#better be fucking done these next two months better see a stark improvement

[cerbreus]

Starting to feel like I have been beset by a white woman etsy curse based on how this year has been for me.

[juniorgman187]

Serpent of Eden (Reid Series - Part 3)

~ Reader’s one-night-stand with Spencer turns into a year long semester ~

Summary: After a month of smooth sailing, Reader and Spencer finally cross paths on campus and spoiler alert - it’s not pretty. Couple: Fem!Reader x Professor Spencer Reid Category: Angst, Fluff, (eventual) Smut, Series Word Count: 1.7 (ik i promised no small chapters but this ones slightly more spicy and its in preparation for better, longer chapters) Content Warning: Age-gap, teacher student relationship A/N: POV switches from Reader to Spencer indicated by “_ _ _”

PART 2 HERE!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

It was easy to maintain a romantic relationship and to believe that everything was alright when we never had to see each other at school.

What’s harder was being in a professional setting and forcing ourselves to confront the reality that what we were doing was wrong. 

Just plain wrong.

We must’ve lucked out in the first few weeks of our relationship because it was smooth sailing for the entire first month. We’d even gotten into a routine - found our groove, if you will. 

Most often, we would meet at a place far from Hollis, where we knew we wouldn’t run into anyone who would recognize us. There we could just be (y/n) and Spencer; and there I would get lost in the good times and the bliss of the moment to the point of forgetting that we weren’t just (y/n) and Spencer - we were student and teacher, too. Other times, I’d come over to his apartment, but given my living situation, he had never come over to mine. 

It was somewhere around our one-month anniversary when our luck ran out. 

Holly had come into the room while I was finishing (or at least attempting to finish) reading a court case. 

“Are you going to the Promotional FBI Seminar?” She slid a large pamphlet on my desk, never minding the fact that she’d just haphazardly thrown the pamphlet in the spot where my book lied, causing me to lose my place on the page. Though I didn’t outwardly display my frustration, my agitation did grow beneath the surface. 

“What’s that?” I asked her, not out of sincere curiosity, but more so because I wasn’t even really listening to what she’d said before, and I’d pushed the pamphlet out of the way before I even read it. 

“A couple guys from the FBI are coming to talk to us about the job, like all the requirements to be hired, how much it pays - stuff like that.” 

Holly’s voice didn’t make for great background noise, especially when she started rambling while I tried to continue reading. 

“Are you going?” I asked. Again, this wasn’t a sincere question, just a way to make it seem like I was listening. 

“Yeah, and I really want you to come with me. I think you’d like it. You’re really into crime stuff, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, yeah…” I said in a daze, obviously distracted by my other priorities.

“So you’ll come?”

I should note that I faintly recognized the name and premise of the seminar, but I couldn’t quite place where I remembered it from, and I was far too preoccupied to pay any further attention to the topic, so it slipped out of my mind almost as fast as it entered it. 

It was this moment here where Spencer’s eidetic memory would’ve come in handy. 

You see, the reason I weakly recalled the seminar was because just three days ago, Spencer had told me he was going to be a guest speaker for it. But again - I didn’t remember that, and so without any recollection of this information, I told Holly I’d go just so she’d stop bothering me about it. 

Unbeknownst to me, I’d just agreed to attending my own personal hell. 

I woke the next morning to Holly violently shaking me. 

“(Y/n), we gotta go! We’re so fucking late!”

Still half-asleep, I mumbled, “Huh?”

“The seminar started at 9:42 and it’s 10:36 right now.” 

This was enough to jolt me awake and get me out of bed.

There was just something about the pressure of being late that forced me into a mode where I could get ready in an ungodly short amount of time. I could never get ready that fast unless I was late for something, which makes no sense. 

Holly and I ran from our dorm, through the courtyard, and into the classroom, somehow managing not to trip once on the way there. I was actually quite proud of that. 

I couldn’t tell you if it was our breathlessness, our late departure, our struggle to find open seats, or a combination of the three, but we’d commanded the attention of the entire room - and the attention of someone I had yet to notice, too. 

“There’s a free seat over there. I can sit in the one over here.” Holly told me, suggesting that if we wanted to sit anywhere, we’d have to be separated. I followed her finger to the empty seat, shuffling awkwardly and apologizing profusely to the people I disturbed by approaching. I was so caught up in the hysteria and chaos to even bother looking up at the stage, hindering my ability to meet my impending doom any sooner. 

On the way to my seat, I noticed the copious amounts of notes being taken by virtually every student in the room, so rather than taking any time to look up, I was searching my bag down below me for note taking materials. 

But as they say - third time's a charm. 

After I’d settled into my seat, I finally looked up from the floor and it was then that I was transported back to a month ago - an eerie parallel to this exact moment. 

“Holy shit,” I muttered, earning sneers from the people sitting next to me who I’d clearly disrupted with my profanity. 

“Sorry,” I whispered to them, for I was truly sorry. I just couldn’t help myself. When I saw him, my stomach dropped. I had a feeling he’d already seen me, but I was too disorderly before to notice. 

I did, however, notice how he eyed me from the stage, even doing a double take when we locked eyes. 

“Most of us have done extensive work in areas such as …” His voice faded while my mind swirled.

We have got to stop meeting like this, Spencer. 

Our eye contact was too much for me to handle, so I was the first to break away. Through the entire question-period, I kept my head down to avoid any eye contact I could. 

“Well, that’s all that we have for you today. Before you go, please hand in your applications if you filled them out.” The other lecturer advised. 

I was well on my way out of the room even before he dismissed us, but I was drawn back by the sound of the sentence, “Excuse me, Miss? Could you stay back for a moment?”

I briefly walked backwards before turning on my heels and meeting those eyes that I desperately didn’t want to. 

“I noticed you came in late and I thought you might want to know the information you missed -” Spencer paused to look over his shoulder, noticing his colleague was attending to someone else and therefore, too engaged in that conversation to interfere with ours. 

“(Y/n), what are you doing here?” He asked me in a hushed tone, a stark contrast from his sweet tone from before. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer. I completely forgot that you were a speaker for this seminar. I didn’t even know I was coming until last night when my roommate asked me to come with her. I would’ve warned you if I knew. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in this position.” 

My apology was sincere seeing as I promised Spencer we would never run into each other. In fact, it was the sole reason we agreed to stay in this relationship - the mutual guarantee that we wouldn’t be put in these situations, but here we were. 

In this fucking situation. 

“No, it’s fine. I was just surprised to see you, that’s all.”

Spencer could tell I was flustered and truly apologetic for my ignorance, and he was almost about to reach out and rub my upper arm comfortingly when his actions were cut short by the looming presence of his fellow guest speaker. 

“Hi there. David Rossi.” He introduced himself by extending his hand into the space between us. “And you are?” 

“(Y/n) (y/l/n).” 

_ _ _

“(Y/n) (y/l/n).” 

It was like watching my worst nightmare come alive. 

If I ever imagined introducing (y/n) to my work family, this certainly wasn’t the plan. I just hoped to God that if Rossi and (y/n) ever met again in the future, he wouldn’t suddenly obtain my eidetic memory and recall her familiar face from this exact moment. 

“Got any questions for us?” Rossi coyly asked her. Once more I prayed to God that his profiling skills hadn’t just improved drastically and that he could sense the tension between the two of us. It almost seemed like he asked that question just to tease her because he knew what was really happening. But then again, that was probably just my paranoia speaking. 

She looked mortified when he asked this, even glancing back at me briefly as if to ask for a reprieve. “Um, no not really. I-I was just telling Dr. Reid that I’ve applied to audit his class before, but was always rejected.”

“That’s a shame. Well, maybe I can look into that. You know, put in a good word for you.” Rossi chuckled, nudging (y/n)’s shoulder to suggest he’d help her. She only shyly laughed and took a step closer to the door. 

“Oh, no you don’t have to do that for me.” 

“Nonsense. I’d be happy to do it.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Rossi.” With a thankful smile, (y/n) pranced out the door, closing the lecture hall door sharply behind her without one look back. 

“Nice girl,” Rossi acknowledged. “But it would be nicer if she could be on time.” 

I laughed, despite not finding (y/n) to be at the butt of the joke to be funny at all. 

“Um, are you actually gonna put in a good word for her?” I followed Rossi with my eyes, searching his face with a desperate hope that my question didn’t reveal too much. 

“Yeah, why not? I figured you would’ve liked to have another student audit your class.” 

“Yeah yeah…” I murmured in false agreement. 

Herein lies the trouble.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 4 COMING SOON!

comment to be added to the taglist!

taglist: 

@andiebeaword​ @rexorangecouny​ @rip2myyouthjpg​ 

[rue-king]

Family Found, Family Taken

(AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32892439)

Masterlist, Next Part

Summary: Gavin is tired, so tired. He is tired of being the bad guy, but thats just who he is he's mean and unapproachable. He can't be replaced, he just can't, work is all he has left to tie him to this world. It is the only thing that proves he's not as terrible as he feels.

But when the fancy RK900 unit walks in, along with a terrible string of murders, Gavin is pushed backwards. He can't on this way anymore, but he doesn't think he is capable of change.

This is his last chance, he is Gavin's last chance.

Warnings: cursing

Chapter 1:

Gavin Reed is a mess. A walking tragedy. Rough on every edge and totally banged up. From the scar on his nose to the little marks on his knuckles.

If the scruffy appearance and constant 5 o’clock shadow doesn’t make it obvious then the darker than night eyebags and shitty attitude certainly does.

He looks rough, but he's not a bad guy, at least not internally. He's a man who feels too much and is easily hurt, but he would rather die than ask for help or express himself. The man has more baggage than an airport.

He’s bitter and cold, almost aloof in demeanor. A rabid dog with a muzzle on at all times, marked “dangerous don’t pet” only by fault of trusting too much.

A stray, left wondering all by his lonely self fulfilling prophecy of isolation.

A grade “A” mess.

He drags his sorry ass to the Detroit Police Station everyday and works himself to the bone because that's all he knows. It’s all he is able to do in order to tune out all the thoughts that he knows will drown him.

Not a team player in the slightest, but he's certainly one of the best detectives the DPD has seen in a long time. Stupidly efficient, his brain makes connections in ways that are unparalleled by his human peers. Too bad no one in the building likes him enough to let him know it.

Another consequence of his own actions, he is an asshole and he knows it. The only person he can call a friend is Tina Chen, but even then he feels as though she could do better. They all can. He is mean and cuts people off, unapproachable and snappy. Truthfully he’s surprised she's still around.

If it wasn’t for Fowler's firm hand he’d practically live in the building, it's not like he takes breaks anyway, but alas he has a shitty apartment with two demon babies to get back to anyway.

Bright and early on a Monday morning the man, the myth, the legend himself walks his groggy ass through the doors of the DPD. The caffeine withdrawal headache already encroaches on his brain and he sports a fresh set of bandages over his abused knuckles.

He keeps his head low and heads straight for the breakroom, aiming to get a cup of the worst coffee Detroit can offer. His reputation around the office has always been less than great, but ever since the android revolution his peers have been walking on eggshells around him.

He doesn’t blame them, it's not like he tried to hide his anti-android sentiment. He huffs quietly to himself, why would he care what those assholes think about him.

He prepares his shitty coffee and walks over to his shitty desk in the shitty bullpen. He’s dramatic like that. He doesn’t bother the anticipatory itch he feels deep in his chest that eggs him on to dive straight back into work. Like a craving, a workaholic.

Days are long and hard now that there has been mass losses in employment and crime skyrocketed. Reed just has to solve it all himself. Masochist.

He sits at his desk reviewing the last notes he took at the scene of his most recent case. Double homicide, suspected breaking and entering, but nothing was stolen.

He hears loud belly laughter come from the entrance of the bullpen, in comes Hank Anderson and his sidekick Conner.

Reed glances at the clock and snorts a bit.

Won’t you look at that, Hank Anderson is early for the first time in about a thousand years.

He shakes his head, and goes back to his notes. Normally he would throw out a rude remark or two, but he simply doesn’t have the energy today so he settles for an eye roll.

He is drop dead tired. Insomnia is a bitch and he hardly has an appetite anymore.

“Good morning Detective” Conner calls in a stupidly cheery tone.

“Fuck off” Gavin mutters back, his words lacking their usual bite. He just sounds defeated, deflated.

Conner hovers for a second longer in front of Gavin's desk. A second longer than usual, too long for Gavin’s liking. He moves his head up to call Conner out, but is met with nothing but air.

Whatever.

Gavin goes back to work, shuffling lightly under his desk. He is focused on nothing. Staring blankly at his own words in front of him, unable to comprehend what he is looking at. His mind is somewhere else, caught between nowhere and here.

He looks away quickly and puts his head in his hands.

Breathe in and out. Just focus, you idiot. Focus.

He rubs his eyes harder as the frustration moves like tides within his chest.

This is an improvement from Gavin Reed, if it were a few months ago he would've just slammed his hands on his desk and stalked off to go smoke. Not that anyone cares enough to know it of course.

He breathes in deep again and sets his mind to try one more time before he swears he’ll scream or something,

“Reed! My office now!” A deep yell calls out, breaking his second of peace. Fowler, of course.

He audibly groans. He hasn’t done anything wrong so why the hell would the captain want to see him.

“Ohhh, someones in trouble~” Tina Chen calls out, she’s barely walking into the area. She’s late, again Starbucks in her hand.

Not surprised.

“Bitch” he retorts, making his way toward Fowler's office. Tina laughs lightly and blows him a mocking kiss. Gavin just rolls his eyes.

Conner and Hank rise from their work stations to start after him.

Oh great, fan-fucking-tabulous. Reed huffs some more.

He opens Fowler's door with a hard swing, his patience slips away from him quickly.

The bad buddy cop flick duo follows behind him closely. Gavin elects to stay standing, way too anxious to sit and just accept whatever shit Fowler will be throwing at him.

Hank takes a seat, the other is already taken by Conner.

He does a double take, Conner is right next to him. Two Conners?

The not Conner turns a fraction.

“The fuck is this” Gavin questions and recieves a scathing look from Fowler.

Conner shuffles quietly next to him, the movement capturing his eye as it always does. Why does he look anxious, the fuck is wrong with him.

“Reed shut up and let me speak before you go butting in, '' Fowler dictates before continuing on, “this is RK900 and he will be assigned as your new partner.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t do partners, you know this Fowler. What makes you think I need one, much less that tin can.” Reed is quick to anger, well at least he has some energy now.

Has he not been efficient enough on his own? Fowler can’t just give him some pity babysitter to fix him up like Conner did with Hank.

“You do what I tell you to do, Reed. He is top of the line and you, annoyingly enough, have the best solve rates as of now. So he goes to you.” Fowler is strong with his statements and doesn’t leave room for arguing. Which doesn’t stop Gavin.

“What the fuck! That should mean that I don't need the help of that asshole! Dump him on someone else, it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Well you better make it make sense or else you can hand your badge over, Detective.” Gavin clenches his jaw, his eyes lit with anger.

“You don’t get any special privileges Reed, especially with your disciplinary file.”

Gavin huffs again shaking his head. “Well that doesn’t explain why these two are here” he gestures to Hank and Conner wildly with his hands. He treads more lightly with his words, he’s an idiot and a dick, but he will not lose his job over something as stupid as this.

“I asked them here in case you reacted poorly to this decision, much like you did” Fowler draws.

Yeah, yeah he's disappointed, when is he not.

“Yeah, quite the show you put on there, Reed” Hank mocks.

Go back to playing house, Hank.

Reed fumes, grinding his teeth. He could be so much meaner, but he holds back. All the energy that the anger gave him rapidly left his body and he’s left with tired resentment. A cold emptiness that leaves him chilly and lacking the will to continue fighting back.

“Are we done here?” He asks in a low tone, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Well yes-”

It doesn’t matter what came after that, Reed saw the green light to leave.

“He‘s not well, Lieutenant”

“Conner it’s…”

He walks faster, escaping the muffled voices.

He sits back at his desk and grabs for his coffee. Empty already, great. He goes to make another cup, desperately wanting to get his mind off of the shitstorm that just happened.

Every other partner Reed has ever had did not last, they just couldn’t tolerate his shitty attitude. Essentially he ran them all off, like nannys to a terrible toddler.

This one will be no different, android or not, no one can put up with him for long. At least that's how Reed reassures himself.

Before he knows it he’s back at his desk, hot coffee in his hand and an absurdly tall knock off Conner in his way.

“The fuck out of the way, tin can” Gavin grumbles not even looking up to meet RK900’s eyes.

He doesn’t move.

“Did you not fucking hear me? Are you deaf, asshole?”

He moves a fraction, and Gavin takes it with a slight shoulder check to get to his seat.

Stupid not-Conner and his ugly fucking white jacket. Was gray not terrible enough?

Another small huff to himself. He’s been doing that more and more today.

He goes back to his notes. 5 minutes has passed and not-Conner continues to stand unmoving in front of Gavin’s desk.

He tries to ignore it, but he can’t stand seeing the stark white shadow in his peripheral vision. Looming like a cage starting to close in.

“Can you not just fuckin stand there like a freak?” Gavin snaps, finally looking the RK unit in the face.

Maybe he isn’t like Connor. RK is sharp and cold with defined cheekbones and pale blue eyes. Connor is warm in demeanor and soft where RK seems impenetrable and well…  intimidating.

“I am assuming that that empty desk is mine to use?”

Even his voice is different, this one is firm and lower in pitch compared to Connor’s.

Reed lags behind a beat, taking in all the information he can from what's before him. RKs suit is clean and pressed, untouched by the qualms of living. He looks shiny and brand new, but the disdain in his eyes says otherwise.

His posture is stiff and the collar on his neck more so, making RK look down with his eyes and a miniature head tilt. It makes him look condescending, physically and metaphorically looking down on him.

Gavin curls his lip, dislike drags within him. “If it gets you to fuck off than yeah, knock yourself out, tincan.”

An hour or two, or three, passes. Gavin manages to transfer his written reports onto his terminal. Using the work to blissfully tune out the presence to his right. RK900 staring blankly at the terminal with a flashing yellow light circling at his temple.

Gavin has so many questions swirling around his head, but has too big of a pride to ask them. Asking would mean being civil and he is NOT going to do that. Instead he’s elected to just simply pretend that his brand new partner doesn’t exist at all. That's all he can manage with the lack of energy he has at the moment.

Besides, it's not like his fancy new plastic counterpart is aching to talk to him anyway. He just sits there with his perfect posture in perfect silence. For once Gavin is thankful for his ability to just fall into his work, because it provides the perfect distraction.

(stay tuned for the next chapter!)

[immodestmussorgskyy]

you have (1) new message

“I don’t believe in you!”

“I believe in you…”

You can’t help but snort, bursting into a fresh round of giggles. The dialogue in Nightmare on Elm Street is absolutely diabolical-- you struggle to figure out how anybody could consider this a horror movie. But hey… meteoric fame is hard to come by. It’s a cult classic for a reason. 

You’d usually be marathoning classic slasher flicks with your roommate, Chloe, but she’s on a month-long Hawaii dream vacation with her new boyfriend. What happened to bros before hoes? But hey, his wealth is apparently abundant enough to fund weeks of paradise beachside living, so good for her for getting that bread. And anyway, you’re content to sit alone in your little mousehole apartment and melt into the couch after work with a family-size bag of salt & vinegar chips under your arm. 

You watch the flickering screen with mild interest as you chomp down another handful of chips. Freddy Krueger is definitely failing to get you on the edge of your seat. Wiping your hand on your sweatpants, you pick up the remote and turn the movie off. 

“Nightmare, my ass.” you mutter under your breath. 

As much as you’d like to, eating nothing but salt and vinegar chips for dinner seems like a great way to end up with an upset stomach and a lot of regret later tonight. The pantry is well stocked with Chloe’s foods of choice-- organic steel-cut rolled oats, a billion different kinds of nuts and seeds all in cute little labeled mason jars, gluten free bread, a mockery of cheese puffs (chickpea puffs? Come on!). Your side is a library of boxed or canned foods in stark contrast: a couple opened boxes of Pop-Tarts, a few boxes of Kraft mac & cheese, a family sized box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and, the only thing not in a box: another bag of salt & vinegar chips. 

The fridge tells a similar story. Chloe’s avocados, farmer’s market tomatoes, and thick stalks of celery gleam in the vegetable drawer. She’s consumed half the shelf space with just kombucha and a few swanky craft beers. And bottles of oat milk, or soy milk, or some kind of thing pretending to be milk. You actually don’t have much in the fridge besides leftover Indian food from your favorite place downtown and a gallon of milk for your cereal, so you don’t mind her hogging more space. 

Muffy, Chloe’s ragdoll cat, stalks into the kitchen with you and gives you a tiny yowl. You lean down and give her an affectionate scratch behind the ears. 

“Scram, Muffy.” you murmur to her. “I’ve already fed you.” 

She looks up at you with a look that can only mean “and you’ll feed me more.” 

She stalks back into the living room, fluffy beige tail disappearing behind the wall in a flick and a wave. You tie your hair back and yawn. What’s on the menu for dinner tonight? 

Before you can think too much about eating, you remember that Chloe left you a voicemail before she took off. You fish your phone from your pocket and open your voicemail, tapping your toe against the linoleum floor as the dial tone plays. 

You have one new message, chirps the robot voice of your mailbox. 

“Hey girl. I’m boarding soon, so you probably won’t hear from me for a while. Make sure you feed Muffy, water the plants…” she clicks her tongue a few times, “take your meds, and don’t lay in bed for too long on the weekends. You know how that tanks your mood.” 

Chloe might be a total hipster health nut, but it doesn’t make it any less sweet that she frets over you so much. You break into a smile and make a mental note to call her back. 

“And. You can eat anything perishable of mine in the fridge or pantry while I’m gone. I doubt the bread or the veggies are gonna last long… you need to eat healthier anyway. No potato chips for dinner.” 

Your smile grows. She knows you so well. 

“I gotta go, but I’ll send you tons of pictures when I get there. Bye, babe.” 

You hang up and set your phone down on the counter. Eyeing the bland looking loaf of brown bread, you decide you’ll have breakfast a la Chloe for dinner. 

You toss the loaf onto the counter, then stalk to the fridge. The avocados seem pretty ripe. Tomatoes, too. You pick out one of each, then pluck a couple eggs from the carton you two share and set it all on the counter. Avocado toast with scrambled eggs sounds pretty Chloe. 

You gut the avocado, tossing its pit in the trash and scooping its innards out into a bowl. The fork makes quick work of it, turning it into a mound of mild green paste. Salt, pepper. Done. 

Hey, if Chloe let you eat her food, she’s bound to not mind that you’re using her nice kitchen knives too, right? You cut a few slices of tomato and grimace at its gelatinous, glistening center. You never liked tomatoes much, but she’s kinda right-- you do need to improve your diet. 

Before long, you’ve got a nice thick slice of toast slathered in avocado and garnished with ripe red tomato sitting next to a steaming pile of scrambled eggs. This may not be your beloved salt & vinegar chips, but it sure looks delicious. 

You snap a photo of your meal and text it to her. Am I healthy yet? you type, with a grin on your face. 

Muffy stalks up to you, looking up expectantly. You sigh and toss her a morsel of scrambled egg. “That’s all you’re getting, you little twerp.” you admonish through a mouthful of toast. It’s not… delicious, but it’s not bad for some mushed up vegetable on top of an excuse for bread. You curse yourself for not adding some cheese to your scrambled eggs. That would’ve really been delicious. 

