Guest Appearance: None.
World: AU
Genre: Fluff. Neighbours AU
Warnings: none really. Buck can be considered a jerk if you’re easily annoyed with annoying neighbours then, there’s that.
Word Count: 2.9K
Summary: Your cute neighbour keeps blasting music in the worst of times. It’s great music, but annoying nonetheless.
Prompt:
It’s 3 AM and you’re blasting off classic rock at full volume and your music taste might be awesome but soME PEOPLE are trying to sLEEP - for @sebashtiansatan‘s writing challenge. Thanks Elif for hosting this and sorry for the tardiness I hope you enjoy this one I quite liked writing it!
Smooches! xoxo L
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Song List:
Burnin’ For You - Blue Öyster Cult
Space Station #5 - Montrose
I Wanna Be With You - The Raspberries
Rock Bottom - UFO
This Time - UFO
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Time everlasting
Time to play b-sides
Time ain't on my side
Time I'll never know
You find yourself kicking and punching the sheets off your body angrily, they keep tangling around your shins. Huffing and puffing as you wrap your night robe around you and brush your hair from your face, you look at the clock by your bedside table. 3:12AM
Un-fucking-believable.
The guitar solo is just beginning when you find yourself stomping down the hall to the other person who lives in your floor. Your fists bang against their white door, almost knocking the 6 on the apartment sign.
The chorus fades a little as your neighbour lowers the volume after what you assume is them realising there’s someone at the door. Soon the door is being pulled open. You come face to face with your neighbour’s piercing blue eyes and disheveled brown hair, almost black against the red-ish lights he has going on the living room and he leaned casually against the doorframe.
You hadn’t really met your neighbour before. You shared smiles and waves when he first moved in, and if you were correct his name was James Barnes or something, at least that’s what you saw when one of his letters was delivered to you by mistake. He came and went whenever, often times you wouldn’t see him for days, but his nonchalant demeanor never made you worry. He seemed like the type to just go about his life without interacting much with people and by the look of his apartment over his shoulder, he probably didn’t spend much time there, or didn’t care for having his place all tidy and worthy of an interior decor magazine cover.
Your eyes ran him over. His boots had little metal accents that went with his many bracelets and tatted left arm. He looked tired but maybe that was part of the look, and it made his blue irises pop, as if they were alight, shining over you. Messy hair, ends kissing the nape of his neck. The deep V-neck shirt so casual and contrasting against the black ripped jeans and dark accents of his tattoos. The red outline that the lights in the back cast around him made him look…
You shook your head rid of thoughts of him and his appearance when you noticed his eyebrow lift in confusion at your staring.
“Uh, hi,” you stammered before clearing your throat and putting your best ‘dealing with annoying neighbours’ face. You know, the one that is kind yet authoritative, definitely a little mean, but soft. “So, Blue Öyster Cult, great band” his eyebrows lifted in surprise at your sentence and you forced out a casual giggle, a cover up for the grin you could feel creeping up at the sight of his half smirk. “It’s just… you know, 3:00AM? Would it be too much to ask you to, maybe, tone it down?”
At this, he turns his head back and stands up straight. “Oh” is his only response, as if he hadn’t noticed the time. “Sorry, sure thing… Bucky, by the way” he introduces himself cheekily and all you can do is nod your head, worried your voice won’t come out.
“Y/N” you chirp.
His smile is apologetic and kind as he points behind himself as if saying ‘I’ll do that now’ and it almost leaves you breathless. He looks so tough and rough, like the cool biker guys in movies, like he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about him and he isn’t afraid to break the rules and get in trouble – all kinds of good, fun, naughty, tongue in cheek trouble – and charm his way out of it. The last thing you’d pair him with is that kind and warm of a smile, and it takes your brain for a spin. His hands rest on the door, motioning that he’s going to close it soon, but you just have to interject.
“Cool” you sway on the balls of your feet for a few seconds, before saying goodnight and rushing back to your apartment.
As you lay in bed you hear the very distant beginning of Don’t Fear The Reaper, but before you can groan, it fades and you can finally rest, not before images of your Bucky flash across your mind. Now that’s a way to meet your neighbour.
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Oh, what a time we had
Livin' underground
I move to station number five
See you next time around
You slam your book closed, the force of the bang sending your pens tumbling to the ground. There’s a strangled scream in your throat as you clench your fists to your sides and stand up.
This fucking–
You catch yourself mid sentence, annoyed beyond repair. Is he for real? For a moment you wished he lived under you so you could stomp out your anger right on the spot, instead of having to slip on some sandals and shuffle across the hall like a headless woman on a mission.
You knock on his door, so damn hard your fist throbs and you can feel your heartbeat in your hand – definitely faster than the Montrose song playing, and probably louder, whatever to knock some sense into him. Barnes, as you have turned to call him in your head since the last time you so gleefully interacted, is clad in a tank top, and his blue jeans that hang way too low on his hips to not give you chills, have grease stains all over – is he going for some type of troubled rocker from the 70’s aesthetic? Because he’s really giving it his all… and it suits him goddamn – his hair is pushed back from his eyes, a lone strand curls over his forehead and rests almost on the tip of his long eyelashes. His breathing is jagged and you picture him dancing to the tune, if anything to keep your brain from picturing any other… Reasons for his panting.
The door isn’t fully opened yet by the time you’re leaning a little to the left and catching his eyes.
“Hi Barnes!” the overly chipper and very annoyed greeting comes almost out of gritted teeth. “Montrose yeah? Very underrated band, real good sound –”
“They definitely don’t get the credit they deserve –”
“It’s eleven pm on a Thursday though, and some of us have assignments to power through? So it’d be really, really helpful if you could just… Kick it down a notch?– or two.”
His eyes do you once over, then one more time, a slight smirk appearing on his face, much like the one he gave you that night at 3:00AM. Does he always smirk this way? And since when is it hot that he does so?
