#ems21st

[seashellrosekitty]

The Last Dance | Chapter Five

Author’s Note: Wow, this has been the longest time I took for a break in writing for any of my fics. I apologize for the year and months it took! I hope y’all will like this one anyway. <3 I’m grateful for @spxderbarnes for the last challenge two years ago (OMG IT WAS THAT LONG AGO). ❤️

Plot: 1940s post-war era. Steve and Bucky are brothers and are teenagers, and they never served in the army because they were too young to join during the war. You find out you’re pregnant with Steve’s baby. Both Steve’s and your parents arrange for you and Steve to get married, but Steve declines. Ultimately, his father offers his other son, James (later known as Bucky), to marry you in Steve’s place.

Word Count: 3.2k 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader (eventually)

Warnings: 18+ Content! Teenage pregnancy, arranged marriage, religious theme, sexist theme, fluff, smut (of course), angst, Steve being a cold jerk, characters coming from the comics (i.e. Bucky’s family), MCU characters appearing in this era (i.e. Bruce is your younger brother and some others who will appear in the next chapters).

AO3

Chapter Four - The Wedding

Chapter Title: The City (Part One)

One week after the wedding. Manhattan, New York.

The days went by so fast. It has been incredibly awkward being with James in the past couple of weeks. It still feels like yesterday when you first found out you were pregnant. When you first told Steve about it. And when you danced in the cafe. It may have only happened three weeks ago - all that drama and heartache and the engagement. But your feelings for Steve haven’t changed at all. You still loved him the way you always have even before all this. Yet, despite the strength of your love, you can’t help but feel distant from Steve. You called it a nostalgic sadness - if it makes any sense. It’s been almost three weeks since the last time you have spoken to him. And you knew that James would surely let you know if Steve had sent you a letter. He simply didn’t.

You thought of all this while removing your makeup in front of your vanity. James was seated on the edge of the bed, staring blankly in the air, as if his gaze was far away. You noticed.

“James? Something bothering you?” You asked him, your voice softly reaching his ears. He turned his head to face you then he smiled on one side of his face as he sighed heavily. 

“Just thinkin’ about us, doll,” he paused, realizing he may have said something he didn’t mean. “Living in the city’s gonna cost us.” Being married to James guaranteed a life away from both your families. You would have loved to still be at home with your mother and to see Bruce everyday - be in that kind of living situation where you only have to worry about school and your chores. But now, you sat looking at the young man seated in a bed you share with him, and you held your slowly growing tummy. Things will never be the same, you thought to yourself.

“That’s okay. I’ll find a job too,” you offered. Both your family and James’ agreed that he will drop out of school so he could find a job and support you both, while you could finish your senior year. The apartment that you’re renting was funded by both your and James’ parents. So now, the rest is up to you and him.

“No,” he denied gently. “We’ve talked about this, remember? You’ll finish school this year.” His voice felt warm, his tone almost begging. You stood up from the stool of your vanity and walked towards him.

“But it’s not fair, James. Not to you.” You sat beside him and realized how you’re still not used to being beside him in bed, but you kept your cool. “None of this is ever fair to you, ok? I can go back to school next year.”

“After you’ve had your baby? We won’t have enough money for school and for the baby. We gotta be smart about this, doll.”

“And was it smart of you to marry me, James?” He gave you a small smile that you couldn’t exactly define, except that it was a good one. He gently took your hand and squeezed it tenderly.

“You should stop doubting me, doll.” He clicked his tongue as he glanced away, then looked back into your eyes and said, “You should stop doubting yourself, too.” You didn’t react but you sighed quietly, looking down. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“I don’t wanna go back to school...I don’t think I can, James. Please...you have to agree with me.” He looked at you with concerned eyes and caught his breath when you turned over your hand so you could hold his. He couldn’t imagine how it must be like for you to go back to school with your current state - to have gotten pregnant before graduating and being left by Steve, your baby daddy. All that James could take was how you looked when you begged him with the sincerest eyes. He nodded softly.

“Ok. You’re going back when you’re ready.”

“And I’ll get a job.”

“And you’ll get a job.”

The next day, you explored the morning paper’s ads for a job and wrote a few letters and made a few phone calls from the telephone booth just across your apartment building. James got a job at a construction company. He goes to work at 7 in the morning and comes home around 6 in the evening. The construction site was across Central Park West, he said to you over dinner. They were building a new apartment complex that was meant to be finished in the next two or three years. 

Meanwhile, that afternoon, you spent some time in the kitchen to learn a new dish. You knew how to cook, but you haven’t reached the level of your mother’s cooking just yet. You were still far away from feeding your new family the kind of food you and your little brother have been having yourselves. Simple breakfast meals and mushroom soups have been your menu’s contents for the past couple weeks, and you began to worry that James would miss his mama’s cooking at home. You couldn’t blame him - you missed your mother’s cooking, too. But you still haven’t reconciled with her, not even at your own wedding.

You stood there, blankly browsing through a Majestic Recipes cookbook, which you found in a bookstore that day. It was on sale, and you had some spare change to pay for it. You flipped through a few pages. Your eyes skimmed through details, scanning which recipes looked like the easiest, and that only required what you have in the kitchen. You weren’t having it. Cooking was supposed to be somewhat a mindless thing to do. You’ve noticed your mother cook without having to think so hard, and you began beating yourself up mentally for even overthinking what meal to cook for dinner.

“It’s just one meal, for chrissakes,” You groaned frustratingly, then sighed heavily and immediately went to the living room and turned on the radio. After the static of the radio, the first tunes of trumpets and flutes made you feel comforted. It was an old song, but you knew it pretty well and began swaying your body to the music. Frank Sinatra’s smooth voice began filling the apartment, and you smiled as you walked back to the kitchen. By evening, you learned how easy it was to cook spaghetti with meatballs. You were quite happy with your achievement, as it was nothing you expected. 

Your day was filled with worry - getting a job, not getting back to school, and how on earth were you going to feed yourself and the baby inside you...it was overwhelming, but that night, you found that cooking gave you a therapeutic feeling somehow.

James came home tired, but the moment he stepped foot into the apartment, the expression on his face lifted. There was the smell of cooking tomatoes and beef, onions, and spices, and the whole apartment never felt more alive. Plus, Jazz music was playing on the radio. He put down his dirty and dusty things. You heard it and called out his name. When you turned your face around to look at the kitchen door, he was already standing there, leaning on the doorway, smiling at you. You didn’t realize you were smiling, too.

“I knew it was you. I mean, who else could it be?” You said with delight in you, and you continued, “Look, James! I made spaghetti! I’m confident this time. I tasted the sauce a few times like you told me.” You took a small portion of the tomato sauce in the wooden spoon and walked over to James. “Come, have a taste!” Your excitement made you jiggle where you stood, and he noticed it. You fed him with the spoon. Your palm under his chin, as if you were feeding a small child his food. 

He was hesitant, and perhaps, conscious about how close you were standing. He looked at the spoon and was supposed to taste the sauce, but you interrupted, “I forgot to blow it!” Then you immediately brought the spoon close to your lips and blew the sauce softly. He stared at you as you did so - smiling, and his gaze alternated from your eyes to your lips and went a little out of focus so he could look at the whole of your face. You realized that he was looking when you caught his eyes looking at yours. Then, you slowly brought the spoon back close to his face, in which you softly said, “Here. Should be cool enough.”

He didn’t say anything but smiled and gently held the hand that was holding the spoon, before taking a sip, and his gaze never left you. The skin on your hand had a tingling feeling at the touch of his rough one, but you realized your hand was involuntarily shaking a little, perhaps from all the cleaning and cooking you’ve been doing all afternoon. You swallowed in your throat and held your breath. He hasn’t been this close to your face, or your hand since the night of your wedding.

“Mm, that’s good meat sauce, doll,” he approved with a smile. If there was anyone who was a good cook, it was James, and at that moment, there was nobody else you wanted to show off your new cooking skill but him. “You got me starvin’ all of a sudden. I’ll take a quick shower and come down for dinner, ‘kay? Can’t be standing filthy and stinkin’ ‘round you.” He smiled and headed to the shower. You smiled back then went back to finish cooking. You prepared the table. And then, for a quick moment, you went to the hallway and looked at yourself in the mirror and fixed your hair, and then removed your apron. 

Dinner was lovely, and you had James stuffed with your delicious spaghetti. You told him about the cookbook you bought and about the jobs you applied for that day. There was so much to talk about - so much to look forward to in the next few days, that for a long moment there, you didn’t think of Steve. Of course, he was always at the back of your mind, especially when you were so self-conscious about your growing tummy. But tonight, you did something for yourself and you achieved it on your own, and nobody could take that away from you.

The next morning, you received several reply letters from the companies you applied to the day before; each one practically rejecting your application. Before you got to the last letter, you thought to yourself that you would just have to apply for a job at a diner. Job-hunting was tough. But the last letter bore good news. The Bell Company called you for an interview. You didn’t know for what position yet, but at that point, any would do. 

Your presence was called immediately, and so you rushed for the train and went to the Bell Tower. You arrived at the building at 9:45, but your turn came around at 11:00. A secretary ushered you to the Vice President’s office to meet a man named Brock Rumlow. You’ve never seen a man like Brock Rumlow before. He was wearing a suit, but you could still tell that he was muscular. Unlike most men in suits in New York, Brock Rumlow had handsome facial hair. His dark hair pulled nicely to the back. He greeted you formally.

“Well, Mrs. Barnes, you’re much younger than I expected. Please, have a seat.” He shook your hand and sat down. You shyly took your seat and maintained a calm composure. “I’ve looked at your references and...there’s pretty much...none.” You looked down hearing his remark.

“Nothing to worry, though. I know your story. Newly-wed, expecting a child and all that.” You were surprised that he knew, but you figured that the secretary must have told him. She got a bit chatty with you while you were waiting for your turn. “Where’s your husband now?”

“Oh, he’s working down at Central Park West. Construction.”

“Ah. Hardworking fellow. Good. You both must be pretty excited having your first child.”

You hesitated but smiled at him. “Yes, sir. He’s quite the family man, my husband. What about you? Any kids, Mr. Rumlow?” For a moment there, you couldn’t say where those words came from. It felt almost as if you were both there and out of it. One thing was certain to you: talking about your family made you feel uncomfortable.

“Me? Ah, no. Never been married. And please, call me Brock,” he said, his smile creating creases in his cheeks that made him more handsome. You smiled a little, then nodded. “Well, I understand you haven’t finished high school yet, but we don’t discriminate here at Bell Co. You’ll be put in a position where you will learn everything you’re going to do in your job. No need for prior experience, lucky for you.”

“What?” You asked with surprise and delight in your tone. He smiled nodding at you.

“You got the job, Mrs. Barnes.” He stood up and shook your hand. You asked him to call you by your name as you thanked him and shook back his hand. He asked you to come to work the following day and report under Mr. Fury in Operations. 

You got home bearing the best news since the last time you remembered having one. You decided to visit James at work since it’s probably just about time for his lunch break. You took quite a walk trying to figure out where the construction site was. You managed to stop for some sandwiches you could bring to James. Besides, you were already starving from all that waiting for the interview.

Finally, you arrived at a construction site that looked block-wide judging from the heavy noise of the construction and the trucks and machines inside. It had a large tarpaulin around the barricades of the site and it read: Belleview Apartments. You were not certain, but it was about the right address, so you asked around for a James Barnes. The moment you mentioned his name, a woman repeated it, as if to confirm if she heard you right. 

You turned around looking for that husky voice. Behind you stood a striking woman with red hair and the softest profile in a woman you’ve ever seen. Her lipstick was redder than her hair, and unlike the men in the construction site, there was no hint of dust or crumbs of lumber in her.

“Hi. Natasha Romanov. I’m the Man around here - if you know what I mean.” She reached out to shake your hand and you reached back to shake it and return the smile. “I see you’re looking for Barnes. Are you his sister?” You smiled, pretending it wasn’t awkward to say the next few words.

“No, umm..I’m his wife.” You smiled shyly. One of Ms. Romanov’s eyebrows raised as she looked at you from head to toe as quickly as she could.

“Ah, the famous Mrs. Barnes. Pleasure to meet you. You’re just in time. The men will come down to have their lunch in five minutes. I suggest you wait here.”

“Of course. Thank you, Ms. Romanov. Um, there’re so many workers here. You know everyone?” You asked curiously as you observed the site around you.

“Almost everyone. But mostly those who stand out, you know? Your husband is one of them. He usually keeps to himself, but he’s got a mind in there. Never a dull moment with him,” She said with a smile.

“Yes, he is,” was all you could say.

“Well, I better not waste your time and tell him his cute wife is here. Excuse me, Ms. Barnes.” You exchanged smiles then she left you standing near the entrance of the site, just under the roofed booth where the workers timed in and out. It was the second time that day that you were addressed with your new last name. It felt strange, still. And sometimes both James’ and Steve’s faces would pop in your head when somebody calls you by your new last name.

Among the crowd of men, it took a minute for you to spot James, and when you did, he has already spotted you. He smiled and waved at you. He yelled your name. That charming smile still hasn’t been erased from his face. You waved back and then he ran towards you.

“Natasha told me you were here,” he said with a smile. “How are you?” You noticed he was almost going to give you a kiss on the cheek, but all he managed was brushing a finger on your elbow. “Are you ok? Is it the baby?” He caught his breath, so you asked him to cool down. With a delighted smile, you said:

“I’m ok, James. I brought us lunch. Could we sit somewhere private?”

“Yo, Barnes! That your wife? She’s a looker,” remarked James’s workmate.

“Hey, you ever learn to shut up?” He hissed at the guy without hesitation.

“Hey,” You softly called.

“What? He was hittin’ on you.” Just like that, the smile on his face was replaced by furrowed brows and clenching jaws. “I never liked that guy. Come on, let’s sit in the park.” He took you to a nearby bench just by the entrance of the park. There, you told him your big news. He congratulated you excitedly. That smile was back there again, and his eyes twinkled when they looked at you.

“They’re putting me in operations. I think I’ll be answering phone calls and transferring people through lines, you know?”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Just good you won’t be runnin’ ‘round fetchin’ random stuff or somethin’. Wouldn’t want you moving more than you should.” You gave him a smile.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m pretty excited.” There was a pause as you both ate your sandwiches. “So...this Miss Romanov woman...she’s very pretty. She Russian?”

“Yeah. Think she grew up ‘ere. Can’t hear any Russian accent from ‘er,” he remarked as he kept a portion of the sandwich in one side of his mouth. “She’s pretty popular among the men. Obviously. But she’s no ordinary dame, y’know. No guy could fool that woman. She’s like, the most together woman I’ve ever known, y’know?”

You chuckled softly. “You two close?” He snorted and then laughed.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I mean, she’s not like most girls I meet. She’s pretty cool, but we’re not that close.” After a short pause, he asked, “Why? You jealous?” He was grinning when you looked at him.

“Haha, very funny, James. Can’t a girl wonder? Besides, she said you stood out among the men. That must’ve counted for somethin’. Maybe she likes you.”

“OK, look. I know you and I are friends, doll. But you gotta stop this, okay?” He held your wrist gently. “I don’t know what you’re thinking. Maybe you’re just bein’ nice and all. But this ain’t helpin’ either of us. We’re married now. It’s complicated as it is. We can’t -”

“I know. I’m sorry...I just didn’t want you to be unhappy. You know, if there’s someone you liked or somebody you wanted to date, I wouldn’t stop you...just because we’re married. And Miss Romanov - Natasha, it’d be a waste if you two liked each other and you’re here stuck with me.”

“And what, have an affair with her while being married to you?” He joked. “Trust me, doll. She don’t like me like that,” he said with a smile. “Now, let’s just eat in peace.”

To be continued in

Chapter Six - The City (Part Two)

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x you #marvel #mcu #the last dance fic #bucky barnes mcu #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #ems21st

[duskholland]

Break His Heart - Harrison Osterfield

Summary: It seemed simple in the moment: complete a task, gain monetary reward... But in reality? Breaking a stranger’s heart is about to get a whole lot more complicated than you’d bargained for...

Word count: 6.4k (lads we’re going on a journey together pls buckle up)

Warnings: Bit of swearing, heavy on the angst, heavy on the fluff. Talks of sexual activity, but nothing detailed. Bish bash bosh.

A/N: So! This is crazy! I subconsciously channelled some serious PLL/A vibes as I wrote this, but promise it shouldn’t get as cringey as that show lmao. Is this the most fun I’ve had writing all year? You betcha. I’ve never written for Harrison before, so I’m actually bloody terrified that the work I put into this is going to go unread, so please... Read, reblog, comment... I’m dying to hear some responses to this!

This was written as my contribution to @spxderbarnes ‘ writing challenge! My theme was money, and I honestly had the best time writing this. Thanks so much for hosting such a fun challenge Em! Hope ya like this <3

---------

It’s a bad idea. You know it’s a bad idea.

