#and then season five struck.

[robotlesbianjavert]

can't wait to listen to ryō iwasaki's sickened voice when he sees shigaraki on the floor in s7 (and tbh I can't understand how an anime is as popular as my hero has such a mediocre adaptation) (this has nothing to do with my saltiness towards spinner's reduced screentime ofc)

ryo iwasaki is THEE spinner understander he is going to milk every goddamn line he's allowed by the cruel anime producers who keep trying to deny him his spinner nutrients. we need a spinner-centric movie so that iwasaki can just go fuckin crazy !!!

[jumpscaregoose]

guys I might be in my voltron relapse era

[finelinefae]

flower [tattooH x Innocenty/n]

synopsis: harry's the boy next door, he's also a tattoo artist aannd y/n's sexual awakening because she's an innocent virgin with a flower shop. 

word count: 8.6k

content warnings: smut (fingering, daddy kink, praise kink, virgin Y/N) 

read part 2 here

my first imagine !! i hope u enjoy it !! i enjoy it here very much !

. . .

Y/N had been having a terrible week.

She owned a flower shop called 'Sweet Juniper' which had been hers for almost an entire year. It had been her dream to share her love of flowers with everybody so when she finally saved enough money to set up a shop, she worked tirelessly to make it the best possible floral shop the town had ever seen.

People would put in special requests if they needed flower arrangements for special occasions or others would just come by to just lift their mood a little bit if they were having a tough day. Y/N loved her customers and spent so much time chatting throughout the day all whilst tending to her plants.

But this week was not fun.

The shop next door had been empty for a long time now - ever since Y/N had set up shop. She lived in the flat above the shop so it was ideal not to have to handle any neighbours. But the past few weeks, decorators and construction workers had been making a lot of noise - fixing up the empty shop - which meant someone was moving in.

Y/N hadn't met them yet so she wasn't sure what the shop next door would be. The town was relatively quiet so she expected a bakery or maybe a clothing boutique. Only yesterday, with the shop all set up and ready to go, she found it to be nothing of the sort.

It was dark and music pulsed through the walls of her flower shop. The heavy bass made it sound like someone was trying to fight their way through the floorboards she had painted a very, very light pink.

Her customers had complained especially the older bunch. They had trouble concentrating whenever they tried to talk to her or hear her advice on what the best flowers were during the current autumn season.

So after a not-so-fun week and frequent visits to the corner shop to top up her headache medication, Y/N made the decision to confront her new neighbour and tell them exactly how she felt. She wasn't going to let her flower shop fail because of an inconsiderate, noisy fool.

Y/N flipped the sigh from 'open' to 'closed' and took off her apron which had her name in swirly handwriting embroidered onto the breast pocket. She took three deep breaths and mentally went through her speech. She wouldn't be unkind but she would be fair.

"You can do this Y/N," She said to herself before she exhaled and opened the door to walk five steps over to her next-door neighbour.

She hadn't seen the shop properly since the decorating was completed so was immediately struck by how dark it was in comparison to her own shop. It was painted black with illustrations and pictures of people's tattoos set up in the shop window.

The pavement was lit up in the darkness by the red neon lights coming from inside the shop. Everything about it was so different to her baby pink and white flower shop.

The sudden thought of turning back and going upstairs to her apartment almost tempted her enough to turn away but she knew the problem would not be resolved if she were to sit by and do nothing.

Her Mary Jane heels tapped against the pavement as she came to stand in front of the door. It seemed as though the shop was still open, so she pushed the door and stepped inside.

The smell of tobacco and musk and ink hit her senses as she closed the door behind her. The heavy bass of the music was now pounding through her ears. The nerves were rising within her and turning back seemed much more tempting now.

She spun on her heel and reached for the door handle, only to be stopped by someone clearing their throat.

"Are you here for a tattoo?" His voice was deep, husky and... pretty.

She turned around and was met with a tall figure standing in the doorway to the back of the shop. His arms were by his side and he was wearing a black, fitted shirt with black trousers and low cut doc martens with red laces. His face was illuminated by the red, neon sign on the wall with the words 'Styles INK' written in a grungey font.

"T-tattoo?" She gulped, the script she had rehearsed over and over again was nowhere to be found like the words had silently fallen from her brain, through her nose and slipped from her mouth before she had time to speak them out loud.

He walked to the front desk, footsteps heavy against the wooden floor. "We don't take walk-ins this late at night if that's what you're after."

The tone of his voice made her tremble in her heels. She curled her fingers into a fist and tried to stop her heart from beating so fast. "I-I'm not here for a tattoo. I-I'm actually from next door."

His head lifted up, she could finally see the colour of his eyes were a pale green and his hair was curly and brunette. "Ahhh," He dropped the pen he was fiddling with on the desk, "The flower girl."

She huffed, "Yes, that would be me."

"M allergic to flowers." He said.

"W-what? Why would you set up shop next to a flower shop then?" She asked.

"Only place that offered a space with an apartment." A breath slipped past her lips.

He was not only her shop neighbour but her neighbour neighbour too.

Well, this just made things a bit more awkward.

He came in front of the desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms. Y/N saw every inch of the skin on his arm littered with tattoos and even caught a glimpse of his ring-clad fingers. "Listen, if you're not here for a tattoo then why are you here? I need to close up so I'd appreciate it if you were quick with whatever it is you came here for."

Y/N swallowed her nerves, "Your music is too loud a-and it's driving my customers away."

"What was that?" He wanted her to repeat herself.

"Y-Your music, it's much too loud and my customers are c-complaining." She wished she didn't stutter but at least she got what she needed to say out.

"My music?" His eyebrows scrunch up.

"Yes." She nods.

"What about your music?" He retorts, "s all I can hear when I'm upstairs."

She immediately blushes and wonders how long he has been staying in the apartment upstairs. Y/N was so used to not having neighbours that she hadn't thought to turn her music down or take a break from her lonesome karaoke nights.

"That's different."

"If I have to hear you sing to that broken-hearted, bubble-gum pop princess every night then you can't complain about me playing my music like I have." He argues.

"B-but I don't play it in the day like you do! It's so loud! It is - hey quit laughing!" She huffs when he snickers at her.

"M sorry, you're just so little." He laughs. "Maybe that's why I haven't seen you since I've moved in."

Y/N crossed her arms, "I'd just appreciate it if you turned your music down a little, just so my customers can shop for their flowers in peace."

He says nothing. Instead, his eyes scan her face and then fall on the rest of her. She was wearing light blue jeans and a pink, cosy sweater. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail with a white, silk ribbon and her heels were still on her now aching feet.

He smirks, "Alright, I'll turn my music down but you have to do the same. I don't want to hear you sing about Romeo and Juliet or running out of the woods at 11 o'clock at night when I'm trying to relax."

She turns pink but luckily the red light hides the true colour of her cheeks, "Fine." She huffs and turns on her heel, too embarassed to say anything else.

"It was nice to meet you, flower." He says and she swears she can hear him smiling.

Her entire face heats at the nickname.

***

The next day, Y/N walked downstairs to her flower shop and prepared for a new day. She spent the rest of her night after visiting the stranger next door, quietly listening to music in hopes he would reciprocate today.

She hadn't seen him since last night and part of her was grateful for that. He was tall and intimidating and covered in tattoos but his voice was just so...nice that she couldn't seem to get the thought of him out of her head since she walked out of his tattoo shop. It was embarrassing to admit and Y/N was awfully bad at hiding her emotions so she hoped that would be the last time she'd speak to him face to face.

When she flipped the sign on the door to 'open', she held her breath as she waited for the sound of heavy, rock music coming through the walls only to find complete silence. She smiled and mindfully tapped herself on the back for being brave enough to go over and stand her ground.

Her customers were happy with the change too. They stayed and chatted with Y/N for a while, bringing home their baskets of flowers. The day had been much more successful than the past week had and she was thankful things would finally get back on track.

After cleaning the shop at the end of the day, she walked upstairs to her apartment and immediately decided to get into her new cute pyjamas she had ordered from Hollister - long trouser bottoms and a cute tank top both covered in the same pink, ditsy floral print.

She made herself some dinner and snuggled up on her tiny couch with her pet cat, Marshel, nestling to the side of her. Y/N hummed in delight when she made the decision to re-watch her favourite Harry Potter movie- it was the best film for the autumn weather.

Ten minutes into the movie sounds of people speaking and loud music sounded through the walls of her apartment. "Oh please no," She looked up at the ceiling, praying that someone out there would put her out of her misery.

It could only be her new neighbour, the tattoo artist, the one with the nice voice.

She pressed her ear against the door of her apartment and from the racket of people speaking and how loud the music was, she knew he was having a party.

"It's going to be a long night Marsh." She sighs, picking up her kitty and carrying him to bed.

At 2 am, Y/N was still awake. The party was still going and the music had yet to quieten down.

Y/N had been tossing and turning all night. Tears in her eyes as she tried to sleep but couldn't because of the loud noises coming from next door. At this rate, she'd only get four hours of sleep before she had to be up again for the busiest day of the week at the shop.

She couldn't handle it anymore. She flipped her duvet off and swung her legs over the bed. Her eyes fighting to stay open as she stumbled for the door.

At this rate, she was so tired she didn't care how she looked. She just wanted the quiet.

She flung her front door open and already found herself outside the tattoo artist's door. She knocked but the music was so loud, the only thing she could do was invite herself in.

The door opened and suddenly she was in a whole new world. There was cigarette smoke and a strong stench of alcohol. It was dark but red LED lights lit the room. People were laying on the floor or sitting around chairs or dancing in the empty spaces. There must have been about thirty people but with how tiny the apartment was it felt like much more.

Y/N took a deep breath and began her mission to find the source of where the music was coming from. Everyone was much taller than her which made it harder for her to push past people, especially in their drunken state.

"Excuse me please," she mumbled.

"Flower," his voice made her freeze in place.

She stilled and spun round on her sock-covered feet, making a mental note to throw them in the trash when she got home.

The person standing in front of her looked the same, wearing the same all black outfit he wore yesterday. She could see the illustrations of his tattoos a little better this close and she could also see the anger that covered the features of his face.

"Y-you." She said through parted lips, unable to hide her fear or shock.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a corner of the room. He placed his hand on the wall behind her and covered her with his body like he wanted to hide her away.

"The m-music it's too loud and I-I can't sleep." She said, nearing on tears.

"You and your loud music." He muttered, "It's Saturday night. Shops aren't open on a Sunday."

"Mine is." She said.

"What?"

"I open my shop on a Sunday. I do work shops for little kids whose parents have to work on weekends and for elderly people who get a little lonely." It was her favourite day of the week but now she was dreading it because of the lack of sleep.

His expression seemed to soften but he rolled his eyes, "Of course you do."

"I just need to sleep for four more hours and then you can carry on doing whatever you're doing." He smirked.

"You've never been to a party before flower girl?" She shook her head and yawned.

Harry's smile fell and he sighed. He looked around at the party and then at the sleepy girl in front of him. "Fucks sake." He muttered and wrapped an arm around her.

Y/N's eyes widened when his hand rested on her shoulder. He tucked her into his side and quickly manoeuvred past everybody.

"Is that your new girl Styles?"

"Nice one, H."

"Have fun Styles."

"Ignore them." Harry told her as he reached their front door.

"Is that your name? Styles?" Y/N realised she had yet to ask what his name actually was.

"S Harry. You call me Harry." He says and she smiles at how normal and soft his name was compared to his dark and grizzly stature.

She hadn't realised what he was doing until he opened the door to her apartment. She gasped, suddenly wide awake and highly alert considering he was now in her very messy, untidy apartment.

"W-what are you doing?" She ran to her sofa and picked her blankets up from the floor before grabbing her bowl of popcorn from the coffee table that was littered with books and magazines she was halfway through reading.

Harry's eyes darted around her small apartment. The corner of his lips flinched into an almost smile when he saw the pastel colours littered around the place. It was so her - cute and cosy.

"You wanted to sleep." He said, "M helping you sleep."

Her mouth opened and closed in shock, "Helping me sleep?"

"Mhm, I've got these," He pulled out some earbuds from his pocket, "They're noise cancelling. Can't hear a sound when you've got them in your ears."

She looked at them in intrigue, "Where's your room?" He wondered, already walking in the direction of her bedroom like he'd been in her apartment many times before.

"My room's a little untidy," She tried to get past him so she could block him from coming into her room but he was much too tall.

"Don't care flower, just helping you out." He walked into the messy bedroom and paid no mind to the state of the floor. She'd never had a man in her room before so wasn't sure exactly what to do. Her apartment seemed so much smaller from his presence alone. "Get into bed, love." He pulled out his phone.

"O-okay," She said and tucked herself under her blanket.

It was strange to let a person she barely knew into the confines of her room but she was too tired to care and something inside of her trusted him.

He crouched beside her, resting an arm on her mattress. "Here put these in," He handed her the headphones, "Can you hear me?" He asked but received no reply, instead, Y/N giggled.

"I can't hear you Harry!" She laughed and something weird happened in his chest.

He smiled, "Tha's good." He murmured and put on a song he knew she would like.

Her heart stopped beating in her chest when the gentle piano music began to play. An instrumental of 'Cardigan' by her favourite singer whispered into her ears as he played it on a low volume.

"Sleep now flower." He encouraged.

"M name's Y/N." She whispered, her eyes fluttering shut, "You can call me Y/N."

"Y/N," He whispered back and the name seemed to unlock something deep inside of him. He said it once more for good measure before leaving her there with the music still playing.

***

Y/N woke up the next morning with a phone that was not hers resting right by her head. She had managed to fall asleep for four hours thanks to the man who she now knew as Harry. She felt as though last night was a fever dream and Harry had been a guardian angel, granting her sleep at last.

She could have slept in for another four hours but the shop would not run itself and she had many workshops on today that a lot of people had signed up for. She grabbed Harry's phone and made a mental note to give it back to him before she went to open the shop.

She made herself a good breakfast and fed Marshel as well, before getting dressed into a grey mini dress with a cute white collar and an encrusted black bow. She tied her hair back into a half up, half down and fastened it with a black bow to match her dress. She wore the same black Mary Jane heels and a bag with her packed lunch inside.

When she left her apartment, she listened out for any loud music coming from Harry's apartment only to be met with silence. She knocked three times- his phone in her hands- but no one answered.

She'd come back later, she thought. Maybe he was also catching up on some much-needed sleep.

Her first workshop of the day was with a group of children.

Their parents worked weekends and some of them were from the orphanage that they had signed up to help them develop new hobbies. Y/N knew them all by name and loved teaching them how to grow their own tomato plants and arrange flowers with cute bows.

An hour before lunch, she had a class with a group of mothers whose children had just left home. Most of them came because they needed a little company on the weekends when not a lot was going on at home or they wanted to pick up a new hobby.

In the midst of her basket weaving session, Y/N heard a phone ring. She glanced at the phone still on the front desk and saw the screen lighting up. "Excuse me ladies," she slid off the chair and walked over to Harry's phone.

Mike Supplier was the name on the screen. She wondered whether or not it was important and if she should answer it just in case. The phone stopped ringing for a brief moment until the name lit up the screen again.

"Seems important, Y/N." One of the ladies said.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and walked to the back room, pressing the green button to accept the call. "Fucking finally!" A gruff voice speaks on the other end, "I've got your stash when do you want it?"

"Excuse me?" Y/N blushed, not use to such aggressive language.

The person paused, "Are you Styles' new lady? Listen can you put him on the phone? I need to speak to him urgently."

Y/N was in shock, "I'm not his lady! I'm his neighbour."

"Well, whatever you are could you just pass the phone to him?"

"Give me a second," She huffed, entering the shop again and turning towards the ladies who were in deep conversation, "Ladies, I just need a moment to go next door." They nodded.

Y/N could hear Mike Supplier cursing over the phone even as she had it by her side. She noticed Harry's shop was still unopened so went upstairs instead.

She knocked on the door of his apartment repeatedly until she finally heard footsteps coming towards the door. His door swung open, "Can I help you flower?" Her eyes widened.

He stood in the doorway with nothing but grey sweatpants and socks. His bare torso was littered with tattoos and his brunette hair was clipped with a tiny claw clip.

"Your p-phone," She held it out to him. His eyebrows furrowed like he had a lot of questions as to why she had his phone but he took it from her anyway and held it to his ear.

"Yeah, yeah shut up." He spoke. Y/N could still hear Mike Supplier talking on the other end. "Come by this afternoon. I'll wait outside the shop and don't wear that dodgy fucking hat this time."

The conversation ended and Y/N stood awkwardly in front of him. "Well I should go,"

"Wait," Harry stopped her "Did you steal my phone from me flower girl?"

"N-no! You left it in my apartment." She argued.

"Oh yeah," he grins like he was thinking back to being in her room last night, "Your lips go all pouty and you snore when you sleep you know that? 'S cute."

"Hey," she huffed, "I do not snore!"

"Whatever you say baby." Her cheeks warmed at the new nickname he had accidentally added to the seemingly growing collection.

"W-well who was that anyway. He was a little rude." She mumbled.

"You spoke to him?" He arched a brow, "was he rude to you?"

"He swore at me,"

"Dick." Harry muttered, "He's my supplier."

"Oh like for the shop?" She asked. Harry could have sworn he was having palpitations from how innocent she looked.

"No baby," he smirked, "a different kind of supplier."

"Oh," she said, still not fully understanding what he was getting at, "Well I better get down to the shop. My class is waiting for me."

"Sure I'll come with you." He grabbed a sweater and his jacket from the coat hanger.

"Wait, what? No."

"I'm bored and I want to hang out with you." He shrugs, "I don't see how that's a problem."

"You want to hang out with me?" She couldn't make sense of it.

"Mhm," He shut the door of his apartment behind him, "Lead the way, flower girl."

Y/N argued with him as they walked back downstairs. She tried to push him out of the shop before he could even step foot inside but she was too small for his 6ft frame and he gently grabbed her waist and picked her up as if she weighed nothing, stepping into the shop.

All eyes turned in their direction. Y/N blushed and stuttered as she said, "L-ladies, this is my neighbour."

"Hi, I'm Harry." He said from behind.

The ladies looked confused and then concerned and then suddenly they were grinning ear to ear, slipping out of their seats to welcome their new guest.

"Oh Harry, you look as old as my boy! It's so lovely to meet you." Mildred, one of the elder ladies said.

"Nice to meet you too." He spoke in a warm, almost flirtatious way.

Y/N stood there in shock, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Kathy and Lucy had already sat him in between them both and got him the things he needed to weave a basket.

"Are you interested in flowers Harry?" Julia asked.

He looked across the table over at Y/N whose cheeks seemed to be a shade of red they'd never even been before. "Only one."

"Oh well Y/N's an excellent teacher. We're making hanging baskets to plant daffodils in them for the spring."

"Hmm I guess I've come to the best place to learn then." His eyes remained fixed on Y/N who defeatedly picked up her basket to show Harry exactly how to make one himself.

"How are you so good at this?" Y/N whispered in awe as Harry finished his basket.

"These hands are good with fiddly things." He says.

"Oh that's wonderful Harry!" Kathy exclaimed, "You could take over Y/N's job. Might help her out and she can finally have a much deserved rest."

"S that right? You tired flower?" Harry murmured when he saw Y/N's eyes opening and closing as she leant against the desk.

"Not tried at all," she lied but Harry seemed to see right through her.

"Hmm," he frowned which immediately had Y/N standing straight and trying to disguise her exhaustion a little better.

"You hungry?" A tall shadow loomed in front of Y/N as she sat at the desk, processing payments for her classes and labelling the baskets for the ladies to take home.

She looked up and saw Harry, his voice now a familiarity after the last almost twenty four hours since she had met him. "A-a little." She decided not to lie this time since apparently, she was much easier to read than she thought.

"I've got food upstairs, wanna come up?" He asks.

"A-Are you sure?" 

"C'mon little flower, I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't mean it." With a nod, Y/N locked up the shop for lunch and followed Harry up to his apartment. When she stepped inside, it was completely different to how it had been last night. 

It was clean and tidy. A few boxes were lying on the carpeted floor of his open living room here and there, but for the most part, it was pretty neat. Y/N's eyes were immediately taken by the prints hanging up on the wall. 

"These are incredible." She gasped, feeling particularly fond of a line drawing of a woman. 

"It's my mother," He stood next to her, looking up at the drawing with her. 

"You drew it?" She asked, wide-eyed.

"Mhm," He hummed. 

"Wow, no wonder you're a tattoo artist," She glanced at the intricate tattoos littered on his arms. 

"Ever thought of getting one yourself?" He asked. 

"N-Not really, I'm no good with needles." She said, rather sheepishly. 

He smirked, "Let's get some food in that tummy." 

Twenty minutes later, Y/N and Harry sat on the small two-person couch eating sandwiches and a fruit salad they had prepared together in Harry's even smaller kitchen. Y/N giggled as Harry threw a grape into the air and tried to catch it in his mouth.

"T-tell me about your tattoos," Y/N insisted after taking a bite out of a strawberry. Harry's eyes looked down at her lips and back to her big, doe eyes. "What does this one mean?" She questioned, pointing to the words written in Hebrew.

"M' sisters name," He starts, "And that says 'Can I stay?'" 

"Hmm, you have a lot of hearts." She said, fingers lightly touching the human heart on his arm. 

"I have a lot of love." He grins, cheekily, like he knew the line was cheesy but wanted to use it anyway. He was glad he did from the smile it had formed on Y/N's face.

Y/N hadn't realised how close they had gotten until she felt his breath on her neck.  Her voice wavers slightly as she tries not to think too much about it, "And what about this one," She points to the rose, her fingers tracing the petals. 

"I did that one myself," He murmured, lips close to her ear. 

"You did?" She said but it came out more as a whisper. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, her brain turning to mush and all her thoughts suddenly turning into Harry. 

"Mhm," She glanced up and his deep, green eyes were already boring into her. Her eyes darted down to his lips and then back up again. "You're pretty," He mumbled, loud enough so she could hear.

She shook her head, "I-I don't think so," She was suddenly flustered and confused and wondering why her brain was not acting the way it usually did. 

"I know so," His hand reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ears, and she shudders when his fingertips brush against her cheek. Slowly his head inches forward and the nearer he gets it feels as though more oxygen leaves the room. "Relax," He whispers, touching her hand, "You're okay flower girl."

"H-Harry, I-I've never kissed anyone before." She admits, embarrassment flooding her. 

"What?" He furrows his eyebrows. 

"O-oh, it's just that... I've never been k-kissed before."

"By anyone?" She nods. "Impossible." He whispers.

"We can stop if you want to," He says, his voice gentle and comforting.

"No," She wraps her small fingers around his wrist before he pulls away, "I-I want to,"

"Want to what?" He smirks, "You've gotta tell me baby."

"I want to k-kiss you," She blushes, it's all she seems to do around him.

"Cute," He murmurs before his lips press to hers.

Y/N's not sure what to do at first, her eyes are open and shock courses through her, but Harry's lips move against hers and he breathes, "Relax flower," He insists and she does. 

Her eyes flutter shut and she mimics his movements. What he gives, she gives right back and a small whimper leaves her when he kisses her even harder. She starts to lose her breath with how long they kiss for but she's far too deep, floating too much, to pull away. She grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in closer, a groan eliciting from somewhere deep inside him. "Baby," The name escapes his lips and a shiver runs through her. 

With panting breaths, she pulls away and so does he. Her face is flushed and his lips are pink, "You okay?" Is the first thing he asks, receiving a nod. "I think 'm a little bit obsessed with you." He confesses.

"M-Me?" She couldn't believe what he was saying. 

"Don't think I've ever wanted anything more," He looks away like being vulnerable is a foreign thing for him.

"Why?" She can't help but ask.

He shrugs, "Sometimes it just is." 

She thinks on his words before replying, "Can we kiss again?" 

Harry chuckles, "Kiss me all you want flower."

. . .

Y/N had a permanent smile on her face the next day as she went back to work. People asked her what was making her so happy and she was constantly finding things to lie about instead of speaking the name of the tattooed boy next door. 

An hour before lunch, the postman came to deliver her new ribbons for the bouquets and accidentally dropped off a package meant for Harry. Y/N couldn't help but smile at his name written on a brown box. 

"Give me a second ladies, I'm just going to pop next door." Y/N grinned, ignoring the knowing looks of the ladies she was teaching. 

As Y/N walked next door, her confidence seemed to shrink with every step. She realised she had yet to go to Harry's tattoo shop when he was actually working and she knew she would stick out like a sore thumb once she took a step inside. She was wearing a lilac dress and white heels, of course, she was going to stand out.

The bell rang as she stepped inside and a few customers looked up, some of them doing a double take at the small girl. Music played through the speakers but it was a lot less quiet compared to the first day Harry's shop had opened. 

Footsteps walked on the wooden floorboards and Harry walked out from the back room. His eyes caught sight of Y/N and his frown immediately turned into a smile. He held his arms out for her and she quickly walked into his embrace. "Hi flower," He murmured into her hair. 

"I came to drop off your package," She held out the box to him when he let her out of his arms.

"Oh," He took the package from her, "That's all?"

She bit back a smile, "Mmm, I may have something very important to tell you," She gave him a not-so-subtle wink.

He grinned, almost wickedly, "Well, do follow me this way to tell me this very important thing," He led her way from the waiting area and somewhere closed off and hidden from everywhere else. 

When they were alone, he grabbed her hips and hoisted her up onto a countertop, knocking things over. "Harry," She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"Shhh no more talking baby," He said before kissing her lips that he spent all night dreaming about. Their mouths were wet and hot against each other as they made out in a closet hidden away from Harry's customers.

His hands slid down her back and around her waist, pinching her hips, "Did you wear this dress f' me baby?" He murmured, the tone of his voice sending shivers up Y/N's spine. 

"Wanted to be pretty for you." She told him. She had spent all morning trying to find a nice outfit to wear, not only for work but for when she saw Harry too.

"Fuck," He groaned against her lips, "Where have you been all my life?" 

Y/N felt like a teenage girl getting all flustered and hot over a boy. She'd never experienced being with someone in this way before and now she had a taste for it and couldn't get enough of him. She had left Harry's apartment yesterday in a daze and she felt like she was still floating from the high of her first kiss. 

He stood in between her legs and she subconsciously rolled her hips against him. She gasped in both shock and at the feeling of him against her, "You're okay baby," He soothed her, sensing her confusion.

"Feels good huh?" He pulled her hips into him again and she felt a moan bubble in her throat. "Have you ever touched yourself Y/N?" He wondered. 

She froze, "N-no," She confessed, embarrassed. 

"Nothing to be ashamed of baby," He comforts her, his words soothing the insecure part of her. He kissed her lips softly, "Can I visit you this evening?"

She nods without even thinking about it, "Please," 

He smirks, "Please baby? Please? What are you asking for?"

She didn't know, her mind was foggy and all she could see was him, "Everything." 

His eyes darkened but his smirk never left, "'M polite little flower."

"Harry," She whined, burying her face in his neck. 

Harry laughed and cupped the back of her with his hand, kissing her forehead, "I'll come visit tonight and you better be wearing those cute pyjamas," He knew she was smiling because he could feel her lips against his neck. 

That evening after Y/N had closed the shop, she ran upstairs to her apartment and kicked off her heels. She ran around her living room, hiding things she didn't want Harry to see and flinging dirty laundry into the washing basket. 

She walked into her very pink bedroom and pulled out her pyjamas, happy to finally be wearing something comfortable. She spritzed some of her favourite perfume and rubbed vanilla lotion into her skin. 

Y/N sat on her sofa with Marshel seated by her feet on the carpeted floor. She switched on the TV and watched a few episodes of friends whilst continuing to finish her knitting project - she was making a blanket since one of the ladies from her group was pregnant and would be giving birth very soon. 

She fought to keep her eyes open as she waited for Harry to knock on her door. His shop was meant to have closed twenty minutes ago so she assumed he'd be here by now. 

Slowly, an hour had gone by and Y/N was getting worried. Her mind spun with insecurities and a sudden fear that something might have happened to Harry. She placed her knitting project on her coffee table and patted Marshel on the head. She walked to the door and slid her sock covered feet into her brown UGG boots. 

The shop was not its usual LED red colour when she came to stand in front of the window, instead it was neon blue. Y/N frowned when she heard music playing from inside and checked to see whether the door was open.

Her hand pushed the door handle, the door swinging open and the muffled music suddenly became coherent. She could hear voices coming from the back room where Harry tattooed his customers.

Walking towards the sound, Y/N eventually caught the sound of Harry's voice amongst the group of people chatting. Her shoulders relaxed at the thought of him being here, at least she knew she'd be okay if he was there with her. 

Turning the corner, her eyes landed on Harry with two other tattooed men, smoking something that - in Y/N's opinion - smelt a little strange. 

Harry must have sensed her presence as he turned his head and caught sight of her hiding behind the corner wall. He smiled, "Hey flower," 

"Hi," She murmured, feeling embarassed. 

"C'mere," He held out his arm for her and she scurried towards him, attaching herself to him by snuggling her body into his side. He put an arm around her, kissing her forehead. "I thought I was meeting you upstairs?"

