#He can’t talk and doesn’t want her to see him like that :(((((

[loves-alibi]

changes

or: you married a butcher, not a martyr.

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader word count: 2.7k warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of torture, reader is hashtag depressed, mentions of death (assumed death), simon is a weirdo at the end <3

*****

He’s a butcher, an apprentice actually. Every Monday through Saturday, regulars flock to the shop, where Simon, the gentle giant behind the counter, takes their order with a smile. Kids love him, always excited to see the man who tells droll jokes when their mothers, who are more interested in the way he winks at them after throwing in an extra quarter of a pound of meat, aren’t listening.

Simon is the talk of the block. Every nosy soul wants to know his deal. It’s not like he came out of nowhere. Simon was born and raised on the streets of Manchester, but there’s an intrigue about the young man that was never tapped into until he took up working at that shop, chopping and slicing up people’s dinners while asking 'how's the family?’.

So it’s no surprise when one day an old lady, a regular at the establishment, asks Simon, elbow-deep in raw lamb, if he’s single.

After breaking the news that he wouldn’t like to make a habit of dating customers, she explains that her granddaughter (“She’s about your age and– you’ll see –she’s the prettiest girl in all of England.”) is in town.

Before he even thinks, the woman scribbles on her receipt for three lamb chops an address and 8pm.

Eight hours later he stands outside of her house, a bouquet of flowers in hand and the receipt folded neatly in his back pocket. Before he has the chance to ring the bell, the door flies open, bombarding Simon with the scent of roasting meat and floral perfume. Standing barely at his chest height is the woman from the shop. She calls a name, and round the corner comes her granddaughter.

Simon almost drops the bouquet in his hands. Your grandmother really didn’t lie about how lovely you are. Even as you abscond her (“You didn’t tell me he was actually coming tonight!”) Simon can’t stop staring at you.

Dinner goes by as awkwardly as you could have expected. Your grandmother sits at the head of the table, you and Simon at opposite sides, kicking each other awkwardly each time either of you crossed or uncrossed your legs. She prompts you two with conversation starters.

Darling, tell him about your job.

Simon, I hear you have a brother.

It’s like pulling teeth. The whole night Simon is kicking himself for not meeting you elsewhere, where he could make a real and good impression without watching eyes. It’s over, he thinks when you finally pull the plug on the evening, dismissing Simon with the excuse that you have to work early the next morning. It’s a shame, he really thought that, despite everything, you two had a connection. There were enough fleeting glances and shy smiles from you for Simon to really believe.

You at least have the decency to walk him to the door, thanking him for entertaining your grandmother and for being such polite company. And, with a glance over your shoulder confirming that the coast is clear, you pull Simon in by the lapels for a kiss, it’s chaste and quick, but has Simon’s chest heaving up and down.

“There’s a pub down the street, you know it?” You ask. Simon nods his head dumbly, his lips still tingling. “She goes to sleep early. Meet me there in an hour, yeah?”

He practically skips to the pub. He orders two pints and waits and why did he order you a pint? It'll be warm by the time you get here and he doesn’t even know if you like beer. This was such a bad idea, you’re probably not even going to–

Fifty-two minutes later you walk through the door, chest heaving and hair tousled. You ran. You really ran to see him.

As you down your pint, he sends a silent thank you to whoever answered his prayers because– wow –you’re here and even more beautiful than he could imagine, with a bead of beer slipping out of the corner of your mouth and dripping down your neck.

The next morning, you two wake up naked in Simon’s bed with headaches and a ring on your finger– his nan’s ring to be precise, the one she explicitly told him to give only to the girl. There’s a voice in the back of his head that says he should be mad to have given it away in a drunken stupor to some girl he just met. But then you laugh, saying, “I’m engaged.” And he laughs with you, a sinking feeling telling him that drunk Simon may have gotten it right.

Simon watches you observe the ring glitter in the morning sun. “Do you want to be?”

You scrunch your nose at the question. “Depends,” you say, dragging out the final ‘s’. Simon blanches. “What’s your last name?” You ask, scrutinizing him.

Simon loses his breath as he stares into your eyes. You’re laying naked, halfway on top of him, and yet it’s the way you look at him that makes his world tilt. He barely manages to stutter out, “R–Riley. Simon Riley.”

“Riley… Mrs. Riley.” Your features soften. “Yeah, I think I want to be.”

In three months, you’re married. It’s a real, proper wedding with both sides of the family there. Simon washes the sinew and blood from his hands and gets all dressed up. He’d pick his bloody apron over a suit any day, but the smile on your face when you see him down the aisle is enough to make getting all dolled up worth it.

Your grandmother dies a happy woman shortly after your wedding. She leaves you the house and well wishes for your future (and with the request to name her future great-grandchildren after her).

Marriage suits Simon. He leaves you for work each morning before the sun is up. You wake hours later to a cold bed yet a warm cup of coffee in the kitchen. He comes home at five o’clock on the dot with a pound of meat cut and ready to cook, which he does. It fills some caveman-basal part of him– the ability to provide for his wife, melting away his worries every time you sigh in delight at the taste of the meal he oh so lovingly set out for you.

Three days after your first anniversary, Simon comes home with a pamphlet. Her Royal Majesty's Armed Service. You laugh, tell him there’s no way he wants to enlist. He almost believes you, sounding so sure in your words. Maybe he is being ridiculous, but then he turns on the news and sees the chaos of the world and realizes that chopping meat wasn’t all he was meant for.

He sits you down again. This time you don’t laugh.

“You will not make me a widow, you understand?”

“Of course not.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, love.”

He enlists, joins the infantry, and you wonder if you made a mistake marrying that man. Then 30 weeks later, he comes back and you almost forget the heartache until he’s standing right in front of you, this time without a pound of meat and the smell of blood clinging to his skin.

He fucks you. You fuck him. It’s only natural after so long. He’s missed you. You’ve missed him. And you have plenty of frustration to get out.

It’s when you’re laying in bed, fingers trailing his abs– yes, abs, born out of the weeks of grueling work– that it strikes you how much this means for you. You squeeze what used to be the loving layer of pudge that circled his waist.

“You like it?” he asks, his smirk pressing against your head.

But the energy to lie doesn’t exist in you. You tell him no, that you miss the Simon that walked out of your door thirty weeks ago, that– sure –abs are nice but you liked the Simon with a little fat, that you didn’t want him to do this, that you didn’t want to have to waste away, alone and worrying about him.

Yelling ensues. You cry. Simon cries. You sleep in the guest room. Simon sleeps on the couch.

He’s a good soldier, you learn. Not from him of course, Simon’s too humble to brag about his achievements like that (plus, he’s afraid that his growing accolades would just remind you how you never wanted to marry a decorated soldier, you wanted to marry him). You always come to base to pick him up from deployments. Soldiers give you respectful nods and tell you how good of a sergeant your husband is.

You and Simon had a distinct separation between work and life. As soon as your car is through the base gates, not a word is spoken of his deployments. It always gets you in too much of a fit. So it was agreed upon: you didn’t have to hear about it.

Until one day, work shows up to your front door step. Simon’s on a deployment, and you’re finally unwinding after a long day of your own. As you begin to pour a glass of wine, there’s a clinical knock on the door.

Two men in uniform are on your porch. They hold their hats in their hands, as with solemn voices they try to explain it all to you. It’s strange– you don’t cry. They ask if you need anything and you simply say no. After all, what could they give you– Simon? You have a chuckle at that after you finally send the soldiers off.

You continue your normal routine: finish that second glass of wine, tidy up the house, and cook dinner. You burn your thumb on the cast iron pot. With your finger in your mouth to soothe the burn, you think to dial your grandmother’s number. If anybody needs to know about Simon, it’s her. Except, when you dial her number all you get is a robotic voice explaining that the number you are trying to reach is not available.

Oh, you realize, that’s right– nan’s dead!

You lose it on the kitchen floor. Your sobs are so loud, the neighbors come to check on you. They find you right there on the kitchen floor, dinner burning on the stove, and paperwork from the army on the counter.

People treat you like a widow after that. You don’t consider yourself one. It just doesn’t feel right. He left without a goodbye, and now you’re supposed to accept that he’s gone?

You’re a celebrity around town– poor Simon’s widow. You quit your job, the widow’s pension being enough to get you by for now. Simon’s old boss starts giving you cuts for free– not even the shitty ones. You get filet mignons from him, aged wines from neighbors, extra pastries from the bakery, and pitying stares from strangers.

In three years you went from a complete stranger to Simon Riley’s widow. Three years and that man tore your life apart. The six month mark is approaching. It’s funny, really. That’s twice the time it took for you two to get hitched.

There isn’t even a body to bury, only a plain gravestone with his name and dates. You don’t visit it. There’s no point. What’s there to mourn? Instead you dig a hole in your back garden. It isn’t very deep, and the garden’s long dead. You don’t dare touch the shovel, it had been Simon’s– used when you needed a hole dug for flowers or bushes. Instead the hole is dug with your bare hands, like a dog searching for something.

In the pathetic pit in that dead garden, you put your ring– the one Simon gave you, that his nan gave him –wrapped in his apron.

The backyard burial doesn’t make you feel better. It just puts dirt under your nails that won’t wash away no matter how hard you scrub at it.

You consider selling the house. That leads to another breakdown. You were supposed to raise your kids there– Simon’s kids. Nan wanted you and Simon to have that house. Now nan’s gone. Simon’s gone. But for some reason you’re left to wander the ruins.

Six months finally comes. People stopped giving you free shit by month three. It’s not like you ever wanted their gifts. It’d come to you with a smile and some bullshit about how we get it or we’re here for you. You laugh at the notion when you wake up on the six month anniversary of your fucking husband’s death alone and…

It’s not the anniversary. Not the real one, at least. It’s only been six months since those men showed up at your door, like the grim reaper dressed up for Queen Elizabeth. He had to have died some time before then.

You don’t even know when your husband died.

It has to be on the paperwork they gave you. Six months after however many days since your husband’s death, you tear apart your house. Every drawer is pulled out, every cabinet yanked open in the hopes that you can find the paperwork that has Simon RIley’s death date.

Not on the pension form.

Not on the letter from the crown.

Not on the invitation to the fucking widow’s club.

When the hell did he die?

You fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by every piece of paperwork you could locate. It’s still dark when you wake up, mind clouded with exhaustion. You almost fall back asleep right there on the floor, but when you let your head fall back down on the hardwood, you feel rhythmic vibrations travel through the wood to your cheek. Footsteps.

“Love?”

Only one man has ever called you that.

It’s like you lose the ability to speak. Any thought you could have dies on your tongue as two familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you into a lap. He holds you on the floor, lets you cry it out until the sun comes up.

The first words to come out of your mouth: “You said you wouldn’t make me a widow.”

He holds you tighter, “And I didn’t.”

Simon doesn’t tell you what happened. All you know is that he had been taken, tortured, and somehow rescued. 

He looks different. He’s gots lots of scars now. They bother him, he covers up in long shirts and pants more often than not, no matter how much you tell him he doesn’t need to. He says that he doesn’t want to worry you with them.

It’s not the scars that worry you. Simon’s different. Whatever happened to him back there had made him needy. He doesn’t let you out of his sight. At night, you’re adhered to his side by an impossibly strong grip. He whispers in his sleep, don’t leave me, as though you could possibly escape his iron grip. Maybe needy isn’t the right word. Obsessive, more like.

He digs the ring up just like you did– all bare hands and fury. You don’t know how he found it– you never told him. You just wake up one morning to him pawing furiously at the ground. He pulls it out and presents it to you like a cat with a dead mouse. He puts the ring on your finger before even rinsing the dirt off.

In bed he consumes you. Where once sex was fun and playful, it now is a ritual, like Simon is claiming you. It’s enjoyable, yes, but overwhelming. You don’t think he blinks anymore. It’s like he’s worried you’re going to be ripped away from him, like every time is the last time.

Two months after he comes home, papers arrive for him in the mail. He’s being deployed again. You’re worried. It’s too soon. You can’t lose him again, and you tell him as much.

Simon placates your worries with a kiss on the head. As he pulls you into a hug, he utters, “Love, I crawled out of the grave for you once. You best bet I’ll do it again.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s lying.

[yanderelovebites]

Back with batsis stuff and kinda wanna do the whole isekai thing. Have reader meet their end somehow and wake up in a fanfic that was never finished of a neglected batsis. Have them wake up at the incident that made them get sent over to Bruce.

Have the original girl’s memories and knowing already they didn’t like her, didn’t want her, etc. she decided to just live for herself and future. Girlie went with her father who gave her that initial attention but after that she was taken to her room. She’s six. Have her give that grieving period of two weeks where she just got used to the room and the manor before she started asking for things. It’ll be probably one form of martial arts and later on probably also either music or dance. When she isn’t doing either of those things she sketching in her book and she’s actually really good.

Have her be closest with Alfred but still keep a certain wall up against him just like the others. Have her be a few months older than Damian and Damian isn’t quite in the picture yet. She ignores when the others are in the house despite being a part of said home. She only looks for her father for school needs and while still keeping her distance will set birth cards and Father’s Day cards on his desk in the study. She never hands them to him so she doesn’t know what he does with them nor does she care.

If the character she is reborn as is meant to be neglected, why should she bother trying to reach out?

She eventually had no choice but to meet Jason because he was there… they didn’t know how to explain to her why red hood is there. She simply said “Hello, I would chat but I have Jujitsu in 20 so I have to leave. Nice meeting you.” It was concerning how she brushed it off. Of course she realizes after ‘oh none of them would know I know… nah I’ll just continue on. Who knows, it might bother them!’

By the time Damian gets there, she’s been through karate, jujitsu, and only a year of Taekwondo while also taking dancing/music lessons. She has won art competitions but only Alfred has ever seen or heard. Bruce may have heard but he barely listened to the announcement of it. He knows from a portrait she was forced to sit for with Bruce, Tim, and Dick, she exists. Yet, it takes a week for him to ever see her.

He asks questions like in the original, but what batsis reader doesn’t understand is she changed how Damian sees her since she wasn’t immediately clingy to anyone. Dick TRIES to remember anything and realizes he doesn’t really know her. Tim can’t really tell him anything either other than medical records in case anything happens. Literally all Tim gave Damian was that Damian and batsis have the say blood type. They realize they really don’t know batsis which does unnerve them. All they can say is she stays to herself. That both irritates Damian and intrigued him. He tries Alfred next who is able to at least tell him what she does routinely at least. How she’s been in martial arts after her first two weeks living here, implied she was grieving, and she’s also been in music/dance lessons as well. Also explains she enjoys participating in art contests. He goes on about her being an A+ student and explains she doesn’t interact much with the rest of the family. He even says “To be honest, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one she talks to in any capacity that isn’t out of necessity.”

Jason pretty much only knew about one of the martial arts being jujitsu. He explains she didn’t seem phased that red hood had entered her home and that she didn’t know about the Batman secret.

He doesn’t immediately approach her either. He doesn’t have all the information he needs. All he knows is she’s his half sibling, her usual activities, at least one of the forms of martial arts she knows, and that otherwise she’s a bit of a mystery. Eventually they’re forced to eat at a family dinner together. Since it really bothered Dick that he didn’t know anything he starts asking her about school. No one ever asked her questions, half the time they act like she isn’t there, so she’s confused, but politely says it’s been fine. Talks briefly about her classes, the mention of what classes she’s currently taking makes Tim and Dick shocked. For Tim it’s simply the fact that *she* was taking them and for Dick it’s the fact someone her age was taking such advance classes. Tim coughed and asked her what she did after school on Friday, mostly to hear anything else and she’s like “Oh just another art competition. I placed first with my painting.” She says and continues eating.

Bruce honestly is trying to process what he heard and saw and Damian treats it as a way to analyze her. The way she eats, the way she talks, her posture, and of course the tiny bits the boys were getting out. She then says “I’m sure Alfred has already told you about that, however, right father?” He coughs for a moment and nods as to hide the fact he himself has been caught off guard. For Damian she isn’t like a role model for what he’s grown up with, it’s more she’s a role model for what a Wayne is. She’s perfect in all things you’d expect the public to see a Wayne for. Knows arts, has some martial arts background, and has a certain air of modesty yet wealthy around her.

This attention to her is still brief at this time for Tim, Dick, and Bruce. They ask if she’s met Damian and she says “Not really, at best some glances. I’m always moving after all.” That dinner felt awkward, but Damian decided she wasn’t Particularly a threat…

And by all things holy it annoys the crap out of Tim. He actually tries to speak to her—which she is cautious at first because she knows what he did to the original Batsis. Instead of drawing his sword on her, he asked about her martial arts since that’s really all he can… talk about with her… and the part that annoys Tim on it… is simply he won’t shut up about her-

And he thought when Damian called himself the blood son was annoying! Now it’s ’blood sibling’ this and that if bringing her up in conversation occurs. It’s clear he respects her in such annoying ways.

I just imagine the Yandere Batfam doesn’t all happen at once. It starts with Damian. You don’t see it at first because you blame his upbringing. He’s stuck to your side during banquets as much as he despises them. He mirrors some of your ‘mask’ etiquette in that all the Wayne’s have an image. You kept yours on as rock solid as possible, you are not the same person. He can tell you must have some inspiration from your father as yours is a rather innocent persona. You act like a social butterfly amongst the people and seem so damn sweet. He just doesn’t like how many eyes are on you. You acted like you couldn’t feel it, but it’s hard to ignore Damian. In fact, it accidentally wentinti his persona as people saw him as a clingy little brother to his slightly older sister. That it just made ‘sense’ since you two are so close in age.

Damian would just get worse as time went on. It’s get to the point you realize he isn’t faking or anything he actually just likes you. Then you get kidnapped.

I imagine no one but Alfred and Damian realize something is wrong. He’s the reason they find you and he nearly kills the guy who kidnapped you. Of course it’s not like you just let them take you, there was evidence even before they were brought to an inch of their life. You hadn’t made it easy and they could tell you had injured them beforehand. However they had broken your legs and that’s when I’d get worse for Damian and start in Bruce.

I might add more thoughts later I dunno it’s kind of an idea dump

[purplereina11]

New Signing, New Beginning Part 2!

Mia Larsen was Barcelonas new summer signing

Alexia Putellas is a club legend who just can't seem to talk to her

Mia had a few good days in training, and it showed. Her confidence was up, she was walking out for today’s training with Keira, seemed to be a theme Alexia just ahead yet again. As ever near by but never felt the awkwardness she was slowly creating.

Alexia was having an internal conversation with her self hyping her up to make such a simple comment to Mia. She stopped suddenly turning and seeing that Mia looked a bit taken a back, with her sudden spin. Smooth she said to herself, before speaking “Alba couldn’t get that jacket”

“Oh?” Mia said softly Alexia falling in line with her, “How come?” Mia asked after a few beats of silence

“Couldn’t find in her size”

“Shame” Mia looked to Alexia and they held eye contact, when Alexia didn’t speak, Mia broke the silence, “Well..” she broke the eye contact, “Um i seem to be in there a lot lately so i’ll keep an eye out, what size is she?”

“She’s looking for small”

“Ok” Mia nodded pierced her lips together and broke out into a jog to get to training.

+

Mia was in Zara, shocker, after training she was with Julia and her little brother Diego who only agreed to come, as he was told they were going out for dinner after the shops. He didn’t take into account how long two women can stand debating over a top however.

Mia was looking at tank tops when Julia appeared with the pink jacket, “Hey, you know how i love your jacket, they have one small left-“

“Please don’t tell me you’re buying that” Mia gave Julia a dumbfounded expression, “Just borrow mine!”

“Oh” Julia shrugged, “I’ll go put it back”

Mia pointed, “Just leave it there” Mia carried on looking through for her size

“You buy a lot of clothes”

“Surprisingly Julia, living in England i didn’t have many warm weather clothes, i need practically a whole new wardrobe”

Julia sighed, “I best find Diego before he gets himself into trouble”

“Are you buying anything? I’m going to go pay”

“No i’ll just get him and meet you outside”

Mia smiled, “Ok, find out where he wants to eat i can’t be bothered for a 45 minute argument wandering around the same places”

Despite the conversation they still ended up having the same 45 minute argument before settling on the same place they always go.

“So how’s it going? The captain like you yet”

Mia chewing her food shook her head, “I don’t care if she doesn’t like me, you can’t put 22 women together and expect them all to get on, i think as long as we can communicate effectively about football then that’s fine”

“Your tune has changed”

“I’ve come to terms with it, when i don’t get any minutes in the games then come back to me, then i’ll be bothered again”

“She can do that?”

“She’s Alexia Putellas if anyone can she can” Mia shrugged, “I have the same few girls who i speak to, i’m good with that”

Julia looked at her, “Do you hate me that i followed her on Insta today”

Mia laughed softly, “No”

“She’s hot” Mia rose her eyes, “What? I have eyes”

“I’m going to be sick” Diego spoke

“Shut up and eat your paella” Julia said to her younger brother shoving the dish closer to him

Mia pulled a face at Diego about his bossy sister that he laughed at, “When you’re older you’ll understand why she’s grumpy” Mia nodded

“She’s horny and no man will look at her that’s why suddenly she’s decided she likes women”

Mia burst out laughing as Julia was embarrassed and amused all in the same breath by her 10 year old brother. “Diego! How do you even know that word?”

“I’m 10 Julia, i’m not a kid anymore”

Mia was laughing softly, “You’ll always be our baby”

“Gross”

Mia stood up leaning over the table to kiss his face, “You’re so cute”

“You’re pretty, and a nice person, your captain will see that soon”

Mia smiled, “You going to come some of the games?”

Diego nodded, “I’ll get mami to buy me a shirt with your name on and everything”

“I might even show up” Julia smiled never being a fan of football, all the shouting was unnecessary! She didn’t understand how people got so invested in people kicking a ball.

Mia moved her eyes to Julia, “You’re just coming to eye up the players”

“No”

“Yes” Diego agreed with Julia, “You don’t even know the off side rule, that’s like going to church when you don’t believe”

Mia chuckled, “He’s got you there”

+

Mia arrived at training she smiled at the little boy rushing around reception, he took one look at her and went all shy, “Mia” She looked to the receptionist, “No ones answering the locker room phone, can you tell Irene her wife and son are here for her”

“Sure”

“¿cómo te llamas?” Mia looked to the little boy holding his arms over his chest shy but was seemingly so curious of the new face at his mamis work he could over come it.

Mia crouched extending her hand, “Mia, ¿cómo te llamas?”

“Matteo” he shook her hand animately moving it up and down greatly.

Mia told him it was very nice to meet him and that she’d go get his mummy, but Matteo started a conversation. He told her how he was going to the zoo with his school and all the animals he was excited to see. And that he was even getting a packed lunch.

Mia rose to her feet as Irene’s wife introduced herself, “He’s never this chatty, he’s meant to be going today but Irene forgot to sign his permission slip, we both have to sign it”

Matteo took hold of two of Mias fingers took the slip from his mum and told her to wait there he’ll go with Mia then come back he was a big boy and could do it.

Mia laughed softly as he lead the way not giving her much of a say on the matter, “This way” she said to him gently when he turned the wrong way.

“Mami” Matteo spoke pointing ahead of him, “This way?”

“Yeah she’s this way” Mia spoke, “What other animals do you want to see?”

“T-rex”

“T-rex” Mia exclaimed, “I don’t think they’ll be in the zoo” she said with a smile, she got the dressing room, she looked around and Irene wasn’t there. She caught Marta’s eye, “Do you know where Irene is?”

“Yeah they’ve um, they’ve just gone into meeting room 1 if you’re quick you might catch them before they start” Marta got a shy little wave from Matteo when she waved at him, she’d watch this little shy boy grow up to see him happily with Mia was a surprise to her. He normally clung to Irene, Alexia or Maria would get a cuddle if they were lucky on a good day.

“Come on handsome” Mia spoke luckily the meeting room was only mere metres away his little legs not moving him with any pace. She didn’t want to interrupt them if they’d already started.

Mateo turned first pulling on Mias fingers, “Come on beautiful”

Mia laughed with Marta, “Oh wonder where you got all this charm from ay?”

Mia got Matteo to the door and knocked, she heard a come in and when she opened the door, she was met with the coaches and the senior players of the team all turned to look at her and she felt like a bit of a deer in highlights in that moment. Pere smiled, “Hola Mia what can we do for you?”

“Well” she smiled, “I have a little boy out here that just needs a moment of his mamis time if that’s ok”

Matteo stood pressed against Mias leg until he spotted Irene “Mami” Matteo waved the slip at Irene rushing around the table to her

“You a nanny now?” Maria smiled turning more in her chair to look at Mia who smiled.

“Side hustle” Mia nodded leaning on the door frame, “Lucia said if i do a good job i get some of his rice crackers” Maria laughed as for some reason Alexia didn’t want to show her amusement. It showed for a second before she repressed it again. “You think i’m joking” she stood up from the frame.

“You going with Mia back to Mami?” Irene kissed Matteos cheek placing him back down on the ground.

Matteo came around the table, “Come on then handsome” she smiled putting her hand towards him.

Mia smiled down at him, “I coming beautiful” Matteo reached up, “Mia hand, no reach”

“Oh sorry” Mia lowered her hand, “Let’s leave them to there meeting and get you back to Mami so you can go the zoo”

“Mia i want to see monkeys to”

“Oh of course, Monkeys are the best animal” Mia spoke as she shut the door and off they went.

