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la-fille-en-aiguilles · 4 years ago

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The Only Living Thing

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: Language.

Synopsis: You’ve been friends with BIlly Russo for as long as you can remember. Then, on that one night in New York, feelings get mixed up with the liquor that burns and everything spins out of control. So much for being the only living thing that Billy Russo has ever cared about... Or is it? A/N: This just sort of happened. I may be writing more if you guys want, I think I can definitely take this further? I have a pretty hectic schedule but I might make it happen x

Song : Adam French - The Only Living Thing

New York, November 2019.  

Breathtaking.  

You are breathtaking, like the most beautiful view from atop the mountain or his biggest fear coming alive under his stare.   You’re a mix of excitement and terror, and you are enchanting enough to keep him on the tips of his toes, second-guessing everything, his every decision and every word...

You are meant to leave him wanting more.

The night New York has never looked so good on a woman before.

Billy’s vision goes blurry for a second, his stomach hot and heavy.

You are glowing.

You radiate a kind of a warm sepia glow, so beautiful and genuine and so fucking effortlessy...

Smooth and unapologetic.   

Messy strands of hair framing your face, your blushing cheeks, as you laugh your heart out, throwing your head back. Your pearl teeth flash in the dimness of the bar. Your thin black tights are torn at the thighs, your lips are red and irritated as you sink your teeth in, again and again.

Your laugh is flamboyant, intoxicating. Raw.

You are something else...

When suddenly, you see him, your black eyelashes fluttering as you wink at him. Billy’s chest feels too wide, too fragile and too hot. Do you see those unspoken words shining out of his drunken eyes?

When you make your way to him through the crowd, he’s paralyzed, afraid to move forward, afraid to scare you off, but mostly, afraid to let everyone see how desperate he is for your touch.

This is wrong, so fucking wrong, but why in hell when you come over, throwing your elegant arms around his neck, your cute perky nose touching his chest - it feels so. fucking. right?! Like you were custom-made for each other?...

Before he can stop himself, he slides an arm around your waist. You say something to him, something funny, for everyone around him snorts and chuckles, but his mind, his entire world - suddenly comes down to that spot just below his cheekbone where you plant a soft peck of your velvet pouty lips.

“Those twenty bucks we bet on? I win,” you half laugh, half exhale in his ear, your lips brushing against the lobe. “Madani is fucking obsessed with you”.

“Ah,” Billy smiles, both of his hands snaking around your waist now as he looks down at you.

...And I am fucking obsessed with us.

“And you just enjoy rubbing us - this! in her face right now, aren’t you?” he mutters instead, his temples buzzing with the gin and tonic he has been downing all night.

God, he hopes you’re too buzzed to have noticed his slip of fucking epic proportions.

He promised himself he wouldn’t drink, not with you still around - because whatever it was that he felt for you mixed with liquid that burned equaled a very bad outcome.

He might be well into the tipsy territory by now but Billy isn’t delusional. The chances that you would go back to his place or even kiss him back are entirely too slim.

Because friends don’t do friends.

Friends might as well become a new f-word for all Billy cares at this point.

When you throw your head back in an explosive laugh, Billy’s distracted. He gets an extensive view of your elegant neck, your delicate collarbones, but mostly - of the swell of your mouthwatering breasts, as your black silk top tightens over them.

Fuuuuck him.

“Fuck you, Russo”, you echo his thoughts somehow as you wink at him once you’ve restored your breath, not stepping away from his embrace, however, letting him keep his hands on you.

It’s always like this between the two of you. You’ve known each other for a while now - four, five years? After Billy bumped into you at a brunch at Liebermans’ and spilled his frappuccino all over your gorgeous rack. He wasn’t even going to come - but boy, was he glad he did - even though you wasted no time opening that sassy mouth of yours and verbally eviscerating him.

This wasn’t a love at first sight.   For you, at least.

“At least buy me a dinner first,” Billy barely manages, his vision a tad blurry.

He notices you giving him an unimpressed stare. Feeling stupid all at once, Billy blinks quickly and lets go of your waist...

Only to tremble on his feet and almost fall on his face.

“Heyyy,” he registers your breath on his cheek before he hears what you’re saying, your small hands holding him in place. Your touch burns through the fabric of his button down shirt as your palms slide up his sides to his shoulders. “You okay there, Russo?”

Billy squirms, chomping on his bottom lip as he grabs you by your elbows.

‘’M fine”, he says quietly, but doesn’t let go. When he lowers his stare to meet your eyes, he almost wants to cry. There’s concern in their bottomless depths, worry for him and desire to make it all better. He just wishes there was more heat there, and less of that f-word that ends with -riends.

“You don’t look fine, lover,” you retort, wiggling and pushing and pulling onto him until you’re snug under his arms and carrying his dead weight to the exit. “Let’s go get some fresh air, come on.”

Billy utters something half-heartedly, his head feeling like it’s filled with cotton. He didn’t even drink that much, as least he doesn’t think so. Must be your fucking intoxicating perfume, sweet but voluptuous and so fucking tempting...

Pure sin.  

Even drunk out of his fucking mind, he’s still the envy of every guy at that bar because he’s with a stunning, breathtaking, prettiest woman in the whole damn world that is you.

“If you were able to stand right now, that line might have gotten you laid,” you inform him with a laugh, basically carrying him to the exit on your shoulders.

Through the drunken haze, Billy realises he might have spoken those words out loud, but the terror is quickly replaced by...

“Are you shitting me?” He slurs, trying to stay vertical. “Are you saying you want me?”

By the time the words escape his mouth, you have pushed the exit door wide open and nudged him to step out. Losing his balance, Billy crashes into Frank, Stein and Madani, smoking outside.  Dina’s eyes flash mischievously as you step out of the bar, immediately throwing your arms around Billy protectively, helping him to steady himself.

“Oh, so it’s common knowledge now, then?” Dina ventures, licking her lips bloodthirstily, her eyes never quitting yours. “You’ve finally admitted you want to drag that fine Caspian ass in your bed?”

The running joke aimed at Billy looking like a Disney prince feels out of place; all conversation is silenced out as you narrow your eyes at Madani, your grip around Billy’s waist instantly becoming tighter. Frank clears his throat in an attempt to defuse the awkwardness, but doesn’t intervene.

And Billy is... well, happy. Over the moon, actually, and still drunk off his ass.

Apparently, you have been wanting to drag his ass into your bed for a while now!

That does mean you see him more than a friend, right?

What if... What if all this time you were just as hung up on him as he was on you, but neither of you had the balls to say anything?

In his picture perfect drunken world, Madani makes sense and his heart sings.

You want him.

If it were a Disney cartoon, animals would be singing and dancing around praising your couple.

Frankie would have probably made a sick unicorn.

“Oh Dina”, suddenly your voice cuts right through Billy’s happy fantasy, and there’s way too much sass in that voice for it to belong to a Disney princess. “Just because your friend Sam here and your own desperate fan-girling ass carry a boner for some fucked up teenage fantasy that involves boinking Prince Caspian, doesn’t mean all women have that same one-track mind. Some of us can actually look past a dick and see a friend. So why don’t you lay off that Cosmopolitan and fuck off, vodka-cranberry sure ain’t making you brighter”.

Billy frowns, deep lines creasing his forehead.

Frank snorts with laughter, not even bothering to conceal his reaction.     You hold Dina’s hateful stare.

“Whatever, bitch” the latter one finally utters, throwing her cigarette away. “I never fucking liked you. Maybe after this your little fanboy here will see you for what you really are - a fucking coward and a tosser”, Billy’s stares at her in disbelief, his mind still foggy. Madani’s dark eyes flash dangerously in his direction. “Of all women, Russo... Karma is a bitch, isn’t she? Your little princess here only loves herself, lover. Get out while you fucking can”.

Smashing her shoulder into yours, Madani goes back into the bar, leaving equally dreary and awkward silence behind.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Frank isn’t laughing anymore as he folds his hands on his chest, giving you a questioning eye.

You roll your eyes dismissively.

“Well, she’s obviously shit-faced,” you shrug, sliding your hands off of Billy. “What, you’re surprised she hates me?”

It’s a whole another world there, in Billy’s head. Have you just distanced yourself from him after what Madani said? What, you thought he’s so drunk he wouldn’t fucking notice?

“...so just because I have basic restraint and actually appreciate a man as a friend, I’m a damaged bitch with a twisted sense of humour? Look, I don’t know, Frank”, you rub your eyes tiredly with the back of your hand.

“I do,” Billy suddenly chimes in hoarsely, his eyes bloodshot and dark, darker than usual, as they narrow at you. “Know. I know.” Billy stutters, then takes a deep breath. “That’s all I am to you then, sweetheart? A friend?”

Billy wavers a bit as he speaks, but his words are deadly. Your eyes pop wide open at his words, like Russo has just grown a penis on his forehead. Frank’s mouth forms a silent O.

And just like that, the tension is back.

“Well, of course you are my friend,” you say slowly, stretching out your hand in an attempt to grasp Billy’s wrist. Your eyes are searching his face, but he’s locked, like a goddamn prison cell. “You’re my friend and I love you”.

Wrong answer, if Billy’s expression is anything to judge by as he recoils from your touch. His face is a mix of disappointment and anger, his lips a thin line as he turns away.

“Fucking idiot,” he mutters under his breath as he turns on his heels and makes a tentative step towards the bar. Only his body is ruled by gin and whatever shit he chased it with, so his feet get mixed up together. Billy trips over his own shoes.

“Hey, easy there, tiger”, Frank, who’s been standing closer, grips Billy by his arm to help him keep his balance. “What’s gotten into you, man?”

Billy chuckles, throwing his head back, and that has got to be the most bitter sound you have ever heard. You shudder involuntary, watching Russo like a hawk.

“I would have given you the fucking world, you know that?” Billy stares you dead in the eye, grabbing the door handle in front of him. “You just keep fucking with my head like a fucking sadist, and I live by the shit you give me!” you blanch as Billy goes on with the program, hurt dripping from his mouth. “Must have always thought that should be some spectacular pussy you’ve been packing, totally worth all your shit”.

“Bill!” Frank calls him out sharply, his expression terrified.

But the damage is done.  

Your eyes are brimming with tears, but you stay silent, unblinking. Your chest seems a little caved-in, but you hold your chin high as your trembling lips start to move.

“Fuck you, Russo”, you spit, “Fuck you, friend”.

The next thing he knows, Billy explodes in a fit of bitter laughter - even though all he wants to do is fucking cry.

This just goes to fucking show there’s no such thing as Disney fairytale in real life, is there?

“Oh don’t worry, friend, somebody will,” he promises you, swinging the door to the bar wide open. “Gonna go help Madani fulfil her teenage fantasy. While you can stay here, think about us fucking like rabbits and feel better about yourself”.

With those words thrown over his shoulder, he steps into the crowded bar, the sound of the door shutting behind him sounding final.

Plot twist. Curtain falls.

Frank can’t even venture a look at you - he doesn’t even hear you breathing.

“He’s just piss off drunk, that’s it. He doesn’t mean it,” Castle attempts to do some damage control, even though he knows that that ship has most definitely sailed.

“Thanks, Frank,” he hears you say quietly, and as he raises his eyes, he catches the sight of you wiping your cheeks quickly.

You inhale slowly, closing your eyes and fisting your hands.

“Tell Karen and the guys I wasn’t feeling so hot, okay?” you ask, and there’s definitely pleading in your voice.

You never plead.

Before Frank can ever mutter anything about Karen having his head if he lets you walk away at night all alone, you wave at him dismissively.

��I’ll see you”, you say as you collect your hair in a ponytail and walk off, your silhouette soon lost in the bustling New York night.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo #billy russo angst #the punisher imagine #billy russo imagine #billy russo story #billy russo au #the punisher story #the punisher

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films-for-the-gays · 3 years ago

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Every lgbtq+ movie I have watched ranked!

Since I haven't watched a new movie in like 2 months I am going to rank ALL of the lgbt movies I have ever watched for content :) This can also be used as a reference if you ever want to recommend something and don't know if I've reviewed it already

Each film will be ranked based on how much I personally enjoyed it as opposed to how technically good it is as a film

Also the order may be different from what scores I've given before (eg something I gave an 8 might be below something I gave a 7) cause my opinion might have changed or my scoring at the time was a weee bit biased

I'll probably pin this and add to it whenever I make a new review

I will also be including the tv shows I have reviewed just cause

Black Swan - MY ALL TIME FAVOURITE FILM!!! I am unsure of the general consensus on whether this is an lgbt movie but I count it because the main characters is canonically bisexual basically

The Handmaiden - just found out there's two versions of this! the extended cut is the one I prefer and also the one I was talking ab in my review. it's only 20 minutes longer but the order of the film is different and better imo. the one on Netflix is the theatrical cut but the one on fsharetv is the extended cut and free!

Moonlight - *through tears* BEAUTIFUL

Brokeback Mountain - there's a reason this film is as influential as it is

Portrait of a Lady on Fire - I love the ending so much I know that's not a revolutionary opinion but I love it so much

The Perfection - I have a feeling no one I know would feel the same way as me about this movie

Disobedience - Every time I see Rachel McAdams in a movie I don't realise it's her until like 20 minutes in

Boy Erased - Distressingly good

Gods Own Country - Beware for dicks and dead sheep

Rocky Horror Picture Show - the review on my blog is short enough to go here 'Literally 100 minutes of the best fever dream you've ever had 10/10'

Young Royals - Boarding school upper echelon gays and scholarship(?) commoner boy gays

Holding the Man - be prepared to cry like a fucking baby

Duck Butter - I think this is the third most controversial ranking on this list

Breakfast on Pluto - I love you Cillian Murphy💜💙💚💛❤

Maurice - So ahead of its time

Your Name Engraved Herein - if I hear one more person say this is 'Asian Call Me By Your Name' I will burst into flames (in a bad way)

Pride - this movie will give you so much pride, the title is accurate

Paris is Burning - Best documentary ever made

I Told Sunset About You - So dramatic but worth it

Gia - The worlds first supermodel was a lesbian and that is a win for the lgbtqs

Ideal Home - MY ideal home

My Days of Mercy - Just really good I have nothing else to say

Miseducation of Cameron Post - I prefer the book😎

Beautiful Thing - This film is (a) beautiful (thing)

Call Me by Your Name - I actually watched a really good video essay on this film recently

Another Country - Colin Firth made me a communist

Carol - Arguably not Cate Blanchetts gayest movie (oceans 8)

Kill Your Darlings - Has a special place in my heart

Saltburn - Not for everyone. Tbh there's been enough online discourse online you probably don't need my input 💀

Handsome Devil - I think I only like teen movies if they're not American

Dating Amber - Is it a coincidence that Fionn O'Shea plays basically the same character in two entries right next to each other? We'll never know

Big Eden - normalise fuzzy gay romcoms

My Summer of Love - Lots of style, lots of substance

Crush - gayest teen movie

Lost and Delirious - Boarding school lesbians for the win

Tales of The City - One day I will go to San Francisco and look at all the pretty buildings

Beach Rats - This film continues to baffle me. I truly don't know how I feel about it. I've put it here cause I like the aesthetic

Battle of the Sexes - Lesbian Emma Stone for all my Lesbian Emma Stone fans

Jongens - Who says gays cant do sport?

Booksmart - Best american teen movie

Imagine Me and You - from my review; 'Imagine your basic Hugh grant british rom com but with lesbians'

Love, Simon - Love Actually, Love Rosie, Love Island

Life Partners - The representation we all need

Heartstopper - cute and gay and cute and gay

Rafiki - Made me cry but at the weirdest times

4th Man Out - Even though its not in the middle the is the most average film on this list so use this as a centre point

The Imitation Game - My opinion of this film has gone down immensely since I found out how dirty they did Alan Turing

The Favourite - Most of my enjoyment of this film is just the casting choices

Tangerine - absolute chaos (in a good way) filmed on a couple of iphone fives

Alex Strangelove - The dudes actual name is Alex Truelove so true love is strange do you get it?

The Cakemaker - Type of film you'd watch with a bowl of tomato soup

D.E.B.S - I wish I liked this more I really do

The Way He Looks - Despite what I said in my review I was actually quite bored I'm sorry

Elisa & Marcela - All in black and white. Not fun

Colette - I wish this was more gay

The Power Of The Dog - unfortunately boring soz

The Half of It - It took me a week to finish this

Happy Together - I don't understand why this movie is so loved😭. Second most controversial ranking on this list.

Water Lilies - lets just say Adèle Haenel and Céline Sciamma (writer and director) showed their talents a lot better in Portrait of a Lady on Fire

Hurricane Bianca - The type of film you'd expect (no hate you might like it)

Ek Ladki Ko Dehka Toh Aisa Laga - cute but not for me

Happiest Season - From this point down are movies that I actively dislike

Liberty's Secret - SO disappointed in this. Wtf

The Feels - don't waste your time seriously

My Own Private Idaho - I have a personal grudge against this movie. I hate it so much. Most controversial ranking on this list

N/A The Living End - Didn't actually finish this so I won't rank but just know that I probably wont be finishing it

#lgbtq #pride #lgbt cinema #lgbt movie #lgbt month #pride month #mlm movies #wlw movie #lgbtqia #lgbt content

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chaosintheavenue · 2 years ago

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My siblings have deemed this random Chaos anecdote Tumblr-worthy, so here goes:

At one point in uni, I had to travel to another campus for some field work. This other campus was accessed by heading down a dirt trail behind the main halls of residence site, which slowly led you down a forested steep hill down to the level of a main road, and then the site was further down said road. Now, for some context, this hill is much too steep to walk straight up or down (probably the reason the gradually descending path is there in the first place), and when I look back I always picture it as being at that degree of steepness where your character in a video game will run in place if you try to run up it. I’d never been to this side of the uni town before, but on the way there, I walked with a group of friends who knew the way and all was good.

