#maybe i should go back to the 80s i probably missed some appearances there

[themyscirah]

Amanda... I miss her.

But I don't trust a single person to write her other than Ostrander/Yale. Like I don't trust them to do it right. Because like it's easy to write her being shady and manipulative and involved in secret government conspiracies. That's what she does. But it feels so hollow once you've seen her character in the way Ostrander describes it. Like she is a woman who is desperate and trying to do what she thinks is right. She has found a place of power (as a fat Black woman in the 1980s) and is doing anything she can to fight and hold onto it as powerful and ambitious men try and steal it from her. So she doubles down. She doubles down on the shady deals and the broken promises and the violence and she destroys her enemies, and loses a part of her soul in the process. And then some other ambitious politician rises up and the process repeats itself over and over and over again as each time she loses more of her morality and more of her soul and more of the respect her colleagues had for her. In place of that she gains more power, she gains fear, and an even more badass reputation. Until by the end of the book the villains begin to understand/sympathize with her more than the heroes ever will. Like THAT is who Amanda Waller is. It may happen subtly, it may happen over a longer period of time but that descent is a critical part of her character! She is a tragic character! And I feel like every perception of Suicide Squad I've seen outside of the original has her as this static villainous snapshot which is just untrue to her core imo. Like she is not a hero. But she is also not JUST a villain. She is a highly flawed character who is always descending farther and farther into villainy as she is led there by what she believes is right.

[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Three

One | Two

I usually try to throw out updates weekly but I got possessed by the muse for Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins and, like, finished the main chapters for that in a daze hfjdk I still need to write the two epilogues, but needed a little break, so here we are!

Part three has Eddie confirming his suspicions, like two seconds of angst that is immediately thrown out the window, and a little flirting UwU

I hope you enjoy! As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ^_^

----

Something hits Steve in the back of the head. He'd be upset if not for the fact that he's facing away from Dustin and gave the kid paper for the express purpose of throwing if he needs Steve's attention. After much trial and error, the system finally works for them.

Steve sets down the plate he was washing (the aftermath of Dustin asking for grilled cheese sandwiches and annoying Steve until he caved) and turns, drying his hands on a dish towel. "What's up?"

Dustin's chest and arms are sprawled across the table, looking for all intents and purposes that he'd collapsed from sheer boredom or frustration. When Steve speaks, though, he sits up straight so Steve can see his mouth properly. "Can you pick me up tomorrow?"

"I thought your mom was."

"She told me this morning that she got saddled with a last minute thing."

Steve frowns, slowly parsing through Dustin's mouth movement and trying to find the shape of words. He doesn't get all of them, but he gets enough to understand the problem. "Oh," he says, "yeah, sure. Right after school?"

Dustin shakes his head, pushing his biology homework away so he can lean forward. "Hellfire is tomorrow. Eddie says it's gonna be in the math classroom. Can you meet me there at 4:30?"

Somehow, Steve immediately recognizes Eddie's name. Unsurprisingly, it makes him think of the guy, and his mind happily offers up the memory of Eddie laughing on stage. Steve struggles to push the memory aside, at least moving it to a corner until he can properly reminisce later.

"Which math room?" Steve asks, hoping Dustin doesn't notice a longer than normal delay in his response.

He doesn't, if his relieved and happy grin is anything to go by. "213," Dustin says. He then pauses, as if suddenly thinking of something. "Also, uh, maybe wait in the next hall or something. Don't let Eddie see you."

"Why can't Eddie see me?" he asks. Has Eddie been complaining about Steve lately? Has Dustin spent the past week listening to Eddie insult or make fun of Steve for...something he did at the Hideout? Did he not act normal enough?

Well, it's probably not that last one. Robin is great at elbowing Steve when someone is talking to him. She's saved him from numerous awkward situations with that move. It's almost worth the bruise he'll inevitably get from her sharp elbow.

"He won't, like, shut up about you," Dustin says, his nose wrinkling some in disgust and distorting the shape of his mouth. He waits until his expression is under control to add, "He can't get over you attending his gig or something. Keeps saying it's weird that "King Steve" likes metal."

"Oh."

Steve feels his shoulders grow heavy, a weight pressing down on him. He can't hear how Dustin is saying the words, and Dustin's expression isn't animated enough for Steve to glean any kind of tone. But experience has taught Steve that Eddie is probably complaining, even if Dustin isn't saying it outright.

Now that he's thinking about it, it probably was weird for Steve to just show up to a heavy metal gig. He's never shown any sign of liking the genre to others before. Then again, he's pretty skilled at passing for completely "normal" to other people. That results in him being King Steve, though, and that version of him might be all that Eddie can see, which would make his appearance at the Hideout pretty fucking awkward, huh?

Steve is so lost in his thoughts and the feeling of remorse and embarrassment and frustration that he almost misses how Dustin rolls his eyes, his shoulders jerking with a scoff. He pays attention just in time to watch as Dustin says, "Yeah, so if he sees you, he'll probably grill you on your favorite bands or something. He's, like, obsessed with figuring out all the other freak things about you. His words, by the way."

It's a lot all at once, and Steve ends up asking Dustin to repeat himself twice before he can fully comprehend everything. Despite the slightly annoyed look, Dustin doesn't complain. When he finally understands each word, that weight lifts from Steve's shoulders, the sudden emotional whiplash making him feel a little floaty.

"That's why he can't see me?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow at Dustin and leaning back against the sink.

"Yeah, it'll take forever. It's like when Mom runs into a friend and just stands there talking for a whole hour," Dustin complains, sprawling himself across the table once more when he's done speaking.

Steve snorts and leans over, ruffling his hair and jerking his hand back before Dustin can smack it. "I promise we wouldn't talk for an hour, but I'm not going to avoid Eddie. If he sees me, he sees me."

Dustin doesn't need to know that a small part of Steve really hopes Eddie sees him, deafness and all. And maybe he'll even like what he sees.

----

Eddie Munson is not stupid.

Well, his grades and teachers would beg to differ, so he'll rephrase that.

Eddie Munson is a fantastic DM, which means he regularly takes a big plot twist and sprinkles hints of it throughout each session of a campaign. Doing this means being able to put those puzzle pieces back together, too, and ensuring they lead up to the logical plot twist. So, Eddie's brain is great at seeing some puzzle pieces scattered around and putting them together to make a complete picture, and he's definitely been seeing some puzzle pieces.

Like Steve Harrington never looking over when Eddie first speaks to him. And the way Steve stares at his mouth, his brows slightly furrowed like he's trying to decode something (Eddie would love for this puzzle piece to belong to a "Steve Harrington wants to kiss Eddie Munson" big picture, but he's not delusional). And how Steve needs to be nudged or needs to see someone before realizing they're close to him. And how he didn't seem to understand Eddie's words until he looked down at a notebook Robin had scribbled in.

And that's not even counting the stuff Eddie Munson noticed about Steve in high school. Steve Harrington walked through the halls like someone was hunting him, his shoulders tense and his eyes always flitting around from person to person, like he was scared of someone sneaking up on him. He always seemed to ignore people when they called out to him, and Eddie had once dismissed it as him being an asshole. Steve never actually paid attention in class, either; he'd spend the whole time doodling in his notebook or zoning out while staring at the wall. He didn't even look up when the teacher called on him, and eventually the teachers stopped trying.

So, yeah, Eddie has slowly started piecing the puzzle together, resulting in a picture that he never would have linked to Steve Harrington, of all people. But it's the logical conclusion. It's the brilliant plot twist that makes so much sense when you review previous campaign sessions.

He just needs to test it, to see if he's actually right or if he needs to review the pieces once more.

Eddie's chance comes after Hellfire Club on Wednesday. Their session had finished a little earlier, if only because the players had gotten through Eddie's planned journey faster than intended. The next part couldn't be stopped five minutes in, so Eddie had called it a day and gone to the bathroom while the others talked about their character progression.

In the few minutes it took for him to piss, Steve had strolled into the school and started waiting in the hallway next to the math room. He's leaning against the wall, head tilted down as he reads a small book, his lips turned down into a slight frown as he concentrates.

This is the scene Eddie sees when he rounds the corner, and before he can really think about it, he scurries back to remain out of view. He's not scared of Steve Harrington. He just knows this is the best chance he's got to test his theory. Eddie glances around the corner, watching as Steve turns the page of his book, and he suddenly wants to know what has captured his attention so strongly.

Eddie takes a deep breath and slides around the corner again, sticking close to the wall to remain out of sight. "Hey, Harrington," he says, his volume normal and easy to hear.

Steve doesn't react. He doesn't even twitch or give any indication that he heard Eddie and simply decided to ignore him.

"Haaariiiiingtooonnn," Eddie calls, a little louder and drawing the word out.

Still nothing. Well. Steve frowns a little deeper, turns the page back, and rereads whatever part has tripped him up.

"Steve, you motherfucker," Eddie says, the same volume as before, and this time trying something that might anger him. "Your hair looks ugly," he adds. It's a lie, of course. Steve's hair looks fantastic, and Eddie wants to run his fingers through it.

No reaction, and Eddie is starting to feel brave. He takes a few steps closer, still hugging the wall. "Oh, Stevie," he says, getting a slight grin, "big boy, sweetheart, darling, pretty thing." The endearments easily fall from his lips, hanging in the air with Steve none the wiser.

So. Eddie thinks it's safe to say his theory is correct: Steve Harrington can't hear. And Eddie is suddenly, achingly curious to know more. He wants to see how Steve, with his perfect hair and his stupid little moles and his blinding grin, navigates the world when he can't even hear it. He wants to know how Steve experiences music; he wants to know how many other people know; he wants to know if Steve ever gets frustrated and what he gets frustrated about; he wants to know if Steve's other senses are stronger to balance out his lack of hearing.

He wants to know everything.

Eddie strolls over, standing next to Steve and tapping his shoulder. He feels a little bad when Steve jerks in surprise, sliding back a few steps and looking at Eddie with wide eyes. "Don't do that!" Steve says, his gaze flitting around the hall before he forces himself to calm down and look at Eddie.

"Sorry," Eddie says, hoping his expression tells Steve just how much he means it. "You didn't look up when I called you."

Steve blinks, his lips twitching into an almost wry smile. "I, uh, was really absorbed," he says after a moment, idly holding up his book so Eddie can see "The Bicentennial Man" by Isaac Asimov on the cover.

"Heavy reading," Eddie says, trying to remember if he'd ever seen Steve read science fiction in high school.

Steve shrugs, glancing at the cover with a slight frown. "Dustin and Will were talking about it a few days ago. They seemed to like it. Figured I'd see what the fuss was about," he explains.

"Is it worth the fuss?" Eddie asks.

But Steve doesn't answer because he's still looking at the cover. A few more seconds pass before he sighs and looks up at Eddie. "It's kind of confusing," he admits.

And Eddie can't help himself. He wants the satisfaction of truly knowing he was right, and he wants Steve to know that he knows what's up. So, he asks, "Are you deaf?"

-----

Steve tenses, his shoulders hiking up, and he holds the book closer to his chest like it will somehow shield him. "What....how did you know?" he asks, deciding he doesn't need to try bluffing. Eddie's voice wasn't hesitant. He already knows the answer.

"Just noticed things," Eddie says, shrugging as he steps closer to Steve and grins.

The thing is, Steve hasn't tried hiding his deafness lately. Sure, he would have rather died in high school before letting someone discover he couldn't hear, but now? Now he doesn't really care. He's faced literal monsters; someone just innocently asking if he's deaf shouldn't result in the spike of anxiety that shoots down his spine.

At least, Steve thought he wouldn't care. Apparently, his body didn't get the memo, and years of habit had taken over, putting Steve on the immediate defensive. He clenches his jaw, forces his shoulders to relax, and reminds himself of Dustin's whole "Eddie seems weirdly obsessed with you" comment from the day before.

"Is that a problem or something?" Steve asks, relaxing his shoulder and forcing himself to stay in place.

Eddie pauses, frowning like he hadn't expected Steve to ask him that. "No," he says, the word a little drawn out based on how long his lips linger on the "o" shape. "How long?"

Okay. Steve can handle this. He can already see Eddie's questions following the same path as Robin's and Dustin's when they first learned he was deaf. "I started losing my hearing in elementary school. It was pretty much gone by high school," he explains.

Of all people, Eddie should be the most understanding, right? He probably isn't deaf, but Steve's deafness is something that makes him a freak. Sure, it wasn't super obvious in high school, but it still has to count for something, right? It has to help erase the King Steve persona from Eddie's brain, right?

"That explains a lot," Eddie says, tilting his head slightly and narrowing his eyes like he's trying to filter his memories of Steve through this new lens. "You don't have hearing aids?"

"I, uh, don't usually wear them in public."

"Why not?"

Steve opens his mouth to answer but stops himself. Saying he didn't want people to know in high school would feel shallow, yes, but it would be true. Besides still needing to actually get new ones, he doesn't have much of an excuse for not wearing them now. He frowns slightly, gripping the book in his hand a little tighter. It must make some kind of sound because Eddie's eyes flick down to it before looking back up.

"I didn't want people to know in high school," he finally says, rubbing his thumb over the book's cover in an attempt to expel some of the nervous energy he feels. "If people knew, especially teachers, my grades and stuff would've been blamed on, you know, my deafness. And then my parents would've put me into a special school for others who are deaf or hard of hearing. I didn't really want to get transferred like that, especially in the middle of high school."

"What about now, Stevie? You're not exactly in high school anymore," Eddie says. And did Steve read his lips right? That was his name in the middle, he doesn't doubt that, but...was it changed? There was an extra movement at the end, Eddie's bottom lip pulling back slightly like a long E was thrown in there.

It's not like he can ask, so he shoves the thought away, thinking instead of his crushed and useless hearing aids. His shoulders slump a little at the thought. "My hearing aids are broken, but I don't have enough for new ones yet."

Eddie's eyes narrow again, and he leans a little closer. "Aren't your parents, like, stupidly rich? I mean, I've been to your parties, Harrington, it's not a small house you've got there. Just ask Mommy and Daddy to buy you some new ones," he says.

Steve blinks, trying to grasp the words while also processing just how strongly Eddie's "cigarette smoke-weed-woodsy outdoor" smell overwhelms him. It's not bad (maybe it should be? Steve doesn't think he's ever liked these smells before), but it makes Steve's head feel fuzzy and slow, like he's trying to wade through cotton balls. He blinks again, pushing through the daze to say, "Can you repeat that? You, uh, you spoke too fast."

The smell recedes as Eddie leans back, his lips quirking up into a smile that's more...indulgent than it is mean. "Your parents are rich. Ask them to buy you new ones," Eddie says.

Okay, that's...significantly less words than Eddie said before. Steve frowns slightly, frustration budding in his chest because he wants to know what Eddie said, not what he asked. He feels like he's being left out of a conversation he's actively participating in, and he has to swallow back his immediate, frustration-motivated response.

Eddie doesn't know, he's likely never spoken to a deaf person before. Steve should give him the benefit of the doubt and a little leeway, right? Honestly, Steve is fucking tired of giving people the benefit of the doubt and leeway, but what else is he supposed to do? Blow up? It would be nice in the moment, sure, but the aftermath? The inevitable apology and the potential indignation from the other person? That sounds fucking exhausting. He'd rather complain to Robin later.

"I want to buy my own," Steve says, knowing his sudden shift in demeanor has been noticed by the confused furrow of Eddie's brow.

Before he can say more, Eddie reaches forward, grabbing the sleeves of Steve's sweatshirt. Based on his surprised expression, it was an impulsive move, but Eddie doesn't let go. He just swallows (Steve should not be staring at Eddie's throat like this) and looks at him. "What's wrong?" he asks, and his face is so expressive that Steve doesn't need to hear his tone to know he genuinely cares and wants to know.

Without thinking, Steve blurts out, "I asked what you said. You just repeated what you asked. I want to know everything you said. Every word. I feel like...like you're trying to dumb things down for me, like you don't think I can actually, I don't know, understand everything. I'm deaf, not stupid."

Eddie's eyes widen slightly. "Oh," he says, licking his lips nervously before nodding. "Okay, yeah, it was kind of mean, though," he admits.

"That's worse, actually," Steve says, frowning and gripping the book tightly once more. "I'll just feel like you're mocking me, or getting off on making fun of me when I don't know. Just repeat yourself, word for word."

And Eddie does. He seems uncomfortable doing so, but he speaks a little slower and makes sure Steve can understand each word this go-around. At the end, he adds, "Like I said, kind of mean. Sorry."

Steve watches Eddie for a few seconds before grinning. "It's fine, Eddie," he says, suddenly realizing how close Eddie has gotten and how Eddie is still holding onto his sleeve. And then, to make sure Eddie knows it's okay, he puts on what Robin calls his Bitch Voice and adds, "Besides, Mommy and Daddy don't need to know I've broken another pair. I'd like to live to see next year."

Eddie blinks when he hears the Bitch Voice and perks up slightly, a grin tugging at his lips and his hold on Steve's sleeve tightening slightly. The awkward moment seems to have passed, and Eddie confirms that by asking, "So, what do you really like about heavy metal?"

"I can feel it. Literally. Heavy metal has stronger vibrations, so I can experience it more easily. I don't really know how the words are sung, but I can feel the beat," Steve explains.

"Then, what did you think of our set?" Eddie asks.

He looks a little nervous, and something in Steve settles, relaxing into place. "Like I said, it was great. Especially your song at the end. I haven't really felt a song like that before. Does your band have more original stuff?" he asks. Maybe he can convince Eddie to record some of their songs so Steve can listen to them. Or, even better, just play only their songs at their next gig.

"Of course we do," Eddie says, standing a little straighter and grinning a little wider and looking at Steve like he's put the stars in the sky. "I'll play them for you next time, sweetheart."

Steve blinks at the word he definitely understood at the very end. Before he can ask about it, though, Eddie glances behind Steve and quickly lets go of his sleeve. Not two seconds later, Dustin shoves himself between Eddie and Steve, looking up at him with an eager smile and bright eyes and Steve has the worst feeling.

"Steve! Can we have a movie night at your place?" he asks as the rest of the kids filter in, pushing Eddie further and further back.

"Sure, but you have to call your parents and tell them when we get to my place," Steve says, incredibly grateful he can't hear when Eddie winces at the cheer that comes from the kids.

And then the kids are pushing him down the hall, undoubtedly arguing with each other about what movie to watch first and not giving Steve a chance to say goodbye, or ask if Eddie was serious about playing for him, or ask if Eddie had meant to call him sweetheart or if that was just, somehow, a mistake.

-----

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[jaymari-lyn]

Okay, so since nobody is talking about it, I will

This apparently is supposed do be the opening of the first scene in season 5 and it brings up a lot of questions.

The first one being, who is the child? Cold wind and groaning trees makes sense since Hawkins is now sort of combined with the Upside-Down, but some child singing is a little odd.

By now, all the 'kids' in the show are well in their teens, so considering them 'children' wouldn't make a lot of sense. So, first my head goes to a flashback sequence.

It could possibly be a flashback of Eleven and the other kids from the rainbow room, but since last season was really focused on it, I don't it's going to be as central this season.

What I think it could be is a flashback to either Will in the Upside-Down back in season 1, OR a flashback with him and Mike as little kids.

If it's Will in the Upside-Down, it would make a lot of sense since we know Will used to sing when he was down there. So we could possibly be getting a flashback to Wills week in the Upside-Down, because this whole season is supposed to be about him, as well as a full circle moment back to season 1 for a lot of characters.

But another theory I like is that it's a flashback to Mike and Will when they first met. The cold wind and groaning trees could just interpreted as less creepy, and just more like fall Indiana weather, and the child's voice could be Will singing to himself on the swingset. I could be wrong, but it seems like Will used to use music as a way to cope or keep himself busy as a kid (with Jonathan while Joyce and Lonnie would fight, plus the Upside-Down, like I said earlier). If Will was all alone on the swingset with no friends as a kindergartener who probably missed his mom and brother, he might sing as a way to make himself feel better. We've seen bts photos of a playground with a swingset, so it is plausible. Another thing is maybe Will singing is what originally got Mike's attention, because let's be honest, he is super oblivious, and this is even before he gained his Will-is-upset instinct, so he most likely wouldn't notice Will unless he was doing something that would make him stand out. One more thing that I want to add is that Wills singing as a kid might have been what made him start getting bullied. Besides his appearance, what other things would have made the bullies or even Lonnie, for that matter, think he's gay? He may be on the smaller side, but lots of boys are, so why Will specifically. Back in the 80s singing (and take this with a grain of salt because I wasn't alive back then) probably would have been considered "girly", so that could have been one of the factors that got these assholes to start bullying him. And, you can notice that after season 2, Wills connections to music sort of dissappears. His love for it isn't really brought up that much, and we never see or hear about him singing in season 3 or 4, so it could have been him getting sick of bullying and trying to change himself to appear 'normal' to a heteronomative society that doesn't accept gay people. This flashback would also be, in turn, a great way to start introducing back Mike and Wills friendship, as well as their obvious live for one another.

Another thing , though, that can debunk that theory, is that it has to be a familiar song. The only one that really comes to mind for me is "Should I Stay Or Should I Go?", which didn't come out until '82, so it wouldn't line up time-wise for Will to be singing that when him and Mike were todlers in the 70s. If that's the case, I don't know what familiar song he could be singing.