Y/N frowned, "You took too long,"

He smirked, "M impatient girl," He nodded towards the two men he was talking to, "Y/N, these are 'm friends, Mike and Dan."

"Mike supplier," Y/N whispered, finally putting a face to the name of the man she had spoken to on Harry's phone.

He was tall and bald with a beard and looked to be in his forties. Like Harry, he also had tattoos but not nearly as much. Beside him was Dan who looked closer in age to Harry, maybe a little older. He was blonde but wore a cap on his head and a silver chain around his neck. 

After Harry had finished smoking with his friends, he said his goodbyes and led Y/N upstairs back to her apartment. "What were you smoking? It smelt funny," Y/N asked,"

Harry fell back onto the couch and pulled her down with him. She lay on top of him, the smell of the smoke still lingering on his clothes. "'S just a bit of weed." He confessed.

Y/N gasped, "Weed? Is that legal?" 

Harry looked at her amused, "Not here but it doesn't do much harm to me, been smoking it for ages." He twirled a piece of hair around his finger, "Does that bother you?"

She thought about it but the idea didn't really seem to phase her. As long as he was being safe and was using it in a healthy sort of way, she didn't mind. "N-no, not at all." Harry's smile widened into a grin. He didn't hesitate to kiss her, feeling her soft lips which had recently become his new obsession. They were so soft and red and kissable and made just for him. 

Y/N didn't want him to stop kissing her whenever he did. She loved the feeling of her eyes fluttering shut and all of her senses just filling up with him. Harry pulled away, still cupping her cheek in his hand. Y/N's chest heaved up and down against him as she tried to catch her breath, "Breathe, flower." His heart ached when she looked up at him with swollen red lips, trying to catch her breath. "Lose your breath a little bit huh?"

"A little," She huffed. 

"You're too cute." 

Y/N kissed him again once she had caught enough air again. Harry sat up, pulling on the roots of her hair as her legs wrapped around him so she was straddling him. She whimpered, tugging on the fabric of his t-shirt.

"What do you want baby?" Harry mumbles against her parted lips. 

"Take it off," She whispers, pulling on his shirt. 

Harry does as he's told, pulling his shirt up over his head and revealing his muscular, tattoed torso. Y/N's eyes widened. She'd never seen something so beautiful, he looked as though he was one of those marble statues in a museum. "Eyes on me baby," Harry smiled, pushing her chin up with his finger so her eyes were looking directly into his. "What now?"

"I-I-I don't know," She blushed, losing her confidence now that they were no longer kissing. 

"We don't have to do anything you don't want." He looked at her with a soft gaze.

"I-I don't want to disappoint you." She admits, her insecurities coming to the surface. 

"Couldn't disappoint me baby, ever." She smiles, feeling secure in his words and his hold. Y/N leans forward and rubs her cheek against his chest. Harry's hands go beneath the tank top of her pyjamas, brushing her bare back. "If it helps I've never done this before."

She's shocked but she tries to hide it, "W-what do you mean?"

"Been intimate with someone." 

She smiled. 

She really, really liked him.

. . .

For weeks after, Y/N was obsessed with two things. 

Her flower shop and her tattooed boyfriend next door.

When she wasn't working, she was with Harry, either cooking in his apartment or cuddling together on the couch in her living room. Harry had also developed a new taste for basket weaving, joining in on Y/N's Sunday classes with the elderly ladies in the morning. 

In the short time they had known each other, Y/N had come to learn that Harry wasn't a morning person but he never missed a Sunday class even when he was exhausted from the busy day before at the tattoo shop. He would stumble downstairs with dishevelled hair and sleepy eyes in sweatpants and a hoodie, sitting in his seat between Mildred and Julia as they fussed over him. 

Y/N had also grown a love for kissing Harry at every opportunity. She'd take many five-minute breaks, walking over to the tattoo shop and kissing Harry in the cupboard or visiting him in the alleyway behind the building where they'd make out against the brick wall. Even Harry had an addiction to his girlfriend's very kissable lips, sneaking out of his shop in between appointments to smother her in kisses in the storage cupboard. 

"Hey Marshy little fur ball," Y/N bit back a grin when she heard the door of her apartment open and the familiar gruff voice speak to her little cat. 

She swung her legs over her bed and paused the movie she was watching, running to the front door and leaping into his arms, "Hi flower," Harry murmured, inhaling the scent of her coconut shampoo. 

Y/N nuzzled her face against his jumper and squeezed him tightly, "Hi Harry," She sighed, blissfully.

"Wanted to come see ya, hope tha's okay." He kissed her quickly. 

"Course, I was watching a film in my room." She tugged on his hand and lead him to her bedroom. 

Harry had spent nights in Y/N's room before. Sometimes he would ask her if it was okay if he took a nap in her bed whenever he finished work early because it was much comfier than his. She'd find him curled up under her blankets, hugging one of her stuffed animals to his chest with the hood of his sweatshirt over his head.

Harry removes his sweatshirt, leaving him in only sweatpants, before he crawls into bed and pats the spot beside him. Y/N turns on the movie but knows that neither of them has any plans of watching it. 

With the amount of kissing they had been doing, Y/N hoped she had gotten a lot better. She realised Harry would often make small, quiet noises whenever she did something he liked, like tugging on his hair or sticking her tongue in his mouth. 

It wasn't long before they were making out again on her bed. Her leg hooked around his hip and her hands in his hair as he gripped her waist, every now and then he would squeeze her ass remembering the first time he did it and how much she loved it from the soft moans that left her. 

Y/N thought that kissing Harry was the best thing in the entire world but what she didn't know was that Harry had plenty more up his sleeve. 

His hand slid from her waist and down to her bare thigh - she was only wearing pyjama shorts since her apartment was pretty warm. He squeezed her softly, "Can I feel you baby?" He asked.

Y/N froze, not sure how to react. "I-I-"

Harry cupped her cheek, "I know," He already knew what she was thinking before she even said anything, "We can carry on doing what we're doing if you prefer. It's no rush." 

"N-no," She grabbed his wrist in both her hands. Y/N was a virgin but she wasn't afraid... Just inexperienced and that made her a little wary. But with Harry, she knew she wanted to allow that part of herself to him. Maybe not the whole thing but a little something. 

"Y-you can feel me... I-if you like." She said, awkwardly. 

Harry chuckles, "What about if you like, hmm?" His fingertip traced circles on her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps. 

"I-I would l-like that p-please." She whispered.

Harry grinned, "Only because you're so polite sweet girl."

Harry's arm slides between her legs and hooks his fingers around her pyjamas bottoms to pull them down her legs. Y/N inwardly praised herself for shaving the night before yet she was pretty sure Harry wouldn't mind either way. Harry tuts when he sees her underwear, "Did m' little flower get all wet from kissing on daddy?" 

She felt the air leave the room and her body heat at the nickname. It was so dirty and yet she felt herself aching from his words. "Y-yes," She breathes. 

"Yes what baby?" He kisses up her thigh. 

"Yes daddy," She murmurs. 

Harry eyes darken as he looks down between her thighs, "My good, polite girl." He pinches the flesh on her thigh and she feels her chest heave.  Y/N gasps for air when his fingers trace the fabric of her underwear and her heart races even more when he moves her underwear to the side to see a part of herself no one had ever seen before.

"Fuck me," He whispers under his breath. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen." 

"R-really?" Y/N blushes, her cheeks hot.

"Don't think I've ever seen something so pretty." 

"T-thank you, daddy." She whispers the last part but it doesn't stop the bulge from growing in Harry's sweatpants. 

"Have you always been this needy when we kiss baby?" Harry murmured in her ear as his fingers part her pussy. He tries to stop himself from groaning at the slick wetness that coats his fingers.

Y/N gasps at the new feeling but is immediately overcome by pleasure as Harry begins to move his finger back up to her clit, "Harry," She whimpers. 

Harry's quick to pull his hand away, "Nuh uh baby, that's not my name."

Y/N's head was all dizzy but she managed to reply, "Daddy, please," She whines.

"Barely even touched you and you're already whining," He tuts before rubbing his thumb over her clit and making small, slow circles. Y/N whimpers at the new sensation of intense pleasure. "Does that feel good flower?" He asks, nipping her ear as he murmurs against it. 

"S-so good- so good daddy, so, so good." She babbles as he continues to tease her clit with his thumb. 

"Who'd have thought I had such a naughty girl hmm?" She arches into his touch as he moves his finger in a certain way. She wonders how she managed to go on for so long without feeling something so blissfully delightful. 

"Put your hand here baby," Harry instructs, reaching for her hand that wasn't currently scrunching the duvet, and placing it flat over the top of his, "Let me show you how to touch yourself. Watch daddy," Y/N's eyes look down to see his gold ring-clad fingers drenched in her wetness, his tattooed hand moving in circles as her rubs her clit. "This is how I want you to touch yourself when you think of me baby and when you're good, I'll make your perfect, little hole feel good too." Y/N gasps and clenches when he brushes a finger against her hole. 

"I-I'm good-Please, I'm good," She mewls and her hand grips his wrist instead. She uses it as leverage to twist and turn into him, the pleasure overwhelmingly good she can't help but hide her face in his neck. 

"You are good," He kisses her forehead, "My good girl." She nods at his praise, eyes shut. 

Harry forces her legs a part and continues to pleasure her in a way she didn't know about until today. She writhes and moans beneath his touch as he whispers dirty things into her ear. "I want you to cum baby, think you can do that?" 

"Mhm," She sighs, already feeling the bubble of pressure in her tummy. "F-feels - feel's s-so-" 

"Feel good m'love?" He coos, "Cum f' me. Cum f' daddy, wanna see you soak my hand." 

At his words, Y/N whimpers as she becomes increasingly sensitive the more he circles her clit. Harry feels as though he's about to explode as he watches her cheeks flush pink and she grinds her pussy against his hand as she rides out her orgasm. "That's it my little flower, so good." He praises her, feeling her shudder as she finishes coming down from her high.

She's panting heavily as Harry slides her panties back into place. "You okay?" Harry checks, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Y/N nods and instantly feels embarrassed, hiding herself in the crook of his neck. Harry chuckles, "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"You're lying," Y/N says, her voice muffled against him.

"Never gonna lie to you flower, never." He promises. 

Y/N removes herself from her hiding place and looks up at him. Harry's heart bursts in his chest when she sees her sleepy, blissful gaze. He wonders where this girl has been all his life and how he managed to go this long without her. He was pretty sure he was falling in love with her but that was a conversation for another day.

"W-what about you?" Y/N looks down and sees the very noticeable bulge in his trousers. 

Harry shakes his head, "Not today," He smiles, "We have plenty of time to experiment some more but think you've had enough experimenting for one night."

"Me too," Y/N curls into his side, not bothering to put her pyjama bottoms back on. "Having sex is exhausting." 

"We didn't even have sex, silly girl." Harry laughs.

"Felt like it," She mumbles against him.

"I'm that good huh?" He grins, cheekily, "Just you wait baby,"

"The best," She slurs, yawning, "M so tired." 

"Yeah? You sleepy baby?" He kisses her forehead. "Get some sleep m'love," He wraps an arm around her and tucks her into his chest. 

"I like you very much Harry," She whispers, sleepily. 

"I like you very much too." Harry replies, holding her close.

psa don't let strangers into your room... actually don't let anyone into your room

[neil-gaiman]

Given that there were no scenes with Crowley on fire in season 2, did David Tennant even show up to set?

That was David being "struck by lightning" in episode 1. The five fennec foxes did most of the rest of the actoring.

[fivelilas]

What Aidan said on Patreon about fivelila and the program:

●fivelila

X: Aidan, What was the most difficult scene for you to film in season 4?👀

Aidan:

I think the kiss...it was hard to make it real. I really had to let go of myself and be Five. It's really not easy to give a kiss and make it real. There's a lot of the relationship with Lila that we filmed but they cut it. It took weeks to film it and they used a few minutes in a montage. That wasn't right. It also made it very hard for viewers to believe when we spent weeks filming scenes to set up that scenario Ritu and I were there for weeks before someone else came to Canada to film our secret scenes first

There are also articles online that are not true. For example, David never had any problem with the romance between Lila and Five. Neither did Ritu. That's completely made up to attract clicks.

● umbrella academy

X: What was the most difficult thing for you recording the last season

Aidan:

Knowing it was the end

We also didn't know how it would end. Steve always hides the last script until the very end.

Steve basically wrote what he wanted and we were paid to do it.

No cast member has a vote on anything.

I would change it back to the original 10 episodes that Steve wrote.

When Netflix told him to cut it down to 6 episodes and remove all the expensive scenes, I'm sure that hurt the season a lot. It's like reading a well written story that has everything you ever wanted to explain about the show.

I mean, I understand that the show was no longer profitable, so it was a business decision.

We were lucky to be able to get a fourth season; it was actually a gift from Netflix to the fans because they didn't make any money on it

Actually, you should thank them for season 4. Any other network would have just cancelled the show. I heard they tried for years to fix the deal with UCP to make it profitable to move forward and UCP didn't do it.

OK, so UCP owns the show and struck a deal with Netflix to distribute it on their network. But with each season, the show cost Netflix more and more money from UCP. By season 4, it was no longer profitable

Anyway, I'm glad they made UA. It almost never got made. For years it was going to be a movie

[ahsokaismyqueen]

Idiotic Decisions Pairing - Steve Harrington x HendersonSister!Reader Summary - Working on a project with douchebag Steve Harrington was not something you were looking forward to doing. However, you're surprised to find that maybe he's just a little less of a jerk than you thought. Word Count - 2.2k Warnings - Language and season 1 Steve, but that's it! Steve Harrington x HendersonSister!Reader Masterlist

Of all the things that you thought you might have to do in high school, partnering with Steve Harrington on a project was the one you probably wanted to do the least. Even less so did you want him to know where you lived and be in your house, but one, you had to be there when your brother got home, and two, you wanted the home field advantage. 

“I still don’t see why you don’t just blow him off. You can come over and help me work on my new campaign. I had this great idea -”

You rolled your eyes. “Eddie, I’m not blowing off this project. It’s like twenty-five percent of my grade, and if I leave it all to Harrington I’m sure to fail.” 

Eddie snorted over the phone. “Don’t you have like a 98 in that class?” 

A sigh left your lips. “Yes, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. I need all the help I can get for scholarships. We’re gonna run like hell outta here remember? I can’t do that without some help.” After a moment, a thought struck you though. “Wait, don’t you have your own project to do? For Ms. O’Donnell?” 

“What’s that? Oh, sorry, my Uncle’s calling me to do some stuff around the trailer. I’m going to have to let you go.” He rattled off. 

But you knew he was lying. “I know damn well Wayne’s at work, Eddie.” 

“Bye!” Then there was nothing on the other end but a dial tone. 

Glancing at the clock in the kitchen, you let out a groan, knowing that Steve would be here any minute, and started cleaning off the table so you two would have some space to work. By 5, the time Steve had agreed to be there, everything was clean and your notes were laying out on the table for the two of you to use since you were sure he didn’t have any. 

Then it was 5:30, and he still wasn’t there. 

6:00

7:00 

7:30 and there was still no sign of Steve Harrington. 

By that point, you had grabbed a beer from where you had hidden them in the back of the fridge, and had taken up a spot on the couch with your new book, The Gunslinger. You almost didn’t answer when the knock sounded at your door, but you were curious as to what his excuse might be. 

Steve Harrington stood on your doorstep with what you were sure was supposed to be a charming grin. “Hey, Henderson.” When you stared at him without saying a word, the grin started to fade, and he fidgeted around. “You gonna let me in or?” 

You brought your beer to your lips and took a sip, continuing to stare him down for a moment, and then you took a step back, shutting the door in his face. Turns out you didn’t care what his excuse was. You sat back down on the couch and opened your book once again. 

Steve started trying to talk to you through the door. “Come on, Henderson, basketball practice ran late, and then I had to call Nancy-” 

You let out a snort and flipped the page. 

“Just let me in. I promise I’ll do whatever you say, all the grunt work, hell, I’ll even write, ‘I will not be late.’ Like a hundred times if that’ll make you feel better.” He pleaded. 

Hmmm . . . That would be amusing. 

“Henderson, seriously, what’s it going to take? I can’t fail this class-”

“What are you doing here?” 

You leapt out of your seat and ran to the door, opening it with a big grin. “How did it go?” You asked Dustin. 

Your little brother mirrored your grin. “It was awesome! We didn’t get finished though.” 

You nodded, expecting that. “Campaigns take forever sometimes, but it’s worth it in the end.” 

“Will was trying to attack the demogorgon, and when he rolled the dice, it flew off the table, then it took forever to find it.” 

“Was it a thirteen?” You asked. 

Dustin shook his head. “It was a seven, but Mike didn’t see it, so it didn’t count.” 

Letting out a laugh, you lifted Dustin’s hat to ruffle his hair. “Sneaky. I like it.” 

“Are you two speaking English?” 

You had forgotten Steve was there until he spoke. You shot him a scowl, but didn’t respond to him. “Come on, as awesome as that sounds, you’ve got to get to bed.” You told your little brother, wrapping your arm around his shoulder and bringing him inside. You tried to shut the door behind you, but Steve snuck in before you could. 

“What is he doing here anyway?” Dustin asked again, glancing back at Steve as you tugged him to his room. 

“Being inconsiderate and disrespectful of my time. Which is what I should have expected.” You replied without looking at Steve who was following behind the two of you. “Brush your teeth, lights out in ten.” You told him. 

Dustin groaned. “Fine.” 

“Are you having to babysit your brother tonight or something?” Steve asked. 

You didn’t want to respond, but you got the feeling that he was going to keep pestering you until you did. “No. My mom’s just asleep already.” 

Steve glanced down at his wrist, and then at you. “At 8:00?” 

Something about his tone made you snap. “Not that it’s any of your damn business, but her medication makes it hard for her to stay awake.” 

Steve seemed to recognize the defensiveness in your tone, holding up his hands in front of himself. “Sorry, I’m not used to a quiet house by 8:00. My dad’s usually three beers in, yelling at my mom about how shitty and stupid I am at that point.” 

You paused for a moment, then narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m not going to feel sorry for you when you show up three hours late to work on a project that’s like a fourth of our grade.” You shoved past him, bumping into his shoulder as you did. 

He still followed you. “I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me - shit, Henderson- ” you froze as Steve’s stupidly large hand wrapped around your wrist. “I’m really sorry, okay? You’re right, I wasn’t respecting you like I should’ve been. It was shitty of me to show up so late.” 

It surprised you. His apology sounded sincere. You turned around to face him, and Steve let go of you. “Well . . . I’m glad you’re self aware enough to know that was shitty.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Other girls may let you treat them like that, but I’m not Harrington. I’m not going to do all the work because you . . . Flutter your eyelashes at me or something.” 

Steve grinned, raising an eyebrow at you. “Flutter my eyelashes?” 

You felt heat rush to your face, but tried to brush it off. “I’m serious.” 

“Right. Right. Sorry.” He said. “No fluttering of eyelashes, got it.” 

Taking a deep breath, you decided to lay down the rules. “I know we don’t get along, but for the sake of this project we need to work together. Which means I won’t call out all the ways you’re a douchebag, and you’ve got to give me at least a little respect.” 

Steve stared at you, and you couldn’t help but move restlessly underneath his gaze. There was something about his eyes that was just . . . Intense. “That sounds fair.” He said, leaning against the doorframe. “Do you still want to work tonight, or do you want me to leave?” 

Honestly, you were kind of surprised he was asking. It was almost . . . Considerate. “I - uh, I guess we can go ahead and work tonight. It’s not like I’d be going to bed any time soon anyway.” 

His smile was back now as he spoke. “All right boss, lead the way.” 

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile on your face as you led him to the kitchen. 

————————

“Can I be honest with you Harrington?” 

Papers were scattered around the table in every direction, no longer a neat stack like how you guys had started, but you found yourself not minding. Steve was bent over a sheet of construction paper, drawing lines with a ruler, biting his bottom lip in concentration as he tried to get the line perfect. At your words though, he looked up at you, raising his eyebrows. “You mean that’s not what you’ve been doing the entire time?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t expect you to actually try. I’ve seen how you are in class.” For years you had watched Steve show up late, eat snacks, and flirt with girls instead of paying attention. You hadn’t expected it to be any different this time. 

He bent back over the paper again, starting a new line. “Yeah, well, maybe I just wanted to prove to you I’m not the idiot you think I am.” 

It wasn’t often that you regretted words that you said, but that might have been one of the times. You thought back to what he said earlier about his dad. How many people did Steve Harrington have in his life that thought he was stupid? It made you uncomfortable that you were now on that list. “Maybe, ‘makes idiotic choices’ is what I should have said instead. You know, like, being friends with Tommy and Carol.” 

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment, and you thought you might’ve hit a nerve. “Aren’t you the one who’s friends with the drug dealer? How long before you think Munson’s locked up?” 

Yep. You had hit a nerve, and now he had to. “Yeah, well at least Eddie’s not fucking miserable like those two.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest. “He cares about people. He took me in when I had no one because everyone thought I was weird for reading fantasy books and not talking to anyone. That sound like something Tommy and Carol would do?” 

Steve slammed down the pencil and ruler. “People don’t think you’re weird because you read. People think you’re a bitch who goes around sleeping with people all the time because someone caught you coming out of a room at a party right before Jason Carver.” 

“Jason Carver cornered me in that room while I was waiting on Eddie, tried to get me to make out with him, got pissed when I wouldn’t, then went outside and spread the rumor that I was a whore.” You hissed. You didn’t know why the words left your lips. The only person who knew about that night was Eddie, and now for some reason Steve Harrington. Oh well. It wasn’t as if you could take them back. “And everyone believed him without a second thought, didn’t they?” You said, leaning back in your chair. “Including you.” 

Steve sat in stunned silence, his eyes never leaving your face. You thought you might have broken him when he finally spoke. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

You shrugged. “He didn’t actually do anything. He scared me for a second by grabbing my arm then I kicked him in the balls so hard he passed out. I guess wounding his ego and dick at the same time must have been too much.” 

“You should’ve kicked him harder.” 

“Probably.” 

Silence filled the room again, neither one of you quite knowing what to say after your confession. You didn’t regret saying it. It was almost a relief to know that someone else knew you weren’t what everyone thought, even if it was Steve Harrington. He was still looking at you, his eyes tracing over your face as if seeing you in a new light. Then he glanced down at the paper in front of you and smirked. “That’s the shittiest flower I’ve ever seen.” 

“What?” You glanced down at your own paper, a frown appearing on your face. Okay, so maybe your circles were a little lopsided, and your stems kinda thick, but it wasn’t that bad. “No it isn’t!” 

“Oh, it is. I’m just glad to find something you can’t do.” 

You let out a laugh that turned into a snort. Your eyes widened, and you covered your mouth as heat rushed to your face. 

Steve’s smile grew in delight. “What the hell was that? Do you have pigs in here somewhere?”

“You’re never to repeat that you heard that, do you hear me Harrington?” You threatened. 

“Will it make up for me making the idiotic decision to believe those rumors about you?” He asked. 

Your heart did a funny thing then. Almost gave a jump, and for some stupid reason you felt your eyes get a little watery. “It’s a start.” 

————————

The next morning at school, you met Eddie by your locker. “So how was it?” He asked as soon as you saw him. 

How could you possibly answer him? “It was . . . Not as bad as it could have been I guess?” You said, starting to unlock your locker. “How about you? I hope Wayne didn’t keep you up so late you didn’t get finished with O’Donnell’s project.” You said, calling him out on his bullshit. 

Eddie grinned sheepishly at you. “Yeah well - What the hell is all that?” 

As soon as you opened your locker, at least ten sheets of folded up paper had fallen out. You bent to pick one up and read what it said. It turned out they all said the same thing. 

I will not be late. 

You looked up and spotted him a little ways down the hallway, waiting by Nancy Wheeler’s locker. When he saw you watching him, he gave you a salute. 

You smiled.

[basset-babe]

five times: the one point five.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: none but gossip yet again

word count: 2.9k+

a/n: please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series! here is 1.5 times with ben. enjoy! thanks loves <3! (also, pls do imagine ben holding a graft rose for this one heh)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last. text divider from @heavenlayt and pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

the one point five time.

In the hours of sunlight, callers have flooded the Y/L/N drawing room. All bringing gifts and performances in hopes to win the favourable yes of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. The grand parlor, adorned with exquisite tapestries and sparkling chandeliers, buzzed with the lively hum of conversations and the tinkling laughter of society’s elite. Lavish bouquets of rare, fragrant flowers filled the room, their heady scent mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and delectable pastries arrayed on silver platters.

Gentlemen, dressed in their finest attire, lined up to present their offerings to Miss Y/L/N, each one more extravagant than the last. Some brought intricate jewelry, glittering with precious stones, while others offered rare books, hoping to appeal to her reputed love of literature. Musicians performed virtuoso pieces on the grand piano, their fingers dancing over the keys in a bid to capture her attention through the power of melody. Poets recited verses composed in her honor, their words dripping with adoration and longing.

Miss Y/L/N, the epitome of grace and poise, received each suitor with a warm smile and a gracious word. Her eyes, sparkling with intelligence and kindness, moved across the room, acknowledging the efforts and intentions of each visitor. Her charm was such that even a simple nod or a softly spoken thank you felt like a cherished treasure to the eager suitors.

The hour had struck past 1 in the afternoon when, hopefully, the last caller of the day had bid his farewells. The Y/L/N drawing room, which had been a whirlwind of activity, now began to settle into a quieter, more contemplative atmosphere. The sunlight streaming through the large windows cast a bright hue over the room, highlighting the opulent furnishings and the array of gifts that had been presented to Miss Y/N Y/L/N throughout the morning.

Servants moved gracefully, clearing away the remnants of the lavish spread of refreshments while ensuring that every detail of the room remained immaculate. The air was still fragrant with the scent of roses, lilies, and other exotic flowers that had been brought by admirers, creating a heady, almost intoxicating environment.

"As much as I do love botanicals, all these flowers have turned obnoxious to my senses, Grandmama," Y/N sighed, feeling the urge to slouch on the couch. Her frame was poised elegantly despite her weariness, a testament to her upbringing and the endless etiquette lessons she had endured.

Her grandmother, the Viscountess Y/L/N, reentered the room with a look of satisfaction mixed with maternal concern. "My dear," she said softly, "you have conducted yourself admirably. The attention you have garnered is truly remarkable, but alas, this be the trials of being the season's paragon," she said with jest. "A small price to pay for such adoration and the opportunities it presents."

Y/N allowed herself a small, rueful smile. "It has been a most eventful day. I do hope I have shown the proper appreciation to each caller." She gently plucked a stray petal from her gown, its soft texture a stark contrast to her current mood.

"Rest assured, my dear, that this too shall pass," her grandmother replied soothingly. "Soon, you will look back on these days with fondness, perhaps even in laughter."

Y/N nodded, though she wasn't entirely convinced. She admired her grandmother's ability to see the positive in any situation. Lady Y/L/N had once been the toast of her own social season, and her wisdom was hard-earned through years of navigating similar waters.

"Would it be terribly improper to open a window, Grandmama?" Y/N asked, her eyes drifting towards the heavy drapes that concealed the afternoon breeze. "I believe a bit of fresh air might revive my spirits."

The Viscountess chuckled softly. "Not at all, my dear. In fact, I think it would do us both good." She motioned to a nearby maid, who quickly moved to pull back the drapes and open the window, allowing a refreshing breeze to sweep into the room. The cool air carried with it the scents of the garden outside, a welcome contrast to the overwhelming floral arrangements within.

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling instantly more at ease. "Thank you, Grandmama. That is much better."

"Now, my dear," Mrs. Y/L/N said, her tone becoming more serious, "while you have a moment of peace, tell me—was there any caller today who truly caught your eye?"

Y/N considered the question carefully. There had been many suitors, each with their own merits. Some had been charming, others earnest, and a few rather boastful. But it was not that she minded all these suitors; it was who she looked forward to that truly occupied her thoughts. It had been this Bridgerton man she'd hoped would be calling on her the entire morning. Unfortunately, he had not been seen yet in this drawing room.

"Y/N, my dear, are you still with us?" Lady Y/L/N's gentle voice broke through her reverie.

"Yes, Grandmama," Y/N replied, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I was merely thinking."

"About anyone in particular?" her grandmother inquired with a knowing smile.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then decided there was no point in hiding her thoughts from her perceptive grandmother. "To be quite honest, I was hoping to see Mr. Bridgerton today.. well as of this morn," she admitted. "I fear he may have been otherwise engaged."

"Ah, Mr. Bridgerton," Lady Y/L/N said thoughtfully. "A fine young man, from a respected family. It is no wonder you look forward to his call. Perhaps he will still make an appearance."

Y/N nodded, though she knew the likelihood was slim as the noon wore on. She took another deep breath of the fresh air now circulating through the room, trying to shake off her disappointment. The season was long, and there would be other opportunities to see him again.

"There was Sir Nicholas Deveraeux. He was quite charming," Y/N remarked.

"He comes from a good family as well, but I've heard his uncle," Her grandmother leaned in conspiratorially, "envies the crown."

