#but i missed an opportunity to sleep for an extra hour that i really needed lol

[guinevereslancelot]

not me forgetting i switched shifts with a coworker and showing up an hour early for work ✌️😌

[little-writers-posts]

Keeping You Warm (The Milkman x F!Reader)

Author's Note: It's been a long (LONG) time since I wrote smut, so please excuse anything, plus English is not my native language so I apologise for any mistakes. But I do hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ Smut. However, it's quite light/soft, so to speak. The reader has a female genitalia.

Word Count: 1.957

“Double shift again, Francis?” I asked over the phone.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” I heard Francis’ tired voice say in almost a whisper.

“Is there really no other person who could take the shift? It’s the third time this week, Francis. You’re killing yourself.” I sighed as I rested my head on my hand.

“Not really; everyone has been quitting lately because of the rise in the number of the doppelgangers' sights.” I heard the sound of glass bottles clattering in the background.

“Just… Don’t push yourself too hard, okay? You’re already tired and worn out. I understand that there’s a job that needs to be done, but you’re human.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself. Don’t wait up for me, okay? Get your rest. You need it more than I do. Bye.”

“Bye.” I hung up the phone, lowered my head, and laid it on the table.

It has been nearly two weeks since I last saw Francis, which is foolish since we live in the same apartment. However, due to our jobs and taking shifts, our schedules haven't been exactly the same. It’s actually gotten worse because he’s been taking double shifts to cover the lack of people, and now he has to deliver the milk and stay an extra shift preparing all the packs for the next day, which means not only collecting the empty bottles but also refilling them and sorting them out in the boxes. We only see each other when the other one is asleep since I start my shifts early, and he only gets home quite late.

As I was lost in thought, someone knocked on the window. Steven was waving his papers to get into the building.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, proceeding with my work.

Eventually, my shift ended, and I went to my and Francis’ apartment. While setting down my things, I checked my schedule for the next day, and a big smile spread across my face. It was a day off. I decided to wait up for Francis, so for the next few hours, I occupied myself with getting dinner ready and tidying up the house. When I ran out of things to do, I sat in the living room watching one of my favorite shows.

It was past midnight when I heard the keys to the front door. Francis walked in looking as tired as ever, sighing as he locked the door, the tension leaving his shoulders at being home becoming visible.

“Welcome home, love,” I said, getting up from the couch.

“I told you not to wait up, (Y/N),” Francis whispered as he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me tight.

“I’m not working tomorrow, so I thought I would wait for you,” I whispered back. I held his face in my hands, and he looked exhausted. “Do you want to go to bed? We could cuddle a little before sleep.”

“I would like that,” he smiled.

He followed me into the bedroom and started to get changed. I got in bed while waiting for him.

Soon, I felt his arms around my waist and his lips pressed against my neck. I turned off the lights and faced him. I put my palm on his cheek and caressed it with my thumb. I heard him sigh and move his head closer and I held it between my hands. His lips met mine in a soft and slow kiss.

“I missed you” Francis’s embrace tightened.

“I missed you too, my love” I smiled.

We kissed again, our lips moving slowly, just appreciating each other’s presence. His hand moved from my waist to my hip and down to my butt, giving it a light squeeze. I gasped slightly, and Francis took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside my mouth. What was just a lingering kiss turned into something more pressing. The warmth and softness of our lips, the wet touch of tongues, and the subtle taste of each other only added to my incoming arousal.

Unconsciously, I pushed my hips against his during the kiss, feeling his semi-hard dick. Francis moaned into the kiss. With his hand under my neck, he grabbed a fist full of my hair at the back of my head, squeezing tight and deepening the kiss. His other hand moved back to my waist, slipping under my shirt, caressing my skin, leaving goosebumps all over me.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, breaking the kiss and leaving both of us panting.

Francis rested his forehead on mine, and his hands continued rubbing the skin of my waist and neck.

“I thought you were tired,” I smiled.

“I am, but I want you,” he said hoarsely.

At the same time, his leg slipped between mine, pulling me closer by the waist. I could feel his need pressing against my intimate parts. I squeezed his leg between mine, rubbing my heat trying to ease my aching, but I knew he was exhausted, so I took the lead.

“What if I keep you warm?” I asked.

I spit a bit into my hand and reached for his pants, slipping under the waistband and into his underwear. I took his dick and started slowly moving, feeling him twitch. Francis groaned, and I felt his breath at the top of my head; he hugged me tighter and started to slowly, rocking his hips against my hand. I felt a chill down my spine; my core throbbed, and I felt it was getting wetter.

“Prep me up?” I mumbled.

Francis hummed, agreeing. His hand went from my waist to my heat, massaging my skin lightly along the way, and he pressed one finger to my entrance. I moaned quietly, continuing to pump him. He started to spread my juices around my lips and then pushed one finger inside. I moved my hips along with his finger, Francis kept his movements slow, and with each thrust, he touched a new spot inside me. Soon, he added a second finger, making me moan again and grind my hips in his hand.

“And I thought I was in need,” Francis chuckled.

“Francis…” I whimpered.

He pressed his thumb into my clit and began his scissors movements inside me, also curling his fingers to reach that sweet spot and stroke it, making me roll my eyes and breath heavily. I lifted my head, looking once again for his lips, and captured them in a hungrily open-mouth kiss, our tongues stroking each other rapidly and messy, with spit starting to drip.

I felt my walls pulsing around his fingers and that tickling sensation in my lower belly rushing me to grind faster. But I forced myself to stop. I pulled my hand away from his throbbing dick and grabbed his wrist, moving him away from me. I pushed Francis by the shoulder, laying his back on the mattress, and undressed myself. I lifted my leg and sat across Francis's lap, pulling his clothes down, freeing his dick, making him groan.

I kissed his tip and licked his entire length, from bottom to top, taking him to my mouth next. I took him until his tip reached the back of my throat and pumped the rest with my hand. I bobbed my head, sucking him and pressing my tongue against his flesh. Francis gave a husky groan and thrust his hips, hands tangling my hair.

When his dick was all wet, I raised myself and aligned my entrance with his tip. I slowly sink into him, feeling him twitch, relinquishing the feeling of his dick filling me up until he was all of him was inside me.

I set my hands on his stomach, getting used to the sensation of having him inside. Francis released a strangled breath, his hands resting on my thighs, caressing them with his thumbs.

When I was about to move, Francis took a strand of my hair and nestled it behind my ear, pulling me towards him by the back of my neck right after. He kissed me again, lips moving rapidly, only pulling away when we needed air.

The sudden movement had me squeezing his dick and he grinded his hips against me.

“Fucking tight,” Francis whispered.

I began rocking my hips, Francis matched my pace by grinding into me. Grunts and pants echoed in the bedroom; my hands were back on his stomach for balance, his hands pressed firmly on my waist to guide my movements and leave bruises. Each thrust felt heavenly, his dick sliding in and out, hitting the right spots every time, making me whimper and my legs shake.

The familiar tickling feeling in my lower belly came back, and my movements became erratic, faster, and sloppier, chasing that rush.

“I’m cuming,” I begged.

“Wait for me,” Francis urged.

He grabbed my leg and pushed my back onto the mattress. Settled between my legs, Francis resumed his movements, thrusting deep and fast. The change in position made me whine and squeeze him even tighter; it was bliss, the feeling of his weight on me, his grinding, and his dick rubbing every part inside me and hitting just the right spot.

“Francis, please” I begged again.

“Almost there” he grunted.

I tried my best to delay my incoming orgasm, focusing on Francis, on his short breaths, his muscles stiffening beneath my fingers, his raspy moans in my ear, just everything about him, taking my mind away from the pleasure he was giving me.

I tightened my legs around his body and my nails scratched his back, I was so close.

“Cum with me,” Francis pleaded.

I focused back on the sensation in my lower area. Francis sped up his pace, with chaotic and messy movements, as he began to shake. I felt the buildup of tension that made my back arch and my toes curl, like a clenching feeling. As soon as I thought that I couldn’t take it anymore, I sensed all that tension being released and pulsing throughout my body, an all-consuming release and euphoria. I moaned loudly against Francis's skin.

At the same time, Francis tensed up gave his final deep thrust and his dick throbbed inside me, releasing all of his seed, filling me up.

Francis kissed my lips tenderly, again, again and again, holding my face while supporting the weight of his body on one arm.

“I love you” he whispered between kisses.

“I love you too” I giggled, kissing him back.

He lay next to me, pulling me onto his chest. We stayed like that for a while, still panting and recovering.

“I’ll get you some water and a towel,” he said kissing my temple.

“No, it's okay I’ll get it” I pushed him down and got up. “I have to use the bathroom anyway. Do you need anything?”

“Just some water, please”.

I went to the bathroom, cleaned myself and then got a glass of water from the kitchen. When I came back to the bedroom, Francis’s breathing was deep and slow, suggesting that he was already asleep. I smiled and placed the water on his nightstand, I gave a small peck on his lips and laid down in bed, feeling my muscles relaxing after so much tension and pleasure.

The fact that our lives are regularly in danger because of the doppelgangers leaves everyone on edge, meaning that our time together safe at home is a blessing and a getaway from everything on the outside. Losing ourselves in each other is not only a reminder of being alive but also a reassurance that the other person we love so much is still by our side.

Thinking about all the things we do for each other, and while caressing softly Francis's face, I also fell asleep.

[eli0004]

Long Distance with the AoT Men

Contains: Eren, Jean, Armin, Connie, Levi

Synopsis: what is it like to be in a long distance relationship with the AoT boys? Let’s find out 👇

Warnings: none really, pure fluff, gn!reader

Eren Yeager wants to sleep on FaceTime. Every. Single. Night. If you try to hang up he will sulk so bad, it’s ridiculous. He looks so insanely gorgeous when he’s sleeping though, so you wouldn’t dare complain. Eren has a whole goodnight routine too. You say you love him, he says he loves you more, and bitch you better say you love him most, or else. Eren is not the Eren he is in public when he’s sleepy and missing you from miles away. There’s a certain longing in his voice when he talks about your future together, when you talk about your plans to move in together and get to lay in each other’s arms. Sometimes he thinks about just quitting school, packing his shit and booking a one way flight to your city, but he knows how important it is to you that you’re both secure and ready for a move like that. Until then, he’ll save every penny and he’ll look forward to every opportunity to visit you.

Jean Kirstein watches movies with you. Jean is the type of guy that: A. Can’t sit still and do nothing, and B. Has probably seen every movie that exists in the world. He loves FaceTime dates where the two of you stream a movie together. Absolutely will go old school with it and start a movie at the exact same time, making sure to count down from three if there’s an interruption so you can pause at the same time too. Believes it’s mandatory to have pizza for a movie date. Always Orders himself pizza, and will door dash one to your place too😭 Mans looks so soft and comfy in bed, all clad in a warm hoodie, hood up, chewing on the strings. You can see the light from the screen flashing, illuminating his sleepy face. It’s those moments when the distance aches a little more, missing the feeling of being there snuggled up against his warm chest.

Armin Arlert just wants to lay there and look at you. If you’re gonna be in a long distance relationship with Armin, you must understand that he is a highly emotional, sappy, clingy guy. When his days are busy and his schedule is packed and he finds himself talking to you less, when you finally do have an hour or so to really sit and talk about things, those are the days when Armin struggles extra hard with long distance, and needs a lot of reassurance that you’re still happy with him, even though he can’t be there with you, especially when he knows there are plenty of other people who could be. More than likely, he spends a lot of your calls shedding intermittent tears, expressing his desire to snuggle up with you every time the thought crosses his mind. When he starts to get sleepy, his eyes droop and he lays his head on his pillow. He’s looking over every feature on your face, making sure to etch every minute detail into his memory for when he’s missing you the next day. He’ll fall asleep, doing just that.

Connie Springer just carries you around everywhere on FaceTime. He’ll go into the grocery store with you in his pocket, talking to you through his AirPods about what flavor of instant ramen he should buy. He sets you up on the counter while he cooks said ramen, so you can watch his chaotic ass burn a cup of noodles. Like eren, Connie probably wants to sleep on FaceTime, but he never remembers to put his phone on the charger so it dies at like 2 in the morning, and he’ll CALL YOU BACK just to be like “sorry babe, goodnight, i love you *snores*”. When Connie is in public, if you crack a joke while you’re in his pocket and he’s wearing his AirPods, he’ll laugh out loud, and you get the pleasure of overhearing people ask him what the fuck is so funny like they’re concerned for his mental health 😭 and he’ll play into that shit too, just to keep hearing your laugh.

Levi Ackerman doesn’t know how to just say he’s missing you, so he’ll call you periodically to ask what you’re doing and then just listen to you breathe for about 20 seconds on the other line after you answer. He visits you every weekend, even if you’re hours away, he will take public transportation for you if he has to, and that’s saying something because he knows how filthy those buses/trains are. Once every few months he’ll take a whole week off to come stay with you, and he’ll probably try to straighten up around your place, pick up your groceries, cook dinner for you, water your plants, in your own home 😭. Literally morphes into your lil househusband for the week, and you have to be like No? Go sit down you’re literally my guest. Distance doesn’t mean shit to Levi. Where there’s a will there’s a way, he believes. The definition of “if he wants to he will” because he will. Every time.

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field V

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k (she's long today DAMN)

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and discussion of abuse, so read with caution!!

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a/n: head empty, no thoughts. only this fic. but i should say if you enjoy it please reblog!! it means so much to us as writers, and who knows! maybe one of your mutuals is missing out on their future favourite fic ;)

next part

You're about to walk out the door, heading to the academy to meet Coryo before the games start. To try and prepare as best you can.

"Y/N, wait." Your dad stops you as you reach for the handle, and you quickly turn to him. 

"Yes?" You know better than to rush him, but you already were running slightly behind schedule.

"Good luck today." He says and you nod at him.

"Thank you."

"And don't let Coriolanus down." There it is. "He is helping you, he didn't have to do that. Don't ruin this for him. If he needs anything, get it for him. If he tells you to jump, ask how high. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." You nod, a pit forming in your stomach. The pressure was on, not that it wasn't already, but now it was so much more real.

"Now, hurry up. Don't keep him waiting." He dismisses you, and you don't have to be told twice.

When you reach the academy, you rush inside. You were always rushing places, these days. The building was almost deserted, it was still quite early, but only two minutes until the time you agreed to meet Coryo in the courtyard. The Games were set to start in just under three hours, and you weren't sure what you would fill that time with, but that is what he asked of you so that is what you will do.

The last you had seen him was only about four or so hours ago, when he walked you home after stopping at the zoo to bring Lucy Gray the arena layout and he gave her a compact. One she promised to give back after the games, after crying over what today would bring. You felt bad, but mostly because you felt it was somewhat inconvenient that she would waste time over tears when you had important information for her on where to go and how to hide. This was valuable to her. Every moment counted if she wanted to walk out of the arena alive.

You spot Coryo pacing the courtyard through the window before you push it open, stepping out onto the path as the cool air brushes over your skin. It was July, but the mornings were still crisp.

"Sorry I'm almost late, I-"

"It's okay." He interrupts you as you get closer. He really only wanted you there for company, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep in this time anyway. "How are you feeling?" 

"Fine, if a little tired." You shrug. "You?"

"Fine." He echoes your answer, just standing there staring at you in the silence. He really wasn't afraid of silence- but you were.

"What about your back? Recovering okay? I have some extra morphing if you're in pain." You offer, already reaching for your bag just for the sake of giving yourself something to do with your hands.

Confusion takes over his features. "Morphling?" He asks, brow furrowed. "Why do you have that on you?"

"Migraines, twisted ankles, cramps..." You answer. "You never know when you'll need some." You hold the small tube out to him, but he shakes his head, pushing your hand down. 

He was sore, it wouldn't hurt, but something about taking it from you felt wrong. "No thank you, I'm fine." It would make sense that you would have it, though it was only accessible by prescription. It was likely your dad who prescribed it to you, if only so you could have it on hand. Or because he knows how often you're hurting, or he doesn't want you acting hurt- exposing the irony of having an abusive father who's also the most sought-after doctor in all of the Capitol. Morphling numbs the body, but also the mind. It's highly addictive, expensive to those who could access it, and not for the faint of heart- but you showed no signs of addiction. You must not take it often, therefore there's no real reason for him to be worried.

"Suit yourself." You shrug, tucking the vial away again. "Let me know if you change your mind. We have a long day ahead." 

He nods in confirmation, joining you as you sit down on a bench nearby. "What did you give Lucy Gray last night, anyway?"

"A compact?" He feigns confusion, knowing the true implications of your question.

"Duh, Mister President." You tease. "I meant what was in it?"

Coryo chews on the inside of his cheek, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He has to answer casually, lest face your anger issues when he shows any guilt about cheating. "Uh, nothing." That wasn't a total lie, he just left out the part where he implied that Lucy Gray could find something within the cage at the zoo that would fit nicely in it, something like rat poison.

"Nothing?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. "You just gave her that as a gift?"

"Something like that." He shrugs, and your expression reads as though you're not buying it. "If she happened to find something to put in it, something that could help her, that would be just an unrelated convenience."

You freeze, staring at him in disbelief. "Coryo." You whisper, slapping his shoulder to get him to look at you as you read between the lines. "Something like rat poison? That's cheating! Are you kidding me right now?"

"What?" He defends, sitting up straighter as he looks over at you again. "It's my only shot! If she doesn't win, I can kiss the prize goodbye."

"It's not about her winning, Coriolanus. It's about the efficacy of the mentorship! Dean Highbottom said-"

"Dean Highbottom despises me, winning is the only thing I can do to get him to even glance at my mentorship as an option." He argues and you groan, burying your face in your hands.

He watches you, and suddenly feels regret for his decision. If only because you didn't approve of his actions. "Okay." You sigh, dropping your hands into your lap again and sitting up straighter. "Okay. We can work with it. As long as she is smart about it, we won't get caught. And like you said, we didn't do anything. It was just a gift."

"I warned her. She knows." He assures you. Really, there's no harm done unless you get caught. And should Lucy Gray become the victor, your life plan will fall beautifully into place. It will be worth it, you're ashamed you didn't think of such a thing first.

After everyone else arrived, the two of you decided to make a fashionably late entrance, walking into the newly decorated hall, containing many students and professors alike, the large screens against the back wall displaying all of the remaining tributes and the Hunger Games logo, where the games themselves will be aired. You were excited and scared all at once. 

"Y/N, Coriolanus." Dean Highbottom greets you as you enter, taking in the atmosphere. Both of you grace him with just a nod. "I'd advise you to tell your friend Sejanus to find a seat near the door..." He adds quietly before walking off, leaving the two of you confused.

Coryo doesn't seem to think too much about it, just heading down the stairs. You follow behind him, head held high to counteract any of your peer's bitter staring or laughs. Everyone knew you didn't qualify for a mentorship, and to most, you just appeared to be following Coriolanus Snow around like a lost puppy, hoping to get the scraps of his success. 

They won't be laughing when you are Head Gamemaker, that's for sure. But even then, will that not also be the scraps of his success? Him appointing you to the job of your dreams after his inauguration, will that not appear to be out of bias or pity? This isn't a question you have time to let bother you. Your future starts today.

When the games are about to start, you follow Coryo over while he decides which desk to take, deciding on one in the back row close to where you will be sitting. "Good luck." You grin, placing a hand on his forearm. 

He looks down at where your hand is brushing over his coat sleeve and he nods.

You get closer, standing on your tip-toes to whisper to him. "Snow lands on top."

A small smile forms on his face. "Snow lands on top." He whispers back, grabbing your hand for only a moment, afraid of the Dean or Dr. Gaul taking notice. That would only serve to get you both in trouble.

You sit in the first row of benches where Coryo can see you, can easily look to you for help. He's grateful to have you in his peripheral, knowing that you're there, and you're not leaving, is what he didn't realize he really needed.

You both watch silently as the tributes walk out to their designated spots surrounding the pile of rubble in the center of the arena. You were there just last night, but now it looks scarier- even in the light of day. Maybe it's because you know what you are about to witness. All you can do is hope Lucy Gray won't be the first down.

