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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

The Painting

This was started from a challenge I stumbled across what seems like ages ago.

The word was ‘blushing’ and can be found in a prompt list from @creativepromptsforwriting - here.

But anyway, have over 3000 words of frustrated Virgil, worried Scott and concerns over the possibility of Virgil/Kayo.

Warnings: Yep, this is the Virgil/Kayo fic I was babbling on about a while back. Not Warm Rain, but completely new.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Virgil Tracy was a seasoned emergency responder. Scott had seen him rescue people in front of entire crowds, seen him speak to police, and even the press. Hell, there was the time Scott had been caught up on the other side of the planet and Virgil had rescued the President of the United States, for crying out loud. It was on film, recorded for history and no doubt would end up in their future grandchildren’s school textbooks.

At no point had his brother ever looked fazed at any of the PR tasks required of him.

Sure, he wasn’t as smooth at it as Scott and if he had a choice, he would avoid it and handball it off to his big brother. But that was more a case of Virgil thinking he had better things to do.

He’d refused the award offered by the President for that reason. Saw no need for accolades for just doing his job - Scott had tried to talk him into that one, but no, Virgil just didn’t seem to care.

So there was no warning, no real indicator that this was going to happen.

Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, Scott had to admit that perhaps that was a lie.

Virgil had been edgy from the first mention of this project. It was Penny’s fault, of course, but it was Gordon who had egged her on when Virgil said no initially.

Penny had succeeded with John in the past, so why not tackle another Tracy brother? And it wasn’t like Virgil was socially shy like their astronaut. The man had stripped naked and posed for life drawing classes on multiple occasions and as previously noted, had no trouble with the PR tasks required of him.

Virgil was the cool, calm and sensible Tracy brother.

Who was now standing in front of the podium bright red and frozen solid as holocam lights buzzed about him.

The press was a mass of voices they hadn’t really expected on opening night, and had Kayo in a furious mood, her satin green dress spinning as she strode over to possibly throttle one of her security contingent. He must keep an eye on that.

Virgil had only meant to welcome everyone to the gallery with a short speech, but the questions about his artworks had begun firing the moment he stood up there and apparently displaying his art was not as easy as Scott thought it would be.

He regretted encouraging this exhibition when he had known Virgil hadn’t been confident. But he had thought it was just nerves and his brother had only needed a little push.

He would never have thought Virgil could freeze like that.

Scott stepped up to the podium beside his arty brother. Virgil blinked at him, more fear in his eyes than Scott had seen since the time Scott had fallen into an ice crevasse and his heavy lifting brother had jumped in after him, only barely managing to grab him before certain death.

Apparently, Virgil needed saving this time.

Scott eyed the crowd and in particular the person responsible for the question.

His eyes narrowed in on Kat Kavanaugh. He let out a breath. “Now, now, Kat, when I said you could ask questions, that did not include my brothers’ sex lives.”

Kat smirked up at him. “Fair’s fair, Scott Tracy. He did paint that, after all.” She gestured towards the most popular painting in the gallery. There had been an argument earlier over who could purchase it. An informal auction managed by Penny had sprouted up and the sum it finally went for would fund Tracy Industries’ charity line for some time to come.

Virgil’s eyes had been saucer-wide at that news.

But the painting itself was a mystery. Scott had no idea what it represented other than it was all flesh coloured curves, greens, reds, blues and greys. It obviously meant something to Virgil, but it might as well have been spilt paint to Scott with the minor exception of maybe one eye and a flower. He much preferred the aerial dogfight painting he had nabbed off his brother before he could assign it to the exhibition - Virgil frowned at him and squawked a bunch of art jargon that translated as ‘Virgil hated it’. But Scott liked it and had hung it in his rooms.

Virgil glared at it every time he saw it.

But this one, this Picasso jigsaw puzzle, meant something to Virgil. Yet for some reason he had thrown it into the exhibition anyway.

And now it meant something to a bunch of people? It had prompted so many questions, most inappropriate, and now looking at it Scott could see vaguely where they were coming from, but really?

But Virgil had flushed red and frozen, giving credit to the question of who had broken his heart.

Scott hadn’t noticed anything. Virgil had never brought the topic up.

And this was definitely not the place.

“This is an art exhibition, Ms Kavanaugh. Please keep your question to the subject at hand.”

“I could argue that what is on these walls is exactly the subject at hand, Mr Tracy. Your brother has painted with his heart and now it is up for sale.”

The whole gallery fell completely silent as the centre of Scott’s cardiovascular system fell into his boots.

When he didn’t answer immediately, she took it upon herself to fill the silence. “In fact, one of the biggest questions on everyone’s lips is why only one out of four of the most eligible bachelors on the planet has a romantic interest. These paintings prove he is not alone, but apparently Virgil is not as lucky.”

Scott stared at her. it would have helped if he knew what she was talking about. Virgil hadn’t mentioned anything...

Scott held back the urge to look at his brother and instead bore a hole into Kat Kavanaugh’s head with his glare. “I repeat, my brother’s personal lives are not up for discussion.” Holocams stared at him.

“And what about yours, Mr Tracy? Are you still dating that pilot?”

“You know what? This is an art exhibition to raise money for victims of disaster, for the people International Rescue couldn’t save. How about you focus on that.” She opened her mouth again. “Because if you don’t, I will have you and anyone else inclined to discuss our private business, escorted from the building.” He put every ounce of commander he had into his words.

She stopped talking, but the smirk on her face that replaced her vocalisations set Scott’s blood boiling anyway.

He clamped down on the emotion. “Now, regarding the artworks. All of them are painted by my talented brother Virgil, as you know. He has kindly donated them to raise money for those affected by disaster. So, please reach into your pockets and donate for those who need it most. Thank you.”

He turned away from the podium as the silence dissolved into chatter, mostly likely with nothing to do with artworks at all.

Finally he was able to catch Virgil’s eye and non-verbally direct him to follow.

The acquiescence in Virgil’s expression hurt Scott even more.

He led his artistic brother past a concerned-looking Gordon who was helping Penelope manage the crowd.

Alan was frowning fit to burst a blood vessel, but Gordon grabbed him and pulled him away.

John knew enough to only catch Scott’s eye with an expression of ‘here if you need me’ as he stood off to one side talking to Brains. The fact both were half-hidden by a promotional banner was no doubt no error on their part.

Both had declared they would attend in support of Virgil. Didn’t mean they had to like it.

Scott pulled Virgil into a backroom, shut the door and turned to face his brother.

Virgil was looking down at his hands.

“I know I’m clueless on the art front, but apparently the crowd out there isn’t. Is there something you haven’t told me?” He drew in a breath in an attempt to calm himself.

Virgil glanced up at him with such sadness in his eyes, Scott’s widened and he put both hands on his brother’s shoulders. “What is it?”

It was Virgil’s turn to let out a sigh. It appeared to come from somewhere ever so deep as it visibly deflated him. “It was nothing.” And he looked away.

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’.” He squeezed those hunched shoulders gently. A nudge of his head in the direction of the crowd outside the door. “They don’t think it is ‘nothing’.”

Virgil looked up. “Well, it is nothing. That’s why that painting is out there. Nothing has happened. Nothing is going to happen.”

“But you wanted something to happen?” It was like bobbing for apples, but painful. He had never seen Virgil so unsure of himself. “Can I ask who?”

Virgil opened his mouth, but closed it before he could say anything.

Scott hesitated. “You know you can tell me anything. That I’m here for you.”

Again Virgil opened his mouth, but again something stopped him from saying anything. He only nodded, blinking.

Scott’s heart lurched. What couldn’t Virgil tell him? They shared everything. How could his brother been hurting this much and Scott not know anything about it?

But then did he know?

He scoured his memory for indicators.

Virgil straightened suddenly. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen. That...that ship has sailed.”

Who had Virgil fixated on? He ran through their list of friends, acquaintances and came up blank regarding any extra regard his brother might have shown anyone.

Of course, Virgil was kind to everyone they knew, polite beyond reason sometimes, well known for putting others above himself.

Hell, just last week he had flown Kayo halfway across the planet in Tracy Two while he was supposed to be on vacation and resting. Shadow was out of commission at the time and Kayo needed to be in London with Penelope and Rigby. She had protested, but even Scott knew Virgil had a soft spot for his sister and would do...anything for her.

He stared at his brother.

No...really?

Scott blinked as his brain pulled up all the most obvious indicators. Virgil always hovered when their sister was in action. Scott knew he hated it. It was one of the reasons Scott reprimanded Kayo for straying beyond IR’s mandate. The family worried about her, but, in particular, Virgil fretted when his...sister...was in danger.

Aw, hell. Looking back, it was now obvious. Damn, how had he missed it?

Again, Virgil cared for everyone, it was in his nature.

Shit.

Scott must have let something of his thoughts into his expression because Virgil looked up at him and his eyes widened. “Scott-“

“It’s Kayo, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I...no, it’s nothing...I-“ Virgil was obviously scrambling to deny everything.

“She’s a good choice.”

Virgil froze, staring at him.

“What are you afraid of?”

Virgil spun out of his grip and turned away. “It doesn’t matter what I think. She’s not interested.”

“How do you know?”

Brown, hurting eyes glared at him. “What? You haven’t noticed Captain Wayne Rigby?”

Scott blinked. The GDF officer was definitely on his radar, but more on a professional level, IR Commander to GDF representative. He frowned as he assessed what he had seen of the man’s conduct towards Kayo, his big brother priorities coming into play.

Sure, he could look at their relationship that way. Kayo didn’t seem to mind spending time with the man, but only as the mission required?

That question mark only emphasised the fact he needed to spend more time with his family where an emergency situation was not involved. He was clearly out of the loop on too many things.

Virgil wandered over to a lounge in the corner and sat down, his suit immediately rumpling as he dropped his head into his hands.

Scott shoved his own failures in this matter to one side and tackled the immediate issue - his upset brother.

“Have you spoken to her?”

The strangled scoff of a laugh was muffled by his brother’s hands.

Scott took that as a ‘no’.

“Why not?”

That at least got Virgil looking at him again. “Oh, sure, It comes up in conversation all the time. ‘Hi, Kayo, great to see you. By the way, I’ve fallen in love with you. Is that okay?’” His brother’s eyebrows crushed together and he looked down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It could destroy so much.”

“I really think she would love you either way, Virgil.” And he was back to scouring his brain for indications of Kayo returning Virgil’s regard.

“What? You don’t find it weird that I’m in love with my sister? It’s a breach of trust.”

“Virgil, she grew up with us. She is a beautiful, smart woman. No one could be faulted for finding her attractive. Hell, I will admit that I can see why you would be interested.”

That had Virgil staring at him again.

Scott held up his hands. “Hey, I’m happy with pilot lady.”

That stare boggled a bit. “‘Pilot lady?’ Don’t you even know her name?”

“Thank you for giving me zero credit. Of course I know her name. She just likes me calling her ‘pilot lady’.” Scott grinned strategically.

“Oh god, TMI. Ugh.”

Scott chuckled as his brother groaned. Mostly because he was happy to have achieved his target of lightening Virgil’s mood at least a little.

“You should talk to her.”

“Why? She’s obviously gone on Rigby.” The name was said with as close to a snarl as Scott had ever heard his brother make outside of a rescue. “You want me to ruin what relationship we already have trying to pursue something she doesn’t want?”

“How do you know that?” He stepped closer to his brother. “You haven’t given her a chance.”

“She’s known me for years.”

“I’ve known you since you were born and I didn’t know you had a thing for her. How the hell do you expect her to know?”

Virgil leapt off the couch. “I don’t want her to know!”

“Why not?”

“Because...”

“Because you could get hurt? I never figured you were one for backing away because of that. I’ve seen you risk death to save lives, including mine. Why deny yourself the chance for happiness? Her the chance?”

“Because I love her too much to ruin it!” Scott’s eyes widened as Virgil literally exploded in front of him. “How could our relationship recover from that? How could she bear to look at me if she didn’t...care for me the same way in return? How could I? No, she likes Rigby. She will be happy with him. That’s it. The boat has sailed. And I wish I had burnt that damned painting.”

Scott swallowed. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Virgil’s derisive scoff said everything. “I’ve got to get back out there before they start thinking I’m ready to kill myself due to unrequited love.” He strode towards the door.

“Virgil-“

His brother held up a hand. “I’m fine. I’ll handle it. Just let me get through the night so I can go home.” And with that, he threw open the door and stormed out into the noise.

Damn. Scott thumbed his collar. “Gordon?”

“Yes, oh great leader?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Run interference for Virgil, please.”

“FAB.”

Gordon and Penelope would do what was necessary to get the press off Virgil’s back. Scott sighed as he strode towards the door Virgil had almost slammed behind him and threw himself out into the crowd after his brother.

-o-o-o-

Cartwheels across the gallery floor hadn’t quite been what Scott had in mind, but if he was honest with himself, it worked. Gordon already had a reputation of being the ‘fun’ Tracy and the press ate it up.

The fact Gordon could do a backflip midair and land on his feet wasn’t really that surprising to Scott, but the media loved it. The reports switched from lovelorn Virgil to crazy Gordon and that was pretty much that.

Penelope was ever so tolerant.

Scott didn’t let Virgil out of his sight the rest of the night. His artistic brother put up a great front and only the fact Scott was his big brother allowed him to see that touch of hesitancy in his handshakes and the fakery of his smiles.

What Scott did do was surreptitiously get a good look at the painting responsible for this mess.

It was a Picasso-esque mishmash of flesh, colour and bone. On one hand it could be considered creepy, but there was something about that one single green eye staring out from its midst that said something. Something painful.

The white daisy in the bottom left corner was a familiar motif in Virgil’s paintings. Mom’s favourite flower often turned up when his brother dove deep into his art. But that eye...

Realisation set in like a lightning strike. It was Kayo’s eye. The only part of the painting recognisable, if only for its colour and intensity. Like Kat had said, all the pieces fell into place once that eye belonged to someone. The painting screamed desolation and loneliness.

Aw, hell.

Virgil was on the far side of the room glaring at Gordon, most likely for the acrobatics. The media were still babbling beyond the security Kayo had deployed. Scott had no doubt Virgil knew exactly what Gordon was doing, but that wouldn’t stop the lecture.

Scott owed Gordon for this one.

“Permission to expel the media?”

Scott jumped. Kayo had appeared out of nowhere.

Her smile was an amused one.

He glared at her momentarily before letting his shoulders drop. “I wish.”

“How is Virgil?”

His gaze flickered to her, abruptly realising his brother’s secret was now his to conceal as well. “Getting there. You know how sensitive he is about his art.” That’s it, cover it up with artistic sensibility.

She arched an eyebrow. “I was surprised he consented to the exhibition.”

“Me, too. But Penelope pulled out the charity big guns and you know how Virgil just wants to help people...”

Kayo smiled. “Genetic trait.”

His grunt was non-committal.

“Well, it certainly has been a successful exercise. I think just about everything has been sold, even beyond the star of the exhibition.” She gestured at the painting responsible for so much.

Scott swallowed. “Yeah, Penelope will be happy.”

“What about Virgil?”

“Yeah, he’ll be happy, too. He’s helping a lot a of people.” Scott mentally considered whether whisky on the balcony and some one-on-one commiseration time might help his brother relax.

“Oh, you should know that while you were talking to Virgil earlier, I had to remove Kat Kavanaugh from the building.”

Scott blinked, suddenly realising the absence of the woman. It was a sign of his distraction that he hadn’t realised she was missing. “Why?”

Kayo’s lips twisted. “Well, aside from harassing Virgil,” she said it with gritted teeth and obviously hidden expletives, “I caught her eavesdropping on your conversation, outside the door.”

He straightened in alarm.

“Don’t worry, I nabbed her before she could discover anything...important.”

Scott stared at her.

“She and I had some...polite words, and I doubt we will be seeing her again.”

“Kayo-“

Green flickered up at him. “Just doing my job, Scott.” She lent in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I...”

But Kayo smiled. “So can I expel the rest of them? I think they’ve had a fair enough go, don’t you?”

Another blink and he nodded.

Her hand brushed his arm and squeezed ever so gently. “Don’t worry. Everything is under control.”

Didn’t feel that way. Across the room Virgil was gesticulating wildly at their fish brother, very adamant about something.

“Kayo?” She looked up at him. “Take it easy.”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “FAB.”

She walked into the crowd, green dress sparkling in the lights, as she spoke into her comms and gestured to her team. He was left wondering what the hell had happened, what she knew and what she was going to do.

But then the feeling was familiar around his sister, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Gordon stopped their engineer brother’s tirade by grabbing him into a hug mid-rant.

A perfect tactic to derail Virgil that had worked many a time before.

As predicted, their brother couldn’t resist and gruffly returned Gordon’s embrace.

The fish certainly had his ways.

The crowd volume increased as reporters started protesting security herding them out of the building. He watched as his sister worked, her team as smooth and as capable as she.

And then he watched Virgil watching her, too.

Scott grabbed a champagne flute off a nearby server and sculled it. Whisky on the balcony was looking more attractive by the moment.

He needed one.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #kayo kyrano #Gordon Tracy #Penelope Creighton Ward #virgil/kayo #gordon/penelope #Pen and Ink #nuttyfic #creativepromptsforwriting

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buckyskorpion · 4 years

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Do Something Bad, Too - Part 5

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Summary: It’s like every single Alpha on the planet won’t rest until they’ve confessed their eternal wish for you to mother their children, and it’s getting old. Luckily, that’s a problem Bucky might be able to fix.

Warnings: language, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of violence

A/N: sooooo..... lets not mention the last time i updated this fic was four years, and get excited that im finally updating!! woo!! i really hope this was worth the wait, im very anxious about letting you guys down. let me know what you honestly think! love u all, thank u for sticking with me

series masterlist | main masterlist | my ko-fi

You stay in Nat’s apartment in the Tower for the rest of your heat, which lasts an entire week. Nat comes and goes throughout that time to make sure you’re drinking enough water, to make you dinner or run you a bath, or sometimes just to keep you company when you’re capable of that. She doesn’t stay long, though, aware her presence just makes the unbearableness of going through heat even worse. She also doesn’t mention Bucky’s clothes or anything about that first day, which you’re immeasurably grateful for. You don’t think you could talk about it without crying.

To say you’re humiliated is an understatement. Mixed with that is all this guilt and shame and self-hatred for inflicting that situation on you and Bucky. Mostly for Bucky. He had made it so very clear he was only comfortable helping you with the scent thing, and even with that there were boundaries. You had blown through them all by showing up to his apartment, triggering both your instincts to do things you couldn’t control, and now he probably resented you enough to never want to see you again.

You don’t blame him. It doesn’t stop it from hurting so much, though.

You’ve well and truly fucked yourself now. Not only is it omega instincts driving you towards Bucky now, but also your own stupid, naive heart. You miss his giant hands and broad shoulders that block out the world for a second, narrowing your scope to just the two of you. You miss the way you can breathe around him, how the world doesn’t feel so scary and foreign to you when he’s by your side. It’s crazy because you weren’t even close, you weren’t even really friends, but now you never will be because you’re so goddamn stupid it’s actually astounding.

Nat’s plan had not worked. And this time, you couldn’t even blame her for this colossal backfire. This is all your handiwork.

You’re back in your office, returning to work once your fever died down and you could stand to be in the vicinity of other alphas without passing out. Maybe you’re tapping rather aggressively on your keyboard, and maybe all the techies on the floor can hear you sigh and groan in frustration every two seconds and are sending you strange looks through the glass. Whatever, you’re their boss, they can’t say anything. Besides, your boss has requested some rather strange security upgrades and you’re not sure if it’s within your job description to email Tony Stark and say what the fuck?

It turns out you don’t have to, because Tony Stark comes to you. It’s not often he takes part in the day to day workings of Stark Industries - that’s your job, after all. But he comes striding into your office eating an apple and wearing sunglasses during the middle of the day, and points a ringed finger at you.

“You’re back,” he says, and you find yourself glancing down at your baby-blue pantsuit just to make sure you are, in fact, back. Stark takes a very pointed breath through his nose and adds, “You smell terrible. This is great!”

“Great?” You can’t help but sound bitter. Your smell is hardly great to you. Even after sweating out your entire body-weight and taking more showers than is considered healthy, you still smell like Bucky. You can’t escape him - not your thoughts, not your heart, and certainly not the way your skin seems to emanate him like he’s crawled underneath and set up shop. It’s embarrassing and humiliating, because it’s not real, and just serves to remind you of the terrible mistake you’ve made. You hope beyond hope Stark doesn’t recognise the other alpha scent clinging to your pores.

“Yes, great. I need your help,” he says, sitting down in a chair opposite your desk. You glance at the specs you have open on your computer, the strange security upgrades he wants you to make to the Tower, and then back to Stark’s million-dollar smile. It’s unsettling. You feel a headache forming before he even opens his mouth.

“If this has anything to do with these emails-“

“Those can wait,” Stark says, waving a dismissive hand at your computer. He lobs his applecore into the bin beside your desk as if to punctuate his point, then says, “This is a request on behalf of the Avengers.”

“Um,” you say, rather eloquently. Avengers? What on earth could they want with you, unless- you groan, rolling your eyes to the ceiling. “Natasha.”

“She highly recommended your expertise,” Stark says, and that headache brewing in your temples blooms into a full-blown migraine. He stands, smooths out his slacks, and says without room for question, “Follow me.”

This is how you end up back in the residential floors of the Tower, much to your chagrin, which Stark seems to pick up on. The closer you get to Bucky’s floor the more fidgety you become, heart racing and skin turning clammy until you watch the numbers fly by and you leave him somewhere in the clouds above Manhattan. The elevator doors ding open to a floor that seems to go on forever, full of gym equipment and fancy simulation tech you figure the Avengers must use to train. You find Natasha’s red head on the sparring mats, tackling someone to the ground with her thighs, and glare daggers as you follow Stark into the room.

“She’s alive!” Natasha calls across the room, ignoring your death glare for a knowing smirk. Her voice echoes through the warehouse-style gym floor, drawing the attention of the others in the room. The Avengers, and all of a sudden you feel like an eighteen year old kid watching aliens attack New York on a grainy satellite TV in the desert again. This is like meeting celebrities on another level. Steve Rogers finishes wrapping his hands as he walks over to you and Stark, Sam Wilson beside him, and Natasha gives Clint Barton a hand to help him up from the mats.

“What have you roped me into now, Nat?” you ask, not bothering to hide your frustration. You’ve just about had it with her meddling, but you should’ve known it was a pipe dream to think she would stop.

“We know you’re very busy, we won’t take up much of your time,” Steve Rogers says, extending a hand and introducing himself like he needs to. Captain America needs no introduction.

“I know who you all are,” you say, giving them a nod. “And you’re right, I am busy. So why am I here?”

