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dyns33 · 4 months

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Family business

I still need to watch the show but I wanted to do a Alfie Solomons x reader. I'm sure all the characters are ooc, so sorry about that.

The good thing about being part of the Shelby family was that its members were very united because blood ties were sacred. The problem about being part of the Shelby family was the same thing.

Y/N often repeated it to herself, closing her eyes to keep her calm, while her brothers asked ridiculous or difficult things, considering that she didn't have the right to say no to them, just as they didn't have the right to tell her no either.

The fact that they didn't have the same mother didn't change anything. Their father may have been an asshole, but they were all Shelbys, united, hard-working, persevering, and here for each other.

They didn't often ask her things that would put her in danger. They were terribly protective of their little sisters, especially Arthur, but there were times when a feminine touch became essential to finalizing a deal or gaining someone's trust.

Almost no one knew that Y/N was a Shelby. Her mother had died when she was young and Polly had welcomed her into this strange world as soon as she learned that her idiot brother was her father. However, as soon as she was able to earn her own money, Y/N found a small place to live on her own, although she remained close to her family.

For Tommy, that made her perfect for a mission he'd had in mind for some time.

“I want you to become Alfie Solomons’ secretary.”

"Who ?" Y/N had asked, trying not to wince.

"It doesn't matter. He doesn't trust easily, but he's been having trouble managing his business for some time, too many unforeseen events, too many incompetent people. You are competent. Earn his trust, become indispensable, listen to his conversations, read his letters, and brings us all important information."

Y/N didn't know what important information was, even less so since she still didn't know who this Alfie Solomons was when she showed up at his office. Her brothers had decided that it was best for her not to know too much, not because she might be afraid, but because the man was very good at seeing through people. It wasn't very reassuring.

However, at first glance, Mr. Solomons did not seem that terrible. He showed a big smile when he saw Y/N, opening his arms and inviting her to come and sit down, offering her tea during their interview and listening attentively to everything she said. Despite his broken back, he insisted on walking her to the door, lowering her hand and declaring that he was delighted to have found his new secretary.

Two things quickly became quite clear after several weeks working with Alfie Solomons : he wasn't running a bakery at all, and he was perfectly charming.

Well, it happened that he shouted at certain employees, even hit them, and probably worse when there were no witnesses, but with Y/N, he was undoubtedly the most sweet and polite man. the sweetest in the world.

Even when she made mistakes, which didn't happen often, he would shrug his shoulders and say it was her fault, because he was asking a lot of her, before offering her a cup of tea and some biscuits.

Sometimes she would find flowers on her desk when she arrived in the morning.

“Slept well, love ?”

"Very well, Mr. Solomons, thank you. And you ?"

"Call me Alfie, love. And I haven't slept yet."

"Are you saying that so I don't wake you if I find you asleep again before a meeting, Mr. Solomons ?"

“I know you will do it no matter what, you cruel woman.”

When they didn't have too much work, they talked. Alfie Solomons had an opinion on everything, stories to tell, anecdotes or more or less strange questions on philosophical subjects as well as on perfectly futile or strange things. He often made her laugh, which seemed to please him.

On the contrary, he did not like it when another employee, client or business partner allowed themselves to be rude to his favorite secretary. It wasn't often, word had quickly spread about what Mr. Solomons did to those who misbehaved with Y/N.

For some, they were sleeping together. It didn't help that he often drove her home, even if it was only when it was very late, raining, or very cold.

Even though she promised them it wasn't true, her brothers were a little worried. They didn't like seeing Alfie hovering around their little sister like that, even if she brought them some interesting information thanks to her position.

It wasn't normal that she managed to have so much information, which worried them even more because Alfie Solomons really wasn't the type of man to take such a risk, so either he had discovered who she was and he was either giving Y/N wrong informationsn or he liked her so much he let her have everything.

The Shelby brothers didn't know which would be the worst. With all the information turning out to be true, they didn't know what to make of it.

Y/N didn't ask herself these kinds of questions, too busy with her work as a secretary, trying to keep her distance from her employer who was much too charming to be honest, and who was obviously not very appreciated by her family .

He sometimes asked her to marry him, but only as a joke, when she brought him a meal or when she forced him to put a pillow behind his back so that he wouldn't suffer the next day, or when She took care of his business perfectly.

Everything stopped after Arthur's beating.

The next day, Tommy called his sister to order her to leave. He was kind enough to apologize when he told her that she would probably have to move, but that she could always stay to Watery Lane with them while she found something, to make sure that Alfie wouldn't find her. Although he didn't see why he would look for her.

Solomons was disappointed to learn that his beloved secretary had to leave town for family reasons, but he seemed to understand, kissing her one last time on the hand and wishing her a good life.

“I guess it’s still a no for marriage ?”

"Mr. Solomons…"

"I know, I know, I'm just an old idiot. Take care, love. Shalom to your brothers and sisters."

Several months passed before this little sentence made sense to Y/N.

It hadn't shocked her, because the man talked too much for her to take in everything he said, it was only polite that he wished the best for his family, and she had been too busy not to show that their separation affected her.

Not seeming to see that she had become attached to the wandering Jew, Tommy did not warn her when it was decided to do business with him, against the Italians. He hadn't warned Arthur either, who wasn't happy to see Alfie again.

The meeting went well, from what Y/N understood. Alfie presented his "apologies" to Arthur, before agreeing to help him sort out their affairs with the Italians. He didn't ask for too much money, which surprised the brothers a little. He didn't hold them by the balls, it was the opportunity.

But no, he decided to be a gentleman, helping them in honor of old times. As he left, he only asked Tommy to greet his charming sister for him, winking.

The deal then no longer really mattered, because the Shelbys discovered something much more important. Solomons had discovered who he had hired as his secretary. He knew Y/N was one of them.

"… You're not serious. Thomas, you said it would be temporary."

"I know… I know ! Little sis, you have to understand that he is very dangerous. He is going to get revenge, he is going to hurt you and there is no way I am letting that happen."

“He won’t do anything to me.”

"It's business. He'll do it like he did to Arthur. You need to understand that you're not safe out there. Stay with us, stay home."

Y/N's worst nightmare was happening. Locked up with her family, without hope of independence or freedom. She should never have agreed to help Tom.

Unfortunately he seemed to be right, because she saw Ollie several times through the window, and other employees of the Bakery hanging around in the street. It was too risky to go out.

Then the flowers arrived. Deliveries of packages containing perfumes, books, tea. There was no need for him to sign them, but Alfie Solomons seemed to insist that the Shelbys understand that he knew full well where to find their sister.

Arthur wanted to kill him. John thought he needed to speak with this madman before it was too late. Tommy considered that just not bringing up the subject would make him calm down, too busy with other problems.

When the flu came, staying indoors protected no one. Ada brought the illness home and soon the most fragile members of the family were bedridden with fever.

A doctor came to examine them, to the surprise of the older brothers, who did not have enough money this month to pay for his services. He only said that they didn't need to worry about it, taking care of Finn, Ada, then Y/N, before going out without asking for a penny, leaving them with remedies and instructions.

The others' health improved quickly, but Y/N remained sick, shaking and sweating, sleeping for several hours before being awakened by nightmares, tired as if she hadn't slept for days.

One night, a hand on her damp forehead brought her out of her torpor. The hand remained still, only the thumb caressing her skin.

"You have to sleep, love. I brought tea, for your throat."

“Al… Alfie ?”

"Yes, love. Everything is fine, rest."

"It was you… who sent the doctor…"

"I wasn't going to let my favorite secretary die from a slight fever. Why isn't anyone at your bedside ? I don't like it, I'm going to have a word with your brothers."

Arthur and Tommy would undoubtedly have taken this as a threat, Solomons managing to enter their home and sneak up to their little sister's room without being seen, then being able to do her all the harm he wanted.

Y/N knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. It had been obvious for several weeks that he didn't intend to, with all these ridiculous gifts and letters, where he kept asking her if he wanted to marry her. He was having fun, nothing more. He continued to tease her, while scaring the Shelbys.

"It's not very nice." Y/N whispered, trying to keep her eyes open.

“It’s too easy to annoy them, it’s not my fault.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.”

"Ah. You see, love, I don't know what to do about it anymore. I did everything to make you see that I was serious, I who never seem serious. I knew it would be difficult at first, because you thought I didn't know who you were. I knew before I hired you. Then you left, I thought I was going to die, but I told myself that now that you weren't working for me anymore , if I said that I knew, then it would be easier. What should I do ? Buy a horse ? A trailer ? There is a gypso rite that I don't know to ask for the hand of a woman ? I have to go and see Arthur and duel him ? I can do it, he doesn't scare me, love. I can go right now."

"No… Stay with me…" she begged him, holding out her hand, coughing again.

Unable to not get agitated when he was speaking, Alfie Solomons had stood up to show that he would go to her brother's room to beat his face, but he immediately sat down next to Y/N, I took her hand which he kissed with all the tenderness he was capable of.

“Stay with me…” she repeated miserably.

"Yes, love, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, I'm here."

And he was still there when she opened her eyes the next morning, holding her hand and smiling as her fever seemed to be going down. The moment was slightly ruined by Finn, who wanted to see if she was better and who screamed when he saw Solomons. Alfie yelled louder, even if it was to order the bellowing to stop because Y/N needed to rest.

This of course alerted the entire Shelby family, who ran into the room.

At first, Alfie refused to leave. He promised he would stay, so he would stay.

Then, seeing Y/N's pleading look who didn't want anyone to get hurt, he sighed as he agreed to follow the brothers into the kitchen, for a discussion, but only if he was allowed to come back to see her to say goodbye to her afterwards.

"If I didn't kill you first…"

"Oh, Arhur. Shalom ! Glad to see you haven't lost your humor !"

Ada stayed with her sister, helping her to drink, rubbing water on her forehead, and not being able to stop herself from asking her what had happened. Y/N reassuring her, explaining that Alfie had sent the doctor, that he wasn't dangerous, not at all.

Unlike the others, Ada did not take care of their brothers' less than legal affairs. She understood that this Solomons was not a good person, but neither of them were, and he seemed very attached to Y/N.

"And you ? What do you think of him ?"

"He's a fool."

"I see. You like him. Do you think Tommy would be alright with you dating ?"

"I'm afraid Alfie doesn't care about Thomas' approval." Y/N sighed, trying to hear if any screams were coming from downstairs. "He is very stubborn."

"I thought I noticed, with all these gifts. If he asks you to marry me, I want to be a bridesmaid."

“He’s asked me before, several times.”

“Damn, Y/N, Arthur is going to have a heart attack.”

Fortunately, the eldest did not have a heart attack, but he initially refused to believe Solomons' sincere feelings. The others were skeptical too. As she predicted, it didn't matter to Alfie, who only cared about her opinion.

He also pointed out that only Y/N had the right to order him to leave, by telling him that she never wanted to see him again. One word from her, and he wouldn't bother them anymore. But a yes, and he would be the happiest man in the world.

“With a beautiful family of fucking gypsos, but the happiest all the same.”

“She will never say yes to you !” John replied.

"Fucking hell, still speaking for her. Let's ask her. But not now, she still needs to recover. Leave her alone."

The brothers did not obey, waiting until the wandering Jew had kissed Y/N's hand and finally left to question her in turn, despite Ada's protests.

Only Tommy remained near the bedroom door, watching his sister in her bed. When their eyes met, he seemed to ask her a silent question, and she felt tears forming, unable to hide her answer.

He nodded, before whistling to tell everyone to get out. He said nothing, only smiling tenderly as he closed the door, leaving her alone with his blessing.

When Alfie Solomons would be back, with a white horse, new flowers and his proposal, she could say yes to him if she wanted, without fear of war. Because even though business was important, family was more important, and if Y/N was happy with him, then no one could say anything against that.

Her future husband only had to remember that if he hurt one of them, her the first, he would pay for it.

#peaky blinders #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfiction

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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The Response

Part Two of The Interview [Part One] [Ao3]

With no exact time given by Robin, Eddie's left to kill time. He drags himself from the YouTube spiral to try and track down Steve on social media. After two hours, he concludes that either Steve has his (and official Corroded Coffin's) socials blocked, or Steve just doesn't have any. He's a bit baffled that people can even find Steve to send hate mail to him.

He shoots a text to Gareth. Can you find Steve on any socials?

He gets an instant reply.

DO NOT CONTACT!!!

WAIT FOR RESPONSE

DONOT MAKE THISS WORSE MUNSON

Eddie frowns down at his phone but doesn't argue. He probably would make it worse. He sends back 'k' and looks back to the laptop. Watches it auto-refresh but Robin's feed hasn't changed.

God, what will Steve have to say?

It's mostly true, that Eddie hasn't thought about Steve in years. That's been deliberate. Eddie was so furious back then. Robin wasn't wrong about him venting his feelings into a song, but how was he supposed to know Hey Steve would be the song the catch the ear of the people? And yeah, the lyrics are very unflattering.

A lot of their first songs were filled with rage. The whole first album is just their collective high school experiences. Songs about growing up in Hawkins and how shit that was for them, a song about Eddie's complicated feelings towards his dad, songs about dungeons and dragons disguised as fantasy ballads, things like that. And, of course, Hey Steve.

He can admit that years ago he reevaluated the lyrics and found it to be more harsh than was warranted. But he figured there was no point worrying about that. People exaggerate in songs all the time. The song is out, people still plead for it to be played during encore performances. Eddie hadn't thought it was hurting anyone to play it.

Hey Steve had taken Eddie less than two days to write. He did almost nothing for those two days except write. Fuck. He was still just a dumb kid when he wrote it, barely graduated high school. And the reason for writing it...

Eddie had know Steve wasn't out to his parents when he'd asked Steve to essentially runaway with him. Steve had worried about things like money, and living situations, and getting food. It had all sounded like excuses to Eddie back then. Like Steve was picking the safety of Hawkins and his parents' house over going out into the world to be with Eddie freely.

They'd fought about it. The worst fight they'd ever had. Yet, here Eddie is, a decade later and unable to recall anything that was actually said. Just a summary of that conversation exists in his mind, now. Steve wanting to wait. To save more money now that his hours at the grocery store would be changing from part time to full with him no longer being in school and able to work the morning shifts. Wait to get his car fully transferred to his name from his parents.

All things that adult Eddie can now see as reasonable. Jesus Fucking Christ. He remembers he'd given Steve some sort of ultimatum. He was leaving on the last Grey Hound from Hawkins to Indy. Steve could meet him at the bus stop or stay, but Eddie was going, with or without him.

Steve had shouted back. He knows they just got louder and nastier until Steve finally told him that he would be going without him, then, because they were over. Even as angry as Eddie had been, he'd held out hope. But that last bus left Hawkins with Eddie on it and no sign of Steve in sight.

So Eddie did what he did best. Channeled that hurt into anger and wrote a song. Never in a million years did he think that, in the very first bar they played at in Indy, they'd meet a man who wanted to take a chance with them and get them a demo. All they needed to do was get from Indy to LA. Eddie had a van and the motivation. The next year of his life was too busy for him to even think, much less worry about Steve and his breakup.

Well, that was a lie. He thought about it constantly and shoved the thoughts aside as quickly as they came. Easier to do when he had no way to check up on Steve. He left Hawkins with no laptop and a pay-per-text flip phone he'd bought at a gas station. Wayne tried his best to provide for Eddie, and that meant they'd had one cell phone between the two, and Eddie had insisted that Wayne keep it.

By the time he got a laptop and internet, Steve had blocked him on Facebook and Twitter. That was the conclusion Eddie had come to when he finally worked up the nerve to swallow his pride and apologize and couldn't find Steve on either platform. Another thing that had filled Eddie with anger and hurt. Steve had broken up with him and then made sure Eddie couldn't reach back out.

Now he wonders, did Steve block him, or did Steve delete his socials to stop the hate mail?

Eddie feels nauseous.

Fuck!

What's worse is that, before the fight, Eddie had been so sure he was in love with Steve. But how can he say that with how quickly he dropped him? With how he's acted ever since? He could justify it to himself when he was still freshly broken up with and hurting but that faded away as fame took over.

Hard to be sad about not having a boyfriend when there were plenty of people lining up to be with him.

He pulls himself from his head to look at the laptop. A new tweet shows on Robin's screen and he scrambled to turn off the auto-refresher.

It's a short tweet, and Eddie sees she's changed her name as well.

Clicking the link takes him to a YouTube video.

It starts with the camera slightly jiggling, presumably from someone hitting record. It's been set up in a recording studio. A stool in front of a mic that's suspended from the ceiling is the only thing in the frame.

"Alright, dingus, last chance to change your mind about this," Robin's voice is picked up from off screen.

"You can't talk me out of this," says a male voice, and without any thought about it, Eddie's hand flings out and slaps the space bar, pausing the video. His heart is pounding, and he has to take a few deep breaths. That was Steve's voice. Of course, it was Steve's voice, it's his statement video, but hearing it again. Hearing it spoken softly but determined.

Swallowing feels difficult. Eddie's last memory of Steve's voice was screaming. This is... this is the Steve he never thought he'd hear again, and hasn't realized how much he desperately wanted to. With shaking hands, he presses play again.

Steve steps into frame, takes a seat on the stool. He looks in the direction of the camera, and Eddie has to pause again, to take him in. His hair is longer than it was in high school, the ends of it touching his shoulders. He's got it pulled up in a half updo, keeping the hair out of his face. His face is familiar and yet so different. He certainly looks older but not in a bad way. The biggest difference is his nose; it's not as straight as it once was, like it's been broken and healed wrong. His strong, square face is as handsome as it ever was, perhaps more so now. Eddie's eyes are drawn to the two moles on his cheek; his eyes have always been drawn there. It was his favorite place to kiss Steve.

He's wearing light wash jeans and a deep blue Henley. And fuck if it doesn't make him look good.

Eddie unpauses again, and waits to hear the retribution he deserves.

"This good, Robin?"

"Yeah, you're perfectly in frame."

"Good. Uhh, hi. I'm Steve. Robin told me that there was a lot of fuss regarding a certain Corroded Coffin song, and that people wanted to hear from me. Which is wild 'cause like, I'm just some guy and I don't really have much to say-" Steve is saying, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Steve!" Robin interrupts him, "I just had to help you move because someone threw a brick through your window! What do-"

"Okay! I get it! But that's not Corroded Coffin's fault. They do that whole anti-bullying thing! It's not like they don't address harassment and bullying. I-" Steve cuts off, seeming to remember he's on camera. His face turns pink. "We can argue this later. Uhh, anyway. There is something I want to say to Eddie Munson, so I hope he's watching."

He makes a 'give it to me' gesture and Robin enters frame, handing him an acoustic guitar. "I thought I'd answer using the one thing Eddie understands best. Music. So, uh, I wrote this song with Robin's help. Lyrics are mine but the melody is Robin. The song doesn't have a title but, uh, okay. Here it goes."

And then, Steve starts to sing, looking down at the guitar for correct finger placement more than singing into the mic but it picks him up well regardless.

"Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me? Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily? Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change My life was a storm, since I was born. How could I fear any hurricane? If someone asked me at the end I'll tell them put me back in it-" Eddie is sitting down, and still he feels the floor fall out from under him.

"-Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah."

Eddie doesn't hear the rest of the song because of the blood pounding in his ears. This can't be- it doesn't mean- after all this time? After everything that's happened, everything Eddie let happen, unintentionally or not.

His phone buzzes against his leg. He ignores it in favor of restarting the video and listening to the video from the start. He listens to the whole song and it ends without anything else. Once Steve's strummed the last chord, he just stands up, walks to the camera and the video ends.

He restarts the video again, and again, and again. Hears Steve sing How could you think I'd scare so easily and I would do it again if I could hold you for a minute and though I know my heart would break I'd tell them put me back in it.

It's through the tenth, or eleventh, playback that his phone buzzes again and he fumbles to answer blindly, unable to pull his eyes away from Steve on the screen of his laptop.

"Gare- It's not- what did I do Gare? Everything I thought Steve would have to say never came close to what he just sang. I can't- I don't know what to do," Eddie sobs into the phone.

There's a pause of silence before what is very much not Gareth's voice says, "Well, dammit Munson. I was calling to rip you a new one but you're already crying."

It takes Eddie a moment to place the voice, "Robin?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Robin says. "I think Steve's let you off easily, but I also know I kick a hornet's nest with my interview so I think we should work on getting this cleared up, both publicly and privately."

"How did you get my num-"

"Gareth. Keep up, Munson. I'd like us to be able to call off each other's fans. Your PR team and whoever you employee to do that anti-bullying campaign have done a pretty good job so far in telling people to back off, politely. Helps that Jeff has been on top of this from the beginning. Honestly, I think the best decision you've ever made in your life was making Jeff the front man of your band and not yourself. He's much more pleasant to talk to, and so good with people."

"Robin!" Eddie has to shout because Robin keeps saying words and they don't make sense. "What?"

He hears a sign from the other end of the phone. "You are annoying. You know that, Munson? I'll work with Gareth to get this done. I think we should be seen together, publicly. Maybe getting a coffee. So everyone knows we've made up, or whatever it is Gareth and I decide is happening. We should also meet up privately. There's a lot to talk about."

"I'm so confused."

"Nothing new. Now, when are you free to get on a plane to Pendleton, Oregon?"

"Pendleton?"

"Munson!" Robin snaps, "we just established that you live in a perpetual state of confusion. Instead of questioning me, how about you answer my questions. Now, when are you free?"

"Anytime."

"Smart answer. Get your ass to Pendleton by the morning of the twenty-third. I'll work with Gareth for all the other concerns. He's easier to deal with."

"Can I ask one follow up question at least!?"

"You just did but I'll allow one more before I hang up."

"Why Pendleton?"

"It's the nearest airport to our destination. I am not having a private conversation with you in California. I don't want to be caught speaking to you until Gareth and I have a chance to work out the details."

And then Robin hangs up.

Eddie leans forward and restarts the video on his laptop before looking up plane tickets. Fixing things with Robin might be the first step in ever getting try and, he doesn't know, apologize to Steve? Maybe even have a conversation one day.

He doesn't deserve that chance, he thinks, but he's a bad enough person to want it anyway.

#steddie #my fic #the interview #the song steve sings is Francesca by Hozier #i dont do taglists so i linked to ao3 where u can subscribe and get updates #i feel like eddies an unreliable narrator so im adding that tag on ao3 #the boy has got NO CLUE what is happening at any point in time ever #hes just a ball of guilt and regret #also i didn't clarify in the fic because i couldn't find a good way to fit it in #but gareth is not an active CC member‚ he's the PR manager #he used to be in the band but quit to finish college and be a family man #Jeff is the front man so he does the interviews/public appearances/etc #Eddie used to but like rockstar life hit him hard and he had to let someone else take that role

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

Text

In 120 Hours

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You work as a temp and are offered a very exclusive interview for a very exclusive job. You see, someone needs a personal assistant for a very eventful week, and you happen to be the perfect fit.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, implied smut, drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: here we go, the last part! I know it's too long, don't look at me. Leave me alone! (enjoy reading it pls let me know your thougths!)

Wordcount: 5.6K

part one -part two- part three - part four - part five

You stirred awake as you felt someone try to take something from you. Pulling on something.

It was dark still, and your alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but someone was trying to take something from you, and in your sleepy haze, you whined and clutched your arms closer to your chest as you curled in on yourself more.

“Hey,” someone whispered.

“No,” you whined softly as you frowned, gripping tighter, all ten fingers digging deeper as they tried to hold on. You were warm, so comfy, and definitely not ready to be pulled out from your blissful slumber. You'd not had this good of a night's rest in days.

