#written by archie

Imagine Peter Parker being excited to see you when he gets home from Titan, after surviving the snap.

requested by: anon
a/n: this takes place in a wonderful universe at the beginning of endgame where peter never gets snapped!!

He just couldn’t wait to see you. Stuck together on Titan, Tony had told him more than once to shut up and, though Nebula had said very little, somehow he knew she wanted to end him. But eventually, as the food, water and oxygen began to wear thin, Tony stopped resisting the boy’s rambles.

He knew talking about you was really the only thing keeping him hopeful that he’d see Earth again, kept him from mourning those he saw disappear into dust. They’d sit together in the cockpit, drifting in unknown darkness, and Peter would just think out loud, his weak, gasping voice carrying the only warmth in the void of space. His smile would grow at the thought of how you instinctively tucked your hair behind your ear when you focused on your schoolwork, how you covered your mouth when you laughed. Oh, your laugh. That kept him alive.

Soon it came to it that Tony decided he wanted to meet you. You’d become such an image of survival to him, even if he didn’t know what you looked like. He promised himself he’d make sure Peter would see you, so when the food got scarce, he gave Peter his rations, just in case he could make it home.

And he did.

Thanks to a starwoman, the ship was taken home to Earth, and Peter, though physically incapable, was itching to see you. He’d ask about you while he was being tended to in the hospital, and blow up your phone.

He guessed that you must have been busy when you didn’t answer him right away - he knew you must have been worried. Why else wouldn’t you answer?

It wasn’t until they brought him the news of Aunt May that it ever occurred to him that Thanos’ powers worked on Earth too. Of course, it seemed obvious now that he knew, but his mind was too occupied with thoughts of you to even consider that you hadn’t made it.

But you hadn’t. 

Tony would hear his raw, heaving cries from his hospital room. Bedridden, with nurses urging him to stay where he lay, he couldn’t go to the devastated boy - but the way it wrenched his heart told him everything he needed to know. He knew what’d happened. 

And right then, with Peter’s cries fuelling the tear that slipped down his own cheek, he made a promise to himself. He’d bring you back. Whatever it took.

written by: archie

Imagine Felix taking you to Mexico with him.

requested by: a wonderful anon <3 i also caught the other request you sent in, and am working on that!! thank you so much for the wonderful ideas, keep them coming!
warnings: mentions of prostitution, general seductive (i hope) behaviour.

Read Part One here.

You looked up from your novel. Isabella’s eyes flicked away from you, gaze suddenly very intent out the window. You didn’t shuffle in your seat, even though it was uncomfortable. You didn’t shrink away, didn’t even care. She was a queen, sure.

But on this plane, you were thequeen.

You laid your book in your lap and openly looked over at Felix, watching him as he sat opposite you.

He wasn’t looking at you at first, but he must have felt your gaze. He turned to you too, and though you couldn’t see his eyes through his shades, you knew he was looking back at you. You smiled. He nodded, face straight and neck stiff.

That was it. The whole interaction.

The sea was visible through the window, wide and blue - you were on your way to Mexico.

You weren’t entirely sure how; you were of no use to Felix really, but somehow you convinced him. A Colombian, and better yet, a Colombian prostitute known to have previously been with the Medellin cartel. You were basically a flashing sign to all of the authorities saying that Felix was now in the cocaine business, but he still brought you.

Clearly, he could care less. He knew he was untouchable.

You retracted your stare from the sea, directed it back at Felix, and noticed he was still looking at you. Or at least, your general direction.

You decided to test it. You opened your novel once more, Felix clear in your peripheral vision. You scooted in your seat only slightly, your dress riding up a little to expose your thighs, which you then crossed, expression neutral and airy as you could manage.

Felix stiffened, cleared his throat, and promptly turned his face to the window.

Gotcha.

He’d been cold to you, calloused, and strategically you were useless to him. But he’d let you board his plane. This was why.

You settled back with your book, smug on the inside, but it only lasted a few minutes.

He called your name, and that choppy accent made his words seem harsher than they needed to be. “You’re gonna dye your hair, change your name. And you’re not Colombian anymore - its best you drown that accent. The job I have for you will take a new identity, and manipulation.”

“The… job?”