“You and Nat must get along like a house on fire,” Clint says, earning him an elbow in the gut from Nat herself. You grin, all sharp in the way Nat tells you looks scary in a hot way, and watch as he subtly shifts behind Nat as if to hide behind her smaller frame. It’s only then that you register the scents mingling between them, and realise that Clint Barton is Nat’s omega. She grins at you, beatific and serene, as if she can read your thoughts and knows exactly what you’ve just figured out.

“Let’s not hold (Y/n) up any longer,” Nat says, grinning in a way that always spells trouble for you. “She’s a woman in high demand.”

Stark leads them to what seems to be a large empty space in the training facility, but it’s soon filled with hologram projections from a tiny Starkpad he pulls from his pocket. You fall into step beside Nat, using your height advantage to glare down at her and convey the level to which you want to strangle her right now. She just loops her arm with yours and kisses you on the cheek, frustrating your attempts at intimidation before you can even begin. Bloody Russian spies, you grumble to yourself as you come a halt in front of the holograms.

You’re looking at building specs, that much is obvious. Why, though, is entirely lost on you. The structure is a tall hexagonal building reminding you of a panopticon, with security floors in the centre and what seem to be prison cells surrounding them. Details jump out from Stark’s hologram - security cameras, miniature guards patrolling the floors, thermally sealed doors and electromagnetic force-fields on the cells. It’s a prison, you surmise, and you’re starting to get a bad feeling as to why you’re here.

You turn to Nat and say, “I’m not going back in the field.”

She pats your arm with only a tiny bit of condescension and says, “I’m not asking you to.”

“You’re my Head of Security,” Stark says, then gestures to the hologram building, “If you can design impenetrable security systems, surely you can undo them.”

“You want me to help you break into this place?” you ask. The team all nod, and you look back at the intimidating, virtual-blue building in front of you. “It’s a fortress.”

“Yeah, they really upped the anti on security since I was in there,” Sam Wilson says, earning him a reproachful look from Steve. It does nothing to soothe the anxiety starting to thread through your chest. Failing the Avengers doesn’t seem like an option, but from where you’re standing, neither is breaking into this facility.

“I’ll need to know what it is first,” you say, “Then I can try and help you. Emphasis on try. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“It’s called the Raft,” Steve says, his face growing stony and set as he talks. “It’s a prison designed for enhanced persons by Secretary Ross. After Germany, I broke Sam, Scott, and Clint out. But Wanda-“

“We need to get her out of there,” Clint says. You pretend not to notice as beside you Nat discreetly takes his hand, rubbing her thumb across his bruised knuckles.

“Leave the search and rescue to us,” Stark says, and you watch him shift uncomfortably under some inscrutable looks Steve and Sam are giving him, “We just need your help on how to get into the joint.”

“Simple,” you breathe, but only Nat laughs. This seems like an impossible task, but from the look of everyone around you, failure isn’t an option. You’re going to have to make the impossible possible. It’s a good thing you’ve had some experience with that - in the military, trapped into sand-filled corners with no foreseeable way out, it really did seem like you were working miracles to stay alive out there. You swallow past a dry mouth and blink through desert-gunked eyes, say, “I’ll need that Starkpad, and some time.”

“You have forty-eight hours,” Stark says. The hologram disappears in a blink as he throws the Starkpad, no bigger than your palm, which you only just manage to catch. Stark clicks his fingers, as if an idea as just occurred to him, and says, “Oh, I almost forget to tell you! The Raft is underwater. Completely submerged, middle of the ocean, super top-secret. Fun, right?”

Your heart drops to your stomach. Fun is not the word you you would use. Only forty-eight hours to break into the most secure facility in the country, if not the world? This day couldn’t possibly blindside you anymore.

As if the universe is conspiring against you, FRIDAY’s voice chimes in from overhead speakers to say, “Mr Stark, Sergeant Barnes is on his way to the gym floor.”

You feel your whole body lock up, heart seizing in your chest - Bucky? Here? You weren’t prepared to see him yet, or speak to him. What would you say? How could you apologise for one of the worst crimes you may have ever committed, and you’ve killed people? Natasha unloops her arm from yours, tries to soothe you with a hand on your back but it does nothing for the anxiety shooting sparks throughout your blood stream.

“How many times have I got to tell that illiterate Soviet popsicle, he’s not on the fucking team,” Stark grumbles, storming towards the elevators with a scowl. Steve clenches his fists, glaring after Stark but Sam holds him back. He mutters something only Steve can hear which makes him close his eyes and exhale sharp through his nose - frustrated, but calming by the nanosecond.

It’s a shame nobody thought to do the same for you.

“What did you just call him?” you say, ignoring Natasha’s warning murmur of your name as you follow after Stark. Maybe you still have some residually elevated hormones from your heat, or you really are just a lovesick idiot who can’t control her temper, but whatever it is has you absolutely incensed. Stark stops dead, clearly caught off guard by the venom in your voice, and spins on his heel to stare at you incredulously.

“Excuse me?” he says, blinking owlishly at you as you lean up into his space. You’re aware you’re overstepping the boss/employee line, but you can’t help yourself. The rage is brewing, and with each laboured breath Bucky’s scent grows stronger and stronger until it’s all you can smell. It settles over your skin like armour, and the urge to protect that hold on you, to protect him, is beyond your control - it’s primal.

“Don’t talk about him like that, ever,” you snarl, watching with satisfaction as Stark’s eyes turn round and wide.

He glances behind you towards his friends and says, “Are we sure she isn’t an alpha? Sheesh.”

“Tony,” Natasha warns, but it’s too late. You use the palm of your hand to slam into Stark’s solar plexus. You kick out his kneecap and he drops on one knee, wheezing and gasping for air. It all happens so fast you can’t even think about the repercussions of assaulting your boss, let alone what’s driven you to do it in the first place.

“I don’t need to be an alpha to kick your ass,” you hiss, glaring down at Stark who looks up at you like you have, in fact, lost your mind.

At that moment, the elevator dings and reveals Bucky practically seething behind the elevator doors. He storms in, larger than life - in the week or so it’s been since you’ve seen him, you’ve somehow forgotten how physically intimidating he actually is. You immediately step back from Stark’s kneeling figure, feeling the strange need to hide your hands behind your back like a kid caught with the cookie jar. Bucky glances wildly between you, Stark on the ground, and the ring of Avengers in different states of attempting to intervene. He heaves ragged breaths and is emitting a scent that threatens to take you to your knees, too. Authoritative, powerful, protective.

That submissive, animalistic side of you makes you really hate being an omega sometimes.

“Why is she here?” Bucky asks someone behind you, probably Natasha. He swings his, frankly, frightening gaze to Stark and demands with just as much venom as you had, “What did you do to her.”

“Jesus Christ, nothing!” Stark wheezes, clutching at the spot on his chest you’ve definitely bruised. He points an accusing finger at you and cries, “She hit me!”

“I’m so sorry,” you say, feeling your hands start to shake where you clutch them behind your back. You look to Bucky like maybe he can explain, which makes you sick to your stomach because he’s not yours to look towards. Now, more than ever, that is abundantly clear. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do!” Natasha pipes up behind you, helpful as ever. Bucky glares at her for you this time, releasing you of his burning-hot stare. His gaze has the power to paralyse you, and you need to get away from him, this, all of it - right now. You don’t get a chance to, however, before Natasha once again sticks her foot in it and says, “She was defending your honour, James.”

“Yeah, and I’ve no idea why. One quick google search should tell you he doesn’t need any-“

It takes you a second to realise the snarling, growling sound echoing through the gym is coming from you. Your face burns as you roll your lips together, cutting the sound off completely. For your entire life you’ve been headstrong and confident, but this whole experience with Bucky from the very first day you met him has shaken your entire self-perception. Everything you’ve known has been turned upside down - it was easy when all alphas were assholes, and you were one omega they couldn’t fuck with. Now, you stare down at your shoes and refuse to look in Bucky’s direction because he’s affected you so much you can’t even control yourself anymore. The worst part is that it’s entirely your own doing, because Bucky made it very clear you aren’t the one he wants, so everything you’re doing right now is just incredibly humiliating.

“(Y/n)?” Bucky’s voice makes you shudder. Looking at him would surely make you burst into flames, from embarrassment of the last time you saw him which you can’t even think about, or from the shame of pathetically defending a man who doesn’t want anything to do with you. He doesn’t even want you here, storming up to ask why you’re in his home in the first place.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, giving Bucky a wide berth as you head for the elevators. You can’t get there fast enough, practically sprinting to press the close-door button as fast as you can.

“Wait-“

And then, the absolute worst thing happens. You almost crush the Starkpad still in your hand from clenching your fist so hard - you have to, in order to keep your hands by your sides and not in Bucky’s personal space. Because just as the doors are about to slide closed, he slips in between them and FRIDAY seals you both in. The elevator fills with Bucky Bucky Bucky, just like your heat-addled brain has been chanting at you since you stumbled into his apartment a week ago.

Bucky stares at you wide-eyed, and you stare back just the same. This could possibly be your worst nightmare come to life, especially when the elevator screeches to a halt and FRIDAY’s dulcet tones hammer your fate home.

“I appear to be having some technical difficulties,” FRIDAY says, sounding confused if an AI can sound like anything. “I’m so sorry, I’m trying to fix this. It seems someone is manually overriding my control of the elevator.”

“Nat,” you groan, in unison with Bucky. So that’s it. You’re stuck in an elevator with Bucky and are being forced to face the music, by the powers that be. The powers being Natasha, a no good meddler who is going to be in a world of pain when you get out of here. Alpha be damned.

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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

A Fire I Can’t Put Out (Songbird Chapter 2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: One week later, a chance encounter leads Reader and Spencer to each other once again. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Smut (exhibitionism, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh riding, male masturbation, fingering, oral sex - male and female receiving, multiple orgasms), Language Word Count: 10k (I got really carried away lol)

SERIES MASTERLIST SERIES PLAYLIST (new songs added with the release of each chapter)

NOTE: Alas! Our first inkling of fluff! While this chapter is very spicy (you get 2 smut scenes 😉), there’s also a very cute, fluffy moment at the piano that I hope you all enjoy! (Just thinking about it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside...) See you on Valentine’s Day for Chapter 3! 🥰

(Also, everyone should listen to the song I added to the end, it’s BEAUTIFUL and I changed the song/title of the chapter to match it last minute, because I just discovered it and it was too perfect not to use lol)

***

The note felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. It may have one time been a crumpled receipt, but now it was a searing reminder of the one time in my life that I'd broken my own rule and allowed a man to stay. It hummed ferociously, screaming at me to do everything in my power to find him again and finally learn his name at the very least.

Because that was the thing that bugged me the most. I thought that by refusing to learn his name that night, I would save myself the potential attachment, but it turns out all that did was make me even more attached to him.

I tried to convince myself over and over that it was just because he fucked me so good I thought I hurdled through space and time, and not because he was incredibly gorgeous, respectful, and pretty much downright perfect. Maybe it was all of those things rolled into one perfect, blissful night that was meant to be just that—a one-night stand. The one-night stand, if you will.

But no matter what I tried to tell myself, my thoughts always drifted back to him. S...

What could his name be? Steven? Sam? Scott? Sonny? Saxon?

I didn't want to think about it anymore. Maybe his name didn't even start with S... Maybe he meant it to mean Stranger. That was possible, right?

That was probably it. That had to be it, otherwise I was going to lose my mind trying to figure it out when there was a high chance I was never even going to see him again.

My fingers drifted over the piano keys and tried to play anything, anything from memory, anything from scratch? God, just play something... And when I finally did feel my fingers press down into the keys, I didn't register what the song was until I was singing the words.

"Say you'll remember me..."

"No!" I slammed my hands on the keys and then leaned forward on my elbows, resting my head in my hands as the loud array of notes faded into the bright, morning air. I took a deep breath and started to laugh to myself. "What the hell, Y/N..."

He wanted to be remembered, right? He wanted me to remember him. And by leaving the first letter of his name—and a note in the first place—that surely meant that he hoped I'd see him again, right? Or that I'd try to find him? Maybe that was his subtle way of telling me he'd be at the bar for the next open mic night, just in case I decided to show up again.

Or, maybe he was just being a decent human being, Y/N, you know shit like that doesn't happen in real life. Don't fucking fall for it.

I sighed and hit random keys on the piano again before getting up and deciding to take a drive.

When even music didn't take my mind off anything—which was almost never—driving always seemed to do the trick. Sure, there was usually more room for thinking when it came to driving, but for me, it was almost panic-inducing if I wasn't giving the road my full, undivided attention. It's not that I was bad at driving, but I certainly wasn't great at paying attention unless I was fully committed. Since I didn't want to seriously injure myself or die in a car wreck, I found that the best option to get my mind off of anything that was troubling me was to just drive.

It hadn't failed me yet, but maybe this would be the thing that finally sent me flying off a bridge and into a river.

I promptly decided not to think about that.

While I was going out I figured I'd stop by the coffee shop on my way out of town, that way I'd at least have a nice iced coffee to indulge in while I just wandered around. I made sure my driving playlist was downloaded to my phone before also grabbing my bag and keys, and then leaving the apartment.

***

"Hi, I'll take a large vanilla iced coffee, please."

"Will that be all?"

I smiled at the barista, whose nametag read Reyna. "Yes."

"Okay, your total is $3.50."

After handing her a five-dollar bill and putting the change in the tip jar, I stood on the other side of the counter to wait for my order and scrolled through my phone as the next person came up and ordered. It didn't take long, which I was more or less thankful for, but when I turned around, I ran right into someone's back and almost dropped my coffee.

"Whoa! I'm so sorry!"

I instinctively looked down to make sure I didn't spill anything, or that the person I ran into didn't spill anything, and when I finally looked up to apologize to their face, I froze and almost dropped my coffee anyway.

There was no fucking way.

"Hey, Stranger," he said almost nervously, his cheeks flushed.

I wasn't sure when I actually answered, but it seemed like forever because I was just so shocked that I actually fucking saw him again. I truly didn't think in a million years I would live in a moment like this, but there I was, taking in this man in all his beautiful glory.

He was more dressed up than the last time I saw him, maybe for work, or maybe that's just how he dressed sometimes. Whatever the case, I didn't give a shit because it was hot as hell. The color of his corduroy jacket was the same as his eyes, which now that I could see him in better lighting were lighter than I remembered. Under it was a white dress shirt and some type of olive green vest. His hair was still messy and downright tug-able, light curls framing parts of his face. Which was currently in the process of taking me in as well.

I smiled at him, though I wasn't sure if it was coming off as too excited, revealing myself to him, or if it was underwhelming. Or maybe it was just right?

Oh, who cares, Y/N, just fucking say something back!

"Hey, yourself. I... can't believe I ran into you again."

My stomach flipped at the way he smiled back at me, like he was almost nervous to be in my presence. Like I would have shooed him away rather than acknowledge him. He was fucking nervous and I found it incredibly endearing. It was such a contrast to... that night. Once he gained confidence, he was really something... But even now he still was really something, just in a different way, as he visibly tried to find the right words to say.

Finally, he settled on, "Yeah, I... I didn't think I'd see you again. It's... a nice surprise."

Understatement of the century, I thought as I waited for him to speak again. His voice was so... I didn't know how to describe it, other than to say it was so fitting for him, and therefore it was perfect.

Was that weird? Was I being weird?

"Do, um... Do you want to sit down?" I offered, gesturing to the tables on the other side of the café.

"Oh, I don't want to keep you if you're busy, I—"

"Nah, I had nothing going on today, trust me." I gave him a wink as we started making our way to the sitting area. "Besides, Stranger, if we're gonna keep meeting like this, I'm gonna need to at least know your name, don't you think?"

He laughed a little before shrugging, waiting until we sat down across from each other to respond. "I don't know, I... I think I like hearing you call me Stranger. It has a nice ring to it."

We both took a sip from our drinks, our eyes never losing their contact. By the way his face turned even redder, I would have thought he'd look away first, but he didn't. I had to wonder if he didn't look away because he didn't want to, or if he couldn't. Either way, I liked it.

"So, Stranger, tell me..." I said, setting my drink down and folding my hands over the table. "You been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you lately?"

I could tell he hadn't been expecting that question, because for a second it looked like he was choking on his drink. He coughed before setting it down, though his hand never left the cup. "I— Y—you've been thinking about me?"

Suddenly remembering the note in my pocket, I scrambled to get it out. And as he looked at me, still shocked but a little puzzled now, too, I started to wonder if maybe it was a stupid idea. But there was no stopping it, now, because that would have been even more puzzling, not to mention embarrassing on my part.

I un-crumpled the note and held it in my hands, outward so he could see his handwriting. "I've been staring at this thing and carrying it around with me everywhere in my pocket for the past week, dude."

It looked like he was trying to hide a smile, and failing miserably at it. "So... Leaving the note was a good idea, then, huh?"

I smiled, though trying to hide it wasn't even an option. "Well, it certainly got me thinking about putting a name to the face... and the body... But in all honesty I think I would have been thinking about you regardless."

He studied me for a moment, and an unfamiliar feeling in my stomach just about sucker-punched me at the way he did it, his face softening and just getting lost in thought. Or me, though I didn't want to flatter myself. Even still, the thought of him being completely lost in my presence, in my just being here, discussing our brief past, was enough to tighten the knot in my stomach.

I couldn't tell if I liked that feeling or not.

Because while my body certainly seemed to like this uncharted territory, something tugged at the pant leg of my brain like a small child, looking up at me and saying with sad eyes that they wanted to leave and go home, back to the comfort and safety of what they already knew. And who was I to deny that?

But at the same time, I couldn't for the life of me let this man go. I wanted, ached to know more about him.

I was intoxicated, and it scared the ever-loving fuck out of me.

"Can I tell you my name?" His voice almost made me jump.

I considered it for a moment, before ultimately deciding that it would be a good small step to take. "Yes."

"Will you tell me your name?"

"Maybe."

We both smiled at each other for a few seconds before an idea came to my mind. He was about to tell me his name right then I think, but I held up my hand and leaned forward, tilting my chin up a little. "You know what... Before you tell me, I wanna know something... Have you ever fucked anyone in a public restroom?"

If he'd had any coffee in his mouth, it surely would have been all over the place right then. Instantly his eyes widened and he looked around the room as his cheeks flushed redder than I'd ever seen them. "What are you doing?" he gushed out really fast, almost refusing to look me in the eye.

"Giving you a deal. No one uses the restrooms here because people are always rushing in and out to grab coffee, or there's hardly anyone here to use them anyway. Bottom line is: we can easily be inconspicuous. So here's what I'm offering."

"This isn't a good idea—"

"You don't have to agree, obviously, but hear me out."

I waited for further resistance, but he just blinked at me, and I took that as my cue. "I'm gonna get up and walk to the women's room. You'll follow me after about a minute, and if you can make me cum twice then we can exchange names and numbers."

"We... We can do that without the exhibitionism, though, you know that, right?" He spoke as if anyone would be able to hear him if he wasn't quiet enough.

"Of course. But... I really haven't been able to stop thinking about you, and judging by the way you're shifting in your seat I can tell you're strongly considering taking me up on my offer. Because you haven't been able to stop thinking about me, either. And you really want to fuck me again, probably almost as much as I want to fuck you again. So what do you say?"

He still didn't speak, only stared at me, which left me to wonder what he was thinking. If anything, he almost looked a little petrified, so last minute I decided to take a little pity on him.

"Okay, new plan. I'm still going to go into the bathroom and wait a minute for you, two tops. I am gonna give you this, though..." I grabbed a napkin, a pen from my bag, and wrote my number down on it before sliding it to his side of the table. "I'll wait for you. If you don't want to go through with this, you can leave. But then you're gonna call me later, and we'll set a date to meet up if you want. How's that sound?"

I think he was completely overwhelmed by my ultimatum, because he still didn't say anything. Though this time he seemed... awed. Not necessarily as embarrassed as he was before, but more enchanted with the idea of what I was offering, the way I presented everything to him.

Figuring that was a good sign, I winked at him and made it a point to walk to the bathroom as seductively as I could without being too obvious.

Though, the further I got, and the longer I waited in the bathroom, the more I wondered if he'd already left the café. And then it started to dawn on me that I might have acted like an asshole, giving ultimatums to a man who was just trying to tell me his name. Why couldn't I have just let him tell me? We were right there, and I had to go ahead and turn it into a fucking game... And for what? So I could get laid? The thing is, I was so sure he liked me enough that after he told me his name we probably could have gone somewhere private and—

The door opened, and I was about to yell at whoever it was that someone was in the room already, but then I saw his face and felt myself relax.

"Hey, I'm... I'm sorry if I pressured you into doing this," I said sincerely, as he locked the door behind him. "We really don't have to if you don't want, I was... I was just trying to... I don't know, be mysterious or something? Which, I guess I can be, but I promise I'm not usually like this, and—"

"Hey, it's alright. I promise. Now... I don't mean to change the subject so quickly, but I do believe I owe you two orgasms. And I don't want us to get caught, so I'd like to get to it if you don't mind."

Holy fucking shit..

"You really know how to get a girl to shut up, Stranger," I said, grabbing him by the jacket and pulling him to me. I looked up into his eyes and smirked, walking us backwards until I hit the counter, just beside the sink. "How fast do you think you can get me there?"

A small smirk twitched at his lips before he surprisingly lifted me up and promptly sat me on the counter. "Depends... You gonna keep talking or are you going to let me do my job?"

The low tone in his voice was unlike anything I'd heard from him thus far, and it lit this fire in me that I didn't know I had. With a small, involuntary moan, I spread my legs wide and let him stand between them. He pulled me in for a long, hot kiss before dropping to the ground and wiggling me out of my pants. He ended up taking off my shoes, too, so he could slip my pants and underwear off my body completely. No sooner than they hit the floor did he get to work, his hands coming up to spread my legs once again, propping my heels up on his shoulders.

Unfortunately I couldn't keep myself from moaning out as he worked my pussy with his mouth, each long, wet drag of his tongue adding fuel to the fire he'd already kindled within me. I tried to bite my fist, hoping it would muffle some of the sounds, but it wasn't working.

I was thinking about calling the whole thing off and going somewhere we wouldn't get in trouble, when he seemed to have another idea.

Before I knew what was happening, my panties were shoved in my mouth, and my eyes were rolling to the back of my head as he slipped a finger inside of me with ease. In no time I felt my orgasm creeping up on me, every pump of his fingers and every quick, meticulous flick of his tongue on my clit getting faster and faster with each passing second. I shrieked into the ball of fabric as quietly as I could manage as I started to fall, clenching and shaking around him in record time.

Once I relaxed, he pulled himself away from me and stood up, licking his fingers clean and working at his belt as I stared at him with pleading eyes. I wanted to take the panties out of my mouth, but I knew that if I did I probably wouldn't be able to keep quiet. And the fact that he'd put them there in the first place, after so clearly being flustered at my suggestion to go have a quick fuck in a public restroom, completely turned me on and made me want him even more.