If you guys can think of any other songs that would work time-wise, please let me know.

Personally, I think music is going to play a huge part in this final season, between Will's connection to it, and the fact that it's the only way to get away from Vecna once he is in your head (since music can reach aprts of the brain words can't)

But let me know your thoughts! I'd love to hear them!

[tenshinokorin]

All right, folks, I'm going to tell you a story about why we need to teach people--especially cis males of a certain age group--to keep their goddamn mouths shut on the street when they feel they have some pearl of wisdom to drop about a stranger's appearance. This is, of course, mostly about me being fat and female-presenting, so it will bring up stuff about fatphobia, street harassment, and various other things. It's also about Stevie Nicks. Mostly, it's because this happened last month and is still bothering me, and that means I've missed my window to magically forget about it, so it has to go on file now with all the other fun street harassment encounters over the years that are likewise taking up valuable space in my brain and that come up to haunt me every time I think about going for a walk on a nice day. So maybe if I can unload this here I can go back to wearing my favorite sweatshirt in peace. 

For starters, I have a Stevie Nicks sweatshirt. I got it on clearance last year and like to joke that it is, in fact, the LEAST SteevishNickery kind of garment to have her face on it, which I think is really funny, like having a reproduction of the Sistine Chapel roof painted on the underside of your tool shed. It's also very soft and oversized and comfy, and it makes my on-the-spectrum brain feel safe and hugged without being smothered. That's a really big deal. It is in no way a flattering garment, and I do not care. I can deal with shit better if I have Stevie emblazoned on my tits, because how could you not feel better with that kind of protection? I've loved her since I was a kid, and of course loved her style as well, although as a fat girl in the 80's my options for imitating her look were limited. The sweatshirt is like a shortcut, though. I have worn this sweatshirt to the emergency room at midnight, I have worn it for days on end during depressive episodes, I have worn it to scary doctor appointments. I might not be able to face stuff myself sometimes, but hey, if Stevie's with me, I feel a little bit better. 

On the day in question I was wearing this sweatshirt because my parents were visiting. That should tell you all you need to know about my relationship with my parents. Especially since I tend to overdress on these occasions to try and preemptively fend off my mother's criticism about my appearance. This time, I said fuck it, I'm tired, I'm sick, I'm wearing Stevie. I'd been out to lunch with my wife and my folks, and since we'd parked downtown a ways from the restaurant and my mom is a little wobbly, I'd gone to go get the car and pick up everybody. 

So I'm walking up a busy downtown street to my car, my brain full of cold meds and the things that it's full of when you're managing aging parents and a relationship minefield, just trying to get the car so my wife won't be left on her own with them too long. And in the corner of my eye I see this guy. And I know. I know by the look of him that he's winding up what he thinks is a real zinger, and I also know by the look of him that he doesn't have the sense to keep his trap shut. I'm in my 40s, I've been fat my whole life, and you develop a sixth sense about these things. I know I don't have time or energy to deal with this kid, so I just keep trucking on to my car, but sure enough as I go by I hear him say: "Wow, it's like a Stevie Nicks made out of a thousand Stevie Nickses." 

I do not have time to deal with this asshole. My mom is right now standing on a street corner with my wife, probably asking her awkward questions about her mental health. I do not have time to whirl on this kid and tell him to shut his fucking face before I put it through the comic-shop window. I do not have the energy to tell him I'm old enough to be his mom and if I was I'd be ashamed to own up to it. I do not have the space to tell him--also fat, only barely groomed and dressed like a drunk toddler--he's no fucking prize himself. I just have to get to the car. 

Only now, my precious Stevie shirt is covered in his invisible shit. I try to reason out of it: maybe it's some Stevie meme I don't know, and he's doing that dumb thing where someone tries to strike up a conversation by referencing something they assume everybody knows, but even if that was the case, I know what's really going on. I had the gall to be walking down the street alone while being fat and female and unsmiling, and some manchild had to let me know what he thought about my body. 

I get in the car. I pick up my family. I go out and spend the day with them. And the whole time this event is still running on a background process in my brain, trying to extract the toxin, or at least dismiss it, so I can forget about it. There's plenty going on, so I think if I can focus on other stuff maybe the encounter will be overwritten and I won't remember it. My favorite safe shirt won't be ruined. 

It doesn't work, of course, or I wouldn't be writing this. I have no idea what we did after I picked them up, or anything in the hours between then and dinner. Memories with my family (problematic as they can be, but still very loved and not seen very often), are blotted out by this fleeting episode. And even though the sweatshirt's been washed multiple times since then and I have never seen that guy again, even though the whole thing took less than ten seconds, there it is, forever, in vivid color every time I wear or even think about my favorite shirt. And coming with it are all the other sidewalk occasions I don't want to remember either, when boys or men would scream at me about my ass from their car windows or from the safety of their groups, when for days after I would analyze everything I had been wearing, how I had been standing or walking, whether or not I was wearing too much makeup or not enough makeup, trying to figure out what I had done to deserve to be the target of ridicule. 

But I hadn't ever done anything except be fat, and nobody deserves mockery and abuse for that. Not you, not me, and not my poor Stevie sweatshirt hiding in my closet. I feel like Mabel Pines being sad about her sweater with the dog dunking a basketball because Pacifica said it was dumb. It's grade-school stuff and shouldn't even be there, either. Nobody should have to put up with this. 

Don't be that guy. Don't let your friends or your kids or anyone be that guy. You want to say something about my shirt? Say "Nice shirt" or "Stevie Nicks is a goddamn Queen." Or maybe just don't say anything at all. 

[uozlulu]

There’s a disorganized ghost of an IwtV AMC fic inside me and it goes a bit like this:

Armand never tampered with Daniel’s memories. One morning in the early 80′s, Daniel seemed to surface from a metaphorical pool and realized a few things: 1. He’s in his 30′s. 2. He’s been so caught up in the game with Armand and Louis that he hasn’t written anything or actually done anything he wanted to do with his life for about a decade give or take. 3. He’s some vampire’s boytoy in a cashmere scarf who’s never going to get the dark gift he truly wants.

He leaves Armand for good and it’s very tempting to go back, but Daniel starts getting sober, starts working again. His life starts moving quickly. He has a family. He gets published in major newspapers and magazines. He ends up on CNN. He’s in an upward trajectory (this part isn’t really an active part of the fic, but this is just the timeline in general).

However, this all comes with a cost. He ends up divorced. He relapses with alcohol from time to time and every time he does, his daughters leave him alone until he’s sober again. He wasn’t around as much as maybe he could have been when they were growing up. The older daughter definitely had more responsibility thrust on her than should have been.

In Dubai (which is probably where the fic starts), Daniel knows he’s dying. He already stopped taking his medicine before the package came because it was getting to the point it was not working. He’s pretty sure they’re not actually giving him the medication that they claim to because it’s working too well (It’s probably Armand’s blood like that one theory or perhaps Louis’ and Armand’s? This might never be addressed)

Anyway, and this is where things get especially ???? and not quite solid yet, Daniel does gain pieces of memories. But he can never regain all of them.

There’s something going on on the theme of desire, not just sexual or romantic but companionship, re-connection, validation?, etc...All the ways in which even now fifty years after that bar, a person might need a vampire and vice-versa.

The fact Daniel left would have to be addressed at some point. Armand likely stalked him for a period of time too. So, eventually the reason Armand decided to let Daniel have his life would also have to come up in some way. Perhaps it was because Armand knows he doesn’t really want to kill Daniel even if it’s a turning kind of kill. Maybe it was because of the AIDS crisis and this seemed to be the best way to keep Daniel alive. Maybe Lestat’s rock star career began and that got the rumors of a human writing a vampire interview stopped and there was now no need to send Daniel all over the world. Maybe a combination of all of it?

Another element at play is also the push and pull of desire when one is desired. Like how can a human desire the undead? How can a vampire who could choose anyone still choose a human 50 years later? How does desire evolve? Change? Grow?

Going in that vein, there’d need to be scenes from both the past and present that illustrate the different forms of desire and how they changed if they changed. Probably through memories that appear no matter how fleeting. It could be done through Armand’s perspective of the past and Daniel’s perspective of the present, but I think it’d be more effective to have a mix of both POVs in the past and present.

If I could get more concrete scenes besides the one of Daniel realizing he’s 30, etc... then the rest might fall into place. It’s also possible that it’s a multiple ghosts of multiple fics problem. Or that I’ve remembered and read enough stuff that I’m realizing how much I’m missing in terms of information and I’ve got feet too cold to write in the fandom atm (which would be a shame because I think this could be an interesting fic if I can pull it off).

I’m working on some other unrelated projects atm so that might be why everything is so vague and ghosty in my brain, but I’ll figure it out eventually I hope

[inkandpen22]

Old Friends and Old Flames (1/?)

Pairing: Elijah x Female!Reader / Stefan x Female!Reader (plantoic) / Klaus x Female!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: mild swearing 

Word Count: 2.3k

Part Summary: The Mikaelsons are in Mystic Falls causing trouble for everyone. After not seeing her for decades, Y/N, an old friend of Klaus and Stefan’s, has come to make amends between the two. 

Masterlist

Stefan 

The Mystic Grill is dead in the late afternoon and whoever was here I compelled to leave. Caroline and Damon join Elena and me after helping Bonnie most of the afternoon. We need to come up with a game plan. Bonnie is home perfecting a spell while we try to buy some time. We figure meeting in public is our safest bet as Elijah won't allow his siblings to draw attention to them. 

Caroline sits down across from me. "Coast is clear." 

“So Klaus has officially gone off the rails,” Damon remarks as he settles at the table. 

“Even if we tell him the truth or give him what he wants, he won’t believe us," Elena concludes. 

I sigh, “we have to figure where we can-“ 

My mind runs blank as a familiar sound begins to echo throughout the restaurant. I haven't heard in decades. 

“Stefan, what is it?” Elena asks worriedly. 

My words disappear in my subconscious as I frankly spin around, scanning the bar. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“What’s up with him?” Caroline asks Damon as if I'm not here. 

“I don’t know." Damon places a hand on my shoulder. "Are you having a heart attack or something?” 

“Did anyone see someone go up to the machine?” I check with everyone in a rush. 

“No.” Elena shakes her head. 

“No, why?” Caroline presses, growing anxious. 

“If you hate Night Ranger so much go change it. We have bigger fish to fry,” 

“It’s not that..." I mumble, glancing about the place. 

“Should we be worried?” Elena questions. 

“She’s here," I finally answer. 

“Who’s she?” Caroline questions, sounding more frustrated

“Oh, shit..." Damon swears under his breath, piecing it together. "You’ve got to be kidding me!” 

“Unless that song is playing randomly but when do you ever hear it?” I sass my brother. “Y/N!” I shout the girl's name, spinning in search of her. 

The sound of heels tapping against the floor comes first. Then, the sight of her appearing from around the corner. Her Y/H/C has changed since I saw her last. Everything else is exactly the same, even the cropped band t-shirt, black jeans, and leather black ankle boots.

She grins, leaning against the wall. “Hi ya, Baby." 

"Baby?" I hear Caroline whisper to Elena. 

I smirk. I knew she was her. “What are you doing here? You hate small-town America,” I recall. 

She giggles and pushes off the wall to join us. “A friend of a friend may have mentioned that you were having some trouble with an Original. Thought I could be of some assistance.” 

“Do they know you’re here?” I ask. 

"Elijah probably felt my presence as soon as I step within 100 miles of him. He’s likely too scared to tell Klaus," she determines. 

“Okay, who are you?” Elena questions behind me. 

Y/N snickers, crossing her arms over her chest. “You must be Elena. You’ve caused quite the muck.” 

Elena grows impatient. “Answer my question." 

“Ooo feisty one," Y/N giggles, looking at me. “Stefan, you’ve never mentioned me? That’s awfully rude.” 

“Y/N is an old friend. I met her through Klaus back in 1983,” I explain and the memories start to flood back as I stare at Y/N. 

“Hence the song,” she adds. “We met to it, kind of our song in a way.” She tosses her head back with a huff. “God I miss the 80s, life was so much more thrilling.” 

“Maybe for you," I laugh. "Not all of us followed Bon Jovi across the country.” 

“Jon was such a good lay," she mumbles, remembering it as her eyes fall shut for a second. 

“Wait, you slept with Jon Bon Jovi?” Caroline questions, not convinced. 

“Y/N went through hair bands like numbers at a deli,” Damon teases. 

Y/N glares at my brother. “Nice Damon." 

They've always had a back-and-forth kind of relationship. They're so similar that they buttheads. 

“Who’s the friend who told you about the dramatics here?” I ask, but I already have a hunch. 

“Kol.” She proves my prediction. 

Elena gasps. “You’re friends with that psychopath?" 

“Y/N’s friends with all of the Mikaelsons," Damon remarks sarcastically cheerful. “Like a family pet.” 

“Then why are we even talking to her!" Caroline fusses. 

Y/N glares at her. “Because I can help save your asses, blondie! You were just saying how you wish Klaus would listen to you guys. Well, he won’t, but he’ll listen to me.” 

“And why’s that?” Elena challenges, not trusting her for a second. 

Y/N smirks. “He trusts me. They all do.” 

“Why should we trust you if you’re so close with them?” Caroline adds with a huff. 

“Because you don’t have much choice now do you?” Y/N counters. Fair point. 

We don't have much choice as Y/N said and the girls may not trust her, but I do. She's may have known the Mikaelsons longer, but Y/N is her own person. She can be a little flighty, but her word is solid and she's always fair, I'll give her that. There was a time when the two of us and Klaus were inseparable. Though I'd like Y/N to favor us and knock Klaus on his ass, I know she won't choose between us. 

_________________________ 

Y/N

Back at the manor, Stefan introduces Y/N to Jeremy, Bonnie, and Alaric. He figures if I'm going to be playing mediator, they should know I'm not a threat. After all, I'm the only one who can get within yards of the Mikaelsons without getting staked... we're hoping. 

“How do you know the Mikaelson’s?” Bonny questions as we've all gathered in the living room. 

I help myself to the bar cart, pouring myself a glass of bourbon with a grin. “I met Klaus at my eighteenth birthday masquerade ball, Florence 1470." 

Caroline's eyes grow wide with a gasp. “That long ago!” 

I laugh. “Yes, I’m ancient, don’t remind me.” 

“I’m sorry, I just... I wouldn’t have guessed," the girl mumbles, staring at me in awe. 

“Is it because I still have a sense of humor?" I joke, glancing at Stefan across the room. "Klaus and I became close friends. My family was wealthy and became patrons of his art. My father commissioned Klaus to paint a mural in our home. Elijah came to visit Klaus for about a month, that’s when everything changed...” I choose to leave it there. 

Elena shifts forward in her seat on the couch. “How so?” 

“Oh do share, Y/N," Damon chuckles from beside his brother. 

“Wait, what happened?” Elena glances between me and Damon. 

He takes the liberty of answering. “She and Elijah became lovers." 

“What!” All four teenagers gasp in unison. 

I roll my eyes. “God Damon when you put it that way it sounds weird.” I bring my drink to my lips for a strong sip. 

“It’s weird to imagine any way you put it," he teases. 

“It was secretively, of course, my father and brothers would’ve never allowed it. I was betrothed to a Medici," I describe. 

Jeremy's eyes narrow with curiosity. “What happened?” 

“In summary, and I mean major summary," I emphasize. "Florence society became suspicious. Klaus threatened Elijah to make me a vampire. When Elijah refused, Klaus turned me himself as revenge. I traveled with them for a few centuries. Elijah and I were together on and off. Skip ahead a couple of centuries, 1969, we're off again and Elijah is somewhere in Europe. I run into Klaus in New York the week after Woodstock." I giggle, recalling that year. "I was really into the lifestyle back then," I describe. "We travel together on and off for ten years after that until he decided to join Elijah in Europe. Finally, in Los Angeles in 1983, Klaus and I set to meet there as I’m traveling on the road with Bon Jovi. He has Stefan with him and the rest is history.” 

“Best friends with Klaus, lovers with Elijah, both brothers are obsessed with you... So you’re basically Katherine,” Caroline concludes. 

The mere mention of that bitch makes my blood boil. I toss my glass into the fire, making it shatter and I speed over to the girl. My hand wraps around her neck warningly. “Never mention that bitch’s name again and never compare me to her!” 

“Sorry!" Caroline swallows hard, utterly terrified. 

A pair of arms wrap around my waist and yank me off of Blondie. “Cool it,” Damon mutters in my ear, backing me away back to the fireplace. 

"You okay?" Noble Stefan checks on the girl. 

She nods sheepishly, glancing in my direction cautiously. 

“What’s your relationship with the Michaelson's now?” Elena questions, eager to learn more. 

“Well, I haven’t seen Klaus since 2004 and Elijah..." I hesitate to answer. I hate talking about him. Reluctantly, I proceed. "Our most recent breakup was 1996. We’ve sort of been dodging each other since then. Rebekah and Kol I speak to the most. Which reminds me, ” I giggle, an idea popping into my head at the mention of the youngest Mikaelson. 

“What?” Damon presses beside me. 

Stefan

Suddenly, there's a series of knocks at the door, making the house grow quiet. 

“Always right on time," Y/N snickers, apparently knowing exactly who it is. 

“Who the hell is that?” Damon questions irritated. 

When we both look to where Y/N just was next to him, she's gone. We all scan the room and there's no sign of her. I hate it when she does that. Everyone shifts in their seats uncomfortably, afraid of who it may be. Alaric shifts his duffle out from beside the couch, ready to reach inside of it and grab a stake if needed. I give my brother a nod before heading to the door to answer. He points to Jeremy and sends him off to the kitchen. Following a dramatic eye roll, the boy heads off, knowing it's not worth a fight. I wait a minute before opening the door, making sure everyone's ready. When I finally swing it open, I'm surprised to be met with Kol Mikaelson. 

He clasps his hands together. “Ah, just the man I wanted to see,” the Original grins ear to ear. 

“Kol, what do you want?” I ask irritably. 

“You have something- someone -of mine," he corrects. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, she’s here alright. I could smell her all the way down at the grill." He invites himself in. His head is tilt back as he checks the staircases and all around for Y/N. “Vanilla and rich mahogany. The same after hundreds of years...” He mumbles to himself as he steps closer to the living room. 

Elena gives me a worried look and I send her a nod that it'll be okay. 

Kol

“Dear Y/N, come out and play!” I call out for her. 

“I’m tired of your family’s games," she voices from the archway of the hall. None of us had even noticed her appearance until she made it known. 

I grin at the sight of her. She looks marvelous. “You used to adore them. They amused you.” 

“Where’s your brother?” She immediately gets down to it. I always liked that about her, right to the point and direct. 

“Which one?” I pretend to not know which one she's referring to. When she sends me a glare, I comply. “He sent me.” 

She strolls over to me. “So he does know I’m here." 

“Are you kidding?" I snicker. "We were all home and you could feel the air shift. Thankfully, Niklaus is a tad distracted at the moment thanks to all of you so he hasn’t noticed yet.” 

If Nik knew Y/N was here we would drop everything for her, tossing all our plans aside. Everything would get all messy thanks to her. 

Her face falters whether she wants it to or not. “He doesn’t wish to see me?” She sounds surprised. 

“It’s not that," I assure her. "Niklaus has him busy.” 

“So what are you? A messenger to inform Elijah that I’m in fact in town?” She smirks. 

“He wants to arrange a meeting with you.” 

“Oh! Shall I pull out my google calendar?" She sasses, pulling out her phone. "What’s his availability?“

I ignore her mocking and complete the task I was given. “The woods behind the manor at 8," I state. 

“What if I don’t want to see him?” She challenges. 

I huff. Why must they always be like this? When Elijah and Y/N are together, they're insufferable. When they're apart, they're insufferable. 

“It’s been over a decade, Y/N,” I remind her. “Besides, this is what? Your fiftieth break-up period over the course of 600 years? You’ll get over it, you always do.” 

“Woods. 8 o’clock," I repeat, leaning in a planting a kiss on her forehead before I speed out the front door. 

Stefan

Bonny shivers. “He freaks me out.” 

“Are you going to do it?” I ask Y/N. 

She shrugs, her eyes locked on the front door where Kol just disappeared. “Do I have many choices?”

In the minutes following Kol's departure, we all try to form a plan for when Y/N goes to meet with Elijah. Having a solid time, date, and location of his whereabouts can be used to our advantage. In the middle of our discussion, Y/N rises from the armchair and begins toward the door. 

I rise from my seat. “Where are you going?” 

She scoffs, “this is ridiculous. When have I ever listened to anyone’s commands? Even a Mikaelson’s. I’ll be back," she announces, already stepping out the door. 

“Are you sure we can trust her?” Elena worries. “I mean, she’s practically one of them!” 

“That’s exactly why we can trust her,” I correct. “No one knows them better than her and no ones been hurt by them more times than her.” 

Y/N may be as close to being a Mikaelson without being one as anyone will ever be, but there’s a piece of her that keeps her different from them. There’s still that innocent aristocratic girl from Florence in there somewhere. It’s that part of her that keeps her compassionate and levelheaded. 

