joshyybassett

[joshyybassett]

This is my favorite fic I have ever read.

Jackass

Summary : Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. 

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x florist!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Secret wife trope. Cursing, Injury. Featuring the Thunderbolts*. Bucky kinda gaslights the entire team. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 3k

Note : The next chapter of spoils of war is almost here, but I just need to go over a couple of paragraphs! In the meantime, enjoy!

The Thunderbolts knew a few undeniable truths about Bucky Barnes.

One: He was grumpy.

Two: He was a private person.

Three: He never, ever let anyone see where he lived.

That last one bothered them the most. They’d pieced together the general area; a quiet neighborhood with old brick buildings, modern cafés, and just enough charm to make it feel… vintage. But no one had ever set foot inside his home, no one had even seen him unlock the door to his sanctuary, since he dodged every casual suggestion to hang out at his place with a variation of “I got plans” or another. And, curiously, every time they stopped for coffee in this part of town, Bucky would mysteriously slip into the tiny flower shop beneath a brick apartment building.

That was odd. No one would’ve guessed that Bucky Barnes even liked flowers.

What was even odder was that this infinitely grumpy, emotionally constipated, “I hate people” supersoldier — would be capable of flirting.

With the florist.

With you.

“Are we seeing this right?” Yelena whispered, elbowing Alexei as they peered through the shop window after Bucky made them wait outside. 

They watched as Bucky stood by the counter, leaning in ever so slightly, a charming grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you wrap a bouquet.

“He’s smiling,” Alexei muttered, horrified.

Inside, Bucky reached for the bouquet you were tying up, his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You playfully smacked his hand away, laughing. He laughed, too, and that was enough to send Yelena spiraling into an existential crisis.

Yelena squinted. “He’s flirting.”

Alexei frowned. “Bucky does not flirt.”

“I know. That’s why I’m freaking out.”

They watched as you handed him the bouquet, and in return, Bucky gave you a wink. And then he turned, walking out like he hadn’t just transformed into a different person.

That was when Yelena, utterly horrified Yelena, caught a flash of gold on your ring finger. She squinted her eyes. It was unmistakable. “Wait a second—”

As soon as he got back to them, Alexei folded his arms. “You were flirting.”

Bucky scoffed. “I was not.”

“She’s married!” Yelena accused, pointing dramatically. “She had a ring! You flirted with a married woman!”

Bucky didn’t even blink. He simply shrugged, tucking the bouquet carefully under his arm. “I didn’t see a ring.”

“She was literally wearing it—”

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky insisted, tugging absentmindedly at the chain around his neck— the one that held his dog tags, hidden under his shirt.

Yelena and Alexei exchanged a deeply disturbed look.

Bucky Barnes was flirting with a married florist.

What was the world coming to?

—

Bucky knew he’d fucked up the second he stepped back into Thunderbolts HQ. 

Alexie had just looked confused, while Yelena had been simmering the entire walk back, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a miracle she hadn’t snapped a rib. 

She lasted exactly two seconds before she exploded. “You are jackass, Barnes!”

Bucky barely had time to sigh before she stomped closer.

“What’s so wrong with what I did?” he muttered, placing the bouquet of flowers in an empty vase

Yelena let out an incredulous laugh, pacing in front of him like a caged tiger ready to strike. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her accent thickening with rage. “You flirted with a married woman! I should punch you in the face on principle!”

From the lounge, John Walker looked up from whatever government-issued nonsense he was pretending to read. His brows immediately furrowed, his eyes twisting into the signature disapproving dad look he’d perfected. “Wait, what?”

Ava, who had been drinking tea in the corner, raised an eyebrow. “This is scandalous,” she murmured, eyes brightening with intrigue.

Alexei, who was now plopped on the couch like some washed-up, Soviet-era king, said, “If a man had flirted with my wife like that, I would have hunt him down and mount his head on wall.” He crossed his arms, nodding to himself in approval. “As is tradition.”

Bucky scowled. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Oh?” Yelena snorted, “So you were just undressing her with your eyes for fun, then?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s just how I look at people.”

Alexie shook his head. “So you look at us like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth. Then immediately shut it.

Yelena’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah. Thought so.”

John’s arms crossed over his chest in that holier-than-thou stance that he was so famous for. “Look, man, I’m married. And if someone flirted with my wife, we’d have a problem.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” Yelena threw up her hands. “She’s married, Bucky!”

“Okay, even if I was flirting,” Bucky turned to her, exasperated— “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s hands flew to her head, fingers digging into her scalp like she was resisting the urge to rip out her own hair. “You probably chose to look away!”

John sighed like a disappointed youth pastor. “This is unbelievable.”

“No,” Bucky still insisted, “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped. “It was a thick gold band, Barnes. How could you not see it?”

Ava, who was clearly enjoying the drama more than anyone, sighed. “That is inappropriate behaviour, Barnes.”

Alexei shook his head again, “You should apologise.”

“I’m not apologising,” Bucky scoffed, “Because I did nothing wrong.”

His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the chain that led to his dog tags, and Yelena immediately locked onto the movement. Every person has a tell, a habit they did when they were nervous. And being a super spy, Yelena knew this was his.

She narrowed her eyes. “You are gaslighting us,” she muttered, pacing again like she was mentally weighing the pros and cons of strangling a super soldier.

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky repeated, his voice steady.

“You’re lying,” she snapped.

He shrugged, maddeningly casual in all of this chaos. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Ava laughed cynically. “I can’t tell if you’re a complete scumbag or if this is just really fun for you.”

Bucky just popped a beer from the fridge, flicking the cap off with his metal hand. “Why not both?”

He took a long sip of his beer, completely unbothered.

And maybe, he looked a little bit too smug.

—

Three weeks later, Bucky led Yelena and John on a mission to take down a high-scale arms dealer.

And, as always, the mission had gone sideways.

It was too late for any shops to be open, too late for anyone with a shred of common sense to be out on the streets. 

Yelena was bleeding, pressing a torn scrap of fabric against a deep gash on her arm. John had a busted lip and a slight limp. Bucky was sporting a few cuts and bruises himself, but nothing he hadn’t shaken off a thousand times before.

“Guys,” Yelena managed a grunt, shifting her grip on her makeshift bandage, “we need to get ourselves patched up before one of us drops dead.”

“We ran out of antiseptics back at HQ,” John reminded them.

Yelena groaned, throwing her head back in despair. “So what are we supposed to do?” She gritted out, “Just bleed out in the street like sad little orphans?”

John scowled. “That’s a little dramatic.”

Yelena turned and glared at him. “Your face is dramatic.”

Bucky let out a deep breath through his nose, running a hand along his damp hair. He glanced around the street, making sure they weren’t being followed before whispering to himself, “Guess we’re doing this now.”

Yelena tilted her head. “Doing what?”

Instead of answering, Bucky turned on his heel and started walking.

John and Yelena gave each other a wary look.

“I don’t like when he does that,” John said.

“No one does,” Yelena agreed, but they both followed anyway. 

It didn’t take long for them to recognise the route— ​​It was the neighbourhood where the team usually got coffee.

But Bucky wasn’t heading to the café.

They rounded the corner, and suddenly John stopped dead in his tracks.

It was a closed florist—the very one where Bucky had, allegedly, been trying to charm his way into a married woman’s bed.

To John’s absolute horror, Bucky walked right up to the door and knocked.

“Bucky.” He said, voice strangled. “What the hell is this?”

Yelena blinked. “I don’t think we need to seduce a married florist to get medical supplies.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already regretting this decision. He turned to them, leveling them both with a look. “Alright, listen up,” he said through gritted teeth. "The secret’s out now, so you two gotta keep your mouths shut.”

John’s brows furrowed. “What secret?”

Before Bucky could answer, the door to the flower shop clicked open.

And there you were, standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of Bucky’s hoodies, looking exactly how he’d expected: exasperated but unsurprised. He knew you’d still be up, cataloguing the latest floral shipment for tomorrow’s arrangements.