I did manage a pretty decent moan when he finally came forward and lined himself up with my waiting pussy. He smiled a little before leaning forward, never entering me but running his dick over it, coating himself with my arousal. He leaned his head in and brushed my hair from my neck before kissing it, and even softly biting me. If it was going to leave bruises, I didn't care. I welcomed every kiss, every lick and bite, and every slow, excruciating drag of his cock along my pussy.

He slid the tip of himself into me for a second before pulling out and moving my face with his hand, gripping my jaw and making me look at him. I whimpered at the loss of contact where I was clenching around nothing, patiently waiting for him, and also at the gain of our eye contact. I genuinely had no idea what he was going to do next, but I hoped it involved some semblance of a repeat of last time.

But once again, he surprised me, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to mine, ripping the panties from my mouth using his own. He leaned back, the pale blue fabric hanging from his teeth, and the sight drove me absolutely wild. It didn't help that he kept them in his mouth as he slapped my clit with his dick, and it took everything I had not to moan obscenely. He could tell, too, because he brought a hand to cover my mouth right as he pushed into me and held himself there.

He tossed his head to the side and dropped my panties on the ground, then ran his hands along the insides of my legs and rested them on my thighs. "I'll keep going as long as you keep quiet."

"You probably should have kept the panties in my mouth, then," I breathed, clenching myself around him and feeling him grip my skin tighter.

"Guess you'll just have to try and be quiet like a good girl, then, won't you?"

The whimper that escaped me was utterly pathetic. And I loved it.

Needing this to get going now, I reached forward and grabbed his hips, urging him to start moving, and thankfully he did. It was slow at first as we both just savored the feeling of being together like this again.

But in a matter of seconds all pleasantries were thrown out the window, and he slid his hands up to grip my waist as he pounded into me as quietly as he could. To ensure the skin-on-skin slapping wasn't too loud, he kept his thrusts short and staccato, but incredibly deep, setting my insides on fire and making me clutch onto the back of his ass for dear life. I tried so hard not to yell out that I was pretty sure my nails broke through his skin. He hissed out sharply, confirming that I was hurting him, so I let him go and opted to for gripping his shirt instead. I drew him closer, that way I could kiss him and feel all of him at once.

I might have also needed to find some way to keep myself quiet.

I moaned into his mouth as he kissed me back, every swipe of his tongue somehow managing to perfectly find a rhythm in tandem with his thrusts, despite how rushed and sloppy we were being.

It wasn't long before I felt myself start to fall apart, my hands clutching onto his jacket for dear life as my stomach started to knot. "Gonna cum, gonna cum," I murmured into his mouth, and he pulled away to kiss my neck.

My arms wrapped around him and pulled him as close to me as room would allow, right as my eyes squeezed shut and I saw stars, my second orgasm quick and intense. I mumbled little 'uh-huh's into his mouth as he fucked me through it, and when I was done, he pulled out, leaving me dazed but also confused.

It looked like it pained him to pull his pants up and tuck his still-hard dick away, so I reached out. "Why didn't you finish? We're in a bathroom, I can clean up just fine..."

"My orgasm wasn't part of the deal," he stated simply, straightening his clothes and trying to get comfortable.

"So, what, you're just going to walk around town with a boner?"

"No. It'll go away soon, I'll be fine." Once his clothes were all the way on, he reached into his jacket pocket, handed me a slip of paper—a business card it looked like—and kissed me quickly one more time. "Besides, the next time I cum inside you, I'd like to hear you saying my name."

And then he walked out of the bathroom without another word, grabbing my panties and shoving them in his jacket pocket as an afterthought before he disappeared.

I don't think I moved for a good minute or two before I finally looked down at the card and read his note. He must have written it down before he came in here.

Y/N, I heard them call your name at open mic night, and that's when I knew. I'm free tomorrow night. I hope you'll call. —Stranger

I turned the card over and saw his number, followed by his name.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

The second I got home, I ran to the bathroom and fixed my... problem... I wanted so badly back in the café to finish what I started, but I'd meant what I told her. I'd sighed her name out as I touched myself the few times since I'd met her, and I could only imagine what it would finally sound like to hear her say my name. I knew she could already tear me apart at her touch, but I wanted desperately to know if my name on her tongue would have the same effect.

I was almost positive it would, but I just needed to know.

It surprisingly didn't take long for me to finish, just the mere thought of her face and the way she looked at me as I shoved her underwear in her mouth enough to take me to the edge. And finally, when I felt them practically bruning a hole in my pocket, I tensed and sighed out her name, cum spilling out over my hand and into the toilet.

The orgasm should have calmed me down, should have relaxed me, but instead, as I cleaned up and changed into different clothes, I wondered if she would actually call me.

First of all, it was a wonder I'd ran into her at all. Truthfully, I didn't think I was ever going to see her again, and when I heard her voice call out an apology for bumping into me, I really thought I was dreaming. And yet, there she was, right in front of me in all her beautiful glory.

So when she offered to sit down with me, I couldn't say no. And when she asked, You been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you lately? ... I was pretty sure I couldn't breathe. I didn't tend to think of myself as the type of guy who would leave that good of an impression, so hearing her of all people say that sent my heart—and stomach—into a mess of flutters.

And though the confidence I had in my ability to flirt with women in any capacity was very slim, I must have done something right. Because when I picked up the phone later that night and heard a low, "Hey, Stranger," through the speaker, I couldn't stop smiling. "Or should I call you Doctor?"

***

"YN... I'm really glad you called."

Hearing him say my name for the first time did something to me I couldn't explain. The way he said it was innocent enough, but it still made me beam with excitement.

I was curled up on my couch, wrapped in a robe after my shower and having been contemplating whether or not to call all afternoon.

I didn't want to wait too long in case he ended up making other plans or something, but I was also apprehensive. Because as much as I wanted to keep seeing Spencer, I wasn't sure I could handle breaking his heart. That's what always happened, didn't it? I started seeing someone, things would be great for the first few months, and then as they fell more in love with me I fell more out of love with them. But even then I wasn't sure I could call it that, because I never fell in love with them in the first place. Not even gotten close to it.

Would... Spencer be different? It was hard to tell. He'd already made me feel things I'd never felt before, so maybe this time would be different.

Or maybe that would just make it hurt even more when I inevitably pushed him away.

But I didn't want to think about that. All I knew in the moment was that he intrigued me, and for the first time in my life I actually wanted to to be near him almost every second of the day. Even when I wasn't thinking about him, my body was buzzing with the aftermath of him. His entire being was so magnetic that I couldn't help but be drawn to him. Even if, ultimately, I knew it would end with one or both of us in shambles, I wanted it. I wanted him more than anything, to be with him, to see him smile, to hear him talk...

That little kid that was tugging on my pant leg earlier, warning me that it was time to go home, was screaming now. Scared for its life and begging for me to turn back.

And for some reason, against my better judgement, I ignored it.

"You really knew my name the whole time and didn't tell me?"

From the pause on the other end of the line, I could tell he must have been nervous. I could see him in my head, looking down at his twitching hands as he tried to find some explanation. "Um... Well, you said you didn't want to know names, so I... thought I'd keep quiet. I hope you're not mad about that..."

I smiled. "No, I'm not mad. It was nice of you." I paused a beat before changing the subject. "So, uh... Tomorrow night..."

"Oh... Yeah, I travel quite a bit for work, and I don't get many days off, but tomorrow night is the only time I'm free for a while. So I guess it was a good thing I ran into you when I did."

"Hmm... I guess you're right. In that case, I should probably take it easy on you. Wouldn't want to wear you out or anything."

He laughed a little, and warmth bloomed in my chest at the sound. I imagined seeing him smile, which made it fully blossom. "No need. You... You could wear me out any day."

"Careful what you wish for, Stranger. Time and place?"

"I can be by your place at 6? I'll even bring food if you want."

I paused, suddenly reminded of the screaming child again. This time it was yelling, "It's not safe! Don't let him in, please!"

But God damn it, I wanted to so bad...

"Uh, sure," I finally answered, playing with the hem of my robe anxiously. "You... remember where it is? As I recall, you were pretty nervous the last time you were here, and kind of occupied with... other things."

"Oh, I—I remember everything, pretty much. I know where to go, it's okay."

He didn't elaborate. I kind of wanted him to, but figured the less I knew about him the better. I was invested in him enough already, and knowing more would just plunge me in deeper than I was comfortable with. So, I told him, "Alright. If you need directions or anything though, let me know. Should I be... wearing anything in particular when you get here, Doctor?"

The line was silent, and I could picture that little shocked expression on his face, the one he got every time I said something suggestive that he wasn't expecting. It was cute. "A—Anything you want will be fine..."

I laughed and bit my lip, leaning back into the couch. "Okay... See you later then. Tomorrow night, 6PM."

"Tomorrow night. 6PM. Goodnight, Y/N."

My face felt warm and my stomach fluttered as I curled into myself and smiled into the phone. "Goodnight, Spencer."

What surprised me most about that night was that I didn't hang up right after. I waited. And waited, until he hung up, just in case he said anything else. And I think he was in the same mindset, because we sat in silence for a good fifteen seconds before I finally hung up, shaking my head and wondering if he thought that was weird.

As it turns out, he didn't.

About ten minutes later, as I was getting into bed, I got a text message that read: I hope you know that I always have your song stuck in my head. The one from the bar. I hope you'll sing to me again one day.

I promptly sent back: If you're a good boy for me tomorrow, I just might, and set my phone on my dresser, ignoring the way my heart swelled at his sentiment.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. And when I did finally drift off, my dreams were about Spencer.

***

Usually I was decently confident when it came to my 'date' outfits. I knew what looked good on me, and I knew what made other people go, "Holy shit," under their breath when they saw me, so it should have been easy. And to some degree it was, but with all these weird feelings I was having lately, I was second-guessing myself.

But no matter how badly I second-guessed my decision, I stuck with what I knew best, wearing a thin black long-sleeved shirt with a low neckline and form-fitting jeans that flared at the bottom. A necklace with a silver diamond that matched my belly-button ring sat nicely at my chest, right above my cleavage. I opted to leave my hair down in long, loose curls that curled away from my face, and framed my eyes with simple black eyeliner and mascara, leaving my lips alone with a peppermint chap stick. Remembering how Spencer had complimented and basically worshipped my hands, I accented them with a deep purple nail polish that almost looked black if there wasn't any light shining on them. I put on a few rings that matched my other body jewelry and wore a thin, braided rope bracelet that my sister made me for my thirteenth birthday. Since I didn't think we were going anywhere, I only wore black ankle-length socks, but kept a pair of simple black heeled boots by the door in case we did decide to leave.

As for my... undergarments, I chose a nice black lace set that I only brought out on rare occasions, and I felt like it fit. The material was sheer and lacy, and that was about it. It was simple, but sexy, and that's what I loved about it. And if I knew Spencer's taste as well as I thought I did, I was pretty sure he would love it, too.

And that fact alone was enough to snap me out of my worry.

Kind of. I mean, he was still coming to my apartment, and I was almost certain that he was going to look around and probably ask some questions about things. Which, normally wouldn't be a bad thing, and in a way it really wasn't, but it still made me nervous...

I just hoped that I could keep him occupied enough so that I wouldn't have to deal with it too much.

There was a knock at my door, and I was thankful, finally pulled out of my head and into the world around me. I got up and opened the door with a smile, leaning against it slightly and taking him in.

"Hey, Stranger," I drawled, giving him a wink as I stepped aside to let him in.

But he didn't come in. Not until he was done taking me in, of course. "You... Wow, uh, hi," he stammered, holding out a bag that had to be takeout. "You look great."

As he walked in, I shut the door behind him and looked at his backside before he turned around. "Speak for yourself."

He took off his shoes, which revealed one red striped sock and one purple and blue polkadotted one, which made me smile. He wore simple grey corduroy pants and a purple sweater that matched my nail polish almost perfectly. His hair was just as perfect as it was the last two times I saw him, rightfully messy and curly that made me want to skip dinner all together and get right to dessert.

I even told him as much.

"You're kinda making me want to skip dinner."

"Oh, we... We can eat after if you want to, I don't mind," he offered kindly. It was sweet.

I laughed and walked up to him, bringing my right hand up to run my fingers through his hair. Then I leaned up and kissed him hotly on the lips for a few seconds before pulling away and letting out a low 'hmmm'. "Probably a good idea, but I'm starving."

I turned and started to the kitchen, throwing back over my shoulder, "That okay with you?"

"Y—Yeah, of course."

I turned on the light above the table before pulling out a chair for him with a smile. "I didn't really eat much today, so takeout sounded really good. I hope you didn't have to go too far out of your way to grab it, otherwise I could have made something here."

He sat down and I went to the other side of the kitchen to grab forks and plates. "Oh! No, it was alright, it was on the way over. Plus, I guess I don't really mind the travel, since I already do so much of it."

"Right, you mentioned that," I confirmed, taking a seat across from him. My dining room table was small, since my apartment wasn't that big. Even sitting across from one another, if Spencer and I reached our arms out across the table, we would have been able to reach each other's shoulders.

"Hey, do you want anything to drink?" I asked. "I've got some white whine in the fridge, otherwise I also have water, milk, and I think some Sprite."

"Oh, uh... Water is fine, thank you."

As I got up to get it, he got out the food. "Not a drinker?" I wondered aloud, grabbing glasses and the pitcher of water from the fridge.

"Not really. I'll have one on occasion, but if I'm driving I like to steer clear."

So, he wasn't planning on staying the night, then... Ultimately that was a good thing, but a small part of me admittedly felt disappointed. Regardless, I didn't let it show. "Makes sense. I don't drink a lot either, but I've been known to have a good time occasionally. And I always need white wine in the house, that's a rule of mine."

I didn't see his smile, but I could feel it. Was that weird? Feeling a smile? I'd never been able to tell, never noticed that before, but right then I just knew it was there.

But maybe it was just the way he said, "Fair enough," that made me certain.

Whatever the case, I shook the feeling and made my way back to the table with full glasses of water.

We ate with few words between us, though occasionally Spencer would throw out a random fact about the origins of the food we ate, or we exchanged small stories of both of our inabilities to use chopsticks. It was nice, being able to eat with him and not have to talk about where I was from or what my family was like. I never liked sharing that much of myself with someone that soon, let alone at all, so I was thankful for the ease our conversation carried.

Though, at one point he asked, "So, you're a musician? Is it full-time?" And it stopped me in my tracks a little. I loved music, and I was definitely passionate about it, but again, it was so personal to me that for some reason my brain kept sending me signals to turn around and change the subject.

But it was an innocent question. And I used music to my advantage all the time, it wasn't a secret that I was good at it, so I could give him an answer. And I knew that I didn't have to tell him anything I didn't want to, so I just needed to get my shit together and stop worrying. I had to remind myself that not everyone was going to use the things I tell them to hurt me. Truthfully I don't know why I was so paranoid by that, because it never happened, but I chalked it up to just looking for any excuse to keep myself closed off.

I brushed off all the discomfort and doubt I had, and took a drink of water before answering truthfully. "It's not full-time, but I think I'd like it to be. I definitely love it enough, but whether I could handle the stress of being a full-time musician or not is... well, it has yet to be seen."

"Do you write your own songs?"

"Mhm. Have been since I could talk, really. But whenever I perform it's usually covers that everyone knows. Easier to get them excited, anyway."

Spencer smiled, leaning forward a little. "You know, actually I'd never heard the song you sang at the bar that night... That was a cover?"

"Yeah. You don't listen to the radio?"

"Not really. If it all sounds like that, I may have to start, though I'm pretty sure it's not."

I laughed a little. "You'd be right about that... Still, the radio has its merits. I'm a fan of more independent stuff myself, but I keep up to date with what's new. Kinda have to."

"Why's that?"

I chewed my lip for a moment before answering. "Well, I don't do it full-time since I have a day job, but on the side I've helped with writing and producing other peoples' stuff, and a lot of it is what you hear on the radio, so..."

"Oh, that's really cool," he mused, and his eyes gave away that he genuinely seemed impressed. I almost blushed at the sight. "Y'know, I'm sure if you did decide that you could handle the stress of being a full-time musician, everyone would love you."

I laughed again. "You've never even heard my stuff."

"I don't need to," he answered truthfully. "I've heard you sing, you're incredible. And you know how to produce and write music. And, if it's good enough to be on the radio, then I know you've got nothing to worry about."

He could have just been saying that to be nice, and if it wasn't so clearly written on his face that he really believed what he was telling me, I would have thought so. Heat crept up to my cheeks, and I smiled, telling him, "Thank you," before taking another drink of water to cool myself off.

We spent the rest of the meal talking about some of our favorite music, which was a nice way to end it. We had a decent discussion about classical music (He was surprised and I think a little turned on by the fact that I knew a lot of what he was talking about in that department), and as we cleaned up the dishes he happily told me about the story behind one of my favorite classical pieces (which I didn't know and was more than glad to learn).

And while we were on the subject of music, I took him over to my piano when we finished cleaning up, which sat under the only window in the main room of the apartment. The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow over the sleek black of the piano. Since it was a small apartment, I couldn't have a 'fancy' piano like I wanted, so it was an electric one with a few settings to change the sound. I never messed around with it though, unless I was working on something for someone else. But even then, I did that work with other people in the studio, and not at home.

"Here, sit next to me," I said, patting the small space on the bench.

We barely fit together, but it gave us an excuse to be close to each other, which I think he liked. I know I liked it, at least.

"Are you gonna play something?" he asked. "I mean, you don't have to of course, I don't want to make you or put pressure on you or anything, but..."

"I wouldn't have brought you here if I wasn't going to play you something, Stranger," I said with a laugh, turning the piano on and nudging him with my shoulder. "Though, if you don't want me to, I can think of a few other things I could do for you instead..."

I looked up at him to see his face in a flush, and I smiled, my stomach knotting in that unfamiliar way again.

"Um... Maybe when you're done playing," he said finally, reaching out to ghost over the keys with his fingers.

"Do you play?" I asked, suddenly very warm, and turned on at the idea of watching his hands work around a piano.

"A little. I... I don't know much, but I'm a fast learner."

With a small smile, I grabbed his hand and placed his fingers over certain keys to make a chord. "There. Press all of those together," I told him.

He did, and a smile broke out on his face.

"C Minor," I said. "My favorite chord."

"You have a favorite chord?"

"What, you don't?"

"I... never really thought about it."

We laughed together for a few seconds before he played the chord again, this time tapping the pedal underneath to make it ring out longer. I looked up at him with a smile, right as he looked down at me with an even bigger one. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say we got closer, even though that was impossible unless I'd sat on him. Which I didn't do. Not right then at least.

No, I cleared my throat and messed around with a few keys, trying to decide what to play. Spencer removed his hands from the keyboard as I did it, and I could feel his eyes watching my movements. The thought sent more warmth through me, and I decided to go with something familiar.

My fingers settled on the right keys and started playing the chords to Wildest Dreams. And when I started singing, I swear I felt him melt beside me. It was different from the guitar performance, because at the piano I made it sweeter. My vocals weren't as strong, and I slowed it down to make sure I got everything perfect, but made it a point to look over to him occasionally, winking as I sang some rather sultry lyrics.

When I was done, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He looked down at me, his eyes studying my face like he was going to kiss me, but he leaned away from me, like he was deciding against it. Finally though, he spoke.

"While I appreciate the performance, it completely juxtaposes the text you sent me last night."

I really didn't know what to say, mostly because I was having a hard time remembering what I texted. I would have been able to remember any other time, but in the moment I was just too entranced by his presence and the way he was staring at me. "W—What did I say?"

My hand was still on the piano, but I felt his reach out and lightly brush over it, caressing the lengths of my fingers. "You said you might sing for me if I was good for you... We haven't done anything yet, and you still sang for me anyway."

Oh, that...

I smiled, sliding my hand out from under his and dragging my middle finger along his own, up and then back down, over and over again. "Didn't you know that I can see the future?"

He looked amused. "Oh, really?"

"Mhmm..." I kept drawing lines up his middle finger, but leaned in closer to him. "And just before you got here, I saw that you made me cum three times."

He took a moment before leaning in closer and responding, his voice barely above a whisper. "You and your ultimatums..."

"It wasn't an ultimatum. It was the future."

Our faces got closer...

"Oh, okay. I believe you."

...And closer...

"Good."

My eyes fluttered closed as he kissed me, gently and with a care that was practically butterfly-inducing. I leaned into him further, finally moving my hand up his arm and snaking up to grab his hair. As his lips parted and his tongue gently swiped over my bottom lip, I climbed up onto his lap, placing my hands around his head to anchor myself to him. He used his to grab the piano in front of him, pushing us forward a little so we wouldn't fall off the bench. The mess of notes rung out loudly in the air, much like they had the day before, right before I went to the café and ran into him.

The coincidence of it all almost made me laugh, but the humor quickly dissipated before I could, because Spencer brought one of his hands to my lower back and groaned softly into my mouth.

I moaned right back, shifting my hips slightly so that I was straddling one of his legs. He spread them wider to give me more room, and I settled nicely, grinding down and almost whining at how little friction there was between the corduroy that adorned his leg and the denim that adorned mine. That didn't stop me, though. I rode his thigh as well as I could, relishing in the way his hand pushed me further into him and his kisses got deeper and more desperate.

Eventually, though, I had enough. I pulled my mouth away from his and clumsily got off of him, standing up and unbuttoning my jeans. He turned around and reached out to help, but I put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "Stay right there. I'm gonna finish what I started, but I need to get these damn pants off first."

He didn't argue. I held eye contact with him up until I slowly tugged my pants down and stepped out of them, lifting up my shirt a little so he could see the underwear I was wearing. As expected, his eyes wandered south, and I could have sworn I saw his pupils dilate.

But I didn't give him a lot of time to take them in. I made good on my promise and climbed up on his lap again, wrapping my arms around his neck and biting my lip as I started to ride his thigh once more. I started off slow, pressing my forehead to his and enjoying how it felt when his hands firmly grabbed onto my ass. Our lips met again, slowly and yet, also just as desperate as they had before. And with each antagonizing slow roll of my hips, his kisses got bolder, and his hands kneaded my ass, urging me to go faster.

Thankfully for him, I was feeling just as desperate as he was. So I quickened my movements on his thigh and kissed him harder, taking his bottom lip in between my teeth and tugging it before tilting my head to the other side and kissing him again. Meanwhile I could feel that burning in my lower stomach that signaled a fast-approaching orgasm. So I ground myself onto him even harder and whined in his mouth, just before pulling away to speak.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum already," I breathed, pressing small kisses to his jaw.

Spencer squeezed my ass and leaned into my touch. "Go ahead, Y/N..."

It wasn't like he was giving me permission, but just hearing him say my name regardless sent me over the edge, and in no time I was shaking around his leg, clenching my own around him and clinging to his neck for dear life.