“You didn’t think I brought you here for nothing, did you?”

It took control to keep your lips from pressing together sourly. Instead, you focused on keeping your face lax, your brows raised patiently, though inside you were reeling. “Well, no.” Not even a lie.

Isabella knew what you meant, you could see it in her face. But you wouldn’t be humiliated. “I can manipulate, Felix. How else would I have got on this plane?”

written by: archie

Imagine meeting Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo as part of the Medellin cartel.

requested by: anon. thank you sO MUCH, anon, i’ve been dying to write for narcos: mexico. if you have anymore ideas, please please shoot them in. i’d love to write for kiki too, and i think rafa could be an interesting lad to write. send more narcos meixco !! <3
warnings: implied prostitution, alcohol, mentioned drugs (of course).

Read Part Two here.

He was so uncomfortable. Back straight against the couch, a glass of tequila in hand and the bottle sat by his ankles. Poison had insisted it was all they had left along with a sombrero - it wasn’t true. But a Mexican narco in the heart of the Medellin cartel would never be anything but the butt of the joke, even if he was as calculated as Felix Gallardo.

Between the attentive minutes you had to give to certain men, you’d watched him for almost an hour, playing his role, pretending like he fit in, like he could talk to these animals. Honestly, he did a good job of it, to the point that you almost questioned if he knew they were laughing at him. But the tightness of his shoulders and the set of his brow told you otherwise.

This was a smart man. Perhaps he could help you.

The woman he brought with him, who hadn’t left his side all evening, finally whispered something low in his ear and headed towards the bathroom. You seized your chance.

You unfolded your legs and approached him, bending low until your fingers grasped the bottle of tequila at his ankle, returning to upright slowly, his gaze like a weight on you. You raised a delicate brow and tipped your head, gesturing outside. “Come outside, unless you want to spend your evening with these assholes.”

You didn’t wait for a reply before heading outside, only glancing over your shoulder when you were out of sight of the majority of the party, and sure enough, he was following behind you.

The gazebo was quiet once you’d dismissed a smoking sicario or two. You placed the bottle on a chair and leant against the ledge. The air was tropical, almost sweet to the taste, and the sound of the hippopotamus wallowing was gentle, peaceful in the distance.

Footsteps approached. Gallardo’s. You could tell from only hearing that he walked well, confidently. A strong man in the face of pressure. That must be what got him here today, under the radar of such a dangerous man as your boss.

He settled beside you, joining you in leaning against the ledge, looking out to the lake. He didn’t speak for a while, but when he did, he didn’t sound as dangerous as you imagined. His voice was casual, gentle even, a hint of a laugh in his tone. “Do hippos like Mexicans?”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped. You turned to look at him, a brow arched, “I don’t know. But I imagine they like you more than the guys in there do.”

“I didn’t come here for them to like me.”

Bullshit. “You never meant to come here, did you?” His confused, somewhat hostile expression hardened as he looked at you. You raised your fingers to his eyebrow, which was only beginning to come up in a light bruise. “Well, you were shoved in the car, none too gently. Am I right?” He leant away from your touch, brows furrowed and he stared back out at the hippos without answering. “Then you never meant to see Escobar. You were banking on the Cali cartel.”

“I got the Cali cartel’s cocaine,” he snapped. “I also got Escobar’s.”

You couldn’t keep the smirk out of your voice, so you didn’t try to hide it. “Unintentionally.”

His glare was sharp as he turned away from you, heading back inside. “They like me in there more than you do.”

“No no no,” you laughed, reaching for his wrist gently. You didn’t pull it, only held it, and although he jerked as if to pull away, he didn’t. He turned towards you slowly, a warning glint to his eye, but you remained unintimidated. “Ilike you, Felix. You’re the only one in this entire place who’s worth his word - that’s why you don’t belong here.”

He scoffed, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and placing one between his lips. “And I suppose you don’t either.”

“Correct. I don’t.”

He laughed, hand rummaging in his pocket for a lighter that clearly wasn’t there. You clicked your tongue at his attitude, pulling your own lighter from the front of your dress. You met his eye as you raised the lighter to the tip of his cigarette, the flame catching in the deep, gentle brown of his eyes. He wasn’t the type of man you were used to.

