#apparently I heard he said on the phone friends of him from Germany are coming on Monday

[dreamyberry]

Someone told me you’re never gonna be 100% happy anyway. So what are we here for? Heartbreaks and paying the rent and distracting yourself with hobbies 2 hours a week to forget you’d rather be d3ad?

[rinaforpages]

how (not) to survive academic invalidation

park gunwook x reader

hahahha...

using the american hs system bcs wow! im american... (i half wrote this at the end of last school yr so)

warnings: swearing, self-deprecation (obv), yn hits themself, angst with a bit of fluff at the end, reader is actually smart but surrounds themself with geniuses.

2.6k words

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# 1 dont compare yourself

"junior year kicks everyones ass." you wanted to kick whoever said that ass. not only was the school work kicking your ass, your friends and classmates seemed to be doing just fine.

they were working on ap chemistry minus laura and gunwook who were working on ap environmental science, and you, who took neither of those classes, felt extremely out of place, doing your ap us history homework.

"whats species richness again?" laura asked gunwook, who quickly answered her question. you looked up, planning to ask the soon-to-be early graduate a question, only to see him helping sarah with a chemistry problem.

you weren't like them and you despised that. your friends were top of the class, an average of a 4.4 gpa, an early graduate (and first in the 2024 class overall) and there you sat with your measly 3.75. they were in 3-4 ap classes, and you sat there, struggling through your 2. (in your defense, ap lang and apush are the two hardest aps juniors could take).

you didnt excel in any way shape or form. they had just about an a in every class (minus ryan in french, who had a b), and a b was your most common grade.

a good 10 minutes later you had finished struggling through apush, you moved on to mandarin. you were the only one who took mandarin, everyone else opting for french. the characters jumbled your brain as your friends spoke in french, seemingly coming easy to them.

you heard footsteps walk by, and ricky laid a hand on your shoulder, looking over. "thats wrong." he said simply. the french kids careened their necks to look at you. he grabbed your pencil and wrote the right character, then walked away. you hummed as you circled the characters you didnt know, opting to ask zhang hao over bothering ricky again.

"you ok over there?" gunwook asked. you scowled.

"i dont understand why there are so many idioms! im losing my goddamn mind." parker laughed, mumbling that you chose the language. you couldnt (or didnt want to) voice your doubts as you thought you could.

as they focused their attention on their homework again, you waved over zhang hao, who hanbin had asked to help cut fruits for you and your friends. he set down a plate in front of you, then sat down.

"what does 开夜车 mean zhang hao please im gonna kill myself." he laughed as hanbin looked up, extremely concerned.

"you know 熬夜, right?" you nodded "so its kind of like that but youre doing work. it literally means burn the midnight oil" you thanked him as he patted your head, pulling the plate of fruit away from your friends and toward you, gunwook making a sound of discontent.

you sighed, packing up your bag at a text from your oldest brother. he was home from his masters program in germany, apparently, and was now waiting outside the dorm. you loved your older brothers, you really did, but they were so much smarter than you ever will be. the oldest graduated magna cum laude from mit, now achieving an accelerated masters for mechanical engineering, and the younger was attending harvard for premed, both completely full ride.

your friends, finally re-noticing you, looked up. "where are you going?" gunwook asked, shushing yujin.

"brothers here," you mumbled, not wanting to wreck your self-esteem any more than you had. sarah pouted, but nodded, whipping out her phone. gunwook opened his mouth, but then quickly closed it. "bye hao, thanks for the help. bye, hanbin and jiwoong!" the three oldest members waved back, hanbin hugging you as you walked by. when you got in your fathers' car that your brother was driving, you spilled your guts.

# 2 dont fall behind

at some point, your motivation fell through. all you wanted to do was lie down and stare at the ceiling all day. sadly though, education laws (and school rules) prevailed.

as you trudged up the stairs from last lunch to pre-calculus, you cursed the architects of the three-floor building and whoever required you to go to school.

two of your friends—laura and ryan—had junior priv, which meant they left early. sarah and coral (who had missed the study session) were in ap chem, and gunwook left for a shoot. without your friends to motivate you to work harder, you felt there was nothing left for you to do.

you had fallen asleep in mandarin earlier that day, so why were you still exhausted?

quick answer: you had stayed up late finishing your apush bonus points.

actual answer: you had no motivation to do anything.

you were falling behind on homework: what used to be doing homework as soon as you got home turned into doing it right before class. a teacher had approached your freshman-year english teacher about it, the one teacher who you could talk easily to. yujin was standing right there; they mustve not have realized you two knew each other.

ricky and zhang hao had invited you over for a cdrama binge session. (ricky said "itll help you" in his texts.) but yujin quickly pulled you aside.

"youre falling behind?" he asked, pointedly. you sighed, nodded, opening your mouth to reply as gunwook walked by, asking what you were doing.

"nothin! ricky and hao invited me over." the words rushed out, and they were so not convincing, but gunwook shrugged and moved to sit down beside ricky and gyuvin. you hushed yujin and walked over and sat down beside hao. gunwook stared at you.

"come here." he motioned, shoving ricky off the couch. you hesitated as you made eye contact ricky, but eventually, there were only so many thumps against the couch you could take. "see? more comfortable over here" you hit him, and he let out a yelp.

"do you have much homework, yn?" taerae asked, setting down a bowl of popcorn.

"only a couple of classes," you replied, shoving a kernel in your mouth.

matthew laughed, "the usual suspects, im guessing?" you nodded. gunwook threw a (toned) arm around you as the two chinese members debated the drama.

"how much have you done? its sunday." gunwook asked, lightly, rubbing circles on your arm with his thumb.

"i can do it all tonight and tomorrow." you sighed, the sentence reminding you of where you are in school. gunwook hummed.

"make sure you get sleep, though. you need sleep, its not healthy if you dont." fuck. you were in deep shit in two ways. you were falling deeper into your rut, and you were falling deeper in love with your childhood best friend.

# 3 dont be too hard on yourself

...was easier said than done. your mind cursed you every time you got a bad grade. you wondered what was the point: you werent good enough to get into the likes of yale, or any of your colleges for that matter.

you had long since fallen off the ladder. it had injured you your 8th-grade year, and every attempt to climb back to where you were or any pushing from a 3rd party proved futile, as you only slipped and fell back down again.

the sat was fast approaching, and every practice test you did was never where you wanted them to be. every stupid math problem you got wrong brought a punch to your head. you had called gunwook, only realizing when he didnt pick up that he was in a shoot. panicked, you hung up before the voicemail. when he called you back (10 times with his members also calling you), you opted to ignore it. it was getting late, anyhow, and you had to go in early for apush in the morning.

apush lab made you want to kill yourself. sarah sat next to you, but everything always seemed to favor her. the quizzes, the teacher. it was unfair, really. american history was supposed to be your thing. so why were you struggling? after lab, sarah asked you what was wrong. "gunwook had called us in a panic because you didn't pick up." you shook your head, lying through your teeth.

"i had a question, but then passed the fuck out like 5 minutes later." sarah laughed and nodded, saying she was glad you got proper sleep, mumbling something about the aforementioned friend. when you asked, she waved you off, the man himself standing outside your classroom. he swung an arm around you as sarah walked in the opposite direction to her next class. he asked you the same thing. you lied to him too, but he looked less convinced. he didnt press you further, though, as you two began to walk down the stairs to your creative writing workshop—a senior elective you had begged your guidance counselor to take. gunwook took it to fill spots in his schedule.

the teacher loved him. as did everyone. you wondered if you could ever experience that. your oldest friend was everything you weren't and it was a point of contention inside your mind. you cursed yourself that you were nothing like him. gunwook nudged you in the middle of class when you were given an opportunity to work, asking what was wrong.

"i know thats not why you called me and then didn't pick up. you're also in your head right now." he pointed out, softly. you hummed, scribbling down something in your notebook.

"i just... i had a question but it was stupid. i figured it out." he looked at you pointedly, a look that told you to tell him the truth. "seriously! im ok!" he nodded, grabbing your hand for a squeeze.

# 4 do your best

you were nervous. ok nervous was an understatement. you rocked from heel to toe as you awaited the announcement that the doors were open. your friends chattered nervously around you. for them, this was the first time they were taking the sat. this was your second. you had gotten a 1340 on your first try—nowhere near where you wanted it to be. your brothers had gotten 1600 and 1590, respectively.

you were on call with all your friends the night before, gunwook coaching you guys through certain questions. he had texted you, (only you, but you didnt know that) wishing you luck. ricky and zhang hao had wished you luck as well.

everything seemed like bricks in your bag. it was only a couple of things—a computer, for the digital sat, a pencil, a calculator, a water bottle, and a banana. but it felt like you had hundreds of textbooks in your bag for no reason at all.

the doors swung open, and you rushed up to your assigned room. the setup was a blur, and the reading section seemed to be so too. during the break, your friends voiced similar opinions. then, during math, you began to struggle. somewhere along the way, though, gunwook popped into your head. you dont know if it was   because you wanted to make him proud, or you didnt want to disappoint your oldest friend and crush, but it worked. you powered through module 1 and 2, module 2 being the toughest one by far.

when the results came back two weeks later, you waited with baited breath as your friends skipped class with you to check all of your scores. gunwook held your hand as you refreshed the page.

"i dont want to look." you said, hiding your face in his chest.

"ill look for you." he mumbled into your hair, scrolling down. you felt him smile into the crown of your head, "i knew you could do it, sweetheart." you looked, and a big glaring 1590 stared back at you.

"wook!! holy shit a 1590!!" you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him tight.

# 5 talk about it

you sat with your friends and the members as you awaited gunwook's family's arrival. gunwook smiled from his seat on the gymnasium floor, holding up his phone. almost on instinct, you all checked your own.

wook🩵: this'll be you guys next year. ill be up there watching you all.

sarah burst in to tears. laura full on sobbed, and ryan and carols eyes were brimming with tears. as you read the text again and again, you got a separate text.

wook🩵: i'm proud of you y'know? i saw you struggling a bit at the end there but you made it through. i love you, yn. im glad to call you my friend.

i love you i love you i-

"hey yn sweetheart!" gunwooks mom sat next to you. his brother waved, and his father gave you a curt nod.

"hi. you guys must be excited." his mom laughed, nodding, then shoving your shoulder.

"im more excited about something else." you opened your mouth to ask her what, but the ceremony started

giving gunwook his graduation flowers made him blush. he shook his head. "do you not like them, wook? i thought theyre your favorites." he shook his head again, dropping the flowers into his mom's hands, grabbing your face.

"you are clueless, yknow that? i gave you so many hints. everyone knows." when you asked him what he meant, "yn, you didnt think id notice you putting yourself down? you know i cant fucking stand that. sorry mom. it kills me that the love if my life doesnt realize how fucking amazing they are, and it kills me that they dont realize that im in love with them." at this point, you dont know what you were doing. because gunwook was confessing to you that he both likes you and that he knows about your self-deprication. so now, surrounded by friends and seniors, gunwooks family and members, you kissed him.

it wasnt like anything you had imagined. your first kiss, you mean. peering seniors were waved off by shouts from matthew and gunwooks brother—both burly enough that even the biggest varsity football players would shrink away.

gunwook smiled on your lips as your friends cheered amongst themselves. you heard a loud "闭嘴!" from zhang hao to what you presume was ricky chatting with the senior mandarin class. when you broke off, gasping for air, gunwook tore off his graduation gown, pushing it onto his poor unsuspecting leader. he grabbed your arm, and the two of you sprinted as fast as you could.

out the gymnasium doors, out back by the cafeteria, through the back-woods path. he stopped when he was sure no one would follow him.

"so whats going on? with the whole." he gestured to your head. you knew what he meant, so you nodded. you told him everything, how you compared yourself to everyone, especially your friends and brothers, you were falling behind, your motivation was close to 0, and you never really believed that you could do it. he was quiet for a while. you knew he was trying to find the right words.

you wanted to cry, or throw up, probably both. it felt like the trees and the birds and your boyfriend? were judging you. but gunwook just apologized, for not noticing sooner, for not knowing how to help. you shook your head, tears threatening to fall, but he shook his too.

"no, no, im your best friend, yn, i need to be here for you. im serious, you have people to rely on, you dont have to shoulder this all by yourself." the tears threatening to fall were not a threat anymore, and the dam broke. gunwook grabbed the back of your head, pulling you into a hug.

—

mandarin guide:

开夜车: kai ye che, lit. burn the midnight oil

熬夜: ao ye, stay up late

闭嘴: bi zui, shut up/close your mouth

[carldavidson]

A Diplomat Defects From the Kremlin over Ukraine

The Sources of Russian Misconduct

A Diplomat Defects From the Kremlin

By Boris Bondarev

Foreign Affairs

November/December 2022

For three years, my workdays began the same way. At 7:30 a.m., I woke up, checked the news, and drove to work at the Russian mission to the United Nations Office in Geneva. The routine was easy and predictable, two of the hallmarks of life as a Russian diplomat.

читать статью по-русски (Read in Russian)

February 24 was different. When I checked my phone, I saw startling and mortifying news: the Russian air force was bombing Ukraine. Kharkiv, Kyiv, and Odessa were under attack. Russian troops were surging out of Crimea and toward the southern city of Kherson. Russian missiles had reduced buildings to rubble and sent residents fleeing. I watched videos of the blasts, complete with air-raid sirens, and saw people run around in panic.

As someone born in the Soviet Union, I found the attack almost unimaginable, even though I had heard Western news reports that an invasion might be imminent. Ukrainians were supposed to be our close friends, and we had much in common, including a history of fighting Germany as part of the same country. I thought about the lyrics of a famous patriotic song from World War II, one that many residents of the former Soviet Union know well: “On June 22, exactly at 4:00 a.m., Kyiv was bombed, and we were told that the war had started.” Russian President Vladimir Putin described the invasion of Ukraine as a “special military operation” intended to “de-Nazify” Russia’s neighbor. But in Ukraine, it was Russia that had taken the Nazis’ place.

“That is the beginning of the end,” I told my wife. We decided I had to quit.

Resigning meant throwing away a twenty-year career as a Russian diplomat and, with it, many of my friendships. But the decision was a long time coming. When I joined the ministry in 2002, it was during a period of relative openness, when we diplomats could work cordially with our counterparts from other countries. Still, it was apparent from my earliest days that Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs was deeply flawed. Even then, it discouraged critical thinking, and over the course of my tenure, it became increasingly belligerent. I stayed on anyway, managing the cognitive dissonance by hoping that I could use whatever power I had to moderate my country’s international behavior. But certain events can make a person accept things they didn’t dare to before.

The invasion of Ukraine made it impossible to deny just how brutal and repressive Russia had become. It was an unspeakable act of cruelty, designed to subjugate a neighbor and erase its ethnic identity. It gave Moscow an excuse to crush any domestic opposition. Now, the government is sending thousands upon thousands of drafted men to go kill Ukrainians. The war shows that Russia is no longer just dictatorial and aggressive; it has become a fascist state.

But for me, one of the invasion’s central lessons had to do with something I had witnessed over the preceding two decades: what happens when a government is slowly warped by its own propaganda. For years, Russian diplomats were made to confront Washington and defend the country’s meddling abroad with lies and non sequiturs. We were taught to embrace bombastic rhetoric and to uncritically parrot to other states what the Kremlin said to us. But eventually, the target audience for this propaganda was not just foreign countries; it was our own leadership. In cables and statements, we were made to tell the Kremlin that we had sold the world on Russian greatness and demolished the West’s arguments. We had to withhold any criticism about the president’s dangerous plans. This performance took place even at the ministry’s highest levels. My colleagues in the Kremlin repeatedly told me that Putin likes his foreign minister, Sergey Lavrov, because he is “comfortable” to work with, always saying yes to the president and telling him what he wants to hear. Small wonder, then, that Putin thought he would have no trouble defeating Kyiv.

The war shows that decisions made in echo chambers can backfire.

The war is a stark demonstration of how decisions made in echo chambers can backfire. Putin has failed in his bid to conquer Ukraine, an initiative that he might have understood would be impossible if his government had been designed to give honest assessments. For those of us who worked on military issues, it was plain that the Russian armed forces were not as mighty as the West feared—in part thanks to economic restrictions the West implemented after Russia’s 2014 seizure of Crimea that were more effective than policymakers seemed to realize.

The Kremlin’s invasion has strengthened NATO, an entity it was designed to humiliate, and resulted in sanctions strong enough to make Russia’s economy contract. But fascist regimes legitimize themselves more by exercising power than by delivering economic gains, and Putin is so aggressive and detached from reality that a recession is unlikely to stop him. To justify his rule, Putin wants the great victory he promised and believes he can obtain. If he agrees to a cease-fire, it will only be to give Russian troops a rest before continuing to fight. And if he wins in Ukraine, Putin will likely move to attack another post-Soviet state, such as Moldova, where Moscow already props up a breakaway region.

There is, then, only one way to stop Russia’s dictator, and that is to do what U.S. Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin suggested in April: weaken the country “to the degree that it can’t do the kinds of things that it has done in invading Ukraine.” This may seem like a tall order. But Russia’s military has been substantially weakened, and the country has lost many of its best soldiers. With broad support from NATO, Ukraine is capable of eventually beating Russia in the east and south, just as it has done in the north.

If defeated, Putin will face a perilous situation at home. He will have to explain to the elite and the masses why he betrayed their expectations. He will have to tell the families of dead soldiers why they perished for nothing. And thanks to the mounting pressure from sanctions, he will have to do all of this at a time when Russians are even worse off than they are today. He could fail at this task, face widespread backlash, and be shunted aside. He could look for scapegoats and be overthrown by the advisers and deputies he threatens to purge. Either way, should Putin go, Russia will have a chance to truly rebuild—and finally abandon its delusions of grandeur.

PIPE DREAMS

I was born in 1980 to parents in the middle strata of the Soviet intelligentsia. My father was an economist at the foreign trade ministry, and my mother taught English at the Moscow State Institute of Foreign Relations. She was the daughter of a general who commanded a rifle division during World War II and was recognized as a “Hero of the Soviet Union.”

We lived in a large Moscow apartment assigned by the state to my grandfather after the war, and we had opportunities that most Soviet residents did not. My father was appointed to a position at a joint Soviet-Swiss venture, which allowed us to live in Switzerland in 1984 and 1985. For my parents, this time was transformative. They experienced what it was like to reside in a wealthy country, with amenities—grocery carts, quality dental care—that the Soviet Union lacked.

As an economist, my father was already aware of the Soviet Union’s structural problems. But living in western Europe led him and my mother to question the system more deeply, and they were excited when Mikhail Gorbachev launched perestroika in 1985. So, it seemed, were most Soviet residents. One didn’t have to live in western Europe to realize that the Soviet Union’s shops offered a narrow range of low-quality products, such as shoes that were painful to wear. Soviet residents knew the government was lying when it claimed to be leading “progressive mankind.”

Russia’s bureaucracy discourages independent thought.

Many Soviet citizens believed that the West would help their country as it transitioned to a market economy. But such hopes proved naive. The West did not provide Russia with the amount of aid that many of its residents—and some prominent U.S. economists—thought necessary to address the country’s tremendous economic challenges. Instead, the West encouraged the Kremlin as it quickly lifted price controls and rapidly privatized state resources. A small group of people grew extremely rich from this process by snapping up public assets. But for most Russians, the so-called shock therapy led to impoverishment. Hyperinflation hit, and average life expectancy went down. The country did experience a period of democratization, but much of the public equated the new freedoms with destitution. As a result, the West’s status in Russia seriously suffered.

It took another major hit after NATO’s 1999 campaign against Serbia. To Russia, the bombings looked less like an operation to protect the country’s Albanian minority than like aggression by a large power against a tiny victim. I vividly remember walking by the U.S. embassy in Moscow the day after a mob attacked it and noticing marks left by paint that had been splattered against its walls.

As the child of middle-class parents—my father left the civil service in 1991 and started a successful small business—I experienced this decade of turbulence mostly secondhand. My teenage years were stable, and my future seemed fairly predictable. I became a student at the same university where my mother taught and set my sights on working in international affairs as my father had. I benefited from studying at a time when Russian discourse was open. Our professors encouraged us to read a variety of sources, including some that were previously banned. We held debates in class. In the summer of 2000, I excitedly walked into the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for an internship, ready to embark on a career I hoped would teach me about the world.

My experience proved disheartening. Rather than working with skilled elites in stylish suits—the stereotype of diplomats in Soviet films—I was led by a collection of tired, middle-aged bosses who idly performed unglamorous tasks, such as drafting talking points for higher-level officials. Most of the time, they didn’t appear to be working at all. They sat around smoking, reading newspapers, and talking about their weekend plans. My internship mostly consisted of getting their newspapers and buying them snacks.

I decided to join the ministry anyway. I was eager to earn my own money, and I still hoped to learn more about other places by traveling far from Moscow. When I was hired in 2002 to be an assistant attaché at the Russian embassy in Cambodia, I was happy. I would have a chance to use my Khmer language skills and studies of Southeast Asia.

Since Cambodia is on the periphery of Russia’s interests, I had little work to do. But living abroad was an upgrade over living in Moscow. Diplomats stationed outside Russia made much more money than those placed domestically. The embassy’s second-in-command, Viacheslav Loukianov, appreciated open discussion and encouraged me to defend my opinions. And our attitude to the West was fairly congenial. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs always had an anti-American bent—one inherited from its Soviet predecessor—but the bias was not overpowering. My colleagues and I did not think much about NATO, and when we did, we usually viewed the organization as a partner. One evening, I went out for beers with a fellow embassy employee at an underground bar. There, we ran into an American official who invited us to drink with him. Today, such an encounter would be fraught with tension, but at the time, it was an opportunity for friendship.

Yet even then, it was clear that the Russian government had a culture that discouraged independent thought—despite Loukianov’s impulses to the contrary. One day, I was called to meet with the embassy’s number three official, a quiet, middle-aged diplomat who had joined the foreign ministry during the Soviet era. He handed me text from a cable from Moscow, which I was told to incorporate into a document we would deliver to Cambodian authorities. Noticing several typos, I told him that I would correct them. “Don’t do that!” he shot back. “We got the text straight from Moscow. They know better. Even if there are errors, it’s not up to us to correct the center.” It was emblematic of what would become a growing trend in the ministry: unquestioned deference to leaders.

YES MEN

In Russia, the first decade of the twenty-first century was initially hopeful. The country’s average income level was increasing, as were its living standards. Putin, who assumed the presidency at the start of the millennium, promised an end to the chaos of the 1990s.

And yet plenty of Russians grew tired of Putin during the aughts. Most intellectuals regarded his strongman image as an unwelcome artifact of the past, and there were many cases of corruption among senior government officials. Putin responded to investigations into his administration by cracking down on free speech. By the end of his first term in office, he had effectively taken control of all three of Russia’s main television networks.

Within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, however, Putin’s early moves raised few alarms. He appointed Lavrov to be foreign minister in 2004, a decision that we applauded. Lavrov was known to be highly intelligent and have deep diplomatic experience, with a track record of forging lasting relationships with foreign officials. Both Putin and Lavrov were becoming increasingly confrontational toward NATO, but the behavioral changes were subtle. Many diplomats didn’t notice, including me.

Even limited displays of opposition make Moscow nervous.

In retrospect, however, it’s clear that Moscow was laying the groundwork for Putin’s imperial project—especially in Ukraine. The Kremlin developed an obsession with the country after its Orange Revolution of 2004–5, when hundreds of thousands of protesters prevented Russia’s preferred candidate from becoming president after what was widely considered to be a rigged election. This obsession was reflected in the major Russian political shows, which started dedicating their primetime coverage to Ukraine, droning on about the country’s supposedly Russophobic authorities. For the next 16 years, right up to the invasion, Russians heard newscasters describe Ukraine as an evil country, controlled by the United States, that oppressed its Russian-speaking population. (Putin is seemingly incapable of believing that countries can genuinely cooperate, and he believes that most of Washington’s closest partners are really just its puppets—including other members of NATO.)

Putin, meanwhile, continued working to consolidate power at home. The country’s constitution limited presidents to two consecutive terms, but in 2008, Putin crafted a scheme to preserve his control: he would support his ally Dmitry Medvedev’s presidential candidacy if Medvedev promised to make Putin prime minister. Both men followed through, and for the first few weeks of Medvedev’s presidency, those of us at the foreign ministry were uncertain which of the two men we should address our reports to. As president, Medvedev was constitutionally charged with directing foreign policy, but everybody understood that Putin was the power behind the throne.

We eventually reported to Medvedev. The decision was one of several developments that made me think that Russia’s new president might be more than a mere caretaker. Medvedev established warm ties with U.S. President Barack Obama, met with American business leaders, and cooperated with the West even when it seemed to contradict Russian interests. When rebels tried to topple the regime of Muammar al-Qaddafi in Libya, for example, the Russian military and foreign ministry opposed NATO efforts to establish a no-fly zone over the country. Qaddafi historically had good relations with Moscow, and our country had investments in Libya’s oil sector, so our ministry didn’t want to help the rebels win. Yet when France, Lebanon, and the United Kingdom—backed by the United States—brought a motion before the UN Security Council that would have authorized a no-fly zone, Medvedev had us abstain rather than veto it. (There is evidence that Putin may have disagreed with this decision.)

But in 2011, Putin announced plans to run for president again. Medvedev—reluctantly, it appeared—stepped aside and accepted the position of prime minister. Liberals were outraged, and many called for boycotts or argued that Russians should deliberately spoil their ballots. These protesters made up only a small part of Russia’s population, so their dissent didn’t seriously threaten Putin’s plans. But even the limited display of opposition seemed to make Moscow nervous. Putin thus worked to bolster turnout in the 2011 parliamentary elections to make the results of the contest seem legitimate—one of his earlier efforts to narrow the political space separating the people from his rule. This effort extended to the foreign ministry. The Kremlin gave my embassy, and all the others, the task of getting overseas Russians to vote.

I worked at the time in Mongolia. When the election came, I voted for a non-Putin party, worrying that if I didn’t vote at all, my ballot would be cast on my behalf for Putin’s United Russia. But my wife, who worked at the embassy as chief office manager, boycotted. She was one of just three embassy employees who did not participate.

A few days later, embassy leaders looked through the list of staff who cast ballots in the elections. On being named, the other two nonvoters said they were not aware that they needed to participate and promised to do so in the upcoming presidential elections. My wife, however, said that she did not want to vote, noting that it was her constitutional right not to participate. In response, the embassy’s second-in-command organized a campaign against her. He shouted at her, accused her of breaking discipline, and said that she would be labeled “politically unreliable.” He described her as an “accomplice” of Alexei Navalny, a prominent opposition leader. After my wife didn’t vote in the presidential contest either, the ambassador didn’t talk to her for a week. His deputy didn’t speak to her for over a month.

BREAKING BAD

My next position was in the ministry’s Department for Nonproliferation and Arms Control. In addition to issues related to weapons of mass destruction, I was assigned to focus on export controls—regulations governing the international transfer of goods and technology that can be used for defense and civilian purposes. It was a job that would give me a clear view of Russia’s military, just as it became newly relevant.

In March 2014, Russia annexed Crimea and began fueling an insurgency in the Donbas. When news of the annexation was announced, I was at the International Export Control Conference in Dubai. During a lunch break, I was approached by colleagues from post-Soviet republics, all of whom wanted to know what was happening. I told them the truth: “Guys, I know as much as you do.” It was not the last time that Moscow made major foreign policy decisions while leaving its diplomats in the dark.

