#My AO3: this person has never written anything in his god damn life

[iamthetruestrepairman]

I really need to start actually posting the fics I write rather than immediately forgetting about them

[manchestereyes]

it is you

summary: @/danisnotonfire: I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone D:

When Dan gets permission to spend a week with Phil in December, he has a stunning realisation.

rating: T

word count: 2.1k

tags: 2009, fluff, light angst, skype, falling in love

notes: written for the 2024 @phandomgiftexchange for @someone-stole-all-my-fruit! I hope you're having a wonderful holiday season! <3 2009 phan is always such a joy to write, so thank you so much for this lovely prompt!

Read on ao3

@/danisnotonfire: I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone D:

***

It’s not fair .

It’s so incredibly unfair, Dan thinks, that he should have to suffer this much when he’s already dealt with so much bullshit in his life. Why can’t Phil be right here? Or better yet, why can’t he be with Phil, far away in Manchester where reality can’t touch him?

Well. He knows the answer to that second question. But knowing doesn’t help the situation at all. Maybe that’s why his heart squeezes again when he glances back at the selfie Phil’s just sent him. Really, those puppy eyes should be illegal. It’s sure as hell making Dan want to do something that could land him in prison anyway…

His eyes flick back to the text he just sent, heart squeezing all over again at the insanity of it all. He should be happy he (barely) got permission to stay at Phil’s for a whole week, right? His mum’s breezy “Yeah, go ahead” shouldn’t be affecting him this much. It’s just how she is. Dan should know this after eighteen God-awful years.

And yet. And yet. After meeting Phil’s mum and dad last weekend, Dan can’t help but feel that old cavernous hole rip open anew. How come Phil got the perfect family and Dan ended up with his sorry excuse for a mum and dad who barely noticed if he was there or not? Sure, Phil’s regaled his own problems, how he doesn’t feel like he could ever come out to them, but Dan would still take a cordless hammer drill over the shouting that fills his sleepless nights. At least Phil’s parents actually like each other.

More than that, they like Phil. Dan knows he wasn’t planned, that he had thrown a baby-sized wrench into their world travel dreams. He can’t count how many times his dad had hurled those words at him when Dan fucked something up in the way only he can. 

Dan can’t remember the last time they looked at him with pride in their eyes. Meanwhile, Phil’s mum had greeted him with a hug that told Dan immediately where Phil had gotten his irresistible cuddle skills from.

His phone buzzes again then, a beam of light through his dark thoughts.

Phil: A week!!! I know it wasn’t the reaction u wanted but Dan we get a whole damn week together!

Ok, yeah. That was a pretty big thing to look forward to. Even if it still blows Dan’s mind that Phil wants to see him. Maybe that’s what pushes him to reply, despite the overwhelming pain weighing him down.

Dan: ur not gonna get tired of me before the end of it?

(He’s not being pathetic, he swears. It’s just all he can think about right now.)

Phil: Dan!!! Don’t ever say that plz. I could never get tired of u <3

And there it is. Seven little words, one emoticon. And somehow it means more to Dan than he could ever express. A smile crawls up his face before he can bite it back. (Not that he wants to.)

Dan: <3 thank u phil. i think i needed to hear that tonight

Dan sends the text before he can think twice about it. If these last few weeks are anything to go by, he shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Yet there’s still a voice screaming at him that it’s too much, that Phil doesn’t actually want to hear about all of Dan’s issues, that he’s just like his schoolmates…

Phil: Then I’ll say it a million times as much as u need. U really are the coolest person I’ve ever known. I can’t believe u wanna be with me tbh

Dan: rly? ur not just saying that?

Phil: Really honestly and truly. You’ve gone to reading festival when I still get stressed at youtube gatherings. You were a world of warcraft kid when I could barely tell my friends I liked buffy. I wish I had even a bit of ur confidence some days :3

Dan: rly? but u were in faintheart and the weakest link and you’ve been on youtube for years when i was almost too terrified to post my first video

Phil: So was I! But that’s the thing, Dan. I did those things scared shitless and they haven’t gotten any easier. I think u know by now that internet Phil and real Phil are entirely different people, yeah?

Dan: hmmmm ok. hey speaking of real phil can we continue this on skype?

No sooner had Dan sent the message than his laptop bleated with the old familiar ringtone. Like a figment from his wildest dreams, Phil’s pixelated face fills his screen in seconds, his positively giddy smile sparking a matching grin of Dan’s own.

“Really Dan, I can’t believe we get to have a whole week together!!” Phil claps his hands and his frame grows blurry for a few seconds. Dan can only guess he’s bouncing on his bed and his eyes squeeze shut at the adorableness of it all.

Yet a hint of that darkness still lingers, drawing bars across Dan’s heart. “I’m just glad to get away from here for a while,” he sighs. Then, hoping to erase the pout that appears on Phil’s face, he adds, “And to see you, obviously!”

Phil sticks his tongue out in response, the frame jiggling as his face comes closer until his ocean eyes take up half the screen. Dan is surprised to find his voice growing serious. “Dan. You know you can talk about anything with me. It kills me to know how rough you’ve had it. I wish I could’ve been there before but, well, I’m here now at least? And maybe that counts for something?”

“Phil.” Suddenly, Dan’s shifting his laptop onto his propped-up knees, pulling it closer and wishing more than anything that he could jump through the computer screen and into Phil’s arms And maybe it’s the pain in Phil’s eyes, a pain Dan’s felt a thousand times worse yet would do anything to prevent Phil from feeling, maybe it’s the hope in Phil’s voice--something melts away any of the trepidation he had before. 

“Phil, are you kidding?” Dan bursts out. “Of course it counts! I mean, I think it’s safe to say we’re best friends now, and isn’t that what best friends do?”

“I mean… I would hope we’re a little more than best friends by now?” And good lord, the smirk that crawls up Phil’s face and fills the bottom of the screen should be illegal. It’s so much that Dan has to tear his eyes away from the screen and stare at his tiny TV and dresser for a minute.

Not for the first time, it hits him that he’s really here , speaking to Phil in the very room where he spent countless hours watching that same man. How many times has he dreamed of kissing him, of holding him, of dancing through the streets of Manchester? How long has his heart ached for someone to ease its burden? And now… that someone is here, giggling from his laptop speakers and fulfilling every one of Dan’s hopes and dreams far better than Dan ever thought possible. 

It should be too good to be true. And yet, after everything he’s been through, doesn’t he deserve this one good thing?

They’re both silent for a few seconds until Phil asks softly, “Dan? What are you thinking about right now?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Dan picks up the bear he’s had his entire life from the nightstand and strokes its ears absentmindedly, something he’s always done when he’s nervous. When he speaks again, he chooses his next words carefully. “Lots of things, I guess. It’s just wild that… well, you know how long I’ve watched your videos. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a best friend. Not until now. Not until you.” A blush rises in Dan’s cheeks then, but he means every word.

“Dan. I mean, I had kind of picked some of that up, but are you sure?” Phil’s voice is just as soft as Dan’s, almost reverent. And yet some nasty part of Dan’s brain expects to see those blue eyes darken when he whispers “Well, yeah” in response. Surely this was too much. Surely Dan was too much for Phil, like he was for everyone. Surely Phil was about to…

Melt into the purest smile Dan’s ever seen from him? “Oh my God, I--I feel the exact same way.” Dan is shocked to find Phil’s next words tinged with relief. “I think you know how I always had the same group of friends through school, right?” Dan nods. “Well, they’re all great, but I… never felt as close to any of them as I do with you. I never felt like they got me, you know? And then you come along in my Twitter replies and suddenly you’re the only person I ever want to talk to. And somehow, you want to talk to me too? I feel like I’ve won the lottery here.”

Dan wants to take those words and lock them up in a box that only he can touch. Never in his eighteen years did he ever think he’d hear something like this. He’d barely even let himself hope for it. His heart squeezes to a point where he knows he won’t forget this moment, not as long as he has Phil. It’s a perfect moment he so deeply wants to live in forever.

So is it any wonder his voice catches and tears prick his eyes when he finally finds the strength to speak? “Really? God, I had no idea. And here I thought you had this perfect amazing life, all because your parents clearly lo--clearly care about you so much and you’ve had the same group of friends pretty much forever. I don’t know what that’s like.”

Dan can’t say why he freezes up at the word love just then. He’s just discussing Phil’s relationship with his parents, not declaring his love for Phil. Right?

Wait, does he love Phil? The rapid pace of his heart and the smile fighting to break through his face tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes but he can’t say that here. Not on Skype. Not when there’s 300 kilometres separating him from Phil’s arms. He just has to keep his heart locked tight until their week together.

Of course Phil’s response makes that impossibly difficult. “Dan. Fuck, you don’t know how much I wish you knew how that feels.” The ache in his voice combined with his anxious fringe tugging has Dan squeezing his bear with everything he has in him just to expel some of his overwhelming feelings. 

“And sure, my parents are great and all, but I feel like they don’t get me. My mum still thinks the movies and things I’ve done are just a fun little hobby that can’t lead to anything. She doesn’t understand why I’m travelling to Ireland every other weekend, and my dad keeps telling me about these boring jobs I don’t want. I wanna see what else I can do with this YouTube thing, but it might not lead to anything. And then I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

By now, the tears have broken free and are streaming down Dan’s face. He doesn’t know exactly why, but he has a feeling they have something to do with the fear trapped in Phil’s eyes.

And yet, they’re not only sad tears. Sure, Dan’s heart is breaking just a bit for the boy on his screen, but it’s also light and airy for the first time since he was a tiny child. That’s when it hits him.

This light, airy, snuggly feeling-- it’s safety . Here in this tiny bubble with Phil, Dan feels safe. It’s unfamiliar, sure, but it’s not scary. He’ll be okay, as long as he has Phil.

It’s this thought that he holds tightly onto over the next few years. Even when the walls are closing in on him and Dan can barely breathe, Phil is always there--in his phone, across Manchester, and soon across the hall. 

Even when he’s sure he can’t feel any worse, he’ll be okay one day. Because he has Phil. And in the moments Phil’s heart shatters hard enough for the both of them, Dan is right there with cuddles and sweets and whispered words of comfort, whatever Phil needs in that moment. Because they’re Dan and Phil. And whatever they go through, they’ll go through it together.

If only eighteen-year-old Dan could see how well things would turn out. Yet as Dan thinks back on this moment fifteen years later, he thinks some part of him did know in a strange way. So much has changed, yet Dan is still that bright-eyed little boy with a dream at his core. And he still has Phil by his side.

[iamapoopmuffin]

Reflection

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Characters: Astarion, Tav/OC Relationships: Astarion/Tav

Astarion has long since forgotten what, exactly, he looks like. His boyfriend wishes he had a way to share exactly how he looks to him, and one night thinks he may have figured out just how to do it.

[Using my player character for BG3, Jacquimo, a half-orc bard uneducated street urchin disaster bisexual aligned chaotic neutral-chaotic good.]

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54702118

As much as Jacquimo would have liked to have said it was a quiet, peaceful evening, the fact was their bed and board above the Elfsong Tavern was typically anything but. Between the lingering vampire spawn blood housekeeping hadn't been able to get out of the furnishings (for which he claimed to be very sorry) leaving a bit of a smell in the air and a stickiness on the floor that he would rather not think about, and the sounds of the raucous drunks below either enjoying themselves or drowning their sorrows, it made for...quite the atmosphere, to put it lightly. Still, compared to what the half-orc was used to, this was heaven. He'd all but forgotten what it felt like to sleep in a proper bed, and the streets had always been plenty noisy as well.

Sat on his bed, scribbling away in an old notebook, everything else faded out to a strange ambience. This had always been Jacquimo's element. As a bard, he excelled in spinning stories and conveying tales through word, song and poem. Over his years, he'd written and performed many a yarn, ode or sonnet, and some of them were even halfway decent pieces. He'd never had such inspiration like that gifted to him by his most recent journey though. This past week alone he had written so much, the stories and legacies of his new friends, songs on hardship and survival, music he could hear the notes of carried on the wind. One particular piece had been a problem for him, however.

It was a simple poem, words spun like silk to form a painting in your head. An Ode To A Star, he called it, and he had been working on it ever since Astarion told him he could no longer remember his own face. Karlach had suggested someone draw his portrait, but Jacquimo had never been good at that. So he tried to write it. Descriptive art to show his favourite person, the love of his life, exactly how he looked to him.

Let me be your mirror

Let me show you through my eyes

The most beautiful a being

The gods ever did devise

Let me show you every detail

Every wrinkle, every scar

Utter drivel, all of it. Resisting the urge to rip the page out, crumple the paper and throw it aside, Jacquimo cast his gaze to the window, thinking. What could he possibly say to truly convey what he needed to? Words would never be a true substitute for actually being able to see himself. And the wrong words would just cause upset. Mentions of wrinkles, for one, even if they were something Jacquimo liked about his lover. Character. Experience. All part of one damned gorgeous man.

Eyes flitting between the words on the page and the dark night outside, he paused when he caught sight of his own reflection in the glass.

Let me be your mirror.

If only it was that simple. If only he could truly show Astarion exactly what he saw when he looked at him. It wasn't like he could be like the glass in that window. It wasn't like Astarion could really see through his eyes.

Wait.

Except he could, couldn't he?

Jacquimo snapped the notebook shut and looked across the room, at each of his companions. Those who shared the tadpole infection were able to connect their minds together, weren't they? He remembered seeing himself through Lae'zel's eyes on the Nautiloid. Seeing Astarion's memory of watching him walk through the confines of the pod. Giving him his memories of breaking free of his own pod in response. Seeing paths carved through the hells through the eyes of Wyll and Karlach. The tadpole connection allowed them to see through each other's eyes, see thoughts and memories, feel what each other felt.

An idea in his head, the bard placed his notebook back in his pack and got to his feet, making his way over to where Astarion had set up. He clearly heard his lover's approach, as he closed the book he was reading, looking up to meet his eyes. "Always a pleasure to see you sauntering over. Did you need something, my dear?"

"I had a thought. Or an epiphany."

There was a subtle twitch up of the vampire's lips. "Using that brain of yours, are we?"

"I know, I know, a rare novelty. Really, though, I think I might have figured something out. How I can show you your face again."

A nearly imperceptible shift in his eyes. Interest. Curiosity. Hope? "Really now? Well, I have to say, you know how to pique my interest, darling." His voice held no sarcasm, the thought of seeing his face once more undeniably enticing.

"It's rather obvious in hindsight." Jacquimo mused, more to himself, before addressing the elf properly. "I can't promise you'll like it, but it's an option if you want to use it. The tadpoles. They give us that connection, allow us to see each other's memories. You could look into my memories, or perhaps even see through my eyes now. See yourself."

He froze, processing the words. It seemed almost ludicrous, but he was right, everything he said was right. "You would let me into your head, just to see my face? You'd let me just...poke around inside your mind like that? I could find anything in there."

"I would." He didn't even hesitate. "I trust you. I would trust you with my mind any time. And I want to do something for you."

Astarion reached up, ghosting his fingers across the bard's cheek, his voice coming out soft and vulnerable. "You have already done many things for me, you know."

"Then what's one more thing?"

"And you trust me far more than you should. It isn't wise, darling."

"Who ever said I was wise?"

Astarion retracted his hand, glancing around to ensure none of the others were eavesdropping. When he spoke, it was quiet, and completely serious. No teasing, no lighthearted foppery, no sarcasm. "And you're sure about this? About letting me into your head? I...I don't want you feeling you have to do this. You are far too self sacrificing, do far too much for others, I don't want to do this unless you're entirely comfortable with this. This is your mind we're talking about, every inner personal part of you. Just...please tell me you're sure about this."

Jacquimo nodded, confident. "I'm sure. You're only looking at my memories of your face, that's all I'm showing you. I trust you not to go anywhere I don't want you going, and I think I know how to keep people out of things when I need to - I was able to block Z'rell, Minthara and even the Emperor out of certain thoughts, and they were trying to dig into things I didn't want them seeing. I think even with the connection active we can respect each other's privacy just fine, I don't think either of us have been ones to pry. I wouldn't offer this if I wasn't sure. As much as I joke that I am an idiot, I do think things through, you know. For the most part, anyway."

A smile graced those beautiful features. He so wanted to see his face again, to remember that part of himself long forgotten, and it seemed this reward was worth the risk. Jacquimo had a way with words, of making him feel like it would be okay if only he put his faith in him, and it seemed it was time to put his faith in him again. "Then yes, darling. I would like to try it. It's about time I saw how beautiful I really am, after all."

The decision made, the bard gently reached out and took the rogue's hands, eyes meeting and holding each other's gaze as they opened that connection, reaching out with the squirming, wriggling tadpoles within, a power none too pleasant, but this time for a worthwhile cause.

And then there he was, right where he could see himself.

Astarion turned his head this way and that, taking in every inch of his own face as seen through his lover's eyes. Jacquimo let him in, focusing on memories, on that face. On the line of his jaw, the bow of his lips, the curve of his brow. On delicate lashes framing piercing red eyes that could grow so round, almost doe-like under the right circumstances. The laugh lines that made themselves known during moments of joy, the way the edges of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Soft curls framing pointed ears, almost shining when the light hits them just right. And not just the way he looked when happy, but sad as well. When he cried, or knew he'd gone too far, when fear and anxiety took hold. The way anger could peel his lips back in a snarl. Baring fangs in threat. That first meeting, that look of suspicion. Plotting looks, teasing glances, moments of internal conflict. Everything. Every part of him, of who he is, of who he was. Every fine detail. Everything he'd lost and forgotten in all those years of torment. Bringing a hazy, indistinct image into focus, making it clear once more.