_____________________________________

Masterlist

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 01

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: violence, dark themes, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

SUMMARY: she was at the wrong place at the wrong time and a misunderstanding dooms her to a life as an ascendance card under the watch of the executer.

A/N: i’m so excited to go back to my mob writing roots with this one. there’s a bit of a few twists and changes to the traditional mob writing i’ve done before and i am really excited to be sharing chapter one with you. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER 

The ambience was dark, badly lit by the yellow flickering lights in the halls with echoes of the buzzing of the hot old light bulbs. There was no sound but that buzz and the heavy sound of his boots hitting the rotting wood floor boards. The scent in the air was putrid, a mix of what seemed like life meeting its end stage, cheap cider and weed. It was definitely different and he didn’t trust it. 

At the end of the corridor there it was. 107. The 107th flat in purgatory with the door slightly opened. He pushed the door open, the smell getting more intense and his boots sticky with the liquor spilled on the floor. 

     - What did you do? - each word was punctuated with intense disbelief, as if this was all a nightmare. 

     - Bucky, help me!

PRESENT

The wind brushed and pulled her hair into different directions as she stepped off the train’s step. She rushed through the streets of New York, hair pin stuck in the middle of her teeth as she fought the winds to try and set her hair into an appropriate hair do while running down the street at the same time. The chattering people and the sun peaking through the clouds was hopeful as she grabbed her coffee from the same vendor off the side street as her eyes gazed upon the Metropolitan Opera House which had been gracing the New York landscape for longer than she had been on this earth and now she was part of it, she was a small speck in an almost 60 year long history. 

Her smiled widened as her sneakers hit the pavement, eyes gazing over the fountain and the flags of the production coming down from the opera house’s arches. The same production she was part off. Sure, she was a chorus girl but the mere thought of singing on that stage, of watching that public in those red velvet seats under the chandelier just made it all more exciting. She walked inside the theatre through the stage door, meeting the manager at the door. 

     - Hi. - she leaned her hands against the desk where the manager was surrounded by attendance and cast sheets as well as a big laptop shining a blue light onto her face. The woman didn’t even look up, instead putting up a board with the names of all people in the production in front of her. - Do you need to see my ID? 

     - Just sign in front of your name. 

Y/N giddily looked at the list of names, hers closer to the bottom but there, written in bold Arial font. She signed her name in front of her printed one with the barely working pen, before pinning it over the board and handing it over to the manager who pointed inside the opera theatre. She held onto her gym bag harshly, padding the sublime floors and looking around with such wonder one would believe she’d never been here. She’d been here before, she was here every month to watch a performance but now she was not guest, she was not just another person walking in with a ticket, she was part of it, she was part of the show. After years of doing community plays, workshops and failed auditions, she had gotten here and suddenly all those days spent in bed feeling miserable in bed after getting rejected yet again didn’t matter anymore she was here.

Her eyes glanced at every tiny little ornament in the opera house until she entered the theatre room. Her heart filled with joy and happy nostalgia as the red and golden tones of the room involved her. There wasn’t anyone in the theatre yet except for a few musicians from the instrumental pit and some cleaners so she was free to roam around. Her fingers traced the suede velvet of the red seats, finding a few missing binoculars on the grounds but not really caring. 

     - You! - she whipped her head towards the voice which came from a woman, probably in her mid 40s all dressed in black with a gold name tag slightly above her left breast. 

     - Hi. - Y/N smiled, extending her hand towards the woman. - I’m Y/N, I’m the new ...

    - I don’t care, we need silk ribbons, now. 

    - Oh, I ... I’m new, I don’t know where I’d get silk ribbons, m’am.

    - The costume room? Go, stop looking at me as if you were Bambi and go.

    - Oh, okay. 

She made her way hastily out of the theatre room wondering how she was going to find silk ribbons, where she was going to find them and why she had to find them. Maybe it was a hazing ritual for new people, after all, she had been into various hazings during her career, including downing a whole bottle of honey which she couldn’t even finish, only eating one fourth of it before becoming nauseous. 

She stopped in the middle of the hall, wondering where the costume room could be. It couldn’t be on the top floor, that was usually where the bars and common rooms were so if the building followed regular construction protocols for opera houses, it was probably on the underground section of the house where the dressing rooms used to be. Y/N ventured into the lift, pressing the lowest number on the number chart of the panel until she reached the underground floor. Y/N looked around, people running in and out yet no one stopped whenever she tried to question where the costume room was. She had managed to find the costume shop but no luck finding the costume room until she was pretty much pressed against a dark door with those exact words by the passing crowd. 

She twisted the knob of the costume room door, tumbling onto the dark room as a result. The room was filled to the brim with costumes on each side of the room, a plexiglass divider between the two sides which stopped every meter or so and also appeared to be divided onto female and male costumes with the ensemble costumes at the back. She padded across the concrete floors, looking through dresses and accessories for ribbons but no successful attempt. The ruffling from the other side of the room had her turning around, forehead furrowed as she walked towards the plexiglass divider. 

     - Hello? - she questioned, wondering if there was someone in this room who could help her find silk ribbons. Great, she had barely joined the company and was already screwing up. Great, Y/N. Way to go, Y/N. 

She saw someone all dressed in black just like the women before, yet there seemed to be something which didn’t match up; black jeans, black shirt and black leathe jacket as well as a pair of also black boots, scruffed and probably entirely too old to still be holding up together. Her eyes caught his which despite the low almost non existent light of the costume room, were light, a sort of greyish blue like the calm sea before of storm. His gaze pulled hers in, like gravity and she couldn’t help but clutch the jacket next to her as a bad feeling along with something she’d never felt before settled in her stomach. 

His hair was mostly pushed back yet the ones which framed his face fell like dominos. She moved along the side where she was to one of the plexiglass gaps and he did the same still maintaining eye contact with her, until the two reached the gap. She didn’t notice she was holding her breathe in until she breathed out.

    - Hi. - her own hand gripped her wrist, shoe grinding against the floors. - Uhm, I’m new here and this lady sent me down to find some silk ribbons but I can’t find any. Do you ...

    - I... uh ... I don’t know where they are. - he faltered for a few seconds before regaining his posture.

    - Oh, I thought since you were here, you might be one of the stage managers. 

    - I’m not. - his tone was monotonous, almost as if he had the answer to her question before she even made it. 

    - Oh ... - she rubbed her neck. - Are you also looking for silk ribbons?

    - I’m looking for the dressing rooms, actually.

    - They’re down the hall. -  she pointed at the door as if it was the “down the hall”. - Hum ... Are you new here too?

    - Yeah. Thanks. - he walked towards the door, opening it and stepping out before catching her gaze once again. 

Y/N remained in the middle of the room as if she were in a transe and maybe she was. It felt like she was falling yet she was firm on her feet and she did not like that feeling. She did not like that feeling of falling, it wasn’t feeling, it was hopeless falling and she wondered why looking at a man who looked like an 80′s glam rock reject made her feel like that, so lost. Maybe it was the respect he appeared to command by merely looking at her or maybe it was the nerves about being new and not being able to find some goddamn silk ribbons. Damn it. 

    - Call for 30 minutes before dress rehearsal. - the voice came from the intercom and immediately her mind dropped the idea of finding silk ribbons and moved to finding the ensemble dressing room and get dressed and ready. Damn it, this was going well. 

She rushed down the hall, bag almost slipping off her shoulder until she saw the door with the ensemble plaque on it. The young woman peaked inside the room where pretty much everyone with a role on the ensemble were already sat down. She shyly walked in the middle row until she found her own little corner, her name written on a sticker on the mirror along with photos of how the makeup should be done as well as how to get the costume in correctly. The same goofy smile returned as she sat down and saw her name above her. It was fine, she was here, she was part of a company.

    - Hey you’re new. - the girl next to her twirled her chair to face her. She already had her makeup on and hair pinned curled up and ready to put a wig cap on. - I’m Elliot but people call me Elle.

    - Y/N, I’m the new chorus girl. First day. 

    - Aw, welcome. - she had a bright smile, inviting and almost as exciting as the whole experience of being there. - Do you want help pincurling your hair? I can get it done while you do your makeup. 

    - Yes, please. - she pulled out a big box from her bag which had all her makeup and pins. 

Elle started pin curling her hair up while she put an inappropriate amount of blush on which was just appropriate to get on stage under the bright yellow lights. Turns out half the practice for opera is learning to do your makeup under bright yellow lights and then learning to sing. 10 minutes to rehearsal start, she was along with Elle going down and up to the main stage where most dancers were warming up. Elle left her to do so, leaving Y/N once again to just stand there, looking around like a little sheep in the middle of wolves. 

    - I’ve never seen you around. - her shoulders almost went up as he turned to see one of the principal sopranos, if not the principal soprano. She had seen all of her shows ever since she was a teenager and she had even wrote an essay for university on her for a module. Catherine Vargas, the best New York could offer, if not the best the world could offer. - I didn’t know they were still casting dancers.

    - Oh, I’m a chorus girl, Mrs Vargas. 

    - A chorus girl? - she furrowed her brows at her, looking her up and down. - What type?

    - The type who ... is in the back with the ensemble. - her voice lowered at least a few volumes down, back curved as if she were bowing. 

    - I know what chorus girls do. I asked what vocal type. 

    - Lyric soprano, m’am.

    - A lyric soprano in the chorus. Interesting. Where did you train?

    - Julliard, m’am.

    - Julliard? - she looked her up and down again. - That is a great school. What is a Julliard graduate doing in the chorus line?

    - Everyone starts somewhere. - she laughed nervously, scratching her arm as she did so.

    - Not a lyric soprano from Julliard. Composers sure do love an ingenue, don’t they? Don’t worry, a few months with me and you’ll be supporting. 

    - That’s ... that’s really kind, Mrs. Vargas. Thank you.

    - Don’t thank me. Could you get me some honey from my dressing room? I’m feeling a bit strained. 

    - It’s 5 minutes until rehearsal starts.

    - It’s okay, chorus normally doesn’t do much during rehearsal. Can you get it?

    - Yeah, I think so.

She straightened her crinkled skirt, looking behind her back before going down the stairs which led down to the dressing rooms. This was good, right? Getting into one of the main star’s good graces besides she was right, the chorus didn’t really get much attention during rehearsals, at least not as much as the main characters. It’s easier to get away with screwing up in the back than in the front, her teacher would tell her which would always earn a few laughs from her colleagues. Yet, Y/N hated to make any mistakes. She would stay up all night in front of a cheap piano she had bought from a charity shop, playing and singing the same 5 note progression until her flatmate yelled at her to shut up. For her, if it wasn’t perfect and if she didn’t get any criticism while performing it, she hadn’t done it right. It didn’t matter at the end of the day but what did matter was to climb up the ladder. She didn’t want to be a star, all she wanted was to be able to be on that stage forever with the spotlight shining on her and she knew there was only one way to climb up. Actually there were two, extreme luck and connections. Now, she didn’t have the best of luck so her major choice was to make connections and reach that status. 

She made her way into the principal dressing room. It was probably one of the biggest she had ever seen, with expensive decor and various flowers covering it. She wondered how many flowers she received on opening nights if that was the number she had on regular days. Y/N made her way to the desk, opening drawers and more drawers to find honey until she found it on the lowest drawn. She went down on her knees to grab it, mindless and careless to everything that was happening until she felt a sharp pain on the side of her her.

Then everything went dark. 

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi @unmagically​ 

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 6 - The First Date [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s a surprise chapter to celebrate TFATWS starting, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: First dates can end in strange ways.

Series Masterlist

Every agent in your division knew the Winter Soldier, the unstoppable assassin, the infamous ghost story, the man who had been fighting for over 80 years. He was a legend, and meeting him was something you were all taught to avoid ever since the espionage world had found out about his existence.

The last time, a whole team of heavily armed soldiers were sent to take him down and he had managed to disarm every single one of them without even needing a weapon. So theoretically if you were to send an agent to meet him, you would probably make sure that agent carried about a thousand weapons and preferably went there in a bulletproof vehicle.

Instead, you were told to wear a cute dress for the first date.

Lovely.

“How come I can’t wear any of my clothes?” you asked, pressing the phone to your ear as you took a look at all the dresses lying on your bed.

“Not that your sniper outfits aren’t hot, but wearing them to your first date with the Winter Soldier might not be the brightest idea.”

You heaved a sigh, “I still can’t believe you changed my whole wardrobe when I was outside, Chloe. What was wrong with my usual clothes?”

“They’re not what your cover would wear.”

“Uh huh.”

“Pick the one with those small flowers on it,” Chloe said, “Mini dress, chiffon. Cream colored.”

You hummed and grabbed the hanger, then held it over your body.

“Are we sure?”

“Trust me. Perfect for the first date.”

“Did mini dresses exist back in his time?” Keith’s voice reached you, making you frown, “Or was he born in those times with those giant dresses?”

“Excuse me, why am I on speaker?” you asked, “Also Keith, what are you doing in the headquarters? I need you and the team ready to interfere anytime.”

“I’m not in the headquarters, I was grabbing coffee and Chloe wanted to come with me. No worries though, we’re around your area.”

“Are you insane?” you snapped, “You brought her to the field?”

“We’re just getting coffee—“

“Chloe, get back to the headquarters,” you insisted, “Now.”

“No! You have a date, Keith gets to relax at this new café, and three of us can barely spend time together nowadays!” Chloe said, “It’s always you guys who have the fun.”

“Honey I’m on a date with the Winter Soldier so that I can gather intel, Keith is going to be at that café because he and the team needs to be nearby in case my cover is blown,” you said patiently, getting into the dress,  “It’s not like we’re hanging out without you.”

“Detail.”

“It’s not just a detail-“

“No I mean the security detail is ready.” Chloe cut you off, “I got my laptop with me, I hacked into the café’s wifi.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “You did what?”

“Yeah I figured I could use a change of scenery and Keith said yes.”

“Keith, I need you to listen to me carefully,” you said, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Y/N!”

“You can’t kill me.”

“Can’t I though?”

“Yeah you have a date, remember?”

You checked your wristwatch and cussed under your breath, rushing to put your shoes on.

“I put a small gadget into your wristwatch,” Chloe said, “I figured he’d recognize the ring if he saw it again. If you press the button there, the team will be called to your location shortly.”

“And if things get exciting, make sure to take the watch off,” Keith let out a laugh, “You don’t want us to interrupt your fun over an accident.”

“It’s just the first date, idiot.”

“Yeah and I’m—I’m sure there’s a rule against killing on the first date.” Chloe said, “Right?”

“Nah I killed a target on the first date before,” you mumbled, “But I wasn’t told to get into a relationship back then so… It’ll be different this time.”

“Try not to give the guy whiplash though, will you?” Keith said and you frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means dating etiquette changed since 1940s.”

“Oh don’t worry, I got that covered,” you said but your head shot up when you heard the doorbell ring. “I have to go.”

“Okay, but—“

“No time Keith,” you murmured, walking to the door. Your heart was pacing against your chest for some reason as if it was a real first date, and you swung the door open to reveal Bucky waiting for you at your doorstep. He put his hands into his leather jacket, taking in your appearance.

“You know what to do if you get in trouble.” Keith said and you hung up quickly to push your phone into your purse, smiling wide at Bucky.

“Hi!” you said, “Shall we?”

                                                         ***

Now to think of it,  the last time you had been on a date without carrying any weapons had to be ten years ago if not more. But you had clear orders for this one, your superiors were convinced that carrying any kind of gun or a dagger would alert him, even if you thought it was invisible to outsider eye.

After all, he was an assassin and looking for weapons on a person from miles away was second nature for assassins.

You would know.

“So you moved here a month ago and you just know one place?” he asked as you waited for the barista to prepare your coffee, “A coffee shop? That’s it?”

“I know a milkshake shop too.”

He tilted his head, “You mean where you work?”

“That still counts,” you defended yourself “But if you insist, I might let you show me around next time.”

“Please do,” he said, “Just a heads up though, there’s a huge possibility that most of the places I know has been closed down years ago.”

“Oh that’s okay,” you told him as the barista put your coffees in front of you. “We can explore the new sights together then.”

A smile graced his lips while he led you to the table furthest from the window facing the door and you had to suppress your grin.

You weren’t the only one who was scanning the cafe for possible emergency exits and safest spots after all. Sitting by the window was a civilian mistake because in case of a shooting, you’d be in the clear sight for the shooter.

You had a feeling not many people considered that possibility on a first date.

“That sounds good,” he pulled your chair for you and you paused only for a moment before taking your seat.

Right. Born in a different era.

He took off his leather jacket and your gaze wandered off to his vibranium arm before snapping back to his eyes. He was watching you with his brows slightly raised, as if waiting to see your reaction.

“Sorry!” You said quickly, “I’m sorry, I just…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Bucky—“

“Really,” he assured you, “Don’t worry.”

You took a deep breath, pushing your behind your ear.

“So, it’s good to meet in a place that looks like it belongs to 21st century isn’t it?”

He hissed in a breath, a mischievous light glimmering in his blue eyes “Do you want me to be honest?”

“Brutally honest.”

“I would be lying if I said I don’t miss the uniform.”

Your jaw dropped before a smile spread over your lips, “Look at that,” you said, “Told you you weren’t rusty.”

He chuckled, “I’d hope not.”

“And hey, if you miss how it was back then, some things aren’t that different than 40s,” you said, cradling the warm cup in your hands. He tilted his head.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Like what?”

“You know, I’m glad you asked because I actually did research in case it came up.”

He lowered his cup, “You did what?”

“Um… do you promise not to be intimidated if I am brutally honest?”

He leaned in, eyes locked to yours, “Cross my heart.”

“I did research,” you nodded, making him let out a small laugh. “No wait, listen— I just… I didn’t google you or stalk you over Instagram so I had to prepare myself in a different way.”

“I know some of those words,” he pointed out and you took a deep breath.

“It means I didn’t look you up.” you said, “When I was sixteen, I promised myself I wouldn’t look anyone up before the first date but that rule doesn’t extend to doing general research.”

“You didn’t look me up?” he asked and you shook your head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I like getting to know people on my own,” you said, “I’m not really interested in people’s pasts, does that make sense?”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, “But I’ll do it anyway. Trusting people is kind of my thing, past or not. I’d rather be mistaken than prejudiced.”

A silence fell upon him as if he was astounded and you rested your chin on your fist, keeping your eyes on him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said after a beat, “Nothing at all.”

“So—anyways, some things aren’t that different,” you said, leaning back, “Some details, that is. People still— we still go to movie theatres, that was a big thing back then too right?”

“Oh absolutely,” he said, “For first dates too.”

“We still wear hats sometimes,” you counted with your fingers, “Some people still prefer to call their partners daddy—in a different context, don’t google that— and we still have jello.”

“I heard about that,” he mused, a playful smile on his lips, “The jello, that is.”  

You grinned, scrunching up your nose.

“So yeah. There’s your crash course.”

“I appreciate it,” he said with a chuckle, “And hey, if it makes you feel any better I didn’t google you either.”

“Because you don’t know how?”

“Because I don’t know how,” he admitted, “I should probably start making a list, I keep asking Sam about some pretty common information.”

“Really?”

“Yeah I mean—for example, I don’t know if it’s still acceptable to bring a gal-a girl,” he corrected himself and cleared his throat, “Flowers for the first date.”

“You were going to bring me flowers?”

“Yeah! Yeah . I was going to actually, then Sam said it was old fashioned. Sharon said it was a good idea, but…”

You furrowed your brows, “Okay let me get this straight, you listened to your friend who’s a guy and not your other friend who’s a girl. About what girls like on the first date.”

A look of realization dawned on his face, “That might not have been the brightest idea now that you mentioned it.”

“No disrespect to Captain America but he might need to work on his romance skills,” you pointed out and took a sip of your coffee.

“How about you?” he asked, “What’s your story?”

I was recruited at the age of 16, just last year I took down a whole team of bad guys all by myself, I could probably kill someone in 5 different ways using this coffee cup and spoon alone.

Or not.

You had been over this. You had a full file back at home filled with details of your new identity, designed to look unsuspicious.

“There’s not much to tell I’m afraid,” you muttered, “I grew up in a small town. Everyone knew each other, and I thought it was nice, until my grandmother passed away. Then there were way too many people asking me if I was okay. In the grocery store, on my way to work… I just wanted to get away.”

“I know the feeling,” he said softly and you nodded.

Of course he did. This whole identity was fabricated for him after all.

“So I figured I could move away,” you said, “There was nothing to keep me there after all. I lost my parents when I was little, that was the reason why my grandmother took me in.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be,” you said quickly, “Really. They just….”

My mom died in a car crash when I was 5, and one day I came home from school and my father was nowhere to be found.

Neither was his suitcase.

You had to give it to him, he had bothered to write you a note. If you could call that a note.

The infamous genius scientist had nothing to say other than he was sorry. You had burned that note that night, along with every picture in the family album.

“There was a car accident,” you tried to smile, ignoring the bitter taste at the back of your throat, “Drunk driver, came out of nowhere. They both died on impact, that’s what everyone says. I don’t remember them much.”

A silence fell upon you for a moment and you took a deep breath.

“Anyways,” you managed to say, “Enough about me. What about you?”

