#but then he also goes and knocks my collectibles off the shelves

[naomiknight-17]

Woke up to the warm feeling of a cat curled up against my back

Leon has been extra snuggly lately

[sturnsdarling]

teenage dirtbags, part two

Skater!Matt goes to overachiever!readers dorm so she can help him with his essay

vibe check: bickering, matt fancying the fuck out of reader but being unaware, reader being a snob, kind of flirting? idk if you can call it that lol.

1.7k words

A/N: this is so FUN. in my head, Matt has always secretly thought reader was gorgeous, but any and all good natured feelings were swallowed by an avalanche of irritation and borderline hatred

intro, part one

love and cigs, merc

You were sat on the floor of your dorm, clad in a big knit jumper, little shorts and fluffy socks, cross legged on the carpet with a pencil dangling from your mouth as you scanned the margins of some 19th century text about the French Revolution.

You were pulled from your focus by the sound of your door rattling, three short knocks sounding through your room over the low hum of your record playing in the back.

You looked to your watch, 7:03, Matt was actually on time.

You pushed yourself up off the floor and made your way over to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open with a less than welcoming look on your face. You were met with Matt, board in hand and headphones hung round his neck, a flat grin on his face that quickly dropped.

Matt couldn't help but scan your figure, he'd never seen you in anything other than your clean cut outfits, so seeing you in a baggy jumper that hung off your bare shoulder and shorts that just covered your ass was, interesting.

"come in" you said, pulling Matt from his accidental objectifying gaze and stepping to the side to let him in.

"thanks" Matt said as he walked past you, taking in the sight of your room, it actually did smell like vanilla and academic over achievement.

You had more books than he had ever seen in his entire life, the walls covered by rows of bookshelves all packed to the brim with classic literature.

"this is a lot of books" Matt said, gawking at your collection.

You nodded, lips tucked between your teeth as you raised your brows slightly.

"have you read all of these?" Matt asked, pointing at the shelves.

you scoffed with a smile, "no" you shook your head, "just over half, probably"

"that's still impressive" Matt shrugged, dropping his stuff on the floor.

"should we get started?" You said, wanting to cut the small talk and get this over with.

"yeah, sure" Matt said, following your movement and sitting on the floor opposite you, pulling a bunch of crumpled up notes from his bag.

You looked at them in disgust as he tried to flatten them out on the floor, shaking your head as you got up, scanning over your shelves to find anything you had on existentialism. You pulled a few books out and returned to the floor, opening them and scanning over the pages. Your movement grabbed Matts attention, him watching you intently as you began to rip through all the possible approaches he could take, listing off essay summaries as if you knew them like the back of your hand.

Matt wasn't listening, mostly because he had no idea what you were talking about, but also because your hair was falling in your face slightly as you leaned down to scan the books, the strands framing your face perfectly as you spoke with your plump, glossy lips. Matt noticed the small constellation of freckles on your nose, how your eyes darted around the room as you spoke, as if you were literally searching your brain for information, how your brows knit together every time you said 'obviously' and how...what the fuck is going on

"are you even listening?" you snapped, pulling matt from his haze.

"huh?" he said, meeting your glaring eyes, "yeah, yeah, I'm listening" Matt said, shaking the thoughts from his brain.

"because I don't have to do this for you, you know that right? I have much better things to be doing with my time and you're honestly the last person I want to spent my evenings helping" you began to complain, your tone cocky and fed up

"charming" Matt scoffed, "trust me, y/l/n, you're not exactly someone I want to be spending my evenings with either" Matt quipped back, matching your cadence.

"right, well, maybe if you listen to me, this can go a lot faster, and we can go back to pretending we don't know each other" you said with finality.

"fine" Matt shrugged, holding your eye contact

"fine" you repeated, having to get the final word

Matt chuckled, shaking his head with a slight eye roll. You squinted at him, scrunching your face up as his attitude.

"what?" you spat.

Matt couldn't help but grin, "you haven't changed at all" He met your gaze once more.

"what are you talking about?" you said, your voice thick with attitude.

"you always have to have the last word" Matt shifted where he sat, bringing his knee up as a rest for his arm.

"no, I don't" you replied with a scoff.

"yeah, you do" Matt grinned, nodding.

"no, I don't" you pushed.

Matt didn't respond, only raised his eyebrows and tightened his smile, looking at you in an accusatory manner, as if you responding the way you did only proved his point.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and returning your attentions to the book in your lap, "lets just get this over and done with"

The rest of the night went...fine. There was some bickering, mostly started by Matt not listening or simply being himself. You ended up getting his introduction done before you decided it was time to take a break, needing to decompress from all the arguing.

You and Matt sat in silence, you fidgeting with your pen as you scanned over what Matt had written and Matt wandering around your room like a lost puppy, in his search through all your things, his attention was caught by the crates of records that looked as if they were holding up your mattress.

There were hundreds of them, all in alphabetical order, stacked on top of each other in the makeshift bed frame you had made with the crates. Matt scanned the names, in awe of the fact that not only did you collect music, but it was good music. Maybe you did have something in common.

"are these all yours?" Matt said, unable to take his eyes off your collection.

You looked up from the page, looking over to Matt who was crouched on the floor, peppering soft touches with his long, slender fingers over the spines of the records.

"who else's would they be?" you said, raising a brow at him as he looked over his shoulder at you.

"this is an impressive collection, y/l/n" Matt said, ignoring your attitude.

"thanks" you cocked your eyes to the side, generally irritated by him regardless of what he said.

"I didn't know you fucked with music like this" Matt returned his attention to the stacks, "maybe you're not as lame as I thought you were" he looked back to you with a boyish grin

You screwed your face up at him, giving him the biggest condescending smile you could muster up. Matt cheesed at your face, looking back to the music and scanning some titles.

"oh shit, Fleetwood Mac, I fuckin' love them" Matt said, pulling out the Rumours album and turning it over to read the track list, "still not as good as their self titled album from 75" Matt shook his head, putting the record back in its spot.

"are you serious?" you scoffed, "Rumours is easily their best album"

"absolutely not" Matt shook his head, sitting back down opposite you.

you simply stared at him for a moment, trying to process your bafflement, "In what universe is self titled better than Rumours?" you put the page in your hand down, leaning your palm on the floor so your body was towards Matt, your movement causing your jumper to fall down your shoulder slightly lower.

"In this universe?" Matt chuckled, "self titled has Rhiannon and Monday morning" He shifted, one leg tucked beneath him with the other acting as a perch for his arm, knee in the air with his foot on the carpet.

"and Rumours has the chain?" You pressed, "and dreams"

"okay, and?" Matt shrugged with a grin, drawing out his first word.

"you can't be serious?" you shook your head, "Rumours is incredible, you can literally feel the tension between the band with every sentence they sing, the energy is on a different level"

"so the album is good because everyone was beefing? how does that correlate to good music" Matt pushed, only slightly relishing in how worked up you we're getting.

"because?" you scoffed, "it's real, and raw, and the live shows were insane"

"you don't think self titled was real and raw?" Matt raised his brows at you.

"no, idiot, I didn't say that" you rolled your eyes, "rumours is just different, it was like all the anger from everything that happened was spilling out over the sheet music, it was...beautiful" your eyes wandered the ceiling as you explained your reasoning to Matt.

He couldn't help but smile as he looked at you, watching you speak so passionately about something other than how much you despised him was awe inducing, especially something like music, which he would have never have pegged you to care about this much.

You continued to argue your point, but the feeling of Matts eyes on you made your cheeks warm, and you stopped your rambling to look at him.

"what?" you deadpanned, cocking your eyes to the side quickly.

Your change in tone snapped Matt back into reality, and he was quickly reminded of who he was gawking at.

He cleared his throat, "nothing" he dropped his gaze from you, searching the floor for something to pay attention to other than the strange feeling in his stomach.

You furrowed your brows at him, watching the top of his head as he clearly tried to avoid eye contact with you at all costs. what the fuck was that about? you decided not to look into it too much.

"lets carry on, yeah?" Matt said, opening the book in his lap and clearing his throat once more.

"alright" you said, ignoring the tension in the air and returning your attention to the paper in your lap.

You spent the rest of the evening in silence, only talking if you really needed to and staying a good five feet apart at all times. Matt left once you had finished the outline for the body of his essay, still not looking at you for any longer than a second and hurrying out your room moments after you said that you could pick where you had left off tomorrow.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch @chriscorqutte @elizasturn @ribread03 @st7rnioioss @maggieflms

[amomentsescape]

Could I request slashers with a reader that has the mind of a crow. Collects bones, shiny trinkets and is oftenly mischievous.

+ Hannibal (series) I don't know wither he would spoil you or would collect trinkets in the woods from his previous victims.

Slashers with Crow-Like Reader

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, Bo, Lester, & Hannibal

A/N: I wasn't sure how to title this, but I tried my best. Thank you for the request!