The second your eyes landed on a bruised and bloodied Bucky, and flanked by two wounded Thunderbolts, no less—you let out a sigh.

“James,” you said knowingly, your voice laced with fond irritation. “What did you do?”

Yelena and John froze in their tracks.

James?

James?

No one called Bucky by his first name. No one. Not unless they had a death wish.

Bucky, unfazed, just stepped inside. “We ran out of antiseptics, honey.”

Yelena and John exchanged a wide-eyed look.

Honey?

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Again?”

Bucky shrugged like this was a perfectly normal Thursday night occurrence.

You muttered under your breath, “I should’ve known this would happen when I married an ex-assassin.”

Oh.

Yelena’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Married.” she repeated

John blinked rapidly. “This is why we can never go to your place?”

Bucky could only shrug. Of course it was— they would have seen the evidence of how much love in his home was carved out for just you.

John let out a wheeze.

Yelena pointed between you and Bucky, motioning erratically. “Wait. WAIT. So—so she’s your wife? She married you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yup.”

“Like—actually married?”

“Mhm.”

Yelena gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. In a way, she had. “And no one knows?”

Bucky thought for a second. “Sam does.”

“And Joaquin,” you added, trying to be helpful.

Bucky nodded. “Right. Joaquin.”

“Oh, and Isaiah and Elijah Bradley.”

“Yeah, they were at the wedding.”

“A teenager knew about this,” John’s eye twitched, “—and we didn’t?”

Bucky could only nod again.

Yelena rubbed a hand down her face, “You gaslit us,” she accused, jabbing a finger at Bucky. “You let us believe you were a homewrecker for weeks—when you were married the whole time?!”

You snorted, glancing at Bucky, who had the audacity to look smug. “Yeah, that sounds like my husband.”

Yelena let out a string of very creative Russian curses.

John looked like he was about to have a stroke. 

“All secrets aside,” you said, welcoming the two disoriented Thunderbolts in and locking the door behind you, “It’s good to finally meet you both.”

John still looked like he was buffering. Yelena, on the other hand, was vibrating with adrenaline, looking like she was trying to solve a conspiracy theory in real time.

“This is—this is insane,” she muttered, pointing aggressively at Bucky, then at you, then back at Bucky. “You’re—you’re so normal.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d like to think so.”

Bucky just hummed. “She’s perfect.”

Yelena actually sputtered like an old car engine.

John made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh. This was all too much.

But there wasn’t time to let them spiral further. Bucky, gently nudged you toward the others. “Take care of them first, darling. They’ve got worse injuries.”

You frowned, wanting to protest—because, really, Bucky should always be your first priority—but your husband was nothing if not stubborn. You knew better than to argue when he had that look in his eyes— you knew that fighting him on this would only drag things out longer, and right now, time was precious.

You turned your attention to Yelena and John, motioning for them to follow you deeper into the shop. The scent of lavender, roses, and freshly cut stems—clung to the air as you led them toward the back, where your little work table stood tucked in the corner.

Years of practice had made you quick. You moved with quiet efficiency, gathering supplies from neat shelves: you cut and split an aloe vera plant for burns, grabbed bandages, and a mix of balms you’d perfected over your time tending to Bucky. It wasn’t the kind of sterile, military-grade first aid they were used to, but it would have to do for now.

You started tending to Yelena’s arm, gently dabbing the wound with fresh aloe. She hissed through her teeth before narrowing her eyes at you.

“So how long has this been a thing?” she demanded. Bucky, now leaning lazily against the counter with his arms crossed, barely spared her a glance. “A while.”

John scoffed, “A while?”

You bit back a grin as you smoothed a bandage over Yelena’s arm, “Three years.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped.

“Three—” She turned to Bucky so fast it was a miracle she didn’t give herself whiplash. “You’ve been married for three years?!”

John let out a long, defeated groan,This was simply too much to process. “Fuck’s sake.”

Yelena shook her head. “I thought you were a loner who hated people."

Bucky only shrugged, unbothered. 

You chuckled as you pressed the last piece of medical tape into place on Yelena’s arm. “Alright, you’re done.” Then, glancing at John, you motioned for him to sit. “Your turn.”

John sighed but still plopped down. You took his hand gently, turning it over to examine his bruised knuckles before moving to his busted lip.

Meanwhile, they kept peppering you with questions, barely giving you room to breathe.

“How did you meet?”

“How do you put up with Bucky’s brooding?”

“Does he ever actually smile?”

At that last one, you paused, dabbing at John’s lip carefully. “He smiles all the time.”

John let out a scoff. “No, he doesn’t.”

You glanced over at Bucky, knowing he showed that part of him to you and no one else. “Oh, he does.”

And then, finally, it was Bucky’s turn.

You turned to him, your brows knitting together as you studied the little cuts on his cheek, the dried blood near his brows. He looked a little tired, a little worn around the edges. 

Your fingers found his chin, tilting his face toward you as you inspected the damage. Your touch was so featherlight, so incredibly careful. There was no missing the way your thumb brushed over his cheekbone— how incredibly gentle it was.

“You should’ve let me do you first,” you murmured, half-scolding, half-concerned.

Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, a flicker of mischief lighting his tired blue eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last night, sweetheart.”

John choked.

Yelena groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow from the nearest chair and hurling it at Bucky’s head. “You two are disgusting.”

Bucky caught the pillow effortlessly, giving her a smug grin before setting it aside. When his eyes found yours again, his shit-eating grin turned… lovely. The tension in his brows eased as you dabbed gently at his cut. 

For all the blood, for all the bruises, you handled him like he was glass.

And then, without thinking, you leaned in.

It was meant to be a brief kiss— a quick reassurance, a way of saying I’ve got you. But the moment your lips brushed his, you couldn’t help but linger.

Your fingers curled instinctively against his chin. His hand found your waist without hesitation, as if he needed you closer. As if the world shrank down to just the two of you. 

John and Yelena exchanged a look, the previous horror of their teammate hiding a secret wife momentarily forgotten because this was… weirdly cute.

You giggled as you pulled away, seeing Bucky looking at you like you hung the moon for him. 

“Anywhere else?” you asked, brushing your thumb over his lips.

Bucky hesitated just for a second. Then, a little sheepishly, he said, “Got a cut on my ribs.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. Of course he did. Before he could argue, you reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged.

“Off,” you said simply.

Bucky huffed but didn’t fight you. He lifted his arms, letting you strip the fabric from his skin, and goddamn.

Bucky, half-naked, was unfairly, ridiculously beautiful. Even now, even after all this time, seeing him like this still knocked the breath from your lungs. His body was a roadmap of battles fought and survived, scars carved into the expanse of his chest and ribs that told stories only he could say. 

John made a strangled sound, somewhere between “Jesus Christ” and “I need to leave the room,” but you ignored him completely. Yelena let out a dramatic sigh and whispered “they are one second away from sucking each other’s face off,” to herself.

You tuned them both out, fingers dragging carefully over Bucky’s ribs, searching for the wound. When you found a thin jagged cut just below his ribs— you sighed softer this time and reached for the aloe.

“You need to stop getting hurt, my love,” you said, smoothing the cool gel over his skin.

Bucky’s voice came quieter. “Lucky I have someone to take care of me, then.”

And that’s when Yelena finally noticed it.

The thin chain around Bucky’s neck—one she’d always assumed was just for his dog tags—held something else, too.

A ring.

A simple wedding band that matched yours, worn from years of resting against his skin.

She blinked, realisation hitting her like a freight train. Oh.

That’s why he always played with it.

Every time Bucky was nervous, every time he was uncertain, his fingers would move to that chain—not just to fiddle with his tags, but to remind himself of you.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete jackass after all.

-end.