You’d usually be scrolling through your social media right now, but something inspires you to look longingly out the window of the kitchen. The sky is a starless, inky black, obscuring everything except for whatever is illuminated by the weak orange streetlights. Usually there would be more traffic or drunk yelling-- you and Chloe didn’t exactly get lucky with the placement of your unit-- but tonight it’s eerily silent. That’s perfectly welcome to you, though. It’s much better than cranking up the volume of your music to drown out whatever street fight is occurring three floors below you. 

Suddenly, your musing and its silence is broken by the sound of your ringtone. It’s half past midnight… who in their right mind would be calling you right now? 

Unknown number. You frown and let it go to voicemail. Probably just some spam caller. 

You finish your dinner and sit there in the silence, then check your phone again. You can’t help but be curious as to what message they’ve left you. Gingerly, you open your voice mailbox again and listen dispassionately to the dial tone and the little robot voice. 

You have one new message and one old message. 

The voice that erupts through your speaker is unfamiliar, smooth, low. All you can discern is that it’s a male voice, its tone almost perversely cloying. 

“I was hoping you’d pick up.” A long inhale, a long exhale. “You seem a little lonely. Breakfast for dinner… cute.” 

Ice cold horror washes over you and you can barely move your fingers to hang up. This has to be some kind of joke. Some stupid kid getting really, really lucky with their prank call. 

But a question still sears into your thoughts:

Who would have known what you were doing? 

That you were alone in your apartment? 

Maybe, just maybe, by some insane stretch of the imagination, Chloe’s new boyfriend got ahold of her phone, saw your text, and decided to pull some prank. Yeah, that sounds about right. That’s the only situation that makes sense, unless… 

Somebody is watching you.  

You nearly jump out of your seat as the phone rings again. Unknown number. Your hands tremble over it as your panicked brain deliberates picking it up. Before you can think about it any more, you’ve snatched it into a sweaty palm and brought it up to your ear. 

“Chloe, this isn’t fucking funny. Cut it out.” you try to sound intimidating, but your voice trembles in just the wrong way with each word. 

“You picked up.” the voice breathes, and you swear you can hear a sinister smile creep onto whoever’s face it belongs to. “You must really be lonely.” 

“I said stop, Chlo--”

“My name’s not Chloe.” he snarls, and your empty threat dies in your throat immediately. Then, as if nothing had happened at all, his voice slips back into that relaxed, amused tone. “But I do wish I were spending a month in Hawaii right now. Lucky girl, isn’t she?” 

Another pang of fear hits you like a brick. You swallow hard, biting your lip. “Whoever you are, leave me alone. Or I’ll… I’ll call the cops.” 

“What exactly are you going to tell them, sweetheart? That some big mean boogeyman is leaving scary messages on your phone?” he lets out a mocking laugh. “They’ll send their best officers, I’m sure.”

“Leave me alone.” is all you manage to say, breathless and trembling, before you force yourself to hang up and practically slam your phone down onto the counter. Muffy jumps and cocks her head at you. You force yourself to break out of your panicked stupor and hurry over to the kitchen window, glancing hurriedly to the left and right of it. If somebody were on the fire escape, you surely would have heard it. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

You yank those curtains shut, then the curtains on the living room window, then finally the ones in your bedroom. You remember Chloe locking and shutting her windows, so there’s no need to check in there. Something tells you to anyway.

You creep to her doorway, palms sweaty. There’s probably nothing to see in there, you think to yourself, the curtains were already shut. 

Looking into her room, your stomach drops. 

The curtains are tucked neatly to the side, and her window is cranked all the way open, letting in the cool night air and the sounds of the streets. You nearly choke in horror and rush over to shut the window, making sure the lock is tightly down before throwing the curtains back over them. You must have just misremembered. She probably left the window open to let some fresh air in, or something.

But she never leaves her window open, or Muffy would get out, you realize. 

“Oh my God.” you gasp to yourself, before you sprint to the kitchen and grab the biggest, meanest looking knife in the drawer, as well as your phone. Muffy meows at you curiously, then yelps in indignance as you swiftly scoop her up by the stomach and fly to your room. 

“Sorry.” you mutter as you practically toss her onto your bed, then lock your door. It’s a pathetic, flimsy mechanism, and could probably be picked with a fork, but it’s better than nothing. You pause, surveying the room for any heavy objects, and settle on jamming your full laundry hamper under the doorknob. At least this way you’ll hear any intruder before they make it into your room. The knife you tuck under your pillow as you scramble under your covers and turn your lamp off. 

Your hands shake as you dial Chloe’s number. The phone rings once, twice, then goes straight to voicemail.

“Hey, Chlo,” you say shakily. “Uhm, I got some really weird calls from somebody tonight and I think our apartment might have been broken into. Or something. Uh,” you swallow hard, “Muffy and I are locked up in my room right now and I have a knife. I could be just imagining things, but if you don’t hear from me for a while, I probably got murdered or something.”

God, you sound so stupid right now, but it’s the best you can muster when your thoughts are racing at a million miles an hour. 

“I’ll call you when I wake up tomorrow. Bye.” 

You plug your phone in and set it on your nightstand, shrinking down underneath your duvet. Nothing is visible in your room, even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, except for the glow of the hall light you left on under your door. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

Check out this story and the rest of its chapters on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688007/chapters/70331253

[lewishamil10n]

Hi! If you’re up for it maybe dean learning how to cook/trying recipe after recipe and his motivation is being able to provide Sam with genuinely good homemade food which they never had growing up/wanting him to eat more than salad? Plus dean just enjoys being a chef cmon 🥰

this is such a cute prompt anon asdfgfds ily!!! thanks for sending it in!

notes: spoilers from s8 onwards

–

There’s a tiny bookstore tucked in between the grocery store and the laundromat and Dean’s not really planning on going in there, but it’s giving off this warm, inviting vibe, and it looks really cozy, and well, maybe if it’s nice he can bring Sam here once Sam is better. Just five minutes, he tells himself guiltily, because Sam’s asleep back home and he’s so ill from the trials and Dean gets so fucking scared leaving him alone when he’s like this.

There’s a little bell over the door that rings when Dean enters. The roof is made entirely of panes of glass, and there are lightbulbs hanging from the rafters, and vines creeping along the roof, and the whole place smells of pine, and it’s actually really nice, and fuck, Sam would love this place. 

Dean wanders over to the non-fiction section, absently looking at the titles. Nothing here really interests him, but he can’t help but imagine Sam’s expression if he could see this now, and God but Dean really hopes he can bring Sam here. It aches to think that he can’t right now, that Sam can barely get out of bed these days, but. Better days are coming, he tells himself firmly. They have to be.

“Can I help you?” chimes the lady at the counter, smiling kindly at him over her round glasses.

“Uh, just lookin’,” Dean tells her. “I’ll let you know if I…” He trails off, eye catching on a faded, wrinkly book cover. He picks it up, flipping open to the first page.

It’s a handwritten recipe book, and from the looks of it, pretty simple and easy to follow. Dean flips through the pages, inhaling the old book smell that he knows Sam loves, and then mentally goes through the grocery he’s just purchased. Yeah, okay, this is… this is doable.

“I want this one,” he says decisively, putting the old book down on the counter.

The lady smiles at him. “Did you know,” she says as she rings him up, “it’s not actually possible to leave this place without buying at least one book?”

Dean looks around the place as she counts out his change. Yeah, he can see why. The place is almost spellbinding. “Yeah, makes sense,” he says, accepting the book wrapped in paper along with his money. “Thanks.”

He’s definitely gotta bring Sammy here.

Sam’s thankfully still asleep when Dean gets home. Dean checks in on him, makes sure there’s water by his bedside and his phone’s there in case he needs Dean, and then goes back to the kitchen. He flips the recipe book open to the first page, and begins setting out ingredients. He’s not even aware he’s humming under his breath as he works.

Sam stumbles into the kitchen a few hours later, with the world’s worst bedhead. He staggers over to the table and sits down, rubbing his eyes. “Watcha makin’?” he asks, and then yawns.

It’s adorable, really, he looks like the world’s sleepiest kitten. Dean grins at him, and says, “Pot roast!”

“Pot roast?” Sam repeats, blinking at him. “You know how to make pot roast?” 

“Now I do,” Dean tells him, and then hands him the recipe book. “Found this in a bookstore in town. Real nice place, I’ll take you when you feel up to it.” 

“That’d be nice,” Sam says, and gives Dean a tired smile. “Pot roast smells good, by the way,” he adds.

“Hope it is,” Dean answers, smiling back at Sam. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Tired,” Sam answers honestly.

“Maybe you’ll feel better with some food in you.” Dean can only hope.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Dean sets the table when the roast’s almost done. Sam tries to get up to help, but Dean puts a stop to that with one look, and Sam settles back. Dean tries not to think about how just that much movement has Sam breathing a little heavily, and disguises his concern by keeping an eye on Sam at the corner of his peripheral vision.

The pot roast does taste great, and even though Sam can’t eat more than a few bites Dean can tell he really enjoyed it. Resolving to keep this up as much as he’s able, Dean freezes the leftovers, and keeps the recipe book out on the counter, hoping he gets the chance to cook more for Sam. His little brother deserves it, after a lifetime of food that barely passed as edible, and maybe, just maybe, some good home-cooked food is what Sam needs to feel better.

–

It takes one look at the deserted library for Dean to understand that Sam hasn’t come out of his room ever since he dropped off Dean’s food. For a moment Dean wonders if he should go check in on his brother, but then thinks better of it. He’s just spent an entire day trying to murder Sam in his own home. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to possibly alarm him in his own room.

He feels sick to the stomach as he makes his way to the kitchen, where the alcohol’s stashed. His hands are shaking a little; he stuffs them in his pockets so that he doesn’t have to think about it. He just tried to kill Sam. Sam, who he’d sworn to protect, who risked everything to bring him back. Sam, who loved him more than anyone ever had, or ever could, no matter what.

There’s got to be some way to fix this. Dean refuses to accept that this could possibly be the end of the road for them. There’s no point to anything if he can’t be with Sam.

God, where is the fucking whiskey–

Dean stops short when he catches sight of the book on the kitchen table. It’s that handwritten recipe book he got years ago, still in the exact place he remembers leaving it when he’d left the bunker after waking up as a demon. It seems Sam hasn’t touched it at all, which makes sense – Sam’s not the kind of person who enjoys cooking, and he must have been too preoccupied with bringing Dean back, anyway.

On a whim he can’t explain, Dean goes to the fridge and pulls it open. It’s just as empty as he’s been expecting – a couple bottles of beer, half a leftover salad, and some milk that smells like it went bad about a month ago. Wrinkling his nose, Dean throws it out, and then shuts the fridge door, grimacing at how damn lifeless it looks.

The entire place does, in fact. It looks like Sam’s done nothing but research, and going by the fridge, that also includes not eating at all. And that can’t be good, because Dean knows he’s running on fumes, and he needs energy, and he needs good food in him if he wants that arm to heal–

He’s halfway to the front door already, mentally making a list of all the things he’s going to need. Maybe Sam doesn’t want to talk to him right now, and maybe Sam just needs some time to himself, and maybe they won’t ever be what they used to be. But that’s something Dean cannot accept, will not, ever, and even if it kills him he’s going to try to get Sam back.

He can start, he thinks, by doing the one thing he was born to do – take care of Sam.

It takes him an hour to do grocery, most of which is spent at checkout. He just throws everything indiscriminately into the shopping cart, because there is literally nothing at home, and God, how is Sam even alive? On a whim he gets dessert too, some pastry from that bakery that Sam loves, and he’s not sure if Sam will even eat it but he’s got to try.

Sam’s still in his room when Dean gets back, but for now Dean refuses to let it discourage him. He puts the grocery away and then picks up the recipe book, dusting it off and flipping it open. He goes through it for a few minutes until he finds the perfect recipe, and smiles when he realizes he can have it done in a short amount of time.

He doesn’t realize he’s humming under his breath as he cooks, not until the water’s already boiling, but by then his mood’s improved so much he doesn’t even care. He’s got something to do, a tangible way to fix things, and for the first time in so long he feels good, feels like maybe things might just get better, and if that means he sings while he cooks, then dammit, so be it.

He chops up spinach, mixes the sauce and spices, cuts the chicken breast into strips, and when he looks up he finds Sam standing uncertainly in the doorway, watching him. The dark blue of his sling is stark against his pale skin, and the shadows under his eyes make Dean’s heart hurt, but he manages a smile anyway. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Sam says warily. He doesn’t move. “What are you doing?”

“Figured I’d make dinner,” Dean tells him. “You had nothing in the fridge.”

“I was busy,” Sam answers shortly.

Right. Yeah. Dean swallows, smile fading, and turns back to the stove. The water’s boiling over, and the pasta looks done, so he sets a strainer in the sink and grabs the mitts so he can hold the pot. The entire time he is painfully conscious of Sam watching his every move, and of the fact that Sam’s noticed the knife block on the counter and the kitchen scissors next to the chopping board. He also doesn’t miss how Sam keeps the counter between the two of them, so that Dean doesn’t have a direct line to him.

“Sammy,” sighs Dean, putting the pot down. “Sam, it’s me.”

“I know,” Sam says quietly, and looks away when Dean looks at him. “I know it is.”

“Are you scared of me?” Dean asks, voice just as low. 

Sam shakes his head.

“Angry?” Dean questions softly. Sam should be. He really should be.

But he just shakes his head again. “No, not angry. I’m just--” He stops, looks away again.

“I get it,” Dean says, when it’s clear Sam’s not going to talk. “I get it, Sam, I do. And I’m not expecting everything to go back to the way it was. I know you need time, and -- and it’s okay. Take as long as you need.”

“I don’t want things to go back to the way they were,” Sam tells him. 

He should’ve seen this coming. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he turns away, ignoring the burn in his eyes. This shouldn’t be unexpected, it shouldn’t -- and yet. It hurts so bad that just for a moment Dean can’t breathe from it.

“Hey,” comes Sam’s soft voice, much closer now, and then, a second later, a hesitant touch to his shoulder. “Dean? I meant--”

“It’s fine, Sam, you don’t need to explain yourself,” Dean says, keeping his face turned away so that Sam can’t see him struggle to remain composed. “I know what I did was--”

“I meant I want them to be better,” Sam explains.

Dean looks up so fast it makes Sam flinch. “You--”

Sam nods. “They weren’t that great before, you know,” he reminds Dean wryly.

“And you think they could be now?” Dean asks, not daring to hope.

“Yes,” Sam says. “If -- if you want.” His voice cracks a little.

“Sam,” begins Dean, and then stops. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do. What he wants is to throw his arms around Sam, hold him tight and beg forgiveness until he can no longer speak, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed anymore.

Sam solves that problem for him by stepping into his space and wrapping his unbroken arm around him, face pressing into Dean’s shoulder like Dean wasn’t just trying to murder him. Dean remains frozen for a second, heart going painfully fast in his chest, and then it’s like the dam breaks -- he throws both arms around Sam and hugs him tight, hugs him like he never ever wants to let go, and presses his nose in Sam’s hair and breathes in the smell of him. His heart slows; his chest loosens, and then he finally lets a tear fall. “I’m so sorry, Sammy,” he chokes out. “Sam, I’m so sorry--”

“It’s okay,” Sam tells him, fingers clutching at the back of Dean’s shirt. “It’s okay, Dean, it’s all right, it’s all right, we’re okay--”

“I’m gonna be better,” Dean swears as he steps out of the hug. “Sam, I swear on everything in the world, I’m gonna be better, I’m gonna fix this, just give me a chance, man--”

“I know,” Sam says, and wipes at his eyes. “I know you will, Dean, I know--”

Dean gives him a watery smile, before turning around so he can wipe discreetly at his eyes. “Gotta -- just give me a second--”

“Take your time,” Sam says from somewhere behind him. “I’m right here, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s the reassurance he’s needed but been too afraid to ask for, not thinking himself deserving of it. When he finally gets himself under control and turns around, he finds Sam sitting at the kitchen table, smiling at him. “Whatever you’re making,” he tells Dean, “it smells great.”

Dean smiles, swallows, and says, “Yeah, I hope so.”

Neither of them speak until they’re halfway through dinner. Dean spends the time casting glances towards Sam as discreetly as he can, and every time he finds Sam looking back, and it should be awkward, but it’s not, and the familiarity and comfort of Sam’s presence feels, finally, like coming home.

Then Sam says, “You know, you never took me to that bookstore you told me about.”

“Oh.” Dean thinks about it, and then says, “Wanna go tomorrow?”

Sam smiles so brightly his dimples show. “I’d like that.”

[romewritingshop]

Wake up Parker! Chapter Eleven: The End of all Things

Relationship: Peter Parker x Tall Older Reader (Peter is 22 and Reader is 26/27)

Warnings: Angst, stress, sadness

Word Count Total: 1667 (This Chapter)

Tagged: @bggerbtch​

Summary: Peter Parker is a student in the city of Brooklyn. He’s lazy, spoilt and he procrastinates a lot. He meets a woman named (Y/N), She’s recently moved to Brooklyn for an independent life. Something Peter is fascinated by. Over the course of a few months, Peter needs to realise that he has to grow up and become responsible for his life.

WAKE UP PARKER! MASTERLIST

Peter just reached the main auditorium doors of his college and spotted his friends panicking by. He woke up in a fresh mood today. Sleeping earlier and waking up earlier. Maybe (Y/N)’s independent life was rubbing on him. Subconsciously improving Peter’s life for the better. His friends, Ned and Michelle seemed to grimace as he approached the both of them.

"Ned, something's wrong with Peter."

Peter frowned and ran his hands over his face and hair, inspecting for something to be out of place.

“What is it?”

Ned agreed with Michelle, gesturing to Peter's face.

"I see the problem. Right there on his face."

Peter wondered if there was dried food on his face, as he rubbed at his mouth. He ate some really nice chipotle, Mrs. Stark had made the night before. A good meal before facing his doom.

"What is it?"

Michelle rolled her eyes and snapped.

"He's happy. He's not stressed at all."

Peter gave a sigh of relief. He thought there was something on his face but Ned and Michelle were just being overly dramatic.

"God! I thought there was something on my face."

"Why are you smiling? We find out our results today." Peter shrugged as Michelle and Ned sighed. "Let's just get this over with."

The three of them entered the auditorium, where there were four tables for students to get their results. A few people were by the first two tables. The second set of tables were slightly empty with the professors sorting through the box of envelopes. Small groups of people scattered across the hall and Peter let out a sigh of relief when Wanda wasn't amongst them. Today was not the day to deal with Wanda. 

There were various groups of people that emitted a wide range of emotions. From happy to sad to disappointed and ecstatic. Betty was approaching the trio and she leaped into a hug with Ned. Squealing excitedly as Ned hugged her with confusion. Michelle rolled her eyes and Peter had a guess that Betty must've done well to pass.

"Ned! I passed! I passed! I got more than 40 in every subject! I thought I'd get less than 35! I'm so happy I passed!"

Michelle frowned at Betty's excitement. That was just a passing grade and a third class honours degree. Michelle was concerned that the marks for the grades have been lowered. Ned was worried and Peter was completely blasé. If someone like Betty could pass and get a high grade then surely Peter can pass and get a good degree.

Peter felt that luck was on his side as he watched Michelle complain.

"Betty, that's enough for a third class honours degree." 

Betty rolled her eyes at Michelle's negativity. She worked hard and she didn't need smarty pants Michelle to rain on her parade.

"Whatever, at least I passed."

Michelle stalked away to the tables to grab her envelope with her results in it. Betty urged Ned and Peter to do the same as the both of them did their handshake. Wishing the other luck and they headed to the tables that were handing envelopes in alphabetical surname order.

Michelle and Ned got theirs quickly as did Peter. The three of them went to a corner of the auditorium. Betty was there watching intensely. Michelle decided to open hers first and she handed it to Peter to read.

"Peter. If it's bad just slap me on the face. If it's good, slap me because I will probably faint."

Peter scanned through the paper, making a note of the high marks that Michelle got in every exam. She had done extremely well. Only missing out by a few marks. She did it, she passed and probably got a first class honours degree. Peter beamed at Michelle, who had covered her face in anticipation. Ned smiled as he broke the news to Michelle.

"You did it! You passed. You've got a first class degree."

"No!" Michelle snatched it from Peter and read it over. The boys were right and the pit of pain in Michelle's heart was replaced with happiness. "Holy shit! I did it. Although, could've done better in the Global Markets exam."

Peter rolled his eyes at Michelle's lack of focus. The main thing is that she passed and she didn't have to worry about any exams. 

"Michelle, you aced it! You don't need to worry about the exam. You got that first class degree and probably that internship with Quentin Beck."

Michelle beamed and hugged both the guys, urging Ned to open his. Betty simply applauded Michelle but Michelle didn't really care about Betty’s opinion. Michelle was glad to have made it and this would help with the interview for the internship. Next was Ned’s turn. He took a deep breath and handed Peter his envelope. Ned just wanted a good enough grade to get a decent job. Any job at any place would do.

“Pete. You open it! You seem to have magic hands.”

Peter gave a nod and ripped the seal off the envelope, reaching in and reading through Ned’s exam results. Ned had his eyes closed as he mumbled bargains to some greater being. Peter’s eyes darted across the paper and pride swelled in his heart. He showed Michelle the paper and Michelle had a wide smile on his face. She tapped Ned’s shoulder to snap him out of his trance.

“Ned! You did it! You passed!”

Ned’s eyes widened as he ordered them both to shut up; taking his paper and going through the results. Sure enough Michelle and Peter were right. He passed. He had low hopes and he still made.

“I passed! Betty, I passed!”

They all jumped in excitement at Ned’s achievement, Michelle and Betty hugged Ned. It was now Peter’s turn. While his friends celebrated, Peter rushed and ripped the envelope to see if he was joining the big leagues. He went through his paper and the smile of hope slowly dropped to a concern.

 Global Markets                          50 Marks                     F

Economic Structures               25 Marks                     D-

Business Modelling                 90 Marks                     D

Stock Markets                          50 Marks                     D-

Monopolies, Oligopolies,

and  Entrepreneurs                  80 Marks                     F

 Peter had not done well, in fact he did horrible. There was a sickening pit growing in his gut as the noise around him drew to a static. He failed. Everything around him blurred as his vision focused on the letters on the results paper. He looked up and noticed his friends watching him in morbid curiosity as Ned placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. His voice was slow and deep as if Peter’s brain was going on a slow decline.

“Pete. What happened?”

At that moment instead of leaning into the comfort, Peter grew in anger as he stomped away from his friends and out of the auditorium. He was stomping away when he bumped into someone who called out.

“Hey, Parker! What’d you get?”

“Fuck off, Flash!”

Peter stomped away further and reached the college courtyard, breathing heavily and feeling sweat build around his forehead. His phone vibrated in his pocket as he brought the phone to his ear.

"Peter! I've got it. The new editor's assistant at Brooklyn Nights is (Y/N) (L/N)! I finally got the job! Do you want to come later in the evening to celebrate?"

Peter felt even worse as bile was starting to choke his neck. Why was everyone doing so much better than him? Even (Y/N) got the job she wanted. Without saying a word, he hung up her call and dropped onto the floor. Emotions jumping between sadness, anger, regret. His hands tightened in his hair as he curled into himself and let the anger burn through his body.

“Peter? Don't worry. It's going to be alright.”

“Yeah Pete. Listen. These things happen, it's just one year. You'll pass next year. It's not that big a deal!”

Peter stood up and roared over both his friends.

“Damn you both! Don't tell me that it's not a big deal just because you passed! I don't need a lecture from the both of you.”

Michelle and Ned were taken aback by Peter’s remarks. They had never seen Peter in such a bad state. These results really took a toll on him. Ned tried to speak softly to get through to Peter.