Once I came down, I sighed and smiled into his neck, kissing it and moving up to his ear. "Two more to go."

What he said next threw me completely off guard.

"No."

It wasn't a command, or a threat. It was a matter-of-fact statement. I pulled away and looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

He only smirked. "You said I was going to make you cum three times... You did that one all on your own."

The sultry, cocky way he said it made me melt, and I knew then that I was in some serious trouble.

The first time he made me cum was right there on the piano bench. He insisted that I sit down while he eat me out, and I wasn't one to complain. However, he did drag it out so long that by the time I actually came, it felt like I'd done it a thousand times over.

So, to give myself a little break, I returned the favor, and we made it to the kitchen before I couldn't wait any longer and promptly decided to suck him off while he leaned back against the counter. I took the same courtesy he had in dragging it out, pulling off of him completely right as he was about to cum, and I absolutely melted into a pile of nothing upon hearing how he whined and panted while I did it.

I did that in about five long, excruciating cycles before he told me it was my turn and dragged me into my bedroom.

The second time I came, he fucked me against the door, one of my legs standing on the ground while the other lifted and rested on my dresser. He didn't waste any time, just pushing my panties aside and fucking me hard and fast. And fast it was. It only took about a minute before I was convulsing around him, every nerve I had set on fire.

He let me have one more break, laying me down on the bed and taking his time stripping off the rest of my clothes. He must have spent a solid half hour just licking, biting, and teasing my breasts, his hand occasionally reaching down to graze my clit for a few strokes before returning to touch the rest of me. All the while, he slowly rutted against my thigh, moaning into my skin when he got close and stopping his movements all together for about a minute before continuing.

But I was growing impatient and squirmy. So I grabbed his face, pulled him up to kiss me, and wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Fuck me, Spencer, please," I begged, kissing his jaw and shivering at the way he whimpered hearing his name fall from my lips.

He adjusted us for a moment before sliding into me slowly, and we both let out some of the most filthy sounds I'd ever heard. Every movement and sound we made from then on was frantic, desperate, and so full of need that I was almost positive I wasn't even alive anymore. Was I even ever alive at all? Did life exist?

"I can't... I'm go—gonna..."

Spencer suddenly coming to a halt and coming inside me was all I could feel, and it brought me back to my senses. I breathed out his name as he continued emptying everything he had into me, just like he'd admitted to me that he wanted back in the coffee shop. I was close myself, but with his halted movements, I didn't get there.

As I moved one of my hands down to rub my clit, he grabbed my wrist and pinned it above my head, pulling out and then plunging back into me, causing me to gasp.

"That's my job, angel," he murmured sweetly, just as he began slowly fucking his cum into me.

If I wasn't already in trouble, that would have destroyed me.

It didn't take long before I was crying out his name and orgasming for the fourth time that night. It was the most powerful one I'd had... well, ever, if I was being honest. My back gradually lifted off the bed and my eyes were screwed so tightly it felt like they were bruising.

But God be damned if I didn't want to experience that whole feeling over and over again for the rest of my life.

He stayed there for a moment, leaning over me and brushing the softest kisses to my temple as we caught our breaths. Eventually, though, and I wasn't sure how long exactly we'd been wrapped up in each other, he pulled out and laid beside me. And if it wasn't for his cum dripping out of me, I would have probably fallen asleep right there and been happy.

As if he was able to read my mind, Spencer sat up and brushed some of the hair from my face. "I'll go get something to clean you up real quick. Don't move."

I giggled, feeling light-headed and completely blissful as I caught him in our afterglow, taking in his beauty and basking in it like the sun. "I wouldn't go anywhere even if I could."

It wasn't until he came back and started cleaning between my legs with a warm washcloth that I realized what I said.

It took even longer for me to realize that he'd grabbed and put back on his underwear and pants.

As he tossed the washcloth into the laundry basket in the corner of my room, I sat up and reached for his sweater, slipping it on before he could say otherwise. It smelled like him and fit just right, which made me feel all warm and happy.

"Did you, um... want me to stay?" he asked softly not stepping any closer.

Yes.

"It, uh... would probably be better if you left. But... You can stay for an hour or two before you go home?"

Of course it was only a suggestion, because I couldn't make him do anything. But I asked it like a question, because I really wanted him to stay, just for a little bit longer if he couldn't stay the whole night.

Spencer nodded, smiling, and looking a little relieved if I was reading him right. "You should try to go to the bathroom first. Urination after sex is essential to prevent UTIs."

Smiling, I got up from the bed and kissed him on the cheek before grabbing a pair of clean underwear from my drawer and walking to the bathroom.

When I came back with a freshly washed face, my jewelry discarded, and feeling refreshed and ready to fall asleep, he was laying on my bed with his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his bare chest. Thinking better of it, I took off his sweater and threw it at him before rummaging through my drawers for a night shirt of my own.

"You could have kept it on," he said quietly, even as he put the shirt back on himself.

I shrugged, slipping on a large brown tee-shirt and climbing into bed under the covers. "You can't go home without a shirt."

"Right..." He sounded a little sad, but maybe I was just imagining it.

I rolled over on my side and looked at him, already feeling myself start to drift off. But I forced my eyes open and reached out to brush my fingertips through his hair. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Of course," was all he said, a small smile adorning his lips.

I hummed and nestled in closer to him, and his hand came down to rub the inside of my arm.

And as much as I tried to stay awake, just so he would stay longer, inevitably I fell asleep, hearing Spencer humming the melody to my favorite classical piece.

***

My arms stretched out, seeking his warmth even though I knew it wouldn't be there. I told him, made it a point to make sure he knew he had to leave after I fell asleep.

So why did I feel saddened by his disappearance?

I groaned into my pillow and stretched my body, already feeling it ache from all that... strenuous activity from the night before. When I opened my eyes and turned my head, I saw just a glimpse of the sun peeking through the curtains in my bedroom, illuminating what looked like a piece of paper on the other pillow next to me.

I slowly sat up and grabbed it, rubbing my eyes to will myself to read it. I already figured it would be another note from Spencer, but my hear fluttered when I read it nonetheless.

Not sure when I'll be free to meet again, but I'd like to keep in touch— As much as I love when you call me Stranger, I'd prefer to be anything but.

Sweet dreams, — Stranger Spencer

Yeah. I was definitely in trouble.

***

“All my pleasure choked by pain Since I let you get away. I should’ve tied you to the bed When I had you in the flesh. Now I’m chained to the memories.

How the music played loud. How my hair came down. How you kissed my mouth With a fire I can’t put out.

Why does it feel like torture Not to have your skin on mine?”

—Liz Longley, Torture

SERIES TAGLIST: @bluesunrise02 @meowiemari @teenwolfgirl90

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rqgnarok · 4 years

Text

in the face of death - derek hale

fandom: teen wolf

words: 1765

warnings: talk of blood and violence, death, teen wolf spoilers, if you haven’t finished the series? werewolf!female!reader

summary: derek faces the anuk-ite and the confrontations opens up old wounds that never really healed.

author’s note below.

“Derek?”

Derek turns around, a feeling not quite like panic but awareness of the danger he’s in making goosebumps erupt through his skin and the hairs at the back of his neck to stand, his eyes closing quickly when Lydia’s warning from earlier echoes in his head: shut your eyes!

“Derek,” he frowns, because he knows it’s not her, is completely aware that (Y/N) left for Gerard’s armory with Lydia and Stiles, but it is her voice. He spent years familiarizing himself with the tone and pitch, tattooing it to his memory at first unwillingly, but then welcoming the knowledge of how (Y/N) sounded like when she was in danger, when she was frustrated or angry at him, when she was in mourning or in love.

It was only a part of what it meant to fall for someone like (Y/F/N), and now he knows her well enough to understand that it's not her, talking to him and walking from the end of the hallway, nearing him with careful, calculated steps.

Still, he tightens his jaw and draws his claws out because knowing isn’t enough. Derek’s been away from home for too long, not as long as he expected but definitely long enough for him to miss her terribly. Their lousy goodbye in the middle of the fucking desert left a lot to desire; if he could turn back time he would’ve kissed her straight on the mouth instead of dodging her sad eyes and closing his own to press a rough, long kiss to the crown of her head.

“Derek, it’s okay,” the voice calls for him, he can hear it closerclosercloser, but he can’t move, can’t turn around, he’s not sure that if he does he’ll fight the shapeshifter off of him or fall straight into its game. He panics, for a moment, wonders if the reason why the Anuk-Ite is so good at pretending to be (Y/N) is because he’s already got to her before Scott could fix any of this, even before Gerard’s hunters had a chance to fight her first.

A shiver, his fingers tremble at how bad he’s tensing them, his jaw and shoulders ache.

“It’s over,” it tries to win him over, and the soft fingers clutching his right shoulder catch him off guard even if they shouldn’t. And, damn it, it has got (Y/N)’s touch down to a T, too, skin perfect despite the fights and battles she’s gotten into, a werewolf’s healing nature erasing any physical scar she might’ve acquired during their suicidal-like stunts to save the town from the supernatural and vice versa.

But Derek knows none of them have gotten out of them truly intact, is more than aware of those wounds hidden deep inside their minds and not so easy to notice, impossible to really truly heal from them completely.

It takes Derek a moment too long to shift away from the hold and he knows, he knows he’s trapped, done for, as good as dead as Peter, who was waiting for him, Scott and Malia at the entrance of the school, features forever caught off guard and set in stone if they don’t fix this soon. “It’s okay, you can look now.”

“You’re not real,” he bites back, turning around suddenly and throwing a punch so blind not because his eyes are closed but because Derek’s always been weak when it comes to her, and since he came back they’ve barely shared a couple of stolen looks before Scott sent them all on different ways. As he faces Death right now Derek can only think I hope she knows how I feel. He hopes that those looks conveyed everything he was trying to say, the I’m sorry I left, I still love you, I don’t think I ever stopped missing you-

“I’m right here,” there’s a smile in those words, Derek’s been away for a while but he remembers what it looks like and how it tastes, and the memory of (Y/N) grinning sleepily back at him as the sun rises through the windows of his loft, eyes soft and happy and Derek’s sure hand on the small of her back as if that simple touch could protect her of every evil in Gerard Argent’s bestiary. is the only thing keeping him from opening his eyes and surrendering.The moment he does the memory fades, left behind on the back of his eyelids and forgotten as he’s turned into stone. “I’m here, Derek, and so are you, you came home. I didn’t think you would.”

His tightly shut eyes soften almost involuntarily, there’s nostalgia and residual hurt from when he drove away and left her standing outside the abandoned church, and this is the kind of reprimand he expected to be thrown at him when he came back, yet it still feels like a sucker punch to the stomach. He momentarily forgets this isn’t the girl he left behind and lets himself be swallowed by the guilt of his actions.

When he first came back to Beacon Hills after the fire he realized that he wasn’t the best at running away, and the second time he left he expected to be better at it, except now he’s got something to run to rather than away from, and that’s how he realizes, he was always meant to end up here: in the middle of a war he’s been fighting his entire life for just being what he was born as, but willing to give his life to it if it means (Y/N) won’t have to live with the repercussions of their kind.

“But you did, you’re here,” she coos, soft and somehow incredibly personal. It’s not everybody (Y/F/N) doesn’t acknowledge with an almost harsh sarcasm Derek’s sure she got from hanging out with Stiles too much. There’s a hand reaching for one of his own and it's amazing how quickly the claws draw back, he lets it be held despite knowing better. “You came back, that’s all that matters to me. Derek, please, open your eyes.”

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, even when she guides his hand to rest on top of her heart, feeling it beat underneath his fingertips and being too unfocused, blindsided to realize that he can’t actually hear it, a sound he’s learned to identify as easily as her voice.

No, for now, he trusts his touch, his fingers as they follow the path to her face through her collarbones and the slope of her neck, sighing out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in since he decided to drive back to Beacon Hills as (Y/N) leans into his touch, the weight familiar against his palm.

“We can skip town,” she suggests, light and hopeful with an underlining of satisfaction as he remains putty in her grip. Derek’s too enamoured to notice, resolve weakened by the presence of the shapeshifter that’s been haunting his hometown and his traitorous heart, which insists on focusing on literally anything but the matter at hand. “Get in your car, drive to wherever the hell we want. You always wanted a home away from the city, we can do that. I wanna go with you, Derek, please let me go with you.”

I’d take you anywhere he admits to himself, a fact he wasn’t ready to acknowledge a year and a half ago. It had taken him less than an hour into his drive to realize how true it was, but at the time he was convinced that it was the right thing to do, letting her go and trusting she’d be safer with a pack that had people like Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski in it. However blind their optimism and suicidal their plans could be they were good kids, and were certainly better at protecting the people they cared about than Derek had been his whole life.

“Please, don’t leave me behind again.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Then look at me,” she insists, and the air reeks of something Derek can’t recognize, at least nothing he relates to (Y/N) at all, and that should be one of the many warning signs he should’ve taken into consideration to realize that he’s letting his guard down so quickly it’s so fucking stupid. There’s a hand in his hair, slowing down to settle at the back of his neck. “Please, Derek, don’t leave me, look at me-”

“I-”

“Why won’t you look at me?” she covers his hand with her own, and the intensity of her grip along with the fire in her voice is what makes him pull away, too out of character and out of place for the Anuk-Ite to keep the charade any longer, to pretend it’s something, someone it’s not. Derek takes his hand back with a harshness to his movements, his claws back in display and fangs ready to fight his way out of it.

Its voice, shaky with a fury that does not belong to (Y/N) and never has in the years Derek has known her, breaks the spell, and if he weren’t in so much fucking trouble, the born werewolf would laugh. The Anuk-Ite’s greatest advantage in a fight has just become its downfall, unable to perfectly recreate the only person Derek knows better than he knows himself.

After all these years sometimes he fears he’s forgotten the voices of those he lost in the fire, their mannerisms and their familiar expressions. If it weren’t for his mother’s visits in his dreams, his family’s eyes and manners alive in Cora’s and Peter’s faces, he would’ve.

But there’s no way he’d forget her, he knew it the first time after he spent the whole afternoon with her in a injured daze with a wolfsbane bullet deep inside his arm, he knew it when he left her behind in that desert with the taste of salty, bloody skin imprinted on his mouth, still tingling as he drove away and watched her through the rearview mirror until (Y/N) became nothing more than something else he’d left behind in Beacon Hills.

And he knows it now, as he opens his eyes, helpless, aware that the last thing he is going to see is the one monster he couldn’t save his hometown from. His thoughts blur together into a senseless babble inside his head, I hope they make it out, Scott, does he have enough time, please, take care of her for me, tell her I’m sorry, tell (Y/N) I love-

He gives into the darkness.

i wrote this like seven months ago and just wrote a quick ending so i could upload something, mostly cause its been over a year since i have written anything, let alone completed it and i’m still working on the requests you have been sending out.

its been a long year with a horrible writers block but i kinda do like this, so here it is, for you. i hope you like it. i also have a vague idea for a scott piece i wanna write but im not sure i will, lmao, tho writing for teen wolf is really, really easy for me, idk why. anyways, whatever.

stay home and stay safe.

- e.

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ellewritesathing · 4 years

Text

So Close - S.S. XLVI

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 46

Word-count: 6k+

A/N: today on ‘oh shit it’s wednesday’ i bring to you an only-a-little-late update (also the gif doesn’t exactly fit but i can’t find a more appropriate one sorry!!)

You’d heard stories about newly turned werewolves.

Erica had trouble controlling her impulses; she’d do anything that gave her an adrenaline rush. Boyd had trouble controlling his shifts; he’d be out for a run and find himself chasing a deer through the woods. Isaac had trouble controlling his emotions; he would go into fight or flight mode at the slightest noise. It took them months to learn control - Erica died before she could - but eventually, the ones left alive did.

You turned almost a year ago, but your control came in waves. Emotional control was mastered fairly early on, physical control took a while longer, but you thought you’d gotten a hold on them by now.

For the last month or so, your control had slipped almost completely.

At first, it was slow. Your nightmares were worse and you’d started sleepwalking again. Once in a while, you’d wake up in an abandoned room or in the woods. Sometimes, you’d snap at Liam or accidentally hit a little harder than was necessary when you trained.

But now you were waking up almost daily in a dusty abandoned room that was blocked off from the rest of the house. You could only go to sleep if you were tracing the scoring on a Feliscore Arcade token that you’d found in the pocket of a pair of jeans without knowing how it got there. Those accidental hits were becoming more and more intentional.

You’d heard stories about newly turned werewolves and about wolves evolving, but never stories of wolves devolving.

Another fun little bonus of your devolution was that you had trouble concentrating on things anymore. You’d zoned out for most of Scott and Liam’s late-night lacrosse practice - that you’d only gone to because you didn’t want to be alone - and only looked up from your latest Feliscore Arcade google search when they froze on the field.

“What? Are you guys tired of playing catch now or something?” you asked, cringing slightly at the harshness in your voice.

“No. Something’s happening to Mason,” Liam said. His eyes were set on the school, then he dropped his lacrosse stick and bolted. It only took you a second to uncross your legs, get to your feet, and race after him.

The two of you made it to the school milliseconds before Scott, but every millisecond counted towards your little victory over your brother. You tried to squash the ugly, victorious feelings as the three of you broke into the library, and then you tried to smash Mason’s head in when he tried to attack you as you walked in.

Liam pulled you back as Corey and Mason lowered their chair and fire extinguisher. The two of them were out of breath as they recovered from the shock.

“They were here. The Ghost Riders,” Mason said between pants of breath.

You got a funny feeling in your chest at the mention of the Ghost Riders. There was something about them that you should have known; like how you should have known about the Dread Doctors before it was too late.

“Here? Just now?” Scott asked.

You squirmed out of Liam’s grip as he said, “I thought they left when the storm left.”

“I guess not, because two of them were right up there,” Mason said. He pointed up to the railings on the second floor.

You tore your eyes away from the railing after a second. “What were they doing?”

“We didn’t see when they came in.” Mason looked over to Corey for confirmation. “We only saw them when we turned invisible.”

Now it was your turn to hold Liam back as he turned to Corey. “You brought him into this?”

“He was trying to protect me,” Mason said as he stepped between Liam and Corey. He looked over his shoulder at Corey to get him to say something that would make Liam not want to kill him.

“Uh, they didn’t seem to care about us,” Corey said. His heart was beating like crazy. “They- they walked right by us.”

“So, what happened?” you asked, ignoring the agitation caused by Corey's ever beating heart.

Mason and Corey looked at each other for a long time, like they were trying to piece together what happened. “Uh…” Mason blinked a few times and turned back to you. “Then they just jumped down and left.”

“That’s it?” Liam asked. All his muscles were still tense.

“Yeah,” Corey said.

Scott looked away from the railing and let out a breath. “They didn’t take someone? There was nobody else in here?”

Again, Mason and Corey looked at one another. “No. It was just us,” Corey said.

As annoyed as you were at the lack of information, you couldn’t stomach being in the library any longer. It felt like something horrible had happened there, but you couldn’t remember what or to whom. You stormed out of there ahead of the others, but then you paused in one of the hallways.

There was that feeling of deja vu again.

Slowly, you turned to look at the row of lockers. You took some very hesitant steps, letting your muscle memory override the screaming in your brain, and stopped in front of number 1075. Just as you reached out to touch the blue combination lock, a voice snapped you out of it.

“Hey, thinking of getting a new locker?” Mason asked with a smile.

“Uh, yeah. This one’s closer to the parking lot,” you lied. Your fingers reached out for the combination lock but you forced yourself to pull away and turn to Mason. “Did Liam and Scott already leave? I need a ride home.”

“Oh, no, they’re still here. I’ll walk you to the front,” Mason said. He offered an arm to you and you took it with a smile.

A shiver ran up your spine as you cast one last look over your shoulder at locker 1075.

---

After a very confusing conversation with Deaton about phantom limbs, Scott asked you to watch him sleep. You didn’t mind - you barely slept anyway, at least this gave you an excuse to stay up and research the Wild Hunt - even if he did snore.

Things got interesting after the first hour and a half. At first, he just lay there and complained about not being able to sleep when you watched him. You assured him that you couldn’t care less about how much he drooled, and eventually, he fell asleep. Some occasional twitching and mumbling gave way to sleepwalking. Then, sleep-running through the woods.

Scott collapsed into a heap on a pile of decaying leaves. When you were sure he wasn’t going to sleep-attack you, you bent down and woke him up. A brief explanation and change of clothes later, and the two of you had texted Malia and Lydia and started searching the woods for something that mattered.

You stopped when Lydia pulled into the preserve and caught them up on what happened. “Hey, so, I went to bed at home and woke up out in the woods about a mile out,” Scott explained. “I think there’s a reason why this has happened.” He paused, waiting for someone to say something but no one interrupted him. When no one did, he started leading you guys through the woods. “I’ve been out here before. It was the beginning of sophomore year, the night before tryouts for First Line. I remember because it was all that I could think about.”

“What were you doing?” Malia asked. She looked over at you as she stepped over a rock. “And where were you?”

“I was at Willow Creek,” you said quietly, trying to remember why you left Beacon Hills to begin with or why you were so nervous to come back.

“And I was looking for a dead body,” Scott said simply.

“Well, that’s morbid,” Lydia mumbled.

“Yeah, but what was I doing out here all alone?” Scott asked.

“I wish I could help you, but I didn’t know you back then,” Lydia said.

“I was still a coyote so I might’ve tried to eat the body,” Malia offered.

You shuddered at the thought. Aside from the weird cannibalism-adjacent argument, Derek told you that the body in the woods had been Laura Hale. Malia would have tried to eat her cousin.

“Deaton said that my subconscious is trying to tell me something,” Scott said, clearly not as bothered by the semi-cannibalism as you were. He shook his head. “But I need you guys to help me figure out what it’s saying.”

Lydia let out a breath. “Maybe you were just a curious teenager. You heard there was a body-”

“But how? I never watched the news. And I didn’t have a police scanner,” Scott said.

“Your mom works at the hospital,” Malia said. “Maybe she got called in and you overheard her?”

“My mom wasn’t home that night,” Scott said. “And I live five miles away from here. How did I get here?”

“You drove?” Malia suggested.

“No, we didn’t get another car until I came back,” you said.

“Then he ran,” Malia said.

“I couldn’t have. I had asthma,” Scott said. He sighed and shook his head. “I was hiding, but they knew that I was here.”

“Maybe you just made a ton of noise with your asthmatic breathing,” Malia said, getting more annoyed that all her suggestions were being rebuffed.

“How would they know that it was me?” Scott asked. “Why would the Sheriff even think that I would be out here?”

“Because, like most of the deaths in this town, it was related to the supernatural,” Lydia suggested.

“I wasn’t supernatural. I mean, this was the night I was bitten,” Scott said. He looked away, trying to remember something. “I wasn’t a werewolf yet, and I wasn’t out here alone.”

