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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake.

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful.

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much.

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps.

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok.

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce.

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way.

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

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markosmate · 4 years ago

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running down

Pairing; Marko x Emerson!Reader

Summary; Moving to a different state with your younger brothers and mother just to live with your grandfather was hard enough, but falling in love with a vampire and then watching your brother do the same thing? Much different story.

Warnings; Strong language, filler chapter no boys here

au:// Second part, I write these notes before I write the chapter so I’m kinda scared to see where this story’s gonna go but I’m also really excited for y’all to read it hehe :))

Part 1 - Part 3

The next morning I slept in well past the time I usually did. It was only 11, but that was still a well comparison to the time I’d usually wake up. Sun was peaking around the corners of the curtains and I groaned as I sat up on the mattress. I could hear talking from the kitchen downstairs, so I threw my legs over the side of the bed and padded across the hardwood floor. I jogged down the stairs, hand gripped tightly onto the side railing, and strained my ears to try and hear what was going on in the other room. It sounded like Sam and Michael talking, and once I knew that it wasn’t an important conversation going on I made my way into the room as well.

They didn’t falter when I walked in, instead just each sent me a small welcoming smile and continued on with whatever they were talking about. I pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and made my way onto the back porch where I knew Grandpa would be sitting and reading the TV Guide, just like he’d told us about.

I pulled the door open, and realized I was right, he was there. “Good morning, Grandpa.” I greeted with a smile.

He glanced up at the sound of my voice and sent me a small smile. “Morning, Ivory. Nice morning, ain’t it?”

I laughed gently. “Very nice. I’m loving it here so far.”

“That’s good,” He nodded in appreciation. “Sam and I are gonna take the old girl out for a trip to town. Wanna join?”

I laughed a bit and shook my head. “Sounds fun, but I’ll have to pass. I wanna talk to Mom for a bit about her job search last night.”

He nodded before standing and dusting off his pants. “Well, have fun then.” He turned and made his way into the kitchen, most likely collecting Sam and then heading off to the back garage where his unused car was waiting for them. I stood from my spot on one of the porch chairs and made my way back inside. I was planning on making my way to the living room, where I knew Mom was bound to be sitting and working on one of her new blankets, when my attention was called by Michael.

He was leaning against the counter, wrapped in his red robe, and drinking what might have been either coffee or an energy shake out of a thick mug. He looked to be deep in thought about something, and for a second I thought he was calling my attention for something really serious. That is, until he actually spoke to me what was on his mind.

“You know that girl from last night?” I internally groaned at this, but tried to look serious on the outside, not wanting to make him more upset than he already was.

“What about her?” I questioned, putting the unopened water bottle I had grabbed back in the fridge.

He took a few large gulps of his drink before sliding it back onto the counter next to the sink. “Do you think she’s actually with any of those dudes?”

I stopped to think for a moment. She looked reluctant to leave with them, and hadn’t been the happiest accepting help from the platinum blond who’s bike she’d mounted. But, she did leave with them. I hoped she wasn’t with any of them, especially not the curly-haired one, Marko. That sure would be one brick in the chest, to find out I was doing all this worrying and thinking about him only to find out he was with the same girl Michael had been pining after. But no, that didn’t make any sense, if she was with Marko than she would’ve gotten on the back of Marko’s bike, not the mullet man’s.

“Listen, Mike, she did leave with them. So I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but if she’s showing that she’s not interested - it’s probably just best for you to move on from that.” I tried to be as honest as possible, I really didn’t want to crush his hopes but at the same time I didn’t want him to chase something that possibly wouldn’t ever end up going anywhere.

He nodded, a solemn look taking over his face as he tightened the belt tie on his robe. “Yeah, I get what you mean. I’m gonna go shower, you coming to the boardwalk with? Sammy’s going with Mom earlier in the night.”

I nodded in confirmation. “Yeah, I’ll come along. I’ve been craving those carnival pretzels ever since I saw the stand last night.”

“Cool, we’ll leave at like 8, yeah?” I nodded along to what he said and turned on my heel to finally make my way to talk to Mom. When I walked through the doorway she was sitting on the couch with her yarn and needles in her lap, working on the thick comforter she had been crocheting since the beginning of January. She looked up when I sat down on the couch parallel to her and sent me a soft smile.

“Hey, babe. Whatcha up to?” She questioned softly, continuing to crochet while simultaneously looking up at me for a few split seconds every so often.

“Nothing, just figured I’d check in and see how the job search went last night?” I pried a little, smiling hopefully as a beautiful smile lit up her face and she dropped the half-done blanket to her lap.

“Oh, wonderful, sweetheart! Did you see Max’s Video Shop last night while you were looking around? I went in there last night and he offered me a job there, he even asked me on a date for tomorrow night after my first shift! Isn’t that amazing?”

“Ah!” I gushed with her, extremely excited to see her so happy over going on a date for the first time in a long while. “Mom that’s amazing! You found a job and a man!” She laughed at my words, throwing her head back the tiniest bit.

“Well, we’ll see how it goes. Did you make any friends last night?” I thought about my answer before it came out of my mouth. Did I tell her about the boy? About the girl Michael had been after or about the friends of them both? I shouldn’t, I needed to pretend like those boys didn’t exist. I could find friends here, just not those ones. So, I lied.

I shook my head but kept the smile pulling at my lips. “Not last night, I was too busy checking everything out to actually stop and talk to any new people. But Mike and I are going again tonight, maybe I’ll make some friends then.”

She nodded in approval before picking up her work and continuing on the comforter. “Good, I’m glad you’re enjoying it here so far.”

“I am.” I confirmed, but I couldn’t shake the anxiety from my stomach.

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Stark Spangled Forever

I Don’t Like Bullies

Intro: Emmy encounters someone from her past, and is left shaken after they threaten her. Steve and Bucky decided to pay them a little visit…

Warnings: Some violence, a slightly dark Steve and Bucky…some bad language. SMUT (NSFW, No UNDER 18s!!!)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Forever Masterlist // Main Masterlist

** If you haven’t read SSB in it’s entirety, this contains MAJOR spoilers**

August 2024

“Again!” Jamie giggled, splashing his way over to Steve who laughed and waited for Jamie to reach him.

“Ok ,one…two…three…” hooking his hands under Jamie’s armpits he gently launched him into the air and the 4 year old laughed hysterically before he hit the water with a splash in the deeper end of the pool before emerging, from the surface.

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack…” Katie sighed from where she was sat on the steps to the pool, submerged to her shoulders. Rori was suspended in the little inflatable baby support, her legs kicking out behind her as Katie gently pushed her away then pulled her back, the baby smiling and thrashing with her arms.

“He’s fine ain’t you son?” Steve asked as Jamie doggie paddled over to him, grinning.

“It’s like flying Momma!”

“Hmmm.” she said, as Jamie jumped on his dad’s back and he pulled at Steve’s neck. Steve, playing along threw himself backwards taking them both under the surface before he stood up, shaking his head like a dog as Jamie’s laugh hit his ears.

“You’re getting strong pal.” he said, turning his head over his shoulder so he could look at Jamie. Jamie grinned.

“How’s my little water baby doing?” Steve asked as he carried Jamie on his back to where his wife and daughter were, Jamie scrabbling out of the pool and heading to the lounger for a drink.

“She’s fine.” Katie smiled, as Steve turned his attention to Aurora, a huge grin on his face as she looked at him and beamed, waving her legs and arms as fast as she could.

“Look at you princess!” he said as Katie pulled her back towards them. He dropped down so his shoulders were under the water and Rori was at eye level. “Think she’s enjoying it.”

Katie smiled as the two of them watched the baby for a moment before Katie looked up at Jamie who was sat now with Lucky between his legs, gently talking to the dog. “Do you know what time it is?”

Steve glanced at his watch “Almost 4.”

“I should really think about starting dinner.”

“Leave it….” he said, turning to her, pressing his lips to hers. “Come on, when was the last time we got an afternoon like this?”

She smiled, “Feels like a while that’s for sure…”

“So…we can chuck a frozen pizza in for Jamie and we can get a take-out…” he said, moving so he was behind her, his arms curling around her waist, pulling her back so she was perched on his bent legs, his chin resting on her shoulder “Eat by the pool…” he placed a kiss to the crook of her neck, “And then later when he’s in bed and she’s settled we can hit the hot-tub…” another kiss “maybe a bottle of wine…”

“You feeling amorous Soldier?” Katie grinned, tipping her head round to face him.

“Always when you’re concerned…” he winked, his lips again meeting hers, only this time the kiss slightly deeper until they broke apart after a loud splash, followed by a smaller splash drew their attention.

Jamie had launched himself back into the pool, followed by Lucky who had clearly decided he too needed to get in the action.

They stayed in the water for another 15 minutes or so until Rori started to get a bit grouchy, and Katie took her out, wrapping them both in a towel and sitting in the quiet for a while to feed her. Steve and Jamie followed her out a little while later, both drying themselves off before Steve took Jamie inside to get him a juice box and throw his pizza in the oven. Jamie then insisted he wouldn’t make it until his pizza was done as he as starving, so Steve got him quick snack of breadsticks and hummus and sent him back out onto the garden where he made his way over to the side of the pool, flopping down on the lounger next to his Momma.

Deciding that a snack was actually a pretty good idea really, Steve grabbed a few things from the fridge, namely olives, more breadsticks, dips, cheeses and was about to carry it down to the pool area when the security system sounded to tell him that Emmy had come home.

“It’s ok…you’re ok…” his ears picked up Brooke’s voice from the hall and instantly he frowned as he heard Emmy’s deep breathing too. He strode into the hallway just in time to see Emmy slide down to the floor, her back pressed to the door as she tugged her knees to her chest.

“Emmy?” Steve asked, quickly dropping down in front of her. “Hey…look at me…”

She looked up and he gently reached out, his hand smoothing back her hair “Use your numbers ok, like we used too, remember?”

She gripped his hand tight and her eyes screwed shut as she desperately tried to regulate her breathing and Steve, not once taking his eyes off his daughter issued Brooke with an instruction to go and get Katie. Less than 2 minutes later she was also on her knees next to Emmy having left Brooke to watch the younger two and it was a minute or so later before the 16 year old began to breathe normally, her eyes slowly blinking as they returned to their usual size instead of being blown wide open.

“You ok?” Katie asked gently, looking at Emmy. She nodded.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t…” Steve looked at her as she fell into his arms, pressing her face against his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her head “Don’t every apologise for that, we told you.” The amount of panic attacks their daughter had had when she first came to live with them meant they’d been fairly used to them, but she hadn’t had one in a VERY long time, not since the events of the Final battle with Thanos had hit her and she’d broken down about losing her Uncle Tony, Auntie Nat and then how close she had to losing her parents. Emmy was a strong, independent teenager who for the most part simply got on with things, letting a lot of stuff that would bother other people wash right over her head. But clearly something had triggered her today.

“You need a drink sweetheart?” Katie asked and Emmy nodded.

“Ok. Think you can stand?” Steve asked.

“You’re not carrying me.” Emmy looked at Steve and he raised an eyebrow.

“You used to love me doing that.” Steve quipped and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah at the Parties at the Kids home.” she grumbled “I’m not 7 anymore.”

“Never too old for your Pa to carry you.” Steve teased, standing up and offering him her hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet, and despite her protestations at her age she kept her fingers tightly wound around his as they headed to the kitchen.

“Emmy!” Jamie shot off his seat and threw himself at his older sister. She smiled and bent to give him a hug.

“Hey Jay…” she smiled, “You been swimming?”

“Daddy was throwing me.” he grinned. “I bet he could do it for you too.”

“Sure he could” Emmy smiled as she shakily took a seat, glancing at Rori who was in Brooke’s arms, her little hands tangling in the girl’s long, red hair.

“Jamie, why don’t you go in the den for a moment, watch some TV.” Katie looked at him, adjusting the crochet slip she had thrown on over her bathing suit “Momma and Daddy need to talk to Emmy for a second.”

“But I don’t wanna.” he frowned.

“Hey, why don’t you show me your legos?” Brooke said quickly. Steve could see the cogs in his son’s head whirring as he considered this for a second before he nodded.

“Ok.”

“Thanks Brooke.” Katie said to her as she handed Rori back over.

“No problem Mrs R.” she said, allowing Jamie to tug her by the hand out of the room.

Once they were gone Katie adjusted Rori in her arms so that her head was tucked against her shoulder, mouth resting on her collar bone and Steve took a seat next to Emmy after pouring her a glass of water.

“Wanna tell us what happened Em?” he asked gently.

“We’d just been in The Hub.” she said, “You know the Computer shop because Brooke needed a new charger for her tablet.” Emmy swallowed and took a sip of her drink “We were walking down towards the bus stop so we could head home and we’d just passed that bar on the corner, you know the Irish Pub place?”

“Mc Mahons, yeah we know it…” Steve nodded

“And then he came out.”

“Who?” Katie asked, her eyes not leaving her daughter.

“Him…my old foster father. The one that used to hit me.”

Steve took a deep breath and breathed out through his nose “Did he hurt you?”

“No, not really…he erm, he didn’t recognise me at first and I kept walking but Brook had stopped and when she shouted my name he realised it was me and he grabbed my arm and…”

“Ok…ok…” Katie said gently, as Steve gently laid a hand on their daughter’s shoulder.

“Did he do anything else?” he asked. Emmy shook her head.

“He just started shouting stuff, saying he knew that I’d landed on my feet and that I was nothing but a worthless brat and that he would come and pay you a visit one day, tell you all about what I used to do and how bad I was and then you’d throw me out and…”

“Em, he’s an ass hole.” Katie said gently “You were never a bad kid. You’d been treated appallingly, what that man did do you…” she shook her head “It was cruel and abusive and…”

Steve’s hand fell to Katie’s knee under the table as she looked away, blinking back the tears.

“Emmy, me and your mom love you.” Steve looked at her, “We love all you kids more than anything, and nothing this dick says or does will change the way we feel. You know that right?” “I know, I just didn’t like seeing him that’s all.” she said gently “I just had all these flashbacks to the basement he locked me in and the belt…”

She swallowed and looked down. Steve looked at Katie, the jaw in his nerve twitching with anger as he took a deep breath and ran his hand up Emmy’s back.

“Well I hope he makes good on his promise and does pay us a visit.” he said his eyes flashing “I’d be very happy to exchange a few words with him, maybe a few fists too.”

Emmy smiled softly as Katie shook her head.

“Pretty sure your Uncle Buck would have a something to say too. And between you and me, his Murder Strut is frightening.” “Murder Strut?” Emmy looked up, the corners of her mouth twitching. Katie nodded.

“Trust me, I saw it a few times. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Woah, you saying I’m not scary?” Steve scoffed, folding his arms.

“Bucky’s a Rottweiler, you’re more of an angry retriever.” Katie shrugged and at that point Emmy laughed, which was exactly what her parents had been hoping to achieve. Steve flashed a wink at his wife before he turned back to Emmy.

“You know he won’t ever hurt you again, not now you’re with us.”

“I know. I love you guys.” she smiled and Steve dropped a kiss to her cheek. She looked up, wiped her eyes and then glanced at her mom. “Can Brooke stay tonight?”

“Course she can, I’ll call Jen”

“It’s ok she can message…”

“I’ll call her.” Katie said firmly, “Brooke was there today so Jen has a right to know what happened. Don’t worry, she won’t be mad at you.” “Kay…” Emmy nodded “What’s for dinner?”

“Your dad threw a pizza in for Jamie, we’re gonna get take out and hang by the pool.” Katie said.

“Anything you fancy?” Steve asked.

“Can we try the Greek place?”

“Sure.” Steve nodded “Hey, do they do Shwarma?”

“Gyros.” Katie said, “Same thing almost.”

“I’m in.” Steve said.

“I’m gonna go watch TV for a bit, that ok?”

“Course.” Katie smiled.

Emmy stood up and moved behind her dad, hugging him from behind, her arms round his shoulders. He tilted his head so she could kiss his cheek before she moved to do the same to her mom, giving Rori a peck.

“Love you both.” she smiled at them, before she left the room.

As soon as she was gone Steve stood up, his calm demeanour ebbing away as Katie looked up at him, shaking her head.

“I wanna kill him Steve.”

“You and me both doll.” he paced.

“Think we should call the police?” Katie asked, gently rocking Rori to and fro as she had started to grumble.

Steve contemplated what she had said before he paused, folded his arms and looked at the door, then back to Katie “I got a better idea.”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“You know I do”

“Then leave it with me.” he said simply

“Steve…” she stated, instantly understanding what he was implying “You can’t.” “Why not?”

“Well, for starters we have no idea where he lives.”

Steve snorted “Sweetheart, you’re forgetting who we know.”

“Oh, no…you can’t drag Sam into this.” Katie shook her head “Ross is being an asshole with him as it is without you giving him ammo by getting Sammy into trouble.”

“I’m not” Steve smiled, raising his eyebrow “I’m gonna drag Bucky into it instead.“

****** Bucky sat at the bar, baseball cap tugged down over his eyes. He’d been reliably informed his target drank in this run-down back dive every Wednesday and Thursday evening. He liked the happy hour, apparently.

Aint gonna be happy for much longer, buddy.

Despite the fact that he was trying to live a normal life now (ok, maybe helping Sam out every now and then) when Steve had asked him to help him with this particular mission he’d immediately said yes. Not simply because Steve was his best friend, but because it involved Emmy. As far as Buck was concerned, the Rogers kids might as well be his own in that respect because he’d give his life to protect any of them.

And then there was Brooke. Bucky had been dating Brooke’s mom, Jennifer now for a few weeks after they’d hit it off at Steve’s birthday party. It was great, slow moving but that’s what he wanted, and when he’d heard that her daughter had been caught up in all this business as well, it was another reason for him to slip back into his old assassin mode.

Only this time his instructions were clear. Apprehend alive.

At first when Steve had told him this he had been about to tease him, wind him up, surely after all these years the Captain had finally found that trigger to flip him over to the dark side, but then he had seen something stir in his best pal’s eyes. He’d told him then about an incident in a HYDRA base, where he had killed on of Katie’s captors and Bucky knew, it was there alright, and he had a feeling he was going to see it whenever they caught this punk.

He ordered another drink, his eyes re-reading the paper he’d brought with him for the 15th time. To most people stake-out work like this would get them bored, antsy, but not Bucky. He’d waited much longer before and he knew that if you got like that you lost concentration which made things 100 times harder in the long run. His eyes scanned back to the entrance to the bar, flicking back round the pub, and he observed the people to make sure he hadn’t missed the man sneaking in, even though he knew that was basically impossible. Satisfied he hadn’t, he took the drink off the bar tender, paid him (another rule of spy work- never set up tabs, you run without paying and your face is recognised all over the damned scene). He took a sip of his beer before he heard the door open and he looked round, fighting the smirk on his face as finally his target walked in and straight to the bar to Bucky’s right.

The man ordered his drink, a straight black label whiskey and when it was served he paid with a bunch of crumpled ones and picked the glass up, heading to a table.

Bucky had to hand it to the guy, in the half an hour he spent in the bar he knocked back a good 5 helpings of scotch before he stood up, and rather unsteadily made his way to the door. Giving him enough time to get out of the door, Bucky then rose and followed him. He tailed him into another bar, then another, before after the 3rd the man headed home.