Your heart drops into your stomach when the camera pans to show Sejanus's tribute- the one who escaped, hung from a beam by both his wrists. It's hard to look at, and along with the gasps that echo through the hall and Lucky's commentary, you hear a chair scraping and your eyes land on Sejanus, who's now standing in the middle of the room. He's seething, you can see it in the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest and in the contraction of seemingly every muscle in his body. That's what Dean Highbottom meant- he knew Sejanus would be leaving quickly. You stand as well, your intuition telling you he won't be leaving quietly. Neither would you, if you were in his place.

In a second, Sejanus is throwing his desk and everything on it at the large screen in front of him, screaming in anger. "You're all monsters!" 

You find your feet carrying you toward the screaming boy, but he's shoving past you to leave before you get the chance to talk to him. Hug him, something. You stumble back at the contact, able to save yourself from falling as your eyes follow Sejanus out the door. 

Coryo saw you get knocked back by the force of Sejanus's misplaced rage, and he wanted to check on you. Make sure you are okay, but the games are about to start. He promised Dr. Gaul that you would receive no sympathies from him, and her eyes are burning into both of your backs so he settles for shaking his head at you when you look like you want to follow Sejanus. Doing so would not only leave him alone, but sympathizing with him would align you with his attitudes, however irrelevant to your own opinions.

"Y/N." Coryo says to you, and when you look at him he shakes his head. Stay, he's saying. It's like he can read your mind. But he needs you to stay. 

Surely, Sejanus needs you more. Surely, it would just be a few minutes. Then you remember what your father told you this morning and you smooth your shirt back down, returning to your seat. The games hadn't even started yet, and you're already facing hard decisions.

"You should go home." Coriolanus mutters to you, readjusting his posture in the uncomfortable chair.

"Huh?" You ask, looking up at him from where you're sitting on the floor next to his desk. After everyone else left, there was no use in sitting so far away when you could finally talk candidly about the events of the day.

"Go home." He repeats and you shake your head, attempting to salvage what was left of your hairstyle, which was carefully pinned back this morning.

"I can't, I'll stay. You can go home." You reply, looking up at the screen again. Nothing new had happened in a long time- but you didn't want to miss it if it did.

"Why not?" He yawns.

"My parents are expecting me to stay with you until it's over." You explain. 

Coryo sighs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "I'd invite you to stay with me, but we aren't prepared for guests." Neglecting to mention, of course, the unmaintained mess the Snow apartment had turned into over the last twelve or so years.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect that of you. One of us should be here anyway." You wave it off. "Go home, get some rest."

As soon as he's packed up and left, insisting he won't be gone for long, you make yourself comfortable in his chair with your eyes trained on the screen. You have to stay awake. Lucy Gray could make an appearance any second in search of water, food, anything. You have to stay alert. You can't let Coryo down.

You're jolted awake by the sound of gravel crunching under footsteps, echoing over the speakers from microphones inside the arena. Shit. You fell asleep, you weren't supposed to fall asleep. Immediately you're looking for Lucy Gray onscreen, looking for her body, looking for any sign of her but you see none. If there had been a fight, if she had been screaming, that would have woken you up before footsteps did.

You squint to see what's going on, eyes landing on two figures in the middle of the arena, under the beam that Lamina is lying on, still seemingly asleep. The hair on the back of your neck stands up when you realize who the two people are. Sejanus and Coryo. Your friends. Inside the arena, standing over the body of Sejanus's tribute. You recall that one of the female tributes, Lamina, had killed him and cut him down. You suspected that he asked her to- so what were the boys doing in there?

You can't tear your eyes away- what can you even do? They're talking too quietly for the microphones to pick up. Why are they even there? If Coriolanus had planned this he would have told you. This is too reckless, even for him.

You're not helping by sitting and watching. You have to get there.

Abandoning your bag, you walk as fast as you can manage out of the Academy building before making a run for it, heading in the direction of the arena. You don't even have a plan as to what you'll do when you get there. Do you go in? You'll be risking your life without a doubt. You can't risk calling them, you'll practically be summoning the most violent and angry of the tributes right to them, and to you. 

When you see the arena, there are people standing outside and several peacekeeper trucks. At least people know.

"What the hell is happening?" You ask, walking up to the first person you see. A peacekeeper.

"You can't be here, Miss. You have to go." They start to push you back and you shove them away by the front of their helmet.

"Don't touch me! My friends are in there and I need to know what's happening right now!" You're trying to keep your voice down, but you need answers- urgently. 

"Miss Y/L/N," You hear Dr. Gaul's voice and the peacekeeper lets you go, motioning for you to go over and join her where she is standing with the Dean, and people you recognize as Sejanus's parents are standing by a black vehicle nearby.

"What's going on?" You ask again, firmly as you walk up to the group.

"Sejanus got inside, we don't know who let him in. Coriolanus went in to coax him out."

"What? Why not send peacekeepers? Coriolanus could die in there and you let him go anyway?" It's hard to even believe they would allow a student to walk into harm's way like that. And not just any student, either. Coriolanus Snow.

"If we sent in peacekeepers Sejanus would run. Coriolanus is the only one he would trust so they could leave unnoticed." Dean Highbottom explains.

You scoff, pointing into the gates. "Then why are they still in there?"

"Sejanus is in a difficult place right now, Miss Y/L/N-"

"Yeah. Fuck this." You roll your eyes, taking off your blazer and dropping it on the ground before rolling up your sleeves, and making your way over to the gate.

"Miss Y/L/N, you can't go in there." Dr. Gaul half-heartedly tries to stop you.

"Watch me." You state and the peacekeepers open the gate, letting you in. She must have allowed them to, otherwise they wouldn't.

You're mindful of your steps, trying to be as quiet as possible. You hop over the turnstiles, your landing making the two boys' heads snap toward you.

"It's just me." You whisper, knowing they can't see you in the dark but the large open space will still carry your voice.

"Y/N?" You hear Coryo reply, clearly confused.

"Yeah. We have to go, come on. Come with me."

"Go back!" He hisses. "You can't be here!"

"Neither can you!" Now is not the time for fighting. For once, he needs to listen to you.

He just huffs, turning back to Sejanus, you're assuming to try and talk him down. 

"Okay, I've got a plan." You say this time walking back through the bars, triggering the mechanism. 

Enjoy the show!

You try not to wince at the loudness of the voice, knowing by now that any nearby tributes must have heard that. If the Coral's pack had heard, clearly being the biggest threat, they'd be here soon so you pick up your pace, running back to the bars that surround the arena in one large circle. 

Coryo is calling you to try and get you to stop, to leave, but his whispers don't make it to you anymore.

"Give up?" Dean Highbottom asks you from the other side, and you pick up a large rock from the ground.

"Nope." You shake your head, beginning to walk around the outside, far from the entrance before you start banging it against every bar you walk past. Just for fun, you begin to sing one of Lucy Gray's songs. Maybe, that will be less obvious of a diversion. 

When Coriolanus and Sejanus hear the ruckus you're making outside, the banging accompanied by the sound of your voice moving slowly around the outside of the large arena, they look at each other in a mutual panic. 

"Sejanus, please. We have to go now." Coriolanus pleads with him, and he looks back down at Marcus for a moment before nodding.

"But we're taking Marcus with us." 

"Okay, whatever. Yes." Coriolanus agrees desperately, already grabbing the boy's legs.

They start to carry him toward the exit, picking up pace as they hear that your diversion has worked, echoing voices working their way around the outside of the arena. That's Coryo's primary concern- until they hear what can only be attributed to a war cry from behind them, another tribute with a large knife sprinting after them. 

Wordlessly, they both drop Marcus and start to run.

Once you heard what you were sure was Coral's group running up behind you, still out of view, you changed your tune.

"Gem of Panem, mighty city, through the ages you shine anew!"

With this, you hear their confusion and anger increase tenfold, along with their speed.

You start running, dragging the rock along every bar.

"Come back, Capitol Princess! What are you so afraid of?" You hear Coral's familiar voice shout at you, getting closer. 

They're laughing now, following you around the outside of the arena. Hopefully, Coryo is out because now it's a race. You're on the opposite side now, and have a long way to go to get back around. You ditch the rock, picking up a full sprint.

You can hear them gaining on you with every step, and you ditch your pride and start to yell about halfway back. "Open the gate!" You scream, hoping someone can hear you, and open it for you to make a quick escape. Every inch you have on the three tributes following you counts, and you're losing that valuable space very quickly. You've never been much of an athlete.

You round the side of the building, seeing the gate partially open, and Coryo is standing there holding a hand out to you. "Y/N/N! Come on!"

As soon as you get close enough he grabs your arm and pulls you through, yanking you back as the peacekeepers slam the gate again in the faces of the tributes. Barbarically they slam their weapons against the bars, making you jump as you crash into Coryo's chest. He's got his arms around you now, holding the back of your head protectively as they eventually give up and walk away, stalking off like a pack of wild animals who had lost their prey; except you don't think they planned on eating you. Just killing you for the fun of it, to leave your family and the city tortured the same way it was over the murder of Arachne Crane.

You're breathing heavily and you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your head, maybe it's his. You can't even really tell. 

"You shouldn't have done that." He mumbles to you, gripping onto you as tight as ever.  He wants to scold you, tell you that you were too reckless for your own good. That you could have been killed; but he can't. He doesn't care. In this moment, he is only concerned with one thing. "Are you alright?"

You inhale, trying to focus on slowing your laboured breaths as you nod against his shoulder. You couldn't speak, even if you wanted to. You couldn't argue with him and tell him you were only trying to help, and you would argue that you did.

"Coriolanus." Dr. Gaul says, walking up and looking him over. "You'll need stitches, come back with me to my lab." She instructs and he lets you go.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asks, pushing your hair back out of your eyes to look at you more clearly. You just nod, biting on the inside of your cheek.

"Fine." You assure him quietly, heart still racing behind your ribs. "Go get stitched up."

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[literaila]

this is alarming 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary: you consider yourself a generally unlucky person, but when you meet peter parker it becomes even more apparent that the universe hates you. 

warnings: mean peter, mean reader, coworkers, angst (?), working, jameson

a/n: this is part one because i wrote 10k and decided that tumblr wasn’t going to put up with me any more. next part will be out later tonight, or tomorrow. 

*

you always set seven alarms in the morning. 

it's often that your alarm clock falls behind the nightstand, often that you shut it off without a moments notice--eyes closed, dreaming dreams you can never remember. it's often that you don't hear anything at all. 

only the sound of a groan escaping your mouth when you pick up your phone and see that you're two hours late for work. 

the first alarm is to be snoozed; almost an hour and a half before you need to wake up. 

the second alarm is for the dreams to muffle, to hear the sound but pretend that it's only a figment of your imagination. 

the third is for stirring. 

the fourth is to open your eyes and feel some haze snap them immediately shut. if you can't open your eyes, why should you even bother to wake up? 

the fifth is for shivering into the covers. your temperature hasn't regulated, and if your bed wasn't so welcoming, you probably wouldn't still be in it. 

it's usually by then that you've pushed the alarm clock off of your nightstand, and that it rests under the bed, collecting dust. 

you've tried moving it to the other side of the room, but even seven alarms weren't enough to get you up. 

so there it remains, ready to be picked up whenever you are graced with the opportunity to really notice it. 

the sixth alarm is to think. wonder to yourself what you're supposed to be doing right now, if you need to shower, smell your own sweat from restless sleeping, and consider the possibility of never waking up at all. 

you usually get caught in these thoughts, and your eyes still don't want to open. 

the seventh alarm is the one you get up to if you're lucky. it's the one that pushes you out of the bed, onto the floor and laughs when it sees the bruises you have from falling. 

and it doesn't really matter when you wake up, or when you get to work. 

there's a bitter taste in your mouth, and it's not just morning breath. 

*

it usually rains on the days you walk to work, and conveniently you've never really learned how to open an umbrella properly--proven by the stack of broken ones you keep hidden somewhere in a closet--so there's no hiding from the drizzle of the sky. 

sometimes you wonder if the earth is mad at you. if whatever deity controls all of this thinks that you're making a mistake. 

a mistake every time you wake up in the morning, and suddenly feel the courage to move your limbs. 

it doesn't matter though. you have an extra pair of clothes in the ridiculously large bag you always carry around. 

there might be a first aid kit in there, a water bottle, a lighter, and many other things that you only realize you need when you don't have them. 

your relationship with this bag is the longest one you've ever had. and it's beginning to fray at the edges, not unnoticed by you. 

still, as soon as you get to work--only fifteen minutes late--you hide in one of the bathroom stalls, cursing when you accidentally drop your clean clothes onto the floor. 

you try not to think about bacteria, or who's walked in this bathroom before you. 

and if you weren't already late--and if you cared a little bit more--you might try and deal with your hair, but today, you settle for dripping it out over the sink and ignoring the woman who walks by behind you, giving you a look you can't miss in the mirror. 

you ignore all of it, at this point. 

*

when you got this job as an editor at the bugle--known for crazy conspiracy theories and adamant headlines, or pictures of spider-man--there was only one desk available. 

it's hidden in a little alcove of the space. a corner you have just to yourself--and it would be nice, you're sure, if there was any actual lighting or an outlet that worked anywhere within the eight-foot vicinity. and also if the ceiling would quit leaking almost right above your desk. 

you didn't complain when betty showed you it on your first day. you figured that after ten job interviews and six very strange first days, you didn't have any room left to complain. and you wouldn't be surprised if this only lasted three days. 

but it was supposed to be safer than stocking shelves at target--which, coincidentally, had no more shelves--or passing out flyers for local offices in the middle of the street. or even working at annie's flowers where everything was supposed to be beautiful and nurturing, but you were pretty sure you still needed stitches from all the thorn pricks you'd endured.

this was an office job. this was reading and writing and hoping to avoid the available eyes of everyone else--or a helicopter crash into the side of the building. 

what could go wrong, you'd thought, smiling at betty and thanking her for showing you around. 

and then you grabbed the nearest file on the desk, stained with something that looked like tears. you never said a word about your desk or the discomforting smell that came from the exposed pipes on the wall. 

you'd managed to last seven months at bugle, so far. seven months of laughing at grammatical errors and wincing at headlines with puns that even you couldn't have come up with. 

you fixed things and stayed out of everyone's way. 

and then you went home, running to avoid the rain, or trying to catch the subway before it left. 

you sat on the couch and watched the news, eating a sandwich or whatever you could find in the fridge that hadnt already rotted. 

you hadn't put the pictures up, and you didn't think you were going to. even though you'd been living in this apartment for more than a year, and it had been three since any of that mattered. 

you were lucky to have this life, you reminded yourself. and you sat at your tiny desk, reading about fates that were far worse than yours. 

*

there were at least twenty pairs of eyes on you when you opened the door. the hinges squeaked as you closed it, and you almost squeaked when you realized that everyone else--everyone--was already in there. 

all sitting down, all giving you confused looks. 

and you swore that the email about this mandatory "morale" meeting--an excuse for jameson to talk about failures for the month--said eight-thirty. 

you were absolutely sure of it. 

but as you lean against the wall because there aren't any chairs left, after whispering a soft apology, it was clear that you were very wrong. 

or maybe you'd been sent a typo that no one else received. or they forgot to put you on the forward list again, and there was no way for you to know that the time had changed to eight. 

or maybe you just couldn't read. 

it didn't matter, because after about fifteen seconds, the lecture resumed and the eyes left your sullen and guilty face. 

you couldn't listen to anything else you were supposed to be paying attention to for the next thirty minutes. 

your feet ached, and your head hurt, and every two minutes your stomach grumbled. and then you were thinking about breakfast. you were thinking about quitting this job so you didn't have to see any of these people ever again. 

and whatever jameson was ranting about, it probably didn't apply to you. 

still, it got worse when you began to doze off--who knew drywall could be so comfortable--only to wake up to people passing you, pushing you with glares in their eyes. 

"hey, cathy," you nodded, giving her a reckless smile and waving. you’d never shared a proper conversation with the older woman. you definitely did not hear her scoff as she walked by. 

and as soon as the crowd of your coworkers had cleared the room, you were sighing, hand to your head, and then promptly tripping over a leg of a chair someone didn't push in. 

a hand wrapped around your shoulder, awkward and warm, as someone pulled you toward them, keeping you from falling. 

"are you sick?" a rough, low voice whispered, not quite in your ear but not quite far enough away for you to feel comfortable. 

with the grace of a drunk elephant, you attempted to stand on your own two feet, trying to find your balance without flailing your arms. 

"what?" you croak out, trying to laugh this furious heat off of you. 

"you came in late, and now you're falling over. also, you feel a little warm." 

"i thought the meeting started at eight-thirty, and there was a chair," you say to this man, pushing the damn chair back in. "plus--" and then you look up. 

peter parker, with his signature furrowed brows and lip bite, stands there, looking at you. 

well, that explains the heat.

"oh, um--" you scratch at the back of your neck, going for a pleasant smile. "hey, peter. thanks for... not letting me split my head open." 

"do you want me to call you a cab?"

"why?" 

"you don't have a car right?" peter says, eyes clearly saying are you serious?

"i-- no?" 

"you probably shouldn't walk home then. you're already having trouble standing.” 

you blink. "i'm really not sick," you tell him, trying to sound stern or serious or anything but flustered. "it was an accident." 

he holds intense eye contact with you, barely blinking. "you sure?" 

you nod. it doesn't feel necessary to tell him that this happens a lot. 

"okay. well, jameson wanted me to talk to you about the jenson project. which he wants us to do together." 

"oh. how come?" 

"apparently 'partner work' is a strong selling point. i'd just send you some pictures to fit into an article. you'd have to--" he purses his lips. 

"mess with them?" you ask, trying to be helpful. 

"sure. jameson said he wants it to be nice and shiny for next weeks release. i thought maybe we could work on adding the pictures together, just so i know if i need to change anything." 

"like photoshop?" 

peter nods. "or if there's anything you have questions about. i was there taking the photos so i got a lot of the interview too."

"yeah, okay. i'm just working on a couple of footnotes for this week right now, so i'm not sure when i can--" 

"how's thursday?" 

you try not to flinch at his tone. certain but soft. his eyes, you think, might be the most terrifying thing you've ever seen up close. 

clearly, peter is not very interested in any of this. or maybe he's a strict rule follower and is holding a grudge against your lack of punctuality. 

"thursday works," you tell him, dropping your somewhat regular smile. 

"great. we can work at your desk or mine, it doesn't matter to me. or we can go get coffee to escape the office for a couple hours. just let me know."

and then he's walking away, pushing in a chair as he goes with a look back to you, and you've barely even comprehended what he just said. 

or the fact that he didn't let you answer him. 

"okay," you say, in a whisper, but you're just talking to the wall. 

last to come, you think, and last to leave. 

*

here's the thing about peter parker. he's not known for being the friendliest of coworkers. 

he's pleasant enough, gets all his work done, doesn't snap at people when they make mistakes and doesn't finish the coffee in the breakroom without brewing another pot. 

and since you've been there, you've learned--mostly from eavesdropping--that he's been working here for three years. that he's taken lead photographer out of many qualified candidate's hands and only responded with a smirk. that he's supposed to be a genius, comes into work with bruised knuckles sometimes--which your coworkers gossip endlessly about--and jameson is either constantly praising the man, or degrading him.

he doesn't go to office parties, he doesn't respond to emails. peter practices something you like to call "every man for himself." 

and he doesn't ever smile. 

trust that you should know. because, you'll admit, when you first got there, it was hard not to notice peter. 

first of all, he's very tall, strong, and kind of brooding. he takes up fifty percent of the office space alone. 

but he's also insanely attractive. blessed with thick hair and glorious eyebrows and cheekbones that put knives to shame. his eyes are soft and his lips are plump and he is a certified asshole. 

or at least something like it, everyone knows. including you. 

but for at least the first two weeks you couldn't avoid staring at his pursed lips or snorts when someone said something particularly obnoxious--usually jameson--or the way he tapped his wrist incessantly, like he was counting down time. 

peter parker makes for a very suitable work distraction. 

but as soon as you talked to him for the first time, you realized that he was a pretty, intelligent man.

you'd stumbled into the breakroom and dropped whatever semblance of a lunch you were going to pretend to eat that day, and peter was sitting at one of the tables watching. 

he didn't have anything to eat, just a cup of coffee and a bitter look on his face. 

you'd smiled sheepishly, picking up your now tarnished food, and swallowing. "i wasn't that hungry anyway," you'd said aloud, mostly because you weren't thinking clearly at the time. 

peter didn't say anything back, not acknowledging the sarcasm or your lost lunch, he just stared. 

and then you held a hand out to him. "hi, i don't think i've introduced myself. i'm y/n, a new editor." 

peter blinked, looking at your hand, then back to your face. "peter," he said, giving you a small wave. 

and then he turned his attention back to the mug in front of him, leaving your hand in the air, radiating embarrassment. 

you cleared your throat and left the room, deciding to get more work done instead of worrying about it. 

you'd sort of assumed--recklessly--that he would be charming. that he might smile at you, welcome you to the team, tell you that if you needed anything he was there. maybe it was his face, you'd thought. soft and knowing. 

but peter wasn't there for anything but the money, and gradually, he became just another grim coworker, watching the clock until five every day. 

and that was probably good for you anyway, because as angry or numb as peter already was, you didn't want to inflict anything bad on him, as you might've if he'd just smiled at you. 

and if you overheard the clique of middle age ladies talking about him during lunch, you didn't say anything. didn't smile or laugh, or try to pretend like you weren't listening. 

you kept your conversations with him short and tried to stay out of his way. 

but apparently, he was going to get in yours. 