But. After the academic stuffs were over, me and one friend who was an aspiring wildlife photographer hung back to try to get some photos and footage of amphibians in various nearby pools and ponds he knew. We spent well over an hour out there, and of course, the rest of our group had long since gone home by then. And to my horror, halfway along the walk home, right as we’re getting up to the point where we abandon the main road and head back up the dirt path, my friend walks into a pub car park and gets out keys. He offers to give me a lift and I reluctantly politely decline, because I’m going back to the train station (around a month earlier I’d moved to a nearby smaller town/village and was commuting in on the daily, which was cheaper than finding a house on my own in the uni town), and I know he lives right on the opposite side of town and would be going out of his way. He waves and drives off, leaving me in this car park without a clue where I’m going. It’s fine, I think, I’ll just call a taxi to the station, they’re expensive as hell but it’s better than getting lost because it’s just about starting to get dark.

It’s when I take out my phone and see that I have no signal that I realise just how deep Shit Creek below me is. I’ve heard not so good things about the pub and I’m not comfortable stepping in there to even ask someone for directions. There’s no one around. And I don’t have a clue where the entrance to get back on the dirt path up to the level of the part of town I’m familiar with is. All I know is that familiarity and a way back home are somewhere at the top of that forested hill...

-Jump cut-

Five minutes later, Chaos- a person with screwed lungs, a screwed ankle, and deeply out of whack motor coordination- is scrambling up this muddy hill from tree to tree, then literally dangling with my arms wrapped around their trunks to catch my breath.

Figure 1: Artist’s rendition of Chaos scaling the forested hill

I struggled, and on one occasion seriously considered sliding back down to road level on my ass, biting the bullet and going into the potentially dodgy pub anyway, because it seemed like the lesser of two evils. But I persevered, telling myself that at some point I was bound to hit the dirt path.

I did not. I suddenly hit a patch without trees, clawed my way up through bushes for a while, and then abruptly emerged on level ground again right next to a rugby pitch, where a bunch of young teenagers and their coach seemed to be packing up equipment etc. And I just remember this coach turning to look at me, this dishevelled creature looking about twelve years old, gasping for air, covered in soil and semi-drying mud, as I emerged from the undergrowth and legged it up the side of the pitch trying to establish where in God’s name I now was. I don’t fully remember, but being British, I most likely apologised at some point during this as well.

(the conclusion: as soon as I left the rugby pitch I found myself further up the same road where the entrance to the halls of residence was, and knew where I was going from there. The next year I had to go to the same campus down the hill a few more times, but always made sure I left with the main group travelling back lol. Never did figure out exactly how to pinpoint the entrance to the dirt path, though)

#this may or may not be the story of how I became the cryptid of my uni town #random chaos anecdotes #I hope this entertains someone because my siblings find it hilarious #stuff

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venusiangguk · 3 years ago

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BUDGETING

dont know if everyone will still want to know on budgeting lol

I don't want to sound like a bitch yk

BUT

I think the most important thing for me was learning to give yourself the freedom to enjoy things like little by little

I used to do this thing where I was uptight for a super long time and then I wpukd splurge huge amounts and for nothing.

I'm not religious either but I truly believe that setting out a little each month/week for charity is great bc it's always comes back in a form that's greater you know.

Pay rise, new job opportunities, idk good things.

Ik it sounds cringe and gross but I think it's worth it !

THE STEPS LMAO

Okay so I always but in 40%-45% like in the bag already savings I mean (this can obvs be adjusted to fit your own needs but if say keeping over 30% is key!)

And work around everything else in the steps below !!!

If I was brave enough I would send pictures of my last year budgeting plan and how I managed to save !! But I'm not 😭😭😭

the first step for me would be to list your monthly income !

Monthly is way easier to work with and easier to adjust in the long run !

Second would be list out things that have to be paid always. So fixed expenses.

I.e rent, MOT, bills, food ( for this I would highly recommend just having a monthly shopping of like say £20-25 - seems un do able but isnt !!! Frozen veggies are your best friend:)) gym membership, spotify, prime all of that.

Third which is super important for me at least would be to set out a like reward bonus for yourself.

( in cash preferably- like so once it's gone it's gone you know- like monthly rewards for yourself - sometimes you use it and sometimes you dont!! )

Fourth - ALWAYS SET AN EXTRA LIL FUND FOR THE UNEXPECTED THINGS!!! ( car crashes, dentist, medicine if your toaster breaks if your fridge breaks !! all of that lovely stuffs 😃)

So when you look at all that infront you- really just scrutinise it.

Like -

How much of that do you really need to spend?

Is there anything you can cut out on ?

This is super important at least to me bc then I see that yh shit - that is crazy I'm spending useless money )

I think that also keeping student loans separate is SUUUUPER SUUUUPER bc it just. Idk if anyone else is like this but seeing how much they expected from me to be able to learn always depressed me so I made a separate folder for that- made it pretty so it didnt look sooo bad lmao ) but I think the biggest part was getting to grips that I had all that to pay back!!!

Then like random things :

Concerts, events, holidays.

Like make sure you have them planned in advance and make separate funds for all of them.

To cater to what they need! Like for a concert- hotel and food money and merch buying and army bomb and a NEW OUTFITTTT lmao)

And yh - I think setting up a teeny amount for charity or to help ppl is always great aswell bc well idk you feel good and it does always come to find you- doesnt have to be a large amount. Maybe even a food box every month or smn cute and sweet like that !!

This is how I did it : ( kind of irrelevant and just abt silly me lmao but maybe itll help(?))

So i used to work night shifts at this horrible packing place ( it was freezing too but the pay was so good! It was £15-18 an hr ( sometimes even more )and I used to work from 11pm-4am 7 days a week like I didnt take a day off until I quit and i did it for 2 years ! That was like 50k but I had a lot of things to pay off and my parents wanted nearly all of it back off of me 😃)

This is also the NOT the job I wanted yk? Like I used to work with a bunch of stinky ass men and it sucked but I had to do it bc well my parents kicked me out bc I was non religious looool.

I was never enough and I just got kicked out yk? ( oh no not my sob story but just to put it into perspective sort of like I was fucking depressed my money was going like wildfire )

So I had to kind of take everything/every opportunity. They expected a lot back from me too in that way like alot of my learning was going to them :/)

From 5-7

I worked at a bakery ! Cooking and baking and having fun! That was the best job I had the pay wasnt all that but it was something and I needed everything I could get ! It wasnt everyday either but so and so.

I also am bilingual so that way I was able to get a job as a teacher in a daytime school teaching which I did voluntarily! For the first year !

( I had this routine for 2 years!!)

So like I was getting an okay amount from these jobs but god heavens I was spending so unnecessary.

Like a high price for a shit apartment where I would have to pay for things to get fixed to and that was really expensive.

My parents also took alot first year earnings and that's when I was like well shit I have nothing I really need to like get my shit together yk?

There was student loan (- I dont want to like envoke sympathy bc of all this I just wanna like say that my money was kind of slipping away yk I feel like I'm being annoying 😭😭😭 ) - and just a whole lot of wasting on food ( my biggest expenditure- at the time I was struggling with binge eating and bulimia so 🙃🙃 yh )

Dumb shit off amazon, and like just crap you know

Also car petrol and mot and car stuff. and bus and train fares just money can go so easily.

It was just super super tiring to have juggle all these balls at once but when I got the hang of it like doing all those steps I felt more free and more aware of myself and I was able to enjoy while still getting yk the most out of what I do.

I work as a translater/teacher now so the pay is good and like using these steps is how I got the most out of myself

Uh idk If this even makes sense anymore and I'm sorry if come off as bitch too

I don't mean to or come with a sob story

I just think its important to like realise that no matter what and who in your life demands things from you - you always have to choose to look after yourself first- how you choose too look after yourself is ultimately how you choose to look after others too ! Take good care of yourself - give yourself a clearer mind and you'll be able to see a bigger picture- outside of the one built for you !!

If your struggling with other issues - mental health too it can help bring clarity to that too ! Bc it's some sort of semblance.

Gosh I feel gross what if you have to read all of this 😭😭😭

I hope it helps you ♡♡

Budgeting is really important bc we need to buy houses!!

Need property!!!

Start our own businesses !!

Become our own bosses !

It's just super important to know your expenses you can know yourself better too !

And you can be more mature and more self aware

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Gosh I really ate your ear off with this one

for everyone wondering about our bestie w 50k savings: this is her story !!

#u did a good job getting through all that and doing well for urself <3 #ask #anon #stellanswers <3

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bibybuck · 4 years ago

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in a car with a beautiful boy

fandom: 9-1-1

pairing: Buck/Eddie

rating: teen and up

word count: 4.3k words

summary: Buck crashed into his life, brighter than a meteorite, lighting up everything around Eddie. Life suddenly made sense. It made sense before, with Shannon and especially with Christopher, but it’s always been a little bit off-kilter, like someone forgot to remove the lens from the camera. Then Buck happened."

Chris has a birthday party to attend an hour and a half away. Buck volunteers to go with Eddie and by the time they get home, their life will have forever changed.

for @santiagosnart

inspired by and title from the quote below!

[read on ao3]

or under the cut!

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

Richard Siken

Christopher has a birthday party in San Jacinto. A fellow kid with CP, one of his best friends he made over the past couple of years. And Eddie is supposed to stay in San Jacinto for the duration of the party, but he has errands to run back home. So he drops Chris off, before heading back the same way a mere ten minutes later.

He’s used to long days, exhaustion and always being on the move. But driving an hour and a half in Los Angeles traffic, after two 12-hour shifts and a 28-hour shift covering for the B team, is just the cherry on the sundae. So while he waits at the bank, he texts Buck.

Eddie

I’m so tired… would I be a bad father if I took Chris to Abuela’s so I can have a good night’s sleep?

Buck

I think that’s what a sane father would do do you still need to head back?

Eddie

yeah in a couple of hours currently at the bank so this will take like five years

After that, Buck goes radio silent. He’s probably fallen asleep and honestly? Eddie doesn’t blame him in the slightest. If he could, Eddie would be in bed, too.

(He’d prefer to be in Buck’s bed, but those are thoughts he won’t think about while queuing at the bank.)

20 minutes later, and after he’s moved up a whole of 2 places in the line, there’s a tap on his shoulder. He thinks maybe it’s an old man wanting to jump the queue and he’s not ready for an argument. But he turns and sees none other than Buck.

“What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Well I can’t have you drive for 3 hours on your own, can I?”

Eddie’s love for Buck grows immensely after that single sentence, something he didn’t know was possible.

He’s come to terms with the fact that he’s in love with Buck a while ago. At first, it terrified him. The world he knew, the world where he’s straight, turned upside down in the blink of an eye. Buck crashed into his life, brighter than a meteorite, lighting up everything around Eddie. Life suddenly made sense. It made sense before, with Shannon and especially with Christopher, but it’s always been a little bit off-kilter, like someone forgot to remove the lens from the camera.

Then Buck happened. The world straightened (ha!) and Eddie realised the reason it was tilted because there was a part of himself that he didn’t understand. One look at Buck and Eddie knew he was attracted to men as well, even though he didn’t understand how he could go all those years without realising.

It’s been Buck all along. When the world is crazy, when the people are losing their shit, Buck’s there. Like a tether that holds Eddie back from floating away.

So moments like this, when Buck acts kind and selfless, only make Eddie realise how much he loves him. And it doesn’t scare him anymore. It used to; he didn’t want to jeopardise the friendship he has with Buck or the relationship Buck and Chris have. He vowed to protect those, even if it gives him a broken heart. But he knows that sometimes, there’s a love so big, so overpowering that you have to gamble and risk everything, no matter the consequences. He knows that probably they could work things out. They managed to figure out a way past the lawsuit and all the other fights.

“Eddie, the line’s moving,” Buck leans in, whispering in Eddie’s ear. Eddie feels Buck’s hot breath on the side of his neck and hot damn. If they weren’t in a public place, Eddie would be turning to rip Buck’s clothes off, consequences be damned.

“Uh, thanks.”

After another 20 minutes, the bank is sorted. While Eddie talks to the teller, Buck goes to grab coffee for them. They meet back at the car.

“One latte with two pumps of mocha for Edmundo, and one Midnight Mint Mocha Frappuccino for Evan.”

Eddie makes an ‘ew’ face. “Please never call yourself Evan again.”

Buck blushes. “Yeah, it felt weird,” he says quietly, before extending his hand forward. Eddie looks at him confused. “The keys.”

“What, why?”

“Cause I’m driving?”

“Why?”

“Because you went to San Jacinto so technically you’ve been up for longer than I have. Plus, I’m younger.”

Eddie blinks at him and he has to restrain himself from lunging forward and kissing the sweet life out of Buck.

“Rude, but thanks.”

They get in, with Buck driving and pull out into the afternoon traffic. For a couple of minutes, apart from upbeat music Buck chooses, they sit in relative silence, but it’s a silence Eddie’s comfortable in.

“How’d you know where I was?” Eddie asks when they go up to the I-10.

Buck gives him a look as if he’s waiting for the punchline. “I-I-I know you. Besides, you’ve complained so much about other tellers because no one understands you like Elena or what her name does.”

Eddie nods. Yep, now that rings a bell. Still, the fact that Buck remembers something trivial warms his heart.

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“Of course.”

Buck looks at him. He has this faint smile playing on his lips, but when his eyes focus on Eddie, it grows a little wider. His face softens. Then he catches himself, clears his throat and turns his attention back to the traffic.

Eddie wishes Buck kept staring because then his own staring wouldn’t be that out of place. And he wants to keep staring at Buck because he is the most exquisite human being.

God, Eddie is really stupidly in love with this boy.

Their trip to San Jacinto is uneventful. They talk about work, about Chris, about what’s going on in their lives. (Well… Mostly. Eddie doesn’t tell Buck about the most burning thing ever. Not just yet, even though he’s made a promise to himself that one of these days, he’ll tell him.) They talk about Maddie and the baby and just how excited Buck is to be an uncle.

“Do you want kids?” Eddie asks without even thinking, which makes Buck’s ears and cheeks turn crimson red. “You don’t have to answer that, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, uh… Yeah, I think… I mean I don’t…” Buck says, fumbling his way through an answer. “Yeah, I do. I love kids, man. I’ve always wanted to have kids but I just… I guess I haven’t found…” Buck looks at Eddie for a second. His eyes burn their way through Eddie’s soul, but then his gaze is gone. “I guess I need to grow up a bit, first.”

“I mean I’ve seen you with Chris, and man, he loves you.” Eddie needs to shut up and like right now. “You’re great with kids and you’ll be great with your own one day.”

Buck looks at him again, his cheeks still burning. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Eddie desperately wants to tell him that when Buck’s not around for whatever reason, Chris asks after him. Sometimes he wants Buck to tell him a bedtime story, or he wants Buck to make him breakfast. But he’s not around then. Eddie wants him to be and by the looks of it, Chris does too. Eddie wants Buck to be around 24/7, he wants him in their space, making it his as well.

They go back to discussing work and the pranks Chim’s been playing on an unsuspecting Bobby. Eddie finds out that Buck’s been helping Chim, which further confirms his Golden Retrieverness.

Buck wants to wait in the car while Eddie gets Chris.

“Don’t be stupid, he’ll be over the moon to see you,” Eddie tells Buck. Buck, still behind the wheel, runs his finger on the dashboard while chewing on his lip. “What?”

“I just…” Buck throws his hand up in the air. “I just don’t want to barge in.”

“What? Why’d you think you’d be barging in?”

“Cause it’s… It’s just…” He sighs.

“Buck, come on. You’ve never hesitated like this.”

They look at each other. Buck, his hands gripping the wheel, tightening his fist around it, knuckles going white. Eddie, outside the car, leaning against the frame, poking his head through the open door. The moment hangs in the air, as if there’s something neither of them wants to talk about or maybe they don’t even know they should be talking about.

“It’s about earlier. It made me realise that… You know what, nevermind, it's stupid. Go, get your son.”

Eddie furrows his brows. He doesn’t understand Buck’s sudden hesitation. He’s always been happy to help out with Chris. He found Carla, he picks Chris up from school when Eddie can’t, even takes him for days out.

So he gets back in the car, slamming the door behind him.

“What’s this about, Buck? Chris wants you here, you know that.”

“I know, it’s just… It’s stupid.”

Eddie turns towards him as much as the tight space lets him. “Go on, spit it out.”

“Fine.” Buck moves in his seat too. “Earlier we were talking about kids and I don’t know, it’s just got to me. You and Chris, you’re a family and… I just don’t see where I fit in the picture.”

“Buck… Come on, don’t say that.” Eddie hesitantly puts his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Chris loves you. He misses you when you’re not there to help him with the Lego. He sometimes wanders into the garage and asks when you’ll take him skateboarding next. He wants you there. I want you there.”