Bucky watched him unlock the door to the rundown apartment block, before he staggered inside. Quick as a flash Bucky shot over the road, sticking his foot in the door to stop it from shutting. Slipping inside he pressed himself up against the dark wall, just to the side of the post boxes, as the man turned around. After a second or so Bucky heard him heading up the stairs. He walked to the bottom of the steps, and keeping his footsteps light he headed after him and emerged onto the second landing, peering round the wall to watch as the man stopped outside a door, pulling out his keys.

Bucky waited until the door was closed before he headed back down to the ground floor, pulling out his phone.

“I got him.”

***** Steve climbed out of his car, looking up at the ramshackle building before he crossed the road. Bucky was waiting for him and opened the door to the apartment block from the inside.

“What you come dressed as?” Bucky arched an eyebrow, scanning Steve up and down. He was dressed in a pair of black jeans, a dark navy t-shirt and black boots, with a cap pulled down over his face.

“You.” Steve said simply, and Bucky snorted.

“He’s on the Second floor.” he said simply “Number 202. Still think you should just let me shoot him.”

“No.” Steve said “We’re not killing him…”

Bucky rolled his eyes “Why?”

“Because I want him as scared as he made Emmy.” Steve said simply. “He can spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.”

Bucky shrugged, “Your call…”

Steve headed to the stairs and started to climb them, stopping as he heard his foot crunch on something.

“Nice place…” he mumbled as he looked down to see he had stood on a cockroach.

“Don’t be a snob Stevie…” Bucky looked at him, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Even my place in the 40s wasn’t this grim.” he turned to look at his friend before he continued up the flight of steps.

“It wasn’t the ritz either.” Bucky shrugged as they emerged onto the landing. They stopped outside the door and Steve took a breath before he looked at Bucky.

“Looks like we need a key….” he quipped. Bucky gave a smirk, before he drew his left hand back and punched straight through the door, grabbing the handle and turning it to undo the lock from the inside. He threw it open and strode inside, Steve casting a look around before he followed and pulled the door shut behind them. Hearing the noise the man flew out of the kitchen, a knife in his hand, stopping dead when he saw Bucky.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

Bucky simply raised his eyebrows.

“Look, if Mario sent you…I told him, he’ll get his money…”

“I don’t know any Mario…” Bucky shook his head, “Well, not unless you count the one that rides on the karts in that game my nephew enjoys kicking my ass at. Now put the knife down Jack before someone gets hurt.”

“How do you know my name?” Jack asked, his eyes not once leaving Bucky, missing the Captain who was stood in the darkness of the room behind him. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I don’t want anything…” Bucky said, shrugging, “But he does…”

At that point Steve stepped forwards, drawing up besides his friend, getting a good look at the man in front of him. He was quite tall, but lanky, with a pointed noise and sharp features, reminding Steve of an overgrown rat. Which fitted him perfectly, out and out vermin. Jack frowned and squinted slightly as he looked straight at Steve, suddenly paling even further. Whilst Steve looked a lot different from the once blue-eyed All American hero the world recognised him to be, there was no mistaking who he was, especially to the man in question. Steve stood stock still, his hands falling to the buckle which was round the waist of his black jeans, his chest flexing under his navy t-shirt as he glared at the man.

“Woah…look…I don’t want any trouble…” Jack began to press.

“You should have thought about that before you touched and threatened my daughter.” Steve’s voice was icy.

Jack’s hand clenched around the knife and Bucky rolled his eyes, before he whipped off the glove on his left hand, holding it up, the metal glinting in the dim light of the lamp that stood in the corner of the grubby apartment.

“This can do far more damage than that blade can.” he said simply, looking at his hand before he turned to Jack “Go ahead, I’ll even give you one free swing. But it better be fast.”

Steve expected the man to drop the knife, but instead he lunged forwards. Bucky sighed, and almost lazily dodged to the right before he knocked the knife out of the man’s hand with a single swipe and gripped him around the neck with his hand, slamming him hard into the wall.

“That was really fucking stupid.” he said, tightening his fingers around the man’s windpipe, lifting him off the floor. The man grabbed at Bucky’s arm, desperately trying to prise his fingers from around his neck.

“Buck…” Steve said, and Bucky let go, Jack slumping to the floor. Steve reached down, grabbed his shirt and hauled him to his feet slamming him against the wall.

“Now…” Steve said, his hands tightening. “I don’t like bullies. And that’s what you are. I know exactly what you did to Emmy, all the times you beat her, hurt her, whipped her with a belt until her back split and bled. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip you in half right now.”

“Captain America…nah…you wouldn’t…” Jack stuttered, shaking his head “You’re a good guy…”

“Well, here’s the thing.” Bucky said, picking up the knife that Jack had dropped, leaning on the wall, lazily twirling the blade in his hand. “He’s not Captain America anymore. Just some guy whose daughter you threatened.”

“Which makes me a hundred times more dangerous…” Steve said.

“And I, well, I just don’t give a shit.” Bucky shrugged “Killed a lot of people one way or another…what’s one more piece of shit like you gonna mean?”

Jack looked at Steve, shaking his head “No, you wouldn’t…”

“I snapped the neck of the man who raped my wife.” Steve said, his gaze not once leaving the man’s in front of him “Trust me, you have no idea what I would do to keep my family safe.”

He paused for a second, letting it sink in as Jack swallowed.

“But I’m a fair man.” Steve said, letting go of Jack who dropped a few inches before he pulled himself back up full height. Steve smoothed down the man’s dirty t-shirt before he smiled at him. “So I’m gonna give you a chance to play ball. You got 48 hours to leave New York.” “By that we mean the state.” Bucky clarified.

“And if I ever get a sniff that you’re back in town…” Steve continued.

“And trust us, we’ll know…” Bucky mused, still looking at the knife before he grinned at Jack “We got friends in high places, eyes and ears everywhere…” “….then you’ll lose more than your teeth.” Steve concluded, matter of factly.

“My teeth? What do-“

CRACK.

Steve cut him off with a sharp jab straight into his mouth and Jack dropped to the floor howling in pain as the blood poured from between his fingers which clamped over the lower part of his face.

“Got the message?” Steve asked, standing over him as Jack rolled around, screaming. He mumbled something, his head nodding furiously.

“Can I shoot him now?” Bucky asked.

“No.” Steve shook his head.

“Just once in the knee?”

“No.” Steve snorted “Come on…let’s get out of here, the amount of noise he’s making someone’s bound to hear. He turned to go, and then heard another loud scream. Spinning around he saw that Jack’s hand was now pinned to the floor by the knife Bucky had been holding.

“What?” Bucky asked, shrugging as Steve shot him a look “You said I couldn’t shoot him, didn’t say anything about stabbing him.”

***** The two friends sat at a bar, not far from Steve’s house, each with a beer in hand.

“So, run that by me again…” Bucky said.

“I told Katie I was meeting you for a drink.” Steve shrugged, nodding at the bottle “Technically now I’m not lying.”

“You’re a punk.” Bucky snorted.

“She’ll know full well where I’ve been.” Steve shrugged “She ain’t stupid…”

“Good luck to you pal.” Bucky said, taking a drink “She’s scary when she’s angry.”

Steve snorted “Nah, she won’t be mad…she knew full well I was planning on giving him a warning so…”

“Then why not just tell her?” “Because she’d worry.” Steve said simply.

“Think he’ll heed it?” Bucky asked after a little pause and Steve pondered the question for a moment before he nodded.

“Like I said he’s a bully.” he took a swig of his beer before he looked at Bucky “You know as well as I do that the minute someone bigger stands up to them they back off.”

“Gotta hand it to you pal…” Bucky said, sitting back “You come a long way since you were defending yourself with a trash can lid behind the movie theatre down town…”

“So everyone says.” Steve shrugged “Still don’t feel any different.”

“Remember when Howard’s flying car was the strangest thing we had ever seen?” Bucky sighed “I almost miss those days.” “Would you go back?” Steve asked, “Given the chance?”

Bucky took a deep breath and wrinkled his nose “Nah, I’m too different…too much has happened you know. I don’t think I’d settle. Plus this would probably attract a little more attention than it does now.” he said, flexing his left hand.

Steve smiled ��I know what you mean. If you’d asked me when I first came round…I’d have jumped at the chance but after Katie…” he took another drink before he let out a soft huff. “I crossed oceans of time to find her.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Dracula…romantic.” he said and Steve let out a laugh.

“Speaking of romantic…” Steve looked at his friend “How’s it going with Jen?”

“Ok.”

“Just ok?”

“I’m taking it slow.” Bucky shrugged “We’ve been on a few dates and…yeah I like her Steve and she likes me so…”

“Well if you ever want any advice on modern day dating…”

“The day I ask you for dating advice is the day I quit.” Bucky snorted

“I did ok.” Steve grinned “Well, more than ok actually. I lucked out.”

“No, you got what you deserved.” Bucky shook his head “A woman that loves you for who you are, not what you are.” Steve felt his cheeks flush a little as he shrugged “Not quite sure what I did to deserve her but…”

“You’re a good man.” Bucky said “You always were and always have been. A pain in my ass like, but…” he drained his beer and shook his head “Anyway, enough sentimental crap. You want another?”

Steve contemplated that before he shrugged “Sure, why not?”

One more turned into 5 more, and it was a good 2 hours later and approaching midnight when the men left. It wasn’t the first time they’d been out for drinks since being re-united, but to Steve it was the first time that it felt like the old days. They’d talked about so many memories, he’d laughed until he had cried as they both recalled some of their antics, and he felt completely at peace when he walked into the hallway of his house.

Removing his cap he ran a hand through his hair before he hung it on the coat rack on the wall. Then he dropped his keys into that infernal golden pineapple bowl that Katie had bought him all those years ago and headed into the lounge where Katie was sat in her pyjamas, Rori clutched to her breast as she fed.

“Hey…” he smiled, crossing the floor and dropping a kiss to her lips before he turned his attention to his daughter, his finger gently running along her hardworking cheek.

“You have a good time?” she asked, giving a little yawn.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It was nice. When did she wake up?”

“About half an hour ago.” Katie shrugged “With a bit of luck she’ll go down again soon and sleep for a couple of hours.”

“I’ll do the next feed.” Steve said “You can get some rest.”

“Ok.” Katie agreed, yawning again and as she did so Rori mimicked her, her eyes which were now carrying a slight greenish hue fluttering. Steve gestured for Katie to hand her over, and she did so as Steve held her up over her shoulder, hands that had hours ago been so violent were now ever so gentle, rubbing his daughter’s back to wind her as Katie adjusted her top. They sat there in silence for a little while before Katie finally spoke.

“So how badly did you hurt him?”

“What?”

“Jack?” She turned her head to Steve who looked at her “I know full well what you were up to.”

“I knew you would.” Steve huffed a laugh “And not too badly. Knocked a few of his teeth out…oh, and Bucky nailed his hand to the floor with a knife. He won’t be bothering Emmy again, or any of us for that matter.”

Katie looked at him for a moment before Rori gave a light burp and Steve gently turned his face, pressing his lips to the baby’s head.

“Here…” Katie said, and Steve handed her over “I’ll go put her down.”

She gathered the baby in her arms before she dropped a kiss to Steve’s mouth “Don’t be too long…”

He arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well, you know what you getting all dark and protective does to me…” she grinned, looking down at Rori “That’s what made her in the first place.”

Steve’s eyes darkened at the memory of that particular day in the HYDRA base which he was recalling for the second time in the space of a few hours, albeit for very different reasons. “How could I forget?”

Standing up she walked to the door, Steve watching her go, before she shot him a coy look over her shoulder his pants became a lot tighter than they should have been. He gave a soft groan, before his head fell back against the cushion of the sofa. After a moment or two he stood up and turned off the lights, before heading up the stairs after his wife.

He stood in the doorway, watching as she placed Rori in the crib at the end of the bed before he strode over to her, his hands falling to her waist as he spun her round, his lips crashing to hers. She took the kiss eagerly, her tongue sliding against his as he backed her towards the bed, her hands fumbling with his belt as they went. Neither were wasting any time, and after a quick wrestle with their clothing they both collapsed onto the bed, Steve caging his wife underneath him with his arms and legs.

Their eyes locked for a second before he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her again, slow and hard, both his hands cupping her face, thumbs gently skating her cheeks as she let out a soft groan and he felt his cock twitch. His lips not once leaving hers his right hand gently slid down to her thigh, and his fingers gently gave her hip a squeeze causing her to sigh into his mouth again. Using his hand he hooked her leg round his waist, and ground his erection against her spot causing her to moan as she pulled away from the kiss, her head laying further back against the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut as his mouth dropped, swirling softly around her pebbled nipples, carefully lavishing affection on them in turn, and in moments she was quivering to his touch, her breathing ragged.

“Look at me…” he said, voice low, almost a growl and her eyes sprang open obediently, those sparkling emeralds glinting in the dim light as he held her gaze as he pushed into her, her breath catching in her throat. He stilled for a moment, enjoying her warmth as it gripped him before he moved his hips back, thrusting into her again. His pace was hard, deep and he continually dragged in and out of her, dropping his head to kiss and lick and suck all along her collar bone, knowing full well he would leave marks there for the morning but neither of them cared as their moans grew louder as his thrusts grew more desperate.

"Fuck.” he groaned, both hands now on her hips as he continued his movements and Katie’s hands moved to brace herself against the headboard, her body moving with every slam he made into her. One hand moved to the back of her head and he used it to make her look up, her eyes locking onto his as he felt her body start to quiver.

“I love you…” he said, his pace not slowing in the slightest.

“Love you too Soldier…” her words stuttered as he thrust up hard, stilling slightly, grinding up against her, as she writhed underneath him, a desperate, filthy noise escaping her mouth as her back arched and her hands flew to his back, nails scratching at his skin. God he loved the feel of her doing that, the stinging pain mixed with the pleasure was a heady mix and he took in a sharp breath, dropping his mouth to capture hers as she moaned again, this moan broken as she bucked upwards and clutched at him desperately.

“Stevie…” she moaned and her walls tightened on him as she came, her entire body trembling underneath him and he pulled back so he could watch her, lips swollen from his desperate kisses, cheeks flushed, eyelids fluttering against her cheeks. He continued his pace, her eyes opening moments late to lock onto his as the spring that had been coiled so tightly suddenly released and he spilled himself insider her with a low, rough grunt of her name and he tipped forwards, his hips slowing to a stop as he buried his face in her neck.

The pair of them lay still, the only sounds in the bedroom now were the deep, ragged drawings of breath. Katie gently ran her hands through his hair, as she always did, Steve’s body on top of hers rising and falling through the movements of her deep breathing. Eventually he raised his head gently and pressed their foreheads together, his nose sliding up and down hers. She smiled at him, and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss before he rolled over onto his back, and she snuggled into him, her head on his chest. He reached for her left hand which was laying flat against his abs and raised it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, just underneath where her wedding band sat.

“I love you, I love you all so much.” he said gently. She raised her head to look at him, smiling as she kissed him softly.

“I know, I love you. We all do.”

She was asleep before him, Steve lay awake for a little while longer contemplating everything that had gone down that evening. He’d crossed that line again, the darkness that had awoken all those years ago had bubbled inside of him and he wasn’t going to lie, it had been satisfying, and despite what he had said to Bucky, he would have happily killed the snivelling bastard with his bare hands and not even blinked twice about doing so. But something had stopped him short this time, and he knew now what it was.

His kids.

Back then they hadn’t been in the picture, and he wanted to be able to look them in the eye and tell them right from wrong without feeling like a hypocrite. Steve Rogers was a good man, a loyal husband, doting father, and he wanted to be worthy of the love that surrounded him on a daily basis.

He looked down at his sleeping wife before he shifted slightly, dropping a kiss to her head before he closed his eyes and fell into a trouble free sleep.

#stark spangled forever #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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something-fanfiction-ie · 5 years ago

Text

Rough Drafts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Explicit descriptions of a murder scene, argument, angst, and cursing.

A/N: Okay, so I know I said I was gonna publish this yesterday but I got Cassandra Clare’s newest book and I couldn’t put it down. I seriously love that lady. Omg. Anyways, it’s here now! And it’s angsty! And there’s gonna be a fourth part soon I promise! For real. Don’t forget to reblog, comment, send me an ask or a message and overall just adore me so that I may continue to feel good about myself. As always thank you for supporting me and I hope you enjoy!!!

[ Part One | Part Two ]

___

An incredulous laugh bursts from your lips, your nails cutting crescent moons into the palms of your hands as you try and convince yourself that this isn’t actually happening.

“Do you have alibis for your whereabouts on Monday, June eighth, Saturday, June thirteenth, and Thursday, June eighteenth?” Spencer can see your leg bouncing rapidly under the table, your eyes flying over the pictures and the expression of Emily Prentiss. You seem genuine, but he can’t trust himself to get an accurate read of you anymore.

“I, uhm, I- I wouldn’t know off the top of my head. I keep a planner, I’ll forget things otherwise.” The burst of iron in your mouth is not something you’re unused to, having chewed your cheek so badly that the skin there has broken under your teeth.

“We’ll need to see that.” Emily isn’t sure whether or not she believes that you’re guilty, watching the way you seem to unravel before her. When you look at the crime scene photos, it isn't with any pleasure, but with disgust. Your nose wrinkles a little at the bridge and you keep looking away as the blood from your face starts to drain.

Either you’re a really good actress or you aren’t the unsub.

Emily says as much as she flips through the small teal planner that you’d willingly given them. Due dates for chapters, publishing events, book signings and days for book tours fill most of the pages in your most neat handwriting. Dates you plan to go visit your mother, grocery shop, doctor’s appointments, even plans to go somewhere and write.

Everything is explicitly stated, that way you’re never unsure of what you meant to tell yourself. That is, until around three weeks ago when a handful of days are notated with an ‘S,’ followed by a random doodle. Sometimes it’s a tiny heart drawn absentmindedly while you discuss the plans over the phone, other times it’s a cartoon bunny or a top hat.

Garcia is the first to take notice of it, her fingers faltering in their constant thrum against the keyboard in front of her. She glances out of the side of her glasses, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Looks like lonely girl found herself a boo.”

“That makes sense,” JJ says from the chair she’s pulled into Penelope’s office from the bullpen. A pen is stretched between her hands, her posture relaxed into the curve of the stiff, government-issued rolly chair.

All the girls have gathered into the tech analyst’s room while the men take turns interrogating you. Well, all except Spencer. He just stands behind that window watching your every move with eyes like a hawk. “What doesn’t make sense is why she keeps it secret even in her personal planner.”

“Maybe she has a stalker? That could be who is doing all this?”

“Then she wouldn’t keep careful notation of everything else going on in her life. A stalker would follow her every move, not just her romantic interests. Even if he is in love with her.”

“A partner, maybe? Like the days they planned the murders or days they were acted out?”

“None of the days line up with the crimes, save for this one,” Emily leans the book toward the two women with her finger just underneath June fifth, the day Alison Crane was abducted from outside her campus dorm room. It’s the third ‘S’ scribbled into the corner of a day in the entire book.

“And there is nothing else written in relation to this ‘S’ character?” JJ shakes her head, looking for any clues that could be nestled among the loops and curls of your writing. Reid would be better at this, he was the graphology expert among them. So why wasn’t he back here helping?