Among my colleagues, reactions to the annexation of Crimea ranged from mixed to positive. Ukraine was drifting Westward, but the province was one of the few places where Putin’s mangled view of history had some basis: the Crimean Peninsula, transferred within the Soviet Union from Russia to Ukraine in 1954, was culturally closer to Moscow than to Kyiv. (Over 75 percent of its population speaks Russian as their first language.) The swift and bloodless takeover elicited little protest among us and was extremely popular at home. Lavrov used it as an opportunity to grandstand, giving a speech blaming “radical nationalists” in Ukraine for Russia’s behavior. I and many colleagues thought that it would have been more strategic for Putin to turn Crimea into an independent state, an action we could have tried to sell as less aggressive. Subtlety, however, is not in Putin’s toolbox. An independent Crimea would not have given him the glory of gathering “traditional” Russian lands.

Creating a separatist movement in and occupying the Donbas, in eastern Ukraine, was more of a head-scratcher. The moves, which largely took place in the first third of 2014, didn’t generate the same outpouring of support in Russia as did annexing Crimea, and they invited another wave of international opprobrium. Many ministry employees were uneasy about Russia’s operation, but no one dared convey this discomfort to the Kremlin. My colleagues and I decided that Putin had seized the Donbas to keep Ukraine distracted, to prevent the country from creating a serious military threat to Russia, and to stop it from cooperating with NATO. Yet few diplomats, if any, told Putin that by fueling the separatists, he had in fact pushed Kyiv closer to his nemesis.

The West’s 2014 sanctions substantially weakened the Russian military.

My diplomatic work with Western delegations continued after the Crimean annexation and the Donbas operation. At times, it felt unchanged. I still had positive relations with my colleagues from the United States and Europe as we worked productively on arms control issues. Russia was hit with sanctions, but they had a limited impact on Russia’s economy. “Sanctions are a sign of irritation,” Lavrov said in a 2014 interview. “They are not the instrument of serious policies.”

But as an export official, I could see that the West’s economic restrictions had serious repercussions for the country. The Russian military industry was heavily dependent on Western-made components and products. It used U.S. and European tools to service drone engines and motors. It relied on Western producers to build gear for radiation-proof electronics, which are critical for the satellites Russian officials use to gather intelligence, communicate, and carry out precision strikes. Russian manufacturers worked with French companies to get the sensors needed for our airplanes. Even some of the cloth used in light aircraft, such as weather balloons, was made by Western businesses. The sanctions suddenly cut off our access to these products and left our military weaker than the West understood. But although it was clear to my team how these losses undermined Russia’s strength, the foreign ministry’s propaganda helped keep the Kremlin from finding out. The consequences of this ignorance are now on full display in Ukraine: the sanctions are one reason Russia has had so much trouble with its invasion.

The diminishing military capacity did not prevent the foreign ministry from becoming increasingly belligerent. At summits or in meetings with other states, Russian diplomats spent more and more time attacking the United States and its allies. My export team held many bilateral meetings with, for instance, Japan, focused on how our countries could cooperate, and almost every one of them served as an opportunity to say to Japan, “Don’t forget who nuked you.”

I attempted some damage control. When my bosses drafted belligerent remarks or reports, I tried persuading them to soften the tone, and I warned against warlike language and constantly appealing to our victory over the Nazis. But the tenor of our statements—internal and external—grew more antagonistic as our bosses edited in aggression. Soviet-style propaganda had fully returned to Russian diplomacy.

HIGH ON ITS OWN SUPPLY

On March 4, 2018, former Russian double agent Sergei Skripal and his daughter Yulia were poisoned, almost fatally, at their home in the United Kingdom. It took just ten days for British investigators to identify Russia as the culprit. Initially, I didn’t believe the finding. Skripal, a former Russian spy, had been convicted for divulging state secrets to the British government and sent to prison for several years before being freed in a spy swap. It was difficult for me to understand why he could still be of interest to us. If Moscow had wanted him dead, it could have had him killed while he was still in Russia.

My disbelief came in handy. My department was responsible for issues related to chemical weapons, so we spent a good deal of time arguing that Russia was not responsible for the poisoning—something I could do with conviction. Yet the more the foreign ministry denied responsibility, the less convinced I became. The poisoning, we claimed, was carried out not by Russia but by supposedly Russophobic British authorities bent on spoiling our sterling international reputation. The United Kingdom, of course, had absolutely no reason to want Skripal dead, so Moscow’s claims seemed less like real arguments than a shoddy attempt to divert attention away from Russia and onto the West—a common aim of Kremlin propaganda. Eventually, I had to accept the truth: the poisonings were a crime perpetrated by Russian authorities.

Many Russians still deny that Moscow was responsible. I know it can be hard to process that your country is run by criminals who will kill for revenge. But Russia’s lies were not persuasive to other countries, which decisively voted down a Russian resolution before the Organization for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons meant to derail the prominent intergovernmental organization’s investigation into the attack. Only Algeria, Azerbaijan, China, Iran, and Sudan took Moscow’s side. Sure enough, the investigation concluded that the Skripals had been poisoned by Novichok: a Russian-made nerve agent.

Moscow wanted to be told what it hoped to be true—not what was actually happening.

Russia’s delegates could have honestly conveyed this loss to their superiors. Instead, they effectively did the opposite. Back in Moscow, I read long cables from Russia’s OPCW delegation about how they had defeated the numerous “anti-Russian,” “nonsensical,” and “groundless” moves made by Western states. The fact that Russia’s resolution had been defeated was often reduced to a sentence.

At first, I simply rolled my eyes at these reports. But soon, I noticed that they were taken seriously at the ministry’s highest levels. Diplomats who wrote such fiction received applause from their bosses and saw their career fortunes rise. Moscow wanted to be told what it hoped to be true—not what was actually happening. Ambassadors everywhere got the message, and they competed to send the most over-the-top cables.

The propaganda grew even more outlandish after Navalny was poisoned with Novichok in August 2020. The cables left me astonished. One referred to Western diplomats as “hunted beasts of prey.” Another waxed on about “the gravity and incontestability of our arguments.” A third spoke about how Russian diplomats had “easily nipped in the bud” Westerners’ “pitiful attempts to raise their voices.”

Such behavior was both unprofessional and dangerous. A healthy foreign ministry is designed to provide leaders with an unvarnished view of the world so they can make informed decisions. Yet although Russian diplomats would include inconvenient facts in their reports, lest their supervisors discover an omission, they would bury these nuggets of truth in mountains of propaganda. A 2021 cable might have had a line explaining, for instance, that the Ukrainian military was stronger than it was in 2014. But that admission would have come only after a lengthy paean to the mighty Russian armed forces.

The disconnect from reality became even more extreme in January 2022, when U.S. and Russian diplomats met at the U.S. mission in Geneva to discuss a Moscow-proposed treaty to rework NATO. The foreign ministry was increasingly focused on the supposed dangers of the Western security bloc, and Russian troops were massing on the Ukrainian border. I served as a liaison officer for the meeting—on call to provide assistance if our delegation needed anything from Russia’s local mission—and received a copy of our proposal. It was bewildering, filled with provisions that would clearly be unacceptable to the West, such as a demand that NATO withdraw all troops and weapons from states that joined after 1997, which would include Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Poland, and the Baltic states. I assumed its author was either laying the groundwork for war or had no idea how the United States or Europe worked—or both. I chatted with our delegates during coffee breaks, and they seemed perplexed as well. I asked my supervisor about it, and he, too, was bewildered. No one could understand how we would go to the United States with a document that demanded, among other things, that NATO permanently close its door to new members. Eventually, we learned the document’s origin: it came straight from the Kremlin. It was therefore not to be questioned.

I kept hoping that my colleagues would privately express concern, rather than just confusion, about what we were doing. But many told me that they were perfectly content to embrace the Kremlin’s lies. For some, this was a way to evade responsibility for Russia’s actions; they could explain their behavior by telling themselves and others that they were merely following orders. That I understood. What was more troubling was that many took pride in our increasingly bellicose behavior. Several times, when I cautioned colleagues that their actions were too abrasive to help Russia, they gestured at our nuclear force. “We are a great power,” one person said to me. Other countries, he continued, “must do what we say.”

CRAZY TRAIN

Even after the January summit, I didn’t believe that Putin would launch a full-fledged war. Ukraine in 2022 was plainly more united and pro-Western than it had been in 2014. Nobody would greet Russians with flowers. The West’s highly combative statements about a potential Russian invasion made clear that the United States and Europe would react strongly. My time working in arms and exports had taught me that the Russian military did not have the capability to overrun its biggest European neighbor and that, aside from Belarus, no outside state would offer us meaningful support. Putin, I figured, must have known this, too—despite all the yes men who shielded him from the truth.

The invasion made my decision to leave ethically straightforward. But the logistics were still hard. My wife was visiting me in Geneva when the war broke out—she had recently quit her job at a Moscow-based industrial association—but resigning publicly meant that neither she nor I would be safe in Russia. We therefore agreed that she would travel back to Moscow to get our kitten before I handed in my papers. It proved to be a complex, three-month process. The cat, a young stray, needed to be neutered and vaccinated before we could take him to Switzerland, and the European Union quickly banned Russian planes. To get from Moscow back to Geneva, my wife had to take three flights, two cab rides, and cross the Lithuanian border twice—both times on foot.

In the meantime, I watched as my colleagues surrendered to Putin’s aims. In the early days of the war, most were beaming with pride. “At last!” one exclaimed. “Now we will show the Americans! Now they know who the boss is.” In a few weeks, when it became clear that the blitzkrieg against Kyiv had failed, the rhetoric grew gloomier but no less belligerent. One official, a respected expert on ballistic missiles, told me that Russia needed to “send a nuclear warhead to a suburb of Washington.” He added, “Americans will shit their pants and rush to beg us for peace.” He appeared to be partially joking. But Russians tend to think that Americans are too pampered to risk their lives for anything, so when I pointed out that a nuclear attack would invite catastrophic retaliation, he scoffed: “No it wouldn’t.”

The only thing that can stop Putin is a comprehensive rout.

Perhaps a few dozen diplomats quietly left the ministry. (So far, I am the only one who has publicly broken with Moscow.) But most of the colleagues whom I regarded as sensible and smart stuck around. “What can we do?” one asked. “We are small people.” He gave up on reasoning for himself. “Those in Moscow know better,” he said. Others acknowledged the insanity of the situation in private conversations. But it wasn’t reflected in their work. They continued to spew lies about Ukrainian aggression. I saw daily reports that mentioned Ukraine’s nonexistent biological weapons. I walked around our building—effectively a long corridor with private offices for each diplomat—and noticed that even some of my smart colleagues had Russian propaganda playing on their televisions all day. It was as if they were trying to indoctrinate themselves.

The nature of all our jobs inevitably changed. For one thing, relations with Western diplomats collapsed. We stopped discussing almost everything with them; some of my colleagues from Europe even stopped saying hello when we crossed paths at the United Nations’ Geneva campus. Instead, we focused on our contacts with China, who expressed their “understanding” about Russia’s security concerns but were careful not to comment on the war. We also spent more time working with the other members of the Collective Security Treaty Organization—Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan—a fractured bloc of states that my bosses loved to trot out as Russia’s own NATO. After the invasion, my team held rounds and rounds of consultations with these countries that were focused on biological and nuclear weapons, but we didn’t speak about the war. When I talked with a Central Asian diplomat about supposed biological weapons laboratories in Ukraine, he dismissed the notion as ridiculous. I agreed.

A few weeks later, I handed in my resignation. At last, I was no longer complicit in a system that believed it had a divine right to subjugate its neighbor.

SHOCK AND AWE

Over the course of the war, Western leaders have become acutely aware of Russia’s military’s failings. But they do not seem to grasp that Russian foreign policy is equally broken. Multiple European officials have spoken about the need for a negotiated settlement to the war in Ukraine, and if their countries grow tired of bearing the energy and economic costs associated with supporting Kyiv, they could press Ukraine to make a deal. The West may be especially tempted to push Kyiv to sue for peace if Putin aggressively threatens to use nuclear weapons.

But as long as Putin is in power, Ukraine will have no one in Moscow with whom to genuinely negotiate. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs will not be a reliable interlocutor, nor will any other Russian government apparatus. They are all extensions of Putin and his imperial agenda. Any cease-fire will just give Russia a chance to rearm before attacking again.

There’s only one thing that can really stop Putin, and that is a comprehensive rout. The Kremlin can lie to Russians all it wants, and it can order its diplomats to lie to everyone else. But Ukrainian soldiers pay no attention to Russian state television. And it became apparent that Russia’s defeats cannot always be shielded from the Russian public when, in the course of a few days in September, Ukrainians managed to retake almost all of Kharkiv Province. In response, Russian TV panelists bemoaned the losses. Online, hawkish Russian commentators directly criticized the president. “You’re throwing a billion-ruble party,” one wrote in a widely circulated online post, mocking Putin for presiding over the opening of a Ferris wheel as Russian forces retreated. “What is wrong with you?”

Putin responded to the loss—and to his critics—by drafting enormous numbers of people into the military. (Moscow says it is conscripting 300,000 men, yet the actual figure may be higher.) But in the long run, conscription won’t solve his problems. The Russian armed forces suffer from low morale and shoddy equipment, problems that mobilization cannot fix. With large-scale Western support, the Ukrainian military can inflict more serious defeats on Russian troops, forcing them to retreat from other territories. It’s possible that Ukraine could eventually best Russia’s soldiers in the parts of the Donbas where both sides have been fighting since 2014.

Should that happen, Putin would find himself in a corner. He could respond to defeat with a nuclear attack. But Russia’s president likes his luxurious life and should recognize that using nuclear weapons could start a war that would kill even him. (If he doesn’t know this, his subordinates would, one hopes, avoid following such a suicidal command.) Putin could order a full-on general mobilization—conscripting almost all of Russia’s young men—but that is unlikely to offer more than a temporary respite, and the more Russian deaths from the fighting, the more domestic discontent he will face. Putin may eventually withdraw and have Russian propagandists fault those around him for the embarrassing defeat, as some did after the losses in Kharkiv. But that could push Putin to purge his associates, making it dangerous for his closest allies to keep supporting him. The result might be Moscow’s first palace coup since Nikita Khrushchev was toppled in 1964.

If Putin is kicked out office, Russia’s future will be deeply uncertain. It’s entirely possible that his successor will try to carry on the war, especially given that Putin’s main advisers hail from the security services. But no one in Russia commands his stature, so the country would likely enter a period of political turbulence. It could even descend into chaos.

Outside analysts might enjoy watching Russia undergo a major domestic crisis. But they should think twice about rooting for the country’s implosion—and not only because it would leave Russia’s massive nuclear arsenal in uncertain hands. Most Russians are in a tricky mental space, brought about by poverty and huge doses of propaganda that sow hatred, fear, and a simultaneous sense of superiority and helplessness. If the country breaks apart or experiences an economic and political cataclysm, it would push them over the edge. Russians might unify behind an even more belligerent leader than Putin, provoking a civil war, more outside aggression, or both.

If Ukraine wins and Putin falls, the best thing the West can do isn’t to inflict humiliation. Instead, it’s the opposite: provide support. This might seem counterintuitive or distasteful, and any aid would have to be heavily conditioned on political reform. But Russia will need financial help after losing, and by offering substantial funding, the United States and Europe could gain leverage in a post-Putin power struggle. They could, for example, help one of Russia’s respected economic technocrats become the interim leader, and they could help the country’s democratic forces build power. Providing aid would also allow the West to avoid repeating its behavior from the 1990s, when Russians felt scammed by the United States, and would make it easier for the population to finally accept the loss of their empire. Russia could then create a new foreign policy, carried out by a class of truly professional diplomats. They could finally do what the current generation of diplomats has been unable to—make Russia a responsible and honest global partner.

BORIS BONDAREV worked as a diplomat in the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs from 2002 to 2022, most recently as a counsellor at the Russian Mission to the United Nations Office in Geneva. He resigned in May to protest the invasion of Ukraine.

[bucky-barmes]

☾✧✧✧ I'm just looking for a good night ✧✧✧☽

female enhanced!reader x tfatws!Bucky

In which you get dragged into a mess in Madripoor while just trying to enjoy yourself. But is the infamous Winter Soldier as bad as you always thought?

[ a/n: idk what this exactly is but i don't hate it, and who doesn't love asshole bucky? maybe i just have a problem, also loosely based on that madripoor episode. also also tried something new for the writing style so i hope you don't mind lemme know if it's shit ]

Minka is polish for strong-willed one, and is a name but here it’s used as a nickname as it’s reader insert

[ word count: ~3,580 words (this started as a lil drabble of reader meeting bucky at a bar, but i guess my brain had other ideas)

includes: asshole bucky, swearing - like a lot (i'm aussie okay?), drinking (alcoholism?), it's pretty fkn angsty, asshole bucky (i'm warning you ok), no -18 pls as it's not entirely g rated & has some implications

[ all works are my own, do not steal, repost or translate ]

tagging some friends (message if you wanna be on a perm taglist/if you don't wanna be tagged in future (i won't take it to heart i promise)) @sweetdreamsbuck @beefybuckrrito @mymindslabyrinth @igotnoname4thisblog @theluxuriousfangirl @posinhay @barnesand1

The music was blaring, sending vibrations through her body as she swayed to the fast beat. Drink sloshing around as she waved her arms around her above her head. This was it. This was living. Drunk, surrounded by strangers. No one knew her and she knew no one. She was free. And it was incredible.

Going to clubs alone was dangerous, she couldn't remember the number of times her mother had warned her not to. She must have been rolling in her grave at her daughter not only going to a club alone, but to a club in Madripoor no less. The thrill that anything could happen only exciting her more. That, and knowing that the Powerbroker wouldn't let anything happen to her, wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on her. That was the perk of being enhanced and not looking like it, it made you useful.

She had lost track of the hours, and the drinks, thinking only of how good the music made her feel. Of how nothing had felt this good in so long.

She waded through the sea of people, already locking eyes with the bartender as she made a beeline for the bar. She was stopped in her tracks, however, by a wall of bodies.

An almost animalistic growl ripped through her as she slapped her hand down on the shoulder of the man in the middle, a big fur collar adorning his coat. A hard hand gripped her wrist in response and her eyes shifted slowly from the back of man one to the owner of the hand.

Her eyes widened at who they landed on, then narrowed to barely visible slits. Yanking her hand back she didn't break her glare.

"I'm sorry, Dove, did we cut in?" The voice of the middle man broke her chain of thought, and when she looked back to him, he had turned to face her. "How about we buy you a drink to apologise."

"I don't want your handouts, Baron." Venom dripped from her words as she spat back her response. She wedged herself between the Baron and the third man, not someone she recognised, to snatch the drink the bartender placed out for her. "Besides, I don't pay here anyway, don't want you wasting your money."

She was about to work her way back through the crowd of people and to the middle of the dance floor again when she had a thought.

"Hold the fucking phone." Spinning on the spot, her eyes narrowed again, this time at the Baron, but that didn't stop her from seeing the man to his left step forward defensively.

"How are you even here? Last I heard you were stuck in a prison in Germany." Her drink was down and she slammed the glass down on the bar, getting threateningly close to him as she did. "Thought you were never getting out after what you did to them." Her sentence trailed off as her eyes flicked to the man next to him, the one with the metal arm.

The Baron offered her his signature smug smile. "Some people had other plans."

"Well, whatever you're planning," She closed the gap between them further. The shifting of bodies next to them was halted with a raise of the Baron's hand. "Stay the fuck away from me." Hatred seeped from her whole body.

Snatching the new drink that was placed on the bar, her gaze was turned to the apparent bodyguard.

"And I'd think twice before you lay a hand on me again." There was no response, but a subtle cocky smirk instead that only heated her further. She was gone before any of them could speak another word to her.

She was only able to start enjoying herself once more when the sight of the three men had disappeared, then, she was able to let her guard down and the beat of the music slowly took her over again. Until she got a call.

Plugging her other ear so she could hear, she took mental note of the location she was told to move to. The call ended abruptly, they always did with the Powerbroker, but this one was serious. She had begun picking up on the subtle differences between the calls.

Her gun was pulled from her thigh holster as she advanced towards the room Selby used for meetings.

She listened from a distance, the ability being one of many. A phone rang. An awkward silence as the conversation started. Names were thrown around, first Smiling Tiger. 'Yeah, that guy was definitely not Smiling Tiger', she thought to herself as she listened, remembering her run in with him one time. The phone call ended with a goodbye to "Sam"?

There were gunshot before she had time to process anything further.

Kicking the door down, she stepped through slowly, gun raised. It had fallen silent, the three men stood in the middle of the room.

"Holy fuck, what did you do?" Her voice was a mix of shock and anger. The men snapped their heads up.

"Things didn't exactly go according to plan, Dove." The Baron regretfully shrugged as he looked around at the collection of bodies on the floor, inclusive of Selby's.

"Well, why the fuck am I-" A fifth person joined the room before she could finish.

"Because the Powerbroker requested it." Sharon Carter approached her, stone-faced. “And nobody disobeys the Powerbroker.”

“I don’t know, I might’ve had I know it was for these idiots.” She was dead serious as she said it, glaring at the men responsible for the bodies strewn about.

Sharon shot the other woman a look, a look that said ‘you better cut it out right now’.

"Don't, Minka." Sharon's use of the others' nickname amplified the seriousness of it all.

The men in the room didn’t know it, but she, Minka, was the only one who knew who the Powerbroker really was. And you could say she was somewhat of a bodyguard for them.

“The Powerbroker requested it. End of, so get over it.” Sharon snapped at her.

“I can’t believe you’re helping these people.” Her grip on her gun tightened as she interrogated Sharon. “After everything that happened last time.” Her sentence ended with a scoff, clicking on the safety of her gun. She didn't place it back in her holster just yet though.

“Enough.” Sharon’s remark was a bark. An order. “Whether you like it or not, you’re involved now, you’ve seen the bodies. You’re part of it now.”

Minka just glared at her, mumbling “lucky me” under her breath as her daggers turned to the men again. Her anger only bubbled more when she saw the one with the metal arm, the Winter Soldier, staring right back, something she couldn’t quite pick up on behind his cold eyes.

Many hours and gun fights later, everyone made it Sharon's place alive, much to the acrimony of some of them. Of Minka.

"You have a beautiful place, Miss Carter." Baron was walking around, admiring the art as he made the genuine compliment, but he was being eyed. Sharon's personal guard wasn't about to let him touch, ruin, anything.

"Don't touch anything, and get changed, everyone knows what we're wearing now." The last part was directed at the whole group. "And you look like shit, too." Her nose scrunched as she looked them over. Even her associate was included in the statement.

Sharon watched as her figure retreated to the room she had set up, she was there often enough to warrant her own one, and then directed the men to where they could pick out some clothes and change.

There was a soft thump as her body landed on the bed, and she released a long sigh into the covers.

"Yeah, Sharon, I'm not in the mood." Her voice was mumbled from the bed, but was loud enough to hear the frustration.

"Minka, huh?" That was not the voice of Sharon Carter. Her head snapped up to face the door to her room that she swore she locked.

"You don't get to call me that." If looks could kill, the man in the doorframe would have dropped to the floor in record time.

"Is that not your name, Doll?" Arms folded over his chest, a mix of metal and flesh.

"Is your name The Winter Soldier?" The words were laced with malice as she slid off the bed, moving towards him to push him out of her room, her safe space. "Now if you don't mind getting the fuck away from me."

A heavy boot stopped the door from clicking into place, his metal hand forcing it back open, eyes dark. "No, I don't think I will." He stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind him. This time it was her that stopped the door from closing, hand gripped tightly on the handle, pulling back.

"You've got some fucking nerve coming here like that." Minka yanked the handle as the soldier pushed the door harder, breaking it clean off. "Coming back into Sharon's life like you aren't the one that fucked it up in the first place." The handle dropped with a loud thud.

For a moment, something flashed through his eyes. Regret? Sadness? Whatever it was lasted a mere second before he regained control.

"So, you're like me?" His gaze dropped to the handle on the ground, taking the opportunity to gaze down her body as he did.

It was all she could do from punching him right then and there. "Absolutely not!" If the venom in her voice wasn't evident before, it definitely was now. "I don't kill innocents."

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The soldier staring down darkly at the smaller woman.

"It's Bucky."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"My name, it's Bucky. And you can call me that."

She couldn't hold back the scoff that fell from her lips. "I won't be calling you anything. After all this shit is cleaned up, you'll never see me again."

Bucky's head tilted ever so slightly, his voice soft but dark. "I wouldn't be so sure of that." But before she was able to punch question him, Sharon's voice bellowed through the building.

"Downstairs, now."

The pair ripped their eyes from each other, Minka's falling to the handle on the floor. "I'm telling her you broke that. Now fuck off so I can change." And she shoved him out of the room, closing the door over between them, making sure to not close it the whole say so she could actually get out when she was ready.

By the time she had finished getting ready and made her way down to everyone else, people had begun meandering in, admiring the art.

"Took you long enough." Sharon walked up behind her, whispering harshly in her ear.

"Yeah, well you can thank your old friend for that. He's an asshole, by the way." "And he's not a friend." "Well he's the reason I need a drink." She turned to face Sharon, giving her a look of 'I hate you for dragging me into this' before heading to the bar, fully intending on double parking it the whole night.

It didn't take long for her to finally loosen up again, 5 drinks to be exact, and be back in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by sweaty bodies. It may have been an art auction, but nothing was ever not a party in Madripoor, especially if it was organised by the Powerbroker themself.

Minka was so caught up in the moment that she had forgotten entirely about the events of the day, the people of the day.

She had, yet again, lost track of the number of drinks she'd had. But every drink handed her way was downed immediately, not taking any time to register where, or more like who, they were coming from. That was always her greatest weakness, denying alcohol.

She was happily about to take yet another unknown drink being handed to her, when it was snatched from her reach and discarded on a nearby table.

"Hey, what the fuck, that was mine!" She growled, turning with her fist ready to launch into whoever had the nerve to steal her drink.

"Stop taking drinks from strangers, are you an idiot?" Suddenly the memories of the men she had to deal with throughout the day came flooding back. "You're gonna get spiked- in fact, you were about to with that one."

"What? Have you been keeping an eye on me? That's not very Winter Soldier of you." Her tone was mocking as she glared up at Bucky, struggling to stand thanks to the combination of copious amounts of alcohol and continuous movement of people around her.

Bucky placed his large hands on her biceps to keep her steady, eyes narrowing at her words. "You really don't know how to be nice to people, do you?"

"You really don't know how to stay the fuck away from people that don't like you, do you?" She retorted immediately, pulling herself from his grip. "I don't need a goddamn babysitter, especially not you. You don't exactly have the best track record with protecting people." Her back was turned to him and stalking off before she even finished her sentence, but she was yanked back in by her forearm.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You're being watched like a hawk by at least 3 men. Who knows how many of them are trying to spike you and get you separated from the crowd." Bucky's eyes were anywhere but hers, scanning the vast room for anything suspicious, clearly on high alert.

"I don't understand why you fucking care?" Bucky's eyes snapped down to hers, alarmed by her intensity.

"Keep your voice down or you're gonna draw attention to us." He hissed at her, lowering his head and pulling her arm to move her closer to him.

"Good, maybe security will see you're harassing me and escort you out." She snarled, anger rising with every word he spoke. "I'm just looking for a good fucking night and you've managed to ruin it twice now."

"Well take it up with Sharon then, she's the one that told me to keep an eye on you. So clearly she thinks you do need a babysitter." He dropped her arm, that would be enough to keep her in her spot for now.

"You're lying." Her words were barely above a whisper, eyes narrowed at him. "She knows I can hold my own. She's literally hired me for personal protection before."

"Clearly not this time." Bucky's eyes were back to scanning the room. "Not with the types of people here tonight." Minka couldn't help but scoff.

"Oh, because you know Madripoor, right? You've spent how many years here? Oh, that's right, none." She suddenly saw her opportunity to escape, Bucky's eyes not trained on her and her arms free.

"Tell her, as much as I appreciate it, she can shove it." And with that she had weaved her way though the crowd of bodies.

But her abandonment didn't last nearly as long as she had hoped.

All of a sudden she was being pushed against the far wall of the room where she was escaping to, breath knocked out of her.