It’s unfair. Manipulative. Completely despicable. You know you shouldn’t, yet…

“A hundred quid?!” You echo, eyes wide. You can feel your pulse quicken just from the thought of having that extra cash in your bank account. “Are you… Are you sure?”

The girl nods. You can’t really make out the features of her face, but you know she’s blonde, about six foot tall, and called Freya. She pulled you aside a little earlier in the night, started feeding you shots, and now you’re here; hustled together in the back corner of the club, speaking in hushed shouts. Your mind is fuzzy, but you can understand what she’s asking all the same.

“One hundred pounds,” she confirms, grinning slyly. “All you have to do is break his heart. If you do a good job, I might be tempted to increase it.”

Oh, now she’s really got you hooked.

“And he’s that one in the corner?” You check, turning slightly. With a hand, you gesture loosely to the other side of the club where there’s a group of lads standing together, laughing hysterically over something unimportant. The man in question wears a red varsity jacket, has a coiffed blond quiff, and every time he moves, the rings wrapped around his fingers glint beneath the strobe light.

“Harrison,” she confirms, spitting the name through pursed lips. She releases a noise that sounds a little like a hiss. “Can you do it?”

You nod slowly, thoughts swirling through your mind. You’re not a mean person - not by any means - but the thought of that extra money…

“Yeah, I’ll do it. Just… Why?”

Freya’s eyes betray nothing as she offers you her hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

You wrap your fingers in hers, ignoring the whirring sirens pounding through your head. Her grip is warm and firm as you shake on it, and when you pull away, your heart feels considerably heavier.

“I’ll text you in the morning,” she says, voice cool. “You have a month.”

And before you have time to let your doubts manifest further, she slips away, sashaying across and out of the club in a bright red dress. As she goes, you notice the way Harrison turns to stare at her, his eyes following her as a shadow of regret travels across his face. She slips out a moment later, and as if realising he’s the subject of an incredibly inquisitive stare, Harrison turns and spots you, your eyes meeting for a brief moment before you turn away, embarrassed.

His gaze stays on you for a moment. When you look back, you catch the end of it, and watch as his expression stays blank, unyielding, dismissive, before he turns away and goes back to his friends. You can’t help but frown.

Maybe seducing Harrison is going to be harder than you’d first imagined…

---------

The following morning you wake to a flurry of texts and a heart full of regret. Top of them all is Freya, her texts causing you to groan loudly.

Freya: Harrison always goes out on a Wednesday morning to the cafe on Parker Street. I think you should go there when you wake up. Freya: Just in case you’re thinking of backing out, remember we shook on it. £100 is yours if you last the month. Freya: I want a big, dramatic breakup too. He needs to be destroyed.

You look at your room, noting the peeling wallpaper, dirty carpet stains and heaps of old clothes stacked in piles. Guilt mixes with regret, but you know you can’t back out; not only did you agree to do it, but you need the money. Your bank account has £1.12, with rent due again at the end of the month. You can’t miss up an opportunity like this, not as a broke university student drowning in student loans.

So it’s with much reluctance that you get up and pull on some clean clothes, grab a quick breakfast bar, and vault out of your flat, beginning the short walk to the café a few streets away. It’s a busy January morning, the air holding a sharp bite of cold, so you’re relieved to push yourself into the café and feel the swell of warm air wash over you. You flex your fingers as you get into the queue, finishing up prodding your frozen cheeks as you try to get your circulation moving again.

Thankfully fate seems to be on your side this morning. Just as you’re going up to collect your tea, you look around and see Harrison nestled away in a corner booth, a large laptop set up on the wooden table. You startle, somehow not expecting to see him, and feel a bunch of nerves take hold of your body. You wrap your shaking fingers around your tea and attempt to put them aside as you slowly walk towards him, knowing the sweet promise of £100 lies in your ability to hit it off after this first conversation.

He looks up as you approach, pale blue eyes meeting yours. An instinctive smile twitches over your lips as you gesture at the free seat across from him.

“Hey,” you start, stumbling over your words a little, “Do you mind if I sit here?”

His eyes sweep the rest of the café, no doubt taking in the multiple free tables.  A beat passes, and then much to your surprise and imminent relief, he nods. His mouth returns the quiet grin. “Yeah, ‘course.” He reaches out and moves stacks of paper aside, the glint of his ring catching your eye. “I’m Harrison.”

You slip down into the seat, giving him your best welcoming smile. “Y/N,” you reply. You feel your heartbeat slow as he closes his laptop, giving you his undivided attention. Going by the open inquisition in his eyes, he doesn’t seem to remember you from the night before.

“What brings you here then, Y/N?” He asks, voice smooth. He runs a hand through his loose blond curls, tongue slipping out to wetten his lower lip, and for the first time, you find yourself thinking that he looks cute.

“A friend recommended it to me,” you explain. You pause to take a quick sip of your tea. “It’s lovely here.” You gesture at the large windows, vintage furniture, and end with a cheeky wave in his direction. “So many different things to look at.”

Harrison’s eyes glint with amusement as he laughs, the rich sound bouncing around the room. “It’s a lot nicer since you walked in,” he replies, causing you to giggle. A warm silence envelopes you both, until, “Right, I’m going to go get another coffee.” He ambles up slowly, a large grey hoodie drowning out his figure. He meets your eyes, and the intensity you find in them causes a shiver to travel down your spine. “Don’t go anywhere, please,” he adds, voice softer.

You nod and he walks off to join the queue, occasionally looking back at you to smile or wave.

Just from that, you can tell you’ve had partial success. He’s hooked, and it’s only been a few minutes. Now you just have to reel him in…

---------

It goes well. Really well. Your meeting at the coffee shop morphs into a walk around your local park before ending back at the cafe, the both of you chatting like old friends - or, if you include the flirting in your evaluation, old lovers.

You end up walking down the street towards your flat, your arm nudging against Harrison’s, with real butterflies racing in your heart. For the past few hours, you’ve forgotten your objective: to seduce him before breaking his heart; you’ve simply been living in the moment, and now you’re realising that he’s actually the type of guy you’d go for.

Your breath crystallises in the air as you move beside him, edging closer and closer to your flat. When you reach it, you can’t help but frown, disappointed that your time with Harrison has come to an end. You feel like you were just beginning to know him.

“Right,” you murmur, stilling by the entrance. You look at Harrison, a smile on your face. “This is me. Thanks so much for bringing me back.”

He’s close to you - really close - still wearing that grey hoodie and a pair of dark-washed jeans. A teasing smile lies over his lips as he tilts his head a little to the side, eyes alight with mischief.

“Not gonna say goodbye, love?”

And you laugh, but move closer. A moment of hesitation takes you, only to be washed away when his hands wrap around your waist and he tugs you closer, his body heat seeping through you. Your hands move up, fingers nestling in his curls, and before you know it, you’ve got your lips on his, moving slowly, testingly. He pushes back, deepening the kiss, and though it’s brief, his lips are warm and wet and lovely.

You dive in for a quick peck of his cheek before moving back, face warming considerably as he watches you move towards the large entrance doors, winking obviously.

“Call me!” He hollers after you.

“Will do!”

And then you’re inside, hurrying up to your flat before you can turn back and make a fool of yourself. As soon as you’re back within the safety of your place, you flop down on your sofa and immediately whip out your phone, opening a conversation with Freya.

Y/N: I don’t think I can do this. Harrison’s a good guy, I don’t want to hurt him.

Plus, you’re kinda hoping you can have a relationship with him. It’s only been a few hours, but you know already that he’s someone you could have a great time with.

You only have to wait thirty seconds for a response.

Freya: You don’t know him like I do. Trust me, he’s not a good person. You agreed to this tho, Y/N. I’ll put it up to £200 if I have to.

It’s as if pound signs flash in front of your eyes as you stare at the number, your gaze then moving back to the broken coffee table in front of you. Fuck, you really need that cash…

What’s one boy, anyway? So what if you have a spark with Harrison? There have been people before him, and there will be people after too. It’s not like you need to have him, longterm.

Y/N: Fine. I’ll follow it through. I’m not happy with this tho.

Freya: Good.

And then you quickly delete the conversation and open a new one with Harrison. As you settle into easy conversation with him, you focus on pushing the guilt from your heart.

It’s not technically lying to him, right? You do like him - your heart does flutter a little whenever your phone buzzes with a new text; you did want to kiss him, and you did enjoy it. You can still have a real relationship with him, it’ll just have an invisible timer strapped to the end of it. There’s nothing wrong with that... Right?

---------

Three weeks later you’re over at Harrison’s, and as you stare at the ceiling of his bedroom, recovering your breath, you know you’re absolutely fucked.

It’s spiralled. Everything has spiralled. Your heart, your feelings, your relationship… Fuck. You’ve really messed up.

The bedroom door opens and closes with a soft click, disrupting your thoughts. “Here’s some water,” Harrison greets, voice smooth. He’s wearing a pair of sweats, his sculpted upper half bare and glistening from the warm light of his bedside lamp. His hair lies messily over his skull, his eyes soft and gentle, and he helps you up as you sit up against his headboard, pulling sheets around your naked form.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking a long sip from the glass. Once you’ve drained it, you put it down on a coaster and reach for your discarded t-shirt, pulling that over your head before Harrison can see anymore of you.

Speaking of the man that’s worked your heart into knots, he’s sat on the end of your bed, watching you with a large grin on his face.  “Are you alright?” He asks, scratching his jaw with his slender fingers. “Did you- I guess, did you have a good time?”

You grin lazily, nodding along. “I had a great time.” And you did. You really did.

He was kind and warm and gentle, taking his time to make sure you were well looked after. You felt seen - for the first time in months, it felt as though someone actually saw you and decided they cared for you, and he made you feel really fucking nice. It also felt nice, and now it’s as though your body is overcome with a gentle tingling warmth, and a need to burrow your way into his arms and stay there forever.

Harrison’s a great guy. Truly. Amazing.

Which is why the fact you have to break things off in a week for money is not exactly sitting well with you.

“I’m so glad,” he murmurs, voice quiet. He begins to move up the bed, expression warm. “Can I come up here?”

You shuffle a little to the side, patting the warm spot invitingly. Harrison moves up, and the both of you end up laying down, the lamp flickering off until it’s just you, Harrison, and a darkened room. He begins to speak quietly, his hushed tones driving the dagger further into your heart.

“You know… When I met you the other week, I wasn’t sure where this was going to go, but I never thought we’d end up here.” His hand slips beneath the duvet, catching yours. He links your fingers together and squeezes gently. “But I- And I don’t want to scare you or come on too strongly, or anything, because I know it hasn’t really been that long, love, just-” He pauses, laughing quietly. “I like you, Y/N. A whole lot more than I’d bargained for when you first sat down at my table.”

And you smile sadly because you feel exactly the same. You’d seen the promise of £100 in Harrison’s eyes, but now you can see months and years of happiness in his heart. You can see your relationship progressing, and progressing, and progressing, and-

You can’t do this anymore.

“Is my phone just there?” You mumble, momentarily disregarding all that Harrison’s said. He fumbles for a moment before passing you the device. “Thank you.”

Y/N: I’m not doing this anymore. You can keep the money, it’s not worth it.

You put your phone down before rolling back over, pushing your way into Harrison’s arms and pressing a kiss to his collarbones. You drag your lips over his skin, a smile growing as he chuckles, his arms going to hold your waist.

“I like you a lot too,” you mumble against his skin. You tilt your head and blink up at him, the darkness obscuring all but his lazy grin. Your lips find his and you kiss him until your heart feels warmer.

Your phone bings, disrupting your thoughts.

Freya: You promised. You can’t back out now. Freya: But if you’re determined, I guess it’ll still hurt him to know you only started going out with him for money.

You feel your blood run cold.

“Do you, uh, know someone called Freya?” You ask. Because it’s been playing on your mind for a while, really; why does she want to hurt Harrison? What happened between them that was so intense it forged a path of darkness in her heart?

He stills, halting the circles he was drawing on your lower back. “Yeah.” He sounds harder. “She’s my ex.”

You feel your jaw slacken. “Oh…”

“She thought I cheated on her, but I wouldn’t ever do that to someone.” His voice clips around the edges, his hot breath landing on your forehead. “She took some texts completely out of context and blew up before I could explain them.” He pauses, sighing. “It was a very messy breakup.”

A month ago, you might’ve been inclined to believe Freya: you did, in fact, when she’d looked you in the eyes and told you Harrison deserved to have his heart broken. And it makes sense now: she’d been hurt by him, and wanted him to feel an ounce of that heartache. But that’s wrong.

Anger flares in your chest.

Y/N: You need to move on. This isn’t healthy.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” you whisper, picking up one of Harrison’s hands. You play with his fingers. “She doesn’t sound very nice.”

“No, she wasn’t, in the end.” He brings your hand to his mouth and leaves a soft kiss to the back of it. “‘S alright now, though. I’ve moved on, found someone… Someone really special. That’s all in the past now.”

You hum quietly.

Freya: I will.

Freya: But I’m still going to tell him.

---------

A tantalising few weeks follow.

Freya ignores your texts and calls, leaving you completely in the dark over her next actions. You’re left an anxious mess, terrified that every text is going to be one from her, lording her power over your head, or one from Harrison, his words seething as he curses you out for playing with his heart.

And you know you should tell him. Of course you should tell him. But actually opening your mouth, looking him in the eye and telling him that you only gave him a second look because of a bribe is too hard; you know Harrison well enough now to recognise that his pride is strong and his head firm. He won’t appreciate learning about this - especially given the fact that it’s been six weeks and you’ve had ample opportunity to fess up.

You can’t tell him. Not after all this time. Maybe not ever.

Harrison: I’m outside. You coming?

You look down at your screen, sighing loudly. After responding affirmatively, you snatch one final glance in the mirror and smooth down your dress. It’s one of Harrison’s friend’s birthdays today, and you were invited as Harrison’s plus one to go out clubbing with the group. You spent hours getting ready, yet still you feel something off in the air. You pout at your reflection, trying to isolate what it is that’s wrong about the atmosphere, but you can’t quite put a finger on it.

After shrugging on a large jacket and grabbing your bag, you leave your grotty flat and hurry outside, quickly slipping into Harrison’s passenger seat. He turns his head just in time to meet your lips, and you kiss him quickly as your heartbeat twirls around your chest, your mind clearing, lifting, releasing. You really like him.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, mouth brushing yours. You pull away, beaming at him as you sit back.

“I missed you too,” you return. You pull out a mirror and start to tidy up your lipstick as Harrison pulls out into traffic and starts the journey to the club. “So who’s this friend again?”

“Tuwaine,” he responds, voice smooth. You look at him, marvelling at the strength of his side profile as his eyebrows pull together in concentration. “You’ll meet all the gang, though. And probably a few others.”

“Who can I expect to meet?”

He hums. “Tom, Harry, Sam, Nick, Rory, Wallis, Sai, Sophie, Freya-”

“Freya?!” You feel your lipstick slip through your fingers, your eyes rounding in alarm as your heartbeat suddenly spikes.

“Oh, yeah…” Harrison looks a little sheepish. “It should be okay, though. She texted me the other week to apologise for her actions, ‘said she wants to go back to being friends actually.” He glances quickly to you, eyebrows pulled together. “Sorry, I probably should’ve told you I was talking to my ex.”

You hum, feeling a little lightheaded. “No, no, that’s okay.”

It’s not okay.

As if on cue, your phone vibrates against your leg. You pull it out, sucking in a quiet breath of air as your eyes scan the lines.

Freya: Heard you’ll be here tonight. Can’t wait to see you again.

“Fuck,” you mutter, quickly turning off your phone with slippery fingers.

“What- Y/N, are you alright?”

You’re at a red light, so Harrison’s able to reach over the console and push at your shoulder, his eyes concerned. You blink a few times before realising you’re sitting there shaking, your jaw slack, eyes wide and frozen. As you work on relaxing your posture, Harrison edges the car closer to the club.

“I need to tell you something,” you mutter. Then, a little louder, “Harrison, I- I’m really sorry.”

“What happened?”

The car slows, and it’s with a low gasp that you realise you’ve arrived. Harrison pops up out of his seat and moves around the car, and before you know it, you’re being hauled out of the passenger seat and into his arms, the two of you standing there swaying slowly in the club car park. It’s so ridiculous that you almost want to laugh.

“I- I didn’t want it to end up being this fucked up,” you start, pulling back from his shoulder. He loops his fingers with yours, his other shifting up to cup your cheek. You press against his touch, aching to feel his warmth smother your body, and knowing that this might be the last time he holds you this delicately.

“What is it?” He murmurs, coaxing softly.

You look at him, and you decide to say it. Just...spell it out for him, once and for all, before Freya can swoop in and steal your moment. This is your mess, after all. It should be you to tell Harrison what you’ve done.