Y/N laughed at the Viscountess' antics. "Grandmama, that's quite scandalous. Wherever did you hear such a thing?" Y/N laughed.

"Deborah told me," her grandmother said, motioning to her maid. Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the notion of her grandmama indulging in gossip. "But I must tell you, I keep my options open still," she stated matter-of-factly, regaining my composure.

"Even though you are clearly captivated by Mr. Bridgerton's smile," Her grandmother teased. "It is wise to keep your options open, my dear, so as not to appear too eager for any one gentleman's attentions."

"Indeed," Y/N thought to herself, "it is prudent not to seem desperate and helpless this early in the season. After all, the season is just beginning, and there will be many more opportunities for maybe much more meaningful encounters."

The older woman patted the young lady's hand reassuringly. "You are a clever girl, my Y/N. Your charm and grace will surely attract many suitors. Just remember to enjoy the process and not to place all your hopes on one gentleman, no matter how enchanting his smile may be."

Y/N nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. The season was an adventure, and she was ready to embrace it with an open heart and mind. As her grandmama said, there would be many chances to find the right match, and she intends to savor every moment.

Just as she was about to resign herself to the wait, a soft knock sounded at the drawing room door. Both Y/N and her grandmother turned their heads in surprise as the butler entered.

"Forgive the interruption, ma'am," he said with a slight bow. "But there is one more caller who has just arrived."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as the butler stepped aside, revealing none other than Mr. Bridgerton himself. He stood at the threshold, his confident demeanor softened by a warm, sincere smile.

"Good afternoon, Lady Y/L/N, Miss Y/L/N," he greeted them, bowing respectfully. "I apologize for my tardiness. I hope I am not intruding."

Lady Y/L/N's eyes twinkled with amusement as she replied, "Not at all, Mr. Bridgerton. We are delighted to see you."

Y/N felt her spirits lift instantly, her earlier fatigue forgotten. "Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, her smile reflecting the genuine pleasure she felt. "Your timing is impeccable."

Mr. Bridgerton's eyes met hers, and for a moment, it felt as though they were the only two people in the room. "I am glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N," he said. "I have been looking forward to our meeting."

As he stepped further into the room, bringing with him an air of warmth and possibility, Y/N knew that this visit was just the beginning. The season held many uncertainties, but in that moment, with Mr. Bridgerton's presence brightening the drawing room, she felt a renewed sense of hope and excitement for what was to come.

He walked closer, offering his wrapped gift with a warm smile. "I know of your love of botanicals. Although, I wasn't sure what to get, but I opted for a grafted Rosa Falstaff from our estate's own gardens."

Y/N's eyes widened with surprise and delight as she reached out to accept the potted rose. "A Rosa Falstaff? From your family's gardens?" she exclaimed, her fingers gently tracing the leaves and delicate blooms.

"Yes," Benedict nodded, his gaze softening as he watched her reaction. "I thought it would be a fitting addition to your collection, considering your fondness for floriculture."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. This is truly truly thoughtful of you." Y/N's eyes lit up as she accepted the graft, appreciating the gesture.

Mr. Bridgerton smiled, a hint of relief and pleasure in his eyes. "I'm glad you like them, Miss Y/L/N. I thought something from home might be more personal and meaningful than the usual offerings."

Mrs. Y/L/N, observing the interaction with a pleased expression, decided to give the young couple some space. "If you'll excuse me, I have some correspondence to attend to," she said, rising gracefully. "Please, Mr. Bridgerton, make yourself comfortable."

As her grandmother left the room, Y/N gestured for Mr. Bridgerton to sit beside her on the elegant settee. "It's so refreshing to receive something so genuine," she said, placing the graft gently on the table beside them. "Tell me more about your estate's gardens. They must be quite beautiful."

Mr. Bridgerton settled into the seat, his expression brightening as he began to speak. "Our gardens are indeed a sight to behold, especially in the spring. We have a variety of flowers, from different roses to lavender, and even some more exotic species like that which my mother is particularly fond of. Each section of the garden has its own unique charm and character."

Y/N listened intently, her interest piqued not just by the subject but by the way he spoke with such genuine affection for his home. "It sounds enchanting," she said. "I would love to see it someday."

He smiled, clearly pleased by her response. "I would be honored to show you around Aubrey Hall, Miss Y/L/N. Perhaps you could offer some advice on expanding our collection of botanicals."

"I would be delighted," Y/N replied, her smile matching his. "There are always new species to discover and cultivate. It would be a pleasure to share that with someone who appreciates it as much as I do."

As they continued to talk, the conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on various topics of mutual interest. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them engrossed in their exchange. The connection they felt was palpable, a promising hint of what could be a deep and meaningful relationship.

The noon sun cast a golden glow through the open window, bathing them in warm light. It was as if the world outside had conspired to create the perfect moment, one that Y/N would cherish as the beginning of something truly special.

"Why not a change of scenery, Miss Y/N? May I enchant you to a walk with me this afternoon?" Mr. Bridgerton asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Y/N felt a flutter of excitement at his proposal, though very different from norm indeed. The thought of a leisurely walk, away from the confines of the drawing room and amidst the fresh air and beauty of the outdoors, was undeniably appealing. She glanced at her grandmother, who had discreetly lingered near the doorway.

Mrs. Y/L/N, catching her granddaughter's hopeful expression, gave a subtle nod of approval. "I think that sounds like a splendid idea, Mr. Bridgerton," she said. "A bit of fresh air through my garden will do you both good."

"Thank you, Grandmama," Y/N replied, her smile widening. She turned back to Mr. Bridgerton, her eyes meeting his with a mix of excitement and gratitude. "I would be delighted to join you for a walk."

Mr. Bridgerton offered his arm, which Y/N took with a graceful nod. Together, they made their way out of the drawing room and through the grand halls of the Y/L/N residence. The household staff, now accustomed to the comings and goings of numerous callers, discreetly stepped aside, offering polite smiles as the pair passed.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, the warmth of the afternoon embraced them. The gardens of the Y/L/N estate stretched out before them, a riot of color and fragrance that promised a delightful stroll. Birds chirped melodiously, adding a charming soundtrack to their walk.

"Your gardens are truly beautiful, Miss Y/L/N," Mr. Bridgerton remarked as they began their promenade. "It's easy to see where your love for botanicals comes from."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton," Y/N replied, her gaze sweeping over the well-tended flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges. "I find great joy in spending time here. There's something so peaceful about being surrounded by nature."

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, taking in the beauty around them. Y/N's lady's maid chaperoning behind. The gravel path crunched softly underfoot, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

"I must admit," Mr. Bridgerton said, breaking the silence, "I was quite nervous about coming here today. I wasn't sure if my gift would be well-received."

Y/N looked up at him, surprised. "You needn't have worried," she assured him. "Your gift was one of the most endearing ones I have received. It speaks volumes about your character and your genuine interest. Quite a change in the morn's most fragrant bouquets. All exquisite but a tad bit too much on my senses." I gestured towards my nose.

He smiled, clearly relieved. "I'm glad to hear that, Miss Y/L/N. I hoped to make a meaningful impression."

"You certainly have," she replied warmly. "And now, here we are, enjoying a lovely walk together. It seems your efforts have been rewarded."

As they continued their walk, their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on topics both serious and lighthearted. They shared stories, laughed together, and discovered common interests. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing moment, the bond of friendship and potential courtship becoming more tangible.

"So, do tell me more about you, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Do call me Benedict, if you please. Provided, of course, that you feel comfortable and we are beyond the earshot of your lady's maid." his eyebrows raise in suggestive jest.

Y/N chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Very well, Benedict. You may address me by Y/N as well."

Benedict smiled, clearly pleased by her informal, now more familiar, address. "My days are usually spent at home, but sometimes, I spend my time in my art studio at the academy."

"Yes, you've mentioned of yourself an artist, I remember." Y/N remarked, intrigued. "That is fascinating. What sort of art do you create?"

Benedict's face lit up with enthusiasm as he began to describe his passion. "I work primarily with oils on canvas, though I do enjoy sketching as well. There's something incredibly satisfying about capturing a moment or a feeling in a piece of art. It’s a way to express myself that words sometimes fail to achieve."

Y/N listened intently, her admiration growing. "I would love to see your work someday. It must be wonderful to have such a creative outlet."

"It is," Benedict agreed, a note of pride in his voice. "And I would be honored to show you my studio and some of my pieces. Perhaps I could even paint your portrait, if you would allow me."

Y/N blushed at the thought, a mixture of shyness and excitement. "I would be delighted, Benedict. Though I must warn you, I may not be the most patient of sitters."

Benedict laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I’m sure we would manage just fine. And who knows, you might find the experience enjoyable."

"I look forward to it," Y/N said, her smile reflecting her genuine interest. "But tell me more about your family. I have heard much about the Bridgertons, but I would love to hear it from your perspective."

Benedict's expression softened as he spoke of his family. "We are a large, close-knit group. There are eight of us siblings, and we were all raised with a strong sense of duty and love seeing my late father and mother attend to our household. My mother, Violet, is the heart of our family. She has always encouraged us to pursue our passions and support each other."

"That sounds wonderful," Y/N said, touched by his words. "Family is so important. I imagine it must be lively with so many siblings."

"It certainly is," Benedict replied with a grin. "There is never a dull moment at Bridgerton House. We have our share of disagreements, of course, but we always come together in the end. All the laughter and camaraderie make it worthwhile."

Y/N felt a warm connection forming between them, their shared values and interests creating a bond that felt both natural and exciting. "I would love to meet them all someday, even so now that your brother has found himself a wife. Such exciting things!" she said.

"And they would be delighted to meet you," Benedict assured her. "I can already tell that you would fit right in."

"He thinks of me as someone who would fit with his family? I could feel my heart flutter," Y/N thought, the realization sending a warm, thrilling sensation through her.

As they continued their conversation, the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the garden. The hours had slipped away unnoticed, a testament to the ease and enjoyment they found in each other's company.

Eventually the day had struck shy of 3 at afternoon and they made their way back to the main house, the promise of future meetings and shared experiences hanging in the air. As they reached the steps, Benedict turned to Y/N, his expression earnest and hopeful.

"Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Y/N," he said. "I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I, Benedict," Y/N replied, her heart full of anticipation. "Until then."

With a final, warm smile, Benedict took his leave, leaving Y/N with a sense of happiness and a fluttering hope for the future. The day had been more than she could have imagined, and she felt a deep sense of gratitude for the connection they had begun to forge.

taglist: @novausstuff @pussyslayerhd @amoosarte

[fushic0re]

❝FROM THE START❞

Toji Fushiguro x MamaGuro!Reader

𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 ╮the five times toji realized he loved you; in which you take in the black sheep of the zenin clan.

𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀 ╮familial abuse (this is the zenin clan after all). hardship. trauma. a very wounded toji. pregnancy.

TOJI WAS NOT SURE IF HE EVER HAD A LIFE TO BEGIN WITH. 

But if he had to say when he thought it ended, his answer would be at six. Toji’s parents were said to have struck gold. His father was next in line to be the clan head with two strong and healthy sons by his side. His elder brother Jinichi did not possess the Ten Shadows, but he was talented enough to outlive any scrutiny from the family–besides, he was a son and not a daughter. On the eve of the new year, Toji welcomed the Zenin clan compound with his screams. All eyes were now on the newest Zenin, seedlings of possibilities planting themselves in the very soil the little one’s feet touched. Seedlings that would never grow. 

On the eve of another new year and Toji’s fifth birthday, one that was meant to be celebrated greatly, there were no signs of cursed energy manifestations. Winter gave way to spring, which then gave way to summer until summer faded into fall, and fall into winter. As the seasons changed, Toji did not. By his sixth birthday, the clan elders officially declared that Toji had zero cursed energy–a Heavenly Pact, they called it. A first in jujutsu history. At six years old, Toji Zenin became the shit stain of the Zenin clan. At twelve, they started throwing him into the disciplinary pit to fight curse after curse with nothing but his bare fists. His parents never blinked an eye. He was sure they were hoping not so secretly that one day, he would never come out. 

At 20 years old, he left. Like a thief in the night with nothing but the clothes on his back and a knapsack of food he managed to store away, he left the gates of the Zenin compound. Not a single trace of him was left–not that anyone cared. Time meant nothing to him. For what could have been months or years, Toji lived like a wild animal. He slept on the streets when he was not serving as a bedwarmer for women who were too soft-hearted or too desperate. They fed him, but when the currency his hulking physique and rugged looks provided him ran dry, he ate scraps. He rarely bought food with the money pitiful strangers tossed at him, but one cold day led him to a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop. 

It was a small little place that hardly sat ten. The kitchen was cramped, but the aromas it produced were heavenly. With his meager earnings, the lone wolf bought himself a steaming bowl of ramen that he devoured at a speed that he would find embarrassing had he maintained his dignity. No one acknowledged him. For once, he was just another face in the crowd. Toji’s emerald eyes rested on the empty porcelain bowl in front of him, mocking him unforgivably. With a bitter expression, he glared at the bowl. He wondered how far down he had spiraled into the abyss of nothingness that was his life to end up in these circumstances–a simple household item reminding him of everything he was not. Since day one, his bowl had run empty with no one to fill it. 

Until you. 

Toji’s train of thought is interrupted when one of the owners, an elderly woman with a withered face and silvery wisps for hair, places another bowl of steaming tonkatsu ramen in front of him. His hard eyes meet hers.

“I didn’t order this.” He states gruffly. 

Despite his harsh expression and soulless delivery, the elderly woman’s features melt into a warm expression. 

“That girl at the end bought it for you.” She says giddily, discreetly pointing a bony finger in the direction of his benefactor. “A real sweetie. She’s a regular.”

He tracks the elderly woman’s finger. His eyes narrow as soon as they land on you. He did not appreciate pity in the slightest. Just as he is about to open his mouth and tell you off, his stomach rumbles. The sound prevails over the clanking of utensils, garnering the mystery woman’s attention. Not expecting to be caught, she gives Toji a sheepish smile before snapping her head back around to bury her nose in her book. Toji finds himself at a crossroads. If he ate the bowl, he owed her. If he did not, he would be wasting the rarity of free food. Once again, his thoughts are interrupted by another elder–the old woman’s husband. His fists knock on the table just as he appears before Toji, and a kind smile is on his face. 

“Son, just eat.” He jests before disappearing. 

Toji scoffs with a roll of his eyes. Old people could never mind their goddamn business, it seemed. But as he stared at the bowl of ramen for the umpteenth time since it had been placed in front of him, an unfamiliar feeling stirred within him. He gave you an unsuspecting glance from the corner of his eye, taking in every feature from the slope of your nose to the shoes on your feet. His eyes could not remove themselves from the warmth in your eyes. With that, he picked up the soup spoon and took one big gulp of creamy broth. He let the heat of the soup envelop his body the same way your eyes did.

For the first time, his bowl was filled. 

THE STORM HAD KNOCKED THE POWER OUT.

You did not know what woke you first–the severe gust of wind that sent branches flying against your window in a repetitive fashion or the bone-chilling drop in temperature the second your heater shut off.  You tried your best to ignore it, curling up under your covers as you pathetically warmed yourself with your breath. It was when your shivers escalated into violent shivers in a matter of minutes that you knew something had to be done. Tearing yourself out of the safety of your blanket cocoon, you scurried to your kitchen as quietly as you could in search of emergency candles. Maybe if you lit enough, they could act as some semblance of a fireplace. To your detriment, the clattering of your teeth was enough to wake the slumbering wolf in your humble living room. Your eyes widen the second you hear the familiar creak of the cushion springs, whipping around to face your impromptu roommate. 

“S-Sorry. It’s really cold, s-so I thought I could light some–” You frantically gesture to the cabinet of candles you had opened, the cold freezing your brain in its poignant state of desperation. “You know. To help maybe.” 

Toji lets out a quiet huff. From where you are standing with one candle lighting the space, you can barely point out the smirk on his face, 

“Don’t be sorry. It’s your apartment.” He mutters, his voice gravely from sleep as he rubs his tired eyes. 

Thanks to his heightened senses, he could see you perfectly. You were in your usual pajamas, ones that worked against you in this weather. With your bare feet on the cold tile, as you shivered, you looked endearingly pathetic. He scoffs. 

“C’mere.” 

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

“I’m o-okay. You should sleep.” 

Toji lets out a deep sigh, sitting upright on your futon. 

“Come here.” He repeats, this time more firmly. “You’re freezing, your pajamas are thin as shit, and the power is out until god knows when which means we have no heater.” 

You’re going to get sick is what he means to say. I can’t bear the sight of you in any state of suffering. 

When you hesitate again, loudly sighs again, patting his lap audibly. 

“I won’t be able to sleep with all the fuckin’ teeth chattering, sweetheart. Stop being stubborn.” He grumbles. 

And with that, he stands up and strides towards you to grab you with the stealth and agility of a panther. You could not help the squeal that escaped from your mouth the second he effortlessly scooped you up and swooped you right under the covers. He was right. The second Toji curled his brawny body around yours, your shivers began to decrescendo. His heat melted your stiff muscles until you fully surrendered, intertwining your body with his. 

“Shit. You’re freezing.” 

“Sorry.” You squeak, snuggling closer to him.

“Stop apologizing.” He mutters, flinching ever so slightly as your cold feet brush up against his calf.

The gesture wills you with embarrassment. 

“Sorry.” You squeak again.

“Christ, woman. I told you to stop apologizing.” 

“....sorry.” 

Toji dignifies your antics with a chuff that carries a hardly noticeable laugh. Closing his eyes, he nuzzles his nose against the top of your head, flooding his senses with the smell of your signature shampoo. He is not used to this–affection. Holding someone. Someone holding him. He finds himself having to squeeze your frame impossibly closer to his to convince himself that this experience is real.

“Stop it.” He murmurs against your head, his voice the softest you have ever heard.

Closing your eyes, you rest your head in the crook of his neck. You fit right in there like a missing puzzle piece. 

“Okay.” You whisper, conceding to sleep. 

“TOJI?” 

It is some ungodly hour when he abruptly sits up in bed, his body coated in a layer of cold sweat. His eyes are enlarged as he scans the room, his orbs frantically darting in every which direction. His heart pounds rapidly against his ribs, his bare chest rising and falling at a quick pace. He is numb, unable to feel a single thing as his brain transports him back to that place. That god-forsaken place. Since the two of you began sleeping in the same bed, his night terrors diminished into nightmares until they ceased altogether. For once, just once, Toji thought he could outrun his past. But just like the scars on his body, darkness was ingrained in every fiber of his being. It ran through his bloodstream, pumping into his heart and fueling every move he made. He was stupid to think he could live a life like this with you. People like him simply did not belong in the realm people like you existed in, so good and so pure. 

“Hey,” You whisper, rolling onto your side to face him. “Did you have another nightmare?” 

Your voice feels like the sun. Not in the way it gets in your face and makes your eyes sting to the point where all you want to do is get away from it. No, he could not run from you. No matter how far he got in his head, he simply could not. 

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart. You got work in a few hours.” He rasps.

He pulls you into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of your head. Like clockwork, he grounds himself with your touch–skin against skin, your heartbeats creating a rhythmic cadence until ultimately his own slows down and thumps in tandem with yours. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“It’s nothing. Sleep.” 

You cannot help but frown. It was hard whenever he got this way. You did not mind, of course, that was not the problem. It was watching him wrestle with himself in his head until he was numb again. It was the vacant look in his eyes. Whenever Toji broke, a part of you did too. If there was a way to physically pour love into him until he was bursting at the seams, you would–anything to never see that lifeless expression again. Sitting up, you reach for his face, cradling his jaw in your palm. 

“Don’t say that. It’s not nothing.” You say gently yet sternly. “The things that hurt you aren’t nothing.” 

Just like that, Toji feels like that seventeen-year-old kid again who desperately craved approval and a sense of belonging in a system that actively worked against him just because he needed to feel something. You disarm him not in a way that makes him feel scared and defenseless, but in a way that assures him that he is no longer in a state of survival. Unless it is for you, his days of fighting are over. Even then, he was very capable that you could hold your own as a Grade One. Yet still, if he had to bloody his first for anyone, it would be for you. 

“I was back there again.” He says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Your eyes soften. 

“You’re not there anymore.” You assure, running the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone. “You’re here–” 

“You don’t get it.” He snaps “I can’t change shit. No matter where I look, I’m back there in that fuckin’ hole.” “You. Are here. With me.” You state firmly, cupping his face with both hands now and forcing him to meet your gaze. “You escaped. And now you get to forge a new path for yourself. It’s not going to be easy. You’re going to have a lot more nights like this, but the difference is you’ll have me. No matter how much you try to push me away because you think I don’t get it just because I grew up in some ‘cushy’ sorcerer family, you can’t push me away. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Toji clenches his jaw. A part of him hated when you were like this, blindly believing every conviction that came out of your mouth. It was downright painful. In these moments, he could not bring himself to believe you. 

“This is just the way it is.” He mutters defiantly, turning his face away from you as he clenches his fists at his sides. 

Your heart feels like a stake has been driven through it when your touch makes him flinch. But now is not the time to lead with her feelings. He needed you. you meant every word she said. 

“I am promising you that. My cold, dead body is gonna have to be pried away from you to get me to leave you.” You shakily whisper, trying your best to keep your emotions at bay as his pain causes your body to react viscerally. 

He does not answer you, continuing to avoid your gaze. The only sign that he had not gone catatonic was the way his chest began to heave. He was losing it. 

“Toji…look at me.” 

He remains frozen in place. A tense silence builds between the two of you, threatening to force the two of you apart until you are too far gone to be retrieved. For the first time since you naively welcomed the then-homeless stranger into your home, you felt scared of him. The grave distance is closed when he finally meets your gaze, a wild and terror-filled expression in his eyes–the same one he wore the day you met him. 

“You and me. When shit gets tough, we’ll fight through it. If you don’t want to fight, I’ll fight for both of us. No matter what, we’re doing life together.” You breathe, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

Toji remains silent, simply staring at you with an unreadable expression. Finally, his hands stop shaking and he unclenches his fists, resting them on your cheeks. The warmth of his palms makes your eyes involuntarily flutter shut. 

“You’re gonna get sick of me.” 

Your response is a mere shake of the head. 

“I’ll get sick of you not wiping down the counter after you brush your teeth or wash your face. Or when you don’t put the dishes away right when I ask you to.” You laugh softly. “But sick of loving you? Never.” 

That earns a throaty chuckle from him. Leaning forward, he presses his forehead against yours. 

“I’ll give your bossy ass something to complain about.” 

Before you can retort, his lips are pressed against yours. This kiss is a far cry from the passionate, sensual, all-consuming kisses you both usually share. No words need to be said this time. His lips imprint unspoken locutions of ardor and besottedness into yours. I love you. I’m sorry I’m a fuck up. I don’t always have the right words to say. Please. 

That night, Toji surrenders. 

HIS NAME WAS MEGUMI. THEIR BLESSING.

Regardless of his gender, that is what he was to Toji–his saving grace.

The two of you hadn’t exactly planned on having a baby so soon. It was about a year after you and Toji’s small intimate wedding that you found yourself feeling…off. Fatigue was the first symptom to make itself apparent. No matter how early you slept, your body still fought against you whenever you were awake. Then it was the hunger, which amused your newlywed husband. Funnily enough, Toji decided to take up cooking to mitigate your sudden appetite increase. Your condition was obvious from that point on. Nine days before Toji’s birthday and the new year, Megumi was born. Just like his daddy when the two of you were wed, Megumi took your last name–Fushiguro. Just like that, the three of you were a little family. As Toji held his newborn son in his arms, he realized that he had done it. He forged a life of his own from the darkness you pulled him from. 

And it’s moments like this in which the first thing he sees is his son’s big green eyes staring up at him in the middle of the night that he realizes how much of a test fatherhood was. He runs a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes before he places a finger over his lips as he agilely slides out of bed. He glances over his shoulder to check if you are still asleep before effortlessly scooping Megumi up into his arms and quietly exiting the bedroom. 

“What’s the matter?” He murmurs, his sonorous voice raspy from sleep. 

Megumi is quiet for a moment, the five year old rubbing his eyes with his small fists. He hangs his head low. 

“I keep seeing them.” He says quietly. “Can’t sleep.” 

Toji frowns, his large hand smoothing over the back of his son’s head. 

Not too long ago, Megumi began to see curses. The two of you were prepared for the dreaded day he would, you could feel your son’s cursed energy develop little by little until it was suddenly surrounding him like a forcefield. Your reaction to the matter was much different than the Zenin clan’s–you were scared, terrified even. Megumi’s cursed energy manifesting meant the possibility of him becoming a jujutsu sorcerer was officially established. With that came the painful realization that you could lose your child at any moment. It was a refreshing experience for Toji to witness; healthy parenting, the love of a mother. He could not even bring himself to be surprised that you were such an amazing mother. After all, you had amazed him in all aspects of life. 

“Do you want to go back in there?” Toji asks nudging his head towards Megumi’s room.

The toddler ponders for a moment before shaking his head, his eyes apprehensive. Toji does not question him, simply nodding and making his way to the kitchen. A quiet silence makes itself home between father and son as Toji prepares a warm cup of milk for his mini-me. Once the drink is ready, he gently places Megumi on the counter and hands him the cup. 

“Careful.” He says, his eyes swimming with concern as they take in Megumi’s appearance thoughtfully. “Talk to me.” 

Megumi takes a cautious sip, testing the temperature of the creamy beverage before drinking it more freely. His lips press together, and a million feelings that he cannot describe run through his head. 

“You and mama see them too right? The…curses.” He whispers. “When did you stop being scared of them?” 

For a five year old, Megumi was quite insightful. His perception skills were exceptional yet amusing when paired with his childish and innocent wonder. Hearing such a small voice ask questions beyond the scope of a child still gave Toji a whiplash. 

Toji lets out a noise that is akin to a laugh and a huff, shaking his head ever so slightly as he does so. 

“Who says we’re not?” He answers much to Megumi’s–whose eyes are now wide with shock–surprise.

Toji struggles to find the right words to say. This was usually your thing; he was never one to console with the power of words. No, to this day, he still finds it easier to fight his way through conflict. But then there is Megumi staring up at him with his eyes, fear and trepidation tainting the usual sparkle in his eyes in a way that reminds him of himself when he was this age. His son had everything he wanted for the majority of his life–the very gift that could have saved him a world of hurt–and was still being subject to the ugliness of sorcery. 

That is all it takes for Toji, who is now a father and not a fighter. 

He washes the violence away with a warm sip of milk from a sippy cup that is so small in his hands that it is borderline ridiculous and uses his once bloodied hands to cradle the small, precious being that carries his heart against his chest. He shields this boy with all his life the way he himself should have been, carrying him to the couch for a cuddle. 

“Remember how mama and I showed you how to summon your dogs?” He whispers, wrapping an arm around Megumi as he settles at his side. 

Taking his tiny hand, he situates it into the correct signage. Megumi looks up at him for assurance before his Divine Dogs are loyally at his side, their cold snouts nudging him happily. The toddler giggles, wiggling around with the excited canines. Once they have settled down, curling around him protectively as they snooze, Toji smiles down at him and presses a tender kiss to his forehead. 

“Whenever you’re scared, your pups are here for you. You understand?” Megumi nods, now content. Toji is silent for a moment, at a loss for words yet again but for a different reason this time. He’s overwhelmed by emotions, ones that he cannot even name. He blinks his eyes, abruptly pulling the toddler on top of him so he could wrap his arms around him tightly. 

His child. The one you gave him.

All you have ever done is give, and give, and give until you gave him the greatest gift of all.

“Can’t breathe.” Megumi murmurs against his dad’s chest. 

“You’re fine.” Toji whispers, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You’re fine.”

It was fine. Everything was…fine. 

Finally. 

“WAIT, FUSHIGURO IS YOUR LAST NAME, SENSEI?”

You have to press your lips together to hold back your laughter as Yuuji and Nobara stare at you with shocked and bewildered expressions, Megumi unphased yet exhausted by the antics of his friends. Toji barks out a loud laugh from behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders. 

“She makes the money around here. Might as well.” 

“I think you’re doing great, Mr. Fushiguro! Feminism!” Yuji cheers exuberantly, turning to Megumi and Nobara for approval only to be met with perturbed expressions. 

“Then get a job.” Megumi grumbles. 

Toji simply kisses his teeth, removing one hand from your shoulder to ruffle Megumi’s hair. The teen hurls out a string of disciplinary phrases, only amusing his father who smiles smugly in return. 

“Your mom doesn’t want me to work. She thinks I’ll cheat on her. So possessive.” 

The gasp that immediately leaves your body is dramatic enough to land you a role in a soap opera. Your husband only directs his smug smile to you now, gazing down at you with the familiar playful yet fond expression he has maintained for a decade now. And just like it did exactly a decade ago, it irritates you to no end. 

“You’re easily bought. I know that firsthand.” You quip. 

“You were eager to buy this hu–” 

“Please not this again.” Megumi laments. 

Nobara and Yuji stare at Megumi with expectant expressions. If they had tails, they would definitely be wagging expeditiously. Toji claps Megumi on the back unnecessarily hard, making him glare at him for the umpteenth time in an hour. 

“Oh come on. You didn’t tell them how your mama and I met?”