“Sure thing, smooth legs”
His door is slammed to your face before you can react to the nickname, and you’re left in front of his apartment, mouth agape and hand frozen mid air, dismayed. The song fades down as he lowers the volume behind his entryway. You can’t run any faster back into your humble abode, resting your forehead against your door when it’s closed. Your cheeks are red in your reflection in the mirror, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of your pajama shorts.
There’s not much progress made to your assignment, as you decide to just dive into bed and will yourself to sleep.
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Well tonight (tonight)
The night (the night)
We always knew it would feel so right
So come on baby, I just want to be with you
The TV won’t go any louder, and neither do you want to be that neighbour. Funny. If only a certain someone would think the same way as you. You sigh in exasperation. Is it ever going to end?
It isn’t even very late, you’re aware of that, but watching this documentary is too important for your class and Barnes blasting Raspberries isn’t really going to help. Although truth be told, it was one of your favourite songs by them, so you weren’t that mad. Still, this couldn’t be happening again.
You stop short in front of his door when you notice something different in the familiar tune. It doesn’t take you long to realise it’s him. It’s Bucky singing at the top of his lungs.
‘Baby oh, I want to be with you. So baaaad, I want to be with you.’
You can’t help but smile and giggle at the realization. He’s so off tune, but he sounds like he’s having a blast, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t want to sing along. It was the power of that song, there was no way you could just not jam out to it. This time around your knocks are firm, but not as angry as previous instances. Bucky opens the door and you almost die of laughter at the sight, covering your huge grin with your hand once more.
His hair is pulled back in a bun, however tiny since it’s not long enough, and he’s donned a bright blue apron that just ties the whole ripped jeans, dark tattoos and combat boots look together. He’s still holding onto the spoon when he gives you a wide grin.
“Hey there sweet cheeks!” you clear your throat, trying to put on your best mean face, except the whole combination of factors – Bucky looking adorable and this song being too damn catchy – made it impossible.
“Ok so, this is probably my favourite Raspberries song so I’m going to let it slide– just this once! –” you add quickly with a raise of your hand as you see his face light up. This didn’t mean he had permission to blast your ears off, no siree. “But after that, I really have to focus on this documentary for my class so, if you could please?”
“Say no more!” He rushes back into his house, leaving you right outside his entrance, you can still see him as he reaches over to the radio and turns up the volume, using his huge spoon as a microphone as he sings along and shakes his hips to the tune. Your head falls back in laughter at the sight, hands coming up to decline his offer to join him. He continues to shake his shoulders your way as he returns back to the door frame, and you roll your eyes faking annoyance. You sway your hips to the beat of the song on your way back to your apartment and you can hear him holler and edge you on before closing the door behind you.
Another quick glimpse to the mirror by your entrance way and the red cheeks are there again, this time accompanied by a huge grin. You can’t help but hide your face in your hands before skipping to the couch and letting your body fall on it.
When the song’s over, Bucky keeps his promise and you resume your documentary with peace and quiet.
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Now you look so peaceful, lyin' there asleep
With the wings of God above you
Before the spirits meet
Rock bottom, rock bottom, rock bottom
You’re going to murder him. You let him play one song and he takes advantage of the whole damn thing. Whatever nice moment was shared, definitely gone down the drain. Lasted a week. The bastard.
“Barnes!” you yell, slamming your hand on his door. He had to go back to disturbing your sleep, hadn’t he? Bloody 2:30AM and you’ve got your ultimatum on the tip of your tongue. Next time you’re calling the cops on his rock-punk ass.
“Hey” he says, nonchalant, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing, except the smirk, the god forsaken smirk, on his face screams he enjoys pushing your buttons this way.
“I get it! UFO is finally on spotify. Yay the hype, but for fuck’s sake–”
“Wait, you know UFO?” he interrupts you, and it both shocks you and makes your blood boil that out of everything, he’s more interested in the fact that you know the band? They weren’t that obscure, your dad loved them and – NOT THE POINT.
“Yes” you say matter-of-factly “Misdemeanor is probably their best album– Now that doesn’t mean you can go about blasting it at two in the morning!” your arms are raised above your head and you hate that you’re getting so heated but it’s all his fault. Him and his bright eyes that look at you a little surprised, a little confused, and his great music taste that disturbed you more often than not. You point an accusatory finger at him “I’m free tomorrow but I swear to god, that does not mean I want to go to sleep at freaking 4AM because of you! I don’t want to call the cops on you Barnes, I don’t. But I’m real tired of this. Please, keep it down”
And you don’t let him say anything else or reply to your threat. He hears your feet stomping back and the slam of your door, and that’s all he gets from you after that scolding.
You settle into your pillow as the guitar solo fades in the distance, hopefully proof that he’s going to heed your words and keep his noise to a minimum. At least for a while.
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There’s an unexpected knock to your door the following day. It’s a lazy afternoon, free from work or class, and all for you to catch up on some movies. You place down the bowl of popcorn and groan – you didn’t really want to move from your couch today.
Opening the door there’s no disguising the shock that paints your features. For a moment you wonder if your movie was too loud because that’d be ironic and quite possibly the only reason you could think of as to why Bucky Barnes is at your door. Bucky Barnes and his typical black boots, ripped jeans and band t-shirt. The leather jacket over his shoulders gives him a little extra charm, and you’re reminded in a nano-second that he’s probably the most annoying neighbour you’ve had, and his very good looks don’t exempt him of all the noise complaints you could have filled out since he’s moved in.
“Hey” his voice is soft and calm, almost apologetic, as if he knows he’s interrupted your day once more, this time not with his loud music.
“Hi?”
Suddenly there’s two slips of paper in front of your face. UFO Live in Concert, you read, and are immediately left in confusion. Bucky blinks, long lashes kissing the apples of his cheeks and he clears his throat.