A soft chuckle followed, and then, “Hey,” again. “Can I have that back?”

What time was it? Wait, where were you?

You slowly came around, blinked a squinty eye, recognized the room and then, suddenly…

Joe.

You immediately let go of Joe’s hand, realizing that you’d curled half his arm into your chest as you’d been holding onto it like a stuffed animal, fingers still entwined, and then cupped by your other hand as well.

“Sorry,” you croaked, wincing at how your own body had betrayed you in the night like that. Couldn’t trust anyone these days, not even yourself, so it seemed, because clearly asleep-you didn’t care much about awake-you.

“That’s okay. T’was, um, snug,”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, frowning deeper then, and it earned you another chuckle from the other side of the bed. You looked over to see that the pillow-wall had only sort of held up, but that was probably mostly because you’d used one of Joe’s body parts for your own comfort. They were also, you know, literal pillows. Easy to let arms sneak under, move out of the way, push down into the bed more a little... but it was fine, you reasoned.

Two more days, forty-eight hours, and then you'd be out of here and these could just be embarrassing distant memories then. No reason to panic over any of it now. You could do that later, on your own, when you'd be back holding your own hand in the bed again, like a normal person.

Joe got up and out first, said he'd go for a shower upstairs and casually walked out. Like this wasn't awkward at all.

But all right. No time to fret. Today was premier day, and there would be more furniture delivered, you had that bed to build, and you still had a thank you speech to write... plenty to keep your mind occupied. Thank fuck.

And so the morning passed quite uneventfully. You avoided Joe a little, you let a stylist in, heard Joe lead him upstairs to where his good shit was now stored, and then made your way up to Joe's bedroom where you started on the furniture.

You'd turned into a much sweatier version of yourself when you were called down. Presumably, to see what Joe'd be wearing?

"Come here, have a look. I was thinking definitely black, but, there's other options too,"

Joe's stylist was stood next to a clothing rack that held what looked suspiciously like a couple of... dresses.

"Huh?"

"I'm wearing black as well,"

Joe held out his arms and presented himself, in bright red socks still, but wearing a lovely black suit. An unreasonably expensive one, you were sure. When you looked back at the stylist, he was holding a dress on a hanger up and out to you, looked at the hemline of the skirt, then at your legs, and said, "Yea, this should work."

Confusion.

"I'm getting dressed?"

The dress lowered a little.

"Honey, you've been seen out too many times with you looking like you've never looked in a mirror before. Of course, you're getting dressed. For today, and for tomorrow."

You looked at Joe. He wasn't even paying attention to you, but had turned back towards a mirror and pulled on the collar of his jacket a little.

"Um, okay?"

Your hesitation towards this whole concept made the stylist pause, look at you for another second, and then he pulled out his phone to show you a few pictures of you and Joe out and about; getting out the car together, getting into the car together, walking out of several BFI locations together — even outside pubs together.

"What the fuck?" you took the phone from his hands, zoomed in, and then just, stared for a hot second. You hadn't seen what you and Joe looked like together yet, standing close, eyes looking down streets in the same direction, to locate your car, you thought. If you were to tell someone, that's Joe and his PA, you'd believe them. But if someone would tell you, they hold hands at night, you'd believe them too.

"Worst part of the job," Joe then said and made eye-contact with you in the mirror. "Sorry," he apologised, like this was all his fault, but your mind was already elsewhere.

You inhaled a sharp breath, then looked up at the stylist and cocked your head to the side a little. You knew there was an NDA that prevented you from sharing information, but... sharing pictures? Was that allowed?

"How psycho is it to send these to an ex-boyfriend, do you think?"

Joe burst out in laughter, head thrown back, but the other man in the room leant in a little closer and said, "Very, but, do we care that he thinks you're psycho? Or do we just care that he sees the photographs?"

Oh, you liked him.

And you liked the dress he was holding too. And the shoes he'd lined up. And the selection of purses laid out.

You liked all of it, until he said, "Lose the accessories," when he started laying out jewellery he'd brought along with him. You only had one accessory, and your eyes immediately found it.

"Don't worry about that," Joe started, "I wear my own things all the time," and he showed you both his hands, showing off two silver rings that he never seemed to take off.

The stylist sighed. "Except for the moments I can talk you into losing those chains," and you sensed that this was definitely something they'd talked about — bickered about, before. You wondered for how many other events this guy had dressed Joe.

Joe just shrugged, looked at you and said, "If it's important, it's important, and you keep it on."

And so, you had kept it on.

Because you had shit to prove to yourself, didn't you? You had the very important task at had of not thinking of a pink elephant when someone told you not think of a pink elephant.

Impossible, maybe.

But you didn't have problems. Solutions were your thing, and shit like pride, stubbornness and determination too.

You'd kept the ring on.

And it was a good thing that you did. Because if you hadn't had the ring to fidget with, you probably would've started pulling at the treads of your hemline when a furniture delivery was late, which meant now you were going to be late to Joe's own film premier.

Potential disaster.

"They really should arrive any second," you assured Joe, entirely unsure if you were even close to being right. "It's probably London traffic," which was probably true, but also didn't help, because, "Yes, London traffic that we have to get into," and shit, Joe was right. You'd majorly fucked up again.

Forty-one hours to go.

And forty hours and 40 minutes to go still, when you launched yourselves onto the backseat of the car after giving the delivery men instructions on how to lock up after themselves.

But then forty hours and 20 minutes to go when you got stuck in traffic, and Joe received a phone call, asking where he was and what was taking him so long.

You made apologetic eye-contact as Joe explained with a bouncing, impatient leg, which made the whole backseat shake, that you were on your way. He seemed really nervous and you felt guilt, shame, for making this whole situation worse. Then you saw Joe look past you, out the window on your side of the car. He grabbed your shoulder a second to alert you, then undid his seatbelt and scooted over, closing the distance between you. He said bye to whoever had called him, hung up, undid your seatbelt next, and pointed at a tube station on the other side of the street.

"We're taking the tube,"

"What?"

"Come on, let's go," Joe leant over and opened the door on your side before pushing you out. You stepped out, kind of because you had no other choice, but objected verbally none the less.

"That's the central line, Joe," you hissed. The central line was notoriously crowded. You know, the insane kind of crowded where people had to move their heads out of the way not to get stuck in between the doors, absolutely packed into carriages like sardines.

"Yea," he closed the door behind him and stuck out an arm in front of you before checking to see if it was safe to cross. "Let's go," he then said, and smiled at you before grabbing your hand and dragging you along.

And even though you'd lived in London long enough, had had your fair share of rush hour experience, even on the central line, there was one thing you'd never done before. You'd never stepped to the left on an escalator to follow the walking crowd down into the station. Especially not in a stupidly expensive designer dress and in stupidly expensive designer shoes. You'd also never done it whilst holding a famous actor's hand as he made sure that you made it down safely behind him, but you know, that was something to store away in that little part of your brain where you also slotted waking up with Joe's arm pressed in between your boobs. Shit to unpack later, preferably with wine, whilst taking a bubble bath with a loud sad playlist on.

Like you'd predicted, the westbound platform was packed, and the train that pulled up was already full of people. It was the time of day where if one person got off, only one new person would be able to get on.

But you were running, and when doors opened, you kind of flew past everyone and jumped into the train — rude, definitely, but you had good enough reason to not wait your turn, and Joe was taking the lead. So, fuck all of it, you could be rude.

"Duck, duck, duck," Joe said, holding a protective hand over your head as the doors closed behind you with loud beeps, and once they slammed shut, you realised there were no handles close enough for you to hang onto. Joe was able to reach up a hand, hold onto the railing above him, and then, even though you were pressed in between others and also, up against each other, he offered his arm to you for balance.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of it with both hands, and you saw Joe grin. You weren't interlacing fingers with each other, but this was definitely reminiscent of how you'd woken up that morning together.

"Shut up," you said softly through gritted teeth, not wanting to pull too much attention from strangers.

"I didn't say anything," Joe said back in the same way, and then you both grinned.

Idiots, the both of you.

You made it, sort of on time. Not really, but, on time enough. Joe still got his picture taken on the red carpet, had girls scream for him, did some selfie-taking and some skin-signing by the barriers and then headed inside to mingle and network before the film started.

This time he also had a not-too-awful looking PA babysitting his phone and cigarettes too, and you realised that being dressed this nicely made people not give you weird looks as you hung around the lobby on your own during the film screening.

Or when you snuck into the Q&A afterwards.

Or when you left the building and slipped back into your car together after the Industry Happy Hour.

"Congratulations," you said to a rosy cheeked, tired-looking Joe. He looked at you and smiled bashfully. The whole thing had gone so well — Joe'd effortlessly made it through the whole evening, and the talk of the night was the award ceremony of the next day. If not The Sutherland Award, then surely, they'd win the audience award for Best Feature Film. You'd heard almost every single person open conversation with Joe by telling him they would win tomorrow, and every time Joe'd given that same shy smile he was giving you right now.

T'was real cute.

"Did you have fun?" you then asked, and earned a chuckle from him.

"Did you?" Joe asked in return.

"I did," you said, meaning it.

"Then I did too."

Back at the house, it was a quick goodbye to the driver who you wouldn't see until the late afternoon of the next day, and then heavy alcohol induced steps that carried the both of you inside.

Joe immediately made his way upstairs, but you couldn't help wanting to quickly check the living room. The sofa had been delivered, as well as other important decorative pieces, and you wanted a peek at everything before bed. Tomorrow you'd try your best to pull it all together.

There were only thirty-one and a half hours left now and if there was one thing you wanted to leave Joe with, it was a nice house that he could actually live in like a normal person.

Getting out of your shoes and dress felt heavenly, and the silence coming from upstairs was nice too. No loud TV tonight.

Just before you were about to tuck in for the night, you sat on the edge of the bed and looked at your ring again.

That stupid ring.

Was it really worth wearing it to prove something to yourself if all it really did was remind you of the past? Of that pink elephant? You took it off, looked at your hand, felt it looked weirdly naked without the ring there, and then slid it back on. Somehow either way, with or without, it didn't look right.

So, what about a trial?

Just for the night?

You could leave it off, and then you'd see what that would feel like in the morning.

You could do that, right?

Um, bestie, you decorated a full house in three days — okay, not entirely, but tomorrow you'd finish it, that was the plan, anyway — of course, you could fucking do that. So you placed the ring on the bedside table, and got into bed properly when suddenly, in the low light of the bedside table lamp, you saw Joe.

Joe was standing in your doorway, two pillows in hand, eyebrows apologetically quirked up in question.

You had built Joe's bed. Had fully made it, sheets and duvet covers and everything. He should be absolutely fine sleeping upstairs in his own room now.

And for a couple of seconds — just a few — the look you shared was nearly too intimate. Too vulnerable. Joe was silently asking if he could come sleep in bed with you again, pillows ready to make-shift another pillow-wall in between the two of you. It was a short moment of openness, no walls in between the two of you, leaving all this space for an honest connection. And maybe the couple of drinks each of you had had helped, because you understood.

"Come on," you caved far too easily, knowing you shouldn't because there was no real excuse, was there?

But, fuck it.

"You sure?" Joe asked, but his feet were already making their way over to the other side of the bed where you slung back the covers for him, ready to slot some strategic pillows into place before turning the light off.

"I totally understand," you started, getting comfortable, but then couldn't help yourself, and said, "I left the TV all unplugged and stuff," and got a huffed laugh from Joe.

In response, Joe slung an arm over the pillow wall, said, "Here, for in between your tits,"

You laughed, slapped his hand, raised a middle finger over the pillows in between the two of you and then, before you could pull it back, Joe grabbed it.

Not in a cute, let's hold hands again, sort of way, but more in a, let me get a closer look, manner.

You couldn't see Joe's face, but you could practically feel his eyes on your fingers, the way he angled them toward the little light that filtered in through the curtains to make sure he'd seen it right. Then, to really make sure that you knew he noticed, he held your finger in between his thumb and index, pressed the spot that held your ring before, and then let go. Despite lying down, you felt dizzy, head sort of spinning, thoughts forming a weird tornado — nothing violent, more floaty than anything else.

After a short silence where you didn't really know if you could even properly breathe, Joe whispered a good night and you heard him turn over. You said it back and turned over too. No more jokes. No hand holding. No alarm set. Just, sleep.

You mentally told your arms to keep to themselves. To not let them sneak over, like Joe's had done the night before. And so like the lonely idiot your were, you clasped your ringless hands together and kept them like that, fingers squeezing, almost in prayer, until you drifted off.

But the morning brought betrayal.

You'd been let down by your own body, what a traitor, as you slowly woke up to light outside the window and you realised immediately that you were on top of Joe.

All snuggled up. Arms slung around waists, legs woven together — the whole deal. Shit you'd be fired for— should be fired for, if you were honest with yourself.

A strong arm behind your back held you in place, and your face moved with the rise and fall of Joe's chest as he breathed deeply and steadily.

You'd drooled all over him, left a wet patch on his T-shirt and although you'd only just woken up, your body was already rigid with panic. No! Oh my God, gross. You wiped a hand at your face, then at Joe's shirt, tried your best to move as little as possible not to wake him. It was no use patting at the saliva-soaked fabric — that was wet and was going to stay wet.

There was also no way Joe was asleep still.

That arm in your back was far too strong, muscles working, quite literally pressing you up against him more.

This man was pretending.

The thought-tornado returned, mind reeling with what it all could mean, but what you knew for sure was that... this was nice. You hadn't set an alarm and were all cosy and warm as it was slowly getting lighter outside. All of this was nice. Real nice.

So, you decided, you could pretend too.

You could pretend you hadn't drooled all over Joe. Your boss, who slept in his guest room with his temp PA, even though he had a perfectly fine, beautiful, gorgeous new bed waiting for him upstairs. You could pretend you hadn't woken up yet. Hadn't felt Joe's arm around your back, legs hooked around yours, his breath softly fanning your face.

You pulled on Joe's T-shirt a little, shifted to lay your head back on a dry piece of his fabric-cladded chest and closed your eyes again. Nuzzled a little. Liked his scent more than you dared to admit, and sighed deeply, relaxing more into him. You felt Joe pull you in more as a response, small noises of contentment escaping his throat and you snoozed. You snoozed with Joe, bodies touching, your ear pressed to his heart, body heat shared and slow breaths in sync.

You could pretend — were very good at pretending, and then, got even better at pretending when you felt Joe trace a finger across your face, feather light touches down your cheek, then across your lips before he pressed a kiss into your hair. Yea. You were good at pretending, but also definitely absolutely fucked.

Twenty-four hours on the clock, and counting.

Where the day before you'd been so good at being normal, you'd avoided a little, occupied yourself with tasks away from Joe, did PA things on different floors from Joe, until spending the night together was all forgotten about... this morning was different.

It was awkward glances, thin smiles and shaky bumps of hands in the kitchen as you made coffee and Joe tried to make toast. Hesitant arms would wait to reach, "You go first," and then, "No, you go," polite smiles, and then small, "Oh sorry," and "Oops, sorry, wait," until you let a stupid noise escape your throat - something you would one hundred per cent lie about if someone were to ever ask you about it. It was an embarrassing sort of whiney laugh-sigh, and it was that little noise that made Joe look at you before grabbing you by the shoulders, forcefully turning you towards the dining room, saying, "Go sit, I'll take care of breakfast."

Stupid.

But welcome, because being near Joe also meant being near your own spit stain on his T-shirt that he hadn't changed out of yet.

"Thanks," you gave a weird smile before making your way into Joe's dining room, sitting down at Joe's new table on one of Joe's new chairs. Looking around, you were so pleased with yourself. The room just needed one large piece of artwork on the back wall, and a floor lamp in the corner, and both of those would be delivered that day.

Your last day.

Over breakfast, you checked Joe's schedule, told Joe he needed to spend most of the morning signing Eddie photos and he twisted his wrist in response. "Got it, boss," he said, speaking into his coffee cup before taking a sip.

Fucking handsome.

Stop that.

"You'll find that you're very much the boss here, not me... do you need help writing an acceptance speech? They told me that if your film wins, you'd have to go and collect it and say a few things,"

Joe frowned, gestured a dismissive hand.

"I'll think of something on the spot, don't worry,"

And you would've objected, but Joe took his last bite, said he was going for a shower and whilst still chewing, stood up and made his way out of the room. But then, when passing you, Joe squeezed your shoulder. Just, casually, in passing, laid his hand on you, squeezed, and then walked out.

With Joe safely out of sight, you shut your eyes as tightly as you could and dropped your head forward.

Fucking hell.

Deep breaths, bitch.

Come on. Get your mind out of the gutter. Keep your hands busy. There was actual work to be done. A dining room to tiny, a kitchen to clean, a shower to be had and then deliveries to be accepted. And that was when your morning became what it was the day before as well — Joe busy in one room, you busy in another. Until you had to let the stylist in, who walked inside, arms full of dust bags with hangers peeping out the tops of them and immediately asked you if you'd seen.

"Seen what?" you closed the door behind him.

"You haven't?"

He made big eyes at you, dumped all he was holding into your arms and took his phone out to show you pictures and videos taken by strangers of you and Joe rushing down tube escalators, then of you and Joe on the actual tube. You were barely visible because of the many other people surrounding you, but Joe's hair was definitely there, and they'd managed to catch your smile perfectly in between the shoulders of strangers. And then there were pictures of Joe on the red carpet that you were in the background of, and if you didn't know any better, you could be mistaken for another actual celebrity.

"Look at those legs," the stylist said, zooming in on your lower half on a pic that showcased the dress he'd leant you perfectly.

"Shut up," you got all shy, pushing into him with your shoulder.

"It's these pictures that made me get my hands on two other beautiful dresses people want you to wear," he nodded at the folded over bags in your hands.

"People want me to wear?" you repeated, gobsmacked. There was no way.

"There's brands that want those legs peeping out from their designs," he said, sliding his phone back into his pocket and taking all he'd handed you back into his own hands.

"If someone had told you five years ago..." you both turned, saw Joe at the top of the stairs looking down at you, grinning wide. "Would you have believed them?"

Without a playful answer ready, you just shook your head, all bewildered. Couldn't actually believe anything that had happened over the past four days, if you were honest.

The stylist made his way upstairs, had another suit for Joe to try on, said he'd call you up when he'd need you, and then you heard him tell Joe that his place started looking real nice.

Excellent.

It was starting to look real nice, you agreed.

Not fully finished yet, but you'd get there today. Could properly show Joe all of it once you'd hung all the wall art, placed all the decorations in the right spots and twisted in all the lightbulbs, and you felt excitement and nerves twist up your stomach. You were all over the place today.

You were all over the place as you tried on new dresses.

Were all over the place as you styled your own hair.

Were all over the place as you called Joe down, because the car was waiting, and you had to leave to beat London traffic.

Were all over the place when Joe smiled at you as he jogged down the stairs, the both of you remembering your mad dash to the red carpet the day before.

Were all over the place as you sat in the backseat in a slutty dress and in slutty heels and passed Joe a piece of gum.

Were all over the place as Joe said he wanted to actually go out with you, hold your hand, do the full red carpet together.

And were all over the place as people asked you what you were wearing, like you mattered, and Joe encouraged you, a slight tug on your hand, to answer people, to smile at them, to show the back of the dress as well as your shoes.

You were only able to start pulling yourself together slightly when the award ceremony started, and you'd been allowed a seat upstairs on one of the balconies. Perfect view of a twitchy, nervous Joe, downstairs near the front.

They won.

Of course, they won. The fucking Sutherland Award as well.

Joe said exactly the right words. Somehow found your eyes all the way up where you sat, and you gave one of those stupid little encouraging nods again that made him huff a laugh into the microphone for everyone to hear before he said thank you again, and received thunderous applause from the full venue.

It was a great night.

A great night.

Your last night, hours counting down.

Your duties would end right after the event was over, that's what you'd been told. You were totally okay to head back over to Joe's, collect your things, say goodbye forever and take public transport home. Technically though, you were on the payroll until 8AM the next morning, so if you really wanted to... you could sleep over at Joe's for one last night, use the excuse of time you owed him still.

You didn't know what to do. What would be smart. But you did know that the evening was a success. And then Joe'd gotten drunk, because, why not? He deserved to, honestly.

It was after midnight when you opened the door of your car and presented Joe with the backseat that he let himself fall onto. You had to help him do up his seatbelt, and once it clicked, Joe's arm was around your neck as he pressed hard lips to the side of your head.

"Okay, Joe," you said, laughing, fighting yourself free from his grip. Joe let go of your easily, let you slide into your own seatbelt before the driver pulled up onto the road, but then, Joe snuck a pinky finger over to nudge against yours, and you linked pinkies, each staring out the window on your own sides of the car. Not talking. Barely even breathing, until you made it back to Joe's.

You found the keys, fumbled a little as you tried to open the door, and then froze completely when you felt Joe's hands take hold of your hips behind you.

You swallowed thickly, said, "We shouldn't," before looking over your shoulder. "I'm technically still working for you," you reasoned, hands now turning the key, the door swinging open in front of you, but neither of you moving.

"But the show's over," Joe softly whined, revealing that he'd been waiting.

Shit.

You knew then, if you'd let him, he would. Drunk or not.

"It is. But the contract runs 'til morning," you stepped inside, out of his hands and turned by the door, ready to close it behind Joe as he followed you in.

"The contract," Joe groaned, sobering up real quick as he stepped forward, turned and sat down on the stairs.

You balanced yourself against the wall as you bent over to take your shoes off. Joe did the same, pulling at laces, dropping shoes to the floor with loud thuds.

"8AM," you said, not even trying to hide that what you meant was, at 8AM there's no more rules and we can do whatever.

"But," Joe sat still, looked at you as you stepped out of your shoes and then stood opposite him, waiting for him to continue. "The festival is done."

Whiney baby Joey reached for a hand, and you gave him one to hold without thinking much.

"Yea but, technically—"

"I don't like these technicalities," Joe winced, pulling you in closer.

"It's very complicated," you smiled softly and let yourself be pulled right up against him, your hips to his knees, your hands in his.

"So complicated," Joe agreed, looked up at you, said, "We'll do an excel sheet on it in the morning," jokingly.

And then he looked at you. Waited for the next move, because if you weren't going to make it, he wouldn't either, and he'd end up alone, upstairs, in his new bed, with the TV on. Extra loud tonight.

You looked down at your hands in Joe's.

They didn't feel so naked anymore.

Looked fine, actually.

"So then... fire me," you then breathed, and caught Joe by surprise.

You carried solutions, damn it. Never problems.

"Fire me,"

"You're fired," Joe said immediately, and reached up a hand to touch your face. "You're so fired," and it only took the smallest of pulls from his fingers that curled around the back of your neck for you to let yourself fall onto him — into him.

Mouths half open, lips pressed together, "You're fired," repeated over and over in heavy breaths that fanned your face as you kissed. Joe's hands, arms, pulled you close as the edges of the steps dug into his back behind him, but he didn't care. He got to kiss you, like he'd been wanting to from day one, right from the fucking start.

"I'll double fire you if we go upstairs right now," Joe's hands found your ass, and you didn't even mind that they had slid underneath the dress, grabbing at your bare flesh.

"Two negatives make a positive," you said, nose bumping against his, eyes still closed as you brushed your lips against his once more.