Freddy Krueger

Your collection is more so just interesting to him

Even as a notorious killer, he doesn't really see the need to keep "dust collectors" hanging around

So when he first sees all of the trinkets and random things you have, he just chuckles

"What are you gonna do with all this junk?" he jokes

This earns a stern glare from you, and this has him backing off on the teasing (just slightly)

It takes a little time for him to warm up to helping you find more things to collect

But the one time he did, you gave him such a huge smile that he realized this needed to be something he did more often

Anytime he goes on one of his dream "sprees," he always comes back with a new polished bone for you

(He cleans it himself)

If any of his victims were carrying something shiny, it also becomes yours by the next night

Keys, coins, jewelry, hair pins, etc. are all part of your collection very quickly

And although it took him a while to accept this hobby of yours, he has always loved your mischievous side

You've stolen his hat and glove numerous times now

He didn't even realize it in the moment

But your little pranks only fueled his desire to do the same to you

The amount of times you've found a little bone or finger in your cup has you rolling your eyes

But you've kept everything he's given you so far

Everything

Michael Myers

Michael very much does not care about your hobbies

Whatever you want to do for fun is your thing

As long as it isn't getting in his way or affecting his own hobbies, you can do what you want

All of the little items you have lining the shelves and hanging from the walls doesn't even phase him

You could have a human head on your nightstand, and Michael would just give you a nod of approval

Just don't leave anything out where it can be stepped on or knocked over

Michael isn't one to be "careful," so if one of your trinkets is on the floor, he will step on it and not feel any remorse

"It shouldn't have been there in the first place" is always his argument

And since he is neutral about your collection, he doesn't really think to bring anything back for you

Unless some shiny object literally rolls out in front of him where he can see it, he doesn't take anything

He won't do anything intentional to hurt your collection, but he also doesn't go out of his way to fuel it either

He also doesn't react to your mischievous ways

Your little pranks or jokes elicit zero reaction from him

You've practically given up on trying anything with Michael at this point because he just doesn't respond to your behavior

Just do NOT touch his knife

Jason Voorhees

Jason know literally nothing about decorating or collections

So having you around to put little items in the cabin is really nice for him!

He likes looking around every day to see what's new

He doesn't say this to you, but he finds the bones just a little weird

Has he seen his fair share of guts and gore?

Of course

But he's never really thought to keep any of those... parts

But to each their own he guesses

The moment he learns about your fondness for shiny objects, he is all about supporting it

Any victim of his is immediately searched to see if there's anything that you would like

He even likes to stroll around the woods at times and just look around for anything that shines

He loves to see how happy you get anytime he comes home with something for you

It always manages to make his day

Your little pranks and jokes towards him mostly just cause confusion

He's a bit sensitive to it at first to be honest

The only "pranks" he ever remembers were from when he was relentlessly bullied and picked on

So just be careful where you tread with this because those memories are still very difficult for him

But overall, he really loves your quirks and collections

Thomas Hewitt

Oh, you like to collect bones?

Well, does Thomas have a treat for you

You've been able to rebuild two full skeletons with everything he's given you so far

You actually had to tell him to slow down on how many bones he was giving you

But this overload in your collection honestly works out

He's used to having literal body parts as his decor around the house, so you just adding to that "aesthetic" makes him really happy

It just reinforces that you're part of the family

And when he learns that you also have a love for collecting shiny trinkets?

You better believe he's also going overboard with that too

If it shines, it's yours

Dozens of quarters, keys, belt buckles, earrings, and even cell phones are given to you

Even if the object doesn't really shine, he'll pick it up

Once again, you have to explain that you didn't need ALL of these things

Your mischievous personality is also something he doesn't mind fueling from time to time

If you prank him, he'll get you back

You've hidden his favorite knife and apron before

But once he found them, he was all smiles

He thinks your jokes keep his life exciting, and that only makes him love it more

Bubba Sawyer

Of course, Bubba also fuels your bone collection

He's a bit messy about it though, handing you a bucket of bloody and poorly picked bones, but the sentiment is there

He's also found some creativity with it!

Recently, Bubba has found an interest in jewelry making

Anytime he can, he collects the teeth from his victims and makes you a necklace and bracelet set to have

He gets especially giddy when you try them on for him

It's like hanging up a child's artwork on the fridge

He just feels so proud of himself for making you happy

He also loves to find shiny trinkets for you too

Bubba is easily distracted by light, so it's pretty easy for him to pinpoint different items that he knows you'll like

He sometimes gets a little down on himself if he accidentally gets you something you already have though

He's also a bit sensitive to your mischievous nature

Jumping out and scaring him sends him into an erratic frenzy at first

But when he learns that these are all "pranks" that you enjoy, he warms up to the idea more

He'll try to scare you multiple times a day after that

It quickly becomes very predictable, but you still fake a reaction sometimes since Bubba gets upset if his attempt goes unsuccessful

Brahms Heelshire

As much as he still feels anger towards his parents, he can't help but still care about the upkeep of the home

He wouldn't really care about your hobby in any other situation

But this is his home, and he doesn't think dead animal bones and random trinkets look good scattered all about

If you keep your collection to yourself, then he doesn't really mind

He may raise the occasional brow at you, but he doesn't say much for the most part

Just don't set anything in his parent's room or certain areas of the house

He will throw your items away despite any protest

He doesn't do much in the way of adding to your collection either

He doesn't leave the house and hardly anyone ever comes by

Plus, he doesn't really like the bones you have and would prefer not to add to it

However, there is the small occasion that he finds a shiny nickel under the couch or a missing earring hidden in the corner of the room

He doesn't mind you having these items and will gladly hand them over if it means seeing you happy

In the way of mischievous behavior, he doesn't really care as long as you stick to the rules list 100%

In fact, he finds some of your pranks and decisions pretty entertaining

They give him an excuse to get back at you too...

Norman Bates

He won't lie; the bones freak him out a bit

As long as you explain that you aren't actively killing things to obtain them, he's mostly fine

He has his own interest in taxidermy anyways

But he would rather keep the animal looking like an animal and not the skeleton of one

But as long as you keep them to yourself, he doesn't care

He just doesn't want to see them scattered about the home and motel

He also doesn't fully understand your fascination with anything shiny

He thinks it's cute, the way your eyes light up the moment something catches your attention

But he doesn't really see the charm unless it's actually worth something

But of course, he cares about your happiness a lot

So even seeing an empty gum wrapper on the table forces him to pocket it so he can gift it to you later

Nothing really beats the excitement you show whenever you get something new

With that being said, he isn't really a fan of some of your behavior

Every item has it's place, so he becomes frustrated whenever you move anything

Spying on him or even scaring him just leaves him on edge and antsy

He much prefers a relaxed and quiet environment, that's for sure

Billy Loomis

You collect what now?

When you show him, his reaction goes from utter confusion to slight interest

Considering what he does in his free time, he kind of appreciates your morbid hobbies

When he sees that all of your bones are from little animals, he gets a dark smile on his face

"Wouldn't you rather have the real deal?"

Comes home the next night with a literal FEMUR

You have no idea how he managed it, especially since he isn't one for getting messier than necessary

But the happy look on his face was enough to make you not question anything

And of course, any future killings always involves him coming home with some type of bone or shiny object for you

He just shrugs it off like it's no big deal, but he honestly enjoys seeing you so appreciative

With that being said, some of your schemes can make him irritable at times

He thinks a lot of your pranks are childish, and he's often comparing you to Stu

"Did he teach you that one?" he rolls his eyes

He never really thought he'd be with someone as quirky as you, but he has learned to appreciate it

It makes him feel better about his own morbid interests too

Stu Macher

He stated that your collections were "sick"

In the good way

The first time he saw all the little bones you had, he tried to fit them together in order to build some new hybrid animal

Asks you a ton of questions about everything

"What was this one from?" "Where did you find this?"

He's like a little kid learning a new subject in school

He also has a similar affinity to shiny objects like you

He has a little spot on his desk made up of old coins and random paperclips he just picked up for no reason

He often gets bored when he's out, so anything that glimmers his way must be a sign that he needs to take it

But since learning of your interests, he quickly begins sharing this habit with you

Any shiny object he comes across is picked up

Even if he's not that interested in it, there's still a chance that you might like it

He may or may not have shoplifted a few times purely on accident

His mind just doesn't think those things through sometimes

And when you begin revealing your mischievous ways towards him, you better believe he's going to get back at you tenfold

It's like a constant battle between you two with bad behavior

And you have yet to find a victor

Billy has yelled at both of you numerous times when he somehow gets dragged into the behavior

You and Stu just laugh together every time

Vincent Sinclair

As a fellow person with odd collections, he respects it

He also really loves that you two have something like that in common; it makes him feel "normal"

He has anything from rocks to wax figures to little pieces of jewelry

Since he hasn't had social contact with the outside world, these collections were his friends

The bones you have are a little odd to him, but he's not one to judge at all

He unfortunately doesn't add to your collection with human bones, but he happily supplies little animal bones he finds inside all of the desolate buildings

If there's any jewelry or shiny object on one of his victims, he'll take them and give them to you later since he knows how happy they make you

Vincent is easily influenced and will likely start to pick up on your behaviors as well

Will also begin to collect shiny trinkets so that you two can share and compare

He may also start to become fascinated with little bones and how they would fit back together

With that being said, he doesn't quite pick up on your pranks and funny behavior

He happily stands back and watches though

The amount of times you've jumped out at Bo and caused him to go into a cursing fit has Vincent silently laughing in the corner

He may not always have the guts to stand up to his brothers, but it's nice that you're willing to do so for him

Bo Sinclair

He's definitely communicated his odd feelings about your interests

"Now, why would you wanna do somethin' silly like that?"