+

Irene found Mia on the training field, “I just wanted to thank you for before” Mia furrowed her brows, “You didn’t have to bring him through like that, it was kind of you”

Mia smiled, “It was no bother” Alexia bent over near them fixing her socks, “Honestly can he come more often the amount of compliments he gave me” Mia laughed softly

“Lucia text when she dropped him off at school, apparently he didn’t shut up about his new friend Mia so I think you won’t have much choice about that”

Mia rose her arms as Keira approached, “Guess what” she said to Keira

“What?” Keira asked giving her a funny look wondering where this was going

“I’ve made my first new friend in Barca” Mia smiled proudly

“Sorry what about me?” Keira asked

“I knew you pre Barca”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Matteo” Mia pointed to Irene who was smiling, Mia seemed always so collected, but when she dropped that ever so slightly, which seemed to only ever be around Keira, she had a little silly side.

“He avoids me like the plague”

“Maybe its that permanent scowl you always have.. honestly its a wonder Laura even entertained you”

Keira dropped her mouth staring at Mias cheeky grin laughing in disbelief, “Rude!”

“Oh calm down grandma”

Keira pointed at her, “Not from you, I’m not accepting it from you of all people, what did you do last night Mia?”

“I went out for dinner with my cousins”

“Then”

“My Grandma taught me to knit” she muttered

“Exactly” Keira gave her a look, “And you can’t question Lauras taste when you dated Katie McCabe for three months”

Irene scrunched her face trying to place the name, “Is that.. the angry little Irish woman?”

“Please don’t judge me.. it was a lapse in judgment”

Keira began walking away backwards to the other side of the huddle, “She’s judging you” she smiled pointing at Irene, who was indeed judging.

Mia sighed placing her hands on her hips, “You don’t know me very well, but I promise I have taste”

Irene laughed as Alexia smiled. Irene had noticed how Alexia hadn’t taken her eyes of Mia but had yet to say a word and Alexia always had something to say usually. “I feel I need to know who your other exes are now, because so far with what I know, I can’t say I believe you”

“Tell them about the hummer Mia” Keira smiled calling across the huddle.

Alexia lowered her head chuckling at the look Mia was giving Keira, if looks could kill as they say, Pere smiled, “What’s this about a hummer?”

Mia put one foot to the side and lowered her head as she put her hands behind her back, she rose her head, “It’s not that interesting of a story if i’m honest..” she smiled

Pere laughed sensing her embarrassment and started the training session with a quick run down of what they were doing and what he needed from her.

The girls were told to separate over the pitch and kick the ball back and to each other, Mia scrunched her face as Keira came towards her motioning they were pairing, Alexia and Mia seemed to be in perfect sync as they kicked the ball and received it. Mia noticed every one else seemed to be having conversations with those around them. Bar her and Alexia. So she struck up a conversation about something surely Alexia would talk about, “That jacket your sister wants”

Alexia looked to her, “She still can’t find it, she’s got everyone looking for it” Mia smiled as she controlled a tricky ball from Keira, “Nice, good control” she felt her cheeks warm at the compliment from the multi award winning midfielder.

Mia sent the ball back, “I went to Zara yesterday after training”

“Do you have second job there?”

Mia laughed as Alexia chuckled at herself, “No” Alexia looked pleased with herself she made her laugh like Mia was the one who had a wall that needed breaking down, “My cousin, she came over with the jacket in a small, last one left” Alexia looked to her after sending her ball back over to Irene who seemed to be paying a lot of attention, “I convinced her to not buy it,” Mia jogged back to control the next ball from Keira and sent it back with one touch.

“Your control” Alexia waved her hand, “Crazy”

“I wanted to be a defender” Mia told Alexia a story she never really shared with people before, it was that interesting but she found herself telling her anyway as a way to make small talk, “But my coach at the time, said with my touch, I had to be a striker and in the box”

“Your coach right” Alexia nodded, “We’re excited to have you here”

Mia pierced her lips together, “Thank you.. anyway, I bought the jacket, I have it with me so you can give it to your sister”

“Gracias, she be very happy, I give you the money” Alexia hid her surprise that Mia did that for her sister, Mia did a touch that made Alexia turn away, “You’re just showing off now” Mia laughed just as the whistle blew.

+

Mia was in the canteen after training having something to eat alone, by choice, when Alexia approached, Mia rose her head. “Can I join?” Mia nodded Alexia sitting opposite her silently, Mia was having an out of body experience she was sat opposite the Alexia Putellas putting a straw into a juice box and sipping it like a child. She looked cute in her soft tracksuit and her hair down wavy. Made her somewhat hardness towards Mia soften. Mia lowered her eyes back to her sudoko when Alexia’s eyes darted to hers and she thought she got away with Alexia not catching her but she did. “Suduko no?”

“Si” Mia spoke filling another number in

“To complicada for me, I can’t do them”

Mia smiled gently raising her eyes, “They relax me”

Alexia rose her eyes, and the soft smiley Alexia Mia had watched her be with everyone else was finally sat before her looking at her with those sparkly eyes with the glint in them, that part was new. “Relaxing, no? Not possible” she laughed gently shaking her head

Alexia felt her stomach flip when Mia smiled at her as she rose her eyes looking at her, “Si possible” she nodded with a little laugh

Mia and Alexia didn’t stop smiling the entire time they spoke, they made each other laugh. Mia found it endearing the biggest name in women’s football was a tad awkward, held herself gently. She was softly spoken towards her like if she spoke to loud it would spook her. Because she had so much aura about her on the pitch, that’s where she was the Alexia Putellas. Confident. Assured. Knew herself. Maybe here she was being just Alexia. Because she seemed none of those things. She seemed, human.

A person despite previous opinions formed, was growing on Mia. Showing a different side.

+

Mia came out reception after the team meeting, Alba spotted her before Alexia did, “Ay” she called Mia smiled seeing Alba with the jacket on modelling it for her with a smile on her face.

Alexia turned to see Mia coming down the steps clearly amused by Alba, “Suits you”

“Gracias” Alba was a hugger. Mia not so much she just let the hug happen. Can’t say no to a Putellas after all. Practically royals of the game.

Mia smiled, “You’re welcome” Mia kept walking as Alexia opened the car door, to Mia that was a signal she didn’t want her sticking around for a chat

“Wait, i owe you money for it” Alba spoke

“Alexia covered it, you owe her not me” Mia called looking over her shoulder

“Ay free jacket” Alba grinned to herself with a laugh

Mia laughed when Alexia frowned at Alba back handing her sister in the arm, she got into her Granddads car as they were seeming to bicker.

+

Mia looked as she got a notification, then an email. Then another notification.

Alexia Putellas has started following you

Alexia Putellas has liked your post

Mia felt, weirdly vulnerable knowing Alexia was looking at her instagram and actively scrolling as the post she liked about her announcing her move to Barcelona was several posts down.

She wondered if she would ever get to the point she would trigger an email when she followed someone because she was big time like Alexia.

+

Alexia locked her phone and placed it down as she was at dinner with Irene. “So i have a question” Irene spoke looking to Alexia, “What’s your deal with Mia?”

Alexia furrowed her brows, “What do you mean?”

“Ale, you seemed to always be around her but never make the effort to talk to her, then three four weeks go by and suddenly you’re seeking her out to have lunch with her and apparently stalking her Instagram” she motioned to the phone now sat down

Alexia sipped her wine, “I don’t know how to be around her”

Irene furrowed her brows but in bounded Maria babbling about it was Ingrid’s fault she’s late and she was hogging the bathroom. Oblivious Maria greeted them both taking her seat and she froze when she saw the look Irene was giving Alexia.

“You don’t know how to be around her?”

“I can’t explain it” Alexia carried on, she was sure Maria would catch on soon enough she didn’t feel she needed to explain.

“Try” Irene prodded

“She doesn’t seem bothered by me, every other person they speak to me whether i want them to or not. They cling and they fuss and they want constant validation from me but her… she doesn’t do that. It’s like she couldn’t care less”

It was like someone switched a light on in Irene’s brain, she didn’t dislike Mia, “You like her”

“Who?!” Maria exclaimed, “Please catch me up, i could flick Ingrid for making me late and missing the vital information”

“Calm down” Irene chuckled, “It’s Mia”

Maria looked to Alexia, “You like Larsen? Gosh i sounded 12 then”

Alexia smiled looking down at the menu, “I find her intriguing we’ll put it that way” Irene and Maria shared a look

“Yet you won’t speak to her. Hardly.” She wasn’t even aware of Alexia’s Instagram stalking. Mapi flipped her menu not making eye contact with Alexia, the pair learned she’s more like to open up if you don’t pressure her or stare at her expectantly.

“I talk to her”

Irene smiled, “If we had a team dinner and we sat her next to you, you would happily sit in silence next to her all night”

“I don’t know what to say to her”

“Talk to her about clothes or skin care, her and Ingrid are always going on about that, honestly who knew you needed so many different face creams.” Maria rolled her eyes, “She was meeting Mia to go face cream shopping like who does that?“

Alexia laughed softly before they ordered their meals conversation halting as the waitress arrived, “Would you date Mia?” Irene asked, Alexia furrowed her brows at that question, “It was just a question” Irene held her hands up as she smiled, “You said yourself, she doesn’t seem bothered by you” Irene shrugged, “Maybe she isn’t impressed by La Reina”

“Then what makes you think she’ll want to date me?”

“That’s my point, she may date you.. for you.”

“I’m not that interesting” Alexia spoke sipping her wine, she looked as Maria’s phone pinged. “That Ingrid?”

Mapi opened the text, “She didn’t mention Mia if that’s what you’re digging for”

“I wasn’t, can we drop it now?”

Maria leant forward and whispered, “She is your type” she sat back up putting her hands up, “Had to be put out there”

“Did it?” Alexia smirked, even she found that funny

The girls had a lovely meal they were having a drink after there meal, Maria checked her phone, it was odd Ingrid hadn’t text she was home, she was only going out for an hour or so she told Maria.

She checked Instagram, she smiled seeing why she hadn’t gone home yet

Mia and Ingrid were talking about her first couple of weeks in Barcelona, how she was finding it. “Daunting coming into a team like this isn’t it, I remember by first couple of weeks, I’d just go home and sleep it was so overwhelming, new country new language new culture, trying to learn the Barca way” Ingrid smiled sipping her wine.

Mia looked up from her wine, “Did you ever get imposter syndrome, like you felt like you didn’t actually belong here?” Ingrid nodded with a soft smile, “I feel like they’re going to turn around any minute and tell me to get lost”

“I’m not just bullshitting you with this, and I shouldn’t be telling you this because Maria shouldn’t of told me.. but in there captains meeting, she said how Aitana and Alexia were singing your praises”

“Alexia surprises me”

Ingrid tilted her head, “Why?”

Mia seemed to hold her breathe as she thought, “I’m not asking for a fan fair or anything from her, but I just seem to get tips from her, and I know its how I’m perceiving it and she probably doesn’t mean to come across like it but I’m taking it as your shit, sort your shit out”

Ingrid smiled shaking her head, “I can hand on heart say, Alexia is a perfectionist and very very self critical, but she’d never push that on someone else, she just wants people to come into things trying there best and wants the best out of them.. she hates loosing, honestly, she was backing you hard in that meeting.”

Mia smiled, “I appreciate that but I will still think she doesn’t want me here”

“Mia” Ingrid tilted her head

A finger came out the side of Mia’s glass pointing at the door opened behind Ingrid, “You will learn very quickly I’m quite self critical to” Mia smirked seeing the face come through the door first, “You have a visitor” she sipped her wine as Irene and Alexia came inside behind Mapi who instantly reached over the table to squeeze Mias hand before hugging Ingrid and kissing her cheek.

“What are you doing here?”

“We were down the road having dinner, saw you were here, came to see how the shopping went?”

Mia leant on the table smiling, “You’ll be pleased to know you’ve got less room in the bathroom” Maria pulled a face at the bags under the table.

“How many face creams do you need?” Maria exclaimed, she pointed at Mia, “You are a bad influence”

Mia smiled shrugged and sipped her wine again, her eyes went to Alexia who was watching her, before Irene caught Mia’s attention, “Matteo said beautiful Mia would love the zoo, they had her favourite animal monkeys”

Mia melted, “He’s just adorable. Why can’t all men be more like him?”

Maria snapped her head so fast she went dizzy, “You’re straight!” She exclaimed

Mia sat up arms open slightly as Irene settle beside her Ingrid moving up one to let Alexia on the bench that side opposite Mia, “Wow.. when Keira told me you have to be gay and have tattoos to play football here I thought she was joking”

Maria laughed reaching to touch her arm, “Love is Love”

Mia giggled, “We’ll have to get you a flag with that on”

“I love flags”

“I’m not doubting you do” Mia smiled

“I’m going to go the bar, what do you want, Ale?” Maria asked Alexia who just pointed at Mia glass,

“Wines fine for me”

“Same again?” Ingrid smiled, Mia nodded, “We should of just bought the bottle” Mia smiled

“I’ll come with you, I fancy something different” Irene stood up with Maria as Ingrid turned on the bench to get out.

“Shall I just get the bottle?” Ingrid asked, “Would you drink that Ale?”

“What is it?” She asked then smiled when Ingrid pulled a face telling her she didn’t know

Mia held her glass to Alexia, “Try it”

Alexia looked to her it took a second but she took the glass and took a sip nodding her approval, “I’ll get a bottle then” she smiled and off she went to find the girls at the bar who shut up as soon as she got there, “What are you two up to?”

“Been to Zara today?” Alexia joked hands resting in her lap, looking at Mia who smiled ever so slightly looking at her, “You did didn’t you”

“Only because Ingrid wanted to go”

“Oh sure” Alexia shook her head, “Do you own any other clothes that aren’t from Zara?”

Mia scratched her face, “Got a bit of Barca stuff”

Alexia titled her head ever so slightly, “Please tell me you’re joking”

“I could tell you I was joking, but that would be a lie”

Alexia was laughing gently, “I’ll have to get myself to one and see what all the fuss is about, Alba is just the same”

“I’ll probably see you there” Mia joked Alexia laughed nodding knowing she probably would. And secretly hoping she did. “Bet you’re more of Passeig De Gràcia kind of girl huh?” Mia teased lifting her wine to her lips, Mia had walked down the street lined with all the designer shops on each side but hadn’t dared going into any of the shops

“You’re not funny” Alexia spoke with a smile that indeed told Mia and the returning Barca girls, she was in fact funny

Mia hummed tilting her head briefly, “If you say so” she sipped her wine, placing the glass back down.

Ingrid poured Alexia a glass, “Gracias” before she lifted her own glass

“Salud” They all clinked their glasses saying it several times to each other.

Mia looked at her phone as a text popped up, she read it on the front screen before opening it to read the rest, “Angry little Irish women?” Irene asked

“Honestly” Mia locked her phone, “You would think she’d get the message”

“When did you break up?” Ingrid asked softly

Mia seemed to have to think about it which gave them a clue of the time frame, “.. April”

“And she still texts?”

“And calls, and asks to FaceTime, a few times a day to, it had gone a bit quiet but now they’re coming to Barcelona for that friendly, she’s ramped up again wanting to meet up”

“Will you.. meet up with her?” Alexia asked sipping her wine, she was looking over Mia’s face, she was hard read

“No” Mia shook her head, “She had her chance, you don’t get to screw me over more than once”

The girls finished the bottle between them as they chatted and laughed, Alexia didn’t have much to contribute but she was at least laughing when Mia cracked a joke. Mia appreciative because sometimes she was the only one to. She felt maybe, the ice had been broken. It wouldn’t be as awkward, she knew there may always be that slight awkwardness due to the awkward soul that was Alexia in some situations, but slowly she was believing what Ingrid had told her earlier.

Mia got to the locker room the following morning, Alexia looked at the paper Mia picked up then to Mias face to see her reaction, “Irene said Mateo drew it for you” Mia smiled looking to where Irene sat and held the picture to her

“He was insistent that I gave it to you soon as I saw you”

Mia dropped her bag between her legs where she stood and the girls could see even though she never voiced it, she was clearly touched, she took some blu tack from a near by strategy board and stuck it in her cubby, before getting on with her morning to be ready for training. Afterwards she was shocked she had been picked to do media, with the queen herself Alexia Putellas.

Alexia sent a soft smile over her shoulder, “Don’t look so nervous, it’s fine” Never did Mia think she’d be thankful to have Alexia there for her but her calmness and composure as she walked in helped calm her. Alexia pulled the chair out for Mi

 before taking her own

“Gracias” Mia muttered sitting down, much to her surprise the first question was posed to her

“Mia, Welcome to Barcelona, you’ll have to excuse my English”

“La podemos hacer en español si lo prefieres.” Mia said with a shrug of a shoulder as she leant on the table telling the interviewer he could do it in Spanish if he preferred

Alexia as she pulled her chair in smirked looking to Mia, “Español? Si?” The interviewer tried to confirm

Mia nodded, “Si”

Alexia watched Mia the entire time she did her little bit in the media room, she fiddled with her hoop earrings as the next question was posed yet again to Mia, “What’s it been like these past few weeks in pre-season with some of the best players in the world, one of whom is sitting beside you”

Mia smiled as did Alexia, “Be nice” she spoke in a mock warning tone

“It’s a real honour” Mia started in a mock rehearsed voice before smiling, “No but seriously it has been an honour, like you say I’m sharing the grass with the best players in the world and I’ve just been trying to do my best and really take on board and soak up all the comments and advice” Mia motioned to Alexia briefly, “The team and players have been giving me, to be become a better player so I can contribute in my time here, its been an adjustment thats for sure like it would be to go into any new team but one with the stature and history of Barcelona brings with its own set of nerves, so just keeping my head down and focusing on pre-season to get a prepared for the season ahead as much as I can”

“Alexia, from your point of view how’s Mia been doing”

Alexia smiled as Mia mimicked her, “Be nice”

She laughed before speaking, “Shall I do mine in English?” Mia smiled nodding

“If you want to”

“Mia” Mia lowered her head briefly, it caught her off guard how much she liked the way Alexia said her name, she’d never heard her say her name before, “For sure, if you” Alexia paused briefly, “Pass her, it will be assist because 100% would be a goal, I tell her this in training, her touch crazy, how she control ball, incredible, I like a lot how she moves without ball also so I think she do well at Barca. We’re very happy she on our team”

Mia smiled timidly looking to Alexia looked to her, “Cheers, I’ll pay you later”

“100 euro no?” Alexia asked trying to surprise her smile playing along

Mia nodded as the room laughed, “Si”

Mia went on her daily Zara peruse after training feeling a lot better about how her captain felt about her, although as she was looking around she couldn’t help but giggle at the face she knew Alexia could give her if she knew she was here yet again.

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

Can not believe the response the last part got! Thank you so much!

No idea how many parts this will be but let me know if you want more! Also do we like the fake socials

Part 3

[nereidprinc3ss]

mojave ghost

in which spencer reid spends the night with fem!reader—a total stranger—because she just feels so familiar. based on the song "my life in art" by Mojave 3.

18+ (implied intimacy) warnings/tags: based on a song about a stripper who runs away from her abusive boyfriend. tws for mentions of physical abuse. r has bruises from pole dancing. a little ooc bc Spencer hooks up with someone he just met but that's the point and if u know him like I do u know its not completely impossible. mentions of typical cm violence/murder. one brief mention of spencer's addiction. spencer's childhood trauma and abandonment. it's kind of just a heavy one, lmk if i'm missing anything a/n: I doooo suggest you listen to the song first just to feel the vibe of the piece and also how it is literally about Spencer Reid. and also bc its gorjus. anyways its been a while and this is not my most standard content but pls lmk what u think and if u liked it <3

He shouldn’t have done it. 

But when he saw you, sitting in a metal folding chair next to some peeling veneered-desk, his breath caught. Something primal deep in his stomach tugged the way it does when he finds little external fragments of himself, calling out to him—usually nonhuman objects. He’s seen himself in books, still warm from the hands that held them but ultimately forgotten on a bench or in the airport, needles in alleys or in between tiles on his bathroom counter, in shards of glass, in a hundred open wounds and dead animals, abstractly gutted on the side of the street. 

When he does see himself in a person, it’s in alarming glimpses. The man in the sleeping bag on the corner who talks to people that aren’t there. The lost child crying on the subway platform, rooted to the spot and still gripping the straps of their little backpacks with responsible fists. It’s never anything he wants to know about himself, but this identification, this taxonomy and recognition of sameness—it’s so strong it stops him in his tracks, every time. He never really relates to the people he’s supposed to. Not Hotch. Not Gideon. Not even Maeve, in the way he’d so naively hoped for. Three people, all incredibly intelligent, at times standoffish. Used to being on the outside. All still possessing things and redemptive qualities he doesn’t. And what Spencer has secretly believed about himself for what has recently become a very long time, is that he is defined by his lack. The shape of him is made of negative space. He feels like whatever is in your lungs when you’ve pushed all the air out. 

And then, you. 

Physically, you look nothing alike. And he stops and lurches and does a double take like he’s seen his doppelgänger or been startled by his own reflection in a passing window anyway. Maybe it’s the way you hold yourself—hunched, foot tapping, head hung but still scanning the room, ever vigilant as you pick at your nails. You want to be small. You want to fold in yourself so many times you become a black hole. Spencer knows this. 

Something calls out from deep inside him, from all around him, that is not quite in his voice, but feels like grasping and reaching. 

I know you, I know you. 

He doesn’t catch himself in time before he’s walking toward you like he’s been waiting for you. 

Of course your head snaps up at the same time as he stops, and your eyes are shiny but not teary—frozen over with a layer of thick, dark ice like you’d carried the cold inside with you. You look caught. He searches for some sort of recognition in your eyes, anything to betray the fact that you have met before, because he never forgets a face but he knows what familiarity feels like and he can’t remember meeting you. 

His throat forms around something but the wrong word comes out. Halting, like he’s trying to lasso it and pull it back in. 

“Hi.” 

You pull your scarf down—a deep Roman purple—to reveal a pretty mouth, lips chapped by the unforgiving freeze outside. 

“Hello,” you say, politely, considering his probably strange behavior. He gives you a proprietary scan. Utility coat over a thick grey sweater. Jeans, cuffed at the bottom but still nearly too long, probably belted, although he can’t tell from the posture and the sweater. Brown boots. Your bag is a frayed tapestry of neutrals and patches. Fingerless knit gloves. You’ve given yourself false density, let the clothes swallow you up. Shapeless. Nearly faceless, magnet eyes framed between the scarf and the hat. But you’ve got a name. Everyone has a name. There’s yet to be anything humanity has discovered and not bothered to name. 

He forgets to ask. You clear your throat. 

“Um, I spoke to someone on the phone—Aaron, I think? We’re supposed to talk.”

Spencer tries to pick jaw up off the floor. 

“Yeah, um, I can—I’ll… go get him.”

He turns away and breathes for the first time since he saw you, but he feels you behind him. He’s aware of exactly where you are in relation to the back of his head, he can feel you, like a hot spot, all the way to Hotch’s door. He lets himself in, slipping between as small a gap as he can manage and shutting the door gently behind him. Hotch looks up, not noticeably displeased at having been interrupted in his endless paperwork. 

What Spencer learns from his boss is this: you live in DC. You heard about a murder in Kansas—a girl, her hair still a fine, pale cornsilk. Barely not a child. You heard the details, and you called the cops, because you swear to god you know who did it, and they told you there was nothing they could do and gave you the number of someone who might be able to help, and so you followed a bureaucratic trail of phone numbers designed to discourage until you got to the BAU. Hotch says he’s going to interview you, but it’s probably nothing. 

“Actually, I’d like to do it if that’s okay.”

Hotch frowns deeper than usual.

“Why?”

Spencer swallows. Hesitates. 

“I finished my incident report early.”

Though he clearly has his reservations about Spencer’s sudden interest, Hotch is knee-deep in paperwork. So that’s how Spencer ends up in the round table room with you. 

You look too young, too raw to have been married, but you’re rubbing at your ring finger with the adjacent thumb like something is bothering you there. An absence that has become a presence. Negative space. You see things that aren’t there. Spencer knows that, too. Maybe you’re the kind of person who could look at him and see something.

That is his most intimate fantasy. He imagines it with you and feels the same kind of illicit shame and bloodied, starving hunger other people feel when they imagine sex or drugs or ravaging power; the way anyone imagines anything they want and can’t have.  

But he can’t put that kind of pressure on you. He can’t hold expectations like that. You’re a stranger. 

“Do you always do that?”

He points to your fiddling and gets that sour feeling in his throat he always does when he says something wishes he hadn’t said it. That probably doesn’t show on his face. Most things don’t show on his face. Or maybe they do and nobody has bothered to tell him. 

You flex your pretty hand and then make a fist like you’ve been burned, probably to stop the compulsion. When you give a self-deprecating laugh, Spencer feels incredibly guilty for having pointed it out. But he doesn’t know how to talk to you. And at the same time, he almost expects it’ll be like talking to himself. Only nobody will give him odd looks. 

“Uh… old habit. I used to spin my wedding ring around when I was nervous.”

Used to. You’re especially too young to have been divorced. 

“You’re nervous?”

Your eyes flash as you look up to him. With what, he doesn’t know. Lightning, maybe. Electrical impulses that are a little less well insulated in you than in everyone else. 

But maybe he’s projecting. 

