#so that’s my best conviction. i’m going to just go by what she’s said. i’m going to go business as usual. see where life takes me

[munamania]

alright. best i can settle on is take her at her word but not. end being friends with her. i just. i don’t expect anything from her. do i wish? yeah but like. i know it’s messy maybe and i’ve had these feelings built up for forever but it’s all just human and. really getting to know her as a person is different and i feel safe with her. i feel like maybe some day i could tell her and it would be okay

[cosmos-coma]

My Sun, My Star

A/N: I'm so weak for Winter soldier Bucky. I cant wait to write more of him, I love this sad guilt ridden man.

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6756

Warnings: Breaking and entering, Minor violence, Injury and Blood, Winter soldier Bucky, GN reader but also Pregnant reader, mild language, I'm not sure if this is fluff or angst or both??

Summary: You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue | Bucky Masterlist

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Your eyes blinked slowly, heavier with each passing second, yet you still managed to open them once again. Glancing at the bright white numbers of the digital clock you watched it change to 1:46 AM, causing a groan to pull from your lips. Bucky was supposed to be back tonight (yesterday technically) from his latest mission, but he still had yet to show up at your shared flat. 

You checked your phone again, the lack of notifications mocking your tired eyes. You let out one more sigh before you turned off the mindless babbling of the TV and stood up to get ready for bed. You were sure Bucky wouldn’t want you waiting up so late in your current condition anyway, he had been harping you about getting enough sleep and water and everything in between.

“I’m only four months pregnant, Bucky. I’m fully capable of staying up late” You had said to him. 

“Five months, Doll, and it’s about your cortisol levels. It’s not good for you or the baby, and it could lead to them being underweight” he said, reciting exactly what the doctor had told him during your last checkup. 

“Four and a half,” you argued as you stuck your tongue out at him, “and she was talking about getting chased by a bear kind of stress, not staying up to watch Bake Off.” 

You snorted at the memory of just earlier that week, a small smile coming to your face as you went through your nightly routine. You continued to check your phone here and there as you went, “Did you get back safe? How’d your mission go?” you had texted two hours ago, yet it still remained unread and unanswered.  

‘Maybe one more quick text wouldn’t hurt,’  you thought to yourself as you typed out the simple message and hit send. 

“Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

You sighed as you set the phone down, “it’s okay, everything is okay,” you assured yourself as you pulled one of his large hoodies over your head, enjoying the way the hem brushed against your bare thighs and the sleeves threatened to swallow your hands. “He’s a former assassin and a super soldier! Nothing is going to happen that he can’t handle,” You stated firmly to your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes remained unsure despite your voice’s conviction, but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on the achingly tired look they held. 

“Yes, I know. It’s finally time for bed, little one,” you mumbled sleepily as you felt your baby kick against the walls of your protruding belly, being quick to climb between the layers of blankets and lonesome sheets. “Fuck, that's cold…!” you swore quietly as your bare legs hit the icy fabric- having gone unwarmed by your personal space heater and super soldier.

Thankfully sleep came easily, the thought of waking up to Bucky’s sleepy, scruffy face only further urged your body to wind down so the moment would come sooner. 

----

Bucky’s phone buzzed again in his bag, lighting up with your smiling face as your text displayed on the screen, but nobody reached down to check it, as everyone found themselves in a far more urgent situation. 

“Keep him busy, Rodgers! I just need one more minute!” Tony yelled as he dug through the equipment in the quinjet, “For fuck’s sake, who organized this last?” 

“What do you think I’m doing…!” The blond grunted with a justified hint of frustration,” Sam? Any help??” He shouted with a pointed look, telling more than asking as he struggled to restrain his thrashing friend. A swift metal fist flew toward his already battered face, barely giving him time to duck out of the way and attempt to restrain it again. 

“Honestly? Seems like you’ve got this one,” Sam said, holding up his hands.

“SAM.” 

“I’m coming..! God, can’t either of you old men take a joke?”

No one knew exactly what happened, Bucky had gone off on his own in the Hydra base they were exploring. It was supposed to have been recently abandoned, something about the agents leaving in an urgent rush that left files upon files sitting out in the open. It was supposed to be a simple mission; everyone goes off in teams, gathers what they can, and makes sure there are no surprises. But Bucky assured them that he would be fine to go on his own, he hadn’t had a sign of relapse in over a year, and he would only be picking up what looked important. A simple job.

He should’ve listened. 

It was when he didn’t return to the jet with the rest of them that they started to get worried. 

“So, where’s the Manchurian candidate?” Tony jested, looking at his watch. They were supposed to leave maybe 10 minutes ago, not terribly late by any means, but enough to start getting worried about Bucky’s quietness over the coms.  

“Man, come on.. ” Sam sighed at Tony’s joke as he crossed his arms. 

“Bucky?” Steve tried calling over the coms, ignoring both of his teammates, but the line remained all too quiet. 

They found him finally in the basement level of the office building, old discarded computers lining the walls along with cabinets upon cabinets of old files and other equipment. He hadn’t even realized it was a trap until he stepped right into it, triggering a switch that had the computers and hidden speakers flashing images and sounds that assaulted his senses with fragmented memories long forgotten. 

He should have listened. 

Sam had found him first, on his knees in the middle of the floor with hands desperately covering his ears, trying to block out the incessant noise. Hauling his teammate to his feet, he rushed back to the jet, calling everyone off from their search before anything else could be sprung. 

At first, they thought he might be fine- quiet, but fine. He had given them a small smile and a wave of his hand as everyone tried to check in with him, taking a seat as the jet took off to go home. It had all seemed relatively normal until they were halfway back and the unseen battle inside him must have taken a turn. 

“Got it!” Tony yelled as he pulled out the dart gun, aiming quickly as he fired two shots into Bucky’s chest, readying a third as he waited and watched for the tranquilizers to finally take effect. It was slow as Bucky continued to struggle against the drug’s drain, his body and mind turning into slow-moving molasses. Low grunts emanated from his throat as the last of his strength ebbed away, leaving nothing but forced sleep in its wake. 

“Was two really necessary?” Steve asked as his shoulders finally relaxed, the strain and worry now temporarily over. 

Together they dragged the drugged-up assassin into the jet’s small quarantine area for the remainder of the trip, satisfied only when they heard the mechanical locks slide into place. It wasn’t much, and they knew that and if he really wanted to there would be no stopping him from getting out, but it was something- enough to give them a few seconds of preparation if nothing else.  

“I’m not giving a super soldier only a single dose, you two metabolize things like this way too fast and I’m not taking any chances with the Tin man over there.”

Bucky- no, the Winter Soldier, seemed to still be out of it when they finally landed, sat up and leaning against the wall, head slumped forward just as they had left him. 

“Alright, let's just get him into one of the holding rooms for the night. We’ll work on resetting him-” Tony lifted his hands as the two men glared in his direction, “- on ‘fixing him up’ as soon as he’s been secured.” 

Sam shook his head as Tony corrected himself, taking notice of the lit-up phone in Bucky’s bag, buzzing with an only recently delivered message. Sam had quickly become one of your closest friends after you were introduced to the team. He was one of the few people Bucky trusted with his life and between his sarcastic jokes, his incredibly loyal nature, and his willingness to give Bucky shit whenever he deserved it, you knew very quickly how great a friend he would be. 

But now his stomach twisted as he saw your name flash across the screen, the alert quickly minimizing itself as it joined the other messages you had sent that night. How was he gonna break this to you? The last thing you needed was a bunch of unnecessary stress on your shoulders, but it’s obvious you were beginning to worry over their late return. Sliding the phone back into its rightful place Sam told himself that he’d call you once they had things more figured out.

“Heart rate still seems to be resting. With any luck, he’ll remain knocked out until we get inside,” Tony relayed as he monitored the Soldier’s vitals and pressed the button to open the heavy quarantine doors.

The doors slid into their resting positions with a soft click. 

As soon as that click landed on sensitive ears, vibrant blue eyes shot open. Sparing not even a second, the Winter Soldier surged forward from his seat, not nearly as far gone as he left them to believe. With the element of surprise, the Soldier easily knocked past his teammates, throwing his body weight against them and knocking Sam and Steve off balance, leaving him a good headstart as he dashed out the jet’s open door.

“Fuck, Bucky- Wait!,” Steve swore as he stumbled out behind him, having to use his super soldier speed just to keep pace. But between the settled darkness of the night, and the winding alleyways the brunette stuck to, Steve was left falling behind in no time. “Shit,” Steve swore as he slowed to a stop, looking around for any sign of his compromised friend. 

However, the streets lay barren, the fluttering of moths in the streetlights the only sign of life on the entire block.

---

The heavy thud of his boots echoed against the alleyway’s pavement. He wasn't sure where exactly he was headed as his silhouette slunk between the warm light of the streetlamps, but part of him- a currently repressed part of him- knew that safety was bound to be just ahead. 

His heart beat smoothly as he kept his pace, every other step falling in time as he rounded the corner. Blindly, he let himself be led by instinct and his feet maneuvered the city’s countless paths with a mind of their own. They slowed before a little apartment building and as those emotionless eyes looked up, he knew this was it.

The lateness of the hour had almost assured that no one was around as he slipped inside, footsteps padding up the stairs before stopping at the third floor. His heavy boots left nothing but wet prints in their wake as he wandered down the hall, impossibly silent, as even the notoriously creaky boards dared not announce his presence. 

The closer he got, the more the back of his mind itched, as if something- someone- was begging him not to go any further, but he refused to listen; he knew this was where he was meant to be and where he would find what his body was so inexplicably drawn to.

With each step his head turned on a swivel, looking for the sense of safety and familiarity that the other half of him seemed to find here- and desperately wished he wouldn’t discover. Just as his foot was about to take another step he stopped. ‘No. Here.’ His gut told him, turning to the door. 

His door.

Your door.

The former assassin bypassed the lock with ease, quickly slipping in before shutting the door behind him. A dim light illuminated the living room, the little lamp you left on for him casting its orange glow over his surroundings as he surveyed them.

A few mugs stand beside the sink, framed photos dot the wall and side tables, and a veritable nest of blankets lay across the couch. It was obvious someone had been here, and recently. A deep breath pulled into his lungs, causing his head to tilt to the side in contemplation as an unfamiliar scent hit his nose, something just as earthy as it was sweet and speckled with distant notes of… him?

“Hmmph”  

His sensitive ears picked up the soft grunt from down the hall immediately. His shoulders squared and tensed as his body leaned into a defensive position. Cautious fingers pulled the knife from his boot, ready for whatever may come at him as he approached. 

The sounds of soft breaths lead him to a door left ajar. Light just slipped past the curtains into the darkened room. Badum… Badum… Badum… a heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he took a step closer, leaving the door open and letting further light fall onto the source of the noise. 

His wolfish gaze ran down your form as you lay there on your back, swallowed in the extra fabric of the old sweatshirt. Your hand rested casually over your stomach as your other one squished gently against your cheek. Your legs lay bare to the world after having kicked the overbearing sheets away, leaving just a glance of your underwear for him to take in.  

“Mmph” You grunted again as you shifted, your face now turned to him as that earthy scent of yours gripped him like a vice and refused to let go.

Your sweet sleep became interrupted though- much to his dismay- as the phone on your nightstand began to light up and buzz incessantly. Still, as a statue he watched as you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you went to check what your device could possibly want at this ungodly hour. 

With one loose fist, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes away, blinking consciousness back into them until you saw Bucky’s illuminated figure before you, standing tall and quiet as he watched you intently. 

“Bucky..?” You couldn’t hide the grin that spread across your face as you saw the familiar face of your lover lit up by the bright light of your phone screen. But the longer you looked the more you noticed.

His eyes were all wrong, his gaze was devoid, that’s the only way you could put it. Devoid of meaning and humanity, it seemed every gaze- every movement- was a means to an end. Empty… save for a flicker of fear; It was probably the only thing in those eyes right now that registered as human. The fear of someone who was lost, unknowing of their purpose, and confused as to why your gaze was made his cold heart falter.

His expression was flat and stoic, save for the knit of confusion that pulled his brows together. His stance was tense and prepared, the discrete knife still glittering in his hands as he took another step forward, his head slowly shaking in response to your question. 

A gasp caught in your throat as you finally understood. Glancing at your phone you saw it was Sam who was calling, undoubtedly trying to tell you what you now already knew.

“Soldat…” You whispered, trying to hide the way his name sent shivers across your skin. Your phone went black then, as you didn’t pick up in time and you were left blind by the sudden darkness.

 You and Bucky had talked about what to do if you found him like this, “You call Sam and Steve, Okay? You find a place to hide and you stay far away, no matter what you hear. There’s no reasoning with him,” He had told you.

So much for that

Your phone lit up again with Sam’s urgent call, its revealing light sending ice down your spine as you saw the man nearly standing over you now, just a hair’s breadth away.

Your hand rose slowly, shaking as you tested a reach for your phone, stopping dead in your tracks as he let out a disapproving grunt. Your head nodded slowly as you gulped, returning your hand to your stomach as you watched his gaze finally shift away. 

With unbothered calmness, he looked toward your phone to see Sam’s face and name scrawled across your screen. Wordlessly he reached over and pressed the ‘decline call’ button, cutting the call short and leaving you two in perfect silence once more. 

Panic began to rise in your throat as his gaze turned back toward you, darkened now only by the lack of light. With slow movements the Winter Soldier reached out, putting the knife away as he crouched down, as if trying to attract a skittish animal. 

Your whole body tensed as his reach came closer, eyes screwing shut as you waited for the worst, “Please… Just don’t hurt her…” You whispered, fear and desperation rattling your voice, just as it did your anxiety-filled body. 

But the pain never came. Instead, the cool touch of metal fingers ran down your cheek, barely denting your flesh as he relished in its softness. Your eyes peeked open cautiously, as his fingers moved along the slope of your jaw, tilting your head up as he came to your chin. 

His eyes had changed, you noticed, instead of being a harsh blizzard, they had now settled into something more human, something warmer and… yearning? 

“Soldat..?” You questioned as you watched his lips part, his senses focused only on the way your body reacted to his touch. You were sure he could hear the rapid pattering of your heart beneath your ribs, its pace only increasing as his fingers moved down your neck and to the exposed collarbone in your loose neckline.

“Красивый [Beautiful]...,” was all he could reply. It came out so soft you weren’t sure you heard it at first, it’s quiet reverence meant for your ears and your ears only. “Из-за тебя он чувствует себя здесь в безопасности...? Замки дерьмовые, видимость слишком высокая, но ты… [Are you why he feels safe here…? The locks are shit, the visibility is too high, but you…]” He continued, quiet and unbothered as if he assumed you couldn’t understand him. 

“He’s been bugging me to get better locks all week…” you replied with a huff, quickly shutting up as his stare found your eyes again. Between Bucky’s ramblings in the night and Natasha’s tendency to only gossip in Russian, you had made an effort to learn it; You were still learning, and your pronunciation was shit, but your understanding had gotten far better. 

“And you have a good ear…” He spoke in English this time, the vague hint of an amused smile pulling at the assassin’s stern lips. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever done that before. If that odd little smile had been seen by anyone else- anyone still living that is.

A breath of relief left you as your lips stretched to mimic his, the tension easing out of your body a little by little.

His metallic touch continued to linger, running down your covered chest until it settled on the waistband of your underwear, the cool metal trailing across your ticklish skin. 

“Ah, wait, Sol-” You jumped at his touch, grabbing his wrist, despite knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to stop him if it’s what he wanted.

But instead of dipping his fingers lower, he simply tugged the oversized hoodie up, gathering it over your chest and exposing the firm baby bump concealed below. His head tilted to the side as he listened to the tiny heartbeat that fluttered in your belly as well as the thuds of its little movements against your skin. Slowly, still with that inkling of a smile, he turned to look at you, his hand hovering just above your vulnerable midsection as if awaiting permission. 

Heat rose to your cheeks as you hesitated. On one hand, you felt a surprising amount of calm under the assassin's touch, his need for your approval only increasing your sense of security. But on the other hand, Bucky would never be able to live with himself if something happened to you or the baby, accident or not. 

“Oh. I-” 

CRASH.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as were cut short by the loud noise. The door to your apartment slammed open, surely breaking the hinges with the sheer force of it. Over a dozen heavy boots stormed into your apartment as the lights turned on, flooding your senses and forcing the Soldier’s attention elsewhere. 

Your hand found his instantly, the heat of his calloused skin a comfort to you just the way Bucky’s was, especially as it squeezed around yours just the same. Sitting up properly now your sweatshirt swallowed your pregnant form once again and you peeked out to see just what was going on. 

Through The Winter Soldier’s defensive stance in front of you, his knife is now drawn once more, you watched a small armed group, covered in black tactical gear raid your home, all guns pointing towards you- or more accurately- the former assassin attempting to shield you. You recognized the symbols on their vests as the team’s secondary security force, having even met a few of them over the years. But where was the rest of the team? Where was Sam, and Steve, and Tony?

“Step away from the civilian!” “Put your hands in the air!” “Sir, drop the knife!” They all shouted, overlapping with each other as each of them rushed out their demands. 

“Don't shoot! It’s okay! It’s okay!” You rushed.

You tried to slip your hand from his, but he only held fast, “Soldat, please… It’s okay, just do what they say… They don’t want to hurt us. Please,” You urged, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, 

His defenses faltered as he listened to you beg him to stand down. It wasn’t the usual begging he heard in his line of work, and coming from your lips had his walls cracking in an unprecedented way. 

He shouldn’t have looked back at your eyes, wide and pleading, as they shook his walls further. Moving slowly he turned, kneeling before you despite the way the armed group yelled at him not to. You just held up your hand to them, pleading for them to be as gentle with him as he was with you. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” The warm flesh of his hand came up easily to cradle your face and a small smile pulled at him again as you leaned into his large palm. “Я только что нашел тебя. Я не потеряю тебя снова так быстро[I’ve only just found you. I will not lose you again so quickly]. ”

Your heart both swelled and pained for your Soldier. You looked into his eyes and saw a sense of certainty, a sense of knowing, you hadn’t seen from him earlier. “Oh… my soldier, my star,” Your fingers entwined with the hand holding your cheek, ”You can not lose me in any way that would last…” You whispered to him past the shouts, the commotion, and the tension, like you were the only two in the room. 

“Sir, put the knife down!” A young squad member called again, his voice far more concerned than his superiors. You didn’t recognize him or his number and you figured he must’ve been new. His gun trembled in his hands as he shouted again, but as the Soldier failed to move and the kid’s finger unexpectedly twitched, there came a sudden- 

BANG.

“Ah-!” Your face twisted with pain as you pulled away, “Fuck…!” Your hands instinctively grabbed your leg, clamping over the shooting pain in your calf that hit you- well- like a bullet. 

You winced again as you pulled one of your hands back, the raw skin of your leg angrily letting you know that it did not like being brushed against. Warm, wet crimson covered your fingers as you looked down, becoming slightly dizzy at how much had already covered your palm. You were thankful it only seemed to be a graze, but the burn you already felt and knowing you were losing blood had your stomach lurching in uncomfortable ways. 

Concern painted the assassin’s expression as you recoiled away from his doting touch, but as the unmistakable warm, metallic smell curled into his nose, his expression darkened dramatically. What was once kind, curious blue eyes now saw nothing but red as he caught sight of the wound slashing across your skin. His jaw set firmly, almost audibly grinding his teeth as he stood and turned to the young kid. 

You looked back at the newcomer as you tried to breathe through the pain, the horrified look on his face telling you that he knew he was a dead man walking. His face went ghost white as the super soldier stalked toward him and through even worse trembling hands he raised his gun to shoot again. 

“No…!”

A sickening thud rang out as the bullet hit the assassin square in his good shoulder, getting lodged in the muscly flesh. His shoulder jerked back at the force, but it wouldn’t stop his stride as he closed the gap. Another shot rang out, but with the solid vibranium arm now covering the barrel it did little to help this poor dumb kid. Snatching him by the neck, you watched as your assassin held him up until his feet kicked uselessly in the air. 

Every gun immediately trained on him and with their proximity you knew they wouldn’t miss a fatal shot if it came to it.

“Stop! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Soldier, put him down!” You yelled as you maneuvered towards the edge of the bed. “Please, don't shoot, I can fix this!” you continued, trying to convince yourself as much as you convinced them. Familiar voices joined in on your plea as Sam and Steve finally entered the picture, urgently trying to talk down both the Winter Soldier and the secondary security team. 

“Bucky, It’s okay... Just put the kid down, alright?” Steve tried to reason with him, “He’s new, he doesn’t know what he’s doing yet.” Steve tried his best to stay calm and patient, but the young man was beginning to change colors now. “Bucky, put him down before you do something you can’t come back from.” But Bucky’s ears were deaf to the outside pleas and the Winter soldier refused to listen.

“Ah..!” You whimpered as you tried to stand and approach the commotion. The pain in your leg reached new heights as you tried to put weight on it, causing you to tumble to your knees almost immediately. You clutched your belly, hoping the sudden jostle wouldn’t upset the baby too much as you tried to get up again. 

“Hold on, Y/n. Stay down for a minute so we can wrap your leg…” Sam asked of you, moving over to help as soon as he saw the blood on your hands, “You’re losing plenty already.”

“No, I have to…. I can’t let him get hurt,” you argued, pushing away his helpful hands as you tried to stand again. You heard the crashing thud and rushed voices as you shakily got to your feet, leaning all your weight on your good leg. As you looked up again you came eye to eye with worry-filled icy blues.

“Sol-”

“Мое солнце  [My Sun]...” He interrupted, his metal arm snaking around your waist to pull you in possessively and away from those who threatened your safety. On the other side of the room, the nervous kid now coughed and wheezed for breath, but you were just happy to see he was still alive. 

“Please just listen to them. You’re already hurt, don’t get yourself killed…” you pleaded, your hand barely brushing over his bleeding wound before pulling his hand to your rounded belly. He tried to keep his expression steady, but you saw the way his eyes widened slightly as he looked down. “She needs someone looking out for her and I can’t do this on my own. I can’t keep away all the dangers of the world…” Your forehead rested against his as you tried to shift your weight, whining as you gave up and moved back. You couldn’t deny that this part of Bucky was her father too, even if he had been hidden away for ages, she was still his too. Whether Bucky would see it the same way you weren’t sure, but right now you were just concerned with making sure he got out of this alive. 

“I can’t do this without you…” 

The silence felt deafening as he considered. He never had to think about other people relying on him, not like this. His orders had always been to leave no threats, to finish his job and move on, no matter the cost to him. But the pain in his soft, fleshy shoulder was getting harder to ignore. The way his blood-soaked shirt clung to his arm now climbed to the forefront of his mind as he watched your big eyes stare back at him, desperate to understand. He was between a rock and a hard place. 

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time..” You assured him, “We both will, but please let everyone get us some help.” 

A gentle nudge pushed against his palm as his thoughts swirled around him, snapping him back to a single line of thought and he knew then. Defeat laid heavy on his shoulders as they slumped, accepting what must be done., “Мое солнц [My Sun] …”, He said, “Если вы так хотите, то я не буду жаловаться [If it is what you wish, then I will not complain].” 

You couldn’t tell just how long you had been holding the breath you let out, your muscles relaxing as he finally held his hands up. The security squad began coming forward with an array of cuffs, but it was Sam who stopped them this time, glancing back at you for confirmation as he assured them that they could take it from here. Despite the arguing and the hesitation, they seemed to relent, shifting their focus now to their injured colleague. 

Both Sam and Steve looked tired but relieved as they turned to the two of you, bloody and pained in your current state. Though they weren’t quite better; both of them looked like they had been the unfortunate punching bag of a certain super soldier mere hours before. Sam had bruises lining his arms from where he was surely blocking blow after blow and Steve smiled a bit with his busted lip, dried blood still stuck in the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s get you two to the tower…” 

----

The journey to the tower was quiet, your soldier never letting you out of arms reach as you all boarded the armored truck, and made your way up the tower and to the lab. 

Doctors tried to treat the both of you, but as soon as anyone dared to come close your assassin was right there to growl them back. They’d hardly be able to get past his possessive hands even if they could manage to get close, his touch keeping you pulled beside him at all times.

“Soldat…” you warned him, but he was too preoccupied gathering the medical bag they had been dropped. Coming over to you, there was no warning as he scooped you up from the ground and set you on a table to get to work. 

“Oh-!” You exclaimed as you held onto his strong shoulder, quickly getting plopped back down on the corner of the cold metal table. A shiver ran down your skin as you shifted against the sleek table, watching as practiced hands scoured through the medical bag, producing everything he needed as he went about fixing up your leg wordlessly. 

You were beyond thankful for the haze of the (baby-safe) painkillers as his fingers slid over the raw flesh. Despite the gentle numbing of the painkiller your fingers still lay tangled in his hair as he worked, only tugging in discomfort as the gauze wrapped tightly around your leg.

"Thank you..” You said when he finally finished, moving back to appreciate his work before giving it a satisfactory nod. His eyes had grown distant again, bits of confusion and uncertainty swirling in the storm of his eyes, and you reached out to stroke your thumb across his cheek. His stony cool expression remained as you touched him, his mouth staying a firm line as he instinctively leaned into your palm. You watched him for a moment before you continued, knowing that his thoughts must be far away.