“I’ve already met Freya-”

There’s a loud clip-clop of high heels, and you startle when you feel a large tap on your back. You turn, shifting out of Harrison’s hold as you see the woman behind you. Blond, tall, menacing.

You want to cry.

“Looks like I almost missed the party,” she says, raising a hand in greeting. Her eyes flicker over to yours. “You told him yet, hun?”

You can feel Harrison tense up behind you and instinctively move back to wrap your hands around his arm.

“Fuck off,” is all you have to say. “You don’t… You don’t have to do this.”

She shrugs. “I just thought he should know the truth. Maybe at first I wanted this for revenge, but now I just want the best for Harrison.” Her beady eyes shift onto your lover, and you feel a shudder pass down your spine. “He deserves to know what kind of person he’s getting into bed with.”

Harrison’s attention shifts down to you as he steps away, shaking you off his arm. “What is she talking about?” He asks, voice stippled with confusion. “Is this what you were just trying to tell me?”

“Harrison, she’s not- it’s not- she’s going to try and manipulate the situation, I swear, I didn’t ever-”

“-Y/N only gave you a second look because I bribed her. With money. Your entire relationship exists because I was paying her to seduce you.” And she looks all smug stood up there, arms crossed over her chest, eyes glinting. “Of course I called it off the next day as soon as I realised how selfish that was, but she insisted that she’d get her money. Now we’re here, six weeks later.”

Harrison’s face changes a few times. First, he looks bewildered, then concerned, then hurt, then…

“What the fuck.” He jerks his arm away from you and whips his head around to stare at you, jaw open, eyes flaming. “You’re being paid to date me?!”

You reply with a cracking no just as Freya nods her head.

“Yes,” Freya chimes. “You want to know how much you mean to her? £100. That’s all it took.”

You want to cry, but one look at her smug face has your hackles rising. If you’re going to go down, you may as well try to rectify your errors. “Harrison, it’s not like that,” you jump in, voice harrowed. “She didn’t ever call it off, I did, and she- she set this all up, it wasn’t like that, I just-”

“So you’re not even going to deny it?” He’s staring at the ground, voice utterly dejected.

“I tried to call it off-”

“But you agreed to it?” His gaze snaps up to yours, hurt coating every part of his face. You feel your heart splinter in your chest as you see tears blurring his waterline. “You only came and sat with me because she promised to pay you?”

You sniff loudly, nodding quickly.

“How much of our relationship was just a lie?”

You step forward, trying to slip your fingers into his, but he dodges you instead. “None of it was a lie, Harrison. I texted her the moment I got home after that first date. I- I really like you, truly-”

“Oh, leave it.” Harrison pulls his key out of his pocket and unlocks his car, eyes blazing. He looks to Freya. “You know, I tried to fix things with you but you couldn’t ever trust me. I didn’t want to hurt you.” His eyes shift to you, and you feel a tear roll down your cheek at the depths of absolute betrayal swimming there. “And you…” He jerks open his car door. “Don’t ever contact me again. I can’t believe someone could be this manipulative and cruel.”

And you want to beg him to hear you out, but he’s already in his car, and before you can shake the shock from your bones, he’s reversing out of the space and driving away, his car leaving a trail of exhaust that rattles your throat. Your fingers dig into your cheeks as you cry softly, your heart shattering.

“Well… Sorry.” Freya’s speaking again, and you want to throttle her. “He had to get his heartbroken somehow, and you refused to break up with him, so what was I supposed to do?”

You turn on her, shaking your head bitterly. “Haz- Haz is the nicest person I’ve met in my life. He didn’t deserve that.”

She shrugs. “Whatever, I got what I wanted.” She turns around. “I’m going in. I’ll tell the others neither of you will be making an appearance.”

---------

The next few days are difficult.

First and foremost, Harrison ignores your messages. Every time you try to text or phone him, he just ignores you. He blocks you on Instagram, Snapchat and Twitter, and apparently enlists the help of his friends too as you’re unable to contact any of them either. You’re left utterly iced out, and are forced to knock around your empty, disgusting flat by yourself for a week, wallowing completely.

Seven days of crying, eating and generally feeling sorry pass before you decide to do something about the situation. Guilt has replaced all else, and now you know that you have to see Harrison - if not to win him back, to explain yourself. You don’t want him to feel bad about the situation or doubt his worth.

So you pull yourself together just enough to walk to his flat one evening, practically vibrating from nerves. You don’t let them stop you, however, and march the whole way, not once faltering.

You know what you want, and you’re going to achieve it. No matter what.

You rap on Harrison’s door with determined fists and stand back, waiting. Seconds stretch to minutes, and just as you’re beginning to worry that you might be too late, the door swings open, and there he is.

Harrison, frowning. But Harrison nonetheless.

“What are you doing here?” He mutters, twiddling his ring. He hasn’t really looked at you, but you try not to let that phase you.

“We need to talk,” you beg. “Please can I come in?”

He hesitates. “Can you stay there?” He asks, voice soft. His shoulders are slumped and he has steep dark bags hanging beneath his eyes, and you feel your body throb sadly as you realise it’s your fault.

“Yeah, I- I’ll stay.” You take a moment to recompose yourself. “I thought you needed an explanation of everything. I don’t… I don’t expect you to want me back, or to even want to be friends because I know I hurt you, I just… I need to tell you that none of it is your fault.”

He continues to stare at the ground.

“When Freya asked me to break your heart, I didn’t even know who you were. You were only a face in a club, and I was drunk, and I needed the money. I didn’t know that you were a nice person, or that I’d end up actually liking you. When I started to catch feelings, I tried to pull out, but she wouldn’t let me.” You have to pause, taking time to diminish the heat growing in your voice. “As soon as I fell for you, I tried to put an end to it, Haz. Nothing… Nothing about our relationship was fake. I really liked you. I really like you. That’s just- just what I wanted to say.”

“You still dated me for money,” he mutters, voice dull. “You could’ve told me any time you wanted, yet you never did. That would’ve hurt less than hearing it from her.”

“I know.” You hang your head. “I just hope that someday you can understand. I didn’t do it to hurt you - I didn’t even know you when I agreed - I just needed money. I’m really, really fucking sorry I hurt you, and one day I hope you can forgive me.”

You wait for a few moments, hoping he’ll look up. Hoping he’ll say it’s okay. Hoping he can find it in his heart to forgive you.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he stands there, continuing to look at the floor, and after a minute of uncomfortable silence, you turn and walk away down his corridor. Your heart is still broken, but you feel less guilty; less horrible now that you’ve explained yourself. Your actions aren’t excused, but they’re explained, and you hope that will help Harrison.

You really do. After all you’ve put him through, the only thing you want is for him to be happy.

---------

Days stretch to weeks, and with no sign of Harrison reappearing, you try to move on.

It’s hard. You might’ve only dated him for a month and a half, but you saw him practically every day, and so there’s evidence of him embedded everywhere: your phone’s photo library contains picture after picture of him, both with and without you nestled up beside him; your wardrobe houses an array of his hoodies you can’t bear to give back; you look in the mirror each morning and subconsciously slide your fingers over your neck, drifting over all the points he’d enjoyed marking with his lips. He’s like an illness that you can’t quite shake, no matter how hard you try.

It’s early on a Wednesday morning in March when there’s a loud knock at your door. You’re bustling around your kitchen, making a cup of tea when you hear it, and quickly jump to pull it open, not caring about your just-rolled-out-of-bed appearance, nor the state of your untidy flat.

“Hi, sorry about- Harrison?!” And suddenly your hands are on your hair, combing through the unruly strands. You become hyper-aware of the fact that you’re stood there in his hoodie, looking like you were pulled through a hedge backwards. “What- What are you doing here?”

He looks good. Radiates a sort of confidence that has your back lengthening, straightening. His blue eyes drift over you, a semblance of a smile twitching over his mouth as he raises a hand in greeting. “Can I come in?”

You nod immediately. “Of course you can.” You shuffle out of the way and let him inside your flat. “Sorry it’s messy,” you mumble. With wide eyes, you realise this is the first time Harrison’s ever visited; before, it was always you going over to his. “How’d you find out where I live?”

He slips out of his shoes and pushes his long brown coat up onto a peg, humming lowly. “Got it off Sair,” he explains, bringing in a mutual friend. “It’s not… not that messy,” he tries, eyes sweeping your flat.

You feel your cheeks warm. “It’s pretty bad,” you dispute. You guide him over to your sofas, thanking your past self for having the initiative to move the piles of mugs and plates that’d made home on the dodgy coffee table over the weeks since Harrison. You sit down on one end, pulling your legs beneath you as you look at him, your eyes unable to understand that he’s here: he came back. “What- What are you doing here? I mean, obviously I’m really glad you came over, just… Why?”

Harrison looks down at his hands, a few of his fingers going to play around with his ring. “I spoke to Freya again,” he mumbles. He looks up suddenly, eyes searching yours. “And I talked to some other people as well. ‘Was trying to figure out how I felt about everything.”

You nod along, trying to follow as best you can. It’s a little distracting, to have him sat so close, looking so good, but you’re trying. “What did she say?”

“Well…” He pauses to scratch his jawline. “Freya and I had a lot of air to clear, but I think she’s actually going to move on now. She showed me the text messages between you guys, and gave what I think is an accurate description of your actions.”

“Okay.” You continue to nod. This is… This is good, right? He doesn’t seem angry.

“So then I went and talked with some of the guys, tried to figure out where my head was at.” Harrison’s a little closer now, his eyes seeking yours more strongly. “I didn’t know how I felt about you.”

For a moment, you grow panicked. Maybe he’s just here to argue again, or to pull an apology from you. Maybe he wants closure. Maybe-

“I still want to try with you.” And there it is.

You can’t help but feel your eyes bulge. “You do?!”

He chuckles, nodding a bit. He slides further up the sofa and tentatively reaches down to pick up your hands, his lips arranged in a shy smile. “If you want to… I understand now. Whilst I don’t think it was a good thing to do, I understand you were only doing it for money.” His eyes flick around your flat, taking in the broken microwave, stained wallpaper and old carpet. “I know now that you tried to stop it when it got out of hand. And…” He’s peering up at you with gentle eyes. “I’d like to think what we have is pretty special.”

The relief is immediate and monumental. Harrison’s thumb strokes over the back of your hand as you blink back a few surprised tears, your heart beating slowly, deeply.

“Are you… Do you… Are you sure?” Is your first response, unbelieving that it’s just… that easy.

“Yeah.” He nods certainly, squeezing your fingers. “I like you so much, Y/N. If you- If you still want me, want this, then I’m all in.” His hand guides yours up, up, up, until you have your palm resting up against his heart. “When you left my flat the other week, you took a part of me with you.” His voice is dark, deep and silky, and it makes you so utterly happy that you find yourself scrambling closer.

He pulls you in, helping you settle yourself over his lap as your arms drape over his shoulders, his going to hold your waist. You bury your head in his chest as your eyes screw shut, and as the earthy scent of his expensive cologne drifts over you, you realise it’s all okay.

His lips spread a few kisses over the top of your head as he rubs your side, touch instilling warmth into your long-forgotten bones.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, pulling back from his chest to blink up at him. “Haz, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He smooths his hands down your hair. “It’s alright, love. It’s already forgiven.” And then his eyes are drifting down to your lips, face lightening. “Could I kiss you?”

You nod, already moving up. His breath fans out over your face for a tentative moment as your lips lay stranded in the air, so close you can almost feel his mouth, waiting for some invisible cue to move. Your fingers slip up to fist his curls, and then he’s shifting in, his lips capturing yours in a deep, warming kiss. He keeps you anchored close, his hands hauling you in as the kiss grows in passion and intensity. Your mouths communicate all you fail to show, and as you enjoy the feeling of your lips moving as one, you try to tell him all you’ve been thinking: I’m sorry, I missed you, I think I might love you.

It’s perfect. Full of tender and emotion and love.

When you pull back, he cradles your cheek in his hand, blinking down at you through long lashes. A teasing smile finds his lips as he chuckles, his hands rubbing circles into your sides.

“Missed this,” he mumbles. He waits a moment, eyes skimming your face, growing in warmth. “I was thinking, and…” His fingertips skim over your cheekbones. “Would you be my girlfriend?”

Not for the first time, you feel like you’re going to cry. Just, this time, it’s a result of the tingling happiness in your heart. It feels as though the rips embedded inside the warm organ have healed; been stitched up by his large hands, soft lips, and gentle words. 

“I would love that,” you mutter. But still, “Are you sure, though?” You pull your eyes away from his face. “I really hurt you, Harrison. I don’t ever want to be the reason you’re sad.”

“Well, are you planning on dating me for money again?”

You shake your head, a smile replacing your frown.

“Then I think we’ll be alright.”

You nod, pressing a short kiss to his jaw. “I’d love to be your girlfriend,” you murmur against his neck. You spread a gentle scattering of kisses over his skin, dragging your lips up his face. You manage to leave a chaste peck on the end of his nose before he’s pulling you closer, stealing your lips in another deep kiss.

And things aren’t perfect, because life doesn’t really work out that way. But you’re warm and happy, and utterly content, and you’re being held in the strong arms of your boyfriend. And for the first time in months, it feels like life might work out alright, after all.

---------

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

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#Ems21st #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield oneshot #my writing

[saintlavrents]

Date [t.h]

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Prompt: “You’re not as boring as I thought you’d be.”

Summary: Maybe going on a date wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Words: 1,216

A/N: hi three posts in 2 days ok. this is my last post of 2018. i hope id get to write even more in 2019 and improve my writing lol (english isn't my first language so bear with me). happy new year everyone. and this is my entry to @spxderbarnes‘ writing challenge. hope u like it.

(gif isn't mine, again)

“I’m not going, Mel. I don’t want to go on a date with someone I barely even know!” Y/N stressed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Melanie had been pestering Y/N to go out on dates a lot over the years they’ve lived together, but she always refused to, as she hasn’t got much luck when it comes to love. This time, Mel had set Y/N up with one of her close friends, Tom. Y/N had heard about him and even saw him a couple of times here and there but never exactly got to know the guy.

“C’mon, Y/N. You haven’t dated in a long time, plus it’ll be fun! Tom’s not that bad of a guy.”

It was true, the last time Y/N dated someone was in the sophomore year of college and that was years ago. The relationship didn’t end well and that was kind of the reason why she stopped going on dates and refused every time Melanie tried to set her up with someone.

“It’s easy for you to say. You actually know the guy.”

“C’mon, Y/N.” Mel paused, her face lighting up as she had just thought of an idea, “Okay, how ‘bout we make a deal? If this goes badly, I’ll stop pestering you to go on dates and I’ll stop trying to set you up with my friends.”

Y/N groaned, even though she did not want to go, the thought of Mel not nagging her about her love life ever again sounded very appealing. Honestly, she was getting sick of how Mel’s constantly bugging her about her love life.

“Alright, fine. One date.”

Mel cheered in triumph, “I’ll text you his number and you can ask him yourself about the details.”

-

Saturday night finally came, and Y/N was about to actually go on the date. As much as she dreaded it, she would be lying if she said there wasn’t a small part of her that felt kind of excited. Tom was about to pick her up in less than an hour and had told her this morning to dress casually. Mel was currently putting on some light make up on Y/N’s under eye to hide the bags and a little nude colored lipstick on her lips, so she doesn’t look too pale.

“All done.”

Mel walked over to Y/N’s wardrobe and rummaged through it before taking out a light blue mid-thigh length dress that Y/N rarely wore.

“Put this on.” Mel tossed it over to Y/N and left her to dress herself.

Mel closed the door behind her before going over to the couch and turning on the TV as she waited for Y/N to come out once she was done. Y/N, on the other hand, was getting more nervous as the clock ticks. Part of her was keen on not wanting to go, but there was also a part of her that was still hoping to find some romance. I’ve got nothing to lose, right? She thought. She took her handbag and exited her room.

“So, how do I look?”

“You look great, Y/N.” And with that, as if on cue, the doorbell rang, signaling Tom’s arrival.

“Thanks.” Y/N let out a tightlipped smile towards Mel before heading out the door to greet him.

“Uh, hi?”

“Hello. You look great.” He smiled.

“Thanks. You too.”

“Shall we go?” Y/N nodded at that and they left the apartment building to get into Tom’s car.

The first few minutes of the drive was silent, since neither of them knew how to converse to each other. To be fair, they were merely acquaintances, so awkwardness was bound to happen at some point.

“So, where are we going?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“To the movies and if you’re hungry after, we can grab some dinner, is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Y/N nodded.

They pulled up at the movie theatre not long after, then they went straight to the ticket booth to get two tickets to one of the movies that was currently showing. Y/N went to grab her purse when Tom stopped her.

“My treat.” Tom said to Y/N before paying the cashier.

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.” They left it at that and walked into the studio and did not speak to one another during the movie.

After about two hours of the movie, they both got up and out the theatre, heading straight to get some food.

