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jedibongrip · 2 years

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title: decaying orbits relationship: anakin/obi-wan rating: T tags: divorce, modern au, still in love warnings: mentions of mental illness, unhealthy relationships, abusive behaviours for full list of warnings/explanation see the ao3 link!!!

summary: Obi-Wan thinks, maybe, he'll always be trapped in Anakin's orbit. Maybe he doesn't mind as much as he should. for @obikin-events bingo prompt: divorce!

read under the cut

The only surprising thing about the phone call is that it’s Leia calling. As soon as Obi-Wan saw her name on the caller ID, he was already searching for his car keys.

“Leia, darling, how are you?” he asked, already knowing that the answer wouldn’t be fantastic, not if she was calling him. There were, after all, limited reasons to be calling one’s ex-stepdad, no matter how many years you spent together.

Leia sighs. “I’m fine, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry to ask this, but can you come over? Dad’s… not good, again.”

Not good could mean any number of things. Not good could mean Anakin crashed his car again. Not good could mean Anakin started drinking again. Not good could mean that he’s been fighting and screaming at his kids for days on end. Or that he bought them new phones, a new gaming console, new everything, before he’s paid the utility bill. Not good could mean he hasn’t been home in days.

“He won’t come out of his room,” Leia continues. It’s hard to say if she knows all the horrible scenarios running through Obi-Wan’s head. “Luke keeps trying to get him to eat but last time he knocked, Dad threw a cup, or something, at the door.”

If he’s not eating, he’s certainly not taking his medication. Obi-Wan sighs. It was so much easier to take care of Anakin back when they lived together, back when he would wake him up with kisses and fill up a glass of water for him to take with his pills. But wasn’t that the problem? That Anakin felt like a patient and Obi-Wan felt like a perpetual caretaker? Wasn’t that the first and last nail in the coffin?

“Of course, I’ll come over, love,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just leave your father be.”

“Luke and I were thinking about going to Mom’s house if you think that’s okay.” Unlike Luke, Leia is never shy when suggesting to go over to Padmé’s and refuses to feel bad about wanting the stability and calm of her house. Anakin used to hate that and got irritated whenever his daughter implied that life was easier when she wasn’t with him. Obi-Wan couldn’t fault her for that.

“I think that might be for the best,” Obi-Wan replies. “Give your mother my love. If you leave before I arrive, remember to lock the door.”

Because, even though it’s been over a year since they divorced, nearly two years since they tried a ‘test separation', Obi-Wan still has a key.

The drive to Anakin is nearly half an hour and time seems to crawl the closer he gets. When Obi-Wan bought his new place - a lovely, modern condo, full of clean lines and bright colours, so different from the bungalow he bought with Anakin - he stupidly thought that what he needed was space. Space away from Anakin and the wonderful, difficult, painful life they made together. Space away from the late nights wondering where his husband was and space away from the screaming matches and space away from all the resentment that had built up over the years. Mostly, he needed space away from the gentle moments in between the hurt. The soft smiles whenever Obi-Wan brought him coffee in bed, the ‘surprise dates’ that Anakin used to drag him out to, the way Anakin used to say his name like it was a title, pet name, and confession all at once, the hugs underneath the showerhead in the early morning. Despite everything, remembering the soft happiness of those moments washes away the sharp pain of all the others. Right before Obi-Wan signed the papers, he needed to do all that he could to remember the pain, to convince himself to go through with it. He only regrets it a little more than half of the time.

When he finally pulls up to Anakin’s house (their house, Obi-Wan still sometimes thinks of it as. Like the condo he’s living in now is temporary. Like one day he’ll walk through that front door and never leave again), he sees Luke and Leia sitting on the front curb, both with bulging backpacks by their feet.

“Hello, darlings,” he greets as he’s walking over. “Your mother is picking you up?”

They nod as Obi-Wan leans down to give them each a quick hug. He misses them terribly and only ever sees them like this, in passing, when one of them has called him to help deal with Anakin. He wishes he managed to patch things up with Padmé, if only for the selfish reason of being invited to all her dinner parties again. The twins hate them and dislike having to dress up and behave properly, but he would give anything to simply eat a meal with them again. To listen to them rambling about whatever high school gossip has caught their fancy. To listen to their jokes and excuses for why they didn't finish their homework on time.

Obi-Wan glances at the house. Only the porch light is on.

“Do you want me to wait with you?” Obi-Wan asks, slightly hopeful. They glance at each other for a second, before shrugging, scooting over to make space for Obi-Wan to sit next to them.

Obi-Wan asks them all the questions he used to ask whenever he picked them up from school. Has anything interesting happened? What have they learned? Any new friends?

They dutifully answer each desperate attempt at connection, with minimal sarcasm and snark. It’s only a handful of minutes before Padmé’s sleek SUV stops on the other side of the street, signalling the end of Obi-Wan’s reunion with his the kids. He picks up the backpacks off the pavement and brushes them clean of dirt. Luke and Leia roll their eyes when Obi-Wan holds the bags out to them as if to help them put them on like they’re eight years old again instead of fourteen. They simply grab the straps and fling them over their shoulders.

Obi-Wan gets a one-armed hug from both before they walk across the street, already bickering about who gets the front seat. Obi-Wan gives a small wave to Padmé, who looks at him with an expression between betrayal and pity. He supposes he deserves it. He gives a small wave and receives a half-hearted one in return. The doors to her car fly open as the kids clamber inside, and her face breaks into a smile so bright that it hurts to look at.

Obi-Wan turns to look at the dark house, which also hurts to look at. With nothing to delay him any further, he makes his way to the door. He gives a huff of annoyance when he finds it unlocked - either the twins really don’t listen to a single thing he says or they knew he would arrive before their mother.

The path to Anakin’s room feels well-worn and familiar as Obi-Wan walks it, though he does cringe at leaving his shoes on. He flicks the lights on as he walks, taking a moment to assess his surroundings. Everything is slightly messier than Obi-Wan would prefer, but nothing seems disastrously broken or out of place. None of the appliances look freshly bought and Obi-Wan doesn’t see any excessive packaging littering the floors. It’s all a good sign, but it doesn’t tell Obi-Wan much about how Anakin is doing.

Anakin’s door is closed. Obi-Wan hesitates for a second, as he always does when the kids call him. Everything in him wants to fling open the door, to march in and to hold his ex-husband and never let go. Because no number of fights or cups are thrown at his head, snide remarks about his age and hobbies, or paranoid accusations of cheating could ever overwrite the love he has for Anakin. How could they, when it’s still Anakin?

But this is no longer his house, his bedroom, or his husband. He has no right to barge in, no matter what his heart says or what the children whom he loves ask for. So he knocks, gentle but firm, and calls, “Anakin? Anakin, are you in there?”

The sounds of tossing in bedsheets and a mumbled, “Fuck off,” is the response he gets. At least it’s not shouting.

“I’m opening the door, dear one,” Obi-Wan says because he already made the mistake of listening when Anakin told him to fuck off, and what did it get him? An empty condo and a nearly bi-monthly habit of driving to his ex’s house.

He opens the door slowly, careful not to let the light from behind shine where he knows Anakin will be laying in bed. As he expected, he sees a greasy mop of hair poking out of tangled sheets, a single eye exposed and glaring at him. There are pieces of broken ceramic on the floor - the cup that Anakin threw earlier - and piles of dirty clothing littered about. The air is stale and sour, the curtains drawn tight.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs, stepping gingerly over the shattered cup. He partially closes the door, allowing only a sliver of light to enter, not wanting to overwhelm Anakin. He makes his way to the bed, walking around to what was once his side. He slides off his shoes and perches on the edge. Anakin rolls over to glare at him, before slowly pulling himself towards Obi-Wan. “What happened this time, love?”

Obi-Wan lowers himself so that he’s laying down, letting his arm become Anakin’s pillow as he wraps around him. It takes a few minutes for Anakin to answer, as he seemingly tries to crawl into Obi-Wan’s skin, pressing against him as close as possible.

“Nothing happened,” Anakin mumbles, lips vibrating against Obi-Wan’s chest. Obi-Wan hums and runs a hand through Anakin’s tangled curls. It’s probably been four, maybe five, days since Anakin last showered.

“Were you having one of your ‘good times’ before?” Obi-Wan asks. That’s always what Anakin called them, his ‘good weeks’ or ‘good months’ or ‘good days.' The times he had so much energy that he couldn’t sit still, when his words seemed to tumble out of his mouth, fighting to escape first. Anakin was having one of his ‘good months’ when he started dating Obi-Wan. So full of frantic life, his gaze and attention burning, it made Obi-Wan feel like the centre of a strange and wonderful universe. And when it mellowed, when he found the shy, intelligent, earnest man underneath it all, Obi-Wan was already so in love, so ensnared in Anakin’s orbit. As uncertain as his life with Anakin was, it was never all bad. Never bad enough to make Obi-Wan want to leave, not in the beginning. Not really at the end, either.

Anakin shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “It was just normal.” Obi-Wan hums again and hears Anakin sniffle against his sweater. “Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“I miss you.” Anakin only speaks to Obi-Wan’s chest and doesn't look at him when he says it. “I wish you were here.”

“I’m here now,” Obi-Wan says, wanting to never leave again. Anakin used to call him whenever he was late coming home, a pout in his voice, telling Obi-Wan how much he wanted to see him. Obi-Wan could spend eternity with Anakin and he would still ask for another day.

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Anakin sniffles again and clears his throat. Obi-Wan presses a kiss against his scalp, ignoring the grease and the tangles.

“I miss you too, Anakin,” he admits, feeling as guilty as he would if he was confessing to a murder. Because no matter what anyone else says, he did this to them. He knew Anakin was unwell when he started dating him. Padmé told him as much, told him of the sky highs and the oceanic lows, of the accusations and the love-drunk declarations. He knew what Anakin was like and still fell in love with him, clearing every hurdle to make it easier. Anakin may have said and done every horrible thing that he did, but it was Obi-Wan who called it quits. Anakin would have been happy fighting, making up, making love forever, until one of them died and the other wasted away.

“Can you just stay?” Anakin asks, and Obi-Wan knows he isn’t just asking about tonight. “Please?”

“... Maybe,” Obi-Wan says, knowing that he can’t. Because if he stays once, he’ll never be able to leave again. He only managed to pull himself out of Anakin’s orbit once, barely. He’s still drawn back, circling his old life and his old kids and his old husband like a dying satellite. If he gets any closer, he’s sure he’ll crash and burn. It doesn’t sound so bad, here, holding Anakin, listening to him choking back tears, feeling so at home in his old bed. But he remembers how he felt, so long ago, that fervent need for space and trust and healing - it feels so distant, but he can’t abandon that clarity.

“When was the last time you took your pills?” he says, instead of sharing any of this with Anakin. (There was a time, years ago, when a single glance would make Obi-Wan spill his guts to Anakin. He either built resolve since then or Anakin forgot that he had that power.)

Anakin shrugs. “They don’t help.”

“They do help, Anakin.” It’s an old argument and Obi-Wan can feel Anakin scowling at him. “I know you don't like them, but take them for me. I’ll get them for you.”

Anakin whines as Obi-Wan detangles himself and slides his shoes back on. He’ll have to sweep before he leaves. Probably put on the laundry (but if he does that, he’ll have to wait to put them in the dryer and put them away. Anakin certainly won't finish the job). It only takes a glance at all the pill bottles in the washroom to see that none of Anakin’s prescriptions have changed, so he shakes out what he needs until his palms rattle with little pills bumping against each other as he walks. He puts them on the bedside table, loose and wobbling until they settle into a fixed spot.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says to the lump hiding in bedsheets. He takes the opportunity to make some toast and searches for granola bars to bring with him. He realizes that this is the kind of behaviour that Anakin used to call ‘babying.’ Sometimes Obi-Wan doesn’t know what Anakin wanted him to do when they were married and Obi-Wan was practically pulling his hair out in frustration.

He brings the glass of water and the plate to Anakin, once again stepping over the sharp mess on the ground. Anakin hasn’t moved, but he doesn’t put up resistance when Obi-Wan pulls him into his lap, seeing his face fully for the first time.

He has dark eyebags, red eyes, and cracked lips. His skin is oily, with little spots of acne dotted around his chin, forehead, and cheeks. There are pillow lines and eye gunk dried in the corners of his eyes. He smiles when Obi-Wan rearranges him so that he can wrap his arms around Anakin and it feels like falling in love all over again. It hurts his heart.

“Why don’t I give the doctor a call tomorrow, and you can ask about switching meds again?” It’ll probably be a fruitless quest. Anakin’s tried just about every combination, every therapy, every thought exercise that they can think of. But Obi-Wan refuses to think of Anakin as a lost cause, as someone who’ll never improve or get better. And it’s only in times like this that Anakin thinks of himself that way.

Anakin shrugs. “Whatever.”

Obi-Wan should reach over to grab Anakin’s meds now. He should make Anakin eat something. He should usher him into the shower and restrain himself from joining him under the spray. He should tell Anakin that he can’t keep coming over to clean up his mess, can’t keep driving him to his doctor’s appointments and hospital stays, and can’t keep driving him home every time he gets so drunk that the only number he remembers is Obi-Wan’s. He should remind himself that this is the man he divorced, the man he left, the man who, despite everything, was too angry to put up much of a fight when everything was all said and done. Obi-Wan should let his friends set him up on dates and actually try to get along with them. He should apologize to Padmé again. He should do a lot of things.

But Anakin is so sweet, sitting on Obi-Wan’s lap, even as depressed and messy as he is. He leans on Obi-Wan like he’s the only solid thing in the world - and maybe to Anakin, that’s the case. Obi-Wan curls around Anakin just a little bit more, pulling him closer, only for a minute, he tells himself. Despite - or because of - everything, this is the man that Obi-Wan loves more than anything else, the centre of his universe. No matter how far he tries to stray, he’ll always end up circling Anakin.

Tomorrow, he’ll call the doctor, which will make Anakin upset. He’ll probably throw something again, in between tears, and Obi-Wan will spend hours convincing him that it’s the right move. Later today, he’ll clean up all the mess around the house. He’ll cook Anakin a proper meal and take out the trash. He’ll draw a bath and wash his hair if he asks Obi-Wan not to leave the room. For now, he breathes deeply, memorizing how perfectly Anakin fits against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling how Anakin’s fingers dig into his skin. For now, he tries to find a balance between smothering his love and feeling Anakin’s, while it lasts.

#bongrip writes #obikin #obikin fic #usually i dont harp on this but this is a case when u should read the warnings and CW in the notes

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fictionkinfessions · 11 months

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Joining Fukase with the pride month submissions! But I'll just be specific to one tl since I have way more of these than I thought I did. (getting mems while writing kinfessions moments)

Happy pride to My aroace me and my bisexual queerplatonic partner Collei!

And my lovely Bisexual friends Fischl and Bennett who probably still to this day cannot figure out that they like eachother /teasing

To my Lesbian single mother Lisa, and her life partner Jean (whos sexuality I do not remember. And yes I did still say Lisa was single. Idk what their relationship was but it wasnt romantic dating or a qpr?? Lisa always considered herself single at least so that is what I will repeat.)

To my pansexual father figure Kaeya, and my demisexual uncle figure Diluc.

To all of Bennetts Poly Gay Dads.

To Colleis never-married-but-definitely-divorced dads aromantic bisexual Cyno and "I don't know I just like people sometimes" Tighnari.