With that being said, he doesn't tell you to stop doing anything, he just thinks it's weird

Has compared you to Vincent multiple times in the past

He sort of turns his nose up to your bone collection

He won't even touch it

He says he just thinks it's gross, but in reality, it kind of freaks him out a bit (not that he'd ever admit it)

The shiny trinkets you have though are a little more "normal" in his eyes

Whenever he sees something that shines now, he always lets out a big sigh and picks it up for you begrudgingly

Says you have him "trained"

But in reality, he does love to make you happy

He just doesn't love the little pranks you pull on him

Scaring him, following him around, tackling him in the middle of night are all things he's forced himself to grow accustomed to

He still goes into a pouty fit and tells you to "knock it off"

But his threats only go so far

He soon figures that if he can't get out of the game, he might as well beat you to the win

So be sure to watch your back

He has plans on getting you tenfold

Lester Sinclair

You collect bones...?

Well, good! Because so does Lester

He's always had a knack for picking up any random scraps he thought were interesting

Bo has made fun of him plenty of times for it

But that seemed to die down now that he has you

You've both sat with each other and your collections, swapping random trinkets and talking about where some of them came from

All the while, there's the biggest smile on Lester's face

He's definitely one to give, so he always manages to find a couple items every day to take home to you

But if he finds something especially cool, you may have to "fight" him on it

(The battle never lasts long since all you have to do is give him a big kiss and he gives in)

He truly believes that having you around makes his life so much more fun too

The little games you like to play, and the way you always keep him on his toes really brings him a lot of joy

In a place like Ambrose, there isn't much for change or oddity

So meeting you was truly a blessing in all accounts

Hannibal Lecter

When you first shared your collection and true colors with him, he just responded with a quirk of the brow

Sure, he could give you a bunch of science-y answers on why you do this blah blah blah

But he knows that wouldn't change anything

Besides, he honestly likes your quirkiness

He may look suave and put together on the outside, but he also has some darker and more intriguing interests on the inside

He always manages to surprise you with a new animal bone you have yet to obtain or some shiny object that you have not seen before

You have no idea how he does it, but he never fails to amaze you

Of course, he doesn't share with you how he actually gets these trinkets, but you don't pry

You're just really happy to have someone who encourages your interests rather than shut them down

With that being said, he's a bit of a stinker when it comes to your mischievous side

He knows your intentions almost better than you do

You can't get a single thing past him without him knowing

Because of this, you haven't been able to surprise him with anything

It's a bit annoying

But what he doesn't give you in fun, he makes up for in gifts and spoiling you

[mushhroooms]

Bad Dream (Chris Redfield x Gender-neutral reader)

Gender-neutral pronouns because I know I write way too much x female reader stuff, so I wanted to do something different because I know it’s not just she/her’s in the Resident Evil community so this is for everyone!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ Chris had left on a mission, caressing your face and kissing you sweetly before walking out the door

It had been months but you didn’t worry. He would find time to call you or send little texts to check up on you when he knew it was safe.

But then they stopped, you didn’t think much of it, he might just be occupied but, you tried to ignore the sense of dread that filled you after the third day, anytime Chris has gone on a mission, you never went more than a day without at least a text from him. You were worried, but you tried to hide it, surely he just had to be busy…

But then the knock came on the door and when you opened it, you saw the men in uniform. As you realize what had happened to your beloved husband you feel your heart drop. “We’re sorry for your loss…” After that, those words became normal, every time anyone who knew you and Chris saw you, they would tell you those words. This couldn’t be real, right? But after 2 months, the reality finally fully set in and your head came down from the clouds. Your husband was dead.

You didn’t leave bed that day, or the next day after that, or the day after that…

Chris was shocked when he and his squad returned from their mission and found out everyone had thought they died.

But- They had been talking to their loved ones… turns out, their phones were bugged months ago. They hadn’t spoken to real people besides each other in months, just simply robots to trick them. God, that guy had been a sneaky bastard.

They were all worried, everyone they knew thought they were dead.

Chris immediately thought of his partner… How had they taken the news? Were they ok?

Chris didn’t bother to wait, as soon as they were cleared he was in his car and speeding to their house.

When he pulls up, he can see your best friend at the door. Food in hand and worriedly knocking on the door. He gets out of the car, heart heavy and worried for his partner.

As your best friend hears his car door shut, they turn around, their eyes widen and they nearly drop the food in their hands.

“Chris!? You’re alive!?” They ask in shock

He nods “It’s a shock I know. Are they ok?” He asks worriedly

Your best friend shakes their head. “They won’t answer my calls or texts, not just mine, from anyone, even their parents.” They pause “How are you alive?”

“I’ll explain everything later.” He says as he begins to look through his bag.

Chris’s worry grows when they mention his partner has not answered anybody’s calls or texts and he fishes his keys out of his bag. Unlocking the door and opening it slowly, the house is dark and stuffy, The curtains are shut and he can see dust collecting on shelves and tables, but he also sees there are no dishes in the sink, Have they eaten? Drinken water?

Your best friend places the food on the counter while Chris heads upstairs.

He walks to the bedroom, bracing himself just in case of a worst-case scenario. His palm touches the door gently, and he hesitates. The worst cases running through his mind of what he’ll find on the other side of the door. But, he has to know… He gently pushes the door open, it creaks softly. He can see a lump on the bed under the blankets and dread fills him… What if they were dead?

“Baby?” He calls out softly

He sees movement and the dread that had filled him goes away. They were alive! But he’s still filled with worry for his partner.

They move the covers off their head. They looked exhausted despite the fact it was obvious they hadn’t left bed in god knows how long. They looked malnourished and in desperate need of a shower. Their eyes were puffy from crying. His heart broke at the sight.

“Chris?” Their voice is weak, probably from all the dust and nothing to drink. He can see the tears brimming in their eyes.

He rushes to the bed, kneeling next to the edge of the bed.

“It’s me- It’s me, baby” He speaks softly with his own tears growing in his eyes.

They shake their head “No- You can’t be real” They say shakily, thinking they must have gone crazy or died.

They sob “You can’t be real. You-” their words die down as he cups their face with rough, calloused hands crafted for war… but his touch is so gentle… so tender… so- so grounding.

They begin to sob harder “Chris!”

He gets onto the bed next to them and pulls them into his arms quickly, shushing them and running his hand through their hair.

“Shh, it’s ok, baby. I’m here now” He whispers softly

“But- How!? They-They-” He places a finger to their lips.

“I’ll tell you later, I promise. I just need to comfort you right now.” He puts their head against his chest and their sobs grow as they feel his heartbeat.

‘You feel that? You feel that heartbeat, sweetheart? I’m alive. And I’m not dead nor dying anytime soon.” He kisses their head as he continues to run his hand through their hair.

“I need you to tell me something, baby.” He says, pulling them away from his chest so he can look into their eyes.

They sniffle and wipe their eyes, looking at him.

“When was the last time you ate? Drinken water? Showered?” He asks softly with worry clouding his tone.

They look ashamed “I-I don’t know…” They speak softly “I-I just, I just wanted to stay in bed- I wanted to wake up and found out it was a bad dream!” They sob softly

His hands cup their face again “I understand, sweetheart. I’m sorry you’ve been going through this… But, I’m here now. Ok? I’m not leaving again anytime soon. It was just a bad dream.” He kisses their forehead.

His thumbs stroke their cheeks softly, wiping tears away as he does so. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I never ever want to see you like this again.” He whispers

They hug him, crying into his chest. His arms wrap around them tightly. They can feel his muscles against their back, his warmth, his heartbeat. This was real. He was here. He was alive.

“I love you so much, Chris.” They sob

“I love you too, baby. More than anything.” He whispers

[panandinpain0]

Reader and Edward (twilight) watching a horror movie together!!

Reader likes them, but also gets easily scared also could it be a gn reader please?

Tough-Exterior-Ed

Of course! Thank you for requesting <3

(Yes I'm fully aware the title is not actually a word.)

Fluff/Comfort Edward Cullen x GN!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, hugging (Alice is in it, ofc there's hugging), mentions of axe murderers (in the horror movie)

--

In the Cullen family kitchen, currently hosting all of the Cullen's, Edward sighed and hung his head.

"They're here."

"You seem disappointed?" Rosalie said it as a question, her iconic scowl settling into place as she looked Edward over.