You held the flame to ignite the tobacco, and his hands raised to steady your wrists until it caught. But you kept the closeness, your voice a whisper. “Take me to Mexico with you.”

written by: archie

Imagine finding out that your boyfriend Deny is La Quica from the Medellin cartel.

requested by: anon
warnings: ?? swearing ?? this ones pretty tame for a narcos one imo
also, i kinda gave it an underlying possible javi x reader vibe because my love is just too strong, hope that’s chill.

You threw your coat over the back of a chair and swept up a coffee from the desk. Two glugs of it assaulting your tastebuds and you knew it wasn’t yours.

“Hey, don’t pull that face. This is good stuff, your taste is off.” Javi swiped it from your hand and held out another for you, and you took a sip.

“No no, my taste is brilliant - this is good stuff.”

He scoffed, “You wanna talk about your taste in men again?”

Your brows set with his teasing tone. You knew what he was getting at - he wanted you to spill the gossip on your latest boyfriend so he could terrorise him, like he always does. “Um, no. I’m not having you chase off another perfectly good man.”

“Why did they dart on you if they were perfectly good, sweetie?”

You frowned at him and his shit-eating grin. You had nothing to say to that. You loved Javi, you really did, but he and his cynicism were a detrimental force on your lovelife. At this rate, you’d be 50 years old and still sat in a bar every other night with these two assholes.

“Can’t help it if every guy in Colombia is a loser.”

He opened his arms, “I’m in Colombia.”

“And so my point stands.” You shook your head and took a slurp of coffee, turning your back on him and going to stand beside a focused Steve staring at a wall, hands on his hips.

Your brows raised when you followed his gaze. “Oh, this is new.”

Faces and faces. So many faces dotted the board, with names tacked up, many of which you recognised, some crossed through with red. At the top, one Pablo Escobar. “So this is our cartel.”

“This is our cartel, but only as far as we know.” Steve gestured to the lowest row on the board, many of which were names without pictures. “We don’t know these guys. And we don’t know who they got working for them, either.”

“It’s a huge fuckin’ spider’s web,” called Javi from behind you.

“Anything we do to anyone on this web, the spider will know,” you nodded grimly. Your eyes raked through the profiles, some strangers and some familiar. One, just a little too familiar.

Your brows creased, your feet instinctively took a step closer. You craned your neck to see a little better and your heart lurched when you saw what you wished wasn’t true. His name escaped your lips in a gasp. “Deny?”

“What’s that?” Steve asked.

“Oh, what? Nothing, just-”

“Just?”

“I think it’s too early for my eyes,” you laughed and waved a hand dismissively, then raising your coffee. “Gonna need a little more of this.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed and constricted your stomach with nerves. But he nodded with a “Uh huh,” and went to shuffle through some papers. “What’s our next move, then?”

“Fill in the blanks? We need a full board to get the full web.” You scoured the rest of the board for anyone else you recognised, but there were no others. Just your boyfriend.

Your eyes settled on the picture of him, trying to tell yourself that anyone could have his curly hair, his scruff. Even the wildness in his eyes wasn’t hard to come by these days.

But then, you filled your brain with the faces of sicarios. It would make sense that he had that look too. Fuck, it suddenly made too much sense. His sneaking, his reluctance to be seen with you, how he never told you about his friends or family, or even work.

Your fingers found their way to the necklace he’d bought you, a dainty gold chain.

How could he be part of this? Your sweet, hilarious, ride-or-die Deny.

But then, you had to assume he had no idea you were with the DEA.

You’d been playing a more dangerous game than you knew, and now it was time to win.

written by: archie

Imagine cuddling up to Billy Hargrove.

requested by: me
warnings: nudity <3

The curtains over his window barely did anything to keep the Sunday morning glow out of his room. They fluttered in the light breeze that climbed through his window, unobstructed golden light flickering over your fingers as they rose and fell with his chest.

Your fingertips brushed lightly over his skin, which was soft as you’d ever imagined it. His breaths were deep and steady. In… and out. And you let this mesmerise you, almost meditating with the movement.

You brought your knee up to rest on his bare thigh, the slight ache from the night’s activities only satisfying in this afterglow, tilting your body a little to fit tighter against his. His forearm rested beneath your shoulders, propping you up on the pillow beside him, and his breathing was a gentle constant that soothed your mind.