“It's your turn now, big guy.... your shoulder is still seeping and you can’t keep losing blood like this," You urged him just as you had on the ride to the tower. He had refused to listen then, letting nothing else occupy his mind until he knew you were fully taken care of. But now as you sit safely before him, the only looming threats being Sam and Steve who seem to haunt the hallway outside, he finally relented.

You moved to stand, needing the angle to effectively dig out the bullet still lodged in his muscles, but he held you still with a single large hand on your shoulder, "Stay," he urged you with that low rumble of his. His eyes lingered on yours, ensuring you would do as he asked before he began to move again, gathering the supplies you would need.

He slid his bloody shirt off, revealing the weeping wound beneath and the scars of many wounds past. You expected him to stand in front of you, maybe sit so you could take care of him, but that didn’t seem to be the important thing right now.

He climbed up onto the cold table where you sat, curling onto his side with his back facing the door so his wounded shoulder sat closest to you. His head lay in your lap with a look of unmatched serenity as he pressed his forehead against your rounded belly. And there he rested, quiet and unmoving as he took his quiet moment. But he was far too exposed like this, far too trusting of “threats” lurking outside, and he almost reminded you of Bucky again. Was Bucky fighting to come back…? Was the Winter Soldier trusting you to watch his back? … or was he accepting of something you weren't sure he knew yet?

"Are you sure? It's going to be harder to take the bullet out this way. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to," you tried to explain as you pulled out the forceps.

But he simply shook his head, "I know my time here is short, my Sun..." he said with an even tone, no semblance of fear to shake his voice, "Please let me enjoy it like this…."

Your voice caught in your throat as he answered, his blunt acceptance and knowing catching you off guard. You wished beyond anything that you could soothe him, to tell him no one was going to hurt him or take him away again. But you wouldn’t lie to him, so instead you said nothing, Your words rasping as you replied, "Of course, My star…."

The room was quiet as you worked, the only noise the sweet mumblings from your boyfriend's lips as he filled your baby’s ears with loving promises. His body let out a grunt and a soft squelch as you finally tugged the crushed bullet out. Pain creased his brow but his words never faltered and neither did the nudges or kicks he got in reply.

Carefully you cleaned up the blood, packing the wound as best you could, but you were sure Tony and his team would be redoing it soon nonetheless.

A sigh escaped him as he heard you putting away your tools, "My Sun?" he asked.

"Yes?"

“Is it time…?”

You cast your eyes downward, looking into those confused and swirling blues as they watched you with unbridled hope.

You nodded, wiping away the tears that welled in your eyes, “It’s time…” you whispered.

He nodded, thinking quietly as he looked down at your belly again, his hand smoothing over the skin he’s exposed, “Will I see you two again…?” 

Your heart broke at the slight waver in his voice, “Oh, my star…” you said, resting your palm against his cheek, “It’s just like I said, ‘you can not lose me in any way that would last’. I’ll see you again and again, in this life and the next,” you assured as you leaned down to kiss his temple, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. Tears blinked from your eyes as you continued, “I don’t know when, or for how long, but you will see us again. You can always come home to me, and I will always be there to welcome you.” You leaned, slow as not to scare him, and kissed him gently as he turned again to look at you.

 It was awkward at first, but you didn’t mind, you couldn’t imagine the last time the Winter Soldier had felt such gentleness, let alone a kiss. 

But the moment was ripped away as the door opened, Steve, Sam, and Tony all standing in the doorway. “We’re ready for him,” Tony said simply, “Let's get this started so my lab techs can go home….” 

-----

You watched behind thick glass as Tony and his team of technicians attached various wires and machinery to Bucky’s body. Sam and Steve’s hands lie on your shoulders, trying to comfort you as you watch them finish tuning and placing everything. You watched as his blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, as still as a statue as he let them do their work.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to watch this…” Steve tried to comfort you, but you only shook your head. 

“No… I promised I’d see him off,” you replied, then thought with a pause, “Despite all the warnings Bucky gave me I’m happy I got to see him face to face…” 

“Well, it helps that he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of you…” Sam mumbled, getting an immediate nudge from you right in one of his bruises, “ Ow…okay, point taken.”

You smiled and shook your head. It was true though; despite the fear, blood, and death that dripped from his moniker, despite the pain you endured in his presence, you would do it all again. Bucky had hidden this part of him from you for so long, only ever showing you half of his face. And though you know he wouldn’t like it, you’re happy to finally see him in full light- to know and love him completely as he’s meant to be.

Tony says something that’s hard to make out through the glass, but you see him give a thumbs up to you all so he must have been ready. He moved to the switch, hesitating for a moment to let you say a quick goodbye. 

Your Soldier’s eyes found yours right away, but there was no trace of sorrow for you to see, no discomfort or fear. In fact, he seemed almost excited; excited and hopeful that when he saw you next he’d have a bundle of joy to look forward to as well. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” you watched him say beyond the glass.

“I’ll see you again, My stars. I’m sure of it…” You replied with a soft smile.

He had just enough time to smile softly back at you, an image now pleasantly etched in your brain before Tony flipped the switch and the reset procedure began. 

You covered your eyes quickly as Bucky’s body began to convulse, his strained grunts and shouts breaching containment despite the way he tried to hold it all back. The sounds of pain continued for minutes, but it felt far longer. Though, it wasn’t until it got quiet that you began to worry. 

“Is it done? Is it over...?” You asked the men on either side of you, afraid to peek past your hands for fear of the worst.

“Doll…?” you heard the familiar voice call, gritty and rough from its recent use but still carrying that same soft tone he used with you.

Your heart swelled, “Bucky...?”

_____________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @simpxinnie (sorry I forgot to tag!)

It's been a while since I've written for our favorite sad man, so if I've missed you/you want to be added to the taglist, DM me to let me know!

[reidmarieprentiss]

Rewritten Plans

Summary: Spencer accidentally rejects you in fear of being rejected himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x tech analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: crying, rejection, miscommunication

Word count: 4.7k

a/n: giving our baby better memories <333

main masterlist

The fluorescent lights in the break room flickered slightly as you reached for your usual morning coffee, the bitterness of the weekend still lingering like an unwelcome guest. You had spent the last few days wrestling with a mix of emotions—embarrassment, hurt, and a deep sense of rejection that gnawed at you. You couldn’t believe Spencer, the man you had built up the courage to ask out, hadn’t even shown up. As if the whole thing had been a cruel joke, he hadn’t called or texted to explain. Just… nothing.

As you stirred the sugar into your cup absentmindedly, you heard a familiar voice. “Good morning,” Spencer greeted, his tone casual as if everything was perfectly normal.

You froze, the spoon clattering against the ceramic mug. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned slowly to face him. His smile was genuine, but it was like a knife twisting in the wound. You had to swallow the rising lump in your throat as you stared at him, disbelief etched into your features.

“Good morning?” The words nearly choked in your throat as you barely managed to keep your voice from trembling. You couldn’t say anything more, couldn’t confront him here with others around. Instead, you clenched your jaw, turning on your heel, and walked out of the break room, the sting of tears burning in your eyes.

Spencer stood there, confusion furrowing his brow as he watched you leave. He replayed the conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he might have said wrong.

As you made your way back to the shared office you had with Penelope, you hastily wiped at your eyes, trying to compose yourself. The last thing you needed was anyone seeing you like this, but you knew Penelope. She was too perceptive, especially when it came to her friends.

Penelope looked up from her monitors as you entered, her vibrant outfit contrasting starkly with the dull mood you carried with you. “Hey, what’s up, sweet cheeks?” she asked, her voice full of concern the moment she noticed your expression.

You tried to play it off, offering a weak smile as you sat down at your desk, but the pain was too fresh, too raw. You sniffled slightly, quickly reaching for a tissue. “Nothing, just had a bad weekend.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed, the gears in her mind already turning. “Did you go out with the good doctor?” she asked, her voice lifting with hope as she wiggled her eyebrows. She had been so excited for you, so sure that Spencer wouldn’t say no.

But the question was the breaking point. The tears you had been desperately trying to hold back welled up, and despite your best efforts, a few escaped, sliding down your cheeks.

Penelope’s face fell as she immediately rushed over to your side, pulling a chair close to yours. “Oh honey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

You looked at her, your vision blurred by tears, and it took everything in you to say the words. “He stood me up!”

“What??” Penelope’s voice was a mixture of shock and outrage. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

You wiped at your tears with the back of your hand, feeling utterly defeated. “Spencer stood me up, Penelope. He never came, not even a call or text. Nothing.”

Penelope’s eyes flashed with anger, something you didn’t see often from her. “He must have a good reason,” she tried, but her voice lacked the usual conviction. She couldn’t imagine Spencer doing something so cruel without a reason.

But you shook your head, the hurt too deep to be consoled by simple explanations. “If he had a reason, he would have called or something, right? But he didn’t. He just… didn’t show up.”

Penelope looked like she was about to explode. “I’m gonna go give him a piece of my mind!” she declared, starting to rise from her seat, her protective instincts kicking in.

“No, Penelope,” you pleaded, grabbing her arm. “Don’t say anything, please. I’m already so humiliated.”

Penelope hesitated, her heart aching at seeing you so distraught. She sat back down, her expression softening as she took your hand in hers. “Okay, honey, I won’t. But I’m going to give him a nasty look every time I see him!”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a small, watery laugh. Penelope was one of the kindest, most understanding people you knew, and you were grateful to have her by your side, even if it didn’t make the pain go away. “Thank you, Penelope.”

She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Anytime, sweet cheeks. Anytime.”

As you both turned back to your work, you couldn’t help but think about how the rest of the day would go, knowing that Spencer was just a few doors away, completely unaware of the hurt he had caused.

—

It was a quiet afternoon in the office, the kind where the hum of computers and the occasional ringing of phones created a soothing, almost hypnotic atmosphere. You had been working alongside Penelope for a few months now, and in that time, you’d gotten to know everyone on the team fairly well. But there was one person who had caught your attention more than anyone else—Spencer Reid.

Spencer was a fascinating mix of brilliance and awkwardness, someone who seemed to live in a world of his own, filled with facts and figures, statistics and probabilities. He was charming in his own unique way, with a smile that could light up a room. Over the weeks, you found yourself drawn to him, captivated by the way his mind worked, and how despite all his intelligence, there was a sweetness to him, a kindness that made your heart flutter.

So, after much internal debate and several pep talks from Penelope, you decided to take the plunge and ask him out. The idea terrified you—rejection was never easy, but there was something about Spencer that made you think it would be worth the risk. You caught him in a rare moment of quiet, standing by the coffee machine, refilling his cup. His focus was entirely on the task at hand, his mind likely a million miles away.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted, your voice light as you approached.

He looked up, blinking as if you’d pulled him from some deep train of thought. “Oh, hey,” he replied, offering you a small smile. “How’s it going?”

You fiddled with your hands nervously, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s going good, thanks. Um, I was actually wondering if… maybe you’d like to go out this weekend? With me, I mean. Like… a date?”

There was a brief silence, and for a moment, you saw something flash across his eyes—was it confusion? Shock? It was hard to tell. His expression remained neutral, almost too neutral, as if he was trying to process your words.

Spencer’s mind was racing. This couldn’t be real, right? Memories from his school days flooded back to him, unwanted and painful. He remembered the girls who had asked him out, only to laugh at him when he showed up, mocking him for believing they could ever be interested in someone like him. The sting of their cruelty had left scars, ones that never fully healed, making it hard for him to trust when it came to matters of the heart.

And now, here you were, standing in front of him, asking him out. He wanted to believe it was genuine, but the fear of being hurt again was too strong, too ingrained in him.

“Ha, yeah, sure. See you then,” he said, his voice carrying a forced lightness as he flashed you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, relieved that he had said yes, telling him when and where to meet you. You didn’t notice the way his smile faltered slightly as you walked away, or how his gaze dropped to the floor, lost in a swirl of doubt and old wounds.

To Spencer, this was just another prank, another setup for humiliation. He couldn’t bear the thought of showing up somewhere only to be laughed at again, so he made a decision right then and there. He wouldn’t go. It was easier that way, safer. Better to be the one who doesn’t show up than the one who ends up a fool.

But as you left the break room that day, excitedly thinking about your upcoming date, you had no idea that Spencer wasn’t planning to come at all. You had no idea that his past was full of moments that had taught him to be wary of people’s intentions, to doubt even the kindest gestures. And because of that, neither of you could have anticipated the heartache that was about to unfold.

—

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough that even those who weren’t particularly attuned to the emotional undercurrents of their team could feel it. Spencer sat at the conference table, his hands clasped together in front of him, his fingers nervously fidgeting with one another. He was trying to focus on the case at hand, but his mind kept drifting to the awkwardness that had settled in the room.

He couldn't ignore the way you had walked in, eyes fixed anywhere but on him, your expression clearly hurt and turned to avoid even glancing in his direction. It was like a punch to his gut, confirming what he feared—something had gone wrong, horribly wrong.

And then there was Penelope. She wasn’t just looking at him; she was glaring. Her usual warm, playful demeanor had been replaced by a frosty silence and a gaze that could have cut through steel. Spencer could feel the weight of it on him, making him squirm in his seat. He didn’t understand why she was so angry, but it was clear she knew something he didn’t.

Derek, sitting across the table, was the first to pick up on the strange energy. He noticed the way Penelope’s eyes kept darting over to Spencer, the way she seemed ready to pounce, her foot tapping restlessly against the floor. Derek had seen Penelope angry before, but this was different. This was personal.

As the meeting wrapped up and the team began to disperse, Derek caught up with Penelope just as she was about to leave. “Hey, baby girl,” he called softly, falling into step beside her. “You wanna tell me why you were looking at Reid like he spit in your coffee?”

Penelope paused, her face tightening as she looked around the room, making sure no one else was within earshot. Without a word, she grabbed Derek’s hand and tugged him down a quiet corridor in the office, away from prying eyes and ears.

Derek allowed himself to be pulled along, his curiosity piqued. Whatever had Penelope this riled up had to be serious. When they were finally out of sight, she turned to him, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“If I tell you, you have to be sworn to secrecy,” she said, her voice low but urgent.

Derek held up his hands in mock surrender, his expression full of concern and intrigue. “You got it, mama. My lips are sealed.”

Penelope hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering down to Derek’s mouth. “Mmm, those lips,” she muttered, before shaking her head to refocus. “Okay, focus. Y/N asked out Spencer, and he stood her up.”

Derek blinked, the surprise evident on his face. “No way,” he said, his voice dropping in disbelief.

Penelope nodded solemnly, her expression serious. “Believe it, beautiful.”

Derek leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his head as he tried to process what he was hearing. “That doesn’t sound like Reid,” he finally said, his brow furrowing in confusion. “He’s not that kind of guy.”

“I know,” Penelope sighed, her voice filled with frustration. “But Y/N said he didn’t even call her, Derek. Not a text, not a word. Just left her hanging.”

Derek felt a surge of protective anger rise within him. He couldn’t imagine Spencer doing something so thoughtless, but if it had happened, there had to be an explanation. “Oh, I’m going to have a little chat with him,” Derek said, his voice low and determined as he pushed up his sleeves, ready to confront his friend.

Penelope reached out, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “Y/N said not to intervene. She’s embarrassed,” she said, her voice softening.

Derek hesitated, looking down at Penelope’s hand on his arm, then back up at her face. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she wanted to protect you but also knew that something needed to be done. “I hear you, but you know I can’t just let this slide. Something’s up with Reid, and if he hurt her, even unintentionally, we need to get to the bottom of it.”

Penelope sighed, letting her hand drop as she nodded reluctantly. “Just… be careful, okay? He’s sensitive, and I don’t think he would do something like this on purpose.”

Derek gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, baby girl. I’ll talk to him, figure out what’s going on. But I won’t make a big scene. I promise.”

Penelope nodded again, trusting Derek to handle the situation delicately. “Thank you, Derek. I just want Y/N to be okay.”

“She will be,” Derek promised, squeezing her shoulder gently before heading off in search of Spencer.

—

Spencer had just finished organizing his files when he heard Derek's voice calling out to him from across the bullpen. “Yo, Reid, come have a chat with me,” Derek said, his tone casual but carrying an undertone that Spencer couldn’t quite place.

Spencer looked up, his brow furrowing in confusion. Derek’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made Spencer uneasy. Nonetheless, he nodded and followed Derek as he led the way down one of the quieter hallways, away from the bustling activity of the main office.

When they reached a more secluded spot, Derek turned to face him, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. Spencer shifted nervously, his mind already racing through all the possible reasons why Derek would want to talk to him in private like this.

Derek didn’t waste any time. “I heard from a little birdy that you skipped out on a promise this weekend,” he said, his voice steady but with a hint of disappointment.

Spencer’s confusion only deepened. “Huh? What? When?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. He couldn’t recall making any promises recently, much less skipping out on them.

Derek raised an eyebrow, giving Spencer a pointed look. “Your date with Y/N?” he prompted, his tone making it clear that he wasn’t messing around.

“My what??” Spencer’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, his mind reeling. “A date with Y/N?” he repeated, as if trying to wrap his head around the idea.

Derek nodded slowly, watching Spencer’s reaction closely. “Yeah, man. From what I hear, it seems pretty clear that there was a date in place. She asked you out, didn’t she?”

Spencer felt his stomach drop as the memory of your conversation in the break room flooded back to him. The moment when you had asked him out, the way he had brushed it off, thinking it was just another cruel prank like the ones he had endured in school. His face paled as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Oh no,” he muttered, more to himself than to Derek. He brought a hand to his mouth, the guilt starting to churn in his gut. “She… she really meant it?”

Derek’s expression softened slightly as he saw the genuine regret in Spencer’s eyes. “Yeah, Reid, she really did,” Derek confirmed, his voice gentler now. “And when you didn’t show up, she was pretty hurt. She thought you stood her up.”

Spencer’s heart sank even further. He felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “I didn’t— I thought—” He stumbled over his words, struggling to find a way to explain himself. “I thought it was a joke, Derek. I thought… I thought she was just messing with me like they used to do back in school. I didn’t think she was serious.”

Derek sighed, his frustration mingled with sympathy. He knew Spencer’s past had been tough, especially when it came to trust and relationships, but this was a mess that needed to be cleaned up. “Look, I get it, man. But you need to talk to her, explain what happened. She’s not those kids from your school. Y/N’s not like that.”

Spencer nodded, his throat tightening with emotion. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

“I know, Reid,” Derek said, placing a reassuring hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “But you’ve gotta make this right. She deserves to know the truth.”

Spencer looked up at Derek, his eyes filled with determination despite the guilt weighing him down. “I will,” he promised. “I’ll talk to her as soon as I can.”

“Good,” Derek said, giving Spencer’s shoulder a firm squeeze before letting go. “And next time, Reid, give yourself a little more credit. Not everyone’s out to get you.”

Spencer managed a small, shaky smile. “Thanks, Derek,” he said, his voice sincere.

Derek nodded, watching as Spencer turned to head back to his desk, his mind already racing with how he was going to fix the situation.

—

The days that followed were an exercise in avoidance, a delicate dance you performed with all the grace and agility of someone trying to protect a wounded heart. You made sure to be busy—busier than usual—burying yourself in work, taking on extra tasks, and making yourself scarce in the common areas of the office. If Spencer happened to be in the break room, you suddenly remembered you needed to be somewhere else. If he entered the bullpen, you would conveniently find a reason to slip out, your footsteps quick and purposeful.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him. On the contrary, a part of you longed for him to acknowledge what had happened, to offer an explanation or even an apology. But the other part of you, the one that was humiliated, sad, rejected, angry, and hurt, couldn’t bear the thought of facing him. You didn’t trust yourself not to break down, to let those emotions spill out in a mess of tears and confusion. So you avoided him like the plague, hoping that by keeping your distance, the wounds might heal on their own.

But Spencer wasn’t blind to your actions. He noticed how you seemed to disappear whenever he entered a room, how your laughter, which used to fill the space, was now absent, replaced by a cold silence that made him ache with guilt. He tried to catch your eye in meetings, but you wouldn’t look at him, your focus trained determinedly on your notes or on anyone else in the room. It was as if you had built an invisible wall between you, one that Spencer didn’t know how to break through.

He tried to find moments where he could talk to you, hoping for a chance to explain, to make things right. But every attempt was thwarted by your meticulous avoidance. He waited outside your office one morning, only to have you take the other exit. He lingered by the elevator after a meeting, but you took the stairs instead. It was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands—no matter what he did, you slipped through his fingers.

Spencer knew he had to get creative if he wanted to talk to you. The usual methods weren’t working, and he couldn’t just let this go. He cared too much to let you slip away without an explanation, without trying to mend what had been broken. So, he started to think, his mind racing with possibilities. Spencer was nothing if not resourceful, and if he could outsmart the most dangerous criminals, surely he could figure out a way to reach you.

—

Spencer spent the next few days trying to think of a way to reach you, a way that you couldn’t avoid or brush aside. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he needed to do something drastic, something that would grab your attention and force you to hear him out. Given his background in technology and his time at MIT, he knew he had the skills to make it happen. He just needed to put those skills to use in a way that would make you listen.

He spent a night at home, setting up his camera, nervously adjusting the angle and lighting. He wasn’t used to making personal videos like this, but he knew it was the only way to truly convey how sorry he was. After several deep breaths, he hit record.

“Hi, Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but steady as he looked directly into the camera. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to see right now, and I’m sorry for that. But I also know that you’ve been avoiding me, and I can’t blame you for it. I just… I need you to hear me out, and since I can’t seem to get a moment alone with you, this is the only way I could think of.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’ve spent the last few days thinking about what happened, and I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, and I hate that I did. When you asked me out, I thought it was a joke. I thought you were just messing with me, like what used to happen to me in school. I’ve been through that kind of thing before, and it’s left me with some… issues, I guess. I was scared of being hurt again, so I just assumed the worst.”

Spencer swallowed, his eyes earnest and full of regret. “But I realize now that I was wrong. You weren’t trying to hurt me, and I ended up hurting you instead. That’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m so, so sorry. If I could go back and do things differently, I would in a heartbeat.”

He took a deep breath, his voice softening even more. “I don’t know if you can forgive me, and I understand if you need time. But I just wanted you to know how truly sorry I am and that I didn’t mean to stand you up. I was just… scared, and I let that fear get the better of me.”

“If you’ll let me, I would love to make it up to you. Take you on a proper date this weekend. But if not, I completely understand, I won’t take offense. I’m truly sorry.”

Spencer finished recording, his heart pounding as he watched the video playback. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest. And that’s what mattered. Now came the next part—getting the video to you in a way you couldn’t avoid.

The next morning, while you were immersed in your work, your computer screens suddenly flickered. At first, you thought it was just a glitch, but then the screen went black for a moment before a video started playing. It was Spencer’s face, looking directly at you, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized what was happening.

You reached for the keyboard, trying to close the video, but it was no use. The screen remained locked on the video, Spencer’s voice filling the room as he began to speak.

“Hi, Y/N,” the video started, and you froze, your hands hovering above the keyboard as you listened. There was something about the way he was looking at you, even through the screen, that made you stop and listen.

As Spencer explained himself, as he talked about his fears and how he thought it was a joke, your heart began to soften. You could hear the sincerity in his voice, the regret that laced every word. He wasn’t just saying this because he felt obligated—he truly meant it. And that realization hit you harder than you expected.

By the time the video ended, you were left staring at the screen, your emotions a tangled mess. You felt a mix of relief, sadness, and understanding. You couldn’t deny the pain you’d felt, but you also couldn’t ignore the effort Spencer had gone through to reach out to you.

The screen flickered again, and your screens returned to normal. For a long moment, you just sat there, staring at the now-blank screen, trying to process everything. Part of you wanted to be angry, to hold onto the hurt, but another part of you—a softer, more forgiving part—knew that Spencer had been genuine. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He had just been scared, like you were now.

With a deep breath, you finally allowed yourself to acknowledge what you felt: maybe, just maybe, you could find it in yourself to forgive him. After all, everyone deserves a second chance. And Spencer Reid seemed to be worth it.

“Soo, I can’t pretend I wasn’t in here for all of that,” Penelope said, her eyes twinkling with anticipation as she leaned against the doorframe. “What are you gonna do, lovely?”

You sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you glanced back at your screen, still feeling the warmth of Spencer's apology lingering in the air. You turned to Penelope, your smile growing a little wider as you finally admitted, “I think I have a date this weekend.”

Penelope’s face lit up with a grin as she clapped her hands together, clearly thrilled by your response. “That’s the spirit! You’re gonna knock his socks off, I just know it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension from the past week finally starting to melt away. “I hope so,” you said, feeling a little lighter.

—

Spencer was sitting at his desk, his leg bouncing anxiously under the table as he tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him. But his mind was elsewhere, entirely consumed by thoughts of you. He knew you’d seen the video by now—there was no way you could have missed it. But the silence that followed was eating away at him, making every minute feel like an hour. What if you decided not to respond at all? What if he had misjudged everything?

The thoughts whirled around in his mind, growing louder with each passing second until he heard a voice that made his heart skip a beat.

“Spencer?”

He looked up quickly, his nerves tightening as he saw you standing by his desk. “Hi,” he replied, his voice coming out a little shakier than he intended.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, sensing his nervousness. “What time Saturday?” you asked, your tone soft but clear, letting him know that you were willing to give him that second chance.