Note: Hope this doesn't bite me in the ass when the movie comes out.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

[joshyybassett]

who knows if it works, i’m not risking it so

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

[joshyybassett]

Hallooooo! I saw your post about Joshua bassett saving your life. Truth be told he kinda saved mine too. I had a double lung transplant due to CF (cystic fibrosis) and his song lifeline describes how i feel about my family throughout that process. I love his music and love him as a person and he's so talented. I hate that people sent him hate comments because they thought he was who Olivia wrote about. They STILL are hating on him. Are you able to write Joshua Bassett blurbs? I have a million requests!

See because I’m actually and stupid and didn’t see my inbox had something in it from a YEAR ago!!! If you still like joshua bassett I would love to write something and I am so so sorry!!

[joshyybassett]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬

Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k

c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here  

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”

You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks. 

“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.” 

“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out. 

“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”

You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask. 

“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says. 

They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world. 

There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.

Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation. 

You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person. 

Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about. 

“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.” 

Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him. 

“He was nice,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“How come you fell out of touch?” 

“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?” 

“You’ll be alright?” 

“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”

You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands. 

You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare. 

What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought. 

The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.

Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage. 

Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little. 

“Darling.” 

You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand. 

“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says. 

Me, you think. 

“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.” 

“You didn’t,” the woman says. 

“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.” 

Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense. 

“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says. 

Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.” 

“Hardy-har.” 

“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks. 

“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”

“But?” 

“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.” 

“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”

“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.” 

“Gentleman and the tramp.” 

“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.” 

You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape. 

You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth. 

You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water. 

What the fuck? 

You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down. 

Your head races with hurt feelings. 

You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman. 

You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees. 

What had they meant by usual woman?

Mismatched? 

It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is. 

“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.” 

You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky. 

He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“

You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in. 

Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal. 

Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing. 

Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse. 

She was unbelievable. 

“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?” 

“What?” 

“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.” 

You startle at his scolding. “I–”

“You should feel my heart.” 

“I didn’t mean to come out here.” 

“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.” 

“That’s romantic.” 

He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?” 

“Scavenging for food.” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.” 

—

Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?

You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…” 

After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones. 

“I love you, too,” you say. 

His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”

“Mm.” 

“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…” 

You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable. 

You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it. 

“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath. 

You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands. 

“These aren’t good tears,” he says. 

He’d know. They’re not. 

Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out. 

“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not you.” 

“But something does hurt?” 

“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs. 

“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.” 

It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not. 

He looks sick. 

“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage. 

For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring. 

“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly. 

“It’s so stupid.” 

“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?” 

You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.” 

You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin. 

He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.” 

He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.” 

You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.

“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.” 

You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh. 

“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble. 

“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.” 

“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.” 

“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says. 

You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying. 

“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.” 

“Aaron.” 

“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.” 

You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.” 

“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown. 

You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.” 

His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.” 

“Aaron!” you laugh. 

“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.” 

“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased. 

“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.” 

“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.

“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” 

“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.” 

“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.” 

You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask. 

He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.” 

“You said you weren’t getting any younger.” 

“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze. 

”You said it.” 

“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.” 

“I’m glad you asked me.” 

You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now. 

“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders. 

He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress. 

“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.” 

“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.” 

He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”

You shush him quickly.

He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.” 

“And you can make me feel even better.”

His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear. 

—

Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast. 

The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast. 

Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind. 

“Are you eating that one?” you ask. 

Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?” 

“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”

“You could’ve made dad cook.” 

“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?” 

“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?” 

“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.” 

Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.” 

“Did you eat?” you ask. 

He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.” 

“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says. 

He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour. 

“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.” 

“I thought Miss Jareau went?” 

“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.” 

“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks. 

You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.  

“Hey,” Aaron says. 

You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw. 

“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe. 

Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?” 

“I didn’t take any, sorry.” 

“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says. 

“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.

“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.” 

He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text. 

Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal 

Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding? 

Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that 

Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless. 

Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette 

Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right? 

Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online. 

Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D 

The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️

also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake

[joshyybassett]

It's my 3 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

What 😭

[joshyybassett]

Sometimes people aren’t meant to be in your story.

You’re stories just beginning.

It’s time to start a new chapter.

I’m always the best friends but never the main character.

A lot of people like to compare their lives to books

To stories

The words authors write on paper and call it a book

Except here’s the funny thing about it

I used to be a victim to the brain games of these analogies

I used to sit here and think about how maybe our stories are just to different or maybe our characters are both main characters and can’t handle the same storyline together

But that nonsense was never true.

It was you.

You always fit in the main character role but not in the correct version of the story

I was aurora in sleeping beauty you were maleficent but don’t worry Maleficent has her own story

I was the dalmatian and 101 dalmatians you were Cruella, but don’t worry Cruella gets her own story too

I was the original Rapunzel and you were more like the Rumpelstiltskin

There’s so many comparison I can make, but basically you were the villain if you didn’t catch on

What’s the point of this you might be asking?

Well, it’s actually quite simple. We need each other for our stories, but that doesn’t mean that we beneficial together you can view this for relationships friendships or whatever you want.

But say thank you to your villain and move on because they did their job and helped the story go along now you’ve won defeated maleficent curse you didn’t let maleficent power stop you Rumpelstiltskin no longer has your hair you’re free

You’re free



[joshyybassett]

Homeless memories

Every breath you take, you’re a breath closer to the end.

The end.

The end of time.

The end of a life.

The end of a million memories that were made and all of a sudden they no longer belong to a person anymore.

They just float around. Homeless.

Slowly, gaps in history begin to form.

There is no longer an owner of the memories and no longer a place for them.

The end of a life.

The end.

- Ellie 2024

[joshyybassett]

The Winner Takes It All

poly!Marauders x reader (gender not specified)

CW: slight light angst (between reader x other students), confusion on relationship status, fluff

You didn’t really know what you had done to win the affections of the infamous Marauder boys – namely Remus, Sirius, and James – but you weren’t going to question it too deeply; you quite enjoyed their company.

Everyone knew the three boys were together: Sirius and James were never known for their subtlety, and Remus was the reluctant (but quite pleased) victim of their near constant PDA. 

Somehow, you too had gotten swept up in their affections.

It wasn’t official – in the sense that you and the boys had never discussed what their flirting, pet names, cuddles, or forehead kisses meant in the grand scheme of things – but no one was ignorant to the chemistry between the four of you. The boys were so unbelievably sweet with you, and their attention felt like nothing short of worship.

James’ excessive excitement when you walked into a room left you feeling like you meant something; an overwhelming sense of belonging within his space. Sirius’ devilish flirting, compliments, and obvious ogling made you feel more beautiful than you ever thought possible. And Remus’ small gestures – whether carrying your books for you, ensuring you’ve eaten and drank enough water, and his special nicknames he seemed to save just for you - left you melted into a puddle of fondness. 

And that wasn’t always taken very well by others.

Namely, Emmeline Vance. 

The boys had been known to be quite…open…in their sexual encounters in the past and have, on occasion, included a fourth party in their dorm room activities. This quickly stopped when some parties felt this meant they were included in their dynamic.

Emmeline was one of them, and it appeared she wasn’t taking the news of them seemingly working to include an official fourth to their relationship very well. 

This is one of the reasons you hadn’t brought up exactly what you meant to them; you were not interested in simply being the boys’ next bedmate, and a part of you was afraid that bringing things up would expose the fact that this was indeed their hope.

The other part of you knew that the boys weren’t the kind to string someone along, and that they’d have to be playing an awfully long game if that was truly their angle. But the possibility squeezed at your heart nonetheless.

Emmeline had taken to making snooty comments to you when the boys weren’t around. Lily, Marlene, Peter, and Dorcas seemed particularly bothered by it, but you did your best to ignore her.

But there was a part of you that wanted to scream at her a little bit…you weren’t even technically in a relationship with them! You’d never slept with them, you’d never even properly kissed any of them, and you certainly hadn’t made any moves to make whatever this was ‘official’. 

Another part of you didn’t even want to entertain the situation. You had far more important things to concern yourself with: You were studying for your NEWTS, considering whether you wanted to head right into the workforce or explore further education, and where the hell you were going to live after graduation. 

