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helios-writings · 1 year ago

Text

Howl

Werewolf Shanks x gn! Reader

WC: 2k

Warnings: spooky themes, themes of violence. Nothing too crazy though.

You run a bookshop in a town plagued by stories of monsters and demons, not that you believed any of those stories yourself. And then one day, you meet Shanks.

As a bookseller, you’d read countless stories about creatures of the Night. Seen stories unfold first hand, too. Your grandmother going on a walk through the woods and never returning, your father coming back from a hunt, face pale as death as he informs everyone that something had taken the others.

You had never seen any of this for yourself, of course, never allowed to leave town or walk alone at night. You even doubted that any of these creatures really existed, or if they were just tall tales spread by those who had heard the echoes of animals in the dark and thought they were monsters. People going missing, or were they just tired of living in a town plagued by the deceivable?

You were, you were tired of living the same day to day routine. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, your loved ones had died here, you had grown up here. You were chained to a town that held nothing for you, except for countless days of old ladies arguing over a book, like now.

As they argue, you stand behind the counter, fighting the urge to kick them both out or ban them from your shop entirely. Everyday was a monotonous routine in which you were trapped.

Until the bell above the door rings and a man walks in, someone new. Instantly, you feel wary, like something is wrong, but you don’t know what. The feeling only gets stronger as he gets closer.

He grins, all teeth and sparkling eyes. “I’m your new neighbor, Shanks.”

You introduce yourself warily, no one ever comes here. Not even tourists, even though the town’s infamy was known throughout countless places.

“Are you uh, here to buy something?” You ask, after a moment of silence.

The way he’s eyeing you makes you want to shift in your seat, but you don’t. Shanks just smiles.

“Just introducing myself, you’re the only one that’s talked to me so far.”

And although that wary feeling is still there, you smile back, and his grin only gets wider.

***

The man, Shanks, is strange. He drops by almost every day, only being gone a few days out of each month, for business, he tells you. You grow accustomed to his presence, and it becomes stranger for you to not see him at all than it does the opposite. You begin to fall in love with him.

He loves to help around the shop, especially when he can reach the shelves you can’t, almost preening when you thank him for it.

Right now, he’s sitting on the other side of the counter, head resting on his arms as he watches you price the new shipment of books.

“I’ll be going to the city for a week or two,” he tells you, “you should come with me.”

You pause for only a moment, but shake your head and continue. “I’ve never left town, you know that.”

“Why not? If you don’t believe in the stories, then nothing should stop you from leaving.”

You sigh heavily. “Shanks, it’s complicated. Who would look after the shop when I’m gone? It’s too much stress.”

He kisses your forehead. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Maybe some other time, yeah?”

You can tell he’s upset, even if he's apologetic about frustrating you, and that alone makes you want to go with him, but you don’t.

You do go see him off the next morning, a thermos full of coffee in your hand for him.

He grins. “Well, I’m glad you decided to see me off.”

“I can’t let you be deprived of my visage for too long, I know you love it.”

Shanks snorts. “Ha! More like you couldn’t bear to go without seeing me one last time.”

You pull him into a hug and he buries his face into your neck, like he usually does. He kisses your forehead and then sets off.

***

The next few days go by without incident. Customer, shelve books, customer, shelve books. You have to get the step ladder for the ones that you can’t reach. You hate it.

You do find yourself missing Shanks more than you thought you would. You figure that it might be because he’s farther away, or that maybe your feelings for him just make that distance feel wider.

And then, you walk upstairs from your shop to your house, and see it. All those years doubting everyone in town, only for those crazy stories to be true.

You don’t know how the creature got into your house, all you know is that its hulking mass is hovering above you, lips curled back to reveal rows of sharp teeth, sharper than any knife you’ve ever seen.

Werewolf, your mind supplies, even through the cloud of fear gripping it. A werewolf, just like the people in town have said. This is it, you’re going to be eaten by a werewolf.

You turn your head away from its gaze, revealing your neck, hoping that easier access to your throat will make death come quicker.

Instead of the jaws wrapping around your throat ready to devour you, you hear a high pitched wine, followed by a furry cheek rubbing against your neck and face.

Gasping in shock you quickly stand up and walk backwards, until you hit a wall, your eyes never leaving the creature in front of you. It whines again, coming closer, head bowed to you in some sort of surrender. You have no idea what the fuck is happening. When the werewolf reaches you again, it pushes you with its nose, trying to move you away from the wall and onto the floor with it.

Deciding that you might as well, lest you piss it off and cause it to kill you, you gingerly sit on the ground next to it. It licks your face happily, and then nudges its head into your neck. You laugh a little.

You wonder why it didn’t eat you, why it's being so friendly with you. You place your hand on its head and stroke its head, watching as its dark brown eyes close in delight.

Those eyes are so familiar to you, yet you can’t place them.

“I guess you aren’t so bad,” you say, “but who are you?”

It just whines again, licking you. It makes you feel kind of…..safe.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not going to eat me.”

It sighs contentedly and lays it head on your lap, falling asleep. You fall asleep like that too.

***

When you wake up, there's an arm around you, pulling you into their warm side.

Immediately your eyes shoot open and you wrestle free, staring into the eyes of Shanks, your neighbor, who happens to be naked. And in the place where the werewolf was.

You turn your head away in embarrassment, but the confusion filling you refuses to fade, even in the face of the man you had come to befriend over the months he had been here.

You open your mouth to say something, to ask a question, to fill the silence, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not having this conversation while I’m naked.”

He stands up, grabbing a nearby blanket to throw over himself. “Just….30 minutes, wait 30 minutes.”

And then he’s gone, leaving your head spinning.

Deciding to keep busy, you make coffee and prepare breakfast, head swimming with everything that happened. Shanks was a werewolf and on any other day, that would’ve made you laugh, but not now. Not after you had come face to face with a creature of the Night and lived.

The familiar three knocks sounded at the door and he entered again, clothed this time.

You watched as he made a plate and sat down across from you at the table.

“Alright,” he starts, “how much do you know about werewolves?”

“Only what I’ve heard from the townsfolk and what I’ve read in books about them, which if you hadn’t seen, isn’t a lot.”

The red haired man sighs. “Well, as you can imagine, I didn’t actually get these scars in a bar fight.”

You listen intently, nodding along.

“I turned a few days later, and I’ve been like that ever since. It's been…years, I think.”

“You were quite cute as a wolf. Very affectionate, too.”

He flushes. “Funny, that.”

“The way you said that makes me think it's actually not very funny at all.”

Shanks tears into a piece of bacon as a response and you glare at him. “Shanks.”

“There is one detail that no werewolf book seems to mention.”

“Spill it.”

He growls in exasperation. “Sometimes, we can become fixated on someone. Scent-marking them, protecting them. Even as wolves, something inside of us recognizes that person.”

“So you’re saying…?”

The red haired man rolls his eyes. “Christ, you’re impossible.”

Shanks pulls you forward and kisses you, he tastes of coffee. You gasp a little into the kiss and he grins, nipping your lip softly as he pulls away.

“I have probably loved you ever since I walked into your bookshop, it was like I had known you my whole life, had known you in my soul.”

“Oh.” And you sit with that for a moment. You think about all the times he’d come into the bookshop for no reason. How many times he had insisted on feeding you or taking his jacket. And then it clicks.

“You motherfucker, you’ve been courting me this whole time.”

Shanks is sheepish, which doesn’t happen often. “Guilty?”

You kiss him a little desperately. “I love you too.”

He lets out a high pitched whine, like it was a reflex. You laugh into the kiss.

“Your doglike qualities do make a lot more sense now.”

“Very funny.”

“I do have one other question, though.”

“Go on.”

You’re playing with his fingers. “You said you were going to the city, but you’re here instead.”

He buries his face into your hair, sighing. “I missed you and when I’m like that, I don’t think. I came here, looking for you. I was desperate to see you, to make sure you were okay. The smell, your smell, is strongest here. And then you actually came inside, and it was like all of my thoughts had transformed into needing to scent you. I do it even as a human.”

“Scent me?”

“Making you smell like me, so the other monsters know not to touch you.”

You feel hot; embarrassed. “Oh.”

“Every time I’m gone for a few days, its to transform, but I hate leaving you. It's why I wanted you to come with me, the farther away you are, the stronger the urge gets and then I commit a felony by breaking into your house.”

“I couldn’t tell you any of that, though,” he continues, “if I’d scared you, or worse, made you angry, I’d never forgive myself.”

You kiss him softly. “I understand. Thank you for telling me.”

Shanks smiles into the kiss. “Thank you.” For accepting me goes unsaid, but you know what he means.

“Next time you leave, I’ll go with you. Anywhere, just say the words.”

“Careful, a promise like that and I’ll keep you by my side forever.” He teases.

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Don’t joke around like that, someone might think you were proposing.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe in a year or two, unless we’re already married in some wolfy way I don’t know about?”

He grins. “Not unless you want to be.”

“We’ll come back to that later, much later. For now, I’ve got a pile of books that need to be put on high shelves with your name written on them.” You tell him, standing up and stretching, tired of sitting down for so long.

“God, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You expected his werewolf reveal to be more of a shock, but it made so many things about him make sense, things that you had already loved about him. Maybe one day, you and Shanks would leave this town together, to be happy somewhere else. But that's in the future, and today you are content with Shanks picking you up in his arms and peppering your face with kisses.

#daylightarchive #fandom☀️: one piece #character☀️: shanks #one piece x reader #one piece x you #shanks x reader #shanks x you #op x reader #op x you #one piece imagine #one piece imagines #op imagines #sunbathing with: shanks

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may--hawk · 10 days ago

Text

ask for answers (ineffable remix)

Always coming second best / Pictures of my lover’s chest

He nips back into the bookshop to steal the picture. Call it a souvenir. He knows exactly where Aziraphale keeps it: tucked inside a folio of Anthony and Cleopatra, the soppy old git. Crowley’d found it once back in the 1980s when Aziraphale’d left him in charge of the shop - clearly in spite of his better judgement - while the angel had nipped across town to see a man about a manuscript. Crowley had gone snooping, of course, had been drawn towards the book by the faint but persistent sense of sin, of a light angelic oh-no-I-really-mustn’t. He’d expected pornography, or maybe an unpaid tax bill, but not what he’d found. Crowley’d been shocked to find the picture, their startled pale faces staring at the camera, the gun held between them like Tristan’s sword. Crowley had always felt a little responsible for the two of them, Tristan and Iseult. Still, he’d thought, what was it to him? Just a routine temptation, tempt the maidservant to swap the potions and there you had it. Crowley hadn’t understood their plight for the longest time. If they had really wanted to stop loving each other, they would’ve. Wouldn’t have let it take them over.

Ha. Crowley goes into the bookshop, which is already so silent, so empty, just the too-loud ticking of the clock, the creaking of the floorboards under his tread, his own harsh breath. He walks over to the shelf picked out by sunlight, as if illuminated by Heaven itself. The book’s right where it should be, and he pulls it off the shelf and opens it. It falls right open to the photo. Terrible for books, he knows, keeping things in them like this, if Aziraphale’d told him once he’d told him a dozen times, so why then did Aziraphale do it? He pulls the photo out, his fingers trembling slightly. It’s a gut punch to see the photo worn smooth as if touched often, its corners chipped off, soft and frayed. Like everything Aziraphale’s ever loved. Like Crowley, who has become soft, losing himself at the edges to Aziraphale.

Muriel says something behind him, then, and he turns, badly startled. He wipes the dust from his eyes, shoves the picture into his inside jacket pocket, and leaves the shop. He gets in the Bentley, his patient steadfast steed, and drives until he can’t anymore, until he’s hit the sea. That’s what everything comes down to on this Someone-forsaken island, isn’t it? The sea’d done Tristan and Iseult in, too. Crowley cuts the headlights. It’s dusk, night coming on, and the air from the sea is cold and briny, rising up to him where he stands on the cliff above. How many seas have they been on, in, across, separated by? The sea below is dark and inscrutable. He could miracle himself across it, if he wanted to. But where too? He’s tired, too tired for miracles of that kind, too tired to try anymore. He’d still just end up right where he started.

He can feel Aziraphale up in Heaven even now. He takes the picture out of his pocket and looks at it again. They stare, caught out, frozen in time. The photo flutters in the breeze like some ridiculous flag. A white flag, a surrender. Crowley snaps his fingers, miracles a stone from the beach below into his other hand. He’s got half an idea to tie the photo to the rock, to throw it into the sea so he never has to look at it again. A parody of Aziraphale’s tantrum with the holy water note. Crowley thinks he understands it, now.

“Why?” he asks, looking up. The sky is darkening and deepening to purple, the stars revealed impossibly far away. A gull cries. He might as well be asking the sea for all the answers he gets. But it doesn’t matter. No one’s ever answered his questions, not really. Besides, he knows why. Crowley looks down at the rock he’s still holding, all smooth edges he’s gliding his thumb along. The sea, of course. It chips the edges off everything, smooths everything out, until it’s utterly transformed. And the sea’s always there, isn’t it? Deep and unfathomable. All kinds of things going on down there out of sight. He’d been down there, once, trying to recover the ark of the covenant from a shipwreck. Long story. It had been so silent down there, so dark, and all around him, a pressure, a heaviness, which had whispered to him stay down there forever. You don’t have to come back up. But of course he did. There’s no running from things, not forever, is there? Eventually, you run out of time, of space, of places to go.

Crowley tosses the rock into the sea. He listens, but doesn’t hear it hit. He clutches the photo in his other hand, nearly crumpling it, then slips it in his pocket again, presses his hand against his chest, as if to remind himself it’s there. The wind picks up, growing colder, riffling his hair, his jacket, making his eyes water.

He sits down on the cliff edge, arms around his knees. It’s as good a place to wait as any.

Some background on Tristan and Iseult and the rest of the mixtape can be found on AO3.

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens mixtape #aziraphale/crowley #ineffable husbands

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solitaireships · 1 year ago

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❓️ for the prompt meme (one of my favorite emojis tbh) - effiesaude

Emoji prompts: ❓ - “is this what you want?”

This prompt is now officially the longest thing I've written for on here, so thank you for the suggestion @orlz! I ended up going with Alexander for this, tho I did consider using Bruce for a bit bcs I associate that emoji with him a lot lol

Rating: G

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2033 words

Content warning: Mentions of plagues/epidemics

Divider by newlips (who apparently deactivated, but I have the link to the post with the dividers)

The sound of a bell ringing draw’s Xenia’s attention away from the monotony of reviewing shipping details at the counter of her bookshop. The work day is drawing to an end, and with that there always seems to be fewer people stopping by the bookshop. She doesn’t mind the break— there are always plenty of customers around lunch. But as her shift draws closer and closer to ending, a final push to keep herself from getting too tired is appreciated.

And it’s even more appreciated when she sees none other than Alexander walking in.

“General,” Xenia greets with a nod.

“Detective,” he replies.

“Give me just ten more minutes.”

“Take all the time you need.”

He says that, but Xenia knows that time is a precious commodity. For the two of them, she would argue that it’s even more precious.

Xenia had thought that Alexander and his troops would leave after the Polyhedron fell. They had only come here to help deal with the Sand Pest. She had expected that they would leave after it had been dealt with, going off towards another military campaign. Especially with the commander at their head— everyone knows about Alexander Block, how he rose through the ranks to become a general younger than anyone had before. Big things were supposed to be ahead of him.