“What do you want to eat?” Tom asked Y/N as he drove out of the theatre.

“I’m fine with anything, to be honest.”

“Alright.” Tom then drove to a diner not that far away from the theatre.

“They have great burgers here.” He told her, and she just nodded in response.

They both looked over at the menu for a good fifteen minutes before settling on ordering a burger for each of them to the waitress. They thanked the waitress after she had jotted down their orders and watched as she walked away from the table.

“So, Y/N, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Just tell me something.”

“Well, I’m Y/N, I’m twenty-three. I was born and raised in [insert place]. I enjoy music, reading, watching movies a lot. I work as an editor in Silver Publishing. What about you?”

“I’m Tom and I’m twenty-four. I’m a native of southwest London. I work with Mel in the Human Resources department. My interests are acting, dancing and singing.”

“Didn’t peg you to be interested in acting, singing or dancing.” Y/N mused.

“Well, I used to love it as a child. I was the lead on a play called Billy Elliott.”

“No way!”

The food arrived in front of them and they both took bites of their burgers. “It’s really good!” Y/N exclaimed.

“Told you.”

Apparently, the more they talked, the more they found things they have in common. He found that she used to love theater as well, as a child but found new interests as she grew up. She found that he also loved movies as much as she does. He found that she has an older brother and she found that he had three younger siblings. After much eating and talking, they came to the topic of their favorite movies and the best movies of all time.

“Footloose is definitely one of the best movies ever.” Y/N stated.

“No. It never was.”

She gaped at his response, “I’m offended.” She said as she placed a hand on her chest, faking hurt. And they both laughed. It’s been a while since she actually laughed and found a connection with someone.

The date ended with Tom driving Y/N back to her place. They had been sitting in silence for about five minutes, as the radio played some soft pop ballad. He was the first to break the silence.

“When Mel first told me about you, she told me that all you do is read and that you never want to go out and so I kinda thought you were a boring person. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But you know what? You’re not as boring as I thought you’d be.”

“You’re not that bad either.”

“What do you say we do this again sometime?”

Y/N smiled and turned to him. “I’d like that.”

#ems21st #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland one shot

[grussell63]

Hallucinations - T.H.

A/N: This is for @spxderbarnes‘ Writing Challenge. Love you, Emma. 

Prompt: “I wish we could stay like this forever.” Based on Hallucinations by dvsn Warnings: issa bit sad Words: 1.5k

Masterlist

Having Hallucinations I’m losing sleep every night Keep trying to cover my eyes My eyes, yeah

Tom was lying in bed, tossing and turning, the ghost of your arms still wrapped around his middle. He couldn’t fall asleep. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep for the past two weeks. His friends and fans thought it was because of his tight and stressful schedule that he looked exhausted and tired all the time.

Tom knew it wasn’t because of that reason. The boy buried his face in his pillow, letting out a scream, hoping no one heard him in his hotel room at 3am. Truth was, he could still see and feel you lying right there next to him. A tear escaped his eyes as his tired hands wandered over the empty space beside him as he remembered the night before he had to leave - your last night as a couple, something he wished he would’ve never had to think about.

Is it my imagination? I think I’m losing my mind Still see your face all the time All the time

He could still smell the pancakes you had been making when he came wandering into your kitchen in the morning, only hours before he was leaving for Prague. Tom still remembers wandering up to you and wrapping his arms around you, placing soft kisses on your shoulder as you couldn’t stop giggling.

“I’m going to miss you.” He mumbled against your shoulder, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“You know we can’t.” A sad smile appeared on your lips as you turned around to face your boyfriend. 

“I wish we could.” The boy mumbled, “I don’t want to leave you all the time.”

Tom let out another scream as he remember how you had told him that you couldn’t do this anymore, that you couldn’t keep holding him back from making most of his life, that you couldn’t be the reason he wasn’t going out with his friends anymore because facetiming you was more important.

He thought it was bullshit back then and he still thought it was bullshit now.

Tryna rewind ‘til we’re back where we started Yeah that’s all I want And night after night after night I’m still haunted I’m haunted, baby I’m haunted by…

You, you, fall asleep and dream of You, you, late at night I scream for You, you, waiting on a deja-vu

Tom couldn’t fall asleep because it didn’t matter if awake or asleep, you were on his mind. He’s replayed the day the two of you had met in his brain dozens of times, wondering if it would’ve been better if he hadn’t asked you out after being friends for years. You had been friends. Couldn’t that have been enough for him? Being friends with you would’ve meant that you were still talking, that you would’ve been happy for him whenever he left for set and that he wouldn’t have had such a hard time leaving you all the time, because you were just friends, right?

Was it wrong of him to wish he could go back in time - just to do it all again?

But until then I live with hallucinations Yeah, they’re just hallucinations and I’ll just hallucinate Cause you’re not here Hallucinations

When Tom’s alarm went off in the morning, he had been asleep for about two hours. Taking his wake-up shower and brushing his teeth, the boy still felt your presence next to him. He could still see you in the mirror as you were pulling funny face at him. Blinking his eyes, you faded away, making him wish he wasn’t just hallucinating.

His best friend Harrison was waiting for him at the cast’s breakfast table. Tom hadn’t told anyone about your breakup. Maybe because he didn’t want anyone telling him everything was going to be alright, that everything would work out in the end and that the two of you will figure things out, but mostly he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

Losing my concentration Hearing your voice in my head Seeing you when you aren’t there You aren’t there

For Tom, this relationship wasn’t over. He could still hear you telling him you loved him. He could still see you dancing around in the living room when you thought no one was watching. He could still feel your body underneath his own in the most intimate moments. And he could still feel his heart breaking over and over again whenever he saw a picture of you or heard your name falling from the lips of his friends.

Everything seemed to be going wrong for him at the moment. Tom messed up his lines like he had never done it before. He wasn’t himself. He couldn’t concentrate, he didn’t want to concentrate on anything else but you - scared his brain would try and forget you, try and make him happy again, try and let him move on with his life without you in it.

And I can’t keep living like this Something’s gotta give Give me you If I could make it all go away Then I would

Harrison saw that Tom wasn’t alright. Harrison saw he was breaking and trying to live through it all by himself. Tom hadn’t told the blonde about your breakup, but you did. You had been checking in on Tom every other day, hoping that he was doing great, hoping that he was getting over you quicker than you were getting over him.

You had told Harrison about your reasons to break up with Tom. Harrison had told you you were an idiot.

He was right, you were stupid for breaking up with him, but seeing Tom leave your apartment every other week and not come back for what felt like ages broke you. You two were so right but so wrong for each other. Your lives were completely different, you were just an ordinary girl and he was the Tom Holland who was living the dream of millions of people. 

Every time Harrison told you Tom was doing miserable, you wanted to text him to go out and have fun. You wanted to scream at him for still loving you. You wanted him to live his life without you and you wanted to take his pain away - but you couldn’t. 

Tryna rewind 'til we’re back where we started Yeah that’s all I want and night after night after night I’m still haunted I’m haunted baby I’m haunted by You, you, fall asleep and dream of You, you, late at night I scream for You, you, waiting on a deja-vu

It had been another sleepless night for Tom when he woke up the next morning on his day off. He hated his days off because that meant he had more time to imagine the two of you together. He hated when he caught himself staring at his phone, waiting for you call, before realizing that your name wasn’t going to show up on screen. He hated to feel so lost without you - and he hated himself for walking out that door without trying to fight for you.

But until then I live with Hallucinations Fall asleep and dream of you They’re just hallucinations Late at night I scream for you I’ll just hallucinate Waiting on a deja-vu Cause you’re not here Hallucinations

Tom was broken inside, but Tom was starting to break on the outside as well. It was 3am when he found himself wandering the halls of the hotel just to knock on his best friends door. He needed Harrison to tell him everything was going to be alright and that he would somehow manage to get through this breakup. Tom needed someone to tell him you were going to figure things out and Harrison did exactly that.

Breaking down in his best friends arms, he could hear your voice in his head fade away. Your constant “I love you”’s were now just silent whispers as he poured out all of his feelings. He told Harrison about the fun times, the sad times and especially about the hard times in your relationship. He told him about how he had planned on marrying you at some point in the future and how much he hated himself for not being the boyfriend you needed him to be.

Harrison listened. He listened to Tom for hours and hours, not caring about getting his sleep interrupted and probably falling asleep on the set tomorrow. The blonde knew how much Tom needed this talk and how much he needed to let it all out. He knew how much the two of you loved each other and how miserable both of you were at the moment and he couldn’t help but wonder how he could help both of you - how he could help you rewrite your love story.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland angst #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #tom holland fic #Ems21st #tom holland x you #tom holland au #tom holland writing

[ijustreallylovezebras]

Never Compare

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Y/N feels as though she’s nothing compared to Bucky’s ex girlfriend, Natasha

Requested: No

This is my entry for @spxderbarnes 21st Birthday celebration with the prompt “Do not compare yourself to me!” -  Happy birthday my lovely!!

Natasha and Bucky were sparring. Again. 

It was how they had gotten together in the first place - Bucky found that Natasha was the only person filling to fight him and Natasha thought Bucky to be the only worthy opponent in the compound. Eventually their sparring had led to something more and they had dated. Then they had broken up. End of story.

That had been what Bucky had told Y/N about his relationship with the red-headed assassin. He truthfully didn’t think it was worth any more words than that over a cup of coffee late at night, about a month into his new relationship with Y/N.

Because he and Natasha were still friends. Just friends. There was nothing more to it than that anymore - Bucky wasn’t even convinced that they liked each other in that way in the first place regardless. It had been a spur of the moment thing, his asking her out and it hadn’t lasted longer than a month and a half. Most of which was spent arguing. 

And they were well matched as friends. 

Deep down, Y/N knew that that was the case - she knew that there really, truly was nothing more than that going on. A part of her, hidden way, way down in her knew that Natasha and Bucky were badly matched and she knew that Bucky did mean it when he told her that he loved her.

And yet watching them like this, laughing breathlessly as they sparred, trained together... Y/N felt empty.

“Doll! I didn’t see you come in!” Bucky beamed, looking over to where Y/N was stood, a tray of coffee’s in one hand and some take-away food in the other.

“Hey Buck,” she smiled. “Sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N, I kicked his arse anyway,” Natasha laughed, ducking out of the ring and coming over.

“This one’s yours,” Y/N said, indicating towards the coffee that she had picked out for the gorgeous assassin.

“Are you alright, doll? You seem a little subdued,” Bucky commented, coming over and kissing her lips as a quick greeting before taking his own coffee and digging through the take-away bag for his food.

“I’m fine. I’m going to go give this to Steve,” she said, quickly excusing herself.

“I can do it, Y/N, don’t worry,” Natasha offered but Y/N shook her head, not looking at either of them as she began to leave the room.

“It’s fine, I can do it,”

She didn’t see the two assassins exchanging confused looks behind her retreating back.

“I’ve got it, Barnes,” Natasha said, following the woman out of the room.

Even from the back of her, it was obvious that Y/N was feeling sad and dejected. Her shoulders were slumped and the bag of food hung loosely from her fingers.

“Hey, Y/L/N, what’s up?” Natasha jogged to catch up with her.

“Nothing,”

“Nah, don’t give me that - what’s happened?” 

“Nothing,” Y/N said with a slight eye roll, which Natasha gladly returned before grabbing Y/N’s arm and pulling her into an empty room down the hallway.

“You’ve been acting strange to me for weeks, what did I do?” Y/N looked away.

“Nothing,”

“Obviously it’s something,”

“It’s something but it’s nothing that you did,” Y/N says and Natasha furrows her brows as she attempted to work out the riddle.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s just you, Nat,” Y/N laughed, running her hand through her hair and beginning to walk away.

“You’re either admitting you’re in love with me or that you hate me and I don’t know which it is,” Natasha commented, pulling Y/N back to look at her. “And if it’s the first one then you’re breaking the news to Barnes,”

“It’s neither,” Y/N assured her and Natasha sighed.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” 

“Just... you and Bucky,”

“Oh my God, are you jealous?”

“Not jealous... just sad,” Y/N says as though that clears everything up. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“There’s nothing between me and Barnes,”

“I know that,”

“He loves you,”

“I know that too,”

“Then what’s the issue?” 

“You,”

“We’ve established already that you don’t hate me,” Natasha said, cocking an eyebrow. Y/N laughed and shook her head.

“Okay, so I was never the pretty girl growing up, alright? I was the girl the pretty girl’s picked on because I was weird. And you know what? I was fine with it, always have been. It was just the way it was, you know?” Y/N said and Natasha nodded along, following Y/N’s words carefully as though they were the key to unlocking the gifts of the universe. “And then Buck came along and showed an interest in me - at first I thought it was a bet, because the fuck would he be interested in me?” Natasha rolled her eyes and went to protest but Y/N carried on talking. “Then he introduces me to you, his ex, the most pretty pretty girl I have ever met and, you know what made it even better? Was that you weren’t a pretty girl that tried to make my life hell. You were fucking perfect, y’know? So-”

“So you dwelled on that,” Natasha cut her off, seeing where she was going. Y/N nodded, her mouth slamming shut. “I’m not perfect, Y/N. I’m far from it, okay? So just... Do not compare yourself to me!” Y/N laughed.

“Easier said than done, Nat,”

“I know. I’ve had to do it, too. With you,” Y/N rolled her eyes at Natasha’s words.

“You’re just saying that,” Natasha laughed and shook her head.

“Believe it or not, Y/N, you’re actually kind of fucking brilliant, alright? And Bucky loves you, you’re made for each other in a way that me and Barnes weren’t,”

“Kind of fucking brilliant? Try wonderfully, completely, utterly brilliant,” Bucky commented from the doorway. The two women turned to look at the super soldier, who was watching them with a sad smile on his face. Natasha patted Y/N’s shoulder and took Steve’s take-away meal from her hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Bucky moved further into the room to allow Natasha space to pass behind him.

“You could’ve spoken to me about it, doll,” Bucky said after a couple of minutes of silence. His eyes are soft and almost sad as he says it and Y/N feels guilty for inspiring those feelings in him.

“I know... I thought you would have thought that I was overreacting, though,” Y/N shrugged and Bucky moved forwards, placing his arms around her and pulling her in for a hug.

“I never would have pushed your feelings away, doll, I love you, okay? And only you, so you can always come and talk to me,” Y/N choked out a sob and nodded.

“I love you too,”

I hope you guys liked this! This is the first time I’ve written for Bucky in a while so please let me know what you think! I love hearing your feedback!

MARVEL TAGS

@vineisdeadiwishiwas @sea040561 @slender–spirit@valentinebucky@smexylemony

PERMANENT TAGS

@sarahp879 @normanatenorma @highlandcatt@instantnoodlese @peterparkyourassonme @peter-parker-fyeah@tylerrose931617

#ems21st #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky imagines #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fan #bucky fluff #bucky angst #not a request #please request

[scholarlyspidey]

One Collision After the Next

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (any gender)

Description: Moving into your dorm alone was stressful enough, but when someone knocks your stuff over, you realize, it may have been for the better.

Warnings: It’s 99.9% fluff so I don’t think there are any!

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Wrote another college AU for @spxderbarnes ‘s writing challenge! It was so weird to write one continuous scene, and I’ve never written reader insert before but after reading the wonderful @badhollandfluff and @tom-holland-and-textposts I got inspired!!!

Switching between looking at your feet and right ahead of you, nothing sucks more than starting your move-in day at college with a broken elevator. The box is big enough that you can barely see anything below your waist, let alone carry it without the use of some muscle. Using your shoe like a blind man uses a cane, you take your foot and tap what feels like the top of the stairs.

No more than a minute into trying to walk down the hall do you feel something collide into you, the next thing you know, your box of personal possessions is all over the floor. Before you have time to think about what just happened, your mouth spits out, “Look where you’re going next time.”

You hear a rushed, “Oh my God, I am so sorry, lemme help pick that up.”

As you go to reject the offer, you glance up and notice a boy with caramel-colored eyes running his hands through his hair nervously.

“Oh… it’s okay, really, it doesn’t look like you broke anything,” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “But I could appreciate the help moving in if you don’t mind?”

He smiles back, “Totally! I just need to find my aunt first, the more the merrier.”

He dashes past you and you can hear the faint patter of him running down the steps. Looking back at the ground, you nearly forgot all the items that fell out of your box. Still a little awe-struck from whoever that stranger was, you lean down and begin putting everything back in the box, nearly forgetting that he was the one that ran into you in the first place.

Grabbing the lanyard from off your neck, you open your dorm room before grabbing your belongings and slamming the box on the desk nearest to your mattress.

The adrenaline from meeting the brown-eyed beauty of the hallway wears off and you lay back on your mattress, apathetic to how much your sweat must be staining your shirt and how hard you have to breathe.

“Slacking off already?” The voice echoes from your door.

