - pietro maximoff

masterlist

When they tell Pietro he has to go to the labs, his first thought is to run.

He knows it’s silly. These are not the same doctors who made the Maximoff twins strong and fast and utterly alone in this world, these are the scientists with the Avengers. They’re the good guys. Apparently. But Pietro has learned fairly quickly that people calling themselves good aren’t always good in the end.

Pietro has a lot of learning to do since he and Wanda escaped Ultron a few months back. He’s doing his best to be patient and take things ‘one step at a time,’ as the Americans keep telling him. Mainly, he would like their steps to be faster. Pietro has things to do, and they don’t usually involve waiting in line for someone else to decide if he’s worthy of their loyalty or not. The Avengers are trying, he knows that. It’s just hard sometimes.

Especially when Pietro is still trying to shake off the feeling that he should have died back in Sokovia. He came away with his share of narrow escapes, but there was one moment towards the end, when the ships were firing at him, when Clint needed his help, that Pietro thought would be his last. Luckily, he was faster than a few bullets, but there’s still this nagging voice in the back of Pietro’s subconscious that whispers to him late at night:  what if you hadn’t been fast enough?

So he’s been uneasy as of late. What about it? Stress is common in inhumans and Avengers, one glance around this coffee-dependent complex could tell him that. Still, it’s a good thing to get checked out. That’s part of the reason Pietro is being directed to the labs, along with a need for a good annual physical.

It sounds good, too, were it not for the fact that Pietro has had plenty of experience with laboratories in the past few years and none of it was good. The Hydra labs made him strong, in a sense, but they were torturous. He can still remember the pile of corpses ushered out every day, the experiments that failed. He remembers curling up in a corner of his cell, begging his body not to give out, not to make him another body in a bag. He lived, but he remembers.

This is not Hydra. Pietro knows that. He left them behind. Still, there will always be some part of him that shrinks away from every syringe, that distrusts every doctor who comes poking and prodding at the bizarre novelty that is an inhuman. That will never go away, no matter who’s side he’s on.

Still, the lab remains. He has to go in, the others will know if he doesn’t. At first, Pietro hesitates just outside the door, afraid to knock, afraid to listen. There was always a chill in the air throughout the Hydra complex, he remembers the gooseflesh forever on his skin. Signs that nothing good happened within the walls. Or maybe it was just because of the stone buildings in cold climates. Everything has an explanation.

He can’t back out now. Pietro grits his teeth and swings the door open in one broad movement. For a moment, he stands there, waiting to walk back into his old cell, his old life, and then he looks around and realizes with a grin that he’s going to be fine. This isn’t a Hydra ploy to get him back under their thumb. For one thing, Hydra never used this much pink. Just barren walls and gloomy, monstrous skull logos. In retrospect, that should have been a bad sign. Pietro has a problem with ignoring details, though, and it tends to get him in trouble.

These details, however, are quite difficult to be ignored. Everywhere Pietro looks, he sees pinpricks of pink– the handle of a pipette, labels on equipment, notebooks full of scrawled data points, hair ties in a carefully organized container. No, Hydra never had this much fun, and Pietro is starting to think that this is going to be very fun indeed.

Smirking to himself, Pietro weaves further through the lab. He sees a few assistants scurrying around in the back, but they pay him no mind so he does the same. Pietro almost reaches the end of the room when a sudden voice calls out to him:  “Don’t take another step.”

Instantly, Pietro freezes. The owner of the voice walks towards him, a young woman about his age in a lab coat. She must be the owner of the lab, too, because he spots a pink tie in her hair matching the others near the door. The name stitched onto the left breast pocket of her lab coat reads Dr. Y/N L/N, so Pietro knows she’s the one he was supposed to find.

She points to Pietro’s feet, where he notices are just touching a line of caution tape on the ground. “If you went any further, you’d be at risk of getting your eyes blinded by the lasers,” she informs him cheerfully.