“Okay Peter. Just take a moment to relax …”

“How can you tell me to relax? I thought we were in this together. Now you've gone and passed and I've ... I'm alone here.”

Ned understood Peter’s concerns. All his friends had passed and were getting ready to move to the real world. Peter was still stuck in the past as Ned tried to reach through to Peter. He knew things would go bad if he didn’t soothe Peter gently.

“You’re not alone, Peter. You don’t need to take this out on me.”

A smoking fire burned in Peter as Ned kept throwing logs of pity at him. He did not need pity and Ned didn’t deserve it. He was in the same boat as him yet Ned still did better.

“Because it's all your fault. You didn't deserve to pass either, and you know it! Maybe if I hadn't wasted my time with you, I would have passed too!”

That was too far. Ned knew he was at no fault. In fact Peter is the one to blame, with his constant invites to party and mess around. It’s no wonder that Peter failed.

“Fuck you Peter! It’s all your own fault.”

Peter gritted his teeth and flared his nose as he strutted away from his friends, Michelle’s pleas to come back fell deaf on his ears as he thundered to his car. Yanking the door open and sitting in with his bag carelessly tossed on to the back seat. The reality of the situation dawned on him as he realised that he’d have to tell his parents soon. That would most definitely end worse than the incident with his friends.

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE TRUTH IS DIFFICULT

[sheikah]

Close Quarters

This is the first bit of a fic that I intended to be for @annabelleebythesea back in December (hence the winter and Christmas setting haha) but couldn’t finish in time. It��s still only halfway done, but I’ve decided to publish the first part so that it’ll hopefully motivate me to finish the rest later :) This is unbeta’d and just for fun. Enjoy! Read below or on AO3.

“Think of it as … professional development.” Olenna Tyrell smiled blithely as the room erupted with protests. It was one thing to ask faculty to attend an in-service meeting before the Christmas holiday, but quite another to force them up the mountains for a team-building retreat. Even Dany, ordinarily agreeable and understanding when it came to Olenna’s stringent policies, couldn’t help feeling a little mutinous at the idea.

“And just what professional qualities will we be developing while holed up in your time share, Principal Tyrell?” Cersei Lannister’s dislike for their principal was well-known, and as the drama teacher she was, expectedly, outspoken and a little theatrical.

For once, Dany found herself in agreement with Cersei, however impertinent her question. She couldn’t see the logic in a faculty ski trip.  

True, Dany was somewhat new to White Harbor and its flagship secondary school, Winterfell High. She was in her second year of employment teaching history and had yet to establish many lasting friendships among her fellow teachers. But that was alright. Friends and colleagues weren’t a part of her classroom, and she managed quite well in the instruction of her classes on her own. No snowy excursions or forced mingling with other faculty were going to improve her rapport with her students.

But unlike many of the outraged teachers in the room Dany lacked a valid excuse for avoiding a holiday getaway. She had no family waiting back home for a visit, no children of her own to look after. In all likelihood she would spend the entire holiday break at home with her three cats were it not for this trip. A lonely prospect, but not enough to stoke her interest in the retreat.

To her right, Tyrion Lannister, resident wine-sodden English teacher, shifted restlessly in his seat, a sardonic grin forming on his lips.

“I hear the luge is all the rage on the conference circuit this semester. Excellent way to build your CV.” There was a scatter of chuckles from among the gathered faculty, though Cersei, Tyrion’s elder sister, seemed less than amused.

Principal Tyrell merely stared at Tyrion without a flicker of warmth until the room fell silent again.

“If you ever bothered to attend a conference, instead of spending your weekends at the pub, you’d understand the importance of networking with others in your field, Mr. Lannister,” she returned coolly.

Tyrion sat up a little straighter at the jab, but offered no argument.

“That’s all very well,” Cersei pressed, forcing a strained smile. “But we’re not in one another’s fields, are we? Missandei is fluent in languages I’ve never heard of, but she can’t teach Mr. Snow’s students trigonometry. Neither of them can direct a full theatrical production. Our work is different. Each of us, every day, has a different approach to what we do. And sending us all into the mountains for some juvenile bonding ritual is no way to improve our test scores.”

“What do you care about test scores?” Sansa Stark demanded from the next row over. “You’re the theater teacher.”

“You’re one to talk. As if home ec is really setting our girls up for success on the SAT,” Cersei sneered.

“It’s not just about that. A trip like this, we might all get to know each other.” Sansa offered Olenna an angelic smile. If nothing else, she was better at faking it than the rest of them.

“Yes,” agreed Oberyn Martell, eyebrows wagging suggestively. “I think we could stand getting to know another better.”

Dany sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at them both. Sansa was the home economics teacher and a nice girl from what little Dany knew of her, if a bit of a brownnose. But her support of Olenna’s silly trip felt like treachery to the rest of them. And as for Oberyn, the always-inappropriate gym coach? He was just eager for an excuse to carouse with his colleagues

“It’s about communication,” Olenna insisted. “Look at you all! You’re riotous at the prospect of a paid holiday simply because it involves interaction with one another. You need each other. To discuss learning trends, problems across disciplines, classroom management styles, conflict resolution, conduct issues, ideas for student engagement. You’re almost as detached as our phone-obsessed teenagers! But we need to work together, to improve our learning environment, student completion, and, evidently, faculty morale.”

A scoff sounded behind her and Dany turned to find the aforementioned Mr. Snow glowering as usual. Jon was the resident math teacher. He was young, like Dany, and the students loved him. She couldn’t imagine why.

“Something to add, Mr. Snow?” Dany asked, turning in her seat to fix him with her lilac stare. There was a flash of surprise in his eyes when they found hers, but it was gone just as quickly.

“Of course not, Ms. Targaryen.” There was ice in his reply, a promise of more and unkinder words left unspoken. Typical.

Olenna passed a curious glance between the two of them before nodding with finality.

“Good. With that settled you’ll all receive the details of your itinerary through your faculty email. The only thing left to decide on is transportation arrangements.”

“Transportation?” Tyrion asked. “Won’t we all just pile merrily into one of those yellow deathtraps the students are lucky enough to ride in every day?”

Olenna’s glare was enough to make even Dany flinch.

“Our school busses are very safe, Mr. Lannister, I assure you. The incident last year had nothing to do with the integrity of the vehicle. Mr. Dondarrion didn’t see the oncoming vehicle in time on account of his … impaired sight.”

Tyrion only blinked at Olenna, his smile never wavering. It took all of Dany’s self-control not to erupt into laughter at his side.

“For the gods’ sake, can we end this meeting? What transportation are you providing, Principal Tyrell?” Cersei demanded, already standing to leave.

“None.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” Olenna answered calmly. “None. While our busses are more than safe for their intended purposes they aren’t rated for ascent to high elevations, especially in the winter months. No. You’ll need to take your own vehicles. We’ll pay for your mileage, of course, but we’re only budgeted for three reimbursements, so you’ll need to carpool.”

A synchronized groan rose all around the room, but Dany was silent, panic overtaking her at this latest development. She hadn’t considered the possibility that she might need to drive herself, much less any others. She wasn’t used to driving here, to the snow-laden roads and their treacherous slickness. Back home, she could count on one hand the number of times the roads had frozen over. Her city wasn’t prepared for it. Why bother? That far South, it simply wasn’t cold enough. So any time the conditions didn’t favor driving, businesses simply closed, the citizens bundled up safely in their homes until the streets were passable again.

Since the move to White Harbor Dany had used a rideshare service to get to work when the weather was poor, always telling herself that she’d learn how to drive in the snow eventually, when she was ready. Just not yet.

Apparently she’d have to teach herself over the next two days. That, or hope she was lucky enough not to be chosen to ferry the others up the mountain in her car.

“Cersei,” Olenna said, interrupting her reverie. She squinted down at a notebook that lay open on the podium before her. “You’ll drive up first, being that you’ve got no after-school engagements on Friday. Based on their schedules, it looks like you can take Sansa and Missandei with you.”

Cersei swore under her breath but nodded, Sansa looking more than a little disappointed behind her. In front of Dany, Missandei turned in her seat, a grimace of dismay on her pretty face.

“Fuck me,” she mouthed, shaking her head. No one in their right mind would want to ride up with Cersei. Dany couldn’t help sympathizing her with her friend. She indulged in a bit of pity for herself, too. She’d hoped that if nothing else, she and Missandei would at least ride together.

“Samwell,” Olenna continued, still eyeing the schedule carefully. “You’ll also leave Friday afternoon, with Oberyn, Tyrion, and my granddaughter.” This time Dany couldn’t suppress her snort of amusement. Of all the employees at Winterfell High, Samwell Tarly was the most tightly wound and by-the-book. He was a nervous man, always wary of disgruntled students and overbearing parents. How the timid librarian was going to survive a weekend away with the likes of Oberyn and Tyrion ribbing him was beyond her. At least Olenna’s lovely granddaughter, Margaery, would be there. She was kind but firm, the students’ best-loved counselor. With her around, the men wouldn’t be too hard on Sam.

Looking around the room, Dany realized with horror that this left only three people unassigned: herself, Davos Seaworth, the aging guidance counselor, and Jon Snow.

“Mr. Seaworth is out with the flu,” Olenna reported, finally looking up from her schedule. “So that leaves …  Ms. Targaryen, you have the honors’ society meeting Friday evening. And Mr. Snow, you’ve got fencing practice. That means the two of you will have to ride together, leaving Friday night.”

No.

Dany opened her mouth to protest but Olenna spoke first, her eyes suddenly glued to the ornate gold watch on her wrist.

“We’ll adjourn now. Much to do. Look for more information in your emails.” With that, the principal bustled out of the room in a sweep of her dark green skirt, leaving the rest of them grumbling in her wake.

“I can’t believe this,” Dany muttered, meeting Missandei’s pitying gaze. “I can’t ride up with Jon.”

She turned hesitantly to see if he was still behind her, wondering if she should approach him first to make a plan, explain that she couldn’t drive. But he was already gone, the desk he’d been sitting at vacant.

“What is it with the two of you anyway?” Tyrion asked, quirking a brow at her as they filed out of the room with the others.

“What do mean? Nothing.” Dany paused, staring down to fiddle at a hangnail on her thumb as she scrambled for the right words, determinedly avoiding Missandei’s knowing look. “I don’t like him is all. I’d think even you could understand that. He isn’t the friendly sort.”

The lie was easy, natural so that she almost believed it herself. The truth was less simple, and dodging it now only brought the memories back with staggering force.

It had been almost a year since the office Christmas party. Dany had only been teaching at Winterfell for three months back then, still learning the ropes, still getting to know its colorful cast of faculty and staff

She and Missandei had been fast friends. They were close in age, hired at the same time, and Dany’s interest in world history paired well with Missandei’s knowledge of various languages and cultures. They often planned joint projects in their classes together, had dinner on the weekends, and spent lazy evenings at one another’s apartments grading papers and splitting a bottle of wine.

Dany’s friendship with Tyrion was less conventional. He’d been dubbed her “new faculty mentor,” a job he approached with dry humor and no real advice. But the arrangement had paired them together at various work functions until she had developed a grudging affection for the sardonic older man.

Dany was grateful for her newfound friends, and for the most part she was happy with her colleagues at Winterfell; but even then, Jon Snow had found his way under her skin. He was quiet and withdrawn in the lounge, his nose always in a book, earbuds in place to block out any chance at the distraction of conversation. He taught math, she knew, but he was usually reading fiction instead of working through equations. Adventure thrillers and fantasy epics.

Every day he brought a healthy lunch from home, and he was almost always early through the door in the morning because he came to work straight from the gym. His dark-colored dress shirts fit well enough to show the sturdy build of his arms and shoulders. At least his hard work was paying off.

Outside his classroom he never talked to anyone save his best friend, Sam, and the occasional chat with Tyrion for a book recommendation. Even his cousin, Sansa, seemed to prefer Margaery to the company of the seemingly cold Jon. So Mr. Snow was a man of rigid discipline and few words, but Dany liked nothing more than a hopeless cause.

It didn’t help matters that she frequently looked up from her morning coffee in the lounge to find him watching her silently from his seat across the room. The moment she caught him looking he’d quickly drop his gaze back to the book in his lap. Ordinarily it would have annoyed her to be stared at, but Jon’s attention was a little flattering. He was handsome, with a fine, bearded jaw and big brown eyes framed by Warby Parker wayfarers. Yet despite his frequent glances her way, they’d never spoken past the obligatory introduction in her first week.

Jon’s withdrawn behavior would’ve been sufficient to catch her attention on its own. Dany had a history of involvement with inappropriate or unavailable men, after all. Her catastrophic breakup with Drogo would have been reason enough to move across the country, even without the job offer at Winterfell. So Dany had been ready to write Jon off as another case of her inconvenient attraction to, for lack of a better word, assholes.

But then she’d seen Jon teaching. She’d happened by his classroom on the way to the lounge during her free period, and the little rectangular window into his room framed a portrait of an entirely different man.

He was animated and energetic, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to his elbows as he moved from one corner of the board to the next, scrawling out numbers and graphs and turning to his students with a smile so dazzling it stopped her in her tracks. Who got that excited about algebra?

Maybe he wasn’t the office grump after all, just a man who didn’t much care for idle small talk and forced pleasantries. Dany could respect that. She wasn’t exactly a social butterfly herself, and being the new girl in a small town like White Harbor was a lonely business. A part of her wanted to fix that.

So she’d gotten absurdly dolled up for the office Christmas party that year, barely zipping herself into a sequined red cocktail dress and using the occasion to break in a pair of her highest heels, shiny black patent leather.

The party was held off-campus so that they could all indulge in the booze they so desperately needed around the holidays. The school’s hospitality fund had gone toward an open tab at the sports bar off Main Street, Tyrion’s favorite weekend haunt.

The place had been spruced up for Christmas, string lights along the bar, red and green window paint near the entrance broadcasting season’s greetings to the passersby. The tables had been pushed back or removed to make space for a crude dance floor, and music was blasting through the sound system at a near-deafening volume.

Dany could feel the bass in her bones, a humming vibration that excited her. It’d been too long since she’d had any real fun or done anything for herself. She was always so focused—working toward her next career goal, learning new ways to approach her students. That night was supposed to be different.

Things started off well enough. She slid up on the barstool next to Tyrion, already a few beers in and chatting up the bartender.

“Targaryen!” he’d greeted her enthusiastically before sweeping his eyes over her dress. “You look like an HR violation waiting to happen.”

Dany snorted, shaking her head demurely. That was good. She hadn’t worn a skin-tight, sparkly dress to blend into the background. But it wasn’t Tyrion’s admiration she was after.

“Put her first drink on me,” he instructed the bartender, throwing a friendly nod Dany’s way.

“Thanks. Vodka soda, please. With a twist.”

Tyrion frowned at her drink order.

“And two shots of whiskey straight up,” he added, winking at Dany’s surprise.

“Tyrion, no,” she protested quickly. “That’s too much, I—”

“Not to worry,” he sang out with a grin. “It’s not for me. One for you, and one to quiet down this insufferable chatterbox to my left.”

“Who?” she wondered aloud. Tyrion just patted the bartop twice in parting and slipped easily from his seat and onto the floor. On the other side of his now-empty stool sat Jon Snow. His expression was one of confusion to match Dany’s own as Tyrion picked up his drink and backed away from them.“

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he warned, and with a wink, he disappeared into the crowd.

Dany scoffed before turning back to Jon. He looked smart in a slim cut black suit. He wore black a lot, she’d noticed. Black like his hair. He had nice hair.

“Hi,” she offered simply. The greeting came out in an awkward sort of yell to be heard over the music and the dead space of the empty seat between them.

“Uh, yeah. Hey,” Jon returned. She saw his gaze dip to take in her outfit, the plunge of her neckline. He swallowed with a bob of his Adam’s apple before dragging his eyes back to hers.

A clink of glass against the bar signaled the arrival of the shots and Dany eyed them apprehensively. She didn’t drink nearly often enough to be comfortable shooting whiskey. But she’d resolved to have fun tonight. To relax. And with this night marking the beginning of a week’s holiday break from work, she didn’t have any reason to be up early the next day.

“We don’t have to—I mean, you don’t have to take it. Tyrion is just—he’s pushy. But you don’t have to drink that,” Jon assured her, leaning across the stool to be heard over the noise of the bar.

That’s more words than you’ve ever said to me, Dany thought, a smile tugging at her red-lacquered lips.

“I know,” she said, taking the shots in hand. She held one out to Jon with a nod of encouragement. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Snow.”

Jon stared at her hand for a moment of indecision before accepting the proffered whiskey.

“Merry Christmas, Daenerys.”

“You can call me Dany,” she offered. “My friends call me Dany.”

They toasted with a clink of their glasses that sloshed some of the liquid onto Dany’s fingers before she brought it to her mouth and downed it one gulp. It was strong and bitter on her tongue, burning all the way down her throat, and Dany had to fight the urge to gag from the taste. She’d never been one for hard liquor.

Jon appeared totally unaffected, swallowing it without the merest wince of discomfort. He looked up just as Dany was sucking the spilled, sticky drops off her skin, eyes rivetted to the sight of her finger between her lips. He shifted in his seat before turning back to the bar.

Dany sighed, taking the vodka soda Tyrion had bought for her from the bartop and sipping it to dispel the lingering flavor of the whiskey. She could see Jon fidgeting out of the corner of her eye, nursing a pint of some draught. The empty seat between them felt like a canyon. She wanted him to scoot over and sit by her. Strike up conversation. Something.

But he didn’t. Instead he traced a fingertip idly through the frost of condensation on his beer glass, determinedly keeping his eyes straight ahead. Apparently, he was done talking.

Dany pressed her lips together in irritation, her stare boring into the side of his head. She wasn’t used to this, to having to be the pursuer. In any other circumstance she would be the one rebuffing a man’s advances.

She polished off her whole drink waiting for him to make a move. And then another. It was a lot for someone her size. Even more for someone who drank as seldom as she. But Jon’s silence was maddening enough to keep her going, anything for a distraction from the awkward tension that hung palpably between them.

It was tempting to abandon him altogether and join the crowd on the dancefloor. Dany had already spied Missandei in a sleek black cocktail dress, dancing close with her boyfriend Grey. They looked happy. And she knew that somewhere out there Tyrion was several whiskies deep and engaged in some drunken philosophical discourse with an unwilling participant. Most likely Samwell Tarly. That’d be something to watch.

But she was too curious about Jon to leave things as they were. This was the closest they’d gotten to a real conversation. She’d seen him all those times in the lounge at work, even in faculty meetings. He stared at her. That meant he was attracted to her, didn’t it? So what was he waiting for?

Missandei bellied up to the bar next to her, giggling helplessly, Grey in tow.

“Dany!” she greeted her, patting her a little too hard on the back before ordering another glass of wine.

“Why aren’t you dancing?”

“Wrong shoes for it,” she fibbed, shrugging. “Enjoying the party?”

“Very much,” Missandei confirmed. Grey only smiled. He didn’t speak much English, which was just as well since Missandei was an expert in his native Valyrian tongue.

When her wine was delivered Missandei raised it to Dany, who toasted her with a clink of her own glass.

“Merry Christmas, Dany.”

“Merry Christmas,” she returned brightly. Missandei’s jovial spirit was infectious, even as she peered over Dany’s shoulder, no-doubt eyeing her sulking neighbor. She raised a brown questioningly at Dany before taking another sip of her wine.

“See you out there then?”

“Maybe later,” Dany replied, hoping it was true. She had to admit that it looked like a lot more fun than her current occupation.

When the couple had gone, she turned back to Jon with a sigh loud enough to be heard even over the boom of the music.

“So,” she began, scooting toward him and onto the empty barstool at last. “What’s your problem?”

His face hardened instantly, posture going rigid.

“Excuse me?”

She was being rude. She knew that much, but the heady combination of liquid courage coursing through her veins and the weeks of compounded curiosity about this man spurred her on anyway.

“Why did you come here if you’re only going to sit there pouting?”

“I’m not pouting. I’m having a pint at a bar. What else would you have me do?”

“I don’t know, dance.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“I don’t dance.”

Dany rolled her eyes, sucking at her straw as it rattled loudly in her empty glass.

“Another one, please,” she called, raising her drink in the air to call the bartender over their way.

“You might want to slow down,” Jon cautioned. “You’ve been putting those away pretty fast all night.”

“So you’ve been watching me ‘all night,’ but couldn’t bother saying a word?” Jon shrunk back, clearly uncomfortable. Good, Dany thought. At least he can feel something.

When her drink arrived she took it at once, defiantly holding Jon’s gaze as she brought the straw to her lips and took a deep drink. The nerve of him, really, telling her she ought to slow down. He made no further protests, though, and Dany could feel his eyes on her mouth as she drank.

“So you don’t dance,” she noted. “And you don’t talk.”

“I never said I didn’t talk,” he fired back.

“But you haven’t.”

“Well, neither have you!”

Fair enough. She swallowed, trying to find a suitable response. He was right, of course. But she’d left the door open for conversation, hadn’t she? She’d told him her nickname, she’d taken the gods-damned shot of whiskey. The ball had been in his court, then, and he’d let it roll right past him. For an hour.

“Fine,” she relented finally. “We’re talking now. So, um. Why did you come here tonight, anyway? This doesn’t really seem like your scene.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing myself,” he answered, swishing his drink idly in his hand. “This isn’t exactly going how I’d thought it would.”

Interesting.

“How did you think it would go?”

His hand stilled around his glass, his eyes finding hers. There was something in them that sucked the air right out of her, something serious and suggestive. Maybe she was right, after all. Maybe he did want her.

“I, ah.” Jon cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I thought for sure Tyrion would’ve been kicked out by now.”

She giggled at his unexpected humor, nearly toppling from her precarious seat on the stool. “Maybe he has,” she pointed out, shrugging. “Haven’t seen him in awhile, have we?”

Jon smiled at that—a handsome, disarming smile. It put her at ease to see it, to be reminded that under his coarse exterior was the kind man she’d seen in the classroom before.

“So when you aren’t sitting at bars avoiding dancing and talking,” she teased. “What do you do for fun?”

He shrugged. “I like training, exercise. I run and hike with my dog. I do a bit of reading. And I’m a fencing instructor.”

Dany snorted, inhaling a burning swig of her vodka soda and coughing to clear it. Her eyes teared from the choking sensation, but even through the blur she could see Jon’s scowl.

“Fencing?” she asked, gasping for breath. “Fencing?”

“Aye, fencing,” he answered, bristling. “What of it?”

“You’re—you’re a nerd, Jon Snow,” she announced, his obvious grumpiness only adding to her amusement. She tried to imagine it, Jon in one of those little white practice suits she’d seen in the movies, face hidden behind a mesh mask, curls stuffed under a helmet, sword-fighting like they were in some period drama. Being a history nerd herself she could appreciate the hobby, but it didn’t make the idea of the surly Jon prancing his way through fencing footwork any less hilarious.

“A ‘nerd?’ Gods, what are you, ten?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“You’re a fencing math teacher. Face it.”

“Fencing is a noble craft, an art-form dating back centuries. You ought to know, history expert and all.”

“Still a nerd,” she grinned.

“I’m not,” he insisted, but she could see the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

“Alright, if you’re not a nerd, then prove it. A nerd wouldn’t dance with me,” she challenged playfully. “Come on, prove me wrong.”

He blinked at her, slowly uncrossing his arms.

“Fine,” he agreed, shrugging out of his jacket. He stood up and held out a hand, refusing to meet her eyes. “One song.”

Dany’s lips curled upward in a sultry grin, excitement thrumming through her. She wanted him. More than she’d thought she would, and the prospect of dancing with him had her body bursting with anxious energy. She took a final sip of her drink before setting it on the bartop next to her clutch and accepting Jon’s hand.