“They’re playing this very underground gig at a small venue downtown… Tonight. I know the guy who manages it” There’s a sway to his frame and you realise he’s nervously dancing on the balls of his feet and his cheeks are rosy in the freezing AC of the hallway. “Do you maybe… want to?”
“Go to the show?” Bucky nods, like an excited child, and it’s adorable to say the least, that bastard. “Together?”
“Yeah I- uhm...” another clear of his throat and he’s taking a step back, as if he’s assumed he’s stepped over some line. “You like them too, and you said you were free so, I thought… We could go and you can… You can tell me more about how you knew of an album by them I didn’t even know existed”
You almost fall to your knees, but not because of any romantic movie swoon moment or anything like that, but because all of the strength in your body is suddenly being directed towards trying to keep a silly grin off your face. Ok, maybe a swooning moment then. You reach out and grab one ticket from his hand, your fingertips grazing his slowly and causing your cheeks to feel warm.
“If I go, will you promise to keep your music down?”
“Will try my best. Or... Maybe I don’t have to blast it if you just… Come over and listen with me?” There’s that smirk of his again, whatever nerves he was showing before have seemed to completely dissipate, giving way to his charming dorky self. Gosh, you hate him, and you hate that he makes you laugh with that face he pulls.
“Hmm, we’ll see” you give him a coy grin and walk away, leaving him at the doorstep, hopeful and confused, as you venture deep into your apartment and over to where your stereo sits. Your fingers delicately run over your music collection. “What are you waiting for?” you look over your shoulder back at him, signalling him to come in with your head “If we’re going to this, I have to get ready and you –” you point at him with the vinyl in hand, before swiftly turning around and letting it drop on the record player – “have to listen to Misdemeanor”
Bucky lets out a chuckle, his nervous hands fix his leather jacket before sinking them deep into his pockets. He lets himself in and closes the door as the first few notes of the first song play out. He takes in the guitar riff, the drums, the synths, everything making him want to tap his foot. He reads over the song list on the vinyl cover with a wide smirk on his face, his eyes sneakily looking up, teeth poking out to bite his lip as he looks you up and down, he catches a glimpse of you swaying into your room to the beat of the song before you close your door slightly, and Bucky can already tell this is going to be his favourite album by UFO as well.
This time, let it be me
I'll be the one that you can see
This time I'll be your man
I'm right here baby, here in your hand.
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hope you enjoyed this I had fun imagining this and tried my best to write something decent. Give the songs in this piece a listen they are so good!
FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED! HERES MY ASK, HERE’S MY MASTERLIST
Summary: The music always starts at 5 am every morning since your new neighbor moved in leading to your dog promptly as soon as he wakes up. What will you do with that time spent with him? (Modern!Reader/Steve Rogers)
Prompt: The guy living below me has a really loud alarm clock that always wakes me up at the crack of dawn.
A/N: This is for @sebashtiansatan ‘s writing challenge.
Feedback is always welcomed.
“Piet, can you come over tomorrow morning?”
Pietro knows there is something wrong with you when you call him up the night before. You tell him to wait for you early the next morning in front of the apartment, and he does so because he can hear the all too familiar sound of disappointment and apathy in your voice.
It wasn’t often, in fact very rarely was the case when you decided to let people into your guarded lifestyle and got any type of new camaraderie. However, you moved hard and fast when it came to certain things and Pietro was sure something like that had happened with Steve -- he wasn’t sure what, but he was sure you were going to close yourself off for a good while.
It wasn’t the best way to handle things, but Pietro was just as bad with the little family he had, so he had no right to judge. Instead, he waited quietly in the cold morning, as you cam out with a bag and Sugar on a leash. You were wearing a large coat over your work clothes and Pietro knew you were going to run yourself rampant at work -- it was the way you did things.
“I was wondering if you could take Sug for the week,” you explain, still tired and slightly heartbroken, as he nods, “I need to catch up with some work and all that.”
“All right,” Pietro concedes, but in an accusatory tone where he doesn’t quite believe you, “Do you want me to walk you to the station?”
“That would be nice,” you admit with a small smile as the three of you turn around and start your days, Pietro puts his arm over your shoulder and drags you into a brotherly hug as Sugar barks happily to anyone that is willing to stop and look at her.
Steve is quick to notice that there is something strange going when he knocks on your door and there is no barking to welcome him. He is quick to note that there is no light coming from the slot between the floor and the door, while there also isn’t any movement coming from inside that he can pick up on.
Blue eyes stare at the box of sweets he is carrying uncertainty before going back upstairs, unsure of what to do next -- so he ends up calling Sharon and Sam.
As the week moves forward and he starts seeing no movement of either you or Sugar, the familiar boom of alternative and rock starts to echo within the small apartment building once more.
“So do you like...your neighbor?” Sharon can help but question with a small smile, as she looks up from her notepad to the suddenly shy man.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes out, “I think I do.”
Steve isn’t exactly sure what has happened after you had seen his therapist enter his apartment, but he felt that there was going to be a lot of air to clear up whenever he found you.
It isn’t until the very next Monday that you allow yourself to even come back from working and crashing on Wanda’s couch (which was closer to where you worked) to your apartment. Maybe, it was a bit extreme and confusion, but you really needed some breathing about the whole thing -- whatever you were feeling about Steve and the whole disaster that it came with potential feelings.
“Are you feeling better now?” Pietro can’t help but ask after watching Sugar barrel into your body and proceed to lick your face. It wasn’t often that you had had your depressive episodes, hardly any since you had gotten Sugar, but when they hit -- they hit hard and you were either going to lock the rest of the world out by either your room or your office.
“So-so,” is all you manage to say, as you pat Sugar softly on the head only to have her whine happily at you. It makes you smile and feel guilty at the same time, but hopefully all the treats and walks over the coming days would make up for it, “But, it think it’s time for us to head home now, huh Sug?”