You raise your head to see an older hippie-esque woman leaning in your doorframe, only she looked younger than most of the parents helping to move their children in.

“Just taking a break, but can I help you?” You raise yourself to your elbows.

“Yes, actually, I was looking for my nephew. He’s about my height, hair too long, brown eyes, probably talking about something tech-y, have you seen him?”

As you go to speak, another familiar voice pops up from the hall, “There you are!”

The woman looks out, responding, “No, there you are, where were you?”

“Trying to find you, obviously.”

The boy from earlier came into view and he too lingered in the doorframe, “Looks like I found her, you still need help moving in?”

Your mouth feels stuck as you stare at him again, but your head nods enthusiastically.

“Great!”

“Whoa whoa whoa, hold the phone there mister,” his aunt says, “would you at least introduce me to the person you’re about to help out first?”

“Oh, right.” He says, caught off guard. “Aunt May this is… sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/N.” You say.

“Aunt May this is Y/N, Y/N this is my Aunt May, and I’m Peter,” he says, “Peter Parker.”

You stand up and make your way to politely shake hands with them, “Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Aunt May and Peter Parker.” Your handshake with Peter lasts longer than you expected. The two of you make eye contact and awkwardly grin the longer you both realize that neither of you is letting go.

Finally, the two of you hear Aunt May clear her throat, “Let’s go help you unpack, then.”

The three of you make your way down the ever too long staircase and to the large bin holding the rest of your things. Aunt May reaches in the first and grabs a plastic shower caddy, and on your way to grab something, you and Peter knock heads, both going to pick up your book collection. Reaching up to grab your head, you notice him do the same. Just one collision after the next.

He smiles shyly and grabs another box from the bin before walking back towards the stairs. Quickly, you grab the books and dash to try and catch up with him.

The stairs are narrow enough that one person can barely make their way up without feeling claustrophobic, so you hang back, and walk behind him. You didn’t notice before, but he had a small sharpie tucked behind his ear. A small smile makes its way to your lips because it’s somehow making this boy cuter and dorkier than ever before. “Are you gonna be a student or are you helping someone move in, Peter?” You find yourself asking.

“Both actually,” he cuts a glance over to you before looking back at the impending stairs, “my friend Ned’s going here too.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” You close your eyes temporarily.

Cool? That’s cool? You think, everything you say feels so wrong.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends for a long time,” he cuts into your thoughts.

The way he was so quick to respond, so casual when you sounded so awkward, it felt like he always knew the right thing to say.

As all three of you reached the top of the stairs, the cycle of being sweaty and tired started once again. Peter practically drops your box on the ground of your dorm, his aunt is looking at the sparse decorations around the room, and you stand there a moment before slowly making your way inside.

There’s a slight quiet in the room, the pause is only broken up by Aunt May walking by you toward the door muttering, “I’ll see if there’s anything left to bring up.” Leaving you and Peter alone.

The two of you just stand there like Sims waiting for their instructions. He’s scratching the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact and looks to the books in your arms, “Oh, I love the Harry Potter series,” he says.

You peer down, completely forgetting that you were carrying seven books, and place them on your desk.

“My parents used to read them to me when I was younger,” you offer.

His smile dissipates and for the thought of why his aunt was the only one there to help move him in popped into your mind. You look away, once again feeling like you kept making things worse. The silence lingers until you hear a heavier pair of footsteps approach your door. Unexpectedly, it was another boy. He was a tad shorter than Peter and weighed a bit more, but his wide smile felt like it could light up a whole stadium.

“Found you, man,” he says to Peter. The stranger looks to you, gregarious as ever and holds out a hand, “Hey, I’m Ned, Peter’s friend,” he grins out.

The handshake moves your whole body with how powerful it was, but the smile on his face was infectious as it travels to you, “I’m Y/N, Peter’s…” you look to him unsure of how to answer.

“New friend,” Peter supplies. He looks to his watch and stands up rapidly, looking to Ned. “Wait, wasn’t I supposed to introduce you to Professor Warren?”

“That’s why I was trying to find you, but it’s not a big deal.”

Grabbing the Sharpie from behind he ear, he points to the left and says, “You can go to her lecture hall, I’ll be right there.”

He looks a little panicked as Ned leaves and turns to you, “Sorry to leave you on such short notice.”

He crouched down in front of one of your boxes and quickly scribbles something with the Sharpie in his hand. Standing up, he walks to your door and faces you, “It was really nice to meet you, Y/N, I hope I can see you around.”

“You too, Peter.”

You both grin before he gives a faint wave and pats your doorframe before exiting.

The endless aura of happiness that’s he’s left in the room makes you want to giggle or dance or laugh until your sides hurt. You can’t stop smiling, and as you turn to the box he wrote on, you can make out the words PETER PARKER and a phone number written beneath it.

As you bend down to run your fingers across the digits, you look back to the door, thinking only about the boy you can’t wait to call.

@underoos-shield @parkrstark @spiderboytotherescue @peterplanet @fangirlwithasweettooth @peterstrainingwheels

#Ems21st #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #peter parker #marvel #scholarlyspideywrites

[a-walk-in-silence]

Something Wicca This Way Comes

Pairing: Whitelighter!Tom Holland x Witch!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: You and Tom have been together for a little while, but both of you have secrets you don’t say out loud. What happens when those secrets become too much?

Warnings: Angst :), witchcraft, one curse word?

Prompt: “Will I ever see you again?”

AU: Charmed (the old show, not the reboot)

A/N: Hey! This is for @spxderbarnes birthday writing challenge! So go wish her a late happy birthday and also please enjoy!

Key:

Y/N - Your Name

The silent sound of someone talking drew you towards the living room. Curiosity peeked your interest and you drew closer, listening to what must have been Tom humming to himself. A smile tugged at your lips as you entered the living room, watching him as he tried to screw a light bulb into the large chandelier that has hung in this household since it was rebuilt in the early 1900′s.

“Hey stranger,” you said, smiling up at him. Clearly, he was not expecting to hear your voice because he practically stumbled off of the latter, light bulb sailing across the room. You panicked and threw your hands up into the air, freezing everything.

You stared at everything frozen mid fall. The latter was slightly at an angle, ready to fall any second. Meanwhile, Tom was frozen midair. His hands were grasping at air in hopes of slowing his descend. And the light bulb? Frozen perfectly in the air, neither moving nor falling. Just floating peacefully.

“Shit!” you shouted. “Damn these stupid powers always popping up randomly!” You quickly grabbed the light bulb that was frozen just at eye level. you set it down on the floor and grabbed some pillows from the couch to cushion Tom’s fall to the ground. Finally, you pushed the ladder so that it was standing perfectly straight.

“Y/N?” asked Alexis, leaning in the doorway. “Jesus, I guess he took falling for you quite literally.”

You gave your sister a dirty glare before looking back at the frozen scene in front of you. “Alexis, I love you. But please go away. I need to unfreeze this scene before it unfreezes itself and Tom asks where you came from.”

A small murmur came from your sister, but it was almost indistinguishable in the quiet room. She left the room, leaving you alone with the scene frozen before you.

You allowed yourself a moment to ponder just what Terra had said when she left the room. Unable to think of anything, though, you simply sighed and unfroze the room.

The day you got your powers was still fresh in your mind. It had been two months ago, when your younger sister had someone managed to get into the locked attic. She found a book and read from it, and your life had never been the same.

----

“What happened?” shouted your older sister as the two of you barged into the attic. “The chandelier in the living room just randomly started glowing and-”

“I don’t know,” your younger sister mumbled, biting her nails. “I found this book just sitting here. The Book of Shadows. And I just read the very first spell-”

“Spell?” you practically shouted, looking at your sister in horror. “Hun, magic isn’t real!”

“No, Y/N, I know what happened!”

“It’s not real!”

Oh, just how wrong you’d been. Magic was very real, as you would have found out later that day. You had been at work when time had suddenly frozen. It gave you just enough time to fix the mistake and add the marsala wine to your marinara before time resumed.

You then got the job, no surprise there.

It turned out to be a spell that gifted you and your sisters the “Power of Three”. Alana, your older sister, had been given the power to move things with her mind. Meanwhile, Alexis was gifted the power of premonitions of both the past and future.

To say your lives had changed for the best was a long shot by far.

----

For a moment, Tom seemed to be confused on how he fell on pillows, but he merely shrugged it off. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled awkwardly, sitting up. “Wasn’t expecting you- Hey, where’s the light bulb?”

For a moment you panicked, glancing around the room. Your mind raced with a story to tell him on how in the hell the light bulb didn’t shatter into a million pieces and landed safely on the hardwood floors. “I uh... I guess the light bulb must have hit something soft and didn’t shatter.” You bent down and picked it up, showing it to him. “See? 100% in tact.”

You laughed awkwardly as he took the light bulb from your hands, examining it carefully. “Must be magic,” he joked. You quickly burst into laughter, trying to hide the fact that your heart was practically pounding in your chest.

“Yeah, magic,” you snorted, trying to hide your fear. “You’re too funny, Tom. Too funny. Really, you should do stand up.” You pushed him playfully. A confused look settled over his face, so you decided it was probably best to try and change the topic. “So, hey, I know I’ve asked and all, but do you really not remember what happened about three weeks ago? That Tuesday? Like, during the day I mean.”

Tom seemed to ponder your question for a moment. For a second, you were almost hopeful. But then he shrugged his shoulder. “I really don’t. I just remember having dinner with you that night and uh...” He sheepishly smiled, looking down at his feet for a moment. “The stuff we had done later.”

“Oh... okay.” You laughed a little bit, trying to keep yourself together. So he didn’t remember your first kiss. He certainly remembered the ones that came that night, though.

----

Alana had cast a spell to see if her then boyfriend could have accepted her as a witch. A 24-hour truth spell that, once the 24th hour was over, no one would remember except for the caster and whoever was in the house that it was cast upon. Since you and your younger sister Alexis had also been in the house, the truth spell had affected the both of you as well.

Tom was once more working in the house, this time on the stairs. He was sitting in the dining room, looking through his tools for whatever he happened to need to complete the job.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared up at him. Something in the back of your mind was driving you to finally try and make a move towards him. If it didn’t work, he would forget at the end of these 24 hours and the two of you would handle being friends just fine.

“Say Tom?” you asked, awkwardly fidgeting your fingers into a knotted mess. “Tom, what kind of girl do you go after?”

Your question seemed to give him pause as he stared at you in confusion. “What kind of girl?” Once you nodded in response, he smiled down at you. “I like a girl who’s kind and sweet. She likes to smile, and, when she does, it’s the most beautiful smile in the whole entire world. Someone who’s compassionate.”

“O-Okay,” you stuttered, blushing as you hid behind your hair. You stared down at your feet, watching as they shuffled together awkwardly. “What about a girl who makes the first move?”

Finally, you glanced back up at him. You studied his face as his calm brown eyes studied your own. “I’ve been waiting for that, yeah.”

A huge smile broke out across your face as you brought your lips up to his. The kiss was so soft and gentle as his hand wrapped around your torso, pulling you closer.

Once he pulled away, a smirk settled over his face. “What do you think about a guy who makes the second move?”

“I’d like that,” you said, the barest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. He pulled you back into a kiss, this one lasting longer than the first.

----

“I’m sorry, was it something important?” he asked, walking over to you. His hand brushed the hair away of your face. You felt your face grow warm, but you couldn’t look away from his eyes.

“No, not at all.” You smiled up at him, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “It’s fine. Really.”

He smiled down at you, but something seemed to be wrong. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something seemed to be hiding his smile away from you. But he didn’t answer. Instead, he walked away from you and sat down on the couch, patting the seat next to him. You raised an eyebrow at him in curiosity.

“Sit down, please. I wanna talk to you.”

His words put pause in your step as you stared at him. “Tom? Is everything good?”

His eyes met yours and, for the first time, you saw the pure sadness in his eyes. “Y/N, we really need to talk.” Unable to figure out what to do, you did what you would have done in any situation. You froze everything in the room.

“Alexis! Get in here!” you shouted, glaring towards the open doorway. Your sister’s head poked around the doorway, a guilty look on her face. “Is Tom about to break up with me?”

“Why would I know?” she asked, slumping down into the armchair. “I wouldn’t know. It’s not like Tom has been asking me for help or anything.”

“Alexis!” you shouted, grabbing a pillow from the couch and throwing it at her. “Why would you help him break up with me! Why does he want to break up with me?”

She sighed and walked over to you, resting a calm hand on your shoulder. “Honey, you have to talk to him yourself. He’s got a reason, and... you need to hear it from him.”

You sighed and shooed her away once more before turning back to Tom and unfreezing him. You walked over and sat next to him on the couch. He turned his body towards you, ready to talk, but you interrupted him.

“You have a wife and kids, don’t you?” The moment the words left your mouth, you watched as confusion wrote itself across his face. “You’re a monk?” He shook his head. “Already committed?”

“I... uh, you could say that, yeah.” You deflated, sinking back into the chair. Tom quickly sat up and leaned closer, leaving so little space between the two of you. “Y/N, listen... I’m not from here.”

You shrugged off his remark, crossing your arms over your chest. “Right. Really far away. Of course. I don’t need someone who’s geographically unavailable. It’s a... good reason.”

When you looked up, your eyes met his sad brown ones. His hand brushed a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay here with you. But I have to go.”

Slowly, you nodded, leaning away from his hand. Tom looked like a kick puppy at your gesture, but you couldn’t help it. “Fine. It’s fine. But... Will I ever see you again?”

“I don’t know,” was his only response.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments before you jumped to your feet, trying to put as much distance between the two of you. “Well, I guess this is goodbye then. So... I, uh, hope that you enjoy life wherever you’re from. After all, it’s really far away.”

“Far, far away,” he responded, watching you with a dejected look.

“Right. So... Bye.” With that, you hurried out of the room. Your chest felt tight as your eyes started to burn with unshed tears. Your feet carried you up the stairs as fast as you could possibly go. You just needed to be far away from Tom right now. To break down. Yeah, that was all you need... a good cry.

----

“How’d it go?” Alexis cautiously asked, stepping into the living room. Tom, who had previously been staring catatonic through the doorway you just exited from, glanced up. “Tom?”

“She took it... really well.” He leaned back against the couch, clearly shocked. “No tears or anything.”

Alexis shifted on her feet, staring at the ground for a moment. “Tom, maybe if you just told her why-”

“She can’t know that I’m a Whitelighter.” He shook his head, sitting back up so that way he could leave if necessary. “You weren’t even supposed to find out. You only found out on accident because I was carelessly levitating in the living room earlier.”

“Yeah but Tom... Maybe she should know that you’re like a guardian angel for witches and that you’ll be back eventually. I mean, maybe she’d wait for you.” Alexis cautiously sat down on the couch, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “She’d be understanding.”

He simply shook his head, staring down at his hands. His eyes were unfocused, and everything was blurry. “No. It’s forbidden. We are forbidden. A Whitelighter can’t fall in love with their witch. And, like the idiot I am, I went and fell in love with her.”

“So that’s it?” she asked, looking at him with dread-filled eyes. “You leave? Maybe show up every once in awhile?”

“That’s all I can do. She doesn’t deserve to wait for me.” He suddenly turned to look at the youngest sister, a pained look in his eyes. “Please promise me you won’t tell Y/N. No one should know about who I truly am, okay? Do you promise?”

She nodded, holding her pinkie finger up in the air. “I promise. I think you’re completely wrong to hide this from her, but... You’re right. She’d hurt more with this information.”

The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he dragged the youngest sister into a hug. “Thank you...” he mumbled.

With that, he pulled away and looked up at the roof. A small chime sound seemed to fill the air. “I have to go,” he mumbled. “My, uh... boss is calling.”

He stood and disappeared in a wash of blue light that seemed to retract into the ceiling. Alexis simply stood there, feeling caught in the middle of a war with no way of fixing things. For once, she wished she had better control of her premonition powers. Maybe then she could see the future and tell her older sister how to fix it. Maybe see their wedding: you in a flowing white gown and Tom in a suit. Slowly dancing together. Happy.

But wishing won’t fix anything.

Not this time.

----

Tags:

@spxderbarnes @dodie-y3llow @youreafangirl-harry @thedaydreamingwriter @starksparker @peeterparkr @spidey-pal @hollands-poppet @hollandroos

#Ems21st #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland headcanon #tom holland blurb #tom holland drabble #tom holland one-shot #tom holland #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker headcanon #peter parker blurb #peter parker drabble #peter parker one-shot #peter parker #spider-man x reader #spider-man imagine #spider-man headcanon #spider-man blurb #spider-man drabble #spider-man one-shot #spider-man #whitelighter!tom #charmed au #witch!reader

[blackberrywidow]

The Death of Me

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Death. Blood. Hurt/Comfort. Nothing too explicit, but it’s all there.

Summary: You left Peter because of the danger. You weren’t the kind of girl that could be with a superhero, no matter how much you wanted to be. You thought you were protecting both of you. You just never imagined that death would still find you.

