#but blatantly calling the rest pick me is a little harsh I believe

[harcove]

hiiiii! <33 i dont know if you are taking any requests but can you write a leon x reader in which the reader gets bitten? (i love drama lmaoo)

love uuuuuu<3333

Okay so I do have like a bunch of other stuff to finish in my inbox, but I tend to not do things in order of when I get them, I do them in the order of whatever I get done first (since I start them all whenever I get them and work on them over time) and whatever I'm getting the most inspiration for at the moment, and this baby right here: chefs kiss right now. I LOVE angst so much, it is my favourite thing to write.

Also I'm always open for requests! It's just a matter of when they get done, since like I said above, and also my final year of uni just started so oof. ALSO: Decided to do RE2 Leon oop... I hope that's okay!

I LOVE YOU TOO! Here you go bb,

Warnings: angst, blood/gore, injury, character death

Length: 2.8k (I- oop.)

Request: in the ask!

RE2 Leon Kennedy x Reader - Not you.

Your hand squeezed your thigh with as much strength as you could muster. It wasn't that it was hurting too much yet, you were still running off the shock and adrenaline from the events moments before that the pain hadn't yet settled. Dark blood oozed between your shaking fingers and coated your hand like you had just decided to dip your hand into a bucket of red paint. It was hardly sanitary considering the situation you were in, dirty and sweaty, having been going through the sewers earlier.

The undead man who had done the deed lay a few feet away with your survival knife Leon had given you stuck in his temple. You could see your own blood and flesh on his face, in his mouth. It was unnerving, and you usually wouldn't have noticed such a detail, except that it was your skin. Your blood. Your body.

You inched yourself towards the corpse and used the tip of your foot to make sure it wasn't still going to get back up. When it did nothing after a few pushes, you deemed it safe enough to take your knife back. With a few hard tugs, it dislodged itself with a squelch and you fell back against the wall behind you, exhausted.

The sudden sharp pain that run up your leg into your spine and made you arch your back for a moment as you stopped breathing forced you to pay attention to the wound on your leg. Hesitantly, you moved your shaking fingers away from the bite on your leg to take a peak.

There wasn't really a point to looking at it, you realized moments after you laid eyes on it. It wasn't going to fix anything, and there was nothing for you to assess. A bite was a bite, and you knew what it meant. Leon and you had seen what happened to Marvin. You yourself had seen a friend turn after being bit before you had gone to the RPD. So you knew.

The skin near the bite was incredibly hot to the touch, and even without touching it, you could feel the heat coming off your skin. Your jeans sported a hole where the bite was and you wondered if there was anything in your bag to cover it with. It was ugly to look at, and scary.

You let out of deep sigh as you closed your eyes. There wasn't much you could do but sit there. Leon was somewhere inside the NEST, and you were at the entrance. You weren't sure if you wanted Leon to find you dead or alive, but all you knew was that this was not something you nor him could fix.

It felt like hours had passed when Leon had shown up. But in reality, it had only been about half of an hour. Whatever was in the bite, whatever the virus really was, had done a number on you as you felt sweat bead at your forehead and slowly trickle down the side of your face. The furrow in your brow from the pain almost felt like it was permanent.

"Y/N!" He called out when he spotted you. He looked worse for wear, that was for sure. The way his shirt had been ripped on the sleeves, and the bandage you could see just beneath his shirt and RPD vest. He was caked in blood, sweat, and dirt too.

And yet he was a welcome sight for your tired eyes.

He quickly slid onto his knees and if you weren't in so much pain yourself, you would've winced at how harshly he landed on the hard floor, but it didn't seem like he was affected by it.

"I'm so glad I found you," he said breathily; he reminded you of a little puppy, and it made you want to squeeze him close to you, "what happened, what-"

Your hand squeezed your leg unconsciously and he looked down when you did so, his beautiful blue eyes resting on your bloodied hand and whatever you were covering up. His eyes looked back up to you almost hesitantly, asking to look. When a half-smile was your only response, he looked back down and focused on your leg.

His hands gently pried your fingers off your leg and he carefully let your hand go on your lap, giving them a squeeze.

"I'm..." he seemed at a loss for words, you would've been too, "I have to... Cut this away to see it better, okay? It's..."

Carefully he used his own survival knife to cut away at the pieces of your jeans, which were dyed deep red around the wound, so he could see it better. Your hand came up to his shoulder as he did so, peeling the bloody fabric away from it as much as he could without hurting you, and you squeezed his shoulder so tightly, fighting the urge to scream in pain. But he didn't seem to notice, or care, about the harsh grip you had on his shoulder.

"Oh. God..." it was said softly, almost as if he had no air left inside him to breathe, let alone speak.

"It's really ugly, I know," you tried to make the situation less dire, but it didn't seem to work, because Leon just looked at you with his big eyes, full of so many negative emotions.

"It's not..." even Leon didn't know what he was doing to say as he trailed off. He began searching through his pockets till he came up with a bottle of antiseptic that looked half empty.

"It's gonna be okay," he finally spoke again as he started to open the bottle, but your hand reached up and seized his own holding the open bottle above your leg.

"Don't use that," you pushed it closer to him and further from your leg, "you can't afford to waste that."

"I'm not wasting it."

You hadn't heard him sound so sure of his words, so... Angry. You hadn't known the boy long, but that was the first time you'd seen him react that way to anything. It made your push your lips together in a thin line, but you kept your hand on him, stopping him from using the antiseptic.

"I'm pretty sure we both know how this ends," you prompted slowly, "I don't think an antiseptic is going to fix it."

"The vaccine is here somewhere, it has to be," he stated firmly, "we just need to find it. It's going to be okay."

It wasn't that you didn't trust him, or that you didn't believe him. But how long was it going to take to find a vaccine? And how did you truly know you were going to find one? You didn't even know if it would work.

You didn't have much say when Leon moved to put your arm over his shoulder, and looked at you, counting to three before he helped you off the ground.

It worked initially: you had managed to stand up with the help of the rookie cop beside you, who kicked the zombie that had done the deed further from you two when you had gotten up. But it didn't last long, as pain shot through your leg and seemed to spread through your entire body. You could barely keep yourself upright even with his help, your body felt too weak to even function.

"Leon, I can't," you cried, falling back against the wall, "I can't."

"Damnit," Leon cursed under his breath, looking around him urgently before he left you against the wall to open a door across from the two of you.

He was missing for less than a minute when he came back out from the room and quickly came back to you. One of his arms reached under your legs while the other went to your back.

"I'm going to pick you up, okay?"

Ever the gentleman, even when you were definitely dying.

"My hero," you smiled softly but it came out as more of a grimace as he lifted you up like you weighed nothing.

You supposed training to be a police officer meant he wouldn't have trouble carrying fully grown human beings.

The room was dimly lit by a single lamp. There was a bed right across from the door, and a desk close to the door. Someone must've used this room as not just a study but a place to sleep. Like a bedroom.

Leon gently placed you on the bed in the room, being careful on how he placed you, and never taking his focus away from your leg.

"Okay," he breathed out pulling back, "I'm going to go find the vaccine. And then we're going to get out of here. Together."

It was a wonderful thought. It was the dream, right? For everything to be okay, for you to be fine, and for the two of you to get out of Raccoon city and away from this mess. Together.

And yet you knew it wasn't going to happen, you knew you weren't getting out of there. You knew you were dead. And it was a scary thought to have to face alone because you wanted so badly to live. To live with him.

He would've been out that door had you not reached your hand out and grabbed his hand as best you could, squeezing it as hard as you could.

"Don't," your voice cracked as you swallowed hard, the ache in your chest only growing when his pained expression met yours, "don't leave me. Leon..."

"But I need to..."

It was blatantly obvious to not only yourself but also to him that there wasn't anything he could do. Not anything he could do in time for you. He didn't even know what he'd be looking for exactly, but he'd go find it if he could. He'd do anything to help you. To save you, and keep you near, but there wasn't anything he could do. It was a cold hard truth, and one he so desperately wanted to avoid.

But he couldn't.

Not when he looked at you, and really looked. Not just second glances over your form and your leg that lasted seconds as his blue eyes frantically moved like they were trying to find something they couldn't. No, when he really stopped and stared at you, he couldn't avoid it.

Your skin was ashen and you were covered in a thin layer of sweat. Your eyes somehow looked like they had sunken in a bit, and looked dull compared to what they usually looked like. The way you breathed was alarming, it was shallow and sounded tiring, and then some moments it would speed up only to slow down moments later. You were in pain, and you were hardly there anymore.

"Y/N..." Leon's voice cracked, and you never thought you were going to see him cry. He held your hand back tightly and noted your fingertips felt cooler, "This isn't happening. Not to you."

"I should've paid more attention..." you said softly, "I don't... I don't want to die."

"I should've been here, I should've..." he exhaled through his nose, "damnit!"

"I'm not letting you blame yourself," you sternly interrupted him and squeezed his hand as best as you could, "not now. Not ever. None of this is your fault..."

Leon said nothing as he took to the ground beside the bed, kneeling right beside you. His face was close to your own as he leaned forward, his hand still holding your own tightly, which he brought up to your chest where your intertwined hands sat.

"Just..." you knew what you wanted to say but you didn't want to make the hurt worse, "just... promise you won't forget about me? And promise... Promise you're going to get out of here. Alive."

"I could never forget you," he said hurriedly as if he was offended you would have even thought he could forget you, "even if I wanted to, I could never..."

There was something there, between the two of you, that was trying to lay itself bare, but something was stopping it. There was something unsaid, simple words that were hard to say and had so much meaning, so much weight. But neither of you could say it.

If you did, not only would it be the first time, but also, the last time.

With your remaining strength you slipped a ring off your finger; it was an old thing, something that you had for a while and you didn't even remember why you got it or where you got it, but you always wore it just because. It had no sentimental meaning, but now it did as you pushed it into his hands. The look of confusion on his pained face made you smile slightly.

"So you always have a piece of me," you said, "and if you ever try to pawn that off I will come back and find you, Kennedy..."

His eyes trained themselves of the silver ring in his hands, it was so plain, just a band. But it was yours. It was you. It was all he could keep of you, he realized because this wasn't going to end with your life. Pocketing the ring, he took your hand again.

"I might just sell it then if you show up," he tried to make you smile, which it worked, but he also felt the need to reassure you, "I won't get rid of it. Ever."

"Good to know," you let go of his hand again and pulled out the gun in the holster that he had found for you in the station, inside was a round of ammo that you wouldn't need. Pulling out the ammo, save for one of the bullets, you gave him the rounds.

"What? What are you-"

"I'm not... Going to need this," you said, slightly out of breath from the pain you were in, "and I know they fit Matilda. But I'm keeping the gun, and one of the bullets."

It seemed to dawn on him what you meant by your final sentence and he frantically began to protest.

"Hey, wait, no," he shook his head, "no. I can... You don't have to... Let me."

It was the idea that you would have to shoot yourself that made him uncomfortable. The idea that you would need to take your own life upset him. But if you didn't want to turn into one of them, he would do it for you. He would... He...

"We both know you can't," you justified, "and I don't want you to. I could never ask you to. So, you go. You leave Leon, and you find that virus. You get out of here, and you live. You don't do anything stupid or reckless, and you make these bastards pay."

You were adamant, and you left absolutely no room for argument. Even if he wanted to argue, he couldn't. And he wanted to argue. But denial would get him killed, and you wanted him to live. And some part of him wanted to live for you.

"Alright," his voice didn't waver this time as he spoke, "Alright."

He placed his head against yours for a moment when he stood up and squeezed your hand a little tighter in his own when he grabbed it again. Softly, you placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth and ushered him to leave. It felt like he was walking on hot coals the whole time as he walked out the door, he regretted it when he looked back at you at the door, like he was waiting for you to get up and go with him. It just made closing the door behind him a lot harder.

He hadn't really been keeping watch of the time since he arrived in the RPD. He didn't really realize how fast or how slow time was going. But at that moment, outside that door, he really felt the way time flowed. It was impossibly slow, agonizingly so, and it was deadly quiet. Something that happened in only moments felt like it had taken an eternity.

He was used to the sound of a gun by now. It didn't make him flinch anymore. But this time it did. It made his stomach clench and his jaw tighten, his body stiffens. He hated how it sounded more than he ever had before.

The piece of metal in his pocket weighed heavy as he ghosted his hand over it.

Leon was going to find who did this. He was going to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. But most of all, he was going to make them pay.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #resident evil imagine #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #re2 #re2 remake #leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #re2 leon #re #mine #amy writes #delicious ANGST #now i gotta sleep or try to cause i have class at 8 and its 2 am aha #i hope this is okay oof sorry #AND I WILL DO THE OTHER STUFF I ALREADY STARTED THEM I JUST FINISHED THIS ONE FIRST OOF

[kiranatrix]

What Comes Out in the Wash

Day 1: Hair @deathnotetober

Characters: Light, L, Watari, & mentions of Sayu // Rating: Gen; platonic (or Lawlight if you squint) // Summary: L wakes up with a huge rat’s nest in his hair and Watari says ‘handle it yourself,’ so Light has to help.

Co-written with @resilicns

——-

Sleep was something that was becoming increasingly rare for L to achieve these days, and when he did, it could hardly be called restful. He’d spend those few measly hours tossing, turning, kicking, and just squirming in general. When he slept on his own, this was hardly an issue, but now that he was sharing a bed with Light, things were getting a bit complicated.

L grunted quietly, pushing his elbow and forearm down into the bed as he lifted his head up off of the pillow, resting on his side. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he gazed around the room drowsily, trying to desperately grasp for awareness, until his gaze landed on a mirror. He lifted his other hand to feel his hair, touching the knotted mess he had noticed in his reflection. His hair was almost comparable to a bird’s nest at this point. Grimacing, he lifted the receiver off of the phone on the end table, pressing the button mapped to dial Watari’s phone in his office. He held it up to his ear and sighed quietly.

“Watari? I need you to come to my room. My hair is in need of brushing this morning,” L muttered, wincing as one of his fingers caught on a tangle and yanked the strand in that brief instant.

“Apolog--” Quillsh had covered the receiver to try and mask his hacking cough but it still came through the line. “Apologies, sir. It seems I’m unwell. I wouldn’t want to infect you with whatever I have. It’s quite dismal.” He held the phone away to sneeze several times into a monogrammed handkerchief. “You’ll have to make do on your own today.”

L paled slightly, holding the receiver away from his face for a second to stare at it as if it had personally offended him. When he held it back up to his ear, he sighed quite loudly. “I suppose we’ll have to inform the task force that they have the day off, today. However,” he frowned, pushing himself up into a sitting position as he clutched the phone. “Who will brush my hair? Who will prepare my meals? Who will select my clothing?” While he knew the latter was not necessary, the panic in his voice made it obvious he wasn’t thinking clearly.

Light opened one eye to see what all the fuss was about, frowning as he glared up at L. He hadn’t even gotten to sleep until after 3 am because L insisted on bringing his laptop to bed, loudly clacking on the keyboard and munching on panda cookies. The clock on the nightstand said it was just 6:30 am. I’m expected to work on a measly 3 hours sleep?!

“Can you keep your voice down, Ryuzaki?,” he huffed while turning over. “I’m not getting up until 7 and that’s that.”

Quillsh replied to L, “Everything will be fine. You know as well as I do that all your clothes are the same, no selection required. There are cakes and fruit in the refrigerator, and instant coffee if you can’t bother with the coffeemaker.”

He sighed tiredly, barely able to muster the energy needed to argue with L. “As for your hair...no time like the present to pick up a brush and try it yourself.” It was really past time for L to do that anyway but it meant time not focused on work, and was thus always deprioritized.

L gritted his teeth, gripping his own hair in his hand as his anxiety spiked just from the thought of trying to brush it himself. “But-..!” He stopped himself, squirming and making the bed bounce slightly. He completely ignored Light, his attention entirely focused on the call. “…alright. My apologies for disturbing you. Please get some rest and take care of yourself,” he murmured, quietly saying his polite goodbyes before hanging up the phone.

He turned to face forward, glancing at Light out of the corner of his eyes. He stared at the younger man for only a few seconds, moving to the end table and pulling out one of his hair brushes. He took a deep, loud breath to try and settle himself in preparation. However, no amount of preparation could prepare him for the instant pain that followed one frantic and barely-effective brush through his hair. He immediately chucked the item away from himself, hugging his knees to his chest in defeat.

Light snickered into his pillow and looked over his shoulder. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to try?” He turned over to face L, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Don’t tell me that the World’s Greatest Detective has been defeated by an eeeevil tangle,” he teased. He couldn’t help but rub it in a little after all the grief L had put him through lately.

L shot Light a bitter glare, his eyes slightly moist from the shock of pain. “It is painful, and I am choosing to avoid engaging in painful activities. I will just wait until Watari is well enough to brush my hair,” he huffed, averting his gaze. In truth, he knew his hair would only be even more impossibly tangled- potentially unsalvageable by the time the man was no longer ill.

“That is…” Light sat up and leveled L with an unimpressed stare. “...the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. It’s just going to get worse if you put it off, and who even knows if he’ll be better tomorrow.” He leaned closer to examine L’s bedhead and let out a low whistle. Somehow, in the span of just 3 hours of sleep, the back of L’s head had gone from normal looking (for him) to a mess of matted, knotted hair. “Ok, I’ll admit that is pretty bad. I think even your tangles have tangles.”

He looked from the chaotic labyrinth of hair to the discarded brush thrown in the corner. L’s going to be a miserable grouch all day if this doesn’t get fixed. That made even the prospect of having the day off seem unappealing given who he was chained to. Plus, every moment they weren’t working, he was denied the chance to clear his name.

“Let me take a crack at it.” He glanced at L, giving him a little shrug like ‘why not?’ “It’s not like I can make it any worse.”

“You could still hurt me,” L muttered, glowering at Light. His expression was similar to a pout at this point, as if he was on the verge of crossing his arms and huffing.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Light sighed, still half-asleep. “I used to brush Sayu’s hair all the time when she was little.” Under his breath he murmured, “Anyway, you’d just tag on an assault charge onto my long list of ‘crimes’.’”

L hesitated for a moment before climbing off of the bed and retrieving the brush. Thankfully it wasn’t too far that the chain would cause any issues. He set the brush down in front of Light and sat down with his back towards the man. This is a terrible idea. However, if he goes out of his way to harm me, I can hold that against him.

Light picked up the brush tentatively, making a face at how overloaded with wiry black hair it was. “Hold on…it’s not going to do any good like this.” He pulled off the hair and dropped it from pinched fingers in the trash can beside the bed. “Ok, now we’re ready. Just...” He trailed off as he blinked at the back of L’s head-- specifically, the tumor-like protrusion of hair sticking out from the back. How could it have possibly gotten this bad?! Maybe I’m out of my depth here. “Um. Do you brush your hair every day, Ryuzaki?”

“Watari brushes it in the morning when it needs it,” L murmured, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. “He brushes it less now that I’m older.” Or now that he’s older.

Light fingered a few tangled tufts but didn’t pull, just surveying the damage to undo. “Have you...thought of using conditioner?”

L had to fight the urge to tilt his head, instead making a soft humming sound as he considered it. “No, I believe using soap for all of my washing is still the most efficient option. I see no reason that liquid soap is not enough to wash both my hair and my body.”

Light made a noise between a choke and a gasp, finally forcing out, “No...no, it’s...no, not at…” He sighed in exasperation, suddenly understanding why they were here. Closing his eyes, he said calmly, “After I untangle this, I’m washing your hair with shampoo and proper conditioner, got it?” He counted to ten and opened his eyes. Well, nothing to do but get started.

Carefully, he focused first on brushing the parts that weren’t tangled (or not as badly) to get a sense for the thickness of L’s hair and how tender-headed he was. Light knew that probably even a normal tug or the slightest discomfort might end this endeavor; he had to tread carefully. “This would be easier if you sat still and stopped fidgeting.” He placed a hand on L’s shoulder to try and keep him in one place, but quickly pulled back in case he’d overstepped.

L stiffened up slightly, biting his lower lip. However, instead of pulling away, he mumbled a quiet apology and did his best to keep his body still. He continued to fidget with his hands, rapping his fingers on his knees as he sat there, flinching occasionally when Light pulled too hard for his comfort. In truth, none of it was comfortable, but the man’s touch was surprisingly bearable. He wasn’t nearly as harsh as he had expected he would be, and it seemed as if he was adjusting to L’s reactions. “If you insist,” he mumbled, huffing quietly.

As Light got closer to the epicenter of the tangle, he started to sweat a little. Wait, is that--? Finally he had spotted the catalyst for the rat’s nest. A half-eaten lollipop was embedded and wrapped up in L’s hair, with the stick poking out at a jaunty and infuriating angle. “Ryuzaki…” He touched the stick, wiggling it slightly. “Did you happen to be eating lollipops in bed last night?”

A deep shade of red bloomed in L’s cheeks, travelling far enough to peek around his neck. “...no,” he mumbled, his tone incredibly sheepish as he blatantly lied. He couldn’t stop himself from squirming now, staring down at his hands as he shifted on the bed. He knew Light would be able to tell, but some small part of him felt embarrassed enough to try and hide it.

Light leaned to whisper in L’s ear, “Liar.” He gave the stick a little tweak. “The evidence speaks for itself, detective.” He laughed and shifted on the bed, reaching for a bottle of lotion in the nightstand. “This calls for desperate measures. That brush isn’t going to help at all,” he said, tossing it aside. “Not until I get that lollipop out.” With Sayu, he’d once used peanut butter to get some chewing gum out of her hair but really anything oily would do. He settled behind L again and squirted the lotion on his fingers, working it into the knots. “This might hurt a little but you don’t want to walk around with candy in your head do you?”

“It certainly sounds like a convenient carrying solution, freeing both of my hands to do work,” L muttered, his lips twitching faintly in amusement at his own joke. His breath hitched and he hissed quietly in pain as he felt his hair being tugged. “Ow...” He whined, his hand twitching briefly with the urge to reach back and swat at Light’s hand. “Be more gentle..!”

“Sorry,” Light mumbled. “Got a little too focused.” He slowed down his pace and methodically peeled away the hair from the sticky candy, nose wrinkling at the unappetizing gloops of lotion and red sugar coating his fingers. But, it was working! Bit by bit, knot by knot, the lollipop finally came free.

“Got it!,” he said triumphantly, holding up the mangled sucker. It was odd how satisfied he felt. Maybe it was because L only complained half a dozen instead of three dozen times, but he was all smiles as he showed it to L. “The accused stands before you. How do you judge?” He giggled and held it over the trash.

L was shaken and tense by the time Light was finally finished. It wasn’t that the man had hurt him- no, the process was quite painless after the first few tugs. However, he kept expecting pain, anticipating it, even though it never came. Once the man was done, he relaxed, staring at the candy. For once, he didn’t have the urge to shove the sweet into his mouth (although that may have been because of the hairs protruding from it).

“…guilty,” he mumbled, plucking it from Light’s fingers and dropping it into the trash can. He reached back to touch his hair, immediately grimacing at the unpleasant texture of melted candy and lotion mixed with hair. “…I suppose I’ll be needing my hair washed after all,” he muttered.

Light frowned a little that his joke had flopped, but what did he expect? “You’re welcome,” he grumbled as he got up off the bed to the length of the chain. “Come in the bathroom then and I’ll wash it in the sink. Need to wash my hands, too.” You don’t deserve my nice hair products but that’s all we’ve got. He’d be damned if he’d use liquid soap like L usually did. Just the thought made him shudder, rattling the handcuff chain between them.

L followed Light into the bathroom, shedding his shirt in the process to avoid it getting wet. He unclipped his end of the chain to remove the shirt completely, immediately latching the chain back on after. “How should I stand?” He stared at the sink in mild confusion, unsure of how to wash his hair in a non-shower setting.

“Over there,” Light gestured with his chin, “until I clean myself up.” He maneuvered around L and turned the water on with his elbow, scrubbing furiously until all the melted lollipop and lotion swirled down the drain. Why am I bothering to help him? I should have just left it there and taken the day off. I need one.

He dried his hands and grabbed his shampoo and conditioner that his mother had brought him from home, purchased from his favorite salon. The sleek bottles only reminded him of how much he needed a haircut, of how much he’d taken for granted all the little freedoms like that. The reflection looking back at him in the mirror-- bangs hanging in his eyes, wispy strands long enough to tuck behind his ears-- reinforced it. L may be a mess but so was he. The realization didn’t help his mood any.

He gave L a cold glance and pointed to the still-running warm water in the sink. “So...just stick your head under the faucet.”

L glanced back and forth from the sink to Light for a moment, as if unsure of what to do. He then moved closer to the sink, leaning down and hesitantly pushing his head under the water. He immediately jerked back when some ended up in his ear, an uncharacteristic squeak escaping his lips as his face scrunched up. He tilted his head, shaking it as if trying to get the water out. His hands rest on the sink, gripping it tightly to keep himself upright. Once he had calmed down, he took a deep breath and put his head under again, this time keeping it there as he closed his eyes.

Light crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one leg. If L couldn’t even stand the water, a molecule of soap in the man’s eyes would send him through the roof. “Hold on, I’ll get a chair and you can just lean back.” He went to do so but the chain tugged him back sharply. How many times will I forget? I’m anchored. “Um, can you release the chain for a moment? I’ll be right back.”

Much to his own surprise, L reached out without even hesitating, unclipping Light’s end of the chain. “Be quick. I think I can feel it hardening,” he murmured, grimacing as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wanted to cooperate, he truly did, and he could only hope that was coming through in his actions and words.

Light blinked as the chain thunked to the bathroom floor. He did it? He stared at the coiled chain like it was a dead but still dangerous snake before snapping to attention and heading into the bedroom. It had been over a month since he’d felt 360 degrees of freedom but he couldn’t enjoy it, even though he wheeled L’s office chair into the bathroom slower than necessary. He felt a little shaken that his first instinct had been to run, but why? What did he have to run from? I’m innocent…

“Sit here and lean back so your head’s in the sink.” He rolled up a fluffy towel and placed it on the edge of the counter. “That should make it more comfortable.” He added drily, “Don’t worry, I didn’t stuff any razors inside.” Not that I’m allowed any. A few months ago he’d been the top student at To-Oh and now he was playing hairdresser with a man who wanted to execute him.

L didn’t bother grabbing the chain again, wanting to give Light more space as a gesture of appreciation for what he was doing, since he couldn’t really find the words to verbalize that feeling. He nodded and sat down in the chair, leaning back and resting his neck on the towel. His face scrunched up slightly in discomfort as he tilted his head back, suddenly made very aware of how stiff his neck was.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I trust you.” Of course, that’s partly because it would be too big of a risk for him to try anything right now, but I also don’t think he’d want to…

Light arched a brow at that lie and squeezed shampoo into his hands. “Sure.” Trusts me when it’s convenient for him. He avoided looking at the chain, not wanting to remind L in case he forgot. I know he didn’t forget.

L’s face was as unreadable as ever so he just got on with it, lathering L’s hair into fragrant suds and taking care that no soap got into the man’s wide-open eyes. The smell of grapefruit and sandalwood in the bathroom started to make Light relax, the tenseness falling from his face. After a few minutes, he couldn’t feel any more sticky candy embedded in L’s hair and rinsed it clean. “Alright, sit still. Conditioner’s next.”

The feeling of Light’s fingers massaging his scalp was incredibly relaxing for L. He did his best to keep his face impassive, forcing himself to focus on the feeling of wetness on his forehead, but, eventually, even that wasn’t enough. By the time Light was rinsing his hair out, L’s eyelids were heavy and his expression incredibly relaxed. Most of the tension that was normally present in his body was gone. “This…feels nice,” he whispered, blinking slowly as he stayed still for the man.

Light couldn’t help but smile faintly at the praise. It was gratifying that he’d done well, even at this insignificant task, when it was for his harshest critic. His mood lifted considerably-- maybe this day wouldn’t be a wash after all. Wash, pft. He snickered to himself and turned the water off, then smoothed the conditioner in L’s hair to the ends.

Tilting his head, he said, “Your hair’s longer than I thought.” When wet and not fluffed up by frizz, it looked almost twice as long.

L’s body felt almost loose at this point, and part of him wondered if he would slide out of the chair. Even the feeling of Light barely pulling on his hair was soothing by now. A faint smile curved his lips as he closed his eyes. “That makes sense. It’s been a while since Watari last trimmed my hair. I’m not very fond of the sound of scissors so close to my head.”

“Now we wait. Five minutes and then rinse.” Light glanced down at his watch and leaned against the counter. This might be an awkward five minutes.

L shifted his legs, letting one stretch out and dangle off of the chair. “I didn’t expect that this would be so…pleasant. You’re very good at this, Light,” he mused, his relaxed state loosening his lips ever so slightly.

A little heat rose to Light’s cheeks. “Uh...thank you. I guess I have my sister to thank for that. I was her babysitter for years and her hair gets tangled easily, too.”

He smiled when a funny memory sprang to mind. “One time she managed to get a whole package of modeling clay stuck in her hair and I had to scrub for an hour to get it out before my parents got home from dinner. When my Mom noticed it was gone, Sayu told them she ate it.” He laughed to himself, remembering the horrified looks on his parents’ faces. “Of course, we fessed up before they called poison control.”

L’s lips twitched for a moment before he burst into laughter, holding his hand up in a failed attempt at covering his mouth. His laugh shook his entire body, a big grin forming on his face. When was the last time I laughed like this? Have I ever? I can’t recall feeling this good before now. “That- that’s quite impressive,” he managed to say after a few seconds, starting to calm back down and catch his breath. “What was she trying to do with the clay? Style her hair?” He chuckled, opening his eyes to look up at Light.

