#// a little piece of calm for my bittersweet boy

[grugruel]

Little Bit

Pairings: roommate!bucky x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: Moving in with your bestfriend always seems like a great idea, until something inevitably breaks you apart. . .

He grabs my jaw, 'I fucking hate you.' He breathes, and I smile against his lips.

'No you don't.' I whisper, 'You love me.'

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: friends to enemies to lovers, forced proximity, angsty rom-com vibes, praise (reader calls bucky good boy once), I love you's, choking, creampie, rough sex, pinv sex, semi-public masturbation, swearing.

A soft blue light shone through the windows, the neon sign across from us coloring every reachable piece of the flat a hue of blue.

Sitting on our shared couch, moved in just a week ago. I lay my head in my hands, I too was colored blue.

'How do we fix this?' He asks, sitting in the armchair across from me.

'Us?' I move my hands from my face to look at him with a faint smile, that doesnt quite reach my eyes. The light hitting him somehow fusing into purple, I turned my attention outside, searching for any type of red light.

'How, do we get rid of the flat. . .' He corrects me, forcefully shoving his finger into the coffee table, punctuating the words.

A tinge of sadness sinks it's teeth in me, moving to gnaw on the edges of my mind. Just a few hours ago, he'd still been my best friend. Since childhood, in fact. And now?

'We can't, you know that. We already signed the contract.' I sigh, 'Besides, neither of us have anywhere else to go. Or do I have to remind you?' Crossing my legs, I lean against the back of the couch, Meticulously searching for that red. Perhaps it was just the anger swelling inside him, pushing outward, seeping into his skin and tinting it red. Mixing with the cool of the blue, however, unsuccesfull in calming him.

He clenches his jaw, 'You, don't have anywhere to go.' He points an accusing finger at me, 'I- On the other hand–'

'–Have nowhere to go.' I finish his sentence for him, exhaling it in a whisper, 'We only have eachother now, ironically enough.' I flash my eyebrows upward, the words tasting bittersweet on my tongue.

Reality seems to set in as he too, leans backward and looks out through the window. Now seeming more lost than angry. Nonetheless, he blames me, for. . . what happened. I reach out for him, gracing his knee with the tips of my fingers–

But he pulls back, yanking his knee out of reach for my touch and faces away from me completley. Turning his head over his shoulder, I feel him retracting within himself, tugging all previous feelings and memories with him. He closes his eyes and exhales a shaky breath, 'Dont, I don't know you.' His voice was cold, 'You're nothing more than a roommate, a stranger im forced to share a home with.' Completley devoid of emotion.

My eyes stung with tears, and I hurry past him. Rushing upstairs to the loft, shutting myself in my bedroom.

That was a few weeks ago, the anger and sadness had settled. But in its wake, annoyance and spite had developed.

It felt very much like living with a sibling you hated dearly, a nemesis, your rival. Yet still loved, because of your ties.

'Just get out already!' I groan, stomping my foot into the floor from pure frustration. I felt like a child throwing a tantrum, but he just brought it out of me.

'I'm. Using. It.' He shouted, voice slightly muffled.

'For fu-' I stopped myself, but closed my eyes instead. Reminding myself to be the better person, 'I. Need. It.' I threw his punctuation back at him, 'I have to shower, youre making me late!' I shouted back through the door.

We both had a date, at the same time. Bucky was occupying the shower, it felt like he delayed just to make me late.

Eventually, the door opened and steam poured out of the opening. A cloud of buckys scents wafted in her face, and from it he emerged, with only a towel around his hips. With his bare upperbody on full display.

It's not like I hadn't seen him without a shirt before, but that had been as friends. Buy now that we weren't friends anymore. . . Well, I couldn't help but feel a little something.

He smiled smugly, 'Your turn.'

Oh how I wanted to scream at him, how could someone be so self-satisfied? I frantically gesture with my hands for him to move past me, and the second he did, I threw myself inside.

Finally, the water flooded down my body, every drop doing its duty in soothing an unwelcome ache. Stress and worry washing off of me, sliding into the drain, everything was perfect in this short, shielded time.

It would be over in a moment, when I rejoined the chaos that was my life.

But for now, my hand slipped downward. Quickly finding the source of my ache, and releaved it, rubbing it away in massaging circles. Doing my best to stifle my moans– When involuntarily, an image of Bucky popped up in my mind.

His towel around his hips, the low "V" on full display, his muscles rippling, torso stretching, showcasing his body and toned abs in all their glory. But what if those big hands had grabbed my waist, and pulled me close. What if he sank inside me, how heavenly it must feel. I bit my lip, my fingers moving faster. Realising too late that I was only spurring myself on, I came quickly, doing my best to stifle my moans. Toppling over, I leaned against the shower wall as I caught my breath. Praying I had been quiet enough.

When done, I hurried and dried myself off, then stepped out the shower a wrapped a towel around my torso. I took a quick look in the mirror, making sure that my actions were in no way visible on my face, then opened the door and re-entered the apartment.

The sun was just beginning to set, it was late in the day and the neon light had yet to come on. Golden light filled the apartment as–

Bucky fell onto the couch. . .

Almost looking like he'd jumped over the back of it.

I looked at him strangely, myself acting like I hadn't just touched myself to thoughts of him. 'You ok?' I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

He nodded, and grabbed a pillow, pressing it against his abdomen with an unreadable expression on his face, 'Mhm.' He hummed, 'Just fine, why would't I be?'

A violent urge to strangle him grabbed ahold of me, anger nipping at my skin, I was starting to tire of his passive-agressiveness. I inhaled through my nose, and exhaled through my mouth. Calming myself before I answered, 'You're right, how silly of me to ask. I don't even care.' and headed to my room.

What I did not see, was his eyes following me, lingering on my rosy cheeks and wet hair. Roaming over the bare parts of my skin, noting the way it was riddled with glistening water droplets. Nir had I seen, how he'd walked past the bathroom door earlier and somehow heard my moaning, or that he'd stayed and listened, intently. Sowly becoming more and more aroused. I did however, see a glimpse of him "smoothly" covering his tracks when I opened the door, the old run and jump maneuver. By some miracle, I didn't put the pieces together. Because I had not seen his erection either.

I put on my long, sleek, red satin dress.

It fell perfectly over my body, clinging to every curve. Paired with a pair of nude heels, my legs looked magnificent thorugh the slit too. I walked downstairs, expecting Bucky to make some snide remark, but he was nowhere to be found.

I figured I'd at least let him know im leaving. Presuming he was in his room, I approached it, and could indeed hear him inside.

But I wasnt to sure what to make of the sounds. My subconscious instics must've kicked in, because I reflexively took my heels off and snuck closer. Muffled grunts and slapping came from the other side of the door, they were, lewd almost, kind of like–

My jaw dropped. My name, I heard- I heard my name. He just moaned my name. Surely, this wasnt real, I scoffed internally. He was pranking me, right? Maybe it was an actress, or crush who shared my name? He was gonna open that door any second, jump out and tell me how stupid I was to think such a thing. Yet, something tightened inside me, a dull pulse flaring up.

There was a final groan, then the sound of a zipper. I blinked, frozen. Until I heard footsteps, and forced myself to snap out of it.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit! I quickly tiptoed over to the window, pretending to look outside. Realising I still had my heels in my hand, I had to alternate between putting them on and acting nonchalant.

The creaking sound of his door opening rang out behind me, and I yelped, my head whipping over my shoulder to look at him, taken completely off guard.

His eyes went wide as he met mine. His expression made it very clear that he'd expected me to be gone by now. 'Oh–' he clenched his jaw to keep it from falling. Rubbing the nape of his neck, he looked around nervously, 'Thought you'd gone.' He said, irritation lacing his tone, 'Since you were so stressed about being late and all.' He remarked, narrowing his eyes.

God, the gall on this man.

I put my other heel on, and turn around completley, 'Stress that you caused, you mean?' I pointed out, the final rays of sun warming my back as I looked at him, 'Dont worry, I'll leave you to it.' A giggle bubbled up in my throat. I had to suck on my bottom lip to stiffle it and hide my smile.

I turned on my heel and fled, not sticking around to see his reaction.

I couldn't keep him off my mind, surely it was not me he meant, I heard wrong. He hates me, for gods sake!

At that thought, my date picked me up, and the night was pretty uneventful from there. We had dinner and drinks, but something else was occupying my mind. I was just replaying the way my name sounded falling from Buckys lips, the way he breathed it, moaned it. My core ached at the memory.

My date no doubt thought me distant, but it couldnt be helped. I was desperate for the feeling of a man inside me, for bucky more specifically. So I laid my hand on top of my date's, 'How about we take this to my place?' I asked, smiling seductively.

Eagerly, he agrees.

Arriving back, we stumbled into the apartment. Kissing enthusiastically, as the colorful light had returned. Bathing us in a dark red light. Faintly, it illuminated our path upstairs as I grabbed his hand and pulled him to my room. We'd been too busy to notice Bucky, already standing in the kitchen.

Who hadn't had a very succesful date either, the only difference being that he did not bring her back to their place. He respected their home, but apparently she did not. A feeling of anger bubbled up inside him, but it felt different. Not like it had that first night of their fight, now, he almost felt threatened. He scoffed, surely not, noo–

The red switched to green, and his brain thought it before he himself came to the conclusion, was it. . . Jealousy? He furrowed his brows, disputing with his his mind. Never, he hates her gut. Hes been teasing and annoying her, because he hates her. Simple as that. Earlier, today was just a moment of weakness, a man doing his manly obligations. That was all, he told himself and looked outside, the green light poking fun at him. Calling him out in ways he did not appreciate, it was nauseating.

He had to talk to her, go up there and put a stop to it. This was his apartment too, he had a veto.

He marched firmly up the stairs, the green contrasting the red hot anger on his face as the sounds of laughing grew stronger. He reached for the door handle, when he heard their moaning.

Her moaning more specifially, the sound of skin against skin, of a creaking bed and the way it thumped against the wall. His mind blurred the sounds of the other guy, and instead focused on the sound of her, her labored breathing, her whimpering and mewling. Wishing he was that guy right now. He could've listened all day, but snapped out of it. Shaking his head as he realised the immorality of it. He couldnt just barge in on them, he'd tell the guy to fuck off the second they were done. He nodded, yeah. . . His hand fell to his side as he took a step back–

She moaned, so beautiful. Humming, 'Ooh, fuck, thats good bucky.' The words slipped from her lips befor she could stop them.

Buck froze, they all froze. Blinking, he did a dubbel take. Huh?. . . Huuuh?

'I'm, uhm–' She tried.

'What did you just call me?' The guy questioned, 'Is- is that your roommates name?' Dumnfounded, he pulled himself off of her.

Bucky couldnt believe what he was hearing, he snickered 'Holy f— shit.' Unable to controll himself, he burst into pure laughter as he ran down the stairs. Covering his mouth in the motion, spite pouring out of his ears. 'What a marvelous, marvelous day.' He declared openly, throwing himself on the couch, arms splayed over the back. Waiting for the next scene to unfold.

The man, clothes in hand came rushing down the stairs, and noticed Bucky watching him, 'You him?' He asked.

Nodding, 'Uh, huh.' Bucky hummed, confirming the mans suspicious as a cocky smile spread across his face.

'Fantastic.' The stranger hissed, and muttered under his breath. '. . .Some competition. . .' Then fled the apartment, throwing his clothes on in a hurry.

Bucky laughed, 'So good,' and sighed with content, shaking his head in disbelief.

A second later, I came bounding down the stairs, a sheet pulled around my body. 'Did he leave already?' I asked, sprinting to the door.

Grinning, he answered, 'That he did.' Slanting his head in observation as he took her disheveled appearance in.

I run my hands through my hair in frustration, 'Shit!' My head then snapping to Bucky as he's just sitting there, snickering and looking at me smugly. 'What?' I ask, but he only shrugs, smiling stupidly. 'Wipe that smile of your face, you big idiot.' I shout, 'Where's your date, huh?'

Flinching, hes taken aback 'I didn't bring her home! Its called common curtesy!' He shouts back. Both incredibly sucessfull in riling the other up, immediately getting kn eachothers nerves.

'You jealous or something?' I throw my hands in the air, laughing incredulously.

'I don't need to be, I heard you, you know.' He smirked, 'Up there.' Nodding to my bedroom. And my blood runs cold, embarrassment prickling my face. But I clear my throat, trying to control my emotions, 'You were listening?' I quirk an eyebrow, the corner of my lip tugging.

'Wha– of course not! He protests.

'No? Well, I did.' And now it's my turn to grin, 'I heard you, too. Earlier today.'

His veins freeze, 'I don't know, what you mean. . .' Bucky begins–

'Yes you do.' I saunter toward him, getting right in his face. 'Just admit it.' I hiss, humouring myself.

Grabbing my jaw, he breathes 'I fucking hate you.' But I smile against his lips. The neon sign turning pink, painting us both in its lovely rose colour.

'No, you don't.' I whisper, 'You love me.' And drop my sheet, stark naked underneath.

In a hurry, he crawls back on top of me, lining himself up with my core. Teasing, he slides his member up and down my folds, 'Fuck' I moan, and he slides in. Immidietly setting a gruesome pace, hitting my cervix with every thrust.

He looks at me with awe in his eyes, eyebrows furrowing. He lools teribbly pained, 'I do, I do love you.' He whimpers, as if the sight of me and the the truth he'd refused to accept hurt him.

In a clash, his lips met mine. Feverishly our mouths clash together, tongues waisting no time in tasting the other. His hands glide down my sides, until they grab my ass and he lifts me into his arms. I gasp and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling on his hair, making him grunt. He walks us into his bedroom, and throws me onto the bed with a yelp, then crawls on top of me. Kissing his way up my body until our mouths found their way back to eachother. I unbutton his shirt and unbuckle his belt, hastily pulling them both off of him. He sits back, and zips down his pants, kicking them off. His size was more than enough.

He groans in my ear, snaking his hand up to my throat and as he leans on the other. Nuzzling my face softly, his hand toghtens around my throat, lightly choking me as his hips slam into mine hard into mine.

My hands roam his back, sinking my nails into his skin whenever a particularly rough thrust sends a spirit breaking ache through my body. His lips trace their way down my jaw, specking it with kisses, whispering 'I love you.' In muffled moans against my skin.

I grin, and run my hands through his hair 'Good boy.' I whisper–

He whimpers, 'Fuck.'

The snap of his hips falter as the both of us are reaching our orgasm. He kisses his way down my throat, meanwhile adjusting his hold around it. 'I love you.' He mutters between every kiss, when he finally falls over the edge. His seed spilling inside of me as he does his best to keep thrusting, helping me to reach my own climax. With the chole of his hand, member inside me and his muffled I love you's. The knot tightens in my stumache, and I topple over too. How could I not?

'I love you too.' I whisper, and I feel him smile against my throat as he squeezes it one last time. 'Good, it was too hard to stay mad at you.'

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfiction #bucky imagjne #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #enemies to lovers

[differenteagletragedy]

Cove isn't the stepdad, he's the dad who stepped up: Baxter's POV

A companion story (lol) to my silly little series about MC ending up with Cove after Baxter impregnated her in Step 3 then disappeared. Baxter is their wedding planner, finds out about the kid, and angsty ensues.

But like so much angst. An absurd amount, really.

Latest part of the series here, with links to the first two!

Baxter was a deeply pathetic man -- he knew that. He'd never tried to fool himself into believing any different.

He had countless reasons for hating himself, but none of them cut quite as deeply as being reunited with you and learning about what he could have had.

The pain came in waves -- seeing you after all this time was the knife to his heart, and every additional detail was a twist of the blade. You were with Cove. And you were beautifully, hopelessly in love with him. And you were getting married.

But if all that pain was a knife, then learning that you'd had a child and piecing together that that child was his? That was a landmine. It blew him to pieces.

It happened so quickly, and he could tell you hadn't meant to tell him. After hearing that you and Cove had a son, he'd only asked how old he was. It didn't take a scholar to work out the math -- with his age, there was no way he wasn't the father.

Usually so quick witted, he'd completely frozen at the realization. Before he could unthaw himself, you and Cove had left his office, and he was alone. As always.

He finished the rest of his workday in a haze, and he must have driven himself home safely because the next thing he knew, he was unlocking the door to his apartment.

The thing was that it was just such a deeply ironic mess -- if he was truly honest with himself, a real family was really all he'd ever wanted. And to think that he could have possibly had that with you and a baby, a little piece of him and you that he could have watched grow and learn and change and love, but he didn't even give himself the chance because he'd convinced himself long ago that he didn't deserve it ... it was maddening.

After a bit of restless wandering, Baxter pulled out his phone and found your contact information. Even though he'd never responded to your attempts to reach out or even read the texts you'd sent, he never brought himself to delete your number.

"Please call me, it's important," you'd written about a month after he left. There were a few of those -- "seriously, call me," "Pick up the phone, I need to talk to you," "I really really need you to talk to me."

The last message you'd sent was the longest and was sent a couple of months later. In that one, you'd told him that you were pregnant, that the baby was his, and that you were scared and didn't know what to do. The desperate plea had been in his phone for nearly five years.

He put the phone back in his pocket.

Baxter didn't sleep last night, instead opting to drink coffee and ruminate on what could have been -- a familiar pastime. At one point he ended up in his guestroom, imagining it with a crib and then a toddler bed, maybe a twin bed now if the boy was big enough. Toys on the floor, tiny little clothes in the drawer. He imagined himself kneeling on the floor here, playing with his son or telling him bedtime stories. He imagined standing in the doorway with you, watching him fall asleep before heading to bed together.

In reality, it was a guestroom that had never and would never see any guests -- another testament to how pitiful he was.

It was a nice, bittersweet break from reality while it lasted.

He was on the balcony, looking mindlessly over the city when his alarm went off on his phone. He stumbled back inside and got ready for work. By the time his shift was over and he gotten back to his empty apartment, he was almost delirious, and so naturally that's when he decided it would be a good idea to call you.

"Hello?" you answered.

"Hello," Baxter replied, willing himself to sound calm and relaxed.

"I'm sorry we left like that yesterday, but everything is fine," you told him. "I'm still not sure when we'll be able to reschedule our appointment, if you still even want --"

He cut you off as politely as possible, saying, "I actually wasn't calling about the wedding, if that's all right."

In a stilted, scared voice he was sure sounded ridiculous, he tried to ask about your son. He didn't want to outright ask what he wanted to know, but you were able to pick up on what he was getting at.

And you, understandably, were furious.

He listened as you tore him apart for leaving you like he did and for ignoring you after. You sounded like you were as angry as if it had happened five days ago, not five years, but considering the seriousness of the circumstances, he didn't think that was that unusual.

You called him a coward. He didn't say anything, but he knew you were right.

At the end, all he could do was apologize. He'd wanted to know the truth, but he hadn't thought about what to do with it once he'd gotten it.

Somehow, he had the nerve to ask for a picture.

You were always nicer to him than you should have been, and so seconds later, he heard his phone ping in his hand. He pulled it down and opened the message you'd sent, and there it was.

Baxter took in the photo, as painful as it was. The boy in the picture had dark hair, warm brown eyes and he noticed a small mole on his wrist -- he'd noticed it because he had one there as well. The resemblance was undeniable. This was his son.

He wasn't aware he'd started crying until he heard the sounds he was making. Even then, he was lost in the picture you'd sent, another wave of what could have been washing over him. What if he knew this boy? What if he'd called him Dad?

Your voice cut through his thoughts, and he heard you say, "I have to go. Dylan is waking up from his nap."

"His name is Dylan?" he asked.

"Yes. I ... I'll talk to you later, I guess," you replied, then hung up.

At that, he sunk to the floor, letting his phone drop somewhere beside him. He wasn't sure if seeing the boy and learning his name had made it better or worse. Then again, he couldn't really imagine feeling worse.

Utterly exhausted in every conceivable way, Baxter eventually picked himself off the ground and made his way into his bedroom. He peeled his clothes off and climbed under the covers of his bed, willing sleep to take him immediately. He wasn't that lucky.

Instead, he laid in the quiet, the last light of the day streaming through the windows. He laid on his side and put a hand on the empty space beside him, just under the extra pillow that was there for no one.

He closed his eyes and imagined you there, your skin just as warm and as soft as when he last felt it. He pictured his arm around you, rising and falling with your breath, and that imaginary movement was enough to lull him to sleep.

#our life beginnings and always #olba #our life #olba mc #baxter ward #olba baxter #baxter x mc #baxter x reader #baxter x you #olba baxter ward #our life baxter ward #our life baxter #cove holden #olba cove #baxter angst #is there such a thing as too much angst? #yes and this is it right here

[the-s1lly-corner]

Keep requesting from different people with no luck but what if jason voorhees had a S/O who reads to him when he's "sleeping" in the lake and he has dreams about the story and has a dream of him and the reader as beauty and the beast?