If only they could hear what was going on inside his head.

"Eddy. Eddy, Eddy, Eddy, Eddy, Eddy. Guess what? I'm here! I'm at your door. Do I need to knock? Edward- I know you can hear me."

With an amused smile Edward just shook his head at Rosalie, the family sharing looks of confusion as Edward made to leave the room.

"Don't embarrass me, please," Edward quietly begged of his family before continuing on his way.

"No promises," Emmett snickered, sharing a look with Jasper and Alice as he wrapped his arm around Rosalie's waist.

As Edward opened the door a very dramatic sigh echoed through the entryway.

"God, I thought you'd never come!"

Edward just rolled his eyes good naturedly and helped (Y/N) out of their coat, trying not to snicker when they muttered "that's what she said" under their breath.

"My family's in the kitchen, if you'd like to meet them," Edward offered, knowing it was their first opportunity to- but not wanting to force them.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I want to meet your super awesome vampire family!" (Y/N) shot Edward an incredulous look and grabbed his hand, pulling him in the direction they assumed was the kitchen.

What Edward liked about (Y/N) was that he didn't have to read their mind to know what they were thinking- mostly because they lacked a social filter and said anything the second it entered their mind. But it made up for some interesting conversations.

"Aha!" (Y/N) cheered as they found the kitchen without Edward's guidance, looking around the kitchen at the vampires. "Hi!" they said, waving.

Alice let out a barely concealed squeal as she dove at (Y/N), wrapping them in a hug. (Y/N) barely got time to reciprocate when Edward pulled them away.

"That's my fault, I shouldn't have offered," Edward somewhat laughed as he led them to the lounge. Yes, this place was a lounge- how could it be a "living room" when (Y/N) was probably the first living person to actually enter it?

"So, what do you want to watc-" (Y/N) was cut off by their own gasp as they saw the shelves holding all the movies the Cullen's had collected.

"Whatever you want is fine by me," Edward said complacently, sitting down on the couch and preparing blankets for when (Y/N) sat next to him.

"Horror- for sure," (Y/N) commented as they dragged their finger across the DVD cases. They pulled a random one out and skimmed the back before popping it out of its case and putting it into the DVD player.

Sliding into the couch (and accompanying burrow of blankets) next to Edward, (Y/N) took the remote and pressed play. The lights in the room dimmed until they turned off completely, the only light shining on their faces from the TV.

Edward sat with his arm over (Y/N)'s shoulder, (Y/N) basically in his lap as their legs were thrown over his.

"No, no- don't go in there!" (Y/N) quietly begged the character on the TV, knowing he couldn't actually hear them.

"You do this every time, you know," Edward mumbled.

"Yeah, but it goes the same way every-" they were cut off as they flinched back into Edward, gripping his hand as the axe murderer on the TV jump scared them.

The night went on like that, only pausing for (Y/N) to select a different horror movie to slip in.

Edward couldn't help but marvel at the fact that (Y/N) found comfort in him, no matter how cold or tough-exterior-ed he might be.

At some point (Y/N) had fallen asleep against his chest, blankets wrapped around their shoulders as they snored. Edward was taking in their face, wanting to reach up and caress their cheek but not wanting to disturb them with his temperature.

That's when he heard the giggles, turning his head to find Alice, Jasper, and Emmett peeking through the doorway. Edward glared in warning and Alice just smiled and dragged the boys off.

End

--

Don't really know where I went with that- I felt that this one was oddly paced. Hoped you liked it though!

-Author Max <3

[babyghoul6669]

Personal Mary Goore Headcanons I have for my AU because some people might enjoy them:

Non-Binary more gender non conforming. Goes by any pronouns but typically uses he/they. I feel like they're more gender apathetic where they do things regardless of the binary and clothing has no gender.

Mary was a latch key kid. Their mother worked long hours to support them both and they grew up in a pretty rundown side of town, but she always made sure they felt loved. She passed away while he when he was still young and that started his fascination with death.

Mary really liked skateboarding as a teen as much as music. Even as an adult he spent a lot of time in skate parks totally not because he has nowhere else to go The kids there love them and they taught a lot of them how to skate. Is easily egged on by kids asking them to do tricks and will always attempt them, often wiping out horribly and uses it as a learning opportunity for the kids that it's okay to fall as long as you keep trying.

Has a collection of band aids kids gave him for all his wipe out scrapes over the years. He keeps them in a photo album and will point at each one and remembers every kids name and will tell you a cute or funny story about each one.

Attended vocational school in order to get a free meal as a young adult. (The north american education and social system could learn a thing or two from Sweden!) Anyway as a result they're also pretty good with mechanics. Which helps since they drive around in a pretty beat up shit box of a card. Often has to do some weird wizardry to get the thing running.

They died during a show when the lighting rig fell and and caved their skull in. The trauma being so intense it carried over into death, and even his ghost appears to be bleeding from the head.

Isn't a malicious spirit, but more of an annoying trickster. Likes to scare people just to get a rise out of them. If they aren't attuned enough to actually see them, they will not hesitate to knock shit off shelves or possess the corpses in the tombs to get people to notices them.

Will shy away and start to cry if you are gentle with them. Wants so badly to feel small and cared for, but feels like it's not something they should want so they're rather conflicted about it. Please give the soft gutter punk lots of cuddles and reassurance.

Okay that seems good for now. Let me know if you want me to write some more!

[tunastime]

hello tuna betuna :floshed: um umm um um how about 17 for the spotify wrapped ask meme!!! :3333

HI SHEPHERD o/ it is. actually so funny that you picked 17. I love this song so dearly but it is also the title track to my original work. so we talked this over and I know you said I should write roxas because you like him and you know about him. so I did. tumblr: meet roxas, a character that I used to play in d&d that I turned into a little guy to write about.

(823 words)

Yellow sunlight spills into the empty showroom. For a brief moment, Roxas stands in the sun, gold across the highs of his face and his shoulders. He lets his hands fall from the heavy curtains normally obscuring the front shop window. He can make out one letter of the dark signage above his front door: just the X, lined in gold paint, done by his hand. The sky is clear, cloudless and cold to the eye, and the sun still hides behind the rows of buildings crowded into the shopping district, similarly pooling into homes and other businesses. He frowns, then, and turns away from the window, eyes sweeping across the room. It’s still quiet in the balance of awake and sleeping, where the town has yet to fully creep from their homes and into the district. 

It’s in this time that Roxas spends his morning, dusting off the high shelves and lighting small, rolling fires in the lanterns and the oven. Roxas makes his way through the still air of the front shop and to the conjoining, open air workshop. Tools and materials all sit neatly in their places, save for the heavy stacks of unburned wood and charred bits left over. With thick, leather gloves, Roxas loads the furnace, stacking wood in haphazard piles inside the main oven. The heat will travel up through the rolling oven and to the deck where he works, melting silver and platinum, and further on to smaller stations, for gold, copper, and other precious metals. For a moment, Roxas lingers in the cold winter air near the furnace. Tugging off one glove, he holds out his hand. With a snap, fingers pointing to the bark, the wood ignites, crumbling from the inside as flames lick the surface. The tips of his fingers turn ashy grey as he withdraws, shutting the furnace door.

As he rises, he looks up. The stack of the furnace reaches high above his head, over the buildings, and passes his upper story window, where his bedroom sits. The sky is still bright, and the small swaying waves of grey smoke do nothing to obscure it. Roxas wipes his sooty hands on his apron, ash still sticking to his fingers from his conjuration, as he wanders inside.

It’s an hour to opening, and Roxas, owner, manager, and sole employee of The Phoenix, stands in the center of his shop, hands on his hips, apron around his waist, tail swishing idly. For a town of retired adventurers, parents, old politicians, and the occasional traveler, there’s still enough to line his pockets and keep his building. The shop collects dust, and he cleans it. The fire goes stale, and he relights it. He turns metal into knives, swords, gun barrels, dishes, cutlery, and firepokers. For a moment, Roxas studies a bend in the floor, the flat of the ball of his foot pressed against it. He leans, flicking his tail, and releases. There’s a shop knock on the door as he stands by himself.

Snapped out of his trance, Roxas blinks. The time on the large, hanging clock says it’s still the same time as when he checked it a few moments prior. He frowns, wiping his hands again, flicking soot onto the floor as he paces over to the door. He peeks through the curtain, seeing the back of a head obscured by a thick scarf, before he opens it. The door sticks, jingling open as he forces it. The person turns. 

Her face is obscured by the thick, delicately patterned scarf she has wrapped around her head, but her eyes peek through, small, and brow furrowed. She holds herself as if she isn’t certain where she is, or would prefer not to be there at all, weight shifting on both sides. For a moment, she and Roxas hold eye contact, Roxas’ head tilting as she stares him down.

“You do commission work, yes?” she finally asks, voice coming sharp through her winter scarf. Roxas nods, stilted.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I do. I do commission work.”

The woman holds out a small, leather brown envelope with a small, green seal.

“I would like to commission you.”