Letting himself be the mirror Astarion wanted, needed, for as long as he wanted or needed.

[almostfoxglove]

hi! happy possibly-belated holidays! 

‘twas thinking about your fics a lot over these past few days, and ended up re-reading a good handful of them, including the entirety of See You At Three, I'll Carry You, and The Prettiest again... plus your christmas one-shot was just so damn sweet. something so sugary for the soul it made me go back to syat another time just so i could specifically read the chapters with feverish joel, because there's something so earnest about the way he thinks — what they say about sugar cravings and all that, one taste is never enough. the first hints of it all really collapsing into a feelings free-fall... needed a mixture of the good feelings in this chili's tonight.

mildly unrelated, but i was beyond thrilled when i found out that The Prettiest had origins in a ghost dieter list, because dieterrrrrr omg!!! i genuinely think he may be near the top of my favorite pedro boys, and for the life of me i couldn't say why. he's just so endearingly disastrous. i couldn't help but start imagining him and max having insane beef with each other while trying to haunt the same person. i 100% feel like they'd hate each other. especially if dieter never shut up about technically (“Objectively!”) being more successful in life than max. (“Does anyone remember having an interesting sales manager, hotshot? Anyone have posters of you up on their walls you didn't print yourself? Didn't think so.”) but again that's a ramble, and i digress. 

i just want you to know that like always, your stories have been a source of a lot of really comforting (and/or painfully cathartic) feelings during stressful times, and they're really a balm for a lot of stuff that can hurt. the impact you and your writing has on people is really meaningful, and you deserve to hear it more often. so here i am, clogging your inbox to say it again: thank you, as always, for sharing something so personal and cared so deeply for with us. your works are a gift and we're lucky you share them; we're always blessed to be traveling the multiverse with you!

- that one long and rambling anon 

(p.s.; holy MOLY that max fic you reblogged. that was like a portal into even more max for my very reluctant vampire-loving soul. how dare he be charming. thank you for exposing us to that, but also curse you because i didn't need extra brainrot in my life.)

(extra p.s.; you can consider this a present, if you like ❤️ it's rough because i am absolutely not a writer, but here's those 2.7k words i talked about last time! i hope they can at least make you smile. -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/61364959)

ANON

AAAAANNNNOOOOONNNN BABY I'M SORRY THIS TOOK ME A FEW DAYS TO REPLY TO - I wanted to make sure I could read your fic before replying and oh my GOD. I will try not to yap at you here after yapping at you on ao3 - but MY HEART! CANNOT TAKE IT! it was a goddamn delight, and some exceedingly clever writing. it was so much fun and max was so perfect in it - all his physicality and mannerisms WERE JUST SO GOOD AND PERFECT FOR HIM. I'm in love with it, and can't believe you took my silly ask reply and turned it into a whole fic that had my heart YANKING in my chest?? I adore you. thank you so much for posting and sharing it so I could fall in love with him all over again, and then with your brilliant brain :,) <3

(p.s. I'm now also obsessed with the thought of max and dieter competing with each other, like dear god it's so good)

LINK TO ANON'S PRESENTATION - truly cannot recommend enough.

I'm so unbelievably honored that anything I've written has been able to keep you company during stressful times (and I'm sending you all my love - hope you're doing okay out there, honey <3) - this ask felt like a big ol hug right when I needed it, so just thank you. again. you're honestly such a fucking gem!! ah!!

extremely sorry (but not that sorry) about passing the max brainrot along, but very happy to have you in the club. I adore you. thank you again for being so sweet to me :,) sending you the biggest new year's hug & all my love, ok?? take care of yourself <3 <3

[callofdooty]

My Heroes Are Dead, They Died In My Head

Fandom: Call of Duty (Call of Duty: Ghosts)

Summary: Written for Whumpuary 2023 using Prompt 4 Betrayal & Alt Prompt 10 Grief

After the events of Struck Down, Keegan is left stuck in his own head. But what else can a man think about when his former captain has crept out of the shadows and stolen from him the most important person in his life?

It's safe to say that coping has never been his strong suit.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Keegan P. Russ & Alex V. "Ajax" Johnson

Warnings/labels: Spoilers for Call of Duty: Ghosts, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Major Character Death, Murder, Grief/Mourning

Read it on AO3 Here

The ride back was quiet. The occupants of the helo half expected the heavy weight of the atmosphere to pull the damn thing back down. No one dared speak that thought aloud, though.

It pressed on all of their shoulders. Keegan’s quite literally. He’d carried Ajax out of there, after all. Thinking about it too much made him feel sick. 

But here, that’s all he can really do. Think, think and think again. 

It was Rorke…

His hand balled into a fist, knuckles undoubtedly paling underneath the patchily stained fabric of his gloves. Rorke. Their leader. Their protector . He’s behind all of this; culprit of the unspeakable. It all feels like some kind of fucked up nightmare, something that’ll have him startling awake in a cold sweat, heart stuttering wildly behind a beaten ribcage. But it’s not. It’s not a nightmare, or some twisted, intrusive daydream dredged up from the darkest parts of his mind. It’s painfully real. The way Ajax went frightfully limp in his arms was real. That one, sweet constant in his life slipped through his fingers like ashes. Though not as gruesome as sand congealed by blood and tears, it shattered his world with the same force. 

Hope, love and willpower. All obliterated in one fell swoop. Would be impressive if it wasn’t so agonising. 

He slumped back against the wall, unable to settle his trembling. Gone. Ajax was gone. He…He was…Keegan would never hear that laugh again. Would never see that knowing smile again. Would never share the joys and sorrows of life with his best friend again. 

Oh God, Ajax was dead.  

And the most fucked up part is that the confirmation is a relief . He’s relieved that he had to behold the worst sight in his life; relieved that Ajax died right there in his hold. Because at least then he knows this Ghost - this spark so dear to his heart - wouldn’t come back to hurt him. Wouldn’t resurface after over a decade of silence just to tear apart everything he loves. 

What’s more painful? For a loved one to die so soon, but be left with memories bathed in light? Or for a loved one to return from the dead, only reduced to the darkest version of themself?

Keegan had spent a long time wishing that his hero would someday come back. Now? He’s learned that sometimes, it’s better to wish for them to stay buried.

His hands curled tighter. A wrath that he hadn't felt in a long, long time burned in the back of his throat. Grief pulled heavy on his chest, achingly familiar and unwelcome. In the dull, defeaning silence he made his own wordless vow. For Ajax. For Grim. For Torch. For all the people that had died for them to get here.

Next time, he'll make sure Rorke can't crawl his way back up from hell. No matter how much it'll hurt. Even if he has to stare his former captain in the eyes - set ablaze with hatred and disdain where pride and warmth once flickered - and watch the final shred of hope he'd held onto for a decade fizzle out in the glassy reflection. Even if he has to confront his worst fear face-to-face; be met with the the thing he dreads more than anything in the world, he'll do it. He'll take his nightmare and he'll drive it right back into the shadows where it belongs.

Next time, the dead will stay buried. Even if he has to bury his heart along with it.

[theroomofreq]

can you give me muggle jily recs pleaaseeee <3 :D

HOW MANY HIGH-QUALITY MUGGLE JILY FICS ARE THERE?? TOO MANY TO COUNT. *cracks knuckles* BUT I am here for the challenge. Jily AUs are my JAM.

Again, shoutout to our amazing @jilyarchive friends who tag every wonderful muggle jily au they come across. here is the link that will take you to their tags page. You'll find links to specific tropes and AUs :')

I've searched through my own AO3 bookmarks and history tabs, and I present to you 28 jily muggle fics that I LOVE. I am THRILLED thinking about all the good things in store for those that read these wonderful stories. This list took me ages to make because I went through and reread most of these brilliant fics. Happy reading !! xx

properly improper by @lizardcookie

“Marry me,” Mr. Potter repeats, closing the distance between them by striding back up towards the sofa, only to stop and crouch to one knee right there at her feet, looking up at her. Burning. “Pick me,” he elaborates. “Pick me, choose me, love me instead.”

- this fic is the reason why I comment the way that I do (spoiler it's because it's amazing)

The Wedding Ring by @mppmaraudergirl

What is undeniably worse than attending your sister's wedding looking as desolate and forgotten as a wilted houseplant? Drunkenly ringing your ex-boyfriend and asking him to be your date.

- SOBS UNCONTROLLABLY AT THE PERFECTION

Oh my god, they were ROOMMATES by @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world

Silly one-shot, Muggle AU with Fem!Jily as pining roommates and Marlene as their matchmaker.

- the fic that brought me back to jily and inspired my deep obsession of fem!jily

Swipe Right, Swing Left by @downn-in-flames

The unspoken rule of using dating apps in D.C. is that you always start with where you work.

James Potter, it seems, never picked up on that one.

- giddy just thinking about this gem

'Tis the Damn Season by @petalstofish

It doesn't feel like Christmas for Lily Evans, not after losing her parents to COVID before the Holiday season. She anticipates spending Christmas all alone until a boy from her past shows up and offers her a mutually benefiting deal that has her calling him 'babe' just for the weekend. 'Tis the damn season, after all.

- cries in respect for lyrical writing

Watch Me Unwind by @maraudersftw

Lily Evans hates her job, hates the bigoted customers she has to serve as a bartender at the richest club in the city. But the one person who makes bearing all of it worth it has someone else in his arms tonight. (Rated: M)

- obsessed with the way the plot jumps around the time line in this

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

- YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE HOW FAB THIS IS

a matchmaking mission by @downn-in-flames

James Potter has a mission: get Sirius Black and Remus Lupin to finally admit that they both fancy the pants off each other by Valentine's Day.

His partner in crime? Lily Evans, Remus' flatmate, who he also happens to be slightly in love with

- DOUBLE the amount of pining idiots in love :")

about time by @jilyss

'sure, yeah, I can accompany you to that black tie event for your work tonight. wait. why are we on a red carpet?'

- this is my emotional comfort fic, your honor

whiskey business by @elanev91

Sirius Black has a (bad?) habit of picking up hobbies that take over his and James' flat -- this most recent one? Homemade vodka that James now has to try and peddle to everyone in the building.

- hysterical! must read!

Fashion Disaster by @maraudersftw

James Potter is roped into an awful dare by his best-mate, which involves him wearing atrocious pieces of clothing for all days until Christmas as dictated by Sirius. If this wasn't terrible enough, he now has to contend with his maddening crush on the beautiful saleswoman at the clothing store.

- classic hijinks that I live for

it wasn't a pity invite by @elanev91

Part of the December "Winter Tropes" Jily challenge. Prompt: my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and omG i’m so sorry

- awkward Christmas date that owns my heart

spice and honey by @clare-with-no-i

tagging along with her food reporter sister to profile James Potter, London's hottest young chef, is not how Lily Evans pictured her Monday going - especially if he's anything like Petunia’s described.

needless to say, she's in for a whirlwind at Chez Maraudeur.

- I'm one re-read away from printing this out and putting it on my bookshelf.

Waffle Wars by @elanev91

There's only one waffle maker in the dining hall and it literally always breaks. So, naturally, the only reasonable course of action is to meticulously map out when it's working and, ultimately, do a heist.

- the witty narration in this fic can not be matched

You Can Hear It In The Silence by @alrightginger

Lily is non-verbal and deaf in a world where the things your soulmate says about you end up written on your skin. She has known about her soulmate since she was seven, but knows they don't have a clue she exists and possibly never will.

- exquisite, cue me sobbing forever

out the window by @displayheartcode

A new family moves to Ottery St Catchpole.

- everything I could ever want in a fic, forever in my mind rent free

The Christmas Guest by @thegodmachine

An Evans Family Christmas: Petunia is bringing her fiancé and Lily is bringing her…Friend…

- petunia pov that gives me WINGS

Football, Calculus, and Cappuccinos by @moonawrites

At eighteen years old, James Potter has a lot going on. He's a rising star navigating the politics of professional football, the pitfalls of sudden fame, the fallout from choosing his dream over his father's company... and a serious crush on the red headed new barista at his favourite coffee shop.

- I'm still working my way through this fic, but trust me when I say its a GEM

if u like pina coladas by @zephyrcove

Lily is desperate for a date to Petunia's wedding, James has been pining, and their friends meddle ;)

- explain to me how characters can be so perfect via texting fics?

Shelf Awareness by @ghostofbambifanfiction

It's too far out of her way and she's wasting so much money, but Lily can't help but return to the bookstore every weekend, where her passion for good literature has, perhaps, been unexpectedly reignited by the messy-haired, pun-making, rather handsome bloke who works there.

- you absolutely must know that I binge read this and then immediately REREAD it

How to win a witch in 10 days by @adenei

“She’s going to find some unsuspecting wizard, get him to fall for her, and then do all the things that turn men away to get him to break things off! Won’t it be the best way to see what witches do that drives men crazy?” But what happens when the man in question is a blast from Lily Evans's past? A Jily Magical AU based on the romantic comedy "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

- fic based off of a rom com? YES PLZ :’)

The Fight Before Christmas by @ghostofbambifanfiction

The heartwarming Christmas tale of Lily Evans and James Potter - two plucky kids who hated one other, until the day they really, really didn't.

- complete sucker for this one

All This Time by @thejilyship

James and Lily grew up next door to one another. Their bedroom windows giving them glimpses into the others life, and also offering prime opportunities to argue with each other over every little thing. They never figured out how to be friends when they were kids, but now that they've graduated from college and are home for the summer, they have a second chance to get things right.

- one of my favvvv tropes

Let Me Love You by @thejilyship

With only a month until she's set to take the throne of Gryffindor, Lily is informed that she'll have to get married or choose to give up her throne. She never thought she'd have to even entertain the idea of an arranged marriage. Enter, James Potter.

- cries in princess diares AU

The Fabulous Baker Brothers by @frustratedpoetwrites

Lily walks a different route home from work and stumbles upon a cute little Bakery with an even cuter baker in the window.

- yes yes yes to embarrassed pining.

Marigold Mornings by @mppmaraudergirl

This is a fun game she thinks, as she removes her hand from his side and reaches up to run it down his chest.  He catches her hand in his own, takes a step forward so that her nose nearly brushes against his shirt. She can feel the heat radiating off of him—or maybe it’s from her. He licks his lips and her eyes are drawn to the motion.  She knows it is a bad idea, absolutely knows it.

- incredible storytelling featuring dynamic characters :') a favvv

Welcome to Pettyville by@women-inthe-sequel @alrightginger

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

- LOVE SQUARE ANYONE

The Kiss a Stranger Project by @alrightginger

“What’s your name, then?” she asks, realizing they haven’t even properly introduced themselves yet. She nervously crosses her arms.

You shouldn’t kiss a guy without knowing his name first.

Right?

- THIS ONE WILL LIVE IN MY MIND FOREVER

[elizabeethan]

The Swan and her Handler

Emma Swan was cursed, and the only way to break it is with True Love's Kiss. Try breaking a curse with True Love's Kiss when you're a damn swan.

Yes, it's true, I've written a CS AU based on Walnut the Crane, a crane who fell in love with her handler. I'm ashamed at how idiotic this is. It’s by far the dumbest thing I've ever written in all my life. It’s nothing more than crack written in about an hour, un-betaed and barely edited. Sorry, and you’re welcome.

Rated T for language

~2000 words

Read my other stuff

Read on Ao3

These damn idiots can’t get anything right. It was bad enough when Emma showed up on their doorstep with perfectly clear care instructions that were completely ignored, but now they keep trying to get her to reproduce as if she’s some kind of zoo animal. 

  Of course, given her current living situation, it does make at least a tiny bit of sense. 

  Ever since the curse, Emma has been stuck in a wildlife refuge and has been unable to get any of her stupid caretakers to figure out how to help her. She knows exactly what she needs, but unfortunately, no one here speaks swan and she can’t exactly hold a pen. Her care instructions were translated upon her transformation, so the one thing that could have helped her now looks like chicken-- er, swan scratch. 

  “She needs a mate,” one of the jack asses points out. “She’ll probably want to mate for life.”

  True, she thinks, although, not with any of the stinky fluff balls you have sent my way.  

  First it was Neal. He tried to mate with her, so she killed him. Last week, they put Walsh in her enclosure, and she pecked at him violently until they took pity on him and sent him to the medical unit. 

  Although today seems different, because her newest caretaker has shown up, and she realizes that he just might be exactly what she’s been looking for. 

Emma Swan, unfortunately very appropriately named, requires a mate who can break her curse, True Loves Kiss the only thing that can bring her back to her truest form as a human adult woman. And when the new dark haired, stunning eyed veterinarian comes strutting into her enclosure, she hurries towards him to get a closer look at his name tag. 

  He jumps away, making some comment about her being fiery , and she blushes, squawking at him as she tries to get closer. Killian , it reads, and if she had lips and not a bill, she would smile. 

  “We think she’s depressed,” the stupid one with the big eyes says. “She’s killed every mate we’ve tried to pair her with.” 

  Good, she thinks. I must have done more damage on Walsh than I initially thought.  

  “You’re just misunderstood, aren’t you, love?” the angel-man asks, making her squawk in agreement. She thinks she could make this quick, this man obviously understanding her horrible twist of fate, so she lunges for him once more, trying hard to kiss his hand and hoping beyond hope that it will transform her back into the woman she's supposed to be. No more feathers, she prays. 