“I just feel like I’m always crashing the party, like I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“You definitely haven’t.” Eddie gives Buck’s shoulder a squeeze. “We both love it when you’re around. Chris was excited to come to this party but he’ll be happier seeing you.”

Buck looks at Eddie. Seemingly, his eyes are a bit shinier than before. He weakly nods then his usual Buck smile returns. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Inside, there are children running around. Chris is one of them, laughing, playing with the other kids. CP has taken so much away from him but also given him so much. When he sees Eddie, he grins at him, then his eyes land on Buck. He squeals and starts running toward them. He dodges Eddie’s hug and runs straight to Buck. Buck picks him up, giving him a big hug. His and Eddie’s eyes meet and Eddie gives him an ‘I told you so’ look.

“Hey, bud,” Eddie says to his son when it’s his turn to pick him up. “How was the party?”

“It was good! We had cake, we went into the ball pit and we even had cotton candy!”

“Oh wow, sounds like you had a great time!” From the corner of his eyes, he sees a woman waving him over. “I’m gonna talk to Micah’s mom, okay? Stay here with Buck and tell him about that cool dino book we’ve been reading!”

Eddie makes his way over to her, dodging several kids on the way.

“Eddie! Hi!” Lisa says, with her overly enthusiastic voice that he just can’t get used to.

“Hi Lisa, thank you for inviting Chris to the party. He’s had a wonderful time.”

“Oh, of course! Micah keeps talking about him all the time. We should do that sleepover one time like we’ve talked about.”

“Definitely! I think it’d be good for both kids.”

She nods, her eyes wandering over to Chris and Buck. “Oh, who’s he? I haven’t seen him before!”

“It’s Buck, we work together.”

“Do you know if he’s got a special lady friend?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he feels his cheeks heating up. Lisa’s not wasting any seconds. “Uh…”

Lisa blinks at him and then it’s her time to blush. “Oh, sorry, is he your boyfriend? I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, not boyfriend,” Eddie says quickly. Too quickly.

“Really? I mean I was getting… You know what nevermind.” She gives him an apologetic smile.

Eddie really shouldn’t push it. But he does. “You were getting…?”

“I got a vibe from you just now. I have been flirting with you, you know. So have other single moms. I mean… Look at you. But nothing. We thought it was because of your divorce from Shannon, but then you waltzed in here with him…”

“Oh,” is all Eddie can say. This is a very uncomfortable conversation and he’d like to leave.

“I’m just talking silly things, gosh. Look at me, I’m making a fool of myself.”

“No, that’s… I mean you weren’t 100% wrong. There is a vibe.”

“Hmm.” She narrows her eyes. “Well, alright. Glad Chris enjoyed the party! Do let me know about that sleepover.”

“Will do, thanks, Lisa.”

He slowly makes his way back to Buck and Chris. Eddie’s head is full of chaos. He really didn’t realise he was being flirted at. He wasn’t exactly paying attention — he didn’t need to. His mind has been occupied with Buck. And if his pining is so obvious to a stranger who barely saw Eddie and Buck together, how obvious can it be to Chim? To Hen? To Bobby, who seems to know about everything, but never says anything?

How obvious is Eddie’s pining to Buck?

It makes Eddie dizzy. It’s not that he wants to hide it. He doesn’t want to bury it. But Chris has lost so much: his grandparents, his home where he grew up. Then Eddie’s and Shannon’s divorce happened. He can’t even think about giving Chris more heartache. Eddie wasn’t there at first. He doesn’t want Chris to lose Buck.

“You okay?” Buck asks quietly when Eddie sits in a chair next to Chris.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He gives a faint smile to Buck. “Ready to go, bud?”

“I’m tired,” Chris whines.

“I know. Come on, I’ll carry you.” Eddie stands then leans down to pick Chris up, but Chris is not budging. “If you want your bed, you need to move.”

“I want Buck.”

Eddie and Buck share a look. Eddie silently asks him if it’s okay, but Buck is already picking Chris up. Eddie follows them, carrying Chris’s crutches.

If he could pinpoint a moment, where he knew he was so fucking desperately in love with Buck, Eddie would say that this is it. Buck, carrying Chris to the car, holding him like he is the most precious thing ever. Chris has his head on Buck’s shoulder and he’s smiling dreamily because this is just the best conclusion to the perfect day ever. And Eddie is losing his mind because this is the life he wants to have.

So he decides, he’ll tell Buck later tonight. Consequences be damned.

As soon as Buck puts Chris down in the car, Chris is out for the count. Buck puts his seatbelt on and presses a quick kiss on his forehead.

“He really is tired, then,” Buck says. There’s faint redness in his cheeks and Eddie wonders if it’s because Buck is overthinking the fact he’s crossed a line. He hasn’t. “Not even the crazy amount of sugar can keep him awake.”

“No.” Eddie stifles a yawn. “When we’re home, can I get some food into you? That’s the least I can do for coming on this trip.”

“Can we get takeout, though? No offence, but you look like you’re ready to drop dead from exhaustion.”

Eddie nods. Buck really is the most caring person ever. He’s been so good to Chris, yeah, but to Eddie as well. “Sure, let’s go.”

Buck is driving again. Eddie didn’t even have to ask, Buck was already going to sit behind the wheel. He pulls out the parking spot, before heading back towards Los Angeles.

They barely talk for the majority of the road trip. Sometimes they point out idiot drivers or talk about work or life, but there are no big discussions. Sometimes, Buck will drum on the wheel with his fingers, as if he’s trying to say something. But he doesn’t. And Eddie’s deep in thought, writing the perfect speech in his head.

He knows that it probably doesn’t exist. The best he can do is to tell the truth and speak from his heart. He hates how cliche it sounds, but they both deserve some transparency. He’s determined to make this work, no matter what the outcome will be.

“You okay?” Buck asks quietly when they’re only minutes away from home.

“Hm? Yeah, of course. Just tired.”

“Yeah. I think I’ll sleep for the next three days.”

“Mm, sounds like a plan.”

Buck drums on the wheel again. Then a minute later he says, “Sure you okay? Other than the exhaustion.”

Eddie knows that this is it. Buck is probably giving him an opening, but giving his non-existent big speech in the car just feels weird.

“Yeah, why?”

Buck shrugs. “You’re just quiet.”

“Well, you’re not exactly a chatterbox either.”

They look at each other for a second, then Buck laughs quietly. “Right, you’re right. I don’t know, I guess I’m still thinking about that conversation we had earlier.” Buck looks into the rearview mirror, right at Chris who’s still dead asleep in the backseat. “Chris is really lucky to have you. You’re raising a good kid.”

“Well, it’s not all me.”

Buck nods. “Yeah, no, of course, Shannon’s done a good job as well.”

Eddie looks at him and feels that this is it. “I meant you.” Buck turns to look at him in confusion. “Buck, you’ve helped out more times than I can count. You’re there for me and for Chris and we’re just… We’re just so grateful.”

Eddie will forever remember the moments that follow. Silence falls on the car, but it’s a different kind. It’s not one that you’re desperate to fill in with noise, but one that’s serene. There are no words needed and why would they be needed anyway? Eddie knows Buck and Buck knows Eddie, but it goes beyond that. It’s a deep connection, formed by camaraderie, saving each other many times. Formed by friendship, by trust. Formed by love. There’s a quiet understanding between them. Eddie doesn’t know what it is or how it comes to be. It’s just the way they’re looking at each other, the way the moment holds, the atmosphere in the car. But it’s there and it’s so palpable. Everything just suddenly makes sense, even more so than before. The world has not only returned to its normal axis, but it’s now locked in.

Eddie is looking at Buck. He’s never looked away and he doesn’t want to. He feels like this is the first time he sees him: strong jaw, scars that haven’t healed properly, stubble he wants to touch. As if the mist has vanished and Buck is clearly visible now. Raw and beautiful and Eddie’s heart aches.

Buck’s looking right back at him. Buck’s eyes drop for a second, then he slowly extends his hand forwards, hesitantly putting it on Eddie’s which is just resting on his thigh. The callouses on Buck’s hand help to ground Eddie.

Buck smiles shyly and whispers, as if he doesn’t want to break that precious silence, “I love you.”

Eddie’s not jumping up and down. He’s overjoyed to be hearing those words, yeah, but after that moment they just had, he knew that this is happening. He doesn’t know why he knew, but it just made sense as if finally the last puzzle piece made it into its rightful place.

“I love you too.”

There’s faint redness in Buck’s cheeks again. “No, I meant…”

“I did too,” Eddie reassures him, then he’s determined to say those few words first. “I’m in love with you. Evan Buckley. I’ve been in love with you for a very long time.”

He feels so free now, so liberated to be able to say that.

“Oh, Eddie…” Buck’s hand gives Eddie’s a small squeeze. “I love you so fucking much. God, I want to scream it.”

Eddie chuckles. “Maybe don’t, you really don’t want to deal with a grumpy Chris.”

Buck looks at him again, then at Chris, then back at Eddie. “I do. That’s all I want to do forever.”

Buck has to look back at the road if they want to survive this journey, but Eddie wants to keep Buck’s gaze just a little bit longer.

Eddie looks out the window. This isn’t their neighbour, but Buck’s. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going home? I figured you can survive a five-minute drive home.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I can survive five minutes without you. Not now that I can say ‘I love you’ to you.”

“Oh, fuck, Eddie…” Buck reaches over and laces their fingers together. “You’re killing me.”

“Not my goal, but go on, drive us home. My place, this time.”

Ten minutes later (thanks LA traffic), Buck pulls into Eddie’s driveway, just as Chris is waking up.

“Hey, bud, we’re home,” Eddie says, turning around to his son.

“Is Buck staying over?” Chris asks while rubbing his eyes.

“Uh,” Buck says, but Eddie quickly jumps in.

“We’re gonna get some food, you hungry?” To this, Chris just shakes his head. “Alright, shower, teeth, and bed.”

“But daaaad, I’m too tired!”

This time, Eddie will let it slide. “Alright, brush your teeth and bed.”

They all get out, making their way towards the house. Inside, Buck and Eddie go to the kitchen, Chris goes to the bathroom.

“I’m surprised he isn’t jumping on his bed after all that sugar,” Buck says.

“So am I. I guess he had loads of fun in the ball pit.”

Eddie goes to grab two beers. He hands one to Buck. He also doesn’t know why he’s feeling so awkward suddenly. They got over the most difficult part and it was fine. More than fine.

Eddie is about to open his mouth, when Chris yells, “Buck!”

Both Eddie and Buck run to the bathroom. Chris is not there and panic hits Eddie in the chest. But then they look across the hall and see Chris sitting on his bed, already wearing pyjamas.

“Chris, you scared us,” Buck says, dramatically putting his hand over his heart. “I don’t know if I’ll survive this.”

This sends Chris giggling. Eddie walks over to his son and presses a kiss on the top of his head. “You okay, buddy?”

“Dad, can Buck read my bedtime story?”

Eddie looks at Buck. Buck nods and goes to Chris’s bookcase. “What do you want to read?”

Eddie decides to leave Chris and Buck to their own devices. He feels like this is a time just for the two of them. “I’ll order us some food,” he says to Buck quietly.

Before he leaves, he watches Buck climb next to Chris, the book already open in his hand. Buck gives him one last look before he starts reading.

Eddie goes back to the kitchen, quickly ordering some burgers. He orders Chris some as well, knowing full well that he will wake up in about two hours saying that he’s hungry. He always does.

Once it’s done, he leans against the counters, sipping on his beer. Would it be this easy? To have this life? To have Chris and Buck? Because this is what Eddie wants. Today, tomorrow, forever.

What he and Shannon had was good — then it wasn’t. But they had Chris, and he wouldn’t change the past for anything. He doesn’t know what this is. He doesn’t know if it’ll last with Buck. He hopes that it will. He’s learnt from his past mistakes and he’ll put everything into making it work. He wants to keep this going, whatever this may be.

And he knows that if (when) they tell Christopher, that little boy will be over the moon. Chris loves his dad, but he loves Buck just as much. And lucky for Eddie and Chris, Buck loves them.

“He’s out,” Buck says quietly, as he walks into the kitchen. “Took me shorter than expected.”

Eddie doesn’t know where it comes from, but he has an urge to say something. “I know we haven’t had a discussion about us, but… I know how much you love Chris and we love you too. You’re a part of the family and I think you have been for a long time but it took me a minute to catch up. I know this is too soon and I’m not expecting an answer now. We don’t even know if we’ll work out, but if we do, I want you to know that you have the option of becoming Chris’s dad. Officially. ‘Cause, you do act like it and he looks at you as if you were his dad, too. I just want you to know that it’s there for the future.”

Buck freezes for a moment as he processes it, then he lunges forward, kissing Eddie. His hands cup Eddie’s jaw as Eddie puts his fingers in Buck’s hair.

The kiss… It’s passion. It’s anger. It’s lust. It’s desire. It’s need, want, belonging, hope, home. It’s past, present, future. It’s everything. It’s love.

#911 #buddie #911 fox #911 on fox #buck #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #buddie fic #911 fic #evan buckley #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #mine #this time for the proper link!#(i hope)

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cherryrogers · 4 years ago

Text

➸ protector

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | mob au

warnings: swearing, mild violence + assault, stalking, mentions of illness + death, fluff.

word count: 7.4k

synopsis: Ironically, the man with blood on his hands and a permanent target on his back was the one you’d never felt safer with.

a/n: mob au’s are top tier so of course i had to write one at some point. i hope that this one is even a smidge as good as every other one out there !! please enjoy and any feedback is appreciated !!

A dark blanket had encompassed the city; swallowed the highest of skyscrapers and narrowest of alleyways. Engulfed shamrock green parks and swept through empty office buildings. Allowed for the busy city to sleep, ironically — this was New York, after all.

Below it, along a quiet street bordering Central Park, walked an unlikely duo. One who’d only ever known violence. The other hoped never to come across it. Yet under the deep ink sky, indulged in each other’s company, no two people seemed to harmonise so well.

“I thought you were walking me home, not taking me down every street in Manhattan.”

“What, have you had enough of me for the night?”

Furrowing your brows, you stopped in your tracks. “Is that what you’re doing? Stringing out the walk back so that the night doesn’t end so soon?”

Bucky looked back at you, a grin pulling at his lips. “Maybe.”

You smirked, poking a finger into his chest. “Tell me, Barnes — do your mob friends know that you’re such a sap?”

Eyes glimmering under the moonlight, Bucky shot a glare your way before slinging an arm back around your shoulder. “I guess I better get you back then — obviously you have better things to be doing...”

“And a drama queen,” You teased, leaning into his embrace. “Some big bad mob boss you are.”

“Yeah, yeah — give it a rest.” He rolled his eyes, only pulling you closer.

It wasn’t often in his line of work that Bucky met someone who could make him momentarily forget about the life he led. In fact, you weren’t in his line of work at all, and that’s why it was so easy with you. Frankly, everyone around him either worked for him or wanted to kill him; it was difficult to find anyone between the two that he could simply be himself with.

While he had power over Hell’s Kitchen, that didn’t mean it was safe for him to roam the streets freely. Ever since he was a child, his father had told him to always assume that he was being watched, whether it was by the cops or members of other mobs looking to cause trouble. Everyone he ever associated with became a target; a weakness. Someone whose death would throw him off his game. That’s why he never made friends, always sticking to the few ones he had who’d been in the crime world as long as he’d been.

Following a messy run-in with another mob on a night which felt like centuries ago, Bucky wandered into a random bar in hopes of clearing his head with as much whiskey as the cash in his pocket would pay for. But the bartender that night, well, she wasn’t having any of it. As it turned out, a conversation lasting until 2am with her did more for him than the strong liquid in his glass had ever done.

That night, he decided that perhaps he could have one none-criminal, none-mob, none-person that has a weapon on them at all times friend. Just one; just a friend.

He was honest with you about his work. At first, he wasn’t even sure you believed him. Because why would you? You couldn’t count the amount of times guys had made up horribly unbelievable lies about their occupations in an attempt to make an impression. ‘Mob boss’ would certainly be a new one, but not any more or less convincing than a supposed world-renowned doctor or a highly successful entrepreneur that had trouble adding up their bill total.

There was certainly something different about Bucky; in the way he carried himself, in how he talked. Plus, his eyes tended to always drift back to the entrance, as if he was anticipating someone’s arrival. While a doctor is a more common career for the average man than a mob boss, if anyone happened to be one, your guess would be the guy that was able to drink on weeknights without worrying about having a hangover for work the next day.

“It’s pretty dark around here, that’s all,” You shrugged, eyeing the star-scattered sky. “And muggers don’t make exceptions for the mob, unfortunately.”

“You don’t think I could take on a mugger? What do you think I do for a living?”

“You know, you’ve never actually told me...” You shifted your gaze to him, watching as his brows pinched together and the smile slowly disappeared from his lips.

Any knowledge you had of mobsters and gangs was from the movies. All the crime, killing, money — it seemed insane to even speculate that it was happening right under your nose. You’d only known Bucky for a few months, not once had you even questioned his work because you’d convinced yourself that it was better not to. That you liked the person he was with you, and whoever he was at work wasn’t any of your concern.