"What the fu-" Lips landing on hers cut off her protests. Her eyes widened when she realised who said lips belonged to.

"Get off of me!" She spat when she was finally able to push Bucky off. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"People are following you. If they know you're with me they're less likely to try something."

"I'm not with you. In fact, I want to be as far away from you as physically possible right now." Bucky's arms, which were trapping her in by pressing against the wall either side of her face, fell to his side. His face turned emotionless for a moment before returning to his usual arrogant demeanour.

"You can't tell me you didn't feel the spark." He winked, a cocky grin plastered on his face when he saw the heat creep to her cheeks.

"Please, you wish there was a spark." Her eyes rolled as she paused. "I've had knife fights with more spark than that."

"Maybe we should have a knife fight sometime then." Bucky's response was quick, and smooth.

"Have you forgotten that you're never going to see me again after all this shit? Although," Minka tapped her chin in mock thought. "If you're offering to let me stab you, I'll gladly take you up on that." Unlike Bucky's, her face held no semblance of humour.

"I'm sure you'll change your mind by the end of it." Bucky eyed her suggestively.

"God, please don't tell me you're into me. Maybe I do want those supposed guys to take me, seems better than the alternative." She groaned at the thought of having to deal with him fawning after her.

Bucky's face indicated that that was definitely not he case. His eyes, however, suggested her words had hurt him a little. "God, never. But if you really want, I can hand deliver you to them myself." He pointed in the direction of said men.

Her nose crinkled. "Okay, maybe not them."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Sharon, we have a serious problem!" Minka stormed into the kitchen after the last few people had left and the party was over, Bucky not far behind her. "So I need a babysitter now? I thought I was the personal protection around here." Her fist collided heavily with the table.

"You are," Sharon looked at her nonchalantly as she poured herself a glass of whiskey. "Until alcohol is involved. You're as useless as that new Captain America when there's booze around." A sip. "Case in point." Sharon hummed, watching your eyes follow her glass from bench, to mouth, to bench again.

"Oh please." She snorted. "And you thought pairing me with this idiot was a good idea?" He hand gestured back to Bucky at idiot, not caring if it offended him. "He just makes me want to drink more."

Sharon was about to give her a look, but Minka just shook her head, throwing her hands up. "No, I'm not dealing with this tonight. I'm going to bed." "Take him with you." Sharon nodded towards Bucky.

"Oh fuck no, why the fuck would I-" "Because everyone knows you're involved, and your head is on a spike now, too. They want you dead, Minka." She couldn't argue with Sharon when she used her nickname for her. And the pain in her voice was evident.

"Fine, but you're sleeping on the floor." Bucky just shrugged, "nothing new."

"You sleep there." A finger pointed to the sofa on the far side of the room. Conveniently away from the bed. "I'll get you a blanket."

Bucky's brow quirked. "I thought I was on the floor?" He feigned confusion, head tilting to the side before his cocky smirk returned.

"Keep going and you will be." The blanket was thrown at his face, along with a pillow.

"A pillow too? Wow, it's like a 5 star hotel." She just glared.

"If you snore, you're out. If you sleep talk, you're out. You make any sort of noise and you're out. Capisce?"

"Guess it's a good thing I don't sleep then, huh?" Bucky threw the blanket and pillow onto the sofa.

"Now see, that just makes it weird. Like that scene from Twilight." "Well, yeah, when you put it like that it is." His face screwed up at the thought, recalling the scene.

"How do you- Actually no, I'm tired and I don't care." She had been about to ask how he understood the reference, but decided that was going to open a whole can of worms that she didn't care about.

"I may be over 100, but I have seen Twilight. Wanda made me watch it with her." He didn't need to be a mind reader to know what she was about to ask. And he didn't blame her, it probably would be surprising that a 106 year old had seen Twilight.

"Don't worry, Doll, I won't stare. Much." And now it was her turn to scrunch her face up.

"If you fucking touch me, I'll rip that metal arm from your body and shove it so far up your ass." Her sentence trailed off, however, when Bucky stepped closer to her, his gaze intense as he looked down at her.

"And how do you think I would touch you?" Another step closer, making her step back and gulp.

With her mouth agape, Minka was lost for words, probably for the first time in her life. Sharon unknowingly came to her rescue, though, when she knocked on the door while entering.

"Set your alarm for 6," Her eyes narrowed at them both and the distance, or lack there of, between them. "We've gotta be out of here asap tomorrow. Make sure you get enough sleep." "Will do, Sharon." Minka's gaze flicked to her, nodding once before she left the room, confusion plastered on her features.

"Right, well that's bed time then." Her tongue ran over her lips nervously, and she was painfully aware of Bucky's eyes watching. "I'm going to get changed." She turned and basically ran to the bathroom attached to her room.

"I'll be out here waitin'." "You're disgusting, don't think anything." "Wouldn't dream of it, doll."

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Loki x Reader - Glorious Purpose - Words: 2,578

Based on this prompt:

Enemies-to-lovers, but instead of featuring a villain redemption arc, the heroic one is getting progressively more corrupt, unhinged and fucked up, and the one who was originally the clear-cut villain out of the two is just like "well mark me down as scared and horny"

You were a somewhat independent agent, but officially you worked with SHIELD. Fury had recruited you although you had yet to move back to New York to be closer to everything. At the moment, you were enjoying an extended stay in Europe. It had started with a small mission and you decided to vacation for a while, take a well deserved break.

"Champagne?" A waiter asked you. You nodded, taking a glass from his tray before he continued on. You'd managed to get yourself an invitation to a gala in Stuttgart and you weren't one to pass up free food and wine so you went. Your gaze floated across the room and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Everyone here had the same look: stuffy, stuck up, money coming out their-

"Pardon me," A man said. He walked up behind you, bumping into you accidentally.

"It's fine," You said automatically. Looking up at him, your eyes widened slightly. Now he was handsome. He smirked at you and you opened your mouth to say something but he turned away. Unfortunately, just as quickly as you had seen him and he had already gone. You wandered around for a few more minutes before the guest speaker walked out. You worked your way to the front of the crowd to listen to him. Even with your heels though you weren't tall enough to see over everyone. Suddenly you looked up, seeing movement on the stairs. For a moment you thought you'd see the man from earlier walking down. "Is he another guest speaker?" You wondered. Before you could get any closer to get a better view, you heard screaming. And then everyone started running. You finally elbowed your way to the front and saw the mysterious man walking away from the guest speaker who was now lying unconscious across the big fancy table. You ignored the speaker and chased after the dark-haired stranger. He had a dark smirk painted across his lips. Just before he walked outside, there was a bright glimmer around him and his sharp suit transformed into golden and leather armor. "A bit much," You thought with a silent chuckle. To get a better view, you transported yourself next to a small souvenir booth, watching as he approached the terrified crowd. Duplicates of his suddenly appeared around the edge of the crowd, including one only a few yards away from you.

"I said, KNEEL!" He yelled, slamming his scepter on the ground. The crowd immediately followed his orders. Your phone in your pocket buzzed and you discreetly checked it.

Are you still in Germany? - Fury

LOL I'm assuming you're heading my way. You should see this guy! 👑 - Y/N

Wait for the team, Y/N - Fury

…or what? 🙄😏 - Y/N

You pocketed your phone and walked out, skirting the crowd and making your way to the mystery man. The real one you assumed.

"Is not this simpler?" He started. "Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation." He spoke eloquently, not surprising you all that much considering his attire. Although his phrasing confused you slightly. It was as though he wasn't speaking to fellow humans. You supposed most men who considered themselves superior often did so though. "The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel."

"Not to men like you," You spoke up, having snuck up beside him. He smirked, walking towards you and towering over you.

"There are no men like me," He gloated. He reached out to grab you but you ducked and ran behind him. Whipping around he held his scepter out, pointing at you. "Let her be an example to you!" He yelled to the crowd. As he shot, the Captain dropped in. He stood in front of you and blocked the blast with his shield.

"I didn't need that, Steve," You hissed.

"Just shut up and help me," He replied. You rolled your eyes and teleported to a more strategic location before Mr. Gold and Leather noticed.

"You know, the last time I was in Germany and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing," Steve said. You rolled your eyes.

"We get it, Steve, you're old!" You yelled. Sometimes Steve got on your nerves. The man turned to you but Natasha quickly distracted him. She was flying the quinjet above, aiming a machine gun at him. They continued fighting and you watched the movements of the stranger, looking for a weak spot.

Suddenly you hear loud rock music blasting over the PA. Just before Iron Man swoops in, the music preceding his actual appearance, you see your chance. "Over here, pretty boy," You call out, your smirk almost matching his. As he approaches you, you whip out one of your knives from your thigh holster, twirling it in your hand.

"Oo, feisty," He grins. He points his scepter at you, about to touch your chest with it, when you teleport behind him. In the split second of his confusion, you jump up, grabbing the horns of his helmet, and kick him in the back of his knees. He falls back and you duck out of the way, letting him land hard on his back on the ground. He lets out a huff as the wind gets knocked out of him and you quickly stand over him, planting a foot on his chest. You know he could throw you off easily but you're holding a knife to his throat as well so you take your chances.

"Your turn," You say. He holds his hands up, his armor glimmering once again before revealing a much simpler outfit. You shook your head, still confused as to where he was from. This clothing was obviously not bought at the local department store. Once the team had restrained him and loaded him into quinjet, you wandered over to him, watching him closely. Cap and Stark were passive aggressively talking off to the side, as if the stranger couldn't hear them. You shook your head and walked over, taking a seat next to him. "Hi," You said with a small smile. "What's your name?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"You do not know who I am?" He asked. You shook your head and chuckled.

"You're a well dressed man who apparently wants to take over the world. That's about all I know. Fury never tells me anything so I'm flying blind here."

"I am Loki of Asgard," He grinned. He was about to launch into his "Glorious purpose" speech, when thunder and lightning rattled loudly outside. Loki got a frightened look on his face, trying to look outside from his seat.

"Are you ok?" You asked. Loki's head whipped back to you, eyes staring into yours.

"I-no," He admitted, something in his eyes .

"What's the matter? Scared of a little lightning?" Cap asked Loki.

"I'm not overly fond of what follows," He said. As he spoke you finally figured it out.

"Your brother is Thor!" You exclaimed.

"Unfortunately," He replied as the God of Thunder himself landed on the roof of the plane. When Stark opened the back hatch and Thor landed inside, you frowned, nose scrunching in disgust.

"Oh my gosh what a himbo," You mumbled. Loki stared at you for a moment, eyebrows raised in surprise, and opened his mouth to say something but was swiftly yanked out of his seat by his brother.

You didn't see Loki again until the Helicarrier. Up until that day you'd never doubted Fury even though you didn't like working with others, but suddenly you weren't sure who to trust. Stark and Banner thought Fury was up to no good with the Tesseract and, while Steve didn't want to agree with them, he just confirmed their theory. You just helped him break into the storage room and we're staring at each other in shock.

"Weapons. Fury is making weapons. That lying-"

"Ok," You sighed, interrupting the Captain's exclamation. "Get this back to Tony. I'm going to check on something else. Meet back at the lab?" Steve nodded and headed out with the gun.

You stealthily made your way to Loki's cell. While you were mildly terrified, you needed to talk to him. When you walked in the room, you saw Natasha already there.

"There's not many people that can sneak up on me," Loki said, smirking as he turned to face her.

"But you figured I'd come."

"After. After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a balm. And I would cooperate."

You listened as they talked, hiding in an unseen corner of the room. "I've got red in my ledger, I'd like to wipe it out," Natasha said.

"Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Drakov's daughter? Sao Paulo? The hospital fire? Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?" At this point Loki had stood from his seat across the cell and was slowly making his way, stalking, towards her. "This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer, pathetic! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers.You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!" Finally he slammed his fist against the glass, startling both you and Natasha. "I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you! Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear! And when he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim!"

Natasha had backed away, shaking, eyes wide in terror. "You're a monster," She gasped.

"No," Loki chuckled darkly. "You brought the monster."

"So, Banner. That's your play," Natasha said, suddenly not crying or seemingly emotional at all. Loki was shocked. Natasha hurried out of the room, thanking Loki and talking hurriedly on her ear piece.

You quickly slipped out of your hiding place and hurried over to the cell. "What are you doing here?" Loki sneered.

"I have some questions," You said. He rolled his eyes and huffed. "Personal ones. This is for my own agenda."

"Fine, one question," He relented, smirking slightly. Loki fully expected you to still be trying to gather information from him.

"Look, I listened to your little speech there. I don't completely agree with you but you have a point. In some respects we're no better off than you," You said. Loki raised an eyebrow curiously, watching as you stood right against the glass, staring up at him confidently. "If I were to help you, what would be in it for me? I want an honest answer or at least a believable lie. Don't give me a "glorious purpose, bright lure of freedom" speech. Tell me something I can believe. What would you do if I helped you?"

"I can't promise you anything except your life. I promise I won't kill you. Now, if you're stupid enough get yourself killed-"

"I get it," You chuckled. Nodding you smiled at him. "I'll let you know." With that you left, leaving the God of Mischief to his thoughts.

When you rejoined the rest of the team in the Lab they were, unsurprisingly, arguing again. "I'm sorry, what were you lying?" Tony said, showing Fury the files he'd just hacked. Steve was standing next to the weapon, Fury was yelling, everyone was pointing fingers. You shook your head but saw your opportunity. In the commotion, no one was paying any attention to the scepter. You bit your lip nervously. You had to make a decision.

The entire Helicarrier was in chaos. It was nearly impossible to make your way to Loki's cell without being seen but you eventually made it. With so many agents running around you didn't want to risk teleporting and find yourself at the wrong end of their guns.

When you finally reached the cell you saw the door open and Loki standing in it. "No!" Thor yelled, running at him. You almost cried out to stop Thor but then you noticed movement from the other side of the glass cage. As Thor tumbled through Loki's illusion you grinned.

"Are you ever not going to fall for that?" Loki asked Thor, locking him in the cell. Thor roars and slams Mjolnir on the glass which cracks under the impact. Both you and Loki are surprised, having thought the cell was indestructible. Loki walks over to the control panel slowly. "The humans think us immortal. Should we test that?" Before he can press the button, Agent Coulson shows up with one of the weapons you'd seen in storage.

"Move away, please," He says. "You like this? We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer. Even I don't know what it does. Do you wanna find out?"

As Phil was speaking you snuck up behind him. And just before he shot Loki you shoved the scepter into his back, stabbing him through. Pulling it back out you dropped him to the ground and grinned at Loki. 'Pity,' You thought. 'Phil always seemed to be such a nice guy.'

"Why did you do that?" Loki asked, staring at you in surprise. There was an odd look of terror and excitement on his face. "I didn't promise you anything."

"Yes you did," You said, walking up to him and handing him the scepter. "You promised me loyalty." The facade cracked for a moment, a soft smile slipping through. "And you're pretty."

"I like you!" Loki laughed, grabbing your waist and pulling you against him. "Shall we?" He asks, gesturing to the red button.

"Of course," You reply. Your hand hovers over it and you glance back at Thor who is in disbelief. "It's nothing personal, Thor," You say. "Or, actually," You look back at Loki and smile. "It definitely is." You press the button and air whooshes around you as it falls to the earth below.

"You're gonna lose," Coulson says weakly.

"Am I?" Loki asks, turning to look at him.

"It's in your nature."

"Your heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky. Where is my disadvantage?"

"You lack conviction," Phil replies.

"Not anymore," Loki sneers at him, holding you even tighter.

"So what are you gonna do about it?" You taunt. Suddenly you're both blasted out of the aircraft.

"So that's what it does."

You scream, closing your eyes and clinging to Loki as you both fall. "Calm down," Loki yells. Suddenly there's hard ground below you. As you open your eyes and reorient yourself you see it's actually hardwood.

"Where are we?" You ask.

"Stark Tower." Standing up you see the city skyline before you just outside the window. "It's about to begin," He says. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes," You reply immediately, taking his hand. He tilts your chin up and kisses you softly in contrast to his overall demeanor.

"We shall rule together then, my queen," He promises. You nod and kiss him again before you walk out to the balcony to wait for the inevitable arrival of the Avengers.

"Together."

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[bluebellhairpin]

Little Helper

Sam Wilson X Tech!Reader

A/N: I’m back on the Marvel bandwagon. They can’t keep me away apparently. - Nemo

Warnings: Spoilers (TFATWS). Violence. Reader got blipped. 

Summary: Many know The Falcon. Less know his drone, Redwing. And even fewer know about Redwing’s other pilot, You. 

Listening to: ‘Trouble Man’ by Marvin Gaye - ‘I come up hard, but that's ok cause trouble man don't get in my way.’

Masterlist

You’d been working with Sam Wilson for a long time. 

A very long time. 

However most people would never have guessed it, considering you worked out of the spare room in your apartment, and Sam himself didn’t speak of you to anyone else. But the role you played was important. 

After all, Sam couldn’t always fight and control Redwing at the same time. 

More often than not, he had bigger fish to fry, and with his hands tied it was more out of convenience that you took over the reins of his little drone friend until he could take them back again. 

Even if no one else would know, it still felt nice to help out the Avengers every so often. 

So when you thought you fell asleep in the chair in your ‘work’ room - sleep was almost a foreign word to you anyway - and then woke up again, you were confused. 

You thought you were in the middle of helping in Wakanda, why would you have fallen asleep? 

But not only did the clock say 11 am - when last you checked it was 2 in the afternoon - but five years had passed too. You scrambled to fish your phone off your desk, and called Sam faster than you could say ‘Stark Industries’. You started speaking as soon as he picked up. 

“Sam! What’s happened -” you stopped yourself, “- What’s that noise?” 

“Could you,” he grunted, kicking something maybe? “Hop on Redwing please?” 

“Copy that.” You said, booting up your computer, frowning at the dust on it. You took a look around the room. There was dust on everything. 

You opened up the little application for Redwing, and pulled the joystick over, making sure it was plugged in, before grabbing your headset and putting it on too. 

“All set and ready to go. Waiting for your call Falcon.” 

“Give ‘em hell Redwing.” 

You pressed the release button on your keyboard, and Redwing’s camera immediately booted up, giving you a perfect view of a seeming ground zero. The land was leveled, and people were fighting everywhere. You recognized some faces - more like flashes of uniforms - Iron Man’s blasters, lightning off in the distance, a giant red and blue frisbee. 

“I’m guessing I go for -” you maneuvered Redwing out of a clawed hand’s grasp “- the alien-looking ones again.” 

“Yes, the alien-looking ones!” 

“Okay okay, sheesh.” you tutted, choosing the drone’s laser over it’s machine guns. “What’d you say about talking during fights anyways? That poor kid we fought in Germany will think you’re a hypocrite.”

It turned out to be a big fight. Not everyone won, not even those on your side. 

Six months later, Sam and yourself were still as strong of a team as ever, and still no one was any wiser about your involvement in working with him.

Just as well too, you had more than enough struggles of your own. 

Your apartment was one of the lucky ones, since apparently your landlord didn’t want to sort through your boxes of ‘kindling’ - files - and your ‘gizmos’ - machine parts - to get rid of it so he could rent the place to someone else. Not many wanted to rent in your building anyway, and he said he thought he ‘needed a memorial for those who disappeared’. 

So even if no one had emptied the fridge for five years, you still had your place. Unlike many other people. 

Your employers, however, no longer had a job for you. They were focusing on helping relocate the displaced, and apparently you couldn’t help with it. So even if you had your apartment now, you might not for much longer.  

At least you still had Sam. And his weird ‘not-friend’ friend Bucky. 

You’d heard about him, for sure, but only met once. That was the same time Sam told you to steal his phone number so you could keep in touch. Something about not knowing when an ex-assassin cyborg in your contact list would come in handy. 

There was something happening between those two, you couldn’t pick what, but it was akin to tension. And you picked up on that from just one meeting.

Sam had mentioned nothing about you and Redwing, only that you worked together. Apparently it was open for Bucky to interpret however he liked, but you were thankful that he made no connection to the drone. 

After his comment about Redwing’s lateness at the airport - with you at the helm - you weren’t too keen on him knowing anyway.

They’d broken Redwing. 

You were a little livid about it, all things considered. Your track-record thus-far had been great, but you’d just been bested by who? Some people stealing medicine? That looks a lot worse than if it happened while fighting Thanos. 

Just your luck. 

So when your intercom buzzed and Sam’s fuzzy voice came through into your kitchen you almost wanted to leave him downstairs. Then he started apologizing - on the sidewalk like it was some romcom - and said he had an old man with him that needed to start walking up the stairs as soon as possible so that he’d be able to make it back down by the time you kicked him out. So you buzzed him and his ‘old man’ in and waited for them in the hallway. 

Soon thereafter, voices started drifting up the stairwell. 

“I still don’t know what you’re apologizing for, it’s not like you cheated on them.”

“I told you, they’re not my -” Sam looked up at you as he turned into your hallway. Meeting your furrowed brow and crossed arms with a sheepish smile. “- Hey, (y/n). How’re you going?” 

You just pointed for him to go inside your apartment. When both him and Bucky were inside - what was Bucky doing here anyway? - you told him how you were going. 

“I’m really angry right now Sam. You can’t tell, but I am.” 

“I completely understand that.” he said, “I’m annoyed too, considering.” 

“Considering what Sam? That you got Redwing split in two?” 

“How do you know about Redwing?” Bucky frowned.

“How did I do that when you were the one piloting her huh?” 

“Me? This is not my fault!” you said, “You were supposed to be watching my six, just like I do for you!”

“That girl came at you head-on, I couldn’t have told you more about it if I painted her bright yellow and covered her in Christmas lights.” 

“You turned my coms off.” you hissed, tapping a pointed finger on his chest, “You said it’d be better since then Bucky wouldn’t know it wasn’t you piloting, and that even though I couldn’t hear anything I could still see plenty. Well I can’t exactly see that these people were super soldiers now, could I!”

“Oh. Right.” 

“You were piloting Redwing?” You looked over a Bucky, seeing him shake his head with his hands on his hips. “Makes sense, by all means, but now I have to not like you as much as before.”

“Nonsense, everyone loves me.” you smiled at him, and he quirked his lips up in an almost smile back at you. Then you turned back to Sam. “So is this all you came for?”

“Partially.”

“Partially?”

“Yeah,” he said, acting a little too coy for your liking, “We might need your help in the not-too-distant future.” 

“You always do that thing, you stay something to get me interested, and then you think if I’m interested I want to do it.”

You stared over at him, daring him to speak again. 

“You don’t wanna do things you're interested in?” 

“Depends what you’re trying to get me interested in.”

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

2 A.M.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

PROMPTS: 48. I called you at 2am because I need you. 50. I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand 

Requested by @wonderlandmind4​

So, I’m not going to include #1, because I already did that prompt in another story. 

The Avengers are at the Tower for plot reasons. And just because I wanted it that way. Deal with it LOL. 

Bucky rubbed his eyes awake as FRIDAY announced that he was receiving an incoming phone call. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and it read 2AM.

“Accept,” he muttered huskily to the AI.

“Wait, FRIDAY, no, no, no!” The call immediately came in.

“Hello?” Bucky asked with confusion.

He expected it to be Steve, who was on a mission with the entire team. It left Bucky as the sole “superhero” left in the tower. But he didn’t see himself as such. Bucky was crashing at the high-rise because he really had no place else to go. And he knew Steve would be disappointed if Bucky didn’t take him up on the offer.

“Bucky, hi.” A female voice said.

He squinted and then put it together. “Y/N, is that you?”

Y/N was Happy’s niece. Tony and Pepper were basically her aunt and uncle without being related. She lived in the city, and therefore was around the tower a lot. Pepper was constantly inviting her over for dinner. Sometimes she’d do her laundry there. If Tony ever had a party, she was invited. The rest of the team had befriended her. 

But Bucky...Bucky kept his distance – just like he kept his distance from basically everyone.

However, that didn’t mean he didn’t take notice of Y/N.

It was ridiculous how long it took him to realize that his eyes seemed to always be searching for her when she was around. He watched her at parties, always dressed in a fancy dress with her makeup a little heavier than usual. He would steal glances at her when she was in the gym. Apparently she didn’t want to pay for one herself, but there wasn’t a gym nicer than the one at the tower.

But just because Bucky noticed Y/N didn’t mean he talked to her. 

Bucky thought the world hated him. Once all of Hydra and SHIELD’s secrets were leaked, everyone knew exactly what he had done.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t someone people wanted to be friends with.

“Hi, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to call you. No, I told FRIDAY not to call you,” she was talking really quickly – obviously, stressed – and yet quietly, like she was scared someone might hear her.

Bucky sat up straighter, fully awake and now on alert. “Everything OK?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, not really. I’m sure it’s fine. I’m probably being crazy,” her words were coming out faster and faster.

“Y/N, take a breath,” Bucky demanded.

She must’ve done as she was told because there was 5 seconds of silence.

“What’s going on?” He asked then.

“It might just be the storm…” Bucky looked outside his window at the lightning and heavy downpour. “But I swore I heard someone trying to get into my apartment. There’ve been two robberies in my building the last 2 months.”

Bucky already knew about that. He overheard Y/N telling Pepper, Tony, and Happy about it in the kitchen. She seemed pretty shaken up about it. One of her neighbors had to go to the hospital because the robbers timed it wrong and ended attacking the poor man in a panic.

Tony and Happy weren’t happy about Y/N living in what appeared to be an unsafe building. They both tried to convince her to move into the tower. When she refused, pointing out how ridiculous the idea was, Tony told her he’d just buy her a place that had a doorman and high-level security. Y/N refused that too.

It was the first time Bucky had ever agreed with anything Tony said.

“Can you hear anything now?” Bucky asked, taking Y/N’s concerns and fear very seriously.

“No. It’s hard to hear anything with the rain and thunder outside,” Y/N whispered.

Then she sighed.

“Listen, Bucky, I’m really sorry for waking you up. Pepper and Happy are in Germany for a Stark meeting. I was just trying to reach Tony…”

“Everyone’s out on an assignment right now,” Bucky explained. “I’m the only one here.”

“Oh…” Y/N said lamely.

Bucky could tell she did really feel bad, and was growing more and more embarrassed. “And you don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m just being a total spaz right now and–“ She stopped abruptly.

“Y/N?”

“I definitely just heard something,” she whispered as quietly as possible.

“Y/N, I need you to give me your address,” Bucky instructed calmly.

There was no answer.

“Y/N,” his tone more gentle this time, “you gotta give me your address.”

He was already moving around his room, grabbing necessary clothing. He moved with purpose, not even thinking about what he needed to grab.

Bucky listened as Y/N rattled off her address and apartment number.

He was grateful that her apartment was only a 10 minute drive from the tower.

“I’m on my way. Stay on the phone with me,” Bucky sounded like he did was he was on comms during a mission. Not that he’d done that recently.

“O-Okay,” Y/N stuttered in a whisper.

For a second, Bucky thought maybe he should talk to her, try to keep her calm, or make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. He’d be there soon.

But it was obvious that she was staying quiet so she could listen to any possible intruder.

Just when Bucky was two blocks away from her place, the line went dead.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath.

He slammed his breaks just outsider her building, not bothering to turn off the car or try to park it.

Bucky would’ve shoved his way through the front door of the building with his metal arm and shoulder, but the lock had already been broken.

Now Bucky was more concerned.

He was quick and stealth as he went up the stairs to Y/N’s floor. He pulled out the gun from the back of his waistband.

With one floor left to go, Bucky suddenly heard footsteps running on the floor above him – Y/N’s floor. The footsteps were running toward the opposite side of the building that Bucky was on. Which meant they probably knew someone was on their way up and they were escaping through the emergency stairs on the other side.

For a moment, Bucky considered running after them. He knew he could catch them. They didn’t stand a chance.

But Y/N was now at the forefront of his mind.

He quickly made it to her apartment.

The door was closed, but he could tell from the scratches on the lock and handle that someone had been trying to break their way in discreetly.