It was warm, warm and rough and big. He laced his fingers through hers and then turned away leading her through the press of bar patrons and out to the dancefloor.

The crowd had somewhat thinned from earlier that night, though Missandei and Grey were still going; Margaery and Sansa, too, laughing breathlessly and stumbling about. Dany didn’t really see anyone else she recognized among the dancers, though it was hard to tell in the semi-darkness.

The music was even louder here, the tall speakers abutting the crude wooden dancefloor. It was typical club fare, lots of bass, energetic beat. Ordinarily it wasn’t Dany’s type of music, but tonight she couldn’t have chosen anything better. When Jon turned to face her she saw uncertainty and nervousness etched into his features, but when she guided his hands to her hips they felt natural enough, and soon they were swaying and stepping in time with the song.

It didn’t take long for them to slip into an easy rhythm. The music pounded out louder than her own pulse in her ears, the dark of the bar casting everything in a haze of smoke and laughter. Dany was just drunk enough to be fearless and free. She didn’t even notice when she stepped out of turn, or the pain in her feet from her ill-advised stilettos. Everything blurred together into sensation and instinct.

It had been awhile, but Dany had loved dancing and clubbing with her friends back home. Even so, dancing with a man was different. She’d always seen it as a test of chemistry, rhythm and compatibility made physical. If that was true, Jon was passing the test with flying colors, holding her temptingly close one moment and spinning her out with an effortless flow in the next. Dany found herself returning the flash of his smile peeping out at her in the dark. He was good.

“I thought you couldn’t dance!”

“I never said I couldn’t,” he shouted back over the music, lifting her abruptly out of a dip, her hair whipping in the air. “I said I didn’t.”

For a heated moment they stood, breathing heavily from the dance, her face inches from his.

“I’m glad you changed your mind.”

The song ended on an instant of silence, their panting breaths suddenly deafening in her ears. Dany tried to hide her disappointment. It was over too quickly. Jon’s closeness, the grip of his hands and the dizzy excitement of moving with him on the dancefloor had only served to make her want him more. A tease. But despite his earlier “one song” declaration, when the next song filled the room with sound, he didn’t let her go.

Instead, he twirled her around in his arms, plastering her body to his and splaying his palms over her hips to hold her against him. She gasped, covering his hands with her own and relaxing into his hold. The song was slower than the first, and she writhed against Jon in time with the beat, her ass pressing at his hips.

She fell into something like a trance. All their prior hesitance melted away into a delicious euphoria as she danced shamelessly in Jon’s arms, breathing in the spice of his cologne, relishing in the heat of his palms through her dress, his breath at her ear and on her neck as they moved together. The second song blended into a third, and then a fourth, and soon Dany stopped counting. She felt wild and desirable, sweating from exertion, hair a mess and skin flushed. Jon was everywhere, all lingering touches and breathy exhales, his body moving sinuously with hers.

It felt filthy to dance with him this way, especially at a work function of all things. But Dany found it hard to care about prying eyes with Jon’s hands sliding up from her waist, the pronounced feel of what she knew to be his erection throbbing at her backside.

For months she’d done nothing more than steal a glance across the staff lounge, pass in the hall close enough to brush his shoulder. Every moment had made her ache with some unsatisfied need. To be so close now, finally, was enough to make her wet with anticipation. The palpable attraction between them, the reciprocal, fluid sync of their movement went beyond anything she’d ever expected.

Jon’s quiet reserve had intrigued her before, but she’d never dreamt it was masking this—that underneath his careful exterior he was so passionate and uninhibited. It was like her touch had flipped a switch, lit a fire, burning his mask away to reveal a wolf in a man’s clothing. Yes—a wolf, and she wanted nothing so much as to be devoured.

Dany could feel her dress riding up almost to her hips as she danced, grinding back on Jon with his leg shoved up between hers. Every touch was like a promise of what could be if only they weren’t in public, if only they were alone.

She lifted her hands to feel for him behind her, grabbing blindly for his face, her fingers raking through his short beard. His palm was hot on her throat, guiding her head back until it rested at his shoulder, angling her face to his.

All at once the music crescendoed and Dany crushed their mouths together, grateful then for the towering heels that gave her height enough to match him. The kiss was rough and frantic, charged with all the building fervor from their dance. His lips were soft but unyielding, his beard scraping roughly at her mouth as he opened his lips to kiss her deeply. She met the hot slick of his tongue with her own, tasting the faint tang of his beer, the cool of some minty gum.

Jon dropped a hand from her jaw down lower to traverse the décolletage over her dress, then lower still, scandalously low. She moaned into his open mouth as he all but groped her through the fabric. She hadn’t worn a bra with the strapless dress, leaving nothing but the thin, sequined fabric between the flesh of his palm and the aching sensitivity of her nipple.

It was getting to be too much, too intimate, and even her booze-drenched awareness knew how wildly inappropriate it was, how mortified she’d be if their colleagues noticed what was happening. But it was only when Jon pulled back, gasping, that she had the clarity of mind to act.

She turned around in Jon’s arms to face him properly, still breathless from the kiss. She stood, drinking in the sight of him. His eyes were lidded and dazed, lips wet and kiss-swollen. Her lipstick was smeared all over his face. It only made her want him more, like she’d marked him, like he was hers—no longer that untouchable-hot-guy from work but the very-fuckable-hot-guy who’d all but dry humped her on the dancefloor.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” she breathed, leaning in to speak at the shell of his ear.

“Okay.”

Dany took his hand and marched him off the dancefloor, navigating through the throng of people and back to their former places at the bar. In a daze she collected her purse and settled up her bar tab, staring at her reflection in the huge mirror that spread across the wall behind the bar. She looked strange and unfamiliar, her eyes ringed in dark, smudging makeup, hair sticking to her damp skin, cheeks flaming.

This was completely mad. She was a schoolteacher. A sensible and responsible woman. She didn’t go out to clubs picking up men, especially not men she’d have to confront in the staff lounge at work after the fact.

She was wrenched from her thoughts when Jon came up behind her. He was back in his suit jacket, looking at least a little more put-together than she did. She noted with some satisfaction that there were still faint splotches of pink coloring his face from her lipstick. His arms wound around her waist and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder before meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Ready to go, gorgeous?”

Dany’s heart thumped double-time at the possessive wrap of his embrace, the hint of mischief in his voice. How could she say no?

At her eager nod of assent Jon helped her into her coat and then guided her through the throng and out the door. When the brisk chill of the night air hit them on the sidewalk he pulled her in close, enveloping her in warmth. Dany let out a breath, nestling against his chest

“I didn’t drive here,” she murmured.

“Me neither.” Jon fished in his pocket for his phone, still shielding her between his arms as his thumbs tapped the screen rapidly, calling an Uber.

“My place or yours?” she whispered, stifling a giggle at the cliché. She could hardly believe it even now. She wasn’t one for one-night stands or going home with a guy on the first date. But she couldn’t stomach facing the silent loneliness of her cold apartment. Not tonight. And while Dany wanted to blame it on the vodka sodas, it was more than lust or loneliness that drew her to Jon. She liked him. She’d never been good at any of this, but he made it easy, natural.

“Uh—what’s your address?”

Dany spun in his arms, wriggling his phone out of his grip to type in her address. It took a few attempts, her fingers clumsy and unwieldy from the booze.

“Let me—” Jon began, noting her difficulty.

“I’ve got it,” she insisted, shrugging him off. After two more tries she finally spelled her street name correctly, confirming their ride. “Hope you like cats, Jon Snow,” she said with a grin, returning his phone to his pocket.

He smiled, nodding, but there was something off in his eyes. He looked distracted. Different. Dany opened her mouth to ask what was wrong but thought better of it when their ride arrived. The driver shot them an impatient glare and Jon dropped his arms from her sides, moving to get the door.

At Jon’s invitation Dany got in first, sliding across the back seat to make room for him beside her. When he didn’t follow she leaned over to peer up at him where he stood framed in the car doorway, a hand on the hood. He was looking down at her with an inscrutable expression that made her stomach drop.

“Be safe tonight, okay?”

“What? What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Jon mumbled, his dark eyes shifting away.

“What do you mean? Jon, get in,” she said, hating the pleading tone that entered her voice. “Don’t do this.”

“Good night, Dany.”

He pushed away from the car, shutting the door hard and stepping back off the curb. Dany gaped at him, scooting hurriedly toward the window and fumbling with the controls to lower it, but the car pulled away before she could.

Pressing her face to the cold glass she could just make out Jon’s shrinking form. He remained on the sidewalk, watching the retreating vehicle until they were out of sight. Even then, she couldn’t help noting how handsome he looked—hair tousled in the breeze, hands jammed in the pockets of his well-tailored slacks.

Asshole, she thought bitterly.

That night the alcohol was enough to soothe her to sleep in spite of her wounded pride and infuriating lust. But the rest of her week’s holiday from classes gave her ample time to nurse a healthy rage at and loathing for Jon. It was cruel of him, teasing her that way, touching her that way, kissing her that way, only to send her home without so much as an explanation. In her darker moments she blamed herself. She should have known better, really. He couldn’t have truly wanted her. If he had, he wouldn’t have been so cold and silent at work. In her experience, if a man was interested he made it known. Loudly and often. Why should Jon be any different?

He was different, though. Jon Snow was a snob, she’d decided. A snob and a tease. She tried to console herself with the notion that she’d dodged a bullet—clearly sleeping with him would have been a mistake of epic proportions. He’d done her a favor, really. If they’d gone through with it she’d be left with nothing but regret. Right?

When classes resumed the following week Dany did her best to act as though nothing had happened. Jon must have returned to the bar after their ill-fated encounter, because no one—not even Missandei—mentioned their leaving together. All conversation in the faculty lounge focused on Oberyn’s salacious dancing and Tyrion’s over-indulgence that led to him falling asleep on one of the newly-felted pool tables at the bar.

Dany was grateful for the gossip. She wanted nothing so much as to forget that night and the tumultuous emotions that had followed it. The alcohol had helped some. As it was, she could only remember the party in pieces, flashes.

The problem was that the images in her memory, jumbled as they were, were hot. Every time she thought of dancing close with Jon, the shameless snap of her hips, the moist heat of his breath on her neck, she had to squeeze her thighs together against the tingle of recognition, of desire. Despite her lingering anger her treacherous body wanted him still, which only made it more difficult when she saw him again.

He cornered her at the coffee pot, stepping in near enough that only she could hear.

“Dany,” he began, his voice a hurried whisper. “About last week. I—”

“Save it,” she cut him off, stepping away from his closeness, from the disorienting scent of his cologne, potent with memories. “And my name is Daenerys.”

There was a blink of pain in his eyes before his expression shuttered again. He left the break room in a huff.

If Dany was honest, she was desperate to hear his explanation. The unanswered questions and wondering what she’d done wrong were enough to keep her up at night. But her pride wouldn’t allow her to show it.

Thankfully, that morning was the only time Jon attempted to broach the subject, and from that day on he’d treated Dany with nothing but the same chilly civility she’d noted in him before the party.

Eventually she’d broken down and told Missandei what had happened, and her friend had been supportive and encouraging, repeating the oft-used “he doesn’t deserve you” refrain. Dany wanted to believe it, but Jon had been the one to reject her, and while there were no outward signs of what happened between them, a peculiar tension remained—a heat that made the air between them simmer with something vacillating between hatred and hunger.

So now, a year later, all those months of confusion about that night and her growing frustration at his stony demeanor coalesced into a bone-deep dread at the prospect of a weekend away in close quarters with Jon.

He’d left in such a hurry after Principal Tyrell’s meeting that they hadn’t had the opportunity to plan, which meant that sooner or later, one of them would have to initiate contact. The thought made Dany’s stomach turn.

Three days later it had become clear that Jon was leaving it up to her. Dany had been expecting him to approach her at work, drop by her classroom, find her at lunch. Anything. Instead he seemed to be avoiding her with more than his usual determination, so that by Thursday evening she still hadn’t seen him at all.

Dany was sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, Drogon spread out on her lap, a stack of ungraded papers guilting her from the coffee table. All her bags for the were trip packed and ready to go for the following day. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d have to be the one to reach out to Jon.

She clicked open her phone, her thumb hovering over her contacts with mounting anxiety, when the ding of her text tone sounded out, startling a hiss from Drogon.

She snorted with laughter as the notification lit up her screen: “New message from Pompous Dickhead.” The entire faculty directory was synced into all their contacts through the school’s email app, so Dany had always had Jon’s number in her phone. But Missandei had taken the liberty of changing his record from ‘Mr. Snow’ to the delightfully crude new moniker after Dany shared the story of their unfortunate Christmas party rendezvous. She’d never had occasion to contact him before or change it back. Maybe she never would.

After all, Missandei was a language expert. Who was Dany to question such an apt description of Jon’s character?

She opened the message with a smirk, her eyes scanning quickly over the brief text:

Pompous Dickhead: “Meet outside the back entrance tomorrow at 6. Be ready to get on the road. We’ll take your car.”

Dany shook her head, setting her glass down and thinking over how to reply. She couldn’t be the one to drive them up into the mountains. She wouldn’t. But she wasn’t about to admit fear or weakness to Jon.

“No. Let’s take yours. See you at 6.”

She sent the message with a shaky hand, dreading his response. She’d prefer not to lie, but if Jon pressed, she’d just say her car was in the shop. Anything was preferable to making herself vulnerable after the way he’d already hurt her pride.

The ellipses that signified Jon typing a response flickered into view, then disappeared. A moment’s pause and he was typing again. Dany bit her lip, anxiety prickling at her scalp. Maybe it’d be easier to just agree, to take her chances behind the wheel. At least if they wrecked she wouldn’t have to go on the stupid retreat.

But then his reply finally came.

Pompous Dickhead: “Fine.”

Rude, but at least he was consistent. Dany sighed. This was going to be a long weekend.

[memescomicswriting]

Law and Order Ch. 1

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary:  Former Georgetown graduate, Y/N left her multimillion-dollar corporate job for her morals. Now working for underfunded lobbying campaigns, she tries to maintain a mundane life outside of DC, despite Sheild’s impressive recruitment offers. What happens when her selfless efforts catch the eye of the champion of the weak, Captain America? Is his cause worth suffering the political spotlight again? Hopefully so.

A/N: This takes place after Winter Soldier but before Civil War. I’ll probably break cannon soon, if I haven’t already. Like and Reblong! Comment what you think!

---

"Y/N!" Carol, the office receptionist called out. "I have Sheild on line two again." Despite having a sliding glass door with blinds for privacy, the small size of the office did little to create solitude. Y/N grunted into her hand. This was the third time this week she received a call from the not so covert government agency and it was only Tuesday. These people refused to give up. Not that she could blame them, she was one of the brightest political lawyers outside 'the swamp' as Washington politics was now called. "Carol, they could send the Black Widow herself to intimidate, bribe, or blackmail me into accepting their offer and I'd still give Agent Coulson the same answer- hell fucking no!" Y/N began putting her essential belongings in her purse. She had places to be that did not include cussing a Sheild secretary out over the phone. She could hear Carol in the background, clearly paraphrasing her words. "I'm sorry, Ms. Y/N is not available at the moment and she isn't accepting any new cases...mhm...I see..."

Y/N passed her desk, not bothering to stick around for more. Carol was great at her job. She'd maneuver Y/N's crass responses into something adequate and fangled her out of any unwanted situation with ease. Y/N were glad you could pinch her from her previous job. Y/N left the big-name corporate and legal law firms over two years ago. The day she found out the senior partners and the company had deep ties with Hydra, she quit. After learning some of the cases she worked on aided the shady back deals of the Nazi organization, she left the legal profession for a few months. Racked with quit, she gave half of your bank fund to charity then and there. She began soul searching for something to redeem herself. That's when one of her college friends, Angie, called her up. She heard Y/N quite the big leagues in favor of her dignity. Angie was now working for a Senator, and though Y/N kindly refused the option to join her, she let Y/N know about several lobbying campaigns that fit your moral compass. The 9/11 First Responders Bill was up for renewal, and the comedian Jon Stewart was doing his best to harras congress into backing and improving it. Of course, he didn't run the lobbying campaign but Y/N sure could help whoever was. Soon, she was bankrolling the staff's paychecks so they could actually pay their bills. All donations and fundraising profits went into funding the workspace, advertising, and backing like-minded politicians. She put her remaining fortune in her broker's hands to generate profit to fund this endeavor. Soon, she formed your own special interest group. Y/N and the other lawyers who signed on worked towards making the government pay reparations to those hurt do to the government's negligence or during service to their country. Many were newly graduated, interns, or a few senior lawyers fed up with Washington like herself. Currently, half of her team were divided between increasing government-funded veteran assistance and making the first responders to the Invasion of New York covered under the First Responders Bill. Y/N was now on her way now to a rally in supporting the first responders of the invasion. Her intern, Josie, trailed behind Y/N with a large stack of papers she may or may not need. Of course, she wasn't speaking, but she held copies of possible speeches for the speakers she had lined up- a few congressmen and women, Peper Potts from Stark industries, and someone representing the VA; Sam Willson. She'd hand them the speeches beforehand, if they wanted them, and a copy of the proposed bill her staff was working on passing through congress. Y/N never spoke at these things. It wasn't her. Not anymore. She hid behind the stage with the speaker's people and waited things out. She planned, created, and pushed your agenda into action. In all honesty, she'd been quite successful in the past two years. Many of her interest projects were picked up by the media and discussed in politics. Few things were passed, but even a few bills or amendments on state and federal level was a lot comparison. The drive from your office in Alexandria flew by quickly. Y/N's personal driver dropped her and her assistant off at the head of your rally in front of capitol hill. With a quick flash of her badge, they were backstage and giving orders to the employees already in place. Soon the guest speakers began to arrive. The congressmen and woman were accompanied by two or three assistants and light security. Y/N greeted them as warmly as she could a politician and thanked them for their support. She handed her proposed speeches to their teams and moved on to execute more tasks. Next, Peper Potts arrived in some futuristic mode of transport. It was just her and her security guard of Stark built technology. "Y/N!" Peper embraced Y/N in a professional hug and kissed either side of her cheeks. "Pepper," Y/N returned her greeting. "I'm so grateful that you and Stark Industries are here to support the cause. My team and I appreciate it so much. Now here's a packet of proposed speeches. I'm sure your secretary already looked over it for you. Feel free to give it a glance again and use any you like. If you have one of your own that works as well. In addition, the packet continues the Bill we're hoping to pass through and suggestions in aiding its movement. Any questions?" She glanced up at the older woman expectantly. They always had questions. "It's always work with you Y/N. No brown nosing or bsing, I enjoy it." The ginger giggled and flipped through her packet. "I have no questions. I modified one of your speeches to better align with the message the company and I wanted to get across. I'll pass along the bill and the suggestions as well as personally looking them over. This cause is very important to Tony and me, and we want to do all we can for it." Y/N hummed in contentment to Pepper's words. It was nice to have another tough female in the game with her. Before she could go, Pepper stopped Y/N by placing her hand gently on the younger woman's shoulder. "I know I'm being a hypocrite for saying this, but you work so much Y/N. You should take a break once in a while and join me for lunch or a weekend on the coast. No business, just relaxation." It was Y/N's turn to giggle. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I don't know how to do much socializing these days without it involving work. I'd annoy you to death." She waved the Pepper off. "Besides, all this gets done because I work too much." Pepper eyed her mischievously. "One of these days I'm only going to sign onto one of your causes if you agree to relax with me." However, she quickly chuckled and began flipping through the packet again. "You go back to whatever you need to do, but I'm serious. You're taking a break with me at some point." Y/N nodded in amusement. "I believe it." Y/N sauntered off to join her staff in arranging some last-minute things. Another half-hour passed and Josie grabbed Y/N's attention away from a media crew. "Um, Y/N? You might wanna check out Sam Willson?" Confused you turned to your intern. "Who again?" "The VA rep." She pointed out to a man sauntering up the hill with a pair of metal wings folding back into a pack. "What the-" Y/N took off across the grass, leaving Josie to direct the crew. The alarm was evident on Y/N's face because the man quickly bucked up. "Woah there," He met her halfway. "I know I'm not in the usual attire, but I just got off mission and I couldn't make it here and change. Figured representing the VA in my Sheild uniform would be acceptable." "Sheild?" Y/N groaned. "Did they send you here just to mess with me? I've told them no like twenty times now but if they can't get that through their bureaucratic heads I can-" "Oh no, no, no." Sam cut Y/N off mid-tantrum. "Sheild didn't send me and I don't work for them per se. I work with the Avengers. Pepper can vouch for me." Y/N took a few calming breaths, only focusing on her breathing. "I'm sorry to bombard you." She sighed. "I just really need this event to go off without a hitch. I appreciate your time here and I hope I haven't scared you off form any future involvement." Sam combusted in laughter. "You're a tough cookie sister. I fear for whatever Sheild representative they send to talk with you. You'll eat 'em alive. You'd do well with my gang of morons." "You call the Avengers a gang of morons?" Y/N raised a brow in questioning disbelief. "I'd call anyone who charges headfirst into danger moron whether it's heroic or not." Sam Shrugged nonchalantly. "And with your attitude, you'd have them whipped into order real quick." A sly smile crept onto Y/N's face. "Glad to know I have other career options if this goes belly up." She went on to go through the events routine with Sam. He was grateful he had a speech prepared for him. He trusted whatever she had in place. He went on to overlook what he'd say and Y/N went on with her other tasks. Soon the event was kicking off. Protestors gathered in front of the temporary stage. The media sat by and recorded the scene in front of them. Pepper went first, followed by a few congressmen, then Sam, and a few more congressmen. Afterwhich Y/N remained to converse with various important individuals and give her press statment- in paper only. Steve jogged up to Sam as he descended the back stairs of the stage. "Sorry, I'm late Sam. It was easier to parachute behind enemy lines in '44 than find a place to park my bike. I saw your speech though. You did great man." Sam patted his friend on the back and shook his head chuckling. "Furry gave you the rundown after the mission, didn't he." "Yeah," Steve sighed. "He sure did. I know I'm disobeying his orders but I can't help but show off our Hydra takedowns. I want everyone to know were avenging any hurt Hydra might have caused them and that we're trying to end them." "And Furry's trying to keep it hushed for his superiors." Sam shrugged, not angered but not impressed with the reasoning. "I get it." "Anyway, if you don't have anything else to do here we can go for a bite maybe and tour the Smithsonian." Steve patted his stomach subconsciously at the mention of food. "Man, you just wanna stuff me and drag me through a boring museum to torcher my already tired body. No way." Sam nudged the super soldier's shoulder. "Besides, I was thinking of using my wings to intimidate some of the politicians into further backing the cause. But now that you're here, maybe I can use you too?" Steve looked a cross between dumbstruck and annoyed. "What's it even for?" "You weren't even paying attention." Sam tsked and slapped the other man's back. "It's for expanding the 9/11 first responders bill to cover the public servants who helped during the New York Invasion. Remember, the one you fought in?" "Oh!" Steve's eyes grew large. Lord, could he be dense sometimes. "That's why you were going on about nonmilitary service. Honestly, I thought it was about volunteering." He ran a hand through his hair in thought. "Well, since we're here, I wouldn't be opposed to meeting the guy who put this show on. Maybe he can give me some legal advice on how to tackle this Hydra business." "Well, the 'gal' who organized this event and the bill we're trying to pass is over there talking to Pepper. But don't go all 40's on her and say you're impressed with her being a woman in the workforce. Y/N'll eat you alive." Sam directed Steve in the direction of Y/N. He had to say his goodbyes to her anyway. Steve glanced at Sam unamused but continued to walk. "I'm from a different time, not a moron." Sam gave the 'really' look to his friend. After all, Steve just assumed Y/N would be a man. He also held back a chuckle at the irony of Steve using the term moron. Y/N was finishing up her debrief with Pepper. She wanted to give clear instructions on how to proceed from here and also make some small plan to 'relax' with Pepper so she'd get off her case. "If you have any further questions-" "Ugh Y/N." Peper directed her to the direction behind her. "I think I get it but you have more friends that want to say hello." Y/N frowned in confusion. She talked to anyone else readily available. The remaining congressmen were chatting it up with the press at the moment. She didn't understand the meaning of Peper's interruption until she addressed the upcoming men. "Steve, Sam, it's nice to see you again. I'd tell Tony any hello you gave, but I'm sure you see him more than I do." Peper gave quick embraces to both men. "Pepper." Captain America nodded in return. "And Ms. Y/N" He outstretched his hand with a friendly but respective smile. "Oh hell," Y/N exclaimed, blowing off Steve's hand. "Now I know he's an associate of Sheild!"