A/N: This is my submission for @spxderbarnes‘s writing challenge. This really isn’t TOO dark, but it’s still more than I thought it would be. Also, I don’t usually write violence, so I really hope this isn’t complete trash.

You were a runner. Always had been, always would be.

It was how you were made—with a predetermined fight or flight response that always lead to flight. You simply weren’t the kind of person that stood your ground and fought. You were the kind of person who ran from your problems.

Run to run another day. Self-preservation at its finest.

Except that your predilection to run is what put you in this position.

You ran three years ago, when your abusive boyfriend had threatened to kill you if you ever left him. Ran all the way to New York, where you found a job at Stark Industries and a means to support yourself.

You had been content, being single and self-sufficient after a year of living under someone else’s thumb. You had a job, a sense of purpose, a home. A safe place.

But then you met Peter Parker, and suddenly you were running again. This time, directly to him.

After that, you were better than content. You were ridiculously, insanely happy. The happiest you could remember being.

Peter was amazing. He was handsome, funny, intelligent, clever, kind—everything you had ever wanted. And he gave himself to you willingly, selflessly. With sweet words and hidden smiles and shared jokes.

It hadn’t been long before you fell in love, something that you knew should scare you after your past relationship. But this was different, because this time it was with Peter. Peter, who you trusted inexplicably.

You were right to, in a way. Peter would never hurt you. But therein lie the problem. he wasn’t just Peter. He was Spider-man, as you found out one rainy night in the heart of Midtown.

You had laid in the rubble of a destroyed restaurant, bleeding and disoriented as you watched your boyfriend—Spider-man—fend off a man with crazy eyes and electrified gauntlets on his hands.

You were terrified and injured and confused. And you didn’t know what to do. So you ran. This time away from the one thing you had ever considered fighting for.

It was only natural.

—

Two weeks later, and you were spending what was a normal night at home—well, as normal as any night had been since you left. Which meant that you were crying into a tub of ice cream while watching reruns of Friends.

After the first week, you had given up on any forced sense of normalcy and decided to just accept that this was your life now.

Not much had really changed in your life since the night you ran out of the destroyed restaurant and straight to a hospital. A few stitches in your forehead, a busted upper lip, and bruises that covered various other parts of your body are all that you had as evidence that that night had even happened.

You still went to work. Still smiled at your coworkers and made plans that you intended to cancel later. Still went home to your dog and Netflix. There was just a huge absence in your life.

Namely, Peter. Who you hadn’t heard from in nearly two weeks either.

You had seen him only once since the incident at the restaurant. The next morning, he had shown up with flowers and an apology. He had tried to explain everything to you then—Spider-man, the Shocker, his other various enemies and his life as an Avenger. But you had decided quickly that you didn’t need his explanations or apologies.

Peter was a superhero. He was someone made of much stronger stuff than you. He needed someone who could stand beside him and face the dangers that came with life as an Avenger. Not someone who only knew how to run awayfrom conflict.

It was almost laughable, that someone like you fell in love with someone who dedicated their life to running towards danger rather than away from it.

He hadn’t approached you again, leaving your apartment with understanding but heartbroken eyes and an assurance that you wouldn’t hear from him again.

Your heart had broken too, because despite the fact that he was giving you what you asked for, you knew it wasn’t what you really wanted.

So yeah. You were lonely and depressed, but you knew that it was for the best. Hence the crying and general self-loathing. But it was something that you knew you would have to move past eventually.

A crash sounded down the hallway, drawing your attention and bringing you back into the present.. Tessa—your dog—jumped to her feet and started growling, which should have been your second clue that something was going on.

“What is it girl?” you asked, placing your ice cream down on the coffee table to stand up and join her at the door. “Do you need to go out?”

She had no time to respond, even if she were capable, as your front door was kicked in just a fraction of a second later, and suddenly you were diving to the floor as Tessa leapt forward.

You heard a yelp and looked up from where you were covering your face to see your dog fly across the room and land in a heap against the wall in your living room. Your head whipped around, and your blood ran cold.

“Remember me?” The Shocker asked, lowering the blue hood of his jacket to smile down at you from your doorway. “I sure remember you. Spider-man’s girl, right?”

You frantically backed up, still on the ground, as you shook your head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said with a confidence you didn’t feel, with only the slightest of tremors in your voice. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” he mocked, slamming a metal covered fist against your wall, leaving a sizable dent in its wake. “Why do you think I’m here? Your boy has been a pain in my ass for a long time now. Came real close to putting me away again the other day, as I’m sure you noticed. But I’ve managed to stay one step ahead of him. Thing is… that’s just not good enough anymore. So, I’m gonna take you, and then we’ll see how the spiderling feels about leavin’ me alone. Sound good baby?”

“It won’t matter,” you said, mouth dry and hands clammy as you slowly stood on shaking legs. You had analyzed the situation during his little speech, looking for any possible escape routes or opportunities to run. There were none. So for once, you really had no choice but to make a stand. And if you had to do it, you would do it with a fearlessness that belied the terror clouding your mind and a calmness that hid the way your hands trembled. If you were going to be brave, you would do it right. If not for yourself, for Peter. “I’m not his girlfriend, and he won’t let you get away with murder just to save me. He’s a hero—stopping assholes like you is kind of what he does.”

There was a beat of stunned silence where the villain just stared at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. It didn’t last long.

“Ha!” he cackled, doubling over to grip his knees as his amusement overcame him. The moment his eyes left you, your hand shot out to snatch the first thing you touched on the kitchen counter to your right without much of a thought. You supposed you were operating on survival instincts you didn’t know you had. Whatever it was that you had landed on, you clutched it tightly and dropped your hand back down to your side as he raised his head to grin at you. “Man, you really are something sweetheart. I can see why he likes you.”

You shook your head mutely, taking an involuntary step back as he started walking toward you. His grin only widened, the overhead lighting reflecting off his eyes manically. You swallowed as your back hit a wall, nowhere left to run.

“Too bad he won’t get the chance to appreciate you for much longer,” he mused, reaching out with a sparking hand.

In the seconds before his fist approached your face, you strengthened your resolve. You clutched the make-shift weapon in your hand tightly—the hilt of the steak knife you had carelessly left out after your dinner the night before. You steadied yourself, forcing the shaking in your arm to subside. You saw him draw back, preparing to deliver you a blow that would knock you out, and you waited.

He drove his fist forward.

Now.

You dove to the right, felt a slight breeze as his heavy fist sailed over your head, and shot up, right hand raising instinctively.

You wanted to close your eyes, to block this all out and just hope for the best, but you forced yourself to watch as you drove the knife into his jugular. Had to make sure that you made your one shot count. Fortunately, it did.

He didn’t expect it, to say the least. You couldn’t really say for certain that you did either. One moment he was attacking you, your situation hopeless, and the other you were defending yourself with random cutlery.

And it happened so quickly. It didn’t register until his body hit the ground, blood pooling under him as gasps ripped from his throat and the life left his eyes that you had killed him. You had just killed a man, and it had taken mere seconds. A life lost to an inexperienced hand in the time it takes to turn the page of a newspaper.

Terrible, horrible, bloody and wrong. But necessary.

You weren’t sure if that made it better.

You weren’t sure of anything really.

You dropped the knife with a sob, bloody hands flying to cover your mouth without a thought. You stood frozen, staring down at his body in mute horror for what felt like hours. You couldn’t say for certain how long it really was.

Eventually, movement drew your eye from across the room, and you were relieved to see Tessa standing up to slowly walk over to you, seemingly fine. You dropped to your knees, checking her over for any injuries as a way to reassure yourself that she was really unharmed as well as buy time.

It didn’t last long though, and a moment later you were stumbling over to pick up your phone from where it was laying on your coffee table. You hesitated as you pulled up your contacts, but it was useless. You knew there was only one person you wanted—needed to talk to.

It only rang once before clicking over, and his voice instantly soothed your nerves. “(Y/N)? Are you alright? I—”

You closed your eyes, taking in the concern and hope in his voice before cutting him off with a broken sigh. It was best to just cut to the chase. “I just killed a man. I need your help.”

A beat of silence, and you worried that he hung up. You should have known better, of course, because in the next second he’s answering, his voice now steady and commanding as he said, “Don’t leave. I’ll be right there.”

—

You didn’t wait long. You weren’t sure if that meant he was simply nearby or if he had put on the suit and swung all the way from Queens, but you didn’t really care. The only thing you felt when you saw him stumble his was into the broken doorframe of your apartment was relief.

“(Y/N)!” Peter called the moment his wide eyes took in your destroyed door, panic and fear both expressed so clearly in that single word.

“Here,” you said, voice quiet in the stillness of your apartment. You rose from your seat on your couch, taking a single step in his direction before hesitating. You couldn’t imagine what you looked like right now, covered in a dead man’s blood without a hint of guilt on your face. What would he even say?

“Oh thank God,” he breathed the second his eyes met yours, and suddenly he was crossing the room and crushing you against his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” you answered numbly, hands slowly moving up to grip the back of his sweater in your bloody fists. “I—I’m so sorry.”

The words tumbled from your mouth unbidden and slightly hysterical as sobs fought to wrack your body. Your shoulders shook as you tried to suppress them, and Peter tightened his grip on you, burying your head into his chest. You went willingly, seeking out the comfort he provided.

Why had you ever tried to run away from this?

“You need to tell me what happened, (Y/N). Please.”

Your eyes snapped open and you saw the blood out of the corner of your eye.

Right. That was why.

You sucked in a deep breath, steadying yourself, before recanting the events of the past thirty minutes in a lifeless monotone. It was easier to pretend that you were just telling a story, one that you had no personal attachment to or investment in. An unhealthy coping mechanism, one that you couldn’t use forever, but one that would get you through the night.

After you were done, feeling a little more relieved to have shared your burden with another, Peter left you long enough to call the police and report the crime. You spent the time alone—well, as alone as one can be when only ten feet apart in a small apartment—thinking. About Peter and Spider-man and near-death experiences and the way a knife wet with blood felt in your hand. You weren’t sure what sort of conclusions you were supposed to be coming to, if any, but you considered them.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, (Y/N),” Peter said, taking your hands as he crouched down in front of you, breaking you out of your trance. “It’s clearly self-defense. Plenty of evidence that he broke in here and tried to hurt you. Only thing is… technically you should have called the police first. It’s gonna seem suspicious that you called me. So we’re just going to say that I was on my way here and came in as it happened, okay? And that we called them right after to report it. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, eyes never leaving his. Peter was calm, something of a rarity for the high energy, almost constantly nervous man. But he ha always had a strength about him, that drew you in and made you want to be better. To be strong and sure like he was. You had never thought that you could be, but…

“I’m sorry,” you said again, because it seemed right and you weren’t sure what else youcould say. “I… I’m just so sorry, Peter.”

His brow furrowed and he squeezed your hands, shaking his head. “Why are you sorry? God (Y/N), I’m the one who should be sorry. And I am! I mean… because of me, that guy came in here and he—he tried to hurt you. He tried to take you and do who knows what to you because of me! Because I was careless and put you in danger.”

He stopped suddenly, biting his lip and lowering his eyes as tears welled in them. You wanted to say something, deny that it was true, but it was. And you got the sense that he wasn’t quite finished yet either. So you sat in silence, holding each other’s hands like it was your lifeline to sanity and waited until he finally raised his head, eyes resolute.

“I should have never let this happen. I should have protected you. I—I should have never even dragged you into this, and I’m sorry that I did. (Y/N)… I just need you to know that I never wanted this to happen. I love you. I never want you to be in danger. So after this is all taken care of… I’ll do whatever I can to make sure that you’re safe from afar. I promise.”

Peter’s conviction had always drawn you in, made you feel comforted by his honesty and earnestness. Now it made you feel cold and desperate, even as your heart swelled with the reminder of why you weren’t completely freaking out.

“No,” you said, voice firm and unwavering. “I think that if this has taught us anything, it’s that ‘from afar’ doesn’t really work.”

Peter shook his head, guilt flickering through his eyes. “I know, I’ll work on i—”

“Wait,” you cut him off, shaking your head and giving him a look. “Let me finish. I love you too Peter.” You saw confusion and hope flash across his face, but he heeded your request and waited for you to continue. You took it as a good sign. “I never stopped loving you. I just—I didn’t think that I would ever be enough for you. I mean… you’re this amazing person without all of the superhero stuff taken into consideration. So with it? I just can’t compare. And I don’t mean that in an envious way. I just don’t compare to that at all. I don’t stand and fight for myself, let alone others. What business do I have being in love with Spider-man?”

You hesitated, stopping suddenly as you considered what it was you were telling him. It was all true, of course. But it was probably more than you should have said. It had been weeks, Peter didn’t need to be hearing excuses—

“That’s ridiculous,” Peter scoffed, seeming to take your inner debate as permission to cut in. You were grateful. “You, not enough for me? Insane. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you, (Y/N). I put you in danger just by being at your side. And you were right about one thing—you don’t have any superpowers or enhancements. My mere existence puts the people I care about most in danger, and that just isn’t fair. Especially when said people can’t defend themselves. It was wrong of me and I—”

“Okay,” you cut in fiercely, shaking your head and meeting Peter’s eyes sternly. “That’s the thing Peter. I did defend myself. Maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe he was just a really shitty villain. I don’t know and I don’t care. The point is for the first time in my life, I didn’t run away. I stood up and defended myself and… it felt good.”

Peter blinked in shock at this revelation and raised a brow at you in question. You hastened to correct yourself. “Not like that! I mean, I didn’t like killing the guy, or being in danger for that matter. But it was… okay. I survived, and I stood my ground. That’s what matters. That I can do it. I left you because I didn’t think I could, and because I thought you deserved someone that can. Well… now I know that I can, and if this—being in semi-regular danger and fighting off bad guys—is what it takes to be with you… then it’s a price willing to pay.”

Peter was still silent, and you would be more concerned about how he was taking it if his eyes weren’t wide and full of love the way they always are when you talk too much. You smiled, just a small, discreet twist of your lips, and reached forward to grasp his face in your hands, ignoring the blood that you smeared on his cheek. “I knew the day I met you that you would be the death of me, Peter Parker. Obviously, I didn’t know how literally that could be, but it doesn’t change anything. So if I’m running anywhere, it’ll be with you. If you’ll have me, of course.”

You waited with bated breath, face only a few inches away from Peter’s now as you let him absorb what you said. His face was serious, and his eyes seemed to be searching yours for some kind of sign. It only took him a moment to find it.

“You know,” he said, sighing as his eyes flickered down to your lips, “I won’t let you die, right?”

Your smile broadened. “I will hope for the best, I suppose.”

“Fine,” Peter finally relented, rolling his eyes at you before closing the distance between you.

It was a soft kiss, just the faintest of contact for the briefest of seconds before he drew away. But you understood. The police were on their way, there was a dead man only ten feet away from you, you had literally just gotten back together after breaking up, and you had gotten blood on both his face and his sweater. The situation was far from ideal. But you were together again, and as you sat there, smiling serenely at each other, you knew that you would be together for a long time.

You also knew that you would have a lot to deal with to make it through, and that you should probably not be smiling like a lovesick fool when the police showed up to investigate the homicide, but that could wait at least another minute or so.

“I love you,” you reminded him, reaching out to pet Tessa when she came up to nuzzle against Peter’s side. “And Tessa missed you. So… I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah,” Peter laughed, stroking Tessa’s side and smiling down at her. “Me too.”

Only a few more moments passed before the police arrived, and then it was more of the same. Describe what happened. Do you know this man? Why was he here? Blah, blah, blah.

You answered all of their questions to the best of your ability with a rapidly depleting patience. You were happy when they finally released you, but your apartment was officially a crime scene, so you and Tessa packed your bags and headed to Peter’s. You were relieved, to be honest.

You held onto Peter’s hand with your right and Tessa’s leash with your left as you walked down the sidewalk, happily listening to him fill you in on what had happened in the past two weeks. You were disappointed that you had missed so much of his life, but you were also glad that you had the opportunity to grow from your separation.

Before, you had been so sure that you were incapable of fighting for Peter. Now… you knew that you could. That you were more than a terrified girl who ran away from all of her problems. You had just discovered that you had a back bone, and you were going to figure out how to use it. Preferably without having to stab any more men in the neck.

But you would, you thought, smiling up at Peter as he continued to ramble. If you had to, you wouldn’t hesitate. You had him now, and you weren’t going to run away from him again. Even if it was the death of you.

Taglist: @desir-ae, @foggys, @tina8009, @littlebookbengal, @youclickedthislink, @spideypeach

#mcu fanfiction #Peter parker #spider-man #Peter Parker x reader #Spider-man x reader #Peter Parker imagine #spider-man imagine #Peter Parker oneshot #spider-man oneshot #ems21st #my writing

[whatscallion]

don’t panic!