Bucky took in a deep breath and knocked.

“Y/N? It’s Bucky. Can you let me in?”

There was no answer. He waited a few minutes and listened for any movements from inside the apartment.

Nothing. 

“Doll… I’m coming in, alright?”

With a quick twist of his metal hand on the doorknob, he was able to crush it to pieces. It should’ve been harder to do, but the building was clearly as old as Bucky and not kept up to code.

Bucky promptly put his gun back in his waistband, not wanting to alarm Y/N with just the mere sight of a firearm.

“Y/N?” He called out to the empty apartment. “It’s just me.”

But he knew where she would be. It was the most common place for people to hide in case of an emergency.

Bucky made his steps quiet, but noticeable, so Y/N knew exactly where he was in the apartment.

He made his way to her bedroom and stopped in front of her closet.

He knew that she knew he was there. He could hear her soft breathing that was still anxious and terrified.

Ever so carefully, he opened her closet door.

Inside Y/N was tucked in the corner, knees to her chest, with a kitchen knife in one hand and her dead cellphone in the other.

Bucky looked at her with only sympathy. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt as scared as Y/N looked. Fear had been beaten out of him long ago.

He kneeled down, his forearms balancing on his knees.

“Mind if I come in?” He asked casually.

She shrugged.

Somehow the giant super soldier managed to fit into the closet, making it feel even smaller than it already did.

“For the record… you aren’t crazy. There was definitely someone trying to get into your apartment.” Then he took in a deep breath, realizing he probably wasn’t making her feel any safer. “But they’re long gone.”

When he glanced down at Y/N, she just nodded in acknowledgment.

Bucky wished he was better with words. He used to be. Words used to be his specialty. But he’d isolated himself from everyone. Before that, he was a brainwashed assassin without a mind of its own. Bucky was out of practice.

Bucky slowed reached over to the hand closest to him, the one holding the knife. Gently, he took it out of her grasp and placed it far enough away from them that it wouldn’t accidentally hurt anyone.

Then he took her hand in his, gripping in tight enough to show her comfort. His thumb brushed back and forth over the back of her hand.

She squeezed in return, silently thanking him.

The closet was quiet, only filled with Y/N’s shaky breathing.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Bucky finally breathed.

The words surprised him. He had no idea where they’d come from.

But they seemed to finally calm Y/N down.

“Why don’t you pack a few things, so you can stay at the tower for a few days?”

He half expected her to be stubborn and say she was fine, that he’d have to put up a fight to get her to go back home with him.

But Y/N just nodded numbly.

He nodded back and got up first so he could help her back onto her feet.

When he started to leave her bedroom to give her some privacy, she jumped forward.

“W-Where are you going?”

Bucky quickly turned around. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to be in the living room. I’m calling the police. Between your door and building’s front door, there’s enough evidence to prove that someone was trying to rob the building again.”

Y/N blinked at the him saying “again,” proving that he knew this had happened in her building recently.

She didn’t think Bucky ever paid her any attention. She was never offended by it. But he had just proved that he knew paid closer attention to her than she could’ve ever realized. 

20 minutes later, there was a knock at Y/N’s front door.

Bucky quickly answered to find two cops standing outside.

He answered all their questions, hoping he did a good enough job that they wouldn’t really need to talk to Y/N all that much.

“You live here?” One of them finally asked, realizing that his name wasn’t on the lease.

“No,” Bucky answered.

“It’s your girlfriend’s place?” They followed up.

“Uhhh…no. No, Y/N’s just a friend.” He felt awkward as he answered, but the cops didn’t seemed fazed by it.

Y/N finally came out of her room with a duffle bag.

The cops started asking her questions. Bucky stood guard, making sure they didn’t push her too hard or ask things the wrong way.

After seeing how shook up she was, he felt like he’d instantly turned into her personal body guard.

“Your landlord already called a locksmith to fix your door. He should be here in a few minutes. But you should take any valuables with you just to be safe.”

Y/N nodded.

When the cops turned to talk amongst each other and with the landlord, Y/N turned to Bucky.

“Can we go now?” She asked him meekly.

It was the first time she’d talked directly to him since he got there.

“Yeah, doll, we can go.” He ushered her out and, on instinct alone, put himself between her and the cops as they walked out.

Y/N was quiet on the drive back to the Tower.

Bucky had already texted Happy and Tony about what had happened. He assumed the whole team would know soon enough.

When they were in the lobby of the residential floor, Bucky shifted his weight awkwardly. He didn’t want to leave her yet.

This was the first time they’d ever been alone together and Bucky didn’t think he could go back to keeping his distance again.

“Uhh…Do you want me to show you where the guest suites are?” He asked as he scratched the back of his neck. But he knew that she knew.

She gave him a small, forced smirk. “No, I know where they are.”

He nodded.

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you want to just stay up and watch a movie or something? I don’t–I don’t think I can go to sleep any time soon?”

“Of course. I mean, yeah.” Bucky responded immediately.

“Let me just change into some sweats I packed. I’ll meet you in the TV room?”

“Y-Yeah. Sounds good.”

A few minutes later, Y/N joined him on the couch.

She asked him what he wanted to watch.

“Umm…I don’t-there aren’t a lot of movies that I’ve seen,” Bucky finally told her when she kept trying to figure out what he’d like. “Haven’t really tried to catch up on the whole pop culture thing like Steve has.”

“Oh…” Y/N muttered, realizing the mistake she made.

“Put on whatever you want. Really. I’m sure I’ll like it.”

Y/N clicked a few buttons and a quirky song started playing along with someone writing in a notebook.

“Almost Famous,” Y/N explained. “It’s one of my favorites. Always puts me in a good mood, no matter how terrible I feel. And this way, you’ll be able to get a crash course on the best bands ever.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at that.

The opening credits weren’t even over before Bucky felt Y/N looking over at him.

He turned to her.

“Thank you for…saving me tonight,” she told him slowly.

Her words were sincere, her eyes even more so.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N.”

“Figured you’d say that.” Then she seemed to be trying to work up the courage to say something else. “I’m…umm…I’m glad it was you.”

Bucky blinked at her small confession.

“Me too,” he finally agreed.

And then they both turned their attention back to the movie.

Halfway through, Bucky felt a weight fall onto his shoulder.

Y/N had fallen asleep, her body choosing Bucky as its pillow.

A soft and shy grin grew on his lips from the feeling and the sight of it.

Very carefully, he maneuvered her body so he could lift his arm around her and make it less uncomfortable for her.

She didn’t wake from the movement, only sighed and shifted a bit.

It wasn’t long after that Bucky fell asleep too.

——————————————

“Sam, I told you to leave ‘em alone,” Steve called out in a hushed tone.

“Not until I document this…”

Then Bucky felt the flash of a camera. His eyes snapped open to find Sam looking guilty with his phone pointed at Bucky and Y/N, who was still fast asleep.

“You have two seconds to get that phone out of my face,” Bucky warned in a growl.

He would’ve jumped up and snatched it himself, but he didn’t want to risk waking Y/N.

Sam winced and instantly fled.

Bucky glanced over at Steve, who gave him an apologetic look.

“Tony told us what happened. She OK?” He whispered.

Bucky shrugged. “She’s a little shaken, but I think she’ll be fine.”

“Well…at least you finally talked to her. Though I wish it didn’t have to be a break-in for it to happen.”

Bucky played the ignorant card. “What do you mean?”

Steve narrowed his eyes as if to say, ‘Don’t even try.’ “Bucky, give me some credit. I’m your best friend. No matter how discrete you are, I know when you have a crush.”

Bucky blushed and the looked down at Y/N.

What neither of the super soldiers knew was that Y/N heard Steve’s confession too. And she wasn’t about to let Bucky go back to ignoring her.

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

This request was put in ages ago. I’m trying to clean out my inbox. I have so many requests that are collecting dust. 

THIS DOES NOT MEAN MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN. THEY ARE NOT. 

Please don’t request things. And please don’t immediately request a second part to this. There is no second part. 

[hermannsthumb]

"different young (rebound) hunk on his arm every week…newton geiszler who?" CAN YOU WRITE THIS FIC PLEASE? Hermann as the new heartthrob of the science world, cheekbones that can cut glass, baby gay scientists everywhere using appalling math-related pick-up lines in an attempt to be the booty call of the week. Newton catches a glimpse of him at a fundraiser and the Precursors have to stop him from crying with lust.

so tragically I plotted a whole fic for this and then came back and realized this prompt involves PRU but I liked my idea too much so unfortunately I won’t be filling the PRU part 😔 but I DO love heartthrob hermann sooooooooo. this can be pre-PRU if you want to make it sad actually CW for drinking and mild allusion to not sfw stuff. when will these boys talk about their feelings?

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

Hermann doesn’t like going out to bars at the best of times, least of all after he’s had the sort of exceptionally long day he’s had today (fighting his way through airports and hotel lobbies, fielding interview questions, having not even a minute’s break from Newton), but even he will admit that the one Newton has dragged him along to tonight could be far worse. The sorts of bars Newton fancied throughout their stint at the Hong Kong Shatterdome tended to be far hipper, far more becoming for a man of his (and, admittedly, Hermann’s) age, and likely aimed at tourists: pounding music, dark rooms, neon lighting, overpriced drinks, an inability to navigate through throngs of dancing bodies without bumping into at least half a dozen people. For that reason Hermann’s blood practically ran cold earlier that evening when, fresh out of their latest television interview, Newton insisted that Hermann needed to unwind a little. That Newton would help him unwind a little.

Hermann was pleasantly surprised to find that though the music (a live band) is still loud, and drink prices are still inflated, at least he can see Newton, and at least the few people dancing are dancing far away from them. And, well, perhaps it’s made him more amenable to (mostly) matching Newton drink-for-drink, and to indulging him in knocking back not one, but two rounds of the most disgusting-looking pink shots of all time, and— “Look, dude,” Newton declares, tossing an arm around Hermann’s shoulder. He’s shouting and leaning in too-close to Hermann, not because he’s intoxicated, but rather to be heard over the band, which has launched into a rather enthusiastic cover of some song Hermann’s sure he’s heard blaring from Newton’s iTunes before. His stubble tickles the shell of Hermann’s ear. “Just say it with me. It’s that easy. R-e-t-i-r-e-m—”

“We are thirty-five,” Hermann says. “We can’t just—”

“We absolutely can,” Newton says. He nudges his cocktail glass into Hermann’s chest, sloshing a bit of hot pink Watermelon Crush on his neat button-up. Hermann stifles a sigh; the shirt is brand new, bought just that morning for the interview, and will already be needing a wash. And smelling like liquified hard candy for the rest of the evening. “You and me, lying on a beach somewhere, sleeping in until noon every day, learning how to—to fish, or paint, or whatever the hell we want—”

“Not a beach,” Hermann says immediately. “I’m bloody well sick of beaches. Oceans, lakes, bays—no more."

Indulging Newton’s ridiculous little fantasy, even for a moment, is a mistake: Newton’s face lights up in a grin, and he tucks his arm around Hermann’s shoulder to pull Hermann flush against him. Hermann’s barstool wobbles dangerously. “Okay, no beaches. Far away from any coastline. The mountains, then.” It’d be just their luck, Hermann thinks, if the next Breach reopened far away from the ocean, too. Like it followed them somehow. “Let’s move to Switzerland or something and buy a log cabin or a cave and become weird recluses. I’ll learn how to ski, and you can grow a beard, and we can buy all our furniture at Ikea—” He frowns. “Is Ikea from Switzerland? Sweden? I haven’t been since college.”

“I don’t recall ever agreeing to move anywhere with you in the first place,” Hermann says, “let alone retire to do so. What on earth makes you think I’d follow you to Switzerland? I’ve no interest whatsoever in Switzerland.”

“Uh, because we’re best friends?” Newton says. “Anyway, what else would you do?”

“Anything,” Hermann says. He begins to tick off all the possibilities on his fingers while Newton watches him, unimpressed. “I could stay in Hong Kong—I’m sure they’d appreciate help monitoring what remains of the Breach. Or I could move back to England and resume my old teaching post, if they’d have me.” Hermann knows they’d have him; they’ve already sent him at least a dozen emails practically begging him to accept tenure. “Or back to Germany, with my parents.”

“I could totally do all that, too,” Newton says. “Well—not the Germany thing. No offense, dude, but your parents kinda suck. I don’t think I want them as my roommates.”

Hermann decides not to mention that the odds are very high they would not want Newton as a roommate, either. He’s tempted to ask Newton if he meant what he said about them being best friends—for Hermann can’t recall the last time someone called him their best friend, if ever—but Newton’s arm is slipping from his shoulders, and Newton is pulling out his mobile phone and tapping away frantically at it. Hermann feels strangely bereft without his touch. “Okay,” Newton says, his eyes scanning the screen, “Ikea was founded in Sweden, but they moved headquarters in—”

“Excuse me?”

Hermann and Newton both startle, Newton nearly dropping his phone, and the bartender who’d interrupted them smiles apologetically. He’s holding a pint of what appears to be beer. “Sorry to bother you guys,” he says to them, “but this is from the young man over there in the pink shirt.”

At the sight of the drink Newton brightens and puffs out his chest visibly. Bloody perfect, Hermann thinks. Just want Newton needs—another boost to his ego. “No sweat,” Newton says. He tosses his mobile to the bar counter casually and reaches to accept the glass. “Please tell him I’m super flattered, but—”

“Actually, sir,” the bartender interrupts, and—to Hermann’s surprise—slides the glass away from Newton’s grasp and over to Hermann. Hermann takes it without a word, not quite daring to believe it. Down the bar, out of the corner of his eye, he can see the flash of a bright pink shirt, but he can’t quite make himself turn to acknowledge the mystery admirer. Is that rude of him? No one has ever sent him a drink before. He’s not quite sure of the etiquette. “It’s, um, not for you.”

Newton deflates like a popped balloon. A blush spreads across his cheeks, barely visible beneath his freckles, which have come out again in the spring sunlight now that they’re not spending all their time in the Shatterdome basement. Hermann likes the look of them; he thinks they’re sweet, and that if he traced his fingertip across them they’d make a pattern of some sort, like a constellation. Not that he ever would, of course. Newton would surely ridicule him. "Right, duh,” Newton says.

He waits until the bartender is gone to round on Hermann. “Dude!” he says, almost accusatory, “Fourth time this week!”

“It is not,” Hermann protests. It’s weak to his own ears: even he isn’t thick enough to miss the sudden influx of attention he’s gotten since their first television interview last month. Hermann was never exactly popular, never exactly the sort the drive people wild with lust or romantic longing, yet it seems as if he can’t go anywhere these days without turning a few heads (including mid-twentysomething heads, mortifyingly enough) and getting a few cellular numbers slipped into his hand. Yesterday, a young man on the metro asked Hermann if he might like to see a movie some time. The day before that, another man wearing a jean jacket full of enamel pins stepped up to Hermann in a Starbucks and asked him if he could ­call-cu-later. Last week, a starry-eyed college student stopped Hermann outside a hotel to ask him to sign his Calculus 3 textbook, excitedly telling Hermann he switched degrees to astrophysics not a few days prior after reading an interview with Hermann in a rather obscure pop science magazine, and had blushed when Hermann thanked him. Newton had laughed at that one, and advised the young man to give biology a shot instead. (Newton had gotten very cross when he was promptly ignored, and in referencing the incident later, rather bitterly called the student an annoying little punk.)

This is to say nothing, of course, of the multiple news articles (listicles, as Newton calls them) Newton has forced him to read about himself on something called Buzzfeed, which have apparently helped to cement Hermann’s fifteen minutes of fame. One was called Twelve Times Dr. Hermann Gottlieb Was A Fashion Icon and was accompanied with a rather embarrassing array of candid photos of Hermann. Newton has been particularly incensed over that one.

“It is,” Newton says. “At least third. You know, I think the worst part is that you’re not even getting laid. Dudes are throwing themselves at you left and right—”

“Am I meant to go home with any random stranger who shows me the briefest bit of attention?” Hermann snaps. “I like to think I have somewhat higher standards than that.” I’m not like you, he nearly adds, but decides that it might perhaps be too cruel, especially considering that Newton has not gotten a fraction of the attention Hermann has over the past month. He remembers what it used to be like in the Shatterdome, is all; Newton seemed to like anyone who would give him the time of day. Most of his romances didn’t fare well for that reason.

“I’m just saying you could, and you’re not,” Newton says.

Hermann taps his finger against the pint glass, watching bubbles release from the side and rise to the top. When he finally takes a sip, it makes him wrinkle his nose. He’s not usually much for drinking. “I don’t like IPAs,” he says.

“I’ll take it,” Newton says, and the corner of his mouth hitches up in a grin, “as long as your boyfriend won’t get offended.”

Considering that Newton has only just finished following up his two shots with a cocktail, Hermann questions the decision, but slides him the glass anyway. Newton starts on it at once. Hermann wonders if he’ll need to call them a rideshare back to their hotel tonight; he’s not sure he can manage guiding a intoxicated Newton through the streets of the city on foot, especially not after a day that’s been rather unkind on his hip. “Only I suppose I have trouble believing it,” Hermann admits.

“Believing what?” Newton says.

“That they’re genuinely interested,” Hermann says.

To Hermann’s surprise, Newton snorts. “Nah, dude. You’ve got—” He taps Hermann’s chest, and leaves his hand there. “—sex appeal. You’ve got the, like, soulful eyes, and the movie star eyelashes, and the cheekbones and—” He drags his fingertip along Hermann’s jaw, and Hermann masks his sharp flinch in a cough, hoping Newton can’t feel his face heating up. He doesn’t remember if Newton has ever touched his face before. It feels shockingly intimate. “People think it’s super hot.” He takes another sip of Hermann’s drink. "Plus, you’re so—like—uptight. It makes people wonder what you’re bottling up.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “Bottling up?”

“In a sexy way,” Newton clarifies.

He settles his hand back on Hermann’s chest. Hermann licks his lips. Has Newton wondered those sorts of things about him, too? “You’ve had—too much to drink,” he says.

“A little bit,” Newton agrees. “I’m right, though. I like this shirt, by the way, it’s a nice cut on you.” He toys with one of the shirt’s buttons, and when he speaks again it’s in a low voice that makes Hermann’s mouth feel strangely dry. Hermann has never heard it from him before. “Wanna go back to the hotel and rent a movie or something?”

He’s peering at Hermann through his eyelashes, smiling in an odd little way. How terribly close they are to each other, Hermann realizes. He can count every tiny scratch in Newton’s eyeglasses, every fleck of gold in his eyes, every freckle on his cheeks. He wonders if Newton really wants to rent a movie; he wonders what Newton would do if Hermann closed the inch between them, and... “I,” Hermann stammers, gaze fixed on Newton’s mouth (stained pinker from his drink), “er, yes, only—only I feel as if I ought to thank the gentleman who sent me—”

At once, Newton drops away from him. His face hardens. His smile hardens, too. “Oh, right. I forgot,” he says. He inclines his head down the bar. “Pink shirt, right?”

Hermann casts his eyes about, searching for the pink-shirted stranger. When he doesn’t immediately spot him, a small bubble of relief swells within him. Perhaps he left, perhaps he decided he’s not interested in Hermann after all, perhaps Hermann is free to go back to the hotel with Newton and watch a film and argue about retirement and… “Oh, there,” Newton says. A man catches Hermann’s eye and waves timidly. He’s wearing a pink button-up.

“Bugger,” Hermann mutters. His admirer is not unattractive—in fact, he’s the opposite, with curly hair and glasses even thicker than Newton’s—which Newton seems to notice, too. He claps Hermann on the shoulder, hard enough that Hermann sways with it.

“He’s totally cute,” Newton says, “and he’s totally into you. You gotta at least get his number.” He takes another large sip of Hermann’s drink. “Better yet, get yourself laid. You could use it.”

Hermann feels the oddest sense of whiplash. Just a minute prior, he was about to kiss Newton (and he was pretty sure Newton was going to kiss him back), and now Newton is practically throwing him at another man. Hermann does not want to get anyone’s phone number—he wants to fall asleep in his stiff hotel bed to some absolutely awful science-fiction movie Newton picks out. “Newton,” he says, “weren’t we going to—?”

“No biggie, we can do movie night tomorrow instead,” Newton says. He nudges Hermann’s calf with the toe of his boot, and holds out his cane to him. Hermann feels his heart begin to sink. “I won’t wait up for you. Just give me a heads up if he wants to go back to our place, and I’ll make sure to stay out longer.”

“I’m sure it’ll only take a moment,” Hermann says. He’ll make sure it only takes a moment.

“No biggie,” Newton repeats. He raises his glass to Hermann in a mock toast. “Good luck!”

When Hermann looks back over his shoulder, halfway to the man in the pink shirt, it’s to see Newton’s stool vacant, and the back of Newton’s leather jacket swishing out the bar doors.

[holycatsandrabbits]

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 6

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

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Chapter 6

CW: blood, injury

2003 (Four years later)

When Liam brought in his mail that afternoon, he didn’t realize what a dangerous act it was. He should have, he supposed. He’d been getting threatening letters now for over ten years, since before he’d met Kurt. Their postmarks varied and there were no fingerprints. The police couldn’t figure out who was sending them, and neither could Kurt, who’d started investigating as soon as he’d learned of them.

Liam assumed that either he’d done something in his past to offend someone, or that he was a random victim of someone targeting a university with anti-academic talk. The letters said clearly, I will kill you, but Liam had long since stopped believing that it was an actual threat.

But it wasn’t that the letters didn’t upset Liam, and ironically, it was good that they did, because Liam’s reaction to the letter in the mail that day alerted Kurt. Four years ago, on a beautiful night in Germany, Kurt had drunk blood from Liam’s wrist. They’d been close before that, but sharing blood had given Kurt an even greater insight into Liam’s feelings. Kurt knew when Liam was unhappy or frightened, so when Liam found the letter with the typed address, knowing what it likely was, Kurt abruptly appeared beside him, in time to pluck the envelope from Liam’s hand.

“I’ve told you to let me open these,” Kurt scolded mildly.

Liam leaned back against his kitchen counter, and waved a hand in unsolicited permission. “By all means.”

Kurt was frowning, but otherwise he wasn’t too upset. Liam could tell because despite the fact that Kurt had just teleported into Liam’s kitchen, he looked more or less human. He must have been outside somewhere because his dark hair was a bit wind-blown. Liam wished that they had the kind of relationship where Liam could run his fingers through it to settle it down.

Kurt read the letter quietly and then tossed it onto the table in disgust. “The usual,” he said. “When I figure out who’s sending these—”

“They’re harmless,” Liam said, which on that particular day was highly ironic, but they didn’t know it yet.

“They scare you. That’s harm enough.” Kurt reached for the rest of the mail that Liam had set on his table, sorting through it quickly, apparently approving of it. He came to the package last. “What’s this?”

“I ordered some books.”

Kurt shot him a look of amused exasperation. “You have no room for more books. You’re going to have to buy a second house.”

“I’ll find a place for them. Maybe I could take out a wall— what is it?”

Kurt held the package in his hands. “This is awfully light for books.”

That was the last thing Liam remembered until he felt Kurt’s hand on his cheek. Kurt’s fingers were always cold, and the feeling drew Liam back toward consciousness. Kurt had one hand cradling his face, while another finger traced a slow line down from the top of Liam’s forehead to a spot between his eyes.

Liam realized that Kurt was saying something. “That’s right. Focus on me.”

Kurt’s finger traced its downward path again, and Liam felt himself growing more aware of his surroundings, but mostly more aware of Kurt, who was holding his gaze in an inescapable, hypnotic way. Liam could smell smoke and something charred, but he felt no fear, not even of Kurt, who seemed something entirely other than human at the moment. Something very large, because he’d have to be large to hold all the emotions that Liam could feel filling the room, wafting around like clouds. Some were dark and some very light, and they were all Kurt and Liam, mixed up together.

“There you are, my love,” Kurt said softly. “Just like that. Focus on me.”

Liam moved a little, shifting on the kitchen floor, but Kurt put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay still. Let me look at you.” His finger retraced its path down Liam’s forehead, which had the effect of recentering Liam’s attention on Kurt’s bright green eyes.

After another minute, Kurt moved back and released him. “You’re all right,” he said heavily. “No internal injuries. No concussion. Just three fairly minor lacerations to the left leg, and I’ve taken away the pain from those. I shouldn’t have let you stand so close.”

Liam blinked a couple of times as he realized that now that he could see past Kurt’s eyes, Kurt looked very different, but not at all in a mesmerizing, inhuman way. “You’re hurt,” Liam gasped.

Kurt stepped out of reach before Liam could grab him. “You have to be careful with my blood,” he warned. “Don’t get it in your mouth or the cuts on your leg. You don’t— you don’t need it right now.”

Kurt appeared to have taken the brunt of what must have been a package bomb. Liam’s kitchen table had a blast mark on it, and the chairs had all been knocked over. Bits of paper drifted lazily through the hazy air. Kurt was actually far more damaged than the kitchen, with a large wound on his shoulder. But the wound was not bleeding, and Liam realized that though Kurt’s clothing was shot through with holes, some of them bloodstained, the skin underneath was unmarked.

Kurt turned a chair right side up, and dropped into it wearily. “Ow,” he said, sounding as if he might be irritated by a paper cut.

“Are you okay?” Liam demanded.

Kurt waved a dismissive hand. “Been blown up before. There was a grenade at the Somme, for one. Not a pleasant afternoon.”

“But you— you won’t—”

“I’m fine,” Kurt assured him. “But if I’m going to convince the police that I wasn’t injured, I’ll need to eat something. I’m not quite strong enough for group mind control right now.”

“Well, I’m right here,” Liam said hastily, starting to climb to his feet. “Already bleeding too.”

“Sit down,” Kurt instructed in a sharp voice, and Liam was so startled that he obeyed. “You’re injured.”

“Only mildly. You said.”

“Still no.”

Liam tried not to be too disappointed. “Well— Fern then.” Fern was Kurt’s new love interest, and, as usual, was one of Liam’s history graduate students. She was doing her dissertation on World War Two. Kurt always showed enough of his non-human nature to his romantic interests for them to guess what he was before they became his lovers (and a source of blood). So Fern now had the advantage of dating a man who had fought in World War Two and many wars before that.

“Yeah. I called her,” Kurt said. And it wasn’t long before Liam heard someone come in his front door and make their way toward the kitchen.

“Oh my god,” Fern exclaimed, her eyes wide. “What happened? I had the weirdest feeling that I needed to get here right away.” Apparently, Liam realized, when Kurt said he’d called her, he hadn’t meant on the phone.

“Package bomb,” Kurt said.

Liam nearly spoke over him. “Kurt’s injured. He needs blood.”

Fern’s eyes widened even more. “All right. I’ll call 911.”

Liam gave Kurt a confused look. “Oh. I thought you always told them about you before you became lovers.” He realized his misstep when Fern froze on her way to the telephone.

Kurt pressed his lips together, and Liam couldn’t tell if he was fighting a smile or a frown. “You’re getting a little ahead of me there.”

“Oh,” Liam said. “Sorry. How embarrassing.” He looked up at Fern. “It’s okay, Kurt can’t be killed. Or he might actually be already dead.”

Kurt had opened his mouth to say something but now it just hung open.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said. “I’m not good at this.”

Fern did look like she was a little more concerned about Liam than Kurt, but she turned to Kurt, taking in his appearance. The wound on his shoulder was now nothing more than a dark purple bruise. Liam wondered how bad the injuries had been before Liam had seen them.

“Are you a vampire, then?” Fern asked. “That was number two on my list.”

“What was number one?” Kurt asked.

“Street magician who desperately wanted to look like a vampire.”

Kurt laughed, sounding delighted. “I don’t know that I’ve had that one before.”

“You need blood?” Fern asked. She put a hand on Kurt’s uninjured shoulder.