For a moment, Spencer just blinked, the realization of what you were saying slowly sinking in. Relief and excitement flooded through him, and he felt the tension in his chest ease up. “Uh… how about seven?” he suggested, his voice a bit steadier now, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Seven sounds good,” you agreed, your smile widening as you saw the genuine happiness in his eyes.

“Great,” Spencer said, his heart soaring. “I’ll pick you up.”

You nodded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I’m looking forward to it,” you said, and with that, you turned to leave, feeling a warmth spread through you that had been missing for the past few days.

As you walked away, Spencer couldn’t help but let out a small, relieved laugh, finally allowing himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

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

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg

[fic-over-cannon]

Nothing Fucks With My Baby (Part 2)

link to part 1

jason todd x f!reader

summary: jason has always feared he’d be the monster of his life. what he doesn’t realize is that between the two of you, you will always be the bigger monster, and you will love him anyway.

tags: violence, murder, implied child abuse, manipulation, implied sexual content

rating: mature | wc: 5.8k

a/n: this plot bunny took over my brain and wouldn’t let me go until i’d finished it. reader’s pov can get pretty twisted, so please mind the tags on this one and let me know if i’ve missed any.

Lucy Nesbit dies remarkably young. Only eight years old and she had drowned in a stormwater overflow. Poor thing, the adults had all said. Should have minded her step better, shouldn’t have been playing in dangerous places. The school had held a week of mourning. A tragedy. It hadn’t taken much effort to kill her. A sharp shove, then kneeling on her back until the bubbles stopped, and suddenly there went Lucy. Stones thrown at recess, scissors searching for your hair, harsh names and turned backs all stopped with just a few moments of effort.

The killing of Lucy Nesbit is likely the most important lesson you learned from that school. No one at the foster home had noticed you come home soaking wet, blood on the tip of your shoe. No one had asked you any questions when you didn’t gasp with the rest of your class as the principal announced the death of poor little Lucy, gone too soon. Nobody had noticed that you had been the one to make the world a less scary place. It is a lesson you keep close to you.

Only Jason Todd had noticed anything different at all. Found you in the corner of the yard staring down at the pavement during recess. Tucked his hands and looked up at the sky, squinted.

“Don’t need me to look out for you anymore,” he sighs. Nudges your shoulder with his and says “Lucy won’t be pickin’ on you again.” He’s right, of course. She won’t be doing anything important really.

“Sometimes I wished she’d die so they’d leave me alone,” you whisper. “‘Cause it was bad when you were there but when she’d wait for you to leave it was always worse. Does that mean I’m a bad person?” It’s a thought that’s crossed your mind before. Is there something so wrong, so terrible about you that the well-fed well-heeled could just look at you and know there was something awful about you? The same thing that led to getting left behind, bullied, belittled. Had Lucy Nesbit taken one look at you and known you were something to be destroyed?

“Nah. You’re my best friend and I wouldn’t be best friends with anyone bad.” He grins at you, front left tooth still missing from where you’d helped him pull it out three weeks ago. The bell rings, shrill and discordant, signaling the end of recess.

It’s only years later that you understand the tremble of her lips and the wobble of her chin before she would call you names, dig her nails into the meat of your arm, lead the other girls in pretending you didn’t exist. Lovely Lucy Nesbit, sweet cheeked with glossy curls, had been afraid. She should have been. The new girl who’d only moved to the Alley recently after her father’s embezzlement conviction, oh she should have been afraid of the children chewing her up and spitting her out like a rotten peach. Instead, she chose someone else to make afraid. The little girl with only one friend and no one waiting for her at home. All of that glitz and Diamond District shine wasn’t enough to bury the ugly truth of Lucy.

Jason Todd dies at 11 years old. He dies at the hand of the Batman, Gotham’s own protector.

Three weeks after Catherine had died and two weeks after he stopped showing up to school, Jason shows up at your foster home. More particularly, at the window of the bathroom you’re currently hiding in. The knocking startles you, hands coming away from where they’d been pressed to your ears to block out the fighting. He grins and waves at you through the window, suspicious smears across his nose and temple. You have to stand on the very tips of your toes to push open the latch but you manage it. He presses his face to the bars, hands wrapping around the solid metal.

“Jason?” you ask, tone tinged with wonder. “What are you doing here?”

“Jus’ wanted to tell you I’m okay.” Something smashes within the house and the voices raise. “Couldn’t stick around for long after the funer— after. Didn’t wanna stick around to see if they’d stick me in a place like this.”

“But what are you going to do? Where do you live?”

“Found an empty building that’s pretty warm. Sometimes I find stuff and Mr. Baker at the garage buys ‘em from me so I can buy loads of snacks. You know—” there’s a loud pounding on the bathroom door, staccato sharp, that causes you both to jump. One of the older foster kids yells at you to hurry the fuck up, then slams on the door again for good measure. In a hurried whisper, Jason continues “You know the old building across the park with the purple window sills? Come find me there.”

The night Jason Todd dies, you’d managed to sneak out again. Knew from previous trips the best way to get to the old house was to go out the back and use the garbage bins to boost over the fence. Jason’s not there when you let yourself in, hands careful to put the loose board back exactly the same. He does this sometimes. ‘Finds’ things to sell to Mr. Baker so he can come back with candy from the bodega to share with you. You settle yourself in to wait in the blanket you’d snuck out for him when there’s a noise from the lane behind the house. Clutching the scratchy blanket closer to you, you feel your way through the dark, breath held in your chest like a treasure. The slats nailed over the painted window sills have just enough of a gap that you can see between them without being seen yourself. What you see out in the night causes you to grip the old wood until splinters dig into your palms.

The Bat holds Jason in his grip even as he struggles, even as he swears. Jason’s angry, snarling face is nothing like his smiles for you. The Bat shakes him as Jason tries to twirl out of his grip, head lolling like a doll’s. Jason goes limp as he is bundled into the looming machine parked down the lane. The last thing you see of him is his eyes, wide and fearful.

Jason Wayne puppets the body of your friend for years after. He is not the boy that stood between you and Lucy Nesbit and matched her stone for stone. This Jason Wayne smiles for pictures without baring his teeth as a warning. He doesn’t remember cruel words or the way the world works. He doesn’t remember the lessons and the secrets the two of you had passed between you. No, this Jason Wayne doesn’t remember you at all. The only explanation is that your friend is dead. The fine sweet thing with his round cheeks and charming school uniform you only glimpse in the paparazzi photos printed in gossip rags half-melted into garbage heaps is not your friend. Just another leech of the city with pretty powder and paint, fattened on too much while there exists too little.

You get the news that Jason Wayne has died while at your third foster home since the one Jason had found you in. You find out the same way everyone else in Gotham does, the public broadcast of Bruce Wayne’s press conference. It steals the breath from you, the anger that slams into you. Heat surges through you and it is all you can do to uncurl your fingers from their fists. It hadn’t escaped you that four months after Jason Todd died there was a new Robin in town. That this Robin had a gaped tooth grin that would make even the dull mourning for a girl you hated seem bearable. The red rimmed eyes of Bruce Wayne on the staticky screen of the common room television confirms what you already know: Bruce Wayne is the Bat and he has killed your friend twice over.

Screaming into your pillow that night, your understanding of how the city works crystallizes. The Bat does not protect you, does not make your city better. He takes and he takes until there is nothing left for you. He throws out in a week food that would sustain you for a month, drops money on batted eyelashes and shiny new toys for him to destroy more of the city with. He is not the saviour some people say he is. He will not save you.

You are the Alley girl with the strange knobbly knees and the eyes that see too much. You will save yourself. You will keep your lessons about the ways the world works and what it takes to change them close to your heart.

The City of Gotham is never short of two things: crime and government money to prosecute it. Certifying as a court stenographer isn’t cheap, not with juggling your ejection from the foster system at 18 and having no funds to speak of. Second and third jobs keep you afloat until the scholarships and grants kick in. But by 20 your future is secured, government pension squirreling away into your accounts. You even manage to buy the house with the purple windows. It goes for a song on account of the murder that took place there all those years ago, but brand new flooring takes care of the more suspicious stains. It should be enough, to have saved yourself. It isn’t.

Every day you go to work and dutifully take down every damning word said. You record the lies and the horrors and the not guilty verdicts and every word you transcribe breaks your faith a little more. You have not saved yourself. The world has not changed, you aren’t any safer than you were at 13 and scared that the drunk man calling out crude words might actually carry them out on your walk home. No safety exists save for the pretty little lie you had painted for yourself. The only thing that has changed is that you are not scrabbling in the dirt.

Somewhere along the way, in the mess of bureaucratic paperwork that had become your life, you had forgotten the lessons you were meant to remember. Forgetting had not served you well. It takes a drunken night out gone badly to force you to remember.

A coworker pressures you to come out with the rest of the stenographers, a newly opened bar just close enough to the edge of the Alley to give the old money blood suckers the illusion of danger. The dance floor is crowded but you choose to stay hunched over your drink, wary of this glittering crowd. A man sidles up to you, rests his forearm against yours and offers you a smile that reeks of Texas oil wells and Manhattan construction firms. You look him in the eye as he fumbles through some pickup lines, nearly sick with the realization that he doesn’t recognize you. DUI, ran through a school crosswalk at the end of the school day, one child dead and two permanently disfigured. Got off with community service and a hefty donation. He wants to fuck you.

The police find him behind the bar the next morning, throat slashed and wallet missing, and chalk it up to a mugging gone wrong. He should have known better than to go flashing so much cash so close to where criminals live, the news anchors tut. Unable to withstand the scandal, the bar closes. You savour the top shelf whiskey bottle you’d bought at their closing, the same one he’d tried to buy you and drug you with, and attribute the glow in your belly to having done a good thing. His driver’s license finds a home under your living room floorboards.

The Red Hood arrives and the Alley almost seems to reverberate with the shockwaves. Still, pretty young things with a hankering for a bit of rough to tell all their friends about with champagne glasses in their hands and haughty titters wind up dead. You don’t recognize all of them from work, some of them you simply want power over. To reveal to these silver spoon fed creatures exactly how fragile their influence is. Disposing of them does not save you, but it makes you feel safe to know that the world does not turn solely around those shiny, fragile things. You are careful and you are not caught.

At the courthouse, you watch the aftermath of the Hood’s vendettas play out. Chat about cases with your coworkers between trials just to get a feel for what his game is. He’s an unknown to most of them, but not to you. You look at how the number of drug convictions of minors plummet this quarter, watch at how fewer pimps get brought in for killing their girls, note the way gang violence reduces down to just the Hood’s own orders and you understand. Whoever the Hood is, whatever he is, he knows the same lessons engraved on your heart. That the world is not safe unless you make it, and that the world doesn’t care what methods it takes to get it done.

Your first run in with Gotham’s newest crime lord isn’t planned. Quite specifically, you had never intended to make your way onto his radar at all. He had different plans, however. Taking out the garbage, you all but trip over his feet one late night. He’s slumped against your fence with one hand pressed against his neck. Blood dribbles between his fingers, dark under the fluorescent burn of the street lights.

The gun pointing at your head does not dissuade you from attempting to push him into a standing position.

“If you wanted to die in my yard, the least you could have done is climbed in through the back,” you say, voice measured and cold. “I’m not letting you bleed out in my front yard and make me a target for whoever carved you that second smile.” That jolts a reaction out of him, gun wavering from it’s unerring focus on your face. “So what we’re going to do is get you out of the open and then I’m going to call whoever you want to come stitch you up.”

A man of his size dwarfs the chair set in your kitchen but he will not be moved from his vantage point. Defensive, back to the wall and all entrances in sight. The wound still bleeds sluggishly. Determined not to have this man die in your kitchen, not when he’s actually out there doing some good in the world, you lay out your first aid kit and go for his throat. The gun jamming into the side of your ribs immediately lets you know just how badly you’ve not thought this idea out.

“You’re still bleeding, pretty badly too. I just want to take a look to see if I can patch you up long enough until whoever gets here can do something.”

The moment draws out, neither of you saying anything. With every breath you can feel the muzzle of the gun dig into you further. Something must read as sincere on your face, not that you’d ever be able to name what it was, and he reaches up for his helmet. Pushes a button at the nape of his neck to release it, before deliberately placing it on the kitchen table one handed. He smiles at you with bloodied teeth and, oh, that’s your boy.

“Well,” he rasps, “get to it.”

At that exact moment you press down with gauze, forcing a grunt out of him. Good. Jason’s scared you enough for a single lifetime. Trying to secure the gauze with medical tape and spite, you’re forced to lean into him until the feverish glow of his skin warms your own.

“Not afraid ‘m gonna bite?”

“I know you’re not going to hurt me because you’re my best friend and I wouldn’t be friends with a bad person.” Leaning back, you inspect your work. Shoddy, but it’ll do until someone actually medically trained can stitch him up. Finally, you let yourself actually look at him. Behind the domino mask you’d swear there’s slack jawed wonder. A brusque knock at the back door interrupts the moment and then great big hulking men are carrying Jason away. You know he’ll be back.

The next time you run into the man who might be Jason, you are tripping out of a bar on the arm of your next pretty bright thing, too whiskey-headed to tell that you’re nowhere near as disoriented as you should be after what you’d knocked back. He knocks over a homeless man’s collection bowl and snickers when the coins get knocked down a grate. Grabbing your wrist, he tugs, pulls you into the side alley and tries to pin you behind the dumpster. The broken bottle shard is already in your hand when the man drops down dead. A neat hole in his head sending droplets all over your blouse. There’s no way dry cleaning will save it. The Red Hood steps into sight, gun muzzle lowered. And just like that, Jason Todd — not Jason Wayne — is back from the dead.

Jason kisses you sweetly for the first time after he drives you home from the traveling fair that had set up on the outskirts of the city. The feeling of his lips — soft, chapped, heartbreakingly gentle — slots something broken back into the hollow between your ribs. He kisses you and the axis of your world shifts. He kisses you, and you know that he will look at you like you are everything good and kind that you pretend to be if only you will love him back. The tender thing in your chest growing claws, fanning hunger into conflagration. Loving him will save you both.

He pulls back and you let him. Look up at him from below mascara-lengthened lashes and allow yourself a smile. Fiddle with the hem of your dress and tell him haltingly just how much you’d enjoyed the evening and how excited you were to do this again. Jason’s declared himself as yours for the taking and you will not let him slip through your greedy fingers.

You let Jason court you. Accept the flowers he brings to your door with quiet murmurs of appreciation. Wear soft dresses that invite him to touch but are just enough out of season for the weather so he’ll wrap his own jacket around you. Send him off to patrol with packets of his favourite candies tucked into his jacket pockets and laugh with him over the meals he cooks for you in the same kitchen he had nearly bled out in. You would have done most of these things for him anyway, but now they are your weapons. Each action meant to pierce another hook into his heart until he is as unable to leave you behind as you could him. You will never believe the world is safe without him in it.

The number of Gotham’s most elite reprobates coming to unfortunate ends zeroes out. You’ve got the prettiest up and comer on your arm these days, with his many scars and fearsome attitude. Jason in his many forms makes the world a better place, makes you safer with every bullet lodged in a skull. He is not the same boy that yelled at Lucy Nesbit for you or split a chocolate bar with you in an abandoned house. The cracks show through. Violence drips out of his every pore despite his hand wringing to you late at night. You are his confessor and absolve him of any sin. A fangless creature is useless to you, though you would grudgingly love it nonetheless.

The first time Jason sleeps with you, you engineer it, encourage it. Why? Because it ties him to you. Binds him through sweat and flesh in a way that nothing else but the kiss of death can. Lean in and wrap your arms low around his stomach as he drives you home on his motorcycle. Linger in his good night kiss before inviting him in to see how the flowers he gave you are doing. Sweep your hair away from your neck as you bend down to place his mug of tea on the rickety coffee table. You close your eyes and smile where he can’t see at the feeling of warm lips pressed to your spine.

It’s slow. It’s sweet. You’ve never felt like a more precious thing than in his arms. He looks at you like you’ve hung the moon in the sky and set the sun to burning. You kiss his scars and tell him to give you his stories when he’s ready. One day there will be nothing you don’t know about him. If Jason wasn’t in love with you before tonight, he is now.

You are told the tale of Jason’s deaths and rebirths only once, but it is enough to open up the yawning chasm of fear under you again. The world is not safe, not for Jason, not for you, not when so many of your enemies still walk this side of the grave. Gotham is safer after the Red Hood. Jason is still in as much danger as he ever was. The horror, the possibility that he could be cut down — by Falcone, by Sionis, by the Joker, by the Bat — it shakes you to your core. You want to scream, to rage. What you do instead is kiss Jason on the forehead and let him go to pieces in your arms.

Jason always says you bring out the best in him. If that is true, then he brings out the darkest parts of you. The parts that twist and grow cold until you see the world as sets of acceptable losses for acceptable benefits. In your eyes, any loss is acceptable for Jason’s sake. He becomes lighter after the revelation, no more secrets between you he says. Accepts your heartbreak on his behalf with teary eyes and a wry smile. The day he tells you that Bruce — his father, the Bat — had been the one to carve him open the time he’d turned up in your garden is the day he becomes wholly yours.

“Jason, Jason he shouldn’t have done that to you,” you say gently, cupping his wet cheeks in your palms. He won’t look you in the eyes.

“He was— he was lookin’ at me like I was the monster, like my murderer wasn’t standing there too,” he confesses. “I just wanted him to love me like when I was a kid.” He shatters. “I just wanted to feel safe again.”

“Oh honey,” you coo, shears tucked into your hand. “I love you, and you’re no monster to me. You know me, do you think I could love something truly evil? You do so much good, you help so many people and you ask for so little in return,” your gaze is tender, loving. “I’d keep you safe, Jay, if I could. And I’d do it because I love you. Someone that won’t do that, well, it’s no kind of love at all.” You see the blow land, have already calculated its trajectory and velocity.

“I don’t— but he loved me. He loves me,” Jason insists, plaintive and raw voiced. “Doesn’t he?”

“I think he might’ve once. When you were younger, sweeter. But Jason, everything he’s done since then hasn’t been love. If he still loves you, it wouldn’t matter that you came back different, came back changed.” You can feel the last threads of his relationship with the Bat fraying under the blades of your words. It’s time to make the final cut. “Can you really say he loves who you are now?”

Jason asks, once, if you ever thought about kids.

“I thought maybe I’d foster some day. Save some poor kids the same trouble I went through, so that others don’t run off scared like you did.” It’s a lie, of course, but you know it makes him feel better to think of you as anything but selfish. “Not now though, not with the way the world is.” You rest your head on his shoulder, curl your fingers into his shirt. “Besides, the life you lead is dangerous enough. It would be cruel to bring children into our lives right now. Maybe one day, if the world ever becomes a little safer.”

He hums, thoughtfully, and leaves the matter there. But the seed has been planted in the dark corners of his mind and one day they will bear fruit.

The house with the purple window sills is officially only a home to you, but Jason comes round for dinner, to spend the night in your bed so often, that it may as well be his home too. He listens to you talk about your long days at work, the court cases that worm their way under your skin and won’t leave until you purge yourself of them. Really, he’s more horrified than you were at the beginning of this at how badly broken the system is. You give no names, simply the crimes and the sentences, and even those details are too much to bear.

One night you come home from work silent. Red rimmed eyes dry and sightless, you collapse into him. It takes an hour, more if you count the time spent panicking over a hypothetical injury, to coax the story out of you. A snake in the grass of a financial adviser, stolen pensions, and three suicides. All charges dropped. The testimony of crying grandchildren still not enough to make a difference. It is the first time he demands a name from you. It is not the last.

The day your old foster father comes across your judge’s docket is the day the world finally feels less terrifying. He is acquitted, of course. The testimony of trauma victims are notoriously inconsistent after all, if the witness is truly traumatized and not just lying for attention. It hurts to hear his public defender say those things, but it does make what you have planned easier.

The moment Jason comes through the door you are on him. Clinging to him all weak limbs and fought back tears. He holds you gently and strokes your hair.

“I need… I need you to do something for me Jay,” you whisper into his chest.

“Just gotta ask baby.”

“I need you to kill somebody and I need you to let me watch.” He stiffens under you, but you will not lose him here. “D’you remember when you came to find me at the foster home, the one with the yelling?” He nods, presses a kiss to the top of your head. “That foster father walked free today, acquitted and all charges dropped. I need to know he’s not gonna stay that way Jay, that someone cared enough to stop him, or otherwise I’ll go crazy.” He exhales sharply through his nose.

“I’ll take care of him, jus’ like I take care of all those names you give me. But do you hafta be there? Isn’t it enough to just know he’s dead? I don’t wanna drag you down into the dirt with me.”

“You’re not tainting me, honey. You’re freeing me.”

You watch the man die, a slow drawn out thing as he begs for kindness. His pain means nothing to you. Only the final blow, dealt by Jason’s bloodied hands, shifts the burden of memory from you. You stop being afraid of this particular threat. The body is found scattered across the railroad tracks. Police mark it down as a suicide.

This victory is twofold. Your world is a little safer and Jason has killed for you, on your express order and with you as witness. There is no greater high than this, the power that sings through your blood. Jason will reshape the world to keep you safe. Now you will reshape the world for him.

It takes three more months of witnessing his work and not flinching before Jason brings him to you. In the end, it’s really quite simple. You ask for the chance to show Jason how much he is loved, to let you take care of this one thing to keep him safe. He puts up a token fight, insistent on keeping your hands clean of his business, but the two of you know that your hands are far from pristine. The Joker is bound at your feet by the end of the day. A quick drag of your wrist and he is just another thing to be taken out with Saturday’s trash to eventually be illegally dumped in the harbour. Jason sobs in your arms that night.

He is not the boy you’d wished to have returned to you as a child. Jason is not quite the Bat’s son, or the weapon of the League either. He is some half-raised creature of the city’s own design and you love him because of that. You know he does not see you half as clearly as you see him, but you will accept his wonderful naïveté for all the ways it will let you protect him. Protect you by extension. Jason’s trust, his devotion to you, it is everything you’ve ever wanted. It is more than you have ever expected to have. That forgotten little Alley girl, now the centre of someone’s world.

And so you plan. A list of names a mile long of people who make this city worse just by breathing. Kingpins and crime lords and all their networks, culled from your networks and court cases. Heroes and vigilantes who already work tirelessly to hamstring the work the Red Hood does, uncaring of all the lives he’s saved. A list that, when all of the occupants are dead, will mean you are finally safe in a world that belongs to Jason. Convincing Jason, with all of his infinite love for you, to wipe the slate clean of them all is still no easy matter. Instead, you let the Bat make your argument for you.

Another bar, another drunk cell-less jailbird, only this time you know that Jason is waiting in the shadows, that the Bat is in the rafters. The man stumbles, his too shiny shoes catching on the cracks in the pavement. Jason moves to raise his gun and a flicker of metal sends his aim wide. The man on your arm shies at the sound of gunfire but your grip is iron. A body slides between Jason and his prey and you refuse to let this one escape. The pen knife lodges beneath the jaw bone, catches on something and sticks. His death rattle is unsightly but he goes down easy, life slipping away down the sewer grate. A booted step, heavier than Jason’s, causes your head to snap up.

A wraith looms over you and it’s pure terror that sends your stomach into free fall. The Bat turns on you, advances until your back is pressed up against the brick. A gloved hand reaches for you but pulls back like stung when a bullet narrowly misses a finger.

“Last warning. Back. Off.” growls the modulated voice of the Red Hood. He prowls forward, legs eating up the distance. The Bat simply grunts. Back to the wall, you try to inch away, but the feeling of cold metal stops you. The cuff around your wrist cinches shut so tightly you can feel the bones of your wrist grind together. You whimper, high in your throat. Jason’s fist goes crashing into the cowl.

“I said back off!” the Bat catches his next punch, before returning a hit of his own.

“She just killed someone in cold blood, Hood. You’re protecting a murderer.”

“At least she did something, Bruce! D’you even know what that man did? What you let him do to this city?” he screams the last word then headbutts the Bat.

The alley descends into a flurry of blows, bodies colliding with metal and concrete. Neither of them notice you pick yourself up from knees and flee. Home’s not safe, not until Jason tells you. But he’ll come back for you. You’ve gotten so good at waiting for Jason, what’s a few hours more?

He finds you in the safe house he’d made you memorize the address of way back in the infancy of your relationship. Nerves have you sitting in the dark, too afraid that even a light will give you away. It is a cold kind of silence that blankets the small kitchen with its empty cupboards. Dried blood has started to flake off of your skin and you begin to pick at it. For a moment, the repetitive motions distract you until you can’t bear the prickly feeling on your skin anymore. With a clatter you rush to the tap, the trailing handcuff clanging against the metal sink. A stone rolls in your gut and you retch until there is nothing left in it. Everything rests on this. The future rests on this. You lean back and rest your forehead on the cool edge of the sink.

The sound of the window jimmying open causes you to jump, whirling around to face the threat. It’s Jason, only Jason, flailing around in the dark. The streetlights reflect off of his helmet, revealing the cracks in the patina. You launch yourself at him, fingers curling into the collar of his coat. He smells of blood and grime, but beneath it all, warmth. Jason crushes you to him, hand cradling the back of your head with a tenderness that overwhelms you.