“Why would I tell them that?” 

The two young sorcerers respond with a clash of loud pleas and declarations of camaraderie, how dare Fushiguro withhold this part of his upbringing for them, haven’t they gone through enough together? 

Toji’s hands knead your shoulders. He bows his head, nosing the top of your head. His eyes flutter shut, a satisfied hum rumbling from his chest. 

“Let’s just say I loved her from the start.” 

[irisintheafterglow]

hi!!! could i request pro hero!bakugo & pro hero!reader where bkgs doing an interview and they ask about relationships and his answer is “I thought you people already knew that im married”

i have no idea how to word things but i hope that was readable🙏🙏

keeping it in the family

wc: 1.6k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of drinking and alcohol, established relationship, dialogue-driven

note: RAHHH I LOVE HUSBAND BAKUGO. anyways !!! i hope you like this, i did get a little carried away when writing it so hopefully it makes sense. thank you for your ask!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“And we’re on in five, four, three, two…give ‘em hell.” The roar of excited applause jumbles together with the late-night show’s opening theme and the screams of excited fans can still be heard even as Kirishima flashes a blinding smile to the camera. 

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Heroes on Heroes! We’re so glad you’re joining us tonight, seeing as this is the finale of season one!” The audience cheers with fiery passion and it makes the three heroes onstage chuckle nervously. This was going to be a long night, especially if the superfans were crying after every word they spoke. “I’m Red Riot,” he pauses while the cheering erupts once again, “and I’m joined by my fellow pros, Chargebolt and Dynamight.” You wince from your place at sidestage from the sheer wave of noise that slams into your eardrums when the latter is introduced. 

“Thanks for having us tonight, man,” Denki grins. He eagerly drums the armrests of his chair, to the left of Kirishima. “I’ve been looking forward to doing one of these since I saw Deku’s a few weeks back.” 

“It’s a great concept, really. I love being able to just chat with you guys and shoot the shit about hero stuff. It’s so manly.” Kirishima turns expectantly to the other hero sitting to his right, whose hot-headed nature was blatantly obvious by how he was slumped in his chair, squinting slightly at the burning spotlights and clicking cameras. You admire Kirishima’s confidence in forcing Katsuki to say something. “What about you, Bakugo? How’re you feeling tonight?” 

“I’m alright,” he shrugs indifferently. Your breath catches in your throat and you can hear the Dynamight agency’s publicist put his head in his hands. “It’s been a while, so it’s good to see you guys,” he adds with unexpected fondness and you exhale in relief. His eyes meet yours for half a second and he shoots you a wink that makes your knees wobbly. “I saw that save at the bridge collapse last week, Shitty Hair. Pretty decent work.” Kirishima blinks once, twice, and then glances at Denki. Katuski’s blank look narrows into a scowl. “The hell are you looking like that for? I got shit in my teeth or something?”

“No, no. Sorry, man,” Kirishima laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting a compliment from you so early in the show.”

“Yeah, we thought we’d have to booze you up a little more to get you to be nicer,” Denki jokes and he recoils a bit when he’s struck with a molten hot glare from the hero across from him. 

“Whatever you’re about to say, bro, don’t say it,” Kirishima warns and the crackles in Katsuki’s palms gradually dissipate. “But, I’m wondering too. What’s with the good mood?” 

“I guess I feel like playing nice tonight,” he answers cryptically, his gaze flicking over to you again with amusement. You can almost sense the fainting girls falling over each other in the front row. Kirishima’s attention subtly darts over to you and a knowing smirk grows over his face. It was the first time you and Katsuki were at the same press event, since you both thought it was too dangerous to sneak around until now. “But, talk about that bridge save. I don’t think a lot of people know that the guy was wanted by several agencies.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Denki agrees with a quick sip of his drink. He swallows and sets the glass down with a light thud. “He’d been giving us hell for weeks. It's not really the best matchup for a sand villain to be going up against an electric hero.”

“It was the sand villain and his wife, wasn’t it? That chick with the melting Quirk?”

“Yep, they were a nasty couple to deal with,” Kirishima confirms. “I had to keep track of this guy’s damn sand spikes and his wife turning the floor to goop at the same time.”

“Goop is a weird-ass way to put it,” Katsuki points out with obvious distaste. 

“Yeah, but he was a pretty goopy guy.” Chuckles ripple through the audience and you can’t help breaking a smile too at Kirishima’s joke. 

“I think for me, at least,” Denki adds, “the biggest pain was the fact that they were married, and they had, like, marriage telepathy or something.”

“Bro, I thought that was just me! Here I was, thinking that I’d incapacitated one and split them from the other, when bam! Both of them appear in front of me like a damn genie.” 

“You ever have to deal with villain couples, Bakubro?”

“Nah, not recently. We’ve been doing a lot of big raids on all the crime families downtown.” He flexes his right bicep and pulls back the sleeve of his shirt to show a gnarly purple spot growing on his skin. “Got this little beauty three days ago from a neo-Hassaikai asshole.” You're not fazed by the ugly shade of the wound because you were the one who stitched up the...less visible results of the raid.

“Jeez, man,” Denki says in disbelieving awe at his friend’s injury. “If you ever need backup, we’d love to do a team up with you.” 

“I think I’d rather die–”

“My agency would also love to team-up with you,” Kirishima interjects before Katsuki can finish his thought. The heart rate monitor of his publicist begins to rapidly beep behind you. “We can have a threeway team-up! That’d be pretty cool, don’t you guys think?” 

“What if we all just merged into one big super agency? Like a big family?”

“That sounds like the stupidest shit–” Again, Kirishima cuts off Katsuki’s brash protests and saves them from being taken off the air.

"That would be so awesome."

“Would that mean we’d have to get pro-hero partners, too? Keep hero work in the family?”

“I think Salonpas would have heart palpitations if we said we were trying to keep hero work within the family,” Katsuki points out and his friends nod in agreement. “On another fuckin’ note, that Half-and-Half idiot keeps hogging the number two spot and it pisses me off.” Though you didn’t often encounter Todoroki while you were on patrol, you knew that he was adamant about keeping work life and family life separate. It made him even more of a dedicated hero and a recent bust of a notorious crime ring bumped him into the number two spot over Dynamight for that month. You didn’t hear the end of it from Katsuki. 

“He and Deku just work really efficiently, Bakubro.”

“I can efficiently slam both their skulls into a–”

“You know what would solve that problem?” Denki butts in unceremoniously, covering up his harsh words for a third time. Katsuki grunts in response and the lightning-decorated hero gives him enthusiastic finger-guns. “Combining and making a family agency.”

“What are the chances that Sero would want to join too?”

“Probably pretty high,” Kirishima guesses. “He’s at my place every other week, anyway, so he’s basically my brother.”

“Alright, maybe this could actually work, then. I just need to find a smoking hot hero wife.”

“That’ll probably be the hardest part, buddy–”

“What about Bakugo?” You stiffen and the three guys turn their attention to a voice calling out from the audience. Speaking during the interviews was strictly prohibited until the question and answer section, but getting Katsuki’s attention was a surefire way to derail the entire episode.

“The fuck do you mean, what about Bakugo? Who the fuck said that?”

"Dude, just ignore them."

“Can’t be a family agency if Bakugo never gets into relationships,” the same nasally, irritating voice argues and your face feels like it’s been set on fire. Kirishima’s attention jumps to you for a moment and then back to his friend, whose palms are starting to spark like fireworks. “Do you just get no bitches, or something?” The audience gasps and security finally arrives to escort the disturbance out of the building. The director is ready to stop the cameras and jump to a commercial break, but Katsuki speaks before he can order the sound crew to cut the mics. To everyone’s surprise, his voice is nothing but amusement, like the insinuation didn’t bother him in the slightest. 

“You think I don’t get into relationships?”

“Bakugo…”

“It’s alright, Pikachu. I really don’t give a shit about whatever that guy said,” Katsuki reassures his friend with a sly glint in his eye. His friends watch him warily, like a grenade on the verge of exploding. Once again, burning red eyes meet yours with a single question that you answer with a resolute nod. “I’m not gonna blow up, so stop looking like that. Really, I don’t care.”

“Why not?” A tense beat of silence passes, then–

“I thought you people knew that I’m married.” A shit-eating grin spreads across your husband’s face as gasps of shock burst from the audience. Kirishima and Denki both shake their heads in exasperation. They knew already, of course, but they didn’t expect him to reveal his relationship status as a result of a heckler. “Yep, going on a year and a half, now. Around five years together total coming this winter.” More collective cries of jealousy, surprise, and betrayal shake the building’s foundation. "If you don't believe me, ask these guys."

"Yeah, we were at the wedding, too. It's hard to keep it a secret when all of your friends are also high-profile heroes."

“Can you guys believe that he fell in love during the winter?” Denki’s thumb juts out toward his friend, who frowns at the mere mention of cold weather.

“I fucking hate the winter,” he grumbles. 

“We know, man,” Kirishima says sympathetically, unsuccessfully hiding a chuckle. “You’ve been saying that since high school.”

“Yeah, and shit hasn’t changed,” Katsuki bites back with lighthearted indignance. “Look, they saved my ass when it was cold; how was I not supposed to fall in love with them?” To your delight, his complexion has turned a slightly darker shade of pink. “Yeah, I love them. What about it, asshats?”

“Is this a bad time to bring up the family agency again?”

“Let’s go to commercial before I blow this fucking chair to pieces.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[evilwizard]

The Lich Who Stole Christmas

Every tumblrina in tumblr liked Christmas a lot.

But the lich, who lived just north of Tumblr, did not!

The lich hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be his skull wasn’t screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that his skin was too tight.

But I think that the likeliest reason of all… was his heart was encased by a strange lead-lined ball.

“Last year I made something that I thought in would usher

A new age of magic—my prized OrphanCrusher.

But my patents were stolen, and my sweet new invention

Is now being used… with good-ish intentions.

You see, Christmas wishes contain lots of magic;

And my device extracts it through methods so tragic

That I dare not mention them directly here

Though the name might clue in certain readers, I fear.

The Wizard Council, now that they possess this device,

Might use it, this year, to stamp out wizard vice.

Though the process might turn quite a few kids to carrion,

The Wiz Council’s ethics are utilitarian.

So what shall I do? What is to be done?

It seems rather clear that this Christmas can’t come.

But I’ve read a few books, and I know a few tricks

So this year I’ll steal Christmas, while dressed as Saint Nick!”

So the wizard of evil returned to his lair

Stitched a red suit, and did up his hair

Built a sleek sled—and—who among us,

Could hope for a much better Rudolph than Krongus?

They took to the skies, that next Christmas Eve,

And tailgated Santa, whom they hoped to deceive

At every house he left presents, they quickly descended,

And stole the decor and the gifts he’d intended.

And when the dark wizard’s sleigh was full-loaded with gifts,

He tugged at the reigns, and they made for The Rift!

A place where the veil between worlds was thin…

And a brilliant place to dump the gifts in!

“You see,” he told Krongus, as they approached that strange crack,

“Once something goes in, it can never come back!”

“Moreover, it’s perfect,” the wizard did sing,

“For The Rift destroys every part of that thing!”

“Every instance, every atom in all multiverses,

Will be undone as though by my special dark curses.

Not a gram, not a dust speck or mote shall remain,

And no one will even remember their name!”

“But sire,” muttered Krongus, “would it not be more precise,

If you simply put in the OrphanCrusher device?”

The evil wizard thought of this, parking his sleigh in the snow.

He’d made quite a trip, and this seemed quite a blow.

“I do have one here,” he told that weird devil.

“But destroying Christmas seems rather more evil!”

Then, far behind him, and the gifts he had pillaged,

He heard a small noise coming from Tumblr Village.

It was simply a song, of holiday spirit,

But the wizard was utterly shocked just to hear it.

“It came without ribbons! It came without tags!

It came without packages, boxes or bags!”

Then the lich thought of something he hadn’t before.

Could it be Christmas was some kind of contagion or spore?

What happened next? Well, in Tumblr, they say,

The lich’s dead heart exploded that day!

And the combustive force of that villainous blast,

Airlifted the sleigh, and brought it right back,

To the village, where Tumblrinas rejoiced!

Then continued to sing, and lift up their voice.

And back at the rift, the lich, with head in a spin,

At the edge of the rift dropped the OrphanCrusher in.

So Christmas was saved, by accident mostly,

Though performing a good deed turned the bad wizard ghostly.

“Come, Krongus—we must now return to my tower,

While I wait several months to return to full power.”

And at Wizard Council HQ, certain strategist seers,

Saw all this occur through the orbs that they peered.

They smiled, and high-fived, and struck up the band,

Pleased that these events had gone just as planned.

[stiltonbasket]

If you do Bingyuan prompts:

Bingge discovering/realizing that his children’s beloved head teacher is the friendly Shizun from the other world would be a delight!

(Shen Yuan with a miniature army of tiny heavenly demon children who adore him is just super cute!)

By the age of twenty-five, Luo Binghe possessed—or thought he possessed—all the wealth and treasures in the world that a man could want. His vengeance upon the Cang Qiong Mountain sect was complete, the mountain range burned and its peak lords slain but for the master of Qian Cao Peak and Qi Qingqi, whom he had spared for Liu Mingyan’s sake—and he had long since established himself as Emperor of the demon realm, with no small amount of influence in the world he was born to by virtue of his marriage to the Little Palace Mistress, Hua Zhihan. 

But then—half-way through his twenty-seventh year, and three years after the construction of his great fortress close to Huan Hua Palace—he stumbled through a rent in the very skin of the world and found himself back upon Qing Jing Peak, cradled in the arms of a man who wore the face of Luo Binghe’s hated shizun. 

He had hardly been there an hour before he discovered that that Shen Qingqiu had been nothing like the jealous fiend who tormented Luo Binghe in his youth. On the contrary, he had welcomed Luo Binghe into his home and bed like a new bride reuniting with her husband at the end of a long day’s work; and for several months after Luo Binghe returned to his own palace in the demon realm, he found no satisfaction in his endless riches, or the tens of wives in his harem. 

He spent a full season hunting for that Shen Qingqiu in his own world afterwards, for he knew somehow that the living Shen Qingqiu who had married the other Luo Binghe and his own former Shizun were not one and the same. The Shen Qingqiu Luo Binghe knew had nothing in common with that man other than his face, and even that had been so altered by the spirit living behind it that Luo Binghe had not recognized him as Shen Qingqiu at first sight; but the other Luo Binghe reminded him a great deal of his own child-self, and how single-mindedly he had loved Ning Yingying in those early days at Cang Qiong. 

But years went by, and Luo Binghe found nothing—no shadow or trace of that gentle Shen Qingqiu, whether living or dead—and at last, he drank himself sick on dragon-blood wine and unburdened himself to Ning Yingying, confessing that nothing under the sun had brought him joy since that one jewel-bright day with Shen Qingqiu three summers earlier. 

Of course, he did not breathe a word about what had actually happened—for Yingying and the others believed that the strange, bewildered husband who stumbled into the hougong that day was none other than Luo Binghe himself, and he had never seen fit to disabuse them of the notion—but she seemed to understand that the better part of his life’s joy had left him, and said:

“A-Luo, if we sisters can’t make you happy as we used to anymore, do you think—do you think a child might make you happy? We’ve been married for nearly ten years, and I hoped…”

Luo Binghe thought for a moment, still dizzy from the six pots of wine he drank with his evening meal; and amid the soft haze clouding his thoughts, he realized that he would have died of envy if the poor imitation of himself from the other world had had a child with his Shen Qingqiu. 

But the only children he had seen on Qing Jing Peak that day were a handful of young disciples in their early teens, far too old to belong to that pitiful Luo Binghe. It struck him that this was something that other Luo Binghe could never have—must never have, lest Luo Binghe know what had happened and find his way back to that dream-world to quell his jealousy by ripping his other self limb from limb—and then—

“It might not be a bad idea,” he heard himself say. “What about Yingying? Would you like a child?”

“Very much,” Yingying whispered, taking Luo Binghe’s hand. 

Their first daughter, Suoxin, was born the next year; and when the head taiyi placed her in Luo Binghe’s arms, a tiny mote of the tumult in his soul grew calm, and never returned to trouble him again.

The birth of Suoxin’s younger sister Changying followed exactly a hundred days later, for Hua Zhihan had demanded a child of her own as soon as she heard that Ning Yingying was pregnant, and Luo Binghe saw no reason to refuse her. Several of his lesser wives had attempted to follow suit, but he was adamant that no children should be born to them until the children born of his five chief wives had safely reached the age of about three or four: especially after the tragedy that accompanied the birth of Luo Binghe’s first son. 

The taiyi later discovered that his mother—Qin Wanyue, who had suffered a miscarriage at Sha Hualing’s hands some six years earlier—had been born with a deformation in one of the chambers of her heart; and due to her general good health and the strengthening effects of her cultivation, Wanyue never noticed it. But her cultivation was not sufficient to protect her from the strain of childbirth; and scarcely five minutes after the baby took his first breath, Qin Wanyue drew her last, dying without knowing anything more of her child than a single, snatched glimpse of his small red face.

The infant was given the name Luo Nianzu, in remembrance of his mother, and handed over to Liu Mingyan to raise. Mingyan had not wanted a child of her own, though she was more than willing to bring Nianzu up in Wanyue’s stead. 

And in the wake of Qin Wanyue’s passing, Luo Binghe vowed to himself that he would never sire another child. He had been the instrument of her ruin, wittingly or not: and with three healthy heirs, of whom one was a boy, he refused to risk a second death in the harem. 

But his resolve had not hampered Sha Hualing’s plans: and in truth, Luo Binghe should have known better than to expect otherwise. One night, she took Xin Mo from the stand beside his bed and stabbed Luo Binghe straight through the shoulder—rather more ferociously than usual, he thought—and absconded from the palace with three phials full of his spilt blood, returning a fortnight later with a fat baby boy swaddled in one of her own silk veils. 

“Did you give birth to him?” Luo Binghe frowned, after he tasted the child’s blood mites and found that they were nearly identical to his own. “You were only gone for two weeks.”

Sha Hualing only laughed at him, and asked that he give their son a name. Luo Binghe named him Shunlei, with the shun for obedience and the lei for thunder; and though Hualing took the hint at once, she was so well-pleased with Shunlei’s name that Hua Zhihan spent the next month sulking about it. 

The three years that followed Shunlei’s arrival were peaceful ones, for the demon realm had been brought to heel with Sha Hualing’s aid, and Mobei-jun grew more ruthless towards Luo Binghe’s enemies with every passing day. Yingying and Mingyan governed the harem both kindly and firmly, calming any disputes among the lesser wives and punishing those whose bids for favor put their sisters in danger; and they never faltered in their duty to the little ones, so that Luo Binghe went untroubled by the children’s needs until Liu Mingyan declared that Suoxin and Changying were old enough to begin studying with a trained taifu.  

“I already have a candidate in mind,” she said to him over dinner one evening. “Will my lord permit me to look after the arrangements myself?”

“I don’t see why not,” Luo Binghe replied. “Do what you must. Only ensure that the taifu is well educated, and knows how to teach little children without frightening them.” One Shen Qingqiu was bad enough, after all.

And so, preparations went forth for the children’s education. Liu Mingyan wrote to the prospective taifu, who accepted the offer of employment and asked for a month to settle his affairs before moving to the palace; and Yingying began teaching Nianzu and Shunlei how to read, in the hope that the taifu would agree to instruct them alongside Suoxin and Changying. 

Luo Binghe, having nothing further to do with the matter, left for the northern desert with Mobei-jun and Sha Hualing. 

Linguang-jun had decided to rebel against his nephew’s rule again, and Luo Binghe was weary of indulging him. In the aftermath of Shang Qinghua’s betrayal, he and Mobei-jun had both decided that Linguang-jun’s continued existence was far more trouble than it was worth. 

All told, he remained away from the palace for over two moons. When he finally returned, in midsummer, he went straight to his own courtyard and slept for three days without moving a muscle. 

And then he awoke, and heard a soft strain of qin music issuing from the other side of the wall.

Luo Binghe froze.

That courtyard was meant to be empty; it had been empty since the day it was built, eight months after he met that other world’s Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe had filled its four rooms with books and bamboo furniture, and even the double bed in the inner chamber had been a replica of the one the other Shizun slept upon—and the courtyard’s little garden had a pavilion with a built-in table for a qin, since the construction of that Shizun’s house and garden made it plain that he liked to practice out of doors.

Who had dared set foot in that courtyard while Luo Binghe was absent?

Hua Zhihan? Qin Wanrong? Certainly not Yingying or Liu Mingyan; it resembled the living quarters at Qing Jing far too closely for either of them to find any peace there. 

Trembling with fury, he pulled on the robes he was wearing last night and rushed over to the adjoining courtyard, where he stopped short at the threshold of its white-painted moon gate and gaped at the spectacle awaiting him within. 

There was a man sitting at the qin table in the pavilion—a man, in the compound where Luo Binghe lived with his wives—playing a rearrangement of “Flowing Waters,” with Luo Shunlei on his lap. Suoxin and Changying were seated on either side of him, armed with child-sized guqins of their own, and Nianzu was nestled against the man’s shoulder, asleep.

And his face—

Luo Binghe had never seen such a face before. It was not the face of Shen Qingqiu—not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, at any rate—but the light in his eye and the warmth of his voice as he spoke to Suoxin were very like that Shen Qingqiu’s, though Luo Binghe noticed that there was a shade of difference between the two. 

He is older, Luo Binghe realized at once, as his heart thundered inside him. The other Shen Qingqiu was young, judging by his manner—perhaps forty, at the very oldest—and my Shizun never even reached the age of fifty. 

The other Shizun had worn green, he remembered. He preferred the same clean-cut style of dress that Luo Binghe’s shizun liked to wear, and of course their bodies and faces had been the same, as well; but this man wore s different face entirely, and his worn silk robes were a clean, stark white, like the garments of the wandering rogue cultivators who used to pass through Luo Binghe’s hometown when he was a boy. 

The trappings of his flesh made no difference, however.

Luo Binghe knew him for what he was at first sight. 

It struck him then that this must be the taifu Liu Mingyan selected for the children. He could not fathom why she would have housed an imperial tutor in the hougong, of all places: but now that he was here, Luo Binghe would rather walk through the Endless Abyss again than permit him to leave. 

Luo Binghe could have stood in the doorway and stared at him for a lifetime; but then the taifu looked up and clambered to his feet, tugging the little girls along with him. Shunlei remained where he was, gripping the soft front of the taifu’s gown like a baby monkey clinging to its mother’s back; and Nianzu, securely balanced on the taifu’s hip, slept on without noticing that the man had moved at all.

“My lord,” the taifu said, bowing. “This humble servant offers his—”

“Xin’er greets Father!” Luo Suoxin cut in, glancing up at her teacher for approval. “Did I do it right, Shizun?”

“Yes, except for the part where you interrupted me first,” the taifu laughed. “Go on, Changying.”

Luo Changying nodded and stepped forward. 

“Chang’er greets Father,” she said, rather more gracefully than Suoxin. 

“Well done,” said the taifu. “Now, Shunlei…?”

Shunlei blinked and tightened his grasp on the taifu’s robes. 

“A-Shun is hungry,” he complained, refusing to meet Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Shizun, snack time.”

Luo Binghe bit back a smile. This man was somehow more indulgent with his young charges than the other Shizun had been, and the sight of him holding Nianzu and Shunlei was so desperately sweet that Luo Binghe nearly reached out and touched him. 

“Daozhang is the new taifu, I suppose?” Luo Binghe asked instead, taking another step forward. “Your name?”

The taifu nodded. 

“This one is called Zhu Qinglan, my lord,” he replied, trying in vain to coax Shunlei down to the ground. “Now, A-Shun, my good little disciple…”

“Shunshun won’t look at him,” the baby insisted, his little voice muffled in the folds of Zhu Qinglan’s coat. “I want to eat cake, not see Fuqin.”

To Luo Binghe’s astonishment, Zhu Qinglan sat down on the steps below the pavilion and drew a wrapped package of sesame cakes out of his sleeve. 

“Your imperial father has come back to see you after two months, and you act like this?” he chided, placing one of the cakes on Shunlei’s outstretched palm. “Now, eat your cake like a good child; and then you must get up and greet your father properly, like Xin’er and Chang’er.”

Luo Binghe lifted his hand. 

“No need,” he said mildly, watching with half-crazed eyes as Zhu Qinglan stroked Luo Nianzu's fluffy hair. “Shun’er is always upset after this lord returns from his travels abroad. I do not see the children as often as I would like; but I try to dine with them at least once a week, and that little demon in your arms refuses to speak to me for days on end if I ever dare to arrive late.”

With that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the courtyard. He could not stand in Zhu Qinglan’s presence any longer, lest he do something that would terrify his children and turn their Shizun against him forever; and as it was, the little demon servant who brought breakfast to his quarters ten minutes later nearly died of fright at the sight of him. 

“Zhu Qinglan,” Luo Binghe said to himself, after the petrified lackey made his escape. “The name suits him, whether it is a false one or no.”

He drained the last of his tea, and smiled. 

“I’ve finally caught you, Shizun.”

[kamaluhkhan]

in my head, i play a supercut of us

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

summary: you come back to cousins beach after a few years away. conrad is not particularly happy that you're back - and you aren't particularly thrilled, either. too bad there's a history (chemistry?) neither of you can deny.

warnings: drinking + smoking. lots of plot + flashbacks. there is some mention of injuries, body issues/self esteem (reader is a competitive swimmer), complicated family dynamics (reader is eldest daughter), slight allusion to alcoholism.

a/n: ohhh this turned out much longer than i expected it to be!! honestly i have so many ideas that this will probably become a series. for now please enjoy the summer, childhood friends to lovers to strangers vibes ;)

you still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn't satisfy you as much as it used to. you still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, five years ago. (alida nugent)

now — summer, age 18

driving up to the beach house after so many summers have passed, you’re struck with the memory of your first time swimming. 

it was mid-june in cousins; you must have been four years old. you stood on the edge of the pool for an eternity, until your father became impatient and threw you into the deep end. you screamed, imagined your lungs being filled with cold water, drowning in darkness. your neighbour had run over when he heard, and your father had to hold him back from jumping in to save you. instead, your life jacket kept you afloat, and soon enough you were kicking as though it was the most natural thing in the world. you discovered your love of swimming that afternoon and in that your father found his star athlete. you also realized your love for conrad fisher, the boy next door.

your summers in cousins, the friends you’d met here, conrad fisher — these composed your metaphorical lifejacket, once preserving your childhood. you’d taken it off for too long, spent years in the deep end alone, keeping yourself afloat, moving towards a carefully constructed future. now it all started to crumble, and here you were again, a different person; you wondered if the others were different, too. 

it wasn't your first choice to come back to cousins, but you were determined to make the most of it. after unpacking your things, you decide to make your way to the beck house, right next door to your own family’s. 

you knock once, twice, three times. there's no answer, so you figure that everyone is either in town or at the beach. you start to walk away when you hear the front door open. 

"excuse me!" laurel park's voice calls. you turn around, and the shock on laurel's face is clear. "y/n! oh my god, i almost didn't recognize you!" 

"four summers can do that," you note. 

you hear your name from inside the house, and before you know it, belly conklin excitedly runs out and tackles you in a hug. 

"hey, bells," you laugh. you notice how dressed up she is, something that changed from the oversized t-shirts and patterned shorts you remember her always wearing. "cute dress. where are you off to?" 

"oh. there's a high tea at the country club. sort of like an introduction for the debutante season." 

you raise an eyebrow, looking past belly towards laurel. "is this a lemon jelly belly situation?" you’re referring to the code phrases you used to exchange for different situations, depending on different flavours of jelly beans: pear, toasted marshmellow, lemon. it might have been childish (you were kids at the time), but it always worked. more than anyone, you know what it’s like to be pushed into something too quickly, too soon. even after all these years, and even though belly is only two years younger, your instinct is to defend her at all times.

"possibly," laurel sighs. 

"it's not," belly insists, giving her mother a pointed look. "i wanted to try something new this summer, and susannah promised it would be fun." 

the two of you walk back towards the house. when you reach the door, laurel brings you into a tight hug. the three of you walk into the kitchen, and you find yourself taking the seat you had once claimed as your own — a stool at the counter, third from the left. belly settles down next to you, and laurel grabs a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge while you reach over to take three glasses from the drying rack. 

belly explains more about the debutante season, and mentions that steven and jeremiah are both working at the club this summer. she doesn't get around to what conrad is up to, because laurel suddenly checks her watch, then sighs. 

"i hate to cut this reunion short, but belly, we'd better leave if we want to make that tea of yours." 

"right." belly looks at you with a frown, like she's worried you'll disappear if you're out of sight. "i'll see you later?"

you smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "i'll be here all summer," you promise, and belly beams.

"you’re coming to my book party?" laurel asks, though it's more of a statement than a question.

"yeah, sure," you promise, sipping your sweet tea. "i'll see you guys there." 

with one final see you later and another hug from belly, you're left alone in the kitchen. you wonder if the fishers still keep the cereal in the same cabinet; if their cupboards are filled with the same sugary snacks you were never allowed to have, but you and the boys would sneak when the adults weren’t looking. 