It spiked your curiosity, though. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done anything that’d horrify you if you saw it on the news. Being a bartender, you met new people almost every day — you had a skill in distinguishing good and bad people. Bucky had a good heart; there was nothing about him that signalled as a red flag. He genuinely cared about you — why else would he walk you home from work every chance he got? As well as being the reason for your full tip jar most nights, and simply spending most nights with you when he could be anywhere else in New York City.

A sigh fell from Bucky’s lips as he stopped the two of you under a lit street lamp. He brought a hand to your face, gently tucking your hair behind you ear. “It’s complicated, dollface.“

“Is it?” You asked quietly, uncertainty evident in your expression. “Or are you afraid of telling me in case it’ll scare me away?”

Bingo. A guilty grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Not many people can read me like that.”

You let out a laugh. “Well, not many people have the pleasure of talking to you for hours almost every night.”

“Yeah, you’re a pretty lucky girl.”

Scrunching your nose, you softly whacked at his chest. Honestly, picturing Bucky as a leading mobster in the city was difficult sometimes. Almost always, there was a smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes — nothing like the stereotype at all.

Within moments, he’d pressed his lips into a narrow line, tracing his hands down your arms before clasping your hands in his. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, or about this city. If you asked, I’d explain it all to you, but I don’t think you want that on your conscience. I was born into this life; I do what I do because I have to and it’s nowhere near an easy job. It’s a scary world to get caught up in, babe — one that I’ll protect you from for as long as I can. That is, if you’ll let me.”

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you let your eyes drop to his chest, covered by the white dress-shirt and dark blazer that he always tended to sport. It occurred to you that his work had to be far more dangerous than you’d imagined. Truthfully, it worried you. What was so bad that he didn’t want on your conscience? Who would want to hurt you if you happened to get caught up in his world?

You agreed with him; it was a scary world, and you were a completely stranger to it. However, something else occurred to you as well. In the time that you’d known Bucky, that he kept you company on your late shifts, that he walked you the distance from the bar to your apartment every time without fail, you never once questioned your safety with him.

There was a time when you’d spend most of your tips from the shift you’d just finished to hire a cab to take you home, afraid of what hid in the shadows on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Alternatively, you’d wear a large winter coat on warm summer nights so you could carry pepper spray in your pocket and access it easily, not to mention the hand cramp you’d develop from carrying your keys between your knuckles for the entirety of the journey back.

With Bucky, you never needed to worry about being vulnerable, being a target — you’d happily let him protect your from the terrors of the world for the rest of your life.

“Bucky, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for walking me home every night.”

“You thank me all the time, and I always tell you it’s not a bother—”

“No, I mean really thanked you,” You cut him off, giving his hands a squeeze. “I used to dread leaving the bar every night. The thought of having to walk back to my apartment alone in the middle of the night, every night... it made me feel sick. And out of nowhere, this really gorgeous guy starts showing up at the bar every night and gets me home safely without fail. I— I don’t think you realise how safe I feel with you, Bucky. I feel so safe that I couldn’t ever be scared of you. You’ve looked out for me for this long out of the kindness of your heart — you’re a good person, you care about me. Your work might be scary to me, but you’re not, and I’m not planning on losing a good guy who happens to be caught up in a not-so-good world.”

Panic flared in your chest when you stopped speaking. You and Bucky weren’t exactly... an item, yet. Yes, he cuddled you to his side when he walked you home, he made you laugh like you never thought you could, he called you pet names that had your heart bursting with adoration. But between his hesitation about getting too close to you and your fear of asking him questions that he didn’t want to answer, an invisible boundary had set its place in the middle of you. Perhaps you’d been too forward, he only asked if you’d let him keep you safe and then you went on an unnecessary tangent—

Oh, he was kissing you. Okay, okay.

His careful hands cradling your face felt like the only thing stopping your legs from giving out; Bucky was kissing you. And fuck, it was a good kiss. One you’d been anticipating since the first time he walked you home. God, if your mother knew you were kissing a mob boss right now—

It didn’t matter — not to you. The job didn’t define him, even if everyone else around him told him that it did. You’d make sure he remembered that; you’d protect him in your own way.

Bucky pulled back first, anxious to see your reaction. It was impulsive, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when you were telling him how safe he made you feel, not when you said you didn’t want to lose him. Because he didn’t plan on losing you either.

“Listen, I’ve done things in the past that I’d rather forget...”

You shook your head at him. “Bucky, you don’t have to explain anything—”

“Please, just one thing,” He urged, watching you give him a nod before continuing. “I don’t— I don’t kill for fun, or steal from anyone out of greed, or hurt anyone just because I can. I know a lot of people who do all three without remorse; those guys are the ones I’m trying to take down. I just don’t want you thinking I’m some sort of monster—”

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” You offered him a genuine smile. “I think... you’re doing the best you can with the life you’ve been given.”

In a rare moment of demureness, a light blush coated Bucky’s cheeks; he couldn’t have put it better himself. A kiss was pressed to your forehead before he was tugging at your hands.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.”

* * *

To put it lightly, you were not happy.

It was a Sunday; the only day of the week where you were able to spend the evening binge-watching nearly half a season of a show in the comfort of your own living room. The only day that you could spend alone — no social interaction whatsoever. After a week of dealing with (usually tipsy) strangers, God knows you needed a day to wind down.

However, this Sunday night, you were right where you didn’t want to be — behind the bar, pouring out another glass of rum to a man who really should’ve just started a tab, waiting for the blessed hour of 2am to arrive because a co-worker called in sick at the last minute. To top it all off, Bucky wasn’t there to accompany you. You’d thought about calling him, but your mind told you he was probably busy with ‘mob stuff’, whatever that was. Plus, he spent almost every other night at the bar with you; you could survive one night alone.

It wasn’t such a busy night; Sundays never were at such a late hour. By the time you were closing up the place, there was only one person who’d stayed the whole night. He left without a fuss when you asked him to, which was reassuring. It was going to be your first time walking home alone in months — you didn’t need something to be paranoid about.

Still, you’d came prepared — a can of pepper spray hid in your left pocket, while your keys remained between your knuckles in your right one. Sometimes, you wondered if you were being dramatic. When you walked home with Bucky, there was barely anybody on the streets, never mind anyone that was looking to attack someone. But your paranoia won over that rationale; you could never be too sure.

You didn’t take the long way home like Bucky tended to have you do. Unlike with him, you wanted to get home as fast as possible, not waste time dawdling around the streets.

And still, within minutes of your departure from the bar, you felt someone’s eyes on you.

Surely, the odds weren’t that against you. It was your first time leaving work alone in months — it couldn’t also be the night that something... bad was going to happen because of it.

Don’t think like that, you thought to yourself, huffing quietly. A few more blocks and you’d be at your apartment building. Nobody was watching you, nobody was following you. Paranoia was unnecessarily powerful; it had to be your mind playing tricks on you.

However, after a short internal argument with yourself, you decided that it couldn’t hurt to take a glimpse behind you — just in case. And maybe sometimes trusting your paranoid thoughts was the right thing to do.

Because with one look over your shoulder, your heart rate had doubled in speed — there was someone following you.

The man from the bar, you were sure it was him. Not that you were good with remembering faces, but you’d just seen him not even ten minutes ago. Is that why he waited till the end of your shift? To follow you? You specifically?

He was around fifteen feet behind you, purposely keeping his distance. Fucking hell; what did he want? What could you give him that forced him to sit in the bar for hours waiting to get you on your own?

Bucky was going to kill you, but you’d rather that than, well, someone else having the chance to before him. Within moments, you were dialing his number, ignoring the sense of helplessness you felt in your chest.

The phone rang, and rang. Too many times for your liking.

...

“_____?” Thank fuck.

The sound of his voice alone was reassuring; it’d be even more so if he was there with you. He didn’t sound groggy, at least you hadn’t woken him up. “Are you okay?”

“Hey...” You let out a nervous laugh. “Where are you right now?”

“Just at home, dollface...” He answered cautiously, obviously sensing your unease. “Are you alright?”

Approaching the corner of the street you’d been speed-walking down, you took a left turn, eyes darting behind you before you disappeared down the next street. He was still there, still close behind you.

Bucky heard your breath hitch. “Babe, what’s going on? Where are you?”

Fuck. “I’m walking home from work.”

“What? You don’t work on Sundays.”

“Someone called in sick, I got called in last minute,” You gripped the pepper spray in your pocket impossibly tight, fear coursing through your veins. “Bucky, I think someone’s following me.”

There was a moment of silence; you worried he was already mad. But soon enough, you heard the fumbling of boots against a wooden floor. If you weren’t so terrified, you would’ve told him that coming to find you was unnecessary.

“Stay on the phone, okay? I’m gonna come and get you. Keep walking, don’t go down any alleyways,” He instructed, as you heard the click of a front door shutting over the speaker. “Do they know you’ve seen them?”

“I— I think so? Fuck, I don’t know...” You uttered, panic laced in your voice.

The sound of a car starting up provided you with some relief. He’d find you soon; Bucky would keep you safe. “You’re okay, I’m right here. How far away from the bar are you?”

“Uh...” You quickly took in your surroundings — hopefully you weren’t appearing as panicked as you felt. “There’s a nail salon on my right. Next to an Italian restaurant, and there’s a Starbucks on the corner.”

Luckily, Bucky knew Hell’s Kitchen inside out. His boots pressed hard on the gas instantly. “I know where you are. Just keep moving, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, too afraid of provoking the man who was following your tracks. Was he even still there? You couldn’t bring yourself to check.

You imagined Bucky must’ve been breaking speed limits left and right on his journey to you, considering that it’d barely been five minutes since he’d got in his car before you heard a vehicle not far behind you.

Working up the courage to take a look back, you noticed that the man following you had been distracted by Bucky’s car. It was a large, sheer black SUV with blacked out windows; the perfect car for someone in his profession. Perfect enough that your stalker of sorts realised he was in for it, and immediately spun around to walk the other way.

However, he wasn’t getting off that easily.

The car door flung open, making you flinch even from where you were stood fifteen feet away. A figure dressed in a black hoodie and dark jeans jumped out, catching the man by his jacket sleeve before he could make his escape — Bucky. He mustn’t have had time to switch to his regular attire. In different circumstances, it’d be nice seeing him in such casual clothes.

Within seconds, the man was slammed against the brick wall of the bank you’d just passed, Bucky’s hand wrapped around his throat. All you could do was watch, paralysed with shock.

Coughing and spluttering, the man looked up to identify his attacker; his eyes widened. “B— Barnes?”

“You know me?” Bucky asked through gritted teeth, his grip on the man not wavering in the slightest, even when he nodded furiously. “You’re sure as hell not one of my guys — who you do work for?”

Stupidly, the man continued to squirm, desperate to get out of Bucky’s clutch. His throat was only clasped tighter. “Tell me who you fucking work for.”

“P— Pierce! I work for Pierce,” He panted.

Fucking hell. “Did he send you here?

“Yes.”

“Why?” Bucky growled, yet again tightening his grasp when there was a pause in conversation. “I swear I’ll crush your fucking windpipe—”

“The girl,” He answered breathlessly. “Someone told him you’d been seeing a girl— one that wasn’t part of your mob. He— He thought he’d be able to get to you through her, so he sent me to spy on her, work out who she was to you. I was just following her, I wasn’t gonna hurt her—!”

“But Pierce is planning to, isn’t he?” Son of a bitch. This, this was exactly what he was afraid of. Pierce has been looking for a way to take him down for as long as he could remember. But with no outside connections, no obvious weakness to him, it was impossible. You were just what he’d been waiting for — a loose screw in the framework, a crack in the pavement. Someone that would throw Bucky Barnes right off his game if you were dragged into the mess that he was trying to keep you out of.

But he’d made a promise to keep you safe; he wasn’t planning on breaking it.

Jaw clenching, eyes narrowing — Bucky rammed the winded guy into the wall for the last time. “If I see you around here again, you won’t live long enough to report back to your bastard boss.”

God, he could just do it. Squeeze this bonehead’s throat until he was unable to grant his lungs the pleasure of a singular breath of oxygen. Leave his pathetic ass unconscious on the ground for someone else to find — for Pierce to find. He’d be furious, but he’d be scared. Scared of how easy it was for his nemesis to take out one of his men. Scared of what lengths he’d go to ensure your safety.

But you were still there, watching him, unsure of his next move. If he could help it, he wasn’t going to let you be the witness to a murder, especially one on his part. The one pure thing in his life — he wasn’t going to ruin you.

With reluctance, he snatched his hand back, letting the man fall to his knees and instantly gasp for air.

“Get the fuck out of here, or I’ll change my mind on letting your sorry ass live.” He snarled, not waiting for a response before he began jogging in your direction.

Lips parted, brows furrowed, eyes glossy — you looked like you’d seen a ghost (or just heard that a mob boss was planning your murder).

Concern contorted into his features, Bucky quickly approached you, stopping himself from grabbing your face in his hands in fear that his touch wasn’t what you wanted. Had he just ruined everything? Even though you’d claimed that he could never scare you, he wasn’t sure that after that performance that your statement still stood.

Your eyes zeroed in on his chest, cogs working in your mind to try and process what the hell was going on. And Bucky worried that this was it — he’d dragged you into something you never wanted to be a part of and now, there was no getting out for you. You hated him for it, didn’t you? Fucking hell.

But after a few moments, his doubts were proven false when you crashed into his chest, enveloping his waist and shoving your face into the crook of his neck. He’d saved you, just like you knew he would.

Letting out a breath of relief, Bucky drew you closer by encircling your shoulders. Behind him, the pathetic man who he’d just about let live scurried away from the scene, allowing you to peacefully bask in the safe place that was Bucky’s arms.

Still, he feared that being out in the open wasn’t such a good idea. Pressing a lingering kiss you the crown of your head, he pulled back to meet your glazed eyes. “I’m taking you back to my place, is that okay?”

Without a word, you gave him a nod. If whoever was keeping tabs on you knew where you worked, there was a chance that they knew your home address too — the thought sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

The car ride back to Bucky’s was quiet. Buildings blurred together as your eyes remained glued to the window, a dismal look on your face. In the driver’s seat, Bucky stole glances at you — he’d never seen you so silent, so down. The crime world was not something he was a stranger to. Being at the top of someone’s hit list was nothing new to him. Nobody could get rid of him; that’s why he was despised by so many, and he didn’t care to mind these days. Shooting his way was a waste of bullets, men sent to find him with knives and crowbars in hand were using their time poorly.

But you weren’t him. No, you were the bubbly bartender that got whisked into his mess simply because you’d been nice enough to ask him about his sullen mood the first night you’d met. This life was never meant for you. Only a sick, emotionless person would’ve sought to harm you, even to spite their worst enemy. Even as ransom, as a way in to seek out Bucky’s weaknesses. He’d told you little about his work, and for good reason. The less you knew, the less important you were to those against him. Knowledge was power in this business.

A clanking noise emerged from in front of the car, managing to pull your eyes from the window. The car had stopped momentarily to allow a grand, silver gate to open, cushioned between the start and end of the black metal fence surrounding the land. Bucky had reached a hand out of his window to punch a code into the keypad next to the gate without you even noticing.

You knew that Bucky was well-off, but fuck.

The house was smaller than you’d imagined. Definitely still large, especially in comparison to your studio apartment. But taking into account the designer suits he styled every night, the stupid amount of money he’d tip you for a single drink, even the confidence he carried at all times — not cockiness, but self-assurance — had you thinking that when he went home at night, that it was to a multimillion dollar mansion. All glass, taking up acres upon acres, all for one man to live in.

However, it wasn’t that at all. It had a maximum of two stories, along with a garage to the left of the main building. It was modern, for sure. Monotonous with its black front door and window frames, the rest blinding white — more subtle than celebrity mansions shown off on social media. It was very Bucky; impressive and eye-catching, but not too flashy.

He opened the car door on your side, allowing you to climb out of the SUV, taking his outreached hand even though you didn’t quite need it. You would’ve uttered a joke about chivalry being dead if it weren’t for your dull mood; perhaps another time.

On a more positive note, you definitely felt safer enclosed in the towering fence surrounding Bucky’s house. At home, you’d be scared to blink in fear that it would declare you vulnerable to an attack.

It wasn’t long before he’d guided you into his home, tapping another code into another keypad as you entered the place, examining it in awe. The scruffy black boots on your feet juxtaposed the gleaming checkered flooring underneath them. A silver chandelier spread light across the foyer-like area, making you squint after the drive through the dark night.

Bucky watched as you took in your surroundings, noticing the way you crossed your arms over your chest, bowed your head — you were curling in on yourself, as if you didn’t belong there. He didn’t like that.

But after a minute or so, you diverted your gaze to him, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “This place... it’s amazing.”

You’d only seen one room, sparse of furniture and lacking personality, but you didn’t need much more convincing of its splendour.

As confident as he walked, Bucky couldn’t say he took compliments well. It was the modesty that he didn’t even realise he had. Flashy watches and perfectly tailored suits littered his closet, sure — but not to reel in ego-feeding comments. He wasn’t the one who tailored his clothes, or carefully sculpted his wristwatches; he merely had the cash to splash on them. Many could only dream to have what he did — they’d take it in a second if it was offered to them. But for what? To maintain by being on the wrong side of the law and trusting that you woudn’t mess up? To be constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly having a target on your back?