And yet he got sent to a dying town. He was sent to a village ravaged by a plague, with no medical team sent along with him to lend a hand. Sent with troops who planned a mutiny against him, left to solve a problem with no clear solution. It feels like too much of an oversight to have been an actual mistake, but as much as Xenia loves to pull at the threads of a mystery, trying to prove some grand conspiracy is beyond the scope of her amateur detective work.

Regardless, Alexander’s time in the Town-on-Gorkhon is far from what anyone could have expected it to be. With it already being outside of what’s expected, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that the general decided to stay in town after the Polyhedron came down.

He’s kinder than Xenia would have expected from a man nicknamed General Ashes. He didn’t want to leave the town to heal on its own, left to pick up the pieces after an unimaginable tragedy. Not all of his troops were happy about the decision to stay in town, and neither were all of the town’s citizens.

But at the end of the day, Xenia thinks that this will be for the best. When someone’s recovering from a sickness, others can help with the healing process. She doesn’t see a reason why things should be different for a town recovering from an illness.

Though she might be biased in wanting Alexander to stay here. That was another surprising thing that came from him staying in town these past couple of months.

Xenia had expected a lot of things from Alexander, but the last thing that she had expected was that she would start dating him. And for once not being able to predict things isn’t terrifying. Caring for him is one surprise she doesn’t dislike.

Xenia finishes putting the store’s earnings away for the day, locking it up in a vault built into the floor behind her counter. When she gets back up, Alexander is standing by the shop’s door like he’s keeping guard, making sure that no one can come in to interrupt the closing process.

He’s affectionate in his own way. Xenia can appreciate that. She knows she doesn’t show she cares in the most traditional ways either.

“I should be ready to go when you are,” Xenia says.

“You’re getting faster at that,” Alexander notes as she makes her way over to join him by the door.

“I’m trying to make the best of my time,” she says.

After all, her time with Alexander is limited. The Powers That Be will always demand more of him, and the Capital will always find a way to keep him busy. He can’t be the town’s guardian forever.

Xenia and Alexander have about a month left together. Twenty-seven days including today— Xenia has been keeping track. She has to make sure she savors every moment she has with him.

Xenia has never had much experience with relationships. She’s not the best with people in general. She’s good at studying them— figuring out how they work from a distance. But when it comes to getting close to them, she’s always struggled.

And yet she managed to grow close to Alexander over the course of these last few months. Closer than she has been with anyone, really. She’s dated people twice before, but it wasn’t like this. She’s never fallen this hard or fast before.

Xenia hates that she finally found someone she could see herself spending the rest of her life with, and things between them could end so soon. Maybe they can try to make things work even while he’s away. She’s always been a problem solver first and foremost, and she’s come up with a couple of ideas for how they could keep their relationship alive while they’re apart.

But she’ll make the time she has left with Alexander last.

Xenia will miss getting to go on walks with him like this though. Usually they talk, but today they’re quiet. Still they match steps with each other, the cold winter air from the steppe making Xenia wish she still had a face mask on her. But without that to provide any warmth she inches closer to Alexander so their arms brush against each other.

Neither of them usually like public displays of affection. It feels awkward to know people could see them being close like this. The town knowing that they’re in a relationship is different from being able to see it, so they try not to do any more than hold hands in public.

But Alexander doesn’t shy away from Xenia now. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, keeping her close. It’s sweet, something that’s usually reserved for private moments between the two of them.

“You’re warm,” Xenia compliments.

“Thank you,” Alexander says.

They keep going in silence for a while. The streets of the town are confusing to most, but Xenia’s memorized the flow of them. They’re curving and uneven, cutting odd paths more like something you’d see in biology than city planning. But there’s something about them that helps Xenia to think.

Mainly she tends to think about the future. The things she thinks of now aren’t as bleak as they used to be. But she keeps having thoughts of Alexander being there with her— maybe one day moving in, staying with her and being there for her like no one has before. Through birthdays and holidays and all of the unpleasant things that inevitably come with the passage of time.

Things won’t work out that well. They don’t usually for her. But Xenia can’t stop thinking about staying with Alexander, about him staying a part of her life for as long as possible.

They need to talk about things. Xenia hates doing that. But they need to.

“You leave at the end of the month,” Xenia says. It sounds too sudden, but it’s a good enough start to the conversation.

Alexander nods. “I do.”

“We should talk about that.”

Xenia doesn’t like the thought of looking at Alexander right now, so she focuses on the streets ahead of her. They’re winding with uneven cobblestones, and along the path she sees some twyre growing, somehow persisting despite it being out of season.

“What do you want to do?” she asks.

“What I’d like would be to continue dating you. But the distance makes things complicated. I don’t want to subject you to that,” Alexander says.

“Right.”

At least it’s nice to know that he wishes they could stay together too. It doesn’t stop the ache in Xenia’s chest at the thought that this conversation may lead to them breaking up.

Maybe she should give up. But she’s never been good at doing that. She’s always been desperate to find a way to make things work with everything.

“But maybe first we could see how things go while you’re away,” Xenia says, glancing towards Alexander out of the corner of her eyes.

“As in?” he questions.

“As in we don’t break things off and try to make things work from a long distance,” she says.

Alexander frowns. It’s hard to tell if he thinks the idea is bad or if he’s worried that Xenia’s just saying that because it’s what he’d want to hear. She’s pretty sure it’s the latter.

“Is this what you want?” Alexander asks after a moment. “I’ll be away for months.”

“I know.”

And that’s a thought that Xenia hates. She wishes that she could keep him here with her. The town is safer than any battlefield would be, and she’d be able to see his pretty face everyday.

Alexander has responsibilities. Xenia knows that. She can’t be selfish and demand he stay. But she wishes she didn’t have to lose him. Not when she’s finally found a relationship that she thinks could last.

“But I still want to be with you,” Xenia says. “We can write letters until you’re able to visit on leave. If you want to come here anyway.”

“I would like that. Though I’m not sure that I’m as gifted as you are with letter writing,” Alexander says.

“You can’t be that bad. And either way, I’ll like hearing from you.”

And, most importantly, getting letters from him will reassure her that he’s safe and alive.

“I’ll like hearing from you too,” Alexander says. “I like you a lot, angel.”

It takes Xenia a second to process that he said the last part in English. His words are a little awkward and stilted— he’s clearly still getting the hang of the language.

“You— that was English,” Xenia manages to force out when she remembers she should speak.

“It needs some work,” Alexander admits. “But you’ve always spoken to me in my native tongue. I thought you’d appreciate it if someone learned yours.”

Xenia struggles to find her words more now than she did when she thought they were going to break up. This might be the kindest thing someone has ever done for her, and she doesn’t think that Alexander even realizes how important this is. They haven’t said I love you to each other yet, but this conveys the idea just with different words. It feels like a commitment, like he’s saying he’s here for the long haul. Like maybe the thoughts Xenia had of settling down together in the future might be possible.

“Thank you,” Xenia says. “I— how much have you learned?”

“Not much. I’ve been practicing for a week. Mostly more, ah, romantic phrases. I hoped to surprise you,” Alexander says.

Xenia rests her hand on his back. “It was a really good surprise. Would you understand me if I said, you’re the handsomest man I’ve ever met?”

“I… understood the end.”

Xenia supposes she should have guessed he was more focused on learning ways to compliment her than to respond to her own flirtations.

“How about you’re very pretty?” she tries.

Alexander’s cheeks redden and Xenia’s pretty sure it’s not just from the cold. “Thank you.”

“You have a cute accent,” Xenia says with a laugh, leaning closer into him.

“Your accent speaking Russian is very cute,” he replies, quick as ever to try to turn the compliment back on to her.

“Thank you. I could help teach you more English if you wanted. Maybe I can give you some lessons in our letters.”

“I would appreciate it,” Alexander says. He holds her even closer with his arm as they turn down a narrower street, like he's trying to keep her fused to his side. “I really do like you a lot.”

“I like you a lot too,” Xenia promises. It’s not quite an I love you, but it’s close enough. And for once it’s easy to think that she could stay like this, feeling happy and loved, forever.

#my writing #asks #safeship #selfship fic #orlz #thank you for the prompt!#🔎 Xenia #🎖️#🎖️ doomed by the narrative

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0ffurself · 1 year ago

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Hiiii good omens request! So basically reader is a Uni student but the uniforms are VERY similar to the ones they have in heaven so when they enter the bookshop both crowley and Az are freaking the fuck out. They then realize they see them almost everywhere now and fully believe they’re a spy but it’s just a major coincidence. They get close to them to see if they are an Angel (they aren’t) and so in the end they get a (unofficial) child.

The angel child

(slight angst, screaming, fighting. Little bit of blood, alcohol and glass)

Your pov:

You had just gotten out of School. You were tired and wanted to go home. But you knew if you went home you wouldn't get the chance to study. Plus you needed a certain book to study for a history test you have coming up.

You slung your back pack over your shoulder and walk down the street, away from her school. You try and think of any places you could find the book you need. When you clear your mind you realize you are already at 'give me coffee or give me death'coffee shop.

You don't ever go in the coffee shop but you use that as a checkpoint almost, letting you know you are almost home. You look around to cross the street and notice a bookshop. Once you see it you try and tell yourself you didn't need to go to the shop, but you know did need to. You cross the street and enter the shop, immediately you feel comfortable. The smell of old books and the warm feeling.

Your shoulders drop and your not as tense.

Aziraphale's pov:

They hear the bell ding and peek out from a back room to see who it was. They saw you and froze, they glance up and down at your white, almost light grey uniform.

"Crowley" they mutter, scared it's an angel. Although they doesn't recognize you they know you could still be an angel. They pop into the room with Crowley again.

"I think there is an angel in the bookshop!" Aziraphale says, slow and comprehendible.

"what?!" Crowley peeks their head out and looks at you, looking at a shelf of books. They pop back into the back room and faces Aziraphale. "what could they possibly want?" They complain.

Your pov:

You scan at the books. You don't mean to but you catch yourself trying to listen to the conversation. You hear a man speaking in a worried tone and the other in an annoyed almost angered tone.

You feel you might have walked in on something so you believe you better leave. Maybe search for the book another time. You walk towards the door of he shop and open it.

"sorry" you mumble out, you know the men can't hear you but you still feel you should say it.

You exit the bookshop and start heading home.

Aziraphale's pov:

They peer out to look at you again and sees you are gone. Neither of them heard the bell go off when the door opened so that gave them even more reason to think you are an angel.

"they are gone." They say, a bit confused.

"gone?" Crowley asks, wondering why someone (or an angel) would come into the shop for maybe 5 minutes then leave. Not even having looked at all of the shelves.

"just... Gone." They exclaims.

(time skips about 2 weeks)

Aziracrow pov (both of them):

They had seen you many times over the weeks. All around the same time of day in the same uniform.

At the park, in the shop, everywhere basically. They were scared. They wondered who you are, they needed to know.

You had been in the shop very recently though. Grabbing the same book and hiding in a corner, reading a chapter or three almost everyday. (The book for the history test)

Crowley's pov:

They were driving around town in the Bentley.

They happen to drive past the school as you leave for the afternoon. They watch you, and a big group of other kids dressed exactly like you, leave the building. They scan the building and it feels like they just let a weight of their chest.

They laugh and speed towards the bookshop.

Aziraphale's pov:

"so they are just a student?" Aziraphale questions, relaxing a bit.

"mhmm" Crowley reassures

"and it is just a school uniform?" Aziraphale asks

"yes angel, everything is fine" Crowley reassures once again. Spread out on a couch in the back.

Aziraphale hears the bell ring and walks out so see who it is. They see you and smiles "hello, Welcome!" They say in a warm tone.

(time skip)

Your pov:

You have came to the bookshop alot lately. Aziraphale was very friendly to you, they even helped you study for the test. (which you miraculously aced. Considering you are not very good at history)

They even recommended you books to sit and read some days. You even started coming over more than just after school, meaning you weren't always in your uniform when you came to the shop.

Though when you wore your uniform it always gave Aziraphale a small spook. You didn't know why but you could tell it did.

You had been sittig in your room for about an hour, doing homework and you heard he front door of the house slam. You ignored it, not wanting to set your dad off.

You hear your mom whine and complain at him then it escalates to yelling and screaming. You hear something break and then another. Your trying to hold back tears as you put your shoes on.

You put shoes on as tears stream down your cheek. You open your door and try to walk to the front door without being noticed.

"where are you going?" You hear your dad slur

"somewhere!" You snap back

"no your not" he slurs

"yes I am-" you start to say, your cut off by the sound of breaking glass. You turn to see a broken bottle and liquid on the floor.

You feel your arm get slightly cold. You look down and see blood, not a lot, very little actually dripping down your arm. You look up at your dad who's attention has already faded to the tv Infront of him.

You take the chance and run out of the house. Your run until you get to the bookshop. You walk in, tears running down your face. You try and wipe your tears before Aziraphale sees them but it's to late. As soon as you enter the shop they sees you, and your tear filled face.

You try and hide your arm behind your back, it's not really bleeding anymore. You run up and hug them. You say nothing, you just hug them.

"my dear, what has happened?!" They say, worried. They notice your arms hidden behind your back.

You explain everything, the fighting, your dad's drinking. Everything you needed off your shoulders, in the heat of speaking you mention your arm. When you realize you had spoken about it you stop and hope they didn't hear you.

Aziraphale's pov:

They look at your arm and gently places their hand on your wrist. Pulling your arm towards them so they can look at it. Just a normal cut, with very little glass in it.

They lead you to a back room and starts working on your arm. They get the glass out and cleans the wound. They put a bandage on it, even though it's not bleeding anymore, just to be safe.

"is that any better?" They ask.

Your pov:

"yes, thank you" you say with a nod. Aziraphale stands up and turns to you.

"would you care for some hot cocoa?" They offer to you.

You nod and they walk out of the room. As you sit in the room you look down at your arm. You look back up to see Crowley Infront of you. They don't say anything, they just sit beside you.

You look at crowley and then your gaze runs around the room, you take in all of the homely decorations. Aziraphale walks in and hands you a cup of hot chocolate. You take a sip, and it is the beat thing you have ever tasted.

Aziraphale sits across from you and crowley on a chair. You relax and take another sip of the hot chocolate. You feel at home and relax, your shoulders dropping.

Once you finish your hot chocolate you set the cup on a table beside the couch your on. You lay your head back and close your eyes. You smile and doze off on the couch.

You were at home.

(sorry if it's not amazing. I tried, I hope you enjoy it <3)

🐍

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens #school #uniform #angel #white #demon #child reader #home #angst ig #idk

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kat-wren-writes · 2 years ago

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Hello Tumblr!!!

I've written a little short story anthology (mostly fantasy/science fiction) with an independent publishing group! I think the stories are pretty good (unbiased). Pls buy it here so I can get paid (I cannot get money until I make at least $500).

(i also understand if you can't buy it so deadass if you DM me I'll just send you the PDF of my manuscript for free)

Below is the first short story in the collection for a little sample!

Bookshop

The souls of butterflies smell the nicest.

They’re small sparkling puffs of memories: simple moments of flying amongst emerald blades of grass and stopping at the small daisies between. Their souls don’t stink of death.