"Fuck— tripple fire you then— just, get upstairs,"

If someone had told you five years ago, no, five fucking days ago... you'd have probably gone, "All right, Susan," all sarcastic, and all bitter. Because there was no way that your best friend calling you about a temp job was going to end with Joe pushing you up two flights of stairs, into his own bedroom. The one that you'd fully decorated. Organised his wardrobes in. Made the bed of. Now to be messed up by you as well.

“Careful, I’m going to lose my fizz fast. All these bubbles up in my coca cola? They’ll be gone before you know it,”

Joe pushed you onto the bed, towered over you, and said, “I know,” and then smiled a slow smile, the kind that dripped with adoration for even mentioning his stupid little metaphor, before continuing, "But the caffeine of you will do."

You were making out like horny teenagers, mouths and tongues wild and hungry as your hands much more carefully and sensibly got each other out of expensive outfits.

You wouldn't have believed them.

Not for a single second.

You fell asleep in each other's arms after, both hands with fingers interlaced and the TV still turned off. Just the sound of your panting filling the room, until breaths were caught and eventually evened out. The skin on skin contact between the two of you erased all the loneliness that had lingered in between these walls before. It was healing in the most wholesome of ways and it filled the dark corners of the both of you up with light.

You'd have never believed them.

Never.

the end

—

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson

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(taglist currently full, sorry)

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #fluff #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #in 120 hours #part 5

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sports-on-sundays · 7 months

Text

everyone can see he looks at you like you're the world, but you don't even know it / landoscar

Summary: Lando x Oscar - Lando being stupid and Oscar being lovestruck basically.

Warnings: Uh none??? Maybe light mention of violence. Maybe some could be supposed as a bit of angst.

Requested: Surprise surprise- no

Author's Note: Usually won't be writing ships but I had to get it out of my system. Might not be my best work but I really just had to write some Landoscar. Enjoy, fellas.

Oscar watched as Lando kidded with Carlos, feeling strange flutters in his chest whenever Lando laughed with his friend or did something goofy.

He was so fixed on Lando, he didn't even see, hear, or register that the former McLaren driver Lando was conversing with could clearly see him gazing as he was.

"Lando, look at the way your teammate looks at you," was immediately what Carlos said, always taking any opportunity to tease Lando.

"Hm?" Lando asked, in confusion, glancing around. "Where is he?"

Carlos gestured with his chin discreetly, and Lando glanced behind him.

And his eyes met the big brown ones of his teammate in McLaren. And right away, as soon as their eyes met, Oscar's flitted down to the ground. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his brown eyelashes covering his downward facing eyes like curtains. As he sped up, to Carlos, the pink on Oscar's cheeks was unmistakable. But to Lando, it was nonexistant.

Lando looked back to Carlos, grinning as his eyebrows scrunched up, "What? Were you trying to trick me, mate-"

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head, "You're so oblivious."

"Sorry, what?"

"Got to go. Ferrari team is calling."

"Carlo-"

"Adios!" he called, before walking off.

Oscar rounded the corner, but he had heard it all.

It was impossible. In interviews the glances Oscar caught himself giving. 'Accidentally' bumping shoulders with him was difficult not to do. He wanted to be near him. He loved talking with him. So many of the things he did were so funny and...

God.

No, he didn't think Lando was stupid at all. He wasn't trying to let Lando know the strange feelings welling up inside him. No, he didn't want him to know. Because they were weird. They were teammates more than friends. And friends more than... more than anything other than that... And Lando probably isn't... like that.

He didn't know he was into guys, either, until Lando.

(Okay well maybe Logan was really his first crush but he really refused to admit that he still found Logan cute.)

But no, it wasn't Lando that was stupid. It was himself.

He was acting like a kid in school with a stupid crush who had no control over his emotions. What the hell was up with that, he did not know. But control in this subject was not a skill he could grasp.

"Oscar!" said his teammate as Oscar felt his hand grasp his shoulder. Oscar looked over his shoulder, his nose suddenly inches from Lando's.

"You're in a good mood," Oscar observed at the grinning twenty-three year old.

Lando shrugged. "Why not? How are you?" The two McLaren drivers stood, getting some morning coffee together.

"Oh, I'm fine..." Oscar murmured, pouring coffee into his mug.

"Oh, I'm fine..." Lando randomly mimicked, exaggerating Oscar's tone of voice and (in Lando's perspective) Australian accent.

Oscar smiled, looking up, meeting his eyes, Lando grinned, being silly. Being silly on purpose, with the intention to make Oscar laugh. He could always make Oscar laugh, and just the fact that doing that didn't make Oscar chuckle suggested unconciously to Lando that something bothered his mate. Curiously, he'd found himself starting to pick up the little things about Oscar, quicker than he had with either of his other teammates.

"What's up, Oscar?"

"Nothing much, wh-"

"No, like, how are you this morning?"

Oscar was taken off guard by the sudden seriousness in his teammate's voice. He looked up, and felt his stomach lurch as he stared at Lando. He scanned his face- which was quite handsome to be honest- and their eyes met.

He's so serious, but I can't tell him what's really bugging me.

Because he's bugging me.

Oscar swallowed, which Lando saw. "I'm good, as I already said. Sorry if I seem a little tired... Didn't sleep well and I have a lot on my mind."

Lando studied the younger man, before saying, "Obviously we're just teammates, but every single little personal thing can affect racing and performance- so if you ever need to get anything off your chest-"

He cares. He cares so much. "Thanks, Lando, really, I'm fine," Oscar interrupted curtly, before grabbing his drink and turning on his heel, walking out of the room.

"Look at this," one of Oscar's friends laughed. "What the hell are these fans?"

"Most of the time I try to avoid the really strange ones-" Oscar abruptly stopped talking when he saw what was on his mate's phone. His nose crinkled up and his cheeks grew red, and as anger seeped in, so did embarrassment.

"What the hell is right. Why do you seek out this stuff?"

His friend chuckled. "Your reaction is funny." His friend had shown him a post, made by some dumb fan who likely needed a life. A picture of himself and Lando, with simply the caption, 'Oscar looks at Lando like he's the world, and neither of them realize it.'

Why do fans-

No way.

That's not real.

Looking at the picture made the Austrialian's stomach lurch. Because he sort of got what the fan was saying.

"Dude, Oscar, you'll never guess what Alex said the other day," Logan laughed. The two twenty-two year olds walked down the paddock together.

"You're right, I won't guess. What did he say?" As they walked, Oscar instinctively waved to Lando the moment he saw him.

Logan waited a few seconds, before saying, "That's funny, too."

"What?"

"It was about Lando. Because, you know, they know each other well enough. Rookies together and everything. Like you and me."

"Sure..." Oscar always was careful, hesitating when talking about Lando with others. He was mindful to never bring him up and always say as little as possible about him. No one could know how much he felt obsessed with the other McLaren driver.

"He was like, 'Have you see the way Oscar looks at Lando? It's like he's an angel or something. And trust me, Lando is not an angel.' Or he said something like that. I was like, 'Yeah I guess.' But really I thought about it and you probably just... What?"

Oscar had accidentally sighed a little too loud. "Nothing. That's just not the first time I've heard something like that. But continue on-"

"Yeah, well, I was thinking that you probably just have those type of eyes that show your feelings. Like right now." Logan and Oscar looked at each other's eyes.

"Hmmm?"

"Your eyes always show when you like someone a lot. I mean I'm sure you've got other friends and you look the same way, or, like, at your mom."

"What brings you to that conclusion?" Oscar asked carefully.

"Well, because, Alex is right. That's not just your constant look in your eyes. It took me a second to realize that, though, because you look at me with the same look. Which is nice, buddy." He made a silly grin.

Logan was really lame and cheesy. Or at least Oscar thought so.

(But he was also cute.)

And it was unfortunate he wasn't just slightly more stupid.

Oscar's eyes flitted to the ground of the paddock. I really am terrible at hiding it, aren't I? Logan's saying my eyes betray me. Isn't it curious only I get that look in my eyes when it's Lando or Logan?

It honestly really stressed Oscar out, and it was getting tiring to pretend nothing was wrong.

No matter how much I watch my words, everybody knows because of my stupid eyes. May as well gouge them out.

Oscar was tired after the Japanese Grand Prix. Lando spraying him with champagne on that podium. It was... amazing.

A moment he'd never, ever forget.

But now he was tired. So, so tired.

Suddenly, though, he turned, hearing a door swing behind him in the McLaren hall. His eyes met Lando's, and his heart involuntarily started to beat faster as Lando made his way down the hall toward him.

"Oscar," he said simply, grinning widely in the way he did. The moment he reached him though, Lando, with no more thought and one purpose, suddenly threw his arms around Oscar.

It wasn't just any hug. Lando hugged him tightly, his chest pressed against Oscar's. For a moment, Oscar was too shocked to move. Can he feel my heart pounding? This far after the race, can I blame it on adreniline?

Oscar finally awkwardly, stiffly, wrapped his arms around the British driver back, the hug lasting too long for... anything close to regular.

Finally Lando spoke, breaking the terrible silence. Still, he spoke soft. Almost gentle. The concept of Lando speaking gently to him... Oscar had to admit... he liked it. "You've seemed off lately. I hope this... I hope this makes you feel better, these podiums..."

And your hug.

Oscar relaxed slightly, his muscles become less tense as his arms rested more closely against Lando's back. He was warm, and emotions from Lando flowed into Oscar. It was comforting, despite also being unnerving for Oscar. He practically choked on the words, and even coughed, but got out awkwardly, "Why- Why do you care so much?"

Lando sighed. "Because we're teammates. And I like you..." Oscar felt heat on his face and surprised butterflies as Lando pulled away.

Lando gave him a cute smile, before starting to walk down the hall past him. On his way past, he patted Oscar's back, and as he walked off, called, "And, besides, that's what friends are for!"

Right.

That's what friends are for.

As Oscar glanced back over his shoulder for one more glimpse of Lando, he felt cut to pieces. And alone.

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

Note

Hiii I love your work so much :D I was wondering in case requests are open if you could write about the M6 with a transmasc MC? <33

The Arcana HCs: M6 with an MC with gender dysphoria

~ this one hits close to home for me, considering I'm a trans dude myself. Have some affirming headcanons, my friends, you're the bravest people in the room just by being yourselves - brainrot ~

Julian

He's so casually accepting of your identity that you wonder at first if he's even clued in to the trickier parts of transness

Until one evening, when you've been getting ready for bed, and the next thing you know you've been stuck in front of the mirror for half an hour, staring at all the parts and shapes of your body that don't fit right

The mood swings Julian goes through when he walks in on you half-dressed for bed are hilarious in hindsight:

You watch him go from "yay, time to snuggle with my loved one :)" to "woah, time to *snuggle* with my loved one!" to "oh no, my loved one needs snuggles :("

The first thing he'll do is stand between you and the mirror. If you're going to fixate on someone's body he'd rather it be his

Then he'll be handing you what you were going to put on, piece by piece, until you're clothed the way you like to be

And then he'll be folding you into one of his all-encompassing hugs, almost like he's trying to squeeze the dysphoria out of you

He never commented on it because he adores the way you present already, and you had never mentioned wanting to do more

Now he's listening to you talk and wanting to smack himself in the face for not offering his doctorly services earlier

"MC, I'm so sorry, I - ah, that is, I should have said earlier, I can help with that. I know of medicine for that, I even have a connection or two who could do even more!"

What started as a comfort session quickly turns into a "the doctor is in" moment. If you let him he'll even drag you down to his office and conduct a full interview

He'll be spending the next few hours jotting down notes, pulling out books and folders and presenting you with all your options

As soon as you've finished putting together your initial care plan he's sweeping you back to bed

"I know what it's like to feel incomplete, MC. But you still and always will take my breath away."

Asra

It might be a little wrong of you, but sometimes Asra makes you jealous

They're so perfectly them. Just as relaxed in a skirt as they are in trousers, and stunning no matter what

Sometimes, standing next to him, you feel like all your flaws are on display. You already struggle not to come across as one gender and feel like you're never quite projecting the other one enough, and yet somehow he's both proficient and comfortable in both of them

You never feel like this when it's just the two of you, but when you're in public sometimes it feels like everyone's staring in the wrong way

They love you, and they notice, so one day they tap into your bond to check in on you

He doesn't expect the waves of emotion that hit him before you can reign them in. He's got you back to the shop before you can blink and pulling you down into a pillow pile

"Why didn't you tell me about this, MC? People aren't supposed to hurt by themselves, you taught me that."

They're quick to understand what you do - and don't - say. The next thing you know, they're whisking you away to their gate

When you wake up the next morning, it's to an unusually empty bed

He'll set you up by a pool and spend forever playing with your reflection with you, studying the way you express your dysphoria and showing you how he sees and adores you in return

Which might leave you dizzy - you don't often see yourself through their eyes, but when you do, you are dazzlingly perfect

You don't hear a word from them until that evening, when they return with the brightest, most mysterious smile

He'll turn his satchel up and dump ingredients, potions, and random notes onto your table. It's a whole pile of gender affirming magic, some temporary, some permanent, some incomplete

"I love you because you are yourself, MC. Let's get you even closer to that."

Nadia

You love her. You do. She's a goddess on earth. But sometimes you wish she'd let you wear more of your own wardrobe and not the exquisite pieces she commissioned you

It's not because you feel like they don't match your gender. She's perfectly insightful and has always been affirming

But they make you feel so ... visible. And sometimes just the sight of your own hands can feel like a little too much

But you don't want her to feel bad

So you get into the habit of wearing a gift for breakfast, and then changing into normal clothes after you part ways and conducting your own business from the shop. Portia showed you the back door into your wing weeks ago, and you use that to change back before dinner

Until Nadia wonders why she never sees you around the palace anymore, and decides to pay your shop a surprise visit

At first she's worried that she's done something wrong. Are the clothes not to your liking? Are you embarrassed to wear them in public? Has she been overbearing?

But then you manage to stammer out an explanation, and her first response is to turn your shop sign to "closed" so she can go over every reason why she loves seeing your body

She's also going to rummage through your closet and go shopping with you to get a better understanding of what you're comfortable in

And the next day, she'll have the palace doctor in to evaluate you and give you all available gender affirming options

As you get a solid plan in place, she'll start gathering resources to take you on vacation near the best specialists there are

Regularly checks in on your wardrobe state and involves you in her fashion plans

"When I look at you, I see my darling MC. I'll do everything in my power to help you see them too."

Muriel

He knows exactly what it feels like to have a body that doesn't fit him

He notices when you experience dysphoria long before you say anything about it to him. He doesn't pick up on the cause until you first talk with him about your identity

Unfailingly sympathetic and supportive. He doesn't speak much, but he chooses his words carefully when he does and they are always very affirming

He never hears you express a desire to specifically change anything though, until one eventful lunchtime

The two of you had spent all morning clearing some fallen branches and you'd be going into town that afternoon, so he suggested bathing before lunch

Normally, you love baths. There's a wonderful setup at the edge of the clearing with a freshwater spring, and in the evenings you get a clear view of the stars

But it's broad daylight, he's waiting for you in the water, and you can't get in because you can't bring yourself to undress

He's more perceptive than he lets on. Just as you're starting to shake a little you can hear his low rumble suggesting a solution

"... you can bathe with your clothes on. I don't mind. I've done it before."

It's a weird feeling, but you get clean and he gives you the hut to yourself to change

He doesn't bring it up until after dinner, when he quietly asks how you're feeling, and then it's like a dam has burst and all you can do is talk about what feels so wrong and what you wish you could change

He'll be unusually affectionate that evening, holding you in all the ways that feel safe

The next morning he'll have your lunches packed to go back into town. When you ask him about it, he'll tell you it's so you can visit Asra and Nadia (and yes, even Julian) to find out what they can do to help transition

"Your body is yours, MC. I love you, and I want you to feel that way about it too."

Portia

She thinks about you being trans/gender nonconforming the way she thinks about you being a magician - it's cool af and just another thing she loves about you

Which is why it never occurs to her that you would feel any discomfort around it

In her mind, you are the protagonist of your own story. You can summon water and fire with a snap of your fingers

So however you exist, she assumes that's exactly how you intend to be

That kind of admiration is exactly the confidence boost you need sometimes

Until you're having a particularly bad day and her version of a pep talk is complimenting the parts of your body that feel the least like your own

You know she would never mean to make you feel the way she's making you feel, but now you just want to be alone and invisible

She's not stupid. She can tell it's something she said, but she has no idea what or why

She'll give you space for about fifteen minutes and then appear with a hot drink and a snack. She doesn't want to pressure you, but she doesn't want to be shut out

There's a lot of back and forth of explaining and crying (at least on her part) and by the end of it you're both emotionally exhausted but it's nice to have another layer of assumptions out of the way

Now that she understands you better, you'll never go a day without her hyping you up

She also never makes another ambassador trip without applying her thirst for knowledge to that area's gender affirming practices

You have more options than you know what to do with, and a partner ready to cheer you on as you try whatever appeals to you

Way more excited than you thought she'd be to explore every change that happens. No such thing as an "ugly duckling phase" here

"You're my partner in crime, MC! Of course I want to go on this adventure with you!"

Lucio

Choosing your own identity? He's been there. He much prefers his chosen name "Lucio" to his mother's choice of "Montag"

The gender part of it doesn't really register with him. He does not care what's in your pants or on your body. As long as he gets access to it he's a happy guy

He's also a handsy guy

You generally don't mind it. You've communicated about this, and he is as respectful as he can be

Except that on some days, when you really do want physical affection, you hate being touched in a way that draws attention to parts of your body specifically

And today, when you just want to hide in your clothes, he seems to think you're irresistible

He's starting to pick up on your weird mood, and now he's worrying that he's made an oopsie

Did you tell him not to touch you somewhere and he forgot? Are you just not up for touching and he ran over you?

He's getting increasingly irritated, he wants to fix whatever's wrong so he can move on and love you, but he doesn't know how

Mercedes and Melchior are getting increasingly agitated, so you end up just calling for a midday break and explaining everything that's bothering you

Once he knows it's not his fault he's relieved, but once he knows how you feel he's furious

No lover of his should feel this way! He won't stand for it!

Will be aggressively affirming (especially where there's touch involved) and stare down anyone who he thinks is looking at you weird

Every area you travel through, he'll ask about different doctors or spells for you. Will happily stay in one place for a while if you find something ideal

"You're the best there is, MC. You shouldn't settle for anything less!"

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fluff #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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oh-saints · 1 year

Text

sweetest devotion (prologue)

it was only supposed to be another one night fling for mason. being married was never the aftermath he'd imagined himself to be, not when he's nothing but proud of his hit-and-run reputation around the town.

playboy!mason mount x princess!oc

word count: 1.5k

tw: as mentioned in the masterlist only

note: i know, i know. i'm not supposed to make this rabbit a bad guy but the tatler interview still rang well in my ears. and he won this poll anyway, so here it is. and the country name's taken from ana huang's twisted series teheeee but as usual, i happen to write at dawn so this is yet to be beta-read.

tag list: @mehrmonga who'd told me to do it anyway <3 (but lemme know if you wanna be added!)

this series' masterlist here part 1 here! >>

it all happened so fast.

as fast as the sound of his pen carving the cursive of his signature against the papers. as fast as the sound of mason mount giving what felt like his entire life away to a bunch of papers.

mason mount was only supposed to find another rebound to pale his heartache from being left behind by his girlfriend. he was only supposed to find another rebound to fuck before deserting them like a used piece of clothing that was covering his body against the cold of the night, and against the cold of his frozen heart.

he was only supposed to find another rebound to numb his recurring pain, just like a dozen of times before.

he thought he did exactly that in the morning, his modus operandi. and she never contacted him back either, despite knowing where to reach him. they were still following one another in Instagram anyway.

so of course, he didn’t expect anything drastic when the owner of the club he loves asked for his presence on one fine day at the cobham.

however, as he stepped inside the four walls made of glass, he certainly didn’t know what to make of himself. hell, he could guarantee any common living thing that they’d have no clue what to do when it was you and the king of eldorra himself.

a seething king of eldorra, mason should rather add.

the monarch didn’t waste a single breath as soon as the owner stepped out of the room for some privacy. “my daughter’s pregnant, mr. mount, and it’s yours.”

“I’m sorry?” mason had to mask his nervousness behind the pathetic excuse of a laughter. “I’m actually not following.”

“of course you are not,” the king sat up straighter, his posture telling everyone he wasn’t mad, except his eyes blaring fire so big it could burn down the amazon. “you don’t keep track of your one night stands, after all.”

if that was declan, mason would’ve heeded no mind. but coming from the man before him… mason couldn’t lie if that comment didn’t place a deep claw on his pride.

“father…”

“I suppose you might not remember her,” and mason couldn’t fault the king flaring his nostrils at each words spat. mason would probably be acting the same way, had this involved his own daughter. “you met her at a nightclub in london before you took her to your home and bed her.”

it didn’t escape mason, the disgust slipped into the last two words of the king’s sentence.

you’d be surprised to hear your daughter’s reaction to my cock was everything but disgust, mason smirked inwardly as he scanned the distinctive face of the said daughter. who, by the way, sported a faint hint of displeasure—at and of what, he didn’t know. he could only pray she wasn’t thrilled about the whole ordeal, so he could make a pity party out of them both.

of course, he remembered her—serena, final year student in king’s collage. he remembered her because no one as smart as her had pulled the same face card, and he was drawn in by the classic beauty she sported in her face and the royal elegance she exuded before he could help himself.

he remembered her because in bed, she was a beast long waiting for someone to wake her up. and mason loved nothing more than a duality striking on and off the bed.

“father, I appreciate if you grant us some space,” contrary to the faint warning she gave earlier, she was firm—rather stern, even—this time. “I’m sure it’s not an easy news for him either.”

the king spared his daughter a momentary glance before he stood up from his seat, buttoning the lapels of his suit back to its immaculate place. all while throwing lasers at mason’s way. if the footballer didn’t have his life at stake, he’d definitely succumb to the pressure.

there was a reason why the salt-and-paper man was the king, after all.

as soon as the powerful man went out of sight, mason shot his own daggers. “how are you so sure it’s mine?”

mason was only met by the profound proof that she was the king’s daughter and the princess. the woman in black slid a manila envelope towards his way ever so calm—as if the tension around them was as high as spending a mere summer together—without compromising his personal space. “your DNA test, as well as your contract.”

“contract?”

now, mason didn’t see this one coming.

“my father expects nothing less than you to man up and marry me,” shit, mason knew where this was heading. “it’s actually a crime in my country to be pregnant out of wedlock. combine that with the fact that you accidentally knocked up a princess, you can imagine the mess you’re about to ensue in my country,”

despite knowing the direction of this conversation, mason’s heart still dropped at the sight of marriage contract written in big, fat bold letters.

“however, I understand you have another life outside the well-being of your… child and mine,” if this wasn’t a dire situation in need of immediate attention, he’d praise her for how well she chose her words to simplify matters at hand. “so I took the liberty to construct this agreement so it will benefit us two. feel free to add your own terms.”

“what do you get out of this… arrangement?”

“I get to live another day, which means your child does too,” right, a punishable crime in the eyes of eldorran law. “and I get to provide only the best for my child. bar the father, of course, should you choose to walk away from the child’s life after this contract ends.”

dagnabit, she’d covered that part too under the agreement. she certainly had thoroughly thought about this. “is this what you both are planning from the beginning?”