He had a good life, he wasn’t denying that. Fear wasn’t the issue; he wasn’t scared. But he wondered if this was all there was to his life. Being someone’s enemy, the object of another’s hatred. No sense of normality to cling onto when things began to get messy. Maybe that’s why he became so attached to you; his sense of peace, a normal life. Which was ironic, since there was nothing normal about you. If you were normal, you’d be forgettable. And that, you were not.

As a thank you, he shot you a grin, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you need a drink? Or somethin’ to eat?”

You shook your head. “I’m okay, thanks. I’m more tired than anything, honestly.”

“I’ll take you upstairs then.” Usually, he’s take hold of your hand, or wrap an arm around you to escort you somewhere — he had a feeling you needed your own space right now, so instead, he let you follow his steps up the sheeny marble staircase.

It was true, you were tired. Exhausted, even. But you didn’t want to close your eyes, or be left alone, be left vulnerable again.

Bucky led you into a darker room, one that clearly wasn’t used so often. Still, it was large for a bedroom. A queen sized bed was pushed against the far wall, draped in royal blue sheets which complemented the grey cushions sat atop of them. A closet built into the wall took up one side of the room, and a plain, white wooden desk sat under the window on the other side. The door to an en-suite bathroom just peeked out next to the closet. Minimalistic, but lovely nonetheless.

“This is the guest room, usually where my sister stays when she visits every once in a blue moon,” He commented, moving to switch on the lamp standing on top of the desk. “There’ll be some clothes you can change into in the closet.”

A sister; you were even aware he had siblings. That was something he’d never talked about — family. Neither did you, so much, but it was as if Bucky didn’t have one at all. He said that he was born into the mob, so you assumed that his parents (or at least one of them) led the same life that he did.

With a small smile, Bucky acknowledged your thankful nod before leaving you to your own devices. It was obvious he didn’t want to pry, ask you questions that he already knew the answer to.

And you weren’t exactly sure what to say to him either. The situation was completely out of your control; if someone was after you to spite Bucky, how were you supposed to protect yourself? You couldn’t just move in with Bucky to ensure your safety, and it’s not like your apartment building with its rusty locks and lack of security detail put you out of harms way.

Sighing defeatedly, you stripped out of your work attire and kicked off your boots before taking a look in the closet. There weren’t too many nightwear options anyway, but you decided on a faded vintage Metallica shirt, cracks in the logo from the amount of times it’d been washed, along with a worn pair of baggy sweatpants. Not exactly an outfit that you were eager for Bucky to see you in, but given the circumstances, that was the least of your worries as you stepped out of the bedroom. You’d been alone for barely five minutes, but an uneasy pit was still beginning to form in your stomach.

The mob boss came into sight once you’d wandered back downstairs. Freshly poured glass of whiskey in hand, lounged back on a pristine white couch through an archway to the right of the foyer. Probably a lot more expensive that what he chugged down back at your bar, shipped directly from Ireland or Scotland. He didn’t notice as you stood idly in the archway, simply taking in his appearance — comfortable clothing, still sporting an extravagant Rolex (of course), slightly disheveled hair that’s been brushed back by his fingers — before slowly approaching the couch to take a seat next to him.

“You’ve never mentioned your sister.” His eyes flit to yours upon hearing your voice, tentative in case it was a sore subject.

The corner of his lips curled, not used to seeing you in anything other than washed-out jeans and a simple black tee. Shuffling along as you seated yourself, Bucky let out a breath. “She’s lived in Syracuse with my mom since she was barely a teenager, her name’s Rebecca.”

It brought you a sense of relief that Bucky still had family; since he never spoke of them, you worried that he’d lost them because of his lifestyle. “Does she visit much?”

“Nah, only a couple of times a year,” He shook his head, swirling his drink around in his hand. “It’s safer if she keeps her distance from the this part of New York. I used to never let her visit at all, but then— then my dad died a few years back, and after that she insisted on coming down here from time to time — said she couldn’t handle losing me too.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the job that killed his father. Lung cancer did it before another eager opposer ever got the chance to. Bucky had never been a smoker; never saw the appeal, especially after witnessing his father go through packs upon packs of cigarettes with the purest tobacco he could find to deal with the stress of the job.

And of course once he’d passed, it was up to his son to take over an organisation he wasn’t at all prepared for. Gone too soon, his father hadn’t been able to teach him everything he needed to know. Everything he needed to survive. Luckily, the Barnes kids were smart — Becca currently working on her nursing degree and Bucky, well, learning how not to die in his occupation.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” You sympathised, not wanting to keep pressing. There was a reason he’d been so intent on keeping you safe — his sister had already been driven away from the dangers and risks of being close to the mobs of Manhattan. He didn’t want that for you too. Not when this was your home, when he didn’t feel like he could lose you along with his sister because of the life he led. “I— I hope you know that tonight doesn’t change anything.”

His brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

Fiddling with you fingers in your lap, you met his eyes dubiously. “I’m not scared— well — getting followed home from work by a guy sent by a mob boss to spy on me was pretty scary. But it hasn’t scared me away from you.”

Admittedly, he was happy with your words. The last thing he wanted was to see you running in the opposite direction. He wouldn’t have taken it lightly, even if he understood exactly why you wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

Throwing down the rest of his drink, almost numb to the familiar burn in the back of his throat, Bucky discarded the empty glass on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Pierce has been after me for as long as I can remember; he was after my dad before that. He’s a coward, I can tell you that. Gets his men to do his dirty work. Carries a gun but never uses it. He won’t hurt you, but he doesn’t have a problem ordering every guy he knows to do it instead.”

A timid smile tipped your lips, as your clammy palms pressed against your thighs. “Is this supposed to be comforting?”

He huffed out a chuckle, but apologised upon seeing the worry behind your eyes. He’d been desensitised to violent threats and things alike; he wouldn’t let that happen to you. “I’m sorry, dollface. What I’m trying to say is... those guys are puppets on strings. They’re not smart; they don’t think for themselves. None of them have enough brain cells to get past me, which means they’d never be able to get to you.”

Your expression seemed to soften at that. Good, that meant you trusted him. Because he’d never lie to you. When he said he’d keep you safe, he meant it wholeheartedly. Now that he knew Pierce was meddling in his part of town, that made things a little easier. He’d let the rest of the guys know in the morning. Form a plan of action to force them to stay the fuck away.

In truth, Bucky wasn’t afraid. With his whole chest, he’d say that he had a higher IQ than all of Pierce’s men combined. And he’d say the same for you. Having a gun in your pocket of a knife slipped into your boot didn’t make you clever; it didn’t inherently make you a threat. Not when your target was never in your line of sight, never able to be spied on unknowingly. You’d known you were being followed within minutes, and you had Bucky in the phone not long after the realisation. You trusted your gut, always — that’s what was going to keep you safe. And him, of course.

“I believe you,” You reach a hand across the lavish couch, curling your fingers around the top of his hand. “I really do trust you, Bucky. I hope you don’t doubt that. I meant what I said the other night, about feeling safe with you.”

He tensed slightly in his seat — he really was a big sap, wasn’t he? The head of a mob who had a countless amount of blood on his hands was getting nervous at a woman’s touch. Your touch, however.

“I know,” Bucky eyed you fondly, savouring they warmth of your hand cupping his. “Just... please, next time you’re covering a shift, call me—”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you grinned. “I knew that was coming. It was one night, I didn’t think—”

“But look what happened—!”

“And what would’ve happened if you were walking me home?” You quirked a brow. “That guy still would’ve followed me from the bar, he might’ve even followed us to my apartment and— and tried something once you’d dropped me off.”

You were right. It seemed like they only knew where you worked, not where you lived. Bucky would’ve liked to think if someone was following the two of you that’d he’d notice, but he couldn’t lie — an elephant could’ve followed you down the street one night and he still wouldn’t have realised because he was so caught up in you.

A crease formed between his brows; what if they had found out your address? Without him knowing, which worried him even more—

“But I don’t wanna think about that,” You added, seeing his features falling. Feeling brazen, you shuffled closer, your thigh pressed against his. His breath hitched; you noticed. Heat pooled in your own cheeks. After all, you’d only kissed him once. Being in such close proximity to him still had your heart pounding. “What matters is that I’m here, and I’m with you, and I’m safe.”

Like music to his ears, your words put the shine right back into his eyes. And again, he couldn’t resist pulling you into him — kissing you. Tugging you by the hand still clutching his, basking in the feeling of your other hand moving to rest against his jaw, and moulding his lips with yours. A perfect fit, he thought.

The bitter tang of whiskey was prominent on his tongue; you’d never been one for spirits, but the taste on his lips was impossibly addictive. Something you could get used to. Under the soft pads of your fingers, his jaw was freshly trimmed, dark and rough. Lips honey soft in contrast.

He took you upstairs after that. After you’d both pulled away, lips swollen and eyes hazy, still holding hands like letting go was a crime — the only crime Bucky would shy away from. You were tired, he could tell. If you’d been at home, you would’ve fallen into a slumber long before now; that was if no one had been following you back. While he trusted that you felt safe in his home, it was clear you were still a little shaken. Even more so when he guided you to the guest room, closing the curtains for you as you scrubbed your teeth in the en-suite bathroom.

You felt like a child again; hurrying to spit and rinse so that you could escape the cold, tiled room and fall back into the arms of someone you felt safe with.

By the time you were done and padding back into the bedroom, Bucky had changed into yet another outfit you had yet to see. Now in a white shirt that clung to his torso and biceps, along with grey sweatpants matching yours, he looked... he looked gorgeous. Maybe you were being dramatic; the suit was certainly attractive, but seeing him in his casual wear— it was so domestic. It spread a fuzzy warmth from your fingertips to your toes.

As you pried your eyes from where he was stood in the doorway, shooting you a gentle smile, you began to curl up against the headboard of the large bed. And before a ‘goodnight’ could leave his lips, you hesitantly asked—

“Can you stay with me?”

Brows raised, Bucky swallowed nervously. Of course, he wouldn’t say no. “If you want me to, sure. I can set up on the floor—”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Bucky,” You grinned, knees pulled to your chest. Always a gentleman, he was. “I’d... prefer it if you were next to me.”

Sparkling with hope, your eyes pierced into his. If anything, he was sure you’d want to be alone for the night. Gather your thoughts, consider cutting him out of your life for getting you involved in something so dangerous. That was his doubt talking — he knew that you trusted him. And if sleeping next to you would put your mind at ease, he’d never let you sleep alone again until you felt you could.

Moving under the thick quilt, you observed Bucky as he tentatively made his way over to the bed, suppressing a chuckle.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He questioned, just about to pull back the quilt on his side.

A smirk played on your lips as you reached forward, pulling the sheet back for him. “We just made out on your couch; I’m okay with you lying next to me. Are you okay with this?”

He scoffed softly. In that moment, he knew that a bullet to the chest or a knife in his stomach wouldn’t be the death of him — you would.

“Just making sure.” He sighed, eventually climbing into the bed beside you, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

The pillow underneath your head felt like a cloud as you laid down on your side, Bucky mirroring your position soon after. He’d left the lamp on; the dim light casting a shadow over his features. It hit his eyes perfectly, however. Ocean blue, inviting you to drown in them — you’d do so in a heartbeat.

“Thank you.” You murmured, eyelids already heavy. If you weren’t drifting into unconsciousness, you would’ve pressed your lips to his yet again, craving the taste of that priceless whiskey. As a thank you, another one — you couldn’t thank him enough.

All those nights he could’ve spent in his million dollar home, drinking the purest of spirits on his plush couch, perhaps with company that was a little more used to his lifestyle. All those nights he could’ve spent in the safety and comfort of his own abode, he spent in a cold, austere bar drinking alcohol less expensive than his shoelaces, with you.

And he’d do it every night for the rest of time to watch over you, make you laugh, smile — ensure that such a vibrant girl was never exposed to what truly lurked in the shadows of Manhattan. He’d do it because without you, he’d be lost in those shadows. Trapped in a life of crime and violence and misery. Nowhere to turn to simply breathe.

Finding your hand under the silk sheets, Bucky pulled it close, brushing his lips against it ever so softly. And he replied with a smile. “You too, dollface.”

Watching as you fell asleep, gentle breaths hitting the pillow beneath your cheek, lips still a little swollen, hand grasping back at his ever so slightly — he sighed. One of relief, of content.

Your Bucky, always watching over you. But you — you were protecting him too. Protecting the worn-down soul of a complicated man from being truly lost in such a brutal world.

For that, he’d be more thankful than you could ever imagine.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes reader insert #mob!bucky #mob au

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porkchop-ao3 · 4 years ago

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 65)

“I Miss You”

It’s been so long again, at this point I think it’s expected 😅 Anyway, I’m here and I’m bringing smut! I have my ending all planned out now so hopefully it wont be so long until the next chapter, but I’m not promising! 😬😅😘 Enjoy!

Tagging @emily-strange and @actuallyhansolo ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

Between the pages of his journal I smiled, I pouted, I frowned, I slept, I had a picture for every emotion it seemed. The drawings were sometimes accompanied by little notes about what happened that day, and gave clues about why he drew me in such a way.

We spoke about Isaac today… it seems Dutch still hasn't figured out how to knock on a door... O'Driscolls found our camp, damn near slit her throat… I hope her dreams take her away from this god awful place…

I couldn't bring myself to read much of what he wrote. Just the first few words. I felt like I was invading his privacy a little too much, even if he did write about me. But as I moved through the journal I noticed that his drawings became different. The first few were portraits, mostly, and they pertained to a story from the day, almost like illustrations in the book of his life. But as it went on, the words disappeared and I found pages of studies, drawings of hands and lips and feet, different features and body parts like diagrams in a biology encyclopedia. Sometimes the same thing would be drawn three or four times. A mouth, in varying stages of completion, as if he kept giving up halfway through and starting again until he reached the final drawing, which was more complete.

I thought nothing of it at first. Practice, I guessed. But I noticed a few things that made me realise that I was looking at my own features. I realised it when I noticed the expanse of a neck leading up to a chin, and there was the scar given to me by the O'Driscolls. I saw a pair of hands holding my own Schofield revolver. I saw a pair of crossed ankles wrapped in boots the tips of which had scuffs in exactly the same place as my own boots did. The pages and pages of what I thought was anatomy practice was all of me.

Then my cheeks burned in a streak all the way up to the tips of my ears when I turned one page and was confronted with a drawing of my own body, laying naked atop sheets I recognised from our hotel room in Saint Denis. I was not posed in an artificial manner, I was sprawled, laying on my side with one knee hitched up, my arm laying limply on my waist. I was asleep. My heart pounded because there I was, as naked as the day I was born, and I'd never seen myself like that from such a perspective.

"You didn't say you'd drawn this," I breathed dumbly, then turned the book to show him. His eyes widened a little and his face immediately began to redden.

"I'm sorry, I'll toss it on the fire if I shouldn't have–"

"No, I don't want that at all. It's a surprise, that's all," I smiled.

"That day you said you'd like to be drawn like that so I… when you was sleeping I thought you looked real beautiful, so I drew that. I had every intention of showing you when you woke up but then I–" he paused and exhaled a laugh, "in the light of day, I just felt like a pervert."

I tutted and rolled my eyes playfully, "you're not a pervert, Arthur. You're the love of my life."

Something about it seemed to startle him, he looked at me suddenly, his mouth twitched. Then he smiled.

"You really mean that?"

"Is it only just sinking in how much I love you?" I chuckled.

I put the sketchbook aside then leaned down over him, sunk my chest to his and kissed his lips, framing his head with my arms to hold me up and not put my weight on him while he was still recovering from the wound on his torso. He pulled at my arm and patted my leg, encouraging me to swing a thigh over so my legs settled either side of his hips. His arms encircled my waist as he kissed me back, humming softly against my mouth, his chest subconsciously arching up to press more firmly against mine as if he wanted to feel the way my heart would beat when we kissed. It would always race, no doubt about it.

Our lips parted enough for him to whisper; "so, what do you think of that drawing?"

"I think you made me look good, thank you," I chuckled softly.

"I didn't make you look anything, that's just how you are, princess. I don't think I even fully managed to capture how incredible you looked that night," he whispered, sending warmth to my cheeks and my ears. His hands slid over my waist, rested low on my hips and I welcomed the feeling of his hands on me and closed my eyes, pressing my lips to his again.

I was so very tempted to get carried away, absorbed in the taste of his tongue and the sound of his breaths picking up and the smell of him so close in the confined space of the tent and– I pressed our foreheads together and broke the kiss.

"You should sleep, you got a lot going on," I began and a sound came from Arthur's throat that was almost like a scolded dog.

"I got too much going on to sleep right now," he murmured, his lips brushing against mine before he bared his teeth to give my bottom lip a cheeky nip.

"It'll keep you awake?"

"Mm," he hummed a lazy affirmation, "plus there ain't a part of my body that's ready to sleep now you been sitting on top o' me like this."

"Arthur," I breathed a laugh and kissed him again. His hands came from my hips to my backside, holding me and encouraging me to put more weight on him. I was worried about hurting him but his goal was apparent when he positioned me such that he could show me a part of him that was very much awake. "Are you crazy?" I laughed.

"Most likely, at this point," he muttered, hips shifting below me, as if eager to grind.