To Collei's "Yes we're gay. No we're not dating. Stop asking" Uncles Alhaitham and Kaveh.

To my sapphic almost kinda sorta sister figures Noelle, Rosaria, and Nonbinary transfem Sucrose.

To my aroace Lesbian aunt Alice. (She would never let me call her an "aunt figure" like I do everyone else in my family pfft). And her "I dont care as long as they like explosions" daughter Klee (who I think probably grew up to ID as aro or demi? but the bomb quote is funnier)

To my "gender doesnt exist but I guess you can say Im a boy" kinda cousin/kinda sibling figure Albedo.

To Amber and Eula, most stable couple in the entirety of the Knights of Favonius.

To trans man Mika who was always so scared to say solidly that he was a binary trans man because "what if he changes his mind" even though he hadnt for the 15 years he had id'd as trans and all of us who supported him anyway.

To Aether, who when asked could only say "hm. Queer. Yeah. Queer." and Paimon who had no idea what that ment and he responded "yeah thats the point." with a goofy grin.

And finally. To my bio parents. Who after years of hounding Varka for information about you both, was able to tell me you were both queer. He didnt remember specific ID's, Said he never asked for specifics at all really. But he said he remembered you both had been in same sex relationships before getting married. And that you both shared clothes indescriminently between eachother and that dad loved to wear skirts when he could find a good excuse to do so..

I hope you're all out there. Safe and having a lovely pride this year. And every year to come after. I miss you all, more than you could ever know.

~Razor Minci 🕯♟ (Source Genshin Impact. Please leave the last name out of tags, thank you)

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #razorkin #genshinimpactkin #mod party cat #lgbt canons #q word used

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boogiewrites · 1 year

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a03 tag game

rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

I'll tag @chestylarouxx no pressure to actually do this, this took a few minutes to put together and I know you're busy. <3 Thanks @blue-mossbird for tagging me!

Here's mine! I'm all over the place.

Hindsight’s Always 19/84 (single dad eddie munson x reader)

You walked down the stairs from your apartment onto the street. The sunset painted the town in nostalgia. Muted colors like looking back into your memories surrounded you. It all felt different and somehow exactly the same. You’d been back for about a month now. But with the exception of holidays, you haven't spent any time in Hawkins for over a decade. You didn’t even go to your 10-year high school reunion. You’d had no expectations of coming back here. Certainly not without an exit date firmly scheduled prior. But life is funny that way. You never expect to get divorced when you get married. You never expect to quit what once was your dream job. You never expect to move back to your hometown in some potentially pathetic, you hadn't decided yet, attempt to find yourself. Along with a lot of other lessons you were finally learning, expecting the unexpected was one being driven into your life hard.

Repentance (eddie munson x reader best friends to enemies to lovers)

“One day I’m gonna be the prettiest, most popular girl in school, you’ll see!” you shouted proudly, full of optimism at the age of 12 to your best friend.

“Uh-huh, sure.” he nodded, rolling his eyes with a crooked smile.

“I am!”

“People like us don’t get popular.” he sighed, the defeat of 2 more years of life experience, a teenager in middle school who was getting even more life lessons than those he’d already learned the hard way at a young age.

“Well…” you pouted your lips and sunk back in thought. “Can I still be the prettiest?” you perked up with newfound hope.

“Sure.” he chuckled to himself. “You can be the prettiest.”

Now, 6 years later you’d achieved that bold goal. But you hadn’t… couldn’t have known what it was going to cost you. The biggest hurt and the first was losing your best friend. The very same boy that had told you you could do it (at least half of it anyway) In hindsight, you wish you’d listened.

Seeing Stars( eddie munson x f!oc witch)

It was a hot summer night, the heat coming off the asphalt as he made his way up the driveway to the front door. This would probably be the last party of the summer before school started back. Since it wasn’t being thrown by a high schooler, Eddie was inclined to go. He hoped there’d be good drinks and weed since things had been slim since Rick had gone to jail. He wasn’t excited for school to start back, only eager to get it the fuck over with this time. The third time’s a charm after all.

Cherry Bomb (eddie munson x f!oc cherry shy/virgin)

As of late, she’d been regretting her track record of chronic GOOD decision making in her life. However, the trust earned from being a good girl for 18 years was paying off and allowing her to savor tiny tastes of rebellion for the first time.

She couldn’t have stood out more from the other patrons of the bar on the outskirts of town. The doorman had put a big X on the back of her hand when she’d shown him her ID. He was half surprised she wasn’t trying to pretend to be older, if she hadn’t been in the Hawkins High shirt, she might’ve been able to pull it off.

Another Man (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x reader)

It wasn’t like you to stand and gawk. Let alone at a man, but before you was the man you’d known for months and grown quite fond of. His shy and wounded exterior was now gone and showing a certain and practiced fighter with nearly black eyes and no inkling of hesitation in his body. Your lamp sparked on the ground at his feet, the room had gone dark. The only light to illuminate the interior of your home was the light from lamp posts outside and a faint glow from a kitchen fixture above the stove.

You watched, breathing heavily from exertion and now rising arousal. His forearms flexed, just visible outside of a loved and well-worn utility shirt, cuffs rolled up tightly just below a now strained upper sleeve where another man’s throat was being choked. Warm chocolate eyes were black under a heavy brow, no longer puppy eyes that you’d teased him for. His trusty hat still stayed on a head of messy waves that was always just too long of looking groomed. The unconscious body hits the floor and you’re left gazing at a different man than you’d known just a few minutes prior.

Choking on Sapphires (Alfie solomons x f!oc Genevieve crime/romance)

You find yourself making a handful of trips back from your home near Paris as uses for your particular sets of skills are to be had with the Peaky Blinders. You’d spoken on all holidays over the telephone and visited on a few. You speak to Polly most frequently, mostly of Charlie as you sent all the children gifts often when you traveled.

For the first time, you initiate the call to Tommy in the wake of your fast decision to move to London. You make your way out to his country home. You explain to Tommy of your intentions of starting new for yourself. You have a different last name to hide your nobility connections and forged paperwork and records to weave together a fake past. You tell him about your legal business plans, your honey, and your berries. You whisper to him about your illegal business, mostly art theft, some jewels and a touch of persuading others to do your bidding because of your connections and violence. The latter he was a skill he was well acquainted with. He welcomes you with a closed mouth smile.

Never Break the Chain (javier pena x f!oc thief/enemies to lovers)

The air was as still and silent as a hot Texas summer night could be. The buzz of the insects and the rustle and call of the nocturnal animals felt familiar to Esme and were a white noise that made her feel she was home. The moon was high and bright, illuminating the rushing and recently risen river below her. Summer storms had made their way through, a brief break to the smothering heat and filling the formerly waning river bed. It made for a great day on these rare summer occurrences, floating about lazily and working on her tan, drinks were plentiful between friends and you could let any stress you had floated down the river after you left. As she gripped the old iron railing of the backroad bridge, feeling the failing paint flaking under her anxious hands, she knew those golden days of youth and summer were falling behind her now. The river would take her trouble away tonight, but in the morning a whole new set would emerge in their place. Even so, this is what she wanted, deep down she knew the conversation she was about to have wasn’t going to be one with a happy ending, and she’d prepared for that. Still, until she heard the words from his lips herself, that last bit of naivete she had left would hope against hope that this night wouldn’t end in tears.

Burning Star ( din djarin x reader )

You couldn’t recall the exact BBY you’d met The Mandalorian. But then again, you weren’t even sure of your birth year, so dates tended to blend into one another in your memory. You recalled every encounter though, every mission he’d asked you to assist him on, the times you’d healed him and his ship, and especially the time he’d come to your planet for refuge with a strange but endearing little green creature. Your small, backwater planet didn’t have much. But that was one of the main things that had drawn you to it. Your parents were nomads, and you’d adopted the same after their death. So you made yourself a home on a green little planet after years of travel. It homed tiny hubs for weary travelers dotted along with the mountainous surface. But the one they called Mando always came to yours.

NO. 9: The Body (diego hargreeves x f!oc discovery of superpowers)

From the view from her apartment window, only slightly obscured by the fire escape, Eve looked out on the gloomy sunrise falling over the New York City street below. The fog and steam from the light drizzle on the street grates blended with the haze of her coffee cup as she took a moment to gather herself, feel the calm at the moment before the chaos of her job began.

Eve was all about function over fashion these days. Her childhood had held many questionable punk ensembles and thrifted, or even stolen pieces that were worn down to bare threads. But now her clothes usually consisted of scrubs, so she opted for comfort usually. She savors the last of her coffee and the peace of her small home and makes her way out into the world to begin another long, chaotic 12-hour shift.

Mae Flowers (alfie solomons x f!oc Mae white witch/immortal soulmate au)

The year is 2018, a long, long way away from his birth year of 1893. He stands in front of the Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies in New Orleans, Louisiana. A place that had been around longer than he had. This place and the supreme, Fiona Goode had served as a haven and an ally for him for many years. It seemed no matter the type of witchcraft, save for the spat between the witches and the voodoo practitioners, this place could serve as a resting place, a pause in whatever journey anyone with powers might find themselves on.

He'd been drawn to New Orleans, his inner voice, his darkness kept pointing it out to him, whispering it to him. It'd all started about a year ago, only growing in intensity since. Once the odd dreams had started, and for the life he had lived, odd was saying something. Once they had started, his usual blackness, an endless, timeless void that lay before him in his unconsciousness, there started to appear small specks of light.

Nightmares were eased with more pleasant thoughts and memories that were not his own. Once he felt his darkness recoil from the light in his dreams he knew something had changed, something was different. He'd heard of awakenings like these from others of his kind but it'd been so long that he'd been alone in his own dark soul that he had thought that he would be alone there forever.

#tag game

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justkending · 3 years

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Moral of the Story (Prologue)

Series Summary: From childhood friends, to highschool sweethearts, the two naive, young, and lovestruck teens decided the best way to keep a strong relationship during college would be to marry right out of highschool. No one batted an eye at the idea as everyone knew they were soulmates. However, college is a big step in a person’s life. You learn new things about yourself, you make new friends, find new hobbies… And maybe being newly weds and going to different colleges across the states wasn’t the best plan… After a falling out, and a tragic heartbreaking divorce, the two now hold grudges for how the other handled the whole thing in the past. Neither not really knowing both sides of the story. 10 years later, and they both get a call from the lawyers office that settled their divorce. Somehow the papers never went through and the divorce was never completed. So now, the exes, or should we say husband and wife, have to meet back up after all these years to settle their failed marriage once and for all. (This summary will be shorter in other chapters. I just needed to get the full concept out there;)

A/N (repeat): So the other day while I was doing my hair (quite the process), I was playing music and the song Moral of the Story by Ashe came on. Mind you, I’ve heard this song hundreds of times, but for some reason, this time I got a major story idea! Listening to the lyrics brought me to this new series. Of course, the lengthy summary above will give you an idea of what came to my brain, but I recommend you listen to the song still because it plays a big part in my thought process:) (Plus it’s a good song;) Enjoy and please do not hesitate to share your thoughts and comments with me! I love each and every single one<3

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N (Modern AU)

Word Count: 1200+

Prologue:

"Melody, have the papers for the Bee's Knees company come in yet?"

"Uh, no. But I can call them again and see if they faxed it or sent over a physical copy though," Melody answered from her desk, already typing away to find the company.

"Perfect. We have a meeting with a recycling plant next week and I want to get everything set before we go in with them," Y/N nodded, coming out from her office with a file in her hands. She turned to her assistant at the front desk who was about 20 emails deep and already finding the issue. "Hey, you're not coming in tomorrow, right?"

"Um, no, no. I am. I rescheduled that date," she answered bashfully as if she had been caught in the act of something.

"Melody..." Y/N drug out, hand on her hip.

"What? I- He understood. He said he was fine moving it to Saturday," the young woman shrugged, never looking back at her boss that was clearly sending her a motherly stare.

"You're already over your 40 hours this week, and you've rescheduled with him, what? 3 times now?" Y/N moved to the front of the desk so the young brunette had to make eye contact with her.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly.

"Is it just nerves or something else?" Y/N smirked.

"I'm not nervous... It's just been a while since I've had time for a date."

"Two things about what you just said in the past minute. One, clearly this guy likes you because he's rescheduled with you this many times and hasn't called it off yet. So if you're nervous about it not going well on his end, I think you're safe," Y/N pointed a finger at her.

"But-," Melody started.

"Second," Y/N cut off with a raised eyebrow. "I'm giving you time to go on a date and you're still not taking it. Work is no longer an excuse."

Melody stopped avoiding eye contact and looked up at the Y/H/C hair woman leaning on her reception desk.

"You've been talking with my mom again, haven't you?" she sighed.

"I promised I'd take care of you. So yes, I have. And though her reasoning for you dating is because she wants grandbabies, I just want you to have fun and live your life. You're 22. Don't waste your young years being scared."

"Ugh, fine. I'll text him now and see if he's still available for tonight," she groaned.

"Perfect!" Y/N grinned in victory as she started to walk back to her office. "I expect the details in the morning," she winked before she walked in.

"Oh, Y/N!" Melody stopped her. "A message came for you while you were in that last meeting."

"Who from?" Y/N quirked an eyebrow, moving back to the desk.

"Uh, I don't really know. Didn't sound familiar, but here's the name and number they said to call back from," she answered, handing her a note.

Y/N took the small paper and looked it over. Her face dropped and her eyes widened.

"You ok? Is it someone you know?" the young assistant asked, noticing what looked like horror on her face.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, an old acquaintance of mine," Y/N tried to quickly brush off. "Um, I'm going to take this. Can you hold any calls and if anyone comes to talk, tell them to just email me?"

"Oh, ok. Yeah, I'll take care of it," Melody nodded.

"Thank you."

Rushing back to her office and quickly shutting her door, she raced to her phone. She read the business name again, not sure if she was dreaming or if it was a hallucination.

Nope. Hammer Attorney was written in Melody's perfect penmanship on the paper with a number that held an area code from New York. A place she never thought she would hear from again and from a town she hadn't visited in almost 10 years._________________

"Buck, did you tell Fury about getting those new water therapy machines?" Steve shouted from his room.

"We're at home, Steve. Why are we talking about work?" Bucky groaned as he slouched on the couch. A beer in hand and a documentary with I Survived stories playing in front of him.

Steve came in from around the corner looking down at his phone in hand before moving his eye line to his roommate.

"Because I just got a call from the night crew saying that the last one that was working, finally went out tonight while they were running it for some test," Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Ugh, you would think that a facility run by a billionaire who literally makes his money on high-tech machines, wouldn't have to ask for those kinds of things," Bucky groaned, grabbing his own phone and going through emails. "Let me check to see if the email went through. He wasn't in office when I went to tell him."

As he was sorting through the hundreds of emails sent back and forth just this week alone, he found the reply message.

"Yeah, management confirmed it. They should be in by Saturday it looks like. Guess Stark was still working out the kinks to a new one and was waiting to send one our way until the last one died to get more time on his newest model."

Steve nodded before walking to the kitchen and typing Bucky's response to the other crew members.

"The man is always finding new ways to upgrade them before he can even send them to us."