You trailed your gaze over his face. His dark lashes, his sweet lips that devoured you last night. You couldn’t wait to have them on yours again, but you wouldn’t wake him just yet. You turned your face towards his neck, breathing in deeply, gently. His permed locks tapped against your nose as you inhaled and his summery scent swirled in your mind. He simply smelled warm, with the faintest hint of chlorine. And you could swear he still smelled of sand, though the nearest beach was miles away.

You basked in his closeness, his skin against yours, your nose to his jaw and your forehead to his cheek, both your feet caught up in the blanket together.

You could get used to this. A tender smile lifted the corners of your lips and you sighed lightly, contentedly.

The arm beneath your shoulders tensed and the space between his eyebrows creased as he began to stir. His legs stretched out straight and a low groan rumbled in his throat, his head turned towards you. His arm curled around your shoulders a little more securely and he pulled you towards him, burying his nose in your hair.

You looked up at him when he pulled back, ready to greet him. But he didn’t even open his eyes to look at you before he retracted his arm from around you and instead used it to nudge you an inch from where you lay, turning his back to you.

“Go home.”

Imagine Sirius Black helping you out of a thunderstorm predicament.

requested by: anon!! i know you requested for a slytherin girlfriend but imagine this before the relationship begins! 

The thunder had been rolling for a while, crashing against the roof of Honeydukes - typical November weather. And you, terrified of thunderstorms, were stuck in the shop up until closing time. People were being asked to start leaving, students and residents alike, and you knew you should be leaving but you just couldn’t bring yourself to brave the thunderstorm. Every time you felt a surge of confidence and started toward the door, another crack of thunder would put you back into a corner, pretending to be browsing the sweets, but your insides shaking in fear and shame.

And now everyone was going home, out into the storm, and you knew you had to, too. But how could you?

“Hey,” a hand on your shoulder pulled your attention from your internal war. You turned to meet the cheeky eyes of one of those Gryffindor hooligans, the one you recognised as Regulus’ brother. “You gonna buy those whizbees or what? Shop’s closing.”

“O-oh, um,” your anxiety had you on edge to the point that this sudden human contact had you a little dizzy and the most intelligent response you could come out with was a few garbled noises.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at you, and then when they widened in realisation he dropped his hand from your shoulder. “Wait, you’re that Slytherin chick, aren’t you? Regulus’ mate.”

Your own eyes narrowed, your words snapping back to their right formation as you crossed your arms, picking up on the boy’s disdain. “Well, I don’t really know him- Ah!”

A bolt of lightning slashed the sky, a deep crack of thunder following immediately, and you couldn’t help but fall against the wall, knocking a couple of boxes of fizzing whizbees off the shelf behind you, fists clenched tight against the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You could have sworn the boy hid a laugh, but he knelt to gather the boxes at your feet. “Careful,” he scolded, “You might make a fool of yourself.”

You huffed at him as he put the boxes back on the shelf, but found you couldn’t quite match his witty tongue in this situation. Whether it was the storm or his presence, you were off your game. You helped him right the boxes in silence.

He turned to you, a brow raised as he placed the last box on the shelf. The smirk that seemed so at home on his face was vacant. “Are you alright?”

You arched a brow right back, immediately defensive. “I am.”

“You’re scared of the storm.”

His abrupt assumption had your brows knit together in a glare. “I’m not.” As if to spite you, a deep roll of thunder echoed through the room and your strong stance crumbled into one of fear. His eyes remained on you, but they weren’t mocking. You explained yourself with a clear of the throat, “Ahem. It’s the thunder.”

The smirk that you were keen to keep away slipped back onto his lips. But no, it wasn’t condescending or spiteful, like you expected. There was a light behind his eyes that painted that smirk a mischievous colour. He looked over his shoulder at the final customers that were preparing to go and made eye contact with a bespectacled friend of his. He jerked his head towards the shop and Glasses sent him a grin and a salute before leaving the shop.

You looked back at Black, not even trying to hide your confusion. “What did I just witness?”

He leant in towards you, whispered a quick “Come on,” and took your wrist, gently pulling you further into the shop.