“Then I guess we better try and get her to talk about it. Meanwhile Garcia, we’ll get Rossi and Reid to head over to her apartment and you can hack into her computer?” Penelope spins the chair, a flash of bright colors and blond hair. She clicks her tongue in response, throwing up a fingers gun and winking.

“Whatever you need me to do, I’m on it like sexy on Derek Morgan stepping out of the shower in a towel.”

After some arguing, and maybe just a little bit of pleading, they manage to convince Reid to join Rossi on a trip to your apartment. He can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable, standing in your living room. Not because he’d been here before, but because he’d never been here before.

The empty mugs that litter every surface, smelling of old coffee and your favorite coffee creamer (he only knows it’s your favorite because you explicitly ask for that creamer at every coffee shop the two of you have ever gone to), is unfamiliar to him. He’s invited you to his apartment at least three times. How come he had never been to yours?

Small pages and notebooks of scribbled ideas and dialogues cover just as many areas as the coffee cups do, your handwriting messy and cramped in every note. It’s almost like you couldn’t get the idea out of your head fast enough.

The bed in your room is meticulously made without a wrinkle in sight, but that could be because of the obvious bed you’ve made yourself along the salmon pink couch that stretches out in front of your TV. A multicolored crochet blanket is thrown haphazardly over the back, a pillow still slightly squished against the arm.

On the coffee table is a half opened laptop, a notebook with red and black ink scribbled in the lines, and a still full cup of coffee. Rossi makes quick work of calling Garcia and helping her get patched into your computer. It’s strange, watching her move the mouse on your screen from miles away.

Reid never stops moving, walking the length of your studio apartment with his eyes peeled for any kind of information he could find. It’s obvious that you spend most of your time in the main room, which houses the kitchen, a small dining area, and the living room. A door leading into your room branches off to a small bathroom which is just as disorganized as everything else in your house.

Hair products, skin washes, and all kinds of makeup are scattered across the sink and back of your toilet. It’s funny because every time he’s ever met up with you, you’re bare faced and your hair is still drying from the shower you took before leaving your house. The tube of lipstick he picks up makes him think he doesn’t really know you at all.

On the nightstand in your room is a bottle of water with the label ripped off and the two Rossi books you’d bought that fateful day in the bookstore. The label from the water bottle is stuck between the middle pages of one of the books. The passages in question don’t lend anything to connecting you as a homicidal maniac, let alone a serial killer.

Back in the living room, Garcia is snooping through every aspect of your computer.

“I don’t know whether or not the be freaked out by her web history. There’s a lot of murder-y questions here. ‘Signs of a post mortem amputation,’ ‘How much blood can you lose and still live?,’ ‘Most brutal ways to be killed.’ It’s creepy.” Rossi is flicking through the notebook from the table, his eyes squinted as he tried to make sense of the abbreviations and scribblings of another writer.

“She writes crime novels so it isn’t entirely strange for her to be looking at those types of things.” Thankfully, the defense of your web search history comes from the older man who looks up as Garcia delves deeper and deeper. Spencer had thought it first, but hadn’t said anything to avoid suspicion. He’s smart enough to know that the truth has to come out eventually, but he wants to be sure of your innocence (or guilt, he reminds himself a bit glumly) before he reveals your link to him.

“I’m not seeing anything she could be using to contact a partner unless her partner is one of the publishing people she’s constantly messaging via email.” At this Spencer stops, leaning against the back of the couch with his weight resting on the heels of his hands. The stance appears relaxed. He is anything but.

“Why do we assume she has a partner?” Reid asks, impatiently pushing a stray curl away from his face. Rossi glances at him curiously, otherwise undistracted from the shake the movement gives the couch.

“Oh, Prentiss, JJ, and I were looking through her little teal book earlier and the only thing not explicitly stated was just the letter ‘S.’ It’s why they came back to interrogate and they sent you guys to her house. I thought they told you.”

Spencer wants to beat his head against the wall.

“That isn’t a lead, Garcia. You have to tell them that ‘S’ isn’t her partner.” The mouse on the computer screen falters, several saved documents for different rough drafts of books or drabbles are pulled up the way you might have papers scattered about in front of you.

“What is it? Do you know who ‘S’ is?” Rossi is turned sideways on the couch, looking over the back and up at the distressed man in front of him. It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots when they make eye contact. Penelope impatiently whines over the phone.

“I’m ‘S,’ I’ve been seeing her for the last three weeks. I’m sure if you tell me the dates then every single one of them will be days that we’ve had plans together.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Before anyone has the chance to say anything else, the door to Garcia’s office opens and a second voice filters through Rossi’s phone speaker. It’s JJ.

“Let Reid and Rossi know there’s just been another murder.”

This time it’s a fifteen year old girl. Her hair is black and wet, her lips are as blue as the sky, and she’s naked. Water droplets from her skin have soaked into the sheet of paper that was layed over her chest. The bathtub she’s in is completely empty, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that she was drowned there. The bruises on her shoulders from the force the unsub used to pin her down are dark against the contrast of her already pale skin.

...The man leaned over the tub, his eyes squinted in thought and his lips skewed a little to the side. Ryder stayed focused on the crime scene, for the most part. But even detectives of her caliber, and higher, could easily get lost in the eyes that look up at her from beneath long golden-brown lashes.

“Detective?” She blinks the distraction away, looking back at the girl, her black hair wet and spiraling like the snakes on Medusa’s head against the ivory siding of the drained tub. Ryder can’t help but wish the girl had been lucky enough to turn her killer to stone. Maybe it would have saved her.

“Agent.” She crosses her arms, looking anywhere but at the man across from her, pretending to look for any useful clues. Ryder had gotten to the crime scene fourty-five minutes before the pair of FBI Agents had walked in. The man, who had introduced himself as Supervisory Special Agent Matthew Gray, had decided to join her in the second floor bathroom. His partner, a woman named Katherine Swift, had taken to looking for clues through the rest of the house.

Agent Gray is beautiful. It’s the only adjective that seems to stick to him with certainty, every other aspect of his personality just as elusive as the exact color of those eyes. Even as short as his hair is, the golden brown tendrils are unkempt and curl every which way. Ryder has to force her hand to stay at her side and not reach up to smooth an alfalfa that does nothing for the serious expression on his face.

She keeps imagining what it would feel like if he reached out to kiss her, curling his fingers into her hair and bringing her unworthy lips up to meet his. He’s tall so she would probably have to stretch a little, but she wouldn’t mind. Not when his hands are tangled in her hair and he’s giving her the kiss she’s been silently begging for since the moment he flashed that crooked grin at her.

The imagination is so vivid that she jumps when her own partner, Detective Russo, comes around the corner of the hallway and straight into the bathroom...

The paper crinkles in the evidence bag as Morgan places it on the table, trying to ignore the daggers being glared into him on the other side of the mirror.

Nobody on the team had been very happy with Spencer when they heard the news about your relationship, Hotch had nearly snatched him by the scruff of his neck when he made to go into the interrogation room. But after several minutes of thoroughly explaining himself, Hotch had sent Morgan in. To say Spencer was infuriated was an understatement.

“Do you know what this is, (Y/N)?” You look down at it, twisting the evidence bag so that you could read the Times New Roman font you always wrote in when writing in Microsoft Word. The words cover the front and back of the copy paper, but you don’t have to read it through all the way before you know what it is.

“It’s a page from my newest book.” The bag scratches against the tabletop as you push it away from you, crossing your arms over your chest. Your face is stoplight red with embarrassment at the thought of Spencer reading this page, mostly because you had pulled so heavily from your own thoughts when first meeting Spencer to write Ryder and Gray’s first meeting. You created Matthew Gray to write about Spencer Reid in a way that felt less ‘high school diary entry.’

“More specifically, it’s from the book you just started working on about a month ago. The one that only you and your agent have access to.” Finally, Morgan sits. Before, he’d just been pacing around you the way a lioness might stalk around her prey before she launches an attack. It made you uneasy, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

“Do you know where we found it, (Y/N)?” His muscles bulge against his shirtsleeves when he leans them up on the table. Derek Morgan is a very attractive man, you’ll give him that, but if making you uneasy and putting you in the room with a attractive man to fluster you was their strategy then they should have sent in Spencer.

“My computer.”

“We found it on the body of a dead girl.” Another picture joins the ones already shuffled around the table. You can barely look at it, nausea and tears building in your throat at the sight of another person dying the same way you’d written in a story. When you don’t respond, Morgan continues.

“‘She was found at the bottom of an empty bathtub, a pale leg hooked over the edge of the porcelain siding, and her arms pinned to her sides in death. Bruises discolored the skin at her shoulders, and Ryder knew at first glance that her cause of death would be asphyxiation by drowning.’” He drops the paper back to the table, having picked it up to read the passage from the end of the page.

“That’s wrong,” You say, leaning back over the table to look at the paper again. Derek looks down, like the words might have changed in the moment he looked away, but the text stays exactly the same as before.

“That’s exactly what is written here.” You shake your head, pulling the bag back to you and wrinkling your forehead in thought.

“I don’t doubt that is what you read, Agent Morgan,” Your eyes fly over the page, reading the end of the excerpt with overwhelming relief. The bag sticks a little to the pad of your index finger as you tap over the paragraph in question. “But I rewrote this scene only two nights ago. It’s on my computer, I’m sure your tech analyst can confirm my claim. This girl, Bella, she doesn’t die from drowning anymore. Her hands are tied above her head to the faucet and she’s strangled. I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to be by her sister or her girlfriend.”

JJ rushes back to Penelope’s office, on a mission to confirm your statement just as you had suggested. Meanwhile, Morgan’s mind is rushing to figure out the mess he is currently sat in. You lean back in your chair now, unsure if the dizziness you feel is from lack of food or the sudden realization that they couldn’t pin this to you anymore.

“I’m not your bad guy. If I was doing this to prove to my mother that my writing is good, that I chose the right career, as your profile says, I wouldn’t change the scene in my book and not change the murder.” In Morgan’s earpiece, Hotch tells him that you were telling the truth about editing the scene two nights ago.

“Unless you planned it to throw us off track. We know about your relationship with Spencer, you’ve probably found out all kinds of things to do to keep us from catching you.”

You clench your teeth, straightening into your chair and pinning Derek down with a look you’d learned from your mother. It makes him think of his mom, your eyes narrowed and your gaze so cold that it could cause frostbite. He watches curiosily as you tilt your chin up a little, trying to hide the pricks behind your eyes and the wobble of your lip. Derek notices them, the entire team notices. They’re trained to notice.

“I want a lawyer.” You say simply, you voice is sharp and quiet but it does the job of slicing through the tension already building in the room.

“Come on, you don’t need a lawyer.”

“That’s where you’re wrong again, Agent Morgan. I do need a lawyer. Because even though I have full-heartedly trusted the justice system since I was in diapers, and even though I came to these offices willing to help your team in any way that I could, you are still trying to use me as a scapegoat instead of actually doing your fucking job and finding the bastard who is killing people in my name.

“A study from criminal law bulletin says that 10,000 people are wrongfully convicted of serious crimes every year. One in every twenty-five people sentenced to death are innocent, Agent Morgan. Just since 1973, more than 160 people were exonerated from the death penalty. That’s not even counting the people who were killed. But you sure as hell aren’t about to make me apart of that statistic because you want to waste your time trying to piece an investigation around me. That’s not how you’re supposed to do your job. So until you can remember how to do it correctly, I do need a lawyer. Thank you.”

By the time you finish you’ve leaned over the table, your index finger jammed into the wood to make your point. It feels like your chest is on fire as you slam back into your seat and cross your arms, determined to keep your silence for the rest of the time you were forced to sit here.

Everyone on the opposite side of the mirror is stunned into silence, their eyes focused on you even as Derek gathers all the things from the desk and walks out looking a little flustered himself. If Spencer was totally honest, your outburst was actually kind of hot. He has to remind himself that you may have killed eight people in cold blood.

Your lawyer makes it to the BAU in record time, his red hair expertly gelled back from his face. His icy blue eyes only cracking when he sees you sitting by yourself in the interrogation room. Spencer can tell by the way that he lowers himself on the balls of his feet to talk to you, reaching out to touch the hand that sits on your thigh, that he knows you personally. He likes you, actually. Spencer tried to tell himself that it doesn’t make him glad when you pull your hand out of his and awkwardly pat his arm.

He’s been lying to himself a lot today.

Hotch is the one to go back in the room, he was the best at dealing with lawyers. Unfortunately his best wasn’t enough to keep you in custody and soon your lawyer, who Spencer learned was named Jeremy, was walking you out of the room for the first time in six hours.

Your back cracks when you stand, your shoulders rolling back to try and ease some of the stress you’d been holding there since this morning. The sound of the door swinging open for you is almost heavenly, the feel of the air outside of the room is damn near enough to make you cry.

When you look to the side, ready to leave out the second door that leads into the hallway and away from this mess, you meet eyes with the only profiler of the BAU that you hadn’t seen that day. Spencer looks back at you with an expression that you find hard to put into words.

He almost looks sorry, the regret evident in the slight widening of his eyes, but at the same time his chin is tilted up like he is facing an enemy he has vowed to take down no matter the cost. His shoulders are squared, but his arms are uncrossed and his palms are open.

And even though you knew you wouldn’t be there without him knowing, the reassurance that Spencer knew and even suspected you is like a blow to the chest and stomach. It robs you of air, causing you to stumble.

Jeremy reaches to steady you. You shake him off, pulling your eyes from the young doctor and focusing all of your attention on the door knob.

“I’m fine, Jeremy.” Your tone of voice is more harsh than you intended but you’re still struggling to collect oxygen, even when you slide into your car by yourself, it feels like you can’t get enough air. The walk from the BAU offices to the parking lot had passed in a blur. Jeremy’s talk about staying at home and keeping your head low had gone by even faster, and now that you have time to truly be by yourself, everything hits like a ton of bricks thrown at you from a speeding train.

In the midst of your panic attack, gasping for air into the palms of your shaking hands, questioning everything about yourself and your career, you don’t register the shuffle of movement in your backseat. You’re so deep in your mind that you almost don’t notice the cool press of a gun barrel against the back of your neck until a familiar voice lifts your head from your hands.

“Drive.”

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #dr spence reid #spence reid #criminal mind imagine #criminal minds

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missaudreyhorney · 4 years ago

Text

Afterschool Special

Again, I am shocked and delighted that people are enjoying the beginning of this series as much as I’m enjoying writing it. I cannot thank you all enough for your kind words and encouragement. In this third installment, Hopper and Reader get to spend some “alone time” together. That’s all I’m going to say about it 😊

Content warnings: Rated M for more age gap, Daddy kink, physical intimidation, over the clothes touching, and a new addition of under the clothes kissing. Female Reader, modern AU, 2.5k words.

You call Jim Hopper on Monday afternoon in between classes. His voice is even deeper and sexier over the phone than you remember it sounding the night before. He seems happy to hear from you and you try to hide how giddy you are about it. Sensing that the attraction between you two is very mutual, you don’t hesitate to set up a meeting. He tells you that he has Wednesday off from work, and for a second, you seriously consider ditching all your classes to spend the entire day with him. Instead, you agree to meet up at his house at four o’clock, which gives you enough time to go home and change after school.

Normally on a date, you would prefer to wear a dress but the winter chill in the February air sadly prevents that. Hopefully you won’t feel out of place wearing a heavy sweater and a pair of jeans to wherever it is he wants to take you.

The address he gave seems to be out in the middle of nowhere and multiple times you wonder if the GPS navigation is telling you to go in the wrong direction. Eventually, you find the place and it’s not so much a house as it is a cabin in the woods. It almost looks abandoned except for his car parked out front.

Any misgivings you have about the place are dispelled when you see Hopper standing on the porch and smoking as he waits for you. All your friends complain about guys who smoke, and that they hate the smell, but not you. You think it’s sexy and you even enjoy the smell.

A smile spreads across his handsome face when he sees you and it gets wider when you step out of the car. “Come on in, sweetheart,” he greets you with a white cloud billowing out from his mouth.

Anticipation rushes through your veins. When you last saw each other, and when you spoke on the phone, there seemed to be a promise of more, a promise to finish what he started when he came up to your room. You know that something will happen today, you’re just not sure how or when.

Once you reach the top of the steps, he says “It’s open. I’ll be in in a minute” as the unfiltered cigarette dangles between his lips.

Opening the door slowly, you let yourself in then put your purse down and look around. The cabin is…rustic. None of the furniture matches. Some of it looks to be as old as you are. There’s a decent red sofa but it’s covered in a patchwork quilt. There’s a plaid chair against the wall and it too has a blanket draped across the top, one that’s knitted or perhaps crocheted. The only things to indicate that you haven’t arrived here in a time machine are the flat screen tv on the wall and a new Apple computer on an old wooden desk.

Hopper steps into the room a moment later. “Why don’t you take your coat off and stay awhile?” He touches your back as he walks past you to go into the kitchen.

“Oh, um, okay.” You suppose he wants to talk a little bit or perhaps finish something up before you leave. Hanging your coat up on the rack, you notice a small pair of tennis shoes on the floor. “Do you live here alone?”

“No, my daughter lives here with me.”

His daughter? Gosh, Hopper really is a DILF. You follow him into the kitchen and your brain starts to connect some dots. “Is she the reason why you left so suddenly on Sunday night?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says as he takes an ice tray out of the freezer.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad it wasn’t your wife.”

“Oh no, I’ve been divorced for a long time now,” he assures you.

Your eyes roam over Hopper’s large frame while you watch him pop the cubes out of the tray and fill it back up again. He’s wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt, with the top two buttons undone, and a navy henley underneath. His scent of cigarettes and soap makes it seem as if he must have smoked immediately after getting out of the shower.

For a brief moment, you entertain the idea of ripping his clothes off right here and now, forgoing any previous plans you might have for your date. That’s where you’re hoping this will all lead anyway so what’s wrong with cutting to the chase?

In an attempt to restrain yourself, you bring up the one subject that will take your mind out of the gutter. “How did you meet my parents?”

“They brought one of their cars to my shop. I’m a mechanic.”

The attempt proves feeble as your mouth instantly begins to water at the mental image of Jim Hopper bending over the engine of a car, sticking out his cute butt in his Wrangler jeans, his hands and his face getting all dirty and sweaty.

“Can I make you a drink?” he offers, getting a glass off the shelf. “You are old enough to drink, right?”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m old enough.”

“I don’t have to check your ID, do I?” He winks at you and it’s as charming as it is corny.

“You can if you want to,” you respond.

“No, I believe you.” He opens a bottle of Jack Daniels and lifts it above his glass.

“Wait, you’re making a drink now? When are we gonna go?”

He puts the bottle on the counter. “Go where?”

“Is this it?” you ask, slightly stunned.

“Is what it?” Deep ridges form on Hopper’s forehead as he raises his eyebrows in irritation.

“I thought we were going to go on a date,” you explain.

His features soften as he chuckles at you. “We’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.” He gleefully pours the whiskey into his glass.

“So we’re just going to stay here and…?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a smug grin. “We are.”

Suddenly your idea of tearing his clothes off seems like it would be more welcomed than you had anticipated.

“What’ll it be?” he asks, getting himself a can of Coke out of the refrigerator.