“my father knows nothing of this existence and I wish to remain that way,” that’d explain why she asked for privacy for both of them, and somehow that relieved some parts of mason. “except for our lawyers, it’s only going to be between us until the end—whichever end may be—so I need you to put on some excellent acting when needed.”

rights and obligations… dang, mason should have a day off to discern all this. mason inwardly cursed himself for putting himself through this, all rooting from letting himself swayed and distracted by her sultry voice that he forgot to tap before he dabbed. wait, did I have a way out of this…

nope.

mason was raised better than to desert his own flesh and blood. and he was also certainly raised better than to have the mother of his child to be punished severely on her own when the child was obviously a joint creation of them both.

“we’ll figure out the nitty-gritty along the way,” sensing the footballer was weighing his thoughts, the princess stood up this time, reaching for her purse along the way. “after all, time is what we’re going to have until deaths do us part.”

mason could feel the tip of his mouth curving up slightly—credits when it’s due.

“have a thorough look at them and give me your answer when you’re ready. for now I will tell my father that you’re figuring out how to break the news to your kin first before saying yes.”

but before mason could bid her goodbye, the woman fourth in the throne line of eldorra had closed the mahogany door shut behind her, leaving mason alone dealing with the aftermaths of his rendezvous immediately and the tears of the girlfriend he recently rekindled later into the night.

“I promise you we can be together again, my love,” mason repeated those words like a mantra, in hope to soothe the heartbreaks both he and his girlfriend were respectively having inside. in hope it could build a foundation, a purpose for him to truck through a year of hell with a stranger he never dreamt of having to share his ultimate dream with. “I promise you that. we’ll figure it out meanwhile, okay?”

but mason didn’t get to hear whatever it was that came out of his ex’s mouth as a reply, as he took the hardest steps away from his girlfriend’s house. and he couldn’t seem to be able to recall them now, especially when the priest standing before him asked him the million-dollar question in front of thousands of people important for the existence of the eldorran kingdom.

“do you, mason mount, take serena, princess of eldorra, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

his wife.

the woman standing in front of him, who was staring back at him with a pair of eyes he couldn’t read at all. the woman standing in front of him, who actually enticed a bit of fear in him for such uncomprehensive orbs she owned.

the woman standing in front of him, whom everyone dubbed as calm beauty like her name, was to be his wife.

the woman standing in front of him, who he had no idea about aside from her name and her reputation of a princess from a conservative country, was to be his wife.

all because a stupid, drunken one-night stint.

he let out a sigh that might be perceived as letting of the nervous steam. just when he wanted to organise his life and start fresh…

“I do.”

well, at least the princess was an exquisite sight to wake up to every day.

#oh-saints writes #mason mount #mason mount fic #mason mount fics #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfics #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount angst #mason mount fluff #mason mount smut #mason mount series #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #mason mount drabble #mason mount drabbles

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longdeadking · 2 months

Text

By the time Mia was done asking Larry questions, they'd actually learned a lot.

The murder weapon wasn't just a statue, it was a clock — and one that was handmade, too, with only two in existence in the world. Larry had made it himself and given it to Ms. Stone as a gift, keeping the other one for himself.

Ms. Stone had been in Paris until the day of the murder. Larry thought she was going for a photoshoot, probably, but neither of them had an international plan, so they didn't talk while she was abroad.

Larry went to her apartment after she was scheduled to get back because she hadn't called yet, even though she promised she would as soon as she got home. But she wasn't there, so Larry left, assuming that her flight had gotten delayed, or there were problems with her luggage or something.

There was nobody with motive and means to kill her, as far as Larry knew. She was private about her address and her job was pretty low-key. Ms. Stone had been gone for two weeks, so neither she nor Larry would know if anyone had been hanging around.

It was a surprisingly helpful interview.

Of course, it only started being that helpful after he and Mia had gone back to the office and pieced together the information out of Larry's dramatics and unfortunately suspicious word choice. Phoenix, having expected something along those lines, had snuck in a little recording device so that he didn't have to take notes. It was probably not legal to bring something like that into a basically-prison, but it was really the security's fault for not checking him more thoroughly.

That was his philosophy for most of the things he did. If the police were more effective, if there were actual programs in place to make sure people never had to turn to crime, if he could trust the people in charge to have the citizens' best interests at heart, then he wouldn't need to be Spider-Man. He'd just be a regular old civilian with superpowers.

They wrapped up the day with a much more substantial case file and a trial looming in the morning, but before Phoenix could grab his bag and get home, Mia stopped him.

"You said you know the client, right?" she asked. It was a leading question. Mia loved those. Phoenix sort of hated them, but he answered anyway.

"Yeah." And then he didn't elaborate.

Mia didn't scowl exactly, but she wasn't smiling. "He seemed very familiar with you. And you him."

"Oh, yeah, we go way back," Phoenix shrugged. His mouth was starting to feel dry. This was the most he'd told the Chief about his life since the first time they met.

"How did you two meet? College? He's an artist, so maybe you crossed paths with him then," Mia offered, knowing very well it was a lie. She'd met all of Phoenix's friends from college. One of them was a murderer and his girlfriend. The rest of them didn't exist.

She was extending an olive branch, but Phoenix was just too tired to file away the lie to keep up later, so he sat back down at his desk with a huff. "No, we've known each other since we were kids. We went to grade school together. He's one of the reasons I'm doing what I do today."

Doing what I do. Very smooth, Phoenix, not vague and weasely at all. But you couldn't blame him, really. He spent all his time around lawyers, the weasel supremes.

Mia raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "And what is it that you do?"

"Y'know," Phoenix shrugged. "Justice."

A loaded word, justice. For Phoenix in particular. In this moment, he meant his night job beating up muggers and creeps, gathering information for Mia to pull out with a flourish in the courtroom. He was the underbelly of her high society, the stain on her perfect conscience. She appreciated him as an assistant, but she didn't love the vigilantism. It made sense. She was a lawyer. She couldn't fraternize with criminals.

Still, Mia smiled, looking half-relieved. Phoenix had talked around the point, like always, and like always, Mia caught him in the act.

"I'm glad he's there for you, then," she said.

"He won't be if he's stuck in jail."

"Then we'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen."

Mia said it with such certainty that Phoenix didn't even hesitate to believe her. She would get Larry acquitted because he was innocent. No prosecutors or police detectives or warped reflections of justice would stop her. Nothing would. She was Mia Fey, unstoppable.

Phoenix left the office with a light heart, despite the circumstances.

Night hadn't fallen yet, but the sky was just starting to go dim and orange at the edges. He had a couple of hours of down time before he had to go out. Usually, he'd spend those hours texting Larry or Googling case precedents for Mia's next trial, but Larry wasn't available and the Chief already had her case laid out. Murder trials always went by quick. Another way the system failed.

At least it meant criminals got put away quickly.

Phoenix decided to spend his free time actually stretching and warming up. He'd had a good yoga tutorial saved on his laptop for a while, but he used it less than he probably should. His body was pretty resilient, was the thing, so he tended to ignore the aches and cramps, fighting them off with painkillers and heating pads if they were making it hard to move, because by the next morning, they'd be gone.

The yoga still felt nice, though. It got his brain in gear.

Night fell as Phoenix stretched, and once the video ended, he was ready to suit up and hit the bricks.

Miles Edgeworth was still in his office.

It was dark, and nearly every other prosecutor was gone, trickling out over the course of the few hours after five o'clock.

The Chief Prosecutor was still here. Her door must have been open, because Miles could hear someone speaking to her from down the hall. The chief of police, most likely, considering the topics brought up in the few snippets Miles could decipher. Chief Prosecutor Skye seemed to never speak above a firm but close-quarters tone, but Police Chief Gant was much louder, projecting his voice seemingly by accident. As such, the conversation from Miles' perspective seemed to be rather one-sided, although knowing Prosecutor Skye, she was speaking back constantly.

The pitch and volume of the conversation rose until Miles could almost make out what Prosecutor Skye was saying, and he could clearly hear Chief Gant. It was an argument about misfiled evidence, apparently, and an attorney requesting a retrial for which no evidence or interviews were recorded. Gant was furiously defensive, but Prosecutor Skye had taken control of the conversation, and she was not going to back down. Miles respected that about the Chief Prosecutor. Like his mentor, Prosecutor Skye would not be dismissed, and her words were law, often even over those of the judge. Before she was Chief Prosecutor, she was much more timid, often letting the opposing counsel lead the trial, but since her promotion, she had developed a confidence that even Miles could not match. Were they not working for the same cause, on the same side of the courtroom, Miles would have loved to be put against Prosecutor Skye.

However, she was his superior, and more importantly his coworker, and so he pushed the daydream from his mind and turned his steely focus back to the case.

A murder trial, investigated headed by Detective Gumshoe. The victim, a model, murdered in her home with a blunt object. The key witness, Mr. Frank Sahwit, whose police interview was the central point of Miles' argument.

The accused, one Mr. Larry Butz.

That was what stopped Miles the first time. And then the next several times.

All of the defendants that he prosecuted against were guilty, as their verdicts agreed. If a criminal crossed his path in court, they would be punished for their crimes. It was impossible to empathize with them. It was impossible to think that they could be innocent or misunderstood. The evil it took to kill another human being was too great for that. It could not be forgiven.

And yet, Miles could not make himself believe that Larry Butz was guilty.

He'd tried. Over and over again, he'd scoured the evidence, spoken to Gumshoe, visited the crime scene himself, and yet, he still found himself feeling sympathy for the man. It was embarrassing. He had no connection to Mr. Butz outside of a single year of grade school that, in the face of von Karma's legacy and Miles' own success, was so small that it was laughable that he even remembered the man's name a all. He had no idea how his character had changed over the fifteen years they had been apart. Miles certainly grew more ruthless, but his wrath was trained, focused on the ultimate good of bringing justice to the world. Larry Butz, a monstrous and chaotic child, could not have been groomed into perfection as Miles had. Really, murder was the natural progression for him.

Miles repeated it to himself again. It made sense that Larry Butz killed Cindy Stone. Mr. Sahwit's account was airtight, and Butz was the exact kind of person that would commit such a violent crime. There was no reason to doubt, and therefore by doubting, Miles was being unreasonable. Imperfect. He would sit in this office and reread the file until he saw reason. That was the only way.

Miles' pen exploded in his white-knuckled grip.

Chief Gant and Chief Skye went suddenly very quiet. There was a moment of silence as they, probably, finished their conversation in hushed tones, and then two sets of footsteps departed from the office in two different directions.

One of those directions was towards Miles' office. He felt his stomach sink into the basement — a feat, considering his office was on the twelfth floor. His desk was a disorganized mess of papers, he certainly looked terrible, and his pen was still leaking ink onto his hand. He was frozen as the footsteps grew nearer and nearer, and then the door opened, and Chief Prosecutor Skye stepped inside.

"Edgeworth? You're still here? It's nearly ten," she said. When she noticed the smashed pen, she asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course everything is fine," Miles said quickly. "I simply didn't notice that my pen was partially broken, and I used slightly too much force while making a note, causing it to snap. The documents are not stained." They weren't, he'd checked. It was the first thing he did after breaking the pen, before even considering washing his hands. Legal documents were much higher priority than his own stained fingertips.

Prosecutor Skye looked down at the papers, recognizing them as the Stone case. "Is this case giving you trouble? I could have it transferred if you'd like. I think Payne has an opening."

"No, please, I have it perfectly handled. I simply lost track of time while ensuring that my case is perfect for the trial tomorrow morning. There is no need to transfer the case to someone else," Miles said, face pinching as he realized that he was very obviously begging the Chief Prosecutor. Clearly this case had rattled him very badly, if he was acting so immature.

"Right. Well, if you need anything, you can call or send me an email," Chief Prosecutor Skye said slowly. "I'm going to leave as soon as I gather my things from my office, and I would prefer that you leave then as well."

Miles nodded. It made perfect logical sense that the Chief Prosecutor would not feel comfortable letting anyone other than herself lock up the building for the night. It was yet another example of her level-headed intelligence. It contrasted terribly with Miles' overemotional outburst. He did not make eye contact with the Chief Prosecutor as she left, and he neatened his office as well as he could with one hand before practically sprinting out of his office to avoid meeting her in the hall. His hand was still covered in ink, although he'd wiped as much as he could off with tissues from a little tin container at the receptionist's empty desk. He used more tissues to protect his steering wheel from the ink as he drove home. He did not think about Larry Butz. He did not think about Spider-Man. He did not think about court.

He did not think about anything at all.

Japanifornia never slept.

Phoenix thought that was probably another city's slogan already, but it worked in this situation, and hey, what's a little copyright infringement to a superhero?

He was currently perched on the rooftop of a high-rise kitty-corner to Eldoon's Noodle Stand. He'd made a habit of stopping by for food when their paths crossed, but Mr. Eldoon was getting sick of him stealing the bowls so he could eat in privacy. Lifting his mask, even for a second, was not an option, so tonight he'd come prepared — in the tool belt around his waist, among the gadgets and helpful trinkets, was a small soup thermos.

He pulled out the thermos first, then tucked it under his arm as he used his free hand to swing down right in front of the stand's path.

Mr. Eldoon didn't even flinch.

"Mr. Spider-Man, Terror of Noodle Stands! Have you come to kidnap more of my family's heirloom noodle bowls?" Mr. Eldoon drawled, coming to a stop.

Phoenix grinned even though Eldoon couldn't see it and held out the thermos. "It's Terror of Japanifornia, actually. And nope! This time I came prepared."

"It should be Terror of Noodle Stands," Mr. Eldoon grumbled, reluctantly scooping broth into the mug. "I'll have to contact that woman from the press and make her change your tagline."

"If you're going through all that trouble, could you ask them to make it something a little nicer?" Phoenix asked.

"You don't deserve something nicer."

Phoenix sniffled, doing his best to communicate being on the verge of tears without facial expressions. "I'm hurt, Mr. Eldoon. I thought I was your favorite customer."

"You'll be my favorite customer when you start paying for your dinner!" Mr. Eldoon snapped.

Phoenix just laughed. Mr. Eldoon never let him pay. "You'll stop being my favorite vendor when you start charging me!"

As Phoenix tucked the thermos back into his belt, he felt a wavering sort of sensation behind him. His back tensed.

Trouble was always around in Japanifornia. It was everywhere, if you knew where to look. When Phoenix got his superpowers, one of the thing he'd noticed was this sixth-sense for danger — not to himself, but to others. Buildings about to collapse, muggers about to pull a gun, manipulators about to spring a trap. It was the reason he could be a hero. Without his spidey-sense (as he'd coined it when he first got his powers, a decision he regrets every day), he'd be useless.

So he waved goodbye to Mr. Eldoon and swung away, towards the growing danger.

The city looked different at night than during the day, and it looked different on the rooftops than on the ground, but Phoenix would have to be blind not to recognize the area. His spidey-sense was taking him right to Fey and Co. Law Offices.

He stopped on the roof of the neighboring hotel, the Watergate or something, where he had a good vantage point into Mia's window. The office lights were off, which was a good sign, but Phoenix could sense some movement through the glass.

A car passed by, and in the second that the headlights illuminated the room, Phoenix saw where the movement had come from.

A gigantic man in a pastel pink suit was standing at Mia's desk, apparently taking apart her office phone. His hands were covered in massive, heavy-looking gold rings (that would fucking hurt to get punched by, Phoenix noted), and as a result, his progress with the tiny screwdriver was slow. He definitely didn't look like a repairman, and it was almost midnight — even if he was a repair guy with a weird personal style, there was no reason for him to be in the office so late. Mia would never schedule something like that, and she owned the place.

The only conclusion was that this guy was bad news.

Phoenix was conflicted. He could burst through the window right now and stop this weirdo from doing whatever it is he was doing, but as Spider-Man, he had no reason to. Spider-Man didn't know Mia Fey, and had no idea that this stranger wasn't the owner of this office. Intervening would mean drawing a connection between Mia Fey and Spider-Man, and Phoenix didn't want to put the Chief in that position.

The man was definitely breaking and entering, but until he did something that would get the cops suspicious, Phoenix couldn't do anything about it. He resigned himself to memorizing the man's face, so that if anything turned up stolen, Phoenix would be able to identify him. He certainly had a memorable enough appearance.

Once he was sure he'd memorized the trespasser, Phoenix turned away from the office and followed another trail.

The night was busy, like it always was. Not many actual fights or threats, but a lot of drunk kids who needed someone to call them a cab, girls who wanted someone to scare off a creep, and shady deals that needed someone to supervise them. Plus, Phoenix swung by Ms. Stone's apartment building to see if there was anything suspicious going on. Ms. Stone's apartment was dark as far as he could tell, and after hanging around keeping an eye on it for a bit, he left, satisfied that nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

There was always trouble on the streets of Japanifornia, but as Spider-Man, Phoenix could do something about it. He could save people.

If only he'd had superpowers back then. If only he could've saved him.

Miles arrived at the Prosecutors' Office at eight a.m. exactly, parking in the garage and scaling the thirteen flights of stairs with practiced swiftness. The Stone case was organized perfectly within his briefcase, and his head was clear of any thoughts of vigilantes or innocent defendants. He was prepared to crush his opponent, whoever they would be. His argument was flawless. The previous day had been embarrassing, but he had put that behind him now. It was irrational to linger on the past, however recent that past may be.

Miles opened the door to his office to see Chief Prosecutor Skye already inside. Immediately he was on edge.

Chief Prosecutor Skye smiled sadly at him. "Edgeworth, I have bad news about your case today."

"What is it?" Miles said, trying not to let his dread show in his tone.

"I've transferred the case to Winston Payne. He requested it, and after seeing how stressed you were last night, I thought it would be for the best."

Miles was speechless.

This had never happened before. Not to him. He'd had many cases transferred to him on extremely short notice (once, notably, only ten minutes before the trial began), but he had never had a case of his transferred to someone else.

Chief Prosecutor Skye did not trust him with this case. She must have realized, somehow, that he was faltering in his resolve, and acted accordingly by removing him. It was a logical decision. Surgically so, Miles thought, like removing a diseased limb to prevent the infection from spreading. Was the case the diseased limb? Or was Miles?

"That's not the only reason," Chief Skye continued after a pause that felt much longer to Miles than it was in actuality. "I was recently made aware of who exactly would be representing the defendant, and with your history, I thought you wouldn't want to be against her again."

"Chief Prosecutor, I completely understand your decision. There is no need to justify yourself. I will pass my current notes to Mr. Payne right away," Miles forced out.

Chief Skye nodded. "Thanks for being understanding. I'm sorry about the short notice."

"You're perfectly alright," Miles said.

He turned around, briefcase clutched in shaking hands, and descended the stairs to search for Mr. Payne's office.

Usually on trial days, Phoenix would just meet Mia at the courthouse. He'd sleep in a bit, get dressed slowly, and enter the defendant lobby with a relaxed, well-rested air.

This morning, though, the memory of the man inside the office the night before had Phoenix tossing and turning, and when his regular work alarm went off, instead of silencing it, he grudgingly got ready to head to the office. The August heat was enough to kill a normal man, and biking in a full suit was nearly enough to finish off Phoenix, abnormal as he was. The lack of sleep definitely wasn't helping. Not for the first time, Phoenix was thankful that he wasn't the one doing the thinking in court — he'd be flying by the seat of his pants.

Mia was already in the office when he arrived, and she seemed reasonably surprised to see him. Phoenix stopped before he had a chance to start talking as his eyes caught on a new piece of decor.

"Morning, Chief. Cool lamp."

Mia looked behind her at the glass floor lamp balanced precariously on a short bookshelf. "Oh, that. I ordered it a while ago. It just shipped last night, so I stayed late to set it up. What do you think?"

"Looks… fragile, but very fancy," Phoenix decided. "Actually, speaking of last night, I was around and I saw something kind of weird."

"You were 'around?' Did anybody see you?" Mia asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Nope, but I saw somebody. He was big, purple hair, pink suit, a ton of rings. He was messing with the office phone." Phoenix tried to sound casual.

It didn't work. Mia's face was deadly serious. "Purple hair and a pink suit? You're sure? It wasn't just the light?"

"It could've been, but the colors weren't exactly muted," Phoenix said.

"Did he take anything? Move anything?" Mia stood and started scanning her bookshelves.

Phoenix shook his head. "No, he just did something to the phone. I think he was taking it apart. I didn't stay for long, though, and he was already there when I showed up."

Mia wasn't listening. She was pulling files off of her shelf, scanning through them with single-minded focus. The files she pulled out seemed random. A few under "W," some under "S," specific files from "F," "E," and "G." Only once she'd pulled files and folders from all over her shelf did she lean back, satisfied.

"Okay. I need to check the phone. Can you look for anything else suspicious in the office?" Mia asked.

Phoenix gave a thumbs up, but hesitated. "We've only got an hour until the trial, Chief. We should wait."

"If the intruder is who I think it is, we can't afford to wait," Mia argued. "Do you se anything? Any bugs, anything moved?"

Phoenix gave the office a quick scan, but nothing stuck out. Mia was leaning over the office phone with a mini-screwdriver, meticulously taking it apart.

The cover popped off, and Mia sucked in a breath. Phoenix was at her side in a second.

"It's a wiretap," Phoenix whispered. "A listening device. Chief, did you call anybody this morning? About anything?"

Mia shook her head. "Not yet, thank God. I don't take calls before trials."

"Right. Okay. So, we take this off and lock the doors and hope the guy doesn't come back." Phoenix felt dread rise in his stomach as he laid ut the plan.

Mia looked desperate. "Is there any chance you could stay behind and watch the office?"

Phoenix hesitated. "Larry's my friend. I owe him. Plus, I can tell when he's about to say something stupid."

Mia nodded and started gathering her case, but it was slow. "You're indispensable behind the bench, Phoenix. You know that. But if White comes back, I trust you to be there. I don't want to leave all this unattended."

"White? You know the guy who bugged you?" Phoenix asked.

"Maybe. I hope it isn't him, but… Prepare for the worst, right?" Mia gave a weak smile.

"This is the worst? Why haven't I heard of this guy?" Phoenix was following Mia out of the office. He locked the door behind them, and for extra measure, sealed the gaps with some webbing. Risky in public and out of costume, but the tension leaving Mia's shoulders was worth it. It was only a little bit, though.

"You've heard of him," Mia said. "You just don't know it. He keeps his name out of criminal business."

"But how? No one's that sneaky."

"You can be when you've got all the hush money in the world."

Phoenix and Mia made identical faces of disgust. Any other day, it would've been funny.

"I'll tell you more about White after the trial," Mia said as they approached the courthouse. "It's a lot to explain right now. I didn't want you involved, but if he's getting this bold, I might need your help."

Phoenix had a hundred more questions that he wanted to ask, but they were running late already, and Larry was waiting for them. He'd just have to be satisfied with an explanation later.

As Mia stepped into the courtroom, all of her lingering anxiety seemed to wash away. Her shoulders relaxed, her posture straightened, she walked with purpose. Phoenix loved seeing Mia like this. She looked more like a superhero than he ever did. She was saving lives in this courtroom, sparing the innocent and putting away the guilty with her total loyalty to the truth.

She was better than him. Maybe it was hero-worship, but Phoenix didn't care. He'd chase her shadow for the rest of his life, if it meant knowing that she was still saving people. He might be the superpowered one, but she was the hero.

That was all he needed to know.

ao3

#the kings decrees #ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #mia fey #aa123 #ace attorney fanfiction

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smurphyse · 11 months

Text

Coffee Break | Spencer Reid

Series Masterlist | Smurph's Masterlist

Part 21 of Room 405

Warnings: angst, tension, awkwardness, morning sickness, blood, tears, hard conversations

Summary: You and Spencer go to the hospital with Charlie

Spencer stood by the nurses station with Hotch and JJ in the ER. The doctors had taken Charlie through the double doors and made you stay outside, and of course you'd yelled at them. A small brunette doctor had emerged from seemingly nowhere and put her hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recognize her and relaxed.