Reading B&B to Jason + Dream stuff!

while this isnt a slasher blog and i am grossly underqualified to speak of anything book related to beauty and the beast, i truly do love this idea + i really felt the whole request thing </3 this aint perfect but i hope you enjoy it regardless! may your other/future requests be answered someday! !!!quick note, admins only exposure to beauty and the beast is the original disney film, they have never read any renditions of it so theyre going off the basic bare bones concept not proof read, i am literally belting this out before i gotta bake an order </3

I could be silly, i could make him dream of himself as the beauty as opposed to being the beast, but im not 100% sure how i would go about writing that.... perhaps ill save that for the next time my slasher brainrot strikes me

i think he would love that you read for him, small little act that helps heal that inner child inside him + it reminds him of how his mom used to read to him at night. its almost bittersweet... im torn on whether or not pam would've read him beauty and the beast/similar adjacent tales. I admit, I'm not sure how many renditions of the story there are, and which ones were around when Jason was a kid but lets say, for convivence lets say she didnt

whenever you read to him hes hooked on every word you say, head in your lap and looking up at you with this sort of sparkle in his eye. loves it when you put on goofy voices for different characters. generally a very calm and peaceful moment between the two of you

so imagine offering to read the story to him, and he is just. totally immersed. even before he falls asleep he sees the parallels between the book and you, bonus if you somehow find a way to show him the disney movie of it

as for the dreams, naturally he's in the beasts position. solitary and secluded away from others, and self admittedly from the man himself, a sight for sore eyes (no matter how much some may disagree), and you as the beauty (not that much changes in the dream, he already sees you as something radiant)

the first time he has the dream he doesnt really say anything about it, actually he doesnt remember most of the dream thanks to him nearly forgetting everything that second he wakes up

but the dream keeps happening, even long after you first read the story to him, and each night he seems to be able to piece everything together

you wander into his home, and he keeps you. protects you, actually. the events of your arrival in the dream are blurred, but seem to line up with how you first entered his life.

theres no talking furniture, unfortunately

however i do wanna say theres talking animals in their place

nature boy

actually, jason doesnt seem to be a prince in his dreams, just a simple man

hes not even a physical monster in his dreams.

but unlike the disney adaptation, when the whole... breaking the curse thing happens, there is no transformation. so hey, theres that at least

he eventually talks to you about it, sheepishly signing the details to you as he tries to not seem embarrassed about it. but he cant help but to get giddy when he sees your smile

"aww you dream about me?" is a comment sure to make his signing pause for a second before he covers his hands over his mask

i wish i had more for this but im on a bit of a time crunch atm and as stated in the authors note my only exposure is the disney film and SOBS

you (making sure hes okay with the nickname first, obviously) playfully call him beast, and he starts calling you beauty

the story eventually kind of becomes you guys' thing, like how some couples have their song or their movie or their whatever

#slasher x you #slasher imagine #slasher x reader #jason voorhees x you #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees imagine

[margridarnauds]

🎬🚦💎 mwah

THANK YOU BRO ILY

🎬 If a movie or show were based on your fic, which fic would you choose and who would you fancast?

My beloved Abominationverse for a full series covering the entirety of the French Revolution, from Lazare and Ronan as children with the American Revolution hanging over their heads to their reunion as adults shortly before the fall of the Bastille. For actors...I've always thought that Louis Garrel had the right look for Lazare. Though, frankly, if I'm going to cast a 40 year old in the role, I'm just going to beg Matthieu Carnot on my hands and knees to come back. Camille Lou is still gorgeous so she can play Olympe again. Louis Delort...he's lost the scruffy little boy look, but he could still play Ronan. Nathalia as Solène again...

The problem is that I have a combination of three casts in my mind when I'm writing 1789, but I really do still primarily visualize the French cast, I think. The one thing I'd prioritize would be that Ronan and Solène should both be Breton, ideally both being fluent in Brezhoneg, because so much of how I write them is informed by that.

🚦What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.?

Ambiguous to bittersweet. I don't like writing bad endings, or at least not straightforward bad endings, but I don't believe that many of my fics end on a straightforwardly happy note, because, in real life, there aren't many truly happy endings. Instead, you grab moments of peace, you enjoy the calm before the next storm, you enjoy moments in bed with your partner, or celebrations with your friends, you hope the fog gets lifted for a little while, and you enjoy the peace while it lasts. "And for that moment, all was fine" is very much the vibe of most of my endings -- it doesn't make promises that I can't keep or they can't keep, but it says that, for a little while at least, they can be happy.

💎 Do you often write about a relationship or focus on an individual?

I feel like...it's a combination. Because the relationship is at the core of it, yeah, but something that I've found about me is that I ALSO need to focus on the individual. Something that's interesting, when you're dealing with pieces of media that strongly encourage the consumer to customize a character -- especially, say, video games -- is that it's very common to get 2nd person fics or Reader x Character fics, or else OC player characters who are meant to be self-inserts. And that's great, I'm not going to knock anyone for doing that, but it's not to my taste. I *need* to be able to get into my characters' minds and to be able to really personalize them, I need to figure out how they work and what is going on in their heads, beyond just "X Character is Attractive." The goal is that, when I'm doing my job right, the reader can see how the relationship is developing the character and how this character is developing the relationship.

With what I'm doing with BG3, for example...Kitrye's my girl, she's my main character, and her relationship with Raphael is, imo, the single most important one she has, even though her relationships with her companions are also important in various ways. But I can also tell you exactly how she works outside of him, some of the quirks she has, why her thought process is the way it is, etc. And if I ever actually WRITE the fic where she goes back to Menzoberranzan...her relationship with Raphael develops, but it's also very much about her and her relationship with Drow culture. He's her evil, hot arm candy.

[goldenkhae]

Sleep.

A/N: this is kind of a continuation blurb on how Y/N and Harry are handling parenthood from my first piece of writing I just released, so enjoy! I will make a masterlist once I have like ten pieces total.

Pairing: DWD Harry X Reader

Warning: few curse words also, fluff, angst, sleep deprivation lolz.

“Let me take care of it, alright? You need to rest.”

Levi had been home for a total of eight days. Eight days of interrupted sleep. This was bittersweet for you and Harry. It was bliss but also torture. It seemed like every time you both were on the brink of sleep, Levi opened his perfect little mouth to cry for food, diaper changes or cuddles. 

Tonight was no different. You had already climbed into yours and Harry’s King sized memory foam bed and were currently checking the baby monitors to make sure it was fully charged and everything was up to par so you would hear your baby boy call for you.

 On the other hand, Harry was still in the bathroom doing his nightly routine and kept glancing in on you from the cracked bathroom door to make sure you were doing okay. Harry made it his business to constantly keep tabs on you because you were doing an amazing job with bubs but you had a little bit of a mental breakdown earlier. 

“You alright in there Lovie?” Harry comes out of the bathroom, with his pink toothbrush dangling from between his rosy pink lips. “Yes babe. You don’t have to ask me every five minutes. It’s not like I’m gonna set the house on fire.” You reply while rolling your eyes. 

Harry took your sharp reply and swallowed it whole. He read that you would also be like this, constant mood swings towards him, low sex drive (which is completely fine because you can’t make love again for six weeks anyway) and exhausted. Harry didn’t mind whatever jabs you threw at him during the day because he deserved it. You did everything for him in a whopping nine months and all he could do was support you mentally, physically and verbally. He even bought you a “push present”. You had been eyeing this particular makeup palette from Anastasia Beverly Hills, so he went ahead and grabbed your shared Macbook and ordered everything you had in the cart just a few days before you went to the hospital to have Levi. Harry slowly went back into the bathroom and hurried to rinse the foam off his chin and mouth. He knew you were probably crying right now because that’s what you usually do right after you bite his head off, so he wanted to get back in there to comfort you. 

Sure enough the waterworks had begun for you. You were so frustrated with yourself. All Harry wanted to do was be there for you like any husband should and you pushed him away. He was the best daddy to Levi you could ever ask for and the perfect husband to you, even before you had your little boy. You saw Harry coming back into your room and quickly climbed on your bed to hold you.

 As soon as you made contact with his chest, you started full on sobbing. “Shh, petal. You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay, everything is all okay.” You shook your head and started to sit up in his arms. “No, Harry. It’s not okay for me to be a bitch to you every five seconds. You are the best damn partner to me and the most adoring father to Levi and you don’t deserve my fucked up mood swings from these damn hormones!” Harry let you get everything out and just rubbed your back while leaving kisses on your forehead. “Are you tired of me?” You had calmed down for the most part and Harry had turned on your favorite meditation music to relax you so you’d fall asleep easier. “Petal, of course not! I could never get bored of you baby. You’re my everything. We’re forever, right?” He looks down at you with concerned, yet loving eyes. “We’re forever, I love you.” You snuggle closer into his chest and give him a little peck right on his butterfly. “I love you, Petal. More than anything.” Harry looks down at you and your eyes are already closed. He tucks you both into bed and tugs your back to the front of his chest. He leaves kisses in your hair and nuzzles his face into your neck.

Around four am, Levi’s shrill cry is heard through the baby monitors. Harry and you both sit up and groan. “I’ve got it, Y/N.” Harry starts to coax you to lay back down but you shake your head to object, “No, no Harry you always get up with him every night.” Harry insists, he wanted you to get all the sleep you needed. He didn’t want to see you as broken as you were earlier tonight, ever again. “Lovie, let me take care of it alright, you need to rest.” You watch him walk out of your bedroom and down the hall to your baby boy’s nursery and soon you hear Harry singing “Sweet Creature” to Levi. That alone helped you slumber off. Your two favorite guys, spending time together and loving on each other kept you content. 

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed once again! Remember to like and reblog! Love you all <333. Also I got this prompt from @lazyprompts prompt list!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles au

[pleasantanathema]

Jean Kirstein | French Kiss

Pairing: Jean x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Light Fem!Dom, Mommy Kink, Face Riding, Established Relationship

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Part of my Nine Muses Event to celebrate 9k! Follow the link to read other fanfics I’m writing to celebrate. A huge thank you to @whats-her-quirk​ for always encouraging me to write with all the love she gives me. I offer thee this humble slice of Jean. 💚

          You could have sworn Jean’s pretty face was made to fit between your legs, the missing puzzle piece you never knew you needed until he first let his nose slot between your folds.

           He liked to drown in you. Strong hands pawing at you, pulling you down, letting your thighs cling to his cheeks so tightly you’d burn ever so mildly from his scruff. He liked your weight on his mouth, just meant he could be smothered by his favorite thing in the world and get lost in your bittersweet taste.

           “Missed you,” your voice was already breathy, fingers digging into the long roots of his hair as you found your balance on his face. Jean hummed in response, letting his tongue do the talking as he licked a long, hot strip up the center of your cunt. Fingertips sunk deeper into the fat of your ass as you shivered in response to his actions.

           It had been a long day for him, one that had him eager to slip into your bedroom and wait for you to return from your shower. He was already naked and propped in the sheets when you arrived, thick neck tilting back in anticipation that you’d take your preferred seat. How could you deny a man what he worshipped most?

           Jean kissed sloppily at your folds, lips hungry, greedy, spreading you apart so his tongue could tease at your swelling clit. You couldn’t help but rock against him, shifting your weight on your knees as you tugged on his hair. Hazel eyes blinked up at you, a smirk curling against your cunt. But you tightened your fingers against his head, pulling him back so his nose brushed against you.

           “I’m in charge, baby,” you looked down at him over the curve of your breasts, emphasizing your point by rolling your hips, bringing yourself pleasure against the tongue that still lolled from his mouth.

           He mumbled against you, something that felt like a cheeky “sure you are.”

           Your confidence bubbled over, grin tugging at the corner of your mouth as you started to pull away from him. Shock flashed across his long brows as they pulled together, his long fingers trying to keep you pressed against his mouth. But you wriggled out of his grasp, strings of saliva snapping back against your wet pussy as you moved off his face.

           “Come back,” he whined, your thighs slipping through his fingers.

           “I’m not going anywhere.” You eyed his hard cock as you spoke, his length twitching under your gaze. You deftly turned around, enveloping his face with your inner thighs once again, bending forward so you could kiss the head of his cock and catch his moan against your cunt.

           Jean’s brawny arms locked around your legs, making sure to keep you in place this time as he buried his mouth back against your pussy, tip of his tongue tracing between your folds to gather your slick. You slid your fingers between the hard grooves of his stomach, twisting the downy hair of his happy trail between your fingers. Your pussy soaked up his groan, sharp chin rising as he pressed his tongue against your tight hole.

           Your nerves sang with the pleasure, a warm hum trickling down your body and building in your stomach. Jean’s hips twisted on the bed, the hard cock straining against his belly clearly becoming a burden to bear. You were tempted to take his pretty cock in between your lips, just to hear him grunt and feel him buck against you, but teasing him was far more alluring.

           A thrill raced down your spine as he dipped his tongue inside of you, wet muscle spreading your walls, French kissing your sloppy pussy.

           “You’re doing so good baby, fuck,” you praised him, actively feeling the heat of his blush against your skin. You rewarded him by scraping your nails lightly against his thighs, observing how his cock leapt through your fluttering lashes. Pre-cum was drooling from his tip, pleading for you to swirl and gather it on your tongue. You gritted your teeth and focused on the delightful feel of Jean working you with his mouth, tongue plunging into your depths like a man searching for absolution.

           You were getting a little dizzy with the pleasure, hips rolling against his face as you rode his lips and tongue. Slick was pouring from your pussy, dripping over his cheeks, his chin, getting caught in his beard only for it to be painted against your thighs.

           Vibrations rang into your pussy as Jean tried to speak, all his words being lost inside you. It sounded desperate, like begging, but you weren’t about to lift your cunt so you could hear them, not with the orgasmic ledge looming in short distance for you.

           You traced one of the veins on his cock with a soft fingertip, feeling more groans and grunts sound against your aching pussy in affirmation. You repeated the motion a few times, gathering some of his cum to smear down his length.

           “Want me to suck your cock?” Your voice was lilted in a singsong tone, little moans following.

           The way Jean’s face nodded against your wetness told you yes, yes please, but you’d make him work for it.

          “Yeah? Then make me cum, spell my name just how I like it.”

          His groan tickled your thighs, tongue obeying instantly as he removed it from inside of you, soothing over your hole before he started to lap at your clit in quick, successive strokes.

          Then you felt it, letters being smoothed against your swollen clit. At first they were slow, deliberate, letting you feel exactly what he was spelling. His tongue was hot and hungry, dexterous and silky.You rolled through the ecstasy, hissing out little coos of praise as your body was set alight from his ministrations. He purposely kept his pace level, kept you on the edge, before speeding up to a mind-numbing rhythm of m-o-m-m-y being spelled over and over again.

          “Jean, yesyesyeys, just like—”

          Your head fell as you came on his face, your nose brushing along the ridge of his weeping cock as you uncoiled like a flower in warm sun. If you didn’t know how much he loved it, it would have been embarrassing how much you spilled over his face. But he caught it all on his tongue, still tracing your name into your pussy like a man devoted and praying in the aftermath of glory.

          You knew he’d never stop unless you pulled away, always content to let you sit on his face so he could draw out as many orgasms as you wanted. You placed a teasing kiss to the head of his cock before you started to pull your hips from his face, having to struggle against the strength of his arms for a moment before he caught the hint.

          Slipping out of his grasp, you sat on your knees next to him, letting Jean catch his breath while you let your shaking legs calm down.

          “You’re such a good boy,” you whispered, leaning over his chest to lick at his lips. He tasted so fucking good when he tasted like you, tangy like sweet wine as the flavor hit the back of your cheeks.

          “Only for you.”

          You swallowed down his laugh as you pressed your mouth against his fully, hands sticking to his messy cheeks. You could tell his tongue was tired against your own, ready to rest against the bottom of his mouth.

          “I think you’re ready for a reward,” you slung one of your legs over his broad waist, taking a hold of his shoulders to steady yourself, “don’t you?”

          The way Jean smiled made your heart leap, all wet and glossy and full of pride.

          “Yes, mommy.”

#jean kirstein smut #jean smut #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #snk jean kirstein #aot jean kirstein #jean kirstein fanfic #jean kirschtein x reader #snk #aot #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfic #snk fanfic #jean fanfic #aot fanfic #snk jean #aot jean #jean kirstein x you

[chasingpj]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

"Bye, for now, puddles."

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 6,220

warnings: a little angst, missing a meal, death of a parent, i believe that is all.

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story, click here

a/n: hi hi! I'm so excited to finally get this chapter to you guys. I'm sorry this literally took a month. i was taking two writing-intensive courses this summer and i was just burnt out. i hope you enjoy it!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

A grunt escapes you; your contorted body weighs down the top of your suitcase as your damp fingers slip off the metal zipper. The unforgivingly humid weather provokes the heat of your efforts, adding to your discomfort. There’s urgency in your fingers, your frustration growing at each failed attempt to close your suitcase.

“Y/n! Hurry up!” Atticus shouts from outside of the Hermes cabin. As the zipper slips out of your grasp once again, you throw your head back in annoyance, hand coming up to push away wisps of hair that fall on your face. A familiar chuckle comes from the corner of the room, grabbing your attention from the wooden ceiling. Connor sits on the side of his bed; his comic book forgotten beside him as you fussing over your suitcase seems to be more interesting to him.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble, sitting onto your heels.

Connor rises from his bed, shrugging his shoulders with a smirk. He kneels by your suitcase, “It’s kinda funny.”

The corners of your mouth almost curve up, but you stop yourself, opting for a roll of your eyes instead.

“What the hades do you have in here?” The tips of his fingers turn white as he pulls on the little piece of metal. You shift your weight to the corner he works on, but it helps him as much as it helped you earlier.

“My brother’s left a bunch of books behind, so Lou Ellen and I split them up. She’s taking half, and I take the rest. We’ll study them and then exchange notes.” A hum of acknowledgment comes from Connor’s lips as he inches the suitcase closed.

“You guys are a bunch of nerds.” You squint at the other with a playful offense, and he laughs at your hardened features. “I bet you guys study more than the Athena Kids,” he teases.

“There’s a lot to learn,” you say simply, watching as he brings the zipper to the end. He leans back on his heels, and you move to take in the half-empty cabin.

The sight of the Hermes cabin being this tidy was foreign. There aren’t any sleeping bags on the floor; the belongings of your many cabin mates didn’t clutter the walls or the corners of the room as they usually do. It’s funny. There are always complaints of the cabin being too small, but it appears bigger without the mess.

“Will you and Atticus visit throughout the year?” Connor’s expression is hopeful. As the last day of camp approached, Connor’s wishes of a full cabin all year round became more apparent. The shift from a max-capacity cabin to a half-empty one must be a tough transition for social people like Stoll Brothers. If it were you, you’d be counting down the days of everyone’s departure.

You ruffle his brown locks, “we’ll probably stop by for, maybe, spring break?” Connor’s hopefulness begins to sag, and you frown. Spring break is pretty far from now, huh? “Depending on how mortal life treats us. You know, we might be back soon,” you add on quickly, hoping to lift his smile.

Though you wish to go home, you’re dreading all the supernatural activity you’ll have to deal with once you leave. Your father works tirelessly to protect the house, but entities always manage to get in. And if they can’t, they don’t mind hanging outside.

The hopefulness that faded from Connor’s face restores, and he gives you that famous mischievous smirk. “Well, I hope the ghosts bother you guys enough to come to visit early.” His tone is playful, but you can tell he meant some of his words. You laugh hesitantly and nod, rising from your suitcase.

“I’m glad you’re that eager to see us again.”

You thank him as he leans down, lifting the heavy suitcase from the ground for you.

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” You tug on the handle, glancing at Connor. “The year will go by fast, and soon this cabin will be bursting at the nails with new unclaimed people. Atticus, Lou, and I included. Anyways, you have your brother. You guys will find something to entertain yourselves.” You nudge him as you make your way outside.

“Yeah, you’re right. You will write to me, yeah?” Connor asks.

“Of course. I’ll send you snacks that you can’t buy at the gas station.” Connor’s arm pumps back to his side, hand in a fist as he hisses a “yes.”

The corners up your mouth hesitantly pull up as you push open the cabin door, finding Atticus and Travis talking on the porch. For the past week, the anticipation of your departure was killing you, but now that it was time to leave, you feel gloomy.

You knew the cause of your heavy heart was the uneasy tone of your going. Living day by day with the intention of moving on was hard. Because every time you look at their newly occupied beds, the sinking feeling in your chest returns. Every time you find yourself wandering in the forest, the memories of your often chaotic magic lessons flood your mind. You remember when Alice misaimed her wind spell, shooting Alabaster far into the trees. While you all rushed to check on him, Alice burst into tears because she was convinced she killed him only to approach a laughing Alabaster who shouted, “Right on!”

Every time you were in the Arts and Crafts center, you remember how you, Sage, and Lou would do Tarot Readings for the campers and how you would argue with the Apollo kids when they insisted your tarot cards are as honest as fortune cookies.

At the armory, you remember how Ambrose ran into James so hard, he stumbled and knocked down half of the shelves of weapons.

In the courtyard, you remember how Ernest, horrified by heights, produced the highest pitch scream he possibly could as he rode a pegasus for the first time under the persuasion of Alabaster.

All these memories, whether hilarious like your spell mishaps or bittersweet like when you and your sibling’s group hugged around Sage when she cried about her abusive stepmother, held a special place in your heart. Because the times where you laughed and cried together reminded you of the genuine bond, the family that was ripped away from you overnight.

“We'll see you guys soon. We should go. Argus will leave without us," Atticus says, relieved that Argus is still waiting for you on top of Half-Blood Hill.

“Have a safe trip, guys,” Travis says, patting Atticus’s shoulder before reaching out his arm and giving you a short side hug. You grab your things, hastily saying a final goodbye, and soon, you and Atticus are trudging up the hill.

Your free hand pats the pocket of your shorts, calming your worry of forgetting the necklace at the cabin. What rests in your pocket is a raw tourmaline crystal, now smooth with the help of Beckendorf, encased in a silver spiral cage.

You and Atticus carry protection crystals all the time, and they help with staying out of the radar of monsters and entities. After hearing Percy’s many stories of monsters bothering him, you figured he couldn’t be too cautious. Then after finding a spell in Alabaster’s many books that can dim down a demigod scent for a while, you decided to make him an enchanted necklace to wear.

You pack into the truck with Atticus right on time. Atticus sits in front of you, chatting away with Cecil as you make yourself comfortable in the back row with Ambrose. You frown; among the three other campers in the van with you, Percy isn’t one of them. Argus peeks into the back, doing a rough headcount. Great, now you’ll have to wait until next summer to give it to him.

Right, when you were going to chastise yourself for not giving him the necklace yesterday when you were done with it, a distant voice shouts, "wait!"

Argus halts in the middle of closing the sliding down and turns around. He shakes his head with disapproval while opening the door all the way, revealing out of breath Percy.

A smile widens across your face as he gets into the back seat with you, and you nudge Atticus’s seat.

"See, I told you we wouldn't be the last ones here.” You side-eye Percy, seeing the corners of his mouth pull up in amusement.

“Some people just don’t know how to get to places on time, huh?” Atticus says, and his eyes flicker to Percy before giving you a wide grin.

“Didn’t sleep in today, firefly?” There is a playfulness in Percy’s voice, and you smile proudly,

“Nope, not today.”

“It’s a miracle,” Percy mutters, loud enough for you to hear, and you scoff. Atticus snickers and nods in agreement.

“We were supposed to gang up on him, not you two on me.” You stick your tongue out at Atticus, and he returns the action.

