#god i hope they allow me to use pen and paper i hate making notes digital

[mistress-light]

My anxiety for math has returned.

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us chapter 10

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

AO3

Okay first things first. Partial writing credit goes to @micropoe10 because she helped me write a good chunk of this. I owe you so hard bestie.

As always thanks to @cheesy-cryptid for allowing me to use their art as inspiration and for reblogging this. I literally would not continue this if I hadn't gotten the attention from them I did. So thank you thank you thank you ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

One last thing before I post the story. This has been the most fun I have had on Tumblr. All of the support and love I have gotten from my friends on the Astarion Brainrot discord has been so encouraging. I owe you guys more than I could ever express.

ALRIGHTY THEN. WITHOUT FURTHER ADO.

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel (if you wanna be included let me know ❤️❤️)

 chapter 10. I caught fire

The day went on slowly. Octavia stared at the clock on the wall, the anxious feeling gnawed at her. Earlier, she had briefly seen Astarion at the end of the office corridors. He gave the same empty stare he has for the last few weeks. 

 

She stood in front of her office door, glancing down at the handle. She should go say something, it's been long enough. Octavia turns to walk towards him, but as she looks over, he's already gone. 

 

As she walked into the office, Gale was sitting on his desk going through a few things he was researching on his own. He tears his eyes away for a moment and slides a small red piece of paper towards her.

 

Another note. 

 

“You know at some point, you'll have to admit you fucked up, Octavia. This is all becoming a little childish isn't it?” Gale chided.

 

He put down his pen and sighed. “You're not the only one suffering here, it's so ridiculously obvious that you're both miserable. In the years I've known him, I have never once seen him be so quiet around anyone else. You, my friend, are a first in many instances.” he chuckles at the end of his scolding. 

 

“You two are so dumb sometimes, it makes for fine entertainment.” He smirks and continues to write. 

 

Octavia scowls a bit, “I’m glad my misery is so interesting to you, Gale. Do you and your mother gossip about us during your brunches?” 

 

Gale immediately stares up at Octavia, “Okay, I apparently hit a nerve…I’m sorry. Really, I am. You know I'm only telling you this because I care about you both? I hate that you're not speaking. Not only because it's unprofessional for me to be your note lackey, but because the others have started to notice. So I suggest you read whatever is on this note, and go fix it. For all our sake.” He shuts his notebook and walks up to the office door. 

 

“I’m going for a walk, I hope you can figure out how to amend this.” He steps out, leaving Octavia to sit in her own anguish. She fiddles around with the folded piece of paper before deciding to get it done and over with. 

 

She unfolds the little more and her whole soul escapes her body. The note sent with Gale only said "Office. Now." Well that's it, he's firing her, or demoting her, or even worse, nothing at all. 

 

Octavia made the long walk over to Astarion's office. She stands in front of the door, hesitant to knock.

 

The whole argument replays in her head like it has for the last few weeks, she should've knocked on the damn door. But no, like a petulant child she was only thinking petty thoughts.

 

As she lifts her hand to knock, she hears some banging on the other side. She presses her ear to the door and listens quietly. Nothing. Was he even in there or was he testing her? 

 

It doesn't matter in hindsight, he's got his reasons for whatever he called her here for. She softly knocks on the door, the sounds behind the door stopping immediately. "Astarion? I got your note."

 

On the other side of the door, Astarion quickly picks up the papers he's thrown everywhere. Thank the gods he still used that arcane magic Gale taught him while they’d sort through maps and scrolls during their adventures. Within seconds his thrashed space is as impeccable as before. He composes himself and takes a moment, the mask expertly back on. "Come in."

 

Octavia walks in, Astarion is standing with his back to her, facing the window. "Locked. I don't want any interruptions." He speaks in a curt tone, not turning at all. Octavia locks the door, nervously sitting on the chair across him.

 

Astarion slowly walks over to her, stopping in between her and his desk. He sits on the edge facing her, his eyes two sunset orange orbs glaring deeply into her. He takes a long breath before speaking, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice to you like that. I hope we can go back to how we were before, I'm not angry anymore." 

 

Octavia's face is suspicious, her eyebrows furrowed, eyes turn into slits and she's taken back. "Hold on, you haven't spoken to me in three weeks, and you're apologizing? Why? Aren't you still furious with me? Are you okay?" 

 

Astarion scoffs a skewed scowl on his face."I'm trying to be open with you like you asked me to. Are you really going to get mad because I'm apologizing to you? What is wrong with you?" He asks exasperated, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Gods you are so infuriating you're just like-" he takes a sharp inhale, "Listen, I'm trying, okay? This whole being patient, kind, open communication sort of thing is still very new to me." 

 

He continues, "I'm willing to look past this little invasion, honestly I'm amazed that you of all people would be the one to sneak in here." He sounded impressed. "Either due to luck or stupidity, but you're the first to leave alive." He chuckled a dark sarcasm behind it. 

 

"Besides," he paused, shuffling his feet, clearing his throat, and pursing his lips, "I missed talking to you. Passing notes like we're school children isn't as fun or exciting when you're an adult and Gale is the one you're passing them through." He pouts softly, as if seeking some sort of playful pity.

 

"I find that hard to believe, you seemed to like those little notes. I had so many, I thought it was an excuse to keep seeing Gale?" Octavia mocked, giggling softly. "Can I be honest with you too? I mean since we're in the spirit of openness and all?" Astarion motions her to proceed, "I missed talking to you as well. You're fun to talk to and complain with." 

 

Astarion smirks and extends a hand towards her. "Then, may I offer my apologies to you? Will you let me air my sweet grievances and complaints to you?"

 

His voice dripped like warm syrup towards Octavia, his eyes had a sultry energy behind them which made her cheeks quickly heat up. Her mind is scrambling to react, but the only thing working on overdrive is her need to see how much further this could go. She decides to play into his dangerous game, one that she knows she will most likely lose. 

 

Octavia takes his hand and leans forward on the chair, "As long as there are no complaints about me, I've been working very hard to earn your forgiveness." She chuckles, smiling with her eyes, dragging her gaze slowly back to his own, inhaling quietly as she stares into those gorgeous golden sunset pools.

 

Astarion leans in mirroring her movements, "Well you have, if that makes you feel better. I'm willing to work hard too. If you allow me to-" she stops him from speaking, pressing a finger to his lips.

 

He's taken back slightly, his lips stay puckered on her finger and he takes his chance to kiss it gently, earning him a sharp inhale from her. 

 

"Honestly, an apology is more than I ever thought I'd get from you Astarion, no offense." Octavia laughs, she stands and removes her finger from his lips. She stands in front of him, and reaches her hand down to hold his again. 

 

He smiles and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, gods she's even more beautiful up close. She breathes deep, allowing his touch. He caresses her cheek, gliding his hand down to hold her chin tilting her head up and looking her over. 

 

"You expect so little of me, how can I show you that I'm much more than that?" Astarion looks at her through hooded eyes, he was incredibly persuasive in the most benign occasions, and now that he had the invitation from her, he wasn't going to let that go to waste. He pulls her in closer, letting his arm rest on her waist.

 

He spoke so sweetly and Octavia wants to trust him, if he's willing to drop his guard, she can drop hers. "There's so much I want to tell you, but I'm afraid it will change your opinion of me." She spoke so softly, almost a whisper. 

 

Astarion's face turns to worry, there was a vulnerability he wished to share with her, how he did with Tav, they're so similar, this feeling is bittersweet and it terrified him. "Octavia, nothing can deter me. How intelligent, thoughtful, genuine you are..."

 

Octavia can't breathe, the words from his lips are so saccharine, like a forbidden fruit she longed to taste. "It scares me, the last time something like this happened, I ran from it, like a coward. I'm afraid of what it would do to you. The lengths I would go for someone like you." He confesses, she can sense the heartbreak behind the words.

 

His hand falls over the edge of her jaw sliding down and trailing it across her shoulder, up around her neck playing with the strands of hair that betrayed its styling, pulling her closer, his lips feather lightly across hers. Octavia's knees felt like they were about to give out, this is what she was hoping would happen in her garden, at the fundraiser, practically any time she saw him alone, he was so hard to understand but that made the appeal more undeniable.

 

"What if I wanted to find out? What would you do?" Octavia presses her forehead to Astarion's, her breath shuddering under the closeness between them.

 

Astarion chuckles "Curious little kitten aren't you?" His hand intertwined in her hair turns her head so he can lean in closer, his voice a low whisper in her ear "If you let me, I could drown you with my love. You would die a million little deaths each day. Allow me to show you." 

 

She felt his lips press against her skin. They were cool and soft, he could feel her shiver underneath his touch, a warmth grew inside that was boiling over both of them. The fire was certainly lit, but she had to be the one to control it before it became unstable.

 

Her hands shot up to his shoulders, stuck between pushing him off and entangling a hand in his hair. "Astarion, wait.." 

 

Octavia turns and looks into his eyes, full of hunger and lust, she takes a second to catch her breath. "I want this, but I want to take my time with it, I- I don't want to do anything to make you regret this. I really like you." Astarion's eyes grow wide, "I won't. I can't." His voice was soft, pleading almost.

 

One of Octavia's hands settles on Astarion's cheek, he settles into her touch and kisses the inside of her hand. His normally angular eyes are so round and soft, looking up at her, wanting. The vulnerability she was seeking on full display. He continues to kiss her hand, slowly going down her wrist. 

 

She continues to watch as he leaves a trail of languid kisses. As soon as he passes halfway up her forearm, she can't take it anymore. She pulls him in, kissing him, her whole body feels like it's floating and sinking all at once. She feels his arms pull her into himself, holding her closer as he deepens their kiss. 

 

One of her hands rests on his shoulder as the other snakes up to his hair, wrapping it in his curls. After a few moments he pulls away, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. "You are going to be the death of me, and I welcome it with an open embrace." 

[rstultz3]

                                                   Stone Cold

                                                       Ron Stultz

                                                   12 October 197

She's stone cold now

when she wants to be,

or perhaps I am finally free

of what I hoped she'd be

with me.

For this was a love affair

of the heart.

The kind I can't endure again.

And now I wonder why

I set up the foundation

that she so quickly built upon

to keep our bodies apart.

Now, I am cooler myself, yet

I could rape her today in certain ways.

But wishes are lies and I see them.

Fooling oneself at love is the crucial mistake.

She never said or promised more

than the stone cold time

we shared together.

I dream sometimes of our love bed.

A foolish thought for my age and this time and place.

But my heart demands it and will not set me free

of her.

Perhaps to love her once:

slow, torturous love

with full note of what I've done

would change the scene

but as I write, the lid slips off

and so easily I could crawl at her feet.

It's a sin, I know

to be so full of one sided love.

A love with no room to grow.

Hemmed in by her family

and mine.

Always I in love with her

or maybe only in love

with the wish

she was in love with me.

Maybe that's what I've wanted all along.

For her to offer herself

on some hectic day

and to retreat in silence

to the dark, cool of our sin.

Sweet sin with

smiles evoked.

It's a beast that only is tamable.

It will not die.

Up for air today, the beast.

I guess, I can not repress it anymore.

Friends, what more than friends ?

To love you.  To have you feel me

deep inside.

To take me lovingly into your month

and desire my body.

Foul thoughts.

She said we had evil

and we do.

I could rape her

if I had the nerve.

Don't know what it would do.

Quiet ?

Calm ?

Or release other monsters

well hidden.

Perhaps the storm abates.

I feel a climax almost.

I could curse you

loath you.

Call you names.

But in the end

our love making would be heaven.

A kiss is what I got.

A short fat hug.

A certain smile, like

"Why do you come here ?"

"There is nothing here for you".

And she is right.

My god she is right.

Back beast,

down.

Only a lust,

a demand unfulfilled.

To make love ?

What hell is this ?

Why does it resurface

and come

again and again ?

Perhaps I will move

or she

to some far off place

and finally

I guess,

she or I

will die.

I wonder though

if the beast will be even gone then ?

Is it something borne

of a time were we were

frustrated lovers

in a future now long past ?

It must be so.

There is more here

but dam, it's me, my thoughts

my desires, my views,

and not shared that I write.

Out !

Revert to stone.

Stone cold and leave me alone.

Bar the door,

lock it away.

Prevent my downfall.

I think of sending these words to you

but why torment myself ?

You would only sigh and wish

you had never met me.

Why can't he understand ?

Why doesn't he see ?

Why won't he go away ?

I shut my eyes to him.

You had places soft in you once

for me.

Not on equal terms, I know,

but mother, sister, woman friend, soul wife

why do I hate

and love you so ?

Could I fuck you once

and be done with it ?

No.

And again, in this time

we are not allowed.

See !

See how I try to release to pen and paper.

Only a dry fuck.

For sure,

understand my desire

to release you from my memory

my heart

my soul.

To cut you out.

I can't understand

can't handle

a stone cold wall between us.

For you are stone cold now

when you want to be,

or perhaps I am finally free

of what I hoped you'd be

with me.

[badboyjuyeon]

mind reader

Pairing: Chanhee x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: “One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do you see your crush flinch.” 

prompt credits to writing.prompt.s

Eyes glued to the clock, you counted down the seconds before class would start. 

It’s not that you particularly enjoyed English or any of the books you were discussing. Your teacher constantly droned on and on and, with practice, you had finally mastered the art of tuning his voice out. 

So it wasn’t exactly the class that you looked forward to, but a special person within that class.

And that person was Choi Chanhee, who had just entered with his bag slung lazily across his shoulder. Though his hair was ruffled and he was sweaty from gym class, he still looked as radiant as ever. He flashed his signature smile, the one that melted your heart, and waved at Changmin who had saved a seat for him.

Pretty people “herd” together, so it’s not a surprise that he often hung out with Younghoon, Sunwoo, and Changmin, the other popular boys that stole the hearts of every person in the school, including yours. You accepted that this crush would not go far because of his popularity, and you were perfectly content with just enjoying his presence. 

Before seeing him fifth-period four days of the week, you had only ever seen him in the hallways. You never had any real reason to talk to him, and given the chance, you’re not sure you would even try to hold a conversation with him. You know you would just become a stuttering mess and embarrass yourself. So instead of making any real efforts to do something about your crush, you just made sure to come to class a few minutes early so you could secure the seat that gave you the best view of him. 

Your English class was currently doing student-led discussions and your teacher claimed arranging the seats in a circle would help the students interact more with each other. You hated student discussions but had no complaints sitting in a circle, as it allowed you the perfect excuse to steal glances at Chanhee from any angle. 

Currently seated within the circle that seemed more like an oval, all of the students tried their hardest not to unintentionally make eye contact with the person sitting across from them. Your teacher introduced the topic the class would be discussing and you doodled at the corner of your page, letting your hand move on its own accord. Your doodles often reflected whatever you were thinking of, so your page was filled with drawings of the pink-haired boy you were currently infatuated with. 

The person sitting next to you spoke up, reminding you that you were still in class and needed to contribute to the discussion. 

You spoke once to satisfy the participation requirements and tried to ignore the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you. That feeling was 10 times worse knowing that Chanhee was one of the people that was looking straight at you. You avoided looking in his direction, knowing that you would completely freeze up at the mere thought of him. His eyes were finally off of you when you finished speaking, but that didn’t stop your heart from racing. It would take another five minutes before your heart would return to its normal pace. 

Having participated, you were now free to be alone with your thoughts. 

Running out of creativity to doodle, you decided that you would play a game with yourself to pass the time. This game never failed to amuse you during all of the boring classes you’ve taken. You scanned the room to see what some of your peers were doing. Younghoon was currently speaking, Chanhee was dozing off into space, the girl from your biology class was very clearly trying to flirt with Sunwoo, who was ignoring her. 

You decided that Sunwoo would be the first person you tested. This game consisted of you trying to find out if anyone in the room could read your mind. 

Sunwoo if you can hear me, write down something in your notebook. 

You took notice of Sunwoo’s immediate actions, which would prove if he could listen to your thoughts. 

He picked up his pen. 

Your eyes widened as you waited to see what he would do next. 

He started fiddling with the pen mid-air, and it never ended up touching the paper. 

Sunwoo was not in fact a mind reader. You moved on to your next test subject. 

You shifted your undivided attention towards Younghoon, who had just finished speaking. He was staring at his notebook, the corner of the page curling underneath his fingers. 

If you can hear my thoughts, look at me within the next three seconds. 

You counted down and waited to see if he would prove himself to be a mind reader. Younghoon raised his head and his eyes scanned the circle. 

You sat up in your chair as you waited to see if he had heard you. 

Unfortunately, his eyes did not land on you as he chose to focus on the classmate that was currently speaking.

You slumped back down into your chair. This game was not as fun as it used to be. Either no one was a mind reader or they were too good at pretending not to hear you. 

I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME AND I’LL CATCH YOU. 

You screamed in your thoughts, looking around to see if anyone noticed. 

Chanhee, who was still staring into space, suddenly flinched. 

What the f-

And then Chanhee’s eyes met yours. 

You immediately shifted your gaze to focus on the notebook on your lap. He never looked at you if you weren’t speaking, the timing was all too suspicious. You made sure not to look up from your notebook for the rest of class or think about him, just in case.  

After the teacher dismissed the class, you hurriedly packed up your belongings and rushed out of class. But your shoelaces did not cooperate, and you knelt down to tie them. You heard a soft voice call your name from behind you. A voice that you knew all too well. 

Why was Chanhee trying to talk to you, today of all days? 

There was only one answer. Chanhee was actually a mind reader and he knew about your crush. He was coming to confront you. You quickly shoved your shoelaces in your shoe and ran out the school building, not looking back. 

Chanhee watched as you dashed out the school doors, the notebook that had fallen out of your backpack in his hands. He was sure he called your name loud enough but he reasoned that you probably hadn’t heard him with how hectic the hallway was. He placed your notebook in his locker and reminded himself to give it to you before the next class. 

You slammed your locker shut, startling the student next to you. You lost your notebook for English class that you’ve reused since freshman year. Sighing, you headed into English class with a substitute notebook and the motive to pay attention, since you didn’t have any of your notes. You searched for the one person that could instantly lift your spirits. 

“Chanhee?” Your teacher called out during attendance, waiting for his response. 

You quickly glanced around the room to see where Chanhee was seated, but to your dismay, he was nowhere to be found. 

On the bright side, you could think about Chanhee all you wanted without worrying about whether he could hear your thoughts. You breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in your chair. 

“Present.” 

Hearing the familiar voice, you looked up to see Chanhee standing in the doorway, out of breath, as he rushed towards his seat. You dared not to make eye contact with him again.

You wondered why he stopped to call your name after the last time you had class. There was a chance that he wasn’t actually calling your name and that you might have just imagined it. 

But you were quick to dismiss the theory that it was all in your imagination when Chanhee called out to you again after class. The hallway was rather empty and you couldn’t use the chaos as an excuse to avoid him. You nervously turned around to face him. This was technically the first time you spoke to him. 

“Hi, (y,n) right? Is this your notebook?” He held out a notebook that looked a little too similar to your missing English notebook. “I think you dropped it after class yesterday.” 

You took the notebook from him and sure enough, it was yours. Finding your lost notebook should have filled you with satisfaction, but that was the last thing you were feeling. The doodles of him scattered throughout the pages flashed in your mind. You immediately snapped the notebook shut. 

“Thank you so much.” You managed to say, hoping that he hadn’t flipped through the notebook. 

He gave you a small smile, unaware of your internal panic. “No problem.” 

Not knowing whether to continue the conversation or not, you also smiled, before turning to walk away. 

“Oh, and by the way, I know what you’re thinking...” 

What- there’s no way. How would he know what I was thinking? Oh my god. Is he an actual mind re-

You stopped in your tracks, grateful that you were turned around so he couldn’t see the sheer look of horror on your face. 

You faced him and prepared yourself for what he would say next. 

“...You’re probably wondering how I knew it was your notebook.” He looked down at your notebook, which you held protectively against your chest. 

Not expecting the words that came out of his mouth, you giggled. The question hadn’t actually crossed your mind, so it was good to know that he was NOT an actual mind reader. Your name was not on the cover, so it was a valid question to wonder. 

“I wasn’t wondering but, now that you mention it, how did you know?“

“I recognized your art style from the doodles on the cover. You’re really talented.” He continued to speak comfortably as if you had known each other for years. Your art teacher often hung up your drawings in the art classroom for everyone to see, but you were surprised that he had recognized your art style. 

“Thanks, that means a lot to me.” You finally found the courage to hold eye contact with him. You were confused as to why he kept continuing this conversation when it could have ended much earlier with little-to-no words involved. 

The corner of his lips lifted into a smirk and a mischievous spark glinted in his eyes. He cleared his throat, “I like my eggs scrambled in the morning...if you were still wondering.” 

Eggs scrambled in the morning?

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you tried to remember why that expression sounded so familiar. Or why he claimed you would be wondering that. 

Chanhee bit back a smile, as he saw your expression change from confused to panicked in a matter of seconds. Your cheeks turned as pink as his hair. 

You were just joking when you claimed that Chanhee was a mind reader, but now you were starting to think that it wasn’t a joke anymore. How do you like your eggs in the morning? That sounds exactly like something you would think.

 “What...how did you...“ You struggled to form a coherent sentence. 

Instead of answering, he just shrugged and backed away, before heading to his next class. He left you standing in the middle of the hallway unsure of what to believe.  

Remembering the notebook that was still pressed against your chest, suddenly it clicked. He had seen the last page of your notebook. 

The last page was where you wrote absolute nonsense to relieve your boredom during class. You used to write notes back and forth with your best friend back in freshman year. She would talk about her crush on Changmin and you would talk about yours on Chanhee. 

That means he read all about your crush on him. Of all the ways you imagined him finding out, this was the last and most embarrassing way ever. There was no way to save yourself in this situation. 

chanhee is so gorgeous

changmin is SO FINE 

i wonder how chanhee likes his eggs in the morning 

i want changmin’s number so bad

You cursed your younger, boy-obsessed self for setting you up like this. You groaned, any chance you had with Chanhee was officially out the window. 

Rereading the page, you noticed that there was a new addition to your conversation with your friend. The unfamiliar handwriting did not match yours or your best friend’s, and the ink seemed to be fresh. 

idk about changmin’s but i can give you mine: XXX-XXX-XXXX

p.s. i want you to draw me like one of your french girls

[marvelsbetch]

Peter Parker’s parent teacher conference

Warnings: IronStrange, Supremefamily, bullied Peter, dick head teachers, anxious Peter and homophobia.

-Peter POV-

"Hey Bambi, why didn't you tell us about your parent-teacher conference tomorrow night?" Pops asked sitting next to me on the living room couch.

"I didn't think you would've wanted to go? Dads not the one for school or teachers and you're -well- you." I explained tentatively.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Just so you know, we'll be there for around 5 so just after your decathlon meeting. It'll just be me and your dad so no need to be embarrassed." Pops told me.

"Thanks. This'll be the first parent-teacher conference I would've ever been to." I told him.

"Same kid. It's a first time experience for us all." Pops smiled at me.

"Not many times that happens." I commented resting my head on his shoulder.

"No it's not Bambi, no it's not." He smiled putting his head on mine.

-Next day at 5 o'clock-

"Hey Penis, what're you still doing here? This is a thing for kids with parents." Flash taunted walked passed me in the gymnasium as I waited for my dads.

"Shut up Flash, you know nothing about my family." I told him.

"You better watch your tone Parker or you'll have another black eye." Flash threatened getting really close to me.

"If you would be so kind as to step away from my kid, it would he greatly appreciated." Pops' voice spoke from next to me. They must've just arrived.

"Oh my God! It's Stephen Strange! And Tony Stark!" Flash all but yelled making the whole room fall silent.

"It's Stephen Stark actually. I didn't spend thousands on a wedding for people to not recognise my changed last name." Pops corrected.

"I'm so sorry. I'm such a fan of both of your works." Flash blabbered composing himself.

"Eugene! We've been looking everywhere for you!" A man, who I presume is Flash's father, scolded walking up to us with a woman trailing behind.

"Sorry father but look who I found. The Starks." Flash excitedly announced.

At this point I slowly slipped away from him and walked up to my Dad who gladly greeted me with a hug. I could feel the warmth of the arc reactor on my chest and it gave a strange comfort. After a few moments we let go but I didn't move very far, being so close to Flash made me really anxious.

"Underoos you okay?" Dad asked me worriedly trying to look into my eyes.

"Yeah I'm fine, just tired. I was up late finishing a piece of homework last night." I lied hoping Pops wouldn't say anything as I fell asleep on him last night.

"Wow Mister Stark. I must say I'm a big fan of your work. If you haven't noticed I try to style myself off of you." Flash's father said showing off his black tailored suit and aviator sunglasses and reached out for a handshake.

"I'm flattered but I don't do handshakes. I'm not the biggest fan of touching." Dad told him trying to give a convincing smile.

"Then why've you got an arm around Pen-Peter?" Flash asked making both my Dads give him the 'Bitch WTF' look. I hate that look. Dad was about to say something but I decided to cut in.

"So, why don't we do what you came here to do and speak to my teachers? Sounds great, let's go." I spoke grabbing Pops' hand and dragging him and Dad to one of my teachers.

"Who was he?" Dad asked in a demanding tone.

"Nobody important. Look Mr. Harrington's free. Let's go and talk to him." I rushed and pulled my dads towards Mr. Harrington's table.

"Ah, Peter and Mr. and Mr. Stark. Lovely to meet you, I love all you've done for the world." Mr Harrington spoke as we took our seats.

"Thank you Mr. Harrington." Pops said.

"No problem. So, I teach Peter Physics and I've got no problems. The only thing I would say is that he is often on his phone during lesson and doesn't listen that much. However with that being said, he's never got below an A+ on his tests. You should be proud of him." Mr. Harrington smiled.

"We are. Is that all?" Dad said ruffling my hair slightly.

"That's all thanks." Mr. Harrington announced and shook Pops' hand before we walked away.

"That was a really good report but who're you texting during class? It better not be one of the others or your dad." Pops asked and gave Dad a pointed look.

"No it's this guy I met online. His names Harley Keener and he seems really nice." I explained as I lead them to my history teacher.

"Harley Keener?" Dad asked shocked.

"Yeah. Why? Do you know him?" I questioned.

"Sorta. I'll explain when we get home." Dad dismisses before turning around to face my history teacher Mrs. Keens.

"Wow, this is a shock. It's not everyday the Starks turn up to a parent-teacher conference. How are you both?" She rushed out slightly flustered.

"We're doing fine thank you. How is Peter in this subject?" Pops asked, straight to the point as always.

"Peter is amazing, always hands his homework in on time, always listens in lesson and has never received less than an A on a test. You should be proud of him." She informed smiling at me.

"Wow, our little goody-two-shoes." Dad teased ruffling my hair slightly.

"One thing that you may or may not be aware of is a boy called Eugene Thomson. He seems to be bullying Peter for whatever reason, I've caught him a few times throwing paper balls at Peter or sliding him malicious notes. I'm not sure if it's friendly or not but I felt you should know. Thank you." Mrs. Keens informed, may the ground swallow me up now.

"We will also discuss this later on." Pops told me sternly, oh no.

We left Mrs. Keens with a slight wave and headed back to the main area to find another teacher. My eyes landed on my English teacher who didn't seem very happy, this is not going to end well.

"Oh look, it's your English teacher." Dad commented and pointed to Mr. Malory. Fuuuuuuuuck.

"How do you know my English teacher?" I asked worriedly.

"Research department, making sure my son has the best education he can. Let's go to him now while he's free." Dad brushed off and started to walk towards him. God save me.

My English teacher hates me for no reason, always turns a blind eye to Flash, always nitpicks my assignments and finds any reason to not give me a good grade. He's also quite homophobic and has expressed on many occasions his hatred for my Dads and anything to do with them. He even leads a group called the 'Freedom from Starks'. This is so not ending well.

"Peter, didn't expect to see you here." Mr. Malory commented not looking up from his clip board.

"Well, this is a parent-teacher conference and I, as his parent, would like to speak to my sons teacher about his school work. If you'd be so kind." Dad said, his words oozing sarcasm and sass. He really did his research.

Mr. Malory picked his head up and stared Dad dead in the face. The distaste clearly shown on both faces as the three of us took our seats, Pops took Dad's hand, probably as a way to calm him down. This is worse than I thought.

"Well, if I'm being honest, Peter is the worse student I've ever taught. He's disruptive in lessons, throws paper at a wonderful student called Flash Thompson, slides Flash malicious notes and seems to find any excuse to blame Flash. His work is simply upgradable and I couldn't thing on a bigger lost cause than your son. Any questions?" Mr. Malory spoke and Dads face got redder and redder with anger.

"Really, then why did the last teacher we speak to say it was the other way around, that 'Flash' was the one throwing paper and passing notes?" Dad questioned leaning forward in his seat.

"Look, I don't know what happens in other lessons and quite frankly, I don't care. All I know is Peter is a major distraction and it's bordering bulling with Flash." Mr. Malory told us.