*

you really don't even notice him when he walks up to your desk. 

it's not your fault that you didn't get much sleep last night, being that your neighbors--right next to your bedroom--were fighting all night long. slamming doors and throwing things that shattered when they hit the floor. 

and then they'd start screaming again. 

you'd attempted to drown them out, only just barely dozing off when some other loud noise would wake you right back up. 

you'd considered putting your headphones in and playing white noise, but with your luck, that would last all night into the next day, and your seven alarms would be pointless. 

so you laid there, trying not to eavesdrop on the fight they were having, or think about your own voice yelling, screaming, and then going completely silent. 

and now, you were nursing a cup of coffee, blinking at the computer screen like it was a puzzle. 

and peter had come up to your desk--made the effort to venture almost across the office to your little cave--and you didn't see him there.

you didn't see anything until he cleared his throat, tapping his foot against the floor like an angry mother, and you finally looked up. 

looked up to threatening eyes and a frown. 

and peter parker, because of course he was there, at this very moment. 

"hi, peter. what-- what's up?" 

he blinks at you. you blink back, though significantly slower. 

in the past two days, you had avoided any and all eye contact with him and accidentally forgot to look at the email he had sent you with some files attached. you also conveniently learned that jameson was disappointed with his last set of pictures, and that was probably why he'd forced the two of you to work together. 

it didn't really matter. 

"it's thursday," peter answers, dryly, after several moments of uncomfortable silence. 

you look away, searching for any other person that could talk to him instead of you. "was that a question?" 

"we have a date," he says, a bit harsher. 

you couldn’t avoid leaning back at his voice, nor noticing the wince that fell upon his face as soon as he said it. 

"er," peter clears his throat. "we're supposed to work on the jenson article today. are--do you have amnesia?" 

"huh?" 

"or some other medical condition," peter continues, "that would cause you to forget about the one article you have to edit this week?" 

briefly, you want to ask how he knew that it was your only article, and why he was allowed to judge your work ethic when his was "consume coffee like blood and scare away any person who tries to speak." 

you try not to laugh at the idea of vampire peter. 

instead, you mumble "just a severe mental deficiency," under your breath and pinch the skin of your thigh, just to wake you up some more. 

"what?" peter says, still frowning at you.

you sigh. "look, peter, i'm sorry. i haven't even looked at the article yet, or any of your pictures. i've been busy. but if you just want me to finish it myself i can--" 

peter holds a hand up, telling you to stop without asking nicely. 

you almost scowl at the very idea of it. 

"no," he says, like it physically pained him to do so. "i need this--jameson wanted us to work through it together. as an actual collaboration." 

you're very grateful that he's explaining this to you. 

"i'm not going to tell him," you say, voice rough.

"you can read it and figure out where you want the pictures and the description for them while i edit some of them. i was rushing when i did it last week." 

"um... okay. are you sure?" 

"we can't work here," peter responds, instead of answering the question. "there's barely enough room for just you." 

"...yeah." 

"my desk is a mess," peter says, more to himself. "we can go to the coffee shop a block away." 

you squint at him. "are you sure? 'cause we could always go to the starbucks on fifteenth, or we could just skip it and head to tipsy's." 

you're just briefly aware that your sarcasm is not coming across well, and that you probably shouldn't have said that, nonetheless to peter parker, who already hates you enough. 

to be fair, he hasn't asked you about any of these decisions.

"i'm going to go get my bag," peter grinds out. "i'll meet you by the elevator." 

*

the only thing keeping you sane while you sit across from peter is the latte that you've been chugging for the past three minutes. 

as soon as you got there, peter had ordered some tea that you didn't know the name of, picking the table for the both of you, and before you could even sit down he was frowning at his computer. 

he hasn't bothered to say anything to you, so you don't bother to say anything to him. 

still, you look up every couple of minutes, wondering what he could possibly be so worried about. 

luckily--ha--this article is reasonably proofread. you only have to fix a couple of jumbled sentences and reread a couple of paragraphs because you can't really focus.

it's about half an hour after you've both been working that you get tired of it. 

collaborating with peter by staring at your computer and hoping that the pleasantries, or nice relationship you've been craving for the past six months will manifest itself into existence. 

he's right there, you think to yourself, and he's an ass sometimes but so are you. 

and it's not like you get the opportunity to talk to a lot of people at work. 

you clear your throat. "the pictures are good," you tell him as if this is new information. 

you've known about peter's affiliation with photography since your second day. 

the man just grumbles out a thanks, not even bothering to look up and acknowledge you. 

you have a tight smile on your face. "are you still editing them, or can i start asking you where you think they should go?" 

"you finished already?" 

there's some emotion in his voice that you don't recognize, but there is still the obvious disdain that you're becoming very comfortable with. 

"i'm a fast reader," you tell him. "was that a no?" 

peter finally looks up, face blank. "i'll send you the updated ones. do you want me to add them in where i think they'd work, or just tell you where to do it?" 

you'd really like to never have to have a one-on-one conversation with him again, but that doesn't really seem like an option right now. 

"how about i put them in and you blink twice if you think it's stupid." 

peter does not crack a smile. he doesn't even blink. 

you try to hide another sigh. "go ahead and put them in." 

and so you wait five minutes for the internet to catch up to him and silently curse jameson for subjecting you to this. 

your latte is almost gone. 

"okay, you can go through it," peter tells you eventually, returning to something else on his computer. 

you scroll through it, beginning to write descriptions for each of the photos--which really are beautiful. and bright, almost too good for the bugle. 

but you're a bit bored, and a bit delirious. 

"can i ask you something?" 

peter looks up at you, classic furrowed brows, and then back to his computer, grunting. 

you're assuming that it means yes, but if he's not going to use his words like a big boy, then he'll have to deal with the consequences himself. 

"how do you get the pictures of spider-man?" 

"with my camera." 

you can't tell if he's kidding or not.

"no, i mean, how do you get such good quality? he's always moving around, and quickly, so i'd assume it would be pretty difficult..." 

he frowns. "it's just some angles and flash," peter answers. "honestly, it's less complicated than you think. they're not all good, i go back and edit them." 

"yeah, but still." 

peter shrugs, and looks down again. 

"have you ever actually spoken to him?" you continue, still sizing pictures, still writing descriptions. 

but you'll be damned if peter sits there in silence for another minute. 

he sighs. "yeah, couple times." 

"really?" 

peter nods. 

"is he nice?" 

peter frowns. "'is he nice?'" 

"yeah. i mean, i've heard lots of stories and read the articles--obviously--but i've never met him. is he... a good guy?" 

"he keeps people from dying on the daily, and you're asking if he's got a good moral compass?" 

you almost scowl, looking up to find brown eyes studying you. and then you shake your head. "i just find it hard to believe, i guess. i can't imagine--" you pause, shrugging. look away from peter's intimidating eyes. 

"you can't imagine what?" 

"just... doing that every day and being okay. i mean, he sees people get hurt all of the time, and he's supposed to be okay with that? that's a lot of mental energy. what if he's helping someone that he knows? or what if he can't help? not to mention the physical aspect..." 

peter closes his computer, taking a breath. "are you good with the photos?" he asks. 

"what?" 

"i need to get back to the office and talk to jameson about some stuff. do you need anything else from me?" 

peter is stiff and scowling. you shouldn't be surprised, but he also just shut down the first actual conversation you've ever had with him. 

"oh, no. no, i'm okay. thanks." 

"okay. i'll see you later." 

peter packs up his stuff, and doesn't bother to look back at you while he walks out the door. you're not sure what you did this time--besides just generally existing--but you groan, hands rubbing at your eyes. 

you're too tired for this. you're too exhausted to be talking to peter parker, who doesn't talk to anyone. 

you sigh and look back to the article. 

and then you spill what's left of your coffee, watching as it drips to the floor. 

*

you're trying not to move. 

even breathing, you think, is moving. so you hold your breath for as long as you can bare it, counting by tens, thinking about all the reasons you shouldn't need air. 

but eventually, your body gasps for you. 

your body moves because it can't think the same as you can, it can't hold that same guilt. 

you know that if you don't move--not even a millimeter--nothing bad can happen. the dominos won't fall if there's nobody to push them over. 

you're laying in bed completely still. 

you're thinking about all of the mistakes you made, all of the unfortunate things you've caused to happen, and it causes enough fear to turn you to stone. 

you'd be a statue. you know if you could choose that, you would.

what do you want to be when you grow up? 

clay. 

you'd choose being cemented in concrete than ever having to look your own luck in the eyes again. 

you count by tens until you fall asleep. 

and you dream of things that have already happened. 

*

when you show up to work on monday, soaking wet, there's already a cup of coffee on your desk. 

you try and think back to friday--which was lifetimes ago, really--and remember if you left it there. but you stayed in the office on friday, contemplating putting in your two weeks or throwing your computer across the room. you didn't go out for coffee. 

and when you pick up this disposable cup to smell it, you can feel the steam on your face. 

it's warm. 

you look around the room, searching for someone who might've left this on your desk--even though you're literally hidden from every common eye--but can't find anyone who looks particularly tired this morning. 

and there are only four people in the office as of now. 

so you wait ten minutes, and then fifteen, ready for someone to come up to your desk at any moment and accuse you of stealing their coffee. 

this would not be a surprising occurrence. 

but even after twenty minutes, no one does. 

you're back in your corner, alone, as per usual. 

and when you realize that the coffee is going to go cold--claimed or not--you decide to take a sip. 

and for the first time in a while, you've started the day off alright. 

*

on tuesday, jameson calls you and peter into his office. 

and, out of nothing less than familiarity, you're ready to be yelled at. you've prepared a list of snarky remarks to keep you from crying. 

and you're completely, one hundred percent ready to ignore peter. 

if he doesn't like working with you, fine. that's up to him--even though you definitely did a good job with his pictures. and if he doesn't even like you, fine. 

you can deal with that. 

what you can't deal with, of course, is standing a foot away from him in this office, feeling towered over by both of these men, who are much bigger than you. 

but you keep eye contact with jameson anyway. what else can go wrong? 

"i heard we were having some issues with the article last week," the boss starts, his voice typically unserious. 

you furrow your brows and try not to look at peter. 

he tattled on you? 

"yes," you say, instead of admitting defeat. "i was behind on editing the article, so it took a little longer than expected. but i emailed you the finished copy on thursday night." 

you don't mention that it was exactly one in the morning, and you'd been having twenty-minute naps since you got home. 

or that peter had completely unnerved you. 

"parker?" 

peter sighs, shrugging. "it gave me more time to go over the pictures. we got it in." 

at that, jameson smiles. 

you wonder if he finds peter's grumpiness as amusing as you do. or if he's just enjoying the two of you struggle to completely ignore the other. 

"good. well, seeing as it worked out--and it's some of the best work i've seen from both of you--i'd like to make it a regular arrangement." 

finally, you glance over at peter, noticing his jaw clench. 

you're not sure if it's at jameson's suggestion or his praise. 

"it's a brilliant idea, having the photographer and editor working together. parker, you've got some fine pictures, but you're no writer. and obviously, she is." 

you don't tell him that you feel anything but. 

jameson chuckles, holding his hands up in defense. "i know, i know, it's more work for both of you. and more interaction. but it's only one article a week. everything else will remain the same." 

"for how long?" peter asks, for the both of you. 

"until one of you quits, i guess. or dies." 

it's at this point that you see that there are no other options. no choices for you to consider. if peter wants to quit, he certainly can. he could get a job anywhere he wanted, any newspaper. 

but you've struggled to keep this job. you've struggled to be anywhere for more than a month. 

and despite how much you might dread the place, it's also an escape from everything else. 

so you can't leave. and you have no current plans to die. 

"alright, you can both go. shut the door on the way out. and one of you ask betty to get me a cup of coffee." 

you follow peter out, looking at the muscles in his back tense. 

and when you shut the door, he turns toward you. 

he looks even angrier, even worse than he had last week. he's not even trying to remain professional. 

"thursday?" he asks, but you know it's not a question. 

"fine." 

you go back to your desk, watching the ceiling leak onto your computer. 

*

peter decides to go back to the coffee shop. 

he orders the same tea, sits at the same table. 

and he doesn't say a thing to you. he didn't even blink when you went to his desk at nine, gesturing towards the elevator. 

but honestly, that's fine. you don't have anything to say to him either. 

except to ask what made him hate the world so much. but you don't think he'd appreciate that. 

eventually, you swallow. "so, you can put the pictures where you'd like, and then i'll write the descriptions. it'll be faster that way, and you've got a good eye." 

peter nods but he doesn't answer. 

"is there anything i need to know? anything important you want to add?" 

"about the pictures?" peter confirms, waiting for your acknowledgment. "no. about social courtesy? definitely." 

the last part is said completely under his breath, but you catch it anyway. 

catch it like a rope you're hanging onto, hoping that it doesn't slip from your fingers. 

"what?" you say, looking right at him. your hands are off of your computer. your hands might be around his throat in a couple of seconds. 

peter furrows his brows. "what?" he repeats as if he doesn't know what he's said. 

"what's your problem?"  

"my problem?" 

"yeah, with everyone. but especially me. peter, you don't have to like me, but i'd appreciate it if you could at least try and be professional. or talk to me about the work that we need to do." 

"i don't have a problem--" 

"save it. i'm sorry that jameson is making us work together, but unless you kill me, there's nothing i can do about it." 

peter sighs, running a hand through his hair. "well there's something you can do about the way you get everything done," he says, quick and sharp. 

"excuse me?" 

"is it physically impossible for you to sit still? or show up on time, or do the work that you need to do? if i have a problem with you, it's that you're not doing anything to help me, and i don't need you." 

"that's not what jameson thinks." 

the words slip from your mouth, but honestly, peter deserves the wind knocked out of his chest, just like he did to you. 

if karma is a thing, it's coming through.

it's just your luck that you'd get partnered with the one person that couldn't hate working any more. 

"jameson doesn't even read the articles," peter scoffs, "he just sits in his office and smokes cigars and bosses everyone around--" 

"then why does he want me to write your descriptions? you can't do it yourself?" 

"maybe he pities you." 

peter's eyes are sharp. his words are perfect. 

"why would he pity me?" you ask him, "because i'm an editor?" 

"because there's not a single person in the office that likes you. because disaster is attracted to you. because you can't follow directions to save your life, and you clearly have some issue with speaking up for yourself. he's probably pairing us together in some last-ditch effort to save you." 

save you. 

you take a breath in, tell your lungs that there's no air that they need. 

there's no reason to be breathing, if you think about it. 

and when you look at your hands, they're shaking. and you can't keep your eyes in one place. and you're ready to run out of there, to anywhere where peter can't follow. 

you can't admit to yourself that he's right. you can't sit still, and you can't be there for much longer. 

"you think you're better?" you ask him. "everyone in the office is scared of you. you don't have friends or anyone that likes you either." 

peter shakes his head. "i chose that." 

there's an implication there that you can't think about. there's something about his calm demeanor. 

you can almost see the ghost of a smile on his face, just like everyone had said. 

you don't have a choice about most things. but you know when to quit. 

"peter, you can talk to jameson. you can quit, or do all of it yourself. if you want to just send me the pictures and have me edit all of it, that's fine." you stand up, shoving your computer in your bag, and trying to keep your hands steady as you pick up your latte. "but if you can't treat me like a person, or a coworker," you tell him, "then i'll talk to jameson myself.”

and then, without waiting for a response, you walk out the door. 

you try not to let it hit you on the way out. 

*

peter avoids you the next day. 

or maybe you're avoiding him. 

luckily, he's gone most of the time, taking pictures and sulking in corners where you don't have to watch. 

jameson hasn't said anything about the article you submitted, and you're trying to assume that it's a good thing. 

but honestly, none of it feels good anymore. 

you know that you shouldn't let someone like peter parker get under your skin, but he has some iron grip on your brain. some cave built in your head, echoing the things he said to you yesterday. 

nobody likes you. 

disaster is attracted to you. 

it's in your nature to prove him wrong, somehow. to start gossiping with the other ladies in the office, maybe even ask one of the men out on the date--though none of them are as tall, or as pretty as peter parker, so it probably wouldn't matter to him anyway. 

you think about talking to jameson, tell him that you and peter can't work together, or that peter is an asshole, or that you would like a raise. 

you think about blackmailing peter, but you have nothing on him. (besides his obvious attitude problem). 

you want to do anything to prove to yourself that what he said isn't true. 

people can like you, and you can like yourself. 

but you know, that even if peter is just an asshole, bitter, and lots of other things you don't care to think about, he's also right. 

at least about one thing. 

disaster is attracted to you. and to the people you care about.

cared. 

you wish you could tell peter that all of those things he thinks about you aren't by choice. that you don't want to live in your cave of a desk, and you don't want to show up late to anything, or trip on chairs, or walk in the rain. 

but he'd probably just laugh. 

and anyway, he isn't there on friday. so you can't tell him any of it. 

*

on monday, it only takes two alarms to wake you up. 

and typically, you'd be proud of that. grateful for it. 

but it's cold outside, and you have to go to work. 

you'd rather be sleeping. 

rather be laying in bed than thinking about peter, or anyone else pitying you. rather do anything than think about peter and still recognize that he's smart and talented and better than you. 

so you leave your alarm clock under the bed. 

what are sick days for, if not days like this? 

*

on tuesday, you get to work early. it's not by choice, but you were running in the rain. 

you were trying to beat everyone there so that you might not have to speak to a single person all day. 

that would be nice. 

but someone is already there when you walk through the elevator doors, jacket still dripping. 

and that someone doesn't even look up, or bother to wonder where the water is coming from. 

of course, peter beat you there. 

you've never loved your desk, but it's a welcome refuge now, despite how bad it smells. you can't see him, and he can't see you. 

and you can take your jacket off over there. 

but when you sit down, there's something on your desk that you don't recognize. 

a blue hairbrush, and a candy bar next to it, wrapper somewhat wrinkled. 

on tuesday, you decide that you're officially going crazy. 

*

you try to avoid wednesday as a whole. thinking of it more as another object in your way, and something that can be ignored until it's over. 

and it works, for the most part. you eat lunch at your desk, bring coffee from home, and sneak handfuls of chocolate whenever you feel like it. 

you go through a thousand articles and decide that all of your coworkers are illiterate. 

which you don't really mean, but prefer to think anyway. 

it's about an hour before you can get home that you see the notification show up in your mail. 

a new message, most likely some coupon for h&m. 

but you see peter's name at the top, and a file attached to it. you stare at it for at least a minute. 

it could be a hate note, a notification about submitting an hr claim, a picture of a house burning with a description of "this will be you." or even a list of people that peter hates, with your name in bold. 

there are a thousand possibilities, and you don't care about a single one. 

but when you click on the link, you just open a pdf with new pictures, labeled with the title of the article for the week. 

and you're not sure what any of that is supposed to mean. 

*

on thursday, peter is at your desk again. 

in fact, he's at your desk before you are. and when you see the back of his head peering over your pens and pencils, and files that you haven't wanted to put away, your breath stops. 

he might be there to murder you. 

still, you continue to walk forward, tennis shoes squeaking, and pray that you don't accidentally trip before he's even noticed you're there. if peter is going to kill you, you might as well accept your fate. 

and then you step past him, frowning. "peter?" 