“I’ll have a water.”

Hopper pulls out a bottle of water and hands it to you. “You know this was your idea, right? You didn’t mention anything on the phone about a date.”

“I know, I guess I...assumed we’d go out.” You take a much-needed sip.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he offers in a considerably softer tone than you’ve heard from him thus far.

“No,” you smile at him. “I want to stay.”

He smiles back at you then takes a drink.

“It just would have been nice if you took me out somewhere,” you remark before raising the bottle to your lips again.

“Why beat around the bush? We both already know what we want.” He takes another drink then sets his glass down. “Unless of course, you want us to be seen together,” he adds, moving directly in front of you, with mere centimeters between your bodies.

Your heart starts racing as Hopper glares down at you with a storm churning in his deep blue eyes.

”Maybe you want people to look at us and know that I’m twice your age.” He leans in closer, backing you into the corner of the wooden counter. “Maybe you want to hear them say ‘what’s that dirty old man doing with that beautiful young girl?’” He enunciates every word in a biting tone as if he’s scolding you.

Your bodies are so close together that you can actually feel the heat radiating off of him.

“If that’s what you want, I can take you anywhere. We can leave right now,” he offers in a slightly more casual voice. “I just don’t see any point in wasting time when it’s so obvious what you came here for.”

“What’s that?” you accidentally say in a whisper.

Hopper takes a step back from you. “Go in the bedroom and I’ll show you.”

With a deep inhalation, you slip away from him and run out of the kitchen then immediately run back. “Which one is your bedroom?” you almost shout.

“The one on the left,” he answers, trying not to laugh at your over the top enthusiasm.

You pull the curtain in the doorway so hard that it feels like it might rip away from the rod. Yanking your sweater above your head, you kick off your shoes at the same time.

Lying back on the bed, you can feel how wet he’s already made you. Your body is practically vibrating with excitement as you hear the heavy steps of his boots as he approaches. A shiver runs through you when he enters the room.

“Where were we?” Hopper asks, kneeling onto the foot of the bed.

“You were on top of me,” you recall.

“Uh-huh,” he nods, positioning himself between your open legs.

“And I think you were going to unhook my bra?”

He runs his hands under your t-shirt and up the sides of your body. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

“I thought we could skip that part.”

He pulls your shirt up over your chest. “Good thinking.”

Without missing a beat, his lips are on your breasts, kissing both of them with his warm, wet, open mouth. Your left nipple hardens as Hopper swirls his tongue around it, making you push your hips into him. His lips close around the bud and begin to suck.

“Oh, Daddy,” you moan, using the title with no regret this time.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he pauses long to speak then immediately begins sucking on your other nipple.

Just like on Sunday, his mouth is rough. Not solely the texture of his scruffy beard against your soft skin, but the ferocity with which he sucks on you and teases you with his teeth. Also just like Sunday, he moves his hand in between your thighs and pushes his palm against the center seam of your jeans.

You hiss when he bites down hard into your flesh, clearly not holding back this time. It’s an exquisite pain that you could easily become addicted to. Your fingernails claw at his shirt when he rolls your nipple between his teeth.

Hopper is working you into a frenzy with the way his hand presses into your jeans, rubbing your pussy through the denim. All the different sensations he’s causing in your body are starting to become too much and you need a release.

“Daddy, please,” you beg breathlessly.

Your nipple pops out from between his lips with a vulgar sound. “Please what?”

You’re unable to answer him as your mouth is too busy moaning while his hand brings back that familiar ache.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he instructs between licks.

“Your f-” you interrupt yourself with another moan. “Your fin-”

“You want my fingers inside you, is that it?” Hopper asks as you grind your crotch into his palm, desperate for all the friction you can get.

“Yes, Daddy!” you finally manage to force out two coherent words.

He unbuttons your jeans and you hear a noise coming from the living room. You both ignore it while he ever so slowly starts to pull down your zipper. Until you hear another noise. Not a noise actually. A voice. Two voices.

Hopper’s hands fall from the zipper, landing on your sides, while his head sinks down in defeat. Your body tenses with worry that whoever it is might come into the room as there’s no door to keep them out.

The two young voices are arguing about something but your brain is far too preoccupied to be able to comprehend the subject of the argument. The only thing you can manage to infer in your current state is that it must be his daughter and one of her friends from school.

Hopper gets up from the bed, leaving your chest fully exposed, and you tug your shirt back down. He has you throbbing with need, and exactly like the last time, your hopes for satisfaction have been quickly dashed by an intrusive family member.

When he goes into the living room to mediate the situation, you sit up and see something on his nightstand that you were in too much of a rush to notice before. Magnum XL condoms, not one but three, the edges of the gold foil still attached to each other.

“For Pete's sake, what’s going on out here?” Hopper demands above the sound of their bickering.

“Mike was staring at Stacey Albright,” his daughter explains.

“No, I wasn’t!” the boy interjects.

“Who’s Stacey Albright?” Hopper asks.

“A girl at our school who stuffs her bra,” she answers.

“She does not stuff her bra,” the boy disputes.

“How do you know that if you weren’t staring?” she raises her voice.

“I was not staring!” the boy yells back.

“Both of you calm down, alright? Jesus.”

Hopper opens the curtain, walks in, and closes it behind him. “Listen, I’m sorry but I gotta-” he begins to apologize in a dejected tone.

“No, I understand,” you reply, cutting him off as you stand up from the bed before pulling on your sweater and shoes. “I should go.”

When you turn to walk out of the room, he grabs onto your upper arms. He doesn’t mean to startle you, it happens solely by accident because he’s so strong. “Look at me,” he suggests, trying to get you to make eye contact.

You gaze up into his gorgeous blue eyes and he starts to smile.

“I still want to see you again,” he says warmly.

“Me too,” you agree, reciprocating his smile.

The kids resume their argument and Hopper rolls his eyes. “Please call me,” he adds before letting go of you.

“I will,” you confirm.

You open the curtain and both of the kids’ mouths fall silent as they watch you emerge from the bedroom. They look to be about fourteen or fifteen-years-old. The girl has brown eyes, long brown hair, and the most perfect skin you’ve ever seen on a teenager. She forces an awkward smile to be polite. The boy is tall and pale, with sharp cheekbones and curly black hair like a rockstar from the ’70s. He glances back and forth between you and Hopper with a confused expression on his face.

“This is my daughter, Elle,” Hopper introduces.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” you say back, your voice sounding squeaky with nerves.

“And her boyfriend, Mike,” Hopper continues.

“Ex-boyfriend,” Elle corrects.

“What? That’s not fair!” Mike exclaims.

They start bickering once more and you shoot Hopper a sympathetic look as you grab your coat and purse then slip out the front door. It feels like the universe is conspiring against the two of you, trying to keep you from having sex with each other, like a cosmic cockblock. As you drive away from the cabin, you silently pray that the next time will provide the relief you’re yet again so desperate for.

Tagging: @t-u-m-s @girlwiththenegantattoo @ottosuricato @im-not-great-at-making-up-names @misshawkins1993 @emilyyblackkk @hopperlover @kingphillipblake @kate110199 @david-harbour-arg @manawhaat @helena-mrs-murder @zombiesnips-blog @chiefharbour @flamehairedwritings @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s @strawberry-fields-f0rever @mrs-geuse

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Image credit: HarbourSource on Instagram

#jim hopper fanfiction #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #Hopper x Reader #Hopper x You #WTW #female reader #I did it

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clarionglass · 4 years ago

Photo

so i’ve spent the last month falling headfirst into the magnus archives, and i’ve rapidly been coming to the conclusion that jonathan sims the archivist needs a hug and a rest, because he sure ain’t gonna get that in the series. hence i have applied my crochet “skills” to the creation of a tiny jon who can indeed get hugs when required! i worked on him while listening to tma, so hopefully some of the Jon Spirit (tm) has transferred into him....... i stand him in my room when i’m practising so it does kinda feel like he’s watching me, so maybe it worked? still, no nightmares, so i think tiny jon appreciates the hugs and the lack of apocalypse in his current situation

(yes i am going to make a crochet martin too, this is an absolute necessity. i’m just slightly less confident on his design so i’m being a bit reticent in starting him out....... if anyone has hard-and-fast This Is How Martin Should Look ideas then send em through)

there’s no exact pattern for “jon from tma” that i’ve been able to find, so this jon has been ganked out of some basics by allison hoffman (craftyiscool) on ravelry, and some common themes in fanart. credit where it’s due, i may have done the actual crocheting but boy he wouldn’t be nearly as good without all the work other people have done that i was able to draw on :)

more details on the making, and on each photo in the sequence, under the read more!

The Making of Tiny Jon

as above, tiny jon was ganked out of a few different amigurumi patterns by allison hoffman, with modifications by me as felt appropriate. the patterns i used are for worsted weight/10ply yarn, which is hard to get here, so the transition to using a few different brands of 8ply required a bit of messing about with. still, i think it was pretty successful! he stands upright without help, which is a first for me when using this kind of pattern.

i’m honestly not sure where in the tma timeline he comes from. he has the post s1 and s3 scars visible, and in my heart, even though he’s just yarn, he has all of jon’s knowledge up to date, but he;s slightly too put-together looking for current jon. practically, giving him a ponytail wouldn’t have worked with the mass of yarn, and although i would have liked to give him a bit of facial scruff, i can’t crochet or embroider that convincingly. if any experienced crocheters out there have some tips, i’m happy to learn! let’s just call him a s5 mind in an early s3 body and be done with it. it’s my crochet, i can do what i want :)

the saddest day came when it was time to embroider those lil scars on his arms and hand... they kinda show up in some of the photos (see Tiny Jon Selects A Statement), but even if they’re not massively noticeable, i had to include them

there is a small green eye embroidered on the inside of his sweater vest, to sit just over his heart. it’s secret and nobody will ever see it, but it’s there.

pic 1: Tiny Jon

nothing much to say about this one aye. but there he is!

pic 2: Tiny Jon Sits On The Bookshelf

he works in an archive, and we have some fancy leather-bound books. i had to combine the two! plus it’s a nod to that good ol oxford pretension

pic 3: Tiny Jon Harbours Destructive Thoughts Re A Pile Of Potential Leitners

these are all books i own, selected for potential leitner-ness based on either title or content. neverwhere and picnic at hanging rock were selected on content (both the spiral), but you should be able to tell which entity applies to all the others (altho valley of fear is generic). doomsday book, though, despite the title, is not an end leitner, but is in fact a corruption leitner. i read this years ago, and remembered that it’s about a historian from the future (the 2050s, actually) going back in time to research the black death, with predictable tragedy. i forgot, however, that the b plot deals with a new flu-like pandemic in the “current day”...... eerily relevant, and also definitely open to be leitner-ised. tiny jon thinks so too, hence the matches.

pic 4: Tiny Jon Selects A Statement

again, self-explanatory.

pic 5: Tiny Jon Reads A Statement

it took me for-fkn-ever to mock up that tiny statement on magnus institute notepaper. it’s a 4-and-a-half page genuine statement written by yours truly, not just some squiggled-on pages or a shopping list or something, and is a mildly fictionalised version of something that has actually happened to me. if you can somehow strain your eyes and read it (would not recommend, i don’t think it’s actually possible), names and places have most definitely been changed because of my paranoia

i realise there is no tape recorder in shot! for the purposes of “canon” let’s just say that there is one on his desk, just out of shot. in reality, i’ll probably get around to making one out of polymer clay someday, but for the moment i just could not be arsed, and i was too impatient to delay the cute shot :)

pics 6-9: Tiny Jon Makes A Cuppa

in the absence of martin, tiny jon has to make his own tea.

#tma #the magnus archives #magnus archives #jon sims #jonathan sims #the archivist #the eye #the beholding #rusty quill #rusty quill tma #crochet #look it'd be nice for this to get noticed in the tma tag so i'm tagging it with every single thing i can lol #i'm proud of my work okay #hey anil the rq community manager if you see this i'd be absolutely heckin stoked #clari speaks #and hell let's make a tag for this sorta thing bc if i'm gonna be doing a martin i'll be putting more photos up #so let's go #clari makes

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currywaifu · 4 years ago

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𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: that’s pretty knit 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: rurikawa yuki/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.9k words, 1 image

𝐚𝐧: yuki birthday month, yuki fic. ahaha i am very direct with my titles again. what’s new? because of the research i did, i’m probably gonna go order some knitting materials online now

Perhaps you spent too much time at the nearest arts and crafts store. For a dozen or so minutes you stood in one spot, unmoving unless someone needed to pass by you, your eyes flitting up and down, left and right as you debated over the different assortments of yarn.

You already had an inkling the different colours would overwhelm you— with so many different colours and different shades each, how could you possibly limit yourself to just one? You didn’t expect to be this troubled with choosing among different yarn weights, too. Why did the store give you 7 different choices? How were you supposed to know if choosing light yarn was better than choosing bulky yarn?

… you seriously should have done more research, but the prospect of finally having free time to visit the shop overshadowed any semblance of rationality you previously possessed.

Look at you now.

Alright, Plan A— scope out the area for the friendliest looking employee and muster up the courage to ask for help, plain and simple.

Except things don’t always go as planned.

When you hear your name come from a voice behind you, it was impossible not to figure out who it was that caught you. You’re just a little bit upset and a little bit tense because of all people to come across at this moment, it had to be Yuki? It’s not that you dislike him, rather it’s because the opposite is true that you found yourself more pressed than you should be.

It was like buying a surprise gift for someone and that exact someone seeing you buy that gift… actually, that was pretty much the situation— the only differing variable being that the gift hasn’t even been created yet.

Seriously, you just had to come across the very person you were planning on making something for?

“Yuki-kun! What are you doing here?”

He gave you a blank stare, as if waiting for you to realise how dumb your question was. Rurikawa Yuki? In a crafts store? Unless you wanted something specific, the answer should have been plenty obvious.

“Hah? I want to buy materials to make clothes, obviously,” he replied, tilting his head to gesture towards his shopping basket filled with various beads, lace, and… were those feathers? Was he just replenishing stock and were those all for one outfit? Curiosity was getting the better of you, mouth already poised to ask a follow-up question before he interrupted you.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you?”

To any deities out there, grant you a smidge of acting prowess, or at the very least the ability to make some half-truths and get away with it.

You awkwardly let out a laugh, your eyes leaving Yuki as they dragged themselves back towards the shelves.

“I’m supposed to make a scarf for someone,” an omission of information, but technically the truth, “but I don’t know which yarn to pick?”

For a few seconds Yuki stared at you with narrowed eyes, ultimately letting out a sigh as he placed his own items on the tiled floor, facing the same direction as you.

“Any colour you want?”

Taking the opportunity to resolve one of your main problems, you quickly told him that he could choose any colour he wanted. Haha, you were so slick getting Yuki to choose the material he’d like the most. If you somehow screwed up the knitting process, at least he’d like the colour, right?

“Didn’t you do any research?” Yuki asked, sifting through the pale pink yarns to look for the appropriate weight.

“Not really,” you admitted sheepishly, “I mean, I just saw the steps were easy enough and decided to give it a try.”

“I-di-ot~” he said in a sing-song voice, but despite the nickname you knew there was underlying affection there somewhere, “one skein of super-bulky yarn would be the easiest to work with, then you probably need a crochet hook and 9 mm knitting needles too…”

You follow the green-haired boy as he moves to a different aisle, picking up the supplies you inevitably would have had trouble choosing between.

“Really, you could have just asked me, if you’re so clueless. I’d help you out.”

“No way!” you suddenly exclaimed, earning yourself front row tickets to Yuki’s look of confusion, “I can do it myself!”

You hoped your sudden outburst didn’t come off as rude, but he seemed to just push the matter away nonchalantly.

“Suddenly getting so loud, what’s with you…” he muttered, dropping the things he picked up for you atop your waiting hands, “but that’s fine. The scarf won’t be as cute as if I helped you, but maybe it’ll turn out decent at least.”

You clutched the materials to your chest, already anticipating being able to prove Yuki wrong. How would he react the moment he knew the person you were knitting something for was him?

“I’ll show it to you when I’m done!” you promised, “I need your seal of approval, after all!”

He’d probably point out any issues regardless, so you just had to make sure you did your absolute best!

Knitting took a lot more effort than you anticipated. First of all, you had to do something called a cast on around the needle? Apparently the wrap cast on was great for beginners, but you weren’t gonna lie— it did take you one whole article from some “The Queen of Yarn” blogspot and one 5 minute YouTube tutorial just to make sure you were on the right track.

One. Slip knot: loop the yarn around your fingers clockwise, the yarn attached to the ball going under the loop, slid off your fingers and slipped onto the needle.

It wasn’t that the steps were particularly difficult. Rather, it was constantly making sure you weren’t accidentally skipping any steps or areas due to not paying too much attention.

Two. Open the loop to make a stitch: hold the empty needle with your dominant hand, and the needle with the slip knot in the other. Slip the empty needle into the first loop— from front to back.

Still, it was difficult to stop your thoughts from wandering— perhaps you should have chosen to listen to some kind of tea spill or podcast or comedy routine or anything with words instead of the LoFi ChillHop live stream playing from your phone. You were going to give Yuki a scarf— then what?

Three. Wrap the yarn: go counter-clockwise, the working yarn sliding between both of the needles.

You had a crush on Yuki, plain and simple, but it’d be embarrassing to just admit it! The amount of courage you had still needed replenishing, what with the amount you used up to just go up to him and try befriending him a couple of months back. What if you confessed, and he decided not only was your scarf ugly, he wouldn’t be friends with you anymore as well?

Four. Turn the stitch: slide the dominant-hand needle from the back to the front of the other needle.

But would it be enough to just pass off the garment as a, “thank you for being my friend” gift? Especially when there was no real occasion, and the hours you put in into making him something— would he question it?

Five. Finish the stitch: slide the dominant-hand needle up so that the first loop on the other needle slides off. Move on to the next loop, do the same thing, repeating until you are out of stitches.

Well, even with all of Yuki’s bluntness, he was still kind so he’d probably still be your friend! It’d still really hurt if he rejected you though, so maybe you should put off implying anything more than platonic between you two for… a while. Maybe it was too soon?

Looking at the progress you made, you were unable to hold in a groan of defeat. The pale pink yarn against the bamboo needle looked pretty and neat; there was an issue though.

One row. You were only able to do one row so far.

Your phone clock said it was still pretty early into the afternoon. Well, a few more hours wouldn’t hurt anything except your hands, right?

A hand therapy site told you that pain brought by needlework was probably due to repetition of motion, bad posture, and or general fatigue. Not gonna lie, you probably fit into all three— the last one maybe more so than others.

How long one took to knit varied— some dedicating days, while others were able to crank out 5 scarves a day. A part of you was proud to be able to procure something presentable and wearable in one sitting.

…

You’re just choosing to omit the fact that that one sitting lasted until 3 am, but what Yuki doesn’t know? Won’t hurt him.

Thanking your singular brain cell right now that you decided to do this project over the weekend instead of during a school day— you’re unsure if you’d even be able to survive at all if you actually had to do maths and stuff the day after.

Deciding to just go with the flow, you found yourself folding the scarf as neatly as you could, gingerly placing it inside a paper bag. After all, you agreed to “have him judge” your creation today.