"What about his work is so upgradable? Is it his handwriting or the content of what he's writing?" Pops asked placing his other hand on top of Dads. This is getting serious.

"The content. The ludicrous stories of the Norse Gods and his 'adventures' with them are beyond reason. His stories are beyond the realm of possibility and are just ludicrous." Mr. Malory told them.

"His stories about the Norse Gods, does this involve Thor putting his hammer in inconvient places or Loki and black widow being kind and caring to others?" Das asked.

"Yes." Was Mr. Malory's short response.

"Well, it is within the realm of possibility as it happens. Every single day at the compound or sanctum." Pops spit out trying to keep calm.

"Oh well, maybe he should learn to be more creative with his stories." Mr. Malory spoke silently challenging Pops.

"Thanks sir." I hastily said before dragging both my dads out of their seats and walking off.

"No Pete, I would like to hear more about how much of a bad student you are." Dad argued challenging Mr Mallory.

"And I will be glad to provide. Mr Park-"

"Stark." Dad deadpans.

"Mr Stark is highly disruptive not only to Mr Thomson but is also always on his phone, sleeping in class or just straight up not listening. Honestly, his behaviour is a reflection as to why you people shouldn't be allowed to have kids, you simply don't know how to raise them." Mr Mallory continued to explain. Dad went red.

"What do you mean by you people?" Pops asked scarily calm as be placed a hand on Dad's knee to soothe him slightly.

"Gays. You shouldn't be allowed children because there's not a mother to properly raise them, I never had these issues when Peter lived with May. I honestly think it would be in his best interest to place him back in her care."

Oh my god. He knows May is dead. He knows that I can't be 'placed back in her care' and It was the same when I did live with her, nothing changed.

We were all stunned into silence, including some of the surrounding parents and teachers who were stunned. Well, we were silent until Dad blew up at him.

"How dare you," he began, "I take as good care of my son as any other parent here does, I give him as much as I can and do everything I can to be a good parent to him. If he's sleeping in your classes or being distracted then maybe you should make your lessons more interesting and not be blind sighted by your homophobic, bigoted and downright dickish beliefs. Your head may be crammed so far up your ass you can smell your lungs but maybe once join us in the real world and see that just because people are different doesn't mean they're not as capable. I will be putting in a formal complaint and if I were you, I'd start looking for new places of employment seeing as I am one of the biggest donators to this school. Come on Pete, we're going home."

Dad then grabbed Pops' hand and my arm before storming out of the building towards the car. You could see the steam coming out of his ears as Pops tried in a desperate attempt to calm him down.

I think I can safely say that this night was a disaster.

[snowstark]

No Use Crying Over Spilled Coffee ☕️

For @buckybarnesbingo | Y3 - AU: Coffee Shop

LINK TO AO3

Summary: Steve hasn’t been to the coffee shop across his street in two years. To his surprise, the barista still remembers his order. There’s no way that means anything though, right? (Spoiler alert: it does).

Steve hadn’t been to this place in two years.

Two years was a long time.

In two years, he’d grown a beard. In two years, he’d managed to earn enough that he was able to switch his polyester suits for cashmere. In two years, Steve went from a stammering, newly-hired intern to Pepper Potts’ personal assistant in Stark Industries.

So yeah, Steve Rogers was a grown ass man, and he was still scared of showing his face to his neighbourhood coffee shop. Humiliating.

But, well. That was two years ago. And there was no way Twink Barista would still be working here.

He was wrong. Twink Barista was still working there, and somehow, even assuming that he would’ve been able to find a new, better job where he didn’t have to deal with angry businessmen made Steve feel even guiltier. He of all people knew that job hunting wasn’t easy. Had been jobless and couch surfing for a while, until he’d met Pepper and she’d seen something in him.

This was fine. He could deal with this. Two years had passed. He’d probably forgotten all about Steve, had probably allowed the memory to fade into other similar ones. Besides, he’d changed. He had a beard now. Wasn't that basically a disguise?

This was fine. He could deal with this. Two years had passed. He’d probably forgotten all about Steve, had probably allowed the memory to fade into other similar ones. Besides, he’d changed. He had a beard now. Wasn't that basically a disguise?

This was fine. He could deal with this. Two years had passed. He’d probably forgotten all about Steve, had probably allowed the memory to fade into other similar ones. Besides, he’d changed. He had a beard now. Wasn't that basically a disguise?

This was fine. He could deal with this. Two years had passed. He’d probably forgotten all about Steve, had probably allowed the memory to fade into other similar ones. Besides, he’d changed. He had a beard now. Wasn't that basically a disguise?

There was a long line, so Steve sat down at a table. He hated lines; he was willing to wait half an hour until it cleared out.

Then he started second-guessing himself, because shit, maybe he should just get in line to order when the barista was busy with multiple customers waiting so that he wouldn’t even take a long look at Steve’s face.

What if he remembered Steve? What if he reacted badly? What if—why did Steve even care? Baristas dealt with angry people on the daily. Steve knew from experience. So why did he care?

Because he didn’t like being an asshole, or a bully.

And he’d been both, and hadn’t ever bothered to try to make amends afterwards, had just disappeared.

All over spilled coffee.

Twink Barista was still cute. Same hair, same shy look on his face, same flushed cheeks. The first time Steve had laid eyes on him, he’d, well, he’d been charmed, to say the least. The way he’d nervously fidgeted as he let Steve pay for his order had made him smile, and his squeaked, “Thank you, Sir, your order will be right with you,” had really just been the cherry on the top.

Sir.

Steve… liked that.

Steve liked being called Sir. Not just at work, but in bed. And hearing Twink Barista—fuck, what was his name again?—utter that title had… well, he hadn’t had to deal with that problem when scalding hot coffee had soaked his stomach and pants. And crotch.

Twink Barista had a co-worker now, too, he noted. He was cute, like a golden retriever, with how much he smiled and nodded as he took orders from customers, how he handed them their drinks with an extra flourish, beaming. Like life was content, and everything was rainbows and sunshine. If Steve squinted from where he was, he could see that his name started with a C, and when he leaned closer—subtly—the best he got was… Cit? Clit? Oh, god, please don’t let his name be Clit.

Two customers left, which left just a few in the store. He should probably get in line now. But his feet couldn’t move, like they were stuck to the floor, because he wasn’t sure whether facing Twink Barista or a blonde guy potentially named Clit would be worse.

Fortunately—unfortunately?—he didn't have to decide.

Blonde guy—Steve refused to refer to him as “Clit,” even mentally, goddammit—started bustling around after Twink Barista murmured something to him, and stepped out from behind the counter with a mug.

And headed straight for Steve.

Oh, god. This wasn’t—this couldn’t—

Steve tried to look anywhere and everywhere else he could, even considered getting up to flee, but it was too late.

Blonde guy—Clint! Steve noted with dizzying relief—set down the mug on the small round table that he was sitting at and beamed. “For you!”

Steve swallowed back… whatever he’d been about to say, and hesitated for a long few moments before saying dumbly, “I didn’t stand in line.” He could feel his shirt begin to get damp with sweat.

Clint seemed unfazed. He shrugged and smiled politely, maybe a bit awkwardly, but it was still just as warm as the one he’d given the other customers. “My buddy Bucky says it’s your favourite. Don’t worry, it’s on the house.”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Clint hurried away before he could. His favourite. What the hell did that mean?

He reached out, picked up the warm mug, and took a sip. His cheeks flushed with heat the moment the drink hit his taste buds. He pulled back almost reflexively, nearly choking on his drink, tongue burning both from the flavour and how hot it was.

He jerked his head up and towards the direction of the counter, and met Twink—Bucky’s—eyes for a split second before Bucky hurriedly looked away. His cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink than usual, Steve noted, because Steve always noticed small things like that. He suddenly began talking animatedly with customers, but Steve could pick out the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept swallowing reflexively like he was trying to push down bile, like he was nervous that Steve would—like he might—

No. Enough. Steve had a meeting in a bit more than half an hour. He’d come here to relax. So that was what he’d do.

He picked up the mug again and took another sip, then began to read his newspaper, because he was here to relax.

The article was talking about a dog that had managed to save four people from a fire before firefighters could step in.

Lucky, a golden lab at the spry age of two, suffered three mild burns after—

“Sir, please, I didn’t—please don’t leave without pay—”

“What the fuck did you say? You think it’s okay to just say that after you fuckin’ spill that all over me?”

“Sir, I’m s-so—”

—safe to say that Lucky did not suffer any serious injuries. Our furry neighbourhood hero—

“You think you can fucking get a bill after that clown show? You think—god, are you—are you that dense?”

“I promise, Sir, I’ll get you a new drink—”

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it. Unbelievable. You think it’s easy to get this dry-cleaned? Do you even realize how much I—”

Steve’s grip tightened on the paper, and he wished the store would turn up their soft jazz music, if only to block out the sounds in his head.

By the time he finished his drink, he had fifteen minutes to spare, but he didn’t want to spend a second longer in here. So, he yanked out his wallet, pulled out a few bills at random—they happened to be hundreds—and shifted the mug so that he could slide it under, just enough so that half of the bills were poking out. He grabbed the unused napkin Clint had brought with it, pulled out a pen from his pocket, and scrawled, Thank you for the drink, Bucky. My favourite. - S.R.

Then, he got the fuck out of there without looking back even once.

__________

For some unfathomable reason, Steve returned to the coffee shop a few days later.

Maybe it was to try to make amends, since his little napkin note wasn’t, well, enough. Or maybe he just wanted to stare at Bucky again. He was pretty.

He was disappointed to see that Bucky wasn’t there when he stood in line; it was just Clint again, and a red-haired girl, but that was okay. It wasn’t like his life depended on seeing the guy. Besides, Bucky had to have a life outside of his job too.

Steve wondered if he still thought about the incident as frequently as Steve did. He clearly remembered it, considering he’d remembered Steve’s order, but…

He jumped when the door opened with a loud jingle, and speak of the devil, in stepped Bucky. He looked flushed, and his hair was a sweaty mess that he reached up to push away from his forehead. He still looked pretty.

Steve almost raised a hand to say hi, and barely stopped himself in time as Bucky turned and met his eyes, covering his ass by pretending to scritch at his beard. He gave a small smile, a hopeful one, wait, no, what was wrong with him, and Bucky flashed him one that didn’t quite reach his eyes before scrambling to get behind the counter.

There were only two people in front of him, so it wasn’t a long wait, and in less than two minutes, Steve found himself standing in front of Bucky. Clint and the red-head squawked inaudibly to each other, but it was clearly some teasing thrown at Bucky, because Steve noticed Bucky subtly stepping on Clint’s toes, drawing out a muffled yelp from him.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Bucky gave him a small smile. Again, didn’t quite reach his eyes.

That was mostly Steve’s fault, he supposed. He didn’t exactly look like a sweet, innocent little lamb right now either, probably worse than two years ago. “The usual,” he supplied, raising an eyebrow to see if Bucky understood, just because he wanted to.

Bucky’s cheeks grew rosy. “Of course. Is that all?”

“Mmm…” Steve let his gaze slide over to the pastries that were on display. “Give me your favourite from the desserts, too.”

“Of course.” Bucky tapped into the screen, brows knitting as he concentrated, and shit, he was really cute.

Steve swallowed. “Thanks. How much?”

“Oh, um, it’s fine. I’ll just—it’s on me. You paid more than enough last time.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No, c’mon, kid. How much?”

Bucky flushed. “‘m not a kid.”

“No?” Steve pointedly let his eyes roam over Bucky’s face, then down to his chest before flicking back up, delighted—because he was a sadist, sue him—to see Bucky’s face growing even warmer at the attention. “Sure look like one.”

Bucky gaped, and Steve suddenly—he—what the fuck was he doing? Jesus. He shook his head. “Sorry, just, look, just tell me how much.” He was—that was so inappropriate and unprofessional, he shouldn’t even be—

“Ten bucks,” Bucky mumbled, and Steve paid.

He glanced over his shoulder and noted that there were only three people actually sitting in the shop and no one in line behind him, which, cool, that was good. “Thanks,” he said simply, then moved to sit down.

He watched as Bucky hurriedly bowed his head, making his drinks, hissing something to his co-workers, cheeks still pink, and Steve saw him pop a matcha strawberry brownie into the oven.

He glanced down at his phone, answered a quick email, then sent Pepper a text saying that he might be a few minutes late back from his break, which she responded to with a thumbs up, and then the water gun emoji. He smiled.

“Your wife?”

Steve jumped and looked up, turning his phone off reflexively. Bucky set down the plate and mug in front of him. “Oh, no, my, uh, my boss.” He laughed awkwardly.

Bucky looked mortified. “Oh my god, I’m—I don’t even know why I asked that, I shouldn’t have even been looking, I’m so sorry, I don’t usually—I didn’t—”

“Bucky, it’s fine.” Steve gave him a smile that he hoped was warm, and reached out to take his drink. Bucky’s eyes followed his movements anxiously. “Thank you for the drink.”

Bucky blinked. “You paid for it.”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. “I guess so.”

Bucky swallowed, glanced over his shoulder at Clint, who raised an eyebrow at him, and Steve smiled, he couldn’t help it, okay? “Is there a problem?”

Bucky shook his head, hard. “No, no, oh—it’s just—you know, it’s just an inside joke or something.” He flushed again, and Steve’s eyes lingered on his face for a few moments before he tore it away to take a bite from the brownie. “Um, is there anything else I can—that I can do? So that—I don’t want to mess up like—maybe you don’t even remember that it was me, but—”

“Two years ago?” The words slipped before Steve could bite them back.

Bucky swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, um, okay, you do remember. That’s… not fun.”

Steve took the time to think over his words before responding. “No, I suppose not,” he finally said. Bucky twitched. “But only because I keep remembering your tears while I yelled at you.” He huffed humourlessly.

Bucky hesitated, then— “My crocodile tears, you mean?”

“Oh, shit, I did call them that, didn’t I?” Steve gave him a rueful glance. “Look, Bucky, I didn’t—that was two years ago. And I don’t know what possessed me to say those things.” His chest tightened up anxiously, but it was fine, this was good, he’d have some closure, and if he was lucky, he’d be on good terms with Bucky. Who was very pretty. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is: I’m sorry.”

Bucky gaped at Steve, and Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, busying himself with his drink as he waited for—something. “It’s… it’s okay,” he croaked. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” Steve gave him a small smile. “We’re good now, okay? I promise.”

Bucky nodded, looking just as relieved as Steve felt. “Yeah, okay, cool.”

Steve saw Clint pump his fist in the air behind the counter not-so-subtly out of the corner of his eye.

__________

Steve visited every day during his break.

Bucky was less shy and anxious around him now, sometimes even cracking jokes with him, sometimes holding small talk with him, and no matter what he did, it felt perfect. Steve… was having fun. For the first time in years.

Sometimes, he didn’t even get anything besides a cup of water, and Bucky would still treat it like it was the most precious thing in the world as he carried it over to his table.

Bucky set down his coffee in front of him, beaming. “For you.”

Steve laughed. “Bucky, I’m—god, you’re gonna turn me into an addict.”

Bucky smiled shyly. “That’s okay. It just means you’ll keep coming back here, won’t it?”

Steve melted. “Aw, shit.” He grinned. “You’re a real charmer.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, yeah, says the guy in the suit.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad everything’s going well for you.”

“Thank you,” Steve said warmly. “You—I didn’t know you’d still be here, actually.” He took a sip. “Thought you’d have, well, I dunno. Moved on.”

“Oh!” Bucky shuffled his feet, and he scratched at the back of his neck in a way, cheeks rosy. “Yeah, well, I mean. No Fortune 500 company wants a college dropout. I’ve tried, but not much success.”

Shit. “Sorry. That was rude.”

“‘s fine. It’s true. I mean, two years is a long time.”

That was true. Two years was a long time. Two years and Steve had changed. Maybe Bucky could, too. If Steve helped. And he wanted to. Bucky was… Bucky was the biggest sweetheart Steve had ever met. He already knew Pepper would be charmed by him, would love him, maybe even take him under her wing like she’d done for Steve, and that was good, because then Bucky would get a promotion—

You mean if it’s good because it means you get to see more of his cute ass— shut up.

Steve sipped his drink thoughtfully, then— fuck it. “I could try to help,” he said. “Pepper—my boss—she’s looking for another assistant. Well, assistant to her assistant, I guess, would be a better way to explain it. So, a personal assistant for me. It’s at Stark Industries.” He shrugged. “I already know you—” Barely. “—so it’s not like making a recommendation would be odd. Networking.”

Bucky gaped at him. “You’re—oh my god, you’re insane.”

Steve laughed, surprised. “Am I?”

“Yes!” Bucky spluttered. “I just—you can’t just offer a job like that, Steve.”

“Why the hell not? It’s my assistant, Pepper won’t care.” He shrugged. She really wouldn’t. Bucky continued to stare disbelievingly, and Steve suddenly began to wonder if it’d been the wrong decision, if he’d pushed too hard, too fast, too— Shhh. “We’re friends now, aren’t we? ‘s what friends do for each other.” Steve waited, then broke into a grin at the expression on Bucky’s face. He was pretty sure Bucky would be at a loss for words for the next five minutes, when—

“And does being your personal assistant entail some action behind the scenes at home?”

Steve choked on his drink, coughing, his face glowing with heat.

Bucky looked equally mortified and taken aback by the words that had left his mouth, and he cried out, “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I swear I didn’t—”

“Bucky!” Steve spluttered. “You’re fine! It’s fine!”

Bucky was still red in the face, and he was back to not looking Steve in the eyes, which, ugh, that was progress gone one step backwards. “I’m sorry. That was so unprofessional, I didn’t—”

Steve shook his head, shoulders shaking with laughter. “No, you’re fine. We’re friends. Friends joke around, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said faintly. “Yeah, I guess so. ‘m still sorry.”

Suddenly feeling mischievous, Steve grinned and replied, “Forgiven—but only if you spell out what you meant for me.”

Bucky gaped.

Steve raised an eyebrow, and Bucky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I’m waiting,” he drawled.

Bucky blushed and made a frustrated, embarrassed noise as he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, looking hesitant as Clint and the girl bustled around behind him, clearly trying to be inconspicuous while eavesdropping. It made Steve’s lips twitch in amusement. “It’s just, I guess… you’re like, you emit rich energy now, my stupid brain just classified you—your offer as a sugar daddy thing, but as a joke, but I swear—”

Steve had been joking about earning his forgiveness, but curiosity took over against his better judgement, and he involuntarily leaned closer, but he never got to hear the rest of Bucky’s response because his phone suddenly rang out loudly in the nearly empty store, and he scowled. He snatched his phone up and the screen flashed the name TONY up at him. “Shit, I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

“Oh.” Bucky stared. “Oh, okay.”

Steve felt a pang of regret watching him back away, but there wasn’t anything he could do, not when Tony was calling him for god knew what. He picked up and when he spoke, his voice came out more curtly than he’d intended for it to, which was even worse because he knew Tony would pick up on that. “Tony.”

“Ohhh, Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve. You sound busy. Are you busy, Steve-o?” Tony drawled into the phone, then hissed, “Dummy, I swear to god, I’m gonna turn you into a pile of scraps, I’m gonna sell your parts, I’m gonna—”

“A bit,” Steve interrupted. “I was just in the middle of a conversation.” His gaze drifted to Bucky, who was cleaning up a table nearby. His cheeks reddened the slightest bit at Steve’s attention. Cute.

“Oh, really now?” God, Steve could just picture Tony wiggling his eyebrows delightedly. “That’s cute, baby, that’s real cute. Look, I need you to do something.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby.’” Steve rolled his eyes. “What is it?”

“You’ll find out. Tomorrow. Don’t ask Pepper about it. Can’t spoil the surprise, soldier. Just got excited, couldn’t help but call you about it.”

“God, Tony, you’re like, the CEO of the biggest company in the world; don’t you have better, more important things to do?” Steve chuckled fondly.

“Mm, nope.” Tony was smirking. Steve knew he was. “Now, I’ll let you go back to trying to hook up with twinks at your local cafe.”

“I— what?” Steve spluttered, and now it was his turn to get red in the face. “How do you even—”

“Byeee, Steve,” Tony sing-songed, and then the call ended.

Steve left shortly after that, because Bucky became too busy with a group of teenagers who’d come into the shop, and he could only make Pepper wait so long.

He didn’t forget to scribble his number on a napkin, though.

For networking purposes.

Totally.

__________

He waited, but his phone stayed silent for the rest of the day.

Steve had nearly given up by eleven when his phone buzzed, and the screen lit up with a message from an unknown number. He snatched it up immediately, unlocked his phone, and opened the Messages app.

Unknown Number: Hi. It’s Bucky.

Steve took the time to add Bucky to his contacts because duh, then replied.

Steve: Hey! :) Good rest of the day?

The response came immediately.

Bucky: Yeah, just got weirdly busy after our talk.

Bucky: Did you really mean it? The job thing?

Steve: Of course I did. I can’t guarantee it for sure, but I have some influence over who we hire, so. Better than nothing, right?

Bucky: Yeah, yeah.

Steve sucked the inside of his cheek, trying to think of what to say, when—

Bucky: Thank you. I appreciate it

Steve: No problem. A new (better) start to our friendship lol

Bucky: Lol yes. I promise I won’t ruin your suit this time

Steve typed out, You can ruin my suit anytime you want as a joke, but he hastily deleted it because that sounded way too sexual.

Steve: I’ll count on it ;)

Bucky: Stop by the shop tmr?

Steve: Baby, all you had to do was ask. Xoxo goodnight now

Shit. He hadn’t meant to use the pet name.

Bucky: Goodnight!!!

Bucky: <3

Okay, it was fine, then. More than fine. Bucky had sent him a heart. Steve grinned, then set his phone down to prepare for bed.

This was good. It was. It was a new friendship, and Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually made a friend, and he should be happy with himself for having the courage to apologize and come to a reconciliation with Bucky. He had no idea how this was going to end, but that didn’t matter. He was satisfied with what he had.

He most definitely should not be wishing that they were more than just friends.

[nyxicnymph]

Another Time and Date???

Chasulia Oneshot.

@disfordevineaux

@oqxy

@of-scars-and-roses

@sleepymochasloth

@redcxackles-backup

@catintheback

@justanotherpsych00

All Julia Argent knew about her soulmate was that they appeared to be forgetful, or had no access to pen and paper. Scrawled addresses and dates had appeared on her hand nearly daily from her sixteenth birthday. The handwriting had evolved, but it was still a scrawl across her tiny palms.

So Julia wore gloves.

It wasn't like she was embarrassed by her soulmate, far from it. They'd never tried to communicate, but that didn't bother her. Julia believed one should not force destiny.

When the addresses started matching up with certain historical treasures and museums, Julia had a bit of a panic. The same targets that Carmen Sandiego were hitting were only showing up on her hand only hours before the raids.

Sure, Carmen Sandiego was hot, but... she was an international superthief, for God's sake. And Julia just wasn't that attracted to her, no matter what outsiders may think.

But then Carmen started leaving her handwritten notes, after they'd partnered up a few times, to Chief's bemusement. And Julia sighed in relief. Carmen wrote in elegant cursive, not an untidy scrawl.

That didn't solve the mystery, but it knocked one suspect off the list.

"Eh, Miss Argent, you appear to be lost in your thoughts?" Devineaux asked her as he tapped her shoulder.

Julia flinched in surprise. "Oh, just a personal mystery. It has nothing to do with our work."

Devineaux frowned. "But if it is occupying your thoughts, you will not be in the right mindset to work, no?" He grabbed a chair from nowhere and sat in it, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin. "Is it a mystery you are willing to share?"

Julia smiled slightly at the sight before her. Devineaux had grown from an arrogant, dismissive coworker to a steady and reliable friend for her. She sat down as well and took a deep breath.

As close as Devineaux was to her, you don't just talk about soulmates with anyone. Soulmates were a sensitive topic.

"It is my soulmate. Specifically the way our mark works. My soulmate mark is the ink mark, and my soulmate, they must be forgetful or in a habit of writing on themselves. As of the last several months, or year, several of the addresses..." Julia sighed, and removed her glasses to wipe them off in a nervous tic. As she replaces her glasses, she continues, "Several of the addresses lined up with places we have gone in our attempts to capture or work with Carmen Sandiego. At first I thought maybe my soulmate was her, but her handwriting is completely different. Yet the addresses continue to show up."

Devineaux's eyes had steadily grown wider and wider during Julia's small monologue. He cleared his throat. "So, is it maybe one of her comrades? Or someone here at ACME?"

Julia shook her head. "I don't know. But I have a plan. I've never communicated with them, through the connection, but with all these coincidences, I'm about to. I have to. I have to know who they are, Devineaux."

Devineaux nodded and stood. "I hope you find them, Miss Argent." He exited her work area, and made his way outside.

Having exited the building, he leaned against the wall, shaking slightly. He raised his left hand to eye level, and slowly, finger by finger, removed the glove that had been covering it.

He had just written down the address this morning, due to a tip from some of Carmen's contacts.

Devineaux never thought about soulmates, since he didn't have a visible soulmark. But suddenly, after Julia's words, Devineaux was anxious.

What if he had offended, oppressed, and hurt his soulmate?

But you've also learned from your mistakes, apologized, and stepped away from those hurtful behaviors, another part of his mind whispered.

Devineaux clutched his head in confusion and anxiety. He allowed himself two minutes of agonizing, then he stood up tall, replaced his glove, smoothed his hair, straightened his jacket, and returned to his work.

<Timeskip: Next Day>

Julia lowered the pen, only to pull it back. She had been so determined to do this, so ready to finally meet this person, only for her nerve to fail her now? She shook her head and pressed her lips together in determination. She raised the pen again, and placed it firmly on the back of her hand.

I believe it is time for us to meet.

She then gave the address of the café where Chief liked to go in the mornings, and set a time for their meeting, and set the pen down. She stared at her hand for a few minutes, breathless. Finally, the scrawl appears.

I will be there.

Julia released the breath she'd been holding. They were coming. She'd finally meet her soulmate and find out about the addresses and mysteries.

She might even feel less stressed.

She pulled her glove back on and pulled out her laptop, satisfied. They'd meet around noon, if all went well.

Devineaux looked at the back of his hand, shocked, and scared. He didn't have any proof, but if this was just a coincidence, it was an uncanny one.

He pulled the glove back on and resumed his work, though his eyebrows were closer knit than usual. He looked up at a gentle knock, however, less then two minutes later. Julia was standing there nervously.

"Ah, Miss Argent, come in!" He said, putting on his regular Chase facade.

"Devineaux," she began, "I did it! I'm meeting my soulmate for lunch today!"

Devineaux's head swirled, and a lump grew in his throat. He should tell her, but he couldn't get the words out. All he could manage was a weak, "That sounds lovely."

Julia was normally an observant woman, but she was in a daze, and couldn't quite see the tempest in Devineaux. She couldn't see his internal conflict with himself, a conflict that was growing stronger by the second. She just couldn't.

Julia walked around Devineaux's desk, and gave him a hug. "Thank you for being so supportive of me. Not just with this, but with everything. Ever since Egypt, you've become one of my best friends. No, you are my best friend now. And I couldn't be more grateful."

Devineaux returned her hug, his knowledge pressing on his tear ducts, but he swore not to cry. Not then.

"You showed me my errors, Miss Argent. You, and your perspective, changed me for the better." Oh, how he wanted to call her Julia, then. But he couldn't. That wasn't his place. Not yet.

Julia stepped away. "Now, I must go. I have some things to finish up before I leave. Thank you, Devineaux."

He nodded as she turned and left, a slight spring in her step. Devineaux looked down at his desk, noting a drop. The tears weren't tears of sadness, nor joy. They were tears of conflict, and tears of shame that he had been unable to tell her then and there.

He wiped the teardrop of the desk, and returned to his papers. Like Julia, he had several things to accomplish before their lunch. He would not be working through his lunch break today.

Julia tapped the last of her papers together, and looked at the clock. She swept the papers into her desk, and stood up. She was about to leave her area when she looked at a vase on her desk. There was a small flower on the edge of the arrangement she had placed in it, and she pulled it out. Her hair had grown out a bit, but she thought the primrose might still be a nice touch. She placed it gently behind her hair, and smiled, pleased by the effect.

Devineaux waited for Julia to exit the building before hurriedly shoving all his stuff in a briefcase and shoving it into the desk. He stopped by a mirror in the hall and tried to fix his hair, but stopped. It wouldn't change how Julia viewed him. She already knew almost everything about him, or at least his personality.

And his messy grooming habits.

Devineaux internally flinched. If today went well, if she accepted him, he resolved to improve his hygiene and grooming. And double check the toothpaste tubes.

He still hated VILE for that one.

He made his way to the cafe, and stopped just outside. His breath caught in his throat.

She was there. A primrose in her hair, and a radiance around her that just made her shine. He backed away for a moment.

He just realized that he was in love with Julia Argent.

He straightened his coat, hoping she wouldn't be disappointed in him. He walked in with a group of other people. Even from a distance, he could tell that, despite her glow, Julia was anxious. After a glance at his watch, Chase knew why.