He paused before turning the cup between his hands, “That’s kind of a long story,” he said, making you arch a brow to shoot him a look.

“Well as it happens, my milkshake making schedule just cleared out.” you stated, making him smile, “We have unlimited coffee and time. Bring it on.”

                                               ***

Well, you didn’t know what you had expected but it wasn’t this. Considering he was under the impression that you were a civilian, of course he didn’t tell you any gory or top secret details but he didn’t try to make himself look innocent either, or any different than he was.

He was as sincere as an ex-assassin could be.

Cover or not, this was probably the best date you had ever been. In fact, after the first half an hour you almost forgot that it was fake, that you were supposed to dig for information instead of enjoying yourself.

You were still playing your part but it didn’t exactly feel like work.

“So no to motorcycles?” Bucky asked as you turned around to look at him better while you walked backwards.

“No to motorcycles!” you exclaimed, “Those things are deathtraps.”

“So when you said you couldn’t get on it because of your dress….”

“It wasn’t a complete lie,” you motioned at your dress, “Half because of the dress, half because I don’t want to die.”

“Do you seriously believe I’d let that happen?”

“Maybe.”

“Mmm and what was it you said earlier?” he taunted you, “About trusting people?”

“I trust people,” you insisted, “I don’t trust death machines, there’s a difference.”

Well, he didn’t need to know you had a motorcycle in Chloe’s garage.

“Here we are,” you pointed at the building standing a couple of feet away from you, “My apartment. See, I told you it was close. No reason for putting our lives in danger when we can just walk.”

“Does that mean I can’t show you around the city the next time?”

“On a motorcycle?”

“Mm hm.”

“I don’t—that’s a terrible….” You heaved a dramatic sigh, “Hypothetically speaking, what would I get in return?”

His smile was calm, almost amused, “What do you want to get in return?”

You crossed your arms, looking up at the sky as if you were deep in thought, completely aware of his gaze on you.

“Flowers,” you said after a beat, “I didn’t even know they were an option but now that I know, I want flowers.”

“Is that it?” he asked, “It’s ‘a death machine’, but flowers are enough to convince you?”

“Depends,” you mused silkily, a complete opposite of the wide-eyed look in your eyes as you batted your lashes, “What else do you want me to want?”

A shadow moved behind his gaze only for a moment before it disappeared again but it was more than enough time for you to see it, and that was when you realized that there was a reason why Chloe had sent you that file.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t completely a stammering love-struck puppy when it came to flirting. While it was true that he could be a little rusty –you didn’t know how he was back in the 40s-, he also knew when to stop talking to see how far you would go in this game.

He was letting you play and think you were in control before making his move.

Patience of a sniper.

“Um- thank- thank you for tonight,” you said, averting your glances as if you were embarrassed under his gaze, playing it coy, “I had so much fun.”

“Me too,” he said, “The next one will include flowers, I promise.”

You let out a nervous giggle and stepped closer to him before you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his cheek. He inhaled your scent deeply, probably not even aware of what he was doing but you tried to hide your smile.

It was on the file Chloe had prepared about him. Bucky Barnes liked the scent of vanilla.

“Be careful riding that death machine,” you told him, biting on your lip before you made your way to the building. You hopped on the stairs to push the exterior door to get into the building, and pressed a hand on your chest, closing your eyes.

Why were you so giddy all of a sudden?

You threw your shoulders back and got into the elevator to press on the button to your floor. As soon as the elevator started to move, your reflection in the mirror caught your attention and you tilted your head.

Chloe had a point, it was a nice dress.

The elevator made a small noise and the doors slid open for you to pass, but when you entered the hall you stopped dead on your tracks. There were four agents waiting on your doorstep and before you could question what was happening, one of the doors in the hallways opened and Keith stepped out.

“Be careful riding that death machine?” he asked, “I could tell you the same thing but you didn’t invite him up here.”

“I wasn’t wearing a wire, how did you-?”

“We had a car around the corner just in case,” he said “You’d be surprised how far we can hear with these new gadgets.”

“I told everyone we can’t—“ you stopped yourself, taking a deep breath. “What are you doing here and why are there agents at my doorstep?”

He grinned at you, “How do you feel about being neighbors?”

“I feel fuck no about it, and why are there agents—“

“General is waiting for you in your apartment.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “What?” you asked as you walked past him and opened the door to your apartment, then stepped in.

“General?” you rasped out as you walked into the living room to find him there, sitting by himself.

“Shrike,” he greeted you, “Good evening.”

You tried to smile, “Good evening sir.”

“I wanted to see how the mission was going,” he said, “Your team says it’s been very successful so far.”

“It’s going according to plan sir, yes.”

“This was what, your first date?”

You licked your dry lips, commanding yourself to be calm. “Yes.”

He hummed and stood up, running a hand over his gray beard, his eyes darting around the room.

“Y/N,” he murmured, making your head shot up at hearing your name instead of your alias. “It’s possible that the last time we talked face to face about your mission, I came across a little…uncaring. I want you to know that it’s not easy for me either.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded.

“You’re like a daughter to me,” he said, “For me, putting you on this mission was no different than sending Chloe into Barnes’s bed. Granted you have an edge and proper training for field missions like these unlike her, but…”

Right. Manipulation of Enemy.

A.k.a the seduction class.

Your superior had almost failed you in that class.

“But all your superiors in the division is aware of your success so far,” he said, “There has been no hiccups, nothing to alert him which is a surprise. You’re playing your role well, and we will keep that in mind after this mission is over. You’re at the top of our list for possible handlers.”

For the first time in your life, that didn’t make you fill with excitement for some reason. You frowned at yourself and plastered a smile on your face.

“Thank you sir.”

“Anything you would like to report so far?”

“I’m going slowly in order to make sure I gain his trust,” you said, “But sir, there’s a reason why I didn’t even wear my earpiece tonight. Barnes is a pro, anything could make him suspicious and putting agents in cars to listen to us… That could go wrong.”

“You want to be completely alone on this mission?”

“I still want to have my team, but I want them to be completely invisible. I already have a tracker and an emergency signal on my wristwatch, but unless I specifically call for them, they need to be away. I can’t risk anyone compromising my cover, even if it’s unintentional by my team.”

He thought for a moment, “I see,” he said, “You make a good point. I’ll make the necessary adjustments.”

“Thank you General.”

He squeezed your upper arm as if trying to assure you and walked to the door, then turned around.

“Shrike?”

“Yes sir?”

“You’ve heard what happened to Marco, right?” he asked, “He was one of our best agents but got too involved in his seduction mission.”

You swallowed thickly, “I heard he’s missing.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, “That’s right. He was removed from his mission, then went missing.”

Killed.

He was killed by the agency when he fell for his target and both of you knew that.

“That’s unfortunate,” you managed to say and he nodded.

“It is,” he said, “Don’t make the same mistake. Actions have consequences.”

With that, he left your apartment and you let out a breath as you fell back to sit on the couch, your hands shaking.

“Yeah,” you muttered to yourself, “Yeah they do.”

Chapter 7 

[spooderboyandtincan]

You’re Gonna Miss Me

(When I’m Gone)

Read on Ao3

/ST*RKERS DNI/

~~~~~

Tony doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

That’s a lie. Utter bullshit. He’s lying to himself. Tony knows exactly why his heart is fluttering in his chest like he’d run a marathon, why his chest struggled to rise like there was twenty pound weight rested on it. 

Though to be fair, when he made an anonymous donation of a meager 50,000 dollars to Midtown Science and Technology, he hadn’t expected Peter’s decathlon team to put in a request to the school board to travel abroad, and he definitely hadn’t expected the school to immediately approve it. He thought they’d use it to replace the sudsy water in the bathrooms they called soap with the real stuff or some shit, not whisk his kid away to Vienna for a whole week where Tony couldn’t even hug him, couldn’t protect him. 

Peter is thrilled, though. Ecstatic. When he’d broken the news to Tony and May, he’d been over the moon with excitement, his round cheeks flushed pink and his eyes gleaming. Even two weeks ago, Tony had felt a deep sense of apprehension kindling in his chest, but with the date seemingly so far away, he’d pushed it to the back of his mind. 

He wishes now that he’d done something. He should have told Peter he couldn’t bear to be without him like he was an actor in a cheesy soap opera (it was true, he couldn’t); tell Peter he needed him on a “mission” that would mysteriously be canceled. Though they’d probably end up taking a plane or a suit to Vienna anyways (despite what he liked to say to Rhodey, he was not at all immune to Peter’s puppy eyes); hell, he should have purposely tripped on the stairs and broken his leg so Peter, sweet, kind, empathetic Peter, would immediately decide to stay by his side where Tony could keep him safe.

He missed Peter when he was at his apartment in fucking Queens, thirty minutes from Stark Tower. He didn’t know how he’d handle having him 4,222 miles away. He didn’t know if he could.

“Damn,” he hisses, pushing himself from his bed with a grunt and making a beeline towards Peter’s room. He dashes in. The sight of his sleeping son (read: lump of blankets) is enough to take his breath away.

Tony had missed him. It had been four hours since he’d tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, and Tony had missed him. Peter was fifteen feet away. 

This trip is going to be the death of him. He’s going to drop dead of a goddamn heart attack before Peter even gets on the plane. 

Tony sinks carefully onto the mattress and rests his hand on the boy’s neck, some deep, parental instinct in him immediately soothed by the slow, steady beat of his pulse. Peter is curled under the thick blue blanket, only his chestnut curls visible which are tinged blue from the Iron Man nightlight on the wall, his breath puffing out in those little snuffling snores that Tony absolutely adores. 

He leans down to kiss his temple, inhales the familiar scent of his favorite strawberry shampoo and is overwhelmed by the wave of infinite love that washes over him. He loves this kid so much it sometimes hurts. 

Leaning back, he smooths his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone. He doesn’t want to leave the boy’s side. He doesn’t know if he physically can. Maybe asleep Peter has somehow sensed this, because there’s a small mewl from the bundle of blankets, and two bleary doe eyes flutter open. 

“T’ny?”

“Hey,” Tony whispers, running a hand through his curls. “Hey, jellybean. Sorry I woke you up.” Peter rolls over with heavy limbs and rubs his eyes with a fist in a childlike motion, yawning in a way that resembles all those yawning kitten videos he’s made Tony watch. 

God, he’s adorable, Tony thinks. His heart is melting. He’s so small, so young. Tony feels an instinctual, almost uncontrollable urge to protect this kid, to wrap him in his arms and keep him from harm for the rest of time. 

Peter is oblivious. “‘S… s’okay,” he mumbles. His hand sneaks out of the blankets and tugs on his arm lethargically, which the genius knows is sleepy Peter language for “cuddle with me.” Tony chuckles fondly and slides under the covers.

He props himself up on an elbow and gazes down at his beloved boy, stroking a finger down his cheek. Peter smiles sleepily up at him from his assortment of pillows. “Hi.”

His face splits into a wide grin. “Hi, Pete.” 

Peter frowns at him then, a sudden change from his drowsy, half-asleep state. “You… you ‘kay? Wha’ time’s it?” He tries to sit up, but Tony hushes him gently with a “Everything’s okay, bud, just a typical 2am visit from your friendly neighborhood Iron Man.”

He smiles, so Tony counts the joke as a win. It’s not one of his best, but hey, forgive him if he’s a little anxious about his kid going to another fucking continent. 

(He refuses to acknowledge that it’s not just being away from Peter that’s stressing him out, it’s the fact that anything could happen to him while they’re apart.)

Tony looks back to Peter, opening his mouth to talk, only to find that he’s completely conked out. He balls up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and wipes the line of drool tracing down the boy’s chin away, finding that a soft smile has formed on his face, the one that only makes its appearance around Peter.

Peter snuggles into him the second he lies down, resting his curly head just over his heart. Tony wraps a protective arm around his back and rubs small circles on his soft blanket hoodie. “G’night,” he whispers, bending to kiss the top of his head. “Sweet dreams, baby. I love you.”

He can feel Peter’s heartbeat thumping steadily against his chest- can hear his soft kitten snores. The warm weight of his body is so comforting that for a moment he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this trip isn’t going to be the end of him. That everything’s going to be okay.

~~~~~

Peter’s starting to regret eating all those waffles for breakfast. He feels shaky all over, like he could collapse or throw up any second. He’d told Tony he was going to pop in the bathroom, but he’s been in there for at least ten minutes, settled back on his heels on the cold, grimy floor of an airport bathroom, trying to breathe properly.

Speaking of Tony, he can hear the man just outside the door, typing on his phone and sipping from a cheap cup of coffee. Peter immediately experiences a hot flash of guilt, realizing that he must have grown worried while he was gone. 

Sure enough, the door swings open and there’s a soft knock. “Pete? Everything okay, bud?”

Peter stands up and unlocks the stall. “Tony,” he sniffles, taking an unsteady step forward. Tony rushes forward and gathers him in his arms

“Whoa, hey, hey, you’re okay,” he says gently, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “You’re okay, Pete. Breathe, just breathe, bud. It’s okay.”

“I don’t-” Peter whispers. “I don’t know, Tony, I-I wanna go, but I can’t, I don’t know w-what to do.” 

“Breathe, honey. It’s okay, I’m here, we’ll figure this out, okay? You just gotta take a breath, alright?” 

Peter tries- fails. Tries again, and manages to gasp a breath in. “Sorry,” he croaks, when he can properly breathe again. “Tony, I-I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” Tony murmurs, squeezing him tight. “Nothing to be sorry for, Pete.” After snatching a paper towel and soaking it in the sink, he runs the scratchy cloth over Peter’s face and kisses his forehead when he’s done. “Okay, bubba. You wanna go back out or stay in here?”

“Out,” he replies without hesitation. The flickering white lights above are starting to give him a headache, not to mention the leaky faucet and the freezing tile floors and the faulty air conditioning. Tony leads him out with an arm around his shoulder and guides him to a little nook, where they both plop down on a neon green beanbag. 

“My parents died in a plane crash,” Peter whispers. 

Tony squeezes his shoulder. “I know buddy. I’m sorry.” Unlike a lot of the “sorries” Peter has heard, this one is sincere. Sometimes he forgets that Tony is an orphan too. 

“I- I mean, logically, I know the plane won’t crash,” he continues, “But I guess it’s still hard for me to believe that. Like a- a gut feeling?”

The man nods in understanding. “I know how you feel, kiddo. I was terrified of cars after my parents died- I took the subway everywhere despite the paparazzi bloodhounds.” Tony doesn’t broach the subject of his parent’s deaths often, especially not in a crowded public airport, so Peter makes sure to pay attention. 

“Then, the fear just kinda… vanished.” He wiggles his fingers dramatically. “I started driving without even thinking, didn’t realize I was in a car ‘til I got on the highway. I had to pull over when I did, but since then, I’m perfectly fine with cruisin’ at 80 mph. But,” he says seriously, meeting Peter’s eyes. “I think you should listen to what your gut’s tellin’ you, buddy. It’s important to listen to yourself- what inner you is saying.” He pokes Peter’s belly a couple times for good measure, which makes his face scrunch up adorably. 

Peter nods, and really tries to listen to his gut. The pair both go silent in concentration, and then- his stomach grumbles. They both burst into laughter, born more from nerves than hilarity.

“Inner you wants to eat,” Tony snorts. “I think I saw a place with the biggest blueberry muffins of my life by the escalators, wanna stop there?”

Despite eating a huge stack of waffles just hours earlier, Peter wolfs down two of the gigantic blueberry poppyseed muffins, much to the amusement of Tony.

They made their way to the gate, where Peter’s teacher, Mr. Harrington was lounging, dressed in an ugly red sweater, his long legs stretched in front of him. 

“Peter!” he cried as he spotted them, scrambling to his feet. “Thank god, I was beginning to think I had the wrong date! We’re leaving today, right?”

“Oh, yeah Mr. Harrington, we’re going today!” Peter laughs. He’s used to dealing with his scatter-brained teacher. “I’m actually here early, the plane’s supposed to leave at 1:00.” He gestures vaguely to the big digital clock over his head reading 11:54 AM, EDT. 

Mr. Harrington frowns. “I thought it left at 8 am! You mean I’ve been here for hours in this awful chair when I could have been sipping a piña colada in my jacuzzi?!” He collapses back in his chair and pulls a sleeping mask over his eyes with a sigh.

“Sorry, Mr. Harrington,” Peter chuckles, then pulls Tony to a row of uncomfortable seats in the corner of the waiting area. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, just watching the various travellers rush past. A little girl, around two or three, comes up and shyly asks for Tony’s autograph, but no one else recognizes the genius. (Thanks to his foolproof disguise of a baseball cap and scarf covering up his iconic beard, the genius claims.)

“So, what are we thinking?” Tony asks after about half an hour. “Do you wanna go?” He secretly hopes Peter will say no, hopes that they can go home and binge watch all of the Star Trek episodes and fill their bodies with junk. 

Peter nods hesitantly. “I think so. I-is that okay? I might change my mind, but- yes. Yeah, I think I want to go.”

 Tony squeezes his hand. “Of course it’s okay baby, that’s perfectly fine. If you change your mind, you know what? That’s great too. Whatever you want, that’s what’s important.” He kisses Peter’s forehead and lets his hand linger for a moment where it rests on the boy’s cheek. “If you change your mind at any point, I’ll come pick you up, okay?”

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter breathes, slumping heavily against his side.

“Of course, bud. Anything for my Peter.” 

They stop for lunch at a cozy little coffee shop, which is thankfully devoid of fans and paparazzi. Peter orders (or rather, makes Tony order) a small hot chocolate (with extra marshmallows and whipped cream) even though drinking a lot before a non-stop ten hour flight is probably not the best idea. (He can’t help it. He’s nervous.)

When the pair gets back to their gate, they find Ned and his family. The boy’s greet each other enthusiastically, performing their signature handshake, while Tony simply throws up a peace sign to Ned’s rather stunned parents. 

The friends pull out their phones -probably playing one of those ghastly animated games that Peter is always quoting. Tony pretends to look busy on his phone, but really, he’s just trying to distract himself from the terrifying fact that he’s not going to see Peter for a week.

Too soon, the speaker crackles, a crisp voice announcing, “Attention. We are now boarding flight 367 nonstop to Vienna, Austria. Now boarding flight 367 nonstop to Vienna, Austria.”

Tony’s heart stops. Peter freezes. 

No, they think at the same time. Not yet. 

Peter turns to Tony, panicked. “Hey,” the man says, pushing away every anxiety, every worry away so he can focus on his kid. He sees Ned approach them, but stop when his father places a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe, baby, it’s okay.” 

“Tony.” Peter wraps his skinny arms around his waist. 

“I know, baby, I know.” Tony kisses the top of his head and hugs him close. “Follow my breathing. You’re okay. We’re good.”

Around them, the members of the decathlon team are rising, but Tony and Peter sit in those unforgettable chairs, clutching each other tightly, not yet ready to let go. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whimpers. 

“I know kiddo, me too. I’m gonna miss you so much, but I’m always gonna be here, okay? If you need me, just call, or text, use morse code, doesn’t matter. I’m always here for you.”

“I’m here for you too,” Peter says. “I- I’ll call you every day.” Peter’s bottom lip is trembling, just barely, but enough for Tony to hug him a little tighter and kiss his forehead. “I love you, Tony,” he sniffs.

“I love you too, Pete. I love you so much.” Tony’s not crying. He’s not. The restaurant a few stores down is just cooking onions, that’s why his eyes are watering. 

Peter pulls away and grabs his duffel bag, taking a step toward the loading dock. Tony tries not to burst into sobs. Stay, his mind whispers. Please stay. 

Then Peter turns around, eyes full of tears, and slams straight into Tony’s chest, hugging him so tight he can barely breathe. Tony rocks them back and forth, cherishing everything about his sweet boy. When they finally break apart, Peter says, “I’ll be back before you know it,” echoing what Tony has said to him so many times before he leaves for a business trip. 

Then he smiles a watery smile and runs to catch up with his best friend. Just before he disappears into the loading dock, he turns around and waves wildly at Tony.

Tony waves back, grinning. “I love you,” he mouths.

“I love you too!” Peter mouths back, and steps into the dock.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, hastily wiping the dampness from his eyes. “I love you, Peter.”

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

Taglist: @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923 @slytherin-hamilton-life-12  @dead-inside-pt2 @name-me-regret @zanderljones @spidy8664 @hold-our-destiny @tinystark-blog @bittersweetbeneath

If anyone wants to be added/ removed please let me know! (also, i think i missed a few people, and a few usernames have been changed, pop me a quick message so i can add you again!) 

[healpeony]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Part 1 + Part 2

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; Three years have passed, there was finally peace in Y/n's and Armin's life.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; chapter 139 spoilers, mentions of violence and genocide, reader and Armin shower together but they don't do anything, profane, suggestive.

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠; mature, 18+

I didn't check for mistakes so I'm sorry if there is way too much!

THE LITTLE TWO YEAR old ran naked around the house once again, giggles along with heavy pants could be heard coming from his mouth as he ran away from his mother, who was chasing him with his clothes in her hands.

“Sweetheart!, Come on mama have to put this on you”

“No mama!”