Miss Fierce and another dancer Spencer didn't recognize stood with you in the center of the waiting room. Even in those damned six inch heels you'd refused to sit down, instead dutifully standing guard of the doors as you waited for someone to come through.

Your gaze never wavered, instead staring dead eyed at the entrance. You still hadn't taken off the collar, and instead nervously ran your fingers over it. Your ferocity was admirable, and Spencer knew it to be true to who you were as a person. You were focused solely on Charlie, and it hurt him in a deep place even though he respected you for it.

His mind struggled to wrap around it. He tried to remember all the things you said about your relationship, how you were married in name only and people had a hard time understanding it. Spencer knew logically that Charlie was your life partner, not your romantic one, but seeing you so angry and terrified for another man broke his heart.

And made him feel like a jackass.

"Reid," Hotch's voice broke through his thoughts. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and when he managed to tear his eyes away from you for the first time in hours he found Hotch watching him with worry. "I need you to tell me more about your relationship with her."

Spencer ran a hand over the back of his neck and glanced at JJ. She shot an apologetic frown his way. He decided to shove his fists in his pockets and nodded.

"We met about a year and a half ago through a mutual friend… we had an arrangement," he began. Hotch quirked a brow and JJ's eyes went wide. "It was just sex for about a year. We'd meet at a hotel and didn't know anything about each other except that."

"Were you paying her?"

"No," Spencer bristled, but Hotch gave him a look that told him to calm down. "She's not a prostitute. We both…"

Spencer groaned in embarrassment. Not because of what you did together, but because he never thought he'd have to explain this to his boss or his best friend.

"We both used to go to this club downtown… It was a BDSM no strings attached sort of place. A former partner of mine knew she was looking for a private arrangement and so was I. She introduced us.

"I didn't want a relationship. I just wanted some stress relief," he murmured, looking down at his shoes. He never thought this would be so hard to say out loud. "The deal was we never asked about anything outside of the room, just about sexual needs and growing that trust."

"Okay," Hotch encouraged. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're both consenting adults and you didn't break any laws."

"I knew she was married from the moment I met her but I couldn't have cared less," Spencer whispered, clamping his eyes shut. "But over time… I wanted more from her, and the night we found the body at the Nocturne, I confronted her about it. She was with me when it happened, but she left because she had an emergency."

"She's not a suspect, Spence," JJ told him seriously. "That night, I was out interviewing witnesses but she came to the station to pick up her daughter."

He nodded, "The last two months or so we've been slowly working toward a relationship. I never told her what I did for work because I thought she might question why… why we had such rough sex after what I saw every day at work. And now I know why she didn't want to tell me what she did either. I probably wouldn't have been that understanding either after seeing her on stage with… him."

"Not a lot of people would have," Hotch agreed, and JJ nodded with him.

The clicking of heels got his attention, and Spencer looked up hopefully but instead noticed Miss Fierce making her way towards them. Her eyes were watery and red rimmed, and she gave them a weak wave as she approached.

"Have you heard anything about Charlie?" she asked softly.

"Not yet," Hotch answered. He pointed over at you, "How's she doing?"

"Not great, but she's staying strong," Miss Fierce answered honestly, with a bit of pride. "She's like that. She has to be everyone's rock."

She sighed and rubbed an anxious hand over one of her arms. "You have to understand, her and Charlie… They take care of us. I know what we look like to outsiders bu-."

"Even if you were the worst people in the world, we'd still be here trying to figure out what happened," Hotch interjected gently. "That's our job."

Miss Fierce nodded, "Most of us came from bad places, and she and Charlie took us all in. They own the apartments behind the club and all the performers who want to stay there live there for free.

"A lot of us came from the streets. Drug addicts, homelessness… sex workers," she chuckled bitterly and glanced down at her clothes. "We all have the option to go back to school, and they help us get scholarships and housing. They don't want us to work at the club forever. They want us to be healthy and have the chance to live real lives."

"It's true," a voice came from behind, and they all looked over to see the petite brunette doctor from earlier. She held a clipboard in her hands and smiled at them. "I was one of the first dancers at the Nocturne. I got kicked out when I came out at sixteen and Momma found me on the streets a few years later.

"She got me into college and medical school. She even paid for my first year of residency," she smiled even brighter. "My wife and I are expecting a little girl in October, and we're naming her after her."

She stuck out a hand for Hotch, then shook JJ's and Spencer's. "I'm Dr. Milton. Charlie's gonna be okay. He has a concussion and it looks like he took a pipe to the face. I found some paint fragments and I saved them for you."

"Thank you," Hotch told her with a smile.

"She can go back and see him now. I'll let you take her down," Dr. Milton said softly, eyeing Spencer. She gave Miss Fierce a kiss on the cheek before turning to walk away, "See you, Donnie!"

Miss Fierce flushed and gave them a soft smile, "I'm not a queen all the time."

She gave them a wink and walked back to you and the other dancer, whispering something in her ear. They said something to you and went off toward the elevator, leaving Spencer, Hotch, and JJ watching you from a distance.

JJ elbowed him, "Go talk to her."

He shook his head incredulously, "She doesn't want to talk to me."

Hotch shoved him squarely between the shoulder blades, making him stumble. It got your attention, and Spencer's skin broke out in goose flesh as you locked eyes. You still had blood on your hands and cardigan, looking more tired than he'd ever seen you. JJ seemed to read his mind and pressed a package of wet wipes into his palm before pushing him again your way.

You stiffened as he came toward you, but you didn't walk away. He took that as a good sign and waved toward the chairs lining the walls.

"C'mon, sit down," he beckoned, but you squinted at him. "Please, sweetheart."

You nodded and followed him over, sitting slowly onto the cushion. You sighed and closed your eyes, rolling your ankles and your neck in relief. Spencer held out his hand, and without a word you gave him one of yours. He held you gently by the wrist and took out a wet wipe, taking his time cleaning you off.

It felt so natural, yet so odd. Time and time again, he’d taken you into a hot bath and gently cleansed your skin, bringing you back to earth after a session. You’d relaxed into him and sighed with happiness each time, but now you sat silently as all the fight had been taken out of you.

“Charlie’s gonna be fine,” he murmured, switching to your other hand. “He has a concussion, but he’s okay.”

You let out an audible sigh of relief, closing your eyes for a moment. Your chin began to wobble and you nodded as you opened them once more. “Thank god…”

He watched as you rubbed an anxious hand over your forehead with your newly cleaned hand. He couldn’t help himself as he leaned in a bit and whispered, “Are you okay?”

A tear trickled its way down your cheek as you shook your head, “No. I’m not okay.”

He nodded, “I wouldn’t expect you to be.”

“Can I see him?” you asked quietly, your voice shaking. The way you watched him broke his heart, like you expected him to say no. As if he would ever take that away from you.

“Of course,” he soothed softly. Spencer stood and held out a hand for you to take, “Let’s go.”

In a move that seemed to heal a broken part of him, you clasped his hand in yours and stood with him. Spencer put an arm around your shoulder and guided you through to the ICU. You leaned heavily on him, your steps faltering the more you walked. He knew you well enough to know that you were exhausted, and all he wanted to do was pick you up and cradle you close and tell you everything would be okay.

He slowed as you approached Charlie's room, giving you a quick squeeze. Spencer swallowed thickly, not wanting to piss you off but he felt like he needed to say something.

"I'm…I'm sorry," he whispered. He wasn't completely sure what for. For his reaction? His lack of? Anything and everything that would just make you fall into his arms again? "I'm so sorry, Y/N."

You nodded, "Yeah…"

Your eyes brightened as you spotted Charlie through a window. He was sitting up in a hospital bed, his nose bandaged and his eyes bruised. He grinned wolfishly as he saw you, and in a flash you were out of Spencer's arms and on your way to his.

"Are you okay?" you demanded as you ran in. Immediately you were poking around, checking him for further injury and cradling his face in your hands. "Do you know where you are?"

Charlie pretended to look stumped, "Mars, the year 3039."

"You're a dick," you laughed, but then you quickly burst into tears. Spencer watched through the window as Charlie wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto the bed.

He was the outsider looking into your life. Without you, Spencer had nothing. No kids, no house, no wife. Without him, you had all of those things in Charlie.

"I'm okay, baby," he murmured against your hair, clutching you tightly. "It's gonna be okay."

Hotch and JJ stepped up next to him, and JJ elbowed him again. "We still have to question him."

He nodded and followed them into the room, feeling like he didn't belong and should probably wait outside. Charlie locked eyes with him as he held you, rubbing a hand over your back to soothe you. He brushed back your hair to get your attention, and pulled up to watch him with teary eyes.

Charlie smiled at you, "Are the kids okay?"

You nodded, "They're with Corinne. Miss Fierce told her not to tell them anything until I called."

He jutted his chin toward the door, "Why don't you go do that while I talk to the cops?"

You turned to see them standing there, looking so dreadfully lost and scared. It took everything Spencer had not to join and hold you too. You nodded at Charlie and got up from the bed with shaking legs, then made your way out of the room without another look back.

"Is it okay if Dr. Reid stays?" Hotch asked lightly, but he stood just in front of Spencer as if to protect him.

Charlie locked eyes with Spencer, "Are you comfortable staying?"

Spencer swallowed thickly and glanced out the window at you. You held your cell to your ear as you rubbed your forehead nervously, tapping your foot. He wanted nothing more than to hold your hand while you did so, but he knew he shouldn't. You needed space.

"No. But I will if that's alright with you."

Charlie turned to look at you for a moment, his brows furrowing in concern. You were pacing a bit as you spoke on the phone, but when you caught him looking at you you gave him a smile and a wave. He waved back and nodded at Spencer.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Hotch asked, pulling out a notepad.

"Uh, I remember talking to you guys in the office. Then Miss Fierce said somebody was bothering Tessa by the bathrooms," Charlie began slowly. "She wasn't out there when I got downstairs, so I went into the bathroom to check."

Charlie winced and absentmindedly touched his swollen nose. "I saw a guy on the floor and he was bleeding. I thought Tessa might be hurt, and she was who I was more worried about, so I was going to check the stalls but then something came at me. I remember the pain, but then I blacked out."

"You didn't see who hit you?" JJ asked.

Charlie shook his head, "I just saw something dark swinging at me."

He cocked his head, "Is Tessa okay?"

"We have people at the scene. I didn't see anyone else in the bathroom, but I'll have them check on her."

Charlie nodded, then checked once more to make sure you were still on the phone outside. You were back to pacing and talking quietly. He took a deep breath and looked straight at Spencer.

"We're not together, y’know?" he said pointedly, ignoring Hotch and JJ. "Not like that."

"She told me," Spencer replied, but his voice wavered and Charlie picked right up on it.

"But I'm never going to be gone from her life. Even if this thing with me and Corrinne goes well and we take it to the next step, Y/N and I will always be partners."

Spencer hadn't known about Charlie and this Corrinne woman, but he was glad to know. His eyes blazed, but not in a bad way. Spencer could see nothing but love and devotion from Charlie for you. It wasn't possessive, or jealous. It just was, and it made his heart feel fifteen pounds lighter.

Spencer nodded sagely, grateful to your husband in a way he never really thought possible. "I understand."

You stepped into the room then, still typing away on your phone, not noticing Spencer and Charlie watching one another. You looked up just as they both finally glanced away, flashing a nervous smile, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied, "is Corrinne bringing the girls?"

You nodded happily, "And Kinzie. They'll be here soon."

"Hey, you think you can get me a coffee?" Charlie asked nonchalantly. "Maybe some for the agents too since they'll be here for a while?"

Hotch and Spencer shared a look, as neither had said anything about staying. Charlie seemed to have made that decision for them.

"Oh, sure," you said softly, a bit unsure. Charlie gave Spencer a pointed look, his eyes flicking back and forth between you and him.

Spencer nodded as he understood, turning to you, "Do you want some help?"

"Sure."

You walked slowly with Spencer down to the cafeteria. He made sure to keep a space in between you, just out of reach. The closest he'd been was when he cleaned your hands and brought you to Charlie's room, and you wanted him to touch you. The distance was killing you, and he was too far away but too close as he had been all night.

He didn't say anything, just kept his hands shoved in his pockets. He glanced over, so you did too but he looked away and took in a sharp breath. You couldn't take it anymore, so as you passed a maintenance closet you reached out and grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt.

Dragging him inside, Spencer let out a surprised yelp. You pushed him against a shelf in the small room and shut the door behind you. There wasn't much room to move around, and you found yourself chest to chest with him.

He stared down at you with a furrowed brow, "Y/N, what the hell-?"

Your body reacted on instinct, and you flung your arms over his shoulders in an instant, pulling him into a tight hug. After overcoming his shock, Spencer slowly wrapped his arms around you. He held you so tight you thought for a moment you might suffocate in his chest, but then you decided that would be a wonderful way to go.

Before you knew it, you were sobbing against his shirt. Spencer petted your hair with one hand, the other running soothing lines up and down your back.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he whispered tearfully. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

All the tension and fight left your body at his words, and you collapsed in a fit of tears and relief. Spencer held you together as he began to cry too, clinging to you like you were the only thing left in the world.

"I should have told you," you blubbered like a child, fat tears dripping down your cheeks. "I should have just told you!"

"No, no," Spencer said firmly. He pulled away enough to cup your face in his hands. His eyes burned into yours. "We said we were going to take our time with all of this… I meant that. I'm so sorry it happened this way."

You shook your head, "Spencer, my past… I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to leave. I thought when you found out about my job now, you'd find out about before. And then you said to act natural like you didn't want anyone to know-."

"I don't care," he stopped you. His thumbs rubbed along your cheekbones, and he leaned his forehead against yours. "You'll tell me when you're ready. I'm sorry about that. I was just trying to not mess up your act. I could tell you were enjoying yourself before you saw me."

You watched him pleadingly. He couldn't possibly mean that. "Spencer, but you don't know."

"Because of my job, I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want you to question my intentions in our safe place. Sweetheart, you don't think I have my own shit to hide? " Spencer asked incredulously. "Where would I even start?"

He pulled back to count on his hand, "Dead girlfriend. I've been shot multiple times, and tortured. I used drugs for over a year. I was falsely accused of murder and sent to prison for three months, and-."

"What?" you asked wildly. Spencer swiped a stressed hand over his face and nodded.

"My point is, we've both lived lives apart from the other." Spencer panted as he watched you, almost begging with his eyes. "I fucking love you, okay? I want your life to be my life, and vice versa. We can move on from our pasts together."

Every bit of pain you'd felt that night seemed to dissipate with his words, his touch, his very being. You were sure just a few hours ago that your Spencer was gone, replaced by someone who would want nothing to do with you. But here he was. Here he stayed.

"I love you too," you replied tearfully.

Stepping up on your tiptoes, you pressed your lips to his. Spencer let out a sigh of relief as he kissed you back, his hands coming up to cup your face once more. Your lips were meant for his, slotting together perfectly.

As always, Spencer got himself riled up quickly, his hands trying to wander under your shirt. It was a bodysuit, though, and he growled in irritation when he couldn't touch your skin.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked lowly, and you couldn't help but chuckle. He pulled back a bit and laughed with you. "Sorry. I know it's not the time or the place for this."

His fingers looped under your collar. Even as angry as you'd been earlier you couldn't bring yourself to take it off. His nails scratched lightly at the sensitive skin of your throat, "I thought for a few hours I'd never get to kiss you again…and seeing you with this collar…"

You couldn't help but bite your lip, struggling not to smile devilishly. "It's okay… but we really shouldn't. I have to get back to Charlie."

The drop of his face was instantaneous and painful. He pulled back and a hot jolt went straight through your heart. You reached out and grabbed his hand, sliding it over your throat. His palm was hot as he rested it lightly over the collar, careful not to squeeze.

His eyes were so wide and hopeful, so beautiful. He truly was a stunning human being. Your brain struggled to push aside his confessions of prison and drug use, of being hurt because of his job. What would it mean for your child that all of those things had happened to him? All of those horrible things happened to you, though, so you had to convince yourself at that moment that it would not affect his ability to be a good father. Not him. Not your Spencer.

“I trust you,” you whispered, pressing your fingers to the back of his hand. Spencer’s fingers curled lightly around your throat, and he nodded slowly. His thumb rubbed lightly over your jugular as your voice broke. “We have a lot to talk about, but not now. I have to take care of my family, and then we can talk.”

Stepping up on your tiptoes, you kissed him. As always, your lips slotted perfectly against his, because they were made to. His warmth encompassed you, surrounded you with safety as he held you close by your neck, the other arm wrapping around your waist. It wasn’t sexual, but not in the way it was with Charlie. It was a pure, loving embrace, soaking you with attention and devotion in a time of need.

When he pulled away, you could tell he was choking back tears. There were so many things you wanted to tell him, but not the pregnancy. Not yet. You had to make sure the baby was safe before doing so, that Charlie was squared away and Tulip too.That there were no other surprises.

Spencer walked you down to the cafeteria to get the coffees, and carried them upstairs for you. You insisted on holding your own, but he refused, instead holding a carrier of four cups in one hand and yours in the other.

As you approached Charlie's room, you spotted a gaggle of little girls and an exhausted looking Corrinne coming down the opposite side of the hall. She lugged Poppy on one hip as she held Kinzie's hand, the twins holding hers in a makeshift child chain link.

"Are you okay?" she blurted worriedly as she saw you, and you couldn't help but start running down the hall to your friend and your kids. Your heels clicked down the tile floor as you tore away from Spencer, and he was completely out of your mind once you saw your children. It was your motherly instinct. Nobody mattered but them, not even Charlie, not even with all this fear.

For once, Daisy wasn’t buried in a book, and she bolted straight for you before anyone else noticed. Your sweet second child who became too cool for you this year and more focused on her studies became your little girl again as she held out her arms for you. She hit your chest like a bullet, terrified tears bursting from her as she hugged you for dear life.

“It’s okay, baby,” you told her tearfully, but you clung to her like a lifeline. “Daddy’s okay.”

Your other girls seemed to notice, and all of a sudden you were being grabbed and hugged on all sides by your babies. They all started crying and babbling, asking about Charlie, quickly overwhelming you with their cries. The events of the night were already so much, and with them crying and clinging to you all you wanted to do was fall to your knees and sob with them.

“Charlie’s in that room,” you heard Spencer pipe up, but when you looked he was pointedly speaking with Corrinne. Your girls quieted and looked to where he was pointing, and in an instant they all left you to run to their father. All but Tulip.

“Go take care of him,” you reassured Corrinne, who was watching Spencer warily. Spencer stepped forward with the coffees, handing them to her. “These are for Charlie and the agents.”

He took his out of the holder and held yours as Corrinne went to Charlie. You could hear him telling them to be careful with his sweet dad voice, and Corrinne reiterating it gently. Tulip held onto your waist, pressing her face in your chest even though she was nearly taller than you now. You held her so tight, as though you were sure she would float away if you let go, and surprisingly your teenager didn’t pull away with you hugging her in public.

“He’s okay, honey,” you whispered. You brushed your fingers through her hair, the one child that looked exactly like you. The others of course shared your features, but it brought you a strange pride that your oldest and the one who went through so much with you had the best parts of you in her.

She had your strength, of course more than you’d ever had. She had your eyes, your hair, your skin tone even, but she was far more beautiful than you could ever be. She even had your laugh, but again, it was more precious and sweeter to hear.

“Is everything okay?” Aaron’s voice came as you held your crying daughter. He stepped out of the room with JJ to give Charlie and Corrinne some space with the girls. Even Kinzie joined in hugging Charlie, and it warmed your heart to see.

You were even happy JJ was there. Though she'd pissed you off the day you met her, Spencer had told you a bit about her in the cafeteria and over the phone. You knew how much she meant to him and how protective she was, and he deserved to have that in his life.

"We're okay. Right?" you asked Tulip, trying to get her to look at you. She pulled away, sniffling hard, and nodded. It broke your heart when she turned to Aaron and spoke.

"Is this my fault?"

Your motherly instinct rocketed through you once more, and you turned her back to you sharply, holding her face in your hands. Your eyes blazed, boring into hers, "This is not your fault. Why would you think that?"

Tulip shrugged pitifully, "Did the woman who hurt that man hurt daddy? Did she do it because I'm his daughter?"

Your jaw dropped, mostly because you hadn't thought about that. You just assumed someone tried to hurt Tessa and when Charlie came to help they needed to get him out of the way to run. It never occurred to you that this could be a part of the case they were working on.

You turned to Spencer, who sucked in an awkward breath. Hotch stepped around you and got down on one knee, holding out a hand for Tulip to take. She did, and you knew it was because she had more faith in the police than you did. She didn't know what her father did to you.

"This has nothing to do with you, okay?" he told her softly, his warm eyes gentle just for her. "You did nothing wrong."

"Then why are you here?" Tulip asked. It was always hard to remember that she wasn't a little girl anymore, and it hit you like a freight train each time you realized she was becoming a woman. And now it hit you again, because she saw right through you.

Aaron nodded and chuckled a bit at her sharp wit. "We don't know if it was the same person, but we're going to do our best to figure it out."

"I'm not a little kid," she replied bitterly, and you couldn't help but rub your forehead with the stress of this. "You can tell me the truth."

"You are a kid-," you began, but Aaron spoke over you.

"I know I can, so I am. We talked to your dad, but we just don't know right now."

"Are we safe?"

The question again stunned you all, and your breathing picked up as panic began to course through you. If this wasn't an isolated incident, that meant that the killer had been at your club, that they could have been there any night since the murder. They could have talked to your kids…your husband…you.

Spencer's hand landed gently on your shoulder, and he pushed the coffee cups into your palms to give you something else to focus on. They were hot in your palms, but they grounded you, kept you from going into a full panic attack in front of your children.

"Tulip, my name's Spencer. I've heard a lot about you," he said with a small smile. He held out his hand for Tulip to shake, and she did. You knew she appreciated being treated like an adult, but she was your baby.

Spencer looked to you for approval, and you found yourself slowly nodding, but it was stiff. He turned back to Tulip, "Nothing is going to happen to you or your family. I promise we're going to do everything we can to find this woman, and whoever hurt your dad."

"Are you in the FBI too?" she asked slowly, a bit unsure of him. She hadn't met him before, and like you she was always wary of strangers. "Like Aaron?"

Spencer nodded, "I am."

"Why?" she asked, sharper this time. "Why would you want to see all that awful stuff all the time?"

Spencer thought about that for a moment, chancing a glance at you. You were curious, too, not even sure you wanted to hear the answer.

"Because I don't want to see it all the time," he decided, giving her an open and honest look. "I hate it. I want to stop it, so my job is to find these people and put them away forever."

Tulip seemed satisfied with his answer, and so were you. It fit him, you found, this fiercely protective man you'd fallen in love with. He was a good person, and you knew that deep down, but hearing such a candid confession made you a bit brave.

"Aaron and Spencer are going to come by and talk to you tomorrow," you told her smoothly, but both Spencer and Aaron were clearly shocked. "They'll come by for breakfast, if that's okay with you."

She nodded, so you waved one of your hands towards Charlie’s hospital room, “Go see your dad.”

Tulip did as she was told, running into Charlie’s open arms even though he had all the other girls crawling all over him. He held her tightly, kissing the top of her head and breathing in her scent. His eyes focused on you for a moment, giving you a tilt of his head in question. You nodded to let him know you were okay, so he focused back on the children.