"y/n, my little mermaid, is that you?" 

susannah always called you her little mermaid — inspired by your love of swimming, yes, but also that one summer you were convinced that mermaids were real, so you and belly spent hours looking for clues on the beach and painting your nails iridescent turquoise. all the adults scoffed at you, but susannah was the only one who played along, who allowed you to believe that magic was real.

instantly, you rise from your seat and hug susannah.

"you have no idea how happy i am that you're here this summer," susannah whispers. as you break away from your hug, susannah places her hands on your cheeks. she looks happy and healthy, if a little tired. you can't help but think of the years you’d been gone when susannah and her family were dealing with so much. there was only so much connection texts, calls, and emails could provide. to be here now, seeing susannah fisher alive and well? 

it was almost too much.

tears threaten to spill, but you swallow them. instead, you reply: "so am i." and, certainly more than before, you mean it.

“conrad’s out back if you want to come say hi. i’m painting his portrait. he’s been a bit down lately, but if anyone can make him feel better, it’s you.”

you feel your cheeks heat up. you finish the rest of your sweet tea and put your glass in the dishwasher, not quite feeling ready to face conrad — there was a complicated history between the two of you. unresolved tension, hurtful words, that sort of thing.

“i’ll, uh, let you keep painting. i should go get ready for laurel’s book party.”

“alright. i’ll see you there, sweetie.”

“yeah,” you confirm. you start to walk away before hearing susannah’s voice again:

“and, y/n?” you turn around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

later that night, at laurel's book launch party, you watch conrad pour another glass of wine, and wonder whether or not you should join him. his eyes catch yours from across the room, but he quickly looks away. belly ended up having a date, she'd texted you earlier, and you were roped into a conversation with your mother and susannah before you could find stephen or jeremiah. 

"they grow up so fast," susannah muses. she then wraps an arm around your shoulder. "i can't believe that our eldests are 18! conrad’s off to brown in the fall — how about you, y/n?”

“princeton,” your mother boasts, draining the rest of her cup and grabbing another from a tray passing by. that’s her third glass, by your count. “we were so proud. it’s the best women’s swim team in the country.”

“stanford is a close second,” you interject. “besides, we don’t even know if i can start swimming for real by then.”

you’d broken your ankle a month and a half before. it didn’t need surgery yet and you were out of your cast, but you couldn’t return to your usual level of activity for a while — which meant no training camp, like you’d been going to the past few summers.

“you know, i did always picture you on the west coast,” susannah smiles at you. “all those beaches and sunshine.”

your mother frowns, ignoring susannah. “don’t be ridiculous. if you spend the summer doing your physical therapy and resting, you’ll be back in the water before we know it. your father and i agreed — that’s why you’re here.”

you resist the urge to argue with her and instead block her out as she brags about your siblings getting top prizes in their academic decathalon. the twins were thirteen now and had plans with their friends tonight, sparing them from attending this event. no offence to laurel or susannah, of course, but you’d rather be with your friends.

when you look for conrad once more, you notice that he's been roped into a conversation with laurel and someone who your mom had pointed out as cleveland castillo. even after all these years, you can tell when he needs backup: the impatient tapping of his foot, his eyes searching the room for an out.

after excusing yourself from the conversation, you make your way over to conrad. 

"hey," you greet, nodding at laurel and cleveland. "mind if i borrow this guy? we've got some catching up to do." if either laurel or cleveland said anything more after yes, then you don't hear them, already pulling conrad away.

you lead him to the back corner of the room, near a small couch. neither of you make a move to sit; neither of you say anything. up close, you could see the shadows under his eyes, the creases in between his brows. he was always quiet, the more calm and thoughtful one of the group, but always with soft edges, especially when it came to you. now, quiet could have been replaced with brooding, and all those soft edges seem sharper.

“so,” you start. you grab the wine from conrad’s hand and take a sip. “are you gonna keep ignoring me, or are you gonna welcome me back?”

“when my mom said you were back, i didn’t believe her.” conrad looks at you, his face still. “i wish you hadn’t come back.” 

stung, you take a deep breath. after everything, conrad thought that was the best way to greet you? if cold and closed off was how conrad wanted to act, you could play that game, too.

“fuck you,” is all you say before joining jeremiah and steven on the other side of the room.

steven’s eyes widen once they land on you. "no fucking way. y/n!" steven exclaims. "thought you'd never come back here, man." there’s a joyful undertone to his comment as he smiles. same old steven: always blunt, always laughing. 

"yeah, well, i’m here.”

jeremiah just beams at you, picking you up and spinning you around. 

“jere,” you giggle, half scolding, fully floating.

“sorry, sorry!” he laughs, setting you down. “i just — i can’t believe you’re here. how come you didn’t tell me you were coming?”

“yeah, well.” you shrug. “i thought you liked surprises.”

“well, i do. especially if it involves seeing you.”

"yo, speaking of surprises — what if we ditch this party and surprise belly at the drive-in?" stephen suggests.

you shake your head, though leaving was very tempting. 

"or, instead of ruining your sister's first date, we get some booze, light a fire, and go get drunk on the beach," you suggest.

"oh, i am so down!" jeremiah exclaims. "you've got my vote." 

“hell yeah.” steven grins and throws his arm around your shoulder. "you always did know how to show us a good time."

then — summer, age 11

you had plenty of bonfires before, on the beach with your parents, but that summer marked the first one with just the kids. you begged and begged, and eventually the adults were okay with it since conrad had earned his boy scout badge for fire safety in the spring.

it was the beginning of july, and an unseasonably cold evening — basically, perfect bonfire weather. jeremiah helped susannah make hot chocolate for everyone. belly wanted s'mores, so you had biked with her to the store earlier that day for the ingredients. everyone was stuffing their faces with slightly burnt marshmallows as melted chocolate and graham cracker crumbs decorated your cheeks, and you chased it all down with lukewarm chocolatey liquid. you were kids and it was summer; life was sweet, life was good. 

"conrad," steven announced, turning to the boy who was pushing a marshmallow deeper into the fire. "i dare you to go dunk in the ocean." a grin erupted on steven's face, and in the glow of the fire, he looked like the cheshire cat. 

"no way, man. it's freezing."

you knew the real reason conrad didn't want to go into the ocean. one night the week before, when the parents were out to dinner and the other kids were asleep, you and conrad had stayed up to watch jaws together, having rented it secretly from the local video store. ever since, conrad had been coming up with excuses to not go swimming at the beach. 

"what's the matter, con? you scared?" jeremiah taunted, wearing a similar cheshire grin to steven’s.

"what?" the marshmallow conrad was trying to roast fell into the fire. he huffed, and belly handed him another one. "i'm not scared. it's just freezing."

"come on, man. you’ve gotta do it. besides, there's a fire and hot cocoa here for you when you get back," jeremiah reasoned. ten-year-old jeremiah was never very concerned about following the rules, except when it came to truth or dare. 

"i'm good," conrad snapped.

"aw, i think he's scared," steven laughed.

"i'm not scared —"

"what if i went with you?" you interrupted him. 

"but it's not your dare," belly pointed out as she continued carefully assembling a s'more. nine-year-old belly was competitive, so it was very important to her that the rules of any game were followed. 

"yeah, but if connie —"

"is scared," jeremiah coughed under his breath.

"wants company," you continued, ignoring jeremiah. "then, it'll be more fun, right?" you were a mix between jere and belly: you were competitive, but you didn’t particularly care about following the rules. especially when it came to your friends, even more when it came to conrad.

conrad smiled at you softly. "right." 

reluctantly, jeremiah, belly and steven agreed to the terms of the dare. you removed your beach cover up, and conrad his shirt, leaving you both in your swimsuits, dry even with swimming in the pool a few hours before. you ran to the water, pulling conrad with you. you stopped at the edge of the sand, waves tickling your feet and the light, and warmth, of the bonfire a recent memory. it was much cooler here, closer to the water.

"ready?"

conrad nodded once. "ready." 

hands still clasped together, you jumped into the ocean, leaving the comfort of the shore behind. 

now 

jeremiah finds stale marshmallows in the kitchen and steven makes a bonfire on the stretch of beach between your two houses. you head home to change out of your silk mini skirt and back into denim cutoffs. you switch your cream blouse for a short-sleeved button down, left open over your favourite bralette. when you get back to the beach, the boys have invited some people over, most of whom you don't recognize. 

"here," jeremiah hands you a lukewarm beer, which you accept gratefully. then, he throws an arm around your shoulder. "come on, there's some people i want you to meet." 

jeremiah introduces you to a few guys he works with at the club, and some girls who are doing the deb thing with belly. 

"jeremiah mentioned you’re a swimmer." gigi, one of the debs, smiles, eyeing the way jeremiah leans against you. "what's that like?"

the girls all wait expectantly for you to answer. 

"intense," you decide. you leave it at that. the fire flickers a few feet away, vibrant and alive. 

you want nothing more than to go back to those summer nights when you were kids. you want belly to be looking at the stars for elaborate constellations while jeremiah burns marshmallows to a crisp. you want steven to be laughing and making outrageous, impossible dares. you want the five of you together, huddled around a small fire that conrad had carefully crafted. you want conrad to be okay. 

"i hear that competitive sports can like, really fuck with a girl's self-esteem and body image," gigi continues. you don't necessarily think she means it as an insult, and it's certainly not anything you haven't heard (or felt) before, but you still bristle.

"like i said: intense," you answer cooly. 

"hey, man, when are we gonna get the marshmallows going?" steven suddenly appears, his face slightly flushed. he holds hands with shayla, who, as jeremiah pointed out earlier, steven is dating. 

"in a bit. i asked con to pick up chocolate and graham crackers for s'mores." jeremiah looks around before saying: "speaking of: look who's here!"

jeremiah runs off to meet his brother, while you stay back and take a sip of your beer. 

"looks like he brought nicole, too," steven observes.

who the fuck is nicole? 

nicole, you learn as the group sits around the bonfire and roasts marshmallows, is the girl conrad is either dating or hooking up with. jeremiah isn't quite sure.

the night grows darker. the air is warm with smoke from marshmallows roasting, the smell of burnt sugar dancing around. people start to leave to go to other parties, and soon enough it's only steven, shayla, nicole, conrad, jeremiah, and you. having less people around made it harder for you to ignore conrad. nicole is nice and pleasant to talk to, but you can't help but feel something churn in your stomach when you see how close nicole and conrad are to each other. plus, she's wearing a red sox cap, and you know for a fact that conrad hates the red sox, unless that obviously fundamental part of his personality changed too. 

jeremiah must have noticed, because he suggests a drinking game for the group to ease the tension. 

"never have i ever gotten a tattoo." 

you’re the only one to take a sip of your drink. 

"i meant a real one," steven rolls his eyes. 

"i do have a real tattoo." you remove the button down and point to the left side of your rib cage. 

the others take a closer look, except conrad, of course. he was always an expert at pretending not to care, but so were you. tonight is a prime example: since the bonfire, you hadn't said a word to each other. 

"why a starfish?" nicole asks. she leans further into conrad’s arms.

you look at conrad, briefly, then shrug. "i like the beach." 

the game continues until the fire dies down, and you’re left with a burning sensation from conrad glancing in your direction, at the starfish etched on your skin.

then — summer, age 13

"that's disgusting," steven said, scrunching his nose. 

"no, steven, that's friendship," you replied, just as jeremiah leaned over to take more from your cup, and vice versa.

"right, friendship." belly raised her eyebrow at you, and you rolled your eyes in response. you then decided to take an interest in your formerly white sneakers (after so many summers, they were now decorated with sand and sea water and permanent marker doodles. your mother hated them.)

that summer, belly became convinced that jeremiah had a crush on you. she said that he was absolutely lovestruck and that you were too blinded by years of being best friends with him to notice. jeremiah had made you promise not to tell belly the hilarious irony of the situation — that it was belly he so clearly loved.

"see, steven. friendship can be sweet!" jeremiah grinned, chewing the chunk of bubble gum he had fished from your cup. that was the type of cheesy thing only jeremiah could say and make others laugh unironically. 

years before, when you were just kids, you and jeremiah believed you had solved the most complicated problem in the world. you loved bubble gum ice cream, but hated the bubble gum chunks. jeremiah loved bubble gum chunks, and didn't care if the flavor clashed with his favorite rainbow sherbert because he loved you even more (platonically, of course). 

during the whole interaction, conrad was silent, looking out towards the beach. 

the five of you had walked to the nearest ice cream shop (there was no baskin robbins in cousins, but some nautical themed place with 50 flavors and unlimited toppings). you decided to come back and sit on the porch of the fisher house (where there was a decent amount of shade) rather than on the beach. it was one of the hottest afternoons of the summer, late july, when the sun was at its peak. those who'd been coming to cousins their whole lives knew that being at the beach in such weather was only good for swimming. 

you glanced at conrad, who took another bite (an actual bite) of his chocolate ice cream. he was sitting on the railing instead of the stairs like the rest of you, so you had to crane your neck slightly. you tapped his ankle, which was decorated with a temporary tattoo. the night before, the two of you had found a few left over from when you were kids and, having a sugar rush from too much cream soda and root beer (and maybe stolen sips of sangria when the adults weren't looking), decided it would be hilarious to see if the tattoos still worked. so, conrad had a cartoonish-looking shark on his ankle, and you had a similarly cartoonish-looking starfish on your arm. 

"you okay, connie?" you asked. you only got a nod and a small smile in response. more and more, as summer crept on, conrad would be laughing, loud and lively, one second (exhibit A: using those temporary tattoos the night before was his idea -- we don't want them to go to waste, y/n, he grinned mischievously) and the next he'd be silent, closed off (exhibit B: since you came back from your ice cream excursion, he'd barely said a word). 

even though you couldn't really read minds, you had an aching feeling that you knew what conrad was thinking in that moment, because you’d been thinking it, too: time was passing too quickly. in a few days, it would already be august, and september was just around the corner. the summer - your childhood - was as temporary as yours and conrad’s tattoos: vibrant and saturated, slightly faded, then gone. 

"i wanna go swimming. anyone wanna join me at the beach?" jeremiah suddenly asked. 

"i've gotta pick up the twins from day camp, but i'll try to meet you guys later." you knew that wasn't true though — things were getting more and more tense between your parents, your father storming out angrily after useless arguments and your mother passing out on the couch after one too many glasses of wine. someone needed to watch your siblings, and neither of your parents seemed pressed to find an actual babysitter.

"i'll stay with you," conrad said.

belly and steven took jeremiah up on his offer. once the other three were gone, you stood up. "scooch over." conrad shifted slightly and you went to join him on the railing, your knees practically knocking together. 

"so. did the tattoo help you get over your fear of sharks?" 

conrad took another bite of his ice cream, this time with a giant chunk of chocolate. "i don't fear sharks," he replied. then, he turned to you and shrugged. "i just respect them, you know?"

you bumped your shoulder against conrad's. "right. you respect them so much that you avoid the ocean at all costs." 

conrad smirked. "says the girl who avoids eating on the beach because she's scared of seagulls!" 

you were laughing, teasing each other, not caring that your ice cream was melting, when mr. fisher opened the front door, car keys in hand.

"oh, hey kids. we were wondering where you were."

"we went to scoops ahoy," you explained. you took a bite of your ice cream and resisted the urge to spit it out once you realized that it had a chunk of bubble gum in it. 

"better watch the ice cream, huh, y/n?" mr. fisher said, smiling like he said the funniest thing in the world. he patted his stomach to further his point. "if you want to keep up at those swim meets."

you suddenly froze, mid bite. you cleared your throat and dropped the spoon back in your half-empty cup, suddenly queasy.

"dad," conrad said, not raising his voice, but definitely irritated. "what the actual fuck."

"language, conrad," mr. fisher scolded. without another word, he got in his car and drove away.

"he shouldn't have said that," conrad said instantly.

"it's fine," you replied, too quickly to be true. you set down your ice cream between you and conrad. "it's nothing my own father hasn't said to me."

being a teenage girl was brutal, and competitive swimming amplified that, especially the older you got. there was always someone faster, someone more skilled, someone better. ice cream churned in your stomach at the thought. was your father right: had you wasted your summer, not practicing your technique and stuffing your face with sugary treats? 

conrad picked up your ice cream and handed it to you. he then took the spoon from his own cup, and stated: "fuck dads who are jerks." 

you couldn't help but smile. somehow, he always knew what to say to make you believe that you weren't alone, that things would be okay no matter how fucked up the world was. 

"fuck dads who are jerks," you echoed, raising your spoon.

"and,” conrad paused. he looked at you with gentle eyes. “to always being there for each other."

you smiled at him, heart soaring. "to always being there for each other." 

you clinked your spoons together, and ate your ice cream, and shifted closer so your legs pressed together — and it didn't feel like a temporary promise.

now

you always loved mornings in cousins. the beach was particularly beautiful at sunrise, the water at its most peaceful.

the morning after the bonfire, you need that peacefulness to wash over you. as quietly as you can to avoid waking up the rest of your family, you make a fresh pot of coffee and pour some into your favourite mug. it’s from the rainforest cafe: bright green with a cartoon frog on it. you brought it back from a swim meet in niagara falls when you were 10, and got one for the fishers as well. theirs was orange with a cartoon iguana. conrad would use it all the time; you imagine it collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard now.

you make your way down to the beach, and notice someone already sitting at your usual spot by the water.

conrad doesn’t say anything when you sit next to him. he’s wearing a red hoodie over his clothes from last night, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. he glances at you as you sip your drink. 

“morning,” he whispers.

you shiver, and not just from the cool morning air. you’re reminded of the last time conrad spoke to you so softly, the last time you’d caught an early morning sunrise together. such a contrast to where you are now.

“morning,” you finally reply. 

as the sound of waves fills the silence between you, conrad lights his cigarette and takes a puff. then, he hands it to you. in turn, you offer him your mug. a peace offering — you both accept. the space between you becomes open, comfortable.

“since when do you smoke?” you exhale, letting the smoke warm your lungs. 

conrad takes a long sip of coffee, looking out towards the ocean. “since i quit football.”

“i thought you loved football.”

“i loved it,” conrad answers. he takes another sip, then gives the mug back to you. “i don’t love it anymore.”

you take another drag of the cigarette. your fingers brush against his when you return it to him.

“once you love something, you never really unlove it,” you muse, even though you know exactly what he means — when it comes to sports. 

“don’t misquote spirited away at me,” he laughs, and you can’t help but smile. the first time you'd watch that movie was when you were 8. all the kids crowded into the den of the fisher house on a rainy day. susannah prepared an impressive spread of candy, popcorn, and soda for you all. you drank dr. pepper from a twizzler straw and cried when chihiro reunited with haku.

conrad glances at you and the sunshine highlights his smile, his brown hair, the hazel of his eyes. golden, radiant. 

you shiver again, looking away. before you know it, you feel something draped across your shoulders.

“i’m not sure nicole would like it if i was wearing your hoodie.” you joke, but your words are laced with a bitterness you hope conrad doesn’t catch. unlucky for you, conrad knew you too well. 

“you don’t get to do that,” he snaps.

“do what?”

conrad scoffs. “be jealous.” 

“well, you don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“so, you are jealous?”

you exhale sharply; you can practically feel the wall between you two reappear.

“it’s too early, con. and i’m too hungover to deal with this.”

there’s nothing more left to say. you get up, throw his hoodie on the sand, and walk back towards your house, the beach and conrad further away with every step you take.

it makes sense that way: you were always the one to leave first.

[lucyrose191]

I don't know if you're accepting writing requests, but I thought about it just now.

I don't know if you know that people are talking about Sebastian's “possible return” in 2025 with Mercedes. So I thought you could write part 3 of "a shared story"? Sort of like if the two of them came back, their son appeared. Anyway, it's up to you to write, that's all that came to mind.

A SHARED HISTORY: THE RETURN| S.VETTEL

Pairing; Sebastian Vettel x Wife!driver!reader

Summary; With the news of Lewis moving to Ferrari in 2025, the formula one world is in chaos and Mercedes is left to find a driver, why not ask their for their best to return?

Warnings; Lewis is perceived as a bit of a dick.

F1 Master List , Part 1, Part 2

When something was a constant in your life for so long it was hard to part with the routines that came with it which is why Y/N found herself in her and Seb’s home gym at five in the morning even over a year after retiring and only a few months after having a baby.

It was working well in her favour though because with the addition of the working out she did during her pregnancy she pretty much had her body back the way it was pre-baby.

She was scrolling through her phone to try and find a song to start her workout with when she got a notification from her f1 app and her face dropped as she clicked on it.

LEWIS HAMILTON TO JOIN FERRARI IN 2025

The message filled her screen as she simply stared in shock.

Workout forgotten, Y/N turned around and ran up the stairs. "Seb."

She jumped on their bed and aggressively shook him, "Sebastian, wake up!" She whisper shouted, not wanting to wake the baby. "Sebastian!"

He turned his head over to look up at her with half-closed eyes, "what time is it?" He muttered.

"Who cares? Lewis is moving to Ferrari."

That woke him right up, he pulled the top half of his body into a sitting position and forced his eyes fully open, looking at Y/N in disbelief. "What?"

"It’s everywhere, he’s driving for them in 2025."

Seb continued to look at her in shock, "Is he okay? How could he be so stupid?"

His words struck something within Y/N, knowing how rough her husbands time at Ferrari had been, how she had watched his demeanour shrink throughout the years he spent there, how guilty she felt winning near enough every race whilst the love of her life felt like he was getting nowhere.

It also caused her to think about Lewis himself and the things he had said about his team last season, as though Mercedes hadn’t made him who he was and now he was leaving after one particularly rough season. "Apparently he only told the team two days ago," she muttered.

"No," Seb uttered, not believing that Lewis would tell the team only two days before the entire world knew. "Poor Carlos," he added, knowing how Ferrari treated their drivers when they had found a replacement for them.

"You’d think Lewis wouldn’t have taken that seat considering he knows how toxic that environment is, I hope he doesn’t think he’ll be number one driver just because of his experience," Y/N thought aloud.

"He’ll be very disappointed if that’s what he does think," Seb scoffed, the resentment he felt towards Ferrari breaking through, it was hard not to with not only the way they treated him but the way the fans did too. Their refusal to accept that he was in fact not the problem but it’s in fact the poor communication and leadership within the team.

"I think I’ll ring Toto later, it’s four am in England right now, I doubt he’d be impressed if I rang him now." Y/N smirked.

Sebastian smiled "He’ll probably be up with the news being released."

Y/N hummed in agreement before reaching up to push Seb’s hair back from his forehead, "I’m going to go start this workout before Ansel wakes up, you can go back to sleep, sorry for waking you," she leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.

"It’s okay, liebe." Sebastian laid back down and watched Y/N walk out the their bedroom, there was no chance he was going back to sleep now that she’d woken him up but she didn’t have to know that.

Later in the day.

"Hi, baby!" Y/N cooed to her son who she held in up in the air, loving the loud uncontrollable giggles that he let out. In the past two and a half months he hasn’t lost those beautiful blonde curls he got from Sebastian, bright white coils sprouted in every direction and with his bright blue eyes, baby Ansel would no doubt be a heartbreaker when he was older.

She laid him back down on the floor and tickled his belly, enticing another round of laughter to burst from him. "God I love you so much, you’re so cute."

"Liebe?" Seb walked into the living room with her phone in his hand.

"Yeah, who is it?" Y/N paused her tickling and allowed Ansel to catch his breath.

"Toto," her brows shot up in surprise at Sebastian’s response, she didn’t have to give him a call after all. "I’ll watch him whilst you speak to him," Seb handed her the phone before picking Ansel up from the floor with an over dramatic grunt and leaving the room.

Y/N places the phone against her ear, "Hello?"

"Y/N! Hi, how are you doing?" Toto’s thick Austrian accent sounded through the phone.

"I’m doing amazing, I’d ask you the same question but I’ve seen the news and I can’t imagine you’re doing great," she sympathised.

"It’s been chaotic to say the least," Toto replied honestly, "I only found out two days ago and I was surprised if I’m being honest."

"He only told you two days ago as well?" Y/N was surprised. "I saw that he told the team two days ago but I thought he would’ve told you sooner."

"I thought he would have too but he didn’t, I’m going to be straight with you, Y/N, I am calling for a particular reason."

Y/N stared at the blank wall in front of her, curious as to what he might’ve called for. "Go on…"

"Have you done much training or simulator work since retiring?" Toto asked absentmindedly.

His question shocked her into silence for a moment before replying. "I trained all throughout my pregnancy and I’ve still been training, I’ve cut back on the neck training but other than that it’s remained the same really and I’ve done a bit of simulator work but not much, I haven’t really found the time to keep that up."

"I understand, you’ve probably been very busy with a newborn, it can be hard," Toto said understandingly.

"I think we’ve been lucky to be honest, Ansel’s quite calm."

"I’m going to be blunt here," Toto told her, "what do you think of becoming a seven time world champion?"

Y/N froze completely at his question.

She knew what he was asking but she just couldn’t allow that idea to simmer in her mind, not when it had taken her so long to become content without racing in her life. "I have a son to take off."

"I know," Toto responded, "and I would never ask you to give that up, I understand completely how he is your number one priority, you have a family to take care of and I don’t expect you to put racing above your family but Y/N, you are the best driver Mercedes has ever had and I don’t believe you’ve accomplished everything you could."

"That’s a very big ask, Toto," Y/N released a heavy breath.

"It’s for 2025, you can sit on it until half way through the season but I can promise you if you agree, it will be a championship winning car." The confidence in Toto’s voice was impossible to miss.

"You’ve already started designing it, haven’t you?" She mused.

"Yes, we aren’t taking any chances of losing in 2025, we want you back Y/N, we didn’t want you to leave in the first place. George is a great driver but he’s only been with us one season and he is not number 1 driver ready yet."

"I’ll think about it but I am not promising anything," she iterated, wanting him to acknowledge that the chances of her returning were very very slim.

"I’m glad you’re at least considering it, take as long as you need," Toto repeated his earlier words and Y/N ensured she would be taking all of the time she was given before they bid their goodbyes.

As the call ended, Y/N felt a heavy wait in her chest, the idea of returning to formula one hadn’t even crossed her mind because she never thought the opportunity would even arise and her and Seb were making their family, the family they always wanted.

She pushed the idea out of her mind and pulled herself up from the floor, she walked into the kitchen and began looking through the fridge for ideas on what to make her and Seb for lunch.

"What did he want?"

Y/N jumped and snapped her head to the doorway where Seb was stood, holding a sleeping Ansel against his chest. He frowned at her reaction because she wasn’t one to be easily frightened.

"Uhm," Y/N cleared her throat and closed the fridge. "He was just asking how we were and telling me about the whole Lewis situation, the parts the media didn’t know."

Her response set off alarm bells in Sebastian’s mind that made him thing there was something else, something she hadn’t been anticipating. "Anything else?" He asked,

Y/N swallowed and looked down at the floor, she could never lie to him about anything but especially not something this big. "He, uhm, he asked me to come back. He wants me to drive for Mercedes again."

Sebastian’s hands subconsciously tightened around Ansel’s body at the news, he stood frozen in the doorway with a blank face as he processed what that could mean. "Wow," it was the only word that expressed what he was feeling right now.

Y/N scoffed out a laugh and nodded. "Yeah."

The lost look on her face tugged at Seb’s heart and he stepped across the threshold into the kitchen and walked closer to her. "Would you want to?" He asked in an almost whisper.

Y/N shrugged weakly. "I have no idea," she replied honestly. "When I retired, I felt lost and I thought that feeling would never leave and I convinced myself I had made the worst mistake I could ever make. I had everything, I was still at the height of my career and to suddenly not be racing anymore…. It was hard, you know that, but then Ansel was born and this new life we have made it all worth it to me. I accepted I wouldn’t be going back but now Toto is literally holding out that seat in the palm of his hand and i don’t know what to do."

Sebastian adjusted Ansel so he was holding him in one arm and wrapped the other around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her into his body. She rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around her boys, smiling as Seb pressed a kiss to her head. "How long do you have before you need to make a decision?" He asked.

"Until about halfway through the season, I told him I’d probably need every bit of that time," Y/N muttered before looking up at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

Sebastian smirked, "you just did," he teased causing her to roll her eyes. "Go on." He added seriously this time.

"Would you be okay with it if I did say yes? I’m not saying I want to but I definitely wouldn’t if you want things to stay how they are, without all of the travelling."

It was one of the things that truly made their marriage work, they both understood that it was in fact a partnership and would never agree to something that the other person wasn’t a hundred percent on board with.

He thought about her question for a moment before answering. "I didn’t retire because of the travelling, I retired because I wasn’t enjoying it anymore. I wasn’t meant to be a midfield or back of the field driver and that’s the only place I ended up. If you find that you do want to return then Ansel and I will follow you."

The two of them left the conversation there, not speaking of it anymore for the next couple of weeks as Y/N didn’t want to stress herself with feeling the need to make a decision as quick as possible.

February 2024

"OH FUCK OFF!" Y/N groaned loudly the minute she saw Danica Patrick appear on the screen.

Sebastian tilted his head back against the sofa and laughed at her reaction.