He was seven minutes late.

Chase felt his heartrate go up drastically, and he wasn't sure if he'd make it to Julia. He pulled a pen out of his pocket, and placed it on his hand.

Try not to be disappointed.

Julia raised an eyebrow at the message, but also understood. She gasped in surprise when a hand was gently placed on the table in front of her. She looked down at the messages, which mirrored hers exactly, then followed the limb up, past a familiar jacket, to a very familiar face.

Chase Devineaux smiled weakly. "Surprise?"

He sat down heavily and placed his forehead on the table, the anxiety from earlier leaving him exhausted. Julia stared at him, her brain whirling.

"Wait, you're my soulmate?!" She mumbled, still in shock.

Chase lifted his head up. "I wanted to tell you earlier, when you walked in, but I just could not! I give you my deepest apologies, Miss Argent."

Julia looked at him, still processing, but the pieces are starting to click. "No, no, I don't think you should apologize. Something about fate. It's strange like this." She looked at her delicate hand, then placed it on Devineaux's rougher and larger one. "And fate didn't want me to know then, I'm sure."

Devineaux looked away. "But, Miss Argent, how can you trust me now?"

Julia looked at him quizzically. "You've saved my life, and grown into someone I can trust with anyone. Devi-" She stopped, swallowed, and continued. "Chase, how could I not trust you?"

Chase looked at her again, wonder on his face. Hardly anyone called him Chase. "I thought you would hate me, or even worse, ignore me."

Julia sighed. "I could never. We're partners, remember?" She held up her hand. "Forever, I suppose."

Chase cracked a grin, and leaned back, running a hand over his face. "It's like a weight has been lifted from my chest, thanks to you, Miss Argent."

"Julia," she corrected, and he nodded.

"Of course. Julia."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Julia's eyes widened and she covered her mouth. Chase glanced over in concern.

"Julia?"

"I friendzoned you!"

Chase just leaned back and laughed.

<End>

[illfoandillfie]

Easy As A-B-C

Pairing: Professor!Gwilym Lee x Reader

Summery:  Professor Lee is getting sick of marking papers, you offer an alternative. One where he doesn't need to think at all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected sex, bimbofication (without hypnosis), oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, light dom/sub dynamic, dom!reader, sub!Gwil, overstimulation, maybe a little bit of hair pulling

Words: 4,537

A/N: This was massively massively inspired by my love @dracoladon​ and her Drarry fic Lucid (seriously, go read it because she’s a much better writer than me and also sex dumb Draco is hhhhhhh). Reading it made me want to write more himbo fics but without all the hypnosis stuff thats in my Future Management series. Then I got talking to @peachydeacon​ about himbo!Rog which led to talking about himbo!Gwil and this fic is the result of our discussion lmao. It was also partly inspired by a post on a porn blog that popped up on my dash but I can’t link to that because tumblrs dumb. 

Also, it is a professor gwil fic but set after reader has graduated so it’s all above board lmao

Blurb Advent: Day 24

Taglist:  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks​ @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​ @queenmylovely​ @ilovequeenmorethanyou​ @johndeaconshands​ @borhapbois​ @stardust-galaxies​ @cherries-n-rocknroll​ @rogersslave​ @scorpiogemini 

Gwilym looked unreasonably hot while he was grading papers, his brow knitted, wearing a look of serious concentration made all the more noticeable by the reading glasses sliding down his nose. His loose tie and the undone top buttons of his business shirt lent him a casually dishevelled air, and that wasn’t even mentioning the way he absentmindedly twisted his pen between his fingers as he read and reread sentences he was struggling to understand, occasionally pausing to underline something or write a note in the margins. It all painted a very sexy image, the kind of serious sexy only a professor could achieve, though this sexiness was nowhere near new. You’d found his manner oddly arousing even when he’d been your professor. Of course, that had been a few years ago and well before you’d had your chance encounter in the local second hand bookstore that led you to ask him out. He’d stuttered out something about never having even thought of you as more than his student and “really I feel almost as if I’ll get in trouble for the conversation as soon as I get back to campus.” But the awkwardness soon changed when you confessed to having had a minor crush on him back in the day and having since hoped to run into him. He seemed more open to the idea of dinner with you after that and, if you were being honest, more cocky too, but cocky in a decidedly dignified and charming way. Anyway, one thing led to another and now here you were somewhere close to a year and half later and you were struggling not to stare at Gwil as he graded papers and looked professor-ally disarrayed and hot.

You knew it was something to do with the Romantic era poets that the students had to write about because he’d read a question out to you earlier to get your opinion of if it was confusingly worded. “No, I don’t think so,” “Then why in god’s name do none of my students get it?” he looked about ready to hit his head against the desk until he passed out but he returned to the topmost paper with a sigh and ruffled hair from where he’d run his hand through it. That’s when you’d started trying not to stare. A tall order when all you could think about was dragging Gwil to the bedroom and ravishing him enough to make him forget all about John Keats and poetry and the English language itself. Not that that was exactly hard. No, Gwilym had a tendency to get a little dazed and confused when you really gave it to him. Sex drunk you’d decided to call it. A transformation that you quite delighted in witnessing and causing. Gwil was sharp as a tack usually, always ready with some obscure fact or quote from literature. It was part of what made him such a good teacher, his memory for all things bookish, as well as his approachable (if a little stern) demeanour and his determination to get the best from his students. But it wasn’t hard to shut down his brain, cloud his memory and entirely befuddle him. One time you’d snuck into the bathroom at the restaurant you’d gone to for dinner and poor Gwilym had become so spaced out he’d spilt half a glass of wine in his lap and then walked into the glass door as you left, even with you leading him by the hand. You supposed that what they said about great power and responsibility was true. All the same, it was a fun power to wield and you knew that, with the right sort of attention, you could have Gwilym babbling incomprehensible gibberish with no memory of what a poem even was, which was surely something he’d appreciate right about now.

You blinked yourself from your reverie as, finally, Gwil set his glasses aside and rose from his seat, groaning as he stretched out the stiffness in his back. He rolled his neck back and forth, your eyes following, before letting his shoulders drop and moving to sit next to you on the couch. “I can’t do it anymore, I can’t read another word about Byron or I’ll loose it.” He sighed, draping an arm around your shoulders and leaning into your neck. “Byron? I remember that assignment. Everyone hated you for it,” His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, sending a tingle down your spine, “Well if this year’s lot is anything to go by, the feeling was probably mutual,” “Mmm, I remember one girl saying she was going to shove her copy of Don Juan up your arse if she didn’t pass,” He lifted his head again and laughed, “And yet my rectum remains Byron fee and no other injuries befell me, so either I taught you enough to get by or you were all a bunch of cowards,” “Bit of both probably. And why would this year’s be any different, huh?” “I don’t know, you haven’t read any of their attempts at cohesive analysis. Some of them are just throwing out terms like allusion and anapestic and personification all willy-nilly, clearly without properly understanding them. ” “I think you’re being too harsh on them. They’re first years after all and it’s not always easy to understand all that poncy poetical bullshit. Plus, you know it all already so of course everyone else seems stupid to you,” “Maybe,” he conceded, though it seemed to take some effort. “Honestly, someone should put you in their position, see how well you go with it,” “Yeah? And who would do something like that?” Gwilym laughed as you shifted to straddle his lap, accepting the kiss you offered, “You?” “Maybe I will. Spell personification for me,” “You know it’s not high school English, right. We don’t do pop quizzes on spelling and grammar.” “I know you don’t, but this is my subject and I’m testing spelling. Besides,” you let your hand drop between you, brushing lightly over the front of his pants, “I promise it’ll be fun.” Gwil gave a half-hearted eye roll, “P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N, personification. D’you want me to use it in a sentence too?” You knew he’d get it right. Gwil always had been good at spelling off the top of his head which you supposed was a side effect of all his reading and the years devoted to the written word. But it was still a little annoying. Mostly because he was being a bit of a tool about the whole thing, but it didn’t help that you’d grown quite wet thinking about how you’d like to have him, like to turn him into the fucked out airhead you’d seen before. You shook your head and tutted at him as if he got it wrong. “No, that’s definitely it. I’ve just read it about a hundred times, I know I’m right. P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N,” he spelt it faster that time, trying to prove that you were wrong. “Try allusion for me,” “A-L-L-U-S-I-O-N,” Right again. You sighed as if you were disappointed. Gwilym raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “What about caesura?” “C-E-A-S-U-R-A,” The mistake was an easy one to make, two letters flipped around the wrong way, and you could tell he knew it was wrong as soon as he’d said it. He was surprised when you leant forward to kiss him again, cupping his jaw with one hand as you dropped the other and slowly pulled down the zip on his work pants. “But I fucked up,” he said softly, eyes still closed as you pulled away a few centimetres. You just smiled as you thought of a new word, “Anapestic,” It was another word Gwil had mentioned as seeing in his student’s essays so you knew it would be fresh in his mind and he proved as much when he spelt it, “A-N-A-P-E-S-T-I-C,” He was right of course, so you tutted and pulled your hand away from his crotch, grabbing his chin with your other and forcing him to look at you, “You can do better than that.” His features shifted at the sudden loss of contact, the look of concentration returned once more. If anything, your much closer proximity to the expression made him seem all the more hot but you resisted the urge to give in and drag him to the bedroom, curious if he’d catch onto your little game now and, equally so, to see if he’d play along, “Try Onomatopoeia.” A longer word gave him more chances to get things wrong but would his pride and his brain allow that? Apparently so. “O-N-O-M-” Gwil paused and thought for a second, his eyes narrowed as his looked at you, “O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-I-A,” the last three letters were said with such deliberate diction that you knew he’d figured it out. “Good boy,” you said, letting your hands slip inside his undone pants to massage his dick. His hips jolted at the contact and he let his hands fall to your arse, squeezing. “What about, dactyl?” His reply was instant, unthinking, and totally correct, “D-A-C-T-Y-L,” You clicked your tongue condescendingly as you once again removed your hands from him. “Fuck,” “Well that’s what happens when you get things wrong, honey, and such an easy one too,” “I didn’t get it wro- fine, give me another,” You smiled, unable to hide how delighted you were that he was interested in following your rules, even if it was just his competitive streak rearing its head to show that he could out smart you, “Assonance,” Gwilym spelt the word slowly and carefully, making sure to only say one ‘s’ and to leave off the ‘e’. And you made sure to reward him for it, shuffling backwards on his lap so you could shimmy his pants down his thighs and wrap your hand around his cock. He raised an eyebrow at you but otherwise made no comment as he leant back in his seat to enjoy the attention. “Romanticism,” Once again Gwilym was careful with his spelling, intentionally replacing the ‘c’ with a double ‘s’ but that was the kind of behaviour you wanted to encourage so you kept stroking him off, twisting your wrist, dragging your thumb over his flushed tip. It must have felt good with the way he was sighing, shifting his shoulders as if to move his whole body closer to yours. “So clever baby, what about,” you paused, dredging up memories of poetry analysis and the words you used to have burned into your brain but which you’d not had much use for recently, “Enjambment” “Ummm, E-N,” Gwil hummed as you leant over him and let a trail of spit drip onto his cock, using your hand to spread it over his length, “Enjamb-ment, uh, E-N-J-A- no E, no A, M-E-N-T,” You leant into his ear and spoke softly, “That’s right, being so good for me, so clever. What should I do next though? Ride you? Or maybe suck you off? Or just keep doing this?” “Uh,” Gwilym shook his head a little as if to clear it, “mouth? Please?” “Of course, baby. If you can spell dissonance for me.” You were quietly confident that he’d get the spelling wrong, already noticing the first sign of his impending brainlessness, extra filler words where he’d normally not need them. It was funny though, usually he wouldn’t reach that stage until he was much closer to nutting. “D-I-S” he rushed through the first three letters and then stopped, biting his lip, “T-um, A-N-E-N-C-E.” You were sure the errors in that word were less intentional than the previous few and, as promised, slipped off his lap and settled yourself between his legs, pulling his pants off so he could spread them wider for you. You held eye contact as you let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing along a vein, though you couldn’t help but smile as he groaned above you. “Can you spell Decasyllable for me?” you asked before closing your lips around the head of his cock. “What? Oh, um, D-E-C-K- fuck,” he broke off as you swirled your tongue around his tip. “Fuck’s not a letter, baby,” you sank down on him again, bobbing a little lower. “I know, um, Deck-syllable, D-E-C-K-A-S-Y-B-L-E, I think. Is that right?” In answer you hummed and took him a little deeper, pushing his shirt up towards his chest. Gwilym took the hint and pulled it off before he grabbed your hair, leaning his head against the back of the couch. For a moment you just focused on sucking him off, listening to his shallow breathing and whiny groans. But you weren’t finished with your game yet.

“Epigraph?” you asked before bobbing down on him again, pushing yourself to take him deeper still. Gwilym remained silent as you gagged and pulled back from him again to breath freely. “Well?” “What did you say?” “Epigraph. Can you spell that?” He nodded as you resumed your bobbing, his hand grabbing at your hair, “E-P-P-E-G-R-A-F-F.” You hummed around him and his hips bucked up, pushing him further down your throat for a second. “No, don’t stop,” he whined under his breath as once again you let him fall from between your lips. “Sorry baby,” you wrapped your hand around his base and switched back to jerking him off, “you’re so hard though and I know you want to earn your orgasm like a good boy,” Gwilym nodded. “Okay, so spell meter,” “M- oh, I don’t know,” “You do know, baby, you just gotta try. Meter,” He scrunched his face up in thought, “M-E-E-T-R,” “See, I said you knew it, and you did it so well!” Gwilym gave you a dopey smile, looking proud at your praise, “I did?” His mouth dropped open with the movement of your hand. “Of course baby! You got it completely right because you’re so clever. What about sonnet, do you think you can do that one for me?” He nodded enthusiastically, “S-N-E-T,” “Very good! Okay, three more and I’ll let you cum,” “Okay!” “Okay, what about,” you thought for a moment, watching your hand pumping over his shaft as you trailed your fingernails lightly over his thigh, “Spell rhyme,” “Ummm,” Gwilym bit his lip in thought, soft grunting noises rising in his throat in time with your strokes. “It’s a bit of a tricky one,” “Yeah.” “And it’s hard to concentrate isn’t it?” “Mmhmm, so hard to con-ten-tate,” he thought for a little longer as you slowed your hand, “rrr- R-I-M,” “So clever baby! Okay canto,” “Oh! Ummm,” Gwilym pouted and whined as you unexpectedly drew the tip of your tongue around his head, “I don’ know,” “No?” He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Okay what about, poem?” Gwilym seemed to have reached the last dregs of his knowledge, grunting in frustration as he shook his head again.” “You sure you don’t know?” He bucked his hips up into your hand as he shook his head again. “Alright, I’ll give you an easy one then. Spell your name for me, spell Gwilym,” Gwil’s eyes lit up at the suggestion but his face quickly slipped into a frown again, the expression getting more pronounced with every passing second he didn’t say anything. He sought out your face, his eyes brimming with frustrated tears, “I don’t…” his fists balled up as he looked to you for help. “You don’t remember?” He shook his head once more, a tear shaking loose and rolling down his cheek, “you said it was easy.” “It’s okay if you don’t know,” “Really?” he sniffled. “Of course it’s okay. You’re not supposed to know things.” “I’m not?” “Awww, of course not baby. That’s why I’m here, to know things, and you’re just here to make me happy.” Gwilym sighed and leaned back against the couch, smiling again. “Do you want to give it a try for me?” “Umm,” he whined as you slowed your strokes “It would make me very happy,” “Okay, umm…G? L? ummmm, M?” “You’re so clever, baby!” Gwilym giggled proudly and grinned at you as you adjusted your grip on his cock. “You’re my good, smart boy, aren’t you baby?” “Mmhmm,” he bucked his hips towards you as you took him into your mouth again. “Feels go-od,” he mumbled, almost panting with how close he was. You dragged the hand that rested on his thigh up to cup his balls as you sucked on his tip until he moaned and came, spilling his seed over your tongue.

You kept working your hand along his length, even after you’d pulled your mouth from him. “Was that a good orgasm baby? Did it make you feel good?” He nodded, pouting a little as you kept wanking him, “good oggsam,” It took all your effort not to laugh at that, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting so much as a chuckle slip. Very few things delighted you as much as when Gwil forgot how to talk properly. “You know,” you said as you finally let his cock free, “sometimes when people have orgasms they feel euphoric. Do you feel euphoric?” “Mmhmm, you-porik.” “Clever boy. Do you want to help me feel euphoric?” “How?” “With your mouth,” “Oh! Okay!” You braced yourself against his knees as you stood, leaning forward to give Gwil a small kiss on the lips. He closed his eyes and smiled up at you contentedly as you shimmied out of your own clothes, dropping them all to the floor. “You going to let me lie down?” you asked, tapping Gwil on the shoulder. He looked around confusedly for a moment before his eyes settled on you, growing wider as he realised how naked you were. Without warning he surged forward, his hands grabbing your arse as he nuzzled his face in the valley between your breasts. If it were up to Gwil he would have stayed there all day but you had need for him elsewhere so you yanked his head back by his hair, earning a small noise of displeasure. “Don’t complain, baby. You want to make me feel euphoric, right?” “Mmhmm,” he hummed earnestly. “And how do you think you could do that?” “I don’t know,” “Maybe, cunnilingus?” “cun-un-un-un-gus,” “Exactly,” you directed his gaze down to your pussy, failing to hide your amused grin. But he was too far gone to notice, happily slipping to his knees in front of you. Telling him to wait for a second, you climbed onto the couch and spread your legs, beckoning him between them once you were comfortable.

He hadn’t been able to say the word but that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled at the act. A string of soft hums and throaty sounds rose to your lips as he licked your cunt, the scratchy sensation of his beard only amplifying the soft, wet, warmth of his tongue.   “Can you, oh, can you spell poem for me baby?” Gwilym hummed and then started naming letters, his mouth still pressed against your cunt as if he didn’t realise he couldn’t talk and suck at the same time. You didn’t bother to stop him when he said too many letters or correct him when all of them were wrong. You just let his breath wash over you, his tongue flicking against your clit with each new letter, eliciting longer moans and sighs from you. “Fuck Gwil,” you panted, “keep going,” “Keep going,” he repeated, his voice muffled as he dragged his tongue all the way down your slit and then back up again, making you whine. You jolted when he reached your clit again and pressed against his head, keeping him close to you, your other hand trailing up your chest to tweak your nipples and knead your breasts. Occasionally you’d give him an instruction – “faster please,” or “do that again,” or “fuck Gwil, right there,” – and he’d repeat the words back to you, softened and often a little slurred together or mispronounced, before doing as he was asked, drawing you closer to release. He was pleased whenever another groan or mewl slipped from your lips, responding to them with sounds of his own as if he were savouring a particularly delicious meal. It seemed he’d taken what you’d said about making you happy to heart, though some of his whines might have had more to do with his cock, hard again and straining to be touched as his attention remained focused on you. “I’m c-lose ba-by,” you grunted as Gwilym pressed his mouth to your lower lips, as if to give you a soft chaste kiss, only to begin shaking his head side to side, rubbing his face against your cunt. “loase,” he muttered to himself, trailing his tongue back up to your clit, making you grind your hips up into him. It was impossible to keep your mouth shut in the face of such a feeling, wantonly moaning as you felt your orgasm bubbling to the surface. Gwilym hummed against you in response to a particularly loud moan which managed to be your undoing, your knees trying to clamp shut around his head as he continued to suck at your clit.

When you calmed enough to let go of his hair and loosen your thighs from around his ears, Gwilym looked up at you. His face was shiny and wet but he seemed to have regained some of his usual awareness. His eyes weren’t quite as vacant and his smile less dopey than it had been. “Feel good?” he asked, sounding almost normal except for a slight lightness in his tone. “Very good baby,” you leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips, tasting yourself as he opened his mouth and accepted your tongue. Slowly you dropped your hand between you, finding his cock again, not quite done with your brainless toy. He grunted against your lips and bucked into your hand as you stopped his return to sense. “Isn’t this fun?” you said softly as you pulled back, holding Gwil by the chin to stop him from trying to follow. “Yeah, fun,” a smile slowly tugging at his lips, “what is?” “Not needing to think, baby,” “Oh! Yes,” he laughed. “You’re too pretty to have a brain anyway, aren’t you? Much better off letting it leak out of your head,” “Mmhmm, much,” “And do you know what good, dumb boys get?” “No?” “They get fucked. Would you like that?” “Yes yes yes,” “Alright, lie back for me,” you chuckled, giving his cock a final stroke. Gwilym settled on the carpet on his back, grinning as you straddled his lap. Silently he held out his hand, all but two of his fingers folded against his palm. “No, I don’t need your fingers sweetie,” you said, giving the tips of his two fingers a light kiss, “as dextrous as they are and as much as I enjoy them, I think I’m okay skipping straight to your cock,” He nodded, letting you place his hand down on the floor again. You watched his face as you slowly sank down onto him, once again the picture of cunt drunk bliss with glazed eyes and his lip between his teeth. He smiled as you leaned down to kiss him, rolling your hips against his slowly. As you tongues entwined again, Gwilym framed your waist with his hands, slowly dragging them up your sides and onto your chest. He cupped each of your breasts in one of his palms, squeezing softly as you rocked forward and back. “Better than Byron isn’t this?” you asked, pushing yourself up a bit, but not so far you couldn’t kiss him again. “Wha’s Byron?” You laughed, “Y’know I think this might be the dumbest I’ve seen you. Can’t believe all it took was a rigged spelling test. He obviously didn’t understand, staring blankly back at you.

What he did understand was that you were moving further away from him and he whined as you pushed yourself to sit higher again, bracing your hands on his chest as you used your knees to raise and lower yourself. It still wasn’t enough though so you shifted again before too long, placing a hand behind you to grab Gwil’s leg. You leant back on it changing the angle of Gwilym’s cock, and felt his hands drop from your chest, no longer able to reach as easily. They came to rest on your leg, his fingertips digging into your skin as you rode him, keening as you felt the start of your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. “Fuck Gwil, fill me so well, feels so good,” “My dex-ik-tus cock?” You couldn’t help but laugh, taken by surprise at his misunderstanding and mispronunciation of dextrous, but you nodded in agreement too, repeating your sentiments about how good it felt. “Wanna make me feel even better?” “How?” You sat forward again and reached for his hand, pulling it to your clit. Gwilym took the hint, messily rubbing as you bounced on his cock, but his whines and moans only grew as you rode him. “You’re close?” “Mmhmm,” You were on the verge of asking if he could hold it when he came with a groan, pulsing inside you. But you didn’t stop. “I’m close too, baby, so I’m gonna keep fucking you, okay?” He nodded, eyes fixed on you. “Good boy.” You panted, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand at your clit and adjusting your rhythm. Each time you sank back down onto him you did it harder, slamming his cock into you as deep as you could manage, groaning with each one. Your orgasm was frustratingly close but Gwilym was becoming steadily more sensitive as his subsided, wincing more with each of your thrusts. The winces turned to whimpers which turned to whines as you whispered that you were so close. “Almost baby, almost,” “Please. Hur’s,” “Nearly, just. One. More,” you threw your head back with a moan as you finally found your release, Gwil whining when you pulsed around him, a fresh tear running from the corner of his eye onto the carpet as he squirmed under you.

“Sorry, baby,” you said softly as you carefully dismounted him. He hummed as you kissed him again, leaving an extra kiss against the tip of his nose. “Did so well, such a good boy for me,” “Yeah?” “Mmhmm, so good,” He gave you a slightly watery smile and let you pull him into a cuddle, sighing contentedly when you brushed your fingers through his hair. You stayed like that for a while, knowing that later you’d regret lying on the floor for so long but unable to find the energy to move or the willpower to tell Gwilym you had to let him go. He gradually lost the fucked out expression, becoming more aware of his surroundings and more capable of clear speech. “How are you feeling?” you asked when you realised he’d blinked away the last of his sex drunk vacancy. “Better than before. Little tired but much more relaxed and very satisfied. And, before you ask, yes that’s satisfied and yes I can spell it if you want,” “I believe you.”

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.6

it leaves me cold

Chapter Five

This is the sixth chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Penelope ambushed Spencer in his apartment, proved herself the best friend ever, and finally got him some psychiatric help.

In This Chapter: Aaron — furiously angry at the team and convinced Spencer wants nothing to do with him — finally has enough and goes to visit him. Even Penelope can't prepare him for what he'll find.

TW: same as usual — except this time the depictions of depression are representative of a major depressive episode. Spencer requires help with bathing/washing/personal care.

Word Count: 4.7k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

AARON

I can't exactly describe how I feel, but it's not quite right. And it leaves me cold. — F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Love of the Last Tycoon

Aaron has spent the last three weeks in shock, floating through the days absently as he goes through the motions of his daily routines. Guilt has been throbbing through his veins with each painful heartbeat, only exacerbated when every one of his attempts to reach out to Spencer is rebuffed. He can’t exactly blame him, though: he hasn’t let anyone down this badly since Haley’s death, the least he deserves is the silent treatment.

It doesn’t matter that objectively he knows his life has been far too hectic to notice something Spencer was trying so hard to conceal, because when he runs over every interaction they’d had in his head, he can’t believe he missed it. Spencer’s misery was staring him right in the face and he was too blinded, too self-absorbed in his own problems to help the man his heart won’t shut up about, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself of its impropriety.

Penelope had taken yesterday off to help Spencer with a few things, and Aaron couldn’t have been quicker to grant her the leave. If Spencer doesn’t want him around, he can at least rest easy with the knowledge that he was allowing someone to help him. And there isn’t anybody better at caring for other people than Penelope Garcia. That doesn’t help much, though. Not when he spends every moment she’s gone wishing he was the one looking after him, fulfilling his every need and want.

Honestly, he’s just glad they don’t have a case on at the moment. For one, he has a mountain of paperwork he needs to catch up on — including finding Spencer’s replacement, a necessary task no matter how painful — but he also knows he’d not be much use in catching America’s Most Wanted in this mindset.

He looks up from his blurred-over gaze at the paperwork on his desk when Dave taps on the doorframe. “Got a second?” he asks, already making his way into the room.

Aaron sits back in his chair, running a hand across his face as he takes in Dave’s concerned expression. He’s been avoiding him the past few weeks — he’s been avoiding everyone the past few weeks: he works with profilers who are paid to figure out what’s going on in people’s heads and he knows he’ll be read like a book if he lets himself get close enough. Not to mention his desire to lay blame at the feet of his co-workers. As far as he’s concerned, they should all be consumed with guilt even stronger than that which is eating away at him; they all let Spencer down, and emotional turmoil is a small price to pay for such a heinous crime.

“How’s the hunt for a new team member going?” Dave asks, and Aaron resents his easy, honest body language as he sits with his knees apart and shoulders relaxed and open. It’s alright for some, he supposes.

He sighs and reaches for the pile of applications to his right, thumbing through them half-heartedly. “A lot of people want to join the BAU,” he says, after a moment of reaching for something to say.

“Well,” Dave raises an eyebrow as a knowing smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, “have you even started looking through those?”

Aaron looks up at him from under his dark eyebrows, leveling him with a steely gaze. He leans back in his chair again a few seconds later, clasping his hands in front of him. “What do you want, Dave?”

He sighs at that, looking down for a moment before meeting Aaron’s eyes with a determined look of his own. “You’ve been avoiding the entire team since Spencer left,” he says frankly, “and as private as you try to be, Aaron, I know you. I know how you feel about him. You’re torturing yourself.”

“Well, maybe I deserve that torture,” he bites back angrily, the words tumbling from his lips before he can stop them. “I failed, Dave, we all did. And sometimes I think I’m the only one who actually cares about that. I know everyone’s sad Spencer’s gone, but how can all of you feel that way and not hate yourself for contributing to the loss of this unit’s best asset, both personally and professionally?”

Dave looks puzzled at that. “Spencer left of his own accord, Aaron. That’s got nothing to do with the rest of this team.”

Rage — furious, agonising rage — sparks in his chest and he closes his eyes for a moment as he pleads with himself to keep his cool. It’s not his place to share with the rest of the team why Spencer left, but he’s also furious that Dave can apparently use his profiling skills to work out he’s half in love with Spencer, but not apply them enough to realise how much pain their youngest team member was in.

“I suggest you think about the last year long and hard,” Aaron murmurs, low and bitter, and he knows he sounds passive-aggressive but he doesn’t care. He’s too blinded with fury at himself and the rest of this team to care about professionalism right now. “Maybe you’ll understand, then.”

He doesn’t watch Dave leave the room.

Penelope comes into his office that evening, dropping off files he had asked for.

“Come and sit down, Garcia.” He’s exhausted and human contact is not what he really wants right now, but Penelope has information about Spencer he longs to hear. Burying himself in his paperwork again can wait a few minutes.

“Sir?” She looks a little puzzled as she obeys and takes a seat across from him, her bright yellow dress bringing a little colour to his day.