In all honesty, you thought you had built up the confidence to confess your crush to Yuki. If he reciprocated, good for you! If he didn’t, well, either you take it cooly or go ‘I said I liked you as a friend thing, silly!”

Standing in front of him though, his orange eyes scrutinising the pale pink scarf, made you lose your words, hesitation standing in its stead.

“Garter stitch…”

“What do you think, Yuki-kun?” you asked, peering at the green haired boy curiously as you impatiently awaited his verdict.

“I’m honestly surprised you made something nice,”

“Hey—“

“But for beginner, it’s pretty good,” he complimented, “actually, I can see myself wearing it when it gets colder—“

Even with such simple words, you felt your heart swell in happiness. Not only did he say he liked it, but he even went as far as to say he’d wear it? There were so many ways to get your gratitude across, to tell Yuki your true intentions in ‘asking for his approval’. With all of your options, you went with

“If you like it, it’s yours!”

“Hey, you…”

He looked like he didn’t know how to respond. Actually, you can relate to that because even you’re befuddled by your wording. Didn’t it make it seem like you gifted it to him as an afterthought?

“I mean, well that’s not what I meant,” you hurriedly followed up, “I wanted to give it to you from the start? I didn’t know if it’d be nice though so if you said it was ugly I would’ve hidden it from the world? You said you would wear it though so—“

“This won’t do…” Yuki replied, interrupting your impending rambling. Before you could ask him what he meant, he pulls your hand to lead you inside the dormitories.

Unbeknownst to you, pink the same shade of your... his scarf painted his cheeks. If only the weather was fit for the garment you gave, he’d be able to blame the sudden colour on the cold.

“Come on, I need to get your measurements.”

It was difficult to keep the silly grin off of your face afterwards.

want to order again?

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#yuki rurikawa #a3! yuki #a3! imagines #cafe: dessert menu #rurikawa yuki #a3! x reader #yuki rurikawa x reader

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sushiandstarlight · 4 years ago

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“Scarf”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Today’s Prompt

Read this story on AO3

Personal note: today I bring you tooth-rotting Christmas fluff. Also, I do not knit or crochet, though I have poked at both hobbies. Mostly, I take what little I know from the knitters and crocheters in my life.

“I've joined a knitting circle in town.” He had said it without preamble over dinner at their favorite restaurant.

“Knitting?” Crowley tried to recall what knitting looked like, “Something to do with string and big needles, right?

“Well, crochet actually. Right now, anyway. Apparently they go back and forth for new people. Crochet, they said, was easier to learn.”

“Crochet.” That, he assumed, also dealt with string and needles.

“Yes. I thought- I thought, you have your garden to muck about in... I should have something, too. Aside- aside from my books, of course. But, having no shop or customers-” the way Aziraphale said the word customers: it dripped, ever so, with disgust, “I wanted to find something to do with my hands, you see?”

“Sure, Angel. You crochet now, it's cool.”

And nothing more had been said about it that night. Or any of the following. On Thursday evenings Aziraphale would kiss his cheek and disappear for a few hours.

The house started filling, little by little, with bits of yarn. Squares at first, some parts of them loose or tangled, other parts stiff and tight. Tension, he said, he was learning tension. Crowley thought he knew plenty enough about tension, but didn't mention it.

He would come in from the garden once it was too dark to work (not that he couldn't see, but it was the human thing to do and they were living among humans) and find the angel in the living room, in his chair, lap full of yarn- the string was called yarn, he had learned- and tiny hooked needles. There was muttered counting and some amount of grumbled curses over “dropped stitches.”

Eventually they had a big pile of what he called pot holders in the kitchen. They were squares of all sorts of colors, Crowley supposed to go with the seasons. Or maybe Aziraphale got tired of one color and went to the next, hard to be sure. They were more uniform than what he had done before, perhaps he had learned about this “tension” he muttered about for weeks.

And then he became secretive. New projects stopped showing up around the cottage. Crowley would come in for the night and have the feeling that Aziraphale had hidden something swiftly right before he returned. Something about the near-manic way he would be staring at the book sprawled out on his thighs.

Their first Christmas after the events of almost-megeddon was fast approaching. He might not have guessed except the pot holders in the kitchen were red and green now, as opposed to fall colors. He wondered if he should get Aziraphale something for Christmas. He probably should.

“Don't come in here, Crowley, I'm on Christmas business!” Crowley stared at their bedroom door, now barred from entering it. He supposed that answered that.

“I'll be back, Angel, I'm headed to town.”

“Kisses!”

Crowley stared at the door for a further minute before shaking his head and heading out to the car. He returned some hours later with large bags from all the local craft stores. Who could have guessed there were so many kinds of yarn? What on earth were they all for? He had spent some time before he left, going around and touching all of the crochet projects he could find around the house, trying to guess the material. Or at least know it when he found it again at the store. But, that was an impossible method, he had found. Dumbfoundedly, he had stood in the yarn aisles- AISLES, plural- touching them one at a time.

“Whatever project you're getting them for, you should get the colors in one dye lot,” The overly-friendly employee of one store had said, “so they'll match.” Whatever that meant.

It wasn't so much that he bought out the stores, at that point. That would have taken a miracle to get home and would definitely have been noticed by his angel. But, he did settle on buying the softest of yarns. The ones that drifted through his fingers rather than dragging. Aziraphale enjoyed, nay deserved, soft things. He was soft and he had not had enough softness in his centuries.

“Oooh, what have you got there, my dear?” Crowley startled, clutching his packages to his chest, suddenly grateful that the stores had elected to give him unmarked bags. He was pretty sure they were all giggling about him, even now. Their smiles as they helped him and rung him up had been... conspiratorial. 'Happy Christmas, Mr. Crowley,' they'd smiled, 'I hope he likes them!' He wondered if they worked on commission.

“Nothing!” his voice hadn't squeaked, it really hadn't, “Christmas business, as you say. Nothing here to see.” He swept upstairs and hid the bags under the bed.

Christmas morning had dawned colder than expected, crisp even. He was happy enough to give the angel the gifts he had picked out, but he was even happier to stay right here, tucked snug and warm under the covers with him. But, fingers tickled along the tattoo on his face.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled, not opening his eyes.

“You said that five minutes ago,” Aziraphale was smiling at him, he could hear it in his voice. Yeah, it was possible he had asked before, and it was possible he would ask again. He grumbled some more and slid further under the covers, wrapping his arms around the angel's waist.

Time passed, how much he couldn't say because he drifted. He felt fingers comb through his hair.

“Five more minutes,” his voice was muffled by the angel's bed clothes pressed against his face.

“Really, Crowley!” Aziraphale chuckled softly, Crowley enjoyed the bounce of his chest, squeezing him and nuzzling closer- the sound and feel of Aziraphale's happiness made him giddy. It also had the side effect of waking him up completely, at last.

“Happy Christmas, Angel,” he rolled on to his back and stretched, feeling the blankets fall down around his middle. It wasn't nearly as cold as he remembered it being... how ever many minutes ago, how ever many minutes he managed to bargain for.

“Happy Christmas, Crowley, you beautiful creature,” Aziraphale was draped over him and kissing him softly, a bit teasingly, his smile pressed to Crowley's lips. It was like drinking happiness, Crowley decided, this was like drinking Aziraphale's very joy. It made the already giddy part of him crow inside.

“Maybe,” Crowley snaked his arms back around Aziraphale's middle and tugged him down onto his chest, “maybe five more minutes.” He was smirking, himself, as he muttered against his soft lips. They pulled down into a frown. When he pulled back he saw it was mostly for show.

“I suppose you don't want your gift, then.”

“Got all I want, right here,” he squeezed him.

“Soppiness is not going to get you any more five minute reprieves.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“Hmm.” And then Aziraphale did his worst: get left the bed and took all his warm softness with him. Crowley groaned and pouted dramatically.

“Bastard.”

He heard chuckling fading as the angel padded down the stairs. He sat for a few moments more, hoping he would return, but then gave it up. He threw back the covers- extra messy so Aziraphale would make a fuss later- and stepped into his slippers. Slippers. He had slippers now. Who'd have thought? Grabbing his robe, he donned it and went downstairs.

The night before he had waiting for Aziraphale to fall asleep and then he had snuck down with his packages and piled them under the tree. Every skein was wrapped individually in shiny, red wrapping paper, tied with white ribbon. There were... a lot of little red packages. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, Aziraphale was in the sitting room, staring at them.

“Looks like St. Nick really delivered this year,” Crowley walked up behind him, hugging him and resting his chin on his shoulder to peer at the piles of packages, “You must've been a good boy.”

“Oh, Crowley, it's too much, isn't it?”

“Nah, could be half of them are fake. You won't know until you open them,” he was getting distracted by the line of Aziraphale's jaw and nuzzled his nose against it. Aziraphale's arms came up and rested over his, squeezing his hands.

“You're planning to spoil me, aren't you?”

“What? I got you nothing. This is all Santa's work. I might have to have a chat with him, he thinks he might win you from me with presents.”

“Pssh, really.”

“You should be spoiled,” he placed a soft, gently sucking kiss where his jaw met his neck and delighted at the shiver he felt, pressed as close as he was, in response, “I won't have it any other way. Sorry, you're gonna have to suffer it.”

“I suppose I'll survive it, somehow,” there was a beat of silence, “but I did not get you this many things.”

“It's not a competition. No tally's here. I'm sure I'll like whatever you give me, Angel. Just enjoy your presents, alright?” He let him go and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Something strong and earthy for him, something light and slightly floral for Aziraphale. When he returned with tea, there were three more packages under the tree: these wrapped in silvery tissue paper with black ribbon.

“Oh, did St. Nick make another stop by? Find something at the bottom of the bad did he? Bad form, should be more organized. He would be hell to live with, you know?” Crowley sat their tea on the coffee table and then sprawled on the sofa.

“I can feel the mussed bedsheets from here, you fiend. You're hell to live with.” The statement held absolutely no fire.

“Just so,” Crowley propped his slippered feet on the coffee table, to be a further annoyance, “Go on and open them.”

“All of them?”

“Sure, why not?”

“We could take turns?”

“Oh, go on, I want to watch you.”

Aziraphale dithered another moment before sitting on the ottoman beside the tree. He picked up the first one, pulling off the ribbon and finding the tape to pull it off gently. Crowley watched in growing madness as he carefully removed the paper, folding it and setting it aside.

“It's yarn!” and then his fingers dug into the skein, “Oh, it's angora yarn!”

“Best for you, Angel,” Crowley took a sip of his tea.

“Tell me they aren't all angora.” Aziraphale was staring, wide-eyed at the packages.

“Well, not all of them. There's some different wool blends. Some of it's alpaca? I think. And a few are made from bamboo. Amazing, humans, eh? I never would have looked at a bamboo plant and thought yarn. But, oh Angel, it's so soft. You had to have it.” Crowley watched him over the rim of his mug as he opened them all one by one, cooing over the softness and the variety of colors. And stopping to fold every. Single. Piece. Of. Paper. He couldn't decide if it was endearing or crazy. When he had them all unwrapped he stacked them gently under the tree. Then he grabbed the silver packages and strode over to the sofa. He sat them down next to Crowley and picked up his own mug, pausing to allow Crowley to snap it warm.

“Perfect,” he smiled over the rim, tucking his feet up under him and angling himself towards the demon, “your turn, love.”

Crowley put his mug down and picked up the first package. It crinkled under his fingers. Something soft. He looked over at the neat pile of wrapping paper Aziraphale had left behind and then back over at the angel himself. Then in a flurry of movements, he had the paper flying everywhere.

“You're such a child!” But Aziraphale was laughing, batting at the paper that drifted his way.

“Oh, but it's...” he picked up the pile of yarn and let it unspool over his knees, “Angel this is beautiful!” He lifted it, almost against his will, and rubbed it against his cheek. The scarf, black on one side and red on the other was buttery smooth against his skin. He wrapped it around his neck a couple times and then let the rest hang over his chest. Only now could he see that the ends were tasseled in the same colors, alternating. At the ends, just above the tassels were designs. On one side they matched his tattoo. On the other was a pair of wings. It would depend on if he was showing the red or black side, which one would show. He stared at the designs, a lump forming in his throat.

“You really like it? I mean, I'm still learning, but I thought it was okay.”

“Okay,” the word came out strangled and a moment later he was climbing over the sofa cushions and into Aziraphale's lap, “I love it, really.” And he leaned in and kissed him soundly, slipping his fingers into the hair at his name. Aziraphale kissed him back, holding him close for a moment. Then he pushed against him, smiling against his lips again.

“There are two more, you know? Do I get a kiss like that for every one of them? I might have tried to make you some more,” his eyes were twinkling with mirth and happiness and it made something in Crowley's chest ache with joy. He wondered if a demon could be discorporated from feeling this good. Surely, they weren't built to contain it.

“I could have the kisses now and the presents later,” Crowley peered at him through his lashes, nuzzling his chin into the scarf around his neck.

“Oh, do open them.”

“You don't want my kisses,” he pulled his face into a pout.

“Now, you know that's not true!” He was starting to look honestly worked up.

“Alright, let's see what's in package number two,” he pulled the ribbon off and put it atop the angel's curly hair and then he destroyed the paper in the same fashion as before so it fell like confetti over both of them. It was matching gloves in the same black yarn with his sigil in red on the backs. He reached for the final package, shredding it mercilessly, and found a black beanie with his sigil on the front. It was a whole set, just for him. He reached up and pulled the hat down on the angel's head, sitting back and smirking at him, “oh, I like that look, I do.”

“The mark of the beast, for sure.”

“I do say,” he tugged it down until it covered his eyebrows and nodded, his work complete.

“But you like them?” The angel's voice was small, quiet.

“I love them. I love that you made them for me. They're perfect. I'll wear them until they fall apart and when I do,” he rubbed his cheek against the silky yarn, “I'll think of you, even when I'm away.”

Aziraphale wiggled happily, grasping the ends of the scarf in either hand. Crowley cocked his head to the side in question.

“I'll have those kisses now!” and with a tug, he pulled Crowley to him by the scarf and took them.

Previous Prompt Ficlets:

Family / Hearth / Frosty / Ribbons / Wrapping / Cardinal / Coal / Unwrap / Blustery

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #30 days of prompts #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #also in case i haven't made it clear:#you are more than welcome to reblog these ficlets!

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choco-glow · 4 years ago

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Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 2

They’d agreed to meet up at four in the afternoon after a quick run back to their respective apartments to shower and change out of their patrol gear, and Steph bit her lip as she tugged the towel a little tighter around her chest, wondering just what would be best to wear out. She’d asked Jason for an idea of what might be best, thinking he’d probably want to go clubbing (their usual whenever Dick and Kate were in town) or go to barhopping (Roy and/or Artemis), but he’d paused, giving her question serious thought as he stopped the motorcycle outside her apartment building.

“Honestly? Wear something comfortable to walk around in, if you’re up for it? I…wanted to do something a little different. Kinda celebrate the weather, y’know?” And she did know…He’d been blushing at that, sweet and shy and a little more school boy, a little less sexy asshole, and she’d hopped off and given him a kiss on the cheek, beaming at the butterflies in her tummy. “Oh…”

“Alrighty, that sounds good. Make sure you’re the same?” She almost asked, but Steph decided to add a little more weight to that one; ninety percent of the time, Jason would pull off his armor and change tee shirts, but otherwise, it was always the black/gray camo pants, the tan jacket, and a black shirt. Every. Single. Time. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hot as fuck, but I know damn good and well the man has more in his closet than just that. Jason had been a mob boss himself for a time, and she still lusted over the thought that some day, she might see him in the black and red suits…But for today?

Today was casual cute, for both of them.

“Deal, only fair. I’ll be back at four, okay?”

“Sounds good; are we going on your bike?”

“Actually, I had a different plan for transportation, if that’s okay?” She nodded, actually a bit relieved, and he beamed, then leaned in and kissed her, full on the lips…and oh, that made those butterflies burst into life all over again. She’d floated up to her apartment in a daze, and after a quick pause to do her dishes (just in case, y’know, she might have company later) and a shower, she’d put up her hair in a curly soft messy pony, bangs fluffed out and cute, then followed that up with some classic make up. A touch of mascara, a wickedly sharp wing on each eye’s liner, a brush of purple eyeshadow, then rosy red (because why not make sure he knew she was interested too?), then a soft pale pink to brighten just under her eyebrows.

Rose red lipstick completed the look, and she grinned a little, feeling vintage and sexy and cute, then strolled out, still in her towel, to peruse her clothes. After a long conference with herself, she was left with three possibilities. All were cute; all were comfy, and only one required a heel higher than an inch to look fabulous in. That one, the bodycon dress in deep amaranthine, she put away after a long look; it was super cute, but definitely more club than ‘about town’. She also decided against the denim short-shorts and purple crop top; not quite the look she was going for, to be honest, and as pretty as the shimmery crop top was, it might actually be too cool for today.

That left her with the dress she’d bought a month ago, and she smiled as she undid the buttons on the front of the bodice, pulling out a matching set of lingerie in dark red to put on first. She’d found it in a shop just outside the Narrows, and lusted over it for weeks before working up the courage to go in. Thankfully, the woman who ran the shop was from a similar background, and rather than most boutiques, who looked at Steph’s eclectic style and judged, this lady had helped her pick out the right size dress, a cute pair of kitten-heels to go with it, and even a shawl to match. Purple linen, with black polka dots, soft and cool against her hand, made up a lovely day-dress with a sweetheart neckline, fluttery cap sleeves, and a lovely, knee-length, full skirt. With pockets.

And it was easy to step into, sliding up her hips with a whisper of linen on her skin, buttoning with no gaping (which, from experience, Steph could tell anyone was a fuckin’ miracle.) Steph stepped into the matching heels, and gathered up a cute flowered handbag she’d picked up at the thrift store that rather accented her new dress, matched some studs to the color of the dress, and pulled the wide-brimmed sunhat out of her closet, giggling as she spun in her mirror, feeling cute and happy and just…girlish in a way that she’d never felt. Even when she was a little girl…

Thankfully, a knock sounded at the door, rapping in the familiar Bat-pattern they’d all been taught, knocking her melancholy out of orbit and Steph glanced at her phone. 3:58…I love a man who’s never late. She happily danced her way to the door, and when she opened it…Stephanie Brown froze, jaw dropping.

Because standing at her door, holding a bouquet of purple roses (and where the fuck did he find PURPLE roses, of all things?!) was Jason Peter Todd, looking as starstruck as she felt, dressed down in a pair of soft gray jeans that hugged his glorious thighs and ass, a pair of slightly battered red Converse, and a red cotton button down over a soft black tank top, buttoned up almost all the way, but left free on the last two buttons, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his shirt tucked in, wonder of wonders…She felt herself start to drool a little, and snapped out of it with difficulty, because UNF.

“Oh…Jase…are those for me?” He suddenly snapped back to himself too, looking absolutely adorable as he blushed and nodded.

“Oh, uh, yeah…Thought you might like these, given that your favorite color is pretty much a dead giveaway.” He grinned as she laughed, the ice between them melting once more into easy friendship, and she took the flowers, beckoning him inside as she pulled a vase out of her cupboard. She smiled to see him looking around with interest at her books, her game systems, even her tentative bits of crochet with the soft yarns she’d bought months ago, and still hadn’t quite finished.