  He exclaims again, jumping and complaining of his hand hurting as she pecks him, so she rolls her eyes and squawks angrily. “Alright, darling,” he says with his hands up, his smooth, accented voice making her heart flutter inside her chest. Her breast? She knows very little about swan anatomy, despite having been turned into one. “Perhaps she’s stressed about her environment. Have you tried giving her a dark, quiet place to nest?” 

  “Not yet,” the dumbass admits. 

  The handsome one, Killian, a name she could get used to rolling off of her tongue, steps away from her, so she hurriedly follows. “Perhaps here in this corner will do.” 

  I would love to spend time in a dark corner with you, she thinks, giving the man what she hopes is a salacious smirk. She watches appreciatively as he sits down, crossing his legs as he starts to fiddle with some sticks as if she would be interested in them. Rather than helping him to make a nest out of the twigs and leaves, she plops herself right in his lap, nestling herself into his crossed legs and gazing up at his beautiful features, earning a smile from him. 

  “There we are, love,” he says happily, clearly surprised that she chose to plant herself upon him, although he shouldn't be. Just look at him, for god’s sake. “Comfortable?” 

  She squawks loudly, making him cringe, then fluffs her feathers in an attempt to gussy herself up for him. If she’s going to earn True Love’s Kiss from this perfect specimen, she’s going to have to work for it. The man chuckles as he looks down at her-- is he gazing? -- and lifts his hand slowly, placing a finger gently upon the top of her head and petting back down her neck, sending a chill down her spine, at least she thinks it’s her spine. She pushes her head towards him again, demanding more attention in an effort to get him to fall for her. It shouldn’t take long; she’s very enchanting. 

  “She’s never been this calm,” the dumb one says, making her snap her head towards him with a glare, shouting at him in disapproval. Killian shushes her soothingly, his finger softly stroking along her stupid feathers once more and making her shut her eyes. 

  “She just needed a bit of attention, it seems.” 

  “We’d best be careful,” someone else says, the bookworm who always thinks she knows everything about swan science. Of course, she probably knows more than Swan Emma. “We wouldn’t want her to imprint on you ,” she seems to joke. 

  “That’s quite alright, isn’t it love?” he asks her, essentially giving her permission to fall in love with this handsome bastard. 

  He comes by a few times a week for the next several months, each time sitting with her in her tiny, dirty nest and not seeming to care that his pants get soiled. She’s always careful to do her business elsewhere, making sure that her prince can sit in comfort when he arrives. She gets angry with him when he brings someone new, a sickly looking male named Graham who she assures is not welcome, so Killian gives up trying to get her to mate with someone. For some reason, they're concerned about her procreating, but she can assure everyone that she will not be giving birth to a damn swan baby while she’s under this curse. 

  One day, when Killian visits near the end of his shift, he’s finally alone, leaving behind the dumb one and the book worm and giving her all of the attention she desires as his strong hand softly pets along her soft feathers. She can’t wait to get rid of these stupid feathers. 

  “You’re quite funny,” he remarks as the sun starts to set. “Unlike any swan I’ve ever met.”

  She squawks at him-- I’m not a damn swan-- and he smiles. “Quire the personality. It always seems like you’re trying to communicate with me.” 

  Yes, you stupid handsome man, that’s exactly right! She tries to nod, lifting and dropping her head in quick succession and making the beauty laugh. She nudges her head against his hand in demand of more pets. 

  “What is it you want me to know, darling?” he asks gently, his voice soft and soothing and deep. 

  She groans, a sound that comes out like a pained cry, and his face shifts. “Are you alright, love?” 

  In pure frustration, Emma drops her head against the man’s chest, likely assaulting him with how badly she smells like bird shit, and he chuckles again, letting his hand run along her feathers some more. “There, there. I know life as a swan must be difficult. All you seem to want is for someone to listen.” 

  She looks up, hoping that her expression conveys her complete and utter irritation at the fact that he’s literally hitting the nail on the head and yet he has no idea. 

  “Such a personality,” he says again. “I’ve got to head home now, love. I’m looking forward to having Chinese for dinner. Perhaps I'll bring you an eggroll tomorrow, or is that insensitive?” 

  She squawks, half because she’s laughing, and half because she would quite literally kill another potential mate for an eggroll. Wanting to beg him not to go, she gives him her best sad face through her inability to emote, and nestles her head against his palm one more time. 

  “I’ll sneak you one, love,” he laughs, and as he does, he finally, finally , leans down towards her, and plants his stupid, dumb, lucious lips upon the top of her stinky bird head. 

  Cramps start to run through her whole stupid bird body, the same ones she felt when she was cursed on Halloween decades ago. He stands, not seeming to notice her pain and discomfort until he’s a few steps away, and he turns back around. “Swan, are you alright?” he asks, as if she could answer, and she shouts back at him wordlessly. 

  She praises whatever gods might be listening as she feels things start to change, her feathers shedding as her skin is exposed to the chilly fall air. The webbing between her toes retracts, her legs turning flesh colored rather than that horrifying orange. Her bill turns back into her nose and mouth, preparing her to smooch her savior rather than peck at him. Finally, she’s back!

  “Bloody fucking hell,” Killian breathes as he stares on, Emma transforming back into her old self, laying in a heap on the ground as she brushes off the dirt and twigs and leaves. 

  “You did it,” she praises before clearing her throat, raw from misuse after all these years. She grins at him as she’s been wanting to since they met, and is met with a horrified, shocked look on his face. His jaw is gaping, his eyes wide as they catch the light of the setting sun. “I knew you would.” 

  “What the fuck?” 

  “You broke the curse,” she says happily, standing up and exposing her nude form to him, cursing the lack of feathers although she vowed she never would. Immediately, he removes his jacket, despite his shock still clearly running through him, and hands it to her. 

  “I did what now?”

  “I was cursed. Why do you think I was such a miserable swan?” 

  He’s looking around, his mouth snapping shut and dropping open in succession as he tries to process the fact that there was a swan in the enclosure just a second ago, and now there’s a frankly beautiful, naked woman standing before him. “You were cursed,” he says doubtfully. 

  “Yes, I was. An evil witch cursed me on Halloween decades ago and I've been stuck in that infernal bird form ever since. All I needed was True Love’s Kiss to break it, but imaging trying to fall in love with someone as a damn bird.” 

  “So you… you fell in love… with me…?” 

  “Obviously,” she smiles, taking a step towards him on shaky legs, tripping and falling into his waiting arms as he catches her, careful not to grope her, although she isn’t sure she would mind. “And you broke the curse, so… Do I have to tell you what that means?”

  “I-- I’m having a lot of trouble processing the fact that I've evidently been in love with a swan for months.” 

  “Well, my name is Emma Swan, so you can be in love with a Swan for the rest of your life, if you’d like.” 

  “Emma,” he murmurs, staring into her eyes and smiling when he seems to recognize her. She’s never been able to see herself in the mirror, because the book worm was worried she would attack it, but based on the way he’s staring, she would guess that the evil witch let her keep her eyes. “Do you know it just happens to be Halloween tonight?”

  “Kismet,” she says softly, gazing up at him. He lifts his hand like he did while she was planted in his lap, and she’s finally able to feel his calloused finger along the skin of her cheek, then of her neck, just as he had done before. 

  “Aye,” he agrees. “The spirit of the holiday does make this whole thing a bit easier to accept.” 