“M’sorry I’m late baby,” he murmurs. “Why’s it so dark in here?” Unable to form words, you simply shake your head and press yourself closer. Fear has always dogged you, but never have you gotten so close to the source of it. Jason raises a hand and wraps it reassuringly around your wrist. “Let’s get some light and we’ll get this thing off of you,” he says while stroking a thumb over where the cuff digs into your skin.

You have to stifle a giggle at the absurd parallel to the night he tore back into your life. The two of you sat at a table tending to wounds inflicted by Gotham’s self-titled vengeance, the uncertainty of the future hanging over you. Hands gentler than they’ve ever been, Jason traces over the blooming bruises on your wrist, handcuffs discarded on the table.

“He’s never going to stop chasing me, is he?” you whisper, slow fear poisoning your voice. “He’s never gonna stop trying to take me away from you. Not while I’m alive.” Jason trails his grip to your palm and turns it over, brings it to his lips and places a featherlight kiss on your fourth knuckle.

“No, baby. Not while he’s alive.”

[ohtobeleah]

California Fornication //

One — ‘That was Jake’

Summary: When the man you’d been seeing turned out to have a wife, your world came crashing down around you. While you tried your best to move onwards and upwards, the very reason for all your recent relationship problems comes strolling into the bar.

Warnings: Mentions of cheating. Love Triangle x2. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Jake Seresin xF!reader. Question ing Morality. Angst.

Word Count: 1.9k

Author Note: Based off the first scene Mark Sloan is in. Greys Anatomy.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It always plays on repeat in your mind like a slow motion picture, like a scene in one of those old timey movies where everyone and everything slows down so that the main protagonist can understand the situation unfolding around them. 

That moment where your boyfriend of only a few months— Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, told you that he was technically married, haunted you day in and day out. Married to the woman who’d come up to the pair of you in the locker room on base after she’d been transferred to North Island. She’d come waltzing over with a confident smile and a pretty face. She knew she was about to turn your life on its axis. 

For better or worse. 

“Y/n.” It wasn’t often people actually said your name, majority of the same it was your callsign—but the way the colour drained from Bradleys face as he turned to you with a gut wrenching look smeared across his usually perfect face, had your stomach churning. “I’m so sorry—“ 

“Hi, I’m Katie Bradshaw—“ The woman, who mind you, was stunning to say the very least, stuck her hand out to shake yours. You took it gracefully, with enough conviction in your grip to not have it show you were completely blindsided by that all too familiar last name. 

“Bradshaw?” You smiled softly as you sent Rooster a confusing look. He’d never mentioned a sister or a cousin before in the few months you’d been seeing and sleeping together. 

“I’m Rooster's wife—“ Those three words would forever haunt you. “And you must be the woman who’s been screwing my husband?” 

“Hey! Siren!” It was Phoenix’s voice that broke you out of the trance you’d fallen into as you showed. Her fist slamming against the shower door three quick and consecutive times made you jump a little as the warm water encapsulated you entirely. “You coming to the Hard Deck?” 

“Yeah yeah, just give me a few minutes!” You replied as you washed your face. “I’ll meet you guys over there.” It had only been three weeks since you called it quits with the mustache having aviator who had stolen your heart. The entire situation made you feel dirty. Even if you weren’t the one in the wrong. No amount of showering could wash away the dirty feeling you’d been left with. 

What could be worse than being branded the dirty mistress? That no one told you about the cheating scandal that had rocked the Bradshaws' happy marriage about a year ago. That was worse. 

Bradley swore black and blue he was going to tell you. He’d sworn the rest of the squad to secrecy about the details too. He wanted to be the one to tell you. To tell you that you were the first woman he’d been with since he’d walked in on his wife, Katie, and his best friend, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, in bed together. 

Still, the ultimatum was given. You’d asked Bradley to pick you, choose you, love you. But when the time came to decide he chose his wife. His reasonings were none of your business nor concern. 

And so you walked away. Labelled the mistress and the interim love affair. Even against the Chester you didn’t compare—and that crushed you completely. 

“You’ve been doing that an awful lot lately.” Pennys voice broke through the haze you’d fallen into at the bar. The drink you’d ordered, Gin Sour, sat in front of you on a Hard Deck coaster. “What’s on your mind daydreamer?” 

“More like a never ending nightmare Pen.” You sighed before reaching for your drink. “This whole situation makes me feel like I need a lobotomy.” 

“Rooster still trying to force a friendship?” In truth Bradley thought he owed his marriage just one more shot. But right after you walked away he immediately started to regret his decision to choose his wife. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and all that was you. He’d made the wrong decision, but was too proud to admit it. Especially to his wife. 

He stood across the Hard Deck with a beer in his hand and his arm slung around her hip, looking at you like a puppy you’d left out in the rain. He missed you, oh so much. And that fact you hardly spoke to him these days made his heart hurt inside his chest. 

“Yeah—and I don’t think I can handle it anymore.” You admitted before taking a sip of your drink. “I’ve asked for a transfer, just to make it easier. I can’t focus, can’t sleep, because he’s just—always around.” 

“Sounds to me like you’re just running away from your problems.” Penny held her tongue as she watched the tall sandy blonde appear next to you at the bar. “That, or you know that you’re still in love with the guy and no matter what you do he’ll still manage to wiggle his way in because you’ll always allow him to.” It took you a few moments to register what the stranger beside you said as you eyed him up and down. 

“Sensitivity—“ You rolled your eyes. “I like that in a stranger.” The alcohol coursed through your body like a mild painkiller. “Are you new in town?” The civvies were an excellent camouflage against the sea of tans that flooded the Hard Deck—and Penny wasn’t about to be the one who told you the stranger you were talking to was the reason for your current situation. 

“Just visiting—“ He made sure to lie, a little white lie never hurt anyone. Or so they said. But the man beside you with the perfect smile and emerald green eyes definitely wanted to see how far he could get this conversation. “I’m confounded by all the patches and it’s only my first day in town.” He sighed softly as he sat beside you. “Budweiser please Barkeep.” Penny nodded without another word. 

“You get used to it, North Island is a Naval Base after all.” It felt like a needed explanation. The stranger beside you nodded softly as he fished his wallet out of his back pocket. 

“So I’ve heard.” A comfortable silence fell between you and the handsome stranger as he waited for his beer. “Kinda wish I’d stayed in bed, if I had known this place would be crawling with Naval Officers I wouldn’t have bothered.” Oh he knew, he knew all right. 

He knew that the Hard Deck would be packed to the rafters with the Dagger Squad and he certainly knew North Island was a Naval Base. Why? Because he was a part of that designated team. You’d just been the one who replaced him while he was tasked to special ops. Now? He was back to cause chaos. 

“Hey Rooster—“ Fanboy grabbed Bradley’s attention away from Bob. “You see who’s at the bar with Siren?” As Bradley turned his attention back to where he’d known you to be sitting for the better half of the evening, he immediately saw red. A jealousy that rivaled nothing he’d ever felt before consumed him fully, even if his wife was tucked in at his side. 

“We just met and already you’re talking about bed.” You chuckled softly as you took another sip of your drink. Penny had since passed Jake his Budweiser and before you knew it, he was laughing softly beside you. “Not very subtle.” 

“Being subtle was never really my strong suit.” The man beside you replied with a look of all knowing. He knew something you didn’t. If you didn’t know any better you would have asked what that may have been. But you chose to take another sip of your gin. Settletting once again into the comfortable silence that surrounded you and the stranger to your right. 

“So, you ever go out with co-workers?” It stunned you for a second, the forwardness of such a question, but then again—you still didn’t know this guy's name and he was making the heat in your cheeks reach new uncharted heights. 

“I um—“ You tucked some of your hair behind your ear and turned to give the golden skinned, white T wearing man beside you your full attention. Crossing your legs as you did so, so that his knees were on either side of yours. “I make it a rule not to.” His answer sent a shiver down your spin. A good shiver. A shiver that made your core flutter. 

“Then I am so glad that I don’t work here.” Maybe it was the gin talking or maybe it was your recent breakup, but this guy was the very definition of a piece of art. He was gorgeous, an Adonis that surely would have come straight out of accent metrology. 

“Are you hitting on me?” You tried to hide the keen grin that threatened to creep across your slightly heated face, but the sudden attention was giving you an ego boost you desperately needed after being rejected in favour of the cheating wife. 

“Would that be so wrong?” Oh this guy was good. Too good. His infectious smile captivated you in every way it could have. His eyes held a story that was dying to be told. His confidence made you want to lean in and taste it, like hard candy it probably tastes just as sweet as his scent smelled. With notes of Vanilla and warm Bourbon lingering from his neck. 

So you stuck your hand out for him to accept ever so politely. His eyes never left your as you smiled and bit your bottom lip bashfully. 

“I’m Y/n—“ “Lieutenant Y/n Siren Y/l/n.”  “And you are?” Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next. Remember that slow motion we were talking about earlier? Well, the seconds it took Bradley Bradshaw's fist to collide against your handsome mystery man’s cheek, it felt like a century as it played out in painfully slow motion before you. 

His head hit the bar with a thud as beer spilled into your lap. 

“Rooster! Jesus—!” You gasped as you stood and pushed against Bradley’s chest to back him up and away from the man you’d just been talking to. “Fuck! what the hell was that!?” 

Bradley didn’t answer right away as you turned to watch the blond stand with blood dripping down and out of his nose. The two stood there in silence, eyeing each other off as Penny fished out the bar's basic first aid kit. 

“That—“ Bradley huffed as he shook his throbbing hand. His jaw had never been so clenched before. He was furious and full of a rage that burned so deep it could have raised his core temperature by a few degrees. 

His wife stood off to the side looking all kinds of guilty. As did the rest of the Daggers. They knew this was about to get messy. They knew if he was back and already had his target set on you then there was going to be an all out war between the two men who stood ready to run at each other like angry bulls. 

And you, well—you were more concerned about the blood gushing from the nose of your stranger than you were about your ex’s possibly broken hand. But Bradley turned back to you, for a mere second to explain. 

And when he did—you forgot what morals were.

“That was Jake.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~*

[watchtowerindistress]

for the love of ... bob? - jake seresin x reader (1/2)

Summary: Being Jake's (best) friend - sorry, Javy - proved to have its ups and downs but there was something about having him in your corner you couldn't resist. Jake and you just clicked on a deeper level. That's why you didn't get it when the Southern boy was acting so weird.-

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Language, Jake being an idiot (what else is new?), Jealous! + Soft!Jake, fluff

Author’s note: Just something fun I wanted to write. I kinda hate myself for not writing for Bradley first, since I love the guy. You know, Jake's fics I love to read, yet I couldn't stand him while watching Maverick. Go figure.

I haven't watched the film enough to distinguish the traits of the characters, so I can't guarantee for accuracy for the side characters. I can only include a handful of people - that's why I don't have people like Reuben in there since their character traits aren't included in the fandom page.

Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @ravenmoore14 @blackmagicwoman @silenthappyplace @mrsevans90 @dempy @yourgirlypop (blank blogs can't be tagged)

Read me on AO3 | Series masterlist

“So, tell us all the details. Preferably, the humiliating kind,” Natasha asked with a curious air.

You smiled. “What about?”

“Hangman, of course.”

The Dagger Squad was the perfect company to be around, you decided. Jake, your childhood best friend, who you haven’t seen in years, offered The Hard Deck as the place for you to wait until he arrived. Video calls didn’t hold up to the real thing. Especially, with you two being very busy people and you finally getting out of New York to spend some quality time together.

“I need to get the embarrassing goods, at least before Hangman shows up. I mean, we have the perfect person to interrogate. In the rare instances, when he talks about something other than himself, Hangman keeps mentioning you,” she mused.

“Nat-” Bob interjected, who was sitting next to her in a booth while the rest of their squad were scattered in the bar.

Natasha turned her head. “Aren’t you a little bit curious about the depraved mind of Jake Seresin?”

“Not really.”

You snorted at their torn convictions when Mickey and Javy arrived at their table with bottles of beer.

“What did we miss?” Javy asked.

Natasha’s stubborn gaze didn’t stray from yours for many seconds. “I’m trying to crack Y/N.” Her eyes met Javy’s over her shoulder. “Tell Rooster he needs to stall him until I get to the good bits.”

You looked around speculatively. “Is this some sort of initiation or baptism by fire Jake should’ve warned me about?”

Javy offered a small reprieve. “Don’t mind her. She just wants to pick your brain. How long are you going to stay?”

“About a week. Enough time for Jake to show me around San Diego.”

Mickey took a gulp from his drink. “Good luck with that.”

Warm breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine when someone whispered into your ear, “Did I just hear my name?”

Your body jolted at hearing the unexpected voice. “Oh my God.” You turned and found a cheeky Jake standing behind you. “You little f- Don’t startle me like that!” Clambering out of the booth, you jumped into his arms, while giggling from the shock. “Hey, you,” you said, holding on tightly.

“Hey, yourself. Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, darlin’.”

“You’re such a jerk,” you whispered into his neck.

Jake swayed you lightly. “You love when I’m a jerk.”

Leaning back, you pressed your fingers an inch apart. “Just a tad.” You hesitated. “Like about 10%.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Oh please. Talk about 75%. It’s part of my charm,” he murmured, stroking your lower back.

“Is this what you tell everyone here?” You teased, pointing to his colleagues behind you.

Javy’s scoff was joined by the others.

You looked back to see their reactions. “You know, I’m starting to really like your group of friends.” While turning back, you narrowed your eyes when you saw Jake glowering at the Dagger Squad before his expression turned into an innocent one.

“I’m starting to question your taste in people,” he said.

Someone snickered next to him. “That’s funny, … Hangman.”

Realizing that another person joined their company, you turned towards the man who looked vaguely familiar from the pictures Jake had sent you. Not to mention, you remembered Natasha’s remark from earlier that Jake would show up with someone else.

“Rooster, right?” You stepped away from Jake’s embrace and shook Bradley’s hand in greeting. Jake merely sighed and crossed his arms.

“Bradley’s fine.” He faced the rest of the group. “By the way, am I the only one that felt really awkward just standing here, watching those two?”

Mumbles echoed all around. “No, you’re not.” Still slightly by the display of the too-long-hug.

A sigh left Jake, who placed an arm around your shoulder. “Don’t listen to the others. And the words of the chicken shouldn’t be trusted. I hope those knuckleheads treated you right.”

You shrugged. “It was fun. I was this close to reveal your darkest secrets for a slice of a good ol’ fashioned apple pie made by … Phoenix, was it?”

“There’ll be no revealing. And no pie,” Jake interjected before pointing at Natasha. “You’ve already been in the company of Phoenix and the goon squad for less than an hour and Nat already found out your weakness for sweets,” he whispered against your neck. “At least you didn’t have to be subjected to the likes of Rooster here.” A shiver coursed through his body. “I shudder at the thought of you having to listen to him at first. He’ll probably want to talk about his caterpillar of a moustache.”

A languid smirk drew on Bradley’s lips as he stroked his mentioned facial hair. “Very funny. You jealous?”

You tilted your head at their teasing. “You have some weird fixation on Bradley’s facial hair. Didn’t you talk on the phone about-”

Abruptly, Jake took you by the hand and dragged you to the bar counter. “Let’s get some food into you. Your blood sugar’s getting awfully low. Someone’s getting tired already.”

“You’re being such a grump, Jake.”

Jake leaned against the counter. “I’m not. I’m just making sure you’re getting some nachos into you, darlin’.”

“You need to be nicer. We both know you’re more of a sweetheart than this.”

He rolled his eyes. “I have a reputation to uphold. And don’t let yourself be bribed by the others.” Jake turned to Penny. “A basket of nachos for this one, Penny?” You rolled your eyes at seeing Jake point at the top of your head.

There was something about Penny’s playful glance that warmed you upon first meeting. The woman nudged her head at Jake. “Be careful with this one.”

With mischief in your eyes, you stole a glance at him. “I know. This one … has been trouble for as long as I can remember.”

“Hey!” Jake uttered in mock outrage before he did introductions. “Penny, that’s Y/N. She’s my friend,” he said, placing his hand on your back.

“And here I thought I was your best friend.”

Jake hushed any further confessions, whispering, “But don’t tell Javy.”

You turned to Penny with a smile. “See? He’s such a big softie.”

Penny smirked. “I’m starting to. Where are you from?”

“Moved around a lot as a kid. Dad’s an Air Force pilot.” You waved towards him. “We grew up together in Texas. But I live in New York.”

Penny’s eyes lit up at the mention. “I’ll get you some cheese dip.”

“Thanks.”

Jake watched Penny wander off with a speculative gaze. “Someone’s making friends quickly.”

“It’s okay. I’ll teach you my ways,” you said only half-teasingly and stroked Jake’s arm. Your hand lingered on his muscles. Wait, were they flexing? “Woah, what happened to your arm, dude?”

Jake’s voice turned concerned. “Why? What’s wrong?”

There was something akin to awe in your voice. “Your bicep feels like it’s going to rip through your shirt.”

His shoulders were shaking when he chuckled. There was something about Jake turning his head to hide his blushing cheeks that stunned you even to this day. “You’re such a smartass.”

“I’m serious. Someone’s really working out, huh?” You mumbled to yourself, “This could make a girl feel weak in the knees.”

“Okay, you need food,” Jake said with a resolute mindset, before calling over your shoulder, “Thanks, Penny.”

He pushed the basket towards your elbow. “Get some chips into you.” Jake just watched you munch on your crispy snack. “Speaking of food, you want to join me and the group to some Barbecue this weekend?”

You barely lifted your head. “Barbecue? Special occasion?”

“Rooster’s uncle Maverick is celebrating his birthday-”

“Woah, hold your horses, Jake.”

You raised your hands. Either to stop Jake from continuing or to restart your own brain. “Come again? Maverick?” Your hands hovered over your mouth, as you mumbled, “You’re inviting me to Maverick’s birthday barbecue party? I don’t feel prepared for this.”

Jake groaned. “Oh great, I forgot your dad is such a Maverick fanboy. Of course.” He closed his eyes in a mixture of misery and defeat.

“Jake,” you breathed in deeply and covered his shoulders with your hands, mindful of not dropping nacho dust on his shirt. “Jake,” you began again, “I’ve never told you this, but this is the first time when I realized how absolutely invaluable you are to me as a best friend.”

“I’m seriously regretting telling you this.”

You nibbled on your lip. “I think I scared Jake off with my … how do I say it … domineering admiration for Maverick. I’m getting the feeling he’s embarrassed of me. You have no idea how quickly he dashed the moment we arrived here.”

Natasha appeared nonchalant at your worries while she took a bite from her noodle salad on her paper plate. “Not possible. I’ve only met you yesterday and can affirm that man couldn’t be closer to you. Hangman was probably held up by something. Or he’s just elevating his testosterone level with Rooster again. You met the birthday kid already?”

“Nope.” At the mention, your hands tightened around the food container.

A soothing smile tugged on Natasha’s lips. “Deep breaths. You can’t miss him.” She pointed outside to the backyard. “He’s the guy at the grill, in the sunglasses and Hawaiian shirt. If he has a mustache, you’ve gone too far.”

“Got it.” You exhaled quietly and reminded yourself under your breath, “No mustache, Hawaiian shirt.”

“You’ll survive, don’t worry.” Natasha looked behind her. “Rooster, take her with you. She wants to meet the birthday man in question.”

“Sure.” Bradley stepped forward and offered his arm.

Your body acted on pure instinct.

“Holding my hand, alright, that’s fine.”

You only mouthed in gratitude, “Thank you.”

They walked a few steps onto the lawn when Bradley looked around. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Nat told me he was probably wrestling in the mud with you to assert his dominance.” You cleared your throat when you realized something. “And not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say. Just making sure where you two stand if he sees us standing together, holding hands.”

“Jake Seresin is not my dad,” you said absentmindedly when a dark-haired man caught your eye. Your throat felt dry. “Is that him?”

“As everyone keeps telling me.” Bradley approached the man standing behind the grill. “I found someone who wants to send their birthday wishes, Mav.”

Maverick revealed a crooked smirk. “Is that so?” You could feel his curious gaze through his sunglasses. “You’re a new face.”

“Um, yeah. I’m Jake’s friend.”

“Hangman has friends?”

“I know it’s a first for everybody,” you admitted. Knowing that Bradley and Jake were at least on speaking terms, and with Jake inviting you to Maverick’s barbecue party, you elaborated, “He needs some time to let people get close.”

Bradley gasped. “You don’t say.”

You focused on Maverick. “A few days ago, Jake invited me to your birthday. Hope that’s okay. I brought you peach cobbler as a present.”

At the mention, Bradley’s head whipped around. “Jesus, why didn’t you just go with that?”

Maverick moved his glasses until they laid atop his head and his eyes were uncovered. “You had me at cobbler.” He rubbed his hands against his jeans. “Bradley, you mind taking over the grill for a bit?”

“Fine. Get me a beer along the way?”

“Sure.” Maverick faced you again when he led you towards the table filled with food. “I didn’t catch your name?”

Just being in Maverick’s company felt surreal. You tried to restrain yourself from appearing too much like a crazy person.

“Um, Y/N … L/N. You’re Maverick?” Nervously, you stroked a curl of hair behind your ear. Even saying that name while standing right in front of him felt out of this world.

“Pete’s just fine.” His expression turned inquisitive. “Did Hangman tell you stories or did I miss something?”

You swallowed thickly. “My dad’s a big fan of yours. He’s a pilot in the Air Force. Told me stories ever since I was a kid. Your flight maneuvers have been legendary.”

He smiled at the devotion in your voice. “Still are.” You adored that playful glint in his eyes still shining through.

“Definitely. You probably get this all the time.”

“Want a beer?” After seeing you nod, he gave you a bottle. “Sometimes. Although, that kind of reverie I’m not used to.”

To calm your nerves, you downed some alcohol. “Really? Okay, I’ll try to control myself. However, Iceman’s skills were far-” Your eyes widened at your blabbing mouth before you covered it. “I’m sorry, too much liquid courage.”

Pete—even thinking that name felt strange—released guffaws of laughter at your gaffe. “Hey, it’s still my birthday!”

“I know, I’m sorry. Happy birthday, Ma-Pete.”

~ Jake POV ~

“Hey, Hangboy, I need to have a word with you,” Jake heard Natasha’s hard voice a few feet away from them as he hung out with the boys. Despite that, the concept of strength in numbers didn’t make him feel safe, judging by her vehemence.

He swallowed at the dark glare in Nat’s eyes. “Vernacular?”

Natasha didn’t appreciate the humor and crossed her arms, letting uncomfortable silence fester around them.

Jake pressed his lips together. “Bad timing?”

“Someone ever say you’re a bad friend?”

Without hesitation, he replied dryly, “You. Every morning when I show up to work.”

“I had to send Bradley in Y/N’s direction because she was nervous about meeting Maverick.”

He groaned at the thought, throwing his head back. “Oh, poor Y/N. Being forced onto the company of that dull-stache? Sounds horrible.” Jake checked his surroundings, hoping to pick them up.

There was something about Natasha’s innocent eyes, with murder in her eyes, that unsettled him deeply.

“You make me want to punch you in the gut. And you know I grew up with brothers. I know how to make it look like an accident.”

Jake dropped the drink he was holding on a nearby table. “I have a plan.”

Natasha tilted her head in fascination. “Wow, your brain can actually do that? Could’ve fooled me. What does that even look like?”

He drew nearer at the sound of her challenge. “It’s called giving each other space. Did I miss something or why are you so gung-ho when it comes to Y/N? Do we need to have a talk?”

“Five minutes in her company and I already know how she’s too good for you.”

Something bitter settled in his stomach at the mere mention. As if he didn’t already know. He smiled tensely. “Thanks for the reminder, Phoenix. Do I need to save her from Rooster?”

Natasha waved a hand. “Not to worry. Y/N is having fun with Bob.”

His mind went blank, trying to process her words. Jake pursed his lips, feeling confused. “Wait—w—why—what are you saying? Bob? Bob with the glasses? Or is there another Bob I should know?”

Natasha hummed, analyzing his reaction. She chose to unnerve him further by chuckling maniacally. “Cake stand. Have fun.” And with that she left.

Jake whipped his head around and narrowed his eyes. The food area instantly caught his eye. Y/N stood with Bob and was laughing uproariously. It felt X-Files-strange to watch that anomaly. Y/N arched her back and patted Bob’s shoulder, with a plate of cake slice in her hand.

Feeling perturbed by the macabre reality, Jake imagined Y/N being into Bob of all people. He frowned at that scenario, whispering, “Bob?”

~ Y/N POV ~

You held your stomach. Your cheeks were hurting from uncontrollable laughter, as you were trying to breathe. “Oh my God, Bob, that’s so-”

Jake inched closer with a small smile on his face. “What’s so funny?” He draped his arm over Y/N’s shoulder and reached for her dessert plate, either so she wouldn’t drop it or to have a taste himself. Without looking at him, you placed it into his hands.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “Why didn’t you tell me that Bob is so funny?”

Jake swallowed before coughing. “You learn something new every day. Still waters, huh?”

Bob smiled awkwardly.

Upon seeing his reaction, you spoke up, “I always hated that saying. Bob’s an absolute sweetheart.” To reinforce your point to him, you rubbed Bob’s shoulder.

Bob adjusted his glasses while blushing. “I try my best, ma’am.”

“Bob!” You chuckled in mock outrage, swatting lightly against his chest.