They weren’t even half way through the first episode before she showed up onto the screen and YN wasn’t impressed to say the least. "Why the fuck is she here?"

"She wants to tell everyone what the mindset of an f1 driver is like," Sebastian teased and YN scoffed.

"Oh yes please, let this woman who knows nothing about f1 tell me how I felt when I was in that car for fifteen years. I mean, if they want a woman, ask Susie!"

"I doubt she’d say yes after last year." Sebastian snorted.

"Yeah, that’s true," YN agreed, reaching for the remote to skip until Danica was no longer on the screen.

2nd March 2024

In case Y/N did choose to return to formula one in 2025 she had returned to her full training and diet so that she would have as much preparation as possible which was why the coffee table was filled with healthy snacks, much to Seb’s dismay, as the pair of them snuggled up on the sofa with a now four month old Ansel between them, ready to watch the first race of the season.

The entire weekend her eyes hadn’t left the W15, it hadn’t surprised her that they had incorporated part of the iconic silver design that Mercedes was famous for since it was Lewis’ last season. She had watched the launch of the car and it felt awkward for her, knowing that Lewis was leaving made it feel tense but that could’ve just been her imagination.

The RedBull was a rocket which wasn’t surprising after their success last season, she doubted they had changed much, they hadn’t needed to but what was fascinating was how the W15 didn’t seem so bad in comparison, George was driving that car as if they were one.

Now being able to see the improvement from last year, the confidence she heard in Toto’s voice for next year made sense to her. She believed him in his promise that next years car would be capable of earning her a seventh title and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t now tempted.

"It’s looking good," Sebastian commented lightly, subtly side eying her.

"Yeah it is," She replied, her eyes not leaving the tv screen as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

A month later

Sebastian apprehensively walked into the living room, smiling at the sight of Y/N lying on the sofa with Ansel asleep against her chest, her hands resting on his back protectively.

She looked up at the sound of his light footsteps and smiled before noticing the wary expression on his face. "Hey, are you okay?"

Sebastian swallowed thickly. "You’re not going to believe this…."

Y/N rose a challenging brow, "yeah? Try me."

"Christian just called."

"Horner?"

Sebastian nodded, walking over and sitting on the sofa by Y/N’s feet. "He isn’t resigning Perez next year, he’s offered me a seat."

If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the conversation, the look of shock on Y/N’s face would’ve been laughable. "Seriously!?"

Sebastian nodded and Y/N let out a small laugh, "Wow," she whispered. "Do you want it?"

"I don’t know," he replied honestly. "I understand the pressure you feel under now, to make a decision. I asked if I could think it through, I also have till mid season to give an answer."

His words caused her to smile as a memory flickered through her mind.

"Seb and I entered formula one together and it feels right to leave it together too, it's great knowing that we quite literally went through the entire thing with each other"

The pair of them had never driven in formula one without the other, if they both returned then that connection between the two of them would remain too. It was a beautiful connection that meant a lot to Y/N for a reason she couldn’t really think of.

She didn’t want to lose that.

That one flicker of a memory had solidified her decision in a mere second.

"If you were in that RedBull would it return your drive and passion for racing?" She asked softly.

Seb set his eyes on his sleeping son for a moment as he thought about her question before returning his gaze to hers. "I think it would."

"Would it ignite a hunger for a fifth title?"

"Yes," Sebastian answered immediately and Y/N smiled.

RedBull was an important part of their careers, it was where she had started out and won her first title and it was where Seb had achieved all of his records and titles.

"I think you have your answer, Seb. You just haven’t convinced yourself it’s real."

Three months later, Austria 🇦🇹 (30th June 2024)

Sebastian and Y/N walked through the Spielberg paddock, a seven month old Ansel was attached to Sebastian’s chest in a baby carrier, his face covered from the cameras with a hat.

They waved to the fans as they walked by but didn’t stop to speak or take photos because they had places to be, they entered the pits and walked past eight team garages, parting once they reached the Mercedes garage, Sebastian continued towards RedBull.

Toto Wolff, the man she was looking for, was standing in the entrance and seemingly waiting for her.

Y/N walked up to him with a cheeky smile on her face and stood beside him in silence, the pair of them looking inside of the garage to where the mechanics were working on the car.

"You weren’t lying to me," she eventually spoke, keeping her voice quiet from prying ears.

Toto looked down at her with a raised eyebrow, not understanding what she meant.

"The car," she explained. "It’s going to be worthy of a title, isn’t it?"

She wasn’t talking about the car in front of her, she was talking about the W16, the one that hadn’t been built yet.

"Yes," he responded surely.

"Okay," she nodded, only now removing her eyes from the car to look him in the eyes. "Well, I want to look over your numbers and speak to the designers because I will not be driving a car that looks like a four year old picked it out and I get to choose how the news is released."

She watched as the realisation slowly took over his features, the shock that riddled his face would forever be ingrained into her mind. "Seriously?" He asked, voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope.

"Unless you’ve found someone else?" She asked teasingly, knowing he most certainly hadn’t and even if he had, he wanted her more.

Toto quickly shook his head as a smile grew on his face, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist, lifting her feet from the floor as he took her into a bear hug, the pair of them laughed as he spun her round once in utter joy before setting her back down.

No doubt the media would soon be filled with suspicions and theories about what their conversation had been about and what she had said that had caused Toto’s overly happy reaction.

Just over a month later (beginning of August 2024)

With both Sebastian and YN now giving Toto and Christian the verbal agreement that they would drive for Mercedes and RedBull in 2025, it caused for both them and Ansel to make the move back to their property in England.

The summer break had now begun so it was the perfect time for them to sign their contracts and go through all of the necessary things to get prepared for next season and to get back into the swing of things.

This included deciding on when to announce the information of their return.

Both Sebastian and Y/N had given Christian and Toto the conditions that they wanted the news of their return to be together which meant a combined photoshoot and social media post from both Mercedes and RedBull teams.

It also meant that the two team principals and their heads of social media needed to work together to come to a compromise that everyone was happy with for the release.

They weren’t very happy having to work so close together but both were eager for their star drivers back that they pushed through.

It also meant that both teams were holding a shared secret about the other team.

As of right now the only people that knew Sebastian and Y/N Vettel were returning to Formula One were Christian, Toto and each teams head of social media, and family of course.

As neither team principal wanted to step into enemy territory, it left the announcement photoshoot to happen in the Vettel household.

The pair of them were stood in their living room in front of a black backdrop with their race suits on and since they didn’t have their 2025 helmets yet, they used the helmets they retired with.

Both their visors were up as they rested their foreheads against each other and stared into each other’s eyes with serious looks on their faces, preparing to show to the world that they were back and they weren’t playing around.

"Just cause you have your good luck charm back doesn’t mean you’ll be able to catch up to us."

Y/N and Seb rolled their eyes simultaneously,

"You’ve gotten very cocky after a short lucky streak, get to seven in a row and then we’ll start talking." Toto didn’t hesitate in replying.

"How about instead of comparing cock sizes, you two can figure out a date that we launch this news because you still haven’t came to an agreement." Y/N smiled sarcastically causing Sebastian to laugh at the way they promptly shut up.

"Great. If I have to listen to you two go at it next year then I will whip both your arses, got it?"

The two team principles nodded at her words so she turned back to Sebastian, who was looking at her in amusement, so that they could continue with the photos.

November 2024

It was Ansel’s first birthday today and you and Seb were refusing anything formula one today, the entire day was for your son and you both would give him every bit of your attention.

You and Seb were still 100% serious that he came above everything else and you both would remain stern on that, both Christian and Toto understood that yours and Sebastian’s conditions were that your son came first and that was the only reason you agreed to return.

Ansel didn’t at all understand the purpose of a birthday or opening presents so it left you and Seb to open his gifts but he did have the time of his life playing with all of his new toys.

Y/N still couldn’t believe this was her life. Sebastian and Ansel were her everything and to think if Christian Horner out of all people hadn’t taken a chance on her that she wouldn’t be where she is now is crazy and now she had been given the opportunity to return to the sport that had young drivers lining up to be a part of, she knew how lucky she was and she would never take it for granted.

December 2024, Abu Dhabi

If there was one thing that Christian and Toto had in common it was their flare for dramatics, both wished for the news of the Vettel’s returning to take the world by storm and so they were announcing it the day of the last race of the season which was in two days.

Barely any of the team even knew, George now did which he was thrilled about but Toto didn’t want to tell Lewis the news, Y/N thought he was feeling a bit petty and still a bit hurt from how long it took Lewis to tell him about him moving to Ferrari and just wanted to maybe get one up on the driver.

In the meantime, Y/N was going to take George’s car out for a couple of laps today before free practice and none of the team knew it yet but that was about to change.

The garage privacy barriers were up as the team watched in shock and building excitement as Y/N got into George’s car. She smiled as an immediate feeling of content mixed with anticipation built within her, her body knowing this is exactly where she belonged.

She had her 2022 helmet on so if anyone looked carefully they would definitely know that it was not George inside the car.

"Can you hear me, Marcus?"

"I can hear you loud and clear, Y/N. It’s good to have you back."

"Let’s do this then." She put a thumbs up towards one of the team members to move the barriers, gave a nod to Toto who was watching her with a blank expression on his face, (she thought he might be worried that she’d change her mind after giving this apparent shit box a drive) before she pressed down on the accelerator and left the garage.

Leaving the pits, Y/N grinned as best as she could beneath her helmet as she pressed down further on the throttle, smoothing through the gears as she increased her speed.

As she got onto the straight after turn 5, she heard Marcus in her ear. "How are you feeling, Y/N?"

"Great! Just like riding a bike." She replied, the tone of her voice making it clear that she had a large smile on her face.

"Nice to know you’ve still got it, we never doubted you for a second." Marcus told her before cutting the connection.

Up in the commentary box where David Croft and Martin Brundle were setting up for the weekend, they both looked out onto the track in confusion at the sight of the Mercedes, they hooked up their microphones before speaking.

"And that’s the Mercedes of George Russel on the track, free practise hasn’t started yet so I’m not sure if they’re allowed to be doing that…." Crofty’s voice sounded through the track speakers.

"That Mercedes seems to be driving better than it has all season, they haven’t put any updates on for the final race, have they? Is that even allowed?" Martin Brundle continued.

"Let’s see, are we able to take a closer look at that?" Crofty asked, followed by the screens on the grandstand zooming in on the car as it drove on the track. "…..that is not George Russell’s helmet…."

"Isn’t it? Who’s driving his car?" Martin questioned.

"I’m not sure, I’m also not sure this is actually allowed."

"I don’t think Mercedes actually care at this point- sorry, I’ll rephrase that actually. I don’t think Toto Wolff even cares what is allowed at this point."

"Okay, Y/N, if you could bring it into the pits now, we’re going to keep you in the car until the barriers are back up." Marcus instructed.

"Copy," Y/N replied.

The mechanics wheeled her into the garage and put the shutters down so that no one could see inside as she got out of the car.

As soon as her feet hit the ground she was embraced with pats on the back by happy team members.

George approached her with a smile on his face and was shaking his head at her. "I’m not sure how I feel about this anymore, you’d have managed to put that shit box on the second row with that second lap time." His tone made it clear that he was just joking and he was actually more than looking forward to have her as a team mate.

"I’ve still got it then, that’s good."

"It’s great," Toto’s voice from behind her made her jump and then around. "You think we should tell the team?"

"Now?" Y/N asked in surprise and Toto nodded, gesturing that she could do the honours.

Y/N gave him a toothy smile before stepping forward and climbing on top of George’s car, standing just in front of the halo, drawing the attention of everyone in the garage.

"Hey everyone! I know this season has been quite rough on you all, not just with the lack of results the team is used to but also with the fact that we all know Lewis has made the decision to leave Mercedes and join Ferrari which was as much of a surprise to me as I’m sure it was to you guys and it’s honestly been hard for me to see a lot of you feel a bit lost as to how the team can make a comeback and be on top but I do hope that next year you’ll all be able to see just how great Mercedes is and to hopefully regain that hunger because I know I’m hungry for a seventh title and I have every bit of faith that this team can help me achieve that when I come back and drive for you next year…."

The garage filled with a series of gasps followed by cheers that would definitely be heard from outside.

"…this is a finalised decision, Toto and I have been speaking all year and we’ve both signed the contract and I do hope you’re happy to have me back."

The team clapped and the garage was filled with whistles and cheers again as she finished and climbed down from the car.

"The news is going to be released Sunday morning so if you could all keep it on the down low until then it would be greatly appreciated!" She finalised before turning to Toto and George with a raised eyebrow. "There you go, no turning back now."

And for the rest of the weekend, the entire paddock could see the change in the Mercedes team, it seemed every member had a spring in their step as they walked through the track and they all seemed to have a permanent smile on their faces.

When asked about it they all seemed to give generic answers like ‘they were just happy to be here’ but no one believed it, not even Lewis who was left in the dark and when he asked about it he just got the same response.

But as Sunday morning came, both Mercedes and RedBull was filled with anticipation as the news of the Vettel’s return to the sport was shared across four Instagram accounts; RedBull, Mercedes, Y/N’s and Sebastian’s.

The world was taken by storm that morning, not only by the news of the return but also the fact that both teams had seemingly worked together to keep it under wraps.

Seb, Y/N, Christian and Toto entered the track together that morning and were bombarded with cameras and questions making both Vettel’s glad they had left Ansel at the hotel with Fabian who was going to bring him later in the day.

"Seb! Y/N! When did you decide to rejoin formula 1?"

"Christian, did you boot Perez before signing Sebastian or did tell him you were terminating his contract after you had already asked Sebastian to return?"

"Toto, did you ask Y/N to come back to get back at Lewis for leaving Mercedes?"

"Lewis said he had no idea of Y/N taking his seat, is there a reason you told the team but kept him in the dark?"

The four ignored the questions and continued their way into the track, not batting an eye at the other teams who watched as they walked by, astounded to see the four of them together.

"Feels good, doesn’t it? Success…." Christian smirked arrogantly causing Y/N, Seb and Toto to roll their eyes.

"I’d even go as far as saying we make a good team, us four." Toto added and Y/N scoffed.

"Please, this would’ve been a complete disaster had Seb and I not mediated the last year. The pair of you are a ticking time bomb."

Both team principals sent her affronted looks at her words which she ignored, once they reached the Mercedes garage, Seb leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s temple. "I’ll come and get you later before the race and we’ll watch it together."

Y/N nodded with a smile and bid him goodbye.

Both her and Toto walked into the Mercedes garage and were met with whoops and cheers from the team causing her to laugh at their dramatics but she soon stopped at the sight of Lewis.

He was approaching her and he looked quite disgruntled.

"Both of you returning?" He asked.

Y/N shrugged. "Toto asked me and then Christian asked Seb a month later, it was purely a coincidence."

He didn’t look like he believed her but it didn’t bother her too much. "I thought it would’ve been off the cards now that you have a child."

Y/N looked at him in confusion. She thought it was a bit rude that he was bringing her son into a conversation that they were clearing having because he felt left out of the news.

"I wouldn’t have returned if Seb didn’t get approached by Christian, we’ve always been in F1 together and as soon as he was offered I knew that I wanted to come back."

"When was this?"

"I got asked in January, after your move was confirmed." Y/N replied honestly.

"You’ve kept that under wraps for a while then." He said in a tone that could only be described as bitter.

"Because we weren’t sure that we were actually going to return. It was a shock to us as well but it felt right and so we accepted. Toto and Christian agreed to wait until closer to the end of the season for the release so that the press would focus on this season and not next."

Which in her opinion is what he should’ve done.

"The team already knew." He stated.

Y/N nodded. "I told them on Friday that I would be driving for them, it’s really upped their motivation for 2025."

"Why didn’t I know?" He eventually just came out and asked.

Y/N looked at him strangely. "Because you chose to leave the team, Lewis. After today, you have to accept that Mercedes is no longer your team and whatever concerns them is no longer your business either. The teams plans for 2025 have no impact on you whatsoever."

Lewis bit his lip and nodded before walking away, nothing else to say.

Y/N watched after him for a moment. They had been teammates for eight years and had an amazing friendship through that but for some reason she had a feeling that was about to end since she was driving for Mercedes.

Had he really thought Toto wasn’t going to find a driver to replace him?

Just before the race.

Seb and Y/N were standing between the first two rows on the grid so they could be nearby Max and George as they got ready as Martin Brundle approached them for his grid walk.

"Sebastian! Y/N! Could I have a quick word?"

"Go on then," Y/N nodded.

"So, you’ve surprised us all this morning by announcing that you’ll both be returning next season, Sebastian you’re going to RedBull and Y/N you’re returning to Mercedes. We want to know something, anything about the process cause nobody was expecting this."

Sebastian smiled. "It’s nothing exciting. After the news of Lewis going to Ferrari, Toto wondered if there was a chance for Y/N to return and then about a month later Christian also called and asked me if I would be willing to come back."

Martin nodded before turning to Y/N. "After Mercedes’ rough two year since you left, do you think they’ll be able to get back on top next year."

Y/N smirked. "I wouldn’t be returning if there wasn’t a chance for me to become a seven time world champion, Martin."

He seemed to be delighted by the news and nodded, thanking the two of them before walking away to hopefully find some of the drivers.

Sebastian wrapped his arm around Y/N as they started walking back towards the garages. "Where do you want to watch it from?"

Y/N thought for a moment. "We’ll watch it from RedBull."

2025

"Okay, state your name, occupation and your team." The woman behind the camera instructed.

Y/N smiled at the camera and began speaking. "I’m Y/N Vettel and I’m a Formula One driver for Mercedes AMG Petronas Formula One team."

She then leaned forward and stared directly into the lens. "I’M BACCKKKKKK!"

Bahrain. 🇧🇭

"Okay, Y/N, are you ready to become a seven time world champion?" Bono asked over the radio.

"You bet I am." She replied confidentially.

"Are you going to become a five time world champion, sunshine?" Hugh asked Sebastian, using the nickname from when Seb won his first all those years ago.

Seb smiled. "That depends on how nice Y/N is feeling."

Y/N kept her gaze on the lights as each one appeared and as soon as they disappeared she let up off the break and slammed her foot down onto the accelerator, both her and Seb driving along side each other as they approached the first corner.

2025 was certainly going to be an interesting season.

[seungminsbaldspot]

Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Word Count: this is really fucking long, 9201

Genre: angst

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years, Reader is referred to as female and wife

Trigger Warnings: Relationship Betrayal: Themes of infidelity and emotional betrayal, Reproductive Issues: Discussions about abortion and related emotional impact, Emotional Distress: Exploration of deep sadness, heartache, and loneliness, Loss and Separation: Themes of losing a family and feeling disconnected, Regret and Self-criticism: Characters expressing regret and self-blame, Conflict and Argument: Scenes involving intense emotional conflict and Feelings of Inadequacy: Characters grappling with their self-worth and personal place in the world.

Taglist: @fate-posts @zukki33 @nightfury @lethergy @wingoodlilboymyway @hxllhxund @stxrg3m @bigbobass @mimirockss

Spoiler: not all things have a good ending

Click here for the previous part, Part Four!

The moment you close your bedroom door, a thought strikes you with clarity: Diego deserves to know about Five’s lingering feelings for Lila. You nod to yourself — deciding to look for him.

As you pass by Diego and Lila’s room, you notice the door is ajar. Peeking inside, you see Lila sprawled across the bed, her legs swinging idly in a manner that seems almost childlike. You shake your head in frustration—Diego is nowhere in sight.

You continue downstairs, Maybe the living room?

You make your way through the house, your footsteps echoing in the quiet. As you approach the living room, you see Diego sitting on the couch, absently polishing his knives, a small smile playing on his lips. For a brief moment, you’re struck by how serene and focused he looks, a stark contrast to the pain swirling in your own heart.

You feel a pang of sympathy for him. After all, you're both caught in the fallout of each other’s spouses choices. It's as if you and Diego are unwitting allies in this mess, both grappling with the consequences of their actions.

Swallowing hard, you approach Diego. “Diego,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the weight of the revelation you’re about to share. He looks up, his expression shifting from calm to concerned as he takes in your serious demeanor.

“What’s going on?” he asks, setting the knife down and straightening his posture.

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “I—I know we haven’t talked about what happened with... well, you know who,” you say, glancing around awkwardly.” But I would really like to. Like right now.”

His eyebrow quirks up in confusion, but he nods, rising from the couch. “Is the garden okay for this conversation?” he asks, gesturing toward the door. You nod, leading the way to the garden. The fresh air and tranquil setting seem to offer a brief respite from the storm of emotions you're both experiencing. Diego follows, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

You nod, leading the way to the garden. The fresh air and tranquil setting seem to offer a brief respite from the storm of emotions swirling around you both. Diego follows, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

As you step outside, the evening light casts a soft glow over the garden, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze. You take a seat on a nearby bench, and Diego settles beside you, his posture tense but attentive.

“All right,” Diego says, looking at you with a mixture of anticipation and unease. “What’s on your mind?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Five... he admitted to me that he still has feelings for Lila.” You pause, watching as Diego’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening.

“He said that?” Diego asks, his voice low and controlled, but you can sense the anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Yes,” you reply quietly. “And I... I don’t know what to do. I’m thinking about ending things with him, but I wanted to talk to you first. I thought... maybe it would help someone in this mess. At least one of us.”

Diego’s jaw clenches, and he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Unbelievable,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “That little shit.” He takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t seem to calm him much; his fists are still balled at his sides. “I don’t blame you for wanting to end things with him. I can’t believe you’ve put up with him for as long as you have.”

You offer a small shrug, feeling a mix of sadness and understanding. “I guess love makes you kind of stupid.” He goes quiet for a moment, staring off into the distance. “Yeah...”

After a beat, he looks back at you, determination flickering in his eyes. “I’m gonna go talk to Lila,” he says. “See you around?”

You nod, watching him turn and walk away, his movements tense and purposeful. He’s trying to keep his composure, but it’s clear that anger is coursing through him, each step more forceful than the last.

You head back to your room, hoping Five is gone. After everything that’s happened, it would be awkward to find him still there. As you climb the stairs, your mind races. Today has been a whirlwind. You and Five almost fucked again. You found out he still has feelings for Lila, which makes all his apologies feel meaningless. Now, you’re seriously considering ending things with him.

Just as you reach your bedroom floor, you hear shouting echoing down the hallway. Your heart quickens, the knot in your stomach tightening. You strain to listen, trying to make out the voices. It’s unmistakably Diego, his tone sharp with anger. You can’t make out what he’s saying, but it’s clear he’s furious.

And then, another voice cuts through—Lila’s. She’s shouting back, her words a rapid fire of frustration and defense. Your breath catches. Shit. They must be arguing about Five. You creep closer, curiosity and dread warring inside you.

Then you hear another voice — Five’s.

“We thought it would be better to just say it’s yours.”

Your heart skips a beat. What the hell is he talking about? You press yourself against the wall, straining to hear more, a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach.

“You lied about the baby? It’s not mine? What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Diego yells.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, broken only by Lila’s frustrated sigh. “I didn’t lie,” she snaps back, her voice wavering between anger and defensiveness. “I just—”

“You just what?” Diego cuts her off, his tone dripping with betrayal. “You thought you’d trap me with a baby that wasn’t even mine?” Five’s voice comes through, low and controlled. “It wasn’t like that, Diego. We thought—”

But Diego’s anger flares hotter, his tone rising with each word. “I don’t give a shit what you thought!” he snaps. “This isn’t just my life you’re fucking with here —there’s a baby involved, and your wife’s life is on the line, too. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

The room falls into a tense silence, the weight of Diego's words hanging heavy in the air. “Diego—please don’t tell her,” Five says, obviously referring to you. You slap your hand over your mouth, feeling a mix of anger and disbelief. Does he really think you’re that naive?

Diego groans in frustration. “I’m not a shady bitch,” he snaps. “You two are both fucking cheaters. You really are perfect for each other.” He turns to leave and, in doing so, catches sight of you. Your eyes widen in shock as you meet his gaze.

Diego chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “Looks like nobody’s gonna need to tell her,” he says, pointing toward you. Five’s eyes slowly meet yours, his expression shifting from shock to a pained resignation. “Fuck...” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Diego walks past you, giving your shoulder a pat before continuing down the hallway. You gulp, watching him go. As you turn to face Five and Lila, the reality of the situation hits hard. Lila is partially undressed—her shirt off but her bra and shorts still on. It’s clear what they were up to before Diego’s interruption. The sight confirms what you’ve feared and felt all along.

Five steps toward you, his face a mask of anguish. “Listen, I—”

You cut him off, shaking your head in disbelief. “Don’t fucking speak.” Your gaze locks onto Five, then shifts to Lila, your eyes narrowing with anger. You’re furious with them both. They were both married—how fucked up do they have to be in order to what to do this?

How fucked up are they in their heads, genuinely?

It’s been a few days since the confrontation, and the tension in the house has been palpable. Everything feels strained and fragile. You’ve spent this time preparing for the next steps, including arranging the divorce paperwork. Now, with the documents in hand, you’re feeling a mix of anxiety and resolve.

You take a deep breath and head to where Five is. He’s sitting alone, looking lost and distant. His posture is slumped, and he seems consumed by his thoughts.

“Five,” you begin, your voice trembling slightly. He looks up, his expression a mix of apprehension and sorrow.

“I’ve arranged everything for the divorce,” you continue, holding out the papers. “I need you to sign these.”

Five’s eyes move to the papers, and you can see the conflict swirling within him. He takes a deep breath, clearly struggling with his emotions. “I—I can’t sign these,” he says, his voice strained. “Not like this.”

You stare at him, frustration and hurt swirling inside you. “What do you mean you can’t sign them?” you ask, your voice tight. He sighs deeply, his gaze falling to the floor. “I’m not ready to lose you,” he says, his voice cracking with emotion.

You let out a bitter laugh. “I think you lost me the moment you decided to fuck Lila—and to top it off, get her knocked up.”

He sighs, his face a portrait of anguish. “I know I messed up. But can’t we at least try to talk this out?”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “I think we’re past talking, Five. You lied to me about the baby being Diego’s and gave me nothing but empty apologies.” Your tears start to spill over. “How could I ever trust you again?”

He reaches out to grab you, but you jerk away, your voice sharp and resolute. “I don’t want your filthy hands on me ever a-fucking-gain.” Taking a deep breath, you hold up the papers. “You can either sign them or not. It doesn’t matter. Only one of us has to want to end the marriage. It’s not like we have assets or anything.”

Five’s shoulders slump, the weight of your words visibly crushing him. He looks down at the papers, his expression a mixture of regret and resignation. “I see. So this is really happening,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you.

You stand firm, though your heart aches with the finality of the moment. “Yes, it is,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

He remains silent for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll sign them,” he says, his voice low and broken. He reaches for a pen and begins to sign, each stroke a painful reminder of what was lost. You watch him in silence, your emotions a tangled mess of anger, sadness, and relief. When he finishes, he slides the papers back to you, his gaze avoiding yours. You take them, feeling the finality of the act settle over you. “Thank you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take these to the lawyer.”

Five nods, not trusting himself to speak. As you turn to leave, you glance back one last time, your heart heavy with a mix of disbelief and sorrow. It's hard to think that the person standing before you was once the man you once loved so deeply. The reality that you had once been so intertwined with this person, now feels surreal.

As you're making your way back to your bedroom, you bump into Diego. He glances at the papers in your hands and raises an eyebrow. “You made it official, huh?” he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and empathy.

You nod, trying to keep your composure. “Yeah, Just gotta take them to the lawyer.” Diego pauses, then asks, “Who’s the lawyer you’re going to?”

You look at him curiously but provide the name. Diego nods thoughtfully. “Is he any good? I mean,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “I’m, you know, looking for someone so Lila and I can separate.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, yeah, he’s good. Really professional and straightforward.” Diego gives a relieved nod. “Yeah, guess I’ll pay him a visit soon. Thanks for the info.” He pats your shoulder lightly before heading off toward his room.

As Diego walks away, you head back to your own room, feeling the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. The prospect of ending things with Five and the thought of Diego’s own separation weigh on your mind.

You settle into your room, seeking a moment of solitude. The silence around you is both soothing and suffocating, a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few days. As you start packing your things, the task feels oddly cathartic, each item folded and placed into boxes representing a step toward closing this painful chapter of your life.

The process is slow and deliberate. You pick up a framed photograph from the nightstand, a snapshot of a happier time. The image of Five, with his easy smile and bright eyes, feels like a cruel reminder of what was once real. Is this really what’s best? you wonder, your heart aching as memories flood back. You question whether you’re making the right choice, feeling a pang of doubt.

You carefully fold a sweater, the fabric soft against your fingers. Maybe there’s a chance to fix this? You let the thought linger before shaking it away. The reality of Five’s betrayal, his affair with Lila, and the lies about the baby weigh heavily on you. How could you ever trust him again? The thought echoes through your mind, a painful but necessary reminder of why you’re doing this.

As you continue packing, you come across a small box of keepsakes—letters, trinkets from trips, and tokens of affection that once held so much meaning. Each item now feels like a relic of a past that no longer fits with your present reality. The sight of these mementos makes your chest tighten. Isn’t it sad how something that once meant so much can become a symbol of heartache? you think.