Seeing L smile was surprising but when the detective laughed, Light was shocked. But that laughter was infectious and only made Light giggle harder. “I think she was trying to make some kind of space helmet? Who knows, she was only five then,” he said between chuckles. I miss her. I wonder how she’s keeping up with her math homework. His laughter faded away.

He looked down at L, a thoughtful look on his face. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh and mean it.”

L’s expression softened, turning thoughtful and slightly sad. “Yes, I suppose it is. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.” He sighed, stretching out his arms for a moment as he averted his gaze. “I guess that’s just something else you’re good at, hm?” He arched a brow, smirking a bit in the subtle, mocking way he usually did. However, there was no malice to his tone. Instead of attacking Light, it seemed like he was attempting some good-natured ribbing, as if between friends.

Light blinked and gave L a puzzled smile, waiting for the barb to come. Unexpectedly, it didn’t, and he wasn’t sure what to say. L being nice was as strange as L laughing.

He glanced down at his watch anxiously. “That’s five minutes.” He turned on the warm water and rinsed the conditioner from L’s noticeably softer hair. Any residual tangles came loose immediately when he combed his fingers through it and he started to get curious about how it would look when dry. “Alright,” he said, turning off the water. “All done. Your tangles are a thing of the past.”

He turned his back to L to dry his hands on a fresh towel. “I guess it seems like a waste of time to use the conditioner but it saves time in the end for brushing. I can give Watari the information if you want me to.”

L shifted in the seat, looking over at Light with a contemplative expression. He sat there in silence for a few seconds, just staring at the other man until he finally spoke. “I suppose you can. That would be nice. But also, while we’re sharing a living space…if you wanted to- ah- do this more frequently…I wouldn’t protest.” He averted his gaze and cleared his throat loudly.

“Wouldn’t protest?” Light turned around sharply, feeling annoyed at L’s assumption. The words ‘I’m not your servant!,’ hovered on his parted lips but died there when, somehow, he saw L clearly. The man was too proud to ask directly for what he wanted. They had managed to connect in a way that wasn’t only detective and suspect, jailer and prisoner. Light had felt it, too, and he craved kindness after his long isolation, this ongoing tense situation.

He watched L for a moment and quietly said, “Alright, but no cuffs when I do it.” He smirked and added, “And no more lollipops in bed.”

“I agree to the cuffs, but I can’t make any promises about the lollipops,” L joked, smiling as he sat up and pulled the towel over his head. He picked up the chain, staring at it for a second or two before clasping it onto Light’s cuff. However, instead of immediately pulling away, his hand lingered on the man’s wrist. “…thank you, Light,” he mumbled, the sound barely a whisper as he lowered his gaze and pulled his hand away, standing up straight.

Light grinned and tossed L a towel since the man was dripping water everywhere. So it didn’t kill you to say it after all.

“You’re welcome.”

#death note #light yagami #l lawliet #my writing #collaboration #resilicns #deathnotetober #lawlight

[flooffybits]

Important

Idol: Wong Kahei (Loona)

marshmallow: Since there's still no Vivi scenario 👀 how bout a fluff one where during idol room the host (d*ni and c*ni) were joking around saying that the 13th member is the ugliest and dumb and didn't have her any chance of answering when they play a guessing game. Basically treating her badly then the others. So after the show Vivi notice she's been feeling down for a couple of weeks and not really acting like how she use to so Vivi comforts her with other members🥺💜

A/n: finally my first Vivi request, done. also i hate d and c for various reasons that i cannot discuss or else i just might not write anymore

☕buy me a coffee☕

You were used to hate comments thrown your way.

You were used to fans comparing you to the other members.

You were used to people still questioning why you were added in the Loona lineup.

They’ve stopped bothering you after a while, your members making sure that you didn’t believe the things other people said and assured you that you were just as important to the group as any of them,

However, you were not used to being publicly humiliated, and on live television, no less. So when Coni had made the careless comment about how you may not even give your team a chance at winning, you that was already enough to knock your excitement down, given that you had been looking forward to spending time with your members during your visit to Idol Room.

“Y/n.” Doni had called for your attention and you look up, blinking by the suddenness as he addressed you. “What are you in charge of?” He questioned and you felt a little bit more relieved with the question. “Well, all the members are good at everything. So we just sometimes switch on who takes the lead.” You explain and he nodded his head.

“So that means you stay at the back?” He joked, the two hosts soon cracking and you smile awkwardly with all the cameras rolling whilst your members looked a little surprised by the comment. “With so many members, I feel bad that you’re always overshadowed by their beauty and talents.” Coni then added and that had caused you to press your lips together in a thin line whilst Sooyoung looked a bit offended with what he was insinuating.

But you didn’t want to cause a scene, so you went along with it and chuckled lightly. “I guess so. My members are all really pretty and talented.” You miss the way Haseul glances at you, worry in her eyes, and Hyejoo silently glaring at the two hosts.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure a bit more practice and then you can reach your members’ level. Plus, you still have a lot to learn, your Korean is still barely understandable.” That had caused you to bite the inside of your cheek, deflating as they had addressed one of your worries when you first came to Korea.

It was no secret that you were insecure about yourself, especially with your communication skills, but the way the pair had blatantly called you out for it had only boosted that insecurity.

Your members couldn’t speak up, knowing that it wasn’t a good idea to make a scene, but luckily Hyunjin had been subtle with her attack, her face blank as she watched the two hosts.

“Y/n’s pronunciations are actually really good. She works really hard just so she makes sure that it’s easy for both her and the people she talks to.” Doni nodded his head in agreement. “Diligence is one of an idol’s key traits. Have more of it.”

They weren’t expecting the rebuttal, but Heejin had visibly grown uncomfortable and Yeojin shuffled closer to you when they were starting to realize how you were becoming more and more the target of the duo’s harshness.

Chaewon’s brows raised at the audacity they had to publicly shame you, but held her mouth shut when Jinsoul placed a hand on the small of her back.

They tolerated the rest of the show for the sake of the group’s image, but every comment thrown your way made them all increasingly upset, though you’re good with keeping up a façade just to keep the peace within the room for your members.

The pair made you feel more and more isolated as the show progressed. And while you did your best to participate, they seemed to make it a point that they weren’t at all interested in you being there. Throughout the whole segment, you could stay on your seat and watched as your members slowly began to be immersed in the games they had prepared.

Eventually, you had stopped trying and merely smiled, opting to be the spectator the hosts expected you to be, and merely clapped and congratulated your members when they had gotten an answer right.

In the end, you were just thankful that they had forgotten about you. It was better than being degraded and being the butt of the joke.

But as you left the set that day, you couldn’t say that you had the same level of energy compared to when you had arrived.

And no one could really blame you.

Right as the episode had aired, you made it a point to stay off of social media and threw yourself into work despite not really having to do so. The girls wondered and worried with you constantly heading to the company to practice, but no one seemed to have the capability of bringing it up or calling you out, not when you looked you were just about ready to fall apart at any given second.

Kahei could only watch as the days passed, hoping that you could recover and bounce back because she hates seeing you so down. She’s used to seeing you running around the dorm, running away from Jiwoo’s affectionate assaults or trying to get Jungeun to lighten up whenever she started scolding someone.

In the end, Jungeun and Sooyoung calls for majority of their attention, both looking unpleased as the girls came into the living room, minus you, Heejin, and Jinsoul due to your schedules.

“We need to talk.” Sooyoung announces while she grabs her phone from the table. “Is this about the laundry again?” Hyejoo groans, not wanting another lecture after the last time her pillow exploded in it, but the two older girls shook their heads, and the girls could see that this was a more serious topic.

“It’s about Y/n.”

Kahei stiffens and her hands clutch at the pillow resting against her lap before Haseul placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We know that she hasn’t been well.” Hyunjin muttered, frowning when she remembers how you’ve resorted to avoiding some of them now.

Jungeun taps on the blue bird icon before twitter popped up. She turns the device around to show the group what her and her fellow leader wanted to address.

ApologizeToY/n was under the trending topics and the sight of it made all the girls frown before they saw Orbits commenting about Coni and Doni’s clear and explicit mistreatment of you during the show and how uncomfortable you’ve been throughout it.

“This is everywhere and I doubt Y/n hasn’t seen it, either.” Chaewon sighed while slumping in her seat, arms crossed as she scuffed her slippers against the floor and Yerim pouted as she scanned through the tags.

“Can I just say how I hated how they treated her?” Hyejoo speaks up, and honestly, no one could blame her. They all felt the same thing, so it wasn’t something they could hold against her.

Kahei pulls her pillow close to her chest, her mind replaying the hesitant look on your face whenever you were all together. You didn’t have to tell her, but she could see the insecurity in your eyes every time she would see you looking at everyone.

It was as though you were silently comparing yourself to them.

“Is there something we can do?” Haseul asks, hoping for any suggestions that would help ease the situation, but no one can think of anything at that moment and Kahei looks up at the leader with her lips pressed together. “Would you mind if I talk to her first?”

The girls know that there was something that was going on between you and the eldest member. Though neither of you have confirmed anything, they knew that Kahei’s affections for you were on a far more different level compared to the way she would take care of the rest of the members.

So, without arguments, the girls agreed, whisking Jinsoul and Heejin away when the three of you arrive after a long day and Kahei thinks that it’s the best time as any, now that you were alone in your room with everyone preparing whatever it was they decided would help cheer you up.

“Y/n?”

The call of your name is enough to make you roll over on your side, spotting the older girl peeking inside your room with a small smile gracing her lips. She knows that you’re tired, but she doesn’t want to keep seeing you look so down.

“Unnie, what’s up?” You try to casually ask, sitting up in bed and indicating for her to come in, which she does without hesitation, quietly shutting the door behind her before she had walked over to your bed and took the space you made for her to sit next to you.

Her embrace is something you easily welcome, the tension leaving your body, even just for that moment when you lean against her. You let out a deep breath and she squeezes your shoulders before a kiss was placed atop your head.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She whispers softly and you immediately frown at the implication. Of course the girls could pick up on your withering state. They made it their personal mission to look after you ever since you arrived.

“I know you won’t say anything first, so I’ll be the one to do it.” Kahei cuts you off from thinking further as she speaks. “What they told you back at the Idol Room, it’s not true, okay?”

She shifts so that she’s looking at your face, one hand cupping your jaw so that you can’t look at anything but her because she needs you to listen to her instead of your thoughts.

“You’re an amazing singer, Y/n. Frankly, you’re perfectly fine the way you are and I hate how you’re letting these two people who know nothing about you make you feel like you’re not worth being here when you are.” Her voice is firm as she speaks, making sure to get her message across because she knows that you’re often too stubborn to believe them when they compliment you.

“We’re young and our career is only just beginning, so there will always be room for improvement. Plus, we’re both not from Korea, so of course not everything will be as easy for us as it is for the others, but has that ever let you down before?”

She doesn’t let you answer when she continues, not once breaking eye contact. “Everyone is here to help us. We’re a team for a reason. While we won’t always excel, we’re always going to wait for each other because that’s what a team - what a family does. So please, stop thinking that you’re worth less than anyone here because you’re just as important.”

Her voice grows softer after each word when she ends her sentence and you’re incredibly calmed by it as she brushes her thumb gently against your cheek when her forehead lightly bumps against yours.

“You don’t know understand how much it hurts to see you like this and all I want to do is take that pain and doubt away.” She murmurs and you shut your eyes, basking in the warmth that she had so easily provided before feeling soft lips pressing against your forehead.

You both stay like that for a while, just cuddling on your bed with her fingers combing through your hair. She doesn’t probe you on how you’re feeling, but seeing that you weren’t frowning nor were your shoulders slumped made her feel that you were a little bit better compared to before.

It’s when her phone vibrates with a text from Haseul that Kahei looks away from you and her brows pinch together when she sees it.

Why would the leader have to text her when she was just outside?

everything’s ready!

Confused, Kahei forgot that the girls were all getting something ready for you in the living room. So with a quick okay, the older girl gives you a small nudge before she’s nodding to the door. “The girls are calling for us.”

You don’t say anything, but the confusion is clear on your face as Kahei takes your hand and leads you outside, a smile on her face when she intertwines her fingers with yours just as you spot the rest of your group huddled together and you can’t help cracking a smile at how comedic they all looked.

Sooyoung looked awkward as she offered you a smile, Jungeun standing next to her, looking as though she had just finished scolding the younger girls who were trying their best to keep the snacks on the table while, for some reason, their own favorites kept disappearing, only for Hyunjin to place them back.

Heejin was silently counting everything to make sure that they had enough, only to restart every time Hyunjin would put the stolen snacks away and ensuing the pair to start arguing whilst Yeojin finished another one of her bead rings and Haseul just shook her head as Jinsoul tried to bite back her laughter while telling Jiwoo to keep her voice down.

“What are you doing?” You ask, an amused lilt to your tone as you properly assessed your members while Kahei grins and shakes her head, mimicking your leader when everyone snaps their attention to the two of you.

“It’s movie night!” Yerim happily announces while she’s trying to keep the remote away from Hyejoo’s hands and the latter grumbles. “I want to pick the movie!” She exclaimed, but Chaewon plucked the remote from Yerim’s hands, an already opened snack in her other hand. “We should ask Y/n what she wants to watch.”

“But unnie!” The second youngest was already staring at you with her puppy eyes that she often uses on you when she wants you siding with her and you smile softly before pulling Kahei to join everyone else in the living room.

Haseul slips next to the older girl, smiling when she sees the look the other sends you as you accept the bead ring Yeojin offers whilst trying to control the other two maknaes.

“Things went well, I hope?” The leader questions and Kahei hums with a fond smile playing at her lips. “I guess so.” She replies, seeing that you were slowly reverting back to your cheerful self when Heejin and Jiwoo join in on the pile you’ve all ended up in when Hyejoo tried stealing the remote again.

There’s laughter echoing in the dorm, add Jungeun’s slight screeching and Sooyoung’s scolding, but Haseul bumps her shoulders with Kahei while everyone is busy doing their own thing and finally picking a movie to watch. “So, have you both properly talked about it or...?”

Kahei stares at you when Jiwoo and Jinsoul begin to press kisses on your face, Yeojin coming in right after, and she smiles a little to herself. “Not yet, but we’re getting there.”

And honestly, that was enough for her as she soon took the spot next to you once given the chance and her arm loops with yours before she’s laying her head on your shoulder.

#girl group #girl group scenarios #girl group imagines #loona #loona scenarios #loona imagines #loona heejin #loona hyunjin #loona haseul #loona yeojin #loona vivi #loona kim lip #loona jinsoul #loona choerry #loona yves #loona chuu #loona gowon #loona olivia hye #vivi loona #wong kahei #vivi #vivi scenarios #vivi imagines #loona x reader

[bts-hyperfixation]

Why Not Then? 18+

Here it is in all it s 4327 words.... This one kind of got away from me.

angst/fluff/smut 

I hope you like it!

Warnings: unprotected sex

pic found here

Tonight’s the night. At least that’s what you were telling yourself. Senior prom. It’s now or never. Tonight is the night you are going to tell Jungkook how you really feel about him. He has to feel the same way, you are inseparable. There is no doubt in your mind that the only obstacle in the way is fear, not wanting to ruin the friendship you had worked so hard to build. The doorbell sounds through your house and you take a deep breath. For the hundredth time that day you look in the mirror. Curls frame your face, makeup done to perfection, and the seafoam A-line dress you had chosen made you feel like a queen. Your mother calls you downstairs, you can hear your father making polite conversation with your date as they wait for you. Another reason you are so sure Jungkook feels the same, he is your date. He could’ve had any other girl in school, but he asked you.

The moment you descend from the top of the stairs is like a movie. His goofy little bunny smile lights up his face when he sees you. You try as elegantly as possible to parade down the stairs, using one hand to lift the hemline of your dress, as the other glides along the bannister. You take your time. Eyeing him up as you go, the tuxedo was such a stark difference to his usual gym shorts. He was stunning. His short dark hair quaffed and gelled. Everything was going to go as planned tonight. You could just feel it.

“You look beautiful as ever” he laughs taking your hand and spinning you. You can’t help giggling.

“Not too bad yourself.” You pull on the lapels of his jacket. He bats you away a straightens himself back up just as the flash goes off on your mother’s camera. She arranges the two of you in to ten different poses before letting you leave. Jungkook had driven his beat-up convertible to pick you up. To anyone else that car would be an eyesore, but he loved it, and so did you. So many nights spent just talking and looking up at the stars, cuddled up under an old picnic blanket. To you it was a pumpkin carriage.

He opens your door for you and helps to fold your skirt so it wouldn’t rip in the limited space. He runs to the other side and jumps over the door and into his seat. Your parents wave you off as you pull away. It’s a short drive to the school. 10 minutes at most. He parks like a pro, doing that thing that guys do when they reverse into a space. The twisting just so you can see more of their neck and watch how their arms flex around the back of your headrest. You start to climb out of the seat when suddenly he is in front of you, hand extended to help you. It’s hard not to laugh at how hard he is trying to be a proper gentleman tonight.

“Come on Y/N-ah, the night of our dreams awaits.” He quotes the prom theme. The unbelievably cringy and cliched ‘night of our dreams’. Walking through the doors, it was still blatantly obvious you were in the school gym, but the prom committee at least tried their best. Tacky streamers in blues and silvers, star themed props, a solar system themed photo booth. Its clear they had to use some of the previous year’s decorations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The butterflies were building in your stomach. Anxious and excited about where your confession could take you.

All of your other friends are already here, dancing to the catchy pop music blaring over the sound system. The path to them is crowded with other sweating high-schoolers, so Jungkook decides just the two of you should go and take photos. He pulls you towards the photo booths, lining up with the other groups and couples waiting their turns. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he is still holding on to your hand. Tight.

“Don’t you want to go dance with the others?” you gesture towards those in the middle of the floor, laughing as one of the boys loses his balance mimicking a slut drop.

“No, I want to take some stupid pictures with my best friend and date for the evening.” He winks at you, a move that should come off as light -hearted and cringy. Instead it feels like he has shot you in the heart. The response you come back with shocks you.

“Just because you’re in love with me.” You accompany the remark by sticking your tongue out at him. He grabs your chin and makes you look him directly in the eyes. Your heart beats double time. It looks like he is going to kiss you. Before his face gets close enough to yours, he ruins it.

“You wish Y/N.” he laughs it off, but you see it as your chance. Now or never, tonight’s the night…

“Actually…” and then it’s your turn for pictures. You don’t get a chance to get the rest of the sentence out. Whether he heard or not you don’t know but now he is excitedly rummaging around a box of props. He pulls out a silver feather boa and oversized-blue sunglasses for you, finding a matching set for himself. It’s a strip of four photos. One smile, one where he jabs you in the ribs, one with silly faces, and one where you kiss him… only on the cheek. Not enough to throw yourself in the deep end, just enough to gauge his reaction.

His ears turn bright red and he stammers about going to find the others as you exit the booth. It has to be a good sign if you make him flustered, right? The next hour is spent ruining all the work that had gone into this evening. Hair stuck to sweaty foreheads, makeup creasing around the eyes, lipstick wiped on the backs of hands. When the live band comes onto play, you and your friends head outside for air. It’s nice feeling the wind, a slight chill in the late hour. Most of your friends can’t hack it for too long, choosing to return to the dance floor in time for the party tracks to come on. Eventually it leaves just you and him. You hear the opening chords of the cha cha slide start up inside and decide now is a good a time as ever, more than eager to avoid the choreographed dance portion of the evening.

“Can I talk to you?” you reach for his hand. He turns to look at you properly and sees the serious look on your face, his brows furrowing to match.

“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing’s wrong, just come with me.” He lets you drag him away from the gym. You head toward the school greenhouse, no one is going to come looking for you there.

“This is weirdly private Y/N, are you sure everything is okay?” he feels your forehead as if he is worried you have suddenly fallen ill.

“I’ve been trying to tell you this for the longest time and I can’t not anymore, it’s time.” He opens his mouth to speak again, the confusion evident in his eyes. You raise a finger to his lip to stop him. “I’m in love with you.” The words escape more like vomit than a statement. It feels so freeing to get the words out. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. Finally admitting how you feel is an amazing feeling. Until you take in the way he is looking at you. You might as well have grown a second head. Your about to speak again when he turns on his heel and makes a run for it.

He walks briskly away from the concealed shed and back inside of the school. You don’t know if you should laugh or cry. Of all the responses you thought you’d get; abandonment was not one of them. It takes you a moment to snap out of the shock he had left you in. you follow the trail he took back into the main hall. Spotting him even through the crowd, people parted as he passed them. He beelines straight through the gym and though the doors into the main corridors. When you make it into the hallway, he is at the other end about to disappear around a corner.

“Stop running away from me!” you yell a little too loud, other lingering students stop and stare at you on their ways back from the bathroom. Unfortunately, you can’t bring yourself to care. Jungkook faulters for a moment before continuing. “Jeon Jungkook! I said stop.” You kick off your heels and run in the direction he disappeared. You nearly run full force into his chest as you turn the corner not expecting him to be there.

“Why?” his voice is small and harsh, not the usual bubbly tone he always has for you.

“Why what?” your more than a little annoyed that you had to chase him only for him to ask you a question.

“Why do you love me?” it’s not the question you thought he’d ask. Why now? How long? What’s your ring size? Those were the questions you had been prepared for. Not why do you love him. you thought that was obvious. “Seriously, why do you think your in love with me?” that stung ‘think’ he doesn’t believe you. Thinks its some silly girly crush you have.

“I love you because you’re you. You’re my best friend, you make me happy when no one else does, my heart hurts when I don’t see you for more than a day.” You reach for his hands, trying your best to convey your sincerity. He flinches in response. Pulls way back out of your reach.

“I don’t feel the same way.” Now it really does feel like someone has stabbed you. Run you straight through with a sword. Your stomach twists so hard you might throw up. This wasn’t an option. In all the ways you had imagine your prom night going, this hadn’t crossed your mind. You taste the tears at the corners of your lips before you realise your crying. “You can’t just spring something like this on someone Y/N! we were having such a great night, why did you have to do this.” He is not only rejecting you, he is blaming you for having feelings. It’s all too much.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. The lump in your throat makes it hard for you to speak at all. “I just thought…”

“You thought wrong.” His response is so fast, cutting off every chance you might’ve had to put a band aid over the situation. Maybe held it together until the night was over. Now there is no chance of that.

“I’m sorry.” You try again but he just rolls his eyes. Instead of making you sadder, this reaction makes you angry. How dare he. How dare he just dismiss you like you never meant anything to him. Like you weren’t even a friend.

“I should take you home.” He gestures towards a nearby exit. He doesn’t reach for your hand to guide you like he would’ve any other point in the night. You shake you head and walk back in the direction you came, picking up your shoes as you passed them. You walked straight out of the front gates and all the way home. That was the last conversation you’d have with Jungkook for a long time.

Graduation came and went. He tried to talk to you a few times in person, but you just walked away. Still seething at the way he reacted.  He texted you constantly, left voicemails until you blocked his number. Your other friends never found out exactly what happened. They pieced bits together from what the two of you were able to talk about but never the full picture. When he started coming to your house to apologise you decided it was time to move on and headed to college early.

You were in town for a wedding. One of your high school friends had managed to meet the love of their life while away at college and asked you to come. It was a nice excuse to visit your parents. You didn’t come home as often as you would’ve liked. The town felt a little haunted after you finished school, so you tried hard to avoid it. Especially at times like this.

You were standing in your childhood bedroom, dressed to the nines once more. This time knowing that Jungkook was not going to be waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. But he might be at the wedding. Getting over the boy you had never really been with was more of a challenge than you could’ve ever imagined. It took you almost the entire first year away to truly get some peace on the situation. You even started to understand his point of view. He was just an 18-year-old boy trying to enjoy one of the last nights he’d get with his friends. The you had gone and dumped a whole load of new information on him. It wasn’t fair of you, just as much as it wasn’t fair of him. Truthfully, a little part of you would always wonder what if. What if he had felt the same way, would people be coming home for your wedding instead? Or would it have fizzled out long distance?

You are pulled out of your thoughts by your phone signalling the arrival of your uber. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed you clutch and headed out, eerily reminiscent of that night.

Five years later.

The wedding is at a fancy hotel on the other side of town. You are escorted by the ushers into the main room. you quickly scan the area for him. You don’t even know if he is coming but you don’t want to be caught off guard. Coming up empty you thank the groom’s men and find a seat in the back of the bride’s section where you can survey the room.

It feels ridiculous being so on guard around the person that used to mean the world to you. Your eyes meet as soon as he walks through the door. He seems genuinely surprised to see you there. He tries a weak smile and lifts his hand to wave in your direction, but you put your head down, choosing to focus on the intricacies of the program instead. 4 hymns and a sermon. For a nonchurch wedding it sure seemed religious. You roll your eyes and settle in for a long one. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he skulks away. Sitting a few rows in front of you. You allow yourself the luxury of looking at him now that he can’t look back. His hair is a lot longer now. The suit he has chosen definitely fits a lot better than his prom tux. His shoulders are nicely outlined, strong and broad. It’s a nice visual.

The wedding seems to happen around you. Old friends come over to catch up. Vows are exchanged everyone is shuffled into a banquet hall. All the while you are watching Jungkook out of the corner of your eye. Seeing him go through the motions just as you are. Three tables away. Clearly your friend has been smart enough to think that through when creating two singles tables in her seating plan.

The night wore on. Speeches were made, drinks were spilt. More than one groom’s man ripped his trousers on the dance floor. You were getting some air in the gardens when he found you.

“You look beautiful as ever.” His voice is soft, but it still makes you jump, not expecting him to approach you at all.

“Thanks.” You move to brush passed him, eager to put some space between you. Very Much not wanting to exchange awkward pleasantries with the man that, after today, you were sure still owned your heart. He steps back into your path, and makes you meet his eyes. It hurts all over again. Every feeling you had that night rushes back, every bit of progress you’d made since then erased in a matter of seconds.

“Can we talk? Please?” he sounds almost as desperate to talk to you as you are to leave.

“Talk about what Jungkook? It’s been years, just let it lie.”

“Exactly it’s been years and I know how I feel about you now, know how I felt about you then… please just let me explain myself.” He pleads with you. You stand firm, half of you longing to hear him out, the other half wanting to run the way he had.

“Why should I let you talk now? You didn’t let me talk then.” You can hear the venom dripping in your tone but can’t bring yourself to adjust your voice.

“I was a kid back then Y/N, and I was scared I was going to lose you” he chuckles darkly “I guess I did that anyway.” He grabs for your hand, this time you get to pull away from him. None of this is fair, where was this person when you needed him five years ago? He sighs at your reaction. “Look I was terrified okay? I didn’t know how I felt about you. I just knew everything was changing and I didn’t want us to change. But I know who I am and what I want now, and that’s you.” He closes the distance you had put between you in one stride. His mouth heavy on yours trying to prove a point.

You can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Instead melting into his embrace. Letting yourself indulge in the boy that was all you ever wanted.

“Why now? Why not then?” you ask when he finally pulls away.

“Because you wouldn’t speak to me until now. I wanted to tell you the day after, but you wouldn’t talk to me. And you were right to do so. I was such an asshole to you about it. Let me make it up to you.” He peppers your face with kisses.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have cut you off like that. I was scared too.” He holds you tight cradling you into his chest. You stand there for a while. Taking in everything about him that you’d missed. The smell of fresh cotton, the warmth he always radiated. All of it.

“I have a room upstairs if you want to go. Maybe we could watch a movie?” you pull away to look straight up at him. he must have realised what it sounded like then because his mouth formed an o and his eyes widened. “Wait no, I really did mean a movie.” He tries to backtrack.

“What if you didn’t mean a movie?” as soon as your meaning sinks in, he is sprinting away. This time with you in tow, struggling to keep up. Eventually he decides you are slowing him down. He lifts you bridal style into the nearest elevator. He refuses to put you down, even though you are forced into a standstill. As soon as the door dings, he is through them. Balancing you and opening the door isn’t even a challenge as he bursts through into the luxurious hotel room. He throws you unceremoniously on to the bed before discarding his jacket on the floor. You watch, propped up on your elbows, as he loosens his tie and kicks off his shoes before helping you with yours. He runs his hand up the back of your calf, rolling down the stockings you’d worn in an effort to avoid tights.

His hair falls into his eyes as he meets your gaze, and you can’t take the teasing anymore. Grabbing him by the collar, you pull him on top of you. Your lips finding his, unwilling to let go until your lungs hurt. He has one arm by your head, supporting some of his weight while the other trails down your waist. He drags his fingertips along your thigh as he moves your hemline. With your skirt out of the way his hand moves in between you bodies finding its way to your clothed pussy.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long… can I?” he kisses down your neck as he asks, leaving you barely able to respond. You just about manage to squeak out your approval. He wastes no time, biting into the soft flesh of your thighs as he wraps his hands around your panties. They are disposed of quickly, likely ruined by the slick you can feel pooling between your legs. He licks along your slit, barely delving between your folds. The tip of his tongue flicking at your clit briefly before he goes back and starts the motion again. Each time he gets close to your clit he brushes it slightly, so you shiver with anticipation, but he waits until you are practically panting to go any further. His right hand joins his talented tongue. Two fingers slipping inside of you. The slight stretch burns so good. His mouth moves up, biting gingerly at the sensitive nub he had been teasing for so long. Your thighs clamp involuntarily around his head. He wraps his free arm around your leg, driving you apart to give him better access. His tongue comes back into play drawing little shapes on your clit as he sucks down. He curls his fingers in just the right way to have you coming undone underneath him. Biting your lips to keep yourself quiet. He swats at your thigh until your teeth let go, forcing your moans out into the open. When you stop writhing, he lets your leg go and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Sitting back on his feet he won’t stop looking at you weird. Its an expression you can’t ever remember him making before, and that worries you.