Pietro’s face drops. Only now does he notice the hazard signs. “Huh. Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

Y/N arches a brow. “Do you always wander around lab space without watching where you’re going? Seems like an awfully dangerous habit for me.”

Pietro grins. “Well, I usually rely on my reflexes to get me out of trouble. I’m pretty quick.”

To prove it, he uses his speed to instantly move right behind the woman. She spins around, donning an indignant look that Pietro decides is very cute. “Don’t do that,” she scolds him.

Pietro folds his arms across his chest, grin broadening. “Why not?”

“I’ll tell Steve you’d like to do some weight training with him in the gym, and you think you can outlift him,” she threatens.

Pietro feigns surrender. “Anything but that, please.”

At last, Y/N’s lips twitch up into a smile. “That’s what I thought you’d say. Now, let’s focus. Tony sent you in to get a checkup, right?”

Pietro nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Wrong,” she tells him. “Tony actually sent you in here to get on my nerves. He does that a lot. I’m busy and he likes distracting me. We’re going to get through this as quickly as possible, alright?”

Pietro has to fight not to laugh. “And here I thought everyone in the labs gets along.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Most of the time, yes. Except when he sticks me with babysitting duty.”

“This isn’t babysitting,” Pietro protests, “I’m getting to know you. I already feel like we’re the best of friends.”

Something that might be a smile flits across Y/N’s face, but she takes great pains to hide it to him. Pietro, who has always cared a little too much about getting people to laugh at his jokes, follows her like a dog as she walks through her lab. “You can laugh, you know. It won’t kill you.”

The smile is gone as quickly as it appeared, and Pietro instantly wishes he hadn’t said a word. “I’m working right now,” she tells him abruptly. “That means I’m focused. Don’t get in my way.”

Surprised and somewhat hurt by her shift in mood, Pietro goes quiet, but he can’t resist asking a second later, “I’m not trying to interfere with your work, I promise. Does that often happen?”

Y/N goes still. Pietro is half expecting her to just ignore him when she finally speaks at last, very quiet and very unlike the fiery personality he’d seen before. “Every time someone new comes in here. And with half the people I’ve already met, anyway. You’d be surprised what a few pink accessories can do to someone’s reputation, and their credibility in a lab.”

Pietro grimaces. “I’m sorry about that, honest. That’s not what I was going for, by the way. I joke with everyone.”

At last, Y/N meets his eyes. There’s a faint tint of humor swimming in her gaze. “I think I got that.”

She’s smiling, though, so he takes that as a good sign. Once that initial barrier was crossed, Y/N opens up a little more, and then Pietro finds himself stopping by her lab almost every day when he’s not off on a mission. He sees her thrilled with success after an experiment worked, and desolate when they don’t. He sees her consumed with stress. He sees her brow knit with careful concern as she patches him up after a mission. Through all of it, Pietro is increasingly risky with his heart, and then one day, he knows he loves her.

It’s a foolish thing to do. Y/N has confided in him many times that she’s afraid people only will see her as a girl first and a researcher second, someone who can be taken out for drinks but never a valid source of knowledge. If he makes his move now, she’ll never forgive him for being just like the others.

So he doesn’t say a thing, and descends further and further into hopelessness. Wanda says he’s ridiculously obvious, but Y/N still doesn’t seem to have noticed a thing, so maybe the only person more oblivious than Pietro is Y/N, and that’s saying something. Pietro doesn’t want to ruin their friendship, but as the days slip by and Pietro only falls more in love with her, he wonders if he hasn’t already ruined it by always wanting more than he can have.

He’s starting to wonder if he is simply going to carry this secret with him forever, until Y/N catches him at it one evening. The night is growing late, and Pietro has retreated to one of his favorite hiding places in the Avengers complex, Y/N’s lab, to watch her conduct her experiments and indulge in some idle chatter. They’ve grown quiet, and Pietro is leaning against a benchtop, doing nothing but watch her. Some of the motion-sensor lights in the corners of the lab have gone off from inactivity, giving the lights above them an extra glow. The light plays upon Y/N’s face and makes her eyes shine.