  “Yeah,” she says dismissively. “Now take me home. I was promised an eggroll and I haven't eaten anything but grass and stale bread in almost thirty years.”

~~~~

Tagging (with apologies):

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza @captainswan21 @hookedmom @lostintheskyfaraway @undercaffinatednightmare @strangestarlighttree

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Chrome & Leather - Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC, Brother Bucky x OFC, Eventual Billy Russo x OFC

Chapter Warnings: Mention of Smut, Cussing, Angst, Violence, Minor Death

Word Count: 4189

Chapter Summary: The engagement is celebrated amongst family and friends the same night of the proposal but not everyone is happy about the news. Winnie finds out the next day about the tension between the sisters and makes Becca promise to talk things out that evening with Jessie. Secrets are revealed about the family debt and why Becca what to the extent she did. The debt always comes with a price to pay but what’s the cost?

A/N: This is my first fic with an original female character,  Jessie Barnes. Face claim for Jessie Barnes is model Jessy Hartel, Images of her are slightly altered to give her blue eyes for my OFC by @happygowriting​

A/N 2: Please read the warnings. DNI if under 18 years old. I’ve been so nervous to release this chapter because it is now going to be more towards drama for a little bit.

Picture below of Steve with his Jessie tattoo is by the talented @nix-akimbo​

To read more of my work here is my Masterlist

Thank you to my beta @music-culture-mythology​​​​​ for looking this over for me.

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers​​​​​​​

I will only be doing mini tag-lists for mutuals that interact with me. To stay up to date with my writing follow my side-blog and turn on the notifications for @saiyanprincessswanie-sideblog​​​​

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps or third party sites. If you see my work anywhere else besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts then it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

Before heading to the bar, Jessie and Steve made their way to Winnie's house to share the good news with her. She deserved to hear about the engagement from them instead of the town gossip. As Steve’s bike pulled into the driveway they saw Winnie on her porch taking in the cool breeze that the evening brought. Together they walked hand in hand up to the porch to greet her.

“Well if I knew you kids were going to stop by I would have made a pie.” Winnie got up from her chair and hugged them both. 

“Oh mom, we don’t need anything. Actually, we need to tell you something,” Jessie admitted as she looked between Steve and her mom.

“My god, are you having a baby?” Winnie asked as her hand went to her chest. 

“No!” Both Steve and Jessie exclaimed in unison. 

Winnie was concerned now as she watched them both. “Well, what is it? Is everything okay?”

Jessie flashed her left hand at her mom. “We’re engaged,” she excitedly said.

Winnie looked at Jessie’s hand and then Steve. Tears started to fall from her eyes as Winnie wrapped her arms around them both, hugging them tightly. “I can’t believe my baby is getting married. I mean it’s about damn time you asked her Steven.”

Steve let out a chuckle as Winnie winked at him. “I wanted to make sure I could provide for your daughter. Jessie deserves the world and now that I have the means, I can give it to her.”

“Money isn’t everything Steven, but I have no doubt you will take care of my little girl.” Winnie smiled as Jessie wrapped her arms around Steve. “You know, your ma would’ve been so proud of the man you’ve become. Sarah and I knew that you both would end up together. A love like yours, well it’s what we call true love. Just know Steve, you've already been a part of this family for a long time and this makes my heart happy to call you my son-in-law.” 

Jessie watched as Steve wiped his eyes at what her mom said. She knew just hearing that his mom and Winnie were both proud of him meant the world to him. Even though Steve had been considered a part of the Barnes clan, getting married would officially mean he had a family for life. 

“Not to drop this news and run ma, but we're meeting Bucky and everyone at the tavern,” Jessie mentioned.

Winnie nodded as she pulled them both into a hug one more time. “I would like to throw a luncheon this weekend to celebrate the engagement. Nothing too big so don’t worry. We can talk about it tomorrow morning. Now go have some fun.” 

They waved goodbye as they got back onto the Harley and headed off to see their friends.

Finally arriving at the tavern Steve and Jessie saw their friends at a table in the back corner. Bucky sat with his arm draped around Nat, Laura leaned against Clint, while Wanda, Tony, John, and Thor all talked amongst themselves. As they passed Sam at the bar Steve asked him to join everyone at the table. 

Approaching everyone Steve held Jessie’s hand as he spoke, “I’m glad you all showed up on short notice we have news to share. Tonight I asked Jessie to marry me and she said yes.” Everyone gasped as Jessie lifted her hand to show their friends. Nat and Wanda quickly got up to congratulate Jessie and stare at her ring. The men all stood to congratulate Steve and tease him.

Bucky was the first to pull Steve into a hug. “About time you asked her punk. Just don’t fuck this up cause I swear if you break her heart I’m gonna hurt you.” Bucky let him go and smiled at his friend.

“I don’t plan on it jerk. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

Bucky nodded at his friend and turned to Jessie, pulling her in for a hug. “I know you have been dreaming of this since you were little. You both deserve all the happiness in the world.” He pulled her back just enough to look Jessie in her teary blue eyes. “I can’t believe my little sister is marrying my best friend.” 

“At least I’m marrying a good guy. Could be worse.” Jessie chuckled as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She searched the small crowd for her sister but didn’t see her amongst everyone.

Bucky let her go and could sense the disappointment from her. “I’m sorry Becca didn’t come. I wouldn’t worry about it though as I might have told ma what happened in the market with Brock.” Jessie looked at him in shock. If their ma was involved then Becca would stand no chance of being angry for long. 

Sam had offered up a round of free drinks for his friends as they discussed when the wedding might take place and where they were thinking. It was revealed that Steve had gone to Bucky to ask for his blessing to marry Jessie since her father was not around. That alone meant a lot to Jessie. 

As they continued to talk amongst themselves they didn’t see the anger rolling off of Billy who was sitting on the other side of the bar. Throwing down some bills on the table Billy left discreetly. By 11 pm everyone decided to call it a night as work would be waiting for them in the morning. 

Steve and Jessie waved goodbye to everyone as they pulled out of the bar parking lot. Lost in thought Jessie paid no attention to where Steve was heading until he pulled up to a tattoo parlor. 

“What are we doing here?” Jessie asked curiously as she got off the bike.

Steve hopped off the bike and grabbed her hand as he pulled her inside. “I figured since you’ve been my best girl for as long as I can remember and now that we’re engaged I wanted to get a little ink.”

“Okay, but of what?” Jessie tilted her head as Steve grinned at her.

“I want your name tattooed above my heart. Since you already own it I might as well make it official.” Steve kissed her lips gently but pulled away when the tattoo artist approached them.. Steve told the man that he wanted “Jessie” above his heart. 

An hour later they were at home and crawling into bed. Jessie’s fingers danced around the tattoo on his chest. This gesture on top of being engaged really meant he was hers. Steve gently rolled Jessie onto her back and softly kissed her lips as his hand made its way in between her legs. His fingers found she was already dripping with her arousal. Spreading her legs more he pumped his hard cock a few times and pushed into her with ease. They made love to one another, taking each other apart slowly and building each other up to an intense orgasm. Tonight was all about celebrating the start of their future together and their love for one another. As they lay in bed in each other’s arms, tangled in their sheets they both fell asleep unaware of what the day would bring.

Becca woke to a banging on her front door at 7 am. A groan left her lips as she crawled out of bed and padded to the door. Opening it up to yell at the person she inwardly cursed as Winnie pushed past her and walked towards the living room.

“Rebecca Barnes, we need to talk right now,” Winnie spoke as she sat down in a chair.

Becca followed her into the living and dropped onto the couch.“Ma, do you even know what time it is?”

“I don’t care what time it is. What I want to know is why you were seen talking to your ex at the market? Is this why you aren’t talking to your sister?” Winnie asked.

Dropping her head in her hands Becca cursed. “Did Jessie tell you that?” 

“As a matter of fact no she didn’t. Your brother did and he is worried about you.”

“Ma, there is nothing to be worried about.”

“Don’t pull that with me. Did you forget how that monster beat you? Why are you letting him come between you and your sister who stood by your side? What did you get yourself into?” Winnie furiously questioned her daughter knowing that there was something more to it that would make her talk with Brock.

Becca could feel both anger and sadness wash over her. “I know what he did to me. You don’t need to remind me of that. You don’t need to know what is going on. I'm an adult. All you need to know is that I have it under control.”

“Then start acting like an adult. If you don’t want to talk to me about this then fine. At least talk to your sister and work things out. Jessie doesn’t deserve your anger especially since she is now engaged.” 

Becca looked at her mother in shock, taking in what she said. “What? When?”

Winnie stood from her seat. “Last night Steve proposed. They went to the tavern to celebrate. I take it you weren’t there. See what you miss out on when you get mixed up with Brock.” At that comment, Becca started to tear up. Winnie walked the short distance to her daughter, sat down, and hugged her. “I love you, Rebecca. Please work things out with your sister tonight.”

Becca hugged her mom closely. “I will. I promise. I’m sorry ma.”

Winnie pulled back and warmly smiled at her. “Nothing to be sorry for my dear.” Winnie got off the couch and left. 

Her ma was right. Becca needed to confide in someone about what she got herself into. Tonight she planned to talk to Jessie after they closed the diner.

The day was flying by due to it being the end of the work week for most folks in town. Jessie and Becca arrived for their shift at 1 pm, swiftly joining both Wanda and Sharon who were busy serving people during the lunch shift while Pietro was taking over the kitchen service. Their crew worked perfectly in sync with one another as they made sure everyone that was in their dining room was always checked on and taken care of. By 1:30 pm Wanda and Sharon were clocking out for the day leaving the two sisters to do what they do best.

Jessie tried to give her sister distance and only spoke to her when it was necessary. The last thing she wanted to do was make Becca angry again before they had the chance to work things out. Throughout the shift, she was congratulated on the engagement with Steve. She couldn’t help but smile the more the day rolled along. The thought of finally being engaged to the man she loved made her feel like she was on cloud nine. 

By the time 10 pm rolled around it was finally closing time for the women. They had cleaned after the last customer left at 9:40 pm so now Jessie was tidying up as Becca counted the money in the office. 

“The kitchen is all cleaned for the evening,“ Pietro spoke as he walked into the dining room.

Jessie looked up and smiled at her friend. “That’s great. Why don’t you go ahead and head home for the night.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, plus Becca and I have some talking to do. We might be here for a little while.” Pietro gave her a hug goodbye and left, leaving Jessie to continue to work. Finally finishing up in the dining room Jessie took a seat at the counter and texted Steve.

Jessie: Hey babe, everything is done cleaning-wise.  I’m waiting to talk to Becca. I’m a little nervous so wish me luck.

Steve: You got this sweetheart. Once you are done I’ll come to get you. Bucky, Thor, Tony, Clint, John, and I are hanging at the shop down the road. Message me when you are done.

Jessie: I will, love you.

Steve: Love you too

As Jessie tucked her phone in her pocket Becca came out from the office. Becca walked over to the counter and sat a couple of seats away from her sister. They sat in silence for a moment before Becca spoke. “I want to apologize for the way I treated you a couple of days ago. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”

“I appreciate that Becca,” Jessie said as she studied her sister’s face. She could see the hurt in Becca’s eyes. “What is going on with you and Brock?”

“It’s complicated Jessie.” Becca looked down at her hands in her lap trying to avoid Jessie’s eyes. 

Jessie blew out a sigh as she tried to keep her composure. “Look, Becca whatever it is, just know I have your back. Obviously, you have a good reason for talking to him and I’m just trying to find out why. You might be my big sister but I worry about you. I want you to be safe. So please, just tell me what it is so I can help.”

Tears fell from Becca’s eyes as she looked up at Jessie. “I didn’t want to borrow money from him, I swear. I got a letter in the mail around the time the guys opened their garage. The letter had stated that pa’s bad debts were being called in full by someone named Jigsaw. Apparently, pa borrowed money from Alexander Pierce to bet on the horses at the track in the next county over. The diner was in need of new kitchen appliances and upgrades. The hope was the winnings at the track would cover the expenses but pa lost. Pierce then offered to help with the diner but in return, pa would have to pay Pierce back with interest. If the debt wasn’t paid Pierce would take over the diner and sell it. Then Pierce died and pa had his heart attack a few years later. I thought the debt was settled until I was contacted by someone named Jigsaw. Apparently, they took over the debt and said it had to be paid in full. Even though Steve, Bucky, you, and I were paying on what we thought were all of ma’s debts there was still this larger debt. I’m not sure if ma knew or not how bad it was. The letter went on to say that the diner was expected to be sold to settle everything out. I knew that couldn’t happen. Ma would be devastated if this happened. I mean hell, pa and her started that business together. I knew that the four of us couldn’t afford this debt so I decided to borrow from Brock. I figured he has loaned out money to people before and I was hoping that maybe he could help.”

Jessie sat in disbelief at what her sister was telling her. How did she not know how bad these debts really were. If Jessie only knew that ma and Becca were facing this she would have sold her own house to help ease the burden. 

Becca sighed as she continued on. “Once I had the money from Brock I asked him about Jigsaw. Brock was able to make contact with him and get me an account to wire the money to. After that I thought I was in the clear, all I had to do was pay Brock back. But a few months of paying him back Brock approached me and told me he wanted to get back together again. That if I did he would forgive my debts to him. Of course, I denied him and he got mad. Said he was giving me a month to pay him back. When you walked in on us talking he was threatening to hurt you. Brock said he would make an example of you and if I still didn’t pay up he would hurt mom. I should have told you, I’m sorry Jessie.” Becca was now sobbing as the weight of the world was finally off her shoulders. 

Jessie got out of her seat, walked over to Becca, and wrapped her arms around her. Jessie could feel the anger radiate through her at the thought of Brock pulling this. She held Becca close as she tried to soothe her. “We’ll figure this out, Becca. I promise you that we will get Brock paid off and out of our lives for good.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, kitten.” Brock’s deep voice cut in, making both women turn around and look at him as he strolled into the diner. 

Jessie stood in front of Becca as she stared down Brock who stopped a few feet from them. “It’s after hours Brock. If I were you I would turn around and leave before I call the cops.” Her fists clenched and unclenched several times as she tried to keep her anger from boiling over.

A dark chuckle escaped his lips. “I’ve always loved that spitfire attitude of yours. It’s a shame someone else made you off-limits or else I would’ve had my fingers in your pie long ago.”

Jessie pulled her phone out of her pocket and was about to dial 9-1-1 when a gun clicked. Her eyes snapped up to see the barrel of the gun aimed at them. 

“Put the phone on the counter and slide it to me now or someone is going to be hurt.” Brock’s dark expression made Jessie’s stomach drop. Complying with him she slid the phone towards him. “Now since I’m here I want to make a withdrawal.”

“Last I checked we weren’t a bank and the diner doesn’t hold a lot of money.” Jessie sassed back at him. 

Brock took a few steps towards the women and stood toe-to-toe with Jessie. His hand quickly slapped her hard across the face, sending her into the counter. Jessie felt as if her cheek exploded as her hand lightly touched the hot skin. As Becca stood to come to her sister’s defense Brock pointed the gun in her face.

“I know for a fact you have that money you raised with your pie sales in that safe. So we are going to grab that with no further problems.” Becca started to back up slowly towards the hallway that led to the office. Brock grabbed Jessie by her long hair hard causing her to scream in pain as he dragged her down the hall with them. 

Jessie’s hands flew to where his hand was fisted in her hair as she tried to alleviate the hold on her. She stumbled, trying to keep up with Brock as she heard Becca plead with him to not hurt them. As they reached the office Becca went inside and started to open the safe. Jessie tried to get Brock to release her again but his grip never relented. 

He pulled Jessie close so they were eye to eye. “Stop struggling, you are only going to make this worse for you and your sister.” The barrel of the gun moved from her temple down her jawline. Jessie started to shake with fear. Would he be dumb enough to kill her?

“Stop it, Brock.” Becca pleaded as she took all the money out of the safe and placed it in a bag for him. “Look here is everything that you asked for. Please just let my sister go.”

Brock looked from Jessie to Becca. “Bring the bag to the dining room.” He stepped back with Jessie, allowing for Becca to walk by and towards the dining room. The gun now hung by his side and Jessie started forming a plan in her head.

Jessie wasn’t sure what Brock had planned for them but whatever it was there was no way she wasn’t going to fight back. As soon as Becca exited the hallway Jessie pushed her body weight into Brock, sending them both into the wall. Jessie threw her arm between his legs hard, hitting him square in the nuts. 

“Bitch!” Brock howled as his grip loosened and he let her go, his hands flying to where she hit him.

Quickly she ran out of the hallway and was just making her way around the counter. “Run Becca!” Jessie screamed at her sister as she was tackled to the ground by Brock. He straddled her waist as he hit Jessie with the butt of the gun. Her head instantly felt like it was going to explode as she continued to struggle with him. 

Becca ran over to them, trying to pull Brock off Jessie but he reeled back and punched Becca, sending her to the floor a few feet away. Jessie was mad and screaming curse words at him when her eyes locked onto the hand holding the gun. She dove for it and tried to pull it from him. There was no way she would let him get away with this abuse. Jessie leaned up high enough to bite Brock’s hand so hard that she drew blood and he dropped the gun to the floor.

“You stupid bitch! I don’t care what he says I will fucking kill you.” Brock yelled as both his hands wrapped around Jessie’s throat and squeezed. Jessie's feet kicked underneath him, trying to get him off of her so she could breathe but his weight held her body down. Her hands tried to pull his larger ones off her neck but Jessie was no match for him. 

Jessie could feel herself become lightheaded as his grip seemed to dig harder into her neck. Her eyes looked to her right side and she caught the gleam of the gun. Her right hand let go of his hands as she started to reach for it. The world was slowly growing darker by the second. This was how she was going to die. At the hands of this insane man. Would Steve ever find out? Was Brock going to murder them both? Her hand continued to reach for the gun and when Brock’s eyes followed her gaze he briefly let up just enough for her to reach it. Now it was the struggle for the gun as his hands let go of her neck and he tried to pry the weapon from her.

Becca was back off the ground and pulling at Brock once again. Jessie was trying to push the gun left towards his body as he tried to push it away. Brock’s fingers were getting tangled with Jessie’s as they all screamed for control of the situation. Jessie closed her eyes as she tried to put the last of her energy into fighting him. 

Then the gun went off… 

There was nothing but silence at first. It was as if time stood still. Then there was a choked gasp.

Jessie’s eyes flew open and locked onto Becca’s as she stumbled backward away clutching her stomach. Brock quickly got off of Jessie and looked down at a bleeding Becca. He grabbed the money that was on the floor and ran out of the diner as Jessie crawled over to her sister.

“Oh my god, Becca. What have I done?” She looked down on Becca who was bleeding heavily from her wound. Jessie saw her phone on the ground and quickly dialed 9-1-1. Jessie knelt next to her sister and placed her hands over the wound. She was shouting at the emergency dispatcher telling them what happened and their location. As soon as the dispatcher said help was on the way Jessie cradled Becca close to her. “We just have to keep pressure on this wound. The ambulance will be here soon. I just need you to hold on.”

Becca reached a bloodied hand up to Jessie’s face making Jessie look down at her. “It’s okay Jessie. It’s not your fault.”

Jessie began sobbing as she felt Becca cough a few times. She watched as her sister struggled to keep her eyes open. “I shouldn’t have fought him. Please just hang on. Just fight this for me.”

“Jessie, this isn’t your fault. It will be okay.” Becca took a stuttered breath again. Becca’s eyes fluttered as she fought to stay awake. The sound of sirens was growing louder by the second. 

“Don’t talk like that. Help is almost here. Please hang on for me,” Jessie pleaded.

Becca’s eyes start to glaze over. “I’m so proud of you.” Becca gasped, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Becca took her final breath, dying in her sister’s arms.

Jessie screams echoed in the diner as she tried to wake her sister. “No! Please, wake up for me. Don’t leave me. Please, Becca!” Jessie cried out in anguish, begging for her sister to breathe. She begged God to let her sister survive this. Jessie pulled Becca’s body close to her chest, slowly rocking them back and forth. This was not real. This was a nightmare that she couldn’t wake from.

Chapter 9

[justalost4girl]

" If anything can go wrong, it will."

Good night!! (Here it's still night :p )

A few weeks ago I said I would do a oneshot Lorraine Broughton x F! Reader, but it got too big so I decided to follow the initial idea and turn it into a mini series. I have two chapters written and I'm going to post them here and in Ao3, I think there will be 3 or 4 chapters in total, but I'm not sure yet.

English is not my first language, so all mistakes are mine.

Enjoy!!

warnings: mention of violence, R cursing, forgery of documents (?)

Words: 4573

▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰

1989

Berlin, East Side

You feel in your bones, when you wake up, the consequences of last night and think that the famous Murphy's Law decided to test you. On this side of the wall few things go right, but having an order in your head two days after joining STASI's wanted list proves that nothing is so bad it can't get any worse. Courtesy of a dumb customer who messed with the wrong people and thought revealing where you find your customers would be enough information to escape death. The Local Gang (or Angels, as they call themselves) loves to eliminate competition from the market.

Now he's dead and you have to deal with the STASI AND the Local Gang (you refuse to call them Angels).

The local fucking gang that sent a team of idiots to break into your favorite bar and made you run out the back door before meeting a customer who was going to pay well. The local fucking gang who must be pissed that you shot the six dumbest members you've ever had to face in your life. No really fatal shots, but of course that won't matter as they do business with the KGB.

Sometimes you want to ignore the rules you've made for yourself, especially "never kill someone unless it's in defense of yourself or someone you love", but you think killing six agents who don't have the ability to set up an ambush of success would be a great waste of bullets. Now you know you're going to have to leave town soon and you have no idea how to break the news to your brother/partner, how do you honorably abandon a war before it's over?

Damn Murphy's Law

You know you need to sort this out, but you refuse to stay in bed crying over what's already written and decide to leave the wonderful Egyptian linen sheets you got from your favorite client last month to face the world and it's impossible to face the world without a good amount of coffee. After a quick shower with a cup of Blue Mountain in hand, your newest addiction, you sit in a robe in a nice armchair, look out the window at dying Berlin and thank heaven for the comfortable life you've earned by working with one of the greatest smugglers on this side of the wall, perhaps from all over Germany. Some desperate customers offer you valuable items from them in exchange for passports and unlike your idiot “brother”, you don't have a rule about only receiving cash. Almost everything here comes from gifts, from the sofa, pictures, bags, clothes and even some books on your shelf. You don't even remember buying that cup, or the coffee set, for gods' sake.

If he saw you now he'd complain about being soft with customers and say something about how items aren't a bargaining chip in the real world, you'd get into a tiresome discussion about enjoying the finer things in life and how bills don't compare in the importance of yours. silver chain with moon pendant that was once an amulet for more than three generations for a French family.

At the end of the day, Merkel has a large information network and an office that takes up half the block, where she keeps as much money as she has secrets, and you have a house decorated by other people where each object symbolizes someone you've helped.

Four walls don't make a house

The thought takes away some of the almost peace you feel and you decide to finish your coffee before it gets cold.

After a quick glance at the calendar you remember about the march that will take place in Alexanderplatz square and decide to go scream for Germany one last time, hopefully you'll be able to hide long enough to see the fall of the damn wall that divides this country. It's not your country, not really, you don't even like to remember how you got here, but the experiences you gained wouldn't be exchanged for anything, not even for an original Van Gogh. Also, Merkel asked you to go and bring a black umbrella, the reason was not explained and you didn't feel like asking, sometimes you think Gordon Merkel is not his name, but how to judge the man who is your only family in this end of the world? You smile when you remember that he shouldn't have an umbrella with a story as cool as his and decide to piss him off for it.

Your phone rings, and you notice you've lost track of time. Merkel was helping a blonde woman named L, he didn't give you more details other than a few stories about how she was a perfect and dangerous assassin that you should keep your distance, as few people know how to deal with her. You thought he overreacted, but you had to take over some business from him while she was in town. She seemed important considering the way he told you about her and you knew better than to deny help to the person who always supported you and declared himself a brother, you trusted him because not even the best agent in the world could fake so much sincerity and affection in claiming this title for himself.

You reach out, pick up the phone, and decide to answer it. “Hey little sister, how are you out there? I called to say that everything is fine for dinner today, but there was a mishap and the wine ran out, bring the best Bordeaux you have, I'll return the courtesy as soon as possible." A code, of course.

He needs your services ASAP. Wine is a passport, Bordeaux means two elements, courtesy involves a child.