The little boy refused while stopping running and looking at his mother who was panting with her hands on her knees, immediately thinking that something was wrong he ran towards her.

“Mama! You ok?”

The big innocent blue eyes looked up at Y/n with worry evident on them, he had gotten those big eyes from his father while he got her hair color.

“Yeah, mama is fine. There's no need to worry”

The boy now being more calm with the reassurance of his mother clearing up the she was in fact ok he nodded and looked over at the clothes in her hand debating if he should let her out them on him or not.

Finally he signed, while Y/n stated at him amusement on her eyes as he looked so defeated. It would always end up like this, him feeling guilty about making his mother tired and at the end letting her put him on his clothes for the day.

Y/n didn't like to brag about it, but it made her proud that for his age he was actually really smart and showed a lot of empathy for others, she obviously knew the that trait was passed down on him from his father, who was the smartest man she knew.

“Put clothes on mama”

The adorable little boy said, walking closer to her waiting for her to put on his clothes which she did, putting on his underwear first, the rest of his clothes following right after.

“There you go!”

The little blue eyed kid looked down at his clothes, before looking back up at his mother.

“Papa back ma?”

Oh Armin

He had gone to Marley with the others to hopefully set peace between Paradise and them, he was going to return soon.

Yes she had a peaceful life, but that didn't mean that the of Paradise did too, there were many things going on and with the birth of her child she decided to leave the scouts and everything having to do violence from her life, except for Armin who was willing to protect them in case of any danger.

“Yeah, Eren. Papa is returning soon”

The little guy, Eren, smiled at his mother before jogging to a conner of the living room where his toys were spread out.

Armin and Y/n decided to name him Eren, after finding out about their friend's (in y/n case ex-lover) intentions, they decided to name their child after him. Eren wanted to stop the war, even though the deaths weren't going to stop, he decided to end his life in order to free Ymir, therefore freeing the Eldians of the curse of Ymir. Even though by doing so he had to kill 80% of humanity, Y/n didn't agree with what he did but she did agree with the reason why he did it.

The birds chirped outside, the sound alerting her that someone was near. The birds always did this when something or someone was approaching the house.

“Eren, come here darling” walking and standing her arms towards the child who happily let her take him into the comfort of her arms

The door knob begin to move, making noice along with the sound of a key and she immediately knew who it was, she let out a sigh of relief knowing that it was just “Papa!”

Eren jumped out of her arms, running towards his father who accepted the boy into his arms with a big smile.

“Hey there! How are you? Have you been good to mama?”

“Yes!, Mama tell papa!” the little blue eyed boy demanded her to tell his father he was a good boy while he was  away

“Yeah Armin, he was”

Walking up to the man she loved, y/n kissed him. His soft lips touched hers, the same butterflies that appeared everytime they kissed started moving once again around her stomach, Eren started making gagging noices, mimicking Ymir (Historia's daughter) who did the same everytime she saw adults kissing.

“No kissing!” he said grabbing his father's face and turning it back towards him

“Ok no kissing” Armin said laughing

“Come on Eren, papa needs to rest”

Taking the guy into her arms, y/n walked towards where he was playing before she had picked him up, and there she left him playing before returning back to Armin wrapping her arms around his neck.

“We missed you” she whispered putting her forehead against his

“I missed you too, my love” he responded while pulling her head down to his chest and kissing the top of her head

“Come on, not long ago I made food maybe it's still hot if not I can get it ready for you”

“It's ok, I'm not hungry. Just in need of a warm bath and peaceful sleep” he answered smiling at her

She nodded, taking the small suitcase he had on his feet “I'll run water for you, Mikasa is coming to pick him up by the way”

She got up the stairs of their home, hugging the suitcase to her chest appreciating the fact that Armin was back. His scent lingered on the suitcase the sweet smell of coconut and vanilla bringing her the comfort she needed. After leaving the suitcase in the sofa of their master bedroom she went into the bathroom turning on the water, half hot and half cold, just like Armin likes it.

When the bathtub was full enough, she turned off the water, and dropped a coconut scented bath bomb inside. Turning around she nearly had a heart attack when she saw Armin by the door with nothing, but a towel around his waist.

“Armin!, Don't do that!”

The blonde chuckle “Mikasa came to pick Eren up, she said we have all the time we need tonight”

“Armin, no.” it wasn't that she didn't want to, she did. But she knew that Armin was tired, he probably didn't even get enough sleep in Marley

“Why not?” he asked tilting his head

“Armin Arlert!, Stop it and get into the bath”

She started pushing him towards the water while he laughed.

“Ok, whatever you said Mrs. Arlert”

He said before taking off the towel and going in, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You should come in too—” she gave him a look and he quickly added “just to bath of course”

She rolled her eyes, but have in. Taking off her shirt and letting it fall to the floor, each piece of her clothes falling right after, when she was done she noticed that Armin was looking at her wish made her feel a little bit insecure.

“You're so beautiful, I will tell you that everyday until you remember that and stop being insecure about something soo gorgeous and unique about yourself”

His words made her self-esteem go through the roof and she smiled, before joining him in the tub sitting behind him and gently rubbing his back.

As she rubbed his back, little moans came out of his mouth, her hands were touching his soft skin making all the built up stress go away and turning it into pure pleasure.

After a while y/n stopped squirting some shampoo into her hands. Y/n started to massage him again and this time it was in his head, making the 22 year old man let out whimpers

“Y/n...” he softly said her name catching her attention

“Yes, Armin?” she asked

“I love you...” this wasn't the first time he said, but each time he did there was this tone in his voice that made her feel loved

“I love you too, Armin” she said planting a kiss into his back right in between his shoulders

They were each others peace, and their son was the light in their dark tunnel of tragedies and chaos. They might have not been each other's first live, but they were certainly each others last.

Tag list; @cowbunnypop @46inpm @annieisyes @sofi-yeager @arminswifee @pink-apples001 @solsprincess @jasminperez18 @osmosly (it doesn't let me tag some of you, but I'm going to tell you anyways xd).

[emwritesstuff]

as the world caves in | ch. 5 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.  

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode four. Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes: I was going to make it only one chapter with the plot of episode four but it ended up HUGE, so I'm splitting this one in two. I’m posting the next one very very soon (probably tomorrow), just need to finish reviewing it sksksk

(warnings: mentions of death, gunshots, blood) (word count: 4K)

five: funeral

Ayo considered you for a moment, then turned to Bucky. “Eight hours. Do not forget.”

You exhaled slowly after she was gone, allowing yourself to return to a more relaxed state.

“You know Ayo?” Bucky said, after he made sure the door was well closed.

Sam mused from behind you.

“And you speak Xhosa!”

“When King T’Challa opened Wakanda to the world, I ended up leading the relations between our countries from our side. Learning the language was the least I could do.” You shrugged, smiling fondly when you remember the awkward phase where you still mispronounced everything, and how astoundingly lenient the King had been during it.

“Accomplished. It was sweet of you to defend me, at least.”

You raised an eyebrow at the glass of water you’re drinking, grateful that Zemo didn’t speak the language. If only he knew.

Well, you had a feeling he would. Eight hours. T-minus-fifteen.

“Hey, you shut it. No one is defending you. You killed Nagel.” Sam bit at Zemo, and you put down your water and took your phone.

It had been blowing up since the signal returned after your flight to Latvia, every single person who ever had your contact was looking for you. Understandably. It was your first “vacation” in a long time.

You swiped the notifications away, and your eyes met Bucky’s while Sam and Zemo squabbled.

“You shouldn’t be good at that. It’s not fair.”

“It’s just a phone, Buck.” You smirk up at him, and a corner of his lip tugs upwards in response. “And I’ve been around long enough to know how to deal with the ever-changing technology.”

“Does that mean you’re the older one now? I’ve been frozen.”

“Do I get older privilege?” You asked, not looking up from the screen. The news feed caught your attention, and you were quick to scroll past the one talking about The Winter Soldier’s appearance in Madripoor.

“…No.” Bucky pushed his bottom lip forward, shaking his head. You bit your lip to refrain yourself from telling him just how much of a child he was, but couldn’t hide your grin.

The next headline made the grin fall out of your mouth, it being replaced by a frown. You slid the phone to Bucky, you two sharing a concerned look as soon as he read it too.

“Sam. Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

You rubbed your temples and started pacing as Bucky explained to the other two men the situation. Three dead. Eleven wounded. Your heart wrenched, and you pressed a fist to your chest when you imagine how dire the things have to be for that to had become the latest desperate measure.

Wars have civilian casualties. People are bound to be caught in the crossfire. You knew this. You’d seen it. This was a deliberate attack, and it was a different time and conjecture, but you felt almost the same as you did when you walked through the rubble made of Europe, 80 years ago.

Seeds for a new war. You’d hoped you wouldn’t get to see it sprout again.

You finally looked up as Zemo questioned the three of you about having the will to complete the mission.

“She’s just a kid.”

You moved to rest a hand on Sam’s shoulder, but in the end, you might have been more looking to ground yourself than anything. He nodded at you either way, and you could see Bucky’s eyes on you from your peripheral.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there. You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of Super Soldier will always trouble people.” Zemo spoke with certainty, as if he was a professor and the three of you his pupils.

“I doubt she sees things that way.” You raised your finger as soon as he opened his mouth to retort. “Not everyone has the chance to be studying politics and understand how revolutionary movements can become extremism. Most people are just fighting to get to see another day.”

You wondered if Baron Helmut Zemo would ever understand that, the struggle. The uncertainty that wakes up with you and goes to sleep when you do, only to pose itself the next morning.

“It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.” His next line seemed to be enough of an answer. You let your hand slide off Sam’s shoulder, realizing you had it in a tight grip the whole time, and resumed your pacing.

You doubted Karli Morgenthau had much chance to reflect on the long-term consequences of her mobilization. She was helping people, people who needed things right away; she was providing immediate relief. The world only had given violence in return.

“She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The Serum never corrupted Steve.” Bucky retorted, but that obviously wasn’t enough to shake Zemo’s convictions.

The ache in our chest grew just a tad stronger, and you sank on the large sectional couch; Bucky seemed to have sensed your wariness, because soon enough he was bumping knees with you on the empty seat to your left. He radiated irritation, squared shoulders and head thrown back.

You laced your arm with his, nodding along with Sam as he talked about his aunt, understanding his plan when he reasoned that they might be doing a funeral ceremony for Donya. Bucky seemed to have loosened it up a little, and you agreed with him. It was worth a shot.

“You doin’ okay?” Bucky whispered, adjusting his arm so yours could have more room.

You raised your eyes at Zemo, stopping for a few seconds to observe the golden embroidery of the couch behind Bucky’s head before looking at him.

You squeezed his bicep. You mustered a small, strained smile.

Bucky’s eyes did not leave yours the entire time, two pools of blue and warmth and comfort that made you ache with how much you’d missed them all of these years.

“Jus’ fine.”

Bucky nodded.

“Liar.”

You flicked his ear with your free hand, which made him grunt. You giggled as Bucky shook his head and muttered something about you being such a child, and you could feel your nervousness easing up.

“Don’t be so grumpy, old man.”

---

You parted ways as Sam, Bucky and Zemo went to the displacement camp, and you went to the GRC office in Riga in search of information. You hadn’t been seen with them yet, so you took the chance of still being considered just a diplomat on a trip, seeking to maybe be of assistance in trying times.

It hadn’t been the most productive of mornings. The people at the office knew as little as you did of Donya Madani, or any of the other displaced people, which was appalling at the least. All they had was some half-assed records of when the camp had been formed, and that was months ago. Who knew how many people had joined by then. No wonder the Flag Smashers were at large, with more people joining and supporting the cause every day.

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins walked through the building’s doors, just as you were ready to leave. Hoskins recognized you immediately, whispering something to the new Captain America before both men approached you.

You shook their hands graciously, but your eyes remained on the door, you not wanting to waste precious time with the two. Especially Walker, who seemed to wear the shield on his back like it was a badge of honor, or even a safe-conduct to back up his moves.

It didn’t sit right with you, and not just because the man who wielded the shield before him was unreplaceable to you, and the man who stood before you seemed to have been handpicked to step inside Steve’s shoes, same size and all. His height, his built, his set jaw, the blue eyes, the blonde hair; as far as looks went, the perfect impersonator. It was the way he carried himself that set you off though, proud of himself and his own privilege. And you had barely any interaction with him aside from watching him perform in front of cameras, and, well, now.

“I’m very sorry gentlemen – but I should get going. This detour of my vacation is already on borrowed time.”

Hoskins nodded solemnly, but Walker took another step towards you. “I know about your previous work with Steve, it would be nice to have you on your side too.”

“Like I said, I’m off duty. Try not to make a mess out of it.” The lie slips off your lips easily, and you offer them an apologetic smile before turning to leave.

“There’s some Avengers on the hunt for the Flag Smashers too.”

Hoskins’ voice stopped you in your tracks, and you studied the two, wondering just how much they actually knew.

“Just think about it, okay? If you’re gonna help someone, make sure you’re helping the right people.”

That’s exactly what you were doing, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“Hoskins. Cap. Have a nice day.” You nodded at them, not looking behind you as you take off to the cobblestone streets.

---

Sam and Bucky turned to watch you when arrived back at Zemo’s condo, closing the door gently behind you.

“Nothing.” You answered before they could ask, shaking your head slightly. From the defeated way they were sank on that couch, you assumed they were met with dead ends as well. “And Walker’s here, so expect things to get complicated.”

“You met with Walker?” Bucky asked, his jaw tensing up as he looked up at you.

“More like he met me. Offered me a job.” You chuckled humorlessly at the irony of it. Apparently you were now known for getting Steve out of trouble, and not for getting into it with him. How the tables turn. “He’s lacking intel as much as we are though.”

You threw your coat on the coffee table, and watched it slip down to the floor unimpressed. Bucky dipped to pick it up, draping it over the back of the couch while shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. Sam giggled, earning himself a glare.

Zemo approached your group with a tray of steaming tea. Bucky focused his glare on him.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, a taunting tone to his voice.

Zemo paused, and his eyes jumped from Bucky, to Sam, to you, and the ground. The mood is restless, charged with tension, ready to spark like an open wire at the edge of water.

The Sokovian visibly relaxes his posture when he bends down to serve himself tea. “The funeral is this afternoon.”

It wasn’t not surprising to you that he was withholding information, though it was bold. His confidence was baffling, if anything.

“You’re on thin ice, Zemo.” You narrow your eyes at him, and he offers you a small, lofty smile.

Bucky looked at you and nodded before reminding Zemo of the Dora Milaje and demanding he kept talking.

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli.” He retorts to Bucky and hums, shaking his head. “There’s still much I want to know, including why an American diplomat is tagging along for an altercation against a group of Super Soldiers.”

Zemo looked at you, inspecting your form as you leaned over a tiled column. He lingers on, but you know you have the higher ground. You don’t look the part of super soldier, in the way like the Flag Smashers don’t also. It’s advantageous, it gets you to blend in with the rest of world. You were aware that Zemo has been suspicious ever since you walked through the heavy wooden doors the first time, though, and he was trying to carve information out of you through veiled threats.

“I prefer to keep my leverage.”

This seemed to spur Bucky on. He got up from the couch, stalking towards Zemo in a casual gait, only to grab the teacup from the other man’s grasp and throw it violently at another column.

Your breath hitched.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?”

It sounded almost alien to you, the venom that dripped from Bucky’s words. You definitely hadn’t kept that in your memories of him, and you remind yourself that Bucky was no longer just that gallant boy from Brooklyn, he had more wars and baggage than anyone should carry.

So did you.

Sam got to Bucky before you could get your legs to move. “Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

As if on cue, Zemo tilted his head upright.

Sam retreats to make a call, whacking Bucky on the shoulder as he left the room. The sound makes you shift, and you walked forward to put yourself between him and Zemo.

“Thin fuckin’ ice.” You snarl. Bucky disengaged by leaning on his heels.

“Want some cherry blossom tea?”

You huffed and nudged Bucky’s waist to prompt him to follow you, wanting nothing more to get him – and yourself – away from Zemo before disaster ensued. He still held the information you needed, though his bargaining chips were running out.

You had the distinct feeling that he knew that too.

“No, you go ahead.”

The room you found yourselves next is small, but just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, with thick embroidered cushions littering a daybed and stained glass on the windows, casting colorful rays of light over the floor.

“You won’t go home if I ask you to, will you?” Bucky asked, and you chuckled.

“Absolutely not.”

A pained little sound left Bucky’s throat, and you sat down on the daybed to face him. He was leaning against the wall, eyebrows knitted.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all, Buck.”

“I do. That’s why I’m worried.” You rolled your eyes at him, making him look away from you, jaw clenched.

You sighed. “Bucky. I’m a highly trained super soldier.” Retired, too, and probably rusty, but you decided to not put that thought on his head. “I have more field experience than you, I bet. Don’t trouble yourself too much.”

His shoulders sagged, and you raised your hand to smooth the collar of his jacket, like you’ve done a million times before, back when you were still only a girl, and he was only a boy. The familiarity in those acts of intimacy covered you like a warm blanket, and you caught yourself wondering if Bucky felt the same.

“I worry about you too, you know. Why I’m here.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you, eyes roaming over your face. “How much did Sam tell you about Madripoor?”

“All of it, I think.”

There was torment in his eyes, that he tried concealing by looking at the floor. He nodded curtly, and the gesture propels you to leap forward and hold his face in your hands.

“Not worried like that.” You knit your eyebrows together, speaking firmly at him. “Worried about you throwing yourself into another fight. And losing you to it, again. So here I am, James, and stop trying to get rid of me.”

He either crashed into you or you into him, you’re not sure, but it barely mattered. Bucky had his arms firmly around you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. A hug that came eight decades too late, making you have to blink tears away.

“Don’t wanna lose you again too.” Bucky mumbled into your hair, and you squeezed him just a little bit tighter.

“You won’t. M’ here.”

I’m here. I’m here. You believed it, because you knew yourself. Keeping away this long, because you knew that once you were with him, you wouldn’t be leaving.

You hoped Bucky believed it, too. You’d tell him over and over, just in case.

The moment was short lived, though, coming to an end the when Sam knocks on the door. You pry yourself apart from him like a band-aid, and the door opens, leaving you and Bucky to compartmentalize and get ready for the next steps in your mission with your backs turned to each other.

“You guys good?” Sam asked, looking from you to Bucky, and you groaned internally at the sight of the slight curl at the corner of his mouth.

It’s not like that, Sam.

“Yeah. Are you?”

He quirks his brow. You quirk yours. His smirk is more out in the open, now.

“C’mon, old guard, we have a funeral to attend.”

You and Bucky shoot him a double glare and follow him back to the living room, then out to the cobblestone streets. Sam specifically said no weapons, no doubt intending to keep things civil, but you strapped a knife to your boot anyway.

Bucky smirked at you when he caught you red handed and showed you the handle of his own knife secured at his hip. It’s funny, how among so many things that haven’t changed at all, remaining intact as if eternized in marble, so many other things did.

It’s the caution. Having a plan B, C, D, up to plan Z. It’s knowing every possible exit points when you enter a room, and it’s strapping a knife to your body even if you’re going on a mission of peace.

You wanted to think that the years made to fade most of your scars, but the smallest things reminded you that faded didn’t mean gone. The weight of the blade on your left foot was doing that, as you walked through the streets of Riga beside Bucky, Sam and Zemo.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.”

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins jogged down the steps in your direction. Bucky opened his arms in irritation.

“Ah! How’d you find us now?”

It wasn’t really a question.

“Come on. You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Hoskins questioned rhetorically back, and his eyes land on you. You raised your eyebrows at him. “Y/L/N.” He didn’t sound terribly surprised.

“No more keeping us in the dark. You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” Walker’s voice nearly overlapped Hoskins’, and his eyes traveled from Zemo to you.

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky quipped, and shifted to your side slightly.

“I thought you were on vacation.” Walker sneered, making you shrug. You waved idly at the buildings.

“What? I’m sightseeing.”

“Oh, this better have an unbelievable explanation—” He raised his arms, taking a couple steps in your direction, but you didn’t budge.

You were resigned to simply rest your hands at your hips and wait for his temper tantrum to be over, but Sam clapped him on the chest and commanded him to not make things weird. Walker simmered down enough, which makes you beam proudly at Sam.

“I know where Karli is.”

You’d never be caught dead saying that out loud, but thank heavens for Zemo.

The new Captain America insisted on leading the action and turning it into a hostile one. You couldn’t stop staring at the shield on his back while he strutted ahead and turned, arguing with Sam about whether or not attempting to reason with Morgenthau was a good idea. She was indeed dangerous, but the echo of Sam saying that she was only a child earlier filled your ears.

It was risky, but Sam wasn’t reckless. You believed in him wholly.

“Is that why you roped a diplomat into this? There’s still time to change sides and save your job, Y/L/N.”

You didn’t doubt John Walker could and would get you to lose your job position, but you were aware of that possible outcome the minute you flew yourself to Latvia. That was the kind of inconvenience your future self would have to deal with. Sam looked at you for a brief second, forehead creasing with worry.

“Don’t threaten her, Walker.” Bucky warned him, and it was like you were fighting off a gang of bullies in an alleyway back home again.