You pause to take a deep breath, your emotions a tumultuous mix of anger, sadness, and resignation. Five used to be someone you believed in, you remind yourself. He was full of promise, of dreams and plans. But those promises mean nothing now, shattered by his deceit and betrayal. The framed picture of him, still smiling, feels like a lie, a facade that crumbled the moment he chose to be with someone else.

No, you tell yourself firmly. Five is a liar and a cheater. He betrayed you in the worst possible way, and his apologies were nothing but empty words. You cannot ignore the evidence of his deceit, nor can you overlook the fact that he has continued to deceive, even in the aftermath of everything that’s happened.

The weight of the decision presses down on you. You think about the life you’ve built together, the dreams you shared, and how those dreams have been tarnished. This is the right decision, you insist to yourself. It may be painful, but staying in this house, in this relationship, would only prolong the suffering. You deserve better than to be someone’s second choice, a pawn in their misguided plans.

You take one last look around the room, the space that once felt like a sanctuary now stripped of its comfort. With a final sigh, you continue packing.

It’s been a few days since Five signed the divorce papers. The act itself felt monumental at the time, like a heavy door slamming shut on a chapter of your life. Yet, in the days that followed, you’ve felt more like you’re in limbo than moving forward. You’ve spent hours packing up your belongings, folding memories into cardboard boxes, trying to make sense of what’s worth keeping and what needs to be left behind.

You aren’t sure if Five is aware that you’re planning to leave the Hargreeves residence for good. He’s been keeping his distance since that final conversation, but whether it’s out of respect or a desire to avoid confrontation, you can’t tell. Part of you wonders if he even notices your absence from shared spaces or if he’s too wrapped up in his own guilt and shame to care. The uncertainty gnaws at you, and you hate it. You hate that after everything, you still find yourself thinking about him—about what he’s thinking, feeling, and doing.

It’s a cruel irony, you think, as you pull another sweater from the closet and fold it neatly. Despite all the betrayal and heartache, you’re still haunted by thoughts of him. You catch yourself wondering if he’s regretting his choices, if he’s truly sorry, or if he’s already moved on. You try to push these thoughts away, focusing instead on the task at hand, but it’s difficult. They keep creeping back in, uninvited and unwanted, like a song stuck in your head that you can’t seem to shake.

You glance around the room, now half-empty, and feel a pang of sadness. This space, once filled with warmth and the echoes of shared laughter, now feels hollow. It’s strange how quickly things can change—how a place that felt like home can become just a room, stripped of its meaning and significance. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Focus on what’s next, you remind yourself. Not on what’s been lost.

Still, as you move through the house, collecting the last of your things, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Anger, sadness, frustration—all of them swirl inside you, a tempest that you’re struggling to keep contained. The thought of Five lingers at the back of your mind, a constant, nagging presence. Even now, after everything he’s done, you still find yourself wondering about him. It infuriates you.

Why do you still care what he thinks? Why does it still matter?

You want to be done with him, to close this chapter and move on with your life. But it’s not that simple. Love, even when tainted by betrayal, doesn’t just disappear overnight. It clings to you, lingers in the quiet moments, and makes itself known when you least expect it. You suppose that’s the hardest part—learning to let go, not just of the person, but of all the hopes and dreams that came with them.

As you fold the last of your clothes, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look tired, worn out. This whole ordeal has taken a toll on you, both physically and emotionally. You brush a stray hair from your face and take a deep breath. Your’e doing the right thing, You deserve better.

You finish packing the box and tape it shut with a resolute sigh. You step back, surveying the room one last time. It feels surreal to think that this is it—that after everything, you’re really leaving. You try to focus on the future, on the fresh start that awaits you, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Five.

What will he do when he sees you’re gone? Will he even care? The questions twist in your mind, and you feel a fresh wave of frustration wash over you. Why does it still matter?  But deep down, you already know the answer.

Because you loved him. Because, despite everything, a part of you still does.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You can’t dwell on that now. You have to move forward, to think about what’s best for you. And staying here, in this house filled with ghosts, isn’t it.

Grabbing the last of your things, you head toward the door. As you step into the hallway, you pause, half-expecting to see Five coming around the corner, to hear his voice calling after you. But there’s nothing—just silence. And for the first time in days, you feel a small, fragile sense of relief. Maybe this is the beginning of the end. Maybe it’s the start of something new.

With a deep breath, you make your way down the stairs, each step feeling like a step toward a new chapter. You don’t know what the future holds, but one thing is certain: it’s time to leave the past behind.

You make your way to the front door, a heavy box in your hands. Each step feels more final than the last, the weight of the moment sinking in. You’ve rented a moving van that’s parked out front, its back door open and ready to receive the remnants of a life you’re leaving behind. You’ve found a small, cheap, but nice apartment across town—a place to start over. It’s not much, but it’s perfect for what you need — an escape.

As you reach the door, you see Diego standing nearby. He catches sight of you struggling with the box and quickly steps forward, pulling the door open for you. “Thanks,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady, though it’s clear he can see the exhaustion and sadness etched on your face.

He nods, his expression softening with understanding. “You got any other boxes?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s a warmth in it—a kindness that you’ve come to appreciate over the past few days.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Yeah, a few more in the living room,” you reply, shifting the box in your arms slightly. “I’ve been packing them up. This is the last of the stuff from upstairs.”

Diego takes the box from you effortlessly, holding it with ease. “I’ll help you carry them out,” he offers. “No sense in doing this alone.”

You give him a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks, Diego,” you say, feeling a bit of the weight on your shoulders lift—not just from the box, but from the gesture itself. He’s been a surprising source of comfort through all of this. Despite his own heartbreak, he’s been there for you, offering support without asking for anything in return.

Together, you walk back into the living room, where a few more boxes are stacked against the wall. Diego sets the box he’s carrying down and looks around. “You’re really leaving, huh?” he says, more as an observation than a question.

“Yeah,” you answer, a hint of sadness in your voice. “I think it’s for the best. Staying here… it’s just too hard.” Diego nods, understanding. “I get it,” he says softly. “Sometimes, you just need to get away from the place that hurt you, start fresh somewhere new.”

You glance at him, seeing the shared pain in his eyes. He’s been going through his own struggles, dealing with Lila’s betrayal and the fallout from it. You feel a strange sense of camaraderie with him—like you’re both navigating the same storm, even if in different boats.

He grabs another box, hefting it easily. “You know,” he begins, his tone thoughtful, “if you ever need anything… if you ever want to talk or, I don’t know, just get away from all this for a bit… I’m here.”

His words are sincere, and you feel a warmth in your chest. “Thank you, Diego,” you say again, your voice softer this time. “I really appreciate that.” He nods, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “No problem. We’ve got to stick together, right?”

You nod back, a faint smile tugging at your lips. It’s a small comfort, knowing that even in the midst of all this chaos, there’s someone who understands—someone who’s willing to help you through it.

Together, you and Diego carry the rest of the boxes out to the van. The sun is starting to set, casting a warm, golden light over everything. It almost feels like the world is giving you a gentle nudge forward, encouraging you to keep going.

As you load the last box into the van, you turn to Diego. “I guess this is it,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, though there’s a hint of emotion in it.

Diego nods, looking at you with a mixture of empathy and encouragement. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he replies. “But remember, it’s not the end. It’s just… a new beginning.”

You take a deep breath, letting his words sink in. “A new beginning,” you repeat softly, nodding. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He gives you a reassuring nod, then steps back, allowing you to close the van’s door. As you turn to leave, he raises a hand in a casual salute. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

You nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. “You too, Diego,” you say. “You too.”

With that, you climb into the driver’s seat of the van. You take one last look at the Hargreeves residence—the place that has been your home, your prison, your battlefield. Then, with a deep breath, you start the engine and drive away, leaving the past behind as you head toward whatever comes next.

You've settled nicely into your new apartment. The place is small but cozy, with just enough room for the few belongings you took with you. It’s quiet, too—so much quieter than you’re used to. The silence, however, kills you.

At the Hargreeves residence, there was always noise, always something happening to keep your mind from wandering. Whether it was Klaus losing his mind over something as simple as misplacing a bottle of booze, or Allison laughing with Luther over some inside joke. There was Viktor playing the violin in the early mornings, his melodies filling the house with a kind of soft serenity. Even Diego and Lila’s constant bickering had its own comforting rhythm—a mix of arguing and laughing that made the place feel alive. But now, in your new place, there’s none of that. Just silence. Heavy, all-encompassing silence.

And then, of course, there’s Five.

God, you miss him.

It hits you like a punch to the gut every time you think about it. You miss the way he would storm into a room, all sharp edges and quick wit, filling the space with his presence. The way his brow would furrow in concentration when he was deep in thought or working on one of his plans. The way his eyes would soften when he looked at you in those rare, unguarded moments when he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

You miss the sound of his voice, that low, smooth timbre that could shift from calm calculation to biting sarcasm in an instant. You miss the warmth of his touch, the way his hand would linger on your back, reassuring and steadying you. Even now, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, the way it sent shivers down your spine.

You hate how much you miss him. How, despite everything he’s done, every lie he’s told, every betrayal you’ve suffered, you still find yourself longing for him. You hate the way your heart aches whenever you think of him, a dull, persistent throb that refuses to go away.

It’s like there’s a part of you that can’t let go, no matter how hard you try. A part of you that still clings to the hope that maybe, just maybe, things could have been different. That maybe he could have chosen you, could have been honest with you, could have loved you the way you loved him.

But he didn’t.

And now, here you are, alone in this quiet apartment, with nothing but your thoughts and memories to keep you company.

You try to distract yourself, to fill the silence with noise. You turn on the TV, but it feels hollow and meaningless. You play some music, but it only reminds you of the songs you used to listen to with Five, the ones you danced to in the kitchen late at night, laughing and spinning around like you didn’t have a care in the world.

You try reading, but your mind keeps wandering back to him, to the way things used to be. To the life you thought you were building together.

Eventually, you give up and let the silence wash over you. You let yourself feel the weight of it, the emptiness that stretches out around you. You let yourself feel the pain, the loneliness, the heartache.

Because maybe that’s the only way you’ll ever be able to move on.

Maybe you just have to let yourself feel it all, let yourself grieve for what was and what could have been. Let yourself mourn the loss of a love that wasn’t meant to be.

And maybe, one day, the silence won’t feel so heavy. Maybe one day, it won’t hurt so much.

But for now, you just sit there, alone in your quiet apartment, and let yourself miss him.

God, you miss him.

You think about what could have been if Five hadn’t cheated.

It’s a thought that creeps up on you more often than you’d like to admit, slipping into your mind in the quiet moments when you’re alone with your thoughts. What if he hadn’t betrayed you? What if he hadn’t gone back to Lila, hadn’t lied to you about it, hadn’t gotten her pregnant?

You close your eyes and let yourself imagine it for a moment—a different reality, one where things didn’t fall apart. Where you and Five are still together, still living in the Hargreeves mansion with all its chaos and noise. You imagine waking up next to him, his arm draped lazily over you, his face soft and peaceful in sleep. You’d watch him for a few moments, taking in the sight of him before he stirs awake, his eyes blinking open to meet yours.

In this imagined reality, there’s no tension, no betrayal hanging between you. There’s only the love you felt for each other, warm and comforting like a blanket. You’d start your days together, sharing quiet mornings with cups of coffee and stolen kisses. Maybe you’d argue about something silly—Five always did have a way of getting under your skin with his stubbornness—but it would be the kind of argument that ends in laughter, in making up and teasing touches.

You’d work together on whatever problems or missions came up, a seamless team. Five would still be his intense, driven self, always planning, always strategizing, but there would be moments of softness, too. Moments where he’d let his guard down just for you, where he’d let you see the parts of himself he kept hidden from everyone else.

Maybe you’d go out sometimes, just the two of you. You’d walk through the city, hand in hand, sharing stories and secrets, feeling like the only two people in the world. And at night, you’d come home to the mansion, to the noise and the chaos, but it wouldn’t matter. Because you’d have each other.

You’d have a future together—a real future. One where you could imagine growing old with him, seeing the lines of age etch into his face, his hair going a little grayer, his body maybe slowing down a bit. But through it all, you’d still be by his side. Still his partner, his confidante, his love.

And maybe, just maybe, there would be a family. Not like the Hargreeves siblings—a real family, a small one, made up of just the two of you and maybe a child or two. You can almost see it: a little boy with Five’s intense eyes or a girl with your smile, running through the halls of the mansion, bringing a different kind of noise to the place. You and Five would watch them grow, teach them, protect them, love them with everything you had.

But then reality crashes back in, shattering the fragile dream.

Because that’s all it is—a dream. A fantasy of what could have been, what might have been if Five had made different choices. If he hadn’t cheated, hadn’t lied, hadn’t chosen Lila over you.

Your heart aches with the loss of it, with the realization that the life you’re imagining was never real and never could be. You think about the way Five used to look at you, the way he held you like you were his whole world. You remember the promises he made, the plans you made together.

And then you remember the betrayal. The lies. The nights you spent alone, wondering where he was, what he was doing. The sick feeling in your stomach when you found out about Lila, the way your world crumbled around you when you realized he’d been lying to you all along.

The dream fades, replaced by the stark reality of your new life. Alone in your quiet apartment, far away from the noise and the chaos of the Hargreeves mansion, far away from Five and all the pain he caused.

Maybe it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Better to be alone than to be with someone who could hurt you so deeply, who could betray you so completely.

But still, you can’t help but wonder. What if?

What if he hadn’t cheated?

What if he’d chosen you?

What if things could have been different?

You know you can’t change the past. You can’t go back and rewrite history, no matter how much you wish you could. But the thought lingers, a quiet whisper in the back of your mind, a reminder of what might have been.

And as much as you hate it, as much as you want to move on and leave it all behind, you know it’s going to take time. Time to heal, time to forget, time to let go of the what-ifs and the could-have-beens.

You sigh, feeling the weight of it all settle over you once more. You turn on the TV again, hoping for a distraction, but your mind keeps drifting back to him, to what you had, to what you’ve lost.

Maybe one day, you’ll be able to let go of the past and move on. Maybe one day, you’ll stop wondering what if.

But today isn’t that day.

Today, you still think about him. About what could have been. About the life you could have had together.

And you can’t help but miss him.

God, you miss him.

You sigh, the sound echoing softly in the silence of your new apartment. You glance around, taking in the sparse, unfamiliar surroundings. It’s not much, but it’s yours. The walls are bare, the furniture minimal—just the essentials. It still smells faintly of fresh paint and new beginnings, but there’s an emptiness to it that you can’t quite shake. The quiet is suffocating, a stark contrast to the constant noise and chaos of the Hargreeves mansion.

You lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry. What’s he up to now? The thought slips into your mind before you can stop it. You hate that you’re still thinking about him, still wondering about him. But the truth is, you can’t help it. Five has been a part of your life for so long that it feels strange not to know where he is, what he’s doing. The absence of his presence is a void that you can’t seem to fill.

You imagine him back at the mansion, surrounded by the remnants of a life you once shared. Is he in his room, sitting in that old leather chair, sipping on whiskey and poring over some ancient book? Is he pacing the halls, his mind racing with plans and calculations, always thinking, always moving? Or is he in the kitchen, making himself a cup of coffee, his expression pensive as he stares out the window, lost in thought?

Maybe he’s with Lila. The thought makes your stomach twist. You can almost picture it: the two of them together, their heads close as they whisper and scheme. Maybe they’re arguing, as they often did, their voices raised, filled with that strange blend of love and hate that seemed to define their relationship. Or maybe they’re...you can’t even bring yourself to think about it. The idea is too painful, too raw.

You shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, you tell yourself firmly. He’s not your concern anymore. He made his choice. And you made yours. You chose to leave, to start over, to try and build a new life without him. But even as you tell yourself this, you can’t help but feel the ache of longing, the pull of what once was.

You wonder if he’s thinking about you too. If he regrets what happened. If he misses you. A part of you hopes he does—that he’s feeling even a fraction of the pain you’re feeling. But another part of you knows that it doesn’t change anything. Regret won’t undo the betrayal. Missing you won’t mend the trust that’s been broken.

You rise from the couch and move to the window, looking out over the city. It’s a gray day, the sky heavy with clouds. The world outside feels distant, almost dreamlike, as if it’s moving on without you. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the chill that’s settled deep in your bones.

What is he doing right now? The question hangs in the air, unanswered. You imagine picking up the phone, dialing his number, hearing his voice on the other end. But you know that’s not an option. Not anymore. You’ve made your choice, and he’s made his. There’s no going back.

Still, the curiosity nags at you, the wondering. It’s a hard habit to break, the urge to know, to be connected. For so long, your life was intertwined with his, your days and nights filled with him. It’s strange to think of a future without that, without him.

You turn away from the window, forcing yourself to move, to do something. Anything to distract yourself from the thoughts swirling in your mind. You start unpacking a box, pulling out books and setting them on the shelf, trying to focus on the mundane task in front of you. But your mind keeps drifting back to him, to the life you had, to the life you could have had.

Is he thinking about me? you wonder again. Does he miss me? You shake your head, trying to clear the thoughts away. You know you need to let go, to stop wondering, to stop caring. But it’s easier said than done.

You pause, holding a book in your hands, staring at it without really seeing it. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. It’s time to move on, you remind yourself. Time to focus on your own life, on your own future.

You haven’t heard from any of the Hargreeves since you left. The silence is heavy, a constant reminder of the void that has opened up in your life. They were the closest thing to a family you had, a group of misfits who somehow fit together. Now, without them, you feel unmoored, drifting in a sea of uncertainty.

Your thoughts turn to the commission—your former employer, and in some twisted way, another kind of family. That was a lifetime ago. You left that world behind, hoping for something better, something more. But now, standing alone in your small, empty apartment, you wonder if you made the right choice.

The reality of your situation sinks in. You don’t have a family outside of the Hargreeves. You were pulled into their orbit by Five, drawn into their chaotic world, and in a way, you found a place there. But now, you’re adrift again, and the loneliness is almost suffocating.

Your actual family, the one you were born into, is most likely not even in this timeline. The thought makes your chest tighten with a mix of frustration and sadness. You don’t even know where they are or if they’re alive. Time travel has its costs, and the disconnection from your roots is one of them. Even if you wanted to find them, there’s no way to do it without the commission’s help. And after everything that’s happened, going back there is the last thing you want.

You rub your temples, feeling a headache starting to form. The isolation is starting to wear on you. You’ve tried to fill your days with work, with unpacking, with anything that might distract you from the gnawing emptiness. But no matter what you do, the thoughts creep back in.

What would it be like to switch timelines? you wonder. To find a world where things turned out differently, where you and Five never crossed paths, or where he never cheated, and you lived out the life you once imagined together. But those thoughts are just fantasies, just as unreachable as the timeline they belong to. Without the commission’s technology, there’s no way to hop between realities.

Even if there was, you know it wouldn’t be as simple as that. Time and space are fragile, and messing with them comes with consequences. You’ve seen firsthand the damage that can be done by playing with the fabric of reality. And besides, running away to another timeline wouldn’t change what happened here. It wouldn’t heal the hurt or mend the trust that’s been broken.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. You feel more alone than you ever have, even more than when you first joined the commission, or when you first found yourself thrust into the chaos of the Hargreeves’ world. At least then, you had something to hold onto. Now, you feel like you’re grasping at air.

You sigh, “I need some air.”

You stand up, the heaviness in your chest making it difficult to breathe. The walls of your apartment feel like they’re closing in on you, the silence suffocating. The emptiness is overwhelming. You need to get out, to clear your head, to find some way to make sense of the mess your life has become.

Grabbing your coat from the hook by the door, you slip it on and head outside. The afternoon sun is high in the sky, casting warm rays that offer a sharp contrast to the cold, stagnant atmosphere of your apartment. The city streets are alive with activity—people bustling about, cars honking, vendors calling out to passersby. The noise feels overwhelming, but also oddly comforting. It reminds you that life goes on, even when yours feels like it’s standing still.

You start walking, not really sure where you’re going, just needing to move, to escape the thoughts that have been plaguing you. Your footsteps blend into the hum of the city, lost among the chatter and footsteps of others. You walk past busy storefronts and colorful cafes, the scent of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee filling the air. You pull your coat tighter around you, though the air is mild. The weight of your thoughts is what brings the chill.

What am I doing? you think to yourself. You feel a surge of frustration bubbling up inside you. How did I end up here?

As you wander, you find yourself heading towards a familiar place—the park where you used to go with Five. It was a favorite spot, a place where you’d both sit and talk for hours, sharing dreams and plans, back when the future felt certain. The memories are bittersweet now, but some part of you feels drawn to it, as if it holds some answers you can’t quite reach.

You reach the park and make your way to a bench near the fountain, one you remember sitting on many times before. The sound of the water trickling into the basin is calming, a soft, soothing melody amidst the noise of the city. You sit down, staring out at the small pond, watching the ducks glide across the surface, the sunlight glinting off the water.

The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the ground, and the park is filled with people—joggers, families, couples walking hand in hand. You watch them, feeling a strange mix of envy and detachment. They all seem so carefree, so unaware of the weight that you carry.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to ground yourself in the moment. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of something—someone—that makes your heart skip a beat. You turn your head slightly, your breath catching in your throat.

It’s Five.

He’s across the park, sitting at a small outdoor café, a cup of coffee in front of him. His head is down, focused on a book in his hands, his expression calm and absorbed. He looks different out here, in the daylight, without the familiar surroundings of the Hargreeves mansion. More relaxed, almost like the man you fell in love with. You feel a pang in your chest as you watch him, a mix of longing and hurt.

What is he doing here? Does he come here often?

You hesitate, torn between the urge to approach him and the instinct to turn and walk away. You know that seeing him will only reopen old wounds, but some part of you can’t help but be drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, to calm the racing of your heart.

He looks up from his book suddenly, as if sensing your presence, and his eyes meet yours across the park. For a moment, time seems to stand still. You can see the surprise in his eyes, the flicker of recognition, followed by something else—something softer, almost wistful.

You’re not sure what to do, whether to stay or go, whether to speak or remain silent. Your feet feel rooted to the ground, unable to move in either direction. Five raises his hand in a small, hesitant wave, his expression cautious, almost hopeful.

You swallow hard, your emotions a tangled mess. You don’t know what to say, what to do. You’ve imagined this moment so many times, and yet now that it’s here, you’re at a loss. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your breath coming in shallow bursts.

Finally, you take a step forward, then another, your movements slow and uncertain. Five’s eyes remain on you, watching your approach with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. You stop a few feet away from him, close enough to see the small details of his face—the faint lines of worry, the sadness in his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” you reply, your own voice trembling with emotion.

There’s a long pause, a silence that stretches out between you, filled with all the things you want to say but don’t know how. You can see the regret in his eyes, the apology he’s trying to convey without words.

“Do you…want to sit?” he asks, gesturing to the chair across from him.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod slowly, pulling out the chair and sitting down. The distance between you feels both vast and intimate, a strange mix of familiarity and distance.

Five looks down at his hands, then back up at you, his expression pained. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he admits. “I’ve been coming here a lot lately…thinking.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. Part of you wants to lash out, to demand answers, to make him feel the hurt you’ve been carrying. But another part of you just wants to understand, to find some kind of closure.

“I miss you,” he says suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. “Every day. I think about you, about us. About everything I’ve ruined.”

Your heart clenches at his words, his voice full of that quiet sincerity that used to melt your resolve. But now, all it does is stir the anger that’s been simmering beneath the surface since the day you found out. You want to believe him, but the wounds are still too fresh, the betrayal still too raw.

“Miss me?” you scoff, your voice rising, unable to keep the bitterness out of your tone. “You don’t get to miss me, Five. You lost that right when you decided to screw around with Lila. And what about your baby? You want to talk about what you’ve ruined? Look around. You did this. You chose this.”

Five's face contorts with pain, but he pushes through, his voice trembling. “Lila… she lied about the baby.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, leaving you momentarily stunned. The sharp edge of your anger is blunted by shock.

You shake your head in disbelief. “So the baby never existed? She lied?”

Five nods slowly, his eyes filled with deep sorrow. “Yes. There was no baby. She told me it was a lie to manipulate me, to keep me from leaving.”

He looks down, his face falling further. He takes a sip of his coffee, making a face at the taste. He was always very particular about his coffee, and clearly, this one didn't meet his standards.

You feel overwhelmed, the weight of his confession settling heavily on your shoulders. “I—I don’t know what to say, Five.”

He shakes his head, a mixture of resignation and frustration in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” he says softly. You sigh, your mind rushing, Should you even say this?

“If I’m being honest, I guess that I’ve missed you too.”

Five’s expression shifts, a flicker of hope and disbelief in his eyes. He seems to struggle with his emotions, clearly taken aback by your admission. For a moment, the tension between you both eases slightly, though the weight of everything that’s happened still lingers heavily.

“You’ve missed me?” Five asks, his voice barely audible. There’s a vulnerability in his tone that makes your heart ache even more.

You shake your head, “Don’t let that get to your head. We were together for years. Of fucking course I missed your dumbass.”

Five’s face falls slightly, his vulnerability giving way to a trace of hurt. He opens his mouth to respond but seems to reconsider, his words catching in his throat. He simply nods, a resigned look settling over him.

You continue, trying to keep your tone steady despite the flood of emotions. “Don’t take that the wrong way. It’s not about wanting to fix things or go back to how we were. It’s just… hard to completely erase what we had.”

Five’s eyes are focused on the swirling coffee in his cup, his fingers drumming on the mug. “I understand,” he says quietly, as if trying to make sense of everything himself. A heavy silence stretches between you, filled with unspoken words and lingering emotions.

You shift uncomfortably, your mind racing. Was coming over here a mistake? you wonder. The weight of the conversation feels overwhelming, and you start to question whether reopening this wound was the right choice.

Breaking the silence, Five sighs heavily. “She was kicked out of the house,” he says, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and sadness.

You look up, startled. “Lila was kicked out?” The shock is evident in your voice. You had imagined many possible scenarios, but this wasn’t one of them.

Five nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. After everything that happened… Diego couldn’t take it anymore. He asked her to leave.”

You pause, your mind racing. After a moment, you ask, “Do you not have feelings for her anymore?”

Five turns his gaze to the side, his face a mixture of frustration and regret. “I… I’m not sure. I fucked up, really fucking bad. I don’t think I deserve to feel any way about anything at this point.”

Five turns his gaze to the side, his face a mixture of frustration and regret. “I… I’m not sure. I fucked up, really fucking bad. I don’t think I deserve to feel any way about anything at this point.”

The honesty in his voice stings. You want to believe him, and you almost think you can see the sincerity in his eyes. But he’s lied to you before, What does this matter?

You sigh, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m glad you’re finally starting to become self-aware. It’s a start, at least.” You look at him, trying to gauge if there's any real change in him or if this is just another layer of his guilt.

Five shifts uncomfortably, his eyes avoiding yours. “I wish things could be different.”

“I do too,” you say, your voice soft as you look away.

The silence stretches out, filled with the weight of unspoken regrets and shattered dreams. You take a deep breath, fighting back the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I should go," you finally say, turning to leave.

Five nods, his face a mix of sorrow and resignation. As you walk away, you feel the sting of finality in every step. The distance between you grows, and with it, the painful realization that some wounds may never fully heal.

It really fucking sucks what Six Years, Five Months and Two days can do to a person.

Final Author's Notes: Starting off, I want to thank everyone for loving this fic. This fic was the first time I've really wrote angst -- and I had no idea that I would love writing it so much.

I had come up with the idea for this literally the day I posted part one -- but the ending was completely different. Reader was supposed to stay with Five and work things out, but after seeing how people reacted -- I decided to adapt and change some things. I really like how this ended, (UNLIKE THE SHOW)

and given that I will be writing a happy Five Fic / oneshot coming within the next few days bc season 4 was fucked up :P

[megalony]

Mayday, Mayday

This is an Evan Buckley request I finished so quickly. Re-watching season six has put me in another Buck mood and made me desperate to write about the lightning scenes. I hope you all enjoy. Requests are always open.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen

911 Masterlist

Summary: Evan's worst nightmare comes to life when he watches his wife get struck by lightning. And he does everything in his power to save her.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Go get 'em, cowgirl."

A jolt ran down (Y/n)'s spine when the safety clip was hooked onto the belt around her waist, pulling her onto her back foot. Her eyes landed on the red cable clipped onto her back that reached down to the winch at the bottom of the ladder she was on.

"Thanks. Do me a favour and move the ladder closer, I'm not jumping onto the balcony, you know." (Y/n) nudged her shoulder with Eddie who saluted and nodded to her request, squinting to look at her through the rain.

The ladder was close but not quite close enough for (Y/n) to make a safe jump or climb over onto the balcony. They had to be at least another five inches closer, there was no way (Y/n) was jumping that distance because if she missed, she would be hanging in mid air with no way up or down.

With her fingers curled round the ladder, (Y/n) started her ascent and climbed up. She took deep breaths and rolled her lips together, trying her best to look around despite the rain pouring down down. It was so heavy that she couldn't see the ladder in front of her with the torrential downpour that made her helmet jutter on her head and raindrops fell down the rim of the helmet onto her nose.