“How’s Spencer doing?” he asks, bone-weary tiredness seeping into his voice as he meets her gaze.

She casts her eyes downwards, her fingers fidgeting in her lap as she considers how to answer the question. “I took him to the doctor yesterday,” she starts carefully, “but he’s hurt. And miserable. He thinks we all hate him, that we’ve excluded him on purpose… he was telling me how he’s been feeling for the past year and it broke my heart. Sir, I’m only being this honest with you because I know you’re aware of Spencer’s mental state, but the others aren’t. And it’s not our place to say.”

“I agree,” he reassures her, nodding. “I’m glad he has you, Garcia. You’re a good friend.”

She pauses for a moment, but she must see something in his face because she eventually musters the courage to say what’s really on her mind. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but Spencer… he needs you, Hotch. I know that he’s been over to see you and Jack a few times and from what I hear that’s the only thing that kept him going for those last few months working here.”

“Garcia, he’s not answering my calls or texts,” he sighs, wishing with every bone in his body that Spencer really does need him the way Penelope says he does; the way Aaron needs him, but he thinks there’s probably a better chance of the sky falling in. “I’ve got the message. He definitely doesn’t need me, I can promise you that.”

“Sir, I know you’re my boss,” she says evenly, averting her eyes slightly, her tell that she’s trying to stay calm, “but you’re being really stupid right now. Spencer is in a lot of pain, I’ve seen it first hand this last week, and I’m in a much better position to say what he needs than you. Communication is overwhelming and exhausting for him, and he’s feeling guilty about leaving you and me. I feel as guilty about all of this as you do, but you can’t let your emotions dictate how you act right now. You’ll only end up hurting him further. If you turn up at his place, I can promise you he will let you in.”

She takes a breath in before meeting his relaxed, open gaze. “I love you both very much, but you are both being idiots,” she huffs before levelling him with a stern glare and storming back to her own office.

With Penelope vacating the room, Aaron is left alone with his head reeling. He knows how close Penelope and Spencer are and he can’t think of a reason for her to lie, especially with Spencer being in such a fragile state, but he simply can’t wrap his head around the possibility of what she’s saying being the truth. He’s so desperate not to get his hopes up; he isn’t sure he can take another heartbreak so soon after losing Haley.

When he turns his phone over, he sees two messages from Penelope: He took today off to recover from yesterday. He’ll be home. Under the files she’s left in his office is a key and a pretty, pink piece of note paper with the code to Spencer’s building printed in dark purple gel pen.

🌧

Aaron can’t believe he’s doing this. He’d spent most of the drive over convincing himself he wasn’t — he absolutely was not — going to use the key Penelope had slid into his office without him noticing. She wasn’t far from begging him when she walked into his office and that’s the only reason he even considered it in the first place. But that innocuous ‘considering’ had landed him here, standing outside Spencer’s apartment, trying to work the courage up to actually go inside.

God, there are so many reasons not to do this. It feels wrong to even be thinking about someone other than his dead ex-wife, but he also knows she’d want him to be happy, and when he really thinks about it those sparks of emotion he wasn’t able to put his finger on were happening long before Haley passed.

“Spencer is in a lot of pain.” Penelope’s desperate words to him earlier wouldn’t stop rattling around his head. Knowing what his heart is longing for now, and knowing what Haley would have wanted for him and Jack, he was finally launched into action.

He can’t believe he’s doing this. That’s true. But he is also absolutely going to do it. He slides his key into the lock on the front door of Spencer’s apartment and pushes it open gently. The living room is dark but tidy; Penelope had told him she was helping him around the house, and he walks in just enough to close the door behind him, its soft click the only sound to be heard.

Gingerly, he makes his way through the lounge and kitchen, heading towards the bedrooms at the back. Two of the doors are open, one obviously the bathroom, the other seeming to be an office of sorts, but one of them is closed. There isn’t any light coming from under the door despite it only being 7, and if he didn’t know better he’d assume nobody’s home.

He does know better though, and not just because of Penelope’s earlier text. He knows Spencer is fighting depression, and he knows he’ll be exhausted both physically and mentally from his day yesterday. That only leaves two options: Spencer is laying completely silently in the dark, or he’s asleep. Considering the time of day, Aaron isn’t sure which of those is better.

“Spencer?” he calls quietly as he pushes the door to his bedroom open. There’s a Spencer-shaped lump hidden under the blankets, but he isn’t moving, so he flicks the hallway light on before making his way towards the bed. The light casts a pretty shadow across Spencer’s face, but Aaron is more focused on the tear tracks staining his cheekbones. “Hey, Spencer?” He touches his arm gently, rubbing a little when he doesn’t flinch. Relief flashes across his chest as soon as he starts to move.

“Aaron?” he asks sleepily, sounding confused. He doesn’t spring upright though, simply burying deeper under what he suspects are very comfortable, warm blankets.

“How are you feeling?” He tries to keep his voice soft and careful, but he can hear the naked, unadulterated fearful concern he feels for Spencer bleeding into his words.

“Tired,” Spencer sighs, and as soon as he admits it, a fresh tear drops from his eye straight to the pillow. “Sad.” Aaron watches as he blinks to try and stop any more tears from betraying how he feels, but it just makes things worse. His heart aches as he watches Spencer curl further into himself as he tries to fight the emotions welling up inside him.

“Hey,” he says gently, “it’s okay.” He reaches out to tenderly touch Spencer's cheek, fingers so light he barely makes contact. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he honestly doesn’t care. Everything inside of him is screaming to take care of the man lying in bed as he falls apart. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Surprisingly, that actually seems to work. Spencer relaxes slightly and lets the tears fall, uninhibited. The defeated expression on his face still eats Aaron up inside, but the pain is mixed with relief that Penelope might actually have been right. Maybe Spencer does need him. As much as it kills him that Spencer’s even in this position to begin with, he’d much rather he be going through the darkness with him at his side than alone; he’d much rather actually be able to do something to ease the pain than sit in his office feeling helpless.

“Have you eaten anything today?” He caresses Spencer’s cheek with a bit more confidence, and his heart clenches tightly when he feels the younger man lean into his touch. Emboldened, he reaches his other hand under the duvet and clasps one of Spencer’s cold hands in his own, threading their fingers together. He swears he can hear music when Spencer holds his hand tightly, clutching at it as though it’s the last connection he has to the real world.

“Don’t think so,” Spencer murmurs, letting his eyes droop closed again.

“Do you think you maybe feel like eating something now? If I made it for you?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed at that and clasps at Aaron’s hand even tighter. “No, please don’t go,” he begs, sounding as desperate as Aaron feels.

“Hey, hey, okay,” he says soothingly, holding Spencer’s hand tightly in his own as he lays his other palm flat against his cheek, noticing how the firm touch seems to relax him. “How about if we ordered something? Then I don’t have to leave.”

He waits patiently for Spencer’s hesitant nod of consent before pulling his phone out and quickly ordering from the curry house he knows is his favourite. Later, he’ll stop to think about all the little pieces of information he’s stored up on Spencer over the years; he’ll consider why his brain thought small things like his favourite foods and the way he smiles every time a Sarah MacLachlan song comes on were important enough to store away for moments like these.

Right now, though, all his focus is on the man in front of him.

“Can you…” Spencer starts hesitantly, voice cracking, “can you come up here?” He refuses to meet Aaron’s eyes as if sure he’s going to refuse, and he doesn’t know how to tell him just how unfounded his fear is. He’d lasso the moon and wrap it in ribbon if Spencer asked for it.

He climbs onto the bed carefully, surprised when Spencer immediately moves to lean his head against his chest, burying into his warmth. Aaron can hear his pounding heart in his ears and he knows there’s no way to conceal its fast-paced rhythm from a man with his ear to his chest, so he simply forces himself to relax into the bizarre position he’s somehow found himself in, and it slowly starts to calm down.

“Aaron?”

God, he loves it when Spencer uses his first name. It’s so personal, so intimate, and it fills his chest with something akin to euphoria every time it graces his ears. “Yes?”

“Why did you come?”

Well. Isn’t that a question. Truthfully, it’s because it feels like there’s some magnetic pull between Aaron’s heart and Spencer’s; like anywhere Spencer is, Aaron needs to be. The feelings he’s been confused by — the ones he’s been trying to ignore, the ones he’s pretending not to understand despite his subconscious longing for Spencer’s company, his touch, his love — are more prominent and undeniable than ever before. But above all, he came because Spencer needed him. And he’d do that no matter what his brain was screaming at him, or what his heart longed for.

This isn’t exactly the time for a bold, terrifying declaration of love, though, is it?

“You needed me,” he says simply, after a long, telling pause. “And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.

Spencer nods, pressing impossibly closer to Aaron. Tears are still making their way down his cheeks, wetting the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, but he doesn’t care. He’ll be anything Spencer needs, and if that’s a hug and a good cry, then that’s perfectly fine. He wraps his hand around Spencer’s waist, hugging him closely and he feels him relax even further. The feeling of his small frame pressed against his own is unparalleled, and he has to breathe deeply to keep himself calm. He’s so far gone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when he feels another sob wrack Spencer’s shoulders.

“I’m exhausted, Aaron,” he replies, voice thick and eyes droopy. “I’m mentally and physically exhausted and I’m lonely. I’m afraid… I’m afraid I’ll never be happy again. I’m tired like I’ve never been tired before, and I just— I can’t keep going like this, you know? I’m never going to get the things I want.”

He presses closer as he says his last sentence and, distantly, Aaron wonders what it is that he wants exactly. A small voice in his head suggests something so preposterous he has to push it aside violently. He might have these feelings for Spencer, but expecting any kind of reciprocation is only going to end in heartbreak; getting his hopes up is simply irresponsible no matter how many stupid, reckless, hope-ridden inklings he might have.

“Spencer,” he starts, but his voice catches and he has to take a moment to compose himself. “Why didn’t you say something? You could have told me, I— I would have helped you.”

“Aaron, you had — still have — so much on your plate, I couldn’t burden you with my… feelings.”

At that ridiculous notion, he reaches for Spencer’s hand and takes it, holding it gently in his own. “You, Spencer Reid, are never a burden to me,” he insists, moving his hand from Spencer’s waist to his short hair, caressing his head soothingly. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You are so incredibly important to me, I’m so unbelievably sorry that I ever let you forget that. That we — that this little family ever let you believe you were anything less than crucial and adored. I’ll never forgive myself for not noticing how much pain you were in sooner.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes, I do,” Aaron interrupts him. “We let you down, Spencer. There are no two ways about it. I will spend the rest of my days apologising to you for not seeing how much agony you were in, no matter how well you were concealing it. You work with profilers, and not one person spotted the burden you were carrying. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt.”

Just like that, the quiet, steady flow of tears Spencer had been crying since Aaron woke him up turn into loud, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs. He turns his face to bury it flat into Aaron’s shirt, rolling so he’s almost on top of him as he searches desperately for purchase in his imploding, grieving state. He holds Spencer as tight as possible, letting him scramble and grip at whatever he can as he completely falls apart, sending little pieces of himself into the atmosphere until he’s nothing but a shell of himself, a broken skeleton with nothing left to give.

It takes almost ten minutes for his violent sobbing to subside, and by the time it does Aaron’s crying too, heart breaking clean down the middle as he tries to hold a broken man together with just his hands. The raw, hopeless, unrestrained emotion in Spencer’s sobs cuts straight through his soul, as if every one of this godforsaken earth’s weighty, miserable grievances have been spilled by one man’s tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs again as Spencer collapses against him, exhaustion palpable as he allows his boneless body to be cradled by Aaron. He has to push aside his self-hatred in order to comfort the younger man — the wrath at himself and the rest of his team can only be unhelpful right now — but he can’t help it from swelling in his chest.

Their food arrives minutes later, and Aaron carries Spencer to the sofa in the living room, internally cringing at how ridiculously easy it is to pick him up, even with his own, albeit mostly healed, injuries still flaring up from time to time. He flicks on the lamp and tucks him in a blanket before running out to get their food. When he returns, Spencer’s staring at nothing as he lays on the sofa, looking so utterly defeated Aaron feels it himself.

“Hey, how do you feel about some food?” he asks softly, perching next to him on the sofa. “Maybe just a little naan? Or some poppadoms?”

Spencer stares at the food Aaron’s laid on the coffee table, a stray tear running down his cheek. He doesn’t even think he’s even crying anymore, it’s just his body doing what it’s used to. Aaron recognises pretty quickly that he’s not up to making any sort of decision, so he plates up a small serving of food: a little naan, half a poppadom, some pilau rice, and some onion bhajis. “Try this.”

Spencer takes the plate obediently and brings a bite of naan to his lips. Aaron gives him some space and serves up his own food before checking the kitchen for some drinks. The naan and some of the rice have disappeared from the plate by the time he gets back with two glasses of water, and he doesn’t even fight the small smile that makes it onto his face at the sight. He’d prepared himself for a hunger strike.

“Let’s watch a documentary,” he suggests, reaching for the remote and flicking the TV on. “How does that sound?”

Spencer actually brightens a little at the suggestion, breaking off a piece of bhaji and sitting up a bit taller. He takes the win and sets the TV to the history channel, catching the beginning of a documentary on European castles.

“Did you know that Wales has more castles than any other European country?” Spencer offers quietly, and Aaron’s heart flip flops happily in his chest — hearing Spencer talk about something he’s interested in, hearing a fact fall from his lips feels like some sort of progress. It’s like seeing a little piece of the real Spencer through the cloak of sadness he’s been shrouded in for so long now.

“Really? Why?” He tries to sound as casual as possible, but he knows his eagerness to keep him talking is showing. “Isn’t it a tiny country?”

“It’s one of the smallest in Europe, but it was a contested territory for centuries, especially in the Medieval era, so countries would set up fortresses and castles to stake their claim,” he explains despite his weariness, before picking another bit of bhaji off. His face isn’t lighting up with quite the same level of enthusiasm as it used to, but just explaining a bit about his knowledge on some obscure topic is enough for Aaron.

When he doesn’t explain beyond that, Aaron simply smiles and reaches for the food on the coffee table. “Do you want any more?”

“Uhm— some more naan?” Spencer sounds almost shy, and it takes him back to when he first joined the bureau, so shy and unsure of his role in the FBI and the world in general. Aaron had felt that flare of protectiveness from his first day in the department, and it’s only grown stronger over time.

“Sure.” He breaks off another piece of naan and hands it over, and the thankful smile he receives in return feels more gratifying than solving any case ever has. The circumstances might not be ideal, but in that moment it strikes him that he wants to spend every evening for the rest of his life like this, watching something that interests and inspires Spencer while they share a take-away on the couch.

Just days ago the thought would have terrified him. Tonight it’s oddly comforting.

As soon as they’ve finished eating and the documentary’s finished, he leads Spencer into the bathroom and makes sure he’s brushed his teeth and washed his face. “Do you want me to help you with the shower?” he asks tentatively, but Spencer shakes his head. “I’ll wait outside, okay? Call me if you need anything.”

He leans against the hallway wall while he waits, but after ten minutes goes by, he knocks on the door. “Everything okay, Spencer?” He calls out a few more times but left with no reply he pushes the door open and finds Spencer sitting on the floor of the shower, staring motionless at the wall as tears stream down his face. “Oh, sweetheart.” The nickname falls from his lips before he can stop it, but that’s the least of his worries.

As he grabs the clean, fluffy towel from the hook on the back of the bathroom door he finds himself, not for the first time, thanking the heavens for Penelope Garcia. He steps forward and turns the water off, grabbing Spencer’s attention, hushing him as he wraps him gently in the towel and lifts him out of the shower. He sits him on the closed toilet seat and dries him the best he can. It’s not like he’s a trained carer, but he does his best. Only his absolute best for Spencer Reid.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says through his tears, “I can’t stop crying. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, there’s no need to apologise. Let’s focus on getting you ready for bed, okay?” He brushes the tears from Spencer’s cheeks before continuing to dry him off.

When he’s dried and dressed in a clean t-shirt and boxers, he carries him — at Spencer’s very adorable insistence — back to the bedroom, tucking him under the duvet and making sure he’s warm and comfortable before he stands upright.

“Stay,” Spencer whispers, grabbing Aaron’s wrist.

Conflicting emotions wage war with one another in Aaron’s mind as he considers such a request. On one hand, it feels majorly inappropriate, even though he’s not Spencer’s boss anymore. He doesn’t want to take advantage of his vulnerable emotional state and they haven’t had a proper conversation about how they feel. But on the other hand, Spencer’s miserable, and if having someone close to reassure him he’s okay is going to make him feel even the tiniest bit better, then he doesn’t know how to say no.

After all, he promised himself that tonight, he would be whatever Spencer needed.

“Are you sure?”

“Please.” His expression is so sincere and earnest that he can’t help it when he slides under the duvet next to him, a warm body immediately cuddling up next to his own.

9.30 is far too early for him to go to sleep usually, but he finds his eyelids drooping only minutes after Spencer’s breathing evens out. The subtle magic, the heady cocktail of desperation and anticipation mingles deep in his heart as he feels himself drop off to sleep, and it’s far too easy to ignore the screaming voice in his head telling him all the awful ways this could go so terribly wrong. Because maybe, his heart whispers, this could go so gloriously right.

Chapter Seven

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban–gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 @thataveragenerd (add yourself to my taglist here)

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Forever

A Very Rogers Christmas.

Part 1- The Best Things In Life Are Tree.

Summary: It’s that time of year again and the Rogers family prepare to go and pick their Christmas tree. But when Emmy calls with a bit of bad news, it puts a little downer on the whole thing for Katie and Steve decides to call in reinforcements to pull off the best Christmas Heist he can…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So here we go, Part 1 of my Stark Spangled 2020 Christmas special- A Very Rogers Christmas.  This one was written for for @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @sagechanoafterdark​ ‘s Winter/Holiday Challenge. My prompt- Finding the PERFECT Tree.

It feels like AGES since I wrote for my babies so I hope you enjoy this little three parter. Part 2 posting next Friday, and part 3 on Christmas Eve.

SSF Masterlist //  WIYPT Masterlist 

"Daddy, I found something else I want to ask Santa for, for Christmas." Rori bounced into the study and Steve closed his eyes on the papers he was trying to grade and sighed.

"I bet you have." He mumbled before he glanced up at his daughter and couldn't help but smile at her as she skipped over to him, her long pony tail swinging behind her "What is it, Princess?" "A capybara." she said, scrambling up onto his lap. "A what?" Steve frowned. "A capybara. Look!" she turned the tablet she was holding towards him to show him a picture of the brown animal "They're like huge guinea pigs. I saw one at the zoo with Uncle Buck yesterday and when I said I wanted one he told me to tell you that I was gonna ask Santa." "Course he did." Steve sighed, mentally cursing his asshole best friend. "You know, Rori, don't think Santa can get you one of those." "Why not?" "It’s too big." He attempted “There’s nowhere for us to keep it.” "Our garden is huge!" Rori blinked at him. "And when Emmy and Petey move into the Tower he can live in the cabin." Trust her to be as damned smart as her mother. "They're wild animals honey." Steve shook his head as he tried attempt number two. "But they live in a zoo." Rori looked up at him, her face full of eager excitement “That’s not the wild.” "Yeah but that’s different." Steve reasoned patiently. "They're not like dogs or cats or regular guinea pigs. They need very special care.” "Oh." Rori looked down a little, her shoulders slumping and Steve sighed.

Fuck you, Bucky.

"Okay. Never mind." She clicked off the screen of her tablet and turned towards Steve, looking up at him with those damned green eyes. "Do you think he could get me a kitty instead?"

No, just say no… "Maybe."

Way to go, Rogers. Rori's eyes lit up and Steve inwardly groaned. It was a well-known fact in their house that whenever Dad said maybe, it meant yes. Fuck.

“I love you Daddy!” she beamed, reaching up to press a kiss to his bearded cheek before she hopped off his lap and skipped towards the door “Oh, me and momma are going to make gingerbread men for tomorrow so we can have them when we decorate the tree.”

“Can’t wait baby.” He smiled

“Are you gonna be working tomorrow afternoon?” she asked a little shyly and he shook his head.

“No, I promise.”  He assured her. “All day tomorrow is family day.”

She gave him another huge smile, one that truly warmed his entire being as it made her look even more like his wife, and then headed out of the room, her feet pattering on the tiles of the hallway as she skipped back into the other part of the house. Steve exhaled and looked back down at the paper, groaning as he realised he’d lost his place. He’d been home early that afternoon hoping for more peace and quiet than he got in his office at the University to concentrate on getting through all these and for the most it had worked, until Jamie and Rori had arrived home from school full of it as usual. Katie had kept them out of his way for the most but the realisation that Christmas was well on the way had hit the eldest two and whipped them up into a fever.

Not that Steve particularly cared. He adored this time of year. It was Katie’s holiday and from the day after Thanksgiving the Christmas period started in full throttle in the Rogers household, and they’d picked tomorrow, 2 weeks before the schools broke up, to go and pick the trees for their lounge and hallway. He was a little disappointed that it hadn’t snowed yet, there had been a good covering the previous year but, still it was set to be a cold and dry day so they could still get bundled up and have their hot chocolate and snacks as usual.

He rubbed at his eyes and focussed, reading through the paper in front of him on the ‘Strategy, Diplomacy and politics of Axis and Allied forces in WW2’, wishing to God he was marking something on the course he was actually employed to teach now- Fine Arts- but all those had been done and graded last week. This was the module of History that he taught, because as the Uni said- he was a living, breathing expert.

Aparently.

An hour or so later he finished red-penning the final six paged essay, with a proud smile as that one had been particularly good and he quickly checked it over once more, making sure he’d captured all the notes on the electronic copy and queued it up to send on Monday, just like Katie had shown him how to, so that each student had the hard copy and soft copy back. He stood up, stretched, turned off his laptop and headed through to the main area of the house, the smell of baking and cooking hitting his nostrils as he went.

He walked into the kitchen to find Rori kneeling on one of the tall stools over the island-slash-breakfast bar, her hands and face smeared in pink icing as she decorated a gingerbread man, her little tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. Katie was stood supervising Harry who was also covered in frosting, this one bright green. Flossie sat in the highchair opposite, banging a spoon on the tray occasionally letting out a yell or babble of something incoherent. As soon as she saw Steve she gave a huge grin and her shouts became louder and he smiled.

“Hi Floss-Floss!” he beamed, crossing to drop a kiss to her head before he looked across at Katie “Where’s Jamie?”

“Upstairs in his room.” Katie gave a little sigh “He said, and I quote, ‘I’m ten now, far too old to decorate gingerbread, mom.’ I could have cried there and then Steve.” She finished with a pout.

Steve gave her a sympathetic smile, the fact her eldest baby boy was growing up was something he knew she hated “Yeah, I bet he won’t be too old to eat them, though.” He appeased and she smiled.

“That’s what I said.” Rori gave a dramatic roll of her eyes and Steve chuckled.

“You finished Grading?” Katie asked as she gently guided Harry’s hand over the cookie shaped like a Christmas tree.

“Yeah, all done. Sorry it took so long.”

“It’s okay.” She looked up at him, smiling “Your dinner is in the oven. I already ate with the kids. Sorry, I was starving.”

“I didn’t expect you to wait.”  Steve walked over the room and dropped a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

He made his way over to the Aga stove and opened the door, giving a little groan when he saw she’d done his favourite, a Mac and Cheese bake laced with chicken, chorizo and broccoli. He turned to look at her and didn’t miss the flicker of a smile on her face as she knew what he was thinking, before he pulled out the plate giving a yell as it burnt his fingers, dropping it onto the side with a clatter.

“Careful daddy, hot!” Harry turned to face him, and Katie burst out laughing.

“Yeah, thanks Son.” Steve tried not to roll his eyes as he sucked his thumb. Grabbing a tea-towel he gripped the plate, found some cutlery and sat down at the table to the side of the kitchen, tucking in.

“I finished all mine, Momma.” Rori grinned, placing the tube of squeezy frosting down on the side. Steve watched as Katie moved to look over Rori’s shoulder.

“Good job sweetie.” She smiled, “Creative, I’ve never seen a pink cat before.”

Steve paused and looked at Rori as she grinned “I know they’re not really pink, and my kitty won’t be, but it can have a pink collar.”

At that he winced and hastily shoved another forkful of food into his mouth, praying that the conversation stopped there.

Katie sighed “Rori we’ve been over this, you can’t have a cat.”

“Daddy said I could.”

Shit.

Katie’s eyes shot to Steve and he gave her his best innocent look, but from the way her features grew stern he knew he was utterly busted and he swallowed the food in his mouth which turned to cement in his throat.

“No, that’s not what I said.” Steve shook his head.

“You said maybe.” Rori shrugged “Same thing.”

“We getting a kitty?” Harry asked, looking at Katie.

“No.” she shook her head.

“But I asked Daddy if Santa would bring me one and he said maybe.” Rori looked at Katie.

“Well Daddy is wrong.” She glared at Steve and he visibly shrank in his seat. Katie’s green eyes narrowed before they turned back to Rori. “Santa can’t bring live animals. It’s in the rules.”

“What rules?”

“The Christmas Rules” Katie said quickly “No live animals. It’s not fair on them. They don’t like the sleigh.”

“But…”

“No buts Rori.” Katie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose “I’m sorry honey, but it’s not gonna happen.”

Rori pouted a little but she knew when she was beat and glanced down at the cookies on the tray before she looked up, grinning smugly. “I’ll just ask Uncle Bucky to get me one. He got me Dory.”

“Oh for the love of…” Katie spluttered “Uncle Bucky won’t get you one either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll tell him not to.” Katie looked at her “We have Stark. No more animals.”

Rori folded her arms and at that point Steve stepped in, sensing an impending tantrum.

“Aurora.” He said sternly and she turned her head to face him as he pointed his fork at her. “Enough.”

She glared at him before she sighed and looked at Katie “Can I get down now please?”

Katie obliged and pulled her stool out a little allowing Rori to hop down. “Stay right there little miss.”

“Why?” Rori frowned as Katie headed to the sink, coming back with a cloth. With a groan, Rori held out her hands so Katie could wipe them clean, along with the little smear of icing on her face “20 minutes and then its bath time. We’re up early in the morning.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Rori bounced excitedly “To pick our trees. Hey, can I get one for my room?”

Katie hesitated before she shrugged “You know, I saw some in the shop that already have the lights on and they change colour. We’ll get a big one for the lounge and hallway like normal and I’ll get you a special one. And you get to keep it for next year and the year after.”

Rori pondered this for a moment before she shook her head “I want a real one from the farm.”

Katie groaned, and threw her hands out to the side “Fine, just, go and watch TV or something in the Play Room.”

“I watch TV too please, Momma?” Harry asked and Katie nodded, cleaning him up too before she lifted him down off the stool. He toddled after Rori, yelling for her to wait and as soon as they were gone Katie rounded on Steve.

“Honey, I…” he began and winced as she exploded on him.

“Seriously? A damned cat?”

“She caught me unawares.”

“She always catches you unawares!” Katie scoffed “After six, almost seven years I’d have thought you’d be used it by now.”

“I only said-“

“And as usual I’m left to be the bad guy.” Katie ranted, shaking her head as she moved to turn Flossie’s chair so she was facing the table. “You’re an asshole.”

“This is technically Bucky’s fault.”

“Oh, no, Steven Grant Rogers! Don’t you are try and blame this one on Buck.” She hissed.

“But he took her to the zoo and told her to ask for a capybara!” Steve practically whined “When I said no she asked for a cat, the maybe just slipped out.” Katie paused, her arms folded, face furious and Steve peered up at her giving her a little smile “Don’t be mad, come on baby. I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re still an asshole.” She grumbled, before she crossed to the fridge and pulled out the wine. “And for that you can deal with bedtime. I’m going for a bath.”

“Sure, not a problem.” Steve nodded, swallowing more of his food. Katie poured herself a large glass before she moved to put the bottle back and then changed her mind. With the bottle in one hand, full glass in the other she made for the door. “I love you.” Steve shot as she passed him, and despite her annoyed demeanour, the slight smile that played on her face told him he wasn’t in too much trouble.  

****

All kids were bathed and in bed little over an hour later. The youngest three settled down to sleep, Jamie instructed he had an hour of TV or reading time before lights off.

“Ok Dad.” He nodded, running his hand through his hair as he tidied up his games console a little, Stark curled up on the bed.

“I’ll be in to check.” Steve looked at him, and Jamie rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I got it. You can trust me.”

“I know.” Steve gave a chuckle “Night son.” He crossed the room to drop a kiss to his head and Jamie pushed him away.

“Gerroff, I’m ten.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still my kid so…” Steve grumbled, and Jamie burst into laughter as the pair of them began to play fight, Jamie digging Steve in the ribs with a well-aimed jab. “Ouch! “ Steve stood up, rubbing at his side, that had hurt a little too much for his liking. “Nice shot.”

“Bucky said I had a good right hook.”

Steve rolled his eyes “I don’t wanna know how he even found that out.”