You can combine business with pleasure "Hi brother. I'm looking forward to today, I'll take the best wine I have, don't worry. I already know how you can thank me. I need to clean the house and go to the office first, but I'll be there on time. wait for me." you say in a voice that oozes normalcy, you never know when someone's listening on the phone especially now that you're a fugitive, disgraced customer. Your body sinks into the armchair noticing the oncoming cloud of worry

Merkel now knows you need his help, as cleaning the house means getting away and going to the office shows you're in a hurry.

"Alright, do you want me to send the driver?" He asks like he's not freaking out and offering the bloody job of one of his mercenaries

“No, bro, thanks, I know the way.” You say as if you really have an escape plan besides getting a fake passport, emergency backpack and all the money you can find.

“See you later, don't forget the wine. Are you sure you don't want the driver?" You wonder if he has forgotten that knowing the way literally means everything is fine

“Relax, see you later” It takes a few seconds for him to hang up and you can hear his sigh.

He will be SO pissed.

You put the phone down as you get up to gather the passport forgery materials and put them in a briefcase. Your cookbook is already there along with some banknotes from different countries. As you pick up the black backpack of standard clothes and accessories that always waited for you in the corner of the door, you decide to wear the first jacket you bought, the dark blue jeans, the combat boots you got from a skinhead, the wristwatch you bought. you got for your brother's birthday, thick leather gloves and a thin white shirt that matches the rest of your outfit. After all, if you can die when you open the door, then die well dressed. Be sure to keep the Colt 1911 around your waist and the Russian dagger around your ankle, after yesterday you never know, Your pocket watch with the coat of arms of the Brazilian imperial family indicates that 15 minutes have passed since Merkel's phone call

You take one last look at the house you've been so proud of in recent years, snap a photo with the Polaroid you've won, and, with a bittersweet smile, close the door. One day when the wall comes down, the government changes and your face is forgotten, you can come back here, until then you will have to make do with the photo album you keep in your backpack and this photo.

Putting on your sunglasses, you arrive on the street and decide to take a taxi on the other corner, make sure you look around before leaving your home, no one knows your address, but you can't be sure the local gang is so stupid to the point of not following you after last night.

Getting a taxi was relatively easy. Neil, the driver, thanks to the boots, mistook you for a revolutionary and talked for 10 minutes about how he hoped he could take down the wall with his bare hands, you thought it was cool, but as you passed the big river that was just a few blocks away from the your brother's office, you couldn't hear a word from him.

A sign signaling that the river was closed to visitors made your eyes fill with tears. You used to go there when the day was bad, spread a blanket in a corner and watch the stars, or just laugh at the distinct reflection the water made of the moon and stars. Merkel accompanied you on anniversaries, justifying them as bonding experiences. After some freaks started swimming in the river and executions increased, STASI took over and you replaced the dark water for the restaurant's bright lights. But seeing it tightly closed gave him a feeling of anguish and rancor. You would silently curse the wall builders for the rest of the trip.

Neil seemed to notice but didn't comment on it, you thanked him, wiped your tears and left a good tip as you descended a block away from your final destination. This time you didn't need to look around because even though Merkel was super busy, he made sure to leave some security close to where your landing place was.

A tall man dressed in a red T-shirt approached you and hugged you as if he hadn't seen you in a long time. You've known him since the beginning of last year, when he arrived at Merkel's office begging for a job, and from the first moment the way he turned grief over his brother's death into a thirst for revolution made you admire the young man. The two of you walked through the great gate hand in hand as you asked about his life with genuine interest, and Klaus increasingly believed in Merkel's theory about you having such a pure heart that you didn't care about motivation or the number of lives they took, your explanation of the judgment not being your responsibility, crossed the man's head before he escorted you to the main office.

You thanked him with a smile, opened the door and stood in front of the table in the windowless room, where your brother was already waiting for you.

"What the hell happened? Are you okay? I was about to send J to get you, please tell me what happened"—he said hurriedly as he got up and pointed at the couch for you to sit on. J was one of the most dangerous women in the building and you were grateful for not wasting her time.

Putting your backpack and umbrella aside, you answered:

"I'll explain later, little brother, now let me help you. You need passports urgently, don't you?" Yes, you were stalling and postponing the conversation. He'd call you an idiot for going out on the street right after you got on the wanted list, and he'd feel guilty when he found out why you didn't tell him. Merkel wasn't going to understand that her fear of failing him was no one's fault but yourself.

Your sentence seemed to give him some responsibility back, but still, as he held out a glass of water for you, his eyes met yours with a glint that warned that this conversation was far from over.

"Yeah, I really do, but don't think I'm going to forget about it. Let's talk when this is all over. Even if it's the last thing I do today."

You accepted the glass with a bit of trepidation and stood up towards the large center table while opening the briefcase with the supplies you were going to need, if Merkel noticed the bills he didn't say anything. Once at the table, you made two passports for mother and daughter in record time. According to the clock, 10 minutes passed, faster than a car, this deserves a celebration. It would have been six if Merkel hadn't been so curious to make you waste time pulling your watch out of your pocket just for him to analyze.

Everything was going well and there was only one last detail for mother and daughter to be taken by one Percival to the other side of the wall. Percival, according to Merkel, was strange and fickle. Unreliable and extremely dangerous, you should also keep your distance from him, as this man had crucial contacts on both sides of the wall.

"He must have fewer contacts than you", you would answer

If a loud noise didn't break the silence

The annoying noise of the door creaking made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you almost missed the last signature, it made your body vibrate with irritation and your eyes follow to the offensive source of the sound. A tall man with short hair and blue eyes was holding the doorknob with a military posture and before you could release your anger and explain something about how people shouldn't be violent inside Merkel's office you noticed he was accompanied by a woman.

AND WHAT A WOMAN!

Your eyes connected to a pair of fierce, intent green eyes, surrounded by a pale skin tone and hair so blond it looked like snow. The barely perceptible frown showed she was surprised to find someone other than Merkel there, yet she looked ready for a battle. You looked into her eyes again and nodded in acknowledgment, this must be L, the woman he was talking about.

She looked at you suspiciously, but also as if she could see into your soul, and what must have been frightening, you found endearing. A few stories of murders orchestrated by her crossed your mind, but all you could imagine is how beautiful she must be when she's mad.

They say green eyes darken when we're high on adrenaline, does that happen to her?

Her analysis of the intriguing blonde ends when she notices that the man accompanying her has raised his voice and from his furious expression, it's not the first time he's repeated the question. You interrupt him before you hear him and make sure to direct the ghost of anger before him:

"Have you lost your mind? Who walks into the office without knocking? Surely you should be here asking about passports, but if it weren't for my experience and steady hands, they would be in the trash by now. Learn to be civilized. You're under two paws not four, so act human and not animal" you say in an explosive but articulate tone to make sure he understands what you say. Sometimes when you speak fast, you are betrayed by faulty diction. Not today. Today you want this man to feel every fiber of irritation that went through his body.

Hearing Merkel holding a nervous laugh, you try to relax, but judging by the cold, almost murderous look of the man in the doorway, you've definitely gotten yourself in trouble. Looking at the organized clothes, you notice it's an old police uniform, probably taken by your brother, and unless Merkel has hired new employees, you've never seen it around here. His eyes snap back to his and something inside you warns that this must be Percival. He probably wants to kill you.

Damn Murphy's Law

A brief silence settles in the room and you shake off the fear and turn away, refusing to play the glaring game with a man who almost spoils your art. On other days you might look at him at a party, but today you want to make him swallow the ink on the stamp in his hands and invite the blonde to dinner

And it's her voice that breaks the silence.

You're flipping through the two passports for failures when she says

"Sorry, miss. My friend is an unprecedented idiot. Shall I close the door and knock again? Perhaps your highness too--"

You turn her body towards her when you hear the slightest hint of irony in her tone and interrupt her with a fake smile as you look into her eyes.

"It's not necessary, I accept your apology, Miss. I always said that Merkel should have someone armed at the door to remind everyone of the need to knock on the door. Anyone who didn't knock would lose his mind as the law of my reign says. Perhaps I should start. for him, since the top head is the last thing he wears lately" you joke look at Merkel who doesn't seem offended by the statement, shrugging you look at those blue eyes again and say "the passports are ready. Let's get out of here."

You close the passports, reach for your backpack and umbrella and start moving towards the door, both agents let you lead the way and judging by the blonde's expression, she's not used to being interrupted, nor is she used to seeing someone talking like that with Merkel, but today it was acceptable. You really think she's adorable, but you know better than to let someone make fun of you, especially in front of your brother who wouldn't let you forget about it. Either she doesn't care, or she's a great actress. Anyway, that idiot is still by her side and you refuse to be the reason for his possible laugh.

Her friend probably didn't have the same acting classes and his resemblance to the local gang members, like he's going to kill you in the blink of an eye in a cowardly way, is almost frightening. If Merkel hadn't said L is a woman, you'd be scared. It makes you shiver a little and look for Merkel, but he's not following you. Looking over his shoulder you see him putting a few more piles of dollars and euros into your briefcase. With a snap of your fingers you get his attention and before you walk out the door, you hear the briefcase click closing.

Once out of the room, you look around and realize that nothing has really changed, all faces are familiar, except for three people: a couple talking to a child. After a brief analysis you find yourself facing the passport clients, mother and daughter. The man doesn't look older than 60 and has kind eyes, almost as if he doesn't live on this side of the wall.

They don't seem to notice you

Your observation is interrupted by Merkel's loud, proud voice, right behind you. Here it comes

"This is Elizabeth Loyd and Percival, two trusted clients. Elizabeth and Percival, this is my little sister, she will be on the march today, if you need anything in the future you can talk to her."

Hearing her name, you notice that Merkel really wasn't creative at all. Who would use the initial letter of a surname as a symbol? Anyone who heard the stories about L and met a loyde who knows a Merkel would make the connection. As you turn around, you swallow your nervousness and try to put on your best smile as you say your name to them. The blonde woman who finally has a name, Elizabeth, leans closer, her eyes never leaving yours, and you wonder if she can feel the jumble of emotions that is unraveling inside you.

She smiles a smile that makes you sure she does and reaches out and greets you with a firm grip, if she noticed the sweat on your hands, she didn't let on. She also looks a little more comfortable.

Maybe because she noticed you said her real name, idiot.

You hate yourself for one second and the next you want to be without gloves because it feels soft and warm.

The man, Percival, comes next and looks at you suspiciously and the smile fades from your face, you wonder if no one else can smell the strong smell he gives off, a smell of cheap whiskey and arrogance. Still, he holds out his hand and this time you thank the gods for the gloves. Make sure you don't bow your head or fail in your posture. He still looks at you like you killed his son. Useless even to pretend, for God's sake.

Merkel watches the exchange from afar and nods to Elizabeth, she responds and Percival walks away looking uneasy. You look around uncomprehendingly, feel a little left out, and wonder which computer must have Tetris installed.

You would kill for a distraction right now.

Going out on the street in a crowded march while being chased by two groups still makes you sick.

Your brother approaches and extends his hands around you. You've missed him for the past few weeks. He still wears the perfume you gave him for his birthday and it makes you sink deeper into the hug. You know he's going to be mad when he finds out what happened so you enjoy as much affection as you can

"Little sister, in addition to our conversation I need to tell you something" his voice is low in tone and you doubt you would understand the words if you weren't so close to him "but I can't do that until the march is over. Meet me at usual table at the restaurant where we celebrate our achievements, It's very important"

His even low voice is charged with strong emotion and you are genuinely worried, Merkel has never been like this before.

"I'll do it, brother, I promise. Whatever it is, we can work it out together" you say with all the certainty you can muster in your voice, because you need him to understand that this is true.

You feel eyes on you and as you look up you notice that Elizabeth keeps an eye on your exchange with Merkel while talking to the little girl's father, from the distance she probably can't understand anything and you don't know if she celebrates or cares with so much attention received. A little further away is a Percival who pretends to be busy with the coat he's wearing. He also pays attention to your exchange, but his talent for discretion is as effective as his ability to open doors.

Your eyes return to the concentrated blue eyes that are in front of you and Merkel speaks in an almost inaudible way:

"When I whistle, I need you to raise your open umbrella and stay alert. The three people we're going to cross are very important, nothing can go wrong. But if it does, I'll be at the restaurant, whatever happens find me there."

Noticing the proximity of Percival and Elizabeth, you place your hand on your brother's shoulder and smile as you speak a little louder:

"Don't worry man, it's always a pleasure to help you. I'll leave my briefcase here, then meet you to get it. Good march."

Merkel shows that she understands his strange move and smiles, you greet some friends of his that you haven't seen in a while and as you head towards the exit, you meet a pair of deep green eyes. Elizabeth is gleaming in the cold lights that are refracted by the mosaic of the gate, she looks into your eyes, ever alert, looks at the object in your hands and nods her head with a half smile, do you think the guard's idea black rain was hers.

As you wave back, you can feel that a pair of eyes haven't left your back since the moment of your brother's embrace, as the old man is saying goodbye to the family, you know who they belong to and decide not to look for them. If the STASI, KGB or local gang find you, he doesn't own the pair of eyes you want to remember before you die.

Taking a deep breath, you walk through the gate and blend into the crowd.

..........................................................................................................................

After leaving Merkel's office block, you take a hat out of your backpack and wear your sunglasses as you look around, not that a local gang member is here but because if he sees you in disguise he will ask a series of questions and he has enough problems already, plus STASI must be monitoring this area and the last thing you want is to be arrested. You decide to tuck your coat into your backpack to change your look, and while internally debating your ability to ignore the cold, your eyes catch the almost snowy blond hair in the crowd.

This signals that they are already on the march and you decide to get a little closer to them, but make sure you do this without drawing attention to yourself since the nasty man is still there. Elizabeth is on your diagonal absorbing all the extraneous details that might be a possible threat, she seems so focused on the job of passing the owner's gentle eyes in a safe way that it makes you wonder how important he is and if she's noticed you.

A few meters later a familiar noise floats through the march and you open the umbrella almost instantly, as do other protesters.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Percival taking the man's family across and sometime later Elizabeth does the same. You notice that her posture has changed and when she decides to stop for a better look, the crowd drags her and you can no longer locate her.

Her feet continue forward and as some signs are raised by the protesters, you try to find your brother. Unsuccessfully. You decide to trust their ability and hope that you can meet him again at the restaurant.

You also want Elizabeth to be okay.

Continuing on the march, after two or three long blocks you notice the familiar silhouette of one of the STASI bosses, he is watching the crowd as if looking for someone, but he doesn't seem to notice you. You notice observers on top of buildings and decide to leave the streets. Whether it's the Local Gang, KGB or STASI itself you don't know and decide you don't want to know.

Your brain tries to design routes to escape and your body mimics the movements of the closest protesters so as not to draw attention to you, but when some agents in black point in your direction and make space in the crowd, you run between people to seek shelter in somewhere you know and at every step you are sure that the day will be worse than you thought.

Damn Murphy's Law

[bucky-at-bedtime]

Stucky Fic Recs

So basically I went through all of my ao3 bookmarks and collated a list of some of my favourites (I couldn't fit all of them on this list, so if anyone shows interest there might be a part two).

Please read tags and descriptions of the works before reading, some of them are pretty dark or extremely horny so just make sure you check that the fic is for you!!

Please please please send me your favourite fics in return! I am always happy to hear fic recs, headcanons and any other ideas/comments you all have!

Without any further ado, here are a few of my favourite Stucky fics:

‘Not Easily Conquered’ series by dropdeaddream, WhatAreFear

Rating: M, Words: 117,692

https://archiveofourown.org/series/115516

“I told you, you heard me: I told you never to follow me into Hell. Now I’m not vain enough to think that’s why you’re out here now — if there’s any person in what’s left of this God forsaken planet who’s part of a bigger picture, it’d be you. But I’ll keep saying it until it sticks. You got nothing to prove. I’m not worth much, I damn well know that, but I’ll ask you anyway: Stay for me. If you leave me alone in this world I’ll turn into something terrible. I’ll turn into the nasty creature that’s growing inside me. This war, it’ll swallow me whole”

[To me, this fic is like the classic Stucky 101 fanfic – if you're a Stucky fan and you haven't read this, I highly recommend it. The authors explore the Steve/Bucky relationship in such an interesting, tragic, emotive way and I cry every time I read it. I couldn't praise this work enough.]

‘Ain’t No Grave’ series by spitandvinegar

Rating: M-E, Words: 131,789

https://archiveofourown.org/series/426577

"Yeah, he never calls me by my name," Steve says. "It's always champ, ace, hotshot, that kinda thing."

"Man, that is flirting," Sam says. "That nicknames thing, he is flirting with you. He's just working his way up to calling you baby or something."

Steve goes redder than a damn coke can. Sam pumps his fist. "Yes, I am so right, I am wise as hell. He did, didn't he?"

"He called me sweetheart," Steve says grimly, "because he's a drug addict with brain damage."

"Or because he looooooves you," Sam says. Captain America throws a cookie at his head. Sam eats it, because he deserves a treat for being so damn wise.”

[I'm currently re-reading this fic and absolutely loving it. The way spitandvinegar writes Bucky's road towards recovery and Steve's entire characterisation – it's all just so good. It's another one that covers some pretty dark themes, so make sure you're checkin those tags!]

'Einherjar' by thecommodore_squid

Rating: M, Words: 71297

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7157024/chapters/16249814

But Steve was fine.

Sure, he hadn’t seen Bucky in months, and sometimes he was at the punching bag so long that his skin started to peel off to expose the bones of his fingers, and sometimes he couldn’t find the energy to drag himself out of bed, and sometimes he went weeks without sleeping, and sometimes he thought about throwing himself head-first off the nearest tall structure, but he was fine.

He was absolutely, perfectly, one-hundred percent, fucking fine.

AKA In which Steve learns how to deal with his shit, and Bucky learns how to stop leaving.

[basically the definition of a recovery fic, I absolutely adore it. This is tragic and amazing and makes me cry and smile. It’s got a bunch of fantastic cameos and It really just ticks so many of my boxes.]

‘Like real People do’ by 2bestfriends

Rating: E, Words: 67,775

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887376/chapters/47103217

“"Ask me what?" demands Bucky. "I didn't hear a question."

Steve licks his lips. "Will you stay with me? Will you come back home, Buck?"

"Home," repeats Bucky in a small voice, and then he's crying for real.”

[Basically soft lumberjack!steve and lonely twink!bucky being horny and in love. This is a comfort fic for that’s really just about my favourite boys falling in love.]

‘This City Bleeds it’s Aching Heart’ by anonymous

Rating: E, Words: 34,537

https://archiveofourown.org/works/835829/chapters/1591736

“The one where Steve and Bucky pose as a happily married couple while on a mission for SHIELD, to catch an international arms dealer hiding in a suburban neighbourhood.”

[The plot in this one is just a good time and i think it’s just a really fun take on the fake relationship trope. Also some really great characterisation.]

‘Home is Wherever I’m With You’ by cydonic

Rating: E, Words: 88,570

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18868081/chapters/44783077

“Bucky kisses Steve and Emma goodbye before they leave for school, which is why – partway down the road – Amelia turns to him and asks, “why are you and Daddy kissing?”

Which is definitely a conversation Bucky’s been expecting since Steve just did it, but it still takes him by surprise. Again, he thinks he should wait for Steve, but Amelia’s not the sort of kid to let anything rest. Plus, Bucky’s taking her to school where she will undoubtedly share the story with anyone who’ll listen.

He also stops to think that Steve’s asked him to stay, which means Bucky must be trusted with their happiness and well-being, at least in some small capacity.

Bucky clears his throat and searches for some explanation that will help Amelia make sense of this sudden turn of events. “Because we love each other,” is all he comes up with.”

[Bear with me, this is a House Flipper!Bucky Au. And dad!Steve. I just love a found family trope I’m not gonna lie to you. Another comfort fic that warms my lil heart.]

‘Lucky Seven’ by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves)

Rating: E, Words: 94,364

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033105/chapters/16002481

“Back from where--?” James says, the sentence ending in a distinctly undignified squawk as Steve sweeps him up in his arms, bridal-style, and starts carrying him upstairs.

James tenses momentarily then relaxes into Steve's arms and throws back his head and starts laughing. The laughter peals out of him, his body shaking, his amusement occasionally broken by little gasps of pain.

“What's so funny?” Steve frowns.

“You are,” James says, still giggling. “You're ridiculous, Steve Rogers.”

“Behave. Or I will drop you,” Steve growls.

[The shrunkyclunks modern AU of my dreams featuring Mechanic!Bucky and cap!Steve and some really beautiful writing.]

'Dishonor On Your Cow' by mandarou

Rating: E, Words: 111695

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659162/chapters/23589582

“Sergeant Barnes?”

“Oh, hell no, don’t call him that, man,” Sam warned.

“Captain Fuck Off!” Barnes shouted over him. “Fight me!”

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or just slink away. He managed to combine the two by pacing two steps and snorting instead. Like a bull.

“I’m gonna need you to calm your ass, Barnes,” Sam said as he went limp again, obstructing Barnes’s struggling under him. “This is so undignified. That is Captain goddamn America.”

“Captain goddamn America!” Barnes repeated, louder. And angrier.

Steve cleared his throat again. “I’ve been looking for you,” he told Barnes.

“I hope you brought lube this time!” Barnes shouted.

[I’m not gonna lie it took me a minute to get into this one but by the end I was crying with them, laughing with them, and just really in my feels. Some very insane things happen so here’s a few of my favourite tags: ‘Seargent Barnes is done with your Shit Steve’, ‘blatant disrespect of a man’s motorcycle’, ‘Steve you ding dong’ and ‘PR nightmares in the form of Supersoldiers’.]

Propietary Information by Notlucy

Rating: E, Words: 85141

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964402/chapters/27054777

“Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.”

[We were never gonna get through this list without a Sugar Daddy!AU (I have a weakness). This one is… saucy and sexy and sweet and uh pretty kinky so read the tags and all. I’ve read it a few times, and I love the way the author has written Steve in this one, he just makes my heart go '!!!']

‘Roots Have Grown’ by AustinB

Rating: M, Words: 17280

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912451/chapters/15767941

“Bucky is a mildly agoraphobic veteran with funds to spare, who becomes enamored with the cute blonde guy in his building.

So when Steve mentions needing a roommate to cut down on rent costs, Bucky decides it would be a good idea to volunteer.”

[Another weakness of mine is Roommate AUs, and this one is phenomenal. I tend to go for post serum!Steve stories more often, but this is a pre-serum Steve that I just adore.]

‘The Cold Never Bothered me Anyway’ by icoulddothisallday

Rating: E, Words:75562

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728869/chapters/26425530

“Bucky Barnes has spent his whole life in a state of mild hypothermia. Steve Rogers has spent the last 70 years in the ice. The two things aren’t related until, suddenly, they are. Shrunkyclunks soulmate AU (AKA the awkward bb au).”

[I think this is the only soulmate AU in my bookmarks? I would totally be down to read more though! This one is really fun and really enjoy Bucky’s characterisation here!]

'War, Children' by Nonymos

Rating: E, Words: 106615

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373050/chapters/12409394

“After Bucky was released from the hospital, it only took him a couple of weeks to give up on himself. Difficult to believe in any kind of future when the simple act of staying alive was almost too big an effort.

Out the frosted window, across the street, there was a tiny homeless guy burrowing under an awning.”

[An interesting exploration of Bucky’s PTSD with a trans!Steve which was a cool take on his character too!]

'The Company You Keep' by orbingarrow

Rating: G, Words: 51191

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468605/chapters/7613072

“Hurt, hungry, and on the run, the Winter Soldier doesn’t have a lot of safe options to go to for help. Figuring that any friend of Captain Steve Rogers is unlikely to be HYDRA, Bucky takes a chance and reaches out to the first Avenger he can find.

It works out better than anyone could have expected. Eventually.”

[hurt/comfort, recovering Bucky, protective Steve, found family and domestic avengers, need I say more? I absolutely loved this one]

[liquid-luck-00]

Space Between 1

Ao3 *** Part 2

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 2: First Time