“It’s more fun making fun of you,” Atticus teases.

“Rude,” you mumble with a slight smile on your face. The two boys chuckle, Atticus turning more into his seat to tell Percy something about a new Marvel movie. Excited voices fill the van as the other boys join in the conversation, and soon they are debating if Batman is really a superhero or just a rich guy in a suit.

You had to admit, as the conversation became more passionate, you were pretty entertained, but as you catch sight of Camp Half-Blood growing farther in the distance, you’re reminded of the ache in your chest. It’s only a temporary leave, but when you return, things will never be the same, and the false hope of your siblings returning has been proven to be foolish.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

Following a ghost dog while weaving through the hustle and bustle of Grand Central is almost impossible. Atticus’s hand is latched to the straps of your bookbag as you move through people, trying not to roll your eyes at the way Ambrose turns to bark as if he was reprimanding you for being too slow. Easy for him to say when he can walk through walls and people.

“Track 28,” Atticus reminds you as your eyes find the number written on the tan bricks of the high walls. You make a sharp left towards the entrance of another hallway, ignoring the groans of a grouchy bystander that you may have cut off. The next hallway you enter is a lot less crowded than the main floor, and you slow down your pace.

“Where do you guys live again?” Percy asks as he jogs up beside you. He had insisted on walking you guys since his train departs in the same station.

“Sleepy Hollow.” Percy scrunches his face as if he recalls something, and you smile, waiting for the question everyone asks when you say you live there.

“Have you seen the headless horsemen?” Percy asks, half-joking. A snort leaves your throat, and you look at Atticus, who’s equally amused.

“Oh yeah, plenty of times.”

“Really?” Percy asks, his eyes wide with surprise, and you laugh.

“No.” Your response makes his face drop comedically fast, and Atticus bursts into laughter. “It’s just a story, but there’s a lot of history there, so the place is crawling with ghosts. We’ve met the guy who wrote the story, though,” you mention.

“No way,” Percy squints his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Atticus and I take walks in the cemetery sometimes. We leave drachmas on the graves of newly passed people, so their venture into the underworld is smooth, but some people like to wander.” You shrug. “Washington Irving is one of those people.”

“Cool,” Percy says with such enthusiasm that it makes you smile. Ambrose turns around and barks again, standing at the golden entrance that leads to the grey tunnel lit with fluorescent white lights where your train waits beside the concrete platform.

“He always rushes us,” Atticus complains, and Harvey lets out a coo that sounded close to a groan as if he agreed with him.

The marble floors turn to concrete as you enter the tunnel. The blue and silver train on your left hums as it sits dormant in its station. Ambrose trots ahead, peaking into the doors and windows to find an empty cart to occupy.

As you follow a few feet behind him, your fingers fiddle with the necklace resting in your pocket. You’re regretting not giving it to Percy earlier because, for some reason, the idea of giving it to him now was more intimidating than if you had done it earlier on the bus.

Ambrose decides on a cart, and Harvey jumps off Atticus’s shoulder, squealing happily as he follows the hound while completely ignoring a worried Atticus trailing close behind.

"I, uh, made this for you," you sputter, the words coming out fast like vomit. Your fingers pull out the crystal necklace abruptly, and you put it in the palm of his hand. "It's black tourmaline. It has protective qualities; good at keeping negative energy, negative auras, things like that. I put a spell on it to dim down your demigod scent for a while, so you catch a little bit of a break. It'll last for a few weeks, maybe a month or two if the spell caught on well."

You bite your lip as Percy studies the necklace resting in his hand. "Wow, really? Thank you, Y/n. This is great.”

Nervous, you shift on your feet under his bright, smiling orbs. "It's no problem. After everything that happened at camp, I think it’ll be good for you to have one.”

Percy nods, his features softening all of a sudden, and he shifts. “Thanks for protecting me,” he says, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. “Getting rid of that thing became more than you expected. I felt bad that I couldn’t help. Swords aren’t really useful when it comes to demons, huh?”

A small laugh of agreement leaves your lips. “It was nothing. I wasn’t going to let you be tormented by that thing if I could help it.”

An announcement echoes in the hall, reporting the departure of your train in a few minutes. You glance over, catching Atticus, Ambrose, and Harvey with their noses practically pressed against the window as they witness your interaction with Percy. The amused smirk on Atticus’s face makes you roll your eyes; he’s definitely going to tease you when you get on the train.

"I should go.” You face Percy again, catching him securing the necklace around his neck. The stone rests a few inches under his camp half-blood necklace. "Thanks for walking us here. Be careful getting home."

"You too…” he trails off, noticing your brother looking out the window. For a second, he seems as embarrassed as you do and a nervous chuckle leaves his lips. “Your brother is waiting."

“He’s so annoying,” you complain, and Percy’s next chuckle doesn’t sound as hesitant this time. "Well, uh, bye, for now, puddles,” you tease, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

"Bye, for now, firefly."

You both awkwardly wave at each other before you turn around, getting on the train with Atticus. With your gaze fixed on the floor, you plop into the seat next to him. You don’t even need to look to know he is smiling teasingly at you.

"How cute,” he teases, nudging your shoulder repeatedly with his own.

"Ew, shut up.” You shove at his shoulder, your nose scrunching as he flails his arms against yours as if you were fighting. Atticus chuckles and a string of sounds come from your familiars as they join in to tease you, and you couldn’t help but laugh too.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

The suburban streets of your neighborhood are filled with the chirps of birds and bugs and the sounds of cars that pass every once in a while. There isn’t much conversation between you and Atticus as you trudge up the hill leading to your dead-end street.

“Gods, I hope we can get inside without being seen,” you manage to say through your heavy breaths, lazily holding on to the handle of your suitcase as it rolls behind you. Ambrose’s nose nudges the back of your knees as if to encourage you, but it’s more cute than helpful.

“There’s no way that we are. Janie and Celia are always sitting on the neighbor’s porch.” You grunt in acknowledgment, knowing that Atticus is right. The neighborhood ghosts are friendly enough, but their company can be annoying.

As if on cue, you hear a delighted squeal from ahead the moment you reach the top of the hill. Two ladies wave their handkerchiefs in the air a handful of houses away.

Celia, the tallest of the two, wears a steel blue dress with a high neckline and a big bow tied on the base of her neck. She has a jacket button closed over her corset with a frill at the end of her sleeves. Her skirt is floor-length and complete, with ruffles cascading down its entirety. And, of course, no one can miss the high-crowned hat decorated with fake flowers, bows, and crimped fabric as it all sits on top of her blonde hair in an intricate updo. Janie, her sister, wears the same style of dress and headpiece only in a burgundy red. The resemblance between the two makes it clear that they’re siblings close in age. They have the same high pinched noses that jut in the air; both of their faces are regal like those in renaissance paintings.

You’ve seen them around for as long as you can remember. They were two sisters who died of scarlet fever a year before their first courting season, which was a big deal according to their constant moaning and groaning about it.

You look ahead, your expression blank as if their high-pitched voices didn’t fill the streets and they weren't racing toward you with their skirts in their hands.

“My word! It’s the end of summer already?”

“Atticus, you’ve grown taller!”

“What a handsome boy! Y/n, your shorts are too short, don’t you think?”

“It’s quite bizarre how such clothing is acceptable these days.”

“How beautiful you’d look in a gown like ours!”

“Where’s Alabaster?” Janie asks, attempting to circle her arm around Atticus’s, but he raises his arm to push back his damp hair to avoid the contact. She scoffs at his rejection and sighs.

“Alabaster was sweeter to us than you guys!” Celia pouts. Your heart sinks a little at the mention of him. Of course, they’d ask about him, and of course, your father will ask too.

Gods! Your father will ask about him.

You had forgotten you’d have to break the news today. These past few weeks, you debated whether or not you should do it by letter, but it felt wrong. It was only right that he’d find out in person.

“We know you can hear us,” Janie huffs.

“I hope dad doesn’t work late tonight. Do you think Grandma will be waiting for us?” You ask. As annoying as it was having spirits follow you, it was a little fun ignoring them when convenient for you. Atticus nods,

“Probably-”

“No one’s home,” Celia cuts in, and Atticus pretends to shoo a bug away to conceal that he paused from her interruption.

“But I don’t think dad is going to take long. He said his last lecture ended at three,” Atticus continues, and you nod.

‘I hope grandma came by to visit. I missed her.”

“I just said no one’s home.” Celia snaps, and you press your lips together to hide your smile.

Atticus sighs. “I know, I’m dying for those moon cookies she makes us.” At the mention of those cookies, your stomach grumbles. You hope Celia was wrong because you’re suddenly craving your grandmother’s cooking and her company. Her funny stories and voice that’s always a little too loud for the indoors never fails to cheer you up. As short and frail as she is, her voice and personality could fill a room.

“Me too,” you say shortly.

“Hello?!” Celia waves her handkerchief in your face, and you persisted in ignoring her. Suddenly, a sound of disgust comes from Janie as she brushes off her skirt.

“Y/n, retrieve this monster of yours!” She squeals as Ambrose bites the fabric of her dress, tugging on it with a growl.

“Damn this dog,” Celia shouts, attempting to shoo him away, but yelps in surprise as Ambrose snaps his jaw shut near her hand. “Get this thing under control! Y/n!”

Your hand comes up to cover your smile even though the two are shuffling behind you and a stifled chuckle comes from Atticus. The sound of Janie’s heels on the concrete becomes louder as she rushes beside Atticus again, and your smiles drop. The sight of your house comes into view, and you tilt your head confused; your father’s car is parked in the driveway.

“You said no one was home?” You say out loud, and Celia gasps beside you,

“Now you speak to me?” She snaps, halting as you approach the fence. She stands tall, hands folded in front of her elegantly as Janie’s expression is gleaming like a child on Christmas. “Your father requested to keep it a secret, so I obliged his wishes. He canceled his last lecture today to make you both a meal. What a lovely man.”

Your hand finds the latch for the white picket fence as you smile at the familiar narrow victorian-style house ahead of you. A path of cobblestone leads you to the brick steps of the small porch.

Your home sticks out from the more modern American houses that surround the area. It’s an antique, a snippet of history, as your father likes to say. The house is a russet brown only because the bricks are so old they’ve darkened in color. The house accents such as the window trims, porch overhang, and columns are copper, and the hipped roof has brown tiles that look like fish scales. Beside the porch, the bay windows from both stories stack on top of each other, and above the porch roof is the dormer that’s a part of your bedroom.

Gods, you’re yearning to be in your room. You just want to pull out your Murphy bed from the wall and bury yourself in your sheets. The idea of being in bed puts a pep in your step, and you are careful to avoid the salt ring that surrounds your house.

A butterfly passes by your face, flying to the bunchberry bushes your father has planted in the front garden. Among the grass, there are various flowers and herbs that your father grows in the summer. You’ve inherited many things from your father, but his green thumb isn’t one of them. He takes his gardening seriously while you can barely keep the cacti in your room alive.

“Enjoy your meal! Come talk to us one of these days. We missed you two!” Janie shouts after you as you make your way up the stairs. You turn around, Atticus smiling at them.

“We missed you, girls, too,” he says as if he didn’t want to admit it. Janie squeals something about how handsome his smile is, and you scoff, amused as you grab the doorknob.

Once you push the door open, you're hit with a rush of deja vu. The history channel plays faintly in the next room as you take in the home you’ve missed dearly.

There are two bookshelves against the wall on your right, a wide ledge with pillows under the bay windows. A messy coffee table filled with letters and stacked with books sits in front of the comfy reading nook, letting you know that your father was recently hanging out there.

There is a brown mahogany staircase that ascends upstairs to your left, and right beside it is the altar for your mother. A statue of her rests in the middle of the rectangle table covered in a black table cloth. On top of it lies the many offerings for your mom. Herb-dressed candles burn beside bowls of fruit, bouquets, a crystal enamel wine glass filled with alcohol, feathers, and other things. You ignore the altar as you put down your stuff beside the door, following Atticus as he takes off his shoes.

“Kids?” You hear your father call enthusiastically from beyond the foyer, and you persist forward into the entryway ahead of you.

“We’re home!” Atticus announces as he enters beside you. Ambrose barks making a beeline to the right and behind the kitchen counter. He jumps on your father with so much force he stumbles back.

“Gods! Why does he look even bigger?” Your father exclaims through a laugh, fixing the round glasses that threaten to slip off his nose as his other hand grips Ambrose’s paw. He yelps in surprise as Harvey's claws rest on top of his head, clinging to his hair to steady himself.

The warmth and smell of home fill your senses as you catch your dad’s gaze. “Well, come here! Are you going to hug your pops or what?”

You rush over with Atticus. Both of you hug your dad tightly on either side of him, and you smile as he presses a kiss on your temples. “I missed you guys so much!”

“We missed you too!” The smile on your face falters as he looks up, scanning the archway as if he was waiting for someone else. You shift, not ready to be faced with the question, and you peer around his body to look at the food on the stove behind him.

Your father notices your interest, and he chuckles. “Come on, let’s eat. You guys came right on time.”

You shuffle through the kitchen with Atticus, making your way to the rounded table at the end of the kitchen.

“Dad, what have you been up to?” Atticus asks teasingly, and your father perks up.

“I've done a lot of things to keep me busy. I volunteered to teach summer classes while you were gone. I’m reading this book with a fascinating perspective of the shift from Paganism to Christianity in Rome. It’s an amazing read; I highly recommend it. Though, I don’t quite agree with it.” Your father hums thoughtfully. “Oh! And I bought gnomes for our garden! And the thrift store had this little house and this old lady figurine! I put it on the porch. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but she’s the official guard of the door," he declares proudly. "And…” He twists and turns before heading to the bookshelves in the living room area. He grabs something from the shelf then he showcases a cartoon Dobby bobblehead with wide arms. A high-pitched cackle leaves his lips. “It completes our collection!”

“Woah! Where did you get it? We went to three different places for it, and we couldn’t find it.” Atticus matches your father’s excitement, and you snort at the two.

“I went to a mythology convention in Boston a few weeks ago. There was a game stop across the street from the center, and I thought, ‘why not?’ I went in, and I saw this little guy by the register.” Your father is giddy as he nudges the head and watches it jiggle in his hands.

You think of what your grandmother’s reaction would be if she saw all the things he bought on his trip to the thrift store. She’d definitely complain. She always said that even growing up, your father had a liking for knickknacks. On your shelves and counters, there are always little trinkets lying around. It even extends to the walls, a variety of paintings and diagrams are neatly hung beside each other. From the state of your house, it’s clear your father is a maximalist in its purest definition.

“Wow! That’s awesome!” Atticus reaches out his hand for it as your father brings over his entire collection of Harry Potter bobbleheads, the toys huddled in his chest before he places them on the dining table. “The whole gang can hang out with us for dinner.”

“I hope they like pasta,” Atticus comments, lining them up as your dad retrieves the pan of food.

Your stomach grumbles at the sight, and you’re quick to serve yourself as Atticus and your Dad talk about anything and everything. You guys discuss what your grandmother has been up to, how your father’s classes were going, which led your father to ramble so much he formed a tangent on top of another. The conversation was going so well that you were sure he wouldn’t ask about your summer, but you had assumed too soon.

“So enough about me! How was Camp?” Your father chirps, and you shift in your seat.

You smile with confidence to hide the wariness you felt. “It was great!” You figured if you keep your answer short, you could move past it quickly.

“Yeah, the usual. Fun as always,” Atticus adds.

Your father’s eyes flicker between the two of you, and the first thing he notices is the way your smiles don’t reach the rest of your face.

The clanging of metal utensils on glass plates fills the room as the both of you fixate on your food but neither take a bite. The camp was never a touchy subject. The sudden unwillingness to speak about it makes his eyebrow cock up in suspicion. His eye averts to the empty dining chair beside you and the dinner place settings that remained untouched. Alabaster was supposed to join your return home. At least, that’s what he had assumed.

“Did Alabaster decide to stay at his foster home?” There’s caution in his tone, and he’s taken aback at how both you and Atticus tense up. The clings of metal halt abruptly, and slowly, you move to glance at your father.

“Dad, something happened at camp this summer.” Now, it was your turn to have a tone laced with caution. Alabaster lived with you for months and quickly became a part of the family. Your father saw him as his second son, and you were afraid to break the news that he may never see him again.

“What happened? Did he get into trouble?” You frown at the sudden edge in his voice. Atticus shifts beside you,

“He took the others to go fight for the Titan Lord.”

“What?”

“Mother came to speak to him and told him that it was best to fight for the other side since their chances are better,” you say slowly. “They left at the end of July. Only Atticus, Lou Ellen, and I stayed at camp.”

Your father’s expression darkens, grief written all over his face. “And you haven’t seen them since?”

You shake your head, not wanting to delve into the details. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing them again in a while and not in the best circumstances.” Your father nods, understanding the implication in your words. “Mother promised that she’d take care of them if they fight for the other side. I didn’t want to go; it wasn’t right.”

“That must be why everything is rotting,” your father mutters more to himself. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Rotting? What’s rotting?”

“Our offerings to your mother,” he clarifies. “All the fruit I leave on her altar goes bad in a few days. The flowers wither quickly too. The garden, in general, hasn’t been doing well either. I didn’t understand why.”

Your focus returns to your plate. Suddenly, you weren’t that hungry anymore.

She must be angry, you think to yourself. A part of you wanted a sign from her to let you know if she was bothered you didn’t join. When the sign didn’t come, you assumed she didn’t care; that, in a way, you were dead to her. It didn’t dawn on you to ask how the altar or the garden your father dedicated to her was doing.

“Can I be excused?” You strain, your face a little hot, and you’re not sure if it was from your anger or from the tears you’re blinking away.

“Of course.” The warm smile on your father’s face fails to budge the dread you’re feeling. “You can be excused as well, Atticus.”

You miss the way your father and Atticus exchange looks as you stood up. There wasn’t a verbal agreement, but Atticus stands up tall, determined to make you feel better. He trails behind you, and suddenly, he slings his arm across your shoulders. “You know what’s one of the things I missed at camp?”

“What?” You ask, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in your chest.

“Beating you at Tekken,” Atticus teases. Your lips curve slightly; his playful nature manages to brighten up your mood a little bit. “Let’s play. I’ll go easy on you, but I’m sure you’ll still lose regardless.”

“You’re on,” you nudge him, and Atticus chuckles, walking ahead of you and up the stairs. Your hand grips the railing, and you walk up a few steps before halting, and your eyes find the front door.

“You don’t get it!”

“I don’t.” You shrugged, amused at the way Atticus’s eyebrows knitted in disbelief. He ignored you, grabbed the remote, and played the Star Wars movie again. You groaned, seeing the slanted letters move up the TV screen. “Atticus! I can’t watch this!”

“Why not?!”

“Well, first off, my dyslexia won’t let me read that quickly, and if a physically written prologue is needed before a movie… it’s not a good movie!”

“How dare you!” You threw your head back as a laugh bubbled in your throat. The exasperated look on his face was too funny. You had no desire to watch these movies, and you figured if you bothered him enough, he’d give up trying to show them to you. The shrug of your shoulders made him scoff. “Just watch it!”

A huff left your lips, and unwillingly, you returned your gaze to the screen. Suddenly, a hollow knock came from the front door.

“It’s late,” you said, but Atticus was too caught up in the beginning battle of the movie to pay any mind to you. Rarely did you get visitors, definitely not past midnight on a Friday. Cautiously, you rose from the couch and moved toward the door.

Rain erratically hit against your curtain-covered windows; the wind and cold made the walls around you creak as they adjusted. Whatever waited for you at the door, you just wished it was a person, not a weird ghost or monster. Your finger latched on the side of the curtain, allowing you to peek through the glass of your front door.

A gasp left your lips. Alabaster, soaked from the ruthless rain outside, was the last person you expected to see. But even though you didn’t expect him, you had an inkling as to why he was here.

Hastily, you unlocked the door and flung it open. “Al?” You sputtered; his green orbs were surrounded by tired eyes and puffy skin.

“He died this morning,” he strained. Your expression softened, and before you could say anything, Alabaster stepped forward and hugged your shoulders tightly. The raggedness of his breath, the shutter of his body, sent your chest a weight of sorrow. You couldn’t imagine being in his shoes and losing your father to a long battle with cancer at 14. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes; the person you looked up to the most was breaking down. You never thought he would need your help for anything, but it seems that you were wrong. “I’m sorry. You guys live the closest to me, and I didn’t know where to go-”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted. “Oh, Al, I’m so sorry,” your voice cracked, hands rubbed his back as a sob left his lips. A creak of a floorboard caught your attention, and you turned to see a confused Atticus emerging from the living room. With a sad look, he understood what happened, and soon his expression was mimicking yours.

“I’ll wake dad and get clothes,” he said, then rushed upstairs.

Your father didn’t even hesitate to help Alabaster, opening the doors of your house to him. In his greatest time of need, the three of you stood beside him, and overnight, he had a place in your home and in your heart. The three of you spent so much time playing video games, getting into trouble around town, learning magic. All the good times you and Atticus shared with him, were they really worth throwing away to fight with Kronos? You realize now that his departure was never only a betrayal to the camp but to you, Atticus, and your father, and you couldn’t help but think perhaps, you guys didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to you.

A shaky sigh leaves your mouth at the thoughts persistent to ruin your mood. The desire to leave camp was to avoid all the things that reminded you of your siblings, but now that you returned home, you realize that running away isn’t as easy as you thought.

masterlist taglist: @xxyrr @nct127bee @mochabreezeee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @Slytherclaw-kitten @zhethugisa @-thatgirloverthere- @sanovr @passionswift @nanskidoodle @idk-bye-no @ilvermornyidiot @all-hailreyna @blackpopcorn @autmngirlworld @sunkissedskin1328 @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @hajigayy @aleksanderwh0r3 @drayshadow @tonyedwardstarkk @londoncherry @ashookykooky @lotusnegra666 @loverstyless @t0xicmuse @ohmydamgods @jordannfields @tomriddles-wh0re @chasingpj @pixietilly1924 @amy-writes-blog @muted-mayham @shawkneecaps @cbmelody @dreamerball @earthtokace @thehighladyofday @theverydramaticcabbage @lala-llama123 @tootsdoll @slytherindaughterofposeidon0 @black-rose-29 @somekidnamedkai @possiblylostchasecousin @silver-gemini @vodkavanity @hamdehlesmis @shadowsndaisies @cami05sworld @does-anyone-hear-me @scarlets-widow

if your username is bolded that means i can’t tag you ! you probably have your visibility settings on!