Just as Bucky was about to throw his phone to the side again though, it started ringing. Looking at the caller ID, he didn't recognize the unknown number. It was from in-state but in his hometown area of Brooklyn. He pinched his eyebrows together confused at the call, but answered it anyway, thinking it must be someone from home.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Mr. Barnes?" The other voice answered.

"Yes, this is him. Who's this?" he asked, sitting up a little and putting the beer on the end table.

"My name is Matthew Murdock. I work at Nelson and Murdock Law firm," he went on. Bucky shook his head not knowing what that was supposed to mean. "Well, you may actually know us previously as Hammer Attorney. We recently just took over their business after some fraud issues."

Bucky's heart stopped. He knew what that name meant.

"I hate to inform you, but we were going through some of their old files. Ones we were informed could be incomplete or done completely incorrectly due to little care in the actual cases, but more so in taking the money."

"Incomplete cases?" Bucky said softly. His brain was still trying to wrap around the conversation.

"Yes, unfortunately, it looks like a lot of cases having to deal with divorces that the past owners handled, were done strictly in order to launder money. They weren't actually certified, nor trained in handling divorce settlements."

Bucky froze. Eyes wide. Mouth agape.

He stuttered out a response when the man on the other line didn't continue.

"A-And talking about incomplete divorce settlements, you called because..." Bucky knew. He needed to hear it out loud because if he didn't, it wasn't true. It couldn't be.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Barnes, but it looks as though you and your wife, Y/N Y/L/N or sorry, Y/N Barnes, are actually not divorced."

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley @ximaginx @vicmc624

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555 @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @pham-tastical

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia

#bucky barnes x reader au #bucky barnes highschool sweetheart #bucky barnes collge au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #justkending #new series #new marvel series #marvel au

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fangirlings-things · 3 years

Text

Goodbye [1/2]

➤ PART. 2

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of death

Summary: after being taken by an unsub, you are given a goodbye call and you use it to call the chief of your unit and lover, Aaron Hotchner

A/N: just a lot of angst with this man because I love him!!! let me know your thoughts and if you want me to write the second part this is supposed to have lots of love 💖

GIF IS NOT MINE || TAG LIST: @imaginesofyourfandom ; @locke-writes ; @regalbanshee

Hotch could not believe his own ears when the phone rang in the room in Oklahoma City the police had given the BAU team to use during the current investigation. Everyone had been expecting that call for 48 hours now. They knew that call would be made, because that was the signature. The signature of the killer they had been hunting.

Hotch exchanged a brief look with all the team as he walked forward towards the table were the phone was. All the others had something in their expressions that he knew probably resembled his own. Fear. He actually had to take a deep breath before pressing the button to pick up the call.

As the phone was programmed to sound on speaker, the whole team was able to hear a shallow breathing on the line. No one dared to say anything, too tense to do such a thing. But then they didn’t have to, because the person with the shallow breathing then spoke. “H-Hotch?”

It broken him. Right then and there. He did not want to believe it, he refused to. For 48 hours he had given all he had to try to solve that case in time, but hadn’t been able to. As the M.O said, the killer gave his victims one last call before finishing them. And that was happening. That was your last call and it did not surprise anyone, that you were looking for him. For you, it had always been him.

“Hotch?” your voice sounded again, weak, and that finally set him into action.

“(Y/N)?” your name seemed heavy on his tongue, like it had never before. He leaned down and pressed his hands into the surface of the table as id to hold himself up. “(Y/N), I’m here. Where are you?”

“You know I don’t know that. And if you’re asking me, I suppose you and the team don’t either” you tried to give out a little laugh, but it quickly turned into a cough. From their side of the line, Garcia pressed one of her hands to her mouth, tears already steaming down her face.

“(Y/N), anything. Anything at all that…” the leader of the unit said, the words leaving his mouth in a terrified rush.

“Aaron” the intensity of your tone and the fact that you used his first name made him go quiet on the very same instant. Around the room, no one else dared to speak. They knew you wanted Hotch, and him only. “Stop. It’s over, babe”

“No, it’s not. We can…” he began again, trying hard to keep his voice steady.

“Aaron” you spoke again, much more softly this time and it seemed as if Hotch had been slapped. He pressed his palms so hard against the table that his knuckles turned white. “This is my goodbye call. You know what this means”

“You have to remember something. Anything. Did you see…” your silence was unbearable and his voice died in his throat, tears blurring his vision and falling on the table. “I shouldn’t have sent you alone”

“You know I would have gone anyway. I lost, it’s part of the job. But you and the team will still be able to catch him” he realized you thought the others weren’t hearing your words and silently decided to leave it that way. He knew you never liked to be so exposed and fragile in front of everyone. And still, he could not ask them to leave the room. Honestly, he thought he wouldn’t be able to go through that alone. “You have to catch him, Aaron”

“I will. I promise you, I will” from the corner of his eye, he saw David pull a chair and sit down to then support his face on his hands, the sadness clear in his features. “(Y/N)…”

“I know” you said, and it made him go silent again. “I know” you repeated and the team was able to hear the change in your voice when you started to cry. “I’m really going to miss you, Aaron. God, I already do” in that moment Derek took his hands to his head and started to walk around the room, in agony. “I’m going to miss having to make you leave the office and go home. Spending the weekends with you and Jack. Falling asleep by your side on the jet” you sobbed loudly then, giving into emotion. Emily cleared her throat to stop herself from sobbing too. Hotch had to pull away from the table to take a deep breath and control his own now unregular breathing. “But above all, I’m sorry”

“What?” he asked, too confused and overwhelmed by the whole situation.

“I’m sorry for making you go through this again. I know how much your suffered because of Hailey. I never wanted you to have to…” you sobbed again. The hot tears streaming down his face seemed like a waterfall, never ending. Never stopping. “I’m so sorry”

“This is not your fault” he forced his voice to go out. He came back closer to the table and sat down on a chair merely because he felt like falling down at any moment. “You know this is not your fault”

“Still, I wanted you to know” you went silent for long moments and just when he was about to call out, your voice came back. “Can’t believe I’m not going to see everyone again. This team…” you laughed a bit and all of them could picture your smile. “I’m going to miss them all so much”

“(Y/N), anything…” Hotch grabbed into hope, wishing, craving something, anything, that would change the outcome of what was to happen.

“Tell David to don’t get married again” you interrupted, sniffing as you tried to stop crying. Talk about your co-workers made your tone sound sweeter and you felt a certain warmth in your chest. “Between the job and the idea of another divorce, he will loose it” you laughed and David laughed too silently, nodding in agreement. “Emily belongs in the BAU. She’s an amazing profiler, and an amazing friend” Prentiss closed her eyes at the compliments, feeling too deeply. “Don’t let J.J work too much. Make her go home by seven and please, if she’s overwhelmed, make her take a few days to herself” J.J by hearing you talk about her, turned around and stormed out of the room, unable to hear more. “Penelope, oh, I adore her. Thank her for all the advices, the playlists she made to cheer me up and listen on the jet. Thank her for everything” Garcia reprimanded a sob and left just like J.J had done. “Derek…” Morgan instantly stopped walking and fixed his blurry eyes on the phone, like he could see you somehow. “he is my best friend. My best friend in the entire world. Tell him I remember every laugh, moment, drink, every pizza night we had together. I wish we had more of those” Morgan really cried now, punching the closest wall with all the force he had. If you heard the sound, you did not mention it. “Spencer is the brother I never had” Reid, who sat on a chair close to Rossi, squeezed his lips on a thin line. “I love that he always have… had a new historical fact to tell me about. Seeing him trying to eat in hashis always made me laugh so hard. Tell him to visit his mother more. I know he misses her” another pause. Another sob. “I love them all. Tell them that I do. Hotch?”

“Yes?” he took the tears away from his face with the back of his right hand, feeling his chest aching. It was like he could literally feel his heart breaking.

“I love you. It took me a long time to say so, maybe too long. I wish we had more time” you sobbed again, harder, and that sound was horrifying, like it came straight out of a nightmare. “I found the ring, Aaron. On your drawer. I was only looking for a shirt and there it was… the ring” Hotch closed his eyes hardly, telling himself he wanted to wake up. He had to wake up and see that it was not real. It couldn’t be. “I would’ve said yes, Aaron. It would have definitely been a yes” and then the line went silent.

“(Y/N)?” Hotch called, but there was no answer. His breath hissed. “(Y/N), keep talking to me, babe” nothing still. “(Y/N), please, talk to me”

“Aaron” David got up from his chair and walked around the table to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Please…” he was the one who then started sobbing.

━━━━━━━━━━ × ━━━━━━━━━━

“Aaron, we need to talk” David entered the room of the station where Hotch had been alone in for hours now. As he got no response, he insisted. “Aaron?”

“Leave me alone” he said only, eyes still fixed on the phone from which he had heard your last words. Last words.

“Aaron” David said again, more seriously this time.

“What?” Hotch raised his voice, eyes dry and hurting. The tears seemed to have ended long before.

David fixed his eyes on his. “Garcia found something”

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #one shot #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron x reader #hotch x reader #hotch imagine #hotch #gender neutral #gender neutral imagine

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kaunis-sielu · 3 years

Text

Take the Money: 6

TW: mentions of abuse

You stare at him, weighing your options. You could just sit here, not say anything and hope he goes away but you don’t think you’re going to get that lucky. After a few moments you sigh heavily.

“I met him in college. He was a football player, big man on campus, I was a nobody in one of his classes. We got paired up for an assignment and he charmed me. Was sweet and attentive, asked me out and treated me like a Queen. For the first time in my life I felt important, I felt seen.” He waits silently, letting you gather your thoughts and as much as you don’t want to talk about this it’s also kind of freeing to tell someone.

“When he graduated I had one year left but he convinced me to leave school and marry him. Once I did I was trapped. It was maybe six months before he did anything. I wanted to go back to school, I was having a hard time finding a job and so I thought if I went back to school and graduated I’d be able get a job.” You look down at your hands and Steve shifts slightly, you glance up at him but his face is unreadable, his full attention on you.

“From there things just got worse. He had people watch me so I couldn’t go anywhere alone, he isolated me from my friends and family, or so he thought. My grandma never gave up. She kept reaching out, she must’ve known what was going on. When he put me in the hospital, purposely crashing his car on my side she called in some favors and smuggled me out, I’ve been running since.”

“Rumlow.”

“What?”

“Senator Pierce’s grandson, that’s who you were married to.”

“Am.” You correct softly, shame heavy in the word.

“What?”

“Am married to. I can’t get a divorce because I can’t stay hidden and serve him papers. Now do you understand why you can’t help me?”

“But I can. Money is powerful and I’ve almost solely funded Sam Wilson’s campaign.”

“They have money too. It’s a miracle I’ve been able to stay hidden this long, and getting a fake ID that allows me to work in the school wasn’t easy.”

“I can protect you.”

“No, you can’t. I’ll put you in even more danger.”

“Wait, you’re worried about me?” Steve asks and you nod, “Sweetheart the only way they’re getting something on me at this point is if I tell them myself. Please let me help you.”

“I’ll think about it.” You tell him but you have a bad feeling that he’s going to keep pushing you on this one.

“Is there anything I can do today for you?”

“No, thank you.”

“Did you look up what kind of bed you wanted?”

“Oh, um no.” You admit ducking your chin in embarrassment. He lets out this low rumble of a laugh.

“You know that means that I get to pick right?”

“Please nothing crazy expensive.”

“As long as you promise to give my offer some real thought.”

“I will.” You promise and he nods before rising to his feet and holding out a hand for you to take. You do so hesitantly and he pulls you gently to your feet.

“I can protect you, and myself, just let me know if you’re okay with it.”

“I will.” You tell him again and he nods once then gives you this soft smile and leaves your apartment.

It’s not until later that the regret hits. You shouldn’t have told him, in your gut you know that he’s not going to leave this alone. As you lay on the couch you decide exactly what you’re going to do. You pack all of your things into your duffel bag, leave your key on the counter and slip out the window and down the fire escape. You pull your baseball hat low, keep your head down and walk quickly to the bus stop.

From there you make your way to the bus terminal to get out of town, you’ll go south, somewhere warm and small where no one will ever find you. You make it to the bus station and purchase 2 tickets, one with cash and one with your card. The one with your card will go unused, it’s a ticket out to Illinois something that you hope both Brock and Steve will fall for. You get on the bus headed for South Carolina and curl up into a little ball, your bag on the seat beside you and your back pressed to the window.

You fall asleep at one point, but it’s not good sleep you wake every time the bus jolts to a stop but you always keep your head down. It’s going to be a really really long twenty hours.

It is kind of fun to watch the scenery change, you’ve lived in the north your whole life, only leaving a couple of times to go on vacations with Brock. When the bus gets to a town that looks nice and small, you get off when the driver stops for gas.

“This isn’t a stop lady!” He yells as you make your way up the street.

“I’m good thanks!” You call back as you continue toward what looks like the center of town. You’re not exactly sure what your plan is here but you’ll figure it out, you’ve got more than enough cash in your bag and you don’t need much. Just something to keep you out of the elements and running water if you’re honest. You head for a coffee shop and pull your old laptop out of your bag, it takes forever to boot up but once it does you quickly find the information you need, you also email school and let them know there’s been a family emergency and you won’t be back. As much as you loved that job and those kids it’s just not safe for you there anymore. You don’t say anything to Wanda, hopefully keeping Steve off your trail, if he doesn’t know you’ve left he can’t find you.

Tag list:

@memyselfandmaddox @thefanficfaerie @patzammit @dsakita @dramadreamer14 @killcomet @thesassmisstress @andahugaroundtheneck @loving-life-my-way @thefridgeismybestie @dumblani @im-just-another-monster @mywinterwolf @scuzmunkie @giggleberts @biskwitmamaw @geeksareunique @paintballkid711 @lumar014 @also-fangirlinsweden @connie326 @inkedaztec @valsworldofcreativity @strangersstranger

#steve rogers #captain america #imagine steve rogers #captain america x reader #mobster!steve rogers #mob boss!steve #mob!steve #mobster!captain america #mob!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader au #Steve Rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader imagine #imagine steve rogers x reader #take the money story

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theenpcbracket · 9 months

Text

The TTRPG NPC Tournament Semifinals (Round 4): Mary Byram vs. HE

Images are in the order of the poll! Image ID included, click to see the full image please!

More about each NPC below the cut!

Character 1

Name: Mary Byram Party: Ambiscade Gang Relationship to party: Coworker, divorcee

What makes them the best NPC: Mary Byram is living proof that the song “No Children” by The Mountain Goats doesn’t just have to be about romantic relationships gone wrong. She’s a bright red tiefling rogue with a storied past, currently working for a guild called the Thinfingers alongside one of the party members. Previously, she worked with a tiefling rights movement called Hellflame, but something happened there that she doesn’t really talk about. She’s still passionate about both the movement and the group, though.

Our bard lovingly calls her “Mare-Bear.” She hates this. She’s a day drinker. She’s exhausted always. She cares so much but will never admit it unless under duress. I think she genuinely thinks that god cursed her by metaphorically putting her in a get-along shirt with our rogue PC. Their dynamic allowed our party to coin the term “Coworker Divorce” except they’re literally not allowed to actually get rid of each other. She is also constantly saddled with the skater-pilled rogue who was also submitted to the bracket, so she’s usually outnumbered when it comes to harebrained schemes. She’s largely anti-antics, but is down for some antics if she's in control of them. She’s a mastermind and usually gives the help bonus action either by telling people what they fucked up or by telling them NOT to fuck something up. She deserves a break she’ll simply never get.