Most human souls smell so strongly of death that it blankets everything else about them. They can’t stop speaking, can’t stop bleeding regrets, bleeding losses until their stories turn pale and hollow. I usually try to catch a few of their memories before they go rotten.

I carry a decade’s worth of good stories in butterfly silk and daisies, grasping them by the beginnings with swirls of wind. There’s someone I must share them with and a place I must go back to, so I float along, pulling the stories behind me.

I arrive at the small town’s dock. They’ve carved the wooden sign into intricate designs to cover up the cracks, and they’ve replaced the old arcade games with vending machines. Seaside shops glow with shiny new trinkets and bright lights, so unlike the old bait shops from decades before. Still, the scent of wanderlust lingers softly over the younger sailors, a thick, nearly opaque fog prodding at their rosy cheeks and stinging their hope-filled eyes. The fog catches sight of me and settles.

His name is Warren. He used to like telling stories of the sea. I settle on the wooden planks beside him.

“It’s all over,” He says to me in lieu of a hello, looking out across the shore. “I s’ppose I can go anywhere I want, eh?”

“I guess so,” I reply absently. I gather swirls of clouds from the sky and drag them closer to the sea, feeling them turn to ocean mist and fall away from my grasp. I didn’t come here to speak to Warren. He doesn’t say very much anymore.

“You can too, boy.”

“Suppose so.” I smell Warren’s wistfulness spilling into the cool sea air. Grimacing, I pull a gust from the waves.

The wind whistles through us, and I feel like Warren’s narrowing his eyes at me. Which is stupid. He doesn’t have eyes.

“Where d’ya think I should go?” He asks me, his voice coarse, as if every word drags its way across a gravel road.

I don’t say anything, but I listen.

“Yer right, kinda. Nowhere left to go, really. Spent my whole life going and learning and not enough time coming back and knowing. I learned so many languages, saw so many things all over the world.” His whisper was hoarse. “Thought myself a deep man. Thought experience made ya complex, made ya better. Turns out I just skimmed the surface. I learned things, but I never stuck around long enough to really get them.”

I relax my thoughts for a while, letting them spread out in the wind, floating above rooftops and feeling the scent of salty, ocean-chilled air wash through me. It’s the feeling of Warren, of the ocean and a stinging in the air, a thick, thick atmosphere that wraps around and crushes you.

Warren will never tell me how he died. I don’t need to ask. His hazy memories hang around him like a cement noose, and he constantly floats in himself, in that sickening sludge.

In the distance, I see a gust of sky blue memories rise from a tree.

“You think that was a bluejay?” Bird souls are always hard to differentiate, all of them lilting and free and colored with memories of clouds and treetops.

“What’s a bluejay?” Warren asks, sounding tired. He always seems tired. “Been dead for a while. I only remember the important things now.”

I frown, or I try to, anyway. I’ve been here far longer than Warren, but I suppose it’d be rude to point that out.

A cruel part of me wants to scoff, wants to ask him what “important things” he remembers and point out that every “important thing” is just a different regret, that he’d keep forgetting everything besides the regrets he holds so dear and eventually dissolve into the atmosphere, his final breath just another wheeze of self-pity.

Instead, I ask, “What do I smell like?”

Warren sighs. “I don’t remember the name of it.”

I seep in Warren’s soul for a second longer. Sometimes, Warren’s stories are vibrant: memories of foreign festivals and the joy of docking and traveling and the peace of the sea. With every passing day, Warren seems to sail further away from those stories. I reenact them in pictures in the clouds and shapes in the wind. If I forget, no one will remember.

Hours pass. The ocean below my foggy companion calms, and I clear the sky to match. There’s time to spare yet before I need to meet with my friend.

It’s a lovely day to go to the park.

I watch children tackle each other in a race to climb to the top of the jungle gym, muddy sneakers squeaking on the painted metal. The colors of the playground are bright, but the eyes of the children are brighter.

A child slips and scrapes his knee on the ground beneath. A soft soul named Jolie kisses the wound, sending a warm puff of wind over teary eyes and bloody legs.

“That was nice of you,” I say.

“Oh.” Her voice sounds quieter than it used to be. Colder, too. “Hello, dear. Thank you. I do what I can. Sit with me, sit with me. Just for a second.”

She ushers careful autumn breezes through the sun-kissed hair of a freckled little girl. She’d usually whisper short stories about each child as they skipped up to their parents to leave, but today she’s silent. I remember her stories for her.

I swirl them together in the sky: the pink of a doll’s ripped tutu, the purple of a small bruise, the blue of the old plastic slide.

“A sunset? Oh, darling, for me?” Jolie sounds like she’s smiling.

It doesn’t make it easier.

“So you know, then, don’t you?” Jolie’s voice gets quieter.

It’s dumb, that it doesn’t get easier, no matter how many times it happens.

“I’m fading.”

“I know.” I force my voice through a sharp hiss of wind. Where Jolie used to feel like memories of fondness at first words and delight at first steps, she’s now just the cold feeling of a hospital and an unnatural fullness, like an IV pumping a body swollen. She’s cold. Not refreshing-cold, but prickly cold, like cold alcohol sterilizing skin and leaving shivers and uncertainty in its transparent track.

“You’d think an old woman like me would be alright with passing. But I can’t stop thinking about it.” Her voice sounds like the soft beep of a machine.

“I know.” I refuse to look at her.

“I’m forgetting. Rather quickly, too.”

“Yeah.”

“In a hospital. In a hospital, I died. Nasty business, that. They really should’ve just kept me at home,” she sighs wistfully, pausing. The pink and orange sky spills onto the playground in front of us. “Did I have a son? I don’t remember anymore.”

“His name is Cody. You liked the way his hair was in a perfect little blonde cowlick when he was born.” The words feel like they rip me apart as I say them.

“Oh yes, that’s right, isn’t it? I would’ve liked to see his kids.” Jolie is looking at the sunset. Or, I hope she is. I hope she isn’t looking at me. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“For what?” I ask, but I know.

She chuckles. “When I first came here, you told me not to get too caught up in my death, or I’d start to fade. Grief is powerful. Endings are powerful. So powerful they swallow up the rest of the story. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay with you longer, dear. Or, maybe not ‘dear,’ maybe ‘old friend’ would be better.”

“‘Dear’ is perfectly fine,” I reply, and I feel like Jolie is smiling at me.

I cradle purple and pink clouds in the sunset above. Jolie watches on in cold silence. She reeks of death, but I don’t try to fight it.

“How long do you reckon you’ll stay for, dear?” Jolie asks softly.

As long as butterfly souls continue to flutter from green fields. As long as new people join me, with stories too big for them to hold forever.

“I’ll stay as long as stories need to be told.” I paint Jolie’s stories in the sky.

“And you? What about your story? I never asked.” There’s more regret in her voice, and it clings to me, bitter and cold.

“Mine doesn’t have an ending. Not one I know, anyway. No ending then, no ending now.” My admission hangs in the air. Jolie is silent, waiting, so I continue. “I was a young kid. Didn’t have any regrets, didn’t have any grief. I just… chased birds and ran in fields of reeds and caught butterflies. I didn’t have an ending. I just fell asleep… in a garden… all dandelions.”

“Is that what you smell like? Dandelions? You kept asking.” Jolie sounds tired.

“Yeah.”

“What’s a dandelion?”

“It’s a type of—” I cut myself off. “Forget it.”

“I will, dear,” Jolie’s voice is the most somber I’ve ever heard it. “I will.”

We both turn towards the sunset, watching the rising darkness wring Jolie’s stories dry. The night brings a chill in the air, and by the time I turn away from the sky, Jolie’s warmth is nowhere to be found.

“Goodbye, old friend,” I whisper.

There’s no response.

I collect Jolie’s forgotten stories from the sky, and I continue on, floating past an emptier playground and waiting for the cold night to pass over me. When the morning comes, I’ll meet my friend. Even so, the fluorescent light of the quiet streets feels just a bit lonely.

I watch the sun rise over a small bookshop with crooked letters hanging above the door. The bell doesn’t chime as I come in, and the door doesn’t creak.

The dusty old shelves are filled to the brim with books, arranged in crooked and disorganized shapes. Piles of books lie in small mounds, their spines worn and their ink faded. Streams of sunlight flutter through the blinds and flecks of dust dance in the light, floating around the shop like small stars.

In the mesmerizing dances of these unsung stars, I find a familiar soul, shaping the settled dust into hearts and pictures on the covers of books.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Hello, hello hello! You’re a bit late! I’ve been waiting weeks!” Leo greets me enthusiastically. I continue to look down the aisles, checking for new marks in the worn shelves and new spines in the rows of novels. “‘Good morning Leo, it’s been a decade. I missed you ever so dearly, Leo, how are you?’ Why thank you, Julian, it’s so nice of you to ask.”

“I didn’t ask—”

“Yes, well I’ve actually been getting quite a tad frustrated with people while I’ve been waiting for you in this bookshop. A lot of adults have this awful tendency to start a book and skip straight to the end. It’s a waste, is what it is. Shameful, honestly. A travesty, an absolute insult—!”

“Get to the point, Leo, please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely. I’ve started thinking recently — well, sometime in the past decade — about what exactly makes us fade, and here’s what I’ve come up with. Adults fade. Children don’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“Think about it, Julian. Children have the terrible tendency of getting bored with a book after reading its first chapters. So do adults, but adults have the even more terrible tendency to skip to the end anyway, just to see how it turns out. Children hop from one beginning to the next, completely content without an ending. Adults are obsessed with endings, and it swallows them whole.” Leo begins to get worked up, and the dust from the covers of old books and crooked shelves rises into the morning sun, swirling above me.

I tend to entertain Leo’s theories, even if I don’t completely believe them.

“Are you and I still children, then?”

“Yeah,” Leo hums. “I mean, what makes a kid a kid? Maybe it’s not the ignoring of an ending, but just the quiet belief in a happy ending.”

The words still me. Leo allows me a rare moment of silence. In the distance, I see a gust of sky blue memories rise from a tree.

“You think I believe in happy endings?” I finally look at Leo.

“I don’t know, do you?”

I think about the old stories I hold close to me, about Jolie’s memories of holding her children for the first time, about Warren’s memories of diving into icy water and feeling the thrill of the sea in his blood. They’re snapshots of life, small bursts of joy. I only tell the butterfly stories of human souls.

I love those stories, and I love the souls they came from. When the soul fades, I wish them farewell, and it’s lonely, but it’s not grief.

“Is it wrong to?” I ask.

“The opposite, I think.” Leo laughs. “I think people should believe in happy endings, regardless of whether they exist or not. Everyone should. It makes the journey so much more fun. It’s sad, that somewhere, when you aren’t looking, you grow up and you stop believing. Then again, you and I didn’t exactly get to grow up. Thank God for that.” Leo is smiling at me.

I grin back.

“Thank God we didn’t grow up,” Leo repeats.

There are only stories, wisps of experiences and emotions that are greater than themselves. All we can do is stand idly by, catching what charming willows of life we can. There are no gods here.

“Thank God,” I reply anyway.

“So? Julian, what do I smell like on this fine, fine day?” Leo does a complicated twirl, and the movement flips the weary yellowed pages of the open books surrounding him.

It’s our test, a simple question to check our memories of small stories, of bird souls and butterfly souls and meadows, of “important things.”

The familiar feeling of Leo drapes over me, warm and inviting.

“Apple cinnamon.” I snort. “I cannot believe your last memory is just some pie.”

Leo is beaming anyway. “And you still smell as flowery and dandelion-y as ever, Julian. Now, do you want to go first, or shall I? I’ve had an absolutely wild decade, absolutely insane.”

“As if you’re the only one with stories, Leo,” I say, settling myself in a corner of the bookstore. There is a decade of stories to trade, and forever to trade them.

A small bookshop in a small town is one of the only places that doesn’t smell like death. The scent of apple pie sticks to some of the old novels, and the scent of dandelions seems to be painted on every shelf, even if there are no customers to notice it.

This story is my favorite: a young teenager with bags under his bright eyes, dressed in old ratty jackets, climbs on shelves and reads books covered in dust. I sit on the carpet, listening to him narrate classics in terrible accents and offer rambling commentary. We collect scenes we like, little paragraphs of inked joy on old pages, and ignore everything else.

Two children in a room with infinite stories, forever.

...

DM me for the full manuscript! But also please consider buying the book here!

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confusedbreadbox · 2 months ago

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As someone whose main activity is phone in bed, this just isn't true. It's easier to stay in bed. A lot of us are tired. And a lot of things do cost money.

But if you look, there's free things to do. Free events, clubs, intramural sports, libraries do stuff too.

Or some things that cost a little money but not much. Cafes and bars often have poetry nights, karaoke nights, trivia nights. $10 for a latte or a pint to get out of the house for a couple hours.

If you've got a local bookshop, they might have a bookclub. Meetup has a lot of groups doing free activities. Eventbrite too. Check the subreddit for your city/town/county & see if ppl have recommendations for free/cheap things happening.

City govs sometimes do stuff too. A couple of smaller cities I used to live in would do free movie screenings in a park.

I promise there's more than you think it just takes some effort to find! Free events don't have the marketing budget that for-profit companies do, so they're gonna be harder to find without effort.

It sucks that they got rid of every activity. It’s only phone in bed now. They got rid of everything else

#and if you live in a town of 300 ppl then this advice obv isnt for u sorry my guy #community #hobbies #third spaces

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whaleji · 2 years ago

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girlblogging like kafka ; entry 3

today was sunny. i went to the asian coast. had to take the ferry, was very nice. the way back was more complicated as we got lost and the boat was very crowded. i liked the bohemian atmosphere of the place we went to. unexpectedly, it was more like everything i know than the european part of town. i saw pubs and bookshops for the first time since we arrived in Istanbul. I wish i didn't have to be born so I wouldn't have to constantly choose whether to live or to die. because life also has its good sides ; like those shows i like and those paintings i could stare at for hours and those books that make me someone else in the span of an hour and those people with their golden smiles and all those times my breath takes as something manages to give life its shine back. mainly i'm exhausted; i wake up tired and drag myself through endless days. i'll be fine. maybe all this time i'm wasting i'll regret in the future, when i'm unable and bitter. maybe a tragedy lies ahead of me ; an earthquake or a mass shooting or an abduction or poison or pollution or cancer or necrosis or a bad fall or a severed limb or sudden blindness. maybe i shouldn't spend so much time lying there miserable and maybe i should try getting better. put actual effort into it. but i won't. i won't because it paradoxically feels good to lie in my own puddle of self loathing and despair, rotting inside my bed and crying.

or maybe i will. maybe life isn't so bad sometimes. looking at the stars tonight made me think about my own mortality, and it made me grateful to be able to live a life in which i can see the sky and walk freely about the world. somehow, at least. i'm grateful to live a life in which i can eat dinner on a boat sometimes and relax in the hot weather and never suffer from hunger. i gave food to a homeless child yesterday and the rawness in his eyes made me feel like he'd lived ten lives already while i hadn't lived yet my own. so maybe i'll try to get better. because how entitled would i be not trying to get better and wallowing in my own fabricated pain when everything is well and good in my life ? how entitled would i be complaining about being in pain when i'm part of the few lucky people that live on the right side of earth, that have the worthiest passports and that thrive on half of the world's misery ? maybe i'll try to get better for everyone that i love, my cat, my friends, my family, nice strangers on the street; for the rainy afternoons spent reading under a cover, for time spent talking with friends in cosy cafés, for evenings at the movie theater.

anyways, miss my cat. saw his doppelgänger today. was disturbing. thought about how almost all pet owners love their pets, despite them having different personalities and quirks you can't choose beforehand, like with people. however people are much more inclined to accept these coming from an animal than humain beings, somehow. and that makes me wonder : what if i had chosen another kitten from the litter ? would i love them as much as i love the one i call Vladimir ? his name was chosen before his adoption, so that hypothetical kitten would also be called Vladimir. do i really love him or do i love the idea of a cat called Vladimir ? i miss him. his furry face and his mean eyes that glare all day long. his cute and sharp teeth and the way he rolls on his back when he wants belly rubs.

sometimes i feel like i'm inwardly zooming out of my existence and see myself from an omniscient point of view. right now, for example, i'm a teenage girl sitting on a bed in a four bunks room within a shabby hotel within a neighborhood within a city within a country within a continent within earth within our galaxy within the universe. if i think hard enough i can be the man next door watching the news while peeling himself bits of an apple with his rusted knife, or the little girl playing uno with her brother in the room below. yet in the end my body calls me back to my own neutral existence by the ache stemming in my belly and the tightness of my heart.