“Oh,” Roxas says. “Would—normally I sit with a client and ask them questions—I can host you upstairs, or—”

The woman shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “Everything you need is there.”

Roxas blinks. The words won’t surface from his chest as he stares at the letter in his hands, the seal swirling in his vision.

“Right—” he starts. But when he looks up, the woman in front of him is gone. A breeze blows through the small street, cold on his exposed knuckles and ears and nose. He shivers, leaning out into the street, trying to catch a glimpse of red or gold or yellow. Instead, he finds nothing but cobbles and pavement and people. Roxas shuts the door against the cold street.

The letter weighs heavy in his hands.

(ask game is closed for now!)

[weaselmcdiesel]

-Slides in very stylishly- So the withc / witchy au....

Oh my god I have so many thoughts already

Okay so FIRST: the amethyst.

Because of the ourple I am already associating it with the rift-- since Grian does illusion magic, do you think one of his abilities with the amethyst could be to send others into a make-believe illusion world? To make them see and 'live in' other hypothetical 'timelines' and possibilities? In Grian's hands, I could see these powers either turning out wondrous or horrific... or a chaotic mix of both.

And SECOND: corvid Mumbo will never not make me go tee hee -kicks my legs back and forth-

God I can imagine him being a very good fit for a witch that runs off of crystals, being instinctively inclined to snatch up shiny things on default. Do you think he has his own personal collection of crystally knick-knacks outside of the amethyst Grian gives him? And when Grian grows those wings in, oh boy... Mumbo is going to have quite the situation in his hands. Teaching him to fly, to preen, to avoid knocking everything on the shelves over every time he turns around.

Anyways, looking forward to the other stuff you come up with for this AU!! I'm very in love with the designs and concept!

THE AMETHYST YES!!! YOU GET IT!! I CHOSE A STUPID PURPLE ROCK BC OF THE STUPID RIFTY PURPLE YOU CRACKED MY CODE XDXD

I’m trying to do research on like. Dnd and elder scrolls types of magic to get a sense on what is feasible to like, just some self taught witch BUT. I think sending physically sending someone to like, a fake dimension of his creation would be the end goal, for him. At the moment he can probably handle more hallucinatory things? Or hypnotic things? like as long as the target is asleep he can create reaaally realistic images of, like you say, timelines and worlds :] if I were at all informed on any EVO stuff id say theres some watcher influence BUT! Im not ^^; sooo grian just be doing wacky things XD

YES CORVID MUMBO bro I was drawing him with the black wings and I was thinking of you and your vamp grian avian mumbo au XD AND YES! As in my previous post I totally thought mumbo and grian grow closer simply because mumbo’s bird brain gets transfixed on grains crystals :] actually- I considered making mumbo steal some of Grian’s stock and grian turning mumbo into a familiar to stop this behavior but I decided the familiar adoption process has to be consensual… and mumbo had to be nice to Grian’s collection XD after they’re connected tho? Yeah mumbo just puts pockets some of his stuff sometimes XD honestly yeah tho. He probably finds stuff when he goes around flying and I wouldnt be surprised if mumbo brings something back and Grian’s like- dude. How did you get that thats super magically charged. And mumbos like idk shiny :>

IM THINKING SO HARD ABOUT WHEN GRIAN’S WINGS GROW OOOOOOOOOO yeah honestly- I think as mumbo is getting used to his human form he also knocks into things? But quickly adjusts? But once GRIANS wings get big? Yeah no it takes him a while to stop rushing around and knocking alllll his fragile stuff around (me thinking about grian flying for the first time…. That does something to me….)

IM GLAD YOURE INTERESTED OOO IM SO EXCITED<333

[freddie-weaselbee]

Close Quarters//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language, sexual references, partial nudity, like one paragraph of brief smut but no details, mentions of food, accidentally getting lit on fire (oopsie spoiler), angst, rude Fred

Summary: What happens when George moves out, leaving Fred to live with the one person he despises the most? Chaos, that’s what happens. 

Prompts: Roommates and Enemies to Lovers with the prompts “I can’t believe you talked me into this.” “This is the opposite of what I told you to do.” and “You can’t banish me! This is my apartment too!”

Word Count: 9k

A/N: This is for @theweasleyslut’s birthday celebration writing challenge, happy birthday love !! And also the first fic in Abby’s Week of Weasley, enjoy!

~Abby’s Week of Weasley Masterlist~ ~Masterlist~

As Fred Weasley sealed up the last box with an excess amount of tape, he took a second to step back and take in his surroundings. It was the same old loft he had lived in for the past 4 years. There was the couch and armchairs positioned around a coffee table, the Muggle guitar propped up on its stand in the corner, the many pictures of his family scattered around the open space. It was controlled chaos, and to him it was beautiful. But it was all changing, and much too soon for his liking. 

“Thanks for the help Freddie,” called his twin George from the other room. The tall ginger haired boy who had just spoken joined his slightly older brother in the main part of the loft, carrying a box filled with books he had collected over the years. “It really means a lot, Angie got pulled away for work so I know she’d appreciate it.”

Fred nodded and gave his brother a small smile. “Of course Georgie, anything else I can do?”

George took a look around the room. By the door were piles of dozens of boxes, all filled to the brim with George’s clothes and knick knacks. He sighed and scratched the back of his head, a deep sadness overtaking his features. 

“No, I think we’re alright,” he said. “Just need to get these to my new place and we should be all set.”

Fred let out a deep sigh and looked at his brother. They stared at each other for a few short seconds before dropping everything in their hands and wrapping their arms around each other. 

“Do you really have to go?” Fred whispered softly. It was so unlike him to be quiet, and even more unlike him to be nervous and shy. But watching his brother, who he had lived with for 22 years, finally leave and get his own place broke him. “It’s always been us, George, you and me, the Weasley twins. I can’t imagine living without you.”

George squeezed his twin even tighter, a loose tear falling from eye. “It’s not like I’m leaving you, me and Angelina will be just a Floo Network trip away. And you can’t expect her to stay here forever and be forced to live with you as well.”

Fred scoffed and let out a breathy chuckle. “What do you mean, she’s loved staying with us! The second she moved in with you she told me that she couldn’t imagine anything better than living with her lover and his twin brother who’s always around.”

“She was being sarcastic mate, she can only handle one twin at a time and unfortunately for you that twin is me.” George released his brother and quickly wiped his eyes, noticing Fred doing the same thing. 

“Whatever,” Fred replied, “it was getting annoying not being able to walk around freely in my own place without having to see you two shagging on every piece of furniture.”

“Not my fault she can’t resist my charms,” he said, giving his infamous Weasley smirk. “Maybe with us gone you’ll be able to finally find a girl.”

“I think I should focus on getting a roommate first,” he said, plopping down on the couch. “You know I can’t live alone. Remember before Angelina moved in and you stayed at her place for the night--”

“And you showed up at Ginny and Harry’s and crawled into bed with them because you were scared? Yeah, no one in the family’s gonna let you forget that anytime soon.” Fred shoved his brother and crossed his arms, sinking deeper into the cushions. 

“Sod off, you never know what could be lurking in the dark.” 

George laughed and joined his brother, kicking his feet onto the coffee table. “You know,” he began, mischief gleaming in his eyes, “I do think I have an answer to your roommate problem.”

“Really?” Fred asked, shooting up. The less time he had to spend alone at night, and alone in general, the better. 

“Yeah,” said George, “I ran into one of my old friends from school and turns out they’re looking for a place to stay and maybe earn some extra money. I was thinking that maybe, since you’ve got the space and we need some help in the shop anyway, they could take the other room and work downstairs on the weekends.”

Fred looked quizzically at his double, trying to read his intentions. “And who, pray tell, might this friend be?”

George just smirked and went to collect the rest of the boxes. “That, dear brother, is a surprise.”

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

You made your way down the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley, a place you had more recently been finding yourself. Work at the Ministry had been tiring, especially your first few years. But ever since the war ended and everything began to quiet down, you’d had some more free time to finally take in the world around you. 

It stood out like a sore thumb. The bright and gleaming storefront with an animatronic face looking down at you. You had never visited Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes before, always nervous about running into a certain redhead and falling back into the same argumentative habits you’d had at Hogwarts. Fred had always made it his goal to make your life a living hell, and you couldn’t lie, you did the same to him. But after having lunch with George a few days ago and suddenly receiving a letter to come and visit him at his shop, you decided that it was finally time to see the inside of Diagon Alley’s most booming business. 

The doorbell jingled as you walked in, catching the attention of your friend behind the counter. 

“Y/N!” George cried. He hopped over the register, knocking a few things down from shelves, before pulling you into a hug. 

“Hey George! So, this is the place, huh?” The inside was even more spectacular than the outside. The walls were lined with products from end to end, some of them you recognized from the twins’ testing at Hogwarts and others were completely new. An animatronic doll of Umbridge was riding across a rope close to the ceiling, making you laugh and remembering the horrors of your 7th year when the pink nightmare was in charge. 