--

A/N: Yo! I fulfilled something I said I’d do. Here’s Law and Order from my “Upcoming Works” list. Let me know what you think! How well will Steve and Y/N get along? Like and Reblog if you enjoyed it!

[cottonwren]

Big Bro - Peter Parker

WARNING - This is Endgame compliant and the main plot point is a spoiler.  The rest of the post is under ‘keep reading’

Summary: Peter is struggling to look after himself and coping with Tony’s death, but now he has a family and two siblings to help him cope.

AO3 link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632191

Peter sat in Tony’s study, looking at the mask. It had been only a few months, nearing a year, and he’d dropped out of school. He couldn’t focus, and Tony had left him more than enough to pursue being spiderman and look after his aunt. He spent most of his time now with Shuri and Harley, improving suits and recovering.

Sundays, though, were spent at the Stark house. Pepper and May cooked, Happy brought dessert, and the kids brought themselves. It was nice to feel like he had a family again - he loved May, and he always would, but having Tony and Pepper, having his new litte brother and sister, meant too much.

“You’re gone and even then you’ve managed to help me.” Peter chuckled softly, running his hands through his hair. “The money doesn’t bring you back, it never will, nothing ever will, but May doesn’t have to worry about money anymore. I’m working with Shuri and Harley, we’re improving everyone’s suits as much as we can, and Mr Banner has been teaching me. Carol is… really cool. She’s looking after space at the minute, but she comes back a lot. Left me in charge of the avengers. I’m doing my best, Tony, I really am. All I want to do is make you proud..” He admitted, not the first time he’d spoken to the mask nor the last. Still, tears sprang from his eyes.

Blue light streamed from the mask, projecting a hologram of Tony on one of the chairs now at the dinner table. Before Peter could say anything, Tony began to speak.

“Pep, if we win, and the kid comes back, you’ll look after him, won’t you? When we lost him, I thought I’d never love a kid more, and then we had Morgan, and I realised I loved her just as much… what am I saying.. He’s a good kid. He’s going to do better than I did. Hope he likes being a big brother, huh? And if this is you, Kid, and you’re watching… I never had a stable figure father, but I hope I was good enough of a father figure while I was lucky enough to be. I believe in you,” Came Tony’s voice, pushing Peter over the brink.

He desperately wanted him back, wanted to hug him. Peter wiped his tears quickly with his sleeve, blinking away the tears as quickly as possible. The door opened, and he felt a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back down to earth.

“Hey, kid.” Pepper sighed softly, sitting next to him on the sofa. “You alright? Wanna talk?” She asked, wrapping an arm around him. “Morgan and May are playing outside, so if you wanna cry, let it out.”

“Thanks.” Peter muttered, still doing his best to keep it in, to be the leader. “Did you know about that?”

“I did. I’ve been through all of those memos. All of the ones addressed to me.” She said, rubbing his back in small circular motions. “Just because Tony thought you should be the leader doesn’t mean that you have to close yourself off, you know? One of Tony’s biggest pitfalls was the fact that he was closed off and stubborn. He believed in you because he knew you’re not like that. If you can’t lead at the minute, that’s fine, yeah? I’m still here, Sam and Bucky are still here. Your health matters more, Peter. We love you.”

His head tightened like a vice as he tried to hold back his sobbing, and relief was almost instant as Pepper embraced him and he sobbed openly into her arms. Peter felt her arms around him, knowing he’d have to apologise for getting her sweater wet with tears.

“It’s alright, Pete, it’s alright.” She told him, now crying herself. Pepper had grown attached to Peter before Tony passed, but as she saw Morgan become so attached to him, as he and his aunt came round every Sunday and he dropped round every now and then to share new revelations or to take Morgan to the cinemas, he realised just why Tony loved him as much as he did.

Peter was exactly what he called himself - a neighborhood spiderman. Just a kid from Queens with a big brain and an even bigger heart who wanted to do his family proud. Pepper swore to make sure that he knew he had already done that and more.

He gets the memo saved to a hard drive as a duplicate, and all the memos on the suit dedicated to him on there as well. There’s one, and it’s just Tony telling him not to worry about fucking up as a leader, because “Good leaders make mistakes, Kid. What makes them good is that they fix it no matter the cost,” He’s reviewing that very one in his head as he waits for Morgan to come out of school one day - Pepper’s at a meeting, and he jumps at the chance to spend time with her.

Tony was scared, Peter realises. Tony was scared about everything good he ever did, minus a few sparks of genius in the lab. When he made mistakes, it took a while, but he fixed it. He fixed it, and now Peter had an Aunt, a Mother, a Brother, and a little Sister.

“Peter!” Morgan called, running over to him with her backpack and lunchbox in hand. Every time her oldest brother picked her up, it meant ice cream and good songs on the radio. Her mum didn’t like new music, only old stuff like Black Sabbath.

Peter high fived Morgan, taking her bags and lunchbox so that she didn’t have to carry them. He looked a little funny with a hello kitty backpack, but he didn’t mind at all as Morgan lead the way out of the school gates.

As soon as they got in Peter’s car, he looked at Morgan. “So, ice cream? Your mum won’t get back for a couple hours,”                 

“Yeah! Can I put some music on?” She asked, always happy to see her older brother. Sometimes he’d come over and talk to her dad, and Morgan would pretend not to be able to hear him cry until he came out of the study and she’d tell him all about whatever she was doing.

“Of course.” He nodded, driving towards the ice cream parlour. “How was school? Anything good happen?”  

“Yeah! I did a drawing, cuz we’re doing about family.” Morgan told him enthusiastically, “And I wrote about my family! The drawing’s in my bag, but I wanna show you and mum at the same time.” She explained, messing with her hair as she rambled.

“If it’s anything like your other drawings, Morg, I’m sure it’s a masterpiece.” He told her, pulling into the parking lot. “Who’s in it?”

“My family, duh! Mum, Dad, you, and Harley!” She laughs, thinking he was joking. She doesn’t see Peter quickly wipe his eyes to stop himself from crying.

When they get back, and Morgan’s still licking the mint choc chip ice cream from around her mouth, she pulls out the drawing out to her mum and Peter. Pepper grins instantly, kissing Morgan on the head and showing Peter.

“Hey, even Morgan knows you’re short.” Pepper jokes, showing Peter the felt tip drawing. There was Pepper, Tony, Peter,  Harley and then Morgan at the end. Morgan was shortest, but Peter and Tony were tied for second.

“That’s amazing, Morg. I’m not that short, though, surely?” He laughed, putting it on the fridge with a few magnets.

“Yeah, you are!” She beamed, exploding into laughter that filled the whole house. Tony was gone, but Peter knew he’d be okay if he had his family with him.

[trust-goes-both-ways]

Winterprincess Week 2019 Day 4: Enemies to Lover’s AU

          A/n: Well I’m super late to the party. But after getting this idea at 9 am this morning and spending literal hours on it, I’ve managed to turn what was supposed to be a short oneshot for winterprincess week into..something else. I can’t believe I’m gonna try and do it again tomorrow. Well later today by now. Sorry about any grammar/punctuation mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

The United States Military had been crazy to send soldiers into Wakanda. Even their elite Captain America, who’d never failed in a mission. Well- never failed in a mission so far. Tensions had been rising between the two countries for the last few years, ever since America learned there was a ‘potential’ source of vibranium under the mountains of Wakanda. But the rest of the world, Wakanda had no intention of being duped into allowing America access into their borders and to their resources. When America realized Wakanda wasn’t just some third world country that would be ever so grateful for American aid, she turned next to what she knew best- war.

           Okay, so they weren’t actually at war. But Shuri was smart enough to know where there was soldiers, there was a fight brewing on the horizon. A fight she didn’t want anywhere near her peaceful country. Which is why she sat on the other side of a jail cell, distastefully studying the prisoner they’d brought in.

           “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, part of the 107th Infantry Regiment. Born in Brooklyn, New York, on May 10th, 1993. Sniper, with at least a dozen confirmed kills. You’re team has spent the last few years dismantling HYDRA facilities and taking out remaining Nazis. So tell me, Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri lowered the tablet she was reading from and looked the man straight in the eye, “Why are you bothering Wakanda?”

           Barnes stood with his arms crossed in the center of his cell, staring right back at her. He was by far the dirtiest thing there. The cells of the prisoner were kept sparkling clean and sterile. Barnes on the other hand was caked in mud and sweat, along with dried blood from a few minor injuries. He showed some bruises and scrapes but nothing serious. His posture rigid, his stare dark- he said nothing.

           Shuri sighed, and looked at the guards on either side of her. The two Dora Milaje mimicked the soldier’s stance. She could already tell this was going to take a while.  So instead of focusing on the first issue, she zeroed in on the one she’d been curious about.

           “What happened to your arm?” she nodded at the metal plated appendage on his left. It was silver except for the Captain America logo painted below the shoulder.

           Finally, the soldier reacted, quirking his eyebrows slightly. “What, it doesn’t tell you in that file you found on me?”

           “Just that you lost your arm in service to your country on a classified mission.”

           “You hacked the US government.” Barnes observed.

           “Your government is easy to hack.” Shuri told him bluntly.

           Barnes may have actually smiled, but it was so small a motion she couldn’t tell. He rolled his left shoulder back, holding up the arm for her to observe. “Fell off a train in Austria.” He told her. “Arm was ripped off on impact.”

           “Was that one of your team’s efforts to take down HYDRA?”

           “We were bringing in Armin Zola himself.”

           “The workmanship is shoddy.”

           “Excuse me?” Bucky said, genuinely caught off guard and just maybe offended. Good, Shuri thought.

           “Your arm.” Shuri clarified. “That model won’t last more than a few years, it’s not nearly sophisticated enough to serve more than a few basic functions, I’m guessing the wiring needs consistent replacing and fixing, and even from here I can tell you don’t get full range of motion.” She listed just a few of the problems she saw with the arm. She could build a better one in a day. Hell, give her a week and she could design and build the perfect upgrade.

           Her mind was halfway through the schematics when she remembered to tap down the need to improve, and create. This was an enemy soldier, not someone who needed her help.

           “The best scientists in America built this arm.” He told her. Oh yeah, he was definitely offended.

           “I pity American science if that’s the best they can do.” Shuri told him.

           “I’d like to see you do better.”

           “Believe me, I could.” Shuri promised.

           Now Barnes definitely smiled. It was a dangerous look. Despite the fact he was in the cell and she was keeping him there, he looked at her like a wolf that had caught sight of its prey. Like all he wanted to do was dig his claws under her skin.  It was dangerous and sexy and errant and promising all at the same time. Shuri bit down on her lip. She should not be eyeing the attempted colonizer.

           “And I thought Wakanda would be another country stuck in the last century. Instead it’s got technology that would make a Stark cry and a princess that would too.” Bucky said. Wait, was he teasingher?

           Shuri allowed herself a small smile. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ayo tensing. It’s okay, she thought. We’re just talking. I’m establishing myself with the enemy. Building trust so he talks to me. At least that’s what she told herself.

           “Wakanda has many wonders, Sergeant Barnes. You can understand why it makes us protective.”

           “Secretive is the word I’d use” he told her.

           “But not threatening. All the records we have show you and the Howling Commandos have done good work taking out HYDRA, rescuing POWS, shutting down the human experiments in Sokovia; all those good deeds, and yet you come armed and uninvited into a country that just wants to be left alone. That doesn’t add up to me.” Shuri stated.

It was true, that even in Wakanda they knew about the Howling Commandos, America’s elite combat unit led by the super-soldier Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. A SHIELD scientist had developed the serum that turned Captain Rogers into the perfect warrior, but had been assassinated just afterwards by HYDRA. In order to avenge him, Steve Rogers had organized the Howling Commandos with the intention of taking HYDRA down once and for all. James Barnes had been there since the beginning; Steve Roger’s oldest and closest friend.

“I’m a soldier, princess. I go where my country sends me.” Bucky’s tone indicated she hadn’t gotten him to spill; he’d merely decided to let her know.

“So you don’t even know why your government sent you here?” Shuri pushed, but Barnes didn’t answer. “If I were you, Sergeant Barnes, I’d be a little more helpful. Your team has retreated back across the border, and they won’t get in again. If you want to go home, you need to tell me what the Americans want.”

           “I’ve been taken prisoner before, Princess. Trust me, they’ll come for me.”

           Sensing she was getting no further today, Shuri stood up to leave, but not before turning over her shoulder to say, “You should settle in, Sergeant Barnes. You’ll be here for a while.”

A while turned into a week, which turned into a month, which in turn started to drive Bucky insane. He often found himself mentally berating Steve and the rest of the Commandos, thinking he was ready to be rescued whenever they would hurry up and get here. Of course he knew it wasn’t really their fault. Steve would never leave him to rot, which means the princess had meant what she said about them not finding another way into the country. Either that or SHIELD had pulled them back. Fucking government bureaucracy.

At least he couldn’t really complain about the accommodations. Wakandan prisoners were nicer than some motels he’d stayed in back home. He’d been able to shower and given clean clothes every day. Even the food was insanely good. The only problem, besides being a prisoner, was he was bored. There was nothing to do except stare at the ceiling all day. He was so sick of being left with his own thoughts, he looked forward to his daily visits from the princess.

To be fair, he probably would have looked forward to those anyway. The young princess of Wakanda had made very few public appearances with her brother when he emerged to address the world. The few pictures and minimal information on her did nothing to convey how beautiful she was in real life, or how clever.

She’d asked a decent question- why had they come to Wakanda? Truthfully the mission hadn’t sat right with any of them, but since they had finally dismantled HYDRA, SHIELD and the higher-ups had been eager to put the Howling Commandos on other missions, ones where regular Ops teams were likely to fail but where their elite soldiers would succeed. They’d been tasked to come scout the areas where there was thought to be possible sources of vibranium. The number of doubts in that sentence alone should have convinced them not to do it. But they were good soldiers, loyal agents. So they’d taken the assignment and gotten ambushed by border guards for their trouble.

Of course one thing Bucky knew now is that Wakanda did have vibranium, and lots of it. He could see the city from the small window of his cell, and even the tech he could see within the prison was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Stuff that Howard or his wayward son Tony Stark could never dream up was operating commonplace in the city. It was brilliant.

And it didn’t take him long to realize who was behind the brilliant inventions. Shuri had schooled him enough times in their conversations he quickly put together a picture of just how smart she was. And she was. Like could probably teach Stark or Banner a few things smart.

And damn if she wasn’t nice to look at too.

Bucky blamed his irrational feelings of the boredom. Of course he’d be attracted to the one person who made his day any interesting. If she happened the beautiful, charming, bright, incredibly intelligent princess of the nation currently holding him captive, so be it.

Fuck. Bucky hoped Steve would get here soon.

           Shuri knew after a few weeks that Barnes had told them all he would without resorting to more extreme interrogation tactics. And frankly, Shuri had no desire to do so. It was clear to her Barnes wasn’t some radical or extremist. He wasn’t driven by greed and power like Klaue had been. He wasn’t trying to kill anyone. What he’d said that first day was true- he was a soldier, and he went where his country told him. Shuri could sense he was regretting that decision.

           It wasn’t Wakandan policy to reach out to other nations, which means they had to wait for the American government to open discussion to get Sergeant Barnes back, which they had yet to do, probably because they didn’t want to admit they’d sent agents their in the first place. But a quick hack into SHIELD communications told her the rest of the Howling Commandos weren’t happy about the wait, and that a much more likely course of action would be their return for their comrade.

           It was a messy situation that didn’t come with a simple answer. Shuri found herself spending more time at her daily meetings with Sergeant Barnes in an attempt to understand him and his team. She didn’t even bother bringing Dora Milaje anymore.

           “You seem to have a lot of faith in your team, Sergeant Barnes, even after all this time. What makes you so certain they’ll come for you?” she asked one day.

           “I’ve been with them for a long time. I’ve got their backs and they got mine.” Barnes said while leaning against his cot. He didn’t seem to mind talking to her about these things. “When you go through the kind of things we have, it forms a bond of trust that nothing breaks.”

           “You mean your missions together?”

           “Some of them. But it’s other stuff too. Nat’s got a past she’s not proud of. Barton’s got secrets he doesn’t want anyone to know. But we know. All of it, everything there is to know about another person. Because when you’re out risking your neck and trusting someone else with your life, you realize you can trust them with anything.”  He told her seriously. He got a faraway look in his eyes, and Shuri actually pitied him. At the same tie, she envied him.

           “I can’t imagine having that kind of bond with someone.” She admitted.

           That brought his focus back to her. “Don’t you have people you trust?”

           Shuri crossed her arms. “Of course.” She said. Then, “I mean, I trust a lot of people. I trust the Dora Milaje to protect me because it’s their sworn duty. I trust my assistants to do their job, though maybe not with my life. I trust my brother completely. But he’s so busy being king these days he hardly has time to see me.”

           Barnes leaned forward. “But what about friends?” he pried. Shuri wasn’t unaware of how their positions had reversed, and he’d become the interrogator. But she only shrugged.

           “I don’t have a lot of friends.” She admitted, eyes drifting away from him. “Most of the time I’m too busy, and even when I’m not there aren’t a lot of people who are willing to be themselves around a princess.”

           When he didn’t respond she looked back at him, only to find him staring intensely at her. The look made her breath hitch. It made her feel like he was seeing straight through her. It made her nervous. It made her excited.

           “I can’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t want to be around you, princess.” He said finally.

           Shuri felt her face turn red and knew she had to get out of there before she said something she’d regret. Hastily she stood up from her chair.

           “I have to be getting on.” She explained. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sergeant Barnes.”

           “Bucky.” He called as she turned to go, stopping her in her tracks. She turned back to face him.

           “Pardon?” she asked.

           “Call me Bucky.”

           She was definitely blushing, but she nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bucky.”

           Shuri stared at a holographic schematic for 20 minutes before realizing she hadn’t made a single effort to work on it. She looked around, checking to be sure her lab was empty. Seeing it was, she dropped her head into her hands and groaned.

           This could not be real. She could not be crushing on a foreign agent. That was currently in her prison. An American foreign agent who was in her prison for attempting to invade her country.

           T’Challa was going to kill her.

           Except… it wasn’t that crazy, was it? He was just a patriot, doing what his country said. If T’Challa asked her to do something for the good of Wakanda, no matter how immoral it may seem, wouldn’t she still do it?

           And Sergeant Barnes…Bucky… had been so real with her. She new she wasn’t an expert on everything; that a lifetime of an overprotective family and burying herself in her work had left her naïve about relationships and men, but this didn’t feel like manipulation. It didn’t feel like he was playing with her emotions. It’d been six weeks and he hadn’t once tried to convince her to free him, just continued resolutely believing his team would come for him. And the way he’d looked at her… maybe she wasn’t crazy after all.

           Or maybe she’d really spent too much time alone in her lab and now was falling for the first person to pay attention to her all because he was dark and mysterious and incredibly handsome.

           Yeah, T’Challa was definitely going to kill her.

           It was in the middle of their daily ‘interrogation’ when his arm fritzed out. Bucky felt the spark feedback into his shoulder, causing him to yell in pain and jump up mid-sentence, wrestling the thing off him. He twisted and pulled at the shoulder joint, cussing the whole time with words that would have gotten his mouth washed with soap if his mom had heard them.

           He had just gotten it detached when it was taken out of his hands. Looking up he found Shuri standing right beside him, carefully examining the metal appendage.

           “It’s supposed to get weekly maintenance to keep that from happening.” He explained. “They circuitry is super complicated, in order to let me have as much motion as possible. Problem is there are so many parts the electric currents can move too fast, which overheats the system and blows out the electrodes reading my muscle movements.”

           Shuri was examining the smoking end of the limb with such inquisitiveness he had a bad feeling his arm was about to dismantled and studied. What she said still surprised him though.

           “I can fix it for you.”

           “What?”

           “The electrodes. It’s an easy replacement. I can open it up and see if I can do anything about the circuitry too, if you’d like.” She looked up at him with a gaze so full of hopeful eagerness, Bucky immediately knew this was what she lived for. Developing technology. Taking things and making them better. Finding ways to constantly improve in order to help others.

           “Have at it.” He told her.

           She left at once to run back to her lab, arm in hand. It wasn’t until after she’d gone that Bucky realized what had just happened. She’d stepped inside the cell with him. Of course he knew the barrier keeping him locked up was a special force field designed with his specific DNA so he couldn’t pass through. The people tasked with bring him food and necessities were always able to come in by simply walking through. But Shuri had just walked in. She hadn’t hesitated to come help him. She hadn’t been afraid to enter the cell with him. That alone made him unbelievable, unreasonably happy.

           Fuck, he needed Steve to save him soon before he did something stupid like fall in love with the Princess of Wakanda.

           Shuri stared at her screen, the faint glow illuminating the otherwise dark room. Her bedroom computer wasn’t used for much besides personal entertainment and correspondence, and jotting down the basics of an idea when she had one at random in the middle of the night before falling back asleep. But the notification ping was set to loud and she’d been sleeping lightly anyway, so she found herself staring back at an email at 2 am while the rest of the country was asleep. She almost couldn’t believe what she read. Almost. Her faith in technology held her over.

           Steve Rogers had replied to her email.

           T’Challa’s decision to open Wakanda to the rest of the world had been a huge surprise to them all, but completely out of the blue. With superheroes appearing all over the world, aliens showing up, calls for the Earth to band together, now was the perfect time for Wakanda to come out of the shadows. And sure, the Howling Commandos attempted infiltration wasn’t the most important thing on his mind, but he was smart enough to know he wanted to be in control of entering their borders, and that one attempt was likely indicative of more.

           It would be a big process, so T’Challa had been ready to put everyone to work on what would he hoped would be an open cultural and scientific exchange. Before he could disappear into the project though, Shuri had been sure to catch up with her brother and put in her suggestion to return Bucky to his home. Surprisingly, she hadn’t needed to push at all.

           “I agree it would be best to return Sergeant Barnes before we go public. We want America to know they trust us. He can act as an olive branch. See him returned but do it quietly; I don’t want the whole world knowing we’ve held an American hero prisoner for the past several weeks.” He’d instructed her. Shuri had quickly found Captain America’s personal contact information and sent a short message explaining the situation. And only several hours later, here was his reply, wary but still willing to do whatever it took to get Bucky back. For a minute she was almost tempted to hold off on the reply. Replying meant action, and action meant Bucky would leave, and she’d be back to having no one to talk to.

           She shook the selfish thought off as soon as she had it. Bucky was a good man. He deserved to make it home.

           Bucky was dozing when the sudden sound of footsteps rose him. He pushed himself up on his good arm instinctively, only to find Shuri and two Dora Milaje arriving at his cell.