Sugar barks happily, as Pietro can’t help but laugh for a moment as surely the golden retriever is happy that she won’t have to fight for attention anymore. You wave at him before heading downstairs and it isn’t until you are close to your own building that you kneel down and wrap your arm around her neck fur and nuzzle into it.
“I’m sorry, girl,” you breathe out with a watery sigh, “I wasn’t a very good owner this past week.”
You quickly get up and remove wipe your eyes and nose, “But, I’ll swear to do better for both of us.”
Even if Steve isn’t there.
You grin, getting ready to head inside when you hear, though Sugar’s ear perking up probably meant that she knew about it before you did -- a bark followed by a nervous laugh.
A laugh you knew pretty well.
You turn, but Sugar is already barking and looking at the jumping mess of fur in front of her. Blue eyes meet your widen ones, as you can’t help but gasp:
A/N: My entry for @sebashtiansatan’s 2k writing challenge #elifs2kwritingchallenge. It’s been an eternity since I signed up for this challenge…
A/N 2: This story is set during the first season of Once Upon A Time.
Summary: Jefferson’s in love with Storybrooke’s only bookshop owner. It seems to be a normal Tuesday, but when he enters the bookstore, he find’s Y/N – cursed with the curse of Sleeping Beauty. Will he be able to break it? Or is Regina going to win?
Warnings: being cursed, heartbreak, almost main character death, (kinda?) attempt of suicide
Jefferson was on the way to his favourite bookstore – which happened to be the only bookstore of Storybrooke. Just like every Tuesday afternoon. On Tuesday afternoons, Y/N the bookstore owner would read a story to the children. For about a year, the brunet had only watched this weekly event – simply because his Grace had attended every single time.
A few weeks ago, Jefferson had entered the bookstore for the first time himself. It had been a particular bad day relating to his sanity and he had simply needed to be close to his daughter. No matter how. He couldn’t even remember getting into the store until Y/N had stood in front of him. She had offered him tea and cookies. The day had gone by quickly with pleasurable hours of small talk.
Jefferson had started visiting more often, especially when he felt the madness get worse. Over the course of time, they had formed a friendship and the widower started helping out in the shop. Particularly with the preparations for the weekly reading event – making tea, cocoa and cookies. Though he never stayed for the event itself – seeing his daughter when she wouldn’t recognize him would be too much for his heart. And his sanity.
When Jefferson arrived at the bookstore this Tuesday, something felt off. Y/N didn’t greet him like usually when he entered the store. It was totally unlike her since Jefferson was the only one who came to her shop on Tuesdays at this time. When he saw a pair of legs poke out behind the register counter, he rushed forwards. Maybe Y/N was hurt and needed help? There was a light prickle on the brunet’s skin – he ignored it.
It was Y/N. She was laying there, obviously unconscious. Or probably worse. In a hurry, Jefferson checked her vital signs. Strong and steady to his relief. He also couldn’t see any injuries. Only a cup of tea and its spilled contents were laying close by. So at least it shouldn’t be anything too serious. The prickle got stronger. Something was wrong but Jefferson didn’t know what.
When Y/N didn’t wake up despite his best efforts, the brunet called an ambulance. They informed him that Sheriff Graham would be alerted as well. They arrived at almost the same time. While the paramedics took care of Y/N, Jefferson talked to the Sheriff. Not that he could tell him a lot about what had happened. Emma Swan, the Sheriff’s assistance meanwhile kept the growing curious crowd outside and tried to gather more information.
When Miss Swan called the Sheriff over to talk with a woman who might have seen something, Jefferson overheard a name that gave everything sense. In a weird, twisted way.
Mayor Mills.
Regina. The Evil Queen. Jefferson wouldn’t be surprised if she had done something to cause Y/N harm – simply to hurt him. The tingle he had felt while being with the bookstore owner might have been a sign that magic was involved. There were exactly 3 people in Storybrooke who remembered their lives in the Enchanted Forest. And as far as Jefferson knew, only Regina was still able to use magic in this realm.
As soon as the former Mad Hatter was allowed to leave, he rushed to the Mayor’s office. Regina was there and the fact that she seemed not at all startled by his sudden entrance told the brunet that she had expected him. “What did you do to her? And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”, Jefferson hissed. “Sleeping Beauty’s curse. She wasn’t suspicious of my tea – not even a second.”, the former Evil Queen answered incidentally. She didn’t even look up from her paperwork.
“So a kiss of love can break the curse.”, the portal jumper concluded. He spun around on his heel with a smile on his face. This was almost too easy. In the past Regina had been more resourceful but maybe that was due to the limitations of magic in this world. “A kiss of true love. And it has to be mutual.”, her voice cut through the air. Jefferson froze, with the door handle in his hand. Obviously he had underestimated Regina.
“And what happens if those requirements aren’t met?”, the Hatter asked stiffly and looked back at the dark haired woman. She had stopped writing and her signature evil grin had made an appearance. “She dies and the person who kissed her catches the curse like a virus. Like an illness.” Jefferson’s heart dropped. He knew that he felt true love for Y/N, but what about her feelings? Did she feel the same? Or was there only friendship for her?
The brunet finally understood the full extent of Regina’s evil plan. She wanted him to doubt the amount of feelings Y/N had for him so he wouldn’t dare to risk a kiss. Afraid that it might kill her instead of breaking the curse. And as much as he hated to admit it – her plan worked.
“By the way – you should hurry to get to her hospital room. Her Prince is on his way to ‘save’ her.”, Regina added, now again incidentally and while doing her work. Though there was still a smirk on her face. The portal jumper instantly dashed off. The success of his kiss might be doubtful but the Prince would definitely kill Y/N.
In Y/N’s hospital room, Jefferson barely managed to push the Prince away from her. “How dare you, peasant? I’m here to break the curse that was cast upon my Princess!”, he growled and attacked the portal jumper. The Prince managed to land a hit on his rips that knocked all the air out of his lungs. It left Jefferson unable to utter a single word – or to stop the other man from kissing Y/N. The curse took effect on him almost instantly. The Prince was out cold before he even hit the floor.