He nodded with a small smile. “Yes, Y/N, affirmative.”

“We’re getting to know each other. I just found out that Bob’s from Montana and his momma used to be a Grizzlies mascot. Personally, I’m more of a Saints girl, but to each their own.”

Jake groaned, with his mouth full. “I’m eating here,” he muttered indignantly. Jake swallowed his food. “What did I ever do to you? The last time we did this, we had the Cowboys/Saints-gate.”

You leaned your head back against Jake’s chest, patting his cheek consolingly. “He’s such a big baby.”

Bob pressed his lips together. “Uh, I think I hear my name. I need to say hello to Maverick real quick.”

You reached out with your arm. “Oh, do put your feelers out if the birthday guy is still fine with me after I was blabbing my mouth about g-loc and Iceman’s record stats.”

“He’s probably fine.”

“But still!” You called out against his back as he left.

It was turning out to be a quiet evening, you realized, rubbing your feet.

Jake stepped into the living room, drying his moist hair with a towel. He leaned his shoulder against the doorway, watching you. “Would you look at that.”

You were transfixed on the film playing on Jake’s TV while you snuggled deeper under the towel on the couch. “What’s up?”

Jake decided to join you on the couch and put your feet on his lap. He spread his legs comfortably. Unconsciously, warming your heels. “You know, feels like old times. You sitting on my couch, taking all the blankets.”

You covered your eyes, with a groan, and leaned your head back. “You make me sound like a mooch. I offered to go to a hotel.”

“Hey, that’s not what I meant.” Jake chuckled. You felt the warmth of his hand when he reached for yours. Before you could blink, Jake stared deeply into your eyes and interlaced your fingers together. With a smile, he whispered, “I missed this. Feels like old times.”

With blushing cheeks, you felt your skin tingling at sitting so close to him. It was moments like these that made you question the nature of your friendship. You swallowed at seeing Jake’s sage-green eyes sparkle. His soft smile was making it hard to breathe.

You whispered, “Me too.”

“You know what else I miss? And what I can’t stop thinking about?”

You swallowed thickly, licking your lips. Feeling uncertain by his thought process, you slowly asked, “Which is what?”

Jake inched closer. “How I used to do this.” He tilted his head, rubbing his wet hair into the crook of your neck.

“You jerk!” You giggled from his attack. It made him seem more like a dog than a human when he was content in brushing his wet hair against your skin.

He grumbled lowly, as his warm breath puffed against your skin. “But this feels really nice. I could stay like this forever,” he said with a hum.

Your phone emitted a notification sound. “You’re an idiot.” Slapping against his forehead to push him away, deep chuckles followed you while your focus switched to your phone.

“You hungry? I could whip up some chicken teriyaki for us? I think I got some sauce in the cabinet. I know how much you love your teriyaki.” He groaned while standing up.

Giggles left your mouth when you read the incoming messages.

Jake turned his head. “Your girlfriends miss you already?”

You bit your lip. “No, it’s Bob just being sweet.”

Blinking slowly, Jake tried to process the words you just uttered. He cleared his throat. Jake’s voice turned slightly high-pitched. “Come again?” He coughed, placing his hands on his waist. “Are we talking about the same Bob? Bob Bob?”

You hummed in agreement without looking up.

He mumbled, “Didn’t know you guys already exchanged numbers. That’s quick, … right?”

With a curious gaze, you looked up. “What do you mean?”

Jake paused. “What do you mean?” He licked his lips, backtracking a bit. “With, you know, Bob … being a total sweetheart.”

You smiled fondly at the memory of the barbecue. “Well, he is. I really loved talking to him.”

With grumbling breaths, Jake puffed his chest. “Really?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Yep, it was fun.”

“As you keep mentioning,” Jake murmured.

“I did some thinking,” you spoke, “and I was wondering, how would you feel about doing karaoke night with your squad?”

At first, Jake had a look of appreciation which took a turn to disappointment. “But karaoke night is our thing,” he said, pointing between them.

“I know, but this could be like a bonding thing. You’d get to know them, I’d get to know them and we could have fun together. Win-win!”

He sighed deeply, letting his shoulders drop. “You’re far too invested in this.”

“I don’t want them to remember me as the friend who didn’t want to bother with them.”

Jake’s voice turned into a soothing murmur. “They wouldn’t dare think that.”

With a whisper, you enunciated, “Not if we do karaoke night. It’s going to be fun, I promise.”

[xoxobuckybarnes]

August 2024 Reading List

Complete

War & Peace and the Redemption of Bucky Barnes (Rated: E, Words: 51K) by ThePirateStorm / @fsbc-librarian

Summary: Bucky Barnes is running from his problems. He’s housesitting for his best friend while she’s on her honeymoon - the almost a year prior that he’s been staying in her house doesn’t count - when he’s woken in the middle of the night by an angel and a demon. Okay, maybe they’re not a literal angel and demon, but Steve Rogers *looks* like an angel, and his daughter Charli certainly *acts* like a demon. The father/daughter duo are running from their own problems, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t crash headlong into one another’s lives. Throw in a cursed book for good measure, and it’s about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Sleep, Baby (Rated: E, Words: 4K) by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy (hutchabelle)

Summary: Have a baby, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. And it is, but it’s also the most bone-crushingly tiring thing in the world. Bucky needs a nap, coffee, and sex, but his baby WILL NOT SLEEP! He should have known his husband always has a plan, especially on Valentine's Day. Written for the Hell Yeah Bottom Bucky Valentines Exchange.

Winter's Children (Rated: E, Words: 66K) by Neery

Summary: When their attempts to recreate the super soldier serum failed, Hydra started trying to breed Captain America clones from his genetic samples. Unfortunately, the serum's effects aren't passed down genetically, so instead of an army of tiny Captain Americas, they get a bunch of tow-headed, asthmatic, allergic, immuno-compromised little Steves. And then the Winter Soldier stumbles across Hydra's failed experiment...

tin cans with string (Rated: T, Words: 22K) by Somanywords / @somanywords

Summary: Bucky’s mother was looking at him knowingly, and she pulled out a chair for him, which he climbed into gratefully. “You’re an only child, aren’t you, Steve?” “Yes Ma’am.” “It ever gets to be too much for you, you just excuse yourself and come sit in the kitchen a minute. It’s a little noisy with the baby at times, but other than that you can catch a breath.” Steve looked up at her gratefully. She understood, and having someone understand was the best thing in the world. --an exploration of mothers, and of one that isn’t yours.

Where You Lead, I Will Follow (Rated: T, Words: 11K) by attackofthezee (noxlunate)

Summary: When Steve was sixteen years old Peggy Carter had placed a tiny, blonde six pound, three ounce bundle into Steve’s arms. She’d kissed the top of Carter’s head, kissed Steve’s cheek and said “I can’t do this.” with such strength and conviction that Steve hadn’t even questioned her. “I know.” Steve had said, shifting Carter to rest against his chest, a hand on her bottom and the other cupping her tiny, soft head. “But I can.” AKA it's a Gilmore Girls AU and Steve loves his kid, Bucky, Stars Hollow, and coffee. In that order.

Seahorses (Rated: E, Words: 31K) by poppyfields13 & tinzelda

Summary: Now that Bucky’s taken over the role of Captain America, Steve feels like it’s finally the time to start a family. Bucky doesn’t know what to feel when Steve breaks the news he’s going to adopt a baby. He wants Steve to be happy, but he’s worried it will affect their friendship. Once Steve becomes a dad though, Bucky can’t help falling in love with the baby. And maybe Steve will finally see Bucky in a different light.

Loves Me Like A Rock (Rated: T, Words: 4K) by musette22 / @musette22

Summary: “You’re not that bad, Steve,” Sarah reassures him, though she can’t be entirely sure. “I’m sure you must’ve gotten a little better at flirting since your high school days?” Steve makes a face. “What on earth would give you that idea?” “Well,” Sarah says, reaching over to give Steve's hand a consoling pat, “you have other qualities, my darling.” “Such as?” “You could out-stubborn a donkey,” she answers, without missing a beat. “You’ve got a decent singing voice, too. Dogs love you.” Steve huffs. “Gee, thanks, ma. That's really helpful.”

A Wedding to Remember (Rated: E, Words: 19K) by SucculentHyena

Summary: It’s Becca’s wedding, her happiest day. Bucky just wants it to go as planned. And it does! Repeatedly.

Five Times Bucky Modelled For Steve (Rated: T, Words: 8K) by Selenay

Summary: The first time Steve drew Bucky, he had purple hair like something out of a cartoon. "I don't have a brown," Steve said when he got to Bucky's hair. "Sorry. It got broken."

sharing beds like little kids (Rated: M, Words: 17K) by tesselated

Summary: Steve and Bucky are childhood best friends who get separated when they're thirteen and Steve moves away. Five years later, they see each other at a party. ++ It seemed to Bucky that there had to be a certain all-encompassing awkwardness in going up to the guy you loved best when you were twelve and saying “Hey buddy, remember me?”

Love Thy Neighbor (Rated: M, Words: 7K) by hermionesmydawg / @anthonystan

Summary: Bucky Barnes has a few problems with his new neighbor: 1. He's hot 2. He's loud 3. He might be a secret superhero

if your heart's still open (Rated: E, Words: 8K) by steveandbucky

Summary: “What’s wrong, Buck?” “You really gotta ask that?” “Yeah, I do.” Steve clenches his jaw. “You were the one who ended things.”

WIP

Gold Must Be Tried By Fire (Rated: M, Current Words: 28K) by lavenderpanic / @lavenderpanic

Summary: The pamphlets about escaping abuse always glossed over this part, and Bucky finally understands why. Nobody would fucking leave if they knew how hard recovery would be. In the midst of a trial that questions every hard-won truth out of Bucky’s mouth, can he possibly allow himself to heal- physically and mentally? **Sequel to I Am Ash From Your Fire**

The Life of Jamie Barnes (Rated: M, Current Words: 9K) by deadto27 / @deadto27

Summary: The continuing adventures of Steve, Bucky and baby James from the Heart of Mine series through the years.

Rereads

Nothing Good Ever Happens on a Tuesday (Rated: T, Words: 28K) by megs_bee

Summary: Recently discharged soldier James Barnes is back in Brooklyn, down an arm and missing five years of memories, but he’s got his PTSD mostly under control, a fancy metal prosthetic, and what’s starting to feel like it could be a half-decent life. What he doesn’t have is any memory of the kid looking at James and asking him, “Are you my daddy?” -- or the gorgeous blond guy standing next to her. Steve Rogers lost his best friend Bucky five years ago, with no warning and no answers when he tried to find out what happened. So it was one hell of a surprise to walk into the grocery store one afternoon and come face to face with the man he thought was dead.

Prince Charming (Rated: E, Words: 55K) by Brenda / @brendaonao3

Summary: Bucky Barnes leads quite the charmed life. He has a thriving tattoo shop, a son he adores, the world’s best dogs, and a great group of friends — almost all of whom are in relationships. And maybe he'd been the one nudging them towards each other, but there's nothing wrong with a little match-making. The world could use more romance. As for him personally, well, he doesn’t need anyone for the long haul. Not when every girl he meets is someone who he thinks would be perfect for someone else. But then Steve Rogers comes into his shop looking for some ink, and maybe that’s the problem right there. Maybe what he's looking for in a relationship isn't a girl at all.

[waitimcomingtoo]

SLUT!

chapter eight: dying to see how this one ends

series masterlist

Following the fight, Peter saw the back of a squad car for the first time. He was taken straight to the local police station while few officers stayed behind to get stories from witnesses in the gym.

At the station, Peter was put in a holding cell and given an ice pack for his busted knuckles. After half an hour of sitting alone, the door to the cell opened and Brad Davis was pushed inside. He had two tissues stuffed up his nose and a black eye forming on his right eye. The boys made eye contact but felt too defeated to fear the other.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked when Brad plopped beside him on the bench.

“What do you think? The police showed up and one of the soccer girls showed them the video of me saying I slipped something in Y/n’s drink. I can’t believe it. Did you know that’s a felony?”

“Uh, yeah.” Peter said flatly. “You’re really not supposed to do that.”

“How was I supposed to know? I’ve never done it before.” Brad mumbled. “And I wouldn’t again.”

“Would you really never do it again?” Peter asked skeptically. Brad was quiet for a minute and stared off at the wall. Peter silently handed over his ice pack and Brad accepted it with a sarcastic smile. He put it on his black eye and sighed.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m so angry all the time. Or why I let it ruin my friendship with Y/n. Have you ever wanted a girl so badly that you start to hate her?”

“No.” Peter said without hesitation.

“Oh.” Brad said and turned away from Peter.

Another 30 minutes went by and Peter was starting to spiral. He paced back and forth in the cell while chewing his nails.

“What’s taking them so long?” He whined.

“They’ll get you when they’re done booking you. Don’t freak out. It’s annoying.” Brad mumbled.

“Of course I’m freaking out. If I get convicted, I’m going to jail.”

“Relax. You’ll be fine. Assault is a misdemeanor. And I’m sure your scrawny ass is a first offender so you’ll get a fine at best.” Brad rolled his eyes.

“Woah. How’d you know that?” Peter stopped pacing and looking at Brad in surprise.

“I’ve been arrested for misdemeanors before. My dad just bails me out.”

“Which I’m sure he’ll do this time.” Peter rolled his eyes and sat back down.

“No. I called him when they brought me in but my mom answered.” Brad said as he looked at the ground.

“What did she say?” Peter wondered when he saw how distant Brad sounded. Brad turned his face away from Peter and rubbed the back of his neck.

“She said her best friend in college killed herself after a boy told everyone she gave him an STD. She said she couldn’t handle the bullying.” Brad said quietly. Peter stared at him for a minute and debated making him feel worse. There was a lesson to be learned here and Peter needed to know Brad understood the gravity of his actions.

“You could’ve done the same to Y/n, you know.” Peter said in a soft voice. He wasn’t being accusatory, just honest.

“She never would’ve done that.” Brad scoffed but Peter could tell he didn’t believe himself.

“How do you know?” Peter asked. “You didn’t know her. And you didn’t let anyone know her either. You told everyone who she was and they believed you. You erased her. She very well could have hurt herself to take her name back.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad for her. It was just a joke.” Brad said after a long beat of silence.

“To you. To you, “slut” was just a word. To her, it was her entire identity. All because of you.” Peter told him, feeling angry again. He wasn’t worried about protecting Brads feelings anymore. Now, he wanted him to take some accountability. Brad was quiet for a minute as he thought about the way he treated you the past few years.

“The first time I called her a slut, I didn’t realize how easy it would be to do it a second time.” Brad admitted.

“Me either.” Peter realized and pictured your face the time he called you a slut. He blinked back tears as he replayed the night he lost you. Brad noticed Peter was tearing up and felt himself get emotional. He cleared his throat and tried to choke it down but he couldn’t stop the tears that threatened his eyes.

“I didn’t think I’d end up like this. I didn’t think I’d be this guy.” Brad said quietly.

“You don’t have to be this guy forever. You can change.” Peter told him.

“How?” Brad shrugged helplessly. “She’s never gonna forgive me.”

“She might not. But you can still apologize. And then be better to the next girl.”

“What if I can’t be better? What if this is all I am?”

“I don’t think is all you are. Y/n told me you used to be a good friend.”

“She said that?” Brad asked in surprise.

“Yeah. So I know you can be better. You just have to try.” Peter told him. While Brad thought about the conversation, Peter heard footsteps approaching the cell. He looked up and saw May walking up with an officer.

“Hey, jailbird.” May said while a tight, very sarcastic smile.

“May?” Peter got up and walked over to her.

“Come on. They said I can take you home. Isn’t that nice? I get to take my nephew home from jail.” She said sarcastically as a the officer unlocked the cell. Peter got out and immediately hugged May.

“May, I’m so sorry. I can explain everything.”

“You don’t have to. She already told me what happened.” May said and pointed through a window into the station lobby. Peter could see you sitting in one of the waiting room chairs and blinked in surprise.

“She’s here?” He asked May in disbelief.

“Yeah. She’s the one that called me. The cops told me she got here right after you did. That’s your girlfriend right?” May asked. Peter felt his heart sink when he realized he had yet to tell May that you had broken up.

“What did she tell you?” Peter asked to change the topic.

“She said you stood up for her when the boys were calling her a slut. But why do I feel like that’s now the whole story?” May asked skeptically. Peter looked her in the eyes and sighed knowing he was about to disappoint her.

“Because it’s not the whole story. I called her a slut too.” Peter admitted.

“My nephew called a woman a slut? Is that how I raised you?” May asked and folded her arms.

“No. It’s not.”

“Then why did you do that? I thought she was your girlfriend?”

“Because I was angry. And I wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me.”

“Hm. I see. And did you feel better after you called her that?” May asked him.

“No.” Peter sighed. “I felt worse.”

“I thought so. Go apologize. Now.” May turned him around and pushed him in your direction. Peter wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans before going out into the waiting room. When you saw him coming towards you, you stood up and nervously folded your arms.

“Hey.” He smiled weakly.

“Hi, Peter.” You nodded curtly.

“What are you doing here?” He asked you.

“I had to talk to the police to give my statement about Brads party.“ You explained and left out the party about wanting to make sure he was okay.

“My aunt said you told her what happened. Thank you for that. I don’t know how I would’ve explained to her what happened.”

“You’re welcome. And I should be thanking you too. You beat the shit out of Brad for me. I would’ve done it myself but I’m a little more of a kicker.” You halfheartedly joked, making Peter relax a little.

“You don’t have to thank me. I should’ve done it the first time I heard him call you a slut.” Peter replied. You shrugged in agreement as Peter thought back to that night at the party.

“And you should’ve beat me up when I called you one.” He added as he stared at the floor.

“Yeah. Maybe I should’ve.” You laughed softly. An awkward silence settled between you and neither of you knew what to say. Luckily, it didn’t last long as May came out into the waiting room and stood beside Peter.

“Ready to go home?” She asked him.

“I guess I don’t have any other choice since I am definitely not allowed back on campus.” Peter sighed.

“Actually, they were going to expel you but since I saw Brad throw the first punch, they lowered it to just a suspicion.“ You told him. Peter looked at you curiously and you smiled timidly.

“But Brad didn’t-“ Peter began.

“A lot of people saw him start the fight.” You shrugged. “The school understood that you were just acting in self defense. So don’t worry. Your scholarship is okay.”

“You covered for me?” Peter whispered in disbelief.

“Yeah, well. You covered me first.” You shrugged and avoided eye contact. Peter broke into a smile and you finally looked into his eyes to smile as well. The moment was interrupted by Brad shouting from his holding cell.

“Y/n!” He called to you. You gave Peter a confused look before motioning for him to follow you to where Brad was.

“What do you want?” You asked him.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m so sorry. About all of it.” Brad told you. You looked at Peter skeptically before looking back at Brad.

“You’re sorry?” You doubted.

“I am. I never meant for it to go this far. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me but I just need you to know how sorry I am.” Brad apologized. You smiled at the unexpected apology and nodded your head.

“I appreciate the apology, Brad. That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear from you.” You told him. Peter smiled as he watched the interaction and hoped what he had said to Brad is what inspired him to try to be better.

“Now that we’re cool, do you think you could tell them I didn’t actually slip something in your drink?” Brad asked. “I’ll get kicked out of school if they convict me and my parents already said they’re not bailing me out.”

Your smile dropped when you realized the apology was just a way to gain your trust so he could ask for a favor. He didn’t actually care and he definitely hadn’t changed. Peter shut his eyes in disappointment and hung his head in shame. He thought his conversation with Brad would’ve had some effect on him but it clearly didn’t.

“Oh. You want me to tell the police that you didn’t do something that we both know you actually did do?”

“Yes. Please?” Brad pleaded as he rested his cheek against one of the bars.

“Oh. I get it. Kinda like how you told people that I did things we both know I didn’t do?” You asked and tilted your head to the side. Peter folded his lips to hold back his laughter when he realized what you were doing. Unfortunately for Brad, he hadn’t caught on yet.

“Yeah. Like that.” Brad nodded eagerly. You laughed warmly and nudged Peter, prompting him to laugh as well. Brad was a little confused but laughed as well and assumed you were going to take his side. Your laughter came to an abrupt halt as you faced Brad.

“No.” You stated.

“What? But you have to. I could go to jail.” Brad said and shook the bars angrily.

“And I hope you do.” You said simply.

“What? Come on. Don’t do this to me. Peter already got his revenge.”

“That’s right. He did. But I didn’t.” You reminded him. “And personally, I think there are enough pathetic, predatory losers in New York. Serving some time might knock those worrisome traits of yours loose.”

“You need to really think about this. If I go to jail, I could lose everything.” Brad whispered harshly.

“I lost everything.” You shrugged. “My friends, my dignity, my name. Now it’s your turn.”

“Don’t do this. I’ll get kicked out of school. And it’s impossible to get a job when you have a conviction. Especially for something like this. You have to help me. This will ruin my reputation.”

“At least your reputation will be accurate. Mine never was.” You replied as you looked him right in the eyes. Brads face crumbled and he found himself at a loss for words.

“Goodbye, Brad.” You smiled tightly and walked away. Peter followed after you and joined up with May back in the waiting room.

“Would you like me to drive you back to campus?” May offered as you all walked out of the station together.

“Thank you. But I think I’m gonna wander around the city for a bit. Campus is a little…hostile right now. I think I want to avoid all the attention for a little bit.”

“Well you are welcome to join us for dinner if you’d like.” She smiled kindly.

“I don’t think she wants to do that, May.” Peter mumbled. You made eye contact with him and exchanged polite smiles.

“Thank you again, but I think it’s for the best if I don’t. I would like to talk, though.” You said to Peter.

“Yeah. Of course.” Peter nodded. May got into the car to give the two of you some privacy. You and Peter stood facing each other but didn’t make eye contact. Peter didn’t know what to say, so he got straight to the point.

“Look, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I called you a slut. And that I didn’t believe you at the party. There is no excuse for what I said and did. I was angry so I called you exactly what I knew would hurt you. I guess that I’m not as good of a guy as either of us thought. You deserve a gentleman. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be that for you.”

“It’s not okay that you called me that. But I forgive you.” You told him.

“You do?” Peter smiled in surprise.

“I do. If you hadn’t gotten Brad and his friends to admit what they had done, I never would’ve gotten my name back. I had people I’ve never even seen before apologizing to me. So if you can risk your scholarship to get my reputation back, I can forgive you.”

“I’d do anything for you.” He told you as he stared into your eyes. You could see how guilty he felt when you looked into his eyes but you couldn’t get him using that word out of his head.

“Where do we go from here?” He asked after a beat of silence. You put a smile on your face and patted Peters shoulders.

“From here, you’re gonna go eat dinner with your aunt. I’m gonna go get some food with my friends, since I actually have them now. And we’re gonna see each other on Thursday in class.”

“Oh. Right. Okay. I’ll see you in class then.” Peter smiled tightly and hoped it didn’t let his disappointment show. He started walking to his car when he heard your voice again.

“Hey Peter?” You called and he turned around.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for getting your knuckles bloody for me.” You smiled at him.

“Anytime.” He smiled back. He got into the passenger seat of Mays car and waited until he couldn’t see you in the side view mirror before breaking down. May rubbed his back and said nothing as Peter cried in his hands.

“I love her. And I ruined it. I fucked it all up.” He cried.

“You don’t know that.” May said kindly. “You might still get a chance to make things right.”

“I don’t think so. She just wants to be friends.“

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“It’s okay. She could’ve written me out of her life entirely. At least we get to be friends now.” Peter said as he wiped his face. May frowned and cupped his chin.

“Let’s go home, honey.” May said. “It’ll be better in the morning.

In the morning, Peter woke up to an email confirming his suspension. He was allowed to return to campus a week later and when he did, he had everyone’s eyes on him. He kept his head down and made his way to the chemistry class he had with you. You exchanged friendly smiles with each other but that was it. Your relationship stayed in a sorta friends but sorta strangers area until the end of the semester. With one week until finals, you finally talked again.

“Hey.” You said as you caught up to him after class. Peter looked around the hallway for who you might be talking to and found no one.

“Me?” He asked.

“Yeah, you. I wanted to show you something.” You smiled coyly and handed him the test you had just gotten back in class. Peter saw a big “96” written on the top in red ink, your highest score yet.

“Woah, 96? That’s really awesome. Great job. I knew you could do it.” Peter smiled proudly and handed it back to you.

“Thank you. I never thought I’d actually pass this class. Turns out I just needed a tutor.” You said with a small shrug. Peter smiled fondly at you and nodded his head. He didn’t know why you were suddenly talking to him, but he didn’t mind it.

“You were always smart.” He insisted. “You just needed someone to explain it in a new way. I’m proud of you. That should go up on the tiny fridge in your dorm.”

“If I had a magnet or even knew where to get one, I would.” You joked. Peter laughed before a comfortable silence settled between you. You looked at each other for a moment before you took a deep breath and looked down at the test.

“So, uh, we have our final coming up soon so I was wondering if you were free to study together sometime? Maybe in the library?” You asked him.

“Oh, sure. I can definitely help you.” He nodded enthusiastically.

“Great, thanks. And maybe we can get some food after.” You suggested.

“Yeah. Totally.” He agreed.

“Like a date.” You added. Peters eyes lit up as he processed what you had said.

“You want to go on a date? With me?”