Pietro is just thinking that he’s never seen someone more beautiful in his entire life when Y/N looks up and catches him in the act. Instantly, Pietro pretends as if he’d simply been watching her pipette some samples into the well plates in front of her, but her brow is already furrowing and she’s asking him what’s wrong.

Pietro shrugs elaborately. “Nothing, nothing. Just thinking.”

“Really?” She asks, grinning slightly. “I didn’t think that was a normal thing to you.”

Pietro rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” Y/N hums. “What were you thinking about? You seemed very preoccupied.”

“Nothing,” Pietro repeats, but Y/N doesn’t seem convinced.

“Come on, I didn’t think we were the type to keep secrets from each other. What are you trying to hide?” Y/N asks.

Pietro scratches the back of his head, suddenly awkward. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Even better,” she says, laughing slightly. “What is it?”

Pietro should stay silent, but he can feel the secret rising up his lungs and forcing itself out before he gets the chance. “I’m in love with you,” he blurts out.

Y/N’s eyes widen. Whatever she was expecting him to say, it obviously wasn’t that. “Oh,” she says quietly.

“Yeah,” Pietro says, wanting to stab himself in the eye with a nearby multitool. “Oh.”

He eyes the door, and has just decided that a strategic retreat is the best move when Y/N interjects, “I love you too, you know.”

Pietro turns around so hastily that he almost upsets a nearby rack of micropipettes. “What? You do?”

She’s glancing at her work, but he can tell that she’s embarrassed. “Yeah. Thought you knew.”

“Obviously I didn’t, or I would have done something about it,” Pietro blurts out.

Y/N glances up again, smiling again. “Like what?”

“Like take you out on a date,” Pietro returns. “How about it? This Friday. Seven. I’ll pick you up.”

Y/N laughs. “That sounds good to me.”

It sounds good to Pietro, too. When he leaves Y/N’s lab at the end of the day, he’s practically giddy. All this time, he was afraid of telling her, and now he’s wishing he spilled his guts much earlier. Regardless, he has what he wants. They’ll have their date, and Pietro is going to feel like he’s on top of the world.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

marvel tag list: @mayfieldss, @blondsauduun, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @callsign-scully, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43, @deafsuperhero, @fadedver, @alex-1967s-blog, @crazyhearttragedy, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[heliads]

Out of pure curiosity, is there anything in the current que that you're particularly exited to write?

i am excited about every request :)) and of course yours especially anon

[heliads]

LISA !! your requests being open again is a glorious occasion, i’m so happy !! 

now, could i pretty please request spot conlon with a gender-neutral reader who’s a brooklyn newsie ? the reader’s newsie nickname is sunshine because they’re known for being super cheerful and sweet and pretty much always having a smile on their face, but thing is that spot’s kind of closed-off and gruff with them, even more than he is normally, because he finds it kind of grating how relentlessly happy they are when as newsies they live the way they do. but the reader just keeps on being the way they are, being kind to spot and smiling whenever they see him no matter how he always responds with a scowl, until finally he snaps at them and tells them to quit being so weird and happy all the time, but then they actually do and it makes him realize that he’s relied on seeing their smile every day and that he actually likes seeing it, so he goes to find sunshine and apologize, telling them that he actually admires how strong they are to keep being kind and happy despite everything and how much he appreciates it. it doesn’t have to end with a confession or anything, but hopefully at least some romantic undertones ? now, as always, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but thanks in advance if you do, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'cloudy days' - spot conlon

masterlist

For once, it’s not a gray and blustery day in New York. Spot Conlon doesn’t know what the hell he was thinking, settling in a place like this, although he supposes he never really had a choice about it at all. It’s a cold and shady city, and that mood translates to its people. No one here would give him the time of day unless they absolutely had to, and he wouldn’t give them a damn thing either. That’s the tune of the city, and Spot drums it daily. Eat or be eaten. Kill or get killed.