“What? Why are you looking at me? Were the noises too weird? I tried to keep them in…” he pulls you up to him by the wrists and kisses you before answering.

“I love you… please shut up. Your moans are the sexiest thing I think I have ever heard. Now I just really want to get you out of the rest of your clothes. He reaches around to unzip your dress, fumbling for a moment until you take pity and take it off yourself. His shirt is already unbuttoned by the time the fabric is over your head. You help him to push the sleeves off his arms, taking great pleasure in rubbing your hands across his toned arms. You marvel at the amount of muscle he has gained for a moment before he drags you back to him, falling onto his back so you straddle him.

You make quick work of the clothing on his lower half. Perhaps a little too keen to see what you were working with. He does not disappoint. His cock is above average in length, immediately evident as it slaps against his stomach when released from it’s confines. You shuffle back for a moment to admire the full image. His hair falls haphazardly around his head, lips swollen from the kisses. Perfectly chiselled abs leading into an arrow to what you can only describe as the motherlode. Everything about this moment was worth the wait. But you refused to wait any longer. You stroke your hand softly along his shaft, pumping a few times before moving to sit yourself on top. You sink down slowly at first, having to take extra precaution to not hurt yourself. His eyes pinch shut and his nose crinkles as a little whimper escapes his mouth. You slap his chest.

“If I’m not allowed to stay quiet, neither are you.” He nods enthusiastically and opens one eye just as you reach the base of his dick.

“Fuck.” His voice low and breathy. Sounds more like he just ran a marathon than had a girl sit on him. As you feel more comfortable, you start to wriggle your hips, not thrusting away, just enough friction to tease him like he did you. You don’t get away with it for quite as long though. His hands are on your hips and you are powerless to stop him as he makes you bounce, meeting each thrust with one of his own. Soon it’s not enough for him. Too worked up to relinquish any control. He flips you quickly, now on your knees. He barely gives you time to orientate yourself before driving into you from behind. Fast, sloppy thrusts used to reach his own end. He snakes one arm underneath you. Skilled fingers finding your clit, playing with you until you tighten around him. making it difficult for him to keep going.

Soon he spills over, cumming deep inside of you. Holding onto you with all he has. Instead of pulling out, he falls over with you in his arms. Cuddling into the back of you as he comes down. You wiggle experimentally on his softening cock, earning you a growl. You giggle at his oversensitivity and try to get free as painlessly as possible.

“Don’t go” he is whiny when he is tired, it’s so endearing. He makes a grabby hand at you as you clamber of the side of the bed

“I’m only going to the bathroom; I’ll be right back.” You kiss him on the cheek as you round the bed.

“Good because I never want to be without you, ever again.” he admits as you walk into the bathroom.

February request - open

Masterlist

#purplearmynet #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jjk smut #jungkook smut #jeongkook smut #jeongguk smut #feb 21 #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #kpop smut #kpop fic #jeon jungkook x y/n #100

[citydreamgrls]

they were roommates - part four

a weasley twins x fem!reader fic

summary: she had nowhere to go, fleeing home to pursue something along the lines of freedom, so being welcomed into the entrepreneurial twins life was a whole world of new experiences waiting to happen.

an: thank you for all the lovely messages i’ve been getting lately, everyone has been overwhelmingly sweet it’s great, love u always <333

words: 4,456

“Are you sure you’ll be okay here?” George asked the girl, who was taking a well-deserved rest on the sofa with a magazine propped up on her knees.

“Yes, you don’t need to worry. I’ll let you know if anything happens.” She chuckled, seeing how nervous they were about leaving her, even if it was just for one evening.

“Do you really want to be left all alone?” Fred seemed concerned, “With the ghosts?” He teased.

“Stop it freddie,” She groaned, knowing better than to believe him, but fully aware that every noise would spook her now. “Now, go. Both of you,” She swotted the man’s shoulder as George joined him in the living room. “And say hi to Ginny for me, tell her I miss her.”

“God, anyone would think you like her more than us!” They huffed, taking their place in the fireplace with handfuls of floo powder.

“Well-” She started, seeing the men’s faces drop in unison. “I’m kidding, I could never.” The girl grinned, waving goodbye as they announced their family home and left for the night.

Suddenly the loft felt very empty, and spooky. Maybe Fred was telling the truth about the ghosts?

-

The twins landed in their mother’s fireplace, dusting off their smart jackets with a sniffle. It always was a hassle to use the floo line home, that damn chimney was blocked up with all sorts that clogged their noses.

“Darlings!” Mrs Weasley called out, dragging them into a room and yet another hurried hug as she had no time to spare with dinner ready in only a few minutes.

“Sorry we’re a bit late.” Fred apologised, smacking Ron on the back of the head lightly as he walked past.

“Wanker,” His little brother mumbled, ignoring them.

“That’s okay, as long as you’re here.” Molly replied, using her wand to direct a multiple of bowls onto the table before them.

Ginny sat in between Harry and Hermione, who had made it a habit of theirs to join in on family dinners at the Weasley’s. Not that anyone ever complained, the more the merrier eh?

“Y/n says she misses you,” George whispered to his sister, not wanting the bombardment of questions about their houseguest until a little bit later.

“Tell her I’ll have a day off soon, hermione and I will swing by and we can go shopping or something.”

“You’ve told Hermione about her?” Fred chimed in, obviously a bit worried.

“Well of course I have, she can’t wait to meet her.” She gushed, excited to share her new friend with her oldest friend.

“Oh great well that means Ron will-”

“So... who’s y/n?” Their youngest brother asked from beside the twins, wide eyed with innocent curiosity, catching everyone in the room’s attention.

Mrs Weasley whipped her head  around.

“A girl? Have one of you got a girlfriend, why didn’t you tell me?” She started up on her assumptions, knowing that her sons were awful at telling her about their lives.

“Thanks a lot, idiot.” The twins groaned at Ron, who seemed just as confused as ever.

“Well, which one of you?” Molly continued, taking her seat at the other end of the table to Mr Weasley, who beamed silently. Wanting to hear the gossip as much as his wife did.

“Y/n isn’t a girlfriend mum, she’s staying with us for a while.” George took charge, keeping a straight face as he explained the facts to the rest of the family.

“What do you mean staying with you, where did you find her.”

“She’s not a stray dog mum!” Ginny laughed, taking a spoonful of roast potatoes and lumping them onto her plate.

“She used to work with Neville and his wife Hannah, you remember her right?” Fred joined in.

“Oh yes, lovely lady, beautiful hair!”

“Well, they couldn’t afford to keep her on. And she was living there until she could find somewhere more permanent to live,”

“What about her parents, surely they wouldn’t leave her homeless?” Molly asked, pouring herself a much-deserved glass of wine before passing the bottle around.

“Well, a-about that.” George started, but he seemed unsure on how to explain it to his family without giving out the girl’s private information.

“All we know is that she ran away from home because she needed to.”

“And you trust that!” Ron scoffed, earning a kick from Ginny and a glare from Hermione.

“She’s lovely, and yes she can be trusted- how else would she have gotten a job with neville if not?” Their sister came to her defense, shutting the youngest brother up with one breath.

“Thanks Gin,” George whispered.

“Well, I think that’s a lovely thing you’ve done boys.” Molly chirped up, “I’m proud of you both for being so charitable.”

“Yes, very good.” Mr Weasley mumbled, urged on by his wife’s awaiting gaze. “Just be careful, she is a stranger after all.”

“I think it’s y/n who should be careful around these two.” Ron chuckled, earning a harsh kick from his fiance under the table.

-

The family chatted all the way through dinner, telling stories of their work and their friends until all the food was gone and Harry helped Molly to clear up while the rest settled in the living room, next to a roaring fire.

“Your mother has been begging him to visit for weeks now, but he’s been tied up at the bank with yet another break in.” Arthur explained to his kids, telling them about Bill’s recent absence.

“Have they not updated their wards? Gringotts is the hardest to get into, it doesn’t make sense?” Hermione frowned, shaking her head.

“Luckily nothing was stolen, I think whoever did it got scared off before they made it to the vaults.”

“That’s odd, if anything vaults are easier to break into.” Ron was just as confused as his counterpart.

“Well yes, you lot would know wouldn’t you.” fred teased, squeezing Harry’s shoulder who sat by the fire in front of him.

“We could do a better job.” The boy with glasses chuckled.

“Just be careful, if these thieves are in the alley then there’s a chance they could target the shops next.” Mr Weasley warned them, knowing their business was known to be the one doing the best in diagon alley.

The twins nodded in response, sharing a small worry for the girl they had left behind in the loft. Fred thought about bringing it up to his brother, but decided against it the second everyone’s conversation topic changed.

“We won’t stay too long then.” George whispered to him, assuring him that he too was concerned about leaving y/n alone with the risk of someone breaking in. But even as the family laughed over stories, old and new, Fred couldn’t help but grow restless.

The longer they were there, comfortable and happy, the longer the girl was alone and vulnerable. He knew if he mentioned it again that George would grow suspicious of his feelings for the girl, whom he blatantly presumed could defend herself by the way he accepted yet another drink from his father.

If he hadn’t been such a wimp about it, he could have just put George in his place and been open about the way he liked the girl. But now he had to keep quiet, for his own sanity.

-

Another hour or so later the twins finally said their goodbyes, promising their mother that y/n would come along with them next week so everyone could meet her, and left the burrow to return to the loft where y/n had already fallen asleep on the sofa.

George chuckled, creeping over to her while Fred was distracted by the sight of her face yet again and picked her up into his arms.

“I’ll take her downstairs, Freddie, can you turn all the lights off up here?” He asked, letting the girl fall into his chest.

Fred hated how perfect they looked together, how George hadn’t even hesitated to hold her himself, how she slotted into his arms so simply. He hated that all of this bothered him, that he was pitting himself against his double, who hadn’t even shown any signs of wanting her.

Still he watched them leave, disappear down the steps and into the darkness. He considered waiting, with the hope that he could listen in on any conversation but realised that might be a bit much and sloped away to his bedroom, mumbling a quick “nox” as he went.

-

The more days that passed, the easier y/n fitted into the twins’ day to day life. She was a saint in the shop, and loyal customers got to know her and like just as quickly as the two men had done so.

Her little room was a godsend on her back, but in the evenings she stayed up in the loft with them, very rarely wanting time alone unless she was particularly exhausted. Which only made things harder for Fred, who seemed to grow more and more jealous around the girl.

He hadn’t realised how bad it had gotten, however, until Bill graced them all with his presence one afternoon while they were shutting up the shop. He had, of course, heard news of their guest from Ron and decided to find out all he could for himself while he wasn’t busy.

“She’s not here right now, we just sent her to the shop for dinner,” Fred told him, cashing up the till with a concentrated look. His older brother leant on the counter, still dressed in his fancy bank suit, having come straight from work.

“Not sure what she’s cooking, no doubt it’ll be good though,” George chuckled, stacking more things onto the shelves nearby.

“Apparently Ginny likes her, is that true?” He asked them, to which they both nodded. “Wow, she must be great then- never met anyone else with better character jugement, well except myself of course.”

Fred rolled his eyes at Bill, always one to be humble.

“She’s pretty great.” He assured, ignoring George’s weird look.

“Shame I missed her, guess I’ll have to find out for myself at dinner on friday.”

“You’re coming to the burrow?” George laughed, amazed that he finally had time.

“Yeah well, we haven’t had much progress with these break ins so there’s no point trying to force it. The aurors have taken over as it is, we’ve done all we can.”

“Which reminds me, I need to update our wards Georgie.”

“Again, I only did it a couple days ago!”

“No point taking chances, what dad said was right- they could easily target other businesses next.” Fred huffed, his brother accepting defeat.

Their attention was caught by the sound of the front door tinkling open, a jingle of keys telling them that y/n was finally back.

“Here she is!” Bill announced, greeting her with a charming smile and confident tone. The girl seemed surprised, her smile awkward and a little confused.

“This is our big brother, Bill.” Fred explained, offering to take the heavy bags from her. She smiled, making sure to lock eyes with him as he stepped back again.

“Hello Bill, it’s lovely to meet you.” Now she was more relaxed, her shoulders dropping as he spoke to her and asked her plenty of questions about herself, all the while leaning suavely against the counter.

Fred wanted to go over and drag her away, tell her that bill was way too old for her. But all he could do was stand and watch as she giggled away at every other comment he made, her eyes scanning him all the time that he was there.

“I better take this all upstairs-” She reached for the bags that were in his hand, but he stepped up onto the stairs.

“N-no it’s alright, I’ll go.” At least he wouldn’t have to hide his anger around them much longer.

Only a couple minutes later she joined him in the loft, her cheeks rosy and her eyes sparkly as she smiled at him in the kitchen.

“You okay?” Fred asked her.

“Yeah, George is saying goodbye to your brother. I said I’d come help.” She grinned, setting up a chopping board right beside him.

“You didn’t have to.” He nudged her shoulder playfully, making her giggle, the same way Bill had done.

“I wanted to, silly, plus I feel like I barely saw you all day- it was weird.”

Maybe liking her wasn’t off the cards after all, she wanted to be with him, she felt weird when she didn’t see him. Hell, she even left big-shot Bill downstairs just to be in the same room as him. George could have been wrong, she could want him back after all.

“Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” She asked the taller man beside her, looking up with those hopeful eyes.

“Yeah sure,” “I’ll be back in ten to help, okay?” “Don’t fall!” He called out as she rushed off, hearing a faint giggle as the bathroom door shut. Fred smiled to himself, liking how much more comfortable they were getting around one another.

“Need help?” George asked, poking his head round the kitchen door.

“Can do, y/n’s just showering.” He directed his twin to the vegetables that needed peeling.

“By the way, Bill was asking about her-” His stomach tensed. “He wants to ask her out, I told him it’s fine… you know since you said you were just drunk when you told me those things.”

Fred’s heart stopped. Of course, just as things showed the smallest sign of getting better his hope was crushed by the weight of one sentence. He nodded, trying to pay as little attention to what nonsense George spewed out as they cooked, but he couldn’t help hearing how Bill had been taken in by the girl’s beauty.

The man wanted to yell out, he wanted to snap and explain that he’d liked her first. It all seemed so childish, he’d been jealous of one brother and now another one had swooped right in and charmed her. There was no way she would deny him, either, he’d seen her blush.

All through dinner, George asked the girl what she thought of their older brother, most likely at Bill’s request. But it made Fred feel sick, to see her so excited to talk about him, all that he could do was stay silent and eat his food. Not that either of the others noticed, too enthralled in their riveting conversation.

George was as bad as his mother for gossiping, together with y/n’s childlike excitement, he decided he couldn’t take much more and quietly dismissed himself so he could run off to his room and let out the breath he’d been holding onto all evening.

This was going to be harder to get over.

-

That Friday night, the three of them apparated to the burrow, wanting to show the girl a different way to travel as she had never been taught how to do it when she lived at home. The moon was bright out that night, and shone done over the field as they landed, both men having to keep her stable as she giggled.

“That was fun!” She squealed, jumping up and down and looking around, amazed that she had never experienced such a exhilarating thing before.

“I gotta be honest, I was expecting you to vomit.”

“We both were,”

“It’s practically tradition at this point.”

“Maybe on the way back, after dinner.” The girl teased, stomping her boots over the long grass that led towards the house.

She had found her nicest pair of big blue jeans and used some of the little money she had on her to buy a new top when Ginny had taken her out with Hermione. It was white, with thin lace sleeves and a corset waist, which had reminded her of the dresses her mother used to wear whenever her father took her out for a special occasion. Before they grew apart, of course.

Fred had gulped when he’d seen her wearing it, presuming that she’d been swayed by Hermione’s elegant style over Ginny’s punk-princess dresses. And while he loved seeing her wearing clothes that made her look like an angel, as she did that evening, everything the girl wore seemed to make him want her more and more.

“Y/n!” His little sister cried out from the front door, having spotted them from the front window, making the girl run even faster to greet her. They flew into each other’s arms like best friends, they most likely were that close by now, given both of the girl’s addictive personalities.

All of them were quickly ushered inside, where Ron and Harry awkwardly stared at her while she talked with their fiances. George nudged their shoulders.

“You guys look like creeps, have you really forgotten how to talk to girls other than those two.” He scoffed.

“Oh, we’re just worried.” Harry explained, looking as white as a sheet.

“About y/n?” Fred sneered, “She’s a softie, come on.”

“Ginny and ‘Mione are great, but when they’re together they can be-” “They’re brutal.” Ron finished his friend's statement bluntly. “And your little project will turn into one of them if you’re not careful.”

“She’s not a project Ron-” “Yeah, shut up Ron.”

Mrs Weasley wiped her hands of cooking and rushed over to the new face in her house, immediately dragging the girl into a hug.

“It is so lovely to meet you y/n!” She exclaimed, her children’s kindness so evidently learnt from her. “Ginny has told me so much about you,” The girl blushed before her, unknowing of a parent so welcoming.

Her mother used to be like this, if she remembered far enough, she would invite all their friends over and treat other’s children as their own. Always with a bright, beaming smile, one that had been lost as the years went one, but one that she no doubt inherited herself.

“Why don’t you go sit with the boys, dinner won’t be long.” She smiled, keeping Ginny and Ron behind to help her finish up. She followed the twins, who seemed too tall for their own home as they ducked beneath archways and low hanging lights.

A fire was lit in the next room, surrounded by sofas and armchairs that looked even comfier than her own bed. Mr Weasley sat, facing the doorway, having a conversation with someone who had their back to the trio as they entered.

“Hi dad, evening Bill.” George smiled, slumping down on a sofa comfortably.

Bill turned round, expectantly, his smirk rising when he saw the girl stood before him, looking much more made up that she was the other day after a long shift.

“There she is,” He said, smoothly, relishing in the way she blushed nervously in his presence.

She politely greeted Mr Weasley, before sitting down in between the twins who were her pillars of safety as they talked over her head. Even as Bill conversed with his father about matters that she struggled to catch up on, his gaze burned upon her body like a flame.

Fred noticed it, the way his brother watched over her like a hawk and the way she lapped it up. It was sickening to see her fall under his spell so easily, he didn’t even need to try. Bill always got what he wanted, everyone knew that.

When Mrs Weasley called them all in for dinner, Fred certainly didn’t miss the way his older brother whispered into her ear and all but dragged her over to the table so he could ensure they would be next to one another. He just let it happen, who was he to stop them, a hopeless romantic… that’s all.

“So y/n, where did you go to school?” Arthur asked, thinking nothing of the question. But her face fell a little, not that anyone but Fred saw it happen from across the table.

“Uh- I was actually homeschooled, but there’s still a lot I don’t know.”

“Well I hope the boys have been teaching you lots, it’s good to know as much as you can.” Mrs Weasley beamed, rubbing the twin’s heads as she passed by with glasses for everyone.

“They’ve been extremely helpful, in more ways than I can thank them for.” She smiled sweetly, catching Fred’s eye as everyone started up their own conversations.

That was the last time she looked over at him that night, as Bill started telling her all sorts of things that made her giggle and smirk and blush and fidget. It was obvious to anyone that watched the two of them that Bill had made up his mind about her.

It was the scar tour which finally made Fred roll his eyes, no one seeing but his twin.

“You alright?” George said, with a confused chuckle.

“Oh yeah, fine.”

“Bill’s a right show off isn’t he, wonder where he’s gonna take her on their d-a-t-e.”

“We’re not dogs you know, we can spell.” Ginny hissed from the other side of him, leaning over behind him so she could talk to Fred directly.

“Is it true?” She asked him, hushed.

“Is what?” He whispered back, praying that George hadn’t spoken of his drunken confession.

“Bill’s gonna ask her out?”

“Well- I guess so, he said he would.” He sat up straight again, wanting nothing more to do with that conversation if he could help it. He was already forced to watch the two of them as if he was front row at a particularly excruciating play.

-

The whole night seemed to drag on for hours and hours, as it seemed like Ginny and Bill were fighting over the girl’s attention. Fred finally gave up on trying to bear the whole situation and slipped out the back door when no one was watching, hoping to have a few minutes alone in the night’s cool air.

But not even thirsty seconds of silence later, the door opened behind him, and someone came to join him.

“You alright Fred?” Hermione’s voice sounded over to him, as he sat slumped against the stone wall. He nodded, not minding her company over any of the other’s. She at least knew how to be quiet when it was necessary.

The brunette took a seat beside him on the grass, crossing her legs and taking in a fresh breath of air. He was always happy that Hermione was the one friend of Ginny’s to actually join the family, he’d never been a fan of the other’s as most of the time they would bother him and George.

“You like her, don’t you?” Hermione asked, dragging him from his vacant thoughts.

“What?”

“Y/n. You like her, and you haven’t said anything.”

“Hermione, I don’t-” ‘I’m not going to tell anyone, I hate gossip.” She scoffed, and he knew it was true.

“It’s a tricky one, okay.” The man finally said, after she let him think over his answer for a few moments.

“I bet, and now Bill’s got his sight on her.”

“Yeah well, I’m not him-” He sighed. “Doesn’t mean you can’t like her.”

“It’s too late, she’s gonna say yes to their date and then they’ll be together and I’ll have to watch them be happy and shit, all the while I’m gonna be miserable.” “She might say no,” “Bullshit will she say no, have you seen the way she acts around him?” “Not really.” Hermione admitted.

“Well, it’s obvious she likes him- that’s all.”

They fell into silence again, the stars in the sky not even settling Fred’s growing rage over how stupid he’d been to hide how he truly felt.

“Either way, you should tell her.” Hermione said, standing up and brushing off her legs before giving him a sympathetic smile and heading back inside.

-

The twins headed back outside, getting ready to leave, when y/n called over to them with a giggle. Bill’s hands were wrapped around her waist, begging her to stay as she cutely tried to get away.

“I’ll just be a moment you guys!” George nodding, waving bye to his brother and heading back into the field to give them a bit of privacy. Fred followed, with no other choice. He could still see their figures through the tall grass, holding one another like they were already lovers. When Bill’s head dipped down he just turned away, seeing George watching him with squinted eyes.

“What are you doing freddie?” He asked him.

“Nothing, jus- nothing.” He grumbled, kicking up the ground beneath his feet as they waited patiently.

When the girl finally bounded over, full of giddy excitement, he wanted to be far away from her. He swore he could feel Bill’s presence all over her, just by the way she took his hand to apparate back to the loft.

The whole time that she spoke his head was in a daze, as if he felt there was no use in listening to anyone anymore. No matter how much advice he was given, or however nice he was to her. If she didn’t want him, then there was nothing he could do.

“Goodnight freddie!” She called, when he silently left the other two in the dark shop and climbed up to the loft. He didn’t say anything back, in truth he didn’t take in that she had spoken to him and then by the time he had done so, he didn’t trust his voice to not crack under pressure.

“Is he angry?” The girl turned to George, who was just as confused about his twin’s odd behaviour.

“No, sweet, he’s probably just tired.” He whispered, giving her a reassuring hug. “So, when’s Bill taking you out?”

“Tuesday night.” “Oh. How romantic.” The man scoffed, which earned him a light slap on the arm.

“Stop it you, he said he didn’t want to wait until next weekend- I think it’s sweet.”

“You would missy- you’re in love!” He teased.

“I wouldn’t call it love… yet.” She grinned.

“Go on you, get to bed.” He chuckled, giving her yet another hug and letting her skip off to her room which was covered in fairy lights.

George wasn’t even going to bother talking to Fred that night. Whatever was up with him, he could take a wild guess on and probably hit the jackpot. But that meant he was upset, beyond compare, and most likely needed some time alone. So George gave him that time and just went up to bed himself. Hoping that things would look up in the days to come.

Little did he know that, when it came to love, Fred held grudges.

#weasley #weasley twins #fred weasley #george weasley #weasley family #bill weasley #ron weasley #the weasleys #the weasley twins #the wealseys #the weasly twins #they were roommates #the weaslys #the weasley family #fred and goerge weasley #fred x y/n #fred x reader #fred smut #fred #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fanfiction #george and fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #george wealsey x reader #george weasley x reader #george weasley smut #hermione granger #fred and george #george weasley x y/n #george wealsey imagine

[katnissmellarkkk]

Summary: At the Seventy-Fourth Reaping for The Hunger Games, volunteering is outlawed, thanks to a tribute four years prior. Because of this, when Katniss’ sister Prim’s name is chosen from the bowl, there’s nothing she can do but hope that Peeta Mellark, past victor and now Prim’s mentor, can somehow bring her sister home alive. (Obviously heavy on Everlark.) 

AN: Hi! I don’t really have a big author’s note or anything--at least, I don’t think I do? We’ll see how long this trails on--but this is one of the fics I’ve been working on for a while. It’s multi-chaptered so there’s gonna be a lot more coming in the future, but this first chapter is honestly a little similar to the original book, with some (significant) deviations here and there, but after this first chapter, this story becomes extremely different from canon. I gotta thank, obviously, @rosegardeninwinter​ for a). making me my pretty lil banner and for b). reading the million, unpolished, unedited screenshots of my drafts that I’m sure ya’ll got tired of really quick. And also for encouraging me to write this in the first place. And also, I gotta thank everyone who liked and reblogged the lil story edit I posted months ago for this concept. It really encouraged me to write this concept out. (I’m talking about this edit right here if you forgot or never saw x). Okay, anyways, I’m talking too much but thank you! Also link to this story on AO3 [x].

Chapter One :

I stare out into the sky, introspective, as I wait for familiar footsteps to approach. The footfalls of my hunting partner, my friend even, Gale, still remain absent, despite our longstanding agreement to hunt on Reaping Day, no matter how hot it is, or how scarce the game, or how worried we may be deep inside.

Of course, how could a couple kids from the Seam not worry about Reaping Day? At least a slight bit, deep down?

Reaping Day. The day that decides the almost absolute fate of a lucky—as our assigned escort, straight from the Capitol itself, so proudly proclaims—boy and girl.

We're District Twelve. The smallest and one of the poorest districts in the country of Panem. There's an almost guarantee that whoever gets their name picked from the reaping bowl, even the strongest eighteen-year-old boy in the district, will have an almost sure fate of death. Likely before the number of tributes drops below twenty.

Tributes from our district almost never fare well inside the arena.

Almost never.

We have had a few winners in history, two of which are still around, but a few out of seventy-three games isn't inspiring much hope in anyone today.

The wind breezes against my arms, prickling the hair at the back of my neck, and I'm struck by the memory of being out here, in the forbidden territory of the woods, outside our district limits, when I was just a kid. When my dad was the one hunting and I was just along for the ride. Just along because I wanted to be with him. When I used to blindly trust him and my mother, when I thought he'd live forever, when I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the Hunger Games. When I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the world in which we live.

When I was eleven my every illusion was shattered violently. Almost as violently as the death in which my father must have endured, underground in those mines, as they exploded.

I remember hearing the alarm at school, blaring so cacophonously over the speakers that it shook the schoolrooms themselves. I remember blindly grappling through the scurrying bodies of my classmates, until I found my way to my little sister, Primrose. Her room was completely empty, but she still remained, sitting behind her desk with small folded hands, waiting for my arrival with excessive patience.

I'd always coached her on what we'd do, if there ever should be a mine accident. I made sure she knew the drill, just as I knew it. Like the back of my hand. Like a prayer or a lullaby. I could recite it in my sleep. Because my father had just as sternly instilled it into me.

I wove my way through the chaos of bodies and white-hot panic, towing Prim only inches behind me by the hand, as the kids from town lingered in the hallways, their classic, bright blue eyes large and their voices all quivering, and as the kids from the Seam dutifully made their way to the nearest exits, hoping and praying and begging silently that it wasn't their parent who had been hurt. Hoping the accident hadn't taken what was typically the sole provider in most households, here in the poorest section, in the most impoverished district.

Prim and I must have not hoped hard enough, because we learned almost immediately upon finding our mother, who was now immobilized with grief, her characteristic gentle smile eviscerated and in it's place, a blank stare, void of any life at all, that our every fear from hearing that alarm were coming true.

My mom was supposed to get a job. She was supposed to find a way to provide for us, to take care of her two daughters, who were grieving her husband just as much as she was.

But instead she lay in bed day after day. On the good mornings, maybe if Prim begged and pleaded, she'd move to a chair, in front of the fireplace and stare at the flames with the same vacant expression that had replaced the loving, kind woman who'd raised us.

The money from the government, the minuscule amount of money given to keep us afloat until our mother found work, ran out. The meat our father had hunted, the plants he'd saved, ran out. The food we had the small luxury of sometimes buying—or more times than not, trading for—quickly ran out.

And our mother still did absolutely nothing.

I take a deep breath now and try to force myself to forgive her. Forgive her for not being strong enough to keep going, forgive her for not caring enough about her own children to keep them alive in the face of her grief, forgive her for being so in love that losing my father had almost killed her too.

I know it's what my father would want. And I know it's something I can't let myself do. Because if I let her off the hook, it's like saying it's okay that she almost let Prim wither away to nothing. Forget me. I will never forgive her for almost taking my little sister away from me.

Our mother did absolutely nothing until Prim's ribs were prominent, until my stomach was nearly hallow, until our cheekbones were so blatantly obvious you could count them from down the road.

And all my fears, all my resolve, to keep the three of us together as a family, went out the window. There was nothing left to do, but wait for me and Prim to be taken to the Community Home, with the other orphans or kids from unsafe families. Kids who still remained too thin, who's eyes told stories no ear wanted to hear, who still wore bruises upon their skin like freckles from the sun, who looked nearly worse than the corpses I encountered every winter, while walking from the Seam to town. Those corpses were the unlucky ones who'd actually starved to death, who had sat down to merely rest, because they had no substance to carry them any further, and somehow never got back up.