“…See something you like?” He blushed, glancing up from reading the back of one of her fantasy books, and grinned sheepishly as she finished putting the last of her roses in their new home. They smelled so so good, and already were opening up, and she hugged her arms to herself shyly as she walked back to him. Jason shelved the book with infinite care, and his eyes seemed to warm even more, his smile creasing his eyes in all the ways she’d always loved in her fantasy guys.

“I do indeed…you look…God, you look absolutely amazing in that dress, you know that? It’s so fuckin’ cute.”

“You look amazing in that shirt and those jeans…I mean it!” He turned away, blushing at that, looking shy now, and she caught his hands in hers, blue eyes trained on his. “Seriously. It’s a good look.”

“…Thank you.” He murmured, smile returning to his lips, and she took a risk, rising up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. He kissed her back, just as soft and sweet, and Steph didn’t know if she wanted to go out after all; this was…this was really nice. Jason pulled back, though, and she sighed a little, making him chuckle as he wrapped an arm gently around her waist. “Believe me, babe, I hate to stop kissing you, but I did make us some nice plans for dinner, if you’re still up for it?”

“Oh? What might dinner be?” He grinned at that, so much more in his own comfort zone now, and nodded his head to the west, where the sun was starting to lower in the sky, just a little.

“Care to let me surprise you?” Steph smiled, and put her arm around his waist in return, scooping her handbag up again.

“I suppose I can, this one time…” She rolled her eyes and he laughed, letting her lock and close the door before guiding her to the stairs, and walking down them in time with her, which, given his longer legs, was definitely something she appreciated.

“I promise, you won’t be disappointed.” As they walked out of the building, Steph was surprised to see a nice, large red truck waiting for them, and Jason’s hand up into the cab was just as nice as the interior, though it wasn’t leather, thankfully, but comfy heavy cotton seats. Dark grey with white accents, made it look a little more typical while still appealing to his color scheme, and Steph wasn’t surprised to spot a very, very well hidden (but not if you’re a Bat) gun compartment just under the dash. He gave her a worried look when he realized where her eyes were looking, but she met Jason’s worry with a smile, and kissed his cheek.

“You know me, Jase; I’m not gonna lecture you.” Jason’s tension melted away at that, and he chuckled, turning on the truck and backing neatly out of the space.

“I should, by now; but I still…panic, I guess? Too many years of being lambasted by B.”

“Don’t I know it…but…eh, we both grew up here. We both know what really stops criminals.” She murmured, and he breathed an ‘Amen’ at that, his right hand gently squeezing her left hand as he drove them towards the livelier market side of the bay.

“Still, I appreciate your…I guess, kindness? Tact?” Steph just smiled, twining her fingers with his, and grinning a little when his big thumb began to rub circles in the side of her hand.

“Let’s go with understanding.” She replied softly, and he gave her a flash of a smile and a squeeze.

“Deal.”

#JaySteph #gothambysunlight #solarpunkgotham #friendstolovers #datenight #first date #fallinginlove #jason todd #stephanie brown

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simp-for-spencer-reid · 4 years ago

Text

Sugar with a Side of Coffee: Ch. 6

Chapter 6: I’d Like Her to Stick Around *Edited to add a paragraph and some clarification :)

“Where did you sneak off to yesterday?” Derek was already on his case and he had only taken two steps off the elevator. Spencer had ended up walking home after leaving Cate’s door because there were no more buses running enroute to his house. He had gotten home later than anticipated, and stayed up thinking about his time spent with Cate. He must have stared at her goodnight text for an hour.

“I went for coffee.” Spencer replied, trying to hide his smile. He thought back to their chess game, if you could even call it that. It was more like Spencer sacrificed all his pawns to Cate until he finally captured her king. He could appreciate that she at least knew the rules of the pieces, saving him the time to explain it.

“Mhmm, I’m sure that’s all. Did you at least kiss her?” Derek had deduced that Spencer hung out with Cate, and it definitely had nothing to do with him in Penelope’s batcave, tracing his phone to get his location after seeing him leave early.

“No, we’re just friends.” Spencer tried to keep the blush from creeping to his ears as he thought of kissing Cate.

“Well, if you need any pointers-” Derek was cut off by Hotch calling them into the round table. His face looked as though this would be a rough one. Spencer just knew this would be an overnight case. For how many days, he wasn’t sure, but it was the first overnight case in a dry spell of about two weeks.

On the plane, he played chess against himself. In his memory, he could envision every move Cate played during their game. He could even pinpoint the space that the pawn occupied when their fingers grazed against each other for the first time. It was as much of a spark as in any cliche book he’d ever read.

“Reid,” Hotch pulled him from his thoughts. “What are your thoughts about the victimology?” Reid had to glance over the file to answer the question. Cate was consuming his thoughts.

Cate must have played Spencer’s goodnight voice message about ten times. His soft voice was something she could get used to. Twice their hands brushed last night and Cate wanted to know what it would feel like to have his hand hold hers. She ran her hands over her face, trying to prompt herself out of bed. She had a short shift at The Empty Mug today.

As soon as she stepped through the door, she was met with Marta’s parents, practically jumping up and down. Marta was already behind the counter, rolling her eyes at her excited parents.

“We have a special request for you!” Miranda bubbled. “We need you to bring this set of coffee beans and our creamer to the Government building across the city. The actual government wants our coffee!” Miranda shook her husband's arm. “Can you believe it?”

“Wow! Yeah, of course I can run this over for you.” Cate was shocked. She didn’t bother to put her things down; she assumed she would need her identification to bring the bags of beans and their creamer to the building. Miranda put everything in a big brown paper bag, to make it easier to carry.

Cate had to show identification to get access to the lobby. She felt underdressed, seeing everyone in suits. Glancing around the busy lobby, she wondered if she would see Spencer. As she was taking in the huge lobby, the bustling blonde from her first day on the cart appeared next to her, sporting some green framed glasses that matched her cardigan and her shoes.

“Hi! Are you here with coffee?” Penelope had to pretend she didn’t know everything about Cate already. It was hard to refrain from running a background check on the girl who Spencer was so smitten over, but when Derek convinced her to track his phone, Penelope just had to know more about her.

“I am, here is the beans and the creamer, I’m assuming I’m not allowed up into the offices.” Penelope nodded.

“Yeah, that’s all top secret. You know, real confidential government stuff.” Penelope nodded while she spoke, feigning a serious face. After some pleasantries, Cate exited the building and went back to the shop. Penelope hoped that sometime soon she could give a tour to Spencer’s girl space friend. Not girlfriend. Yet.

Cate’s short shift allowed her to be home early and do some chores around the apartment. She got her laundry into a basket, and carried it down to the basement to catch up on a few loads. As her clothes spun in the washer, she pulled her phone from her back pocket. A new voice message from Spencer lit up her lock screen.

“Hi Cate, it’s Spencer. I just wanted to check in and see how your day was going? I’m out on a case for a few days. Hopefully we can hang out again when I get back. Um, bye.”

A smile spread on Cate’s face as she held her phone to her ear, playing his message a few times before speaking into her phone, leaving Spencer a message of her own.

“Hi Spencer, you don’t need to introduce yourself every time. I can see your name as a contact.” She laughed mid message. “Right now, I’m doing laundry, nothing too exciting. Let me know when you get back!” Cate sent her message and imagined it flying over the states into Spencer’s phone. She felt selfish and hoped they solved the case soon so Spencer could come home and she could see him again.

The team was getting closer to solving the case and getting the unsub every hour that ticked by. Spencer felt his phone go off in his pocket, and was waiting for some downtime so he could see for sure if it was Cate. It was getting dark and the team had just gotten to the bottom of the unsub’s routine. They’d be able to catch him tomorrow morning, surround him at a warehouse he frequented in the early morning hours.

After the case was closed, Spencer was finally able to sneak away from the team to listen to Cate’s message in private. The way she said his name made his stomach do flips. He sent a short text to her, letting her know he was heading home now and would be home by the afternoon.

On the jet, he was exhausted and sank into the seat across from JJ, folding his arms over his chest. His eyes were shut, but he could feel her watching him. He peeked one eye open and saw her smiling at him.

“What?” he asked, sitting up, realizing he wasn’t going to get much sleep.

“Nothing, just wondering when we’re gonna get properly introduced to your friend on the other side of your phone. It’s the girl from the bar and the coffee cart right?” Spencer smiled back at JJ.

“Soon, hopefully.” Spencer thought of the brunette that was taking up all his thoughts. “I’d like her to stick around.” He admitted to JJ.

When Cate got word that Spencer would be home at the same time she’d be done with her shift, she was excited to see him again. She had gone home, brushed her teeth and changed out of her uniform for leggings and her old college’s crewneck. Cate opted to bring a small backpack instead of her small purse. She put some travel essentials inside just in case.

She took the bus to Spencer’s apartment, thinking about what the inside would look like. When he sent her his address, she didn’t realize how close he lived to her. She slowly walked up the stairs to his floor and looked for his apartment number. Upon finding it, she knocked on his door. She was surprised how quickly Spencer opened the door.

“Hi,” Spencer stepped aside and let her in. “Come on in.” Cate looked around his apartment, it was different than she imagined, but she was right about the books everywhere. She turned back around to Spencer, looking at him in his glasses and sweatshirt. It was odd not seeing him in a button up and cardigan, but it was a sight Cate could get used to seeing. “You can just put your things on the counter.” he said as he escorted her to his kitchen.

“Nice place.” Cate told him. “It’s very… you.” She had thought of a word to describe it, but settled on how perfectly it suited Spencer.

“I didn’t plan anything to do,” Spencer admitted. Cate checked her phone for the time.

“What do you have for movies?” Cate asked.

“They’re mainly in foreign languages..” Spencer trailed off.

“That’s okay, do you mind putting captions on so I can read it?” Cate asked, finding a middle ground.

“Deal, I can also translate.”

The pair sat on Spencer’s old style couch. It was clearly made for looks rather than comfort. Cate had one of Spencer’s crocheted blankets draped over her legs, which were tucked up to her chest. Spencer was more relaxed, one arm over the back of the couch, legs crossed out in front of him, head resting back. He was glad to finally relax after a hard case. Cate could have sworn she saw his eyes shut a few times.

The movie, which Cate assumed was in Russian, was about the theory behind the missing Romanov daughter, Anastasia. Cate only pieced some things together, thanks to have seen the cartoon kids movie of the same name.

It wasn’t until she heard gentle snores coming from Spencer that she realized he had fallen asleep. She was so wrapped up in the plot of the movie, she hadn’t even noticed how she had tucked her toes under one of Spencer’s thighs for warmth. She had rested her head on the back of the couch, her temple coming into contact with Spencer’s hand. She had pulled away, not wanting to wake him. It could’ve been her imagination, but she could have sworn that his hand followed her head, missing the contact.

Cate was growing tired as well, but didn’t want to miss the last bus to her apartment. She uncurled herself from Spencer’s couch, and laid the blanket over him. She found a pad of sticky notes on his coffee table, and grabbed a pen to write a small note to let him know she left. Before leaving, she took one more look at Spencer, completely at ease on his couch, a peaceful expression upon his face. She reached for his glasses, and put them on the coffee table next to her note. She too, knew how falling asleep could ruin a good pair of glasses. She had a pair that never sat the same way on her face ever again after sleeping in them by accident.

On her way home, Cate called Marta to keep on the phone with her, to make sure she got home safe. Marta demanded to know the details of the afternoon spent with the agent. Cate left out the part of him falling asleep, she didn’t want to embarrass him. Once home, Cate gave Shrimp a few treats and left Spencer a voice message

“Hey, just wanted to let you know I’m home safe. The movie was great, I had fun. Sleep well, Spencer”

Cate finished her message and decided to go to bed herself. As she laid in bed, she thought of the day’s details and her time spent with Spencer. She could feel herself growing more and more attracted to him, which was exciting and also scared Cate at the same time.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #penelope garcia #derek morgan #sugar with a side of coffee fanfic #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #aaron hotchner

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years ago

Text

Stark Spangled Forever: I Don’t Like Bullies

Intro: Emmy encounters someone from her past, and is left shaken after they threaten her. Steve and Bucky decided to pay them a little visit…

Warnings: Some violence, a slightly dark Steve and Bucky…some bad language. SMUT (NSFW, No UNDER 18s!!!)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Had this one in my head for a while, finally got round to penning it down. Hope you enjoy.

SSF Masterlist // WIYPT Masterlist

August 2024

“Again!” Jamie giggled, splashing his way over to Steve who laughed and waited for Jamie to reach him.

“He’s fine ain’t you son?” Steve asked as Jamie doggie paddled over to him, grinning.

“It’s like flying Momma!”

“You’re getting strong pal.” he said, turning his head over his shoulder so he could look at Jamie. Jamie grinned.

“How’s my little water baby doing?” Steve asked as he carried Jamie on his back to where his wife and daughter were, Jamie scrabbling out of the pool and heading to the lounger for a drink.

“She’s fine.” Katie smiled, as Steve turned his attention to Aurora, a huge grin on his face as she looked at him and beamed, waving her legs and arms as fast as she could.

“Look at you princess!” he said as Katie pulled her back towards them. He dropped down so his shoulders were under the water and Rori was at eye level. “Think she’s enjoying it.”

Steve glanced at his watch “Almost 4.”

“I should really think about starting dinner.”

“Leave it….” he said, turning to her, pressing his lips to hers. “Come on, when was the last time we got an afternoon like this?��

She smiled, “Feels like a while that’s for sure…”

“You feeling amorous Soldier?” Katie grinned, tipping her head round to face him.

Jamie had launched himself back into the pool, followed by Lucky who had clearly decided he too needed to get in the action.

“Emmy?” Steve asked, quickly dropping down in front of her. “Hey…look at me…”

She looked up and he gently reached out, his hand smoothing back her hair “Use your numbers ok, like we used too, remember?”

“You ok?” Katie asked gently, looking at Emmy. She nodded.

“Sorry…”

“You need a drink sweetheart?” Katie asked and Emmy nodded.

“Ok. Think you can stand?” Steve asked.

“You’re not carrying me.” Emmy looked at Steve and he raised an eyebrow.

“You used to love me doing that.” Steve quipped and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah at the Parties at the Kids home.” she grumbled “I’m not 7 anymore.”

“Emmy!” Jamie shot off his seat and threw himself at his older sister. She smiled and bent to give him a hug.

“Hey Jay…” she smiled, “You been swimming?”

“Daddy was throwing me.” he grinned. “I bet he could do it for you too.”

“Sure he could” Emmy smiled as she shakily took a seat, glancing at Rori who was in Brooke’s arms, her little hands tangling in the girl’s long, red hair.

“But I don’t wanna.” he frowned.

“Hey, why don’t you show me your legos?” Brooke said quickly. Steve could see the cogs in his son’s head whirring as he considered this for a second before he nodded.

“Ok.”

“Thanks Brooke.” Katie said to her as she handed Rori back over.

“No problem Mrs R.” she said, allowing Jamie to tug her by the hand out of the room.

“Wanna tell us what happened Em?” he asked gently.

“Mc Mahons, yeah we know it…” Steve nodded

“And then he came out.”

“Who?” Katie asked, her eyes not leaving her daughter.

“Him…my old foster father. The one that used to hit me.”

Steve took a deep breath and breathed out through his nose “Did he hurt you?”

“No, not really…he erm, he didn’t recognise me at first and I kept walking but Brook had stopped and when she shouted my name he realised it was me and he grabbed my arm and…”

“Ok…ok…” Katie said gently, as Steve gently laid a hand on their daughter’s shoulder.

“Did he do anything else?” he asked. Emmy shook her head.

“Em, he’s an ass hole.” Katie said gently “You were never a bad kid. You’d been treated appallingly, what that man did do you…” she shook her head “It was cruel and abusive and…”

Steve’s hand fell to Katie’s knee under the table as she looked away, blinking back the tears.

She swallowed and looked down. Steve looked at Katie, the jaw in his nerve twitching with anger as he took a deep breath and ran his hand up Emmy’s back.

“Well I hope he makes good on his promise and does pay us a visit.” he said his eyes flashing “I’d be very happy to exchange a few words with him, maybe a few fists too.”

Emmy smiled softly as Katie shook her head.

“Trust me, I saw it a few times. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Woah, you saying I’m not scary?” Steve scoffed, folding his arms.

“You know he won’t ever hurt you again, not now you’re with us.”

“I know. I love you guys.” she smiled and Steve dropped a kiss to her cheek. She looked up, wiped her eyes and then glanced at her mom. “Can Brooke stay tonight?”

“Course she can, I'll call Jen”

“It's ok she can message…”

“I'll call her.” Katie said firmly, “Brooke was there today so Jen has a right to know what happened. Don’t worry, she won’t be mad at you.” “Kay…” Emmy nodded “What's for dinner?”

“Your dad threw a pizza in for Jamie, we're gonna get take out and hang by the pool.” Katie said.

“Anything you fancy?” Steve asked.

“Can we try the Greek place?”

“Sure.” Steve nodded “Hey, do they do Shwarma?”

“Gyros.” Katie said, “Same thing almost.”

“I’m in.” Steve said.

“I'm gonna go watch TV for a bit, that ok?”

“Course.” Katie smiled.

“Love you both.” she smiled at them, before she left the room.

As soon as she was gone Steve stood up, his calm demeanour ebbing away as Katie looked up at him, shaking her head.

“I wanna kill him Steve.”

“You and me both doll.” he paced.

“Think we should call the police?” Katie asked, gently rocking Rori to and fro as she had started to grumble.

Steve contemplated what she had said before he paused, folded his arms and looked at the door, then back to Katie “I got a better idea.”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“You know I do”

“Then leave it with me.” he said simply

“Steve...” she stated, instantly understanding what he was implying “You can’t.” “Why not?”

“Well, for starters we have no idea where he lives.”

Steve snorted "Sweetheart, you're forgetting who we know."

"Oh, no...you can't drag Sam into this." Katie shook her head "Ross is being an asshole with him as it is without you giving him ammo by getting Sammy into trouble."

"I'm not" Steve smiled, raising his eyebrow “I'm gonna drag Bucky into it instead."

Aint gonna be happy for much longer, buddy.

Only this time his instructions were clear. Apprehend alive.

The man ordered his drink, a straight black label whiskey and when it was served he paid with a bunch of crumpled ones and picked the glass up, heading to a table.

Bucky waited until the door was closed before he headed back down to the ground floor, pulling out his phone.

“I got him.”

***** Steve climbed out of his car, looking up at the ramshackle building before he crossed the road. Bucky was waiting for him and opened the door to the apartment block from the inside.

“You.” Steve said simply, and Bucky snorted.

“He’s on the Second floor.” he said simply “Number 202. Still think you should just let me shoot him.”

“No.” Steve said “We’re not killing him…”

Bucky rolled his eyes “Why?”

“Because I want him as scared as he made Emmy.” Steve said simply. “He can spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.”

Bucky shrugged, “Your call…”

Steve headed to the stairs and started to climb them, stopping as he heard his foot crunch on something.

“Nice place…” he mumbled as he looked down to see he had stood on a cockroach.

“Don’t be a snob Stevie…” Bucky looked at him, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Even my place in the 40s wasn’t this grim.” he turned to look at his friend before he continued up the flight of steps.