"After all that's happened these past few days, with that hole in your side– with the tatters of the gang just outside��"

"I don't care about any of that, princess, I miss you," he cut me off with a breathy whisper, and one hand came up to cup the back of my head, and he hugged me tight to him. My face naturally nestled into the space between his shoulder and his neck and he hummed a quiet sound when my lips kissed him there on their own.

"You miss me?" I questioned, words muffled but audible.

"Being in your embrace. In every sense, not just your arms. My love–" his words came out with just a little bit more emotion than he must've intended, given the sharp cut off he gave them. My heart dripped with a bittersweet warmth that settled in my belly. It wasn't exactly arousal that I felt, it was a sudden ache, an emptiness, a need. One that ought to be filled as quick as it appeared and could only be filled in one way.

I moved without hesitation, gathering my skirts, moving the fabric out of the way, scooping it into a pile and hugging it to my hip as I sat up. Movement pulled at the wounds on my legs but it didn't hurt in the moment. Or maybe I was healing quicker than I thought. But three hands descended upon Arthur's belt, and we worked together to open it up and free the buttons of his trousers. He hadn't anything on underneath his jeans – his last good union suit ruined by the gunshot in his side – so closing my hand around his hard length was an easy task. I thumbed the head and shifted the skin back and forth, earning a hiss of pleasure and a few moments later, a flow of clear stuff that I smeared, knowing the extra lubricant would help.

Then I let him go and brought my fingers to my tongue, coating them generously in spit that I then passed between my folds. This was happening spontaneously enough that I'd appreciate the help, but my own arousal was beginning to slick me enough so that when I lowered down–

"Jesus Christ–" Arthur gasped. He held his cock for me as I took him in, inching slowly down until I was settled, my insides hugging hım entirely. Something akin to the growl of a timber wolf built in Arthur's throat as he adjusted to the heat of my body, and his hands settled on the space between my hips and my thighs with a tight grip that put indentations in my flesh.

I wasn't planning on making this a slow and lengthy affair and I was quick to start moving, rolling my hips back and forth and guiding his cock in and out. The slow pull, rub of the tip passing over the most pleasurable spot inside me took my breath away and urged my movements to become more frantic. It was happening quickly, we were moving fast, Arthur's hands pushed and pulled and helped my motion with just as much vigor as the pace I had set. The tent bounced our breathless sounds back to my ears and somewhere in my mind I hoped that they couldn't be heard on the other side of it.

I wasn't ashamed enough to stop, however, even if they could be.

I pulsed and squeezed around his cock and Arthur released shaky little grunts, strangled sounds that wanted to be louder, I could tell. But he did a good job of keeping the volume down and I was hell bent on doing the same. I bit down on my bottom lip, trapping it between my teeth almost painfully. It tingled and I thought of when Arthur had nipped me there before and a moan threatened to escape.

"Let– let me see you, please, princess," his words were clipped and breathless, coming out in short and jerky bursts as one of his hands reached for the buttons on my blouse. I sat up and shakily unbuttoned them down to the waist of my skirt, and I pulled on the drawstrings that gathered the fabric of my corset cover until it opened up to reveal my corset and chemise.

It was far too spontaneous of a situation for me to fully undress and show myself but it seemed just the sight of my underthings was enough to rile him up. A tightly tethered moan just barely left his lips and his large hand roughly skimmed up the front of my corset, over the smooth material and firm boning, until he reached the top where my breasts were lifted, giving him enough of the soft flesh to grab at. He cupped one breast and gave a gentle squeeze over my chemise and the warmth of his hand through the fabric had me arching towards him. It changed the angle of his cock inside me and I gasped, my own hand flying down between my legs to rub and chase my orgasm.

"I'm almost there," he stammered breathlessly, his head clawing back into the sheets of his bedroll, his long hair messily splaying out like a halo above his head. I slipped my free hand between the buttons of his shirt and kept my hand in the warmth. My fingers skimmed sideways and I found his nipple, rubbing over it thoughtlessly and receiving a buck of his hips and a slackening of his jaw in response. He was going to cum and unless I wanted him to do it inside me, I knew I had to do something.

I quickly lifted my hips and wrapped my hand around his cock, keeping it nestled warmly between my thighs as I jerked him quickly. He moaned once, only once but it was a loud and thoughtless one that could absolutely be heard by anyone who happened to be awake. But he clamped his own hand over his mouth as he spilled, marking my thighs and his own body, his seed flowing down until it was caught in the hair surrounding the base of his cock. My hand was slick with the stuff and the wet sounds of its motion was almost as loud as Arthur's moan but I kept going anyway, until I could wind him down and slow to a stop.

He panted with exhaustion despite having been laid back the whole time, and I smirked down at him, letting out a tiny laugh. His eyes peeled open and up to me, his long lashes catching the light of the lantern and glowing a brassy blonde.

"I finished too quick for you, didn't I, my darlin'?" He said, his tone a little playful and a little more self deprecating than I liked to hear. I rolled my eyes a little but he reached between my legs, ever so gently rubbing at my folds, coating his fingers in my wetness before finding my favourite position over my clit.

I shuddered and sagged forwards a bit, holding myself up with arms either side of his broad shoulders. His fingers rubbed me rhythmically and quick, quickening my breaths and heart rate. My orgasm had been fast approaching before we stopped and he easily brought me back to the brink, and I mewled softly under my breath, tilting my hips to lean into his hand as he whispered to me.

"That's it princess, let me see you cum," he said, "show me them pretty eyes," he added, and I lifted my gaze to him. In the low light, his eyes appeared a darker blue than they usually did, looking deeper and hungrier than I had seen in a while. So full of want and love that I wanted to kiss him, but I was close to my climax and I was soon too distracted to get my body to move.

"I'm gonna cum," I breathed, my hips fidgeting, almost rutting. Arthur made a low, vibrating hum deep in his chest that sounded deliciously indulgent and dirty. He sped up the circles he made on my clit and the pleasure built. It built and built until it peaked, and with a gasp my body shook as my orgasm exploded. He rubbed me through it, prolonging the pleasure as I breathed heavily, and try as I might to keep quiet, small mewles of pleasure escaped me as my hips rocked against his hand.

I leaned over him, my hands holding me up above his head, his eyes followed me, fingers still sliding through the wetness between my legs. He had a small smirk on his face, just a flash of his teeth exposed. I exhaled a small laugh through my nose at the expression, it was almost a proud one, pleased with himself. I leaned down and kissed him once, but his free hand pressed into my belly and pushed me slightly.

"Don't mess your shirt up," he warned in a whisper, and I was reminded of the mess we'd made. In the distance, I heard the rushing sound of a geyser erupting, and I could've laughed at the timing.

"Yeah, let's clean up," I nodded. Arthur exhaled heavily, reaching into his satchel to retrieve a handkerchief stained with gun oil, using it to mop away the mess on his belly and fingers. I took it from him and cleaned my own hands, making a plan in my head to heat up some water for us in the morning to clean up properly before Arthur left to run his errands. For now though, it would have to do, and I adjusted my clothes and rolled off of him, settling in beside him.

"Thank you, princess," he exhaled, his eyes closing as he rested a hand over the wound on his side delicately.

"Thank you?" I chuckled.

"I needed that," he added, and I watched the corner of his mouth lift.

"Yeah, I think I did too," I laughed softly, and took hold of his other hand where it lay beside me.

"What a God damn mess we're all in," he laughed as well. It was like he was too tired and too at ease in the afterglow to take any of our recent problems seriously.

"Just a few days and we'll be gone sweetheart, don't you worry about it," I told him anyway, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah. Just a few days," he repeated.

I lifted his hand to my mouth, pressing kisses over his knuckles, each finger, the side of his wrist… his breaths were steadying out and I kissed him until he fell asleep, the weight of his hand increasing as it grew limp in mine.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #rdr2fanfic #arthurmorganfanfic #reader insert

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benedictscanvas · 5 years ago

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found - aaron hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k (i got a little carried away with this one!)

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, torture, serial killers, reader’s father was killed in a car crash, reader is the victim of emotional and (a small bit of) physical abuse from her mother, nice and fluffy ending

Request: i ADORE your writing. could you do a hotch x female reader where the reader works at the bau but comes from a really rich business family and a case comes in where her brother's gone missing because they want money from the family. they save him but the reader's mother belittles and slaps her, and the team stand up for her in front of her family and then later she goes to hotch's office and just some cute fluff because they've been in love with each other for years? ik it's weirdly specific lol

A/N: First of all, thank you! Also, never apologise for specific requests, it only means that I don’t have to think up an idea myself, haha, always a good thing! This one got away from me a little, but I just really loved how protective the team were of the reader here (especially my man Aaron). Love to you all, I hope none of you ever have to go through a situation like the one below <3

---

The weight in your stomach was beginning to ache now. Your mind was playing the events of the past few days over and over but you couldn’t work it out. You’d found him, you should be fine, and yet there was something still bothering you.

There was no way the BAU ever would have taken this case were it not for the connection you had to it, there was no point kidding yourself about that. It was on Tuesday morning that you had practically run through the bullpen towards Hotch’s office, ignoring the concerned voices of the members of your team and not bothering to knock as you burst in on him.

“It’s my brother,” you said, out of breath, clutching the door with a painfully tight grip as your chest heaved and Hotch stood from his desk. His face would have seemed as stoic as usual to most people, but you could see the worried lines around his eyes better than most people, “Someone’s taken him, I don’t know who, but they want money quickly and my mother won’t give them the money and-”

“Y/N,” he quieted you with his soft utterance of your name, and you gasped in for breath that you didn’t have. There were tears in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall, “We’ll get everyone in the conference room, okay? Tell us all at once.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together and wiping a shaky hand down your face. He didn’t question you. Didn’t question taking the case. You had hardly told him anything and he was dropping whatever the hell he had been doing, and even in your haze of fear you couldn’t appreciate him more.

“Thanks, Hotch,” you said quietly, and he simply nodded at you, resting a warm hand on your shoulder briefly as he passed you to gather the team together. Not five minutes later were you telling the team everything, from the rich parents you’d never previously mentioned to your brother’s disappearance, showing them a picture of the ransom note that had showed up on your mother’s doorstep that morning. Not thirty minutes later were you on a plane to your hometown, sat next to Hotch on the seat of four and listening to him and the team bouncing theories around.

It had taken three days to find him.

Three days of you being worried to the point of sickness. You’d thrown up multiple times. JJ had been there the first time, swiftly following you into the bathroom after the toe showed up in the mail. She held your hair back as you emptied your lunch into the toilet, your tears simultaneously streaming into the bowl. But the second time was after your mother refused for the fourth time to pay the ransom to save your brother. You only made it to a bin in an empty room in the police precinct, but Hotch was right behind you, rubbing your back with a firm hand.

You only found him in the end due to a connection Spencer made between the original ransom note and the note that came with the toe, an inconsistency that led Garcia to a name and you to an address. It all fell into place quickly, like it often did, and soon the two culprits were in cuffs, your brother was sent off in an ambulance and the case was closed with no lives lost. It should have been a good day.

But still, now, as you sat in the front seat as Hotch drove you to the hospital your brother had been taken to, your stomach was swirling with doubt and anxiety and you knew exactly why.

“You don’t look too happy,” he commented in a low voice, even though there was no one else in the SUV except for the two of you. As soon as your brother was taken away in the ambulance, your mother jumped in beside him and you were left on the pavement, before Hotch placed a hand on your back and jingled the keys beside you, spurring you into action, “Your brother will be fine, Y/N, they’re only taking him as a precaution.”

“Oh no, I know,” you said flippantly, turning to Hotch even though he kept his eyes on the road, “He’s a strong guy, he’ll take this in stride. There’s just something...else.”

You wondered whether you should tell him. It was a thought you dismissed as soon as it came. You and Hotch were close, closer than anyone else really realised, and if you told him there was no telling what he might want to do about it. There was nothing to be done, though, and so there was nothing to be said either.

“What is it?”

“I just-” you figured out your lie, needing it to be half-true so he wouldn’t see through it, “I don’t think it’s sunk in yet that he’s safe.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. It was a sign that he knew you were lying, that he was waiting for you to crack and tell him the truth. A trick he’d learned from you, actually. Sometimes, you stayed late with him to help him out with paperwork, try to get him home a little sooner and you talked. You talked a lot. And whenever you’d ask him how he was, or whether something was bothering him and he would lie you would nod and go silent, waiting for him to speak again and inevitably reveal the truth.

It wouldn’t work on you this time. Instead, the rest of the drive passed in a slightly uncomfortable silence and when you got out of the car, the two of you headed into the hospital without words. Guilt poked at your heart but you pushed it away as you were given directions to your brother’s room and took purposeful steps in that direction.

Just as you reached the door, you pushed open the door to join him, your mother and the nurse that was checking him over.

“Hey little-”

“Y/N!” your mother cried, rushing over to hurry you out of the room again and you caught a glimpse of your brother’s apologetic glance before she was shutting the door in your face, “Can we have a word?”

The weight in your stomach was getting heavier by the second.

“I’d really like to see my brother and check he’s okay,” you said, tone clipped and formal. You felt Hotch’s presence a little way behind you, watched your mother’s eyes flick between you and him with disdain.

“And I would really like a word with you,” she said, her voice different to how it had been. She had an audience now, you thought silently, and fought the urge to roll your eyes, “If you wouldn’t mind talking to your mother.”

She was trying to make you look bad and you knew it. You tried not to, but you could feel your embarrassment rising despite yourself. There was nothing to be embarrassed about and you knew it, but having Hotch there watching your mother talk to you like this, no doubt profiling you both made heat creep up the back of your neck.

“Then let’s find somewhere private-” you attempted but she cut you off.

“No, we talk here.”

It had been her favourite method of doing things when you were younger too. As soon as your dad died, she began subtly belittling you in the house. Blaming you for his death was the only way she seemed to move forward, even though you quickly accepted that just because you had been in the car when he died didn’t make you at all responsible.

But it was when you went out with her that she truly came into her own, having the free reign to humiliate you as publicly as possible, making sure that other people heard it. You hadn’t seen her in a few years. You’d forgotten how difficult it was, even now, to avoid reverting back into that childlike state when she looked at you like that.

“Mother-”

“Again. Again, someone has hurt our family and again, you are the one responsible. Do you enjoying seeing me suffer? Is that was this is, Y/N?”

You stared at your feet and set your jaw. It was difficult to know whether to shout at her, laugh in her face, or start sobbing on the ground. You’d tried all three before. Nothing worked. And now - oh god - and now the whole team had rushed into the hospital to check on you and your brother and you turned your head a little to see Hotch hold up a hand to stop them from saying anything behind him. You bit your lip. The taste of copper filled your mouth with a welcome, distracting bitterness.

“How could this possibly be my fault?” you asked incredulously, looking up and meeting her gaze with all the anger you held towards her for so much of your life, all the resentment. You hoped none of the fear shone through alongside it. Apparently, your rage meant nothing, as she simply laughed, the hollow sound a haunting nostalgic tune.

“You’re meant to be a fucking FBI agent, and yet your brother has come home without two of his toes and one of his fingers,” she said, still laughing, shaking her head in disbelief at you, “You couldn’t find him in time.”

You were seething.

“If we hadn’t found him in time, he’d be dead. Things don’t always end this well, mother. He’s lucky,” you ground out and she reared back, stung.

“Lucky? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Mrs Y/L/N-” Hotch began, and you heard him take a small step forward behind you. You winced. You knew what was coming.

“Oh, Agent Hotchner,” she said, her tone sweet again and you felt your stomach churn. You were beginning to feel lightheaded. Your serial killer catching team were right there and you were being scolded by your mother. Don’t cry, you pleaded with yourself, “You must be so tired of dealing with my daughter and her lack of empathy. Thinking that her own brother is lucky when he’s been severely deformed, I mean, the lack of-”

“Severely deformed?” you said, chest heaving as you stared her down, “Sam is fine. He will be fine. He is not deformed. All thanks to me and my team. My amazing team, who do not want to see any of this so can we please-”

Part of you was hoping that maybe some of them would take your hint and leave, just so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of your colleagues anymore, just so you wouldn’t have to handle them losing all their respect for you. But there were no footsteps.

“We’re not going anywhere. You’re not seeing your brother. I won’t let you hurt him more than you already have-”

“I have never hurt Sam in my life-”

“You know you’ve hurt him more than anyon-”

“For fuck’s sake, mother, I didn’t kill dad!”

She slapped you. Actually slapped you right across the face and your head whipped to the side. She’d never done that before. Perhaps she’d never had the heart when you were younger, or maybe you’d never actually said the words before, you didn’t know. You clutched your cheek as you kept your eyes downward and felt the tears staining your cheeks. Fuck.

You were already planning your resignation from the BAU in the stunned silence of the corridor.

JJ was first to run forward, putting an arm around you.

“Are you okay?” she murmured in your ear and you simply nodded, shrugging her away from you a little in your embarrassment.

“Don’t you ever mention your father to me,” she said, her voice dangerous, but you still hadn’t looked up, couldn’t fathom giving her the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You wanted to scream at her, slap her right back, maybe slam her against the wall but you knew none of it would help. You hardly had any dignity left as it was.