Pairing: Flirtatiously Quill x Unnamed OC ( it’ll make sense )

A/N: This is the first time I’ve really done an OC / Reader insert deal, but figured that the writing challenge set by @spxderbarnes would be a good time to start! Besides, who doesn’t enjoy Quill (okay, ignoring infinity war bc obvious reasons). Hope I did this remotely right. Lots of references to one of my favorite book series, and a fun film - ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’. Best if read in the voice of Stephen Fry. Summary: A failed date at Milliways, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, that is unabashedly crashed by a group of rowdy individuals - including one Star Lord. Shooting and great hair ensues. Word Count: 3,097

Special thanks to @cptsteven for dialogue help.

There were once stories written in the stars, carefully planned as to not tip any balance one way or another. There are those who wish to see this done, just for the sake of planetary chaos. This rarely bode well for the galaxy’s inhabitants. Yet amidst it all, there tended to be a common denominator, one that would surprise even the most powerful of beings.

And he had a knack for timing.

Milliways was, as always, a popular destination for all kinds of critters across the universe, both intelligent and not. The establishment boasted its exotic dishes through dismal advertising - most of which was by word of mouth, passing through the different curls of languages painting the cosmos. It was most known for its drinks, all of which required an incredibly high pain tolerance in order to consume. If that was survived, then surely the hangover would do the trick in granting untimely death. Fortunately enough, only about 5% of the universe’s populace could actually afford such a drink, so lesser beings didn’t have to worry, often opting for the local tap water, which was arguably just as bad.

But there she was - that bored girl from Terra who’d been unfortunately stood up in one of the most far-reaching restaurants anyone has or hasn’t heard of. How she managed to get there required a ridiculous amount of impossible abnormality. It was enough to require a change of clothing and sugary coffee to get by all those stars and that unending void. But it did end, in a sense, because that’s where Milliways was. There were all kinds of physics surrounding how it managed to ride the wave of the expanding universe, offering unparalleled views into a very true and very seamless abyss, but that was neither here nor there.

The tap water had something of a metallic taste to it, and our girl only took a sip or two before finally letting that scowl bleed through to compound her already lacking disposition. Through months of travelling as an unexpected guest aboard some intergalactic pirate ship, the novelty of alien compositions had worn off completely. Every possible color of the rainbow had come in every possible shape and texture any one being could think of. The excitement of the Final Frontier had waned, just as the restaurant’s atmosphere had over the course of several millennia. A once posh venue serving only the elite, Milliways had degraded itself to a tourist trap with questionable patrons and even more questionable dishes.

She grumbled about her absent date, expressing her disdain for what she’d been dressed in ( iridescent mesh had not been her choice, but that of the ship’s captain ) through a deep sneer and a subtle fidget. It was also incredibly uncomfortable, but of course, she’d been reassured she’d draw more attention than a Ta’avarian on the planet Nucleux, whatever that meant. It was becoming more and more apparent that the ship she’d been on had been waiting to unload their unwitting bounty to get on with their lives rather than pander to a fragile Terran who couldn’t even hold her breath for longer than a minute.

For a moment, she wondered how improbable it was to get a hamburger in this place that was made from a discernible meat. But thoughts were ceased as the doors to the restaurant whipped open to reveal a handful of very colorful individuals who immediately commanded attention through presence alone.

That and they were quite loud.

A tree ent, a raccoon ( that she assumed lived in a nest on the tree ent ), a scowling green woman, a larger scowling green man with intricate markings ( which she assumed was the reason he was shirtless in a restaurant ), and a man who looked surprisingly normal despite wearing green ( short ) gym shorts, a sweater, and flip flops. Never in her life had the Terran seen such a diverse group of individuals, prompting her to stare longer than what was deemed admissible, even by a Kloxin’s standards. For those unaware of the race known as ‘Kloxins’, they are an arachnid type species that can ensnare the mind if all eight eyes are met simultaneously. This would wreak havoc on the universe if everyone had eight eyes as well, so the Kloxins are doomed to simply control one another for the time being until evolution can throw them a bone.

The seemingly rowdy group went and sat in the corner of the restaurant, which held a perfect view of absolutely nothing while boasting about shooting this or slicing into that. The Terran girl only looked away when she felt the dryness of her tongue since her jaw had dropped somewhat. Right when she thought she’d seen it all, or at least became numb to it all, she became surprised at what this team was comprised of. She turned in her seat, greeted only with her reflection in the mirror at the back of Milliway’s bar, though it was frowning at her. Envy, curiosity, anxiety - they all wracked through her system, and she’d offered whatever imaginary greater force her soul in exchange for regular clothing. Her kingdom for denim. Whoever that was was obviously busy, for her attire didn’t change in the slightest, bringing her to groan in self-pity.

Hidden behind her hands that had been stained blue since first being picked up off her planet, there was a subtle shift in the space next to her. Some sort of extra-sensory thing she wished she could put her finger on, choosing to believe cosmic radiation had started to change her when really, she was just being perceptive and it was oddly quiet. She peeked through her fingers, finding that the most normal of that loud crowd had chosen to sit beside her, though he wasn’t looking at her.

She couldn’t help but glance down at the gym shorts that looked as if they’d gotten two inches shorter since he’d entered the place.

“You look normal,” he finally said, just before hailing down the robotic bartender for a glass of tap water, neat. “Like you’re not from anywhere near Centuri or anything.”

For those unaware, the radiation belt surrounding Centuri covers millions upon millions of lightyears of space, thus turning most inhabitants into something that resembles what your aunt would bring to Thanksgiving for dessert: globby, bits of things floating in it, and unappetizing in color.

“Uh,” she started, unaware that she’d been served something that resembled a hamburger, but strong suspicions would have her believe it was merely a facade for something tasting akin to celery. Mind reading robots tended to operate that way, acting on visual dreams rather than the substance that created them. “I guess I’m normal? I don’t know what to categorize as normal. Earth isn’t very normal to begin with.”

This managed to grab the man’s attention, bringing him to turn in his seat to face her completely, making it increasingly difficult to not steal another glance at the magically diminishing shorts. His eyes were alight with curiosity and relation, which forced the Terran to assume he knew the planet she was from. She could only hope that his opinions of the place were good, making him one of the very few she’d come across with the right attitude. More often than not, she feigned being from Earth’s moon which was the equivalent to being from America’s Alaska when traveling abroad.

Same neighborhood, but unassociated to those who don’t know better.

“Earth? Really? Hey, I’m from there. What a coinkidink. Did ‘Temple of Doom’ just blow Indiana Jones out of the water or what?” He looked too hopeful for that, but the truth was out of her mouth before she could really stop it.

“What? No. It’s the worst of the original trilogy. Earth collectively doesn’t even talk about the fourth one.” The girl sounded harsher than she intended. Probably.

“Trilogy? They made another one after ‘Temple of Doom’? And another after that?” While he looked minutely downcast, there was an eagerness to know more about the planet she came from. Which was his planet as well. “What uh- What else did they do?”

“Remade ‘Footloose’.”

“WHAT.”

His exclamation was enough to draw the attention of the restaurant’s patrons, all of whom were now settle with varying gazes upon the two at the bar. While she seemed a bit shy about the attention, her neighbor seemed unphased by it, as if he were used to being watched with differing states confusion.

He was oblivious, until someone spoke up.

“‘Footloose’? You’re kidding me.” It was more a growl than anything, followed by the unmistakable noise of a chair skidding across worn laminate flooring. The man in the shorts turned before the Terran girl did, both now looking across the dining room at what could only be described as a heaping pile of slimy ropes mushed together to vaguely resemble a bipedal . . . thing.

This was a member of the Gliphtrin race, who are infamous for finding sheer joy in throwing small rocks at bigger rocks, then eating said smaller rocks. But eating was unnecessary since they were all collections of smaller beings that greatly resembled boiled hagfish, absorbing their needed nutrients from the air around them. They are, collectively, notorious for having tempers and holding grudges. In fact, they hold the record for longest grudge held, which predates the universe’s creation by three and a half days.

No one is really sure what the grudge is, or who it is against, but it is known to be fierce and misplaced.

“Ooooooh, heeeey . . . you.” The green-shorted man had obviously forgotten this particular alien’s name, and it was apparently the wrong thing to do. The Terran girl could just sit there and watch as if a fly on the wall, wishing she had a glass of water she could hide behind - preferably one that didn’t threaten her livelihood. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s it hanging? Low and a little to the left?”

“You stole my fuel! And left me deserted on a desert planet! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BAD THAT IS FOR MY SKIN?!” This growing conflict between green shorts and rope monster was growing a bit comfortable as far as the Terran was concerned, which would explain why she slipped from her seat to put distance between her at the verdant booty shorts. This felt like an inevitable disaster, which would be truly fatal considering they were in a place that was nothing more than a pocket of air in the vastness of space, which had no air.

The lingering sensation of possible death sat heavily at the back of the Terran’s mind as she continued to sidestep away from the only other Earthling she’d met in roughly six months. This felt like a bad mix of whatever was going between the two and tainted water, which was proving to be volatile, even by the universe’s standards.

“Hey! YOU said you had spare fuel! YOU said I could have what you had in order to get to Knowhere! YOU CAN’T BLAME ME FOR TRUSTING ONE OF YOUR WEIRD TALKING FACE HOLES!” The flipflopped man had a way with words, it seemed.

Nowhere? Huh, thought the Terran, now at the edge of the bar.

The rope monster roared with all billion mouths it apparently had, which rightfully incited chaos almost immediately. The Terran girl dove behind the bar in a shimmering flash of iridescence, quick to curl into a ball against the shattering of numerous bottles that had been adorning the back counter. Fear held her tightly, keeping her from even imagining the war carrying on just a few feet away from her small safe haven in the corner of a dingy countertop. Imagine her surprise when a body had hopped over and fell to the floor beside her.

The booty shorts man. And he had a gun. Or what she assumed to be a gun. It wasn’t a gun by Terran standards, but it was definitely something you pointed at something else to make it stop moving one way or another. Part of his sweater was burned off.

Oh.

That got the Terran’s attention. She hadn’t quite noticed there could’ve been muscle beneath that poly-blend.

“DAMN IT!” He wasn’t nearly as happy that his clothing was ruined. “Rocket! ANY LUCK?!”

There was nothing but cackling in return, which had actually been a good answer since the tension of the situation slowly dissipated from him as he sat up, checking the gun thing in his hand and finally noticing the girl he’d been talking to was right beside him.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t think you were alive. So that’s cool. I’m Peter, by the way.” He held out his free hand, and took her own, but the destruction raining down around them kept her from really returning the favor and giving him her name. From the pocket of his shorts ( which she really could not get over ), he produced a small device - an MP3 player. “This calls for some mood music, yah know?”

She immediately recognized the tune as he put it on.

‘Kiss’ by Prince. A classic.

“If we all get out of here alive, wanna come with? Couldn’t help but notice that whole forlorn doe-eyed look you had going on earlier. We could use a girl on the crew.” It was mind boggling to the Terran that Peter was so calm as glass and splintered wood peppered the air so continuously. This must be a somewhat common occurrence.

“I-...what? That green woman-..”

“Gamora? She’s alright. Bit rough around the edges. Actually, a lot rough around the edges. Did you know she slept with that Iron Dude once? She said he cried.” There was ample snickering on his part, which made up for the complete lack of comprehension on the Terran’s part. “But hey, you should definitely think about it. It’d be fun and nice. We’re cool. I’m the coolest, because I’m the captain. I have my own ship and everything. And music.”

She was just so . . . flabbergasted.

“Peter, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything since we just met, and there’s a lot going on, but are you flirting with me?” Part of her hoped he wasn’t, just because the timing would be so strange - almost too cinematic and cliche.

But a much larger part of her hoped he was.

“I don’t know, maybe?” He spoke as he reloaded his gun thing, or so she assumed. “Is it working? Because if it is, I’m definitely flirting.”

This man wearing shorts that left so little to the imagination and ( what she knew to be ) Old Navy flip flops was being so smooth despite the complete hot mess he made himself look like. The crooked smirk beneath the slightly grown facial hair was the kicker. It was then that the Terran found herself budding a whole new appreciation for the jaded hue and a new take on casual wear.

Before she could answer, the entire bar area fell prey to what had been a nega-space hand grenade, which had instantly condensed the entire bar structure to one single atom before exploding it outward in a grand display of absolute annihilation. But in the wake of something so absolute, there was only silence. Who had lived through that?

Everyone.

The Gliphtrin had scattered after basically being disassembled during the blast, and most of the patrons had been dubiously ( and conveniently ) knocked out as well. It was undoubtedly the crew that Peter had arrived with that were the first to stir from where they’d landed during the fight and subsequent explosion, murmuring curses at both parties involved. It was pertinent that they leave immediately before word of their usual shenanigans got to the Vogons who would almost literally bury them in necessary paperwork.

“That was less than I expected,” the raccoon cackled as he scrambled for the door, Treebeard following with only one arm less than he’d shown up with. “I’m disappointed in kids these days. Ain’t a good fight in the stars.”

“We’re not really looking to fight, Rocket,” the green woman spoke, sheathing a sword that had been hidden away when she’d entered the restaurant. “We’re running out of places we’re not banned from. If we keep this up, we’ll be eating whatever Drax feels like cooking.”

“I make great meals. I don’t know what you’re talking about, making it sound like torture,” the large tattooed man said, flicking what looked to be a finger off his bare shoulder. “If I wanted to actually torture you, it would not be with life-sustaining food.”

“On the bright side, we’re all alive, right?” Peter had gotten up, somehow forgetting the Terran’s existence in the process. Maybe the blast had scrambled his brains a little. “And I know, I know - I say that every time, but I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true.”

They were heading out when they heard a very meek ‘hey’ from the collateral left behind them. When Peter turned to look back at the noise, almost expecting one of the mini-rope monsters egging him on, he could only do that damned crooked smirk again at the site of torn mesh.

The Terran girl.

“Hey, buttercup, you’re alive! Wanna come with?” Even if he’d been unabashedly flirting before in the midst of a firefight, there was still some semblance of sincerity there as he watched her stand, completely ignoring the incredulous looks from his cohorts. “We’re heading to uh . . . I think it’s Gre’qrium next. Right?”

He had to look to those standing around him for confirmation, which he got by way of enthusiastic nods before they began to amble off.

“Whaddya say? I heard it’s got rivers of pearls, incredible food, and a really relaxed policy on clothing.”

“Hell yes, I do,” she answered, more than thankful that her date had stood her up at that god awful restaurant. She started to walk with him towards a teal and orange ship that looked a lot cooler than the pirate ship she’d previously been on. “Wait, what do you mean relaxed policy?”

“It’s a nudist planet,” the green woman answered from inside the ship.

“Oh,” said the Terran. “That’s uh . . .”

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, throwing an arm around the girl in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. “It’s not like they look like us.”

“They look worse,” said the one she assumed was Drax. “Beautiful, but worse.”

“We’ve got a trip ahead of us. Tell me what I’ve missed at home. Clothing optional.”

Peter winked.

Everyone but the Terran rolled their eyes.

#Ems21st #quill x oc #starlord #gotg #marvel #mine

[seashellrosekitty]

The Last Dance | Chapter Four

AO3

Chapter Three - The Deal

Chapter Title: The Wedding

Author’s Note: Here’s my entry to @spxderbarnes Em’s 21st Birthday Writing Challenge last year! Sorry it took me longer to update this time. :)

Plot: 1940s post-war era. Steve and Bucky are brothers and are teenagers, and they never served in the army because they were too young to join during the war. You find out you’re pregnant with Steve’s baby. Both Steve’s and your parents arrange for you and Steve to get married, but Steve declines. Ultimately, his father offers his other son, James (later known as Bucky), to marry you in Steve’s place.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader (eventually)

Warnings: 18+ Content! Teenage pregnancy, arranged marriage, religious theme, sexist theme, fluff, smut (of course), angst, Steve being a cold jerk, characters coming from the comics (i.e. Bucky’s family), MCU characters appearing in this era (i.e. Bruce is your younger brother and some others who will appear in the next chapters).

The wedding was arranged. You had expressed to your mother that you wanted a civil wedding. She sternly disagreed and said, “You will only get married in front of the eyes of the Lord, Y/N. This is the last time you will ask me of this.” You simply wanted to get through it without the unnecessary number of eyes that would witness all this. A disgrace wedding.

Your dress was prepared neatly in your room as your mom helped you fix your hair. You put your simple makeup on. A foundation, eyeliner, blush on, and matte red lipstick.

While most brides look at themselves in the mirror hours and minutes before the ceremony, you were staring outside the window of your room. You asked your mother and the whole entourage to leave except for your best friend, Wanda. The redhead closed the door of your room quietly. “Are you okay?” You sighed deeply at her question, barely blinking.