That’s the way it’s always been, the way it always will be. Spot doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy. He’s grown past the point of needing it. Spot will do what Spot does best:  look out for himself, never take handouts, never be dependent on anything save his feet to carry him places and that weird thing beating between his ribs to keep him alive.

The other newsies respect that, and look up to it. Brooklyn may have a reputation for being the meanest borough around, but the newsies protect each other like no one else. Even when the sun don’t shine for months on end. Even on rare days, like today, when it does.

The bright streets have Spot thinking a little funny, just like always. When the sun is out and the skies are blue, he starts feeling a strange thing some might describe as happiness. For once, everything isn’t totally terrible. It’s like the high he gets after soaking his enemies, ‘cept his knuckles aren’t bloody and his eyes aren’t blackened.

Maybe it’s got him in a good mood. Maybe that’s why, when a new fella comes looking for a spot in Spot’s growing army of newsies, he’s inclined to say yes. This new ally of his is nothing like Spot has ever seen before. They’re smiling at him before they so much as tip their hat or say hello. At first, it makes him wonder if they’ve got some sort of problem, then he realizes that the newcomer isn’t grinning like that to be threatening, just because they’re legitimately, well, happy.

Strange. Confusing, even. Still, the abundance of sunshine is rattling Spot’s brain, so instead of laughing in their face, he actually offers them a place amongst the ranks. Were it any other day, he’s sure he would have made them go somewhere a little more sickly-sweet, where friendship is magic and everyone can stand around, fuckin’, square dancing or something, whatever it is they do over in ‘Hattan or the other less serious boroughs, but he doesn’t. He welcomes them into his home. He pretends he isn’t completely baffled by their happy-go-lucky act. 

And, since it’s clearly on the brain anyway, he gives them a nickname then and there, a real Spot Conlon first edition:  Sunshine. He reckoned it seemed pretty true at the moment. As it turns out, he had no idea. Sunshine gets on his damn nerves every moment of every day. They’re so sweet it makes him want to throw up. If he ever saw them without a smile on their face for longer than thirty seconds, he’d suspect an imposter. They toss out compliments like they mean it or something, and they actually pick flowers to give to their friends.

Spot would think it was an act, except it actually isn’t. No way a human being could keep up a pretense that long and not go totally crazy. Spot, for one, does feel like he’s going crazy, but that’s neither here nor there.

Every day is the same. He wakes up too early, drags himself out of bed and gets ready, then pokes his head out of his space just to find Sunshine already up and at it, beaming at him and wishing him a very good morning, Spot, before turning to the next half-asleep newsie and repeating them message, and man, he wants to throttle someone already. In the line for papes, they’re excitedly talking to him about how they hope for a good headline, and whenever Spot runs into them while selling, they’ve always got something funny to say. If Spot wanted to laugh, he’d go to the circus. Although even he has to admit that New York feels like that half the damn time anyway.

It’s actually starting to make him angry. Who is this newcomer to burst in and disrupt everyone like this? Spot’s no fool. Even though he’s proud of his newsies and glad to be among the best company there is, this isn’t the life any of them would choose if they had other options. The newsies are here because they have no money and no prospects. They are the terrible youth, set out on the streets because there is no one else to watch out for them but each other.

Yet here’s this stranger, bounding down the halls of their lodging house, beaming and laughing as if everything were sugar and sweet. It feels as if they’re making a mockery of the whole thing, and Spot doesn’t like being taken for a fool.

It twists his judgment. Spot isn’t exactly known for his warm and caring personality, but he cracks down even harder around Sunshine. Maybe then they’ll figure out that the whole super happy thing doesn’t fly around here. Dreams don’t get you anywhere, and pretending otherwise only costs a lot of effort that could instead be directed towards selling some papes.