“Yeah. I feel crazy. But I was with a guy for a while who—and he was from Kansas—who would always, like, talk about… about hurting people. And I thought it was a joke at first, but… he laughed, at other people’s pain. He liked to hurt people. And animals. His dad had a farm, so I thought it was maybe he was just cavalier about life and death, but it was more than that. And he lived… he lived in that town. Where that girl died. He probably knew her. I… I probably knew her.”

Spencer’s heart sinks and he clears his throat like the force could bring it back up the right level again. 

You’re not his soulmate. You’re just paranoid. Looking for answers and resolution, like everybody else. 

The piece of himself he saw in you was just free radical damage. Instability. 

“Did he ever kill anyone before?”

“Wh—not that I know of. But I don’t really think he would’ve told me.”

But you would’ve known. You’re here because you’re lost. 

“Did he ever seriously injure anyone?”

You swallow and sit up a little straighter. Heat lightning in your eyes, again. It makes him feel something. He sits up too, despite your indignance, because it’s entrancing. 

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“He… he…” you melt as quickly as you inflated and go back to spinning a ring that’s not there. It’s like watching technicolor go to black and white. “He’d beat people up. He cut them with broken beer bottles and… yeah. A lot of other shit. He was just… he was crazy. He wasn’t… okay.”

The way your gaze flickers back and forth like you’re reading pages of a book or perhaps in REM as you recount in vague detail what your ex had done clues Spencer into the fact that you’re extremely traumatized. The way you make sure to emphasize that your clearly abusive ex wasn’t okay clues him into the fact that you care too much. That you’re too quick to excuse people’s bad behavior, or dismiss it, because you know how it feels to be dismissed entirely and you don’t want to make anyone else feel the way you’ve felt. 

Or maybe he’s still projecting. Maybe he’s idealized you in these few short minutes since you met and he’s too far gone. Maybe he should’ve let Hotch do this interview after all. In fact, he absolutely should’ve. 

But the worst thing by far he did was ask to walk you to your car after all was said and done. 

The interview went on for over two hours, and he’d learned things about you he suspects you’ve never told anyone before, and thus has learned about himself, and the building is mostly empty when you finally leave. The work day is over. So he selfishly asks you to wait while he gathers his things—buttons his coat, wraps his scarf, packs his bag—and then he soaks in the silence on the elevator because it’s that terrible, beautiful space between where you first cross the line and when you do something unforgivable. Asking to walk you to your car was crossing the line. 

Sleeping with you was unforgivable. 

And he didn’t care. Maybe he knew he was going to do this from the moment he saw you. Spencer never does this. The knowing that it was going to happen is quite a distinct flavor of intuitive knowledge and it was always on the back of his tongue. 

You’re silver and purple, a streak, a blur, you move too fast to keep up with and even when you’re perfectly still the atoms around you scramble like they’re jonesing. You inspire movement. You aremovement. But he gets to see you slow, and despite having known you only a few hours, he knows this is nothing short of a natural phenomenon. A once in a lifetime sort of shooting star. That’s where the silver comes in. 

The purple, though—it’s in strange places. Around your upper arm. Between your thighs. On your knees and shins and hips. The first time he noticed it he couldn’t ignore it, but he couldn’t very well ask what’s hurting you while he was touching you in a way that was decidedly not painful, if he wanted to keep it that way. And he did. He wanted to keep you looking at him through half-lidded eyes like he was something to see. 

Still, he can’t notice it and then fuck you without saying something—or maybe he could, and you desperately want him to and you ask for it and maybe most people would, but he won’t—so he brings it up. 

“I lead a very active life,” is your whispered excuse, shaped by a smile that is something like mischievous. And then you’re kissing his flushed neck and making your descent and so he can’t ask very many questions. 

It’s only in the precarious after that he can fit his questions in, which is dumb and he knows that, because you’re a dizzying contradiction of cagey and flighty and really the slightest thing will send you running. It’s funny how he knows that after a few hours and sex. Sex can tell you so much about a person. Spencer has compiled all the data from his experiences and decided sex is radically more effective a profiling tool than interview. 

You’re on his pillow, lying on your stomach, and his hand is in your hair. Falling in love is quite a distinctive taste as well. Or at least, the recognition that if you spend enough time around a person you will, beyond a shadow of a doubt, fall in love with them. It is almost the same thing. It aches because it’s there and the proper thing to do is pretend it’s not. 

And his hand is in your hair. And your eyes are closed, and you look like you might fall asleep, and he should be beyond grateful for all of these things. He is. 

But that pesky desire to ameliorate, to improve and make better, and fix and heal, is too strong. Probably it’s the only way he thinks anyone will love him, is if he makes himself useful. That’s no revelation to him. The thought is not shocking whatsoever. It’s just true. 

So he asks again. You blink your eyes a quarter of the way open. 

“Hazard of the job.”

“What job?”

You make a noncommittal noise of reluctance—a discontented puppy’s whine, half-asleep. 

“I’m a circus freak.”

He laughs and remembers to keep scratching your scalp. The way you smile, eyes closed, is infectious. 

“Yeah? What’s your act?”

“Guess,” you challenge through the remnants of a smile, oozing satisfaction and glowing like a star. 

When he pauses to regard you, to seriously consider, studying the curve of your cheek and the color of your lips, you open your eyes again. 

“Tightrope walker,” he finally says, earnestly, so soft it could tear down the middle like gauze. 

Your answer is a smile into the dark. “How’d you know?”

The corner of his mouth vies higher. 

“I sensed a kindred spirit.”

Silence floods the room again, slowly, thickly, like molasses. It’s pleasant. You’re still here, in his bed, and he’s still measuring time with the pendulum of his hand in your hair. 

“What do you really do?” 

He expects you to be asleep. 

“Dancer.”Your lips hardly move as you say it, inflectionless, immediate. If his hand falters, it’s only momentarily. That explains the bruising, and so is a relief, as far as he’s concerned. But perhaps his silence is misconstrued. “Do you want me to go?”

It certainly doesn’t seem like you want to go. Your eyes aren’t even open. 

He keeps his voice low and gentle like maybe you really are asleep. 

“Why would I want you to go?”

“Don’t… do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you’re not judging me.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m from Vegas. Your job is not a novelty to me.”

This time when your eyes slide open, there is a new, curious light behind them. 

“Really?”

He nods, distracted by a freckle just beneath your eye. 

“When I was ten I ran into my bus driver wearing two quarters as a shirt. And we weren’t even on the strip. We were in a Texas Roadhouse parking lot.”

You snort with laughter and it’s melodic, like twinkling crystals, like running water. Even as you hide your face behind your hand, he’s transfixed. God, he’s never cared about being funny before. Now he wants to make you laugh over and over again. He wants to keep you softer than you’ve ever been. The laughter fades slowly and he grieves it—but your hand sliding away from your face like the sun coming up from behind a mountain eases the ache. 

You reach out as if in a trance and run your thumb gently beneath his eye. He holds his breath as you make contact, butterfly light. Nobody has ever touched him like this before. 

“You’re gorgeous,” you murmur. A thoughtless observation. A truth cast to the breeze. Knuckles carefully follow the dip of his cheekbone—a cartographer, learning her way by touch. Marking her territory. He’d let you do it. His eye stings, ready to spring forth a river just so you can have the pleasure of discovering it. “Breathe,” you laugh, softly, and he does. 

“Sorry.”

You don’t say a thing. You let your fingers trace borders into his skin and follow them with soft eyes and he wonders what he’s ever done to deserve this kind of magic. He wonders if he’ll ever feel as good as he does right now, when it’s all over. Nobody has ever paid this much attention to him—but you’re intent, focused, like he’s art. 

“Tell me about Vegas.”

It takes him a moment to reply. 

“Hm?”

He feels bewitched. Warm. Foggy. A thumb brushes over his lips, but it’s only a pass, thank god, because he can hardly stand how you’re touching him already, at the high point of his cheek, beneath his brow. Finally getting enough sometimes feels awfully close to too much. He’s already almost cried once. 

“I wanna hear about Vegas. I’ve always wanted to go. Is it hot?”

Spencer will say whatever you want him to say, but he has to focus a little—like he’s speaking through honey. 

“In the summer, during the day. In the winter at night it drops to below freezing.”

“Desert-y,” you hum.

“Very.”

“Tell me more.”

There’s a rousing hunger in your voice and it reminds Spencer to want you again. He finds your waist and tugs you closer. Who is he with you?

Is he better? 

“There are 175 casinos in the city, but only thirty on the strip. There are 15,000 miles of neon tubing on the strip alone. It’s the brightest place on earth. You can see it from space.”

“Not that.”

Petulant. He loves it. 

His lips find the softness of your shoulder. “Then what?”

The only clue that you can feel what he’s doing to you is the twitch of your fingers on his cheek. 

“Tell me something… tell me exactly how it feels to stand in the middle of the desert. With nobody else around. Tell me things and details I couldn’t know about unless I’ve been there.”

At the junction of your neck, he pauses. This beautiful girl, and her beautiful brain—you are so disarming. So perfect. 

You shiver into him as his fingers brush up the back of your neck, gently pushing away hair so he can learn you everywhere. So he can remember your landscape, just like he’s doing as he closes his eyes and falls into memory. 

A gas station, off the side of the road—seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Desert all around. His dad’s ’79 Ford Fiesta—the one he didn’t take with him when he left. The driver’s door is open. Spencer’s dad has been inside for minutes. Spencer is watching from the middle of the road, because he looked out from the backseat of the Fiesta, and saw that dark, unassuming spot, and thought—how would it feel to be the darkness? What would I see if I were nothing at all?

When he gets there, and he stands on the sun bleached pavement, veined with spiderwebs of tar, and he sees this all from a distance—he realizes he feels exactly the same as he always does. So he pivots his head to the left. The road goes on until it disappears into the smudgy horizon. To the right, it does the same. The earth swells, far away, so many miles, so coal black, so impossible. Hardly even real. But there is something out there, he thinks. There is something, even if nobody else has ever been there,and I want to stand in the middle of it and I will learn how it feels to be nothing. I will not observe—I will become apart of the landscape, with the Joshua trees that have been there for a thousand years, and the rocks that haven’t moved in millennia. 

So he begins to walk. 

The rocks crunch under his feet, and that is the only noise. 

He walks for minutes. He walks until he knows the gas station will be small. He walks until he can feel the emptiness on the back of his neck, until it feels like an embrace. 

“It’s silent,” he hears himself say to you, in some other universe, decades in the future. “At night, it’s completely silent. You can hear yourself breathe. If you throw a pebble ten feet away, you’ll hear it hit the ground.”

Little Spencer takes a deep breath of inky air. 

“It smells like… geosmin.”

“What?”

Perfect. Your voice is perfect. 

“Dirt. But it’s not the same as dirt anywhere else. It’s… drier, like it’s smelled the same way for a really long time.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn. He’s doing a terrible job explaining.

But he feels your breath on his cheek—eager. Your hand at his shoulder as you lean closer, enraptured. Reverent, almost. 

“What else?”

What else?

Dry brush snags on the hem of the corduroys his mother had picked out for him. They’re a little too short. She’s going to try to take him shopping again tomorrow. It’ll work this time—they’ll get to the store. Mom’s just been having some trouble leaving the house lately. 

Rustling leaves skim the tips of his fingers as he reaches out for them, and keeps walking. When was the last time someone touched that shrub?

“There’s vegetation. Creosote, mostly, if you’re in the scrubland. Larrea tridentada. It’s dry—kind of twiggy, with green leaves and yellow flowers in the spring. The smell is bad, like asphalt, but you only notice if you get close.”

He hears his dad calling his name. It fades in and out. 

It’s dizzying, hearing his father’s voice. His father saying his name. 

It’s been a long time. 

“It’s so flat that things don’t echo. But because of the extreme variations in temperature the air pressure sometimes forces the sound waves to the ground and makes it impossible for them to propagate. They’re called the Santa Ana winds. Someone could be standing right next to you and if the wind blows at just the right angle, you won’t be able to hear them. But when it’s still, sound carries far.”

His father is angry. Or is he worried? 

Spencer can make out his dad, pacing frantically back and forth across the gas station pad, white button-up a glowing beacon even from this far away beneath the lone yellow street light. He looks so small. So very far away. Ant-like. 

Santa Ana comes slow—warmer than the night air around him, to ruffle his hair and rustle the dry leaves and blow soft clouds of fragrant sienna dirt around at his knees. It blows through him. For a moment, it wakes the desert up. 

Then it’s passed. It moves further down the desert and leaves Spencer behind. Things settle into silence again. He’s alone again. 

Spencer’s stomach flips as he realizes his father can’t see him this far away, this deep into the dark nothing. 

As he finally feels the enormity of the distance on all sides. 

Suddenly the void behind him is massive. Suddenly it is everything, and it is sucking him deeper. Nobody can see him. He could just disappear into 25,000 square miles of desert. He’s already, what—a thousand feet gone? More? The weight of all the infinite space behind him presses, and he thought it’d feel interesting but it feels like dying and there has never been so much regret or dread curdling in his stomach before. His face crumples, eyes stinging in the dry air, and he takes one step forward, and then another, and then he runs like he’s running for his life. But he doesn’t feel chased—no, that’s the worst part. He is running from an infinite, vacuous, nothing. Dad! He screams, but even this young he knows how sound waves work in the desert and he can tell his dad can’t hear him and he’s running and screaming until his lungs burn, and the scrub lashes at his ankles, and it has been the same for a thousand years and it will stay the same for a thousand more with or without him. Dad, I’m right here!He sobs, the words ripping up his throat with desperation as they go. 

Finally, finally, he’s heard, and he’s close enough to see his dad seeing him, he stops pacing and stares dumbfounded at the little boy appearing from the desert, sneakers slapping cracked asphalt. He gets closer and closer until he can see the lines on his father’s face and the color of his eyes and he sobs as he crashes into him. His dad’s hands are vice-tight around his arms, as Spencer cries and can’t breathe and thrashes like a fish out of water. 

What? Is all his father can manage, tight and baffled and afraid and the first word of a question he doesn’t even know how to ask. He says it again and again, like a skipping record; what—what? What?

On the drive home, Spencer sits in the backseat, a bottle of Bug Juice in his lap. His ankles sting, whipped and bloodied and punished for wearing too-short pants. 

The silence is cloistering and at the same time, completely par for the course. He does not expect his father to speak to him, but he sort of thinks maybe another father would. 

Outside, the black spine of distant mountains rolls on forever and stays impossibly far away. He peers out into the nothing, past what the moonlight can illuminate—and now, he doesn’t have to wonder. He knows how it feels. Imagines another little boy made of shadows, as far away from the road as he’d been, and feels sick from all that fruit juice. He won’t ask his dad to pull over—all he wants is to get rid of that feeling on the back of his neck, like he’s dissolving into space. Like he’s the only thing for miles and miles. 

But the problem is—the feeling doesn’t go away. 

Not in the driveway. Not in the bath. Not in bed, later that night. 

Spencer did a bad thing and he wishes he could go back to normal. He wishes he didn’t get that desert feeling when he was surrounded by other people. But it comes back, again and again. At school. When he tentatively asks for new pants and his mom throws a vase at the wall and then sobs on the floor for forty minutes. When a few weeks later, his dad leaves, and doesn’t take the Ford with him—so it sits under the carport, greets him on his way to school every morning, and over the course of years the windshield turns opaque with dust. 

He hasn’t stopped feeling that way since. 

“You okay?”

A long, soft breath draws him back into his body. Into his bed. 

Not creosote. Not geosmin. Not the Santa Ana winds, coming from the deepest parts of the desert and carrying their desolation to him. Shampoo. Warmth. A girl who smells sort of like him, now—a girl whose perfume is all over his neck and chest and pillow. 

You’re there. You, a stranger. You, a girl he’s going to fall in love with. You—the only person he ever brought into the desert with him. The only person who ever brought him back. 

Point Nemo is not in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Asphodel is not in the underworld. It’s a little less than half a mile out across from an old gas station on the I-15 in the middle of the Mojave desert. 

Spencer nods because he can’t bring himself to speak just yet. 

You smile and take the time to find his hand in the dark. 

“Felt like I was out there with you. Thanks.”

And he squeezes your hand—because for the first time, it feels like someone is going to come looking for him. 

lyrics from my life in art <3

[qwordavoider]

Buck doesn’t even know why he came out to drinks this week. He was eager to get back to his his newest baking experiment. He had been trying to master macarons the past couple of days and something just wasn’t quite working. But it was one of Eddie’s last shifts before leaving for El Paso so he decided to make the most of it. They had found a standing table near the pool tables at a badge and ladder bar near the station. Eddie had gone to get the first round while Chim and Hen had stayed at the table with Buck.

“Hey is that Tommy?” Chim asked, looking somewhere over Buck’s shoulder.

Buck followed his line of sight to a man that did look a lot like Tommy, but Buck immediately felt like something was off.

For starters this Tommy wannabe was drinking bud light and there’s no way he would ever be caught dead drinking one of those. He’s a bit of a snob when it comes to beer. Also he’s leaning with his arms comfortably on the table, Tommy would either be talking with his hands or have them in his pockets. He let his gaze drift lower.

“That’s not Tommy,” he blurts.

Chimney frowns at him while Hen just quirks an eyebrow.

“What do you mean that’s not Tommy? Are we looking at the same person?” Chim asks incredulously.

Hen is studying him like she can hear his thoughts.

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling,” Buck shrugs.

“Willing to put money on it?” Chimney smirks.

As Buck shakes his head, Hen butts in, “20 bucks says he’s right and that’s not Tommy.”

“You’re on. Easiest $20 of my life.”

Eddie comes back with the beers, clueless of the conversation they just had.

“Hey Eddie, I think Tommy’s over there. Have you told him that you’re moving to El Paso, yet?” Chimney asks innocently.

“Not yet, we haven’t really talked since…” Eddie looks at Buck.

“You can go talk to him. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure Buck?” Eddie seems skeptical.

“He was your friend first.”

Eddie seems even more confused by that, but makes his way over to the table. They can’t hear the conversation from here but they see confused looks on both of their faces after Eddie smacked the Tommy look alike on the shoulder. They talk for a few seconds longer before Eddie comes back, still looking really confused.

“Well?” Chimney pushes.

“That’s not Tommy,” Eddie says like he still doesn’t quite believe it.

Chim groans and Hen reaches her hand over the table, “Pay up Chim!”

Eddie looks back and forth between them, “What did I miss?”

“Buckaroo over here said it wasn’t Tommy. I just backed him up,” Hen gloated.

“How the hell did you know it wasn’t Tommy” Eddie looked at Buck expectantly.

“He’s drinking a bud light,” Buck shrugs.

Not wanting to share the hands thing or the third thing he had thought when looking at the other man. That was definitely not Tommy’s ass. He would know.

Chim scolds himself for not realizing that as Hen and Eddie laugh at him. As they start talking about how this guy could look so much like Tommy, Buck lets his thoughts drift.

As much as he’s glad he helped Hen beat Chim, part of him was secretly hoping that he was wrong. He rubs at his aching chest, maybe he should call Tommy.

Buck mistaking Donovan for Tommy is out, Buck instantly clocking that it's not Tommy is in

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 12 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warning: Telemachus is lowkey hormonal in this

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/n was up against the wall. Her lips moving quickly and hungrily against Telemachus’s. Her delicate hands moving up and down his back, pulling him closer and closer. One of his hands was next to her head, the other gently grasped the back of her head.

“Y/n...” Telemacus breathed, his lips not leaving her skin and moving down her jawline to her neck. He heard her-

Telemachus resisted the urge to violently scream and bang his head against the wall. The boy bent down, opening the trapdoor to the tunnel leading to his mother’s room. His thoughts of Y/n only worsened. No matter where he went, she continued to consume his every waking thought. Even while he was about to visit his mother, he was thinking of extremely inappropriate things he should not be thinking of.

Telemachus crawled through the tunnel, cursing himself along the way. He tried to clear any unholy thought from his head and calmly talked to his mother about his day. Ask her about her weaving and discuss how beautiful the weather had been today. And talk about how he wanted to kiss and adore every inch of-

This is bad.

Telemachus gets to the end of the passageway. He takes a deep breath preparing himself fully for the conversation ahead. He unlatched the trapdoor, and crawled through, wiping off his tunic as he stood. He glanced up and saw his mother straightening up her bed, before she saw her son standing there.

“Hello Telemachus,” Penelope sweetly smiled, “Have you had a good day?”

Telemachus held himself back from saying, “It was more than good.” Instead he responded, “Yeah..yeah..it was..pretty good…How was your day?”

“Oh it was perfectly fine. I weaved for a while before I snuck out to the gardens to tend to the lavender..are you quite alright Telemachus?” Penelope tilted her head, glancing at her son. Telemachus was red in the face, his hands slightly shaking. The mention of lavender seemed to only make his turmoil worsen.

“I can’t take this anymore,” Telemachus yelled, burying his face in his hands, “I kissed her.”

“I’m sorry?” His mother asked in a confused manner.

“I did it, mother. I was mad and I cornered her up against the wall. We went back and forth insulting each other and something just-happened..I just kissed her.” The boy explained, running around like someone had cut off his head.

Trying to understand the situation, she moved closer, “Y/n?”

“Y/N!” He shrieked, “And I can’t get her out of my head. She just...lives there now.” He pulled at his hair to show his point, and he groaned in disgust. The prince quickly turned to face his mother.

“But she’s so gorgeous. Her hair and her face and her eyes. It makes me hate her. I really do hate her for it. I shouldn’t be kissing her. She’s the enemy. I know, I know. I don’t know what got in me. I think I’m mentally ill...but how could anyone blame me? How could you have Y/n...Y/n standing in front of you and not kiss her. Everytime I see her I just want to kiss her and wipe the smug grin off her face. But she doesn’t want me. And I don’t want her. This was an accident. A complete mistake. But she didn’t push me away. She would’ve pushed me away if she didn’t like it right? Y/n makes me so sick-” Telemachus was moving around the room, using his arms for emphasis as he frantically paced. He only stopped when his mother’s hand was over his mouth.

“Please be quiet..for one second.” The queen laughed at her son’s panic. Telemachus took a deep breath and his mother took her hand off of his mouth.

“What do I do?” He quietly said, looking down into his mother’s brown eyes. All his mother did was sigh and put her hand on his shoulder.

Penelope’s hand then moved down to his chest where his heart was frantically beating at even the simple thought of Y/n, “Lead with your heart Telemachus..it’s what you do best.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Telemachus lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling as the flickering light of the oil lamp danced across the room. The palace was silent except for the distant murmur of waves crashing against the Ithacan shores. Yet, despite the stillness, his thoughts were anything but calm.

He clenched his jaw and turned onto his side, burying his face in the pillow. Why can’t I stop thinking about it? The memory of Y/N’s lips on his flashed vividly in his mind, soft and sudden and charged with an intensity he hadn’t expected. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image to fade.

But it didn’t.

Instead, the memory grew more vivid, and before he could stop himself, his mind wandered to the way she’d felt against him, her hand pressed to his chest, her body so close to his that he could feel her warmth. His thoughts turned darker, imagining things he’d never dare admit aloud. His hands on her waist as he ravaged her, wanting to feel her around his—“No!”— He yelled out, shaking his head violently as if he could physically dislodge the images.

“This is insane,” he muttered to himself, rolling onto his other side. His heart pounded, and he felt his face flush despite being alone. He tried counting sheep, thinking of Odysseus’s great adventures, or reciting the Greek tales in his mind, but nothing worked. His thoughts kept slipping back to her, her smirk, her sharp tongue, her teasing remarks, and now, her kiss.

“Stop it, stop it,” he hissed under his breath, throwing an arm over his face. Yet, the more he tried to fight the images, the stronger they became. He rolled again, this time so forcefully that he lost his balance. With a yelp, he tumbled out of bed and landed on the cold stone floor with a dull thud. For a moment, he just lay there, sprawled on the ground, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. His face was burning, his body restless, and his pride thoroughly bruised. He sat up slowly, rubbing his elbow where he’d knocked it against the floor. “Get a grip, Telemachus,” he said to himself, his voice sharp with self-reproach. “She’s just—she’s Y/N. Antinous’s sister. A thorn in my side. Nothing more. The kiss was nothing more than an accident, and I bet she thinks that too.”

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.

With a frustrated groan, he climbed back into bed, yanking the blanket over his head as if hiding would somehow banish the thoughts plaguing him.

Sleep, however, continued to elude him.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Telemachus paced his room, wringing his hands as his mind waged war against itself. Every logical thought screamed at him to stay put, to push down the chaotic emotions that had been bubbling since the kiss. Yet, the pull of Y/N, her smirk, her sharp tongue, the brief but searing connection they’d shared, was too strong to resist.

Before he could stop himself, he was slipping through the secret passageway, the torch in his hand casting long, flickering shadows against the damp walls. His heart pounded with every step, his breath shallow as he approached the entrance to her room.

He pushed the concealed panel aside quietly, stepping into her dimly lit chamber. She was asleep, her face half buried in her pillow, strands of curly hair splayed out like a halo. For a moment, Telemachus simply stood there, watching her. She seemed so… peaceful, so unlike the sharp tongued tease he argued with daily. But even in sleep, she was Y/N—a force of chaos he couldn’t get out of his mind.

As he took a hesitant step forward, the floor creaked beneath his weight. She stirred, her brows furrowing slightly before her eyes fluttered open. She blinked, her gaze focusing on him in the faint light. “Telemachus?” she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep. She didn’t seem alarmed this time, more confused than anything. “What are you doing here?”