Her lips were drenched, her lashes were fighting off the rain and every inch of her skin was shaking from the low temperature.

"Fucking weather," She muttered to herself as she reached the end of the ladder and took a quick glance around.

She could feel the ladder moving beneath her, getting her as close to the fifth story balcony as they could so she didn't have far to climb. There were three families still stuck inside who needed evacuating and the 221 team were trying to get inside through the lobby and clear the stairwell. (Y/n) had to head in through the balcony and escort everybody down and make sure the building was clear.

Eddie's voice came through the radio in muffled clumps of static so all (Y/n) heard was 'you… ch.. o.'

"Come again?" Her left hand curled around the radio and she leaned her head closer, pressing her ear as close to the radio as she could to try and workout what he said. He was either giving her the go ahead to climb over or giving her some sort of instruction. "Eddie?"

(Y/n) tilted her head over the side of the ladder and let herself look over the edge.

A fond smile lit up her wet lips when she clocked her eyes on her husband stood at the bottom. He had one hand on his hip in a rather cocky manner and the other pressed against his helmet to shield his eyes as he looked up at her. He wasn't heading into the building just yet, he and Bobby were waiting to help guide everybody out and get the hose to put out the lower fires. And Evan wasn't about to start that until he watched his wife get into the building to make sure she was alright.

If she were a bit lower down, (Y/n) knew she would have seen Evan grinning at her.

A shudder bolted down her spine and she tremored on the ladder, hunching forward when a horrid noise rattled through the sky. Her eyes lifted and her head snapped up towards the sky but all she could see was thousands of white droplets raining down from the heavens. The sky was a misty blue mixed with swirls of black like a canvas with only a few swirls of clouds to be seen through the rain.

Looking up from this angle made the rain seem like it was being sucked up from the ground rather than falling down from the clouds.

"What the Hell is that?" (Y/n) didn't realise she still had her fingers pressed into her radio while her attention was on the sky.

Evan pursed his lips, morphing his smile into a frown as he watched his wife look up towards the sky.

They all heard it too.

The rippling noise that made them feel like they were deep underwater. The sky looked unforgiving, full of darkness without a single glimmer of light to guide them tonight. It made the building look like a beacon in the sheet of blackness, shining a vibrant burgundy with melted orange flames flickering at the sides. Leaking brown ash clouds up into the night sky.

"Babe you okay?" Evan gripped his radio and raised a brow, keeping his eyes on his wife. It wasn't strictly professional but Evan wasn't used to saying her name, even on shift he rarely ever used her name and none of the team seemed to mind. As long as they did their jobs and weren't all handsy with each other, no one cared if nicknames slipped past their lips.

"I-"

Lightning. It broke through the clouds, a true act of God right before their eyes and Evan swore he could see a hand throwing the lightning bolt down at them like an act of vengeance.

He watched in horror as the streak of pure crystal white lit up the blue hue in the sky. But his knees caved in and sent him down towards the floor when he watched it strike his wife.

How was that possible?

How had God timed that so unjustly? How had it gone towards (Y/n) like that as if she were a magnet attracting such force? They couldn't have wished for something like that to happen or planned it in a million years, but the lightning caught her. It was so precise, Evan thought that he was watching a trick unfold before his eyes.

He heard her scream. It was the howl of a banshee that tore through his heart and set off an explosion in his chest.

Evan had never seen anything like it.

Sparks flew out from the end of the ladder like a firework display as (Y/n) fell backwards. Her back hit the very edge of the ladder which seemed to throw her up into the midnight air like an acrobat. Her body flipped, throwing her legs up while her head and shoulders fell over the edge of the ladder and plummeted down into thin air.

Evan didn't realise he was screaming until he felt Bobby's hands on his shoulders, holding him up so he didn't collapse down to his knees. He forgot for a second that (Y/n) would be on a harness. The buckle clip was holding steady to the harness around her waist which kept her suspended four stories in the air. Her legs and arms dangled down, limp and lifeless and her head snapped so far back it was almost touching her shoulder blades.

Her helmet fell through the air, carried by the rain and landed with a crack just three feet away from Evan. He could even see the crack that split up the back of her helmet, cutting right between the K and L, splitting up their joint last name like the universe was separating them forever.

"Get her down!" Evan pushed away from Bobby and bolted through the rain, slapping his boots against the concrete until he was stood directly beneath her. He tossed his helmet away from him, wanting to break it and anything in his path. The rain trickled down the back of his neck as he stared up at his wife, begging to be in her place instead of down here.

It would waste too much time climbing up onto the truck to try and winch her down himself when both Eddie and Chimney were already up there.

"Get her down! Get my fucking wife down now! Now!"

"Hen get a gurney, Chimney release the winch." Bobby spoke into the radio just in case his voice couldn't travel through the storm to his team while he stood directly beside Evan.

Eddie was already halfway up the ladder when they looked ahead into the sky and he fell down, hanging his upper body over the side of the ladder to grab the rope. He couldn't pull her up. Not if he had all the team up there with him, the rope was caught on the ladder and her weight was reaching towards the floor, dragging her back up wasn't an option.

A guttural cry left Evan's lips while Eddie screamed, waving one hand at Chimney to get him to go faster. And he threaded the rope between his gloved fingers, easing it down as (Y/n) started to lower like a package being delivered from the Gods down to Earth.

Evan's arms stretched up into the air and he waved his hands continuously while he stood on his tip toes to reach up for her, desperate to grab her. Despite being six foot two, Evan felt one foot nothing while he waited for his wife to come down from mid air. He couldn't do anything until she was in his arms and precious time was being wasted with her dangling there like bait on a hook.

"Unhook her." Evan pushed up and curved his hands beneath (Y/n)'s limp body as Bobby unclipped her so they could save two or three precious seconds to lower her down.

With the gurney placed directly beneath her, Evan laid her down and tore the gloves from his hands as they were an unwanted delay.

Terror ransacked Evan's body as he tore (Y/n)'s luminescent jacket apart, busting the zipper that flew out like a bullet and disappeared into the background. His numb, trembling fingers looped into the collar of her cotton shirt that needed to go. It would have been easier if she wore her button up shirt like he had, but it didn't matter now.

Evan tore apart her shirt like it was a tissue, split seams forming jagged lines all down the middle until it was nothing but a flimsy bit of cotton hanging off each shoulder. Revealing her dark blue bra, sodden chest and skin that was bubbling and swelling from the strike.

"Baby… oh baby," Evan's left hand cupped her cheek and kept her head straight but he hated how cold and lifeless her skin felt. There was no colour, no heat and no twitching muscles beneath his touch. He pressed his right hand against her neck and waited before he moved his hand down and pressed his palm down over her sternum. "I don't have a pulse and she isn't breathing!"

"Get the pack."

Hen placed the medic pack down beside (Y/n)'s left thigh and opened it up but she stopped when Evan smacked it so harshly a loud bang echoed around them.

"She's drenched and she's been electrocuted. You'll fry her!" Spit and rain spat past Evan's lips as his ocean blue eyes darkened into black holes, consuming everyone who dared look him in the eye.

She had been drenched before she got on the ladder, their suits weren't exactly water proof and now he had opened her shirt, she looked like she had taken a bath in her clothes. She had already gotten a shock which had stopped her heart, another one wasn't going to help her right now and they would do damage if they used the defibrilator on her while she was wet.

"Get an ambulance over here now. Mayday, mayday. This is Captain Nash, we have a firefighter down. Repeat, firefighter down, struck by lightning. I need a team on standby at the nearest hospital."

Evan tore his florescent jacket off his shoulders and let it fall into a puddle behind him before he clamped his fingers down on the stretcher and climbed onto the metal frame. All eyes fell on him in worry but no one dared stop or question what he was doing.

They watched in utter panic and defeat as Evan climbed up onto the gurney and clamped both his knees down into (Y/n)'s thighs harsh enough to leave bruises. He straightened his chest out, locked his arms and curled one hand over the other before he pressed them against her chest just to the side of her sternum over her breast.

"Don't you dare do this to me. You won't leave me, I won't fucking let you."

His elbows tensed and locked in place to keep his arms straight as he pressed down, trying to measure five inches down so he was pressing enough to reach her heart.

(Y/n) couldn't die.

She couldn't die here and now. Not when the whole team was here to bring her back and Evan would give his soul to the devil if it would keep his wife safe. She wasn't allowed to leave him, there was no way Evan could cope living a life without her. He would end himself before he lived a life of grief.

"Somebody bag her she needs air!"

Why was Evan the only one doing something? Why were they all staring at him like headless chickens waiting for orders?

He stopped his compressions when he reached thirty and waited for Eddie to place a mask over her mouth and squeeze two breaths of air past her lips before he started again.

The stretcher jolted his movements between the sixth and seventh compressions but Evan regained his composure and continued while they wheeled the stretcher into the ambulance. Both Eddie and Hen climbed in the back with him and Bobby rounded to the front as Chimney drove. The whole team were going to the hospital.

No one was waiting behind when one of their own was in peril, they stuck together. The 221 and the rest of their station house could deal with the fire and get the truck back to the station while the rest of them took (Y/n) to the emergency room.

"Baby come on. Don't do this to me. Baby please," Evan spat each word through gritted teeth that were clenched down so tightly they were about to shatter.

He could feel the rain and sweat rolling down his skin, sinking beneath the collar of his shirt, beneath his arms and even through his trousers. His skin was flushed red and radiating heat despite the cold night air and goosebumps prickled over his arms as his numb fingers continued to press down into his wife's chest deep enough to feel her ribs creaking beneath his hands.

Hen took over the air bag so Eddie could move round and grab some flannels from one of the drawers. He furiously wiped down (Y/n)'s neck and across her chest and stomach, trying his best to clear her of any water so they could shock her.

He clipped the monitor to her index finger and grabbed the two blue and white stickers, placing them at the top left of her chest and lower right side before he patted Evan's shoulder.

"Stand clear."

Spit rolled down the corner of Evan's mouth and he heaved each breath until stars danced across his vision. He let go of (Y/n)'s chest, braced a hand on the roof of the ambulance and pushed up on his knees so he wasn't touching (Y/n). He couldn't climb down yet because he needed to continue compressions if the shock didn't work.

He winced, choking on a mortified sound when the shock burned through (Y/n)'s chest and arched her back up from the stretcher before she flopped back down, lifeless.

"Going again-"

"You're not frying her heart." Shocking her too many times would only ruin her heart that had already received a horrific shock. Her lungs, heart and probably her liver would have been affected by the lightning, they couldn't give her too many shocks or she would never come back to him.

Evan started compressions again, blinking away the tears that dripped down onto (Y/n)'s cheeks as he started to growl and gasp each time he pushed down.

"Go," Evan braced both hands on the roof and leaned his head back until his neck clicked and strained in pain.

His head jolted forward after the second shock when the monitor started to beep.

"We've got a rhythm! Pushing fluids and a dose of adrenaline." Eddie slumped back down into a seat and grabbed an IV bag and a needle, He threw the bag on his shoulder and pressed his thumb against the back of (Y/n)'s right hand until he found a suitable vein and slowly inched the needle through. He opened the IV cap wide, letting the fluids pump through into her system to give her a boost and keep her going.

He then grabbed a dose of adrenaline and capped it into her vein, her heart needed all the help it could get.

"She's not breathing, I need to intubate."

Evan swung his leg over the side of the gurney and flopped down onto his feet before he turned and slumped his body over the gurney. His hands grappled for (Y/n)'s hand and pressed it against his burning, sodden lips that were quivering from shock and pain.

He watched Eddie tilt (Y/n)'s head back and hold the air bag while Hen cupped her chin and pressed a tongue clamp into her mouth. She slid a thin, clear tube down (Y/n)'s throat and as quick as anything, Eddie attached the air bag and started squeezing.

The relief was evident in Bobby and Chimney's eyes when they opened the back doors to the ambulance and heard the heart rate monitor steadily beeping. They had gotten a pulse back on (Y/n). Evan wasn't sat on his wife's hips too give compressions any more. A heartbeat meant she had a chance and that was all they could ask for right now.

Evan kept tight hold of her hand while Hen and Bobby pulled down the stretcher and Eddie stood on the other side, squeezing the bag to give her each breath she needed.

"What have we got?" A team of three doctors and two nurses were waiting on standby in the paramedic entrance to the hospital, as requested.

"(Y/n) Buckley, female, twenty-two, struck by lightning."

"She had no pulse for three minutes and seventeen seconds," Evan could barely hear himself speak but those times rattled around in his head. He could feel the stop watch in the front of his mind clicking on and off, flashing those numbers before his eyes. He had counted how long his wife had flatlined. That wasn't something he thought he would ever have to do.

"Compressions, two artificial shocks and a dose of adrenaline administered on route."

Evan ran his fingers through his hair and tugged so harshly he winced and felt a few loose hairs become stuck between his fingers. What were they going to do? How were they going to take care of his wife? What did someone do for a lightning strike? Did people usually survive this kind of thing- had this ever happened before?

"S-she's allergic to anaesthetic and morphine, don't give her any morphine." He jolted forward as if he might grab a doctor when none of them looked at him or looked like they were listening to him.

When a doctor prescribed (Y/n) morphine after an injury last year she almost went into cardiac arrest. She had never had morphine before and her allergy was severe. They couldn't give it to her not even by mistake or they would surely kill her.

"We'll take her from here," One of the nurses placed a hand on Evan's chest while one of the doctors took over the air bag to administer each breath (Y/n) needed and the other two doctors tried to wheel her away.

They couldn't take her from him.

He was the reason she now had a heartbeat back. Evan had to stay with her in case she flatlined again and no one here was competent enough to bring her back. What if she needed him? What if she could sense that he was no longer by her side and she panicked? Evan couldn't wait out here for her in agony, he wanted to at least be in front of the window to keep watch over her.

"No-"

"Buck come on, they'll look after her."

"I look after her! No- she's my wife get off me-" Evan tore his body forward and wrenched his arms out of Bobby's grip, only for Eddie to stand in front of him like a boulder.

A wave of hurt washed over Evan's face and torrential tears flushed his face when Eddie gripped his shoulders and Bobby held his biceps to pin him back. They weren't letting him go with her. They were purposely keeping him separated from his wife. Why were they doing this to him? Why were they trying to hurt him?

"Take care of her."

"We'll do our best."

"Your best isn't fucking good enough!"

Evan didn't want them doing their best. He wanted certainties and results and to be right by his wife's side, holding her hand to ensure they weren't doing anything wrong. He wanted to oversee her care and be the one administering the care so he knew for certain that she was going to be okay.

Both Evan's hands scrunched up Eddie's jacket and he let himself fall forward until Eddie went down on his knees with Evan in his arms and Bobby knelt behind them.

What were they going to do?

***

"Why don't you try and get some rest?"

"No thanks," Evan didn't bother looking up, his eyes stayed intently focused on the hand he had clasped between his fingers. He could barely keep his eyes open properly, for the past two hours they had been half-lidded like shutters about to close, but he didn't care.

If he looked at (Y/n)'s void, blank expression it just made him tear up and feel ready to cry. If he stared at the tubes stuck up her nose and down her throat and the wires in her veins, he felt like he needed to be sick. And if he closed his eyes, he was afraid to go to sleep and have something happen to her. The only option Evan had was to stare at the walls or stare at their entwined hands and pray.

"Evan, you need to rest. Making yourself sick won't help her." Usually when his sister used his name it made him shiver and relent. But not today.

He only wanted to hear his name pass through his wife's lips; she was the only one who called him Evan.

"Come on, I'm taking you home. Bobby said he will watch over her-" Maddie gasped and took a step back when Evan flung her touch off his shoulder and batted his hand out, coming within an inch of slapping her to get her away.

"Don't you get it?" His eyes were null and void of anything but anguish, it was all he could think, feel and taste. "If I leave her, something might happen. I can't rest, Maddie. I can't close my eyes because she gives me nightmares; I can see her dangling on a wire, ready to be snatched away from me and in my dreams I can't get her back. When I try to sleep and I don't hear that heartbeat, I can hear her scream ringing in my ears and it makes me sick."

Evan didn't want to leave the room, let alone the hospital because he had a sick, twisted feeling that if he left, she would get worse. He didn't want her state to change for the worst or for the better unless he was right beside her.

When Evan closed his eyes, his mind fell to sleep too easily but it dragged him back to that night two days ago. He could see his wife hanging there, her body limp, swaying in the torrential downpour. And when Evan stretched his hands out for her, the red wire keeping her afloat suddenly reeled up and lifted her high into the clouds, out of his reach forever.

He couldn't see her face in his nightmares and when he tried to sleep in the corridor yesterday, the silence was too sickening. He fell asleep and woke up to the sound of (Y/n)'s banshee scream ringing in his ears, curdling his blood like sour milk.

He had to stay here where they were both safe. Together.

"But if you don't look after yourself, you'll be in a bed in the next room and that won't help her."

"I don't care."

It was too hard to think about drinking, eating, sleeping and generally caring for himself when his wife was on a life support machine at his side. Evan didn't care if the world crashed and burned around them. He didn't care if he passed out from malnutrition since his body was used to three meals a day and at the moment he was barely having three bites of food. He didn't care how much muscle mass he started to lose, how many headaches he started to have and how ill he made himself.

He couldn't move away from his wife, not for longer than a minute to use the bathroom. That was his only exception.

"Buck, please-"

"What's happening?"

Evan tore his eyes away from his sister and looked back down at his wife when she suddenly started to move.

She had been placed into a coma when she arrived at the hospital, she was on a ventilator since she couldn't breathe on her own and her heart and lungs had suffered an extreme shock. Her body needed time to heal with Evan's body deteriorated by her side. She shouldn't have been moving at all.

Her shoulders hunched up, her chest compressed on itself and tightened up and her back started to flail up and down on the bed. It was her chest and torso that were moving horribly, pulling inwards and jerking with violent spasms.

The monitors were screaming, red lights flashing and the emergency alarm sounded for assistance.

"Maddie what's happening?!" Evan let go of (Y/n)'s hand and stood up, allowing his sister to pull him a few feet away to the end of the bed as two doctors filtered into the room.

"She's not getting enough oxygen," Maddie whispered the words quietly into her brother's shoulder as her fingers clamped down on his biceps. Her lips pressed against his bare arm and her chest pressed into his back while she felt his trembling hand reach up to grab hers.

"Why, s-she's on a ventilator?" How could she not be getting enough oxygen when she wasn't even breathing on her own? The machine was set to give her a certain amount of oxygen and CO2 to level her out and keep her body working. Why was she suddenly unable to take in enough oxygen?

As he watched her continue to jerk and spasm, a sudden breathlessness came over Evan and he felt like he too should be put on the machine. His lungs were shrivelling up in his chest, his shoulders were quaking and his hand pressed into his chest as he started to gasp.

"She's gonna leave me," His voice came out through a gasp with a burning, snorting inhale of air before Evan let his knees give way and went down to the floor.

He curled up, pulling his knees to his chest as his fingers tangled in his hair and he started to croak. He was going to lose her. She was going to die. His efforts to save her, his prayers, the rosary beads Bobby had given him to help him pray, it was all going to be for nothing. God had decided to strike her down with lightning. He was using (Y/n) to punish Evan and now she was going to leave him.

A bubbling sob burned past Evan's lips and before he knew what he was doing, he buried his face in Maddie's chest when she knelt down behind him. His arms coiled into his chest and his forehead pressed against Maddie's neck as she wrapped her arms around his broad frame and let him start to rock back and forth.

"I- I can't, I can't,"

"Hm? You can't what?"

"No, I can't be alone," His voice crumbled, his words came out in a low whine like a child and his chest burned as he started to sob. Evan couldn't cope on his own. He wouldn't live if (Y/n) died. He wouldn't stay here without her.

***

"What if she doesn't breathe on her own?"

Evan looked like death on two legs. There was no colour left in his face, his complexion had turned a pasty grey with deep black and purple creases beneath his eyes and pale burgundy lips that were chapped and broken. His cheeks had sunk into his face, his eyes were hollow and held bags beneath them. His throat looked tense and shrunken, his hands were trembling and split at the knuckles.

Five days he had been sat here. He hadn't gone home, he hadn't eaten more than a slice of bread each day. He barely drank four cups of water. He didn't wash, didn't sleep, didn't move or exercise and didn't go farther than the bathroom.

The only thing he had done while he was here was shave. (Y/n) didn't like him unshaven and he couldn't hold her hand against his cheek if he had stubble cutting on his face.

The doctor was stood at his side, waiting patiently to answer his questions and get ready to remove the intubation tube.

"Then we put the tube back in and wait a little longer."

Evan wasn't stupid. He knew if the tube came out and she didn't breathe, it would go back in and she wouldn't be waking up again. If she couldn't breathe on her own after a week of ventilation, her body was unlikely to recover and Evan would have to commit to the idea of watching his wife die and find a way too end his existence too.

"Okay,"

He ran a hand over his face before both hands went back to gripping (Y/n)'s hand that he pressed to his lips.

He could feel Bobby standing nervously behind him, rosary beads in one hand and his other hand resting on Evan's shoulder. He was the only person who knew what was happening today; Evan couldn't bear to tell anyone else. He didn't want Maddie here because if this went south, she wouldn't be able to hold Evan and herself together and they would both have a breakdown.

Their parents were waiting anxiously at Maddie and Chimney's house, wanting to help in any way they could but Evan had nothing for them to help with. They couldn't persuade him to leave and when they tried to stay, all he did was stare blankly at the wall or cry when his mum tried to hold him.

And Evan didn't want the team standing at the window watching anxiously. If (Y/n) didn't breathe on her own, Evan was going to crumble and he couldn't have an audience for that.

He needed Bobby. He needed the man he classed as his father here to be his moral support and hold him together if this went badly. Bobby would be able to contain himself and console Evan if (Y/n) couldn't breathe on her own. No one else would be able to help like Bobby could.

"Here we go,"

Evan took the deepest breath he could and straightened out his shoulders. His lips smothered the back of (Y/n)'s hand and his eyes focused intently on her blushing lips when the tube was slowly pulled from her throat.

"Come on baby… please, please breathe for me." He interlocked their fingers and took to rubbing his left hand up and down her arm while he whispered against her hand.

He wanted to close his eyes. He felt desperate to close his eyes and pray and wish and beg until someone told him she was okay and breathing on her own. But he couldn't. Evan couldn't close his eyes, he couldn't look away from his wife, he had to stare at those beautiful lips he had kissed millions of times before. He had to watch and wait in agony for her to do something so simple and easy.

"Breathe," He growled into her hand, jolting his chest forward a little with a sudden urge to lean down and shake her, but he held himself back.

A bursting, agonising gasp left Evan's lips and his knees bent, about to give way on him when (Y/n) started to breathe.

Without another thought, Evan grabbed the chair he had been living in for over a week and scraped it across the floor towards the bed. He let himself slump down into the chair, bumped his knees into the bed frame and leaned his elbows down into the mattress. His fingers skimmed up and down (Y/n)'s arm as he grinned into the back of her hand, letting the tears fall freely down his face.

She was breathing.

Her heart was beating on its own and now she was back to breathing. Lightning hadn't ruined her organs or snatched her life away, she was pulling herself back from this. She was clawing, desperately fighting her way back to Evan.

"That's my girl," He pressed numerous kisses to the back of her hand, keeping his lips there even as he looked up at the doctor who was smiling down at him.

"Let's see how does coming out of the coma."

Turning his head, Evan looked up at Bobby who was smiling encouragingly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand to try and keep his composure. This was good, everything was going in the right direction so far.

He found himself mumbling encouraging, incoherent things against (Y/n)'s hand while the doctor clipped a needle into her IV to give her the medicine that would bring her out of her coma. She had been locked up inside her mind for over a week now, her body had had time to recover and get back into working order. It was time for her to come back to them, back to Evan and see how she was and get her back on track.

Her life had been put on pause for long enough.

When (Y/n)'s eyes started to flutter and her lips pressed together like she was trying to make popping sounds, Evan grinned and leaned over. He kept their tangled hands tucked up against his chest near his collar bone and his free hand moved to cup the back of her head so he could press his lips against her temple.

He felt her fingers twitch in his hand and her lips tickled his neck as he hovered over her and he grinned against her temple, unable to stop himself from crying. But it was the feel of her other hand cupping the back of his neck that made Evan begin to sob and laugh into her skin.

"Oh God, thank you. Thank you," He wasn't sure if he was thanking the doctor, (Y/n) or even Bobby. Words fell from his lips before he could stop himself. "I love you so much, don't ever do that to me again."

"I love you too."

[vampirestookmydoubts]

can i request a bridgerton sister one with violet bridgerton! maybe we're the sister is dying or i'll? prompt #24 "You're too good for this world." and #38 - "Hey. Hey! What did I just say? Keep your eyes open!”

A/N: thank you for the request! absolutely love writing for bridgerton, especially because I'm currently rewatching every season! I was in a writers slump forever, hope you like it!

Characters: bridgerton!sister, Violet Bridgerton, Bridgerton siblings

Warnings: life-threatening illness

In the heart of Grosvenor Square, the Bridgerton household, usually bustling with laughter and lively conversations, was subdued. The shadows seemed longer, the rooms quieter. You, one of the youngest Bridgerton, laid in your bed, your face pale and body weak from a relentless illness that had struck you with cruel suddenness mere days ago. The entire family was ensnared in a web of fear and hope, each of them dealing with the anguish in their own way.

Your mother, Violet sat by your bedside, caring for you the way only a loving mother could.

She had not left your side for days, her eyes red-rimmed from sleepless nights filled with fear and silent prayers. Her hands, usually steady and composed, trembled as she applied a cool cloth to your feverish forehead. You sighed in relief as it soothed your headache and fever for a moment.

"You're too good for this world," Violet whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions as she caressed your cheek. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, determined to stay strong. "My darling girl, you must fight. We all need you."

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze still unfocused but filled with a flicker of recognition at the sight of your mother. "Mama," you murmured, your voice a faint whisper.

"Shh, save your strength," Violet replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "You will get through this. The best doctors are tending to you, and your brothers and sisters are all praying for you."

As if on cue, Anthony, the eldest of your siblings, entered the room. His usual stoic demeanor was replaced by a mask of worry, his eyes revealing the depth of his concern. He walked around your bed, taking the opposite side from your mother and squeezed your hand gently.

"Hey, Y/N," he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically tender. "How are you feeling today? Kate told the servants to prepare a special tea for you.” You turned your head to look at him, answering him by squeezing his hand back. “You're a fighter. You've always been. Remember when you climbed that tree and refused to come down until you saw the sunset? You were only five, and you had more determination than any of us."

You managed a weak smile, the memory flickering faintly in the back of your dazed mind. "I remember," you whispered.

"That's the spirit," Anthony encouraged with a bright smile. "Hold on to that. For all of us."

Hours turned into days as the Bridgerton siblings took turns at your bedside, each sharing stories, memories, and words of encouragement. Benedict brought his sketchbook and regaled you with tales of his latest artistic adventures. Colin read aloud from your favorite books, his voice a soothing balm in all this craze. Daphne and Eloise sat close, holding your hands while sharing stories of Daphne’s children and the happenings at the latest ball.

Francesca and even your youngest siblings Gregory, and Hyacinth, did their best to bring cheer to the somber room. They sang songs, recited poems, and brought in fresh flowers from the garden, filling the air with a sweet fragrance and brightening your mood.

But as the days wore on, your condition seemed to worsen albeit the frequent visits from doctors and drinking all the special teas your sister-in-law had prepared.

It became harder for you to breathe, your moments of consciousness seemingly more fleeting than before.

One evening, as a storm raged outside and the rain was drumming against the windows of your bedroom, Violet noticed your faint breathing and your eyes beginning to close. Panic surged through your mother abruptly, and she leaned closer to you, her voice urgent.

"Hey. Hey! What did I just say? Keep your eyes open!" She gently shook your shoulders, her voice cracking with desperation. "Please, Y/N. Stay with me."

Your eyes fluttered open once more, the effort exhausting you more than you thought.

"I'm so tired, Mama," you whispered, tears slipping down your pale cheeks in desperation. Closing your eyes, just for a moment to forget your aching body and dazed mind, seemed way too tempting. Why wouldn’t she let you have that moment of rest?

"I know, my love. I know," Violet said, her own tears finally breaking free. Softly cradling you in her arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "But you have to stay with us. You have to keep fighting."

The room was silent except for the sound of your labored breathing and the quiet sobs of your mother. In that moment, it felt as if time had stopped, the world outside the walls of the Bridgerton home ceasing to exist.

That day as night gave way to dawn and the storm passed, a change seemed to come over you. Although your breath was still shallow, it seemed to become steadier every passing hour. Your fever began to break, and a hint of color returned to your pale cheeks. Violet watched with bated breath, hope blossoming in her heart. "You're doing it, my love. You're coming back to us," she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of relief and wonder.

Your eyes met your mother's, a faint but unmistakable spark of life coming back to you. "I'm trying, Mama."

"And you're succeeding," Violet replied, tears of relief streaming down her face. "You're succeeding, my love."

Violet knew the road to recovery would be long, but in that moment, she dared to hope again.