On that day, at eleven years old, living in the Community Home sounded no worse than living with the immobilized shell that had once been my mother. My resolve to hold out until my birthday, until I could get the tesserae that would feed my family for an entire year, was shattered by the harsh raindrops pelting me from the grey, unforgiving sky.

I vaguely heard the baker's wife, the mean-spirited woman, with her deeply embittered, hostile blue eyes that somehow seemed black, scream at me, calling me names, shooing me from her property.

I'd simply wanted to rummage her trashcan, so desperate for any small morsel to take back to Prim, any motivation to take even another step forward, when I felt her rough and calloused hands shove me away.

I toppled over, my legs already weak and shaky from lack of nutrition and substance. My depleted form laid on the ground, my eyes bleary from exhaustion and the shivering wind and rain.

The witch went back inside the bakery as I scarcely conjured up the will to sit upright. I was beyond done. The fighting to even gain a fraction of my mother's awareness, to get something, anything, to feed myself and my starving sister, to even stand up, became overwhelming and I felt the last bit of my resolve crumble from deep inside.

Let them come and take me and Prim to the Community Home. I don't care any longer. Let them come.

Out of the corner of my eye, a boy exited out the same backdoor the witch had gone through. He was carrying a bag of trash in his hands and my famished mind focused on that first, focused on what could be inside the contents of that bag, on what a baker could potentially be throwing away, before I realized the boy was in my year at school. I knew him, or at least, I knew his face. But he stuck with the other blonde-haired, fair-skinned town kids and I didn't even remember his name in that moment.

In hindsight, that's absolutely hysterical now.

But he evaporated as soon as he'd appeared and I closed my eyes and let the rain drown me, hoping perhaps I could be swallowed up within the downpour itself. Hoping that perhaps I'd never have to face the reality that I was out of options and I had nothing of subsidence to take home.

But then I heard a clatter and a clang and the sound of a scream. It was her, the witch. She was screaming and calling someone names my own mother had never even uttered in my lifetime.

I mentally prepared myself for her to come back outside, to drive me away with a stick or a knife. Or possibly even a hot, scorching prong.

But it wasn't the witch. It was the boy, the one from my year. The one I thought went back inside after taking out the trash, that I believed didn't even notice me before.

He was carrying bread. Two loaves, in fact. The crusts were black and burned and the welt across his face told me, without a doubt, that he was the target of the witch's insults. That he was the victim of whatever clanging noise I heard.

And though I was the one starving to death, I didn't envy him having her for a mother.

I remember vividly, the most crystal clear image I have of this day, the boy checking and making sure the witch's attention had been claimed elsewhere. And then, without even glancing in my direction, he tossed one loaf of bread to my feet. Seconds later, the other followed.

He didn't hesitate to head back inside after that, and I've spent more time in these last four years than I'd more than likely care to admit, wondering what possessed him to commit such an act of kindness. No one was kind for free, I'd learned by that point.

And yet, as I shook myself forcefully out of my stupor, and carried the loaves back to my house at the edge of the Seam, I had no explanation for his simple act. I had no basis to explain why he would help me, when no one else ever had.

The next day, I saw him at school. I passed by him in the hallway, and saw his eye had now blackened, his cheek welted, but somehow he still managed a joyous smile. He didn't notice me then. He was surrounded by his friends. Like always, he was surrounded by a constant crowd.

He is, after all, one of the most charming and sweet people Panem's ever known.

Later that day, when I was about to walk home with Prim, who was excitedly chattering about the leftover bread awaiting us on the kitchen table, the bread I'd brought home the night prior that had filled our stomachs for the first time in months, I caught the boy looking in our direction. My grey Seam eyes met his baby blues for a microsecond, before he looked away. I snapped my gaze downwards too, embarrassed, when I caught sight of a dandelion.

It was that moment that a bell went off in my head. That I saw how I could survive, how Prim could survive. How, through the things my dad had taught me, I could keep me and my sister alive.

After that day, I could never stop associating the boy with the bread, the one who gave me hope, with the dandelion that reminded me I wasn't doomed.

I never stopped associating him with his simple act of kindness, even when he became famous for some much less appreciable acts.

And I never stopped kicking myself for failing to thank him, for saving my life and my family's life, before he was whisked away, to a land far from Twelve, called the Capitol. When he later returned, now a part of a much more elite social class, thanking him for his kindness became even less of a possibility.

A girl from the Seam had no business seeking out a boy from Victor's Village. Even if I did have the guts.

Though he isn't exactly in good company here in Twelve, seeing as the only other person who holds the same title is a drunken, middle-aged man who can barely form a coherent sentence most days and lives like a hermit by his own volition.

My thoughts are interrupted by the quiet—almost as quiet as mine, but not quite—steps of Gale.

"You're late," I state without turning around, pulling the cheese from my pocket. "You're lucky Prim's cheese held up under the sun."

But Gale pulls something even more impressive from behind his back. "This will probably go nice with it," he says and I almost gasp.

Fresh bread is so rare in our district, generally reserved for the Peacekeepers and perhaps a merchant who is having a good day. Here in the Seam, fresh bread from the bakery is as common as new school shoes.

Gale updates me on his day as we split the bread and cheese and have our own version of a small feast. He'd gotten to the woods early, while I had been still at home, and shot a squirrel to which he traded for the bread.

"The baker really went for that?" I ask in disbelief. The baker was a subdued, large man, who resembled all three of his sons quietly strongly, and was one of my dad's best customers. Sometimes I think he still trades with me and Gale out of respect to my dad's memory, but a simple squirrel for a loaf of fresh bread isn't common.

"I think he was feeling generous this morning," Gale suggests a little snidely, his bitterness leaking through. "Besides. It's not like the Mellark's need the money they ask for bread. They could easily skim off their precious son and he'd probably never notice."

Gale has a special affinity for hating anyone and anything associated even minimally with the Capitol. He was lost his father in the same mine explosion I lost mine in. But whereas I don't let myself get too worked up over the inequities between the town and the Seam, and especially between us all and the victors, Gale takes a special pride in fuming over the things he cannot change.

I don't mind listening usually, since neither of us can speak our minds in public or even within our own homes, out of fear small ears will pick up on our words and repeat them elsewhere. But today, I just don't have the energy to be a sounding board.

Instead I take a segue towards a slightly different topic, but one, without a doubt, weighing on both our minds. "Prim has been having nightmares of the reaping," I murmur solemnly. "She's convinced they're going to call her name."

Gale shook his head, his demeanor becoming more subdued now. "Least Prim's name is only in there once, Catnip. Rory had to take tesserae this year."

I nod silently at that admission, knowing what it must have cost him to even allow his little brother to take additional risks of being called. Knowing it meant his family of five must be even more hungry than he leads on.

We don't say much more after that, only lingering in the woods long enough to catch some additional game from what I've already collected, and hurry back to town to trade.

As we walk back to the Seam, having divided up our goods evenly, Gale murmurs suddenly, "I might be able to stomach the idea of Rory's name being in that bowl six times if we were still allowed to volunteer."

I bypass his words the best I can. I don't want to think about what Gale must be going through, making himself sick with worry, not for himself but for a sibling in which he considers himself responsible for. And, as it happens once in a lucky moon, I feel grateful that my tesserae is still sufficient for a family of three, and I don't have to worry about Prim the same way. Her one entry pales in comparison to the thousands that are piled in that bowl.

Still, the silence between us as we walk is deafening and I can't take it any longer as we come closer to my house. "At least then, you'd get to see the Capitol," I say lightly, as a means to brighten his mood, even just a little.

At that, Gale rewards me with a humorless smirk. "Generous of the president, isn't it? To allow us district people to experience the great Capitol firsthand while they slaughter our family."

And it's true. Just a few years ago, it was allowed to volunteer as tribute in the place of whoever's name got chosen, as long as you were the same gender and between twelve and eighteen on Reaping Day.

But four years ago, when a twelve-year-old boy volunteered for his seventeen-year-old brother, an outrage sparked across the entire country. People are never happy, in any district, to see a twelve-year-old be chosen for the games. They're the youngest, the smallest, the most innocent, and never in history had a single one made it past the Final Fifteen in the games.

So when one volunteered, the country wasn't pleased in the slightest. However, like always, the anger was contained by Peacekeepers in a matter of weeks, and promises came pouring out from the Capitol that a change would be made after the games that year to ensure never again would this situation occur.

And it never again could. Because three days after the Seventieth Hunger Games, President Snow announced that all volunteering, from that point forward, was officially banned.

This new law is even more ironic when you realize that the twelve-year-old volunteer from that year became the youngest victor in the entire history of the games.

Still, I suppose the president was feeling generous that day, and he threw in a bonus treat for us in the districts. Now when someone is chosen from the reaping bowl, though their fate is sealed definitively when their name is uttered, they get to choose one family member to take on the train ride to the Capitol with them, to get a special viewing of the games with the mentors and the sponsors and the past victors, to get to experience the wonder that is the mysterious Candy Capitol firsthand.

However, when all is said and done, twenty-three family members must ride the train home alone to their districts, with their loved one in a casket beside them. The thought chills me to the bone and I shiver as me and Gale wish each other good luck. We probably won't see each other again until it's time for the customary dinner we all try to put on with our neighbors to celebrate, even minimally, that we've survived another year unchosen.

Prim is already wearing my first reaping outfit when I enter the house, though it is a bit large on her. She's slimmer than even I was at Twelve, despite her having months on me when I attended my first reaping.

I get ready quickly, if only because I want to spend time with her before we have to go. I protect Prim in every way I can but I'm powerless against the reaping.

Still, she's only entered once and that's as safe as anyone can get from being chosen. It's almost unheard in the Seam to be that safe from the games.

But my sister never did appear like she fit in here anyway. Her golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes resemble the merchants, not the Seam, and her and our mother stick out like sore thumbs next to our neighbors.

Our mom is restless now, busying herself with preparing the food for our small feast tonight and braiding Prim's hair and then mine.

I still haven't fully forgiven her for leaving us when we needed her most, but I also can't imagine how difficult it must be to have to send both your children off to be potentially chosen for an absolute death. And I let her hug me as I guide Prim out the door.

Attendance is mandatory for all in the district, but the ones viable for being chosen and those just watching don't typically enter together.

I guide Prim by hand into town, the walk feeling longer than it did with Gale. Perhaps it's the trembling twelve-year-old I'm towing, or perhaps I'm more afraid than I'm even admitting to myself.

After all, unlike my sister, I have twenty slips with my name splayed across this year. It's not as a bad as someone like Gale, who has forty-four chances of being called. But it's not as safe as the kids from town, who likely only have to worry about a handful of slips with their names.

Its not that they're rich by any standard, but they get by better than those in the Seam. Even if they're hungry, they're not at risk of starving, and no one is going to sign up for tesserae unless there is no alternative.

A year ago, my mother let it slip once over dinner, just out of the blue really, that my father had always sworn no child of his would be in need of tesserae.

I shake my head, as if to physically rid myself of the reminder. I don't want to dwell on what my father would feel if he were here. I don't want to be reminded how different things would be if he hadn't died.

I help Prim sign in and then drop her off, as gently as I can, with the other girls her age. At the last minute, she pulls on my hand, yanking me back to her with surprising force.

"Prim, I have to go stand with the sixteens," I say as she leans up and kisses my cheek.

"I just wanted to say I love you," she whispers softly, her big blue eyes so terrified, and then she steps back into the crowd of twelves surrounding her.

I sigh softly and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She truly is the best of our parents. Kind, smart, level-headed. She's funny and resourceful too, even if she can't take hunting animals herself.

She is the only person I'm certain that I love. And just about the only thing that keeps me going most days.

As I make my way to the sixteens, straightening my mother's dress on my hips, I check the clock. Only five minutes before we start. Before our lovely Capitol escort, Effie Trinket, reads off two names in her distinctive, afflicted accent. Before two kids know they're never coming home again.

This place isn't much. But it is all we've ever known, and no one wishes to leave it.

As more people crowd in, I begin to pick up an excited buzz in the girls surrounding me. Already knowing what I'll see, I crane my neck just the same, to peer up at the stage ahead.

Sure enough, I see exactly what I knew I would.

There's four chairs set up on the stage. One for Effie Trinket, because no one from the Capitol could ever bear to stand for more than three minutes at a time and she must have a seat to relax in before she calls out the names and sends two of us—a lucky boy and girl, as she says it—to the slaughter.

One of the other chairs is occupied by Mayor Undersee. A man who looks like he's been beaten down by life too many times as it is and would rather be anywhere but here. His daughter is my age. She sits with me at lunch, since Gale is two grades ahead of me and we rarely see each other at school. We make polite small talk but other than that, I barely know anything about her, and by association, her father.

However, it's neither of them that's stirring up the buzz within the crowd—admittedly, more so with the female portion of the crowd—and it's definitely not Haymitch Abernathy, who's stumbling on stage right at this moment. He managed to win the Fiftieth Hunger Games and I still can't imagine how. He's a paunchy man my mother's age and he's never sober, on the rare time he's even seen in public. Today is no exception, as he flops onto a chair gruffly, and murmurs something unintelligible with his eyes closed.

No, the murmuring, the now batting eyes and coy smiles, the soft vibrato still traveling within the crowd, are all because of the last guest of honor, walking upon the stage right behind his old mentor.

Peeta Mellark.

Winner of the Seventieth Hunger Games. Youngest ever. District Twelve's first and last volunteer. The twelve-year-old that changed the rules for the entire country.

The youngest mass murderer in history of Panem.

And now one of it's most beloved celebrities.

Peeta is smart—brilliantly smart—and he's always been charismatic. Even at twelve, he had the Capitol audience, as well as every single soul watching on television at home, eating out of the palm of his hand.

It doesn't hurt that at sixteen, he's become quite a looker. His blonde curls, his blue eyes, those long lashes and bubblegum pink lips. His fair, perfect skin that has not a blemish in sight. His toned, muscular body and devastatingly genuine smile that no one can help but fall in love with.

He's also the boy who saved my life. The one who committed the simple act of kindness, knowing it would cost him, to help me.

I never thanked him. And now I never can, as I'm sure he has zero memory of me. After everything else that's happened to him since, after the last four years of living as a Capitol darling, as one of the country's most cherished victors, he'd never remember the starving eleven-year-old he threw some burned bread to in a rainstorm.

But I remember him. I don't know if it's what he did for me that day or what he did for his brother only a matter of weeks later, but something about Peeta Mellark crawled under my skin four years ago and ever since, I've never been able to completely shake the feeling I get inside upon seeing him.

I break my gaze away, refusing to stare at the boy, who I will always accredit as the one who saved my life. I venomously refuse to gawk at him, like every other girl in the district.

He rarely comes out of his house when he's home here in Twelve, and I know the overzealous amount of attention he receives just by going to his parents' bakery has to be at least a part of the reason. Unlike Haymitch, who has lost his clout and his appeal with age and with deterioration, Peeta has only gained more and more notoriety as the years pass by.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in Twelve, outside of a few outliers like Gale perhaps, who'd say a negative word about Peeta Mellark.

Of course, rumors about his random and long stretches spent in the Capitol itself are always floating around, no matter what time of year it is, but they don't affect his public persona or anyone's opinion of him. He is, after all, the most valuable figure Twelve has and perhaps the only thing we can take any pride in.

Effie Trinket steps up to the microphone just as I turn my head away from the stage. "Welcome!" She greets, so vivaciously, so brightly, I can't imagine it even resonates in her head that she's just moments away from announcing two of our impending funerals. "Welcome, everyone! To the reaping for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

I can't even bear to listen as she prattles on, with too much confidence and dignity for someone dressed in every neon color known to man, speaking in such a peculiar accent, with a thickly painted face that is so blatantly visible to the every eye here today, even in the back row. Doesn't she realize how ridiculous she is to us? Doesn't she realize how wrong it is to preach about the morals and disciplines of the Capitol, in such a prideful voice, when they're the ones about to murder us for entertainment, and in repentance for a long over war that only a few elders can still remember?

As I advert my eyes, my gaze travels once again to the back of the stage, and I'm more than a little surprised to see Peeta Mellark with a similar expression as mine. He, too, is shifting his eyes elsewhere, away from his own escort, looking sick to his stomach.

Of course, it still can't be easy for him, even with his own games four years in the past. He was a literal child when he volunteered and it's fact that he didn't understand what he was getting himself into when he took his brother's place that fateful day. His innocence was stolen as soon as the countdown ended and talk still circulates, even in the Hob, that he wakes up screaming most nights, calling out the names of fallen tributes. Though those words are not given much weight in the Seam, as we all know, people get bored in this tiny district and bored people begin to spew lies whenever encouraged.

Effie continues, in a long overdone mantra, one I could recite in my sleep, the same one she spews every year, that two kids from every district must be chosen to battle to the death in a new and invigorating—one of her favorite words—arena, in order to pay for the blood shed during the rebellion and war, in order to ensure we'll never again even think to rebel.

It would almost be easier to swallow, this whole charade, if the people sent from the strange land of the Capitol would just be honest and blunt with us. If they'd just admit that they see us as lesser than, as animals or beasts of some sort, as less than human beings. It'd be easier if the Capitol spokespeople would just outright say, "we'll take your children, we'll starve your district, we'll ruin your homes, we'll broadcast the deaths of those you love most, all to keep you too powerless to fight. In order to make sure you never are able to stand strong, we have to kick your legs out from under you first."

Instead of being honest though, Effie Trinket is reiterating the Treaty Of Treason, in a tone so serious that it takes all the self-control possible to stop several boys standing in the fourteens from bursting out laughing. Her accent and a serious tone do not mesh well together.

Once she's done though, my heart automatically skips a beat. Because, after four years of standing in this square, I know exactly what's coming. "Ladies first!" Effie announces and I feel a bead of sweat glide down my forehead, both from anxiety and from the overload of heat. Reapings always take place in the start of the hottest month of the year.

Standing in my mother's well-crafted dress, one of the most luxurious pieces of clothing we own, only makes my perspiration worsen, as the dress was clearly made to keep the wearer as warm as possible.

Our district escort makes her way over the bowl containing the names of every girl eligible to be picked in the entire district and I feel myself take in a breath involuntarily.

There's twenty chances she's going to call out my name. Twenty chances I'll be sent to an almost imminent death. Twenty chances Prim will grow into her teen years, and later adulthood, without a sister.

The gut-churning fear I'd repressed all morning, in that moment, overtakes my entire being, curling up like a ball in the pit of my stomach, as I do my best to listen on baited breath, somehow expecting to hear my own name spoken through the raucous microphone for all to hear.

Don't be me, I whisper inside my head, more fearful than I'd ever admit out loud. Don't be me. Please, don't be me.

And, as it turns out, it's not me.

Instead it's the name I never in a million years thought I'd hear. The name I believed to be so safe I didn't even allow myself to worry about her.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

#everlark #everlark fic #thg #the hunger games #thg fic #everlark fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #everlark fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #writing #fic #fics #au #aus

[luthien-t]

Resurfaced Memories. Chapter Seven.

Loki x Female reader

Series Summary: Being the goddess of Victory, Sigyn. You Devoted your eternal love to Loki, but ever since his reveal of being the Jotun, Odin decides to separate you both to prevent all chances of him seizing the throne. Casted -More like banished- to Midgard with no memories of your previous life, you believe you are the same as the ones around you, the midgardians. You gave yourself the name Y/n. With plenty of help and guidance you finally have a life, what will it be of Loki when he finds you during his trips with his brother? 

Series Masterlist 

2,4+K

Warning: Angst, cruse words, bad english oop

You stepped out of the shop from the back, letting out a long sigh before pulling out your phone to text Linda. Loki being in the shop made everything difficult and complicated things even more, you want to listen to him and talk but you can’t just let it be that easy. Besides, you already gave him his chance and he just ruined it, it would’ve been easier if he just passed by that day

‘Hey

loki is in the shop so i took my break, just let me know when he leaves’ 

She immediately replied

‘Did he do something? I can just kick him out ykno?’

‘no i just dont want to see him’

‘y/n, what did we say about the flow?’

You groan out loud, you know she’s right. But you’re too stubborn for this, you finally let go of the mess and the confusion it brought to you and now it’s coming back to you all too quickly.

‘he left’

Linda texted you again five minutes after you left, you let out a sigh of relief and start walking back to the shop, but wait, why are you feeling disappointed all of a sudden? What is going on with you? You wanted to be away from him and now that he is gone you wish he didn’t? Pull yourself together, y/n. You said to yourself and walked back inside the shop from the back, your feet taking you back to the counter. But he was sitting there, a mug in his hand and his head towards the window, watching the people passing by.

Your heart was thudding violently in your chest and your breathing started to pick up quickly, your head turned left and right trying to find Linda and there she was, pretending to not notice you. You dragged your feet to Linda as quickly as possible, hoping Loki wouldn’t notice and bent down to her level.

“Seriously Linda? What the fuck?” You whispered to her and she smiled, a chuckle following it. “I knew the only way I’d get you to actually talk to him is by lying to you, now go! Seriously, y/n, what could go wrong?” She whisper-yelled to you and you rolled your eyes before standing up straight. It’s like Linda is working with Loki against you, you know she wants whats best for you but sometimes she can be a little bit pressuring. You sighed again and walked slowly towards Loki, you can feel the blood rushing to your face and your heart beating in your chest the minute he turned his head to your direction.

He had an odd expression on his face, like he was surprised to see you here. You took the seat on the opposite side of him and sat down, he opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it. “Why are you here, Loki?” You asked him with a monotone voice and he set his mug down. “To explain-“ His eyes were locked into yours, his mouth still agape as if he was wanted to say more but was hesitant. “-Everything.” He whispered the word and his shoulders dropped gently, saying these words felt like enough for him to relax a bit. You remained silent but leaned back on the chair, enlisting that you are listening. 

“I had to go back to Asgard that day, well it was more like forced. I never meant to leave like that.” He rested his hands on the table and looked down at his mug, your angry gaze was burning him and he knew if he kept looking at you it would just burn him more. 

“I am here today by secret, I passed the Bifrost without Heimdalls knowledge and no one really knows I’m here but you.” Saying these words out loud felt foreign to him, no one knows of that secret exit but Sigyn, yet here you are, pulling it out of him with ease. 

“But why?” You ask him, your brows furrowed. This keeps getting more and more complicated to you and you weren’t sure if you can handle more. 

“I told you, darling. I would like to know you.” His usual flirtatious personality was slowly creeping back in him as he noticed how your body was positioned in a way that was indicating that it was not leaving, he is holding on to his one chance to actually know you, maybe finally find the truth about you. He just wants to be sure of his suspicions. 

A sigh left your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest, your eyes were scanning every visible part of Loki. You teeth clinging onto the small skin of the corner of you lips and your mind being too loud for your own liking. You know you have to stop this, everything you read about him and the gods told you enough. Sure, some of the stories were false, but also some of the stories were real, and you were sure that Loki wouldn’t do anything without a motive. You craned your neck back towards Linda and then back to Loki, another short sigh leaving your lips. 

“I’m not Sigyn, Loki.” You say, stating the obvious, he furrows his eyebrows at the sudden mention of his lost love. 

“I know that, I’m not here for her I-“ He protested. 

“No, I know if I saw someone I loved, I wouldn’t stop til I get the truth” You interrupted him, it was starting to feel like a routine with him, he says something and you interrupt him so easily. “If you want the truth, then here it is.” Your voice was quiet, too scared to say it out loud, you never talked about your story to anyone but Linda, your heart was accelerating by the second and you can feel your palms go sweaty. Telling him the truth was the only way you know if he’s here for you or for Sigyn. He remained quite, his mug left abandoned as his hands slowly reached out for you on the table, which you blatantly ignored.

You told him your story, how you got here, how you met Linda. “I can only assume I’ve been injected by the serum. I mean, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence to knock on Lindas door that night. She must’ve been a locked memory in my head.” You finished then sighed, your hands rested on the table, both of your hands close enough to his that you can feel the cold radiate from his hands and meeting with the heat from yours. Loki kept his mouth shut the whole time, only nodding and squinting his eyes at you in concentration the entire time you explained your story. He was speechless, every time he wants to believe that you’re just you, your words and actions, and now your story deflects it. He wasn’t sure if he was being tricked by his own thoughts and his love towards Sigyn or if you’re really her anymore. 

“Would you like to remember?” He asks you softly, one of his hands slowly rising from the table, his palm gently moving towards your head, he was testing the waters, hoping that maybe his magic would clear things. But, you shook your head and his hand dropped to the table with a soft thud. “Not really, it was 75 years ago, I am more than over it now. I have a different life now. I have Linda, I have this shop and if I’ve been away for 75 years from Hydra or whatever so I guess I’m fine without the past.” You noticed his hands slowly retreating towards his mug and his jaw gently clenching as he swallowed, like he was holding back. 

“But thank you, for the idea” You smiled a sad smile and lifted a hand gesturing to his hand quickly.

Loki shrugged slightly and forced a smile, his eyes glued to his cold tea. “Look, I know you want me to be her so bad but I’m sorry. I’m not, and even if I was, Loki” This time only his eyes looked up at you, warning you to watch your words at the mention of Sigyn. You pretend to be oblivious to his silent warning and continued. “I am sure I would’ve wanted you to move on, maybe love another or start new. You gods are immortal, 75 years is a mer blink of an eye.” You don’t know where this bravery came from but you kept your eyes still on his. Loki took a deep breath in, his chest rising and then lowering slowly, like he was debating and thinking of his next moves. 

You know you crossed the line when you mentioned her, but how else were you going to get this man to make up his mind. One minute he was here and then for 3 months he’s gone and now he’s back? “Loki, I know your stories, your ideas and morals. I know of your heritage and the shit Odin has done. I know you have motive. If you’re really here for Sigyn then please, stop wasting your time.” His silence was making you bolder by the second and you know damn well that this is the only chance you will get to say these things. “You don’t know anything, y/n.” His reply was short and harsh, exactly what you expected. 

“You believe the stories you’ve read about me in your silly books? That I’m the monster you tell your children at night?” His voice was slighting rising as he tilted his body towards you, trying to intimidate you, the table keeping the distance between you both as you remained seated calmly, your back straight and your face unbothered by his words. “Then what do you want Loki? I told you already, you had one chance and you blew it.” Your voice was calm and quiet, the complete opposite of your heart and the emotions that were boiling inside you. 

“This is my one chance!” He raised his voice as he slammed his hand on the table, the shop was suddenly quiet and all eyes were on you two. Linda stood up and watched you both, calculating what to do next. All you did was sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, why were you putting up with this? You don’t know, you just want to get this over with. You stood up, watching his eyes follow you, your feet led you to the door as Linda approached you. “I can call the cop-“ 

“No, I can handle him.” You interrupted before turning your head towards Loki, tilting it slightly, observing his stance and the way his eyes watered with frustration, you wondered again if he’s doing all of this for you or for Sigyn, had he truly loved her and is still looking for her in you? He took your staring as an invitation and walked towards you, following you as you walked out and away from the shop, he was confused when you stopped in front of a small house. 

“Okay Loki, I’ll give you what you want” Your voice was calm and your back to him, it reminded him of how calm she always was during heated conversations. He remained silent but still followed you inside the house.

He watched you set the keys down and sigh. His eyes couldn’t help but wander around the house, it was filled with plants, pictures of you and Linda framed everywhere, a couch was in the middle of the living room where you went and sat down.

“You want me to remember?” You looked up at him, one eyebrow raised and your tone still calm, as if this was just a normal conversation, confusion kept rising in him. 

“Then get it over with, I have work and Linda is going to get worried if I’m not back in an hour” You continued and he walked towards you. 

“Y/n,” He started, he was starting to hesitate, unsure of your sudden decision. “Don’t you want to know if I’m Sigyn? Go on then, I’ll buy us the time so you can leave and move on.” Your eyes started to water, all of this was overwhelming and you were doing all of this, saying all of this without even thinking. Your heart beat was accelerating as he sat down in front of you. 

“I’ve told you before, I want to know you, I know Sigyn is out there somewhere but you said it yourself, it has been 75 years.” He said, his voice was trembling slightly at your offer and your choice of words. The way you figured him out before he even had the chance to proceed with his plans, he was supposed to gain your trust before doing this, it was supposed to be a slow and stealthy plan, yet here you are rushing him to do it. 

“Are you really here for me? Or is it because somewhere deep down you’re still holding onto her?” Your voice broke as you pointed a finger to his chest. He sighed and looked down at where your finger and his chest meet.

“I am not stupid, Loki, now lets get it over with. This is the one chance you obviously wanted, right?” You grabbed his hand and moved it to hover your forehead and his breath hitched, holding his palm away from your face as you held onto his wrist to keep it in place, he can’t lie to himself that he is scared, he’s terrified. What will happen after this? He hates walking blindly into an unknown future. He watched your face, looking for anything to pull away from you but all you gave him was a determined look, you were ready for whatever mysterious outcome this will give. 

He inhaled before slowly moving his palm to your forehead, your hold on his wrist were tightening and letting go repeatedly quickly, he can tell that you’re as scared as he was, he can hear it in your breathing, he can feel it in your hands. One finger touched your forehead and you can feel a cold tingling sensation coarse all through you, closing your eyes, you can see bright lights all around you even with your eyes closed, you were embracing yourself for whatever truth you are about to get when suddenly the cold feeling left your body and the lights were all gone. 

You hesitated to open your eyes, was it already over? You tried to ask yourself a question, maybe what your name was but all you got was blank. You still don’t remember? You opened your eyes again and all you see is your empty living room, your shoulders slumped and you let out a sigh. Speechless at what just happened, Loki is nowhere to be found but there was an engraving carved with details on the floor. Great, he fucking left, again.