Quote: "Thoughts?" -the warlock, asking Mary about a proposed plan. "...More than you. Apparently." -Mary

To learn more about Mary, check out the extra propaganda in her tag here!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Character 2

Name: HE Party: The Misdemeanor Mateys Relationship to party: Businessman, aggravating party stalker, final boss

What makes them the best NPC: Mysterious tiny man with static for a head, and the loudest screechiest voice you can imagine (DM once blew out their vocal chords because of him). Levitates and teleports at will, and can pop objects in and out of existence. Runs a business granting magical favors. Originally tried to hire the party to help his business but the group said "fuck no". Now regularly pops in to nag, cause trouble, or play meme songs on a calliope, and occasionally provides useful information. HE controls an alternate dimension called the Mercantile Pile full of items from different times and places, including lots of modern-day technology (unlike the D&D campaign setting). He can be summoned by writing out his name. His calling card is a 7 of Spades, which he can also use to influence the world & cast spells remotely. HE mainly wears business suits & suspenders, but has also appeared in a hazmat suit (riding a tricycle), turtleneck sweater and thigh holster, wetsuit with suspenders painted on, sequin jacket with '69' on the back, peacock burlesque, and nurse drag outfit. He once killed 20 guards with a snap of his fingers. He also destroyed a walkman with a flamethrower. Implied to be the father of the ultra-powerful kid whose primary pastime is handing out enchanted "friendship nuggets" [chicken]. His #1 business competitor is Michael's Wonder Emporium. Eventually turns out to be one of the most central characters to the story.

Quote: "STAY OFF MY THRONE!"

"You're going to call me when you need me!"

To learn more about HE, check out the extra propaganda in his tag here!

#mary byram #he #round 4 #polls #dungeons and dragons #d&d #dnd #dnd oc #dnd npc #ttrpg #pathfinder #powered by the apocalypse #dnd stuff #dnd character #character tournament #oc tournament #homebrew #d&d 5e #semifinals

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jobrookekarev · 3 years

Text

One Step Forward and Three Steps Back: Chapter Four

Chapter Four of Six

Words: 3486

Chapter Summary: Meredith arrives at the hospital and Stephanie tells Alex about Jo’s marriage to Paul. Later, when Paul wakes up, he tells a different story of what happened in the loft.

Summary: Jo wants to marry Alex more than anything, there’s just a few hoops she has to jump through before she can make that a reality. When she finally takes the plunge to free herself from her past, it all comes back to haunt her.

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.

Relationship: Alex Karev/Jo Wilson, Jo Wilson/Paul Stadler (Past).

Characters: Alex Karev, Jo Wilson, Stephanie Edwards, Paul Stadler, Meredith Grey, Nathan Riggs, Jackson Avery, Miranda Bailey, Ben Warren, and Isaac Cross.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Assault. Medical, Hospital, Police, and ER.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

……………………………………………………………………

Meredith walked into the Grey-Sloan’s ER with Richard by her side. She watched Bailey speaking with the police and security before she went over to the trauma rooms. She didn’t know exactly where Alex and Jo were, but the trauma rooms were her best bet. Jackson came out of trauma room two, pulling out a stretcher with Cross and Warren. The face of the man on the stretcher was black and blue as his eyes were swollen shut, and his nose was set. Jackson caught her eye and walked over to her.

“Is that him?” Meredith guessed as Cross took the man over to the elevators.

“Alex called you?” Jackson asked, crossing his arms, knowing her answer.

“Yeah, where are Jo and Alex?” Meredith said, looking over at the empty trauma room one.

“We’ve transferred Jo up to Pre-OP Alex and Stepahine are there with her. I’ll walk up with you. Riggs, can you scrub in with me on Jo’s surgery?” Jackson said as they all walked over to the elevator.

“Yeah, of course,” Nathan said with a quick nod as they all followed Jackson.

“What happened,” Meredith demanded, putting her hand on Jackson’s arm to stop him. “Alex said that Jo was attached, but he was too distraught to say anything else.”

“Meredith, you know I can’t break HIPPA and tell you, as much as I want to,” Jackson said as he pressed the button for the elevator.

“Do you need a general surgeon?” Webber asked as they got on the elevator. “You said you needed Cadro, so surely you must need a general surgeon as well.”

Jackson hesitated, but Meredith glared at him and he knew Richard was right.

“Okay fine,” Jackson said, pulling up Jo’s chart on the tablet and handing it over to her. Meredith quickly read over the chart and was shocked to see her injuries. Although they weren't extensive, they could have been. Meredith had seen injuries like this in car accidents or hangings, but never at the hands of another person.

“Heart and lung functions look good, and it seems that there's good blood flow in both carotid arteries, and although she was responsive at the scene and in the ambulance. I want to do a Neuro check post-OP,” Nathan said, reading over the cardiologist report and looking at the MRI and CT results. “I also want to make sure that the swelling I saw on the scans doesn't extend further into her lungs.”

“Which is why I asked you to scrub in with me. I'm about to do a rigid bronchoscopy to check her airway. Stephanie said that she could hardly pass the tube down when she first intubated Jo at the scene, and I suspect that I’ll have to do an airway stenting,” Jackson said as they stepped off the elevator and walked over to the pre-OP rooms.

“I'm going to go get changed into scrubs and I'll meet you both in the OR,” Nathan said before he left, giving Meredith a nod.

Meredith knew she should do the same, but she had to talk to Alex first. Three of them walked into pre-OP and Jackson led them past the other beds to a space that was closed off with curtains. He pulled it back to reveal Alex and Stephanie sitting at Jo's bedside. Jo was still unconscious and the bruises on Jo's neck made her pause. Meredith had watched Jo grow from a shy and unsteady intern to a confident and assertive resident. Seeing her unconscious on the bed was unsettling, especially given the circumstances.

“I'm going to go up to the OR and scrub in, but I'll tell the nurses to wait a few minutes before they bring her up. Do you have any more questions?” Jackson said, his voice soft as he spoke to them, putting his hand on Alex's shoulder.

Alex only shook his hand in a no as he continued to stare at Jo. Jackson left with Webber, leaving the three of them alone. Meredith came over and put her hand on Alex's shoulder, rubbing his back.

“Thanks for coming, Mere,” Alex said, glancing up at her, and Meredith frowned as they both looked down at Jo.

“Jackson told us what happened and I'll be scrubbing in on the bronchoscopy to keep an eye on her,” Meredith reassured him.

“Thank you,” Alex said as he grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“How did it happen?” Meredith asked, looking between Alex and Stephanie.

Stephanie cleared her throat and sat up straighter. She was holding Jo’s other hand and rubbing circles on the back of her hand with her thumb.

“I met Jo at the bar earlier today. She was drunk, really drunk, so I took her back to the loft. Alex came back and the three of us fell asleep. I woke up to the plant breaking on the floor and I sat up and looked over to see that he was on top of her. He was choking her and digging his knee into her chest. Then Alex punched him and got him off of her. Jo was, she was awake, conscious, and moving around, but she couldn't breathe. I had to intubate her and we called for an ambulance to bring her here.”

“Who was that guy that attacked her?” Alex said, looking up at Stephanie, Meredith could see the desperation in his eyes, and she watched Stephanie take a deep breath.

“Jo only told me about his existence a few hours ago and she didn’t tell me his name. She was drunk and I think that's the only reason she told me. Jo was crying, and she just said that he was physically abusive to her and that she ran away from him, but…” Stephanie paused as she was barely able to keep her voice from breaking as she spoke.

Stephanie trailed off as she looked between the two of them. She bit her lip as if she was still hesitant to spill all of Jo’s secrets, but given the current situation, Meredith knew they would all come out eventually.

“Alex, she said that she was still married to him.”

“What?” Alex whispered in disbelief.

“Jo said she was trying to divorce him. I don't know how. She must have a lawyer or something. She wanted to be with you, but she was afraid he wouldn't sign the papers or that he would, well, that he would do something like this,” Stephanie said as she looked down at Jo’s wrist and picked at the hospital ID bracelet. “She said that Josephine Wilson wasn't her real name. I think she changed it when she ran away from him so he couldn't find her.”

“That's why she said she couldn't marry me. That’s why she said no,” Alex said with wide eyes as he rubbed his hand over his jaw, looking away in shock. “This morning, I went back to the loft to get a few more pairs of clothes. Jo was there, and she told me that she was all in, that she loved me, and that we could be a family, but I didn't think that was enough. I told her I was done with drama, that I wanted her to be my wife, and the look on her face, I thought. When she said she couldn't marry me, I just thought she didn't want to. I didn't think it meant that she couldn't actually marry me. If I had known, I would have, I don't know, I just, I never would have forced her to divorce him if she didn’t want to. This is my fault. I pushed her to do this.”

“Alex,” Stephanie said, reaching out and putting her hand over his as they both held Jo’s hand. “You and I both know that Jo doesn't do anything she doesn't want to. If she started the divorce proceedings, it wasn't just because of you. It was because she wanted to divorce him.”

“But I gave her the ultimatum. I said be my wife, or I’d end things, but if I had known, I never would have said that. I should never have said that,” Alex said, shaking his head as he looked down at Jo. “Why didn't she tell me? I would have helped her. I would have protected her.”

“She knew that,” Stephanie stressed as he looked up at her. “But I think she was scared of him hurting you or something, and she said she had to do it on her own.”

Alex shook his head as he pulled Jo’s hand to his lips, kissing her hand before holding it against his cheeks as more tears streamed down his face. “I should have known. I never should have left her. I should have woken up earlier before he got there. I should have protected her.”

“You came back. If you weren't there, lord knows, I wouldn't have been able to stop him. You did protect her,” Stephanie whispered as they both stared down at Jo.

“Stephanie's right,” Meredith said, rubbing his shoulder. “You went back to her, you were there. You fought him off, you helped Stephanie save her. You brought her here, and you did everything right, Alex, and Jo knows that.”

“She's right, Alex. You saved her,” Stephanie said with a slight smile before she shook her head. “I thought I knew all Jo’s secrets after she told me about how she lived in her car as a teenager, but that was only part of the story.”

This was news to Meredith, although it didn't surprise her, given what Alex had said about Jo's past. Alex hadn't shared much with her, other than she had it rough like he did as a foster kid. Meredith didn't push the details because, like Alex, Jo’s past was her own. She, of all people, knew how everyone deserved to have their secrets.

“Yeah, I thought, I knew all of them too, but I get why she kept this from me,” Alex said as he reached down and put his hand on Jo’s head as he rubbed his thumb over her forehead. “For the longest time, I never told anyone about my Dad. Jo only found out about it because she showed up when I was taking a paternity test to be sure it was him. She took care of him when I couldn't. She was there for me, even when I didn't let her, but I wasn't there for her, but I promise you, Jo, I'm here for you now,”

Alex said the last line only for her as he leaned down and kissed her forehead before closing his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together.

Several of the nurses, including Bokhee, came over and pulled back the curtains. ��They're ready for her in the OR.”

“I'll walk up with her and change when I get there,” Meredith said, putting her purse and coat on a chair, knowing that they would watch over her stuff.

Alex nodded and brushed the hair away from Jo’s face. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. His lips lingered on her skin and Stephanie looked away for a moment before he pulled back. Alex stepped back, finally letting go of Jo's hand and gently placing it on her stomach. Meredith remembered how Jo always wrapped her arm around Alex's neck. It was possessive and sweet, and every time Meredith watched them together, she knew they were meant to be.

Meredith helped the nurses put up the railings and switch Jo to manual intubation as they took off the brakes. She stood at the side of the bed next to Bokhee and pushed the bed forward. As they pushed open the doors out of pre-OP, she took one last look at Alex. He stood there waiting for them as another nurse directed him and Stephanie towards the waiting room. Alex just stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring at Jo. Meredith knew that it would break him if anything happened to Jo, and she was determined to watch over her and make sure that never happened.

……………………………………………………………………

The nurse took them to the waiting room, but Alex barely registered what was going on around him. He had barely had any time to process the fact that Jo was married and that she was getting a divorce. He could hardly believe it. All he could think about was the image of Jo lying on the ground with him on top of her. He could still remember the way she gasped for air before Stephanie intubated her and how fragile she looked on the hospital bed as they wheeled her into surgery.

“Dr. Karev, Dr. Karev?”

Alex looked up from where he was staring at the floor to the black female officer standing before him before he looked over at Stephanie, who was seated next to him, holding Meredith’s things that he had forgotten.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“It's alright,” the officer said, giving a slight smile as she sat down in front of him on the coffee table. “My name is Officer Tatum, and I've been dispatched by the detectives to take your statements. Could you please tell me what happened tonight?”

Alex nodded, and he and Stephanie did their best to give a detailed statement to the officer as visions of what happened flashed in his head. To be honest, from the moment he saw Jo on the floor to ending up in the hospital, it was all just a blur. Luckily for him, Stephanie seemed to remember most of it and was able to give the officer everything she needed

“Thank you,” Officer Tatum said as she finished writing. “I have a few questions for you both, if you don't mind?”

“Yeah, sure,” Alex said, not entirely sure that he had a choice anyway.

“Do you know why Dr. Wilson was attacked in your apartment tonight? We have reason to believe that Dr. Wilson let her attacker into your apartment as the door was open, and there was no sign of forced entry,” Officer Tatum said, looking between the two of them before her eyes settled on Alex.

“Yes,” Stephanie said before Alex could even think of an answer. “Jo said that he was her abusive husband. She mentioned that she ran away from him a few years ago and told me about some of the abuse she endured when they were together. She also mentioned that she was in the process of divorcing him.”

“Did Dr. Wilson tell this to you?”

“Yes, she told me about her husband and the abuse, and after he attacked her, I asked her if it was him, and she nodded yes.”

“Okay,” Officer Tatum said, writing everything down before she looked back at them again. “And what kind of abuse did Dr. Wilson alleged happened?”

“She said it was physical. That he would hit her and that's why she ran away from him.”

“And what did Dr. Wilson tell you about her divorce proceedings?”

“Nothing other than the fact that she was divorcing him. I asked if she had a restraining order against him, but she didn't answer.”

Officer Tatum just nodded as she continued to write everything down. “Do you happen to know Dr. Wilson's husband’s name?”

“No, actually, we don't even know Jo's married name. She said she changed it when she ran away,” Stephanie said with a shrug and she shook her head.

Alex just kind of watched the exchange happen. He was still trying to process everything. The fact that Jo was married, that her abusive ex-husband had shown up, and that he tried to kill her.

“Okay, is there any other relevant information that I should know, such as Dr. Wilson’s lawyer's information or other documents she kept from her marriage or proof of the abuse?”

Stephanie stayed silent and it took Alex a moment to realize that they were both staring at him. “Um, no, I didn't know, maybe, I didn’t even know she was married until tonight.”

“So for five years, you had no idea that the woman you've been dating, your friend, was married?” Officer Tatum asked, raising an eyebrow at them.

“No,” Alex said as he looked over at Stephanie, who just looked as floored as he was. He could hardly believe it himself.

Officer Tatum softened as she took in their expression before she closed her notebook. “One last thing Dr. Karev, do the detectives have permission to search your apartment?”

“Um, yeah, but what for?”