Now was your time to come clean about all the weird things you were doing and feeling. “Scott, I- I agree with you.”

“You do?" Scott asked. He looked surprised but kept talking when you nodded. “I think I had a best friend. And I think he was out here with me that night, even if you weren't. I know it sounds crazy-”

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” Malia said. “I know that someone chained me up and I think they wanted me to stay human.”

“I came to school this morning and I was sure I was supposed to meet someone … but I couldn’t remember who it was supposed to be,” Lydia said.

It got quiet. They all turned to you.

You took a shaky breath and shrugged. “I feel like I’m missing a part of me,” you said softly, not willing to meet any of their eyes. “Not just a best friend but someone … someone I loved. Someone who loved me.”

Lydia reached out and interlaced her hand with yours. Even without words, she still tried to comfort you.

“What if we’re all missing the same person?” Scott asked after a few uncomfortable seconds. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it to show you guys the photo Sydney had taken of you all on the first day of the semester. “I think that he was in this picture.”

Lydia pointed at the spot between her and Scott, just in front of you. You must have been holding him. “He was sitting right there,” she said.

“He was so close,” you whispered, reaching out for the photo despite knowing that it wouldn’t change a thing.

Scott let you hold onto the photo as the four of you piled into Lydia’s car. It was so frustrating to know that he had been right there and you couldn’t remember a thing - but he was always there, lurking in the back of your mind but always just out of reach. He was the only thing you could think about the whole way to the animal clinic.

Even as Deaton explained what happened, you couldn’t concentrate. It wasn’t like you’d be doing it anyway - the automatic writing - so there wasn’t any harm in you trying to remember instead.

“I have to warn you,” Deaton said quietly as you, Scott, and Malia huddled around him in the corner. “We may not be able to access these memories.”

“We have to,” you said.

Deaton gave you a heavy-looking smile and took a breath. “The legend has always been that the Wild Hunt takes people, but if what you’re telling me is right, the truth is much worse,” he said. “They erase people from reality.”

Scott looked over at Lydia before asking, “How did we all remember someone who has been completely erased from our minds?”

Before Deaton had the chance to answer, Lydia stole his attention. She was writing so furiously at her desk, alternating between not breathing and then panting. The desk shook with all her force, sending the blue shard of glass flying around in the dark. The light caught on the edges and something familiar ached in your chest.

“Oh … is she- should we stop her?” Scott asked.

Deaton held out an arm to stop him. “Lydia? Lydia, slow down,” he said. When he was close enough, he switched off the lamp and Lydia stopped writing instantly. Instead of furious movement, she looked almost catatonic.

“Is she okay?” you whispered.

“Lydia?” Deaton asked.

Nothing.

Malia reached forward and pulled the piece of paper off the desk. You held onto one corner and looked at it over her shoulder.

The word ‘mischief’ was written all over, but the shapes made out the word ‘Stiles.’ No, it wasn’t a word - it was a name. It was his name.

Stiles.

---

Geography was remarkable mind-numbing the next day. You barely paid any attention to it at the best of times, and it was decidedly not the best of times considering your lack of sleep and constant agitation.

The Wikipedia article for stiles was open for the billionth time, as well the etymology of ‘mischief’ and the link for that stupid arcade. Instead of acting like the useless google searches were less important than geography, you put your hand up and asked to be excused.

You’d just gotten to the parking lot when you heard a coyote howl inside the school. Groaning, you kicked the bike rack and headed back inside.

Malia was in the basement with Scott, Lydia, Natalie, and Noah when you got there. She was snarling and ready to bite whoever came near her, so Lydia suggested giving her some space. You thought the idea was ridiculous, but you didn’t feel like adding ‘being maimed’ to your list of reasons to find new friends.

You'd missed most of Lydia, Scott, Noah, and Natalie's conversation, but you were just in time to hear Malia let out another growl. She stepped out from underneath one of the cupboards before you had the chance to intervene and started shifting, making the process look surprisingly elegant considering how painful it must have been.

“It’s alright. I’m okay,” she said.

Natalie quickly walked over to give Malia some clothes while Noah counted how many tiles were on the floor and Scott counted the tiles on the ceiling.

“Do we have any idea what made her shift?” Noah asked.

“She’s under a lot of pressure,” Scott answered. He took his eyes off the ceiling to look at Lydia for confirmation. “School, her life after graduation-”

“Her mom trying to kill her,” you mumbled.

“But that shouldn’t make her shift,” Scott said. “Do you guys think it could be connected to Stiles?”

“Hard to tell since we don’t know what a ‘Stiles’ is,” Lydia said.

“It’s a he,” Noah said. You couldn't tell if he was frowning or if the annoyance was just a permanent feature of his face.

“Who?”

“Stiles,” Noah said with a nod, trying to cover his frown. “It’s a family nickname. I never used it, but, uh, my father did.”

“Could you tell us some more about him?” you asked, stepping closer and giving him your best smile. You didn’t know why you thought that would sway him. “About Stiles?”

Noah cast a cautionary look at Lydia’s mom. “If Natalie’s okay with it …”

“Could it wait until after school?” she asked.

“No,” you and Lydia said, at the same time Scott and Malia said, “Yes.”

You glared at them. It was their fault that Natalie personally walked each of you back to your classes to make sure none of you ditched, and it was your fault for not slipping away when she wasn’t paying attention.

So, you sat through Geography and two other classes before racing to Lydia’s car as soon as the bell went off. Lydia was already there, explaining how Malia couldn’t come because she had to retake her retake but Scott would be there any minute. She didn’t listen to your suggestion of him meeting you there instead.

But after all your annoyance and agitation, you froze when you saw Noah’s house. It was the house that you were always waking up in, just in the warm glow of the afternoon instead of the dusty haze of midnight. You didn’t mention it to Scott or Lydia - how could you? It wasn’t like you had any reason to know where Noah lived until now - you just took a deep breath and went inside.

It was strangely lived in. Hard to believe they had a boarded-up room somewhere when you were looking at all the throw pillows and decorative balls of yarn. Claudia broke you out of your haze by pushing a glass of lemonade into your hand. She gave you a warm smile and ushered the three of you into the living room.

“He was an army engineer,” Noah explained once you were all settled. He handed Scott a photo from a memory box. “Ended the war one bridge at a time.”

Like a stile, you realized. He helped people move over whatever was blocking their path.

Scott smiled at the photo in his hand. “And he went by ‘Stiles.’”

You looked over his shoulder at the old photo of Elias in his army gear. It felt like you’d seen the photo before; like someone had already shown it to you, except you knew that back then it was a secret. A shiver went down your spine. You weren’t supposed to see this photo.

“So, what’s this got to do with the Wild Hunt?” Noah asked.

“We think that somebody was taken from us,” Scott explained.

“Any idea who?”

Scott shook his head. “Uh, the Ghost Riders would have erased our memories.”

“Well, now, that’s convenient,” Noah said.

“But we found a clue,” Lydia said. “The word ‘stiles.’”

“And that’s why you wanna talk to Elias?” Claudia asked. She didn’t sound very convinced.

“Yeah, maybe he can help us figure it out,” Scott said. “Maybe he knows who we’re looking for.”

“Now this is someone your age?” Noah asked.

“Yes,” you said, sounding more sure than Scott or Lydia had since you’d arrived. “He was our … friend.” There went your certainty. Whatever Stiles had been to the others, he was something else to you.

“Well-” Noah shut the memory box on his lap and stood up. “I can guarantee you, my father can’t help you.” He took the photo back from Scott.

“Couldn’t we try?” Scott asked.

“Scott, he lives in a nursing home three towns over,” Noah said. “Hasn’t had a visitor in years. He couldn’t help even if he w-”

“Could I use your bathroom?” Lydia asked. She had that look like a supernatural Geiger counter was going off in her head.

“Sure,” Claudia said.

Lydia hurried off and you frowned. You set your lemonade down to go follow her, but Claudia started talking to you.

“I love your ring,” she said. She smiled as she looked at it. “I had one just like it when I was younger.”

You looked down at your hand to find an old signet ring on your finger. It was out of place with the rest of your jewelry, but there was something about it that made it more important than the rest even though the design had worn over the years.

“Oh, thanks,” you said, twisting it around your finger so that design was facing inwards. You weren’t sure if you wanted anyone else to look at it. “I got it for my birthday.”

Claudia gave you another smile before excusing herself to the kitchen. At least with her gone, you could focus on the rapidly escalating conversation between Noah and Scott. What had started as a polite rejection had turned into Scott repeatedly asking why you guys couldn’t just talk to Elias and Noah saying that he didn’t need a reason for not wanting to expose his elderly father to three teenagers he’d never met before.

“You’re not hearing me,” Noah argued. They were both standing now and you stood to not feel so out of place. “Trust me, you don’t want to talk to him.”

“We just need a few minutes,” Scott begged.

“Scott, my father can’t help you,” Noah said.

“Just a few questions. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking-”

Something in Noah snapped. His voice was loud and frustrated when he spoke again. “You know what? You don’t just ‘talk’ to this guy, okay?” He took a breath and lowered his voice. “Just find another way.”

Scott started talking again when you touched his arm lightly. “Okay,” you said with a very fake smile. “We’ll find another way. Come on, Lyd, let’s get out of their hair.”

“But-”

“Thank you for your time.” You dragged Scott out before he could start yelling. Once the three of you were in the safety of the car and Scott was whining about you ruining their chances, you sighed and said, “Call Malia. We’re breaking into a nursing home.”

“But you said-”

“Scotty, you’ve known me my whole life. Can you seriously not tell when I’m lying?”

“I can tell when you’re lying,” Scott said defensively.

“I guess you’re right,” you said and scooted forward in your seat. “I love that shirt, by the way. You should wear it more often.”

“Really? Thanks. I-” Scott frowned at the look Lydia gave him. “Oh.”

---

“I can’t believe we’re about to break into a nursing home,” Scott mumbled as you, Lydia, and Malia walked up to the doors of Good Water Assisted Living.

“Scott, you realize we’ve literally broken into the school, a bank vault, a mental facility, and Davenport Prep, right?” you asked.

Malia brought your group to a stop. “Plus, after the orderlies at Eichen House, I’m pretty sure we can handle some nurses.”

“Right, but-”

Scott didn’t manage to get out his argument before Malia blew past you, got to the front desk, and slammed the nurse’s head into the desk. You winced as she went behind the desk and looped her arms under his to drag him somewhere. “Are you guys coming?” she asked.

“Right behind you!” You patted Scott’s arm and gave him a mischievous smile before rushing inside.

The computer was still unlocked so you punched in for Elias’ name and his room number popped up. The four of you found it fairly quickly but he wasn’t there. After a few minutes, you found him alone in one of the common rooms listening to old jazz music.

He looked up from his desk full of papers when you came in. “Yes? Is it time for my medicine?”

“We don’t have your medicine,” Malia said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Oh,” Elias said softly. He turned back to his desk.

“Are you Elias Stilinski?” Lydia asked.

Elias blinked a few times as he looked at Lydia. “I am.”

Lydia’s face broke into a smile and she made her way over to him. “I’m Lydia Martin. Do you know who I am?”

“Should I?” Elias asked.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Stilinski,” Scott said awkwardly as he walked closer to him. “We’re looking for somebody who might be named Stiles. You went by that name in the army, right?”

“Yes,” Elias said with a small nod. He looked away from Scott as he added, “Best years of my life.”

“Do you know any of us?” Malia asked.

“Of course I do,” Elias said. He looked back up at Scott. “How could I forget my own son?”

“Your son?” Scott repeated. He looked over at Lydia for help.

“Mr. Stilinski, what year is it?” she asked gently.

“1976,” Elias answered instantly. “It’s my son’s birthday next week.”

“He has dementia,” Lydia said to the rest of you.

As if to prove her point, Elias looked back up and asked if it was time for his medicine yet. You took a collective deep breath and started explaining things to him as gently as you could. It made you agitated to be in here with him, especially as the sun went down outside, but you needed to find Stiles.

But after repeated attempts to get Elias to stop confusing Scott with Noah, you’d become almost as grouchy as Malia. All she did was pace and steal peas from Elias’ food.

“Scott McCall?” Elias asked. Scott nodded hopefully. “No, no, no, no, no. You’re my son.”

“Keep it down, old guy,” Malia whispered harshly. She stole another few peas. “You’ll wake the other old people.”

“I don’t like her,” Elias said to Lydia.

Lydia slipped into the chair in front of him. “Your son,” she said in an impressively patient voice. “He’s the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.”

“Sheriff?” Elias asked. “No, no, no, no, no, no. No, I- I was in the army.”

“Just use your claws, Scott,” Malia said.

“It could kill him,” Scott said.

“I get that, but we’re running out of time,” Malia said.

“I can’t.”

Malia growled and elongated her claws. She’d just started walking over to Elias when you stepped in front of him and Scott grabbed her wrist. You could let her abuse nurses but you refused to let her do anything to one of the Stilinskis.

“No,” Scott told her. “We’re not hurting him.”

“Young lady, you need to clip those nails,” Elias said behind you. It made you laugh. You cleared your throat and mumbled an apology but he didn’t seem to like that. “You shouldn’t be here. If you don’t leave, I’ll have to report you.”

“Uh…” Scott looked over to Lydia. “What’s wrong with him?”

“The sun went down,” she said.

“So?”

“So, he’s sundowning,” Lydia said. “It’s when dementia patients lose their faculties after the sun goes down.”

“Well, that would’ve been helpful information to have before the sun went down,” you snapped.

Elias took a shaky breath. He started waving his hand around as he spoke, “I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”

“So what do we do?” Malia asked.

“We wait until the sun comes back up,” Lydia said.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” you said. “The night shift will be here soon which means someone will be coming for him.”

“No, no, no!” Elias cried. He started shuffling through his papers.

“There’s gotta be something we could do to keep him quiet,” Scott said.

Elias got more frantic and then Lydia stepped in again. She told him to look at the equations on his papers and asked him to identify different ones to help him concentrate. Miraculously, it worked. He stood and started looking at his handwritten notes.

“Elias,” Lydia said gently to get him to sit.

“That’s Mr. Stilinski,” Elias corrected. He frowned at each of you, almost looking like an older Noah in the low light. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

“So you know Scott isn’t your son?” Lydia asked.

“Of course, I know that,” Elias snapped. “Are brains getting smaller with the skirts?”

“Excuse me-”

“Hey.” Scott put a hand on your wrist. “It’s okay.”

“You’re that McCall kid,” Elias said as he looked at Scott.

“You know me?” Scott asked.

“I know your dad,” Elias said. He started walking around the table. “Couldn’t hold his liquor and he certainly couldn’t keep that wedding ring on his finger. Pretty young thing would walk by and poof! That ring just disappeared like magic.”

Though you were under no impressions of your dad being a saint, you frowned at Elias' words. Malia growled, but Lydia kept her cool. “Do you know all of us?” she asked.

Elias narrowed his eyes and then pointed a finger at Lydia. “You’re Natalie Martin’s girl, am I right? You look like her. She was pretty once, too.”

“Hey, you can’t talk to her like that-” you started chastising him but he stopped you with a look. He looked at you like he knew you.

“I know you from the pictures,” Elias said.

“What pictures?�� you asked.

“He only came once, but that was enough. He wouldn’t stop talking and he kept showing me these damn pictures-”

“That’s enough.”

You jumped at the sound of Noa’s voice. He’d walked in with the nurse that Malia assaulted, and, boy, did he look mad.

Scott tried to explain. “Sheriff, we-”

“I explicitly told you not to come here,” Noah said. “And who attacked a staff member?”

The nurse pointed at Malia. “That’s her.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Noah asked.

“Noah, we were just having a nice conversation,” Elias said, back to sounding frail and broken as he made his way around the table to his son.

“The four of you, out,” Noah said. “Now.”

Elias complained but Scott grabbed your hand and started leading you out. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t still eavesdrop.

As guilty as you felt about lying to Noah and invading his privacy, you couldn’t help but feel vindicated when Elias told him to crawl back to his dead wife and loser son. You were right. Stiles was a real person. He was Noah’s son, even if he was a loser. He was your loser.

“Son,” you whispered as Malia slammed the door behind her.

“What?” Scott whispered back.

You flicked your eyes over to where Noah was arguing with the nurse. Leaning in, you whispered, “Stiles is Noah’s son. I’ll explain at home, okay?”

Scott nodded quickly and tightened his grip on your hand before Noah came out and ordered the lot of you into his squad car. He was simmering with rage but he didn’t say a word the entire way to the station.

All he said when he closed you guys in the cell was, “I’ll call your parents to pick you up.”

The four of you were quiet as you waited for someone to show up. Melissa was at work and you’d barely seen Malia’s dad since the beginning of their senior year so your hopes weren’t very high for getting out of there.

When Natalie showed up, she first wanted to yell at you before letting you go.

“It doesn’t look bad, Scott. It is bad,” she said. “You broke into a nursing home, you harassed a dementia patient, and you beat up a nurse! This could affect the rest of your lives. Especially you, Malia. They’re talking felony assault.”

“I didn’t beat him up! I could have, but I chose not to,” Malia said.

“That’s an improvement,” Lydia hummed next to you.

The door opened and Noah sighed. “By some miracle, the nurse decided to drop the charges,” he said. “They’re free to go.”

“Just because you’re not going to jail, doesn’t mean you’re not grounded for eternity,” Natalie said.

“Triple-negative,” you said quietly. “Impressive.”

“Excuse me?” Natalie asked.

“Nothing,” you said with a smile. “We’ll see you at school tomorrow. Thank you for looking out for us.”

Natalie frowned at the sudden change in attitude but said she’d always look out for you guys anyway. She offered to drive you all home but you said you and Scott could walk. After some more confused looks and awkward goodbyes, you and Scott were finally alone and walking through the dark.

“So,” he said with a deep breath. “You gonna tell me what’s been going on with you?”

“I feel like I’m missing the part of me that makes rational decisions,” you said. “Seriously, I’m turning into Malia. I can’t concentrate on anything, I’m always angry, and I keep doing things for someone who’s not here.”

Scott frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I think Stiles was my anchor,” you said. You hadn’t let yourself think about the possibility before, but it made sense. All of your bad habits had started when it felt like you’d lost something.

Scott frowned as he thought about it, but he must have come to the same conclusion you had. “Okay,” he said. “And who do you think Stiles is?”

“I think Noah’s son,” you said. “When we were leaving, Elias yelled at Noah for leaving him in the home and choosing his loser son over him, but Noah … doesn’t have a son. At least, not one any of us remember.”

“Wow,” Scott exhaled. “That’s pretty intense.”

You laughed. “Yeah, but it makes sense,” you said. Scott waited for you to say something so you told him about how you kept waking up in an abandoned room. “But when we went to talk to Noah earlier, I recognized the house. It’s the same one I’ve been sneaking out of every morning.”

“Huh, and I thought waking up in the woods was weird,” Scott said. You hit his arm and he laughed.

The two of you bickered over each other’s bad habits the whole way home, but the lighthearted conversation didn’t erase the feelings of longing buried in your chest. Wherever Stiles was, you missed him, and no amount of teasing Scott could take your mind off it.

But the mess you walked into as soon as you unlocked the front door almost did.

“I’m not dealing with this,” you said instantly. You untangled yourself from Scott. “You told Liam to take care of it. He’s your beta. The two of you can clean.”

“But I-”

“I’m going to shower.”

Instead of using his energy to fight a losing battle, Scott waved you off and you left him downstairs with Liam and the mess which, thankfully, hadn’t reached your locked room. You grabbed some clean pajamas and disappeared to wash off the stress of the day.

When you came back, you reached for the Feliscore Arcade coin on your nightstand. You traced the logo with your thumb as you tried, for the millionth time, to remember. A knock at your door snapped you out of it.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Scott said.

“It’s fine,” you said, closing your hand around the coin. This was one part of the mystery that you wanted to keep for yourself. “What’s up? Did someone throw up on your bed or something?”

“What? No.” Scott frowned. “At least I don’t think so.” Then he shook his head and looked back up at you. “I wanted to tell you that Noah came by while you were showering … talking about his son.”

You scrambled to sit up. “He remembered him? He remembered Stiles?”

“Kind of. He said he could remember a conversation with Claudia when they were young about having kids. He wanted to name their son after father, and she said that it didn’t matter because they’d call him Stiles anyway,” Scott explained. He gave you a smile. “You were right.”

“I was right,” you said quietly. “Thanks for telling me, Scotty.”

Scott knocked on your door twice and smiled at the ground. “No problem. Try not to break into anyone’s house tonight.”

“No promises,” you said with a smile.

For the first time in weeks, it was a real smile. Sure, you still didn’t have much, but you’d done more with less. You’d find Noah’s son. You’d find Stiles.

Part 47

Tagged: @ietss @used-avocado

#so close #teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski #stiles slow burn #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #mccall!reader

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shealynn88 · 4 years

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We're Not Friends

Fandom: Teen Wolf Pairing: Sterek A/N: Takes place early to mid-season 2. Huge thanks to @all-or-nothing-baby who made this a better fic and a better art! Rating: Teen Word Count: 850

Read it on Ao3 or below:

Stiles always seems to get stuck doing the werewolf grunt work. Chauffeuring one Derek Hale to the sheriff station, the animal clinic, the school. Looking up records and autopsies and lore that the werewolf should already know. Hunting down information that might give away his stupid pack that Stiles doesn’t even like anyway because they’re mean and murderous and not cool. Why does he have to be the one putting up with the werewolf’s threats and stares and shoulders and cheekbones and leather jacket, getting his stupid huge hands all over his jeep and now his kitchen and his living room...

Stiles shakes his head. Off track. Off track, Stiles. “Okay,” he says, forcing himself to focus as he searches the police reports. “Looks like there haven’t been any other animal attacks reported, so it sounds like you got the rest of the roadkill your buddies ripped through. You know I could get in huge trouble for this, right?” He runs the script to clear the access logs. “Not that you care, of course. No, because what else would I be doing with my time? Just breaking into my dad’s computer to get you information that only I can get you. And what do I get for it? Huh? A big fat nothing, I’ll bet. Just the honor of your silent, terrifying company. You know—” He closes the last window with a dramatic click and then spins around to face Derek, righteously annoyed—and, wow, Derek is closer than he’d realized. Stiles’ rant sticks in his throat. He’s uncharacteristically quiet when he finally continues. “You know, I didn’t hold you up in that pool because I thought you’d protect me. I’m not like that. Neither is Scott.”

Derek stares at him silently and Stiles finally swallows hard and spins his chair slowly back to the computer. Down, boy, he tells himself firmly. Down.

Derek remains silent beside him and Stiles shakes his head and mumbles. “Don’t know why I bother with you, man.”

“I know,” Derek says, voice low enough that it reverberates right there in Stiles’ stomach in that irritating fucking way that Derek has. Untrustworthy, horrible, infuriating Derek, who can’t believe anyone exists who isn’t just as selfish and self-absorbed as he is.