“He has a punch bag in the garage.” Jamie shrugged as he flopped down onto his bed. “Like yours. He was teaching me to swing.”

“I could teach you that.” Steve replied, a little petulantly.

“Will you?”

“No. You’re ten.” He shot back and Jamie let out a groan of frustration, before Steve chuckled “Ok, I’ll teach you a little IF you promise not to use it anywhere but on the punch bag.”

“But what if I need to use it?”

“Well, that’s different.” Steve pondered, before he shook his head. “But you’re far too young to be getting into situations like that.”

“Uncle Buck said you were fighting people form the age of six. And getting your ass kicked.”

“Well, you do as I say…”

“Not as I do, yeah I got it.” Jamie grinned and Steve arched an eyebrow before he made his way to the door. He paused and turned back to look at his son, not for the first time taking in how damned tall and broad he was for his age. He pointed to Stark “Don’t let your mother catch him on the bed.”

“You know she says the same thing about you.” Jamie looked at him and Steve chuckled.

“I do, but let’s just pretend I don’t okay?”

“Okay, night dad. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Steve smiled, closing the door behind him.

He made his way back downstairs and into the lounge, and paused as he saw Katie talking into the laptop, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Don’t worry about it.” She said softly, and he could tell she was fighting to keep her face straight as Emmy’s voice came from the other side.

“I’m just gutted we can’t get home to come with you guys for the tree.”

“What’s going on?” Steve frowned as he sat next to Katie on the sofa, looking at Emmy and Peter as they both waved to him on the screen “Hey Kids.”

“The UK has been caught up in a huge snow storm.” Katie turned to him. “Their flight has been cancelled.”

“Bummer.” Steve’s frown deepened “Is there nothing from another airport?”

“Not in London.” Emmy shook her head “And the roads are that bad, even if we managed somewhere else…”

“Don’t wanna risk driving Mr R.” Pete shrugged and Steve had to give it to him, that was a sensible move.

“Wise decision.” Steve bit his lip, before he turned to Katie “Can we not get The Stark jet over? You guys should have used that anyway, not gone commercial.”

The irony of his statement didn’t pass him by, as there’d been a time when he had hated using a private jet as he felt it was ostentatious, but he’d fast learned to live with it as it was less hassle and a damned sight comfier and quicker too.

“I told you we didn’t want to.” Emmy shot back and Peter hastily cut in to prevent an argument.

“Already tried Happy before we called. He can’t get in any airfield be it private or other. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Katie shook her head “If you need anything just call. Have you got a place to stay?”

“Yeah, The Savoy found us another room.” Emmy shrugged before she grimaced “I’m gonna have to put it on my credit card though.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Katie shook her head “Just do what you gotta do, we’ll sort the bill out. Do you need us to wire you some cash or-“

“No, we’ve got enough between us for that.” Pete smiled “Just the hotel. We could get somewhere cheaper if that’s-“

“If it’s that bad out there you can stay where you are.” Steve shook his head. “Don’t worry about the money kids, it’s not important.”

“Just call us if you need anything.” Katie added.

“Thanks Mom. Look, we’re gonna go try and get something to eat and then sleep” Emmy sighed “It’s past 1 am now.”

“Sure, call us tomorrow okay, keep us updated.” Steve instructed and Emmy nodded.

“Will do. Love you both.”

“And you.” Katie smiled “Stay safe, and look after each other.”

“Got it.” Emmy grinned and with that she blew them both a kiss as Peter waved and the screen went blank.

Katie bit her lip before she tapped at the keyboard of her laptop “I’m going to send her some money, just in case. I know she has plenty in her savings, but…”

Steve nodded “Good idea. Those are for a rainy day, not a snowy one.”

Katie gave a small smile as she logged into the banking, and hesitated before she transferred a few thousand over to Emmy and closed the laptop, running her hands over her face. Steve saw her shouldes shake and he gave a sigh, pulling her to him.

“Hey, come on. They’re safe. In the poshest hotel known to man.” He pressed a kiss to her head “No doubt thinking this is some kind of huge romantic adventure. Snowed in, in London, with a mini-bar, room service.”

At that thought he grimaced, as his mind took him to a very dark place about just exactly what the spider kid would be doing to his daughter in said hotel room but he shook himself out of it as Katie spoke, sniffling a little.

“I know it’s just, well we started this tradition with Emmy that first Christmas she lived with us.” Her voice cracked “We went with Tony, Pep and Nat remember?”

“I could I forget.” Steve chuckled, his hands rubbing Katie’s back “You were almost five months pregnant and had that jumper on with a huge Christmas pudding on the front.”

“I’ve still got that.” Her voice was muffled as her face pressed into his Henley.

“And Pepper was going mad when Tony bought that nine foot tree for their lounge.”

“Ours wasn’t much smaller.” Katie laughed, leaning back to wipe her eyes. “You had to trim the top off.”

Steve chuckled, his hands cupping her face “A few days after that we found out bump was blue. Hello Jamie.”

“God it seems so long ago.”

“It was.” Steve smiled pressing a kiss to her lips. “11 years.”

“Yeah.” Katie looked at him “We’ve been through a lot since then.”

Steve nodded, as he wiped her face with his thumbs “And a lot worse than this. I know it’s disappointing, kitten, and I’m gutted as well, but it can’t be helped. We’ll still have a good time and we can go out with Emmy and Peter when they get back, nice meal and a few drinks somewhere instead, just the four of us. Start a new tradition now she’s all grown up.”

“Yeah suppose.” Katie sighed “I mean when they moved out in the New Year, they might not wanna come with us to get a tree anymore.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.” Steve snorted “She’ll simply be getting one for her own place. You know she loves Christmas as much as you. All the kids do. Because you make it so special.”

“It isn’t all down to me.” She smiled “You help.”

“It’s definitely your speciality.” Steve shook his head “You do the baking, the carols, the cooking…suss the decorations out.”

“Yeah, but you hang them. And you’re the one that started leaving Santa footprints by the hearth.”

“Okay so it’s a team effort.” Steve shrugged, dropping another kiss to her lips. “It always is when the kids are concerned.” He pulled back a little and nodded to her glass “You want another?”

“I wasn’t going to but yeah, now I do.”

Steve chuckled “I’ll go get us a drink, you find us something suitably Christmassy to watch.”

He stood, pressing his lips to the crown of Katie’s head before he wandered into the kitchen. As he closed the door behind him he pulled out his phone. He’d had an idea, but hadn’t wanted to mention it to Katie just in case it didn’t work…but if it did, well, he was going to reunite his family for their tradition and earn himself major husband points.

Win win situation.

“Hey punk.” Bucky drawled as he picked up.“What’s crackalackin?”

“God you talk some shit.” Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky laughed

“Sorry, we were watching Madagascar.”

“Yeah, I know where it’s from. I got five kids, remember. Six if I count you.”

“Well you could argue Diva Doll counts for two so you really have seven.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, I got a bone to pick with you about her and a damned capybara.” Steve narrowed his eyes as he spoke and there was a pause before Bucky burst out laughing. “Yeah, laugh it up, jerk. That got me in some major shit before.”

“You didn’t say yes?”

“No of course I didn’t.” Steve sighed “But she sideswiped me asking for a damned cat and I said maybe, so…”

“You fucking moron.”

“Whatever, listen, that’s not why I’m calling anyway.” Steve sighed, his voice growing serious. “I need a favour, Buck.”

“I’m listening.” Bucky replied, before Steve explained the predicament and possible solution. When he finished there was a pause and Bucky let out a long whistle. “Man, that’s…”

“I know, I know.” Steve sighed “But I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. Katie’s heartbroken Emmy can’t get home.”

“Well, we can’t have the second most important woman in my life upset now can we?” Bucky replied “Leave it with me.”

“Cheers buddy.”

“You’ll owe me a life time of favours if I can pull this off.”

“We’ll call it quits for you almost getting me couched.”

“Not my fault you can’t say no to your likkle Princessa.” Bucky responded and Steve snorted.

“You’ve met her, right?”

There as another pause and Bucky laughed “Point taken.”

“Not a word to Katie.” Steve instructed “Just in case you can’t do it.”

“You seriously doubt me after all this time?” Bucky sighed “That hurts Stevie.”

“You know what else will hurt?” Steve shot back “My foot up your ass.”

“You want me to do this or not?” Bucky scoffed “Because threatening me aint gonna make me wanna do you any favours.”

“No but not wanting to see my wife upset is.”

“You fight dirty, Steven.” Bucky’s voice was low and Steve could imagine the narrowed eyes he was pulling as he spoke. “Okay, I’ll call Sam now. Leave it with me.”

“Thanks Buck.”

Steve cut the call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket, running a hand over his beard. Buck was right, it was a big ask and ridiculously over the top but, well, nothing was too much for him where his family was concerned. And after everything they’d been through this year what with Flossie’s horrific birth and Katie’s post-partum depression, his amazingly brave and gorgeous wife deserved the damned world. With a sigh he yanked open the fridge as he pulled out Katie’s wine and a beer for him, simply hoping that it worked.

**** “You good?” Steve asked as Jamie hopped into the back of the Q7, taking his place on the rear row of seats.

“Yup.” Jamie grinned “I prefer it back here, Rori can’t bug me.”

“Wanna bet?” Rori turned her head and peered at him from her place in the middle of the second row and Steve shot her a look.

“Enough. I hear one sound outta you that’s annoying him, we’re coming straight home.” He said sternly. Rori eyed him shrewdly, as if weighing up whether he was serious or not and he raised his eyebrows, challenging her.

“Ok Daddy.” She shrugged, turning back round. Steve shot Jamie a wink as turned and collapsed Flossie’s little stroller. He slotted it down the side of Jamie’s seat before he shut the trunk and then quickly inspected the roof rack. Satisfied he looked up just as Katie came out of the house, Flossie on her hip, Harry jumping down the steps in front of her. He headed over to his dad and peeked up, Steve giving a laugh as his little woollen hat slipped down over his eyes.

“Come here, buddy.” He said, swinging him into his arms. The little boy gave a giggle as Steve pulled his hat straight so he could see.

“Thanks Daddy!” he smiled and Steve pressed a kiss to his rosy cheek.

“No problem. You ready to get a tree?”

He nodded “Big one!” he threw his arms out wide and Steve nodded seriously.

“The biggest.”

Ten minutes or so later they were sailing out of Brooklyn in the winter morning sun, heading for the tree farm some forty or so minutes away. True to her word, Rori was behaving and chatting to Harry, Jamie was quiet in the back doing something on his tablet and Katie was gently humming to something on the radio. Steve’s hand reached over for hers and he entwined their fingers, gently bringing her arm across his body, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

The journey pass uneventfully and as Steve announced they had arrived the kids all gave a cheer. He parked the car up and then the disembarking began along with issued orders for Jamie and Rori to stay where they were as they sorted the youngest two.

“I think I’ll just carry Floss.” Katie glanced around. “Pushing her stroller is gonna be a pain. I’ll put her in the carrier.”

“You sure?” Steve asked “I would say I’d do it but…”

“You’re gonna be carrying trees, yeah I know.” Katie waved him away. “Its fine, she’s not heavy. Besides, she’ll be too big to do this with next year.”

Steve smiled at her wistful tone, and between them they had Flossie strapped to Katie’s back in no time, having become experts at it over the years. Katie glanced over her shoulder as Flossie gave her a hug grin, before she peeked around and started to gabble animatedly.

“Ready?” Steve looked around and held the hand that wasn’t containing the saw out, Rori taking it as Katie took Harry’s, Jamie falling into step at her other side next to Steve who strategically placed himself between his eldest son and Rori to avoid any potential arguments between the two siblings.

“Want me to take that Dad?” Jamie asked, nodding to the saw. Steve hesitated then shrugged, it had the safety cover on so he handed it over, Jamie slinging it over his shoulder proudly, stepping in front of them a little and Harry wriggled his hand free of Katie’s and ran forward to take Jamie’s. Jamie smiled down at him and Steve shared a glance with Katie as she smiled at him, slipping her hand into his. The family made their way to the entrance and as they approached the various little trade stands, one of which was selling various hot drinks and baked snacks. Katie took a deep breath and smiled, the warming scents of spices, cinnamon and pine hitting her nostrils.

“Smells exactly the same.” She beamed and then frowned as Steve was looking around, blatantly not listening to her as he was busy studying something to their right.

“Hey!” she tugged on his hand and he glanced down at her.

“Sorry, honey.” He diverted his attention “Just saw someone I know.”

“Oh, from work?” she asked.

“Not exactly.” He nodded in the direction he had been looking and Katie spun at the same time Rori let out a shriek.

“Emmy!” she yelled, wrenching her hand free of Steve’s and bolting towards her sister as she strode towards them alongside Peter, Bucky and Sam.

“I don’t-how?” Katie was struggling for words at the sheer emotion of seeing her eldest daughter, who should still be stranded in England, sweeping Rori into hug. “Steve? What?”

“You got Bucky and Sam to thank.” He said gently, as she spun between them all, before she strode forward meeting Emmy halfway and throwing her arms around her.

“Hey mom!” Emmy smiled, before she pulled back and gently waggled Flossie’s hand. “Hi Floss!”

“How did you get here?” Katie sniffed, wiping her eyes, chuckling before she gave Pete a hug.

“Quinjet.” Emmy grinned “It was awesome. Hey Dad!”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Steve swept her up into a huge hug, picking her up slightly off the ground kissing her head. “Nice to have you home.”

“Hold up, a Quinjet?” Katie looked at Emmy, then to Bucky who shrugged.

“Yeah well Steve rang me last night begging for my help…” he began, putting on a whiney voice “Please Buck, I can’t do this without you Buck, you know the usual.” Steve rolled his eyes as Bucky sniggered. “So, me and Birdbrain set off on a daring rescue mission.”

“Yeah, we totally used and abused Fury’s equipment.” Sam chuckled, as he pressed a kiss to Katie’s cheek as he gave her a hug. “He’s gonna be pissed when he finds out.”

“Oh, screw him!” Katie gave a laugh as she turned to Bucky, wrapping her arms round him. “Thank you so much!”

“Anything for you darlin’” he beamed before she stepped back and spun to face Steve, reaching up and grabbing his face. With a smile she pulled him down to meet her in a long, deep kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispered against his lips, and he beamed at her, his nose brushing hers. “I love you, so much.”

“Love you too.” He smiled, before he drew himself up, a little embarrassed at their PDA in front of his two friends and the kids. “Right, who’s ready to go tree picking?”

“We’ll leave you to it.” Bucky smirked as various excited shouts rang out around them. “I’ve got stuff to do with Jen and Sam’s…ahhhh, crap.” The smile on his face turned into a grimace and Steve spun round to see a familiar figure in a trench coat and eyepatch stood by a black SUV watching from a distance.

“Son of a-” Steve snorted, shaking his head as Fury started walking towards of them. “He still knows everything.”

“You have no idea. “Sam muttered.

“Oh, trust me, we do.” Katie grinned as Fury stopped in front of them.

“Someone wanna tell me why one of my jets was in London this morning?” Fury looked at Bucky, then to Sam, then to Peter, all three of them giving him an innocent look.

“Well, there was a thing.” Bucky shrugged “Emergency.”

“Emergency.” Fury dead panned “So nothing to do with a certain Miss Rogers and Mr Parker being stuck in London in snow storm?”

“How do you know this stuff?” Bucky looked at him.

“I told you Barnes, you wanna get one up on me you gotta keep both eyes open.” He levelled him with a look. “Happy called me in a flap to see if I could action a pick up and I told him I wasn’t running a damned Uber service. And then one of them went missing so I put two and two together and looks like I came up with four” He paused and shrugged, smirking a little “Plus, you forgot to wipe the mission log.”

“Damned it Tin Man!” Sam shoved Bucky “You dick, I told you!”

As the two men began to squabble Fury raised his eyebrows and turned to Steve and then Katie, a small smile flickered across his face “Nova, Cap. Long-time no see.”

“Hi Nick.” Steve smiled, reaching out and shaking his hand.

Fury jerked his head as Katie shook his hand, his eyes roving over each of their kids in turn. “I’ll say. You’ve been busy I see.”

Katie gave a huff “One way of putting it.”

Nick arched an eyebrow before he sighed and turned to Bucky and Sam who were still bickering. “Imma let this one slide.” He spoke loudly, the two men instantly turning to face him. “But only because it’s the holidays and I’m in a good mood.”

“You know technically Stark Industries owns half those jets. Tony paid for and designed a lot of the tech on them after all.” Katie quipped and Nick looked at her, before he let out a laugh.

“You’re more like your brother than you’ll ever care to admit” he shook his head as she snorted, pointing at her.

“Worse people to be like.” She smiled fondly, and Fury gave one last scoff before he turned to Sam and Bucky.

“I’ll see you two later. Now, imma go get me some churros then split.” He looked back at them all “Merry Christmas.”

As they all waved him off, watching the curious glances he attracted as he strode towards the hot food stand and then Harry tugged on Steve’s sleeve, causing him to turn his attention from Fury to the little boy.

“Daddy, who’s the pirate?” Harry asked.

There was a pause before Katie burst out laughing, Steve following suite as they both shared a knowing glance, remembering Tony’s fond little nickname for their one time director.

The Goth Pirate.

“He’s an old friend of mine and your momma’s “Steve explained before he glanced up, not surprised to find that once more Fury had disappeared from sight. “We haven’t seen him in a while. And I doubt we will again for a long time.”

There were more hugs shared and after another final thank you to Sam and Bucky, Katie demanding they come over later for drinks, the four remaining adults and four kids all headed into the farm and the chaos began as they began to scout for their perfect trees.

“So we need two large ones.” Katie spoke, “And one for Emmy and Pete in the Cabin and a smaller one for Rori’s room.” she paused “Jamie, did you want one for your room too?”

“Nah, it’s okay.” He shook his head “Thanks though.”

“So four over all.” Steve nodded. “Okay gang, let’s find us some trees.”

They decided to get Rori’s first as it would be smaller and easier to carry once they’d picked it. They set about walking down the various aisles, and before long the jokes started flowing and they were getting worse and worse with time.

“What would you get if you ate the Christmas decorations?” Pete asked and Jamie looked at him, arching a brow. “Tinselitis.”

“Oh God.” Emmy snorted “That’s as bad as one of dad’s”

“Which reminds me.” Steve said, a smirk on his face, “Did you guys hear the forecast for Christmas eve? They’re predicting rain, deer…”

Katie and Emmy both let out a groan as Jamie and Peter howled with laughter.

“What do you call an elf that runs away from Santa’s workshop?” Jamie asked and Steve paused before he shrugged.

“No idea.”

“A rebel without a Clause…”

Katie, Steve, Emmy and Pete burst out laughing as Pete held out his hand to hi-five him. Jamie grinned.

“That’s a good one buddy.” Steve chuckled. “Where did you hear that?”

“Moo text me before.” He smiled “She said her and Auntie Pep had been googling them to put in their cards this year.”

“Like Father like daughter.” Katie smiled to herself, a little nostalgically as a memory of her brother crashed over her and Steve pulled her a little closer, his hand tightening on hers as he dropped a kiss to her head.

After half an hour or so of scouting and plenty of excited shouts and laughter, Rori paused in front of a tree that was the same height as her and she gave a gasp.

“Daddy, that one.” She pointed.

“You sure?” he cocked his head to one side. The tree was leaning to one side, the branches completely uneven, sticking out at all angles and the top was bent. “It’s a bit-”

“It’s perfect.” Rori insisted.

“Okay Princess, whatever you say.”  He looked at Katie as she smiled, her hand dropping to the back of Rori’s head. “Jamie, you got the saw?”

“Yup.” Jamie nodded, passing it over and they all watched as Steve gripped the trunk of the small tree with one hand a little higher up and began to cut it towards the bottom. He could have easily snapped the trunk with his bare hands but he played the part and in four strong swipes it pulled free with a little crack and Rori gave a shriek and clapped her hands.

“I love it!”

Once the safety cover was back on the saw they continued their search, walking towards the slightly bigger trees they spotted and Katie paused in front of a large, Norwegian spruce and reached out, gently crushing one of the needles between her fingers. She took a sniff and stepped back, nodding.

“That one.”

“I still can’t believe you pick them with the smell.” Steve shook his head.

“It’s not all the smell.” She protested “There’s a lot to consider. The height, width and spacing of the branches…this one’s just right for the corner in the lounge. And that one two down will do for the hallway.”

Steve chuckled, knowing better than to argue. “Positive?”

Katie nodded and once more Jamie passed him the saw. This time they all stepped back as Steve crouched down on the ground, expertly cutting the trunk and just the right place. As he took the final swipe, the tree pitched over to a loud shout of “Timberrrrr” from Jamie and Peter and it landed with a thud.

Harry gave a loud cackle and clapped, Flossie shrieking too as Steve then moved two down and repeated the action with a slightly smaller one that would sit in the entrance lounge directly in front of the photo of the pair of them at their wedding, so it would be the first thing anyone saw as they walked into the house.

Emmy strode past the tree to one that was behind it and then nodded to Pete “I think this one will do. I kinda like the way it fans out at the bottom.”

“Sure, Em.” He smiled “Mr R?”

“Oh, here.” Steve handed him the saw and watched as Pete cut his and Emmy’s first Christmas tree down, his arm round Katie’s waist, lips softly kissing Flossie’s cheek as the baby grinned. He arched an eyebrow as Emmy pressed a kiss to Pete’s lips, giving a soft huff as Katie dug him in the ribs, shooting him a warning glance which he returned with an innocent one of his own.

“Well, that was easy.” Emmy commented “It took us 2 hours last year.”

“They need to be right.” Katie shrugged simply, Steve and Emmy exchanging a look before Steve watched as Pete hoisted his tree easily onto his shoulder. It still surprised Steve how strong Peter was, even though it shouldn’t, he knew he was enhanced after all.

“I’ll take Rori’s, Dad.” Jamie stepped forwards, puffing his chest out a little, picking the smaller tree up easily and placing it on his shoulder, in an identical manner to Pete. Steve actively fought the urge to laugh as Jamie began to walk besides Peter and Emmy, clearly proud as punch at being able to help before he turned to Katie.

“Don’t say it.”

Katie laughed “Oh I’m gonna.” she smirked “If he was any more like you I’d be convinced he was a clone.”

Steve snorted as he bent down and easily lifted their two trees onto his shoulders, before they followed a little slower due to Harry being with them. Steve maneuvered around the other tree pickers as they went, his boot clad feet traipsing on the damp of the ground as they made their way back towards the main entrance and joined Pete, Emmy and Jamie at the place ready to pay. As the various helpers, all dressed in little Elf outfits bustled around to wrap their trees and strap them to the roof of the Audi, Katie was suddenly struck with a little problem.

“Hang on.” she turned to Emmy as she thanked the man who’d been dealing with and handed over the cash. “How are you two gonna get home if Bucky and Sam left?”

At that Pete gave a little grin and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, “Mr Wilson let me borrow his Chevvy.”

“Yeah they went home on Buck’s bike.” Emmy shrugged and at that Steve let out a huge laugh.

“What?” Katie asked.

“Sorry, I’m just picturing those two riding pillion.” He snorted “I give it five minutes before Sam ended up tells Buck to let him off on account of him driving his Ducatti like a maniac.”

“You’ve no room to talk.” Katie scoffed and Steve looked at her with mock outrage.

“Mom?” Jamie asked and Katie turned to him “Can we get a drink now please?”

“Sure, come on.” She smiled and they headed over to the stall. She purchased a hot cider each for her, Steve, Emmy and Pete before hot chocolate for each of the kids along with a selection of donuts, churros and Stollen as Steve took Flossie back to the car so they could pop her in the stroller. They made their way over to one of the benches by the side and sat down and Steve returned, parking Flossie besides them before he handed her a piece of a donut and slipped his arm round Katie, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“You have a good time?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She beamed, before she glanced over at the other side of the bench. Jamie was settled to Emmy’s left, talking to her about school, as she nodded along whilst Rori was perched on Peter’s knee as she animatedly told him about how she was going to decorate her tree in unicorn colours. Harry meanwhile sat in between both Pete and Emmy, his little frame chewing on a donut as he grinned at his parents who smiled back. Katie turned to look a Steve again, leaning up to kiss him softly “It’s been perfect, thank you for making sure we were all together.”

“Well it wouldn’t be a Rogers Christmas otherwise would it?” he smiled, kissing her again.

“Get a room.” Emmy grumbled and Steve turned to her as she smirked, shoving a piece of donut in her mouth.

“Watch it young lady.” Steve pointed at her.                      

“Daddy.” Rori asked “Can I go with Pete in their car to Target? I need decorations for my Princess Tree.”

Steve hesitated for a while and Pete hastily cut in “It’s no bother Mr Rogers.”

“Yeah we need some for ours.” Emmy nodded.”So we’re going anyway.”

“I come too?” Harry asked hopefully and Emmy shrugged

“If Momma and Daddy say it’s ok, course you can, squirt.”

Steve looked at Katie who shrugged “Fine by me. Sure you can manage them?”

Emmy rolled her eyes “They’re no bother.” She then turned to Jamie “You wanna come too?”

“Hell no.” he said hastily, peering round at Rori before he shook his head “I’m going home for some peace and quiet.”

Both Steve and Katie let out a loud laugh, as Katie shook her head “Oh Jamie.”

“What?” he frowned.

“Nothing pal.” Steve smiled, reaching for his cider. “Nothing at all.”

#ssholidaychallenge #sageandsweater

[chrwrites]

SOFTober day 30: Blanket

This is my first attempt at writing dad Luka and family fluff, I hope you like it!

Also, there's a reference to someone else's beautiful fic in this one and I hope you guess what it is 👀 (if not don't worry, I linked it at the end of the work!)

And if you want to read the story on ao3 along with my silly notes here's the link! I hope you like it 💖

Luka was welcomed by the sound of tiny footsteps tapping on the hardwood floor as soon as he entered the house, “Papa!” Harmony called, running towards him and hugging his legs. Luka chuckled, lowering himself to hug his little daughter and greet her, “Hello, mon cœur”, he ruffled her hair when he got up, and let her ramble about her day as he took his jacket and shoes off.

He could hear the sound of the TV coming from the living room, and not seeing Marinette greet him along with their daughter made him suspicious, she had probably gotten lost working on a new project and made Harmony come greet him instead.

“Where's Maman?”, he asked after he picked his daughter up in his arms.

“We were watching Elsa and now she’s sleeping”, she said as he walked towards the living room. The TV was on, showing Harmony’s favourite movie, and Luka found his wife sitting on the couch, head tilted on one side and eyes closed. Her tablet was dangerously balanced on her bump, one hand resting by her side and still holding the digital pen she had been using, there were papers and crayons scattered on the coffee table in front of her and Harmony’s toys were out of their chest and all over the carpet.

“I gave Maman my blankie”, Harmony whispered pointing at her. The small blue and pink blanket Marinette had knitted during her first pregnancy was falling from her shoulders, and he smiled fondly thinking about his daughter climbing on the couch to put it on her mother while she was asleep.

“Well done, little one”, Luka cooed, “We should take Maman to bed, do you want to help me?”.

His question made Harmony nod vigorously, the big blue eyes that resembled her mother’s were sparkling with enthusiasm, showing her eagerness to help her Papa. He instructed her to put her toys in the chest before he carefully picked Marinette up and walked to their bedroom. She nuzzled her head on his chest, garbling some incoherent words when he tucked her into the covers and turned around, her bump sticking out under the covers. He couldn't control the soft expression that appeared on his face as he admired her figure.

This pregnancy was rougher than the first one, and it almost being at the end meant that she always felt tired and drowsy. He wasn't surprised to find her asleep among her projects, it was something she did even before they got together, but he still wanted her to take care of herself and be there for her as much as he could. He pressed a kiss on her forehead before leaving the room and he smiled when he heard her hum softly at his touch.

After he left the room, he found Harmony sitting with her legs crossed in front of the TV, some of her toys were still scattered around the room and she was holding her ice queen doll to her chest. He put away Harmony’s toys before collecting Marinette’s papers and supplies from the coffee table. Some very colourful drawings were topping Marinette’s work, and Luka found himself grinning widely as he looked through his daughter’s works, his heart filling with warmth and pride at the smiling figures that represented their family.

He stashed her drawings on the top of Marinette’s sketches and put them away before walking to Harmony, "Do you want to help Papa make dinner?". The little girl quickly got up to her feet, and giggled when he picked her up and settled her on the kitchen counter.

She accepted the peeled carrot Luka offered, and they waited for the water to boil before he helped her pour the pasta in the pot. When it was done, he allowed Harmony to add the sauce to the pasta and smiled proudly after hearing her say that she did it just like Maman.