#percy jackson and the olympian fic #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x you #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson fic #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x y/n #my writing #percy jackson and the olympians fanfiction

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 03

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: abduction, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: it’s short and still not as exciting as it is about to become but we gotta build a ✨ foundation✨  first. hope you enjoy xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Bucky was standing in the kitchen, back leaned against the counter of the kitchen with his eyes on the girl who was currently sat in his couch with a badly bandaged hand. He was never good at first aid, he hadn’t been good at it with his sister and he definitely hadn’t been good with her, yet he thought it would be best than let her bleed out onto her costume which she still hadn’t taken out and that included her wig. He knew what hair looked like, he could see it in the back of his mind from the dark costume room, her hair pushed back into the same hairstyle most of the girls in the opera house had. Yet he also knew that getting out of her costume was the last thing going in her mind despite him not knowing at all what was going on in her head. She just stood in silence, looking at the wall of the TV but the TV was off, despite the fact the remote was next to her. 

What was he even supposed to do with her? He couldn’t tie her to the bed or hide her in the basement, he didn’t have a basement. Besides, he didn’t know whenever she’d actually be used as a trading chip so he didn’t know how long he would have to babysit her. How was he even supposed to do John’s bidding if he had to keep an eye on her? It wasn’t like he could leave, she would try to escape. Heck, she’d even try to escape when he was in the apartment. This was a mess, a mess he needed to clean, a mess he didn’t know how to clean. 

The door bell was the first sound in that flat for 2 hours and he sighed out of relief he could finally leave and not have to stare at her and her Bambi like stare. Damned Billy. 

     - She’s a runner. - Bucky said as he opened the door, a stunned Billy walking in like a scared little mouse. - I’ll be gone for two hours. Make sure she’s okay, not bleeding and definitely not escaping. 

Billy nodded his head like a bobble doll, standing stiff by the door as Bucky grabbed the keys to his bike and left. Y/N finally looked up, away from the wall and at Billy. He couldn’t be older than her, and if he were, he couldn’t be more than a year or two older than her. He had shaggy hair and eyes which were filled with insecurity and fear yet a facade of strength which he definitely did not have. She should’ve been mad at him, after all he was the one who misunderstood the assignment (whatever it was) and got her hostage. Yet, she merely saw a boy who was scared, perhaps as scared as she was. 

    - I’m Y/N. - she pipped up as if the two of them were co-workers who were just meeting.

    - Billy.

    - Is that a nickname or a name ... you know like Billy Bigelow. 

    - Billy Bigelow’s a wife beater. - he snickered. - My name’s William but they call me Billy.

    - Do you like being called Billy? I can call you William if you want. 

    - Will.

    - Pardon?

    - I like being called Will but John said it sounds childish. - he clarified, slightly kicking the air like a petulant child. 

    - I like Will better. - she moved towards the end of the couch, patting the pillow next to her. - Do you wanna sit?

   - He doesn’t like it when people sit in his couch. 

   - Well .. I’m sat in the couch and he didn’t say anything, besides, how would he even know you were sat in the couch. 

There wasn’t much she knew about the man who had been overseeing her. She didn’t even knew his name other than the “Soldat” nickname she’d heard John call him. It wasn’t like she particularly cared about knowing him, after all he was the one who was keeping her hostage and he was also the one who had kept her alive. Yet, at this point she wondered if being alive was a faith worse than being dead. How bad is death anyway, she pondered. Maybe it hurts to leave, but it doesn’t hurt to stay dead. She wanted to believe in what he had told her, she wanted to believe that all of this was just a big nightmare, it was just a hiccup in her path. She was gonna go back, she was going back, she had to go back. She had no choice but to go back. 

Her eyes lingered on the broken window, covered by a piece of cardboard tapped to the broken glass, a shattering reminder that she had failed at escaping, had failed at leaving. She should’ve fought harder to escape, she should’ve said no when the main soprano asked her for help. She should’ve just ... done what she was hired to do. The mere thought of the opera house made her eyes swell with tears. She had been so close.

    - I’m sorry. - Will blurted out, his words causing her to immediately wipe her eyes before the tears could actually roll down. - I screwed up, didn’t mean to ruin your shot. 

    - That’s ... that’s fine. - she breathed out. - They’re gonna let me go at some point, right? They can’t keep me forever.

    - Yeah, eventually someone else will screw up. - he scratched the back of his neck. - It’s nice he didn’t tie you down or handcuff you to the bed. 

    - It’s a nice ... arrangement, I guess. 

    - Do you wanna watch Carousel? It’s always rerunning on channel 6. 

    - Are we allowed to watch TV? If you’re not allowed on the couch, I doubt the TV is a yes. 

    - He won’t know.

The beginning of the film was bittersweet as it immediately took her back to better days. Back to when she rented her very first flat in New York while a sophomore at Julliard, when she only had her laptop and a few pillows which made the very old studio flat look like a home, she would sit down in the worn out mattress with her laptop and watch old golden age musicals dreaming of the time she would be on stage. The beginning notes of the overture only brought her back to nights when the rain was harshly falling down on the rain and she was sat in her, open books of several opera music theories lightened up by the low blue light of her laptop. She had fought so hard and she was going to fight even harder to get out of this. She was going to be back in those grounds and with heavy, sleep filled eyes, she swore she would get back to the stage. 

Bucky parked the bike by the sidewalk, sighing as he realised he was not going to an empty home, the same empty home he had fought for. He liked peace and quiet, he liked to be surrounded by nothing but him and his thoughts yet now he had to come back to some girl staying in his house who was keen on breaking all off his windows. Just what he needed, someone coming into his home to fix the window. How was he going to achieve that? 

He opened the door and threw the keys somewhere onto the table near the door. Billy was standing up by the couch, Carousel was playing on the TV and she was sleeping on the couch, surrounded by the fabric of the costume she still hadn’t taken off. Not that she had anything to change into.

   - She’s sweet. - Billy rubbed the sole of his shoe against the ground. 

   - You think all girls are sweet. - Bucky walked to his kitchen, making himself a glass of whiskey. - You old enough to drink, kid?

    - I have to drive back home. 

    - She behaved? - he moved the glass in her direction, eyes lingering a bit too long on her sleeping figure. 

    - She fell asleep mid the film. Hm ... I’m gonna go. Thanks for everything, Bucky, specially with John. 

    - You should get going, kid. Your mother and father will worry.

The sound of the closed door left the two of them alone once again. What was he supposed to do with her? How was he even supposed to do his ... his duties if he constantly needed someone to watch her so she doesn’t try to escape? Where is he even supposed to find someone to watch her? Kidnappingvictims babysitting.com? He sighed out of frustration, whipping his head in her direction almost upset she existed; yet, looking at her sleeping form calmed down his features.

He put the glass in the sink, walking to his couch where she was. Somehow he always ended up in tricky situations and this had to be in the top 5 worst decisions. Yet, she didn’t deserve dying, she didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t her fault any of this had happened. She was just at the wrong place, she was just somewhere she shouldn’t have been and Bucky couldn’t blame her for that. He put a hand on the couch and snaked an arm under her figure, lifting her up from the couch and holding her flush against his chest. Her head instinctually fell against his chest, nose nuzzling his black t-shirt.

There was nothing he could do now. In all honesty, he couldn’t think of anyone in his inner circle where she would be at least in safety. The group of people he hanged around weren’t particularly of high moral standards and he wasn’t a saint either, god, he was closer to being the devil than being a saint; yet, he knew things and he knew what awaited her if she had been assigned to anyone else. In his mind all of this would be over soon; either Billy or one of the newbies would screw up and get them in trouble with the police and then John would trade her in so he wouldn’t go to prison. It was only a matter of time. 

He laid her down on his bed, pulling the comforter over her and taking a final look at her before exiting the room and taking to the couch. He pulled at the bottom of the furniture, the pillows unfolding to form a small bed which his feet would inevitably fall off, yet they didn’t make any bigger couches which turned into beds and he had never expected to have any company in his flat anyway. He too eventually fell asleep, lit by the low blue light of the TV. 

The morning was a harsh reminder for Y/N that this whole situation was not a nightmare but her reality. Her hand pushed her torso off the bed, sleepish eyes looking around as she tried to figure out where she was. She didn’t remember falling asleep in a bed but that didn’t matter because she quickly realised she was alone. She couldn’t hear anything but the ambience sounds coming from the window. She was alone. As that thought registered, she kicked the comforter away from her body and settled her feet to the ground, rushing in silent steps to the door which she opened. Her eyes registered a clear path from where she was to the exit door whose chain was down. She bite on her lip before stepping out of the bedroom.

    - Where are you going? - the familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. Y/N considered making a run from it but just as she convinced herself of that idea, he stepped in front of her, standing like a big wall keeping her from freedom. He looked her down, like a small, inoffensive prey. She thought of running once more, but she was smart enough to know he would easily overpower her. - Where are you going? 

    - Hm ... - think, anything, just think of anything. - The bathroom.

He scoffed, walking forward and towards her but she stepped back every time he got closer until her back hit the door. She stood there, small and wondering what to do as the man whose name she still did not know stood close to her, close enough she could almost feel the permeating heat coming from his body. His gloved fingers pinched her chin, pushing it up so her eyes looked into his. They were blue, a shade of blue she couldn’t really say she’d ever seen and maybe if she were in a different situation, she would’ve even said they were hypnotising. Yet, now, they just bore into hers, as if he was digging into her subconscious. He leaned closer, fingers still holding her chin up.

    - Liar. - his voice was deep and husky, deep enough it sounded like a whisper. He let go of her chin, stepping back and returning to the kitchen while she remained against the door. - We had a deal. 

    - I know. 

    - Are you trying to get yourself killed, kid? - he asked in a dry voice. 

    - Don’t call me kid. - she didn’t know what else to say. What could she said after all? - It’s condescending. 

    - You didn’t answer me, Y/N. - he emphasised her name. It sounded almost wrong for him to be calling her that, yet she guessed it was better than kid. Sure, he was definitely older than her but she wasn’t young enough to be called kid. She couldn’t even recall the last time someone called her kid. - Are you trying to get yourself killed?

    - No. 

    - Then what are you doing?

    - I don’t know.

    - You need to trust me. 

    - Why should I? I don’t know you, I don’t even know your name so why should I trust you? For all I know you could be lying to me. 

    - You think I wanna play babysitting with you? I would much rather have a free home than have you run around in costume. - he glared at her. - And you don’t need to know my name, you need to do what I tell you to do if you wanna come out of this alive. 

    - Well what if I don’t want to? - she narrowed her eyes. 

    - You want to fucking die? Is that it? - he sneered. - Because that would’ve saved the fucking headache that you’ve been. 

    - Maybe you should’ve killed me. You had no problem killing Tommy. - her words were mindless yet filled with some sort of anger. She didn’t realise what she had said until she saw his face.

His facade seemed to drop before his jaw clenched, eyes hardened as he raised his head to look her up and down. She held the knob of the door, ready to open it and escape into the bedroom but he didn’t do anything. He just looked at her, angry before he made a move yet he didn’t walk her direction, he merely opened the fridge to take a water bottle yet that look, that look still remained. 

   - What do you want from me? - she pried. - I had a life, you know. I had plans and ...

   - So did I. You don’t wanna be a kid? Stop acting like one. 

   - My parents don’t know where I am. - she followed him into the kitchen. - I am their only child and I call them everyday. At least, let me call them, let me tell them I’m safe.​

   - I can’t, that’s not how things work. 

   - So what? You’re just gonna keep me here? Forever?

   - Trust me, kid, it’s not exactly what I want either. It’s not my choice and it’s definitely not yours. 

   - I am not gonna stop trying to escape.

   - Based on how well you’ve done so far, I wouldn’t hold my breathe. 

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi​ @unmagically @red-head011

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky/reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky/y/n #bucky imagine #mob boss!bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia!sebastian stan #mob boss!sebastian stan #mob!sebastian stan

[marjansmarwani]

like I was already brave enough to let go

7.2k || Chapter 1/2 || ao3

Enzo understands that leaving New York in the wake of everything is what's best for TK, but that doesn't make it any easier. Watching his stepson pack up all his broken pieces and move across the country hurts him in ways he can't describe, mostly due to the knowledge that there will be a distance between them that has never existed before. So he takes the time to check-in, to keep track of TK. To be there for him, no matter what.

He's just starting to wish that he had picked somewhere other than Austin, because he is quickly discovering he is not built for this level of stress.

After reading @futures-tense’s Enzo fic (that everyone should read, it is phenomenal) I couldn’t get thoughts of him and his relationship with TK out of my head, so naturally I wrote this. It fits into canon evetns and this is only chapter 1 of 2, because while I so have an outline for season 2 events, this was getting long so I figured I’d at least post what I had. 

Massive thanks to @silvarafael and @justaswampdemon for all their help and support with this, you’re both the best!

-----------------

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when TK opened his apartment door, but the sad shell of the boy Enzo had come to love as his own wasn’t it. 

Or maybe it was, but it hurt all the same. 

“Hey kid,” he said softly, stepping carefully around him and into the apartment. He looked around the small space, taking in all the boxes haphazardly labeled and partially packed. “So, it’s true. Your mom told me but I don’t think I believed her. Never thought I’d see the day TK Strand willingly left New York for Texas, of all places.” 

“Who says it’s willingly,” he said dully as he shut the door behind Enzo. 

Enzo turned and studied him more closely, taking in the downturned eyes and anxious fingers thumbing the seam of his hoodie pocket, “Do you not want to go? Because you can stay here. I’ll talk to your mom, you can stay with us if you…” 

But TK cut him off with a shake of his head, “No,” he said, “I think I need to do this. Dad’s right, I need a fresh start. I can’t...I don’t think I can be here anymore. When I think of staying here, I don’t see a way forward. I think if I stayed here I’d…” he trailed off, but Enzo felt a chill rush through him at the implication of what TK hadn’t said. He tried to meet his eyes but TK looked away, casting his gaze downward and away from Enzo’s sympathetic eyes. 

It hurt him more than he could say to see TK like this. For all his struggles he had always been a happy kid. He had always been someone who found the joy in life where he could and he had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, for better or worse. Seeing him like this and knowing what had happened hurt Enzo in ways he couldn’t fully describe because he didn’t know the right words. All he knew for sure is that this was not the TK he had known and loved for 16 years standing before him. This was a stranger; someone he had only seen once before during a time he had hoped to never revisit. 

He hadn’t asked what happened because he knew enough and he wasn’t about to make the kid revisit it just so he could fill in some blanks. He might not know everything but he knew enough to feel hot anger course through him at the thought of someone breaking that too big heart of his. TK had always been someone who loved fully and completely, and to see that thrown back in his face so spectacularly made Enzo—a typically steady and calm man — strongly consider homicide. 

He had every confidence that Gwyn could get him out of any charges too, but he pushed that thought aside to focus on the scene before him.  

“This isn’t your fault, TK.” 

TK turned away from him, absently picking up some books from the table and dropping them into one of the boxes. “I know I didn’t make Alex cheat,” he says eventually, “but the rest of it? That is completely on me Enzo, no one else.” 

He could sense that the kid had more to say so he let him go, watching from the doorway as he listlessly picked up other odds and ends from around his apartment, tossing them into boxes without any real care as to what the labels on the side said. He knew TK would speak up when he was ready and it was only a few more minutes before he did. 

“Eight years,” he finally said, his rough voice breaking the silence of the half-packed apartment. “Eight fucking years of sobriety, all gone. And that’s all on me. It doesn’t matter what Alex did, I’m the one who made the choice. I am the one who let him have that power over me and…” he broke off, meeting Enzo’s eyes for a moment before looking away and swallowing. “I do need to leave,” he said eventually. “I don’t trust myself to stay here anymore. I don’t know if I’d survive it.” 

Enzo could feel his heart breaking for the kid. He wasn’t a kid anymore — now 26 and an adult — but in Enzo’s eyes sometimes he was still the 10-year-old who met his eyes shyly when Gwyn first introduced them, the 14-year-old who had admitted to him in a terrified whisper that he thought he might like boys, the 19-year-old who had come to him because he wanted to enroll in the fire academy and didn’t know how his mother would take it. The feeling he had now was just like the feelings he had had then. This overwhelming love and desire to protect him from everything bad in the world; from anyone that ever told him he wasn’t enough. 

And just like he had then, he stepped forward, closing the space between them to pull him into a hug. He held him close, pressing his face into his chest and placing a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re making the smart choice then,” he said evenly. “And, as much as I’ll miss you, I’m proud of you for doing what you have to do. You’ve beat this once and you’ll beat it again, I have no doubt about that.” 

He knew he wasn’t imagining it when the body in his arms sagged in relief. It made him clutch him that much tighter as he spoke again, hoping what he was about to say was a given but needing to say it anyway:  “And I will always be here for you, no matter where you live. I’m always just a phone call away, you know that, right?”

TK’s voice was muffled by the material of Enzo’s sweater, but he could still hear the tears in it clear as day, “I do.” 

“Good,” Enzo replied firmly, releasing his grip on TK and stepping back so he could meet his eyes. “Because I will be calling to check-in, that is a promise.” 

---------------

Watching him leave was bittersweet, but he believed TK when he said it was something he needed to do. He took some solace in the fact that he wouldn’t be alone. Enzo and Owen Strand may have had their differences over the years (many, many differences) but if there was one thing Enzo had never doubted it was the other man’s love for his son. He knew that TK was in good hands, but that didn’t make it any easier. 

He got confirmation they had arrived in Austin in the form of a text that included a picture of a shop selling cowboy hats that simply said, “turns out people actually do where these here. Yes, it looks as ridiculous as it sounds.” It is followed by another two days later that noted the crimes Texas has committed against pizza and though Enzo was still filled with worry, he allowed himself to smile and take it as a sign that he was healing, be it ever so slightly. 

He gave it almost a week before he called. He wanted to hear TK’s voice; to have proof that he really was okay, but he also wanted to give him time. His patience was helped by the fact that Gwyn had spoken to her son but eventually, he decided that he needed to hear from him himself.  

TK answered by the third ring, sounding out of breath. He greeted him warmly, and Enzo could hear the commotion of construction in the background. He raised an eyebrow, “What, did you decide to leave the fire department and become a contractor when I wasn’t looking?” 

This pulled a laugh out of TK and Enzo took a moment to savor the familiar sound. It felt like far too long since he’s last heard it. 

“No. Dad decided we should re-do the firehouse, to give everyone a fresh start. I figured I might as well help out. Besides,” he added with a shrug Enzo could almost hear, “demolition is the far healthier method of coping with feelings, right?” 

“When done with permission,” Enzo quipped in response. “How are you doing kid, has the pizza chased you away yet?” 

TK scoffed, “No, but it was a close thing. Honestly, I really haven’t had that much time to dwell. I’ve been helping with the demo and construction, as well as the candidate interviews and paperwork. I haven’t really taken too much time to think about anything.” 

TK said it matter of factly and Enzo almost moved past it. But he knew TK better than most. “You don’t have to punish yourself, kid,” he told him gently. “All you need to do is heal.”

“I’m not punishing myself,” TK objected, “I’m just...trying to keep busy. To distract myself.” 

TK might very well think that, but Enzo was pretty sure it wasn’t true. But he was willing to move past it, for now. 

“Tell me about the new crew,” he said instead, and smiled as TK launched into stories about a daredevil from Miami and a possible psychic from Chicago. He seemed enthusiastic and Enzo didn’t realize how good it felt to hear that until he had. It was like there was a little bit of life back in his voice and though he knew TK still had a long way to go to make this better, he was relieved to see that he was at least on the way. 

------------

For a while, everything seemed to be going great. TK called and texted him from time to time, sharing anecdotes from calls and his new crew, and each time Enzo thinks he can hear just a little bit more of his old self returning to his voice. Sure he complains about one of them, for a while, but that too seems to sort itself out. 

He could tell there is someone new in his life too, even if TK is hedgy about it at best. But Enzo was the first one to know that TK was gay at 14; he knew how to spot the signs. 

“Why won’t you tell me about him?” he asked him one day, voice light and teasing as he stuffed his papers into his bag. “Is there something horribly wrong with him?”

“No,” TK countered emphatically, “there is nothing wrong with him. Absolutely nothing,” he added, almost an unconscious mutter Enzo was not entirely sure he was supposed to hear. 

“So if there is ‘absolutely nothing’ wrong with him, why aren't you going for it?” 

There was silence on the other end as Enzo slid his bag onto his shoulder, patiently waiting the younger man out. 

“You know why,” he eventually said, voice low and sad. Enzo grimaced at how pained his voice sounded and he dropped back into his desk chair with a sigh.

“TK…” he began, but the younger man cut him off firmly. 

“No, Enzo. I...I thought I could. I thought we could have something casual and that I could handle it. But then he wanted more and I hurt him. I don’t want to do that, he doesn’t deserve it. He’s too good to get dragged into my shitshow.” 

“Have you asked him what he wants?” Enzo asked gently. 

The bark of laughter TK gave at that was sharp and harsh, “Yeah, that should go well. Definitely won’t lead to me having to explain to this guy I’ve hooked up with a handful of times all the ways I’m fucked up right now.”

Enzo sighed again, leaning back in his chair, “It won’t always be like this, T. Someday you will be ready to try again, but only if you let yourself consider the possibility. Can you at least promise me that?”

There was silence for a long stretch and Enzo was about to ask him again when TK’s voice finally responded quietly, “Yes.” 

“Good,” Enzo responded firmly, “because no matter what happened, you still deserve happiness. And someday you’ll be ready to let it in again — maybe sooner than you think.” 

The sound of acknowledgment TK made sounded skeptical at best, but Enzo would take it. He knew he was right and he knew that someday TK would realize it too. Maybe even sooner than he thought. 

------------

It’s about a week later when Enzo’s phone rings, nearly making him jump as he is pulled abruptly from his stack of midterms. It took him a few moments of shuffling blue books to even locate his phone and when he did he frowned at both the time and the name displayed on the screen. 