#spilled ink #girlblogging #spilled thoughts #franz kafka #writerscorner #writing

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starsofmilos · 3 years ago

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Pacify (Adrian Chase x witch reader)

Synopsis: The team realized you need Adrian as much as he needs you.

AHHH I just got too excited for the concept of witch reader going berserk thinking Adrian died and I know a lot of you were excited too! So technically no one requested it, but here I am! I hope yall enjoy.

Witch Masterlist

Warnings: cursing, angst, mental break down, sad Adrian, mentions of death, magic, witch craft

“Y/N there are three things you must understand as a member of this family.” Your aunt forced you to sit so you could listen to her.

You had just moved to Gotham with your aunt for the year. The bullying at school was getting bad especially by Gut Chase.

He made fun of you for liking his younger brother.

Your family had been born into a line of witches and your great grandmother had made a deal with a demon forging your families blood with a demon. You were the last one born in your blood line with the demon blood.

Rumors of you being different weren’t anything new to you. You were use to the kids at school picking on you, but as you grew older the towns people started also joining the kids at school. Calling you a witch, throwing things at you and shunning you.

You’re breaking point was when Gut threatened to tell his younger brother how the weird witch liked him. None of them know if you were really a witch, but your family was known for causing one of the worst depressions to ever hit Evergreen.

“Listen closely to me.” Your aunt reprimanded you for zoning out. You nodded sitting up.

“Look I know why you came here at some point all of us had reached your point. You’re tired, but you must not give up. We are fighters here.” You nodded.

“Mankind has always feared what it doesn’t understand. They will laugh at you because you are different. There may never come a day where they don’t,but we are who we are by the path we choose. You don’t ever let anyone dictate that for you. I promise you the future is worth it. It’s worth all the pain and tears you shed..”

You were seventeen when you moved with your aunt for the year. You never did quite understand what she meant. You didn’t understand it when she said the future was worth it.

You loved the bookshop you opened, but no matter what you did everyone still hated you. They shopped at your store, but never really spoke with you. You didn’t understand what your aunt meant until one fateful night as you walked home you saw a foot sticking out from behind your trash can.

There lied a passed out bleeding Vigilante. You took him in and met Adrian once again shortly after and you finally understood what she meant. Adrian was your future and your future was worth it. Nothing else mattered to you so long as Adrian stuck around.

This led you to today. You woke up with feeling sick. Nauseous and shaky. Something was telling you that trouble was on the way. Adrian was in danger.

“I just have a really bad feeling about this mission!” Adrian hugged you trying to reassure you. “I’ll be okay!”

You groaned nuzzling into his neck. “I just worry..You know I do..” Adrian nodded. “i know. I worry about you all the time too.” You smiled as he kissed your forehead.

“I have a bad feeling. You have your tiger’s eye right?” He nodded. “And the crystal?”

“Yes I do.” “You remember if you’re ever in serious serious trouble-” “Break the crystal and it will notify you.” You kissed him. “Please be safe..” Adrian grinned as he felt you tighten your hold. He’s never really had someone care this much about his well being before.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?-” “No we got it. It’s a really simple mission.”

It was suppose to be a simple mission.

You felt it the very next night. Adrian wasn’t back. He said he’d be back by now. He never lied and was never late. Is he okay?

Why isn’t he calling or messaging at least? He knows how much you worry. Adrian knew to send some sign if he was going to be late, so why wasn’t he?

You tapped your foot impatiently waiting for the door to open or at least for your phone buzz. Neither happened. You sat there all night.

Midnight came, then one, two, three, the next thing you know it was seven in the morning. You were running on zero sleep.

You didn’t want to call in case they were in the middle of the mission. What if your phone call gave them away?

Jumping, you looked seeing Adebayo’s contact name pop up. “Hello!” You answered quickly.

“Y/N hey it’s me Leota?”

“Yeah I know. Is everything okay? Where’s Adrian?” You stood up frantically pacing.

“Um the team didn’t want to tell you in case you worried, but I know if this was my wife I’d want to know...” You stopped hearing her words.

“Leota...where’s Adrian?...” You shook a bit.

“It was a harder mission then we thought-”

“Leota where the fuck is he?” You snapped taking a shaky breath. Your entire body was filled with dread and anger.

“We’re gonna get him back. I promise.” You hung up grabbing your bag. They were gonna hear it from you personally.

Using your magic you pushed the door open barging in looking around. Emilia and John jumped seeing you. “No..” You gasped a bit seeing the helmet in Chris’s hands.

“What happened?” You bit out angrily as Leota walked in. “Y/N calm down let us explain-” Emilia raised her arms. “No screw you. None of you had the balls to call me, so don’t tell me to calm down. Where is Adrian?!”

Chris flinched hearing your voice crack. They all stood silent. “Where is he? Please..tell me..he’s not dea-”

“We don’t know.” Chris spoke up looking up at you. “We can’t give you an answer because we don’t know..” Your legs went wobbly.

“This mission was harder than we thought. I should’ve had you come with us Y/N. I’m sorry..We were all trying to retreat and we lost him. We barely made it back ourselves...we heard him yell for help. They took him...”

“You didn’t try to get him back?!” Adebayo looked away. “There was nothing else we could’ve done-”

“Bull shit! There was so much more you could’ve done. Did any of you even try to fight for him or save him?!”

You looked around seeing all of the sadly look down. “I can’t believe it..None of you tried to go to him..”

“It’s not that we didn’t want too. We had to regroup. Adrian knows this-” You shook your head cutting off Emilia.

“No! No! You all left him! You left him! None of you want to admit it! The sad thing is that..Adrian still would’ve probably fought to get each one of you back! He would’ve risked his life for everyone here! None of you wanted to look for him or try to fight for him?!”

Hot tears fell down your eyes as the room shook and lights flickered. “Y/N calm down-” Leota called out for you.

“You’re all cowards?! All of you should be ashamed! None of you wanted to call me either because you knew I’d blame you! Because it is all of your faults! All of you have treated Adrian like shit-”

“No we don’t-” Chris tried to defend himself and everyone, but was cut off by one of the lights breaking.

“No you do! You’re all always cutting him off! Most of you find him annoying. None of you care enough to actually make sure he isn’t hurt after all the missions! Do any of you have any idea how many times I’ve had to heal him because he brushes off his injuries?! He says his don’t matter and for me to check on all of you! I know the stories from the beginning like how you let him get tortured!”

You glared at Chris. “All of you always brush him off and none of you genuinely care about his opinion! But I never thought you’d all go so far as to leave him behind..I never thought you’d all leave him..You’re all the people he holds close to him..He doesn’t like to admit, but you all mean so much to him..why couldn’t he mean the same to you? His life matters too!” You sobbed out a bit.

Emilia shook a bit teary eyed. “I promise we’re gonna try to find him.” The room stopped shaking, but the lights kept flickering. “I can’t make any promises he’s alive, but we’ll try to find him.” She promised you as you wiped your face.

“You better. All of you better, because he would do the same for all of you. He looks up to each one of you so much and..Adrian is all I have left..Please..” You clutched your chest feeling it tighten. Without another word, you left.

John sighed staring at the helmet. “I’m gonna start trying to find his phone. Emilia start making a plan with Leota. Chris get the weapons ready.” They all nodded.

You were right. They had always been harsh on Adrian, but he still would’ve risked everything to get them back.

You walked down the streets trying to remain still. Everything felt out of place. Nothing felt okay. When you were younger, you had promised yourself to never fall in love. Most of the people in your life never stood for long..

You never thought you’d lose Adrian so fast though. He’s not dead he can’t be..He promised he’d make it home. He always kept his promise.

“Okay I think I found his phone.” John called out as Chris loaded the van. “We’ll head to there first and see were we could go from there.” Emilia called out as Leota stared at a photo of the whole team. Adrian never was taken seriously by any of them..he really did care for them too...

They all sat in the van. No music. No talking. All of them were concentrated and going over how maybe they had been a bit harsh on Adrian. Why didn’t they fight harder to get him back?

You sat in your living room trying to use whatever magic you had to find Adrian. He wasn’t anywhere you could see.

The team had stared in shock finding the crystal you had given Adrian and his tiger’s eye. He never left anywhere without them.

“Guys..I think this means-”John spoke up. “No it doesn’t mean shit!” Chris snapped out. “Vig is tough okay? He has to be around here somewhere and maybe-”

“Guys..” Emilia called out pointing ahead. There was blood covering the floor. A lot of blood. “Fuck..” Chris cursed as he fell down feeling tears rise. Adrian more than likely was dead.

Only he wasn’t.

Adrian had managed to escape the people they had been going after barely. He had accidentally dropped his things while hiding. His leg had been stabbed. He lost a lot of blood, but was alive.

The team looked at each other nodding. “One of us has to tell Y/N..” Emilia kicked the tree cursing. “FUCK!” Leota grabbed her phone. “I’ll call her.”

“Don’t this isn’t something you tell someone over the phone.” John grabbed Adrian’s things. “We all have to talk to her..” He told everyone getting in the van.

You frantically paced the room. Your magic couldn’t find him. You couldn’t find him. Where the hell is Adrian?

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You raced swinging it open seeing John and everyone else. “Guys..where is he?”You looked behind him before noticing something in John’s arms.

You shook seeing the crystal and tiger’s eye. “There was a lot of blood-” “No..” You mumbled out. “No no no!”

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Emilia whispered out to you. “NO!” You fell straight to the floor screaming and crying. “No!!” Chris looked away hearing your cries. The lights in your room all broke as you cried. Leota tried to reach out for you, but you stopped her.

“Don’t touch me!” You snapped out shaking. “Please...all of you leave..” “Y/N-” John tried to speak, but they were all caught off by you. You used your magic pushing them all out.

Two days passed, the team grew worried not hearing a word from you. You had been in the same position since the day they left. Crying in despair on your floor.

This wasn’t right. Adrian was supposed to be with you. He promised. He fucking promised. He said nothing would happen! All that despair was starting to disappear and one thing stood behind.

Sadness.

Adrian was gone. That means you needed to learn to go on without him. There would be no more surprises by him. No more late night cuddles and baking. You were struggling to keep your cool.

Adrian usually helped calmed you in times like these. That single thought broke you.

He would never hold you or tell you he loves you again. A crash downstairs made you jump. You walked down the stairs seeing a group of men destroying your shop once more.

“Looks like the witch finally came down here!” One of them laughed as he used a bat to break a shelf. You stood there with a blank stare on your face.

You tilted your head as they continued trashing your store. “Stop.” You weakly called out. Everything you had been holding in was on the verge of spilling out. You were unstable any minute you were bound to lose it.

“Look she’s alone! That’s not surprising the witch is all alone!!” They laughed beginning to shove you. You fell the floor as they began kicking you.

Adrian. Adrian..

His name kept ringing through your head. These men who were hurting you and destroying your things once again didn’t know the trouble they just put themselves into.

They were just like the terrible people who killed Adrian. They didn’t deserve to live. No one did.

You screamed out releasing an energy blast sending them all flying. Standing up, you turned glaring at them angrily. “Monsters!! You’re all monsters!! You beat down the innocent and take away anything that is dear!!”

“You all took him away!! You took him away!!”They looked in fear as your hands glowed black eyes red.

John looked in confusion getting an alert on his computer. It was from the police. An evacuation alert. A supposed tornado was hitting town. “Guys!”

You threw aside anything that got near you not wanting to hurt anyone. You sobbed in pain from the hits you had taken earlier. Adrian wasn’t here. You were trying to rein it in.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

“STOP!!” You screamed out gripping your hair as voices rang out in your head. “Y/N!” You heard Emilia call out.

“Y/N!! Can you hear me?!!” You shook letting everything out. Your eyes glowed red as you cried. She managed to make it to you reaching out. “Calm down! You’re destroying everything!”

“Harcourt I’m giving you ten seconds to get away! I can’t control it!” “Please calm down! We know it hurts Adrian is gone-”

“Shut up!!! You have no idea how I fucking feel!! You didn’t care for him the way I did!! He was all I fucking had!! You all left him!! You left him!!” You cried out. “Please I don’t want to hurt anyone...Please leave Emilia..Get everyone away from here..”

“I can’t do that. Adrian wouldn’t want us to leave you! You’re in pain! We all deal with pain differently-”

“I am not in pain.”

“Y/N-”

Your sadness started turning into anger. “I am mourning and I am angry! I am so tired of being seen as a monster! They destroyed my shop again! They hurt me again! The one person I loved is gone! I have nothing left Emilia!”

“You have us-”

“No I don’t! I know I don’t!!”

“Y/N we care for you!” You heard Chris yell out approaching.

“We care for you because Adrian did so please-”

“Get out of here Chris! All of you just leave!! Don’t make me have to force you..I can’t control anything!”

They grew scared of you. Your eyes widened seeing Emilia reach for her gun. Your magic was influencing them making them more scared then they should be.

You screeched out using your magic to push them away. “Get away from me!!” You stood up beginning to walk away. “I’m done..I’m tired of trying to be the good person. The world just takes and takes..I have nothing left for you or the world to take.” You left without another word leaving Chris and Emilia laying in shock.

You had gone a rampage destroying anyone who crossed your path as you walked away. This was your true power. The blood of a demon and witch. You casted a spell to stop the team from following you.

You were done hiding your true self. The town was scared seeing the heavy storm outside. They all knew it was secretly you.

‘The witch was angry!’ You had heard someone yell out as you walked far away. Somewhere were you could be alone. The woods.

Adrian had weakly made it back to town heading for the record shop. John patched up Emilia. She had cut her head when you sent her flying. “This is our fault..” Leota sighed as she patched up Chris.

Chris nodded in agreement. “She was right. I was kinda’ve an asshole to Vig.”

“Woah so you admit to being an asshole.” They all looked in shock as Adrian smiled a bit. “Surprise..” He passed out on the floor. They all raced to him helping him up.

“Holy shit..” John whispered in amazement.