Unfortunately, Emmeline wasn’t the only one to pick up on your new-found closeness with the Marauders.

“Well, well, well…look what the lions dragged in.” Mulciber sneered from behind you as you made your way up the path from Hogsmeade. You rolled your eyes and kept your head forward; you’d been given permission from the headmaster to run to the village to purchase more potions ingredients, but apparently, so had the Slytherins.

“What? Good enough for those Gryffindor’s but not us? Where’re you running too?” Avery continued with a malicious grin when you picked up your pace. 

Thankfully, you could see the Hogwarts grounds were up ahead, and Lily was there at the gates waiting for you.

“Sod off.” You threw over your shoulder, feeling slightly bolder in the presence of your friend. 

You smiled warmly at the redhead as she threw her arm over your shoulder, sparing the Slytherin gits behind you a withering glare as you carried on towards the castle.

“What’s their problem now, hm?” She asked you, still glaring at the boys.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, who knows. Not happy with anyone associated with the Marauders.” 

Lily snorted inelegantly. “I don’t even think they’ve bothered pranking the Slytherin’s lately.”

“Nope.” You agreed with a pop of the P. “Everyone’s got bigger problems right now.”

Lily laughed but it turned into a groan. “Yeah, speaking of: incoming.”

You followed her gaze to see Emmeline making her way towards the two of you.

“Hello Lily!” She said cheerily before her face turned stony as the considered you, “Y/N.”

You tried to refrain (somewhat unsuccessfully) from rolling your eyes as you said hello to the girl.

“Have you seen the boys around?” She asked feigning innocence, but you both knew exactly who she was on about.

Lily played dumb, though you knew that she knew very well who Emmeline was looking for. “Which boys, Vance? That covers just about half of the population at Hogwarts.” She asked coolly. 

“Remmy, Siri, and Jamie. Obviously. I’m going to ask them to Hogsmeade this weekend.” She shared with a sense of finality. You did roll your eyes at this, and Lily scoffed.

“Well, my first place to look for them would be with Y/N, and seeing as they’re not here, I couldn’t tell you.” Lily spat.

Emmeline narrowed her eyes and looked between the two of you before she levelled a glare at you.

“This isn’t over. I’ll win them back.” She said plainly, and something about her tone caused you to snap.

The Slytherin’s, Emmeline, the stress of not knowing – it was all too much, and you were done.

“You know what, Emmeline?” You said in a calm tone as you looked to the sky. “You can have them.”

Lily whipped her head to look at you bewilderedly at the same time Emmeline cocked her head at you.

“I beg your pardon?” She asked as you returned your eyes to her.

“If you think you can ‘win’ them, you can have them. I don’t want something that can so easily be taken from me, anyway. But you’re competing in a game that I’m not even playing, so either take them or leave me alone because I’ve got bigger fucking problems than your stupid school-girl crush.” You were out of breath by the time you finished; your face was hot, and you were sure it was likely the colour of Lily’s hair, but you willed yourself not to cry as you stormed toward the castle.

Damn being an angry crier.

You were just so tired – this wasn’t a game to you; these were your friends, perhaps more (you certainly hoped more), and it was also your feelings. But what you said was true – nothing that can be taken from you is worth keeping, not even them. 

Lily quickly caught up to you but knew better than to say anything now, giving you the chance to breathe and calm down. You both made your way to Gryffindor tower where you threw yourself haphazardly into one of the plush couches near the fireplace. 

“Fuck.” You groaned as you rubbed your hand down your face.

“You okay, hun?” Lily asked as she pet your head commiseratively. 

You groaned again as you let your hand fall from your head and hang dramatically off the side of the couch. “Yeah, just tired. Of everything.”

Lily hummed in sympathy. “Why don’t you relax up here? I can bring you something from the Great Hall for supper.”

You looked at your friend like she hung the moon. “You’d do that for me?”

She chuckled and pinched your cheek, “‘Course. Anything for you, gorgeous.” She winked, trying on her best Sirius Black voice to mimic what the boy has said to you many-a-times before. 

They really did treasure you, didn’t they?

You sort of regretted your outburst now – you knew the boys weren’t a prize in some juvenile contest; that’s what you’d been trying to point out – but you worried that’s not the way it sounded. What would they do once they heard? And you knew they would – hear about it, that is. Would their feelings be hurt? Would they understand? Would they feel embarrassed to be spoken about in such a manner?

You didn’t have much time to think about it after Lily left, because before you knew it, said boys were crawling through the portrait hole. 

“Angel!” James shouted at you as he found your form curled up against the arm of the couch. He made for you instantly, vaulting himself over the back of the couch sat opposite of you like some kind of living room gymnast and launching himself onto your couch, nearly right on top of you. 

“Hi Jamie.” You said shyly as his arms wrapped around your middle and he dug his face into the crook of your neck.

“Missed you.” He said, though the sound was muffled from the new home he seemed to have made in your being.

“Lily said we’d find ya here.” Sirius said as he sat on the coffee table in front of you. You grimaced in response.

“How was your trip to Hogsmeade?” Remus redirected at your obvious discomfort, taking a place beside Sirius.

“Oh, it was alright. I found what I needed.” You answered quietly, playing with the nailbeds of your fingers. Sirius quickly gave you one of his hands to play with instead. 

“We heard you gave Vance a verbal lashing.” He said as you fiddled with one of the many rings adorning his long fingers. You groaned and let your head fall back onto the couch. 

“Sirius.” Remus quietly (though lovingly) chided. “Do you wanna talk about it, dove?” 

And there he goes with the nicknames, and James’ cuddling and Sirius’ piercing gaze and what the hell were you even doing here? 

“No.” You answered. “I don’t know.” You amended quickly. 

“I hope she didn’t upset you too terribly.” James offered quietly as he moved his chin to rest on your shoulder so he could look at you. You were suddenly self-conscious of how the side of your head looked.

“No. I may have been a little out of line.” You acquiesced. Sirius scoffed dramatically.

“Please, you’ve never been unreasonable a day in your life. You should try it once in a while.”

You chuckled at the dark-haired boy. “If anyone can drive me to it, it’ll be you boys.” You tried to joke, but it came out somberly. 

“I’m sorry if being with us makes things a little tricky for you, with other students.” Remus apologized. 

You snorted. “I’m not sure why being friends with you guys should be such an issue for other people.”

“Friends?” James asked as he sat up a little straighter. You cocked your eyebrow as you turned to look at him.

“Well, I don’t know…We’ve never really discussed anything, I didn’t want to assume…” You trailed off as you started picking at your nailbeds again. This time, Sirius moved to his knees in front of you and took both of your hands in each of his.

“Assume. Assume it all; all of it, everything. We’re yours.” He said emphatically, punctuating each sentiment with a squeeze of your joined hands.

“If you’ll have us…” Remus corrected, and you felt something swell behind your eyes at the faint blush that appeared on his cheeks. 

James seemed just as moved by Remus’ bashfulness as he leaned forward to caress the boy’s cheek. “We know we’d love to have you.” James finished for him.

You sniffled and offered them a tight smile. “I’d like that.”

Sirius deflated instantly and let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank gods. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you said no.”

“Die, probably.” James said seriously, surprising a laugh out of you.

“We never wanted you to feel insecure in your place with us, dovey. We’re sorry we didn’t make it clearer how much you mean to us.” Remus continued.

“It’s not that. You make me feel very…” but you trailed off timidly.

“Very…” Sirius continued with a devilish grin. You tried to hide behind your hands but he held-fast. “Don’t get shy on us now, gorgeous. How do we make you feel?”

“Cherished.” You whispered, and you watched as the mirth left his face, leaving behind only fondness.

“Oh, thank merlin.” James breathed. “I thought I’d have to up my flirting; and I don’t know if you guys know this, but I already live at 100% love always.”

“We know.” You, Sirius, and Remus answered in unison. 