"oh, hey," he says, softly, standing up. his hands are awkwardly clasped in front of him. "you're early." 

"what're you doing here?" 

"at work?" 

"at my desk." 

peter bites the inside of his cheek. he gestures to the ceiling. "it's leaking," is all he says. 

"yeah. it rained last night. why are you here?" 

"did you tell jameson about it?" 

you don't know how to feel anything but shocked. is he waiting for the perfect moment? does he want you to get comfortable just so he can ruin it? 

"i--no, it's fine. i don't..." you shake your head, setting your bed down. "did you need something, peter?" 

he clears his throat, nodding. "are we going to work on the article today?" 

you might be gawking at him. 

"what?" 

"i just--there are some details i want to add, if you don't mind, and i think--" he stops, taking a deep breath in. "you're better at it than me, so i'd like your advice." 

there is only one thought running through your head as you stare at him. 

when did peter parker get a nicer, shyer twin? 

"what?" you say again, just because you don't know how to answer any other way. 

in fact, some part of you thinks that this might be fake. peter parker would kill you, and then you would hallucinate a different version of him that's actually talking to you. 

no trick the world might be playing on you is more surprising than the smile peter is trying to put on his face, stiff and wrong. 

he blows out a breath. "i'm sorry about last week. i shouldn't--i didn't, well. i shouldn't have snapped at you. or said any of those things. and you were right about me being unprofessional and mean, and just--" peter shakes his head. 

and then he meets your eyes. "i'm really sorry. i'd like to continue working with you, because jameson is right, and... but i understand if you don't want to. if you don't feel comfortable. i can talk to jameson, so you don't have to, or--" 

"peter?" 

he stops talking, nodding. "yeah?" 

"am i hallucinating?" 

you must be. you must be dying or something. you can't believe that you didn't notice until now, that you didn't pay attention to any of the signs, or worried over something stupid like what you should be eating for breakfast when-- 

but peter parker laughs. 

it's small and almost inaudible, but he's laughing. 

and it's not that laugh that first drew you to him all those months ago, that judgemental snort or the laughing-at-you-not-with-you chuckle you'd thought was adorable. 

this is a genuine laugh. 

you blink, because this is just another sign that you're dead. 

peter sighs. "no, i mean all of it. i'm... just sorry." 

"you are?" 

he nods, and he's still looking at you. 

"um, okay," you say, nodding your head. "yeah, we can--we'll go get coffee. but there's, um, i just have some stuff i need to finish from yesterday, so--" 

"how's nine?" peter asks, softly. 

and this time, it almost isn't an interruption. it's more of a saving grace. 

"yes, sure. nine." 

"okay," peter gives you that same fake smile, and then he turns around, leaving the cave and going back to his desk. 

you can't decide if this is a good or bad thing.

*

"you didn't have to do that," you're saying to peter as the two of you walk to the only empty table in the shop. 

conviently it's much smaller than your usual table. 

"i owe you," is all peter says. 

"not coffee." 

"it's six dollars." 

you're having a hard time deciphering his face. and his attitude. 

you're wondering if this more pleasant, sweet version of peter is going to last long. 

you're wondering how far you can push him. 

"i don't want to be indebted to you. it sets a bad precedent."

peter sighs, and he's shaking his head, and possibly rolling his eyes, but he says: "fine. next time we come you can pay." 

you're satisfied with this, at least for now, so you take a sip of your latte and open your computer. 

"which descriptions do you want to add?" you ask peter, "i already looked through all the pictures." 

"just the ones of the church, and the bank." 

"you want to add descriptions to the burned-down buildings?" 

peter doesn't seem to recognize the sarcasm, because all he does is wince and nod. 

you're frowning at his face, but you agree, letting him handle your computer so that you don't have to wait for it to update. 

peter takes a couple of minutes, writing details that you'd have no idea about, scowling all the while. 

"when'd you take these pictures?" you ask him, in the middle of it. 

"saturday before last." 

"you work on the weekends?" you raise an eyebrow at him, but he's not looking. 

"i carry my camera around. sometimes jameson asks for pictures that i can't get six days after." 

he pushes your computer back to you, nodding. immediately you start reading what he's written, trying very hard not to laugh at some of the word choices. 

most readers aren't going to respond to an acrid smell. 

but you don't tell peter this, you just change it, adding and deleting words where you see fit. 

"did you work at another journal before this?" peter asks, after a couple of minutes of silence. 

you look up at him and realize that he might've been staring at you the whole time, and you'd have no idea. he might be texting someone about how horrible you are. 

"no." 

"you started writing when you got the job?" 

"mm-hmm," you continue typing, trying to avoid peter's eyes. 

"how'd you get so good at it, then?" 

"oh, well. it's just editing, you know, not that complicated," you repeat his words back to him but feel uncomfortable at his praise, even if it is a lie, but especially if it's true. 

"you're writing all of these descriptions. jameson says i make them too complicated, or unreachable for readers." 

"jameson says that to betty when she puts cream in his coffee." 

peter almost chuckles. "that's true." 

there's a moment when you aren't sure what to say. if this is friendship, or peter pretending to be kind just so that you won't tell jameson. just so you'll keep helping him. 

but he doesn't need you. 

"well, you're a brilliant photographer, so you don't have a lot to make up for." 

"tell jameson that." 

and that third week, everything goes smoothly.

*

after the fourth week, you and peter don't need to plan when you're going to work together. four days of the week you are completely independent, editing articles and spinning around in your chair, and listening to jameson yell at people from across the room. 

but on thursdays, you and peter are partners. 

it's a regular meeting now, so you show up at the elevator at eight-fifteen and peter is already waiting there. and then you walk to the coffee shop, making small talk that isn't completely uncomfortable. 

peter asks you about your plans for the weekend--though you doubt that he actually listens to the answer. and you ask him about working at the bugle for three years, about wanting to quit every day. 

it's only when you mention something of the sort that you can get peter to smile, even a little. 

but today, as soon as you sit down, sipping on your coffee and moving hair out of your face, peter is frowning. 

but it's not his typical resting frown. 

"what did you do?" he asks, staring at your forehead. 

"hmm?" 

"to your head. what happened?" 

you touch the edge of your head, feeling the cut run up your skin, and sign. "oh. that. i fell." 

peter is blinking at you like you've removed your head from your body. 

you move your hair back, feeling self-conscious. 

"what'd you fall on? a knife?" 

it's almost a joke but peter's face is concerned, his eyes are running over yours. so you're not sure that it counts. 

"i bumped my head on the corner of a table." 

"and got a five-inch cut?"  

you roll your eyes, realizing that neither of you has taken out your computers, or actually sat down properly. "by 'bumped' i meant tripped and fell into the table and woke up a couple minutes later feeling a bit dizzy." 

peter's frown deepens. "do you have a concussion?" 

you raise a brow. "no?" 

he tilts his head, pursing his lips at you like you're a reckless child. "you didn't go to the doctor?" 

"i washed my face and put some glue on the cut." 

"it probably needs stitches." 

you just shrug. 

"does your head still hurt?" peter asks you. "are you having a hard time focusing? did you feel nauseous when you woke up?" 

you blink, laughing just a little bit, mostly because you're confused. "whoa, dr. parker, i'm fine. it happens. i'm clumsy." 

"you're reckless, you mean." 

"says the man who wears converse and a t-shirt when it rains." 

at that, peter has nothing left to say. 

*

it's maybe three weeks later that the two of you have moved on. 

way, way on. 

bypassing the small talk stage, you now make fun of peter for being knowledgable about every single thing--to avoid showing him how impressed you are--and he teases you about your abnormaly large bag, all the while trying to give you life advice, telling you that he has more experience than you do. 

he's about a year older. 

and it's comfortable now. peter doesn't joke much, but when he does, you react with nothing short of a cackle. and you've finally chided a real smile out of him, even if it's just a twitch of his lip or a wrinkle of his nose. 

peter doesn't complain about your tardiness or the strange way you like to get your work done, and you don't complain about his sour attitudes, and glares. 

well, not much, at least. 

and you're not friends--you don't think you can say that, if only because it terrifies you--but that's okay. you don't think either of you needs that, some label on a relationship that could fluctuate into something else at any minute. 

but peter is there, and you don't feel like every move you make is a mistake anymore. 

when jameson calls the two of you into his office to praise you about an article that did well or ridicule the two of you for slacking on an article that no one cares about--even though he chose the topic--well. you smile at peter, and he smiles at you. 

and if you laugh, he laughs. 

still, you notice some layer of bitterness behind peter's eyes. like he knows that he's not supposed to be here, not supposed to be laughing or smiling or working with someone that he doesn't need. 

you can see it, hear it in the way he talks sometimes. 

so you tread lightly, not talking much on those days, and only offering him suggestions that he can't turn down. 

he never snaps at you, and you don't think he's going to. 

but there's still a bit of hesitation. 

and on this particular wednesday, you're crossing out some section of an article, sighing into the paper, and trying not to listen to the creaks of your chair, when peter walks up to your desk. 

in his eyes is something curious, something you don't see very often. 

"hello, peter. is there something i can do for you?" you exaggerate the words, sort of like a warning. 

"just stopping by. wanted to make sure that our fresh meat isn't being worked too hard." 

you frown. "i've worked here almost a year." 

peter tilts his head, shaking it. his eyes display some fake show of shame. "ah. to be so naive." 

and then, without giving you another glance, he steals a pen from your desk and walks away. 

you don't know if you're supposed to call out to him. 

*

"what is that, peter?" 

he looks up from his phone, still chewing. "what?" he asks, through a mouthful of food. 

"that's your lunch?" 

"wanna bite?" he offers the protein bar to you. 

"you're surviving on that?" 

peter rolls his eyes, looking away from you. "i have a big breakfast." 

something about the way he says it makes you feel like he's lying, or hiding something, but if peter wants to lie about his eating habits--you had a bagel with butter on it this morning--who are you to judge? 

it's comforting to be sitting here, in this lonely breakroom, next to an actual person. 

it's also a bit strange because peter had said one word to you in this very room, the day you'd met. 

"do you also eat wheat and very occasionally half an egg?" 

peter bites his lip. "how do you half an egg?" 

"c'mon, you can have some of my lunch." 

you pull out a bag of chips, a sandwich, and some assortment of fruit that had been sitting in the fridge for far too long. 

peter furrows his brows. "what is that?" 

"this is a lunch, peter. say it with me. lunch." 

"i think your sandwich is rotting." 

you snort. "i don't want to hear any criticism from you, mr. ant, when you're literally eating eight grams of protein and four chocolate chips." 

"there's at least seven," he argues, and frowns. "ant?" 

"cause of your appetite." 

and then, peter almost smiles. 

*

and there's a part of you that feels the guilt seep into your skin with every breath, every almost laugh you get out of peter. 

there's that voice in your head, laughing at your stupidity, wanting to whisper threats in your ear. 

when you're home alone, you can't ignore it. 

you can't feel anything. 

you worry that sometimes, seven alarms won't be enough to wake you up. not from this foolish dream of having a friend, or just someone to talk to. 

you'll never stop being reckless, that voice says. 

you'll never stop hurting people. 

you know that you need to let peter go, right now, before you get used to his laughter and a smile with teeth. before he wonders where you've gone on days that you miss work, and can call you when he's bored. 

the last time this happened, the last time you let this happen-- 

every night you promise yourself that tomorrow. tomorrow you'll start distancing yourself. 

you'll be too busy for peter. too busy for anyone else. 

you've kept this job for longer than any other one, and you don't want to lose the familiarity. you don't want to have to leave. 

you'll be a ghost, starting tomorrow. 

*

"what do you mean?" peter says, arms crossed, glaring at you from the other side of the table. 

you're typing as you say "what do you mean what do i mean?" 

the two of you have eliminated peter's computer completely. you type descriptions, and he places them where he wants, making sure not to mess up the rest of the article. and then you read what you've written to him, and try to ignore his snide comments. 

it's a well-thought-out routine. 

thursdays might be your favorite day of the week. 

"you don't cook?" peter asks, sounding dubious. "not even pasta? or a pre-cooked meal in the oven?" 

"i save those for special occasions." 

"you just eat things you find at the store?" 

"i'm a big fan of those pre-made salads, and cans of fruit." 

peter sighs, leaning his head into his hands. 

"what?" you say, "the lack of protein bars in my diet is upsetting you?" 

"you don't cook?" peter repeats. "at all?" 

"no, peter. now will you help me--" 

"why not?" he interrupts, closing the computer. 

you sigh at him and he sighs back. 

you think that his foot might be kicking yours under the table. 

"i'm kind of a hazard in the kitchen. i don't feel like making a hospital visit every time im craving some mac and cheese." 

"you can't be that bad." 

you laugh and roll up your sleeve, showing peter the side of your arm. "see that scar? it's from when i tried to make thanksgiving dinner and burned myself trying to put something in the oven." 

peter frowns, running the tip of his finger over it while you laugh. 

you roll your sleeve back down, looking at his far too concerned eyes. "last time i tried to use a knife i almost lost the tip of my pinky." 

peter waves a hand. "that happens to everyone." 

"and i was also wearing a cutting glove." 

he closes his mouth. stares at you very intently. 

"peter, can we get back to actually finishing this article before jameson fires us both? and by fire, i mean literally burning us both alive." 

peter is still staring, apparently thinking very hard. "i'm going to cook for you," he states, shrugging finally. 

"what do you mean?" 

"my aunt taught me enough to feed you for one night." 

"peter, i meant, why would you do that?" 

"because apparently you only eat boxed food--" 

"--there's cans too--" 

"and you're already crazy. you need some actual dinner. a meal." 

"peter, you always criticize me for eating so much at lunch when you're munching on your apple or whatever--" 

"yeah, because i didn't realize that those bagged foods were the only sustenance you were getting." 

you laugh at him. "i think that's a little dramatic." 

"i don't. are you free tomorrow night?" 

something inside you screams no, violently and furious. it tells you to get up right now and leave. tells you that you shouldn't even be here, that they should. 

but the other part of you is laughing. 

"peter, i'm not letting you cook for me." 

"you think i'm a bad cook?" he challenges, just barely smiling. 

"i think you're insane." 

he mock laughs, and then holds his hand out. "give me your phone." 

"why?" 

"just do it." 

and you do, only because peter's eyes are right on yours and he's not going to let you look away. 

he takes your phone and types something in, smiling a little while he does so. and then he hands it back to you. 

"type your address in." 

"peter, i'm serious. you're not coming to my apartment to cook for me. i eat." 

"so am i," peter responds, "put it in." 

you raise a brow, refusing to lose this battle. in all honestly, you're not sure who's going to break first, because peter hates eye contact, but you hate his eyes. 

"do you want me to just ask jameson for the address listed on your file?" 

and there's something about the way he says it that makes you giggle, finally looking away. you shake your head, a bit annoyed that he's gotten this far. 

but you type your address and send it to him anyway. 

and there's only a small piece of you that regrets it. 

*

there's a knock on your door while you're pacing around. 

it's seven o'clock, and you've only had the last two hours to think about how to get out of this. you've contemplated playing sick, pretending not to be home, telling peter that there was an emergency, accidentally forgetting about this whole in the first place. 

and the only real answer you've come to is that you can't answer the door. 

work is one thing, you think, but as soon as someone is allowed to invade other areas of your life, you've got no choice. 

you need to keep peter away, and you need to start doing it tonight. 

but he's knocking at your door, and there's something about him standing there that makes you feel restless. 

insane. 

and you're not even thinking as you walk through the hallway, swearing to yourself that you're only going to make sure that it's really him. 

you're not thinking when you bump into the side table by the door, and knock over a vase that you could've sworn you moved weeks ago. a vase you shouldn't even own. 

"shit!" you're saying, as you try to catch it. 

it shatters against the floor, covering the entire walkway, and effectively trapping you from moving forward. 

maybe it's fate. 

maybe this is just another warning not to answer that door. 

but then a muffled voice says "y/n? you alright?" 

and you rap your hand against your head, feeling so stupid and unlucky. still, you call back to peter. "i'm okay. just broke a vase. let me clean this up really quick and i'll--" 

peter is frowning when he opens the door. 

and you are frowning when you realize that you left it unlocked for the last two hours. 

"don't move," peter says, quickly. "you're not wearing any shoes." 

"it's fine, peter, i'll be careful." 

"where's your broom?" he asks, meeting your eyes.

it's only then that you realize he's wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. he's standing in front of you in completely normal clothes and carrying a bag of groceries. 

"no, you're my guest and i'm not letting you pick up my mess." 

"where is it?" he repeats, softer now. 

and you want to walk over the shards just to prove a point to him--whether it's that you're fine, or that you can handle a little pain--but peter is looking at you and walking inside, trying to kick away the shards closest to your feet. 

you sigh. "there's a closet just around the corner." 

peter gives you a small smile, hand grazing over your shoulder, and then he goes to get it, unconcerned about the cracking underneath his feet. 

when he comes back and begins to sweep it up, he's almost laughing. "were you running to the door?" 

"i think i lack control over all of my limbs. i might be a robot." 

peter scoffs. "you wouldn't get hurt all of the time if you were a robot." 

"i'm realistic."

 "you're human and ridiculously uncoordinated." 

you frown at him, and peter smiles at you. he brushes the broom over your bare feet, laughing when you squirm away. and then he clears a path so you can walk forward without cutting yourself. 

"thanks," you say to him, watching shamefully as he continues to clean. "sorry, i don't mean to make you my butler." 

"i'm already cooking for you, might as well clean." 

and then peter lets you lead him inside, asking where he can dump all of the glass, and moving the grocery bag he put by the closet onto the counter. 

after a moment, he looks around, his eyes scanning the walls and the floors. 

he licks his bottom lip. "it's... nice." 

you look at him, pouting. "you don't think i'm a good interior designer?" 

"it's just a lot more empty than i thought. i figured you'd have art and sculptures, and... more." 

you don't tell him that you'd love to, that you'd love to fill this apartment with things close to your heart. you don't tell him that if anything gets that close, it's sure to be broken. 

but you smile anyway. "sorry to disappoint you, mr. parker." 

"it's just unexpected. show me where i can get a pan." 

you show him where all the necessities are, scoffing at some of the ingredients he has in the bag, and listening to him explain that it isn't his recipe, but that you still aren't allowed to criticize. 

you just nod errantly, sitting on a bar stool so you can watch him. 

and peter makes it look like a little dance, finding the things he needs in seconds, handing multiple things at once, and catching anything before it falls. 

you sigh, and peter looks over to you, questioning. "i think you stole all of the coordination i was supposed to have." 

and then peter laughs--with teeth and everything--and turns back around. "i don't think it matters much." 

and you're about to argue with him, when some timer he set beeps. 

"almost there," he says, "do you want to get some plates and forks so i can just move it onto there?" 

you nod even though he can't see it, and walk around the counter to move past him. 

but peter has ridiculously long legs, and without even noticing, you're stumbling into one of them and almost falling into peter's back. just as always though, he's quick to turn around and keep you from hitting your head on anything, including his bones. 

peter sighs and you look at him, sheepishly smiling. 

"see what i mean?" he says and then helps you stand back up. 

even when he lets go you can feel the imprint of his hands around your biceps, the taste of his laughter in the air. 

peter is in your apartment, laughing and cooking for you, taking care of you, and doing it all with a smile. 

and, god, you don't think you'll ever be able to wake up from this. 

*

part two. 

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch​ @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff​ @hollandweather​ @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan​ @valvlry​ @imthatcoolmom​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  

[beybaldes]

honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips

summer sleepover masterlist

jamie tartt x gn!reader

summary : “messy, half-asleep kisses” requested by anon.

an : I love love love this prompt 🥲 I hope you enjoy!!!!! title is hozier my beloved forest diety

Jamie’s arms snaking tighter around you were the first thing you felt as the dim light of an early summer morning began peaking through his bedroom window. Even in his sleep he was searching for you; making sure you were close by and still with him.

Roy had cancelled training that morning as he was coming down with something and Keeley had threatened him to take at least one day off, which gave you the opportunity to really take in the morning with Jamie.