They left some pasta for Marinette in case she woke up and craved some, and sat on the table to eat quietly. Harmony later helped him load the dishwasher and they shared a high five for getting their chores done for the day. The little girl cheered when he suggested for her to have a bath and ran towards the bathroom, Luka he couldn't help but laugh as he followed her and pretended not to be able to catch her, "You're too fast!", he said faking a breathless sigh when he caught her and started tickling her. Harmony giggled, squirming in his arms so she could free herself. She walked off to grab her pink bottle of soap when he let her go, and poured it in the tub as soon as Luka had the water running. He watched over his daughter creating scenarios with her mermaids and rubber toys and happily singing the songs from her favourite movies. She laughed as she blew the bubbles in her hands to his direction, and when Luka finally managed to get her out of the water his t-shirt was soaked, Harmony's eyes twinkling with mischief as she changed into clean pyjamas and Luka grabbed a clean t-shirt before he blow dried her dark hair.

"Papa, can you tell me the story about the prince and the lady that in reality is the princess?", Harmony asked when he tucked her to bed.

"Sure", he said, and he launched into the enthralling tale of a prince who had never seen the ocean and his betrothed princess, their fake identities, and the long journey that brought him and the princess' lady-in-waiting together. Harmony listened attentively, cheering when he enacted the scene where the protagonists fought against a group of brigants, and eyes twinkling when the prince and the princess confessed their real identities and got married.

By the time Luka reached the end of the story and the prince and the princess became king and queen, Harmony's eyelids were dropping and she yawned. Luka got up from her bed, adjusting the covers and pressing a small kiss on her forehead. He turned off the lights, and heard Harmony shift before he left the room, "Papa", she called, her voice low, "Will you stay tomorrow?". She was holding onto her pink and blue blanket close as if it would have protected her from a negative answer.

Luka felt his heart tighten in his chest, and tried to hide the flinch in his face with a soft smile. He hated being away for long as much as he hated hearing Harmony cry over the phone and say how much he missed her dad.

Now that he could take a break from touring to help Marinette with the future newborn and enjoy the time with his family he was determined to do so, but despite having been home for several weeks, Harmony would still look at him with sad eyes when she asked him the question, afraid he might answer that he would leave again and be away for a long time.

"Of course I will, ma petite fleur", he reassured. Harmony smiled, and raised her arms in order to hug him. Luka shuffled closer to her, sitting back on the bed and hugging her tight. She mumbled a “Love you, Papa” as she nuzzled to his side that made him feel as happy as the day she was born, and she fell asleep to a sweet lullaby he sang to her.

After making sure that Harmony was asleep, Luka finally got to bed, and Marinette shifted as he got inside the covers. It didn’t take long for her to realize where she was and let out a loud gasp as she stood up, “Oh my god, Harmony!” she screeched, worry clear in her voice. Luka put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and he felt her relax a little under his touch, “Darling, if you scream any louder you'll wake her up”, he said softly, and Marinette sighed as she moved closer to him, “I-I fell asleep…”, she mumbled as Luka wrapped his arm around her, drawing small patterns on her sides.

“I got distracted! That shouldn't have happened! What if she got hurt?”, she sighed helplessly, and Luka kissed her forehead, “Love, it’s okay. She’s old enough to come to you if she needs anything”.

Marinette shook her head, "But... It shouldn't happen... I’m so tired, Lu… and that makes me be a bad mom and-"

“Shhh…", Luka interrupted her, pressing a gentle kiss on her lips to stop the bitter words that were about to come out of her mouth, "You know that’s not true”, he whispered, pulling her close and running his hand on her back slowly.

“It’s the last month, you were this tired with Harm as well. You’re not a bad mom, you’re doing an amazing job and Harmony loves you, and I’m sure she’ll love you too”, he reassured, putting his hand on her bump and rubbing gently. Marinette sighed, and took a deep breath before finally allowing herself to relax.

“And I’ll be here for all of it, I told you. I’m not leaving my favourite girls alone”, Luka reassured. His words made Marinette chuckle, and she shifted closer to rest her head on his shoulder, “You better, Rockstar”.

He kissed her head, and closed his eyes, “You can sleep in tomorrow, I’ll take care of Harmony and you won’t have to worry about anything”, he said, and Marinette’s protests died down in a soft hum when he kissed her. He fixed the blankets on them and smiled at her wife, “I love you”, she whispered before drifting to sleep again.

Did you guess where the tale Luka told Harmony comes from? You can read Adamaris by @livrever here 💖

[introductions-are-a-spook]

Tag list: @kyuudomo @kissthe-gogoat @caloroso-cosmos Let me know if you want to be added or taken off!

Reblogs and feedback always appreciated!

“Thank you for coming today, Ms. McAllen. I assure you, this is not an interrogation; I merely have a few questions,” Maxwell adjusted his glasses and sat down.

“And if I have nothing to hide I have nothing to fear, huh? Same spiel as last time,” Jennifer lazily snipped, hand boredly placed under her chin.

Maxwell paused, raising an eyebrow at her. “Yes, that is correct. Now if we may begin?” He patiently adjusted his papers.

Jennifer shrugged, absentmindedly swiping at the cold, metal table. “Sure.” She hoped her disinterested veneer was keeping up, for inside she was panicking. That was her problem; always hoping, never planning. Moreover, she couldn’t read Maxwell’s face at all.

“Right then. Now, could you tell me what you were doing the night Nikos Antigone was allegedly robbed?”

Jennifer sneered. “We’ve been over this. I was at home minding my own damn business. Any of my neighbor’s will tell you that.”

“I see. And what do you know of Mr. Antigone?”

“I know that he’s a prick. Apparently his father and mine had a falling out, maybe thirty years ago. But you already knew that,” she languidly explained.

“Indeed I did. So does this mean you knew Nikos as a child?”

Oh no, not going there. Jennifer glared at him. “Who cares? What does this have to do your little investigation?”

Maxwell’s face did not shift, much to the lady’s chagrin. “It may be useful at a later date. But if you insist…?”

She groaned, allowing her head to fall into her arms, now splayed on the table.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Very well. You were brought back in because you said you realized something about your house being broken into. Could you recap and elaborate? Use as much detail as you can.”

Finally, an original question. Her golden opportunity. “I had just gotten out of the shower and was heading to bed, like usual. I thought I saw some guy and a cat, but I ignored it. I had some trouble sleeping, so I got up for a drink. And when I brought my water bottle back downstairs, the guy was in there- he bolted while I called the police.”

“And what did he look like?”

Excellent. Let’s see what your little boyfriend thinks of you being a criminal, Andrew. “He was mostly wearing black, but he was short, skinny but fit, and he had brown hair and blueish eyes.” She paused for effect while Maxwell wrote down what she said. “I recognized him.”

Maxwell stopped, his brow crumbled just slightly. Finally! “Then who was he?”

Jennifer faked a shaky breath. “I hate saying this, but…” God, how she was going to relish this. Don’t smile, don’t smile. “I think it was my old friend, Andrew Winston. I’d know his stupid hair anytime.”

Maxwell pursed his lips and set his pen down. He stopped, and Jennifer wondered if maybe he was going to get up and leave. But, instead, he went back to writing with a simple, “Thank you, that will be all. You may leave now.”

So she left, shut the door, and grinned.

~*~

Yet another note from ‘Blinker’ had been found in a politician’s house, and yet still again on the table of a wealthy businessman.

Maxwell spent the evening pacing his room like a caged dog, until the point that his brother Darwin rudely told him to stop creaking the floorboards. It was absolutely maddening- being so close to definitive answers and yet not having the courage to take the leap and find them.

These crimes must be caused by Andrew, they must. He was always in the wrong place at the wrong time, knew all the wrong people, and had the most convicting attitude possible. He hadn’t missed him leaving the party to talk to McAllen. Perhaps Jennifer was just trying to shift blame with that stunt during the interview, but even without that as evidence, the man was easily damned.

It would take nothing- Maxwell could send anyone in London to prison with a single word. And yet here was one man who threw a wrench in his every process, including his will to see him jailed.

Worse yet, if all of this was to be believed, Andrew wasn’t just a quiet thief- he was a robber, willing to use violence. Even the ever-egotistical Maxwell wasn’t like that.

But what could be done? He couldn’t go on in conflict anymore. He’d think of something if it killed him. A conviction that led him to the first person he could find.

“I never thought I’d see the day where you needed comfort- especially from me.”

“I don’t need comfort, George, I need answers. Now I won’t want any spooky nonsense about romance or love or-“

“I will provide insight as I see fit, but I can’t if you never ask.”

Maxwell huffed. Of course, the man was married recently. Why wouldn’t he exclude those kinds of answers?

“And besides, you seem to be a bit of the romantic type these days, anyway.” Was that a smirk? But, at least it got him talking.

“Yes, and that’s the problem. My job is to throw criminals in prison, yet I can’t stand the thought of doing that to Andrew. And if the evidence is to be believed, he is potentially worse than I thought.” Maxwell huffed.

George simply looked at Maxwell, tilting his head in invitation to continue. The younger sat down next to the older, taking off his glasses and putting his head in his hands.

“He seems so innocent. How am I to believe this man uses violence to get what he wants, when I see him be so gentle to me, and to Isabella?”

George still did not speak, Maxwell sighed heavily.

“I likely am in love with him, but I hate it. I despise feeling this helpless, so not myself… this being at someone else’s mercy.”

“Well I see the problem then. For once in your life, you’re doing something that you don’t want to do.”

“And of my own volition, too. How humiliating,” Maxwell groaned.

“So, what do you want?”

Maxwell paused, whispering, mouthing even, I don’t know. “I want… many things. To be with Andrew, to put him behind bars. To never see him again, to never have met him in the first place. He makes me feel so terribly conflicted, yet more alive than ever.”

“So find a compromise.”

And finally, finally, something clicked in Maxwell’s mind. Quickly thanking George for whatever it was he’d done, Max ran back to his pinboard and started frantically rearranging it.

[redeadepression]

Please Stay | John Marston Fic

~~

I’ve decided to make this a small series. John’s inner monologue of all his failures (set in my Modern AU) and interactions with his friends and family/their reactions to his situation.

Jumbled timeline because I write what I feel like lately. But this is the sequel of Don’t Go and Just Ask.

Not sure if anyone is actually reading them but I am enjoying the journey regardless. 

~~

Trigger warning: implied/referenced attempted suicide, depression, anxiety, mental health issues, psychiatric hospitals

Characters: John Marston, Karmen Davis/Karmen Cassady (My OC) Setting: My Modern AU Words: 3582 Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship fluff Summery: John finally having access to his mobile phone brings him some much needed comfort but also extra pain.

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PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS!

John wasn’t sure he’d slept at all the night before. His eyes were dry and aching and his nose was red raw from wiping it. The muscles in his neck were sore from trying to keep himself quiet and his breath had been hitching involuntarily since the early hours.

He’d thought the first few days had been rough. But they were nothing compared to what he’d experienced after Arthur had left him.

He’d felt lonely plenty of times in his life. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so alone as he had watching Arthur’s back retreat down the hallway.

He’d wanted to scream for him to come back. Cry and beg for him to stay by his side despite years of internalized fear of looking weak in front of the other man.

He’d hated himself for it.

Needing someone.

He had a mandatory physic session after visiting hours had ended and as usual, he had refused to speak at all.

His psychologist was a very patient man. Generally, they would sit in a comfortable silence. Every now and then he would ask a question or make a statement and when John didn’t respond he would scribble something in his note pad.

John wondering what the man could possibly gleam from his silence. But he’d never ask. The scratching of the pen on paper made his skin crawl.

The other man reading him like an open book without him ever having to speak. Seeing into his psyche intimately and writing down his findings to be placed in his file alongside mundane information such as his blood type.

John wasn’t sure what vibe he had given off that prompted the doctor to ask if there was something he could do to make his stay more comfortable.

He had scoffed in reply. Asking if the doctors there had always been in the habit of bribing their patients or if he was just special.

The other man had laughed heartily at the retort before replying that their focus at the hospital was to help their patients get better and go home. He simply wanted to know what it was that would make John feel comfortable enough to talk to him.

John had answered immediately that he wanted his phone.

He hadn’t been able to tell anyone where he’d gone.

Hadn’t left a note.

The Doctor had reminded him calmly that patients weren’t permitted to have their cells and if John wanted to contact a friend or relative he could do so through the landlines they had set up where patients could be monitored during their calls.

John had rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to talk on the phone. He hated phone calls with a passion.

He wanted to text.

He didn’t want to hear the emotion in his friend’s voices as he explained what had happened or more accurately, he was terrified of not hearing any emotion at all.

Realising that they didn’t care.

John’s doctor had been silent for a long while. Tapping the end of his pen against his lips as he stared at the large painting above John’s head and lost himself in thought.

“I might be able to get you some time with your phone. If you participate in today’s session.” He’d said finally, again causing John to scoff.

“So a bribe?” He’d asked again, making the other man smile.

“A reward.” He had replied simply.

 ~

 The doctor hadn’t probed too much. Keeping things light and making sure John felt safe as they finally got to know one another.

He’d seemed happy with the results and kept up his end of the bargain. Allowing John to use his phone for a few minutes under the watchful eye of one of the other staff members.

John had held his breath as he’d watched the apple symbol fade away and his lock screen had come into view. He stared at baby Jack as he waited, unconsciously clenching his jaw as he waited to see if anyone had missed him.

He’d let out the breath he’d been holding as the phone began to vibrate. Days of texts and missed calls coming through all at once.

Karmen

Arthur

Karmen

Karmen

Mary-Beth

Karmen

Arthur

He’d mumbled the names as they’d popped up on the screen, feeling a sense of relief but also a great sadness.

“Abigail.” He’d whispered, clicking on the text immediately and ignoring the others. It wasn’t a message from her, but an automated notification to let him know she had called. He started at it, swallowing hard as he read the words:

No voicemail was message left.

He sighed shakily, his heart feeling heavy. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. She knew where he was and more pertinently, she had no reason to miss him.

He swallowed audibly, wiping at his misty eyes as he clicked away and in to Karmen’s messages instead.

23 Missed called. 14 texts.

He felt his heart flutter and for a small moment he felt happy. Every missed call had a voicemail attached and every message asked him where he was.

If he was okay.

His eyes watered as he scrolled through them. He didn’t have time to listen to the voicemails. But the texts were enough to make his heart ache. The desperation he sensed in her messages was palpable.

Guilt bubbled in his chest as he realised he had made her fret.

-

Are you home?

-

Please answer me, I’m worried.

-

Are you okay?

-

John please let me know you’re alright!

-

You’re scaring me :(

-

Please John answer me if you’re okay. xxx

-

Days’ worth of texts begging him to respond. His lips trembled, eyes spilling over as he reached the end of the thread.

His thumbs moved unconsciously across the keys as he replied without thinking.

-

I’m okay

-

He said simply. Staring at the message for a moment before three dots appeared and he knew she was typing back. Surprised by how quick she’d been. Had she really been waiting for him to respond this entire time?

-

Thank God

-

She replied. The three dots appearing again almost instantly as she continued to type.

-

I just spoke to Arthur

-

She replied again, making John’s breath hitch. There was a moment where nothing happened on the screen and John had to look away. Putting his phone down on the table in front of him and rubbing at his eyes. Unable to get rid of the persistent wetness.

His phone vibrated again, and he looked down at the message with blurry eyes.

-

Do you want visitors?

-

The text asked simply, making him choke on a sob as he snatched the cell and replied a quickly.

-

Yes.

-

I’ll be there as soon as I can.

-

She replied, the three dots ever looming.

John typed rapidly, his eyes darting between his phone and the nurse in the corner of the room. He could feel her watching him intently and knew he didn’t have much longer before she took his cell again.

Especially if he couldn’t control his emotions.

-

They’re going to take my phone again

-

John typed urgently, shaky thumb pressing send and causing her dots to disappear for a second before reappearing just as fast.

-

Stay strong honey xx

-

Karmen replied.

John stared at it, heart somehow feeling lighter and heavier at the same time.

The nurse began to walk towards him and he held his phone closer, protectively as he switched back in to Abigail’s messages.

-

Please come and visit

-

He typed hurriedly, feeling sick at the thought of begging. Only just managing to hit send as the nurse held out her hand and told him his time was up.

He handed it over reluctantly. Watching as she turned it off and gestured for him to stand so she could walk him back to his room.

 ~

 John hadn’t slept again or at least he didn’t think he did. He hadn’t been this tired since Jack was a newborn and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes.

He’d spent the night staring at the ceiling and overanalysing everything that was said in his last text exchange.

He supposed that’s why they weren’t allowed to have their phones. It was so easy to misinterpret a line of text as opposed to a line that came from the lips. Although John thought, if anyone could still misinterpret a line from the lips it was probably him.

A knock on the doorframe caught his attention and he looked over to find Karmen standing there with a sympathetic smile. She entered without being beckoned as he rushed to sit up and greet her.

“You came.” He said softly when he found his voice, earning himself a frown.

“Of course, I did.” She said incredulously, placing her handbag down on the nightstand and moving to sit in the same chair Arthur had occupied the day before. “Did you not want me to?” She asked, her tone light but her words holding weight.

John had been vulnerable in front of her many times before. But whenever he showed his emotions, he seemed to always have one foot out the door. Readying himself to run away from his problems or just shut down completely at any moment. She knew he had trouble with his own weaknesses, especially in front of an audience and if he wanted her to leave, she would.

He’d gotten better at expressing himself over the years. But he’d never quite gotten the hang of truly letting someone else share his burden. There was always something he was keeping to himself and often it weighed him down significantly.

She desperately wished he would share his whole self with her so she could help ease his pain. But despite her hopes she had come to terms with the way he handled himself long ago. Long before Abigail existed in their lives.

She couldn’t believe now in the current state of things that she had once dared to hope he might share his whole self with Abigail.

The rotten bitch didn’t deserve to know what was weighing him down so heavily.

Perhaps he did share with her though.

She thought to herself as she looked to him with compassion. Maybe sharing his burden with her and being rejected had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Something had snapped between the time he had left her house and when he ended up here.

She didn’t intend to ask him what had happened.

He would tell her when he was ready. He always did.

“Abigail didn’t come.” John said simply after a moment of silence. Ignoring her question but effectively explaining his confusion. Karmen looked at him sympathetically, trying hard to convey that she felt sad for him but she did not pity him.

“Are you surprised?” She asked softly, a genuine question not meant to be sarcastic or mean. John shook his head slowly, biting at the inside of his bottom lip to try and stop it from trembling.

He looked away from his friend, taking in a deep breath and trying his best to ignore the burning behind his eyes.

He jumped slightly as she stood, and he felt her hand slide on top of his. He looked down to their joined hands, turning his to take hers fully and squeezing tightly. Staring at it for a long minute before using it to pull her closer and wrapping his arms around her.

Karmen sat on the edge of the bed to keep her balance. Her free arm coming to wrap around his back and pull him close. He pressed his face into her shoulder, tears wetting the fabric of her shirt as he took a moment to let himself cry.

She shushed him lightly, squeezing his hand back hard and rubbing her thumb along what she could reach of his palm. Her other hand running small circles over his back as she held him firmly to her, doing her best to make him feel secure.

“Is she home?” John asked hoarsely, voice muffled against her collarbone. He heard Karmen swallow and knew he’d already gotten his answer.

She hesitated, unsure if the truth was best in this situation.

“Yes. She’s been home.” She answered eventually, voice soft as if whispering would make it hurt less. John didn’t respond, unsure he would be able to if he tried. His heart thundered in his chest and his body ached all over. His face felt hot and his teeth threatened to crack with how hard he was clenching his jaw. “I’m sorry.” Karmen whispered, her hand coming up to run through his hair.

John had always relished the physical comfort she gave him. She was the first person he ever remembered hugging him at the tender age of eight. He wasn’t sure if his Father had ever hugged him but if he had, he was too young to remember it.

Karmen had been a constant source of comfort throughout his life whether she knew it or not. Being around her made him feel inexplicably safe despite knowing she wasn’t capable of physically protecting him. He towered over her in stature and he had been known to knock out other men as big as Arthur, whereas he wasn’t sure Karmen had ever been involved in a physical altercation in her entire life.

Karmen stroked her fingers through his hair absently and wondered what he was thinking about. He hadn’t responded about Abigail. She doubted he was thinking positive thoughts.

“You scared me.” She said softly after a long moment of silence. John jolted slightly when she spoke, being thrown back roughly into reality.

“I’m sorry.” He said croakily, squeezing her tighter.

“I’ve been texting and calling all week.” She murmured, anger on the edge of her tone but not quite shining through.

John felt himself shiver against her as a new wave of guilt rushed through his chest. Sucking the air from his lungs as he desperately tried to take in another breath. Lungs hitching and failing as Karmen ran a calming hand down his spine and shushed him again lightly.

“Why didn’t…” He tried, finding his voice again through the lump in his throat.  “You come earlier?” He finished, choking on his own words as he felt her sigh in his arms.

She was silent for too long.

John convincing himself without her needing to speak that she simply didn’t want to. He was a chore that she’d put off as long as humanely possible. Arriving just in time to throw him a bone and keep him alive.

“I didn’t know where you were.” Karmen finally answered, making John frown at the flatness of her tone.

He had seen her texts and knew she was asking for him.

She lived across the damn road from him for God’s sakes. If she wanted to know where he was how hard was it to walk across the street and ask.

“Didn’t you ask Abigail?” He questioned, pulling away from the hug and looking to her with furrowed brows.

She stared back, sad eyes filled with something he could not discern, looking him over as she contemplated her answer.

Of course, she had asked.

“I didn’t think of it.” She lied, placing a hand on his cheek and wiping at the new tears forming with a gentle thumb.

John swallowed thickly, her answer out of character with everything he knew about her. She was relentless when she wanted answers. Ruthless when it came to things like social media stalking. She could spend twenty minutes on someone’s Facebook and tell you what their Mother had eaten for lunch the day they were born.

But she hadn’t thought to ask his wife where he was when he had stopped responding to her texts…

He didn’t buy it.

“Arthur called me yesterday. I came as soon as I could.” She added, looking into his eyes and spying a sadness so deep she was afraid it would swallow him.

It almost had.

She realised, gritting her teeth and blinking against her own tears.

“She didn’t tell you where I was?” John asked after a long moment, voice small. “What I’d-” He stopped himself, unable to finish the sentence.

Karmen stared at him, biting at her bottom lip as she watched his face crumple.

“She just said you weren’t home.” She explained with a sigh. “I don’t know why she told Arthur the truth.” She whispered earnestly, pulling him back to her and guiding his head to her shoulder with one hand.

He rested against her easily. Craving her touch in the most platonic sense.

“I do.” He answered plainly, the pain in his voice evident as he took in a shaky breath.

“She scared of him like everyone else?” Karmen asked with a chuckle. Surprised when John sniffed out a small laugh.

“No.” He answered. “The opposite.”

“He’s scared of her?” Karmen asked, her voice scandalous, making John smile. She knew what he meant. Abigail’s suspected crush on Arthur had been brought up a few times between their small group of friends. She’d never broached it with John, but she suspected he knew.

He didn’t have to say it if it was too distressing. She decided instead to move on from the topic of Arthur. He’d already guesses she had spoken with Abigail. No point now in omitting the specifics. “Abigail…” She began, feeling him tense at the named. “She was acting real’ weird when I saw her.” She said softly. “Not gonna’ lie I was kinda worried she’d murdered you.” She added with a chuckle. “Glad she didn’t though.”

John pulled away from her again, a small smile on his face as he moved away completely and rolled his eyes. He sat back against the head of his bed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Wouldn’t put it passed her to be honest.” He lamented. “Seems to want me gone bad enough.”

Karmen nodded, clicking her tongue for lack of anything to say. She knew Abigail had purposefully deceived her. But enforcing that with John was not what he needed from her in that moment. He didn’t need her to force him into feeling disdain for his wife while he was so vulnerable.

If he wanted to leave her, he needed to make that decision on his own. Not under her influence. He wouldn’t have him feeling resentful of her or her involvement in their divorce in future.

“I don’t think she’ll come.” John said softly, breaking the long silence as Karmen looked to him sympathetically. “If she doesn’t…” He began, sitting forward and wringing his hands together in his lap. “Could you see if she’ll let you bring Jack?” He asked after a moment, muscles straining under the effort to keep his face neutral.  

“Sure.” Karmen nodded with a soft shrug. She wasn’t hopeful but she could certainly try. She’d do anything to make him happy at this point. “Oh.” She exclaimed, making him jump as she reached for her bag on the nightstand. “Here.” She said excitedly, rummaging through her bag and producing something.

She held out her hand and he took the object with a smile.

“I forgot this was coming out.” He said softly, staring at the Pokémon game in his hands before looking to her with watery eyes. “Thank you.” He whispered, feeling emotion rise to the surface once more.

“I just bought them before I came here. So you’ve got Sword and I‘ve got Shield, so we can trade.” Karmen smiled, pulling her console from her bag and placing it on the nightstand. “You can borrow mine until you get home.” She said softly.

“Actually, Arthur brought me mine.” John said quickly, pulling open the nightstand and checking to make sure he hadn’t dreamed it.

Everything was fuzzy at the moment.

“Oh, even better.” Karmen smiled wickedly, taking her console back and placing it in her purse. “You’d better get on that. Make sure to catch extras of all the exclusives for me.” She said, only half joking. But mainly intending to push John into obsessing over something other than the state of his marriage.

John stared at the cover art, excitement flicking in his chest for the first time in a long while. He really had been looking forward to it.

Until…

He closed his eyes, pushing the thought away as he placed the game down next to him. At least now he would have something to keep him occupied during the long nights of no sleep.

“Thanks.” He said again, unable to accurately express how much the small gesture meant to him.

“You’re welcome honey.” Karmen smiled, placing a comforting hand on his knee and petting it gently as he watched on with glazed eyes.

“Do… Do you have to go soon?” John asked, voice hoarse as he kept his emotions at bay for the moment.

“Not if you don’t want me to.” She answered, a question lingering in the air as John shook his head in response.

“Wanna play?” He asked after a moment, watching as her lips quirked at the question.

“Hell yes, I do.” She answered eagerly, reaching for her bag once more as John chuckled at her enthusiasm.

She always seemed to know exactly what he needed to make him feel better.

He was so grateful to have her.