“Hey kid,” he said lightly as he answered the phone, “what’s up?” 

He had hoped he was overreacting, that TK was just calling him late because he was on shift and had lost track of the time. He had hoped that maybe the universe was finally giving the kid a break. 

The despair and fear so clear in TK’s voice quickly prove him wrong.  

“Hey Enzo,” he said softly, “fuck, I know it’s late and I’m sorry to bother you, but I just really needed to talk to someone.” 

“You are never a bother,” Enzo told him firmly, capping his pen and setting it down on his desk. “What’s wrong?” 

“I…” TK began before stopping, taking a deep breath and trying again, “I don’t know for sure yet, but I know something is.”

And Enzo believed him. The fear in his voice is so raw Enzo could feel every ounce of it even from a timezone away. “I’m going to need more than that, kid,” he told him gently, leaning back in his chair as he waited TK out. 

“I found something,” TK said eventually, “that I definitely wasn’t supposed to find. And it means something awful. Something I don’t know if I can handle. But it also means he doesn’t trust me,” TK continued, “and somehow that almost feels worse.”

Enzo frowned, pondering all the non-specific details in his mind. He didn’t know all that much about his stepson’s life in Austin, but he knew enough to know that while he was close to his new crew, he wasn’t close enough to be this upset by an omission from one of them. That left him with two possibilities: the mysterious man he was not seeing, or Owen. 

And Enzo knew which option was more likely and it made his heart sink. TK might not be sharing but Ezno knew both the Strand men better than most. If there was something Owen felt strongly enough to keep from his son that TK was this upset about, it wasn’t good news.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is,” he said cautiously, “but is it something about your dad?” 

There was a deep, shuddering breath before TK responded, “Yeah.” 

And Enzo shut his eyes, the hurt and fear in TK’s voice telling him all he needed to know. 

“I don’t know what this is about,” he said eventually, “and you don’t have to tell me. But I do know you, and I know whatever it is you are going to want to be there for him, because that’s who you are. Let him know that, and the rest will follow from there.” 

There was silence again, but Enzo waited TK out. He was familiar with this rhythm; when something was bothering TK he often took his time to make sure he had the words right before he spoke. Over the years Enzo had learned to wait him out knowing that he would get to his point when he was ready.  

He did a few moments later, “I do want to be there for him,” TK agreed, “I just know why he didn’t tell me. He doesn’t think I can handle it — and he’s right,” TK confessed softly, “I don’t know if I can.” 

“You can,” Ezno assured him firmly, “you can do anything you set your mind to. You always have.” 

He let his words sink in for a moment before he added, “And I would talk to your dad before you make any assumptions. Let him know he can rely on you, let him know you want to be there.” 

“You make it sound so easy,” TK said dryly, and Enzo huffed a laugh. 

“In a way it is. It’s just words. It’s the actions behind them that are hard.” 

There was silence again before TK spoke, his voice so quiet Enzo almost missed his next words, “I’m scared.” 

“It’s okay to be scared,” Enzo reminded him, “sometimes fear is the appropriate response.” 

But even as he said it, he could feel his heart breaking. He didn’t know what was going on and while he was sure he would find out soon enough, he couldn’t help but hate whatever it was. TK deserved some time to find himself, to heal and simply exist. He didn’t understand why the universe kept throwing such curveballs at him, but he wished with every fiber of his being it would stop. 

“Sometimes it is,” TK agreed in a tone that made Enzo wonder even more what this was all about. But he didn’t ask; TK would tell him when he was ready. For now he would just be here for him. Sometimes that was all he could do. 

--------------

As much as Enzo couldn’t help but worry about the younger man, sometimes the updates were a sign that things were getting better for him, slowly but surely. 

One such time came as he and Gwyn were sitting on the couch together, Enzo making a case for watching Jeopardy with Gwyn adamantly refusing. 

“No,” she said again with a firm shake of her head, “it always ends the same way.” 

He shrugged, “I can’t help that you’re too competitive, or that I’m better at it then you are,” he added, giving her a sly grin. 

“We can’t all have PhDs in history,” she said wryly, “some of us need to work for a living.” 

He opened his mouth to fire back a retort but was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. “Saved by the bell,” he said instead with a shake of his head as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He frowned when he saw the familiar name on the screen and turned it so Gwyn could see. 

“Hey T,” he said cautiously as he answered, “everything good?” 

There was a lot of noise in the background but he could hear TK’s voice clearly as he answered, “Yeah, I just had a question for you. These people don’t believe me so I need your cred as a Columbia history professor to back me up.” 

Enzo raised an eyebrow at Gwyn, who had leaned closer to hear. She bit her lip against a laugh and he shook his head fondly, “I’ll do what I can. What’s the question?” 

“Hang on,” TK said, “I’m going to put you on speaker.” There was the sound of fumbling before the background noise grew louder and TK’s voice returned. “Okay guys,” he was saying, “this is my stepdad Enzo. He’s a history professor at Columbia and if you don’t believe me maybe you’ll believe him. You want to ask him the question, Paul?” 

“Man, you didn’t need to…” 

“No, this is a point of pride now.” TK objected indignantly and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to see that she had fully pressed a hand against her mouth to stop any laughter from slipping out and giving away her eavesdropping. “Ask him,” TK prompted and there was a sigh before a new voice joined the conversation. 

“Sir, we are so sorry to bother you. TK’s just being a sore loser.” 

“Paul, right?” Enzo asked and got a sound of confirmation in return, “You don’t have to tell me that, I helped raise him.” There was an indignant noise in the background, likely from TK, but Enzo ignored it. “What’s the question?” 

“Who invented the first movie camera?” 

“Louis Le Prince,” Enzo replied without hesitation, unable to suppress a chuckle at the sound of TK’s triumphant ha! In the background. “You guys thought it was Edison, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Paul admitted sheepishly and Enzo chuckled lightly.

“That’s understandable. Edison was the first person to mass market it and the first to get recognized for it, but Le Prince was actually the first. But he mysteriously disappeared in 1890, right before he was set to take a trip to the US to talk about his invention. So he never got a chance to market it.” 

There was silence for a moment before Paul spoke again, “So is there any proof Edison had him killed or…?” 

“No,” Enzo admitted, “but that is one of the theories for sure. Another is his brother did it over the family will. Either way, Edison was not the first.” 

“Huh,” Paul said thoughtfully, “that’s actually fascinating. Dude, I’m sorry for doubting you.” 

“It’s fine,” TK said evenly, “I am more than a pretty face you know.” 

There was a collective snort from the other end of the phone and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to roll his eyes. She shook her head fondly and he returned his attention to the call, “Any other burning history questions or was that it?” 

The background noise lessened as TK took the phone off speaker. “No, that’s it. Thanks, Enzo.” 

“Anytime kid,” he told him, “you know I love to flex my random history facts.” That got another laugh out of TK, but Enzo could still hear the background noise of a group in the background. The sounds of easy comradery set his mind at ease in a way not much else had since TK had left for Texas. “Why don’t you get back to your friends and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay, thanks again.” 

“Don’t mention it. I love you kid.” 

“Love you too. Say hi to mom for me?” 

“You’ve got it.” 

With that the call was over and Enzo was left back in their silent living room, Gwyn looking at him with a soft smile. 

“He sounds happy,” she said after a moment, her voice warm but thick. He nodded. 

“He does. As much as I do hate to admit it, I think going to Austin may have the best thing for him.” 

“You just hate that Owen was right.” 

“And you don’t?” he asked her with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well that’s a given,” she quipped, leaning closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed them as she rested her head on her shoulder. “I’m just glad he’s doing better,” she said softly after a moment, “I’ve been so worried about him.” 

“Me too,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. That sat in silence for a few more moments, each lost in their own thoughts before he spoke again. 

“So is that still a no to Jeopardy or…?”

She swatted at him and he grinned, ducking away from the light hit. Things seemed to have returned to their equilibrium, and that was a relief. 

He just hoped it stayed that way. 

-------------------

When he was wrested from sleep by the shrill sound of his phone ringing cutting through the late-night silence of his bedroom, Enzo groaned. He swore under his breath as he fumbled for the device, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he did. But when he managed to grasp his phone and saw the name on the screen, all thoughts of annoyance fled his mind. Owen Strand calling him was rarely a good sign. Owen Strand calling him at 2 am promised nothing short of disaster. 

“Owen?” he said as he answered, skipping any and all attempts at pleasantries. “Is everything okay?”

He could afford to give the universe the benefit of the doubt, he decided; even if only for a moment. 

When Owen’s reply came it was in a voice Enzo didn’t recognize. It was shaky and uncertain in a way that the other man never was. 

“Enzo, hey. I’m sorry to bother you but Gwyn’s not answering her phone and…” he broke off with a shaky breath, “I really need to talk to her.” 

“She’s in Beijing,” Enzo replied, sitting up and switching on the lamp beside him. “And given the time difference, probably in a meeting.”

He heard Owen swear distantly before he felt fear rise up in him. Owen calling him at 2 in the morning looking for Gwyn and out of sorts only added up to one thing, but Enzo so hoped he was wrong. 

“Owen, did something happen to TK?” he forced himself to ask; the stress of not knowing was worse than anything else. 

He could hear Owen take another breath, deep and shaky and filled with something else Enzo couldn’t identify on a phone call from half a country away. 

“There was an...incident,” Owen said softly, voice still unsteady, “on our last call.”

Enzo’s mind was already spinning, stumbling from one horrible possibility from another. 

“There was a man with dementia who broke into his old house and a homeowner who had a cardiac event and TK broke down the door and….he was shot.” 

Enzo heard the words, he knew he did. But he couldn’t have. If he had heard them that would mean that TK had been shot and that was not something that could be true. His stepson was a firefighter. It was a profession that came with enough risks of its own. He had spent countless days worried and fearful at the thought of rescues gone wrong, of untamable flames and unstable buildings. Never once had he even entertained the thought of a bullet being a risk to watch out for. Bullets were supposed to be the problem of other people with other jobs — not his stepson, who already had so many dangers to face. 

But it was true. The fear and pain in Owen’s voice told him it was true. There was an edge of both hysteria and despair in his words and that more than anything scared Enzo more than he could say.

“Where?” was the first coherent thought he could form. 

“Just below his left shoulder” Owen repeated mechanically. “His...his lung collapsed before we were even out of the hallway. Enzo, he couldn’t breathe. He kept trying but he couldn’t and there was so much blood....” Owen trailed off and Enzo could hear the unmistakable sound of a sob in the background even as his own hands trembled and his eyes watered. 

“Is he…” he started, but he couldn’t make himself say the words. He couldn’t speak the awful possibility into existence. 

“He’s headed to surgery,” Owen replied. “I don’t know anything more than that, we only got here about 15 minutes ago. I just...I just hope it was fast enough.” 

There was silence then as the two men allowed the same fear to consume them from opposite ends of the country. Enzo felt a morbid camaraderie with the other man in that moment. In the 16 years they had known each other it was safe to say that they had never exactly gotten along. They had always been polite and cordial for the sake of Gwyn, TK, and family gatherings but they were too different in too many ways that mattered to ever truly be friends. They had only ever agreed on one thing, and now that was the thing that tied them together — loving TK.  

“You got him there as fast as you could Owen,” Enzo assured him without hesitation because there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it wasn’t true. “You did everything you could. Any chance he has is because of you.” 

“I think the credit lays more with the paramedics,” Owen objected, “but I appreciate the effort all the same.” 

Enzo opened his mouth again, not quite sure what he was going to say but feeling the overwhelming need to say something, but he was interrupted before he got the chance to figure it out. 

There was a noise on the other end followed by the sound of shuffling as Owen attended to whatever it was. When his voice returned, it was tight. 

“That’s Gwyn on the other line, I’ve gotta take it. But listen, Enzo…”

But Enzo just shook his head, “Don’t worry about it Owen, talk to her. Just, keep me updated?” 

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, “as soon as I know anything.” 

Then with another hurried goodbye, the call was over and Enzo was left in the dark and quiet bedroom, alone. It wasn’t long before the tears he had felt threatening began to fall in earnest as he wrapped his mind around this reality and allowed himself to dwell on it. There was a chance — a very real and terrifying chance — that they could lose TK. That Gwyn and Owen could lose the son they had brought into this world and loved for 26 years. That Enzo could lose one of the people he loved the most. The thought of TK not existing anymore was too horrible to dwell on. 

Enzo was a religious man. He had been raised by a small Jewish family in a large community and his faith had been something that he had always had. It had seen him through so much. But now, with this, he had to wonder. It didn’t make sense that TK — his wonderful, caring stepson who had dedicated his life to helping people — should have to suffer so much in such a short time on earth. It went against everything he had ever believed about putting good into the world. Why should TK — who had never done anything to hurt anyone — have to suffer so? Why should he? He didn’t want to know what life without TK looked like. 

More than anything, he hated that he might find out. 

When Gwyn called him a few minutes later he pushed his own tears aside. He murmured soft reassurances as she sobbed in a quiet corner of a Beijing office building, consumed with fear and grief a world away from her child who was slipping further and further from them with every passing moment. He gave her empty platitudes, reassured her the best he could. 

But all the while the fear was drilling a hole straight through his chest. This, he decided, was the worst fear he had ever felt. 

The worst part was there was nothing he could do but wait, and hope desperately for the best. 

----------------

The next several days were some of the longest of Enzo’s life. Each day he woke up and went about the day. Each day he kept his phone volume on, not wanting to miss any news either way. Each day an update came from Owen and each day it was the same: no change. 

He debated going out to Austin — he had been halfway through buying a ticket online half a dozen times — but each time he stopped himself. Logically he knew that being there wouldn’t change anything. He would still be waiting, he’d just be waiting there. He told himself he was needed here, that he couldn’t just pick up and go across the country with no warning. It was the end of the semester and he had students to help to finish the course or their dissertation. He told himself staying was the responsible option, but he knew that it was largely just a distraction. But he would take any distraction he could get and so he pushed the guilt of not being there to the side

He taught his classes, he went through the motions. He fielded calls from Gwyn, still stuck in China and frantic with worry. Each day he reassured her; reminded her that TK was strong, young, and healthy. Above all that, he reminded her, he was stubborn. No bullet or coma was going to take him from them before he was ready. 

Of course there was the private fear, the one he didn’t want to share, that he didn’t want to hang on anyone else. The one he was afraid to say out loud. 

It was the thought that maybe, after everything, that was exactly what he did want. That maybe this was an out and that maybe, he would take it. That maybe he didn’t want to be alive anymore. 

But that was a possibility too horrible to accept. Maybe it was selfish, but Enzo knew that even if that was the case, he wasn’t ready. He doubted he ever would be, but he certainly wasn’t now. He knew both Gwyn and Owen would agree. No time was a good time to lose your child — step or otherwise — but now, after this — after everything — was not the time. 

So he waited, and hoped. 

Time seemed to blend together and before he knew it one day had become two, which had stretched into four. Each moment passed the same way — tensely, with no news. 

He knew he had been distracted too — keeping his ringer on during class and checking in throughout his lectures and office hours. He had apologized to his classes after the second telemarketer had caused him to drop everything and lunge for his phone, citing a family emergency and word had slowly gotten around. Soon it wasn’t just him hoping for the best, but most of the Columbia history department as well. Their well wishes were touching, but nothing short of good news was going to make him feel any better. 

So when his phone did finally ring on a Thursday afternoon, 5 days after the fateful call, he picked it up with trepidation. The name on the screen sent his heart racing and he nearly dropped his phone in his haste to answer it. 

“Owen?” he asked tersely, “Any updates?”   

Because since that night they hadn’t spoken. All updates had come in the form of texts and the thought of Owen finally having something to tell him one way or the other simultaneously thrilled him and nearly froze him with fear. 

But it wasn’t Owen’s voice that answered. 

“Hey Enzo,” TK said, the sound of his voice rushing through Enzo’s body like a current of electricity. He sank back into his seat with a wobbly laugh, feeling nearly a week's worth of tension fall away as he listened to the miraculous sound of TK breathing on the other end of the phone. 

“Hey kid,” he said warmly. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. How are you feeling?” 

“Okay,” he answered, “I really don’t feel too bad at all. A little sore, a little tired, but overall not bad.” 

“I hear getting shot will do that to you,” Enzo retorted drily before sighing and running a weary hand down his face. “You scared the shit out of me, TK,” he admitted. 

“Sorry,” TK replied softly, “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Enzo rushed to reassure him, “I know you didn’t ask for this to happen but...shit TK, I am not built for this. Do you think you could avoid getting shot in the future, for my sanity at the very least?” 

“I’ll try,” TK responded with a chuckle, “I don’t remember most of it but I don’t think it’s anything I want to revisit.”  

“No, I’d imagine not,” Enzo retorted wryly. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts and taking comfort from the presence of the other even if it was only over a phone call from half a country away. “So,” he finally said, leaning into normal conversation for the sake of normalcy, “is your dad driving you nuts yet?” 

“Yes,” TK responded emphatically, “he has been hovering non-stop, and he brought a date.” 

Enzo could hear indignant sputtering in the background and Owen muttering something about him not bringing a date, that his date had simply come to visit him to see how he was doing and, maybe because of all the fear and stress of the past week, Enzo could only laugh. 

“That sounds like your dad,” he retorted once he caught his breath, “and I wouldn’t count on that changing anytime soon.” 

“She seemed cool at least,” TK allowed, voice teasing, “I don’t know why he was trying to keep her a secret.”

“Excuse you,” Owen’s voice objected from the background, “I am not the one who had a hot cop sitting by my bedside. You don’t get to talk about keeping secrets.”

“Dad,” TK groaned and Enzo’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh, so the mystery man is a cop,” he teased, “and the plot thickens.” 

Now it was TK’s turn to splutter, “Nope, we are not doing this. That is more than enough from both of you,” he declared and Enzo could hear Owen chuckling at his son’s indignation from the background. It was a slice of normal that he had feared he’d never get again. To be sitting here hearing TK’s voice, teasing him about something so simple as the guy he had a crush on seemed like a miracle and Enzo was grateful for it.

Everything was normal again, at long last. 

----------------

Sometimes he thinks that turning on news alerts for Austin was the worst decision he had ever made. 

It seemed practical, at the time. An easy way to stay in the know, to have an idea of what kind of calls TK may have seen on any given day. But now he was frozen in the middle of the hallway after one of his classes staring at a notification about a solar storm that had blasted through Austin, leaving devastation in its wake; regretting every decision that led him to this point. 

He knew TK was still on medical leave. He knew that he should be home and resting after only being released from the hospital two days before. But he also knew his stepson and knew that whenever there was trouble, TK was usually not too far behind. 

It was with that thought in his mind that he stepped out out the middle of the hallway and leaned against the wall as he waited anxiously for the call to connect. The sound of a pleasant robotic voice informing him that his call could not be completed filled him with dread, but he forced himself to take a breath. It didn’t mean anything. The grid was likely overloaded right now; Enzo couldn’t say he knew for sure what kind of damage a solar storm could do but he was willing to guess that it wasn’t great for the electronic infrastructure. 

Left with no other options he went on about his day, the familiar anxiety he had only recently shed slipping back over him like a worn winter coat. He tried calling a few more times, trying to ignore how the dread in his gut grew each and every time the call didn’t go through. He resisted the urge to ask one of his science colleagues to explain the specifics of a solar storm; reasoning that dealing with his own uncertainty would be far kinder than having confirmed facts. At least this way, he decided, he could tell himself he was overreacting. 

It was far too many hours before his phone rang; an unfamiliar number appearing on his lock screen. He frowned at it but swiped to answer. He did list his cell number on all of his course syllabi, but for the most part his students stuck to his campus email, or — in desperate times — text. 

“Dr. Cohen,” he answered, mentally placing bets as to whether it was actually a student or a robot trying to inform him about the extended warranty of the car he didn’t own.

To his immense relief, it was neither. Instead, a familiar voice answered, sending a rush of relief through him at the sound, “Hey, Enzo, it’s me.” 

“TK,” he breathed, setting down the paper he had been reading and closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “Are you okay?” 

“More or less,” he answered sheepishly and Enzo was about to push for more than that when he caught the distinct sound of a hospital intercom in the background. 

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, are you in the hospital again?” he demanded and he heard a weary sigh from the other end before a quiet “yeah” was muttered. 

“It’s not a big deal though,” TK rushed to explain, “I’m fine. I just pulled my stitches.” 

There was another voice in the background that Enzo didn’t recognize and could barely hear, but what he could hear made it clear that the other voice was not impressed either. 

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” TK demanded, and Enzo was not entirely sure who he was speaking to, “Let her drown in a burning bus?” 

“You just got out of the hospital!” Enzo objected when he could form words again, “What were you doing somewhere where there was a burning bus?!” 

“We just went out for boba,” TK retorted, “I didn’t expect there to be a solar storm that caused a bus accident.” 

And Enzo forced himself to take a deep breath because that was fair, he supposed. There was no way anyone could control anything like that. Still…

“The next time you move we’re going to need to do some research,” he declared. “Because if it is anywhere as chaotic as Austin, I’m going to have to object.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” TK assured him, “I think I’ll be in Austin for a while.” 

There was a smile in his voice and Enzo somehow had the feeling he was intruding on something, even though TK had been the one to call him. 

“What number are you calling me from?” he asked, testing his theory. 

“I borrowed Carlos’s phone,” TK answered in a voice that said he knew what was coming and he hoped it would at least be quick. 

“Oh,” Enzo replied, “and Carlos wouldn’t happen to be the name of a certain ‘hot cop’ your father mentioned, aka the mystery man I have been trying to get you to tell me about for months?”

“Yes.”

“And when you say ‘we’ were trying to get boba…” 

“Enzo…”  

“And he wouldn’t happen to be with you right now, would he?” 

“Are you done?” TK demanded, and Enzo only laughed. 

“Not nearly, kid; I’m just getting started.” 

And despite TK’s muttering, Enzo could tell that he sounded happier than he had heard him sound in ages. He marveled at the fact that somehow, despite everything, TK had managed to find the happiness and peace he had hoped for him ever since he left New York all those months ago. Between the disasters he had managed to take his broken pieces and fit them back together, maybe even stronger than they had been before. 