“You’ll let him do this? Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier, alone?” Walker pressed on, holding Bucky’s stare.

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.”

You highly doubted that. These men were as hard-headed as you were, but you didn’t buy into the whole we-aren’t-friends thing. It was evident, in the way they checked on each other from time to time, and had each other’s backs.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.” Sam stepped forward, and Walker was quick to resume the argument. He was desperate for a win, any win, and you caught yourself wondering if he was truly ready for the role he was given.

Hoskins seemed to be the voice of reason he lacked. Walker gave in, reluctantly, and motioned at Zemo.

“We’ll deal with you later.”

You tapped your feet impatiently.

“Boys, there’s no time for this.”

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.”

There was a small girl waiting by the building in front of you. She guided the group to an abandoned factory of some sort, and Zemo announced that Karli was inside, and not long after he was being handcuffed to an iron vault door.

Sam stopped himself in his tracks while Walker manhandles the man, and you and him shared a look.

“You wanna come with?”

“No. It’s two against one, might set her off.” You shook your head, turning to look at Walker as he paced around. “You got this, Sam.”

Sam nodded at you and went in.

Ten minutes. You listened attentively for any signs of struggle, hoping things would go smoothly. Your knife felt heavy inside your shoe. Bucky seemed to be focused on the same task next to you.

John Walker grew more anxious by the minute, and you stopped listening to watch him pace around.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Bucky sighed.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.”

Rich, coming from him, who seemed keen on doing just that to everyone else. Walker squared his shoulders and marched on, Bucky having to stand on his way to stop him. You got off your post on the stairs and blocked the rest of the way. Walker glared at you, then at him.

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.”

Of course, he would consider the serum more of a blessing than the true curse it was. You exhaled sharply, struggling to keep your emotions in check, watching Bucky’s back as Walker continued.

“Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

You could almost see Bucky’s resolve wavering.

“Bucky, don’t.”

“You really want a casualty that big, Ambassador?”

“You need to cool down, Walker. Sam is—”

You didn’t get to finish, because Walker is barreling his way through you and towards Karli Morgenthau. Hoskins is pushing you and Bucky back as you try to get to Sam and the girl before things blew up even further.

“Walker you can’t—”

“Karli Morgenthau, you’re under arrest.”

Karli knocks Walker down, and Bucky managed to shove Hoskins away to run after her.

“Y/N, ten minutes!” Sam said as the both of you ran off to join the pursuit.

“I know, Sam! There’s no reasoning with this guy!” You groaned. “I’ll go this way, cover more ground.”

Sam nodded, his concerned expression mirroring yours.

You split up as you take off to your right, passing through archways and enclosed cubbyholes, finding nothing but old industrial machinery and junk.

Gunshots.

You counted four, at least.

You managed to pick up the source of the sound after the third discharge, somewhere at the lower level of the building. It would take you forever to find your way down the traditional way.

You landed on the ground floor with a soft thud, and couldn’t help but grin as you look up at the window you had just jumped from. Not bad, though the impact was unexpected and almost knocked the wind out of you.

The sound of smashed glass prompted you to snap back to reality and run into the basement of the factory, the place holding massive iron pipes and boilers. Zemo had his back to you, gun in hand.

A flash of red curly hair poked from behind the last pipe. You tiptoed your way to Karli, crouching next to her. She was clutching her side, blood seeping through her fingers. The receiving end of the shots.

Karli looked at you with terrified eyes, then up, and your gaze followed hers to a man you didn’t recognize, but one of her friends without doubt.

“Get out of here, kid. Go.”

She wasted no time, clambering up the stairs and disappearing through a metal door.

Faster than you and Zemo could acknowledge each other’s actions, he was hit on the heat with flying metal, sending him unconscious to the floor. John Walker stepped into the light.

“Morgenthau?”

“Gone. I was too late.”

Walker appeared to believe you, or he didn’t care, eyeing with interest the shards of fine glass littered on the floor. Zemo had smashed every single vial of serum before being hit with the shield. You kneel next to him and check his pulse.

“Is he…?”

“No. Just out.” You breathed. Walker let out a disappointed hum, leaving you to attempt to waken Zemo by yourself.

Bucky and Sam entered through the door that Karli had escaped through, and Hoskins through the doorway you came in before.

“What did we miss?”

[cloud9in]

Driving Lessons Pt 2 (Poppy x Bea)

Long awaited. I hope you all enjoy. This is the finale of the series but I think that Bea and Poppy’s high school stories should be continued.....

Read Part 1 HERE

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @baexpoppy @poppysmc @clowneryme @thedaft1 @zigxryanz @aleiramacaii

Word Count: 2.6k 

Pt 2: The Date

Friday night had arrived and Bea’s nerves were at an all time high. She practiced breathing exercises that conveniently popped up on Youtube, there was no room for thoughts other than that of a blonde cheerleader. The buzz of her phone prompted her to jump up in excitement. 

1 message from Poppy🙄

 Poppy: I’m 99% sure that you haven’t forgotten about our “date” tonight. But if you did I’m not here to remind you. I’ll be here in 5 minutes. Remember, dress casual. ❣

 A familiar grin crept its way onto Bea’s lips as she reread the message about twenty times, taking note of the heart at the end. It may seem conventional, but even that was a lot coming from Poppy. Another message popped up which induced a smirk from the brunette. 

 Poppy: No, I am not driving the Benz.

 Bea set her phone down and spun around to check herself out in the mirror. She wore black ripped jeans with a red plaid design in the holes, red converse, and an oversized grey and black long sleeve. This should definitely fit Poppy’s definition of casual, right? 

 The blonde arrived outside of Bea’s house just as she reached the front door. Poppy was the first to react, her jaw threatening to drop open as she took in Bea’s appearance, all of it. Luckily, she was the queen of poker face’s and masked her thirsty expression….Bea on the other hand, failed horribly. She stood there wide eyed, her hands hanging uselessly by her sides as she studied the blonde. Poppy wore a white and pink checkered wool skirt, a knitted pink sweater, and a white crop top. Her jewelry also dazzled brightly against her neck. The blonde watched Bea amusingly, “you can quit ogling me now...:”

 Bea darts her eyes away self consciously. “Your uh...jewelry is distracting.” Really Bea. Nice going. She winces at her excuse and Poppy arches an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the flustered mess of the brunette in the moment. 

 “Hmm..well come now. I don’t like to waste time.”

 Like a puppy being offered food, Bea follows Poppy into her silver Range Rover. She gapes at the pristine interior and the stars on the ceiling. “I thought those star things only existed in Rolls Royce’s.” Poppy smirks appreciatively, her fingers flexing on the steering wheel, “Oh they do, but I have my ways.”

 Bea tries to convince Poppy to tell her where they’re going, but she scoffs immediately, not even turning her head in the brunette’s direction. “It’s a surprise.”

 “I didn’t take you for a girl that likes surprises to be honest.”

 “Well then there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Hughes.”

Bea fought the urge to ask Poppy to elaborate, to tell her every last detail about her. What flavor of ice cream she liked, what she loved to do on a rainy day, but there’s that moment of insecurity  that pushes her away from indulging in those thoughts. She didn’t want to seem overly-interested.

 But maybe that’s what Poppy wanted.

 The sudden quietness becomes obvious and Poppy peers over at the brunette, “I could always let you test drive this one. Maybe brush up on your driving skills?” Bea side eyes Poppy suspiciously, memories of Monday night’s driving lessons infiltrating her mind. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now..”

 “Of course I’m not! You don’t think I remember what you did to my other baby?! You’re lucky you were hurt in the process, otherwise who knows what I would have done…” Poppy glances quietly over at Bea, her eyes carefully scanning the scar that sits on her forehead.

 Bea smiles sheepishly, her hand reaching up to move her locks back. “I don’t think I wanna know- wait hey! What do you mean I was lucky-”

 “Oh please, you were lucky that I took you to a hospital. You are crazy Hughes, you know that?”

 “Crazy for you? Well now that you mention it…”

 Poppy rolls her eyes but can’t stop the smile that erupts on her face. “...Just let me take a look at it later. I need to make sure it’s healing right.”

 “Whatever you say doctor!” Bea mock salutes the blonde which earns another heavy eye roll, emphasis on heavy, but she didn’t mind. The opportunity to be less than an inch away from Poppy’s luscious lips again? Hell yes.

 “Okay, but what did your dad say? I’m sure he understood it was a complete accident.”

 “Mhm tell that to the insurance company. Which reminds me, you will be receiving a bill in the mail sometime next week for all the damages.”

 Bea nearly leaped out of her seat as her head snapped towards the blonde, who looked like she was having a great time. “Pop...you’re joking right...that is a thing you are doing right now.” Poppy rolls her eyes with enjoyment, letting out a soft chuckle. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Farmsville, I know you can’t even afford a tire. 

 “Wha-...hey!”

 ***

 After continuous bickering which almost prompted Poppy to unlock the passenger side door and kick Bea out...psychically, while they were doing 80 on the freeway, she eventually pulled into a parking lot. The only main source of light was the huge sign illuminating the words, “Animal Shelter”. Bea blinks in confusion for a few seconds before realizing she was the only one in the car. Poppy had already started walking towards the entrance, greeting a man with a….smile? Oh yeah, Bea was definitely curious now. Poppy actually looked relaxed when Bea had finally caught up with her. The blonde noticed her approach and hummed to herself, “took you long enough, hurry lets go inside.”

 “Pops-did you take a wrong turn...this is an animal shelter...”

 The blonde rolls her eyes so far back into her brain as she grasps onto Bea’s words. “No I did not take a wrong turn you imb--.....this..this is the place I picked.” The brunette flicks her eyes continuously between Poppy and the entrance before shrugging, a surprised expression on her face. Before Bea could say anything else, Poppy grabs her hand and pulls them into the store and into the column where cute puppies reached for them. A beautiful smile immediately lit up Poppy’s features as she bent down to pet one of the baby bulldogs. This gesture immediately enraptured Bea as she watched...Poppy? Or whoever this was. 

 Not wanting to disturb the moment Bea leans down to the cage next to her and picks up the golden retriever who happily licks her face. “Woah okay there boy, a little too much tongue.” She holds up the puppy as he barks playfully and wiggles in her arms. 

 “I’m definitely not complaining about your destination of choice, but can you tell me why you picked it?” 

 Bea gazes over at Poppy who looks like she’s in her true element. The blonde sighs and stands up, brushing her skirt down. “Well my parents own the place…and well to put it bluntly, some of these animals don’t have much time left.” 

 She turns towards Bea, watching her safely caress the puppy in her arms, and smiles, “I figured you have a close connection with animals and would want to make them feel loved before they go.” 

 Bea watches Poppy with a warm look in her eyes, and it was funny because Bea had been around the cheerleader a lot, but this...was different. Almost incredible. And Bea knew that this was the start of a feeling that she would never get enough of. 

 “I would. Thank you.” 

 The two girls spend a good amount of time playing with the animals. Poppy helped Bea feed newborn strays with a bottle of milk, more than often grabbing a hold of the brunette’s hand to steady the slight tremble. Bea didn’t want to admit she was nervous because Poppy was very close to her. And Poppy would never admit that Bea was doing everything right, but she wanted to hold her hand because it felt incredibly soft for a girl who worked on a farm everyday. 

 But she wasn’t the only one who was very observant that night. Bea kept her mouth shut about the situation, but this new side of Poppy blew her mind. There was so much to ask, to say, but the moment was too valuable to ruin. 

 The time seemed to go by quickly as the shelter started to close down. The time they spent with the animals felt fulfilling but Bea never missed the solemn look on Poppy’s face as she watched one of the older cats rest peacefully. There was so much to learn about the girl, and Bea thought it was best that she kept this date going.

 Food. That could work. 

 “Hey pops...I know I said you could pick the place but there’s somewhere else I want to take you. If you’re up for it.” 

 If it was anyone else, Poppy probably would have cussed at them for taking up too much of her time. But this was Bea, and something in her couldn’t say no. “As long as it doesn’t involve you and I in a forest alone.” The brunette laughs easily, wrapping her arm around Poppy’s waist without a second thought. “Oh please, do you really think that’s how I’d get rid of you?” 

 Poppy seems to lean into her touch, letting her strawberry blonde locks brush up against Bea’s cheeks, “I doubt you’d be the one getting rid of me darling, but sure.” 

 ***

“....Alright I take it back! I’ll even let you drive the car because I am not eating at a diner.”

 “Oh come on, they have the best milkshakes in town!”

 The brunette drags Poppy towards the diner without letting go because if she did, Poppy would probably scream bloody murder in the middle of the lot. 

 Bea led her towards a booth in the back, only then freeing her arm. Poppy plops into the seat after realizing there was no way she could charm her way out of this. “Don’t look so bummed out, you’ll change your mind when you try the famous strawberry milkshake.” 

 “I have never had a milkshake in my life.” Poppy visibly cringes, her posture stiffening at the thought of a sugary liquid infiltrating her body. 

 “Well today is your lucky day baby.” Bea winks at her and calls over a waitress who seems too comfortable with laying a hand on the brunette’s shoulder. It wasn’t evident whether the severe blush on Poppy’s face was because of Bea unknowingly using a pet name or because of the mystery girl who decided to do the most in her presence. 

 “We’ll have the regular Tasha, oh and the strawberry milkshake please.” 

 “Just one? What about your friend over here?”

 Poppy snaps her head up at the waitress who seemed to scan her every move. Something Poppy was definitely used to. Her hands are the first to make a move, slowly trailing their way up Bea’s arm from across the table. She doesn’t take her eyes off the waitress as she speaks softly. “Oh we’ll be sharing it honey. Put a cherry on top too okay?”

 The waitress reverts her eyes from the two and walks away without a word. Poppy watches her leave, biting her lip with satisfaction. 

 Bea can’t help but smirk to herself. “Oh you cannot take your eyes off of her can you? Relax, she’s an old friend.”

 The blonde scoffs, keeping her hands on the surface of Bea’s skin. “I don’t care who she is. Does she flirt with every customer in here? What happened to having class? Or some sort of decent? I mean do you talk to pigs like this?

 Bea squints her eyes and sighs warily. “Poppy this is not a five star restaurant, and that’s what you call being polite and kind to well known customers. People here are normal, not trained robots.” 

 Poppy shrugs to herself, her eyes darting around to the wall decorations and other people who are chatting happily with their families. The atmosphere did feel warm and peaceful, nobody sat up straight and practiced proper table manners. Nobody judged her for who she was or what designer she wore. There was room to actually breathe. Bea could sense the blonde slowly starting to adapt and relax in their new environment and she couldn’t be more grateful for making the right decision. When their food had come, Bea slid the milkshake towards Poppy and smiled shyly. “It’s all yours if you like it, we don’t have to share.” 

 “Nonsense Hughes, I can’t possibly drink this all by myself…but I call dibs on the cherry.” She steals the cherry from the top and plops it into her mouth, eyes sparkling from the burst of flavor. It was nothing compared to the milkshake though, Poppy swore she saw stars when tasting the sweet liquid. Bea laughs as a whipped cream mustache develops on the blonde’s lips after hogging the shake for herself.  

 ***

 “I’m paying for our next date by the way.” 

 Bea peers over at Poppy who walked her to her front door, “oh so there’s gonna be another one?” She can’t help but smile at Poppy’s sudden shyness. 

 “Well I enjoyed tonight, a lot. Maybe more than a lot.”

 “I did too.”

 The silence that consumed them wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but it was enough to make them stare at each other. Bea’s mind started to fog as she thought about finally closing the distance between them. She wanted nothing more than to mask the silence with a kiss. Bea looks at Poppy, who seems to be lost in thought. 

 “What are you thinking?”

 “What?”

 “You’re usually deep in thought when your eyebrows scrunch together like that. Or maybe you’re just planning on jumping me as soon as I turn around.”

 Poppy smiles softly. “Do you know the feeling when the thing you wanted the most is right in front of you, yet it still feels unreal and almost impossible.” 

 Bea takes a deep breath and nods, “I do.” 

 Okay Hughes you’re gonna kiss her in 3. You’re gonna make the move. Come on. 

 But of course Poppy had other plans. 

 “Mmh!”

 The feeling of Poppy’s soft lips had caught Bea completely off guard. A hum of pleasure escaped her mouth as the heat started to increase between them. Bea grabbed hold of Poppy’s cheek and steadied the kiss, her eyes slowly started to shut as she sunk into the warm, smooth feeling. Bea smiles into the kiss as Poppy’s tongue begins exploring the depths of her mouth, and she bites back a moan when the blonde takes her bottom lip between her teeth, tugging it slightly, feeling the desire pooling in the pit of her stomach. Poppy places her lips back on Bea’s, passion igniting once more as Bea begins to dominate the kiss, her hands finding her way to the blonde’s waist, pulling her in even closer. 

 Poppy felt like she could kiss Bea forever, if it wasn’t for the need of oxygen. When they both finally pulled back, the blonde laughed with joy. “That felt so amazing.” 

 Bea wanted to blow a huge sigh of relief that Poppy initiated the kiss, because imagine fucking that up. She just held her close and basked in the moment. Her lips swelled with excitement as she still felt the ghost of Poppy’s tongue tracing it. Poppy always had something to say, but right now there was so much more she could do. And the first thing she would do is finally make Bea hers.

***

if you want to be tagged in any Poppy fics let me know.

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Oh, Loverboy: Part 3 (Everyone x Everyone, Star x Fem!Reader Centric)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: canonic bullying/hazing, implied 80s homophobia

Word Count: 2k

Alright people.......everyone x reader it is

You wished teasing Michael wasn't as funny as it was. He was, for the most part, a good sport. Sure, you could see that the boys got him riled up, aggravated, but you managed to embarrass him. Despite his good looks, he didn't seem particularly good with girls. Even placing your hand on his in passing managed to get him flustered. And, while he wasn't the best at flirting, he was genuine. Endearingly so.

The three of you had moved back over towards the couches, having lit some candles to pass the time before Marko finally returned. Star, being the most introverted of the group, hung back by the piano so she could watch the boys talk. You sat besides her, linking your arm with hers. Marko clamored back down into the cave with a call of,

"Feeding time! Come and get it, boys." And passed around a carton of chinese food. Star watched them pass out the meal, and you accepted the carton and chopsticks that Marko passed to you. "For you, gorgeous." He said, and you shook your head at him with a smile. You offered some to Star, but she shook her head. She was staring between the boys, her dark brown eyes watching David and Michael carefully. She'd been acting as referee ever since David had called the three of you over there.

You knew your boys weren't bad guys. Sure, maybe they messed with Michael just a little too much, but they couldn't help it. He was an easy target. So, you weren't necessarily surprised when you watched Michael spit his rice out. You were about to laugh with them, but you were quick to hear the girl besides you say,

"Leave him alone." And you hid your laughter behind another mouthful of food. The laughter was quick to die, and out came David's half-hearted apology.

"Sorry about that. No hard feelings though?" He said. You wondered if it'd just been the weed. You knew Paul had some pretty strong stuff, and Michael probably wasn't used to it. Or, it could've been something else. You knew, to some degree, this was David's weird way of flirting with the boy. You remembered the first time David had ever shown interest in you. You were sure that he felt the opposite until Paul had let it slip. 

"No." Michael said, looking as confused as ever. You smiled to yourself, lightly knocking your shoulder against Stars. As if to say, see? He's fine. But she didn't look too sure. Perhaps you shouldn't have given David the benefit of the doubt.

"Why don't you try some noodles?" David said, holding the carton out to him. Michael closed his eyes, immediate disgust taking over his features. You ate another bite, knowing that this wasn't going to go well.

"They're worms." He said, and he looked as if he didn't even want to reopen his eyes. As if he was scared of what else could change right in front of him. David acted as if he was crazy, staring,

"What do you mean they're worms?" He said, poking around in the takeout. You chewed slowly, refusing to look down into your own takeout just in case it changed right in front of you as well.

"Don't eat-" Michael started to say, but David ignored him. He slurped the noodles back, tilting his head back. When he lowered his head and looked back at the brunette, he said,

"They're only noodles, Michael." And you knew that this was all a game. The boys were hazing him, seeing how far he could push him. So far, he was doing well. Still, Star ended up standing as she stated,

"That's enough." And you knew she meant it. That didn't mean the boys planned on listening. Paul was quick to brush her off with a,

"Chill out, girl." And you watched as Marko leaned down so David could whisper in his ear. Marko gave him a nod, turned to set his takeout down, and then started heading back to where the group kept their alcohol. Her eyes darted to you, as if looking to you for help. You internally sighed before you said,

"Go easy on loverboy." You said, but you knew they didn't intend on listening. Paul just tossed back his takeout, saying a small,

"Yeah, yeah." As he chewed. Marko brought back a bejeweled bottle. You watched as he passed it to David, and you could feel the room shift. The air suddenly felt thick, electrified. You watched as Star walked away from you, going to stand besides him before looking at the bottle. As if she wanted to say something but didn't know how. You frowned, settling your takeout aside and moving to stand behind David. You brought your jacket closer around you, placing a hand on David's shoulder as he uncorked the bottle. You had a bad feeling, even if you trusted your boys. Even if you trusted David. It's why you whispered,

"David, it's getting late. Maybe Michael should head home." And you stared at the brunette girl. Both of your eyes met, and it was clear that she felt the same. Like something bad was going to happen if Michael drank what was in that bottle. 