Adrian awoke later patched up smiling as everyone stared down in amazement.

“Don’t tell me you all thought I died..Takes a lot more than some randoms kidnapping me.” He coughed a bit as Emilia began patching him up. “We need to get you to Y/N fast.” She began to catch him up.

“Woah...she’s really not there huh?” She nodded. “She’s sad Adrian and she’s quite literally lost it.”

Adrian nodded trying to get up. “She needs me-” “Woah dude she’s not thinking straight. She quite literally fucked up our shit who’s to say she won’t hurt you-” Chris pushed him back down stopping as Adrian pushed his arm away from him.

“I know my girlfriend. She won’t hurt me. She could never hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it by choice. She’s just scared and hurt. I can calm her..Please guys help me get to her.”

You sat by yourself in the woods letting the dark magic destroy the trees and keeping everything else away from you. You cried as you held yourself. You were truly alone. Your aunt was right and wrong.

Mankind fears what it doesn’t understand, but the future was not worth it. You just wanted this pain to go away. Everyone was lucky you left town. You were on the verge of destroying everything around you.

You wanted too. You wanted this time to plan your revenge. You planned on finding the people who killed Adrian and going back to the town that had shunned you.You decided to meditate to help you find the people and to also escape for a bit.

You tilted your head hearing footsteps approach you. Someone was brave enough to come near you. You didn’t want to fight this person. They’d leave eventually. Your magic would push them away eventually..

Only it didn’t.

You tilted your head in confusion. Sighing you raised your hand pushing the person approaching away. They fought back. Adrian groaned a bit trying to get into the bubble you had basically wrapped yourself in.

His wounds throbbed as Chris tried to pull him back. “It’s no use dude! We can’t get in!”

“Y/N!!” Adrian yelled out for you.

You shook your head. He wasn’t really here. They were trying to stop you. Adrian forced his way inside smiling when he saw you. You raised your hands yelping as you were tackled down.

Adrian had stumbled his way to you basically falling on you. “Hi..” He mumbled out into your shoulder enveloping you in a hug. You landed softly on the ground looking at him in shock.

Your bubble fell. The storm had stopped. Everything fell silent all at once. You gripped him tightly gasping for air. Your chest was tight as your actions came back to you. You hurt your friends and hurt people. The town would’ve been probably wiped out had Adrian not gotten here.

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes as Adrian pulled back frowning when he saw the bruises on your arms and peeking a bit under your shirt.

“Who the fuck did this to you?!” He asked angrily looking at Chris.”Who the fuck attacked her?!” He snapped out as you pinched yourself making sure this was real.

It stung.

“Dude none of us hurt her! She was like that when we got to her!” Adrian glared before turning back to see you staring at him in shock trying to breathe. “You okay? The bruises don’t hurt right? I promise I will fucking kill who ever did this to you-” Adrian made a surprise noise as you jumped on him crying into him.

You didn’t really understand it, but you just were happy he was right here. Adrian clutched you tightly fisting his hand into your hair. “I got you..Y/N..Calm down now..” At his proclamation you cried harder.

Adrian sighed as you sobbed into his chest. “Calm down please.” He asked you with a small laugh as you gripped him tighter. “I hate you!” You dug your hands into his back.

“I know you do..I broke my promise.” You nodded. “Please don’t leave me..” He shook his head. “I won’t leave you.” “I’m sorry-”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I probably would’ve done worse if it was you who went missing Y/N and then I thought you died. You had a normal reaction. I will admit though it was kinda funny when the team told me you were on a rampage. I thought really? You usually are pretty good keeping your cool-”

“Because you’re here Adrian! I’m calm whenever you’re here.” You cut him off pulling away. “You’re hurt!” You gasped immediately helping him up. “We gotta get to my place! I have the herbal cream I make to heal your wounds!”

Adrian shook his head hugging you again. “I’m fine-” “No you are not! You’re bleeding! I don’t want you hurt Adrian! I don’t want to lose you and and-”

“Okay okay calm down..We’ll go okay?” You sniffled a bit. Adrian smiled a bit. He knew he probably shouldn’t feel this happy, but you really loved him. “Come on..”

Once at your house, Adrian grunted seeing the way your store was trashed. “Did the people who did this hurt you?” You nodded helping him upstairs with everyone else.

“I swear to god I will fucking kill them. I will find them and-” “I pushed them away. They’re not dead, but they are hurt.”

Adrian shook his head. “I would’ve fucking killed them. I still plan on killing them.” You sat him down grabbing your first aid kit and medicinal herbs. You sniffled as you cleaned him up applying the cream.

“You should be okay by tomorrow..” You mumbled out. The team sighed in relief. “I’m sorry everyone..I was angry and upset-”

“No you were right Y/N. It wouldn’t kill us to be nicer to Vig.” You looked down as Emilia reassuringly smiled at you. “We’re just happy you’re back.” You nodded not wanting to admit that this whole experience changed you a bit.

The fear of losing Adrian was worser than it was before. It became clear to you that you needed Adrian. Probably more than he needed you. He could soothe you in ways no one else can. “Alright we’ll give you guys some privacy.” Leota had everyone go downstairs to see what they can salvage from your shop.

Adrian leaned onto you. “Fuck me I was so fucking worried.” He grasped your face kissing you.

“When they told me what happened, I was so fucking worried. I missed you so fucking much. I was so worried when they said someone came in here and trashed your shop. I-I can’t lose you.”

Adrian kept kissing you not letting you go. You nodded quietly hugging him back. “Adrian I’m sorry..”

He chuckled, “No it’s okay..This is not good to mention but knowing you kinda lost control at just the thought of me dead gives me quite the ego boost.” You shoved him away standing up to put away your things. Adrian grabbed your hand pulling you back to him.

“Come on don’t be mad.” You sighed as he held you. “You need rest Adrian-” “So do you.” He snapped back. “Look..I know you’re upset with yourself but don’t be-”

“I lost control. I lost full control..I almost killed our friends and almost killed the town-” “But you didn’t.” “You stopped me in time..what if you hadn’t been there?”

You shook a bit in fear. “What if you actually died?” Adrian gripped you as you whimpered crying a bit. “I really can’t lose you Adrian! I really can’t!” You cried as he kissed your cheeks.

“Look I didn’t die though. You’re not gonna lose me. I’m tougher than you think dummy. Come on you’re supposed to be the smart one.” He chuckled kissing your forehead.

“I love you so much Y/N. I know even if something did happen you would’ve stopped yourself, but nothing like that is ever going to happen okay?” You nodded.

“Please don’t leave..” “I won’t..” “I don’t scare you now right-” “You don’t scare me at all.”

“I love you too..” Adrian grinned holding you tightly. “Come on pretty witch. Let’s get some rest together.” You nodded having Adrian lead you to your bedroom. Adrian shook his head seeing the bruises on you once more.

“I will fucking murder them for hurting you.” He clenched his fist tightly. “It’s okay they don’t hurt-” “No I know they do. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.”

“I could protect myself.”

“I know you can, but they attacked you when you were vulnerable.” “They chose the wrong day to try to wreck my shop.” Adrian nodded. “And they’re not done fucking regretting going after your shop. I mean it. No one hurts you while I’m around and gets away with it.”

Adrian pulled you into him laying with you. “Okay...now sleep please.” You nodded kissing Adrian before closing your eyes. “Thank you Adrian..” Adrian smiled. He knew if the roles had been reversed...he probably would’ve reacted worse than you did.

He didn’t want to think about that though as you slept next to him. So long as he was around nothing would hurt you. The team knew this for a fact as well. You needed Adrian and Adrian needed you.

#adrian chase #fanfiction #adrian chase x reader #adrian chase x you #vigilante fanfiction #vigilante peacemaker #vigilante x reader #fanfic #peacemaker #adrian chase peacemaker #witch reader

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avecra · 3 years ago

Text

Deception - 4

series summary: In order to save your father from an unnecessary fight, you force yourself into an arranged marriage with Brock Rumlow. But when he threatens your father over a small mistake on your part, you find yourself in front of your husband’s biggest rival and your old friend, Bucky Barnes. With the shared history between the two of you, Bucky finds himself drawn to you once again, and will risk everything he has just to keep you safe.

pairing: mob!bucky x stark!reader

word count: 4.1k

chapter warnings: angst, fluff, references to parental death

series masterlist // next chapter

The night Brock left for Chicago was one of the best nights you’d had in a long time. Empty penthouse, aside from the maids and cooks, you had the entire condo to yourself. You had drawn yourself a bath, spent the entire night playing your music out loud and had the head chef prepare you something Brock would have criticized you about.

It was nice having the entire place to yourself, without the worry of your husband looming over your shoulder, noisily seeing what you were up to. Getting to sleep in the middle of the bed, surrounded by plush pillows and warm blankets, you didn’t know when the last time you slept so soundly.

Leaving the penthouse was still the same; having your husband’s men always asking where you were headed, if you needed security, or if you needed the company. You declined every time, not wanting to spend a single second with any of them.

A part of you knew they did it so they could report back to your husband, so they could earn brownie points from the boss. That’s what aggravated you the most. They did it for their personal gain, much like your husband.

Even when you got ready to have dinner with your father, Rollins still bombarded you with questions a few days later.

“Where are you off tonight, Miss Stark?” Rollins asked as you tied your sneakers. You looked up at him, offering a tight lipped smile. You stood and grabbed your sweater and purse, making sure you had your phone, keys and the painting you made for your father with the paints he sent you.

“Dinner with my dad. Brock already knows, so no need to report back to him.” you said, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at their actions.

“Only doing my job, ma’am.”

You internally sighed, closing your eyes for a moment to compose yourself. Happy would know if something was bothering you, and you didn’t want the chance of your dad suspecting anything. He would only encourage you to leave Brock and you couldn’t handle having the conversation.

“Of course you are,” you replied, glancing back at Rollins. “One of his drivers is picking and dropping me off, so I won’t need any rides. Have a good night.”

You nodded at him before pulling the door open. You didn’t look back at him as you closed it, not even bothering to lock it before you strode down the hall to the elevators.

Jack Rollins had always made your business his business. Meddling his way into knowing what you were doing at every moment, everyday. It was tiring to have someone loom over your shoulder as much as your husband.

Everywhere you went, he was behind you. Whether it was to the bodega to get a snack, the small bookshop in Manhattan, or down the street to the diner, he was always over your shoulder. It was annoying, honestly, it felt like you were being watched constantly, like an eagle watching its prey.

Finding the sleek black town car parked off to the side, you wrapped your jacket tighter around you and pulled open the door, quickly sitting down on the plush cushions. You looked up with a smile, making eye contact with Happy, who turned around to look at you.

“Good evening, Y/n. It’s so good to see you.”

You smiled. “It’s good to see you too, Happy,” you said.

He sent you a wink before starting the car, pulling onto the road. “Y’know, your dad has been ecstatic all week. He had the entire house cleaned, went to the best grocer in town and got your favorite dinner. Vis is also excited to see you.”

You smiled at him and leaned your head back, relishing in being out of the penthouse, even for a few hours. A night where you didn’t have to worry about your husband, or secretly giving photocopies of text messages and emails.

A night to be in your father’s company, to visit the house you grew up in.

---

Pushing the front doors open, you were greeted by the comforting scent of lavender and vanilla, and you took a moment to relish being in your old home before slipping your shoes off.

“Y/n? That you, honey?”

You heard your father’s voice from down the hall and you went over to one of his studies. He wore a smile with his glasses perched up on the bridge of his nose, and in his hand was a stack of files.

“Hey, Dad,” you said, bounding over to him. He placed the stack of files on the desk and stood up, engulfing you in a tight embrace. “I missed you,”

“I missed you too, honey,” He pulled back and offered you a smile. “Did you like the paints I sent you?” You nodded and handed him the painted canvas with a smile. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled, eyes marveling at the painting in his hands.

You watched as his face lit up, admiring your work. It was just a simple painting of the sunset in the forest, different shades of green, orange and yellow covered the canvas.

“I did and I love them,” you said, taking the canvas from him so you could place it on his desk. You placed your purse on one of the seats and sighed.

“So, I have Vis making that wood-fired pizza you love so much. Maybe some salad on the side and that peach cobbler you love so much, huh?” Your smile seemed to widen, and an excited giggle passed through you.

You nodded and your father held out his arm, in which you happily took, excitement buzzing through you as he led you to the kitchen. The scent of mozzarella cheese and marinara sauce hit you immediately as you walked into the kitchen.

Letting go of your father, you sat at the counter, smiling until you got Vis’ attention. He stood over the brick oven, a peel in his hand as he carefully slid the pizza into the oven. From the corner of your eye, you saw your father making you a drink, and you rested your chin on the marble countertop.

“I must say, it is good to see you again, Miss Stark. I haven’t got anyone else to make a peach cobbler for, not even your father,” Vis said, turning around to face you. His clear glasses sat perched on his nose, and he wiped the flour from his hands down the front of his apron. “And we both know the sweet tooth he has,”

“I heard that,” You let out a giggle at your father’s remark. Vis sent you a wink before pulling out a peeler and a bowl of peaches from the fridge. A few moments later your father came back from the bar, two drinks in his hand as he came to sit on the stool next to you.

“How have you been, miss? We have been missing your presence for quite some time.”

Horrible.

“I’ve been good. Keeping myself busy with reading and painting as usual,” you said, taking a sip of your drink. “I’ve missed your cooking the most, Vis, it smells amazing in here,” you said, placing your chin in the palm of your hand.

You hardly ate food prepared by the cooks at home; the personal chefs that Brock hired only seem to make themselves present during the many house parties your husband hosted. You mainly ate food that you cooked yourself, whatever you picked yourself up from the store is what you ate.

Growing up, your father had seemingly spoiled you with home cooked meals prepared by a chef with years of training, and even more years of experience. It was one of the things you missed dearly since moving away; having Vis make you a plate of food after coming in from a long, busy day, or even when the Barnes’ would come over for dinner.

“I’ve missed serving you Miss Y/n. I haven’t got anyone to prepare drunk food while you tell me about how Mr. Barnes is secretly a bozo,” Vis chuckled, leaning against the marble counter.

“I tell you, that boy is doing very well with his father’s business, he’s got the same pride and spirit for the business as his old man,” your father commented, a somber tone to his voice.

The sudden passing of George Barnes shocked everyone in the Stark family. Your father was devastated after the sudden loss of his partner and close friend, and you tried your best to comfort and console him. He had told you that he was fine, but you knew your father better than anyone else.

Bucky ended up being the one who needed you the most.

You had found him countless times wiping his face, trying to hide the evidence of tears off his cheeks. You couldn’t blame him, he was only nineteen and his father, the man he considered to be his one role model, the one who taught him everything, was gone.

Winnie had tried relentlessly to be there for her son, to give him the comfort and the embrace of a loving mother, but everything she tried failed. Bucky isolated himself from everyone, including you. It was something that had never happened before; the both of you had always confided in each other.

You couldn’t blame him. You could never blame him. Proving to him that you were there for him was a difficult task, but you wouldn’t let it go, not until you proved to him that you were there for him.

It took days before he even answered his door. While you and your father visited the Barnes’ residency, you snuck away from your father and found Bucky sobbing quietly near the foot of his bed, with his face buried in his hands and his fingers deep in the short wisps of his hair.