“It wasn’t the ritz either.” Bucky shrugged as they emerged onto the landing. They stopped outside the door and Steve took a breath before he looked at Bucky.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

Bucky simply raised his eyebrows.

“Look, if Mario sent you…I told him, he’ll get his money…”

“How do you know my name?” Jack asked, his eyes not once leaving Bucky, missing the Captain who was stood in the darkness of the room behind him. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I don’t want anything…” Bucky said, shrugging, “But he does…”

“Woah…look…I don’t want any trouble…” Jack began to press.

“You should have thought about that before you touched and threatened my daughter.” Steve’s voice was icy.

“This can do far more damage than that blade can.” he said simply, looking at his hand before he turned to Jack “Go ahead, I’ll even give you one free swing. But it better be fast.”

“Buck…” Steve said, and Bucky let go, Jack slumping to the floor. Steve reached down, grabbed his shirt and hauled him to his feet slamming him against the wall.

“Captain America…nah…you wouldn’t…” Jack stuttered, shaking his head “You’re a good guy…”

“Which makes me a hundred times more dangerous…” Steve said.

“And I, well, I just don’t give a shit.” Bucky shrugged “Killed a lot of people one way or another…what’s one more piece of shit like you gonna mean?”

Jack looked at Steve, shaking his head “No, you wouldn’t…”

“I snapped the neck of the man who raped my wife.” Steve said, his gaze not once leaving the man’s in front of him “Trust me, you have no idea what I would do to keep my family safe.”

He paused for a second, letting it sink in as Jack swallowed.

“And if I ever get a sniff that you’re back in town…” Steve continued.

“My teeth? What do-“

CRACK.

Steve cut him off with a sharp jab straight into his mouth and Jack dropped to the floor howling in pain as the blood poured from between his fingers which clamped over the lower part of his face.

“Got the message?” Steve asked, standing over him as Jack rolled around, screaming. He mumbled something, his head nodding furiously.

“Can I shoot him now?” Bucky asked.

“No.” Steve shook his head.

“Just once in the knee?”

“What?” Bucky asked, shrugging as Steve shot him a look “You said I couldn’t shoot him, didn’t say anything about stabbing him.”

***** The two friends sat at a bar, not far from Steve’s house, each with a beer in hand.

“So, run that by me again…” Bucky said.

“I told Katie I was meeting you for a drink.” Steve shrugged, nodding at the bottle “Technically now I’m not lying.”

“You’re a punk.” Bucky snorted.

“She’ll know full well where I’ve been.” Steve shrugged “She ain’t stupid…”

“Good luck to you pal.” Bucky said, taking a drink “She’s scary when she’s angry.”

Steve snorted “Nah, she won’t be mad...she knew full well I was planning on giving him a warning so…”

“Then why not just tell her?” “Because she’d worry.” Steve said simply.

“Think he’ll heed it?” Bucky asked after a little pause and Steve pondered the question for a moment before he nodded.

“Like I said he’s a bully.” he took a swig of his beer before he looked at Bucky “You know as well as I do that the minute someone bigger stands up to them they back off.”

“Gotta hand it to you pal…” Bucky said, sitting back “You come a long way since you were defending yourself with a trash can lid behind the movie theatre down town…”

“So everyone says.” Steve shrugged “Still don’t feel any different.”

“Remember when Howard’s flying car was the strangest thing we had ever seen?” Bucky sighed “I almost miss those days.” “Would you go back?” Steve asked, “Given the chance?”

Steve smiled “I know what you mean. If you’d asked me when I first came round…I’d have jumped at the chance but after Katie…” he took another drink before he let out a soft huff. “I crossed oceans of time to find her.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Dracula…romantic.” he said and Steve let out a laugh.

“Speaking of romantic…” Steve looked at his friend “How’s it going with Jen?”

“Ok.”

“Just ok?”

“I’m taking it slow.” Bucky shrugged “We’ve been on a few dates and…yeah I like her Steve and she likes me so…”

“Well if you ever want any advice on modern day dating…”

“The day I ask you for dating advice is the day I quit.” Bucky snorted

“I did ok.” Steve grinned “Well, more than ok actually. I lucked out.”

Steve contemplated that before he shrugged “Sure, why not?”

“Hey…” he smiled, crossing the floor and dropping a kiss to her lips before he turned his attention to his daughter, his finger gently running along her hardworking cheek.

“You have a good time?” she asked, giving a little yawn.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It was nice. When did she wake up?”

“About half an hour ago.” Katie shrugged “With a bit of luck she’ll go down again soon and sleep for a couple of hours.”

“I’ll do the next feed.” Steve said “You can get some rest.”

“So how badly did you hurt him?”

“What?”

“Jack?” She turned her head to Steve who looked at her “I know full well what you were up to.”

Katie looked at him for a moment before Rori gave a light burp and Steve gently turned his face, pressing his lips to the baby’s head.

“Here…” Katie said, and Steve handed her over “I’ll go put her down.”

She gathered the baby in her arms before she dropped a kiss to Steve’s mouth “Don’t be too long…”

He arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well, you know what you getting all dark and protective does to me…” she grinned, looking down at Rori “That’s what made her in the first place.”

"Fuck." he groaned, both hands now on her hips as he continued his movements and Katie’s hands moved to brace herself against the headboard, her body moving with every slam he made into her. One hand moved to the back of her head and he used it to make her look up, her eyes locking onto his as he felt her body start to quiver.

“I love you…” he said, his pace not slowing in the slightest.

“I love you, I love you all so much.” he said gently. She raised her head to look at him, smiling as she kissed him softly.

“I know, I love you. We all do.”

His kids.

He looked down at his sleeping wife before he shifted slightly, dropping a kiss to her head before he closed his eyes and fell into a trouble free sleep.

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #katie stark #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #stark spangled forever

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serpentinesarang · 4 years ago

Text

NCT 127 reacting to you dressing up for a lowkey date

A/N: Gender-neutral reader. (Also, I apologize if these gifs are potato quality >.<)

Taeil

Taeil has been patiently lounging in the living room waiting for you to emerge from the bathroom. He’d told you yesterday he wanted to take you to a pumpkin patch today and carve designs together once you got home. No other plans or pitstops; just a scenic drive to the countyside in the increasingly chilly fall weather.

They’re taking a long time getting ready, wow... Taeil thinks, twiddling his thumbs together.

Not two minutes later, you finally unlock the bathroom door and saunter to the living room to stand in front of Taeil. You’re a knockout in a khaki trench coat, black turtleneck, and tight leather pants tucked into a pair of Doc Martens. You even smell fantastic.

Taeil’s spine snaps upright as his eyes drink you in. “I can’t believe you’re mine. Come here and let me kiss you,” he says with a warm smile, raising his arms.

Taeyong

Taeyong pulls his car up to your apartment building and weaves through the underground garage, parking in front of the main elevator he knows you always dance out of. He’s stupid-excited to take you to see the newest Marvel film and hold your hand the whole time, but he’s more so satisfied with himself for buying out every other open seat during your showing so it would feel like you two were at home.

Taeyong turns down his playlist and full on cranes his neck to watch you step out of the elevator, and damn are you a snack. Wearing a dark red bomber jacket, striped top, and black cargo pants with moto booties, Taeyong wants nothing more than to park in a garage space and take you back upstairs to cuddle.

He involuntarily lets out a content sigh before you yank open the passenger door and slide in.

“Hi, cutie!” you greet him brightly.

Taeyong immediately leans forward and presses his lips to yours then whispers almost into your mouth, “I’m gonna kiss you the entire movie, baby.”

Johnny

You hear a thunderous knock on your apartment door, and you don’t have to glance at your phone or watch to know who it is. It’s Johnny baby <3

He’d texted you an hour ago saying you two were going on an impromptu walk along the beautiful Han River because the sun is actually out today with minimal clouds. Really, he just wanted to escape the SM building and see you.

Once you swing your door open, Johnny nearly blows his eyes out of his sockets looking at you. You’re wearing a cute denim jacket over a low, scoopneck-style top that hugged your waist, along with black, ripped skinny jeans, and Vans. It’s just the right vibe for Johnny, and your legs have him wishing they were wrapped around his head instead.

“Goddamn,” he says in a hoarse voice, eyeing you coyly. “We’ll have to come back here after our walk...”

Yuta

It’s Thursday evening, and Yuta called you 30 minutes ago asking if you were nearby to grab some hot tea. Your board meeting had run super late, and you’d barely finished wolfing down a cheap salad when Yuta rang. This was just the pick-me-up you needed after such a long day, and you could handle the 15-minute walk to his favorite tea parlor.

You breeze through the shop door and scan the tables for your adorable man, finding him hunched in a corner by the window. He’s engrossed in something on his phone and doesn’t see you at all until your shadow looms over him.

He snaps his head up to see you wearing a slim, navy blazer, crisp white shirt underneath, and matching wide-leg slacks that made you look professional and bad-ass at the same time. Yuta wasn’t used to seeing you in your work clothes because he always came home rather late at night.

His posture springs back with excitement, and his eyes glitter in sheer amazement at the sight of his dressed-up partner. “Look at you, baby! Sexy enough to slurp.”

Doyoung

(This is a different kind of ‘dressed up’ lmaooo)

At long last, it’s Friday night, and just about time for Doyoung to come home with a big pizza. Friday is always Netflix night with your boyfriend, and after the stressful day you had at school, you desperately wanted to burrow into his arms and forget it all. With the TV all cued up and cans of soda sitting on the coffee table, you’re perched on the couch in nothing but Doyoung’s favorite white t-shirt, your underwear nowhere to be found.

You hear a key jiggling in the lock, and Doyoung carefully swings the door open while balancing the Domino’s box in his other hand. He tosses his keys on the small shelf across the coat closet and yeets his shoes off before finally looking at you.

You’re feeling a lil’ spicy tonight, so you undo your cross-legged position and stretch one leg off to the side of the couch, providing a tantalizing view for your frozen boyfriend. You smirk and beckon him with your pointer finger.

“Bon appetit to me,” he murmurs.

Jaehyun

Sunday afternoon, and Jaehyun’s knocked out on your bed, curled up like a little kitten. You’d disappeared an hour ago to grab groceries for tonight’s homecooked meal you told him this morning that you’d prepare, but you didn’t tell him the part about you being the appetizer.

Once you get home and dump the grocery bags on the kitchen counter (thankfully nothing needing refrigeration), you tip-toe to the bedroom, and just as you expected, Jaehyun was still napping. You sighed to yourself, remembering how hard he’s been working to memorize his upcoming drama show’s lines. A lot was riding on this for him, and he took his TV appearances seriously.

You lean down to your man’s face and gently stroke his cheek to wake him. He comes to and wastes no time beaming a tired smile your way.

“That was fast,” he whispers before chuckling. “Is dinner ready?”

The moment he watches you step back and untie your long trench coat to reveal absolutely nothing on your body, as you’d specifically planned, Jaehyun shoots off the bed and seizes you in his muscular arms.

“I’m definitely fine with this main course,” he says as he wraps a hand behind your neck and kisses you passionately.

Jungwoo

“Hey sweetheart, I hope work wasn’t too bad. Can we play FIFA tonight??” Jungwoo’s text reads.

You smile and snort through your nose. Damn that cutie, always wanting to stay in together. You can’t say no to your boyfriend though because he’s always so good to you, and you’d had a good shift at work today. You heart-react to his text before unlocking the door to your shared apartment. It’s a good thing you’d decided this morning to go all-out for your work outfit.

You throw your bag to the floor and shimmy out of your shoes, making your way to the living room where you know Jungwoo is patiently playing that silly go-kart game on his phone.

You clear your throat to get his attention, and he stares at your burgundy dress shirt tucked into your best pair of tight cigarette pants, the Gucci belt at your hips completing the glamorous boss babe look.

Jungwoo tosses his phone against a pillow to the side and says, “Well don’t just stand there; come cuddle me!”

Mark

Your sweet boyfriend, going crazy in one of SM’s studios all by himself, had asked you to swing by. He needed some inspiration for the newest 127 song’s rap verse, and he was too shy to admit you’ve always been his muse.

An SM employee had graciously guided you to the particular music studio Mark was hiding in, on the opposite end of the dance studios. Too much stomping and distraction.

You enter the studio nervously, not sure who else would be in here. Luckily, it’s just your cutie lying on the carpet with a legal pad of paper splayed across his chest. He cranes his neck upward to look at you, decked in a white, crochet turtleneck, black overalls, and Chucks.

“BAY-beee...” Mark coos as he sits up and throws the paper pad on top of the nearby table. “Whatchu lookin’ so damn precious for?”

Haechan

(*Feminine-presenting reader)

You had just gotten off work and were eagerly speed-walking the few blocks’ distance to the SM dorms. Haechan had invited you over to show you the new piano melody he came up with last night, but you were fairly certain he was using this excuse to be touchy-feely with you after not being able to text him back all day.

SM security was always an ordeal to get through to ward off sasaengs, but one of the guards was beginning to recognize you, so thankfully it’s not as long a check-in process as usual.

By the time you get off the elevator and ring the boys’ doorbell, you’re feeling extra giddy and ready to throw your arms around your boyfriend. Haechan opens the door with a smile, but it fades when he notices the red sundress and nude kitten heels you’re wearing.

In a hushed voice, he leans forward and says, “Good, you’re as excited to get bent over the piano as I am to do it to you.”

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alias-b · 5 years ago

Text

sins of my youth. 004

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello all! Pushing out a baby chapter early so I can focus on my other fic! Thank you so much for the support on this fic. Billy goes to dinner and Tries It. That's the chapter. :D Tag list open!!!

Chapter 4: No Day But Today

“Claudia, do you have the keys?” Mona crossed the salon floor.

“I do, we’re fine here, go on. Dusty is spending the night at the Wheeler’s place. Having some castle and dragons party.” She'd gushed.

“Feel free to close up early if we’re dead the last hour. Thanks, sugar.” Mona patted her back as she followed Evie out the door.

“Can I drive?”

“I was hoping you’d ask.” Mona smiled.

Evie was saving for a car. And college. And her future.

And it was a lot.

Truthfully, she didn’t care for school. It was in the way. Wished her lyrics could carry her straight to the red carpet before all those flashing paparazzi.

Wanting to unwind, Evie hid in her room when she got home. Shut the curtains and prodded at herself before the vanity. Sorted dangly earrings in a mesh metal display. Huffing to lean over when Bourbon swept into her legs. His little body shivered and she plucked him up.

“Okay, BB, you’re my best guy. You can’t let me down.” She scratched under his chin, gave him a little boop on the nose. “You take one look at that walking Def Leppard poster and you hiss and run. Got it?”

A purr.

“Good boy. You’re my only hope here. We can’t lose. Not to Billy Hargrove.” Arms let him down. She'd feel this sentiment often about Billy. A sigh. Evie applied a fresh lip color and paused. “Ugh.” She pushed up and didn’t change. Did her school work to get it out of the way and wandered out, turning the TV on to some game show. The savory smell of dinner wafted. “Need help here, Mom?” One tug and the ceiling fan spun, cycling cooler air.

“No, I have it. You can set the table for me.” Mona drained some noodles.

“Got it.” Plates and cutlery clicked around. Evie slid everything into place, perked up when the doorbell rang. Mona turned and smiled as her daughter adjusted fabric and fixed curls into place all the way to the door.

Evie half expected Billy to not even show. But, there he was. Sly smile and all. Billow of date night cologne. A vision in moonlight.

“Hey.” Evie said slowly. The surprise evident.

“Hey." He mirrored it.

"You're here." An exhale out. He blinked, found himself again.

"I was gonna steal flowers from the old lady’s garden across the way, but there’s a huge opossum in her trash guarding it.” He tilted his head, earring catching the porch light and she cracked a grin.

"Big Ben? Yeah, he's the neighborhood menace. Chief Hopper's nemesis because they get so many calls about it. You'd be a hero if you took him on." Evie persuaded lighter. His face fell.

"I'm not trying to die in Hawkins, Indiana. That thing was bigger than anyone on our football team."

“Color me impressed. King Billy didn’t want to do battle for the first time?” She actually teased him. Her nose crinkled when she smiled. Cute. “Shock and awe.”

Billy felt this tug pulse up his ribcage. Pulled a genuine chuckle from his lips. He had to look away to give it. Glowy in starlight.

“Sometimes I surprise people. I know my weight class and the pests here look like they were grown and mutated in some lab.” He shrugged into the door frame with one fist lifted, clicking his lighter shut. Hooded eyes all over. Evie went still as he leaned forward to her face with his tone lowering. “Am I allowed inside? Pretty please?”

“With cherries on top?" Bright, wet lips parted. His lashes fluttered, a baritone sinking. Bringing her with him.

"With anything your heart desires on top." Smooth.

"Huh. I guess. For now.” Evie stepped out of the way. “We go to school with plenty of those lab grown pests by the way.”

“No kidding.” Billy shrugged his jacket off and she awkwardly reached to take it. Hung it up behind her.

Evie turned to see him staring again and swallowed a hard lump down. Thought maybe he saw all the begonias blooming behind her eyes and up her throat.

“Billy.” Mona came out of the kitchen, arms out. “So glad you’re here.”

“You saved me from a sad date with a TV dinner.” Billy winked, charming Ms. Fenny to bits. She giggled and shook her hair out.

“Dinner’s got about ten minutes. Why don’t you show him around, baby?” Mona hurried back off, leaving them alone again.

“Tour? Great idea." He peered behind Evie. A mission at hand. "Where’s the cat?”

“Hiding from you, clearly.” Evie beamed, gesturing. “Welcome to the living room. Mom's showroom is a better word.”

“Your mom like tchotchkes or what?” He came to the full mantle. Scanning.

“How’d you guess?” Evie reluctantly trailed to his side.

It was strange to let this boy wander around and see little bits of her life. Guess things about her as he went along, trailing deft fingers about the fireplace. She wondered what was blooming within the pit of his stomach, if anything.

Mona Fenny's house overwhelmed.

Photographs, plants, and crafts. Little porcelain figurines. Too many handmade candles. Crochet projects. A full dollhouse on a table in the corner.

“My grandma passed a lot of craft skills down. She owned this amazingly strange trinket and voodoo shop in New Orleans that my aunts run now after Nana died."

"Your mom didn't stay for a piece of that?" Billy let his eyes trail over every little thing.

"Ah, I don't know. She was the baby and married pretty young. Seemed like she wanted something new," Evie peered behind her and whispered. "Never really got along with Nana like her older sisters did."

Billy hummed a little. Decided not to pry with Mona in the next room. Evie brought him to the corner and flicked a lamp on.

"Mom’s dollhouse is her pride and joy. Lights up and everything.”

“Tell me why your mother has a framed photograph of Dolly Parton next to a picture of you two on the fireplace. And the same photo shrunk down in the dollhouse?”

“Science may tell us the truth one day when the world is ready. And I fear for that day.” She replied in all seriousness and Billy snorted. Laughing.

A truly enchanting sound Evie decided she liked.

“And I have to say,” he plucked a photo off a bookshelf with a broad grin, “this one is my favorite.”

One of Evie on Halloween. Had to be about six. Dressed in the campiest pink daisy costume with a huge toothy smile.

“Gah,” she cringed and swiped it from his hand, “this house is a museum of embarrassment.”