“We’ll be searching for any information that can link Dr. Wilson to her husband, the man who attacked her. I'm sure that Dr. Wilson will make a statement and clear everything up when she's out of surgery, but in the meantime, We'd like to contact our own investigation in hopes that we can shed more light on the situation.”

“Okay,” Alex said as he nodded. He could tell that the detectives didn't quite believe their story, but he knew that the truth would out. It always did.

Officer Tatum returned his nod and handed him her business card before she left him and Stephanie alone in the waiting room. Alex looked up at the clock as he calculated how much time passed and how much longer Jo would be in surgery. Then he sat and waited as he processed the events of the night.

……………………………………………………………………

“What kind of person does this to Jo? She's so sweet and her hair is so nice. Who would want to hurt her?” Cross asked as he sat staring at the unconscious man on the gurney after they settled him in Pre-OP, waiting for Jackson to call them up after he was done with Jo’s surgery.

“I don't know,” Ben said as he finished up the paperwork, shaking his head. He still didn’t know what happened but, Cross was right. Jo didn’t deserve this. “According to his wallet. It says that his name is Paul Stadler. His business card says he’s a doctor at Orlando Medical.”

“Orlando, that's weird. Jo never mentioned anything about Florida,” Cross said before jumping away from Paul. “He just moved.”

“Yeah, it looks like he's waking up,” Ben said as he walked over to the bed.

Paul Stadler turned his head back and forth as he opened his eyes. He squinted in the harsh light before he looked over at Ben. He tried to move his hands but couldn't because of the restraints. “Where am I? What, what's going on?”

“Mr. Stadler, don't try and move. You’re at Grey-Sloan Memorial,” Ben said, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to stop jerking at his restraints. “Cross, go get Bailey and the police.”

Cross nodded before quickly running out of the room.

“The police?” Paul asked, looking confused before his eyes went wide and he looked over at Ben. “Yes, please get the police, and please tell me, is Brooke okay? I think she said she goes by another name now, maybe Josephine?”

“You're talking about Jo? The woman you beat up? I can't disclose her personal medical information, but I can tell you that she's pressing charges.” Ben said, glaring at him. Even if it wasn’t fully true, Ben wanted him to know that he wasn’t getting away with this.

“What, what are you talking about?” Paul asked, looking confused. “Why would Brooke press charges against me when I was trying to help her?”

“Look whenever you say went on…” Ben started to say, but Paul cut him off.

“No, you have to believe me. Look, I know we’ve been separated, but I got a call from Brooke last night out of the blue. She was crying and she said she was scared. She said that her boyfriend was hurting her and so I rushed over to her place. When I got there, I found him on top of her. I pulled him off and then he punched me. I guess her other friend woke up or something. I don't remember but, I remember this guy with a scruffy beard and a gray shirt. He was on top of her.”

Ben shook his head, of course, he didn't believe Paul's story about Alex. He was occasionally volatile, yes, but he would never hurt Jo.

“You have to believe me. I would never lay a hand on my wife?”

“Your wife?” Ben asked, his eyes going wide as he stepped back.

“Yes, I have a picture of her in my wallet. It's from our wedding day, please just look at it. You have to believe me,” Paul begged him, looking into Ben's eyes.

Ben narrowed his eyes at him, but stepped back and turned around. He opened Paul's wallet and looked through it until he found the photo tucked in one of the cardholders. Sure enough, there was Paul and Jo, pressed up against each other with happy smiles. Jo in a white dress with a bouquet and Paul and a pristine suit. Behind it was an ID with Jo’s picture with the name Brooke Stadler, meaning he wasn’t lying. They were married.

“Please, I would never hurt your wife. You have to believe me,” Paul said as Ben looked back at him. He had to tell Miranda.

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

Text

The Ides of March

(A Darren Treacy x Jeanie Turner mini-series)

Chapter 2 - Drunken Lullabies

Word Count- 1500

Warnings: language, minor drug and alcohol use, smut: oral sex (fem!receiving), sex

A/N: On Saint Patrick’s Day, Darren and Jeanie start receiving ominous, cryptic text messages claiming to be from the future. Play the game; save Darren. Jeanie’s rules are simple enough: If Dazz can catch her, he can have her any way and anywhere he wants. So how did a night of wild sex and whiskey lead to murder?

Prologue Chapter 1

Darren started at his mobile willing it to do something. Anything. Ever since he stepped foot inside The Temple he became unsettled. The texts from earlier in the evening (as he and Tommy watched Siobhan spiral into a drugged out drunken mess) implored Darren to give a wide berth to Nidge and Git. Git the IRA kingpin whose son almost murdered Aido. Whose car in retaliation Darren bombed.

The texts warned whatever Jeanie said, or wanted him to do, he should. She was in as much danger as Darren now. So he played the red-head’s game.

Darren knew Jeanie came a bit undone by the divorce papers. How long could they have kept on like they were? In hotels and his gaff and once or twice at the parlor Fran and Nidge owned. Gordon’s women were never the same, but his wife was having a proper affair. What a blow to someone’s ego. They were just lucky it hadn't ended in someone getting shot. Again. You can't live without both lungs.

Now Darren nursed a beer in between several shots and a clandestine bump of something or other. He stopped keeping track the last few weeks. The club was doing a good job of drowning out his thoughts as the bass filled his brain. He caught sight of Jeanie, Siobhan, Gordon's sister Laura and Ewan (Jeanie's best friend from Scotland) thrashing away on the dancefloor to a No Doubt song.

That pile of red hair wild and untamed as she jumped and spun and shook her body, a bottle of cider precarious in her fingers. Their eyes caught and Jeanie wiggled her fingers for him to join them. Darren shook his head even as Siobhan joined in the enticement by grinding on his.. whatever she was. The women quickly kissed with passion, and faced him again. Dazz rolled his eyes and smiled, a smidge turned on, but found himself far too distracted by the phone.

Not much later, lost somehow in liquor and concentration, a shot slid past a handful of patrons and collided with Darren's knuckles. Perturbed, he glanced up as someone shouted from the far end of the bar. That ginger hair drenched and frizzy as a massive grin spread across Jeanie’s face.

“Catch me if you can!!”

Darren's phone buzzed; he nearly pissed his pants. A text came through. He checked to see if it was Red, but she had vanished as quickly as she had arrived.

She bought a shot for a guy the first time around. American, like her. They danced and drank and fucked in the toilets. That's where she is. Third floor in the rooftop bar. It's empty.

Darren scratched his head and made his way upstairs without hesitation. He found the ladies and knocked feeling stupid. Before Jeanie could answer, he opened the door to find her leaning forward to reapply something in a giant bamboo vanity. Her breasts pushed together in the corset were on full display as she caught him staring in the mirror.

“Damn, I thought that would be harder.” She pursed her lips and winked. Her hands were anchored on either side of a small sink; her eyes were heavy lidded. She lowered herself slightly so that her ass stuck out and glanced right back at Darren. “Guess you're just gonna have to fuck me.”

In two long strides, Darren was behind Jeanie. His face got lost in her hair as he let his hand caress her neck. He squeezed but only for a moment. Just a taste. She muffled a moan before his fingers slid inside the soft leather of her top so that he could fondle and pinch a nipple. Then the other as he kissed and bit her bare shoulder.

“Fucking me from behind so we can watch in the mirror?” Jeanie pushed herself against Darren's easily produced erection. She took his free hand and slipped it beneath her pleated skirt.

“I t’ought I’d fuck ye another way,” he growled in her ear. Darren pumped his fingers in and out of Jeanie to make her wet. Except no work was really needed for that either. “Are ye just ready for me all the time? Spread your legs,” he demanded.

Jeanie went along with what he wanted. She widened her stance so that her feet were shoulder width apart. Darren grinned and got down on his knees behind her. His face level with her ass which he exposed by lifting her skirt. She gave a sharp inhale.

Before she could talk, Darren bent to kiss the backs of Jeanie's thighs. His lips warm on her bare skin where he tore her fishnets earlier. They traveled up over her ass and under the pleats. He alternated from one cheek to the next with dramatic kisses that felt like his entire mouth. That heavy, punctuated breath like every time they had sex formed goosepimples every inch of Jeanie's body.

“Ohhhh,” it was a sigh as Darren kept at it. “Ohhh,” she repeated with a moan at the sensation of his tongue on her ass and thighs.

A third time she repeated the same sentiment when he switched positions from being behind Jeanie to between her legs. His back to the vanity and sink. Head underneath her skirt now while Darren's hands dug into the same curves and softness he had been kissing moments before.

“I t’ought,” his words jumbled by fabric and thighs. The air hot on her sex while he spoke, “You could sit on my face.”

Jeanie tried to brace herself on the sink top. Her hands slid forward as Darren snaked his tongue inside. He flicked it back and forth a few times before withdrawing it and sucking on her slit. He kissed it like he did her mouth before replacing his lips with his tongue. He dragged it painfully, slowly along the outside. Then it dipped in and out.

Unable to balance completely, Jeanie made a poor attempt at steadying herself with fingers wrapped up in Darren's hair. Or what he had left. The thought made Jeanie laugh even as she panted and her breathing quickened. The tip of his tongue collided with her clit finally, and she pulled his head forward.

Darren worked hungrily now. His lips and tongue in a frenzy while Jeanie started to rock into his face. It was like the faster he made his mouth go, the quicker he could get his prize. Making Jeanie cum was always a gift. Not for her. For him.

As his jaw began to ache with the pace he set, Darren thought about every time Jeanie got off. Real or not, sometimes he caught the signs it was actually happening. Like how the hood around her clit would contract against his finger or tongue. How it did now as she cried out “Fuck!” and came as her back arched out of reflex with her thighs tightened around his face. He wasn't quite sure he ever noticed before her.

Darren wasn't exactly drowning in sexual experience. He had been with maybe another girl besides Rosie and Jeanie. He knew Rosie wasn't keen on experimenting or showing him how she liked it. So Darren had to improv. Maybe half the time she got off.

He definitely wasn't into the prostitutes at the cathouse like Tommy and Nidge and Elmo. So the way Jeanie actually had orgasms motivated Darren to do it more. Better. She always told him what to do, how hard or fast or what to touch. Darren could make her cum multiple times. It was an ego trip.

How long could he keep Jeanie in the ladies to make sure she was safe? The texts never said how, but his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He ignored it.

Darren's brain was muddled with thought as Jeanie lowered herself just above his lap. She started to undo his belt and pants to free his cock which she hovered over. He held the edge of the counter above his head as she sank down on his erection. Her knees on either side of him and started to ride as quick and rough as his mouth fucked her before. Darren couldn't stop her as her mouth consumed his own to taste the orgasm still on his lips.

They could only have so much sex. Darren's chest was starting to hurt, and he knew Jeanie's legs probably wouldn't work too well tomorrow. There had to be someplace more comfortable they could wait out the rest of the night.

“Stop. Stop.” he held Jeanie's body fast. “I need a breather. One lung. This is painful as fuck, darling. I know someplace softer we can go.”

Tag list: @robertsheehanownsmyass @forenschik @slutforrobbiebro @badsext @bwritesstuff @elliethesuperfruitlover @super-unpredictable98 @nightmonsters @rob-private

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fic #darren treacy x jeanie turner #darren x jeanie

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

Text

I Want Us Part 2

Fandom: SVU / Chicago PD

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing: Carisi x Reader

Warning/s: mentions of kidnapping

Word Count: 1,513

Summary: When a child abduction case crosses state lines in New York, Intelligence flies out to meet the Special Victims Unit and track down the missing boy. With the clock ticking, both units decide to mix up partners in order to combine their knowledge of the case with knowledge of New York City, pairing Intelligence’s newest member Y/N with Detective Carisi. Soon these new partners find themselves staking out a potential location for their suspect, getting to know each other to pass the time.

Tags: @inlovewith3 //

“Chicago or New York, a stakeout is stakeout,” you yawned, checking your watch through tired eyes. It was coming up to 2 am and while you wanted nothing more than to be asleep, all your intel pointed to O’Connell conducting his business after midnight.

Carisi couldn’t agree more, sat next to you in the drivers seat as you watched bar O’Connell reportedly owned. The place was dark, scaffolding to one side of newspaper covered doors. Apparently, apparently this old run down building was his newest investment, and you’d thought it was a good a place as any to conduct private business, especially the kind involving a missing child that an entire city was out looking for.

Voight and Benson had agreed, you and Carisi had found yourselves parked just down the road, undercover car largely obscured by a hedge and fence. Hours combing through files at his desk had cumulated into this, swapping intel between both units as you all tried to figure out and navigate your new temporary partnerships.

“What is this guy, a vampire or something?” Carisi half joked, half complained. You were both wearing your vests, but had since ditched your police jackets, the heat making both of you more tired that you’d like. The night had brought little relief from the Summer sun that had been beating down all day, the leaves on the hedge barely conveying any signs of a breeze.

“Maybe I was wrong about this,” you admitted after a moment, watching yet another car that wasn’t O’Connell drive down the street and into the distance. None had stopped outside the bar, no one had even walked close to it except an elderly couple on the other side of the street.

Carisi glanced your way for a long moment, watching as you worried your lip as you thought about Logan. You didn’t know what was going through his mind, but he’d been torn away from his entire life by a man he barely knew, and you didn’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t get him back tonight.

“You trust your gut?” Carisi asked, the question giving you pause. Gut instinct had always been something Voight valued in his Intelligence Unit, you had to trust yourself and those around you if you were going to make it through the day, and catch the bad guy.

“I do,” you told him with conviction. With limited information and limited time, you could afford the luxury of spending days checking out each of O’Connell’s potential locations, it was now or never, and every fiber of your being was telling you that this was the place.

“Well okay,” Carisi replied, “then we stay put. The rest of our units are checking out other possible spots he might show tonight, we’ll get him.” He gave you a reassuring smile and reached into the bag by his feat, pulling out a tupperware box.

You had to ask. “How can you be so confident? I mean the Special Victims Unit, you guys do this kind of thing all the time, I’m not sure I could remain as optimistic as you.” He chuckled at that, offering you what looked like home made cannoli from the box as he thought over your question. You thanked him, devouring the sweet treat a little too eagerly, it tasted great and you hadn’t eaten in hours.

“I have faith, without it I don’t know if I’d have been able to do it for as long as I have,” he answered honestly, “what we do makes a difference, protecting those who need it the most and making the world a little safer, you just need to think about the ones you’ve saved, not the ones you haven’t.”

“But these cases... I mean we deal with the worst people, but you deal with the worst of the worst,” you continued. All the cases in Intelligence that stuck with you were like the cases SVU dealt with all the time, but despite the years he’d spent doing these cases, Carisi still had such a light and hope about him.

Antonio was your partner, and friend, you’d take a bullet for him in a heartbeat, but you’d seen what years on the job had done to him. The divorce, the drugs... it weighed on him, you could see it in his eyes. It had obviously occurred to you that Intelligence wasn’t your average unit by any means, but this different perspective was more refreshing that you expected.

“We also catch the worst of the worst, most of the time,” Carisi countered and you grinned. You hadn’t really thought about it like that, helping yourself to some more food. He regarded you for a second before adding: “you haven’t been a detective long have you?”

You shrugged, “couple of years, moved out of uniform as quickly as I could though, barely got the promotion before Voight offered me a spot in his unit.” You thought back to those early days, how excited you’d been to be offered the job, everyone knew about Intelligence and its reputation, you’d jumped at the chance to be a part of the unit and hadn’t looked back since.