Taglist: @jessiejunebug​ , @hellethil​ ,

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki x sigyn #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki odison x reader #loki of asgard #loki of jotunheim #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki layfeyson x reader

[anika-ann]

The Line between Respectful and Stupid - Pt.2

Safe and Sound

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader       Word count: 2400

Warnings:  medical blood, swearing, attempt at humour… and starting on the fluff

Summary: A gunshot wound, an exasperated Steve. Yeah, you did great. But it seems the Captain has some aces in his sleeves and you might be in for a pleasant surprise. Also, you’re never taking pain-meds again. Ever. 

Story Masterlist

SHIELD’s idea of a safe house was very different from yours.

For one, you didn’t expect a safe house to look so homey and romantic. You suspected you’d learn better once you’d be inside, but when Captain Rogers parked in front of a nice wood-faced cabin in the middle of nowhere (seriously, you had almost missed the turn he had oh so confidently took, blame it on the blood loss), you were seventy percent sure he had made a mistake and now wanted to ask for directions.

“Alright, let’s get inside. There should be medical supplies, food, anything we could need,” he announced, getting out of the car, circling the vehicle and opening your door before you could win the war with the door handle. “Told you to keep the pressure.”

“Sorry, Sir,” you shot back automatically, not sure what you were apologizing for. It was just the tone he said it in, like a disappointed parent or something.

You followed him to the door as he knocked four times next to the doorframe; one of the wooden desks moved up, nearly making you jump. It revealed a panel with a keyboard and you quickly looked away as Captain Rogers entered the right combination. Now this felt more like SHIELD and less like a vacation residence.

“Shall we?”

This time you actually did jump, quickly following him inside. You passed the welcoming committee in a form of the hangers, stepping inside what seemed to be a common living room. And wow, SHIELD spared no expense on its safe houses.

The room was spacious, wood-faced as well, fluffy carpet in the middle, creating a pad under a coffee table, bordered by an elegant seaweed sofa and two armchairs in the same colour. The thing was, there was no fabulous view on a TV. There was a fireplace instead.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, not quite realizing you had stopped dead in your tracks so you could blatantly stare.

“Yeah. I know. Tony likes to have his luxury. Sit on the couch?” his voice slowly trailed off as he disappeared god knew where.

You eyed the couch warily, not sure you should be getting near that fancy thing. You were bleeding, for god’s sake and the thing looked like it cost a shit-ton of money.

Also, did he just say ‘Tony’? As in… that Tony?

Captain Rogers reappeared with a frown on his face and an impressive box with medical supplies in his hands.

“Something wrong with the couch?”

“Did you just say ‘Tony’?”

“Yes. Now would you sit down?” he challenged you and really, who were you to oppose Captain America? If he was telling you to sit down and ruin Tony freakin’ Stark’s property, who were you to protest? You shuffled towards the sofa, seating yourself heavily.

You winced when your arm throbbed with the ungraceful landing.

Your commander placed the first aid kit on the table, pulling an armchair to sit opposite and sort of side-by-side with you. You watched his hands open the box as if you were hypnotized, accepting the bottle of painkillers with his firm ‘two pills’, swallowing the dose and ignoring the bloody taste which they took after your hand.

Now what? Was he going to thread the needle for you as well?

You finally found the courage to speak again, self-conscious at the display of care. This wasn’t right. You were supposed to be doing these things. Sure, you were a bit indisposed, but still. It was not common for a commanding officer to treat baby agents in kinder gloves.

“You don’t… you don’t have to do that. It’s not—it’s not required from a captain to treat ordinary agent’s wounds. I don’t want to bother you,” you whispered as he put on gloves, stopping in mid-motion when you reached out for the supplies.

“Keep the pressure,” was his answer and you obediently retreated your hand from his playground and pressed again, trying your best not to faint at the dulling pain. “You know, I really wish SHIELD would draw the line between respect for superiors and stupidity a bit sharper.”

Oh. You gulped at the harsh words, a lump growing in your throat. That sounded more like superior-inferior relationship.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

He must have picked up on something in your voice, because he looked up at your face with intense brilliant blue eyes that widened a fraction.

“Oh, no! No, I’m not calling you stupid!” he hurried, suddenly sounding guilty. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

Superior or not, you had to admit that his obvious discomfort – embarrassment even – was endearing. It took you by surprise. Your voice softened involuntarily, following his example.

“It’s alright, Sir.”

He sighed, indeed threading a needle as if he was about to patch you up. Which he probably was. You weren’t sure what to think of that.

“See, this I what I’m calling stupid. Hierarchy, system, it’s important, following rules and orders… but the training is focused on it too much. Clearly, you wouldn’t be able to stitch it yourself and if you were, it would take longer, which would equal bigger blood loss. It’s like they are trying to kill people’s common sense.”

You thought about his words, your mind racing as his eyes focused on the growing stain under your palm. You couldn’t believe you just heard Captain Follow-The-Rules say this.

He reached out to your arm with scissors in his hand, hesitating only inches away. His gaze found yours, blue shining with severity.

“May I?”

You didn’t dare to blink under his gaze seeking answers in your eyes, effectively making you lost in his. Jesus, what was he doing to you? How? And was he seriously asking for permission?

“Of course, Sir.”

You eased the pressure, making space for his hands and his surprisingly gentle fingers felt around the fabric before deciding it did need to be removed and he used the scissors, clean cut from the end of your sleeve to the torso of the tactic gear since the injury was very high.

The torn fabric fell apart, revealing a bit more skin than you would think was necessary, but you were not about to complain – especially since it wasn’t anything incriminating.

“Should have bought you dinner…” he muttered under his breath and you couldn’t help but chuckle. He shot you a horrified glance at the sound.

“Oh. I wasn’t supposed to hear that…. Sorry, Captain.”

“I think we’re past ‘Captain’ and ‘Sir’, Agent. It’s Steve,” he offered softly, and again, who were you to deny him? “And my ma’ raised me right, alright? In fact, I should have bought you flowers, too.”

As the moment was getting more surreal each second, his handsome face displaying what could be an attempt of a smile only emphasized by his words, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“They didn’t warn me you’ll be funny, S-- Steve.”

“Oh? What did they warn you about? And this is gonna hurt, sorry.”

He poured a fair share of disinfectant into the wound and you would swear your arm was about to burn down. You flinched back with curses falling off your lips and tears in your eyes.

“Shit, shit, SHIT-“

“Sorry. Doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would though. Not exactly a graze, but not straight through the middle either. And I’m waiting.”

You knew what he was trying to do with the question. He wanted to distract you. And to be honest, his unreadable expression, his sharp jaw and heavenly eyes would be working on their own, but you humoured him. After all, he was being so nice to you, so nice, sweet even….

Through your gritted teeth, you strained several words. “Well. That you’re a… a hard-ass and a tight-ass.”

His eyebrow shot up nearly to his hairline and the expressiveness surprised you enough to breathe in and out.

“That so? Gonna start with the stitches now.”

You forced more air to your lungs, bracing for the pain, tears in your eyes. You tried to focus on what else you had heard about him, words spilling from your mouth.

“Yep. He hates when you don’t follow his orders. Harper here left his position the other day and Rogers looked like he was about to kill him on spot, they said.”

“Oh, Harper. I remember him. It was a stupid move to leave his position. He could have died – or get his teammates killed. So… I admit I might have been hard on him. But it was for a good reason.”

“You remember him?” you blurted out, taken aback.

“Yes. Black hair, scar above his left eyebrow, right? Tall, not so graceful all the time.”

“Huh—Shit-“ you cursed when he prodded a tender area – well, more tender area than the rest, which meant something, okay.

“Sorry. What else do they say about me?”

“That you’re either a— an asshole full of yourself or really crazy since you supposedly yelled at Fury the other day.”

His lips twitched, the movement fascinating you. “I didn’t— it wasn’t yelling. We… had a little disagreement.”

“Uh-huh.” You weren’t convinced, but decided it was best not to probe.

“Anything else?”

You huffed. If it wasn’t for his extremely focused face, you would think you two were just chatting over a coffee. And for the pain. There was a blinding yet dull pain throbbing through your right upper limb – a limb that was shockingly still attached.

“That you’re a badass. Naturally.”

“They really use the A word when talking about me a lot, don’t they? One would think about himself he’s an ass, hearing all that,” he joked lightly, and wow, Captain America was able to do that? It wasn’t for the first time! And he said the A word! Maybe it was Steve Rogers coming out to play? An actual person?

“Nah. I’m sure that the tight-ass thing is just ‘cause it is so tight…”

Steve’s hands froze in the middle of doing a stitch, his whole body tensing. You were mortified when you went over what you had just said.

“Oh god, I did not say that.”

Captain America, or Steve Rogers, whatever, was a good man though. He just cleared his throat and continued his work. Except there was a bit of a smirk on his lips that felt nearly cocky. For some reason, there was a hint of embarrassment too, a touch of crimson in the tips of his ears that definitely hadn’t been there before.

“Oh no, go on. The pain-meds apparently make you very honest. Tell me more.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, that was not-“ you stuttered, letting the wrong – right? – addressing slip in again and he sighed.

“Relax… and I mean it, relax. I can’t finish these stitches it you’re tense like this…. Good.”

You watched him for few moments, silent. You hadn’t been lying when saying all of the things that were rumoured in the halls of SHIELD about him. But you couldn’t help but being stunned by the man in front of you, the picture so different from what you had expected it to be.  

“Thank you for doing this,” you whispered sincerely, rewarded by a small smile.

“Well, what kind of a gentleman would I be to let you bleed out? Not to mention blood is hard to get off the expensive cushions and floor, so…”

“Alright, I’m adding ‘smartass’ to the list of your rumoured features,” you decided, grinning right back at him.

How was he putting you at ease? He was… he was… him. The legend. And yet… the sound of his laughter echoed in your heart right now and you saw nothing but a simple man, laying down all of his shiny armour. It was refreshing and freeing.

You wondered if it made him breathe easier too.

“I guess you’re not wrong there. Here, all done,” he announced, placing a bandage over the rather neat stitches. Huh, artistic. Any other hidden talents?

“Thank you, S- Steve.”

“My pleasure.”

He stood up, stripping his gloves and tossing them in a nearest trash can before walking back to you, locking his once again serious eyes with yours.

“Why don’t you lie down? There’s a bedroom right there. Come on, I’ll help you.”

You let him support you from your healthier side, grateful he was there when your head spun with the movement.  

“I’m bloody and sweaty,” you mumbled absently, leaning onto the wall of muscle. Oh yeah, there was no other way, you could be ashamed later. At least you didn’t explicitly felt around his abs and pecs with your fingers. Or the huge arms – and they were calling out for you to touch them, alright.  

Just… shut up, thoughts.

“Good thing I won’t be the one doing the laundry then,” he hummed, walking you to another room. Your eyelids felt heavy all of sudden when you saw the king-size bed almost in your reach.

“Thanks— wait, where are you gonna sleep if I take the bed? There’s another one somewhere, right? You won’t have to sleep on the couch? ‘Cause I don’t think that you’ll fit there with the shoulders of yours. They’re like really, really broad – oh geez, I need to stop talking.”

Your words slurred into a mumble, but he seemed to decode your cryptic speech, because he chuckled, helping you to land on the bed – not before pulling the covers away so he could later tuck you in.

“I won’t sleep anywhere. I have to wait for the response to our distress signal… and watch over you, because I think I might have overdosed you with painkillers and I don’t want you to stop breathing while I’m having a nap.”

You thought you frowned; you weren’t sure though, losing the control over your muscles gradually. “Shit, I‘m sorry to keep you up. You’d deserve a nap.”

“I’m good. You, on the other hand, were shot. Now get some rest,” he sounded as if he was smiling. You smiled automatically at the idea as his light footsteps faded away.

“…hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for saving my life. And… ya’ know. Taking care of me. I know you don’t have to do that,” you whispered with the last remains of strength you had. But this you needed to say.

The man in question sighed.

“I really do. Goodnight. Feel better.”

You were out before you heard the door click shut.

Part 3

I know the fluff is a bit bloody, but… there is fluff, right? 

If by any chance, anyone wants to be added to tags, let me know. 

Tags:

@mermaidxatxheart​

#fanfiction #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america fanfiction #shield #shield agent reader #reader insert #the line between respectful and stupid #anika ann

[floral-and-fine]

Heartbreaker

Erik Lehnsherr x female reader

Summary: The reader finds comfort knowing she could never break Erik’s heart.

“So, did he cry?” Raven asked smirking, as you walked through the front door.You hung up up your coat and sat your keys down.

“What?” you tilted your head looking up at Raven with your eyebrows raised.

She leaned against the railing of the staircase, “Oh come on, I could tell before you left that you were ready to dump him… poor guy is probably crying his eyes out like all the others.”

“What do you mean like all the others?” you questioned, while taking off your heels. “He said he understood.”

“And you believed him?” she gaped. “He was just trying to save face! But we could all tell he was falling for you.”

Your eyebrows knitted together giving Raven a questioning look.

She shook her head, “Poor boys… you’d think they know better by now, that you’re a heartbreaker.”

“Heartbreaker? Me?” You blinked your eyes rapidly, this was all news to you. It didn’t make sense, it seemed best to end things before the relationship went sour. “I’m just dating-”

“Yeah and breaking hearts along the way. The guys you date tend to start falling for you by the third date, are ready to give you the world.”

“No, they don’t. It’s all just flirting… guys will say anything to you know,” you said starting to climb the stairs.

“To fuck?” Raven said blatantly.

“Well, yes, if you’re going to be crude about it,” you muttered.

Raven chuckled, as you and her started walking upstairs together. “Yeah, well it’s been my experience that when guys are just looking to get laid, they usually don’t buy engagement rings or talk about weddings.”

You paused midstep, most of the guys you dated had brought up marriage at some point. Was this not a usual thing? How was this all coming to your attention right now? This wasn’t your intention. You didn’t want to be known as a heartbreaker.

Tears started to well in the corner of your eyes. You started to think of the long list of guys you dated, how you carelessly dumped with a smile on your face over dinner. You never thought it meant anything.

“Oh shit,” Raven mumbled, “Why are you crying?”

Your lips trembled as you tried to speak, “I’m a bad person!”

More tears slid down your cheeks making a mess out of your face. You wiped them away, smearing mascara under your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whined, covering your mouth with your hands as you sobbed harder.

Raven bit her lip, “Come on, let’s get you to your room before you wake all the students.”

She guided you to your room and along the way tried to reassure you that you weren’t evil or terrible. But you still ended up crying yourself to sleep and feeling miserable about what you had considered carefree dating. …

“Morning!” Raven chirped as she entered the kitchen.

Hank and Charles were at the table and Erik was currently at the stove fixing breakfast for himself.

“Did you check on Y/n?” Hank asked as Raven sat next to him at the table.

She stole a piece of bacon off of his plate, “Yeah, she's still pretty torn up about it. She's acting like she was the one who was dumped.”

“She's still in bed!?” Erik huffed. “She's an adult for god's sake! When will she start acting like one?”

“Erik, calm down, have patience…” Charles spoke calmly. “I'm sure I can get someone to take over her class.”

Erik groaned, turning off the stove. He grabbed the plate and headed upstairs.

“Get out of bed!” Erik shouted, banging on your bedroom door. “You have a class to teach! Get over yourself!”

You stayed in bed and peeked out from under the covers. You knew it was ridiculous to just be laying in bed crying over spilt milk. There was nothing you could do. Calling any of your exes would only lead to reopening old wounds.

But you felt terrible. All you could focus on was all your past relationships and analyzing every little detail you could remember.

Your door suddenly swung open, Erik stepped in wearing a scowl on his face. The two halves of your door knob floated in the air around him.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said, setting a plate of eggs and sausage with side of toast on your nightstand. “You need to take better care of yourself, and before you say anything, ice cream is not enough to live on.”

Without arguing, you sat up and started eating.

“I can’t believe that you’ve spent the last two days wallowing in self pity. You have a job and other commitments to worry about…”

Erik was always getting on you about things, like being more responsible and acting more like an adult. Last year, he even made an appointment for you with an accountant because you kept putting off filing your taxes.

“Thank you, Erik,” you muttered softly.

He sighed in response, “Just… get back to your responsibilities.”

You smiled to yourself after he left your room and reassembled the doorknob. All the other boys you know might be in love with you, but at least Erik wasn’t.

There was something oddly comforting about that thought. Just knowing that that big old stick in the mud wasn’t harboring any feelings for you, made you feel like you haven't carelessly walked over everyone’s feelings.

Erik was always very forthcoming with you, never sparing your feelings. You doubted anything you’ve ever done hurt him.

After you finished eating, you finally got out of bed to shower and get dressed.

…

“I saw that Ms. L/n has returned to work,” Charles said smiling at Erik. “I wonder what motivated her to do so.”

Erik made himself comfortable on the leather sofa. “You would’ve allowed her to mope around for the rest of the month,” he defended. “You already proved to be the king of self pity.”

Charles chuckled, “That’s because I’m far more intuned with my feelings compared to some people.”

Erik sipped his coffee, “If it hadn’t been for the rest of us, you would’ve died.”

“Perhaps, but that’s beside the point… you care about y/n.”

Erik rolled his eyes, Charles always thinking he knows everything. Lately, he’s been harping Erik about his supposed interest in y/n. It made Erik want to laugh, no man in his right mind would consider being in a relationship with her.

The girl was a walking disaster. She was so emotional, clumsy, and absent minded. He often wondered how’s she gotten so far in life without his help.

Charles was staring at Erik with a knowing look. His eyes full of delight and a small smirk playing on his lips. Erik wanted to smack that look right off his face.

“Don’t you have students to worry about?” Erik snapped.

He knew that Charles respected his privacy enough not to read his mind, but it was irritating that the bastard was acting so smug. The very thought of Charles believing something so absurd made Erik’s blood boil.

For the rest of the day it was on Erik’s mind.

As he lectured to his last class of the day, he trailed off. All he could do was picture your face.

“Professor?” one of the students called out.

Erik rapidly blinked his eyes, “ahem, yes- well-”

Suddenly the bell rung, and his students filed out of his classroom. He rubbed his head, at least the day was pretty much over.

Later, there was a soft knock on hs office door, “Erik?” your voice said gently from the otherside.

“Come in,” he responded laying the essay he was reading down.

“I just wanted to thank you for this morning,” you smiled setting a plate of cookies on his desk. “It felt good getting back into my routine.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It's funny,” you started. “But it helped me get through my day, knowing that I've never hurt you or broke your heart. Besides, you, Charles, and Hank, it seems like I've hurt most of the men I'm close to. I never want to hurt any of you like that…”

Erik lifted an eyebrow. He didn't quite understand the point you were trying to make.

“So promise you won't fall in love with me okay?” you joked before you left his office.

Something about that made his heart ache. He started to pace in his office.

He hated it. It made no sense. He wasn’t some love sick puppy crazy over her. Hell, he wasn’t even nice to her. Everyone complained that he was too harsh and crass for someone as delicate as her.

He couldn’t love her, but he did.

Erik didn’t want to feel this way and it was apparent that she didn’t want him to feel like this either.

He groaned, and rubbed his forehead. Was he actually considering being with her? An image of y/n popped into his mind of her being his wife.

Unlike those other fools, he would actually be good for her. They would all just give into her puppy dog eyes, Erik could actually take care of her, balance her out.

He gritted his teeth, how long has he felt this way? Damn Charles, it all started with him.

…

Despite your objections, Raven managed to convince you to go out with her that evening. You weren't interested in meeting anyone, but going out to dance and drink sounded like fun. Raven even promised to buy all your drinks for you, which helped make up your mind.

At the club, there was a bunch of people dancing and moving together. You and Raven headed towards the bar first to order a couple of cocktails.

For most of the night, the two of you danced and drank together until some guy caught her fancy.  Absentmindedly, you agreed to let her take off with the guy to go have some fun, while you finished your drink.

Once your glass was empty, that was when it finally dawned on you that you let your ride leave without. You started to panic and cry, you were too tipsy to deal with this.

….

Erik's eyes snapped open as the phone in his room started to ring. Before picking up the receiver, he already knew it was you. You're the only person he knows that would call him in the middle of the night.

With a loud groan, he sat up and answered, “Hello?”

“Erik, it's me…” you said. He could tell you were nervous, your voice was a little shaky on the other end. “I'm sorry for calling so late, but Raven left and I have no money… and I really need a ride home.”

“So, you’re telling me that you went out without any money and let your way home leave without you?” Erik shook his head.

“Yes?” you whispered.

“What were you thinking? What if I wasn’t around to help?” he ranted, now standing and looking for the closest pair of shoes to put on.

“I-I…I don't know,” you confessed.

Erik sighed, “I'll be there, just give me a moment.”

He didn't bother getting dressed, he simply grabbed a coat to put with his pajamas before heading out the door to go fetch you.

As he pulled up to the curb, he smiled a little to himself. You went from looking like a frightened kitten back to your bubbly old self just at the sight of him.

You practically sprinted to the passenger side and hopped in.

“Thank you, Erik!” Without thinking, you kissed his cheek. “I was worried, you wouldn't come.”

“Don't I always,” he chuckled, as he started driving back towards the school.

“Well, yes,” you said glancing at your hands. “But what about when you get fed up with me and stop coming to my aid?”

Erik could hear the hint of sadness in your voice. “That won't happen, y/n, ever,” he stated firmly.

“How are you so sure?” You looked at the profile of his face. His expression was so serious as he kept his eyes on the road.

“I love you, so of course I come when you need me,” he confessed, his grip loosening around the steering wheel. “That’s why I worry about you…”

This confession took you by complete surprise. You never pictured yourself with someone like Erik. He was so mature, intelligent, sophisticated.

Finally, arriving at the school, Erik parked the car, then opened passenger side door helping you out of the car.

Immediately, you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest.

“I’m an idiot,” you mumbled.

“You are not,” he chuckled.

“I’m so oblivious.”

Erik stroked the back of your head, “You’re sweet and it’s not like I was being obvious.”

“I’m irresponsible."

“I enjoy caring for you, even when I act like I don’t,” he reassured you.

Erik cupped your face tilting it up. His thumbs caressing you gently. “I would be lonely and even more boring without you.”

Taglist: @edendescending @babewith-the-power @xfeathered-serpent @captainbvckfire @memyselfandmaddox

#erik lehnsherr #magneto #magento x reader #erik lehnsherr x reader #magneto fanfic #erik lehnsherr fanfic #xmen fanfic #magneto imagine #erik lehnsherr imagine #reader insert #female reader

[princesskimnamjoon]

Yellow Roses - Namjoon x Reader

-Soulmate AU

-Part 1

-Word count: 2k

-Soulmate tattoos were something special and unique that appeared when you turn 18, but what happens when your soulmate is the last person you could ever see yourself falling in love with?

gif credits to holy-jinsus (not sure if that’s who the gif belongs to but thats the original poster!)

You spent majority of your time inspecting your soulmate tattoo, looking over the intricate design almost daily since it appeared on your skin. Most people were elated when their tattoo appeared, wanting to know right then and there who had been chosen to be in their life by some outside entity. You had no interest in finding your soulmate any time soon, your life was too consumed by school and work, and you weren't willing to try to squeeze love into that mix. Long sleeved shirts had been your best friend since your 18th birthday, being the only thing you could think of that would cover the large mark from the rest of the world.

Your soulmate tattoo was beautiful, nonetheless. Swirling vines around your arm, interlocking in the middle of your forearm with a single yellow rose. You wished it was higher on your arm though, sometimes it was just too hot for long sleeves or sweaters. Hoseok always told you that even if you did meet your soulmate, that didn't meant you HAD to date them right away. In turn that meant that you didn't HAVE to wear long sleeves, but you knew in your heart that as soon as you met them you would never want to be away from them.

Most of your time was spent with your best friend whenever you weren’t busy with the countless hours of school that you had, or the job that you had picked up at the flower shop down the street from your apartment. The cafe that you and Hobi frequented seemed more crowded today, but as soon as he saw you walk into the entrance his face lit up, and his arm shot into the air to signal you over. The two of you had been friends for years, yet his reacting was always the same. Before turning 18, you had wished that maybe he would be your soulmate, but that would just make things too easy for you, and that wasn’t how your life worked.

“Do you want to go to a party tonight?” Hobi questioned before you had even pulled your seat out, and you shifted your gaze up to him, only to be greeted with full puppy mode Hoseok. He knew that this always worked in his favor when it came to getting what he wanted, but you were still curious.

“Who’s party?” you asked skeptically, plopping down into the seat and setting your bag down between your legs. Any time he asked you questions in this way, you knew he was about to say something that you didn’t want to hear. You two had been friends for too long for you to not know this by now. He smiled at you sheepishly, only confirming your suspicions that you were not going to like what he was about to tell you and causing you to regret your decision of even asking in the first place.

“Namjoon-” he began, making you groan loudly. To say that you hated Kim Namjoon would be too harsh, but you greatly disliked his existence to say the least. He was Hobi’s friend, so you tolerated him enough, but any time he was around you, he treated you like shit. You could only handle being treated this way for so long before you knew you were going to snap.

“You don’t even have to be around him! Just go with me!”

Somehow, after what seemed like hours of him pleading with you, Hobi had finally convinced you to go with him, and you found yourself standing in the living room of Namjoon, a drink in hand and a sour look plastered on your face. Hoseok had ran off somewhere, and you had made a mental note to get your revenge against him later on. The room was packed with unfamiliar faces, your back pressed against the wall to avoid the bumping bodies. Your face twisted slightly in distaste, wishing that you had just stayed home instead of coming here.

“Not your scene?” A voice said from beside you and your head shot up, eyes meeting with a pink haired boy that appeared next to you. You had to admit, he was EXTREMELY handsome but you had no idea who this was, and you were slightly put off by his sudden appearance at your side. You shrugged your shoulders, looking around you slowly to observe the mess of people in front of you.

“I’ve never understood the point...but Hoseok bribed me into coming and then ran off. That was about an hour ago and I still haven’t seen him yet,” a chuckle escaped your lips as you thought about it, but you shrugged your shoulders once more.

“That’s kind of lame of him, but I feel you. Parties aren’t my thing either but my roommate insisted on throwing one,” the boy explained, annoyance evident on his face. Your eyes widened slightly when he said this. How could someone that was actually pleasant to be around, be the roommate of Namjoon? “I’m Taehyung by the way, but I like you, so you can call me Tae” he added boldly, shooting a smile at you.

“I’m...Y/N but uh...you can call me Y/N,” your attempt at a joke was weak, causing you to cringe at yourself. Tae erupted with laughter, smiling at you widely, something you were sure he was only doing to ease the awkwardness.

You spent most of the night with Tae, and managed to get a little tipsy which made things better in your opinion. You spotted Hoseok for a moment, but he was completely plastered and you knew you'd have to bring him back to your apartment tonight. Your new friendship with Tae was growing faster than expected, and you gladly exchanged phone numbers with him. Something about him was comforting, and you liked that.

“I can’t believe you’re Namjoon’s roommate,” you said when the alcohol really began to hit. Tae looked over at you curiously, hoping that you would elaborate on this statement. “You’re so...so WARM and...NICE. Namjoon is the opposite…he’s mean and standoffish…” you exasperated, shaking your head. Tae looked shocked at your bold words, but even more shocked that Joon had ever been mean to you. It was rare that Joon was ever mean to anyone, that was never a side of him that Tae had seen though. Joon could get pretty annoyed with people sometimes, but he was never blatantly mean to anyone.

“What has he done exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?” Tae was leaning his back against the wall, chewing against the rim of his red cup as he watched you. You leaned your head on his shoulder gently, thinking back on all the things that Namjoon had done in the past that hurt your feelings. You weren’t the type to get offended easily, but for some reason hearing it from him always stung a little more than normal.

“One time, I was hanging out with Hobi when Namjoon came over to his apartment for the first time. I tried being nice to him and include him in our conversations, but for the most part he just ignored me. I didn’t mind it at first because he didn’t know me so I thought that I was coming on too strong and he was just shy, but then…” you let out a deep sigh, feeling Tae’s arm wrap around your shoulders. “He told me that I was annoying and he couldn’t understand how my soulmate could stand being around me. It hurt more than it should have because I didn’t even know my soulmate yet. I still don’t know who my soulmate is…” Tae’s eyes grew soft as he squeezed your shoulder gently. He had never imagined that something like that would come out of Namjoon’s mouth. Everyone knew that soulmates were a touchy subject because they were so sacred. Tae couldn’t wait for the day that he met his own soulmate, and he knew that Namjoon was just as excited to meet his.

“I’m sorry...I’ve never known Namjoon to act like that.” Tae said in a hushed voice, his mind running a thousand miles a minute, trying to find some sort of explanation.

When Hobi finally approached you again, you could smell the alcohol on him, and a small whine came from his throat. When you heard this noise, you knew that he was starting to feel sick, and staying any longer could cause a real mess to occur. You had to quickly say your goodbyes to Tae, promising to text him as soon as you got home before ushering the intoxicated boy out of the house.

“I want to stay the night with you, Y/N. Please don’t leave me alone.” Hobi slurred, making you smile slightly as you helped him into your car. You had already made up your mind that you didn’t want to leave him in his apartment by himself, but it still made you smile hearing him ask. He smiled up at you as you leaned over him, helping him buckle his seatbelt, and he rustled your hair when you pulled yourself back out of the passenger door. You could feel him watching you as you walked around the front of your car to the drivers side. Sliding into the seat and starting the car felt like a relief you had been waiting for all night. While you were pulling away from the house, you could still feel his eyes on you, and he big sigh left his body.

“I get why Namjoon likes you so much. You’re so...good, Y/N. You’re too good.” Hobi slurred, making you chuckle and shake your head.

“You’re too drunk right now. If anything, Namjoon hates me,” you stated, watching the road ahead of you. Hobi shook his head furiously, a serious look on his face.