“You know what, Mrs Y/L/N,” Dave spoke up into the silence and you closed your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t say anything too bad, “I was wondering why you wouldn’t pay the ransom. I thought maybe it was the principle, or perhaps you were worried they’d just ask for more. But, I get it now.”

“Yeah, me too, Rossi,” Derek chimed in, “Now it’s easy to understand. Your kids simply aren’t worth anything to you.”

“Excuse me?” your mother’s voice was higher in pitch and part of you was worried she might slap them, but you knew she didn’t have it in her. JJ was still hovering behind you.

“You have two wonderful children, Mrs Y/L/N,” Emily continued, “Sam’s a doctor, the perfect child and yet the only value he has to you is in the bragging rights he provides.”

“And Y/N? She’s one of the best agents in the bureau. She cares about people-” Spencer’s voice cracked and you blinked out a fresh wave of tears, “-she cares so much. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. If you can’t see that, then it’s your loss.”

You finally stood up straight and looked to your team with eyes full of shame. Your cheek was no doubt a different colour to the rest of your face, tear stains galore, eyes puffy. No moment was worse, than seeing them all staring at you with pity in their eyes, and yet the warmth you felt radiating from them was stronger than any feeling you’d ever had from your family. This was your family, after all. Your real family.

“Y/N’s one of the best people I’ve ever met too.”

“Same here.”

“Me too.”

Came the replies from your team. You let out a shaky exhale as you stared at them. Thanking them and apologising to them all at once with just the look in your eyes. Your mother was still silent, clearly shocked that anyone could possibly care about you like this, let alone a whole group of people.

“She’s the best person I’ve ever met,” Hotch spoke up and when your eyes snapped to his, you didn’t see pity. You saw that fiery anger that he usually reserved for the lowest of the low. And yet now, he was staring at your mother with that stare that made killers recoil in their seats. She looked horrified, “And she’s going in that room to see her brother. You will go outside and wait until we’ve left. Then, and only then, can you come back inside this building.”

“But-”

“That’s an order from a federal agent, Mrs Y/L/N,” his voice was hard and unfaltering and you saw his hands clenched at his sides, longed to prise them open and slip your fingers in between his, “Rest assured that if I ever hear you speak to Y/N like that again, I will make your life a living hell. You’re a lawyer, right? I pull some strings, and you’ll be out of a job before you can blink.”

“She’s my daughter and I will-”

“Go outside.”

You surprised yourself when you spoke up. But the anger that boiled inside you had bubbled to the surface and now, there was no stopping you. Your team were behind you, literally, figuratively, in every way possible. It was enough. You weren’t a child anymore.

“Y/N-”

“I said, go outside. I don’t want to see you again, are we clear? We’re done,” when she just stood there dumbfounded, you pointed towards the exit and took a step towards her, your heart leaping when she took a step backwards, “Leave.”

And just like that, she left. She had to walk past every member of your team on her way and they refused to move out of her way, so she had to squeeze past each and every one, mumbling to herself the entire time.

She was gone and silence enveloped the little corridor to the private room yet again.

“And don’t come back,” Dave muttered, causing you to finally crack a smile in his direction, which in turn made him smile, and the rest of the team, even though they were hesitant. You wanted to say thank you, but you weren’t sure you had the words. You were so damn tired.

“Hey,” JJ spoke up beside you, a hand on your shoulder, “Go see your brother. You want to stay for a while? We can hold the jet.”

You shook your head.

“I’ll see him quickly,” you said, “I just want to go home.”

Everyone smiled again, more sympathetically and Hotch spoke up, his voice back to his normal voice around you. It was your favourite version of him. Soft.

“We’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

You nodded gratefully, turning and heading into the room without another word, because you didn’t have anymore. You just said a quick hello to your brother, gave him a tight hug. You’d never been close, the torment you’d been put through by your mother he had been immune from and it had put a rift between you. You’d never understand each other. But he was your brother, and you loved him all the same, so you wished him well and told him to call more often. When you left the room, true to their word, the team were still there and led you out of the hospital to the SUVs, shielding you with their bodies from your mother outside. You didn’t even see her.

There was no talking in the SUV. Hotch drove, Derek in the front beside him and you sat in the back with JJ. She insisted. Halfway to the jet, she reached over and grabbed your hand, not even looking over at you and you squeezed it gently. You were grateful for the grounding touch.

It was only back on the jet that someone spoke up. Hotch was busy in the kitchen. But everyone else was sat around. You were sat beside Spencer at the table, with JJ and Rossi opposite. Derek was sat on the couch nearby and Emily perched on an arm rest just so she wasn’t sat too far from you.

“When did it start, Y/N?” Derek asked once the plane had been in the air for a while, earning some sharp looks from JJ and Emily but you waved them away.

“It’s okay, guys, it’s not like I can hide it now,” you said, having calmed down significantly on the drive to the jet, JJ’s touch and the hum of the engine comfort enough to decrease your heart rate, bring you back to earth. Your shame was still there, but you had tucked it away for later. Right now, you wanted to salvage as much of yourself as you could, “As you guys know, my dad was killed in a crash when I was 12. But what you don’t know, is that I was in the car and that my mother blamed me for it. She made everyday after a living hell. I moved out as soon as I could and never looked back. I’ve not seen her much since, just family events and such, but she’s always the same.”

They all had varying looks of anger and sadness. Spencer asked the question on everyone’s minds.

“Has she ever…?”

You didn’t make him finish, because you knew the words would be difficult for him.

“Hurt me before? No, she hasn’t. I don’t know what was different this time,” you shrugged, subconsciously reaching up to gently touch your cheek, “I don’t think I’ve ever said outright that I didn’t kill him before.”

“But you know you didn’t, right?” Emily asked without thinking and you smiled at her.

“I’ve always known that,” you said honestly, “It would have been so much worse if I’d believed her, but I always knew she was wrong.”

Hotch emerged from the kitchen with an ice pack and you smiled at him a little, relaxing when he offered a small smile in return. You expected him to hand it to you, but to your surprise he sat on your armrest right next to you, your arm pressed against his side. He brushed your hair away from your face with gentle fingers and placed the icepack on your cheek, apologising under his breath when you winced from the cold sting.

“That’s what you were worried about in the car then,” he mused aloud, gaining the attention of everyone on the plane, “You knew what was coming.”

“Somehow, I did,” you grimaced, looking up at him, “And I’m sorry you had to see it,” you looked around at everyone, “I’m sorry you all had to see it. It’s so embarrassing and degrading and...well I understand that your perception of me must have changed but I assure you-”

“Woah, woah,” Derek interrupted, “The only way my perception of you has changed, honey, is that you’re stronger than any of us knew.”

When you looked at everyone else around the plane, they were in agreement with Derek, it was clear. You felt yourself welling up again, and cursed your weakness.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for what you said about me,” you began, voice shaky, “It just...it means a lot. I’ve never had a real family before.”

“Well, now you do,” Dave said simply, watching you with those kind eyes of his. You nodded with a smile before Spencer produced a blanket from behind you, offering it up to you if you wanted to sleep. You accepted gratefully, laughing a little when Spencer and Hotch on either side of you helped to tuck it around you snugly. Your laugh was a sign to the team that they could relax. That you’d be fine. As you fell asleep, you felt Hotch lean into you a little more, still holding the icepack on your face, and the knowledge he was there was enough to lull you into slumber.

---

Spencer woke you gently and told you that you’d landed. There was no one left on the plane, but you’d trapped him into the window seat. He waved you off when you apologised.

“You’re really important to us, Y/N,” he said, letting a few walls down now that everyone else had gone. You knew it must’ve been hard for him to hear her say those things to you. You’d talked about childhood bullying before, helped him to work through his own without telling him your experience. He’d probably feel guilty that he hadn’t known, but you pulled him into a rare hug.

“You’re important to me too, Spence,” you said, knowing that he’d really meant it personally. You felt his smile against your shoulder and grinned at him sleepily when you pulled away, both of you making your way off the jet. You walked into the office and shared compulsory hugs with the rest of the team, including Dave who you didn’t think you’d ever hugged before. When the hugging was over and people began to make their way home, you looked up at his office.

Hotch.

He was leaning against his desk. Not working. You knew he was waiting for you, so you hopped up the steps and let yourself in without knocking, letting the door close behind you with a soft click.

As soon as the door was closed, his shoulders fell and his posture became hunched.

“Hearing her talk to you like that…”

He trailed off and your heart melted. You walked towards him and rested your hands tentatively on his biceps, feeling the muscles relax at your touch.

“Hotch,” you breathed, “We’re home now.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” he said, eyes flashing upwards to meet yours and that anger seemed to be back, but it was directed inward, “She was saying all this crap about you and I didn’t even do anything, I didn’t want to intrude but then she- she slapped you, Y/N.”

He was talking in facts, a trick he used to take the emotion out of situations in which he got too emotional. You recognised it in an instant. The small protective edge he had for you was one that you shared for him, so you noticed these things. Made a habit of it.

“I know,” you said, nodding, “But that icepack did the trick in bringing the swelling down- look.”

You reached down and grabbed his hand, bringing it up to rest on your face. You knew it wouldn’t hurt. His touch was so hesitant around you, always worried to overstep a mark that you wanted him to leap over. Now, seeing him care about you made you bolder than you had been with him in the years you’d loved him.

You’d realised you loved him, actually, really loved him about two years ago. It had been three for him. Two beings hopelessly devoted to one another, yet kept apart by paralysing fear. You were kind of over it.

You leaned into his hand, but he was the one who closed his eyes and relished in the touch.

“You took care of me,” you whispered into the relative darkness of his office, lit only by the soft glow of the overhead lamp, “See?”

He shook his head with a gulp.

“Shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.”

“What could you have done?” you asked, smiling, “Slapped my mother first?”

He cracked a smile at that and his chuckles joined your own giggles in a few seconds.

“I wouldn’t have done that,” he insisted and brought his other hand up to cup your other cheek in an act of boldness spurred on by your own. Perhaps he was tired of not just being with you too. God, you hoped so, “You looked so...ashamed afterwards and you had nothing to be ashamed about. All I- all I wanted to do was take you in my arms and take you away from there.”

He’d never spoken like this before. You basked in his words, enjoying the pleasant tingling that had erupted down your spine. You were feeling lightheaded again, but this time you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“A nice thought,” you hummed, “I think I could get used to being in your arms.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you were breathless as you leaned closer to him, because now you’d had some of him it would never be enough. You needed it all. You needed every bit of him, because now you knew it could be yours if he said it. You needed him to say it.

“You wanna know something?”

“I really, really do.”

You were getting closer with every word. Breathier with every passing second.

“I’ve loved you for years,” his lips brushed against yours as he whispered the key to his soul, “And nothing hurts me more than seeing you in pain.”

You closed your eyes and brushed your lips against his again, fleeting, a promise.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” you gave him your soul in return, because it was the fair thing to do, after all.

He pressed his lips against yours properly, for the first time. All at once, the world tilted and you had found a new course for the future, one where you hoped Hotch - Aaron, as you moaned when he began a path of kisses along your jaw - would keep kissing you like this for a lifetime.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff #hotch x reader #hotch

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drakewalkerfantasy · 4 years ago

Text

The art of seduction. (Tatum x MC)

Summary: When Tatum saw her in the pretty gown she wore for the state dinner he could do nothing else but imagine his best friend in his embrace. His old feelings quickly surfaced. And as much as it would be fun to give up to her seduction, he could do nothing else but try to resist her. Can he do this? Or will he fail trying?

Words: 1893

Authors notes: I really hope you will enjoy this. I left space for part that will be more NSFW.

**Warnings: tiny bitsy suggestive language and a bit of swearing. Also sensual, so I would say 17+**

With the finale glance in the full-length mirror Claire finally made her way out of the bedroom. Her eyes instantly finding Tatum’s, feeling how the air leaving her lungs with the strenght of the wrecked train, when she sees his gaze fixed on her. His intense eyes roaming subtly over her body clad in the silvery grey backless dress with the cut ending just below her hipbone. His eyes stoping there just for a split second before snapping back to hers, and she could swear that she caught a glimpse of a blush colouring his cheeks.

“That good, huh?” She asked. Her lips curving in a knowing smirk watching Tatum to clear his throat before giving her a reply. Reply that instantly wiped the smile from her face, making her eyes widen and her cheeks flush.

“Let’s just say... what I’m thinking isn’t part of my job description,” murmured he in a low husky whisper that send an immediate shiver down her spine, making her pulse speed up, and her eyes darken.

And oh my God, the thoughts he thought... These little dirty thoughts about his best friend's body pressed firmly to his. His hand slipping through the cut in her dress, wandering higher. His fingers fluttering along the edges of her suspender belt that he caught a glimpse of when she saunter out of her bedroom. The other hand woven in her hair letting them fall down her back, while his lips hungrily claimed hers. His tongue...

Shit... he swore under his breath snapping back to reality. Feeling ashamed of how instantly his body reacted to her, straining against the fly of his trousers. And shit it was, when he caught a glimpse of a knowing smile spreading Claire’s lips. That knowing smile that he knew far too well did not bode anything good. The smile that he knew will test him to the limit. Cracking his facade of indifference. Breaking the mask, he so hard tried to protect. And the next step she took undoubtedly confirmed his suspicions.

Her hand with calculated precision brushed against his. Her fingertips ran against his pulse point sending it in overdrive. Her eyes hooded under her black thick eyelashes, shining with mirth like two black sapphires when they met his. Her lips parted, while the tip of her tongue flitted over them, making him almost moan with desire. And her deliciously hot breath brushed the rim of his ear when she passed by. His legs buckled almost bringing him to his knees. The low husky whisper still ringing in his ear sending the cold shiver up his spine.

“Eyes front, soldier,” she murmured only for him to hear. The tips of her fingers pressed firmer to the pulse on his wrist, brushing them lightly over it before stepping aside. The floral perfume she was wearing leaving the sweet teasing trail behind her.

For everyone else it looked like a simple accident. Like she only passed by him. But he knew better, and he only could pray to be strong enough to resist her act of seduction.

He could hear her walk out the door after Murphy and Dionne. Her heels clicked on the floor, fading in the distance, when he finally let out the breath he even didn’t realised he was holding. His body still vibrating from how close she stood to him. His pulse still quickened from the way her fingertips ran over it with featherlight calculated touch. And his legs still rooted to the place, while he turned his head to watch after Claire’s retreating figure, forcing himself to move after her. It took him only a few strides to catch up with her, slowing his pace and walking next to her. His mind racing, still focused on the moment they had just a seconds before. The moment when every cell in his body was vibrating from the feel of her body heat. But even with his mind racing, his sharp trained eyes now and then still slipped to look at her, noticing everything she wanted him to notice. Her hips swinged sensually, just enough to make his blood boil, but not enough to someone else to notice. Her chest rising and falling with every step she took. And every time when her lips parted, he could see the tip of her tongue running over her peach glossed lips with exhale. And when she turned her head finally meeting his intense gaze, he didn’t missed how her pulse picked up the speed and her pupils dilated. His lips quirking in the satisfying smirk noting, that he has no less impact on her than she had on him.

“Game on, babe,” he thought before leading her toward the private plane. The stoic mask once again put on his face.

The flight to the Kingdom of Pavadena was a nightmare. The nightmare he wasn’t sure how he survived or didn’t drag Claire to the nearest bathroom. He was dreaming to turn her around to face him. Dreaming to push her to the door, to press his lips to hers and to demand for them to open, while his tongue would slip inside swirling around hers and deepening the kiss. Kissing her hungrily as he dreamed of doing so many years ago... in another life. The picture of this still pulsing violently in his mind, while his hands gripped the handrests firmer, when the most alluring sound in the world slipped past, making him freeze. His eyes dilated becoming a shade darker. His nails dug into the cold leather of the seat and his teeth grind, while he desperately tried to keep calm. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see how she dip the piece of strawberry, as red and no doubt as delicious as her lips, into the whipped cream. Her tongue slowly darting in between of her parted lips, swirling it deliberately slowly around the tip, making Tatum almost growl shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Her lips wrapping around it with a moan, and her eyes closing before she finally swallowed the berry. It took everything in Tatum not to look at her, and not to meet her eyes. Stubbornly refusing her a satisfaction of seeing, what she was doing to him. And when he felt her gentle touch to his hand, it was as if a naked electricity wire hit him.

He thought that it will get better when he and Murphy were send to the back room to join other bodyguards. That finally he will be able to breathe. And yes it was... at first... and only for a little bit until the moment Claire joined them. And what a torture it became, when she did. Her bare hip brushing against his tigh. Staying pressed to him just for a second too long for it to be just an accident. Making him grow bigger and harder than he ever was. Her eyes meeting his, reading him as an opened book. Smiling at him with this smug smile, while she called his bluff, knowing quite well that she won this round. As if knowing that she didn’t just won a game, but also his heart. The fact that he would deny if confronted. The fact he must deny to protect her from her own mother. But oh well, if she didn't make it so difficult to do... so incredibly hard to resist her. Making his task a torture. A torture so much worse that the ones that were brought on him by the terrors of war.

His hand involuntarily dropped to his hip touching the place where her hip was pressed just a moment ago. The place that burned not only from her touch but also with a memory of the hot rod digging into his flesh.

He was suddenly pulled out from his thoughts to the present by the whiff of her floral perfume, and he could almost feel the heat that was radiating from her body when she moved closer to him. Her voice barely a whisper only for him to hear, accommodated by the ghost of the touch only for him to feel.