It broke you to see him so dispirited and defeated. But with time and patience, his days got better and he opened up to you a lot more.

The air was chilly as you stepped out onto the patio of your house, two steaming mugs carefully balanced in your hands. Your eyes scanned over the backyard before they settled on the nineteen year old who sat on the last step, hunched over with his face hidden in his hands.

You slowly made your way over to him, making your footsteps somewhat loud. Silently, you sat down next to him and placed the mug of coffee near his feet, and placed your mug of tea on the other side of you.

Bucky sniffled and lifted his head up, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater. His eyes were red and puffy, clear tear marks tracked down his red cheeks, and you reached forward, swiping your thumbs underneath his eyes to catch the tears.

“What can I do to help you, Bucky?” you whispered quietly, and you looped your arm through his, hugging his bicep. He sniffled hard and leaned his head against yours.

“This is enough.” was all he replied.

You nodded and held his arm tighter. “I brought you coffee. It’s not as strong as the one your mom makes,” you said and he nodded. He leaned down and shakily grabbed the mug, taking a slow sip.

It was when he tipped his head back that you could see the toll his father’s death had taken on him. Dark circles were present under his eyes, his blue optics that were once full of happiness were filled with sadness. Stubble had pricked over his chin, and his cheeks appeared sunken and sullen.

George Barnes had unexpectedly passed away two weeks ago and you found yourself comforting both your father and best friend. Your father had lost one of his longest and closest friends, and Bucky had lost his father. The one person he confined in almost as much as you.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” you offered quietly.

It physically hurt you seeing him like this; quiet, isolated and broken down. There were only a few things that could cheer him up, and you were determined to lift up his spirits and take his mind off of his father’s passing. Even if it was for a few hours.

“No,”

You nodded, rubbing your hand up and down his arm. “How about I read to you? We can go into the library and we can just relax and read. Is that okay?”

He looked over at you, and with a small smile, he nodded. The corners of your mouth lifted up slightly and you stood up, gathering your mugs in one hand and offered the other one to Bucky, who graciously took it.

You pulled him with you into the house and diverted him away from the sea of guests dressed in dark colors, climbing up the stairs to the library. You flicked on the lights, and soon a warm flicker lit up the small library, and you led Bucky over to the plush couch.

He plopped himself on a soft blanket, and you pulled a random book off the shelf and sauntered over to him, sitting down next to him. He rested his head down in your lap and covered his body with the blanket.

Swiping through your phone, you played soft music before you opened up the book, finding a random page to read off of.

“What did you pick?” A muffled question reached your ears.

“The Great Gatsby, is that okay?” you felt him nod against your thighs. You gently ran your fingers through the short strands of hair, massaging his scalp.

“He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life.” you gently started, “It faced--or seemed to face--the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.”

You looked down and saw his eyes begin to droop slightly before they fully closed. You continued to read and massage his scalp, and it wasn’t too soon that you felt his body slacken. Leaning down, you pressed a kiss to his temple and continued to read aloud.

His hands subconsciously gripped your thigh and pressed a kiss to your knee, and you felt him press into your lap more at the soothing tone of your voice. You smiled and toyed with the loose strands before leaning back into the pillows.

“Well, the important thing is that he’s doing better. We must keep a positive eye on everything, Mr. Stark,” Vis’ voice tore you away from your deep thoughts and you took another sip of your drink.

“Obviously, good sir,” your father replied.

Light conversation carried on, Vis shared stories about what your father’s activities were on his days off from the office, and how he and his personal assistant Wanda went through the loads of work files that took almost seven hours to sort through.

Dinner went by faster than you wanted it to. You ate in the kitchen with Vis and your father, telling them both about the pile of books you purchased over the past year. You felt a little lighter than before, had a little more energy and more happiness.

The night slowly ended, and you felt the deep ache in your chest as you gathered all of your belongings. Leaving your father's house always left a small gaping hole in your soul, but you had to go back home.

The bodyguards would be suspicious, and they would only tell your husband. And you suspected that would launch an argument, and it would ultimately be your fault.

What an amazing life you lived.

“Dinner was fun, honey. I wish you would come over more often,” your father commented as he walked you to the foyer. He stopped in his tracks and raised a hand to your cheek, softly caressing your hair.

It felt like forever since you last saw your father, aside from the dinner with Brock a few weeks ago, and in all honesty, you missed him. The lunch dates that you had weekly turned into monthly, seeing as your husband didn’t appreciate you spending so much time outside of the penthouse.

It was to the point where you would only see him maybe once a month. Although he had to be the one to venture to your house.

You missed your father dearly, but you knew the second you defied your husband, he would send a warning in the shape of a gun wound or a punch. One that would kill you if you saw the real damage.

For a moment, you were scared that he would see through your facade, that he would see how truly unhappy and miserable, and you were terrified that he would break the marriage pact.

“I wish your lousy husband didn’t keep you cooped up in your apartment all the time. Why don’t I pick you up tomorrow and we'll go get some lunch and pick out some new books for you?” he offered with a smile, and you nodded, grasping his hand that was on your face.

“That sounds like a lot of fun, Dad. Pick me up at eleven?” you said above a whisper, in hopes to swallow down the sob that etched its way up your throat.

He nodded, his face lighting up with excitement, and he pulled you into a hug. His arms circled around your shoulders and you wrapped your arms around his waist, hiding your face in his chest.

“I love you so much, honey,” your father whispered into your ear. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do.” you looked up and smiled up at him. “I love you too, Dad.”

He pulled back and pressed a kiss at your hairline. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

You nodded and grabbed your purse and walked beside your father down the steps of the manor, and he reached forward and opened the car door for you. “Oh, before you go,” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white envelope. “James wanted me to give this to you. He said to open it later when you’re getting ready to settle down for the night.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you reached forward and gently took it out of his grasp.

“Have you guys reconnected?” your father asked curiously.

You nodded and gripped the envelope tighter. “Uh, yeah, kind of,” Your eyes ran over your name. “I didn’t realize how much I really missed him,” you said. “I hope we start to talk to each other more,” you lowered yourself into the seat, placing your purse and sweater on your lap.

“Me too, honey. I think this will be good for you,” he said, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek. “Have a good night,”

“You too, Dad.”

He gently closed your door and patted the roof, signaling the driver. You leaned back into the seat and glanced down, examining the envelope in your hands. You gripped it tightly and traced the gel pen ink, trailing over the letters of your name.

“If you don’t mind me saying, Miss Stark,” you glanced up at the rearview mirror, recognizing Scott Lang. “I’ve noticed that Mr. Barnes is somewhat happier now that he’s been able to check up on you.”

You looked up, shocked as your mouth hung open slightly. There wasn’t any way that Bucky didn’t have an ounce of hatred towards you. After shunning him and cutting contact with for years, why wouldn’t he have any resentment towards you?

“He really does miss you.”

“That brings me some joy,” you quietly said, leaning to press your forehead against the cold glass of the window.

---

Peeking down the hallway to make sure that you were completely alone, you closed your bedroom door and quickly pressed the lock in place and made your way over to your vanity.

Drying yourself off, you slipped into your blue pajama pants and slid on a soft grey cotton shirt over your head, tying your hair back so that it was out of your face.

Your eyes glanced down to the letter that sat atop of the mahogany wood, and with a shaky hand, you reached for the envelope. You retreated back to your bed, pulling a soft blanket over your lap as you began to open it.

The first thing you pulled out was a small notecard with an address and a phone number, written in handwriting that you knew all too well.

Without thinking, you grabbed your phone and dialed the number on the keypad and held it to your ear, anxiously waiting as you heard the ringing.

You were about to pull the phone away from your ear until you heard the familiar smoothness of a voice, “Hey sweetness”

You cleared your throat. “Hi, it’s Y/n,” you stammered and you heard a light hearted chuckle from his end.

“I know it’s you, sweetheart,” he replied with his voice more lively. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just--” you fiddled with the piece of paper in your hands. “I got your letter. I had dinner with my dad earlier and he gave it to me before I left,”

Bucky hummed on the other end, and you could faintly hear the low groan of a dog and the purring of a cat. “I wanted you to have somewhere to go in case things suddenly go to shit. Rumlow will check your dad’s place before mine anyways,”

You smiled, leaning down to rest your head against the pillows. “Even after all this time you’re still protective of me.”

Bucky scoffed playfully, “As if I ever stopped, sweet girl.”

That nickname, that damn nickname brought an ear-to-ear grin on your face, and you laughed lightly. The one nickname that he reserved for you, and only you.

It started when you were both juniors in high school, when he had to pretend to be your boyfriend at a party so a creepy classmate would leave you alone.

What started as a joke blossomed into a pet name that lasted nearly ten years, and one that always brought a smile to your face. It didn't matter what context it was used in, you felt a flutter in your stomach when the words rolled smoothly out of his mouth.

“Um, I have some documents ready for you,” you suddenly said,nibbling on your thumbnail. “If you want, I could drop them off at my dad’s work if that would be easier?”

A part of you had a feeling he would brush it off, tell you that you could give it to the next driver you had, but his response wasn’t one you expected.

“You know,” he started, “Take a trip over to Stark Industries, and I’ll meet you there with my head men. I know it’s a little risky, but none of your husband’s men are allowed into the building. We’ll figure out what else we need. Sounds okay?”

With a nod, you swallowed thickly, “He won’t find out?”

“No. I’ll make sure of it. I promise, Y/n.”

You gripped the blanket tighter, “I trust you,” you said. “I can come in later this week, and just say that I’m visiting my dad,” you said quietly into the speaker, in case any of the guards were eavesdropping. “It’s not that much, but-”

“It doesn’t matter how much you give us, that’s perfect enough. I’ll give you Natasha’s number and that way you can text her all the information on where to meet, okay?” You hummed in reply and stifled a yawn, burying your nose in your elbow, but Bucky was able to pick up on it.

“Why don’t you go and get some rest, sweet girl. I’ll see you later this week, okay?” His voice was soft and gentle, and full of concern that made your heart flutter. You muttered a reply and flicked off the light, burrowing deep in the blankets.

“Be careful, Bucky,” you whispered in a shaken tone.

“Only if you are, sweetness. Good night, I’ll see you soon.”

“Good night.”

You pulled the phone away and nuzzled your cheek in the pillows, a small smile ghosting over your lips as you thought about Bucky.

After all this was over, and you were free from your vile husband, would he welcome you with open arms?

You hoped that after all the time you spent apart, you could rekindle the relationship you had with your oldest friend. Maybe it would bloom into something a bit more.

You hoped maybe it could blossom into something more.

---

tags 🏷 - @matchat3a @moonlightreader649 @boofy1998 @impala1967666

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #mob!bucky #bucky barnes fic

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gryffindors-weasley · 4 years ago

Text

Sleepless Night

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: When Draco can do nothing but toss and turn, he finds himself thinking of you.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of the war, mentions of the dark mark, self doubt, fluff, kissing

(gif found on pinterest, credit to the maker!)

The night drew on slowly, the moonlight illuminating the room and bathing it in its soft glow before disappearing momentarily as it weaved through the clouds. It was quiet, save for the ticking of the clocks and the softness of your breathing. Despite all of the obvious comfort, Draco’s mind had been too active to fall asleep, yet he was too tired to get out of bed and make himself some tea. It was a common routine, one that he hadn’t particularly liked. Though the more he thinks about it, the more he comes to realize that he’s always been a bit of a night owl whether he wants to be or not.

On such occasions, his mind is always quick to wander to you. Sometimes, he swears he’d be perfectly content to never sleep again if it meant he could think about you that much longer, but that simply wouldn’t be feasible. The job of a young healer demands he at least try and get some form of rest, for it’s far too taxing of a profession not to make an effort. So, he will settle for the time he’s got now.

You found yourself most comfortable as you lay on his chest, your legs tangled with his own as the warmth of his skin has long since lulled you to sleep. No matter how many countless nights you assume your rightful position atop his chest, his heart will race each and every time as if it’s the first time you’d ever done it. You notice, of course you do, and sometimes you tease him lightly and sometimes you don’t. Regardless, it will always bring a smile to your face and a burning blush to his cheeks.

He relishes in the feeling of you tucked safely in his arms, that’s all he’s ever wanted you to be with him; safe. Your hold on him has since loosened in your slumber but you somehow always reach for his hand no matter how deeply you’d been sleeping. The thought alone never failed to make him smile when he felt you blindly envelope your hand over his own. It baffled him, really, how someone could love him so deeply that they do so even in their sleep.

He never imagined you’d stay with him, not after the chaos that tarnished every bit of his life while attending Hogwarts and even now. For he has made a myriad of regrettable choices that still come to haunt him with each and every day that passes, choices that haunt him whenever they so please. Perhaps the most obvious sits on his arm, harsh against the paleness of his skin, just screaming to be looked at and noticed. It has since faded from disuse and the long awaited defeat of the Dark Lord just six years ago, but it’s painfully humiliating and swirling imprint still remains.

Loving Draco Malfoy had multitudinous repercussions at that point in your relationship, for you could not love him in the light of day. You could not do more than share a fond glance and even that alone was tempting fate should anyone be privy to your relationship at the time. The love you had was one that could only be shared in the darkness of the night, in the shadows of vacant corridors and the depths of his mothers grand garden behind old oak trees and stone statues.

It had gotten you in trouble once before, and out of everything he had to be fearful for in his life, he felt there was no scarier moment than that of the time his father had been made aware of your presence in his son’s life. His very suspicions were only further brought to light when you stared at him across the rubble in the courtyard. His only son’s hand had been grasped tightly in your own, unwavering as your testament to keep him where he truly belonged.

Draco does not hold a single ounce of regret for keeping his feet planted on the right side of that battlefield, with you. His parents may have been greatly displeased with him, but he felt as though he’d made the right decision for the first time in his life, and that is what mattered. He made a decision for the good. Though he will admit he finds he would have been far too weak to stand his ground had you not done so for him.

He shook his head to rid himself of the memories beginning to cloud his mind in favor of trying to keep himself in the current moment.

The very tips of his fingers trace up and down the column of your spine, ghosting over the shirt of his that you wore and he tried to stifle his sneeze as your hair tickles just under his nose. He wasn’t quite sure when you had claimed it as your own but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the technicalities; you looked far better in it than he had and you loved the tattered thing, that’s what mattered.

A breeze seeps into the room through the open window and he takes a deep breath of the fresh air in an effort to clear his mind. He was to be up for work in a matter of two or so hours and he has yet to have even a minute of a quality sleep. He loved his job at St. Mungo’s wholeheartedly, but the thought of leaving you paired with the exhaustion weighing heavily into his bones has him considering taking the day off altogether. Though he knew he couldn’t, there were far too many people relying on him.

You stretched a bit and squeezed his hand, breathing in a yawn before humming out a sigh as you relax against him once more. A soft smile pulls at his lips at the absentminded action, and he can’t bring himself to mind the fact that he so desperately needed to change positions otherwise he’d be stiff from laying on his back the whole night. Not to mention his nightly tea was finally beginning to catch up to him. But that could wait for now he supposes.

He was tempted to read for the remaining hours of the night, his half-read book just waiting to be finished as it sat atop the nightstand collecting dust. With more thought he readily decided that he’d save it for the following night so he could read it with you, the thought of your grumbling had he done the opposite making him chuckle softly to himself.