“Are you sure you want this?” JJ asked, finally speaking up. She seemed uncomfortable, frightened of saying the wrong thing to you after your first encounter. “Someone else can come talk to her. We have another agent, Emily, who is just as qualified.” “I met her,” you told her, handing Spencer his coffee cup. “She was there when I told Agent Hotchner what I was going to do with his tie.”

Aaron touched his tie self consciously at the memory, which gave you some satisfaction. You met Spencer’s gaze with fire in your eyes, hoping he knew just how serious you were.

“I’m trusting you with this,” you spoked measuredly. You wanted him to know if anything went wrong you wouldn’t hesitate to kill him and everyone in his unit. Whether you’d really do that or not, even you couldn’t be sure. “That’s my little girl, and I swear to god if this doesn’t help her I am going to burn down the FBI building.” “Are you threatening a federal institution?” Aaron asked, a bit hesitant, but still his stern self.

“Absolutely,” you replied coolly.

“Okay,” he nodded, turning to Spencer. He set a heavy hand on his shoulder, “I believe her, and I approve.” He and JJ moved off to talk to some of the doctors, leaving you with just Spencer. He jerked his head for you to follow him away from the sight of the window, your husband and your children. You followed, and he took your coffee and set it on a table to the side.

Spencer brushed back a stray strand of hair, stepping close. He seemed hesitant, licking his lips before speaking.

"Are you sure about this?"

You nodded, "I am. I want this to be over."

Spencer swallowed thickly, "and us?"

You took a step toward him, pressing your palms flat against his chest. His hand cupped your jaw as he watched you with obvious worry, clenching his teeth tightly.

"We have a lot to talk about," you murmured, thinking of the baby in your belly. You weren't even sure how far along you were, but you weren't ready to tell him. This needed to be done first. You both needed a clear head.

You sighed, "I want my kids safe. I want Charlie and Corrinne and Kinzie safe… I want you safe. This has to be finished before we can really move forward, Spencer."

He nodded slowly, "I know. I agree, even though all I want right now is to take you home and hold you all night. When this is done, I'll be here."

"I hope you understand," you told him quietly, tears welling in your eyes. You leaned into his warmth and sniffled. "I have to take care of my family. I can't think of anything else right now."

"Sweetheart, I understand," he insisted softly. Spencer leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours like he had so many times before. "I told you that I love you. I mean it. I told you that I love your family, that I want to be a part of it. I mean it. I will be here when this is done. I'm not going anywhere."

You sniffled again, your chin wobbling with tears you didn't want to shed. You were so scared, terrified beyond belief. It wasn't just your heart in danger, it could be all of your family. Spencer wasn't just your bed partner anymore. Now he was your protector, too. Between him and Charlie, you knew you were safe, and so were your kids and the people at the club. But you needed proof. You needed to be sure before you let yourself fall back into the fantasy of your potential future.

"You promise?" you asked shakily. He held you up when all you wanted was to fall to your knees and break into a million pieces.

Spencer pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, again like he'd done so many times before. It held the same emotion, the same devotion, as it always had.

"You're trusting me with this," he whispered, but it held strength and confidence you hadn't seen all night. Now that he knew he had you, that you weren't leaving either, your Spencer was back.

"I promise."

Notes: I'd really like to know how you're feeling about the story/what you're liking about it. I know it's been a long time since it started, but I could use the encouragement <3

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid @justanothercmblog @academiareid @moyo5653 @comfybabie

@rexorangecouny @nomajdetective @halloween-is-my-nationality @spenciesprincess @hoely-scripture @gspenc @princesssmooshie @loveeee2134 @reidslefteyebrow @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @hotchandspencearedilfs @barbietiingz @riverjane-d @2-gay-possums-in-a-trench-coat @simplyparker @thebloomingeagle @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @fangirling-galore @randomhoex @drspencerreid80 @kbakery@fortheloveofwonderland @athenabrown @yukachankyu @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @baciamisottolalucedicentostelle @athenabrown @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @elhotchner

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joekeeryswife · 2 years

Text

“get out!” - J.Q

REQUESTED ON TUMBLR! hello loves, how’s everyone’s day been? i got my hair cut and i actually love it 😳 anyway, there’s probably a lot of mistakes so sorry but enjoy <3

you and Joseph had been married for four years and you had a three year old daughter, Belle. you'd been with Joseph for six years altogether and they had been the best six years of your life. the fact that you were able to bring a beautiful baby into the world with the most amazing man filled your heart with so much love. watching the two of them together melted your heart every time. seeing Belle's eyes light up every time she saw Joseph.

Joseph had gotten very very famous after the new series of Stranger Things aired and you'd never been prouder of him. he'd been doing many interviews with Jamie and the rest of the cast, many of them involving travel so he was away quite a lot, meaning it was just you and Belle. you didn't mind it, you got to bond with your beautiful daughter. he'd finally come home after a few weeks of travelling and was faced with more online interviews which stressed him out.

even with him being home, he definitely did not spend time with Belle even though he promised her he would. this had made you a lot more annoyed then you already were. he was practically neglecting Belle. the day would consist of him getting up and ready, then going to a few interviews before heading out somewhere. Belle missed her dad and would try talk to him but he always shrugged her off, leaving her with a pouted expression on her face, a face she would pull when she was sad.

it was a Saturday morning, Joseph had just finished a few interviews and was sat on the sofa, chatting to his agent about a few upcoming projects. "yeah mate that sounds amazing" you heard Joseph say from the kitchen. Belle had come in earlier to show you a drawing she had done of which she described was you, Joseph and her at the park when in all honesty it looked like a bunch of scribbles, but nevertheless she had put the time and effort into making the beautiful drawing.

you'd told her to wait until Joseph finished his interview before showing him. Belle noticed he wasn't in his office anymore so she thought it would be the perfect time to finally show her daddy the beautiful drawing she did of her mum and dad, her two favourite people. she waddled into the living room, not seeing Joseph on the phone. she ran to him, the drawing in hand as she stopped in front of him, explaining the drawing as best she could.

"not now Belle" he said, pushing her off of his leg which she was holding onto. she almost lost her balance before she started explaining the drawing again. "this is mama and then next to mama is you" she said, putting the painting in his face by accident. "one second Jason" Joseph said to his agent before muting his side of the phone call. "Belle, can you not see i'm in the middle of something? i'm trying to talk to someone very important and you are distracting me. i don't care about your stupid drawing, go to your mum or go to your room now, i mean it" he shouted at her. like really shouted at her. he pushed the drawing out of his face, accidentally ripping it in the process. this was when she lost her footing, she fell on the floor as he shouted.

his voice echoed through the house at how loud he was. he watched her, angry expression on his face, as her bottom lip quivered and then her eyes filling with tears. you'd never ever heard him shout like that to anyone, let alone his own daughter. you heard the loud sobs coming from your daughter and that was it. you wiped your hands on the tea towel next to you and walked into the living room, seeing Belle on the floor, drawing ripped and the salty tears falling down her cheeks. you looked at him go back to his phone call, not even acknowledging Belle who was still sobbing on the floor.

as soon as she saw you, she got up off the floor and ran toward you. arms raised as she sobbed, you picked her up and held her close, you walked towards Joseph, picking up the two pieces of paper that were scattered around the floor. no one would ever speak to your daughter like that. no one. you didn't care who it was and you weren't going to let Joseph get away with it. "how dare you. i don't know who you think you are speaking to my daughter like that but i won't allow it. she's done nothing but be nice to you after you've neglected her for months and the one time she finally wants to talk to you, you shout in her face? she's three years old Joseph and i'm sorry but you're acting like an arsehole." you said, voice slightly raised as you heard Belle's sobs increase.

Joseph stared at you stunned. you'd never not been in his corner, you always defended him but not this time. he'd never seen you look so furious. "i don't know what's wrong with you at the minute but you are not the Joseph i married" you said, hand now on Belle's head as sobs raked through her small body. "get out!" you said, looking him right in the eyes so he knew you meant it. "i'll call you back Jason" he said, ending the phone call quickly, obviously embarrassed that he'd been shouted at by you in front of his boss.

"what? all i did was tell her to leave-" he started, looking at a sobbing Belle in your arms. "you didn't tell her you screamed at her and ripped the drawing that she spent all day making for you! now don't make me force you to leave, get out!" you said, he sucked in a breath, guilty eyes meeting yours. he nodded and let his head fall, his eyes looking at the floor as he walked away from the two of you, leaving your house which was still filled with the ugly sobs coming from Belle.

you sat down on the sofa with her in your arms, holding her close as she cried. she sniffled and looked up at you. you shot her a sympathetic smile before wiping the salty tears that rested on her cheeks. "daddy not love me" she said, sounding heartbroken. your heart ached when you heard those words. "he does love you sweetheart. i don't know what's wrong with him but he'll come around i promise" you said, stroking her cheek comfortingly. "he said my drawing was stupid and it ripped" she said, looking at the drawing beside you, seeing the two pieces of paper all crumpled and ripped.

"i know baby but it wasn't stupid, your drawing was absolutely beautiful. i can see you being a artist or something" you said, tickling her side hoping to make her laugh, it did. she giggled slightly when you tickled her which made you smile. "come on bug, let's give you a bath" you said seeing the time in the wall being late, just before she would usually have dinner. you put Belle on the floor and walked with her hand in hand to the bathroom. you ran her a bath and put some bubbles in there with her rubber duck toys.

you bathed Belle and then got her dressed into her pyjamas before cooking dinner for you and her, leaving a plate in the microwave for Joseph. you hated seeing your daughter upset after the incident but he had no right to talk to her like that. she only wanted to show him her family drawing and he shouted. at around 8pm, you put Belle to bed. she was tired from the crying and hearing her sobs earlier broke your heart. you had no idea where Joseph was and in all honesty you didn't care.

he had no right to speak to anyone like that and the fact that the first time you'd heard him shout was to your daughter. you went to bed, angry. you were glad Joseph had gone out, leaving you to calm down your daughter. you fell asleep, no Joseph next to you. yeah you were glad Joseph had went out but you hated going to bed on an argument. you woke up at around 2:30am to someone getting into bed with you. you turned your head to the side to see a crying Joseph and a sleeping Belle laying on his chest.

you laid there and listened to him whisper to her as she slept. "i'm so sorry Bels. i didn't mean to shout at you i promise. i’ve been so stressed and i shouldn’t of taken it out on you.” he whispered, sniffling after he finished. “i swear i’m gonna change. and your drawing was so beautiful and i’m sorry for ripping it, i didn’t mean to. i wish i took the time to look at your drawing and tell you how talented you are” he carried on, kissing her on the temple before resting his head on hers. he had hot tears rolling down his face as he held her close, feeling stupid for shouting at her.

after a few minutes of hearing his sniffles, he got back out of bed and walked to Belle’s room, undoubtedly to put her back in bed. once he came back, you pulled him into your chest, sobs racking through his body. he put his arms around you and you let your hand run through his hair, trying to calm him down. “i’m so sorry y/n. i didn’t mean to shout at her-” he sobbed, making you pull him closer.

“don’t be silly. we know you’re stressed love. just don’t do it again, she was really upset” you said in a soft tone, a lot different from the one earlier. he shook his head and looked up from your chest and spoke up. “no never. never again. i felt bad as soon as i saw her in your arms. i didn’t even realise how bad i shouted” he said, sounding genuine. you nodded and pulled him back into your hold. you knew he didn’t mean to do it and you were happy he understood he was wrong and you knew in future he would never treat anyone like that again.

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danganronpafan777 · 1 year

Note

(You dont have to write this right away) dra male cast x reader that has the peronality of ibuki mioda like in the morning its like "good nom nom noming you sexy cutie"

I love this request sm Tsurugi Kinjo:

You were.... Interesting

With you and Yamato, he had two crackhead friends

He'd raise a confused eyebrow at some of the more random things you'd say, and would cover his ears everytime you had an instrument in your hands, whether you were playing or not

He's completely thrown off guard when you confess to him, but finds himself accepting your feelings anyway

Tsurugi never imagined himself with someone like you, who would distract him from his trauma and give him breaks from work by tackling him into the couch and cuddling him until he can't breathe

But he just can't keep himself away from you

You never hesitated to grab his work, and throw it across the room and hold him to force him to take a break

He would blush a bit whenever you wrote a song for him, and would have to cover his face with his arm to hide his blush if you actually played it for people

It would take years to convince him to do a duet with you, and his voice would be so shy and relaxing, but you can't record it or tell anyone about it He does his best to keep you out of trouble, and it rarely works

But for some reason, he still loves you

"Good nom nom noming you sexy cutie~!”

“…!?…Good morning, Y/n…”

Mitch Higa:

He didn't mind your personality too much, as he had met much louder fangirls in his career, but he never would have imagined himself dating you

Sure, he flirted with you and you replied with some witty comment, but he expected you to blow him off like every other girl in the class did for some reason

Even with his superiority complex, he will beg on his knees for you not to scream into your microphone again

He's get very confused at some of the strange things you say, and might even blush (to which he'd mentally slap himself)

If you wrote a song about him, no one would hear the end of it for the next week

He would brag about it to all his teammates and in nearly every interview of his to the point where you basically have to release it to the public

He'd try to seduce you in a duet, but would end up failing miserably Chaz Thurman style (please don't cancel me for that reference-)

Similar to what Haruhiko said about Satsuki, he jokes that of all the girls he wanted to be with in the class, he got stuck with the loudest one

But despite your eardrum killing music, there's no one else he'd rather be stuck with

"Good nom nom noming you sexy cutie~!”

He’s caught off guard for a moment, “You’re the cutie Y/n~”

Kinji Uehara:

He was slightly started by your upbeat and loud personality, but he didn't mind too much, having experience in dealing with hyper kids

Your classmates are impressed by his ability to calm you down-

He might ask a few questions at some of the strange things you say, but eventually just accepts that you say random things (He still might blush a bit at some of your more affectionate words)

He's a bit reluctant, but eventually agrees to perform a duet with you, having experience in singing through hymns in church

He's not a huge fan of your music, and might politely ask for you to turn it down sometimes, but he still supports you and your passions

He would invite you to play for the kids at the orphanage, as long as the songs were child friendly and wouldn't destroy their eardrums

During one of these private concerts, you played a song that he wasn't familiar with, and was shocked when you said it was about him

It was probably the most flustered and flattered you ever saw him, and the kids teased him about it for weeks, begging for you to play it again and again

"Good nom nom noming you sexy cutie~!”

“I’m…not sure what that means, but thank you…”

That doesn’t stop the blush on his face

Haruhiko Kobashikawa:

Didn't expect to have a classmate this loud, but was able to match your enthusiasm

He screamed when he heard you play for the first time, and his ears continued to ring for hours later, but he still supports you

Haruhiko might try to learn a new instrument such as the guitar (mostly to impress you), but would constantly forget cords and have no idea what he’s doing

If the two of you did a duet, he'd try to act cool and romantic but would end up forgetting half of the words

He’s confused and kinda concerned at some of the weird things you say, but will blush a bit when you say something romantic

If you made a song for him, he would brag about it for as long as he possibly can

The two of you are two loving and energetic idiots, and while Haru’s not a great singer, he’s your number one hypeman!

"Good nom nom noming you sexy cutie~!”

He’s red for a moment before responding, “Good..uh, whatever to you too! Haha.. you’re the cutie…”

Kakeru Yamaguchi:

He initially flinches at your loud personality, but eventually gets used to it

Meaning he can keep himself from passing out at some of the affectionate things you say to him

He'll timidly ask what you mean whenever you say something random, to which you'd always say something even stranger

You confuse him sometimes, but you still help him with interacting with others and expressing himself more

He was oblivious to your feelings for him, so Kinji and Kanata probably had to spell it out for him

If the two of you ever sang a duet, he might have to stop a few times, and you oblige, not wanting him to be uncomfortable

Your music definitely surprised him, but it does help him speak up (to ask you to please turn it down mostly-)

You like to perform private concerts for his sister, and use some of your tour money to help pay for her treatments

Kakeru's entire face would turn pink if you wrote a song about him, and would completely pass out if you even spoke about releasing it

From this relationship, you're able to remain serious at times, while Kakeru slowly lets loose and expresses himself more

"Good nom nom noming you sexy cutie~!”

Kakeru.exe has stopped working.

Teruya Otori:

He wasn't really expecting you to be so...loud, but that was alright!

He admired your talent and the two of you were fast friends

You, him, Haruhiko, Satsuki, and Kiyoka probably start a band together (Sunshine Squad-)

He makes his classic confused faces whenever you say something random, and even his ears would turn red whenever you seemed to flirt with him

He would be extremely embarrassed and kinda shy to do a duet with you, but would be more confident as he gets older, but he still would prefer to keep it between the two of you

The moment you mention writing a song about him, his accent would leak

"Y-Ya made a son'!? A-abou' meh!? I-um..."

He's happy! He really is, but he's also nearly at a loss for words

His face would get even redder if you released it to the public, and his dad would probably play it on repeat at Otori Mart to tease him

The two of you are extremely affectionate and happy together (but Teruya still blushes his head off in front of others-)

"Good nom nom noming you sexy cutie~!”

“W-Weh!? Y/n- um…G-good…nomming to ya too…”

His face is too red to say anything else

Yamato Kisaragi:

The both of you just clicked when you first met, and if he wasn't already a fan, he was now

He might yelp and cover his ears a bit at some of your louder songs, but he still jams out to "I squeezed out the baby yet I have no idea who the father is" while he's creating a million dollar invention

Mikako is starting to get worried about him-

It might take him a minute to process some of the random things you say, his brain trying to make sense of it, but if it's even remotely romantic, his brain might briefly shut off completely

Despite the pleas of literally everyone, He'll amplify your instruments and even add fireworks or create smoke machines for your concerts

He'll love to perform a duet with you, and will cry a bit in happiness if you write a song about him

If you actually play the song or release your duet to the public, he will be beet red for the whole day, but has never felt happier

He tries not to brag, he really does, but he just can't get you off his mind

"Good nom nom noming you sexy cutie~!”

He smiles wide, “Hey, Y/n! You’re the cutie!”

He cups your face and happily kisses you

Utsuro:

You tired him out honestly

It took a while for him to admit that he likes you, as every time you talked/yelled and lightened up a room with your energy, he'd think or say that he wants you to shut up

...So why didn't his luck do it for him?

He shuts down Akane when she offers that maybe he secretly doesn't mind you or your voice

Even before you started dating, you were affectionate and outgoing to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder and dragging him to some stupid class activity

Whenever he dozed off, either in class or in the safety of his dorm, you would either shake him away or loudly snore on top of him

It frustrated him to no end, but you never left his side

One day, Utsuro told you he could make you the biggest rockstar in the world, give you wealth, fans, inspiration, anything you wanted if you would just leave him be

You refused.

In a rare moment of seriousness, you told him that you knew how he felt, and how lonely he was deep down and he just wanted to be understood, not used for his talent

From that point, Utsuro saw you in a different light, and slowly but surely, he began to confront his feelings

Sure, you were his crazy and outgoing S/o, but at the same time, you were someone who truly sympathized and took the time to understand him

"Just leave the BGM to Y/n! I made a whole album for you, Utsuro!"

"...Thank you."

"Of course, cutie~! This is for you and -"

"No...thank you. For understanding."

Yuki Maeda:

His reaction to meeting you was the same as meeting Satsuki (except he found himself liking you more)

This one's going to be a handful...

He would always compliment your music and any song you wrote for him, even if you were practically screaming to the microphone

He had researched you prior to entering Hope's Peak, but he was happy to learn more about you!

You offered to teach Yuki how to play an instrument, and eventually he agreed to it

He was... mediocre at best, but he was still your boyfriend, and you wanted the world to see him

He can't really match your energy, and sometimes he feels more like your caretaker than your boyfriend, but at the end of every day and every kiss, the feeling of butterflies in his stomach lingers as all he can think about is you

"Good nom nom noming you sexy cutie~!”

“H-Huh!? Y-Y/n..!”

#danganronpa another #teruya otori #tsurugi kinjo #kakeru yamaguchi #yamato kisaragi #kinji uehara #haruhiko kobashikawa #mitsuhiro higa #yuki maeda #utsuro #dra utsuro #Dra #danganronpa x reader #dra x reader

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thesugarclubs-blog · 1 year

Text

More to the Story - Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: post-tfatws, fluffy bucky barnes, strangers to lovers, grumpyxsunshine

word count: 11.1 k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1334925555-more-to-the-story-priya

Masterlist

It was only nine in the morning and Bucky Barnes was already losing his mind.

His phone woke him up, ringing obnoxiously loud enough to wake even the neighbors. Bucky had heard air raid sirens that weren't that aggressive. After a lot of grumbling from the super soldier and supportive yowling from Alpine, he'd figured out how to turn the volume down. Except now the vibrations had started, rattling against the glass coffee table Bucky had just put together last week and interrupting the little bit of peace he enjoyed every morning after he woke. There were only a hundred pages left in The Two Towers, the second installment of a series by Tolkien he was still waiting to be able to read, and Bucky intended on finishing before noon.

He called Sam in confusion, reluctant but eager to eliminate the source of his irritation. Why the hell did he even need a phone, especially one made almost entirely of very breakable and vibranium arm susceptible glass, was just one of the questions Bucky asked himself as Sam walked into the apartment. Or who Bucky thought was Sam.

"I'm here to save the day, gramps!" Peter Parker exclaimed as he entered, a broad smile on his expressive face. He was dressed for class, a black backpack on his shoulders, with jeans and a t-shirt that matched.

Pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head, Peter held out his hand, ignoring Bucky's confused state.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky groaned as he passed Peter the object of his annoyance.

"Well, Cap texted me, said he was busy and that you needed help," Peter replied, tapping at the screen. "Can't say I'm not disappointed it isn't, I don't know, aliens or terrorists, but setting a phone to "do not disturb" is pretty cool too, I guess."

Bucky scoffed and suppressed a smirk, the kid's eagerness never failing to remind him of Steve. A low whistle from Peter made Bucky snap out of his thoughts and furrow his brow.

"What? Why did you do that?" Bucky asked, reaching to swipe the phone and failing at being faster than someone for once.

Peter's eyes went wide and he couldn't hide his amusement, the corners of his under eyes crinkling. Holding out the phone towards Bucky, the young man scrolled through row after row of unread messages in Bucky's inbox.

"Dude, you have, like, a million emails! Have you ever checked this thing?!"

"Give me that," Bucky growled, this time succeeding in snatching the phone from his grasp. "And don't call me dude."

Peter snickered and ran a hand through his dark curls, walking back from the living room to the door.

"Well, Mr. Barnes, it's been fun but I gotta run to class. Hopefully, that'll help and seriously, check the emails. Maybe you'll find something cool!"

Bucky grunted, scrolling through the app Peter had pulled up as the door clicked closed. He would have to remember to tell the kid thank you whenever he wasn't so goddamn irritated. Messages filled the screen, all promotions and requests for photo ops and interviews. It was one mindless subject line after another until one caught his attention.

"Request to Interview: Bucky Barnes"

It struck him as strange, someone using his nickname in one of these requests rather than his official name, James. He deemed that his excuse for clicking on the message, an email based out of the New York Times.

He scanned through the text, the tone of the message professional yet somehow lighthearted, asking him if he would consent to an interview. It would be “informal”, the request stated a quiet chat over a nice lunch. Bucky grunted once more but this time in amusement as the sender quipped that the Times would even foot the bill for the food. There was an electronic signature at the bottom of the mail, Priya Abalan, a picture that was too small to see on his phone screen and of course, he couldn’t remember how to do the finger thing to enlarge the image.