End.

 ~~~~

John is a Pokémon fan. I don’t take constructive criticism. :’)

Please let me know if you read this and liked it! I love hearing from my awesome readers! Let me know if you want more backstory and what you’re hoping to see! ❤

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Forever

A Very Rogers Christmas Part 1- The Best Things In Life Are Tree

Summary: It’s that time of year again and the Rogers family prepare to go and pick their Christmas tree. But when Emmy calls with a bit of bad news, it puts a little downer on the whole thing for Katie and Steve decides to call in reinforcements to pull off the best Christmas Heist he can…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So here we go, Part 1 of my Stark Spangled 2020 Christmas special- A Very Rogers Christmas.  This one was written for For @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @sagechanoafterdark ‘s Winter/Holiday Challenge.

Prompt- Finding the PERFECT Tree.

"Daddy, I found something else I want to ask Santa for, for Christmas." Rori bounced into the study and Steve closed his eyes on the papers he was trying to grade and sighed. "I bet you have." He mumbled before he glanced up at his daughter and couldn't help but smile at her as she skipped over to him, her long pony tail swinging behind her "What is it, Princess?" "A capybara." she said, scrambling up onto his lap. "A what?" Steve frowned. "A capybara. Look!" she turned the tablet she was holding towards him to show him a picture of the brown animal "They're like huge guinea pigs. I saw one at the zoo with Uncle Buck yesterday and when I said I wanted one he told me to tell you that I was gonna ask Santa." "Course he did." Steve sighed, mentally cursing his asshole best friend. "You know, Rori, don't think Santa can get you one of those." "Why not?" "It’s too big." He attempted “There’s nowhere for us to keep it.” "Our garden is huge!" Rori blinked at him. "And when Emmy and Petey move into the Tower he can live in the cabin." Trust her to be as damned smart as her mother. "They're wild animals honey." Steve shook his head as he tried attempt number two. "But they live in a zoo." Rori looked up at him, her face full of eager excitement “That’s not the wild.” "Yeah but that’s different." Steve reasoned patiently. "They're not like dogs or cats or regular guinea pigs. They need very special care.” "Oh." Rori looked down a little, her shoulders slumping and Steve sighed.

Fuck you, Bucky.

"Okay. Never mind." She clicked off the screen of her tablet and turned towards Steve, looking up at him with those damned green eyes. "Do you think he could get me a kitty instead?"

No, just say no… "Maybe."

Way to go, Rogers. Rori's eyes lit up and Steve inwardly groaned. It was a well-known fact in their house that whenever Dad said maybe, it meant yes. Fuck.

“I love you Daddy!” she beamed, reaching up to press a kiss to his bearded cheek before she hopped off his lap and skipped towards the door “Oh, me and momma are going to make gingerbread men for tomorrow so we can have them when we decorate the tree.”

“Can’t wait baby.” He smiled

“Are you gonna be working tomorrow afternoon?” she asked a little shyly and he shook his head.

“No, I promise.”  He assured her. “All day tomorrow is family day.”

She gave him another huge smile, one that truly warmed his entire being as it made her look even more like his wife, and then headed out of the room, her feet pattering on the tiles of the hallway as she skipped back into the other part of the house. Steve exhaled and looked back down at the paper, groaning as he realised he’d lost his place. He’d been home early that afternoon hoping for more peace and quiet than he got in his office at the University to concentrate on getting through all these and for the most it had worked, until Jamie and Rori had arrived home from school full of it as usual. Katie had kept them out of his way for the most but the realisation that Christmas was well on the way had hit the eldest two and whipped them up into a fever.

Not that Steve particularly cared. He adored this time of year. It was Katie’s holiday and from the day after Thanksgiving the Christmas period started in full throttle in the Rogers household, and they’d picked tomorrow, 2 weeks before the schools broke up, to go and pick the trees for their lounge and hallway. He was a little disappointed that it hadn’t snowed yet, there had been a good covering the previous year but, still it was set to be a cold and dry day so they could still get bundled up and have their hot chocolate and snacks as usual.

He rubbed at his eyes and focussed, reading through the paper in front of him on the ‘Strategy, Diplomacy and politics of Axis and Allied forces in WW2’, wishing to God he was marking something on the course he was actually employed to teach now- Fine Arts- but all those had been done and graded last week. This was the module of History that he taught, because as the Uni said- he was a living, breathing expert.

Aparently.

An hour or so later he finished red-penning the final six paged essay, with a proud smile as that one had been particularly good and he quickly checked it over once more, making sure he’d captured all the notes on the electronic copy and queued it up to send on Monday, just like Katie had shown him how to, so that each student had the hard copy and soft copy back. He stood up, stretched, turned off his laptop and headed through to the main area of the house, the smell of baking and cooking hitting his nostrils as he went.

He walked into the kitchen to find Rori kneeling on one of the tall stools over the island-slash-breakfast bar, her hands and face smeared in pink icing as she decorated a gingerbread man, her little tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. Katie was stood supervising Harry who was also covered in frosting, this one bright green. Flossie sat in the highchair opposite, banging a spoon on the tray occasionally letting out a yell or babble of something incoherent. As soon as she saw Steve she gave a huge grin and her shouts became louder and he smiled.

“Hi Floss-Floss!” he beamed, crossing to drop a kiss to her head before he looked across at Katie “Where’s Jamie?”

“Upstairs in his room.” Katie gave a little sigh “He said, and I quote, ‘I’m ten now, far too old to decorate gingerbread, mom.’ I could have cried there and then Steve.” She finished with a pout.

Steve gave her a sympathetic smile, the fact her eldest baby boy was growing up was something he knew she hated “Yeah, I bet he won’t be too old to eat them, though.” He appeased and she smiled.

“That’s what I said.” Rori gave a dramatic roll of her eyes and Steve chuckled.

“You finished Grading?” Katie asked as she gently guided Harry’s hand over the cookie shaped like a Christmas tree.

“Yeah, all done. Sorry it took so long.”

“It’s okay.” She looked up at him, smiling “Your dinner is in the oven. I already ate with the kids. Sorry, I was starving.”

“I didn’t expect you to wait.”  Steve walked over the room and dropped a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

He made his way over to the Aga stove and opened the door, giving a little groan when he saw she’d done his favourite, a Mac and Cheese bake laced with chicken, chorizo and broccoli. He turned to look at her and didn’t miss the flicker of a smile on her face as she knew what he was thinking, before he pulled out the plate giving a yell as it burnt his fingers, dropping it onto the side with a clatter.

“Careful daddy, hot!” Harry turned to face him, and Katie burst out laughing.

“Yeah, thanks Son.” Steve tried not to roll his eyes as he sucked his thumb. Grabbing a tea-towel he gripped the plate, found some cutlery and sat down at the table to the side of the kitchen, tucking in.

“I finished all mine, Momma.” Rori grinned, placing the tube of squeezy frosting down on the side. Steve watched as Katie moved to look over Rori’s shoulder.

“Good job sweetie.” She smiled, “Creative, I’ve never seen a pink cat before.”

Steve paused and looked at Rori as she grinned “I know they’re not really pink, and my kitty won’t be, but it can have a pink collar.”

At that he winced and hastily shoved another forkful of food into his mouth, praying that the conversation stopped there.

Katie sighed “Rori we’ve been over this, you can’t have a cat.”

“Daddy said I could.”

Shit.

Katie’s eyes shot to Steve and he gave her his best innocent look, but from the way her features grew stern he knew he was utterly busted and he swallowed the food in his mouth which turned to cement in his throat.

“No, that’s not what I said.” Steve shook his head.

“You said maybe.” Rori shrugged “Same thing.”

“We getting a kitty?” Harry asked, looking at Katie.

“No.” she shook her head.

“But I asked Daddy if Santa would bring me one and he said maybe.” Rori looked at Katie.

“Well Daddy is wrong.” She glared at Steve and he visibly shrank in his seat. Katie’s green eyes narrowed before they turned back to Rori. “Santa can’t bring live animals. It’s in the rules.”

“What rules?”

“The Christmas Rules” Katie said quickly “No live animals. It’s not fair on them. They don’t like the sleigh.”

“But…”

“No buts Rori.” Katie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose “I’m sorry honey, but it’s not gonna happen.”

Rori pouted a little but she knew when she was beat and glanced down at the cookies on the tray before she looked up, grinning smugly. “I’ll just ask Uncle Bucky to get me one. He got me Dory.”

“Oh for the love of…” Katie spluttered “Uncle Bucky won’t get you one either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll tell him not to.” Katie looked at her “We have Stark. No more animals.”

Rori folded her arms and at that point Steve stepped in, sensing an impending tantrum.

“Aurora.” He said sternly and she turned her head to face him as he pointed his fork at her. “Enough.”

She glared at him before she sighed and looked at Katie “Can I get down now please?”

Katie obliged and pulled her stool out a little allowing Rori to hop down. “Stay right there little miss.”

“Why?” Rori frowned as Katie headed to the sink, coming back with a cloth. With a groan, Rori held out her hands so Katie could wipe them clean, along with the little smear of icing on her face “20 minutes and then its bath time. We’re up early in the morning.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Rori bounced excitedly “To pick our trees. Hey, can I get one for my room?”

Katie hesitated before she shrugged “You know, I saw some in the shop that already have the lights on and they change colour. We’ll get a big one for the lounge and hallway like normal and I’ll get you a special one. And you get to keep it for next year and the year after.”

Rori pondered this for a moment before she shook her head “I want a real one from the farm.”

Katie groaned, and threw her hands out to the side “Fine, just, go and watch TV or something in the Play Room.”

“I watch TV too please, Momma?” Harry asked and Katie nodded, cleaning him up too before she lifted him down off the stool. He toddled after Rori, yelling for her to wait and as soon as they were gone Katie rounded on Steve.

“Honey, I…” he began and winced as she exploded on him.

“Seriously? A damned cat?”

“She caught me unawares.”

“She always catches you unawares!” Katie scoffed “After six, almost seven years I’d have thought you’d be used it by now.”

“I only said-“

“And as usual I’m left to be the bad guy.” Katie ranted, shaking her head as she moved to turn Flossie’s chair so she was facing the table. “You’re an asshole.”

“This is technically Bucky’s fault.”

“Oh, no, Steven Grant Rogers! Don’t you are try and blame this one on Buck.” She hissed.

“But he took her to the zoo and told her to ask for a capybara!” Steve practically whined “When I said no she asked for a cat, the maybe just slipped out.” Katie paused, her arms folded, face furious and Steve peered up at her giving her a little smile “Don’t be mad, come on baby. I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re still an asshole.” She grumbled, before she crossed to the fridge and pulled out the wine. “And for that you can deal with bedtime. I’m going for a bath.”

“Sure, not a problem.” Steve nodded, swallowing more of his food. Katie poured herself a large glass before she moved to put the bottle back and then changed her mind. With the bottle in one hand, full glass in the other she made for the door. “I love you.” Steve shot as she passed him, and despite her annoyed demeanour, the slight smile that played on her face told him he wasn’t in too much trouble.  

****

All kids were bathed and in bed little over an hour later. The youngest three settled down to sleep, Jamie instructed he had an hour of TV or reading time before lights off.

“Ok Dad.” He nodded, running his hand through his hair as he tidied up his games console a little, Stark curled up on the bed.

“I’ll be in to check.” Steve looked at him, and Jamie rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I got it. You can trust me.”

“I know.” Steve gave a chuckle “Night son.” He crossed the room to drop a kiss to his head and Jamie pushed him away.

“Gerroff, I’m ten.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still my kid so…” Steve grumbled, and Jamie burst into laughter as the pair of them began to play fight, Jamie digging Steve in the ribs with a well-aimed jab. “Ouch! “ Steve stood up, rubbing at his side, that had hurt a little too much for his liking. “Nice shot.”

“Bucky said I had a good right hook.”

Steve rolled his eyes “I don’t wanna know how he even found that out.”

“He has a punch bag in the garage.” Jamie shrugged as he flopped down onto his bed. “Like yours. He was teaching me to swing.”

“I could teach you that.” Steve replied, a little petulantly.

“Will you?”

“No. You’re ten.” He shot back and Jamie let out a groan of frustration, before Steve chuckled “Ok, I’ll teach you a little IF you promise not to use it anywhere but on the punch bag.”

“But what if I need to use it?”

“Well, that’s different.” Steve pondered, before he shook his head. “But you’re far too young to be getting into situations like that.”

“Uncle Buck said you were fighting people form the age of six. And getting your ass kicked.”

“Well, you do as I say…”

“Not as I do, yeah I got it.” Jamie grinned and Steve arched an eyebrow before he made his way to the door. He paused and turned back to look at his son, not for the first time taking in how damned tall and broad he was for his age. He pointed to Stark “Don’t let your mother catch him on the bed.”

“You know she says the same thing about you.” Jamie looked at him and Steve chuckled.

“I do, but let’s just pretend I don’t okay?”

“Okay, night dad. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Steve smiled, closing the door behind him.

He made his way back downstairs and into the lounge, and paused as he saw Katie talking into the laptop, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Don’t worry about it.” She said softly, and he could tell she was fighting to keep her face straight as Emmy’s voice came from the other side.

“I’m just gutted we can’t get home to come with you guys for the tree.”

“What’s going on?” Steve frowned as he sat next to Katie on the sofa, looking at Emmy and Peter as they both waved to him on the screen “Hey Kids.”

“The UK has been caught up in a huge snow storm.” Katie turned to him. “Their flight has been cancelled.”

“Bummer.” Steve’s frown deepened “Is there nothing from another airport?”

“Not in London.” Emmy shook her head “And the roads are that bad, even if we managed somewhere else…”

“Don’t wanna risk driving Mr R.” Pete shrugged and Steve had to give it to him, that was a sensible move.

“Wise decision.” Steve bit his lip, before he turned to Katie “Can we not get The Stark jet over? You guys should have used that anyway, not gone commercial.”

The irony of his statement didn’t pass him by, as there’d been a time when he had hated using a private jet as he felt it was ostentatious, but he’d fast learned to live with it as it was less hassle and a damned sight comfier and quicker too.

“I told you we didn’t want to.” Emmy shot back and Peter hastily cut in to prevent an argument.

“Already tried Happy before we called. He can’t get in any airfield be it private or other. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Katie shook her head “If you need anything just call. Have you got a place to stay?”

“Yeah, The Savoy found us another room.” Emmy shrugged before she grimaced “I’m gonna have to put it on my credit card though.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Katie shook her head “Just do what you gotta do, we’ll sort the bill out. Do you need us to wire you some cash or-“

“No, we’ve got enough between us for that.” Pete smiled “Just the hotel. We could get somewhere cheaper if that’s-“

“If it’s that bad out there you can stay where you are.” Steve shook his head. “Don’t worry about the money kids, it’s not important.”

“Just call us if you need anything.” Katie added.

“Thanks Mom. Look, we’re gonna go try and get something to eat and then sleep” Emmy sighed “It’s past 1 am now.”

“Sure, call us tomorrow okay, keep us updated.” Steve instructed and Emmy nodded.

“Will do. Love you both.”

“And you.” Katie smiled “Stay safe, and look after each other.”

“Got it.” Emmy grinned and with that she blew them both a kiss as Peter waved and the screen went blank.

Katie bit her lip before she tapped at the keyboard of her laptop “I’m going to send her some money, just in case. I know she has plenty in her savings, but…”

Steve nodded “Good idea. Those are for a rainy day, not a snowy one.”

Katie gave a small smile as she logged into the banking, and hesitated before she transferred a few thousand over to Emmy and closed the laptop, running her hands over her face. Steve saw her shouldes shake and he gave a sigh, pulling her to him.

“Hey, come on. They’re safe. In the poshest hotel known to man.” He pressed a kiss to her head “No doubt thinking this is some kind of huge romantic adventure. Snowed in, in London, with a mini-bar, room service.”

At that thought he grimaced, as his mind took him to a very dark place about just exactly what the spider kid would be doing to his daughter in said hotel room but he shook himself out of it as Katie spoke, sniffling a little.

“I know it’s just, well we started this tradition with Emmy that first Christmas she lived with us.” Her voice cracked “We went with Tony, Pep and Nat remember?”

“I could I forget.” Steve chuckled, his hands rubbing Katie’s back “You were almost five months pregnant and had that jumper on with a huge Christmas pudding on the front.”

“I’ve still got that.” Her voice was muffled as her face pressed into his Henley.

“And Pepper was going mad when Tony bought that nine foot tree for their lounge.”

“Ours wasn’t much smaller.” Katie laughed, leaning back to wipe her eyes. “You had to trim the top off.”

Steve chuckled, his hands cupping her face “A few days after that we found out bump was blue. Hello Jamie.”

“God it seems so long ago.”

“It was.” Steve smiled pressing a kiss to her lips. “11 years.”

“Yeah.” Katie looked at him “We’ve been through a lot since then.”

Steve nodded, as he wiped her face with his thumbs “And a lot worse than this. I know it’s disappointing, kitten, and I’m gutted as well, but it can’t be helped. We’ll still have a good time and we can go out with Emmy and Peter when they get back, nice meal and a few drinks somewhere instead, just the four of us. Start a new tradition now she’s all grown up.”

“Yeah suppose.” Katie sighed “I mean when they moved out in the New Year, they might not wanna come with us to get a tree anymore.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.” Steve snorted “She’ll simply be getting one for her own place. You know she loves Christmas as much as you. All the kids do. Because you make it so special.”

“It isn’t all down to me.” She smiled “You help.”

“It’s definitely your speciality.” Steve shook his head “You do the baking, the carols, the cooking…suss the decorations out.”

“Yeah, but you hang them. And you’re the one that started leaving Santa footprints by the hearth.”

“Okay so it’s a team effort.” Steve shrugged, dropping another kiss to her lips. “It always is when the kids are concerned.” He pulled back a little and nodded to her glass “You want another?”

“I wasn’t going to but yeah, now I do.”

Steve chuckled “I’ll go get us a drink, you find us something suitably Christmassy to watch.”

He stood, pressing his lips to the crown of Katie’s head before he wandered into the kitchen. As he closed the door behind him he pulled out his phone. He’d had an idea, but hadn’t wanted to mention it to Katie just in case it didn’t work…but if it did, well, he was going to reunite his family for their tradition and earn himself major husband points.

Win win situation.

“Hey punk.” Bucky drawled as he picked up.“What’s crackalackin?”

“God you talk some shit.” Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky laughed

“Sorry, we were watching Madagascar.”

“Yeah, I know where it’s from. I got five kids, remember. Six if I count you.”

“Well you could argue Diva Doll counts for two so you really have seven.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, I got a bone to pick with you about her and a damned capybara.” Steve narrowed his eyes as he spoke and there was a pause before Bucky burst out laughing. “Yeah, laugh it up, jerk. That got me in some major shit before.”

“You didn’t say yes?”

“No of course I didn’t.” Steve sighed “But she sideswiped me asking for a damned cat and I said maybe, so…”

“You fucking moron.”

“Whatever, listen, that’s not why I’m calling anyway.” Steve sighed, his voice growing serious. “I need a favour, Buck.”

“I’m listening.” Bucky replied, before Steve explained the predicament and possible solution. When he finished there was a pause and Bucky let out a long whistle. “Man, that’s…”

“I know, I know.” Steve sighed “But I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. Katie’s heartbroken Emmy can’t get home.”

“Well, we can’t have the second most important woman in my life upset now can we?” Bucky replied “Leave it with me.”

“Cheers buddy.”

“You’ll owe me a life time of favours if I can pull this off.”

“We’ll call it quits for you almost getting me couched.”

“Not my fault you can’t say no to your likkle Princessa.” Bucky responded and Steve snorted.

“You’ve met her, right?”

There as another pause and Bucky laughed “Point taken.”

“Not a word to Katie.” Steve instructed “Just in case you can’t do it.”

“You seriously doubt me after all this time?” Bucky sighed “That hurts Stevie.”

“You know what else will hurt?” Steve shot back “My foot up your ass.”

“You want me to do this or not?” Bucky scoffed “Because threatening me aint gonna make me wanna do you any favours.”

“No but not wanting to see my wife upset is.”

“You fight dirty, Steven.” Bucky’s voice was low and Steve could imagine the narrowed eyes he was pulling as he spoke. “Okay, I’ll call Sam now. Leave it with me.”

“Thanks Buck.”

Steve cut the call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket, running a hand over his beard. Buck was right, it was a big ask and ridiculously over the top but, well, nothing was too much for him where his family was concerned. And after everything they’d been through this year what with Flossie’s horrific birth and Katie’s post-partum depression, his amazingly brave and gorgeous wife deserved the damned world. With a sigh he yanked open the fridge as he pulled out Katie’s wine and a beer for him, simply hoping that it worked.

**** “You good?” Steve asked as Jamie hopped into the back of the Q7, taking his place on the rear row of seats.

“Yup.” Jamie grinned “I prefer it back here, Rori can’t bug me.”

“Wanna bet?” Rori turned her head and peered at him from her place in the middle of the second row and Steve shot her a look.

“Enough. I hear one sound outta you that’s annoying him, we’re coming straight home.” He said sternly. Rori eyed him shrewdly, as if weighing up whether he was serious or not and he raised his eyebrows, challenging her.

“Ok Daddy.” She shrugged, turning back round. Steve shot Jamie a wink as turned and collapsed Flossie’s little stroller. He slotted it down the side of Jamie’s seat before he shut the trunk and then quickly inspected the roof rack. Satisfied he looked up just as Katie came out of the house, Flossie on her hip, Harry jumping down the steps in front of her. He headed over to his dad and peeked up, Steve giving a laugh as his little woollen hat slipped down over his eyes.

“Come here, buddy.” He said, swinging him into his arms. The little boy gave a giggle as Steve pulled his hat straight so he could see.

“Thanks Daddy!” he smiled and Steve pressed a kiss to his rosy cheek.

“No problem. You ready to get a tree?”

He nodded “Big one!” he threw his arms out wide and Steve nodded seriously.

“The biggest.”

Ten minutes or so later they were sailing out of Brooklyn in the winter morning sun, heading for the tree farm some forty or so minutes away. True to her word, Rori was behaving and chatting to Harry, Jamie was quiet in the back doing something on his tablet and Katie was gently humming to something on the radio. Steve’s hand reached over for hers and he entwined their fingers, gently bringing her arm across his body, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

The journey pass uneventfully and as Steve announced they had arrived the kids all gave a cheer. He parked the car up and then the disembarking began along with issued orders for Jamie and Rori to stay where they were as they sorted the youngest two.

“I think I’ll just carry Floss.” Katie glanced around. “Pushing her stroller is gonna be a pain. I’ll put her in the carrier.”

“You sure?” Steve asked “I would say I’d do it but…”

“You’re gonna be carrying trees, yeah I know.” Katie waved him away. “Its fine, she’s not heavy. Besides, she’ll be too big to do this with next year.”

Steve smiled at her wistful tone, and between them they had Flossie strapped to Katie’s back in no time, having become experts at it over the years. Katie glanced over her shoulder as Flossie gave her a hug grin, before she peeked around and started to gabble animatedly.

“Ready?” Steve looked around and held the hand that wasn’t containing the saw out, Rori taking it as Katie took Harry’s, Jamie falling into step at her other side next to Steve who strategically placed himself between his eldest son and Rori to avoid any potential arguments between the two siblings.

“Want me to take that Dad?” Jamie asked, nodding to the saw. Steve hesitated then shrugged, it had the safety cover on so he handed it over, Jamie slinging it over his shoulder proudly, stepping in front of them a little and Harry wriggled his hand free of Katie’s and ran forward to take Jamie’s. Jamie smiled down at him and Steve shared a glance with Katie as she smiled at him, slipping her hand into his. The family made their way to the entrance and as they approached the various little trade stands, one of which was selling various hot drinks and baked snacks. Katie took a deep breath and smiled, the warming scents of spices, cinnamon and pine hitting her nostrils.

“Smells exactly the same.” She beamed and then frowned as Steve was looking around, blatantly not listening to her as he was busy studying something to their right.

“Hey!” she tugged on his hand and he glanced down at her.

“Sorry, honey.” He diverted his attention “Just saw someone I know.”

“Oh, from work?” she asked.

“Not exactly.” He nodded in the direction he had been looking and Katie spun at the same time Rori let out a shriek.

“Emmy!” she yelled, wrenching her hand free of Steve’s and bolting towards her sister as she strode towards them alongside Peter, Bucky and Sam.

“I don’t-how?” Katie was struggling for words at the sheer emotion of seeing her eldest daughter, who should still be stranded in England, sweeping Rori into hug. “Steve? What?”

“You got Bucky and Sam to thank.” He said gently, as she spun between them all, before she strode forward meeting Emmy halfway and throwing her arms around her.

“Hey mom!” Emmy smiled, before she pulled back and gently waggled Flossie’s hand. “Hi Floss!”

“How did you get here?” Katie sniffed, wiping her eyes, chuckling before she gave Pete a hug.

“Quinjet.” Emmy grinned “It was awesome. Hey Dad!”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Steve swept her up into a huge hug, picking her up slightly off the ground kissing her head. “Nice to have you home.”

“Hold up, a Quinjet?” Katie looked at Emmy, then to Bucky who shrugged.

“Yeah well Steve rang me last night begging for my help…” he began, putting on a whiney voice “Please Buck, I can’t do this without you Buck, you know the usual.” Steve rolled his eyes as Bucky sniggered. “So, me and Birdbrain set off on a daring rescue mission.”

“Yeah, we totally used and abused Fury’s equipment.” Sam chuckled, as he pressed a kiss to Katie’s cheek as he gave her a hug. “He’s gonna be pissed when he finds out.”

“Oh, screw him!” Katie gave a laugh as she turned to Bucky, wrapping her arms round him. “Thank you so much!”

“Anything for you darlin’” he beamed before she stepped back and spun to face Steve, reaching up and grabbing his face. With a smile she pulled him down to meet her in a long, deep kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispered against his lips, and he beamed at her, his nose brushing hers. “I love you, so much.”

“Love you too.” He smiled, before he drew himself up, a little embarrassed at their PDA in front of his two friends and the kids. “Right, who’s ready to go tree picking?”

“We’ll leave you to it.” Bucky smirked as various excited shouts rang out around them. “I’ve got stuff to do with Jen and Sam’s…ahhhh, crap.” The smile on his face turned into a grimace and Steve spun round to see a familiar figure in a trench coat and eyepatch stood by a black SUV watching from a distance.

“Son of a-” Steve snorted, shaking his head as Fury started walking towards of them. “He still knows everything.”

“You have no idea. “Sam muttered.

“Oh, trust me, we do.” Katie grinned as Fury stopped in front of them.

“Someone wanna tell me why one of my jets was in London this morning?” Fury looked at Bucky, then to Sam, then to Peter, all three of them giving him an innocent look.

“Well, there was a thing.” Bucky shrugged “Emergency.”

“Emergency.” Fury dead panned “So nothing to do with a certain Miss Rogers and Mr Parker being stuck in London in snow storm?”

“How do you know this stuff?” Bucky looked at him.

“I told you Barnes, you wanna get one up on me you gotta keep both eyes open.” He levelled him with a look. “Happy called me in a flap to see if I could action a pick up and I told him I wasn’t running a damned Uber service. And then one of them went missing so I put two and two together and looks like I came up with four” He paused and shrugged, smirking a little “Plus, you forgot to wipe the mission log.”

“Damned it Tin Man!” Sam shoved Bucky “You dick, I told you!”

As the two men began to squabble Fury raised his eyebrows and turned to Steve and then Katie, a small smile flickered across his face “Nova, Cap. Long-time no see.”

“Hi Nick.” Steve smiled, reaching out and shaking his hand.

Fury jerked his head as Katie shook his hand, his eyes roving over each of their kids in turn. “I’ll say. You’ve been busy I see.”

Katie gave a huff “One way of putting it.”

Nick arched an eyebrow before he sighed and turned to Bucky and Sam who were still bickering. “Imma let this one slide.” He spoke loudly, the two men instantly turning to face him. “But only because it’s the holidays and I’m in a good mood.”

“You know technically Stark Industries owns half those jets. Tony paid for and designed a lot of the tech on them after all.” Katie quipped and Nick looked at her, before he let out a laugh.

“You’re more like your brother than you’ll ever care to admit” he shook his head as she snorted, pointing at her.

“Worse people to be like.” She smiled fondly, and Fury gave one last scoff before he turned to Sam and Bucky.

“I’ll see you two later. Now, imma go get me some churros then split.” He looked back at them all “Merry Christmas.”

As they all waved him off, watching the curious glances he attracted as he strode towards the hot food stand and then Harry tugged on Steve’s sleeve, causing him to turn his attention from Fury to the little boy.

“Daddy, who’s the pirate?” Harry asked.

There was a pause before Katie burst out laughing, Steve following suite as they both shared a knowing glance, remembering Tony’s fond little nickname for their one time director.

The Goth Pirate.

“He’s an old friend of mine and your momma’s “Steve explained before he glanced up, not surprised to find that once more Fury had disappeared from sight. “We haven’t seen him in a while. And I doubt we will again for a long time.”

There were more hugs shared and after another final thank you to Sam and Bucky, Katie demanding they come over later for drinks, the four remaining adults and four kids all headed into the farm and the chaos began as they began to scout for their perfect trees.

“So we need two large ones.” Katie spoke, “And one for Emmy and Pete in the Cabin and a smaller one for Rori’s room.” she paused “Jamie, did you want one for your room too?”

“Nah, it’s okay.” He shook his head “Thanks though.”

“So four over all.” Steve nodded. “Okay gang, let’s find us some trees.”

They decided to get Rori’s first as it would be smaller and easier to carry once they’d picked it. They set about walking down the various aisles, and before long the jokes started flowing and they were getting worse and worse with time.

“What would you get if you ate the Christmas decorations?” Pete asked and Jamie looked at him, arching a brow. “Tinselitis.”

“Oh God.” Emmy snorted “That’s as bad as one of dad’s”

“Which reminds me.” Steve said, a smirk on his face, “Did you guys hear the forecast for Christmas eve? They’re predicting rain, deer…”

Katie and Emmy both let out a groan as Jamie and Peter howled with laughter.

“What do you call an elf that runs away from Santa’s workshop?” Jamie asked and Steve paused before he shrugged.

“No idea.”

“A rebel without a Clause…”

Katie, Steve, Emmy and Pete burst out laughing as Pete held out his hand to hi-five him. Jamie grinned.

“That’s a good one buddy.” Steve chuckled. “Where did you hear that?”

“Moo text me before.” He smiled “She said her and Auntie Pep had been googling them to put in their cards this year.”

“Like Father like daughter.” Katie smiled to herself, a little nostalgically as a memory of her brother crashed over her and Steve pulled her a little closer, his hand tightening on hers as he dropped a kiss to her head.

After half an hour or so of scouting and plenty of excited shouts and laughter, Rori paused in front of a tree that was the same height as her and she gave a gasp.

“Daddy, that one.” She pointed.

“You sure?” he cocked his head to one side. The tree was leaning to one side, the branches completely uneven, sticking out at all angles and the top was bent. “It’s a bit-”

“It’s perfect.” Rori insisted.