“Hey- what!?” You squirmed out of his grasp, pulling his attention as he rolled his eyes and gave you a look. “Where are you taking me?”

“Away from the storm.” He stepped closer to you again, his voice low and almost seductive, a glint of wilderness in his eye. “Have you ever heard of the one-eyed-witch passageway?”

written by: archie

Imagine selling Peter Parker a necklace in Venice.

requested by: me
warnings: KINDA FAR FROM HOME SPOILERS but nothing plotty so ?? not really ? but sorta.

The sun shone on the water in Venice, and you watched it through the window of your grandfather’s jewellery shop. Gondolas floated by carrying lovesick couples and you couldn’t help but simultaneously dislike and admire them. But one day you’d have the chance to see the city through a lovers’ eyes, surely. You dreamed of the day.

Elbow on the desk and chin in your hand, you dazed through the minutes, visions of romance with a guy you hadn’t met yet dancing before your eyes.

If you focused enough, you could make out a face.

Dark hair, sharp jaw, an eyebrow that seemed like it wanted to be brushed. A brown eyes set in a gentle expression - he’d have a sweetness that no one could replicate.

You imagined him at the window, eyeing glass necklaces in the window. You’d send him a breezy smile when he looks in, and he’d be a little flustered, but manage to shoot one right back.

And then he’d stumble into the shop, backpack slung over his shoulder, and say a heavily accented “Ciao.”

You smiled dreamily. It was almost as if he was real. “Ciao.”

He bounced on his feet a little, awkwardness seeping through. “Hi, um, I was wondering- I’m looking for a necklace? A black dahlia one?”

His voice was eager, ernest. But wait, his English- well, it was English, and you could barely understand. This boy was actually American. He wasn’t in your head.

You gasped and snapped upright, a deep blush dusting your cheeks and ears to the point that you were nervous you’d break a sweat. His brows shot up at your sudden energy and change of disposition, and an awkward laugh fell from his lips.

“Uh, you okay?”

You brushed a couple of strands of hair out of your face and joined his laugh, acutely aware of your heavy accent. And then, acutely aware that you were aware of it. You dealt with American tourists daily - why were you suddenly like this? You cleared your throat and reassured, “I’m okay, very good. Necklace?”

He smiled again, nodding. “Yeah, a black dahlia one? You know, like the murder.”

“Murder,” you scoffed, “I know. I think I have it-?” You emerged from behind the counter and led the boy to a flower collection by another window, cursing yourself for not trying harder in your English lessons. The words wouldn’t come to your mind when you spoke to him, and then they felt clumsy in your mouth when you tried to use them. So much for elegance.

Your fingers knocked pendants aside to find a certain one that hung from the holder, and your excitement spiked when you found the one you wanted. You unhooked it and turned to show him, but-

He was right there. He must have been leaning with you to look over your shoulder, and when you turned he accidentally elbowed your… front curves.

“Oh god, sorry, I didn’t mean-” he professed, taking a huge step backwards, hands open and high in front of him. He cleared his throat when you shook your head, just as pink as him, the delicious smell he wore swirling in your mind. “No no no, no worries.”

Whether it was feigned surprise or he was just trying to disperse the embarrassment, you couldn’t tell, but as soon as his eyes sought the pendant he announced, “Hey, that’s perfect!”

He bent to inspect it, and you took the opportunity to take in his expression. The wonder on his face was so endearing, and you couldn’t help the curve that pulled your lips.

You weren’t sure what it was, but something possessed you and made you voice your thoughts in Italian. “So are you.”

written by: archie

Imagine reuniting with Carol after disappearing during the snap.

requested by: @patrick-stumps-thighs !! thanks for requesting my love <3
warnings: a bit of injury, battle, peter parker being precious (as always)

Peter couldn’t quite hold it. The ships’ blasts were smashing everything, and clearly someone was aiming for the boy - he was hopping all over the place, dodging as far as he could, clinging to the gauntlet, but it wasn’t enough.

The blasts kept coming, and coming, and the ground beneath your feet shook so much that your ankles stung. You had to fight to stay on your feet, pushing yourself towards the Spider kid as he crumpled to the ground beneath the sheer heat and vibrations of the guns. But they were coming for the gauntlet, and you’d be damned if you let them have it now that you were finally back.