���No, no Y/N. Joonie really likes you,” he told you, his voice as serious as possible, “he always asks me about you. Like, all the time. He asks me about the stuff you like, what kind of music you listen to, stuff that a crush would ask about. And on top of all that stuff, I think he’s your soulmate! Your marks are really similar.” Your car swerved slightly when he said this, putting you in a momentary state of shock. Even if he was drunk, why would he say that? Hobi had seen your mark numerous times, but just how many times had he seen Namjoons? Before you could ask any questions, you heard a light snoring from beside you. Now you were only stuck with yourself, and the thoughts that swarming your mind.

The entire drive home, all you could think about was what Hobi had said to you. Namjoon? Your soulmate? This whole time you were under the impression that he hated you, there was no way. If he was your soulmate, he would be much nicer to you than he was, that’s just how soulmates worked. They were nice because they could bare to be mean to the person that they were destined to be with forever. Maybe Hobi was going crazy, that's why he thought your mark looked the same as Namjoons, or maybe he just hadn’t seen it well enough and had gotten it mistaken.

When Hobi finally woke up, he sang along loudly to the radio, out of tune and obnoxiously, but not even this could bring you away from the thoughts that you were being burdened with. Before realizing it, you were in front of your apartment complex, the car finally coming to a halt. Getting your drunk friend out of the car and up the stairs was a task that you weren't physically or mentally prepared for, stumbling through the threshold of the door the easiest task of the night. When you finally had him situated in your bed, you felt relieved. That moment of relief quickly depleted when you heard your phone go off on the other side of the room. You groaned, not wanting to move but you slowly made your way over, thinking that maybe it was Tae making sure that you were home safe.

authors note:

hey guys! this is my first story type post on here other than the social media AU that i started. ive been really inspired by other writers on here, and have recently gotten REALLY into BTS. ive listened to their music in the past, but i havent been doing the best mentally lately so finding something to fixate myself on lately has helped a lot with not disassociating or becoming closed off from everyone. thankfully, i found this in BTS and made this! i have a part 2 of this already written out and i’m not sure when i will be posting it just because i work 9-5 on week days so i don’t really have time to do it, but if i get good feedback on this i will try to post it ASAP.

thanks for reading :-)

#kim namjoon #bts #soulmate au #bts soulmate au #kim namjoon soulmate au #bts x reader #namjoon x reader #x reader #x reader insert #bts reader insert

[stevie-steven-stevington]

Febuwhump Day 17: heartbreak

Fandom: MCU Characters: Peter Parker, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds Relationships: Peter Parker/Ned Leeds Rating: T Warnings: none Words: 1.9k

read on ao3

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[Loser #1, 4:22 PM] can you come over

[MJ, 4:31 PM] why

[MJ, 4:32 PM] i mean sure but why

[Loser #1, 4:40 PM] i think ned and i just broke up

[MJ, 4:44 PM] i’m outside your apartment

[Loser #1, 4:44 PM] its open

True to form, the door swings open when MJ tries it, and she slips into the apartment to find Peter sitting on his living room couch, staring at nothing. He’s not crying, a fact MJ is eternally grateful for, because she’s already out of her element and definitely cannot deal with tears on top of it all.

MJ’s not really sure why Peter texted her, of all people. It’s not like she’s good at comforting - on the contrary, she’s skilled in the art of making herself scarce when someone is upset - and while Peter might not have many other people to call, there has to be at least one other person who could handle this better than she can.

A quick once-over tells her that Peter probably hasn’t left the house today, if the old sweatpants and ratty t-shirt are anything to go by, so whatever happened must’ve happened here. Likely within the hour, since Peter doesn’t seem to have gotten past the shock phase of the breakup.

Breakup. Damn.

MJ’s not exactly the romantic type, but even she was pretty sure Ned and Peter were going to last forever. Or at least until graduation. They’re that couple who makes other couples wish they had what Ned and Peter had, that couple that everyone loved to hate because they were always so blatantly and obviously in love.

Were that couple, apparently. Is this going to make things weird in their group?

Jesus. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have cared if Thing 1 and Thing 2 broke it off - she would’ve noticed, because she notices everything, but she wouldn’t have cared - and now she’s worried that this breakup is going to ruin the balance of their group’s friendship.

Whatever happened, there’s no way she’s picking a side. Unless someone was clearly, unequivocally in the wrong.

She has principles, after all.

Peter doesn’t look up at her as she walks over to join him on the couch. The only indication that he’s moved since Ned left is the texts on MJ’s phone.

It’s odd. Of everyone MJ knows, Peter’s the one with the most energy, the one who’s always moving or fidgeting, the one who’s always talking a mile a minute about anything and everything.

Seeing him this still and quiet is a little unnerving. She’ll never admit it, but it is.

“Parker,” she says, perched carefully on the armrest of the couch. When he doesn’t respond, she snaps her fingers in front of his face until the glazed-over look in his eyes dissipates and he turns to stare blearily at her. “Parker, you with me?

He nods, index finger and thumb of his left hand pinching the fabric of his sweatpants.

Fantastic. Progress.

One hand rubbing at her other wrist - one of her very few nervous ticks - MJ asks, “What happened, then? Did you and Ned have a fight about which LEGO set to build today?”

Shit, that’s mean. Normally, she prefers to toe the line between witty and rude, but the line always moves when people are already upset and she’s not the best at toning it down before she accidentally makes things worse.

She’d backtrack, but Peter doesn’t even seem to notice. MJ’s willing to bet he checked out as soon as she said Ned’s name.

“I, uh - we had an argument?” Peter says, almost like he expects MJ to confirm this. “I think we broke up.”

All things she had gathered, circumstances considered.

“Details, dude,” MJ prompts, since apparently Peter’s not going to do anything without provocation.

Peter’s forehead wrinkles, brows knitting together. It’s evident that he’s not processing at full speed, or even at half speed, which means that this is going to be grueling.

There’s a ridiculously long pause before Peter says, “I’m a shitty boyfriend.” This is not only not a real explanation, but also objectively untrue. Seeing as Peter and Ned are her only friends, MJ would know. Peter treats Ned like he hung the moon and the stars, looks at him like he’s the only person Peter ever wants to see.

If MJ believed in soulmates, she wouldn’t hesitate to say that Ned and Peter are each other’s soulmates, one way or another. No one who’s ever even laid eyes on the two of them would hesitate.

As is, soulmates aren’t real, but she still thinks Peter and Ned are meant for each other.

“You’re not a shitty boyfriend, Parker,” MJ tells him, and means it. “Did Ned say you’re a shitty boyfriend?”

No. She knows the answers before she even finishes the question, because Ned would never say that to Peter, even if he thought it. Which he definitely doesn’t, what with the constant gushing about Peter he does. MJ’s had to sit through way too many mostly one-sided conversations about how Peter said this or Peter did that or my boyfriend is the best person on the planet and no one will convince me otherwise.

(The last one actually happened, word-for-word. MJ doesn’t even remember what Ned was on about that time, but it was probably something stupid and mundane. It usually is.)

“No.” Peter scratches at the inside of his elbow. “No, he didn’t, but it’s true.”

“And you say this, why?”

“I don’t make time for him. I don’t give him as much attention as he deserves. I don’t tell him things that I should. I don’t -”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

“That doesn’t make you a shitty boyfriend, loser. That makes you a high school student who moonlights as a superhero,” she says, because even if they haven’t talked about it, they both know she knows.

Peter shakes his head, frustration palpable. “That’s not - that’s not an excuse -”

“For not having all the time in the world to hang out with your boyfriend? Yeah, I’d say it is.”

Peter actually rolls his eyes. She’d laugh at him if she wasn’t so damn uncomfortable right now.

“Okay, scoot over.” MJ slides off the armrest and into the space between it and Peter, who shifts to his right to accommodate. She considers throwing her legs over his lap, like she tends to do when they’re studying together, but that feels insensitive here. Instead, she leans an arm against the back of the couch and rests her chin on her hands. Peter shifts again to face her better. “You’re busy. Of course you’re busy, you’re a high school junior with a secret identity who spends one evening a week in a lab with Tony Stark. Are you telling me Ned broke up with you because you’re busy?”

That doesn’t feel right either. MJ likes to think she’s good at sussing out people’s problems, even though she couldn’t care less about most of them, and she’s pretty sure she’s not on the money yet.

In a small voice, Peter says, “No. I...I did.”

“What?” “I…broke up with him because I can’t be the boyfriend he deserves.”

For the love of God. Seriously? Does Peter even know what he’s like around Ned? Does he even realize how fucking disgustingly in love with him Ned is?

It doesn’t matter how busy he is, not to Ned. Not if the amount of time the boy spends talking about Peter is anything to go by.

“Peter. You have to be joking.”

He shrinks in on himself, just a little. “It’s for the best! Ned deserves better and -”

MJ smacks him with a throw pillow. Peter jumps, then shoots her a look that’s two parts affronted and one part abashed. Good. At least he still has some sense. “Who are you to decide what Ned deserves? Or what he wants?” “I -” Peter’s hands wave around as he tries to figure out what to say. “Look, he was mad because I didn’t tell him that I got hurt on patrol, again, and he hates when I’m not upfront about this stuff, and I just - I got defensive and then we were fighting and I kept thinking...”

Here it is, whatever’s really going on.

“I kept thinking that all I do is - is fuck up, in this relationship and in general, and I’m - I’m stupid, and I’m not funny or cool, and I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend, and no one should be stuck with me -”

Oh.

That’s what this is.

Peter’s not a dumbass, he’s just insecure.

(Well, no, he’s still a dumbass. But that’s unrelated.)

MJ’s not good at comforting people, but she is good at telling it like it is. And she’d never say this to Ned, because all it would do is enable him, but Peter’s objectively the best person she’s ever met.

“You know I’m not one to sugarcoat, Parker, so believe me when I say that every single word that just came out of your mouth is false.” When Peter opens his mouth, she raises her eyebrows as if to say do you really want to fight me on this? His jaw clamps shut. “Well, except for the bit about being cool - you’re not, but you make up for it.”

Peter lets out a short laugh.

“Do you know how much Ned talks about you?” she continues, lightly kicking Peter’s ankle. He kicks her back and MJ barely refrains from shoving his shoulder just hard enough to make him fall back on the couch. “He literally never shuts up about you, it’s kind of annoying. Actually, it’s really annoying, because he’s not even saying anything big or important. It’s just Peter’s so wonderful, he brought me a Hershey’s Kiss today or Peter caught a spelling error in my English homework, I love him so much.”

Her imitation of Ned is spot-on, if she does say so herself. Peter’s seemingly too caught up in blinking away tears to notice, though.

“He adores you, Peter. Like, it’s gross how much he adores you. I’d say I don’t understand why, but I kind of do.” It’s almost definitely the nicest thing she’s ever said to him. “So don’t be an idiot and lose him because you somehow think you’re a bad person or something, even though every single person you’ve ever met thinks you’re a saint. Even Flash does, he just won’t admit it.” This gets a real laugh. It’s sort of teary and harsh, but it’s a real laugh.

Hm. Maybe she’s not so bad at this after all.

Peter leans forward, gently dropping his cheek onto the top of MJ’s head. He doesn’t try to hug her, fully aware that MJ doesn’t do hugs, but he presses a kiss into her hair and murmurs, “Thanks, MJ.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem, loser. Now go call your boyfriend.”

Peter stays for just a few seconds, then moves, grabbing his phone from the coffee table and wiping tears from his eyes as he heads to his bedroom.

MJ hears him say, “Hey, Ned, can we talk?” before he shuts the door, and thinks, My work here is done.

#guys look i actually wrote something longer than 1k this time #febuwhump #febuwhump 2019 #febuwhump day 17 #spiderman homecoming #marvel #mcu #peter parker #michelle jones #mcu mj #ned leeds #interwebs #peter and mj #ned/peter #whump #angst #breakup #insecurity #jude writes #text #mine #long post

[unholyhelbiglinked]

The Mitchell Incident | Chapter 20

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START HERE

The crystal shattered into a million pieces, a loud and unforgivable noise rocking through the study, its simple atmosphere breaking along with it. There always seemed to be an orange haze against the mahogany creating strong shadows that stretched close to a maroon carpet, the glass littering wood and fabric.

Beca drew in a long breath, sitting on the corner of the desk. She was propped up, leg folded along half of the table- a glass filled with amber liquid rested halfway to her lips, ice solid and edged as it clinked. She didn't flinch, instead lifting a pointed eyebrow at her mother.

Blair was always known to have a short temper, one that would go off at the most inopportune times. It was almost as if her labored silence was worse than if she would yell. Beca had become used to the outbursts at a young age, always picking up the pieces and sweeping up the glass. This time, she kept her steady stance.

She raised her own glass to her lips, taking a long and stinging gulp of bourbon. Blair's chest heaving as she steadied herself on the large stone mantle. Her jaw was clenched, grey eyes filled with an indescribable anger. "How dare you question my intentions?" She hissed lowly, knowing her daughter could hear her.

"Your intentions are blurred." Beca swallowed back the bitter taste that coated her tongue. She watched her mother with purpose- the usually composed woman was beside herself. Mumbling under her breath as she ran her hands over the top of her pleated pants. Like she had been cut by the shards, and the blood that ran thick wouldn't just leave a residue. She healed, she was able to regenerate faster than a human. There was no need to worry.

The brunette grimaced, setting her own beverage aside. She had lost her craving, staring down at the sprinkled glass that pushed into the plush carpet.

"Do you forget yourself?" Blair said.

Beca raised a brow at this. Had she forgotten her place? Back when they had stronger heartbeats, it was Blair that she feared. Not her father, her father was a pushover, her father would bend to the woman's stare and cave in at the mere mention of discontent. Then she died.

Beca remembered her funeral. It had rained characteristically that day. The air was cold and the soft soil smelled musty and sharp. She had hugged her coat around her frame and stared at the blades of grass that bent under the will of freezing perspiration. She clung to Jesse, her fingers intertwined with his as they listened to the low psalms the priest repeated. It was no use, no one was listening. She remembered feeling guilty that day. Not because her mother had perished, but because of the relief she was met with when she did.

"I don't believe I have," her voice was steady, the sour taste of alcohol still lodged in her throat.

"You turned her."

"No, I saved her."

It almost hurt to say. She had saved Chloe, but she had also doomed her to a life of cold complexity that the young girl couldn't' quite understand just yet. Sure, immortality was shiny at first. It was invigorating and filled with power- but the novelty would wear off in a few centuries when her family grows old and her friends get start having grandchildren. Friends, she can no longer contact because no amount of moisturizer could cover up her unchanged looks.

"By blatantly disobeying me." She drew in a careful breath "what gives you the right?"

Beca couldn't stop the scoff that fell from her lips as simple as a child dropping their sweets in a grocery store. It was left covered in lint or whatever wasn't swept up from the day before. The candy was still there, sure, but it was impossible to recover, not without some type of disease attached and simmering.

"What gives me the right?" Beca stood, setting the glass down carefully on the mahogany table. It was imported, she liked it. There was glass under her feet that crunched as she walked so close to her mother, she could practically taste the blood of her last meal, smell the soil from something more. "You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me."

"I would have found a way."

"Right, and through who? Your little witchy pet Aurum? Because mother I hate to break it to you but she's near useless when it comes to resurrecting the dead." Beca swallowed, trying to even out her anger. "It took me nearly 130 years to get you back and you want to what? Bare your fangs and forget your control?"

Blair studied her. The woman had once brought great fear to Beca but now she looked frail in the fires shattered light. Her cheeks were sunken in and there was dirt under her nails that Beca had a hard time looking past. She swallowed loudly and rolled her shoulders back almost like her blouse didn't' fit correctly. It didn't.

She raised her hand, much like she did when Beca was young, preemptive to strike with an open palm. Beca grasped her wrist a low edge of a growl on her lips. "Chloe is untouched, do you understand me?" She squeezed, applying pressure "So is Jesse, and so am I."

Blair watched with widened grey eyes and Beca dropped the woman's hand and picked her glass back up from the table, tipping her head back and swallowing the alcohol in one fail swoop of the tongue. She walked away from the fire and the woman who had the power to control it, fingers trembling in a dark rush. "Clean up your mess, please."

Beca let the door slam behind her as she pressed her back against the cold mahogany, trying to catch her breath. Maybe it was the dangerous amount of alcohol in her system or the strange leverage of nearly a century on her mother but something pushed her to fight back- to warn her against hurting the newly turned, to protect Chloe Beale of all people.

The flyer had been a pumpkin orange, noticeable and ugly against the brown telephone poles and muddy brick walls that framed Barden. Most of them had left a neon stain behind as the rain and the soon fallen snow washed away the thought of a once prominent problem. Now an ugly orange flyer was blocking the view of her chemistry text.

She recognized that face, that simple and innocent expression that hadn't been done much justice with the schools' printer. It listed his height, and weight, and what he was last seen wearing. A black logo t-shirt that had soaked up the blood better than she expected.

Her throat tightened at the memory as she inhaled sharply and slammed the book shut so she wouldn't have to look at it anymore. It would loud enough to catch a few glares from students trying to focus on studying. Chloe's eyes met icy blue ones.

"Bree?"

The blonde looked hurt, ravished by her own emotion. Chloe hadn't quite learned how to pick up on heartbeats yet or smell emotion like Beca said she would eventually master, but she didn't' need her newfound abilities to see the hurt radiating from her friend. From her roommate.

"She said you weren't dangerous." She whispered harshly, eyes wet "Beca said you wouldn't' hurt anyone. But you are aren’t you?"

Chloe was fast, the librarian glancing narrowing her stare as she abandoned her textbook and bag, standing with a swift edge. Aubrey wanted to fight against her, and she did for the most part, the smaller woman dragging her out of the glass-paned doors and into the nearest bathroom. It reeked of antiseptic and lemon sanitizer. "Get off me! You killed him!"

"Aubrey," Chloe tried to edge her away from fear, gripping her shoulders as she pressed the woman's back against the cold tile, her fingers gripping into fabric. "I need you to stop struggling, I didn't-"

"You did." Her voice was defeated and her words breathless as her chest heaved "It's all they could talk about in my psychology class. About how everyone seemed to forget about Alex. How he vanished in the middle of the night and you-"

Her throat tightened alarmingly as she studied the deep pain of emotion written on Chloe' expression. "It's fucking fuzzy but you killed him. You… you were covered in blood and Beca did something to me. I don't remember." She sobbed still in Chloe's arms as she sunk to the cold bathroom floor, the vampire moved with her. "I don't remember."

She had seen Aubrey like this once, only once.

Chloe had gone home for the holidays three years back, and so had Aubrey. She was an emergency contact and always had been, her phone ringing in the middle of the third Christmas movie. She had excused herself from home and driven in silence to the bar that had called her- the one that was three seconds away from phoning law enforcement.

Aubrey tearfully explained the departure of her father broken down to her on Christmas eve and the way everything hurt, everything. It felt like her blood had boiled and the alcohol put out the flame and if Aubrey Posen had any type of control or seminice it was gone because her whole world was gone. Chloe held her in that bar bathroom too.

"I don't think I can handle this, Chloe." Aubrey sniffed, having quieted as Chloe kept her distance, keeping one hand on the woman's knee to steady her but nothing more. She watched with sullen eyes and a quiet lipped expression. "Y-you're all I have here and you're dead."

"I'm not dead."

"Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that?" Aubrey sniffed "If all of you wasn't lost in that cemetery it was when you murdered a kid in cold blood."

She knew it was harsh, her words stinging like a whip to raw skin on her back. It would leave a gash and would sting to the touch, but it was nothing she didn't deserve. Chloe let out a long sigh and crossed her legs in front of her, facing Aubrey as her hands rested in her lap. They were quiet for a few moments, both listening to the slow drip of the facets.

"I'm never going to be the same person you helped drink out of the water fountain" She started quietly "Or the one you shoved Ryan Heady on the playground for." Aubrey blew out a breath of air at the memory and sniffed, dragging her hand against the base of her nose. "But that doesn't mean I'm gone, Aubrey. I'm not."

Aubrey didn't' say anything.

"I'm going to make mistakes, and some are going to be bigger than others. A lot bigger. But in truth? I don't know if I can do this either. Not without you."

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe beale #Aubrey Posen #Bechloe #fanfiction #vampire au #this sucks #im so sorry #bechloe fic rec

[language-rxgers]

Best Boyfriend You’ve Never Had (Bucky x Reader)- Part 10

Summary: You and Bucky go to the reception. A little light is shed on Bucky’s alleged recovery, Ryan’s a dick, you share a perfect dance with Bucky, and it all crashes down.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Reader, OFC Trish, OMC Ryan, OFC Catherine

Warnings: nightmares, angst, self-doubt, Ryan’s a little worm

Word Count: 3349

A/N: Probably only one or two chapters left. Once again, so sorry it took so long!

Masterlist

Part 9 (Previous) / Part 11

Lunch was quiet for the most part; you and Bucky just went to the bar and grill around the corner, making small conversation over your burgers and fries. It seemed like Bucky kept wanting to say something to you, but every time he leaned forward and opened his mouth, he seemed to think better of it and dismiss himself. On the car ride to the reception, you reflected on what happened at the church. Maybe you were being too dramatic about all of this. He was just being a good friend- such a good friend, in fact, that he was willing to possibly step out of his comfort zone and kiss you to keep your ex-boyfriend from bothering you. What kind of guy willingly does what he’s done these past two weeks- getting to know your family and making an effort to get along with each of them, offering his help in finishing with the wedding errands, hell, even taking your dog for a walk so the rest of the family could sleep in- without some kind of catch? Who does that? That’s right: Bucky. God, you wished so badly that this was real, because Bucky had been true to his word: he had truly been the best boyfriend you’d never had.

When you arrived at the same restaurant as the night before, you straightened out your dress and changed back into your heels before following Bucky into the restaurant. The dark haired man had opted to shed his dress jacket, rolling up his sleeves and loosening his tie slightly, which made your throat go dry. In the entrance of the restaurant, which was already bustling with guests, there was a table with a large slab of wood sitting on top. As you approached it, you noticed it was engraved with Catherine and Thomas’ names and the date of their wedding in curved and looping calligraphy, and it was also riddled with the signatures of the guests. You grabbed a marker from the table top and scrawled your name in the lower corner, adding a smiley face for good measure. You handed the marker to Bucky, who took it hesitantly. “Well, aren’t you gonna sign?” You asked him curiously when he didn’t make any other movement. He raised his eyebrows, as if surprised he was allowed to do so. You smiled gently. “Go ahead, Buck, you’re a guest too,” you chuckled. He looked at you with an unexpected gratitude, before pulling off the cap and scribbling a rushed J.B.B. under your name. After he set down the marker, you noticed a sign beside the wood slab.

Please sign so we can have a lasting reminder of the wonderful people who made this day so special! After, as there is no seating arrangement, please feel free to choose a seat at any of the tables except 1-3, which are reserved for the wedding party and immediate families of the bride and groom. Thank you!

The two of you then ventured out through the crowd until you spotted your mother talking to a waiter, and you headed in her direction. As you approached her, Bucky slipped his fingers through your own, taking your hand as if it was second nature. Your mother sent the waiter on his way and turned to meet the sight of you and Bucky making your way through the tables to her. She smiled giddily.

“Oh, wasn’t that just such a lovely ceremony? I can’t believe your sister- my baby- is married! I just can’t believe it!” She squealed. You smiled.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” you agreed. Your mother was positively beaming, and she looked you up and down, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Oh, and sweetheart, you just look absolutely beautiful. And you, Bucky, simply dashing. Of course, that’s nothing new, I suppose,” she laughed, sincerity glinting in her kind eyes. Bucky squeezed your hand.

“Thank you, Mrs. (L/N). You’re stunning, as always.” He gave your mother a knockout grin, and she hushed him lightheartedly. “Where’s Mr. (L-“

“Trish, you look gorgeous tonight,” a familiar voice interrupted Bucky’s question, and suddenly a head of light brown hair was swooping in and planting a kiss on your mother’s cheek, a pair of arms engulfing her in a quick hug. “Congratulations on your daughter’s wedding.” Your mother started at the sudden imposition before regaining herself.

“Oh, Ryan, thank you, that’s very kind of you,” she said sweetly. He gave her a crooked smile, hand still resting between her shoulder blades, his broad back effectively cutting you and Bucky out of the interaction. You raised an eyebrow and Bucky rolled his eyes before clearing his throat. Ryan turned back to the two of you.

“Oh, hey you guys, what a great wedding huh? (Y/N), you looked really beautiful up there,” he nodded to you, eyebrows raised in a softened expression. You tried to melt your stoic front into a grateful smile, thanking him. Ryan’s eyes drifted to Bucky, then down to your joined hands. He put his right hand forward, expecting Bucky to break his grip with you to meet it, but the dark haired soldier rather offered his left hand, metal glinting in the twinkling fairy lights strung around the restaurant. Ryan seemed taken aback before shaking it off and switching hands, taking Bucky’s in a firm grip. You could see the plates in Bucky’s arm shifting as he squeezed a little too tight for comfort, but the civil smile painted on his lips gave nothing away.

“Ron,” Bucky nodded, and Ryan let out an agitated breath.

“Ryan,” he corrected, but the born and bred Brooklynite merely gave a half shrug.

“Right,” he replied. Ryan narrowed his eyes, an amused smirk playing at his lips.

“You know, Bucky, at some point tonight when you have the time, I’d really love to get the chance to have a sit down and really get to know you. I think that you get a bad rap in the media’s eye, and I could really give a refreshing eye-opener on my show. Set the record straight. You know, get down to the roots of Bucky Barnes, metal armed hero and HYDRA puppet. Past that tough guy exterior you put up. The people love an underdog, and I think that if they really got to know the real you, not just the Winter Soldier, they’d get just that.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You blurted out, horrified at Ryan’s audacity. Who the hell just blatantly says that? Bucky remained stoic, but you could see his jaw was practically sewn together. The two men broke their hold on each other, and you noticed Ryan subtly stretching out his crushed fingers at his side. Bucky kept his eyes locked on Ryan’s soon withering gaze, and you had to keep your own temper under control.

“Well, Bucky and I were just going to get a drink. Mom, we’ll see you later? Ryan, rot in hell,” you said pleasantly, giving a charming smile. You grabbed Bucky’s elbow and pulled him away. You were livid, and the sooner you got away from that little rat who called himself a talk show host, the more likely you would avoid having to ice your knuckles by the end of the night. “Oh, God, Bucky, I am so sorry. Just ignore that son of a bitch. I can’t believe I ever dated him, I can’t believe he’s at this wedding, I can’t believe he hasn’t already been thrown out on his ass already, I-“ Bucky spun you around and took your face in his hands. Well, hand. You noticed his kept his left arm anchored by his side, and your throat grew thick with anger.

“Doll, calm down, it’s alright. You can’t let that asshole get to you, because that’s exactly what he wants to happen. He wants me to get angry. He wants you to get angry. I’ve dealt with these kinds of guys before; hell, I spent the first 20 years of my life dragging Steve away from those kinds of guys.”

“But, Bucky, he-“

“It’s not worth it,” he insisted. You frowned.

“He’s not worth it, or you’re not?” Bucky blinked for a moment.

“Are we really gonna do this again?” He gave you a pointed look. A few nights ago, you’d confronted Bucky before bed. You’d noticed that every morning you’d been there, you’d woken up to cold sheets, a big breakfast, and a recently exercised dog, all due to Bucky. Now, Bucky had been an early bird for as long as you’d known him, but you’d never realized just how early he actually woke up. The morning before your confrontation, you’d stayed awake all night to see just when he got up, but you’d discovered not only the time of his rise, but also the reasons for it. At 3:30 in the morning, you’d noticed Bucky’s breathing pick up exponentially, becoming erratic, panicked and harsh. You’d turned around in the bed only to see him flat on his back, forehead and chest slick with sweat and both hands clenched into fists in the sheets. He was stiff as a statue, as if he were trapped in his own frozen body, and then you’d heard the whimpers. The broken, desperate whines were then suddenly cut off with a full body spasm that shook him awake with a gasp. You’d shut your eyes immediately, not knowing what to do, and remained still as he’d sat up in the bed, swung his legs over the side, and rested his head in his hands as his breathing calmed down.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he repeated to himself. “One, two, three, four, five,” he counted, taking a deep inhale and exhale with each number. You struggled with whether you should let him know you were awake and see if he was alright, but you had no idea what to say. You were frozen on the spot with shock as you realized how much Bucky still suffered, even when he acted as though he was fine. Bucky then rose from the bed, turned around and fixed your sheets over your shoulders before planting a soft kiss on your forehead and quietly leaving the room. You felt such an intense wave of shame and guilt wash over you, realizing that while you were supposed to be one of Bucky’s best friends, you’d had no idea of the terrors he had to endure every night. Just seeing the petrified expression of desperation etched into his face as he lay frozen, captive within his nightmare, haunted you to your core.

The next night, you’d sat him down and asked why he’d never said anything about still having nightmares.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Bucky frowned, playing confusion nearly too well.

 “Bucky, I know you’ve been having nightmares every night we’ve been here. Hell, you’ve probably been having nightmares every night for months. Did you ever even stop?” You placed your hands on your hips. “Because you said you did, and I believed you, but I know for a fact you had one last night. I know you’ve been waking up in the middle of the night every night and haven’t gone back to bed. Why didn’t you ever say anything? We could have helped you more. I could have helped you more. I feel like I’ve failed you, like you’re still suffering in silence just so we don’t have to worry, but Bucky, that just means that I haven’t done my job. It means that I was supposed to be there for you, to help you through this and show you that you’re not alone, but you haven’t been letting me do that. I care about you, and I want you to get better, I want you to sleep through the night. I want you to be free of this, this pain that HYDRA’s haunted you with! Please let me help,” you pleaded with him.