“Okay Princess, whatever you say.”  He looked at Katie as she smiled, her hand dropping to the back of Rori’s head. “Jamie, you got the saw?”

“Yup.” Jamie nodded, passing it over and they all watched as Steve gripped the trunk of the small tree with one hand a little higher up and began to cut it towards the bottom. He could have easily snapped the trunk with his bare hands but he played the part and in four strong swipes it pulled free with a little crack and Rori gave a shriek and clapped her hands.

“I love it!”

Once the safety cover was back on the saw they continued their search, walking towards the slightly bigger trees they spotted and Katie paused in front of a large, Norwegian spruce and reached out, gently crushing one of the needles between her fingers. She took a sniff and stepped back, nodding.

“That one.”

“I still can’t believe you pick them with the smell.” Steve shook his head.

“It’s not all the smell.” She protested “There’s a lot to consider. The height, width and spacing of the branches…this one’s just right for the corner in the lounge. And that one two down will do for the hallway.”

Steve chuckled, knowing better than to argue. “Positive?”

Katie nodded and once more Jamie passed him the saw. This time they all stepped back as Steve crouched down on the ground, expertly cutting the trunk and just the right place. As he took the final swipe, the tree pitched over to a loud shout of “Timberrrrr” from Jamie and Peter and it landed with a thud.

Harry gave a loud cackle and clapped, Flossie shrieking too as Steve then moved two down and repeated the action with a slightly smaller one that would sit in the entrance lounge directly in front of the photo of the pair of them at their wedding, so it would be the first thing anyone saw as they walked into the house.

Emmy strode past the tree to one that was behind it and then nodded to Pete “I think this one will do. I kinda like the way it fans out at the bottom.”

“Sure, Em.” He smiled “Mr R?”

“Oh, here.” Steve handed him the saw and watched as Pete cut his and Emmy’s first Christmas tree down, his arm round Katie’s waist, lips softly kissing Flossie’s cheek as the baby grinned. He arched an eyebrow as Emmy pressed a kiss to Pete’s lips, giving a soft huff as Katie dug him in the ribs, shooting him a warning glance which he returned with an innocent one of his own.

“Well, that was easy.” Emmy commented “It took us 2 hours last year.”

“They need to be right.” Katie shrugged simply, Steve and Emmy exchanging a look before Steve watched as Pete hoisted his tree easily onto his shoulder. It still surprised Steve how strong Peter was, even though it shouldn’t, he knew he was enhanced after all.

“I’ll take Rori’s, Dad.” Jamie stepped forwards, puffing his chest out a little, picking the smaller tree up easily and placing it on his shoulder, in an identical manner to Pete. Steve actively fought the urge to laugh as Jamie began to walk besides Peter and Emmy, clearly proud as punch at being able to help before he turned to Katie.

“Don’t say it.”

Katie laughed “Oh I’m gonna.” she smirked “If he was any more like you I’d be convinced he was a clone.”

Steve snorted as he bent down and easily lifted their two trees onto his shoulders, before they followed a little slower due to Harry being with them. Steve maneuvered around the other tree pickers as they went, his boot clad feet traipsing on the damp of the ground as they made their way back towards the main entrance and joined Pete, Emmy and Jamie at the place ready to pay. As the various helpers, all dressed in little Elf outfits bustled around to wrap their trees and strap them to the roof of the Audi, Katie was suddenly struck with a little problem.

“Hang on.” she turned to Emmy as she thanked the man who’d been dealing with and handed over the cash. “How are you two gonna get home if Bucky and Sam left?”

At that Pete gave a little grin and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, “Mr Wilson let me borrow his Chevvy.”

“Yeah they went home on Buck’s bike.” Emmy shrugged and at that Steve let out a huge laugh.

“What?” Katie asked.

“Sorry, I’m just picturing those two riding pillion.” He snorted “I give it five minutes before Sam ended up tells Buck to let him off on account of him driving his Ducatti like a maniac.”

“You’ve no room to talk.” Katie scoffed and Steve looked at her with mock outrage.

“Mom?” Jamie asked and Katie turned to him “Can we get a drink now please?”

“Sure, come on.” She smiled and they headed over to the stall. She purchased a hot cider each for her, Steve, Emmy and Pete before hot chocolate for each of the kids along with a selection of donuts, churros and Stollen as Steve took Flossie back to the car so they could pop her in the stroller. They made their way over to one of the benches by the side and sat down and Steve returned, parking Flossie besides them before he handed her a piece of a donut and slipped his arm round Katie, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“You have a good time?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She beamed, before she glanced over at the other side of the bench. Jamie was settled to Emmy’s left, talking to her about school, as she nodded along whilst Rori was perched on Peter’s knee as she animatedly told him about how she was going to decorate her tree in unicorn colours. Harry meanwhile sat in between both Pete and Emmy, his little frame chewing on a donut as he grinned at his parents who smiled back. Katie turned to look a Steve again, leaning up to kiss him softly “It’s been perfect, thank you for making sure we were all together.”

“Well it wouldn’t be a Rogers Christmas otherwise would it?” he smiled, kissing her again.

“Get a room.” Emmy grumbled and Steve turned to her as she smirked, shoving a piece of donut in her mouth.

“Watch it young lady.” Steve pointed at her.                      

“Daddy.” Rori asked “Can I go with Pete in their car to Target? I need decorations for my Princess Tree.”

Steve hesitated for a while and Pete hastily cut in “It’s no bother Mr Rogers.”

“Yeah we need some for ours.” Emmy nodded.”So we’re going anyway.”

“I come too?” Harry asked hopefully and Emmy shrugged

“If Momma and Daddy say it’s ok, course you can, squirt.”

Steve looked at Katie who shrugged “Fine by me. Sure you can manage them?”

Emmy rolled her eyes “They’re no bother.” She then turned to Jamie “You wanna come too?”

“Hell no.” he said hastily, peering round at Rori before he shook his head “I’m going home for some peace and quiet.”

Both Steve and Katie let out a loud laugh, as Katie shook her head “Oh Jamie.”

“What?” he frowned.

“Nothing pal.” Steve smiled, reaching for his cider. “Nothing at all.”

[rpd-rookie]

He Shouldn’t Have Done That (PART 2) - Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Summary: Ever wondered what happened after your terrible fight with Leon in part 1. Well here is your answer.

Author’s Note: After receiving some messages telling me to write a sequel for "He Shouldn't Have Done That", there it is. But I must warn you, the angst is strong with this one. So get ready to cry! Oh, and I must warn you, that this chapter revolves around the theme of religion in addition to the theme of alcoholism and it also contain strong sexual terms. So if you're not okay with that, please don't read.

Tags: Angst / Alcohol Abuse; Alcoholism / Anxiety / Depression / Language / Explicit Sexual Content / Religion / Death and mourning.

  When Leon was a kid, his mother would take him to church every Sunday, dressed in his Sunday best, which was a fancy white shirt and a pair of trousers he was only allowed to wear on Sunday. Needless to say, he hated Sundays.   But his mother was such a good Christian, always wearing a silver cross around her neck, always having a Bible under her pillow. She’s the one who had told him to believe. She had told him to believe in God, in Jesus and Mary, in the Holy Trinity, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. She had told him to believe there was someone up there watching over him, judging him, someone capable of punishing him if he would ever misbehave, sin. Someone powerful, so powerful he could decide his destiny, his fate, his life, his death, and even his beyond. Someone who would accompany him to an heavenly residence after death, that sweet oh so beautiful paradise.         Yes, that’s what his mother had told him. And he had listened and followed her teachings to the letter, maybe even longer that he could remember. He had done it because nothing could bring his mother more happiness than him behaving like the sweet choirboy from the suburbs, and that’s all he wanted back then, make his mother happy.             But with all the horrors he had seen, Leon Scott Kennedy could not believe in any god anymore. He had buried all his belief, all his teachings - much to his sweet mother’s regrets - in the ashes of Raccoon City a long time ago. And with time, he even wondered if he had ever really believed in the first place.

“That city changed me, in more ways that I can think of. It turned me into the man I am today and sometimes I wonder who I would have become if I had just stayed home on that day instead of driving right into the hellish nightmare that was expecting me there.     Possibly, some city cop whose worst worry would have been to know if there was enough paper in the printer. Maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad, who knows? After all, that dude would have never become the mess I am today, that’s for sure. That dude would have never found comfort in alcohol. He would have never cast God away in favour of something able to help him reach some ephemeral paradise, something that just needed a glass to be worshipped, something that preferred cheers to amen. No, that dude would have had a nice quiet life in the suburbs with a lovely wife, two beautiful kids and a dog. And like my mother, he would have taken his charming perfect family to Church on Sunday. Would it have been better for me? For us? Maybe, cause surely, he wouldn’t have done the same mistakes I did”

7 weeks ago - D.S.O Headquarters – Washington DC

You couldn’t help but focus on the fancy pen relentlessly tapping against the glass table. Sitting at the end of the table, perfectly still, his old face appearing somewhat more rigid than usual, the President looked very impatient. And his annoyance was for once more than justified. Leon was terribly late, and by ‘terribly’ you meant ‘almost fifty minutes late’ to be more precise.   But the real problem was that he usually was never late. On the contrary, Leon was always the first person to arrive at morning meetings, most of the time carrying cups of coffee for each D.S.O agents including a special one for you: a large black coffee with extra foam on top and a small heart drawn next to your name on the cup, perfect to make you smile like an idiot - Your heart ached as you thought about it and realised there would be no more hearts drawn on your coffee cup now.

You discreetly glimpsed at your watch again, worried and imagining the worse. What if something happened to Leon? What if he drank too much again and fainted at home? Or worse, what if he had a car accident? After all, last time you heard him on your voicemail he sounded devastated and drunker than ever.     “I am sure Agent Kennedy must be stuck in traffic, Mr President.” Ingrid Hunnigan dared say in his defence. “Then why isn’t he answering his bloody phone?” The President slammed the pen against the table and let out an angry growl. Hunnigan mumbled, trying to find something to say but the President cut her off before she could even pronounce a word. “Let’s start without him.”           “Of course, Mr President.” She stood up and handed out a case file to each agent sitting at the table. When she got to you, she whispered, “Where is Leon?” You briefly looked at her and shook your head. She certainly didn’t know Leon and you had broken up. After all, it had only been a couple of days. “I don’t know.” You mouthed, trying to keep the nascent tears in your eyes.             She probably noticed how sad and worried sick you were since she pressed her hand on your shoulder before taking her place back next to the President to explain the content of the documents on the table. “An informer from the BSAA has recently sent us information concerning a possible …”

All of a sudden, the door of the meeting room opened widely, interrupting Hunnigan in her explanations. Leon had finally arrived. Seeing him instantly took a weight off your mind and you sighed, definitely relieved. But the relief was short.     “Sorry, I’m late.��� His voice sounded off and rather somnolent. Hand still on the doorknob he looked at all of the persons around the table with half-lidded eyes. “Oh, seems like everyone is here. Must be a pretty damn important meeting then.” Oh no. Not now. Not here. Leon.         “Agent Kennedy. Thank you for finally honouring us with your presence.” The president declared with a cutting tone that cast a new chill in the meeting room.             “You’re welcome” Leon replied, definitely too drowsy to get the sarcasm.   You almost gasped, refusing to believe it was actually happening, and watched Leon stagger towards his usual seat next to Hunnigan. She silently gave him a file and discreetly poured him a glass of water to help him sober up a little since she had noticed – just like everyone else in this room – that your ex-boyfriend was mighty drunk. Then, she resumed her monologue, ignoring Leon’s grimace as he drank his water contrary to the President, who was glaring at him, and you, who were staring at his face, completely eating up by guilt and sorrow. Were you the one responsible for this? You thought that leaving him would probably help him realise his alcoholism not fall deeper in it.

Despite the huge level of alcohol running in his blood, Leon was astonishingly listening to the reunion with the biggest care. Actually, he was paying so much attention that when Ingrid Hunnigan pronounced his name and the words “Los Illuminados” in the same sentence he almost hit the roof. “This again? Seriously?” He cut her off, surprising everyone. “You want me to deal with that Spanish bullshit again? Is that what you’re going to say, Hunnigan? Like I haven’t done enough, already.” Ingrid suddenly didn’t know what to do with herself, shocked by Leon’s sudden anger towards her. He had never talked to her like that. That was not in his nature.         “Leon, please just let her finish before...” You whispered to calm him down, hoping he would cooperate. “Excuse me. You’re talking to me? You? Really.” He sneered, clearly angry. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore. After all, you haven’t been answering my calls since you dumped me.” You wanted to reply. But you knew that it would only aggravate the situation and make Leon angrier than he already was and the last thing you wanted was to make a scene or cause him more trouble.

“Is this a joke, Agent Kennedy?” The President growled and glared, definitely irritated by Leon’s behaviour. “No. The joke was your election, sir!” Oh God! Tell me he didn’t say that.             There was a sudden heavy silence. Everyone exchanged some aghast quick looks as the President was staring at Leon, his face reddened by anger, ready to burst. “Get out of here, Agent Kennedy. You are furloughed.” But Leon didn’t move and, with an air of defiance, simply replied “Whom are you going to send on your suicide mission if you kick me out? I’m the only one who can do the job here and you fucking know it.”     “Out! Out! Get out of here! I’ve had enough of you!” The President shouted, menacingly pointing his finger at Leon who remained still without batting an eyelid. “Leave this building now, Kennedy!” You decided to get up and grabbed Leon’s arm to lead him out. “Come on, Leon. You’re drunk. Let’s get you out to sober up a bit.” You said with an incredible calm but he refused to follow you “Of course I’m drunk. What else can I be? You left me. My job fucked me up. And I’m working with selfish assholes who clearly don’t care about that and want me to continue this fucking job till the day I die. So yeah, what else can I be if not drunk?”

“Gosh, if only I had known back then what the consequences of my actions would be, I would have never said those things or behaved like this. But regrets don’t matter. They don’t matter because it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I shouldn’t have done that, I know that there’s no turning back. I know that you will never come back. And I don’t blame you. I can’t blame you because the only person to blame here is me. And I don’t expect your forgiveness either. I know I don’t deserve it and how could you forgive me when even I can’t forgive myself? No, I expect nothing for you.”

3 weeks ago – In a bar somewhere in New York

He didn’t know her name and he was quite sure he hadn’t even asked before locking himself with her in the toilet. And truth to be told, he couldn’t care less. He didn’t need to know her name to take his pants down and he didn’t even need to hear a single word coming from a pretty mouth either. Actually, all he wanted that mouth of hers to do was to keep sucking him off right now. Yes, that’s all he wanted. Hand in her black hair, his head against the dirty wall, he was feeling dizzy with pleasure … and alcohol, especially alcohol. A routine he had grown even fonder of since he had been furloughed. “Yeah, right, suck that cock, you dirty slut.” How many glasses had he had since he entered that bar? Six? Eight? Meh, better not thinking about it right now. “That’s it.”

His cell phone suddenly vibrated on the floor, the blue light of the screen catching his weak attention. He managed to read “Hunnigan” and sighed. “What the hell does she want?” He mumbled, annoyed. “What did you say?” The girl asked but he chose not to answer and instead shove his cock back in her mouth. But the phone kept on buzzing on the grimy tiles and Leon couldn’t take his mind or his eyes off it, his professionalism getting the better of his drunken self. “Fuck” He cursed as he bent to grab the device, pushing the girl away from him, making her lose her balance and fall on her rear.     “Better be important, Hunnigan.” He immediately said, annoyance tinting his drunken voice.         “Leon.” Her voice was strangled and trembling. It didn’t take a genius to get she had been crying. And Leon knew that if Hunnigan was crying then something terrible had certainly happened. “Give me a second, Hunnigan.”

He quickly pulled his jeans back up and pushed the door of the toilet, leaving his brief conquest high and dry on the floor. “Where are you going?” She squealed but he didn’t listen. He got out of the bar to find a quiet place, phone still against his ear, listening to his partner sniff on the other side of the line. “Alright. What’s going on? Do you need anything?” He was worried. Maybe something had happened to her. “No” She said, her voice shuddering even more than before. “Where are you? Are you alone?” She asked.   “Yeah. I’m outside a bar, in New York. Why?” He dared ask, impatient yet apprehensive to know what was actually going on. “Sit” He frowned and froze. That didn’t sound good. Nothing is ever good when someone tells you to sit down. “Hunnigan.” “ Y/N is dead.”

It was as if someone heavy and massive had instantly dropped on him, as if something had punched his stomach and crushed his chest in a single move, preventing him from breathing, preventing his heart from beating, preventing all his members from moving.               That was not possible. This couldn’t be happening. This was a dream, a nightmare or a perhaps hallucination cast by alcohol. But as soon as Leon heard Hunnigan saying his name again, he knew this was too real for this to be the mere fruit of  his imagination or his subconscious.         “How?” It was the only word that he managed to say, feeling too numb to make a complete sentence right now. “Leon that wasn’t your fault.” “How?” He insisted. He wanted to know. He needed to know. He needed to know why you would never come back to him, why he would never see you again, kiss you again. But foremost, he needed to know who was the son of a bitch responsible for it.   “ In a mission in Spain.”

His phone immediately fell to the humid ground, breaking in a thousand pieces just like Leon’s whole body. His knees bent under the sudden weight of pain, anger and guilt and soon he collapsed to the sidewalk, completely appalled, tears flooding his blue eyes.  

He had done this. It was his fault. All his fault.          

Disoriented and panting, he started looking all around him for something, anything that could help him get out of this hell. But there was nothing and he was alone. He would forever be alone now.          

He had killed you. You were dead because of him.    

Leon screamed, face reddened by rage, angry tears flowing down his face. His fists hit the ground repeatedly, hard, so hard, his knuckles started bleeding. But he didn’t care. He didn’t even see it. He couldn’t feel that pain either. The only pain he could feel right now was the one from his heart being torn out from his chest, a pain that would ultimately leave an emptiness he would never be able to fill ever again. But he wanted to feel pain. He wanted to feel that precise pain, finding it a fitting punishment for everything he had done that had lead to this moment, that had led to your death.

Was it God punishing him? Was his mother right all along? Was He making him pay for what the pain he had brought you, for all the mistakes he had done, for choosing to worship a fucking bottle of whisky instead of Him? Was it his plan all along?

“IS THAT WHAT YOU FUCKING WANTED?” Leon shouted on his knees, looking at the menacing stormy sky.

He bent over the sidewalk, head in his arms, sobbing and sniffing loudly, moaning your name, begging you to come back. “Please don’t leave me here.” But just like God, when Leon was a little boy praying with his mother at the Sunday mass, you didn’t answer. “I’m sorry.”             He had never wanted this to happen to you. He had never wanted your life to end like this. All he had ever wanted for you was your happiness even if it meant a long and beautiful life without him. Because if a bottle of whisky smashed against the wall had made him realise one thing is that you deserved to find the person that could love you better than him, a person to worship you just as his mother worshipped God and he worshipped his liquor. Because you were the only thing worth worshipping in this goddamn world, the only thing he would gladly believe in. Because, if religion was meant to bring comfort, if God was truly there to watch over him, judge him and punish him as his mother had told him then you were his God all along.       After all, who if not you brought him the comfort when he needed it? Who if not you watched over him when he was in a very bad way? Who if not you judged him when he needed to be judged and no one dared to do it? Who if not you can make him fall on his knees like a pilgrim and wish for a paradise just to have the hope he would one day see you again?          

He stayed on that sidewalk for at least an hour on that night, still and quiet, completely empty, feeling the rain pour on him, until two policemen sent by Hunnigan went to look for him. “Are you okay, sir?” No, no he was not. And he wasn’t even sure he would be okay ever again. But he eventually got better.

“ I haven’t had a single drink in three weeks. Hunnigan says that I should feel proud but I don’t. Because look what I needed to quit.”

Leon looked at the flowered marble tomb at his feet, staring at your name with an intense sadness and melancholy he would never be able to get rid of. He had taken him a while to come here, refusing to step a foot in this cemetery even for you funeral because that would be admitting your death and he couldn’t do that. But that he was here, he couldn’t help but acknowledge how cathartic talking to you was.

“ I’m leaving for Spain tomorrow. President’s order. I guess that despite being a complete asshole he is not very resentful. I have no idea what’s expecting me there but I promise you, I’ll find whoever is responsible your death and I’ll make them pay. They will learn they shouldn’t have done that.”

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter 5

Here marks the middle of our tale, that vast, perilous land between the beginning and the end. The going is treacherous in these parts—the wayward couple must heal on their own, tread the sea of two decades with arms and souls akimbo—but still, it is not unnecessary. The middle is never aimless. Always, always, it has one goal: the ending.

When the lights go up and the curtains close, you clap—perhaps, should the couple reunite (which, of course, they will), you shout “Encore, encore!” But then, at last, you return to your car. You catch the train, or you grab a taxi. At last, having started at the beginning and waded through the middle, you reach the final destination. The night is over; you go home.

Home. Whether a place, a person, a feeling, or a thing—it does not matter. Home is always the goal and the ending, the northernmost star we pray to and walk towards.

[December 24th, 1996]

Two weeks’ vacation in a cabin, tucked deep inside a fold of mountains. Here, amongst the stretches of living nothingness, even the silence has a voice. Owls hoot in the night. The pines’ chatter, their needle-whispers pierced by caws and shifted air—a hawk swooping to ensnare her prey. And if one listens closely enough, one can hear the hunter's a shaky, traitorous breath, which launches the doe across the snow—the echo of his heartsong, the drum to which the doe’s hooves beat. Come back, come back, come back.

This is why Jamie has come here: for the endless conversation between man and mountain, more steadfast than the chill in his heart. In the past four years, Jamie has sold the twin cot (it lies in a salvage yard somewhere, all broken springs and dreams). A different couple has moved into the studio, and when they had spoken of paint jobs—“Perhaps mint green, what d’ye say, hon?”— Jamie had thought, Thank God. He’d happily offered them the keys when they turned to him, pupils dilated with youthful optimism. By that point, there was no space for Jamie and Claire inside that Edinburgh Eden, and so he’d chimed in, “Aye, a bonny color.” (Indeed, the walls are mint now, though a forgotten strip of marigold shines in the northern corner.)

For two years, Jamie has lived with Murtagh in Glasgow, having shed not just his home but his editorial career in publishing. He has grown tired of fixing other’s mistakes—too many of his own in need of correction—and so here he sits on this Christmas Eve, writing towards redemption.

The Grampians are a peaceful place, big hulks of rock scattered with trees—bouquets of fir, oak, and pine cradling other cabins. At dark, their windows flicker, candlelit with the dreams of the aspiring novelists, essayists, playwrights therein. Men and women, all bowed before the cleansing hum of nature’s speech. Like Jamie, they had seen the fliers: WRITER’S RETREAT, TWO WEEKS IN THE MOUNTAINS—and so it was. They were small colony taking its temporary leave, hoping to reconstruct the world according to their own, more favorable terms.

Over supper, the group gathers and shares their ideas: outlines, pieces of dialogue, an inspiring poem they’ve loved since childhood. And while Jamie is generous with his advice, he holds his notebooks against his chest. Enraptured by this warm aloofness (for is it not the way of all great wordsmiths?), the others whisper behind their palms, “Have you read Fraser’s story?” Into napkins, “No, have you?”

But among the fifteen guests, only one has read Jamie’s story—and tonight, Jamie waits for her inside his cabin. His latest draft is fanned around him, some sections highlighted and others slashed. They are not unlike Claire’s old strike-throughs, which had snipped the would-be Dalhousie and eventually, Jamie’s own name, from her life (a reclamation of Beauchamp, a transformation to Randall). Among Jamie’s scribbles are his friend’s edits, which are much more forgiving, much less forceful than the lines of his own red pen. Each comment reads like a bashful request: “More clarity?”, “Switch the verb here?”, “Too many adjectives?” as if she needs permission to occupy the margins. Should I really be reading this?, she seems to say, the bare-backed rawness making her squirm.

But she is helping him, his friend. And so she sees Jamie’s drafts before John, his agent, and before Fergus, his assistant and most loyal advocate. With each comment, she brings him closer to understanding, to the better beginning, middle and end. Note by note, to the way his story (their story, for it can never be Jamie’s alone) should be. All rhymes and logic, had it not veered off-course.

Is Alexander too cold here? Shouldn’t he say something? (He should have.)

It seems out of character for Alexander to never visit his daughter’s grave? (Grief carves cowards out of heroes.)

Shouldn’t he try to win Elizabeth back? (God, yes. He should have tried harder.)

The knock comes three minutes later, as expected.

“Hello?”

“Door’s unlocked.”

“Oh!” A muffled apology, embarrassment for the delay. “Sorry,” the visitor says. “It’s late. Didna ken if ye still wanted to talk or not. I brought—well, I finished reading your last chapter.”

And now another player enters this fifth act, tip-toes quietly onto the stage. Only a slip of a thing in the cabin’s doorway, cheeks pinked by the storm’s sharp nip. She is Jamie’s friend-slash-critique partner, and even her entrance is punctuated by a question mark. The score of owl, pine, hawk and hunter swells, buffeted now by new notes: the crack of chapped lips smiling, the anxious shuffle of papers, and—

“Dinna fash, I couldna sleep anyways,” Jamie assures her. “Did ye like it, though? The new ending?”

His friend inhales sharply, stealing as much oxygen as the room will allow. Everything—the threadbare futon, the TV’s antennae, the welcome mat and Jamie’s body—bends towards some invisible presence. A ghost between between all.

“It was…a bit different from the last one.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘Nay, I didna like it.’”

She looks shyly at the ground, one foot treading nervous circles into the planks.

“It was a bit too sentimental is all. After everything. All that time and silence…D’ye really think Alex and Lizzie could make it?”

Her words are a blow to Jamie’s stomach, and the pages are fire in his hands. He puts them down, wants to thrust himself under a blanket of snow to freeze the flames.

“In a fairy tale, maybe, but life isna a fairy tale. And d’ye no want to write truths?” She looks up, and her eyes gore him. “This story isna a fairy tale either, Jamie. Yours never are.”

“Aye…aye, I s’pose they’re not,” he replies, thinking of his other novels and short stories, essays and poems. Each accepted by John’s gimlet eye, only to meet their end in a publisher’s slush pile. (“Too dark, too wallowing,” an editor once wrote.)  

“Give it another go. I’ll help ye tomorrow, if ye’d like,” his friend offers. “Three days left. I reckon we’ve time to sort the kinks, right the wrongs.” (Three days will never be enough for Jamie’s wrongs.)

“I’d appreciate that, lass. Verra much.”

His friend looks behind her and at the moon, a shy sickle in the sky. It draws her toward the door and the snow-covered mountainside.

“Weel, it’s a long walk back,” she says. “Wanted to give ye that before the morning, so I guess I’ll just…”

“Will ye stay with me tonight?” Jamie blurts. And he hates himself for saying this, the way it sounds outside his mouth and inside his cabin, landing on the unmade bed. Its despair makes it ugly. But.

But if his friend stays, Jamie thinks, perhaps the emptiness will leave. If his friend stays, perhaps his story will correct itself, falling into its natural rhythm, by the force of whatever solace she can give him.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he continues, “and I…I dinna want to be alone.”

She pauses, thinks it over before saying, “Okay. Just for a bit?” (Just for a bit? Another loaded question, and one he doesn’t want to answer.)

“Thank you,” Jamie whispers, and Mary McNab removes her coat.

____

Long before daybreak, Jamie wakes. He gathers his draft, made complete by that final failing chapter, into a single stack. He retrieves a box from his suitcase, which is swathed in his old holiday sweater, and it speaks to him. A quiet loudness, like the murmur of the Grampians. You mean your lager-stained pullover? With the Santa looks that looks like he’s got vomit in his beard?

Inside the box is a gift—a vase, azure porcelain—though Jamie has no plans to send it across the Atlantic, to the Boston apartment where his ex-wife kisses another man. No. This vase will stay with Jamie, forever hidden on the high shelf of a closet, or exiled to the back corner of a desk drawer. Like his grief, it is something that he owns—this small cut from a cloth of unraveled dreams—to be kept and locked safely away. There, there, always there. All fancy people have vases.

Jamie wraps the box with his manuscript. One by one, he folds the pages over and under, seals the edges with tape to form an inch-thick layer. So much history around this small, delicate thing—their story, with the ending Jamie cannot use and which cannot be the truth. At last, he cuts the string of wool, which still drips from his sweater after all these years, and it rasps, Do we have time? Of course we do.

Finally, Jamie weeps—a mournful sound that joins the chorus of this great, big mountain—and ties a frayed, red bow.

____

(Jamie does not realize that Mary watches him from the bed. “Tell me about her,” she wants to say—for once a statement and not a question—but she does not. Instead, she calls to Jamie, presses her goosefleshed nakedness to his. And as they move together, slow but unfeeling, she pretends she is a vessel. Closes her eyes. Makes room for the ghost. I’m Claire Beauchamp. Just plain Claire Beauchamp.)

____

Here, the idea of a writer’s retreat, the introduction, and the parentheticals (although those are also inspired by one of my favorite authors Kate Atkinson) are my lame attempts at trying to be Lauren Groff. Actually, the next handful of chapters are the result of my obsession with her novel Fates and Furies—which you should absolutely go read, right now.

One of my favorite parts about writing a modern AU is finding ways to fit in canon characters or references. I started this chapter having no idea who Jamie’s critique partner was, but it very quickly came together once there was a remote cabin, Jamie inside it, and a woman coming to visit him. I hope the reveal is at least somewhat...fun? The vase is also obviously a nod to Outlander, and, well, I’m assuming y’all caught on to Jamie’s character names (a bit on the nose, lmao).

I’m not crazy about this introduction (it’s...a bit much...but it’s meant to tie into the introduction of Chapter 1), but the final paragraph from Mary’s POV is actually one of my favorite paragraphs in the whole fic.

I also think I wrote this during a snowstorm, wheeeee!