“This is it!” George had his arm around your shoulder as he showed you around, pointing out different products and trying desperately to sell you one of their love potions, knowing exactly how single you were. 

“This is incredible, George, I can’t believe you guys actually did it.”

“You doubted us? And I thought we were friends!” He clutched his heart and doubled over, accidentally stumbling into a display and making all of the products crashing down. 

“Oi, George what are you doing down there?” You froze at the voice, one you hadn’t heard in years and one that you weren’t too keen on hearing any time soon. Fred appeared on the steps, wearing a dapper purple and orange suit, his hair slightly ruffled. The grin on his face disappeared when he made eye contact with you, being replaced with a scowl. “What’s she doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Weasley.” You smiled at him, a fake mocking smile that made his blood boil, and how you loved getting under his skin. 

“George,” he said, acting as though you weren’t even in the room. 

The man in question shifted from foot to foot, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket. “Well, uh, you see…”

“George sent me a letter the other day,” you interrupted. “Said that he had a proposition that he wanted to talk about and asked if I could come in today.”

Realization dawned on Fred and his eyes grew wide. “Oh no, George are you serious? She was the one you were talking about?”

You furrowed your brow in both confusion at the situation and anger at Fred, who had made you upset in record time today. “Talking about what? All I know is that he wanted to ask me something and I agreed to meet with him.” You turned to face the other twin. “What’s going on?”

“Ok, both of you calm down,” he said, hands up in defense. “Let me explain. Y/N, you know how you said you really needed a place to stay, as well as somewhere to work part time?”

It took you a couple of seconds, but you then understood what he was insinuating. “No. There’s no way, how am I supposed to live with you two when he’s going to be an annoying prat every second?”

“You’re not the most lovable person yourself, darling,” Fred sneered. “And besides, you wouldn’t be living with us. George moved out to get an apartment with Angelina. You’d be living with only me.”

Without a second thought you turned around and started toward the exit. “Well, I appreciate the offer George and it was great to catch up, hopefully next time I see you I won’t be bothered by your other half.”

“Y/N wait!” George cried, catching up to you and grabbing your wrist. “Listen, I know these aren’t the most...ideal conditions for you--”

“Same goes for me!” Fred called from the stairs. 

George sighed heavily, rubbing his temple in frustration. “Y/N, I’ve missed you over the past few years. I know that you and Fred don’t exactly get along.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” you said through gritted teeth. “He’s annoying, cocky, inconsiderate, and--”

“And he’s my brother,” said George. “He’s a good person, and for whatever reason you two decided to hate each other, I can promise that the Fred you think you know is nothing like the real one.”

You paused your struggle against his arm and decided to let him continue on. 

“Let’s be real here. You need a place to stay and rent for most places in Diagon Alley is insane. If you stay here you get a nice bedroom, a cozy living room, a great view of London from the roof, and a low rate for rent. You can even work down here on the weekends to get the extra money you need. The only thing you need to do is be civil with Fred, that’s all.”

“That’s a lot more difficult than it sounds when someone’s as much of an arse as he is.”

Fred rolled his eyes and came over to join the conversation. “What would I get out of this arrangement George? I don’t know if you were unaware, but I don’t exactly need money at the moment, we’re doing just fine as it is.”

Great, you thought, he’s a pompous rich kid too. Gets a little money and it goes all to his head. 

“Fred, what were we talking about the other night?” George prodded. “You hate being alone, especially at night. If Y/N’s here, then you’ll have someone to keep you company, someone who’s always in the loft with you.”

“Aww, is little Freddie afraid of the dark?” you mocked, sticking out your bottom lip and jesting in a baby voice. 

He practically growled back. “Shut the fuck up, you--”

George put his hands out, one on your shoulder and one on Fred’s chest to separate the two of you. “It’s a mutually beneficial deal. You both know that you don’t have any other options, and maybe if you two dimwits spend some time together you won’t be at each other’s throat all the time! Now, what do you say? Just try it out.”

You looked Fred up and down dramatically, letting him know how much distaste for him you had. He did the same back to you but paused for a brief moment at your boobs, causing you to blush and look away. 

Fred was the first to give in. “Fine. I’m willing to try it if she will. As long as we establish some ground rules, starting with you can never come into my room, got it?”

It took everything you had not to slap the shit out of the man standing in front of you, but George was right. You didn’t have any other options. 

“I’ll at least have my own bathroom, right?” you asked George. 

He laughed guiltily and mentally prepared himself for another barrage of yells. “You see, about that…”

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

“Your room’s at the end of the hall, bathroom’s to the right, my room’s to the left, have at it.” 

You dropped the heavy boxes you had been carrying onto the floor and leaned over to catch your breath. Fred was standing nonchalantly in the kitchen, pulling out the bread and jam to make a sandwich. 

“Excuse me?” you asked indignantly. 

“You’re excused,” he replied, not even looking up. 

You stomped over to the small kitchenette and slammed the refrigerator door shut, which Fred just opened again seconds later. You tried again, but he merely sighed and reached for the handle. Finally after not being able to take any more you shoved his hand aside and stood in front of the door, leaning all of your weight onto it. 

“Something I can help you with, doll?” 

The anger coursing through your boy only intensified, nails leaving marks on the insides of your clenched hands. “First of all, don’t call me doll, understand?”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed you by the waist, lifting you to the side so he could once again get to his food. “I’ll call you what I want, darling.”

By this point you had completely given into your anger. Pulling your wand from your back pocket you shoved it under his chin, forcing him against a nearby wall and making him finally pay attention to you. “You listen here, Freddie,” you snarled. “Neither of us want this to happen, that’s a fact. But if you get to have ground rules then so do I, and I will not sit here and be quite literally tossed around like some quaffle! Have I made myself clear?”

It was subtle, but Fred gulped. You had always scared him at Hogwarts, which is one of the reasons he picked on you so much. He’d rather be on the offensive than always backed into a corner playing defense. 

“Ok doll--sorry, I mean Y/N. Let’s sit down and go over any rules, ok? As much as I enjoy being pinned to the wall by you, I think we need to defuse the tension, yeah?”

Even when he was trying to make peace he was infuriating. But you relented and slowly let the wand down, pulling out a chair at the countertop with Fred joining right next to you. 

Fred summoned a piece of parchment and a pen (which was always much easier to use than quills) and messily scrawled ‘Loft Rules’ on the top. 

“Alright, you can go first,” he offered. 

You thought for a moment before delivering your demands. “Number one, no nicknames. I go by Y/N, and I refuse to answer to anything else.” He nodded and wrote it down. 

“Number two. You can’t ignore me. I know you think you’re better than me and that I’m not worth your time, but if I’m going to be your roommate then you have to treat me as an equal, and I’ll do the same to you.” 

“Yeah,” Fred scoffed, “just like you did back in Hogwarts.”

“Can we please not focus on the past?” you asked. “I know we were both horrible arses to each other, but we’re not kids anymore. I’ll respect you if you respect me. It’s not that difficult.”

Fred grumbled in agreement and wrote down the second rule. “Anything else?”

“Don’t go through my room or my stuff. I have some very personal items and I would appreciate you keeping your nose out of them.”

Fred put the pen to his chin in concentration, ideas forming in his head. 

“Fred,” you scolded. “No touching my things. That’s final.” 

“Fine, but the same goes for me,” he said. “That’s my rule number one, stay out of my room and don’t touch any of my personal items. Furniture and that kind of thing don’t count.”

You nodded. “That’s only fair. Rule number two?”

“George and I are always working on new products, and usually testing them out on people. We’ll pay you to test them if you want, but if not you need to stay out of our way and mind your own business.”

“I’ll test anything you guys have, I did it back at school and I’m sure you’re much more professional now.”

“What?” Fred asked, completely confused. “When did you test our products?”

“Who do you think was the one who tried, and eventually perfected, the skiving snackboxes? George asked me to help him with them so I skipped prefect duties for a few nights and we figured it all out.”

“There’s no way you were the one who fixed them! I’ve been giving George the credit this whole time, how in the world did you do that?”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t top of our class for nothing, Freddie.”

“Oh I know, you never let me hear the end of it.”

Before you could say something in response Fred rushed on to his last request.

“Number three,” he said, smirking widely. “You can’t complain about any of the girls I bring home, and you can’t get in their way or say bad things about me. Believe it or not, I can be quite charming and I give everyone a good time, so no complaints of noise either. And we don’t use silencing spells, so get ready for that.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Thank you. Now, I’m going downstairs to help George with a new shipment that just came in. Have fun unpacking your things!” He didn’t even give you a chance to say anything before aparating downstairs, leaving you alone in the large loft. You sighed and went to grab the boxes, dragging everything to the room you would be stuck in for who knows how long. 

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

“This is the ugliest uniform I’ve ever seen!” 

“Then it’ll match the rest of your personality! Put it on.”

You scoffed at Fred’s remark but decided not to argue. No matter how much you despised the boy you figured it probably wasn’t the best idea to start off by insulting your boss. Fred Weasley was your boss. You never thought you would reach this low of a point in your life. 