He should be better, Spot knows that. Already, his closest friends have started to scold him (very carefully) about how he’s treating sunshine. “Y/N’s no problem,” they’ve said. “It’s just you, Spot.” But he doesn’t listen.

One day, he gets to the breaking point. After another restless night, Spot drags himself out of bed despite not getting nearly enough sleep. He’s hardly stepped out of his room before Sunshine’s smiling cheerily at him, asking, “How was your sleep, Spot?”

As if they can’t tell by the look on his face. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Spot positively growls at them, “Terrible, obviously. God, can you just quit it with that stupid attitude? It’s makin’ me crazy.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just pushes right past them and heads downstairs. He’s a grouch all morning, purposely making sure no one is near him while he’s selling and not talking to a soul all throughout the day. He manages to pull himself together enough to sell the papes he needs, but other than that, Spot is barely functioning at all.

Even the Brooklyn newsie home base seems quiet and uneasy when he gets back. Spot sits by himself in his office, temper growing worse with every passing hour. He can’t put his finger on the issue until nightfall, when he hears a chorus of cheerful voices out in the hall and realizes that Sunshine hasn’t spoken to him all day. Not since he snapped at them.

Cursing faintly, Spot drags a tired hand across his face. He’s fucked up, hasn’t he? Thinking back on it now, he remembers the startled look in Sunshine’s eyes when he told them to stop being so fake all the time. It’s fine, he tells himself. Everyone gets their feelings stepped on in Brooklyn. Things will be back to normal this time tomorrow.

Only, it isn’t. When Spot wakes up, Sunshine isn’t there to wish him a good morning. They avoid him in the line to pick up papes, and they steer clear of him throughout the entire day. Even when he makes a point of emerging from his office to sit with the rest of the newsies, Sunshine talks to every damn person there but him. It’s enough to make anyone feel a little guilty. Even Spot Conlon.

As the days go by without a single word from Sunshine, Spot feels worse and worse. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see their smiles and hear their laughter until he didn’t get a drop of it. It’s like he’s trapped in permanent storm clouds. Only gray clouds and cold nights for him.

God, he’s getting poetic. This is horrific. Spot knows what he has to do, and even though he dreads the idea of having to admit he was wrong, he gathers his strength and goes to find Sunshine. At first, they try to duck out of the way when they see him coming, but Spot tracks them down, pulling them into an empty room so they can talk.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Spot says by way of introduction.

Sunshine doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

A sharp prick of guilt stabs through his chest. “I thought that, too. Turns out I was wrong.”

Sunshine’s head snaps up, and their eyes meet his. “Really?”

“Really,” Spot confirms. “I– I like being around you, Y/N. I like hearing you talk. I’m sorry for making you feel bad about being you.”

A slow, careful smile spreads across Sunshine’s face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Spot says indignantly. “What, you’d think I’d go around saying things that ain’t true? What a waste of time.”

When Sunshine starts laughing, Spot feels his cheeks start to rush with warmth. “It’s not– you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I do,” they grin. “I’m just glad to hear you want me back.”

“I do want you,” Spot breathes. “Back, I mean. I want you back. Yes.”

When Sunshine smiles knowingly at him again, Spot gets the odd feeling that he’s revealed more of himself than he really ought to, like he’s been caught showing his cards halfway through a bet. He gets the feeling he can trust Sunshine to not call him out, though. For some reason, he believes in them more than anyone. Maybe even more than himself.

The threadbare curtains on a nearby window shift slightly, allowing a thin, tenuous ray of sunlight to slip through the cracks. It slices neatly through the room, illuminating Y/N’s face in thin tendrils of gold. The sun’s back again. They’re back again, and Spot might be okay after all.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[heliads]

Have you seen the jatp season 2 rumors!?!?!?

oh my GODDDD season 2?? please let them be real i beg. we deserve this. was just thinking that it was time for a jatp rewatch. i need season 2