“I’ve been thinking.” You began. “You were the first person at this school who took the time to get to know me. And in that time, I got to know you too. I know you’re not a mean person. I know you aren’t like the guys who used to make fun of me. And I know I’ve said plenty of things in moments of anger that I wished I could take back. So I have a proposition for you.”

“Which is?” Peter wondered.

“If you ever call me that word again, we’re done for good. No second chances. But since I believe you’re sorry and wouldn’t do it again, I would like to give us another shot. What do you think?”

“I would also like that very much please.” Peter said immediately. You laughed at his quick answer and held out your hand. Peter took it and you walked down the hallway together. He walked you to your next class, just like old times, and stopped outside the door. You were about to say goodbye when he pulled you into a hug. You melted into his arms and hugged him back, closing all the distance that had grown between you.

“Thank you for giving me a second chance.” He said for just you to hear.

“I had too. I missed you too much for that to have been our end.”

“I missed you too.” He said as he pulled out of the hug but kept his arms around you. You looked into his eyes for a minute and smiled softly.

“For the record, I loved you too.” You told him. Peter gasped a little before breaking into a cool and collected smile.

“For the record, I was all in from the moment you borrowed my pen. Not that it’s a competition or anything.” He shrugged, making you laugh a little.

“You know, I still have that pen. It’s really good, too. Is that your thing? You give helpless girls pens and hope they’ll fall in love with you?” You teased him.

“That’s exactly what I do. You’re just the first it’s ever worked on.” He humored you.

“Oh yeah? And just how many girls have you given pens too?a rough estimate would be nice. I’d like to know who my competition is.”

“Oh, jeez. That’s hard to say. It’s gotta be hundreds of girls. Maybe even thousands. I’ve given a pen to more girls than you could ever imagine.“

“Wow. Thats a lot of girls to give pens too. I didn’t realize you were such a busy boy. Are you some kind of slut or something?” You asked with a slight gasp to poke fun at the reputation that used to weigh you down.

“I think I might be actually, yeah.” He sighed and shrugged his shoulder.

“I see.” You chuckled. “That must be why we get along so well.

“Wait, why?” Peter wondered and no longer followed the joke.

“Because.” You playfully rolled your eyes. “Takes one to know one.”

THE END

Tag List 💋

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@hey-girl-hey @spilled-coffee-cup @emotionsmgcbabe @ilikestrawberriesandwomen

@bubblegumholland @starsval @changingdonnie

[arcanarix]

Fated Divergence // Yandere! Suguru Geto X Non-Sorcerer Darling

AO3

Not your best day.

You shielded the unforgiving sun from your eyes with your hand because you forgot your one pair of cheap sunglasses at home. They barely did the job anyway but at least they covered your expressions because you weren’t the best at hiding how you felt.

Rest assured, you were annoyed. Unfortunately, without those sunglasses you couldn’t hide the visible deep-set bags under your eyes. Barely getting by on a nurse’s salary. You even fucking moonlighted, and somehow that wasn’t enough to keep up the lifestyle you wanted. You supposed by all other accounts, you were still better off than a vast majority of people.

You still liked to believe in spite of what you endure at the hospital, you held a heart.

Not like you were in the profession for the pay, anyway.

You were so goddamn naïve.

Stopping in front of the Shibuya Clinic, you paused, taking a tension-banishing breath but to no avail. No matter what, you had to endure the trials and tribulations of that day and go home wondering what you could have done better.

A co-worker beamed upon seeing you, but then their expression melded into one of concern. “You want to take a day off?”

“Can I afford it, Mei?” you asked as you strolled by the receptionist desk.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Take the day off,” she assured you. “I’ll let them know something came up.”

As she said that, you glanced at your calendar only for something to dawn on you.

“I’m not even supposed to work today,” you mumbled, scoffing at your own lack of attention to detail. “I forgot.”

Mei snickered and you glowered at her a bit. Gathering herself, she cleared her throat.

“Then perfect! Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

All that effort to get here and for what…?

You strolled back out of the clinic, thankful to have the day for yourself, annoyed that you thought you had to get up earlier than usual to work a shift that wasn’t until that Friday.

You glanced at the calendar again.

Yep. Monday. Of course it was…

You pondered over what else you could do. Maybe you could finally try that bakery that opened down the street. Was it too early for a sweet treat? Did it even matter? That was one of the few things you cared to look forward to; those sweet treats were your goddamn lifeline.

It might make this crappy Monday just a little less so.

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

Suguru found little reprieve from the burdens of his own convictions. While he made his choice, it still didn’t stop himself from being plagued by doubts on whether or not his methods were truly the only way.

After spending the early dawn exorcising high grade curses from unsuspecting monkeys, he decided to clear his mind with a stroll in the district of Shibuya… when a powerful aura caught his attention.

He found the powerful aura in you. A fucking monkey with an aura untouched and pure.

“A diamond amongst the rubble?” he mused to himself as his eyes followed you to that new bakery shop the twins adored so much for reasons he could not fathom himself. Those monkeys ran the bakery, after all… “Not entirely unheard of, I suppose. My monkey parents gave birth to a specimen such as myself.”

He, for reasons unknown to himself, followed you into the bakery. Acting charismatic as ever to the workers and ordering the twins’ usual to carry out, he stopped to observe you.

You took one of the twins’ usual orders. Those strawberry cheese danishes they loved so much. But every time Suguru ate one, he spat it out, overwhelmed by how excruciatingly sweet they were.

“My, my, someone has a sweet tooth,” he addressed you as you glanced up at him with curiosity twinkling in your eyes. “The twins I look after are partial to the ones you’re eating.”

He gave you a once-over, realizing you were in a nurse’s uniform. Someone as high and pristine as you, healing those lowly monkeys?

Yet somehow, he found it fascinating. Like you were not yet tainted by the horrors humans brought to the world; you still wished to heal these lowly monkeys instead of leaving them for dead. He sensed it just by your presence, by your aura. He could visualize it—bright, white, softly glowing around you like you were touched by God.

That God being him, of course, as he took your free hand and rubbed your knuckles with his thumb.

You were dumbstruck by the contact and you retracted your hand.

“Suguru Geto, my dear, forgive me for intruding on your morning. I just wanted to say hello.”

He glanced at your tag, eyebrows perking up upon realization. The Shibuya Clinic? Ah… that led to many possibilities.

“I’ve heard of you,” you remarked, dabbing the corners of your mouth with a napkin. Suguru seemed pleased at the fact that you had table manners, unlike so many of those other monkeys. “You’re that kooky cult guy.”

Suguru made a face.

Kooky? Suguru almost wanted to cackle in your face, but he refrained, masking the irritation through a saccharine smile.

“Ah, that would be correct. I have met many non-believers, including yourself, Miss…?”

You told him your name.

“Ah, lovely,” he replied after repeating your name, enjoying how it felt to say it. Like it just rolled off of his tongue. Such a perfect name, for a perfect specimen…

He loomed over you, intimidating you a tad with his height and unmoving quasi-friendly grin. “I don’t frighten you, do I?”

He observed as you scrutinized him. You likely heard the rumors. He may have been a bit careless with his clients. Only making few exceptions. Perhaps you heard how he had carelessly offed some clients just for looking at him a certain way or getting too close to his personal space.

Ultimately, you shrugged, and he, alarmed but intrigued by your aloofness, cleared his throat.

“Many of my clients have worked in your clinic, Miss. If ever there are situations which you can’t explain or fix, I am happy to help.”

He flashed his business card and his address to his temple.

“Uh huh,” you murmured, tone incredulous, scanning the contents of his card while sipping on your matcha latte. “I’ll consider it, I guess, Suguru.”

“Excellent. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

As he made his exit, he didn’t notice you tearing up his business card and tossing it carelessly into a nearby wastebin.

He was far too consumed in how he would have you all to himself. 

[ritzylate]

@saradika-graphics made the lovely dividers and also taught me what dividers were.

This is from a huge fic I'm writing and I'm posting entirely out of order. I plan on posting the whole thing on a different AO3 eventually. this is just the start of just one part of the story. I cut out the worst of the NSFW content. I'm saving that for AO3. Kinda wanna feel out the crowd to see if my writing is something people would enjoy reading.

"Caught" A Harvey x reader fic - NSFW

NSFW 18+ MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI I literally cannot say this enough. This is not for you.

Super dialog heavy.

Content warnings: Past relationship trauma, trauma and sadness in general, established relationship, adult entertainment, getting off. You get the idea.

AFAB!reader.

Word count: 3200 ish

I have trouble with tenses so I'm sorry if this is ass to read. I tried.

“So you're staying at Harvey’s then?” Robin asked.

“Yeah,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“That's great,” she says with a smile. “How are things going between you two? Good then?”

“Yeah,” you say with a little more conviction. “It's going really well, actually.” 

You feel a smile spread across your face.

You hide your embarrassment by staring intently down at the pebble under the toe of your boot.

“That's so great!” Robin cheers. “Harvey is such a great guy, and he's not too bad to look at either,” she says with a wink.

You let yourself get lost in the thought of him for a moment before clearing your throat.

“I best be off,” you say. “I don’t want to get there too late. I don’t want to keep him from opening shop too late.”

Robin laughs to herself.

“Of course. Well, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Robin, you're too young to lecture me on what to do,” you joke. 

Robin throws her head back in a laugh and waves goodbye.

The short drive to Harvey’s place allows you time enough to think of how you want to thank him. A few obvious ideas cross your mind, but you shake them free, wanting to offer something special and more thoughtful than just that.

“Hey!” Harvey stands out front of his office, the morning sun bright and beaming.

You hop out and sling your arms around his shoulders.

“How are you doing darling?” he asks, holding you in a tight warm hug. The fall air smells of sweet leaves and honey.

“I’m good,” you smile. “Robin’s started on the renovations. Should be done in a few days. It really means a lot to me that you wanted me to stay.”

Harvey chuckles. 

“Are you kidding? Of course I want you to stay. I’ve been waiting for today all week.”

Harvey leads you inside and up the stairs to his flat. 

“You can put your bag anywhere. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll make us some coffee.”

As nice as a good breakfast or coffee sounded, you had to get back to work. 

“You’re so sweet,” you say. “But I need to get to work, I have a long day ahead of me.”

“You need to eat,” Harvey said, flatly. “You can’t work if you don’t have enough energy. So sit. I have some pancake mix. I bought it just for today so if you don’t have any I’ll be sad.” 

Harvey tosses you a sarcastic smile as he reaches into the cupboard.

“Okay, okay,” you say reluctantly, sliding onto the bar stool at the counter.

“So,” Harvey starts. “What do you have planned today?”

You sigh. 

“A lot. I have some weeding to do, probably cut some trees down. Could use the firewood.”

Harvey nods as he listens to you spell out your mundane day.

“What about you?” you ask him over the rim of your coffee mug.

“Not much, honestly,” he says. “I have a few patients. But nothing big.”

A timer dings signifying the pancakes are ready. 

“Here you are, dear,” he said, sliding the pancakes onto a plate. 

“Thank you, Harvey,” you say earnestly. Your stomach rumbles at the idea of a pancake breakfast.

Harvey takes your plate and throws it in the sink as you finish your last bite.

“I’ll get to it later,” he says with a shrug.

“That was really kind of you,” you say shyly. It was hard for you to accept such kindness.

“Happy to do it.” Harvey watches you for a moment before drawing his attention to the clock.

“I better get down there,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Or Maru is going to tear me to shreds.”

You wipe the syrup off your lips with the back of your hand.

“Breakfast was lovely, Harvey, thank you,” you say again. You feel like there isn’t enough thanks in the world to express how much his gestures meant to you. 

Harvey places his hand on the small of your back.

“Don’t work too hard today,” he says as he nudges you, giving you a kiss on your cheek. 

When you arrive back at the farm, Robin is knee deep in her project. It’d only take three days, she said, but you have trouble imagining how such work could be done so quick.

You set to work at the farm. Your cows needed milking, your chickens needed feeding, there were new fruits found in the cave. But your mind wandered. 

Wonder what Harvey is doing right now?

If Robin was paying any attention to you, she’d laugh at how blissfully unaware you were of your surroundings. 

The sun sits high in the sky when you lean down to start plucking at the weeds biting at the base of your crops.

You yank at the greenery when you feel a tightening in your calf, followed by a sharp, sudden pain.

The pain catches you off guard, and you reach down to grasp at your leg. 

You fight to stay on your feet, but before you know it you fall to the dirt.

“Are you okay??” Robin calls out. You hear her boots hitting the metal on her ladder. 

“Oh what happened?”

“I don't know,” you say honestly. “I think I pulled something. I stood wrong or something. I'm fine.”

“Well. It's a good thing you're fucking the doctor, huh?”

You try to laugh, but the grimaced pain on your face won't go away. 

Robin rubs your back. 

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't joke. When a farmer stops working because of pain, you know it's serious.”

“It's not serious,” you say. “I'm fine. But…maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to stop early.”

Robin wraps an arm under you and lifts you up. You hobble to your car, Robin helping you open the door to shuffle you in.

“I can drive you,” she offers.

“No no, I'm fine, I can make it. It's all good.”

Robin looks after you with a worried, motherly look on her face as you wave to her through your open window.  

You pull up to Harvey’s clinic. The windows darkened except for a distant light shining through the hallway door leading to the stairs. . 

The pain comes and goes, but either way, you really weren't getting that much work done. And you’re already here. No sense in returning only to have the pain spike again. You might as well call it a night.

You push the front door open into a near silent office. The only sound being a slight hum from the heater.

“Harvey?” But no one answers. 

You close the door quietly, locking it behind you. 

There are slight sounds emanating from beyond the stairs but nothing too distinct. Just enough to let you know he's home. 

You climb the stairs, holding onto the wall for extra support. 

The handle to Harvey’s flat sticks slightly, but gives way to a click with enough force. 

“Harvey?” you ask again.

You move to peer round the door, not wanting to spook him. You press your knuckle to the door to give it a knock, but take pause when your brain catches up to what you're hearing.  

Heavy breathing, soft moaning, the creak of Harvey’s leather chair.

You peek your head around the door just long enough to see Harvey at his desk. His laptop opened, the screen obscured by his bare chest.

Harvey’s head rests on the back of his chair, knees barely visible on either side of him. 

“Oh fuck,” he breathes.

Your eyes widen from the shock. From this angle, you can't see much, but you still feel your cheeks flush.

You can see enough to watch him bring a hand to his forehead, running his fingers through his hair. He grabs a fistfull of his auburn locks, tightening them into a fist.

You shut your eyes, turning from the door. But the sounds of Harvey still wash over you like a wave. 

You feel breathless yourself. What do you do? Do you say something? Interrupt? Do you turn and leave? And even then, what next? Wait a few minutes, then come back? Do you pretend you only just arrived, give him a shout up the stairs to give him warning? Do you lie and pretend you didn't see anything?

You decide that leaving would offer the most ideal situation for him. Leave, wait downstairs for a little bit, then come back up. He doesn’t have to know you were here. You pull the door towards you to slowly shut the door. As it swings shut, your boot catches the edge, causing the door to bounce off the rubber. The hollow squeak sounded louder than church bells in the current situation. 

Harvey’s head whips around, his eyes widening in horror.

“Oh Yoba!” Harvey shouts, fumbling with his laptop screen. His hurried, frightened movements cause him to trip over himself, nearly knocking over the bookcase and all of its contents. 

“I- it- oh my- I can't believe, I-” Harvey’s panicked voice rushing over his words.

“Hey, hey, it's okay!! Harvey, it's fine!” Your race to issue as much reassurance as you can through the half closed door. 

“I wasn't, I mean, I was but, shit this is so embarrassing oh Yoba I don’t know what to say.”

You close the door over and hide even further behind it, teetering on the edge of the stairs.

You can barely make out Harvey's figure as he fumbles to pull his pants up around his hips before the door shuts completely. You hold onto the handle with one hand, your knuckles turning white from sheer panic.

“Harvey, really, you're fine! It's okay!!” you call through the door. “I'm so sorry I didn't mean to walk in on you, this is my fault, I'm so sorry.”

“You're just here earlier than I expected, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe-” Harvey pulls the door open, looking at you with a beet red face. You stumble over your feet to catch your footing. 

 Harvey narrows his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” The panic in his voice fading immediately. 

You don't say anything, feeling your own embarrassment sneak in. 

“Your leg? What happened?” Harvey's voice shifts from anxious to concerned medical professional immediately. 

You didn't realize you were still rubbing your calf.

“What?” You almost forgot. “No, I'm fine, I think I just strained it or maybe a charley horse, I'm fine. I thought maybe it was my sign to come back a little early. I should have texted you, I'm sorry.”

“Yes you should have!” 

You feel a wash of shame at his voice being raised. This was all your fault, none of this had to happen if you had just been responsible and texted him first. 

“You shouldn't have walked on it, I could have come and gotten you. That's what I'm here for. To help you.”

His words softened and by the end his voice was soft like satin.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have just let myself in. There’s nothing wrong really. I can go,” you offer.

You stand up straight, putting your weight mostly on the other leg. 

The pain fades into a dull ache that feels more like a memory of an injury.

Harvey walks to you, placing a finger under your chin. He pulls your eyes to meet his.

“Hey, no, stay here. You don't have to leave. Let's get you off your feet.”

Reluctantly you follow Harvey into his flat, feeling a flush of panic and shame for having created such an uncomfortable situation. 

“You don't have to do everything yourself, you know,” Harvey said. 

You laugh to yourself, thinking of all the times you were really injured, and probably should have called upon him for help, but didn't. Of all injuries this was hardly the one you'd bother him with.

“I've been through so much worse,” you say, before realizing that was probably the last thing Harvey wanted to hear you say. 

“It's just a muscle cramp. Really.” 

You try your best to assure him, but the worry still sticks to his face.

Harvey runs his hand down your arm.

“Why don't we get you some water, sit down, relax a bit. If you're getting Charley horses you might be dehydrated. Or you're overworking yourself, but either way, water isn't a bad idea.”

You feel yourself blushing at how Harvey rushes to take care of you.

You don't say anything out loud at first; you just take a seat on your favorite stool.

“It seems we're both not used to having someone else fuss over us.”

Harvey reaches for a glass, his pj's riding down on his hip slightly. 

“Whatever would give you that idea?” Harvey jokes. 

Harvey’s voice returned to normal, but his eyes still held worry. His brows stitched together in concern. Concern for which one of tonight's events was a toss up. Probably both, realistically speaking. 

As much as you hated to admit it, taking a load off felt nice.

The two of you fixate your gazes on the tap filling the glass. You wondered which one of you would break the silence first. 

Harvey turns the tap off and leans over the counter to slide you your drink.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You take a modest sip trying to draw out the silence until one of you finds the strength to speak.

To your surprise,  it’s Harvey.

“Listen,” Harvey starts.  “I-I would feel better if we just…forgot about what you saw. I honestly-I can honestly say I have never been more embarrassed by anything in my entire life.” 

Harvey fixes his gaze on the floor, wearing away at an already thread barren towel sitting on the sink.

“Harvey.” You try to soften your voice as much as you can without sounding like you're patronizing him. You want to tell him you’ll forget all about it. You want to tell him there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but you know that won’t help the situation.

“I've always felt this weird, I don't know, shame? About that." Harvey makes a wide motion with his hands towards the corner of his room with his desk. 

“I know all the facts, I know it's not weird and it’s common for a lot of people.  I hear the shame and fear from patients myself, all the time! And I reassure them that, scientifically, it's not only safe but healthy. And if that doesn’t help and they still have concerns, I’ll suggest a therapist I know out of town, and they’ll come back to me telling me how much it’s helped them. I know all that. But…” Harvey trails off, tracing a finger along the edge of the counter. 

“I find myself feeling weird about it too. Like, I don't…” Harvey shifts from foot to foot. 

“Like you don't what?” You reach out, taking his hand in yours. 

“I feel like I don't deserve it. I feel like, okay, sex, at least someone else is getting something. I'm serving a purpose. But by myself it's just me, and I struggle with the idea that I deserve it.”

You sit in silence, letting Harvey take his time and say whatever he feels comfortable saying. 

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I don't know why I'm telling you all this. This just made this even more embarrassing.” 

You take a beat before speaking again.

“Thank you for telling me. You can always tell me whatever you want, and I want you to know how much I appreciate you sharing that with me. I know it can be hard.”

You reach a hand towards him, inviting him to your touch. He obliges, leaning into your cupped hand. You gently stroke his cheek, feeling the flush of his skin. 

“But we don't have to ever talk about this again if you don’t want to. You have my word. I will speak of it no more.”

Harvey went quiet for several minutes. The only sounds coming from the ticking grandfather clock and the hum from the radiator. 

You don't look away, keeping a soft gaze on his face. 

“You don't think I'm weird for it?” Harvey’s voice was small, almost weak. 

“Yoba no!” You exclaim. “I'd be a hypocrite if I did. My vibrator gets more use than my farm tools. My bottom drawer is as colorful as a rainbow.”

You offer him a lighthearted smile as your eyes search his face. 

Harvey closed his eyes and nervously tapped his foot against the linoleum floor. 

“That's really a relief to hear,” he says with a nervous chuckle. “My biggest fear was that you’d be upset.”

“Upset?” You tilted your head to the side. Upset? Upset about what? The very idea would never have crossed your mind. 

“Yeah,” Harvey drawls. “One of my past partners felt a certain way about it. Certainly didn't help me with my own hang ups.”

“I'm really sorry to hear that.”

“Eh,” Harvey shrugged. “We were young. I wasn't exactly the most reasonable person either. It was just a bad time.”

You nod. We've all been there you want to say. 

But instead you say, “just know that I’m here to listen. And if you want to stop, we stop. But I’m here to listen for as long as you want.”

This time Harvey is the one to nod. You can practically see his thoughts racing behind his eyes. 

“It’s okay. We can keep talking. This is good.”

You settle into your seat and take a breath in. You open your mouth to speak, but just offer a smile, a nod, and a small squeeze of his hand instead.

“So you don’t think it’s weird?” he asks again, continuing to nervously shift around.

“I think it's hot,” you say with a shrug.

“Really?” Harvey’s surprise both visible and audible. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I would have been open to watching if that had been something you wanted. I panicked, and I didn't know whether to say something, leave and come back, pretend I didn't see anything and call out like I had only just arrived…”

“I would have picked the last one if you gave me the option,” Harvey said, putting his head down laughing.

“I'm so sorry,” you plead. “I was turning to leave, but I made too much noise. I’m truly sorry, I wasn't there for more than 5 seconds, I swear. I wasn't even sure what I was seeing at first, it was that quick a glace. If that helps.”

Harvey inhaled deeply. 

“That actually does help,” Harvey chuckled. 

“But-” he stuttered. “I'm kinda glad you didn't. Leave, that is. I'm kinda glad we're talking about this. Really glad, actually. Not just to clear the air, but because this feels like a really good conversation for us to have.”

Your heart beats out of your chest, you feel so warm and fuzzy.

“I really like you,” he says softly. Harvey looks up at you over the rim of his glasses. 

“I like you a lot, so, this feels like something I should share with someone who I really, really like.”

“Oh Harvey,” you say, placing your hand over your heart. You had a million things you would have liked to say. But all you could do was sit there, staring at the man you were falling in love with, thinking about all the ways you wanted to kiss him.

“This is, I guess, my first real, mature, established relationship since college. And even then, I don't know if I can call any of those relationships mature or real.”

“I'm really honored to hear you say that,” you say in a voice closer to a whisper. You can barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. 

Harvey closed his eyes and took in another deep breath. 

“I guess that's the plus side of dating in your 30s, huh?  We're all a little experienced.”

“A little traumatized,” you add. You sound like you're joking, and even though you both throw your heads back in a laugh, you both know you're right. 

There's some more silence between you, but the air feels lighter. 

Harvey rounds the corner of the counter and wraps his arms around you. He holds you in a tight hug. His heart sounded like a war drum.

“Thank you,” he says. His voice deep and echoing in his chest.

“You deserve to be happy, Harvey.” you say, absentmindedly running your fingertips down his back. 

“I’m starting to believe that, now,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

[badbf-cb]

Hyunjin sat quietly like his friend asked. The whole situation made him sick to his stomach but he still trusted her. He would have even sat there the rest of the night… until he saw two familiar figures… no, three. So, against Minji’s orders, Hyunjin crept from the car and followed Beomgyu and Hanse as they carried Yoona into the building. 

He could hear the little girl’s chatter about everything she was doing with her Auntie when Hanse picked her up. She was always so excited to play games with him that she didn’t think twice about hearing her auntie’s worried voice calling for her.

Hanse and Beomgyu walked into the room, Yoona on their hip. Seeing her daughter so close to Hanjae sent Minji into a spiral. All her work on keeping the girl safe was undone by the two men she called friend.

Before Minji could get her hands on Gyu, Hanse grabbed her and held her tight. “Please don’t fight me. I don’t want to hurt you, noona,” Hanse whispered in her ear. “Please.”

Gyu held onto Yoona and tapped her nose. “Remember what I said? Sing your favorite song in your head as loud as you can.” He held her head against his shoulder, away of the sight of the adults acting like fools. 

“Did you really think I wasn’t going to have a back up for my back up?” Hanjae sneered at Minji. “I told you I wanted her and I’m gong to get her.” 