“Walk with me?” she uttered. Her voice almost a plea and he felt himself nod obediently despite knowing that this was a huge mistake and a trap he went into willingly. Only hoping that the sheer will of his would be enough this time to not give up to her wiles and to be able to keep his stoic demeanour.

They went in a silence for some time, the only sound that broke it was the sound of their synced breathing. Her body so close to his, that he could feel hers with every cell of his own body. Their hands brushing and their fingers unknowingly to each other aching to be interlaced together. Their eyes secretly following each other's movements, when they thought they wasn’t watched, longing and wanting to be closer. But knowing how impossible this wish was. Impossible... and ridiculous. Knowing that she is only his best childhood friend he was dreaming about for so long. Knowing that she would never see him another way with abyss of difference between them. Not knowing why she would play this game of seduction, while her heart wasn't in it.

Soon they finally stopped at the dead end of the long hallway, where the lamps weren't as bright and the noice of the party was only a distant whisper. She slowly turned to him watching around before stepping closer, making his heart leap in his chest and his breath hitch. She lean in closer, giving him a chance to step back, letting him to bid her goodbye before going back to the back room, but he didn’t. As if rooted to the spot he could feel her body lean into his. Her hand squeezing his before she tip toe toward him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. His hands involuntarily drop to her waist. His fingers brushing the edges of her bare back sending the current of electricity through her body, while her lips grazing lower pressing to the corner of his lips in a lingering kiss before stepping back. Her lips curving in the soft smile, while her cheeks flame, feeling shy for the first time this evening. Her heart rate peaking up, watching as Tatum flushed, raising a hand to cover the spot Claire’s lips were just a moment ago. Their eyes finally meet with so much emotions and their bodies vibrating from the longing for each other that was held back all these long and lonely years. His hands balling into fists trying to suppress the urge to grab her by her hips and pull her toward him. Trying to suppress the desire to kiss her hard on the lips.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, the torment and desire clearly blazing in their eyes, but after a moment Claire reluctantly started to walk away. Her heart thundering treacherously with every step she took. Her hips swaying, making him watch her every move, making him throb in a confines of his trousers. Making him to want to run after her, to claim her lips, to claim her as his. The fantasy he would never be able to fulfill. The fantasy that will always stay only that... the fantasy.

Tagging: @jamespotterthefirst @choices-bound @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @openheartthot @ramseysrookiex @shaylan211 @annekebbphotography

#tatum mendoza #tatum x mc #choices fanfiction #foreignaffairs #choices foreign affairs

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justkeeptrekkin · 5 years ago

Text

Brief Omens

An ineffable wives drabble- Brief Encounters inspired- that I wrote in collaboration with the amazing artist @selene-yoshi-chan , her pictures posted here with her agreement! This was fun to write, and I can’t believe how beautiful the illustrations are- thank you friend.

You can read it on AO3 here, or read under the cut! MORE ILLUSTRATIONS BELOW!

***

The weather is grey today. A strong breeze rolls over from the hills, tumbling into the valley of Devil’s Dyke. Aziraphale chose the meeting place herself. She thought that Crowley might find it amusing.

This isn’t really a breeze, so much as a strong wind- it’s displacing her styled hair. Fashion has never interested Aziraphale in the same was as it fascinates Crowley, but the 40s really do have some smashing hairstyles and clothes. Now that the War is over, high-street shops are beginning to pop back up again, putting on their lights once more and dressing their mannequins with all manner of hats and a-line skirts. Of course, much of London remains destroyed from the Blitz. West Sussex, at least, has survived.

Aziraphale lays her manicured hands on the wooden bridge, peers down at the burbling stream below. The water is clear, enough that she can see the smoothe rocks at the bottom. She can’t see her reflection, only the vague shape of her cream suit, orange and brown leaves floating along the surface.

She breathes in. She breathes out. She is nervous.

“Morning, angel.”

She spins around- she doesn’t know why she’s surprised to see her here, she invited her. And yet Crowley has a habit of slinking up to her without warning, especially with this noisy wind covering the sound of her footfalls.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale says too quietly. She clears her throat. “You got here quickly.”

“Yeah. I drove up last night and stayed the night a little further into the South Downs. Beautiful part of the world, this, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale simply nods. She continues to rest her hands along the rough, mossy wood of the bridge, but her gaze is on Crowley; her red hair spilling out of a silver snake hair-pin, curls tickling the sides of her neck. Red lipstick. Aziraphale wouldn’t dare to try a lipstick that shade, but she’s always wondered how it would look on her. How it would look if Crowley kissed her and left a taste of it on her lips.

Yellow irises dart over to Aziraphale. She stops staring and looks away promptly, watching the rolling green hills. With the lack of rain recently, the grass is turning a greyish green and blending into the sky. The clouds beyond make the horizon hazy, like a weak watercolour painting.

“What was it you wanted to discuss,” Crowley asks, all business. Her sunglasses don’t conceal peripheral gaze- Aziraphale can see her staring out at the view beyond. She’s avoiding eye contact, Aziraphale realises. And it’s not just the square shoulders of her jacket that make her look tense.

“Um,” Aziraphale says. She feels herself panic. She feels her eyes widen and her chest rise with a too-deep breath. “It’s- not all that important really.”

That gets Crowley to turn and look at her, brows furrowed. “What? Why are we meeting here then? We could have gone to any of our normal meeting places.”

“I know, but I rather thought that we might like to try somewhere new,” Aziraphale says.

What she doesn’t say is that she had an inkling that Crowley would like the South Downs- Devil’s Dyke and all. She felt that it might be nice to try somewhere different with expansive views, rolling hills, little tearooms. And none of the World War II rubble. Something a little more- romantic.

Crowley pokes out her bottom lip. Then, nods in concession. “Alright. Devil’s Dyke, though?”

“Yes.”

“A bit tongue-in-cheek for you,” Crowley says, sounding impressed. Then a smile grows on her lips. Firey red hair dancing in front of her face. “I like it.”

They stand side by side on the little bridge. They’re the only people (beings) here for miles. The wind pours down, and it makes Aziraphale’s ears ache. She looks down at her shoes- totally inappropriate for a country walk, but pretty. Crowley has been more sensible and put on some leather boots.

“Crowley.”

“Angel.” She says it like she’s been waiting for them to get down to business. Waiting for them to discuss something serious, perhaps The Arrangement.

“Back at the church, during the Blitz,” Aziraphale starts. She swallows, her throat raw from the cold air. The stream trickles happily, singing a gurgling song below. “At the church, you saved my books for me.”

Crowley looks dead ahead and doesn’t move. Aziraphale doesn’t miss the way her fingers clench on the wooden fence of the bridge.

“Yes,” she replies slowly, quite primly.

She has been dreading this moment. She has fought with herself over this decision for months. But after what Crowley did-

Inside her handbag, Aziraphale finds a tartan flask. It looks so innocent, nestled amongst the packets of tissues and lipsticks. She removes it carefully, placing it on the fence. And if Crowley wasn’t tense before, she certainly is now; she straightens beside Aziraphale, red lips parting in silent surprise. Brows pulled together, raised above her sunglasses.

Aziraphale keeps a hand on the flask, holds it there between them, waits for it to sink it.

“Angel…”

“Holy water won’t just kill your body,” Aziraphale interrupts. She has to say this, before Crowley thinks she’s doing something nice for her. “It will destroy you completely. But I can’t have you risking your life, not even for something dangerous.”

Crowley is staring at her- Aziraphale can sense it. She can see her floundering. She’s speechless in a way that Aziraphale’s never really known before. There isn’t even the usual garbled stream of noises coming out of her mouth when she loses her words; it’s just silence. Aziraphale has stunned Crowley to silence.

She clears her throat, feeling her wind-bitten cheeks heat up. “Don’t go unscrewing the cap.”

“You did this for me,” Crowley says, almost too quietly over the wind.

And then Aziraphale turns to look back at her. Her hair is caught in the breeze. Crowley is so beautiful. Aziraphale always knew, always found her beautiful, even when she pretended she didn’t. But now- now, it’s impossible to ignore. How had she managed to ignore it for so long? How deluded has Heaven made her, that it took this long? Aziraphale is a being of love; it’s absurd that she hadn’t been able to see the wood for the trees until that bomb destroyed that church, Crowley handing over a briefcase, hands touching. Just for a moment.

“Anything,” Aziraphale whispers.

She isn’t sure whether Crowley hears. If she didn’t, then that would be OK. Some things aren’t meant to be.

They look over at the view again. Crowley takes a moment to pick up the flask and put it in her own purse.

“I haven’t been as far as Ditchling before,” Crowley says suddenly, voice too light. “‘S where I’m staying at the moment. I’ve- I’ve only been as far as Hastings.”

Aziraphale goes along with it. “I helped evacuate some children here, during the worst of the War.”

“Ah. Yes. I was mostly in Liverpool helping out with that.”

Aziraphale frowns, registering this. When she tries to find answers in Crowley’s expression, she only sees her own white-blonde hair in her face and Crowley’s turned away. “You helped with the evacuations?”

“Yes,” she says sharply.

“That’s awfully… good of you.”

There’s a twist to her lips as she fights back a retort. “They were very naughty children, I assure you. Wales was traumatised by their arrival.”

She is too much. Oh, she is just too much. Aziraphale smiles at her, even though she won’t look back. “You are quite… something, Crowley.”

Crowley sneers. Aziraphale ducks her head and hides her smile.

A single seagull flies overhead. The aren’t that close to the sea- it must have flown over from Brighton. It coasts on the wind. The air is fresh here, unlike London. Aziraphale breathes it in deeply, and tries to save it there. Save it for when she needs it in the coming days.

“Are you happy?”

She doesn’t expect the question. She doesn’t even really understand it. “I’m sorry?”

Crowley hesitates, bites her lip. Then, “Do you ever ask yourself whether you’re happy? With the way things are?”

Constantly, Aziraphale thinks, but she never admits it to herself. No, she sees those kinds of questions float through her head and she banishes them to some bottomless pit in her mind. A pit that doesn’t feel so bottomless these days; all the doubt and confusion and questions she’s wanted to ask Heaven and Hell and God are piling up and starting to overflow. It’s only a matter of time before she decides she won’t be able to hide it anymore.

Crowley is watching her, waiting for her answer as she thinks on this.

“I don’t know,” she says, eventually. “Am I happy? Oh, Crowley. I don’t know.”

“Don’t you hate not knowing?” She rushes. “Don’t you ever just…”

Crowley trails off. Her hand rests against the fence beside Aziraphale’s.

“I suppose you don’t ask questions, not being the snake of Eden,” Crowley eventually finishes.

Aziraphale doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what she thinks. Any opinions she has are obscured under layers and layers of Heavenly instructions and Bible verses and ineffable plans.

For a moment, she finds a reply in a hand hold; not quite a hold, rather, her own hand gently placed on top of Crowley’s. Just to let her know that she’s there. And then she removes it again.

She has been friends with Cowardice far longer than she has known Crowley.

***

The Bentley is parked somewhere over the nearest hill. They walk in contemplative quiet, Aziraphale trying not to trip in her silly shoes, Crowley sighing in frustration at her. And whilst Aziraphale has achieved what she meant to today, something sits uncomfortably in her.

The wind tries to push her back down the hill.

When they reach the car, Crowley gives her a lift to the nearest train station, just outside Ditchling. It’s not far from where she’s staying, she assures Aziraphale, and she can’t cope with the idea of Aziraphale wobbling all the way to the station in her heels. Crowley makes it sound like an accusation, but Aziraphale recognises the kind gesture in it. She looks out of the window and watches the hills fall away, watches their moment in Devil’s Dyke fall away as if she’s abandoning it.

The engine turns off and Aziraphale waits. Crowley says nothing. They both wait, although there’s no sign of there being anything to wait for.

“Are you sure you want to head back to London?” Crowley asks. She doesn’t say it like a question. She turns to look at Aziraphale suddenly, lips parted and brows raised, looking lost. And Aziraphale realises then that it’s her that she’s abandoning, not Devil’s Dyke. “I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

And she sees it. Oh, Lord, Aziraphale sees it in her mind’s eye; the two of them in a cottage in The South Downs, walking through the neighbouring fields in wellies and Barbour coats. Trips to Brighton with ice-creams and sun hats, even if the weather is dreary. Trips to places they’ve never been before; days inside, drinking cocoa and reading and simply being together. Existing together, without any fear of the universe collapsing. Forgetting that this juxtaposition of theirs is a crime against nature. Aziraphale sees it, this daydream hanging between them in the Bentley, parked outside Ditchling station.

It would be cruel to even pretend that such a dream could exist.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

She doesn’t stay to see the heartbreak in Crowley’s eyes, because she feels it herself- she can’t bear heartbreak for two. She gathers her handbag and steps out of the car, walking neatly towards the station. She has fifteen minutes until her train.

When she steps inside and turns around in the doorway, she sees the Bentley pull away.

Everything feels very sharp and clear. An awful lot like she has fallen into that little stream back in the valley, like she’s lying in the water and her senses are stinging with the cold. She feels too much until she feels nothing. And so Aziraphale stares at the receding Bentley, clutching her handbag like a liferaft and turns back around, onto the platform.

There are only two other people heading towards London from Ditchling. A middle-aged man with a case in his hand, and an older woman, who sits on the damp, dewy bench. She dabs at her nose with a handkerchief. Aziraphale finds herself drifting into the waiting room, where there is also a little cafe.

She orders a cup of Earl Grey from the waitress, finds a seat to perch on.

She holds the cup between her hands, but feels no less adrift.

Crowley keeps her tethered, she considers in that moment. That look of abandonment on Crowley’s face; the feeling that Aziraphale is floating away; the sky is grey and the world is grey and she is lost in it.

“I made the right decision,” she says quietly to herself.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

Aziraphale takes a moment to realise that that waitress has spoken to her. “Oh- I’m sorry. I was merely talking to myself. A silly habit, I’m afraid,” she laughs emptily.

“Not to worry, not to worry, talk to meself constantly- sign of a sound mind, my nan always said.”

“Quite so,” Aziraphale breathes.

She doesn’t feel sound, she considers. She feels silent. A disorientating quiet, like those moments in the middle of the night, when one is awake when they shouldn’t be. When she has awoken and found herself alone, in a dark room. Echoing, claustrophobic. She feels it in her throat and she feels it prick her eyes with tears.

“I made the right decision,” she whispers.

The two of them walking down a muddy country road towards the nearest pub- talking loudly about anything and nothing, the usual silliness in all likelihood, arms swinging and cheeks rosy. The two of them side by side on a sofa, bowties undone and tights on the floor and wine bottles empty. The two of them at a dining table in the morning, reading the newspaper and buttering toast. The two of them at the Ritz, just as it has always been.

She made the correct decision. It is the decision that Heaven would choose for her. But is it the right one?

Aziraphale stands up abruptly, tea sloshing over the edge of the mug and into the saucer. She is going to catch up with Crowley- she can find her in Ditchling town somewhere, she could ask around and-

No. No, even if she has that dream, it doesn’t mean that Crowley shares it. Crowley might have offered to take her anywhere, but how far does Crowley mean? How could Aziraphale know whether this is the right thing for both of them? This would jeopardise Crowley’s life too.

She sits back down slowly, just as the whistle of the London train screams down the platform. A shaky hand picks up the teacup and she takes a small sip.

She steps onto the platform and waits for the train to stop. The steam billows; she can’t see anything. She hears the train conductor shouting out of the window. She sees a door materialise before her, opens it and steps into the compartment where three other people sit and read. She takes her own seat.

She looks through the window and she feels like she is drowning. She feels as if the train’s steam is inside her. She feels the walls around her in a way she has never experienced a room before, as if it is designed to trap her. She hears the scream of the conductor’s whistle in her ears, rattling in her brain.

She feels herself breath in. She feels the air rushing into her lungs, like water filling a glass.

The train begins to pull away from the platform.

She grabs her handbag, opens the door, and jumps onto the platform.

Aziraphale hangs her head back and closes her eyes. The steam surrounds her in clouds and the mechanical chug of the train recedes; she feels it rumble beneath her feet.

“Aziraphale!”

That voice- she opens her eyes and turns to meet it, but she sees no one for all the smoke and steam.

“Crowley?”

And then again- desperation, relief- “Aziraphale.”

She turns on the spot and searches for her, but she can’t see anyone- she’s lost, alone in the mist, until she sees the silhouette approaching. The clouds part and there she is, Crowley, holding onto a handbag with both hands. An expression so soft it could have been painted.

“Crowley.”

Right or wrong, correct or incorrect- Aziraphale sees none of that, now. She walks towards her. Crowley walks towards her. And they meet each other, standing so close that Aziraphale can see through the lenses of her sunglasses.

“You got off the train,” Crowley says.

“You came back,” Aziraphale says.

When they kiss, it isn’t like it is in the movies. It isn’t desperate hands on each other’s arms, desperate lips pressed together as if they don’t care about breathing. When they kiss, it’s hesitant, careful not to break everything that came before. It’s unsure, but it’s also a promise.

Next time we kiss, Aziraphale thinks, I won’t be so afraid.

#Good omens #ineffable wives #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #my writing #selene-yoshi-chan #THANK YOU SELENE

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