Stiles spins back again in a fury. “You know. You know? You think you—”

Derek grabs him by the shoulder and leans in, intense. Is there anything he does that isn’t red alert levels of intense? Christ, Stiles can feel his heart in his chest, galloping along at a rate that must be pounding in Derek’s ears.

Derek’s voice is gravel low, almost angry. “I know. It wasn’t because you needed my protection.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles spits back. Well—” He stutters to a halt as the words sink in. “Oh. Yeah. Well, right. Exactly. Because sometimes you don’t need a reason, y’know. To do something decent.”

Derek’s fingers are on his skin, now, shifted up so they burn against the side of his neck. “We’re not friends, Stiles.”

Stiles is fairly certain his stomach is somewhere in his left lung, and his skin is on fire, and his heart is going to make a bloody mess when it bursts out of his chest. “I know,” he whispers, and it’s not at all how he meant it to sound. Not like this, all desperate and breathy.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, and he’s close. God, he’s so close that Stiles can finally see the depths of his eyes—twelve different colors of green and grey and brown in there. Jesus, this man should be illegal.

“Derek?” he squeaks.

Derek leans in, just the smallest bit, and his breath is hot against Stiles’ mouth, making him forget everything he’s ever known. He’s never kissed anyone before. Not for real. Not like this, with his whole body on fire and a huge hand on his neck, holding him steady while the rest of him threatens to fall away. He lets out a shuddering breath as Derek’s lips slot into his, drag his top lip up and then there’s the hot swipe of Derek’s tongue, there and then gone again, and Stiles just lets his mouth fall open in surrender. Derek kisses him gently, not at all the way he thought a werewolf with twenty chips on his shoulder would kiss.

Not that he’s thought about it.

Or dreamed about it.

Derek moves back and Stiles just manages not to follow.

“You shouldn’t…” Derek grimaces and stands up, his hand dropping away from Stiles’ neck. “I’m not here for you. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

Stiles closes his eyes and touches his lip with one finger. “I mean, I know some stuff.”

But Derek is already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says aloud. “Oh my God.” He thunks his head down on the desk and tries to forget the burn of Derek Hale’s mouth.

Things just got very complicated.

Tagging: @all-or-nothing-baby @midnightsilver

#sheawritesfic #sheaarts #teen wolf #sterek

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thebibliomancer · 4 years

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #229: FINAL CURTAIN!

March, 1983

"THIS IS IT! Henry Pym’s Last Stand Against... THE EVIL OF EGGHEAD!”

Why does this have Egg Fu energy? Obviously very much less racist but giant egg shaped head looming over things...

Please don’t grow a mustache, Egghead.

Wow, this arc has been going on for a while. With a lot of interruptions, mind.

But we had Hank rejoin the Avengers, do a bad job, build a robot to murder his friends to try to make them forget the first bad job he did, get kicked out of the Avengers, and got tricked by Egghead into committing treason and arrested. Egghead decided to take over the world via inventing eternal youth, put together a new Masters of Evil who immediately got their asses kicked, and then the Masters kidnapped Hank from his trial.

All to bring us to the Final Curtain, which is similar but legally distinct from the Final Countdown.

I’ve seen some sad Hanks but I think “framed into being a fugitive and forced to do science for his worst enemy” Hank is the saddest looking Hank.

He has a thousand yard stare WHILE carefully considering a chemical compound.

This is possibly because while he sciences, Egghead is hanging right over his shoulder being excessively chipper and calling Hank “partner.”

Hank: “I’d love to shove those words down his throat! It’s galling enough to be working for my oldest enemy, without having him call me ‘partner.’”

Guy also puts his hand on Hank’s shoulder chum-style and offers to get him some breakfast while Hank probably fantasizes about making scrambled eggs.

Later that morning, over in New Orleans, Monica Rambeau!

I’m still very hype about Monica Rambeau finally being in this book.

She’s sitting around in her nice home watching the news about the trial and the “dramatic escape” of Hank Pym and also Iron Man has disappeared. That’s on the news too.

Monica: “Uh-oh! I don’t like the sound of that! A disappearance, now of all times, by any of the regular Avengers could mean heavy trouble! Someone’s bound to accuse them of helping in Dr. Pym’s escape! It might not be a bad idea to look in on my new friends -- as Captain Marvel!”

She nyooms light speed from New Orleans to the Avengers Mansion.

Inside, Cap and Thor are discussing how neither Iron Man or Tony Stark have been seen in nearly a week. And Cap is worried because its not like Tony.

But he has to stop talking when Monica comes in because she’s not in on the secret.

Captain Marvel: “Hi, hope I’m not interrupting anything. I thought I’d drop by and... well... see how everyone was doing.”

Thor: “In truth, woman, the Avengers have known happier times.”

Captain America: “I’m afraid Thor’s right, Captain. A former Avenger’s disgrace is national news. Iron Man’s vanished. And the She-Hulk may be no more. Things... aren’t good.”

Monica is kind of taken aback by this because “These are two of the most capable men I’ve ever met! If they’re feeling down and out, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

Meanwhile, in specifically the second-floor study, Hawkeye is sitting with Jennifer Walters Not-Hulk and the Wasp.

And Hawkeye is surprised that She-Hulk’s other self is “so small and... fragile.”

Wasp is trying to reassure Jen that they want to help her but Jen is feeling helpless.

Jen: “I-I know that, Janet. .. B-b-but I still feel so helpless. Things seemed different when I was the She-Hulk! She could handle everything -- or so I thought! She didn’t do much against the Radioactive Man, did she? One blast of charged gamma rays from him, and my life as the She-Hulk was a thing of the past!”

I mean, I wouldn’t say not much. She-Hulk tossed Radioactive Man around pretty easily before the gamma blast.

Wasp tells her that the gamma-charge must have worn off by this point but Jen is too afraid to try again because she can’t face the thought of another failure and what that might mean.

She kiiiiinda blew up her life back in California to go be She-Hulk full-time. The comic doesn’t point this out but I am. She kinda blew off her supporting cast and law career to go on a cross-country trip and then moved to New York for brunch and Avengers.

Wasp is called away by Jarvis, who says there’s an urgent caller for her, leaving Jen alone with Hawkeye.

... Which, may have been a bad idea or at least a very hilarious one.

Hawkeye: “I can’t believe what’s happening to the Avengers! We’ve had bad breaks before, but this -- ! Even ol’ Cap’s been looking like one of the walkin’ wounded! I need to do something to get us back on our feet! Maybe I can start with the little lady.”

Y’know, Captain Marvel and Hawkeye both noting how dire things are feeling around the Mansion is doing a really good job at selling this as one of their darkest moments.

Nobody ever talks about this as one of those moments but the comic is making a good case for it.

At the front door the urgent matter is! SCOTT LANG!

Sight for sore eyes!

He’s here on an errand for Mr. Stark. But unfortunately he also has no idea where Tony has gotten.

Scott Lang: “All of Stark International’s in an uproar! First, Mr. Stark asks me to finish up one of his rush projects for the Avengers -- something he never does! Then he and that iron-clad bodyguard of his pull a disappearing act! And now, the tube is full of news about Hank Pym running off with something called the Masters of Evil! Wasp... what’s going on?”

Wasp: “I honestly don’t know, Scott! Sometimes I’d swear that the whole world is falling apart on us!”

Hey! More dialogue really selling how dire things are!

Scott gives her the project Tony had him complete and tells Wasp that Tony told him that Cap would know about it.

Which indicates that Scott finished this project and doesn’t know what it is or does. Wow.

He also offers to change into Ant-Man and lend a hand but Wasp hurries him out the door and slams it behind him.

Which is a rude way to treat a Scott Lang but in Wasp’s defense she couldn’t bear seeing someone dressed as Ant-Man when she has all these Hank feelings.

Captains America and Marvel and also Thor wander in. Cap(tain America) is telling Monica that there’s nothing they can do until they get a lead on Hank’s whereabouts.

Wasp, who was just handed a thing and told that Cap would know about it, hands it to Cap and asks him if it would be any help.

Cap(tain America) recognizes it as the miniaturized version of the cerebral scanner helmet that Tony was working on.

Captain America: “It was Iron Man’s theory that Hank’s recent problems were due to preset commands Moondragon had telepathically planted in his mind. This helmet was supposed to check that out. Now... I guess we’ll never get a chance to use it.”

This defeatism is finally a defeatism too far for Monica who blows up at the Avengers.

Captain Marvel: “Hey, just a darned minute! Is this the Avengers that I’m supposed to be joining, or an encounter group? I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Look, I know you’ve been through an emotional wringer for the past couple of months, but you can’t let it get to you like this! You folks don’t get much press west of the Hudson River, but what little word that does filter out is filled with awe! You’re the Avengers! You’re legends -- every one of you! You’ve probably saved this poor world more times than anyone can even guess! And you can pull through this crisis, too! But not if you keep acting the way you’ve been!”

Huh, more of a ‘dare to be badass’ than a real dressing down.

Also, its so weird that the Avengers are simultaneously a weird New York thing and also known for saving the world multiple times.

Thor, as Thor do when anyone dares to criticize him, gets indignant but Wasp interrupts that whole impending shouting match and asks what Captain Marvel has in mind.

(This is why Wasp is a good leader, by the by)

Captain Marvel says they should try to look at things from another angle. What if, and hear her out, what if Hank really was set up by Egghead like he claimed to be before the trial?

Egghead is dead? THE AVENGERS FIGHT PEOPLE THAT HAVE BEEN ASSUMED DEAD A LOT, YOU GUYS.

Geez, where has Monica been? She’s a breath of fresh thought on this team.

Monica also has another galaxy brain idea. Slash probably turn of phrase that inspires a galaxy brain idea. Like in a mystery where an innocuous statement cracks the whole thing WIDE OPEN.

Captain Marvel: “And this man you caught -- the Shocker -- the one who claims that Pym reorganized the Masters of Evil to free him -- maybe he’s the one who’s crazy, instead of Dr. Pym! Maybe it’s the Shocker who should have his head examined!”

And Cap(tain America) is like hey I just got this head examining helmet from Tony!

Meanwhile, in the second floor study, Hawkeye has decided to Help.

Be afraid.

Nah, just funning.

Look, this is all perfectly in character for Hawkeye and for Hulks in general. He’s just going to be extremely rude (he has trained his whole life for this) and make fun of Jen until something happens.

And he is pretty rude.

So rude that she smeks him across the face. But because she hasn’t had her Jen training arc yet, Hawkeye just laughs at her.

So she hits him again.

Hawkeye: “My, my! Both cheeks slapped and I’m still on my feet! Is that the best you can do, She-Wimp?”

Then he laughs and laughs and gets punched out of the room by a furious She-Hulk.

He quickly begs for peace, claiming he didn’t mean what he said.

So in the end, all she needed to break the mental block preventing her from turning into She-Hulk was Hawkeye being even more obnoxious than usual.

He does have his uses. Shoots arrow, pisses people off, apparently fun to be around??

Its hard to imagine future burned out trash-fire Clint Barton doing this. He’s much more mellow in how he’s obnoxious now. Although, he roasted Tony Stark good in the Freefall mini.

Y’know, She-Hulk and Hawkeye are friends later. And I don’t know if that’s because She-Hulk becomes everyone’s friend when she moves into more fun party She-Hulk territory. But I can also imagine that despite not liking each other much to begin with, She-Hulk and Hawkeye just grow on each other.

When Wasp praises Jen for being able to transform again, She-Hulk admits that Hawkeye helped.

Then Cap tells them to stop goofing, they’ve got business.

And the business is at the federal lock-up.

The Avengers want to use Tony Stark’s special cerebral scanner helmet on Shocker. His lawyer is like hell no. Shocker himself is like I’m down for whatevs.

Shocker: “Hey, if they want to plunk that pressure cooker on my noggin, it’s okay by me! I’m facing a pretty stiff federal rap, after all. I’m willing to cooperate. It doesn’t bother me. If I passed the polygraph test, I can pass this!”

The lawyer still protests so She-Hulk whips out some of her ol’ legal expertise. Which she is not licensed to practice in a professional capacity in the state of New York.

She-Hulk: “Your boy was caught participating -- in either a kidnapping or an escape -- in full view of witnesses. He’s in big trouble. The scanner helmet will tell us if he’s been manipulated by outside forces. And cancel any mental blocks or false memories. Now, wouldn’t you like to go into court with something that could prove your client was used against his will?”

... I’m baffled that this new technology whose inventor has gone missing could just easily be used as evidence in court.

Like, on who’s word are they saying that this device works? Has it been vouched by anyone? How do they even know that it works at all? It was finished by Scott Lang who is a good electrical engineer but didn’t know what he was working on!

But if I can believe a man can fly, I’ll buy this.

And its funny, Shocker goes from ‘yeah I doubt this will mean anything’ to immediately remembering and spilling the beans that he was set up by Egghead.

Which means that he’s alive and Hank’s defense has merit. God damn!

I like that the cerebral helmet does factor into the plot, even if in an unexpected way. Poor, disappeared Tony Stark’s feverish throwing himself into this project out of a guilty drive to help Hank will help Hank, in some way!

Meanwhile, in the secret and sinister suburban lair of Egghead’s Masters of Evil, Hank Pym brushes off his hands and goes ‘yup I’ve finished inventing your eternal life machine, can I go now?’

Egghead and the Masters call BS because its been three days. No way did Hank already finish the machine. Egghead was thinking it would be months of research before Hank could even begin working on a design.

Hank: “Admittedly, I was lucky in stumbling upon a breakthrough in micro-cellular reconstruction. But then, you did bring me here to produce results. That’s what I’ve done.”

Moonstone asks how close an eye Egghead kept on Hank, since Egghead is the only one truly familiar with the project.

The answer is: not very!

So now they’re worried that if they plug someone into the device, it’ll just kill them.

Tiger Shark goes ‘hey lets just test it on Hank’ and Hank goes ‘yeah whatever.’

Hank: “I stand behind my work 100%. I’ll be your guinea pig, if you’re all so afraid of gaining a long and vital life!”

Egghead: “Don’t use that tone with me, Henry Pym! I think I might enjoy using you as a guinea pig! Strap him in, boys -- good and tight!”

Tiger Shark, whose idea this was in the first place, suddenly considers ‘what if this is a long and weird way for Hank to commit suicide?’ but Hank says he would have ended it three days ago if he was that tired of living.

Egghead: (He’s right. As dispirited as Pym has been, he never became suicidal. Despite all the travails I put him through, I was never able to break him that completely. Pity. Perhaps I’ll try again... after the test.)

GOOD GRIEF EGGHEAD

I know that you’re evil and petty but geez that’s a new low.

Then again, this is the guy who blew up his niece’s arm out of spite.

So, yeah, driving to suicide the guy that made your eternal youth technology possible is about what I’d expect of you, Egghead.

The worst.

When they have Hank strapped into the longevity machine and switch it on, Hank starts to glow.

Which is probably not what is supposed to happen.

Also what is not supposed to happen, the machine creates a force field around Hank.

And also overrides the guidance systems in Beetle’s armor, making him fly all over the place bonking into stuff.

I have a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t actually a longevity machine!

No, in fact, Hank Pym played them all by going ‘yeah sure throw me into the briar patch, I don’t give a shit.’

Tiger Shark tries to rip Hank out of the machine but gets thrown away with a ZZAKK.

Moonstone tries her luck too.

Moonstone: “Your electrified field is very effective against brute force, doctor -- but can it resist a high-intensity laser blast?”

-it does-

Hank: “You tell me!”

The sass!

The lasers deflect off the field joining the bouncing Beetle in destroying the lab.

Egghead has duck and covered beneath a table and demands one of the Masters stop Hank.

A call to action that Radioactive Man takes up, charging the machine.

Radioactive Man: “You are even more capable than I thought, Dr. Pym. But your miraculous fields will not long withstand the power of my nuclear heat!”

Hank: “Probably not! But it doesn’t have to! I’ve had days to prepare defenses against all of you!”

Cadmium-plated tentacles come out of the machine and grab Radioactive Man.

Geez, really nobody was making sure Hank wasn’t up to anything so he got away with everything!

The cadmium dampens Radioactive Man’s radioactive so Hank uses him to knock out Tiger Shark.

Ah, yes. I do love a good grievous harm with a body instance.

Moonstone: “Incredible! Together, we possess nearly as much raw power as the Avengers themselves -- and yet one man has nearly overcome us in a matter of minutes!”

And since she’s Moonstone and practically the only supervillain who knows when to fold ‘em, she tries to skedaddle.

But Hank also built disruption stunners into the not-longevity machine’s manacles, like the ones he used as Yellowjacket, and he blasts Moonstone as she tries to flee.

Leaving Egghead to gape that Hank has singlehandedly defeated his Masters of Evil!

MEANWHILE, up in suburbia, the Avengers!

Remember them? They’re the title of the book.

Shocker spilled the beans to the Avengers because, honestly, fuck Egghead for using him as a patsy. So the Avengers and some copspolice have assembled outside Egghead’s secret house.

The cops are to evacuate the neighborhood in case the Avengers need to do a big punch-up.

Caring about bystanders, a thing that the Avengers do some of the times.

The Avengers also got the house plans from the county records office because they’re doing this raid right.

Problem is, they’re unlikely to be accurate because they don’t have an evil lair listed on them.

So Cap and Wasp are strategizing, planning to surround the house and work their way in slowly and quietly so the Masters don’t use Hank as a hostage.

Then everything explodes. And by everything, I mean the yard of the house.

Beetle burst out from underground, completely ruining the lawn and flies around out of control.

He warns the Avengers that he can’t control his flight and tells them to look out.

The Avengers mostly jump out of the way.

Mostly.

Thor just stands still with his hammer held out for Beetle to run into so hard that Mjolnir seems to disappear.

Beetle falls to the ground, all momentum instantly converted into horrific agony.

Like seriously. He’s going to be feeling that forever. No wonder he later jumps at the chance to flip good, rather than ever experience that again.

Wasp and Cap(tain America), strategy geniuses, decide that at this point, stealth is pointless but Hawkeye is way ahead of them.

I don’t see him in the panel where the Avengers scatter or in the panel where Beetle is falling off Thor’s fist so I think that the instant the ground exploded Hawkeye was like ‘this hole was made for me’ and immediately jumped down it to leeroy jenkins the rescue Hank plan.

Its a very him thing to do.

Plus, as he muses to himself, he has his own score to settle with Egghead.

I.e., that time that Egghead killed his brother Barney Barton. The crime brother? From the time we learned that Hawkeye actually had a name?

That time.

At the bottom of the exit wound Beetle left in the house, Hawkeye peeps in and is astounded to find the Masters of Evil lying defeated in various heaps with Hank Pym standing victorious over them, casually unhooking himself from the not-longevity machine.

As Hawkeye watches, Hank tells Egghead that he can come out of hiding because its all over.

And then delivers a massive ‘the reason you suck’ speech to Egghead, which coming from Hank Pym is doubly biting because Hank Pym knows what a trashfire he’s made of his own life and still says Egghead is worse.

Hank Pym: “I did a pretty good job of screwing up my life recently. You just about finished the job for me! You used me, Egghead... and you tried to make me criminal! But you couldn’t. You see, I’ve come to terms with myself in the past month. I know who I am, and who I’m not! I’m not Ant-Man anymore. I’m not Giant-Man... or Goliath... or Yellowjacket! I’m Henry Pym!

“And it was Henry Pym who beat the Masters of Evil! You, Egghead... you turned to crime because you thought your scientific knowledge made you better than everyone else... put you above the law! But you were wrong. You weren’t above the law, and you weren’t better! I’m the better scientist... I just proved that!”

“I assembled the pieces of your downfall -- right under your nose!”

Egghead takes exception to being told how much he sucks, and leaps at Hank to, I guess, try to beat him up, saying he hasn’t beaten Egghead yet.

So Hank beats Egghead yet.

Hank: “Oh... I was hoping you’d try that!”

After all that Hank’s been through in this vague arc and at the hands of Egghead, it is very satisfying to effortlessly turn the tables on the villains, deck Egghead, and prove that while he has spotty success as a superhero, he’s no villain.

This vague arc has broken Hank down to nothing. He ruined his marriage, his superhero career, abandoned his science career as fruitless. He was broke, so desperate as to take a loan from his arch-nemesis. Framed for treason and left to pay for Egghead’s adamantium scheme. Sent to jail and derided as worse than the supervillains there. Worse for having fallen from grace. Gave up winning back his wife after seeing her date one of his friends. Abandoned hope for anything but to win back his dignity and good name in a court of law. Had that taken from him as well.

And stripped of absolutely everything, Hank Pym proved that he is one of the finest scientists in Marvel, a crafty SOB, and owner of a dynamite right hook.

Then with Egghead sprawled on the floor, Hank turns to leave.

But Egghead is a petty, petty, evil, evil man. That hasn’t stopped being a thing so he pulls out a science gun to shoot Hank in the back.

Hawkeye jumps out of the beetle hole and shoots an arrow in the barrel of the science gun, making the science gun backfire kirby krackle.

Hawkeye: “Brother, that was close -- but everything’s gonna be okay now, Hank! We have all the evidence we need to clear you and put that creep behind bars!”

Hank: “Egghead won’t be serving any time, Hawkeye. He’s dead.”

DUN DUN DUN

Hawkeye, you’ve become a killer! And it didn’t even take a Bendis to drive you to it!

Well, maybe a man-slaughterer...

Follow @essential-avengers because I bring you the good Hank Pym content. The Hank Pym punching Egghead content. The best content. Also like and reblog, possibly. For the Hawkeye man-slaughtering Egghead content.

#Avengers #Egghead #Masters of Evil #Hank Pym #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #Captain America #Captain Marvel #monica rambeau #Thor #she hulk #the Wasp #Hawkeye #somehow a very effective and helpful person in this issue #Thor is the world's most effective speedbump #Iron Man helps from off panel #don't mess with Hank Pym

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dirt-cup-draco · 5 years

Text

Loki X Reader

Requested by the lovely @starofthedawn <3 It’s spooky season y’all! 30 "No?? Of course I'm not scared... who gets scared of... floating objects or... um weird sounds? Not me, that's for sure." 53 "There will be a lot of screaming tonight." 84 "Oh, this isn't a costume, this is my natural state of being."

Loki watched as you fidgeted in your seat uncomfortably. Tony had just had the bright idea that spending a night in a supposedly haunted house would be a relief from the daily work load of “tracking down baddies and kicking ass” as the billionaire had so eloquently put it. His lips twitched up. The god had seen you go into battle with an iron stomach and steel heart, cutting down people like it was nothing. Yet, it seemed as if you were spooked by Tony’s proposal.

“My lady Y/N, might you be frightened?” He challenged, eyebrow raising. You flushed and looked away. Steve glared from a distance and Sam looked amused.