He focused his green eyes on her, with no hint of hypnosis now. “I do. But you’re not my only option. I will be fine even if you say no.”

Fern shook her head. “I’m happy to.”

Kurt nodded. “Liam, we’ll be right back. You just rest. Then we’ll get the police here and figure out who did this to you.”

Liam let his head fall back against his cupboard as Kurt and Fern disappeared. He felt oddly calm, and wondered if that was still Kurt’s influence. Even knowing that Kurt was off with someone else, drinking blood from them instead of Liam, didn’t bother him as much as it usually did. Kurt cared for him. Liam had known it, but right now he could feel it, and he thought Kurt could probably feel it back.

************

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My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

[aestheticseungmean]

Can you do a idol au for ATEEZ jongho where him and hongjoong have the opportunity to work with a western artist (their main language is English but are learning Korean) and them and jongho hit it off and become friends, until one of them forms a crush 💞 (gender neutral reader please)

I Like You Very Much-Choi Jongho

As an upcoming yet very popular artist, when you suggested to collaborate with Ateez, KQ jumped at the opportunity. It just so happens that the maknae harbours feelings for you.

Gender neutral reader

Warnings: minor cussing

3.4K words

———————————————————

You were an up and coming artist, sparking interest all over the world with your music. Radio stations and TV shows clamoured to get you into their shows and those who were able to get you, shot up in rating. You talked about all your interests, plans for the future, and the inevitable dating scene. Interviewers often chuckled when you say you are single and not ready to mingle, agreeing with you even though they were all married. The one question that you get asked the most is: “Who would you like to collaborate with on an upcoming album?” The answer is always the same, Ateez. You appreciated the few interviewers who knew the group, but more often than not, you found yourself explaining who they were.

On the other hand, Ateez, despite debuting in 2018, were finding their way into other countries, capturing attention alongside you. They typically get all the same questions from the same interviewers with the same reactions. In one interview, the radio announcer had asked how Ateez felt about you wanting to collab. To which they cheered and wished the same. Apparently, most listened to your music daily, while stretching, working out, lounging around, or even just to create a dance to. An insane amount of pride went bursting through your chest as you listened to them praise you. Ateez, especially, Hongjoong and Jongho, talked excitedly about you, your music, your aesthetic, and overall how you were their favourite English artist.

———————-

Your one year debut anniversary was coming up and you were planning a safe world tour featuring your first songs, as well as the most popular ones. After talking with your company, your plan was to hit a bunch of places, including: America, Canada, Australia, the UK, France, China, Germany, Japan, Brazil, and South Korea to name a few. Many fans sent videos of them showing their support for you. In the same time, Ateez also had a Korean tour as well, performing in some of the same places as you. Just the thought alone exited you. With your trusty manager, Sadie, your language tutor, Mina, and your best friend/personal hype-man, Jake, you were set to go.

Mina sat upon your bed, watching as you frantically pack clothes to practice and sleep in. “You know we have clothes we have to give you? Being famous means you have an image to maintain.” “An expensive one,” you rolled your eyes, knowing that the outfits designed for you were no less than a thousand dollars. “Alright, let’s brush up on your Korean. Sadie said you had the most interviews there so let’s not make a fool of ourselves.” Mina started listing off random words, leaving you to translate them. Between deciphering Korean and remembering what to pack, your brain fried worse than Kaminari after he overused his quirk. Of course you weren’t walking around with a dumb expression but on the inside you were.

Sometimes, you wondered why you released your song on YouTube and why you signed on the dotted line, but so far you’ve managed. Sure there have been haters, but the amount of support outweighs the haters. Besides, when you feel like quitting, you remember all the amazing artists who have encouraged you to pursue your dreams, and your career. With the likes of Lizzo, Ariana Grande, Meghan Thee Stallion, Lewis Capaldi, Billie Eilish, BTS, and Cardi B all supporting your music, you had no reason to listen to the haters. You only need to focus on a good world tour anyways.

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

The tour finally made its way into Seoul. With an unfathomable amount of want for the tickets, your company decided to hold four shows, plus the ungodly amount of interviews. This week was sure to be a tiring week, and you might sleep 24 hours straight when you get home, but it’s worth it to see the fans cheering you as you sang your songs.

The first night, you performed your songs and interacted with the fans in your broken korean. The second night was the same, save for a few idols who came to your show. You were surprised to see a few members of NCT and BTS up in the stands, dancing and wearing your merch. The third night was the night your company decided to surprise you with a last-minute duet of your song “Weeping Willow” with Jimin. You two sailed smoothly through it despite the lack of knowledge of whether your voices would harmonize or collide in a train-wreck.

And last, but not least, the fourth night is where you went all out for your final concert. There were colourful explosions of confetti, pyrotechnics, backup dancers, a live band, etc. You were confused as to why the dancers were there, let alone wearing masks during your performance, but the show must go on, right? Through the night, different dancers came up and spun you around on the stage, baffling you at your skill of dancing while singing. Finally, the final chord of your last song ended allowing you to attempt to talk to the fans in your limited language.

“Thank you guys for coming out to see the show!” The crowd erupted in cheers making you smile. “This country has been very kind to me and I can’t wait to come back. I’ll be here for a few more days so make sure to keep an eye out for me on the streets!” You smiled, hoping you could meet a few fans in your last few days, maybe get some pictures with them. “This has been an amazing concert, although, I do have to say, the dancers surprised me,” you admitted, rubbing the fabric covering your legs nervously. All of a sudden, the crowd went crazy, chanting “turn around” at you. So you did.

Immediately, you dropped to your knees, hiding your face. Standing in front of you in the dancers’ outfits, holding masks, were the one and only, Ateez. You had been performing with them for the past few hours without realizing. “Your manager called us, asking if we’d come surprise you for your birthday. We couldn’t resist. I hope you don’t mind.”You recognized the voice as Hongjoong’s. Of course Sadie would do this. She knew how much you loved Ateez, but she went all out this time. You looked up, your eyes watering from crying tears of embarrassment, joy, and anger. A few boys rushed to make sure you were okay as soon as they spotted the tears. On the screen at the back of the stage, you caught a glimpse of your hunched figure, crying. “This is so amazing,” you managed to stutter out.

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

After the show, you headed to the back with the boys to find the two managers talking with each other in hushed words. When they noticed you, they stopped their conversation and turned towards you. “So?” Sadie asked, waiting for your reaction. “I hate you…But I absolutely love you, Sadie.” “I thought so. Now, all of you, go get changed, we are going out to eat, company’s treat,” She said, holding up a card which you recognized as the company credit card. In an instant, you were rushing to your dressing room to change, stomach growling loudly.

The van waiting outside for you, was giant. Maybe a twelve seater. All eleven of you piled in, the managers sitting in the front seats while you and the boys filed into the other seats. “Would you mind doing a V-Live with us?” Seonghwa asked, pulling out a phone. “No, but I don’t know what to do.” “Just be you,” he replied, laughing. Throughout the whole ride, you were sandwiched in between San and Wooyoung who wouldn’t stop making you laugh while Seonghwa flirted to the camera. The others talked or closed their eyes for a little rest before you got to the restaurant. Not once did you feel out of place as well.

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

It’s been a few months since you met Ateez on your world tour. You kept in touch through texting since San slipped his number into your phone without you noticing. Not that you were complaining anyways. When you mentioned you were working on a new album but struggling, some of the boys offered to call you, to talk of course, not figure out what the next song will be so they can get a headstart on learning it. Eventually, you took them up on that offer and Hongjoong called. You two talked for what seemed like an eternity, talking about concepts and themes.

The call seemed to help you majorly. You ended up finishing two songs and wrote the meanings behind them, a habit you had because you sucked at explaining things. Hongjoong, on the other hand, got some beats done for a few of Ateez’s future songs. You were still on the phone with him when you realized that you were writing the songs to the few beats you heard. “SHIT!” “When did you learn to cuss in Korean?” Your wooden pencil was slammed down on the desk, breaking. “That’s not the problem. The problem is, I’ve been writing my songs to your beats. I mean I know they can be for another beat but the producers are going to ask me how I want to sing it. I’ll just end up singing it to your beats,” You whined.

Hongjoong laughed. “Let’s hear it then.” “Hear what?” You heard shuffling on the phone before a few mouse clicks. “Let’s hear you sing along to the beats,” he said, hitting play on the computer, starting the music. You sighed and sang along with your lyrics, surprised at how well the music coincided. “You know what? I think I’ll send these beats to you. They sound better with your lyrics anyway,” Hongjoong complimented, hitting send. “You don’t have to,” You protested only to be met with the notification that Hongjoong had sent it to you anyways. “Too late. Can you imagine if we collabed on a song, or an album?”

“That would be amazing, but I know I wouldn’t be able to keep up with your dance skills. Even your least skilled dancer is freaking amazing. Oh wait...You don’t have one because who the hell is the least skilled dancer in Ateez?” you complained, yet complimented at the same time. “Please, you could keep up. You are a ball of energy.” “A ball of energy with two left feet, Joong.” You shut your notebook and put it away, cleaning up your desk. “I don’t believe you.” “You don’t have to, just know it’s true. Anyways, it’s 3am here. I need to go to bed.” He shifted in his seat and frowned. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Sweet dreams!” “Night, Joong,” you said before hanging up the phone and throwing yourself on your bed, falling into a deep sleep.

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

The producers absolutely loved your songs with Hongjoong’s beats. So much so that the company immediately wanted a collaboration. For the next few weeks, before the release of your newest album, the executives buckled down on getting that ‘magic’ song that would take the world by storm. It wasn’t long before the people at KQ agreed, knowing that the collaboration between Ateez and you would bring media and attention to the latter. And soon, you found yourself on a plane, in business class (because first class was too empty and economy was too crowded) to Seoul.

A few people were eager to see you, but most went to sleep as it was five in the morning. Thankfully, you were granted a window seat so you could look out at the view. Most of the time though, you found yourself entranced in the movies they offered on flight, catching up on the new Tom and Jerry movie. And before you knew it, you found yourself landing in Seoul. Your manager, who enjoyed first class, got off the plane and waited for you. Many fans waited with Ateez signs as you walked by, confused.

On the other side of the crowd, Ateez waited patiently to surprise you with their presence. They begged and begged the company to go get you instead of sending one of their scary bodyguards to. Finally, they gave in, allowing the boys to go get you. Word got out though and that meant they had to keep undercover. Or at least try to, which was not Wooyoung’s strong suit. At one point, Hongjoong threatened Wooyoung to get him to shut up. It worked up until Wooyoung saw you, making your way out of the crowd. He and the others ran up to you, suffocating you in a hug. “Let’s get to the van before the crowd doesn’t let us leave,” Hongjoong commanded.

They rushed you to the van, ushering you in before clamouring in themselves. This time around, you were in between Yunho and Jongho. You greeted them politely, your korean better this time around due to talking with the boys constantly. “So, you’ll be staying at a hotel not far from us. We’ll be sure to always have someone to come get you,” Seonghwa said, relaying the information he had been given. “The whole someone coming to get me is extra.” “Nonsense,” Wooyoung exclaimed. “It’s rude to have a guest and not guarantee their safety. Besides some of our families would have our heads if they found out we weren’t doing the utmost for you,” he added playfully.

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

The next day, you dressed in comfortable clothing, not caring about your fashion. The agenda for the day was to write a song with Hongjoong and Jongho. When you first found out you were only collabing with those two, you felt a little sad, but when Sadie told you it was a trial collab, to see how well it would do, it didn’t make it any better, in fact, you felt worse. You protested and argued for the whole group, but all the bosses said was, “If this goes well, you can have an entire album with them.” Sure, the excitement for an entire album with Ateez would be amazing, but what if it didn’t go well?

You thought about that the entire time it took you to get to the KQ building. Only then, it was Jongho who brought you out of your head. “Hey, ________! The studio is this way. It’s my first time watching Hongjoong hyung make the beats,” He said, smiling brightly. You couldn’t help but smile back. “Mkay, Jongho. Lead the way,” You mumbled, following the maknae to a secluded room. Inside, Hongjoong was already set up at the computer, messing with some beats.

You took in the room around you. The lights were dimmed, probably to help hongjoong focus. A sleek desk with a soundboard was pushed up against a wall with glass, allowing you to look into the other room. A few of the spinny chairs were worn down, a sign of heavy usage. In the other room, you could see a typical setup for a sound booth. A microphone stood in the middle, headphones hanging off of it. The sound-proof padding looked fairly new with a few different instruments lining the walls. It reminded you of home. Of the studio you usually work in.

Hongjoong greeted you as soon as he caught a glimpse of movement. “Hey guys! I was checking some different beats and tunes for the song.” “You’re good. Shall we get started?” You asked, pulling out your beat up notebook. “That thing has seen better days,” Jongho joked, looking at the binding peeling off. You giggled and nodded. “I’ve had it for many years. I need a new one, but I haven’t gotten around to it. Besides, this has all my songs. Even the unsung ones.” “So that’s your most prized possession then?”

“I guess you could say that,” you hummed. “But it’s not like I’m playing keep away with it. I don’t care if you guys read it because I trust you. It’s randomly leaving it in public and never seeing it again that I’m worried about.” “Understandable. My flash drive is always with me,” Hongjoong said, pointing to the drive that was sticking out from the computer. “ You smiled softly at Hongjoong and grabbed your pencil. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

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

The next few days were tedious with the finishing of the song, the practicing of pronunciation for both parties, and making the beat. You found yourself growing closer to the two boys, even helping write a few of their future songs. In response, they taught you how to make beats and successfully break an apple, although that only happened once and you still haven’t been able to do it again. There was a different aura around them when you hung out. Hongjoong felt more calm and brotherly even, whilst Jongho had a more timid feeling. Like he was hiding something. You pushed it off, thinking it was him being a bit skeptical of you still.

When you finally thought all the hard work was done, Hongjoong dropped a choreography on you. The thing you dreaded the most. Thankfully, the duo were willing to take things step by step slowly with you, guiding you through the most miniscule things. A couple of the days, Hongjoong couldn’t make it, leaving you to practice with Jongho, who became more stand-offish.

Until you had enough of the ridiculous behaviour because it had come out of nowhere. “Are you okay, Jongho? Is there something I’m doing wrong?” You asked, taking a drink. “No, you’re dancing fine.” “I meant generally? You seemed fine in the beginning and now you look like you think I’m poisonous. Do you not like me?” Jongho looked taken aback, mouth opening and closing like a fish gaping for water as he tried to figure out the words he wanted to say. “It’s not that,” He managed. “Then what is it? I don’t want to feel like I have to walk on glass around you.” “Let’s just get this choreo learned okay?” You huffed and got back to practicing, angry that he ignored your question.

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

“Okay, one more time,” the producer demanded, signalling you to start your verse over again. You did as he asked and cheered when he praised you. “Jongho, you’re up.” “You got this, Jongho,” you tried to encourage him. He gave you a nervous half-hearted smile and headed to do his part. He sang beautifully, even more than when you three were practicing by yourselves. You couldn’t help the cold chills that ran up your arms giving you goosebumps. “Woah,” you breathed out, in wonder.

You went to praise Jongho again, exclaiming how he was so amazing. An embarrassed smile graced his features making your heart swell. “So cute!” “Quiet, everyone,” the producer said, preparing for Hongjoong’s rap. You turned your attention towards the leader, preparing yourself for his rapping. Jongho took this chance to excuse himself from the room. As usual, Hongjoong owned his rap and you almost felt bad for Jongho missing it, but then you remembered that he could easily hear it again later.

It was a quick session after Hongjoong finished. Just a few harmonies here and there and you were done for the day. All of the boys wanted to go out for food to celebrate. Yeosang offered to go to the chicken place on the other side of town and Mingi agreed. Once again, you found yourself sitting by Jongho, except this time, you were sitting in the pair of seats in the second row, allowing it to be just you two. He pulled out a package and handed it to you, blushing. “I got you this.” You smiled and took the carefully wrapped package.

“Can I open this now or do I have to wait?” “Um, you can now,” Jongho said, his ears turning red. You opened the wrapping carefully to find a new journal. “Oh my god, Jongho!” You opened the cover to look at the pages to find a cute little note waiting. Jongho had written the words ‘I like you very much’ in english, with cute little doodles surrounding it. “Wait? Like-” “Like a crush,” he stuttered. “Well, I like you too Jongho,” you admitted, gaining a few wolf whistles from the surrounding boys that were watching the exchange.

[thatsamericano]

The Unawesome Assumption

Characters/Pairing: Awesome Trio (Denmark, Prussia, and America), with America having an obvious crush on Romano and established Gerita. If you squint, there might be mild implications of one-sided Pruita and Prumano. Also mentions of Spamano, but that’s pretty much all in America’s paranoid brain. (Note that America does rant about the idea of Spamano in an anti-ish way, but it’s based on jealousy. I have nothing against Spamano shippers.)

Summary: The Awesome Trio is enjoying a day out at a carnival when America gets a phone call from “Little Italy” and acts strangely during the call. Believing that “Little Italy” is his brother’s boyfriend, Prussia warns America that Italy is off limits and gets a response he wasn’t expecting.

Rating: Teen for some crude sexual humor, cursing, and mentions of violence

Word Count: 1971

Notes: Credit to @bitchapalooza for the idea of what the Awesome Trio would do when hanging out together, including some specific details that got mentioned in this story. This will be posted on my AO3 account soon, if you’d rather read or comment there.

America took a bite of the snack he had just purchased from the carnival booth and made a satisfied noise. “Damn, these things are good. I swear, deep frying an Oreo just makes it better.”

Denmark grinned at him. “Try dipping it in that huge Slurpie you’re holding.”

America dipped his deep-fried Oreo into the Slurpie, took a bite, then closed his eyes and moaned in a way that was, quite frankly, obscene. “Holy shit! It’s like a flavor orgasm in my mouth!”

Prussia laughed at him. “You like having orgasms in your mouth, Al?”

America’s face turned red as Denmark joined in on the snickering too. “Shut up, dude! You know what I meant!”

Prussia reached over and ruffled America’s hair fondly. “Of course we do, kiddo.” America wasn’t really a kid anymore, but he was younger than Prussia and Denmark, and not just in physical age. And as far as Prussia was aware, America had never been in a relationship or done anything that would involve orgasms in his mouth. Maybe he just wasn’t into people that way, Prussia mused.

America rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What do you guys want to do next?”

Denmark glanced around. “It looks like there’s a petting zoo over there,” he said, pointing with his index finger. “That could be fun.”

“I’m up for it,” Prussia agreed. They’d already done most of the rides anyway, and seriously, who would pass up the opportunity to pet a cute farm animal? Not Prussia.

America nodded too, and they all started heading towards the petting zoo, which was a fair distance away from the deep-fried Oreo booth. Right after they finished up their deep-fried Oreos, an old-fashioned song began to play. Old-fashioned as in more than 50 years old, but still played often enough that most people could recognize it from the first line.

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore

Prussia looked around in confusion, wondering what could have been playing a Dean Martin song over carnival music and kids running around and screaming with delight. “Does this place have an Italy-themed booth?” Prussia wondered aloud.

“I think it’s coming from America,” Denmark replied. When Prussia glanced at him, America was scrambling to retrieve his cell phone from his jeans pocket and trying to shift a giant inflatable alien he had won at the bottle shooting booth into his other arm at the same time. In the process, his cell phone bounced out of his pocket and fell to the ground, but the screen didn’t crack. Denmark swooped in to pick up the phone before America could bend down to get it.

His eyebrows lifted in amusement as he read the contact name on the screen. “Little Italy is calling you?”

America scowled, face flushing just as red as it had earlier when Prussia had been teasing him about his accidental sexual innuendo. Prussia felt a strange, foreboding sense that something just wasn’t right. “Give me back my phone, Denmark.”

“Sure.” Denmark handed the phone over. “Wouldn’t want to keep little Italy waiting, huh?”

America shot Denmark an irritated glare as he answered the call. But as soon as Italy started speaking to him, America smiled fondly and took a few steps away so he could speak to Italy without Denmark and Prussia overhearing everything he said.

“Well, that was weird,” Denmark said.

Prussia’s eyes narrowed as he watched America talking to Italy. “Ja, it was.” America had a lot of customized ringtones for his cell phone, and it made sense that he would have one for Italy. But Prussia had never heard America’s phone ringing with a love song before. And America’s demeanor was strange too. Prussia had spent a lot of time around America, and he wasn’t normally this quiet. He smiled often, but it was a big, bright grin, not the small, almost shy smile on his face now. Did America have a crush on Italy? If he did, Prussia couldn’t really blame him. Both of the Italian brothers were cute, and Italy was especially sweet and adorable. But Italy was Germany’s boyfriend. Everyone knew that. America knew that.

America giggled in response to something Italy said. “Aww, Vene, you worry too much! I doubt I’m gonna get sick from the carnival food. But if I did, I wouldn’t mind having you nurse me back to health. I know you’d take great care of me.”

“Dude. Isn’t Italy dating your little brother?” Denmark whispered in a worried tone of voice.

“He is,” Prussia answered, nearly growling out the words. “And if America keeps talking to him like that, I’m gonna have to beat him so badly he won’t be able to walk for the next two weeks.” America was clearly picturing Italy “taking care of him” in more than just in a medical way. He was flirting with Ludwig’s boyfriend, and that was an incredibly stupid thing to do right in front of Prussia. Gilbert would protect his baby brother with his life, and he would not allow anyone to hurt him by attempting to lure Feliciano away. Not even one of his closest friends.

America talked to Italy for a couple more minutes, but Prussia didn’t overhear anything else he said, other than the goodbye that was way too affectionate for a friend. America hung up the phone and walked back towards Denmark and Prussia with a content expression on his face, and Prussia immediately began to question him.

“What the fuck were you just doing?”

America’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? I answered a phone call?”

“We saw you trying to flirt with Italy over the phone,” Denmark explained. “Your attempt was so cheesy I doubt it was effective, but it was also really obvious. Iceland’s puffin could have picked up on what you were doing.”

“What? Dude, that’s crazy! I don’t like Vene that way.” America wheezed with phony laughter, and he shifted his gaze around like he always did when he was attempting to lie. America was a notoriously horrible liar, and that’s why Denmark and Prussia usually got the beers for Alfred if they wanted to hang out in the US and drink together. America might have an excellent fake ID that said he was 21, but no bartender would believe Alfred when he showed them his ID with such a guilty expression. And Prussia didn’t believe him now.

“Listen, I don’t care if you’ve got some silly little crush on Italy,” Prussia told him. “That’s something you can’t help. But you can’t talk to him like that ever again. Italy is off limits.” Gilbert thought he was being incredibly reasonable, given the circumstances. The fact that America wasn’t lying on the ground bleeding was a goddamn miracle.

But apparently, America didn’t see it that way. He scoffed and put his hands on his hips. “Off limits? Why? Because you’ve got a thing for him? You can’t claim dibs on a person, Gil. That’s not how it works.”

“What?! No, this isn’t about me!” Why the hell would America even think that?

“Oh, I see. This is about Spain.” America’s lip curled into a disgusted sneer, but before Prussia could interrupt to correct America’s bizarre assumption, he continued, launching into a tirade against Prussia and Spain. “I guess he’s your real friend, and I’m not! It doesn’t matter how I feel, because Spain has a permanent claim on Vene just because he’s known him for longer. Well, you know something, I think you’re full of shit! And I think it’s up to Vene who he wants to be with! Maybe he wouldn’t want to be with the guy who fucking raised him from the time he was a toddler! But guess even considering that makes me the crazy one!”

Prussia was aware of some nearby humans turning to stare at them in surprise, and many of them seemed almost as shocked as the lady who guessed people’s ages had been when Denmark told her his real age. But he was pretty startled too, because America was much more bitter than he had been expecting. Prussia was also startled by the realization that his righteous anger had all been based on a ridiculous misunderstanding.

“Really, Spain too?” Denmark murmured. “I don’t get it. Is Italy emitting some kind of magic love pheromones or something?”

Prussia shook his head without taking his eyes off America. “He wasn’t talking about Italy. He was talking about Italy’s brother. Romano.”

America’s face cleared in understanding. “Oh… oh! You thought I was talking about North Italy! No wonder you got so mad at me!”

Prussia nodded and chuckled a little, at both himself and the situation. “You didn’t exactly help when you started calling him ‘Vinny.’ I thought that was short for Veneziano.”

“No, dude, that’s based on his human name, Savino. I started calling him that back when we lived together.” America sounded pretty damn nostalgic, and Prussia felt a little silly for assuming Alfred had been talking to Feliciano. He’d sounded nostalgic about the 1920s before, but Prussia had assumed it was just a friendship thing.

“Did you come up with the Little Italy thing around then too?” Denmark asked.

“Yeah.” America smiled, and his eyes went all soft, like he was staring at the world’s most adorable kitten. “It’s not just ‘cause he’s little compared to me, though he is. It’s ‘cause most of the people who lived in those neighborhoods were from his part of Italy. It would feel pretty weird to call North Italy that.”

Prussia rolled his eyes as all three of them started walking towards the petting zoo again. “Right, and we’re supposed to believe you don’t have a crush on him?”

“I don’t!” America insisted. “I swear.”

Denmark snorted. “Okay, then why’d you pick that song to be his ringtone?”

“Well, it mentions Naples. It’s a nice song, and it reminds me of Romano. Honestly, you guys should’ve known I was talking to him based on the ringtone alone.”

Prussia exchanged a smirk with Denmark. “He knows where Naples is, but I bet he couldn’t locate either of us on a map.”

“That’s not true! I know for a fact that Prussia is East Germany. Denmark is directly to the left of Finland and right above Norway.”

Denmark burst into a fit of raucous laughter, and Prussia did too. America sounded so confident about Denmark’s location even though he was completely off, and it was hilarious.

America pouted as they all got in line behind a group of children. “You guys are mean.”

Denmark shoved America’s shoulder playfully. “Cheer up, Al. We’re just teasing you a little.”

“Yeah. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about with Spain,” Prussia added. “I mean, sure, he might go overprotective on you if you try to date Romano, but I don’t think he’s into him like that. So, you’re in the clear there.”

For someone who had denied having a crush on Romano twice in the past few minutes, America looked incredibly relieved that Spain was not going to be romantic competition for him. But then, the guy running the little petting zoo announced that the next person in line would get a chance to milk a goat, and Denmark pushed past multiple children to the front of the line, so Prussia naturally turned his attention to that. The man running the zoo had a flabbergasted expression on his face as Denmark ran up to him and the goat, and both America and Prussia found it hysterical. This carnival was turning out to be one of the most awesome things Prussia had done in a while, and he was glad he got to hang out with his friends today and make entertaining memories like this one.

[words-for-holland]

Happier (10) | T.H.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: After the events of last night, Tom and Y/N are completely heartbroken. More threats are thrown out. Tom leaves???

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Masterlist

A/N: WOW 10 CHAPTERS ALREADY?! If you made it this far..Thanks for sticking around! What has been your favorite part in the series so far??

Anger

There was no way to describe it. The unsettling feeling erupted between Y/N and Tom after last night. At that point, they weren’t sure of where to go from here, but I guess that’s what happens when one lets their guard down. Once thinking they had a second chance to rebuild what was lost, has now drifted further and further apart.

Y/N knew she should be angry at Unknown, for being the reason why she had to experience heartbreak a second time. Yet, she also couldn’t help but feel anger towards Tom. There had to be a reason behind the kiss, but something inside her didn’t want to let go of the fact that he did kiss Natalie in the end. It wasn’t staged, it wasn’t questionable pictures, it was real and Y/N had the displeasure of seeing it up close.

The images wouldn’t leave her mind, and no one was there to look out for her. Kate was gone, and Harrison and Harry took a weekend for themselves. For the first time ever...it was just her against the world.

Y/N hadn’t moved from her position since she yelled at Tom. Crouched on the floor, her back leaning against the door, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her mind and her heart had left her body, while she was very much alive, her current state might as well deem her dead. She was waiting for someone, something to give her a sign that everything was going to be okay.