The effect on Y/N happened slower, but inevitable. Jefferson somehow managed to drag himself over to her bed. Unshed tears blurred his vision. “I…I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have protected you. I should have been faster, smarter, stronger. More attentive. I should have prevented this. There’s nobody but me to blame for your…situation.”, he whispered in a tearful voice.
Then, Jefferson slowly lowered his head. Brushed his lips along Y/N’s. It wasn’t even a full kiss, only a feather light touch to the corner of her mouth. He couldn’t continue living while Y/N died. The person who kept him sane after losing Grace and everything else he loved. Jefferson simply didn’t have the strength to deal with…anything. The whole situation. His lonely life in this realm. Watching his daughter who didn’t remember him. It was too much.
But…why was he still conscious? The Prince had been almost instantly affected by the curse. “Jefferson? What…? Where am I?”, asked the voice of Y/N. Tired and confused, but awake and very much alive! The portal jumper couldn’t stop himself from leaping at the bookstore owner to pull her in a close hug. Tears spilled in her neck while he cried from relief. Just cried and held her. He didn’t even notice the Prince wake up and disappear silently from the room.
“Jefferson…what happened? The last thing I remember is drinking a cup of tea in my store.”, Y/N finally asked. Jefferson retreated enough to look at her properly. A soft, lopsided smile appeared on his face. “I found you unconscious in your store and called the emergency service. I arrived maybe two minutes before you woke up. That’s everything I can tell you.”, he answered. She wouldn’t believe the truth. Not yet at least.
But he felt a lot better than he had in years. Because he knew it was mutual true love between him and Y/N. And Miss Swan had set the wheels in motion – which might end in the curse being lifted. Something bloomed in Jefferson he had deemed dead for years.
Prompt by @sebashtiansatan the 2k Writing Challence (I hope you like it!!) : I was on my balcony and you started loudly quoting Romeo and Juliet at me and wow, you’re a sap.
Interview with a God Pt 2
A harsh buzzing sounded from the other room. A cell phone ringing to indicate the end of the meeting.
Loki let out a disappointed sigh as he let you break free of his grip. You swirled around to face him but gone. You could hear his chilling voice echo throughout the room when he told you, “I do hate to cut an interview short, but…” His voice was suddenly close to your ear, “I promise to see you soon.”
*****
The ringing was even louder now, putting pressure on you to wake up.
‘Wake up!’
Your eyes shot open as you fell out of your bed. ‘My bed?’ You looked around, your vision focusing. ‘I’m home?’ Still taking in the surroundings, you struggled to remember what just happened. Beside you, also splattered on the floor, was your laptop, flickering on. You scooped it up, eager to see what you had been working on.
‘An email?’
You had sent your article for Sexiest Man Alive to your director at People’s magazine. “Oh no!” you exclaimed. What had you sent? You couldn’t remember writing the article. You couldn’t remember even leaving Tom Hiddleston’s hotel. “Tom…” You felt a severe panic, the memories of the hotel interview replaying your mind. Your incredulous questions. Tom’s breath on your ear. His hand on your thigh. Grabbing you from behind. “No…” you realized. “Not Tom…” Loki had wrapped his arms around you. Pulled you against him.
“What are you willing to do to satisfy your king?” he had asked.
“Oh my god, what did I just write?” you hollard as you scrambled to open and review the email attachment.
To your relief, it was all normal and done perfectly well. No mention of Tom’s flirting. No mention of Loki’s seducing. Nothing.
‘What if it didn’t really happen?’ you reasoned, running a hand over your face. ‘Maybe I just dreamed it…’ The feel of Loki’s hands on you felt so real, but you just couldn’t persuade yourself it was real. You shut down the computer and went back to sleep.
Standing off in the shadows, watching as you drifted off to slumber the god of mischief waited. The ends of his lips curled, knowing there was some fun to be had.
*****
“Girl!” your coworker, Sue, beamed at you as you entered your cubicle. “Girl, oh lord, I had no idea your interview went so well!”
You smiled nervously, confused. “Well yeah, why wouldn’t it….?” But you were stopped by your director, Mrs. Lynn in your chair, her feet crossed on your desk.
“Morning, Ms. y/n.”
Beside her feet sat the largest, most outlandish floral arrangement you had ever seen. Sprouting in every direction, there was no way to even work sitting in it’s space, every line of sight covered by a petal or leaf.
“Um, yes, thank you… Mrs. Lynn, what are those for?”
“I haven’t the slightest,” the director answered, holding out an envelope. “But there is a card.”
Quirking a brow, you took the envelope and opened it.
~~Dearest Y/n, Thank you so much for such a wonderful evening. I cannot remember the last time an interview felt so personal. I would greatly enjoy meeting again to go over the article’s photo lineup with you tomorrow. I will have my agent contact your office with the specifics.
Most Affectionately,
Thomas William Hiddleston~~
You nearly fainted. “Tom Hiddleston is asking for me to meet with him? Again?” You were still dream-hung-over from the meeting itself, still unsure what to believe. You had halfway convinced yourself
The director nodded. “He already contacted me himself to request you meet with him tomorrow evening to go over the details.” She grinned while adding, “The review has been arranged by Mr. Hiddleston at a lovely restaurant.”
“I’m having dinner with him? You cannot be serious…”
“As a heart attack, Ms. y/n.” You and your director locked eyes, her smile leading on that she didn’t know anything more but definitely itching to press further. Instead she stood from your seat. Before you could object, she sharply added, “I already explained to the photographer you will be going over the photos. I also forwarded you the suggestions from the editor for your article. Have it in my inbox by noon tomorrow.”
You could hear Sue hissing like a teapot to keep herself quiet until Mrs. Lynn left.