           “What’s going on, Princess?” he asked.

           “It’s time to go.” She said simply, pressing a button to disable to barrier. The wall disappeared.

           “Go, go where?” Bucky asked, still confused. Surely this wasn’t an attempt to spring him. Even if Shuri had gotten it into her head to commit treason, the Dora Milaje would never.

           Shuri smiled then, and it was so bright and adorable he suddenly decided he didn’t care if this was a rescue op or a dead man’s walk. Fortunately he didn’t have to worry about that.

           “On your feet, soldier.” Shuri ordered. “Captain America’s come to get you.”

           Shuri joined Bucky in the back of a truck while the Dora Milaje rode up front. The two sat on either side facing each other, with another bench across the front. In the advanced Wakandan car, it would be a short journey to neighboring Kenya. The meeting point Shuri had given Captain Rogers was only a couple miles from the border. Close enough to get there quickly and far enough that they shouldn’t have to fly to close to Wakandan airspace.

           The ride felt unnaturally quiet. They both buzzed with a nervous, excited energy, but neither new exactly what to say to one another. Finally, Shuri saw an opening when she caught Bucky looking at the case by her feet.

           “Here,” she said, picking up the case and placing it on the seat between them. She opened it and sat back, giving Bucky the chance to examine its contents, “this is for you.”

           He leaned forward, studying the prosthetic arm with care. He picked it up with good hand, seemingly surprised at the lightweight.

           “This isn’t the arm I gave you, Princess.” He observed. Shuri chuckled.

           “No the one you had before was…embarrassing. I really did mean to fix it, but I got so caught up in improvements it was easier to just start fresh.” She took the arm from him and held it up to point out some of the finer details. “It’s made of vibranium.” She said. “I thought Captain America didn’t deserve to be the only one with a cool vibranium weapon.”

           “Technically, Steve’s shield is not a weapon.” Bucky pointed out. Shuri chuckled again.

           “It’s completely myoelectric, and I’ve designed the sensors so that they can pick up on even micro-movements. It has full range of motion. You’ll be able to everything you could with your real arm. Except this one is ten times stronger, unbreakable, and completely detachable.”

           Shuri’s face glowed as she described the invention. Bucky couldn’t even focus on the arm- he was completely taken by her smile.

           “Oh, and I want to show the best part. Put it on.” Bucky took the arm, and with a little help from Shuri quickly figured out how to latch it into place. He felt a faint buzz in his shoulder at first as the electrodes adjusted, and found Shuri was right. He had full control over his new limb. Amazed, he rolled his shoulder, curled his fingers, twisted his arm. The arm worked perfectly.

           “Princess,” he started to say but stopped when he found her kneeling in front of him. She caught his new arm by the wrist and held it palm up.

           “I want to show the best part.” She said, and ran a finger down his palm. Bucky shuttered at the tingle it sent up his arm, then gasped and stared in amazement.

           “I noticed your last arm didn’t have an sensory indicators. Functional, but it didn’t really let you feel anything. So I made sure you’d be able to feel anything you touched with this one.” She punctuated her point by tracing her finger over it again. “Feel that?”

           “I do.” Bucky answered, still staring at the incredible girl in front of him. She looked nervous, focusing on his open palm instead of his face.

           Not totally sure what he was doing, Bucky pulled back his arm and Shuri with it, pulling her up to sit on the seat next to him. They sat turned to face each other, neither saying anything for a minute. But unlike the silence from before, this didn’t feel unnatural. This felt expectant.

           “Can I ask you a question, Bucky?” Shuri said softly.

           “Ask me anything, Princess.”

           “You said you lost your arm in a fall. But I did the math and the physics that would cause an arm to be ripped from the body…would kill you instantly. How’s that possible?”

           Bucky sighed. Shuri was afraid she’d pried too far, but he answered before she could take it back.

           “Do you remember the day we first met, and I told you I’d been taken prisoner before?” Shuri nodded. “That experience wasn’t nearly as pleasant as this one. Zola’s boss, Johann Schmidt, was obsessively trying to recreate the super soldier serum that gave Steve his powers. He used prisoners as test subjects. He injected with something. Not the super soldier serum but something close, that gave me the strength to survive the fall.”

           Shuri’s face twisted in horror. “He experimented on you.”

           “Horrible as it was, I’m grateful it happened. If it hadn’t I’d be dead.”

           “I’m still sorry.”

           “Don’t be. You know, you’re the first scientist I’ve liked since then? The rest of them give me anxiety but you, I know you’re never gonna use your inventions for evil. It means a lot to me knowing you can be so good.”

           Shuri’s breath hitched. In the dark truck bed, they leaned closer, until there was only a hairbreadth of space between them. Which is exactly when the ride jerked to a stop.

           “Your Highness,” one of the Dora called from the front. “We’re here.”

           “As is Captain Rogers.” The other said.

           The two pulled apart, all at once relieved and devastated to have missed the moment. Standing, Shuri pushed open the back to reveal a SHIELD quinjet waiting in the plain. Standing by the entry ramp, looking impressive, imposing, and incredibly patriotic was the one and only Captain America. Several people stood waiting on the ramp behind him, all anxiously watching the truck. These were the Howling Commandos Bucky had talked about. The friends he trusted so much.

           “Looks like they’re waiting for you.” She told Bucky.

           “Yeah.” He replied. “Looks like it.”

           She stepped back to allow him to hop out of the truck. Immediately faces of the waiting soldiers lit up, relief and excitement flooding their features. Shuri new she should let Bucky go to them, so she didn’t say anything. But her heart leapt when he turned around to address her one last time.

           “Thank you, Princess, for everything.” He took her hand delicately in his. “Maybe if Wakanda really does open to the rest of the world, I’ll get the chance to see you again.” He pressed a gentle, gentlemanly kiss on her knuckles. Never breaking eye contact while doing so.

Just as he turned to leave, Shuri tightened her grip and said, “Shuri.”

Bucky turned around, brow quirked. “What?”

“You can call me Shuri.” She said, and then before she had time to think too much, she leaned out of the trucked and kissed him. Their lips met and she swore there were sparks as she kissed him soft but firmly. It lasted only a second and was over all too soon.

“For the next time we see each other.” She explained, pulling herself back into the truck. Then Bucky smiled, wide and happy this time, with promises of laughter and kisses. It was just as sexy as that first, dark smile had been all those years ago.

“I’ll hold you to that, Shuri.”

[letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked]

Words On My Skin (Part 22)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Soulmate AU)

A/N: For those of you who read Center Ice and New Beginnings, I promise I’m working on them! I’ve been busy with my inspiration for this, as well as two oneshots! I’ll post the next parts soon!

Warnings: Feelings. Swears, as usual. Self-loathing Bucky. DRAMAAA

Main Masterlist // WOMS Masterlist

 Eight days.

You hadn’t seen Bucky in eight agonizing days.

Okay, you couldn’t act like you’d been agonizing for that long… you were unconscious for two of the eight days.

The medical team had apparently kept you drugged up and unconscious, because they were doing some work on your neck with something they called ‘The Cradle’. It was, apparently, some magical machine that some scientists made that heals tissue and all the science-y medical mumbo jumbo that you didn’t understand.

What you did understand?

Your neck had nearly been crushed by the vibranium hand of The Winter Soldier. You were lucky that the damage wasn’t permanent, and that science was a lot further along than you’d realized. All that was left of your wounds on your neck was a large, hand-shaped bruise… and a sprained wrist… and a stitched-up gash on the back of your head… and a Bucky-sized hole in your heart.

He wasn’t there when you’d woken up.

Steve was there.

Apparently, your soulmate had stolen a quinjet and immediately left the country – going straight to Wakanda to get his head back together. Not that he’d been there to tell you any of this. He’d left the compound before you’d even made it to the medical wing, three days prior.

When you woke from your two day nap, you’d been hysterical – much to your embarrassment. You’d burst into tears, gasping awake and calling out for Bucky. Steve nearly had a heart attack, before the nurse had threatened you with more sedatives. Guilt bled through the bond, so you knew that he was aware that you woke up, but it was overshadowed by the empty feeling in your chest.

You just wanted him back home.

Was that selfish?

He came back on day six, which was two days after you’d been released from the medical wing and allowed to be back in your own room. The only reason you knew he was back, was because of FRIDAY. You’d tried to talk to him, tried knocking on his door, tried calling, texting… anything.

He was avoiding you.

“Hey… It’s me. Again.” You sighed, leaving another voicemail on Bucky’s – new – cellphone. “I can feel you when I call, so I know you see me calling. I’m… I’m not mad at you. Not even a little bit. It’s not your fault. We’ve been under a lot of stress, lately, and… I understand. I just… we promised each other that we’d communicate more, and…” You inhaled a shaky breath, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared at the off-white walls of your office. “I need you. I miss you. I…” The tears fell down your cheeks as your voice cracked, leaving hot trails down your cheeks, dripping off your chin. “I love you, okay? Please… talk to me.”

You hung up, wiping the tears off your face with the back of your hand, careful to keep your makeup un-smudged.

He was still ignoring you…

GOD DAMMIT.

A small surge of anger shooting through your veins and boiling out any sadness. The phone that had been in your hand was launched across the room before you could even comprehend your actions, bouncing off a canvas painting of some bullshit flowers – ripping the material. Both items fell to the floor, disturbing the immaculate cleanliness of your office.

There was only so much stress-cleaning and burying yourself in paperwork you could do. You were officially caught up with every stitch of paperwork, you had every appointment scheduled for the next month, the entire Christmas party was planned and ironed out, your room was spotless, your bathroom was spotless, your office was spotless, the kitchen… You’d stress cleaned the kitchen well over three times.

In just a few days.

But, Y/n, don’t you sleep?

Nope.

There was no sleeping in your bed. You physically couldn’t. It was too cold, and too empty. You’d gotten so used to having him next to you, listening to his soft snores and leeching the warmth from his feverish body, that sleeping in your own bed felt foreign to you – it was like the first night in a new house, or in a hotel. Trying to get comfortable was impossible, so you just avoided your bed at all costs.

You’d even resorted to falling asleep on the new couch in the living room – apparently Steve had broken the couch when he’d tackled Bucky – and avoiding your bed, altogether.

Dr. Burson – who came to see you while you were still in the medical wing, as well as stopped by this morning – let you air out your frustrations, as well as talk with you about ‘the incident’. Talking with her had improved your mood quite a bit, but… she’s not the one who you wanted to talk to.

Bucky was the one you wanted to talk to.

He’d gone as far as skipping appointments to avoid you, much to your chagrin.

Did he forget that he could get sent to The Raft if he purposely skipped his appointments?

He probably wanted to go to the fucking Raft.

Over your dead fucking body.

“You know, when I told you the phone was not easily broken, I assumed you wouldn’t test out that theory.” You heard from the door of your office, Tony’s sneaky ass leaning against the wall next to the door with his arms crossed against his chest. The smug smile he usually wore was gone, replaced with slight amusement and concern. “What’s with the impromptu demolition?”

“Sorry.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and closing your eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears. “I’m just… frustrated.”

“I can see that.” He nodded towards the broken canvas on the ground, and the perfectly fine cellphone. Sauntering over to your desk, he plopped down in Bucky’s usual chair and sighed, “You and Elsa will be fine. He’s just freaking out. He’ll let it go.”

“I think it’s a little bigger than that.” You swiped your hands over your wet face, trying to remove any trace of tears. “I can feel what he feels.”

“And?”

“He absolutely hates himself.” You couldn’t help the little crack in your voice at the end of that sentence, trying not to focus on the feelings that were ebbing through the bond and leaving a tightness in your chest. “There’s so much regret, self-loathing, and anger. I hate it. I… God. I hate it so much.” So much for no tears. You swiped at your face, trying to banish the annoying wetness. “He won’t talk to me. He won’t see me. He’s avoiding me… I feel so fucking pathetic, to be honest. I’m crying all the time, letting anger get the better of me, and leaving these pathetic ass voicemails where I beg him to talk to me. I’m just… an emotional mess.”

“Maybe you’re pregnant.” He joked, humor in his eyes. When you tossed a pad of sticky notes at his head, he laughed loudly, “Kidding! Kidding! Lighten up!”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. “You’re kind of a dipshit for someone who claims to be a genius.” A small smile lifted at your lips at his passive wave, “You usually need to have sex to get pregnant, Tony.”

“You mean to tell me that, after sharing a bedroom all this time, you two haven’t-”

“Shut up, Tony. We’re not talking about my sex life.”

“Or lack thereof.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

A loud laugh escaped, before you could hold it back. It felt good to laugh, after all the negative energy surrounding you for the previous few days. “Oh, my god.”

“Close. Tony Stark. Though that’s usually what women yell out.” He winked, a small giggle escaping him as he grabbed your watch off the desk and fiddled with it. “Anyways, welcome to the ‘Winter Soldier tried to kill me’ club.”

“Your empathy astounds me, Tony.” You groaned, shaking your head and leaning back in your chair. “Did you come to my office for a reason?”

“I… wanted to check on you.” He glanced down at your watch, fiddling with the settings and frowning at the little fissure in the screen, “Aside from Elsa locking himself away, are you doing okay? How’s your neck?”

You reached up, pulling your turtleneck of your dress down slightly to show him the progress of the healing, finger-shaped bruises spanning along the skin of your neck – which was looking better with every passing day, since the treatments in the cradle. “It doesn’t hurt, anymore. It’s mostly just ugly to look at.”

“What about your wrist?” He leaned forward, setting your watch back on the desk, before leaning back in the chair. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not really.” After fixing your neckline, you pulled up the sleeve where your wrist was wrapped, “The bruising isn’t as healed as my neck, but the sprain isn’t throbbing, anymore.”

“Your head?”

“It’s fine, Dr. Stark.” You snorted, though it was nice to have someone care about your health so much. Especially in the last few days, since you felt a little… secluded. Steve was busy with Bucky, which you preferred over him fretting over you every second of the damn day. Wanda and Vision were on a recon mission, Natasha and Clint were staying at Clint’s for a few days, Sam was busy doing renovations on a leaky pipe at his own place, and Tony was working on a new project. Tony and Pepper were the only ones you’d seen since you’d left the medical wing. You were lucky that Caleb and Claire came to visit you, or you’d go insane. “You missed Claire, yesterday. She wanted to tell you about her science fair.”

“Did she win?”

“She got second place.”

“That’s bullshit!” He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll have to have a word with the school.”

“Don’t you dare embarrass her and do that.” You scolded lightly, carefully placing your sleeve over your wrapped wrist before smoothing down the skirt of the dress. “She was happy with it. Don’t be that asshole that tells her ‘if ya ain’t first, you’re last’.”

“Well, Ricky Bobby,” He scoffed, fidgeting with his own watch. “I promise I won’t be that asshole if you promise to cancel all my meetings, next Tuesday.”

“What’s next Tuesday?”

“…December 16th.”

Oh. Shit. That’s right.

“Consider it done.” You quickly wrote yourself a memo in your computer. “Anything else?”

“Nope!” He sprung up from the chair, walking over to your cellphone on the floor to pick up and inspect before he gently set it on your desk, and headed towards the door – dramatically twisting around to say one last thing, “Barnes will get over it. I’m sure he’s just as upset about the separation as you are.”

“I hope so,” You muttered as he spun around the wall, out of sight. “My sleep depends on his return.”

---------

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap….

The heel of your sneakers were bouncing against the hard kitchen floor as you stared at your phone while trying to eat alone in the kitchen, not really wanting to eat the offensive health food.

Why the fuck did you Postmate a bland as shit salad? You should’ve got the chicken one.

Wellp, too late now.

It wasn’t the food’s fault that you were mad at it, you were just… pissed off.

Bucky made his first appearance since the incident.

Not on purpose, of course.

Nope.

He was accidentally in the same place as you, at the same time.

In an attempt to make yourself tired enough to possibly pass out in your bed, you’d – horribly enough – decided to head to the gym. Working out was, supposedly, supposed to make you feel better and you were always exhausted after working out with the guys… So, why not?

When you’d peeked through the window next to the locked door, the place looked empty – which was pretty common around seven o’clock – and you decided fuck it and went inside. The place was almost empty, save for a rhythmic pounding of combos against a sandbag and some angry grunting. You’d been to the gym enough with your soulmate to know that it was him that was beating the holy hell out of a bag – probably about to destroy the crap out of it and deplete the stack of bags.

Your heart nearly skipped a beat once his sweating frame was in your sights, and you watched his combo faulter slightly – knowing he felt you.

Tears sprung up, as you leaned against the wall, debating if you wanted to confront him or not. You didn’t want to scare him away, but you also wanted to scream and cry until he listened to you – which wasn’t exactly rational, so you ignored that feeling. Instead, you stood there watching him, waiting for him to finish up so you could corner him and attempt to talk to him.

“You know, it’s rude to stare.” His voice suddenly filled the empty gym, and you realized that he’d stopped punching the bag while you were having your internal battle with yourself. “What are you doing in here?”

Realizing his tone was annoyed, you stayed silent for a moment – trying to gulp down any anxiety and repeat your mantra in your head – before responding, “I was… going to work out… I can leave, I guess.”

What?! Why are you offering to leave! Confront him stupid!

Ignoring yourself, you turned towards the door with a heavy heart, hurt piercing through your chest as you tried to hold back tears.

“Wait.”

You froze, back facing him as you sucked in a steadying breath – trying to calm your nerves. Your chest was burning from anxiety, on both ends of the bond, and you shoved your trembling hands in your pockets as you heard his footsteps.

He stepped in front of you, and you looked up to meet his tired eyes. The dark circles under his eyes practically matched your own – he probably wasn’t sleeping, either – and he looked exhausted. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, his usually icy eyes were dark, and his pallid face was unshaved. He reached up to grab the zipper of your high-collar, zip-up sweatshirt with his trembling flesh hand.

“Don’t.” You whispered, closing your eyes but making no moves to stop him. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

When the zipper was lightly pulled down, you gulped in anticipation as you felt his fingers freeze against the tab.

His gasp cut through the air, and your chest squeezed painfully at the disgust and self-loathing that was ebbing through the bond. It was like a white-hot fire poker being repeatedly stabbed into the center of your chest, burning the air from your lungs and radiating throughout the entire cavity of your chest. You knew he was staring at the bruises that stained the delicate skin of your neck. Though they were faded considerably, they were still a nasty yellow and blue in the exact shape and size of his vibranium hand.

The tears that you’d been holding back betrayed you as you opened your eyes, leaving hot trails down your cheeks, dripping off your jaw and onto his hand. “Bucky…”

“Don’t.” He snapped, voice cracking as he pulled his hand away in disgust. “I’m a fucking monster.”

“No.” You disagreed, voice thick as you reached forward to hold his scratchy, unkept face. You could see the lines under his beard where you’d scratched at him in a panic, but you ignored them. Bringing attention to them wouldn’t help your case. “You’re not.”

His eyes slid closed, shoulders tense as you watched his adam’s apple bob with a thick swallow. You felt the emotions ebb through the bond: anger, disgust, fear… Heartbreak.

“Bucky…” You continued to caress his face, his unkept beard scratching against your palms as you watched his lower lip wobble slightly. “Please… Talk to me.”

The silence in the room was unbearable and thick. The air was cold, but the tension radiating from both of you was enough to nearly make you sweat. The only sounds in the room were your shaking breaths and the gentle whir of the fans to regulate temperature. If a pin were to drop across the room, you’d be able to hear it.

Which is why you were able to hear the faint whisper of your soulmate, “I can’t.”

Those two words were enough to completely fissure the hole in your chest, shattering your heart into metaphorical pieces.

He turned away from you, pulling out of your grasp and hastily heading towards the door. He slammed his hands against the door, the flesh one pushing it open and the vibranium one accidentally cracking the glass in the door – making you jump slightly – as he shoved it open. He didn’t even glance at it as he left you alone in the empty gym.

Fuck.

A small sob bubbled up, your shaking hands grasping the tab of your zipper to hastily cover your neck. You left a hand on your chest, attempting to hold yourself together by literally holding your hand against yourself, but failing epically. The tears were in full force, as a particularly loud sob nearly sent you to your knees.

Pushing forward, you ran to the locker room, not wanting anyone to find you breaking down alone in the gym.

It took you a full thirty minutes before you left the locker room, eyes bloodshot, skin raw under your nose, and heart broken.

That lead you to where you were sitting, now.

You’d decided that you were just going to Postmate some food and sulk on the couch. Alone.

Why you spent your money on a stupid salad you could’ve made with the shit in your fridge, was beyond you.

You weren’t thinking clearly.

Instead of worrying about it, you picked at your salad, staring at the photo Wanda had posted of you and Bucky on her Instagram a few hours before the incident. It was of you and Bucky, locked in an embrace and kissing in front of all the agents. It was nearly inappropriate to put on social media, considering your legs were wrapped around him, but you didn’t care.

You stared longingly at the photo, basically rubbing salt into your wound.

Why was loving someone so fucking complicated? Why did stupid shit have to happen? Why couldn’t fate just let you be fucking happy and move the fuck on?

You’ve had enough of receiving the fucking shit-stick.

Standing up, the chair scraped loudly behind you.

“Fuck this.” You whispered, anger shooting through your veins.

If Bucky wasn’t going to talk to you about your relationship issues, there was someone else you could confront.

Your parents.

It was time to find out what the fuck happened at the cabin.

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

After practically sprinting to your room to grab your coat, keys, and purse, you stomped down the halls – ready to take down anyone in your path, as your anger began to consume you.

You knew you were fixating your anger on one thing, versus the many things that were making you upset, but there was no stopping it.

You didn’t want to stop it.

“Y/n?” You heard Caleb call after you, confused. “Are you okay? Where are you going?”

“Out.” You whirled at him, irrationally lashing out at him. “Fuck off.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise, and he took a tentative step back, raising his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay. Why don’t I come with you? You need an escort.”

“The fuck I do.” You whirled back around, stomping towards the garage. “I’ll be fine.”

You could hear him say something in his comms, before he chased after you, “Y/n… Y/n! Seriously! You need-”

“FUCK OFF!” You yelled, echoing in the garage as you made your way to your car. You should’ve felt bad… it wasn’t Caleb’s fault that you were angry at the world. Was this a breakdown? Probably. “I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?” He asked softly, trying not to further your yelling. “Should you be driving when you’re this upset?”

Ripping open the door to your car, you glanced back at him, hoping that he could see that you didn’t mean to be so angry with him, “I need to figure some stuff out, okay?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, apprehension all over his face. “Mr. Stark is on his way down.”

Panic seized your chest, as you quickly ducked into your car, locking the doors and quickly starting the ignition. It had been a hot minute since you drove your own car, since you usually got driven around by someone or rode with Bucky, but you had enough muscle memory to squeal out of the garage – leaving the compound.

Surprisingly, the security check point let you pass, but you could feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, nonstop.

As you got closer to the big city, you slowed down to the speed limit, feeling your anger begin to dissipate a bit. Was… that Bucky’s anger, too? Was that why you were in a complete rage?

Anxiety began to ebb through the bond as you continued to drive, and you wondered if Bucky was the one calling your cellphone.

Pulling it out of your pocket, the screen was lit up with Tony’s name and picture.

Reluctantly, you hit the green answer button, flipping it on speaker and shoving it in your cup holder.

“Y/n, what the hell?” Tony’s voice immediately filled the quiet car, as he yelled into the phone. “What the fuck are you doing? Why didn’t you take security with you?”

“I need time to think.” You sighed, feeling a slight headache form between your eyes and at your temples. “I’m going to see my parents. I need answers.”