Your knees trembled from the fatigue, the shaking ground making it only more impossible to stumble towards it, so you dove for the gauntlet.

You strained your body, soaring through the air and making a grab for it, your fingers only just grasping the edge-

A searing pain through your side. 

Your fists clenched and your body curled around your prize, restricting from the white hot pain.

You hit the ground hard, the side of your face scraping along the dust and rubble until it landed in Peter’s side. The gunfire drowned out Peter’s worried ramblings and crying, and he curled around your screaming, writhing form, trying to protect you from the rest of the blasts.

Until suddenly you could hear Peter’s tear-soaked mumblings in your ear. The gunfire had stopped.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to look. You clutched at your side which burned beneath your touch, crimson slipping from the gash in your suit, and your face stinging from the tears in your open graze.

But Peter’s words, terrified though they were, trembling with his body, gave you something to focus on. “We’re okay, Miss. We’re alive, we’re living! It’s good!”

You grit your teeth, forcing your cries to stop. You distanced yourself, put the pain aside the best you could. It was only pain; you’d had it before. Never quite like this, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle.

You breathed, clutching the gauntlet, feeling the cold against your hands. You focused on it, let that calm coolness take over your body. And then-

A hand on your shoulder. No, not Peter’s. Firmer, stronger.

You turned your head, prepared to kick them to shit if they tried to take the gauntlet from you, but there was no need.

You looked up to meet the eyes of your love. Carol.

“Hang in there, soldier.”

You choked on a gasp and scrambled out of Peter’s hold, the gauntlet lay forgotten beside him until he gathered it into his own arms. You cried out in a mix of pain and relief as you threw yourself at your girlfriend, who you hadn’t seen in - well, you couldn’t be sure. But it was far too long.

Your arms fixed firmly around her shoulders and she held your waist delicately, making a mental note of the mess on your side. A hand found its way to your back, rubbing up and down in soothing motions, and you were sure you could feel her shaking a little.

You brushed your eyes dry and pulled back to look her in the face, and were greeted with a glimmer of liquid happiness in her eyes, a sincere curve to her lip.

“Wow, you…” You held her shoulders, and gave them a squeeze as you looked for the words. “Hair. Good.”

She gave a teary laugh and nodded, her lips landing repeatedly over the uninjured part of your face before they pressed to your own lips, wistful and tender. You could swear the warmth of her kiss pushed the pain all over your body away, until you felt nothing but gentle tingles where it used to be.

But nonetheless, she broke away and set you gently back down onto the ground, though her hands grasped yours for a little while. “Stay out of this now, that’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” she gestured to your side. “I got your back.” And with that, she squeezed your hands and let go, straightening up to full height again and blinking her tears away.

She cleared her throat, looked at the boy in blue and red on the floor, who’d been beaten black and blue, clutching a golden glove. His voice was scratchy and tired, but ever sweet. “H-hi, I’m Peter Parker.”

“Hey, Peter Parker. You got something for me?”

written by: archie

Imagine being Emerson Cod’s assistant and just being done with everyone’s shenanigans.

requested by: anon
warnings: mentions of murder

You had no idea that you were stood in the exact same pose as Emerson. You had your arms folded tight across your chest, feet apart in a powerful stance, and (it was unmistakable on your face) completely done.

You heaved yet another sigh, pulled your gaze from Ned, Chuck and the cleaner, and checked your watch. The cleaner, whose name you had heard and forgot, was the only living worker after all the staff in a whole restaurant had died under suspicious circumstances. And yet, all she could warble about was how Ned and Chuck would have gorgeous babies. They tried to deny and discourage, but she’d just raise her voice and reaffirm them even more. This slowly escalated, until the woman was arguing with them about it. You had no idea how. You checked your watch again - she’d been at this for ten minutes now.

A sigh from Emerson told you all you needed to know - he thought this was ridiculous too. He slipped you a glance and stepped in, intending to stop the rambling and get some answers, but ended up just sparking the mess even more.