It was all he had ever wanted for him, and he was relieved beyond belief that he had found it. 

“You know, this means I’m going to have to come down there soon,” he said instead, “I’ve got to meet this mystery man for myself.” 

He could practically hear TK rolling his eyes, but his voice was impossibly warm when he assured him, “You’ll like him, Enzo.” 

“Do you like him?” he asked.

“Yeah,” TK responded without a moment’s hesitation, “I do.” 

“Then I already do,” he assured him. 

If this Carlos had anything to do with the happiness he could finally hear returned to his stepson’s voice, he couldn’t do anything but. 

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #my writing #tk strand #enzo #userkimmy #userjilly #userac #userbones #reyesstrand #reyeslonestartag #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #buckybarnesalways #laelipoo #I know for sure I usually tag more people but it's been so long I can't remember

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

It's Delicate: PART I

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Content Warnings: Mention of NA meeting, some case talk, mild language

Author's Note: This is my first chapter fic! I've only written one shots before, so bear with me. I truly do appreciate all reblogs, likes, and comments. Thank you!!

It's Delicate

Spencer doesn’t really care for gas station coffee, but at 2:00 am it’s the only thing that’s open. He pulls into the parking spot and turns off his Volvo. The check engine light is on, he needs to get into a mechanic, but between his NA meetings and work, it’s difficult to even catch his breath.

So that’s what Spencer does. In the middle of the gas station parking lot at 2:00 am, Spencer sits in his blue Volvo and breathes. He takes deep breaths, the ones that he uses when he has to calm down victims when they’re rescued. It’s grounding, breathing like this he thinks. It’s the kind of breath that Spencer takes when his head is fuzzy from sleeplessness and the only thing that can keep his eyes from drooping is a steady stream of coffee.

He unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of his car. Shutting the door, Spencer surveys the rest of the parking lot. He sees a couple other cars in the lot, he supposes it’s the gas station attendants, but he feels his shoulders tense at the thought of trouble. The bell attached to the door rings as Spencer opens the door. It's a small convenience store, one that Spencer has been frequently at odd hours after the BAU’s jet lands. He’s grown to know the owner, Jeff, who for the past 4 years hasn’t been around all too often.

“I’ll take a regular coffee,” Spencer asks the young man behind the counter. He doesn’t say anything in return, but nods his head in understanding as Spencer hands him a $5 bill and tells him to keep the change.

“Night,” Spencer tells the man, who he’s never seen before, when he hands him his coffee. Again, the young man doesn’t answer. Spencer tries to salvage the awkward encounter by chalking up the man’s coldness by it being so late.

As Spencer pushes against the door with the sleeve covered part of his arm, a poster that’s eye level catches his eye. It’s one of those posters where you can rip off the phone number and contact the person. But instead of a 20-something looking for a roommate, it’s a book club advertisement.

Spencer, quickly for a normal person, but slowly for himself, reads over the sign. The book club is hosted at the local bookstore, Hooked on Books, that Spencer has always meant to check out. From what he can gather, the list of numbers are from people looking for what the poster refers to as “book buddies”. Spencer’s eyes scan the list. There aren't any names attached to the numbers, Spencer supposes that the idea behind that is so bias won’t come into play.

It almost seems like the perfect trap: rip off one of these little pieces of paper with a phone number and call that person with the intention of being their book buddy. It’s something that Spencer knows deep in his bones he’s meant to avoid. But it’s like there’s an invisible string pulling at him to rip the third piece of paper from the group and stuff it carefully into the safety of his wallet.

--

It’s been five days since Spencer visited the cold man at the gas station and took the number from the poster. In those five days, Spencer slept for two and was back on plane to the middle of Montana for the next three.

After a long day in the sun, Spencer relishes in the cold water from the hotel shower. Even though he had to crouch slightly, Spencer still appreciated the way the chilly water seems to wash him anew. He never sleeps well when the team is on a case, it’s like his mind can’t rest. Well, his mind can never really rest, since it’s technically always growing and changing, especially during sleep.

Spencer’s thoughts travel from his messed up circadian rhythm to the piece of paper that burns a hole in his wallet. He steps out of the shower and dresses in his pajamas. It’s cold in the hotel run, as JJ likes to sleep in the coldest temperature humanly possible. Spencer knows that she finds the weight of blankets comforting. He makes a mental note to put some of his pillows on JJ’s bed, so she can pretend it’s her boys and Will in the bed with her. Spencer can’t help but wonder what’s like to have a child or a partner that misses you. It must be so bittersweet: the promise of coming home, but the threat of having to leave them all behind at moments notice.

Letting his hair air dry, Spencer unlocks the door and enters his and JJ’s hotel room. Out of the whole team, Spencer likes sharing with JJ the best. She’s the most organized and usually, they’ll spend the night on FaceTime with the boys and Will watching a movie, depending on the time.

“You’re all good, JJ. Thanks for letting me get in first,” Spencer says, flopping down on his bed. He shuts off his light, essentially telling JJ that he doesn’t want to talk about the case, or Henry, or anything really.

“Good night, Spence,” JJ says, before shutting off the rest of the lights and heading into the bathroom.

For a couple of minutes, Spencer lays in the all consuming dark. He tries the breathing exercise that’s scientifically proven to make you fall asleep. He counts, one, two, three, four breaths in and holds for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven and let's go for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He tries it for a couple of rounds, but suspects thinking about numbers makes him think about the phone number. Spencer can’t exactly pinpoint why he’s nervous to reach out to the number. Maybe it’s his constant fear of judgement or fear of not being enough, he can’t tell.

Knowing that sleep is probably not coming anytime soon, Spencer rolls on his side so he faces the window overlooking the hotel parking lot. He can’t stop thinking about the case. The way the victim’s mother and father walk around the precinct with a lifeless look in their eyes, staying villgiant no matter how many times JJ tells them to go home and rest.

Spencer doesn’t want to think about the case, so his mind flits to another subject: Hooked on Books Book Buddies. He can’t really pinpoint why he didn’t reach out to his book buddy. But laying there in the bed, Spencer feels strongly compelled to do anything to get his mind off the case, so he climbs out of bed to reach for his phone.

It’s tucked away neatly in his go bag, unlike JJ, Spencer doesn’t have anyone that’s waiting for him at home. Sure he has his mother, but if she needed him, the home would wait until 8 am to call Spencer. He unlocks it and the blue light illuminates the room. Somehow, Garcia had convinced him to get an updated phone. Spencer hardly uses it, but does appreciate being able to get pictures of JJ’s boys and his mother.

He memorized the number in the ten seconds or so it took him to rip the little slip of paper from the poster and put it away in his wallet. Spencer punches the numbers into a new contact, but hesitates when he’s prompted to give a name. He doesn’t know the first thing about this person. Seriously, this is like FBI 101 on the do not listen, he thinks.

Spencer pushes the thoughts of serial killers, for what feels like the first time in ten years, from his mind when he hits the button to message his mysterious book buddy. He types out a message a couple of times, but ends up deleting them because he sounds so incredibly stupid.

Spencer: Hello. I do apologize for my late message. I work odd hours, but I came across your number at the gas station on the corner of Richmond Street and Connor Avenue in Woodbridge. If you are interested, perhaps we can have a conversation about Hooked on Books’ Book Club?

Spencer, realizing that the message he wrote is going to be as good as it gets, hits the little arrow for “send”. He watches as his message turns blue and the little gray delivered pops up. He doesn’t expect the person to send a message back yet. He’s all the way in Montana and they’re in Woodbridge, Virginia, presumably. If it’s 2:30 am in Montana, it’s 4:30 back at home. That’s a little too late for someone with a normal 9 to 5 to be up for work and a little too late for a person that’s joining a book club to haven’t gone to sleep yet.

Don’t profile them, Spencer.

“What’s got you glued to the phone, Reid?” JJ says, with a smirk as she walks out from the bathroom and climbs into her bed. She came in so quietly, or rather, Spencer was staring so intensely at his phone that he didn’t realize.

“Something with my mother, JJ,” he lies, and he doesn’t even know what he can’t tell her the truth.

“Okay, Spence. I just want to make sure you’re all good,” JJ says quietly, her back must be facing Spencer because her voice is muffled a little bit.

“Thanks, JJ, uh good night, now,” Spencer says, effectively ending the conversation.

JJ doesn’t say anything after that, perhaps she just understands that Spencer doesn’t want to talk. Spencer rests flat on his back and tries a couple more rounds of the breathing exercise, but nothing seems to make his brain shut off. Despite the way his eyelids droop and the way it’s almost painful to continue to think, Spencer can’t seem to fall asleep.

He thinks about his Book Buddy, whoever they might be. Spencer hopes that they are around his age. He can’t remember a time that he had a friend his age that wasn’t through work. He has people. JJ is the closest thing to a sister that he’ll ever get and he knows that Derek loves him like a brother, despite his teasing. Emily and Penelope are Spencer’s rock. And then there’s Tara, Matt, and Luke, though Spencer has really gotten a chance to know them all too well, he knows that they’re a team.

But Spencer has always dreamt of having a friend. As a little kid, he used to make up imaginary friends that would listen to his science facts and perform chemistry experiments from him. When he got to high school, his dreams were occupied by someone who’d reach for his hand after he’d been beaten down or strung to a football post. Sure he had Ethan, but that was something charged and electric that left Spencer longing for someone again.

Spencer hadn’t had dreams about a friend in a long time, but tonight he dreamt of coffee and books in a small café and a faceless stranger that would listen to him and laugh with him.

--

Even though he fell asleep relatively shortly after thinking about his Book Buddy, Spencer did not feel well rested. He turns around in his bed and notices that JJ’s bed is already neatly made. The bathroom is empty, so Spencer reckons that JJ and Emily must already be at the police station.

He wants to savor the last couple of minutes in bed, maybe chase a dream or two of strangers swapping books and making memories over expensive coffee and scones. But reality calls him back home. Spencer checks his phones for work updates (and maybe a message or two from his Book Buddy), but the only notifications on his phone is a Forbes article and a couple emails from Georgetown.

Spencer, heading to the bathroom, gets interrupted by a loud and persistent knock on his hotel room door. He opens the door, revealing an equally tired looking Luke. He waves Spencer good morning before slumping down in the desk chair in the corner of the hotel room.

“I’ve been sent by JJ to get you, she thinks you’re acting weird,” Luke says, expecting Spencer to explain himself.

Awkwardly, Spencer makes something in between a grimace and a frown. He rolls his eyes, but plays along with what he thinks Luke’s little game.

“Well I’m always weird, it would be weird if I wasn’t being weird,” Spencer says, heading into the bathroom with a pile of work clothes. He shuts the door, both literally on Luke and metaphorically on their conversation.

In the bathroom, Spencer dresses out of his pajamas and into a pair of well worn pants and a light purple button up. He forgot his contacts at his apartment, but luckily had a back up pair of glasses in his go bag. Spencer, looking in the mirror, never particularly carried for the reflection that looks back at him. It always seems like his hair is too messy, or his collar is all twisted, or his eyebags are too prominent.

At least the glasses can kind of cover up his eye bags, Spencer thinks as he shuts off the light and closes the bathroom door behind him. Luke, who still is slouched in the chair, looks at his phone.

“Waiting for Penelope to send you a picture of Sergio or something?” Spencer asks, the snark in his voice isn’t missed by Luke.

“You’re one to talk, JJ was telling me how you’re being kind of secretive for the last couple of weeks,” Luke counters.

“Yeah, that’s my work mandated therapist, Luke. You know from the time I was in jail,” Spencer shoots back a little harder than he intended. The look that Luke gives him is something akin to a hurt puppy and Spencer can’t help but feel a little bad for snapping at Luke’s teasing.

“Sorry, man,” Luke says, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “I get it, and you know I’m here for you, Reid. We might not be as close as you and Penny or you and JJ, but I’m here to listen to you,” Luke says, his hand on Spencer, who’s usually so hesitant to touch, is something Spencer never thought he would find comforting.

“Thank you,” is all Spencer can manage and somehow, Luke just gets it. They walk quietly to the parking lot where the SUVs are. The silence continues as they drive to the police station.

It’s still early, only 7:13 am. Spencer can only hope that they catch the unsub in the next couple of hours, so they can file the paperwork and be on their way to Quantico by 8:00 pm. Luke’s steady driving threatens to lull Spencer to sleep. His quiet presence, however, is interrupted with a buzz. Luke’s eyes dart to his phone that navigates them to the police station. He refuses to take direction from Spencer, who has a habit of being a terrible co-pilot.

“Check that for me,” Luke says, “it’s probably Penelope,”

Spencer raises his eyebrows and attempts to suppress a smirk at Luke’s blatant transparency.

“You know with updates about the case and whatnot,” Luke says, brushing Spencer’s teasing off and putting his attention back to the road.

“It’s not Garcia and for what it’s worth, Luke, I don’t see how she’d say no,” Spencer offers, genuinely wanting to see his two friends, who are so perfect for each other it’s almost ridiculous, get together.

Luke shuffles in his seat uncomfortably and pulls into the station. He shoots Spencer a lot, as if to say drop it. The last thing Luke wants is Tara and Matt to get wind of his excitement at Penelope texting him.

Spencer, who’s phone lights up alerting him that he has an unread message, feels a sudden surge in his heart. He’s so used to only getting messages from JJ about the cases or pictures of her boys, that a text not related to his work or his family leaves a smile to his face.

Spencer tries to not profile the message, but to just read it like a normal friend would.

Book Buddy (Y/N): Hey there😊! I can’t believe someone actually grabbed my number...I’m glad you’re interested in this. I’m Y/N and I don’t think you mentioned your name, I don’t make it a habit to meet up with strangers before not knowing their name.

Reading the message twice to make sure he can recite without any hesitation, Spencer’s face falls as he realizes that he forgot to tell them his own name. How could you be so clueless, Spencer, he thinks.

Quickly, because he knows that the rest of the team is waiting inside the police station, that is like a portal to the past, Spencer types out another message.

Spencer: My name is Spencer.

Spencer: I tend to be away for work quite often, so I do apologize for the late message. And for hiding my identity-- not that that was on purpose. Is it okay if we plan something when I get back to Virginia?

Spencer doesn’t expect a message right away, but he can tell that there’s going to be something Pavlovian about the way that little swoosh sound makes his fingers reach for his phone.

--

Thank You!! I love and appreciate all and every comments, likes, and reblogs. I love knowing what you think!!

--Taglist--

@shemarmooresfedora

@april-14-blog

@willowrose99

@calm-and-doctor

@spideygenius

@nomajdetective

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds reader #spencer reid x yn

[iwantblacktea]

Run away

“Run away” Wilbur/Ghostbur x gn!reader

Summary: You tried running away from it all but what happens when the very thing you ran away from greeted you with a smile?

Warnings: Grief, mentions of war, character death, and ptsd (?)

Notes: Honestly, I wrote this at like 2am because I couldn’t sleep. The ending is pretty hanging tbh but that’s just the consequences of my bad sleep schedule. I’m not sure if I should make a part 2 bc I just wrote this bc I was bored.

You sat on the front porch of your house. The cold breeze of midnight kept you company. The air was crisp and quiet, not much to be heard, save for the howling wind through the lonely night. 

You were alone, it was just you and the stars.

There was a gentle breeze that brought tears to your eyes.

You missed your family and friends.

You wondered how everyone was doing back at home. You were certain that they were all well. At least that’s what you hoped. Back in rebuilt L’Manberg where everyone stayed, except you. Instead of rebuilding your home, you ran away and left them to do the work. They rebuilt the hole in the ground after Wil- no, you couldn’t bring yourself to say his name, not after everything.

You weren’t at all lonely though, Philza would check up on you once and a while but your interactions would remain brief. Other than Philza no one has had the time to stop by.

You didn’t mind. You understand that they have probably been busy with rebuilding L’Manberg from the ashes.

L’Manberg. Such a bittersweet memory.

Your mind drifted, in between the tears that were streaming down your face. You remember the times of revolution, the good and bad memories. When all of you were just innocent youths, fighting for what they thought was right. But no matter how good it was, life always had a different kind of twist for you.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you saw a familiar sight. “Tommy?” He was scavenging for what seemed like sticks and wood. You don’t think he has noticed your presence.

Tommy? What was he doing this late in the evening? Wait- what was he doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be back home in L’Manberg?

“Tommy?” you asked, trying not to show much distress.

He didn’t answer. His eyes seemed vacant. 

You stood up from your porch and made your way to the lad.

“Tommy!” you called.

He stopped and turned his head towards you. But it was not the Tommy you once knew. He rubbed his eyes, not believing you were there. The boy looked rugged and tired. It was clear that the world hasn’t been kind to him.

“I thought I would just find a piece of wood to build a fire,” he said in a low voice, the same as his eyes. You have never seen a person like him. He looked weary, different from the chipper and energetic boy who sang for the flowers in the meadows.

You are not an emotional person. But when you saw the lad; it took all your composure to stay calm. “Tommy, you should be back home in L’Manberg.”

“I can’t go back.”

“Why not? Your friends are there. Tubbo’s in L’Manberg isn’t he?” You don’t see how Tommy silently cringed at your words. You didn’t notice his unease when you talked about L’Manberg.

“I can’t go back for now.”

“You can’t just abandon them,” you said. You can’t let Tommy, or any child like him, out of your sight. You have always made a habit of doing that. Tommy was too young for going through whatever this is. You’ve never regretted leaving L’Manberg but you did regret leaving Tommy unsupervised. You’ve always looked at him as a little brother and would always regret that you aren’t there for him like in the old days.

“It’s a long story Y/N,” He tried to smile but you knew better. “Besides, I have to go back to Logstedshire soon.”

You raised your brow. Where is Logstedshire? You’ve never heard of a place. All you knew was Logstedshire isn’t L’Manberg and Tommy wasn’t coming home.

“You should just stay in my cottage for the night.” You put your hand on his shoulder. “Wait till the sunrise so mobs won’t attack you.”

Tommy picked up all the sticks he had gathered. “I have to go back tonight. Someone is waiting for me.”

You are curious as to who was waiting for Tommy, but that would be a question for another time. All you were focused on was keeping him safe. Something you have failed to do in the past. “Let me come with you then. I’ll escort you there.”

“You don’t need to do that Y/N,” He waved off your suggestion. “Anyway, You probably have better things to do.”

There was something Tommy wasn’t telling you. It was clear as day. Tommy was never a good liar. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter for now. You just wanted to make sure he was safe.

You shook your head. You didn’t want him to go back alone. “I have to keep you safe. Plus it’s been so long, we need to catch up,” You said simply.

The walk was quiet. Tommy seemed lost in thought. While walking you noticed how he would play with the hem of his shirt. You wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, but you didn’t want to pry.

You could see a wall of logs coming into your sight. Was this Logstedshire? "Tommy is this Logsted-”

"-You know you don't have to go with me all the way," he spoke all of the sudden. 

Tommy was hiding something from you. It's obvious. "I know." You spoke casually. “But it's no problem if I accompany you.”

You could see the wall coming closer and closer. You decided to continue your way. Probably one of the biggest mistakes you’d ever make.

You wished you hadn't continued walking, then maybe you wouldn't have to relive moments that are meant to be forgotten. Maybe you’d be back in your cottage drinking a cup of tea, maybe you still would have a peaceful life.

"Tommy! you're back!"

That voice. No, it couldn't be.

You stopped in your tracks. The world swayed under your feet. This. This was a mistake, right?

He was dead, you swore he was. You saw him die in front of you that day. You saw how his body fell lifeless to the ground. You could remember how your voice echoed a scream throughout the battlefield. And that day he was gone, along with the country he built. The country he gave his life to protect. A country that was no longer there, never to return.

So why was he standing there? Why was that horrible man standing in front of you?

He looked almost alive and well, despite his eyes being cold and lifeless.

The man in front of you widened his eyes, “Y/N!” He smiled, “Is that you? It’s been so long, I was wondering when I'd get to see you again.”

"Wilbur..." A name you'd never think of saying again.

"No... You're supposed to be dead." You felt out of breath as if walls were closing in on you. You knew this feeling, oh too well. You've felt this when you witnessed the country you once fought for blazed in amber.

You felt sick. The last thing you saw before the darkness consumed you completely was Wilbur's wide-eyed, innocent face. And the sound of the worried cries of Tommy.

#i'm shit and i dont have the motivation to finish #tommy exile arc :(( #missing ghostbur hours #dreamsmp x reader #wilbur x reader #ghostbur x reader #wilbur x you #ghostbur x you #iwantblacktea #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Common Courtesy, Chapter Eighteen

Word Count:  5378

TW:  Smut (Oral, m! receiving).  18+ only.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

With Johnny D dead and the missing women case taken over by the FBI, you found yourself back on a regular schedule.  When you looked across the bullpen at Nick’s empty desk, you felt a bittersweet sadness.  You missed your partner terribly – you had to get your own coffee every morning now – but you knew he was already happy in California.  He was rehabbing his knee and had a few leads on police work out there.  And he was seeing Zara every other day.  You suspected that he might be reconciling with his ex-wife, Maria, as well.  You hoped he did.  He deserved to be happy.

You and Fin were paired up again.  You appreciated his level-headedness, and the two of you cleared a few open cases on Hudson U students who had been sexually assaulted by a teaching assistant off-campus.  Barba pled them out, but they ended up on the sex offender list.  It was the best he could do with such little evidence.

Your coworkers teased you mercilessly for the first month after Noah’s adoption party.  Whenever Liv needed someone to go to 1 Hogan Place, every pair of eyes swung to you, smirking.  Whenever Barba strolled into the precinct, Amanda and Carisi would whistle and clap until your face was crimson and you fled to the breakroom.  But they eventually eased off, and you and Barba were able to work together with minimal embarrassment.  

You and Amanda took a long lunch one afternoon, and the blonde detective told you that she was pregnant.  She saw the look on your face and cut you off before you could even ask the question.  “It’s not Nick’s,” she said, looking defensive.

“It’s not my business,” you countered, then took a bite of your pickle spear.  “But he does make cute kids.”  You smiled at her, and she returned your grin.  You wiped your hands off on your napkin, then chucked her gently on her upper arm.  “If you need anything, let me know.  I don’t know much about babies, but between me and Frannie, we could figure it out.”  You had an affection for Amanda’s dog, usually spending more time with her than Amanda when you went over to drink wine and complain about work.