“What. Happened. Tell. Me. Everything.” She nearly convulsed as she asked.
“Nothing!” you insisted, “Absolutely nothing!”
She didn’t seem convinced, cutting a glare your way as she sank back into her cubicle. “We shall see.”
Letting out a sigh of exasperation, you fought your way to your computer through the arrangement overtaking your desk. ‘What is going on?’
*****
That night after your shower, you buried yourself under every pillow. Dressed in your favorite oversized tshirt and panties, you scanned through the documents. Add a catchy phrase here. Spice up the relationship questions. Incorporate more on his upcoming movies.
You let out a sigh. These weren’t edits, they were garbage. You let out a deep breath, took a sip of your wine, and got to work.
But then you heard something. You stopped typing, listening. Nothing. You began until you heard it again. A voice. Far away. You looked around, but it wasn’t from inside your apartment. It resonated outside. Setting down the laptop, you wandered over to the balcony doors. More words.
When you opened them, you finally heard the words, clear as day, echoing into the night sky.
“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief; That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green; And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.”
You would recognize that speech anywhere. You would recognize that voice anywhere. But how?
You stepped out onto the balcony, hearing Loki continue, but more focused on seeing rather than listening. You only had 5x7 feet of space, there was nowhere to hide. Not even furniture to rest on. “How…” you asked.
Leaning over the edge of the railing, you listened, trying to pinpoint it.
That’s when it stopped flowing from all around you and came distinctly from behind. In your apartment.
You covered your own mouth to stifle a scream, startled to see him in the doorway. He finished, “See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand.” He appeared in front of you, acting like he would run his fingers down your face. “That I might touch that cheek!”
Loki towered over you, his eyes glistening like emeralds, his expression curious and sly at once. You felt your heart begin to race, unable to look away from him. He spoke but you didn’t hear it.
“What?” you mouthed.
He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “I said you seem distracted, darling.”
“Oh…” you snapped back into reality, moving away from him. “What are you doing here?” Before he could answer, you went on, “Wait, you’re real?” Again you didn't pause, “Holy shit, you’re real. You’re Tom HIddleston. Tom Hiddleston is Loki. Oh my…” His hand covered your mouth.
“Shhhh,” Loki soothed, stepping against you, pinning you to the balcony railing. His other hand cradled the small of your back. “I am here, y/n. And I can assure you I am real.” His smile became almost wicked when he added, “I can prove how real I am if you would like?”
He allowed you to slip out of his arms, watching intently as you never turned your back to him, moving back into your apartment. “I’m not really sure what’s going on here….”
“But you must have some inclination,” he teased, appearing instantly upon you. You fell back, surprised your bed was already beneath you. “Do you any idea how lonely it is to go around masquerading as someone else all the time? Never showing my true self to even those closest to me?”
“Why me, then?” The words left you without your consent, but he didn’t seem offended by the question.
“You’re different.” Loki leaned over you, causing you to scoot further back onto the bed as he moved forward before finally covering you. “There is something about you I find so intriguing. Normally, once I’ve revealed myself, I wipe it from a person’s memory...” He leaned up to straddle you, his weight pressing down on you in a way that was both uncomfortable and gratifying at the same time. You bit your lip as he went on, “But you, my darling, something about you just fascinates me.”
“Is that why you’re requesting me to go over the photos tomorrow? Because you think I’m fascinating?”
Loki nodded. “But this, admiring you underneath me, is massive pleasure in itself.”
Your cheeks flushed as you began to wiggle, but his hand caught your wrists and held them over your head, stretching you across the bed. “Shh shh shh,” he whispered in your ear, “Don’t fret, y/n. You’re safe with me. I won’t hurt you.” He pulled back to where you could see the grin on his face. “Unless you would like me to.”
The air left your lungs as a hand traced down your side, finding the elastic of your panties.
“My, y/n, you are certainly dressed for my company, aren’t you?” The butterflies in your stomach were almost painful, battling between demanding he leave and begging him to go further. Loki’s fingers traced along the strap tickling your skin while he held tight to your wrists. His fingers moved up your stomach and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped you.
It was just the approval he was waiting for, taking the opportunity to seize your mouth with his own. He came down so hard in startled you, his lips keeping yours parted so that his tongue could explore you. Feeling his grip loosen, you reached down to wrap your arms around his shoulders.
Loki dug under you, lifting your ass off the bed to wrap your legs around him. You followed the instruction without hesitation, feeling him lift you up into his arms to better hold you as he kissed you deeper, his hands getting lost around your body, in your hair, under your shirt. You felt so euphoric, the butterflies threatening to spill out of your gut with the sensations you were feeling. His hands went down to your panties and you wondered if he would go further.
But Loki only gave one tight squeeze of your ass, fingers digging in with an animalistic urge he had to fight down. He brought your ear to his mouth and spoke softly, “Oh, I am certain we shall have endless fun together, y/n.” He vanished, but you could hear him finish with, “I will see you at dinner tomorrow.”
Summary: Captain James Buchanan Barnes is the most feared and respected pirate in the seven seas. Men and women alike shiver at the mention of his name - although perhaps for different reasons. Together with his crew, he’s roamed the seas for the past seventy years after having been gifted immortality by a mighty witch. Now he’s looking for something to reverse it. Y/N, a mermaid snatched away from the bliss of eternal life under water, just so happens to be looking for the same thing. To her luck, Captain Barnes isn’t as superstitious as his fellow comrades.
Pairing: Pirate!Bucky x Mermaid!Reader
Warnings: violence, implied smut, some occasional angst, some occasional fluff, more to be added as the story progresses
SONG OF THE SERIES
Word Count: 977 (ongoing)
A/N: This is my submission for @sebashtiansatan‘s 2k Writing Challenge! I’ve never written a series before and to say I’m nervous right now is a very very outrageous understatement. Feedback or thoughts on this would be very much appreciated!