~~~~~~~~~~

The first time Marinette died she was six. She had been walking along the sieve with her papa when she was pushed and fell into the river. She doesn't remember how long it was until the doctors started her heart again after having drowned. Her parents told her it was the scariest 10 minutes of their lives but she doesn't remember that.

What she remembers is the garden. A ring of flowers circled the garden, a small pond in the center surrounded by lush soft grass. A willow tree with two swings hang from its branches on one side of the pond. On the other a long bench with a podium next to it. She went over and on the podium were two stone tablets, one was blank. The other had Marinette written in elegant script, a single line was the only thing on the tablet with her name.

That was when she blinked and her eyes fluttered open.

"She's back. We got her back." she heard but it seemed like she had cotton in her ears.

---

The next time she was in the garden she was now 14. It was during Desperada that she died again, and again, and again. The kept being time missing but that was thanks to the snake miraculous. At one point she just stood or sat at the podium when she would arrive. At roughly every 2,000 deaths she would remember them all. When her number hit 34,559 and the other stayed blank she was ready to scream.

She has now died 34,559 times and 34,558 of those times were because of Adrien. The count had changed from tallies to just a number at some point.

She was going to say something when she appeared in front of Adrien for the up tenth time but he beat her.

"Sass, scales rest." The poor Kwamii nearly fell from the air in pure exhaustion. "It's been 4 months."

She cut him off. "I know?”

"Wait!!! How do you know."

"34, 558 times you rewound." Both Adrien and Sass stared at her.

"You are a Gray-Soul.” Sass exclaimed, “When did you get the memories."

"Around every 2,000 and about 17 times so I don't remember the last 500 of them." Adrien seemed to sigh in relief.

"Give it a week," Sass spoke, Adrien paled but that was a problem for future her.

She nodded. "Okay, but we need to deal with Desperada."

With Luka's help they finally were able to defeat Desperada. Okay sure she was bitter toward Chat during that fight, he hadn’t shown up earlier, but it was understandable. Okay she did die again with Luka but that was only once. She begrudgingly fist bumped them both in the end, but she was tired.

"M' lady are you alright?"

"Huh. Ya, Ya I'm good." she waved him off and left soon after.

A week later unfortunately, during yet another attack did her memories return.

"LB are you okay!" Chat asked her. Her gaze became steely and that akuma didn't stand a chance.

"Meet me at the tower in 15 minutes." Mari's voice was cold and serious. She gritted out attempting to process before swinging away.

"So Kitty anything you want to confess to or should I just tell you what I remember."

"Um... I'm.. I'm sorry," he was crestfallen.

"I'm not mad at you Adrien." she consoled. "It was a shock and I'm processing."

"I knew you didn't want to reveal and I'm sorry." He blurted, tears brimmed his eyes as he shrunk on himself.

"Hey, hey look at me." she placed her hands on his shoulders. "Would you believe me if I told you I used to have the biggest crush on you."

"You what?!"

"Ya but I just found out what a dork you are," she grinned flicking his nose.

"Am not!" he pouted.

"Are too Agreste."

"Fine, will you tell me who you are since you know me?

"Marinette. I'm Marinette, Adrien." she chuckled.

"Will you go on a date with me?" He looked hopeful.

'Sigh' "I'm sorry but no Adrien." he was going to protest but she stopped him. "Yes, I used to have a crush on you, but that kind of died after my 8,000 the death." he winced and she chuckled. "Adrien you are my best friend, no matter what Alya thinks. Your my partner and I trust you with my life, just not with the snake again," This time they both laughed.

"But the Ladybug and Black Cat are soulmates."

"Maybe we are. Just not romantically." she laughed at the confusion clear on his face. "there is more than one type of soulmates. I think we are more Platonic or even sibling soulmates."

"So you are like my sister, or should I say my soul sister."

"I guess you can see it that way."

"Hey soul sister." He had begun to sing.

"No don't!"

"Ain’t that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo, the way you move ain't fair you know." he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Definitely my brother, no romance." she deadpanned.

---

Of all of those on the Miraculous team she is the only gray-soul. Everyone on the miraculous team has died at least a handful of times, but who hasn't in Paris. They asked her about it but it was always the same. Just her number rose each time.

A year later she and Adrien had swapped miraculous to practice with the other's power. Unfortunately she was hit before Vipereon was on the scene.

She was in the garden and she noticed him. "Oh!" she startled as did the boy. He was taller than her, black hair and ocean blue eyes. "Is it your first time?" She walked over to the podium.

"First time for what?" he asked.

"Here, dying." She shrugged. 34,999 she read a note that now appeared on her tablet. STOP DYING ALREADY!!! She chuckled at that.

"How are you so god damn calm about this! We're dead!" he screamed.

She gave him a bored look and pointed at the podium. He moved over to see what she was pointing at.

"What the Fuck! Okay so that explains how your so calm." On one side was Marinette her death total and her note, on the other side was the name Jason in elegant script and a single tally.

"So here's a run down. We are called Gray-souls this is the Go-Between or limbo. You can only die and revive once or ya know some 36 thousand times."

"You've actually died and revived that many times."

"Unfortunately." she gave him an eye roll and a small push.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"It's a long story and I don't know if I could finish it."

"Why wouldn't you, we have as much time as we want right now?"

"Once the cure is cast I'll be revived and that will be max 30 minutes."

"Fine, but you will tell me when we both get out of here."

"Okay!" She nodded and went to shake his hand.

"I'm Jason Peter Todd."

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. How will we you know, know it's the other person?"

Jason's tablet seemed to answer as it glowed drawing their attention.

Look among the Bats and the Birds for,

the Ladybug among the Menagerie.

They both stared at those words recognizing which part meant them. Marinette was about to say something but felt the all too familiar pull.

"Until next time, Jason, or should I say Gray." she nudged him with her elbow.

"Smell ya later Marinette Gray." he nudged her back with a smirk.

She waved and vanished from the garden. She never told anyone what happened that time, but those words were a constant whisper in her head.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @miraculouspenta @adrestar @vixen-uchiha

[encrucijada]

i’m not new but i can’t remember the last time i introduced myself properly. so, hello! i’m pía (they/she), a latina from costa rica who’s majoring in classic philology (so basically i am a mythology nerd). personality traits include being that one kid who was (and still is) way too into wolves, having 300+ books on my tbr that i’ll be damned if i don’t read, and being adhd. it’s nice to meet you. all image ids in alt text.

the writer. literary fiction, low fantasy, magical realism. pantser. collecting wip ideas but never finishing them (hoping to change that). anything can be a verb or an adjective if you don’t care enough. descriptions descriptions descriptions.

the aesthetic. foggy forests. flower imagery. the moon and stars. bones and blood. water (in any form). just before dawn, just before dusk. overgrown nature. not entirely human. the subtle horror of the unknown.

the favourites (& insp). nothing but thieves. the oh hellos. over the garden wall. hollow knight. wolfwalkers. the lion, the witch and the wardrobe (movie). studio ghibli. the magnus archives. his dark materials.

what you don’t know. is that i’m actually a forest naiad and i am typing all of this from the bottom of the creek i live in.

MY WIPS. this was one of the main reasons i wanted to do a re-intro, because my wips have cycled around and even now i don’t know if this’ll remain as is. but for now.

disasters to sleep through. magical realism with elements of cosmic horror. a story about a reclusive lighthouse keeper named marilú, who has to look after her niece for a month while her sister gets divorced. to make sure her niece is unharmed she tries to keep her asleep throughout the stay. deals with loneliness, the unknown, how sometimes we have good intentions but act wrongly.

evergreen lung. magical realism. a story about wren borja, a girl who died and then undied. now that she’s back she has to wrangle with the reality that life didn’t and won’t stop for her, and also with the sentient forest taking host inside her. deals with feelings that surface with asexuality and aromanticism (that reflect the author), how friendship is a true form of love, the arduous ordeal of meeting ourselves.

from the mouths with no tongue. low fantasy, murder mystery. a story about what happened in marjorie de los ángeles’ small town when, on her last year of high school, a girl turned out dead and started a witch hunt. as a string of murders occurr, marjorie must either convince her grandmother to leave town with her or unmask the killer. deals outcasts, collective paranoia, that fear people fear for what they cannot understand.

small gods. contemporary, basically an m-rated teen show in written form. it’s the last year of high school for maripaz vega and her friends, but before they graduate things must happen and then maybe they can leave this town. deals with complicated families and other relationships, love (of all kinds), starting the journey of finding yourself. this is for me and @rxinbowbright ​​but you guys can read it too i guess.

you can look at my pinterest where i collect silly little images because i am a very visual writer. i also have a ko-fi where i take commissions. if you’re into fanfic here’s my ao3 where you’ll mostly find his dark materials.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

When It Pulls Me Under (Will You Make Me Stronger?)

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list

From the moment he sees the notice, Geralt is horrified. The description of the man is far too familiar, the details piercing through the thick protective walls he's been building around himself.

There is a group of men gathered around the signboard, picking up flyers and huddling around one in particular. A contract on a man possessed. It sounds like an old wive’s tale and most of the men are surely there to pick up an easy coin on what they think is a drunk roaming the town. Geralt knows better.

Demonic possession isn't common, but he's seen it before. He's fought them and sent them back to the otherworld they come from. Only this time, the man they describe, the one thought to be possessed, is Jaskier. Geralt is certain of it.

It's been months since they've seen each other, but the way they parted, Jaskier's whole demeanour, his expression- if he truly felt the way he looked on the top of that mountain, the way he felt, he'd be much more susceptible to possession.

And it's Geralt's fault.

He shoves through the crowd, grabbing the notice from a gruff-looking man with a black beard. A few of them shout and shove, but when they look up at him, all fall silent. One or two slink away, knowing they're no match for a Witcher, especially in this field, but most of them watch him in stunned silence. They reek of fear, and for once Geralt is glad for it. He doesn't want anyone getting involved and mucking this up. It's been a long time since their parting on the mountain and he can only hope the demon hasn't taken hold of Jaskier completely.

It's rare that Geralt has full faith in any notice or request for a Witcher, but as he folds the paper and tucks it into his jerkin, he's certain.

The request says to speak to the local blacksmith, so that's where Geralt heads first. He doesn't know what to expect, nor is he particularly looking forward to what he'll find, but he needs to know. Jaskier was- is important to him and if he can help in any way, he'll be happy to. Demons can and will eventually take over their host body, leaving the host all but dead, unable to move and think for themself, and Geralt would rather let the thing possess him than let that happen to Jaskier.

The blacksmith says exactly what Geralt was expecting; a foppish, well-dressed man with a bright smile. He'd killed four already in town, and there were rumours of cases in surrounding towns and villages as well. All people betrayed. Like Jaskier was betrayed by him.

He spends the remainder of the day gathering any information he can from the locals and rents a room at the inn. It's more for Jaskier once he's finished than it is for himself, but it gives him someone to keep his things when he's not needing them. And it gives him an excuse for a warm meal and an ale - not that he thinks he deserves either.

Because all of this is his fault. Four people are dead, likely more, and Jaskier risks losing his own life if he's not quick enough - all because Geralt fucked up so many months ago.

He never wanted to push Jaskier away. If anything, after losing Yen, he wanted to bring him closer, hold him closer, know that someone at least was still there for him. But everyone leaves eventually - Yen had only proven that - so why not make it sooner rather than later. Why fall further in love only to have him ripped away later anyway, if not by choice, then by the brutal mortality of a human.

He shakes his head, looks down at his stew, but he's not hungry any longer. Pushing the bowl aside, Geralt empties his mug and rises from the table. He has to get started or he'll lose his mind lingering here, even if there's not much to go off yet. He'll just have to wait.

The last murder took place just at the back of the grain farm, so Geralt sets himself up there, waiting. It's late before there's any sign of anything, and when he does show up, Geralt smells him before he sees him. He stinks of fear and betrayal and loathing and Geralt wants to run so he doesn't have to see the pain on his pace, so he doesn't have to face what he's done. But he knows better now. Jaskier deserves better. And he has a job to do. More people will die if he doesn't take care of this now.

Luckily (or not) Jaskier spots him too, sauntering over like he doesn't have a care in the world. Only Geralt can tell immediately that it's not Jaskier. The movements are too fluid for a human body, the way he holds himself just slightly off.

The demon approaches knowing full well who Geralt is, what he's there for, and it steps right up to him, the smug smirk on its face a mockery.

"Well, Witcher," it says in Jaskier's voice, "didn't expect to see me, did you?"

"You're not him," Geralt says calmly, keeping his voice as steady as he can manage. "You reek of your own plane, I'd know you weren't him in an instant"

"Oh, but I am," it purrs, "your bard is in here... somewhere, but he's sleeping. It's all me now."

Geralt grits his teeth. He knows that isn't true. His medallion trembles against his chest and he can smell the scent of ozone and sulphur but, he knows Jaskier is still in there. He's fought against demons who have completely consumed their host and they aren't like this.

"Get out of him," he warns, knowing full well there's nothing he can do. He needs to bring Jaskier to the surface, needs Jaskier to be the one to push the demon from his body. Any harm Geralt can do risks harm to Jaskier as well.

"I don't think I will," it shrugs. "I like this body. Everyone likes this body. It's so easy to get close to them, to lull them into a sense of security and then-"

"Enough!" Geralt growls, "I know what you've been doing with his body! I'm here to put an end to it."

"Mmm, sure you are. And how do you intend to do that without harming your poor, precious bard?"