“Give it some time, you’ll find the right mentality you need to process these kinds of cases,” Carisi assured you, eyes flicking back to the deserted, half lit street. You could tell he was just as worried and determined as you were to save Logan, but he also had a calm about him right then that you really wished you could master.

“These are amazing by the way,” you told him, cannoli in hand as you tried to steer the conversation away from the serious edge it had acquired, “did you make them?”

He smiled, eyes lighting up a little. “Yeah I did, family recipe. I like to make them on long stakeouts, keeps the blood sugar high and the spirits up.”

“Well I am going to have to cozy up to your family then if you all cook like this,” you laughed, thinking about your own family, and then thinking about Logan’s as the laughter died.

“So what about you, you cook?” Carisi asked and you pulled yourself out of your worried thoughts.

“Me? Nah, not so much. I mean, I used to, but I never seem to find the time anymore,” you admitted. Working in Intelligence was pretty demanding, worth it, but still, there was only so much take out a person should eat, and you’d definitely surpassed that limit getting back from work after all those late nights.

“Order some of your pie pizzas instead?” He teased and you feigned dramatic insult.

“Oh really? You had to go there?” You laughed, “keep your paper pizzas alright, Chicago knows what it’s doing.” Carisi shook his head and you knew it was an argument neither of you would concede, but you’d found yourself getting pretty comfortable in the car.

“Forgive me if I don’t take the word of someone who only once got a connecting flight through here, have you ever actually had proper New York pizza? Because I’ve had Chicago’s attempt,” he pointed out, causing you to pause with your mouth half open, knowing that you didn’t have anyway to dispute that.

“I- shut up,” you replied like a middle schooler and soon you were both laughing. Carisi was easy to talk to, not just with his clarity about the job, but his welcoming personality too.

“You should try it before you go back to Chicago, after we wrap this case,” he suggested and you offered a little shrug to say you’d think about it just as another car was driving down the road.

You were instantly alert as you noticed the car beginning to slow, both you and Carisi switching gears into police mode as the car pulled up outside of the bar. Gotcha.

You waited with bated breath, one hand resting on the handle of your door while the other inched towards your thigh holster. Carisi radioed in a potential sighting, both ready to go at a moments notice as three figures emerged from the car. Two taller, male, the other quite clearly a child.

While the dimly lit street prevented you both from making a clear ID, the plates on the car matched the ones seen leaving JFK. You and Carisi nodded to each other, this was it. Carisi confirmed the sighting and you were ordered to hold your position unless absolutely necessary, with Voight placing pointed emphasis on your name as he relayed the instructions.

You clenched your jaw, hating waiting as they all went to the entrance of the bar, knocking before being let it. There were other people inside, maybe O’Connell himself. Part of you wanted to go in right now, finish it, but you didn’t know how many people were inside, or how armed they were. Waiting for back up was the only option for now, so you reluctantly sat tight.

“We’ll get him,” Carisi insisted, noticing your tension, just as ready to spring into action as you were.

#sonny carisi #svu #law and order svu #chicago pd #one chicago #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagine #svu imagine #law and order svu imagine #chicago pd imagine #one chicago imagine #sonny carisi imagines #svu imagines #law and order svu imagines #chicago pd imagines #one chicago imagines #i want us

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Breakable Heaven (pt. II) - p.l. dubois

Part I

Part two is here! Things start to heat up in this chapter, exciting stuff’s happening! I hope you guys like reading it as much as I’m loving writing - please slide into my inbox, let me know what you think! Reblogs are amazing too, it’s how we know people are liking what we’re putting out and helps to reach more people! (Plus it’s one of the joys of my life to read the tags. Seriously, so much fun.)

Part II (7.2k)

June 18 (fri)

“If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to sell it,” Laurel said, running a hand through her hair. “The fewer people who know the truth, the better.”

Pierre nodded. “Agreed.” He sat back in his chair. “What do you think your parents will say?”

Laurel laughed. “Uh, they think I’m seeing someone, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “it was easier to just say I had a boyfriend than deal with their endless pestering, you know?”

“So they’d buy it if you just told them you were getting married?”

She shrugged. “I think so. You know we’re not particularly close, they haven’t met any of my boyfriends since I was in high school. So if I told them I was engaged, I don’t think they’d bat an eye, if I’m honest.” Pierre could sense there was more to the story, more that she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t want to press. “What about yours?” she asked.

“Well, we’ve got a couple options,” Pierre said, cracking a smile and leaning back into the cushions. “It was a drunken mistake.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Then they’d just tell us to get a divorce.”

“We fell in love after the first date.”

“Even less believable,” Laurel said, the corner of her lip twitching.

“Or…,” Pierre said, kicking his feet up on the ottoman, a wicked grin on his face, “I got you pregnant and want to do the right thing.”

Laurel snorted. “Little issue there.”

“What?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

Pierre ducked his head, blushing. “Right. There’s that.”

She nodded. “There’s that.” She tapped her fingers on the coffee table. “I’ve got it.” Pierre looked up. “We’ve been friends for a long time, couple years or something. Madeline went to York, so we met when you and Patrice came to visit. We realized we had feelings for each other a few months ago, everything moved super quickly since we already knew each other and had that foundation.”

“So we thought ‘why wait,’” Pierre finished.

“Exactly,” Laurel said. “Why wait, if we already knew.”

“It’s a classic friends-to-lovers story, a tale as old as time,” he sighed wistfully.

Laurel slapped his shoulder. “This is serious,” she said, but she was smiling all the same. “Okay, so we’ve at least got that worked out. Madeline and Patrice will obviously know, but other than that…” She trailed off.

He nodded, and an understanding passed between them. “It’s a need-to-know basis.”

“It is.” Laurel shifted her laptop on the coffee table, squeezing closer to Pierre so he could see the screen. “So, we have to go down to the courthouse for a meeting with the court clerk who will perform the ceremony, bring birth certificates and ID, and —”

He glanced over at Laurel, her tongue caught between her teeth. “And?”

“You have to publish a declaration of intent to marry twenty days before the wedding. Online. In public.”

Pierre looked oblivious. “So?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “So, it has the date of the wedding and our full names and our whole entire addresses. And in case you’ve forgotten, you’re kind of a professional hockey player.”

He shrugged. “All due respect, Laurel, but,” he glanced at the website, “who actually checks these things?” He had a point there, she thought, but she wasn’t about to let him win.

“But your address, you’re not worried about that getting out there?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But my building’s got a receptionist and I’ve got locks on my doors. And plus,” Pierre added, “I’ve really never had much of a problem flying under the radar here. When I go back home, back to the suburbs, sure. And a little bit in Columbus, obviously. But there’s what, two million people in Montréal? I’m not on the Habs, so even the hockey fans here really couldn’t care less.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. Also, uh, living situation. We should probably talk about that.”

“You’re moving in with me?” He said it like a question, but not as if it was something that would surprise him, or something he was opposed to. He said it like it was something he already knew the answer to. “I’ve got three rooms, plenty of space, Phil and Georgia would love to have a new sister. You and Piper would fit right in,” he said, reaching down to scratch her behind the ears. “Plus it’s got a great gym in the lobby, you can cancel your membership to that seedy place downtown with that trainer who always stares at you when you do weights.” Laurel’s ears perked up; she was surprised he remembered. She did have a gym downtown that she tried to make it to a few times a week, and there was that one creepy trainer, but she had only mentioned it to him once in passing. “Plus it has hot yoga once a week, and I know you’ve been dying to try.” That much was true.

“At least let me help pay for rent,” she tried to bargain.

“Nope!” he said, wincing a second later. “I didn’t mean it in like a patronizing way, I know you’re perfectly capable of pulling your own weight. I meant like I bought it outright, so there’s no rent to be paid. I’ll let you pay the electricity bill if you want?”

Laurel grinned. “That would make me feel better, thank you.” After looking at her computer for a minute, she spoke again. “How long have you had the apartment for?”

Pierre scratched his chin. “Couple years? I bought it after signing the contract this year. Some guys buy a Lamborghini, I bought an apartment. I don’t own the place in Columbus though.”

“How come?” Laurel asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

“Even with the contract, so much is up in the air. I could get traded in the middle of the season, or in the summer or whenever, and I don’t want to have just bought a house when I’ve got to move to Vancouver or wherever when the ink hasn’t even dried on the papers.”

This time, it was Laurel’s turn to leave with an unsaid question. “Is tomorrow good? To go down and get everything squared away at the courthouse?”

He bobbed his head. “Yeah, I’ve got some off-ice training in the morning, but any time after noon or so is good for me.”

Laurel nodded, making a few taps on her computer. “Okay, I’ve got us booked in at one, that good?”

“Yeah,” Pierre said, nodding in affirmation. “Now I’ve got to come up with an excuse to drive to my parents’ and get my birth certificate.”

---

It didn’t actually turn out to be all that difficult for Pierre; he made the drive back to Saint-Agathe-des-Monts later that afternoon, telling his parents he needed it to renew his health insurance card. He wasn’t sure they actually believed him, but his mom didn’t bat an eye before handing it over. Pierre spent the rest of the evening at home, cooking pasta, petting the dogs, and wondering what in the hell he had agreed to. He wasn’t second-guessing himself, not by a long-shot, but when she clicked that button to book their appointment, the gravity of the situation finally started to hit him. In less than a month, he was going to be getting married.

June 19 (sat)

Laurel met Pierre on the steps of the Montréal courthouse at a quarter to one the next day, clutching the straps of her tote like a lifeline. “Woah, Laurel, you’re holding that like you’ve got a bomb in there,” Pierre said.

She flashed him a nervous smile. “No bomb, just very official very legal documents. Don’t want to lose it.”

He held out his hand. “You ready?”

Laurel was surprised at the gesture. Not shocked that he was being kind, but that he was cognizant enough to recognize that she was nervous, and wanted to do something about it. She took his hand. “Ready.”

It only took a minute to find the office, and a few more before the receptionist called them back to the clerk’s office. She introduced herself as Juliette Bergeron, congratulated them on their engagement, and asked to see the paperwork. Passports and birth certificates were handed over, signatures were signed on dotted lines, and half an hour later, they walked out of the courthouse with an appointment for a wedding on July 10.

“Well, there’s that crossed off the checklist,” Laurel said, leaning up against the handrails as they stood on the courthouse steps. They had actually made a real checklist, a series of tasks on a shared Notes page of everything that needed to be completed before the wedding. Book the ceremony and post the public notice were done, but there were still a dozen-odd tasks left before they actually could get married. Starting with telling their parents. While they had developed as airtight a cover story as she supposed one could when they were committing what would charitably be referred to as citizenship fraud, they had agreed it was going to be far less messy to “come clean” as fiancés than after the wedding. Laurel had wanted to text them the news, or call so early they’d still be asleep and she could just avoid the conversation altogether, but Pierre had convinced her to FaceTime. “I know you guys aren’t super close, but I think they deserve that much, Laurel,” he had said, and he was right. Deep down, she knew he was right.

“Ready?” Pierre asked, rubbing her back soothingly.

Laurel flashed him a tight smile before pressing her mom’s contact. “As I’ll ever be.” Three agonizingly long rings later, her mom picked up.

“Laurel? What are you doing calling, honey? Is everything okay?”

She let out a nervous giggle. “Does something have to be wrong for me to call my parents?”

“No,” Cheryl clucked, “but to be fair, you don’t call often.”

Laurel rubbed the back of her neck in discomfort. “That’s true. Uh, anyways, is dad there?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” her mom said, starting to catch onto the fact that maybe this wasn’t quite your run-of-the-mill check-in call. “What’s this all about, pumpkin?”

The old term of endearment, one she hadn’t heard in years, brought tears to the corners of her eyes. “Can you call him in? I’d rather tell you both at the same time.”

Cheryl nodded, worry crossing her brow. “Doug? Laurel’s on the phone, she’s got something to tell us. Sounds important.”

“Coming,” Laurel heard her dad say in the background. A moment later, he padded into view. “Hey, Laurel, Mom said you’ve got some news?”

Laurel nodded. “Yeah, just something I thought you guys should know. It’s not bad, you’re just going to be surprised, so I need you to keep an open mind, okay?”

“Who is he?” Doug asked, rubbing his forehead with an exasperated expression.

She blanched. “He? Who’s he?” There’s no way he guessed...right?

“The jackass who got you pregnant, who else?”

Laurel almost choked on her own spit. “Pregnant? Who said I’m pregnant? I’m not pregnant!”

Both of her parents let out an audible sigh of relief. “Well, Laurel, what conclusion did you expect us to jump to when you called us out of the blue and said you had important news?”

Laurel bit her lip; they had a point. “Fair. But, uh, rest assured, I’m not pregnant. I’m smarter than that.” She paused, steeling her nerves. “Remember that guy I told you I was seeing a few months ago?”

Her mom squinted like she was looking into the sun. “Vaguely? You didn’t really tell us much about him. Just that he was tall, nice, you met through friends.” It was a believable enough explanation back then, and Laurel was beyond grateful it dovetailed perfectly into the story she and Pierre had conjured up. “You didn’t even tell us his name.”

Laurel reached out her free hand, the one that wasn’t holding the phone, and made a grabby motion for his hand. He interlaced his fingers with hers. “Well, his name’s Pierre-Luc Dubois—”

Doug interrupted. “Very French.”

She grimaced. “I do live in Québec, Dad. But anyways, his name’s Pierre-Luc Dubois and we’re getting married.”

They sat still on the other end of the call, so still that if it weren’t for her mom’s rapid blinking she would have thought the call had been dropped. “Married?” her mom asked softly.

“Yes, married.”

“How long have you even been seeing each other?” Doug asked, dumbfounded.

“A little under six months. I know it’s not long, and I know it seems sudden, but we’ve known each other for a long time, you know? We met when I was still back in Toronto at university, Madeline introduced us.” Her parents nodded; Madeline, they knew. Madeline, they had met. Madeline, they trusted. “And we finally realized a little bit after New Year’s that we had feelings for each other, and it’s sort of been zero to a hundred ever since. We thought, if we knew we loved each other and we knew we were done looking, then what was the point of waiting for a year or two for it to be a ‘socially acceptable’ time to get married.” Laurel finished.

Cheryl wrapped her hands around her mug of tea, eyelids still shooting rapid-fire blinks at the screen. “But, Laurel, we haven’t even met this boy, we barely know anything about him!”

Pierre squeezed her hand. “Actually, he’s just off-camera. Want to say hi, P?”

He walked into view, waving politely at the screen. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Klerken, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Laurel’s had nothing but wonderful things to say.” A little flattery never hurt anybody, he thought.

“Lovely to meet you, Pierre-Luc,” Cheryl said. “Forgive us if we’re still a little shocked, Laurel’s not normally one to spring things on us like this.”

He laughed. “Perfectly fair. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to meet until now, but we’ve been trying to get used to the idea ourselves.”

Her dad leaned forward from his spot in the couch, giving Pierre as much of a once-over as he could from nearly 1500 miles away. “I’m not able to give you the normal talking-to I have with any of the other boys Laurel or Maggie have introduced us to, so this is going to have to do.” Maggie? Laurel had primed Pierre for the inevitable grilling, telling him that if it was anything like it had been in the past, it would be all bark and no bite. “So what do you do for work, Pierre-Luc?”

“I’m a professional hockey player in the NHL, I play for the Columbus Blue Jackets.”