Telemachus froze, his pulse racing. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. “Don’t tell me you’re here to break another vase,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. Her voice held a familiar teasing lilt, but it lacked the sharp edge he was used to. “If you are, I’d recommend actually trying to break it.”

Her casual tone was the final crack in Telemachus’s resolve. He threw his hands up, his voice loud and raw with emotion. “I can’t stop thinking about you!” Her eyes widened, and she sat up fully, the blanket slipping slightly off her shoulders.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t do anything without you invading my mind,” he continued, pacing in front of her like a man possessed. “You’ve been driving me insane, Y/N! Ever since that kiss—damn it, ever since before the kiss I’ve been losing my mind!”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he didn’t give her the chance. “And I know you don’t care. I know you probably think I’m some foolish little prince who doesn’t know what he wants. But I don’t care anymore.” His voice cracked as he stopped in front of her, looking down at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. “Just let me kiss you one last time, and then I’ll leave. I swear. Just one more kiss.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the weight of his confession. Y/n stared at him, her expression unreadable, her lips slightly parted as if she didn’t know how to respond. Telemachus, trembling and flushed from his outburst, took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Forget it,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration and embarrassment. “I’ll go.”

But even as he turned, he couldn’t bring himself to move another step, waiting—hoping—for her to say something. His shoulders slumped in defeat as the weight of his own confession settled over him. His feet felt like lead, but before he could take another step, he felt a hand grab his wrist.

He froze.

“Telemachus,” Y/N’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, so unlike the sharp, teasing tone he was used to. Before he could turn to face her, she tugged on his arm, pulling him back toward her. His balance wavered, and before he knew it, her other hand had slid up to the nape of his neck, pulling him down to meet her lips.

The kiss wasn’t like their first, hurried and impulsive. This one was slower, deeper, and deliberate. It wasn’t just a clash of emotions but an acknowledgment of everything unspoken between them. Telemachus’s breath hitched as he leaned into her, his hands instinctively gripping her waist as if to ground himself. Her touch was firm but not forceful, her lips moving against his in a way that sent his mind spiraling.

When she finally pulled back, just a breath away, her gaze locked onto his. The teasing smirk he’d expected wasn’t there; instead, her eyes were searching, hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure what to say next. “You’re such an idiot,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Telemachus blinked, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears. “I—what?”

“You burst into my room, ranting like a madman,” she said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And then you’re just…going to leave after saying all that?”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “I thought you didn’t care—”

“Maybe you don’t know everything, little wolf,” she interrupted, her hand still resting lightly on his neck. They stood there in silence, the air between them heavy and electric. Telemachus opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” she said, her smirk finally returning as she released him and leaned back against her pillows. “You’ll hurt yourself trying to use that little cute brain of yours.”

Telemachus stepped back, dazed and breathless. “I—uh, I should go,” he stammered, his face flushed. He turned toward the secret passage, his legs unsteady. As he reached the hidden door, his foot caught on the edge of her rug, and he stumbled, nearly falling face first into the wall.

She laughed softly behind him. “Try not to trip over yourself next time, wolf.” He straightened, waving a hand awkwardly as he avoided looking back. “I’m fine!” he called over his shoulder, his voice cracking slightly. “Perfectly fine!”

The door slid shut behind him,

Y/n sighed as she lay back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling. The room felt unusually quiet after Telemachus’s abrupt departure, his flustered stammering still echoing faintly in her ears. She brushed her fingers over her lips absentmindedly, her thoughts swirling in a way she wasn’t used to.

Then, the door to the secret passage creaked open again.

She shot up, her eyes narrowing. “Telemachus?”

Sure enough, there he was, standing awkwardly in the doorway with a sheepish look on his face. His hair was even messier than before, and he avoided her gaze as he stepped into the room, shutting the passage behind him. “Are you serious?” she asked, crossing her arms. “What now?”

“I—I couldn’t leave,” he admitted, his voice quiet but earnest. “I don’t want to leave you, Y/N. Not tonight.” Her expression softened, though she quickly masked it with a raised eyebrow. “What, did you forget how to get back to your room? Or are you just this clingy?”

“I’m serious,” he said, taking a hesitant step closer. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t want to spend another night lying awake, wishing I were here instead.” She opened her mouth to respond, but the raw vulnerability in his eyes stopped her. For all his usual blustering and self-righteousness, he looked…honest. Lost, even.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Then tell me to leave,” he challenged, his voice trembling slightly. “Tell me, and I’ll go.” Her lips parted, but the words didn’t come. She stared at him for a long moment, and then, with a resigned groan, she patted the space next to her on the bed. “Fine. But just this once.”

Telemachus hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, before he moved to sit beside her. The bed was warm, and y/n’s presence so close made his thoughts swim.

“Lie down,” she instructed, rolling her eyes. “You look like a kicked puppy standing there.” He did as she said, his body stiff and awkward as he stretched out beside her. She reached for a blanket, draping it over both of them before shifting closer, her arm wrapping loosely around him.

“Are you comfortable now, little wolf?” she asked, her voice tinged with exasperation but also something softer. Telemachus nodded, though his face was burning. “Yeah… thanks.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. Y/N’s hand rested on his shoulder, her breathing slow and steady. Telemachus found himself relaxing despite the storm of emotions in his chest. “Don’t make this a habit,” she muttered sleepily, her head resting lightly against his.

“I won’t,” he whispered, though the thought of leaving her side felt impossible now. Moments later, her breathing deepened as she drifted off, her arm tightening slightly around him. Telemachus, still wide awake, allowed himself a small, fleeting smile before finally succumbing to sleep, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r

[noirsdoll]

your mouth washing work is so good! what if curly was the one scheming the baby trapping on captain reader, like taking the condom off mid stroke (jimmy is fs the one that pushed him to do it, devil on his shoulder)

thank you so much what?!? i think curly would baby trap because he doesn’t want to lose you while he’s gone… (i didn’t see captain!reader until i was done writing it SORRY)

cw for baby trapping and a sprinkle of manipulation!! also some filthyyy smut and curly breeding kink!!

Piloting the Tulpar is like therapy for Curly. The gentle hum as the ship drifts through space, the dreamy green glow of the controls and diagnostics. He sits back in his chair, watching the blinking screen that displays the Tulpar’s trajectory.

They’re on the ending branch of their cruise, on their way back to Earth. Curly’s only thinking of one thing— you. He’s excited to get back and see your gorgeous face in person again.

Jimmy’s beside him, picking the dirt under his fingernails, tongue poking out of his mouth as he does it with utmost concentration. He’s bouncing his leg like he has somewhere to be.

“I’m thinking of putting a ring on her finger,” Curly says into the silence, “when we get back.”

“Cool.” Jimmy doesn’t look up, but he frowns, wrinkling his nose.

The quiet drags, Curly tips his head back against the seat, sighing in content. He has the whole thing planned out. He’s gonna take you to your favourite restaurant and ask them to bring over the band and play a song you like. He’s even got a whole speech that’s he knows by heart—

“That’s not gonna stop her from cheating on you.”

“What?” Curly turns to look at him.

“Yeah, well, I mean, what do you think she’s doing while she’s waiting for you to come back?” Jimmy snorts. “It’s not like you’re there to fuck her when she wants.”

Curly’s unsure of what to say. He’s never thought about it like that.

“We were gone, what, a little over a year this time?” He reclines with a creak, grinning. “Who even knows if she’ll still be there waiting for you?”

Curly frowns. “What could I do?” Jimmy’s right, what if he comes back to you and you’ve moved on or you’ve grown bored of waiting?

“Knock her up,” Jimmy says, like it’s the most obvious solution.

His eyes widen. “I couldn’t do that— We haven’t even talked about kids yet.”

Jimmy scoffs. “Then don’t talk to her about it. You want the relationship to last, right? This is the best way.”

The way Jimmy talks to him sometimes makes Curly feel like he’s looking at the world through a whole different lens, like Jimmy is expanding his horizons. And Jimmy’s right. You wouldn’t be able to leave with your belly all swollen with his kid.

So Curly does the unthinkable. When Curly gets home and you both have your habitual fucking that is more humping and groping than anything meaningful, he puts his plan into action.

Curly’s lips slot with yours, he kisses you messily. Your nails drag over the broad planes of his back as he lays you down like he has been wanting to do all this time. He thinks he almost cums just from slipping his dick in, the way your pussy clamps down on him is tighter than any hug you’ve pulled him into.

You both stare at each other for a moment, catching your breath, the air is hot and dizzying and there is so much want coursing through both of your systems. And then Curly sets his pace.

It’s sweaty and sloppy, shallow thrusts as he doesn’t want to leave your warm cunt for too long. He holds you down with one big hand spread over your stomach, fucking into you like it’s life or death.

His dick “pretends” to slip out of you, like his fat head could ever miss your cunt— it’s practically muscle memory. As he goes to realign his cock, he slips off the condom, sandwiching it into the pleats of the tousled sheets behind him.

You don’t notice, too busy moaning and whining and drooling into your pillow as Curly’s rhythm turns damn near brutal. God, he’s gonna breed you, he’s gonna fucking breed you. He can’t go back now.

Wet strings of your slick connect his hips to yours as your pussy leaks all over itself. The sounds it’s making are almost pornographic. Curly’s thumb slips on your soaked clit as he makes you cum alongside him. He read somewhere that it helps get you pregnant too.

You’re too fucked out to notice that creampie he just gave you, thick, milky cum dripping out of you. He reaches down with one finger and pushes his cum in deeper. He doesn’t want you wasting a drop.

Maybe this was a net positive, Curly thinks as he cleans you up, peppering kisses along your body and praising you for your hard work— laying there and taking it.

Now you have something to keep yourself company the next time he’s gone.

[iamconstantine]

arcane characters as college staff

Mel

History professor 

Refers to all students by (honorific) (surname)

Nothing but praise on ratemyproffesor

“I didn’t like history until I took Professor Medarda’s class” 

Doesn’t write scholarly articles, just giant ass books that she pumps out almost every year somehow

Quickly responds to emails. No response = its in the syllabus 

“Is there any make up work I can do to get my grade up—“ Absolutely not

But if you go the writing center you can get extra credit

Every year her students ask for an extension on the final project and every year she gives a long and furious rant about how the project was visible online from Day 1 and they had all semester to work on it

She has a beautiful office that looks like a miniature library and she only sees students by appointment

Jayce

Physics professor

Is a prolific author but somehow can’t figure out how to set up the course online

Prints cheesy physics memes 

Every zoom meeting begins with 1000 messages saying “professor Talis we can’t hear you your mic isn’t on” every. time.

you can come see him in his office any time, door’s always open

but his office is so messy you probably won’t be able to sit because he has a stack of papers on every chair

“Everyone got this question on the exam wrong so I’m going to give everyone credit because that means i didn’t teach it properly”

Always throws an end-of-year party at his place 

Caitlyn

English Literature professor 

would win best dressed of the staff, always shows up in the slacks-and-blazer fit

“To understand why the narrator wears red shoes, we need to take a look at the sociopolitical state of Edinburgh in 1864.”

if you reply to a discussion board post with just “I agree” you’re not getting credit and it isn’t up for discussion 

Never reads contemporary fiction. The “newest” book she’s read is The Great Gatsby

“We’re not having a party but if you want to bring snacks and soda to the last day of class that’s fine”

Covers a lot of authors but it somehow always comes back to Emily Dickenson

Is that teacher that assigns 400-page books every week

Constantly publishing in lit journals (rumor has it she writes steamy open-door romance books under a pen-name but no one has confirmed this)

Ekko

Art professor 

You have to actively screw up to get a bad grade with him

He wrote thousands of letters to the board until they caved and gave the class a proper kiln

“Write a three-page essay explaining why AI art is not art and insisting otherwise is spitting in the face of humankind. Double spaced. Due Friday 11:59”

Throws back coffee. Has a coffeemaker in the studio. Two of them. 

“Hey guys some of you are submitting assignments at 2 in the morning. It can wait until the next day. Please get some sleep.”

He’s created awe-inspiring pieces but if you just wanna paint a frog wearing a hat he’ll say “that’s cool”

Says he knows who banksy is but will never tell

He gets way too deep in the zone. Once reached for his coffee cup while painting, drank paint water instead. Didn’t notice.

Jinx

Chemistry professor 

If you email her the response will be “k” or “no” and nothing else

Waits until twenty minutes after the class begins to email everyone that class is canceled 

Never wears a coat, goggles, or gloves. But will call out students if they don’t

takes 5 years to post grades

“Look I’m not remembering any names. Too many. If I’m talking to you I’ll just point”

Puts a meme on the projector every day. Mostly incomprehensible. Picture of a horse on an beach and it just says “Zimbabwe”

lowest score on ratemyprofessor

someone creates a website called ratemystudent and administration has no proof that it was her because technically the students with bad scores being the same students that get bad grades in her class can be coincidental 

Viktor

Biomedical engineering professor 

Only professor who still uses chalkboards

First day of class is first day of class. No reviewing the syllabus, turn to page 34 in your textbook.

Puts things in the syllabus to catch people who use ChatGPT. If you’re caught, you’re removed from his class. Immediately. You will not get to plead your case.

Most of his cited sources are himself

Literally begs students to thrift their textbooks online instead of buying them from the school. Provides free PDFs as often as he can.

He reads journals every day and will write personal letters to authors he disagrees with

If a student asks a particularly dumb question he’ll step out of the room for ten minutes to compose himself and then resume teaching like nothing happened

Vi

Not a professor, works at the on-campus gym and leads clubs

Constantly curses without batting an eye. Students will leave class with their very uptight professor then come to the soccer club where vi walks in like “sorry I’m late guys i had a motherfucker of a headache this morning”

Please don’t ask her about anything that isn’t club or sport related. If you ask for directions or how to get in contact with student services she’s got nothing

If she refs for a game and you’re on the opposing team you’d better watch yourself. She will rip you a new one if you break any rules. One time a player grabbed one of her member’s mask during a game and he left crying after Vi was done with him

Students run into her at the local hangouts a lot but it’s never awkward. just reminds you not to party too hard before the game tomorrow 

Leads pretty much every club but dance. Wouldn’t admit it but she has no sense of rhythm and refuses to even do it as a student

You can call her coach or captain or just Vi, whatever you want. But if you call her Violet she’ll stare you down until you correct yourself

Heimerdinger

Anthropology professor 

Spends the first day of class getting to know everyone. “We’re going to go around and give our names and a fun fact about ourselves!”

Gives the “Nacirema” assignment and can’t wait to tell everyone the catch

His classroom is filled with artifacts. Don’t ask about any of them because it will take up class time

If you can’t make it to class he sends really nice responses saying he understands, then checks in when you come back

The only thing that puts him in a bad mood is the “why do anthropologists study dinosaurs if anthropology is about people” question. He’s old and tired 

Keeps thinking about retiring, keeps changing his mind

Silco

Political science professor

His classroom is bare and blank. No life. Just fluorescent lights and chairs.

Brags about how few people pass his class

Very strict on attendance. Too many absences and you’re out. 

If the assignment is due at 11:59 and you turn it in at 12:00, it’s late

“I am quite interested to hear why you believe you are deserving of a higher grade when you’ve spent less than thirty minutes attending all of my classes combined. Please, continue.”

Will straight up roast other professors no problem. Encourages students to pass it along

He encourages debate but the only thing students debate about outside of class is whether he’s hot or creepy af

Final project is a choice between A) A ten-page essay on why there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, or B) a presentation on why the country is doomed

Vander

Education professor 

Makes his own series of Crash Course-esque videos

Comes to class in jeans at best. Sweats, sometimes. 

He has one coffee mug that says #1 Dad and he refuses to use anything else

He puts fun questions on his exams, like riddles. If no one gets it, he actually gets sad

Whenever he erases the whiteboard he always misses a spot. He’s that professor.

If he catches you plagiarizing, you get one pass before he reports it. But you have to come to his office so he can tell you how disappointed he is and how much potential you have

He gives a seminar about how worried he is for the future of education and the wellbeing of the next generation and everyone leaves feeling guilty. Everyone.

Make a pop culture reference in class and everything will grind to a halt so you can explain it to him. Visuals help.

Sevika

Librarian

If you play music in the library she’ll walk up to you and just go “are you joking”

Have a phone call on speaker and she’s hanging it up for you

There’s signs telling you to be quiet every three feet

If you see her outside of school no you didn’t

She’s in charge of leading classes on accessing academic databases and she fucking hates it

Somehow knows where every book is down to the shelf. She’ll tell you what you’re looking for before you can finish your sentence

technically she’s supposed to do a walkthrough before closing for the night but if you can’t read the library hours on the signs it’s your fault if you get locked in

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — beneath the stars, we became one: chapter 018.

you sat with ayane and milya at your usual spot in the café after school, stirring your drink absently as their voices filled the space. they were catching up on weekend plans and sharing gossip, but you weren’t really listening.

“alright,” milya said suddenly, breaking through your haze. she leaned across the table, her sharp eyes pinning you in place. “what's going on with you?"

you blinked, startled. “what? nothing.”

“liar.” milya crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “you've been spacing out all day. you're never this quiet unless something’s eating you.”

ayane tilted her head, her expression softer but just as curious. “did something happen? is it about rin?”

the mention of his name sent a jolt through you. “what makes you think it’s about rin?”

milya snorted. “because it’s always men sabotaging women these days. tell us.”

you hesitated, glancing between your two best friends. the thought of opening up made you uneasy, but you also knew they wouldn’t let it go until you did.

with a deep breath, you finally said, “we kissed."

ghe words hung in the air for a moment before milya let out an exaggerated gasp. “you kissed rin?! and you’re just now telling us?!”

ayane's eyes widened in surprise. “wait, what? when? how?”

you gave them a quick rundown of what had happened, leaving out the finer details but enough to paint the picture. by the time you finished, milya was grinning like she’d just won the lottery.

“and now you’re freaking out,” she said knowingly.

you nodded, fidgeting with your scarf. “it's just… i'm scared. what if I get attached and it doesn’t work out? what if I end up hurt again?”

milya reached out to squeeze your hand. “i get it, y/n. after kyo, it’s hard to trust again. but rin isn’t kyo. he's not the type to play games or hurt you on purpose.”

“she's right,” ayane chimed in, more blunt. “you can’t keep running from your feelings just because of some jerk in the past. rin likes you, y/n. anyone with eyes can see that. if you push him away now, you’re just going to regret it later.”

their words hit you harder than you expected. deep down, you knew they were right. you couldn’t keep letting fear control your actions. if you wanted to move forward, you had to take the risk.

by the time you got home, you’d made up your mind. tomorrow, you’d talk to rin.

the next day at school, you kept an eye out for him, determined to find the right moment. but it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t going to be easy.

you saw him briefly before class, standing near the lockers, but just as you worked up the nerve to approach him, someone called his name. rin turned away, his expression neutral as he engaged in a conversation with isagi. you hesitated, not wanting to interrupt, and by the time you decided to wait, rin was already walking toward the classroom.

the second time you spotted him, it was during lunch. he was seated by the window with a book open in front of him, looking as focused as ever. you took a deep breath, clutching your tray, and made your way toward him. but before you could reach him, bachira plopped down beside him with his usual energy, dragging rin into an animated conversation.

by the end of the day, frustration began to bubble up. you caught sight of rin heading down the hall, his bag slung over his shoulder. this was your last chance. you quickened your pace, calling his name.

“rin!”

he stopped, but before he could turn around, someone else beat you to him. a girl from his class - kana, if you remembered correctly - walked up to him with a bright smile.

“hey, rin!” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. she tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. “i was wondering if you could help me with something. you're really good at english, right?”

you froze mid-step, your chest tightening as you watched the interaction. rin looked at her, his expression as blank as ever. “what is it?” he asked flatly, his tone polite but detached.

kana laughed lightly, leaning closer. “it's the grammar. i don't understand it no matter what i try. maybe we could go over it together sometime?”

your stomach twisted uncomfortably. she was practically batting her eyelashes at him, and while rin didn’t seem particularly interested, he wasn’t walking away either.

you hesitated, unsure if you should interrupt. buz before you could decide, rin spoke again. “i'm busy,” he said curtly, brushing past her without a second glance.

for a split second, relief washed over you - only to be replaced by a pang of guilt. what was wrong with you? rin had every right to talk to whoever he wanted.

you quickened your pace and called out again.

“rin!”

this time, he stopped but didn’t turn around immediately. when he did, his expression was unreadable, his teal eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before he shifted his gaze.

“hey,” you started, walking closer. “can we—”

“not now,” he said shortly, cutting you off. he didn’t wait for your response, turning on his heel and walking away.

you froze, your heart sinking. the coldness in his tone stung more than you wanted to admit. was this bad timing or is he actually annoyed?

the rest of the day passed in a blur, the weight of rin's distance pressing heavily on your chest. you replayed his words, his actions - or maybe lack of actions - in your mind, overanalyzing every little detail.

"i fucked up," you mumbled, realizing.

chapter 017 > here > chapter 019

back to beneath the stars, we became one !

my taglist is open <3

a/n: IM SO SORRY THAT I HAVE TO REUPLOAD i forgot the last ch. ...

taglist: @byakgans @bluberrymochi17 @levihanmyotp @x3nafix @etojlee @chuuyalvover @reocidal @syarc0re @azinniyaa @vashyuu @rwbie @idexmids @giaalorine @modxbea @nensi @anqelkoz @sapph1r3x @yuukigyatgyat @morgyyyyyyy @azharyy @chaerinmin @thenightsflower @narcjsistx @totheseok @meekydeeks @aerisevx @imas1mpp

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[mywhisperingwords]

am i what you wanted? | fred g. weasley

summary: casual. no strings. just something to forget the loneliness. right? word count: 7.6k masterlist

The air at the party feels heavier than usual, like everyone is trying too hard to pretend they’re having a good time.

You’ve spent most of the night nursing a drink you don’t particularly like, offering polite smiles to people you barely know. It’s not your scene, but you came anyway because that’s what friends do—they drag you out, convince you it’ll be “fun,” and leave you regretting it by the second hour.

You’re just about ready to slip away when you spot him—Fred Weasley.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, casual and effortless as always, but there’s something different tonight. The usual spark in his eyes is dimmer, his smile not quite as wide. He’s talking to someone, but his gaze keeps drifting, like he’s only half paying attention.

You consider leaving without a word. After all, you’ve spent years perfecting the art of avoiding him. Not because you dislike him—quite the opposite.

Your stupid schoolgirl crush on him hasn’t quite fizzled out, no matter how much time has passed.

And of course, there was the matter of his latest relationship, a whirlwind romance with someone you considered a friend, Leah.

It would be wrong to approach him now, wouldn’t it?

But then Fred’s eyes land on you, and there’s no escaping. He gives you a faint smile, a shadow of his usual grin, and lifts his drink in a lazy sort of greeting. It’s an invitation, subtle but unmistakable. Against your better judgment, you cross the room.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, his voice low enough to cut through the background noise without effort.

You shrug, trying to seem unaffected. “Alicia dragged me out. Said I needed to get a life or something.”

Fred huffs a quiet laugh, looking down into his glass. “Sounds like something she’d say. George said the same to me, actually. Guess misery loves company.”

The comment surprises you. Fred doesn’t usually talk like that—so openly, so vulnerable. It’s enough to make you pause, to glance at him more carefully. “You don’t seem miserable,” you say, testing the waters.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a long sip of his drink and stares past you, like he’s trying to find the right words. “You’d be surprised,” he finally says, his tone softer now.

It’s an opening, one you hadn’t expected but can’t ignore. “What happened?”

Fred glances around, his expression unreadable, before gesturing toward the balcony. “Do you mind? It’s a bit loud in here.”

You follow him outside, where the night air is cool and quiet compared to the chaos inside. He leans against the railing, staring out at the city lights, and you stand beside him, unsure of what to say.

“She left,” he says abruptly, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about her—his ex.

“Oh.” It’s all you can manage.

Fred smiles faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. Not the dramatic kind of leaving either. No big fight, no slamming doors. Just… stopped caring, I guess. Said it wasn’t enough for her.”

The confession stirs something in you, a mix of sympathy and something sharper, harder to define.

You’ve never known Fred to be anything but confident, self-assured. Seeing him like this—guarded, almost uncertain—it’s disarming.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, and you mean it.

He glances at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, it feels like he’s seeing you for the first time. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How loneliness sneaks up on you. One day you think you’re fine, and the next, it’s like you can’t breathe.”

You nod, because you understand more than you’d like to admit. “Yeah. It’s awful.”

Fred studies you for a moment longer before offering a faint, almost wistful smile. “You get it.”

The words settle between you, warm and unspoken, and before you can overthink it, you say, “Maybe we’re just terrible at choosing the right people.”

Fred laughs then, a soft, genuine sound that eases some of the tension in your chest. “Maybe we are.”

It feels like an unspoken agreement, a quiet acknowledgment of shared pain. And when he leans just a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, you don’t pull away.

&

The door slams shut behind you both, barely closed before Fred’s hands are on your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth is on yours again, urgent and consuming, and the world outside this moment ceases to exist.

You’re not sure how it started—or maybe you do—but you’re too caught up in the feel of him, in the way he kisses like he’s unraveling a part of himself he’s never shown anyone.

Your back hits the edge of the couch, but Fred doesn’t stop. He moves with you, stumbling through the dark like neither of you can think beyond each other.

You barely make it to the bedroom. A trail of discarded shoes and jackets marks the path, forgotten in the haze.

He pauses only briefly, just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. “This…” he begins, his voice rough, barely a whisper. “This is what I needed. Something… easy. No expectations.”