You raised a brow at the cluster of people before you and rolled your eyes, walking right out of the shop. It was much quieter outside - and a perfect day to go and eat some pie by your lonesome.

written by: archie

Imagine Edmund reading about your crush on him in your diary.

requested by: @hopebaker !! thanks for your request <3

“Lucy!? Have you seen my diary?” You called down your grandfather’s stairs. The Pevensies had come to stay with you as refugees from London, and you got along with them perfectly. Well, save for Edmund, who avoided you for some reason. But, regrettably, it only made him more intriguing. To say you were beginning to form a fancy for him would be a hard truth to deal with - you only spoke about it in your diary. Which had gone missing this morning.

“Your diary?” Lucy’s voice called back, before she appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes, you haven’t seen it, have you?”

“No,” she frowned, “I’m afraid not.” She took a couple of steps up the stairs, her brow creased in thought. “Have you checked the boys’ room?”

Now, it was your turn to frown. “The boys’ room? Why on earth would it be there?”

“Well, Edumnd has always been… somewhat of a rebel.” She laughed, but it was stained with a grimace. “Perhaps you should check just in case?”

You nodded and turned, following your feet until you came to the front of the door that lead to Edmund and Peter’s room. You hesitated to raise your fist, palms sweaty. But you made yourself do it - you needed your diary.

A flustered Edmund opened the door at your knock. His cheeks and ears were dusted with pink, and he looked surprised to see you. “O-oh. Uh, hullo.”

“Ed? Are you alright?” Your brows raised and you reached out in concern, but he ducked away from your hand.

The next thing you knew, your diary was in your face. You reflexively took it and cradled it to your chest as realisation dawned on you. “Wait… did you…?”

“No! No I didn’t read it!” You couldn’t help but think his tone was unwarranted as he slammed the door hard in your face.

You blushed hard.

He totally read it.

written by: archie

Imagine Bender helping you find the library before detention.

requested by: two anons! one of them requested a kiss, but this is a first meeting so i felt that would be a little rushed. i hope you like it anyways though!
warnings: bender being a dick, of course.

You didn’t deserve to be in detention. You were never a bad student - you’d got plenty of nicknames through the many schools you’d been to. “Goody-goody bookworm” was the general gist of it, so when you were late to class on your first day, it devastated you to be given a detention simply for getting lost.

Even now, you still couldn’t figure out where you were supposed to be. The halls all looked the same, the classrooms all looked the same and the fact that there was no one around to ask didn’t help matters. There was honestly no hope, you were gonna be late to your first detention for being late.

Oh, the irony.

Fists clenched in irritation, just about prepared to give up, you turned a corner and-

“HEY!”

A boy popped out in front of you and jumped right in your face. You yelped and stumbled backwards, catching yourself just before you tripped over.

When the shock of it all had passed, you frowned up at the boy. You recognised him distantly, but figured you must have just seen him around the halls. “What was that for?”

His face, a picture of surprise, switched seamlessly into a shit-eating grin. “That was pretty fun, huh?”

Your brows knitted together, “Well, not really.”

“Honestly I thought you were Vernon, heard your footsteps. But that’s not… you.” His tone was teasing, and you felt exposed somehow. His eyes raked your face, and you could feel that he knew more about you than you wanted him to know, just from reading you. “You’re the new kid. Why the hell you here on a Saturday?”

You pursed your lips and looked away, feeling the ends of your ears heat up. You didn’t want to say, so instead you asked, “Where’s the library again?”

His eyes lit up at this, and that teasing tone was back. “Oh, the library?” He clicked his tongue and gave you a patronising look, as if he were a disappointed adult. “You’re in detention, aren’t you? What would your parents say!? First week in a new school and you’re already being a delinquent.”

You tried not to let his words get to you, but could feel how they stabbed at you. “Don’t assume about my parents.” And with this, you brushed past him and continued on your way, trying to push the face of your father out of your mind.

But the boy’s face popped in instead when he cleared his throat dramatically. “Um, greenhorn. The library is this way.”

You took a breath and turned to look at him, unimpressed. He had a stupid smile on his face and he flicked his hair away, which made you notice a grey streak right at the front. This boy wasn’t all he seemed. But that’s just another reason to distrust him. “Is it actually?”

“Yeah come on, I’ll walk you. It just so happens to be my destination too, as part of the fine life.”

written by: archie