Doug’s eyebrows went up. As much of a front as he tried to put up, he was still a middle-aged man from Minnesota, and there were few things that impressed middle-aged men from Minnesota more than their daughters being suddenly engaged to NHL players. “NHL, huh? That’s very impressive. So you’re from Québec, then?”

“Yes, sir,” Pierre answered. “My hometown’s a little outside of the city, but I live in Montréal now. My mom’s from Georgia, though, so I’ve got dual citizenship and some family still down there.”

Her parents didn’t take too kindly to the news that the wedding was in three weeks, since it was too tight a fit to be able to get time off, but promised to visit later in the summer to make a proper introduction to their new son-in-law. Her father continued to pepper him with questions about his hobbies, family, and how he takes his steak — according to the Doug Klerken rules, any man who orders anything above medium is not to be trusted — until Laurel mercifully cut him off, telling her parents they were late to meet up with some friends. “That wasn’t so bad,” Pierre said as Laurel slipped her phone into her purse, immediately plugging it into her portable charger as the FaceTime had drained all but 18% of her battery.

Laurel made a face. “They’re good people and they care about me, but…” She trailed off. “They never really understood why I’d want anything more than I was given. Anything more than the status quo. And it’s just caused a lot of friction between us.” Her eyes flashed as she remembered something. “One more thing.” Pierre’s ears perked up. “If and when you ever talk to my parents again, just...don’t bring up politics.” Laurel grimaced.

“Republicans?” he asked sympathetically.

She nodded. “Trump-supporting Republicans. It’s another one of the reasons we don’t talk much anymore. I’m liberal, I’d probably be NDP if I could vote here, and we just don’t share the same values on a lot of things.”

“That’s got to be pretty rough on you,” Pierre said.

“Yeah,” Laurel admitted. “Probably more than I want to let on, but I think it helps that I’m able to get some distance.”

Pierre took a deep breath in. “Your, uh, your dad mentioned something that I wanted to ask you about.”

Shit. Laurel had been able to avoid the conversation for long enough, but she was beginning to push her luck, and she couldn’t run forever. “Maggie?”

He nodded. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I thought I should ask.”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Laurel said. “Um, long story short, Maggie’s my sister. It’s July, so…” she did the mental math in her head, “she’d be almost 31. Total free spirit. She left town pretty soon after she graduated, came back every so often but not nearly enough. Last I heard, she was an au pair in Italy.”

“And when was that?”

“Two years ago.” Pierre figured that was as good a time as any to drop the subject, so he did. They had decided that, while they were still downtown, it would be a good opportunity to get the ring shopping out of the way. Pierre looked up the highest-rated jewelry store on Yelp, and they set off on foot.

Pierre opened the door for her as they stepped inside, greeted by a slightly over-enthusiastic salesman. “You paid for the ceremony fee, so I’m paying for the rings, okay?”

Laurel scoffed. “Hardly a fair trade, don’t you think?”

“I’ll live,” he said, smirking.

Laurel had been wandering around by the solitaires for a few minutes when Pierre walked up behind her. “I know this isn’t going to be the wedding you’ve always dreamed of,” Pierre said, “but we’re going to make it the best we can.” He looked down at the cases, Laurel’s fingers dancing over the edge of the glass cover. “When you were in high school, or university, did you ever think about what kind of wedding you wanted?” Laurel gave a small nod. “And what kind of ring did you have?”

“I’ve always liked halo cuts,” she said softly.

Pierre inched his hand towards hers, wrapping his fingers around hers. They tensed for a second, but then relaxed into his grip. “Then let’s go get you that halo cut.”

There was no one else in the store aside from the salesman, so the couple was enveloped in a comfortable silence as they browsed. Her eyes stopped on a beautiful floral halo ring with an oval diamond. Pierre nodded to the salesman, who carefully took it off of its stand and handed it to Pierre, who carefully wiggled it onto Laurel’s fourth finger. If she closed her eyes, she was almost able to pretend that it was a proposal. Laurel brought her thumb to the ring, delicately running it over the pavé band with the ghost of a smile on her face. “What do you think?” Pierre asked, as if he couldn’t already tell her answer from the look on her face.

Laurel looked up at him. “I love it. It fits perfectly.”

“Like Cinderella’s slipper.” He turned to the salesman. “Combien ça coûte?” (How much does it cost?) Laurel heard a number that made her swallow hard, more than anything she’d ever have bought for herself, but Pierre insisted it was a non-issue as he handed his card over. “He said that they’ve got another sample one in the back, and you’re welcome to just wear that one out if it fits.”

“Sounds good.” The salesman handed over the bag with Pierre’s ring and her matching wedding band, thanking them for their purchase before opening the door back into the sunny Montréal afternoon. Laurel craned her neck to try and sneak a peek inside the bag. “Don’t I get to see yours?”

Pierre cracked a wry grin. “Gotta wait until the wedding, babe. Can’t a man have a little mystery?”

“Fair enough,” Laurel said, not missing his use of the pet name but brushing it off as simply a spur-of-the-moment choice. “Do you want to do the honors?” she asked, referring to the all-important checklist.

Pierre opened his phone with his spare hand, deftly navigating to the app and tapping twice. “Four down, seven to go. We’re on a roll.

June 24 (thurs)

Surprisingly, telling Pierre-Luc’s parents hadn’t been nearly as intimidating as breaking the news to her own, at least for Laurel. They were shocked — and confused, and had a lot of questions — but were welcoming nonetheless. Patrice was almost like a second son to them, and the fact that she already came with his stamp of approval went a long way into calming them down. “He’s always been quite the romantic, the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. And he cares deeply about the people in his life. That’s you, now,” his mom had said. They drove up to meet them that Sunday, having brunch in his childhood home. That was, in essence, their first real “test” as a couple. They had never had to sell their relationship to anyone before; even when going out with Madeline and Patrice after their “engagement,” nothing ever seemed like it had changed. This time was different. This time had to be different.

His mom fawned over her engagement ring, asking her to spare no details in retelling the story of the proposal. Lucky for her, however, Laurel was the former president of the University of Toronto improv club, and coming up with background stories with exactly zero minutes to prepare was something of a specialty for her. Laurel immediately gushed about how unexpected it was; she was just expecting an evening walk through downtown until they turned down one of the piers by the basilica, reached the end overlooking the river, and Pierre dropped down on one knee. “I think I knew that he was the one way sooner than that, but it’s nice to finally have it be official,” she had said.

Laurel shook herself out of her memories, turning the door into the locker room. She grabbed a pair of scrubs out of her shared locker — she had never met Alice, the other nurse who used it, but they had made a habit of leaving each other Post-it note greetings — and stripped off her t-shirt and jeans. Shimmying on her scrub pants, she tied them, leaning back into the locker to get her bag as the door shut behind her. She glanced over to the door, waving to Claire. Claire was sweet, a transplant from Vancouver who had lived in Québec as a child and decided to come back to work. She was sweet, having just started working at the beginning of the summer, but she was young, even younger than Laurel. And while her perky and energetic nature lent itself well to the dynamics of the floor, it was a lot for her to get used to. “Hey!” Laurel said, waving as she pulled a chain out of her purse, trying to discreetly unhook it.

“Hey!” Claire responded, perky as ever. “How has your week been?” She worked Mondays and Thursdays with Laurel, but had the Saturday night shift as well.

Laurel threw her hair up into a bun. “Good, good, busy. Met up with some friends yesterday, so that was nice, but not much. Took Piper to the dog park.” With my fiancé, she neglected to add. She twisted her ring off, trying to slip it onto the chain without Claire noticing. Like most of her married colleagues, Laurel had taken to wearing her engagement ring on a chain around her neck while at work instead of on her finger. It was under her scrubs most of the time, keeping at bay the questions she wasn’t yet ready to answer, and made it much easier to pull on and off gloves when the occasion called for it. But Claire was eagle-eyed, catching the sparkle of the diamond just as she slid it onto the chain.

She audibly gasped. “Is that an engagement ring?”

Laurel had to think fast; once again, her improv skills were called up to bat. “No? It’s, uh, it’s a family heirloom, it was my grandma’s. Guess I didn’t think too much about which finger I put it on.” She could tell Claire didn’t quite believe her side of the story, but thankfully, she didn’t press.

“If you say so,” she said, giving a not-so-subtle wink.

June 27 (sun)

Laurel was sat in her living room, her TV on in the background as she scrolled absent-mindedly through her phone, savoring her last few hours before she had to go to bed for her 5:30 wake-up call. On a whim, she opened her Twitter. It wasn’t an app she used all that often — mostly just to keep in contact with the handful of high school and college friends who didn’t use Instagram — and she was well aware that she’d probably have to limit her use for her own sanity when she and Pierre went “public” after the wedding, but she liked being able to keep up with everyone. She followed her friends, a handful of celebrities and a few journalists, but her timeline wasn’t flooded with updates. Then she saw the little blue alert on the bottom. One new message. Clicking to her inbox, Laurel saw that it had been sent by Madeline four minutes earlier, a link to a tweet that just had the caption: “you should probably see this.”

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Laurel pressed the link. What could be so important that Madeline would have sent a message with that kind of urgency? And why didn’t she just text it? God, I hate puckbunny blogs, Laurel thought as she read the handle. Her eyes raced across the screen. So I was looking up the address of my friend’s wedding earlier since I lost my invitation and didn’t want to tell her, and saw this under??? I know he can be a private guy, but tell me you guys don’t think this is for PLD. Her eyes froze as soon as she finished reading, praying that somehow they were talking about a different PLD, that they hadn’t been found out and their cover hadn’t been blown and she wasn’t about to have a panic attack for the first time since junior year — and then she saw the screenshot. Of their wedding announcement. Their public wedding announcement that not only had their full names and places of birth, but the location of the ceremony, the time, and their addresses. God, this is exactly what Laurel had been worried about. She immediately reported the tweet for exposing personal information, then made the poor decision to look at the comments section. Some people insisted it was legitimate, some convinced it was just photoshop, some were convinced that it couldn’t be Pierre-Luc even it looked like him, because he was training in Columbus for the summer, right? Thank God, it didn’t seem like anyone had done a deep enough dive to figure out who she was; there weren’t any screenshots of her accounts or photos of her in the comments section. It was eight minutes from the time she reported it to when it was taken down, and while Laurel was grateful for the quick response, she felt like she was on a cliffside, one foot off of the edge, until it had been deleted.

Her phone lit up with a text notification from Pierre. Funny thing happened today.

Oh God, Laurel thought. Had he seen it? He hadn’t.

My mom asked what you were planning to do about flowers and got very upset when I said we didn’t have any plans. She let out a tense breath. Flowers, she could do. She wanted to get your number to send over the names of a few florists she knows in the area, but I thought I should check with you first to make sure that’s okay.

Laurel smiled, her right hand draped over the side of the couch to scratch Piper behind the ears. That sounds great, P.

As promised, his mom texted Laurel soon after, coming armed with recommendations of Montréal florists. She echoed her son’s words almost identically; You deserve to have the wedding you’ve always dreamed of even if the circumstances are different, she had written. Her eyes pricked with tears as she fell asleep.

July 3 (sun)

It was a week before the wedding, and Laurel had started to pack up her apartment. It seemed much more practical to do it in stages then try to finish everything the weekend of the wedding. So she sat with Pierre on the floor of her bedroom, moving boxes between them as they packed away into the next season of her life. Some things, she obviously couldn’t put away yet — she still needed clothes and toothpaste, and they hadn’t been able to get all of her pots and pans down to the Goodwill yet. But books and keepsakes could be boxed up, and unless there was a snowstorm in July, she didn’t need her parka either.

“Oh, what’s this?” Pierre asked as he pulled a few more volumes off of her bookshelf. Laurel groaned when she saw what was in his hand.

“The 2013 Cloquet Senior High School yearbook. My sophomore year.”

He burst out laughing. “This, I’ve got to see.” He opened the cover. “Your mascot was the Lumberjacks?”

Laurel ducked her head, her cheeks heating. “Regrettably, yes. That’s what happens when your whole area used to be milling towns.”

Pierre’s brows furrowed. “I thought you said everything was about the mines, doesn’t your dad work in the mines?”

“He does,” Laurel said. “They had to figure out something to do after all of the trees had been cut down, you know?”

Pierre got the feeling it was really more of a rhetorical question. “What was your school like?”

She placed one of her old Harry Potter books into the box. “Small is the first word that comes to mind. My graduating class couldn’t have been much bigger than 150 or so? We’d get snow days a couple of times a year, most of the time if it wasn’t a blizzard everyone would end up going down to the school anyways, we’d all have big snowball fights on the football field. Actually,” she said, pulling out her phone from her back pocket, “I think I might still have a clip of one.” She pulled up her videos, scooting over to Pierre and leaning into his side so he could see the screen. Raucous laughter filtered through the speakers; the only things in sight were snow forts and the tiniest bits of beanies peeking over the top.

“THIS. IS. WAR!”

Laurel snickered. “I think that sounds like Nicholas, he was the varsity quarterback for a few years. Usually was the one leading the sieges.” She put her phone away a minute later after the clip ended. “But other than that? There were actually a lot of pretty interesting elective classes, I got to take photography, work in the preschool on campus, take a class on Anishinaabe studies.”

“Anishinaabe?” Pierre questioned.

“There’s a Native American reservation in town, the tribe’s Ojibwe so that’s the language family we studied. A lot of kids at the school, including one of my best friends Kristen, live on the reservation, so I think they wanted to not only have the class available for Native students who maybe wanted to learn more about their culture, but also for non-Native kids like me, so we’re able to gain a respect for whose land we’re living on,” Laurel explained.

“Makes sense,” he said, flipping through the pages. He snorted. “This photo might be the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Laurel peeked over his shoulder, cringing at her school picture. “I really couldn’t have dressed any more 2012 if I tried, Pierre. Aggressively off-the-shoulder top, one of those godforsaken hair feathers, I bet you’d find dark wash skinny jeans if you could see from the waist down.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my fiancée like that,” Pierre said. “I like the look, I swear. You were such a cute kid, oh my God.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. What happened to me, right?”

He looked at her from the side. “Nope.”

June 9 (fri)

It was the day before the wedding, and Laurel was trying to find a dress. She had been planning on wearing one — even if it was a courthouse wedding, she still wanted to look nice — but then she had spilled red wine onto the light blue one she had been thinking of wearing as she ironed it in the living room, and she didn’t want to put all of her eggs in one basket if the Oxiclean didn’t end up working. She called Madeline in a panic, who promised to be over as soon as she could with a few dresses of her own to see what she could do. There was a knock on the door, and Laurel practically flew across the room to fling it open, gathering Madeline in a hug even before she had crossed the threshold. Madeline patted her clumsily on the back. “There, there, Laur. It’s going to be okay, we’re going to fix it.”

Laurel ran one hand through her hair, her curls as frazzled as her mind. “It’s got to be. Half of my stuff’s already over at P’s place, what, do you want me to wear a,” she opened up her dresser, eyeing its meager contents, “bralette and lacy thong to my own wedding?”

Madeline shrugged. “I doubt Pierre would mind,” she said casually.

Laurel almost choked on her own spit. “What do you mean?”