The words are quiet but land with a weight that sticks somewhere in your chest. You know what he means—casual, uncomplicated, something to dull the ache of loneliness he spoke of earlier.

Your heart lurches, but your mind, clouded with want and the intoxicating proximity of him, nods before you can think it through. “Yeah,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. “Me too.”

The lie tastes bitter even as the kiss resumes, as his lips trail down your neck, as his hands find your skin. You tell yourself you’re fine with this. It’s Fred, and it’s what he wants. Isn’t it better to have this than nothing at all?

When morning comes, he’s gone.

You’re not surprised—he doesn’t strike you as the type to linger—but the silence in the room feels deafening. The sheets are cold where he was, and you stare at the ceiling, replaying his words in your head.

Something easy. No expectations.

Your agreement, muffled and uncertain, rings louder now. You agreed. This is what you signed up for. So why does your chest ache? Why does it feel like you’ve made a mistake you can’t undo?

You sit up, the mess of the night scattered around you—a shirt draped over the chair, an overturned glass on the table. It’s all so mundane, yet it feels like the air has shifted in your room, like the walls are pressing in.

You bury your face in your hands, letting out a slow, measured breath. Maybe this wasn’t the right decision. But you can’t change it now. Fred was what you wanted for so long, wasn’t he? Maybe this is all you get.

Maybe this is all you’re allowed to have.

You hope you can convince yourself of that.

&

The pub is buzzing, laughter and conversation spilling out from every corner as you sit wedged between Alicia and George.

Fred is across from you, casually leaning back in his chair, a pint of beer balanced between his long fingers. His laughter blends with the noise around you, effortlessly charming, as always.

It’s easy to forget, in moments like this, that this is supposed to be casual. Easy.

You catch yourself watching him longer than you should, noting the way his hair falls into his eyes when he laughs, the way his smile lingers just enough to make your stomach twist.

You remind yourself to look away.

The conversation circles back to someone’s recent breakup, a natural segue into a casual remark about Fred’s ex.

It’s Angelina, sitting two seats down, who says it without malice—just an innocent mention of the girl who was once by his side.

“You were so into her, Fred. Thought you two were endgame, honestly,” she says with a smile, tipping her glass toward him.

Fred’s expression flickers, just for a second, but it’s enough to change the energy at the table. The easy grin falters, his fingers tightening around the glass. “Yeah, well,” he says, voice light but guarded, “things don’t always work out the way you think they will.”

The group catches on quickly, steering the conversation elsewhere, but you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s something in the way his shoulders tense, in the way he avoids eye contact, that makes your chest tighten.

The rest of the evening is a blur of noise and small talk. You find yourself gravitating toward the bar, needing space, needing air. But you don’t get far.

Fred appears beside you, leaning on the counter with a quiet sigh. His eyes are darker now, shadows of something unspoken behind them. He doesn’t say anything, just glances at you, and suddenly the air feels heavier.

“Come with me,” he mutters all of the sudden, so low you almost don’t hear it.

You hesitate, your heart skipping, but you follow.

He leads you down a narrow hallway, past the kitchen, until you’re standing outside the bathroom door. He checks once over his shoulder before pulling you in, locking the door behind him.

“Fred, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that takes your breath away.

It’s messy, hurried, like he’s trying to drown something out. His hands find your waist, pressing you against the cold tile wall, and you can feel the tension in his grip, the desperation in the way he kisses you.

It’s different this time—more frantic, less controlled. There’s no room to think, no space for words, just the heat of him against you and the quiet hum of the pub muffled beyond the door.

When it’s over, you’re both catching your breath, the silence settling around you like a weight. Fred’s forehead rests against yours, and for a moment, it feels like he might say something—something real, something vulnerable.

But then he steps back, adjusting his shirt, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “Thanks,” he mutters, almost too softly, and the word hits you like a slap.

You blink, trying to find something to say, but he’s already unlocking the door, slipping out like nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, the cold tiles against your back, your pulse still racing. You stare at the empty space where he was, your mind replaying the moment in vivid detail.

Something about this feels wrong. But then again, wasn’t this what you agreed to?

&

It’s late. Later than late, really, with the kind of stillness in the air that only comes when the rest of the world is sleeping.

But you’re wide awake, perched on the edge of your couch with a half-empty glass of wine in your hand, listening to the faint hum of the city outside.

You don’t know why you’re waiting.

Or maybe you do, but admitting it feels like giving it more weight than it deserves.

It’s been a few days since you saw Fred—since he showed up at your door for the first time, with that crooked smile and a cocky, unspoken challenge in his eyes.

You hadn’t known what to expect then, and you still don’t know now. But when you hear the knock at your door, your chest tightens in anticipation anyway.

You set the glass down and cross the room, opening the door to find him leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“Bit late for a social call, don’t you think?” you tease, though your voice wavers just slightly.

Fred grins, that easy, practiced grin that always feels like it’s hiding something. “Thought you might say that. But then, you’re still awake, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and step aside, letting him in. He walks past you, his steps slow and deliberate, like he’s taking his time to assess the space.

It’s not the first time he’s been here, but he looks around like it is, his gaze lingering on the small details you’d never think to notice.

“You always keep it this tidy?” he asks, turning to face you with a smirk.

“I knew you were coming, didn’t I?” you shoot back, closing the door behind him.

Fred laughs, the sound low and warm, and suddenly the room feels smaller.

It’s always like this with him—this electric push and pull that leaves you feeling off-balance and exhilarated all at once.

He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the back of a chair, and then he’s sitting on your couch like he’s been doing it for years.

You join him, keeping a safe distance between you, but it doesn’t matter. The tension fills the space anyway, a quiet, unspoken thing neither of you is willing to address.

“So,” Fred says, his eyes flicking to the wine glass you left on the table. “Drinking alone, are we? Rough night?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Not rough. Just… quiet.”

Fred hums, leaning back and stretching an arm along the back of the couch. His fingers are close enough to brush your shoulder, but they don’t.

“Well,” he says after a beat, “I’m good at making noise. Want me to liven things up?”

You turn to look at him, arching a brow at his choice of words. “That depends. What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins again, wider this time, and before you know it, you’re caught up in one of his ridiculous stories—something about a prank that went wrong back at Hogwarts and ended with George covered in soot and screaming about cursed cauldrons.

You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, the kind of laugh that feels like it’s shaking loose all the tension you’ve been carrying for days. Fred is laughing too, his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking.

And for a moment, it’s easy to forget the doubts gnawing at the edges of your mind.

But then the story ends, and the laughter fades, and the room feels too quiet again.

Fred’s laughter dies in his throat first. He turns his head toward you, the space between you charged, his expression softening as his eyes flicker to your lips.

“You’re staring,” you whisper, trying to keep your tone light, but your pulse betrays you.

“Am I?” he murmurs back, his voice low and teasing, but there’s something in his gaze that makes it hard to breathe.

You don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you—but suddenly, the space between you disappears. His mouth meets yours in a rush of heat and hunger, and your body reacts without thought, your hands tangling in his hair as he pulls you closer.

He tastes like mint and something else, something unmistakably Fred, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It starts like it always does—feverish and desperate, hands searching, breaths stolen. Fred’s hands find the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head, and your back hits the cushions of the couch before you even realize you’ve moved.

But somewhere in the middle of it—between the hurried kisses and the whispered curses—something shifts.

His touch slows, his fingers trailing along your skin with an almost reverent softness. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like there’s more to this than just a casual arrangement.

Your chest tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.

Fred pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if you feel it too.

But then the moment passes, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head like he’s dismissing some unwelcome thought. He presses a lingering kiss to your collarbone before shifting his weight and standing, grabbing his jacket from the chair.

“Leaving already?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred hesitates, his back to you. “Yeah,” he says, his tone lighter than the moment calls for. “Gotta keep you wanting more, don’t I?”

The grin he throws over his shoulder is forced, you think, but you don’t call him on it.

You watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and you’re left alone again, your chest tight and your mind racing.

This is what you signed up for, you remind yourself. Casual. Fun. No strings attached.

So why does it already feel like so much more?

&

The party isn’t much different from the last one. A haze of laughter and music hangs in the air, the dimly lit living room thrumming with energy as bodies mill about. You’re leaning against a wall, clutching a drink, when you spot him across the room.

Fred.

Your breath catches—not because you didn’t expect him to be here, but because it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this since everything began.

In the few weeks since that night, he’s always shown up at your door under cover of darkness, a secret that slips away before the world wakes. Now, he’s here, among friends, out in the open. It feels… surreal.

His eyes catch yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looks away. You should probably do the same, pretend he’s just another person at the party, someone you barely know outside of shared jokes and casual conversations.

But something about seeing him here, the same Fred everyone else knows, tangles in your chest.

The game between you feels different now. Riskier.

You manage to avoid each other for most of the night, though you’re painfully aware of him. The way his laugh carries over the music. The effortless charm in the way he leans against the kitchen counter, surrounded by people.

But it’s when you least expect it that it happens.

You’ve slipped into the quiet hallway, hoping for a moment to breathe. He appears from nowhere, leaning casually against the wall a few feet away. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, low enough that no one else could hear.

You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’ve been avoiding me too.”

A ghost of a smirk crosses his face. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches, filled only by the distant hum of the party, the bass thudding like a heartbeat. Then he shifts closer—too close, considering the thin walls and prying eyes just a room away.

“This is risky,” you murmur, though you don’t move away.

“Since when do you mind risky?” he counters, his voice teasing but quiet. There’s a flicker of warmth in his tone, a reminder of those moments when he’s let his guard down just enough to let you in.

You should push him away, but you don’t.

Instead, you glance up, and for the briefest second, he looks at you like he’s about to say something important. Something real. But he doesn’t. He’s Fred, after all.

Instead, his hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You hesitate, your chest tightening. “Then why are you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers graze your wrist, light and hesitant, before he steps back, creating a distance that feels far too wide.

“I shouldn’t be,” he says again, as though repeating it will make it true. Then, softer, “But I am.”

The air between you feels heavier than it should. He’s pulling away again, retreating into the shell of secrecy he’s so carefully built. It frustrates you more than it should.

“You don’t have to make this so complicated,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Fred’s jaw tightens. He glances at the door leading back to the party, his gaze distant, before his eyes flicker back to you. “You think it’s that easy?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know how to.

Instead, he leans in, his voice a whisper. “Careful. Someone might see us.” His words are teasing, but there’s an edge of something sharper beneath them.

And then he’s gone, disappearing back into the crowd as though nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, your heart racing and your thoughts tangled in ways you can’t quite unravel.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You don’t see him again, but his presence lingers like a shadow, like a secret you can’t escape.

And when you finally leave the party, stepping out into the cool night air, you can’t help but wonder if this game you’re playing is one you’ll ever win—or if it’s one you’ll lose before it even truly begins.

&

It’s been days since the party.

Days of wondering if Fred will show up again, if you’ll hear that familiar knock on your door in the dead of night. He doesn’t call, doesn’t send any owl—not that you expected him to. But his absence still gnaws at you.

When the knock finally comes, it’s past midnight. You hesitate for a moment, standing barefoot in the hallway, staring at the door like it might vanish if you blink. Then, as if on instinct, you reach for the handle.

Fred is there, leaning against the frame, his hair tousled, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, just steps inside, his hands finding your waist almost immediately.

It’s fast, like always. A trail of kisses down your neck, murmured words you can barely catch, and then you’re stumbling toward the bedroom. It’s almost routine now—the way he knows exactly how to pull you apart, the way he leaves before the sun comes up.

It’s the same pattern, the same urgency, like he’s trying to chase away whatever’s haunting him.

Only this time, he leaves without saying much of anything. A quick glance back, a muttered “I’ll see you,” and then the door clicks shut behind him.

The quiet that follows feels heavier than it should. You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the empty doorway, wondering why the familiar ache feels sharper tonight.

&

Alicia’s offer couldn’t come at a better time. “You need a reset,” she says, twirling her straw in her iced tea. “Seriously, this guy is perfect. Smart, funny, normal. Give it a shot.”

It’s not like you have anything better to do, so you agree.

The date is fine. Fine. Paul is nice—charming, even—but there’s no spark. By the end of the night, you’re both laughing about how you’d make better friends than anything else.

It’s late when you finally get home, the streets quiet and dimly lit. You’re fishing for your keys when you notice the shadow near your door.

Fred.

He’s leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He looks up as you approach, his gaze flickering to the key in your hand before settling on your face.

“You’re out late,” he says, his voice casual.

“I had plans,” you reply, matching his tone as you unlock the door. You don’t elaborate, and neither does he.

Inside, the tension follows you, crackling in the air as you set your bag down and turn to face him. He’s watching you, his expression neutral but his shoulders taut, like he’s holding something back.

“How were the plans?” he asks, his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it you can’t quite place.

“They were fine,” you say. “We’re better off as friends.”

He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line, and for a moment, you think that’s the end of it. But then he’s stepping closer, his hands finding your waist like they always do.

This time, it’s different. His kisses are rougher, his grip firmer, but there’s something else underneath it—a quiet desperation, like he’s trying to claim something without admitting it. His hands linger longer, his lips move slower, and you let yourself lean into it, pretending not to notice the shift.

Afterward, he’s quiet again, lying beside you in the dark. The air feels heavier, and you can sense the walls going back up before he even moves to get dressed.

As he pulls on his shirt, he pauses, standing by the door with his back to you. For a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something, but instead, he runs a hand through his hair and exhales softly.

Then, just before he leaves, he glances back over his shoulder, his gaze flickering to yours. “Let me know when you’re too busy.”

It’s barely a whisper, so quiet you almost miss it. But there’s something in the way he says it, something unsaid lurking beneath the words, that lingers long after he’s gone.

You sit there in the dark, replaying the moment over and over, wondering why it feels like he just said goodbye.

&

Angelina’s birthday party is already in full swing by the time you stumble through the door, only half-committed to being there. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it’s all too loud, too bright, too much.

But you came anyway, maybe out of habit, or maybe because part of you hoped you’d find a distraction in the chaos.

Fred is here. You noticed him immediately. He’s impossible not to notice, leaning against the bar, his easy smile tugging at something in your chest you’ve been trying to ignore. He hasn’t come near you, hasn’t even spared you more than a glance. But that glance—it felt like it saw too much.

You bury your feelings in your drink, letting the bitterness of it settle the knots in your stomach. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, what’s with the face?” Alicia’s voice cuts through the noise as she drops onto the couch beside you. “You look like someone just ran over your cat.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swirling the last of your drink. “Just…thinking.”

“About your nonexistent love life again?” she teases, nudging your shoulder. “Seriously, you need to loosen up. Or at least stop picking all the wrong people.”

You force a laugh, but it feels hollow. Alicia doesn’t know. No one does. You’ve kept Fred a secret, just as he asked. The weight of it presses heavier tonight, threatening to spill over as you down the rest of your drink and reach for another.

As the night goes on, the alcohol blurs the edges of everything. Faces blend together, voices turn to static, and you’re left moping in the corner, the ache in your chest louder than any song playing.

Fred’s there, somewhere. You’ve caught glimpses of him—his easy posture stiffened, his smile more strained than usual. But he doesn’t approach, and you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking too long.

By the end of the night, most people have left, and the crowd has thinned out. You’re sitting on the couch, staring at the bottom of your empty glass, when a shadow falls over you.

“Let’s get you home,” Fred says, his voice low but firm.

You look up at him, the alcohol dulling your usual instincts. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but there’s something gentler in his gaze, something that makes your chest tighten.

You don’t resist when he helps you up, his arm steady around your waist as he guides you out the door. The walk home is quiet, the chill of the night air biting at your skin. Fred doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence feels heavier than usual.

When you finally reach your flat, he helps you inside, sitting you down on the couch as he disappears into the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water, kneeling in front of you.

“Drink,” he says simply.

You take the glass, your hands shaking slightly as you bring it to your lips.

“Fred,” you start after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “Stay.”

He looks at you, startled by the request. “I—”

“Please.” The word spills out before you can stop it, raw and pleading. “Just for the night. I don’t want to be alone.”

He hesitates, his expression flickering between something unreadable and something achingly vulnerable. Then, finally, he nods. “Alright.”

Relief washes over you as he helps you to your feet again, guiding you to your bedroom. He’s careful as he tucks you into bed, his hand lingering briefly on your shoulder before he steps back.

“You’ll stay?” you ask again, your voice softer now.

“I’ll stay,” he promises, his voice low and steady.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

When you wake up, the room is quiet, the sunlight streaming through the curtains. For a moment, you lie there, disoriented, the haze of last night still clinging to your thoughts.

Then you notice it—the bed is empty.

Your stomach drops, a hollow ache blooming in your chest as you sit up. The other side of the bed is cool to the touch, and for a moment, you wonder if he left as soon as you fell asleep. The ache sharpens, and you feel foolish for believing he’d actually stay.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you bury your face in your hands. Of course, he left. Of course, this is what it always is with him—half-hearted promises and fleeting moments that never mean as much as you want them to.

It’s only when you lower your hands that you notice it.

A glass of water and a small packet of painkillers sit neatly on the nightstand.

Your breath catches as you reach for the glass, the pieces falling together in your mind. The bed might be cool now, but the faint warmth lingering on the pillow tells a different story.

And then you hear it—the faint click of your front door closing.

Your chest tightens, your heart pounding as you realize the truth: Fred stayed. He kept his promise.

The ache in your chest softens, replaced by something you can’t quite name. It’s not relief, not entirely. It’s something more fragile, more complicated.

He stayed.

And for now, that’s enough.

&

The pub feels suffocating tonight, the air heavy with laughter and music that’s a touch too loud. You’re sitting at the edge of the booth again, nursing the remnants of your drink while the conversation at the table flows around you. Fred is there too, only a few feet away but worlds apart, as always.

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

But tonight, something is different. You’ve caught him looking at you more than once, a flicker of warmth in his gaze that lingers just a moment too long before he turns away.

And then there are the little things—how he slid the drinks menu your way when you couldn’t reach, the casual way his hand brushed yours when passing the salt, and the faint smirk on his lips when you dropped your napkin, like he found your clumsiness amusing.

It’s maddening. These small, almost imperceptible gestures that would mean nothing if it were anyone else, but with Fred, they feel like everything.

You glance his way now, trying not to linger. He’s leaned back in his chair, his long fingers drumming lazily against the table, his attention seemingly on George, who’s telling some animated story about a prank gone wrong. But then, as if he feels your eyes on him, Fred looks up.

The corners of his mouth twitch, and there it is again—that fleeting, private smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

It’s a cruel kind of softness. The kind that makes you want more.

“Leaving soon?” His voice pulls you back, low enough that it barely cuts through the noise, and you realize he’s speaking to you.

Your heart skips. You shrug, trying to feign indifference. “Maybe. You?”

His smirk deepens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Not yet.”

The words hang between you, unspoken but understood. The plan forms, unspoken as always. You’ll leave first, and he’ll follow.

When the clock creeps toward midnight, you push yourself up, offering the table a vague excuse about an early morning. Fred doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension, the way his fingers still against the table as you grab your things and step into the cool night air.

The sharp contrast of the quiet street is a relief at first, but it doesn’t last. Your thoughts churn, the familiar mix of guilt and longing rising to the surface. You shake your head, trying to focus on the walk home when you see her.

Leah.

She’s leaning against the wall just outside the pub, her arms crossed, the faint glow of a cigarette in her hand. She looks up when she hears you, her face illuminated by the streetlamp above.

“Hey,” she says, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.

You freeze, your chest tightening. “Hey.”

Her lips quirk into something that’s not quite a smile, and she takes a slow drag of her cigarette before exhaling, the smoke curling into the air between you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head slightly.

She must’ve watched you—you hadn’t even noticed her in the pub. Had Fred?

You force a shrug, your voice tight. “Long day.”

She hums, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Fred seemed to have been distracted too. Must’ve been one of those days for everyone, huh?”

The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you keep your expression as neutral as you can manage. “Yeah, maybe.”

Leah watches you for a moment longer, her gaze unsettlingly calm. She takes another drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her heel. “You two seemed friendly tonight.”

Your stomach twists, but you don’t falter. “We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Her lips press together, her expression unreadable. “Sure.”

The pub door swings open, the sound spilling into the street, and your heart sinks as Fred steps out. His hair is a little messy, his face flushed from the warmth of the pub. He glances around, his eyes landing on you almost immediately.

“There you are,” he says, his tone light as he steps closer. “What’s taking so long? I thought you’d—”

His words die as his gaze shifts, landing on Leah.

His smile falters, and for a moment, the easy confidence he always carries slips. “Leah.”

“Fred,” she says smoothly, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp as they flick between the two of you.

He straightens, shoving his hands into his pockets as the tension thickens.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice tighter now.

You feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. You glance between them, your chest tightening. You can’t do this. The weight of the secrecy, the guilt, the unspoken accusations—it’s too much.

“I was just leaving,” you say quickly, your voice steadier than you feel.

Fred’s gaze snaps to you, his brow furrowing. “Wait—”

“I’ll see you later,” you cut him off, stepping away before either of them can stop you.

You won’t see him later, you’re sure of it.

The last thing you hear as you walk away is Fred’s voice, quieter now but still tinged with something you can’t quite place.

“Leah, we should talk.”

You don’t look back. You can’t.

&

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of the city outside is no comfort tonight. It’s too quiet, too still, and your mind refuses to stop racing.

You picture them together—Fred and Leah. You imagine their conversation, her calm but sharp gaze and his uneasy expression. Maybe they’re sitting close, voices low and familiar, smoothing over the jagged edges of their breakup. Maybe they’ll work things out. Maybe they’re already back together.

The thought is a knife to the chest, twisting deeper with every passing second. You roll onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, but it doesn’t help. The ache is relentless, carving itself into every corner of your heart.

Hours pass. The clock on your nightstand glows faintly, marking the time you’ve spent wide awake. 2:47 a.m. Your body is heavy with exhaustion, but your mind won’t let you rest.

You try to reason with yourself. Fred never promised you anything. This was always supposed to be casual, meaningless—a fleeting distraction for both of you. You knew that. You agreed to it.

And yet.

A sharp knock cuts through the silence, jolting you upright. For a moment, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

Another knock.

You stumble out of bed, heart pounding, and shuffle to the door. When you open it, Fred is standing there, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled like he’d left in a hurry. The faint light of the hallway casts shadows across his face, but his eyes are clear, intense.

You can’t speak. You just step aside, and he walks in without a word.

The door closes behind him, the lock clicking softly into place. He turns to you, his gaze searching, but whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t say. He just steps closer, his hands brushing against your arms before they settle on your waist, pulling you toward him.

There are no questions, no explanations. Just his mouth on yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way you feel.

It’s different this time.

The usual rush of urgency is gone, replaced by something quieter, softer. He touches you like you’re fragile, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. His hands linger, tracing patterns on your skin, and his lips trail down your neck with an almost reverent slowness.

When he lifts you, carrying you to the bed, it’s not hurried or thoughtless. He lays you down gently, his weight pressing into you as his lips find yours again.

It’s almost too much. The tenderness, the quiet intensity—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes your chest ache.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is goodbye. If this is Fred’s way of ending things, giving you something to remember before he walks away for good.

The thought makes your throat tighten, but you don’t stop him. You can’t.

When it’s over, you lie there in the dark, the sheets tangled around you, his arm draped loosely over your waist. His breathing is steady, his body warm against yours, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is enough. That this could be enough.

But then he stirs, pulling away.

You turn to watch him as he sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t look at you as he stands, gathering his clothes and pulling them on with quiet efficiency.

Your chest tightens, but you don’t say anything. You just watch as he moves to the door.

He hesitates, his hand on the knob, and for a moment, you think he might say something. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to you, his expression unreadable, and steps closer.

He leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s the kind of tenderness he’s never shown before, the kind that makes your heart break even as it swells.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. There’s something there, something unspoken, but before you can grasp it, he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re alone again.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, the ache in your chest heavier than ever.

This is goodbye, you think.

You close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come.

&

The weeks without Fred are a blur of emotions, each one more exhausting than the last. Some days, you manage to feel like yourself again, like the world might not actually end without him. Other days, the grief hits you like a wave, dragging you under with the weight of all the unsaid words and the things you wished could’ve been.

Your friends help, of course. Alicia keeps you busy with plans you don’t want to make, and Angelina sends you pep talks at odd hours of the night. But there’s a hollow ache they can’t touch, a space inside you carved out by Fred and left empty when he walked away.

You try to fill it with distractions—new books, long walks, even the occasional half-hearted date—but nothing works. Because no matter what you’re doing, your thoughts always circle back to him. To the warmth of his hands, the sound of his laugh, the way he looked at you that night before he left.

The worst part is the silence.

For weeks, there’s no word from Fred. No knocks at your door, no teasing notes slipped under the frame. He’s just… gone. And while you tell yourself that’s what you wanted—that it’s for the best—you can’t stop wondering where he is. What he’s doing. If he’s with her.

And then, one day, the silence breaks.

It’s mid-afternoon, and you’re home, though you have no memory of how you spent the morning. The hours have blurred together in a haze of restless pacing and half-formed thoughts, none of which have brought you any peace.

When the knock comes, you almost don’t hear it. It’s soft, tentative, like the person on the other side isn’t sure they’re welcome.

Your heart stutters.

You tell yourself it’s probably Alicia or Angelina, or maybe even Leah. But when you open the door, it’s Fred.