Thats when she heard the soft knocks. Three knocks at a time. Once. Twice. Then a third time. Y/N refused to open the door, thinking it was still Tom, but the more she waited the more the enfuriating knocking would not stop. After a couple more, she was ready to open door just to stop it. Another part was also curious to know what Tom had to say about last night. Maybe just maybe they’d get through it again like they did before. Y/N wiped her tears dry, and turned the doorknob.

It wasn’t Tom.

Natalie with her neatly waved, dirty blonde hair appeared at the door, her hand in mid knock. She gently placed it down and gave Y/N a tight-lipped smiled. “May I come in?” She asked in her robust english accent.

“Let me think about it. You’re in a PR relationship with my ex-boyfriend, you stole my ex-boyfriend’s clothes without permission and posted it all over social media when you said you wouldn’t...and let me see I know there was one more thing I was forgetting...” Y/N sarcastically ponders the thought, tapping her finger on her chin. “Oh yeah..you managed to kiss him right in front of me when there was no need for the PR. So if you asking to come into my room as if you’ve been my best friend all my life..You’re out of your fucking mind.” She speaks out bitterly.

Natalie looks at Y/N surprised at the attitude thrown at her. She knew Y/N was one for being a forgiving and generous girl, but today she saw a whole side of her. Natalie smirks at the comment and the result of her stunt. “Okay, then I won’t play the nice gal anymore. Now this is your last warning. Stay. Away. From. Tom.” Natalie threatens, jabbing her finger into Y/N’s chest as she emphasizes the last four words.

It clicked for Y/N as if a lightbulb when off in her head. She always had her assumptions, but Natalie’s threat was enough to prove her theory. “It is you...You’re Unknown. This whole time...From the moment I started to drift away from Tom..It was because of you!” Y/N yells out in frustration.

Natalie laughs manically. “Oh babes. You’re funny if you think I’m Unknown. Im only a part of your nightmare. And it’s going to keep on going and going. I’ll make sure you never wake from it.”

Y/N glares at Natalie, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this..if you’re not Unknown, who is?”

“Like I’d ever tell you who Unknown is. I wasn’t lying about that part though. Unknown is on to me as well if I don’t play my role in this game.” Natalie scoffs as she looks at her fresh pressed manicure.

“If Unknown is threatening you, then why don’t you stop them? Why help make my life miserable when you know all of us are being pulled by the strings?” Y/N interrogates Natalie, furrowing her eyesbrows in confusion. No human being would be that cruel to ruin somone else’s life for no apparent reason. She assumed that Natalie was lying for the sake of keeping herself safe from Unknown, but from what?

“Because you took the one thing I ever truly cared about. Tom and I were doing fine, until you came into the picture.” Natalie glares at Y/N. She wanted to make sure her message was loud and clear. “I want to make you feel the pain and loss I felt when Tom left me.”

Y/N looks at her with digust, almost sick to her stomache the way Natalie talked down to her. “You cant change the way he feels Natalie.”

“No, but it seems like you’re doing that just on your own. Honestly Y/N, how much longer do you think he’ll take the more you push him away? Unknown and I are just the boost, you’re insecurities is what’s doing the magic. God, I cant wait to see how far it goes.” Natalie smirks as she turns toward the door.

“Then why keep going Natalie? You have Tom, the publicity, the looks. What more do you want?” Y/N challenges her.

“Acceptance.” She simply states. “And I wouldn’t bother bringing this up or trying to make ammends with Tom. You know Unknown will continue to pull more strings. In fact, I heard he got so sick of everything, he’s leaving on the next flight for Germany.” Natalie emphasizes, hoping to hit a trigger point for Y/N.

Y/N remained frozen, feeling so defeated as she looked at Natalie one last time before she made her way out shutting the door. Tom left. He left because of her and now she was truly alone.

Natalie skips her way downstairs to see Tom on the phone with his agent. He’s clearly distressed about last night and sitting down with his phone in hand. “Germany?! Now?!” He asks. “I..I cant. I have something going on right now. I have to fix this. I cant leave.” He speaks out as the voice talks over him. Tom was in no mood for games and he certaintly wasn’t ready to pack his bags and leave for an emergency shoot while Y/N locked herself in her room thinking he cheated on her with Natalie.

“Please...I need to set this right. I can’t think about work right now—.” Tom pleads.

“Tom, I get it. You’re heartbroken. Y/N’s heartbroken, but this is important. Not coming through with this could damage your career and cost you millions under contract.” His agent regretfully shares. “Trust me I tried to find a way out for you, but there’s no loophole. Natalie’s agents have it in their control and breaking it could mean all your money goes to them.”

Tom placed the phone on his forehead as he tries to channel and calm his anger. Natalie was getting on his nerves by the second. If it weren’t for this stupid contract, he would have never agreed to the PR stunt, let alone..let her live in their house for as long as they had. “Don’t tell me this all because of the fucking stunt.” He grumbled, trying his best to contain the frustration.

“Yes and no. It’s for the movie. They want to start filming and start setting up interviews for behind the scenes. Natalie will be there too, but I can make sure you are allowed to go alone...if it makes it any better.”

While Tom’s agent tried to make his job less difficult...it really didn’t make it any better. He’d avoid another stunt, but it also meant being far away from Y/N, right when she needed him the most. She had to hear the truth of what really happened that night.

Speaking of the woman herself, Natalie padded her way innocently towards Tom. Her arms crossed, her hair slightly fluffed, almost as if she were trying to show the world how soft she was. “You should go.” She says sweetly in her accent.

Tom looks at her in disgust as he tries to back away. “Not like I had a choice.” He leaves Natalie alone, making his way to pack his things. He knocked on Y/N’s door one last time to see if she would answer, but nothing. However, that didnt meant it would stop him from saying what had to be said. “Y/N, look...I know youre extremely pissed at me right now and you have every right to be. But you have to believe me when I tell you that it meant nothing to me at all. I..I..I have to go right now, and leave for Germany, but when Im done with this stupid contract Im coming back for you. I promise.” He laments, sliding a folded note under her doorway.

Unfortunately for Y/N she did not hear a single word that came from Tom. Her body and mental state had made her so overly exhausted, it put her in a state of deep sleep. If she couldn’t face the problems in the real world ar the moment, at least she could escape it in her dreams. So there it laid on the hardwood floor just hidden under the purple tapestry rug, Tom’s heartfelt note waiting to be read.

Tom made it to Germany in two hours time. The whole plane ride, he couldn’t help but wonder if Y/N had listened to anything he said, if she even bothered to read his note to her. He couldn’t worry much about his projects when the woman he loved was hurting again, right after he swore he’d do anything to protect her. The first two days passed ever so slowly. Tom’s anticipation to go back home moved quicker than the seconds on the clock. But here he was, sitting down in a green room waiting to be interviewed, feeling completely useless.

Light footsteps click clacked in the hallway, and the noise started getting closer, it became louder and clearer. Out of the shadows of the hallway was Natalie, dressed in a gold floral dress, with looks that could kill and make any woman envious. “Umm...we still got 30 minutes before we go on.” She smiles, talking ever so gently. Natalie takes the seat beside him on the couch, trying her best to hold on to his hands.

Tom rolls his eyes, yanking them out of her reach. “Stop it Natalie. Im tried of this shit already.” He reacts, distress straining his voice.

Natalie’s smile drops the moment she hears him say those words. “Tom...I was just..”

“No! You are taking this stunt way too seriously. What you did back in London is really shit of you. Taking my clothes, and kissing me without my consent?! What the fuck Natalie?!” Tom raises his voice, the lines on his forehead creasing.

“I thought it was a rather cute thing to do. Besides the people loved it, and don’t act like you didn’t love the kiss. I felt the passion in there.” Natalie justifies, flipping her golden locks as if her action had no consequences.

Tom laughs in disbelief. “Natalie. You ruined my chances with Y/N. I pushed you away the moment you pressed your lips on mine.”

“Why her? Why are you so caught up on Y/N? I told you so many times that she’s not good for you. She’s not even British. I meant what I said about the both of us being great together. Look at the pictures, the reactions. People love us. Thats why we got this lousy interview in the first place.”

“But Natalie...I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this. I love Y/N. I dont care what the whole world thinks. It will always be her.”

Natalie looks at him with teary eyes. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. After everything she’s been through, after all the things she did for Unknown, Tom was supposed to be with her. “I don’t understand. You were supposed to love me!” She screams, her eyes burning with fury. “I was supposed to win in the end!”

“You can’t force someone to love you Natalie!” He screams back, his face turning redder by the minute. “Im not some prize to be won.” There’s silence in the room. Breaths heaving and panting as they try to recollect themselves. Tom takes another breath before he continues, “Look, we may have been childhood friends and gotten close, but this doesn’t mean we were endgame. Y/N came into my life and my whole life changed for the better with her. It’s like I can breathe, laugh, see the world in a whole new light because of her.”

Natalie sniffles, looking away as she hears the truth that she can no longer deny. Tom was truly in love with Y/N and no amount of backstabbing, threats, PR stunts, or fights could break them apart. They were meant for each other. “I just wish it was with me.” She whispered.

Tom shakes his head, now talking more gently. “I know, but believe when I tell you, I’m not that guy. Somewhere out there you’ll find someone who makes you feel the way I feel about Y/N every second of the day.” He places his hand on her shoulder as she gently touches it and pushes it away. She could no longer be angry, all the anger had left and was replaced with sadness. Natalie couldn’t help but wonder if this is how Y/N felt after everything she’s been put through. Maybe worse more or less, but was this what a broken heart felt like?

It was time for the interview, and as Tom made his way out, Natalie stayed behind. A change of heart was taking place inside her, and with everything that’s happened, she wanted to set things right. “What are you still doing here? Get your arse into that interview.” Her mother grumbles as she yanks her daughter’s wrist to the door.

“Mother...he doesn’t love me.” Natalie, whispers, her voice almost disappearing.

“I told you, he’ll learn. If you weren’t doing such a lousy job, maybe he would learn to love you.” Her mother rolls her eyes, still trying to drag her out to the room.

Natalie shakes her head holding back. “He won’t ever love me. Tom..he’s truly in love with Y/N, and that’s not something we can ever break. Every obstacle makes them stronger, and even now Tom is still willing to win her back. We can’t win mum.”

“Don’t tell me you’re growing a soft heart now. You’re more to blame than me. Naughty girl, always trying to break them up for your own good. If you weren’t so keen on —“

“No mum! That’s what you wanted! You wanted me to get the fame and fortune. I wanted love..but not like this. Not if we’re forcing Tom to love me when he doesn’t.” She wipes the tears from her eyes before continuing, “Im done with this. With everything. I’m going through this interview and that’s it. I want to set things write.”

“Then I’ll just ruin you and your friends with all the secrets and blackmail we’ve collected. You really want to be a part of that game?” Her mother threatens.

“You cant hurt us anymore, mum. No secret and blackmail will ever be big enough to break them. Every stone has been unturned.” With that Natalie makes her way into the interview where she sits next to Tom, in a very platonic way.

“So Tom and Natalie, tell us about your relationship. How is it going so far?”

Tom and Natalie looked at each other, smiling. Almost as if they were telepathically telling the other it was time to tell the truth. No more secrets. No more blackmail. This was it. The end was near.

Taglist:

@hollanddolanfangirl @ifilosemyselfagain @hevjadams @averyfosterthoughts​ @fangirl-with-a-mission @drishtisikarwar @eridanuswave​ @ifntelyinspirit @trumpettay @astridcommings @parkershoco @racewife2004 @sleepybesson @greatpizzascissorstaco @andievgs @joyleenl @holland-bowen @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @viwihere @marvelobsessedteenager @panicattheeverywherekid @oswinO5 @jillanaholland

[rosaliestark01]

Dusk Till Dawn - Part 2

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter wants to help you but he doesn’t trust your new friend.

Warnings: Swearing (most likely), angst, jealousy, 

A/N: colab w/ @annies-marvel-imagines. Part 3 will be posted on her account. GIF cred goes to owner. 

The second Peter felt your presence, he knew that something was wrong. He could feel your emotional distress without even having to see you. It was strong and he couldn’t figure out what had caused it. He knew that he wasn’t the only one who was worried about you. 

Your dad had called him last night thinking that the two of you had fought. Apparently, you refused to come out of your room since coming back from the mission and you refused to talk to anybody. In short, the Avengers though you were avoiding them.

That was another thing that pissed you off. They ignore you for six months and then have the nerve to say that you were the one avoiding them? Well, technically you were. The only person you’ve spoken to was Steve, but that was just because he ambushed you on your way to the kitchen in the middle of the night. 

He also assumed that you and Peter had a fight or something. He had told you that if you needed anybody to talk to, he’d be happy to listen. You weren’t sure where any of this was coming from. He had been one of the many people who had ignored you for so long.

Whatever it was that you were feeling, Peter felt it too. All day, Peter couldn’t concentrate on a single thing his teachers were saying. It was like the only thing his senses could focus on was you. At one point, it had gotten a bit embarrassing when he didn’t answer his teacher right away, causing Flash to make some smart-ass comment about something. He needed to talk to you right away.

If only Eloise Day hadn’t beaten him to it.

“Does your dad know that you know?” Ellie asks. You had told her about what you had found out about yourself from the USB that you stole from Hydra.

“No. Not yet at least. I just can’t believe he’d keep something like this from me my whole life.” You sigh as you shove your school books in your locker. Yes, you were pissed. Your dad told you that your mom was a summer fling who died giving birth to you. 

“You had a right to know,” Ellie tells you as she places a comforting hand on your arm. You just wish that people would be honest to you. The only two people who you can really trust were Ellie and-

“You had a right to know what?” Peter unexpectedly asks, causing you to almost drop your Science book. Peter catches it before it hits the ground and places it neatly in your locker.

“It’s nothing,” you say. You trusted Peter, but this wasn’t something you wanted to tell him. You knew that he would try to defend your dad and make up lame excuses. Peter idolized your dad and you also didn’t want to take that away from him.

“Hey, Peter,” Ellie looks at him grudgingly, as though daring him to push the topic further.

“Hi,” he says half-heartedly. Right now, he cared about you a lot more than some random girl who he barely knew. “You should come over today. May says she misses you.”

Peter knew that it was just an excuse to get you alone. Yeah, May really did miss you, but Peter was really starting to worry. You were always open to him, so the fact that there was something you weren’t telling him on top of your awful mood was causing him to freak out a little. Was it something he did?

“I don’t know.” Peter noticed your hesitation. “I’m not feeling that great.”

“It’s okay.” It most definitely wasn’t okay. You lied to him. Peter always knew how you were feeling and he knew that you weren’t sick at all. “Maybe another time?”

“Yeah.” Peter nodded his head as he watched you walk away with Eloise. 

Ellie had insisted on you coming to her house. She said that she wanted help on her Chemistry homework, but you knew that she was actually curious to know more about what you found out. If Ellie really was as smart as you knew she was then there was no way that she needed help with homework.

As usual, her parents were working late. You’ve heard stories of Ellie’s parents, but you’ve never  actually met them. From what you knew, they always worked and Ellie was always alone.

“So if Tony Stark isn’t your real dad, then who is?” Ellie sat with her legs crossed looking at you curiously. 

“I wish I knew. The only information I found about who my real parents are is my mom’s name.” You couldn’t really find any pictures of her, but you really liked her name.

“What was her name?” Ellie was a good friend. It’s not like she was going to go around telling people about this. 

“Christine Y/L/N” 

“What?” She looks at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite read.  “I think I know someone who might have known your mom.”

“Really?” You sat up giving her your undivided attention. Could she really help you find out more about your past?

“Yeah, but I’m not a hundred percent sure.” You followed her to her parent’s room where she dug through one of the suitcases that were under the bed. “Do you mind doing a DNA test?”

“Um... I don’t know.” She finally found what she was looking for You eyed the syringe warily.

Bucky had one told you to never give your blood to anyone unless it was a life or death situation and even then you were supposed to be cautious about it. Steve and Nat were quick to agree but this had to be an exception, right? This was important to you and they would have to understand.

“Come on. It’s just me. You trust me, right?” Ellie prompted.

“Okay, just do it quick.” You hated needles. After a few seconds, she was done but there was another problem.

“There, um...” She looked around for band-aids. You ended up having to use a tissue temporarily until Ellie came back with the box. “These are the only band-aids I have.”

The band-aids were all Avenger themed. You pulled out a band-aid and put it on. It was blue with tiny shields all over it. It was actually kind of cute.

“Thanks.”

“So what’s Parker’s deal?” Ellie asks. You didn’t look like you knew what she was talking about so she continues. “He looked like a lost puppy when you turned him down earlier.”

“Well, we’ve sort of been best friends since we met,” you say remembering the day you met. It was in that airport in Germany. 

“Weren’t you two fighting each other when you met?”

“Sort of.” You got ready to tell her.  “I was fighting him but he wasn’t fighting me.” While you fought Peter, all he did was dodge and defend. Not once did he throw a punch your way. You kind of already knew Peter, but you had never really spoken to him until that day. You figured that Tony had asked him not to hurt you or something like that.

“Did you know that he actually saved my life that day?”

“How?” She scrunched her nose in confusion. You weren't oblivious to the fact that Peter and Ellie did not like each other at all. Either way, Ellie was your friend and you were excited to talk to her about this.

“Well, the whole fight has pretty much escalated out of control and a giant bus flew at me but Pete swung in and grabbed me before the bus hit me.”

“Gwen is a lucky girl,” Ellie stated as she got back to doing her homework. 

“Gwen?” What the hell was she talking about?

“Yeah. They obviously like each other. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked her to homecoming.” 

You just now realized that Peter and Gwen actually have been spending a bit more time together than usual. She started eating lunch with Peter, Ned, and Harry around the time that you started eating lunch with Ellie so she wouldn’t be alone.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You didn’t want to think about Peter and Gwen together. “I should probably go home, but it was nice hanging out with you.”

“I like hanging out with you too.” 

Ellie had offered to drive you home, but you figured that you needed a bit of alone time. Unfortunately, you figured you should have taken her up on that offer. On the subway, you ended up siting next to a man and woman who couldn’t control their pet chicken. You finally made it back to the tower a little after ten.

“Y/N, where have you been?” Pepper asks. You couldn’t find it in yourself to hold any grudge against her. She, although often busy with running Stark Industries, had always treated you like her own daughter. You were sure that she would have told you the truth if she hadn’t worked for you dad for so long. 

“I was at a friends house,” You say. Suddenly, your dad walks in and you could feel the anger seeping back into you.

“Oh. There’s pizza in the fridge,” he casually says as though he hadn’t realized you were gone for so long. 

“Thanks,” you say bitterly, although nobody seems to have noticed.

“Nice band-aid,” he says after spotting the Captain America themed band-aid.  “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just an accident.” He hummed as he scrolled through his phone. 

“I think Peter is waiting for you in your room.” Your anger vanished a little after hearing that Peter was in your room.

“Why?”

“Something about studying for a physics test.” You knew that was a lie. You share five classes with Peter, Physics was one of them, and there was no Physics test to study for.

“Okay.” Your dad and Pepper walked off (probably to talk about that dude who keeps spreading rumors about SI), and you went to your room. 

“Hey,” you say. Peter was sitting on the edge of your bed and you knew that he was expecting you. He was wearing his Spider-Man suit, except he was holding the mask in his hands. You didn’t like the accusatory look he was giving you one bit. 

“I thought you said you weren’t feeling well,” Peter says. You felt bad about lying to him, but you knew that he would want you to talk about what was bothering you. You weren’t ready to talk to him about it and even if you were you weren’t sure if you should.

“I’m not.” Technically, in an emotional sort of way, you weren’t feeling well. 

“You were at Eloise’s house.” You sigh, knowing you were probably going to be lectured. “Y/N something is bothering you. You know you can talk to me right? About anything.”

“I know. It’s not that important.” Again, you lied. You loved talking to Peter, but you really didn’t want to talk to him about this one specific thing.

“You do know that I know when you’re lying.” Damn spidey-senses. 

“You wouldn’t understand.” Peter stood up and you had a feeling that he would start pacing any second.

“You don’t know that.”  You knew that Peter wouldn’t understand. He knew exactly who he was. You thought you knew yourself, but your whole life has been one big lie. You weren’t who everyone thought you were.

“Pete, can we please talk about something else?” 

“Fine.” Peter was most likely going to want to talk about it again, but he understood that now probably wasn’t the right time for you. “Do you want to go on patrol?”

“You haven’t already?” Peter usually goes on patrol immediately after school gets out. You were surprised that he hadn’t yet.

“No, I was waiting for you.” You nod your head as you feel a sigh blush creep up your cheeks.

“Okay, just let me get changed first.”  Peter remains standing facing you. “You can turn around.”

“Oh- right.” Peter awkwardly coughs as he turns around. 

“So how was school?” You find your suit stuffed in the corner of your closet. It sort of reminded you of Tris Prior from Divergent, except your outfit was more flexible and mostly bullet proof. You really needed to upgrade it against whatever it was that comes from stupid space guns. Your side was still a little bit sore, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.

“A pain,” Peter scoffs. “Your emotions were really strong today.”

“Sorry.” You hadn’t realized that Peter’s senses would pick up on your emotions. You felt bad that it affected him so much.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says softly. “I just want to be there for you.”

“I’m done.” You say. 

Going on patrol with Peter was nothing short of refreshing. You missed spending time with him and it was the perfect distraction to everything you’ve been feeling up until this point. 

There wasn’t a lot going on tonight other than one purse thief and a few shoplifters. You and Peter mostly hung out reminiscing about old times. It made you realize how while some things change too fast or too much, some things never do. Peter had the same brown eyes you loved. His laugh was still music to your ears. He was still the same person who saved you all those years ago. 

Peter knew that he should have gone straight home after dropping you back off in your room, but for some reason he found himself wandering around in the park. It was like he needed to be there but he didn’t know what for.

After a while of mindlessly walking around, he sat down on a bench. He quickly stood back up again when he saw an all too familiar face. Eloise Day stood waiting not that far from where Peter was. She didn’t see him, but he definitely saw her. 

A black van pulled up right next to her. It looked more like an old worn down ambulance that was painted black and rusting. Peter was ready to swoop in in case she was in danger but something told him she wasn’t.

A man exited the vehicle and shared a few words with your friend. She handed him something and in return she was given a small folder. Peter could instantly tell that whatever this was wasn’t good. He wanted to tell you, but would you believe him? 

Tag List:

@eridanuswave @drishtisikarwar @spideygirl2003

Anyone who wants to be removed can message me or @annies-marvel-imagines

[emwritesfootball]

First Fight | Christian Pulisic

Your first bad fight with Christian both saying things you regret xx

Decided to include a makeup scene so you don’t have to request a part two, anon xx 

You couldn’t remember how the fight had started. All you could remember was that something small had happened and then all of a suddenly the two of you were shouting at each other.

“God, if you’re that upset, I’ll just buy you a new one!” Christian snarled, gesturing to the broken mug on the counter. It had been a going-away gift from a friend of yours when you made the move from Germany to the U.K. for your boyfriend. 

“Of course that’s your response to it - throw some money at the problem and hope it all goes away!” You huffed, throwing your hands up in frustration. You mimicked him next, something you weren’t proud of but it made him angry. “My name’s Christian and I don’t like it when my girl is upset but instead of asking her what’s wrong, I just give her money and hope she stops complaining sometime soon so I can fuck her.”

“Fuck you!” Christian shouted. “That’s low and you know it.”

“Yes, and?” You replied, quirking an eyebrow. “Admit it, Christian. Admit that you’re happy I had to quit my job in Germany when we moved here and you secretly hope that I don’t find another one out here so that I can keep relying on you!”

“Is that what you wanna hear?!” He yelled back, jaw clenched in anger. Christian knew you were upset and that you were just lashing out but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d been having a rough go at Chelsea lately and his rage had slowly been building and apparently now it wanted out. “Fine, then. I’d rather have you stay at home and be a good little girlfriend like all the other players’ WAGs. Do you know how insulting it is to have a girl who still wants to work and make her own money? As if I don’t make enough money to provide for you already! It’s insulting.”

You scoffed. The tears that had started to form when Christian had started his speech were falling freely from your face now and you didn’t bother hiding them. “I’m insulting?! Maybe if you were home more often instead of spending time with the boys after training then I wouldn’t have to resort to getting a job to keep busy!” Your next words were so soft you were surprised when Christian heard you mutter, “I understand now why some women cheat - when your man’s gone all the time, what else is there to do but fuck some guy who’s around?”

Hot fear bloomed in Christian’s chest. You cheating on him was always a nagging fear in the back of his mind but to hear you voice it almost brought him to his knees. “I think we need some time apart,” Christian said, his voice defeated when he spoke again.

“Me, too,” you nodded, pushing past him. “I’ll pack my things.”

You drove to Mason’s place, tears coming so hard and fast it was a miracle you made it in record time. He was waiting at the front door and you launched yourself into his arms, sobs wracking your body. When you calmed down, Mason made you sit on the sofa with a blanket while he boiled water for tea and retrieved your bags from your car. His phone pinged with a message and you didn’t miss the name on his screen. Christian. 

“He just wants to know that you made it okay,” Mason explained, typing a quick response and putting his phone away. “Care to tell me what happened?”

You rehashed all the details, trying hard to get them out without bursting into tears again. Mason listened as you laid it all out - all the words you said and everything Christian threw back. “I don’t know if we’ll get through this,” you said, playing with your hands so you didn’t have to look at Mason. 

“You will. I know you and I know Chris. The two of you love each other so much and can get through anything. Besides, this is your first big fight. Just take a few days to cool down and then when the time is right, go talk to him.

***

Christian showed up at Mason’s door the next morning, frantic. He had stayed up all night worrying and it showed. 

“Can I see her?” Were the first words out of his mouth when Mason opened the door.

“Wait here. Let me ask her.”

“No, fuck that!” Christian growled, pushing past his teammate to get to his girlfriend.

He could you sleeping on the sofa, bundled up in blankets. You shifted and sighed, eyes slowly starting to open. “Mase? Who’s there?”

“It’s me, baby,” Christian said, walking over to you and kneeling on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

Christian’s voice and his words instantly woke you up. “What are you doing here? I thought you wanted some time apart.”

“I did, but I said that when I was angry. I was up all night worrying, my brain giving me the worst possible options of what was happening here. I wanted to come over last night but Mason wouldn’t let me.” Christian scrubbed his face with his hand and you couldn’t help noticing the stubble that was growing on his face or the bags under his eyes. “I got so scared that you were cheating on me,” he confessed,” his voice tortured.

Your hands flew to his face, taking it in your hands so he could look at you. “Baby, I would never. I only said that because I was hurt and upset. I’m so so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. Forgive me?”

“Always.” You leaned in, lips meeting in a feverish kiss that had Mason rolling his eyes and mumbling about needing to go make coffee or something.

Forever Tags: @chilly-me-softly @eastxfeden @eatsleepbreathefutbol @savingprivatecass @inlovewithamess @footballdaydream @brewsterbabyy @bbychilly @sweetlikesugar9 @lawsandother @jamesdanielmaddison @hmminnbirdd @hoellymollywinksy

Puli Tag: @words-for-marcus

[bopbopstyles]

Temptation (pt. 1)

RATING: M/smut

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

“Can I ask you something?”

She turned back and looked at him. “Sure.”

“Why haven’t I seen you before?”

She shrugged at his question. “Dunno. I’ve never been to parties here before. We’ve got different majors. It’s a big school.”

“Not that big.”

“Big enough.”

“Too big if I missed out on meeting you until now.”

Her breath caught. The words fell from his mouth with such ease, such nonchalance, as if his words didn’t shake the ground she stood on.

or

Harry’s a fratboy and Nora (might) be in love with him. (part 1)

PART TWO | PART THREE

After a semester abroad, the last thing Nora felt like doing was going to an American frat party.