“Okay, Jamie. Scoot.” Sirius said as he stood. He hardly waited for James to make room before he’d picked you up and flipped you two, so he was now sitting in your spot, and you were in his lap. “My turn.” He muttered as he put his face in the crook of your neck like James had before. James didn’t seem to mind the intrusion much; his arm thrown across Sirius’ shoulders and fingers rubbing at the baby hairs on your neck.

“Y/N?” Remus asked, and your toes curled in anxiety at how serious he looked.

“Yes?”

“May I kiss you?” He asked, keeping his honey gaze locked on yours.

You felt a grin overtake your face as you nodded emphatically. His smile matched yours as he leaned forward resting his hand on your knee and pressed his lips gently to yours. You felt so incredibly complete – Sirius’ arms wrapped securely around you, James gently massaging your neck and shoulders, and Remus’ lips on yours.

Both you and Remus seemed reluctant to separate, but you did. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before he leaned back into his seat on the coffee table.

“Does this mean we get to do that all of the time now?!” James asked excitedly, causing the three of you to chuckle. You didn’t much mind the sound of that.

“There was no competition.” Sirius said quietly from his place in your neck. You turned your head which forced him from your neck as you looked at him inquisitively.

“There was never any competition. Between you and Emmeline.” He clarified, silver irises seeming to bore into your soul. “Between you and anyone.” 

You felt heat rush to your cheeks and ducked your head.

“And even if there was,” James continued, “you’d have won by a landslide.” 

Read the companion piece: The Loser Has To Fall

[joshyybassett]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 100 likes I’m so grateful!

[joshyybassett]

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Our time is running out.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.

One hour you’re awake and the next you’ll never open your eyes again.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

We don’t have enough money to go on that trip right now, maybe for a high school graduation trip we’ll go.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.

I want to write a book when I’m older.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Wouldn’t it be so cool to be in a commercial or something? It’s my dream.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

People can be so rude. One day I hope to speak about different disorders and things to help kids understand how to be kind.

Tick. Tock.

There’s so much I want to do.

Tick.

Time it running ou-

——

Every single 24 hours that go by 157,877 people die.

Why do you deserve to be here? What did you do to deserve the next 24?

Do it now or possibly do it never.

[joshyybassett]

The core of an apple, the spine of a book, the roots of a plant, the pit sinking in my stomach. It hurts so bad.

I know I was there and participated but I’m not on your post, your wall, your camera roll, how do I even know I’m in your brain? What if you forgot.

What if you forgot about me.

What if you keep running on your path and i trip on a rock will you notice?

Will you know I’m absent or will you keep running?

The pit of my stomach, that’s where you live within me. The anxiety, love, anger, confusion it only lives in the pit of my stomach and only aches when It’s silent and dark and you flood my senses. and I let it.

[joshyybassett]

I like to dream about you.

I like to go to bed at night and that moment before you fall asleep when you’re still awake wondering if you’ll ever sleep I see you in the black of my eyelid.

I see you in my dreams. I see you in my head during the day. I see you in the glass door at the grocery store, my computer screen when I’m trying to do school, and my favorite, the mirror with your arms around my waist.

Then there’s a moment of silence.

A moment when your no longer there, a moment when my head starts spinning because I must have been hallucinating, a moment where a grocery store is simply a grocery store.

And that’s where I give up.

It’s not you I want. It’s idea of “you”. The idea of a person waking up next to me in my bed. The idea of having someone who wants to hear about my entire day. The idea of a person who will binge watch criminal minds with me, go to my competitions, get me ice cream late at night, and tell me it will be okay when It wont be but I love “you” so much it wont matter.

I’ll believe you.

And I may never find “you” but whoever you are I believe I’ll find you at the right place and the right time. So please, “you”, come find me when you’re ready.

[joshyybassett]

This is genuinely so adorable. And I just know Hotch would be smirking and starring and y/n the entire ride to the hotel.

hi honey! I'm watching criminal minds and I'm very sleepy and I've been thinking about hotch and I thought I'd send something in

Would you be interested in writing something where the reader grows progressively more tired through a case (Maybe sleep deprived or from all-nighters) and because reader is so tired she progressively more touchy because she has no filter? Like she keeps resting her head on Aaron's shoulder and touching his back as she walks by him. And like this isn't usual for reader but Aaron doesn't mind because he thinks it's cute and is love with reader.

sleepless

cw; fluff!!!!!!!!!!!

you've gained an immunity to coffee. you must've, or the department's supply was straight decaf.

you attempted to pour another cup, it being your fourth, fifth? helping of the day. at this point, the days were colliding together; it was hard to tell where one ended and the next began. you, all of you, hadn't slept in at least thirty-five hours, and while everyone was seemingly managing their lack of sleep, you were close to delirious. you could barely hold yourself upright; a small yelp escaped you as a hot droplet scorched your skin, a swig of coffee missing your mug altogether.

abandoning your drink, you redirected yourself back to the department's conference room, where aaron and the rest of the team had been throwing ideas around for the past three hours. the past three, long hours.

aaron. you'd so much rather prefer to be tangled up in bed with him, sleeping comfortably in his arms. you'd be embedded into his side, a leg thrown across his waist, clutching onto him as if he were about to slip through your fingertips. maybe he would even be shirtless, allowing you to feel his muscles flex around you as he held you in his sleep, strong and secure. his skin was soft, much softer than anything you've ever encountered. that was much more tempting than discussing who-had-done-what and why-they-decided-to-do-it.

instead of opting to settle into your empty, waiting chair- it wasn't nearly as inviting- you stood behind aaron's chair. you draped your arms around his shoulders, hands falling in front of his chest, your face only a few inches away from the crook of his neck.

aaron froze slightly at the initial touch, but relaxed in his chair as he recognized it was you. he was still exhibiting a stiffness in his composure, as you were in front of your colleagues and officers could enter the room unannounced at any moment, but he didn't have the heart to push you away, especially not when his heart belonged to you. and besides, he wouldn't deprive himself the contact. he's missed you, despite the fact you hadn't been a few feet away all day.

he peeked back as much as he could manage, his eyebrows taking form in their signature furrow as he made an observation. he also immediately took note of your exhausted state, surprised that he hadn't already done so sooner.

"no coffee?"

"hm? oh, i must've forgotten." you murmured, taking a breath. your next words escaped you in a yawn, "you smell good."

aaron's ears immediately flushed at your words, and derek nearly snorted out a laugh, he had managed to cover his mouth just in time.

you were aware enough to know derek was making fun of you on some account as you heard his snicker, giving him the stink eye. "what?"

"nothing." derek's mouth formed in a line to prevent himself from smiling, skimming through the file placed in front of him. "nothing at all."

as everyone fell back into conversation, you could feel yourself beginning to nod off. you had been mindlessly tracing patterns along aaron's chest, and the repeated movements were enough to lull you to sleep, finding a relaxed, comforting ease within it, his dress shirt soft against your fingertips.

"aaron?" you whispered, loud enough only for him.

"yes?"

"i was thinking about you shirtless earlier."

aaron's jaw tightened, eyes quickly darting around the table to make sure no one heard you but him. "oh, were you?"

"yeah." you sighed out happily, the image coming easily to mind. "you're so pretty, you know that? i could look at you forever."

his lips pulled into a small smile, barely a laugh escaping him. "thank you sweetheart, i could say the same to you."

"no, don't say that just because i said that, you're only saying that because i said that." you whined gently, tiredness finally claiming your mind. you laid your head more so on his shoulder, the angle was awkward and strained your neck, but you were too tired to care. "let me compliment you. just you."

just as he was about to answer, spencer inquired for aaron's input, causing your conversation to cease. while aaron answered, you couldn't help but admire him; his prominent jawline, his long, dark, beautiful eyelashes, and his voice was like silk to your ears. soft, captivating and familiar.

sudden movement caused you to startle, knocking you back into the real world. the team had all begun packing up papers, exiting the room before you could put together what had just happened. not that you could to begin with, you had been oblivious to the entirety of the discussion.

"sweetheart." aaron stood up slowly, in attempt to prevent you from losing balance against his chair and reaching for you once he was on his feet. "i think it's about time you finally got some rest."