On a normal day, Jamie would’ve already been up for 2 hours, completed his work out with Roy and be heading back home. But today, his legs were tangled with yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you; one around your waist and one against your chest, his fingers intertwined with your own.

You turned in Jamie’s hold, moving slowly so that you wouldn’t prematurely wake up. Thankfully, you pulled off your turn, though Jamie’s arms instantly caught up with you, pulling you flush against him. Chest pressed to chest. While his eyes were still closed, breathing still shallow with sleep, you took the opportunity to really look at your handsome boyfriend.

You loved how peaceful he looked when the problems of real life evaded him, when his whole face relaxed and he didn’t have that pinch in his brow that told you he was riddled with worry even when he was denying it. Slowly, you slid your hand up his chest, over his shoulder to cup his jaw, only briefly removing it to push his hair out of his eyes.

“Go back to sleep, sweet boy.” You whispered, your thumb caressing the apple of Jamie’s cheeks as his eyes blinked open. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Glad you did.” His voice was gruff and thick with sleep and if you weren’t already in love with him hearing him like this, seeing him like this, would have you falling head over heels. “I missed you.” Jamie’s hold tightened on you as he spoke and you didn’t have it in you to comment on how his words didn’t make any sense; you’d been here all night, and last night, and the night before that, and the night before that too. “When I was sleeping, I mean, I missed you then.”

Oh.

“I was here the whole time, J.” You slid your other hand between the pillow and Jamie’s neck, wrapping it up and twisting your fingers into his hair. Though he’d asked you 1000 times, you really did love the walnut mist highlights he’d had put it. They seemed to be one of those things you didn’t know you’d needed until you had them. The extra length was nice to pull and tug on too.

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, or at least attempted to, grazing your jaw at first, and then the corner of your mouth with his second attempt. “But, if I’m being honest with you, I miss you all the time, even right now I’m missing you.”

You were the one pulling him in for a kiss this time, not holding back on the fluid movement of your lips against his even with it being so early. Luckily, you’d actually found purchase on his lips and not his jaw or his cheek. “I love you, sweet boy.” Jamie’s eyes had fluttered closed as you kissed and were struggling to reopen even as you pulled away from him. “But I think you need to go back to sleep.”

Even with his eyes closed, Jamie had better aim, kissing you square on the lips in the way you just had him. “Can’t.” Another kiss punctuated his words. “I’ll miss you too much.”

“I’ll be right here.” Using that hand that cradled his jaw, you pulled his lips to yours, scratching your fingers against his scalp soothingly. Jamie preened into your touch like a cat in the sun, his eyes drooping more and more closed with each movement of your hand. “Dream of me, J.”

He stole a much longer kiss, ending it, but keeping his face an inch away from yours, then stealing another kiss as soon as he’d pulled away. “I always do.”

[fauustic]

protective miguel o'hara drabble

you didn't hear this from me but i'm making a miguel series and its taking a lot longer than i thought (first chapter already is pushing 10k words sheesh..) and i'm having possessive miguel thoughts so i needed to GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM...

If Miguel had his own way outside the Spider Society and all that, he would have Lyla escort you to and from wherever your errands took you under the guise of "needing company," or as an extra precaution of staying safe.

In reality, Miguel is an anxious man. He wants to keep everything that could possibly go wrong at bay, always trying to stay five steps ahead of whatever could possibly happen. So when he comes to find out that someone had hit on you as you were out with friends, he was livid.

Of course the one time you're not wrapped in his own embrace or cuddled up in the side of his hip one late night, someone tries to take the opportunity of seeing you all alone and a little bit vulnerable, tipsy and stumbling against the arm of your friend-- contorted in a way that would have been uncomfortable if you hadn't downed a couple drinks hours before.

You had let it slip when calling him, all giggly and oblivious to the world from being a lightweight. "Migs," you had murmured into the crook of your neck, cradling the phone that let out little chuckles from your boyfriend. He's still not used to seeing you drunk, the neither of you were really big drinkers unless you were celebrating something for work or you had been roped into a socialite outing from Miguel's position at Alchemax. The Spider Society never really had anything worth going out to drink for, or maybe Miguel just never wants to hang around them too frequently. His mood always changes whenever he brings up what he does, so you haven't brought yourself to pry any more.

His tone was lax, if not a little awake. You assumed he was driving through the midnight traffic once he heard the words, "I miss you, I'm ready to come home." And Miguel always requests for you to stay on the phone with him until he sees you, until you're swallowed into a hug that threatens to crack your back because he hasn't seen you all day and he's a bit desperate for your warmth.

"What is it, mi alma?" His voice met your ears in that playful, tired way whenever Miguel catches on that blissful, drunk tone of yours's. Raspy with a hint of sleep as if he's been trying to stay awake for you despite being exhausted after a few days of little rest. You would have felt bad for keeping him awake at a time like this had you not been thinking hazily, but deep down you know he couldn't sleep without you either.

Another giggle hissed through your dopey, toothy smile. Your happiness must be contagious because you could hear his own curl of his lips when he encouraged you to spill your thoughts for a second time when you left him hanging.

"You wouldn't believe what happened tonight, baby," you slurred into the receiver and he hummed. Your ass met the concrete hard when your legs suddenly felt like jelly, the dim street lights casting a soft ambience on the side of the bar. You only felt a little vulnerable when you found yourself alone on the phone with the little reminder that your lover is still on the road. "This, this stranger tried to make a move on me. A move!" You babbled as if it was the most surprising thing in the world, "And it's so crazy because I was like, heaving over the table like my last mixed drink was about to send me over the edge. I was not at my best."

The gentle chuckles on the other end came to a halt as soon as you brought up someone else, a stranger who you didn't even remember the name of. Miguel's quietness never caught your attention as you continued rambling on about it in your drunken state, holding your free hand to your forehead to try and stay upright against the wall of the bar.

"And, obviously I was like, 'ew, who the fuck are you? I have a boyfriend-'" You had mocked yourself in exaggeration, and when you heard Miguel's stiff huff of laughter on the other end you couldn't help but laugh in blissful unawareness. "But they wouldn't shut up and even had the audacity to pull me up towards them,"

Miguel had interrupted you this time around, an eerie atmosphere to his tone. Cold, a little distant. It put your hazy mind on edge, though he would never do anything to you. "Who was this.." He paused for a moment, and you could see the hand signals he would conjure when trying to find the word for something. "Stranger? This person?"

You caught your breath when he mentioned he was minutes away now before you answered his question, a warmth settling over your chest at the inevitable entanglement of limbs the moment you find yourself face-to-face with Miguel.

"Ah, some.." Your brows scrunched, trying to remember where the mysterious flirt was from until you realized it was a work party. "Co-worker, different department, obvious prick. Hated the way he spoke to me, was trying to explain some stupid shit at work that I obviously knew how to do."

"Love," He practically cooed into his phone, and you could see the way he shakes his head in both adoration and disbelief whenever Miguel uses such a gentle pet name. Such a simple one, but the way he looks at you as if you're the entire world and more rivals whatever paragraphs he could possibly write to express his feelings for you. "I need a name,"

"You do not need a name, Migs." You laughed, and you could hear the whiney scoff of his when you caught onto his antics despite being drunk. "That worries me. I don't need you getting hurt." And you swear you could hear a small whimper, the gentleness you give him causes his insides to twist and turn painfully. Always in a tunnel of self-depreciation, he tries his best to accept the sweetness oozing from your lips, but Miguel can't help but admit he's still not used to it.

Miguel knows he isn't perfect, the insecurities flow from his exhausted tongue frequently when he's surrounded with your touch and presence every night. But when he hears you off-handedly mention how someone tried to take you away in the unknown of their home, something inside him cracks just a little bit more whenever a situation like this arises.

"Baby," By each passing moment he stayed quiet, you felt yourself sobering up. Your worst days was whenever Miguel needed space from you for whatever took ahold of his mind, those nasty thoughts that tell him something differently than what you embed within his very being. If this conversation triggered something, you would respect it without a second thought-- but the idea of being without Miguel after such a taxing week had you hold back the emotions threatening to bombard your delicate state of mind. "Migs-- Miguel, what's wrong baby? Why aren't you talking, honey?" You pleaded into your phone, briefly checking to see if you had accidentally hung up.

"Fuck," you murmured to yourself, your phone falling to your side as your other hand met the bridge of your nose- a habit you've developed from the one you love. What a silly thing.

A car door sounded throughout the humid night air nearby, and you brushed it off as another person consumed by the nightlife. Probably going to down a couple beers to forget, is what your muddled brain distractedly made up to try and stop yourself from crying. Swiping at your cheek with a pathetic feeling pooling in the bottom of your stomach, you weren't sure whether the wetness meeting the pads of your finger-tips was the fog or tears dripping off your lashes.

Your name rings throughout traffic lights and bustling cars like a prayer, boots crunching pavement until pristine-white etched with red met tears cascading onto the curb. The breath you were close to being choked up on was caught in your throat as the calm he desperately tried to exude cracked the moment he caught the cries slipping from your skin.

You unraveled your posture, straightening your neck up to meet his gaze. Miguel didn't hesitate to drop to his knees and take you into his arms as if he was a child hugging a stuffed animal. His nose met the crook of your neck and he breathed in deeply, as if he had taken a moment longer to get here you would had slip away from him- fading into the city streets like a ghost.

"Why didn't you respond?" You practically whined in his shoulder, immature and woozy from the tipsy still lingering. He only held onto you tighter, scooping you up into his arms like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

He mumbled into your hair as you returned the hug and closed your eyes, drawing into a comfortable lull from the safety of his embrace.

"What was that?" A genuine question, you couldn't hear his grumble with his mouth full of your hair. But he only scoffed, and leaned down to brush his canines against the shell of your ear, sharp yet feathery. The contrast was like a bucket of iced water dipped over you, shocking yourself out of that drunken fatigue. His words came out of as a whisper, hint of jealousy as well as protective concern.

"Worried sick, mi corazón. I'm not going to sleep until I know that bastard who put his hands on you," It came out less like a threat and more like a promise, softened by the plush of your curls meeting his lips in a kiss. "El muchacho necesita una lección, hmm?" A chuckle rolled off his tongue as he swung open the door to his sleek vehicle, setting you down with utmost care. Before you could protest, Miguel took the seatbelt in his hands and buckled you in himself- sweet and slow and everything he wasn't implying.

"Miguel, I don't need to be waited on hand-and-foot." You complain once his left hand found purchase on the steering wheel, all for show you assume because in the year of 2099 you had flying cars and automated driving and genetic splicing. But he was smooth, you had to give him that, as his frown kept a cheeky little smirk at bay. His free hand found comfort in the fat of your thigh, thumb stroking the fabric that hugged your figure nicely. He made no move, keeping the gesture innocent with genuine affection.

Miguel's not one to really show physical affection out of the confinements of your shared apartment, but ever since you had mentioned the threat of someone else trying to dumbly scoop you up and send you on your way alongside them- Miguel had kept close. Noticeably so.

His hand found itself snaking around your back and resting against the flesh atop your belly button, wedging you within the curve of his side. Miguel had always been the one to be a bit whiney, but when you denied him the opportunity to allow him to sink his fangs into the softness of your neck and angle of your jaw, he'd accidentally pout in an unexpectedly cute way and brood like a ruffled pigeon. You never allowed yourself to tease him about it though, or else he'd catch himself doing it and stop himself. The loss of such a cute expression donning his permanent scowl would have you in shambles.

Miguel's not exactly the worst with words per-se, he could explain the parallels of universes and what exactly makes them tick in harmony with effortless ambition-- but when he's faced with the pure adoration swimming within your irises as the both of you do the most mundane tasks; cooking and washing dishes, piled up on the couch for a movie you had dragged him to watch- Miguel would grow subtly emotional to the point he would have to stalk up behind you and engulf you with a hug, a stray tear or two meeting the ridge of your shoulder. And you'd hold his arms meeting the bridge of your ribs, whispering; "It's okay, darling. I'm here, here only for you."

And he'd kiss the blemishes upon your skin in return, a silent thank you as he nuzzles into your very being- the constant need to be as close as possible undermining the physical touch he craved so desperately from you. If he could use his claws to carve into your ribcage and take shelter next to your beating heart, maybe for once Miguel would be able to sleep easily.

[bxddiebloss]

✦ In which Nagi Seishiro can’t stop thinking about you when he joins Blue Lock.

✦ Fluff.

✦ Part one here. ✦ Part three here.

⟡ masterlist

⟡ A/N: Thank you for requesting another episode w/ Sei!! <;3 @nerdiel-has-no-braincells

After the argument between you and Reo, Sei apologized and took you out on the date he promised you.

When you got to his apartment, you noticed a letter mailed to him that was set on the front door of his apartment and got curious.

You asked him if you could open it and he shrugged, not really caring only because he was busy making the supper he promised.

As you opened the letter, your eyes widened when you read the letter.

“Sei! Congrats!” You said excitedly.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You got scouted to go to a soccer/football camp! It’s a great opportunity, you should go.”

“But that means I can’t be with you though…”

This warmed your heart.

“But you can always call me! You’ll make so many new friends. You need some anyway.”

“Hm. I’ll think about it. I’ll call you every night then. Foods ready, though. Can we eat while we play Mortal Combat, please?”

“Of course, this date is supposed to be fun.”

A week later, Sei found himself wrapping his arms and legs around your body, as you packed his things for Blue Lock.

“Nooo, I don’t wanna go,” he mumbled.

“Yes you do, I told you it’s going to be a great opportunity. Plus, Reo is going to be there. He told me that he was going to look after you.”

Silence. You try to look behind you but all you see is Sei’s head leaning on your shoulder.

He fell asleep, standing, and leaning on you for support.

That’s what you get for staying up so late playing video games, you think.

You set his things by the door and let him take a nap before he gets ready to go. As you wish him goodbye, he keeps on complaining until you give him a hug and kiss while ruffling his silky white hair.

A few days after Sei and Reo joined Blue Lock, they haven’t texted you once.

Understanding, you just came to the conclusion that they were training extra hard but just didn’t have the time to text you, even though you found it a little suspicious that Sei would’ve texted you back already, with him always playing video games and such. There also was a toll taking on you as well. Lack of sleep from worrying about the boys gave you eye bags and little to no patience with your classmates.

Little did you know that Sei actually couldn’t go a minute without thinking about you. It got to the point where he was playing with his food, thinking about how much he missed you. Even Reo had to carry him back to their room because of how exhausted he was from his lack of sleep (staying awake and thinking about you).

More days pass and you get more stressed out from the lack of messages from your brother and boyfriend. As you were about to fall asleep, you got a text notification. Picking your phone up, you see that it’s from Sei.

Sei <3

I just got my phone back. Such a hassle. :x

Smiling, you shoot a response back just as quickly.

(Name) <3

What happened?

As he texts you a reply, you both stay on the phone all night together and end up pulling an all nighter.

Of course, there was going to be consequences. The next day (more like a few hours later), Sei gets yelled at for being even lazier than usual meanwhile you fall asleep during class and get detention.

But you and Sei both realized one thing, you needed each other to survive.

All rights reserved to bxddiebloss. Please don’t copy or modify my works.

[hb-writes]

81 “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

For OTH? I'm so excited you are writing for them!

Pinky Promises

A/N: This one got a little out of hand (almost 1700 words). Anyway, this is the first OTH story I'm posting, so I feel it needs a little context. The OC is Allie Scott, little sister to Nathan and Lucas. This takes place in Season 2 after Lucas has gotten his HCM diagnosis and moved in with Dan. Allie is about 9 years old in this one.

--

Allie hesitated outside the door to the guest room, her hand silently twisting the knob though she had yet to push it open. She had been sneaking into her brother’s room for years now, often seeking Nathan out whenever she couldn’t sleep, heading to his door after nightmares even though their parent’s room was far closer. 

In the time since Nathan had moved out, Allie had gotten used to staying in her own room even when she couldn’t sleep. Even when she had nightmares or was just feeling extra lonely in the small hours of the night. She’d learned long ago that visiting her parents in the middle of the night did little to soothe her. More often it got her into trouble with her father, who insisted she was too old for this type of thing, a taunting that her mother didn’t condone but did little to quell. 

Seeking to avoid his reproach, Allie usually elected to toss and turn in her own bed until she finally drifted to sleep or until the sun started to lighten the skies outside her window, whichever came first.

In a few short months, she had learned to cope on her own, but even just knowing Lucas was now sleeping in the room down the hall, something of the fortress she’d been building inside had given way, making her more susceptible to letting the worries take hold than she had been as of late. And even if she hadn’t been truly struggling to sleep, Allie missed the late night chats she used to have with Nathan. The opportunity of talking to a big brother, of not having to be alone in the big house, was too good to pass up. 

Allie held her breath as she opened the door, slipping between the small crack before closing it behind her, the act nearly silent even after all these months without any proper practice. 

“Lucas?” Allie whispered into the dark.

“Allie?” Lucas whispered back as the girl crossed the room, her arms out in front of her as she searched for the edge of the king-sized bed.  

“Are you awake?” 

Lucas chuckled at the 9-year-old’s question, her whisper almost louder than her regular speaking voice. “I’m awake. What’s—”

“It’s really dark in here,” Allie interrupted as she fumbled along the edge of the mattress. Her room wasn’t ever this dark thanks to the window shades she purposefully left open and the nightlights stationed strategically throughout her room. 

“Well, it is the middle of the night,” Lucas answered as the bed dipped beside him. “We’re supposed to be asleep.” 

“So why aren’t you asleep?” Allie asked as she settled beside him on top of the comforter.

Lucas had been planning to ask his sister that very question before she beat him to it. He’d been hoping to steer the conversation in that direction, keeping it on her because he wasn’t sure what answer to give her—the truth or some version of  it. He’d seen Nathan straddle a fine line when it came to what he shared with their sister. She was still a kid after all, even if she’d lived through more crap than any kid deserved to. Either way, Lucas didn’t know where the line was or whether it was a thing that moved based on the situation. He was still getting used to being a big brother to her. He knew the late night visits were a regular thing…he remembered Nathan talking about it, that Allie had trouble sleeping more often than not.

“Did I wake you up?” Allie prompted when Lucas stayed quiet. 

Allie hadn’t woken Lucas. He had read for a few hours after unpacking his things—a compelling read he had trouble putting down—but he knew that wasn’t why he was still awake either. 

“Just thinking about some things,” Lucas answered, glancing at Allie where she had settled onto the pillow beside him. Deb and Dan had sent the girl to bed hours ago, after Allie had completed some nighttime routine he had yet to learn the rhythm of. After dinner, Lucas had barely seen her. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

Allie stared back at him, her eyes finally adjusted enough that she could see her brother’s face in the darkness. 

“I’m thinking about things, too,” she said with a shrug, her gaze tipped up to the same crown-molded ceiling Lucas had been staring at for close to an hour before she came in. 

“And what are you thinking about at…” Lucas twisted to glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “...2:37 in the morning?”

Lucas watched her idly fuss with the bottom of her pajama shirt, twisting the hem in her hands, the quiet stretching between them as Allie tried to decide whether or not she could trust Lucas with the truth. 

Allie suddenly released her shirt, squeezing her eyes tight as she let herself speak. “Are you sick?”  

“Am I what?”

“Sick,” Allie repeated. “You thanked dad for the medicine. He came in here and—”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

That conversation had happened after she was supposed to be in bed. Had he realized she was in earshot, he would never had brought it up. Dan must not have realized either. 

“I’m sorry. I just…well, are you?” she asked, abandoning her apology and explanation, some part of her pretty sure that Lucas didn’t really care for either. He wasn’t angry with her for eavesdropping. 

Lucas sighed, already well-aware that he would need to navigate this breach of information on his own. The only other person who knew about his diagnosis was Dan, and he wouldn’t go to him. Not about Allie. Lucas had only been living there for a few hours, but he knew well-enough how Dan could be with his sister, and he’d heard more than enough from Nathan on how Dan had treated him as a kid. Lucas wouldn’t have anything to do with putting her in the position to explain herself to that man.

“Can you keep a secret?” 

Her eyes lit up at the question and she nodded. “I used to keep lots of secrets for Nate.” 

She’d most often kept Nathan’s secrets in exchange for something—a new toy or a trip to the movies or an ice cream cone, but Allie would’ve done it even without the bribery because that’s what brothers and sisters did. They looked out for each other and kept each other’s secrets. 