She had spent the semester in Germany going to clubs and house parties, weird bars and day drinking at festivals. All she wanted was a pint of good beer, a cute boy to flirt with in her horrifically bad German, and go home and curl up in her double bed. Now she was back home going to a beginning of semester frat party where there would be shit beer, she wouldn’t be “the cute American girl,” and she was back to the Twin-XL life. It was the weekend before school started, so she knew it would be crazy—no one had work to do, no one was stressed, and everyone was desperate to be back at school and away from their families.

But Maddy wanted her to go, and so she was going.

“You’re going to drink these boys under the table!” Maddy called to her from their bathroom where she was curling her hair. “We’re going to play rage cage, I’ve already decided.”

“I hate rage cage,” Nora lied. She loved it and she knew it. “Abroad changed me!”

A bootie came flying in her direction, and Nora caught it before tossing it back to Maddy. “You’re a shit liar.”

She took another sip of the drink she had mixed, some decent vodka and Fresca, her secret weapon of a mixer. “Who are you going after tonight again?”

Since Nora had left Maddy had decided she was in love with the boys of Delta Sigma. They were mostly the international boys who didn’t seem like they’d be the frat type and were so hot you couldn’t tear your eyes away from them. Also, apparently their parties were insane. “His name’s Liam,” she said, “and he was quite possibly the most gorgeous boy on earth.”

“What’s his instagram again?”

She read out a handle from memory, and Nora typed the handle into her phone as she took another sip. She scrolled through the photos, most of which appeared to be from frat parties, with the occasional more artsy photo of him and friends. They appeared to be on actual film, which was interesting for frat boy. “Is he a photographer?”

“No, why?”

“These photos looked like they’re on actual film," she replied. Nora clicked on one and it’s a photo of him, but she noticed he had tagged someone. Someone with the handle @harry_styles. She clicked on the name and was immediately entranced. Based on his bio, he was their year at school, but she had never heard of the kid before. He also appeared to be British. She scrolled through his photos, all taken on film, and gorgeous. Some were of landscapes, but most were portraits of people doing simple and mundane things. He was incredibly talented. “Some kid named Harry takes them,” Nora told her.

“Oh, I think he was friends with Liam. I’ve seen them before.” Maddy strutted out of the bathroom and striked a pose, perfectly curled hair bouncing behind her head as she shook it. “Like?”

“Love.” Maddy was wearing a snakeskin bodysuit, ripped black jeans, and heeled booties, and she looked incredible as usual. “Now what the fuck am I going to wear?”

“Good lord, you will be the death of me someday, Nora Tate.”

The party was in full swing when they arrive. They weaved their way through the crowds on the front lawn, Maddy jabbering in her ear about how hot this Liam kid is. Nora simply nodded along, thankful for the vodka coursing through her veins, because the amount she did not want to be there was pretty high.

The lights were low and the music was loud when they opened the door, the smell of sweat and cheap beer hitting her immediately. Ah yes, this was why she left America.

“Rage cage," she reminded Maddy, and Maddy squeezed her hand before pulling her deep into the crowd. They  weaved their way through the throngs of people to the kitchen, where they poured themselves drinks, and then Maddy dragged her to the basement.

There were four pong tables set up, three of which currently had games going—all simple games of pong, and a bunch of people loitering around the tables waiting for a turn. “We’re going to have to start the game,” Maddy told her quietly.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared!”

Good lord. “Who do I talk to about starting a game of rage cage?” Nora yelled into the loud room.

Everyone stopped talking and looked in one direction.

Harry was leaning against a table in the back where a computer is set up, most likely controlling the music. “Me,” he yelled in reply, standing up. “Let’s play.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Maddy told her, laughing, “and I love you.”

Harry was fucking gorgeous in person. Like, he was gorgeous on social media, but in person he was effortlessly beautiful. Cropped hair with a wave to it, high cheekbones, and the swagger of someone who truly didn’t give a fuck about what people think of him. She suddenly decided that Maddy was not alone in her love of this fraternity.

A bunch of boys, freshman pledges from the looked of it, finished filling cups with beer and setting up the table. Nora grabbed Maddy’s hand and led her over to the table. She set them up right in the middle, the best place to be, and placed their cups in a safe zone of the table. “Remember, controlled bounces," she reminded Maddy, who was notoriously horrible at this game, “and I’ll help you drink if you need it.”

“My savior,” she replied, and Nora snorts in response.

“Want to start?” She looked up and Harry was standing next to her, holding a ping pong ball out to her. His accent was like butter and she honestly wanted nothing more than to hear it constantly on a loop.

“Sure.”

Some pledge had the other ball and positioned himself across the table from her, and everyone scrunched together around the table. Bodies pressed closer and she tried to ignore the feeling of Harry’s arm flush against hers.

“Good at this game?” Harry asked her, leaning his head over so she could hear him.

“Actually, yes,” she replied.

“Let’s see,” he said, and she thought she caught a wink before she bounced the ball and made her first cup.

Maddy was drunk, despite the fact that Nora had been avoiding giving her a cup the whole game. The problem wasn’t Maddy though, it was the other people at the table. Upon discovering Maddy was a) still quite sober and b) horrible at the game, they took it upon themselves to single her out, sending all their cups her way. Meanwhile, Nora was in her happy drunk phase, one that could be sustained by sipping a drink every hour, but became messy if she went too hard.

Next to her, Harry was flushed and laughing, the alcohol and the game having loosened him up. They kept bumping into each other, their fingers brushing when he passed her the pong ball, and it messed up her breathing every time.

There’s only three cups yet, and she was just praying that Maddy didn’t end up with the bitch cup. But as the ball and the cups worked their way around the table, some pledge drinking one and a girl drinking the other, there was only one left. And the ball was coming straight for them.

“Fuck,” Nora said under her breath.

Harry looked down at her, somehow having heard her. “You good?”

“I just don’t want my friend to have the bitch cup.”

Harry glanced over at Maddy. “looked like it would do her in.” “Harry, pay attention mate!” His head whipped back and the tall stack of cups was right in front of him. He took the ball and Nora watched him, knowing he was going to make a perfect shot in, just like he had all night.

Except he didn’t. He missed.

And he missed again.

“C’mon Harry!” Someone yelled, and her eyes focused on the boy standing before Harry, who was desperately trying to make it into the single cup he has in front of him, but the slick beer-covered surface of the table meant the cup was sliding around and he kept missing.

Harry missed another shot.

And the boy before him made his.

“HARRYYY!!!!!” The table screamed, and everyone started chanting his name as he reached for the bitch cup.

He caught Nora’s eye right before he started chugging the beer, some of it spilling down the front of his barely buttoned shirt.

And it hit her—he missed on purpose.

He was trying to make sure Maddy didn’t have to drink it and instead made sure he drank it.

Harry slammed the empty solo cup down on the table and cheers erupted, a grinning Harry the triumphant loser.

“Another game?” Some kid asked, and everyone agrees, but Nora just shook her head.

“We’re good,” she said, taking her and Maddy’s drinks from earlier.

Harry stepped away from the table. “Same,” he said, and no one questioned that.

“I wanna find Liam,” Maddy said to her as they stepped away from the table.

“Okie doke, Tiger,” she told her, and Maddy giggled in response.

She looked up at Harry who was standing right in front of her, blocking their exit. “Thanks for that," she told him, their eyes catching.

“Anytime,” he replied. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

As if she didn’t already know his name. “Nora.”

“I’m Maddy!” Maddy piped up from behind her. “Now we’re on the hunt for more alcohol and some dancing, so could you scooch out of our way?”

Harry chuckled, and Nora just rolled her eyes. “Have fun,” he said, and she tugged Maddy away from the table.

“he was soooo hot,” Maddy said as they climbed the stairs. “Like literally, could-melt-polar-ice-caps hot.”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

“And you love me for it!” She said, throwing her arm around Nora’s shoulders. “Now let’s find us some dancing.”

Maddy hadn’t been able to capture Liam’s attention despite all of her efforts, but she had captured the attention of another DSig boy, who she was now dancing with in the middle of the dance floor. Nora made her promise to tell her if she was going to leave without her, and with that Nora left her to her own devices.

She wandered outside, seeking fresh air, and sat down on the edge of the deck that extended into the backyard. It was quieter out here, the thud of the bass faint and the cold air welcome on her sweaty skin.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a smooth British accent said to her.

She turned and saw Harry sitting a few feet away from her, leaning back on his hands, a beer next to him. His thin white button-down was unbuttoned low, exposing tattoos littering his torso, and thanks to the porch lights and soft glow of the moon she could see the many rings adorning the fingers of hands and the pendant necklace lying on a butterfly tattoo just on his abdomen. She caught sight of a trace of stubble on his chin and perhaps an earring in his ear.

Nora had never been this entranced by another human being. “Tired of your party?”

“Bloody hate these things after a while.” He took a swig of his beer and sighed. “You said it was Nora, right?”

She nodded. “Without an H.”

He cracked a smile. “Harry, with an H.”

“What would it be, sans an H?”

“Arry.”

“That isn’t a name.”

“Most people call me something that,” he said.

“‘Arry?”

“Yeah.”

“Most people call me Nor," she replied.

“But your name is already so short, why do you need a nickname?” She shrugged in response. Just what people did. “You’re taking the thunder of everyone with names that aren’t nickname-able.”

She leaned back on her hands, copying his pose. “Your name is nickname-able.”

“Try.”

Names rolled over in her head. “I’d probably just said ‘H’.”

He was quiet for a beat. “Never heard that one before.”

“Well, I’m happy that I could introduce it to you.”

They were both quiet for a second, and then she heard the scrape of fabric. Harry had scooted closer to her, his position changed so he was facing her, one leg still dangling off of the porch, the other bent in front of him. “What do you study, Nora without an H?”

“History," she replied without a beat. “Mainly German history.”

“Why?” His tone was genuinely inquisitive, as if this was a completely intriguing fact that he simply must know more about.

“I guess…I’ve always liked stories," she told him, finding her words as they come. “And history is really just a bunch of stories that they can learn from and use to make sense of the world around us.”

He considered her answer. “I like that.”

“And you? What do you study, Harry with an H?”

“Comparative literature,” he replied. “Focusing on Italian.”

“Why?”

He grinned. “I’ve always loved languages and reading, and it just seemed like the right fit. You have a better answers than me for this question.”

“You like comp lit?”

“Love it,” he said immediately.

It was rare to find a fratboy who genuinely enjoys what he studies, so Harry was an outlier. “And you speak Italian, I assume?”

“Sì.”

She knew no Italian, but she gathered that that’s a yes. “How long?”

“Most of my life.” He took another sip of his beer, and someone opened the sliding door behind them, music and voices swirling around them. “My grandparents bought a house in Italy before they had my mum and it’s stayed in the family. I’ve spent all my summers and holidays there.”

“You were there for Christmas, then, I assume?” He nodded. “I’m jealous.”

“Best place on earth.”

“Where in Italy?”

“Lucca. It’s not too far from Florence.” He scooted a hair closer to her as he swung his other leg onto the porch, winding his long legs into a comfortable position. “You ever been?”

“To Italy?” He nodded. “Nope. Didn’t make it there while I was abroad.”

“Shame. Where’d you go?”

“Berlin for the fall semester," she replied, and he perked up. “Traveled a bunch, but stuck to central and northern Europe mainly. Copenhagen, Prague, Luxembourg, Amsterdam, Warsaw, and then around Germany. Spent a week in London during Thanksgiving and my mom met me there.”

He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly, and she watched his bicep flex with the movement. “That sounds incredible. My parents told me being here was my study abroad, so I’m missing out.”

“That’s a shame," she told him. “I needed the break from all this," she waved her hand around them, attempting to capture the absurdity of college and the pressure and the exhaustion in a single motion. “Felt nice to be given the opportunity to slow down a bit.”

“I can imagine.”

Their conversation slowed a bit. The sliding door opened again and a group of girls started talking loudly near them, their discussion circling around some boy they’re all in love with, but they thankfully made their way to the fire pit on the other side of the yard.

“Can I ask you something?”

She turned back and looked at him. “Sure.”

“Why haven’t I seen you before?”

She shrugged at his question. “Dunno. I’ve never been to parties here before. We’ve got different majors. It’s a big school.”

“Not that big.”

“Big enough.”

“Too big if I missed out on meeting you until now.”

Her breath caught. The words fell from his mouth with such ease, such nonchalance, as if his words didn’t shake the ground she stood on.

“Nor!”

She looked up and Maddy was standing in the doorway and she was thankful for the distraction. “You okay?”

“I wanna go homeeee,” Maddy said, her words slightly slurred. “I’m tired.”

“Let’s go home then, babes.” She downed the rest of her beer and then turned to Harry. “See you around, H.”

Before he had the chance to reply, Nora walked inside, the door shutting behind her.

Maddy and Nora spent the rest of the weekend decorating their apartment and analyzing Harry’s sentence to her. Maddy was convinced that he had a crush on her, but Nora begged to differ. Nora thought he was just a poetic guy who had a bit too much to drink. Maddy rolled her eyes at her but let it drop finally and began describing Niall, the adorable Irish boy who she had been dancing with. He was sweet and funny and a good kisser, and didn’t try to get her to come home with him. Just got her number and told her to find Nora so she could go home since she was drunk and tired. (Sometimes, Nora thinks, it’s a bit sad how low the bar was set.) She seemed to have forgotten all about Liam, who she said was just too unattainable that it wasn’t worth trying.

By Monday, Nora was anxious to get into the classroom. After a semester of operating at half intelligence because all her classes were in German, she was excited to be able to actually communicate her full thoughts on a topic. She wanted to write papers and read things that intrigued her.

She'd put a lot of thought into crafting her schedule, leaving time for her shifts at the coffeeshop on campus, while also balancing her schedule between History, German, and Gen Ed requirements. She'd chosen to takes an Urban Studies class for her technology requirements, since it required use of something classed GIS. Maddy was an Urban Studies major, so Nora decided that it was safe to assume she’d help her pass if she needed it.

She chose a safe seat—middle of the room, middle of the row, able to see the screen but not too close that she looked too eager. She unpacked her notebook, already labelled for the class and her pencil bag with her favorite pens. She was ready to be back at school.

She was not ready for Harry Styles to slide into the seat next to her.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, and she just about jumped out of her skin.

“Fucking hell.” The words fell from her mouth without pause. “You scared me.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not," she said, catching her breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Fulfilling a Gen Ed,” he replied. “This seemed interesting and easy enough. You?”

Embarrassingly, the same reason. “Me too.”

He smiled. “Was nice to see a familiar face when I walked in.”

Before she could reply, the lecture started, and her mind tuned out everything else in the room. Their professor went over the syllabus, which seemed decent, and then started in on the first lecture. Nora was quickly engrossed, scribbling notes about different city planning techniques and histories, making notes of things she wanted to look up more on. The professor had a good lecture style—succinct, engaging, and a bit funny. He had some memes throughout his presentation that got the class laughing, and she tried to ignore how Harry’s soft chuckle made her stomach flip.

In fact, she spent the whole class trying to ignore Harry.

She tried to ignore the way he bit his lip while he wrote notes, the wrinkle in his eyebrows when he was trying to understand something, the way he pulled on his lip when he was reading intently. How his handwriting was messy but clear, how he said “fuck” lightly under his breath when he smudged ink, how his leg bounced up and down when he was trying to focus.

But most of all she tried to ignore the fact that he kept glancing over at her.

Because the thing was, Nora was not in the market to have feelings for someone. She didn’t want to have a crush. She wants to have aimless sex with cute boys and go about her life as she wanted. After the fall, she'd decided that boys were confusing and a waste of time.

Jonas. She'd met him at a house party and it had been a fling—they’d hooked up a couple of times, he’d make her tea and breakfast in the morning, they’d drunk text each other, and he’d act like her boyfriend if they were out together. Sometimes the things he’d say and the way he’d look at her would make her wonder if it was more for him. If he cared. But then, before she knew it the semester was over and it was time to go and their didn’t even have a proper goodbye. It was weird and confusing and when she left she didn’t know what to make of it, because if they’d had more time she probably would’ve dated him. And now, sometimes she'd remember the way he’d back her up against a wall and wonder if she'd find someone who would kiss her the way Jonas did.

So when Nora looked at Harry, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would kiss. And that was when she knew that even though she had only known him for two days, she was developing a crush.

And that was the opposite of how she wanted to start her semester.

When class ended, Harry turned to her and said, “Want to go pick up their course books?”

She didn’t have a class next, so she had no excuse. So she just said yes.

“What did you think?” He asked, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder as they exited the lecture hall.

“The professor was great," she replied. “Really engaging and seems like he was not going to be harsh of a grader since it’s an intro class.”

“Yeah definitely. And I liked how he explained all of the different city plans with such detail but also clarity. He seems to know what he was doing.”

They turned to exit onto the campus green, and she pulled her coat a little tighter around her. It was January and she had forgotten how cold it could get in Massachusetts. “Which section do you think you’re going to do?” The professor had mentioned at the end of class that they would have weekly discussion sections with their TAs to go over material and readings, and had listed out the different time options. She was leaning towards Wednesdays at 11, just after their class was over.

“Probably Wednesday at 11,” he replied. “Fits best into my schedule.”

Fuck. “I was thinking of doing the same one," she told him. This was not good. More time around Harry was not going to be good for her.

“Really?” Nora couldn’t help but take joy in the smile that spread across his face. “Thank god. I hate going into those sections and not knowing where to sit.”

They turned into the building with the campus bookstore, and Nora unwound her scarf from around her neck. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that.”

“Do you have other books you need to pick up?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m going to hold off and go after my other classes so I can figure out what I can get at the library first.”

“Good idea.” He pulled out the syllabus from his backpack and studied the instructions their professor had written down for the books their need. “I think they’re over this way,” he said, leading the way to the back corner.

“Spend a lot of time here?” She asked, shocked he knew where to find the books without even asking for help.

“I worked here during freshman and sophomore year,” he replied. “They never change up the organization of this place.” He scanned the shelves with his finger, mumbling the names of the authors they were looking for under his breath. Nora stood behind him and couldn’t help but smile. “Here,” he said, pulling two copies of one out. “Hold them?”

“‘Course.” She took the books and held them in her arms while he continued his search for the second and third titles they need. He quickly tracked them down, snatching them off the shelf and adding them to the pile in her arms. “That it?”

“Yes.” They weaved their way to the front register and she followed Harry, watching how his long brown coat whips around his ankles when he walked.

After they paid, they walked back out to the campus green and stood on the edge of the sidewalk facing each other. “Do you have another class?” He asked her.

She nodded. “Later. Think I’m going to go home and drop these off first, though.” She lifted the stack of books in her arms and he smiled.

“Bit too heavy for you?”

“Shove off," she said, and a smile sneaked onto her face when he chuckled.

“Well, I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

She took a step back and shouldered her bag. “Bye, H.”

“Bye, Nora.”

She tried to ignore the beauty of the way he said her name. But she failed.

~

Maddy and Nora had been in the library for most of Saturday doing their readings for the next week, and by seven o’clock Nora wanted to bash her head into a wall. She kept re-reading the same sentence about the layout of Vienna’s old city and couldn’t process any of the words.

“Maddy," she whispered, poking her in the arm with the cap of her highlighter. “I want to go.”

“Stop poking me, you ass.” Maddy looked up from her readings. “Let’s get out of here—I feel like I smell like library at this point.”

We packed up their stuff quietly, ignoring the death stares from a girl with a problem set spread out on the table in front of her. “It’s like they don’t realize that people naturally make noise when they move," she said, and Maddy snorted, earning them more glares. “Come on, we should go before we’re killed in here.”

She followed Maddy out of the room they were in and made their way down the hall, the sound of Nora’s sneakers squeaking on the tile floor earning us yet more glares from people. It was literally the first week back at school, Nora thought, how are people already so stressed about work?

Maddy suddenly slowed her walk and matched her pace with Nora’s, leaning in close to her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that Harry walking towards us?”

Nora looked up and realize that it was Harry. He was wearing an oversized black sweatshirt and a pair of houndstooth pants that he somehow makes looked both comfortable and stylish, along with a pair of glasses. She simply does not understand this boy’s ability to looked so good constantly. “I cannot talk to him right now," she told Maddy. “I looked like complete shit and he looked like…a Greek god.”

“Shut up. You’re going to talk to him because he was basically beelining over here.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck," she said under her breath.

“Nora.” Harry’s voice was soft because of the library, and she loved the way it sounded. “Maddy, right? I’m Harry.”

Maddy nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Harry’s gaze turned back to her, and she decided then and there that she loves him in glasses. He was not just a Greek god, he was a studious Greek god. Tortoise shell, peak book nerd. “How are you?”

“Good," she replied. “Was just doing the reading for their class.”

He groaned. “I haven’t even started it. How bad is it?”

She shrugged. “A bit dry, but not horrible.”

“Great,” he said. “I have that to look forward to doing. What are you two up to tonight?”

She looked at Maddy, who shrugged. “Unsure at this point.”

“We’re having another party if you want to come.”

“We’ll be there,” Maddy said before Nora had the chance to reply. She shot Maddy a death stare, which Maddy just ignored.

Harry grinned and it was utterly adorable. “I’ve got to keep working, but I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye H.” The nickname fell from her mouth with ease, and he smiled in response.

“Bye Nora.”

He walked away and she turned to Maddy, who was grinning ear to ear. “What?”

Maddy shook her head and gave her a knowing smile. “You’re fucked.”

She looked back to Harry’s receding figure. Maddy was right. Nora was completely fucked.

They had been at the party for an hour and Nora had yet to see Harry. She didn’t know if he was hiding or something, but no matter which room she went into or how hard she looked, she still couldn’t manage to spot him in the crowd. The party was bigger than last weekend as everyone was now on campus, and Maddy and Nora kept running into people they knew, so now they’ve developed a little crew to hang out with. Their friends Taylor and Lauren arrived shortly after Maddy and Nora did, and they brought with them a girl who was in the same sorority as Lauren and was dating a DSig. As a result, they all end up trashed and dancing without much time passing.

Nora threw her arms around Maddy and screamed the lyrics to a Post Malone song, and Nora felt utterly, blissfully happy. She had forgotten about this side of frat parties while she was gone—how happy she was when she was dancing and there was alcohol coursing through her veins. Some girl must have gotten hold of the music, because the song changed to an old Taylor Swift song and the girls lost it, jumping up and down in the crowd and screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs.

“I need a drink!” Nora said when the song was over, her throat hoarse and her hair sticking to the back of her neck. The song switches, and the Maddy screamed—it was her favorite song and she had to be on the dance floor for it. Nora could see the torn look in her best friend’s eyes, and she shook her head. “I’m good—I’ll be back in a second.”

She pushed through the crowd, apologizing as she dug her elbows into people to make a path to the kitchen. She grabbed a beer, needing something cold and not too strong, and leaned against the countertop, letting the cooler air wash over her skin.

“Hello.”

The words tingled down her spine, and she turned her head to see Harry standing in the door jamb. The kitchen had mostly cleared out, so it was just the two of them and a set of girls who looked like freshman trying to decide which mixer was less disgusting with their bad vodka. “Hi, H.”

“Having fun?” He was wearing a black t-shirt and it was tight in all the right places and Nora had to force herself to not consider what it would be like to take it off of him.

She nodded. “Couldn’t find you, though.” The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them and Nora wanted to shrink into the counter. She sounded desperate and psychotic—she had barely known this boy and now she was complaining about now being able to find him?

But Harry just smiled. “I was upstairs,” he explained. “Was trying to finish a bit of work before I started drinking.”

If he was doing work here, Nora assumed he lived in the house. “You live here?”

“Unfortunately.” He moved towards her, grabbing a beer from the fridge next to her, and Nora caught a flash of light blue on his fingers. Harry painted his nails, she realized.

This fraternity boy painted his goddamned nails light blue.

Who was this boy?

What planet was he from?

And more importantly, where had he been all of her life?

“I like your nails,” she said. “What color is that?”

He glanced down at them. “Dunno. Stole it from my sister over winter break. I can check and text it to you later, though.”

“I’d like that.” Nora took another sip of her beer, the cold drink feeling good in her body. “Where are all your friends?”

Harry shrugged. Nora got the sense that he didn’t really care about all the fraternity stuff and she liked that. Frat boys had always annoyed with their “bro energy” as Maddy called it and she’d met some real assholes during her time in college. Harry seemed like an outlier though. “You want to dance?” He asked her, breaking her out of her trance.

She straightened up. “Sure.” She tried not to think about the fact that she cannot, for the life of her, dance sexily. Maddy had made fun of her for it since freshman year, and despite her efforts Nora had not been able to master the art of looking hot and dancing. She was more of a whip-your-arms-around-and-scream dancer.

When they reached the crowded living room, Harry grabbed her hand and Nora loved his callused hand in her hers, the way he held it tightly so he didn’t lose her in the crowd. He didn’t go too deep into the crowd, wanting to make sure they had space to breathe and it was not too hot. When he stopped moving he tried to create space for them, wanting to make sure they could actually move, not just stand there like idiots and battle for oxygen on the dance floor. Nora took a long swig of her beer, and then she started to sway her hips, deciding to throw caution to the wind.

She liked this boy. She had a massive crush on Harry and his soft words and the way he called her by her full name and smiled at her. She had a crush on the way he was dancing—awkwardly and with a goofy grin on his face, screaming the lyrics to the Top 40s hit along with her. She liked that he didn’t seem to care what people thought of him, that he painted his nails baby blue and knew how to dress himself. She even liked his tattoos, which she usually secretly judged people for, but on Harry they fit him. She wanted to trace the outlines of them and ask him about the stories behind them, to know everything about him. She liked that he took the hit during rage cage for Maddy. She liked that when they were dancing he gives her a thumbs up to check in and make sure she was doing okay.

She really liked him, she realized as she dances with him. She wanted to impress him, but not in a way that’s uncomfortable—more in a way where she just wanted him to see the best parts of her. But she also wanted him to know her, she realized. She wanted him to know things about her and like being around her as much as she did. Because he put her on edge, but not because he made her uncomfortable, but because of how much she liked him. She wanted to know him, even if it was just to be friends, because he seemed interesting. She felt like he has layers to him, and every time she snatches another piece of information she only has more questions.

Even if they were just friends, Nora wanted to know him, she decided.

So she decided, fuck it all, and danced like she didn’t have a care in the world, because she wanted him to see the real her. She wanted him to see her awkward dancing and to accidentally hit him in the face with her hair so that he knew her and could bail if he didn’t like her. She wanted to give him and out and see if he took it.

And he didn’t.

They dance for what feels like forever, their beers long gone. He grabbed her hand at one point when people were becoming pushy and pulled her closer to him, their sweaty bodies touching each other practically every time they move. They sang their favorite songs, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I fucking love this song,” when Mamma Mia came on, and Nora decided that it’s the cutest thing she had ever found out about someone. She told him about her obsession with Drake when In My Feelings comes on, and he admitted that he listened to this song on repeat for three hours one time. They had these snippets of conversation on the dance floor, their faces close and voices loud enough to be heard over the music.

SexyBack came on and they both devolve into seventh graders, obsessed with this song and not really caring about the meaning. Nora danced, throwing her hands up and dropping her hips lower than she had before.

And then someone slammed into her back, throwing her straight into Harry’s chest.

The feeling of him close to her set her skin on fire.

She had kept just enough distance during the evening to make sure they weren’t this close, but it had not taken much for them to be fully flush against each other. And now they were and Nora could feel everything. One of her hands was on his pecs and she could feel the smooth muscle across his chest, and the other hand landed on his side, the palm of her hand on his abs and she felt the outline of abs there. Her fingers dug into his skin, grappling for balance as she tried to find her footing.

Harry’s hands immediately found her waist, holding her steady. His fingers felt like they were searing on her lower back, the contact sending Nora into outer space. And she didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or from him, but either way her head was spinning a bit.