Of course, none of the boys listened to you. Not even Michael. You laid on Stars bed, with her head on your chest. You were running your fingers through her long, brown hair, trying to soothe her. She'd been worrying ever since the boys had left. Enough so that you had been the one to put Laddie to bed. You ran a hand down her back, whispering,

"Everything's going to be fine. The boys will take care of him." You said, even if you doubted it. It wasn't like you thought the boys would let him die, but you didn't expect them to be nice to him. Especially when you and Star weren't there to encourage it. You hoped that, wherever they were taking him, Michael would just do what he was told. Everything was usually fine when you listened to David. Star let out a long breath of hair, muttering,

"Why did David have to steal him?" Before the two of you fell back into a comfortable silence. In an attempt to reassure her, you said,

"Maybe he doesn't even like boys." And the look she gave you was enough for you to know exactly what she was thinking. It made the pair of you laugh, lightening the mood. Yeah, he definitely wasn't the straightest arrow in the quiver. 

"So, you like him?" Star asked, and you shrugged. You told her the truth, which was,

"He's alright. He's a little," You hesitated to say the word, but Star had looked up to wait for you to finish. "He's not that smart, is he?" You said, and you earned a laugh from her. It was a loud laugh, one she was quickly covering up so she didn't wake the little boy on the other side of the room. "But he's nice, and he's cute. Nice eyes." You commented. Alright, a lot of things about him were nice. He had nice loose curls, he was tall, and you were sure that a bit of stubble would turn him from homecoming king to a total babe. Star hummed in agreement, before she paused. She tapped her finger against your arm, before glancing up at you nervously. Finally, she said,

"I like him." And you weren't entirely surprised. You could tell. Now, it was more than just a crush on him based on appearance. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, Star and Michael clicked well. Hell, Michael just clicked well. If the boys came back before you left, you wouldn't be surprised to hear that a few of the others had developing crushes on him. Maybe, if you gave it time, you would too.

"You want me to tell him for you?" You joked, earning a surprised laugh from her. She covered her hand, climbing up to press a happy kiss to your lips. You held her by her waist, and you could feel that some of the worry had escaped her. Your kiss was slow and sweet, but too deep to be chaste. You massaged her sides, only lifting her shirt up the tiniest bit so you could ghost your fingertips against her warm skin. She shivered, pressing closer until you licked the seam of her lips. Her tongue was a flick against yours, and she earned a soft sound from you by sucking on your bottom lip. You tucked your hand into her hair, massaging her scalp as you let her take the lead.

The kiss didn't last long, with the pair of you pulling away when you heard the hoots and hollers from the boys returning. There goes any hopes of Laddie staying asleep, You thought. Tiredness was pulled over like a blanket over the both of you. It felt nice to lay in her bed. It was soft and warm, and you were tempted to fall asleep. But, you checked your watch. Now, it really was getting late. You hadn't lied about that. You let out a sigh, gently trying to sit up. Star didn't let you, whispering a small,

"Don't go. Can't you stay?" And you couldn't stop the smile those words brought to your lips. You tilted her face up, brushing a hand over her cheek. She didn't lift herself, only nuzzling and tightening her grip around your waist. Really, you wished you could stay. You ran the back of your hand against her cheek, whispering,

"You know I can't. Curfew." You reminded her, and Star frowned. She tucked her face into your neck, nosing along the line of your jugular. You sighed again when she started pressing soft, teasing kisses to your neck, letting your head roll back as you shook it lightly. As if leaving her wasn't hard enough already. "Do you want me to get grounded?" You asked, and you heard a small puff of air leave her. No, she didn't. She looked up at you, a small pout teasing at her bottom lip. "I thought you were worried about Michael?" You teased, and her expression changed then. She was quick to say,

"I am- I'm just- You're comfy," She said, resting her head back on your chest. The boys were back down in the cave, you could hear them. The loud sound of the footsteps. You chuckled to yourself, but you didn't miss her next quiet words. "And I miss you when you're gone." She said it before any of them could interrupt you, and you had a soft smile on your face.

"I'll be back tomorrow. We can meet right at the carousel. Same time as always." You told her, and she relented. She loosened her arms around you, and sat up with you. Just as Paul flicked her curtains to the side, letting out a low whistle at the sight of you. 

"Am I interrupting something or is this like an open invitation thing-" He started, pointing between the two of you and taking a step into the room. He didn't get far. You knew kicking him out would be a lot harder if he made it to the bed. You were already sending him a half-hearted glare and telling him to,

"Scram, Paul." And Paul snapped his fingers at the two of you before leaving the same way he came. At least he could take a hint sometimes. You watched as he retreated, knowing at least one of the others was going to filter in soon. Before you could be interrupted again, you pulled her into a kiss. You cupped both of her cheeks, thumbing them lightly. You didn't care if any of the others saw, and part of you wanted Michael to see. So, he could know what he was getting himself into. So, if he wasn't what you hoped he was, you could find out in the safety of the cave.

Even when you pulled away, she didn't open her eyes. She let you hold her face in your hands, leaning into your touch. You could see the sleepiness pulling at her, your own sleepiness doing the same. Her voice was soft and tired as she whispered,

"I love you." And you thought about her words over and over the entire time David drove you back to your house.

[youalexturnermeon]

Chasing the Past Pt. 2 (Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Click for Part 1 

Request by Anon: Could I please get a Johnny Lawrence imagine where he and the reader (who is daniels sister) are secretly dating. Maybe like an old flame back in the 80s and now they reconnected?

A/N: In the first part (Y/N), Daniel LaRusso’s sister,  came back to LA after five years of being away. She reconnects with Johnny and wakes up in his apartment after getting drunk at a party. In this part (Y/N) and Johnny have to face Daniel and his rage hahaha

Warnings: swearing(!!!), mentions of alcohol, angst, fluff and maybe a little bit of slight smut

Wordcount: 2473

Johnny’s face is almost doubled right in front you, but you see it as a good thing, twice as much of Johnny is great. Four bright blue eyes are much better than just two. But then there are two again. He has you close to him, his strong hands resting on your hips, slowly making their way further down to your ass and he is twirling you around. You dance. “I missed you, Johnny” you slur and cup his beautiful face, on it the dirtiest grin you have ever seen. He doesn’t answer, just squeezes your ass and suddenly kisses you. Almost too much tongue, red lipstick on his face, sloppy kisses on the neck and the jaw. You are melting under his touch.

Blurry way though the dark, you are laughing, Johnny and you still dancing together through the night. In his hand a bagged bottle, you don’t care what’s inside as you take a sip. You stop for a heated make-out session, he presses your back hardly against the wall of an apartment complex and his hands are already making their way under your sweatshirt. The bottle slips out of his hands and breaks on the ground. “God, I’ve been thinking about doing this for five years!” Johnny grunts and almost violently kisses you. “Get a fucking room!” someone shouts angrily in the distance “Get away from here, you fucking pervs!”

White sheets, clothes everywhere, naked bodies, Johnny’s hands all over you, moans. You are enjoying yourself. Johnny’s messy blonde hair.

____

“Fuck”, you said again, almost in disbelief but this time you were smiling. Out of the sudden, Johnny moved. Your heart started beating, you didn’t know if you were ready for any conversation. You didn’t even know if Johnny would regret this or not. You most certainly didn’t, you just wished to remember a little bit more of the steamy night.

“Good morning, princess”, he whispered, voice all raspy and sleepy, he yawned and stroked your hair, “Did you sleep well?”

“I feel like shit” you admitted and sat up, dragging the covers over your bare chest, which immediately stressed how your head was still heavy and spinning. You almost wished you didn’t sit up in the first place, you wanted to lay on Johnny’s chest again. But you didn’t and just stared at him. God, he was still so beautiful. You then signed over to his naked torso, “Did we…?” You still had to reassure yourself that this amazing night actually happened.

“Oh yeah” Johnny answered proudly and sat up too. You were surprised when the first thing he did was kissing you. This Johnny you didn’t know, you caught glimpses of him, but he never fully showed himself. Then he got out of bed, put on some clothes and turned to you.

“I’ll get you an Aspirin and then I will make you breakfast”

“What is it with you Johnny?” you asked, completely perplexed, “You never made me breakfast, you never cared the next morning” Johnny shrugged: “And you see what it got me, the girl who finally made me get over Ali and the fight with Daniel, who made my life a little less miserable just disappeared on me for five years without a trace. I don’t want you to disappear on me again for god knows how many years this time”

Without a trace was a lie, he still could’ve gone to Daniel LaRusso, ask him about his sister, ask for her phone number, her address. But when you went to college you made it perfectly clear that Daniel would kill him without having second thoughts for banging his sister and if he didn’t manage, you would’ve killed him yourself. And after all this time Johnny asked himself why he cared about that, why he was such a pussy and cared about what Daniel would think and do, above all. Now he didn’t anymore, he had no fucks to give about it anymore. As long as you were by his side for a little while, he could live with Daniel hating him more than he did already.

“Glad, to have been at your service, you asshole” you said rolling your eyes but still laughing.

“You’re welcome. So, are you saying we keep that going or what?”

You shrugged.

“Does that mean you are staying in Reseda?”

You shrugged again, it kind of did but you’d never know for how long. Thankfully, Johnny dropped the topic after that. Just like you, he really wasn’t the type to talk relationships. Maybe you two would’ve taken a different path when he had been the last time but that was again, ancient history.

____

The breakfast was simple, Johnny wasn’t the greatest cook, but that was okay, you weren’t either. It was more about the time you spent together. It was fun, it felt amazing being with him in his tiny kitchen, just talking about the old times and joking around. It was even fun when he flunked a spoonful of scrambled eggs directly in your face. You ate, you took a shower you scrubbed off all the remaining make-up from last and you felt a little bit better. Johnny enjoyed having you over. Normally, he didn’t let his girls stay that long, he usually made them go home very quickly, not so with you. He’d even be okay with you staying the whole day, hell, even another night or two. But as soon as you got of shower his hope vanished.

“I need to go home now” you announced shyly.

“So soon?” “Yeah, Danny is probably worried sick, I also promised him, we go out for sushi today, just us two.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and hugged you suddenly, almost a little too tightly “Don’t you want to stay?”

“To be honest, I do, but I also want to spend some time with my big brother.”

“I guess, I’ll drive you home then” “Only if you want to, I can walk or get a cab”. Fortunately, you didn’t manage to lose your handbag at the beach, so you’d have enough money.

“That is out of question. I always drive my babes!” Johnny said proudly which was a big fat lie, he didn’t always bother but with you, it was another situation.

The car ride was not as bad as you had expected, you didn’t get sick which you were afraid you would do because you still could remember well enough how fast Johnny drove. Yet, it was great to sit in his red Pontiac Firebird again, it shot your memories straight back to high school when you secretly hung out with Johnny for a couple of times. Sadly, it was over too soon. Johnny pulled up in the driveway to Daniel’s apartment building. He quickly got out of the car to open the car door for you before you could reach the handle yourself.

“Wow, I don’t know if like that new Johnny” you laughed and nudged him, “Far too nice!”

“Yeah, would you like me doing that instead?” Johnny’s eyes darkened and you remembered also seeing that look last night and out of a sudden he pinned you between the red Firebird and him, his face very close to yours.

“Do you like me being a bad guy instead?”, his lips brushed over you when he talked. And you wanted to say yes or even nod but you breath quickened; your hart started beating a faster rhythm.

“Thought so.” he whispered into your ear sending shivers down your spine on that hot summer day. He was just about to kiss you, maybe you should go back to his place after all, you thought, when you were instantly interrupted.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lawrence!?!?!?” a scream echoed through the whole block, “Get the fuck away from her!”

Johnny promptly jumped to side but as soon as the realized who that was coming from a dirty grin appeared on his perfectly shaped lips. Daniel, face almost grey with fury, was running towards them, eyes all wild, hands clenched to fists.

“Oh fuck”, you gasped but couldn’t hold back a laugh, that was too absurd, “Maybe you should’ve dropped me off a few blocks away”

“Nah, this is going to be fun”

But you thought otherwise, this was going to be anything else bun fun. Comical, but definitely not fun.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, (Y/N)?” Daniel yelled pointing a finger at you when he finally came to a halt right in front of you.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, I’m completely fine, thanks for asking Danny”

“Don’t you fucking talk back to me like that!” “Jesus, Daniel, watch your filthy mouth, you didn’t swear that much since forever.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Daniel kept on, ignoring your sarcastic remarks, “You did not come home the whole night, I’ve got no call, nothing. I didn’t sleep, I was waiting for you, I was so fucking worried and then you finally decide to come here with him and you’re talking to me like I’m the bad guy?” Daniel pointed at Johnny without even looking at him.

“Ok, mom, calm down”

“Don’t you mom me, (Y/N). You smell like a fucking distillery; you look like shit and where the fuck are your shoes?” You looked down on your bare feet, then at Johnny who had protectively placed a hand on the small of your back and you two suddenly burst out laughing. Your drunk ass simply lost them at the beach.

“How dare you even make a sound?” Daniel shouted, this time at Johnny. It was getting embarrassing, even some neighbours were now watching how Daniel took a threatening step towards Johnny. He still was a few inches smaller than him, but he managed to compensate that with his glance. A little bit more wrath, you thought, and he would be shooting sparks out of his usually warm brown eyes.

“Damn, LaRusso, don’t wet your pants. You look like you are about to die from a heart attack” “Shut the hell up, Lawrence” Daniel growled and came even closer, so close the tips of their noses almost touched and Johnny just kept on smiling, he didn't even flinch “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

Johnny shrugged, he did.

“What the hell is my sister doing with you?”

“She just likes me a lot more than she likes you” Johnny’s grin kept getting dirtier and dirtier with every word leaving his mouth “Actually, she always liked me a lot. When I was beating your ass in high school, (Y/N) always has been hanging out with me instead of pitying you. While you were training with your weird-ass sensei, I gave her rides all the time, we were friends. When you won in ’84 she didn’t go with you to celebrate your illegal kick, she stayed behind and cared for me. Dragged me out of the parking lot and brought me into a hospital together with Bobby and Dutch. She just never told you because a delicate little flower like you would simply die from that. And when you were trimming trees, I fucked her every goddamn day until she went away”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Johnny in shock then at Daniel who needed a second to process everything that had been said. That was about it, Johnny dropped the bomb, he told Daniel everything that was kept secret from him and everything that he needed to know.

“You did fucking what?” Daniel asked through clenched teeth, his hands shaking, he was barely holding himself back and you knew, some whit was about to go down real quick.

“I fucked your sister LaRusso, five years ago and tonight and she liked it”

And you couldn’t even say anything against it, every bit of it was true. And when Daniel gave you a quick look he knew exactly. And then, very unlikely for Daniel he threw his first punch, Johnny immediately blocking it. He shoved you to the side so wouldn’t get between them. Both stood in fighting positions and then everything happened so fast. There was a lot of fists and legs and kicks and punches, too rapid for your eyes to grasp it. And you couldn’t believe it. After all these years, these to very still ready to kill each other. But you had enough, you had enough of this stupid rivalry, you had enough of them hating each other for no reason and you definitely had enough of being their recent motive for fighting.

“Stop!” you yelled, they ignored you, “Stop it! I’ve had enough of your stupid Karate bullshit! I’m sick and tired of you two always fighting. I can’t deal with being dragged into it! I fucking hate this. Why is this the first thing that happens to me after being back after five fucking years? Why you always have to be such a drama queen, Daniel? Why are you the only person you care about, huh? And you” you turned your shouting towards Johnny “why do you always have to keep the fire going why can’t you just let it be for once?”

Your screams were much louder than Daniel’s before, but the fighting enemies still ignored you.

“If one of you throws another punch, I’m gonna call the cops and you two can sort it out in a prison cell! I don't want you to kill each other just because you see me as an object that can only belong to one of you. I'm not, I like both of you. You're my brother and I love you. And I fucking love him, Daniel”

These words worked magic on Johnny who immediately let his arms sink and whilst he looked at you, worry written into his face, he received one last kick in the guts for losing his concentration. You threw yourself at Daniel and tried to hold him back from doing more damage, for a second you were afraif he was about to kill Johnny. But with you holding him, he did not dare to keep on fighting. He didn't want to hurt you. And yet he tried to free himself from you.

“Please, Danny” you cried “Please stop and let me be!”

Daniel remained silent and calmed down, you let him go. You went over to Johnny and embraced him, he hissed under your touch but couldn’t help himself than to press you closely to his chest. His face was beaten, his lip was bleeding, and a fresh cut crowned his brow.

“I’m so sorry, babe!” he whispered into your ear and kissed your cheek. He never apologized for fighting. Until now.

“No, I’m sorry!” you said and stroked back the sweaty hair from his forehead, then you turned to your brother, “You better be sorry, too”

“I am.”

“LaRusso is sorry?” Johnny wondered and spat blood on the ground, “That’s new”

“Shut up!” you shushed him

“I am sorry, (Y/N), I didn’t know you liked this jerk that much.” “To be fair, me neither” Johnny admitted “But I fucking love her, too, LaRusso, you know?” Daniel nodded, maybe for his sister’s sake he was ready to give his last enemy up.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 16: Prinxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Heeey, look at that, I’m behind! Day 16: When your soulmate listens to music, you hear it in your own head as well. 

Content warnings: assumed death of a soulmate (he’s not dead), depression, general sad vibes.

Word count: 2.6k

Note: the songs referenced in this fic are IDK You Yet by Alexander 23 and Love is Gone by SLANDER. Both of these songs make me cry and were the inspiration for this.

It was at midnight on December 19th when Roman’s soulmark first appeared. He didn’t realize this until 1am.

Granted, he didn’t know it was his soulmark for the first hour.

At first, the almost imperceptible steady beat in his head just seemed like a song that had gotten stuck in there. He didn’t remember ever hearing the song, but it wasn’t unlikely that he’d heard the tune at the store or on the radio and it unconsciously ingrained itself into his memory. He was working on an assignment that was due in the morning, a script analysis for one of his Theatre courses, and had begun to bop his head along to the music when his roommate walked in, eyes bleary and arms laden with books.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” He asked through a yawn, dropping the books on his desk and flopping into the bottom bunk. 

“I could ask you the same question, Pat,” Roman hummed, completing his conclusion paragraph with a dramatic flair of his hands. “Just finished my paper. Going now.”

“Lost track of time at the library,” Patton murmured in response, draping his arms over his eyes. 

Closing his computer, Roman popped his back and climbed up the small ladder into the top bunk, using his cellphone as a flashlight. He assumed Patton was already fast asleep (the man could fall asleep at the drop of a hat) and tried to follow suit, only to sit up in annoyance after several minutes.

Whatever song was stuck in his head was keeping him up. 

He remembered a tip he’d seen on the internet once, that said if you sing the last part of the song, it’s easier to get out of your head. Something about ‘your brain needing to complete it to be satisfied’ or whatever. As hard as he focused, though, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what song it was, much less the ending. 

The more he concentrated on it, the louder it seemed to get, until it was no longer a hum of bass in the back of his skull, and he could make out the lyrics, the guitar solos, everything. He definitely hadn’t heard this song before. It wasn’t the kind you’d hear playing in public; it was loud, swears thrown in every chorus, just generally the kind of thing you’d hear in a Hot Topic but nowhere else. 

And then it stopped.

For a split second he was pleased, thanking his brain for finally shutting off, and conceded to lie back down. He might be able to get six hours of sleep at this rate. Pretty good, for a college student. 

Except as soon as he closed his eyes, another song started. It was another one he didn’t know, one he would have no way of knowing each word to. The realization hit him hard and his eyes shot open, nearly falling off the ladder in his haste to climb down.

“Roman? Everything okay?” Patton drawled, clearly having been woken up by Roman’s enthusiasm. 

“My soulbond!”

“What?!” That got his attention and he jerked up, narrowly missing whacking his head on the top bunk.

“The music in my head all night, it’s my soulmate! It must be his birthday!”

He was pulling up music on his laptop before he’d even processed it, hands freezing over the keyboard as his brain grasped for something to play. What could he play that would properly introduce himself to his soulmate? A show tune? Something from the 80s? But his mind had gone completely blank, and he couldn’t think of a single one.

“What do I play, Pat?” He gasped, tapping the mousepad in time with the upbeat tempo in his head. 

Patton was suddenly leaning over his shoulder, clacking a name into the search bar before pressing enter. Roman narrowed his eyes 

“Why that one?”

Patton shrugged, “It’s kind of cheesy romantic, like you. And the first line is fitting.”

“A valid point,” Roman announced, closing his eyes to listen for a pause as the music switched. The second the song ended, he slammed the space bar, begging it to play before the next one started. 

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet.

A little more depressing than he initially would have chosen, but he could see Patton’s point. The music on the other end had been paused and he smiled in accomplishment, knowing that he must have heard. He let the song play to the end of the first chorus before pausing it, waiting with his roommate with baited breath.

The silence was almost unbearably long, Patton watching him intently for some kind of indication that the music was back.

Hello,

It’s me.

Adele’s soothing melody filled his mind and he absolutely wheezed with laughter. Patton grinned and let him explain through gasps for air, and he let out a giggle in response.