Instead, he thought of the plans he’d had with you on his next day off just three days ahead as the breeze continues to sweep over his skin in whispers of touches. You were eager to drag him to the bookshop on the far end of your little town. Even though you were just there barely a week ago, you still found yourself excited as if you hadn’t been there in ages. You would never grow tired of picking out books to read to the other before bed and he knew that fact very well. It had become customary to your nightly routine should your schedules allow, though Draco made a point to try and read to you every day, whether it’s a single page or half the book. The comfort and warmth that came from your tucking yourself against him as he read was something he looked forward to.

He’d thought about his plans of making you dinner that evening, something he’d been thinking about it with every extra hour of overtime he’d been persuaded into taking. You deserved to be spoiled, even if it was just a home cooked meal shared within the warmth of your home. Surely you’d be eating it sitting criss-cross at the coffee table in the comfort of your pajamas, there was no need for expensive restaurants and lavish attire. The simplest of things were good enough as long as he was with you, you were all he needed.

He’d thought of how you’d made him coffee before work just the day before, even though you’d put a tad too much sugar in while in your sleepy state. He drank it anyway even though it was obscenely sweet. Or the way you’d waited up for him to get home from that very shift, just barely awake on the small couch but he remembers the way your face lit up upon seeing him walk through the door. He hadn’t known what he’d done to deserve the affections of someone he deemed to be the most wonderful person he’d ever met, and that was no exaggeration. You radiate sunshine, you only knew love and kindness, and you chose to love him with all you’ve got. The thought crossed his mind each and every day of just how lucky he’d gotten, and he feels as though he will never understand it.

Your stirring had pulled him from his thoughts after a while, the time having gotten away from him in his lovestruck daze, and he nearly took an elbow to the face when you stretched once more.

“Easy, love,” he chuckles, grabbing your wrist and lowering your arm.

A shiver ran through you and you shuddered at the cool air washing over your skin, a soft whine of complaint leaving your lips. In an instant Draco finds himself raising his hand, and with a simple motion of his fingers the windows swiftly and quietly close. The curtains moved once more with the sudden final gust of air, fluttering back to the window before stilling completely.

You lift your head to look at him groggily, brows knit together as your eyes adjust to the dimly moonlit room.

“Go back to sleep, darling,” he hushes, a soft kindness in his tone. You sigh, moving to see him a bit better before settling back against his side as you woke up fully.

“What if I don’t want to?” You mumble softly, tracing your fingertips over his chest and giggling at the goosebumps that rose in their wake.

His nose brushes against your own as he looks down at you, tucking your hair behind your ear as his laugh puffs against your lips. “I’m afraid your constant yawning begs to differ, my love.”

You frown at the words spoken sweetly against your lips, and you were barely given the opportunity to counter his reasoning before his lips press to your own. A soft sigh of contentment is huffed through your nose at the feeling, your hand leaving his chest in favor of settling on his cheek. Strands of platinum brush against your forehead and tickle your skin, and he takes advantage of the opportunity to roll on his side for the first time that night.

“I believe you’re the one who should be getting some sleep, Healer Malfoy, you look dreadful,” you tease, and he quiets your completely logical statement as his lips find yours once more, his arms tightening their hold around you as he hums.

“That’s no fair,” he murmurs, his nose nudging yours lightly. You laugh softly and shake your head.

“How ever should I sleep now that you’ve kissed me?” You ask with the most playful of smiles, smoothing your hand down his cheek and pushing the hair out of his eyes.

He smiles adoringly at you, a soft crimson coating his cheeks that had fortunately gone unseen in the darkness of the room. You were quite possibly the only person in the world to make him blush like an absolute fool, the only person to make him feel a flutter in his heart each time you did so much as look at him. The effect you had on him was completely unable to be helped, for you had him utterly spellbound and that fact would always remain to be true.

“I suppose I should keep kissing you then.”

Your laughter rings out as his lips meet your skin in a flurry of chaste kisses, your joyful giggling filling the otherwise quiet room as his lips press warmly to the juncture of your neck. His own laughing soon mingles with yours as he props himself up on his elbow, dipping down to continue his peppering of kisses on your lips once more and effectively staving away the next bout of giggles that were ready to fall from them. He could kiss you all day if given the opportunity, could spend lifetimes in your arms because he would never tire of pressing his lips along your skin just to hear you laugh. Just to see you smile.

You fall onto your back with a bounce, still giddy at the butterflies left behind to flutter relentlessly in your stomach. He settles down to lay on your chest this time, tucking his face in the crook of your neck as his lips ghost over your skin ever so softly.

“I love you,” he murmurs quietly, discontented upon seeing the navy sky beginning to brighten as dawn rolls around without pause. He wanted to stay with you in bed, enveloped in your arms for the rest of his life if he were to be dramatically honest.

His fingers intertwined with yours as your joined hands sat propped in the air momentarily before falling to the mattress, his smile fading as he grew more tired in your arms.

“I love you more.”

“Darling, you know that isn’t possible,” he whispers, a yawn leaving his lips.

You only laugh softly and kiss his forehead, the smallest of smiles returning to his kiss swollen lips if only for a moment. Your fingers run through his hair and you allow him to win that one, soft snores vibrating against your skin for the first time that night. He only had just over an hour to sleep, but he knew you’d be there when he woke up.

Every sleepless night was worth it when he’s got you.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @lunalovecroft @hahee154hq @awritingtree @dracosathenaeum @amourtentiaa

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fic #draco x you #draco fanfiction

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years ago

Text

I literally JUST sat down, pt. 1

Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: Nuh uh, nope. Not this again. You did not sign up for this. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol, eventual NSFW content

Prompt: After watching 7x07 “This episode is so scary man... Imagine just doing your job which is pretty morbid at times but oh well and then suddenly you have to go to this place where there's a lot of tornadoes and you're like well at least I'm inside and safe and then your boss is like "we gotta go right to these tornado places lol" and then you think "well that's scary but at least we have this handy dandy live map showing us exactly in real time where the tornadoes are so we'll be fine and then the internet is like "haha nope have fun dying in a tornado"

- @pirateismywayofspeaking who is a literal genius.

This will be a multichapter piece! So lemme know if you want to be tagged in subsequent chapters.

—————————-

Usually, when terrible things happen, people say the same few things: “I never thought it would happen to me! You never think something like this will happen to you until it does!”. You’d never really been that type of person. You were naturally cautious, and an ex FBI agent, you saw danger pretty much everywhere. You’d seen some of the worst things human beings could ever do to one another and, if you’d learned anything at all, it was that bad things happened everywhere and to pretty much everyone. There was nowhere that you could definitively say was safe from violent crime, but this was just ridiculous.

You looked around the ruined bookshop you’d poured the last year of your life into with a kind of detached sadness. Even before you opened the door, you could see the carnage. The shelves were upended, tables flipped, every vase in the building was smashed...except one. You sighed, stepping into the store, your eyes scanning the wreck with a practiced efficiency. No broken windows, the door was still locked when you’d arrived and your security cameras were blacked out, there were no signs of forced entry. If anything that made you more uneasy and, not for the first time since you’d left the bureau, you missed the weight of your gun against your hip. You crinkled your nose against the smell, the copper-iron of fresh blood that you were all too familiar with as you crept through your store.

“Son of a-fuck!” You swore loudly, cursing your luck as you took in the scene.

There was a body laid out in the middle of the Fiction aisle: face covered with a burlap sack, wrists and ankles bound with rope and blood seeping into the carpets you’d just had cleaned. Your training kicked in and you noticed, without meaning to, that the rest of the aisle was untouched. The shelves were upright, books in order, even the vase of white roses you’d put there the night before were all completely the way you’d left them. It was like he’d just completely bypassed the entire section.

Huh.

You looked up at the sky, “Really? Right now? You throw this at me, now? Unbelievable.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of your chest, along with a nervousness that you were telling yourself was irritation as you pulled out your phone. It had been a long while since you’d done this, but you still knew the number by heart.

“This is agent Jareau with the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“JJ, it’s me,” you said, “you’re not gonna believe this.”

——————————

You sat in the ruins of your store until the cops arrived, wondering who exactly you had murdered in a past life to end up with this kind of luck. You gave your statement without much incident, directing CSU to the body and alerting the detective to the abnormalities you’d spotted.

JJ had promised to get the team on the case as quickly as she could, and you knew JJ tended to get exactly what she wanted in that regard, you just didn’t know how you felt about that. It had been over a year since you’d left the BAU, since you’d done one case too many and just got fed all the way up. It really wasn’t any deeper than that. One day you’d come home and found that you couldn’t sleep. It had all just become too much, so you packed up your stuff, tendered your resignation, and started over.

It had been hard at first, but now you owned a fairly successful bookstore with a little coffee shop where you sold good coffee, and homemade biscuits. And it was nice. You felt good, kinda. You definitely slept better at night. Your life was finally starting to feel normal and now this? A dead body just happens to appear in the center of your bookstore in just weird enough a way to warrant a call to the BAU? No, you’d seen too much to consider this a coincidence. Whether you liked it or not, you were about to get thrown back into your old life head first, the life you’d worked so hard to get some distance from. So why weren’t you more...upset?

“Y/L/N?” A familiar voice called.

“In here,” you answered, your voice raspy from disuse. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself up onto your feet, “I’m in here.” You tried again.

The figures who stepped in were painfully familiar and you couldn’t help the tired smile that slid onto your face, your eyes going directly to the blonde woman walking at the very front.

“Y/N!” She greeted, her voice dripping with relief as she pulled you into a hug, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, JJ,” you assured her as you broke apart, the rest of your old team filing in behind her.

She eyed you like she wasn’t sure, pressing her lips into a thin line as she looked around the trashed store. Derek Morgan swooped in behind her, giving you a second hug.

“Long time, Y/L/N,” he smiled.

You sighed, “Wish it was under better circumstances, Morgs, but I’m glad you guys are here.”

“Y/L/N,” Aaron Hotchner greeted, giving you a firm handshake.

“Thanks for coming, Hotch, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.” You admitted.

“No, you made the right call. The BAU has officially taken on the case. Reid, Prentiss and Rossi are coordinating with the local PD from our headquarters, the rest of us are here to help,” he said, pausing and meeting your eye, silently asking the question you’d been waiting all morning for.

“No sign of forced entry,” you started, “the front door was still locked from the outside when I arrived.” You walked him through the crime scene, glass crunching beneath your feet as you went, “It looks like someone sprayed black paint over the security cameras I had installed, everything’s been smashed but there’s no cash missing from the register. In fact, they barely touched the front desk at all.” You explained, “And this,” you gestured at the Fiction aisle, “is where I found the body.”

Morgan stepped forward and, just like that, the team moved like a well oiled machine.

“White male, looks like he’s between the ages of 19 and 27.” Morgan started.

“His wrists and ankles are bound, but it doesn’t look like he struggled against his restraints at all,” you cut in, without meaning to, crouching down beside the body, “it could mean he was tied up postmortem.”

“We’ll have to wait on the M.E’s report to know for sure,” Hotch agreed, “Y/L/N, can I talk to you?” You nodded and let him pull you aside. He glanced over your shoulder and lowered his voice, “I know you’re out and we can do this investigation without you-“

“But?” You probed.

The corners of Hotch’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile, “But, I would also welcome your help if you’re willing to give it. The team is still a man down and, something about this scene has me thinking-“

“That whoever did this isn’t finished,” you agreed, sighing as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Everything was so messed up in your head. You just wanted to go back to bed and start this day all over again. Hotch looked at you and you recognized his brand of quiet concern. It was familiar and comforting, and it helped you process your thoughts.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you frowned, “yeah. Yeah, sure, I’ll come back.” Hotch smiled and you wagged a finger at him, “But just for this one case! After that I’m straight back to my boring normal person life, alright?”

“Of course,” he agreed, something almost mocking in his tone.

“I’m serious, Hotch, just one more case.”

“I’m agreeing with you!” He insisted, already walking back to the rest of the group.

But he wasn’t and, much to your chagrin, you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as you turned back to the scene of the crime.

“Hotch, Y/L/N,” Morgan called, holding something in his gloved hand, “you’re gonna want to see this.”

“Here we go again,” you sighed.

————————-

Walking back into the BAU had felt like stepping back in time. After you’d gotten everything you could from the crime scene there was nothing to do but brainstorm, but walking through those doors again...well, let’s say you hadn’t been prepared for how it would feel being back. For the most part, everyone had been glad to see you, especially Garcia, but you could tell that there were still some resentments bubbling under the surface. It made sense, the BAU survived by relying on one another, by acting like a family, and you’d left that family.

Still, there was a rhythm to this kind of work, a flow that was almost painfully easy to fall back into. You’d worked together for years after all, bouncing ideas off of one another like it was nothing and that kind of bond didn’t just go away.

“Admit it,” Derek teased, bumping your shoulder with his as you studied the evidence board, “you missed this.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Oh you so did,” Spencer agreed, leaning against the table next to you and giving you a fond smile, “I’m sorry about the bookstore though, it was the only store in town with a proper selection of classics in their original languages.”

You shrugged, “I’ll get it up and running again soon enough, just as soon as we catch whoever did this.”

“Speaking of our UnSub, what do you think the relevance of him leaving the body in the fiction section is?” Spencer asked.

“Maybe he’s trying to say that this is some kind of fairytale?” Prentiss suggested, “Like he’s trying to draw us into his story?”

“Maybe, but this has gotta be more personal than that, right?” Morgan said, “I mean, this isn’t some body in an alley, it was dumped in an FBI agent’s coffee shop.”

“Ex agent,” you corrected.

“Sure thing, Princess,” Morgan teased.

“Why does everyone keep talking like that?” You asked.

“Because you leaving is ridiculous. You love this job,” He replied simply, “you’ve always loved this job.”

You opened your mouth to respond but, before you could, you heard the clacking of heels against the marble floor.

“Um, guys?” Garcia said, coming into the bullpen with a stormy look on her face, “we just got word from the officer who went to Y/N’s apartment.”

“And?” You asked nervously.

“They found something,”

“Another body?” Prentiss asked.

“No, weirder, a letter and what looks like a smiley face drawn on the wall in blood.” She said, pressing a button to display the new crime scene photos on the big screen.

Your heart froze in your chest.

There it was; a crude smiley face drawn right above your headboard and a crisp white envelope resting against your pillow. He’d made your bed too, some small part of your mind noted. How polite. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest as you were hit with a mixture of panic and disgust.

“Of course,” you sighed, “of course there is. Why wouldn’t there be? It’s been that kind of day.”

“Do we know what the letter says?” Morgan asked.

Garcia nodded, “And it’s a doozy. The letter contains a poem written with letters cut out from magazines and newspapers. It reads:

Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.

Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;

And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,

That thus so cleanly I myself can free.

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,

And when we meet at any time again,

Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one jot of former love retain …”

You could feel your friends staring and you tried to keep your face as neutral as possible. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and you could hear the blood pounding in your ears as you thought of a murderer setting foot in your space; him touching your bed, running his hands over the photos on your nightstand, defiling your possessions with his presence. You’d never felt so vulnerable and exposed, and bile rose up in your stomach like your body was physically rejecting the whole thing. Distantly you heard Prentiss and Morgan discussing theories, and you felt one pair of warm brown eyes staring into the side of your head.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel like joking around anymore.