And Lucas was her brother, so she’d keep his secret.

“I’m not sick, but my heart…I do have what Dan—” Lucas stumbled on the name. He knew she called him dad. “—I have the same thing our father has, so I’m not sick, but I have to take some medicine. And I don’t want anyone to know because I’m fine. The medicine’s just preventative.”

“Preventative?” 

“It’s like this,” Lucas started. “Do your parents make you take a vitamin every day to keep you healthy?” 

“Yeah,” she answered, scrunching her face up. “Can I tell you a secret though?”

Lucas nodded.

“I don’t really take them. They’re really gross so I always spit them out when mom and dad aren’t looking.” 

Lucas chuckled. “Well, taking them is supposed to be preventative. It’s supposed to prevent you from getting sick.” 

Allie hummed, considering all the chalky preventative vitamins she’d spit into the bushes or the trash or the toilet over the years. Hundreds or thousands of them, probably. 

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?” 

“Do Nathan and I have sick hearts, too?”

Allie’s father had been in the hospital. He had been very sick, so sick they thought he might die. She had a basic understanding that the problem was with his heart, that it could be “passed on” to his kids, the same way that Allie had eyes the same color as her dad.

“No…Allie, no,” Luke sputtered. “Nate’s fine. He doesn’t have it.” His test had come back negative. “And you…” Lucas struggled to imagine the kid in front of him dealing with something like this. “You'll be fine, Allie.”

While Nathan and Lucas had been tested, Dan’s doctor had recommended they hold off screening until Allie was a little older.

“Is that what’s keeping you up?” 

Allie shrugged. 

“We’re all gonna be fine. Look at…your dad. Healthy as ever now, isn’t he?” 

Allie couldn’t deny that her father seemed better. Seemed like nothing had even happened.

“But he almost died,” Allie answered. “Is that going to happen to you?”

“No,” Lucas interrupted. “That’s not going to happen, Allie. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Pinky promise?” she asked, her pinky extended into the space between them. 

Lucas hesitated. It would be easy to wrap his finger around hers and tell her what she wants to hear, but Luke didn’t know if it was a promise he could keep. It scared him that he couldn’t just tell her what she wanted to hear, that this was so far out of his control, but with his little sister watching his face, studying him for clues, Lucas pushed those fears away.

“I can’t promise you that, but I can promise to take my medicine and do what the doctors tell me so I can stay healthy. How’s that?” 

“Okay.” Allie nodded before she started fumbling with the hem of her shirt again, a quiet lull settling between them. “...Lucas?” 

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I could maybe stay in here with you tonight?” she whispered. “Nathan used to let me stay sometimes…just once in a while…when I couldn’t sleep…” 

Allie let out a breath of relief when Lucas nodded his head, offering her a quiet “sure.” She quickly settled herself under the covers before turning to her brother. 

“Nathan says I kick and punch in my sleep, but I won’t do that to you,” she whispered. 

Lucas laughed. “Pinky promise on that one?”

“Pinky promise,” Allie giggled, holding out her pinky and waiting for her brother to wrap his finger around hers.

[ilovecupcakesandtea]

Chapter 1

Eddie paced back and forth, he wasn’t sure how he was going to start this conversation with Steve or how it was going to go? He knew it was an amazing opportunity but he couldn’t say yes without speaking to Steve. Would Steve think he was being too forward? Overstepping in the relationship. It felt like it had only been seconds since he had been home but he’s actually been pacing for about 40 minutes before Steve came home with Nova.

“Dada!!” Nova screamed as she wriggled away from Steve and ran towards Eddie, colliding with his legs. 

“Hey Eds. How was work?”

“Hey muffin, had a good day?” Eddie asked Nova “errmm yeah, work was ok. Can we talk about it please?” he addressed Steve 

“Of course. What’s up?” Steve asked as he sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to him.

“So, I’ve been offered a promotion” Eddie told him, sitting down next to Steve whilst fiddling with his fingers. 

“Sweetheart, that's great!” Steve said before noticing Eddie’s fidgeting. “Or not? Talk to me. What are you thinking?”

“It’s going to be longer hours, I’ll need to be there when the boss isn’t basically, which means you’ll have to look after little miss more some days. I get an extra day off in the week but my working days will be longer. It’s putting on you more than I already do. I can turn it down if we can’t make it work.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem at all as long as it’s not during my current work hours. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“So, errmm,” Eddie started, standing up and pacing again. “The promotion comes with a bonus and a hefty wage increase. You could, errmm, as long as you wanted too obviously, like have a good think about it, you could leave your job. You could find something you really wanted to do, take an online course, or not if you didn't want to. Basically, this promotion would allow us to live comfortably without you having to work, if you didn't want to that is.” Eddie practically blurted. He was so good Steve could understand his ramblings. 

“As much as I would love that, I don’t know. I know we haven’t really talked about it but uh…” Steve paused, looking away from Eddie and rubbing the back of his neck. “What about our future? What if we want more kids or something? Me staying home wouldn’t really be an option then. I don’t want me not having a job to stop us from things we might want later on.”

Eddie stopped dead in his tracks and looked at Steve “You want to raise another one with me?” he asked, sounding small. 

“If you’d want to.”

“Who would be stupid enough to not want more kids with you?” Eddie asked, surprised that Steve would even consider him saying no an option. “But I feel we’re a little off track here, we need to discuss this promotion. If you want to quit your job and stay at home, we can afford it on my new wage. We can even put money up for the future you’re talking about and we can always reevaluate things when Nova goes to school.” 

“You like the idea of me being your little housewife?” Steve laughed.

“I’ll even buy you a little apron and some heels,” Eddie teased, sitting back down on the couch. 

“It would mean that I’d get more time with you since I wouldn’t have to sleep most of the time you’re home. How can I say no to that?”

“This mean I get to have more time in bed with you conscious?” Eddie enquired, pulling Steve into a kiss. “So is it settled, have I got myself a little housewife and I’ve become the alpha male that provides for his family whilst his wife is at home bitching with and about the neighbours?” 

“Do I not bitch about Susan enough already?”

“Yeah you do baby, its adorable” 

“Adorable? Yeah ok, sure.” Steve huffs and crosses his arms.

“Yes, adorable sweetheart” Eddie hummed kissing Steves nose.

Steve had been nervously planning for months. He had tried hard to think of something over the top but wasn’t sure that any of those ideas had really been something that fit Eddie. The plan wouldn’t have come together if it hadn’t been for Dustin. Without his help, Steve’s idea wouldn’t really have been possible. They secretly got together for a week before they started what Dustin insisted on referring to as ‘phase one’. 

Phase one started with Dustin telling Eddie that he had an idea for a one shot that he wanted to try. Dustin had been talking about how he had wanted to try to DM long before Steve even thought about planning. It was the perfect start so Eddie wouldn’t expect a thing. Dustin refused to tell Eddie anything about it but he agreed to play anyway. Phase two was a lot longer, Steve was trying hard to not be impatient to finally get to phase four but phase two was making it difficult. For a month Dustin would bug Steve everytime he saw him and Eddie was around about playing with them. Acting annoyed and uninterested was easier than he’d thought. When they had been planning, Dustin had suggested that they make a show of Dustin pretending to annoy Steve about playing so that Eddie wouldn’t expect anything when Steve sat down with them to play.

Phase three was one they had debated on when to start it. Steve had wanted to find a way to get Nova involved but he knew that if they told her about her part in all of it before that day then there was no doubt Eddie would find out. Nova had a bad record for keeping secrets. They had given up trying when she had told Steve about the small surprise party Eddie had been planning. Robin had agreed to come over and explain to Nova what her part was while everyone else was in another room. 

Now everyone was seated at their kitchen table, Dustin at the head of the table and to Steve’s right with Eddie to his left. At the start of the one shot, the party had been at a tavern where they heard several people complaining about their valuables and small farm animals going missing. They talked with the NPC Dustin set up for Steve to play who insisted on helping them to get back something he'd lost. After talking to the other villagers, they had decided to set up a trap and follow whatever it was with a small goat and the few things that had between them that appeared valuable. They ended up following a small dragon back to it’s cave. Robin knew that was her que and brought Nova out along with their arms full of toys and set them down in a pile to act as Nova's dragon hoard. 

“I know I’m not actually a player but can I still try talking to the dragon?” Steve asked Dustin.

“I’ll allow this once.” Dustin replied.

“Hi there little dragon.” Steve said as he knelt down to Nova’s level, only to be stared down by her. “Where’d you got all this nice stuff from?” 

“I found it.” Nova answered after Robin whispered in her ear.

“Oh really? The villagers will be happy to know you found it. They’ve all been wondering where their things went. I’m sure they’d be happy to get it back.”

“Nuh uh. It’s mine now. I found it.” Nova pouted. 

“Everyone will be so sad though.” Steve tried but only got a shrug from Nova in return. “Would you be willing to give me just one thing back then? I need it for something very important and I can’t do it without it.”

“Just one?” Nova asked.

“Yes. Just the one. I promise.”

“Ok.” Nova said as Robin handed her a small black box that she then handed to Steve.

“Thank you little dragon.” Steve smiled and ruffled her hair before going down on one knee next to Eddie. 

“Steve?” Eddie whispered.

“We’ve kind of did a lot of this backwards, moving in and having a kid together before we even really got together but I’ve loved every second of it. You and Nova have brought more life into this house than I ever thought possible. I can’t imagine my life without the two of you and I don’t want to. Will you marry me?”

“Say yes Daddy!” Nova cheered as she pulled Eddie’s arm.

"Roll for charisma" Eddie choked out, clearly holding back tears. 

"I'm sorry what?" Steve replied, flabbergasted, this was not part of the plan. 

"I believe he said you need to roll for charisma, we are playing after all" Dustin cackled. 

"Fine, I will roll for charisma" Steve sighed, rolling his eyes at them both. 

"Better be high or it's a no Stevie" Eddie pointed out, still teary eyed. 

Steve grabbed the D20 and rolled it, a 1 looked up at him and dread hit him all at once. Would Eddie really say no? Did Eddie not think he was being serious? How does he get out of this with an ounce of self respect left. 

"Oh baby, you should see your face. I'm sorry, I was being mean, of course I'll marry you" Eddie said, spinning Steve around and kissing him gently. 

"I hate you and I'm not doing that thing you really like for at least 2 weeks after that" Steve grumbled, kissing him back ,much to everyone's visible and audible response. 

"Congratulations guys!!" Robin shouted, rushing at them both and giving them a hug. 

Everyone else gave their congratulations and their hugs. Nova sat and played with her toys whilst the guys packed up for the evening and ate pizza. 

Eddie kept looking down at his ring, smiling to himself. Tomorrow he would go and buy one for Steve, it wasn't fair that only he got to visually display their love. 

[biancadjarin]

Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince

Chapter 3 : In the Romance Aisle

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

previous part here

EM x Popular Cheerleader

self insert (Y/N) - 18+ !!! Slow burn, leading to smut but I’m kinda enjoying writing them getting to know each other🤭

The next morning, Eddie’s late to his first period, having overslept. The only thing that even got him out of bed was the promise of seeing you and the fact that it was Friday, Hellfire day. When he gets to school, everyone is already in class, the halls an empty wasteland. He uses this opportunity to slip the note he wrote you into the slat in your locker. He starts to walk towards his class but then thinks fuck it. I’m already late. Might as well skip and go smoke in the woods. So he spent the next 45 minutes at his usual picnic table surrounded by trees, the smoke from his joint floating up as he rehearses the campaign he has planned for this afternoon.

You on the other hand woke up extra early today, hardly able to sleep after yesterday. You spent a little extra time getting ready this morning, shaving your legs and making sure every inch of your body was smooth and smelling sweet. Just in case you think. Today was game day so you had to wear your uniform. You’d went to sleep with your hair in a few big rollers to give it some loose flowy curls. You carefully apply your mascara and lipgloss, making sure everything was just right. The rising sunlight through your window catches something metallic out of the corner of your eye. Eddie’s rings. You’d laid them in your tiny white porcelain tray on your nightstand that you keep your earrings in last night before you went to sleep, having washed the blood off them. You’d tried them on your own fingers but they were all too big, even for your thumb. You find a small iridescent tulle bag to drop them in, pulling the ribbon tight to close it, you slip it into the pocket of your monogrammed sweater that matches your uniform and grab your bag as you run out the door, heading for the bus stop.

Sitting on the bus, you remember most clubs meet on Fridays after school. Including Eddie’s club. You weren’t too sure what they do in Hellfire but some of the teachers seemed to think it had something to do with worshipping the devil. That’s silly. you think. Eddie wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless that fly was a basketball player with a big mouth. So you weren’t sure when you’d see him today but you hoped you’d get an opportunity to talk.

The morning went by as it usually did. First period was full of nervous chatter about tonight’s game, the Tiger’s undefeated record hanging by a thread now that they were about to play the other best school in town. You don’t really care if the team won or lost, you just like cheering next to all your friends. The bell rang and you’re released into the hall with everyone, spilling out of the doors like a dam burst. You scan the crowd inconspicuously for the tall, long haired metal head but there’s no sign of him. You stop at your locker, letting out a disappointed sigh. Your pink manicured fingers spin your combination in, setting down the book from your first class. A folded piece of paper topples out. You catch it before it falls to the floor and unfold it:

meet me in the east library after first period.

my booboo needs another kiss.

-Eddie

You smile at the note as you reread the words. A wave of warmth washes over you, feeling a sudden burst of adrenaline and excitement. But something else too. You’re nervous. You hadn’t been sure yesterday if Eddie had been feeling anything during your hour together but now this proves that he did. The thought made those pesky butterflies reappear in your tummy, along with a tingly feeling in your palms. The bell rings and shakes you out of your trance. You look up from the note, peeking around your locker and see a near empty hallway, everyone racing to class. You’ll probably be late to second period but it should be ok, talking to teachers is a specialty of yours. Refolding the note and stuffing it into the pocket of your sweater, you walk toward the far side of the school, to the library that’s least visited.

Opening the heavy door to the library, you step in and feel the cold air prick at your bare legs. The East library is farther than the one in the main building so it’s usually empty. The tall wooden bookshelves line the walls of the large room, arranged in a U shape around a few rows of tables and chairs for studying. You scan the tables in the middle of the room and don’t see anyone. Just the elderly librarian at her desk in the corner, her nose glued to a thick book. You begin walking past the end of the aisles, eyes scanning down them for Eddie. You pass fiction, non-fiction, political, self-help. You don’t see him. You’re almost to the back of the room, nerves being replaced by worry that you had somehow misinterpreted the note.

You stop at the end of the last row of books, turning to face the open section of the room once again, eyebrows knit with confusion. You feel a hand wrap around your wrist and pull you back into the shadows. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see Eddie smiling at you. “You came.” He says, sounding genuinely surprised. You nod “I got your note.” He’s wearing his Hellfire shirt, black jeans and white reeboks, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. He can’t be any cuter. He laughs “sorry I made you walk all the way over here”, his eyes rolling and smile growing bigger as he emphasized the words. “I just wanted to talk somewhere…” his eyes darted up trying to find the word. “Quiet.” He smiles, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“S’okay Eddie” you say sweetly. He hums happily as he takes a step closer to you, the smell of his body wash and something skunky filling your nostrils. “You look extra pretty today princess” he says, looking down at your skirt and pinching the hem of it between two fingers. Your entire body feels like it’s filled with warm honey as your legs get covered in goosebumps. “Extra?” You ask hoping for clarification. He chuckles. “Well you’re gorgeous everyday.” His voice lowering to a whisper before he says “But especially today.” You’re sure your face is burning red so you change the subject to the first thing that pops in your head. “I hope you didn’t get in too much trouble yesterday.” You say with a worried look. His eyes soften, touched by your concern. He sucks his teeth, taking in a deep breath of air, his hellfire shirt stretching deliciously over his chest. “Nah, Higgins is a total butthead.” He says with an exhale.

You laugh, his puppy dog eyes watching your face until a distant “shhhh” causes him to whip his head to look toward the open end of your aisle, his hair uncovering the side of his eye revealing a bruise from yesterday. “Oh you poor baby” your hand reaching up to gently trace your fingers along the dark purple skin. “Ah I’m fine.” He says softly, leaning into your touch. He reaches up to your hand and brings it down, running his thumb over your knuckles and looking down, his hair falling into his eyes. His gaze travels down your entire frame and then back up, pausing to look at your lips. He smiles with a little exhale and softly takes both your wrists and pulls you closer to him, setting your hands on his leather covered chest.

He’s studying your face, eyes whispering a silent “is this ok?” and you begin to run your hands up and twirl some strands of his hair around your fingers. The butterflies in your stomach are on overdrive, your mind goes blank looking into his big chocolate eyes. He smiles “are you nervous princess?” he asks in a teasing tone. Such a bastard. He knows you are. You huff out an exhale and shake your head, determined to remain in control even though it feels like you’re standing in quicksand. Sinking further and further until you feel yourself falling. He brings a finger up to rest under your chin, every so lightly tilting it up, his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. His eyes don’t leave your mouth as he leans close to you, seemingly in slow motion, to press his plush lips to yours.

You melt into his kiss, finally getting what you’ve been thinking about for so long, not realizing it would be this good. You never knew what you were missing and God had you been missing a lot. He brings his hands up to rest on either side of your jaw, his skilled tongue dipping into your mouth and massaging yours. He tastes like the herby weed you’ve heard he sells (not that you’ve ever smoked any) and juicy fruit gum. He begins to walk you backward into where the bookshelves become a corner. He places a hand behind your head as he pushes you into the wood and then trails it down your soft hair and lets his fingers run through and get lost in it. His other hand resting on your hip, fingers playing with the ruffles on your skirt, your arms outstretched over his shoulders, fingers lost in his frizzy curls. He lets out a breath that’s hiding a soft moan as he looks down at his hand dropping to the hem of your skirt. Your eyes flutter close as you pull him closer, wrists locking behind his neck, kissing him deeper. Both his hands slowly travel up the back of your thighs, stopping at the crease underneath your ass, letting his forefingers nuzzle there. His fingers begin to massage the bottom of your cheeks that are sticking out under your soffe shorts.

He moans louder this time, squeezing your ass as he leans into you, your back pressing against the old wooden shelves. His lips leave yours as they dip down to kiss behind your ear, you lift your neck to give him more room. He chuckles lowly against your skin, “you like when I kiss you there angel?” the breath from his whisper making a chill on the wet spot his kiss left behind. You nod once with a pout, staring into his eyes. His tongue darts out the side of his mouth as he leans back a bit, eyebrows raising as he leans his head the other way, picking a different spot to kiss next. “How about when I kiss here?” He asks as he gives a feather soft kiss on your neck. “Mhmm” you moan weakly as he begins to suck on that spot. If your brain wasn’t a bowl of marshmallow fluff you might stop him and tell him you can’t have a hickie especially before a big game but the signals from your brain to your mouth left the room a long time ago. His hands are fully exploring your ass now, your skirt flipped up and laying over the back of his hands. “Eddie” you whispered, not quite sure if it was the beginning of a statement or a question.

The sound of the half period bell vibrates above you and your eyes shoot open, wrist leaning back over Eddie’s shoulder to look at your watch. “Oh god, we’re so so late. If we leave now we might not get detention.” He snort laughs, “you’re not going anywhere y/n.” He says pulling you closer to nuzzle into where your neck meets your shoulder. The feeling of your name inside his voice making your head spin. “And hey maybe we can get detention together. Wouldn’t that be cool?” He says pulling away to look at you. Your eyes widen. You? Detention?? But looking at his puppy dog eyes growing sad at the possibility of you leaving made your heart ache. You shake your head and smile softly. “You’re going to be a bad influence on me aren’t you Eddie Munson?”

“Terrible.”

Hope you enjoyed! Please leave feedback 💕

eddie note image credit : @eddienbird

[silvergoldraeven]

Resurrected Heimdall AU but it’s part 3

ehehehehe i’m gay for him okay- i might be cringe but im free :3

part two here :)

part four here

- both their house in Midgard and Sindri’s house are like their main houses, tho Heimdall refuses to sleep in the cabin and just hangs out there throughout the day if anything

- Atreus and Heimdall tend to read til late in the night, usually falling asleep together in the process. Kratos makes sure to tuck them in whenever he finds them like that

- Heimdall’s left arm has become even stronger from him relying on that one alone so much

- he’s become great at climbing trees, too, which he loves to do since he keep an eye on everything around them more easily from up high.