He doesn't know. The last time they saw each other, Geralt was furious and Jaskier was... if he had to put a word to it, he'd say he was devastated. The last person he'll want to see is Geralt and without time to find someone he will react to... Geralt doesn't break eye contact. He has to try something.

It's a long shot, even for him, but he mumbles the beginning notes from memory; he's heard them often enough to know the whole damn song by heart. If anything could bring Jaskier back, it's his music.

But he hums a little and there's no response. Again, and there's no response. So he thinks back to a night he spent at a tavern, to a bright-eyed bard with curly blonde hair. She had announced the song as belonging to Jaskier, but Geralt didn't recognize it, but it was emotional. And he understood at once who it was intended for. Clearing his throat, he tries out the words,

"The fairer sex, they often call it-"

The demon laughs and mocks him, but Geralt doesn't relent, singing as much as he can recall from that night. And when he runs out of words, his chest aches and he moves instinctively, reaching out to grab Jaskier's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispers and the body under his hand jolts. It's so brief he would miss it were he human, but it happens, and when he looks up, there's clarity behind those blue eyes, recognition.

"Jaskier!" he exclaims and Jaskier's whole demeanour shifts.

"Geralt?" he asks, groggy, confused.

"Yes! Yes, it's me. Jaskier, are you-" there's a gurgling groan and Jaskier stiffens again.

"I don't think so," the demon's voice comes, taunting and sharp. "You had a chance. You left him, right? Your choice. So he's mine now." There's a choking sound and a growl that could rival that of a wolf and Jaskier's limbs loosen again.

Geralt reaches for him immediately and Jaskier slumps forward into his arms, panting.

"'S hard to fight," he mumbles and Geralt tugs him forward, helps him straighten up.

"How did you do that?" Geralt huffs, meeting Jaskier's eyes again as they stand up straight.

"Heard you," he offers a small smile, "knew you must have come to help. Geralt, I didn't mean to- I didn't want this-"

"I know. Jaskier, I know. It took advantage, it's my fault."

"No, I should have known better than to think you'd-"

Geralt doesn't think before winding his arms around him and pulling Jaskier into a warm embrace. He holds him close and presses his nose into Jaskier's neck.

"Not your fault," he mumbles. "I never wanted you to think you were unwanted, that I didn't care-"

"Geralt," Jaskier says, pulling back out of his arms, "what are you saying?"

Unthinking, Geralt leans forward, catching Jaskier's lips in a desperate kiss. His mouth tastes of sulphur and ash, but he pushes past that, feeling Jaskier soft and real under his hands. He's human, Geralt reminds himself, this can be expelled. And even as Jaskier pulls back again, a look of shock on his face, he seems brighter, his skin a little less pale.

"Geralt," he whispers, "what-" Geralt tips forward, their noses bumping together in the proximity.

"Can you hold it?" he asks. "You broke free from its hold, can you keep that control?"

"It's hard."

"I need you to try," Geralt breathes, shutting his eyes. "I can't help you, Jaskier, you need to expel it yourself."

"How?" he asks, panicky.

"Hold on to something. It was able to take hold because you were weak, right? Because of what I said?

"Geralt-"

"You need to be strong, find something and hold onto that, show it that it has no place in your body any longer. What helped you break free the first time?"

Jaskier suddenly goes very quiet, ducks his head so he's not looking at Geralt.

"I heard your voice," he admits, "and I've been hoping, gods Geralt, I've been so desperate to see you again, to make sure you're okay that nothing has finally-" he cuts himself off and Geralt nods quietly. He understands.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, "hold on to me, then. Focus on me, on my hands, on my voice." He kisses him again and Jaskier lets out a soft sound, wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck and holding him close.

He kisses him like he's dying for it and Geralt thinks grimly that it's an apt comparison. But he'll take it. He'll do anything to get this thing out of Jaskier, to have Jaskier back at his side like he used to be. To maybe be given a chance for what he really wants.

He puts all of his energy into kissing Jaskier, running his hands over his body, proving to him that he cares, that he's here now even if he hasn't been. That he's coming back to take him away from this darkness. His hands slip under Jaskier's doublet, tangling in the soft linen of his shirt and he clings to him.

Jaskier makes a soft sound and presses forward fitting against him like that's where he belongs and Geralt wants so badly to believe that he does. That all of this can be fixed, after all. Fingers slip into his hair, tugging lightly and Geralt can't help the little groan that escapes him, but it only seems to push Jaskier on.

Jaskier draws back, nipping at Geralt's lip and when he pulls back completely, he's panting, his cheeks flushed and bright with colour.

"How do you feel?" Geralt asks and Jaskier tips forward, brushing his lips against Geralt's neck.

"Good. Stronger than I have in months. Geralt, I have a thought. What if... if you're what I need to fight it off what if you- if we-"

"Anything," Geralt hums, "anything to get it out of you."

Jaskier leans in, pressing his lips to the shell of Geralt's ear. "Fuck me," he whispers and Geralt nearly stumbles at the request.

"Jask-"

"I need you," he whispers, "Geralt, I want you. I've always wanted you and you- you can give me that now and I'll never bother you again, but please."

"Okay," Geralt huffs, "okay, but not because I need to. Jaskier, I... want you, too. That's why I'm here, now."

"Say it again," Jaskier whispers.

"I want you."

"Mmm. Again."

"Jaskier," Geralt repeats, slipping his hands down to the small of his back and tugging him forward, "I love you. I want you. I will do anything to get you free of this thing." He lifts him off his feet and there's no hesitation. It feels like Jaskier's body would appear to anyone else that he's alone in it now, but Geralt knows better. He knows Jaskier can't keep this up forever, that the bond between them is the only thing keeping the demon at bay.

Geralt finds a spot near the treeline and kneels down in a patch of clover. He tugs his cloak off and lays it out as well as he can, spreading it out with one hand before laying Jaskier down on it. It feels somewhat like handling a bomb, afraid that one wrong move could shift Jaskier's control and he could lose him again. Geralt may be what he's clinging to to pull himself back, but he's also the reason Jaskier was so low in the first place. He thinks, briefly, that it's a good thing his emotional stability is not what's keeping Jaskier safe or they'd be fucked.

Jaskier settles himself and reaches up for him, fingers slipping around his neck and Geralt moves over him, dropping onto his elbows. He noses at Jaskier's neck, kissing behind his head and down to the crook of his shoulder, gently lifting his shirt and doublet out of the way as they interfere. His heart is pounding and he's never felt so out of his depth with Jaskier before, but he can't fuck this up. If he fucks this up-

Soft hands come to settle on his face and he's aware of Jaskier's voice, but it's foggy, like a dream. Geralt's body moves as though on its own, working open the clasps on Jaskier's doublet and lifting the shirt up over his head. He runs his fingers through dark chest hair, stopping over a freshly healed scar. It snaps the last of his focus and Geralt curls his hand into a fist, pressed firmly over Jaskier's head.

He doesn't realize he's trembling until Jaskier pushes him up, rolls him onto his side.

"Hey," he breathes, and Geralt's eyes snap up to his. "Hey, it's just me. It's... quiet right now, thanks to you." Jaskier climbs onto him, straddling his thighs, and for a split second, Geralt is terrified he's fucked up, that the demon is in control and this is Jaskier's revenge on him.

But his medallion only lightly shakes against his chest and Jaskier's touch is soft and reassuring. So Geralt steadies himself, allows Jaskier to undress him and tries to focus on the touch of him. But he should be doing more, he should be- He doesn't realize he's speaking out loud until Jaskier interrupts him with a pointed kiss that lingers longer, Geralt suspects, than intended.

"You don't have to do anything," Jaskier breathes against him, "it, er- it's actually better being able to touch you. I- well, Geralt you must know that I've wanted you."

"Yeah..." he replies slowly, "Jaskier, I-

"Shh," Jaskier hums, "if you really think this will help, let's just get rid of this thing first."

Jaskier reaches down with one hand, easily pulling Geralt's trousers open and slipping a hand inside, wrapping around his cock. It feels good and he's thought about this more times than he can remember, but he can't settle, and even Jaskier's hand around him, fingers slipping up the length of him, fails to get him hard. He squirms and bucks, trying to get his body to cooperate, to no avail.

He feels the shift when it happens, like a shudder in the air and he knows Jaskier is slipping. His medallion shakes and Geralt pulls Jaskier's hand from his cock, settling his hands on his sides.

"It's not your fault," he whispers, "it's not you."

"Geralt, you don't have to-"

"I know. I want to, I just- I don't know what's wrong."

"You're in your head," Jaskier says simply, "you're always so... locked up up there. Maybe we shouldn't."

Geralt shuts his eyes and pulls Jaskier against him. Jaskier settles and Geralt pushes one hand up his spine, curling around the back of his neck. The other moves down, following the same line toward his lower back to cup his ass. He pushes Jaskier's hips forward and there's a soft little groan against his neck and he can feel the press of Jaskier's cock, hard against Geralt's hip.

"I still want you," Geralt whispers. The words feel stilted on his tongue, but there isn't time for him to worry about how he sounds or what Jaskier thinks of him because he's not the one at risk here. He reaches into the pouch on his thigh, fumbling with the bottles until he finds the one he's looking for.

There's not a lot of oil left, but it's the only one he has that he would risk putting on Jaskier's skin. Tentatively, he pushes Jaskier's trousers down, slipping his fingers between his cheeks. Jaskier's breath catches and Geralt can hear the thudding of his heartbeat, smell the scent of arousal drifting between them, but he's so worried about fucking this up. Jaskier's life could be in danger if the demon gets hold again.

"Okay?" he asks and Jaskier hums his confirmation into his neck, nosing under his jaw. Geralt hurriedly uncorks the bottle, and slicks his fingers, pushing back again and Jaskier shudders as they brush over his hole. Even Geralt shudders at the touch and he presses forward eagerly.

Jaskier opens for him easily, allowing two fingers inside him quickly. He fumbles to get his trousers undone, letting his cock slip free and peek out, rubbing against Geralt's skin. Pre-come eases the way as he rocks his hips in time with Geralt's fingers and Geralt's cock stirs.

Jaskier shifts, lifting himself to push back onto Geralt's fingers and then settling again so his cock sits alongside Geralt's. His hips twitch hard as Geralt's fingers brush his prostate and Geralt groans at the sensation. He readjusts his own position, shifting his torso so he can press deeper, bumping against his prostate with every thrust.

He keeps a steady pace going, one hand remaining on Jaskier's neck to brace him, even as Jaskier slumps against him, rutting mindlessly and nipping at his neck. He looks beautiful like this, feels incredible, and Geralt should be able to muster more than a twinge of arousal, but all he feels is scared.

Scared that this won't work, that he's taking advantage, that once this is done - if it is successful - Jaskier won't want anything to do with him again. He uses that emotion to push through, fucking into him until Jaskier's thighs shake around him and then, with a quick thrust, Jaskier's coming.

He shakes and shudders, hips jerking erratically and Geralt holds him with one hand, fucking him through it with the other. He's aware of Jaskier whispering in his ear, but he's too focused on the medallion, now shaking violently against his chest.

Then, just as abruptly as it started, it stops and Jaskier slumps.

Geralt holds his breath, withdrawing his hand and wrapping both arms around Jaskier's shoulders. He listens for a pulse, for the sound of breath and for a moment, there's nothing. Geralt shuts his eyes. He doesn't believe in any gods, nor destiny, but he pleads to them now, not to let Jaskier be taken from him, not for his words, not for his mistakes.

Just when Geralt thinks he's lost him, Jaskier inhales sharply against his neck, gives a soft grunt of protest and shifts to get comfortable. He doesn't wake and Geralt doesn't let him go, clinging tightly to him.

Jaskier doesn't wake until late that evening. They're back at the inn and Geralt's had a bath drawn and food brought up for them both, but he hasn't been able to eat. He'd cleaned them both up in the field, dressed Jaskier as well as he could manage and brought him back here. Since then, he's been pacing the room. For hours. When Jaskier stirs, Geralt nearly jumps out of his skin. He's at the bedside in an instant, on his knees next to him.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks, confused. He's still a little woozy and Geralt doesn't know how much he'll wind up remembering.

"I'm here."

"How did I-" he eyelids flutter a little, "Geralt, did we-"

"Shh, relax. I'll tell you everything after you have a bath and something to eat." He reaches out, resting a hand on Jaskier's chest and Jaskier's hand comes up to cover it, slipping his fingers between Geralt's. His eyes fall shut again.

"You didn't get to come," he mumbles and Geralt huffs a laugh despite himself.

"It doesn't matter," Geralt breathes, leaning in and tentatively laying his head on Jaskier's stomach. "You're okay and that's all that matters." Jaskier's free hand curls around to push his fingers through Geralt's hair and he sighs softly.

"Later then," Jaskier says, "you can join me in the bath and I'll make you come."

[spencers-renaissance]

let him be soft (and let him be mine) p2

Summary: After Derek pulls another self-sacrificing stunt at the culmination of their most recent case, Spencer runs out of their apartment as he desperately grapples with how it makes him feel

or; Derek's self-sacrificing tendencies meet Spencer's abandonment issues. It gets messy before it gets better

Tags: hurt/comfort, crying, abandonment issues, injured!derek, hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective!derek

TW: abadonment issues, allusions to grief/loss, some religious imagery (a catholic church and a priest have a small role in the plot)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.1k Total Word Count: 4.5k

Part One // Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Emily's Edit 1 2 3

Emily (@criminalmindsvibez) and I have worked together on a project based on this poem. Her edits and my fic go hand in hand, so go and check hers out! She posted part two yesterday and just posted part three! It's been so fun to work together, so please go and reblog her beautiful edit <3

Spencer smiles, feeling a little bit lighter after getting everything off his chest. “Thank you.”

As he watches the priest walk out of the nave and into what Spencer suspects is the Sanctuary, he hears something that simultaneously warms his heart and twists his stomach in anxiety.

Derek, calling his name.

“Oh, God,” Derek cries as soon as he’s rushed over to sit next to Spencer, wrapping him up in a tight hug, “baby, I was so worried. I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt and let you come back to me but I just couldn’t do it. I had to get Pen to track your phone in the end.”

“I’m sorry, Der,” Spencer says, pulling away and blinking tearily at the anxiety mixed with relief written across his boyfriend’s face. Guilt floods his stomach as he thinks about the terror he’s just put Derek through: the exact same feeling he’s been lamenting over Derek inflicting upon him. How is he any better? If anything, he’s only worse; Derek does what he does to serve others, Spencer’s been nothing but selfish all evening.

“No, baby,” Derek protests, lifting a hand to his face and brushing away a falling tear, “you don’t need to apologise, just… talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Spencer doesn’t waste any time in agreeing. It’s the least his boyfriend deserves. “Can we go home? I want to eat that Thai food in bed while I tell you. I’ve already cried one too many times in a church for the day”

Derek chuckles at that. “Of course, pretty boy. Come on. Let’s get you home.” He takes Spencer’s hand gently and leads him towards the exit, and when Spencer turns back briefly before walking out of the building, he doesn’t miss the smiling priest lingering near the altar.

⭐️

Derek doesn’t let go of his hand the whole drive home, clinging tightly even on the elevator up to their apartment, and it only serves to make Spencer feel guiltier. How had this not clicked earlier? He never stopped to think about the worry his boyfriend was going through back home, only prioritising himself and his own selfish feelings.

He starts to wonder whether he should actually tell Derek after all. His boyfriend is so endlessly kind and selfless and wonderful and Spencer wants to point out his one flaw? After he’s left him panicked and concerned for his well being all evening?

He anxiously gnaws on his bottom lip as Derek tucks him into bed, seemingly oblivious to his distress as he kisses his head gently before making light work of reheating the take out he’d ordered earlier. Spencer’s stomach spins and turns with anxiety as he burrows himself under the covers, desperate to hide from all that’s to come, unable to escape the helter-skelter of emotions consuming his mind.

Soon enough, Derek makes his way into the bedroom, turning off the main light in favour of their various cosy lamps and flicks on the TV, setting it on reruns of Fawlty Towers with the volume turned down before arranging the takeout on trays before finally slipping under the duvet himself.

“Baby, I know that for whatever reason you don’t want to tell me what’s really going on,” Derek says softly, turning Spencer’s chin to face him and gazing imploringly into his eyes, “that poor lip of yours will be bitten off by the morning. But I want you to know you can trust me with whatever this is. I promise that there is no problem, no issue, no stressor that we couldn’t overcome together. Me and you, we’re a dream team, aren’t we? We can solve this, but not if you’re not completely honest with me.”

Damn it, now Spencer’s going to feel guilty no matter what path he chooses. He either lies and breaks Derek’s trust, or he tells the truth and breaks his heart.

But the priest’s words from earlier flash through his mind, and he takes a deep breath, knowing what he has to do. “I’m scared,” he admits, tentatively. It feels like a good place to start.

“Okay,” Derek replies soothingly, eyebrows knitted in concern as his thumb traces the side of Spencer’s face. “What are you scared of, Spence?”

“I’m scared… I’m scared of losing you,” he whispers, casting his eyes downward.

He feels Derek tense next to him, but he doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s confused or something worse. “Baby boy, you have to understand that you’re it for me, I’m never going anywhere—”

“No,” Spencer interrupts, meeting his boyfriend’s eyes again, “not like that. I know you love me, I’ve never doubted that for a second. I’m scared of losing you to something worse than another person. I’m scared of losing you to a gunshot, a stab wound, a bomb blast. I’m scared of losing you to the job, Derek.”