“One of you will leave… the other, well they won’t be so lucky,” Hanjae hissed and jabbed Tae with the end of his knife. “Since I’m such a magnanimous man, I’ll let you two decide which one it’ll be.” 

Hanse held the knife to Minji’s throat, pinning her to the wall. Despite the white knuckled grip on the knife his eyes didn’t hold the same conviction. He looked at the woman that was his friend. The one that even after everything he had done, still took care of him. 

“No funny business or I swear both of you won’t be leaving here,” Hanjae said pointing his gaze to Minji.

Before he said the last words, the decision had already been made.

Taeyong knew what he was going to do was the best option. The only option. He couldn’t leave Yoona without her mom, especially if it meant Hanjae getting his hands on her… He also knew that Raiden would never forgive him. He wouldn’t be coming home to his family but at least there was Raiden to keep them safe. 

He grabbed Hanjae’s wrist and held it steady. Just a little higher and to the left. He remembered what Minji did last time he had a blade in his stomach. Taeyong took a deep breath and impaled himself. He knew it was right when it was harder to breathe… He was going to drown in his own blood.

“You fucking idiot!” Hanjae yelled as blood covered his hands. He watched his old friend smile and stumble back against the wall. “Doesn’t matter. When I’m finished here I was planning to visit your little family soon anyway. What do you think that husband of yours will say? Hmh?”

Taeyong smiled, causing confusion. He sat on the floor bleeding out and he laughed. “I want you to. I want you to meet the man that I love and for some reason loves me. I want you to be the one to tell him it’s my blood that stains your hands.” His eyes drifted to his friend and forced a painfull smile. “Please… please make sure they know how much I love them.

“Tae? Taeyong?” Minji cried and broke free of Hanse’s grasp. She rushed and fell at his side, trying in vain to stop the blood coating her hands. “You’re stupid. So stupid. What were you thinking?”

Even as he sat, struggling to breathe, he wasn’t scared. Not of death. He knew he would see his husband and children again. He was more afraid of his husband after breaking his promise to them. 

The edges of his vision blurred and faded to black. He couldn’t hear anything. It was strange. He could see Minji moving her lips and Gyu covering Yoona’s eyes… but it was silent. Silent and cold. 

Hanjae let a strangled groan of frustration out and lunged for Minji. He almost had his hands in her hair when he was snapped back, his head slamming into something hard. “You said no one would be hurt. You only wanted to talk,” Hanse growled in his ear. He looked at the terrified woman scrambling to hold her baby and his friend… even if using the term loosely, lay on the floor. The color of his cheeks a paleness he knew too well. 

“I can see who the brains of you two are,” Hanjae spat at Hanse, trying to get out of his grasp with no luck. His head was pressed into the wall harder with each time he struggled. 

As if from the shadows, Hyunjin walked behind Beomgyu and took Yoona from his arms. There was no fight or struggle. Yoona squirmed to look around to see what all the commotion was. She huffed with annoyance. The adults never let her in on their secrets.

“Minji, come on,” Gyu said softly. “I need to get you home.” Tears stained her cheeks as he tried to pry her from her lifeless friend’s body. “Minji, please. We need to take you and Yoona home.” 

She slipped out of his reach and charged for Hanse. Slapping and kicking him with a scream and grunt. No one stood in her way as blow after blow she cried and used her energy. Only then, when Gyu dragged her away did she give up and leave. 

Minji, Hyunjin, Yoona and Beomgyu stood outside and waited for Hanse. He appeared with sticky red covering his shirt and pants, Taeyong in his arms. His heart broke when he met the hopeful eyes, searching for any sign of life from the man in his arms. He only shook his head. 

“Put him in the car,” Beomgyu said. “We will take him with us. You three follow behind.” For once, he stood straight and authority radiated from him. No one argued, only followed his orders. “I’ll call Jaebeom. I’ll take the blame for this. I’ll call his… Fuck… He’s going to kill me isn’t he?”

Minji clung to her daughter and snorted a soft laugh. The girl slept in her arms with no clue what happened. No idea that her world would never be the same. “And Hanjae?” she asked, looking at Hanse.

“The little fucker is quick but don’t worry, noona. I’ll make sure we find him,” Hanse promised. 

[lllluffyvert]

It’s funny how the entire trajectory of one’s life could be completely and utterly changed by a singular event. A chance encounter with a living whirlwind, a sunbeam in human form. An extended hand and bright, brown eyes that sparkled with the promise of an adventure and despite himself, Zoro was utterly captivated.

“I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!” Luffy, the kid who saved him without a thought for himself, without even knowing him, declared with utmost conviction, as if it were a fact, already set in stone. “I need a strong crew, the best of the best! And you’re amazing, Zoro!” A huge, toothy smile split across his freckled face and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I want you to be my first mate. Let’s help each other achieve our dreams!”

And it’s with the idea of pursuing his dream alongside someone this dazzling and so wholly determined that Zoro, the pirate-killer, the bounty-hunter, a man of self-imposed solitude, grasps Luffy’s outstretched hand in his own, catalogs the warmth of his sun-kissed skin, and swears his swords and his loyalty.

Just like that, Zoro finds himself whisked away to sea, sailing the East Blue with Luffy at the ship’s bow and their 3rd member, Nami, at the helm.

“She’s our crew’s navigator, the best there’ll ever be!” Luffy had announced by way of introductions, tipping his straw hat and throwing Zoro an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Not part of your crew,” Nami replied firmly while crossing her arms. The sleeve of her shirt shifted with the movement and a bandage wrapped around her right arm peeked from underneath the fabric. “Just hitching a ride.”

“I know,” Luffy said with a knowing wink and a winning smile. Zoro eyed Nami with some suspicion, but he could tell that Luffy had already made up his mind to trust her, and he wouldn’t question his captain.

It didn’t take long for Luffy to secure the fourth member of the crew: Usopp, an incredible sniper and an even worse liar. Zoro’s eyebrow twitched every time he called himself “Captain Usopp”, but along with Usopp came the Going Merry, and Luffy finally had his ship. Zoro would let Usopp spin all the tall tales he wanted as long as Luffy was happy.

The sun is high in the cloudless sky now as they skim over calm ocean waters. Zoro reclines against the ship’s wooden railing, nurses a bottle of beer and kicks his feet up. He contemplates taking a nap when he catches sight of Luffy, perched atop the sheep’s head of the Going Merry and basking in the sunshine. He holds his straw hat in his lap and hums a jovial tune as the salted breeze tussles his brown curls in a way that has Zoro feeling short of breath.

Luffy turns like he feels the weight of Zoro’s gaze and meets his eyes. He smiles, bright and warm like a ray of sun. Beautiful, is what Zoro thinks, as he sends up a silent prayer to the gods he doesn’t believe in that he would be deserving of such an expression, quietly devoting himself to his captain as his first mate, as his sword, as anything Luffy wanted him to be.

I’ll become the world’s greatest fucking swordsman, he vows with rekindled resolve, his hand a tight fist around the hilt of his sword. Whatever it takes.

Zoro is tested much sooner than expected, when only days later he, Nami, and Usopp are confronted by Dracule Mihawk, one of seven Warlords of the Sea, a man that Zoro simultaneously idolizes and strives to surpass. As Mihawk tersely questions their captain’s whereabouts, Zoro unsheaths his sword and points the tip at Mihawk’s chest.

“I, Roronoa Zoro, challenge you to a duel.”

“Zoro,” Nami hisses, her expression tense. “Please, don’t do this.”

Mihawk looks him up and down with eyes full of contempt and scoffs. “I don’t waste my time with children.”

“I’ve followed your career since I was a child,” Zoro doesn’t waver, adrenaline pumping in his veins and blood rushing in his ears. “And it’s my dream to be a greater swordsman than even you.”

One of Mihawk’s perfectly manicured eyebrows raises inquisitively as he stares at Zoro for a moment before nodding once. “Fine,” he says, “I’ll humor you, because you’ve piqued my interest, Roronoa Zoro. We’ll meet at dawn, and do try your best not to disappoint me.” He turns and strides away with a flutter of his dark cloak and disappears into the night.

“Why did you have to do that?!” Nami’s voice shakes with anger. “He’s going to kill you!”

Zoro sheaths his sword and looks to Nami. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are filled with apprehension.

“It’s a chance at my dream,” he says with conviction. Nami glares at him. “And why do you even care?”

“Why do I–” Nami sputters, and punches his arm hard. “Because you’re my friend, you idiot! I’m telling Luffy about this!”

She storms off and Usopp follows quickly, but not before he casts an apprehensive glance at Zoro, in agreement with Nami but afraid to speak his opinion.

Luffy will understand, Zoro thinks, and the idea provides him a modicum of comfort. Out of everyone, he knows his captain will understand because they’re the same. It’s what drew Zoro to him so easily; that unbreakable spirit and unshakable resolve. It might’ve also been the beaming smiles that sometimes seemed to be just for him, or maybe those big, sparkling brown eyes that only ever looked at him with adoration. He made Zoro want to be better, to be the best; he’d do anything to make his captain proud and dueling Dracule Mihawk was only the first step.

The hours seem to crawl. Zoro doesn’t sleep, choosing instead to cycle between meditation and polishing his swords, clearing his mind and steeling his nerves up until his crewmates barge into the room with only a few minutes remaining before dawn.

“Okay, now tell him to back out of the duel, Luffy!” Nami demands.

Luffy looks a little unsure, glancing back and forth between Zoro and Nami and biting his lip. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea, Zoro,” he says finally, pushing his hat back to scratch at his forehead, an anxious movement as he’s suddenly forced to make a decision as captain.

“I have to,” Zoro says, a bit desperately as he holds Luffy’s gaze. “To achieve my dream, I have to do this.” Understand me, Captain, is his silent plea.

At that, Luffy’s hesitant expression shifts into one of comprehension, and he immediately straightens his posture and nods firmly. “I’ll support you, Zoro,” he states resolutely.

It’s like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, and Zoro’s devotion grows ever deeper. His captain was at his side, and nothing else mattered.

Nami makes a noise of protest and her eyes begin to well up with tears. “Luffy, why?”

“I can’t get in the way of someone else’s dream, Nami.”

“Even if that dream will get him killed?!”

“Zoro is strong,” Luffy says simply, causing Zoro’s heart to skip a beat.

“I won’t let you down,” Zoro promises, as time runs out and the sun begins to peek over the horizon.

“I know,” Luffy replies with a reassuring smile and a confident gleam in his eyes, believing entirely in his first mate and filling Zoro with a fiery determination. He picks up his swords, ties his bandana around his head, and marches outside to the docks where Dracule Mihawk awaits.

“Ah, you actually showed up,” Mihawk says dully, looking rather bored. “Bravo.”

Zoro says nothing. He stands before Mihawk and pulls out his swords, biting down on the hilt of one and the other two in each hand.

The duel is quick. Zoro breathes heavily, Mihawk’s dagger in his shoulder and blood trailing down his arm to drip from his fingertips. He hears Nami cry out and Usopp gasps. Luffy makes no sound but watches him with wide eyes, features drawn with apprehension.

“Why don’t you retreat?” Mihawk questions, looking pointedly at the wound he’d created.

“If I do,” Zoro says through gritted teeth, “My dream will be lost forever.”

Mihawk hums appreciatively and pulls the knife from Zoro’s shoulder with a wet schlick. “Not bad, Roronoa Zoro,” he says, and a metallic ring echoes in the quiet of the morning as he unsheathes his greatsword from the holster on his back. “I believe you deserve to die by Yoru.”

Zoro rushes him, but his attack is parried easily; Yoru slices into his skin and ends him flying backwards. Two of Zoro’s swords shatter, leaving him only Wado Ichimonji, which he removes from his mouth to grasp firmly in his hand, standing despite his injuries.

“You’ve been defeated,” Mihawk says, “Why do you still fight?”

“Wounds on the back are a swordsman’s greatest shame,” Zoro responds honestly.

“Magnificient,” Mihawk murmurs.

Zoro opens his arms wide and closes his eyes as Yoru slashes across his chest, throwing him onto his back as blood pours from the gaping cut and pools around him, soaking into his shirt.

I’m sorry, Luf, is the only thought in his mind as his senses are wracked with pain and his vision fades to black. He thinks he hears Luffy cry out his name, but it’s faint under the ringing in his ears. Mihawk’s blurred silhouette stands above him, and it might be the blood loss, but he thinks he catches a gleam of respect in his enemy’s eyes.

“When you’re stronger, come and find me,” Mihawk says quietly, before he turns towards Luffy, who’s already running past him to drop to his knees at Zoro’s side, and Zoro’s focus shifts to where his captain’s warm hands touch his cheek, his arm, his chest, burning hotter than the pain in his body. It grounds him for just a moment, and he opens his eyes to meet his captain’s, huge and round and glistening with unshed tears.

Don’t cry for me, he silently begs, I don’t deserve it. I failed.

“Luffy.” Zoro’s voice is solemn, penitent. “If I fail to become the world’s greatest swordsman, you’ll be disappointed in me.”

“Never,” Luffy says immediately, and he leans forward to press his forehead to Zoro’s, balling his fists in his blood soaked shirt. “You could never disappoint me, Zoro.”

Zoro briefly considers what might happen if he were to tilt his head and catch Luffy’s lips, which were so, so close, in a kiss, and he blames the intrusive thought on blood loss induced delirium, before his vision goes black and he fades to nothing.

It’s dark outside when he comes to, without any idea of the time or day. He blinks to clear his eyes and gathers his bearings. He’s lying on a firm cot, the laceration to his chest has been cleaned and bandaged, and the pain is down to a dull sting. There’s a soft blanket around his upper body, and he can see Wado Ichimonji propped up against the opposite wall. His head throbs and right hand is asleep, prickling uncomfortably. He tries to move it, and hears someone shift beside him. He turns his head and catches his breath at the sight of Luffy. His captain’s hand is wrapped tightly around his own even as he stirs from his slumber, his hat around his neck and his brown locks sticking to the side of his face, and Zoro wonders how long he’s been sitting there, waiting for him to wake up.

His heart aches at the thought, and he hates himself for causing Luffy any grief.

“Eh? Zoro?!” Luffy is suddenly wide awake, and he drops Zoro’s hand, choosing instead to hop up onto the cot and hover over Zoro on all fours, straddling his hips. “Zoro! How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

He’s always so warm, Zoro thinks, and as his right hand regains feeling he lifts it to stroke his captain’s flushed cheek.

“Barely a papercut,” he quips softly with a smile only ever for his captain. Luffy’s laugh rings like a bell, a pretty sound that Zoro will never tire of hearing, and he drops to wrap his arms around Zoro, burying his face in his neck. Zoro’s heart hammers behind his ribs and returns the embrace, barely registering the pain his movements induce to his very recent injuries and thinking only of how Luffy smells of sea salt and fresh air, and how perfectly he fits against him.

Luffy lifts himself onto his elbows and meets Zoro’s eyes, his own filled with conviction. “You’ll grow stronger for me,” he says quietly, confidently. “And you'll be the greatest swordsman ever.”

Zoro’s hands move of their own accord, sliding his fingers up Luffy’s neck and into his hair, and he marvels at its softness for a moment before he brings Luffy’s head down and kisses him gently.

Fuck, is his desperate thought as the contact lights a fire in his stomach and he suddenly needs more, craves it.

“Captain,” he breathes reverently, and Luffy’s lips are slightly chapped but pliant against his own as he kisses him again, tenderly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. Luffy hasn’t moved, but he hasn’t told Zoro to stop either, so Zoro kisses him yet again, even goes so far as to suck Luffy’s bottom lip into his mouth and swipe his tongue over his velvety skin. That seems to shock Luffy to his senses, as he makes a soft noise that Zoro swallows up and tentatively, awkwardly returns the pressure, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, exactly.

The idea of being his captain’s first kiss sends a thrill up Zoro’s spine, and his fingers tangle in Luffy’s hair as he deepens the embrace, tilting his head and licking into Luffy’s mouth like he was dying of thirst and his captain was life-saving water, only breaking the contact to gasp for air.

Luffy looks down at him with twinkling eyes and Zoro’s heart aches, this time with adoration for his captain. He pulls Luffy down against him, wraps his arms around his waist, and buries his face in his curls.

“Now let me get some sleep,” he mutters, and Luffy chuckles against him, snuggling deeper into his chest and sighing contentedly. He’s asleep within seconds, his warm breath puffing against Zoro’s neck and if he wasn’t wounded, he might’ve done something about it, but instead he follows his captain's lead and lets sleep take him.

[hannahssimblr]

I spend three hours wandering around the estate looking for Goose. I've checked every front garden, every hedge and flower bed and under every car, looked inside bins and up trees by the time I'm forced to contend with the fact that I haven't confronted the railroad tracks yet. I don't. I never pluck up the courage.

I can’t fathom it, being the one to find him there, sweet Goose with his little kitten paws and soft pewter fur. This thought that I hadn’t even considered until Michelle spat it at me is tormenting me now as I forlornly wander the evening streets, calling out the name that I’m not even sure he knows to answer to yet. 

I stumble upon Jen in a little park we used to drink in when we were fourteen. She’s been out looking too, evidently, but has had enough and is sitting on the ground gazing out over the last russet streaks of sunset over Dublin Bay. 

“Have you given up?” I ask her. Her eyes are clouded with sadness 

“I have a feeling he’s gone, Jude,” she says. I feel a lump forming in my throat. “He mightn’t be. He might come back, you know, cats are known to show up after being away for days, weeks, months even,” this is the sort of bargaining a person who refuses to accept the obvious truth gets too involved with, and the kind I’ve been doing with myself the whole afternoon, thinking that maybe if I imagine Goose’s return with enough conviction I will magic him home again, but Jen, for once does not match my idealism.

“He probably doesn’t know where his home is yet, he’s too new.”

“Yeah,” I shift some loose gravel with the toe of my shoe. “Jen, I feel so awful.”

“I know,” she says, and holds her arms out to me to pull me to the ground and wrap them around me, “It isn’t your fault, it could have happened to any of us.”

“I ruined the entire day with my stupidity.”

“Shh, stop,” gently fingers stroke my hair at the nape of my neck, “you just made a mistake, it’s human.”

“Did I ruin your date?”

She pauses, “It’s okay, I don’t think she realised it was a date, and it's probably for the best.” 

The wind rustles through the trees around the park, and I feel chilled with the knowledge that change is coming. The school year is ending soon and now the future lies unavoidably ahead of me, a path completely untrodden. 

“You’ll find someone else to take to the debs,” I tell Jen, peering at the side of her face as her short crop of chestnut hair is backlit by the sunset. “You should have been the first person to get a date anyway.”

She gives me a half smile, unconvinced, “there are like, four lesbians in our year including me.”

“Out lesbians,” I point out, “You never know.”

“When I go to college it will be better,” she says firmly, “school is just destined to be shit, romantically, I mean.”

“In all ways, I think.”

She just laughs. 

“This stuff is bullshit anyway.”

“What is? Love?”

I rub my arms where goosebumps are rising with the cold. I should have worn a jumper. “Yeah, you’re not missing out on much.”

A silence follows, one that feels deliberate, but I venture into it anyway, “Michelle and I had a bad fight earlier.”

“I heard.”

“Us shouting?”

“Mm.”

“Sorry.” I wipe my nose which is running from the cold with the back of my arm. “It was terrible, we both said awful things.”

She just circles her hand on my knee in a vague gesture of comfort.  

“Sometimes it feels like she’s trying to hurt me, you know what I mean? It’s like she has all of this bad stuff stored up that she wants to, like, unleash. It’s so vicious. It seems like she really wants to dig her nails in and leave a mark on me, and then I get so defensive, like, because talking it out doesn’t work, I have to shout, and I have to be horrible too so that she’ll even react to me.”

“We all say things we regret when we’re upset.”

“Yeah, but it’s so destructive. I come away from it all feeling like shit. Like, this isn't who I am, I’m not a person who fights. At least I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be up there saying these things to her, but I can’t stand there and let her say them to me either.”

“Yeah.”

“And I worry a lot about what things are going to look like after this year is over, like, with college and stuff,” even mentioning it makes my stomach feel tight, “like, um, how she wants us to live together and all.”

“And you’re nervous about that?”

I sigh, “Well, I don’t know, it makes sense to do it, right? She thought we could get a little place near NCAD, and we’ve been looking at houses online, and… I don’t know. The idea of being around her all of the time, like, twenty-four-seven, sharing a bed, eating every meal together, walking to college, it makes me feel claustrophobic, and then I worry that if I feel that way now, how am I going to feel when I’m actually doing it? Surely it’s not supposed to feel so terrible, right?” I prompt her when she doesn’t respond, “Jen? What do you think?”

She pauses for a long moment, toying with the aglets on the end of her boot laces. “I think that you’re asking me for an opinion I’m not prepared to give you.”

“...right.”

“We agreed, I agreed with you both that I’d never talk to one about the other. It’s not fair on me and I don’t want to feel stuck in the middle of it.��

“But-”

“You’re both nice people and I love you both so much, but when you are together you are absolutely horrible. That’s all I want to say.”

I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't, I just sit in bad feelings and wish for the millionth time that my brain was normal enough to make good choices on its own and not beg them from other people.

I sniff again, though this time I’m not sure if it’s just because of the cold. “So, um, the acceptance deadline for those other colleges is coming up.” 

“The foreign ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you still going to turn them down?”

“I promised Michelle that I would.” 

Jen’s shoulders slump, all of her does, like someone has let the air out of her, but she just says, “Alright.”

I feel the teeth of my genuine desperation for her opinion, her approval gnawing at me. I just want the sage words of advice she’s withholding from me, “Is it a mistake? Like, if I reject their offers? Would that be the stupidest thing I ever did?”

“I don’t know.”

“I worked hard, you know? I really put everything I had into those applications, I gave them the best that I had and they loved it, they said really nice things about me in the letters, and sometimes, like, I think I’ll die, or something, if I don’t leave Dublin. But then there’s Michelle,” I fist the front of my hair in my hand, “and the things at home, and I don’t know what the right thing is, whether it’s hurting myself or hurting everyone else…”

“Jude,” Jen suddenly grabs hold of my face and forces me to look into her eyes, “you have to do what feels right, okay? I’m not going to tell you what to do. Like, just… you need to fucking search within or whatever.”

“Uh huh. What does that entail?” 

“I dunno!” She lets me go and stands up, brushing dirt from the back of her jeans, “C’mon, it’s cold, we should go home.”

“Uh, I was kind of hoping you’d be able to solve me, actually.”

“No, this time you can solve yourself. C’mon, up!” She presents her hand to me and I let her haul me onto my feet. 

“Ugh, Jen,” I say, feeling myself sinking back into a melancholy hole again, but she links my arms and brusquely walks me toward the playground gates with all the pep of a middle aged Sunday morning power walker. “You know what? I think we could both do with something nice to make us feel better.”

“What do you mean ‘something nice’?

“Like, I dunno, an ice cream or something.”

“What time is it? It must be after nine.”

“Yeah, so? I was thinking of that place with all the weird flavours, do you remember that?”

“Yeah, but it’s all the way in town. Effort.”

“You can drive, can’t you?”

“You want me to drive? Jen I hate driving.”

“I think you’ll do it for me.”

“Why’d you think that?”

She eyes me sideways, “After what you put me through today, hm?”

“That's manipulation.”

“No, it's payback.”

“Fine. I’ll go get the car.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Come on, before I change my mind.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[waywardxwords]

Chapter 2 - Nothing to Lose (Taking Chances)

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: None

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Read Chapter 1 - Rules Were Meant for Breaking here!

The wind whipped at the shutters on your two-bedroom home tucked in the suburbs of Richmond, Virginia. It was another quiet night for you. Quiet had become your norm, and you were perfectly content with that. One hand held your cell phone to your ear while the other poured yourself a glass of Merlot. 

“I’m heading to Kansas next week,” you said somewhat nonchalantly into the receiver, but your best friend knew better than that. 

“Oooh,” she cooed. “Are you seeing your flying buddy?” You rolled your eyes. After you had mentioned your encounter that had happened almost a month ago now, she had been relentless. 

“No…I don’t know,” you grumbled. “He has a name, you know.” 

“Oh, I know. The mysterious Dean. I still wish you had gotten a last name. You gotta Google guys nowadays. You tend to find some creepy ass people,” she muttered back. You slipped the cork back into the bottle and carried your glass to the living room. 

“Says the girl who dated a guy with an attempted battery charge,” you scoffed as you plopped down on your couch and pulled your legs up to the side. 

“Listen, Tinder is wild. It’s not my fault he used a fake name,” she tossed back. “And let’s just remember it was a charge and he was never actually convicted.”

“Yeah, let’s not try to justify that one, ‘kay?” You laughed. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’m going to call him. I don’t even know if he wants to hear from me.” You swirled the burgundy liquid around in your wine glass as your mind replayed the night you and Dean spent together. 

“You were pretty clear about what you wanted…or didn’t want, for that matter. At least, from what you told me.” 

Once you and Dean had gotten your room assignments, you agreed to meet in his room after you got settled. A quick glance in the mirror made you grimace—traveling for fifteen hours hadn’t done you any favors. You swiped your index finger under each eye to clean up the smudged mascara before you pulled at the fallen strands of hair to fix your bun. The idea of getting dressed up at this point seemed futile, so you settled on a long sleeve shirt and leggings with sneakers. 