She grinned wider, her eyes blinking away the tears that sprung up.  “I appreciate it.”  She laughed.  “Maybe you and Barba could babysit sometime.”

You threw your head back, laughing at the image of the ADA, in one of his expensive three-piece suits, handling a fussy infant that was spitting up on him.  “Can you imagine?”

“He’d give the baby some snarky comment if it cried…”

“…and then make that grumpy face at it…”

“…and then walk away, doing that runway strut he has.”  

The two of you laughed together until you were both crying from merriment.  You both daubed at your eyes, calming yourselves measure by measure.  Once you were composed, Amanda leaned back in her seat and looked at you.  “I really do appreciate it,” she said, seriously.  “My momma said she was going to come up to help, but you know how she is….”

You shook your head.  “We have to look out for each other, Rollins.  Especially with a new dude in the precinct.”

She groaned.  “Mini-Dodds.”

Liv’s request for a new sergeant had been approved, and it was Deputy Chief Dodd’s son, Mike.  It had been a little rocky at first – the seasoned SVU people circled Mike warily, assuming that he was there to spy for his father.  But he was a smart detective, with connections that came in handy, and he was settling in.  Even Carisi was warming up to him.  At first, the Staten Island detective had been excited to no longer be the newest detective…until Fin reminded him that Mike would outrank him anyway.  Carisi had spent a day sulking, until Amanda distracted him by claiming that dry extruded pasta in a box was the best.  And then you had chimed in, saying how much you loved sauce from a jar.  Even Fin had played along, proclaiming that cannoli sucked.  Carisi went on a full-blown rant about homemade Italian food and basically forgot that he was still the errand boy and deliverer of bad news.

“At least we’re fully staffed again,” you said as you paid your check.  “It’ll be nice to get home at a reasonable hour once in a while.  And get a weekend off.”

Amanda smiled and stand to put on her coat.  “A weekend with Barba,” she joked.  “What’s that like?  You iron his pocket squares while he admires himself in the mirror?”

“Something like that,” you agreed.  “He writes me love sonnets on his yellow legal pad.  A lot of Latin terms and references to prior case law.”

The two of you left the restaurant and made your way back to the precinct.  “If he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you,” Amanda said.  You smiled.

He did make you happy, and he had been amazing the past few months.  Between your cases and Nick’s recovery, you’d barely seen him, but he had been patient and understanding.  You thought he might be jealous of your care-taking of your former partner, but he hadn’t been.  Or at least, he hadn’t shown it.

You thought you might ask Liv for a half day on Friday.  You owed Barba some attention too.

*****

Barba decided to leave work early on Friday.  He had sent you a text to see if you knew when – or if – you’d be home, but you didn’t have an ETA yet.  “Paperwork,” you had texted.  He had sighed when he read it.  It had been a rough day for him – he had gotten a few hang-ups on his phone, and a threatening call.  Not that he was going to tell you about it.  He’d been getting threats since he got pulled into the police shooting of an unarmed man months ago.  You hadn’t been on that case anyway, and he didn’t want to worry you without cause.

When he unlocked the door to his apartment, he was surprised to see the lights on and music playing over the surround sound.  There was a fire going in the gas fireplace.  And delicious smells wafting from the kitchen.

You popped your head out to smile at him.  “Hey,” you said, your face lit up to see him.  You wiped your hands on a dishtowel, then tossed it on the counter to come greet him.  You kissed him firmly, then wrapped your arms around his neck.  “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

He chuckled against your neck, nestling into the space between your jaw and shoulder.  “I saw you this morning,” he said, his voice muffled against you.  “You had some choice words for the alarm, if I recall.”  He heard you laugh, and he held you tighter.  He drew his nose along your skin, taking in your scent.  You’d been home long enough to shower, he judged.  He pulled away and glanced around the apartment.  And you’d been home long enough to straighten up and start dinner, apparently.

“Finish your paperwork early?” he asked with a grin.  He made his way to the couch, shedding his coat and jacket along the way.  Then he followed you into the kitchen, where you checked on the food, simmering in various pots and pans on the stove.  You were barefoot, in your faded jeans and a soft grey sweater.  Your hair was still a little damp from your shower.

“I took a half day,” you told him, stirring one pot.  “I wanted to surprise you.”  You tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, then sat it down and turned to face him.  “It’s been chaos since the holidays and I wanted to spend some time together.  And thank you for everything.”

He scoffed.  “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” you insisted, shaking your head at him.  “You’ve been on the back burner….to the cases, to Nick.  I wanted to show you that even when things are chaotic, you’re the most important person to me.”

Barba felt a warmth spread through him, loosening the tightness he usually carried in his chest.  He had missed you the past few months:  happy to even have you at his side, but missing the joking and teasing and deep conversations.  He had felt you drifting apart, and while he knew it was work stress, he couldn’t help but feel the similarities with past relationships.  Here you were now, though.  Taking a half-day off.  Cooking for him.  Happy to see him, that glint firmly back in your eye.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said.  You answered him by rocking onto your bare toes and pressing another kiss to his mouth.  He looked down at you and smiled, cocking his head to one side.  There was something different about you tonight.

“I didn’t have to,” you agreed.  “I wanted to.”

He smiled at you, unable to speak for a moment.  He twined his fingers around a damp strand of your loose hair, then gave it a gentle tug.  “So what’s for dinner then?”

You spun around to face the stove.  “Nothing elaborate,” you said.  “I picked up a couple of steaks ready to go on.  Risotto as a side.”  You pointed to a strainer in the sink.  “And a nice mixed green salad.”  Your mouth quirked into a smile as you turned back to him.  “Gotta sneak some vegetables into you sometimes, counselor.”

He chuckled.  “Scotch doesn’t count?”

“No.”  You punched him in the arm.  “At best, it’s a grain.  At worst, it’s a solvent able to strip paint.”

He laughed again, his chest loosening a bit more at your teasing.  You shoved him playfully out of the kitchen.  “I’ll make you a drink,” you said.  “Then you sit on the couch and drink it while I finish dinner.”  

*****

Dinner turned out better than you hoped.  You loved to cook and bake but never had time – or anyone to cook for.  But Barba seemed to like it.  He tucked into everything with relish, even eating his salad without complaint.  And you had heaped his plate with the greens, practically burying his steak.

After dinner, you poured him another drink and a glass of white wine for yourself, then you both settled on the couch.  You didn’t turn on the TV.  Instead, you settled against him, his arm around your shoulders, sipping your drinks and talking about your days.  You told him about Amanda’s pregnancy, and how Mike Dodds was settling into the squad.  

You leaned against him as you talked, watching his hand as he held his cut-glass tumbler.  He had rolled up his sleeves, probably on purpose, since it was common knowledge that you loved his hands and arms.  He was also in one of your favorite suits, the dark grey.  His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and you loved the bit of belly that strained against his white button down shirt.  He had gained back the weight he’d lost at the end of the prior year.  You were lost in your own thoughts, enjoying the view, and you missed a question he asked you.

“What’s that?” you asked.  You sat up and looked at him.

“I said, you look different tonight,” he repeated.  He looked you up and down.  “There seems to be…more of you.”

You grinned at him, your cheeks growing warm.  “I may have kept certain portions of my undercover outfit,” you admitted, glancing down at your front.

He stared at you with mock-sternness.  “As an officer of the courts, I have to inform you that you’ve committed a serious crime.”  He shook his head, sadly.  “I’m going to have to call this in.”

You scoffed at him.  “At best, it’s theft as petit larceny.  This bra is not valued at more than a thousand dollars.  A class A misdemeanor.”

He sat his scotch down and took your wine glass from you.  He turned to face you, his green eyes dark.  “The district attorney’s office may be willing to cut a deal.”

You scoffed again.  “I’ll take my chances with a jury.  You put me on the stand, I’ll cry my eyes out and make you look like a bully.”  You poked him in the chest with your forefinger.  “They’ll find me innocent of all charges.”

“Oh, you’re hardly innocent,” he replied.  He shifted his arm from around your shoulders to snake around your waist, pulling you against him.  He scooped his other arm under your knees, shifting you until you were sitting across his lap.

You huffed in indignation, ignoring how wet he was making you with his low growls.  “If I’m not innocent, it’s only because you corrupted me.”  You tugged on his tie, loosening it.  “I used to be virtuous young woman, untainted by the touch of man…”  You trailed off as he laughed – really laughed.  You loved when you could make him forget all of the masks he wore, all of the walls he had up, and just laugh.  He looked like a completely different man when his face was relaxed.

“You love it when I touch you,” he said, running one hand up your leg until it was cupping your hip.  “Admit it.”

“It’s okay,” you agreed, sounding bored.  He laughed again, then pushed you off his lap onto the couch.  He stood over you as you stretched out onto the couch, and the look he shot you made your core throb with need.  He took off his waistcoat and laid down on top of you, his delicious weight pressing you into the couch cushions.  He hovered his mouth over yours, his lips ghosting over your own until you were squirming underneath him.  

Finally, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours, gentle.  You tilted your head, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and moaned as he prodded his tongue against your lips.  Instead of granting him access, though, you nipped at his lower lip, sucking on it gently.  You had other plans for tonight, after all, and if you let him lay you out with his scorching kisses, you’d forget what you had intended to do.

He groaned as you sucked on his lip, and when you released him, he pulled his head back to look at you.  “I want to be on top,” you whispered, and his pupils widened with lust.  He scrambled off of you with almost comic speed, allowing you to switch places with him.

You kissed him again, softly, then whispered in his ear.  “I want to take care of you tonight,” you told him.  He nodded, his breathing fast and shallow, and you started.

You braced yourself with one arm and reached the other down to cup his erection in your palm.  His hips canted up into your hand, and you tsk-ed at him softly.  

“All in good time, Rafael,” you purred in his ear, making him groan in frustration.  You smiled and kissed him down his throat, sucking and kissing and pressing your teeth against him.  You worked your way down to the collar of his shirt, then you unknotted his tie and tossed it aside.  You unbuttoned his white dress shirt, kissing along the collar of his undershirt, relishing the feel of his coarse chest hair against your lips.  The whole while, your hand stroked his length, allowing him to gently thrust into your palm.

You worked your way down, breathing hard into each kiss so that he could feel your breath through his undershirt.  When you reached his waistband, you untucked his shirts and pressed more wet, open-mouthed kisses to his belly.  He was panting above you.

You undid his belt buckle and the button and zipper on his pants.  It gave you enough access for your hand to slip underneath his boxer briefs and grasp his length, heavy in your palm.  You released him for a moment to help slide his pants and boxer briefs down a bit, and he lifted his hips to help you.  But when you went to lower your head onto him, he grasped your head, tangling his fingers in your hair and tugging you upwards.  You growled in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him.  He looked nervous, but you could tell that he was trying to hide it

“I just want to be inside you,” he stammered.

You kissed him.  “You would be inside me, if I went down on you.”  You watched the worry ripple across his face.  “Why don’t you want me to do that?  Don’t you like it?”

He was silent a moment, his hands grasping your head.  “I do like it,” he admitted with reluctance.  “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

You shook your head.  “I don’t feel that way at all.”

“But you’ve never done that before, have you?”

You shook your head again.  “No, but I don’t think it’s rocket science.”  You reached down and grasped his erection again, squeezing him gently until he groaned underneath you.  “I haven’t learned to unhinge my jaw, so it’ll never all fit, but I think I get the general theory of it.”

He smiled up at you.  “The general theory?”

“Sure,” you said, stroking him.  You watched the conflict on his face, stuck between pleasure and concern.  “You could always coach me along.  Kinda like how you coach me before testifying in court.  Just with more tongue.”

He was silent for a moment, trying to decide.  Finally, he replied, his voice distressingly small.  “It’s just that Yelina told me once - ”

You cut him off immediately.  “I am not Yelina.”  You released your grip on him so that you could lay both hands on either side of his face.  You forced him to look at you, and you gave him a stern look.  Then you stroked his face, cupping your hands around his jaw.  You kissed him and looked back into his eyes.

“I want to make you feel good,” you told him, your voice serious.  “I want to do something just for you, because you deserve it.”  Then you leaned in, dropping your voice to a whisper and making sure your breath was heavy against his ear.  “And I want to have my mouth around you, and taste you, counselor.”  He groaned at your words, and when you pulled back to look at him, he simply nodded.

You repositioned yourself to where you’d been before he had stopped you.  “Any final words?” you joked.  But he didn’t answer you, so you looked up and saw him with more conflict on his face.

“Do you…do you think you could take your sweater off?” he stuttered.  “I’d like to look down…”

You smirked at him and pulled your sweater over your head, putting your breasts – and the ridiculous bra you’d borrowed from Vice – on full display.  He reached up to touch them, but you slapped his hands away.

“Look now,” you told him.  “You can touch later.”

You went back to kissing him across his belly, enjoying the feel of him underneath you.  You liked a man with a bit of meat on him, and you felt yourself growing wetter by the minute as you worked your way downward.  You reached down and grasped his erection again, then wriggled a bit further down until you were nestled between Barba’s sprawled legs.  You glanced up at him and saw him watching you through eyes narrowed with lust.  

“What should I do now, counselor?” you purred, allowing your breath to tickle over him.  His chest heaved with a ragged breath.

“You could…kiss it,” he stammered.  “Or…or….”

You put him out of his misery by laying a kiss directly to the tip of his cock, cutting off his words as he moaned above you.  You kept your lips firmly pressed to him, then parted them slightly – just enough to slip the tip of your tongue out to lick his crown delicately.

He hissed, and you swirled your tongue around his tip, alternating between the flat side of your tongue and the tip.  Your hand held him firm at the base, dealing him steady, languid strokes.  You removed your hand for a moment, just for long enough to lick the underside of his cock, from the base to the tip.  He groaned again, louder, and reached down to place his hand on the back of your head, his fingers tangled lightly in your hair.

You replaced your hand, jacking him.  You licked your lips and placed your mouth over his cock until just the tip was in your mouth.  You worked your tongue against him, sucking on him, setting up a rhythm.  As you got used to the rhythm, you bobbed your head down further and further, until you had to stop.  There was no way you’d fit all of him into your mouth, but judging from the moans above you, that didn’t matter too much.

He tasted musky, a variation of whatever chemical composition in him that made him taste uniquely him.  You would have never thought that going down on a man could be a turn on, but you were practically dripping from how erotic it was.  You understood, finally, why Barba was so painfully hard after he went down on you.

You settled into a pattern:  bobbing your head for a bit, sucking on his length, then focusing on his crown, tonguing his sensitive tip with your tongue.  You broke away every so often to lick his entire length, then returned to your rhythm.  Barba’s hands were restless against your head, but he never pressed you down onto him.  He just stroked your hair, tugging it.  He groaned over you.

At one point, you looked up at him, your lips stretched around his cock, and made eye contact with him.  He hissed at you, and his eyes rolled back.

With your other hand, the one you were supporting yourself with on your forearm, you reached down to cup his balls, gently squeezing him while you pushed your head down a fraction more on his cock.

“Fuck,” he moaned above you, drawing out the word as he writhed underneath you.  His hand tugged at you, and you pulled away with a pop.

“I’m so close,” he warned you.

“Good,” you replied.  You wrapped your lips around him again, making sure to look him in the eye while you did.  You moaned against him, sending vibrations through him as your tongue worked against him.

“Oh god,” he groaned.  His hand spasmed against your head, and you felt his balls tighten in your hand.  You sucked him harder, and he came, shouting your name.  His hips stuttered underneath you, and you clamped your lips tight against him so that you could swallow all of what he gave you.  When he was done, you removed yourself with a pop, then worked your way up to where Rafael was recovering.

“My god,” he panted.  “That was amazing.”

“Mmm,” you agreed, kissing him gently on the mouth as his breathing steadied and slowed.  “Maybe I should take more half-days?”

He grinned at you, drowsy.  “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he said.  He laid his hand along the side of your face, and you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes.  After a moment, you shifted again until you were half-burrowed between him and the back of the couch.  You placed your head on his chest, listening to his even breathing and steady heartbeat as he nodded off.

*****

You were sitting in Barba’s office about a month later with the rest of the squad, going over the case status of a woman assaulted in the courtyard of her apartment complex.  Barba was focused on all the witnesses who saw the assault happen but didn’t call the police.  It disgusted him – and the detectives too.  He looked around the room and saw everyone’s faces wrinkled in loathing as they discussed each person who looked the other way.  It depressed Barba.  If people had the ability to help protect each other, they damned well should.  Especially if all it entailed was placing a call from the safety of their own apartment.

He heard your phone chime.  You stood up, apologizing to the team, then stepped out into the hallway to take the call.  He tried to focus on the file in front of him, but he heard you through the cracked door.  First you said, “what?” and then “oh my god.”  And then you were silent for a good, long while.  He could just make out your silhouette through the frosted privacy glass.  When you finally stepped back into the office, you had a look on your face that he’d never seen before.  Half-stunned, half-ecstatic.

“Everything okay?” Liv asked.

“Yeah,” you replied.  You looked down at your phone, then looked up at everyone in the room.  “They caught the trucker.  From the missing women cases.”

“That’s great!” Amanda said.  She stood up to give you a hug, and everyone murmured their congratulations.

“How’d they get him?” asked Liv.

You gave them the details that the lead agent had given you over the phone:  a sex worker at a truck stop outside of Salt Lake City had been approached by a man.  She was small and brunette, he was tall and broad.  Just like the description.  She had gone willingly enough to his truck, but then he turned violent.  He didn’t count on her being so scrappy – apparently she had fought back ferociously and had swiped her nails alongside his neck.  

She got away, and she went straight to the police.  Who swabbed her nails and got a DNA sample.  Which matched to a sample collected in Kansas to a man arrested for simple assault three years back.  Which belonged to a Mark Davis, forty-years old and a lifelong long-haul trucker with a route from one end of the country to another.

“Turns out, he’s talking,” you told everyone.  “A lot.  He’s been bragging about all the women he’s killed, and he’s got dates and locations.  There could be a hundred or more.  We’re talking twenty years on the road…”

Fin smiled at you.  “And it was you and Nick that got it all started.”

“You’ll be able to write your own ticket now,” Carisi added.  “High-profile case like that, precincts will be knocking on your door.”

You smiled and sat back down.  “I like SVU,” you told him.  You looked over at Barba and added, “I’m happy where I am.”

“Ugh,” Fin said in pretend disgust.  “Get a room already.”

“Well, either way, we’re going out to celebrate,” Amanda said.  She rubbed her growing belly with a rueful grin.  “I’ll be the designated driver.”

*****

Barba was late at the office while you and your teammates went out to a dive-bar with karaoke near the precinct.  He was writing out his question tree with all possible answers and counter-questions when his phone chimed.  It was a text from Carisi.  “Come get your girl,” it said.  There were two video attachments.

The first was you, drink in hand, swaying to the music as you belted out Toto’s “Africa.”  He grinned at the image and admitted that, for a detective, your voice wasn’t half-bad.  

The second video was you and Amanda – you clearly drunk, Amanda sober – singing a rousing duet version of Boston’s “More than a Feeling.”  Amanda pulled back and laughed at you every time the guitar parts came on between the verse and chorus, because you sang those too.  Earnestly.  With your eyes squeezed shut in obvious feeling.

Barba’s phone chimed again.  Carisi texted, “Hurry up – she’s planning on singing Bruce Springsteen’s entire discography next.”

Barba put his questions away, grabbed his coat, and called a car to join you.

The bar was packed for a Thursday, and when he walked in, he couldn’t see the squad immediately.  But he saw you.  You were on the tiny stage, singing a Springsteen song.  “Dancing in the Dark.”  You interspersed your swaying dance with air punches and finger-points into the general crowd area.  You were adorable and irresistible to watch.  He counted at least a handful of men, staring at you.  He spied the squad and made his way over to them.

“Counselor,” Carisi said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.  “You made it finally.”

Amanda grinned at him over her glass of water.  “Yeah, you missed her rendition of ‘Born in the USA,’” she said.  “She’d tried to give a speech about how the song’s about the Vietnam war and the hypocrisy of patriotism, but the music played over her and she missed the first lines.”

Barba couldn’t hide his smile, so he ordered a scotch (mid-tier, and served with ice despite requesting it neat) and sipped it while you finished and made your way off the stage.  Your face was flushed with exertion and drink, and your smile widened when you saw him.

“Hi, Rafi!” you exclaimed.  You reached over and gave him your usual, drunken arm hug, locking your hands around his bicep as you laid your head on his shoulder for a moment.  He heard Carisi snicker at your nickname for him, but he didn’t care.  He kissed the top of your head, and you turned to look at him.

“You drinking any water?” he asked gently.  “Any food to absorb all that alcohol?”  You nodded vigorously, but Barba glanced at Amanda and she shook her head almost imperceptibly.  He heaved an elaborate sigh, then flagged down a waitress to order you a water and a burger.  He ordered one for himself too.  When it came out, he made you sit beside him and eat, and he smiled and pretended not to notice when you swiped his pickle spear from his plate.

“You guys are disgustingly cute,” Amanda broke in, rolling her eyes.  

“That’s probably the first time anyone’s described ‘Barba’ as cute,” Fin quipped.

“Oh, he’s very cute,” you said, looking at them seriously.  “I’ve seen the family photo albums - ”

Barba cut you off before you could finish, placing a hand gently over your mouth to hold the next words back.  Keeping his hand in place, he fumbled for his wallet.  He pulled out a couple of bills and tossed them on the table.  

“Detectives,” he said with as much dignity as could muster.  “Have a good evening.”  He ignored the laughs from the table as he grabbed your coat and hustled you towards the door.

He got you home without incident, and he helped you undress and get ready for bed.  After you brushed your teeth and put on your pajamas, you crawled into bed and waited for him to join you.  

He looked down at you, your hair fanned across the pillow, your face still flushed from the alcohol.  Lately, you’d been falling asleep as soon as you laid down, but you were restless from the high of helping catch a serial killer.

“Want the star light on?” he asked.  You nodded your head vigorously.

