#this was my long winded way of saying that loss sucks but there’s a whole world out there

[fqiryspit]

FOOTBALL PLAYER EREN HEADCANONS

eren x fem!reader

cw: eren is head over heels for you, crazy fangirls, death threats, eren fucking you, you sucking him, etc etc

you've been in a relationship with eren before his hair was that long and when he stumbled nervously over everything.

he still looks back and cringes, wondering why you wanted to date him

you two have been lifelong friends and once you started your relationship things really were perfect.

eren's football career really took off in college, and he got a lot more attention from the girls on campus rather than old men.

soon he and his team were absolutely famous and you were so excited for him -and incredibly grateful your relationship was swiped under the rug during that time. he had millions of fan girls posting fics and edits of him daily, it was insane.

you asked him to not speak on your relationship -because he got those questions a lot so he just responds with a simple "I'm happy" when they get asked

he wants to -so badly- show you off. to laugh at all his annoying fan girls and bring you out, but, he respects your decision.

after his games, he is absolutely wrecked. he flops down onto the bed and you climb on top of him and start massaging his scalp and he just moans into the sheets

"did you have fun?"

"how was I supposed to have fun when you weren't there?" he says, needy as ever

"errreeen I'm not gonna be able to go that far for every game" you huff

.

and this man loves to spoil you. designer bags out of the blue, wait, did you just eye that coat? no worries, he's just gonna purchase that really quickly.

eren truly truly loves you, he knows he is gonna marry you, it's just a fact.

he melts when he is with you, always needing to hold you in some way and just have you near.

he fanaticizes about your wedding and babies with you late at night or when he's balls deep in you

"fuck, can't wait to fill you up with my babies, gonna make you a mommy"

and by the way, after a game. a win or a loss, he's fucking you.

if he won, he's letting his victory in your pussy, ramming into you over and over while your legs bend in abnormal positions every two seconds while he babbles about how he couldn't get his mind off you the whole time

if he lost...oh man. he's taking all that anger out on you. it goes on for hours until he is finally drained and calm while you lay there full of his cum.

before a conference, you give him a "good luck suck" because he hates going to them, and this makes him feel a lot better <3

.

his fans are crazy, and once they caught wind of your relationship, all hell broke loose.

a photo came to light of eren simply hugging you. you know how careful he is with that stuff so you hid it from him, knowing he rarely goes on social media it should be a breeze, right?

you had your knees up to your chest and a twisted brow on, reading through the death threats and horrible comments made about your appearance.

you're an idiot for not privating your account in time, they found you and are coming in full swing.

you felt your stomach sink, you shouldn't let them get to you, but they're pointing out insecurities you've been trying to bury

"you okay?"

you look up to see eren, in the doorway with a concerned look all over his face. you turn off your phone and put a smile on

"yeah, just stupid stuff" you chuckle uncomfortably. he walks over and climbs onto the bed

"what happened?" "nothing, eren"

he looked at you for a couple more seconds, giving you the option to tell him what was going on. then his eyes slowly traveled to your phone you tossed across the bed. you reached for it franticly but he got it in time and as you yelled out his name he unlocked it with his face

everything on his face just dropped in an instant, he read through message after message about people wishing you dead, saying not-so-nice things about your looks, and more.

he asked when this started while he kept staring into the phone, then asked why you didn't tell him.

"I knew it would worry you, so I just-" "you need to tell me these things" he reached over to grab his phone as he started typing, you looked over to see him making a twitter post and you freaked

"don't say anything about it!" you plead, but it was too late, he made a simple post yelling at his 'fans' and then turned his phone off and held you

"please don't worry about those stupid messages"

.

in all, footballplayer!eren is the man of your dreams, and he hopes you haven't found the ring box in his sock drawer yet. <3

an: love him sm <3

[fan-goddess]

Teat of Family Wealth

Authors Note: Short af but I thought of it on my work break. Enjoy the drabble I guess

Taglist: @valeskafics, @omgbrcat @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity

Warnings: None apart from the occasional swear mixed in. Oh, and probably ooc Michael but who gives a shit?

Felix Catton, is a rich cunt sucking directly of the tit of old familiar wealth, and somehow, he doesn’t even know it.

Though to be fair, you yourself have no idea how you managed to wind up being his friend. Considering that compared to all his other mates, you were probably considered poor. Even though compared to all the non-rich shits in school, you were probably seen as well off.

You’d met Felix on the first day of Oxford, wandering around blindly looking for your introductory class to English. And of course knowing your luck, Felix Catton walked right up to you asking if you were lost, and to your gratitude at the time, you were grateful as he directed you were to go. Even blushing at the fact he insisted on putting his number in your phone, just so you could text him if you ever got lost again.

Though from there, you have no idea what happened. As the next thing you knew, you were trailing along after Felix and hanging out with his friends like some sort of fucking puppy, too afraid to leave the comforts of what it knows and go see the world. You knew you were being absolutely pathetic. A desperate bootlicker practically whining for some sort of attention and validation from someone deemed powerful in this world.

It was probably though why you found it so easy to recognise yourself in Oliver Quick. Another desperate nobody that was all but begging for some attention from the so proclaimed ‘big dogs’ of Oxford.

Though his eyes, those were different from yours. His held a type of longing that was directed only at Felix. Compared to his, your eyes looked like you wanted to kill him.

You don’t know how he met Felix, but by the way he came over to the table in the pub after Felix had called him over was nothing but eager. Oliver had been quick to move, grabbing his drink and practically skipping over. Even though you know you saw someone with him at the table earlier.

“Oh wait are you with anyone?” Felix asked, strangely empathetic as he stared at Oliver. Oliver turned around, and you could clearly see the person he’s just been sitting with in a confusing but funny looking shirt awkwardly waving to him, obviously wondering what the hell happened when he’d gone.

“No, they just left…” Oliver replied, ignoring the poor boy who slowly drops his hand and his head, obviously sad at the sudden loss of his drinking partner and so called friend.

It was so sad to look at, that you move to quickly finish your pint, and stand, offering Oliver your seat as you walk away. You can’t hear if anyone objects. If anything, they probably don’t care about you enough or even at all to even notice.

“Hey! How I roll guy!” You yell, and to your surprise, he actually turns around and gives you a judging glare rivalling even Heras.

“What?” He grunts, his brows furrowed as his eyes rake over your whole body, as if he had the ability to see every one of your insecurities.

You take a deep breathe, oddly nervous. “Oliver Quick is a bootlicking cunt and quite honestly, you deserve a much better friend than that puppy.”

There’s silence between you two, that’s only broken by the odd drunk fuelled talk coming from the direction of the pub, and eventually, by a small hum coming from the guys lips.

“You’re not wrong…” He says, smiling as he no doubt thinks over what you just said. “Though, I suppose the same could be said about you. Don’t you hang desperately on the rich buff arms of your own bff Felix Catton?”

“Felix is as much as my friend as I am friends with my own shit.” You bluntly say, and to your surprise, he begins chuckling, even slowly beginning to physically shake with laughter, while you stand there awkwardly waiting for him to stop.

“Can’t say you’re wrong comparing good old Felix to good old fashioned excrement!” He grins, finally calming down and fixing his glasses which had gone wonky in strangely enthusiastic laughter.

“Wanna grab a pint on me?” You can’t stop yourself from saying it. This guy in front of you, as brought more of a good conversation than any of the people in Felixes friend group ever could. At least this guy laughed at your sense of humour. The others just exchanged awkward looks and fake laughs.

“Sure, why not?” He shrugs, walking in some random direction and leaving you to stand in the path on your own.

“Where are you going?!” You shout, cupping your hand over your mouth while you grin at this unexpected turn of events.

“The pub! First rounds on you bootlicker!” He shouts back, an equal looking grin on his own face that to your surprise, you can’t help but find strangely pretty to look at in this lighting.

“Yeah yeah Roll boy!” You shout, slowly beginning to run after him as he huffs out another low chuckle. Maybe this would be the start of a good friendship? Or maybe this would be your doom? All you knew, is that you really needed to learn this guys name before you buy him his drink.

[great-and-small]

hey i know this is really heavy but... My pet of 13 years was put to sleep yesterday morning and I was wondering if you have any tips on handling the loss and absence of him. My whole family is struggling really hard and I would appreciate it.

Anon I have been thinking about how to answer this and what words of comfort I can offer you in this time of grief. I have held the hand of so many people through the death of their pet and still I oftentimes find myself at a loss for words. It’s something I think about a lot, so I’m sorry that this is quite long-winded.

I was driving my grandmother to a doctors appointment a few weeks ago and she was telling me about her first dog, a Boston terrier named Guppy that she’d had since she was 8 years old. She told me that during her first year in college she received an unexpected phone call from home out of the blue. In those times, phone calls were expensive and you really only got an unscheduled call when a relative or loved one had passed away. She told me that as she was walking to the room to take the call she had prayed to God that the news on the other end of the line would be the death of her own grandmother, rather than the now geriatric Guppy who had been sick for some time. It was a call about Guppy of course, and my grandma told me she’s been guilty her whole life for wishing that a family member had died instead. She told me that she was intentionally sharing this story with me because she didn’t want me to ever feel guilty if I grieve the loss of my dog more than I do her death someday. She told me that the love of a pet is something different, and losing it hurts in a different way.

This was a morbid story with a morbid sentiment (though entirely in character for my grandma) but it got me thinking about the nature of our grief for pets. They are such constants in our lives that in many ways losing them can be harder to bear than the loss of someone who matters to you in a completely different way. My grandma didn’t love her dog more than she loved her relative, it’s just a different type of grief.

Do not let anyone (including yourself) minimize your loss, because your pet was here, they were important, and your love for them mattered immensely.

So now let me say this; I am so happy that your pet was able to spend 13 years with a family that loved and treasured them. I hope for every single one of my patients to have that safety and warmth and affection, your pet was lucky to be so dearly loved. That said, here are some little things that I will recommend to people who ask me for help in dealing with the loss of their companion.

Take things one day at a time. This sounds like a cliche and maybe it is one but I found it helped me. Try not to think about the future without your pet, but focus on getting through the day, especially in the short term after the loss. Take care of yourself and your physical needs as much as you can.

Actively grieve your pet. By this I mean, dealing with grief is hard work that cannot be ignored or put aside. Rather than shying away from memories of your pet, take the time to purposefully think about them and the life they shared with you. It hurts and it sucks so much, but there is no shortcut through it.

Memorialize your pet. This can be anything, but try to find a way to honor your pet’s memory. Make a painting, or volunteer at an animal shelter for a day, donate old blankets to a vets office in your pets name, make a rock garden, buy a fruit tree and plant it somewhere, put together a photo collage of your pet. Doing little things like this helped me more than anything else when I was grieving my dog.

Talk about them. It seems so dumb but I swear it helps. Talk about what they were like when they were little, what funny things they did to make you laugh, what it meant to have them by your side through all those years. It doesn’t have to be a therapist, but find someone kind who can listen to the stories about your pet that made them who they were.

And most of all please know that someday (maybe not soon, but someday) it will hurt less. In the meantime please be kind to yourself as much as you can.

[helixobesity]

🌀 No more 🌀

You tell yourself that’s it

You’ve gone way too far

Far more than you expected at least

I mean, you outgrew your entire wardrobe in a couple weeks

You get winded heading up the stairs to your apartment

You have stretch marks appearing all over your body

Let’s be blunt here

You’re getting fat

And You wanted to get fat

You just didn’t expect it to be this much

And not this fast

You’ve been attracted to the allure of obesity

Craving what it would look like on you

Your whole life it’s taunted you

Seeing others online gain so much weight

So you dived in head first, and now look at you

You’ve gotten fat

But now you’re telling yourself that’s it

No more

Well

You already ordered food for later today

After that, then you’ll be finished

No more weight gain

But that was a week ago

Now you’re staring in the mirror jiggling your belly

Late for a job interview and you have no pants that fit

Well… you can’t go out like this

Maybe you should just order some lunch quick instead

Then no more

God a couple hundred pounds..?

You didn’t even realize until that doctor’s visit

It was shocking

Everything about you was just… bigger

Fatter

You needed to stop

You can’t keep gaining weight

You’ll eat yourself into immobility

So why exactly are you pulling into a drive thru then?

Oh, your last cheat day?

Then no more weight gain?

You wish

Because eating yourself into immobility is exactly what you did

I mean once you met me, I couldn’t take my eyes off you

You were beautiful, heavy, so so fat

You kept wearing your workout clothes around the house

You ordered weight gain powder, saying it was for “weight loss shakes”

Hell, you ended up ordering food delivered to you, While you were at the gym one time

And now you’re here

Massive

Fatter than you could’ve imagined

Sucking from a tube

Your belly sprawled out in front of you

A thick double chin to emphasize your rounded face

Filling an entire bed, and you’ve barely moved in who knows how long

And yet you sit there

A symbol of obesity

Overindulgence

Gluttony and hedonism

As you take the tube out from your mouth

Your thick arms wiping away the leftovers on your lips

And you tell me with a straight face

“No more, today I’m finally going to lose weight”

But you still hold out your arms

As I hand you the first plate of the day

And I tell you to eat up

🌀💿🌀💿🌀💿🌀💿🌀💿🌀💿🌀

[grimmbitty]

Okay guys here’s my writing sample for my current work in progress!

└── ⋆⋅⚡️⋅⋆ ──┘

Shazam: City of Brotherly Love

Chapter one: Work in Progress

(Revision: fight scene fix & grammar fix )

It was an early autumn day. The kind of day where the wind was cool and brisk, but the sun covered everything with a subtle warmth that I could feel against my skin. I was intermixed in the small crowd that was my new foster siblings as we walked down the block, on our way to school. It was my first day at Fawcett High, my second day at the Vasquez house, and my third time getting reassigned to a new home this year.

I’ve done a lot of moving around, especially these past few years, but I don’t let that stuff get to me. I am so close to actually finding my mom this time around. I’m just really hoping the kids in this group home actually leave my stuff alone. I always keep the most important things in my backpack anyways, because I get tired of people rummaging through my belongings when I'm not looking.

As Freddy and Mary talked amongst themselves, the youngest kid in the group home was most excited to give me a tour. Her name was Darla, and it was the easiest to remember because she wrote it on a banner she hung on the wall, over the bed I was sleeping in this past weekend.

She talked the entire time. And I felt kinda bad that she was wasting her breath, because I was only half listening anyways, tuning in and out of her descriptions as we made our way into the school. It was a very familiar scene. A sea of a thousand faces passing by. People talking, people screaming, people jumping, hugging, and twirling each other around as if they didn’t just see each other yesterday.

Darla’s voice pulled me back out of my train of thought. “And here’s the main hallway. This school is pretty big so if you get lost, there's a map over there. But I think for today I could walk you to your first class just in case.”

Freddy cut into the conversation , “Hey, I think he’s got it from here, D. I know you’re excited for him to have his first day at Fawcett, but let’s just give him a little room to breathe for now.”

As we made our way over to their lockers, Darla went with Mary and stopped at her locker first. I continued walking down the hall following Freddy’s lead as we made our way to his locker. He looked over at me with a hint of concern in his eye. I felt his gaze look me up and down quickly before taking a step closer. “Hey dude, you’re okay, right? I know this is a lot for one morning.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose while I took a second to think. Doing the whole “new foster kid” thing at almost every school in West Philly didn’t really phase me, but I was pissed that I got reassigned to a group home on the other side of town. I knew getting caught was going to be a major setback and I still had a lot of work to do if I was gonna keep trying to find mom. Not to mention I already spent what little money I had on bus passes and subway tokens.

I look back at Freddy, “Yeah, I’m fine.” I let myself fall back onto the lockers to lean on them as we continue talking.

“Don’t worry. I know new faces, new school, new home. It’s a lot. I get it, but I genuinely think once you kinda get the feel for things around here you’re gonna fit in perfectly.”

“Everyone says that, Freddy.” I look off to the side, avoiding eye contact as he shoots me an abrupt look of confusion, tilting his head to one side as he furrowed his eyebrows, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Look. I don’t mean to be a dick but, I don’t plan on staying here for long. I'm sure you guys are lovely, but I already have a family. I already have a mom. They’re out there, looking for me. I know it.”

Freddy let out a small sigh. “Billy, look. I know this shit sucks, hard. Everyone in this house has done their fair share of running away too. We’ve all tried it at least once. But, you should at least give this place a chance.”

I lightly scoffed at the idea. “Yeah, well whatever, I guess.”

“Listen I know I can’t stop you if you’ve already got your mind set on looking for your mom. But, just between us, I would just try to settle down somewhere until you age out of the system so you can at least keep a roof over your head.” I could see his expression grow more concerned as he spoke. “I just don’t want you to run out of places you can fall back on.”

As I opened my mouth to reply, I was interrupted by the loud crash that was two upperclassmen barging down the hall. To my unfortunate surprise they slam open the locker door next to Freddy, nearly crushing his hand in the process. Freddy scoffed, annoyed as we saw them jam wads of crumpled papers into their lockers.

“Hey Freeman, you wanna keep your crutches to yourself bro?” One of the guys said as he pushed Freddy’s crutch with his shoe.

“Seriously man, how many peoples toes do you smash with that thing in a day?”

Freddy took a step back. “Dude, I was here first, and I was almost done anyways. What’s your problem?”

Both of the upperclassmen started to smirk at each other in amusement. “It was just a joke man, you don’t have to be so soft all the time.” Then he pushed Freddy backwards into me and I felt the weight of his body hit me like a bag of sand. I helped him regain his balance so he didn’t get the chance to fully hit the ground. But these douchebags were seriously just okay with doing this?

“Freddy, who the hell are these guys?” I whisper to him as I hear Mary shout in the distance. Slamming her locker and starting to yell at them as she stomps over.

Freddy says, “They’re the Bryers. Most annoying dudes in school.” He rolls his eyes. “They’re both technically in my grade but one of them is a super senior, so he should’ve already graduated by now.”

“Yeah, that guy who shoved you looks like he’s pushing thirty. He should probably worry more about figuring out his plans for retirement instead of being a dick.”

Freddy covers his mouth with his free hand as we both start to giggle to ourselves. Then as we regain our chill we start to tune back into Mary’s scolding. “And another thing, literally half the things you guys say aren’t even “jokes”. They’re just shallow insults you guys laugh after saying because you guys are assholes.”

Freddy seemed a little taken aback by Mary calling someone an asshole, especially since Darla was standing only a few feet away.

“You guys need to grow up. You’re not funny, no one here likes you, and you guys need to learn to keep your hands to yourself and leave people alone!”

I started to wince a bit at the scenario playing before me. I could tell that Mary was pissed, and that she meant every word she said. She was standing up for her brother, and I respect that. But, after every word the Bryers just smiled and giggled to each other more and more. They didn’t care about anything she was saying, they were just getting entertainment out of the fact that she was so mad her face was turning red.

They continued to take turns taunting. One of them jumped back into the conversation, “What are you gonna do about it Bromfield? Give me a lecture? Send me to my room? Mary please, you’re such a baby. Just because you like to boss people around all day and play pretend mom for your fake siblings doesn’t actually make you the boss of anyone. It just makes you look like a massive dork.”

Mary recoiled in disbelief. Any red in her cheeks that she lost catching her breath in the passing moments came back twofold.

I spoke up from behind Mary as she whipped her head around, almost seemingly like she forgot that Freddy and I were witnessing these boneheads too. “You guys are being total assholes for no reason.”

The brothers pushed Mary out of the way and walked over to me and Freddy. Their faces etched with both disgust and confusion. “ I don’t know who this guy is, but let’s get one thing straight. We weren’t being assholes, you guys are just babies. Do none of you guys know what a joke is or are you guys just soft or something?”

“At least I’m not soft in the head, like you two are.”

Freddy shot me an alarmed side eye as the brothers talked amongst each other. Under their breath I could hear one of them say. “Did you just call us stupid?” He said as he shoved me with annoyance.

“Get your gross-ass hands off of me!” I fired back as I shoved the younger brother into his older brother as a taste of his own medicine.

Then they both started to walk closer to me, their figures blocking out the lights in the hall as the smell of body odor and old milk started to creep into my nose. I took a step back to try and preserve my personal space.