"no, 'm fine." a yawn betrayed your words, clutching onto the sleeve of his suit jacket. "i don't wanna leave you."

"get some sleep, for me, please. can you do that for me?"

"yeah, of course i can." you caved right away, easily persuaded as it was him, your words slurring a bit in sleepiness, "i can, just for you."

"thank you darling," he laughed softly, taking off his jacket to drape it over your shoulders.

"aaron? did i tell you that i love you today?" you asked as he guided you out, clumsily tripping over your own feet.

"every day sweetheart, you let me know every day.” there was a gentle look in his eyes, a hand on the small of your back. “now c'mon, i'll drive you to the hotel."

[joshyybassett]

Omg 😭 I love it so much. This is easily the best thing I’ve read in a while.

Summary: you come to a realization as you see Spence with Henry

warnings: none, just fluff

A/n: yes please, I love this, send me thousands of fluffy Spencer prompts, writing them is better than therapy (sorry @rrrogertaylor Tumblr hates me and deleted your ask)

Keep reading

[joshyybassett]

🦋🦋🦋 this is so amazing stop 😭❤️

Screaming and Crying Part 2

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x reader

Summary: Part 2. You're recovering from the hurt Xavier caused. You've avoided him at all costs, but how long can it go on?

A/n: Here's part 2! I had so much fun writing this. Isabella is based off of one of my best friends who helped me proof read this lol

Requests are open! Send anything in!

The sun was setting by the time you made your way back to the school. Your phone had gone off multiple times with calls and texts from friends questioning your disappearance. You ignored them all. You couldn’t find it in you to care. The blood had long dried on your knuckles, not until after you had finished punishing the poor tree more. Your arm hung limp at your side, your wrist had swelled and was throbbing. Probably sprained or broken. You couldn’t find it in you to care about that either.

You were sure you looked crazy, your hair a wind blown mess, face tear stricken, and blood covering your hand. You walked through the quad and ignored the people who gawked at you. It was very few due to the late hour, dinner had passed so you just made your way to your dorm. Isabella, your roommate, would be pissed seeing as you had ignored every worried attempt she made to reach out to you. You were correct in your assumptions. The minute you swung your door open she was bolting to her feet.

“No, no she just came in. Yeah I'll call you back. Okay bye,” she hung up the phone and sighed. “That was Enid. We were worried sick about you! What happened? Oh my gosh your hand! Bitch, what happened?”

You surprised both yourself and Isabella when you broke out laughing at their outburst.It was odd, the rush of adrenaline you had gained from the situation. You felt floaty, like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. Isabella stood there, gaping at you. This caused more laughter to flow out of you due to them looking like the human embodiment of the stupid emoji everyone uses. She almost looked afraid of you. When you finally calmed your fit of giggles, they spoke.

“Girl, what the fuck. What is happening right now?”

“I don’t even know man. I’m... I'm so tired. And boys are buttheads.”

“You say that like that's something new. I’m telling you, women are just better. But what happened? Was it that blonde beanstock you’re always with? What’s his name? Tarzan?”

You laughed again,” Xavier. And yeah it was him. It was him and his infatuation with that Wednesday girl.”

“Oh my god,” Isabella dragged out the last syllable, “I can’t blame him girl she’s so fine!”

You just glared at her and moved to go to your shared restroom. You wanted to wash the blood off your hand and inspect the damage done.

“Way to rub salt in the wound, thank you. So much,” you muttered over the sound of the sink running.

“Listen. Here me out on this. Please, plEAaase,” they whined from the doorway.

“Just grab me some pajamas, will you? I think I need a shower to get all of this off. My plaid pajama pants please.”

You heard rustling and heard Isabella call out to you.

“Not to ruin the good mood or anything, but shouldn’t you be having a mental breakdown right now? You haven’t even told me what happened, but I feel like there should be more tears.”

“I think it’ll come later, I’m kind of-,” You cut yourself off to take the clothes she had gathered from them. “Thank you. I’m kind of numb right now. I think it’s shock. And adrenaline. I don’t know. Can I explain after my shower?”

“Fine, but hurry up. I wanna know what my reasoning is going to be for kicking Tarzan’s ass,” and with that they shut the door behind them.

You slipped into the shower, the warm water relaxing your muscles. The silence without music would usually bother you, but tonight it was welcomed. Your head was finally quiet. Thoughts of Xavier and Wednesday kissing and holding hands long forgotten. You were just looking forward to the weekend now.

—------

It had been 2 days since that night. Isabella had kept you sane and occupied all weekend. You had shit talked and stuffed your faces with all the junk food you could find. Isabella had also confiscated your phone, claiming that “We can’t risk you being a pussy and giving into your problem.” So if anyone had tried to contact you it went unanswered. Bianca and the twins, you and Isabella’s friends, knew to take her if they needed something.

It was Monday morning now. You really, really did not want to go to class knowing you would have to see both Xavier and Wednesday and all your mutual friends, but Isabella forced you. They told you to “women up” and be a bad bitch. But you really didn’t feel like a bad bitch. You felt a bit pathetic. Isabella threw a pillow at you, startling you from your thoughts.

You flipped them off and then slipped out of bed and went to get dressed. Due to the weather being so cold the rules on uniform were a bit more lenient so you slid on some leggings and your Nevermore crewneck. The sleeve stuck to the brace you had around your wrist, luckily you hadn’t broken it, but it was sprained pretty bad. Isabella was getting ready too, but when she saw you in your comfy outfit she paused.

“Tell me you are not planning on wearing that.”

You looked down, confused.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Girl! We get the chance to dress how we want, be cute!”

“Says you,” you grumbled playfully but went to change anyway.

You threw on some jeans and a long sleeve top with a t-shirt over it. Then you threw on some shoes and walked out of your closet.

“Is this better,” You raised your arms in question.

Isabella nodded in approval and then they shoved your bag and phone into your hands.

“Let’s go, Bianca is waiting and I’m hungry. You took too long.”

“What?,” You yelled as you were pushed out the door and towards the stairs. “You’re the one who made me change! I was ready!”

The two of you continued to bicker all the way down to the quad, where Bianca and the twins were standing there waiting for you. When you approached them, Bianca wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. You laughed softly at the action. It was odd, your guys' relationship. She was Xavier’s ex yes, but before that you had all been friends. And that didn’t stop despite the conflict between the broken up couple. You had always trusted Bianca, and though it was a bit awkward at first, you remained close no matter the circumstances.

When you pulled away Bianca held you by the shoulders and smiled at you.

“He’s a dick who doesn’t know what’s good for him. You’re amazing and you’re so much more mature than him.”

You smiled at her, and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, Bianca.”

“Guuuuuyyyyys, I’m hungrryyyyyyyyy.”

Your group all laughed at Isabella’s complaints. You all agreed to have the twins grab the food and then they’d meet you guys back at the table to eat. It was nice to laugh freely with your friends. A weight was lifted off your chest. When the twins returned you all dug into your food. You were all joking and bickering amongst yourselves. You almost forgot about your conflict with Xavier. Almost.

The thought of him still lingered in your brain. It stayed there through breakfast and while you were walking to class. You were so lost in conversation that you forgot that you had your first class with him. You remembered when you walked in the doorway and saw him sitting in his seat, the one next to him empty where you would usually be. You froze in your spot, your heart palpitating painfully. Isabella stopped next to you with a puzzled look.

“Why’d you stop in the middle of the- Oh.”

They cut themselves off when they saw where you were looking. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too enamored in his drawing he was working on. You looked up at your friend next to you, your eyes wide with panic. You didn’t know what to do.

“Hey hey hey, don’t cry please. I don’t do well with crying. Here, you’ll sit with me. I’ll be your new partner,” She was already guiding you to your new seat.