“You okay?” He asked, his accent smooth as butter in her ear. His lips were close enough that they brush softly against her hair and the edge of her ear. Nora was trying not to hyperventilate, but also maintain her footing, and not press all of her weight onto Harry.

She was about to answer that yes, she was fine, so sorry, when someone bumped into her again, pushing her back into Harry. He stumbles this time and wrapped his arms around Nora fully to try and keep them both upright. He was essentially hugging her at this point and Nora thought her heart might have stopped the second she felt him tug her close to him.

“Someone’s really trying to push you over, aren’t they?” He said with a chuckle into your ear.

“I’m so sorry,” Nora apologized, finding her footing and straightening. She didn’t push away from Harry though, and he didn’t let go of her. “I didn’t mean to fall onto you—or into you, I guess?”

He shook his head. “No matter. You okay, love?”

Love. The word reverberated through Nora’s head and she tried to keep her wits about her. She knew she was feeling mushy tonight—all these thoughts of Harry and how adorable he was and sweet and kind had got her melting for him, but maybe that was the alcohol? She couldn’t keep it straight. And when he called her love, all of the efforts to keep it together just fall apart.

“I’m okay,” she answered softly. “Are you?” She looked up and into his eyes, and even though the room was dark, she could still make out his eyes in the strobing lights, the flashes of his beautiful hair and his high cheekbones. She could see his eyes meet hers and Nora felt this pull in her chest to kiss him. He didn’t break eye contact with her and Nora was just searching his eyes, begging for an answer, an explanation, some hint to tell her what to do and what he bloody wanted.

Because she knew what she wanted. She wanted to kiss him.

“‘M fine.” His voice was like sandpaper and she wondered if his mouth was as dry as hers was. He hadn’t moved his hands from her back, only loosened them slightly so he was not holding her quite so close.

She inched her fingers upwards, one landing on his shoulder, the other on his elbow. Nora wondered if she was imagining the way his breathing had quickened. Did she kiss him? She wanted to. She wanted to kiss him so bad. She wanted to know what his lips feel like on hers, if they were as soft as they felt when they bushed her ear. She wanted to know what he tasted like and how he would kiss her. Did she just do it? She searched his eyes one last time, the seconds stretching into what feels like hours. “Can I kiss you?”

He blinked.

Nora held her breath.

Then, his lips were on hers and suddenly Nora knew exactly what his lips feel like on hers. They were soft like velvet and he smelled like heaven.

He kissed her like it was his last breath, desperate to know if she breathed the same air as him. Deep and wanting, the intensity building with every press of his lips to hers. It was urgent, yet soft—he didn’t lick into her mouth, just stays on her lips. And man, can the boy kiss.

Her hand moved from his shoulder to his neck and wound through the hair there, a breathless moan leaving his mouth, and she wondered if he liked it when she pulled his hair.

So when he finally did lick his tongue against the seam of her lips and she widened them, she pulled, ever so softly.

And he moaned deeply, his grip on her waist tightening.

Nora wanted to kiss him for the rest of time.

Her other hand moved from his elbow to his back, fingers finding the material of his shirt and pulling him closer to her. Her fingers curled into the cotton, the sweat from them dancing on her palm but she didn’t care because she wanted him closer. She could feel every inch of his body flush with hers and she loved it—the way he felt against her, the way her skin was lit on fire, the way she wanted to drink purely Harry until the end of time.

“Nora,” he said, pulling back, allowing both of them to catch their breath, “do you want to come upstairs?”

She hesitated. It’s not that she didn’t want to—she’d love to fuck this boy until the dawn of time—but she had no idea where her friends were, and she would rather not let them think she’d been kidnapped. And if she thought about it, she knew she probably shouldn’t. She barely knew Harry and she had class twice a week with him, and most likely a discussion section on top of it. If it didn’t work out, she had to see him constantly for the rest of the semester, which was not ideal.

His finger raised her chin slightly so she had to look into his eyes. “I’m not trying to get you to sleep with me, by the way. I just want to get out of this fuckin’ sweaty crowd so I can kiss you properly and not worry if I’m going to be kicked in the back. And if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine too. I’ll stay here if you’d rather that. Or we don’t have to kiss at all—I don’t want you to do anything you have to.” He was rambling, unsure of his standing. Her hesitation had thrown him for a loop and Harry wasn’t sure if she even wanted to kiss him at all anymore. Was she into it? He thought she was from the way she pulled him towards her, but from the hesitation he wasn’t sure and he wanted to be sure.

“No, it’s not that,” she said, and his fears were immediately pushed aside. “I just want to let my friends know where I am first.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Where are they?”

Nora looked around the crowd, but couldn’t catch sight of them anywhere. “When I left they were here. Lemme try texting them.” She pulled out her phone and found a string of texts from the group chat with Maddy, Taylor and Lauren discussing the fact that she was making out with Harry Styles and that they were fine and to do whatever she wanted, that they’d find her when they were going to go and check in. Truly the best friends of all time. She quickly texted them that she was going upstairs to Harry’s room and then she looked back up at him, his lips quirked in a smile. Nora wondered if he saw the texts, but then decided there’s no reason to freak out—he was making out with her, after all. “Upstairs?”

“Upstairs.” His fingers wound through hers and he led the way out of the crowd, dodging groups of frantic dancers and couples making out just as they had been. He navigated the crowd with ease, his tall frame putting him a head above most other people, and Nora just held onto his hand and let him lead her out of the crowd and up the stairs.

It was quieter on the second floor, a row of doors to bedrooms shut and soft music drifting out of some, the loud thud of the bass from the main floor less intense. Nora stayed close to Harry, her body magnetic to his. He led her down the hall, telling her who lives in all the other rooms, pointing to the bathroom as they passed it, just in case she needed it. Then, they were standing outside a room with his name on the door and he turned to her.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” He asked her, searching for confirmation, which he found when Nora nodded.

He pushed open the door, a soft light from his bedside table lamp illuminating bits of the room. Nora saw posters of bands, a minimalist map of Milan, and stacks upon stacks of books lining the walls. She stepped inside and he shut the door behind her, and she continued to investigate the room, taking stock of the various pieces of information she could collect from its decoration. A guitar leaned against the wall, sheets of paper next to it with scribblings on them—he was a musician—and a basket of cleanly folded laundry lies in the corner so she knew he was clean and tidy. He had photos of his family on his dresser, which warmed her heart, and a stereo in the corner with a stack of records next to it.

“What do you think?”

She turned to him. He was leaning against his door, a look of curiosity and a hint of fear on his face. They were still learning about each other, and he had exposed a huge part of who he is to her by letting her in here. “I think you like music and books.”

Harry just laughed. “Well, you’re right about that.”

He didn’t move from the door, so Nora decided to take the lead. She wanted to kiss this boy again, not have a conversation about his favorite book he read or the musician that transformed his understanding of music. She sat on the edge of his bed, leaned back on her hands, and gave Harry a look that screamed, “Come.”

And he does, a quirk in his brow. He stood between her widened legs, brushed a thumb across her jawline, and then leand down to reconnect their lips. Nora softened immediately, her hands begging for purchase on his skin, and pulled him towards her. Harry kicked off his boots and then gently pushed Nora up on the bed, following her, the desire written all over his face. He was about to lean down to kiss her again when Nora said, “Wait. Shirt?”

He pulled it over his head without a second thought, and Nora relished in the sight of his tattoos. The butterfly on his abdomen she’d seen before, the swallows on his pecs, the ship on his arm that she hadn’t. The small musings up and down his arms that she would look closer at later, she decided. In the mean time, she pulled him in by his neck and he collapsed into her, his weight a welcome feeling against her body. Nora widened her knees and hooked her ankles around him, resting them on his lower back. The pressure pushed him closer to her core and she gasped at the feeling—she couldn’t help it. He was big. Bigger than she expected.

Harry stopped his assault on her neck and looked up at her. “This okay?”

“God yes,” she replied. “Keep going.”

He smiled, and returned his lips to her neck, pulling and prodding at her skin with his lips and his teeth, sucking what would be a hickey later onto the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Usually Nora despised hickeys, but she couldn’t find the reason to care right now. Her hands scrabbled at his skin, trying to find purchase, the feeling of him grinding slowly into her and his lips on her neck almost too much.

“Harry,” she said, gasping for air as he tugged at the neck of her shirt to gain more access, “roll over.”

She unhooked her ankles and he rolled, pliant to her words. She straddled him immediately, loving the view of Harry Styles spread out beneath her. His hair was tousled from her fingers, lips swollen from her kisses, chest rising fast from her. She felt him beneath where she sat on his abdomen and it made her smile. Then, she pulled her shirt off and she watched him look at her.

Nora hadn’t always loved her body. She remembered the first time she ever took off her shirt, the boy looking at her didn’t know what to say or do with her breasts, and she hated it. She wondered if they were too big—girls in films have breasts, but never ones that were like hers. The size that hurt when she ran and gave her back aches. The size her friends didn’t really understand—the size Nora hated as a teenager. But in the past two years she decided to stop giving a fuck. She thought she was beautiful and she was done letting what other people think of her change that. And when she let Harry look at her, she was wondering what he was thinking. Did he think she was as beautiful as she does?

And then he told her. “Good lord,” he said, voice hoarse, “you’re gorgeous.” He leaned up and kissed her cleavage that’s exposed, Nora’s fingers finding a home in his curls.

“Fuck, H,” she whined at the feeling of his lips on her tender skin. She bent down and captures his lips with her own, pressing him back onto his back, loving their bare skin on one another. They were battling for both air and dominance, and when Nora’s lips started traveling down his neck and onto his chest, Harry thought he stopped breathing for a second. She sucks a hickey on his pec, right above the swallow, and then blew on it and he practically shivered from the sensitivity.

He could feel her traveling southward and even though he wanted her to suck him off—good lord did he want her too—he stopped her. He tugged her up, reattaching their lips, a “C’mere,” whispered between them. He wanted to kiss her for longer, he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. And also, quite honestly, if she kept occasionally rolling her hips like she was doing he might come from that alone. She was gorgeous, yes in the way she looked, but also the confidence she exuded and the way she told him what she wantd and the way she was tracing up and down his arms and sides with her fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He was fucked, because this girl had managed to turn him into putty after knowing him for just one week.

And then she started really moving her hips back and forth. Nora knew what it wa doing to him and she loved it—loved the knowledge that she was the one making him feel this way and she wanted to see how far it would go, how far she could take it. So as she kissed him, their lips moving in sync, she rolled her hips on his, grinding down every once and a while, drinking up every breathless moan leaving Harry’s lips, savoring each grunt, and when he let out a low, “Nora, please, fuck,” she knew she had him in her hand.

She smiled against his mouth and turned her head, leaning down to his ear, and whispered, “Tell me what you want, H.” He grunted and she rolled her hips again, the seam of his jeans rubbing against her clit in a way that sent shivers down her spine. “What do you want?” She asked, her voice low and dripping with desire.

“You,” he said finally. “Fuck, Nora, I want you.”

Nora kisses his cheek and then makes her way down his chest, making a path right to his dick. Harry had given up any contemplation of waiting, he couldn’t wait anymore. He wanted her so bad it genuinely physically hurt. He needed to come and he needed to come now. Nora popped the button on his jeans and Harry lifted his hips to let her pull them down.

Then, a series of knocks came from the door.

Nora’s head whipped up and so did Harry’s. No one knocked on his door usually. They knew he was private, that he didn’t like people in his space unless he invited them.

“Nora?” Maddy’s voice could be heard over the dull throbbing of the bass from downstairs, and Nora let out a sigh. “We’re heading out babes.”

Nora looked between Harry and the door. “Give me one second,” she called back to Maddy, her eyes not leaving Harry. “I’m going to go,” she told him. She had shit to do tomorrow. But also, she wanted to make sure she was not making a mistake by hooking up with Harry, since she was going to be seeing him all the time for the rest of the semester. She wanted to think about this, because she wasn’t expecting this to happen and needed to take a moment to consider the repercussions of her actions. She barely knew Harry—what would he do if they fuck? Would he ignore her for the rest of the semester? He might be nice, but he was still a fratboy, and Nora had enough experience in that department to know the norm wasn’t to bring a girl flowers after.

“Everything okay?” He asked, sitting up as she snatched her shirt from the other side of the bed where had she discarded it.

She nodded. “I just need a second to…think.”

Harry considered this. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he is—that they have class together for the rest of the semester and it was probably not the best idea to fuck your classmate the first weekend of the semester. “Okay,” he replied. “No worries. I’ll, uh, see you in class, I guess?”

Nora was tugging on her booties and she looked at him with a small smile on her face. “Bright and early Monday morning.”

Harry got up, rebuttoning his pants. As Nora was about to open the door, he grabbed her wrist, acting on pure instinct, and pressed a kiss against her lips. It was softer than the ones before, a simple kiss that was a goodbye, but also a question. A question begging, “What’s next?” Nora broke the kiss, and with a touch to the hickey left behind above the swallow, she was out the door and gone.

Harry stumbled to his bed, his body hitting the mattress with a sigh.

He was so, so royally fucked.

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i hope you guys enjoyed this! this is my first fic and i’m super excited about her. :) let me know what you think of my lil frat boy harry. there is more coming soon. xoxo

ask me about fratboy!harry here | masterlist here

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Hurt' : New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Hurt"

Chapter Summary : Nine days after the first operation within Park's team, Yirina had an memory that could help them.....

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +3300

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May 5th. It's been nine days that followed after I got teamed up with Park and her friends and the first mission we all did together and to be frankly, these nine days were more better than my days back in that old CIA safehouse from 3 years ago and this year too. I was feeling welcomed by Garrett & Greta and they officially greeted me as an official member of their group after the first mission we had. I can say that it was making me so good inside of me to not be seen just as an tool or something but as an real human being.

During these nines days, we have been tracking the three Stone contacts who became our targets after we discover their names in the West-Berlin warehouse. The first one was located in West Germany in Stuttgart and we got him two days after our first operation, the second one was living in Paris and like the other one, it took two days to have him brought down by us and for the third one, he was located in Milan but for him, we had to spent 3 days to neutralize him because he was so paranoid & too suspicious and even with that, we got him too. We didn't spent too much time in West-Berlin, travelling between temporary safehouses around the continent and it was sometimes better.

All this time, I didn't think too much of calling Freya again as I was more focused on our mission to neutralize Stone's contacts around Western Europe. I talked more about this to Park and I decided that the next time I'm doing it, she should be next to me as an moral support and for her to know about me. About my memories, it was rather small ones : having just talk with Zasha, Dedov or Portnova but nothing too big....nothing that could help me to know if I helped Zasha escape.

The eighth day, we came back to West-Berlin all exhausted to have nearly work non-stop during these longs days against the guy in Milan and the first thing I did when we arrived at the safehouse was to go to our bedroom jump straight right into the bed with Park, making us sleep in no-time, in each other's arms, just wanting to have some peace.

Tapping the wheel with my fingers of the car I was did only add some stress in me as I was looking outside, raining like hell in the streets of West-Berlin during the night. It was just me in that car, parked near an apartment into the center of the city, with my bag on the front passenger seat and a paper that gave me indications and the name of the place I needed to go called 'Die Höhle'.

I took a look at the piece of paper in my hands, removing my hand from the steering wheel to grab my bag, still looking nervous before I put the piece of paper in my jacket, put my hood on and then get out of the car under the heavy rain to walk inside the place I needed to be. It was very modest for an place like this. I got up the stairs as the apartment I needed to go was at the first floor.

When I arrived at the front door of the apartment, I was nearly hesitant to knock but I couldn't back down now : I need to save Zasha from that prison....from Perseus himself. So, I knocked two times, making a sort of signal code until I heard someone coming next to the door.

"Who is this ?" It was the voice of a man, sounding tought and young at the same time.

"It's Grigoriev." I replied, sniffing and looking at the door optical peephole, knowing that the guy was watching me through it.

"Ah...the Winter Soldier." He was sounding relieved to see me.....and me almost angry with that nickname before he open the door. "Come in." He added, removing himself from the way, allowing me to enter the apartment that was more looking as an military outpost than a simple apartment : there were guns on the wall, on some tables.....a big armory, I can say.

"Grigoriev herself !" I was greeted by another man sit on the couch of the living room of the place, looking at me as he had his eyes put on a sort of dashboard on the wall. "Never thought that Perseus will send you here." He then offered his hand but I literally refused to shook hands with him. "Well, it's looks like you're not very amical.....I'm Dietrich by the way."

"Good for you !" I scoffed, putting my bag on a free table before I looked at the 'dashboard' discovering Zed's picture on it, along with pictures of the Spandau Prison too. "So, what's the plan ?" I directly asked.

"Hans, tell her !" Dietrich ordered to the other guy who started to walk near the 'dashboard'.

"Krypto is actually detained in the....."

"Their name is Zasha !" I exclaimed sounding angry, cutting Hans straight, putting my hands on my waist before I could see both sniffing at me.

"Continue, Hans." Dietrich spoke up, looking at him.

"As I said, they are actually awaiting to be interrogated in the Spandau Prison and our mission is to get them out of here." Hans went on, explaining to me the mission....not the plan.

"And about the plan ?" I asked again.

"Me & you...." Dietrich pointed at me & him. "We're going to pose as MI6 agents that will transfer them somewhere else, one of the guards will help us in the mission."

"This month, it's British guards keeping the prison so it's better to pose as MI6." Hans continued the statement as I know that each month, the Four Powers is each one, keeping the prisoners in the place each month.

"And once we got Zasha back ?" I questioned them, sounding worried

"Why you're asking, Grigoriev ?" Dietrich called me out, surprised of me. "We got them somewhere discreet in the city and then....Bang !" He mimicked an gunshot with his fingers....In me, hell was going to be unleashed on these guys, they never wanted Zasha alive out of the city but out of the picture. "That bastard, as I heard, want to talk to the MI6." He added as I looked away for just an second, angered inside.

"I will stay here during the entirety of the operation." Hans explained. "Once you're finished, you came back to me."

"Guess it will be for tomorrow ?" I told them and they both nodded.

"You can install yourself here in one of the free bedroom...tomorrow, we're going for an hunt to get this rat killed !" He said, almost laughing as I walked to get to a bedroom that Hans showed to me, following him until he left me alone inside that bedroom.

"Fuckers...." I whispered alone to myself in the bedroom before I got myself into bed, looking at the ceilling of the room, angered...in rage....ready to explode....

"I'm going to save you, Zed....and kill those fucking monsters !"

When I woke up the next morning in the bed, I could feel a big pain inside my chest, thinking about that memory I just had back : Perseus never wanted to have Zasha back, he wanted that we helped them escape before killing them in a safe place and I'm sure as hell that I didn't do it, I saved them and it was the only thing I had to do this day. I killed those fuckers and I saved Zasha, it's the only thing I could think right now. But also, I was thinking that I just exactly remember the exact location of a Perseus safehouse in the city.

I quickly dressed up after taking a quick shower before I decided to go downstairs to join the others in the living room. During my way down, I took some deep breaths to calm myself down, still shocked of that memory and once it was good, I finally stepped out from the stairs to get into the living room.

"Yes, thanks you for the intel, Song !" It was Garrett's voice as he was speaking with a satellite phone to Song, standing up behind an couch, he was alone in the living room for the moment....Song was a South Korean woman who was working with Woods's team and as I heard, we maybe have something good. It was the first time in days their team called us to give us something.

"Happy hunting, Donnie." It was the voice of Song before she hanged up the phone with him....blushing from that.

"Love you, Song." He added before their line went shut and as I stepped inside the living room.

"Donnie ?" I exclaimed, surprised to hear that for the first time before they looked back at me, also surprised to see me there. "Must be someone very close to you." I added before I sit on the couch with him still blushing.

"Yeah, very close." He said, almost embarrased as he scratched the back of his head. "Let's just that me & her....well....she's my fiance." He revealed to me and I was happy for him as he showed a ring he had on his left finger that I never saw.

"Wait, what did I hear ?" It was Park who came out from the kitchen, shocked about hearing this from Garrett himself, holding two cups of coffee, she wasn't aware of it.

"Uhm...yes, Park. I have an fiance." He affirmed to her, still looking surprised as she stepped in the living room. "It's been 4 months from now on."

"And you never told me ?" She told him, fainting an incomprehension. "I thought we were friends !" She snorted.

"I was going to tell you by the way." He sit on the couch before Park smile at him, happy for him.

"It's good news, I'm happy for you." She admitted before she walked next to me with her cups of coffee, handing one to me. "By the way, hi Yiri." I smiled as I took my cup in hands and she sit next to me.

"Where's Greta ?" I asked, looking around before taking a sip.

"Greta is in town to meet with her superiors and help some agents as her side project, should be coming back in the afternoon." He responded to me, taking his own cup in hands too. I know that Greta need sometimes to meet with her bosses as I was explained too....Her seduction towards me stopped the first day we arrived in Milan after Park make some heavy signs that me & her were an thing without explaining it clearly. "Everyone got an good sleep ?" He questioned us.

"Yeah.." I breathed in a low voice, my cup near to my mouth as I looked to Park. "Got an memory back..."

"Really ? What did you see ?" She wanted to know more like everytime and apparently, Garrett wasn't so troubled by that as he surely know about who I am and what I suffered.

"I...I had to go to West-Berlin to help my friend Zasha escape the Spandau Prison." I answered, still in a low voice, thinking about what that Dietrich said. "Perseus wanted to have them killed."

"Shit." Park whispered, putting her free hand behind my back. "Do you know what happened next ?" I shook my head.

"Wait, you said the Spandau Prison, right ?" Garrett spoke up, sounding confused at hearing me talk about that prison so I nodded to him. "Damnit, Park, you don't remember ? Our superior at that time tasked us to go interrogate a cryptographer in that prison."

"Yeah, I remember." She exclaimed, looking at him with wide eyes as if she had an realization in her head. "I remember that when we got in the prison, we wanted to talk to them until the guards told us that there were already MI6 agents that talked to them."

"It was me." I looked down for an second, breathing about talking about it.....Park was there with Garrett the day I helped Zasha escape. "I was there that day....we were at the same place."

"Listen, I can ask for the MI6 report of the event that day." She said to me with an grin, her hand on my back. "To say that....we could have met before all of this."

"I don't know." I  told her, half grinning wondering of what would have happened if I crossed path with Park that same day. "Anyway, there's something else."

"Something else ?" Park repeated.

"I know exactly a location of a Perseus safehouse in the city, they called it...."

"Die Höhle" Garrett was the one to cut me straight, apparently knowing it in advance....did I speak too loud in my memory or he can see through my head ?....I looked at him with wide eyes after that. "That's why Song called us, they found that intel in their previous mission in Kazaksthan." He explained as we, with Park, looked at him curiously. "Center of the city, I presume ?" I nodded.

"Well, something that could help after we got nothing from the last guy." Park admitted, referring to the fact that the guy in Milan didn't speak or had something big against Stone. "We can pay that place a visit today."

"Yeah, good idea." I expressed, looking at her with an big smile before I looked at Garrett. "You're really a genius...Donnie." I laughed about it, Park doing the same as he was blushing from it.

"Whatever." He said, rolling his eyes as he got up from his couch. "Enjoy the free time before this afternoon." He scoffed before he left the room, leaving me & Park, having breakfast with a new mission in line.

After that revelation and finishing our breakfast, we spend the end of the morning to search some informations about the place in the archive room to see if this place was already suspected to hide Perseus agent and as I can see, a BND file told us that this place was on their watchlist for some years until they removed it from that list one year ago but even with that, we needed to know if the place was still used and if we will have something against Stone in it.

We ate at noon, looking at the dashboard full of all the intels we got during those nine days before we decided at the beginning of the afternoon to plan our moves to the place : we are just going to make an little raid on that place, using only our pistols as the apartment was in the center of the city and look for intels before leaving the place, taking everything we need to take.

We wanted to wait for Greta to come back from the operation but it was better for us to go directly to the apartment instead of staying at the safehouse as she didn't told to Garrett at the exact time she could come back here. During the way at this Perseus hideout, I was quite nervous to return back to this place, hoping that I will not going to make a crisis in it if there are something bad for me.

I took a deep breath as Garrett parked the car behind the apartment complex in an alley in case we got an problem to get away from here. We got out of the car and enter the same hallway I remember from the back.

"Ok, let's do it." Garrett started, getting his pistol in hand as he took the lead, getting up the stairs, following him.

"Hope that Perseus didn't abandon this place." I breathed as I arrived with Park behind me in the first floor, walking to the door I remember to have knock. "Wait, let me do something."  I suggested to Garrett, wanting me to try to use the knock signal I have used to get in in my memory. I knocked like I did but there were no responses or people moving inside.

"So, we force open the door..." Park whispered as I moved away to let Garrett get in front of it.

"Well, be prepared !" He took a breath and then with his right feet, he force open the locked door of the apartment, quickly aiming inside for any surprise but no bullet coming towards. "Nobody in here." He exclaimed as he enter the apartment with us....this place wasn't even abandoned but no one was here.

"This place is like an fucking armory." Park affirmed, discovering the guns on a table in the living room. I entered the living room...still hearing myself talking with Hans & that Dietrich on that couch as I aimed towards it. "So, Perseus is still using the place." She added, looking in the direction of the entrance, checking if no one was coming.

"Let's see if there's something in those files." I exclaimed, looking at 2 files disposed on a small table near the couch of the room. I took a first file discovering the records of a man called 'Sebastian Vargas'. "Someone know a Sebastian Vargas ?" I asked to both of them

"Shit, big name." Garrett was the one to reply as he was looking at a window, overlooking the alley where our car was. "Fucker from the M-19, working with Perseus since a long time, I can tell you more once we got back."

"Well, that's maybe a lead to....." I put his file to the side before I froze myself in place, discovering the last files that was under Vargas's records....a name that I never thought to have seen again...."Greenlight." I whispered loudly. "Park !"

"Yes ?" She looked at me, curious and worried by my voice.

"Greenlight....is here...deactivated but...Stone....has stolen two warheads from its arsenal." I responded, looking at the file about it, my blood almost getting frozen as I thought that it was done about Greenlight.

"You got to be shitting me." She said to her as she walked next to me, to take a look at the file I was holding, trembling. "Hudson told me that it was done, finished after Solovetsky !" She was sounding in rage against him. "Son of a bitch !" She cursed loudly, almost throwing the file away.

"I'm taking the files and we're out of here !" I affirmed as I took the files under my jacket before getting up after I had to sit to take a look to those.

"I'm going to check....." Park started to said before she was cut by someone hidden in the kitchen, assaulting her directly....we stayed focused on the living room but not everywhere in the apartment. "Aaaahhh..." I could hear scream painly as the man who attacked threw to her very hot water from an pan on her left arm before she fall on the ground, holding her arm in pain, almost crying as Garrett moved quickly to get this guy out.

"Take that, you sucker !" Garrett yelled as he striked the man with the back of his gun, knocking him instantly and getting the hot pan out of his hands as for me, I moved quickly to get to Park.

"Park !" I redressed her as she was almost crying in pain from her arm. "Don't worry, I'm here."

"My....arm....burning." She breathed, looking at the part of her arm all red from the burning before looking at me with tears in her eyes. "Please."

"Don't worry, we're out of here !" I told her as I moved to get her right arm behind my neck, holding her to get her up. "Garrett, you're okay ?"

"Yeah." He started to reply. "Gonna take this guy with us too." He then moved to get the unconscious guy on his shoulders. "We're going to know more with him in case, let's get out of here before the cops showed up." He added as he was the first one to leave the apartment, with the guy on his shoulders, armed as I slowly followed with Park in pain, having troubles to walk normally.

"It's okay, Park. I got you !" I affirmed to her as we walked out of the apartment, still holding her and making her sure that she was okay, not wanting anyone to hurt her too much....

"Stay strong, Park....I need you and you know that !"