He held the phone closer to his face, trying to make out the woman’s appearance. He heard that name before but he never got a face to match it. From what he could see, she had dark long hair that was slightly curled and tanned skin - that’s it.

For a second he thought about just deleting the email but then he heard Sam in the back of his head, saying he should get his head out of his ass and socialize some more. Maybe he was right for once, and well, from what Bucky heard about Priya, she used to do professional interviews with lots of famous people, mostly politicians, so it couldn’t be that bad.

Bucky stared at his phone for a minute longer before he groaned and hit reply. “Goddammit, Sam,” he said under his breath.

Ms. Abalan, he started, moving as fast as his big finger would allow him on such a small keyboard.

“I could mail a letter faster,” he grumbled but continued to type.

While I am honoured, your request to interview me appears to be misplaced. I’m doubtful that the people of New York want to read stories from the mouth of a mean war-torn old man. You’re better suited requesting the time of Captain America.

He signed his name and fumbled with the send button for a beat too long. The incompetence a blow to his ego.

“You’ve murdered aliens Bucky,” he mumbled to himself, “aliens!”

He tossed the phone to the coffee table and rubbed the frustration off his face with his hands. Completely defeated, until he heard the soft chime of a new email in his already crammed inbox.

That sound was going to get annoying fast, he thought to himself as he let out a short huff, reaching for the small box that was making noise. It was something he was still getting used to in this new world of freedom, that people could just contact him any time they wanted. The old him probably would have loved it, but this him after everything, liked the quiet during the day.

Still ignoring the long list of red dots in his email, Bucky clicked on the top notification, revealing a reply from that reporter already.

Maybe she had realized she'd emailed him by mistake.

Thank you for getting back to me, Mr. Barnes! I understand the hesitation with everything that's happened in recent years, but believe me when I tell you this is a story the city of New York would love. This is a story the city needs to hear and I truly believe they should hear it from you yourself before other news outlets run with rumours. Let me do you and your life some justice, you deserve that.

Bucky’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as he read the message. He gaped at the screen and then shook his head, the comfortable frown settling across his forehead once more.

He typed then deleted, typed then deleted again, staring at his blank response in consternation.

“Well shit,” he said aloud as he typed once more and then tapped send.

Pinching the bridge of his nose he closed his eyes and let out a sigh as he slumped back into his couch. He was already regretting agreeing to the interview but he’d be damned if he knew how to unsend an email.

He received a response back from Priya, almost immediately, asking him if he would be able to meet her in an hour at the establishment of his choice. She expressed that she wanted him to feel comfortable and have an enjoyable lunch rather than be thrust somewhere he might not like.

Bucky responded back affirmatively and gave her the direction to Izzy's so they could meet there.

As soon as he sent his message, he got up from his couch and padded across the living room to the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he debated whether he should change into something a little dressier for lunch and made sure his hair wasn't doing the weird thing it did in the morning anymore where it flipped up in different directions.

He would never admit it to Sam but going out like this, out of his comfort zone, in a world he didn’t fit into, was nerve wracking for him. He didn’t really like it but he had to do it. He couldn’t live on like this forever, though his little apartment and his books were enough for him.

After doing his hair and changing into some new jeans and a dark dress shirt - Peter bought this for him, saying it would look “lit” on him (whatever he meant by that), he grabbed his bike keys and he felt something furry touching his leg.

He looked down to meet the gaze of his little white cat, Alpine.

“Hey girl, I’ll be back later okay?” He kneeled down and patted her with a soft smile on his lips. This cat was the best thing that happened to him after all the fights he’s been through. Besides Steve and Sam, Alpine was his best friend.

He locked the door behind him and made his way to the elevator, inhaling as deeply as he could before pressing the button.

He could do this.

The parking garage below his complex was pretty dead this time of day except for Lottie, the kind security guard that manned the front gate. Bucky pulled his bike up slowly to her gate.

“Oh look at you,” Lottie leaned out the door, “all handsome. Where do you think you're going looking like that?”

Bucky offered her a smile, she had that effect on him. “I have an interview,” he squeezed his legs tightly to the low rumble of his bike. Grounding himself to the feeling and giving himself something to hold onto while he battled his nerves.

“You’re gonna do great,” she encouraged. “Don’t forget to show her some of that Barnes charm!” Lottie lifted the gate for him.

“You’re the only woman in my life that gets that Lottie, you know that.” He pulled the bike from the garage into the warm sunlight and turned onto the busy New York street without hesitation.

The mixture between the sunlight and cool breeze that whipped past him as he rode seemed to calm the explosion of butterflies that threatened to take over his system. He'd done small interviews before but they were always focused on the fight or Steve and the rest of the team. This was the first one where he was asked about himself, and that was the scariest part.

Although he wasn't exactly sure what was going to be asked of him, thoughts of the Winter Soldier flashed in his mind. That was a point in his life he was not willing to relive, especially not to some reporter. Hell, he hadn't even spoken to his therapist about that fully.

Bucky did his best to switch his focus, mostly on the road but ideas of the reporter herself floated through. Her long dark hair and caramel skin, and what had looked like a bright, infectious smile. The corners of his mouth upturned at the thought of the small photo he'd seen of her.

"You got this, old man," he whispered to himself as his bike hummed to a slow stop in an alleyway beside the restaurant.

📰📰📰

Her heeled boots clicked along the sidewalk as she slipped away from the Uber she took over to Izzy's. Her recorder sat neatly in her bag, just in case Bucky was comfortable enough to let her use it. But if not, her small notebook would be more than enough for her profile. The idea wasn't to scare him off in any way, she just wanted to hear his true story and let the world see him for him, not whatever the government chose to put out there.

She was ecstatic this morning when she received the notification of his message back after a few days had gone by. She had worried that she might have been too eager in her initial message, or not enough to show she was serious about her request.

Priya pulled open the entrance to Izzy's and she quickly scanned the floor meeting Sergeant Bucky Barnes' bright but nervous blue eyes looking back at her sitting at the table by the window farther back. The restaurant wasn't too full but the table he chose was private enough that if it were to fill up they'd still be able to talk at a normal volume.

As she made her way to him, she saw him stand, stopping the anxious fidgeting with his metal fingers in the process and couldn't help but smile.

"Hi Sergeant Barnes, it is so wonderful to finally meet you," she voiced happily, extending her hand between them.

He responded with a quiet “hi”, shaking her hand rather quickly before he pulled her chair back to let her sit down. She was startled by his gesture, saying a quick thank you and sat down. He nodded in response and took his seat on the opposite side of her. His brows were furrowed as her eyes met his. She didn’t know if he was just nervous or if he didn’t like her - maybe it was both.

However, she tried not to let his behavior demolish her confidence and the plan she had for this interview.

"You can call me Bucky," he said, well he blurted.

"I'm sorry?" Priya fished her notebook from her bag, instantly knowing from his tense, pinned back posture that pen and paper would be the best approach.

She watched him carefully, setting the things down on the table beside her glass, which had already been filled with water much to her surprise. Sergeant Barnes, a true gentleman after all, she thought. She knew her contacts wouldn't steer her wrong. This interview was exactly what she had been waiting for. Refreshing honesty from a soldier's perspective.

"You called me Bucky in the email, you can... here too. I prefer it, I'm not that man anymore. The Sergeant." He swallowed thickly, his blue eyes clocking his nine and three as more people entered the restaurant.

It was obvious now that she’d noticed, the way his eyes would rapidly scan the room before returning to her and she felt a twinge of sorrow for him having led a life that had required him to be so vigilant that it was now an ingrained part of him.

Realising the silence might have been a little too long she nodded and widened her smile.

“Bucky it is,” she agreed. “Thank you again for meeting me, and at such short notice.”

Bucky made a grunt of acknowledgement and then seemed to check himself. He cleared his throat a little and the line between his brows deepened slightly before he spoke.

“You’re welcome.”

Priya looked around at the bar, a short walk from the subway station and in a part of Brooklyn that she never really had a chance to visit. The walls were a dark green, soft black accents and dim lighting that made her feel comforted. She wondered as she looked at the anxious hero in front of her if he received any small relief from the hole in the wall bar.

"At the risk of sounding like a bad pickup line," Priya said with a tinkling laugh. "do you come here often?"

Bucky chuckled back with a nervous smile and she beamed hoping she'd get to see more of that throughout their conversation.

"Quite a bit actually," he started, "I come to lunch with a um, an old friend here every week. Or used to, maybe we will again some day."

He pressed his lips into a tight line as his eyes fell back to the table and Priya felt a small pang in her chest.

"Did something happen between you two? And this is not for the profile or anything, but I'd love to hear more about your friend if you feel comfortable and it helps to talk about it..."

"There's a negative side to every story Ms. Abalan," Bucky said, his hand flexing against the table like a nervous tell. "My time spent here with Yori was spoiled by the crimes of the Winter..." he inhaled through his teeth and his jaw ticked.

"The Winter Soldier?" She asked and Bucky gave her a tight nod in response. "Listen, this interview is about you. I didn't ask for one with the man you were, I want a new perspective on who you are as a man now. The journey you took to get here. And please, call me Priya."

Bucky watched her for a moment longer, Priya just wishing she knew what was going on behind the icy glare. "Yori was a friend when I was acclimating to New York. The city you know, not the city I grew up in. The sounds," he inhaled again, puffing his chest and stretching out the muscles, "the lights and the crowds... the technology. It was too much. But Yori, he taught me how to navigate it."

"Do you mind?" She pointed to the notebook.

"It's what we're here for isn't it?" He offered her a tight smile.

She scribbled down words, thoughts, and he waited for her to finish but before she could question him again the waitress arrived at their booth to ask for their order.

“I haven’t even looked at the menu yet,” Priya chuckled, reaching for the laminated card, but then paused and looked up at Bucky, “unless you could recommend something? You’ve got to have a favourite, right?”

She almost laughed out loud at the expression on his face, he almost looked baffled. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth in thought he hummed a little.

“The, ummm, the salmon and avocado temaki are good. Goes well with a beer.”

“Then let's go with that,” Priya smiled at the waitress before turning back to Bucky. “I trust you.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide at her statement, his cheeks flushed and he sighed almost like some relief washed over him at her words. His eyes drifted back to the table. Priya wondered when the last time someone expressed any kind of trust in him, especially a stranger.

He flagged down the waitress and she watched him as he ordered for them. The waitress seemed to know his usual order, down to the type of beer he liked to drink. She could tell that he was nervous. He kept flexing his hands, fiddling with his fingers. "Bucky..." She wanted to redirect him, make him more comfortable. "What do you do for fun?"

"Well," Bucky drawled as his eyebrows furrowed, the perplexed expression making Priya smile softly. "I like...to read?"

This time Priya couldn't contain her giggle and the grin she got in return from Bucky caused a surprising warmth to rise in her cheeks.

"Why did you phrase it like it was a question?" Priya asked with a tilt of her head, black waves falling over her shoulder.

"Because, I'm not sure if that's what normal people even do anymore," Bucky said with more enthusiasm than she expected, gesturing out the window. "All this technology and convenience, people don't slow down anymore. Don't take the time to just..."

"Read? Something calming and quiet, is that why it appeals to you?"

His blue eyes met her umber ones again and she felt that pull again. This wasn't planned. She was a professional and didn't get caught off guard easily. But here was James Barnes, making her blush in the middle of an interview with just a look.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice raspy as he picked up his glass of water. "It gives me somewhere to escape to. Helps me think of times where everything was simpler."

Priya watched the flexing of his jaw as he took a few gulps from the glass and set it down.

"But I don't think your readers want to hear all about a boring old man and his books," Bucky laughed softly.

"Well, I've never cared what the readers wanted to hear," Priya replies sweetly, sipping from her own glass. "Only what they need to hear. And I feel like all of New York needs to hear more about you."

"That's encouraging," Bucky said, "do you...read?" He asked, his tone a little more lenient as he spoke.

Priya had the urge to chase the sound of that laughter, she liked the way it made his eyes soften and shoulders relax. "I'm a journalist, it's kind of my job. What's your favorite book?" She asked, straying a little further from her preplanned topics but curious about the man before her.

She had come into this interview with the expectations of meeting a hardened, battle-worn soldier but she was met by a book loving, sushi eating old man who looked at her like she was glowing. It made her feel warm, and seen for the first time in a while. Throwing elbows in the breakroom with a bunch of ancient white men who believed they were god's gift to earth had been leaving her feeling anxious and angry.

He dipped his head and Priya would even go so far as to say he looked bashful when he replied.

“There’s so many, I couldn’t pick just one. But at the moment I’m reading The Two Towers. It’s part of a series called…”

“The Lord of the Rings,” Priya finished with a smile. “It’s a good one. Have you seen the movies?”

She gasped slightly as Bucky raised himself out of his seat a little, his eyes going wide with surprise.

“They made them into movies?!” He exclaimed, and it was the most animated he’d been so far.

Priya let out a laugh, tilting her head back. "They're really good. About an entire day's worth of Frodo and the gang." Somehow his eyes went even wider, a child like quality washed over him that she could tell lived below his stony exterior. She didn't blame him for hiding it away, she only wished he would get more moments to show it.

"Are they as good as the books?" He asked with a raised brow. The corners of his mouth curled upwards into a grin as she smiled back at him.

"Just about."

Bucky leaned back into his chair, shaking his head gently. The excitement coming to a head. "The world has changed so much..." He breathed in a gentle laugh.

Priya watched with an inquisitive quirk of her brow as Bucky tilted in his seat and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small notebook. Cover faded and pages worn, she could tell it was well used, flicked through and carried around.

“Sorry, I just—uh…” Bucky waved the book, “gotta write this down.”

She nodded in understanding as he opened it to a page half way through the book, a list already started, and he glanced up looking a little lost.

“You need a pen?”

“Please,” he smiled, reaching out when she held hers up for him to take. Their fingertips grazed as it was passed between them and Priya gasped softly at the touch. But then Bucky was writing and the moment had passed, instead she waited patiently as he scrawled onto the page.

Lord of the Rings - MOVIES.

She chuckled quietly as he underlined it twice.

"How long have you had that thing?" She asked.

There was other writing in it, mostly lists. Some of it was consistent with Bucky’s handwriting and some of it wasn’t. Blockier, less slanted to the right. Definitely not his.

She spotted more names: books, movies, public figures, and TV shows. Bucky’s face fell a little, sadness eclipsing it as it crept into his eyes. Suddenly, Priya felt like she shouldn’t have asked that question. She shook her head.

“We don’t—“

“No, it’s… it belonged to an old friend.” Bucky cleared his throat. “Kind of gave me a blueprint for coming back to the 21st century.”

He flipped it closed and tucked it back into his jacket, handing her the pen back with his left hand.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” When she reached for it, the tips of their fingers brushed together.

Sparks. Butterflies. They were swarming her belly, almost tormenting it. She took a deep breath. Professional, Priya. Professional. Bucky’s cheeks reddened before he quickly withdrew his hand and reached for his water, taking a long drink.

Priya did the same and Bucky set his glass down.

“What else did you want to ask me?”

"Well... I want New York to know more about the real you, Bucky," She answered. "We know about the crime fighter, we should know about the man underneath all of that."

Priya clicked the back of her pen a couple of times as she looked down at the few notes that she'd made for herself. Why can't I think straight? I had all of this thought out before I sat down.

At that moment, the waitress stepped back up to the table with their order of food and sat it between them before giving Bucky his beer. "It's on the house today, Bucky. Don't even try to leave anything for it. You overpaid for your lunch yesterday."

Bucky tried to protest as Priya's eyes grew wide, looking up at the waitress.

"Does he do that often?" she asked the server, the girl's dark bob moving quickly as she nodded.

"Oh all the time," she continued, her eyes lighting up. "Our girls get cheated out of a lot of tips and Bucky never fails to make up for it. You picked a good one for a date, girl."

Before Priya could stammer out that this was not in fact a date, the waitress was making her way back to the bar. She looked embarrassed at Bucky, who was busy fixing his chopsticks to pick up the first roll of his lunch.

"Don't worry about it, she likes to tease me all the time." Bucky scoffed, waving his other hand slightly and he dug into his food. "Says I don't get out enough so she just assumed-"

"That's okay," Priya murmured softly, starting into her own food with butterflies in her stomach. "I don't mind."

"Don't mind what?" Bucky grinned and Priya saw the man in the photos at the museum for a brief moment. "The teasing or thinking this is a date?"

She flushed, feeling it high in her cheeks as she glanced down at her food.

“Either. Both.“ Priya looked back up and met Bucky’s widened but pleased eyes. “I figure she’s right anyways- I did pick a good one.”

Bucky stared at her, his eyes full of something that looked like gratitude, before he shifted his gaze down to his metal hand, flexing and clenching on the table. He quickly relaxed it when she looked, flattening it on the table and drumming his fingers.

“So, what uh- what else d’you wanna know?” Bucky asked, and Priya blinked a few times before looking at her notes again.

She was getting distracted by his looks and his charm, and that wouldn't do. Keep it together Priya, he's handsome, like real old time handsome. Open the doors for you and bring you flowers handsome, but you gotta focus on the interview first!

She looked over her notes, searching for what she should ask next, before finally settling on, "I'm sure you've faced a lot of changes, what's your favorite, well, anything, that you've encountered in the 21st Century?"

When she looked up, Bucky was looking at her, curious but contemplative.

"Honestly one of the first things that comes to mind is food which probably sounds ridiculous," he said with a shy laugh.

"Hey I love food, so I'm all for that answer."

Priya gave him a reassuring smile, urging him to go on.

"Well back when I was young I liked food too and my ma made this great cobbler anytime she could but that was a once in a while thing. Then in the war and before I um- well before I became me again, I mostly just ate whatever field ration was available just to survive, you know?" he took a swig of his beer and continued, "Now I can actually enjoy it."

"What kind of cobbler?" She asked him, genuinely wanting to know the answer.

"Peach," he smiled, "but I'd eat cobbler with just about any fruit."

"You like fruit?" She jotted down and slipped the pen between her teeth.

"Have you ever eaten a meal out of a can? The field rations tend to be slimy, and taste worse than a bullet between your teeth." He described to her, "coming home, getting the freedom to eat whatever you wanted. Fruit, it's the opposite, juicy and sweet. Erases some of the memories of tin from my mind."

"You're nothing like they describe," she sighed, staring across at him she realized that underneath all that scary stuff that the news outlets had spewed was just a young man trying to figure it all out after having it all taken from him.

She watched as Bucky's muscles tensed under his dark dress shirt at her comment. Even her boss was very reluctant to let her come to this interview alone, but something deep within herself made her believe that this was a story worth telling.

“Thanks…” Bucky mumbled, taking a long swig of his beer.

Priya watched him carefully, a soft smile lifting its way onto her plump lips, “you really are a good man, Bucky, I mean it.”

Her heart leapt at the blush that crept across his face and he busied himself with the food, pushing the plate of sushi towards her so that she could make the first selection.

“So the sushi then, that was obviously new to you. What did you think of it?” She asked, using her chopsticks to pick up one of the temaki.

“When Yori first suggested it I was dubious, you know?” Priya nodded and he continued, “but I liked it. Maybe it’s the company too, first Yori, now you…”

It was Priya’s turn to blush at his words but he continued to speak.

“You just gotta watch out for that wasabi crap. I thought I was gonna die. You shouldn’t be able to feel food in your damn nostrils!” He shook his head in exasperation and Priya couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of her throat.

His eyes flicked up to her, that charmed smile forming on his lips once again. Another wave of warmth coursed through her at the gesture.

"Wasabi is like your Kryptonite then I suppose." She grinned, picking out one of the sashimi rolls, placing it between her lips feeling the weight of his gaze on her.

Bucky cleared his throat, realizing that he was staring although she didn't quite mind it. Keep it professional Abalan. "Krypto-what?"

She smiled, covering her mouth to swallow, "Superman?"

He shook his head softly, "He's a comic book character. Strong, super speed, super hearing, among other things," Priya continued, "Kind of like you, but he can fly--" Her brows knit together, "You can't fly can you?"

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, "No, Cap flies. I prefer two feet on the ground."

Priya nodded before continuing, "well, he's got one weakness, it's called Kryptonite. Some alien crystal thing... but he's also just trying to live as a normal human man, so I'm sure he's got more than just that."

He considered her words carefully, "Are you comparing me to Superman?" He breathed a laugh, shoving another roll into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

"You two are similar..." She smiled, "I prefer the real thing though."

“You always such a sweet talker when you interview people?”

He caught her eye and Priya glanced down, not sure how to handle the twinkle in his soft blue irises, or the way his lips curved into a smirk — teasing in every sense.

Bucky was oozing the charm that the old stories told of, and nothing like the recent reports. She felt a small glimmer of pride over that, that he felt he could relax a little more than usual in her company, given the circumstances.

“Gotta be sometimes,” Priya replied truthfully. She glanced at her open notebook, pen laid across the page untouched since their food arrived. “But I haven’t written a single thing down in the past ten minutes so I’m not sure if we can class this as an interview anymore.”

When Priya raised her eyes from her notebook, they found his blue ones staring at her. Her lip upcurved a little and she quickly grabbed one of the sushi rolls with her chopsticks.

Bucky watched her every move, before copying her and grabbing a sushi roll himself.

"I could live with that." he mumbled with a shy smile, before placing the roll in his mouth with ease.

"You're rocking the chopsticks, Bucky." Priya commented on his movements.

"Oh you should have seen my first try, doll." he responded before a grumbling laughter escaped his throat.

Priya felt the butterflies in her stomach again and she couldn't stop herself from laughing with him. "Yeah, first times are always embarrassing." she chuckled.

"Oh, yes. Should have seen me trying to order a coffee at Starbucks the first time. I've seen high-tech stuff in Wakanda, but none of that was as complicated as Starbucks. After the fourth weird question, I literally ran out of the building and never entered a Starbucks again."

“So not a coffee guy then.”

“No, I am,” he laughed. “I just… latte, cappuccino, cold foam… what the hell is all that stuff? I just want a black coffee in one of those little paper cups with the shitty lids.”

“The ones that burn your hand because the paper’s too thin?”

He pointed at her, his eyes lighting up.

“That’s a real New York cup of coffee. Gotta be tough to even carry the damn thing.”

Priya chuckled and shook her head.

“Well, I like lattes usually, but after a really long night out, I could get on board with an old fashioned bodega cup of coffee. And one of those greasy breakfast sandwiches.”

Bucky’s eyes rolled back and he let out a groan.

“They’re the best. I could live on those things.”

She chuckled. The more he opened up, the more she didn’t really care about the interview. She just wanted to get to know him. There was so much bullshit out there about him in the press. Assumptions, things that didn’t match up at all with the gorgeous blue-eyed man sitting in front of her. He was charming and funny, and the little nickname he dropped oh so casually made her heart skip a few beats.

Priya fell silent and picked up another sushi roll. Bucky did the same and she took a deep breath as she chewed.

“What’s been the hardest adjustment for you? Outside of running screaming out of a Starbucks and never coming back?”

“I didn’t scream,” Bucky retorted as she giggled. But the question made him suddenly contemplative, pain clouding his features. “But, if you want the honest answer, I’d have to say… that coming back to all of this felt like walking into a party that nobody wanted me to come to.”

Her brows scrunched.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… after everything I did… it’s hard to get people to—“ He cleared his throat. “Accept you. I felt like an alien. Everything I did, everything I said was all wrong. Everyone I knew was gone except for Sam," his eyes misted with tears that he blinked away in an instant. "I didn't think about how lonely it would be."