- just the mental image of this fucker just climbing all the way to the top with one arm like its nothing

- he makes sure to take Mimir with him when he knows he’s gonna be there for a while

- Sometimes he leaves Mimir hanging from a tree branch and just goes “wow Mimir, you truly are the best tree ornament.. bye now :)”

- yes he gets scolded every time by Kratos

- Heimdall and Atreus both staring at any cute dude and then later talking about them like girls gossiping at the dinner table

- Atreus wakes up a lot from nightmares of Ragnarok, usually when Heimdall is awake already

- Heimdall doesn’t even need to use his abilities to know that the kid just needs some comfort, so he lets Atreus cuddle up to him for a few extra hours of sleep

- Atreus and Heimdall fighting on who gets the comfiest spot on the sled while Kratos just stands there, he’s too tired for this shit

- Heimdall LOVES hide n seek, he, Atreus, Thrud and Angrboda play constantly. Sometimes others join in too. Turns out Kratos is a great hider.

- Heimdall being the seeker is kinda cheating tho because this man can literally hear grass grow

- their games can take HOURS if its just Heimdall and Atreus, because both are competitive as fuck

- just. Atreus going as far as holding his breath or hiding underwater or some other dumb shit so Heimdall can’t sense him

- “father i’ve looked in 8 realms and i still can’t find him what the fuck”

- when Atreus is in a bad mood but just wants a distraction, Heimdall will just start counting down, a cue for Atreus to sprint off and hide.

- surprise hide n seek, who doesnt love it c:

- i feel like Heimdall never really got the chance to be a proper kid, hell, even Atreus didn’t get the chance. so they make up for their lost time together

- idk i just had the mental image of Kratos carving Atreus some wooden toys and Heimdall pretending So Hard to not be envious

- Heimdall later acquires a shelf of wooden trinkets his dad made for him :)

- him pretending to hate hugs and dodging any attempt from anyone.

- until he’s alone with his dad and brother ofc those two are the only ones allowed to touch him, he loves hugs from them even if he acts like he doesn’t

- Atreus breaking a chest open with his as Heimdall watches

Heimdall pushes him aside with the next one “here, i’ll help :)” and smashes it with his bifrost arm ofc because why would he pass up on an opportunity to show off

“that’s cheating, Heimdall”

“absolutely not, i’m simply using my strengths as an advantage :)”

atreus motions to his bow “oh yeah? well me too” and just whacks Heimdall in the back of the knees before sprinting away from his quickly approaching doom

  - Kratos and/or Atreus waking up, house completely dark besides 2 bright pink/purple eyes staring at them, totally not unnerving

“why are you sitting in complete darkness”

“.... it’s comfortable”

- Atreus calling for Heimdall who’s pretending to not hear him, Thrud watches him try for a bit. “oh yeah he does that, i have something that always works tho”

“oh really? what is it?”

*Thrud just going “pspspsps” at Heimdall*

- Heimdall repeating the sounds Gulltoppr makes when no one else is around. just:

“mrrow”

“mrow? agreed.”

- Heimdall constantly forgetting that he’s missing his arm and trying to pick stuff up and then just kinda stares in confusion for a few seconds

- my theory of Heimdall being part giant too stands so im wondering if Angrboda and Atreus teach him giant magic at some point too

- he’s VERY good at haggling with any trader, especially the more expensive ones. sometimes he comes home with fancy robes he traded for his family.

- imagine if at one point he finds someone selling wine from Greece so he haggles it off the trader and excitedly brings it to Kratos

- Atreus doing pushups with Kratos to see who can do the most and Heimdall just going “i can do that with one hand :)”

- Heimdall letting Atreus braid his hair since he had practice on Mimir’s beard anyway. Kid’s fast and precise with it which Heimdall didn’t expect.

- Atreus just being a whole ass barber for everyone is a funny thought

- even after Fumbulwinter has died down completely, Midgard keeps being a tad too cold for Heimdall’s taste

- everyone swimming together in a lake and Heimdall just. sitting next to the river because the water is too cold for him. “i mean, we could go to Vanaheim, the water there is nice and warm-” “no.”

- everyone sleeping without blankets or anything and then there’s Heimdall with enough blankets and furs to keep every person in Midgard warm

- Atreus coming to Heimdall because he wants to gift Angrboda something but doesnt know what to gift her because of that one time he offered her a flower and she didnt want it.

“obviously she prefers her flowers alive and not dead, so try that”

Atreus stops pacing around the room and just stares at his brother in confusion “wh-” “grow some flowers yourself, idiot”

- Heimdall, master of romance and courtship (<- this is a lie, probably)

- His love language being physical touch and just being all up in people’s personal space when he cares about them, pretending to annoy them

- Atreus: *causes slight chaos*

Heimdall, immediately: “i should’ve just thrown you off that wall the second i saw you”

Atreus: “love you too, brother! :D”

- mental image of Mimir, Kratos and Heimdall writing a book together called ‘gods and their skill to fuck up severely; how to not do that’

- the family sharing their stories and poems with each other because it’s cute and they all deserve to be loved and have fun

[legendofzoodles]

Remember that fic I did a while ago? Well, that was meant to be a oneshot, but someone asked that I follow through on those story notes. So yeah, here’s a Linktober special!

~~~

Smoke Signal part 2

The camp had an air of fabricated peace; the kind built on lies and half-assed promises.

They were all watching him, closely. Each movement made was scrutinized. Every time he strayed from the cooking pot to grab a few more ingredients, at least one member shifted, as if ready to spring into action. Legend was the worst, practically glaring daggers at Wild and silently daring him to make a move.

Hyrule and Twilight weren’t as bad, but they were being irritating in another way. By being strangely attentive when they helped him prepare dinner, something they don’t normally do. Whenever they helped out they always had to asked first, but this time both just decided to help- Sky and Four even offering too, though Wild curtly rejected them.

That being said, at least Hyrule had the sense to keep quiet and only keep any sort of conversation strictly kept to what time the soup needed to be stirred, or how small to cut the carrots. Twilight however, seemed hell bent on torturing Wild by interrogating him about y/n.

“What do they look like?” “How long have you known each other?” “How do you think they got here?” Were questions he asked along with many more, but Wild didn’t give answers to any of them. After all, if Twilight really cared, he’d let him go to them. Every second spent here was another wasted getting to them.

Wild wondered about sneaking off at night. He was sure he’d be able to evade whoever was on first night watch, but it’d only be a matter of time before they noticed he was missing. And even if he was far enough away where he’d get to y/n before they could drag him back, he’d be putting the group in danger by forcing them to search for him at night. For as much as they were annoying him, for how unfair they were being, he couldn’t worry them like that.

Especially Twilight. Even if the rest were to give up, he would without question comb the woods in wolf form looking for him.

While thinking about how to work around that, Wild went back into his supplies. He was looking for another spoon when instead he pulled out sleeping serum he’d brewed himself to take whenever he had a difficult night. Although, it was addictive so he learned not to take it too often. The bottle was a pretty large size, and he needed less than a teaspoon to be knocked out for a solid 8 hours…

He paused; looking at the cooking pot, then the bottle, then the pot again.

Getting up, he eyed the camp cautiously. There brief moment when Legend and the others weren’t looking his way, Hyrule was preoccupied with getting the bowls ready and Twilight took a brief break to rebandage his ankle. Wild seized the window of opportunity and quickly poured every drop of the violet liquid into the pot.

The second the last drop fell, he tossed it in his open travel bag and stirred it into the mixture. It initially turned the orange soup an ugly and suspicious looking brown, but luckily any trace of the purple serum disappeared. Just in time for Hyrule to walk over with the bowls.

Instead of serving each member one at a time, Wild filled all the bowls and make sure they all started eating at roughly the same time. Except Hyrule, he got a head start on clean up before collecting his meal.

“A bit much don’t you think?” Hyrule asked, watching Wild scoop an abnormally large amount of soup into his bowl. He had to pull the bowl away or else Wild would fill it over the top.

“Sorry Rulie,” he said, pulling away. “It’s just that I made too much- it’s not just you I gave everyone an extra-large serving. Thought it would help replenish our strength faster.”

Hyrule was just about able to balance the heavy bowl in one hand and use the other to pat his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll find them, first thing tomorrow. Promise.”

Wild pulled a smile and watched him slowly meander over to where Four and Twilight were sitting, taking sips as he moved to make sure none of it spilled. He looked around and saw that the others were eating as normal too, as he went about cleaning up.

“Wild, aren’t you hungry?” came Time’s voice. Despite the seemingly considerate question, the tone it was delivered in didn’t convey kindness so much as inquisitiveness.

Wild kept his back to him. “Not really.”

“But, you’re always hungry!” Wind cried, earning a few laughs.

“Funny,” Wild said, smiling at them. “And don’t worry I’ll join you guys in a second.”

“Well hurry up, because if you don’t I’ll eat your share,” Sky said, scarfing down his portion with great gusto. “Seriously, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” Legend added gruffly.

“Ain’t this the recipe I gave you?” Twilight asked, slurping the rest of his soup straight from the bowl. “You must have changed it up somehow, it tastes different. And the colour’s darker.”

Wild’s eyebrows furrowed for a split second. “The dark must be playing with your eyes. It looks the same to me.”

“Well it at least tastes different,” Twilight said, setting his empty bowl on the ground. “Kinda sweet?”

“Yeah, I agree,” Four remarked, rubbing his eyes. His bowl also empty. “Try it.”

“Sure,” Wild said packing the last of the cooking stuff away. He went to grab his bowl and frowned. The colour actually was darker and it even smelled sweet. How did he not notice that?

“What’s…with that face?” Warriors yawned, his head hanging.

“Nothing. I just realised that Twilight might be right,” Wild said, noticing the others slowly begin to droop. “Oh man, have you guys really eaten without me?”

“It’s your fault for waiting so long,” Legend said, stretching back against Sky. “Your soup’s definitely cold by now.”

“Yeah, it is,” Wild said, nonchalantly taking a seat. “But I don’t really mind though. Judging by what you guys said it’ll still taste good, right?”

He waited for a few seconds, ears perked and bracing for a response. When it didn’t come, he slowly got up and surveyed the camp with baited breath. Anxious to see if everyone had succumb to the potion. It was a good thing that he’d made it fast acting, because as he stalked around his unconscious teammates not one was disturbed; even when he stepped on a stray twig right next to Four’s ear. Every one of them was sleeping, and after checking, Wild was satisfied that they had eaten enough of the soup to be out for a while. Long enough for him to leave and maybe even come back.

Wild swallowed and went to his travel bag to double check his supplies. Once he was prepared with food, items and weapons he brought up his Sheikah Slate and began working out where to go, feet unconsciously moving in that direction.

“You’re actually willing to take it this far?” A stern voice broke through the silence.

Startled, Wild froze mid-step. His head swivelled back towards the campsite, eyes desperately searching for the person still awake, even drawing his sword. But the scene was still exactly the same as when he last checked. Then he realised something. Since Time had been the first to go quiet, he hadn't checked him.

“Well?”

It came from right behind him now, and there was no mistaking it. Wild turned to face the man, taking a step back to create some distance. He pointed his sword at the old man, moonlight streaming through the clouds and illuminating the chill blade.

“Sky might not forgive you,” Time said, staring down at the Master Sword. His non-bandaged arm rested on his hip, forehead creased and the extra height he had over the younger hero only serving to amplify his aura of authority.

“He never likes it when I use it anyway. This is no different,” Wild retorted, holding a firm stance. “And how are you still a awake? You should be fast asleep like the other, unless…How did you know?”

Time's lips pressed together into a thin frown. “I dare say I used similar remedies in my youth.”

“Used?” Wild, lowered the sword while processing what that statement meant. Though he didn’t really want to give it much thought. “Not anymore?”

“Not as often.”

Wild sighed, fidgeting a little. “Was it what Twilight said that alerted you?”

“I have senses of my own champion,” Time said, before looking off to the side. “But I didn’t actually need to use them since I saw you tip all that purple stuff into the pot.”

“Fuck ok,” Wild cursed. Wondering if any of the others saw him do that too, but trusted him enough to not question it. “I guess you didn’t have any of it.”

“No,” corrected Time. “I had a little- can't go the whole night on an empty stomach. In a way, you helped those boys.” He looked over at the slump of sleeping heroes, not all of the positions they were in looked particularly comfortable, like Twilight who’d fallen over onto his head. He’d surely wake up with a sore neck tomorrow, but under the lull of the potion that didn’t matter for now. “Now they can get a peaceful night’s rest without the pain of their injuries keeping them awake.”

“Oh.” This new perspective decidedly made Wild feel a lot less guilty. “Still, I won’t give it to them for a while. It’s pretty addictive.”

“That must be some powerful stuff,” Time continued, raising an eyebrow. “Not even the Captain got suspicious that he was falling asleep quickly. I thought he’d have experience detecting these sorts of things.”

Wild shrugged. “Well, it is supposed to make you feel relaxed as well as sleepy.”

“Strange,” Time observed, taking a step forward. “How is it that you can have enough self-control as to not rely on potions like that and yet you’d go so far as to endanger your team like this. All out of a selfish desire to see someone a couple hours sooner.”

Wild’s expression hardened. “We both know it not just that. And besides, just a second ago you said what I did was a good thing!”

“In one way it is,” Time said gravely. “In another way, what you’re doing is leaving them alone in unknown territory, vulnerable to any kind of attack or even just theft.”

There was a pause. The old man watched the younger hero grapple with his words, certain that he’d been so single minded that he hadn’t even thought about that until now. Still though, whether he cared about that or not, Wild wasn’t going to let it stop him. “It’s fine. You’re awake, you can protect them. Besides, the potion won’t force them to stay asleep. If you really want them to wake up just give them a good shaking. That’s always worked for me.”

“And what if I had taken it too?”

Wild almost scoffed. “Then whatever happens to them would be on you too. Since that means you would have eaten the soup willingly knowing what was really in it. What kind of question is that?”

Time gave him an inscrutable look, his face partially covered in darkness. Wild was sure he was judging him, but he wasn’t quite sure what exactly prompted him to make that face, nor what he was thinking. Unfortunately for Wild, he didn’t express even a word of his thoughts, only asking, “How’s that fair?”

This question caught Wild off guard. He did a double take, and had to hold himself back from repeating the question out of sheer confusion. After a few moments he responded with, “Do you mean I’m not being fair to you? I don’t think I’m asking too much from the guy who’s taken night shifts day after day lasting hours at a time, and asked me to duel him when he could barely stand straight.”

At that moments the clouds parted enough for the full light of the moon to shine through. The pale rays illuminated Time’s aging visage to reveal his single working eye, wide and bright…he was surprised? Was that it? It didn’t matter, Wild had clocked the position of the moon and realised that he was losing time.

“Look, I have to go,” Wild said determinedly. “Are you going to let me through or are we going to have that duel now? Bearing in mind that you still can't stand straight.”

Time sighed and closed his eye. Wordlessly he strode forwards, Wild quickly locked himself into a stiff fighting stance but only watched as the man walked right past him and back to camp. He wondered if he was going to get a sword, but thankfully he just started shifting some the others into more comfortable sleeping positions and putting blankets over them.

Wild slowly sheathed his sword while backing away. Just as Time was sitting down to get himself comfortable for another long night watch, he took off.

~~~

Thanks for reading!

Masterlist

Smoke Signal part 1

Smoke Signal part 3

Smoke Signal part 4

Recovered Regrets

Story notes:

Never mentioned this but Wild is injured like the rest of the chain, he just doesn't care.

Time asks Wild if he’s hungry because he knows that if he does eat then the sleeping potion was to help everyone cope with their injuries. If not, then it meant he intended to sneak off.  

Time isn't physically able to stop Wild and he knows this, Wild meanwhile only suspects this is the case. A duel between the two like this would be a long drawn out fight that neither want.

Time used to take sleeping potions a lot to cope with...well he's the forgotten hero of time, his life kind of sucks. A lot of childhood trauma and awful events from adventures would surely fuel more than a few nightmares. But stopped taking them frequently over the last couple years.

Time doesn't want Wild to go for the sake of the group, he himself would be fine with him going. So he tried to persuade Wild into not leaving while trying to go while testing his resolve/extent of his single-mindedness.

Wild actually didn't think through things, nor realise the danger he was putting the chain in. Time being awake was actually a huge relief for him.

What Wind says to Wild is a quote from Aang. I think he says it to Sokka while he’s moping about something xD

[themratts]

Dear Red Biretta

Cardinal Copia x OC Slow Burn

Friends to Lovers

Chapter Three

Rating: G

Chapter Word Count: 3,162

Pairing: M/F

Chapter Summary: Alena wakes up early one morning and decides to head in for tea. Only to bump into a familiar face at the coffee bar.

Read on Ao3 🥀 [Previous Chapter]

Chapter Three under the cut 🥀

• • • ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

“You’re up early,” Alena pressed the phone to her ear, from the other side, her best friend's voice came through crackly and sleepy, “I never hear from you before 9am, what’s up?”

“Nothing’s up” she sighed, currently seated on her bed. Alena had just gotten her shoes on and was stuffing loose pieces of hair up into her veil. It was not quite 8:00, and she was already up and ready. That was rare. “I had some trouble sleeping last night… I woke up half an hour ago and figured it wasn’t worth trying again.” She huffed a laugh, but really, all she felt was tired and frustrated. “Besides, I’d probably oversleep if I went back to bed now.”

“Fair. Could’ve called me.”

“Eh, too late for that now. What are you up to, Claire?”

There was some shuffling on the other line, “Bea and I are probably heading to breakfast soon.”

“Ahh. I’d meet you there, but I really don’t have much of an appetite.”

“No worries,” Claire laughed.

“I might stop by for tea, though, they open this early, right?”

“Coffee bar opens with breakfast so i’d assume the tea bags are laying around as well.” she paused to clear her throat, “-oh my god, Lena, you remember that cute girl I was telling you about?”

“Mmhmm, the one who keeps making eyes at you during mass?”

“Yes! Well yesterday, I bumped into her in the breakfast line. She smiled at me.”

“Aww, Claire,” Alena chuckled, “That’s so sweet, maybe you’ll see her again?”

“Damn, I hope so! I really want to get her name… and number ideally haha,”

“I believe in you.”

“Yeah. I have the charm enough for it.” Alena didn’t need to see her to know she was flipping her hair on the other side, “..So what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Yeah. Got your eye on anyone yet?”

Alena laughed, shaking her head, “You ask me that almost every week.”

“Is it so wrong to be curious?”

“Perhaps I’m not interested in dating right now.”

“Funny. That’s not what you said before.”

They both laughed, as much as her friend’s pestering on the subject got a little annoying at times, she did appreciate it, in an odd way, “I promise you, Claire, if anyone catches my attention you’ll be the first to know about it.”

“Good to know,” a muffled sound of knocking sounded in the background, “-Alright, well, Beatrix just got here so I’ve gotta go now.”

“Alright. I’ll, uh, see you at breakfast maybe? Otherwise.. you know where to find me.”

“Yep, yep. I’ll cya’ later! Bye bye, Alena.”

“Bye!”

With a light clunk, Alena hung her phone back up on the stand and sighed. Claire had been her best friend for as long as she’d lived at the abbey. Many of their mornings started with a quick catch-up phone call, what with their semi busy schedules (or Caire’s at least) keeping them from seeing each other at all some days. She appreciated her friend greatly, though, Even if Claire was a little much to handle at times, she was lively and fun. She kept Alena on her toes.

The woman stood off her bed and strolled across the room. As she planted herself in front of the mirror she avoided eye contact, instead, focusing only on the imperfections within her attire. A few adjustments to the crookedness of her headdress, a smooth over her habit, and all was ready. Alena grabbed her grucifix necklace off the nearby dresser and clipped it around her neck. It felt strange to be up so much earlier than usual. On most days, she missed breakfast entirely. Oddly though, it was nice. It also meant she would have extra time to dabble around before heading in to her job, she could relax to drink her tea, AND possibly meet her friends. She didn’t get that opportunity very often.

Yawning, she flipped her lights back off, and reached for the door handle.