“We’re not soft in the skull, dipshit. But you might be.” One of the brothers said as he grabbed my head and slammed it into the wall of lockers behind me.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through every inch of my skull as I grabbed the back of my head in sudden agony. I accidentally let out a small yelp as the feeling erupted through all my nerves. Overwhelming me before I could even process what just happened.

The loud crash of the lockers made everyone in the hall start to look in our direction.Their faces slightly blurred as a sudden wave of dizziness tuned out the shouts of the growing crowd. It was time to go. I ducked under one of the brothers arms and tried to make a break for the exit, only making it two steps before I was yanked backwards by the hood of my jacket.

I tried to squirm around to break free, trying to focus more on escaping than landing any hits, but I was hardly able to keep my feet on the ground. The younger brother put his arms underneath both of my armpits, locking me into place and forcing both of my arms out to the side. Leaving me in an extremely unfavorable position to win this fight.

The older of the two brothers started to roll up his sleeve as he stomped closer to me, winding up his fist to punch me as hard as he could. The faint sounds of Freddy and Mary shouting at them to stop faded into the distance as I saw his fist come hurtling towards me.

I had only seconds before I was either about to lose either some of my teeth or some of my breakfast. So I had to think fast. As the younger of the two brothers was still struggling to hold me still I reflexively ducked just in time to hear the *click* of his brother’s knuckles colliding full force into his jaw.

The feeling of the icy cold floor was an immediate taste of relief that I never thought I’d feel as I got up and started to make a run for it. The bell for first period rang throughout the halls as I saw a flock of adults running over to the Bryers. I escaped and made my way out the front two doors. As I sprinted out to the sidewalk I heard the Bryers burst out of the school’s front doors right behind me, cussing me out as they began to chase after me.

Not the best first day I’ve ever had, but definitely one of the most entertaining ones.

End.

[ryttu3k]

Top five things to cross over with VtM. :>c

So I genuinely have a fair few of these! It gets pretty long-winded, so I'll throw most under a cut. Ahead: His Dark Materials, The Locked Tomb, Pokemon, Subnautica, aaand the Sims!

Spoiler warning for Nona the Ninth under the Locked Tomb section.

1. His Dark Materials. I actually have a whole tag for this. There are multiple ways you can take it (daemons die upon Embrace, daemons become the Beast, daemons still exist), with the latter being my favourite if only because I helped create Hvare (Mithras' manul daemon) and I would die for her. Probably would, actually.

Also go read Dusty's fic, it emotionally ruined me.

-

2. The Locked Tomb. There's some speculating here, mostly on the nature of thanergy and thalergy. In chat, we worked out a few more elements, namely vampires being powered by thanergy and thus… they're solar-powered by Dominicus. What an inversion! Before the sun was The Enemy, now it's what gives them life! (Or, technically, death!) Jod kills everyone with a thalergy signature. That's okay, vampires are thanergy-based, and thus avoid the death sweep!

…They don't avoid the nukes, but the ones that aren't killed in that just. End up in torpor for a bit, and when they wake up on a now-deserted Earth, they find that - for the first time - the sun is giving them the means to survive. They don't need vitae, Dominicus is thanergetic and is all they need. Solar-powered vampires! Some do end up leaving (I want to say Mithras does a stint on Trentham, which is only one planet over), but otherwise they more or less start their own society on the mostly-deserted Earth, and just. Avoid Canaan House.

(They're an absolute hit and a known quantity both in the Second and Seventh Houses, and there's a big collection on the Sixth, too. Second House digs the more militarily-minded ones, and if their largely immortal thanergy-based companions need to drink human blood when they're away from Dominicus, well, there's plenty of Blood of Eden soldiers. Seventh just adores the idea of beauty preserved by death, there's probably at least a few heirs who decided fuck all this cancer malarky, gimme the Embrace. And Sixth just digs anyone with old knowledge, and some of them have pre-Resurrection memories! The rest just… stay on Earth, avoiding Canaan House, not too bothered about things like old societies and… clothes and things and being solar-powered. Secret solar-powered nudist vampire colony.)

And then the events of the books happen and it all goes downhill from there.

Apocalypse: *happens* Vampires: "Well this sucks! *goes into torpor*" Torpor: *happens* Resurrection: *happens* A millennium or so later: "*cautious peeking out* Is it safe now? Oh shit, we're solar-powered 8D" Nine thousand years of a vampiric golden age: *happens* Lyctoral Trials: *announced* Vampires: "…Well fuck."

-

3. Pokemon. Yes I know, I know. It was a lot of throwing ideas back and forth for one particular story idea, but here's what we got!

Backstory: ~1000 years earlier, Michael, the Dracon, and Antonius are the Trinity, attempting to create a heaven on Earth via Some Kind Of Means. Antonius allows his jealousy and general 'being a garbage person' to get the better of him and ends up dying in some thematically appropriate way due to his own hubris; the Dracon, exhausted and burnt out, bails, and ends up finding a quiet existence tending to the God-Tree, the recently-dormant Xerneas, known as the Eldest. But he's still depressed as hell, and ultimately ends up departing to find Yveltal to end his existence, being turned to stone. Michael, refusing to accept the loss of both his lovers, strikes a deal with either Celebi or Dialga to be displaced in time, so he can force the Eldest to resurrect the Dracon.

A little before present day, Michael arrives in the modern Pokeverse, and starts going about trying to work out how to bring back the Dracon, keeping a protective eye both on the God-Tree and statue!Dracon. He's also been busy tracking down the Dracon's descendants, finding Symeon Gesudin and his young child, Myca. Michael manipulates them both into joining him, deciding that Symeon is an acceptable replacement for Antonius and that Myca… well, if he can't bring back the Dracon, then maybe he can have a new one. Myca initially is homesick but otherwise quite content in Michael's cult, but as they reach their teenage years, the gloss starts coming off and they realise that Michael definitely doesn't have their best interests at heart, and they run away with their Chikorita Sascha.

Part 1: New runaway Myca (around 16-ish, I'm thinking) sets out as a new trainer, taking the surname Vykos (their mother's) instead of Gesudin. On their travels, they meet Ilias, another young trainer, who turns out to be a runaway himself (he had actually left home a few years earlier, but had spent the last few years with his guardian Dorinta, who was now encouraging him to go on a Pokemon journey). Over the next two years, the two grow closer, starting to move on from their pasts…

…until Michael and Symeon show up. They plan on using the power of the still-dormant Eldest to force the Dracon's soul out of the statue and into a new vessel. Namely, Myca's body. Myca is less than impressed with this idea, and the fighting becomes pretty fierce. Sascha, Myca's starter, dies protecting them from Michael, Ilias is mortally wounded, and the Dracon's statue cracks. Ilias manages to crawl to the God-Tree and begs them to save Myca with his last breath. The Eldest awakens, kills Michael, and fuses the Dracon's soul into a mask before the statue can crumble completely, fuses Yamask!Dracon on to Myca's face so they can make each other stronger, absorbs Ilias' body, and vanishes. Symeon takes one look at Dracon!Myca and flees, leaving them completely alone, save for the Dracon merged to their soul.

Part 2: Some time has passed (not sure how much - could be anything from a few years to a few decades). The Eldest resurrects Ilias, but their grasp on time isn't… great and it's been quite some time since his death. Eventually finding his way back to civilisation, he's recognised as one of the kids who disappeared [x] years ago and is hospitalised, and while in the hospital, he sees a story about a terrorist called Sascha Vykos, who wears a gold mask and seems to be focusing on causing as much self-destructive chaos as possible that, apparently, never seems to even leave a scratch. Ilias promptly remembers Myca, and what happened, and is able to escape the hospital. Trying to work out what the hell happened, he manages to find former regional Professor candidate, Beckett, and briefly explains what happened.

Beckett is intrigued, and agrees to work with Ilias to find Myca, and preferably find a way to… bring them back to whoever they were before, because the actions 'Sascha' is taking really doesn't gel with Ilias' memories of Myca. They also cross paths with Symeon, and learn that he had been made immortal by the radiation the Eldest had given off when they had awakened, that Ilias likely is now too as he was resurrected, and that Myca is as well, since the Eldest wasn't about to lose their beloved adopted child again, were they? Symeon tries to convince Ilias that he had been misled by Michael too and just wanted to save his son, and Ilias reluctantly agrees to travel with him to find Myca. When they do finally meet again, Symeon reveals his deeply possessive side (he doesn't want to do anything evil, or so he claims, he just wants to like. Own Myca) and Dracon!Myca takes great pleasure in killing him.

Which. Valid.

They get the mask off somehow I haven't actually thought that bit through, Myca collapses in Ilias' arms, happy resolution! …except they're both immortal, somewhat displaced in time, and deeply traumatised, but hey, that's the next part's problem!

Part 3: Still working it out but it involves Myca learning how to people again, Ilias adjusting to the new time period, working out how to get rid of their pesky immortality and also what to do with Yamask!Dracon, and Beckett being an unpaid babysitter.

Here's an art!

-

Right okay those are all the ones I had prepared earlier. Let's make some up on the fly!

-

4. Subnautica. I did actually play around with a vampire!Ryley AU at one point, but making it VtM specifically should still work. I had vampires being a known element with powdered heme available on the Aurora in that AU, but if there's a Masquerade still around, then yeah, vampire crew members on the Aurora are just snacking on their crewmates on the regular. Gotta keep it quiet! In this case, Ryley is a vampire of unknown clan keeping it on the sly. When the Aurora crashes, he's still the only survivor, and the game more or less plays out the same with one major difference: he doesn't get sick.

Oh, he still gets infected. He has to drain fish blood here, it's probably unavoidable. And he still can't shut down the QEP with it floating around in his system, so if he ever wants to leave, he still has to go through the same plot. Some parts are easier (no need to worry about oxygen), some parts are harder (have to stay somewhere sheltered, like a cave, during the day so he doesn't go crispy; better make sure those caves are free of stingers and/or crashfish!), it does kind of balance out. The Aurora will be interesting. Lots of Rotschreck potential. That was an extreme act of bravery tyvm!

I feel ultimately, he stays. He's not going back to some shitty trans-gov where he's treated like shit. He's going to stay on his lovely water planet with his baby leviathan friends and those 4546B nights are his, my friend!

…He might go Mariner. Honestly, Gangrel does actually fit pretty well!

-

5. The Sims. Straud's bloodline are Toreador (he does play music, after all!); specifically, he and Miss Hell are Toreador antitribu. Lilith and Caleb take one (well, two) look/s at their sires and go "no thank you!!" and get the hell out of dodge and are currently chilling in San Myshuno with the Camarilla and pretending they absolutely don't have a Sabbat background. Caleb is Humanity 8, wanting to maintain who he is, missing food so much, and generally trying to be the best example of a Friendly Neighbourhood Vampire (albeit without letting anyone. Know he is. Masquerade and all). Lilith… slips a bit and might possibly benefit from a Path; she still maintains the more Sabbat way of thinking that it shouldn't be necessary to have to hide who she is, and so she's finding Humanity to be a bit of a struggle.

Hilariously, they're Kinfolk, from the Children of Gaia. Their cousin Lily did undergo the Change and now lives with her pack in Moonwood Mill; the Vatores didn't and barely survived their quite traumatic Embraces. The Children are quite dedicated to peace, and Lily sees good grounds for reconciliation with Caleb, at least, but she worries Lilith has been too influenced by the Wyrm to be redeemed, and would possibly have to be put down for the good of Gaia. Which. Awkward.

For the others - as mentioned, Miss Hell, Straud's childe, is actually ductus of their pack, with Vlad taking on the role of pack priest instead. Their other pack members are Kat and Markus. The Nobles are a coterie of older autarkis, who avoid the precepts of the Sabbat but do prefer to be able to live openly in Forgotten Hollow. Inna is still on Humanity and is generally as close as you'll get to a genuinely nice elder, while Elle and The Other Vlad are a bit more hardened and may follow Roads. And for the Virtuous ones, Demetrius is a neonate who came across the recently-Embraced fledglings Samantha and Brandy, and took them under his wing. They're still very young, and the Nobles try to keep a bit of an eye on them to make sure they don't get into too much trouble. Especially Samantha, who's starting to show some worrying traits…

Morgyn is a mage originally from House Tytalus of the Order of Hermes, surviving their apprenticeship and still maintaining a decent relationship with their master Aine. She died during the Reckoning, and Morgyn, disillusioned with Tytalus and the Order of Hermes in general, ended up leaving in disgust. Now they're dabbling with the Verbena and the Euthanatoi, but maybe they'll find belonging with a pair of vampires instead…?

[pippytmi]

16 + 4 + 2 (werewolf supercorp?)

It is not uncommon for Kara to wake up in a puddle of blood.

At this point she is immune to the shock that comes with it, really. She has adapted; knows all the best tricks to get stains out of her clothes, knows all the best laundromats that don’t ask any questions. Heck, she even has Alex’s ex-girlfriend on speed dial, just in case there is a freak chance the blood Kara wakes up in might be human (it has not happened yet, knock on wood).

But there are other parts that still take some getting used to. Like, for example, the loss of memory that comes with every night of the full moon. Because yeah, she understands why she wakes up in a pool of blood. What she doesn’t understand is why this time around she wakes up in a pool of her own blood, and in so much pain that it hurts to open her eyes.

“Ow,” Kara whispers to herself, twisting onto her side with a groan. Her clothes are gone—no surprise—but even as she is laying down on the cold, rocky forest floor, the only thing she can focus on is how much her head hurts. She’s dealt with branch scratches, sore legs and arms, the occasional plethora of bug bites, but never a headache. Her one comfort is that at least she has made it into the backyard of Sam’s cabin. It takes a considerable amount of strength to push herself up off the ground; walking is going to be much harder than anticipated.

If Alex saw her now, she'd—well first she would hit Kara over the head and yell at her about being dumb, but afterwards she would snicker. And probably hit her over the head again for good measure.

“Oh my God—!”

Okay, it’s official. Kara is now dead. Even if the stranger gawking at her is not the one who kills her, Alex definitely will.

And it’s that thought that makes Kara drop right back down on the floor, knocking the wind right out of her lungs, and she groans into the dirt pitifully.

“Oh, fuck,” the stranger whispers, almost as if to herself, scrambling to come to Kara’s side. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck!” Said stranger belatedly claps a hand over her mouth, green eyes widening in horror. “Holy shit, are you alive?”

Kara pitifully rests her cheek against the ground and tries not to look too offended. “Uh, kind of,” she replies. (So this must not be Sam’s cabin, then.) “Sorry. Am I in your yard? It is a very nice yard. Five stars.”

“No, it’s not my—I��m house-sitting,” the woman explains, though she is giving Kara a look that says really? That’s what you want to focus on right now?

“Well, it’s still a nice place,” Kara says, because she is polite and small talk is always a good thing to fall back on when you’re naked on a pile of dead leaves. “Wait, I don’t suppose you’re house-sitting for Sam, are you? Sam Arias, super tall, has a daughter who is freakishly good at checkers?”

Stranger-who-swears-like-a-sailor frowns. “How do you know Sam?” she asks suspiciously.

“She dated my sister. It was a whole—it’s a thing,” Kara says. “You know?”

“Wait. Are you Kara? Are you Alex’s sister?”

“Yes! So you do know!” Kara would grin if her face were capable of any emotion besides mind-shattering pain. “Then you must be Sam’s friend…uh, bear with me…Lena? Or Jess?”

“Lena,” says the woman, still notably wary, so Kara makes the decision to wiggle until she can prop herself up her elbows and look less, well, like a corpse.

“Hey, got it in one!” Kara says as cheerfully as she can muster. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. And can I just—uh, say—that you don’t have to worry. I won’t die here or anything. I know you would obviously be the number one suspect for murder and it wouldn’t be nice of me to put you through that.”

“…right. Never mind that you would be dead, or anything.” Lena begins to shakily unbutton her coat like a woman possessed, as if her doubt has morphed entirely into concern now that she has confirmation the freak naked in Sam’s backyard is not an entire stranger. “Here, this is long enough to cover you. Do you—do you need help getting up?”

“No, no, I’ve got it, thank you,” Kara insists, and gradually, she manages; she shifts sideways and then tentatively onto her butt, and accepts the coat when it’s all but thrown at her face. There is blood mixed in with the leaves and general guck beneath her, and she winces at the sight. “I’ll come back and clean this later,” she’s quick to add, and Lena frowns in response.

“Are you serious? Forget cleaning, you need—stitches, at the very least. I can take you to the hospital if—”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that!” Kara blurts out, and with the adrenaline from that burst of energy she’s able to scramble to her feet. She is shaky, unsteady, but she manages to stay upright at least and she’ll count that as a win. “Shoot. I’m sorry for yelling. I just—no hospitals. I can’t do hospitals.” She has never had to form an excuse for this, and her mouth can’t quite wrap around the right words.

But Lena—green eyes wide and unsure, skin pale in the early morning light—nods, like she understands. “Okay,” she says. “No hospitals.”

“Thanks,” Kara mumbles, wrapping the coat tightly around herself. There are startling black spots in her vision and her head still feels like it was used as a piñata; she wonders what the heck her next move should be now. If Sam needs someone to house-sit, she must be out of the city. And if Sam is out of the city, Kara can’t exactly waltz into Sam’s house to wash all the blood off her body (and then call up Alex from the couch while stealing whatever ice cream Ruby picked). Sam lets her do that, sure, but that’s Sam. It would be pretty rude to do that when Lena is right here.

“Do you…” And Lena pauses, nose scrunching up as if something has just occurred to her. “I can give you a ride somewhere else, if you’d like. Back to your house?”

“No, that’s okay,” Kara hurries to decline, because how can she really explain that she lives in an apartment, and that if little old Mrs. Jensen saw her coming up covered in blood she’d finally succumb to her third heart attack? “Can I just use Sam’s phone to call my sister? Then I’ll come right back out here, I promise.”

“Why would you come back out here again?” Underneath her coat, Lena is wearing plaid pajama pants that are rolled at the ankle (Sam’s, most likely), and a tank top that is extremely fitted. Very, very well fitted. Like, you-can-tell-it’s-frigidly-cold-outside-kind-of-fitted.

Kara coughs and tries not to let on how her train of thought has twisted. “Because…I’m a stranger?” she tries. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Remember, if you die I’m going to be the first one they question,” Lena says, tilting her head expectantly in the direction of Sam’s cabin. “Come inside, warm up. Call your sister.” All things considered, she is far more concerned than Kara expected her to be—as if, somehow, ridding herself of the weirdo walking around bloody and probably concussed isn’t the very first thing on Lena’s mind.

So Kara doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth; she accepts the offer. It’s a small comfort that if she really does get murdered by a total stranger, it won’t be while cold and naked.

Lena goes right into Sam’s room the instant they go inside, already gathering a million outfits for Kara to pick through. “The shower is fickle, but it does have hot water,” she says, adding a towel to the pile in Kara’s arms when she re-emerges. “You just have to—”

“Hit the wall twice, and give it a few seconds,” Kara finishes. “Yeah, Sam reminds me every time.”

“So you…visit Sam often, do you?”

“Uh.” And suddenly, despite the long, cold night she’s had, the air indoors feels a bit warmer than is comfortable. “Only sometimes.” Once a month, Kara thinks, and Lena crosses her arms and just stares.

Really stares, dragging those sharp green eyes up and down Kara’s whole body. Squints at the scratches on her face, scrunches her nose at the way Kara awkwardly shifts from side to side. Finally Lena speaks, and it’s only to say, “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“...come again?”

“It’s you. Sam told me she’s been helping out a friend with a—furry predicament—”

If it were possible to choke on air, Kara would be dead right now. “Did she really call it furry? But she’s also—!” She has to pause, now, because she feels an urge to clarify, “Wait. Are we talking about the same thing right now?”

Lena narrows her eyes slightly. “You mean talking about how you’re a werewolf?”

“Oh!” Head lighter, Kara sucks in a laugh that makes her ribs feel like they are splintering open. “Then yes. That’s good, I didn’t want you to think I was a—anyway. I didn’t think Sam told anyone.”

“Sam and I have been friends for a long time,” Lena says slowly. A beat. “She actually ate my hamster once.”

Kara winces. “Recently?”

“No! Back in the fifth grade,” Lena frowns, like she might’ve added dumbass at the end of the sentence. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t own hamsters.”

“What? Come on, having pets isn’t just a kid thing,” Kara says. “I used to have a cat, but he…”

“Oh my God, you ate him?”

Kara’s jaw drops. “What—no! He turned out to already have an owner, so she took him back. He just liked to wander into my apartment.” She hugs the clothing pile tighter to her chest, and tries her hardest to scowl. “I’m responsible, okay? Most of the time. I’m not dangerous.”

“Except to deer, or rabbits, or whatever else you killed last night?” Lena quirks an eyebrow, but surprisingly not in a manner that’s judge-y. Just…curious.

“Right,” Kara says defeatedly, and her head throbs enough that her grip on Sam’s clothes begins to falter. “Sorry. I wasn't trying to be defensive or anything.”

“That's alright.” And stranger still, Lena reaches out to gently touch the side of Kara’s head. “So does the same thing happen to you?”

“Huh?” The proximity has scrambled Kara’s brain momentarily, and she finds herself unthinkingly holding her breath.

“Do you also black out,” Lena clarifies. “Like Sam does, every time she shifts.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s—a universal wolf thing,” Kara says.

Lena hums, and her hand retracts. “And are you a serial killer in wolf form?”

“Uh, I hope not? I’m pretty sure all this is…” Kara gestures over her body with one hand, still hugging the pile of clothes with the other. “Not human.”

“Okay.” Lena casually walks away, but pauses to throw over her shoulder, “I’ll help you clean up your head once you’re out of the shower. I’ve helped Sam a hundred times.”

“Are you—do you have some kind of healing magic, or—”

“Close. I’m an ER nurse,” Lena says amusedly, and when she smiles a dimple emerges on one cheek. “All the witches I know have fled the city, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“You joke, but Alex dated this witch once, and she hexed my sister to spill her first sip of coffee every time she went to take a drink for three weeks straight after they broke up,” Kara says, and Lena again scrunches her nose in that quizzical way.

“Seriously? Witches are real too?”

“Duh,” Kara says lightly. “What, you thought it stopped at werewolves? Please. I’m pretty sure the neighbor two doors down is a gorgon.”

“Well, it would explain her fondness of statues,” Lena says, strangely nonplussed. “I’ve never asked, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. How do you take your coffee?” As she asks, Lena deposits a few fingers of whiskey into a mug, and at Kara’s questioning look says, “Sorry, we’re all out of painkillers. This is as good as you’re going to get.”

“Maybe I’ll do better if it’s straight,” Kara says, unable to hide her grimace, while Lena shrugs a shoulder as if to say it’s your funeral.

So after Kara showers, she sits on the couch and sips gross whiskey out of a chipped mug that reads World’s Best Mom in bright pink letters. Lena has turned on the TV to the local news station—clearly she has stayed with Sam before—and a man on screen is recounting a tale of how he hit a giant wolf strolling too close to his farm with a baseball bat.

“If I had my shotgun I would’ve killed the fucker,” he swears, red in the face, and above her Lena gives a little scoff.

“What a dick,” Lena says, her hand steadily stitching up the wound on Kara’s scalp, and her voice has a hint of an accent; it’s really cute, actually, and Kara doesn’t even mind that the next poke of the needle is sharper than the others.

It is the strangest morning Kara has ever had. Drinking whiskey before eight in the morning, with a kind stranger who she’s barely met but is suturing her skin together, who smells faintly of lavender soap and strong black coffee.

“—National City is not safe when wolves are wandering close to homes—”

The scent of rich hot chocolate bubbling on the stove is beginning to fill the room, the ancient pipes are rumbling throughout the walls, and Lena’s fingers are soft against her head. Kara closes her eyes and decides that she will wait a little longer before she calls Alex to pick her up.

[harry-writings]

We’ll Be Alright

The one where Harry and Y/n have a hard time coping without one another, and Harry finally understands what it means to be a husband

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

How to support me <333

-

Y/n knows she’s hit rock bottom when she pours her fifth glass of whiskey at three in the morning, lighting up her seventh cigarette on her bedroom balcony, as if furthering herself away from her right state of mind will somehow bring her closer to all the answers she had been looking for.

She doesn’t even smoke.

The last time she came this close to a cigarette was five months before she found out she was pregnant with Topher. It was the third time Harry didn’t show up to marriage counseling, and Y/n was so upset and so angry and so hurt that she couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop crying until it was in her hands.

This time, though, the shaking and the crying don’t stop.

She’s sitting on one of the balcony chairs, her elbows propped up on her knees, one hand resting at the roots of her hair and the other holding her glass in her palm and her cigarette between her fingers. Her leg is bouncing and her eyes are wet, zoning herself out from the rest of the world, trying to get as far away from herself as possible.

She hasn’t seen Harry in thirteen days.

Not only has she not seen Harry, but she also hasn’t talked to Harry or had any ties left to Harry for nearly two weeks now and Y/n can barely hold herself together anymore. She’s surprised she’s even gotten this far without him.

They aren’t divorced — the papers were left on the courtroom table practically untouched, and though she hates to admit it to herself, Y/n was the first to leave them behind — but they might as well have been.

He wasn’t even the one to pick up Topher today. And she didn’t realize how much she’d miss their traditions — even the ones they’ve made while being separated — until she saw Mitch standing at the other side of her door and watched as he buckled her son into the same carseat Harry once had in his car.

It was at that moment that she knew that even though they weren’t divorced, they really were over, and it was enough to push her over the edge.

Now she’s so drunk she can barely remember where she is. The skyline and the buildings look familiar, but everything is so out of touch she can’t find the same peace and comfort in it as she once used to.

Everything has faded to nothing.

And whether it’s from the alcohol, or the revisitation of bad habits, or if it’s from grieving the loss of somebody still alive, but everything to her feels numb. All that’s left is pain and sadness and the fear of living the rest of her life exactly like this — lost, hopeless, and alone.

She thinks back to the day she slept with Harry — as she does, she throws the last bit of whiskey down her throat and swallows it down without a flinch — and how that day was forever going to be the last day she had ever held him, had ever kissed him, had ever told him that she loved him.  

If she had known — really, really known — it was going to be her last chance to do any of those things, she wouldn’t have pushed him away. She would have done all the things Harry wanted — would have spent the rest of their day in bed, drinking wine, celebrating all that once was and what always could be.

Because that’s what she wanted, too. That’s what she’s wanted since the beginning of this mess they’ve made of themselves, she just didn’t ever want to admit it.

This feeling that burns in her stomach at the thought of not being with Harry makes her want to scream. She can’t escape it, even as the alcohol seeps into her bloodstream and takes away every other feeling in her body.

She sobs, her chin tucking into her chest and her palms pressing to her forehead, agonizing and inhumane cries falling past her lips.

Her Harry is no longer hers.

She squeezes her eyes shut, a puddle of tears falling down her cheeks as she does so, her hand dropping the whiskey glass, her cigarette left sparked on the balcony floor as her fingers twist and pull at her hair. She hunches over her knees, trying so desperately to put herself back together again.

But it’s impossible. She knows it’s impossible because it’s him that makes her whole — him that holds her and keeps her together, even when everything else around her is falling apart.

She’d do anything to feel his arms around her now.

And it’s all she can think about — how lonely and cold and frigid it feels without the feel of his touch, and how loud the silence is without the sound of his voice in her ear, telling her how in love with her he is, giggling at her blush.

And she’s had so much to drink she can trick her mind into believing that he’s here, if she thinks about it hard enough. She mistakes the wind for the feel of him walking past her, smells his cologne in the liquor, but it’s still too quiet for her to really, truly believe it.

And she just wants to believe it. For once, she wants to pretend that he’s here with her, loving her, wanting her the way he always used to. Even if it’s the wrong thing to do.

Her hand shakingly reaches for her phone.

“‘Ello, this is Harry! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your call, but I promise to return to you whenever I’m next available. Thank you, talk soon! Bye.”

And oh, how good it feels to hear his voice again.

It brings her back to all the times she’d call Harry while he was away on tour and how every phone call lasted at least two hours. Whether it was to check up on him, or to wish him goodnight, or to have phone sex, he never failed to make every second they were spending apart feel so worth it.

She calls him six more times just to hear his voicemail.

By the seventh and last phone call, Y/n is so low she’s tempted to just finish it off — down the pack of cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey that have kept her more company than her husband. Maybe filling her void with vices will be enough to last her until the blackout, where she will finally be free.

But what will she have left if she does?

The loneliness and the sadness and the hopelessness will all still be there. She will still wake up to a cold bed, in an empty home, with nobody to share her life with. She will still have this sick and twisted feeling that happiness doesn’t exist outside of her Harry — that happiness doesn’t exist within these walls, miles away from him, with only herself to hold.

She can’t keep waking up without him anymore. She can hardly keep living.

So, she does the first and only thing that comes to her mind.

She calls Mitch.

The clock nearly at four in the morning doesn’t seem to strike her as her drunken fingers struggle to tap on his contact name, knowing that this is the only way.

“Mitch.” Y/n hiccups when he answers her call, watching as everything around her starts to spin out of her control, instinctively reaching her hand beside her to hold onto Harry’s — the way she always did whenever she got too drunk. Her heart hurts even worse than before when she’s met with nothing but the ache of what once was. “Come get me, please.”

Something in the air shifts around Mitch.

He has known Y/n for years now, yet he can barely recognize that it’s her voice on the phone. He has to look down at the name on his phone twice before pressing the speaker to his ear, his heart nearly still as he wonders the reason behind such a disturbing and unexpected request.

“Y/n… is everything alright?” He asks tentatively, carefully, because she’s never awake this late at night and has never sounded so hurt. “What’s happened, love?”

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, almost angrily.

“My husband’s been ignoring me for the past two weeks and I’m not —” She stops, sucking in a broken breath, not even believing the words she just spoke because she never believed he’d leave her all alone for so long. “I’m not taking it so well, obviously.”

Mitch sighs.

He should have known, from the second he saw the look on her face earlier that evening, that her night was going to end like this. The love she and Harry share is a kind he’s never seen before — something so far from ordinary, something he couldn’t even understand despite the love for his own girlfriend, who lays beside him so peacefully now.

Their love is more than love. It’s deeper, more soulful, as if they have found each other in every past life and every after life. They truly are, in the most unexplainable of ways, made for one another eternally. Forever, they are theirs.

It’s both a blessing and a curse — their preexisting connection— because they are everything together, but absolutely nothing apart.

“Y/n, love... he’s not ignoring you. He wouldn’t dream of it.”

Oh, how she wishes it was true.

“He didn’t even want to see me tonight. He sees me two days out of the week and he didn’t even want that. There was a time he’d do anything just to look at me for even a second.”

He wishes he knew what to say.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to see her — all he does is cry and whine and sulk about how he hasn’t — he just believes leaving Y/n alone is truly what’s best for her right now.

She has barely had any time away from him. Surely, she did have the weekdays to herself and Topher, but she still had to see him every weekend — still had to face him at her doorway; still had to be around him, even on her worst days; still had to be reminded of everything that had gone wrong.

Being around him confuses her. He knows that now, and so does Mitch. But Mitch always knew. Y/n has always been too in deep with Harry. One proper look at him would be enough to send her to her knees.

He’s her greatest weakness.

She needs to be alone.

Or, so he once thought.

“Have you been drinking?”

Y/n laughs in an almost sarcastic way, the side of her wrist pulling at the corner of her eye as she wipes away at her tears.

“Drinking, frying my brain with nicotine, crying my fucking eyes out.” Her lips tremble as she stuffles away a cry. “All of the above.”

Mitch frowns.

This behavior isn’t unusual for her — it hasn’t been since her marriage with Harry started to turmoil — but it never gets easier to witness.

It’s when she’s in the depths of her own hell that she depends on the intoxication to get her by, as if it numbed her from all the pain she’d be living with without it. And as hard as it is for him to admit it, she only ever feels this way whenever it comes to Harry.

This side of her never existed until she met him.

“You want to see him, don’t you?”

To see him. To touch him. To talk to him. To hold him. She wants it all, everywhere, for the rest of the night — for the rest of her life if he were to let her.

But she can’t get ahead of herself. She won’t be able to survive it if she does.

“Even if it’s just for a second.”

His heart falls.

“Will it get you to put down the drugs and alcohol?”

Her eyes linger at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, and though it still calls for her just as strongly, she knows it’s not what she truly wants.

“Yeah.”

She can hear him smile softly through the phone.

“Then hang tight, love. I’m on my way.”

-

Harry hasn’t been able to sleep all night.

And if he wanted to get technical, he supposes he hasn’t been able to sleep since he and Y/n nearly signed their marriage away, but tonight is far, far worse than anything else he’s ever felt.

His body senses his good days. The sun somehow brighter, the rain lighter, the clouds thinner — he sees it all so differently on the days he goes to see Y/n. He’s used to the routine, he looks forward to it all week, even if it is just to see her for a couple minutes at her doorway.

So to say his body feels the loss of her is an understatement.

He caught himself reaching his hand over to her side of the bed one too many times, only to shiver and whine when met with the emptiness of it. His fingers would squeeze at her pillowcase, hugging it closer to him, fantasizing about her smell and her feel as he tried to drift into his dreamland — that only, of course, consisted of her.

But it was helpless.

He moves to the living room couch, where he finds himself flipping through the photo album of their wedding day — the same one he claimed he had thrown out when Y/n asked if she could keep it, moments before she was about to move out after he had brought the divorce papers home.

Of course he hadn’t thrown it out, but he could never tell Y/n about the lies he only told to make himself feel better about his decision.

He was angry and he was hurt, both of which consumed him in the scariest and most dangerous of ways, leading him to sink his teeth in a lie and spitting it in her face just to make her feel all those things, too. Though he’s sure she already did.

But as he flips through the pages now, reliving that day torturously in his head, remembering how beautiful she looked and how in love he was, he can’t help but feel like these moments weren’t his to take.

He had kept their home — had kept the furniture they bought together when they first moved in, kept all the movies and cd’s they’d play together each night, kept all the pictures she had chosen for the walls and tables he hadn’t had a clue on how to decorate.

He stayed so perfectly in their past while she was forced to move on, away from him, when she wasn’t even the one who wanted to leave.

He had truly taken everything from her — her love, her trust, her marriage, her home — and he didn’t even have the decency to give her the one and only thing she had asked for before she left.

That day was hers, it always has been and it always will be. She never once gave up on it the way he once had, always holding it so close to her, always cherishing its moments.

This simply doesn’t belong to him.

He presses his forehead down to a picture of Y/n wildly smiling at the camera, her hair styled up, makeup slightly smudged, as if holding her to him. And he rubs his thumb along the laminate, right against her cheek, in the same way she always liked.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs out before he can try to reason that it’s not her, that she can’t hear him, that she can’t feel the way he’s holding and touching her right now, that he looks like a lovesick idiot for thinking this is anything close to the real thing.

None of that matters to him right now, though, as he holds the picture to him and realizes this is the closest he has been to her in so long. And she needs to know.

She just needs to know.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

-

Harry must have cried himself to sleep because the next thing he knows, his front door slams open against the foyer wall, julting him off of the photo album and leaving him with dry and confused eyes.

Without much of a second thought, he throws the photo album off his lap and stands frantically from the couch, his head twisting around in an attempt to follow the footsteps scurrying towards the living room.

He knows it’s her just from that sound alone.

“Y/n?” He calls out in question, still delusional from his sleeping state, wondering if he had even woken up at all.

But it’s when he sees her stumbling toward him with soaken and beaten eyes that he knows this isn’t just a dream — that she really is here, back in their home, with him at last. And he would be happy, would be so goddamn happy to have her in front of him again, if she didn’t look so broken.

He can’t stand the sight of her like this.

“Y/n?” He asks again, devastated.

But she doesn’t answer him. Rather, she does the one and only thing her mind can make sense of now that he’s in front of her again.

Her trembling hands cradle the back of his neck before pulling her to him, their lips meeting for a sloppy, drunken, frenzied kiss — one that nearly has Harry falling to his knees before her.

She pushes him onto the couch, barely giving him any time to compose himself before she sits herself down on his lap and kisses him again, hard — harder than before and harder than she ever has, she thinks.

Teeth clattering, tongues battling, mouths opening, lips smothering. It’s desperate and messy and sloppy, but she doesn’t want it any other way.

She knows this feeling. She wants this feeling. It’s what she keeps going back to because it’s safe and warm and familiar. She could be in the middle of nowhere, lost with no direction or any sense of belonging, yet the feel of his lips on hers would somehow make her feel at home, just the way she is.

She moans against him, her hands splayed on the back of his head and neck as if to keep him there — on her, with her.

His hands, however, don’t know where to go. They switch between her arms and her thighs, setting boundaries for himself because he’d give into her in a heartbeat if he were to touch her just right. And he’s already doing so much he shouldn’t, he’d ruin himself if he were to go any further.

So as a subtle way to slow it down, he drags his lips down to her chin before leaving open-mouthed kisses along the shape of her neck — devouring her taste, savoring the sweetness.

He’s missed this. He’s missed her, so much so he can’t even remember the reason he let it all go. Right now, in this moment, nothing seems worth it enough to ever give this up.

He can hardly think straight.

“Y/n, please don’t do this to me…” Harry whines against her collarbone, her touch and smell and feel overwhelming him beyond all forms of comprehension. “This isn’t you. We’ve been here before and —”

“And I want to make it right this time.”

He nearly cries.

He bites down gently on the base of her throat, nibbling at it, a strangled whine falling from his lips as his hands slither to her back, pushing his body up against hers as if to bring her closer. And he growls silently to himself as she starts grinding herself against him.

“Y/n —”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Baby…” He tries again, to which she giggles and smiles as she nibbles on the lobe of his ear. He gets lost in it for a moment — to hear her laugh, to feel her hands rub along his chest and up his neck, to have her so close, like nothing ever happened — but he snaps himself out of it just as quickly as he fell into it. “You’re drunk.”

He tries to reason, to make her see that he does want this, more than anything else in the world, but he can’t. Because if it were to happen again, he wants it to be real. He wants her to mean it, to need it, to be all in it with him the way he’s all in it with her.

He wants her to stay.

“I’m only drunk because I miss you so much.” She confesses breathlessly to him, to which he groans and throws his head back, as if he were in pain. “So give me what I want and nothing else will matter.”

His hands find purchase to her hips, his fingers squeezing at the flesh of them as he tries to steady the movement of her groin against his, desperate to hold himself together. But she makes it so hard when she knows exactly where and how to touch him — when she knows that he can never resist her all over him, begging for more.

His eyes are pinched forward and closed, his head still hanging off the edge of the couch, words seeming to fail him as she moans against his shoulder, sinking her teeth into the flesh of it as she works herself harder against him.

“Fuck, you know I want to.” He croaks out, his hands giving into their urge to wander every dip and curve and inch of her, even the places he shouldn’t. “You know I do.”

Good, she thinks. I want you to want it. I need you to want it. I want you to want it so bad you give it to me all night, all morning, all day. I need you to want me.

She lifts her head up from his shoulder so that she can look at him with a winning smirk, both of her hands fisting at the collar of his t-shirt to steady herself upon his lap, her movements now smooth and effortless, giving him everything he needs to give in.

He lets out a proper moan at this, allowing himself a moment of weakness to feed his undying greed.

His mouth hangs open and practically drools as he touches her in ways he’s been aching to, rubbing himself against her, allowing her lips to wander anywhere and everywhere they craved.

It all feels so good and all so right, he wishes it was enough to make things work, but he knows in his heart that it isn’t.

Not now, at least.

“But I can't — I can’t take advantage of you. I — oh, fuck!” He yelps from below her when her arm sneaks between them so her fingers can scratch at the skin of his upper inner thigh, mercilessly giving him everything that has ever made him feel good.  

And it’s all too much.

One more right touch in the right place and he’s done for, as pathetic and weak as that makes him. But it’s only for her. Only for her does he find himself shuddering and moaning and creeping on the edge for, one push away from falling off, waiting to be caught by her.

After all this time, after all they had been through — all the fighting, all the tears, all the downs and lows they’ve lost themselves in — she still consumes him whole. She still is and forever will be the only person he’ll ever love like this.

There is nothing and nobody else. There is only her.

Which is why he can’t let himself do it. He can’t let her do it.

So right before he reaches the end, his hands frantically grab onto hers and pin them down against each side of his legs, her forehead meeting his shoulder, her body collapsing onto his.

“No!” He bites through clenched teeth and shut eyes, his hands squeezing hers as his body ricochets back to reality, yet still holding her close. “No, no, fuck. No.”

And whatever remained of Y/n’s heart burns to a crisp at that one godforsaken word.

Harry never denies her.

Even at their lowest and darkest moments, her simple touch made him powerless. He succumbed to her even when he told himself he wouldn’t, gave into her touch like a drug he couldn’t get off of no matter how hard he tried, drowned in her love even when he swore he no longer craved it.

It’s the very reason Y/n found herself pregnant in the midst of their downfall. Harry never stopped wanting her.

She should have known that everything was different now, but she never expected it to be like this.

“Oh.” Y/n’s lips tremble, her eyes wide with woe, glossy with burning tears as she looks at him through slow blinks. “I get it, I —”

“Y/n…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

She’s nearly sobbing now, her breaths heavy and frantic as she pushes herself away from him, practically falling off of his lap. And if his head wasn’t so clouded from what had just happened between them, he wouldn’t have let her go.

She’s a mess, a kind he’s never seen in her before and it breaks him in two when he sees her face soaked in tears, her hands trembling as they push her hair back, her eyes looking at everything but him.

He is just so sick of her looking away from him, and so tired of watching her cry.

He never wanted this.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Harry speaks softly, his hand reaching out to grab ahold of hers before she has the chance to walk out on him again. And the shock of his touch is enough to bring her right back to him. “Baby, this is your home more than it is mine. Your son is here, I am here, don’t ever think you have to be sorry for wanting to come home.”

She’s silent for a moment, trying to make sense of his words and what they mean. But it’s so hard to focus on anything other than how good it feels to be holding his hand, and how that’s all it took to get the room to stop spinning around her.

She trusts him.

Whatever he wants out of this and whatever he’s thinking, she trusts. Her body wouldn’t be so reliant on him if she didn’t. And it’s been years since she’s felt this feeling she feels so fiercely now, but she could never mistake it. It was once the most familiar feeling in the world to her.

He rubs at her knuckles, patiently waiting for her to respond. But she doesn’t, her gaze just drunkenly fixated at their intertwined fingers, a hint of longing in her eye.

Even when he’s right here, holding her, convincing her to stay… she still feels as though he isn’t all hers. She wants more of him, as if she hasn’t seen and touched and loved every inch of his body and claimed every last beat of his heart.

She is the only one and yet she feels as though she’ll never be enough for him, after all this time, after all these years spent together. It makes him feel like the worst person in the world.

He lifts her hand up to his lips, as delicate and gentle as possible, just the way she likes.

“And as for kissing me.” He adds, eyes looking up fondly at her as he kisses at her knuckles one by one. “You’re my wife, it’s what I want. I just don’t want us to make the same mistakes we once did.”

He settles her fingers against his mouth for a moment longer before pulling her closer to where he sits, looking insistently in her hopeful eyes.

“If we sleep together… it’ll only drive us more apart, just like it did the last time. And I swear to god —” he hangs his head off the edge of the couch again, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to fathom the idea of it. “If I have to go another day without seeing you, I’m going to fucking lose it. I’m fucking miserable.”

She knows it’s true. Whether she wanted to hear it or not, sleeping together without speaking to one another would only bring them back to the same dark, numbing cycle they’ve been through for far too long now.

But she wants to milk it — wants him to do whatever he can to get her to stay because she needs to know he really wants it, needs to know he really wants her, before it’s too late.

And when Harry lifts his head back up to look at her, his heart nearly explodes from within him.

“Come here.” He tugs softly on her hand, a small smile playing on his lips when he sees Y/n pouting down at him with furrowed brows — the same face she used to make whenever she wanted to be angry with him, but couldn’t. It brings him back to all their happiest times. “Come here!”

He pulls her down to him until she lands on his lap, both of them laughing as she nearly trips over her own two feet.

The moment stills when their eyes meet, however, the giggling dying down and their smiles falling as they captivate each other with just a single look.

His fingers move her hair out of her face, his palm resting on the side of her cheek, his thumb rubbing along the skin of her blush as he admires just how beautiful she’s gotten since the last time he had seen her.

And she does the same to him — her fingers pulling at his hair, dancing along his scalp, humming in admiration as her eyes wander every dip and curve of his face. He is just so perfect, it endlessly mesmerizes her.

“I’ve missed you.” She confesses softly, her gaze trained on his lips, her tongue poking out to lick her own.

“I’ve missed you so much more, my love.”

And they meet for a kiss — a real kiss this time. Not the hungry, desperate, fevered kisses they’ve been sharing since their separation. It’s slow, their lips just settling against each other’s, refusing to move, only leaning in deeper when desired.

It’s how he kissed her on their wedding day.

She remembers how different it was, now, as she feels it again — full of vows and promises, hopes and dreams, a hint of sorrow for all the times he had let her down, and how he’d never wish to do it again.

Quite truthfully, she never wants it to end. She could stay pressed against his lips like this all night and never once get tired of it — would probably beg for more if it ever came down to it. But she doesn’t have to anymore, she knows that now.

They both pull away together, dopey and loopy smiles painted on their faces. And it doesn’t get better than this.

“Can I show you something?” He whispers to her, his thumb pets at her temple, circles and circles. “And know that when I give it to you, it’s me trying to make this right again? No matter how much it hurts?”

His breath falters when her lips press gently against his wrist, humming a small “mhm” against the skin of it.

She always did that whenever she could. Whether he be holding her cheek, or rubbing at her head, or running his fingers through her hair, her lips would seek just the smallest bit more of him. And it always warmed him to feel it. It reminded him that yes, she did in fact love him and want him and need him with the same burning he has for her.

It always felt too good to be true.

And to know that she’s feeling it all over again makes every worry in the world collapse around him, leaving him with nothing but the life he had always desired with her, and the hope that it only gets better from here.

He smiles in endearment, his own lips seeking the sole of her cheek before he turns his body to the fallen photo album, his fingers shaking as he reaches for it.

She gasps before he even has the chance to sit up fully.

“Is that —” she stops before she finishes, her hand flying over her suddenly trembling lips because it is.

He looks at her with eyes full of regret as he holds the photo album out for her to take, but she’s in too much shock. All she can process is that it’s here, still alive in the home they once shared, not shredded and burned and broken like she always thought it was.

And it just doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that over a year ago, he told her a lie that ripped her apart from the inside out every day since he’d spoken it. It doesn’t matter that all she had left of their wedding were the moments captured in her memory, to which she went back to every night before bed.

It just doesn’t matter because she’s just so happy to see it again — so, so, so fucking happy that she can’t help but sob into her palm, admiring it, somehow at peace with the idea of reuniting with it with her husband right beside her, shedding the same tears as she is.

All she has ever wanted is happening all at once, and she couldn’t ask for more.

“Can we look through it?” She sniffles, her fingers graciously running along the cover of it.

He pulls her in closer, his head nodding, a breathy laugh of euphoria falling from his lips.

As if she even had to ask.

-

It was the next morning that Harry decided he couldn’t do it anymore.

Upon waking up to an empty bed, there wasn’t this overwhelming sense of sadness rippling through him, or loneliness drowning him to his duvets, refusing to set him free. It felt… right, and warm, and safe, and like it had always meant to be this way.

He was weightless as he carried his naked body over to his dresser, where he slipped on a new pair of briefs and one of his plain white t-shirts. He even found himself humming a tune he only ever sang to on good mornings.

And it was when he made his way downstairs that he started to hear his company.

He found Y/n in his day old t-shirt, holding Topher at her hip, flipping pancakes at the stovetop, humming and bouncing to the beat of a song they played during their wedding ceremony.

Her hair was unbrushed, her nail polish chipped, one of her socks pulled too high and the other too low, in her most hungover state. And the world stopped turning then, it seemed. Because it was the most simple and most casual sight to see, yet something he was once so blinded to.

He finally felt at home.

And it was as if nothing else had ever really, truly mattered. His world simply revolved around the two littles ones in his kitchen, getting their hands messy with pancake batter, giggling with every other step they took.

And he knew he couldn’t do it anymore.

Which is exactly how he ended up here — seven hours later, standing on one knee in front of his wife, whose hand fits so perfectly in his.

She sits cross-legged upon the kitchen chair, her plate half empty and on her second glass of her mocktail. And if he had more preparation, he would have taken her out instead of settling for her favorite home cooked meal. But something about doing this here, in the home they once shared together, at their happiest hour, feels much more real to him.

“H? What are you doing?” Y/n asks with wide eyes, looking down at their intertwined hands, squeezing onto his tighter.

“I know we’re already married, but I needed to do this anyway.”

He sucks in a breath as the pad of his thumb passes through her knuckles, slightly flicking her engagement ring in the process.

“When I left earlier, it wasn’t for work. I mean, it was for work but not — but not in the way you may think.”

Y/n tilts her head down at him, her eyebrows furrowed. Her heart races with all the endless possibilities, the pit in her stomach falling with it. And she really does try to not seem worried, but she can’t help but let it crash over her.

She had just gotten her husband back. Finally, she’s his and he’s hers and that’s all she ever wanted. That’s all she ever needed, so how is she expected to say goodbye so soon?

How would she ever survive it?

“I terminated the contract.”

Her heart stops beating.

Her body sits frozen still as Harry bites at his bottom lip, where he hides a smile.

This truly is it — the beginning of their forever, the start to the life they always wanted to share alone, with no distractions, no obligations, no anything besides each other and their child — and he doesn’t want it any other way.

“I’m done with having a career that takes me away from you. And I’m so sick and tired of pretending like this is the life I wanted to have with you. It wasn’t, baby. It isn’t.”

But she just can’t believe what she’s hearing.

The words had translated yet somehow, she can’t make sense of them. She can’t make sense of anything as her mind twists and turns around what they could mean and what it could mean for them as a couple.

“You — you terminated the contract? I don’t — I don’t understand. I —”

"If it were ever to come down to you or my music, I’d choose you in a heartbeat.” The fingers of his free hand twist at her wedding band, hypnotizing her. “I did it all for you — the writing, the touring, the traveling. My future with you was all I ever cared about and yet, I had somehow convinced myself that my music meant more to me, when it never really did.”

Her breaths get deeper and deeper, completely and utterly overwhelmed. And if it weren’t for the tears of happiness leaking from her eyes, Harry wouldn’t know what she’s truly feeling inside.

But he knows. Oh, how he knows.

“I choose you, Y/n. And I choose Topher and I choose our Alaskan home everyday for the rest of our lives. That’s what I choose. That’s what I will always choose.”

It’s those words that make her really start to lose it.

How long she had been waiting for this moment, she can’t even remember anymore. So much time has passed and yet everyday, she dreamed and hoped and prayed and died to hear him say that to her.

She had been waiting for so long, she once believed them to be impossible.

But here he is on one knee again, sacrificing his entire life and heart and soul just to make their marriage right. He wants to leave the music behind rather than leaving her to be all alone. He wants to move away from the life he had built for himself and rather spend the rest of it with her.

He wants her, for the first time in what feels like centuries, he finally wants her.

“But — but you — how? How did you — what did you do?”

“Don’t worry about the how, okay? What matters is that I made it work and I have more than enough to last our family a lifetime. I promise you that.”

One of her hands reaches forward to cup at his cheek, pulling herself closer to him because she needs to feel him, all of him — needs to feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath.

She needs it all, all around her, until she drowns in it.

“Don’t care about the money, just — just want to make sure you’re okay.”

His wife is reaching for him, pulling him in, wanting and loving him despite everything he put her through… how could he not be okay?

He’s on top of the world right now.

“Baby, I’m so much more than okay. I have you, don’t I?” She nods her head as she wipes her tears away, sniffling with trembling lips and shaking hands. “Then that’s all I need.”

She sobs against him, her face tucked in his shoulder as he holds her hands between them, kissing at her head.

And sometime in the near future — when Harry and Y/n have found everything they had lost, have grown to be better together than ever spent apart, and have become the best parents they could ever be to their son — he’ll rent out a small venue in the outskirts of town and renew his wedding vows to his wife, whom he plans to never be parted from, even in death.

“So, Y/n, baby love.” They both giggle at the pet name, her head lifting from his shoulder and meeting his eye halfway. “Will you please do the honors of being my lawfully wedded wife, and the mother of our disgustingly perfect child, in our home in Alaska? Forever?”

She nods her head, her thoughts clouded by euphoria, her hand still in her husband’s.

As if he even had to ask.

[fanficimagery]

Five Years After

Imagine going to the feed store for your sister, only you come home with more than just feed for the animals.

Words: 5.1K Author’s Note: The ending of this imagine was definitely inspired by a TikTok video :)

When the Blip happened, you were in complete disbelief. Chaos erupted all around as planes fell from the sky and automobiles crashed because their drivers had vanished into thin air. Everyone was a complete mess as they attempted to call loved ones, their calls going straight to voicemail or being answered by another family member that were having to deliver the bad news of a disappearance.

Your only living relative was your sister Laura and her children she had with her husband Clint, so when one of your co-workers and a handful of your customers vanished into thin air, your first call had been to your ex-Avenger of a brother-in-law. Unfortunately Clint was just as clueless as you and the phone had nearly slipped from your hand when he gave you the news that Laura and the kids had vanished. You had nowhere to go and were so scared because of the looting that had started, so Clint told you to pack your things and get to the farm as soon as possible.

You'd only been on the farm for a full day before Clint's friends came looking for him. Natasha, who you had met after your sister had married Clint, greeted you with a rather solemn hug. It was Steve Rogers, however, who attempted to introduce himself with as much joy as he possibly could in order to be polite.

You had shaken his hand, smiling sadly. "You don't need to force a smile for me, Rogers. The circumstances suck. I get it."

That had surprisingly pulled a short laugh from Natasha. "See, Steve? Told you she wouldn't be expecting the Man with a Plan."

Steve and Natasha had proceeded to stay for the duration of the day, telling Clint all about a fight that had taken place in Wakanda and who out of their friends had vanished. It was a devastating blow and you had no idea how everyone was going to cope. Then soon after the two Avengers had left, Clint went into overdrive. He was making phone calls left and right, packing bags and weapons, and you were at a complete loss.

You had decided to leave him be and it was only the following morning when you woke to an empty house did you find the letter on the kitchen counter. In the letter he had apologized for leaving you after everything that had happened, but went on to explain that there were criminals still out there who had survived the Blip when others who were sin-free didn't. He couldn't leave them be while people like his wife and children were no longer alive, so to work through his aggression he was going to hunt those criminals down. Fortunately enough, he left you in possession of the farm-house and made it so you were able to access his bank accounts. He told you not to look for him or get the others involved, so you waited a whole day before contacting Natasha and telling her all about Clint's derailment.

Clint left no trail, leaving you all alone. Or so you thought.

With Clint's vanishing act, Natasha and Steve made you their responsibility. They made sure you knew they were only a call or email away, but only after Nat drove down to give you some technological devices since the regular power grid was fluctuating. Since Earth lost half its population, everything seemed to be falling apart.

Then Tony Stark was brought back home and the world seemed a little bit brighter.

For years you drifted, working at a grocery store in town to keep yourself busy. The Blip took a toll on everyone, but it was nice to have to talk to someone even if the other person moved on autopilot. Clint sent an email every other month from a burner email, so it was a dead end every time Natasha looked into it after you had forwarded it to her. And about the only news-worthy thing that had happened after the Blip was the announcement of Tony and Pepper Stark's baby girl Morgan. You didn't know the Stark's personally, but it didn't stop you from sending their little girl a present every year on her birthday for the next five years on behalf of yourself and the Barton family.

One morning you're sitting at the breakfast table when you hear the telltale sounds of a jet overheard. You figure it's just Natasha and Steve for their monthly check-in so you think nothing of it.

The screen door creaks open and you call out, "In the kitchen!"

The steps of what sounds like more than one person falter, but then they pick back up until they near your location. "Got enough for another plate?" That oh so familiar timber makes you spew orange juice across the table. You're up and out of your seat, staring at your brother-in-law who's a lot more tatted up than you remember him being. "Hey, sis."

Tony Stark stands just a couple feet to Clint's right, but his presence isn't enough to deter you from marching up to your brother-in-law and punching his shoulder. "You asshole!" You punch him again for good measure as tears sting your eyes. "You left me. You left me all alone! How could you-"

He dodges your continuous blows, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from attacking him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I'm here now. It's all going to be okay." The fight instantly drains out of you as you sag into his embrace, sob after sob leaving you as you clutch to him tightly.

Clint tightens his grip a little more around you until your cries turn into sniffles. "What- what are you doing here?"

"Lang came up with a plan to bring our people back." You tense in Clint's arms and pull back to look him in the eyes. "Banner and Stark made the machines necessary to make the plan work. We're going to bring 'em home. We're going to bring 'em all home, Y/N."

"Please tell me you aren't joking," you mumble.

"Nope. No joke," Tony says. "It's not a total guarantee, but we're going to try our best." You let go of Clint and turn to look at Tony who's standing by the stove and picking at the leftover scrambled eggs. "Mmm. These are good. What'd you put in them?"

"Uhh, just butter and cheese."

"Morgan would absolutely love these. She's on this whole cheese kick right now."

That earns a chuckle, and after gathering yourself you look back at Clint. "So what's going to happen now?"

"The team's getting ready for a test run," Clint says. "I just wanted to let you know I was home and that we had a really important mission coming up."

"How soon?"

"Today if the test run goes good," Tony says. He pours himself half a glass of juice before downing it in one go. "And speaking of, we need to go."

You look at Clint, a little let down that he's leaving so soon, but he grins and pulls you back into a hug. "It's going to be okay." You nod against him and he lets his arms drop before he steps back. He looks around the kitchen and his grin widens. "You've kept up good with the house. I'm impressed."

"I should hope so," you mumble. "I had to flirt with the hardware store boy so he'd help me keep the house from falling apart."

Clint laughs. "You did good, Y/N. Laura will be proud."

"Yeah, yeah. Now go bring my sister, niece, and nephews back."

"You got it, boss."

          - - - - - - - - - - 

You're grateful for the day off because it leaves you with time to clean the house from top to bottom. You need some way to burn off all your anxiousness and making sure the house looks good for your sister is one hell of a way to do just that.

You're not sure how long you'd been cleaning when you decide to take a break, and you head outside for some fresh air. You walk off the porch and onto the grass, tilting your face skyward as you inhale and exhale softly, your eyes closing. One moment all you can hear is the wind ruffling tree limbs and grass, and the next it's a cacophony of chirping birds.

Your eyes fly open and you're shocked to see the swarms of birds flying around in the sky. Sure there have been birds around after the Blip, but you've never seen so many together since then. You're too busy staring up into the sky that you don't see what appears to be ash take formation behind you.

"Aunt Y/N?" The timid voice makes your heart stop before you whirl around, your eyes widening at the sight of Lila glancing around in shock. "What's going on? Where's dad?"

"Lila?" You breathe out in awe. You stumble towards her, eyes glistening with tears. "They did it. They actually did it." You pull her into a hug, cries stuttering in your chest. As you hug her, you glance towards the open field where you see Laura appear, followed by Nathaniel and then Cooper. "Laura!"

You grip Lila's hand tight as the both of you break out into a run towards the rest of your family, you and Laura colliding with twin oomphs. The two of you are crying as Laura tries to work out what the hell happened and where Clint is, but before you can explain anything she's pulling her phone out of her pocket and dialing Clint's number. As she worries about getting her husband on the phone, you quickly hug Cooper and pick up Nathaniel to hold on your hip as you squeeze him in relief.

"Clint?" Laura sobs when he finally answers. "Clint, what's going on? I-" She stops talking all of a sudden and she looks at you, eyes wide.

"What happened?" You ask.

"I- I don't know. One second he was talking and then-" She cuts off, glancing at her children and shaking her head. "He just cut out."

You know all is not fine and that something terrible must have happened for Laura to trail off the way she did. But instead of worrying her kids, you offer a grin. "I'm sure it's fine. As clumsy as he is, he probably just dropped his phone." She forces a smile for her kids' benefit. "So why don't we go ahead and wait for him inside. I'll make something to eat while you guys relax and I'll catch you up on the five years you missed."

"Five years!?" Laura nearly shouts.

You wince. "Yeah. You guys missed a lot."

          - - - - - - - - - - 

For the next couple of hours you tell Laura all about the Blip and how half of Earth's population just disappeared- Avengers included. You tell her how Clint had you move in, and how you helped take care of the house and what few animals they had on the farm still while working at the local grocery store. You tell her all about Steve and Natasha, and how Tony Stark is now married with a daughter of his own.

"Wow." Laura chuckles. All the kids have fallen asleep around the living room, leaving Laura the time to finally ask, "And where was Clint this entire time? I noticed he brought you onto the farm, but then everything became about Steve and Nat."

You suck in a breath sharply. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice that."

"Y/N.."

"He went rogue." Her eyes widen and you wince. "He left me here with access to your bank account, which I only used to pay bills and buy groceries by the way, and not even Natasha could find him. He only came back when she tracked him down and told him there was a chance they could reverse the Blip."

"Oh Clint.." She sighs, shaking her head in disappointment.

The sound of a quinjet hovering makes you and Laura perk up, but you keep quiet so as to not wake the children. You and Laura meet each other's gazes before you carefully get up and tiptoe out of the living room, and then you're rushing out the front door and down onto the lawn.

The door drops down and then Laura is sprinting across the field to reach her husband. You joyously laugh, jogging over to catch up. But as Laura and Clint hug one another, sobbing, you turn your sights to Steve who's standing sheepishly off to the side. There are two others with him, but since you've yet to meet them you make your way towards the familiar.

"Hey Rogers. Good to see you in one piece."

He tiredly chuckles. "Y/N." You punch his arm and he opens them up so you can hug him. "How are you holding up?"

"Better now that I got my sister back," you muse. As you pull away, you glance behind him into the quinjet. "Hey, where's Natasha?" Steve's smile falls and your heart plummets into your stomach. You can practically read the answer in his eyes. "No.." You shake your head.

His breathing stutters before he clears his throat. "We, uh, we lost Tony too."

Your expression completely crumples then, but Steve is quick to pull you back into a hug. He lets you cry into his chest before Clint steals you away, and then you're crying into your brother-in-law's shoulder. Then once all the tears taper off, Steve introduces you and Laura to Wanda and Bucky.

"I'll be in contact with you about what Pepper decides to do," Steve tells Clint. "If you do anything for Nat, let me know."

Clint sniffles. "I will."

You, Clint, and Laura wave off Steve, Wanda, and Bucky as they return inside the quinjet and lift off.

"Come on," Clint then sighs. "I need to see the kids and then figure out a way to tell them all about auntie Nat's sacrifice."

"And plan a memorial," Laura says.

You frown. "This was not the homecoming I was hoping for."

After a few days of planning, Clint decides on a cookout with all the Avengers and close friends of Nat's invited. It was a couple of days before Tony's own memorial, so you were surprised when Pepper Stark showed up with Morgan in tow. You were happy to finally meet the young girl who you'd been sending gifts to and you gladly ended up on babysitting duty.

You had met more of Clint's ex-coworkers, but your attention always ended up back on the children. Then when it came time to say a few words on Natasha's behalf, you somehow ended up between Steve and Bucky as the children ran back to their respective parents with Steve tucking you into his side when the tears started.

Then when the day of Tony's memorial came, there were more guests than you had anticipated. So as Pepper and Morgan walked a small flower raft with an arc reactor replica on it and set it out on the water, you stood back with Laura and her family and waited in silence. And as the crowd dispersed, you mostly kept to yourself until you saw Steve walk out of Pepper's home in the oddest white and red suit you'd ever seen.

Walking up behind Steve, you nod at Bucky and Sam who grin at your presence. When Steve turns around, you chuckle. "Why do I got a feeling you're about to do something very stupid?"

He grins and adjusts his grip on the suitcase hanging by his side. "Someone's gotta return the stones to their original timeline."

"Mhm. Well be careful. Don't start any unnecessary fights."

"I'll try my best."

As he walks up onto the platform, you step back and nudge your arm against Bucky's. He smiles down on you and you stand by his side as you listen to Bruce who walks Steve through about what's going to happen. Bruce checks all his monitors, giving Steve the go-ahead when everything is fine. Steve nods, a mask of sorts opens up and wraps around his face, and he presses a button that had been in his hand. Bruce counts down the seconds before he flips a switch which is meant to bring Steve back, but nothing happens.

Bruce looks around his monitors and starts pressing some more buttons. "Where is he?" Sam asks.

"I don't know. He blew right by his time stamp. He should be here," Bruce says as he flips a few more switches.

Bucky sighs and you quickly glance at him, and he looks more resigned than anything as he turns to walk off.

Your attention goes to Bruce as your heart rate picks up. "Get him back."

"I'm trying."

"Get him the hell back!" Sam urges.

You and Sam are low-key panicking, but it's Bucky's calm voice that stops the both of you. "Y/N. Sam."

The two of you whirl around, gazes sliding towards where Bucky is staring off to. In the distance, on a stone bench by the water, there appears to be a man sitting there that wasn't there before. You and Sam stumble forward, and you squint your eyes, only to glance back at Bucky with wide eyes.

"Is that.."

"Go."

You share another look with Sam and he gestures for you to follow him. The two of you walk towards the man together and Sam stops just behind him as you walk around in front. When you get a good look at your friend who is way older than what he appeared to be a mere twenty seconds ago, your heart cracks just a little.

You try to force a smile, but it wobbles as an elderly Steve chuckles at you. "I'm really trying not to be so mad at you right now." Your voice cracks and he pats the spot next to him as you sniffle. You immediately sit next to him and take his left hand within your own two, a gleaming wedding band not going unnoticed. Your fingers trace it. "Was it at least a happy life?"

Steve pats your hand. "It was. It was the beautiful life I always dreamt of."

You take a moment for yourself, inhaling and exhaling deeply. "You know you were my complete impulse control, right? Who's going to stop me from trying to get into your best friend's pants now?"

There's a snort from behind you, but you don't bother giving Sam your attention. "Go easy on him," Steve tells you. "I'm not sure he even remembers how to flirt."

You grin as you lean your head on his shoulder. "I'm really going to miss you," you say after a beat. Another moment passes before you drop Steve's hand and sigh before you stand. "Well, um, I should get back my sister and Clint now." You meet his gaze and flash him a small smile. "It's going to suck not seeing you every month, but I'm really glad you found your happiness."

"Thank you, Y/N."

Your bottom lip wobbles again. "Goodbye, Steve."

As you walk away, you hold your head up high and nod to Sam when he looks at you to make sure you're okay. You continue walking, nodding at Bucky as you pass him up as well when you see Laura wave you over. "For the record, I still remember how to flirt." You stumble and and then hear Bucky chuckling quietly behind you.

"Goddamn super soldiers and your dog ears."

As the days turn into weeks, Clint and Laura offer you a permanent place on the farm now that everything seems to be going back to normal. He's promised to build you a small house on the property for all that you've done in the past five years, so in the meantime you've taken to bunking with Lila while Wanda took over the guest bedroom. Clint had also taken to bringing Bucky to the farm when he noticed the super soldier not coping as well as he was letting on, so you found yourself often sitting by the back pond with him as the two of you traded stories about Steve and yourselves.

Though you had originally joked about getting into Bucky's pants, you found yourself seeking friendship from him more than anything else and vice versa. So when you weren't working at the grocery store, you were watching the kids for Laura and Clint or hanging out with Bucky and Wanda. It was no surprise to anyone that the three of you latched on to one another after losing those that you did.

"Hey Y/N," Laura calls out. "Will you do me favor?"

You glance up as she walks out the front door, you and Wanda ceasing your conversation. You grin. "What do you need?"

"Lucky needs some dog food and we need a few bales of hay for the goats."

"Oh. Okay." You look towards Wanda. "Wanna go for the ride?"

She shrugs. "Sure."

"Thank you! You can just put it on the Barton tab at the store," Laura says. "Clint pays it monthly and I've already called ahead to let them know someone was going in to pick up some stuff we needed."

"Got it." Standing up, you pat down your pockets to make sure you have your keys, phone, and some cash. Realizing you have everything, you grin at your sister before walking down the porch steps. As you near your truck, you whistle at Bucky who was throwing knives at a target on the side of the barn. "Hey Buckaroo! We're heading into town. You wanna come?"

He throws the last knife in his hand before he turns to look at you. "Don't call me Buckaroo!" He shouts back as he makes his way towards you.

"Then stop lookin' so darn cute!"

Wanda snorts and you laugh as Bucky shakes his head at you. "One of these days he's going to flirt back and then what are you going to do?"

"Bend myself over the table and let him hit it from behind," you mumble. She snorts harder this time and your eyes widen when you see Bucky start to smirk.

As he nears the two of you, he says, "What did you say?"

"Nothing," you blurt. "Nothing at all. Wanda's just easily amused, is all."

His gaze slides to Wanda, but she shakes her head and doesn't tell him a word. You mentally sigh and praise her for being a good friend, and then you turn to walk towards your truck. Wanda readily heads for the back driver's side door while Bucky walks around to the passenger seat so he's seated next to you.

Once you're seated behind the wheel and the engine is turned on, you take a moment to find a decent song on the radio before driving. It's not too long of a drive and you find yourself pulling up to the local feed store not even three songs later.

Parking and cutting the engine right in front of the store, you turn towards Bucky. You know he's not a huge fan of being out in public, but you rather not have to flirt inside the store to get a helping hand. "Hey Buck, can you do me a favor and load up four of those large rectangular bales of hay and one bag of that dog food right next to it?" You see him tense. "I rather not have to flirt with the boy inside just so he'll help out."

He relaxes then and gives you a nod. "Yeah. Sure."

"Thanks. Just keep watch through the window. Wait 'til I give the signal for you to start loading up." He gives you another nod and you turn around to face Wanda. "Wanna head inside with me?"

Wanda grins and readily opens her door, you and Bucky following right after. But as you and Wanda head inside, Bucky remains by the tailgate of your truck and keeps watch through the large front window as you had said. Inside, Mr. Reeves is waiting by the cash register and keeping an eye on Bucky outside.

"Don't worry, Mr. Reeves. He's with me." Mr. Reeves glances at you, smiling in relief. "I need four large bales of hay and a fifty pound bag of dog food."

Mr. Reeves starts punching buttons on his register. "Alright, sweetheart. Is that going to be all for you?"

"Sure is. Um, Laura asked if you can put it on the tab? Clint will be by at the end of the week."

"Sure thing." You turn towards the window and give Bucky a thumbs up. He turns to open the tailgate and then move towards the bales of hay to start loading up. Mr. Reeves chuckles. "That's a strong fella you got there."

His words make you blush and Wanda giggle, but you can't even reprimand your friend because she is further away than you expected. She's leaning over what appears to be a warming box, hand inside as she smiles down at something you can't see. "Whatcha got there, Red?"

Her smile widens as you hear small chirps. "Ducklings."

You walk over to her, peering inside and your heart absolutely melts. Inside are the cutest ducklings you've ever seen and you know you're done for when you set your hand down inside and one particular little duckling runs onto your palm.

Mr. Reeves walks over, chuckling. "They were hatched a few days ago. All have been looking mighty strong and are ready to go to good homes."

"How much?"

"Y/N," Wanda laughs. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking this little sucker with me." You pick up your hand, duckling still happily nestled in your palm as you cradle him to your chest and look at Mr. Reeves. "Any chance you have those small plastic kiddie pools?"

"As a matter of fact I do," he muses.

Wanda is giggling the entire time Mr. Reeves gets exactly what you need, you nuzzling the yellow fuzzball to your face. You pay with your own money and sadly hand over the duckling when Mr. Reeves has to box her up. You then carefully take the box from him as Wanda takes the kiddie pool, and you walk behind her as you make your way to the truck.

You have absolutely no regrets about buying the duckling, but you still hide the box as you walk around the truck and open the driver's door. Wanda shoves the kiddie pool into the back with her and Bucky turns so his gaze darts between the both of you- Wanda looking far too amused and you looking a little sheepish as you continue to stand outside the truck.

"What did you do?" He sighs.

"Well we went in to just buy the food," Wanda says, "but-"

"I bought a duck." You blurt. You finally put the box in front of you, on the seat, and you open the lid. The duckling chirps and you beam down at her, picking her up and nuzzling her once more. "I'm gonna name her Flauta." Bucky snorts and Wanda laughs uncontrollably then. "No one tell Laura."

"Gonna be hard to hide her, doll."

Bucky reaches over to take the duckling from you and the sight of him cradling it, holding it up to his face and smiling makes you melt once more. Wanda is staring knowingly at you, but you don't even have the urge to flip her off because you know you're fucked. Instead, you take your phone out of your back pocket and snap a picture.

"That's my new wallpaper."

Bucky doesn't bother admonishing you for taking the picture, so after setting it as your wallpaper you put your phone away and climb into your truck. He holds onto the duckling as you make the drive back to the farm, Wanda giggling every now and then when you glance at Bucky and sigh longingly.

When you make it back to the farm, Clint and Laura are on the porch as the kids play out in the yard. They both stand as you park, their expressions turning suspicious as Wanda hops out of the back with the kiddie pool in tow. You grin as you hurriedly hop out as well, leaving Bucky to carry the incriminating evidence.

You can tell he expected as much as he watches you jog around to his side of the truck, already pointing at him through the opened window. "Bucky bought a duck!"

He shakes his head at you and you blow him a kiss, Clint and Laura then joining you by the truck. "Oh really?" Your brother-in-law muses.

"Yep."

"Mhm." Clint looks to Bucky as Laura bites back a grin. "Buck, what's the duck's name?"

Without missing a beat, he says, "Flauta."

Laura finally laughs. "Nice try, Y/N." As Bucky and Wanda guess how Laura knew, she says, "When we were younger, Y/N did the same thing but with a turtle. She named him Taquito."

"And Taquito lived a long and happy life until we went off to college," you say. "Flauta will live just long, if not longer, here on the farm."

Clint chuckles and then takes the duckling from Bucky. He looks to Wanda and gestures for her to follow him. "Lets go get this little lady all set up. The kids are gonna have a blast."

Laura follows after them, but not before winking at you, and you shake your head as you're left alone with Bucky. He finally climbs out of the truck, shutting the door and then leaning against it. You nervously laugh as he smirks. "You threw me under the bus."

"I couldn't take the chance that they'd make me return Flauta." You pout. "I couldn't send her back, Buckaroo. I'd already named her."

He pushes off the truck, turning you around and laying his arm around your shoulders. For a moment you forget how to breathe. "You're just as bad as Steve."

"Oh whatever." You roll your eyes, grinning as your arm wraps around the back of his waist and start walking towards where Clint went. "Steve got you shot at. I momentarily put you in momma bear's crosshairs." He quietly chuckles. "And besides, I didn't hear you deny it. Admit it, Barnes, I'm growing on you."

"Like a fungus."

You pinch his side. "Oh fuck off." He fully laughs then. "Just you wait, Buckaroo. The day we decide to put sex on the list of things we should definitely be doing, I'm gonna withhold just because you're being an ass."

"You sure about that?" The teasing lilt to his voice suddenly makes you feel at unease. "You sure you won't immediately bend over the table and let me hit it from behind?"

Your face flames, but you can't help but laugh at your earlier words. When you manage to calm down, you can't help but say, "I hate you," as you finish making your way towards your family.

"Nice try, doll, but I'm calling bullshit."

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Benny Rodriguez

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You and Benny met when you were younger. You’d lived in the neighborhood your entire life and with Benny and the boys being the only kids around your house; and the fact that you were a bit of a tomboy in general, they were who you made friends with.

- Like most young boys, they weren’t too keen on some little girl butting into their games, but you were persistent! It took you a couple weeks and a whole lot of effort but soon enough they let you stay and play without any complaints. After that, the rest was history.

- You’d sort of always just been one of the guys. The main reason you were allowed to stick around was because they nearly forgot you weren’t one. You played baseball, weren’t afraid to get dirty, and never acted all “prissy”; you were the only type of girl they’d ever be caught dead letting into their crew.

- And; without any opposition from you, that’s how things went on for a few years. It wasnt until you got a little older that you realized that being “one of the boys” maybe wasn’t the ...greatest thing in the world.

- You sort of always had a thing for Benny. It was easier to brush off and not realize when you were younger but as you got into your teenage years, it became more difficult to ignore.

- And thus, your dilemma finally became obvious. You’d spent so long being one of the guys that you were completely sure Benny only saw you as that; he sure acted like he did.

- So a million thoughts raced through your head. You wondered if you could change how he saw you, if you wanted to, how you’d do it, should you do it, when you’d do it, etc. Maybe you should try some makeup, change your clothes, your personality; should you stop hanging around him so much?

- You had no idea what to do ...so you tried a few things. You dressed a tad bit girlier; not enough to have the gang on you or ruin your ability to play, and wore your hair down, and ...nothing happened.

- All you got was a few comments from the guys asking “what’s up with the hair?”. Soon enough, you were grumpily pulling your hair up into a ponytail after getting not even the slightest reaction from Benny.

- After several attempts, you’re at a loss and somewhat frustrated. You debate just telling him but the day you decide to, you chicken out and stay home.

- Your mother tells Benny you aren’t feeling well when he asks if you can come out and play and you watch from behind the curtain guiltily as he leaves your front steps, casting one last look from behind his shoulder at your window.

- You don’t show up to the field for another day or two before deciding that you need to go back, missing your friends and fresh air. You figure you can play it cool like always, and you do, getting welcome back slaps on the back and shakes.

- You play for a few hours before the boys have to go home and you’re left on the field alone with Benny. You’re just about to walk out as well ...up until Benny calls after you. With a deep breath, you jog back over and stand in front of him.

“You feeling better?” he asks and you both nod, one after the other.

“That’s good. I missed you out here,” he says before seeming to realize what he said. He laughs slightly before following up with a “Yeah-Yeah sucks at playing your position.”.

- You both laugh before he asks “why don’t we play, just you and me. You throw and I’ll hit”. And you try to turn him down, telling him that you should be getting home, but then he gives you that smile of his and a “come on” and you just can’t refuse.

- So you get in position and the two of you play, swapping turns back and forth when you have to run and catch the ball.

- On one of your last few throws, he runs over to hand you the ball but doesn’t immediately let go. Instead, he leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before running back to his spot on the field, casting a look back at you and subsequently a smile as he does.

- The two of you kiss for real when you’re at the edge of the field, getting ready to walk home. He calls your name and you pause, standing still as he grips your shoulder and leans in, planting a peck on your lips.

“Why’d you do that?” you ask, though it’s obvious that you don’t mind.

He merely shrugs and grins at you. “I wanted to.”

- You can’t help but smile back, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders and walk you off the field.

- There isn’t a ton of pda in your relationship but there’s a bunch of contact: high fives, his arm around your shoulders, his leg touching yours when you sit next to each other. He just doesn’t want the guys on your case for the rest of the week for a measly kiss in front of them. 

- Affectionate hair ruffling. 

- Hand holding, usually when the gang isn't around; unless it’s Smalls. 

- Forehead and cheek kisses.

- Soft kisses.

- He has your picture on his dresser and you cant help but smile every time you see it. 

- When it really comes down to it, he’s got a huge soft spot for you. He may treat you like one of the boys most of the time but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you you’re definitely different from them to him. 

- Excited hugs, usually after he accomplishes something big or you get good news. 

- Sitting in between his legs, usually with his chest pressed against your back.

- He doesn’t mind cuddling, even if it’s sort of in front of the gang, mainly because his style of cuddling is his arm draped over your shoulder and you resting against his side.

- As though he’d allow you to not have a nickname! He doesn’t really use petnames except; maybe, when he’s using them as jokes or sarcastically, but you’ve probably had a nickname since you were little that he still uses.

- Although, he does say “that’s my girl” to himself or just outloud whenever he gets all proud of you; like when you score a homerun.

- The boys definitely tease him about you. Its the one thing they have on him.

- He lets you win when you guys race. You’re absolutely aware of it but you think it’s cute so you both jokingly pretend he didnt.

- He’s always there to help get you out of a pickle. If you have a problem it is both your problems the minute you tell him.

- He always brushes off your praise with a halfhearted and playful scoff but in actuality, he loves it whenever he gets a compliment from you.

- There’s definitely been moments where you’ve been in his room with him and asked about some sort of clothing item and he just casually asks if you want it. And ...You’re damn right you do.

- Randomly being carried away from things isn’t all too uncommon for you. He likes to pick you up, whether it’s just by your armpits or in a piggyback ride.

- Walking home from school together. 

- Spending your summers together. 

- Expect a lot of random visits and him calling you to come hang out. If he wants to see you, he’ll just come knocking on your door. 

- Smalls is sort of like your adoptive child, even though you're only like two years older than him. You’re just always looking out for the younger boy and making sure he feels welcome and all that. 

- Getting introduced to Beast and Mr. Mertle. 

- Knowing tons of baseball facts because of him.

- Playing catch in the lot. He goes easy on you but to be fair; he goes easy on most people.

- Looking after him and making sure he doesn’t over exert himself.

- I’m sorry but you’ll have to just accept that baseball is his priority a lot of the time. It’s his “life” and you’ll just have to accept that if you want to be with him. 

- He would genuinely ask you to marry him in complete awe if you were to ever get him baseball game tickets. 

- He makes a big deal over your birthday, well, him and the rest of the boys. They all cheer when you arrive at the field, giving all their “look who it is’s”and slapping you on the back.

- Going to the movies ...after they put up another screen.... He’ll usually grab your hand and keep glancing over at you whenever you go, he just thinks you’re really pretty.

- Hanging out in the treehouse together. 

- Going to the fair with him. 

- Pool dates.

-  A lot of your dates get invaded by the gang, especially if they involve pizza …or food of any kind really. 

- His mother probably insists on giving him some money every time she hears he’s going to hang out with you because she wants him to be a little gentleman and pay for your “date”.

- Even though you’ve always sort of been seen as just one of the guys, you’re serious bragging rights for Benny; both to the other boys and to Phillips. All it takes is one visit to the pool with them and suddenly they’re all a little envious of their leader.

- Though, to be honest, all the boys in the group have probably; at some point, had a crush on you or thought that you’d end up together because it just makes sense, you know? They weren’t in love but they had those little “why am is my heart racing” type of moments with you.

- Even though he brags about you, he’s still a jealous boy. He pretty much glares at any other guy; besides the guys in the gang, you’re with. Even if he’s doing something else, he finds it difficult to concentrate. The minute you arrive back at his side, he’ll ask why you’re hanging out with them, usually with a subtle; or not so subtle, insult directed towards them.

- Even though he knows you’re capable of holding your own, he’ll still always jump to stick up for you because it’s just a habit of his.

- He’s protective of everybody in his gang so that obviously includes you. He isn’t above fighting; or at least embarrassing, someone who’s giving you a hard time or literally carrying you to a safe distance when you’re near something he deems dangerous. Plus, he’s always the first one at your side no matter what’s going on.

- The two of you don’t fight a ton. You’ve been friends for a while so you sort of already know what rubs each other the wrong way and can avoid them because of that. If you are fighting, it’s probably about something stupid and you wind up just leaving; for one reason or another, as he calls after you.

- That being said, you usually just resolve things after a bit of arguing; without you having to walk off. As an apology, he’ll give you a sincere “hey, I’m sorry, alright?” before making some joke along the lines of asking if you want to hit him. You’ll hug and he’ll kiss your head and everything will be settled.

- You don’t tell each other that you love each other a whole lot; it sort of just isn’t Bennys thing, but you show each other you do with your actions.

- In the future, you’re there at every single one of his games, cheering him on.

- He probably asks you to marry him right after highschool. He just can’t wait to make you Mrs. Rodriguez.

[withoneheadlight]

| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

~

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

.

.

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟

[rcksmith]

Spring breeze part.4 — Spencer Reid

Icon by @obiwansjedi

Part.1 Part.2 Part.3

Sumarry: After the breakup, Spencer and the Reader follow different paths and lives. But, after 8 years, Gideon's death brings an avalanche of emotions, putting the two face to face again in a reencounter that could break their hearts again — season 10 —

Couple: Spencer Reid /Gideon's daughter!reader.

Warnings: mention of death, mention of violence, death of the father, depressive thoughts, murder, crying, swearing, a lot of anguish, mention of love, fluff (but it has a very fluff too, I'm not a monster)

Word count: 5k.

A/N: This is the most sad chapter that has, I promise that the next will be very cute.💖

I saw Gideon's death episode again to make it as faithful as possible for you guys. I used the original Criminal Minds chronology too, being 8 years from Gideon's last appearance until his death.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Let me know if you want to be added for a taglist for a specific fandom (Criminal Minds, The Umbrella Academy, Riverdale, Roman Godfrey, or all)

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — — —

Hunting bandits. Save people. Improve the world a little bit every day. Those were the three things Spencer believed it was worth to be at BAU. It was worth fighting for, holding on, staying sleepless for days, being haunted by murderers by day and nightmares at night. For what it was worth looking at the abyss, even when it looks to you

Reid could deal with human perversion, with the thousand and one ways to practice heinous crimes, the sowing of evil and cruelty. He could cope with constantly being inside insane minds, learning his whys and mechanisms. He could take it. He put up with it day after day, case after case. He endured being tortured, stay being held at gunpoint, having a piece of his essence plucked with red-hot iron month after month. Spencer knew he could handle it.

But he couldn't handle death. Goodbye. It shattered his soul far more than difficult cases, pushed his own sanity to the limit. Perhaps burying his feelings as deeply as possible was just a method of delaying the wave that would drown him at one time or another. Inevitably.

Each farewell took a piece of Reid away. His father, his mother, Ellie, you, Gideon, JJ, were just a few of the people who left, living their lives elsewhere. But what about those who died? The victims, the children, Hayley, Maeve, Emily (even if only for a short time) and so many others. These took much more than a piece of him. Maybe costu his whole soul.

Spencer felt himself harden over the years, the cases, loss after loss, day after loss. He felt the purity of his own heart slip through his fingers like sand, the faith in humanity to be put to the test. Sometimes even faith in himself.

Was that the price to pay for that job? Being constantly vulnerable? See his life and the lives of the people his loved most at gunpoint?

It was worth?

Maeve's death shook him more than any other, sucking all the pink glow from his world, leaving him with only the cold feeling of hopelessness. A very deep void. It took a long time for memories of she not to hurt like red-hot iron, for his breathing not to be heavy. It took a long time to be happy again.

And when Spencer felt healed from the deepest wounds, the most visceral pains, he was hit again. Deeply. If Maeve's death was a wave that brought him down, Gideon's death was the tsunami that destroyed him.

“It's Gideon.” Hotch's voice confirmed the fear of everyone in that cottage.

Then Spencer felt shattered. Torn apart. Torn like a rag doll and placed on the fire. He wanted to scream, to scream so loudly that he would never regain his voice. He wanted to break something, destroy some, run away.

But run away from whom? From what? That pain or himself? If Spencer had been able to tear off his own skin at that time and be someone else, he would not have hesitated. Not having dropped to his knees in that cottage was a miracle, because Spencer no longer knew what was holding him upright.

Jason Gideon, in many ways, was all that Spencer had. He knew that they took different paths and traveled different roads, living different lives, but he believed that they always end up on the same, even one they was old. Spencer was sure that if he was dying on his knees, Gideon would be to rescue him. For all those 8 years, it was extremely comforting to think that Gideon was out there, living life, finding the hope he had in college, finding the brilliance the world had.

And Reid knew that Jason had you. And you had Gideon. That was the most soothing and comforting thought. No matter what, he knew that you would take care of Jason, just like he would take care of you. But now... now Spencer's world had dissolved in the air. Like a sandcastle knocked over by the wind.

And the pain was surreal.

When he realized, he had left the room, close to the... body. If he could, Spencer would have moved away from himself. How would he take it? One more death, another psychopath. How many other people he love will are died at the hands of the work he did every day?

The answer to all of these questions was frightening, and Spencer wasn't sure if wanted them.

The trip to the coroner was the worst Reid had ever done, talking about the body was the worst conversation he had ever had. And when Morgan put his hand on his shoulder and said that he couldn't close himself now, that they were going to get that son of a bitch, all Spencer wanted to say was that he couldn't take it anymore. That he couldn't breathe. The emptiness was too oppressive. So much visceral pain.

But that was not what Spencer said. He just clung to the only lifeguard in the middle of the rough and deserted sea: justice. Gideon deserve it.

Reid doesn't know how he managed to get back to the Gideon’s house, how he managed to hear Hotch and Rossi talking about what could have happened. But he was there, standing, by some miracle.

“Do you know who might want to have done this?” Hotch asked Stephen, who had arrived, his eyes red from the crying he struggled to hold.

“No. I know he had a list of things he wanted to do before he died... That's how we came back to speak, one of the things was to get back in touch.” His voice was so reminiscent of Gideon's that it was stabbed in the heart of Reid.

“Didn't he talk about being chased? Feeling anything strange?” Rossi commented.

Reid watched Stephen's expressions carefully, first because he reminded Gideon a lot, and second because he looked for any clues in his reactions.

Stephen took a second to think before saying: “No, but we both don't keep in touch daily, you know?” He swallowed a sob, probably with regret, but then his eyes lit up with some information: “'But Y/n surely know, they both spoke to each other every day, if my father was thinking differently, surely she know.”

The mention of your name hit Reid with a very different wave. Bringing a very different feeling than it should. At that moment, he felt himself holding the air.

For a second, a lapse of consciousness, Spencer had not connected any of this with your physical presence. The notion that you were Gideon's daughter was obvious but, for some reason, Spencer didn't think about the fact that you were going to be there. That you would share the same air with him again, the same place...

“We will have to call her, bring her here to see if something has been left, or taken. If there is anything important on the scene.” It was Hotch.

“I called her as soon as you guys called me.” Stephen said “She arrived from California the day before yesterday, my father and she were going to travel.” He tried to swallow the crying, his eyes trembling.

"And you weren't going?" Rossi added.

“I have a son and a wife.” He gave a smile broken by the sadness of the mourning “They would stop by before I go… Y/n was going to tell me the news, since our schedules hardly match much, she works as an astronomer in…”

“Caltech.” Spencer completed, without even realizing it, like a thought out loud.

“Yea.” Stephen agreed.

Spencer felt a chill go from head to toe, and another ton of feelings were thrown at his back. The reality that he was going to see you again hit him hard. Like an arrow. Suddenly, Reid wanted to get out of there. Run as far as possible.

He couldn't see you. He had no ability to deal with those feelings now. Not now, when his life was so overwhelmed with emotions for Gideon’s death that he still hadn't dealt Not when you aroused the feeling of... hope. Spencer can’t could hope, of any kind. Not for them to be taken from him with visceral force. Reid was already hurt enough for handling another fall.

“... But I don't think it's a good idea for my sister to be here, anyway.” Stephen continued to speak.

Rossi and Hotch frowned: “Why?”

“They were very connected. Seeing this scene is not going to do her any good...” he sobs this time “Y/n is not like me… she is sentimental, emotional. ”

“As long as you're trying to stay calm, she'll be the opposite.” Hotch completed.

“I just don't want my sister to suffer anymore and...”

But it was too late for Stephen to complete. It was too much for Spencer to escape. It was too late to be born again, in a different life.

A gray car moved forward on the stone road, at too high a speed not to have washed several road fines. That was so much typical of you who hurt Spencer's heart pieces more than he thought possible. More than he thought he could feel at the time. You were always so wild at the wheel. But Reid didn't have time to finish a thought, not even Rossi, Hotch, Morgan who was with them or even Stephen. Because car brutally stopped it, the door opened and…

And it was as if the sun came out from behind the clouds after years. As if summer had finally come after decades of overwhelming winter. In a burst, everything you've ever represented for Spencer has come back for him once again. And he felt the same thing that he felt when he first saw you, 8 years ago. And he was catatonic.

You got out of the car in a very hurried and desperate way. And as much as there were tears in your eyes and redness in cheeks, Spencer has never seen anyone so beautiful. Your hair was longer, in a brighter shade, maybe you had dyed it. Your features were more lyrical and beautiful, and Reid thought that the passage of time had no effect on you. While he considered himself just less clumsy over the years, you proved to be blooming like Romania's most superb rose.

“DAD!” But that was when your desperate voice brought Reid's consciousness back to earth.

You weren't calling your brother, you weren't asking why, you weren't in mourning. You were in denial. Disbelieving. You called out to your father, with the certainty that he would show up. And the despair in your eyes hurt Reid more than being shot.

But before the agents could do anything, you were running towards the house and Stephen ran towards you, taking you in his arms, trying to keep you from getting inside.

“LET ME GO, STEPHEN!” You struggled, trying to get rid of your brother's arms, your hair messing with the wind, tears streaming down your eyes. “They are wrong! It's not our father! Let me fucking go! DAD!”

“Y/n” Stephen had a broken heart in his eyes, some tears streaming down his eyes “You need to calm down before you get in there !”

“LET ME GO!” Yours sobs broke the hearts of the four agents over there “DAD!” You was cryng out, almost like a prayer, in a desperate call.

"He's gone, Y/n.” Your brother kept his arms stronger in you, trying to contain you while you struggle in trying to break free and go inside the house, under the illusion that you would find your father there.

“NO!” Now your crying was continuous “I spoke to him yesterday! It's not him, Stephen!” Then your brother turned you to him, holding you tight, and you melted into a visseral pain “It can't be him!”

“I know...” he sobbed, looking at you with the same shared pain “I know...”

So you gave yourself up to a painful, loud and desperate crying, the kind that won't let you breathe. And, unlike Reid, you fallen down. Your knees found the stone and grass floor, your hands clasped on Stephen's shirt, who knelt on the floor with you, delivered the pain you both shared.

You knew what your father's risks were in working in such a dangerous profession. Expose yourself to constant and frightening danger. You always knew about the risks, you just tried to ignore them all your life, sinking your fears about your father not coming home at night. Then, when he let the BAU, that fear dissipated. You felt a colossal weight being lifted off your shoulders, like tons of lead, and you let go of a fear so great that you didn't even know you had it.

For 8 years you thought that the chances of him not coming home were over, that the chances of seeing him the next day had increased dramatically. For 8 years you two traveled together, stopping at every type of diner for milkshake, chocolate ice cream and mint - his favorites - For 8 years you had your best friend, the only thing you knew you had in the world. You always knew that if you were drowning in the ocean, it would be your father who would give his lungs for you to breathe.

You didn't see a life without Gideon.

For you, you were crying for hours in what one day was your father's backyard, totally devastated, but for the rest of the world it was a matter of minutes.

Your sobs were so loud and real that Hotch and Rossi caught themselves with watery eyes, perfectly understanding the pain you were going through, the devastation. The two had lost many people, many of them being essential pieces to be able to continue breathing. Many of them felt wounds that would never heal.

But it was Rossi who approached you, the pain at the top of his throat, his mind wandering the day Gideon said he was going to have a little girl. Unlike Stephen, Rossi never saw you in person, but the sparkle in Jason's eyes whenever he talked about you, or with you on the phone, was enough to know that you were one of the essential pieces to keep breathing.

“Hi, my name is Rossi.” He knelt in front of you and your face went towards him, your cheeks and nose as red as your eyes.

“M-my dad talked about you."” You were still sobbing, slowly letting go of Stephen's shirt.

"Good things, I hope.” The two of you laughed like a sigh, and soon the pain returned to your eyes in a visseral way. “I know this is not fair, and I know it is asking too much, but I need you to go inside and try to find something out of place. Something that whoever did this to your father may have taken or left. ”

You closed your eyes in pain, tears streaming as you sobbed. Your hands, trembling and cold, went to your face, perhaps trying to hide from reality, perhaps wiping away tears. Maybe both. When you looked back at Rossi again, you saw the pain in his eyes too.

"I don't know if I can do it.” You admitted, your voice shaking.

"I know.” Rossi took his hand to yours, squeezing comfortingly “But only you can help us now, help other daughters not lose their father to the same killer. Being inside in the house can bring information that is in your subconscious. I promise you will make it, we will all be here with you.”

His handshake got stronger, and it reminded you of your father. That should have been the same way he comforted the victims' relatives, the way he was supposed to act with people.

'Everyone is somebody's son.' That's what Gideon said. It hit you like an atomic bomb. And, for a moment, you thought it was possible to die of sadness.

You squeezed Rossi's hand tightly, as if you were looking for courage. When you opened eyes again, you gave a weak nod. Carefully, as if any sudden movement is capable of causing you more pain, you stood up, your legs wobbly, your heart bleeding, sadness clouding your vision. Rossi put his hand behind your back, in a way to make sure him were there, as an anchorage in reality that would not let you get lost in the valley of sadness and pain.

As you walked up to the house, you didn't see the other agents, you didn't see the trees, the cars. At that time, you didn't even know what color the sky was anymore. It was like a suspended moment, when the world is in slow motion, the hemisphere is terrified. The sadness was palpable in the breeze, in the way that the rays of the sun did not reach the ground. The whole land looked like mourning.

As soon as you stepped inside the house, the smell of home and Gideon hit your nose, and you felt your face tighten in an expression of pure pain. You didn't notice the agents coming in behind you, you didn't notice Penelope and JJ. You just saw the furniture, the decor, his stuff. As if Gideon had just left for the market and was going to come back.

Everything was in was there. Minus the most important thing: him.

You did not notice when Rossi left you, you did not notice who approached. Everything was in a haze of pain.

But that's when you saw the strong blood marks on the floor, stuck to the wood with possession. A cold shiver as sighed from death ricocheted through your entire body, bristling all over your skin. In a burst, like the bursting of a violin string, the mist dissipated, the state of tupor burst, and reality hit you with overwhelming force.

And then the plug fell.

Jason Gideon had died.

You fell again, barely noticing the sobs and loud crying starting to come out again, the most desperate and painful in you life. But this time the arms that took you were different, bringing with you sensations that you haven't felt in a long time. That a long time ago you forgot that you could feel.

They were long, thin, and contained a vigor hidden beneath the thin facade. The smell of his presence was… heaven. That feeling was your anchorage on the high seas, in the valley of despair, and you clung to him for fear of drowning, of not finding your way back home.

You didn't have to see it to know who it was.

You turned to the arms that took you, now Spencer kneels with you on the floor, and you cried in a way that you never cried before, with a visseral pain. Your hands went to the brown cardigan he wore, closing there as if the fabric was your only chance for salvation.

So you looked at the immensity of the his brown irises.

"He was the only thing I had, Spen.” You sobbed loudly with the crying, gently swaying his coat, your voice utterly torn.

Spencer felt his eyes sting, his throat lock and the remains of what was his heart ache in a hideous way.

“I know.” He felt a tear run down his left cheek, his hands on your arms.

At this time, the two of you supported each other. Gideon meant a lot to you two. An irreplaceable role in yours life. And Spencer knew that was what you were talking about when you said:

"He was the only thing we both had.” You closed your eyes, your hands still firmly on his coat, your heart pounding.

But this time Spencer's voice was just as broken when he said: “I know.”

Then he hugged you.He hugged you for everything. He hugged you because it was a pain that only you two could understand. He hugged you because you needed it, and because he needed too.

Jason Gideon had a special connection with you two, a connection that only the two of you had ever experienced. Each relationship with Gideon was different, special in different ways, but only the two of you had him as a protector, mentor, a much more paternal and confidant figure. He was the kind of person you could leave your life in his hands, the kind who would teach you the secret of the worlds, show you what goodness was and at the same time strength. And you two had that.

You stained Reid's coat with tears, and Reid stained you with the strong smell he had. He stepped far enough away to be able to see your face perfectly, at a considerable distance, and, against everything he had ever done before with anyone, he took your face in his hands, his eyes fixed on your in pain shared.

“We will catch how did it.” Reid assured you, as if he had tattooed this words on your skin. You closed your eyes in pain, but he brought you back “Hey, keep looking at me."

So you did it. Because you would always follow Spencer. To hell if he asked.

"Don't take your eyes off mine, okay?” His voice was so sweet, so gentle, and you couldn't have done anything but agree. “When was the last time you spoke to Gideon?”

“Yesterday.” You replied “We were going to travel to the beach today, I took a vacation from work.”

“Was he at home when you two talked?”

The team looked at each other, with several questions in those look.

You denied it, the hiccup now because of the shortness of breath you had because of the crying.

“He stopped at Roanoke for...” and that's when you seemed to remember something.

Your eyes widened softly, your lips trembled, and you let out a stammering sigh as you try to remember something very important.

“What do you remember?” Spencer stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, trying to calm the beating of your heart that went back to being frantic and making you focus on the question, not the sea of ​​emotions you felt.

“He…” was when your eyes fluttered before meeting Reid's again. “He said he saw a woman on the news who was found dead. And ... and that he had to make sure of one thing ”

Rossi looked at Hotch, who gave an attentive and objective expression.

“Did he tell you why?” His eyes closed again and you sobbed. Reid moved closer, bringing your face back in his direction again “Look at me, Y/n.”

As soon as you did, he gave you a gentle smile, but contained all the pain in the world. He understood what you were felling.

“Why was he interested in the case?” He changed the question.

“I-it was something about...” you searched in your mind “Girl named Tara. I don’t know. He mentioned about a blue butterfly tattoo on her ankle as well, and that it was something to do with a… a case or something.”

“1978” Rossi interrupted and everyone looked at him “Gideon and I worked on a case in 1978, the suspect was never caught and Tara was a teenager who we thought had been kidnapped by him. The killer left dead birds in the hands of the victims ”

“But he didn't mention birds and...” That's when your eyes, fluttering, darted around the room and you stopped abruptly.

Spencer turned his attention to you again, seeing that you were staring somewhere. His hands slowly left your face and he asked:

“What?”

“The board.” You pointed to your father's board, which had a beautiful brown bird.

“Does say anything to you?” Rossi turned his attention to you.

You shook your head, your body too exhausted to go to the painting and examine it.

“He shot the board.” You looked at the agents “My father loved that painting, he never would have done that. Even though my father is stunned, he has the best aim I have ever seen.”

“The devil is in the details." Rossi went to the pinting and, after two seconds, turned to the team and said “I already know who did this.”

You let out a gigantic sigh of relief as the agents split up to continue the case, speaking so fast that you couldn't keep up.

“I helped?” You looked at Spencer, tears still shining in your eyes.

He smiled and nodded “Very.”

But when he got up, you took his hand, making Reid turn his attention back to you again, a questioning look on his face.

“You're going to get it, aren't you?” The sob invaded your voice "Promise me that you will catch him, Spen."

Reid took his hand in your, giving you a strong, comforting squeeze before saying:

"I will. I promise.”

And then he left, along with the other agents.

- - -

You thought you knew what pain was, the loss, the tightness in the heart. You thought that your many relationship breakdowns showed you what it was like to suffer. But you have never been so wrong. None of that compared to how you were now, to what you felt.

You would trade that feeling for anything in the world.

This was terrible. A cold, coercive, brutal and cruel feeling. As if you were at the bottom of a black ocean, unable to breathe, falling deeper and deeper, consumed by the overwhelming cold of the water.

It was impossible to say in words how you felt. But if it were you had to define it in one word you would say: pain. A pain that bends you, a pain that makes you want to scream, that pierces your lungs so that it is not possible to breathe, but that even so, you fight for air.

It was pain at its rawest, most brutal, sharp and atrocious like a dagger blade. You would go through Dante's hells for eternity instead of living one day with that pain.

Since Spencer and the agents went after the person in charge, you have sat on the steps of the front door, watching the nature, the shaking of the trees, but your attention was so far, far away. Perhaps unattainable.

Gideon always loved watching the seasons go by, and in that moment, you wondered if looking at the same thing he looked at every day would make you feel close to him. Feel with him. It had only been three days since you last saw him, when he picked you up at the airport, but you felt like you were past three lives. How would you go without it? How were you able to think of living without it?

You pulled your knees up against your chest, hugging your legs, the metallic, atrocious and icy taste of devastation stuck to yours in your mouth. The trees shook hard, forcing the birds to fly away, but you didn't feel cold. You were not feeling the cold breeze hit your body, nor were your muscles contracting in exhaustion from the hard wood of the steps you were sitting on.

The hunger, the cold, the heat or the craving could not reach you, as if the pain had paralyzed all your system. Probably your soul.

You didn't see when Stephen put father's blanket over your shoulders, nor did you hear his sobs for seeing you so devastated. But you smelled Gideon, and the warmth of the blanket was like having his arms around you again. Then the rest of the water in your body found its way to your eyes and crying was as automatic as breathing.

You were clinging to Spencer taking the son of a bitch who did it, trying to chase away any other thoughts that weren't about that. You didn't want to think about what would happen after he was caught. Which meant his capture for you. It would bring justice to Gideon, honoring his name, his life, but it wouldn't bring him back. What was taken from you would not be repaired, regardless of the end of that damned man.

When he was caught, you would have nothing else to focus on instead.

You don't know how long you stayed there. Hours? Days? The those peach and gold tones in the sky is from dusk or the dawn of a new day?

You had lost track of time, as if your watch had stopped since the time Gideon died.

The sound of cars on the road was the only thing that pulled you out of your fucking valley, and as soon as the black SUVs stopped, you stood up as if you had been waiting your whole life for that moment. The blanket fell from your shoulders, heart accelerated at an alarming rate, and for a second, everything was gone from your mind.

Rossi was the first to get out of the car, but yours eyes darted to Reid. You wanted to run, ask what had happened, listen to the answers. But you were paralyzed in place. Afraid of the truth, of reality.

What would become of you after that news?

Spencer came towards you without hesitation, and you couldn't take your eyes off him for a second. He didn't say anything, nor did he explain anything. It was not needed. The way he reached out his hand and placed your father's rings in your palm were enough answers.

Your whole body shook and you looked at Reid with more emotions than askers.

"He is dead." He told you, and it made you fall down again.

But this time you fell into his hugging, clinging to him in despair. There were many meanings in that embrace: gratitude, relief, fear, pain and grief. And Spencer hugged you back in the same way.

You two stayed that way for a while, even when the agents went to talk to Stephen, even when Garcia and JJ left the house, even when the cold wind hit you both.

“Thanks." You heard yourself say it, and Spencer shook his head, signaling that it wasn't necessary, and the two of you moved away.

So you went to Rossi, and hugged him too. In that second, Rossi could feel Gideon in that hug, and it took a second to not cry.

“Your father was a great man." He told you when the two of you walked away, and you agreed on a sad smile.

"He was." You looked down at the rings in your hand, staying a second there before turning to the agents and saying: “You guys are going to the funeral, aren't you? I ... my dad would like it w-very much.”

"Of course." Rossi guaranteed it.

As they walked away and went back to the car, heading for their own houses, your eyes met Spencer's and he whispered in the air to you:

“I will see you at the funeral."

You nodded, giving you a sad, grateful smile. And while everyone was leaving and you were looking at the rings in your hand again, you had a feeling that your story with Spencer had just started over.

A/n: I also lost a very important person to death, and for everyone who went through it too, I mean that no one is alone! My message box is open if you need anything! Love you❤️

Tagged @gublersuvula

@peculiarinsomniac

@measure-in-pain

@nobutalsoyes

🍒 @misshale21

[hillnerd]

For the headcanon ask game - Romione + rain?

For the headcanon ask meme <-feel free to send a couple and a prompt- i'll either write a short blurb of headcanon or write a drabble my headcanon is that Hermione loves rainy days and Ron doesn't- she wins him over to them eventually:

RAIN

Hermione had always loved the rain. None of the other children in her class did. They'd moan and wail when they had to stay inside during playtime. As they all mourned the loss of their beloved tag, Hermione would squirm in delight.

While everyone else would suffer through checkers and building blocks, adventures and deserted islands waterfalled into the room with every drop of rain. Why deal with getting actual dirt under your nails, when you can imagine walking on beaches. Why deal with lines for the swingset and being elbowed off the climbing frame she could barely manage to stay on for more than a few seconds, when there were chapters of friends to spend her hour with.

-------------------------

Rainy days were absolutely, without a doubt, miserable! That's what they were. On a sunny day Ron’s brothers would let him come along and maybe even hang out a bit. He might just be target practice for an apple, but at least he was on a broom, and at least he was having something akin to a nice time with them.

Instead he was locked in, roped into chores, and no one would play him chess anymore. He'd just finished helping his mum mucking out some of the junk from under the sink when he felt his leg get crushed and he let out a string of curses.

“Get your legs out the way!” Fred hissed, giving him a light kick for good measure.

Utterly miserable.

-------------------------

Hermione wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck as a gust of rain-loaded wind made her umbrella quite pointless. The Quidditch Pitch was so misty she had no idea how the players were able to avoid colliding.

“Damn this weather is shit!”

A warm cloak was draped around her shoulder and she hurriedly leaned into Ron’s side.

“You shouldn’t curse.” She did her best to school her smile into a formidable frown of disapproval.

Ron laughed and shook his head. Droplets from his hair flicked onto the last dry bit of her face.

“Y’know, we’ve been friends for two years. You should probably get over my cursing. I’m not going to stop.”

“It’s impolite!”

“Worse things to be than impolite, aren’t there? I could be an arse like Malfoy.”

“And that’s the scale you’re grading yourself on? ‘Not as bad as Malfoy?’”

“Don’t be jealous of my lofty goals,” he said, putting his nose high in the air before squinting. “I hope Harry catches the Snitch soon. My bum’s going dead from the cold. Know anything that could warm it up?”

Hermione tucked her head behind her hair as heat radiated through her.

“There’s a hot-air-charm.”

“Oh yeah! Blow some hot air on me!”

“I don’t know it yet… I’ve only seen it.”

“Same.”

“And warming charms aren’t until fourth year.”

“Bit shit, that. It’s getting colder by the second out here. We should all know a good warming charm. Plus we live in a castle in Scotland! It’s bloody cold!”

“Ron!” she said, giving him a small elbow in the side.

“Sorry! I’ll try not to curse so much, I swea—”

“No! What’s that over there?”

A swathe of darkness rushed the field, undulating like a dark ink spill across the Quidditch field.

“Oh no…” Ron moaned. “Dementors!”

He gave another string of curses as they rushed towards the field.

Despite the cold, misery and terror encroaching, a bit of warmth kept the Dementors from fully affecting her as they had on the Hogwarts Express. It was Ron’s large hand holding hers all the way to the field.

She loved rainy days.

-------------------------

The wet squelch of his shoes echoing off stone hallways was the only sound left in the castle. Ron was alone, which was all for the better. He’d always loved Quidditch, but now it felt like a scimitar ready to come down and end him. At this point he’d welcome a good beheading— at least then he wouldn’t feel so bleeding miserable.

His sodden robes left tiny droplets, and he’d wrung out one giant puddle, in the halls. If Filch caught him, he’d probably give him a good dressing down, but Ron didn’t care. He deserved one.

How could Quidditch abilities have passed him by so thoroughly? He thought he’d been a good Keeper at home. He always got stuck in the position, but over time he grew to like it quite a lot. Not anymore.

His robes thwarted against the portrait whole as he drug himself through to an empty Common Room. Not wanting to face his dormmates he went for a seat by the fire, but found Hermione. She sat in one of the larger plush chairs, her little legs curled up under her in a way that would make his long limbs go numb in under a minute. All around her were parchment and books. She was working on a Charms assignment he knew was not due for another three weeks. She looked up from the work and gave a warm smile. Despite himself, he smiled back.

“It’s miserable enough with all the rain. Why compound it with Charms?” he asked.

“I wanted to wait for you. I don’t like the idea of you practicing in a storm like this. Especially by yourself! It’s not worth it.”

“Well I can’t quit,” he said, feeling mulish again and collapsing into the opposite chair with a great heave.

“I wasn’t suggesting you quit. Just maybe wait for nights where there isn’t a maelstrom?”

“Ah, but then there’d be loads of other people wanting to practice, and then they’d all see how I suck eggs.”

“I’ve seen you fly and you don’t ‘suck eggs,’” she said, finishing her sentence with a flourish of her quill.

“There’s a whole song about it.”

“That song…” she growled, casting a charm on her paper to dry the ink.. “Malfoy’s the one who sucks eggs! He’s a little monster and I’m a bit in shock the professors have done absolutely nothing to stop him.”

“Why would they?” he said with a shrug.

“Because it’s a monstrous display of bullying? Because it’s targeting a student and making the whole school absolutely toxic? It’s wrong? It’s harmful? Take your pick!”

Ron straightened in his seat as she pointed her wand at him. Suddenly he was hit with the most satisfying warming charm, followed by a water wicking spell.

“You’re good at Keeping! I’ve seen you do it every summer up against the twins, Ginny, and even Charlie. But you’re no good to anyone if you get struck by lightning, fall from your broom, or catch pneumonia from being out in this weather! And what are you smiling at?” she asked, brows furrowed enough to make that cute little line appear between them.

“You.”

“You should take what I’m saying seriously!”

“Fine, I won’t fly in this weather alone.”

“Well who will accompany you?”

He hesitated a moment then replied, “You, if you’ll come.”

“I can. As long as I’m ahead on my revising.”

“Then you can always come, as you’re always ahead,” he said putting his feet up on her arm rest.

“I also meant it about the Keeping. I think you’re good.”

“Yeah, well… Quidditch isn’t your strong suit.” She shoved his feet off the chair and he gave a chuckle. “But, I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Despite wanting to be so ahead in her studies, Ron noticed how she ignored her parchment the rest of the evening for him. For a rainy evening, it was quite nice.

[moodymelanist]

hey can u please do roomate au for elucien?

thankyou!

hell yeah, anon. I also got these prompts so I’m gonna combine them if y’all don’t mind!

let’s say Elain and Lucien are living together after graduating college, they were hooking up, they stopped, ✨tension✨ ensues

also I HC that Jesminda is Indian and you can take that from my cold dead hands ok!

Elain thought she could handle seeing Lucien bringing his new girlfriend home after they’d stopped doing whatever it was they were doing, but she learned rather quickly just how wrong she was.

They’d been living together for a few months and had tried the whole friends with benefits thing, but then Lucien had met Jesminda, and Elain had pretended like she didn’t have feelings for him. She’d even smiled as she’d told him Jesminda was beautiful and that they looked good together.

It wasn’t Jesminda’s fault that Elain had kept her mouth shut about how she really felt about her roommate — no, that was purely Elain’s fault. She’d been debating saying something to him for at least a week and a half before he’d approached her and told her he’d met Jesminda, and then she couldn’t say anything without looking like a vindictive bitch. Especially because Jesminda was nothing but friendly towards Elain.

It had been absolute torture every time Jesminda came over, especially at night when Elain could hear sounds coming out of Lucien’s bedroom. She knew perfectly well how good he was between the sheets and he was unintentionally twisting the knife with every quiet groan and curse and headboard slam.

Elain woke up early on a Saturday morning, well rested for the first time in several weeks. Something about hearing Lucien and Jesminda fool around made it impossible for her to sleep until they were done, but for once Lucien had gone to bed alone. She didn’t want to read into things too much, but she secretly hoped that things were winding down between them. Then she immediately chastised herself, because Lucien was a good person and deserved to be happy, even if it wasn’t with her.

She sighed before quietly leaving her bedroom and making her way onto the balcony. Her plants waved gently in the soft breeze as if they were saying hello and she lost herself in the routine of taking care of them. Her plants might not be able to talk to her, but at least they’d always be there for her.

She briefly considered calling one of her sisters to complain but immediately dismissed the idea. Feyre would try to play the world’s worst matchmaker and Nesta would try and actually give her a solution to her problem. She loved her sisters, but neither of their responses were what she wanted or needed right now.

She eventually finished her gardening and went back inside, took a shower, and made herself some breakfast. She was finishing up her pancakes and sitting at the kitchen island when she heard Lucien’s bedroom door opening; she debated trying to hide but there was really nowhere to go.

Lucien sighed as he walked into the living, and Elain couldn’t help but notice how dejected he looked.

“What’s wrong?” Elain asked. He sighed and pulled his auburn hair into a messy bun before replying.

“Jesminda dumped me last night,” he said. He wandered into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, taking a deep sip before continuing. “I mean, we weren’t dating for that long, but it still kind of sucks.”

“It does,” she agreed. Even if she’d hated seeing him with someone other than her, she wasn’t a monster. He was still her friend no matter how complicated her feelings were for him and she’d he there for him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She half-hoped he wouldn’t want to talk about it, but he took her up on her offer. “She said my heart wasn’t really in it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Elain asked, confused. Lucien was one of the most caring and thoughtful people she knew, and anyone lucky to have him would know that.

“I don’t know,” he said. He refused to meet her eye and took another sip of his water. “Well, she said she thought I liked someone else.”

He liked someone else? Another someone else? Elain worked hard to keep her face neutral even though she wanted to demand who this other person was. She pushed down the urge to tell him how she actually felt once again and took a deep breath. “Well, it’s her loss. You’re a catch.”

“Thanks,” he replied dryly. She got the sense that she’d said something wrong, but she wasn’t sure what she’d done. Did he think he wasn’t a catch? Or maybe he’d wanted to talk about this new mystery crush? She wasn’t sure.

“I’m serious,” she insisted, deciding to go down the path of convincing him of his worth. “You are a catch. You’re funny, you give great gifts, and you give great head. What’s not to like?”

Lucien choked on his water, launching into a coughing fit before Elain got up and ran over to pound on his back.

“Jesus, Elain,” he said between coughs. She gave him one last pat on the back before grabbing a napkin for him to wipe his face. “Give a guy some warning.”

“What? I would know,” she said, laughing. It was so easy to laugh with him and it was one of her favorite things about him. “I’m just trying to convince you of your worth. Isn’t that what friends do?”

Lucien sobered up almost immediately. “Yeah. Friends.”

“What?” Elain asked. The sudden shift in tone was jarring and he seemed to be staring right down to her soul as he studied her. “Are we… not friends?”

“Of course we are,” he said with a smile that looked forced. “I just…”

“You just what?” she asked. Her stomach was doing flips from the way he was looking at her. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. He seemed to be debating something and she waited anxiously for him to continue, her heart beating so loudly in her chest that she wondered if he could hear it. “Jesminda broke up with me because she thought I wanted to be more than friends with you.”

Elain could barely breathe in anticipation of what he might say next. “And what did you tell her?”

“That it didn’t matter, because you’d never felt that way about me,” he said.

“What?” She wanted to laugh at how wrong he was. “What do you mean I’d never felt the same way about you?”

“What?” he repeated, just as shocked as her. “You — we’ve — I mean, we’ve been friends for so long. Why would you feel that way about me?”

“Friends don’t agree to have sex if there’s absolutely nothing there,” she replied. She wanted to laugh at the bizarre turn this conversation had taken. “I wasn’t having sex with you out of the kindness of my heart, babe.”

“Don’t ‘babe’ me,” he said. “I said I’d fuck you because you were sad about Graysen, but—”

“Gee, thanks. You’re a saint,” she said sarcastically. She’d dated Graysen for a few months before he’d abruptly dumped her, and she and Lucien had gotten drunk watching movies on the couch. One thing had led to another and she’d asked him to help her forget about her shitty ex, and the rest was history.

“If you’d let me finish,” Lucien said, giving her a pointed stare, “I was going to say that I never asked you for anything more because I liked you so much I’d take whatever you were willing to give me.”

Elain stood there in silence and processed his words. He liked her? He liked her.

“Then why did you start dating Jesminda?” she asked, confused. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to watch you with her? To listen to you fuck her night after night?”

“I thought I could handle the sex, but I couldn’t.” Lucien took several steps closer to her and she backed up until she felt the island behind her. “I thought about you every second of every day, Elain. Your smile, your perfume, your laugh… it was driving me insane to have you without really having you.”

“So instead of telling me this, you decided to date someone else?”

“I thought you’d never feel that way about me. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

They stared at each other for a moment before Elain spoke. “You should’ve said something. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.”

“Well, I’m saying something now,” Lucien said. He reached down to tuck a stray wave behind her ear and she felt her heart speed up. “So what do you want to do about it?”

“I want you to kiss me,” she said. She’d barely gotten the words out before his lips were on hers, hungry and desperate, and she stood on her toes to bring them closer together. He groaned into her mouth and leaned down to wrap his arms around her waist, hoisting her up on top of the counter so he didn’t have to bend down so far.

All her brain could think was Lucien, Lucien, Lucien, especially when he was kissing her as if his life depended on it. She was on cloud nine as she kissed him back just as hard because she finally had him all to herself — she was the one he’d wanted all along, and damn if that wasn’t the best thing that had ever happened to her.

[joannasteez]

Hey lovely! Could I request a little something for Jax? It could be a headcanon or imagine, it’s up to you. But could it be about the reader is Angel and Ez’s little sister, and she’s in love with Jax?

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 {𝐇.𝐂}

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Jax Teller x Reyes!Reader

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: The emotional direction wasn’t specified so I kind of just went with what came to me, by the way, This is my very first request!!, so hope whoever sent it in enjoys ❤️

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Angst. Fluff. I also suck at simplifying things so this is another long head canon, apologies if that sort of thing bothers you all lol.

Credits to the gif maker @tragertrap

Taglist: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @elektriknachosss @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @superhoeva @witching-hour @noz4a2 @nutterbu @withmyteeth

If you’d like to be tagged for Mayans MC fics ONLY let me know!!

☠︎

It amazed Felipe at times, scared him even, at how similar you looked to your mother Marisol. The spitting image of her; a younger, but slightly taller, reincarnation. But you were your fathers child through and through. The toothless yet warm endearing smile, the sharp intuitiveness, placid nature, and just through the black center of your eyes, enough experience to cover a few lifetimes. It’s what the Reyes men feared the most, that uncanny familial trait that forces you to bury such soul crushing pain, to turn cold to things that warrant warmth. Your father has it, your brothers as well, Ezekiel more than Angel, and so do you.

You had it now, that calm, collected demeanor, as the guys brought in a bleeding Jax Teller through the entry doors of the lodge. He was barely conscious, eyes dim, limbs heavy, and blood staining all along his color drained skin and the aged leather of his kutte. If you were anyone else you’d be alarmed, startled by the amount of blood and frantic men, but you were you, having seen too many things that resembled such a scene to let even a shudder pass through you.

“Get the kit, we need you to sew him up but he’s lost a lot of blood.”, Bishop says briskly, filled with worry, and your feet move faster than your mind can comprehend, snatching the kit laying near by and pacing to the bedroom where they have Jax. His head elevated by pillows, Both Ezekiel and Angel hot on your tail waiting for you to give them directions.

There’s a poorly wrapped cloth that lays against the wound, and just as you peel it back you pressurize the wound with a gauze. “I need gloves”, you say.

Angel’s a bit taken back, the President of the Sons original charter is on the precipice of death and you’re talking about gloves. “We don’t have time for that”.

“Just get the fucking gloves Angel”, you clip. Tone harsher than it’s meant to be, but he takes no offense and moves quick for the gloves before coming back.

You’re cleaning Jax’s skin once there on, wiping away all the blood that pours from him. A needle in your hand, eyes steady. “This is gonna hurt”.

Jax is sweating, teeth clenched at the piercing sting of the needle. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Did he really just ask you that? “I guess we’ll just have to find out”, you deadpan.

“Y/N”, Ezekiel warns.

The situation isn’t funny, a man’s life is on the line but still, you want to laugh at the audacity. “What?! He’s got a bullet in his abdomen and he’s worried about if I know what I’m doing”.

There’s silence now, a heaviness that settles to suffocate the whole lodge it seems. A dread of existential proportions that looms like a phantom in the waning rusted gold of the setting sun. The stillness is calming as you work, slipping the fine needle through his paling skin with a frightening ease that forces a worried look to Ezekiel’s face, Angel’s as well. Mayhem has consumed them all, men who laugh in the face of death everyday are doubling over, overwrought with fear, and here you are, unaware of the dark silhouette that threatens to form over Jax’s body, inching over the walls, creeping slowly as they tease whispers of death through the wispy blow of the wind.

Your brothers leave after while, called out by Bishop and Chibs who are talking over possible scenarios for revenge.

“Can you stay after this......... please?” It’s barely a whisper, and it’s drawled, but you hear the need in his voice.

It compels you to say “Okay”.

When you’re finished you wipe at Jax’s skin again, fingers trembling just the slightest as your mind catches up with your body, or is it the other way around? You’re not sure, but the two have surely had a crashing reunion and now you’re exhausted at such a fast build and fall of adrenaline. You’re thinking now, at the side of the bed, of deeply buried memories because the blood reminds you, it always does. All you see is Marisol, and your vision is blurred, eyes glistening with warm tears that comfort your skin, thumb shaking as you push the wetness away. She’s so lovely in your mind, a bright silhouette framing her and she’s so beautiful, so light and gentle. The aura of her, just from a thought, it makes her presence palpable again, till you remember she isn’t really there. Because it’s just a memory. A timeless mirage of sorts that ungrounds you from reality.

You breath, looking to the clock to find that it’s been three hours already. Three hours of you looking through your memories for your mother, Marisol. It’s purposeful, must be, why the need to think of her is so strong in this moment of all moments.

It’s infuriating, that you weren’t there, you couldn’t save her, but you were here now and you saved Jax. That counts for something right? It had to.

He’s awake again, and you’re not sure how but he is. Must be the force of his will that has his eyes opening, fighting against a sleep that feels too much like forever. “You alright?”

His eyes are a near lifeless blue but still they’ve got shine to them. “I should be asking you that, you’re the one that got shot”.

“Why the tears darlin’ ?”

You’re not up for a personal deep dive, never have been really. “Don’t know what you’re talking about”.

He smiled, noticing your reserved demeanor. “They we’re probably tears for me, I saw how worried you were earlier”, he jokes sarcastically.

You roll your eyes. “Why’d you want me to stay?”

“Didn’t want to die alone, if I did”.

You shake your head, fully convinced of otherwise. “You weren’t gonna die”.

He gives a weak smile. “I know that now since we’re talking, unless this is a dream, or some purgatory shit then I’m screwed”.

You chuckle at his dazed rambling and it makes his weak smile a little stronger as it spreads. Amusement looks good on you. Pretty. “There it is”, he says. Talking about your little smile.

There’s a stretch of silence, and it’s contemplative for Jax. Flashes of the incident from moments prior running through his mind. He’d just met Galindo for the first time, shook his hand, exchanging pleasantries. They’d talked business and at the end all parties seemed happy with the results, but it made him wary. How well everything was going, something somewhere was bound to go wrong, and yeah maybe he was a bit too pessimistic in the moment but it proved him right. The Sons and The Mayans were riding back to the lodge when the Lobos attacked and he can’t remember much after that, just feeling more than alive and then a little ways from death. His father calling him and then his mother, and he almost answered. He’s glad he didn’t.

“I’m sure you know as much as I do, you see a lot of shit when you live this life. Seen more guys than I can count take a bullet, and more times than none I’ve been the one to give it to them”. He’s quiet, contemplative. On the rise of something that resembles an epiphany. “After a while they just become faceless y’know, nameless, just kill #52 on someone’s list. That’s what it felt like, I was about to be on somebody’s fucking list and that shit is scary”. He turns to you then. “And then the next thing I know I’m in here, with your pretty ass standing over me saving my life. I thought I was in heaven”.

You roll your eyes, it’s delirium from the blood loss, making him say things he doesn’t mean. “Even with a bullet wound, flattery gets you no where Teller”.

“Tell me what does”.

———————————————————

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 & 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

He’s warm under your skin, heartbeat a sweet song that pulses a quiet steady rhythm into your ears. It’s a comforting thing, soothing and mellow like the fiery cool blend of a setting summer sun.

You feel his hand, cool rings caressing the nape of your neck. “You awake baby?”

You move against him, to let him know that you are and a hand pulls gentle at your chin. “Let me see you darlin’ ”

Your body pulls up atop of his, bare chest moving along his and toward him so that you’re face to face, legs tangled together. His hands reach to caress your face, touch a gentle flame that burns to light your skin. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in the morning for weeks, the club stealing him away every moment it could, screwing around with the days you’d set aside to see each other. He grins, loving the dim set of your sleepy eyes. “Hi”.

“Hi”, you say. Tone rasped, sleepy.

There’s a glimmer in his stare, a dazzling sparkle that lives just over the grayish blue of his irises. You don’t identify it, what the warm glint means, for fear of being wrong, but somewhere inside, you know it’s love. It looks to pure to be anything else. He’s grinning again, all nostalgic like. “I was thinking just now, about that day when you patched me up. Best day of my life”.

You scoff. “You almost died”.

“But I got to meet you”.

You’re shaking your head at how lovey dovey he’s being. “Always with the flattery”.

“I’m serious, I fuckin’ love you. More than I ever thought I could”. He rolls you both over easy, his lean build on top surrounding you, fingers still caressing idly against your face and yours drawing along his tattooed back. He kisses you, patient and deep, as if to savor this moment. Staining his memory with the soft pliant flesh of your lips, the airy moan that resonates from your chest, and the lulling skim your nails give the gold of his hair. Forget the Irish and their guns, the Cartel and their H and everything that isn’t this. If he could, he’d stay with you here. Just like this. Forever.

He’s at your neck now, teasing you with tongue wet kisses and stingless nips, but something comes to mind. A wary thought that’s bugged you for a while. “When are we gonna tell my father about us. I want you to meet him”.

He looks to you, confused. “You don’t wanna tell your brothers first?”

“Ezekiel already knows. Found out the first time we met back up to see each other”. You’d thought you’d been sneaky enough that night, leaving after everyone fell asleep, but Ezekiel was always a couple steps ahead it seemed, following you out of Santo Padre a few hours to a bar where you’d met up with Jax. The conversation with him was easier than you expected, but still he was wary, and how couldn’t he be. You were his baby sister. He’d worry till his last breath. “... and I told Angel a couple of weeks ago. Couldn’t really get out of explaining how I had your rings laying around”. You couldn’t remember much of what that admission to him entailed, besides the look of disbelief he had, and then the screaming, and then eventually the forced calm of his expression when he realized that there was nothing he could do about it. It was still unbelievable to him, you weren’t that little girl anymore, no matter how much he wanted you to be.

You were grown, beyond capable of making your own decisions. But boy did it scare you having to tell Felipe.

“Whenever you want to tell him I’m ready”.

His sureness makes you smile, wide and bright, laying a kiss to his rosy lips. “I love you too Jackson”.

[macnevercries]

Goodnight (Shinsou x F!reader)

Warnings- somnophilia, non-con, penetration, loss of virginity, yandere tendencies, praise, creampie

Word count- 2360

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You were so nice to him. You smelled so good. You smiled so brightly, looked so pretty, so genuine. These things about you were what started his obsession. Watching you and keeping tabs on you became a hobby, then a need.

He found his brain constantly occupied with thoughts of you, your small habits, things you said to him, things he wished you said to him. Everything about you was perfect. You were the object of his affection, his darling.

But you didn’t know any of this, you were clueless to Shinsou’s infatuation with you. To you he was just a friend, an awfully clingy friend but in an endearing way. He had been this way since year one and you two were now close to the end of year three. You two weren’t in the same class like last year, but Shinsou made every effort to see you whenever he was free. Walking you to class, sitting next to you during lunch, walking you to the dorms and asking to hang out on the weekend.

You kind of guessed that he liked you, you had thought so for years but you didn’t say anything in case you were wrong. You weren’t against the thought of dating him, he was insanely handsome, his lavender fluffy hair framing his sharp jaw perfectly. His dark circles perfectly balanced his lazy smirk. To top that off he was kind and he always treated you with respect even if he got in your space a lot. You just assumed he was touchy, thought nothing of it.

One day when he was walking you to the dorms he kept brushing his hand against yours. You didn’t bother moving, you were tired and his presence was comforting.

“You need help studying right?” He asks, looking deep into your eyes as if it was the last time. This was an interesting thing about Shinsou. He always lingered, even when he wasn’t with you, you never felt like he left.

“Yeah I do, I’m struggling a little bit in English and History. Do you wanna study with me?” His face lit up at your offer, nodding eagerly. He started in the direction of the 3C building, excited to have you in his room. How would you act around him in private? Would you like his room? He needed to record your every action and memorize it. You stopped walking and Shinsou turned around, tiring his head to the side to convey his confusion. He wanted you in his room already, why were you slowing him down?

“Hold on, I’m sorry” you mumbled. You shuffled through your school bag looking for something. Shinsou couldn’t help but peek over your shoulder, he had never seen the inside of your bag before. His eyes darted between the contents of your bag and your newly exposed skin, your skirt drifted up your leg where you knelt on the sidewalk. You looked back up at him, an embarrassed smile gracing your face.

“I left my books at the dorms, can we study in my room instead?” You asked meekly. Shinsou’s face flushed all shades of red. He had already been in love with the thought you in his room, but him in yours? Enchanting. He smiled and nodded.

With his approval the two of you headed towards your dorm. You walked through the common room, nodding at your classmates and getting in the elevator. Your room was on the third floor, twelve meters down the hallway on the right. Shinsou engraved this path into his brain, he would have to come back. You unlocked your door, walking in and closing in behind the purple-haired boy.

He glanced around the room, taking in as much as he could before his gaze was drawn back to you, opening the balcony doors to let in the soft spring breeze. The wind fluttered your skirt and blew your hair. You looked like a goddess. Shinsou wished he could take a picture of you, he wanted to remember this moment forever.

You sat down at your desk, pulling a chair up for Shinsou to sit in. You got out your books, flipping it open and getting to work. After a few minutes you laughed and looked over to Shinsou,

“Are you ever going to come sit?” You giggled. Shinsou smiled apologetically, pulling his chair out and making sure to scoot close to you. The hours flew by, you studying and Shinsou watching.

He had his book open and he answered all of your questions, teaching you what you didn’t understand. He just couldn’t focus on his own studies, not like this. Not when you were sitting next to him, looking like that.

The clock hit 6:30 and the dinner bell rang. You closed your books, thanking Shinsou for his help. You walked him out of the building before heading back in for dinner. Thoughts of you ran through his head as he walked back to his own room, he would definitely be returning to your room later. Now that he had a taste, he wouldn’t let it go.

He had been watching the clock for hours. He ate dinner in his room and barely did any of his homework. Thoughts of you flooded his consciousness and it took everything he had not to go right back to your dorm. No he had to wait until everyone was asleep.

When the clock struck 2am he silently slipped out of his room. He wasn’t careful walking down the hall, his foot steps were never heard. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, heading down swiftly. When he got outside it was pitch black. There were no street lamps on at Heights Alliance at three in the morning. It didn’t matter to him though. Shinsou had memorized the path from his room to yours the moment you took his hand and dragged him there.

Despite how flustered he seemed at the moment he was taking everything in. The cracks in the concrete, how certain movements squeaked the door, where your room was in relativness to your classmates and of course, the feeling of your soft hand against his.

He slides the dorm door open noiselessly. Rapidly, he walks to the stairway, taking two at a time. The slow climb to the third floor went by in seconds. He had been waiting years for this moment.

He glides down the hall, eager and giddy. Stopping at your down he gets down on his knees and starts to work on the lock.

Two minutes later and he has it pop open. Slinking inside and closing the door softly behind him, he walks over to your bed. He takes a moment to look around the room again and breath in your scent. You’re his safe haven and he can’t imagine being happier than he is now.

He puts his large hands on your shoulders, lightly shaking you awake.

“Hey kitten, can you hear me?”

“Hmm? Shinsou?” you mumble, still half asleep.

Your response was enough to for him to get ahold of you. Now that you were under the power of his quirk there was no way he would let you go. At least not anytime soon.

“I want you to stay still for me okay? I’ll do everything, I’ll make you feel so good baby I promise” His words are sincere but they make you shiver with fear. This wasn’t this Shinsou you knew.

With you frozen in place for him, he turns you over so you’re facing up and pulls down the covers. He flicks on the lamp on your bedside table, taking a moment to appreciate the way you look in the soft light.

You can’t move and you’re stuck in a post-sleep daze, barely aware of what’s going on. Your soft lips are slightly parted and cheeks pink from the warmth of your bed. You look so inviting.

Shinsou leans down and places a gentle kiss on your lips, savoring the sweet taste. It was everything he imagined and more.

“My god you taste amazing, mind if I taste something else?”

He snickers at the panic in your eyes. You try to scream ‘no this isn’t how I want this to happen’ but no words leave your mouth. It doesn’t even open at your will.

He plays with the straps of your tank top, tugging and pulling them. He glides them down your arms, bring the whole shirt with it. He tosses the shirt to the side, out of view. His hands run over your chest, worshipping the skin you live in.

“You’re so gorgeous you know that? Such a pretty girl.” He breathes the words onto your skin.

His calloused fingers trace your breasts, thumbing your sensitive buds. The way they perk and pebble at his touch gets him going.

“You like that? I can do more of that” He latches his mouth onto your nipple, pinching and pulling the other one. His tongue glides across the delicate skin beneath him.

His mouth detaches with a lewd pop, switching to the other side to give you a matching mark. As he removes his face from your chest, he plants kisses across your collarbone and travels down your stomach. When his tender touches reach your lower stomach, your hips thrust forward against your will.

He chuckles darkly at your reaction.

“Patience kitten, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this. Let’s take our time, yeah?” he soothes his words into your skin. Despite his actions they calm you.

He pulls your loose shorts below your hips and down your thighs, taking a moment to trace the soft skin. He settles himself between your plush legs, facing your core.

Tracing the elastic of your panties, he licks a large stripe up your clothed cunt. A shiver runs through your entire body, hips jumping towards his face when he pulls away to watch your face.

He grins wildly “I knew you wanted me too, I knew it.”

He takes your panties off before you realize what he’s doing, burying his head in your sex. He inhaled deeply, somehow managing to creep you out more than you already are.

He eats you out like a starved man, his previously gentle touches greedy and hungry. Slurping you up, swallowing you. He latches his mouth out your clit, giving kitten licks where your body wants him most.

He slips in two slender fingers with ease. Scissoring and twisting them to open you wider. He rotates his digits, pumping them in and out, looking for your special spot. One move he makes has you clamping around him, body jolting.

A sinister smile covers his face. “Here? I can do it here” He curls them deeply into you, continuing his attack. You thrash around, your stomach tightly wound with pleasure. He sucks a little harder on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to unravel beneath him. He guides you through it, letting you down gently.

He retracts his fingers and face from your glistening cunt. He slides his fingers into your open lips, forcing them down your throat. You choke on his digits, tasting your slick on his skin.

“Yeah, you sound so pretty. I wish you could moan but if I let you go even a little bit you might manage to get out of my hold. You have always been a strong woman, it’s why I love you. But alas we can’t have you escaping from me now, we’re having so much fun and I haven’t gotten my turn yet.”

He slides his swears and boxers down his legs in one swift motion, causing his heavy cock to slap against his stomach. The tip was a deep reddish purple from waiting, pre-cum dripping from the it. It was pretty, a few prominent veins running across the bottom, average girth and impressive length.

Looking at it made your mouth water. It also made you wish you had time to develop a relationship with him on your own, made you wish it didn’t have to happen this way.

He doesn’t hesitate to run it through your folds, mixing your excitement with his. He pushes into your tight hole slowly, cherishing the way that you grip him tightly, sucking him into you.

“Oh god is this your first time? You’re so tight for me, just for me” He groans. You would nod if possible. It was your first time. The stretch was painful.

Shinsou didn’t wait long for you to adjust, after a few seconds he couldn’t take it. He wrapped your thighs around his waist and started pounding into you. The way his head kissed your cervix, the bumps and ridges hitting all the right places.

He just started and you could already feel yourself close to your second orgasm. Thankfully he was too. Going quicker, he rammed you into the mattress, moving his thumb to your clit. He rubs hard, almost too hard. You clench around him tightly, releasing with him.

He spills into you, painting your walls and fucking you through it. He groans and his voice cracks.

“Oh fuck, good girl good girl good girl good girl. Yeah you’re so fucking good for me” he rambles his words into your ear, sucking on your jaw as he slows down and pulls out. He grabs his phone and starts snapping photos, your fucked out face, his hands on your breast, the hickeys and marks trailing your body, and last but not least, his pale fingers pushing his cum back inside of you as it threatens to spill out.

Content with his job, he pulls his pants back up, and tucks you back into bed. He switches off the lamp, kissing your forehead.

“Let’s keep this a secret yeah? At least until you’re ready to accept my feelings.”

Picking your panties off of the floor and sliding them into his pocket he exits the room just as quietly as he entered. Even when his quirk deactivates, you lay there silently, the remains of his presence leaking down your thigh again. You feel so used. And yet somehow, so loved.