“Men are visual creatures, and you’re hot as hell, Laurel,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Still,” Laurel said, opening her closet and grabbing every single left over dress from its hanger, trying to distract herself from Madeline’s words, “I’d rather not be arrested for public indecency. I’m trying to stay in the country, remember?”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “I remember.” She thumbed through the dresses on Laurel’s bed. “You’re not wearing a black dress to get married,” she said pointedly.

“It’s pretty?” Laurel tried to reason.

“It is, but it’s a wedding, not a funeral.” She moved onto the next one. “Bright red bodycon is great for the club, but not sure coquettish seductress is the look you’re going for.” The next one was a striped sweater dress; it was the middle of summer, so according to Madeline, that meant it was out. There was a navy shift dress that “could work, but it’s a little too much work and not enough play,” her friend had said. Laurel tried on Madeline’s dresses, but seeing as how she had three inches on her, the hemlines weren’t exactly in her favor. Madeline pulled out the last of the stack, gasping softly. “This one’s beautiful, where’s it from?”

Madeline looked at it, a knee-length ivory lace dress, rolling her eyes good-naturedly at Madeline. “It was for Aurélie’s bachelorette party last year, probably explains. You were drunk off your ass that night.”

“I’m hurt by that characterization, but I don’t remember enough to correct you,” Madeline said. “It’s perfect though, why didn’t you choose this one in the first place?”

Laurel rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m not sure?” Madeline gave her a look. “Fine, it just seems...It seems too much like an actual wedding dress. It’s white, or close enough, anyways,” she noted, fingering one of the delicate straps, “and gorgeous, and formal, and I’m worried if I wear it it’ll seem too real, and I’ll start thinking this is more than it is. Because all it is at the end of the day is a friend doing me a really, really big favor,” she finished, huffing and falling back onto her mattress.

“At the end of the day, it’s still a wedding,” Madeline corrected, laying down next to her. “And you’re still a bride and he’s still a groom and you deserve to feel beautiful and cherished and special on your wedding day, no matter its circumstances. And who knows? Maybe you two stay married, and fall in love, and you live happily ever after with your half-dozen dogs and 2.5 kids on some farm out in the suburbs.”

Laurel snorted. “As if.” But two hours later, long after Madeline had already left, she sat back on the bed, hand ghosting over the lace of her now-wedding dress, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Madeline had a point.

June 10 (sat)

It was the morning of the wedding, and Laurel was pacing her room in her sweatpants, Piper looking at her in confusion from the doorway. It was just past 7 and the appointment wasn’t until 10, but she still had to get dressed and do her hair and makeup and pick up the flowers and eat and — her internal monologue was interrupted by the doorbell. Still half-asleep, she ambled over to the door, pulling it open without even really checking to see who it was.

“Surprise!!” Patrice shouted, walking through the door, followed by Madeline and Pierre. “Madeline mentioned that you seemed a bit overwhelmed yesterday, so we thought we’d come over and get ready over here!”

Laurel shuffled out of the way as Piper jumped on Pierre, who laughed and calmed her down with a few scratches on her chin. She had really taken a liking to him and his two dogs, which had initially been a point of nervousness for Laurel. But they got along great, shared space well, and she seemed to love her new brother and sister. “That’s really nice of you guys, I appreciate it,” she said sincerely. “Um, I don’t have much food left because of the move, but I think there’s some cereal in the cupboard?”

“Silly you,” Pierre said, holding out a paper bag. “Did you think I’d leave my bride hungry on our wedding day? I got you sourdough french toast, should be on the top.” They had gone out to brunch once and she had ordered it, audibly moaning at how incredible it tasted. He remembered.

“And raspberry mochas!” Madeline said, presenting her with a cup.

Laurel took it, wrapping her spare arm around Madeline and kissing Pierre on the cheek. “This is incredible, guys. Really. I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“Exactly!” Madeline said, a perky expression on her face. “It’s a surprise!” She drifted into the kitchen, pulling out plates from Laurel’s cabinet and forks from her drawers. “Breakfast is served!”

Laurel let out a laugh as she grabbed the box with her french toast, taking a sip of her mocha. “I think the credit goes to the chefs at the restaurant, but whatever you say, Madi.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but we ordered it.

By the time they had all inhaled their breakfasts and cleaned the kitchen — Laurel and Pierre tag-teamed the dishes — it was almost eight, and Madeline whisked her into her room to get ready. “There should be a couple beers in the fridge, help yourselves!” Laurel shouted out the door as Madeline tried to wrestle her into the ensuite. For the most part, Madeline was good at listening to Laurel’s pleas against a dramatic makeup look. Muted rose lipstick, filled in her eyebrows, delicately pulled back her hair into a twisted bun. “Where’s your setting spray?” Madeline asked, rooting through her makeup bag.

“Top drawer on the left. Are you finally going to let me see?”

Madeline pulled the drawer out, uncapping the bottle and spritzing it over Laurel’s face. “Go for it.”

Laurel turned around, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “Oh my God,” she said, turning her head so the glimmer of her highlighter caught in the early-morning sun streaming through the open window. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Don’t say that until you’ve put the dress on,” Madeline said, pulling it off of its hanger and draping it across the chair. Sweats came off and the dress went on, Madeline carefully pulling up the back zipper and straightening out her hem. Laurel bent down to put on her shoes, threading the silver straps through the tiny metal clasp before giving her leg a good shake. Madeline looked at her sceptically.

“What?” Laurel asked innocently. “I don’t want it to fall off halfway down the aisle.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door, Patrice’s voice floating in from the other side. “It’s 9:20, you two about ready to head out?”

“Coming!” Madeline called back, pulling Laurel up from the bed. “You ready, Laur?” Laurel gave a nervous nod. “Let’s go get you married.”

She stepped out into the living room, reaching up to her neck and fingering the silver filigree of her grandma’s wedding necklace, one of the only things she had left to remember her by. If she wasn’t able to complete the whole rhyme, at least she’d have her something old. “Who’s driving?” she asked.

Pierre wheeled around, mouth gaping like a fish when he saw her. Laurel immediately looked down to her dress, wondering if she had spilled one of her pre-wedding mimosas. “What is it?” she asked frantically. “Is there something in my teeth?”

He shook his head, tugging at the sleeves of his navy blue suit. “No, there’s nothing in your teeth, it’s perfect. You look beautiful.” They were in the car five minutes later, picked up the bouquet from the florist five minutes after that, and were outside of the courthouse by 9:50. Laurel took a deep breath, looking up at the glass doors of the Palais de Justice. Pierre threaded his fingers between hers, giving a reassuring squeeze. “You good?”

Laurel nodded, nervous but determined, sure that she was making the right decision. “Ready.” She barely remembered signing in, barely remembered going back to the clerk’s office, barely remembered her reading the mandated articles of the civil code. She gripped Pierre’s hands, giving him as much of a reassuring smile as she could, as the vows were read.

“Pierre-Luc Dubois, do you take Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, here present, to be your wife?” Juliette asked.

“I do.”

“Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, do you take Pierre-Luc Dubois, here present, to be your husband?”

“I do,” Laurel said, voice steady.

Juliette continued. “By virtue of the powers vested in me by law, I now declare you, Pierre-Luc Dubois, and you, Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, united in the bonds of marriage.” Patrice passed over the rings; Laurel slid Pierre’s onto his ring finger, he gently twisted hers to rest on top of her engagement ring. “You are now legally married. Allow me, on my own behalf and on behalf of all those present, to offer you our best wishes for your happiness. You may now kiss the bride.”

Laurel panicked for a moment, before looking up and meeting Pierre’s eyes. In the span of a second, she communicated her unspoken agreement with the tiniest nod of her head, and his lips were on hers. His arms were against the small of her back, hers wrapped around his neck, and even enough it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, it felt like hours. It felt like coming home.

#pierre-luc dubois #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey smut #nhl writing #pierre-luc dubois imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl smut #nhl #hockey #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic

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barnesandrogersfanfics · 4 years

Text

Ocean Eyes - Part 2

It was an unusually hot day, so i pulled out Mason's kiddy pool and filled it for him to cool off in. I was sat on one of the sun loungers close by reading my book where i could still keep an eye on him.

"Mom?"

"Yeah babe?"

"Is auntie Hannah coming round soon with Lucas? Im bored"

"They should be here soon buddy" i smiled over at him.

"Okay.... im hungry"

"Fine.... i'll go get you something but you have to come out the water while i'm inside...."

"Oh mom i dont wanna get out...."

"Mace come on now...." i rolled my eyes putting my book down.

"Knock knock" i heard a very familiar voice call out from behind, i turned and stared wide eyed at none other than Scott Evans!!

"Scott.... what... what are you doing here?" I asked standing up and walking over to the back gate to let him in.

"Chris told me where you were, i had to come see you! I've missed you! You stopped replying to my messages and wouldn't take my calls...."

"Yeah i'm sorry Scott, that was a dick move" i nodded, I had been friends with the Evan's since we were kids.... best friends with Chris and Scott "i was dealing with some stuff.... guess i didn't handle it well"

"I can see that" he said looking over at Mason who was sat in the pool with his back to us as he crashed some toys around "he yours?"

"He is, thats Mason"

"Well you gonna introduce me properly??" He asked being his usual sassy self!

"Sure, come on over" i led the way over to where Mason was playing feeling my heart racing, i hadn't been this nervous in forever!

"Hey Mace? I want you to meet a friend of mine...."

Mason turned to face us and i heard Scott audibly gasp.

"This is my friend Scott"

"Hi" he said shyly looking Scott over.

"Hey bud, its nice to meet you...." Scott smiled at Mason before turning his attention to me with wide eyes as Mason carried on playing as if we wasn't there.

"Is there something you need to tell me Y/N?....."

I looked away from Scott keeping my eyes on my son, i shook my head in disbelief..... i did not expect to be having this conversation today!

"You know his a spitting image...."

"I know Scott! Im not blind" i snapped.

"But how?? I mean i know how! But...."

"Hey! Its just us...." i heard Hannah call from inside, she always let herself in.

"Hey.... oh shit"

"Hey Hannah, good to see you" Scott smiled with a little wave.

"Scott..... what a surprise..."

"Han, can you watch Mason while i go inside and talk to Scott?" I asked as i shifted nervously on the spot.

"Sure".

"Hi auntie Y/N!" Lucas said loudly as he ran past me heading to Mason.

"Hey buddy" i smiled at him as i led the way into the house with Scott following close behind.

"Okay so spill it" Scott said breaking the awkward silence between us as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table.

"What do you already know? What did Chris tell you about us?...." i asked avoiding eye contact with him.

"Well obviously i know the two of you used to hook up occasionally.... he said he just lost contact with you when you left town"

"Wow....." i scoffed shaking my head "is your brother still an asshole?"

"Why are you calling him an asshole? I thought you guys were friends??"

"We were. Then we were more.....or at least i thought so"

"You two were serious?"

"I guess not"

"He never said anything...."

"Before he made it 'big' with the whole Captain America thing we were serious"

"How serious?"

"Serious enough to get married....."

"Im sorry WHAT???!!"

"Yep"

"How did i not know about this??? when did this happen??" he stared at me with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open as he tried to process the information.

"You remember the weekend in Vegas for my birthday, before he started filming Winter Soldier?....that one night you got food poisoning and stayed in bed..."

"You got married in Vegas?! were you both drunk??"

"Nope, stone cold sober" i shrugged "god i loved him Scott.... he was telling me he loved me and talking about starting a family..... we walked past a chapel and he asked me to marry him. Promised we'd do it properly when we got home...."

"My god...... so what happened?"

"Chris wanted to wait until he finished filming to tell everyone.... or so he said. When he came home once he was done filming he told me we had made a mistake. His career was taking off and he wouldn't have time for a wife..... he was getting a lot of attention from women, he didn't want to be tied down with me did he?"

"Did he say that?!"

"He didn't have to, he was pictured with different women all the time" i shrugged.

"What an asshole!" Scott spat sounding pissed at his brother "how could he do that to you of all people??"

I shook my head as i thought back on the time i was heartbroken.... pining for my best friend... my husband, and he had so easily forgotten about me, i quickly wiped a stray tear away before Scott could see.

"I found out i was pregnant two weeks later. I tried calling him but he never answered or returned my messages..... so i made a choice. I decided to pack up and leave, start somewhere new where i could raise my baby. I received divorce papers shortly after which i signed and returned, i didnt want anything to do with him"

"You should have called me! I wouldve talked some sense into him!"

"He didn't want me Scott let alone a baby.... he made his choice and i made mine" i smiled looking out the window at my beautiful boy "i dont regret it for a second, Mason is my world. He's my perfect little boy.... even if he does look like a spitting image of his father. Thats the hardest part.... its the eyes.... he has his eyes".

Scott was suddenly beside me pulling me into his arms and holding me tight.

"Im so sorry sweetie"

"Its fine.... it was a long time ago.... when Chris showed up here yesterday i nearly had a heart attack!" I mumbled against Scotts chest.

"I bet.... why was he here?"

"Apparently we're still married! That jackass never filed the papers! But now he's seeing someone and its getting serious he wants the option of marrying her"

"You should tell him about Mason....."

"I can't Scott, he'd hate me.... what if he tried to take Mason from me?"

"He wouldn't do that, he might want a chance to get to know his son but he wouldn't hurt you like that....."

"Can you be sure? 100% sure that he wouldn't want to take Mason?? I've seen some of his interviews about wanting kids...."

"Don't you want Mason to know his father?"

"Of course! You dont think i wanted my son to have a dad? I tried to tell him Scott but he ghosted me!"

"Look i love my brother you know that, i know what he was like a few years back, he went through a phase of being an absolute douche bag..... but his different now"

"I'll think about it okay?"

"Okay..... i'll be there for you through it all i promise"

"Thank you Scotty, god I've missed you" i smiled giving him another hug "you staying for lunch? Mason's hungry"

"Id love to".

Scotts POV

Y/N stood at the front door waving me off with Mason, my NEPHEW! I still couldn't believe it.... Chris was a Father!!

I waved to them both as i pulled away and started my drive home. 20 minutes into my journey my cell started to ring, i looked down to see it was Chris calling.

"Hey"

"Hey, what you up to?"

"Just on my way home, i went to go see Y/N"

"Oh.... h..how was she?"

"Surprised to see me, but she was good"

"Good, thats good. What did she tell you?" He sounded worried, nervous even.

"I know everything...." i huffed out a breath "how could you be so fucking stupid Chris?? you married our best friend.... our oldest friend and then left her!"

"I was such an asshole back then.... i know, but i can't change that now can i?"

"No i guess not"

"It was so good seeing her yesterday man, made me realise how much I've missed her. I was hoping we could work things out, be friends at least but.... Scott she fucking hates me!"

"Can't say i blame her....."

"Im not that guy anymore Scott" he said sadly and i knew that, id seen the change in my brother over the years.

"Try and talk to her again, maybe she just needed to get over the shock of seeing you"

"You think she'd wanna see me?"

"I have no clue, but if you want to sort things out with her your going to have to make an effort with her. Let her see your not the same asshole that left her"

"Maybe i should just leave her alone, she's been fine without me...."

"Chris..... i wasn't going to say anything but theres something you should know...."

Everything taglist: @jesseswartzwelder @dumblani @barnesandrogersworld @patzammit @rynabarnesrogers-reading

Ocean eyes: @supraveng @michelehansel @melissaglenn5 (it wont tag you) @katiew1973 @denisemarieangelina

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris x reader #reader insert #steve rogers #captain america #ocean eyes

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