"No?? Of course I'm not scared... who gets scared of... floating objects or... um weird sounds? Not me, that's for sure." You scoffed, extending your legs so you could kick at the plush carpet beneath you. Nat stuck an elbow in your side and you jumped, eyes narrowing at her quickly before shooting back to Loki.

“C’mon Reindeer games, our brave Y/N is coming, and she is delighted to,” Tony put the words in your mouth and your shoulders sagged. Loki nearly felt bad but it was almost delightful seeing you act in such a way. It was good seeing you had fears, that you weren’t a perfectly graceful, wonderfully brave, sickeningly good hero. The fact that you were fearful of possible spirits in an old creaky house made his heart swell that much more.

He wouldn’t admit it but you had a piece of his heart that you had obtained, not willingly on his part might he add. He would never purposefully fall for a human. Pitiful meat sacks.

---

“I need to go see my grandma!” You battled, struggling against Sam who had you over his shoulder, your fists pounding against his back.

“She’s been dead for seventeen years,” Sam shot back.

“I can’t forget to feed my pet fish!” You tried again.

“You don’t have one, come on stop being a wuss this will be fun!” Your friend encouraged, smacking the back of your thigh as you wacked his back particularly hard.

“I left my stove on?” You mentioned in a last ditch effort.

“You know Stark has some wacky tech that turns everything off to preserve energy,”

You groaned as Sam set you down and you glared more, your arms folding across your chest as he tossed your bags into the trunk. You stomped around for a second and tried to run past but Loki was suddenly materializing, his arm going around your shoulders. You tensed but your fight was suddenly gone at the god’s touch.

“You look as pale as a ghost darling, getting prepared for Halloween ahead of schedule?” He teased, his hand dragging lazily from your shoulder down to your elbow and back up leaving you warmer than you should be in the last week of October.

"Oh, this isn't a costume, this is my natural state of being." You shot back as he set his hand on your lower back, guiding you into the car. You took note of how he stood behind you so you couldn’t try and book it back to the tower.

Sam was behind the wheel, Bucky next to him in the passenger seat. Bruce and Scott took the two middle seats and Thor sat in the back. That left you sitting next to Loki. At least the trip wouldn’t be a huge bust, you could at least admire your crush. It was childish but he had captured your heart with a single look and you found yourself at his mercy, whether he knew it or not.

You however, were grumpy that he had stopped your retreat so you took the other window seat, leaving the middle seat for him, his eyes narrowed because he now had to sit next to his talkative brother.

The first hour and a half was in fact filled with Thor’s booming voice and you nearly felt bad but the blonde god eventually tired and he let his head slump against the window, nodding off. Bucky and Sam murmured to songs and Bruce read while Scott drummed his fingers against his legs, earphones in place, a to a song no one else could hear.

You let your gaze fall on Loki and found he was already looking at you, suddenly the beauty of the colorful trees and country fell away and you could only think of how his eyes were the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. It had taken you by surprise. You gulped.

“Are you that worried about the little get away?” He asked, misguided by your sudden intake of breath.

“I think it’s a great idea, really, I just feel like we are asking for trouble like in those movies where the dumb college kids go and get murdered because they thought it’d be cool to camp out, ya know? Like the dumb blonde showers and gets shanked, and the horny couple fucks and gets shanked, everyone gets shanked is my point.” You stated.

Loki was clearly amused and you were sure you hadn’t said anything funny. He was just thinking that you were something else, you could gut a man but you were fearful of becoming a horror cliche. A wicked grin pulled at his features and he leaned in, breath fanning hot against your neck, lips brushing against your earlobe causing you to shiver. “Can we be the horny couple?”

You blushed deep red and your mouth gaped, you turned to face him and squeaked when you saw the short vicinity. You struggled to find words. Finally you settled on, “Fuck off Loki,” Your eyes darting back out the window. You know he liked messing with you but sometimes you wish he wasn’t. Your flirty exchanges had been going on for a while, him being bold and all but you know it was just to get to you and there was no meaning behind it. It was just how Loki was, sensual yet deceitful. You tried to not let the words get to you.

When you arrived, you were the first to undo your seat belt, climbing over Loki and exiting the car, still embarrassed from what he had said earlier. He however fought the urge to pull you into his lap and kiss you breathless, your sweet blush making his heart stir around in his chest. But he let you pass and you went to Tony and Steve who were waiting outside the decrepit house, a scowl on your face. Loki exited the vehicle and hovered around you and the two other men.

He made a show of letting his eyes roam around the place, taking note of the lake just a short distance from the house, the rest was forest.

“This is stupid we are all going to get aids or rabies or something,” You grumbled, foot digging at the gravel.

“We are not,” Steve cut in.

“I promise it’s mostly sanitary, just a little run down,” Tony reassured. “But there is the matter of rooms, there are more of us than rooms and well, everyone else already called dibs, so you and you know who are sharing the upstairs bedroom to the left.

Loki turned around and looked at Tony. He nearly cheered when he found the man’s eyes were already pointed in his direction. He got to share a bedroom with you. And your cheeks were that delicious shade of scarlet he was becoming so accustomed to.

You stalked over to Loki, a pout on your full lips as you shared the news.

"I guess there will indeed be a lot of screaming tonight." Loki teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Stop being gross, Loki,” His smile fell. Usually you shot right back but all today you had shut down everything he’d said. He honestly wasn’t used to it. Was he being gross? He thought you had liked the flirting. He thought you had some feelings for him, even. Maybe he was wrong.

Disheartened he got his bags and followed you into the building, the wind chilling his nose. He was glad to be inside. Your comment and the weather had left him feeling quite chilled.

Sam made dinner and a fire was lit inside, tony brought a broom and swept around, making the dust rise. You wrinkled your nose and said you were going to bed early. Loki decided he wouldn’t follow immediately.

“Jesus, if I thought the kid would be this miserable I wouldn’t have forced her to come,” Tony said regretfully, had rubbing the back of his neck.

Loki sighed, “It might have actually been something I said...” Everyone’s eyes were immediately on him and he felt small. A chorus of “what did you do this time?” and “what’d you say?” rang out. He didn’t like it but maybe your friends understood why you were suddenly being so cold to him.

“It was just harmless teasing!” He defended. Wanda was the first one to show some understanding.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I don’t want you to piss her off more,” The woman’s voice lowered. “She really likes you you idiot, ‘harmless’ isn’t so harmless when you actually care about the person,”

Loki looked around. Everyone was nodding in understanding. “You mean to tell me Y/N has feelings for me?”

Sam groaned. “I thought you picked up on desires and all that shit,”

“Not when he is blinded by his own!” Thor chuckled loudly, delighted that his brother’s emotions were being discussed.

The dark haired god elbowed his brother and sent him a chilling glare before standing. “I am going to retire for the night I think,”

He was nudged and bumped and a couple people whistled while Steve reminded him to be mindful of your feelings. It nearly made him gag. The stairs creaked and he had to fight the urge to look behind him. He wasn’t scared but he could understand your discomfort with the place.

When Loki opened the door you were sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at your unopened suit case. “Thinking about leaving?” He said, simply to make you aware of his presence.

You whipped around and shrugged. “No, everyone wants me to be here, I wont ditch even if this is probably the worst thing I’ve had to do all year.”

“Ouch, didn’t think sharing a room with me was so terrible,” He tried but worried he had crossed another line.

“Thats not it Loki, I dont care about that, I just dont like spooky shit, even movies bug me. I haven’t gone to a haunted house since I was fourteen.”

“You know me,” He said, sitting next to you, “What other monsters are there left for you to be frightened of?”

You frowned deeply, eyes connecting with his. “You aren’t a monster Loki,”

He shrugged indifferently.

“Clowns though, clowns are fucked up. And demons, and ghosts, and-” you sighed. “I’m being silly aren’t I?”

Loki shook his head. “Everyone has something they fear,” He stated.

“And what is it that you fear oh mighty Loki?” You asked earnestly but with a jesting tone, leaving him an out. This conversation was nearing dangerous waters and you didn’t want to pressure him into sharing.

Loki took a steadying breath. He didn’t mind being honest with you. “That I am damned to be unloved all my life, that I will only be seen as the defective son of Odin, that there is no place for me in this world, nor in Asgard.”

Your gaze softened and your hand crawled to his. You intertwined your fingers and squeezed gently. “That isn’t true,” you muttered, “You are loved whether you recognize it or not, you have made up for any wrongs committed and you have a place here with m- us, with us....”

He looked at your intertwined fingers and thought about how yours fit perfectly in his. “Who do you think loves me?” His heart stuttered in his chest. The obvious answer being Thor but he couldn’t be sure that there was any other being outside of his forgiving brother who truly had love for him. The look in your eye made him hopeful though and he suddenly decided that he could push his luck.

“I am positive you at least have an idea,” You whispered, you pressed your leg against his and looked up at him from your eyelashes. You hadn’t withdrawn your hand yet.

He could practically hear your heart bursting from your chest and he watched your pulse quicken. Loki’s own heart was working quicker than it had in a long time and he was melting in your warm bubble. The air between you two was charged.

It didn’t take much and he wasn’t sure who leaned in first but his lip was barely brushing against yours. Your breath hitched and you were nearly afraid to move. Loki gulped and let his hand fall from yours to fall at the nape of your neck as he pulled you against him. You automatically stretched, pressing your chest against his. His other hand went to your hip.

He experimented and pressed his lips more firmly against yours, his heart thumping when you reacted, your hot breath coming out in a gasp when you chased his mouth with yours. By the time you were sated your chest was heaving and you were in his lap.

“I’m thinking” Loki spoke, his voice not sounding like his own,”That you might have to tell me one more time who loves me,”

You rolled your eyes and went to go grab your pajamas but he saw a smile at the corner of you swollen lips.

“I’m thinking this trip might turn out okay,” You said before walking into the bathroom to change.

Loki could only grin.

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #requested #spooky season fics #avengers #marvel

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years

Text

My Favorite Weapon - Chris Argent (Part 2)

Pairing: Chris Argent x Reader

Warnings: um...don’t think so.

A/N: This “one shot” has at least one more part coming. I don’t even know what’s going on anymore. I don’t think I’m in control over here.

Link for Part 1 in comments.

***

You closed the distance between you and the teens in two long strides. “What’s his name?”

“What?” Stiles stuttered again.

For the love of— “His. Name.”

A hand settled on your back. “Calm down, sweetheart,” Chris said, his voice soft and full of worry.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. This wasn’t you. Well, it was, but not the you they were used to. You rolled with the punches and just went with the flow. You did not freak out, but you certainly were right now. It wasn’t even so much that your life from Mystic Falls had followed you here. No, it was that they hadn’t contacted you first. And that you had no idea just how much of it had followed you.

Taking another breath, you opened your eyes and licked your lips. “What’s the new kid’s name? Anyone know?”

“Stefan something, I think,” Allison piped up.

Well, that was better than some of the alternatives. “Have any of you noticed anyone else new around?”

Several of them shook their heads, but Lydia simply frowned.

“What is it, Lydia?”

“There’s a new substitute. Well, not us but the freshman.”

“History?”

She tilted her head. “How did you know?”

You sighed. “Long story. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Just let me know if anyone else shows up.” Your gaze shifted to Allison. “You still have that tea I gave you?”

She nodded. “I think I’m about out. Dad doesn’t drink it though, so we should have another box.”

You turned to Chris and arched a brow. He shrugged. “I’m a coffee guy. You know that.”

“I’ve got something else that will work for you. For all of you actually.” One of the things you hated most in life was the taste of vervain so you’d been experimenting with other ways to take it. You’d finally come up with a capsule version you could just swallow like a pill.

You grabbed your bag from the chair where you’d left it and grabbed the two bottles you and Deaton had made earlier. He’d helped you figure out the effective dosage and was practiced at making his own capsules of stuff for the animals. You dumped them on the counter and split them up, making sure to include piles for Peter, Melissa and the sheriff. Deaton already had a supply.

You yanked the box of sandwich bags from the drawer and placed them on the counter. “Everyone take a pile. Stiles, take one for your dad. Scott, take one for your mom. Derek, take Peter’s. Allison, you keep drinking the tea until I can get more pills made.”

When no one approached the counter, you looked up to find them all staring at you in various stages of disbelief. “What?”

Chris stepped forward, his hands in front of him as if he was preparing to calm a skittish animal. “What is going on, Y/N?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Just take the pills. It’s a precaution, that’s all.”

Derek arched a brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Bullshit. I’ve never seen you like this. You need to start talking.”

You leaned your head back as you fisted your hands on your waist. Okay, maybe you could have handled this better. In Mystic Falls though you’d learned to panic first and ask questions later otherwise you’d end up dead. Finally, you heaved out a sigh a looked at all of them. “It’s not a pack thing. It’s a personal thing. If that changes, I’ll let you know. Just, please take the pills. One a day. It’s all natural. There’s nothing in them that will hurt you. Deaton helped me make them.”

Chris tilted his head and narrowed his gaze. You held up your hands to stave off whatever he was about to say. “We’ll talk tonight. The three of us,” you said, looking at Derek. The two men nodded, looking slightly more at ease.

You bagged up the pills and passed them out. The tense atmosphere started to loosen up after a bit until the kids were arguing over what movie to watch. The three of you grabbed a beer and headed outside. Derek lit the firepit and settled in one of the loungers. Chris settled in another and rather than getting your own, you motioned that you were sitting with him. He placed his feet on the ground and you sat in front of him before leaning back against his chest. He placed his legs on either side of you and wrapped his arms around you to hold you against him. By this point, it was a practiced moved as you’d spent more than one night out here together in front of the fire.

“Friends my ass,” Derek said with a snort.

Chris chuckled and you rolled your eyes. There was no point in arguing. You were half in love with Argent already, you just resisted putting a label on it. The three of you just sat there awhile enjoying the peace. Finally, you spoke. “The pills are vervain.”

Chris stiffened beneath you and you could feel Derek’s gaze. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he asked.

“No,” you were quiet.

“It means something to me,” Chris said. “Vampires.”

Derek choked on his beer. “Excuse me? Like Dracula?”

“You are a werewolf and you have trouble believing in vampires?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I have to say that’s a new one for me. So, these pills do what?”

“I’d like the answer to that myself,” Chris says. “Vervain is used by humans to prevent compulsion by vampires. But as far as I know they can’t compel other supernatural creatures so why have everyone take it?”

You sighed. “Vampires can’t. But Originals can.”

“What the—” Chris yelled as he sat bolt upright, taking you with him. Realizing how loud he was, he dropped his volume. “What the hell are you in the middle of Y/N? And why haven’t you said anything before?”

You moved to an empty seat, hands twisted together in your lap. Tears burned your eyes and you willed them away. You weren’t going to cry, damn it. Not about this. You knew better. This was why you said no every time he asked for something more serious. He didn’t know the truth about you and you were afraid he wouldn’t want you around anymore once he did.

“I’m pretty sure Mystic Falls lost a bet to some ancient deity or something. They have more than their share of supernatural drama. Irony of ironies I moved here to get away from it.”

Derek snorted a laugh but you didn’t look at either of them. “Okay, what’s an Original?” he asked after a pause.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “The first vampires weren’t natural creations. Their mother cursed them, though she didn’t see it that way at the time. There are four remaining. Three brothers and one sister.”

“They’re nearly impossible to kill,” Chris added. “Rumor has it one of the brothers fell not long ago but we don’t know any of the details.”

You’d gone this far, you might as well go all the way. “Finn. I killed him.”

Silence stretched between the three of you. Suddenly, Chris stood. “Fuck this. Derek, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Tears burned your eyes again as they went inside and closed the door behind them. Damn it. You knew you’d gotten too close to Argent. Your life hadn’t been normal since your sister-in-law disappeared with a vampire you later discovered was Damon Salvatore right in front of your brother’s eyes. Well, half-brother but still. He’d trained you to hunt vampires, and you’d found out about the rest of the stuff on your own. Needless to say, you hadn’t exactly had the most normal life. Especially when you started making friends with the creatures you were trained to hunt.

The truth was, you were lonely. Not for friends, you had plenty of those. And you had Ric, but it was a rare thing for a man to show any romantic interest in you. If they did, it quickly dissipated when they realized you could kick their ass or when there were too many times you couldn’t tell them what you’d been up to in the middle of the night. The last man to ask you out before Chris was Klaus and you were ninety percent sure that was simply to piss everyone off. You couldn’t really see him dating a hunter.

Realizing the two men had been gone for quite some time, you got up and wiped your hands across both cheeks. You knew better, damn it. The monsters didn’t want you because you were a hunter and the hunters didn’t want you because you were friends with the monsters. You sighed and headed into the house, which was surprisingly quiet. The kids were gone and the mess mostly cleaned up. “Hello?” you called.

There was no answer. Great, so they’d all just left you here. That was just great and not at all painful. They were probably off hunting your friends on top of it. Why were you such an idiot sometimes? You’d thought they at least trusted you enough to listen to everything you had to say before deciding your friends were the enemy. You snatched your bag up from where you left it and slipped it onto your shoulders. You needed to get out of here before anyone got back then call your brother to warn him.

When you were about ten feet from the door, it opened and Chris stepped in. He slowed as he saw you standing in front of him and tilted his head. “Going somewhere?”

“Why do you care?”

He sucked in a breath. “Well, I just convinced Derek to move the sleepover to the loft so you and I could talk. It seems a shame to waste the empty house.”

You stared at him. “Then where were you?”

“Helping with transport. It wasn’t my intention but Stiles’ jeep wouldn’t start. Imagine that.” He chuckled a bit and gave you an uncertain smile, those piercing eyes studying every move you made. “I left a note.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I didn’t see a note.”

He reached behind him and pulled the sticky note off the door to hand it to you. Your eyes scanned over his distinct scrawl. Playing taxi. Be back soon. DON’T LEAVE!!!

“Oh,” you muttered. You kept your gaze on the note even as hot tears ran down your cheeks.

“I know I should have just said something, but to be honest, I was still processing. I think you were too. I figured it would be better to just have this discussion when we were alone.”

You nodded but didn’t look at up him.

“Y/N?”

You swallowed. “What?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he closed the space between you and his hands cradled your cheeks. He tilted your head up and ran his eyes over your face. Taking in your tears, his expression became pained. “Don’t do that, baby. Don’t cry.” He swiped at the moisture with his thumbs but you only cried more at his display of concern.

You pushed his hands away and covered your face. You hated anyone to see you cry. It made you feel weak. “This is why I tried to resist you. I knew I was already too far in, and that it would break me if I lost you. And once I told you about everything, I would lose you. I kept telling myself you were different. That you’d understand but I knew.”

His hands settled on your shoulders and you jerked away from him. “No, Chris.” You wiped at your eyes, certain it didn’t do much good. “I knew it and I let my stupid ass fall in love with you anyway. Just let us go. I’ll make sure we’re all out of town by morning. Whatever they’re here for, I’m certain it has nothing to do with you.”

“Damn it, Y/N. That’s what I’m worried about. Do you think that I care about any of this beyond what it means for your safety? Or Allison’s? Did you even—wait a minute. Did you just say you loved me?”

Despite how emotional you were at the moment, his sudden change in tone and expression pulled a laugh from you. “God. Of course, I do.”

“Of course, you do.” He shook his head. “I can’t even get you to agree to a real date and somehow I was just supposed to know that you loved me?”

You shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

Now he was laughing and he cupped your face in his hands again. This time he pulled you forward and kissed your lips. He pulled away almost immediately and you found yourself leaning toward his mouth in an attempt to continue. “In case it’s not painfully obvious, I love you, too.”

His hands still cradled your face as he leaned down to look in your eyes. “I have a question and I need a straight answer. Everything else we can talk about in the morning. Are you, Allison, or the pack in danger from these people that have come to town?”

“No,” you answered with no hesitation.

“You’re certain?”

“Stefan is one of my best friends and the substitute would be my brother, Ric. I am certain Stefan’s brother is with them, but he’s my friend as well. We’re fine.” What you didn’t say is that you were worried about why they were here with no notice. But you couldn’t offer any enlightenment about that until you figured it out for yourself.

“That’s all I needed to know.” He kissed you again and in seconds you were lost in the sensation. Your arms were wrapped around his neck and his hands found your waist. He started walking you down the hall. “Did you really kill an Original?” he pulled back to ask.

“Less talking, more kissing, Argent.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a nod and his lips found their way back to yours. After the second time you managed to trip over your own feet, he chuckled against your lips. He shifted his hands to your thighs. “Jump.”

You did as instructed and wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you down the hall and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

#chris argent x reader #chris argent imagine #chris argent x you #teen wolf imagine

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elisaphoenix13 · 5 years

Text

Bonds Of Love, Not Blood

Whimpers woke Stephen, but before he could even sit up, he heard shushing and watched through half-lidded eyes as a figure leaned over the crib and picked Valerie up. The baby coos as she's taken out of the master bedroom and the sorcerer relaxes back into the mattress with the knowledge that Tony was taking care of their daughter. He wouldn't mind the extra few minutes. He was on a baby binge for the past couple of weeks, so he was the one mostly caring for Valerie, and while he wasn't about to stop caring for her, he wouldn't mind letting up a bit. So Stephen closes his eyes and drifts off between sleep and awareness, and sighs with content when Tony throws his arm around him and pulls him back against his chest.

Wait...Tony?

Stephen gasps and jolts up into a sitting position, the action throwing his husband's arm off who grumbles in annoyance. If Tony was in bed with him, who took the baby? The sorcerer takes a couple of deep breaths as he tells himself that there were plenty of people that might have come in to take care of Valerie for a little bit, and that she was safe, no matter who it was. When he slipped out of bed and out of the room to check and see who it was, he did not expect what he saw.

Harley had Valerie.

From what Stephen could see, the teenager was soothing his youngest sister as he made her a bottle with one hand, and it brought a smile to his face. Harley could be a menace. He pulled pranks with (or on) Peter, teased his siblings, sometimes purposely shot their resident god with his potato gun...but he loved his family. Sometimes he helped Peter on patrols or with bullies at school, spent time coloring with Diana when Cassie couldn't, and now he was giving his parents a few extra minutes of sleep by taking care of his baby sister. Stephen didn't want to ruin the moment quite yet, so he slipped back into the master bedroom and into bed, and snuggled up to Tony.

"Where was the fire?" Tony asks half asleep.

"No fire. I just thought you had the baby. I went to go see who really had her."

"Did Quill steal Valerie again?"

"No. Harley did." Stephen says with a smile.

Tony blinks as he processes the sorcerer's words. "Harley?"

Stephen hums. "Harley. He's feeding Valerie as we speak."

"These kids continue to surprise me."