“You’re into the museum shit, guess this is like our first-” Billy stopped himself from producing the damning word when Evie turned. Blushing. Oof. He scratched the back of his neck. “So, uh, you got a bedroom in here or do you sleep in the dollhouse?”

“You won’t find the cat that easily.” She caught him peering around again and led him past the kitchen. “C’mon, not much to the rest of the house. Garage. Spare room.” That used to be her dad’s office space. “Mom’s room. Attic up there and on this end. My cat's room that he lets me stay in too.”

The door was open so Billy prodded it to peek inside. Evie exhaled and flicked the light on.

It didn’t feel like a teenage girl’s bedroom. Not covered in decorations and pictures like the rest of the house. No posters cut from magazines covered in pink lipstick kisses.

A vanity full of disorganized makeup. Desk. Overfilled bookcase of novels and tapes. Crafts and trinkets she collected in labeled tin boxes. Dresser covered in jewelry. Music player. Bed. Closet. Couple of pictures taped by the vanity and headboard. Mostly Evie and Heather laughing and bright. Her beloved acoustic guitar propped in the corner.

It felt like it was decorated by one trying to take up as little space as possible. Everything was compacted. Billy eyed the wall by her bed. Realized most of the papers were notes with random lyrics and words patched together.

“Yeah, I tend to jot every little thought down even when I’m half asleep and hope it makes a song eventually.” She peered aside. It felt too intimate, letting Billy shift about the space.

"Hey, everybody has a method." Two fingers traced over a note taped up to straighten it. She caught the ring gleaming on his middle finger. “My-”

“Ah, don’t read them aloud, I may combust.”

“Oh?” Billy slunk toward her, licked his lips. A hungry way about it. Mouth watering fangs full of sweet venom. Wonder how they'd feel sinking into her throat. “Because I make you nervous, Angel?”

“No, it’s just...just…weird.” Evie pressed up into her desk. Billy closed the distance. Got within inches of her. “It’s weird.”

Repetition didn’t ease the sear of those ocean eyes drowning her too sweetly. She felt her chest fill and flutter all the way down. Flowers unfurled to be plucked and caressed. Billy pushed into the space until she was seated there on the desk. Scrambling further. Unable to climb the wall.

“You do seem nervous though, Evie.” His tone hushed. Fingers brushed her thighs and palms came to rest there. The bunched fabric of her dress barely separating them. She inhaled his cologne. Smelled peppermint from his breath. Chest heaving.

Billy knew this wasn’t part of the quest. If that’s what this was, maybe that was a nicer way to put it. Maybe rationalizing it a thousand times would help him get some sleep at night. Just show her a good night, cash in, and go home.

It still sounded shitty. Wasn't doing Evie any favors. This girl painted too many iridescent colors. They could bleed and Billy wouldn't step away if it pooled too close.

He liked to watch the blush spread across her freckled cheeks. Rose petals falling into a cool pond. Liked the way her nose scrunched when she smiled and when she was cross with him.

Billy didn't want her because she was a conquest. A challenge. Sure, she challenged him, that was part of it. And she also made him smile like he was looking at the rocking ocean waves again. Sand and wind kissing his warm skin. There was a mystery in those molten eyes he wanted to taste for himself. Maybe it was possible to just enjoy a person without strings.

To let colors bleed and swirl. To just watch it happen without fear or judgement. To not step away from it either. Just sink right in and create those echoing ripples.

It was too sweet and peculiar, how soft Evangeline Fenny was against the hard edges of his steel frame. So sharp, it warded everyone off.

But, not Evie, she fit perfectly against him. Fire with fire. It gave them so much in this world that had forgotten them both. Freckles to count. Eyelashes to wish upon. Flesh curves and razor angles to explore.

Hell, he even enjoyed how shaken she got as he neared and how still she went when his fingers trailed up her legs.

Evie watched his muscled chest rise, the saint pendant caught the light. Looked up at his eyes and then his mouth because it couldn’t be helped. Billy Hargrove filled Evie's space and lungs with sugary smoke. He was too many colors in one soul. So, he pushed further because those painted lips were big and full and right fucking there.

One curious taste, that couldn't hurt.

Brought his hand up toward her chin and leaned forth when…

“Dinner!”

Evie practically shoved Billy back. Scrambled up so the desk gave a rut. Bright red as he stumbled.

“Sorry.” She shuddered, passing him. Smelling of amber perfume. “Coming, mom.” Billy stared at the back of her hair. Blinked a couple times to pull himself together. To rationalize some.

Curiosity. A deadly thing and so sweet too.

It felt like he was dreaming and woke up sitting at the dinner table. Evie clicked a Coke in front of him, flashed a knowing expression that made him smirk before she sat down.

“Now, I left a bowl in the kitchen to cool. We always bring extra to Miss Abigail, she’s three doors down.” Mona was setting plates about.

“It looks amazing, Ms. Fenny.” Billy even shifted a dish to help make room for another.

“Please, Billy, just Mona. Ms. Fenny was my mother and she was a harder woman.” She set a glass of water down and smoothed her dress out, sitting. Billy went for his fork and his hand was snatched. Evie shot him a look as Mona reached out. “I always say grace. Don’t feel pressured to join, sweetheart.”

Billy peered at Evie’s warm hand in his and accepted her mother’s. Bowed his head a little so Mona could say her prayer.

“Bless us, oh Lord. For this and all we are about to receive, make us truly grateful. And thank you for bringing Billy to our humble table, may he truly feel welcomed in our home. Please guide and protect him. Through Christ, we pray. Amen.”

“Amen.” Evie offered softer. Lips lifting when Billy peered at their hands again leaving each other. Clearly not expecting such words from a neighbor.

“You’ll forgive me, Billy, some people say they leave their hearts open. I just let mine fill the room.” Mona settled a napkin in her lap. “May I ask, if your family is religious at all?”

“Dad’s Lutheran.” Which meant Susan was by default now whatever she believed before. “We don’t go to church or anything.”

As if Neil Hargrove could drag his son under a steeple without one of them spontaneously combusting.

“Well, that’s perfectly fine.” Mona cut each of her meatballs into smaller pieces which Evie mirrored. “Evie doesn’t attend with me when I go. Although, the choir sure misses her voice.”

“Mom...” A teenage whine, near silent as she prodded at noodles.

“She get all the solos?” Billy encouraged the pink spreading Evie’s cheeks.

“Oh, every single one. She’s even been asked to come sing the national anthem at minor league baseball games.” Mona prattled and Evie’s head fell back.

“Mom!” Another drawn out groan. Evie sunk down lower.

“Oh, Evangeline, let your mother brag about you.” Mona ignored her.

"Yeah, Evangeline." He chimed in, earning a harder glare.

“Now, Billy, you’ve been in Hawkins just over two months?” Mona continued. Blue eyes lifted from the plate before he gave a nod. “How are you liking it? I’m sure it’s such a huge change from California. You must miss the beach.”

“Getting used to the cold.” Billy speared a meatball and didn’t sound convincing.

“I’ll bet you’ve never seen snow before, your poor sinuses aren’t going to know what to do. Anyone in your family takes ill, just give us a ring.” Such a mom. “It took me a few years to get used to the cold here too. We moved when Evie was just a baby straight up from N’aw Lins.”

Billy bit his tongue.

“What type of music do you write?” Billy asked and there was a beat when Evie realized he was looking at her. Addressing her pointedly. Maybe to make conversation and suck up to her talkative mother. Evie’s back grew taut, lips opening.

“Evie’s gonna be a folk singer.” Mona had cut in. “Voice of an angel, she’ll make it big. She’s been in competitions, just one look from any talent scout and she’s sold.” Evie sank down again to go back to her food. Billy watched her roll a meatball around her plate like it was the most interesting thing in the room.

Mona Fenny struck Billy as a woman who always meant well. Frilly like a lace doily. So well, she steamrolled over you because she knew best. Evie barely got two syllables out before her mother was flicking her hair and boasting. A doll that constantly had the string in its voice box yanked.

Billy learned a great deal about her.

That Mona had been arrested twice in her life for marching and protesting. Civil and women’s rights. She joked that she hadn't been arrested for gay rights yet, but looked forward to the inevitable. She was a pageant queen too. Stopped when she found out she was pregnant and couldn’t compete after that. No bitterness there of course. She had a daughter to mold and complete the legacy now.

Mona insisted on taking the plates away. Grabbing her own, Billy’s, and a side dish.

Evie was still rolling that meatball around until Billy plucked up a fork, stabbed it, and swallowed in one bite. She perked with flushed cheeks. Glared again.

Billy wanted attention.

“Your mom is friendly.” Statement of the fucking millennium.

“Just wait til she busts out her old pageant scrapbooks. You'll never see home again.” Evie quickly flashed a smile and picked up her own plate to follow her mother off. Billy stood too, peered around. That cat had to be close. “Give it up.” Arms crossed when she leaned into the doorway working a melting ice cube around her mouth. Swallowed it whole instead of crunching. Water ran in the kitchen behind her.

“We agreed on an hour of television.” Billy matched her stance, saw her hip cock.

“Half hour.”

“Hour.” Billy went in to sit on the couch like he owned it. Legs spread. “Come on in, the water’s fine, Evangeline.” Evie plucked up the remote, sat as far away from him as she could. Turned the TV on to something campy just to make him suffer.

“Fucking Love Boat. Really? Susan watches this crap.”

“You said the full hour.” Evie flashed a smug grin. “I think The Golden Girls is on too.”

“Love Boat is fine.” Billy lifted his hand. Swiped the remote from her to set it on the other side of him. They both sunk in there. Eyes on the screen. Mona left them alone to bring the plate to their neighbor, stayed for conversation.

Billy fidgeted. Stretching to scoot closer so he could nudge his knee into Evie's. Her face remained at total peace. She pushed back at his leg which drew slow smiles upon them both.

“What kind of music do you really like, or does your mother always do all the talking?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Evie felt him peer back over and held herself. A beat.

“Yeah, your dreams. They don't matter." Came sarcasm. "A girl who wants her name in lights. Don't spend too much time feeling for the switch in darkness, Angel."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just asking. You really want to sit in silence to this cheesefest? Young actresses paired with old ass grandpas playing love sick.” Billy put his arm up over the couch. Missed Evie twitch. Got his hand smacked for tugging her curl like a giddy little boy.

“I don’t know,” Evie faced him with a shrug, “somewhere in the rock and pop area. Maybe with a touch of soul. Not the hair metal I’m sure you’re into."

How beautiful she looked when she hoped.

"And my name in lights won't ever be enough, I need people to chant it too.”

Lips curled at Evie.

“Better than folk music.” Billy decided. Pride welled because she smiled too. Genuinely. Evie fiddled with her necklace. Delicate little music note caught the technicolor glow. Brown eyes turned to see him, she tried to bite the smile down. Failed.

“So, what’s the deal with this party thing? A dance?”

“One of many in the city. Bunch of high schools will probably run drunk through the streets with everyone else. No one will get carded because no one cares on New Years. Dancing and whatever. Watch the ball drop, it’s just the feral thing to do that night.”

“And you could score with any girl, but you’re asking me. It won’t be like a date or anything.” Evie dropped the charm in her fingers to see Billy’s eyes linger.

“You mentioned that. I know how to get out and have a good time without fucking. I have all sorts of tricks.” He noted the word didn’t make her wince. “Not looking to break your seal.”

“You’re gross.” Again, no argument on the details of it.

“You’re too tightly wound.” He paused, whispering. “Maybe not, but you hide it.”

"Nothing to hide, I'm an open book."

"A never ending record," Billy pushed into her so their legs pressed flush, "not nervous around me though."

"Nope." Her lips popped, fingers curling into the hem of her dress when his arm snaked behind the couch. "Not nervous."

"Not running either." That realization seemed to hit them both.

"Why would I? I can handle you just fine." She hissed at that because it came out sexual. Billy licked his lips and snickered, shifting to face her head on.

"Oh, I like the sound of that." He'd murmured, inches from her face. Evie found herself wondering how he managed to weasel his way in this close. Wondered why she was drinking him back in. "Picture this. You and this perfume enjoying a couple free drinks and some fireworks in the city. No strings attached. Not a date. Just those exploding lights and that chilly wind cooling your cheeks down, because you'll be blushing and you won't know it."

"Uh huh. I guess I can see it." Evie sized him up and crossed her legs to lean back into him. "You and the roar of a Camaro commanding the city to its knees. Glam and hairspray working their magic."

"I love an audience, Angel." Billy shook his head and froze because her palm came to his knee. Bold move. "But, I don't mind the front seat to see you blush too."

"What about you?" She whispered with a hum. "What makes King Billy blush? Does all the noise you like to make hide it?" A spark flitted up her eyes. Made his chest heave. "Is that your secret?"

"Come to the party, I'll tell you all my secrets." Fingers grazed up her arm when soft digits gave a rhythmic tap against his thigh. Billy went for it. "Do this dance with me."

"You don't play as hard to get as you let on."

"Not when I want something bad. Better to just play harder." Lips parted to hit that word. Her brows lifted at such an admittance. "You're sizzling up a fuse, aren't you, Evie?" She shook her head with a lazy smile. Eyes finding his again after. Near sultry.

"You have to light a fuse first, Billy, for it to sizzle." Her hand crept along denim. Felt him go rigid and part his thighs just a little bit wider before she sat back. "And the fire's out anyway. I'll make good on the deal. If you win."

"I hope you have a dress picked." Billy scoffed, breathless and still intent on her while she looked ahead at the screen.

“Time is ticking. As if you taking me out will do me any good." Evie rolled her eyes and reclined back into his side. Quite comfortably like she wasn't thinking about it. "Give me cool points so Tommy and Carol leave me alone.”

“They’re assholes to everyone. It’s not you.” Billy replied dismissively. Curled his finger into her locks behind the sofa.

“You don’t notice who they target because you’re too busy chasing skirts and fighting others yourself. Also haven't seen the writing about me on the bathroom walls. School hierarchy rules. Open those pretty ocean eyes and see the world for what it is. You're untouched because of your front. Everyone wants to be Billy Hargrove or screw him.”

Evie looked at him there, blinking.

"What side of the line are you on?" He bit his lip. "I can guess."

She plucked his hand from her shoulder and placed it back into his lap. Patted it for good measure.

“So, you really think my eyes are pretty?” Billy laughed when a square pillow nailed him in the face. "You said it before too! When we were drunk and you still think it now that we're sober. Telling."

Tension shattered. Evie glittered right back at him, teeth flashing. Still chuckling, he tilted his head back to create the magical sound. Quieted.

“Fine. I’ll pay attention if it helps you sleep at night.”

Evie blew air out her lips, let a curl fly up and bounce down. They watched the screen again. Shared a space. Maybe it shouldn't have felt so intimate.

“Episode’s almost over. Thanks for playing.” She about sang. Triumphant.

“I guess you have me, Fenny.” Billy pushed up. “Mind if I take a leak?” He was already pacing off so she said nothing.

Just watched couples go hand in hand into the sunset.

There was a flush, the sink running, and then Billy’s huge smile crept back down the hallway. The boy was gone all of three minutes.

Bourbon in his arms. Purring. Perfectly happy. Evie’s jaw dropped open.

“Guess who crawled out of the shower to eyeball my junk? Not that I blame him.” Billy quipped, scratching the cat’s chin. Bourbon rubbed back into the touch. Rasped his scratchy meow for more.

“Traitor...” Evie muttered, coming to her feet. “Damn it.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re mine now, Evie. Seven o’clock. Wear something short if you like.” Billy’s lips were pressed up. Such an ass.

"I call foul." Her finger lifted.

"And I'll be calling on you. New Years Eve. Just an annoying dance. It'll be fun and free." His chin gestured at her. "Just say yes, Evie. Get out of this small town and see some lights for once. You want your name in them so bad, you gotta look at the damn things first. No day but today. Right?"

"Right," a lengthy sigh, "but, the fire's still out. Bourbon, why? First, mom and now you. He's just hypnotizing you both.” Evie took the cat from Billy, watched his face scrunch.

“Your cat is really named Bourbon?” He said flatter.

“I found him when we visited family in New Orleans. Bourbon street.” She let the feline nuzzle into her chest.

“God, Angel, I hope your lyrics are more creative than that.” Billy lightened, chest shaking as he peered away shaking his pretty head. “Well?”

She pouted and if that cat wasn't between them, Billy didn't know what he would have done. Another time or place. Another pretty dress. Another shared beat of bleeding together.

That itched him the rest of the night.

“I’ll go. Seven. I’ll dress nice. It’s not a date, so don’t try anything and get me home in one piece. I reserve the right to leave you if you act like too much of an ass.” Evie grumbled some about it, defeated.

But, she wondered about the lights and what it might be like to share them. Suppressed all urges that longed to hope.

“That much I can do, I might even keep my ass in check. Don’t flake, we have a deal. I’ll be your Mr. Darcy or whatever.” Billy made for the door, plucking up his jacket as she opened it.

“That’s an impossible standard, but keep dreaming.” Evie sighed out. Watched him turn to beam. Offered a pet to Bourbon. “Least you got his name right.”

“Quick learner, I get points. New Years Eve. Don’t make me chase you, Evie, because I will.” Billy stepped off the porch lighting a cigarette, idly waved behind him.

Game. Set. Match.

“I’m not gonna be nice about it.” She called.

“So, you’ll be your normal, cheery self with me. Great. Won't ask for anything else, we have a good thing going.” He turned to wink, curling a final smile. Evie stilled, petting her cat before sighing into the cold air. “See you then, Fenny.”

“Whatever you say, Hargrove.” She shut the door as he climbed his own porch. Looked at her cat.

“You did this to us, I hope you’re proud.”

Bourbon blinked. Another rumbling purr in response.

** ** **

“The world...” Evie plucked an idle cord. Sang soft to not disturb her mother down the hallway sleeping. Nestled into the wall on her bed next to the window. “May think I’m foolish. They can’t see you like I can...”

Darkness shrouded save for a small set of twinkling lights around her bed frame. Eyes kept averting to the clock.

“Oh, but anyone...who...”

Another pause to see the clock. Eyes flickered out along the street marked with lamps. Cracking her window to see out. Nothing. Evie settled. Changed the tune to something original and plucked another heart string.

“Those ocean eyes… Drowning me out. What I wouldn't give to...” Her palm caught the vibrating cord to snuff the sound. A groan as she set the guitar aside. “Shit.”

That was not happening.

A car went down the street at the exact moment the clock struck eleven. Evie grabbed her coat and locked her bedroom door. Checked her hair and makeup before hitching one leg over the window. Felt the naughty thrill pulse into her heart as she snuck out.

Billy peered to see beyond his own window near the foot of his bed. Unseen in the pitch black space. Thought about catching her. It was always a Saturday night. Evie Fenny crept out like clockwork. Wearing something nice under a jacket she held close. Sometimes with the guitar on her back. Lips painted red. Went down the street and returned as the sun rose. He’d observed it often. Sometimes it happened on school nights. Two to three times a week. Never asked because it didn’t seem important enough before. But, now…

Billy knew a teen girl didn’t paint her lips red at eleven o’clock on a Saturday for just anyone.

Evie hurried down the street toward the woods at the end. Got into a shiny car. Disappeared until sunrise.

~~~~~

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