He looks different in the daylight. There’s no mischievous grin, no late-night bravado. Just him, standing on your doorstep, his shoulders tense and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Hi,” he says, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

You stare at him, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or slam the door in his face. “What are you doing here?”

Fred shifts, glancing past you into the flat before meeting your gaze again. “Can I come in?”

You want to say no. You want to tell him to leave, to take all the chaos and heartbreak he’s brought into your life and walk away for good. But instead, you step aside, letting him in.

Fred moves to the middle of the room and stops, his eyes scanning the space like he’s trying to memorize it. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t relax, just stands there, his weight shifting from foot to foot.

“I didn’t know if you’d let me in,” he admits after a moment.

“Why are you here, Fred?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—guilt, maybe, or fear. “I needed to see you. To explain.”

“Explain what? That you left? That you couldn’t give me what I wanted? What I needed?” Your voice wavers, betraying the anger you’ve been holding onto for weeks.

Fred flinches but doesn’t look away. “Yes. All of it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I was a mess when we started this,” he says finally, his voice low and steady. “Leah and I were over, but I wasn’t okay. I told myself I didn’t want anything serious, that I couldn’t handle it. And then you…”

You hold your breath, waiting for him to continue.

“You made me feel like I could handle it,” Fred says, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And that scared me. It made me feel wrong, like I was moving on too fast. Like I didn’t deserve it.”

You blink, his words sinking in.

“I pushed you away because I was scared,” he admits, meeting your eyes again. “But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “And now? Are you still scared?”

“Yes,” Fred says without hesitation. “But I’m more scared of not being with you. Of letting you slip away because I was too much of a coward to fight for this.”

Your breath catches, your chest tightening with a mix of hope and fear. “And what happens when it gets hard again? When you start to feel like it’s too much?”

Fred takes a step closer, his expression earnest. “Then I’ll tell you. And we’ll figure it out together. Because I’m done running, and I’m done pretending this doesn’t mean something.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much. You look away, your hands trembling as you try to keep your emotions in check.

“What are you asking for, Fred?” you whisper.

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might not answer. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. “I’m asking for a chance. To do this right. To give you what you’ve always deserved.”

You close your eyes, his words washing over you like a wave.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely audible. “But we take it slow. No more secrets, no more running. We do this the right way.”

Fred nods, a small, relieved smile breaking through his tension. “Slow. Got it.”

He steps back then, extending a hand like he’s meeting you for the first time. “Hi. I’m Fred. Nice to meet you.”

You laugh, the sound a little shaky but genuine. “Nice to meet you, Fred.”

For a moment, you let yourself smile, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. Then you glance at his outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow. “Though I have to say, you look a lot like this guy I used to know. Total pain in the arse, but surprisingly charming when he wanted to be.”

Fred grins, his eyes lighting up in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat. “Well, I’m hoping I’m nothing like him. He sounds awful.”

“He was,” you say, shaking his hand firmly. “But I think you might be an improvement.”

Fred laughs, the sound warm and unrestrained, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again.

[p1astr81]

I love you, dad

in which: Oscar and Ryder face each other for the final time.

pairing: spiderman!oscar piastri x reader

warnings: angst, injury, cursing, kinda short, lowkey corny dialogue, lmk if there’s any others!

an: this will be the final part, thank you to everyone who has been reading!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

‧‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅

It was late. One in the morning to be exact. Oscar went patrolling after dinner at yours, but he couldn’t get something off his mind. Which led him to Tony’s doorstep, fist balled and banging repeatedly on his front door.

Eventually, Oscar’s fist met free air as Tony threw open the door. The older man was disheveled, hair a mess and eyes half open. “What, kid? What do you want?” He asked, highly annoyed.

“Is it possible for Ryder West to know who I am?”

Tony blinked repeatedly. “What?”

“Well, cause, he saw me—like—out of uniform, and I don’t know he was looking at me while talking about spiders so it felt like-“

Tony interrupted his rambling with a sigh. “He doesn’t know you, kid. Not unless you told him.” A pause. “And why would he see you out of uniform?”

Oscar stumbled over himself. “You know what, come in. I feel like this is going to be a long one.”

The door was held open for him. Oscar found his way to the couch and sat with his head hung. “So, I have a girlfriend.”

“Yes. I know. She keeps you from patrolling every night, this isn’t new information.” Tony twirled his wrist in a circle, motioning for him to continue. “Well, her dad is…” Oscar scoffs, stalling to avoid Tony’s reaction.

“Her dad is Ryder.”

Tony’s brows shot up, his mouth gaping slightly. “Wow. Didn’t see that one coming. But that’s a tough problem for you kid. Real tough.” Oscar just nodded.

“So I take it she doesn’t know her dad is evil Elsa?”

Oscar shook his head.

“Yikes.” Tony’s hand landed on Oscars shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.” His remorse was minuscule as he stood up, walking away.

Oscar watched with his brows drawn together in confusion. “Mr. Stark? Where are you going?”

“To bed. Goodnight Oscar.”

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

The landing was messy and uncoordinated tonight. He was trying to balance two cups of hot cocoa and a box of two chocolate donuts while also sticking a clean landing on the rooftop. Safe to say he failed. The drinks splashed on his boots and he just barely salvaged the donuts when he stumbled.

“Package retrieved!” He cheered as he sat down on the ledge beside you. You laughed at him and took your cup from his hand. “You make such a good delivery boy.” You bumped your shoulder with his.

He flipped up his mask just enough to eat, and through a mouth full of donut responded with, “glad to be of service!”

You chuckled under your breath.

After the both of you had finished your donuts, Oscar hummed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he continued once your eyes met his through the mask. “And you don’t have to answer but… why do your parents have a different last name?”

You shrugged. “My mom was an only child. Grandpa had no one to carry on the middle name, so they gave it to me at birth.”

Oscar nodded in understanding, his eyes on his swinging feet. After a moment, he looked up at you smiling. “You know, the lady at the donut shop was gawking at me the whole time. Super uncomfortable.”

You scanned him, eyes enamored. A tender smile. “Can’t blame her.”

Oscar scoffed a laugh. “Oh come o—mfph” he was cut off abruptly by your lips on his. Subconsciously, his body gave into your touch, leaning closer and getting both of his hands on you. “Gonna- mhh- gonna- be seen.” Oscar managed to mutter between kisses.

You broke away and tucked your hair behind your ears. Two hands placed on his biceps, you shoved him off the ledge and onto the flat roof.

“Now we’re out of sight.” You gave a cheeky smile before diving back in.

Before your lips even made contact, Oscar’s warm body disappeared from below you. He was perked up, his mask messily yanked back down over his face. He was frantically searching in every direction.

“What is it?” You we’re cautious.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.” He breathed out. His senses were at an all time high, his body screaming at him that danger was inevitable, but the city looked normal.

“Is it your… tingle?”

Oscar nodded, in a trance.

Then his head snapped to the left just as a boulder of ice flattened a car. They heard the shattering and the crunching metal from yards away.

“Shit,” you gasped, a hand finding Oscar’s arm quickly. It secured you.

He got to his feet. “Get inside. Find a basement, or get under a sturdy table.”

“Oscar,”

He looked back at you.

“Be safe. Please.”

Oscar nodded before taking off.

Mid-flight, he activated his nano-suit. In the case of any sharp icicles flying his way, It would protect him better than the suit he wore currently.

Subzero swiveled on his floating block of ice to face Oscar’s direction. “Ah, and the bug is here!” His voice was loud, filled with disdain and malice. An ice shard, the size of Oscar’s own head came flying at him as he swung from building to building. He had to drop a couple of stories to avoid it, losing any elevation ground he had on Ryder.

“Arachnoid!” Oscar corrected.

“Doesn’t make a difference to me, I’ll squash you all the same.”

Oscar did not doubt the truth in that statement. He was very aware that it only took one boulder-sized ice cube to flatten him. But he wasn’t worried. He was quick. He could dodge anything that came his way. His main concern remained with the innocent people of the city.

Oscar swung underneath Ryder, hoping to draw him away from the crowds. Unfortunately for Oscar, he didn’t take the bait.

Cursing under his breath, toes pointed to the sky, he launched himself into the air and stuck to the side of a building. Eye level with his own girlfriend’s father.

“Last time wasn’t enough for you?” His laugh taunted Oscar. Another shard came right for him. He flipped, managing to web one of Ryder’s hands, and landed on the building opposite. The shard pierced the window, shattering its panes.

A blade of ice materialized in Subzero’s other hand. He made quick work of slicing the web.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Oscar rolled his eyes at the man’s incessant yammering. He tried to web him up again, but he predicted Oscar’s moves. His webs met empty air.

It was a constant game between them. A web shot at Ryder. Ice flying in Oscar’s direction. It was a constant back and forth, and neither of them were winning. They’ve moved a couple of blocks from where they first began, and Oscar started to realize they were getting dangerously close to your place of work, where you were currently hiding out.

When he tried to move back in the other direction, he was hit with a solid rock of ice that blew him back, right onto a rooftop.

Your rooftop, he realized almost immediately.

Shit, he cursed quietly, trying to get away but his web was turned to ice, eliminating it’s elasticity and shattering it. He went rolling back on to the concrete rooftop, letting out a small grunt.

When he looked up from where he lay, Ryder had joined him. Oscar hoped you had the mind to get out of there.

He tried to get up, but Ryder had kicked him back down. Now a firm boot pressed his body against the concrete, cementing him in place. “I admire your determination.” Ryder’s boot pressed harder, earning a small groan out of Oscar. “But you were never going to win this.” He feigned sympathy.

Oscar’s ears picked up the smallest sound. Footsteps. He turned his head in its direction, finding you at its source.

Eyes shifting down to where you grasped a dull knife in your hand, his heart leaped to his throat. An attempt at communication was made, through the subtle shifting of his eyes. You hadn’t picked up on it.

You continued to advance, but your foot crunched on a broken piece of ice. Without looking, Ryder shot out an ice shard in your direction.

A broken gasp was punched out of Oscar’s lungs. You stumbled, the knife falling from your hands. Your hands surrounded the icicle that was impaled in your stomach. “Don’t!” Oscar shouted. Your movements halted.

Oscar was quick to web up the knife, and plunged it into Ryder’s foot once in his hand. Shocked, Ryder stepped back, allowing Oscar to get up. He ran to you as you continued to stumble. You tried to stay on your feet. You were disoriented. That much was clear.

His instinct took over. Webs were shot across the rooftop. As many as he could manage. He stuck Ryder to the very ledge the both of you sat on each night.

You slumped against Oscar. Heavy breaths. Eyes half open. An attempt at a smile. A hand coming up to cup his cheek.

The tears fell fast. His fear undeniable. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He was unsure which one of you he was trying to reassure, but he kept repeating the words.

Your name was called. A tone of horror. Your father. He struggled against his restraints. You squinted at him. Tried to identify him. You couldn’t. Not when your eyes were as unfocused as they were.

“Friday, alert Mr. Stark.”

“Right away.”

“Oscar,” you breathed out. Affection.

A shaky breath. “I’m gonna get you to a hospital.” He stood. You slumped against him. “Hold on as tight as you can for me, yeah?” Oscar was choking on his own tears at this point.

“But… I’ll get blood on your suit.” A feeble laugh. A shuttered sob. He was failing at holding it together. “That’s okay. I can wash it.”

Oscar shot off into the air. A yell of objection following him.

A slight whimper. “Hurts.” You managed. “I know.” He repeated over again.

Tears blurred his vision, nearly running into a stoplight. “You’re a reckless swinger.” You muttered. Oscar gave a weak laugh at the fact you’d called him a swinger.

He landed right outside the ER. Your legs gave way. “Woah, hey. Okay.” He was sure his mask would be soaked through with tears if it wasn’t for the nano technology.

He picked you up bridal style. “I need a doctor!” He pleaded, not caring how broken his voice sounded.

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

You shifted, letting out a low grunt. Your abdomen housed a dull, throbbing pain. You tried to move your arm but it’s mobility was restricted by a light weight.

Oscar’s head. Eyes closed. Asleep. His eyebrows were furrowed. His body tense. “Os,” your other hand threaded it’s fingers through his hair.

He stirred but didn’t wake. “Hey,” you poked his shoulder. He slowly lifted his head, blinking a couple of times before gasping loudly. “You’re up.” He was shocked, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you into him. He let go when you winced. “Sorry.” He stepped back.

You made him room on the bed, allowing him to sit next to you. “Where are my parents?”

Oscar’s eyes could no longer meet yours. His hands were suddenly fascinating. “Your mom is on a work trip.”

You blinked. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days. Medically induced coma. They said it would help with recovery.” You nodded. “And my dad?”

Oscar bit his lip. “He’s…” he sighed. “I shouldn’t be the one to tell you.” He shook his head. Your eyes widened. “What? Is he dead?” You were panicked.

“No! No… just away.” Oscar reassured. You sat up, wincing at the pain from the sudden movement. “Away? What the hell does that mean?” You demanded.

Oscar met your eyes. A deep breath. “Mr. Stark took him to a high security prison. In the middle of the Ocean.”

A wave of different emotions crashed over your expression at his words. Confusion. Sadness. Anger.

Realization.

Oscar’s hesitance when they met. On the rooftop, how he knew your name. The familiarity of his voice. “Oh,” you put the pieces of the puzzle together. Your eyes became glossed over.

Then the denial came.

You shook your head, the motion never ending. “He…” A shaky breath. “He wouldn’t have…” Oscar pulled something out of his pocket. A folded piece of paper.

“He wrote this for you.” He offered the small square to you. You took it between your nimble fingers, unfolding it carefully. You swallowed your fear, leaning into Oscar as your eyes met the first line of the page.

To my daughter,

I hope this gets to you, alive and well. I want to first apologize to you for the secrecy on my part. I thought it was better to keep this from you. My alternate self, subzero, wasn’t something you needed to know about. It would have put you in more danger than you already were.

I believe it is important that I tell you exactly why I became this. Twelve years ago, when the aliens came to New York and the world first became aware of the Avengers, I believed I needed to protect you from them. I believed they were frauds. They caused irreversible damage to the city and the people, I believed they truly didn’t care about the people. They only cared about looking heroic.

So I vowed to take out each and every one of them. I’d been building high powered weapons ever since then. One of them went wrong, and somehow changed the composition of my cells and DNA. That’s how I ended up with these powers.

They were never meant to hurt you. I always wanted to protect you. This wasn’t what I wanted to happen. I’m sorry for it all, and that I had to end up in this prison without saying goodbye to you. I was angry with that boy that night. I believed it was supposed to be me by your side. I didn’t understand his connection with you, why he held you so tightly and why his voice shook when he reassured you. Until they told me who he was.

I know now that my perception of the avengers was wrong. They truly are trying to help those who cannot help themselves. I regret it.

I also want you to know that I approve of your boy. I assume you know he’s spider-man. I don’t know if that was part of your reason for choosing him but it doesn’t matter. Oscar is a kind, confident, and resilient young man. It’s become apparent that he cares for you deeply. For that, I truly believe he is what’s best for you. I don’t think there’s anyone I’d approve of more.

If this gets through, please write back to me. I don’t know if they’ll let you visit, but please ask Oscar. Maybe with your connections, they’ll make an exception. If not, I’ll write to you every week.

I love you,

Dad.

[schrijverr]

Do You Want to Go with the Strange Man, Buddy?