“Sorry,” you muttered, standing up and striding out of the room without looking back, “I need some air.”

You were so angry by the time you made it out into the courtyard that you’d balled your hands into fists and your breath was coming out in short little bursts. Hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and your chest felt painfully tight.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer ask.

You sniffed, wiping your face quickly, “Reid, hi. Sorry, I just-“ you let out a slow breath, “I needed a break.”

He nodded like he understood, tucking his hands into his pockets as he stepped towards you. You wanted to tell him to go away, to head back inside and leave you the hell alone, but the words wouldn’t come.

It had always been like this with Spencer. No matter how hard you tried to be tough and brave and put together, he saw right through you and broke down your defenses. At one point, he’d been the closest thing to family you’d ever had, in fact you thought you might…..

Well, it didn’t matter now. Over the last year things had changed, you’d grown apart. It happened, but the fondness was still there, and the trust, and those damn eyes.

“I get it, Y/N, I can't even imagine what this whole thing must be like for you,” he said, “having your home be violated like that….and the store?” He shook his head, “I know how hard you worked setting that place up.”

Your bottom lip trembled and, for the first time that day, you let yourself feel afraid as tears slipped down your cheeks.

You shook your head, “You know, when I saw the glass all over the floor, and all the books….I just felt tired, like bone tired. I wasn’t scared of that, but now?” You paused, glancing up at Spencer, as a tear slid down your cheek, “He was in my home, Spencer. He made my bed before he left, he wrote me a letter.”

Spencer worked his jaw and hesitantly reached out, touching your shoulder gently.

“We’ll catch him, Y/N/N, we always do.” He promised.

“And until then?” You asked, “Do I just pretend it never happened? Go home and act like it’s all okay?”

“No,” another voice cut in from behind you, “you rely on us. We’ll take care of you,” Morgan explained.

“Yeah,” Garcia agreed, her big blue eyes clinging to yours, “We’ve talked about it already. You’ll take turns staying with each of us a few nights a week and then, on the weekends, we’ll all stay with Rossi to go over the case. And we’ll spend every free moment tracking this son of a bitch down for you.”

Emily nodded and, for the first time since you had opened your store that morning, you felt your chest swell with something a little like hope. You knew the BAU was special, you knew that the bonds you’d formed over the years were damn near unbreakable, but this? This was too much. Seeing your friends rally around you when you needed them most just reminded you how much you loved them, and how much they still loved you. Even now. Spencer gave your shoulder a squeeze and you smiled back at him.

“I really missed you guys,” you said with a watery laugh.

Penelope crooned and threw her arms around your neck, pulling you into a familiarly bone-crushing hug.

“We missed you too, Sugar Plum,” she promised.

“Really?”

“Hell yeah!” Morgan smiled, joining Penelope’s hug.

“You know we did,” Emily agreed, ruffling your hair and pulling herself in close.

Your eyes found Spencer where he was standing just outside of the group hug, both hands in his pockets and a sad smile on his face. You pressed your lips together and, in response, he nodded.

“We missed you,” he said softly and then, as the hug broke up and you allude your way back inside, even softer, “we still do.”

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Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes

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themagichour · 3 years ago

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This sounds silly, but walking around outside is a big step for me. I haven't done it since my carjacking. I've only walked hastily to the corner dollar store for (very unhealthy) food and other staples.

Today I did a BUNCH of walking! It started with me just being outside in the morning shoveling the big colonial porch and stairs and walkways my house has, along with the stretch of sidewalk I'm responsible for... saying hello to neighbors I haven't seen in two months. Izzy dropped twelve inches on us, way too late for Christmas.

I grabbed a folder full of resumes and just went to town. Literally, went into town and flung them where I could. Each place I visited told me they weren't hiring, but that they'd take the papers. And every person I encountered was lovely. I ended the night trading "wait wait wait look this up!"s with a Ghost World bookshop owner and his cat, Hobbes, for three hours. He was upset I knew more about Max Headroom than him. We did our best David-Thewlis-in-Naked accents. I walked home in the dark, and felt unafraid. I say that, anyway. I didn't carry a purse (had my debit card, ID, phone, keys, Kleenex, and Burt's Bees in my pocket) and I clutched pepper spray that had expired somewhere in San Francisco.

I met three girls looking confused in the middle of the street, carrying shovels. I told them they looked cool, "very chic." I was mostly relieved to find the figures headed towards me weren't men. And I hated myself for being afraid of men.

They were flattered, and laughed. They looked to be about eighteen. "Do you know where sixteen-forty-seven is???"

I asked if they were vigilante snow shovelers, and they laughed again.

"We're from a church group! There's an old lady..."

I helped them find 1647 and nearly slipped into a bank of snow.

"Shit! Oh, shit! I said 'shit'! In front of church people! I'm sorry."

They continued to laugh, joyful, and the tallest girl said, "Shit, it's okay!"

They went to work in the cold shadows of someone's home. I thought to call, "Stay safe!" but I myself get tired of hearing that.

I worried about those church girls shoveling snow at 8:30PM. And I worried about myself huddling down the road, even if I didn't let it show. But I also saw the way the sidewalk sliced through the snow like a sweet and glittery sheet cake.

I'm proud of myself.

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

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Dreams (Oliver Sway x Reader)

A/N: I wasn’t going to write Ollie. In fact I was so sure, that I deleted this request after deciding that neither of the Nikolai prompts moved me. But luckily I had a screenshot, because I couldn’t stop thinking about the Ollie one. It was too perfect not to write. Word Count: 2036 Rating: G - I’m pretty sure this one is warningless, other than references to nightmares and references to The Song of Sway Lake.

Like many from the area, you had grown up hearing stories of the mighty Sways and their dominion over the lake. But you had never met one, almost believing them some story told just to increase the romantic draw of the area. Until the day Oliver and his friend stopped into your bookshop.

It was raining pretty heavily outside, the kind of days where locals stay home and tourists leave, driving out of town and off to museums and malls. The shop was empty, almost sleepy, and you were in the back fixing a cup of coffee to keep yourself from napping on the front desk when you heard the door chime. With a sigh, you put on your best customer service face and walked out.

“Hi, welcome to the Papermill,” you called before you had even fully circled the stacks. “I’m Y/N, I’ll be right with you.”

The two boys dripping on your welcome mat looked about your own age. One, tall with curly hair and blue button-up plastered to his skin, grinned at you, shamelessly looking you over. The other, long hair practically a matted mess, looked more sheepish, tugging at the ends of his shirtsleeves.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “We were just...out running errands for my grandmother and it started pouring. You were the closest place to duck into.”

“Oleg, you cannot tell a beautiful girl that,” his friend said, his accent shocking you. You were used to tourists, sure, but never one from...so far away. “You must pretend that it was she alone that called you in.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Do you also pretend she’s deaf?”

The Russian shrugged, still grinning.

Your eyes fell back to meet the other boy (Oleg, or Ollie, apparently), actually feeling drawn the way his friend said he should pretend to be, and your smile softened.

“I don’t mind being a refuge,” you said.

He looked startled, blue eyes widening.

“From the rain, I mean,” you rushed to clarify. “Actually, I think I’ve got a couple towels in the back, for emergencies. Let me grab them.”

You scurried back off, feeling flustered, before they could answer.

“You Americans, always so courteous,” the Russian said as you practically tossed an old, striped beach towel at him.

“Actually, I just don’t want you ruining my livelihood.”

You turned, holding out the other to Ollie, fingers brushing together as you passed it over, and he gave you a small smile.

“Once you don’t look like drowned rats, you’re free to look around,” you shrugged. “Or...there’s some chairs and stuff in the biography section if you want to just sit somewhere to wait things out.”

“Will you sit with us?” Ollie blurted out, surprising all three of you.

“Oh. Um…” you bit your lip. You wanted to, but you really should be working. Then again, there wasn’t likely to be any other customers. “Sure, I can do that, for a bit at least. Do y’all uh...coffee?” you gestured a thumb over your shoulder, as if that explained anything.

His friend glanced between you with a raised eyebrow and a devilish smirk before shaking his head and wandering off toward the back, where you didn’t feel like pointing out he’d mostly find children’s books.

Over the next hour, as the storm increased in intensity and rattled the windows, you found yourself falling into easy conversation with Ollie while Nikolai prowled the stacks. You suspected the odd Russian was up to something, but were surprised to find that you didn’t care as much as you probably should.

“You know,” you said eventually, shifting the way you were sitting with your knees tucked up under you, leaning closer to Ollie in the next chair, “I feel like I know you…”

“Well, it’s been a long time but my grandmother owns a place on the lake, and I sort of grew up here, it’s just been a while since I’ve been back,” he said reluctantly, as if he were somehow ashamed of his background.

“Oh!” you were surprised, expecting at most that he was a seasonal visitor. There hadn’t been that many other kids around growing up, so you started racking your brain for who he might be.

“Yes,” Nikolai piped in from somewhere in what you hazarded a guess was the science-fiction section. “Don’t you know? He is a Sway.” The pronouncement was made with the same level of gravitas and pomp as one might announce that someone was the king of Spain.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Like, your name is attached to the lake, Sway?”

Ollie was tugging uncomfortably at his sleeves again, like he was trying to disappear within his sweater. “It's no big deal.”

You studied him for a moment. He seemed somehow both proud and ashamed of his heritage, and uncomfortable talking about it. You already liked this boy a lot, more already than you cared to admit. So despite your questions, you shrugged.

“Cool,” you said casually, changing the subject back to music, where he seemed like he shined and you were content to sit back and just listen.

Before you knew it, you had whiled away the entire afternoon and the weather was finally letting up. You were reluctant to say goodbye to Oliver and found yourself impulsively giving him a hug before he left.

Since then, he had seemed to find any excuse he could to come back. Sometimes Nikolai would come too, but as much as you enjoyed the company of the wild Russian, you preferred the quiet days when it was just you and Ollie. He was sweet, and pretty hilarious once he came out of his shell (or maybe stopped being overshadowed by larger personalities?)

Until one day he came into the shop, looking sullen and lost.

“Ollie?” you asked, circling the counter, frowning. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head, and your frown only deepened. Bending back over the counter, standing on your toes to do so, you dug around for something. Finding it, you slapped the “Be back soon” sign on the desk and led him over to your usual chairs.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, leaning over to take his hands.

He stared, unblinking, at you and the silence was starting to unnerve you.

“Oliver?” you lifted one of your hands to wave in front of him. “Hello? You’re starting to scare me…”

That seemed to finally shake him out of the odd funk he was in and he blinked owlishly.

“Sorry, I just...I had a weird dream last night,” he said slowly.

You nodded, tilting your head curiously. In all your long conversations, his nightmares had come up a few times, and while they seemed more strange than sinister to you, you understood how much the loss of his father haunted him, sometimes it seemed quite literally. He confessed that he’d hoped that finding the record would quiet his father’s spirit, and that the longer he struggled to do so, the worse the dreams had been getting, to the point where there were nights he woke up more tired than he’d gone to bed. So you understood, to a degree, why he might look haggard, but this seemed different. You waited patiently for him to go on.

“It wasn’t about my dad this time,” he explained.

His eyes drifted down to your still joined hands, and your face heated guiltily.

“Sorry, I wasn’t...I just...I thought...I’ll…” you stammered, finding yourself at a total loss for how to explain why your instinct had been to comfort him with physical touch.

You moved to pull your hands back, thinking he was upset by the contact, but he curled his own around you to stop you. You made a small noise of confusion, but relaxed back into it.

“So, if it wasn’t about your dad, what was your dream about that has you so...off-kilter?”

“I was leaving the lake, alone, and then I kept seeing a face everywhere.”

“Like a creepy serial killer's face?”

He shook his head, hair swinging across his face as he moved, and you itched to reach out and comb it back.

“No, it was like I was trying to catch up to someone, or find them.”

“And did you? Or at least figure out who it was?”

He shifted nervously. “It was...you.”

“What?” your heart was racing, and you frowned, almost not believing what Ollie was saying.

“I dreamt about you last night, Y/N.” He seemed stunned, almost awed, as he said the words out loud, blue eyes wide and watching you for a reaction.

You felt rooted in your chair, mouth falling open in shock. Your eyes flickered over his face, so open and earnest that it almost hurt.

“Ollie…” you breathed, more because you felt like you needed to say something than because you had any clue what to say.

It would have been one hell of a pickup line, if it had been said by a stranger at a bar, or with the kind of cocky charm that Nikolai oozed, or in almost any context but this one. Now it felt intense and a little bit frightening, because you knew Ollie and you knew how much stock he placed in dreams and all the possible meanings of him telling you this were...a lot. But you didn’t necessarily want to pull away, and you certainly didn’t want to run. You just wanted your mind to process it all.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a good dream, and this one wasn’t great, because I was still alone and feeling like I was always a few seconds too late, but it wasn’t a nightmare, and I didn’t wake up in a cold sweat,” he carried on, trying to explain more, or rationalize, or something.

The sound of a bell disturbed your thoughts, as one of the old tourist bitties that had been slowly perusing tapped it repeatedly, demanding you return to work immediately to serve her.

“If you want, we’ve got some stuff about dream interpretation in the Spiritual section,” you suggested as you got up to return to work.

About halfway across the shop, you turned back to flash him a wink. “But I’ve got a pretty good guess what this one meant, without needing a guide.”

Intense and a little weird or not, you liked Ollie a lot. If he was really dreaming about you, or pretending he was, you’d play along, and maybe something would move forward, or at least a door would open so you could make a move.

He shot up from his chair and trailed you back to the counter. As soon as the lady was out of the way, a bag of rather scandalous romance novels in her arms, he leaned his elbows on the tall wooden surface, pretty far into your space. Normally such an action would have annoyed you, but strangely, because it was him, you didn’t mind so much.

“What does it mean then, Y/N?” he asked, a curious expression on his face, his eyes betraying a hint of teasing that you were pleasantly surprised to see.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your chin in your hand and tilting your head to look at him.

“Are you ever going to ask me out, Ollie?”

He rocked backwards, stunned by your bluntness after so long dancing around each other.

“Or are you going to keep waiting, find your treasure, and leave, regretting that you never shot your shot?”

“How about dinner then?” he asked hurriedly. “Tonight?”

You leaned closer, as if you were going to kiss him, and smiled at his sharp intake of breath. “Sounds perfect. But make sure Nikolai knows he’s not invited.”

“What? Why would you even--” he trailed off as you nodded your head to where the Russian was smirking at you both through the display window, flashing Ollie an approving gesture when he caught your gaze.

Ollie groaned, rolling his entire head dramatically, and you pressed your hand over your mouth to hold back a laugh.

“I’ll see you at seven, Sway,” you teased. “But for now, shoo, I’ve got more customers.”

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Taglist: @misskittysmagicportal (I doubt I’m going to write this character again, but let me know if you want to be tagged if I do)

#everyone else: I write for these Robert Sheehan characters #me: I write for...their best friends?#(this is not a dig at anyone but myself. For constantly falling into a predictable pattern of behavior like I don't expect it)#I should write an Alfie x Reader fic (since I sure as heck aint writing Malachy) and just round it out #fuck. I said it. Now it’s gonna happen...#anyway...enjoy!#Oliver Sway x Reader #Song of Sway Lake fic #fluff

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