 The steely-eyed man merely looked up at you from his seat on your bed, a soft smile paradoxically compatible with the defeat in his eyes. “You have. There’s nothing else you can do, sweetheart. This isn’t something you can help with. This is something I have to deal with on my own. While I appreciate you and everything you’ve done for me, I don’t know if I’m worth all of this, (Y/N).”

 Your shoulders slumped, and you let your hands fall to your sides before lifting them and placing them on either side of Bucky’s face. The rough stubble coating his cheeks scratched at your palms while you ran your thumb over his eyebrow, but you didn’t mind one bit. “Don’t ever say that, James Buchanan Barnes. You’re worth everything.” With that, you’d turned on your heel and left the room to get ready for bed before he could get in another word to invalidate your statement.

Bucky sighed. “(Y/N), come on, just let it go.” You shook your head.

“No, I’m not going to let you keep yourself from finally getting better. You’re forcing yourself to suffer, it’s like this self-destruct button you have in your brain that you can’t stop pushing. It’s like you think you deserve to suffer, so you avoid anything that could possibly mean you get a normal, happy life. You aren’t the Winter Soldier. You never were. That was someone else HYDRA crammed into your brain. You shouldn’t make yourself pay the price for the actions of someone else. Now shut up, and enjoy this party with me. Just for one night, please, let yourself be happy.” Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek before nodding briefly. You smiled, grabbing his left hand and pulling him to the drink bar.

For the next few hours, you and Bucky enjoyed the delicious meal your sister had chosen, laughed, talked, and laughed some more. As far as you were concerned, Bucky had left his doubts at the drink bar, but you still kept a close eye on his smile.

As the night was coming to a close, almost too soon, you and Bucky swayed together on the dance floor to Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s Dream a Little Dream of Me. Your sister had such an affinity for Ella Fitzgerald, and while you hadn’t listened to much 40’s music growing up, you found that you listened to quite a bit more after having met Steve and Bucky.

It was in this moment, as Bucky held you so close, so tenderly on that dancefloor, that everything else seemed to fade away. No one else existed except for Bucky, and you had never wanted for time to stop as badly as you did then. Your heart hurt with want for this to be real, for this to be a moment authentically shared by two hearts beating as one, instead of two friends pretending to be something more. You knew the song was drawing to an end, but you just wanted five more seconds. Five more seconds before Bucky would pull away from you and break this perfect moment. Five more seconds.

As the last note faded out, you prepared yourself for the shift in Bucky’s movement that would mean the end of the dance. But he didn’t move. You lifted your head from his chest to look up at him, giving him a small, blissful smile. Bucky began to return the smile, but he paused, eyes searching into your own for… something. His face fell, and he slowly removed his arms from where they fit so well around your waist, taking a step back. He looked around, and you were suddenly made very aware of how little people were still present in the restaurant. “We should get goin’,” Bucky muttered, running a hand through his hair. You forced a smile, trying to ignore the disappointment blooming in your chest, and followed him to the door. You waved goodbye to your sister, who was still swaying with her new husband on the dancefloor, a perfectly peaceful expression on her beautiful face. She winked at you, lifting a hand to lazily wave.

On the drive home, you tried to place the look he’d had in his eyes before he’d pulled away from you, trying to find any reason other than the painfully obvious answer staring you right in the face. When you came up short handed, you bit your lip to keep it from trembling. He’d been searching for a reason to keep dancing, to stay in that perfect bubble. He’d been searching for some feeling other than platonic friendship for you that would allow him to finally be happy, but he’d found nothing in you. You hadn’t been enough to keep him there. He didn’t love you. Never would. Not like that. You weren’t enough. It was why he didn’t trust you enough to come to you about his nightmares. It was why it was so easy for him to pretend to be your boyfriend like it was nothing. It was why when you returned to New York, Bucky would fall back into his normal routine like nothing had ever happened, and it would be your turn to act like you were fine when really you would be learning how to breathe all over again without him.

The feeling started in your fingertips, spreading like ink in water throughout the rest of your body, pooling in your chest and the palms of your hands. It was painfully uncomfortable, like all the nerves in your body were being squeezed in a clenched fist. You gritted your teeth together to keep your eyes dry and to find some kind of pain that would override the agony spreading like white hot fire in your veins. You knew you wouldn’t be losing Bucky, because you’d still be friends, and you’d act like everything was back to normal, but you also knew things would never be the same for you. You’d never be able to look at Bucky without seeing that dismissive flicker in his eyes when he’d pulled away, you’d never be able to hear his laugh without remembering all the times that laugh had been reserved only for you these past two weeks, you’d never be able to be around him without physically feeling your own feelings for him being rebounded off the barrier of unrequited love unknowingly put up around his heart.

But he would be okay, and that’s all that mattered. He would be happy. He would be okay. Now that you knew about his nightmares, you could help him get better for real, and he would finally, actually, be okay. That was all that mattered. You could ignore and push away these feelings that had seemingly reared their ugly heads as of late, as long as Bucky was okay. You could be his friend, because having him in any way was better than not having him at all.

That was the thought that kept repeating itself like a mantra in your head all night. Having him in any way was better than not having him at all. That was the reasoning you’d always had for never confessing your feelings for him, and that was the reasoning behind why you weren’t planning on saying anything of the sort now. You wouldn’t say anything about your feelings for him, about how these past two weeks didn’t just mean nothing to you like they did to him. You would keep your mouth shut and act like everything between the two of you was still perfect and platonic. You would suffer for a while as you dealt with your silent heartbreak, but you knew eventually it would get better. The pain would fade away and things would be okay. You’d go through this on your own and pay your dues for having foolishly fallen for him, and you would come out of it okay.

Because having him in any way was better than not having him at all.

Part 9 (Previous) / Part 11

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[hannahberrie]

Everybody Talks | Chapter 3: Telephone

Fandom: Stranger Things Pairings: Mileven, Lumax  Rating: K WC: 5259 Summary: On a Friday night, the kids find their sleepovers getting more awkward by the minute.

[AO3] Chapter Selection: [1][2]-3-[4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][Epilogue] 

[A/N]: Many thanks to @estrelladesimons for helping me draft this chapter, as well as the rest of the story. She is a lifesaver!

“Fireball the son of a bitch!” Dustin exclaims frantically.

“Hurry!” Mike pleads.

“Holy shit!” Lucas says through his teeth, gripping the edge of the table.

Will, hands shaking, drops his roll. The dice hit the Dungeons and Dragons board with a thud that resounds in the boys’ ears.

There’s a collective sharp intake of breath as the boys lean in, waiting for the dice to fall still.

“Wait for it…” Dustin says, holding up a hand.

And then…

“YES!” They all cheer, exchanging high-fives. Will breathes a sigh of relief, Lucas is grinning, Dustin fans himself with his hat, and Mike proceeds to pick up the Dungeon Master’s manual.

“The Orc howls in pain!” Mike reads dramatically, adding a couple shrieks of pain for theatrics. “His body bursts into flames, leaving nothing but a blackened corpse behind!”

“Sweet,” Dustin grins.

“Is that it?” Will asks, looking up at Mike expectantly.

“Silence falls over the dungeon,” Mike continues to read, “You breathe a sigh of relief. It’s finally over. Until—”

“Until?!” Lucas exclaims incredulously.

“Until you hear a noise. A faint, echoing rumble. It starts far away, but as your eyes widen in fear, you realize it’s getting closer, bigger.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Dustin wheezes.

“An army of Orcs storms the dungeon!” Mike declares, slamming a fist down on the table for emphasis. “There’s hundreds and they’re looking for vengeance, for blood!”

“Son of a bitch!” Dustin exclaims, throwing up his hands in defeat. “We’re fu—“

He’s cut off by the sound of the basement door swinging open. The boys look up from the gaming table to see Mrs. Wheeler descending the stairs. She glances around the basement, looking frustrated, to say the least.

“Michael?” She gripes, folding her arms across her chest. “What did we say about keeping things clean?”

“It is!” Mike insists.

His mother motions to the numerous empty pizza boxes and coca-cola cans scattered across the floor.

“Well, except for that stuff,” Mike admits. “We just got distracted by the campaign!”

His mother gives him an impatient look before she begins to pick up the trash littered all over the floor. “You know that I’m not going to let you guys have sleepovers if you make a mess like this!”

“We know,” Mike says flatly.

Mrs. Wheeler finishes stacking up the precarious assemble of pizza boxes and soda cans in her arms. “Next time, you’re doing this,” she reminds him.

“I know.”

She glances at the game board, then back at the pajama-clad boys. “Have you guys been playing this all night?” She asks.

“Kinda…”

“Aren’t you guys getting a little old for this game?”

The boys exchange irked frowns.

“There’s no age limit for D&D,” Mike insists, rolling his eyes. “I’ve seen like, 40-year-olds playing it.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Mrs. Wheeler replies dryly. She takes the pile of trash and heads back up the stairs. “Make sure you guys are in bed by 10!”

“But it’s Friday!”

“10 o’clock,” She repeats firmly, reaching the top of the stairs.

“Thanks, Karen!” Dustin calls out just as Mrs. Wheeler shuts the basement door.

“Dude!” Mike exclaims.

“What?”

“Don’t call my mom ‘Karen!’”

“She said I could!”

“When?”

“Last week!”

“Can we just get back to the campaign?” Lucas cuts in.

“Before we’re completely destroyed by the Orcs?” Will adds.

“Fine,” Mike sighs. He looks at the manual again and starts reading once more. He continues the narrative, setting the scene before listing off what scenarios the party could take.

Will, Lucas, and Dustin turn to each other, talking amongst themselves frantically.

“I say we fight our way out!” Lucas suggests.

“How are we going to fight hundreds of Orcs?”Will asks worriedly, “I think we should try to reason with them.”

“You can’t reason with bloodthirsty maniacs!” Dustin exclaims, “I say we offer one of ourselves as a sacrifice!”

“Who do we have to sacrifice?” Lucas asks, dumbfounded.

“The traitor,” Dustin jokes, jabbing his thumb towards Mike.

Mike’s brow furrows. “What?!”

“I’m kidding!” Dustin insists, before adding, “…Mostly.”

“How am I a traitor?” Mike asks indignantly.

“Well,” Dustin glances at Will and Lucas before continuing, “You kind of betrayed the party.”

“How?!”

“You befriended the enemy!”

“What?!”

“El? El Hopper? You’re like, totally in love with her!”  

“Am not!”

“You literally walked her out of class!”

“I already told you guys, we just happened to be walking out at the same time. What was I supposed to do, just ignore her?”

“Uh, yeah!” Dustin says, tone indicating that Mike is missing blatantly obvious. “That’s how we survive!”

“Survive? Survive what?”

“High school!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” Will cuts in hesitantly, “I mean, we don’t really know them.”

“Thank you,” Mike says to Will, giving Dustin an annoyed scowl.

“I’m not being harsh!” Dustin defends. “I’m just dealing with the facts! Everyone knows that high school has a hierarchy. You got your shithead jocks, the preps, the stoners, the punks, and then, way at the bottom, us. Face it, Mike — you and El are from two completely different classes!”

“No, we’re not! We’re in the same grade!”

“Not school ‘classes’!” Dustin motions to the Dungeons and Dragons board. “Like these. When’s the last time you heard of like, a High Elf befriending a Drow?

“What?” Mike exclaims, furrowing his brow.

“Exactly, never!”

Mike, currently at a lost for words, just frowns. “Yeah, but…”

“We’re just not meant to get along with people like El, it’s not how high school works!” Dustin continues, “It’ll only blow up in our faces and end in disaster!”

Mike falls silent. Dustin’s words, though he probably doesn’t know it, speak to a secret worry of Mike’s: that El will grow bored of whatever is happening between them. That she’ll wake up one day, remember how lame he is, and want nothing to do with him, like most kids at school. Is he really just wasting time, trying to get to know her? Maybe he’s just prolonging his own rejection.

“He has a point,” Lucas admits.

Mike isn’t ready to admit as much. “I thought you liked Max!” He instead points out in frustration.

“I do—“ Lucas pauses then freezes, eyes wide, “I mean, I don’t! I mean, I dunno. She’s still awesome, but I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

“Why?” Will asks.

“Every time she passes me in the hallway, she punches me in the arm,” Lucas explains, “It kind of hurts.”

Dustin laughs. Lucas proceeds to punch his arm.

“That means she likes you,” Will says, ignoring their fighting, “At least, I think so.”

“How would that mean that she likes me?” Lucas asks, confused.

“She’s showing you attention!” Will explains, “My mom says girls always go out of their way to show attention to the guys they like.”

“Really?” Lucas perks up at this, failing to hide his growing smile.

Will shrugs.

“Like it matters!” Dustin scowls, “Did any of you guys hear a word of what I just said?”

“Haven’t you ever heard that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover?” Mike counters Dustin, “What if Max and El are really awesome, and you’re too busy being an asshole to even realize it?”

Dustin gives him a look. “I’ll believe it when I see it. For now, I’m just trying to save us all from catastrophic embarrassment!”

Before anyone else can answer, Mike’s mother opens the door to the basement again. “Michael!” She calls down, “Phone!”

“Who is it?” Mike calls back.

“It sounds like a girl!”

Wait. What?

“A girl?!” The guys all echo, turning to look at each other in bafflement.

A beat passes.

Then they’re running.

The four boys, now shouting, scramble up the stairs with Mike in the lead.

“Maybe it’s Vanna White!” Dustin exclaims, “Maybe you’ll get to be on Wheel of Fortune!”

“Why would Vanna White call my house?” Mike snaps back.

“I dunno! But think about all the Atari games we could buy!”

“It’s probably Mrs. Hawthorne!” Lucas snickers gleefully, “She’s gonna bust you for stabbing the Biology frog in its gall bladder!”

“That was an accident!”

They reach the top of the stairs, race down the hallway, and arrive at the family phone. The receiver is still hanging off the cord where Mrs. Wheeler left it, swaying ominously.

As his friends scramble to stand behind him, Mike stares at the phone, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Are you gonna answer?” Will asks Mike.

Curiosity gets the better of Mike, and he nods in response. Glancing at his friends one last time, he takes a deep breath and picks up the phone, placing the receiver over his ear.

“…Hello?”

“This is the best part!” Max gushes excitedly, “Just wait for it!”

El watches in horror as the music swells and Michael Myers bursts from the shadows. He pins his victim to the wall by the neck, watching as his prey writhes in his grasp. Myes raises the knife. Its blade glints in the moonlight. Then, with a sickening squelch, the knife drives right through the victim’s chest and into the wall.

“He gets PINNED to the wall with the KNIFE!” Max recounts, face twisted into a grossed-out smile. “It’s totally disgusting and awesome!”

“Totally awesome,” El nods, grimacing. She looks away from the screen and returns her attention to the task at hand: painting Max’s nails. “Hold still,” she instructs, getting out the black polish.

“Sorry,” Max apologies, laying her fingers out in front of El.

“You like this?” El mumbles as the camera lingers on the limp body of the victim.

“It’s cool!”

“Cool?”

“Totally.”

They’re in El’s room, currently in the midst of one of their coveted Friday night sleepovers. They’re sprawled across El’s bed, surrounded by candy wrappers, nail polish bottles, and dark eyeshadow palettes. Max brought over her VHS copy of Halloween, which is currently playing on the small TV El keeps atop her dresser.

El gives the black nail polish a shake before unscrewing the cap. She carefully holds Max’s palm with one hand as she applies the polish with the other, making sure to not get it all over Max’s cuticles.

While El still has her hair slicked back, Max has pulled hers back into a long ponytail. She flips it over her shoulder as she speaks, making sure her hair is out of the way as El gets to work.

“You like the movie too, right?” Max asks, glancing back at the TV.

“Yeah,” El lies. To be honest, after the frog dissection, the last thing El needed was an entire movie that was solely about someone going around and cutting people open. But El also knows that this is Max’s favorite movie, and she doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“I was Michael Myers for three Halloweens in a row,” Max states proudly. “One time, I hid behind some bushes and totally scared the shit out of Billy. You should’ve heard him, he screamed like a—“

There’s a knock on the door, and the girls look up to see El’s father, aka, Jim Hopper, aka the Hawkins Chief of Police, standing in the doorway.

El knows that, like her, her dad can be pretty intimidating. He’s tall and massive and can yell when he needs to. But tonight, he’s not a tough police officer. Tonight, he’s just her dad, sporting an old Hawkins University T-shirt and some jeans.

“You kids still doing alright in here?” He asks, glancing into the room. His eyes land on the TV, catching sight of Michael Myers stalking down a dark hallway, knife in hand. He frowns. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing!” El quickly replies. With a quick jerk of her head, the TV switches off, and she turns to smile at her father innocently. “Just sitting!”

“And doing nails!” Max adds, holding up her hands as evidence.

“Humph,” Hopper snorts, evidently deciding to let it slide. “Well, are you girls getting hungry? You want me to order a pizza, or something?”

“Yes, please!” El chirps.

“Can we have sausage and pepperoni?” Max asks.

“Sure,” Hopper replies.

The girls wait for him to leave before turning back to each other. El keeps the TV turned off, hoping that she can get away with ‘forgetting’ to play the movie again.

“Are you going to go to Homecoming?” El asks, trying to distract Max with conversation.

“You mean the dance?”

“Yeah.”

“The dance that they’ve put up ten million posters for all over school?”

“Yeah.”

“The one at the end of the month?”

“Yeah.”

“The dance that only dweebs go to?”

“Yeah?”

“Then no.”

El pushes down the tinge of disappointment that rises in her chest. “Yeah, me neither. It’s lame.”

“Totally.”

El finishes Max’s nails, and Max admires them proudly. “Thanks!” Max smiles, proceeding to blow on them to help them dry faster.

“Welcome,” El replies, pushing the nail polish bottles aside.

A moment passes, and El starts to search her mind for something to say. She really, really, doesn’t want to finish watching the movie. Thankfully, Max speaks up next.

“We should do something!” Max says, looking around El’s room.

“Like what?”

Please not ‘watch Halloween’.

Max thinks. “What do girls do at sleepovers? Like, the preps?”

El’s brow furrows. “I don’t know. Gossip?”

“Listen to Cyndi Lauper?”

El blushes. “Talk about guys.”

“And,” Max says slowly, pausing for dramatic emphasis, “Pillow fights!” She turns, grabs a pillow from El’s bedspread, and proceeds to smack El over the head with it.

“Ow!” El laughs, grabbing her own pillow.

The two go back and forth, whacking at each other sporadically as they burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

Amongst the chaos, Max knocks the remainder of El’s pillows off the bed, uncovering something that was hidden underneath.

The Hawkins High 1984 yearbook slides out into view. It bumps up against Max’s leg and makes her pause. “What the—“

“Don’t!” El gasps, dropping the pillow she was holding.

Max snatches up the book before El can. She turns it over in her hands before holding it up to El, an intrigued grin curving her lips.

“Why do you keep last year’s yearbook under your pillow?” Max asks incredulously.

“It’s nothing!”

“Nothing? Seriously?”

“Just give it to me!” El snaps, lunging forward.

“What are you hiding?” Max moves back and gets off the bed, holding the yearbook closer. Ignoring El’s protests, she starts to flip through it, looking completely pleased with herself. “Wait, is this page bookmarked?” She asks, flipping open to the page marked with a yellow post-it note.

“Max!” El scrambles off the bed and follows after her, but Max is too quick. She continues to move about the room, maneuvering just out of El’s reach.

“Why do you have this page bookmarked?” She asks, scanning the page, “It’s just the last of the kids from our grade, no one we even know is — holy shit.”

El freezes. “What?”

Max turns the book around and points at the page. “That’s that guy!” She exclaims, “Mike! Mike Wheeler! The geek! The one you were totally drooling over last week!”

“No!” El denies adamantly, her cheeks growing hot.

“You even got his dorky club photo bookmarked,” Max snorts, flipping to the second sticky-noted page. “You’re like, totally stalking him.”

El uses her powers to whisk the book out of Max’s hands and into her own grasp.

“Stop.”  She says firmly, giving Max her best glare.

Max looks alarmed, but then her expression softens. “El…”

El tries to stay mad, to stay tough, but her embarrassment eats away at her and she can feel her walls start to break.

She looks at her feet, face hot with shame. “Don’t,” she warns, pleads. “I…I know it’s stupid. I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid!” Max quickly insists. She moves to sit on the bed again and motions for El to join her.

El, still clutching the yearbook, follows her with great reluctance.

Max turns to look her in the eye, speaking with great sincerity. “I’m sorry I laughed, okay? I just didn’t think you’d ever like someone so—“

El eyes her warily.

“Different,” Max hastily finishes.

El slumps her shoulders as she looks down at the yearbook in her arms. She runs a finger over its spine, thoughts going back to her few, but treasured, memories of Mike. The way he made her laugh. The way he rambled when he got excited. The way he wasn’t totally scared off by her smudged eyeshadow or dark demeanor. The way he smiled at her.

“He’s nice,” El finally mumbles, “and smart. And funny. He doesn’t make fun of me for being weird.”

Max stays silent, allowing El to unload all of her emotions.

“I know you think he’s a geek, but I…I like him,” El continues, feeling less shy, “Just ‘cause he likes comics and video games doesn’t mean that he’s a total knucklehead.”

“Right,” Max replies, looking oddly uncomfortable for a moment. But the moment passes as quickly as it comes, and a second later, her face returns to its original, relaxed expression. “No, you’re totally right. I shouldn’t have laughed, that was stupid.”

“It’s ok,” El assures her with a small smile. She turns, grabs her pillows off the floor, and arranges them as they once were, sliding the yearbook back under her them. Though the anxious feeling in her chest has died down, she’s still feeling a little awkward about the whole thing. She’d never planned on having to explain why she spends too much time looking at someone in a photograph, even if it was to her best friend.

“So, what are you gonna do?” Max asks.

“Do?”

“About President Nerd?”

Oh. Right.

El looks down at her own nails, gaze focused on the chipped black polish on her thumbnail. “I don’t know. He barely notices me,” She mumbles.

“Why don’t you just show him one of your mind tricks, or something?” Max suggests. “That’ll get his attention.”

El gives her a look. “You know I can’t. Dad doesn’t want me to tell anyone about my powers.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It was just an idea.”

“And,” El continues, “I don’t want him to think I’m a freak.”

“Why would he think that?”

El holds up her hands, then motions to her own head.

“Having powers makes you cool!” Max says. “You know what I’d do if I had powers?”

“Something dangerous?” El smiles.

“Uh, yeah!”

The two exchange smiles before falling silent.

A beat passes, then Max gets a mischievous grin on her face. It’s the same grin she had before they spray-painted the principal’s car.

Oh no.

“What?” El asks hesitantly.

“It’s just,” Max replies, grinning even wider, “If he won’t notice you, you just gotta make him.”

El frowns. “What do you mean?”

Max turns around, grabs the phone resting on El’s nightstand, and pulls it onto her bed. “Call him!”

“No!” El jumps back from the phone as quickly as if it had burned her.

“C’mon!” Max taunts, holding out the receiver, “I dare you!”

“We already played Truth or Dare.”

“Well, we’re playing again. Call him.”

El continues to shake her head, though with a bit of reluctance. “I don’t…I don’t know his number,” she mumbles weakly.

“Yellow Pages,” Max replies.

“But…”

“Do you want him to know you exist, or not?” Max says exasperatedly, “Are you really going to just keep moping around like a total bonehead or actually do something?”

El looks her in the eye.

Max looks back.

“I’m not a bonehead.”

“Then call him.”

El takes a deep breath.

“You know you want to,” Max says in an exaggerated, girly voice that makes El giggle.

“Fine!” She bursts.

“Yes! No takebacks!” Max laughs impishly before jumping off the bed. “I’ll go get the book!”

El buries her face in her pillow as Max runs out of her room and down the stairs.

What on earth did she just agree to?

Much too soon, Max is back with the bulky Yellow Pages book. She rejoins El on the bed and begins to flip through the “W” Residencies. Her eyes are narrowed with determination, while El’s are wide with anticipation.

“Wheeler!” Max announces triumphantly, jabbing a finger at the page. “Ted and Karen. That’s gotta be it!”

“O-okay!” El says, unable to hide her nervousness — she doesn’t think she’d be able to even if she tried.

El pulls the phone closer to her. Max reads off the number. El dials it with shaking fingers.

Max slides in close to El, no doubt to make sure she can hear the entire exchange take place. El holds the receiver to her ear, holding her breath, heart pounding.

The phone rings three times before it’s picked up.

“Hello?” Someone answers — someone that’s definitely not Mike. It’s a woman’s voice, probably his mom’s.

This was a terrible mistake.

“Uh, hi?” El’s voice is shaking, and she takes another deep breath to steady herself. “Is Mike there?”

“Yes, he is. May I ask who’s calling?”

El hesitates, not wanting to out herself just yet. “I’m in class with him,” she offers instead. “At school.”

“Alright, I’ll go get him,” Mrs. Wheeler replies. El can hear her set the phone down.

“Was that his MOM?” Max snorts.

El nods. “She’s going to get him.” She can feel her heartbeat in her throat and she suddenly feels nauseous. “What should I say to him?” She hisses to Max.

“Tell him you love him!” Max replies, snorting again.

El punches her leg.

There’s a minute of silence. Then, moments later, El hears the muffled sound of running feet and shouting. Her brow furrows in alarm and confusion, but seconds later, it’s quiet again.

More silence.

Then she hears someone pick up the phone.

El readies herself.

Here we go.

“…Hello?” Mike asks nervously.

El swallows. “Hey.”

Both receivers crackle loudly, allowing for Mike and El’s friends to hear every exchanged word.

“Who is this?”

(“The girl of your dreams,” Max says in that girly voice again, unable to keep a straight face.)

“…..El.”

“El?”

(Will’s jaw drops. Dustin and Lucas immediately proceed to make an ‘oooooooh,’ sound.)

“Uh, yeah.”

Mike’s heart skips a beat, and for a moment, he’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. Then again, if he is, he’s 100% sure that his dreams wouldn’t include Lucas and Dustin making kissy sounds in the background. “Hey!” He replies, throwing the guys a dirty look. “What’s up?”

El pauses. She still doesn’t have a good reason for calling him. She glances around her room, desperately searching for some sort of inspiration. Her gaze lands on her backpack, and she smiles in relief.

“Do we have homework?” She asks quickly, “In Biology? I, uh, forgot.”  

(“Homework?” Max mouths, shaking her head in disbelief.)

“Homework?” Was that it? Mike feels his heart sink a little lower in his chest. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh,” El replies. Why did she call him again? She sounds like a complete idiot right now. How is this supposed to make him like her?

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

(“This is the most depressing conversation I’ve ever heard,” Lucas  mutters, “And we just had to watch Scared Straight for psychology class.”)

“So, uh, what are you up to?” Mike asks, trying to make conversation.

El feels herself blush. “I’m just at my house,” she mumbles.

“Cool! I’m at my house too!” Mike responds earnestly.

(“No shit,” Dustin says, smacking himself on the forehead.)

Even though this conversation is going about as well as a train wreck, El smiles when she hears the familiar, upbeat liveliness in his voice. “Comics and video games?” She asks, hoping he’ll remember their detention conversation.

Mike grins. She’d remembered! “Uh, yeah, kind of! I actually just got this new Star Wars Comic, First Strike? It’s the 100th issue, so it’s like, super cool!”

“One hundred?” El echoes in surprise.

“Yeah, they make a lot,” Mike continues, “I’ve read all of them though. You could borrow them sometime, if you wanted.”

(“Do you think that showing you his comic collection is the nerd version of getting to first base?” Max asks.)

El feels her face grow warm. “Yeah,” she says casually, even though she’s never seen any of the Star Wars movies. She’s not about to admit that right now, though.

“Cool!” Mike replies cheerily.

El wants to say more. She wants to just sit and talk to Mike for hours upon hours until her voice is hoarse and she’s exhausted her vocabulary. But with Max right there, grinning at her, and the mounting feeling of pressure swelling in her chest, El knows that she needs to take a step back.

“Well, uh, I should go,” she says.

Mike feels his heart sink. Then again, as he scowls at Dustin and Lucas, who are back to making kissy faces at him, now isn’t exactly the best time to get into a lengthy conversation with El.

“Yeah, okay,” Mike replies. “See you later!”

“Okay!”

“Bye!”

“Bye, Mike!”

The phone call ends.

“You guys are assholes!” Mike says as he hangs up the phone.

In response, his friends all burst into laughter.

“That was painful!” Lucas exclaims, both grinning and wincing at the same time.

“Like watching C3PO trying to win over Leia!” Dustin giggles.

“Oh, c’mon! Was it really that bad?” Mike asks, turning to Will. Though he keeps his tone casual, internally he’s pleading for validation that he didn’t just totally screw up.

“I think she likes you,” Will offers with a smile, “She’s showing you attention, remember?”

Mike hesitates. “But she just wanted to know about homework!”

“She could have called the teacher,” Will points out, “Or someone else in class.”

“That’s true…”

“You want my advice?” Dustin asks.

“Not really,” Mike mutters.

“Get out while you still can,” Dustin finishes, placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder.

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome!”

“C’mon!” Lucas rolls his eyes and starts heading back down the hallway. “Let’s get back to the campaign!”

“Last one to the basement gets sacrificed!” Dustin calls out, darting past them.

“No fair!” Will cries out, following after them.

As they’re already halfway down the basement stairs, Mike already knows that he’s going to be the one to get sacrificed.

Shit.

Glancing at the phone one last time, Mike follows his friends down the stairs, forcing himself to push aside any further worries about El.

El hangs up the phone quickly, cheeks a bright scarlet.

Max starts laughing again, though this time it doesn’t hurt El’s feelings. “He’s like, totally in love with you,” Max snorts, “It’s adorable, really.”

El tries her best to give Max an annoyed look, but truth be told, the phone conversation has left her head in the clouds. “He doesn’t,” El insists half-heartedly.