When you got there you kept your head low, afraid to look up and make eye contact with Xavier. You sat next to Isabella and they struck conversation with you easily until the teacher walked in. When you heard the footsteps walk in the room you instinctually looked up, and you wished you hadn’t. Your eyes drifted across the room to where Xavier sat, the seat next to him now occupied. The sight of him and his new partner made your stomach drop. It was Wednesday sitting next to him. Of course it was.

He must have felt your eyes on him because he glanced over at you. When his eyes met yours and widened, you quickly hardened your gaze and looked away. You didn’t want him to see the hurt you still felt. Straightening your back you focused your attention on the lecture, you wouldn’t let him get to you.

___

The lecture felt like it went on forever, so when it was finally over you were extremely relieved. You and Isabella parted ways at the door, they would go to their next class and you would go to chemistry. With Xavier. Your chest tightened at the thought. You sped up your pace as you walked towards the class, hoping if you got there fast enough you could find any seat away from him. But the universe decided to give you a huge middle finger today. When you arrived at the class there were only 2 open seats. Right next to each other.

You sighed. You were too tired for this. Maybe you could just ignore him and he’d leave you alone. That is if he even wanted anything to do with you. You didn’t have to wait long to see his reaction. He walked in not long after you, his eyes darting between you and the chair next to you. You continued to look down at your paper, refusing to meet his eyes. You heard him audibly sigh before he dropped his bag and sat next to you. You could feel him burning holes into the side of your head, but you didn’t dare look over.

Class started and things were going smoothly. The class was mostly notes, so there was no need to talk to the boy next to you. That didn’t stop him from bothering you though. As you concentrated on the board ahead of you, you felt something land on your hand. Looking down, you saw a butterfly perched on the back of your hand. It was a dark gray, clearly one of Xavier's drawings. You felt your heart pick up at the thought of him trying to get your attention. Immediately, you shook your hand, and your head, slightly to clear the butterfly and your thoughts. Xavier sighed again and then looked back at the board.

—

After that there were no incidents. The day continued smoothly and by the end of it you were exhausted and ready to flop on your bed. You did just that when you arrived at your dorm. Throwing your bag to the ground, you ran and fell face first on the plush covers. Not 5 minutes into your silence, the door burst open. In came Isabella and Bianca, talking loudly before they saw you.

“Y/n,” Isabella called out. “What are you doing? We’re going down to Weathervane in like 10 minutes?”

You grumbled back, your words being incoherent. You didn’t want to get up. But you also wanted coffee.

Slowly you rolled off your bed and to the floor, and then looked towards your friends. Isabella looked confused, Bianca looked concerned. You reached your hands out towards them and pouted.

“Help please,” You wiggled your fingers at them.

They looked at each other and sighed before walking to you and pulling you to your feet. Then they dragged you out the door, leading you on the bus that was going to bring kids down to town. When you arrived in the cafe you practically ran for the counter. No one was there yet, but you knew the boy who worked here most days, Tyler. You guys had met at one of the festivals in town before his whole argument with Xavier. You had been pissed with him over what he did to Xavier, but after he apologized and explained himself you had become civil once again. Now you were more acquaintances than friends, but you loved the way he made your coffee so you were kind to him.

You dinged the bell on the counter obnoxiously while Isabella and Bianca made their way into the shop. You heard Tyler yell something from the back before he came into your view, clearly frustrated. You gave him a sickly sweet and innocent smile.

“Hi Tyler, did you miss me?”

“Oh so very much,” he smiled back at you. “The usual I assume? You want to put theirs on your order too?”

He pointed at your two friends behind you, who he had seen come in with you hundreds of times before. They had already sat down and were chatting idly.

“Yes please, I’m treating today,” You said, pulling out your wallet.

As you fished for the right amount of cash you heard Tyler speak again.

“What about his?”

Your head snapped up, your brows furrowed. You had been so focused on the money that you hadn’t heard the door open. When you glanced behind you, you saw the last person you wanted to see. Xavier.

“No, uh. He’s not with me- us today,” You tripped over your words, hands now shaking as you tried to hand the cash to the boy in front of you.

Tyler quickly took note of the way you trembled and how your eyes were watering. He quickly grew concerned. You two may not be close, but he cared enough to know he didn’t like seeing you this upset. He made eye contact with Bianca, who had been watching since Xavier walked in, and waved her over. Then he placed his hand over yours.

“Hey, Y/n,” He dipped his head trying to make eye contact with you. “Hey, why don’t you go sit down? Bianca or Isabella can help me okay?”

You just nodded slightly, feeling Bianca take your shoulder gently and guiding you to the table. Isabella was finishing the transaction with Tyler, both of them looking over at you with worry occasionally. You glanced around the shop in panic, not being able to find the boy you were so desperately avoiding. That was until he was standing directly in front of your table, just next to where Bianca sat.

“Y/n, can I- Can I talk to you, please?,” Xavier stumbled over his words.

Your friend tensed and got ready to get up and give him a piece of her mind, but your hand on her arm stopped her. Xavier saw you whisper something in the siren’s ear before she slid out of the booth, giving you room to slip out too. You made brief eye contact with your previous best friend, before turning on your heel and walking out the door.

You continued to walk until you were in the grass across the street from the cafe. You knew he was following you. Like a love sick puppy. You scoffed to yourself. When you decided you were far enough from the shop you stopped and waited for him to approach you. You felt him stop behind you, but you didn’t turn.

“Y/n, please would you look at me? Look, I know I messed up. I was a total dick and I’m so sorry. I just was so excited about Wednesday, I mean I really like her. I haven’t liked anyone this much since Bianca and I-,” He cut himself off when he noticed your arms wrapped around yourself, your shoulders shaking.

You still had your back to him so he couldn’t see the tears streaking your cheeks, but he knew you were crying. You never cried. And he made you cry. Oh shit. Why were you crying? He rushed forward and turned you gently. Grabbing your cheeks, he made you look up at him. Xavier’s thumbs brushed along your cheeks, concern filling his eyes.

“Please talk to me. I don’t think I can handle you being quiet anymore. You’re never quiet with me and these past couple of days I've been trying to give you space but it’s so hard. I miss you. I miss my best friend.”

He whispered the last part, resting his forehead on yours. You furrowed your brows and sniffled. Then you pushed him away, hitting his chest. You punched and pushed and hit and Xavier took it all because he knew he deserved it.

“You idiot,” You yelled at him. “I have supported you for years! I’ve been your best friend, no matter how much you’ve pissed me off. No matter what you have said to me. And you know why I did that? Because I love you, you moron. I have loved you since we were kids, and I haven’t done anything because I just want you to be happy. But whenever any other girl comes along, you throw yourself at her! You ignore me! I’m tired Xavier! I’m so tired.”

Your shoulders slumped forward and you sighed. Xavier was a few steps in front of you, shock written across his face. His eyes were watering, his cheeks flushed. You wiped your face and felt that you had been sobbing the entire rant. Xavier took a step forward and you took one back.

“You… love me?,” He asked, like he was afraid he would scare you off.

You shook your head and glared at the grass below you.

“Only since we were 8.”

“Y/n… I don't know what to say,” He started.

“Don’t say anything. Go back to your girlfriend and leave me alone. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

As you turned to walk away, Xavier’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. His mind was racing, he was panicking. He couldn’t let you walk away. Not when he found out you loved him back and every stupid this he’s done in the past year was for nothing. So he panicked and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Wednesday is a lesbian. She likes Isabella.”

You froze. You tried to process the information the tall boy had just blurted but you couldn’t. Not fully. So you burst out an incredulous laugh and collapsed to the ground. Xavier wasn’t expecting it, and with his grip still tight on your wrist he was pulled down along with you. He landed half on top of you, his arms on either side of your head to keep him from crushing you. His long hair tickled your face and you scrunched your nose at the sensation. Then you realized the position you were in. You blushed, heat rushing to your face and looked everywhere but the boy on top of you.

Xavier on the other hand could only see you. He could only focus on your eyes, the freckles that dotted your skin, the way your lips pulled into that beautiful little frown. He gently reached down and ran his thumb across your eyebrows, trying to soothe the harsh lines there. Then he cupped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. What he did next made your heart completely start and restart in your chest.