Stephen says nothing and curls into his husband's chest, and purrs when Tony throws his arm back over the sorcerer. The couple enjoy their few rare minutes of quiet and no kids, and savor the sound of listening to each breathe. Or to add to Stephen's case, listening to Tony's heartbeat as well. It was only a matter of time before one of the kids woke them up, or even a team member. The last friend to wake them up was Clint, and that was because he was climbing in the vents again. He accidentally fell into the master bedroom and into their bed, rudely waking the couple as well as their infant daughter, and Mama Bear was not pleased. Tony had to punish the archer with clean up duty before Stephen threw him into a hell dimension.

"You smell that?" Tony suddenly asks and Stephen pulls his face away from the engineer's chest just enough to sniff the air.

"Someone's cooking breakfast."

"FRIDAY? Who's in the kitchen?" Tony asks.

"Harley, Boss. He seems to be cooking a variety of food." The AI responds and the parents look at each other before scrambling out of bed.

They leave the bedroom and once again peer over the railing, and indeed find Harley at the stove making bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast. Before they can wonder where their youngest child is, they find the baby dozing in her swing in the living room and Diana watching cartoons on the couch nearby. Peter was nowhere to be seen but that was because he was just leaving his room with a yawn. He blearily looks at his parents before looking down to see who was making breakfast and he gawks.

"Harley can cook?" He whispers incredulously to the two men.

"We're just as surprised." Tony answers and the three of them descend the stairs and into the kitchen.

Harley temporarily looks up from the scrambled eggs in the pan and points in the direction of the living room as he looks back down. "I fed and changed Val. She went back to sleep."

Tony opens and closes his mouth like a fish, and Stephen does them all the favor of asking the oldest child what they've been asking each other.

"Cub...how long have you been able to cook?"

Harley shrugs. "Since before Dad broke into my garage in Tennessee. I had to make my sister food a lot."

"You've been making us cook all this time?" Tony asks.

"It was nice to have a home cooked meal made by my parents."

Well, they couldn't fault him for that. He had been cooking for his sister (and maybe even his mother) for years, and after losing them and coming to live with Tony and them, he wanted to sit back and enjoy a meal he didn't make for once. He wanted to be a kid and that was okay. Him being a kid sometimes drove his parents crazy but that was the whole point. Today, Harley decided to put the child aside for a little while and help out, and Stephen walked over and thanked him by kissing the crown of his head. The boy was an inch shy of him and Tony so that was all he could manage.

"Thank you."

"As soon as I'm finished here, I'm done being mature."

Stephen chuckles. "I expect nothing less."

Tony snags a piece of bacon and munches on it thoughtfully. "What possessed you to do this?"

"You and Mom do so much for us. I figured helping with Valerie for a few minutes so you can get a little more sleep, and making breakfast was the least I could do."

"Thanks kid...really." Tony pats Harley's back as Stephen grabs plates.

Breakfast was thoroughly enjoyed, especially once they didn't need to watch the occupied swing in the living room since Wanda was the first to come up. The witch cooed at the sleeping baby while they finished breakfast, and she picked Valerie up when she finally woke up as Peter started to clean up. Valerie did have her favorite aunts and uncles, and that was based on who held her. The more someone held the baby, the more she warmed up to them. Quill, Scott, Natasha, and Wanda were constants and the others had to fight them for a chance to hold the baby. Not including Tony and Stephen of course.

"Does she have magic too?" Wanda asks as she gently pats Valerie's back and Stephen shakes his head.

"I don't believe so. I didn't notice it before with Diana, but now that Valerie is here, I can sense it. Dia had magic when she was born. Valerie does not. Besides being born from magic, she's a normal baby."

"Finally!" Harley groans out. "Being the only normal kid sucked."

"I gave you a suit kid. Don't complain." Tony remarks.

"I came up early so I could have a chance to hold her. I learned my lesson with Diana...at least the little bit of time we all got to have with her." Wanda states and Peter looks up at her from his homework.

"Probably a good thing since everyone has to fight a god for Val now"

It wasn't even an exaggeration. Stephen had been right when he said that Quill would be insufferable. The celestial may be occasionally hot-headed, big, and overprotective...but he was a teddy bear when it came to the girls. There were only two adults that didn't have to fight him for the girls and that was Scott and Stephen. It actually made Tony a little annoyed because two of the three girls that Quill protected were hischildren. One would think that Tony would be one of the few that wouldn't have to fight the god for his kids.

"We really need to give those idiots their own." Tony grumbles and Stephen huffs with amusement.

"That wouldn't change a thing. Quill would still hover."

"True." The billionaire admits.

"Boss, you have an incoming call from the NYPD." FRIDAY suddenly says and Tony frowns.

"What do they want?"

"It seems that Mr. Lang has been incarcerated just over an hour ago." She responds and both Tony and Stephen look at each other in confusion.

"What the hell?" Tony goes upstairs to grab his phone and talks to the officer on the line for a few minutes before hanging up. "Stealing? I'm calling bullshit. FRI, find out where Scott was arrested and send me any video feed you can find."

"Yes Boss."

Stephen walks into the bedroom as Tony gets dressed. "What happened?"

"They said he was caught stealing."

"Scott has no reason to do that. He and Quill aren't hurting for money, and even if they were, they would ask us for help. Not to mention he wouldn't risk going back to jail."

"Exactly. I'm calling bullshit and FRIDAY is looking into surveillance right now." Tony pulls on a jacket, and kisses Stephen. "I'll be right back."

Tony leaves the bedroom and then the tower, and Stephen walks back down to the living room to retrieve Valerie from Wanda when she starts to fuss again. She just needed another diaper change and feeding, but stayed with Stephen since she was content in his arms. Wanda moved on to playing with Diana as the boys did their homework for Monday, and a little over an hour later, Tony returned with Scott in tow. The younger looked a little upset as he went into the kitchen to get some juice, and Tony sits on the couch next to Stephen with an annoyed grunt.

"Well?" The sorcerer asks softly.

"Someone planted merchandise into his sweater. The charges were dropped once I showed video evidence, but he's not feeling great about it."

"Well I have a secret weapon to help him feel better." Stephen says and gets up to join Scott in the kitchen, finding the ex-thief lazily drinking a Capri Sun and staring off into the distance. "Scott."

"...sorry for causing trouble." The younger mumbles.

"You didn't. We don't blame you. Now here."

Stephen pulls Valerie away from his shoulder and holds her out to Scott, and the ex-con takes the infant who coos at the sight of her uncle. Like the sorcerer hoped, it had Scott smiling as he held her to his own shoulder and finished his juice.

"Enjoy it while you can before your husband gets home." Stephen warns and Scott snorts.

"I'd like to see him try to take her away."

"Scott...all he has to do is bring out the galaxy eyes and you'll hand her over."

Scott pouts. "Tony just has to speak Italian."

"I am not having this argument." Stephen huffs and walks back to the living room where the boys have moved on to playing video games after finishing their homework.

Scott had Valerie for all of twenty minutes before Quill got back, and the man immediately went over to his husband to pull him into a hug. The baby on the shorter man's shoulder squeaks at the sudden pressure of the hug and Tony rolls his eyes when Quill demands Scott for the baby. Even though they could hear them tussling in the kitchen, neither Tony nor Stephen were worried. Scott and Quill wouldn't let the baby get hurt, especially the god. He would put himself in harm's way to protect Scott and the girls.

"Was Uncle Scott like this when I was a baby?" Diana asks.

"Sort of. Except he had to fight Aunt Natasha instead of Uncle Quill." Tony answers.

"Because Uncle Quill wasn't here?"

"Exactly."

"HA!" Quill shouts in triumph from the kitchen.

"Stephen gave her to me!" Scott argues and the sorcerer sighs.

"I think I made a mistake." He mutters and Tony laughs.

#ironstrange #tony stark #mama bear stephen strange #diana stark strange (oc)#stephen strange #harley keener #peter parker #scott lang #peter quill #antlord #wanda maximoff #valerie stark strange (oc)

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redgillan · 5 years

Text

Missed Chances - Part 8

Steve Rogers x Reader ♀️ [// Bucky Barnes x Reader for now]

Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.

Word Count: 3,225

Warnings: Angst, Reader has a small panic attack

A/N: sO I wasn’t sure I wanted to end this chapter like that but no one replied to my post so I guess we’re doing this. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter it’s a fluffy one for our boy Steve. Also here’s the song if you’ve never heard of it ;)

7:36 p.m.

Trying to calm yourself down, you took a deep breath. You could feel your anger bubbling up inside you. You had been waiting on your kitchen stool for over thirty minutes, and your patience was running thin.

You picked up your phone and sent a quick message to your father-in-law, telling him you were going to be late. He replied with a thumbs up emoji.

It didn’t surprise you that Bucky was late to his own engagement dinner, but you still wished he had made an effort.

You locked your phone when you heard him coming up the stairs. You watched as he dropped his bag near the coat rack and threw his keys on the kitchen table. They landed close to your phone.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” Bucky said.

He grabbed the hem of his Henley and yanked it over his head, throwing it on the floor. You stayed quiet and kept your eyes trained on your phone. It annoyed you that this was all he had to say. A simple pathetic apology.

“You remember Sitwell, one of the head chefs? They fired him today, and now they’re looking for a new head chef. Doll, I think I have a real chance here. I mean, your magazine is basically promoting my restaurant for free. My bosses love that!” He toed off his shoes and quickly unbuttoned his jeans. “I’m gonna take a shower. You can order an Uber, I won’t be long.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the shower. You opened the app and ordered the car, fighting back tears. You were tired of coming second.

You arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes late. Bucky’s parents and sister were already seated, a pitcher of margaritas and some appetizers sat on the table. You apologized for being late and took a seat next to Bucky’s mother.

“I thought your parents were joining us,” Winnie said, sipping her drink.

“They’re on holidays,” you replied, shrugging off your jacket.

“Good for them!” she cheered as her husband filled up your empty glass.

You traded your full glass for Bucky’s empty one. “No alcohol for me,” you said, pouring water into your glass. Bucky’s younger sister looked at you with a funny expression. You mentally rolled your eyes. “I’m not pregnant, I just don’t want to drink.”

You were in a sour mood, which unfortunately happened quite frequently these days. Between work, planning the wedding –without Bucky because he always had too much work- and trying not to strangle Natasha who was your unofficial wedding planner, you really needed a goddamn break.

Bucky must have sensed something was wrong because he was suddenly a lot more attentive. He tried to reach across the table to touch you, but you quickly moved your hand away.

You weren’t looking at him, though you could feel his sad puppy dog eyes on you. You purposely focused on what his father was saying. Bucky’s eyes were your weakness, but you weren’t ready to forgive him. He had to realise he had hurt you.

Bucky cleared his throat. “So, um I’m sorry we’re late. It’s my fault.”

“Something happen at work?” Georges asked with furrowed brows.

“No, nothing important,” Bucky quickly replied, trying to meet your eyes. You relented and glanced at him. “Nothing important,” he repeated, his voice soft.

He extended his hand across the table and you barely hesitated before giving him your own. He smiled at you, mouthing the words ‘I love you’.

“How’s the wedding coming along?” Winnie asked with a bright smile. “You know, I read all the articles in your magazine. I really like them, it’s basically a how to plan your own wedding series. I wish it had been a thing when we got engaged.”

“It would have saved us a lot of headaches,” George agreed.

You and Bucky stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. They didn’t seem to notice the growing tension, and you didn’t want to be the one complaining that planning a wedding was hard work no matter who was there to help you.

Millions of people were waiting for your wedding. It was completely nerve-wracking.

Rebecca leaned across the table and grabbed a mozzarella stick. “I love awkward silences,” she said with a cocky smile.

You all laughed, diffusing the tension. “It’s coming along fine,” you answered Winnie’s question. “We’re not allowed to say much, we signed a confidentiality agreement.”

“But we’re the groom’s parents,” Winnie complained, “and the ceremony is happening in our backyard.” George threw her a glance, silently telling her to drop the subject. “Okay fine,” she mouthed, “but that’s not fair.”

Despite the lingering tension, dinner went rather smoothly. No one asked you any prying questions. You told Winnie and Rebecca that you had an appointment to try on the muslin dress Steve had made for you. Rebecca also had to try on her bridesmaid dress. They were both excited to share this moment with you.

You and Bucky were quiet on the drive home. When you finally got home, you undressed quietly and prepared for bed. You felt Bucky’s arms wrap around you from behind. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and breathed in deeply. You let yourself melt against his chest.

“Am I in trouble?” he mumbled against your neck, his lips finding the tender spot behind your ear.

You sighed. “It depends. I’m busting my ass planning this wedding, but it seems like you’re already married to your job.” You turned in his arms to face him. “Who is it going to be? Me or your job?”

“I want what’s best for you,” he said, holding you tight. “I need money to give yo-”

“Answer the question,” you pressed. “Me or your job?”

He looked at you with a pained expression. You wondered what was going on through his mind. Bucky was hard to read sometimes.

“It’s you,” he finally said, “always you.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, the tension slowly draining from your body. Arching against him, you kissed him hard on the lips. “Then prove it,” you whispered against his mouth, “come with me to the party next week. Take a day off.”

Bucky craned his neck toward the ceiling and sighed. He stayed quiet, pondering your words.

If he wanted to be the new head chef, he had to keep working hard. But ironically, the only reason he had been working so hard was so he could give you a better life. It didn’t make sense to keep working himself to death if you weren’t with him anymore.

Unfortunately, Saturdays were the most hectic days at the restaurant.

“I’m not allowed to take my Saturday off,” he told you, smiling sadly when your face fell. “But I’ll ask someone to trade shifts with me. I’ll be there before eleven.” He looked you in the eye, making sure you knew this was not an empty promise. “We’ll dance and laugh and drink. All night long.”

Your face broke into a shy smile. This wasn’t perfect, but it was a fair compromise. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

“It’s going to be the best party ever,” you said.

“This party sucks.”

Scott turned and leaned his back against the bar, surveying the deserted dance floor. He hummed in agreement as you blew out a frustrated breath.

People had started gathering at around eight but the music was garbage, and even the open bar wasn’t enough to make the guests stay. It was a Saturday night in New York, they still had time to find another party.

“It's 11 o’clock and I'm at a party.” Steve appeared out of nowhere. “It's so cool.”

“It’s 11 o’clock and people are leaving,” Scott said, cocking a brow. Steve’s enthusiasm was a little odd. He was celebrity after all, this shouldn’t faze him. “It’s a disaster.”

You spotted Nick and Natasha walking across the dance floor with scowls on their faces.

“Here comes trouble,” you mumbled to your friends as your bosses approached your corner.

“Where’s Barnes?” Natasha asked.

“He shouldn’t be long,” you replied after checking your phone. “He had to work tonight.”

Nick looked around the room and slowly shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter anymore. Most of the guests are gone.” He waved the bartender over and ordered a shot. “Is it me? Do I smell? Do I have bad breath?”

You, Scott and Natasha didn’t say anything. You all knew he wasn’t expecting an answer, he just needed to vent. The party must have been incredibly expensive and it was a complete disaster.

To your horror, Steve started leaning toward Nick, sniffing the air around him. Natasha looked at him as if he were crazy.

“No, you smell nice,” Steve said.

“Really,” Nick continued, his jaw ticking, “because people seem to be running for the exit like someone set off a stink bomb.”

“I don’t smell anything.” Steve looked at him with a confused puppy look on his face.

Scott bit back a laugh. “I think he means the party is a stinker. A dud. A flop. A zero on a scale of one to ten.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Natasha said, crossing her arms.

“Maybe if somebody played something else,” Steve said, nodding toward the DJ. “Something with a melody.”

Nick cut him off. “Play whatever you want. All I know is if those people don't start dancing really, really soon...” He promptly raised his shot glass. “Here's to early retirement.”

Nick grimaced as the amber liquid rolled down his throat. Steve cocked his head to one side as he observed the man digging in the record bin behind the turntables. An idea formed in his mind and, with a lopsided grin, he started making his way toward the dance floor.

“Steve,” you called after him. You remembered that smile too well. He was about to do something stupid.

The four of you watched as Steve neared the DJ. They spoke for a brief moment, though you were too far away to hear what they were saying. Then Steve turned around and, as he reached the middle of the dance floor, an upbeat music filled the room.

You frowned. The song was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

Steve addressed the small crowd with a shy wave, but all he got in return were blank stares. He took a deep, calming breath and started moving to the beat.

This is something new, the Casper slide part two Featuring the platinum band, and this time... We’re gonna get funky

Oh, no

Your eyes widened in horror as you recognized the song. The Cha Cha Slide. You hadn’t heard that song in years. It reminded you of your childhood, of the times in middle school when you had been going to slumber parties.

The dance in itself was really simple, you just had to follow the lyrics.

People were snickering as they watched Steve dance. He felt incredibly stupid, alone on the dance floor. He met your eyes and silently pleaded with you to join him.

You shook your head. “No, absolutely not!” you said in a loud whisper.

“Please,” Steve mouthed back.

Turn it out, to the left Take it back now y'all One hop this time

Steve took the lyrics as his cue to hop toward you like a bunny. You tried to hide behind Scott, but that idiot pushed you forward. Steve grabbed your hands and tried to pull you towards him.

“C’mon, please,” he begged.

“I haven't done this in over ten years.”

“It’s the Cha Cha Slide, he literally tells you what to do,” Steve shouted over the music.

He led you to the dance floor, and you found yourself paralysed. Everyone was staring at you. You tried to follow Steve’s lead, but you just felt too ridiculous. He encouraged you to keep dancing and you did your best not to bolt out of the room.

Slide to the left, slide to the right Crisscross, crisscross

In a synchronized movement, you both jumped and crossed your right foot over your left, then did it again. You looked at each other and laughed.

“All right, here we go!” you shouted, smiling brightly.

Despite your embarrassment, you were starting to really enjoy this. More people joined in. You saw Scott take Natasha’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. Natasha playfully rolled her eyes as she begrudgingly agreed to follow him.

The song ended too fast for your liking. You were feeling lighter than you had in a long time. Another song came on, a popular song from the 80s’, and everyone cheered.

“You’re a genius,” you shouted over the music, taking Steve’s hand and letting him twirl you into his arms. “That was so much fun! You have some great moves, Rogers! I didn’t know you could still do the limbo. That was impressive!”

Steve blushed and took a step away from you, running his hand through his hair with a sheepish grin. He looked at something over your shoulder, and grinned. The cheers of the crowd caught your attention.

You turned around and saw Nick doing the moonwalk. You were never going to be able to look him in the eye again.

It was after midnight when you finally stopped dancing and took a break. You ordered a drink and checked the time on your phone.

00:20 a.m.

No new messages.

You frowned, and looked around for Bucky. He should have been here by now. The room was absolutely crowded, and you thought that perhaps he was still looking for you.

You took your drink and moved to a quiet spot near the restroom where you called Bucky. He didn’t pick up. You left him a message, saying that you were at the bar waiting for him. You also sent him a text with the same information.

You waited another thirty minutes, frequently checking your phone, but Bucky hadn’t tried to contact you.

It was now 1 a.m. and you were getting a little worried. You tried not to panic, after all Bucky was always late so it was probably nothing.

You went outside and called the restaurant, thinking that maybe he was still working. The call went straight to voicemail, and you knew it was because the restaurant was closed and the team had left the building.

You remembered that Shuri was working with Bucky tonight, she had even agreed to trade shifts with him. You called her, but all she could tell you was that he had left just before eleven o’clock.

“There you are!” Steve’s voice made you jump. His smile dropped as he met your frightened eyes. “Something wrong?”

“I can’t find Bucky,” you said. “He’s not answering his phone. I don’t know what to do.”

Steve’s expression changed. He looked around, as if doing so would make Bucky appear out of nowhere. The lump in his throat dropped into his stomach like a lead ball.

Steve’s silence made you even more nervous.

“I don’t know where he is,” you cried. “What if something happened to him on the way here?”

Your legs buckled and Steve was at your side in an instant, holding you upright. You were panting, your eyes unfocused. He had had enough panic attacks to recognize the symptoms.

He held your gaze, and drew in a deep breath through his nose before releasing it slowly through his mouth. Calming breaths, you recognised the technique. You breathed in tandem until your heartbeat returned to normal.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, mustering up a half smile. “I’m going to drop you off at home. You’ll stay there in case Bucky comes home, and meanwhile I’ll look for him. Okay?”

You nodded, letting yourself smile a little.

You tried calling Bucky one last time while you climbed the stairs to your apartment. He didn’t answer and you left yet another voicemail. You begged him to call you back as soon he got your messages.

You fumbled with the lock, your nerves made your hands shake, and finally got it open. You leaned one hand against the wall for support as you bent down to remove your high heels.

“Did you have fun?”

Bucky’s deep voice startled you. You hurriedly searched for the nearby switch to turn on the lights. He was sitting at the kitchen counter with a half empty bottle of whiskey in front of him.

“You’re home,” you said, releasing a relieved breath. “I tried to call you like ten times.” You noticed that his phone was next to the bottle. “Why didn’t you answer? I was worried.”

Scoffing under his breath, Bucky reached for the bottle of whiskey. “You were worried? When? When Steve was twirling you around or when you were giggling against his chest?”

You frowned at him. Bucky had seen you dance with Steve, he’d seen the two of you laugh and have fun. It could only mean one thing.

“You came to the party,” you concluded out loud.

“Yeah, nice solve, Sherlock.”

“You’re drunk,” you chastised.

“And you’re cheating on me,” Bucky shouted, slamming the bottle on the counter.

You held his accusatory stare for as long as you could stand it, then bent your head and swallowed the lump in your throat. That was a low blow and completely unjustified. Sometimes his insecurities got the best of him. Especially when he was drunk.

It was pointless to argue with him right now. You swallowed your frustration and anger as best you could before you raised your head.

“You’re drunk, I’m not having this conversation tonight,” you said as you crossed the room. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

At least he didn’t protest.

You grabbed the handle of the Murphy bed that leaned against the wall, and pulled it down. You took your phone and typed a quick text to Steve.

I found Bucky. He’s at home, drunk, but safe. Thank you for what you did tonight. You’re a good man.

His answer came a few seconds later. I’m relieved. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Goodnight!

You were getting ready for bed, but your brain was rehearsing the upcoming argument you would soon have with Bucky.

You got even more upset because you couldn’t calm down. Bucky was still sitting at the counter, staring off into space. You didn’t want to be in the same room with him.

Your apartment was a tiny studio, you couldn’t isolate yourself. And even though you hated his guts, you didn’t want to throw Bucky out of the house. He wasn’t sober enough to take a cab or even walk. Besides, Sam would be upset if Bucky showed up drunk at his door in the middle of the night.

You stared at your trainers closely, calculating your next move. You felt as though you were suffocating, stuck between two men and a wedding, and unable to move forward because you wanted to please everyone.

You had to get out of the apartment.

You quickly slipped your feet into her trainers and headed for the front door. Bucky’s tired eyes were focused on you as you took your jacket and keys.

“Where you goin?” he slurred.

“Out,” you said before you closed the door behind you.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #steve x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers rogers imagines #bucky barnes imagines #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites #missed chances

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