“Right, Mr. ‘I’m At My House Too’!” Max bursts into another round of laughter. “‘Let me show you my sweet comics!’”

El, despite how red-faced she already is, manages to blush even more. “Shut up!” She replies, now laughing too.

“You like him,” Max teases, poking El repeatedly.

“Stop!” El gasps, trying to grab the offending finger.

“You like Mike!”

“Mike?” A new voice asks.

The girls look up to see Hopper standing in the doorway, holding a box of pizza.

“Dad!” El squeaks. She and Max sit up straighter on her bed, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

“Who’s Mike?” Hopper asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nobody.”

“Nobody?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re just getting all giggly over ‘nobody’?”

El hesitates. “I….”

“Mike is a boy from school,” Max cuts in.

El turns to her friend, aghast. “Max!”

“What?” Max shrugs, “He’s a cop! He was going to find out eventually!”

“So, you tell him now?”

“Do I know him?” Hopper asks. He’s smiling, eyes twinkling with mischief. “This ‘Mike’?”

“No!” El exclaims. This, without a doubt, is the most embarrassing night of her life.

“What’s he do?” Hopper continues, looking intrigued. “Any sports or clubs?”

“Well, he’s 15, so he sells drugs,” Max says dryly, “Like, hardcore drugs. And he’s been to jail, like five times.”

“MAX.”

Hopper snorts at the sarcasm. He sets the pizza down on El’s bed and points to Max. “I like her,” he states.

“I don’t,” El grumbles, throwing Max a dirty look.

Max beams back at her.

“I going to assume you’re joking,” Hopper says, giving the girls a serious look, to which Max nods sincerely.

“Do you actually think El would like someone like that?” Max asks.

Hopper hesitates. “Well…”

El’s brow furrows. “Dad!”

“Well, I know you two are into this whole,” his sentence trails off as he motions between them, “Punk thing. I’m fine with it, but I want you to be smart about it. Like, the whole thing with the principal’s car? You gotta stop messing around like that.”

“I know,” El pouts. Even though her dad already chewed her out about this last week, it still hurts to know that she disappointed him. “Sorry.”

Hopper smooths his hand over El’s slicked-back hair. “You guys are good kids,” he reminds them, “I know high school isn’t always easy, but you don’t need to act out to make it easier.”

Max and El exchange hesitant looks.

“Ok,” El mumbles.

Hopper nods before moving back and heading back towards the door. “Make sure you get some sleep,” he instructs them.

“We will!” Max assures him.

Hopper leaves then, shutting El’s bedroom door behind him.

“Your dad is pretty cool, you know,” Max says. She opens the pizza box and takes a slice, proceeding to talk with her mouth full. “Like Jack Cates. I wish my dad was a cop.“

“You say that now,” El takes her own pizza slice. “But what about when you want to spend time with Lucas?”

Max nearly chokes on her pizza slice. “What?!”

El raises her eyebrows and takes a bite of her pizza.

“I don’t like that dweeb!” Max insists.

“Okay.”

“I don’t!”

“You were staring at him during lunch yesterday.”

“He had food on his face, it was hilarious.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t like Lucas,” Max repeats. She rolls her eyes, flips her ponytail, shifts in place, and makes a snort of disgust, as if the more dismissive actions she makes, the more El will believe her.

“Sure.”

Max gives her a dirty look.

El only beams right back.

#mileven #mileven fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #berrie fics #* #everybodytalks #miss-sad-marshmallow #lovecolesprouse #wrongirish

[coffeesforfuckers]

I’m Sorry Every Song’s About You // Peterick

Pairing: Peterick Summary: Pete Wentz is too in love with Patrick Stump to actually say the words out loud so he just spills his guts into albums (Eight to be exact). But there's always one special song in an album that is in no way subtle in saying "I am in love with the tiny not-so-punk-man singing this song" But for a brilliant man, Patrick Stump sure is a motherfucking oblivious idiot. Word Count: 3,792

I’m sorry every songs about you.

Those words echoed in my mind, it was something Patrick never knew. Seven completed albums with songs all about him, soon it would be eight. The Fourth Of July was the most important song to me, and the date was my least favorite.

This song spilled my heart out into a crappy song. It was just like Death Valley and the one ‘special’ song from each album. Each special song wasn’t just my feeling spilling over onto a paper, they’re the story of the most important moments with him.

Let me start from the beginning.

|||

It all started when Patrick asked me to join the band all the way back in the summer of 2000. He said that my writings would be put to good use, and that’s when ‘ Pretty in Punk’ was brought to life.

So many kids but I only see you.

And I don't think you notice me...

That lyric was from when I first noticed Patrick when we were in Freshman year of high school. He was in some band as the drummer at the time and I was in some screamo band, obviously I was the lead.

He watched me get off the stage and the first thing I knew is he was thinking I was a prick, saying to his friend who was the singer in the band, "He stands alone because he's high on himself.”

His words were harsh and I definitely overheard them as he got on the stage.

I stood alone because I had nobody to stand next to, I mean I wasn’t the most well liked human around obviously. I was in a screamo band that played in the same old shitty basement of the same old shitty sports bar every week but I mean, he was always here with his band and he that meant he couldn’t be any better.

(Of course I’m wrong, little did I know at the time, the tiny man could play any instrument and speak any language you threw at him with his beautiful fucking face, and he also had that perfect singing voice and lungs of steel on top of it all. He was a fucking catch.)

It was July Fourth when he approached me with his proposition.

“Hey, screamo guy, Wentz is it?” He steps up to me, trying to be taller than he was. He may’ve had longer legs than me but I was still taller.

“Pete Wentz.” I say and he nods.

“Patrick Stump.” He replies. I knew that because I had not ‘ stalked’ per-say but I did my research.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I question, looking down ever-so-slightly at him.

“You play anything?”

“Like sports?” What kind of question was that?

“No dipshit, instruments. Do I look like I’d be asking about fucking sports. ” Man he was really hot. I was a slut for him.

Not really but you get it.

“Yeah, bass, guitar, little bit of piano.” I shrug, “Why?”

“You want to join my band? I need a bassist.” He says blatantly. This is the type of dream I’d been waiting for.

“Yeah! Of course! Sure.” I nod frantically, “I also write music and stuff a lot if you needed any songs.”

“Songs…? Oh! Yeah! Songs, we need lots. Like an album worth.” He nods, “Maybe you can put your writings to good use and make the songs, I’ll make the melodies.”

“Okay. Sounds good to me.”

/|\

My anxiety liked to rear it’s ugly head at the worst of times. Like the time we were getting ready for our first ever gig. I could just about vomit.

Patrick plucks at his guitar strings, not a care in the world. We weren’t close, not nearly as close as I’d hoped even after three years had passed.

“Would-... Would you mind if I sat next to you?” I speak and he looks up at me with those big blue eyes.

“I don’t mind, go ahead.” He smiles and all my worry seems to fade.

Would you mind if I sat next to you and watched you smile?

And the song was made with that lyric, it’s all I needed. Pretty in Punk. The small blue-eyed man in some stupid clothes, playing music much too heavy for his personality, the first song written for my pretty boy dressed in punk.

|||

Patrick was my saving grace by the end of Senior year. Everybody around here sucked. (Other than Joe and Andy, of course).

I was living off of his happiness.

You were the last good thing about this part of town.

That lyric had come and gone through my head in multiple varying ways, most too advanced or too bland. That was perfect, simple, straight to the point and not as painfully obvious as some of the other ideas I’d had.

My phone rings at three in the morning, that had been happening more often than I pleased. Always Patrick crying over the same boy.

“Pete!” He wales into the phone.

“What happened this time, boo?” I mumble half-asleep into the receiver.

“He- He said… He said that he didn’t l-... Love me! He called me a slut!” He bawls and I huff, it hurt to hear it, “He asked why I couldn’t just be- be… Happy with what-... What he already g-... Gives me!”

“Awe, Pat…” I sigh, “You need to break-up with him… He’s like poison to you, if you don’t give him up, you’ll wind up dead…” I hated listening to him cry, I just love him.

“No! I need him!” He hiccups, “I love him, Pete.” Ouch…

You need him.

I could be him…

I’m not even the slightest bit subtle.

But he’ll never catch on.

|||

It’s the summer of 2005, July Fourth to be exact, and I’m standing outside of the hotel we’d been staying in and Patrick is stood on the edge of the balcony in his room.

“What are you doing!? Get down! You’re going to fall!” I shout up to him.

“Good! I hope I do!” He calls.

“What the fuck are you talking about!?”

“I’m just the man on the balcony!” He sings, “Nobody will ever remember me!” He’s crying. I knew he’d been a bit off lately but not to the extent of suicide.

“Patrick! Just step back into the room! I’ll be up soon, just please! Please ! Go inside!” I pleade.

“No!” He shouts.

“Patrick! Please !” I cry out.

“Why should I!?” He’s sobbing, swaying at the edge and making me nervous. Where the fuck were Andy and Joe?

“Because! You’re the only reason I’m even alive right now!” I admit shakily, “I need you, Patrick!”

He seems shocked but he steps down and goes inside. I run up the stairs as fast as my legs could carry me. Patrick is sitting on the floor in tears, I don’t say a word and just hold him, wrapping my arms around his plump body and I just sit there with him. It’s a long time before either of us say anything, hours actually.

He tells me how worthless he feels, useless, pathetic, stupid, good for nothing… Every word that comes from his mouth is untrue. My chest begs to spill all the words that come to mind when I think of him but my brain uses logic and better judgement to tell him all the things he is to everybody and not just to me. I sit and watch him as he listens to me, not believing a single word.

“Patrick, trust me, you’re perfect. You take whatever you're given and make is a million times better… That’s more than I can say, I only want what I can’t have. ”

He nods and rests his head on my shoulder, “I bet that’s not true, Pete, I know that it isn’t.”

It’s more true than he could ever realize.

And “From now on we’re enemies” was born.

|||

By ‘ Infinity on High ’ I was struggling to hide the fact that I was violently and painfully in love with the short lead singer that I wrote album after album about, he obviously was blind, not noticing all of those little things that were shoved into every song that I stole from our lives.

It caused a lot of tension between us, not that I was keeping secrets, he didn’t even know that I was really. It’s just that it was becoming hard for me to do anything involving him without wanting to scream my love for him from the top of my lungs.

My little fantasies becoming too strong that I ended up not even writing a full album confessing my love in some weird, fucked up way, but rather one song where I basically just shout that I love him and hope he gets it.

Yes, the other songs did have their moments where I spilled my guts into a line or two or maybe a whole verse or two but mostly they were bone dry of my emotion, saving it up for a bonus track that would barely even be heard.

I toss and turn in bed, my mind spinning from the thoughts floating through. Patrick. Just everything about him made my chest hurt and body weak. He turned me to mush just by existing.

My mind plays back the swaying of his hips, you know, the thing he does on stage where he kind of grinds his guitar. I could never tell if it was on purpose or if he was just teasing. And the leg thing he does to keep to the beat, well, that’s how it started but now it was just a thing he did because it was habit, like when a person bounces their leg while sitting or drums on things with anything they can, just a subconscious tic really.

I also think of the way he says things or when he speaks in any of those languages, especially French. The way he moans in his songs, as if it were the best sex he’d ever had.

I can’t help but to imagine here and there either, the way he moves, but on me this time, or just for me. Lips pressed close to mine.

I've loved everything about you that hurts.

I try to trade baby blues, for wide-eyed browns , anything that doesn’t belong to him but it doesn't stop me from sleeping with his old shirts that he’s left here. They somehow still smell so much like him, so sweet.

And I've traced your shadows on the wall.

Now I kiss them whenever I'm down...

It’s nights like these, the ones with thoughts like those, that it gets so bad that I almost pick up the phone. Nights like these I almost tell him.

|||

This album is the one I couldn’t pour my heart into. I was rapidly losing Patrick. He and I were unable to communicate anymore.

I can’t remember,

The good old days.

He was bitter and hostile over nothing in particular.

I was bitter and hostile over the fact that I was in love with my best friend.

My mind is a safe with all the secrets I’ve compiled into it in the past nine years of knowing him. It would feel so dirty to let it all out even if it would relieve the tension that repelled us like magnets.

If I keep it in we all get rich . If I let it all out then it ruins everything that we built.

I watch Patrick often. He’s not happy anymore. He’s not Patrick anymore. Are all the good times getting gone?

They come and go and come and go.

I missed when Patrick was a happy person, when his smile made butterflies soar within me. I miss when he’d hug me for no reason other than he just was happy. I miss when he’d get close to me, like the kind of close that’s way too close.

I just miss what he used to be.

What we used to be.

And that makes me realize, if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked.

|||

In the studio on July Fourth of 2007 when everything explodes. It’s a blur in my mind. Patrick and I screaming at each other. Joe and Andy had left hours ago, their parts were done. I was trying to help.

“You fucking idiot! Look what you did! It’s gone!” He yells over a song that he had been piecing together. It was an easy fix but he was at the end of his rope and it looks like he just hung himself with it, “You can’t do anything right! Agh! This is why I hate you!” He yells and slams his fist on the mixing station.

“Fuck you, Patrick! I try so hard to fucking please you but all you do is bitch! You’re never happy with anything! No wonder everybody leaves you!” I know I was harsh but I was having a breakdown and my mind was collapsing on me, “I would fucking leave too! I would never miss you if I fucking left either!”

“Then why the fuck haven’t you!?” He cries out with his fists balled at his sides, “Just leave already foc fuck sakes!” He slams me back into a table, causing a candle that was lit to hit the floor and light an old curtain ablaze. This triggered the fire alarms and the sprinklers go off.

The fire goes out without our aid and once the sudden sense of panic leaves, Patrick begins to laugh. Not nervous, iffy laughter, but full on, head thrown back, barely able to stand, can’t catch your breath kind of laughing. And he looks so beautiful.

He looks so happy.

So good…

We are alive here in this moment.

That’s when I kiss him.

The past nine years of feelings spill out and not onto paper this time, all over Patrick himself as I slam him up against the wall and kiss him with my all. My all isn’t enough to convey the way I love him.

Nothing is enough for him.

He’s kissing me back.

‘Cause we are alive,

Here in Death Valley.

Which is where I push my love down your throat and you push your frustration out through it in the form of lying through your tongue.

But don’t take love off the table yet…

‘Cause tonight,

It’s just fire alarms and losing you...

I think it’s love, with the way you are with me, the way we are together for a while, almost a real couple, until you stop the calls and texts and the band breaks up.

/|\

That song is so special that I wrote it three years in advance. In the three years while Patrick did his thing and Joe did his and Andy did his and I didn’t do anything…

All that I ended up doing was failing in the one thing I thought I could fucking get right.

Down a bottle of pills and fall asleep.

Why was I an idiot?

Though, that incident brought me close to Patrick again, that incident brought me to the recording studio where I had to listen to Patrick blatantly sing about the night he left me high and dry after (somewhat) admitting that I was in love with him.

He still didn’t get that it meant more than nothing.

For a brilliant man, Patrick Stump sure is a motherfucking oblivious idiot.

|||

And finally it all brought us here. To the song where I give up hiding the little things in it and flat out say that every song is about him.

It was the fourth of July, 2013. Him and I were laying out on my roof. The sky was bright that night, the fireworks hadn’t begun quite yet.

Patrick wraps an arm around me and slides close and I look at him in shock. He smiles at me, “It’s cold.” He mumbles.

What if I kissed him?

My mind instantly jumped and I shook it away.

“Yeah it is.” I agree so he’ll stay close.

You are my favorite "what if".

You are my best "I'll never know".

We lay like this for far too long. The fireworks come and go and he’s still there. He’s still there as if he’d never left.

I said I'd never miss you...

But I guess you never know…

I just wish he knew how much it hurt for him to hold me and not feel anything. I wish he cared enough to know .

/|\

We’re in the studio, it’s July of 2015 when we finally get around to making a new album. This is when I finally get to have the only song that matters framed forever with his beautiful voice.

I’d struggled with the bridge more than I’d like to admit. But either way, I knew Patrick would make it work and it’d be beautiful (and forgotten) as always.

I sit out in the mixing booth, watching Patrick through the glass, He holds his headphones on his head with one hand, his phone in front of him with the other to read the lyrics.

“I wish I'd known the ways to word it… I wish I tried enough for you... Oh, I'm sorry every song's about you… The torture of small talk…  With someone you used to love.” He got it to sound amazing but he shakes his head, waving a hand around slightly, “No… I-... No.” He makes eye contact with me and I can tell this finally made him realize.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“It’s not that the lyrics are bad but I-... Could I try something?” He practically begs.

“Yeah, go ahead… You’re the singer, doesn’t matter to me.” And I was dismissed.

“Okay.” He steps up to the microphone again and regains his position from before.

“Whenever you’re ready.” I nod and start the track again.

“I wish I'd known how much you loved me… I wish I cared enough to know… I'm sorry every song's about you… The torture of small talk, with someone you used to love.” He gives a thumbs up and I can’t function enough to do just about anything.

Joe steps in and turns the track off and the recording.

“Is that okay? I’ve had that for a long time… It was supposed to be for my solo album but it didn’t fit.” Patrick chuckles weakly.

“Like Miss Missing You?” Andy chimes in.

“Yeah, just like that, but these lyrics meant more to me.” He stares at me as he says it. I shiver as if he’d just poured ice all over my body.

“It’s close to midnight and I’m exhausted, Patrick, please don’t do the ‘ it’s not perfect ’ thing, as always , and fucking make us stay here all night.”  Joe scolds.

“I think that’s good for tonight. You guys can leave. I’m going to stay and mend some loose ends.” He still watches me as he speaks.

“Okay, well, peace out fuckers.” Joe holds up a peace sign as he leaves the room.

“I’ve gotta go before Joe leaves me here again. Bye guys!” Andy hurries after his lover, leaving Patrick and I alone with a glass barrier between us.

He stares at me for a long time, and I stare back.

Eventually he breaks his gaze and pulls off the headphones and hangs them off the mic stand. He gingerly makes his way to the door and pushes it open, stepping into the mixing room with me.

“So…” He mumbles as he steps looks at the floor, body turned in my direction as the door clicks shut behind him.

“So…” I hum back, looking up at him from my seat.

“All those songs really are about me?” He asks, playing with his small hands.

“Well, yeah… It was pretty obvious.” I huff softly at the dumb question. Of course they were about him, who else would I write any of that about!?

“I just… I thought I was overthinking it.” He shrugs, “I never saw you as one to fall in love with someone like me, especially a boy at that.” He murmurs.

In all the years I’d known him he didn’t even know I was into boys.

“I heard a rumor…” He starts and pauses, “A really long time ago… Freshman year of high school actually… I heard a friend, of a friend, of a friend had heard that Pete Wentz was a boy who liked to kiss boys. I thought, maybe I’m not the only one. Maybe I’m not different. So I followed you around… You weren’t like any of the boys that have ever liked to kiss other boys that I’d ever seen so I thought that it couldn’t be true… But I continued to follow you and you seemed like a prick but, you were a pretty cute prick so it was okay… Then I asked you to be in my band and you always wrote songs about people, people that I assumed were not me… I… I’ve always wanted them to be about me and I’ve always wanted to kiss that boy that a friend, of a friend, of a friend told me about that also happened  to like kissing boys.” He rambles on and on but I hold onto each word as if it were going to be his last.

“And I knew that you were a boy who liked to kiss other boys that were not like me, and also were not me, so, I spilled my feelings into words on pages that barely made any sense, half hoping you’d get it and half hoping you’d never take a second glance at it.” I say, “I’m a boy, who just so happens to like kissing a boy that he’s hopelessly in love with… A boy named Patrick Stump.”

His baby-blues meet my wide-eyed browns.

And his toned pink lips meet mine.

There are no fire alarms or sprinklers or losing him.

Right now it’s just him and I, Patrick and Pete, together with our mouths connecting like the land with the sky, colliding like the moon and sun, fitting like broken halves that found each other.

We found each other, we are all of it, we are more than the songs written for each other, we are us.

Patrick and Pete.

Pete and Patrick.

No longer alone, with the songs to bind our words.

‘Til death do us part.

As a future promise.

But right now, here with my eyes closed and Patrick on top of me I realize, I never have to write a song to numb the pain again because now I don’t have to bottle it all up inside, I can just tell him.

“I love you.”

[beaniesandmilkshakes]

ash and smoke - bughead (1/?)

summary:  A civil war is brewing between the north and south sides of Riverdale, being fueled by none other than the mayor Hal Cooper. When Betty meets the mysterious Southside Serpent Jughead Jones at a party, the revolution is only just sparking. It isn't until the town is burning to ash around them that they confess their love, but by then it might just be too late.

excerpt: “He’s bad news Betty, probably just as bad as his dad,” Cheryl finished, turning back towards the road.

“Well then, thank God we’re never going to see any of those Serpents again,” Veronica sighed. “I haven’t seen people that drunk since I was back in New York.”

“Yeah,” Betty said softly, her mind still lingering on Jughead Jones’s eyes.

author’s note: hello, I’m back! unfortunately, I do not think I’ll be continuing Out Of My Leauge for a while, therefore putting it on indefinite hiatus. but this fic is one that I’ve been thinking about starting for a while, especially after ep 13 with Jughead and the Serpents. hope you enjoy this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

ao3 link

masterpost

"If this is to end in fire

Then we should all burn together

Watch the flames climb high into the night"

- Ed Sheeran, I See Fire

“You’ve got to be kidding me Cheryl,” Betty Cooper’s jaw dropped in awe at what her friend had just suggested.

“What? You’re the one who picked dare,” The redhead rolled her eyes, checking her polished nails.

“But having the mayor’s daughter crash a Serpent rager? Cheryl, you’ve got to be insane!” Veronica Lodge added, her eyes flicking between her best friend and the head cheerleader. Cheryl looked to Veronica, thinking for a minute before responding.

“Then we can all crash the party.” She said without hesitation. The rest of the River Vixens gasped in horror, staring at Cheryl as if she had three heads. “What? It’s just a party on the southside,”

“Cheryl, the Serpents can smell fear, we’ll get pummeled.” Ginger said, nervously twirling a lock of her brown hair around her finger.

“Yeah, okay, there’s no way in hell I’m going to the southside,” Shiela raised her hands in surrender. “I quit,” The majority of the girls nodded and got up to sit on the other side of Cheryl’s gothic bedroom. Betty and Veronica moved to follow suit, but a harsh voice stopped them.

“Wow Betty, backing down from a dare? What a surprise, you Coopers are weak .” Cheryl spat. Betty’s blood ran cold, clenching her fists as she turned back to face the smug redhead.

“You know what Cheryl, I think I’m suddenly in the party mood,” The blonde said in a sickeningly sweet voice, a fake smile plastered on her face. Cheryl’s immediately perked up, satisfied at the reaction she got out of Betty.

“Perfect! Veronica, you drive. Let’s go.”

“Oh Dios,” Veronica murmured. “It’s going to be a long night.”

Betty shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the three girls neared the party. Being the daughter of Mayor Hal Cooper meant that people knew her face; and considering the lack of funding her father was focusing on the south side, she wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome.

It wasn’t like things were totally perfect between the north and south side of Riverdale to begin with, but the tension had risen exponentially since Hal Cooper’s election. Betty’s father’s campaign had focused on creating better lives for all citizens of Riverdale, but as soon as he was elected, proceed to pretend like anyone who lived past Creedence Avenue didn’t exist. Saying the south side population was upset would be an understatement. Now Betty found herself standing on Serpent turf, in her Riverdale High cheer uniform.

“Stop stalling and just go in, Cooper,” Cheryl huffed, her hands on her hips.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, B,” Veronica said softly, placing a hand on Betty’s shoulder. Betty took a deep breath and shot her friend a thankful look.

“Thanks, but I’m already here, aren’t I?”

“Ugh, you’re taking too long, let’s go.” Cheryl grabbed Betty’s other arm and pulled her into the party.

The first thing Betty noticed was the heavy stench of marijuana and alcohol. Hundreds of teens were packed into an old abandoned house on the edge of the Riverdale/Greendale border, and yet all of them still turned their heads at the three River Vixen’s grand entrance. Betty immediately shrunk behind her two friends when hushed whispers rippled throughout the house, eyes burning into her forehead.

“How long do we have to stay Cheryl?” Veronica asked, raising her eyebrows at two boys who were blatantly staring at her ass.

“We drove all the way down here, might as well stay a couple hours,” Cheryl answered, unphased by the dirty looks sent her way from various partygoers. Betty and Veronica shared a look of uncertainty, knowing that they probably wouldn’t even last a couple of minutes here.

“Well, I’m going to look around for a drink, try not to get roofied while I’m gone,” Cheryl smiled. With a hair flip, she was gone, leaving the remaining two girls awkwardly standing in the entryway, unsure of what to do with themselves.

“Want to try and find a place to hideout until Cheryl get’s bored?” Veronica offered.

“Hell yes,”

It had been twenty minutes and Betty and Veronica had barely made their way upstairs. People were so tightly packed together, it was impossible to move from room to room.

“I think I can get us through towards the stairs, just follow me,” Veronica shouted over the blaring music, and Betty nodded, blindly following her friend. They weaved through the mob of people, ignoring the slurs and glance aimed towards them. They had almost made it to the stairs until Betty came face-to-chest with someone.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry–” Betty stopped when she realized who she just bumped into. She didn’t know every member of the Southside Serpents, but she sure could spot a member. He towered over the blonde, his frame at least two times the size of her’s; yet the telltale sign of his alliance to the Serpents was the thick leather jacket that the man wore with pride. He looked Betty up and down, smirking as his eyes fell across the giant yellow R embroidered across her chest.

“Well, what do we have here?” The man drawled, grabbing the attention of nearby dancers, most of whom had sly grins on their face as they watched the scene in front of them.

“Uh, I’m so sorry for bumping into you, it was a total accident. Now, if you could just let me past so I can catch up with my friend …” An eerie smile tugged at the Serpent’s lips that sent chills down Betty���s spine.

“What’s the rush sweetheart, I wanna know what a pure little thing like you is doing here in the bad part of town,” She felt her throat tighten, remembering what Ginger had said about Serpents being able to smell fear. A bigger crowd was watching them now, and Betty felt the eyes staring at her yet again, only this time they set her body on fire, and she’s choking on the smoke that’s suffocating her.

“I j-just came here to have some fun, now if you’d excuse me–” The Serpent chuckled, stepping in front of her as she tried to sidestep him. He leaned in so he was only inches away from her face, and Betty could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath.

“Why don’t we have a little fun together?” He moved to touch her, and Betty closed her eyes to stop the tears from spilling over. ‘This can’t be happening,’ She thought to herself.

“Vince, if I were you I’d stop,” A voice said, causing Betty’s eyes to open. There was a boy standing on the bottom of the staircase, a tight expression on his face. He wore the same leather jacket as the man in front of Betty, only this boy was wearing a beanie over his dark hair that acted as a crown. People parted as the boy made his way down the stairs and towards where the two were standing. The Serpent, Vince, smirked at him.

“Aw, c’mon Jughead, we’re just having a little fun,”

“Well, you’re scaring the damn girl dude. I’d suggest you back off before her dad finds out she’s here.” Betty winced at the mention of her father and Vince looked back at her, his eyes widening as he pieced two and two together. He shrugged off his shock, clapping the boy Jughead’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna go see if Harvey has a blunt left, see ya Jug,” As Vince walked towards the backyard, Betty felt a wave of relief wash over her. Now all she had to do was find Veronica and Cheryl and they could get the hell out of here and go back to Thornhill. As she turned back towards the exit, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Betty turned and found herself looking into Jughead’s blue eyes.

“Hey, sorry about Vince, he get’s pretty handsy when he’s drunk. You okay?” He asked, and there was something about the tone of his voice that made Betty believe he was sincere. Before she got the chance to respond, she heard her name being called.

“Betty! We’ve been looking all over for you!” Veronica rushed to her friend’s side, ignoring the boy in front of them. Cheryl didn’t miss who the blonde was talking to, and quickly rushed towards her two friends, grabbing them both firmly by their arms.

“Let’s go, we’re leaving now,” She said harshly, already pulling them through the crowd of people before Betty or Veronica could realize Cheryl was doing.

“What the hell Cheryl, why are you in such a hurry?” Veronica asked bitterly.

“I’ll explain more in the car, let’s just get out of here,”

As Veronica peeled away from the party, going as fast as she could (per Cheryl’s request), Betty noticed the boy who had saved her from Vince standing on the front stoop of the house, watching the car speed down the unkempt gravel road.

“Okay, now can you explain why you were suddenly so eager to leave?” Betty asked from the backseat, locking eyes with Cheryl through the rearview mirror. The redhead sighed and focused her attention on the road ahead.

“Well, for starters, there was no good booze by the time I found the bar,” Betty scoffed. “And second of all, do you have any idea who you were talking to when Ronnie and I found you?”

“Some guy named Jughead, he saved me from this creep who was trying to feel me up.” Cheryl turned back to face her friend, a cross of worry and fear in her eyes, something Betty had never seen in all her years of knowing her.

“Betty, that was Jughead Jones, the heir to the Southside Serpents.”

“What?” Betty laughed. “There’s an heir to the Serpents?”

“His dad’s the ringleader, he just went off the radar and Sheriff Keller’s been looking everywhere for him.” Betty had a vague memory of Kevin talking about his dad trying to find some drug lord, but Jughead didn’t seem like the son of the Serpent King. “He’s bad news Betty, probably just as bad as his dad,” Cheryl finished, turning back towards the road.

“Well then, thank God we’re never going to see any of those Serpents again,” Veronica sighed. “I haven’t seen people that drunk since I was back in New York.”

“Yeah,” Betty said softly, her mind still lingering on Jughead Jones’s eyes.

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