Summary: The music always starts at 5 am every morning since your new neighbor moved in leading to your dog promptly as soon as he wakes up. What will you do with that time spent with him? (Modern!Reader/Steve Rogers)
Prompt: The guy living below me has a really loud alarm clock that always wakes me up at the crack of dawn.
A/N: This is for @sebashtiansatan ‘s writing challenge.
Feedback is always welcomed.
It’s strange to have another person in your personal space. Yes, Steve had been in your living room and kitchen, but to have him sitting there in your chair where you put the dirty laundry when you were too lazy to put them in their proper place -- thank goodness you didn’t have any at the moment a you stared at him and back at the soup and sandwich he had gotten you after you has woken up.
“You’re not hungry?” he asks, watching you swirl the plastic spoon around the soup he had brought from the place around the corner, as Sugar gives you a side glance from her side of the bed.
“Maybe not right now,” you mumble while giving Steve a weary smile, as he nods and gets up to grab the tray of food. He gives you a small smile before whistling to Sugar to follow.
The two exit the room as Steve closes the door softly, as you just sit there on your bed, still feeling sick but unsure of what to do.
“She probably feels awkward,” Pietro can’t help but remark as he gives another piece of beef jerky from to Sugar, as Steve looks at him with wide blue eyes.
The dyed silver-haired man has been making his way to the apartment building with snacks from Clint’s shop and Steve was ready to give Sugar her afternoon walk -- it was something you told him that you did after picking her up from doggy daycare before you passed out once more from the fever that was wracking your body. So after putting some medicine and water on your side table, Steve decided to head out since he could tell Sugar was getting anxious. It’s how he ended up in a longer walk with Pietro at his side.
Steve doesn’t say anything to his statement, but Pietro keeps going: “She’s been on her own since she was 16, I’m its pretty odd for her to have someone babying her even just a little.”
Blue eyes widen at an all too familiar line, as he goes from staring at the younger man to Sugar to the sidewalk moving ahead of him. Deep down, Steve knew it made a lot of sense with the way that you behaved and he had never heard you talk about your parents, it was just the Maximoffs and Clint -- just like it was Sam and Bucky for him.
Sugar whines at his sudden quietness as Pietro watches him for a moment. He can see the gears turning in Steve’s head for a moment before he shrug: “Just let her go at her own pace and I’m sure she’ll be just fine with it.”
Pietro leaves out that he knows that it could blossom into something else, as from he gathered of you from your last talk together. Instead, he just watches Sugar pull the large blond around like she owns the place.
“You should hit a mini mart before you head back though,” Pietro shrugs with laugh and hoping that everything turns out okay in the end.
The sun had started to sink in when Steve and Sugar finally come back from getting some snacks from Clint’s shop for the golden retriever and something to make a chicken soup for dinner like the one Sarah Rogers used to make when Steve got sick. He was sure you were going to be sleeping still when they came back, but instead you were sitting in the small living room with a heavy blanket and half finished bowl of oatmeal, while watching a rerun of some old show you don’t seem that interested in.
Sugar barks to make her presence known, as you turn to look at them and give them a weak smile. Steve thinks for a moment that it would be nice to be welcomed like this --you waiting for him and Sugar-- before noticing that you look worse than before, which leads to him knowing that you probably pushed yourself too much on your own by trying to get up and making something to eat.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as he lets Sugar free from her leash and the golden retriever walks over to her water bowl, knowing not to bother you at the moment. Steve puts the bags down on the coffee table as you simply shake your head back and forth.
He almost wants to laugh at how stubborn you are being because it reminds him of those winters when fought with Bucky to go outside, only for the older boy to drag him back in even sicker than before. He settles down at your side, as you wobble slightly only for your head to land on his shoulder and help Steve realize just how much you were actually burning up.
However, Steve knew that you were just as stubborn as him and that you had boundaries that he needed to respect if he wanted to help you. Thus, he asks as softly as he can:
“Do you want me to stay and help?” Steve wants to say another word at the tip of his tongue, but he knows that you don’t need him there. He was sure enough that you were stronger enough from whatever you had gone through in life, but everyone needed from someone else from one time or another, it was human nature.
You move your head for a moment before letting out a grown that sounds like: “Please.”
You say it once more, though this time around it sounds more like tea but either way Steve gets the message as he lays you gently back on the headrest of the couch before setting off to work. There is a flutter of a feeling over someone needing out of what he was used to doing for years and the simple need of an aged friendship, like with Sam and Bucky. Steve isn’t sure why he suddenly feel so giddy, but he pushes it all down to get more accustomed to your kitchen, as Sugar come back around and takes a seat on her green plush bed.
“Some lemon with honey,” Steve remarks to the golden retriever as he pulls out the necessary things from the kitchen, “And some chicken soup to cure the soul, huh Sug?”
She barks in agreement as Steve laughs, completely unaware that you are laying on the couch with a lazy smile on your face at the sounds of happiness and something else filling up your lonesome, little apartment.
Summary: The music always starts at 5 am every morning since your new neighbor moved in leading to your dog promptly as soon as he wakes up. What will you do with that time spent with him? (Modern!Reader/Steve Rogers)
Prompt: The guy living below me has a really loud alarm clock that always wakes me up at the crack of dawn.
A/N: This is for @sebashtiansatan ‘s writing challenge. :)
Feedback is always welcomed.
Steve ends up staying until you eat dinner, take some medicine, fall asleep on the couch with Sugar at your side soon afterward. There is some deeply seated in him that wants to stay and watch over you to see if you want anything, but he also knows how deeply private people can be and you were just allowing him to see a little bit of yourself for now. Steve didn’t want to ruin anything due to overstepping his bounds. So, he packs up and heads out when it leans closer to midnight, tired but satisfied over how the day had gone.
“Night gals,” is all he can say before locking the door as he smiles at the sight of you sinking even more into the golden retriever's coat.