The outfit you had to wear was exactly what Fred and George wore, which was fine for them, two 6’ 3” men. But the oversized male suit that you had to roll up countless times really didn’t suit your figure, and Fred knew that all too well. 

Scrunching up the pant legs and fastening the tie, you made your way out of the loft to join the twins down in their office, running into George on the way down. 

“Hey Y/N, sleep well?” George asked, handing you a latte he had bought from the coffee shop down the street. 

You gave him a grateful nod and took a sip. “Hardly. I didn’t get moved in until about 2 in the morning and I always have trouble falling asleep in a new place, so let’s just say last night was a pretty rough start.”

“Fred didn’t help you unpack your things?” George questioned, looking a little surprised. “That must’ve taken you ages to get everything set up.”

“You’re telling me. But no, he just holed himself up in his room, ordered takeout around 9, then went back to his room and that’s all I saw of him. But I mean that’s pretty in character, yeah? Never really liked me much.”

It took George a few seconds to take in everything you were telling him. Fred was never one to ignore someone, especially someone he was living with. “Yeah,” he said, “but even so he was never actually rude to you at school right? I always thought it was some teenage rivalry fueled by hormones of something like that.”

“I wish it was that simple,” you sighed. “But I always appreciate when he’s leaving me alone. It’s a lot better than some of the asshole things he would say and do when we were kids. Trust me, the less we interact, the better.”

George was speechless with shock, but you didn’t notice. You made your way to some shelves to tidy up before the shop opened, leaving George standing open mouthed. 

He watched as Fred finally exited the office with a stack of papers piled higher than his head. He dropped them next to you, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. “Fill these out for me will ya? Order forms, due back to me by noon. Shouldn’t be too complicated for you to understand, but let me know if you need me to explain what any of the big words mean.”

“Of course, sir.” you said, picking up the stack and taking it to the back. Fred came over to join his brother, who looked appalled at Fred’s actions. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I love you, but you’re a fucking moron.” George followed you into the back while Fred stared at him, confused on why his brother had for once in his life not been on his side. 

George spent the rest of the morning showing you the ropes until you felt you were comfortable enough with the setup to be able to help them stock products and show people around. It was a nice change from your Ministry job, which was predictable and could be quite boring. This job had you always on your toes, talking with kids and demonstrating some of your favorite products. 

The twins came back from their lunch break around one and were met with a large crowd of kids following you around like lost puppies. They were all grinning widely and laughing at every demonstration you provided, making you mirror their actions with glee. 

You tried to show the kids how to use one of the newer products, but it ended up exploding in your face, making everyone howl with laughter, including yourself.

Fred watched you interact with the kids, enraptured by how easily you seemed to get along with them. When he knew you at Hogwarts he always thought you were a cocky and arrogant student who would’ve hated the idea of his pranks and jokes. The person he was watching now was nothing like the one he remembered. 

“She’s a natural, huh?” whispered George, snapping Fred out of his stupor. “She’s always been good with kids, they seem to love her.”

“Y/N?” Fred asked. “She was so cold back in Hogwarts, I never saw her smile once!”

“Really?” George asked bewildered. “She’s always been a blast! Lee and her were friends and I can’t help but think he might’ve sparked the wild side in her, but I’ve never seen her be cold to anyone. Well, anyone except you.”

Before Fred could see anything you noticed the twins’ arrival. Smiling, you gestured to them and announced their presence in a regal voice. “And there they are, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!”

The kids cheered and ran over to greet Fred and George, bouncing with excitement and berating them with questions about their products. George gave you a teasing glare as he was dragged across the floor while you sat on the counter, laughing at the scene you caused. But when you went to look at Fred, who you expected to be ignoring you, he was doing the complete opposite. 

He was staring at you unashamedly, his eyes burning into yours. You awkwardly looked away, but when you glanced back a few seconds later he was still analyzing you, as if he was trying to figure out everything about you. You cleared your throat and moved to the back office, hoping you could get a start on that paperwork and maybe shake the weird feeling you got when Fred looked at you like that. 

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

“All closed up for the night?”

You jumped at Fred’s voice, which had distracted you from casting the last of the protective charms needed to keep the shop locked up. With an entire alley filled with wizards who learned Alohomora in their first year at Hogwarts, it was safe to say they needed their fair share of charms to keep the store from being robbed. 

“I was almost there, before you interrupted,” you said, turning back to the final spells you needed to cast. It had been a few weeks since you moved in with Fred and it had honestly been a lot better than you had expected. Of course, you two were still constantly at each other’s throats and the neighbors had complained about shouting matches more than once, but neither of you had killed the other yet and you considered that a victory. 

As you finished up the last of your closing duties you saw George grabbing his things and heading to the Floo network upstairs, trying to rush past and avoid you and Fred. 

“Hey!” you yelled after him. He stopped dead in his tracks and tried to shrink down as if to hide from you. But, being over 6 feet tall, it was rather difficult for him to disappear. “Where do you think you’re going? Stop trying to sneak off on us!”

“Yeah,” said Fred. “We’ve had takeout the last three nights in a row, we need you to stay and cook us a decent meal so I don’t have to smell Y/N’s fast food breath anymore.”

You elbowed him but nodded in agreement, you were getting absolutely sick of not having a home cooked meal. 

“Guys,” George groaned, “I need to get home to see Angie! I’ve been working late for the past week and it’s been a while since we’ve had some...alone time.”

You and Fred both covered your ears and gagged, pretending to pop a puking pastille and subsequently throw up. 

“You’re both so immature, and that’s coming from me,” he said smiling. “Besides, isn’t it high time you two learned to cook for yourselves? What were you gonna do, just have me cook for you the rest of your lives?”

“Yes,” you and Fred replied in unison, shooting each other dirty looks before turning back to your friend. Fred, with his unhealthy obsession with pyrotechnics, and you, with your lack of basic common sense, were never allowed in the kitchen before, and so neither of you had any idea how to cook even the most simple of meals. 

George rolled his eyes and continued up the stairs to the loft, you and Fred following shortly behind him. 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, just follow the recipe I laid out for you. It’s spaghetti, I’m sure even you two couldn’t mess that up.” And with that, George had whooshed through the fireplace, leaving only you and Fred in the kitchen. 

You stared at each other for a second, before you came to a decision. “I’ll order the takeout, you want Chinese tonight?”

You picked up one of the many takeout menus you had lying around and began to skim through it when Fred spoke up. “No, George is right. We might as well try to learn, and with two of us we should be able to figure it out.”

You looked at him as if he had grown a second head. “That is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, and you’ve had some really dumb ideas.”

“C’mon,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “We’re both smart, some of us more so than others. How bad can it possibly be?”

Answer: very bad. 

Fred was running around the kitchen screaming at the top of his lungs while the fire alarm blared all throughout the loft. “Y/N, help! It won’t stop screaming at me!”

“I don’t know what to do!” you yelled, throwing the burning cookbook into the sink. There was still smoke rising from it, which made the alarm continue to beep at full volume. You grabbed the pot of boiling water and poured it down the drain, hoping that it would put out any of the pages that were still flaming. But the water only splashed up at you, making you yelp and fall backwards in order to avoid being burned by the liquid. 

Fred was still scrambling through the rooms and he didn’t notice your body laying on the floor, causing him to trip over you and faceplant into the spilled marinara sauce. 

The two of you tried to get up but your limbs became tangled in each other’s and you ended up on the ground again. After a few struggles you were finally back on your feet, but you were once again off of them as Fred hoisted you into the table. 

“Get on my shoulders,” he said over the sound of the alarm. You climbed on and reached up to fumble around with all of the buttons on the device. “Hurry up, Y/N, I can’t support you for much longer!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” After what felt like ages you had finally pushed the right sequence and the loft was drowned in a sudden silence. Both you and Fred let out sighs of relief as he lowered you back onto the table. You hopped off and took a few steps back, finally taking in the disastrous scene around you.

“Well,” you said relieved, “at least that’s over.”

You turned to smile at Fred but we’re only met with a wide eyed look of pure horror. 

“Fred? What is it?”

It was then that you smelled it. The familiar burning that had just been flooding your nostrils moments before was suddenly back and stronger than ever.

Slowly, you turned your head to look behind you, and your eyes widened even larger than Fred’s had. “I’m on fire!”

Sure enough, your oversized sweater had been dangling in the flame of the kitchen stove, which neither of you had remembered to turn off. The bottom of your outfit was slowly burning, bright orange and red flames climbing up your torso. 

“Fuck! Fred, do something!” you wailed. You began running around the kitchen and spinning around faster and faster to try to put out the fire. 

“I’m trying!” Fred grabbed a blanket from the living room and draped it over you, hoping to cut off the oxygen flow. But the fire only spread to the blanket, making your situation ten times worse. 

“What the fuck Fred?! Do something useful!”