“Are you sure this isn’t about Barnes?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” You growled in frustration, not knowing which feelings were your own and which were from the bond. “I just… I need to understand something! I can’t just… I don’t…”

“Okay.” His voice was soothing, trying to calm you down as much as he could. “Would it be okay if someone at least accompanied you back to the compound, after you’re done?”

Taking a deep breath in, you held it for a moment to level your blood pressure, before blowing it back out. “Fine.”

“Are… you coming back?” He asked, clearing his throat. “I mean… You’re not going to leave forever, are you?”

“No, Tony, I’m not.” You sagged in your seat, getting annoyed with the New York traffic, but beginning to feel guilty for the way you left the compound. “Can… You send Caleb? I need to apologize to him.”

“I can do that.”

“I’m hanging up, now.” You replied, grabbing your phone from the cup holder. “You can tell Bucky to stop pacing.”

A small pang of annoyance and disbelief rushed through the bond, so obviously he was standing there with Tony.

Doing exactly what you just said.

He scoffed at the last bit, sounding more like a chuckle but ignoring your jab at Bucky. “Be safe.”

“Yep.” You hung up the phone, tossing it carelessly onto the seat.

It was… a tad dramatic, now that you were thinking rationally. Leaving like that was not the smartest move, and you were sure to catch hell for it, later. You just… You needed to do something to make yourself feel better.

If Bucky wasn’t going to talk to you, then you were going to focus on the next bullet point of the ‘what’s bothering Y/n’ list, and that was the cabin.

Hydra being the third bullet point.

Another day, Y/n.

One at a time.

It was time to suck it up and stop compartmentalizing your feelings. Facing them head-on seemed to be the only way that you’d get some shit figured out. The game-plan was that you were going to demand answers, whether they wanted to give them to you, or not. If not, then you were going to utilize the team that Bucky was talking about when he’d confronted your father.

It was time.

Pulling up in front of your parent’s building, you quickly snatched your phone and glanced at the missed calls. 10 from Bucky, and 5 from Tony before you’d answered. There was also one text.

Bucky: What the hell.

God dammit. You were going to catch Bucky’s almighty wrath for that hasty exit with no security.

Y/n: We’re going to talk when I get home. Whether you like it, or not. I’ll see you in a bit.

You hit send, shoving your phone in your purse and quickly exiting the vehicle. A small pang of fear hit you through the bond. Good. He got the message.

When you entered the building, you were stopped by the doorman, who called your parents to let you know you were on your way up. By the look of terror on the man’s face, you were probably projecting your anger out on the poor man, but it didn’t matter. You needed to do this, before you lost your nerve.

As the elevator ascended, as did your anxiety.

It was time.

You were finally going to get answers.

Ding!

The doors slid open, revealing your mother and father, both of which were confused.

“Y/n?” Your mother frowned at your appearance, taking note of your dark circles and wrapped wrist. “My god, what’s happened? Are you alright?”

“No, mom. I’m not.” You leveled your glare onto your father, who had his arms crossed defensively over his chest. “I’m here for answers.”

“Darling, what are you-”

“Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we, mother?” You cut your mother off venomously, ripping off your coat and tossing it on the couch that you and Bucky had previously occupied at your last visit. “Dad?”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Y/n, but you can’t just-”

“I saw your face.” You stood, beginning to pace as your parents took a seat on the other couch. Looking like a caged animal, you continued, “I saw your fucking face, yelling at me, ‘What the fuck did you do?’ We were in the woods. Someone had been shot. There was blood on the tree. I was…” You stopped pacing for a moment, swallowing down your anxiety. Handshake your fear. “Did… Did I shoot someone?”

Your father was silent, refusing to give you any sort of confirmation.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You exploded, nearly ripping out your damn hair in frustration. “I need answers!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling.” He scoffed, shoulders tight and arms crossed over his chest. “Nothing fucking happened.”

“You owe me this!” You cried, voice cracking on the last word as you threw your hands in the air, making your mother jump. “Obviously this was the reason you decided you didn’t love me, anymore! You just… You fucking checked out! You broke my fucking heart, Dad!” At the sight of your father’s face falling, you continued, “Is it because… Did I shoot someone? Did you shoot someone?”

Your father pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as your mother watched him like a hawk, confusion still lining her face.

“Adira, love, will you please grab us some glasses and the whisky?” He finally responded, voice wavering slightly – which was uncommon for your father to be anything other than demanding. It was unsettling. “It seems I have some explaining to do.”

Oh, God.

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

Part 23... where it’s all explained...

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

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Serious actual Dishonored 2 Thoughts

I played through Dishonored 2 completely for a second time and paid a lot more attention this time around and as promised here are some thoughts under the cut (some 1700+ words of thoughts). This post is primarily meant to be like a journal-type thing for my thoughts, but I’ve tried to organize it as best I can with my minimal writing skills:

I was initially disappointed by Dishonored 2: I didn’t play this game at launch in 2016 because at that point I had a laptop that could only run Dishonored on low graphics in low chaos. I watched a bunch of walkthroughs on Youtube, read people’s thoughts on the comments in the wiki and all the meta here. I thought, and continue to think that mechanically, and gameplay-wise it’s vastly superior to the first game. 

I was disappointed by the story which was basically a retread of the first but somehow even more simplified. (which even though I love with all my heart, come on, Dishonored doesn’t have a groundbreaking story). The Daud DLCs were so much better in that regard, that I blindly trusted that Arkane would continue to move in that direction.

The characters in this game felt a little more one-dimensional. It felt like almost all the targets were expies of characters from the first game in one way or another, and the Clockwork Mansion level seemed to say that they didn’t care.

Apologies to Stephen Russel, but Corvo’s voice acting is not good at all. Corvo just sounds like he’s staring down a long Monday at the office with a hangover. I might said that maybe that grizzled raspy voice just doesn’t work for Dishonored but Michael Madsen’s performance of Daud pretty much assassinates that argument.

Don’t like what they did with the Void or characterising the Outsider, but this one’s just a personal preference. I can see why people would like it or not care, even if I don’t. 

The story also felt much much lower-stakes than the first one. Dunwall really felt if you pushed it with a feather, it would fall over the edge. Karnaca, in contrast felt like a vibrant, ascendant city being held back by gangs and corruption. Even the bloodflies aren’t that much of a calamity.

Having paid closer attention to the story, and other peoples’ readings of this game, I’ve realised that the ‘low stakes-ness’ of Dishonored 2 is intentional.

Arkane could have chosen to show Karnaca as a city on the brink of utter collapse. The bloodfly epidemic could have been bad enough that instead of buildings, entire streets or districts had to be blocked off. I haven’t done a high chaos run, but in my playthroughs, I’ve never seen Nest Keepers in groups of more than two, in stark contrast to the pant-shitting Weeper hordes from the first game.  Dunwall was literally blockaded, so there was no escaping your fate. The docks at Karnaca are wide open for anyone who wants to arrive. This is all intentional. 

So, the stakes are low. But why would Arkane intentionally make that choice? I think they intentionally lowered the stakes so that all the instances of corruption that you encounter or hear about are thrown into starker relief

In the first game, against the backdrop of a cataclysmic plague that made life very hard for non-aristocrats, it’s pretty easy to see why the City Watch would turn to crime. The plague if not excused, at least justified, a lot of shady behaviour from characters up to and including Sokolov experimenting on healthy people. In contrast, without the threat of the city descending into utter chaos hanging over everyone’s heads, when you try and pull the same shady crap that people did in the first game, now you just look greedy. And I think this game tries to bring that theme right to your doorstep, by letting Corvo/Emily participate in making things worse.

Robbing people’s houses in this game feels a lot worse than it did in the first one. The majority of the apartments that you rob don’t belong to people who are outrageously wealthy and haven’t been abandoned. These are people who are already getting screwed over and you can help make it worse. In Lower Aventa, you get a whole cutscene with the Lady Gaga Black Market woman being threatened by the Howlers and you have the choice to rob her (very likely) after witnessing that. 

Dishonored 2 focuses more on repairing damage done rather than avenging it

A bulk of the problems that happen in this game can be attributed to Corvo and Emily not being good at their jobs and more importantly, not being a good rulers. The game highlights the moral failures of Corvo and Emily to turn a blind eye to Luca Abele’s antics and the problems in Karnaca. They fucked up and they can’t really take revenge because they played a part in it too. That’s why instead of the poetic justice fate-worse-than-death types of nonlethal eliminations from the first game, we have more, for lack of a better word, corrective, options. The Crown Killer is cured. Breanna Ashworth can’t do witch stuff anymore. Knocking out Stilton improves so much stuff and literally heals Billie Lurk. Even Delilah gets an ending that kind of rewards her for all the crap she’s been through, without letting her hurt other people. Kirin Jindosh’s elimination comes across like this, but it’s emphasized that we’re taking him out purely so that we can stop him from mass-producing clockwork soldiers, not out of revenge, For my money, the only poetic justice-type nonlethal elimination is Luca’s even if he’s not really going to be in a situation where he’s better off dead. 

But here’s the thing: even though I ‘get’ Dishonored 2 a little better now, I still think they did a terrible job of trying to convey a lot of this!

I said that I think the low stakes nature was intentional and I think there’s reasonable evidence to support that claim. But there’s also evidence to contradict it. The Outsider keeps talking about Karnaca being on the brink of collapse. So do a lot of NPCs (I’m looking at you, beggar near the Aventa District Black Market). Am I supposed to take that at face value, ignoring what’s being shown to me in favour of what’s being told? Am I supposed to be like ‘Classic emo drama queen Outsider’ and slap my knee, and marvel at humanity’s propensity to make things out to be worse than they seem? I don’t know????

People being squeezed dry by the Grand Guard on the left and the Howlers on the right, with a light garnish of Overseer harassment? Definitely something in the game. When you rob them, and especially the Black Market shopkeepers? It’s Bad. But I guess a twinge of guilt and judgement from me is all you get, because the game isn’t going to punish you. They could have really committed and made robbing the Black Markets an action that increase chaos, even if you don’t kill anyone, but that Did Not Happen.

What about Emily (and let’s not even pretend anymore that this story holds together with Corvo as the protagonist) confronting her failures as a leader, realising she’s Not So Different from Luca Abele? Well, she gets called out on it a grand total of, maybe, 3 times by Billie and Sokolov, who immediately go ‘Well anyway, here’s the next thing I want to say’ and then at the end of the game, she’s like “My time here living as a Poor has given me Perspective. I deserve to be Empress now because I Want it”. Combined with how low-stakes this game is, it feels a lot like Emily took a gap year to find herself, except that the whole thing evidently took two months. I don’t think they executed any of this stuff well. The fact that I have to question these decisions were intentional or not doesn’t bode well.

Emily kind of faces some reckoning for her moral failings, turning a blind eye to the crap going down in Karnaca, but what about her incompetence and utter lack of interest in being a ruler? Or Corvo’s failings as a Spymaster (like seriously dude, how did you not know how any of this shit was going on, so much of it was an open secret). But she barely gets called out on her disinterest in ruling and IIRC Corvo pretty much gets away scot-free with not doing his job. 

Or maybe I’ve just gotten it wrong. I study computer science. Media criticism is way outside my wheelhouse and so maybe I’ve grossly misinterpreted what this game was going for. But the one thing I’m absolutely, 100% certain about is that this game shouldn’t have been about Corvo and Emily.

Even back when we started getting details about Corvo and Emily, I was a bit...iffy about the whole thing. Their stories wrapped up pretty nicely in the first game. “Emily lived to be a wise, just ruler and things were good” or “Emily is a Murder Empress”. The end. And now suddenly it’s not. I hate it when sequels override the endings to previous concluded arcs, and I think there needs to be good justification for doing it. Arkane didn’t do a good job of it and after the wet hork of spit they lobbed at Daud’s arc in Death of the Outsider it seems to be a problem they have. Their story was completely concluded in the first game. No sequel hooks. This game shouldn’t have been about them.

I feel like Arkane were trying to tell a story about corruption and the decay and damage caused by simple human greed, but felt like they had to shoehorn in Corvo and Emily or we’d lose interest. I think the game would have made way more sense with someone from Karnaca’s underclass as the protagonist, maybe a Mindy Blanchard type. Maybe her plan to craft the Mark works, or maybe the Outsider gives her a little push and then she foils the conspiracy to bring Delilah back, kind of like The Brigmore Witches, except Delilah doesn’t actually come back. The main villian in this game could just be people’s appetite for corruption and Emily’s apathy. 

I don’t know. It’s too late for any of that kind of speculation. My faith in Arkane took a huge hit with the one-two of Dishonored 2 and DOTO. It makes me optimistic that Dishonored 3 would have a completely different protagonist, but I’m not going to be blindly trusting, like I was after Brigmore.

[magicallygrimmwiccan]

Only Time, Part II

Summary: In which I break hearts and souls, yelling is done, and tears are shed

Notes: Part II of my trade with @dailypattondoodle​ / @moonfang03​! Warning for a panic attack. Sorry this is so late, my editor and I both had a horridly busy last week of school, but now that we’re both on spring break, these will get up faster! 

Of course, things could only look up for so long. The next month was wonderful for both of them: Roman spent more time with Logan on a daily basis, Logan’s mood and overall mental health improved, and the twins actually both started to act like better siblings. Virgil and Patton were happy because their kids were doing better, Roman’s friends mentioned how much better Logan seemed to be doing whenever he was around, and even Logan’s teachers noticed a stark improvement. He was less moody now, they said, more open to answering questions, and overall interacted more with his classmates. Roman was happier that his brother was doing better, and his friends were also happier for this change.

Roman promised that he would show up to help Logan run through his poetry presentation at lunch that day. Roman promised that he would be there to support his brother through this stressful presentation. Roman promised that he would not skip this meeting. However, five minutes after their meeting time, Roman was nowhere to be found. Roman was nowhere to be found and Logan was in the office of his physics teacher, sobbing his eyes out and trying desperately to breathe. Roman had abandoned him again. He should have known this would happen, why was he so stupid, he couldn’t breathe, he needed his Dad…

“Logan? Love? I need you to look at me, alright?” Mika’s soft voice came from in front of him. Logan shakily raised a hand to communicate, but refused to remove his face from his legs. A sigh, a shuffle, and then Logan found himself being pulled into a loose, warm hug. He buried his face in the soft sweater vest Mika always wore and allowed the tears to fall without restraint again. Mika let him cry, rocking him back and forth.

“Would you like me to call your Dad?” Mika murmured. Logan nodded, and Mika dropped a gentle kiss into his hair. “Hang on, then. Would you like me to call him or Wirt?”

Logan raised a hand and shakily signed Wirt. Mika nodded and shifted slightly.

“Hey, Wirt? Could you call Logan’s Dad and tell him to come get Logan?” Mika called softly. Logan stiffened. No no no, he didn’t need to be picked up, please don’t bother his father with his stupid feelings. Mika gently grabbed his hand, and Logan distantly realized that he had been signing that. “No, Logan, it’s okay. Your Dad won’t be angry, I assure you.” Distantly, Logan registered Wirt stammering into a phone, talking to his Dad, but he decided to ignore that and focus on Mika.

Roman left again, Logan signed. Mika sighed, chest rising less than it should have thanks to xyr binder. He promised he would be here to help and he left.

“Roman is going to feel my wrath, I assure you,” Mika growled slightly. “That was not okay of him.” Logan shrugged. He should be used to it now; why was he so emotional about this?

A person cleared their throat above him, and Logan looked up to find Wirt holding out his phone, video chat with Virgil open. “Logan? I’m coming to get you, okay? Just hold on for fifteen minutes,” Virgil babbled. His green-brown eyes were blown wide in fright, and Logan could sense the panic radiating through the screen.

I will be fine, Dad. Focus on your breathing, please? Virgil giggled, slightly hysterical, and shook his head.

“L, don’t worry about me, okay? It’s my job to worry about you.” Logan nodded, still confused, but let it go. Virgil smiled, promised to be there as soon as possible, and hung up, leaving Logan alone with his two friends. Wirt crouched down, still looking nervous, and offered a shaky smile.

“Hey, Logan. You’ll be okay. We’re here for you,” he stammered, smiling awkwardly in support. Logan nodded and sniffed, tears still flowing down his cheeks. His two friends scooted in, cuddling him and offering comfort while glaring viciously at anyone who dared to look in their direction. That was how Virgil found them fifteen minutes later, out of breath and panting. Logan looked up, tears mostly dried, and Virgil jerkily dropped to his knees, taking Logan’s face in his hands.

“Oh, sweetie, are you okay? Here, let’s go home, I’ll get you some tea and Crofter’s and we can talk, okay?” Logan nodded and allowed Virgil to pull him up as the halfway bell rang. Mika and Wirt stood up as well, one with eyes blazing and the other with eyes filled with worry. “Thank you for helping him, you two. You’re welcome to come over later if you’d like.”

“We most likely will, thank you Mr. Everhart. Take care, Logan, okay?” Mika replied, smiling softly. With that, Virgil lead Logan out of school, fully intent on showering his son with all the love and support he needed. When they were gone, Mika turned to Wirt, teeth gritted and eyes blazing.

“I’m about to go rip Roman a new one. Are you with me?” Wirt nodded shakily, and with that, the two stalked out, fully intent on chewing Logan’s twin out until his ears bled and he realized exactly what he had done.

“Roman Everhart! I need to have a word with you!” a crisp British accented voice yelled, the anger in their voice easily cutting through the din of the cafeteria. Everyone shushed immediately, eyes turning to see the tall form of Mika Kirkland storming through the crowds of high schoolers, eyes blazing with the fury of a million suns from a thousand solar systems. Those who had their backpacks in the walkway quickly moved them, scared of what Mika would do to their belongings in their angered state. Roman, the person Mika clearly had a vendetta against, looked up, face painted in confusion. Why did one of Logan’s best friends need to talk to him, especially while looking so angry?

Mika came to a stop in front of Roman’s table, fists clenched and gritted teeth bared. “Did you or did you not promise Logan you would be there to help him with his poetry presentation?” Roman blinked, still confused, and nodded. That was tomorrow, though, wasn’t it? Why was Mika yelling at him over it now?

“Then why the hell weren’t you there?” Mika growled. Roman’s blood froze as reality dawned on his slow, stupid, awful brain. That… that had been today. He had missed something important to Logan after promising to be there for him… no wonder his brother hated him! Roman bolted to his feet, wild with desperation.

“I… Mika, where’s Logan? I… I have to go, I have to… I have to fix this,” Roman gasped. His friends all looked at him, concerned, and Shiloh slowly rose to his feet, hand outstretched to offer comfort.

Mika’s eyes drained of most of their anger and instead filled with pity. “He’s at home after having a panic attack in the physics room. I think we should take this somewhere private, yes?” Roman nodded, still in shock, and began to climb out of the lunch table. He tripped and fell, legs trembling too badly to support him. Shiloh dived to catch him, murmuring reassurances and affirmation to him in an attempt to help. Mika crouched down and grabbed Roman and Shiloh’s backpacks before standing back up. “Come on, Shiloh, I know a place.” With that, the three of them set off, desperate to fix this situation before the hurt became any worse for any party involved.

Even with only 20 minutes of lunch left, Mika’s reputation as the perfect class president with a 4.0 GPA and a perfect record allowed the three of them to get permission to miss fifth hour in order to have a chat with the school psychologist. In reality, Mika convinced xyr physics teacher to allow them to sit and talk in her office to sort this out, which she was more than happy to oblige. Mika set to work brewing up more coffee while Shiloh settled Roman in and began to calm him, muttering soothing nothings until he was sure Roman was calm enough to be present for this conversation. Mika walked over balancing three mugs and settled in, years of ballet lending a certain grace to xyr movement that Roman could only wish he had. Xe took a long, slow sip of coffee and began.

“Roman. I apologize for yelling at you. I see now that you genuinely forgot, and while I am still a bit angry because of how upset Logan is, I am not angry at you, per say.” Roman nodded and took his coffee with shaking hands. Shiloh squeezed his shoulder for support while Mika continued. “Now, why do you think Logan is upset?”

“I… we promised, together, that we’d try and actually be there for each other… I’d spend less time with my friends, Logan would try to talk to me about his feelings… and I fucked up,” Roman whispered, staring into the black depths of his drink.

“Hey, Roman. Human error. This isn’t your fault,” Shiloh insisted.

“Well it sure isn’t Logan’s!” Roman yelled back, voice cracking. Mika jumped, clearly startled, but Shiloh took this in stride, used to Roman’s emotional outbursts.

“Of course it isn’t, but it’s not yours either! These things happen, Roman! Stop blaming yourself!”

“Could you two maybe stop yelling, please? There is class going on outside,” Mika broke in, voice wobbling a bit. From a distant corner of Roman’s mind, he remembers Logan telling him that Mika and Wirt were both sensitive to loud noises, especially when it came from other people who appeared angry. Roman forced himself to calm down and quiet down, not wishing to scare anyone else.

“Yeah… so. What… what can I do to fix this?” Roman murmured, eyes screaming apologies in Mika’s general direction. Mika finished xyr mug of coffee and poured another, much to Roman’s shock and horror. How much coffee did this person drink?!

“First: I’d work on communication with Logan. He’s noticed that you’ve been slipping a bit in talking to him about important things in the past week or so, and I agree with him that you do need to work on that. For God’s sake, Roman, he’s your twin. He’s not going to judge you for having feelings.”

“Yeah, Ro, you do have a habit of bottling and not talking about the things you need,” Shiloh added, smiling apologetically. Roman nodded and finished his coffee, the warm beverage filling him with heat missing from his soul right now.

“I can do that. Start talking to Logan about feelings and stuff more,” Roman muttered. Mika nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corners of xyr lips.

“That’s all I can ask. Second: Try and include Logan more with your friends. Not just choose him over your friends, since that is a situation no one wants.” Shiloh nodded at Mika’s assessment, and Mika took that as permission to continue. “Start inviting him to sit with you at lunch once a week or so when Wirt and I are too busy with other things, for instance. Invite him to afterschool activities. Start planning sleepovers with him and your friend group. Anything will help, I assure you.”

“But… Logan doesn’t like crowds, and he doesn’t like my friends. How do I work around that?” Roman seemed genuinely confused and upset. Mika and Shiloh shared a look, understanding passing between green eyes, before Shiloh turned to Roman.

“Ro. We all don’t know Logan well enough to like him or not. This is a good first step, I promise.” “And Logan doesn’t dislike your friends, he just doesn’t know them well enough,” Mika added, second cup of coffee during this conversation almost gone. Roman blinked. He… had not considered that, had he? Whoops.

“Third: Be patient. Logan likes to pretend he doesn’t have emotions, but that is a blatant lie and we all know it. Emotional pain takes time to heal, so just… be patient with him. If you do those things, Roman, you can at least start to repair your relationship before it’s too late.” With that, Mika poured xemself a third mug of coffee and settled back, waiting for Roman’s response.

Roman allowed Mika’s advice to swirl around his head, and he pondered how he could begin to implement this plan. Logan was at home right now, most likely bawling his eyes out (that caused a harsh pang of pain to erupt in Roman’s heart; he’d never liked his brother in pain, especially not crying) and believing that Roman hated his guts. He needed to fix this now, and honestly, Mika’s idea seemed to be the best way to do that. Mika knew Logan even better than Roman did at this point (and didn’t that thought just sting), and Roman knew that xe knew how Logan operated better than most.

“I… thank you, Mika. I think I can try to start tonight,” Roman choked out. Mika nodded and sipped at the coffee, smiling lightly.

“Of course, Roman. I will always be happy to help. Logan cares for you, and I care for Logan. Therefore, I care for you.” Roman blinked. That… no wonder Logan was friends with Mika, they thought in very similar ways.

Shiloh snorted. “Wow, no need to sound so formal, Your Highness.” Mika choked on xyr coffee for a brief instant before recovering.