♡… ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ…♡

It was definitely much busier at these hours.

Hallway traffic flowed in both directions. It was prime time for transitioning from place to place, people getting ready or starting their tasks, heading to the buffet or back from it with bags to eat in their dorm rooms, or, some simply going about their mornings. Mixed scents of breakfast foods and coffee doused Alena’s senses, as soon as she began to near the café area. She twitched a little. She was not a fan of the scent of coffee. Unfortunate for her, as it only got stronger, of course, when she stepped through the entryway.

Normally, when Alena arrived here well past 10 o’clock, there were few people around and she could peacefully collect her beverage and be on her way. It wasn’t like that today. The breakfast rush was up and buzzing, many siblings around, talking, eating, and both. Some stood in small groups while others found seats at tables and along the counters in the front and rear. Alena wasn’t too keen on being in bigger crowds like this. The mixing, the mingling, as much as she appreciated the liveliness of it all, it was still something to get used to and could easily become overwhelming.

She wriggled her way past a couple clusters and stragglers until the coffee bar came into view just ahead. She briefly glanced around, wondering if her friends were here yet and where they might be. Just out of her glimpse, she couldn’t see them, though. It might be a bit difficult.

Behind the bar stood a ghoul, one she didn’t recognize that must’ve belonged to Papa Secondo. He was crouched, dust pan and brush in his hands as he cleaned up what looked like coffee bean residue someone must have spilled. Alena picked up a mug and began her usuals, she filled it just a little over half-way with steaming water from the dispenser. Then she began to sift through the tea bags, debating which one would be best for her early start today. Once she made up her mind - settled on her usual favorite - she placed it inside and stirred ever so slightly. Her mind drifted back to where her friends must be, and whether or not she should stroll around and look for them or simply go back to her room. Of course she could always sit by herself at a counter, if she’d prefer. Then again, she’d hate to look lonely. And it would be disappointing if her girls were here and she wasn’t with them. Maybe heading to the library awhile would be a better idea? Or-

“-Merda!”

The aggressive Italian hiss to her right interrupted her rambling thoughts. Alena glanced over, met with the sight of black leather gloves clenched against the table, absolutely soaked in spilled black coffee. Her gaze rose upward, naturally, and she was surprised to find herself standing right beside a familiar figure, adorned in a black cassock this time and that signature mustache crinkled under the distress on his face.

“Shit…”

He repeated, while the cup he’d spilled sat by, half empty now. In front of them, the working ghoul had stood up straight, there was a piercing annoyance behind his masked eyes. He slammed his brush down, “-Can we go FIVE minutes without a mess over here!?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Cardinal Copia began to wiggle his gloves off and crumple them in his palms, “I’ll, eh, I can get that for you..!”

“No, no, don’t trouble yourself.” Groaning with defeat, the ghoul walked off to get the rest of his supplies.

Copia sighed, hung his head and shook it. He seemed disappointed in himself. Meanwhile, Alena was only staring at him in awe. What were the odds of this? Here she was, thrown into another chance to familiarize herself with him. Really, she hadn’t given the Cardinal much thought after he’d found her in the library a few days prior. It made sense after all that he’d want to come talk after all that, and from what she could tell he seemed like a pleasant and nice guy. Even if she didn’t know him well, there was an odd charm to him. She couldn’t help but be… intrigued.

Without even realizing, she’d taken a step toward him. And she hadn’t known his title was about to slip from her lips until it did, “-Hello, Cardinal.”

His eyes shot open, head tilting to face her. He stared blankly for a few moments, almost as if in disbelief himself. “Oh. Sister!” he blinked, “-ehm, Hello! Hello, hello, Buongiorno,” He smiled awkwardly.

Alena didn’t understand the last word but lent him a smile too, “Hi. Are you alright?”

“Ech..” he clicked his tongue, “Si, yes, I’m just fine, just… just a little spillage.”

“Yeah… I saw,”

He shook his head, lifting his mug, “I have only half now,” and brought it to his lips, pausing while he took a sip and when he brought it down, the coffee had lightly stained his mustache, “-but that is okay.”

“You could refill?”

“Eh, that’s alright,” he adjusted the hand that held his drenched gloves, “These will be annoying to clean, though.” At the same moment, the nameless ghoul came back over and began to tend to the mess.

“How are you otherwise?” Alena continued the conversation. The Cardinal looked at her curiously.

“Good, fine. Yes… my morning was, eh, going just fine until.. Well,”

“Yeah, heh.”

“And you?”

“Oh, well I’m just fine too thank you,” her fingers daintily gripped the string of her tea bag and swirled it around, “I’m not usually in here this early, It’s quite nice though.”

“You know, I wondered. Any particular reason?”

She shook her head, “No, it just happened to turn out that way, I suppose.”

“Mm.” The Cardinal took another sip of his coffee, “-Well, it is nice to see you.”

“Aww. You too!” Alena’s free hand came up to play with her necklace. “Are you sitting with anyone?” She wasn’t sure what compelled her to ask. He shook his head.

“No, no, I normally take this back to my office. Kind of, eh..” he drummed his fingers on the table, “..lonely there, but, it is quiet. It’s nice.”

“I see.”

“Are you sitting with someone?”

Alena twisted her lips, she glanced out over the crowded room and then sighed, and shook her head, “I guess not. I was going to, but I doubt I’d find them anyway. I’ll probably seat myself at the back counter.”

His eyes hovered over her for a moment, a contemplative look. He nodded, “...Mind if I join you?”

Her brows raised, she hadn’t expected that. But the gesture was not displeasing. In fact, her eyes seemed to brighten and so did her smile, “Oh, of course not. I’d appreciate the company.”

He slipped his gloves into his cassock pocket, “Splendido.”

♡… ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ…♡

Alena might not have thought she’d be spending a chunk of her morning sitting on bar stools with Cardinal Copia, but there was little to complain about. She found herself to be genuinely enjoying his presence, he was funny and nice to talk to. A part of her felt eager to know more about him.

As he sipped at his almost-empty coffee, she found herself mulling over what else to say to him. Her mind seemed to land on his attire. “...I didn’t realize you had another.”

“Hm?” he set his mug down.

“Oh, your cassock,” she motioned, “you were wearing red last time I saw you.”

“Ahh. Si. I, eh, heh, switch it up from time to time.”

“I like it. The black looks good on you.”

“Oh. Thank you, Sister.” there was a sincere look of flattery in his gaze. Almost as if he wasn’t used to hearing such simple compliments. “..So. You have plans for today, mm?”

“Not much…” Alena lolled her head to the side, “apart from a lesson later, and some book sorting most likely.”

“So you’ll be in the library?”

“I am most days, heheh.”

“Heh, yes… Are you enjoying your lessons?”

She pondered the question. “I would say so… I mean, it’s always a pleasure to learn about Satan.” She took a sip from her tea.

“Nema.”

“I know some of the other Cardinals teach, too. Do you?”

“Eh, no. Sister Imperator has me far too busy to take that up as well,” he paused, “...eh, you’ve met Sister, right?”

“Only once.” Her eyes shone, “I didn’t realize you worked under her.”

“Si. I admire her but she can be… ehhh…” He clenched his teeth and made a wobbly hand gesture, “...a bit much sometimes.”

Alena laughed. “So I’ve heard. Not someone to mess with, huh?”

“Not at all.” Copia chuckled too, he leaned forward on the counter until he rested on his elbow. “-I appreciate her, though, I really do. She has practically been my mentor my entire life.”

“Ohh, wow. How lovely.”

“Si… I wouldn’t be where I am without her.”

Alena nodded as she brought her mug up for another sip. Copia continued,

“...So, ehm. How long have you been here, Alena?”

“Only a couple years,” She went back to toying with the bag string, “I came here originally as a guest, actually… before I decided to. Well. Become a member.”

“Ahh,” he nodded, “And you have been enjoying that choice, yes?”

“Oh yes. I’ve been at my happiest here.”

His smile rose, “è bello sentirlo. Good, good.”

For a few moments of silence, Alena looked at him. She chewed the inside of her lip. There were a few questions she had burned into her mind that part of her was itching to ask him, however, she hesitated. Considering it carefully. Amidst this hesitation, another, new voice broke into their direction from Copia’s side and a look of dread washed over his features. Scowling, he turned his head just in time to meet their perpetrator.

“-Well well well well. Cosa abbiamo qui.”

“Non ora, Terzo…” Copia groaned, as the youngest of the three Emeritus brothers, Terzo, marched right up to them. His hands were folded behind his back and his expression showed nothing but mischief, a devilish, wide smirk on his face. “-What do you want?”

“Now, now, Cardinale,” He held his hands up defensively. “I have done no wrong. I cannot stop by? Just to say hello? Eh?”

Copia narrowed his eyes, “When have you ever come along just to say ‘hello’.“

“Tsk tsk tsk.” He clicked his tongue, “Is that any tone to use with your future Papa?”

“Per amore di Satana Terzo what do you want.”

“Well, forgive me,” he emphasized the last word dramatically, “I stopped by your office just moments ago, and you were not there. Why is that, hm?”

“What were you doing at my office?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Copia rolled his eyes. He made a small motion towards Alena, “-Obviously. I am having breakfast with a friend. Er, well.. We are not eating. Drinking, not breakfast, technically. Well, eh.. just.. and…” He turned to look at her, “...we are friends.. Yes?”

Alena had been quiet up until now. While she had met and acquainted herself with Terzo a few times, he still oddly intimidated her. As the rest of his brothers - and their father - and every other higher ranking clergy member - did. She finally raised her head to meet Copia’s gaze. Something inside her fluttered at the word. Friend. “-Of course we are.”

“There! That is what intrigues me.” Terzo crossed his arms, “I didn’t think you had those.”

“Oh to hell with you.” Copia waved his hand and turned away.

“No, I’m serious! I really thought you did not have friends.” He laughed. Then, shot a look towards Alena. He took her hand and lightly kissed the back of it, as a greeting, “-Sorella.”

“Hello, Terzo.”

“How much is he paying you to sit here, ai? Heheh, I bet you I could double it.” He winked. Alena laughed a little out of nerves but ultimately shook her head.

“He’s not paying me, Terzo. I’m enjoying the company. I’ve only just met him.”

“Well how about that?” He laughed again and leaned over to pat Copia on the back, who, by the way, looked anything but impressed, “-Not bad, Cardinale.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah. I am.” He still wore a smirk, even as he shook his head and chuckled, “What I actually came to tell you is that Papa Nihil has requested to see you.”

“Eh? What for?”

“Indizio zero. Old shit probably needs a refuel of his life support,” He scoffed, “-sorry, oxygen tank.”

Copia sighed, “Tell him I’ll be just a few moments.”

“Si, si, si. I will.” He nodded, “Ciao, Cardinale” Then looked to Alena, whom he shot another wink at, “-Sorella,” before he promptly walked away.

Copia groaned and swiveled on his bar stool. He angled himself back towards Alena, who wore a sympathetic look on her face. His nose scrunched up in distaste, “I am so sorry about him.”

“Oh,” she laughed, “don’t even worry about it.”

“He is an asshole when he wants to be.”

“Don’t worry, I know.” She waved a hand, still an amusement in her tone of voice, “Does he usually pest you like that?”

“Oh, yea. Ever since I was little.” He huffed, “you should see the way he fights with his brothers.”

“I don’t have to see it to believe it,” Alena responded and they both laughed. Copia shook his head once more and stood from the stool. His now empty mug clutched in his hand and he looked to her thoughtfully.

“-well. I suppose I am needed elsewhere, as you heard.”

“Yeah. That’s alright.”

“I would have liked to stay longer, but, well.. you know.” He shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it, Cardinal. It was nice to see you again.” And she stood too, now. Copia smiled, nodded, and took a step forward.

“It was. I will see you around?”

“Of course.”

Copia extended one of his arms now, as if he were going in for a hug. But then he froze. Instead, he awkwardly reached behind her and gave the center of her back a little pat, his ungloved hand lingered for a moment before he pulled away and, looking at the ground, mumbled his goodbyes.

“-ahem, Ciao, Sister.”

“Goodbye!” Alena didn’t seem to think much of it and gave him a little wave. He smiled once more before turning, and beginning to make his way back through the crowd.

Instead of finishing her tea by herself, Alena decided Mrs. Margaretta could probably use some company and she took her leave as well. Out the back doors, instead, it would be much quicker that way. Her mind was a buzz as she brisked her pace through the now empty hallways. One thing in particular was warming her insides. A friend. As he said so, himself. She had made a new friend.

[bf-skz]

24 to 25 days of SKZMAS | December 10th - Minho

pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

genre: rivals to lovers

synopsis: Lee Minho is a driven and loyal employee of JY Publishing. He has been working for the company for a while now and he is determined to finally recieve his well deserved promotion. Unfortunately, he is not the only one who has their eyes on the position.

warnings: light cursing

words: 1062

10th day of SKZMAS

December 10th

It's been going on for roughly a week now.

Minho is trying his best to concentrate on himself, he really does. He is doing everything and then some, each report is done on time, each email is answered within 30 seconds, and for each meeting, he is the first one in the room.

But still, he finds it hard to fall asleep at night. His mind keeps going back to the office, to his desk, to all the extra tasks he could be doing… and more often than not, he ends up opening his laptop and working a few extra hours, off the clock. He has done this before, losing hours of sleep barely affects him.

Or so he thought.

After a week of sparing 4-5 hours for sleep, he starts receiving a few strange glances from his coworkers.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Changbin asks concernedly as you sip on your first coffee of the day. Minho practically drinks it in one go, and it revitalizes him immediately.

“Never been better.” he nods, despite the heavy bags under his eyes. “What about you? You look like hell.”

“You're always too kind to me.” the younger pulls a face, followed by a sigh. “I don't know, man. Girlfriend is being difficult these days. I kind of feel like we are drifting apart.”

“It's not like you need someone like her.” Minho shrugs, walking back to his own desk with him. “This relationship is as good as burning money. Maybe even a bit colder.”

“Wow.” Changbin scoffs and now, he looks actually hurt. “When did you become such a relationship guru?”

“Just telling it how it is.” the older frowns. “What, am I supposed to lie to you?”

Changbin's jaw is tense, he looks like he is really trying to swallow his words, so when he finally speaks up, all he says is: “No. Of course not.”

Minho watches as Changbin walks away, and he is confused as ever. Why are people so sensitive now? He is the one who slept like no time at all.

The next second, he hears someone chuckle behind him.

“Oh wow Minho, you are really good with people. I see how a leading position would be just suitable for you!” you say and your words drip of sarcasm. When Minho turns, he sees that your under eye circles match his and you are desperately clinging onto a mean mug of black coffee. 

“Yeah, feel free to laugh now, but don’t come crying to me when I happen to fire you after I get the position.” he grunts at you, turning back to his computer. Just ignore them. They are trying to get under your skin, is what Jisung keeps telling him, but Minho cannot help it. If there is one thing you are good at, that’s getting on Minho’s nerves like no other.

“Come on, you would never fire me.” you shake your head in pity. “I am way too good at this job and you would miss me tremendously.” you sigh. “You would be so lost without me, pretty boy.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I guess you'll have to wait and see, sweetheart.” Minho says with a grimacing smile, and his skin itches. You need to be humbled in a way or another. “I wouldn't waste time on me if I was you. I have way too high standards and you probably have a handful of reports to work through, don't you?”

“Don't you?” you counter with a smirk. “If you wouldn't be so busy flirting me up, maybe you would be done with your reports, like I am.” you shrug, waving a huge stack of papers in Minho’s gorgeous face triumphantly. “Now, if you excuse me, I have to hand these in.”

Minho is left fuming at his desk, angrily typing away on his computer. Oh, he will get back at you for that.

The opportunity comes in a few days when Minho is walking back to his desk with Chan after lunch. The two have been chatting about Chan's insomnia and Minho is pretty convinced he himself is suffering from the same thing. There is no way work keeps him up at night. He doesn't worry about the promotion that much.

He catches sight of you, and oh, he can't help but grin. One of your supervisors, Mr Choi, is scolding you, and from the sound of it, it is about a missed deadline. He takes it upon himself to save the day.

“Sir, I am so sorry this happened- it was all my fault.” Minho says earnestly, catching your eyes going wide.

“Mr Lee, how do you explain this situation?” Mr Choi asks with a frown, arms crossed on his chest.

“They have missed their deadline because we have been too caught up in our romance, sir.” Minho says, giving him the act of his life. He can feel you tense up by his side. If only he could see your face… “And while I have managed to hand in all of my reports and extra paperwork on time, I must have been distracting them from their responsibilities. I would like to sincerely apologize.”

“Just for the record, sir,”you speak up and oh, how you wish to punch that shit eating grin off of Minho’s face. “Since Minho loves me so much, he promised to help me with my assignments so there should be no issue with getting it done today. I know that Minho will do amazingly well, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

Mr Choi looks between the two of you, completely unimpressed. ”Trust me, I could honestly not care less who does the assignment as long as it gets done. Now get to it.” he says, turning around to leave. As Minho sneers at you, though, Mr Choi glances back. “Oh, and make sure to check the couples' dress code for the Christmas party.”

“Of course, Mr Choi.” you smile with a tight smile. You watch your supervisor walk away before you turn to each other with draggers flying from your eyes. “Look what you have done!”

“Well, I hope you're enjoying this as much as me because I'm sure as hell not helping you on that assignment.” Minho says, walking away with a grin because as annoying as this situation is, he can and will enjoy the little wins.

to be continued...

[ayotamacheck]

maybe 💤and/or💔 for pablo and surya?

ill give you both 😌 always happy to talk about these two

ty for the ask!! <3

Pablo

💔 angst headcanon(s)

pablo has always felt a lot of pressure to be a good big brother, and a good person in general. in the absence of his parents he's grown to fit the role well, but he still feels the stress of it. there's a certain kind of pressure with being the head of a household that he wasn't ready to inherit when he did, and he still feels like he fails at it more often than he succeeds. he takes every mistake to heart, even if he rarely shows it, and many of them still bother him now.

he feels like if he isn't contributing then he isn't good! like if he isn't giving his all to volunteer at every opportunity and be around whenever someone happens to need him, he isn't providing enough. poor guy needs some self love!!

💤 sleep headcanon(s)

heaviest sleeper known to man. he stays out late most nights, especially when he has a day off, but as soon as he gets home he crashes hard. he's very cuddly when he's sleeping, though. if you're sharing a bed, you better believe he's making himself comfortable in your arms.

he's a human heater. him and raf both are, but yeah, in the summer you definitely won't need a blanket if you're cuddling with him lmao

i also hc him as a sleepwalker. no proof for this, it just feels like it would fit. it was worse when he was a kid, but he still does occasionally. it isn't that bad–mostly just walking around his room or the hall–but raf still lives in constant fear that he's going to light something in the forge in his sleep one day 😔

Surya

💔 angst headcanon(s)

surya overworks the hell out of himself. it isn't an intentional thing, he isn't aware he's a borderline workaholic, but certain habits he's developed over the years are hard to break. if he's left undisturbed, he'll take extra work home from the lab and be up until the early hours of the morning just pouring over it. there's a degree of perfectionism to it, something left behind from sleepless nights at university chasing a degree he believed would guarantee him a career doing what he loves. deep down he's afraid of wasting time, even if he'll preach the opposite. missed opportunities haunt him like no tomorrow and he worries he'll never make it the way he's always dreamed of.

man just wants to get his work out there 😭 he's written so many papers give him a break 😭

he is incredibly thankful to dr. ling for his job, though. and he still does love his field, he just gets a little impatient sometimes. tbh i see him and luke bonding a little over that feeling

💤 sleep headcanon(s)

he's a very light sleeper, but he falls asleep often. his sleep schedule is a little rough, so it's not uncommon to see him conked out over his desk or on the couch on a day off, nor is it strange to see his bedroom light still on long after dark. he doesn't really have a hard time falling asleep anywhere, but it's also incredibly easy to wake him up. the only time he sleeps heavily is if he's really sleep deprived, and that's not often.

if the two of you are together, he'll probably be cuddling onto you in some way. he isn't super clingy, but he runs cold and he'll definitely use that to his advantage. he's a big spoon, and the type to rest his head in the crook of your neck and pass out whether you're in bed or just sitting on the couch. as long as you're there, he's happy to fall asleep anywhere.