After a quick breath, you grabbed your room key and cell phone and headed down the hall to Dean’s room. Your knuckles tapped against the wood. 

Within a moment, the door swung open revealing your new friend. He had changed into a gray undershirt and sweatpants. 

“Hey,” you breathed with a smile. 

“Hi,” he smiled back. He stepped back and held the door open for you. “Come on in.” 

“Are we passing on the bar adventure?” You raised your eyebrows as you eyed his choice of sweatpants. 

“Oh, you mean you don’t want to be seen with me wearing sweatpants in the bar?” He feigned offense. “And see, I didn’t think you cared about that kinda thing…” before you could say anything, he continued. “Nah, I’ll be honest. I’m pretty exhausted and thought we could just hang out and watch a movie or something.”

“That works, but seriously, if you’re tired I can absolutely entertain myself and get some sleep. We don’t have to hang out,” you were second-guessing everything, and that wasn’t like you. The confidence and self-assurance you had when it came to your work seemed to go out the window when it came to Dean. 

“No way,” he plopped down on the bed and put his feet up as he sat against the headboard. “It’s almost Halloween, how do you feel about some scary classics?” He wiggled his eyebrows, which made you laugh. 

“Sounds good to me,” you walked to the other side of the bed and sat down so you were against the headboard with your legs folded like a pretzel. 

The movie was fun, but you and Dean ended up talking throughout most of it. 

“Okay, so you don’t like planes…anything else you’re afraid of?” You popped a pretzel from the trail mix bag Southwest had provided on your earlier flight into your mouth and handed the bag to Dean. 

“Hm,” he hummed as he rummaged through for a Cheez-It. “Not really. My brother’s afraid of clowns.” 

“Clowns are pretty creepy,” you agreed. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“What about you? What are you afraid of?” The question was harmless, but the answer felt loaded to you. As you processed your thoughts, you hesitated but decided to just go for it. 

“Being alone,” your eyes fell to your lap where you played with a loose string on the comforter. “Sorry, that was deep.” You laughed lightly as you avoided eye contact and wondered if you had gone with something easier; something like snakes or needles. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice caught your attention. “Don’t be sorry. That’s a valid fear.” You noticed his voice was lower than before. His words were kind, but you still felt like you had made a mistake by opening up that much to him. 

“I appreciate it,” you managed a small smile. 

There was a pause, but you were surprised it wasn’t uncomfortable. Then Dean spoke once more. “In, uh, in the spirit of ‘if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’,” he cleared his throat. “I’m batshit terrified of being afraid…”

You blinked as you contemplated his words. “You’re…afraid of being afraid?” 

He chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck as he dropped his gaze to his lap. “Yeah, I know it sounds weird. I guess for me, I always have to be strong and just have my shit together. Which I don’t, by the way.” You watched the side of his face as he spoke, illuminated by the movie playing on the TV on the dresser across from you. “It’s pretty much always been me and Sammy—my brother,” he reminded you. “I don’t really ever show anyone if I’m afraid of something.”

“Everybody gets scared, Dean,” you coaxed as he paused. “Your brother would understand that.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” he pondered, his eyebrows knitted together. “I guess so, I just don’t show it.”

Even though it was a simple confession, you felt like you learned a lot about Dean in that moment. 

“You were afraid on the plane, I could tell,” you smirked and pushed your elbow gently into his ribs playfully. 

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and for the first time since he started speaking, his head turned to look at you. His eyes practically studied you but all you felt was his vulnerability. “I know,” he said softly. “That’s the thing, I was able to drop the act in front of you. I just can’t figure out why…”

“Ah,” you smiled. “You broke your own rule. You took your mask off.”

He chuckled again. “I guess I did.” 

You turned back after a moment to look at whatever was happening on the TV in front of you, and that’s when you felt Dean’s palm graze the top of your hand at your side. It wasn’t forceful or pushy, it just felt comforting. You glanced down at your hands and took a breath. 

“Dean, I need to be honest with you,” your words were so soft, you weren’t sure if he heard you. His eyes watched you and he nodded for you to continue. “I’m really, really bad at…this whole thing.” You mumbled. 

“At what, exactly?” He asked for clarification. 

“Men? Affection? I’ve been so focused on my career for so long, I kinda just settled on the fact I’d be alone for the rest of my life. And even though it terrifies me, I’m also kind of content with that? Let’s be honest, you live in Kansas and I live in Virginia. We don’t even know each other, we’re strangers,” you were rambling at this point. 

“I’m not askin’ you to marry me, sweetheart,'' he laughed gently, but also removed his hand from yours.

“No, I know,” you breathed. “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, seriously. I just don’t see how…” you trailed off as you tried to find your words. 

“I get it, wrong place, wrong time,” he repeated the words from earlier. 

“Something like that,” you sighed. You stared into his green gaze for another moment before you found your voice again. “I should go.” 

Dean nodded once, but you saw the disappointment flash across his features. “I understand.” He swung his legs off of the bed and waited for you to walk you to the door. “Just so you know, I really liked talking with you tonight.” 

“Me too, Dean,” you managed a smile and wondered why you felt sad. You wouldn’t let your feelings deter you. 

“And hey, if you’re ever in Kansas and wanna break any more of those rules…” he reached for a notepad on the table by the door. He scribbled out a number. “Gimme a call.” 

You took the paper willingly and gave him one more gentle smile. “Thanks, Dean.” And against your better judgment, you leaned forward on your tip toes and kissed his stubble covered cheek. “Goodnight.”

You saw Dean on the plane the next morning, but couldn’t be sure if he had seen you. He picked a seat rows ahead of you, and by the time you had gotten off of the plane—he was gone. 

“Can you blame the guy?” Your best friend’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “He bared his soul to you and you bolted.”

“I didn’t bolt because of the conversation! I got scared,” you mumbled. 

“I know, but I also know it’s been a month and you haven’t shut up about him,” she reminded you. “Call. The. Man. Please, if for nothing else, for my sake. I’m sick of hearing you whine.” 

“Ugh, fine,” you grumbled. “I’ll call him.” 

“You better,” she bit back. “If you don’t call him, you’re not allowed to talk about him anymore. Got it?”

A sigh fell from your lips, but you knew she was right. “Deal.” 

“Good, I gotta run. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” and with that, you both hung up. You stared at your phone for a minute. With a quick scroll in your contacts, you found the number you had added after Dean wrote it down on the notepad. Your finger hovered for a moment before you took a leap of faith and pressed his name. 

You pushed the phone to your ear and took a very large sip of your wine with your eyes squeezed shut tightly. Your breath got caught in your throat when you thought he had answered, only to realize it was his voicemail. 

“This is Dean’s other, other cell…so you must know what to do.” And then there was a beep. You quickly hung up the phone. How many cell phones does this guy have? And why…? Maybe your best friend was right—maybe you needed to fully vet this dude before you considered coordinating a meet-up. But before you could think on it any longer, your phone started vibrating against the couch cushion. 

“Hi,” you sighed into the phone as you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

“Uh, hi. Who is this?” His voice sounded gruffer than you remembered. 

“Dean, sorry, I uh, I—this is—” he cut you off before you could say anything else. 

“Oh…uh, everything okay?” He sounded…worried, or concerned, maybe? But you weren’t sure why. And he recognized your voice? There was so much you were confused about but it was overshadowed by the giddiness you felt that he recognized your voice from just a few words. 

“Oh, everything’s fine,” you quickly answered. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just wanted to call to let you know I’m going to be in Kansas next week…” you second-guessed, again, why you had called to begin with. You knew you were sending the man mixed signals, and you didn’t mean to. It was a battle from within that you couldn’t tell if you were losing or winning, at this point. He didn’t speak during your pause, so you continued. “I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, it’s alright,” he spoke softly. “I just didn’t think I’d hear from you again.” You wanted to kick yourself, but instead you stood to your feet and paced a bit in front of your couch as you gripped the phone to your ear.

“I know,” you sighed. “Moment of honesty without any judgment?” You asked hesitantly.

“Shoot,” by the sound of his voice, you could tell he still wasn’t sure what you wanted or why you had dialed his number. To be fair, you still weren’t sure, either. There was this strange sense of connection you felt with him after only spending a few hours with him. It was something you couldn't shake.

“When I left your hotel room that night,” your feet slowed and you brought your fingers up to fidget with the charm on your necklace. “I kind of panicked. But…” But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, is what you wanted to say. However, you weren’t feeling very brave, so you swerved. “…I just knew you had said if I were ever in Kansas again, to give you a call.” Per usual when the nerves crept up and made you feel like you had made a mistake, your teeth found the inside of your bottom lip and nibbled there self consciously. 

There was a pause that made you question yourself even more than before, if that were possible. “No, I’m glad you called. When are you planning to be in town?” 

Your heart fluttered. Maybe he did want to see you, after all. “Next week, actually. I fly in on Monday afternoon but I don’t have any meetings until Tuesday.” 

“Alright,” there was something to his voice that sounded different than before—there was a hardness there you hadn’t noticed on the plane, or when you spent the evening talking about what you were afraid of and watching classic horror flicks. This Dean felt guarded. “Well, how ‘bout drinks? There’s not much out here, but there’s a dive bar. The Blind Pig, it’s in Salina near the airport.”

“Is that too far for you? Aren’t you in Lebanon?” This version of Dean made you realize you really didn’t know him at all—this was just a man you had met by pure happenstance. You wondered if you should Google him, after all. 

“Ah, it’s alright. I spend ninety percent of my time in my car and I love it,” he answered truthfully. 

Even though your brain was telling you to think twice, something within you urged your mouth to speak anyway. “Alright, then. Is 7 o’clock okay?”

“Seven it is,” he answered, and this time you could tell he had a smile on his face. 

“Okay, great,” you gnawed at your bottom lip as you processed. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you then,” he repeated back. Simple ‘byes’ ended your conversation and you couldn’t help but cringe from the awkwardness as you pulled the phone from your ear. All you could think about was that you hoped you hadn’t made a mistake. 

A/N: I'm so excited to be back! I've spent a lot of time planning this series out, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks so much for reading, please feel free to let me know if you enjoyed it ♥️

Chapters will be posted on Wednesdays and Saturdays!

Preview of the next chapter:

The Blind Pig was a small hole-in-the-wall sports bar, but it sure did have a lot of patrons. Thankfully, your flight had gotten in when it was supposed to without any delays, but that had gotten you settled in your hotel by five o’clock and ready to meet Dean by six. You had pulled out your laptop to try and get some work done, but your eyes kept pulling to the numbers on the nightstand. 

6:02. And then again at 6:04. By 6:07, you couldn’t take it anymore. So you headed the short distance from your hotel to The Blind Pig and settled on a barstool at the bar. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender interrupted your thoughts as he dried his hands on a small dish rag. 

“A Jack and Coke, please,” you answered in an effort to calm your nerves. “And a glass of water,” so hopefully you wouldn’t get too ahead of yourself. 

The bartender nodded and grabbed a glass. Every time the front door opened, you couldn’t help but turn to see if it was Dean walking through the door. But it was still only 6:45, and you knew he had a long drive. 

Just as your drink was set in front of you, you heard him clear his throat behind you. “Hey, Atlanta,” the nickname brought a smile to your lips and a shiver down your spine as you turned towards him.

Read Chapter 3 here!

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[writeandsurvive]

Could I request a Vince from Fire Country x female reader, where they are in a secret relationship as she is a convict, and is the fire fighter program, obviously Vince and Sharon are divorced, with the prompt 1 and 29? Please and thank you

This is my first Vince Leone fic and I hope I did a good job 🥺 So much love for Vince/Billy, he deserves the best❤️

Warnings: inmate!Reader, forbidden relationship, punch, fire fighting

1. I’m afraid I can no longer remain professional.

29. I wish we could stay like this forever

Stay Like This ~ Vince Leone

Vince Leone’s first thought when he saw you, was how a gorgeous woman like you with an angelic face can be an inmate? If you had been wearing an orange jumpsuit, he’d have thought you were someone working at Three Rock, or perhaps visiting someone. But no, you were indeed in prison and he felt stupid. What demons were behind this angelic facade? What have you done?

The first time you and Vince actually worked together, he was surprised to see how much work you did. You weren’t scared of hard work, understanding the urgency of the situations, how every second counts. As a Department Chief of Cal Fire, Vince Leone has very high expectations when it comes to his firefighters and he simply wished you were one of his. On the other hand, you didn’t really pay attention to the Chief, but rather focused on your tasks, listening to every order Captain Manny Perez was giving you. You couldn’t let the fire win.

The second time was at Three Rock. Vince was visiting his son Bode in the evening and as he was waiting outside, he saw you going from the showers to the female lockup. “Hi sir,” you simply said, walking past him. He only nodded at first, but called out your name a few seconds later, making you spin.

“I just wanted to let you know that you’re doing a great job. Makes me wonder if you had some sort of training?”

You shyly smiled, “No more training than what we learned here.”

“Well, that’s impressive. Keep it that way,”

“I’ll try my best, thank you.”

From that moment, you started to develop a crush on Vince Leone. Maybe it was the way he complimented you, or his smile, or his handsome face, his hair, his mustache. Probably all of the above.

You weren’t sure when things took a turn. Maybe it was when Vince caught you before you fell from a cliff and held your body pretty tight against his, or maybe it was when you stayed by his side as he was stuck under some rubbles after a whole building collapsed. “I can’t, Chief, I can’t,” you cried out of exhaustion, fear and frustration as you tried to move the huge piece of rubbles he was under.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna figure this out, yes?”

“I don’t–I, I’m sorry. What can I do?”

“Not let me die in there?” he chuckled, trying to get you to stop panicking.

“Vince!” you shouted, not laughing and looking around for a solution.

“I’m Vince, now?”

“I’m sorry, Chief, I just–”

“You can call me anything you want. Except in front of the others, of course.”

“Do you really want to talk about that, now?” you exclaimed.

“Well I wouldn’t mind the distraction until the forklift gets me out of here. Please?”

You talked for several minutes about everything and nothing. He told you a bit about Bode, his passion for the job and music. He even mentioned Riley at some point but didn’t dwell on it. Knowing from Bode what happened to Riley, you weren’t surprised. You told him why you were in jail and how long you still had, where you were from originally, your family. You told him you’ve been playing violin since you were a kid, and he immediately said he wanted to hear you play.

“Only if you’ll play guitar and sing for me.” you answered.

“Deal.”

Vince never imagined being in a serious relationship after his divorce. After Riley’s death and Bode’s departure, his marriage imploded and so did his heart. So of course, a relationship was out of the question. He never wanted to fall in love again. But he found himself falling for a younger inmate. “Way to go, Leone.” he mumbled to himself once he came to the realization of his feelings for you.

If you put this on paper, the relationship was meant to fail. Both you and Vince actually thought so without saying it out loud. However, you just couldn’t stay away from each other. Vince would sneak into Three Rock every time he could, even if it was for a quick hello and a kiss. You’d talk almost everyday over the phone, whether you saw each other or not. Most of the time you were in the field, Vince would find a way to steal from Manny’s, so you were under his command, and right next to him.

However, one day you found yourself lost and surrounded by fire with one of Vince’s firefighters. You really thought it was the end for you, that you were going to burn alive. And your only thoughts were for Vince. You were silently begging him to save you, promising him the perfect relationship once you were free. The guy you were with was panicking too, and taking it out on you.

When you heard Vince’s voice and started to feel some water, you fell on your knees, crying like a baby. You didn’t know how long you stayed like this, only that Vince picked you up. You held onto him like never before and he held you tight. “You’re okay, baby. I got you.” Maybe some people overheard and noticed things but it didn’t matter at this very moment.

Shortly after, Manny was holding you as you saw Vince punching the hell out of his firefighter. “How irresponsible are you!” He shouted, “That was not my order! Not only did you put yourself in danger but you put–her in danger too. We will discuss this.”

As much as his anger was justified, the punch wasn’t and Vince found himself in some troubles with his superiors. You felt extremely guilty because you knew you were the reason Vince punched the guy. Overtime, you’ve found ways to meet with the man you love; a small distance away from where you sleep.

You were sitting in the grass when you felt two hands on your shoulders which made you jump. “I'm sorry honey,” Vince said softly, sitting next to you. “You usually hear my footsteps.” he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, his other hand cradling your cheek, and you kissed softly.

“I was deep in thoughts.” You admitted, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Wanna share?” He asked.

“Are you in trouble, V?” You looked at him, worried.

He sighed before answering, “Kinda, but it'll be alright.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I know you punched him because of me and I–”

“You're right. I was freaking out because I thought I was going to lose you, and I should have had a better control of my emotions.” He kissed your forehead. “Don't feel guilty, baby. I'm afraid I can no longer remain professional.” He admitted. “I think it'll be better if from now on, you stick with Manny.”

You nodded to that, but felt extremely sad. It wasn't like you and Vince had a lot of time together, and even though it was work and you were fighting fire, being under his command was when you two were able to be together the most. And this was going away.

“Hey,” he grabbed your chin to make you look at him, knowing what was going through your mind. “You only have 8 months. After that, we'll be able to see each other whenever the hell we want.”

“You deserve better, Vince.” You whispered, tears forming in your eyes.

“Don't ever say that again. I love you, I wanna be with you, no matter what. You brought me back to life.”

Since it was summer, the night weather was actually better than during the day. Vince laid down on the grass, taking you with him. He was holding close to him, while your head rested on his chest. Staring at the sky and stars, you stayed like this for a long moment. “You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Vince Leone. I wanna be a better person for you.”

“You already are, not that you were a bad person in the first place.”

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” You said after a beat.

“Soon my love, we'll have forever.”

[winter-parrot]

Wherein will be discussed the wedding prospects of Les Amis

aka my ficlet for @spinningyarns for the @drinkwithme-exchange! I’m a little rusty writing les mis but this was fun to write, I really hope you enjoy!!!

———————————

“I have just met Marius’ new hat and new coat, with Marius inside them,” Courfeyrac declared. The door to the back room swung open dramatically wide in front of him, emphasizing both his entrance and his statement. “He was going to pass an examination, no doubt. He looked utterly stupid.”

Alas, his grand entrance did not meet an audience deserving of its magnificence, for the evening was still young and the room nearly empty save one. But it seemed Lady Fortune had not abandoned him entirely, for that sole occupant was Prouvaire—who glanced up from his papers with gravitas befitting such a declaration. “An examination, you say! That may prove disastrous for our young friend. Surely you prevented a catastrophe?”

“My dearest Prouvaire, do not doubt that I tried my utmost to save Marius from his new hat and new coat,” Courfeyarc said, approaching Prouvaire’s table. “Only he refused to acknowledge me at all! Why, if I did not know the fellow, I would say he considered me beneath his new hat and new coat.”

“But then, how are you so certain he was going to sit an examination?” Prouvaire asked, leaning forward over the table.

Courfeyrac fell heavily into the seat across from his friend, with a dramatic throw of his hands. “What other folly could possibly make a man suddenly put on his new clothes on a nameless Thursday?”

“I’m afraid you’ve forgotten the simplest answer,” Prouvaire said with a smile. “Love, Courfeyrac. The man is in love.”

“Love!” Courfeyrac gasped. “Impossible! Surely I would know already if he were in love. Marius is not a man suited to keep such momentous secrets.”

“Well, we’ve all of us yet to be arrested,” Prouvaire said, shrugging his shoulders with a nonchalant ease that belied the grave weight of his words. “Evidently, he does know how to keep at least one momentous secret.”

“Now that is a different matter entirely,” Courfeyrac said, drawing away with a touch of hurt. “Come now, my friend, I know better than to bring around a man I would not trust with my own life.”

“Oh, pray do not misunderstand me,” Prouvraids said, reaching across the table to lay a gentle hand on Courfeyrac’s arm. “I certainly do not mistrust your judgment, especially in the valour and trustworthiness of a man. I merely wish to point out that you contradict your own assessment of Pontmercy.”

“Marius cannot be trusted to keep a single secret about matters of the heart,” Courfeyrac amended, “especially his own. He all but writes his emotions across his forehead in ink.”

“Ah, but that is simply passion that must make itself known!” Prouvaire declared, a dreamy sort of look falling over his gaze. “He has much of that, as he aptly demonstrated at his first—and to date only—meeting within these rooms.”

“Why, Citizen Prouvaire, my republican friend,” Courfeyrac said, gleefully emphasizing each word, “are you praising Marius for his exaltation of the Emperor himself?”

Prouvaire sniffed with a touch of disdain, or perhaps offense. “I am more than capable of admiring the heights of a man’s passion, while also despising the recipient of that passion. It takes a man of great courage and great conviction and great passion to make his case so valiantly. And in face of Enjolras and Combeferre both, no less!”

“A combination to be feared, to be sure,” Courfeyrac agreed easily. There was, after all, a good reason one was their leader and the latter his complement. “They were rather at top form that day, as well. Their best repartées in months, perhaps.”

“And yet Pontmercy did not flee! Even after Enjolras’s flawless retort. My mother is the republic, indeed.” Prouvaire let out a sigh of admiration. “That is a mark of passion, my friend. It will be a lucky woman indeed, she who is the target of his love.”

“Do not declare the case solved in such haste,” Courfeyrac insisted, rapping on the table with a half-closed fist. “I still maintain that he would have told me, were he truly in love. Or given himself away by some other sign, at the very least.”

“I do not doubt he would confide in you, should he suspect the inclinations of his own heart,” Prouvaire agreed easily. “Only it may be that he himself does not yet recognize it as love. How long has he been acting in such odd ways?”

“Depends by what measure you mean to ask. By the standards of the average man? For as long as I have known him.” Courfeyrac paused a moment to comb through his recollections. “By the strange standards of one Marius Pontmercy? Perhaps a day or two at most.”

“Et voila,” Prouvaire said, with all the satisfaction of a lawyer who has found the winning argument. “Our M. Pontmercy is in love, only he does not know it yet as love. Perhaps it is his first, even! Ah, but nothing can compare to the sweetness of such youth, such novelty. Who knows? If all goes as he wishes, perhaps we will see one of our friends married before some fateful day arrives for us all.”

Courfeyrac sat upright, aghast. “Come now! We have yet to confirm if love is indeed the cause for Marius’s strangeness, and here you are already pealing his wedding bells! And before anyone else, to boot. I am not certain if you give Marius too much credit or the rest of us not enough, but I am quite certain the credit is misplaced somewhere.” Here, he paused a moment to consider, then began to account for their friends one by one. “I grant we shall likely never see Enjolras marry — any more than he is already married to the Future of France itself, that is. Combeferre is too far like Enjolras in this matter, for all my best efforts. Though it is not only the great cause that claims his focus; rather, he is far too busy with all the rest that life has to offer to enjoy some of her sweetest fruits to the fullest, at least of yet. Grantaire, the poor fellow, struggles nearly as much to keep a woman as he does to pretend he does not wish to. Feuilly, alas, has certainly the heart and the passion to keep a woman well-pleased with ease, but not the means. Ah! But what of Joly and Bossuet and their Musichetta?”

Prouvaire smiled indulgently. “One of them would surely marry Musichetta—if only they could decide which of them is to marry her. I, for one, rather think Musichetta will sooner declare it all a bore not worth their endless debating. What matters of the official seal of marriage, when they all are radical revolutionaries intent on overthrowing that very government? Now, I admit Bahorel and his laughing mistress may save us yet from collective bachelorhood. But I suspect Bahorel cares too little for formality and detests the very hint of lawyers too much to ever wed properly.”

“You discount me so easily?” Courfeyrac said, a hand pressed to his heart with mock indignation.

“My dearest friend,” Prouvaire said, with a sweet sincerity that did nothing to dim the perceptive gleam of his eyes, “you are a little too fond of your mistresses, I think, to settle on one just yet.”

“You wound me, and yet I find I cannot deny the truth of your assessment,” Courfeyrac admitted rather easily. “Alright, so I am a lost cause—or at the very least a distant hope for the future. What of yourself?”

“I have borrowed of your problems, and some of Combeferre’s. That is to say, I am certainly not immune to the charms of a pretty grisette, but not yet particularly fond of one—and I have too many other companions to occupy my thoughts to truly keep a woman happy.” A somber mood descended rather suddenly upon him, as he added, “There is also the added matter of discretion. Friends of the future such as ourselves much take care with our close associates, lest we give away too much of our hearts and our secrets to the wrong person. In this matter Pontmercy is luckier than us, as he is not so deeply embedded in the inner workings. He has the liberty yet to be a little cavalier with his affections, and risk breaking nothing more than his own heart, precious as that is.”

Courfeyrac suppressed a frown, saddened by the sudden turn of his friend’s mood. He could not argue with the content of Prouvaire’s words, perhaps, but he could argue with their dark sentiments. Primarily by taking a deliberately light and carefree tone, as he declared, “Ah-ah! You simply must give me more time. I am certain I shall disabuse him of his Napoleonic heart and bring him around to our perspective someday. Have a little faith in me, and in him.”

Prouvaire met Courfeyrac’s eyes with a smile at once knowing and grateful. His tone was equally light as he answered, “I have the deepest of faith in you and your wiles, my dearest Courfeyrac. Pontmercy will not last forever under your assault. And a good thing for us all! It would be helpful, I think, to have all that passion on our side, when the day comes. He may yet prove an asset to France herself, and not just to the gilded altars of Love and Passion.”