Divergence from chapter 13, where tía Pepa is forced to drop Christopher off at the 118 while Eddie is at the academy, because Abuela isn’t feeling well and she has to work. This leaves Buck with a surprise introduction to make to everyone.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warnings: mentioned minor character death, mistaken child abduction

~~~

Buck had been working out on his own. It’s a slow shift – almost q-word, but he’s not saying it – so he actually took a decent shower after. He doesn’t know what it is about the shitty showers, but they’re homely to him.

Anyway, when he gets out and back into uniform, he checks his phone to see he’s missed a call from Pepa. She’s supposed to be dropping Chris off at Abuela’s house right about now, so he frowns and quickly calls her back.

“Oh, Buck, good. You’re on shift now, right?” she picks up.

“Yeah, I am. Is everything okay? Is Chris?” Buck asks worriedly.

“Christopher is fine,” Pepa tells him and his muscles unclench slightly. “We’re outside your work now, can you be there quick?”

“I can be there right now,” Buck says, starting to move towards the doors without a moment of hesitation. “And you’re sure everything’s alright?”

“It is, it is. Mama just can’t watch him today, she came down with a stomach bug,” Pepa explains.

At that point, Buck is at her car, quickly looking inside and waving over to Chris. However, he doesn’t immediately go over to him, because Pepa has gotten out of the car and closed to door behind her, a clear sign she wants to talk to him real quick, before Chris can hear.

Lowly, Pepa says: “Mama can’t watch him and I can’t take him to work right now. I can when I’m off, but not before. I tried calling Eddie, but he wouldn’t pick up. Is he safe here? Can you get off?”

Buck knows checking your phone at the academy has a high chance of getting yourself yelled at, so he gets why Eddie wouldn’t see the call. Mentally he makes a note to send Eddie a text about it all, before he assures her: “Of course I can take Chris. My Captain’s pretty chill, he’ll give me off or make me man behind or something. I’ll figure it out.”

“Gracias, gracias,” Pepa says, kissing his cheeks. “I have to go rush back before my lunch hour is over now.”

“Of course,” Buck blushes, still not entirely used to the warmth of this part of the Diaz family. He takes Chris’s bag from her, slinging it over his shoulder, before letting her get in the car, while he goes to get Chris.

Pepa has said her goodbye to him by the time he gets to his door, so he’s just focused on Chris when he opens the door. “Hey, buddy! Excited to hang out with me today?”

“Yeah,” Chris cheers.

“Good,” Buck smiles, unbuckling Chris from his seat and lifting him out of the car. He puts him on his hip while reaching in for the crutches, then the two of them wave goodbye to tía Pepa.

With her car out of the parking lot, Buck suddenly finds himself alone with Chris. At work. And it hits him that this is going to be a very hard thing to explain. Hell, he doesn’t even know how to begin, because how the fuck is he going to play this off?

It seems like frat boy Buck is dying today and he hopes they’re not going to be too weird about it in front of Chris. He’s never wanted his own issues to touch Chris. However, it’s also going to be heartbreaking to introduce him to everyone as his son, knowing that won’t last forever.

Subconsciously, he hugs Chris a little closer, before forcing cheer into his voice saying: “Well, I gotta introduce you to everyone then talk to my Captain for a bit, but then I can show you all the trucks and equipment. How does that sound?”

“I get to see the trucks?” Chris asks excitedly. With Buck sharing stories over dinner or breakfast on an almost daily basis, he’s gotten very enthralled with firefighters, so it’s dream come true.

Buck’s heart melts at the sight and decides that no matter how today goes, he’s going to make fucking sure Chris can see those trucks up close and personal. “Yeah, Superman, of course. Let’s go. Wanna be put down?”

Chris shakes his head. He has quickly realized that they first need to get through boring adult stuff before he can see the trucks and he wants to speed the whole process up. Which means he is perfectly fine where he is, getting to look around while papi does the walking for now. He’ll be independent when they get to the cool stuff.

So, Buck apprehensively makes his way up the stairs with Chris in his arms. He’s unsure what kind of reaction he should be bracing for when the finds the others hanging around the couch with their mugs, pausing when they see him.

For a moment, all of them just look at each other.

Then Hen cautiously speaks up: “Uh, Buckaroo, where- where did you get the kid? Did someone… Did he get lost?” she corrects herself, knowing Chris can hear her and not wanting to implant the idea that he was abandoned before they know more.

And Buck knows he should explain, but just going ‘no, this is my son’ feels weird when it’s not forever and this set up is just too funny. So he doesn’t explain and instead shrugs: “No, I just saw him while I was at work and took him.”

Everyone’s eyes get wide and they all freeze, as if they can’t believe that they’re hearing that and aren’t sure if he’s joking or not. They know Buck can’t lie, but since it’s technically true, it doesn’t read like a lie, which is hilarious to Buck right now.

He keeps a straight face as he turns to Chris and says: “Isn’t that right, Chris? I just took you off the streets.”

Chris – a little shit after his own heart and a better liar than his papi – just grins and nods: “Uh-huh, you did.”

Chimney must decide that he’s fucking with them, because he rolls his eyes: “Alright, sure. Was there anyone with him?”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “She wasn’t paying attention. I mean, I took this little guy here right out of her car and we waved at her when she left. Didn’t even blink. Probably didn’t care I did, did she?”

“That’s right,” Chris chimes in again.

At this point everyone is starting to get actually concerned. Buck is a little offended that they are, but he also gets it. Who knows if he snapped or something? A child abduction case should always be taken seriously. So, he should probably also stop now. Maybe a bad joke to make to begin with.

“Buck,” Bobby says, getting up slowly and holding out his hands as if calming a distressed patient. “I am asking you, if you can give the child to me. Okay?”

And look, he should just explain now, because this has gotten out of hand – story of his life, he supposes – but he can’t let this moment pass. It’s an educative moment, a cautionary tale if you will. So he turns to Chris on his hip and jostles him slightly, before quirking a brow and asking: “Do you want to go with the strange man, buddy?”

In the background, everyone is just getting more and more concerned with Hen and Chimney also rising to their feet and putting their mugs down. Buck half thinks one of them might sneak away to grab a tranquilizer or something, a true sign he should have never done this, but it’s too late for that now.

Luckily for everyone, Chris puts them all out of their misery by giggling: “No, papi.”

“Good answer!” Buck cheers, pressing a kiss on Chris’s cheek as he hugs him closer. “That is right, do not go with a strange man.” He turns to everyone else, who is still staring at him, perplexed. Buck has never seen someone blue screen like that. Ignoring it, he just goes: “And that’s how you teach stranger danger, people.”

For a few seconds it’s silent. The three others in the room blinking at him as they try to wrap their heads around the sharp turn that has just happened.

Not wanting to wait around for the explosion, he barrels forward, talking to Chris again as he goes: “So, let’s make them not strange people. This is my Captain, Bobby. Do you remember me talking about Bobby?”

“I do, he’s the Captain with the nice food,” Chris tells him.

Buck blushes a little, saying: “He is indeed the Captain with the nice food, but that was our little secret, remember?”

“But, papi, you’re not supposed to lie,” Chris counters.

“It’s a non-serious lie,” Buck defends himself, feeling a little called out anyway. “But you’re right. No lying. Want to say hi and thank you for the nice food?”

Chris nods and Buck makes his way over to Bobby, so Chris can shake his head. “It’s nice to meet you, Captain Bobby. I’m Christopher. Thank you for the nice food.”

Bobby now remembers Buck sneaking leftovers out the fridge. He always let him, figuring the kitchen in his frat house sucked and he didn’t feel like cooking there. Having the sudden knowledge that his food has instead been shared with this kid. This son Buck has apparently had this whole time, twists something inside him.

A little shellshocked, he shakes Christopher’s hand, saying: “Uh, yeah, call me Bobby. It’s nice to meet you too, kid. I’m glad you like my food.”

Chris smiles at him, but Buck moves on to the others before Bobby manages to form his face into a semblance of a smile back. It hits him all over again. Buck is a father.

“This is Hen, the badass paramedic,” Buck says, gesturing to her first and she waves at Chris and Chris waves back.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Hen smiles, shaking his hand when he holds it out.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Chris says politely and chipperly.

When Chris looks away again, she gives Buck a wide eyed look and quirks a brow. Buck sends a half grimace, half smile back. Then he moves onto Chimney saying: “And this is Chimney, the one with the funny name.”

“Hey! I’m also a badass paramedic,” Chimney exclaims, playing it up and snapping out of his funk, while Chris giggles. “Nice to meet you, kiddo.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Chris says.

During the introduction, it’s clear that both are obviously trying to hide how weirded out they are. Buck is starting to realize it might have been a little dumb of him to lean into the frat boy thing, but in his defense, it will probably be true soon. And that doesn’t hurt at all, no sir.

Shaking the gloomy thoughts off, he asks Chris: “I have to go talk to Bobby for a bit, do you wanna hang out with Hen and Chimney while I do? They know everything about the ambulances, I’m sure they’d love to answer your questions.”

“And then we can go look at the trucks?” Chris asks hopefully.

Buck just melts and he gives Chris a soft smile: “Yeah, buddy, then we can go look at the trucks.”

“Okay.”

He puts Chris down, encouraging: “Strong legs,” hovering a moment until he’s solid, before handing him his crutches. Then he points to the kitchen and says: “I’m going to be right there the whole time, so you can just call out if you need me, yeah?”

“I know, papi,” Chris assures him, a little bit of attitude that he totally gets from Eddie shining through.

“Alright, alright,” Buck grins as he shakes his head. Behind Chris’s back, he sends Hen a questioning look and a thumbs up, silently asking her if it’s okay. She gives him a reassuring smile and he relaxes a little with the relief.

He stays for just long enough to see Chris move towards them without any shyness, before making his way over to the kitchen. Bobby is right behind him and Buck feels very uncomfortable about the whole thing. Exposed in a way he usually tries to avoid.

So, before Bobby can say anything, he starts talking himself: “I know, I’m jumping this on you and I’m so so sorry. He was supposed to stay with Abuela, but she isn’t feeling well and tía Pepa can’t take him to her job and she couldn’t reach Eddie. But I can try to see if I can reach him, or stay behind and use my PTO or something. I totally understand if you can’t accommodate this right now. Again, I’m so sorry.”

“Buck, breathe,” Bobby says, brow creased worriedly. He places a hand on his shoulder and makes sure Buck is looking at him, then says: “We’re here to work with you. I’ll need to clear it with the Chief, but I’m sure we can figure something out until you figure out childcare.”

“Oh, that’s- that’s really nice,” Buck stammers.

Bobby still isn’t sure where the kid came from, but Chris is clearly Buck’s and he is panicking. As much as it hurts to think about it sometimes, he still recalls how stressful and scary being a parent can be. Of course he’s going to support him, even if he still hasn’t processed everything.

He squeezes Buck’s shoulder, searching for more words of support, finally settling on: “Of course.” He wants to ask more about the how and when of the kid, but before he can, Buck’s phone starts ringing.

“Fuck, that’s Eddie, I have to take this real quick,” Buck says, turning away, but not really moving away as he picks up: “Eddie? Hi, yeah, Pepa said she called you.”

Buck has never mentioned an Eddie before today and he doesn’t know how to feel about him, remembering what he almost fired Buck for. Maybe it’s more recent than that? Even if that seems even more ridiculous. God, Bobby hopes it is though.

He can’t hear what Eddie says. However, he does hear what Buck responds: “Everything’s fine. Abuela’s not feeling well, so she dropped Chris off here, until her workday is done.”

Then Buck listens briefly for a moment, before nodding, despite Eddie not being able to see. “Uh, yeah, that’s okay. Everyone here is super nice and helpful. Bobby says we can figure something out. So, I’ll keep him for now, no worries. We’ll look at the trucks and he’ll be thrilled. You just focus on training, I doubt your instructor will be pleased with you taking calls like this or missing out.”

Something in Bobby’s heart clenches at how soothing and worried Buck sounds. He gets the feeling he can now be reasonably certain he knows who Eddie is; his partner. Another thing they all missed. Buck has had a family this whole time. And they don’t sound strained, which is a relief. Though maybe also a bad thing?

That feeling is further confirmed when he sees a small shy smile on Buck’s face as he responds: “No problem. We’re a team, remember? Bye.”

He hangs up, before facing Bobby again face still slightly red. “Uh, sorry about that. Hope you don’t mind me promising that to Eddie.”

“I don’t. It’s okay, Buck, truly. We’re a team here too,” Bobby says, which makes Buck relax. He seems really anxious about this whole thing and Bobby worries about what makes him feel so on edge. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Buck asks, taken by surprise. Then he smiles awkwardly and unconvincingly says: “I’m fine.”

Bobby levels him with a look and Buck looks away. Deciding that stern probably won’t work on Buck, he goes for compassion when he says: “Look, clearly this was something you didn’t want to share. I get that it’s scary and I just want you to know that we support you, no matter what. You’re safe here.”

Buck’s eyes widen momentarily, before his smile becomes more real. “Thank you. It’s not exactly like that, but thank you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed-” Now it’s Bobby’s turn to be awkward. He could have sworn Buck was just coordinating with his… spouse? Partner? Boyfriend? Husband? His Eddie. Maybe it’s a nickname? Maybe it’s something else that would explain the sleeping around. He hopes it will explain the sleeping around.

“Oh, no, Eddie is my husband,” Buck quickly assures him, which clears up exactly nothing. In fact, it makes it worse.

“Now, I’m confused,” Bobby tells him honestly, praying Buck will give him more information that will turn him into someone Bobby recognizes, someone more than a cheater, who lies and hides.

“Uh, it’s- it’s a bit of a long story. Me and Eddie are married as friends, for Chris’s sake. His mom walked out and I kind of stepped up. So, I adopted him when Eddie had to go back into the military. He is training to be a firefighter right now. When he’s stable, he, uh- he’ll probably divorce me. Kinda hard to bring that up,” Buck grimaces apologetically.

Bobby blinks a few times, that is indeed a long story and that’s with probably most of the details missing. However, it does clear up the sleeping around situation, so he’ll take it. Still, unsure what to say, he asks: “So, how long have you two been married then?”

“Coming up two years, but living together and raising Chris for three,” Buck answers, looking over to Chris with a melancholic note in his voice.

Okay, so this isn’t just a recent thing for a last tour, but a years long thing. Bobby knows what it is like to lose a kid, but to know they’re still out there? God. He doesn’t know this Eddie, but that is an awful thing to do to a person. He frowns: “And you’re just going to disappear when he is stable?”

“Uhm, yeah, probably. I mean, we haven’t really discussed it,” Buck rubs the back of his head, then admits: “I’ve been too scared to ask.”

“Buck…” Bobby breathes, unsure how to even begin to tackle all this.

“I know,” Buck sighs before he can figure it out. “I know I should talk to him. I know that. But if I know, I can’t cling to the possibility of it not happening, you know?”

He looks devastated. It’s only in his eyes, his face keeps that helpless half smile, but his eyes carry a deep grief that Bobby knows. He has already given up on keeping a professional distance, so he just pulls Buck into a tight hug and holds him close when Buck melts into it.

When he pulls back, he says: “The not knowing is killing you too. Talk to Eddie, tell him this. If he is a friend, he’ll understand and want to help. We’ll be here for you whatever happens.”

“Thank you, pops,” Buck says with a crooked grin, sounding a little choked up. He hasn’t called Bobby that since his second month there, but the nickname brings back a wave of nostalgia, and – treacherously – a voice in his head flirts with the possibility of being a grandfather, before Bobby represses it.

“Of course,” is what he ends up saying. His smile feels a little more forced, but he sounds genuine when he says: “Go show your son the trucks, I’ll call the Chief.”

Buck’s eyes sparkle when he says ‘your son’ and he nods eagerly: “I will. Again, thank you so much,” then he bounces off to the couches.

At the couches, Hen and Chimney have stared at Chris for all but two seconds. Neither of them have a clue what to do with the surprise news that Buck apparently has a kid. A kid that is now staring at the two of them with big eyes.

“Uh, so how old are you, Chris?” Hen finally asks. A standard question to ease into it.

“I’m seven,” Chris tells her proudly.

Hen quickly does the math. That makes Buck nineteen when Chris was born. She shares a look with Chimney, who did the same math as her. With Buck’s record of sleeping around, that doesn’t entirely come as a surprise. However, the well adjusted kid speaks to a lot more maturity that his recklessness would indicate.

“That’s already really grown up,” she smiles at Chris, who beams with pride.

Both of them are used to working with kids, so Chimney takes over: “Buck mentioned you were interested in the ambulances?”

Now Chris lights up even more. He sure is a happy kid, Hen thinks fondly. Apparently Buck is a good dad, that’s nice. And it becomes increasingly clear that he raised Chris, because when he starts launching questions at them that are truly impressively detailed, his face is the exact same one that Buck makes when he’s learning things and curious. It’s truly adorable to see.

They answer his questions the best they can, getting very charmed by this kid in front of them. They can almost forget that Buck pulled a kid out of thin air. Still, every time he does something Buck-esque they’re reminded all over again.

Hen wonders if there is some drama with the mother, since she now recalls Buck knowing a lot about custody. If Chris had been an accident, then they might not be together anymore and Buck has had to go to court about it. Maybe it had been a whole thing?

Chimney meanwhile realizes why Buck canceled so much on them at the start. Still does, they’ve just gotten used to it. At the time he’d been so jealous thinking he must have more fun parties or hot dates, but he probably was just going home to his son. Obviously childcare is an issue.

He wishes the kid had just opened his damn mouth about it. He remembers how rough it had been for Hen and Karen when they first adopted Denny. How it’s still difficult sometimes. They could have helped. Chim finally got the babysitting gig down. He has had practice.

It’s a bit of a mindfuck to have to reframe Buck from a frat boy to a teen parent. However, the pieces do fit in a way. The flashes of maturity, the way he can flip the switch to being responsible, the way he’s gold when there are kids on a scene.

So, yeah, Buck is a dad. That’s a little new.

But it’s only new to them, clearly it’s not new to Buck. Because when he’s done with his talk to Bobby he swoops back in, hauling Chris up over his shoulder as he says: “LAFD here to rescue you!” which makes Chris shriek with delight.

Buck puts him back down and ruffles his hair, matching big smile on his face. “Are you ready to look at the trucks now, Superman?”

“I am, I am,” Chris says, bouncing up and down.

“Alright, then, let’s get this show on the road,” Buck exclaims, gesturing for Chris to lead.

The four of them make their way downstairs, all of them smiling at Chris’s excitement at seeing the trucks. Despite being older than him, they all remember that same feeling from their first day.

It’s obvious that Buck takes much pride in his work and the fact that Chris thinks his career is cool. As he shows everything with much gravitas and importance, not to mention a matching thrilled sparkle in his eyes.

Chris gets to try on his helmet and sit in the rig, while Buck takes a billion pictures. After he’s snapped one in particular, he grins at Chris: “Daddy’s going to be so jealous of you, getting to sit in a real fire engine before him.”

“He will,” Chris grins slightly mischievously.

Behind the duo, both Chimney and Hen freeze. Daddy. There is a second parent involved. With what they know of Buck that is almost more unexpected than the kid thing.

Hen wonders if maybe the other dad is trans and it’s still what she first thought, while Chimney immediately grimaces. He doesn’t want to judge Buck too harshly, I mean, he didn’t for Hen, but it’s different with Buck. So, he can’t help but judge a little.

“Daddy?” Hen asks, deciding it’ll be better to just find out. If it puts Buck on the spot, they can pretend to buy whatever excuse he comes up with for now and interrogate him later.

“Uh-huh,” it’s Chris, who answers, “he’s becoming a firefighter like papi is!”

Buck on the other hand looks less enthusiastic and more like a deer in headlight, blinking two times, before quickly explaining: “Eddie is Chris’s dad – other dad. Bio dad? – uhm, he’s my husband, but we got married as friends. It’s a bit of a long story.”

“They made them kiss,” Chris informs the other two firefighters there a bit too gleefully. “It was really silly.”

“Chris was with us for the wedding,” Buck clarifies with a blush. “It’s a thing they expect you to do.”

Both of them just nod. Hen is sure that there is a much more detailed and much more stupid story there to explain all this, but honestly, she doesn’t feel like figuring it out. Chris is still right there and Buck looks like he’s going to kneel over if they ask more. She’ll wrangle it out of him when he’s had more time to get his head on right.

At that point the alarm goes off and Buck freezes a little. However, Bobby appears at the top of the stairs, about to go down the pole. Before he does, he calls out: “Buck, get yourself into gear. Kid’s coming with us.”

“Aye, aye, Cap,” Buck says, relieved to get some clarity. Then to Chris he goes: “You hear that, bud, you’re going to be a firefighter today.” Chris cheers. “Stay right there, okay, I’ll be with you soon,” Buck promises, before hurrying off to get into his gear.

When they’re driving to the accident, Chris has a thousand more questions and eagerly listens to all their answers and explanations. As well as to the little jabs and teases they throw at Buck. He takes them like a champ, rolling his eyes as he takes more pictures.

At the scene, Bobby sends Buck out there, keeping a close eye on Chris for him and walking the boy through everything that’s happening. He makes sure to pay extra close attention to Buck and explain what he is doing to Christopher.

Bobby tries not to, but he can’t help but wonder if Robert Jr. would have been equally as invested if he’d ever been able to go with him to work. He always misses his family, his kids, the most on days like these. On calls with kids, or when classes come in.

He puts it out of his mind though. Buck is closer to being his kid on most days and he has made some peace with it, even if he won’t acknowledge it yet. However, it makes it easier with Chris than with another kid. It doesn’t feel like he’s replacing his own, it’s a relationship he hasn’t had with anyone before yet. New is good.

After the call, Chris is in high spirits, excitedly rerunning every moment to everyone and asking more questions. He is very much Buck’s child. However, this also means he’s easily distracted by the video games they have and the pinball machine.

For a snack, Bobby asks if he liked one leftover in particular, making sure to whip that up, much to the boy’s delight.

By seeing Buck around Chris so much, it normalizes itself in their brains that Buck is a dad. The shock and newness wears off and they can appreciate this side of their probie they hadn’t seen before.

Buck is still basically an over excited puppy, but he matches Chris’s energy pretty well, never going further than he wants. He also has gotten the balance between letting Chris be independent and preventing him from doing something dangerous down to a science.

It’s very interesting to see traits they know he has being dialed up or down to suit this situation. How natural it looks on him, despite their previous assessment of him being a frat boy.

However, it’s also very obvious to all of them, that he is still a kid himself, raising another kid. None of them – bar Bobby – have a general idea of how long he’s been doing this, but they can all gather that Chris is older than most kids people Buck’s age have.

Of course he’s a firefighter, but he tosses Chris around like it’s nothing, keeping up easily with his boundless energy, and saying stuff like: “High five, Superman!” when Chris tells Chimney that his movie quote was weird.

All in all, Chris is having a blast and so is the 118.

They’re all helping Chris slide down the pole, grinning as he goes, when a brown haired man comes wandering into the firehouse. He stops short when he sees the whole spectacle, then smiles.

Out of everyone there, only Hen has spotted him. At first she thinks he might need help, but they have to focus on Chris’s safety first. However, when she sees him stopping to watch, she knows that must be Eddie. Buck mentioned them getting married as friends, but looking at him smiling at Chris and Buck, she doesn’t know how much truth there was to that.

Her theory that this is Eddie is confirmed when Chris is safely on the ground. Buck is grinning down at him, not paying attention to anything else. Then Chris spots Eddie and smiles widely: “Daddy!”

“Hey, buddy,” Eddie smiles back.

Buck immediately turns to look at him, a love struck look coming on his face when he says: “Eddie, hey!”

Fucking hell, she was so right that there is a much more detailed and much more stupid story there. It is obvious to her that if these two are married as friends, they’re both lying to the other and maybe to themselves about it.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie greets back unnecessarily. “You two look like you are having fun.”

“We are,” Chris answers for them, bouncing up and down. “I got to try on papi’s helmet and sit in the rig and then we went to this crash and the sirens were on. We had these headsets and I got to see papi work. He saved this lady from her car. It was so cool!”

“That sounds very cool,” Eddie tells him, the utter adoration for his son clear in his eyes. He cards his hands through Chris’s hair and hugs him close.

While that happens, Buck has also come to circle the two of them. He says: “I thought tía Pepa was taking him today. You’re here early. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Eddie assures him. “Instructor let us go early today. I think he’s getting soft on us.”

“Pff, of course. LA training is soft on you all,” Buck teases.

Eddie rolls his eyes, apparently familiar with this particular taunt as he replies: “Here we go again. Let me guess, in Texas they forced you all to sweat through it like tough guys.”

“You got it,” Buck grins. “Anyway, I’m being rude. This here is Bobby, my Captain.”

Bobby steps forward, shaking Eddie’s hand as he says: “I’m Eddie Diaz, it’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” Bobby smiles. “And no need for sir. Just Bobby is fine.”

“This here is Hen and Chimney,” Buck moves on introducing both.

They shake Eddie’s hand too, telling him it’s nice to meet him while he returns the sentiment, though he adds: “It’s so nice to put a face to the names,” as he does. Whatever hiding Buck was doing, it was a one sided hiding act. However, none of them mention it. Not in front of Chris.

“So,” Buck claps his hands. “Did you come for a tour of the trucks too? I told Chris all the facts, he could probably give you a great tour. You know, since he’s been in an actual rig.”

“You’re full of it,” Eddie tells him, but he’s smiling too much to mean it.

“I know,” Buck replies simply and Hen wonders if they know they’re flirting.

Before either can figure that out, however, Chris tugs on Eddie’s hand, pleading: “Please, daddy, I can show you everything. There are loops on the hoses, just like papi said. Do they teach you that too?”

Eddie looks a little caught out, trapped between Chris and the 118. Carefully he says: “I’d love to, mijo, but papi and his team have people to save and help. We should give them space to work.”

“It’s okay,” Bobby says, before Chris can even pout properly. Much like his papi, Chris has got him wrapped around his little finger. “We have the house on low priority calls for the time being. You staying a little longer won’t be an issue.”

“You’re sure?” Eddie checks anyway.

“I’m sure.”

“Thank you so much,” Eddie says, before turning to Chris: “Well, then I would love a tour.”

Excitedly Chris directs Eddie to the trucks, telling him everything he’s just learned, while Buck chimes in from time to time with other tidbits or words Chris has forgotten. Throughout it all, Eddie listens with great pleasure. He’s clearly not as much of a talker, but it seems Chris and Buck more than make up for that.

While they all watch the family from the sidelines, Chimney asks: “So, does anyone know more about what their deal is?”

Bobby – the savior with actual information – answers: “From what I understand, they got married after Chris’s mom walked out so Buck could be there when Eddie had to go back into the military. They’ve been living together for three years, married two.”

Chimney whistles lowly, then checks: “And we all heard him say they’re married as friends, right?”

“Oh yes, we did,” Hen replies, sounding a little pained.

Next to her, Chimney cocks his head, watching Buck and Eddie bump shoulders every time they walk, because there is no space between them. Slowly, he asks: “And… are we… believing that?”

“Oh, definitely not,” Hen says.

“Come on, guys. Let’s not speculate too much. Buck hasn’t been comfortable sharing, we should respect that,” Bobby butts in, trying to be the responsible Captain.

That earns him a double judgmental look from both Chimney and Hen, before they ignore them and turn back to their conversation. “I don’t think Buck would do the whole sleeping around like that thing, if they were actually already together,” Hen says.

“So, we’re betting on pining.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, they’ve already been doing this for three years… That denial runs deep.”

“Yeah, it definitely does,” Hen agrees. “Did Buck mention anything about their communication to you, Bobby?”

Bobby sighs and rubs his brow, then decides he’s really no better than either of them. So, he admits: “It is their plan to divorce one day, but Buck hasn’t talked about it yet, because he fears Eddie will just cut him out.”

“…Now I don’t know if I should laugh at him or feel a deep sympathy,” Hen comments with a jikes grimace on her face.

“I told him to talk to Eddie about it. Clear the air,” Bobby offers.

“Twenty dollars on them figuring it out when Buck brings it up,” Chimney says confidently. “There is no way, Eddie is going to not kiss him about that.”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Hen appraises Eddie again, squinting as she tries to get a read on him. “Twenty on them not figuring it out for another three years. And another forty on them never getting divorced.”

“Uhm, you can’t bet on things that are basically facts,” Chimney complains.

“Hey, you don’t know that!” Hen exclaims, knowing he is right, but she doesn’t care if it’ll get her forty dollars. They’ve been eyeing new cutlery.

“Ugh, fine! But I’d like it on the record that I protested it and I want my counter bet to be that they do a vow renewal instead,” Chimney says.

“Alright, deal,” Hen nods, shaking Chimney’s hand as they seal the deal.

They all return to watching the three at the trucks again. Buck has lifted Chris onto his shoulders, so he can properly point at all the things he’s talking about. Eddie is listening to him, sure, but he is definitely more focused on Buck.

After a few beats, Chimney wonders: “Hey, now that we know Buck adopted Chris and they met a few years ago. Do you all think there is some truth to him snatching Chris story?”

“God, I fucking hope not.” … “Five bucks says there is.”

“Ten says it’s an exaggeration.”

They shake on it.

“Fuck it,” Bobby mutters, then says: “Five on it being wilder than that.”

They shake with Bobby too, then wait until the tour is done. They haven’t gotten to speak with Eddie much, but it’s okay. Everyone has gotten the chance to observe him and he seems nice and polite when they say goodbye.

Buck stands there like a mom on the very first day of school, waving at them until they disappear when they do leave. The others kindly do not call him out on it. There is a bet now, so no interfering.

Still, the only reason they don’t ask, probably actually is because the alarm starts ringing so they have to go and focus on an emergency instead of Buck’s newly revealed private life.

Throughout the course of their shift, they do learn more details about how Buck got into that situation. When he tells them about dating Eddie’s ex-wife and meeting her while she shopped for eggs, is something they have a fucking filed day with. And it earns both Hen and Bobby some money.