“I… alright then. I was… not expecting that,” xe coughed. “Now, you two could head back to class if you wished.”

“Nah. I’d rather stay here and make sure Ro’s calm,” Shiloh answered. “I kind of want to stay here and just watch videos and talk about other fun things,” Roman chirped. Mika sighed, clearly conflicted, before nodding and scooting next to the two extroverts.

“Well, there is this nice YouTuber who makes writing videos and is just a dork who loves his cat. I would not object to watching his content,” Mika said as xe pulled out xyr laptop. The three of them settled in to watch light-hearted videos and ignore their problems, just like teenagers should.  

“Okay, Logan, sit down, sweetie, I’ll make you hot cocoa, just stay here and don’t die, please?” Virgil babbled, setting Logan down on the couch before dashing into the kitchen. Why was he so useless when it came to emotions? Patton was so much better, but Patton was at work and wouldn’t be home for a few hours, leaving Virgil alone to comfort his crying son. Said crying son was curled into a ball, salt water soaking into the skin of his arms because his sweater sleeves were pushed back to prevent damage. Virgil’s heart broke for his son and he finished making the cocoa as quickly as possible, desperate to get back and comfort his son. He dashed back out to the living room, careful not to spill a drop of the comforting beverage, before sitting next to his son and handing over the cocoa.

“So, L, what’s wrong?” Virgil whispered. Logan spent a few minutes in silence, drinking his cocoa, before shakily raising a hand and beginning to sign.

Roman promised to help me with my presentation… and he didn’t show up. He forgot me and abandoned me again… Virgil’s blood absolutely boiled and he had to force himself to take deep breaths so as not to let his anger show. No matter how angry he got, he would not frighten his son. But he was going to have some words with Roman when he got home.

“Hey… I can’t say that Roman didn’t mean it, or that he just forgot, or anything else, since I’m not him and wasn’t there. I can, however, say that I am here for you, and we’ll solve this whole mess together, okay?” Virgil answered. Logan nodded, tears still streaming down his face, and took a long sip of his hot cocoa before leaning into his Dad. Virgil lifted an arm and pulled Logan closer, sighing sadly. He didn’t like seeing his son so sad, especially when it was the fault of his other son, and he hated feeling useless like this. He could, however, try and make this better, and that’s exactly what he was going to do. If that meant making hot cocoa, he would. If it meant giving advice, he would. If it meant being a pillow to cry into, he would. He just needed to make sure that Logan was okay, and, come hell or high water, he would make it happen. For now, though, he sat there with his quiet son, sipping hot cocoa and watching space and nature documentaries until Logan fell asleep. When he did fall asleep finally, Virgil slipped his phone out and texted Patton. He still had a couple hours until Roman got home, but when he did, the two of them were going to have some words. This needed to be fixed, now, and Virgil would make sure it was. He would not allow his children’s relationship to fall apart, not this easily, not when he could help fix it.

Virgil didn’t realize that he too fell asleep. He only noticed when he was shaken gently awake by soft, unfamiliar hands. “Mr Everhart, please wake up. Roman is home, and he wants to talk to Logan,” Wirt’s voice came from above. Virgil blinked awake, still cuddling Logan, to find his son’s friend standing over him, brow crinkled in worry. Behind Wirt stood Roman and Mika, Logan’s other friend, one sheepish and one angry. Three guesses as to which was which, and the first two don’t count. Virgil quickly woke up the rest of the way and stood, cracking his spine as he fixed Roman with a flat glare.

“I think I need to have a talk with Roman first, if that’s alright?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice light while his emotions were anything but. Mika and Wirt were wise and left quickly, Mika stopping to gently scoop up Logan. Smart boys, those two. No wonder Logan was friends with them. Logan’s choice in friends was not Virgil’s current concern, however, and he turned his attention to his other son, eyes icy.

“Roman. What happened.” This was not a question; this was not a debate. This was a serious talk about the state of Roman and Logan’s emotions and relationship, and Virgil needed Roman to know that.

Roman sighed and looked down, sorrow oozing off of him. “I… I was supposed to help Logan with his poetry presentation… and I blew him off for my friends. Everyone is telling me it was an accident and that I just forgot, but… I don’t know.” Tears started to pool in his eyes, and Virgil bit his lip. He didn’t like seeing his kids sad. How was he going to fix this?!

Virgil pulled Roman into a hug, gently rocking him back and forth. “Hey, Ro. I’m not mad, okay? Well, no, I’m a bit angry at the situation, but that’s because I don’t like seeing you two hurt. I care about you, okay? I… I just want you and Logan to be okay.” Roman started crying harder and squeezed Virgil back, burying his face in the writer’s shoulder. Virgil started to cry as well, and as one, the two of them collapsed onto the couch, allowing their emotions to finally leave their souls. Virgil could not tell how long they sat there, simply talking and crying, but at some point, Patton came home and sat on Roman’s other side, pulling his husband and his son into a warm, comforting hug.

“It’ll all be okay, loves,” Patton murmured, voice clogged with tears. “Everything will be okay.” “Will it, though?” Roman whispered, voicing what they were all thinking. Virgil couldn’t answer that, and neither could Patton. No one really knew whether things were going to be okay. It was up to Roman and Logan to fix this, and no matter how much it pained them, this was one thing they couldn’t help their children with.

“Yes. You’re trying, Roman. That tells me that things will be okay,” Patton whispered. Roman nodded, sniffed, and stood up, roughly wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and smiled.

“Now, I need to go talk to Logan. We’re fixing this.” With that announcement, he strolled off, leaving Virgil and Patton alone.

“Do… do you think they’ll be okay?” Virgil murmured. Patton dropped a kiss into Virgil’s hair, hugging him close.

“I don’t know, love. I don’t know.”

Notes: I promise, things will get better. Hope you liked it! 

[jupiterparker]

what will people think? (p.p)

chatpter three

summary: your entire life is already planned out by your parents, forced to follow along, you run into a boy at an internship who might change your whole view

word count: 1.4k

warnings: potential emotional abuse

paring: peter parker x female!reader

series masterlist | chapter four

“Y/N, there is someone I want you to meet” Tony greeted you as you entered the hallway, ready to meet the mysterious Spider-Man. Next to Tony, you saw a boy around your age who had a mop of brown curly hair.

You reached forward to shook his hand as he said: “Hello, my name is Peter.”

Mine is Y/N as Tony has mentioned already, it’s nice to meet you too” you replied, smiling and wondering if maybe this was Tony trying to give you a second chance of life and having friends.

You followed Tony back into his lab, where an awkward silence descended the room. You could tell by Peter’s face that the silence was uncomfortable for him too, but when you looked at Tony, he wasn’t feeling awkward at all. In fact, he seemed ready to grab a seat and some popcorn and watch you get to know Peter.

Being honest with yourself, you really shouldn’t have expected anything other than awkwardness, because of two reasons. One, you and Peter were two teenagers who don’t have excellent social skills with strangers. And two, even if Peter were a friend, you would still be this awkward since you’ve never had a friend and therefore don’t know how to act around one either.

After some time looking at each other and glancing around the lab for some time, you and Peter both simultaneously looked at Tony, pleading with your eyes for some help. It turns out, however, that Tony had anticipated this, as he chose this exact second to try and dart out of there.

“Woah look at the time!” he says holding up his clock exactly to you both, “I got to run, I’m late!”

“Hey hey hey hey” you quickly said, grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t leave so quickly.

“For what?” you and Peter both asked at the same time, calling his bluff. You both look at each other in surprise at that jinx, and you smiled at him as he giggled.

“Um… Pepper is calling me?” Tony tries, grabbing your attention again, before running before either of you could contradict him.

After Tony was out of sight, the playful mood had disappeared, and you were back at square one with Peter: the awkward silence. You knew how to talk to adults and impress them, but you were annoyed at yourself and your parents for not being able to implement causal social skills into you. But you knew that to get know Peter and work on his suit, a conversation would have to start, which meant someone, meaning you, would have to start it a conversation.

“So… you’re spiderman?” you asked watching Peter’s facial expression change as you cursed in your head for asking such as stupid question. Duh Y/N, that how Tony introduced him to you. Peter widened his eyes when he realized you knew his alter ego and started moving around the room frantically, before suddenly stopping and slapping his forehead in sudden realization, “You’re the person that Tony said he told, ohh” Peter said, talking out loud“I’m an idiot!”

You laughed at his outburst and how he mirrored your inner thoughts right now, before adding on “You’re not alone in that!”

Slightly more relaxed now, Peter asked: “So long have you known Tony?” You tilted your head in confusion as you found it such a weird and unprompted question. But before you could answer it anyway, Peter clarified himself,  “Well obviously you have known him for some great amount of time for him to trust you, but I’m a little curious as I’ve never run into you here.”

That makes more sense. See Y/N, you’re truly the idiot in the conversation. “Oh I’ve known Tony for…” you replied, pausing to look at the time on your watch, “Oh you know, about 8 hours.”

At this Peter squinted his eyes at you like he was replying what you said slowly in his mind, “I think I misheard you, you meant 8 months right?” he asked slowly, trying to reassure he was just hearing things.

“No, I’m pretty sure I said 8 hours?” you said, smirking at Peter as his jaw dropped.

“What have you done in the past 8 hours that gained his trust so quickly?” Peter asked incredulously, trying to understand what made you so trusting. After all, the Tony Stark doesn’t leave just anyone in the lab by themselves, let alone his blueprints.

“I spilled my guts to him and pointed out an issue in a project he is working on.”

“Ahh, the classic formal, that would do the trick,” Peter said, nodding as he sorted all of this new information

“Yup,” you said, smacking your lips, as the awkwardness started to creep in my slowly, but this time it didn’t really seem to affect Peter that much this time.

It also seems that Peter noticed that, asking “You have friends right?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, and Peter seemed to recognize that the question was just a little too blunt, and you watch him scramble for words to try and make it better. After a couple of seconds of watching Peter flounder around, you decided to take pity on him “Nope.”

At the sound of your voice, Peter froze, trying to remember what you were answering. “Wait seriously? Are you homeschooled?”

“Well no, but-”

“Shouldn’t you have made friends at school?” Peter gently probed, trying to understand your situation.

“Theoretically yes, but people at my school are basically fake as fuck- sorry for my language, but that’s how most snobby rich kids are. I don’t really want to be friends with them, even though at the surface it may seem like I am,” you explained, shrugging your shoulders at the fact that was the normal of your life. You really only had acquaintances or contacts, not really friends.

“Well then I’ll be your first” Peter said, and you weren’t paying that much attention beforehand, so Peter’s words out of context made you look at him in shock.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll be your first” Peter repeated, before the realization hit him, “friend, I’ll be your first friend.”

Peter ran his hands down his face in embarrassment, “can we just pretend that this conversation never happened? Please!”

“Sure, but then are we friends or not, cause you’re kinda giving me mixed signals here” you teased.

“No no, we are still friends.”

“Well good! In that case did Tony tell you what I’m going to be doing with you, or do I need to fill you in?” you asked, remembering that you were in Tony’s lab actually and that you should probably get on task.

“Nope, Mr. Stark just called, and told me if it was okay to tell someone my secret identity and to hurry on over here to meet them” Peter explained, furrowing his eyebrows realizing “wow, he did not tell me anything.”

“He really doesn’t, but you call him Mr. Stark, and he allows that?” you asked, remembering when you first met Tony earlier in the day.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t he let me call him that?” Peter asked complete confused.

“Nevermind, don’t worry about that” you replied, waving your hand in the air to dismiss that, “but basically I am working with you to come up with new upgrades to your costume basically!”

“You mean suit, not costume. Also, why does it need upgrades?? It’s practically perfect after all, Mr. Stark designed it!” Peter asked, slightly offended at the idea that his suit could be improved.

“I mean, design-wise, I have some ideas, if you want to at least look at them?” you explained.

“Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt. In that case, lead the way!” Peter explained, jumping onto you like a stallion, and pointing in the air of where you should go. You laughed, wondering if this is what having a friend was like, you wished you had more of them.

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[blueseasfanfics]

Winged: 2

Part 1

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1220

Warning: 1 curse word.

Prompt: Could you write a Loki x reader where he's an Avenger now and he aids the team in a Hydra raid. There, he finds the reader chained up. She's sickly (obviously been there at least a few months) and has some visible mutation (wings maybe? Like fairy or feathered?). She's terrified but Loki manages to calm her down so they can get her out safely. From then on she sticks to Loki like glue and he's very protective over her. (requested from @damedevon​. Message me for a free prompt under 2k words.)

You wake up sitting on a bed next to Loki, who's holding a book in front of him but is looking at you through the corner of his eye. "Good morning. Sort of." He says, flipping a page, though you're not sure he read anything. You look around, seeing a large bedroom but it inexplicably only has a bed, desk, and bookcase in it. "I know, this is unusual. However, whenever I tried leaving you in the medical bay, your breathing would become erratic." "So you brought me to your bedroom?" "Yes. No one else comes in here, I feel like it will be less stressful for you. How are you feeling." "My back hurts." "That may be because you have two huge metal wings attached to it." You can't muster a reply, closing  your eyes. Everything hurts. "When was the last time you ate." "I don't know." Silence from him, until a gentle hand pushes on your back to sit you up. Grumbling, you oblige, and he hands you an apple. Was there a tree in here you didn't notice before, what the hell? "Eat that. Can I look at your back?" "Why do you need to do that?" You sniff the apple nervously. "Would you like these off?" "Look, then. You can't do much of anything." You chuckle, biting into the apple, and Loki cautiously moves your shirt to look at your shoulder blades. "You humans are..barbaric." He whispers, and you just take another bite of your apple again, not wanting to say anything else. "They screwed metal plates into your shoulder blades, then screwed these horrible things on top. Good idea, horrible execution." He mutters, almost to himself. "Good idea?" "In theory, yes. If one wanted to fly. You aren't able to walk however, so horrible execution. I'm guessing you didn't exactly want these either." He pulled your shirt back down, and you stretched. "Not particularly, no." "Then how did they get on?" You bite your apple, and there's a knock on the door. In a matter of seconds you roll yourself off the bed and push yourself into the corner of the room. Loki looks over the bed at you, frowning. "Who is it?" You whisper up at him, and he looks toward the door. "Loki? I was wondering if the girl is awake yet, I want to look at her wings." A voice yells from outside the door. "A man lots of intelligence and an equal amount of idiotic arrogance." Loki mutters down at you. "Why does he want to look at my wings?" "In all probability, he wants to study them." "With them still attached? Isn't that just studying me, then?" "Yes." "Then no. I don't want him near me." "What if he could take off the wings?" He's leaning slightly over the bed to you curiously. "I'm not being studied again." You growl, pulling your knees up to your chest. Loki looks over you for a minute, the knocking on the door getting more insistent. "Do you want the wings off?" "Yes." "Then I will get them off for you. Damn humans." He mutters, getting up and opening the door, talking in hushed tones. You strain to hear, sitting up and peering over the edge of the bed, watching Loki talk to a man who's trying to get a better look at you himself. At some point, Loki closes the door and comes back t you, kneeling in front of you on the floor. "He will try to take them off." "He's going to want to study me." "Not if I'm there." ... "Do you trust him?" "All I can say is the man is very smart for a human." "That doesn't mean trust for me." "Do you trust me?" "I barely know you." "Yet, you're letting me near you." You glare up at Loki. "You can't leave the room." "Even if Stark gets very annoying?" "Stark is the man in the hallway?" "The one and only." "If you leave the room he won't be your only problem." "Duly noted." Loki stands up, holding out his hand. You take it and raise yourself slowly to your feet. "Do you want me to carry you again?" "Won't that show I'm weak?" "I think the fact that you look like you haven't seen sunlight or food for a few months can say that in of itself." "You aren't looking so pretty yourself, you know." "Huh, you must be blind too." You pinch him and he chuckles, leading you to the door and you open it, seeing an impatient man pacing along the hallway. "Finally. Hello, I'm Tony Stark, I'm sure Reindeer Games has told you all about me. Now, what do you say about getting these things off?" He grins widely at you. "If I am in your lab for more than an hour, you will see what these things can do." "Cool, a time limit. Let's get started then." You all make the way down to his lab, Loki lifting you easily up (somehow, the man doesn't look that strong) onto the table. He pulls up a chair and sits next to you as you take of your shirt and lay down on your stomach. You turn your head to look at Loki, resting it on your arms. "This reminds me of the base." You murmur as Stark starts gathering tools from a nearby workstation. "How is that?" Loki matches the quieted tone. "Well, how do you think they got these on?" "While you were asleep, like Barnes." "Who is Barnes?" "A man with a metal arm." "Lucky." "Lucky? All he got was an arm. I have an arm. You have wings. An improvement, no?" "Only the first ones. Then I got too good at flying. So they weighed me down and called me a failure." Loki says nothing at that, simply running a thumb along your cheek for a moment while you close your eyes and wait for Stark. Stark comes over for a minute, looking over your back and hisses. "Fucking barbarians." He mutters, seemingly to himself, and you feel him prodding around the base of them both, at the plates. You try and focus on anything else. Your mind wanders to Loki, out of simple curiosity. Why do you trust him so much? He hasn't done anything for you to trust him. Other than help you escape. Then again, who wouldn't in that situation? You open your eyes again to look at him, his hand is rest on the table near your face, him watching Stark as he starts prodding around the blade connected to your flesh and bone with metal bolts. You hiss in pain, and his eyes snap back down to yours. You see flashes of concern. "I can take the wings out. I'm not sure about the plates. This will probably be painful. Are you alright?" Stark says, organizing tools beside you on the table. "Yeah. Go for it." Stark immediately starts taking out one wing, sending shock waves of pain up and down your spine. You fight back a scream, closing your eyes as a tear rolls out. You feel a hand brush your hair away from your ear. "I'll be here the whole time. Promise." Loki's thumb brushes your temple, and your world turns black again.

Taglist! (message to be added!)

@fuckthatfeeling @drakesfiance @ihavenofilter @nalokoniloki @forthesnakeofdragons @astridanalisenightshade @kcd15 @hiddlestonstansworld

@damedevon

@aurelia-black @shockwavee @get-loki

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[just--another--daydreamer]

Cuddle me

Peter Parker x Male reader

Fandom: Marvel (Spider-Man: Homecoming) Genre: Fluff, a hint of angst Requests (by anon): Hi! How about peter Parker x male dancer reader who trying really hard and just wants some cuddles after a long day??? Thanks!! ❤️ Warning: Mentions of death, Homophobia, language, a hint of angst Pairing: Peter Parker (Holland) x male reader Word count: 1144 Y/N= Your Name Author’s Note: Sorry that it took me so long to finidh this, hope you like it!

Requests and Ships are open

Masterlist

Your heart felt like it was going to burst when you could finally lay down after stretching and training for hours. The heat of your heavy breath was just a taste of how exhausted you were and how hard you were trying.

All your muscles hurt, and you could barely move, but this was the only way to improve your dancing skills. You had been training like this every day for the last month, because the competition you had signed up for was in a few weeks and you’ve already been told by many of your fellow dancers, that this competition would be rough and probably the hardest you had done so far.

Finding motivation for training like this had been easy. Your boyfriend Peter was always by your side and watched you dancing. He bought you coffee when you needed it and kept encouraging you. Peter tried to find time between his Stark internship and after school activities to visit you and go to the training with you. The two of you were alone there most of the time, so it was okay if you didn’t master every single move.

You were still laying on the ground, when you heard Peter talking to you.

“Y/N? Are you okay or do I have to call 911?” Peter said in a tone that was the perfect middle between sarcasm and real worry. You forced yourself to smile and closed your eyes.

“Peter, I think I’m dying. I want you to burn my dead body and let Captain America sing Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley in front of my grave,” you said jokingly, and Peter chuckled. In the next moment, he dropped a dry towel on your face, as well as a water bottle.

“I’ll get the Hulk to hold a speech at church for you.” He helped you to sit up and gave you a weak smile. He could see that you were in pain. After a while he said, “You’ll get dressed and I’m going to wait for you outside.”

You walked into the changing room and opened your locker. There was warm steam coming from the shower, so you assumed that it was the other guy who was training for the competition. He was training in the second room and usually finished later than you did. You didn’t know his name, but you definitely didn’t like him. He had been mean to Peter and you a few times now, so you tried to avoid him by leaving earlier, which didn’t always work out.

You changed from your sweaty t-shirt to a new one and once you had pulled your jeans above your knees, the other guy stepped out of the shower. Water was dripping from his hair and he grinned when he saw you.

“You are still training, even after what I told you last time. You aren’t good enough for this competition. This is something for the good guys, not gays like you,” He teased. You rolled your eyes and stuffed your bag with your old clothes.

“Ignoring me doesn’t help. I’ll beat you. That’s what I can say for sure.” You hated him so much. He didn’t know when to shut up. He was just like this one guy Peter had told you about a few times. Flash. The sort of person you hated. Egoistic, mean and probably pretty insecure on the inside was the best way to describe people like him.

“Fuck off,” was all you said before leaving.

You stepped outside into the cold. It felt like the wind was freezing the sweat on your forehead to little ice cubes. You shivered and walked over to Peter, who was already waiting for you.

“Do you remember this asshole that keeps mocking us?” Peter nodded as a reply. “I just met him while I was changing. He’s still an asshole.” You stuffed your hands in the pockets of your coat.

“It doesn’t matter what he says. You’re going to win this thing,” Peter told you. “He just wants you to give up, because he knows that you’re better than him.”

You let out a deep sigh. “Maybe you’re right, but he’s also very good. Have you seen that guy? He’s amazing.”

Peter shrugged. “You’re still the best.” The small clouds that escaped your mouth when you laughed mixed with the air around you. “You have to say that, because you are my boyfriend!”

Peter unlocked the door to the flat he shared with his aunt. You dropped your bag in the entrance to his room and dropped on the bed, Peter next to you.

“Everything hurts,” you voiced your complaint. Peter looked at you from the side.

“Sit up,” he demanded, and you did what he told you without asking. Peter’s hands travelled over your back to massage your sore muscles. He straightened your shoulders to get in between your shoulder blades with his fingers. You sighed in relief when he fixed your hard muscles and wanted to lean into his touch, but Peter told you to sit straight. His hands travelled up and down your spine, causing you to shiver.

“Thank you, Peter,” you whispered as soon as he was done. You laid on the bed while Peter got up.

“Where are you going?” you asked, and Peter turned around on the doorstep.

“I wanted to make some food,” he replied, but you shook your head.

“No! Come here and cuddle me!” you shouted at him. “You can’t leave me laying here alone like a wet bag of sand!” Peter started smiling slightly. He walked towards you and slipped under the covers on his mattress. You did the same and found yourself in your boyfriend’s arms. You cuddled into him and rested your head on his shoulder. He placed a small kiss on your forehead while drawing lines on your back with his fingertips. His warmth calmed you down and allowed you to finally relax. You smiled and closed your eyes.

“This is perfect,” you muttered into his shirt after he pulled you closer.

“It is.” Peter’s voice was soft and full of love. The warmth of his body was inviting you to snuggle into him. You buried your face in his shirt and smiled to yourself while closing your eyes.

“That guy from dancing probably doesn’t have something like this,” Peter said and you could feel his breath on your forehead.

“Maybe,” you muttered. “But I don’t want think about sad things right now.” Peter sighed and caressed your hair with his hand.

“You’re right.” He kissed your forehead once again.

“This is all I need after a day like this,” you admitted, and you felt Peter’s chest vibrating softly when he chuckled.

“I know. Me too.” You lifted your head off his chest to look him in the eyes.

“I love you,” you whispered before connecting your lips.