“Oh.” His thumb falters in its soothing movements against Spencer’s cheek before it retracts completely.

“You’re a hero, Der,” he says tearily, not bothering to try and fight them this time, “you’re an inspiration. You’re strong and powerful and the kindest, most selfless man I’ve ever met, but I— I’m gonna need you to start being a little more selfish.”

“I don’t… What do you mean?”

“Remember back in 2007 when that woman was trapped in her car with a bomb under her seat? You stayed right next to her the whole time, even though you knew that if that bomb went off, it was taking you with it. Because in that moment, looking after that woman was all that mattered.”

Derek nods hesitantly, his brows knit even tighter.

“Well, I could deal with that. I accepted it. We were newly in a relationship, and I knew the kind of man you were when I started dating you. I didn’t think you’d give that up for me so soon. But, Derek, it’s been seven years now. We’ve been together for almost a decade, and you’re still the same man. You run headlong into danger with no regard for how it will affect you. And I love your selflessness and generosity, I really do, but I need you to know how that makes me feel.

“It makes me feel like I’m not important to you, Der.”

“Oh, baby, no,” Derek says, distraught as he wraps Spencer in a tight, urgent hug, hand flying to run his fingers through his curls.

“But, no, it does, Derek. Because it feels like one of these days, you won’t be as lucky as you always have been, and I’ll be alone again. You’re all I have, and I can’t lose you, I just can’t.” The tears are joined by heaving, desperate sobs as he cries into Derek’s shoulder, both of them holding onto one another with clawing fingers, impossibly close as emotions fill the room.

When Spencer finally calms down enough, he pulls away to find Derek’s eyes red and his cheeks wet, too. “I— I had no idea you felt like this, baby boy,” he says earnestly, looking deeply into his eyes as his devastated emotions play across his open expression. “I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like you were anything less than the most important person in the whole world to me, because you are, Spencer.”

“It’s okay,” Spencer whispers sadly. “You didn’t know.”

“No, but I do now. I never stopped to think how this was affecting you, and I’m so deeply sorry for that.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence as they fall against one another, both accepting that the Thai is going to go cold again and they’ll probably end up with a greasy 2am pizza instead.

“It’s because of my dad,” Derek admits eventually, breaking the silence. “When I watched him bleed out in front of me, I swore I would never let that happen to another person. I would never let another person die on my watch, not unless I was going down with them. And that was an easy principle to live by when I was a cop, it translated well to the FBI, and it worked great when I was single. But now… I have you. And you’re more important than a promise I made to myself when I was ten.

“The thing is, though, that I don’t know how to override an instinct that I’ve built and enforced for my entire career. Spencer, you’re everything to me, and you’re more important than this, but I… I don’t know how to change.”

Another tear slides down Spencer’s tired, puffy face at Derek’s words, mostly because they were exactly what he was expecting. The only reason he’s kept this to himself for so long is because he knew that no possible resolution could make this okay.

“It’s okay, Der,” he says sadly, “I get it—”

“I think I should leave the BAU.”

Spencer sits bolt upright at that, turning to his boyfriend with shock written in every line of his face. “What?”

“Listen, I’m 43. I’ve been on the job for twenty-one years, and I’m getting tired, Spencer. I was planning to bring this up at a much better moment, but I’ve just finished that house on the Mount Pleasant border, and I think we should move in there. I’m ready for a quieter life, Spencer. I want to do things that make me happy, focus on the future of our family, me, you, and Clooney — kids, too, if we decide that’s the way we want to go — and leave this life revolving around death and crime and the bad in the world behind.”

“You’re serious?” Spencer asks, completely in disbelief as he stares at Derek like he’s grown an extra head. This was never a possibility he considered. Not even a little bit.

“I am,” Derek promises. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and this just seals the deal, really. I don’t want you to be feeling this scared all the time, especially not if it’s set off even by a couple of bruised ribs. Diving in front of a bullet when wearing a vest is hardly the most dangerous thing I’ve done.”

Derek chuckles but Spencer just smiles sadly at just how true that statement is. “No, it isn’t.”

“I’d love to focus on the property business full time, renovate more houses and really make a career out of it. Build a proper business, live in the suburbs, be happy and safe and alive with the love of my life for as long as possible,” Derek says, eyes warm and serious as he brushes his hand against Spencer’s face again. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

Spencer’s heart melts and he presses into Derek’s side, burying in as close as he can get. The tears that leak from his eyes this time are at least happy ones. “If you leave,” he says, after considering it for a moment, “I think I want to leave, too.”

“Really? You don’t have to, Spencer. You can stay at the BAU if you want to.”

“I know. But I’ve given over a third of my life to this job, and it’s given me all it can, I think. Before Gideon recruited me, I always thought I’d end up teaching, and I always knew I’d love it. Researching and teaching others what I’ve found out for a living sounds like a dream, and the thought of coming home to you, knowing that you’re safe every night as we sit down for dinner and chat about our normal, civilian lives… well, it’s everything I didn’t know I’d been longing for.”

A kind of peace that Spencer hasn’t felt in years settles over his chest as he basks in the thought of a safe and happy future with Derek, one not plagued by the trauma they’ve faced willingly for far too vast proportions of their lives, and he knows it’s the right decision.

“Wow,” Derek says, and woven in with the shock in his voice is relief, clear as day, “we’re leaving the BAU.”

“We’re leaving the BAU.”

Spencer eventually packs the Thai away and orders an extra large pepperoni pizza for delivery, letting Derek rest in bed as he takes over the beavering around. Fawlty Towers continues to play across the TV screen throughout the course of the night, Spencer resting his head on the top of Derek’s chest, careful to avoid his injuries. In that moment, with his favourite TV show playing, and an empty pizza box on the floor of their bedroom, cuddled up safely with the man he knows he’s going to spend forever with, Spencer thanks a God he’s not sure he believes in that Derek, right now, is soft, happy, and most importantly, his.

Let him be soft, and let him be mine.

— Please, let him be happy.

If you haven't already - check out Emily's post, and give some love to the original poem source here!

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @doctorenby @suburban--gothic@strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch (taglist form)

[deathbidean]

my destiel fic recs pt.3

no one asked for this but I am determined to force my favourite fics on y’all

And This, Your Living Kiss - opal_bullets : Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen.Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on the poetry of Jack Allen. holy shit. this. THIS. it’s amazing. it’s so beautiful. your heart will break for poor Dean. this is definetly a favourite of mine!!

Andrew Lloyd Webber Gets a Pass - delicious-irony, opal_bullets : In which Castiel's manner is vague and aloof, Dean Winchester doesn't care for a cuddle, and there's no doing anything about it.Or, Dean and Castiel attempt to survive rehearsals for a new production of Cats, and each other. I’M TELLING YOU NOW. IF YOU FAINT FOR ENEMIES TO LOVERS,,, THIS WILL KILL YOU. y’all,, honestly this fic ended me it’s so goddamn good

15x14 coda : it’s a date - contemplativepancakes : “So… How was your date?” “Really, Dean? That’s what you're concerned about? After we all almost died?” Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Well, yeah. Just looking out for my little brother.” The bunker door clangs open, and Sam shoves Dean towards it. “Maybe worry about yourself.”Sam and Eileen had a date, so it's only fair that Dean and Cas do, too, right? so so sweet. just pure tooth-rotting fluff that will make your heart ache

Starstruck - peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) : From the outside Castiel Novak looks like a regular guy: a good job, two teenage kids, a nice house and a crappy car he’s way too attached to.But there’s one thing no one knows about him: that, over twenty years ago, he used to live next to none other than Dean Winchester – back then a brash and loud-mouthed boy and nowadays a huge movie star and Hollywood’s sweetheart.Castiel never bothered to tell anyone about his childhood friend because frankly, who would believe him? Probably even Dean himself already forgot about his former awkward and weird neighbor, so Castiel seriously doesn’t see any point in mentioning the whole thing ever.But then an interview on national TV happens where Dean reveals way more about his past than ever before … and Castiel - as well as the rest of the world - suddenly realizes that he left a much bigger impact on Dean’s life than he originally thought. y’all,,,,, this is still being updated and when I tell you i’m living for each one,,,,,,,, it’s so goddamn good!!! and sweet!!! and just ughhhhh!!! highly recommend!!

Shot Through The Heart - peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) : Dean is a hunter. Castiel is a Man of Letters. And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense. But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again. And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.  nah nah, y’all don’t understand,,, this fic is amazing!! again; ENEMIES TO LOVERS!!!! it doesn’t get better than that, am i right?

ours is the fire, all the warmth we can find - xylodemon : Sam brings it up as they're driving back from the steakhouse in Mankato.Dean cuts him a sharp, sideways glance. "You think I should what?""I think you should try journaling.""Why the hell would I wanna do that?" very sad and very beautifully written grieving Dean. just exactly what i needed after the finale and very much patched up the hole in my heart

Be My Boyfriend : Dean and Cas keep having to pretend to be dating to discourage other potential suitors. Things get a little out of hand. i actually read this first on tumblr and loved it so much i had to find it on ao3!! it’s such sweet and silly fluff!!!!

Holiday Homies - tricia_16 : Best friends Dean and Cas are sick and tired of the stress the holidays put on anybody not already in a relationship. The endless plus one invitations to fill for New Year's Eve and Valentine's Day (and this year, Sam and Jess's wedding on top of everything else) never freaking stop. So on Halloween night, Dean and Cas come up with a plan to be each other's plus ones from Thanksgiving to the 4th Of July. They'll fake a relationship, get their parents off of their backs, actually enjoy the holidays for once... and maybe wring a few orgasms out of each other while they’re at it.What could go wrong? you want two dumbasses in love?? you want friends with benefits who are very much in love with each other?? you want to cry in frustration over their idiocy?? this is the fic for you

fifteen flares - microcomets : When Dean finally comes home, the knots in his shoulders aching and his skin still layered in dust, he finds Cas waiting up for him at the kitchen table. Without a word, Cas nudges the vacant chair out with his foot, sliding an unopened beer across the counter in a silent invitation. (post-13.06 coda.) y’all this is so sweet and cute and just wholesome. i absolutely adore confession pre-canon and this is no exceptiion

Wanna Bet? - bendingsignpost : “I bet you... that I can get laid tonight before you can get a single kiss. We pick each other’s targets.”Dean bites his lip in the vain attempt to not burst out laughing. “Uh-huh,” he says. “Sure, Sammy. Someone single and actually attractive, sure.”“Deal?” Sam says. “A kiss on the mouth, no cheating.”Still pushing down a laugh, Dean offers his hand across the table. They shake. “Deal. Okay, who am I going for?”Sam smiles wider than the devil that once possessed him, and answers: “Cas.”  pure Dean dumbassery and intervening Sam AND IT’S SO SO GOOD!! my heart aches

Four Letter Word for Intercourse - bendingsignpost : As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties. What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right? (It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.) okay,,, so,,, this fic may have awakened certain things in me,,,,,,, but GOD DAMN!!!! genuinely,,,, one of the best fics i’ve read; it’s just so goddamn good! i don’t think i can adequately express how much i love this fic!!

and on that note, i shall end your suffering for the time being. but seriously, these fics are genuinely well written, well thought out and executed!! they deserve to be read by everyone who will enjoy them!!

pt.1 , pt.2

[myaimistrue]

written for @spnpocweek day four! the prompt was “what their spinoff would look like.” 

a day in the life of victor henriksen

read this on ao3

“Listen, Agent, these guys you sent…”

Victor listens patiently. He fields a phone call like this at least once a week, usually more, and knows exactly how it’s going to go.

“I mean, I don’t want to step on any toes, y’know, because we’re really at a loss here, but they don’t seem…” Victor can imagine the sheriff casting around for what to say that won’t offend somebody from the far-off universe of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. “Well, they don’t seem orthodox, exactly.”

Victor resists the urge to laugh. He straightens a stack of papers on his desk as he says, “They aren’t. I sent the agents I knew would do the job right, and that doesn’t always mean following every little rule.” He lets his voice get a little conspiratorial, because that almost always works on the small-town law enforcement. “I mean, you and I both know how all that red tape holds up investigations.”

The sheriff lets out a snort. “Tell me about it.”

“But I know these guys. You can trust them to get the job done, Sheriff, I assure you.”

“If you’re sure…” There’s trepidation in the man’s voice, but Victor already knows he’s not going to push it any further. They never do—Victor’s very good at his job. “Agent Aguilera did say they had an idea of what might be happening here. I guess I oughta just trust you federal boys.”

“Precisely, Sheriff. It’s all under control,” Victor says. “But if you do have any more concerns, let me know and I’ll speak with Agents Aguilera and…” Dammit. What was the other name? It’s a pop star, because Cas always picks pop star names and Dean’s too damn whipped to stop him, but God, which one? He starts shuffling through the papers on his desk. The list of aliases is somewhere.

“Agent Henriksen?”

“Excuse me, I think I lost you for a moment,” Victor says, cringing a little at the forced nonchalance in his voice. Where the hell is that paper? “Anyway, like I said, just let me know and I’ll talk to them.”

Fortunately, the sheriff doesn’t notice anything odd. “Well, thanks again, Agent. Hopefully next time we talk, this whole thing will be figured out.”

“Hopefully.” God, Dean and Cas never make it easy on him. “Have a good one.”

“You too.”

Victor’s dialing Dean’s number as soon as the line goes dead. It rings four times before Dean picks up. 

“—told you that yesterday, dude.” Dean sighs, fond and irritated, and Victor knows Cas must be sitting there with him. “Anyway. Hey, Vic, what’s up?”

He elects to ignore the nickname. “What the hell are you two doing down there?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just got off a call with Sheriff Johnson. He has concerns about the agents I sent down.”

“Who, me and Cas?” Dean’s voice has taken on his what, lil ole me? tone, one that Victor knows well and has been irritating him since 2007. “Asshole. He’s just pissed because he has no idea what’s doing this and we do. It’s a ghost, by the way. We’ll salt and burn tonight.”

Victor rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Just quit raising so much suspicion and making my job harder.”

“No promises,” Dean says cheerfully. “Hey, what—Cas, give me the—”

And then a familiar gravelly voice says, “Hello, Victor.”

“Hey, Cas.” Finally, he can talk to somebody who’s actually taking all this seriously. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Dean insists upon antagonizing the local law enforcement—” Victor can hear his cry of indignation through the phone. “Yes, you are, Dean. Ignore him, Victor. We appreciate your help, as always.”

“No problem.” Because as much as he enjoys giving Dean a hard time, this is his job. This is how he makes an actual difference, instead of just slogging through paperwork and sitting behind a desk. He helps hunters get shit done, and every once in a while, he takes on a case of his own, usually with Jody at his side. It’s pretty great, actually. “By the way, what’s your alias down there? I know Dean’s Aguilera, but I can’t remember yours.”

“Agent Spears.” 

Victor snorts. “Aguilera and Spears. I should have known.”

“They’re icons in American popular culture,” Cas says soberly. “It feels right to honor them in some way.”

This is too good. “Hey, Cas, hand me back to Dean?”

There’s the shuffling of the phone changing hands, and then Dean says, “Listen, you—”

“You are so goddamn whipped, Agent Xtina.”

“Oh, bite me,” Dean says, and Victor can’t help the laughter spilling over.

“No, I’m just glad you’re honoring the real heroes of American music. I was sick of the Page and Plant routine you and Sam used to do. This is better.”

“Fuck off.” But there’s no malice. Sometime in the past few years, Dean’s mellowed out a little. Victor tells him it’s because of his old age, that he’s getting soft, but it’s obvious to anybody that pays attention that it’s because of Cas and his kid Jack, the weird sense of family they all have going for them. Victor knows how that goes better than anybody—he’s got a house full of young hunters he’s half-raising with a sheriff in South Dakota, of all goddamn places. Sometimes life really throws you curveballs.

“You two stay out of trouble. Don’t make me save your asses again,” He says instead of all that. 

“Never,” Dean says with a grin in his voice. “Thanks, man. Tell Jody and the girls we say hi.”

“Will do. Good luck.”

The rest of the day passes without incident. He finally finds his list of aliases, buried under a stack of old cases he’s been digging through for a hunt Sam and Eileen are working on out in California. Somebody calls asking about some fake agents, and he lies magnificently. He works on some paperwork for his actual job. Jody calls around six.

“Time to come home, Victor.” Her voice is easy, light on the other end of the phone. “Quit working yourself to death.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jody says. “By the way, what are you doing this weekend?”

Victor laughs. “Baby, I think I’m doing whatever you’re doing.”

“Good,” She says happily. “Because I found us a hunt. Looks like an open and shut vamp case, about three hours from here. It should be quick, and then we’ve got a great excuse to get a hotel room.”

“Get your head out of the gutter, Sheriff.” But Victor’s smiling.

“Are you in or not?”

“I’m always in.” Victor casts one last look at his desk and figures it really is time to pack it in for the night. “And I’m about to head home. You’re right, it’s late.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon,” Jody says warmly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As Victor gathers his things to leave for the day, he thinks again about the insane turns his life has taken. The person he used to be, an ineffective FBI agent, unable to save anybody, unable to make a difference, completely alone in a depressing and empty apartment, seems so far away. Now there’s a woman he loves, a house that’s always full of laughter and warmth, a way to help save people, the chance to do good in the world. 

He slings his bag over his shoulder, and grins. Not too bad, Henriksen. Not bad at all.