“Okay,” Roman snorted, “What next?”

Patton passed out probably an hour later after helping Roman pick out songs that would adequately encompass him as a person, but the theatre student didn’t sleep last night. Eventually him and his soulmate found a nice rhythm, each playing a song in turn. It didn’t take long for him to assume that his soulmate was emo (a fact that had him blushing furiously), simply due to the overwhelming amount of My Chemical Romance and Green Day played in his head, and he figured it was probably pretty obvious that he was a theatre kid. The second song he played was from Heathers, afterall. 

When his eyes finally started drooping too much to ignore, he knew he had to end this soon. The soulmate’s song ended and he quickly pulled up the first thing he’d thought of, a children’s lullaby, trying to indicate that he had to sleep.

There was quiet on the other end when the song ended, before the beginning trills of Baby Shark started playing and he groaned, quickly muffling the sound with his hand so as to not wake his roommate. He didn’t let it play past one verse, thank Olympus, and then his mind was quiet for the first time in many hours. It seemed like a mutual agreement that ‘now is sleep time’, and Roman went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Their new norm was quickly established in the following weeks. It became obvious almost right away that playing their music at the same time was cacophonous and only caused headaches, so they eventually settled on switching days. Every second morning, Roman would wake up to his alarm and quickly start his morning playlist, a set of rousing, uplifting, exciting songs to get his blood flowing for the day. It was his day to choose the music, so he’d set his walking playlist for class and his study one for the evenings, sometimes playing an adventure podcast or something to spice things up. The other days, he’d be woken by the soft notes of melancholy tunes, starting the day slowly. As the morning progressed, usually by the time he was eating breakfast, the tone would change to something a little more fast paced, as if his soulmate needed to warm up before getting to the main act. As much as the music wasn’t his style, he found himself keeping pace to the beat with his steps, bopping his head along to the melody, humming a harmony to the more commonly played ones. Just knowing that this was his soulmate made it better. 

And then, one day… the music stopped. 

He’d woken up around noon, not a big deal since he didn’t have classes until after lunch anyways, but he knew for a fact that his soulmate was always up by 10, latest. Whether the other had classes or a job that kept his schedule, he didn’t know. It was an oddity for sure that there was no alarm. 

He put it off to the other probably having a sick day, or a free schedule, and he was sleeping in for once. The worry only started creeping in near the evening, when usually at this time, the music would start slowing down again as the sun set. There hadn’t been a peep all day, which was very unlike either of them. Even though the silence bothered him, he wouldn’t dare intrude on the other’s day, so he studied and ate dinner in silence, tapping his pencil against the table. Of course, he put it off to a one day fluke. 

Except, two days after, when it should have been his soulmate’s turn again, there was no music. And the time after that. And the one after that. It was almost two weeks of radio silence on the other end before he called Patton through broken sobs, pleading for him to stop studying and come back to the dorm. Obviously, he made the ten minute walk in five. 

And then Roman admitted the way his anxieties had been spiralling.

“What if- What if our soulbond broke? Did the universe realize we were a mistake? Or… or what if he died?! What if he’s hurt or dying or alone and I’m just-”

Patton shushed him gently, rubbing his back as Roman hiccuped into his shoulder. “When did this start?”

“Two- two weeks ago.”

“Then isn’t it possible that he just isn’t listening to music for a little while? Maybe he’s… somewhere without wifi. Or his phone broke.”

Even though he very much didn’t believe a word Patton was saying, he nodded along messily, clutching Patton’s shirt tighter. He eventually agreed to give him more time, hold on just a little longer, before completely giving up.

It took about a month before he did, and it didn’t get better from there. 

Their consistency had been their norm for almost nine months, over summer break and now into the new school year, and now it was torn away without warning. Roman refused to listen to music on days that weren’t his, even though Patton tried to tell him it was okay, but he wouldn’t. It didn’t feel right. He mourned his soulmate the same way he would mourn a close friend’s death, for he truly believed he was gone for good. The person he’d barely gotten to understand, much less meet, and he was just… gone. He was going to live the rest of his life without a soulmate.

Most nights he just did the bare basics of the homework he had to do, without any of the old flair he’d put into all his work, and curled onto his bed to watch a show or, on his days, listen to music. His old playlists had shifted to the bottom of his rotation, now only bringing sadder memories that Patton had insisted he not indulge in at this point, so it was usually just automated lists he found. Nothing was special about them anymore. 

Today was his day, an uneventful Saturday where the most exciting occurrence was Patton convincing him to come to the cafeteria and eat with other people. It had been tiring and only made him feel more alone, so his daily scheduled moping times had come up a little earlier. Patton had given him a hug and a gentle kiss on the head, telling him he had to go meet some people for a group project, and to call if he needed anything, before grabbing his bag and leaving. Roman didn’t miss the sad look tossed his way before the door shut.

Despite Patton’s advice, he was feeling particularly shitty today, and his fingers, seemingly with a mind of their own, pulled up one of his older playlists. One of the ones that was reminiscent of days when he actually had a soulmate. He clicked shuffle and tossed the phone onto the pillow next to his head, curling that much deeper into his blankets, as if he could somehow refill the void that had been cut out of him. 

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet.

The first song he’d ever played had become a sort of inside joke between them. Despite the song’s sad melody and somber lyrics, it was a reminder of the first time they’d interacted; an awkward, laughter filled night. At least, it had been on Roman’s night, and he could only hope it had been the same on the other end. 

He didn’t even realize he was crying until the pillow beneath him was tear stained and gross to lay on. Why had the universe chosen him as the target for its cruel irony? Not that he wished this on anyone else… but why couldn’t soulmates be foolproof? Why was there that margin for error, the always-there possibility that everything you’ve ever dreamed of will be ripped out of your hands just as soon as you think you have it? So close, but so far. At least before they’d connected, he’d lived in blissful hope and ignorance. 

The song ended and he pressed pause lethargically, not able to find the emotional strength to listen to more. Maybe Patton had been right. A glance out the window showed that it was well past nightfall, the full moon gleaming into his window, and he decided to just sleep the emptiness away. It hadn’t worked so far, but maybe tonight was the night. He turned off his phone screen and plugged it in to charge, rolling away to face the wall, and waited for the soothing peace of sleep to take over him.

At first, he thought it was just a hallucination, wishful thinking. More than once in the three months since his soulmate disappeared, he’d thought he’d heard music, only for the feeling to disappear as soon as he focused on it. A soulbond only became louder when concentrated on, so he eventually realized he was doing it to himself subconsciously, his mind struggling to fill the emptiness that had once been filled by the other’s music. 

When it disappeared, he figured it was music from someone else’s dorm filtering through the thin walls. But no, this was too clear, too distinct, too ingrained, to be coming from an external source.

He calmed his racing heart before he could jump to conclusions. This music isn’t like what his used to be. It must be your brain, because he’s gone. He’s GONE, Roman.

Much as he tried to push it down, he couldn’t. It was becoming evident that no, something was happening, and it had to do with his soulmate. As he had done for the time he’d known (could it be considered ‘knowing’) the other, he concentrated on the lyrics, because those were the only feeble ways they’d interacted in those times. 

I’m sorry,

Don’t leave me,

I want you here with me, 

I know that your love is gone.

I can’t breathe,

I’m so weak, 

I know this isn’t easy,

Don’t tell me that your love is gone,

That your love is gone.

Patton walked in after his group meeting to see Roman sobbing in his bed and, immediately assuming the worst, he jumped onto the bed and pulled him into his arms. Through gasps for breath, Roman was able to choke out that, “He’s back. He’s playing music. He’s back. He’s back.”

Part 2 HERE

[scripts4dreamers]

Just One Drink

Part Two, Part Three

AN: Cases at the BAU wear on you after a while Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence

Prompt: “We’re in this together.”

(Do I want to write a part two for this? Maybe. Do I love Spencer Reid and the Criminal Minds bunch in general with all my heart? Most definitely. So feel free to send in requests!)

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You sighed, collapsing into the chair by your desk and burying your face in your hands. It had been a long week. Three missing kids, one crazed killer and less than 72 hours to get them back alive; just another week for the BAU. You tried to remember that you’d signed up for this, that you loved what you did and the people you did it with, and that you had managed to save the kids in the end, but your tired brain didn’t care. Right then, all you really wanted was a mug of hot chocolate and to curl up on your couch with a good book.

“Hey, you okay?” you heard someone ask.

You lifted your head slightly and noticed Spencer Reid had appeared beside your desk without you noticing. He was leaning against the divider you’d set up and was trying to look casual and failing miserably. Spencer had been a part of the BAU for a lot longer than you had and he was a bit of a legend in the Bureau but, for some reason, he always seemed nervous around you. He was nice, of course, and clever, and you enjoyed spending time with him but it took a lot for him to seem properly at ease whenever you were nearby and, right now, you were too tired to want to play nice with anybody.

Maybe it was because you were new, you reasoned, maybe he just wasn’t good at adapting to changes in the team dynamic. Still, he was obviously trying, so you forced yourself to give him a small smile and nod.

“Yeah, I’m all good, just tired.” you answered.

Spencer nodded, like he understood, and pulled up a chair, “I was the same when I’d just joined, every case took the life right out of me. You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, resting your head in your hands again, “because there’s no way I can keep going on like this.”

For a long moment there was just silence, until he cleared his throat and asked, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Your head shot up and you tried to hide the flash of confusion on your face, “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Spencer laughed nervously, “contrary to popular belief I’m actually a really great listener.”

“And humble too,” you joked.

“Oh exceedingly so,” he joked back, rising out of his seat, “come on, let’s go get a drink and I’ll prove it to you.”

You considered for a moment. On the one hand, you desperately wanted to get out of the office and remember what it felt like to not be miserable, and you’d been secretly crushing on Spencer since your first day at the BAU, on the other…

You shook your head, “I should stay, I’ve got so much paperwork to get done for this case and-”

Spencer rolled his eyes fondly, reaching down and pulling you to your feet, “And it’ll still be there on Monday,” he interrupted, “Come on, Y/N. I’ll help you with whatever you need later.”

Your heart jumped into your throat at the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your wrist, and you felt a lick of heat run up your neck. It was unfair for a skinny white boy who could describe the plot of every star trek episode ever made in detail to be as attractive as Spencer Reid was. You didn’t know if it was the hair, or his cheekbones, or the way he smiled but, whatever it was, you were a sucker for it so you let yourself get pulled up.

“Okay, Reid, but I’m holding you to that. If I’ve forgotten even one important detail that messes this report up-”

“Y/N, I have an eidetic memory. The report will be perfect,” he smiled, letting your wrist drop and scooping up your bag, “let’s go then, I know the perfect place.”

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

The bar Spencer took you to was small and cozy; busy enough that you could blend in to the crowd without being so loud that it became overwhelming. The drinks weren’t cheap, but they were good, and the booth you’d tucked yourselves into was comfortable and out of the way so you could talk freely. Spencer loved it there. He’d been coming to that bar since he’d first joined the BAU and, even though a bar wouldn’t usually be his first choice for a happy place, this one was packed to the brim with happy memories.

Across from him, you were sipping your second whiskey sour in silence, casting nervous glances up at Spencer every few seconds. Something was definitely wrong. It wasn’t just the dark circles under your eyes that worried him, or the way you never really sat still, constantly glancing around the room and over your shoulder, it was everything. Usually you were so...alive at work. You’d joke around with Morgan, swap stories with Prentiss, brazenly flirt with Hotch and Rossi until they’d crack and give you a smile. In every situation you made a point to add value, whether that be by making a poignant connection during a case or just sliding the perfect cup of coffee Spencer’s way without him having to ask for it. But now things were different. It had been happening bit by bit, too slowly for some of the others to notice but, after this last case, it was impossible for Spencer to ignore. You didn’t laugh anymore, or joke or flirt. You still made amazing points, still worked harder than anyone asked you to, but now it seemed like it weighed you down, like every new case chipped just a little bit more of you away. It hurt to watch.

“Y/N, you know it’s okay to struggle with this stuff, right?” Spencer eventually said. He wasn’t exactly the king of knowing what to say but he felt like he owed it to you to try. After all, when he was new he’d had Gideon to help him through it, “You don’t have to be alright right away.”

“You are,” you replied softly, meeting his eye briefly.

Spencer snorted and shook his head, “Me? The recovering drug addict? Yeah, I’m definitely the poster-child for healthy coping mechanisms.”

You chuckled and then looked up, horrified, “I didn’t mean to laugh at the whole addiction thing.”

“I know, Y/N/N,” he smiled, “but you’re allowed to. I was making a joke after all.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” you teased gently, leaning back in your seat.

Your shoulders were untensed now, Spencer noticed, and you were fiddling less and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. You were relaxing.

“Yeah, Morgan says I’ve gotta work on my delivery more,” Spencer said.

“Smart man, Morgan.” you countered.

Spencer smiled, “But seriously, Y/N, if you want to talk-” he lapsed into silence, holding your gaze as he let his offer hand in the air.

You watched Spencer for a moment, that piercing look in your eye that always made him feel unsteady, like you were seeing right through him. You weren’t profiling, he knew that, but you were definitely trying to figure him out. Eventually you sighed, seemingly resigning yourself to your fate, and nodded slowly.

“I just-” you started, “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” you blinked quickly, probably trying to stave off tears, “all the worry just-it just eats away at me and I can’t do anything about it.” You paused, sniffing, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “And it’s never enough, you know? We do everything we can but it’s just never enough and the cases keep coming and coming and all these people keep dying and dying and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. We’re the best people for the job and we still spend 80% of our time playing catch up to these guys,” you shook your head again, “it just messes with my head.”

Spencer felt his heart pinch in his chest, affection rushing through him so fast that he didn’t know what to make of it.

He leaned forward, holding your gaze and said, “Of course it does, we spend most of our day trying to think like some of the most disturbed and dangerous people in the country. Honestly, I’d be more worried if you weren’t struggling with it.” Spencer assured you, “Our job is really really fucking hard, okay? It’s rewarding, but it takes its toll on all of us eventually. What’s important is to remember that you’re not doing this on your own, I’ve got your back-we’ve got your back, the whole team.” He hesitated for a moment, before leaning forward and covering your hand with his own, “We’re in this together, no matter what happens.”

For a long while you just looked at one another, something like gratitude glimmering in your eyes as you squeezed Spencer’s hand. His skin felt warm where it met yours and he softly let his thumb glance along the inside of your wrist.

You were beautiful, Spencer noticed, but not in the way he expected. Objectively speaking you were an attractive person, of course, he’d have to be blind to miss that, but there was something more. Just being pretty generally wasn’t enough to make Spencer’s heart race like it did around you, it wasn’t enough to make him want to reach out and touch, to make Spencer so desperate to spend time with you that he dragged you to a bar he loved on the off chance he’d get you to smile. Just being pretty wasn’t enough to explain why Spencer felt the way he did, it had always been more than that.

You nodded, quickly wiping your cheeks and giving Spencer a small smile as you gently detangled your hand from his. His heart sunk, just a little bit, at the loss of contact, but he made sure to keep his face neutral.

“How are you so good at this, doctor Reid?” you asked.

I’ve been practicing what I wanted to say for nearly two weeks now, Spencer thought.

He shrugged, “It’s just the truth, Y/N, that’s all.”

You nodded and lapsed into what seemed like a thoughtful silence.

“Hey, Reid?” You eventually asked, sounding almost nervous.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Why do you call me Y/N?”

Spencer frowned, suddenly confused, “That’s your name. Is there something wrong with how I say it?”

“No, no you say it perfectly,” you assured him, “it’s just, you don’t call anyone else in the team by their first name. Just me.”

He opened his mouth to say that that was ridiculous, but stopped just before the words left his mouth. You were right.

“Um,” Spencer started, a lick of anxiety flaring up in his stomach, “I don’t-I don’t know, really. Guess I never thought about it. You want another drink?” He took the opportunity to stand up and walk to the bar, returning your empty glasses and ordering two fresh drinks.

He needed a minute to figure out where his head was. He felt unsettled, like maybe something about the way you’d looked at him had struck a nerve. He knew how suspicious he’d sounded just then, like he was hiding something. He knew he had to have a better answer, otherwise you’d just come to your own conclusion and, judging by how good of a profiler you were, you’d probably come to the right one.

Fuck. When he’d invited you out for a drink Spencer had just wanted to make you smile, maybe take a little of the load off your shoulders. He’d never meant to make it so personal, such an obvious declaration of his feelings, but he had. It may have seemed small to call someone by their first name in your line of work, but you both knew different. It signaled intimacy, care, trust. It meant that he felt something for you, something different than what he felt for other members of the team. He had to be smart about this. There were rules against agents fraternizing with other agents, guidelines that had to be followed, boundaries that had to stay in place to preserve the team. Beyond that there was the fact that you were new, he didn’t know you well enough to say for sure how you felt about him, whether there was even a possibility of his feelings being reciprocated, and the fact that he didn’t even really know what his feelings were.

He admired you, he thought you were smart and resourceful, funny, sweet, tough as nails, he liked being around you. He liked you, but that didn’t have to mean anything. He’d liked tons of women in his time, some of them had liked him back, most hadn’t. But the name, the name meant something, it had to.

The bartender handed him the drinks and, reluctantly, Spencer made his way back to the table. You were watching him, somewhere between nervous and expectant, and Reid felt a familiar rush of fondness shoot through him. He collapsed onto the seat across from you, handing you the drink with a small smile.

“Whiskey sour,” he commented, trying to break the tension, “often considered a more masculine drink due to the presence of whiskey and egg-white.”

“Drinks shouldn’t be gendered,” you answered, taking a sip, “and by the way, if there’s egg-white it’s called a Boston sour.”

“Are you from Boston?” He asked.

You shook your head, “Nope.”

“Oh.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, just expectant. Spencer knew instinctively that, if he wanted, he could just avoid the topic completely. You wouldn’t push him. You would leave the bar together, say goodnight, and life would continue on like nothing had happened, but something about that felt inauthentic, like he’d be lying to you somehow, and he respected you too much for that. So he settled on part of the truth

“I call you by your first name because I care about you,” he eventually said, “I-uh-I feel….protective over you, I-” he cleared his throat, “you’re important to me. I didn’t-if it makes you uncomfortable I can call you Y/L/N.”

“No!” you said quickly, “No, I didn’t-it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, I like it. I just-” you looked away, worrying at your lip in a way that made it seem like you were nervous. You took a deep breath and stared down into your drink, “I was worried that it meant you didn’t respect me.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, “What? Y/N that’s ridiculous! You’re one of the best profilers I know.”

You rolled your eyes, “Maybe in other departments, but in the BAU?” You shook your head, “I’m practically an amature.”

“I’m sorry, did you not just solve a case and rescue three kids?” Spencer asked, “Was it someone else who made the connection between De Vos’ childhood arson charge and the kids home the victims were from? ‘Cause if I remember correctly, and I’m pretty sure I do, that was all you.”

You smiled a little, enjoying the praise, but still seemed unsure, “Well none of that would have been helpful if you hadn’t figured out where he was keeping the kids.”

“Yes, it would have,” Spencer promised, leaning forward and covering your hand again, “Y/N, you cracked that case wide open. Without you, those kids would probably be dead.”

“Without you those kids would be dead,” You corrected, nudging his leg under the table and giving him a shy smile.

Spencer felt his heart stutter in his chest and he leaned back, taking his hand off yours but leaving your knees touching under the table.

“Well that just means we’re a good team.” He said, returning your smile.

You laughed and, with that, the tension dissipated. You spent the rest of your time together sharing childhood stories and swapping jokes. You spent twenty minutes just listening to him explain common misconceptions about the story of Tristan and Isolde before he caught himself and, when he laughed and apologized, you just shrugged and smiled, saying that you loved seeing how happy he looked when he talked about it. Spencer nearly swooned at that.

By the end of the night you seemed more like your old self than you had in weeks. Spencer walked you out and waited with you on the street as you called a taxi. It felt different between you now, no awkwardness or strain, just the warm comfort of being with someone you care about. Of course, just under the surface, Spencer could feel the start of something. It was fragile, easy snuffed out if treated poorly, but it was there; potential, the potential for this to be more than a friendship, to be something real, something worth fighting for.

Your taxi arrived before Spencer could figure out how to feel about that. Before he could say anything, you’d pulled him into a warm embrace, leaving him enough time to pull away if he wanted as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he pulled you close, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You smelled wonderful.

“Thank you for today, Spencer,” you said quietly, so that only he could hear, “I-I really needed it.”

Spencer swore he felt his heart actually melt at the softness in your voice, but he pushed through it.

“Anytime, Y/N.”

You pulled away, smiling bigger than he’d seen in ages, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. You clambered into the taxi gracelessly, because you were looking back at him.

“You won’t be saying that when you’re stuck working those reports with me all of next week,” you teased.

Spencer smiled, stepping forward to close the taxi door behind you, “Wanna bet?”

“You’re on.” you agreed fondly.

He watched the car from his position on the sidewalk until it disappeared, trying to calm the frantic pounding of his heart.

“Spencer,” he muttered to himself happily, “she called me Spencer.”

And by god, he’d never liked the way his name sounded more.