When you end up waking close to 6am due to the need to go to the bathroom, you don’t know what to expect. You, in your dizzy state, expect to be hearing Steve’s music blasting from up above or Steve to still be in your apartment because Sugar didn’t let him leave -- she had done so once or twice with certain people. But, as you pulled Sugar to sit down, on the floor as you got up and headed down the hallway.
You try your best to look somewhat more presentable, brushed your hair and traded in pj’s for your more comfortable clothes than you had on the day before. It takes you a whole hour to do all this with the snail’s pace that you are going, but by the time you are feeding Sugar, you hear a knock at the door that sends your unsteady lungs to skip a few breathes.
For once, Suga is too busy eating to be barking at the door as you take the necessary steps to move over to the damn thing and open it.
“Hey,” it’s the first thing you hear after opening the door and seeing Steve standing there once more with bags of food, “Got some soup and sandwiches from the deli.”
“Thank you,” is all you manage to say with a lazy smile, as Steve pushes you back into the apartment and forces you to lay back down on the couch. He sets everything up on the small coffee table and Sugar comes into the room.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, while petting the dog as she demands his attention. You move your hand back and forth for a moment because you are feeling a little better compared to last night.
“Well, thank goodness you have an expert of being sick all the damn time,” Steve grins as he hands you a container full of soup. Sugar whines to see what he is willing to give her, but instead, he pulls out some beef jerky that has been specially made for dogs -- the man was spoiling her rotten.
“What do you mean by that?” you manage to croak out after taking a sip of the soup, as Steve gives you a bashful smile. Instead of telling you anything, he gets up and goes over to the already familiar place where Sugar’s leash is hidden and brings out, only for the golden retriever to start showing her excitement once more.
“How about I take Sug for her walk and then I’ll tell ya later,’ you aren’t sure it’s its the sickness or something else that makes you think that Steve has a very distinct Brooklyn accent coming out in that one moment, but you are too weary to as and you think he’ll just keep teasing you. For some reason, he seems more cheeky than anything else today.
“Okay,” you say without a fight before going back to eating the soup, as Steve smiles and prepare Sugar all on his own before waving goodbye to you once more.
Before you go back to sleep once more, you can’t help but think how lonely your apartment is starting to feel without those two there.
Eventually, Steve comes back with a dirty Sugar which ends with him having to bath her and then him going back to his apartment to change. It doesn’t help that he comes back in sweats and a rolled up long sleeve as he feels your forehead before declaring that you need some tea with lemon.
You want to ask so many things to man, as you can’t help but wonder why he is here, to begin with and why he is helping you so much. No one person in this day and age, especially in New York, would do so much much for their neighbor.
Did he pity you? Was he doing it because of Sugar?
There were so many things to say, but your tongue felt heavy and your mind was hazy as the day quickly turns into the evening you find yourself leaning into something strong and warm as chills start to rack your body.
“You all right?” the massive piece of warmth asks, as you snuggle closer to it with your blanket. You hear an awkward chuckle and something else envelopes your lap.
“Cold,” is all you manage to state, as you hear a slight whimper.
“Shhh,” it says once more, “Let your mama sleep, Sug.”
You aren't sure why Steve is here, but you couldn’t be more than thankful.
It takes another two days of Steve playing nurse for you to finally start feeling better. But, in between all that it seems like he just belongs in your apartment as she takes Sugar for her walks and gives her meals when he can.
Steve tells you about how he used to be sick all the time and how his mom and then his friend Bucky took care of him before his growth spurt hit in the middle of high school. And you end up telling him about your own childhood angst.
You find yourself falling --just a bit-- for the man, but you should have known by now that things never work out when it comes to love and friendship for you.
After you get better, you go into overdrive when it comes to getting caught up with your work and spending time with Sugar that you don’t end up seeing Steve for almost a week. It wasn’t that you were avoiding him -- okay, maybe you were (just a little) but for someone that you didn’t think had a job he always seemed to be out when you had time to see him. It took you some maneuvering, but you eventually came to realize a good point where you might be able to see him.
Thus, you end up buying a big box of pastries with Sugar on the way home, ready to thank him for everything that he had done for you and maybe ask for a little more.
There’s a skip to your step as you take the stairs to Steve’s floor and Sugar must’ve sensed it too since her tail was wagging to and for as fast as it could. You’re going over what you plan on saying in your head over and over again, as you make it to the last step. You take a deep breath, ready to walk down the hall and knock on his door when you look up and your heart stops.
You don’t expect Steve to be standing really close to a beautiful blond woman dressed in black pants and a white shirt that seem to match his own dark brown slacks and white shirt. His hair was even slicked back, he was so handsome and your brain went into overdrive over what you had just stepped into as blue eyes meet your own.
“Oh,” you let out in surprise, close to dropping your box of pastries as Sugar lets a sad whine, “I’m sorry, I was obviously interrupting something.”
Steve tries to speak, as Sharon moves away from his side slightly but you’re already halfway through panic mode as you quickly push the box in his chest -- not caring if they are getting squished in the end. You give him a quick thank you before pulling Sugar to follow you back down the stairs.
There are a lot of things that Steve wishes that he could do at that moment, namely go after you, but at the concerned look that Sharon gives --, he knows that first, he has some explaining to go. He pushes the door to his apartment soberly and lets her in.
“I’m guessing that’s the gal that has been helping you,” she remarks as Steve looks away for a second. She goes inside and he glances at the stairs one last time before closing the door.
He doesn’t know that you are having a full-blown panic attack behind your closed door. With a heavy breathe and a sinking heart, you keep repeating stupid over and over again as Sugar lays her head on your lap as you cry it all out.
You were such a stupid idiot for letting someone into your little, useless life.
Summary: The music always starts at 5 am every morning since your new neighbor moved in leading to your dog promptly as soon as he wakes up. But, what are you going to do with the time spent with him?