“What have I gotten myself into, Wanda? I’m eighteen and getting married. And the man I love is not the one waiting for me at the altar.”

Wanda walked to your side and looked at you with searching eyes. “Just so you know, I wish I were a witch so I could put Steve under a punishing spell for hurting you this way. You know I don’t care about this church stuff.” You looked at her. “But I care that you love Steve. This baby was conceived out of love. Maybe not much from him as we know now, but from you. Don’t ever regret this, Y/N.” You sighed again. You found it ridiculous that it’s so easy to get married but so difficult to get divorced.

“Besides,” she added. “Your groom isn’t so bad.”

Two weeks ago

When you told your father that you would be married to James, he objected. He was concerned about James’ smarts and abilities. He even talked about setting you up with the son of a friend of his, Clint Barton. Your father even went to the point of guilt-tripping you into agreeing to meet him. It took every ounce of patience from you to go without making it difficult for your parents.

Clinton Barton was the youngest son of a rich couple, Harold and Edith Barton. Clint was quite known among kids his age for his outstanding skills in archery. You knew of him yourself but never once met him because he studied in a private school.

You were pacing back and forth in your room, trying to contemplate on meeting Clint Barton. And on what you must say to James. James. You realized you’ve already made a deal and you weren’t even able to argue well enough with your father to convince him that James would be a fine husband. You decided to give him a call. You’ve had a deal anyway. Technically speaking, you were already engaged to him, after all.

After two rings, James’s mother answered the phone. “Hi, Mrs. Barnes? Is James home? It’s me, Y/N.” “Oh, hi, sweetie. Hold on, he’s in his room.” It took almost a minute and on the other end of the line, you heard heavy footsteps coming downstairs in a rush.

“Hey. Y/N?” James greeted. His voice somehow sounded different on the phone than in person. It was huskier, a little deeper. “James? Hi.” “Something wrong? Did the ring fit?” “I haven’t tried it on yet. Could you come over? I need to talk to you about something.” “Sure, doll. I’ll be right down.”

In twenty minutes, James arrived in the same cream Cadillac car you rode on the day you went for some milkshake. You were already seated on the porch and stood up when he walked towards you. He smiled at you with a slightly worried expression.

“Hey. Everything all right? You sounded worried.” You asked him to sit with you on the porch and he did so and sat beside you. You were holding the ring box he gave you with both your hands, almost hiding it. Then you began.

“My father wants me to meet this guy...Clint Barton. He’s the son of-” “I know who he is.” He cut you off, making you look directly at him. His face dropped a little at the thought. “Your father wants you to marry Barton?” “Well, yeah, I guess,” you shrugged as you played with the ring box. “I’m still supposed to meet him tomorrow morning.” “You sound like you don’t wanna do it,” he remarked, making you shoot a glance at him. You realized he was right. “I don’t. I can’t believe someone else besides our families know about me. About this. And here I am looking like some lost puppy who needs an owner or something.” James huffed at your statement.

“You better stop thinking that way about yourself, doll,” he said and grabbed the ring box from you. He took out the ring from the box and offered his hand to you. “Gimme your left hand, would ya?” Without saying anything, you slowly brought your left hand to his, the smooth fingers of your skin sliding on his rough ones. It felt a bit strange being held by someone who’s not Steve. But it was okay. He gently held on to your fingers and slowly slid the ring on your finger. It fit you perfectly. The corner of his mouth raised to form a small smile.

“I told you you’ll look prettier in it.” It took you a moment before uttering, “Thank you, James.” “Tell you what. Go meet that Barton guy. Consider his chances.  I don’t wanna make you feel like you don’t have a choice, Y/N. You always have a choice. You can even choose not to marry me.” “What are you trying to say?” “I’m saying what I said. Don’t ever think like you don’t have a choice in all this.” “Shouldn’t you be telling yourself the same thing?” “I should. I got my own life. But if this is my only chance to prove myself that I’m worth something, be something to someone. To you...Then I’m gonna do it.”

You sighed deeply and interlaced your hand with his. He was startled at your action. However, it was your instinct to do it. He looked at both your hands and smiled on one corner of his lips as he observed the ring on your finger. He was startled but felt comforted by the gesture.

“We already make a great couple, don’t we?” “I know. It freaks me out, James.” “I know...It scares me too.”

*** Your father accompanied you to the town’s clubhouse to meet with Clint and his parents. The muscles in your legs felt restless. You wanted to get out and go back home. You and your father came early enough for you to mentally prepare yourself. You don’t even know what to say. Though it’s clear that your father will do most of the talking.

Harold Barton and his son Clint arrived at the clubhouse thirty minutes after you and your father. Harold was a brunet man with tall stature. He wasn’t what you expected from a rich man. He was all smiles and didn’t have a businessman vibe on him. Clint, on the other hand, was a more reserved young man. He was blonde and looked like his smile costs a million dollars. Your fathers shook each other’s hands and so did you and Clint as you all greeted each other.

Harold drank and ordered margaritas as if it were nighttime. It was only 10 in the morning. Clint had to talk to the waiter to tell him not to give his father any more alcoholic beverages. He paid the waiter $20 and ordered a club soda with lime served on a cocktail glass instead. That only did the trick once before his father noticed the changeup.

Clint was also quiet just like you were, just listening to the adults talk. But he glanced at you several times to watch your reactions to your fathers’ conversation. You looked back at him but didn’t say anything. All the formality has been said and done in much less time than expected. Your father was straight to the point. He clearly didn’t want to waste any more time. So did you. You just wanted it to be over. You felt uneasy. You kept your head down and quietly searched on your purse for the ring box.

“Your daughter seems like a fine young lady. Perhaps may even be too quiet for my Clinton,” Harold remarked. He already sounded like he had cotton balls in his mouth. “They can be quiet together, Harold. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Your father replied with a stupid grin on his face. “As long as your daughter agrees, I’m fine by it.” You were about to respond but your father interrupted. “Does your son agree?” You began picking up your breath as you fidgeted with the ring that was already out of its box. “Of course, it depends on your daughter, sir,” Clint sternly replied, still observing your behavior. “My daughter needs a husband, Harold. And I think Clint here-”

“Why don’t I get a say in this, Daddy? Even Mr. Barton and his son are making me choose. Why can’t you?” You kept your hands down, still fidgeting, but you were already wearing the ring. “And what? Let you marry that scumbag? He’s not even through high school! That boy is up to no good!” “Sure, because he’s younger than me, obviously. But why do you think he’s taking responsibility in Steve’s place, huh, Daddy? Doesn’t that tell you anything at all?” You began raising your voice. Your father uttered your full name so deeply in his lungs that it made you realize you were still in public. “I’d rather marry someone I know, Daddy.” You turned to Clint. “No offense.” “You do not know that boy! You belong in places like this, darling, and he belongs in the dump!” “But I know him better already. No conversation will ever be good with you if you didn’t like what you heard.” You turned to the Bartons. “I’m sorry for the scene, Clint. Mr. Barton. Thank you for your time.” You finally stood up. Everyone in the restaurant was already looking at your table. You quickly walked away and headed out. You were able to hail a cab at the entrance as someone went out of one. At that moment, you didn’t care about leaving your father in the clubhouse. You hopped on the cab and it cruised away. You felt better being away from your father. You couldn’t wait for everything to be over. You kept holding on to the unfamiliar weight and feeling on your left hand.

With so many thoughts in your head, you almost forgot how you ended up on James’s street. But here you were, standing in front of their house. On the brink of being emotional bordering on rage. When you walked towards the door, you began hearing a woman’s familiar singing voice. Soft and cool to the ears - you knew who was singing. You smiled as you rang the doorbell. Your mood instantly lifted upon hearing the music.

You looked at the ring on your finger and held it while you waited. When the door opened, you looked up to a slightly flushed James Barnes. The edge of a toothpick coming out of his mouth. His hair was a little messy and he wore a thin, collared striped shirt over an undershirt, and a pair of khaki pants.

You smiled at him. “I didn’t know you liked Jo Stafford, too.” He removed the toothpick from his mouth before uttering, “Guess I should say the same thing.” He smiled at you as he wiped his face with a towel. “Come in. How did the meeting go?” “Are you alone?” You asked, taking the hint of his freedom to listen to records on full volume. “Yep. I’m cleaning the house, too. I wasn’t expecting company.” “I didn’t mean to disrupt your cleaning. Maybe I should go…” “No, no, it’s cool. Stay. I’m just about done anyway.” “Where’s your mom?” “Mama went to the store. And the parlor. She won’t be back for another two hours. Make yourself comfortable, doll. Just listen to my girl Jo. I’m just gonna take a quick shower. I smell like shit.”

You just smiled and then sat on the couch. You looked around the living room and began remembering Steve again. Now that you were here for James, you felt like a stranger to their house again. You started wondering how Steve might be doing now, and if he’s still thinking about you. You remembered that night you last saw him that it made you tilt your head down. The first thing your eyes set upon was the ring on your finger. Suddenly you were questioning yourself if this indeed was a good idea. If only this were an alternate universe where you could choose to raise your child alone or wait for Steve or even chase Steve in Oxford.

James’s footsteps descending the stairs interrupted your train of thought. You stood up, holding your purse against your abdomen. James’s hair was now damp and slicked back. He now wore a pressed pair of high-waisted khaki pants and a plain white tee with its sleeves slightly rolled up. He ushered you to the kitchen and served you a glass of orange juice.

“Did the meeting go well?” You realized you didn’t answer him earlier. “With my father being there? Of course not.” “What happened?” “I snapped at him for not making me choose. Even the Bartons were kind enough to consider what I thought.” You sighed sharply. “What’s on your mind then, doll?” You looked at him. You realized you didn’t exactly process your thoughts yet. All you knew was you didn’t want to get married to Clint Barton. You didn’t want your father making decisions on your life. Now, your sigh was softer but deeper. Almost whispering, James asked, “Do you wanna dance with me?”

Startled, you asked, “What, now?” “Why not? It’s a waste of good music. Plus. We got the house to ourselves. No one’s here to yell at us. Or judge us…This ain’t much of a dancefloor, but it’s not like we’ll be swingin’ to Jo Stafford.” “All right, all right. You convinced me enough, Barnes.”

He offered his hand to you and you gave him yours. As if you two were in a speakeasy, your motions were shy. As if the two of you had just met that day. “Give Me Something To Dream About” began playing. Your left hand rested on James’s shoulder, and your right was held by his left one. His right hand was on your waste, gently resting there. He swayed you gently and you began to relax.

“I told my father I didn’t wanna marry Clint Barton.” “In front of them?” “Well, I didn’t exactly say that. I told him I’d rather marry someone I know.” He remained silent, eyes glued on you. You went on. “I asked him why don’t I get a say in all this. That even the Bartons respected my decision. Why couldn’t he?” “You stood up to him?” “Yeah,” you said in a breath. It just occurred to you that you did. “For the first time in my whole life.” “Thatta-girl.” “Then I stormed off. And somehow I ended up here. To tell you.” You startled him, making him stop swaying you. “Tell me what?” Your hand slowly slid from his shoulder to his chest. You could feel his chest pounding all of a sudden. Then you showed your left hand that bore the ring he gave you. “I don’t care if my father’s against it. I’d rather marry someone I can trust. You showed me that in just two days. I barely know you but I can feel that I can trust you. I can trust you, can’t I, James Barnes?”

The look on James’s face was something you’ve never seen before. His lips were parted. He closed it when he swallowed on his throat. He must have been dumbfounded by your honesty, however touching. He gently grabbed your hand and raised it near his face before kissing your knuckles lightly. A smile formed on his face. “You can count on me, doll.”

Two Weeks Later

Moments before the ceremony, you were finally dressed and made up. A white Cadillac bridal car was parked outside your house. Wanda helped you with your dress and bouquet filled with tulips. You nervously walked across the hallway, slowly, and you descended the staircase gracefully. Your mother was waiting outside the car. Your small entourage, composed of your little brother Bruce as the ring bearer, Becca Barnes, as the flower girl, already left for church.

The wedding ceremony was held on a Tuesday so it won’t interrupt any regular service. It was intimate enough for a church wedding since only your and James’s family and a small group of relatives were invited. Once the bridal car arrived at the church, your nervousness increased. The future was drawing in so near and so quickly that you wished you could just pause the time. Your mother went out of the car and so did Wanda, but you called her at an impulse. She bent towards the window. “Would you please call James for me?”

“Sweetie, you know you’re not supposed to see the groom. Bad luck.” “Don’t you think I’m in deep enough shit already? I don’t care. Please, Wanda. I need to talk to him.” Wanda was startled at your scoffing. “I’m sorry. I love you. Please call him.” “Ok. You’re lucky it’s your wedding day.” Wanda rushed inside the church and looked for James. You shifted in your seat and fixed your dress. You played with the ring on your finger. It didn’t take long and James emerged on the side of the car. He bent down to peek at you from outside the car window.

At the sight of you in your wedding dress and makeup, James swallowed on his throat before asking, “Hey, doll. You called? You know we’re not supposed to see each other until the ceremony.” You gave him a quick glance and said, “Could you come inside?” James didn’t respond but did as you asked. Suddenly, you noticed he smelled good. Like wood spice and orange. You looked at him now, sitting close to you in his black tux. His jaw was cleanly shaven. His brunet hair was neatly parted to one side. “Are you all right?”

“Are you absolutely sure you wanna do this with me?” Bucky shifted in his seat and moved for his body to face you. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m ready. I’m nervous, but I’m ready.” “I’m sweating like hell. And I think I’m about to cry.” But you stopped yourself. James grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to you. “Go ahead. Least you’re not alone this time.” You glanced at him and then at the white handkerchief that bore the initials, “J.B.B.” You accepted it and brushed your fingers over the embroidered initials. “Will I ever know why you’re so kind to me?” Your eyes were now moist. You were missing Steve so much and wished he was the one waiting for you in the aisle. “Should there be a reason?” You smiled and shook your head. “I’m with you.” He gently held your cold, sweaty hands. His hands weren’t sweaty, but they felt colder than yours. “I gave you my word, didn’t I?” You nodded. “Do I have yours?”

You drew a sharp breath and looked at him in the eyes. There was sincerity in them. You squeezed his hands and muttered, “You do.”

He gave you a small smile and squeezed your hand back. Then he got out of the car but you grabbed his wrist and told him that he forgot his handkerchief. “Hang on to it. See you at the aisle?” You squeezed the square, white cloth in your palms, and then nodded at him. “You better be standing there when I reach the end of it.” He winked at you. By this time, you were already used to his casual winking.

“You better be marching down that aisle,” he shot back with a smirk.

Moments later, you went out of the car. Both your families waited in anticipation for the ceremony to start. You stood before the door. Holding your tulip bouquet, you drew in a deep breath unknowingly. This was the moment you’ve been dreading. The one moment that would change your life.

The church doors opened and before you stood the small number of family members on each side of the church, looking at you. A harpist began playing a song. They were smiling. But you couldn’t keep looking at them. Your parents stood beside you and so you began walking. Wanda and the small entourage were already standing in position as they await you.

James stood nervously at the end of the aisle. Beside him was Wanda’s twin brother, Pietro, his best man, neighbor, and best friend since childhood. You walked the aisle nervously, your knees wobbling. When every other woman in the world who must be walking down the aisle in their beautiful wedding gown and weeping tears of joy, here you were, weeping sadness deep inside you. Your life unfolding with every step you took.

As the heels of your shoes finally took you to the end of the aisle, you gave each of your parents a peck on the cheek, almost mindlessly as you should have. James stood before you, one hand on his back and the other waiting for yours to hold. When you turned away from your parents and faced him, your hand grabbed his with quite a startling manner — your grip was tighter than you thought it’d be. Your knees still felt wobbly as the moment to say “I do” drew near.

He held your hand tightly enough that you knew you wouldn’t throw yourself out of balance in front of the whole church. “You ready, doll?”

“I’m ready if you are.”

Pastor Phil began to officiate the ceremony. You stared at him mindlessly as he announced to every attendee the true meaning of marriage. With words of unconditional love and respect for one another, Pastor Phil guided you and James to say your vows and finally, your “I do’s.”

With your mind drifting in and out of your wedding ceremony, you were startled when everyone behind you began clapping. “You may kiss the bride,” Pastor Phil said so kindly, his eyes twinkling as he smiled. You and James stared at each other nervously, for you didn’t think of this moment before.

“I know a trick,” James whispered. “Tilt your head to your right.” He held your neck gently with his cold hands and drew you near his face. By the time your lips were barely an inch closer to each other, he tilted your head a little more and kissed the very spot where the corner of your lips began. He covered the sides of your mouths when you catch a hint of the smell of his breath. This chaste kiss from his pink lips took long enough for your audience to think you had actually kissed, gaining another round of applause from them.

For a quick moment, he took notice of your startled face. “I told you I ain’t doin’ anythin’ you don’t want me to.”

To be continued in 

Chapter Five - The City

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