He switched it on, projecting a slide titled “Mystic Mountain.”  It was one of your favorites, and in one of your more sober moments, you lectured him on the nebula it was in and some of the stars near it.  Tonight though, you just smiled at him, then curled up against him and gazed at the ceiling as he rubbed comforting circles on your back.

“Why do you like space so much?” he asked softly.

You hummed against him, thinking.  Finally, you answered him.

“I read somewhere once that there’s two types of people in the world, depending on how they feel when they look up at the night sky.  There’s the people who look up and contemplate the universe and feel small.  Or alone.  And then there’s the people who look up and feel the awe of being part of something so vast.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say anything for a long while, thinking about it.  Had he even looked up and considered the night sky before he met you?  At last he murmured, “Which one are you?”  But you were fast asleep, your breathing deep and even against him.

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

[oopskashish]

Hi! Can I request a one shot Sirius x reader, where she is James sister, and tells Harry how she fell in love with Sirius at Hogwarts? Let’s pretend that Sirius did not die and Harry went to live with him and reader as a family. Thank you :3

A Promised Family

A/N: I am so so so so sorry for making you wait for so long. I was first thinking of writing everything from how he escaped and all that but damn that was too much. Instead I came up with this idea which seems pretty good to me and I am kind of rough with emotions of a reunion I read 5 minutes ago so I wrote something on basis of that. I hope you like it!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Potter!reader, Harry Potter x Potter!Aunt!Reader

Warning: heavy emotions, mentions of death, but there is fluff. And something that SHOULD have been done in the books but Rowling was a bitch to not do that.

Summary: After the war, Sirius, Harry and the reader reunite. They become a proper family as Sirius had promised, and a bittersweet truth from the past comes up.

Y/N ran through the broken halls of Hogwarts. She pushed her tired legs to their limit, her eyes wildly searching for two most important people in her life. She pushed through the crowds which consisted of people sobbing, laughing, hugging, and kissing each other.

But none of that mattered to her right now.

She came to a stop at the gates of Great Hall. Her eyes were somehow aching yet wide ache. She say the Malfoys hurdled in a corner, holding onto each other, Neville's grandmother hugging him tightly, and then finally she saw the spectacled boy.

Her nephew.

Harry Potter.

Her anxiety which was previously rushing along her veins calmed down by a half when she saw him hugging Ron. His brilliant hazel eyes lifted up and she saw tension leave his body as she saw him.

They both ran towards each other, not caring if a crowd was watching them. She enveloped the boy in her arms, holding him close to her as tears she has held back for months come pouring down her face.

She held him just as she did after the triwizard tournament when he was plagued by nightmares of watching that horrifying moment over and over again. When she laid awake at night, surviving on caffeine, because she didn't want to leave her nephew alone to deal with them. She would hold him to her chest and whisper that none of it was his fault.

But now, it seemed like both of them were doing that job without a word. They held onto each other, feeling the gust of relief wash over them in a blissful manner.

Neither of them could imagine what would they do without each other. She raised him through the most painful moments of her life. She raised him into the wonderful human being he is.

There was only one person in front of whom Harry could truly reveal who he is, his deepest of insecurities without having slightest fear of being judged. Whether it was asking how to ask a girl out for a ball or how to tame a dragon, he could trust his aunt with anything, including his tears.

Sobs wrecked his body as he cried into her neck. All the pain he has felt got undone in her arms through his tears. The world seemed to be a place so dark right now and he could only hold onto her to guide him through the dark he was so terrified of.

"Oh my sweet, sweet boy," Y/N whispers, her voice so heavy with emotions that she could break down into sobs at any moment. "You are so brave, so very brave."

For a moment, she reminicsed how she felt when she held her twin years ago. She had almost died during a mission but she survived, pushing death away and bidding it a farewell, she came back to life.

She remembered holding James in her arms so tightly because both of your biggest fears were the same.

Losing each other to death.

She remembered how they both had to hold each other and assure each other that they're alive for the rest of the day, after their boggarts came out to be each other's dead bodies in DADA class.

The marauders could not comfort him, your friends couldn't comfort you. Only each other's presence helped the two of you in both the situations.

And now, she felt just the same as she held Harry.

The pain only seemed to increase as she heard Harry's sob. Each sob shot a wave of pain which tore her soul into innumerable pieces. Each cry emitted a pain that would make cruciatus curse seem like a mere scratch.

"I am here with you, Harry, until the very end." She whispers in his ear, as his sob only seem to increase at her words.

After what felt like infinities, they both parted away, holding onto each other's hand. She wiped his tears away gently, giving him a watery smile that said words he needed to hear.

"Sirius." She heard him whisper as he stared straight ahead.

She exhaled and turned around to find the man she fell in love with in her sixth year. The man for whose innocence she faught so hard. The man whose innocence she proved to the world after the battle of ministry.

The man who could undo her soul just by looking into her eyes with those shiny grey eyes she found comfort in. The man who could make her feel like she is home just by holding her to his chest.

She seemed to still for a moment, as if someone has put a body binding spell on her. She could only look at him.

She noticed how his hair were tied into a little bun which made her knees week every time she saw it. She noticed a deep scratch over his sinfully handsome face which seemed to have stop bleeding.

Harry first hugged Sirius, seeking his warmth he needed so desparately. Sirius held him just as close, muttering words of comfort in his ear as tears whelmed into his eyes.

At that moment, she realised, she wanted nothing more than to be finally at home and bake something while they both prepared the dinner. She wanted nothing more than midnight conversations with Harry and Sirius, with hot chocolate in their hands.

She wanted nothing more than a proper family with them.

After a few moments, the two of them pulled away. Sirius turned to Y/N and he had a desparate look on his face which made her heart beat faster and faster.

She leapt into his arms, holding him by shoulders and one of his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her impossibly close to him and the other went to cup her jaw.

And they kissed.

They kissed each other slowly, desparately, and so passionately. They held onto each other, as if they would lose each other into the oblivion if they let go.

The sadness, tension, happiness, and a million emotions they were feeling right now all accumulated into a kiss they would never forget. They were like letters of a word, clinging to each to have some meaning and value.

Their kiss was so passionate that it could inspire another universe to be formed, sun to shine, and to create another heaven for each other. The universes could collide and the world could topple over but nothing could have broke them apart.

Y/N parted away, tasting salty tears on her lips. She didn't know if it was his or hers, she didn't know how many traumatic nights were to come, she didn't anything at that moment but that she could not lose him again.

"Y/N." Sirius whispered her name as he pulled her closer, resting his hear in her neck and taking in a deep breath of her scent which and calmed him to an incomprehensible extent.

"I thought I might lose you." Sirius squeezed his eyes close when he heard her voice whisper in that desparate tone. That tone which made him want to take away every ounce of pain that was in her and make it his own. It was that tone that made him want to hold her close and shower her with all his love and happiness till she was filled with it to the brim.

"I am here," he whispers, rocking her back and forth slowly. Holding her as the sky hold its stars. "I am here, and nothing can take me away from you. Nothing."

And nothing ever did.

-/-/-/-

It had been an year since the battle of Hogwarts. The final battle which left trauma in hearts of so many people, that plagued so many people's sleep, that left so many people haunted with emotions no one deserved to feel.

It was utter chaos but everything was settling back into place. With Kingsley as the minister, everything went as smoothly as it could. The death eaters, all of them, faced trial and litres of Veritaserum was used on everyone.

Mistakes of past couldn't be repeated afterall.

And in the midst of the chaos in the world. Y/N and Sirius were blessed with children of their own. Twins.

The two of them had been clinging to each other and crying out of sheer delight when they got the fantabulous news. Sirius wanted nothing more than settling down with his wife and godson in a place where they could see the sky and feel the sunshine.

And so they did. A quaint little cottage that had just enough rooms to fill in every detail they needed to have. Harry lived with them, and he would have even against his will because neither Sirius or Y/N were going to let him go after the battle for at least a few years, but luckily he needed their presence just as much as they needed his.

And now, as Y/N talked with George on the dining table, her hand resting on her very pregnant belly as Ginny and Harry prepared the dinner.

George had gotten closer with Y/N after the death of his twin because only she could truly understand how it felt to lose a twin. She helped him through emotions he could barely handle and helped him get back into a new life without twin but still managing to be happy.

They both knew it well that a part of them was dead along with their twin but they had to live on and carry on till they could meet each other again.

George had made a joke which made y/n laugh loudly, throwing her head back as she made a remark which made them laugh even harder.

Sirius smiled as he entered with groceries in his hands and set them on table. He made his way to his wife and kissed her lips and her belly, just as he always did when he entered the room in which she was.

"Hello, darling." He smiled.

"Hi, handsome. Got everything that was needed?"

"Yes, I did. Including your Hershey's chocolates and butterbeer." Y/N grinned and kissed his cheek in delight, already reaching for the bag and rummaging through it to find that chocolate that Remus introduced her to during her pregnancy.

"The cravings have gotten even sweeter?" George asks Sirius.

"You have no idea," Sirius says with a sigh, shaking his head. "Either she is having food which can burn her tongue or sickly sweet food. Or sometimes both at times."

"You put these children in me. Don't complain now." She says breezily, taking a sip of her drink and gave Sirius a glare.

Sirius leaned in and kissed her belly and her cheek. "I would never dream of doing that."

"Good."

Sirius chuckled against her lips and kissed them one more time till he heard three people gag. The couple rolled their eyes and parted away, a little disgruntled.

"Is the dinner ready?" Y/N asks eagerly.

"Yes, Aunt." Harry says, taking the pot off the stove. Sirius got up and helped with him and Ginny to serve while George made the table.

It was almost a rule that y/n couldn't do any household work. Considering she is very near to her expected delivery date and is very heavily pregnant.

At first she threw a fit but when her feet started to swell, she stopped that fit because Merlin knows how hard it is to do chores with them. Ginny had moved in with them recently to help with the pregnancy for which everyone was beyond grateful though she had a little knowledge about it, she was very helpful anyway.

The dinner was served, and y/n had it with a side of chocolate. Her steak was extra spicy, just enough to satisfy her and the babies.

"Have you guys decided the names?" Harry asks them.

"Well, somewhat yes. We are keeping a few options and then we will choose whatever suits the best." Sirius answers him, giving y/n a smile.

"We were meaning to ask you, Harry, if it would be okay if we name one of our sons after James. I will understand if you would want your son to have his name. In that case we can choose another name." Y/N asks him.

Harry thinks for a while before saying. "Actually I never told you this. I am sorry if I cross any boundaries, Sirius, but your brother Regulus was actually a true hero."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, hiding away his pain behind his gorgeous eyes and burying it further in his soul. "What do you mean?"

"Regulus actually hid one of Voldemort's horcrux in his room and had ordered Kreacher to destroy it. He had replaced it with another fake locket. It was what caused his death."

Sirius bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

He remembered how his little brother told him not to runaway, how he told him that they had to be together in this. How when Sirius was pushed to his limits, Regulus tried to comfort him.

He remembered pushing Regulus away and calling James his true brother, leaving Regulus in tears. How he ignored his letters after reading them.

He wished he could have done something different.

Something that would have kept his little brother alive. He realised that Regulus was a boy who didn't have a choice. In the seek of approval of his parents, he did things that he himself didn't approve of.

But he was proud of his little brother, for he managed to be braver than Godric Gryffindor himself. He was proud that at least he realised what is right and what is wrong and acted upon it.

Y/N reached for his hand and squeezed it, she leaned in his ear and whispered.

"My love, it's alright. Please don't worry. None of us could have known his actions."

Sirius nods at her, kissing her knuckles as if it could provide him some sort of comfort. He took a deep breath in and pushed away his doubts which he knew y/n would help him with after the dinner.

"I think you should name one of your sons after him, if you wish to." Harry whispers, unsure if his words are pushing his boundary or not.

Sirius squeezed her hand, gesturing her to speak on his behalf. "Thank you Harry, we will think more about it."

Harry bit his lip. "And if it's okay, can you choose another name or change the one of Dad a little? I always wanted to name my son James."

"Of course, sweetheart." She smiled at him.

And after a couple of weeks, Regulus and Rigel Black were born. Some of the, perhaps, most loved children ever to exist.

Sirius would smile at them as the twins would sleep, happy that his promise of having a family with Y/N and Harry was finally complete in the most lovely manner possible.

-/-/-/-

Send me an ask if you wanna be in my taglist :)

General taglist: @bl597 @obsessedwithrandomthings @firewhisky-kisses @pregnant-piggy @remmyswritings @harrypotter289 @mytreec @strawberriesonsummer @yourssuccubus @idont-knowrn

#sirius imagine #sirius x reader fluff #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius x potter!reader #harry potter #harry pottee x aunt!reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter forever #harry j potter #harry james potter #regulus black #marauders #fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fandom #fandom #george weasley #ginny weasley

[moonknightly]

bittersweet & delicate : modern! poe x reader

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: kes dameron is a dilf

Warnings: i think i said a bad word

Poe’s never been good with silence. He’s always been a loud person with a roaring personality to match, full of charm and charisma that he’d learned from his father. He’s always talking, always spewing stories and telling jokes to the people around him, and in the rare moment’s when he's verbally silent, you know that his mind is racing with ideas and memories replaying through his head.

But now, he’s just quiet. So quiet you’re beginning to worry about him. He’s sitting completely still at the island with his chin resting in the palm of his hand, and you’re leaning against the counter opposite of him, watching him closely, your eyes never straying from his face, just like his never moved from the small yellow envelope in front of him.

He’s been staring at that envelope all afternoon.  

You know what’s in it. You know why he’s quiet, why he can’t do anything but stare.

You know he’s waiting to open it until Kes gets there, but part of you wonders if he’d even be able to do it without him. He’s not ready.

He’s scared.

Fear — another bullet point on the list of things he’s never been good with. It makes him shut down, makes him forget to take care of himself until it passes or until he buries it down far enough to ignore.

But he has you, and if you can do anything, you can take care of him.

You know he hasn’t eaten, there aren’t any dishes in the dishwasher and you’d just unloaded it that morning. You honestly can’t remember if you’ve even seen him drink anything.

So that’s what you grab first. You slide the glass of water across the counter towards him, and he glances at it briefly before looking up at you with appreciation evident in his eyes. He takes it and raises it to his lips, finishing the whole thing in just a few seconds. You immediately pour him another glass, then silently move around the kitchen, trying to figure out what you can cook from what you have on hand.

You decide on some soup and a grilled cheese — simple, easy, comforting and fit for the occasion as well as the cold and snow outside. He finishes the soup first, and though he only eats half of the sandwich, that’s good enough for you.

“Thank you,” he mumbles once he’s finished, and he stands to clear his dishes but you grab them before he can, kissing his cheek in the process.

His cheeks turn a little pink like they always do, and you’re happy to see that even in his current state, your kiss can still make him blush.

“No problem, sweet boy.”

Poe smiles. He fidgets in his seat, and you can tell by the expression on his face that he feels awkward and unsure. Two more things he’s unfamiliar with. You leave his dishes in the sink to worry about later, then move to sit next to him.

You take his hand in yours and immediately notice that his fingers are slippery, covered in sweat but you don’t even flinch. You lean forward and kiss the tip of his nose this time, and the way that he scrunches his face makes your chest bloom.

“You doing okay?” you ask, though it seems a little redundant.

He shrugs his shoulders gently, takes a deep breath and sits up a little straighter. That tells you more than enough — he’s trying to make sure you don’t worry about him, he wants to appear like he’s held together by more than a few frayed threads.

“Just a little stressed out baby.”

“Liar.”

Poe sighs and shrugs again. He’s quiet for a moment, and when he does decide to speak, his voice waivers.

“I just...what if this isn’t it?”

Your arms are immediately around him, your hand on his head so you can cradle him against your chest. He lets you hold him, but doesn’t give you a chance to speak.

“The crash was over twenty years ago, there’s no way-”

He’s interrupted by a knock on your front door, and neither of you get up to answer it. You know it’s just Kes, and Kes knows he can just walk inside. He’s early, and Poe’s face falls. He’s not ready.

But again, you don’t think he ever will be. Even with Kes there to help him through it, even with you.

You listen as Kes kicks his shoes off in the hallway and hangs his jacket up on a hook. He sighs, and it’s quiet for a few seconds before you hear his footsteps walking towards you. He’s nervous too, you could feel it the second he walked through the door.

It’s warranted.

He takes a seat next to his son, his eyes fixating on the envelope sitting in front of him, just like Poe’s.

It still catches you off guard sometimes, how insanely alike the two Dameron’s look, how they share so many of the same mannerisms. Their smile is the same, their laugh is the same. They both rub the back of their neck when they’re embarrassed, and their cheeks turn the subtlest shade of pink.

They both have beautiful, breathtaking brown eyes, but you’ve seen pictures and know that Poe’s are one hundred percent Shara’s.

You know that Kes thinks the same every single time he looks at his son, because he gets this look in his eyes that’s so tender and warm or, depending on the day, far off and distant and sad.

Right now, it’s the sadness that prevails.

Kes sighs and shakes his head just a little bit. He runs a hand through his hair and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose before lightly touching Poe’s shoulder, offering him support and reassurance, but you know Kes needs the contact for himself too. His hand is shaking.

“You okay kiddo?” he asks quietly, clearing his throat a little bit to hide the way it cracks.

You notice, but Poe doesn’t seem to. He only gives his father the same shrug he gave you, but he doesn’t look at him. He just keeps his eyes on the envelope.

Kes sighs again, and you bite your bottom lip, unsure if you should leave the two of them alone so they can have this moment together or if you should excuse yourself into another room. Kes glances towards you, almost like he can sense what you’re thinking — you’d always been close with him. He shakes his head, silently asking you to stay. You nod once.

Another round of silence takes over the room, with Poe still staring at the envelope and both you and Kes staring at him. Again, it’s Kes who breaks the silence.

“Do you want me to do it?”

Poe stays completely still, completely quiet. For a moment, you’re not sure he even heard his father’s question, but he finally shakes his head and reaches forward. His hands are shaking too.

He takes the envelope and turns it over his hands a couple of times, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he prepares himself to open it. Kes keeps his hand on Poe’s arm, and you gently start to play with the hair at the nape of his neck — something you know Shara used to do to calm him down.

“Poe we don’t have to do this right now,” you remind him, your voice as gentle as you could possibly make it.

“No,” he answers immediately after, shaking his head hastily. “No, I don’t wanna wait any longer.”

He tears the envelope open before you and Kes can even blink. He hesitates again, for just a moment before reaching inside and grabbing a small card, a short message scribbled across it in messy handwriting. He passes it to his father, who also has no interest in reading it just then. They just want to see what else is inside.

Poe reaches back in and pulls out a clear plastic bag, but his fingers are hiding whatever sits inside. He stops again, takes a few deep breaths, then slowly opens his fist.

That breath was pointless, because all of the air comes rushing from his lungs in a single second. Kes immediately turns and buries his face into his son’s neck, and you watch as his shoulders begin to shake.

Sitting in Poe’s palm is a simple yet beautiful silver ring, one that you’ve only seen in pictures but instantly recognize. It’s unmistakingly Shara’s — no one had to look at the engraving to know for sure. It’s hers, without a single doubt it’s hers.

“Oh my God,” Kes breathes, picking his head back up to look at it again, almost like he’s making sure it’s still there. “Fuck.”

Poe’s still so quiet, just staring at the ring in his hand, completely entranced by it. You wipe at the tears running down your cheeks, then hug him again, kissing the top of his head over and over.

He brings it closer to his face, wanting to get a better look at the ring he hasn’t seen in over twenty years, the ring he used to play with when he was a small boy and couldn’t sleep at night. He’s told you the story before, so many times.

Shara would slip it onto a chain for him whenever he’d wake up from a nightmare. Whenever he was scared of the monsters hiding under his bed or whenever there was a storm raging on outside, she’d clasp it around his neck to wear for the night. She’d promise him that it would keep him safe, protect him from all of the bad and bring him peace, make him feel at ease enough to rest. It always worked.

He still has the chain, he’s worn it every single day since he was eight years old, but the ring had gone down with Shara, buried in the sand along with the remnants of her broken and charred plane. Kes had gone to look for it so many times after the crash, but he’d never been able to find it. The only thing he’d managed to bring back were burnt pieces of metal — a piece for him and Poe each that they both held onto with pride.

And so a month before, when Poe got an email from a man claiming to have found his mother’s ring while he was surveying the area with his metal detector, from a man who said he’d spent the last six months trying to track Poe or Kes down, he hadn’t believed it. It just didn’t seem possible.

But there it was, sitting in the palm of his hands. The man had even gotten it professionally cleaned.

All three of you sit there and just continue to stare at it, your emotions staying somewhere between disbelief and awe. You don’t know how much time passes before Poe finally shifts, holding the ring out to his father.

Kes takes it. He touches it so carefully, so gently, almost like it’ll break between his fingers. There’s still tears rolling down his cheeks, and you can’t tell if they’re happy or if they’re sad. You figure it’s somewhere in between.

“What are you going to do with it?” Poe asks quietly, his gaze flickering between the ring and the other man’s face.

Kes furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. Ever since he found out that someone might have found the ring, there’s only been one thing on his mind, one option.

“What am I going to do with it? What are you going to do with it?”

Poe mirrors his father’s expression, and again you’re reminded of how eerily similar they are. “What do you mean? Dad, that’s yours.”

“It was your mother’s.”

“Yeah, and-”

“No.” Kes shakes his head again and reaches for Poe’s wrist. He flips his arm so he can set the ring back into his hand, then closes his son’s fingers around the piece of jewelry. “She’d want you to hold onto it.”

His eyes flicker to you, for just a moment before he looks back at Poe.

“Find someone to give it to one day or something.”

Poe’s quiet again, for almost a minute before he finally speaks again, his voice quiet, almost timid. “Are you sure?”

Kes nods, a small smile playing at his lips. He squeezes Poe’s wrist before letting go.

“Positive kiddo.”

Poe nods too, but he still really only stares, not sure if he wants to cry or smile.  

“I can put it on your chain, if you want,” you offer, already moving to unclasp it from around his neck.

That elicits a smile from him, but you’re too distracted to notice.

So distracted trying to get the chain undone, you also miss the look he shares with his father in that moment.

There’s only one thing on his mind, one option.

That ring, his mother’s ring belongs with you.

Now he just has to find the right moment to give it to you.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader