#everything he has ever worked for (for her) comes crumbling down because she is the one variable he hasnt factored in

[tacticaldiary]

You are so talented?? Hells bells!!! could I please request Simon Riley x Wife!Reader where Simon is “pronounced dead” for a mission and it has to seem real enough so like price shows up to your shared home and hands over dog tags? And then like months later he shows up at the house and they reunir?! Like all just very very sad and very comfort/ hurt??

please and many thanks , sugarbean

Till Death Do Us Apart

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"Love..." He finally breathes out, and she realises that she hasn't said a word in a full minute.

The single word tears a gasp out of her throat, makes her take a small step back. The rasp of his voice, the scent of him as she breathes in...

It's him.

Death itself couldn't stop him from crawling home to her.

Masterlist

Song: I, Carrion (Hozier)

It's funny how fragile the illusion of safety and content is.

Her life had seemed so unshakable, so sure and sturdy and promised. She'd fought for what she had with her husband, made a home with him, gone through years and bumps and ups and downs all because the chance of having him was better than giving up without ever having tried.

Truth be told, she'd never really liked the silence of their home when she was the only one living in it. Simon had asked her a couple times if she got lonely, whether it was too much. He'd asked her about it pretty much every time he packed up and left for a mission halfway across the world. Brows furrowed and voice lilted in concern late at night with his arms around her.

He's met with her smile and a reassurance that the silence was worth his arrival back home. Distance makes the heart go fonder, doesn't it?

And so Simon took it in stride, let the knowledge settle the creep of doubt in his heart beacuse this? Them?

It was more than he'd ever hoped for himself.

Never did he think he'd be the reason someone smiled at him like she did, not once did he consider himself one to want something so cliche as a home until she came around with her warmth and promises of unshakable devotion.

And God had he tried to shake her off. His indifference had only fuelled her determination to worm her way under the cracks of his armour. Once she'd reached inside and pulled out a part of himself he'd long thought was killed by 'Ghost', Simon had found himself letting go of his carefully crafted distance and crumbling under her hands. The best decision of his life.

It's why his breathing is ever so ragged as he watches Price console his hysterical wife from afar, a pair of bloody dog tags with his name engraved in them clutched in her shaking hand.

Simon Riley. Deceased.

If he didn't feel like his world was off kilter he might have made a joke about how it's the second time.

Simon barely manages to hold himself back from running to her, to their home, their bed. It's his instinct to protect, and right now seeing Price let her clutch onto him in grief, everything in Simon is telling him to go, to run and hold her, console her, assure her that he hasn't broken his promise of coming home to her.

It had been a vow whispered against her lips in the dead of night after she'd aired out her fear under the light of the moon. The fear of losing him. Of opening the door to Price instead of him.

Just a few months, he repeats in his head over and over again, because it's the only thing keeping his legs from moving. Just a few months and he can fix this, go back to how everything was. He feels like a jackass, making her go through this, but there was no other option.

And fuck if he hadn't tried to argue.

Death itself couldn't stop him from crawling home to her.

But his line of work could.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

Four months and it still feels like yesterday.

Nothing felt...right anymore.

She felt guilty sitting at the kitchen table where the use to eat together, the sheets on their...her. On her bed had long since lost the subtle scent of him. The living room where she'd curl up in his lap, snicker at him complaining about her choice of movie even when the bastard was just as enraptured and into it and she was.

Everything felt off.

She sets down the half eaten plate of food in the fridge and swallows down the lingering emotion.

When she'd opened the door that day, she very nearly slammed it back shut.

It seemed surreal. Her Simon, her untouchable husband gone in the line of fire. An accident, Price had phrased it as.

She missed him so much it fucking hurt.

Taking a deep breath, she grabs the shopping list she'd scrawled last week onto the fridge and tucks it in her pocket. The dog tags clink against each other around her neck, tucked into her sweater as she moves.

It had taken weeks for her to even look at them.

The doorbell cuts the search for her car keys short.

It's been a while since she's seen anybody, really. Her friends come over every now and then to keep her company, bring her homemade foods and gifts to cheer her up and it does work, but only for a few hours. She appreciates it, she really does, but the small periods of relief are only followed by the guilt of trying to forget and the pain of remembering all over again.

She'd tell them to come back later, she decides. Today was worse a day than usual and she's not in the mood-

Simon.

Simon...?

Her knuckles pale with the grip she has on the doorknob, it's all she can do to stare up at the figure that she only held in her dreams nowadays.

He's so familiar, with that hair she loved to rake her hands through, the slight downturn of his lips, the scars that scatter across his face that she loves to trace in the dark. He's looking down at her with brown eyes so tortured and serious, and...and a little anxious?

This is a cruel joke.

Here he is, bare faced in front of her just like how she'd dreamed about for all those weeks. How often had she cried at night, hoped that this was all a joke and she'd pull open the door to him one more time?

But he wasn't here, was he? No, there was no way. Her fingers touch cool metal and distantly she realises she's clutching onto the piece of himself he left behind, looped around her neck.

"Love..." He finally breathes out, and she realises that she hasn't said a word in a full minute.

The single word tears a gasp out of her throat, makes her take a small step back. The rasp of his voice, the scent of him as she breathes in...

It's him.

It's him.

Something akin to a sob tears its way out of her throat as she lunges towards him, tangles her hands in the fabric of his uniform. She only cries harder when his arms circle around her just as tightly, crushing her to his chest.

"You...you're home?" She manages to push out between stuttered intakes of breaths and sobs. "No, you're...you were-"

"I'm here." He hooks his chin over her head, sways her a little from side to side. If she hadn't been trembling she would have noticed the slight shake of his hands. "Said I'd always come back to you, didn't I?" He walks them backwards, shuts the door with his foots.

"You died!" She exclaims, choking on the words as she pulls back, not far but enough to meet his own red eyes. "You died, I thought you died-"

"Mission," He rushes out, "For a mission, yeah? Wouldn't ever leave you alone-"

"You did!" She suddenly pulls away from him barely out of his grasp and it takes everything in Simon's willpower not to pulls her back in.

Beneath the worry and the grief and the sadness, there's a hint of running anger.

"Four months, I thought you were...were dead." She wipes away her tears, still crying but angry. "And you show up now? Just like that? What the fuck, Simon I thought I was a widow!"

"I'm sorry." It's all he can say. It's pathetic and desperate and he feels frustrated and angry at everyone and himself but it's all he can say to her and he'll repeat it as many times as possible.

They stare at each other for a second, grieving and angry and crushed and hopeful...

And she falls back into him with the promise of an explanation later on, a tangle of limbs, muttered apologies and kisses.

Not because she forgives him. Not because she's willing to brush past it and move on, but because this crushing wave of relief feels better than the last four months of suffering. Because they'll always find their way back to each other.

Because she has her husband back, in one piece, and for the first time in months...

Something in her life clicks back into place.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(20/10/2023)

#ghost cod #cod mw ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost modern warfare #ghost mw2 #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #cod ghost #mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #angst #x reader #x y/n #fluff #simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #modern warfare #cod modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii

[mystery-salad]

The world is safe now.

You tell yourself that as Zhaitan clings to a tower of decay, crumbling beneath its claws as the canons aim true. The shots hit, cheers raise as the dragon topples down. Falling from view through the miasma it created below. No one can hear it hit the ground over the relieved shouts of victory ringing across the airships. But everyone feels it in a resounding rumble that shouldn't have carried through the air like that. The celebrating falters, confusion rising but not fast enough to prepare for what follows. The shockwave hits like nothing you've ever felt. Everything goes dark as the screams begin.

The world is safe now, Orr is not.

You wake up in the rubble as survivors try to make sense of what happened. The dragon is dead, but no one accounted for where all the consumed magic had to go. No one planned for this despite generations of preparation. Perhaps there's a reason for the dragons, you hear murmurs through the tents. But you didn't come this far to call it quits, and one land riddled with a decaying radiation can't stop the mission. The contamination in your blood won't stop you.

The world is safe now. Orr is gone.

Mordremoth stares you down from within his mind. You're like a weed that won't die, small and foreign but resilient and ready to take everything. The odds are against you with the team sent away, you can't face the gaze of the dead like last time. They're safe at a distance, you have to hope they got far enough as you defy the odds and strike another dragon down.

The world is safe, but there's a catch.

Trahearne shudders as your mind returns to your body, as you look around in wonder that there isn't a shockwave like last time. He's so calm as he explains the truth of it, defying how terrified he is of dying, of asking a friend to do this and stand at ground zero once again. But you stand just as calm, picking up the blade and telling him to close his eyes. You hope he'll rest well, wherever his life takes him next. As the blade cuts through, you know it's real as the shockwave begins just like last time. You brace for impact as much as you can.

The world is safe now. The desert is gone.

It's almost tempting to let Balthazar handle the rest, let the god walk a path of destruction to each dragon, sparing yourself further damage. But his path leaves so much unnecessary devastation...so here you are alone with another dragon. Well, not completely alone now. You have Aurene, though you're still not sure if that's truly a blessing any more. The two of you corner Kralkatorrik, the perfect trap laid deep underground in old sunspear ruins.

The world is safe now, until the dragon takes a last stand.

Waking up in wreckage is becoming normal to you. When did that happen, when did the panic vanish? No time to think on it as new plans have to be laid out. You chase him down, you and your dragon, to kill her grandfather and save the world again. Setbacks are numerous. It's harder to work alone on this one, so many soldiers are ready to see it to the end with you. You tell them they don't know what they're asking for and send them away again. Aurene, still a child, fights the dragon's minions nearly overwhelmed as you get to his heart and strike. You've never seen the explosion from inside before. It's so bright.

The world is safe now. The island is gone.

Is it worth it all? It has to be, you tell yourself, as people celebrate your victories in a shrinking world. Refugees who have fled the fallout zones don't seem to agree, but at least they're alive right? And you know you're almost done. Jormag and Primordus, opposites and twins, rise together and somehow feel like childsplay after the last one. Perhaps it's because aurene is an equal to them now. You don't dare to think of the devastation that would be left if she were to die now. Thankfully you don't have to as the siblings tear each other apart.

The world is safe now. The mountains are gone.

No one has seen the final dragon in ages, hidden away deep underwater until you stumble into the truth while chasing a lesser threat. Soo Won was so gentle once, but the void ravages all. It feasts on the magic you released so willingly into the world, your devastations have paved the way for this chaos.

The world is safe now, for the void to reform.

You've survived so much despite the odds, held together by the very magic degrading your bones and poisoning your blood. The void pulls at those strings as it taunts you through the voice of the dragon who started it all. It's the hardest fight you've ever faced. As Aurene pumps you full of power to survive, you wonder if your death would bring destruction too in this moment. But it's left a mystery as Soo Won falls and the void fades. There's a moment of peacefulness you've never felt before, the grandmother hanging on long enough to comfort her granddaughter. But she can't prevent the state of her death. The jade sea shatters beneath your feet as she dies.

The world is safe now. But how much of it is left?

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 fan submission #quaille #hiiiiii this is specifically about quaille's au #where each dragon's death leaves a monumental magic explosion and essentially #a radiation zone that reflects their element #orr kills and revives and degrades everything in it like a recording played too many times over #maguuma strangles itself with too much growth choking out its own light #the desert crackles with an electricity that consumes anything that holds life #the mountains rage against themselves with deadly storms that tear apart anyone who gets caught in the middle #the jade sea has shattered and flooded cantha #quaille is a mess of these aftershocks from within #was it worth the mission?

[breekento]

hello! I love your fics on Higuruma on AO3! wanted to ask if you take any requests for Prisoner!Higuruma who survives culling games and turns himself in jail, but reader regularly visits him and waits for his release ?🥹 A bit of angst but fluff at the end please 💞

thank you for being my first fic request! I probably won’t write these as long as my fics on AO3 because it would take me months lol! But these are fun writing practices for me!

(wc: 1.6k, no smut, just pain and fluff)

“How are you sleeping, doll? Are you getting everything you need?” His voice crackles through the phone.

Your fingers tremble, squeezing the phone so tightly you were surprised it didn’t crumble in your grasp. “I guess so,” you reply in a small voice.

“I don’t like the sound of that, baby.”

You knew better than to lie, he was intelligent and ever observant of every hitch or quirk in your voice. “I just miss you, Hiro,” you say shakily.

He sighs deeply on the other line. “I miss you, too, doll. More than you can ever know. You’re still coming to see me tomorrow, right? I need to see that beautiful face.”

“Of, course.” How could you forget? It has become your weekly routine. Every week, the night before your visits with Hiromi, tossing hangers draped in clothes over your head in search of the perfect outfit. Open toed, too short, mesh, crop top. At some point you would need to go shopping for appropriate clothes to visit your boyfriend in prison but for whatever reason, it felt as if you were accepting defeat.

You knew very little of Hiromi’s mysterious work-life and he liked to keep it that way. The world of sorcery was foreign to you and your knowledge was shallow. Hence, the ringing in your ears, the numb feeling on your fingertips as your brain struggled to connect the dots on that day.

“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this to me, Hiro,” your voice was raspy, tears flowing down your face as you followed him out of the door.

“I can’t tell you,” he says, cold and distant as if he were desperately trying to disconnect from the harsh world around him.

“Look,” his voice is softer. His hands cup your face, lip distorted and eyebrows twisted upward in agony. “I’ve done bad, bad things. I can’t live with myself like this. You don’t want me here.”

“B-but how do you know? You don’t know,” you fumble over your words.

“I’ll be gone for a while, doll,” his forehead pressed against yours. At that moment, it felt doable. How long? Why? What have you done? You never asked, worried that you wouldn’t accept the answer.

Years had passed and it was doable. Not short of late nights, curled under the covers, fingers searching for the smell of his cologne and hair gel. Elbow stretched as far as you could reach, hand fumbling for the zipper on the back of your dress. Shit, if Hiromi was just here. Small tasks felt big.

Sitting behind your desk, mindlessly searching through your emails as a thinly faced coworker pops her head over the cubicle. “Are you going to the office pot-luck tonight?” She beams.

“Oh,” you jump in your seat. “I have plans.”

She frowns, resting her head on the half-wall. “You never do anything.”

You shrug, looking toward your computer screen. Explaining that you’re visiting your prison boyfriend was not something you cared to delve into with a superficial level of coworker.

The clock strikes 5:00pm and you are your own version of Cinderella, tossing your purse over your shoulder and striding towards the door. Only in this story, you weren’t running away from the probability of your carriage turning into a pumpkin. You were running toward your murderer of a boyfriend, clinging to that 30 minutes of quality time.

It couldn’t have been Hiromi. Not your Hiromi. The Hiromi who stayed awake late at night, holding your body close as it ached on your monthly. The Hiromi with tender fingers that grazed your skin covered in bubbles as you leaned against his skin as warm water poured over the two of you. The Hiromi who replaced the fresh flowers on your dining table every week, knowing you loved the scent. He couldn’t have been a killer. Surely it was for a reason. Was there such a reason?

“I’m here for Hiromi Higuruma,” you say through the window.

The guard’s eyes flicker to yours. Nodding before lifting the phone to her ear. Taking your cue, you sit in the waiting chair. Your legs bounce in anxiety, it never got easier.

The door swings open, a large guard standing in the doorway. Gathering your things, you walk toward the room. The room you knew too well. The tension in the air dissipates as the tall, dark-haired man stands before you. Even in this state, he was strikingly handsome. His hair, slicked back with strands falling forward onto his brow. His lips curl into a smile, eyes twinkling at the sight of you. His orange jump-suit hangs off of his body, wrists clasped together by handcuffs.

“There she is. My beautiful girl,” he purrs as you join him at the large table. It was just the two of you, and the guards that lined the perimeter. How romantic.

In his usual gentleman fashion, he waits for you to find your seat before sitting down himself. You adjust in your seat, face heating up as you scan his face.

“I missed you,” you say bashfully under his intense gaze.

“God. You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

You lean against the table, propping your head on your hands, “When are you ever going to get out of this place?”

“Funny you should say that,” he says with a grin. Your eyes widen, lifting yourself off of the table. “I have a date.”

Your mouth dries. “A-a date?”

“Doll, I’ve been here for 6 years. In a few months, they’re letting me out early for good behavior. Well, parole,” he says with a grin.

You stand from your seat, jaw slack and eyes rapid fire scanning his expression for any sign of a joke. “Y-you’re coming home?”

His eyes soften, looking up at you with those gorgeous sleepy eyes. “I’m going home, baby.”

Every muscle in your body wanted to lunge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and tackling him to the ground. You haven’t even touched the man in years. You opt for covering your mouth with your hand.

“Keep holding on for just a few more months, doll. I’ll be home before you know it,” his eyes are kind.

“15 minutes,” the voice from the guard echoes throughout the empty room.

“My life here is boring. Tell me about yours. How’s work? How’s the house?”

He had truly set you up for success. You stayed in his home, completely paid for and taken care of by him. You didn’t have to work but you feared insanity spending your days alone in his large house. Brushing your teeth and watching his, dry and unused black toothbrush beside yours. His loafers that sit in the doorway, unworn and clean.

“Work is boring. They had a potluck tonight. My boss somehow thinks I’m the biggest idiot in the world while also piling more on my workload,” you say. It felt silly to complain about your mundane work tasks while he lived here. But he hung on your every word, soaking in the way your lips curled and eyes creased.

“Oh and I spent hours getting rid of weeds last weekend. The second you’re out of this place, that’s your job,” you say with narrow eyes.

He chuckles, leaning forward in his seat, “It will be my pleasure, baby.”

“It’s time,” the guard says. Each week, shattering your heart little by little. You stand, unable to stop the tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t cry, darling. Not much longer. Just stay strong for a little longer,” his voice pleads.

You nod, using balled up fists to wipe your face. You watch him stand, towering over you as the guards guide him back to the mysterious place he now lived. He turns his face to catch your eyes, face sad as he watches the human form of his heart shatter before his eyes.

The door shuts and once again you are left alone. Only a few more months. Those words propelled you, every action you performed had a meaning suddenly. When you couldn’t reach something on the top shelf, when you couldn’t lift the garbage bag over your head, when you ran out of toilet paper you thought soon he will be here.

And soon came quick enough. You stood in front of your full length mirror, adjusting your sundress that fell over your curves. Your hair was fluffy and soft, draped over your shoulders. He knew what you looked like but you needed his first sight of you to be special, breathtaking.

With shaky hands and clammy feet, you stand outside the prison. If you weren’t leaning your body weight against the car door, you probably would have fallen over. You tap your foot anxiously, any minute now.

The door creaks open, a tall, lanky man dressed in black jeans and soft white shirt, the outfit he had left on that day. Before you could tell your feet to quit, you were running, no, sprinting towards the man.

He matches your speed, arms wrapping around your body as he lifts you from the ground. You bury your face in his neck, giggling through tears that coat his white t-shirt. His muffled laughs find your ears as he spins you, holding your body tightly. It had been years since you felt his hands on your back, his breath in your ear.

“I love you, I love you,” he chants against your face. He set you down, pressing both of his hands on each side of your face. “Let me get a good up-close look at my beautiful girl.”

Your cheeks blushed red under his gaze, “Let’s go home.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #jjk fanfic #higuruma hiromi #jjk x you #higuruma x reader #higuruma hiromi x reader #hiromi x reader #hiromi jjk

[mvltisstuff]

hi!! omg so would you ever mind doing a one-shot where buck is like capital W Wasted and is flirting with reader (but reader has always had a crush on him) so when he complements them they’re all like “buck, you’re being mean.” and he’s all offended and confesses everything but the reader isn’t too sure how real it is?

you can 100% control the ending, your vision is so *chefs kiss*

THANK YOU SO SO MUCH !

i wish you were sober - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

gif

a/n: i’m so sorry this is like weeks late, but i hope it’s enjoyed regardless. 🫶

as if she were a high school freshman seeing the QB of varsity football that she never, ever had a chance with, y/n’s heart would dangerously speed up whenever buck walked into the room. let alone when he did anything. if he brushed past her, or if he placed a hand on her shoulder, it left y/n begging to not be left crumbling on the floor. she could tell buck knew, too, but both their egos stood in the way. y/n was just too embarrassed to let the words come out of his mouth, and buck figured he would ruin anything between them. so, he left it where it was. he didn’t touch her or try to turn a new light on.

he did, however, know how to drink, and he knew it all too well.

he’s not an alcoholic, but he knows how to have a good time with the right amount of shots and continuously ordering more drinks for everyone. everyone watched his intake get bigger and more, but they didn’t both to stop him. if buck wants to have a good time and let loose by drinking, they just have to let him or even join him.

usually, y/n has no problem ordering her cocktail and sitting at the bar with her coworkers. but recently, it’s all be off like a glitch in the system. nothing has been the same since she noticed the pounding in her chest and the screaming in her mind whenever buck walked into the room. seriously, it was becoming a problem. she needed to cool it down, and she was scared of what might happen if she let her courage be defined by liquor.

“can someone tell y/n to drink, please? i can’t stand to see her wallowing in the corner.” chimney asks, dipping his chip into the salsa before shoving it into his mouth.

“don’t act like you wouldn’t be prying the glass out of my hands. besides, i barely got the drinking memo, i just wanted to go home!”

“what’s got you all moody?” eddie teases.

“i’m not moody,” y/n grumbles, taking a sip of the drink she surely doesn’t want, but the tipsy buck had ordered it for her. eddie turns around, shaking his head and getting up to grab another beer from the counter. “where is buck, anyway?”

“he kinda ran off somewhere, we think he’s trying to get his friend who works here a discount because he knows him.” chimney tells y/n, nodding off to whichever direction buck might have went in.

y/n’s always happier when bucks around, whether she wants to admit it or not. he’s like a bug, clinging to you but in the best was possible, a way that makes you want him to never go away. the buzz in your ear is never obnoxious, and he somehow manages to make you feel so much lighter in the world.

but, tonight, y/n’s not sure if she wants him around. she doesn’t want to watch his relentless charm go over everyone in the bar, knowing that he’ll never want her the same way. it’s getting exhausting, watching girls hang off of him knowing that buck will never be y/n’s.

still, buck manages to find his firefly, his closest friend (he won’t admit that it’s more).

he swoops into her conversation and tries to bring his usual brightness back, but she just seems frustrated with him. the air between them feels tense and as if y/n fears him, or resents him. she can’t let herself go around him anymore.

“y/nnnn!” buck drags out, leaning on his hand which rests on the shiny bar.

“what, buck?” she turns her head, only the corner of her mouth lifting up to play along with his antics.

“come on, i think i deserve a whole smile, huh? we both know how pretty it is.”

“what?” she stumbles over her words, unable to figure out why he’s suddenly doing this.

“i love making you laugh, y/n, because i just get to see your cute face light up.”

“buck, what are you talking about-“ y/n laughs, but she’s silently letting her heart crack more at every word he says. she can’t handle him saying this and then leaving it to be false reality. he keeps going. he doesn’t stop. the compliments are consistent, and normally they’d be appreciated.

tonight is different.

tonight, y/n doesn’t feel like listening to buck make up fake things to say about her. she doesn’t feel like listening to things that he’ll forget about in the morning. things that mean the world to her, but nothing to him.

she finds herself sneakily lurking outside the bar, her coat on and the light wind biting at her nose. LA doesn’t normally get too cold, but the chilliness in the air is making her rub her hands together anxiously for warmth. she dials through her phone, searching for her uber app in any way to get home.

“you think you’re sneaky? why you leaving?” buck hiccups, his thick soles crunching the pebbles beneath his feet.

“i’m going home, buck. i’m not playing this game tonight.”

“what game? we can play games, we can play pool!”

“you barely have enough coordination to stand here, i doubt you can play pool.”

“alright, well, goodnight to you, too. what did they put in your drink?”

“have you ever thought that you’re the problem?”

“oh, way too often, pretty girl,”

“stop,” she whispers.

“why?”

“don’t say that. that’s just mean, buck.”

“what’s mean? the fact that i love you or the fact that we’re standing out here in the cold when we could be having fun inside?”

“buck, enough.”

“i’ll say it again, i love you! i don’t know who else has to hear it for you to listen to me!”

“stop saying that! you’re the one playing a fucking game with me. you’re saying all this to flatter me and then tomorrow, you’re gonna wake up as if nothing happened. you’re gonna remember the shots you took, not the words you threw at me.”

his drunken eyes start to fall, looking deadly as he stares y/n in the eye. “but what if i mean it?” he says, his voice having a tinge of sadness to it.

“i don’t believe you.”

“you should.”

“well, that doesn’t fix everything, buck. if you really love me, tell me when you’re sober.”

she turns on her heel with her freezing hands in her pockets, and the image of her genuinely angelic face fades out of sight. the only thing that buck is left with is the sounds of car tires crunch against the cold concrete and a decision to make.

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #athena grant #henrietta wilson #evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckley x reader #maddie buckley #may grant #chimney 911 #911 chimney #evan buckley fluff #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley one shot #evan buckley fanfiction #evan buckley 911 #evan buck buckley #evan buckley fic #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x female reader

[southpawbitch]

One More Night | Jake Seresin x Reader

(18+, minors dni)

word count: 3.1k

summary: a surprise wedding forces you and jake to pretend like everything is fine

warnings: drinking (that's mostly it), mention of parental death, aruguing, this is...sad

A/N: my first one shot!!! how?? idk. I have so many of these sitting in my google drive, so I'm going to start making my way thru them. pls let me know what you think :) x MJ

You have your whole speech planned out, running over it in your head again and again as you wait at the bar of your favorite spot for after work drinks with Nat, the best friend and coworker you could’ve ever asked for when you were first stationed here a while back. So much has changed since then–you, mainly. You were so young when you arrived here, and so full of optimism. You knew what you wanted out of life, and you were determined to get it. Meeting Jake was the cream cheese icing on top of it all–your favorite. Despite his hard exterior and asshole tendencies, he warmed up to you immediately. The teasing nicknames and playful jabs turned into inside jokes and private chats away from the rest of the group, which turned into something you had only ever dreamed of. You’re not sure which one of you fell in love first, but you’re certain you fell harder. Five years later, and it’s hard to even recognize who the two of you are anymore. Somewhere along the way you must have turned into someone new. 

You pick up the glass sitting in front of the seat you’ve saved for her, downing it as fast as you possibly can. You’ve been waiting for longer than usual, and you’re anxious as hell to tell her the news. Your palms are so sweaty that you had to ask the bartender for extra napkins just to keep them dry enough for the glass to not slip out of your hands. You tap the screen of your phone that lays face up. It’s fifteen minutes past when she said she’d be here. You have a plethora of notifications. You haven’t opened your work friends group chat since Monday. In fact, you’ve barely done anything outside of work until today. You go to base in the mornings and get all your tasks for the day completed before you drive back to your empty house, drink half a bottle of wine, and fall asleep on the sofa. Your neck should ache from the awkward position you find yourself in every morning, but you’re too numb to feel anything–even the buzz from the two cocktails you’ve had in the past twenty minutes. 

 A tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts. You turn slowly, preparing yourself for the conversation you know you’re about to have with her, but instead of coming face to face with just one person, you’re met with two. Nat and Javy are grinning from ear to ear, bouncing on their feet and clinging to each other.

“We’re engaged!” She squeals, throwing her left hand out towards you. You clumsily grab onto her hand, staring at the rock on her ring finger as your mind spins. You’re happy for her, completely and utterly happy for her, but your life as you knew it just last week is now crumbling down around you. Tears prick at your eyes, and you attempt to hide the sadness in your voice. 

“It’s beautiful, oh my god, guys!” You push off the stool and wrap your arms around Nat’s neck. “I’m so happy for you.” You pull away with your best fake smile and teary eyes. She’s having the same reaction now. You’ve never seen her happier, which takes some of the weight off your shoulders. She’s too happy to notice the two empty glasses sitting on the counter next to you or your bleeding nail beds from days of anxious picking. She can’t tell that your hair pulled back into a claw clip is greasy because you haven’t had the energy to wash it for the past few days, or that the small locket you used to wear around your neck isn’t there anymore. 

“Do you want to get a table or–”

“We can’t wait!” Nat blurts out, looking up at Javy with a grin that’s practically stretching across her whole face. “We’re flying to Vegas tonight, and Jake is already in the car. Let’s go!” She leans over and grabs your wrist, pulling you towards the doors before you can even react. Jake’s dark gray Jeep is sitting right outside the building. Nat lets go of your hand to slide in the back seat with Javy, leaving you to take your spot up front. You take a breath and open the door, avoiding eye contact as you settle into the seat and buckle up. The last time you were in his car was last Friday after a particularly wonderful dinner. You felt great after having a few glasses of wine, just tipsy enough to be talking nonstop on the way home.

“I saw that blue house on Laurel is for sale. Maybe we could go to the open house on Sunday.” You suggest, smiling softly as you turn your head to face Jake as he’s driving. Your head is leaned up against the headrest lazily. He keeps his gaze on the road ahead. It’s dark, so you can’t see much except the outline of his features. 

“All the way out in Escondido?” He questions, furrowing his brow as if he doesn’t remember the beautiful home out in the suburbs that reminds you of your childhood home on Cape Cod. You couldn’t believe your eyes when you stumbled across the gorgeous house with East Coast architecture last year. You decided then that it had to be yours. The pictures on Zillow of the interior are incredible, too. Four bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, and the most luscious, tree-filled yard that you’ve ever seen in Southern California. It’s perfect.

“Yeah, you know the one that looks like the beach house.” You remind him. Jake’s been to your parents’ place a few times, but you don’t get out there often. You’ve only been to his parents’ ranch in Texas one singular time in the five years you’ve been dating. Everyone’s just so busy with their own things. His sisters have kids and his parents go on more vacations in a year than you’ve been on in your entire life. Everyone’s happy, it seems, and the two of you are satisfied with your life out here. 

“We can’t buy a house, babe.” He looks over and sees your small pout. It’s cute, but he’s firm in his thoughts on the topic. “Because, okay, what…we buy a house, and then we get married, and have kids and turn into those people we never wanted to be.” His words cut a little too deep. When you first got together, sure, you thought that way. You hated what everyone turned into once they got married and had kids and other commitments. You two never wanted to be boring. You’re the couple that’s closing down the bar every Saturday night and pregaming work parties–not the kind of couple that doesn’t want to get out once they’re already at home. In fact, you’re barely at your condo as it is. 

But somewhere along the way you changed your mind, and you thought that maybe he’d had done the same.

“We don’t have to turn into those people, but we’re not getting any younger, Jake, and my biological clock is unfortunately ticking.” You sigh, turning your head to look out the window instead of at him. “I know I’ve never really cared about having kids, but I don’t know…I think I want them with you.”

Jake’s silence is more than enough to tell you that he doesn’t feel the same–that he hasn’t changed his mind at all. A tear falls down your cheek as the drive back to your shared condo continues. The realization that you want different things hits you hard. You and Jake have never been ones to fight. There won’t be any screaming or arguing or blaming. It almost makes it worse–that there’s nothing worth fighting for. That maybe you aren’t worth fighting for.

You cry the whole way home and he knows. He knows it’s over. He also knows he’s not going to change his mind, and he doesn’t expect you to, either. He feels a little blindsighted by your confession, but he knows he should’ve seen it coming. You’re always on Zillow, looking at houses that have been put up for sale in the area, and every time you’re out shopping, you’ll point out how tiny and cute the baby clothes are. You’ve been changing slowly but surely over the past year since your father passed away, but Jake’s own family issues are what made up his mind about marriage and kids many years ago–before he even met you. Before he fell in love with you. Before he would’ve done anything and everything to make you happy, but he knows he can’t do this. It’s just not a promise he can make. 

Two hours later, you’re standing next to Jake in a short, black dress, holding a small bouquet of tulips from the flower shop next door. He’s wearing black pants and a white shirt. His hands are tucked in his pockets as the two of you stand off to the side while Nat and Javy exchange vows. They’re both teary-eyed and giggly and you remember being that happy with Jake not that long ago.

When you first met them, they would hardly speak to each other, but over time, much like you and Jake, they became one. Nat never thought she’d ever get into anything serious, especially with a coworker, but Javy rocked her world for the better. The two of them claim they have you and Jake to thank for the night that everything changed for them. The two of you threw a Halloween party for all your friends the first year you two lived together, and you may or may not have locked them outside to “make up” after a stupid argument over the game of beer pong that was being played. Maybe it was the full moon or the tight outfit that Nat was wearing, but Javy confessed that he had feelings for her, and well, the rest is history. 

They’re holding hands and staring at each other with complete and utter adoration–they haven’t looked over at you or Jake once the entire time. They’re so in love. It makes you wonder how long it’s been since Jake has felt that way towards you. The way he stands next to you now is cold, as if you’re two strangers who don’t know a thing about each other, despite having lived together up until a week ago.

When Javy and Nat kiss, you feel a genuine smile spread across your face, clapping along with the officiant, and Jake, as they pull away and make their way over to you. The chapel photographer is snapping pics like crazy and before you know it, Nat is forcing you and Jake to embrace each other for a picture. His arm snakes around your waist, resting on the top of your thigh and pulling you close. You lean in, take a deep breath, smile, and just as quickly as his arm was around you, it’s gone.

“How are you doing?” He asks casually as the two of you stand at the bar together on a joint mission to order drinks and shots while Nat and Javy grope each other in the booth. He knows you could be doing better. When he walked in the house for the first time in almost a week, it felt different. Stained wine glasses and empty bottles were sitting on the coffee table, and the fuzzy blanket you only get out of storage for the holidays was thrown across the couch haphazardly. While you were changing into your dress, he opened the fridge to find it empty. His favorite beers were really the only thing in there. 

He walked into the bedroom and stared at the half-made bed curiously. It looked the exact same as it did when he was in here packing a bag of things to take to the hotel last Saturday–almost like you haven’t been sleeping in it. You stepped out of the closet in his favorite dress of yours. The one you wore for your most recent anniversary dinner. You walked past him without saying a word, and he followed you back out to the car. Your friends didn’t suspect a thing. 

“We don’t have to do this.” You say, turning your attention towards him. He looks more tired than you originally thought when you saw him earlier. The bags under his eyes tell you he hasn’t been sleeping well. You haven’t been, either. “Not right now, at least.” You say softly, turning to look at your friends over in the corner. Jake follows your gaze and lets out a sigh, not that you can hear it in this rowdy bar. “You take those, I’ll wait for the shots.” You instruct, pushing the drinks over to him. He doesn’t want to argue, so he nods his head and takes them back to the table while you wait.

“We have something to tell you guys.” Javy says nervously after all the alcohol has been consumed and you’re uncomfortably leaning on Jake in an attempt to act like you’re still together. His arm is practically stuck around your shoulder–unmoving. It’s natural for the two of you to fall back into your old habits because it’s only been a week and no one even knows about the break up, but you feel uncomfortable pretending that you’re happy. You feel Jake shift his body and nod his head, urging his friend to keep going. “We’re moving to Virginia Beach.” 

Jake furrows his eyebrows. Javy has been dead set on retiring in Southern California for years. Him and Nat even joked about opening up a surf shop when they’re a little older. 

“I know I always said I’d die in San Diego with you, J.” He smiles down at his wife as she’s looking up to him lovingly. “But Natasha wants to be close to her parents in D.C., and we can’t both get what we want.” He doesn’t sound bitter in the slightest as he speaks. He sounds happy. “We just wanted to let you guys know before we turn in our transfer papers.”

“We’re so glad the two of you came. It’s been such a crazy night, and we don’t want to end on a downer, so…” Nat perks up, standing up from her seat and pulling you out onto the dance floor where a large group of people are dancing. You laugh and smile, hiding the fact that Javy’s words are still burned into your brain. He’s right. You and Jake both can’t get what you want, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the true testament of love–sacrifice. You feel a little lighter as you dance with your best friend, enjoying your time together while you still have it, and when it’s time to part ways in the hotel hallway, you pull Jake into yours quickly, letting the door slam behind you. 

Your lips connect and it feels like the first time all over again. You’re all over each other like it’s been months–like that one time you were sent to Italy for eight weeks, and Jake couldn’t find the time to visit. These past seven days since your breakup has been the longest you’ve spent apart other than those eight weeks. Jake fumbles with his fingers trying to unzip your dress while keeping his lips attached to yours. You can feel the fire and the passion better than you have in months. 

You don’t want this moment to end, but you want to get everything off your chest that you’ve been thinking of since you left the bar. It’s going to eat at you until you do, so you break away from Jake, breathing heavily as you look up to him. You can feel his hard length pressed against your leg, pinning you to the wall. He looks down at you and cocks an eyebrow, wondering if you’re now regretting what the two of you are doing. 

“I don’t want this to be it–I don’t want to lose you. Javy was right, Jake. We can’t both get our way, so if you don’t want the house and the kids, that’s fine. As long as you still want me.” Your voice is hopeful, and you’re surprisingly confident in the proposition you’re suggesting. You want Jake. The guy you’ve loved for five years, and the only person you ever want to love like this at all. You’re more than willing to give everything else up for a life with him. 

“Oh.” Jake moves his hand from your hip to your cheek and shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that, baby.” He says sadly. “I’d never forgive myself if I took that away from you. You deserve to have all of the things you want, and I just can’t give those to you.” Your heart breaks all over again. His soul-crushing words move through you slowly and powerfully. You’re back in the passenger seat of his car, crying on the way home from dinner. He’d rather not be with you at all. Tears prick at your eyes, but you will them to stay put. 

“I just want you, Jake. You’re all I want.” 

“No, I’m not.” He takes a step back and rubs his temple with his fingers. He’s trying to hold it together, he is. You’re just making it so hard. “You want the house and the kids and the marriage. You won’t be happy with me.” He’s trying to reason with you. He loves you tremendously. He has never been happier, but he knows what it’s like to grow up with parents who didn’t care whether or not they had kids. Parents who barely call, even when it’s his birthday. Parents who go on vacations instead of spending the holidays with the family they created. He worries that if you stay together and have a kid, he’s going to be that kind of parent. Distant and cold. As much as he loves you, he fears for being a failure as a spouse and a parent like it’s something that’s ingrained into his DNA. It’ll be better for everyone if he ends things now. 

You don’t respond. You’re too hurt. You feel like screaming and crying and pitching an absolute fit, but you know Jake won’t respond well to that. It’ll push him further away than he already is. You’ve already lost him. The two of you stand in silence for a minute before he takes a step back, tucking part of his shirt back into his pants.

“I think I’m going to get a separate room.” And then he opens the door and leaves, letting it slam shut behind him. You slide down the wall and cry all night, thinking about how the happiest day for your best friends is always going to remind you of your worst. 

#jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #Jake seresin imagine

[nescaveckwriter]

Invisible Wall🩷

Line: Broken Vows 😱 will be in bold

A/N: YAY! Yet another one done for @jacklesversebingo 🐞 so excited for this one, and its a little bit of 'Beau Arlen' 🤩.. hope y'all like it.

Warnings: Some language, also slight smut😱 that's all so far I know.!

Characters: Beau Arlen x Reader

Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva.

Words:1209

"Hell no! I can't do this anymore, I can't go on pretending everything is fine, when it's not" she thought to herself glancing at the man, whom she shares a bed with! Inspecting his face as he sleeps, his brown hair, draped over his forehead, his eyes closed, his lips relaxed as he probably dreams, about something other than you.

Your not really sure when the relationship started to shift, but it's been a while now. The two of you share a bed, but it's like there's this invisible wall, between your bodies, as neither one of you hold eachother anymore.

A half smile forming on your lips as you recall the love you two shared, the way you could not keep your hands of eachother, the way your bodies were entwined till the early morning hours, tired the whole day at work as the two of you would lay all tangled up, talking for hours, about your dreams, and building a future together, but now it feels like that passion, that love, is crumbling. And now your realising all you have left is broken vows.

To have and to hold forever and always seems so unreachable, so far fetched, so painstakingly far from the truth. You hardly ever talk to eachother, the last time you tasted his lips? Can't even recall, he just waves goodbye as he goes too work, and you, are left, wondering how it all came too this.

If only you can feel his arms around you, once more, if only he can push you up against a wall, and claim you like he used too. Feeling him shift on the bed, as the alarm goes off, you get up, quickly, trying to remove the tears staining your face, you stride to the bathroom.

His deep voice laced with an Southern Accent, let's you turn around. "You alright"

You wanted too scream and say NO! But you opt out for a simple "yes"

Closing the door in his face hearing his frustrated sigh, is enough too open the flood gate burning behind your eyes.

Listening too her cry, she tries too hide it, but he heard her, laying next too him, of course he kept his eyes closed, acting like he was asleep, but all he wanted too do, is pull her closer too his chest, place loving kisses on her lips, but he knows the dynamics of their marriage has been off for awhile. Knowing it's his fault mostly, the case his been working on has kept him occupied, not really having the energy to come home, and make her feel loved like his supposed too, in full honesty he misses her, but he always had this bad habit of withdrawing if a case has gotten to much for him, not wanting to share the brutal stuff his seen, or the fact he almost got shot, if she should find that out, she'll never be able to find rest, she worries so much about him already.

Walking out of the bathroom, not a trace of the tears that just stained your face, you see him sitting there, "Beau, are you okay?"

His green eyes pierces through yours, "No, no I'm not okay, we aren't okay"

Shocked by his response, you just stood there, searching for the right words too find

He gets up, walking towards you, his voice heavy "Baby, I... I'm so sorry, I know I haven't been the best husband, hell I haven't even been a good man"

The only words you get out is "why"

His jaw clenched, running his hand over his distressed face "because, something happened at work, and..."

Your eyes widen, your voice brittle, "what? What happened?" Thinking the worst, did something dangerous happen is he cheating on you, what can it be!

He plunges down on the end of the bed, "I almost got my head blown off" seeing the fear on her beautiful face, as she's about to open her mouth to say something, he silences her "the important thing is the bullet missed me by a couple of inches, and the only thing I could think off, wasn't that I could die, it was that I will never be able too hold you again" clearing his throat, to swallow the emotion away "I know it doesn't make sense, pushing you away, when all really want to do is pull you close and never let you go, but this... This fear I feel of losing you, its clouding my judgement, its making it hard to focus on the job, I'm the sheriff, I'm the one who should be willing to first in the line of fire, but the idea of not..." He can't even form the words anymore.

You just fall down to your knees in front of him .

Analysing his face, every freckle, every line, the way his beard hugs his perfect jaw line, the dampness in his forest green eyes, his lips as he starts to speak, his voice laced with emotion "the idea of not being around, to see the two of us grow old together, it scares me to death baby" looking down to the ground, to hide the fear in his eyes

Placing your small hand underneath his chin, lifting it to where you can look him straight in the eyes, You begun to speak,your voice shaky, "Beau, darling, why didn't you tell me about this, I'm your wife, I'm here to support you through anything even if it scares me."

He thumbs away your tears, his voice low "Baby, I don't want you too think I'm weak, it's just..."

You gasp, "What! I'll never think that, you know I think the world of you, your the bravest person I know, and I love you"

Your lower lip trembling, "I just wish you told me sooner, I... I thought you," your voice only a mere whisper, "you didn't love me anymore, that you've found someone else"

Flinching at the words you just said he looks at you, "Baby, I would never, not love love you, you are my everything, honey if anything I love you more than life itself"

Sobbing frantically now, you glance at your husband , knowing he still loves you a smile tugs at your lips.

He plunges down to his knees, cupping your face he places a kiss, on your lips, without any warning his kisses becomes hungrier, his fingers playing with your hair as his tongue dances with yours in a fiery passion.

His hands roaming over your body, removing every piece of fabric, so that he can ravish you, making you feel his love as he places kisses on every little inch of your bare skin.

He lifts you up, letting you down, on the bed, you spend the rest of the morning entangled in eachother's arms, the invisible wall, crumbling and coming to a fall, as your husband, shows you exactly what you mean too him, as the two of you lay there, out of breathe, and with hearts full of love, realizing, what happened this morning, doesn't automatically fix all the problems, the two of you face, but at least now you'll face it together, as husband and wife, Mr and Mrs Arlen.

#spotify #jacklesversebingo23 #jared padalecki #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #jensen ackles x reader #sam and dean #benny lafitte #castiel spn #dean winchester imagine #invisible wall #dnesca

[dulcewrites]

Fool Me Once (part 6)

Pairing(s): Aemond Targaryen x reader (kind of lol), Aegon ii x reader, Rhaenyra x Alicent if you squint

Summary: You unlock new information as you descend for Dragonstone

A/N: sooo we are getting into the fun part (imo).. the character study and canon divergence! Just fair warning that this story is not going to go exactly like f&b or like the show. There will be elements taken from both. Can go ahead and let y’all know this will not be about who sits in the end, but more the chaos to get there. This also means different povs which is exciting. This chapter is sort of prepping everything for the next phase 😎

Fmo masterlist

“This seems like a convoluted plan, just for end goal for Aegon to be King,” Helaena sits in the middle of you chambers watching you pack.

“It is not about Aegon being king,” you reply, inspecting one your dresses. You scrunch you nose up and put it back in the closet. Perhaps it is best to stay away from green during your stay.

It may not be the story you told the Hand when he gave you the go ahead to leave. He thinks this whole plot is to lure Rhaenyra into a false sense of hope. Have her taste the thing she has wanted for so long before she fails miserably. This goes far beyond Aegon at this point. Him being king would just be a unexpected change. The rightful choice in the eyes of some. The crumbling of the realm in others.

“Upsetting the succession now could lead to upheaval,” Helaena does not seem to believe you.

“Do you really think I care about Rhaenyra’s reign when my kids are involved?”

It comes out more snappy than you intended. Helaena’s shoulders drop a bit. You know Helaena is just as protective over her kids as you are of yours. If there was a chance to strike the people who hurt them, she’d take the same shot. But, you know she is worried about what Aegon being king means for her family. You sigh and run your hand over your face. Putting down the clothes, you walk and sit next to her.

“We have given ourselves enough for this family and for the realm,” you whisper. “I am done with that.”

It sounds bratty, and selfish. You have given up so much, so has Helaena and Alicent, and yet you all are still expected to take things with a smile. Pretty, accommodating, and benevolent that you have the Targaryen name. Or in your case, that you can marry someone with that last name and everything that comes with it.

If you take the swing and miss, so be it. Sitting idle while those walk all over you has done nothing but put you and your children’s safety in danger. Your natural softness taken for weakness.

“And… Queen Helaena does not have bad ring to it,” you nudge her playfully, and she snorts in reply.

“Maybe Aemond will be king, and you’ll be queen,” it’s said in a teasing tone but then she grows a bit serious. “Aegon would probably give it up… if he got something in return.”

An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. Neither of them are ready to rule, but then again who is. Aegon would make a charismatic, even forbearing king; he has a disarming way about him that would work in his favor. Though, his inability to check his emotions would get in the way. He goes by the sound of his heart, and whims of his desires. Aemond, your painfully pragmatic husband, would rule dogmatically. But his inability to emote or to be empathetic would make him volatile… maybe even cruel.

Then you have Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight. Even from when you were young, all you ever heard was how lovely she is. Never how smart or capable she is to rule; it always went back to her beauty and her fiery nature. You still do not know if that was her unfortunate lot in life because of her gender or rather no one can praise her readiness, because she simply is not. And her case is not helped in your eyes with someone like Daemon in her corner.

One thing they do share is an incompetent father, so any hopes for learning how it is done was quickly diminished. Sitting on the Iron Throne may not be something that can be taught. Viserys came after Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s long reign. A reign considered to be a successful one, and Viserys seemingly picked up nothing about being proactive.

You take a good look at Helaena. If it someone you will whole heartedly miss while away, it is your good sister. Helaena, who is everything good about the Targaryen name: warm, loyal, and untamed. But also kind, and way more analytical than people give her credit for. Helaena the Dreamer… Helaena the Great.

“We could make it so you could rule.”

She gives your proposition a scrunched up face, and laugher. Sharp and bright. You know she has no desire to rule, but you can not help but think she would be good at it.

“If that is the case, you have to rule with me,” she takes your hand with a soft smile.

You imagine a world where all the men have rode off to fight their war. The women left to rule over a piles of ash, tired small folk, and elusive nobility. Two queens - just you, Helaena, and the children.

What a life to live.

A knock on the door interrupts Aemond’s reading.

“Do not come in,” he does not even look up from the book. Despite his wishes, a head of short silvery hair pops in. “I said do not come in.”

Aegon pays his brother no mind, breezily waltzing into Aemond’s study. He sits in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk with a sigh, as if he was begrudgingly summoned. Aemond tries to go back to reading, but it is hard to when his brother is staring at him expectedly.

Large, expecting eyes boring into him. He hates how much he looks like their mother in certain lights.

“What,” he finally snaps, and Aegon just smiles softly. In that warm way that makes people feel like they can let their guard down. Aegon always had way of making people feel like they are in on the joke he about to tell. Aemond has learned not to fall for the smile; he’s been on the other side of the joke too much to trust it.

“Are you going to see your wife off,” Aegon keeps his tone even, not giving anything away. His voice lifting a bit when he says wife.

Aemond tries equally hard not to let his mask slip. “No, she said it would better to do that behind closed doors.”

Something about him sending you off would defeat the purpose of it looking like you are upset enough to leave. Aemond had felt his eye glaze over a bit when you were explaining everything. When he first lost his eye, he would get head-splitting headaches. He hated taking milk of the poppy for them. Criston would tell him to turn his brain off, try not to think of the pain.

He finds himself still doing it to this day. Whenever he feels that tingle in the back of head, he clears his mind. For someone who constantly has things racing through his mind, he has gotten surprisingly good at it.

He had felt a cool hand on his forehead. You have that look in your eye you had said, hand traveling towards his cheek. You do that to Daella and Alaric too. He does not know if it a mother thing, or just a you thing.

It broke him out of his self-inflicted daze, just like how Aegon’s humming interrupts his thoughts of you now.

“I suppose that is best,” Aegon leans back in the seat casually. Aemond just sighs, waiting for the next stone to turn. He knows his brother did not come just to ask that especially when he could have just asked you himself.

Aegon seems to be lit from within. As each day passes, his brother shifts into a different person. The difference makes it hard for anyone to be upset at the cause of Aegon’s new attitude. A happy Aegon is not something anyone should take for granted.

“Is that all,” Aemond would like to get out of this conversation with his headspace in tact. The disarming charm of Aegon is often followed by deep disappointment.

Even with Aegon’s new disposition, the two of them still cannot see things the same. The deeply hidden flickers of hope Aemond has for reconcilement between him and his brother leave his body slowly but surely. It is better that way. Hold no hope, and the let down never comes.

The mirth that radiates off Aegon switches quickly.

“I just hope it was all worth it in the end,” his tone is sharp, and cold. Aemond instinctively flitches as Aegon’s large eyes bore into him. He hates how much Aegon looks like their mother in certain lights. It feels like he’s being scolded by her.

“But then again, how could it be? You have been living a great love affair that turns out to be a farce,” Aemond’s eye twitches a bit. “It is something I have always loved about you, brother. You always do things with all your might. No half battles for you; even in your fuck ups.”

And he hates how deeply his brother makes him feel. Skin crawling childhood memories rush over him. If it is one thing Aemond hates, it is the feeling of being backed into a corner.

“No whore, and wife and children to descend away with our sister and her bastards.”

For a moment, Aemond thinks about lunging over the desk at Aegon. But he knows exerting strength over Aegon does nothing now, not the way it did many moons ago when Aemond had his growth spurt. Just another notch in the post of things that made the brothers resent each other.

That reason seems silly compared to the others.

He knows Aegon is not just doing this for you, he enjoys the taunting in the way only a brother would. The same way only siblings would worry and focus on what one has over the other. A childish mindset that neither of them grown out of unfortunately.

They will always measure themselves against each other. Aegon with Aemond’s relationship with their mother. Aemond watching Aegon squander and relinquish any want for power or duty that could be attached to his name. And now you.

The words crawl up Aemond’s throat, and itch his tongue. He wants to say it so badly, what he has been thinking about ever since a couple of nights ago.

“You never even wanted her till she was upset with me,” Aemond blurts. He sounds like child. How he did when he would go to Alicent, near tears, when he was younger.

When he was young, he dreamed for the day to be older, more reassured, not to feel so small. Now he is older, and free feeling he wanted still had not come. Sometimes Aemond has to pinch himself. On the arm, on his thigh, or even on the stomach; he must remind himself that he was not one and ten anymore. He is a man grown.

Some days the pinching works. Or he hears Alaric’s babbling in the room, and he brought back to reality. He is painfully grounded to the situation when he looks at his children. Other days, like today, he thinks of you and prays for the days when he was younger and his biggest worry was gaining a dragon.

A thought he never expected to have.

Occasionally, he wishes he were Helaena. His sister has expressed the grief that comes with her visions, but Aemond would gladly switch places. If it is one thing their foolish father was right about, it is that the power of dragons is nothing compared to the power of prophecy. A dragon cannot makeup for the pure magic that has been left behind. Alys taught him that as well.

He pinches himself extra hard at thought of her.

If he could master the magic of his ancestors, he could go back and change so many things. He wonders how much good he could do… or how much damage.

Aegon does not bother to give Aemond a rebuttal to that comment. Just lets the easy smile he had on before reappear on his face. He can tell by the look on Aemond’s face that he is unraveling. Aegon might gotten their mother’s face, but Aemond got her ability to be a prisoner to their own thoughts.

“We just better hope not a single hair on her head is harmed while she is there.”

Aegon gets up and leaves after that. They important part is left unsaid and implied. I’ll come after you if she gets hurt. This is your fault.

Aemond knows his brother will just be one person in a line of people who would want his head if this all blows up in your face. That is alright.

Perhaps the brothers do have one thing in common. If something does happen, he just might beat everyone to the punch on that one.

You had expected Otto to tell Alicent about you going to Dragonstone. But, the worried look she gave you when you mentioned it told you otherwise.

It affirmed to you that he was going to leave his daughter in the dark for as long as possible. You could not decipher if it was for her feelings and safety or because he knew Alicent would shut down any activity that could be seen as treasonous to Rhaenyra’s claim.

It took Rhaenyra, who Alicent had convinced to stay a few more days, telling her that it was Baela and Rhaena’s idea to calm Alicent’s anxious attitude. Reiterating that it would be nice to have you and Daella around to balance out the male energy at Dragonstone. The lie slid out of Rhaenyra’s mouth with ease. She had given you a knowing look.

You knew better than to think Rhaenyra would tell Alicent it was because of Aemond, the reason she believes, but the easy nature in which she deceives Alicent does make you sad.

The easy nature in which everyone deceives Alicent makes you sad. And now even you are not above that.

To get rid of that sick feeling in your stomach, you convince yourself Alicent knows better than to believe everything that comes out of Rhaenyra’s mouth. The same way you believe Rhaenyra knows better than to tell Alicent the whole truth. This is how their relationship is. Half truths and arguments. Pining and pushing. You can tell by the way they smile at one another that in the end it will always be them for each other; lies and all.

Sadism and Masochism in a different kind of way.

“The King and I will miss seeing the kids,” Alicent remarked.

You had to hold back a grimace. Daella and Jaehaera would often go and see their grandsire, at his behest. Hear him ramble on and on about whatever he could remember that day; often old histories. Daella has told you she hated it because he ‘smelled foul’. The statement had made Aegon cry with laughter.

Viserys had only seen Alaric twice since his birth. The first time you had to drag Aemond with you. Juggling two big babies that day.

You had watched Aemond bite back a sneer the entire time. Even Alicent made a face when Viserys mumbled something about Alaric already having a warrior spirit like his father. You supposed you cannot blame them for their apprehension. The jovial tone of his voice nothing like what Aemond heard growing up. It only leaves a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth.

You wanted to say Viserys’ delusions were illness driven, only getting worse with age. But he has always underestimated the damage he did with his kids. Viserys underestimates a lot of things.

The second time he saw Alaric, your sweet boy had decided to spit up all over the King. Then it was Aemond’s turn to laugh.

Viserys is so out of the loop. He seems to think your trip to Dragonstone was a testament to his grand showing for Rhaenyra. That his dinner speech moved you to the point of wanting to connect to the other of your husband’s family.

It is assumed that using Baela and Rhaena as a cover was not fully convincing to Alicent.

“Space can be a treasure at times,” Alicent whispered to you, squeezing your hand. “A new beginning once you get back.”

All you could do was hum in acknowledgment and try to smile. You cannot help but wonder how Alicent will respond if you get tangible proof that Rhaenyra had something to do with Alys. Would it ruin the move to reconciliation? Would it even matter by the time Rhaenyra is to take the throne?

If you cannot dwell too much; one foot in front of the other. The preparations to set sail with Rhaenyra were all prepped.

Your night was interrupted by a knock at the door. The knuckles on the door tapping to the tune of a Braavosi song you like. Aegon.

You have to bite back a smile. The two of you have not talked since the night of the dinner. It is a strange ordeal. Going from purposely ignoring each other’s existences to now a few days of not speaking feeling foreign. He sticks his head in with a sheepish look.

Men will always come back with their tails tucked between their legs when they think it is worth it

Your mother’s words playing your head. Instead of focusing Aegon, your mind drifts to Aemond. You know it is a point of contention for them, but it is hard not to compare them. Especially when they act so differently at times. To see Aemond grovel would be a sight. Perhaps he has before… just not for you.

He says nothing when he comes in, eyes fluttering over your pale blue night gown. You sigh, tying your robe around you. For all Aegon can be when he tries - sweet, observant, loyal to a fault. He’s still same boy in his bones; easily swayed by pretty things.

“Yes, Aegon?”

He still does not say anything, instead, he pulls a small box out of his pocket and hands it to you. Shy like a child trying to evade a scolding. You narrow your eyes at him, but still open the box.

Inside was dainty chain silver. Hanging from it was a bright yellow stone surrounded by pale pink ones. You shoulders slump. It’s beautiful, and entirely too much. Much like the man who is trying to give it to you.

“Is this your attempt at an apology,” you give a weak laugh.

“No,” he waves that notion off. “I am not going to apologize for vocalizing how bad of an idea I think this is. Though I know there is no stopping you once you set your mind to something.”

You know it would be hypocritical to judge Aegon and Aemond’s paranoia towards their older sister. She has not given them a reason to have faith in her. Neither has their uncle, who only seems to show up in moments of chaos. Those feelings are reciprocated by Rhaenyra and her family towards them.

“Think of it as more of a promise,” he walks towards to you, and the box suddenly feels like it weighs as much as a horse.

Chewing on the side of you cheek, you shake your head. “I cannot accept this Aegon. You are very kind but… I cannot.”

You never want to think the worst of people; even Aegon, who you have an admittedly rocky past with. It has never been your nature, till recently. Gifts leading to promises; promises leading to expectations you don’t know if you can handle. The affection of people in the Red Keep, especially the men, constantly wane.

It is hard not to blame your mother for how you feel right now. For every drop of wisdom she instilled in you, she left touches of fragility and fear. She made sure to reiterate the importance of having powerful people, specifically powerful men, in your corner but never explained what do to when the debt comes due.

It may not be what Aegon meant but these thoughts plague you often as loyalties shift. Even the most attentive, and helpful people want something in return. What happens when those expectations can not be met? Does the goodwill dry up?

Sensing your nerves, gently takes your wrist pulling you closer. “You are not alone in this. We are all here if you need to get out of there,” he pauses for a moment before cracking a smile. “Even Aemond would hop on Vhagar if something happened.”

You raise a brow, not knowing if this is him trying to cheer you up or if he genuinely believes it. You actually think the old beast probably likes you more than your husband most days. You hold back a shudder thinking about your first meeting with Vhagar. Beady eyes following you before huffing in approval. You remember the smell of sheep on her breath.

“She likes you!” Aemond seemed so happy she did.

Things were simpler back then. Mindless courting and no pain. You had fooled yourself into thinking everything would work itself out.

As if he heard you two speaking about him, the sounds of heavy boots echo through the halls.

As if a spell had been broken, Aegon lets go of your wrist giving you.

“Remember aim for the jugular or heart, and drive through.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. Criston had preached no mercy during their lessons, and it seems to be the only thing that stuck with Aegon.

Aemond interrupts you two by coming in, stopping in his tracks when he sees you both. He blinks blankly before sighing and going over to sit.

“Have fun with that,” Aegon whispers, before leaving.

You realize he never takes back the necklace. Think of it as a promise. He never told you what that promise was.

———

When Aemond was young, he over heard his grandsire speaking to his mother about him.

“You coddle him too much Alicent,” his voice gravely. “He is never going to grow up hiding beneath your skirts. It’s probably why he had not gained a dragon yet.”

She just stood and took it because that is what his mother always does when it comes to her father, or with Viserys. She had learned the art of taking everything and internalizing it. And then she wonders why he children do the same.

Aemond is master of it. He adds to the list of things he has grown quite good at. Along with his training with the sword, and his ability to retain things he learned through reading. Showing any emotion has only failed him over the years.

The only time he finds reprieve is at night.

The dreams tend to be the same each night. You standing over him, Dark Sister in hand, and unbridled hatred in your eyes. Aemond cannot call them nightmares in good faith; he finds them too entertaining for that. He does not know how you got the sword, but that is just another exciting part about the dreams. His mother did always say he had a morbid sense of humor.

The image of you having blade to him breaks up the monotony of life. In fact, he is sure he likes dream you more than the one he sees everyday. Dream you lacks the shiny luster that the real you carries. There is something so unapologetic about the look of disgust on your face. Some nights you slit his throat, quick and to the point. A merciful kill. Other times you take his other eye. The chambers ablaze; he sees and feels the heat before everything goes dark.

“Aemond, are you listening to me,” you sigh, breaking him out of his thoughts.

All he can do is look at you. You look ethereal, back lit by the fires throughout the room. Unwavering stares is all he can give you these days. In the early days of your marriage, you used to look away when the looks were to much. Now, you just stare back; eyes tired yet soft. Perhaps it is the inability for you harden yourself that makes the dreams so welcomed. He selfishly wants you to debase yourself the way he has. Aemond knows it is in there, but you are too smart to let it show in that way.

Maybe you will come back from Dragonstone, with untamed loathing in your heart, and Dark Sister attached to you. The spirits of the mad Targaryens that roam Dragonstone compelling you to snap. The dream you and the real one will merge into something terrifyingly beautiful.

What a way that would be to go.… in fire and blood.

The departure from King’s Landing went as smoothly as you could hope. Alicent and Helaena saw you off with sad smiles. The ship pulled off, and it felt like a momentary breath of relief. Sometimes you felt locked away in the King’s Landing

“Quite watchful, is she not,” Rhaenyra laughed. At first you thought she was speaking about Alicent. You turned towards the Red Keep to see Vhagar flying a comfortable distance behind. “She will turn back, right?”

You nod perplexed, watching as Daella waves at Vhagar.

You think back to laughing when Aemond asked if Daella would miss him, and she replied with a shrug and reminded him to feed Vhagar extra sheep while she is away. His sour disposition melts when she gives him a kiss on the cheek before she sprinted to say goodbye to her cousins. You try not to shift awkwardly when he kisses you on the cheek and tells you to be safe.

Eventually Vhagar does turn back, after circling the ship a couple of times.

You go to put Alaric down for a nap in one of the bottom room. When you first had him, his silence used to worry you. Often you found yourself leaning over his cot to see if he was still breathing. He sleeps like the dead, and stares as if he knows something you do not. The stare would be slightly menacing if it was not attached to such a cute face.

Ser Quinton comes in, and quietly closes the door. He looks as uneasy as you feel. He seems to share the same skepticism everyone has about this little getaway.

“You were right about Jayne,” his voice is low as he sits on the bed next to you. “She about the tunnels. Said she was a disciple of someone named Mysaria.”

The name is so familiar but you can’t put your finger on it.

“How did you find that out?”

“Do you really want to know that,” he grimaces. The last time you saw Jayne, Quinton had lied to her and said the Queen wanted to see her. You are sure she went to the dungeons, where all the people who are accused of treason go. Your heart feels heavy at the thought of her being tortured.

It was a hard pill swallow. Jayne had been with you since Daella was born. How long had she been watching you for?

“I need you to promise me something,” you whisper to him. “If anything were to happen, I need make sure the kids are you first priority. Their safety is of the upmost importance… even if it means leaving me behind.”

Quinton frown deeply. “I am your protector, I would n-“

“And as my protector, I am asking you do this for me. Think of everything you feel for me, and do this please.”

You squeeze his arm. After a moment of silence, he nods solemnly.

You know when you have reached Dragonstone because smell is like nothing you have encountered before. Putrid almost. You thought the Red Keep was as somber as a place could get; you were terribly wrong.

The bright look that crosses Rhaenyra’s face makes you jealous. You often envious of the way the Targaryens around you moved. Viserys, despite being the king, had little care for things that did not benefit him. Aemond saunters into rooms like he owns it, Aegon followed his own rules to a fault. Rhaenyra seems to revel in the privilege that came with her name. Even Helaena had came into her own, embracing the things people see as odd.

You felt like your good was not good enough, but you think of what your father would tell you when you were young.

The best people are often underestimated, use that to your advantage.

And use it you will.

Taglist: @afro-hispwriter @blazzlynch @thenovelcarnival @lyra689 @savinasavers @cruelmissdior @lunablade @minttea07 @shintax-error @queenofshinigamis @httyd-marauders

#will add to ao3 soon I promise #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #Aegon ii x reader #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen

[spiteless-xo]

hi tiff!! do you have any hcs for eren and jean as a dad/husband? 🙊

🥺 what a cute, sweet question -- of course i do!

this is mostly about them being dads and less about being husbands lol sorry

╰┈➤ as a dad - aot.

ft. eren, jean. cw. explicit language, reference to sex, fem!reader.

⋙ eren jaeger.

eren fully believes that you're going to have a boy, like to the point that he fights you over painting the baby's room blue, but the second he sees your little girl he completely melts.

he's read every book about "how to raise a child" and has them highlighted and annotated next to his bed. goes to them immediately for guidance whenever your daughter hits any sort of milestone.

he plays with her all day, every day. literally, he jumps out of bed to go bug her because he's so excited to spend time with his little girl 🥺 he'll let her do his hair, paint his nails, and even have little tea parties together.

he's literally putty in her hands. whatever she wants, he gives her. the two of them have to hide away from you when you say no, because the second she pouts up at him, he's crumbling and buying her that candy bar.

makes you be the bad guy because he can't bare the thought of making her upset. literally has to go into another room when she starts crying after being punished because he'll just cave and give her whatever she wants.

your daughter grows up spoiled as fuck but also has impossible dating standards thanks to the expectations eren's set for her.

ever since the beginning, eren's always done the most to help you out around the house. he's not the stereotypical "come home from work and sit on the couch"-dad, he's the "comes home and makes dinner, helps his daughter with her homework, spends the evening watching movies with the family and kissing you and squeezing you on the couch until your kid yells at you to stop"-dad

even after all this time he's still so crazy in love with you and shows you every time the two of you are together. he's always playfully grabbing your ass and making out with you in the kitchen or whistling at you when you come downstairs after getting dressed up. your daughter claims that she hates it -- says that it's gross -- but she still smiles and gushes about how in love her parents are to her friends.

even when she gets older, she's still a daddy's girl and will call him for help or send him memes or teach him about tiktok 💀

⋙ jean kirstein.

jean wants a literal litter of kids, like three minimum. and no gender preference. like you guys just have a designated baby room in the house on the off-chance that he convinces you to let him knock you up again (and he's very persuasive).

he's very nervous with your firstborn but after that he throws all caution to the wind. he figures the first kid turned out alright, so the others should be fine too.

very rough with them!! even the girls!!! he'll throw them up in the air, swing them around by the arms, or tuck them under his arms and run around like he's carrying a football. you're constantly screaming at him to be careful and slow down but he rarely listens.

loves doing big excursions with the family. whether that's a big trip to Disneyland or a day at the waterpark or whatever, he's always got something planned for the weekend that involves strapping all the squirming, upset kidlets into the car and driving for a few hours.

he's always the bad guy. like to the point where if someone does something wrong, all you have to do is say "what dad going to say when he finds out about this?" and they're crying and begging for forgiveness. he's mastered the stern, "i'm not mad, just disappointed in you"-stare that really tears at all of the kids heartstrings.

i feel like he's really into gentle parenting but there was maybe an incident when one of the kids was a toddler that was potentially very dangerous that had him yelling at a child for the first time in his life (immediately burst into tears once he realized everything was ok and was shaking so bad that you had to hold him 🥺)

jean is also insufferably in love with you but he's really weird about having sex when the kids are around. so the two of you end up going on a lot of late-night drives or date nights at hotel rooms so he can fuck another baby into you show you how much he loves you

he wants your house to be the house that all the kids go to hang out and is always so excited to meet their friends and be involved in their lives as much as possible. he knows all of your kids' friends by name, knows who they're dating, who they hate, etc., etc. i feel like jean is someone that is so easy to be around that some of your kids' friends will go to him for advice

when the kids get older, he loves it. loves being able to talk to them like adults, helping them navigate adulthood, and see them grow up and succeed. definitely cries during each and every child's graduation and whispers in your ear as he's clapping, "we raised a good one." (and yes, he says that every time)

#jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger #aot headcanons #snk headcanons #aot x reader #snk x reader #tiff.ask #jean #eren #tiff.fic #eren.hc #jean.hc

[lumosandnoxwriting]

now I wake up by your side || George Weasley

Title: now i wake up by your side Pairing: George x Reader Summary: You know what they say, what goes up must always come back down. Except George thought he was the exception to that rule. Because with things going so well for him there’s no way they’d ever end. Unfortunately for George the higher you go, the harder you fall. And as he watches Y/N walk away from him for the last time he finally realizes how true that saying is. Because George Weasley has officially run out of time, and everything has started to crumble around him.  Warnings: NSFW! Minors DNI this contains female masturbation, male masturbation, dirty talk and phone sex.  A/N: ahhhhh the second to last part of hockey!george!! I hope you all enjoy - feedback is always welcome and appreciated!

-

 The apartment is too quiet without George around. 

This is the part about being with a hockey player that Y/N has always hated: away games. If she thought it was bad when George was in the junior league, it’s even worse in the NHL. Unlike the NFL and some other professional sports, there’s 82 games in the regular season, with the potential for there to be 28 additional games for a team that makes it to the Stanley Cup finals. 

Meaning from the end of September until at least the middle of April, hockey players spend more time on the road than they do at home. Instead of being gone for a day or two, when they hit a stretch of away games it’s common for a team to be on the road for up to two weeks. 

And unfortunately for Y/N, preseason has taken the Rebels away for the next 10 days. The timing couldn’t be any worse either, considering the fact that now that she and George have crossed the boundary of physical intimacy her body craves his touch, and it seems like she’s walking around in a perpetual state of horniness. And it’s only been 48 hours.

Worse off is that the team left for the road just two days after their first game, so they didn’t really even get to talk about where this new development in their supposedly fake relationship leaves them. Because to Y/N, George claiming her body from the inside out several times during their brief time together is everything but fake. 

And it’s not just the sex that Y/N misses. 

That first night George was gone she tossed and turned all night, only sleeping for an hour or two at a time before she’d wake up missing the feel of his arms around her. Dousing George’s pillow in his cologne and hugging it tightly as she slept  last night worked a little, but she still didn't wake up feeling well rested. 

She especially misses the mundane aspects of their life together. Like the fact that there wasn’t a fresh pot of coffee waiting for her when she woke up. And even though George still found time to get her during the day, their conversations weren’t filled with plans for dinner and what to watch on TV, which filled Y/N with a pang of sadness. That first afternoon she’d even made George’s usual protein shake, and it wasn’t until she wrapped up her work day at 5:30, a full hour after George should have been home, did she remember he wouldn’t be around for days. 

Even just the absence of hearing him breathe has her heart aching. 

Thankfully their first road game is tonight, and she’ll get her fill of George time while she watches. Even if it’s through the TV and he’ll be wearing all of his gear. It’s better than nothing. 

Jenny invited her over to watch the game with Olivia and some other partners, and even though she kind of wanted to just mope around the apartment, Y/N found herself saying yes and now that she’s settled on the couch between Olivia and Kate she’s happy that she came. Because even though they aren’t George, Y/N’s heart feels full being surrounded by the women she’s gotten to know over the past few weeks. 

This fake engagement hasn’t only brought George back into her life, it’s brought this amazing group of people into it too, and Y/N can’t imagine having to say goodbye to any of them. Which, unfortunately, is a thought that has crossed her mind several times since George kissed her goodbye two days ago. And without him by her side to squash those negative thoughts she’s let them run rampant. 

Losing George will absolutely shatter her heart. But losing George and all of these people? It will shatter her soul. 

Which is why Y/N plans on confronting George as soon as he gets back from this road trip. Not knowing where their relationship stands is slowly killing her, and Y/N needs to know if they’re both on the same page. It’s time to either move forward together, or for Y/N to pack her bags and head home to Washington with her tail tucked between her legs and her entire world shattered. 

Thankfully someone switches the TV on as the game starts, and the chatter of the announcers pulls Y/N out of the depressive swirl her thoughts were taking her down. Warmups have just ended, and as they get ready for things to really start, the commentators talk about the match up. 

“It’s still early yet, but I’ve got to say, Steve, the Rebels are looking mighty fine this season.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Jim. After their devastating loss in the playoffs last season and the retirement of their team captain, Tyler Crawford, we were skeptical that they’d be able to wrangle it in and start this season off strong - and boy am I glad to say we were wrong.”

“Absolutely, Steve. Working with a whole new slew of Rookies can be difficult, especially without a Captain, but the Rebels sure have shown what a strong team they are.”

“And I’m sure we have George Weasley, the Rebel’s starting Center and one of the top scorers in the league to thank for the team’s starting success. We’ve had the pleasure of sitting in on some Rebel’s practices this training camp and I can see why Weasley is the front runner for Captain. The way he commands his team is truly awe-inspiring.”

Their praise of George and his skills makes Y/N’s cheeks flush. She’s so damn proud of George and everything he has accomplished in his career. Ever since they were little kids learning to skate together George has been determined to be a star in the NHL, and seeing that dream come to reality makes every single struggle and hurdle their relationship has gone through worth it. 

“Weasley certainly has stepped up to the plate since Crawford, his mentor’s retirement. If the rumor mill is to be believed all us Rebels fans’ have a pretty girl from Weasley’s hometown to thank for that.”

The girls all squeal at the mention of Y/N and George’s relationship, and she can feel her cheeks flush even deeper.

“Jim, you are worse than my wife when it comes to those gossip rags. But, after Weasley scored his two goals during the team’s first preseason game he did raise his stick, pointing it towards the box reserved for the Rebel’s friends and families, which fans have affectionately dubbed the WAG box, and one of the camera’s did catch him mouthing the words ‘that was for you’, so it’s safe to say the rumor mill may actually be onto something for once.”

“Well whoever that mystery woman is I hope you stick around, because I’d love to see Chicago take home the cup this year.”

They move on to talk about the team the Rebel’s are up against, North Carolina, and Y/N relaxes back into her seat. No worries, Steve, she definitely plans on sticking around.

-

That night when Y/N makes it back to their apartment her heart is full, and she doesn’t miss George as much as she did earlier. Because during the game George scored a hat trick, and after every single goal his stick rose to the camera, still seeking her out from thousands of miles away, and the lens zoomed in as he mouthed those same four words that never fail to increase her heart rate. 

“That was for you.”

And if that wasn’t enough to squash all of her doubts about the status of their relationship, he’d actually did a post game interview, and when he was asked about his new mystery girl, George had looked directly into the camera, like he was starting right into Y/N’s eyes and said:

“She knows who she is. I can’t wait to come home to you every day for the rest of my life, baby.”

Now she’s in their bedroom, stripping off all of her clothes except for George’s jersey, before she climbs into bed to wait for his call. 

It’s something they always used to do whenever he was on the road. Instead of going out with the guy’s to celebrate a win or commensurate over a loss, George would head straight back to the hotel to spend the night on the phone with her. 

They hadn’t discussed if that would be the case this time around in their relationship, but Y/N had been confident that it would be considering the other traditions George has continued. And the texts she received from him after the game set her belly on fire and had her pussy throbbing. 

George: fuck I miss you baby, i don’t want to celebrate a win unless you’re there with me

George: i know how wet you get watching your man dominate on the ice

George: tell me, Y/N, how fucking drenched is your pussy right now?

George: actually, don’t tell me. As soon as im back at the hotel you’re gonna answer my facetime call and show me how wet my pretty pink pussy is

George: because that pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it, baby?

All she’d managed to reply was a simple yes, thankful that George insisted on hiring her a car service. Because had she read those messages while driving Y/N certainly would have crashed the car. 

She’s just barely settled against the pillows when her phone lights up with George’s call, and Y/N doesn’t hesitate before she swipes her thumb across the screen to answer. 

“Hi,” she answers breathlessly, a smile tugging at her lips as George appears. 

“Hi baby,” George greets, eyes dragging across the screen to take in every inch of Y/N he can see. She’s still got his jersey on and it makes his already hard cock twitch in his boxers. Just the mere thought of Y/N in their bed, surrounded by the smell of them combined, wet and waiting for George to call was enough to get him going. 

It’s only been two days, but in George’s mind it might as well have been two months with how much he misses Y/N. For the first time in years hockey isn’t the most important thing in his life, the girl smiling at him through the phone is, and that should scare the shit out of George. 

But it doesn’t. 

Because when his hockey career is over he’ll still have Y/N and the family he wants them to build, and George knows that life will be more fulfilling than a lifetime in the NHL could ever be. George used to fear the day he retires, afraid of how empty his life will be without the sport he loves so much. 

Now he can’t wait for the life that’s waiting for him beyond the NHL.

Y/N watches as George settles into his bed, teeth digging into her bottom lip when she gets a flash of his bare chest. 

“My eyes are up here,” George teases, chuckling when her gaze flicks back to his. “I miss you so fucking much, baby.”

The vulnerability in his voice sends a flutter through her tummy. “I miss you too.”

George’s eyes darken at her sultry tone. “Bet that fucking pussy misses me too, doesn’t it, baby?” He uses the hand not gripping his phone to reach down and grab a hold of his cock when Y/N nods in response. “Show me, baby. Show me how much my pussy misses me.”

Y/N lets out a soft moan and her legs immediately spread, knees pressing to the mattress to bare her cunt to the room. She slowly pans the camera down, letting it follow her left hand as it glides down her torso, heading right for where she craves George’s touch. 

“Fuck,” George groans as her pussy comes into view, his hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Coat your fingers, baby,” he instructs, taking himself in his hand. “Show me how wet they are.”

“Oh,” Y/N gasps as her index and middle finger glide through the wetness gathering between her thighs, just barely letting them brush against her clit. Once she’s coated her fingers she pulls them away from her pussy, twisting them in the dim light so George can see them shine.

“You’re a fucking dream, Y/N.” George starts to slowly stroke his cock, mouth dry from how much he aches to taste her. “All of that ‘cause of me, baby?”

“Yes,” Y/N pants as she rubs her slick fingers over her clit. “Always for you, George. Just thinking about you has me dripping down my thighs.”

“What were you thinking about, baby?”

The look on George’s face as he watches her touch herself pulls a whine from Y/N’s lips, and her cunt clenches around nothing. “Your cock, how good it feels inside of me. How, fuck, how you stretch me out and make me take all of you.”

“Cause that pretty little pussy was made to take me, wasn’t it, baby?” George asks, his voice rumbling in his chest. He’s barely touched himself and yet he already feels embarrassingly close. 

“Yes, George, my whole body was made for you.”

George has to squeeze the base of his cock to keep from cumming as he watches Y/N slip a finger into her cunt. Her engagement ring glitters in the low lighting, and it makes him absolutely feral that Y/N is touching herself for him, using the same hand he slid his ring on. Even when he’s hours away part of him is still there, laying claim to his girl. 

“That’s it, baby,” George encourages as Y/N slips another finger into her pussy, her soft moans sending shivers down his spine as he strokes his cock in earnest. “Make yourself cum on your fingers while I watch, baby. Fuck yourself with those dainty little fingers while you pretend it’s my cock.”

It doesn’t take long before Y/N is falling over the edge, her back arching off the bed as George’s name tumbles from her lips. She can barely keep a grip on the phone, but she squeezes hard, wanting George to watch her cum around her fingers. 

“Good fucking girl,” George growls as Y/N brings the camera back up to settle on her face. Her cheeks are flush, breaths coming heavy and the satisfaction of knowing he did that to her without even touching her brings him to the edge. 

The sound of her name falling from George’s mouth as he cums makes Y/N’s clit throb, and if she wasn’t so focused on watching his brows knit together as pleasure overtakes his face she’d probably be bringing herself to another orgasm. 

“George?” Y/N murmurs after a few moments of silence, both of them just smiling softly at the other. 

“Yes baby?”

“Come home soon, please.”

George grins, and he aches to reach out and trace her face. “I’ll always come home to you, Y/N. Always.”

-

Y/N is practically vibrating with excitement. After ten long days of nothing but text messages, phone calls and facetime sex George is finally coming home. She ended up taking the day off, because after barely being able to sit still through her morning meeting Y/N knew there was no chance in hell she’d be getting any work done. 

Because tonight when he gets home, Y/N is finally going to tell George she loves him for real. 

The distance between them has only made her feelings for George grow, and she’s tired of pretending. Even with George on the road he’s made the effort to be there for her, and show her how much he cares, and Y/N is sure this is the right decision.

The sound of her phone ringing practically makes her jump out of her skin, and Y/N answers on the second ring - not even bothering to check who it is. Satan himself could be on the other end and Y/N wouldn’t care less. 

Nothing can bring her down, not today. 

“George?” she answers excitedly. 

“Wrong twin,” Fred chuckles. 

Y/N tries to hide the disappointment in her voice. “Oh, hey Fred.”

“You could at least pretend to be happy it’s me,” he teases. “How’s Chicago?”

“It’s good, weird without George around. How’s everything back home?”

“That’s what I called you to talk about, actually,” Fred starts. “I was just wondering when you planned on coming back?” Y/N fumbles around for an answer, but before she has the chance to find the right words Fred carries on. “I mean I’ve had a great time covering your lessons at the rink, but I’ve kinda been missing my free time, and now that George is Captain and this whole thing can end I was kinda hoping...”

Fred keeps talking but Y/N doesn’t hear any of it. No, she's too focused on those three little words. George is Captain. They seem so small, so insignificant, but it’s as if Fred has just dropped a bomb on her. Her chest feels tight, and it’s like she forgot how to breathe.

“Hang on, back up a second,” she cuts Fred off. “What did you say? George is captain?”

“Yeah?” Fred responds, the confusion he’s feeling clear in his tone. “Morrison is waiting until the first regular season game to announce it, but he told him the other night at that dinner you guys went to.” Fred pauses. “He didn’t tell you.”

No, he didn’t. She has outright asked George what Coach had wanted that night and he looked her in the eyes and lied. 

Again. 

Just like that night in the rink, when she asked what was wrong and he lied to her about needing to focus on hockey. When he took her heart in his hands and smashed it into a million pieces. 

How the fuck has she allowed him to do it again?

“Y/N?” Fred’s voice comes through the phone when she doesn’t say anything. 

“Gotta go,” she responds simply, hanging up the call. 

Y/N was so sure. So fucking sure that George felt the same way as she does. But if he lied to her about being named Captain, the whole fucking reason this charade started in the first place, what else could he be lying to her about?

She’s not sure she’ll survive finding out the answer to that question. 

-

“Honey I’m home!” George calls out when he swings the door open, a frown taking over the smile on his face when he doesn’t find Y/N right there to greet him. He’d broken pretty much every single traffic law in his eagerness to get home to her, so he’s disappointed that she’s not waiting at the door.

“Y/N?” he shouts, shutting the door behind him. 

He can hear shuffling coming from somewhere deeper in the apartment, and when she doesn’t answer George follows it all the way to the bedroom. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, hoping that there’s some kind of sexy surprise waiting for him when he pushes open their bedroom door. 

Except the sight in front of him stops him in his tracks. Because instead of Y/N laying in their bed naked, waiting for him to ravish her, there’s a suitcase open on the bed and Y/N is darting around the room, talking to herself quietly as she collects her belongings and shoves them inside. 

“Y/N, what the fuck is going on?”

She finally notices his presence, and Y/N stops for a moment, eyes narrowed as she looks at George. “You tell me,” she seethes, before she goes back to shoving things into her bag. 

“Baby, baby hang on,” George pleads, his confusion evident. He comes into the room, stepping between her and the suitcase so she’s forced to stop packing and look at him. “Talk to me, Y/N. Why are you packing?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Captain?” she spits, and George recoils at the mixture of anger and hurt in her voice. 

“Oh. So you know about that, huh?” George stutters out, his mind reeling to find something to say.

This is not how he intended for this conversation to go. He planned on telling Y/N tonight, he was going to come clean about everything. George planned on taking her to his favorite restaurant, and over dessert he was going to tell her that Coach had made him Captain, and that he wanted to offer her a permanent place in both his heart and his home. He was finally going to tell her that he loves her, and that this arrangement has been anything but fake. 

Now with that plan out the window he’s scrambling over how to fix this. He already lost Y/N once, and he sure is shit doesn’t plan on doing it again. 

“Know that you lied to me? Yeah, I do.”

Y/N shoves past George, her hands shaking as she shoves the last few things into her suitcase. She’d hoped to be gone by the time that George would be back, to save herself the embarrassment of having him watch her fall apart once again. 

After she hung up on Fred Y/N wasn’t really sure what to do, all she knew was she had to get out of Chicago as soon as possible. Everything between them had felt so natural and real, and the thought that it was all just a lie George was putting on made her feel sick to her stomach. Even though she still loves George and deep down she knows she should stay and hear what he has to say, she’s not quite sure she’s ready for that. 

So once she wiped away her tears she booked the next flight out of town and started packing up. This is George’s home, after all. The only claim she had to it was the man standing behind her and she’s not even sure she has a claim on him either. 

“Y/N I promise you, I was going to tell you about the Captain thing. I just wanted to-”

Except she cuts him off. “Wanted to what? Get your dick wet a couple of times before you sent me packing?”

George physically recoils at her words. “No, Y/N. Fuck, that’s not it at all.”

“Well that’s what it feels like.” Y/N zips her suitcase shut and yanks it off of the bed before she turns to look at George. The look of pure heartache on his face nearly brings her to her knees, but she has to stand her ground. “I asked you what Coach wanted that night and you looked me dead in my eyes and lied to me George. Just like you did that night at the rink. And then the next night you got me naked in bed knowing that you were lying to me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“Baby, please,” George pleads as Y/N grabs the handle of her suitcase and storms out of the room. He follows her down the hallway, desperately trying to hold on to her. “Just stop for a second, Y/N please. I can’t fucking think when you’re upset with me like this. Give me a chance to explain, please. Don’t go, baby. Not like this.”

Y/N stops at the front door, one hand on the handle. But she doesn’t open the door, not quite yet. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself before she turns to look at George. There are tears streaming down his face, and it takes all of her strength to force the words out of her mouth. 

“Good bye, George. For real this time.”

-

George only returns to their bedroom in the wee hours of the morning, the whiskey flowing through his veins making him numb enough to be in the space that still smells of her. When he crawls into bed he lets the tears that have been gathering flow down his cheeks, his hands desperately reaching for the pillow that still smells like her. 

He hugs it tightly to his chest, smothering his cries into the fabric as he takes a deep inhale of Y/N’s familiar scent. He desperately needs to feel her in his arms again, but the softness of her pillow will have to do.

#george weasley #george weasley fanfic #George Weasley imagine #george weasley fan fiction #George Weasley smut #george weasley fanfiction #Harry Potter au #harry potter fanfiction #gw #golden

[1d1195]

Traditional XI

You can read the rest of Traditional here.

Thank you so much for the love and support on this story. She and Harry have definitely turned into one of my favorite couples I've had the pleasure of writing about. As an aside, I will be posting a long overdue "how my taglist works" (because I a tumblr-elder and don't know what I'm doing anymore). But for those of you that have been tagged throughout the series, please check out the message at the bottom.

This is the final part (not including the extras I have lined up.) There's a bit of angst and a good bit of fluff. It follows part ten immediately and I also continued with marking the days/time because I think it made it a bit easier to follow.

Truly, really, thank you so much. Part 1-11 is 67k words and I’ve enjoyed typing each one. I hope you continue to enjoy reading. Without further ado:

--

“She gave it back,” he said stiffly. His throat was catching on to the words.

“Gave what back?” Niall asked curiously. “The apartment?”

Harry felt his entire body freeze over with a new fear that Niall mistakenly unlocked. It truly felt like his body was made of ice. He grabbed at his phone anxiously calling the apartment complex’s main line. He had to suffer through prompts before he could finally talk to a person. He asked if it looked as if anyone was moving stuff from his apartment (although he would have given it to her at this point).

Monday

“I’ll kill him,” Louis shouted, almost proudly as he entered the apartment. She shook her head and just burst into tears as she told him about all the things Harry did. While he was prepared to murder him, Louis’ heart softened with each task Harry completed to make sure his best friend was cared for. It was everything he ever hoped for the girl he thought of as one of his own sisters. He wouldn’t kill Harry. He couldn’t...not if he did all that for her.

Eleanor combed her fingers through her hair while the poor girl cried in her lap. Louis was frowning, glancing at Eleanor every so often as she spoke. “Babe,” Louis whispered when she finished her story.

She sniffled. “I don’t know why I did that,” she croaked. “That was so stupid, who does that? You should have seen the look on his face. He’s never going to forgive me.”

“Of course, he will,” Eleanor said easily shaking her head. Her voice was so solid, like she had already talked to Harry about it and knew with every fiber of her being. Louis crouched beside her wiping the tears out of her eyes as comfortingly as he could. “Harry loves you, darling,” Eleanor reminded her.

“Why was I so mean?” She choked on another sob. “I’d hate me. I was so heartless.”

“You were overwhelmed, love,” Eleanor promised. “That was a lot to take in, all in one day. But he meant the best and brightest for you. You have to believe that. Harry has never done anything but try to make sure you’re taken care of.”

She took in a shaking breath as more tears poured out of her; she was so unhappy with how she handled the whole day. Maybe she was overwhelmed. That would at least have made some sense. There was so much to be overwhelmed about. Everything she had been bottling up. All of which was threatening to burst because it just had to be one of those weeks where it all just piled and piled until it all crumbled down.

“Babe,” Louis whispered trying to stop the tears from falling but failing because they kept coming faster than he could swipe her cheeks. “C’mon.”

“I know you all went to the funeral for my dad,” she sniffled. She may as well have wallowed in the hurt a bit more. They needed to know she knew. “I know they had one...I saw it in the online obituary.”

They were silent for a minute. Louis didn’t move his eyes from hers for a moment. He pressed his lips together in a thin line. So of course, she knew she was right. They did hide it from her.

However, Louis wasn’t going to forget that she let them hide it. He stared at Eleanor for a moment; having some silent conversation that only the two of them could have. The entire time she continued crying. Eleanor gave her a comforting squeeze as best she could with her sprawled across her lap.

“I think you’re scared,” Eleanor whispered without addressing her comment about the services.

“El,” Louis’ voice wasn’t a whisper like it had been directed at the sobbing girl. His tone wasn’t gentle. It was like he was warning her not to continue.

“Scared of what?” She sniffed because she may have heard the warning in Louis’ voice, but she was already miserable. It couldn’t be worse than what she felt.

“Tell her, Louis. Tell her,” Eleanor begged. She turned her attention back to her best friend.

Louis reminded her so much of her brother, she wondered if he would have been as wise as Louis was if he were still around. Even for the goofball he made himself out to be, Louis was nearly sagely at his age. He was the one she went to for advice. The one she asked for help when she needed to get Harry a birthday gift. If she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, she was pretty sure she would still call Louis first. He was her best friend because he always knew what to say to her and even if it was hard to hear he always told her the hard truths.

She could see on his face that it was going to hurt to lay whatever he was about to say in front of her if only because she was already so heartbroken. “Being cared for,” he bit the inside of his lip, but he didn’t break his gaze with her. “You think it’s a death sentence,” he told her. His tone was soothing, even though the words were not. “Because when your brother came to get you, he tragically died. Don’t think I’m forgetting that. But then, your parents stopped caring for you...so it was like...you associated the two,” he explained. “And then, you didn’t tell me. So, in your mind, caring for you is a death sentence for those that love you.”

She was speechless. Her sniffles slowed, which allowed her to sit in the upright position, but Eleanor still had her arm wrapped around her shoulders. She swallowed as she listened to him speak without hiccupping on her breath. “Do you really think we wouldn’t have let you live with us?” Eleanor asked softly from beside her. “The only one that thought you needed to get your own space was you...and don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that you got Harry out of the deal, but you could have lived with us for forever,” she smiled gently at her.

She stared at the two of them and Louis looked at her tear-stained face with a frown. “Love,” he said so gently. “You have spent so long building up walls making sure you take care of everyone in your life because the last time you stopped taking care of someone else and had fun of your own, something horrible and tragic happened,” She looked away from him, sniffling uncontrollably. “But it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. No matter how many times your mum says it was...no matter how many times you sit next to his gravestone and feel guilty for it. He would have gone and got you and he would have turned that steering wheel to protect you over, and over, and over again,” she couldn’t look at Louis when he talked about it. It was his best friend, and she just took him away forever...all for a party. “I would have done it for you, babe,” he promised. She hated the idea of that too so much that she let out another whimpering sob. “Now, so would Harry,” he told her, and the pang of anxiety at the mere idea Harry would fatally hurt for her rippled all through her body she felt sick at the idea...it hurt all the way to her toes and made her fingertips feel numb.

But Louis pressed on making it hurt even more but with every intention of making it better. “You can’t keep your guard up forever. You can’t stop people from taking care of you because you miss him and worry about the consequences of them taking care of you,” he said. “We all take that risk for someone we love,” he brushed the tears off her cheeks once more as they were finally slowing to a pace he could keep up with. She refused to look at him. But Louis wouldn’t accept that. “Babe,” he said turning her chin back to him. “Let someone else take care of you. Let Harry do it. You’ve done it for long enough.”

*

Tuesday

Niall found Harry throwing the lamp on his desk against the wall of his office so hard he was surprised the wall didn’t shatter. But the lamp certainly did. Nearly splintered into a hundred pieces. He flopped into his desk chair and hung his head practically between his knees.

“Christ, the two of you today,” he grumbled hoping to find Harry in better shape than his typically better mood intern. Obviously, that would not be the case. “What’s wrong?” He asked, closing the door.

Harry ran a hand over his face. He wanted to cry but he was at work, and he shouldn’t have. “She gave it back,” he said stiffly. His throat was catching on to the words.

“Gave what back?” Niall asked curiously. “The apartment?”

His gaze snapped up to Niall and he mouthed the word whoa. If Niall said it out loud, he didn’t hear it. He was shocked by the redness of Harry’s eyes, the withdrawn look. He knew it was bad when she could hardly keep track of what she was doing this morning. It was worse than when her coffee spilled all over her things a few months ago.

But seeing his best friend so distressed…

Harry felt his entire body freeze over with a new fear that Niall mistakenly unlocked. It truly felt like his body was made of ice. He grabbed at his phone anxiously calling the apartment complex’s main line. He had to suffer through prompts before he could finally talk to a person. He asked if it looked as if anyone was moving stuff from his apartment (although he would have given it to her at this point).

He was awarded the slightest bit of relief to hear the word “no” at the other end. It washed over him as he rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, alright. Thanks,” he mumbled hanging up. He sat in his chair, and he glanced at Niall balling his hands into fists. “She gave back all the money,” he mumbled.

Niall did the easy and quick calculations in his head regarding the last eight or so months. “Whoa.”

Harry told him all about the reference calls, the graduation ceremony, and the lawyers’ meeting with her mum, and the good news. He told Niall how he paid for her student loans and kept all of it hidden from her. Harry tried to hide the tears in his eyes, but Niall knew they were there in his voice as he listened.

“Harry...you gotta just talk to her.”

“M’pretty sure she hates me.”

“That’s a load of shit, alright,” Niall said knowingly. “She loves you.” Harry felt his heart hoping a bit by way of fluttering against his ribs. He shook his head. He didn’t want to hope because she looked betrayed, and it was all his fault. Niall shook his head. “She’s all snively and you’re all angry. You two are quite the pair. You could have a show.”

He wanted to throw something at Niall, but he was too exhausted to hold his head up, let alone hold anything worth throwing—and he wouldn’t really throw something at his best friend. So, he sat there, devastated that she gave him the money back. It worried him to the core. It seemed his new fear of her leaving that apartment was going to be real, sooner rather than later.

And if she left Styles Incorporated…

“She said that you needed this today,” Niall shrugged and put a folder on Harry’s desk in front of him. He winced knowing she was still helping even when she was upset with him. “Tragic that I have to play messenger,” he shook his head. “I hope you talk to her.”

But Harry didn’t want to press. It was obvious he pressed too much and now he had to wait for her to forgive him.

Maybe.

*

Wednesday

She didn’t come to work.

There was nothing else to say.

There was nothing he could think about except that she didn’t come to work.

He didn’t get to see her. All day and an entire near-sleepless night. He impulsively shopped for items scheduled to be delivered the following day. Items he didn’t need but he needed to get for her...even if she never set foot in his house again.

There was nothing else he could think about.

*

Thursday

Niall brought his tea to him that afternoon.

So, a new nightmare plagued him, and he continued to think of nothing else but the distance she was putting between them.

*

Friday

For the second time in his life, and moreover, the second time within a year, Harry left work early. Niall was insistent. He was agitated beyond belief, his one meeting he was completely distracted that Niall did most of the talking. Harry’s company was substantial, but surely, she couldn’t avoid him on the entire floor.

But she did. She managed somehow to avoid him even when he kept going in and out of Niall’s office and thereby walking through her little space. But she wasn’t there a single of the seven or so times he walked through. At one point he walked in for the sake of walking in. Niall was on the phone with a client. Harry just shook his head and left before even registering the fact Niall was there.

It was after the meeting that Niall encouraged him to leave for the day. “I don’t need to,” he snapped at his friend. “Jus’ get on with it,” he muttered.

Niall sighed, blew a long breath out his mouth. He packed his belongings from off the table and patted Harry on the back. “Meeting’s over, Harry,” he said and left him alone in the conference room.

He knew he was in tough shape but not even realizing the meeting was over seemed bad even for the way he was feeling. Rubbing the back of his head, he headed once more to Niall’s office. This time he wasn’t surprised she wasn’t there. Harry apologized to Niall quickly, returned to gather his stuff from his office, and left for home.

*

“Harry went home, so you don’t have to keep hiding,” Niall rolled his eyes as she tentatively tiptoed into her office. He didn’t look up, so he didn’t see the way she nearly dropped all of the papers in her arms at Niall’s sudden (accurate) accusation that she was hiding.

She bit her lip and put the papers on her desk. Niall didn’t look up as she walked toward his desk. “I yelled at him,” she whispered.

“Good, he probably deserved it,” Niall said simply. “People don’t yell at him enough. Think because he’s CEO, he’s without a flaw,” he shrugged. “He’s not, I’ve never seen him finish one document on his own because he never remembers how to fill it out. The man can’t multiply to save his life—I always do the tip at the restaurant. He has a terrible signature on contracts. It’s embarrassing to sign my name next to his. Also, he has a terrible handicap even though he’s been golfing for at least seven or so years now,” he said as if that should be the reason that she could yell at him. He looked up and smiled at her because it was an attempt to make her laugh but didn’t seem to do the trick.

“He’s also really cranky when he doesn’t see you at night now,” this was much softer said. His voice quiet as he further explained this. “And he bothers me. Called me at one in the morning last night asking if I wanted a porch swing. Do you know he has an online shopping problem? It’s worst when he's upset. He panic-ordered three sets of dishware when you got burned,” he continued. Her heart fluttered at the mention of a porch swing. It shot through her like a bolt of electricity. That was because of her. She knew it. But Niall’s attempt still got him not even a smirk. “You should probably go after him,” he smiled at her sadly once more. “You need to talk to him.”

She shook her head. “He won’t forgive me.”

Niall rolled his eyes again. “Would you forgive him if this whole crazy scenario was reversed?”

She looked at her feet because she wouldn’t even need to forgive him. It would be a non-issue. “I see why Harry made you his sous-chef around here,” she muttered...because yes, of course she would. Probably before he even tried to apologize, at that.

“I knew there was a reason,” he winked at her. “Have a lovely weekend, darling,” he said going back to the documents on his desk.

“Are you sure?” She whispered after a moment.

“He loves you. I promise.”

“But all the other interns...the...companions. I’d be no different falling all over him.”

“He fell for you long before you did,” he told her simply.

She swallowed, blushing at the notion. Her stomach flipped with hope. “Do you know he went to the funeral?” She whispered.

Niall frowned because he didn’t know that, but he did know that had to hurt her. He looked back up to meet her gaze and he smiled gently at her. “Another reason you should yell at him.”

“You’re a really good friend, Niall,” she rolled her eyes.

“Can’t wait to be one of your best friends, love,” he winked.

She took one more deep breath, hurried over to Niall’s desk. She kissed his cheek as he worked. He smiled. “Sorry I’m taking your job,” she whispered to him.

He threw his head back a bit and laughed. “I’d like to see you try,” but he didn’t mind, really. It would be worth it to have her around.

*

The driver was waiting at the edge of the cemetery. She took her wedges off so she wouldn’t get them covered in dirt as she sat cross-legged on the ground. She fiddled with the flowers—Eleanor probably planted them. Or maybe even her mom. She was surprised because there weren’t as many weeds pushing through the ground as there should have been—especially when she took notice of the other stones nearby. “I think you’d really like him,” she whispered. Of course, there was no response. “Louis likes him,” she told him. “So...there’s that,” she shrugged. “And he has a porch swing,” she added. “We’re not even together and he still didn’t cheat on me, so he beat the last guy, y’know?” she smirked sadly. “I wish you could’ve met him...”

She paused, looking around the grounds for a moment before she continued. “If you look, you can see a car over there, yeah? That poor man has to follow me everywhere because Harry doesn’t want me to get stuck without a ride in inclement weather or something,” she whispered, smiled sadly. “I’m so in love with him, I swear I can feel it in the atoms of my heart,” her eyes watered. “I gave him all the money back. I want him to know that I’m not...I don’t want money. I just want him,” she told him. “I know you would probably hate the idea of me being in love with anyone...but at least I waited until college...poor El stuck with Louis for the rest of her life,” she sighed as if it really were a tragedy. But it wasn’t. She loved Eleanor and Louis so much.

“Niall said he’s really bad at golf though, so you could still make fun of him about something,” she let out a watery laugh. “I miss you...so much,” she whispered. “I hope Dad is happy again,” she glanced over at the nearby plot of land. “He missed you,” she sniffled. “We all miss you,” her voice cracked. “Okay...I’m gonna go grovel for forgiveness, now,” she said. “I’ll see you soon,” she kissed two of her fingers and pressed them over his name before getting off the ground, brushing the dirt off, and headed for the car.

“Are you alright, Miss?” He asked with the utmost concern. He was opening the door for her as she approached.

She nodded, sniffling, and wiping her eyes. “For now,” she sighed. “Can you bring me to Harry’s?” She asked.

*

Harry didn’t want to answer the door. But whoever was on the other side knocked, then rang the doorbell. Knocked again. Doorbell again. Persistent.

If it was Niall coming to console him, he was going to kill him, simple as that. “For fucks sake,” he grumbled marching to the door in an angry fit. “Niall, y’made me leave early, and I did. What d’you want?” He snapped loud enough to hear through the door before ripping it out of the way.

She flinched at his harsh tone. Her eyes were puffy and red. She looked so defeated as she turned her gaze to the ground. His heart hammered against his ribs in total shock that she was there. Left him utterly speechless. “I know this is stupid...” she started. “I’m sorry. It’s not enough because you deserve so much more than sorry. It’s never going to be enough, but I am so... very sorry. I was...” she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what I was. What I said was so hurtful and so untrue. You have to believe that,” she was staring at her feet while she spoke. “Harry,” her voice cracked, and she was so worried it wasn’t enough. He didn’t make any noise and she was certain if he didn’t forgive her, she would die in that spot. “I know you didn’t mean anything by what you did other than to help me. But I don’t accept help very well... in case it wasn’t obvious. Especially when it comes to something like...my career or my...past,” she explained. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you; I shouldn’t have said such awful things and I would time travel back to that moment and slap myself for even thinking about speaking to you like that. It was horrible,” she shook her head. “I’ll beg every day for as long as you want if you’ll forgive me,” she whispered. “I am—”

Harry pulled her into his arms suddenly, one arm around her waist, the other snaking up her back to hold the back of her head. He clutched her against him as tightly as he could without hurting her or inhibiting her breathing. “You were already forgiven,” he murmured breathing deeply into her hair. He kissed the side of her face. She released a long breath and buried her face against the side of his neck.

“You shouldn’t give in so easily,” she sniffled clinging back to him like he was a buoy. Of course, he kept her afloat.

“I’ll yell at you later if that’ll make you feel better.”

She nodded. “It really would.”

He smiled, kissed the side of her head again. Harry wouldn’t yell at her if his life depended on it. “I jus’ want t’take care of you,” he promised. “That’s it.”

“I know, you told me that first day you messaged me.” He smirked thinking about how a year ago, she wasn’t in his mind at all. He didn’t even know she existed. Now, he thought about spending one second without her beside him and it seemed like full-blown torture. “Louis said I take care of everyone else because the last time someone cared about me, they died,” she said bluntly. “Seven years of therapy and Louis was the only one who said it,” she muttered. Harry was glad she was tucked below his chin because he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. It was incredible she could make a joke in even the saddest of circumstances. She took a shivering, heaving breath. Harry tried to pull back so he could see her, but she squeezed him in place. Like she didn’t want to say it while looking at him. He nodded in encouragement for her to continue. “People will know if you hire me. You’d literally be making a position for me. And so… I thought if I got a job elsewhere... we could…” she swallowed the lump in her throat. She tucked her face deeper in his shoulder. “I…uh...”

He pulled back this time and didn’t stop when she tried to hold him in place. He pressed his hand to the side of her face and rubbed his thumb over her cheek. “Thought we could be a real couple?” He asked softly.

Her cheeks turned red as ever and she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

He didn’t pause for even half a second. He didn’t want her to make her feel embarrassed or worried about anything regarding their future. “Kitten, m’so in love with you, I don’t care if we tell the entire world. I don’t care if everyone knows or if no one knows. All that matters t’me is that I love you so much.”

Her eyes watered and her heart melted. She didn’t know how to tell him she loved him so much it hurt but he said it so beautifully and without a care. She didn’t know how to articulate it as perfectly as he did. “They should really put a warning on that site about how you may accidentally find your soul mate.”

He managed to smile this time for just a mere moment as she spoke; his heart skipped beats waiting for her to say she loved him back. While she didn’t say it exactly as he thought she would (but when did she ever do what he expected?), it was exactly what he wanted her to say and meant just as much if not even more.

Then he kissed her so deeply he thought he might bruise her lips. But if he did, he thought she might not even mind.

*

Harry lifted her legs, so they were wrapped around his hips. He carried her all the way to the kitchen, pausing only to kick the door closed. He settled her on the counter and started looking for some medicine. He didn’t ask if her head hurt because the redness in her eyes told him it was aching.

“You have t’take the money back,” Harry said leaning down to take her shoes off as she swallowed the medicine. He tossed them toward the TV room. “I shattered a lamp over it,” he stood back up and kissed her again on the forehead.

 “Niall told me,” she smirked at him. He stood between her knees.

“Can’t have any secrets with him,” Harry muttered.

She giggled and Harry pressed his lips to hers again then pulled back so he could hold her face between his hands. He smiled at her with a shake of his head. “God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled.

“Mm... the bloodshot eyes? The tired dark circles? The gray skin? That does it for you?”

“M-hmm,” he pressed his nose along the side of her face inhaling the mixture of her hair and soap. He didn’t cater to her insults to herself. “Take the money back,” he mumbled into her ear and pressed a series of kisses down the length of her neck. She shook her head trying to ignore the dizziness she felt from his lips on her skin. “Please kitten,” he was begging. Objectively, it was adorable. But she couldn’t accept it.

“Baby, you can’t pay me a salary, pay my student loans, and let me live here all—”

“You’re going t’live here?” He pulled back from her neck suddenly with a sparkle in his eyes that made it look like he was a little kid. Like it was Christmas, and he was getting the sled he asked for.

Her face was definitely not gray at that moment. She was completely blushing almost beyond recognition at her mistaken words. She shook her head quickly, trying to backtrack (uselessly). “No! I meant the apartment! I didn’t say that—”

“Please, please, please,” he now for sure, full-on begged. “Please live here, kitten.”

Her heart fluttered and she bit her lip trying to recover from how much she had revealed by accident. “Well...what am I supposed to do with all my great IKEA furniture?” She asked.

He rolled his eyes and pressed his face back into her neck. She wrapped her arms and legs around him clinging to him. “Throw it out, of course.”

“You’re so mean.”

He nodded against her and sighed, so happy she was there. So happy she was all his. “The meanest,” he assented. “Please live here,” he mumbled kissing the curve where her shoulder and neck met.

“You do have a porch swing,” she amended verbally but as if she were weighing the consideration in her head. His lips on her skin had such an effect on her it was hard to stand her ground or concentrate on joking around with him about the idea. “Speaking of—Niall told me you asked if he wanted one. Are you getting a new one or someth—what’s that?” She asked, glancing out the window as she spoke. She pushed him away immediately, rushing outside. She stood on his porch in total shock staring at his newest purchase before she turned back to him with a curious expression.

He followed behind her and stood in the doorway. “You said you would sleep out here if you could,” he shrugged. “I thought I’d make it possible...in case you ever came back.”

Where her favorite porch swing used to hang, was now a spacious, gorgeous, porch bed with so many pillows, so many blankets, and it nearly looked comfier than her lovely mattress back at the apartment. Her eyes watered and she swallowed so hard because she knew she had said that nearly three months ago in passing. And he remembered. So even when she wasn’t speaking to him, it was enough that he did something for her without knowing if she’d really be back. “You are something else, Harry.”

“Wait till y’see my new canopy bed,” he smirked feeling his cheeks warm at her compliment. Her heart nearly stopped because the canopy was mentioned almost nine months ago and the idea that he remembered anything from nine months ago was...well it was very Harry and very perfect.

“Baby, I love you and your impulse shopping so very much,” she whispered unable to look away from that beautiful reminder of how much he adored her. It made her feel so light that he cared for her so much. Now that he did, it was hard to imagine not feeling like this ever again.

Harry had other ideas though. He twisted her so quickly, her breath caught in her throat. He turned her back to face him and not the new bed. One arm wrapped around her waist, and he brought his other hand to her cheek in the one instant that she couldn’t even stumble because Harry had such a tight hold on her. He smiled at her, as if he was just told he won the lottery. Truly, he felt like he did. “Say it again,” he mumbled pressing his forehead to hers, his lips almost brushing hers as he spoke. She smiled shyly, the heat coming from her cheek warmed Harry’s hand.

“Say what? I love you?” She asked looping her arms loosely around his neck. He nodded silently and kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you,” she grinned so cutely Harry thought he would burst.

“Again,” he mumbled smiling as he carefully squeezed around her waist to lift her just so her toes hovered above the ground. She giggled.

“I love you.”

He kissed her left cheek. “More,” he inched toward the new outdoor bed.

“I love you,” she whispered, giggling more at his sweet request as he kissed her right cheek.

“Again,” he repeated.

“I love you, so, so much Harry Styles,” she whispered, holding his face between her hands, and Harry laid her back on the bed and kissed her again, fully on the lips with no intention of leaving that space for the rest of the weekend. Or until she asked to go see the canopy bed.

Whatever she wanted.

--

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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :) When I do the extras/check-in blurbs I will tag you in those as well (unless you don't want to be, just lmk) Thank you all so much for being part of this nice little taglist for me, it's very special to me 💕

#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #ceo!harry #sugardaddy!harry #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #tradtional

[ryuvnosuke]

masterlist of my bsd fics.

shin soukoku.

don't hurt me (i'm tired). 14,455 words, 2/2, complete.

Akutagawa doesn't know how to touch anything without leaving bloodstains on it.

For hunger is to give the body what it knows it cannot keep. 1,957 words, 1/1, complete.

Akutagawa doesn't push him away, even though he knows he's drowning in doubts and regrets, because he hasn't yet learned to comfort him when it comes to things he wouldn't care about. "I wish the tiger wouldn't heal your marks so quickly," he confesses instead, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the air around them. "I'd like to leave something on your skin for you to remember me by."

all is fair in love and war (but i can't fight with you anymore). 4,671 words, 1/1, complete.

"Five-letter word for horned animal, for short," Akutagawa says aloud, touching the tip of his nose with his pencil. "I'm trying to work here," Atsushi replies without looking up, reviewing a report. "I do not know if you are aware, but you are the one who insists on keeping me here against my will," he grumbles, turning his attention back to the crossword puzzle he's trying to solve.

or: after everything gets resolved, Atsushi doesn't want Akutagawa to leave his side, and he has to deal with it.

the foundations of decay. 12,096 words, 1/1, complete.

Know the weight of your desire, pup, the demon used to say, with his gun pointed directly to the dog's head. There's no wanting that doesn't come with a price.

Akutagawa dies and then comes back. Here are the consequences.

more under the cut.

fall from grace. 22,681 words, 3/7, ongoing.

The end of the world is near; an angel and a demon resolve to join forces to prevent it.

(or: carrying six thousand years of history, mixed feelings and dubious motivations, atsushi and akutagawa face the coming of the antichrist and all the things they have decided never to talk about).

won't you stay with me, my darling (when my walls start crumbling down). 1,001 words, 1/1, complete.

Atsushi arrives at Akutagawa's door.

Akutagawa has blood in his hands; it's his, this once.

prove to me that i'm not going to die alone.

He lowers his gaze. He digs his nails into his neck and scratches, searching for even the slightest hint of the pain he was used to, that kept the tiger in line. He looks at the knives on the counter. He bites the tip of his tongue. Akutagawa reaches up with one hand to take the other’s and pulls it away from his neck, and with the other he strokes the scar area so gently that Atsushi, despite his reservations, melts under his touch. atsushi knows what his ghosts look like.

don't look back (would you retrieve my soul?). 9,059 words, 1/1, complete.

Looking at Akutagawa's motionless body, pale, not dead but not alive either, Atsushi decides he must bring him back.

(or, following in the footsteps of orpheus, atsushi goes to the place where souls rest to look for the soul of the one he used to call his enemy.)

tachigin.

patron saints. 2,933 words, 1/1, complete.

"Sometimes I feel like I don't know who I am when I'm not with you," he confesses, and makes it sound like words spoken without thinking, when the reality is that that, like everything else he's ever said, is calculated honesty. "Defining your being around mine, while flattering, sounds inconvenient," she says, and her voice is velvety smooth, and he manages to see a scar on her bare shoulder. He doesn't like to see her scars. They remind him that she is as human as he is. "Who will you be, if I am not here?"

Michizou Tachihara doesn't know how to want something without devoting his whole being to it.

blood-soaked gown. 2,789 words, 1/1, complete.

He smiles, hiding behind the façade he wears at work—this is work, too. If only it were something more. If only meeting Gin wasn't a consequence of doing his duty. If only he hadn't gone to his apartment covered in blood just because he had nowhere else to go. If only Gin didn't trust him at all.

Michizou discovers something. He wishes to know nothing at all.

so when you hold my hand, do you want to hold my heart? 5,190 words, 1/1, complete.

Michizou brings a hand to his abdomen on instinct, where the scar from the last time Gin got close enough to touch him rests. He wishes he could resent her for it, but truth be told, he feels he should consider himself grateful that Gin had deemed him worthy of being touched by her at all. Even if the only goal was to make him bleed in a tit-for-tat sort of way that he saw coming the instant he had to hurt her. He knows he deserves the coldness and distance, but he finds Gin existing in the same room as him pretending he’s not there at all, and Michizou has to control himself not to demand that she look at him, at least.

of betray and things left unsaid.

ranpoe.

love, or the lack thereof. 3,582 words, 1/1, complete.

"I think I'm going to miss you." Ranpo turns and tilts his head. Karl is resting on his shoulders, making himself comfortable, and Poe feels as if he's about to throw up. "What are you even talking about now, Ed?" Poe can't find his words, which is quite ironic, and he fears that Ranpo won't take him seriously even if he could tell him what's going on anyway. As much as being around him brings some sense of comfort, Poe still needs to beat him. That's the reason he's here. That's all he's been working for. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

of the mind of a certain edgar allan poe.

soukoku.

famous last words. 2,364 words, 1/1, complete.

“No. No one who's sane enough would accept me shooting them for practice.” Dazai catches his leg as he kicks him again and throws him to the ground. Chuuya grumbles through his teeth, closing his eyes more out of anger than because the blow hurt. Fucker, son of a bitch. Dazai crouches down next to him smiling. His smile is a strange gesture on his face. “It's a good thing you have me, isn't it, Chuuya?” he singsongs, grabbing him by the arm to hurry him to straighten up with one hand while he tucks the other under his own coat, which hangs neatly over his shoulders.

Chuuya was fifteen years old when he shot Dazai for the first time.

kunichuu.

et moi, envountée de ténèbres. 2,080 words, 1/1, complete.

It’s not the first time. He knows how it goes. He never thinks too much about what he will do when he arrives, what he will say to him before he starts with what they both are really interested in, but he always practices in his mind how he’s going to say goodbye. He always thinks about saying Don’t you want to sleep here? but he never dares. He doesn’t know what he would do with himself if he were to receive a rejection, and he prefers not to make a fool of himself in front of the one who, as soon as he leaves this room, will be an enemy again.

doppo embraces what he, before, would've thought was darkness.

what he finds in return leaves him feeling empty.

chuuaku.

futile devices. 1,351 words, 1/1, complete.

There are barriers that cannot be broken down from the outside without hurting the one hiding inside, and Chuuya, surprisingly, has always respected him as a person. Now that all is done, that his loyalties have dragged him to his death and back, Akutagawa wishes he had never decided to hide inside himself. Not from him, at least.

chuuya and akutagawa meet late at night.

gen.

gin-centric.

we die alone, we'll all die young (what you care to die for?). 8,935 words, 1/1, complete.

"Akutagawa saved my life. Before he died," he says. It sounds like there is something else behind it, a turmoil that has been brewing inside him all this time. The why's. It must seem contradictory, that a destructive force to be reckoned with is capable of acts of self-sacrifice and kindness, that it is capable of gentleness. At least the weretiger has no way of knowing how much good Ryuunosuke was capable of. He knew the version of the man who was created in the mafia; she knew her brother for who he was outside of that. "At the time, my brother thought saving you was worth it," Gin mutters, standing up. She holds the coat in both hands. "I hope he was right."

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa dies on the battlefield. Gin is left to collect the pieces.

yosano akiko & kunikida doppo.

we can plant a memory garden. 4,267 words, 1/1, complete.

“We must go to the rest of the patients.”

Yosano grimaces, but nods. As Mori leads her in one direction and the general leads the boy in another, Yosano half-turns and says:

“Akiko Yosano! Don't forget that name!”

at eleven years old, akiko already knows what war looks like.

at eleven years old, she meets a boy.

tachihara michizou & tanizaki junichirou.

and they saw trouble in my eyes. 2,015 words, 1/1, complete.

(Now that everything is done, that he got what he wanted to get, he realizes this doesn’t make him feel better. This doesn’t make him feel any way at all, to be honest—he’s still bored, confused and alone. He feels kind of bad, though. For bringing this up. For trying to use someone else to distract himself from... what? His own faults?)

tanizaki and tachihara's training session—or tachihara pointing and shooting, in more senses than one.

#bsd fics #shin soukoku #chuuaku #kunichuu #tachigin #soukoku #ranpoe #yosano akiko #kunikida doppo #tanizaki junichirou #tachihara michizou #gin akutagawa

[ashtreme]

Alex Turner - You’re Losing Me

Pairing : Alex Turner x (she/her)Reader Word Count : 2.2k Warning : Nothing I guess, just angst. Synopsis : He never looks into the small cracks, always only noticing that something was amiss when the dam has broken, letting the tsunami sweep clean everything on its way. Notes : Inspired by You’re Losing Me by Taylor Swift. I recommend listening to it while reading. This is my first Alex fic. Please be kind.

Laying next to Alex has always been something she's dearly fond of. To listen to his heartbeat, tracing the lines of his tattoos, planting kisses to his beautiful skin and making him smile from the gesture. She loves it when the sun peeks through the window, making his brown eyes to look a few degrees lighter, as if they were a pool of honey. She loves everything about him. She loves Alex.

But she couldn't ignore the growing space between them. How the butterflies seem to have died down, hiding in their caves and never coming out again. His touches don't set her skin ablaze anymore. His kisses feel as if they were done out of habit, not really a form of communication. Everything that used to be the foundation of her ever so perfect happy ending started to crack, making the pillars of her fantasy to crumble.

“I don't understand.” Alex says, frowning.

Of course he doesn't. Alex was never great at these things. He never looks into the small cracks, always only noticing that something was amiss when the dam has broken, letting the tsunami sweep clean everything on its way.

“I know you don't.”

Alex pulls her close, embracing her tightly as if he's trying to cement her back to the ground. But hugs could only work one too many times until the earthquake hit harder, shattering everything that was already fragile in the first place.

She buries her face to his chest. Trying to block her vision from the light that is starting to find its way through the curtains. Her flat was located on the better side of town, making the lighting to be brilliant throughout the day, hence why they prefer to spend their time more on her place instead of his. But lately she's been wondering if she would like this room the same if the light was gone. Because it feels like her life is getting dimmer and dimmer each day.

And it's only a matter of time until the time's up.

She's tried to communicate all her worries, to try and make him understand about how things aren't really fine between them. That the flame is slowly dying. The wind is blowing strong at them and it feels like she's the only one trying to keep the fire alive. Even when it occasionally burns her.

“Don't overthink it,” Alex whispers to her ears “We'll find the way out.”

How? She wanted to ask. How could they find a way to fix it if he doesn't even seem to understand the problem? How would they work it out if he wouldn't even try to understand her troubles? How will they find the way out when he doesn't even know the void they're being stuck in?

“We'll make this work somehow.” He says again.

She wasn't sure if those affirmative words were for her or for himself, but she knew that the uncertainty in his tone weighs more than the meaning of the words. The bitter taste on her tongue was starting to be overwhelming. They're losing each other.

—-

Breakfast was dreadful. Her eyes were glued on him, waiting impatiently to have him break the silence. Her flat used to be filled with their chatter, cries of laughter over his lame jokes. Now the walls only echo the sound of records he plays before digging into his bowl of cereal. He hardly looks up to her. Only doing it when he needed to grab the milk or to check on his phone. Which only happens about twice in the course of 30 minutes.

She's tried to bring the light back to this place. To ask him questions or talk about what used to interest him most, yet none seem to work their charm as they used to. It was as if he's lost all interest. As if she was an overplayed song he's ready to skip from.

“So what are your plans today?” She finally asks, defeated to the realisation that he won't be initiating anything “Anything other than recording?”

Alex pursed his lips, shaking his head, “I don't think so.”

And then silence fell once more.

She lets out a sigh before standing up and heading to the sink. She could see him finally looking up, watching her walk away from the reflection of the windows, but she was tired of trying. They've kicked the day off with a sour start, she wouldn't want to burst and make it any worse than it already is.

Turning the tap, she begins to clean their dirty dishes. She could hear him walking closer. His pair of hands find their way around her waist as he rests his head to her shoulders. She hates it. The way he always seems to know how to calm the time bomb and add just another hour before it finally implodes. How he always seems to know the spell to cast the dark cloud away for the day, before a thunderstorm struck at night. How he always seems to know how to dust their problems under the rug for a while longer.

“Are you alright?” Alex whispers in between his hums to the song playing in the background.

She nods, closing her eyes as she tries to drown herself in the moment.

“Hey,” He says, turning the tap off and making her face him. He places her hands on her cheeks, gently cupping them before planting a gentle kiss to her lips “I love you.”

Do you really? Her eyes were staring back at him, trying to find that passion that used to bleed right through. Alex's expression was gentle, smiling at her softly and God just how beautiful and lovely he is right now. It was hard for her to tell if the genuine affection is finally back or was she just blinded by his beauty.

So she smiles halfheartedly, caving into his magnetism once more, “I love you.”

“That's the smile I so missed about.” He grins “I'll see you tonight, yeah?”

She replies with a nod. Watching him grab his brown satchel before heading out, blowing her a kiss as he closes the door. Somehow the flat doesn't feel any more silent than when he was still here.

—-

The table was filled with familiar faces. People she hasn't seen in a while; Alex's friends. They've always been such pleasant company, involving her in every conversation and jokes, yet it's rather ironic now to feel like she could connect with these people more than with the man that sleeps next to her at night.

He was gone the moment they stepped in the bar. Swallowed by the ocean of people, conversing with strangers she's never seen before in her life. The air feels suffocating somehow. She thought that the space between them was only felt at home, where no one else was around and able to see it, but now sitting next to an empty spot where he should be present feels like a hard slap to the cheek. The person who was always attached to her like a bee, the person who could never stop his hands to not hold hers, the person who could never stop humming romantic lyrics to her ears is now gone. Occupied by God knows what or who.

“Have you seen Alex?” She asks Matt who only just got back from the dance floor, taking the empty seat at the table.

The boy frowns, shaking his head, “No, I thought he was here.”

“He hasn't been here since we've arrived.” She says, her anger seeping through “Do you have any idea where he is?”

“Sorry, Love, I haven't seen him yet.”

Dissatisfied with his answer, she stood from her seat to go find Alex herself. Her temper was rising. Ignoring her presence within the walls of her flat was one thing, but to invite her for a night out only to neglect her and disappear entirely was just plain cruel. Sure she enjoys her time with his friends, but she wasn't here for them. She was here for him.

The bar was her first starting point. She scans the place where she last saw him, hoping to find the trace of where he might have gone to but the place was dimly lit and night was falling fast, making the establishment to be more crowded. Finding him would be a little more strugglesome now.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She turns to the source of voice. A man who doesn't look much older than her stood with a smile. The stranger was leaning on the bar stool. He was decently dressed. Nothing about him triggers her alarm but no matter how kind he is or how charming he tries to present himself, she would never be interested in his offer.

“I have a boyfriend.” She says as she looks away, scanning through the crowd once more.

“Well, that's a shame.” He says as he gulps his glass of scotch “Where is he?”

“If I knew, I wouldn't be standing here now, would I?”

The stranger laughs, finding her annoyed words to be entertaining.

She ignores the stranger's response with an annoyed rolling of eyes, turning to her right where her eyes finally meet his. His disapproving knitted brows were visible. Alex was never the jealous type but he does have his moments and she knew that tonight was just one of her lucky nights.

She walks to him, looking straight at him with her head held high. He might have his take about the argument that she's certain would rise in a matter of minutes, but she's loaded with one too many troubles of her own. A big fight might actually glue them back together or perhaps, crush them entirely, but it was time for them to stop running in circles. It was time for them to face their problems.

“Can we talk?”

Alex nods, gesturing to her to lead the way.

Walking out of the bar and into a much quieter hallway, she folds her hands in front of her chest before turning to see him. His expression was unreadable. Hands buried deep in his pockets as if he's ready to brace the upcoming storm.

“So,” She begins.

“So.” He replies.

“Where have you been?” She asks, tone filled with frustration “You left me right after we got here.”

Alex shrugs, “I was just chatting to people.”

“And you didn't care to tell me or bring me with you?”

“I didn't think that it was necessary.” He reasoned, completely unaware of the sting it caused to her heart “Besides, it looks like you didn't really need my company.”

Her brows furrow in vexation, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He sighs, once again taking the easy way out and brushing everything away “Look, can we just go back? I need to drink.”

The air was thick around them. It has been for a while and she's been trying to ignore it for as long as she could, but her lungs have finally collapsed. Her fortress could no longer hold the endless painful strikes. Her grip on him has finally been released, leaving a red bleeding wound on the place where his name was carved on.

“What are we doing, Alex?”

The fear in his eyes was evident but he tried his best to conceal it with a nervous laughter, “What do you mean?”

She remained quiet this time. Her chest feels tight. Just how long did he think they could keep this? How long will this ballad last? How long was she supposed to bear all these quakes to her tottering heart? The way out he promised was never found. Perhaps, they never truly looked for it. Already given up to the void that has swallowed them for God knows how long.

“Love, please,” Alex begs, his eyes pleading “Let's just get back inside.”

“Why won't you do something?” She asks again with beads of tears on her lashes “Why won't you say something?”

He remains quiet, face turning pale as he could see the end coming close.

“Why won't you lose something? Risk something? Choose something? Anything?” She asks, her sobs were getting in her words “I've got nothing to believe in, Alex. Not anymore.”

“Love—”

“Alex,” She cuts, shaking her head with a pained smile “It's not working. Stop lying to yourself.”

The fear finally plagued his expression. For the first time after what seems to be forever, she could see the genuine love radiating from his eyes. The gentle gaze and the warm affection that used to shower her everyday. But tonight they were accompanied with regret and guilt. As if he's finally realised that they've gone past the point to revive their relationship.

You don't know what you've got until it's gone.

“I tried,” Alex chokes “I really did.”

She nods, trying her best to stop her pouring tears, “I know.”

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner x oc #alex turner x y/n #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fanfiction #alex turner scenario #alex turner imagine #alex turner angst

[pandorasfavorite]

Hey ! , can you make dom x reader and they fought into a argument which led the reader leave the apartment for a couple of days and stayed with rhea and dom missing the reader and begging for the reader to come back and find n damian telling dominik to do something for the reader and the reader forgives him and goes to back to him 😊

The shutting door

AN: siempre jodidamente regañándome = always fucking nagging. A little out of character maybe but omg I wrote a lot.

Arguing with him is crushing. Like your heart is being squeezed and squeezed to the point where it will crumble and shatter under pressure. That's how intense it feels to argue with someone you rarely fight with. It feels like it's not actual reality, it's all a figment of your imagination. Nothing has ever been this bad before, where you feel so distraught and strung out.

The day was normal. Wake up, enjoy the morning with him, go to work with Dominik, then come back home to shower and lay with each other. A domestic couple living a domestic life. Of course, every relationship has its problems, whether that has to do with the past or what's to come. Dominik's past really does bite at him, the days when he has to come face to face with his father are the worst.

Maybe it was the sensitivity in your heart that made you disprove Dominik's behavior sometimes. No matter how bad his relationship with his father is does he have to go that far? Does he have to rip up his father's things and beg him to hit his child? You felt it was so far-fetched, almost like Dominik is punishing himself more than his father. Because as soon as the encounter is over Dominik is in a horrible mood, cranky, irritable, and most of all cut off from reality.

Your tears sting your eyes and they pool along your tear line, watching him yell at his father. Real yells, real hurt that his father was never there for him. Dominik didn't deserve that and he doesn't deserve this. You stand beside the announcer's table, a hand over your mouth as you try not to cry. Dominik smacks his father across the face and you can't help but wince. Dominik is just fueled by anger; this isn't the man you vowed to, do you have him all wrong?

Rhea is there too watching Dominik with a smile, encouraging his rage and his anger towards his dad. She stands beside you, putting an arm around you, laughing at the interaction. You furrow your brows angrily, shrugging her arm off of you. You cross your arms in front of you as a reflex, just wanting to protect yourself... and your emotions for as long as you can bare.

When it's all over you walk to the car with Dominik, sliding into the passenger seat with no words exchanged. The only noise is the click of your seat belt and Dominik shifting the gears with a jerk. The air around you feels so tense and suffocating, like if you talked the atmosphere would just thicken with anger. Dominik's face has a permanent frown that stayed there since the beginning of the match. You slide your hand onto his arm, looking at him with the softest eyes, trying to get his attention.

Dominik shrugs your hand off, looking to the side while driving, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He feels as if this life is the worst when his father is involved, he's torturing himself. You slide your hand back into your own space, and your bottom lip wobbles as the tears burn more. It stings painfully at your eyes and you turn your head to look at the window, hoping and praying that maybe the distraction was enough to stop your small cries. But alas it isn't, you sniffle quietly and hold a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut as two tears run down your rosy cheeks.

Dominik looks over at you because of the sounds, he does a fast double-take, peering forward to see what's happening. He bites his lip just frustrated with everything. He's disappointed that he made you cry. He's so fucking angry at the world. As he's struggling internally with his anger at his father and himself, you attempt to pull yourself together. Wiping the tears off your cheeks when the car pulls into the gravel driveway, the crunches of the rocks under the tires a comforting sound for you now. You know that you are home when you hear it.

Dominik turns off the car but doesn't move to get out, he exhales harshly, running both his hands through his hair now. You unbuckle your seat belt and turn your body towards him, crossing your arms and holding yourself. "Can we talk?", you whisper out unsure. He doesn't try to look at you, pulling the key out of the ignition, "About what?", he says harshly, in a deeper sullen kind of tone. Your mouth opens and closes as you attempt to force the words out of your mouth. Dominik rarely talks to you like this, so rare it takes you by surprise and snatches the words away from you. After a moment of not answering he scoffs and throws his door open, slamming it behind him as he walks into the house.

You take a deep breath trying to calm your breathing. You throw open your door as well walking into the house, shutting the door from where he left it open for you. Dominik tosses the keys onto the coffee table, kicking off his shoes, huffing and puffing like an intolerable child. It all will begin to make sense, it's not the adult Dominik that is hurting. Dominik's inner child is withering from inside, he misses his father: his supportive words, his life lessons, his hugs, and even wrestling side by side with him.

Dominik walks into the kitchen opening the cabinet, reaching for a cup, you tread into the kitchen as well standing close beside him. You've convinced yourself the best way to help him was to try and talk to him one more time. You are nervous about his reaction to what you will say, how will he react? Like normal right? You put your hand on his arm again, this time squeezing the muscle in the small notion that you are there for him. "Dominik, I know that-". He snaps his glass banging on the table loudly, "What do you know?" he says with a mean pointed gaze. His eyes stared directly into yours with nothing but anger. You slip your hand off his arm for the second time that night.

You tilt your head and you step back just an inch, "Dom I'm just trying to help", he scoffs at your caring words. He walks away from you, straight towards the bedroom, "Yea, well don't", his words sharp and dangerous. Your mouth drops open for a second, unbelieving that your fiance is acting this way towards you, he swore he would love you unconditionally. It's starting to feel hazy and your sweetness is fading second by second. As Dominik is walking by he mutters under his breath, what sounds like an insult something he will soon wish he never said. "siempre jodidamente regañándome", he's close to the bedroom thinking you didn't hear him whisper under his breath. Obviously, something he didn't want you to hear.

Your eyes squint, for some reason thinking that was going to help you process better. "What did you say?", you yell down the hallway, walking towards him all the same. Dominik is already inside the bedroom with the door open, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. You walk down the hallway stomping your feet, you in the doorway, staring daggers into the back of his head, "What the fuck did you say Dominik?!", you raise your voice. You only knew a little bit of Spanish but you did know one word for sure, "regañándome" (nagging).

Dominik's breath is picking up in anger and his body is pulsing with something he isn't normally accustomed to. His fist clenched covering his face and your yelling set him off. He flies up off the bed to look you in your eyes and yell what he said, he looks so unrecognizable. His face turned a shade red and a vein was prodding his clenched hands. "I said all you do is fucking nag me! You always nag me! Did you hear it that time?!", the first sentence alone made your angry face break. The rest of his spew was just as painful, every sentence making your heart flinch and cower. No matter how much protection you try and have for yourself, nothing would hurt more than that.

You nod wiping your face harshly of the nasty tears that you cry for him. You have no answer for that, you can't even come up with words to mutter to him anymore. Youre afraid if you look at him everything will pull away from you. You walk a few steps into the room going into the closet in order to grab your travel suitcase off the top shelf. You sling it off and lay it on the bed opening it and throwing water clothes of yours are on the rack. Dominiks erratic breathing has slowed down some, only to pick up again as he watches you stuff clothes into the bag.

For now, he can only stare in disgust with himself. He's so scared right now. He's so scared of losing you the only person that really keeps him sane through it all. You walk over to the dresser shoving socks and underwear into the bag, before zipping up the bag with no care for the neatness of your belongings. You roll the bag onto the hardwood floor and you start walking out, Dominik desperately moves after you. His hands and voice shaking at the reality of it all.

"Wait baby, I didn't mean it!", his voice pleading for a sliver of your forgiveness through it all. You shake your head no still moving forward, daring yourself not to look back and not to fall apart at the sinking sound of his pleas. He's pleading for you not to leave him, all of it feeling just like his father did, how his life kept going in this same pattern. You snatch the keys off of the table, throwing a coat on and stuffing the key into the pocket, streams of tears gliding down your face. Dominik's hands are shaking and his breathing is so strangled, almost on the verge of a panic attack, You fiddle with the door knob. The door is at a crack when you open it and Dominik speaks in a small voice, "At least tell me where you're going", you shut your eyes and put your head down for a moment, pondering and living through the play-by-play of your heartbreak. Dominik grabs your arms, mentally begging you to look at him one more time.

"Please", he whispers, "I can't lose you too". You shake your head no, pulling the door open more for you to walk out. "I'm sorry", you whisper shutting the door behind you with a click.

Dominik stands staring at the door, his chest rising and falling like he's on the verge of drowning. He is hyperfocused on the door, his brain is replaying you leaving, over and over again. The click of the door on repeat, makes his ears ring, Dominik clamps his hands over his ears squeezing his eyes shut so tightly it's painful. The ringing doesn't stop, now your soft sorry is at full volume in his head. He pushes his hands against his ears to the point that his eardrums are being squished. Dominik paces for only a moment, all that just for himself to picture the look on your face when he yelled at you.

His fist balls up tightly and his chest is constricted with a million breaths, "FUCK!", his fist lodged into the wall. He pulls back after staring for a moment, his exhales ragged and broken and his knuckles bloody. Dominik turns around and slides against the wall, the stinging of tears in his eyes comparable to his as a child. He tilts his head back, it smacks against the wall and he curses quieter this time, "fuck".

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hours pass but it feels like months. Your phone has been blowing up while you lay in Rhea's guest bedroom clutching the pillow, your sobs keeping her and Buddy awake. Rhea sighs and looks at Buddy, Buddy nods and Rhea slides out of the bed, walking to your door and lightly knocking on it before walking in. Her eyes and look soften in pity and sadness for you, she sits beside you on the bed and holds her arms open for you. You hug her like never before, her friendly comfort is something you need to get through this. How are you going to get through this? Your phone rings again and it lights up the room, the background picture of you and Dominik's kisses blaring from the phone. You cry harder holding onto Rhea.

She reaches over and picks up the phone, turning the volume down so you can't hear. "She doesn't want to talk to you right now Dom", he accent thick as a twinge of anger resonates inside of her. "I know, I know, but I need to talk to her", Rhea is silent looking at your puffy eyes and shaking body, "Rhea please, she's my everything", Dominik's broken and wobbling voice cracking through the phone. Rhea squeezes you tighter, "That's up to her. Bye", Rhea clicks the phone off and puts it on silence. She wraps both arms around you rocking you comfortably.

Dominik is suffering without you, he can't bring himself to eat, and his stomach hurts too much at the pain he brought you. Days passed and he felt so sick. Sick of himself. Sick of life. Sick of the shit that he gets served every day. He just needs you back in his life, he wasn't ready for the most important person in his life to leave like that.

Dominik picks up his phone dialing a friend, at a loss for what to do.

"Hello?".

"Hey", Dominik says with little confidence.

"Sup man? How's it been?", Damian speaks back in his deep curt voice.

"Not good man. She hasn't been home in days, we got into an argument, and I fucked up", Dominik spills to Damian expecting his anger much like Rhea's.

"Shit dude. What are you going to do?", Damian replies surprised that the power couple struggled.

"There's nothing I can do, she doesn't want to talk to me man", Dominik hears Damian scoff from the other side of the phone almost mockingly.

"Stop being a pussy and go talk to her. She won't listen until she sees your effort", Dominik nods, forgetting he can't be seen. Maybe that's what he needed all along, someone to tell him to man up. Someone needed to tell him to let the past be the past and you tried to do that yourself, Dominik just didn't want to hear the truth.

Dominik gathers himself with confidence now, cleaning himself as fast as he could. He turns around and looks for the keys only to curse when he realizes you took them with you. He orders a car and continuously runs a hand through his hair anxiously. The driver takes him to a florist to get him the perfect flowers. The flowers symbolize apology and forgiveness, exactly what he is hoping for.

When Dominik gets dropped off at the front doorstep of Rhea's he lets go of the breath he's been holding since he got into the car. He knocks on the door loudly, trying not to rock on his heels out of anticipation. Rhea slings open the door, and her kind smile switches into one of anger, her knuckles turning white from the grip she has on the door. "What?", she says with malice, Dominik drops his head in shame, "Can I talk to her? Please?", he needs you and he needs like. Rhea opens her mouth to deny but you step out from behind the door.

You put a hand on her shoulder and you smile kindly, "Rhea it's okay, Thank you", Rhea looks at you for a moment and nods. Only turned her head to give Dominik an annoyed look even though they were friends. You cross your arms and lean against the frame of the door saying no words. Dominik holds the floors out to you, and you can't help but melt at the notion. You almost start speaking but Dominik shakes his head no, not wanting your beautiful heart to cut his apology short.

"Im a dick", he says plain and straightforwardly, you just nod agreeing pursing your lips some. "I'm a dick and I treated you horribly. I yelled at you because I was mad at myself and my dad. I had no right", he looks up at you with a sheen of tears making his eyes glassy, "I had no right baby". He sniffles some, he pulls himself together, "I know flowers and a shitty unrehearsed apology isn't going to change what I did, but it cant live without you. I'm getting help for it, I never want you to think you're the problem when it's completely me". He rushes out the apology, every fiber of his being is dedicated to you.

You can't help but feel the familiar feeling of love and intense emotion build up inside your chest, burning at your eyes like it has been for the past few days. You sniffle and a tear runs down your face and Dominik feels himself hurt again, God seeing you cry is like a stab to his chest. He wants to reach out and hold you but it's not his place right now. Dominik isn't full of himself, he sinks down on his knees the flowers squeezed in his hands. He looks up at you with the pleading eyes that make you melt, "Please?" he pleads to you on his knees.

You can't help but nod and wipe your tears away, falling to your knees with him and wrapping your arms around his neck. Dominik drops the flowers and he finally gets to put his arms around your waist again. His eyes are wide and hugs you tightly breathing in everything about you after he has been deprived for days. After minutes he can't bring himself to pull away, he's buried his face into the crook of your neck not wanting to let go in case it is all a dream. He pulls back just enough to touch his forehead to you, "You've never been a bother and you sure as fuck have never nagged me", you kiss his lips with a small peck, "I should've never said that", he whispers against your lips looking into your eyes with sincerity. "I love you" you whisper back an admission of your forgiveness. "I love you", he shakes his head and pushes on your back, your lips falling against his and your body against his like usual.

#dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio x reader angst #dom dom #dominik mysterio fluff #wwe #dominik mysterio smut #dominik mysterio x you #dominik my bbg #dominik mysterio fanfiction #dominik mysterio x reader

[makeitastrength]

Your top 5 favorite Chenford episodes and 5 worst Chenford episodes, because I love hearing everyone’s varying viewpoints, and yes— you walked right into it 😉

I knew this was going to be difficult, but holy crap, I didn't expect it to be that difficult! I’m glad you asked, though, because it was interesting to actually put my feelings about these episodes into words... and as it turns out, I have a lot of feelings and a lot of words. Buckle up, this is a long one!

Favorites:

2x11 Day of Death

I mean, do I really need to explain this one? It’s intense, it’s terrifying, it’s emotional, and the acting is phenomenal. I’ll never be over the fact that Tim dug her out of the ground with his bare hands and held her so tightly in the aftermath. Plus, Lucy is an absolute badass from start to finish. And then, of course, the ending scene is one of my all-time favorites. I could go on, but I think you get the point. This list is in chronological order, but if I had to actually put these in order, this episode would be #1.

4x09 Breakdown

I will forever love this episode because it digs into Tim’s backstory. Watching him slowly crumble as the episode progresses is just… I don’t want to say it’s amazing, because he’s in so much pain and it breaks my heart. But Eric acts the absolute hell out of this one, and we get a look into Tim’s childhood, which is such an integral part of who he is. But also, this episode emphasizes the depth of the Chenford relationship and, in particular, how much Tim has come to trust Lucy. When she tells him he can’t do the interrogation, he hands it off to her immediately. No protest, no questions asked. This case is deeply personal to him and he trusts her with it unquestioningly. And later, we see just how deeply he’s internalized Lucy’s slip of the tongue about the Tim tests, how that’s played into what is probably his greatest fear - that he’s anything like his father. But we also see him feeling safe enough with her to verbalize this fear. He’s as close to tears as we’ve ever seen him, and his walls are just completely gone. He’s so damn vulnerable with her, and I hate seeing him in this much pain but I love that we got this scene. And then, of course, the hug, which is my favorite of their hugs because we finally see Tim allow someone else to shoulder some of his burden.

5x01 Double Down

This is another one I probably don’t have to explain. I mean, literally everything about it is so great. We start with Lucy dreaming about their kiss and Tim being so discombobulated by it that he actually tells Angela what happened. We have the entire undercover portion in which very little is actually pretend. We have the hand hold and the completely unnecessary airplane bathroom kiss (which is so hot, oh my god; it’s definitely my favorite of their kisses). We have all the other touches (his hand on her thigh, his hands on her shoulders, her arms around his neck, I could go on). And while I’m glad they didn’t actually hook up, the fact that they both wanted it says more than any words ever could.

5x19 A Hole in the World

This is one of my favorite Rookie episodes ever, and I’ve written two fics based on this episode, so it’s possible that’s impacting my decision to place this one in the top five. But I also truly love the Chenford scenes in this one, for so many reasons. First off, I will never be over the fact that Tim got off work in the middle of the night and still came to Lucy’s apartment. And we get our first “babe” which makes me so giddy. Jumping ahead to the ending, obviously it’s awful that Tim was forced to take a life, but I do appreciate that they didn’t blow past it. We see Tim being surprisingly vulnerable in Grey’s office, which really just shows how much his walls have come down. He’s still far softer with Lucy than anyone else, but overall he’s a little softer in general now and more in tune with his emotions. And then we get worried Lucy wanting so badly to be there for him and support him through this. And lastly, we have the scene at the beginning that gives us the first little glimpse into the cracks that are forming in their relationship. Up to this point, they’ve been basking in the honeymoon period, but now for the first time we start to see how the long hours are wearing on Tim. We see how they’re struggling to balance their busy schedules and maintain the open communication that a relationship needs. And we see that their communication maybe isn’t quite so open. After all, Tim’s “we’ll figure it out” isn’t a solution. And while he’s supportive of Lucy’s efforts to make detective, we start to see signs that he’s struggling with her desire to work undercover. This sets up what will hopefully be some productive angst for these two in season 6 as they work through these issues, and I have no idea how it’s going to play out but I’m excited for the possibilities!

5x21 Going Under

I don't even know what to say about this one except just... the emotions. They're so flirty on the phone, but then shit hits the fan and it's so intense. Tim holding his breath until he sees Lucy is okay. Him being so shaken up that he nearly gets shot. Lucy calling him the moment she can. The way they cling to each other in the laundry room. The looks of concern on their faces. The hookup, of course. And once again, we see glimpses here of the issues they've been ignoring (though they do at least start to talk about it a little) and everything Tim, in particular, is suppressing. This episode tugs at my heartstrings in all the best ways.

Honorable Mentions

I know this wasn’t part of the original question, but I’m including it here because my final list of favorites turned out differently than I expected. It almost pains me to write all of this, because the episodes listed below have scenes that I absolutely love, but in the grand scheme of things, they just didn’t make the cut for a variety of reasons that I’ll do my best to explain.

1x20 Free Fall

There are so many things I love about this episode, but mostly it’s that it leaves both of them emotionally exposed. It’s the most vulnerable we’ve seen Tim with anyone other than Isabel, and we see Lucy trying her hardest to support him through the door and shedding a few tears in the process. This one was a definite contender for the top 5 but just didn't quite make it in.

2x02 The Night General

Obviously the last scene is the highlight of this episode (and is another one of my all-time favorite Chenford scenes). I really like all their scenes in this episode, though, from Lucy’s sassy editorialization of the book to their badass fight. But the audiobook scene is just… everything. I’m willing to bet no one has ever done something like that for Tim. You can see he’s just stunned in the aftermath and has no idea what to say. I remember the first time I watched it, just being amazed at the lengths Lucy would go to for him. He’s always been worth the effort for her, and I love that so much.

2x12 Now and Then

First off, I appreciate that they devoted an entire episode to Lucy’s recovery, because so many shows just move on as though nothing happened. DOD was such a traumatic event for Lucy (and, honestly, for Tim as well) and I’m glad we got to see the aftermath. We see Lucy struggling but we also see her begin to work through it with the love and support of the people around her. It's also really telling that the only person Lucy fully opens up to in this episode is Tim. She tells everyone else she's fine, but she allows herself to be vulnerable with him. We also get some insight into how Tim is faring in the aftermath. We see his feelings of helplessness as he’s forced to let Nyla take the reins, and we see how much sadness and guilt he’s harboring when Lucy asks him for a time machine. And then finally, at the end, we see him figuring out how he can be there for her… by opening up about his own trauma and using what he’s learned to offer her a new perspective. And, of course, let’s not forget him tossing back the ring and the soft smiles on their faces as he does. This is another one of my all-time favorite Chenford scenes. It's just a great episode overall, and it was really hard for me to bump this one out of the top five.

4x01 Life and Death

While I initially thought 4x01 would make the top five, I ultimately couldn’t justify it due to the limited number of Chenford scenes. Other than the hug, they don’t actually interact that much. And don’t get me wrong, I love their hug. But I’ve always felt like there was a lack of follow-up to 3x14 and this episode. It’s clear they both feel something in those moments. It’s not clear what exactly they each are feeling, or how they’re feeling about those feelings, or why they never talk about it again. I know we all have our own headcanons about this, but I just feel like it could have benefited from some follow-up insights. Without that, in the grand scheme of things it feels like a false start for them.

4x22 Day in the Hole

I so badly wanted this one to make the top five because that kiss, and the scene leading up to it, and the aftermath - it’s all just so good. Every single time I watch it I’m laughing just as much as I’m flailing. They’re so uncomfortable, and then so lost in each other, and then so stunned, and then so awkwardly dorky in the aftermath. And I will never be over how many emotions Eric manages to convey in that 5-second long hallway scene. It’s all so masterfully written and acted. But ultimately, this episode as a whole just didn’t quite make the top five.

5x10 Hit List

There’s so much to love about this episode. I love that when Tim can't decide what to wear, he just calls her. I love that despite their nerves, as soon as she answers the phone it’s clear they’re still them. I love how jittery and utterly obvious they are at the station the next day. But not once does any of this impact their work. They remain calm and focused, and Tim absolutely owns that hostage situation. And then, of course, we have their second date and their first real kiss, which is just so soft and perfectly them. The only reason this one didn’t make the cut is because the Tim and Aaron almost falling to their deaths storyline left a lot to be desired. There was so much potential there for fear or angst or really just anything other than, ultimately, a joke.

5x11 The Naked and the Dead

This is one of the most underrated episodes, I think because it’s caught between the Chenford goodness of 5x10 and 5x12. But I love it! For two people who claim to be taking it slow, they’re very much not. No, they’re not sleeping together. But they’re spending a lot of time together outside of work, and supporting each other in everything they do, and pretty effortlessly melding their lives together. And like Genny says, it’s clear why these two work so well together. We see that in action when Lucy notices Tim’s coaching style and learns why, and then just quietly steps in and takes on the role of co-coach. She doesn’t call Tim out, she doesn’t try to change his behavior. She just fills that role for him. It shows how well she knows him and understands his motivations and his fear of being anything like his father.

5x12 Death Notice

This episode really highlights the lengths to which these two will go for each other, and it’s just amazing. They always put each other first; it’s something neither of them have had before in a relationship, and I'm so glad they've finally found that with each other. And that final scene… I’ve watched it far more times than is probably healthy. It’s so fucking hot! I’m not entirely sure why, but I just couldn’t quite rationalize this one being in the top five either.

Least favorites:

Let me preface this by saying, overall I am happy with the trajectory of Chenford's relationship, and I try not to contribute to negative energy in the fandom. But no show is perfect, and this is just my opinion on the episodes I've never been a huge fan of.

1x05 The Roundup

This episode didn’t really bother me the first time around, but knowing what we now know about Tim, the way he treats Nell in this one is just… not good. I know that’s probably the point; he’s in a bad place, he’s desperate to feel closer to Isabel, which makes him desperate to win, so he bribes Nell. But never once after this episode have we seen Tim behave anything like this. Never once have we seen him hit on someone he isn’t interested in anyone. Hell, he’s usually the one getting hit on, and he never seems to know what to do about it (like… he’s so adorably awkward in those moments, and I love it). When I go back and rewatch the series now, I just cringe so much at these scenes with Nell. He literally says the words “I’m married” and then goes and flirts with her. Even with him basically at rock bottom, it just doesn’t seem in character.

4x07 Fire Fight

I’ve never liked this episode, for reasons that have nothing to do with Chenford (which is an essay I’ll have to write another day). But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I really don’t love the Chenford scenes either. While I thought the bet was fun in 4x06, in this episode it comes across as juvenile. Asking Grey to mediate, Tim complaining that it’s “not fair,” Lucy talking about the bet in the middle of a UC op. Not only are they being immature, but they’re not taking their job seriously when that’s something that both of them - but especially Tim - are always very cognizant of. And Tim never gives a reason for calling off the bet (though it could be because he’s realized it’s interfering with the job). It just… ends.

4x08 Hit and Run

It seems weird to put this one on this list when I just wrote an entire essay on 4x09 and why it’s a favorite of mine. But for as much as I love 4x09, I don't love the way we got there. I’ll preface this by saying, my opinion here is likely colored by my own personal experiences growing up with an emotionally abusive asshole of a father. So I might be more sensitive on this topic. But Lucy’s behavior in this episode really rubbed me the wrong way. I understand what they were trying to accomplish: building out Tim’s backstory and Lucy being excited to meet his sister learn more about him. But her empathy toward Tim in this episode was just… gone. It’s not even the Tim Test line that bothers me so much, because it’s clear that one was just a slip of the tongue as she was trying to make sense of what she was learning. And she instantly realizes her mistake when she sees Tim’s face. It’s the rest of it that I have a problem with, because Lucy knows. She knows from 2x12 that Tim’s dad was abusive. And yet, she's empathetic toward Genny when she learns the man is dying while apparently just completely missing the fact that Tim absolutely does not want to talk about this or think about it or have anything to do with it. And she absolutely is overstepping at the end of the episode. If someone pushed me back toward my childhood trauma the way Lucy pushes Tim in this episode, I would be really upset. Now, do I think Tim ultimately benefited from fixing his relationship with Genny? Yes. Do I think he benefited from finally getting some closure with his father in 4x09? Absolutely. Do I think it all could have been more carefully executed? Definitely. I know Lucy had his best interests at heart, but the lack of compassion shown toward Tim’s trauma in this episode is upsetting.

5x04 The Choice

This is also one of my least favorite episodes, and while I understand why the storyline had to be wrapped up quickly, it wasn’t wrapped up well. There were so many flaws (I’ll save my essay on that topic for another post as well), but it's the dynamic between Tim and Lucy that lands this one on the list. Rosalind and Caleb were traumatic for both of them, and that doesn’t get acknowledged here. In any other episode, Tim would have gently checked in with Lucy, probably more than once. I know things were still weird between them, but it doesn’t make sense to me that in this episode Tim can’t be bothered to ask how she’s doing or be more gentle with her at the end, yet in the very next episode he’s more concerned about her than himself. To me, 5x05 was proof that no matter what went down between them, they still care deeply about each other. That was completely missing from 5x04. @theflyindutchwoman wrote more about this episode recently as well, and it’s like she took the thoughts right out of my head. Couldn’t have said it better myself.

5x06 The Reckoning

This may be a controversial choice, but I don’t love the whole radio gag. Once again, to me this just feels like we’ve taken a step backwards. Tim thinking Lucy is doing it to punish him for how he treated her as a rookie, as if that wasn’t almost a year and a half ago? Makes no sense. And I know she was doing it to distract him, which… fine. But “I might be able to help you look for your radio if you tell me what’s going on.” No. Lucy knows Tim well enough to know that forcing him to talk doesn’t work. He talks when he feels comfortable and safe, not when he feels pressured. It’s why he ultimately opens up to her at the end of the episode, once she stops playing games and expresses genuine concern.

Phew! If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading my ramblings, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on my choices. Also, you should go read @queseraone and @roguetwelve’s answers to these same questions because it’s super interesting to see everyone’s thoughts!

#asked and answered #chenford #the rookie #episode analysis #oh my god this was so hard

[pri-haaa]

I Wish You Were A Girl. (Part 2)

→ Rody x Vincent (Rodincent)

→ Kind of fluffy, still has undertones of angst

→ Takes place after Ending 1: Table for One

(catch me if you can)

Description: He missed her voice. He missed everything about her. He missed the way she made him feel. Rody just wanted her to pick up a phone, for her to talk to him again. Why wouldn't she answer? Why wouldn't she give him another chance?

Being unloved as well as broke didn't sound very appealing to poor, heartbroken Rody. So, with crumbling hope that he would ever hear from Manon again, he trudges back to the bistro.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"L-Listen, forget the dinner. Can I just hear your voice?" Rody pleaded desperately into the flat-lining payphone. "You haven't picked up a phone for a week. Please, just let me know that you're there..."

"Goodbye." the answering machine responded cheerfully into his ear, cutting the beeping line. Rody sighed and placed the phone back into its original place. Tears welled up in his tired eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks. "Manon..." he whimpered softly to himself, allowing stream after stream of tears roll down his cheeks.

After 10 minutes of sobbing, Rody picked himself back up, roughly wiping away the tears that stayed stagnant on his cheeks. He hated himself for letting this happen. If only he hadn't been so self-sacrificial, this wouldn't have happened. If only he knew how to love someone, she wouldn't have left him. If only relationships weren't so damn difficult, he wouldn't have had any issues from the start.

If only.

Rody found himself back in front of La Gueule de Saturne, looking at the glass doors anxiously. He had quit his job as a waiter because he had made enough money to take Manon out to dinner. But now, she wasn't even picking up his calls. This opened up a whole new can of worms, but he decided the first course of action was to get his job back, stabilize his life.

He stepped through the door, alerting the attention of a certain chef that happened to be walking to the front of the house.

Vincent's eyes widened as he took in Rody's figure, standing by the door, looking absolutely miserable. He knew it wasn't the time, but he felt heat creeping up his neck upon seeing Rody without his black blazer, and in just his white dress shirt. He quickly composed himself and stepped forward, a confused look on his face.

"Rody?" his voice was softer than usual. "What are you doing back here? You were pretty happy to resign from this position." Rody blinked at Vincent, trying to find the words.

"I'm...not in a very good position right now. I figured that I should...keep making money and stabilize myself. Get my life together, you know?" Rody tried to sound like he was happy about his decision, but in reality, he was an absolute mess. Vincent nodded silently and stepped aside, allowing Rody to step further into the bistro. His eyes never left his walking figure.

"I haven't yet found a replacement for you, so I suppose it's good that you came back before I did." Vincent tutted in a matter-of-fact voice, trying to sound nonchalant like he usually did. He was lying through his teeth, he had put off finding a replacement because of the little hope he had that Rody would come back. It seemed that his tiny wish had come true, and his heart wouldn't stop beating at a rapid pace.

Rody smiled gently. "I'm glad." he sighed as he slowly slipped on his black blazer, fastening it against his muscular figure.

Despite looking like the picture of misery, Rody worked the floor, running around and taking orders like nothing had ever happened. Vincent watched him from the kitchen windows, examining Rody's fake smiles and cheerful facade. As the shift wore on, the familiarity of the restaurant's atmosphere and Vincent's occasional quips and lectures put Rody in a slightly better mood. He started to enjoy having other things to think about other than Manon. Though, she would always be in the back of his mind, infiltrating his headspace and showering him in the memories of the pleasant times he's shared with her. Memories that had soured significantly.

Their relationship was like a flower. It withered as time went on due to the lack of nurture, and died out completely.

The day ended and Rody sighed a sigh of relief. He leaned against the counter, nodding at the chefs that filed out one by one to go home. There was only one person left; Vincent. After hesitating for a moment, Vincent walked up to Rody, struggling to find his words. Eventually, he parted his lips to speak.

"Good job," he spoke, "it's pleasing to know the way we do things here hadn't immediately left your mind the moment you resigned." Rody couldn't help but chuckle at Vincent's little jab.

"Thank you, Vincent. And, thank you for taking me back. I know it was probably a little confusing when I just up and left like that, but I'm glad you were kind enough to rehire me." Rody smiled, his words laced with gentle gratitude. Vincent's breath hitched.

"It's...no problem." he finally breathed out. "It's a little nice to be back! I had no idea I had gotten so used to this place despite only being here for one week." Rody continued on, his eyes averted, so he couldn't see the emotion welling up in Vincent's eyes, and the way his expression was changing rapidly.

"I'm...glad that you...came back." Vincent muttered under his breath so that Rody was unable to hear me. "I-...I wanted you back-"

"I wish Manon were here to see how much I made from my first week alone, though." Rody finished, pulling out the envelope that kept the money he had earned. He stared down at it with a sad smile.

He pocketed the envelope back up and looked up at Vincent. "Well, I'm going to head home. See you tomorrow, boss." Rody gave Vincent one last casual grin before strolling out of the bistro, his hands stuffed in his pocket, whistling a faint tune.

Vincent stared at the closed doors. Darkness draped over the bistro like an ominous blanket, the only sound that could be heard was the low hum of the freezer. His facial expression darkened, and his eyes slid downwards to his hands. His palms faced back at him. And he could almost see it. The pale skin of his hands stained with crimson red blotches of blood. Blood that had oozed from a stab wound.

Blood that belonged to Marieanne Vecher. Manon.

His hands shot up to his face, covering the panic that was slowly adorning his features. His breathing became erratic as memories from what he had done, what he had destroyed, flashed through his mind like some cruel picture show. Slowly, he forced himself to calm down, reminding himself as to why he had done what he did in the first place. It was all to infuse love into his cooking.

That's it, all he wanted was to understand the concept of cooking with love. All he wanted was to give the boy he liked something that he could enjoy. All he really wanted...was for Rody to enjoy his food.

Vincent uncovered his face and breathed out a tired sigh. He turned his head and stared at a specific spot. Where the freezer would be if he were standing inside the kitchen. "Manon can be a memory to him now. He doesn't have to know what happened." Vincent whispered to himself as he locked up the bistro. As he turned the key in the lock, he looked backwards again, his eyes narrowed.

"He doesn't have to know what I've done."

#writing #dead plate #rody x vincent #vincent charbonneau #rody lamoree #game #indie game #fanfiction #fanfic writer #racheldrawsthis #i miss them sm #rody is canonically bi and biphobic UGH. I AM ILL.

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 4) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 4

You don’t see Tomura the next morning, but when you come home from work, Phantom is loose in the yard, and Hizashi is hanging out just beyond the fence, studying an empty jar. “I came to get this, since we’re out,” he remarks. He has sharp teeth, just like Himiko. “So, what happened last night?”

You play dumb for all you’re worth. “Something happened last night?”

“Of course it did. The vibes coming off this house are impressively horny,” Hizashi says, and you cringe so hard you’re surprised you don’t explode. “I’ve been there. Consequence of spending too much time embodied – you start feeling things a normal human body feels, and going incorporeal doesn’t make it go away. That was a nasty shock for me, too.”

You really don’t want to ask Hizashi any questions at all, but you’ve got one – and it’s a subject change, so you seize it. “Is it true that ghosts’ power levels are stagnant? Are you just stuck with what you started with?”

“That’s not what I thought you were going to ask.” Hizashi tosses the jar from one hand to the other. “I’m guessing you’re asking because of our sexually frustrated friend in there?”

“I’ll pay you to never say that again,” you say, and Hizashi laughs. “Yes. He said –”

“That he didn’t want to come here. I’d buy that, easy.” Hizashi glances over his shoulder at the house, then beckons you away down the block. You’re not sure how far you have to go to be out of Tomura’s earshot, but you stop when Hizashi does. “Here’s the thing. He and I are the oldest ghosts in this neighborhood, but we’re not the same kind of old. I chose to be here.”

“Why?” you ask. Hizashi stares at you. “Did you come here to hurt people?”

“I came here because I wanted to be people,” Hizashi says. You stare. “Ask him what it’s like in the world between and you’ll understand. But to answer your question, we don’t spend our whole existences at the same power level. There are two kinds of ghostly power. There’s what you get right at the start. Then there’s your potential. Conjurers – the worst ones, anyway – they want potential. That’s why they grab the youngest ghosts.”

His expression darkens, and your legs almost give out beneath you. Is this how Tomura makes other people feel? You’re surprised that anyone’s ever set foot in your house. Hizashi doesn’t notice what he’s doing to you, or if he notices, he doesn’t care. “Eri had low surface power but massive potential. Her conjurer bound her in the worst situation possible, figuring she’d have to tap into that potential to take control of her environment and make it her own. She found another way out, but your ghost didn’t.”

He glances back at your house. “Based on how strong your ghost is now, his potential was massive. He probably hasn’t even found his limit yet. What’s weird is that he hasn’t used it.”

“Did you use yours?”

Hizashi grins his sharp-toothed grin. “Why do you think it took them so long to burn my opera house down?”

You’ve wondered, every so often, what it would have been like to be haunted by Hizashi instead of Tomura. Now you’re pretty sure you’d have had a breakdown. Aizawa must have nerves of steel. “Anyway,” Hizashi says, “he’s not smart enough to tell a lie that big. He’s telling the truth.”

He tosses the jar at you and you barely catch it in time. “And whatever you did last night, don’t do it again. I can handle his mood, but it’s messing with the little ones.”

You cringe. The last thing you want is for Eri and Himiko to pick up on whatever Tomura’s doing – even if they do know all about sex from observing humans already. But you also don’t know how to fix this problem you apparently caused. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Ask Keigo,” Hizashi says, already walking away. “He’ll know.”

Keigo? You’ve talked to Keigo some, since he’s the only person in the neighborhood who’s actually in your age range, but it’s occurring to you now that you’ve never actually met Keigo’s ghost. You pull out your phone, considering texting him, but there’s no point when his house is across the street and his car’s in the driveway. You walk back to your house, retrieve Phantom’s spare leash from your car, and take her with you when you head across the street to knock on Keigo’s door.

Keigo answers it pretty fast. There’s a handprint-shaped hole burned in his shirt, still smoking faintly, and it draws your attention like a magnet. “Uh, what is that?”

“Ask Dabi,” Keigo says.

“Ask her damn ghost. It’s all his fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You can control your behavior, you just don’t want to.” Keigo rolls his eyes. “I saw you talking to Hizashi. I’m guessing he sent you?”

“Yeah. Can we talk?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my shoes. And a new shirt.” Keigo ducks back into the house, and you wait on the steps, wondering if you’ll get a glimpse of the former ghost who lives here. Keigo’s voice issues from within the house, but he’s not talking to you. “Don’t go out there if you’re just going to get into a pissing contest with the guy across the street. He could crush you with both hands tied behind his back.”

“He can’t cross that fence, and I didn’t give up my powers like an idiot. That means I can do whatever I want with his human –”

“He’d blow that house apart and come get you, and you know it.” Keigo reappears. “Sorry about him. He’s in a mood. Let’s go.”

“Hey, who said you could leave? I didn’t say you could leave! Get back here –”

“I’ll be back when I feel like it! Bye-bye!” Keigo waves and then slams the door. He hurries down the steps and you follow him. He doesn’t stop until you’re at the top of the street. “Sorry about that. I’m guessing you’ve got questions.”

You have a lot of questions. “Aizawa said Tomura was the only ghost left in the neighborhood.”

“He is,” Keigo says. “You know how ghosts have to want to be embodied more than they’ve ever wanted anything for it to work? Dabi tried to change his mind halfway.”

“Oh,” you say. “So that makes him half ghost?”

“It makes him a scar wraith. Half of him is permanently materialized, half of him isn’t, and most of the time he’s a total bitch about it.” Keigo crouches down to tie his shoes. “He lost half of his ghostly powers and picked up most of the downsides of being embodied. He’s going to be like that until he makes up his mind.”

“Oh,” you say again. “That’s, um – is that why your house is always on fire?”

“You got it.” Keigo straightens up again. “I know we got out of there in a hurry, but you’re not actually in danger from him. I just wanted to teach him a lesson. Like you do to yours when you leave.”

Is that what you’re trying to do? You don’t know if you’re trying to punish Tomura or just trying to figure out a game plan before you go back in. In this case it’s definitely the latter. “Hizashi says my ghost is, um –”

“Horny,” Keigo says. Your face heats up. He starts walking, and you follow him. “Yeah, they get like that sometimes. And they don’t like it. Usually they dematerialize to get away from feelings they don’t like, but it doesn’t work, and that pisses them off, too.”

Phantom stops to sniff a tree, and you let her for a second before tugging her along. “Why?”

“Maybe you don’t know, because you’re a girl –”

“Girls get horny too,” you say. This is maybe the dumbest conversation you’ve ever had, excepting the one you had with Tomura about why Phantom can’t have dead birds even though she really wants them. “Are you saying it’s because they have to do something about it? They don’t. They can just wait for it to go away.”

“Yeah, but waiting for it to go away is uncomfortable,” Keigo says. You’re not going to argue that one. Being horny when you don’t want to be is deeply unpleasant. “And ghosts suck at tolerating discomfort. Yours is pretty inexperienced with everything from what I’ve heard, so he probably doesn’t know what to do, and unless you want to leave a copy of The Joy of Sex lying around –”

“I don’t.” You shudder. “I don’t want him getting ideas.”

“Then you’re going to have to explain,” Keigo says patiently. You give him a pained look, and he sighs. “Tell him to materialize fully and get it out of his system. That’ll solve the initial problem.”

The thought of heading back to your house and telling Tomura he needs to masturbate makes you want to die. But you’re even unhappier about Keigo’s second sentence. “What do you mean, the initial problem?”

“Hizashi and Magne gave me the ghost sex talk when we moved here. Kind of late, but it helped, sort of.” Keigo rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Once ghosts figure out how it works, they go one of two ways. Either they decide it’s gross and they’re not interested – that’s what Magne did – or they decide they’re really into it, which is what Hizashi did. And they can’t generate that feeling on their own the way people do, so they go after the people who made them feel that way the first time.”

That sinks in fast, but you’ve got no idea what to think or say or do about it. What comes out is the last thing you wanted to tell anyone. “I just held his hand. That was it! I was just trying to prove that there’s a difference between physical contact that hurts and stuff that doesn’t hurt because he won’t quit scratching his neck until it bleeds – and I’m pretty sure he hated it –”

“If he hated it, then you’re fine,” Keigo says. “Honestly, most of the adult former ghosts I’ve met aren’t into it even after they embody themselves permanently. Hizashi’s only like that because he spent enough time embodied to get used to it before he made it official. If it was a common thing Aizawa would have written a guidebook on it by now.”

Aizawa does have a lot of guidebooks. It took you a while to realize that most of the literature he sent you home with was stuff he’d written himself. “Although,” Keigo muses, “I guess Aizawa never hooked up with an actual ghost. He and Hizashi didn’t bang until after Hizashi was embodied.”

“So, um –” You can’t believe you’re about to ask this. “Did you, uh –”

“Did me and Dabi hook up before he fucked up his embodiment? Yeah,” Keigo says. You thought he’d be embarrassed, or proud. Instead he looks sad. “He didn’t use to be like this, or go by Dabi. His real name is Touya, and he was a lot, sure, but he wasn’t like this. I wouldn’t have gotten into it with him if he’d been like this the whole time.”

“I get it,” you say. You’ve had bad relationships before. “Do you think he’d go back if he embodied himself all the way?”

“Probably? I don’t think he’ll do that, though.” Keigo sighs. “They almost never decide consciously that they’re going to embody themselves. It happens because of how they feel. The little ones, they embodied themselves because they wanted to be with their families. They wanted to be seen and loved more than they wanted to be powerful. Magne jumped because Spinner didn’t have anybody but her, and as far as I can tell, she’s sort of surprised she did it. Hizashi did it on purpose, but Hizashi’s different – and from what he’s said, he’d probably have done it unconsciously at some point. He loves Aizawa that much.”

Now you get why Keigo looks so sad. “I bet Touya just got nervous,” you say. “I mean, it’s kind of a big decision, right? The biggest one they’ll ever make. And it’s not like he left. Even after you left his old haunt he stayed with you. That’s got to mean something.”

“Maybe.” Keigo smiles halfway. “A guy can hope, right?”

“Of course,” you say. Personally, you’re hoping for something different from Tomura.

You spend way too long pacing up and down the street after you say goodbye to Keigo, trying to work up your nerve. But eventually the weird tension from the house becomes perceptible to you even from outside it, and you remember what Hizashi said about the kids. You order yourself to suck it up, unlatch the front gate, and make your way inside. You can tell Tomura’s watching you, marking you closely, while you give Phantom a treat and some water. Once you’ve gotten her settled, you make your way upstairs to your room and shut the door. You can’t look at him while you have this conversation. You squeeze your eyes shut and speak up. “I know how to fix your problem.”

“What problem?” Tomura’s voice sounds tight and uncomfortable. “I don’t have a problem. You have a problem. You hung out with that guy across the street –”

“Because I needed help with you,” you say. It’s quiet for a second. “I figured out a solution to your problem. So you won’t feel the way you’re feeling anymore. I know it’s uncomfortable.”

“No, you don’t. Humans don’t feel like this.”

You manage to laugh at that one. “Humans feel like this all the time, Tomura. Half the dumb decisions people make in movies are because they feel like this.”

It’s quiet again. “How do I fix it?”

You bury your face in your head. “You have to materialize all the way. Then you have to touch yourself.”

“What do you mean, touch myself? You said I wasn’t supposed to scratch.”

“Not there.” You’re pretty sure your face is melting off from sheer embarrassment. “You know where that feeling is? The one you don’t like? You have to touch yourself there to make it go away.”

“Why?”

“It –” You chicken out. “You’ll figure it out once you try it. Go in the bathroom and shut the door.”

“Why do I have to go in there?”

“Privacy,” you say. There’s no way to tell him that you don’t want to have to clean ghost cum off the hardwood floors.

You hear footsteps down the hall, followed by the bathroom door opening and closing. “This is stupid,” Tomura says. You couldn’t agree more. “I’m doing it. It still feels – weird –”

That catch in his voice is something you really could have gone without hearing. “You don’t have to narrate,” you say. “You deserve privacy. I’m giving you privacy. I can leave the house –”

“No, don’t.” Tomura sounds pretty sure about that. “This was your idea. Don’t you want to – ugh.”

You don’t want to know what that was about. At all. You think about getting your headphones, except if you don’t respond when he talks to you, he’ll come looking to see why, and you really don’t want him to come talk to you in whatever state he’s in at the moment. Maybe it’s over already. Maybe he’s one of the vast majority of ghosts who think it’s gross and this will never happen to you again. You’re sure that’s it. It’s over already. It –

A low sigh echoes through the house, and you freeze in place. There’s a few uneven breaths, and then another sigh, followed by a sharper sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. “What is this?” Tomura asks, his voice strained in an entirely different way than before. When you don’t respond, he says your name, followed by another one of those sharper sounds. “I don’t understand. Why – ah –”

You clamp your hands down over your ears, but it’s like your ears are attuned specifically to him. You can hear everything. Every ragged breath, every whimper, every needy, desperate moan, and suddenly you’re sure that you got the other kind of ghost, the kind that finds sex and lust fascinating instead of gross. You’ve made a mistake. Not just in telling him to solve the problem like this, but in sticking around to listen. Because listening to this, knowing that you touched his hand and turned him on so badly that it’s been permeating the neighborhood all day, is doing something to you, too.

Your face is flushed, but it’s not just from embarrassment. When you touch your wrist to feel for your pulse, it’s fast. And worse than all of that, you’re wet. Knowing it’ll make things worse doesn’t stop you from sliding one hand down the front of your jeans, recoiling when you realize just how wet you are. This is a disaster. You can’t let him know.

There’s only one solution you can think of. No time to get to the bed, or to do anything more than sink to the floor, unzipping your jeans just far enough to give your hand room to move. You shove the heel of your other hand against your mouth, because you’re not loud but you’ve never done anything like this before and you’re not sure what will happen. You squeeze your eyes shut as you brush your fingers between your legs, the sound you make muffled by your hand and drowned out by the almost-agonized moan that issues from the bathroom down the hall. “I can’t,” Tomura pants. “I can’t – stop – how does it stop –”

“You’ll know.” You think your voice is steady enough. How is he still going? The first time you masturbated, you were so wound up that you were done almost faster than you could think. And he’s a guy. “Just keep going.”

“Keep talking.” Tomura’s voice is just as raspy and ragged as his breathing is. It shouldn’t be hot. You shouldn’t find this hot. “Is this –”

He breaks off in a whine. “How it’s supposed to feel?” you ask. You increase the pressure of your fingers against your clit in spite of the fact that he’s clearly expecting you to talk and you don’t want him to know what you’re doing. “Like you’re going to fall apart, but it feels so good you don’t care?”

“Yeah. Ah –”

“Like that,” you say. You find yourself spreading your legs wider, giving more space for your hand to move. “Exactly like that, Tomura. Don’t stop.”

You’re telling him how to touch himself, but it’s all wrong. It sounds the same as what you’d be telling him to do if he was here, if the fingers slipping inside you were his. What is wrong with you? Thoughts flash through your mind, thoughts you shouldn’t have, and your breathing turns shallow and harsh. “Say something,” Tomura whines, begs. You picture what he must look like right now, face red and hair stuck to his neck and forehead with sweat, completely at the mercy of a body and a need, and crook your fingers, shuddering. “Come on. I need you. Don’t leave me. Please –”

“I’m here.” The strain in your voice would let anyone else know exactly what you’re doing, but Tomura doesn’t know – and even if he did, the sounds you hear tell you that he’s lost in his own touch, chasing his own high. You might as well not be here. All you are is a friendly voice, a guide in uncharted territory. “You’re doing great. You’re almost done, aren’t you? You know what you like by now. Do that, and keep doing it. Don’t stop until –”

The sound he makes is inarticulate and absolutely filthy. Your muscles clench around your fingers, and you rub desperately at your clit with your free hand. Without a hand over your mouth to muffle yourself, you’re reduced to biting your lip until it bleeds as you listen to Tomura shuddering through the first orgasm of his existence. And that’s what tips you over the edge, really – the thought that it’s his first, the thought that it’s because of you. Blood spills into your mouth as your hips jerk against your hands, your vocal cords straining with the effort of holding back the sounds you want to make. You can’t remember the last time you came this hard. All you want to do is sprawl out on the floor and go to sleep.

But you can’t. You need to hide the evidence. You can’t let Tomura know what you just did. You zip and button your jeans, cringing at the slickness of your fingers, and leave your room, hurrying to the downstairs bathroom to splash water on your face. You get a glimpse of what you look like in the mirror and stare in horror. Your face is flushed and your eyes are dilated and there’s a drop of blood at the corner of your mouth that you smear away with the back of your hand. You look like a mess. The only thing that will save you is that Tomura doesn’t know what to look for.

His voice drifts through the house, still unsteady. “There’s a mess in here.”

“I’ll clean it later,” you say. “Since it’s my fault.”

The floor creaks once or twice, then stops, and you know Tomura’s dematerialized. It’s not a surprise. You can’t imagine how much energy he burned through, and sure enough, when you look out the kitchen window, you see a line of dead blackberry bushes along the back fence. Sex stuff takes more life-force than anything else. All the more reason for this to never happen again.

Tomura’s presence slips into the room, surrounding you like he does sometimes. Usually you shoo him away, or threaten to leave until he slinks off, sulking. Today you can’t. You coped okay with your first orgasm, but you were alone. You know you’d have felt weird if you hadn’t been, and if the person who talked you through it had ignored you afterward. You let him settle in, staring fixedly at the dead bushes along the fence. Only one or two are still alive.

Tomura’s voice rasps against your ear. “Do I have to do that every time?”

“There’s not going to be another time,” you say. “It’s my fault for touching you like that last night, and you told me not to do it again. So we’re good.”

“It felt good.” Tomura sounds sure about that. Your stomach twists. “It only felt bad because I didn’t know what to do. Now I know.”

“I’m still not touching you like that again. You said no. I can’t ask you to respect my  boundaries when I don’t respect yours.”

“What if I take it back?” Tomura asks. The twist in your stomach is painful this time. “What if I want you to touch me?”

“Then it starts being about what I want,” you say. “And I don’t want to.”

It’s a lie. You’re lying. Another human would know you were, would know by the heat of your body and the flush in your cheeks and the heavy, painful sound of your heartbeat. “You don’t want to,” Tomura repeats. His presence slips away again, going to some place far enough that you can barely feel it. “I didn’t say I wanted it. Like I’d ever want you to touch me.”

His voice is the last thing to vanish. You want to stick your head under the faucet and drown. “Fine.”

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it, and after the hand-touching incident and everything that followed, the atmosphere in your house feels worse than it ever has before. You don’t know where Tomura’s going, but there are times when his presence vanishes almost completely, and when it does, you can barely stand the emptiness he leaves behind. You never lived alone until you lived here, and you thought you loved it. Now you realize that you were never living here alone at all. Until now.

The jar of bugs start piling up on the front porch, and rather than letting them die, you let them go. You don’t tell the others to stop bringing them. Some part of you is hoping Tomura will come back, that you can go back to the way things were before, but you don’t need one of Aizawa’s guidebooks to tell you that it’s not happening. You rejected him. And if there’s anything you’ve taught Tomura about how humans work, it’s that no means no.

You start spending extra time at work. Sometimes you bring Phantom with you, with Mr. Yagi’s permission, and it makes you popular with your coworkers like you never were before. You still hate it, but it makes it easier to be at work. And it means you don’t have to go home until you’re ready.

At least, most days you don’t. But you woke up with a splitting headache today, and a sore throat, and because you weren’t coughing, you decided that you didn’t have an excuse to skip work. You leave Phantom at home and drag yourself into the office, and you get through four hours of your workday before Mr. Yagi spots you and sends you home. Your pleas not to go home fall on deaf ears, and you drive home slowly, struggling to keep your eyes fixed on the road in front of you.

When you get home, Phantom greets you anxiously. She knows you’re not feeling well, and when you sit down in the front hall to pet her, you realize that you’re going to have a hard time getting up. It doesn’t matter. You can take a break. You let your eyes fall shut.

When you wake up, it’s to grey, rainy, late-afternoon light falling over your face, the sound of Phantom whining in your ear, and a voice you haven’t heard in three weeks. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Tomura,” you mumble. You were hoping sleep would make you feel better, but it feels like your headache’s actually gotten worse. “I’m fine. Just wanted to sit down.”

“Don’t be stupid. And don’t lie.” Even the sound of Tomura’s footsteps across the floor hurts your head, not to mention Phantom’s whining. “You fell asleep on the floor. You’re making this weird face. You don’t look right. What’s wrong with you?”

He almost sounds worried. “My boss sent me home. He thinks I’m sick.”

“Are you sick?” Tomura asks. You think about lying, decide not to, and nod. The pain that splits your skull makes you want to throw up. “Can you fix it?”

You have cold medicine somewhere, and pain relievers, but you’d have to get up to get them, and you’re so dizzy. Maybe you should call somebody for help, but who would you call? Nobody in your neighborhood is going to set foot in your house, and you don’t have any friends from work. And all your old friends have started to slip away, courtesy of your new world, your new friends, your new life. Who do you have to call? Nobody. The thought makes you sad, and feeling sad makes you even more tired than before.

“Wake up,” Tomura snaps at you. Phantom whines and licks your face. “Stop it. Wake up!”

Phantom’s worried. Tomura’s mad at you. Somewhere in your clouded mind, it occurs to you that you need help. That maybe it doesn’t matter who you call as long as you call somebody. You pull your phone out of your backpack and get as far as unlocking it. Then your head starts to ache worse than before, a dull pounding that fills every crevice and corner of your skull. Everything feels hot and humid and awful. You shut your eyes again. Anything to make it stop.

You’re cold when you wake up again. Well, some of you is cold. There’s a small warm patch on your stomach, but the rest of you is cold. Not regular cold. Tomura’s cold. He’s materialized, completely or close enough, and he’s holding onto you awkwardly with one arm while Phantom rests her head on your stomach. You can hear Tomura’s voice. He sounds pissed. “If I knew what was wrong with her I’d say it,” he snaps at whoever he’s talking to. “She keeps falling asleep. She’s not supposed to be home yet. She’s too warm.”

“So she’s sick.” That’s Keigo’s voice. Is Keigo here? Why did Tomura let Keigo in the house? “And she’s sleeping a lot?”

“I said that already. Stop repeating what I already said.”

“What are her symptoms?” That’s Aizawa’s voice. It starts to dawn on you slowly what’s happening here, and you almost laugh. “Symptoms. You named some of them already. Fatigue. Fever. Is she coughing?”

“No.”

“Does her breathing sound different than it usually does?” Jin’s mom is talking. Now you know for sure. “Does she have a rash?”

“Her breathing sounds normal,” Tomura says. He’s on the phone. He somehow unlocked your phone, went into your text messages, and conference-called the entire ghost friends group chat. You’d laugh if you weren’t worried it would make your head explode. “What’s a rash?”

“It would be on her skin. Does her skin look like it usually looks?”

An ice-cold hand brushes over your cheek. “It’s too hot. Her face is red. The rest of it looks okay.”

“Check for bites. We brought over tons of bugs. If enough of them bit her –”

“Hitoshi, hang up the phone,” Aizawa orders. “You’re supposed to be at school.”

“You’re supposed to be driving,” Shinsou fires back. “You’re picking up Eri from school early because she’s sick.”

Eri’s sick. You claw your way out of semi-consciousness and grasp the phone. “Does she have what I have?”

“Oh, good. You’re alive,” Keigo says. “Your ghost was pretty panicked.”

“I wasn’t panicked. Shut up.” Tomura’s grip on you tightens. “Someone else is sick?”

“She fell asleep in class. She has a headache and a fever,” Aizawa says. He sounds unhappy. “When would she possibly have been exposed?”

“We brought over some bugs last night,” Shinsou says. “Maybe it was then.”

“It could have gone the other way, too,” Jin’s mom says. “Kids get sick a lot easier than adults.”

“Good point. Maybe Eri got it first and brought it –”

“But Shinsou isn’t sick. If Shinsou lives with her and isn’t sick, how come –”

“I don’t care,” Tomura says loudly. “I don’t care about your sick kid. I want to know how to fix my human.”

Tomura’s making a great first impression. You’ll be doing damage control with Aizawa later, once you feel less like a puddle of body aches and sweat. “If she’s got what Eri’s got, it’s probably the flu,” Jin’s mom says. “She should have cold medicine on hand. Most people do. Pain relievers for the headache and body aches, cough drops if she has a sore throat. And she’ll need to eat. Do you know how humans eat?”

“I’m not stupid. I know how food works.”

“Don’t cook,” Aizawa, Shinsou, and Keigo all say at once. Keigo keeps talking. “You’re not embodied. You don’t have tastebuds. Whatever you end up cooking is going to be –”

There’s a scuffle on Keigo’s end of the line. “It’s going to be fuck awful,” Dabi announces, and Shinsou snickers. “Go ahead and poison your human. See if I care.”

“The next time you even look at my human I’m going to disintegrate your ugly face.”

“My ugly face? Have you seen what you look like? I’m surprised your human hasn’t gone blind.”

Tomura snarls. “At least I never set my human on fire –”

“You’re both pretty,” you mumble, and Keigo cracks up laughing. “I’m not that sick. I can heat up a can of soup in the microwave.”

“You’re so stupid. You fell asleep on the floor,” Tomura snaps at you. “You can’t do anything. I’m going to have to drag you everywhere.”

“No one made you touch me,” you protest. “If you weren’t here –”

“Well, I am here. So shut up and let me –”

“If you two are going to have a domestic, hang up the phone first,” Hizashi says loudly. You didn’t realize he was there. You jump, and your head collides with Tomura’s chin. He swears and so do you. “One of us will stop by later to make sure neither of you are dead. Goodbye.”

There’s a click as he hangs up the phone. Shinsou hangs up a second later. Jin’s mother hangs up after promising to bring over some food, and Keigo stays on the phone a little longer. “I’ll drop by in an hour or two, like Hizashi says. Can you promise not to kill me if I set foot in the house?”

“The only person I’m going to kill is your idiot ghost.”

“Cool,” Keigo says. You can hear Dabi arguing in the background that it’s not cool at all. “Bye.”

He hangs up the phone, too. Now it’s just you and Tomura and Phantom, piled up on the couch in the living room. You don’t remember getting to the living room. Tomura must have dragged you, like he said. You thought he was so mad at you that he was never going to show himself again. Apparently not.

“What’s a domestic?” Tomura asks after a while.

“A fight,” you say. “Just another word for fight.”

“Then why didn’t he just say a fight?”

You really don’t want to get into this right now. “A domestic is a kind of fight. The kind couples have. He was making fun of us by pretending we’re a couple.”

“I don’t like him,” Tomura says after a moment. “I can kill him for you.”

“Don’t do that,” you say.

“He scares you.” Tomura scratches at his neck with the hand that’s not gripping your shoulder. “If I can’t not scare you, I might as well be the only thing that does.”

Maybe you’re just sick and stupid, but you don’t hate the sound of that. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He slides out from behind you and drops you onto the couch with a thud. You see a patchy flush on his face before he turns away. “I’m getting your medicine. Stay there.”

You’re not really in a position to go anywhere. You scratch behind Phantom’s ears with a shaky hand and close your eyes again.

When you wake up, you find that Tomura’s turned your medicine cabinet inside out and brought you absolutely everything. Sorting through it is the first laugh you’ve had in a while, and once you’ve got a double dose of painkillers on board, you’re willing to risk it. “Why did you bring this?” you ask, waving a box of band-aids at him. “You’ve seen me use these. You know they’re not for this.”

“How am I supposed to know that? You use stuff that’s not for the stuff you’re using it for all the time.” Tomura snatches the band-aids away and picks up another box. “What are these?”

“You definitely didn’t need to bring those,” you say. “They’re condoms.”

“What?”

It figures. He didn’t know male from female until Hizashi told him, but he clearly has certain associations with condoms, and he doesn’t like them. Probably because of all the movies you didn’t know he was watching with you. “Relax. Does that box look open to you?”

“No,” Tomura says, inspecting it from all angles. “If it’s not open, why do you have it?”

“In case I need it,” you say. “I don’t need it right now.”

In fact, you’re having a hard time imagining that you’ll ever need condoms again. You can’t exactly bring anybody home to hook up with, not with Tomura constantly lurking around, and you like sleeping in your own bed too much to spend the night at anybody else’s house. Beyond that, if you ever wanted to get serious with anybody, you’d have to explain about your house, about Tomura. There’s no way to explain that. No way to explain him in a way that won’t end any relationship instantly. Maybe it’s just that you’re sick, but you find that you don’t mind the thought.

You choose a box of cold medicine and swallow a dose of it, then pop a cough drop into your mouth to soothe your throat. Tomura watches you the entire time, only partially materialized. “Does that taste good?”

“No. It numbs my throat so it hurts less.”

“What do you do when things hurt?”

You were going to try to fall asleep again as soon as you’re done with your cough drop, but Tomura’s in a mood to talk. And as much as you hate to admit it, you miss talking to Tomura. “There are different kinds of hurt, for people. If it hurts physically, like this does, I can take medicine. I can put ice on a bruise or use a heating pad for cramps. There are ointments that have numbing agents in them, same as the cough drops. There are lots of things to do when something physically hurts.”

“If something hurts my body, I can dematerialize,” Tomura says. You wish it was that easy for you. If you could evaporate right now, you’d do it in a heartbeat. “What about other kinds of hurting?”

“Um –” You break off, trying to wrap your head around it. “Emotions hurt sometimes. The bad ones, usually. Being sad or angry or lonely or scared – all of those can feel like they hurt. They can hurt a lot.”

“How do you make them go away?”

“You can’t,” you say. Tomura’s expression darkens. “There’s not medicine that fixes feelings, at least not all the way. You just have to live with them until they stop. Or until you get used to them.”

“That’s stupid,” Tomura says.

“You’re telling me.” You close your eyes. “I guess talking about them helps sometimes. Not for everybody, not all the time, but it can make you feel less alone.”

“I didn’t hate being alone before,” Tomura says. You open your eyes and find him scowling, his face flushed. “Now I do.”

You want to remind him that he’s the one who pulled away, that he’s the one who left, but there’s no point. You roll over instead, facing the back of the couch, and the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I missed you.”

You couldn’t have picked a dumber thing to say. Tomura’s got the emotional maturity of a frat guy – he gets mad easily and takes “no” poorly and makes you explain your boundaries five billion times before he even thinks about respecting them. Telling a guy like him that you missed him is a one-way ticket to being mocked for being needy and clingy and pathetic. You can already feel your eyes burning in anticipation of being humiliated.

But Tomura’s not a human man. He’s a ghost. The rush of air filling a previously occupied space tells you he’s dematerialized, but the cold settles around you, and his voice rasps in your ear. “I missed you too. Idiot.”

“You’re the one who left,” you answer. “You’re an idiot, too.”

You’re expecting him to slip away again. Instead the cold spot envelops you more securely than before. “Shut up.”

You fall asleep like that, and when you wake up, it’s to the sound of the fire alarm going off. Tomura’s watched you cook plenty of times and probably should know better, but apparently when you mentioned sticking a can of soup in the microwave, he took it literally. You should be pissed. You probably will be, once the cold medicine wears off. But at the moment, when you’re dizzy and sleepy and feverish, all you can think to do is be pleased that he tried at all.

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