Xavier had leaned down, pressing his lips to yours carefully. He pulled away quickly, not wanting to overstep. Before you could question him, he spoke:

“I thought you only saw me as a brother. That’s what Rowan and Ajax, my parents, everyone told me. They told me I couldn’t ruin our friendship. So like the moron I am, I listened. I pushed away my feelings for you and I went after other girls because I thought it was the only chance I had at staying in your life. Sure, I liked Bianca and Wednesday. Maybe I had a crush on them. But I wasn’t in love with them like I am with you. I am so sorry, Y/n. I never should have said what I did. If I could take it back I would. But because I can't, I'll spend my entire life making it up to you.”

You were in shock. What the fuck was he thinking:? He could just apologize and confess his love and everything would be fine? No. You smiled up at him and then you slapped him. Hard. His face turned with the impact. And then you grabbed his face and kissed him. Hard.

“You owe me so many things, the list is at least a mile long,” You said as you pulled back and then kissed where your hand had met his face. “But we have all the time in the world for you to complete that list.”

Xavier leaned down to kiss you again and then pulled away with a frown.

“That hurt,” He whined.

“You deserved it and you know it,” you kissed his cheek once more before gently pushing him off of you. “Now come on, we need to get Isabella a girlfriend. Maybe she’ll finally stop making me watch anime with her.”

___

Tags: @555stargirl555 @weasleylovers @wrenwastooshort @justanotherkpopstanlol @lovurryy @rainehatepage @ghostlycrystobalove @bambi-munson @hershey2813 @karslyn @nothingbeatsthebeautyofthemoon @parkersmyth @multistangirl07 @emilykolchivans

[joshyybassett]

FP (Riverdale) imagine

Y/n falls for FP but FP worries about the age gap. FP is 45, Y/n 20. 25 years is a BIG age gap as far as he sees.

Smut warning, big tit!reader, mentions of squirting, Bi reader.

————————

“Y/n get your ass up!”

It was 11 am and Veronica, Archie, Jughead, and Betty were already wide awake. They were begging for you to wake up too. Most days Y/n would wake up as soon as her friends do or before they’re even awake, but today was an off day for her.

“Guys I’m tired leave me alone.” They did as she requested after 20 minutes of trying to get her out of bed. I rolled my eyes at them as they walked away. “Close the door please!”

The four spent the night at Veronica’s house, as her parents were out of town that weekend, so Y/n was sleeping in Roni’s bed. 

—————-

“I’m concerned about her. Y/n is the nicest person I know. She always gets up before us, sometimes makes breakfast or cleans the house. I don’t understand what is wrong with her today.” Jughead said to his friends who are also concerned about their currently “sleeping” friend.

“Maybe she just needs some alone time this morning.” Archie stated in for a question way. Everyone knew that Jughead knew Y/n the best out of the three so the room went silent as almost asking what he thinks.

“Yeah I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just call my dad to come pick her up. She seems stressed about something and I’m definitely not going to send her home. Her family will only make her more sad or mad or whatever the fuck their goal is.”

FP Jones. Little did the core four know that he was a big part of the reason the girl was acting strange.

“Hey Dad. Y/n is acting extremely strange right now and I was hoping you could pick her up. We’re at Veronica’s house right now and she still hasn’t even gotten out of bed.” Jughead hung up the phone after a minute.

“He’s on his way. I’m going to go talk to Y/n and help her get dressed.”

—————-

I knew that Jughead was up here as he did our secret knock on the door. “Come in.” I mumbled out with everything left in me.

“Hey Y/n, I know you said you’re tired and stuff but my dad is going to come and pick you up. Here’s your clothes, why don’t you go get changed.”

Y/n didn’t budge. Jughead gently lifted her so she was sitting up straight. Then he slowly lifted her shirt up and over her head and helped her change. Jug was not worried about getting her permission for this as they had been friends since babies and have spent whole days naked together… not in weird way though. Jughead was very concerned for his friend but knew Y/n would be in good hands with his dad. He knew she would get over whatever was causing this whole funk he just wasn’t sure what it would take.

—————

“Where is she?” FP asked as he enterned the apartment.

“She’s upstairs with Jug. I would recommend knocking because I think he’s helping her get dressed.“ Betty recommended.

“Alright.“ FP ran to Veronica’s room and knocked on the door.

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Come in.”

FP ran over to the girl he loved and rapped her in a big hug. FP knew that he loved Y/n he just didn’t realized HOW he loved her. Maybe it’s more then a father/daughter love. Y/n hugged back and started sobbing into his signature leather jacket. She recognized the smell all too well.

“Hey hey hey, how about we leave here and go back to my trailer and talk. Okay?” FP asked with a sad expression stuck on his face.

Even if FP didn’t know it yet, Jughead knew. He was also pretty certain Y/n loved him back. Of corse he knew to call his father, Y/n always found comfort in the Jones, weather she could admit it or not.

———

When you made your way back to the Jones trailer you were in shock. FP lifted you to the couch and hugged you so tight.

“Y/n we need to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. It was just some college shit with my parents again.”

“Ok then how about we talk about this, us.” He signals to you and him. All of a sudden courage and confidence ran through your bloodstream and out came a sentence you have been dying to say.

“I don’t know how you feel but I find older men kinda hot… daddy.” I immediately regretted my decision of word choice. He looked at me with wide eyes and a smirk present on his face. I also had a look of shock on my face I could only imagine, I mean I said that out loud… to his face.

“You’re pretty hot darling, but I’m 25 years older then you. Also if this happened, what about you and Jug?” FP said with concern. Sure we are best friends but nothing could change that, not even sleeping with his dad.

“Jug knows. I mean I think he knows. He’s the one who called me out on having crush’s on older people.” I am bisexual and I told FP and Jug not that long ago. Their the only ones that know so far.

“I wanna fuck you daddy.”

“I… wow. Ok darling, come here.” He lifts you onto his lap. You knew what he wanted so you started grinding. You start nice and slow and then quickly increase the speed. After a couple minutes you start to feel your wetness dripping through your pants and onto his pants. You felt his dick starting to harden under your hips.

“Oh fuck.” He mumbled. He quickly slammed you onto the couch and lifted your shirt up. You had a black lace bra on. He reached behind you and undid it.

“Look at those fucking beautiful tits. I wanna see them bounce.” You did as he requested and sat up and started grinding the couch and you tits bounced up and down.

“Holy fuck. You’re so hot.”

You slid onto the floor and slide his pants and boxers down. You moaned at the sight of his length. FPs head shot back when you started to pump him with your hand. He flipped you back to the couch. Then he took his shirt off and ripped your pants off. You were both completely naked.

“Please touch me daddy.” You begged. Fps hands went straight to your cunt. He rubbed you so hard In a continued pattern. Your vision went out and you were moaning insanely. You felt your whole body shake within seconds and it all felt so good. He kept rubbing me incredibly fast, putting me into overstimulation.

“Fuuuuck. I might squirt.” As soon as I said it I felt liquids squirt out of my lower area and all over FP. You moaned way to loud but he didn’t stop you.

FP brought his head down to your pussy and slowly licked your juices off of you. Ge kept going when he heard you moaning still but stopped after a minute.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind adding another girl to the mix sometime. Watching another girl cum right away from how fucking hot you and your big ass tits are.”

You started squirming from his words.

“I can’t believe I just fucked a 20 year old. How do you feel baby girl?”

“I feel great daddy.”

———

Once you guys had taken showers and gotten dressed you knew you had to talk to FP about what happened.

“You know we have to talk about us Y/n.” You sighed and looked at him.

“Why? I know you don’t want me.”

“There’s nothing else I want besides you, Y/n.”

And that’s where it all began.

[joshyybassett]

A boy cries about a girl who broke his heart.

A girl cries about that boy who broke her heart.

They both claim one another broke their hearts when in reality they didn’t love themselves enough to love each other.

Our world is sort of sad that way.

- Ellie 2022