Priya frowned softly and without thinking, reached to rest one hand over his metal hand, ignoring the coolness she felt. "Bucky... I know whatever I say doesn't really help the matter. But I'm doing my best to change that if I can."

She ran her thumb over the back of his hand, glad that he hadn't pulled away from her yet. "I've been to the museum and I know what you've been through... from the stories..." her words and her thoughts were getting tangled.

Priya sat up, shaking her head, starting to pull her hand away. “I’m sorry, I just mean-“ Bucky caught her hand in his, gentle but keeping her from withdrawing.

“Thank you,” he said quietly but earnestly, blue eyes fixed on her dark ones. Priya felt her heart stutter a beat, and she nodded, realizing a beat too late that Bucky had released her hand. She pulled it back, grabbing her pen and spinning it between her fingers, nervous excitement bubbling within her.

"You know," Bucky started, then hesitated, poking at his food for a moment before he started again.

"You know, I thought this would be horrible. But you're, uh, you're nice," His voice dropped to almost a whisper, so Priya had to lean forward to hear his next words, "You have a nice voice."

Priya felt the heat crawl up her neck and over her cheeks, "Really?"

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Bucky’s face softened and he blinked slowly. Smiling, he added “your accent reminds me of someone I knew once, a long time ago.”

Priya lost herself in his eyes. They glistened with such emotion as he remembered. She wondered if the person he was thinking of had been an old flame or a lost love. She took a breath, ready to speak, when he spoke again.

“Your voice is softer though. More soothing,” he refocused himself on the dwindling platter between them, “I could listen to you talk all day.”

Priya’s face flushed as she watched him casually place another roll into his mouth. His cheeky grin closed around the rice as he watched her. This 40’s boy had not lost one iota of his charm.

"Perhaps I should be asking you the questions."

“Perhaps…” she said in a softer tone as she looked at him through her lashes, catching him getting flustered at her flirty look. “But maybe not today…today shouldn’t be about me.”

“Oh, so you’re assuming there’s gonna be a next time then?” Now Bucky was the one who got into his flirting skills, raising one eyebrow and pushing his tongue against his cheek as he leaned forward on the table.

“We’ll see,” she said confidently, her eyes not leaving his.

“Can’t wait,” he smiled as he leaned back again and got back to his sushi.

They ate in silence for a minute or two but it wasn’t awkward, which surprised her. Priya had always read about people “making eyes at each other” and now she finally knew what they meant by it. A whole conversation was held between them without a word being uttered until Bucky’s gaze turned mischievous, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

He leaned across the table and slid Priya’s notebook towards himself. Flipping to a new page he tapped the pen against the pad a couple of times and spoke, his mouth twitching into a charming smile.

“So, Ms Abalan, if you could describe your ideal date, what would it be?”

Priya watched the confidence wash over him in beautiful waves. The light of the bar glistened against the flecks of gray in his eyes, making it extremely hard to answer the question without saying, this.

She sucked in a deep breath, leaning back into her chair as a smile formed across her lips. "Well, it would start out with dinner," Priya grinned when the pen started moving across her pad.

"Hmm, okay go on," he grinned up at her.

Priya laughed softly, "you're very eager Mr. Barnes," his tongue flicked over his bottom lip forcing her eyes to watch before flicking back up to his own. He rolled the pen silently asking her to keep going, "alright, alright..." she conceded, "after dinner we'd take a walk by the waterfront, the lights are beautiful at night."

The pen stopped for a moment as he looked back up at her, "We?"

It was her turn to grin at him.

"Then--" She said ignoring his question, "enjoying one of those bodega coffees on the walk home."

Priya watched her pen dance across the page before Bucky finished up the last bullet point with a flourish of the word ‘coffee’.

“Looks like a pretty good date to me,” he breathed, “could I maybe add one thing?”

“I thought this was my ideal date?” Priya teased, and Bucky scrunched his nose in playful rebuttal.

“Humour me, sweetheart? We’re off topic as it is.”

And she couldn’t resist the happy crinkles at the corner of his baby blues if she tried as she gestured with her hand for him to continue.

“Make it dinner and a movie. You talk at dinner, you get to sit close in the movie theatre, or couch if you do that — what is it they call it… Netflix and chill?”

Priya laughed as Bucky wiggled his eyebrows and her belly flipped. An all encompassing feeling of ‘this could be something good’ simmering through her limbs as they fell into a companionable silence.

"You know what Netflix and chill means, right?" she laughed while watching his brows knit in confusion while tilting his head a little.

"Yeah, watching a movie on the television. Through the internet. Isn't it?" he asked while quickly grabbing his own notebook to note down her explanation.

"Actually..." Priya started but struggled to hold back her laughter. "... it's more like ignoring the movie and having... you know... sex instead."

Bucky had started writing down every word Priya said, but before he could write the word "sex" his eyes raised and he looked at her.

His eyebrows slowly raised, his lips pulling apart.

"Oh. OH." he mumbled, his cheeks cherry red while he quickly closed his notebook and put it in the pocket of his jacket again.

"That would be a lot for a first date, huh?" he added, trying to hide his embarrassment as best as possible.

"Yeah. But dinner plus watching a movie for real sounds like a pretty amazing date." Priya said, trying to change the topic and make him feel comfortable again.

"Would you be up for that?" Bucky asked, his facial expression a mixture of excitement and fear.

"Absolutely!" she answered almost immediately with a big grin on her face.

Bucky’s lips twitched in a smile, beaming back at her. “Wh-when would you like to go out? I mean, we didn’t really get to do much of an interview… I uh… could answer more questions for you.”

“I mean… it wasn’t dinner, but I’m not busy now,” Priya said, grinning widely as he stood up, walking behind her and pulling her chair out with her nod. Bucky made a wide gesture with his metal arm.

“Shall we take a walk?” he asked, a crooked smile on his face as Priya tucked away her things, picking up her bag and sliding out of her chair.

She could feel Bucky’s hand light on her lower back as he guided her out of the restaurant, saying goodbye to the waitress. As they stepped onto the sidewalk, Bucky offered her his arm, and she smiled, turning to look up at him, his eyes scanning their surroundings.

The afternoon weather was perfect for a stroll through the local park. Bucky led Priya along the winding paths as they talked and laughed. She enjoyed getting to know more about him, and the more she shared about herself, the more comfortable he became, opening up to her like a blooming flower nurtured by her presence.

Bucky talked about what Brooklyn was like back when he was a teenager and, at Priya’s request, talked about his family, but she never once asked about the war. She wanted to know all of the parts of him that existed now – some of which were remnants from his youth – not the parts he wished he could forget. Never those darker parts.

When the shadows grew longer and the afternoon turned to a cool evening, Bucky walked Priya to a quaint little hole-in-the-wall café for a hot cup of coffee. The kind that almost burned you through the cup, just as they had discussed. Everything about him was alluring. She knew she should have kept it professional but being with him was effortless, and so refreshingly good.

She hadn't realised they had stopped walking by the wrought iron gates that lead to the street. Warmed by hot coffee and the outstanding company, Bucky stepped closer. He looked down into her upturned eyes and asked…

“How about that movie, doll?”

Priya's tongue swiped across her bottom lip before she pulled it between her teeth, keeping her dark eyes locked with his gaze, "I - I honestly probably shouldn't. It's against my ethics training to date my sources," she paused.

The way Bucky's eyes flickered to the ground away from her and the nod of his head caused a mischievous smirk to cross her lips as she kept him waiting.

"I understand..." he all but mumbled, the disappointment coming through in his tone.

Breathing out a laugh through her nose, she reached forward and softly placed her hand on his chest, bringing his eyes back to her face, "but for you, I'll make an exception," she teased, shooting him a sweet grin.

A smile exploded across his face and she got another glimpse of that almost child-like joy that she wished would stay for longer. It belonged there and Priya vowed that she would do everything she could to make sure it returned.

“Is there anything in particular you wanna see?” He asked, pulling his phone from his pocket.

He tapped the screen a few times and stared daggers at it, as if it had done him some great insult.

“I can book us some tickets…apparently,” he grumbled.

“Do you actually have Netflix Bucky?” She asked, patting his chest gently.

Bucky glanced up from his phone, brows furrowed, before letting out an awkward breathy laugh, "I--uh.. I think so. Sam set it up for me, but I've never used it."

She smiled, "I can show you how to use it," Priya offered, knowing that she was dangerously stepping over that ethical line, "I mean if you're up for it. Movie theaters are great too."

He glanced up and down the street, the nervousness returning to him. "You want to come to my place?" He asked, the unsureness in his voice leaking through.

"If you're up for it," She reminded him, not wanting to push him too far.

"I'm up for it." He said a little more confidently, holding out his arm for her.

Priya smiled, wrapping her hand gently around his bicep, "such a gentleman. I'm pretty sure the Lord of The Rings is on there, we can watch that if you're up for diving into three more hours with me."

Bucky shot her a playful look, "I've lasted this long darling."

“Well then, lead the way.”

Bucky paused as they approached the street where Izzy’s was.

“I uh— I forgot I rode my bike here, are you— we can walk back if you don’t want to—“

“I’ve been on a motorcycle before, Bucky. Plus, the quicker we get back the more movie time we have.”

With the decision made, she followed Bucky onto his bike, trying not to think about how close they were as she clung to him, arms wrapped around his strong build as he zipped through the streets back to his building.

Before she knew it, they were rolling up to a security gate guard as they made their way through.

Her kind eyes softened as they flitted from Priya to Bucky and back again before she shot the super-soldier a wink.

“Not a word, Lottie.” Bucky chuckled as if he could read her mind. Priya raised her brow inquisitively and it seemed Lottie couldn’t help herself.

“Looks like you put that charm to good use, Barnes.”

Bucky shook his head, riding off to his usual space before anything more could be said.

“You are very charming, you know,” Priya told him once they were inside and waiting for the elevator.

“You haven’t seen me first thing in the mornin’, Priya.“ Bucky countered, flashing her a lopsided grin as they entered the carriage and zoomed up to his floor.

Priya laughed as she got off of the elevator and waited for Bucky. “You haven’t seen me either. It’s a bit of a sight to behold.”

She followed him down the hall to his apartment and watched as he unlocked the door. As they stepped into the apartment, the sound of a trilling meow filled the room. “You have a cat?”

A petite white cat with the most vibrant blue eyes slinked its way towards Bucky, winding around his legs and purring loudly before sitting between its human and Priya. The cat eyed her curiously.

Bucky scooped the cat up into his arms and approached Priya as if showing off a newborn baby.

“Priya, this is Alpine. Alpine, this is Priya.” The cat chirped in Bucky’s embrace as if it knew its name. “She’s seen me through some tough nights,” Bucky stroked Alpine and brought her closer.

“Aww, she’s gorgeous!” Priya held her hand out gently for Alpine to sniff, trying not to force herself into the cat’s space. “Are you a good girl? I bet you’re a very good girl for your dad, huh?”

Alpine reached up to boop Priya’s hand with her nose and purred. Only then did Priya move to pet her.

“She likes me!” Priya beamed a huge smile and looked up at Bucky to find the strangest expression on his face as he watched the two ladies interact.

Narrowing her eyes at Bucky, she kept a soft smile on her face as she tilted her head to the side, "what's wrong?" she chuckled.

Bucky shook his head, and moved his vibranium hand to scratch the special spot behind Alpines ears, "no, nothing, I just -" he paused, smiling down at his little girl, "I've never seen her like someone so quickly," he looked back at Priya, a small twinkle in his blue eyes, "she must know you're special..." he all but whispered.

A blush crept up the sides of her neck as her hand slowly dropped from the cat, turning herself slowly to look farther into Bucky's apartment. The story of Bucky Barnes was writing itself in her head but for now, her reporter brain shut itself off and allowed her to be just herself. Just a girl with a swarm of butterflies in her chest every time she looked into those ocean blue eyes.

"You have a really nice home here Bucky, the plants, the books, it's really... you," she turned back to him with a smile, "I like it."

Bucky shifted on his feet, that lopsided smile returning as he looked around, assessing the room. Everything had it's place. Books were lined up neatly on the shelves, small medallions and picture frames sat in between the stacks. His free hand came up to rub the back of his neck as his eyes met hers again, "Thank you. It's finally... starting to feel like a home now."

Priya ignored the pang in her chest at the thought of it once not feeling like that for him before turning to head towards a line of frames hanging in between a pair of windows.

Alpine wrestled herself out of his arms only to beat Priya to the windowsill earning a chuckle from her father.

"That's her favorite spot," he grinned, taking a step sliding himself next to her, "She likes to yowl at the kids on the street."

She let out a chuckle, "Like father like daughter I'm guessing?" Priya raised a brow at him.

"They get loud sometimes," he grumbled, biting back the smile on his face before moving to the TV and picking up the remote. "Here, if you can work your magic and get that thing to work, more power to ya," he said all but shoving the remote into her hand, "You want something to drink? I have water… beer, tea if that suits you. I usually only drink it when I can't sleep."

With a nod, she let him take her bag and smiled, "Tea would be great."

Bucky nodded, “make yourself at home, there are blankets in that basket if you wanna get comfy.”

“Thanks, Bucky.”

With a soft smile, Bucky turned on his heel and headed to the kitchen, leaving Priya to her own devices.

She got Netflix up and running easily enough and then turned her attention to the frames on the wall, wandering over to inspect them more closely.

Black and white photos filled the two of them. A much younger Bucky — although only by ten years or so in looks — stood side by side with a scrawny Steve Rogers in the first. The second, a family shot, weathered and torn but taped back together. Something in her chest lurched at the sight of Bucky as a young boy and she turned away, suddenly feeling like she was invading his privacy.

“You can look, sweetheart.” Bucky was there, two cups of tea in his hands and a melancholy expression on his face, “I trust you.”

Priya turned and looked at him, her cheeks colored pink. “That’s who you were talking about earlier… the notebook. It was Steve’s.”

Bucky’s head hung just a little lower and he nodded, his solemn expression more than enough to tell her that perhaps now wasn’t the time to press him for more memories, he had already gifted her with enough for one day.

“Nothing gets past that journalist brain of yours, does it?” His smile was weak but full of care. It was obvious that he didn’t want to push her away.

“Bucky,” she stepped closer, taking his hand that lay limp at his side and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen.”

He nodded, meeting her compassionate gaze with acceptance.

“But in the meantime, I’m here for the child-like delight you’re going to experience when you see the movies they made of those Tolkien books you’re reading. Don’t think I didn’t see that bookmark near the end of The Two Towers. And mister! I’m here to tell you that we’re watching them all in order.”

“Them all?” Bucky perked up, that excited glint returning to his eyes.

“All three of them.”

“Tonight?”

“God no! We can save some for other dates.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Priya's heart swelled in her chest as the two of them smiled at each other for another moment. This soft, sweet man was not at all what she had been expecting. Rumours of the short, cut answers he had given to other reporters floated around the city like red leaves in the fall, and knowing what she did of others in her field, she didn't blame him at all. Her mind wondered what she herself had done differently to make him trust her, but that would be a conversation for another day too. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy the company of a perfectly good man who she really liked.

She plopped herself down onto his black leather sofa, and patted the cushion next to her, "You ready?" She teased.

A confident smile spread across Bucky's lips as he took a seat and draped his arm lazily along the back of the couch behind her shoulders, "as I'll ever be."

She beamed up at him before turning towards the TV and pressing play. The opening credits began and like a moth to a flame, his eyes were glued to the screen. Priya settled into the couch, her knee bumping his leg gently as she did. His gaze flicked to hers for only a moment as the smile grew on his face before they returned to the screen.

As they got deeper into the movie, she glanced over at him. His lips moved gently with the monologues but his focus unbroken by her watching him. She couldn't help but smile to herself, seeing his favorite books come to life on a screen that she was sure he never thought he'd be able to see.

Alpine had jumped down off the window and planted herself in Bucky's lap, curled up into the tiniest white fluff ball that Priya had ever seen. His eyes flicked down to the cat and then over to Priya.

"You like it so far?" She asked, feeling his body lean towards hers.

"There's how many more of these?" He asked, pausing as wraiths flickered over the screen.

"Six if you include the Hobbit movies," she whispered, nudging him gently with a grin, feeling herself drawn to his warmth the closer he got to her. Priya sucked in a breath gently before scooting closer to him, his arm falling from the top of the couch and finally resting on her shoulders.

His eyes went wide as he pulled her closer as if out of habit, "Six! We have a lot of dates to plan then sweetheart."

Priya laughed, her nerves settling when he didn't push her away, "well… five now." She grinned.

"Make it ten," he bantered with a smile.

“I’m sure we can find things to watch for an extra five dates,” Priya couldn’t hide her smirk as Bucky looked down at her resting against him.

“No doubt.” He gave her shoulder a playful squeeze and turned his attention back to the movie.

The wraiths had cornered Frodo and the other Hobbits in the ruins at Weather Top. Bucky tensed as the music grew more ominous and they drew in for their attack. The screams of the wraiths made Alpine jittery in his lap, and she shifted, looking around for whatever heinous creature was lurking out of sight.

Instinctively, Priya reached to stroke her, soothing her with gentle long strokes down her back until her fingers brushed something without fur. Bucky’s hand lay underneath her fingertips, stilled by the contact and heated, just like the rest of his body. He lazily parted his fingers so hers would dip between his and he stroked there almost absently, cosseting Alpine with the motion.

On the screen, the Witch-King stabbed Frodo and Bucky jolted, causing Priya to gasp. She realised she had been holding her breath, captivated by the feel of his skin against hers, and by their closeness.

Bucky cocked an eyebrow as he turned his gaze down toward her, a glimmer of a playful smile dancing at his lips, "Are you okay?" He whispered.

Her head nodded against his shoulder and she returned the smile, giving his hand a small squeeze, "never better," she whispered back.

Nuzzling herself deeper against him, Priya did her best to turn her attention back to the screen, but the feeling of Bucky's thumb gracefully rubbing the side of her hand pulled her focus away from the movie once more. Every movement he made was careful and soft, purposeful and filled with intention. Through whatever he had happened in his life, some semblance of a man remained, tethered to the darkness that he so clearly thought followed him.

It broke her heart to think about this good man stuck behind bars, watching the terrible things that went on around him. But the strength that radiated from this survivor was captivating in every way. It made Priya hold on to every moment with him. Every smile he'd flashed her had gotten brighter as their day had gone on, the confidence in not only his voice but his demeanour. A warmth spread throughout her body as she turned her dark eyes up to Bucky once more, catching him once again mouthing a few of the words as the film started to draw to a close.

Priya hadn't even realized the movie ended until he glanced back down at her, breaking the gaze she had studying his features. Every line, freckle and crinkle his eyes made when he smiled was not lost to her now. Nothing more perfect and nothing out of place. He squeezed her hand playfully drawing her attention back, "What'chya lookin' at darlin?"

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she sat up gently, "You." She admitted softly, "I just..." Priya knew she was about to cross a line and the raise of his brow and gentle curve of his lips egged her on, "I'm just grateful you replied to that email," she pulled her toe back from the line.

"Y'know, considering how tonight has turned out, I am as well." He smiled, everything in her core turning to fire.

Alpine jumped off his lap, stretching her little body across the dark rug. Not once did their eyes leave each other hearing her yowl softly trotting her way into his kitchen. He untangled their still intertwined fingers and trailed his fingertips to her wrist. "Priya," he breathed gently, crystal blue eyes searched her own, "I'd really like to kiss you now..." he trailed off.

She felt herself smile before nodding, "I'd really like that."

That charming smile returned to his features as he lifted his hand, gently resting it against her jaw as he leaned in closer to her. Priya met him halfway, leaning into him with her hands planted firm against his chest. The hard muscle doing nothing to hide the racing beat of his heart hammering against his chest. Knowing he could hear hers trying to escape her chest.

Bucky slotted his lips over hers, taking her top one first and leaning into her like she'd melt away if he didn't. Her fingers dug into the cotton of his shirt and she swore she heard a small moan fall from his lips as he pulled away from her sucking in a breath. "Was that okay?" He asked almost nervously.

Priya nodded, twisting her fingers into his shirt even further, grasping onto anything she could, "more than."

He beamed, the blue in his eyes glistened as he dipped his head again, pressing his lips to hers once more.

Priya felt like she could melt in his arms right then and there. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, and she let out a small, happy sigh.

Bucky smiled against her lips, her sweet sighs making him deepen the kiss so tenderly she felt like she might sublime from solid form to vapour just from the subtle heat of it all. He was truly a marvel, a paradox of hard edges and primal ruggedness offset with such gentleness and vulnerability that she thought she might never tire of his facets.

Bucky suckled her lower lip gently, pulling her body tighter against his chest so their hearts beat so close to one another. His tongue sought hers out, but he didn’t push himself into her mouth – no – they met in the middle and danced there, exploring and teasing until, with a heavy sigh, Bucky pulled back. He rested his forehead against hers, where a disbelieving laugh escaped them both together.

“That was…” Priya’s words were lost in that exuberant giggle again.

“I’ll say!” Bucky grinned.

Their eyes locked as the tips of their noses brushed together softly, breathing in each other's scent and relishing in the moment that they had created for themselves. Here in Bucky's apartment, it felt like a safe space for him to be himself and he had allowed her to see this side of him.

The black and white photos on the walls, with greenery draped about. The classic books that lined his shelves and the dark brooding furniture showed every bit of who Bucky Barnes really was underneath all the rumours and badness that surrounded his past. This wasn't who the government was telling him to be, or who Hydra tried to make him. This was him. This was Bucky. And it was clear to Priya that his story in life was just beginning, allowing her to be a small part of that.

A loud ring sounded from Bucky's phone and brought the two of them back to the present. With a reluctant groan, and another soft, quick peck to her lips Bucky swivelled his hips to grab his phone off the coffee table, checking the messages with an annoyed frown.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea how sorry I am for this, but it's Sam..." he grimaced, sliding his phone back away and returning his attention back to her, cupping her face in his hands.

Priya hummed and leaned into his touch, turning slightly to place a light kiss on his metal palm, "It's okay, really... we have 9 more dates to plan anyway," she giggled, running her fingers gently on his forearm, "it's late anyway, I should probably go."

With a disappointed sigh, Bucky stood from the couch and extended his hands, helping her up from the couch and pulling her flush into his body, smiling softly down at her, "you're really pretty, you know that?"

Feeling the blush creep onto her cheeks, Priya's bottom lip found a home between her teeth, as she stretched up to place a kiss on his cheek, "don't let Alpine hear that," she winked, spinning herself out of his grasp and sauntering herself to the front door.

Bucky's feet followed her quickly and he softly caught her waist, turning her back to him, "seriously though, I will call you as soon as this is taken care of and we can plan, I promise."

"That sounds perfect," Priya whispered.

Dipping his head once more, Bucky's lips caught hers in a soft, lingering kiss, followed by quick messy pecks down her jawline, pulling sweet giggles from her lips.

"Ok Mr. Barnes," she laughed, tangling her fingers into his dress shirt and gently nudging him backwards, "I'm really looking forward to your call," she smiled brightly, "After all, I think there's a lot more to this story..."

With a playful wink and another gentle kiss on his cheek, Priya left him on the other side of his apartment door. Bringing her fingers up, she placed them on her lips and let out a breathy laugh as the butterflies returned to swarm in her chest.

That was something she was leaving out of the story. This Bucky Barnes, she was going to keep all to herself.

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