They also learn about Eddie’s chopper getting shot down and Buck nursing him back to health. He chokes up a bit there and Hen rubs his shoulder.

As she does, she feels a little bad about the self satisfied grin she tucks away. If they can go through that and not confess, she was definitely right in placing her money on three years.

However, overall, it doesn’t change too much.

Still, when Buck comes in for his next shift, they all eagerly turn to him, wondering if he’ll turn back into over-sharer Buck now that the cat’s out of the bag. They need to know more about this nonsense he found himself in.

Buck does not disappoint. He eagerly hollers: “Eddie is not going to divorce me!” which turns the heads of everyone who hadn’t been there last shift. Seems like Buck is going to have to explain it all over again. And the betting pool will grow. Hen is so getting that new cutlery.

~~

A/N:

Credit to Memememe8989, who suggested this idea in the comments, I had a different idea that is somewhat related to this (which granted, I might still write), but this was just so iconic that it immediately gave my brainworms <333

Llsdkghdhkf there was so no reason for Buck to do pretend to have kidnapped Chris, but the idea was just too funny and you can’t tell me he wouldn’t in his awkward insecurity

The full phone convo for those curious:

B: “Eddie? Hi, yeah, Pepa said she called you.”

E: “She texted me to call you. Is everything okay?”

B: “Everything’s fine. Abuela’s not feeling well, so she dropped Chris off here, until her workday is done.”

E: “And is that okay? I don’t want you to get in trouble of this.”

B: “Uh, yeah, that’s okay. Everyone here is super nice and helpful. Bobby says we can figure something out. So, I’ll keep him for now, no worries. We’ll look at the trucks and he’ll be thrilled. You just focus on training, I doubt your instructor will be pleased with you taking calls like this or missing out.”

E: “Okay, that’s good. Thank you.”

B: “No problem. We’re a team remember. Bye.”

E: “I do. Still, thanks. Bye.”

[yparkwrites]

MR. DETECTIVE S.JY FF

Pairing: Detective Jake x Female reader (Y/N)

Content warnings: explicit content (smut), blood, murder, killing and more to be added

Word count: 27.6k

Synopsis: Jake is a known detective, as they transfered the case to his unit of a serial killer, Y/n a police rookie will arrive to find the truth about her brother's death and unbeknownst to them, the serial killer has been with them from the start.

Publish date: January 6, 2025

Comment for tags.

NOTE: LONG WAIT IS OVER IT IS FINALLY HERE. CHAPTER 1 -9 ARE NOW OUT ON WATTPAD. TUMBLR UPDATE WILL BE ONCE A WEEK.

Son of the mob P.SH FF Completed

MR. DETECTIVE S.JY FF COMPLETED

Chapter 4 & 5 will be published on monday

Chapter 6 on tuesday

© 2025 Y. PARK WRITES. All Rights Reserved.

tags: @strxwbloody @dreamiestay @fancypeacepersona @heeaxvhhoon @jakeswife @evjirvninvitnvrnvirivn @candypopinluv

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

1

“You’re an early bird.” Jake said, seeing Y/n cooking breakfast for them. 

“I’m not, I’m just thankful that you took me.” Y/n replied, serving him his plate full of food. Eggs, bacon, toast and potato fritter. “You know you need to go grocery shopping, your fridge is empty.” She added, taking a seat in front of him. 

“I don’t really cook,” Jake said. “Jay was the one who usually cooks for us,” he uttered quietly.

“Jay is a good cook, a great one. I don’t know why he chose this path, maybe if he didn’t he would still be by my side.” Y/n stated, eating the bacon she had cooked earlier.  “Tell me about my brother, when he was working with you.” Y/n said, looking up at him.

“Hmm, what can I say about him? Jay is a hardworking guy, he’s good at everything, he never rejected any job offers despite their dangers, he doesn’t care, if he’s receiving a nice amount of money he takes it, without any doubt, no second thoughts he takes it, that’s why everyone envies him, until now, the department just simply can’t find someone as good as him. Whenever someone asks him why he takes dangerous jobs, no questions asked, he’ll always tell them he wants to give you a nice life, that he wants you to have nice clothes, nice foods, nice places, everything.” Jake shared. 

“I told him I don’t want any of that.” Y/n replied to him, sighing. 

“When he was offered the job, the job that took his life, he told the chief he’s not taking it. He told him that if  he doesn’t come back to you, no one will take care of you, but that same day he found out you’re sick, you needed treatment for your surgery. I could’ve told him I’ll pay for your surgery expenses and hospital bills but instead I told him I’ll take care of you.” Jake added on his story.

“It’s not your fault, he would’ve taken it anyways, it was my fault, I got sick.” Y/n uttered quietly, finishing the last toast on her plate, as she took her empty plate on the sink, with Jake watching her. 

2

Entering the office together, silent murmurs can be heard throughout the hallways, as the news of Jake taking a rookie spreaded like a virus, it was a big deal, as he never liked the idea of taking a rookie. 

“Why’d you never take a rookie?” Y/n asked, entering the elevator with Jake. “Are you nervous?” Y/n asked, seeing Jake being uneasy.

“Y/n, if they mention Jay, don’t react, if you react I don’t know what they’ll do. And to answer your question, your brother was my first rookie. After his death I told myself I’m not taking more rookies again.” Jake replied at Y/n.

Y/n followed behind Jake, who’s leading her to the meeting office to talk about the serial murder case that’s been happening for almost 3 years now. 

“Mr. Sim Jaeyun, it’s been awhile, and well what do we have here, a rookie after 3 years a rookie.” The leader of the investigation greeted them, as soon they entered the room.

“This is Y/n, she’s my rookie and she’ll be helping us with the case.” Jake said, looking at the man in front of him, who has been looking at him with a smug look on his face. 

“Well Y/n, I’m Lee Eunyeok, call me Mr. Lee or just simply Eunyeok.” He said, introducing himself to Y/n. 

“Shall we start?” A guy asked, as they all nodded in response. 

“I’m Park Sunghoon, Jake’s partner.” Sunghoon said, introducing himself to Y/n as he sat beside Jake.

“I’m Y/n, he didn’t mention he has a partner.” Y/n replied at him, grinning softly.

“Not that type of partner, little one.” Jake whispered in her ears. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Y/n whispered back.

“Okay, so latest murder happened a few nights ago, victim is 40 years old male, arrested for rape but charges were dropped due to insufficient evidence, no murder weapons were retrived  nor any fingerprints were detected.” Eunyeok said, showing everyone the slideshow to show them the stab wounds of the victim. “Our theory is that the serial killer used a kitchen knife to stab the victim,” he continued.

“That’s not a kitchen knife stab wound,” Y/n said, interrupting Eunyeok from speaking.

“Excuse me?” Eunyeok asked, while Jake signaled her not to say anything more. 

“That’s a pocket knife stab wound, you can see it from the tissue damage, it’s not a clean cut from a single stab of a kitchen knife, but a cut created by multiple stabs from a pocket knife.” Y/n explained.

“And who taught you that? Cause that doesn’t make sense, it’s bullshit.” Eunyeok said, chuckling as everyone in the room started laughing.

“That’s an absurd theory.” One of them said as they continued to laugh until they shut them off.

“Jay taught me about it.” Y/n said, making the laughter die down.

“Y/n, stop it.” Jake said, as he signaled her not to say anything more than that.

“You know Jay?” Eunyeok asked.

“Yeah, the officer you got killed 3 years ago. The job was offered to you but because it’s dangerous you offered it to my brother knowing he won’t decline the offer.” Y/n disclosed. 

“Let’s continue the meeting tomorrow, Y/n let’s go.” Jake said, but he was stopped.

“Why don’t you send her with Sunghoon, stay here for awhile,” Eunyeok said.

“That girl, that’s Jay’s sister?” Eunyeok asked.

“Yes, but please, leave her out of it, she doesn’t know everything.” Jake replied. 

“Well let’s hope that, because you know what will happen.” Eunyeok told him before leaving the room.

3

The car ride was silent, as Jake decided to buy some groceries with Y/n to ease his mind. 

“Sorry.” Y/n said, breaking the ice inside the moving car. “Please say something,” Y/n uttered again, as Jake didn’t respond. 

“I told you not to mention him.” Jake said through his gritted teeth.

“Can’t help it.” Y/n replied quietly.

“From now on you’re not going to the meetings, nor near the building, you’ll only go there to report your status.” Jake told her.

“Why?” Y/n asked.

“Because you got yourself in their radar, and now I have to keep you beside me at all times, because if not, you’ll end up like your brother.” Jake replied, parking his car near the grocery entrance. 

“He got my brother killed yet he’s standing there leading the investigation.” Y/n said before coming out of the car, as Jake sighed.

“Jay, give me strength, your sister is adorable when pissed off.” Jake whispered.

Jake followed Y/n inside the grocery, who’s now running like a little kid as soon as she got the shopping cart, making Jake chuckle at her. “No wonder your brother loves you so much,” Jake whispered. 

“Take any food you want,” Jake told Y/n, helping her push the cart. 

“Should I cook something for dinner?” Y/n asked, looking up at Jake. 

“Let’s just order take out.” Jake replied.

“What will I do at home?” Y/n suddenly asked.

“I’ll print you all copies of the cases from 3 years ago, and help us like that.” Jake responded, grabbing a pack of ramens to put on the cart.

“You know, I really like spicy ramen,” Y/n mentioned, seeing him only getting mild ramens.

“You do?” Jake asked.

“I love them.” Y/n replied with a little smile on her face.

4

Arriving at Jake’s place from the grocery, Y/n helped out to take all the groceries he bought for them inside the apartment.

“It’s been 3 years since I’ve bought this amount of groceries.” Jake said, as he struggled to carry all the foods they bought.

“I told you I can help carry them,” Y/n mumbled.

“Has Jay ever let you carry more than 1 grocery bag?” Jake asked, looking at Y/n as he finally set down the groceries down the kitchen table.

“No, he never let me carry one.” Y/n replied.

“Great, your brother will now have a reason to hunt me in my sleep.” Jake said, panting.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” Y/n replied, handing him a cold glass of water.

“Thank you.” Jake said.

5 

During dinner they both ate the take out they bought at a korean restaurant on their way home. 

“Are these all the cases?” Y/n asked, as she skimmed all the printed cases Jake had printed her.

“No, there are more, but I have to grab them at my office, so stay put, I’ll be back, call me if there’s an emergency and don’t open the door unless it’s me.” Jake said as he grabbed his car keys to get all the remaining files printed from his office.

“Jake, would you mind buying some midnight snacks?” Y/n asked.

“We bought a lot of snacks,” Jake said.

“I forgot to take lays.” Y/n mumbled.

“I’ll get them on my way back here.” Jake said before going out. 

After Jake left to get the remaining files, Y/n started skimming on the files Jake had already printed.

First victim: Male, 30 years old arrested for murder, case dropped due to insufficient evidence. Stabbed 10 times on his chest and 3 times on his back. No murder weapons retrieved. No fingerprints recovered. Murder weapon: kitchen knife. 

“Are they dumb? That’s clearly not from a kitchen knife.” Y/n mumbled as she continued reading the first case of the serial killer. 

Second victim: Male, 25 years old arrested for sexual assault, case dropped due to insufficient evidence. Stabbed 10 times on his chest. No murder weapons and no fingerprints recovered. Murder weapon: kitchen knife.

“Why do they keep putting the kitchen knife when it’s not a kitchen knife,” Y/n mumbled, but her thoughts were interrupted when the bell rang. 

Forgetting what Jake had told her, she opened the door. 

CHAPTER 3

1

Y/n kept reading the files on the case they’re working on, there’s a lot of them, from the last 3 years they haven’t caught the killer, the murderer. The biggest question in Y/n’s mind is, what’s his/her motive of doing this. 

On all the case files, all of them end with a dead end. No murder weapons, no fingerprints, no clue, there’s nothing, the serial killer is very smart. 

“Will Jay be able to solve this if he’s still here?” Y/n quietly asked herself. 

Jay was once the best rookie, he can solve anything not even detectives can solve, he’s one of a kind. Jake was his mentor, however being the same age, they treated each other like brothers, they’re friends, Jake was just his senior for 2 years, he graduated earlier than him, he’s a smartass. Jay graduated later because of his sister. He wants his sister to be able to handle herself first before going to the university, but that changed when their parents died in a car crash. He needed money, he worked 3 jobs a day for a year until he decided to go inside the academy.

After 3 years of being in the academy he was finally sent to the police department of crime teams, Jake took him as his rookie. He never made a mistake during his rookie year, not even after. 

Jay was offered one of the dangerous jobs, spy a frat group by going inside, just for a year and receive 6 figures monthly, he wasn’t going to take it, but hearing the amount of money he took it, he can use it for his sister’s heart surgery, he accepted it, however he didn’t make it to his sister’s 18th birthday. 

2

The doorbell kept ringing, making Y/n sigh in frustration. 

“Can’t you fucking wait?” Y/n asked, opening the door, Jake told her not to open it. “Shit!” Y/n exclaimed. “What the fuck happened to you!?” Y/n asked as she tried helping him up to get inside Jake’s apartment. Successfully helping him inside she flopped him down the sofa. 

“Wait there I’m calling Jake.” Y/n said, leaving injured Sunghoon in the living room. 

“Fucking answer Jake,” Y/n mumbled. “Goddammit!” Y/n exclaimed as she threw her phone on the bed. Going into the living room to check on Sunghoon.

“Hey, you up?” Y/n asked, shaking the guy in front of her, who just groaned. “At Least help me lift your shirt,” Y/n mumbled, trying to remove his shirt to see his injury. 

“Don’t,” Sunghoon mumbled, stopping her from removing his shirt.

“We have to treat it.” Y/n said sternly, fighting Sunghoon’s grip. 

“You don’t want to see it.” Sunghoon said weakly, coughing up blood.

“I’m calling the ambulance.” Y/n said, just to get stopped by him. “You’re gonna die.” Y/n said, panicking. 

“He won’t.” Jake said, slamming the door open. “Little one, grab me a towel and some water,” Jake said, sending Y/n away to check on Sunghoon’s wound. 

Y/n went inside Jake’s room to grab a towel, not forgetting to fill up a basin with water. 

“Oh my god!” Y/n exclaimed, turning around as she saw Sunghoon’s big injury on his stomach. 

Jake stood up from his position to grab the towel and water from Y/n and told her “I can manage little one. Go and keep reading the files, oh and that’s your midnight snack.”

“He’s gonna die if you don’t bring him to the hospital.” Y/n said.

“I won’t let it happen.” Jake said, trying to calm her down. 

Jake started cleaning his wounds, hearing grunts from Sunghoon he pressed harder on his wounds. 

“It fucking hurts.” Sunghoon groaned, opening his eyes glaring at Jake who’s already glaring back at him. 

“What the fuck happened?” Jake asked as he continued treating Sunghoon’s open wounds. 

“Nothing, but I made a mistake,” Sunghoon responded, groaning.

“What did you do?” Jake asked.

“I dropped my pocket knife.” Sunghoon replied quietly. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it tomorrow.” Jake replied to him quietly.

“What will you do about Y/n?” Sunghoon asked. 

“I don’t know.” Jake responded.

“She just dug her own grave.” Sunghoon replied back.

“She’s mad about her brother’s death, and she finally met the people who put her brother’s life on the line, and now he’s gone.” Jake said.

“You like her don’t you?” Sunghoon said teasingly. 

“Shut up.” Jake retorted, making Sunghoon chuckle.

“Remember when you told me a lot of stories about her when we met in the academy and years later you met her brother again,” Sunghoon reminded him.

“I did talk a lot about her.” Jake responded. “I can’t be with her, her brother will haunt me if I try dating her.” He added, making Sunghoon laugh who groaned in pain right after.

“You know you can’t keep her here, you should get her an apartment or something or maybe a car if she drives so she doesn’t die of boredness here, she can’t be reading files 24/7,” Sunghoon said.

“I’ll talk to her about it.” Jake said as he continued to treat his friend’s wound that just stopped bleeding.

3

Y/n continued reading the files for the next hour but her mind kept drifting to injured Sunghoon. Sighing, she decided to leave Jake’s office. 

She saw Jake cleaning the blood off the floor and Sunghoon sleeping on the couch. 

“He’s fine.” Jake announced, making Y/n sigh in relief.

“What happened to him?” Y/n asked as she sat on the floor to check on Sunghoon’s wound. 

“I don’t know little one, ask him tomorrow.” Jake replied. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Jake added, trying to lift her. 

“I can walk.” Y/n mumbled. 

“I’ll carry you.” Jake said as he successfully lifted her up, carrying her to his bedroom. 

Jake dropped Y/n on his bed before going inside his bathroom to clean himself up. Getting up from the bed, Y/n knocked on the bathroom’s door. 

“You need something?” Jake asked from the other side. 

“I also need to wash up.” Y/n replied, the door unlocking, revealing a topless Jake.

“Wash up here, I’ll wash up in the other bathroom.” Jake stated as he came out of the bathroom to let her wash up.

After washing up, Y/n flopped down on the bed to get some sleep. And after 10 minutes Jake opened his bedroom door to find Y/n fast asleep, making him chuckle.

“No wonder your brother loves you too much. Jay don’t worry, I’ll protect her no matter what.” Jake said quietly, pulling the blankets over Y/n’s body before he flopped himself beside her. 

[unsoju]

✿ thinkin bout you. 𓂃 k. kozume x f. reader

cw. word count ; 1.9k. part 2 of ; trust. trust who? beach day episode. anxiety. kind of insecure! reader. kuroo appearance. keiko already knowing about kenma and reader. kind of suggestive? they don’t do anything, but they mention things that happened in part one.

syn. after the mishap with kenma last month, things have gotten more and more awkward, and you have gotten less you, as time goes on. keiko invites you to the beach, in hopes of cheering you up.

It’s a good day for the beach. There aren’t too many people here, because it’s a Monday. The sun is out, but there are still clouds in the sky, so it’s not swelteringly hot out. You’re with your best friend, skipping school with no consequences since your parents already said yes to a beach day.

Beside you, Keiko is laid out on her beach towel, letting the sun beam down on her skin as she hopes and prays for a good tan. You, on the other hand, have your knees pulled up to your chest, sunglasses on, and you’re reading a book.

“Are you still reading that godforsaken book?” Without looking over, you can tell Keiko doesn’t even have her eyes open. She knows you too well, she could probably predict your every move at this point. You do, in fact, look back, though, a smile on your face. Her eyes open and she props herself up on her elbow, tilting her head. “We are literally at the beach, Y/n. Like, the sun is out, the waves are crashing against the sand, or whatever. Enjoy the sun!”

You sigh, but make a show out of closing your book and setting it to the side. Your arms end up wrapped around your legs and you rest your cheek on a knee. “It’s hot. I can’t just sit there and tan like you do— I get bored. Why can’t we go in the water yet?”

“Because Kenma and Kuroo haven’t shown up yet.” Your stomach drops at the mention of his name. Your eyes dart away from her, now glued to the water. “Besides,” she says, laying back down, “I still have a few minutes left before I can stop tanning my front side.”

“Kenma and Kuroo are coming?” You ask, voice quiet and distant. You haven’t talked to Kenma in weeks. The thought of seeing him again makes you nervous. Briefly, you’re insecure about the swimsuit you’re wearing, but then remember that night in his room and stop.

“Mhm. It’s their senior skip day, that’s why my parents said yes to me skipping too.”

You hum in response. That makes sense, logically, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. You sigh and glance back at her once more. She looks so peaceful— so happy. You with a resigned purse of your lips, you stand up. “I’m going to get ice cream. You want strawberry?”

Her answer barely reaches your ears as she mumbles out a yes. You brush the sand off your hands and look out to the water again. You think you might want to go home again right now. There’s a few people lining the beach; some college kids playing beach volleyball, an older couple sitting very close to the water, a singular woman laying down and enjoying the sun.

You take a deep breath and try to calm your nerves. For a moment, you start to think about excuses you could use in order to escape. But then you think back to when Keiko was so excited that you agreed to come today, and a frown finds its way onto your face.

As you make your way to the ice cream shop, you can’t help but zone out. You try to keep your eyes in focus, but they just can’t. you’re too focused on Kenma and him showing up and the possibility that he told Kuroo what you two did and how Kuroo is going to snicker at you and judge you and—

A familiar laugh pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s loud and it’s annoying and you look up to see Kuroo and Kenma walking straight towards you.

Now, you have two options; there’s a group of bushes beside you. You could jump in and hide from them, risking your dignity and also the fact that it would probably hurt. Or. You keep walking, chin high, and pretend nothing is wrong.

You glance at the bushes, then back to the pair, and slowly realize that Kenma has already spotted you. You wrap your arms around yourself and go with a secret third option.

You put your head down and speed walk past them, ignoring Kuroo’s greeting and Kenma’s cat-like eyes burning into your skin.

There’s no time to think about what just happened— how embarrassing and plain rude it was— because you’re at the ice cream shop in less than ten steps after passing the two boys. Just like the beach, there’s not a lot of people there; two people working, and one person sitting down at one of the tables.

You’re less than a yard away from the counter, when there’s a hand on your shoulder, spinning you around to look at them. Kenma stands in front of you now, shirtless and a little out of breath. Did he run back here? 

There’s a sheen of sweat covering his body and, in the sun, it almost looks as if he’s sparkling. You want to throw up. Instead, you plaster a smile on your face and blink a couple times. “Hi, Kenma. Are you getting some ice cream, too?”

If possible, his face falls even flatter. “Cut the bullshit,” he snaps, making you flinch backwards a little bit. Kenma has never been an aggressive guy— well, maybe that’s not true after knowing what you know now, but he’s always been nice to you. “Why are you acting so… weird?”

Again, you blink at him, face blank, eyes dumb. There are so many scenarios running through your head; you tell him why you’re acting weird and he gets weirded out. You don’t tell him why you’re acting weird and he stops talking to you. You don’t tell him why you’re acting weird and he tells Keiko, effectively ruining your friendship.

“I’m not…” you trail off, eyes darting anywhere but his face. This is it. This is your chance. Speak now or forever hold your peace, right? You huff out a quick breath and meet his golden eyes once more. “I’m acting weird because you were my first kiss and then acted like nothing happened! And then you took my virginity and did the same damn thing!”

His eyes widen comically as you rant. Almost too fast for you to even process, his eyes sweep the surroundings before he grabs your arm and drags you away to a more secluded place— one where no one will see you. 

Your rate picks up again. You find it often does that when you’re around Kenma.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He hisses out, hand still gripping your arm. It makes you think back to that night when you first asked him the question, and you have to suppress a shiver. “You— I thought— you left my room before I woke up the morning after. You were the one who told me not to say anything to Keiko when I kissed you. You acted like nothing happened first. I followed your lead because I thought you didn’t want Keiko to know.”

“I don’t, but—”

“Then this is not just on me,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kenma this mad before— you don’t think you’ve ever seen him mad, actually. “It’s partly my fault, because I was stupid enough to—”

It’s silent for a moment. The breeze kicks up, blowing both of your hair in the wind, yet there isn’t a word spoken. He stares at you, and you stare at him— silent.

“Stupid enough to what?” Your voice comes out in a shaky, weak whisper. You sound pathetic, and you know it, but you don’t care. Tears begin to sting at your eyes and you stare at him dumbly.

He hesitates, letting go of your arm and taking a step back. He seems to be calmer already. “Shit, I—” he takes an indecisive step forward, brows furrowing slightly. “I didn’t— I wasn’t going to say that, I was—” he cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “I wasn’t saying that taking your virginity was stupid. I was just… It would be better if you weren’t Keiko’s best friend, you know? I’m glad you are, but…”

“But it complicated things,” you finish for him, nodding. You look down at the ground and a singular tear splashes onto the sand. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I just, um, wanted someone I trusted.”

“I know.” His hand finds your arm again, his fingers are cold against your sun kissed skin. “And that’s perfectly fine. I think I already said this, but I’m happy you picked me and not some random guy from school.” This gets a small laugh out of you and, when you look up, Kenma is half-smiling too. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. It was kind of mean.”

You giggle again and sniffle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s okay. I kind of yelled about you and my virginity in front of those ice cream workers, so it cancels out.”

“Yeah,” Kenma laughs out, nodding. “I guess it does.”

You two stare at each other for a moment longer, basking in the comfortable silence that settles around you.

Kenma is the first one to talk. A hesitant question as he tilts his head, “So?”

You mirror his action, tilting it the other way, and furrow your brows. “So?” You repeat. Your mind catches up to what he’s asking and your eyes widen. “Oh. So. What do you… I mean, like, I know that I, personally, wouldn’t—”

“What are we gonna tell Keiko?”

The question stops you short, your brain seems to stutter. “Oh,” you breathe out. “I… did not think about that.”

“I don’t think you need to tell her.” The new, but familiar, voice cuts through the air like a sword. You can feel the air around you get freezing cold. You swallow hard and slowly turn around to Keiko standing not even five feet away from you, hands crossed over her chest. Kuroo stands next to her, brows raised in complete and utter disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She exclaims, marching towards you. “You lost your virginity to my brother and didn’t tell me?”

You can’t even talk right now. Your throat is dry, your brain is fried, you can’t breathe. “Keiko, I can—”

She glances back at Kuroo for a millisecond before they both start cackling. They clutch their stomachs and double over, wheezing and gasping for breath.

You and Kenma exchange glances, confusion written on both of your faces. “Uh.” Kenma scratches the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “What’s happening right now?”

Keiko, through her gasps of laughter, looks up at you and shakes her head, taking another step towards you and hitting your shoulder. “I already knew, you dumbass. I was just waiting for you to say something and you just, like, never did!”

“Oh my god.” You blink a couple times, staring down at the sand once again. “Oh my god. Keiko, what? How did you know?”

Her laughter has stopped now. She looks at you, leans close to your ear, and giggles before whispering, “you need to learn to be more quiet. Be happy my parents weren’t there for you to wake up.”

You can feel your face heat up. Kenma gives you a confused look, but you shake your head, mumbling something about telling him later.

“Okay, can we swim now, or what?”

All three of you look at Kuroo and laugh. “Yeah,” Kenma nods his head, unexpectedly throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s go swim.”

[inkyarcturus]

My reaction after thinking about Severus’s birthdays throughout his life.

Him growing up in the beginning of his life barely having a celebration. If he’s lucky he might get a cupcake from his mom those first couple of years but no physical gifts. The family making too little money and Tobias not finding him worth giving gifts to.

His mom tries to make it up to him by secretly teaching him a new spell hidden from Tobias’ eyes in the middle of the night. The magic feels like hope for better years to come.

Then he meets Lily. Every year after he gets invited over to the Evans family and spends it there. He feels guilty for wasting their money on such a frivolous event, he cries in gratitude when they pull out the cake and the present Lily got him. When he blows out the candles he wishes that every year after he gets to celebrate with her.

Eileen is sad to see her son have to go to another’s house to get such basic treatment but she understands that it’s safer this way, better for him.

Then Hogwarts starts.

The first couple of years are great. He and Lily sneak off to the kitchens to get themselves cake, they talk the entire time.

Then the marauders learn when his birthday is, and so do the slytherin. Severus learns to hide on his birthdays after the first year of them knowing. The slytherins aren’t too bad, having gotten used to his presence, but it’s awkward at best.

After Snapes worst memory, he spends it alone. He gets presents from the slytherins he’s made “friends” with, but usually they’re held over his head or given with the expectation that he’ll use it to help them in some way. He doesn’t get cake, nor does he blow out any candles. He spends the night crafting a new spell.

He spends his birthdays like this until a couple of years into his teaching career. About 3-4 years before Harry is set to go to Hogwarts, the other professors learn of his birthday and start giving him basic gifts. It’s small things, like a bottle of wine, some chocolate, potion bottles, a book or two. They’re not extravagant or something he particularly wanted, but it warms his heart in a way he can’t quite describe. In a way he hasn’t felt in years.

A couple more years go by and it’s become tradition for Minerva and him to sit for tea on his birthday, the gifts feel a little more special. He feels a little more special.

I think we all already know how that last birthday before he died went, I’ll spare the angst.

[diazheartsbuckley]

🚫🚫🚫🚫🚫🚫🚫

Hello my dear 💕

A little bit of insomnia fic coming your way 💕

🚫🚫🚫🚫

When Buck realizes that Eddie only sleeps at night if they’re on the phone, he makes it his personal mission to make sure that it happens. He knows that Eddie has admitted that it helps but seeing it in action is another thing. One night in particular stands out to Buck because he catches a glimpse of what Eddie has been trying to handle alone for the past four months.

He sees Eddie stirring in his sleep, tossing and turning in his bed, lips and brows furrowed and even a low whimper escapes his mouth.

Buck never brings it up with Eddie tho, knowing that the fact he has even dared to talk about his feelings is overwhelming enough for him. And they don’t talk about it at work either, not because people can’t know that Eddie is struggling, because most of them have caught on.

But because it feels so intimate. Because it feels like it’s just the two of them in the world when they’re both awake at 2 am, not saying a single word but finding equal amount of comfort in just knowing that the other person is there.

And apparently Eddie talks in his sleep. A lot. Most of it doesn’t make sense but sometimes it does and it’s either immensely heartbreaking or funny. One time, Eddie was mumbling about Shannon’s death and Buck saw his entire body tensing up as it happened.

And Buck wants to ask about it but it hasn’t felt like the right time yet. And although Eddie is the one who often calls him in the evening, even bringing it up feels like a violation of his privacy. Yet curiosity gets the better of him one night when they’re sitting in Buck’s kitchen, Eddie’s fingertip tracing the label on his beer.

“I-…I didn’t really know if this was appropriate for me to talk about but I just couldn’t help but to wonder” Buck starts out carefully, testing the waters.

Eddie lifts his head and tilts it slightly, urging Buck to go on without saying anything.

“You talk about her sometimes in your sleep, you know? Shannon, I mean. And it made me think about how much you must miss her. Everything happened so fast and-..”

“I miss her everyday, Buck. But the reality is that I lost her a long time before she passed away and I don’t know, sometimes that makes it sting even more”

Make me write ✍🏻

Using this as my fuck it friday 💕

Tagged by @tizniz 😘

Np tagging 💕(lmk if you want to be added or removed)

@watchyourbuck, @thekristen999, @theotherbuckley, @wikiangela, @daffi-990, @underwaterninja13, @giddyupbuck, @bucksbignaturals, @bucksbirthmark, @cal-daisies-and-briars, @devirnis, @spotsandsocks, @hippolotamus, @honestlydarkprincess, @namjroon, @jeeyuns, @wildlife4life, @ronordmann, @exhuastedpigeon, @actualalligator, @kitteneddiediaz, @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming, @extasiswings, @princessfbi, @inell, @steadfastsaturnsrings, @actuallyitsellie, @diazsdimples, @epicbuddieficrecs, @pirrusstuff, @elvensorceress, @bidisasterevankinard, @dangerpronebuddie, @jesuisici33, @rainbow-nerdss