Fred dove under the table, reaching for his wand. He shimmied under a little more, but his right pant leg got caught in the burning blanket, meaning that both of you were now being engulfed by the flames. 

“Holy shit!” He patted the small flames on his pants away, but you were frantically trying to shove yourself into the sink under the running water. 

Grabbing his wand, Fred tried to get up, banging his head on the table in the process, and aimed it at you. “We never should’ve tried cooking! I can’t believe you talked me into this!”

“This is the opposite of what I told you to do!” you shrieked. “Now put the fire out you moron!”

Fred quickly cast Aguamenti, sending gallons upon gallons of water out of his wand and straight onto your flailing body, as well as the burning blanket. You sat in the sink, ass half in the now empty spaghetti pot, completely drenched from head to toe. Fred’s pant leg was still simmering, and his entire face was covered in marinara sauce, which had dripped down to cover most of his shirt. After all of the shock of what had just happened finally passed, a small smile crept onto both of your faces, and soon you were both bent over laughing hysterically. 

Fred lifted you out of the sink, pushing you away suddenly when he realized how much water was dripping onto him. “C’mon, love, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Hey, I thought I said no nicknames,” you teased, falling in step with him as you both rushed to your shared bathroom. 

“C’mon, just this one, please? I deserve it after what you put me through back there.” He gave his best puppy dog eyes but you didn’t fall for it for a second. 

“What I put you through?!” you said, bumping into his shoulder. “You thought we were supposed to light the noodles to get them to soften! I caught on fire for Pete’s sake!”

He laughed at you as you turned on the bathroom sink and tugged at your sweater. It was completely scorched in the back, black all the way up to your collar. You were lucky Fred had put it out when he did, otherwise there was a good chance it could have damaged your hair. 

You took the now ruined sweater off, leaving you standing there in only your bra and a pair of comfortable pants. You could feel Fred’s gaze on your body, making your face turn red and you instinctively covered yourself up. He unbuckled his scorched trousers and hung them in the shower, hoping that maybe he could get some material and fix them later. 

The both of you realized simultaneously that you were each half naked, and you were completely soaked wearing a fairly transparent white bra. Deciding to distract from the obvious tension, you finally broke the silence. “This may sound completely ludacris, considering I was just, y’know, on fire, but that was one of the most exciting and fun things that’s happened in a while. Reminds me of when we were back in school, with all of the mischief and pranks.”

“Back in school?” Fred replied. “I thought you hated my pranks! You seemed like you were so, i dunno, above me. And I thought you hated everything fun and exciting!”

“You’re not serious, are you?” You smiled at his confused expression. “I was friends with Lee and your brother. The amount of trouble I would get in when you were off in detention or shagging some girl in our year...it was fantastic. I never hated your pranks, I just hated you. No offense.”

He shrugged. “None taken. I hated you too. But you’re nothing like I thought you were.”

You took a step closer to him, softly biting your lip as you grinned sheepishly. “You’re nothing like I thought either.”

This time Fred moved a few inches closer, his hand hovering over your hip and eyes taking in all of you. His fingers brushed against your side ever so softly, caressing your side with his fairy light touches. You slowly parted your lips and he did the same, continuing to grow closer and closer until--

“What the bloody hell happened here?!”

The two of you shot apart at the noise, registering that it must’ve been George who had used the Floo network to come back to the loft. You avoided eye contact with the redhead standing next to you as you both exited the bathroom and went to find George, who was looking wide eyed at the complete mess you had created all over the apartment. 

“Y’know what,” he said after looking at the current state the two of you were in, “ I don’t wanna know. I just wanted to come back, grab the papers I left here, and be on my merry way.”

He stopped short, looking over at you again. “Nice tits, Y/N.”

You quickly crossed your arms in front of your chest again and Fred stood in between you and George, blocking his view of your very exposed self. 

“Calm down, Freddie, I have a girlfriend, I’m not going to be ogling your roommate, dear brother.” He tiptoed around the giant mess and grabbed a stack of papers sitting on the coffee table. “Oh, and before I forget, Y/N, remember that guy I was telling you about? The one investor I work with?” he said with a wink. 

“Umm, yeah, what about him?” you asked, still very shaken up about the events of the evening. 

“He said he’d love to get to know you! I told him he’s your type and apparently you’re very much his, so I set up a date for you two tomorrow night. Is that alright?”

Fred snapped his head in your direction but you refused to look at him. What had happened in the bathroom was a mistake, an adrenaline induced mistake that almost changed everything for your roommate dynamic. You couldn’t mess things up now, not when you and Fred had finally been getting along. Besides, you had been dying to get out and date, and George had at long last found you someone that wasn’t a complete asshole. You’d be a fool to not give it a shot. “Y-yeah, that sounds great.” 

“Perfect,” he replied. “I’ll see you two tomorrow then. And please, don’t ever cook again. I promise I’ll be here to make you a nice meal next time, alright?”

George disappeared once again, leaving you with the man who had almost kissed you in the bathroom of your shared apartment. Fred moved away quickly, going to clean up the mess the two of you had made. You tried to follow and help him, but he just shooed you away and back to your room. 

Just a few seconds ago Fred was mere millimeters away from you, but now he felt like he was millions of miles away. 

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

“Ready, Y/N?”

George was standing in the opening of the bathroom door, watching as you put the finishing touches on your makeup. You decided to put your best foot forward tonight. No use wasting a great opportunity just because of some unwanted confusions from the other day. Turning to face you friend you did a little twirl, dress flying up and spinning around you. 

“How do I look?” you asked bashfully. 

“Brilliant,” George replied, a proud grin on his face. “Let’s get you downstairs, he’ll be waiting to meet you.” 

The two of you made your way to the staircase leading out of the loft, when a very upset and very tipsy Fred stumbled by the two of you. He pushed past and didn’t even stop to say anything before heading out of the shop and down the street. 

“Where’s he off to?” you asked. 

“Oh, just to shag another random girl he finds at a bar. It’s a weekly occurrence for him at this point. It stopped once you moved in though, this is the first time he’s gone out since you’ve lived here.” George looked longingly at his brother, who had always turned away from his problems and instead focused on firewhisky and girls to temporarily ease his pain. 

“So, he doesn’t really date then? Just the hookup type?” you prodded, hoping against all odds that George would give you the answer you wanted to hear. 

“He used to, back in school and before the war. But something just happened after he got out of the pile of rubble,” he said. “I haven’t ever seen the same girl around here more than once or twice. But hey, as long as he’s alright it’s really none of my business. I just gotta look out for him, y’know?”

You gave George a reassuring smile. “You’re a great brother, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. Now get out there and get yourself a man!” George gave you a little shove in the right direction and you set off for your date. 

Although you were hoping that this could be a change of pace, a push in the right direction, the date did not go anything like you were wishing it would. 

The man George had told you about, Jason, was a perfectly fine guy. He was polite, charming, very handsome. But while the two of you wined and dined, you couldn’t help but compare him to something else. Someone else. No matter what he said, what jokes he would crack, it just wasn’t what you wanted. 

You thanked him for a wonderful evening, but it was fairly obvious that neither of you had intentions of seeing each other again. As you sulked through the dark streets of nocturnal Diagon Alley, you couldn’t help but mentally kick yourself for giving up so easily. One date and you decided that this man wasn’t worth your time. And for what? An unrealistic expectation you’d conjured up in your head about what your ideal person would be. 

As you trudged up the stairs to the loft, thinking about how in the world you would ever be able to actually find someone else to go out with, you heard shouting from inside the apartment. You reached to open the door, only to have it yanked open and a young woman, clothes hastily thrown on and pure fury etched across her brow, came charging out. 

“This must be her, isn’t it? This is Y/N!” she turned her back and yelled. Fred suddenly appeared, shocked to see you home so early. “Well, answer me!”

Fred and you both stood there speechless, Fred not knowing what to say and you now knowing what was going on. “Y/N…” he finally said, so quietly that you could barely hear him. 

This just set the other girl off again. “What are you, his girlfriend, wife maybe?” 

You shook your head fervently. “N-no, not at all! We’re just... roommates.”

The girl seemed to calm after this, reaching out to put a hand on your shoulder. “That’s a relief I guess. I thought I had just become an accidental homewrecker!”

“Homewrecker?” you exclaimed. You didn’t even know this girl, she was just one of Fred’s random hookups, but she thought that she would be breaking up a nonexistent relationship between you and Fred. 

“Yeah,” she said, “he brings me home from the bar, sweet talks me, gets me naked, and you’ll never guess whose name he moaned as he--”

“That’s enough!” Fred yelled, shoving the girl out past you and grabbing your wrist to pull you into the loft. “Look, I’m sorry Marcy--”

“It’s Macy, you dumbass,” she said, fixing her messed up hair and putting on a look of confidence. “And the night is still young, so if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go find someone else who can actually remember my name!” She slammed the door shut behind her, the thud echoing across the walls. 

You clicked your tongue, trying to fill the absence of noise without wanting to bring up the very interesting news Macy had provided. “So, I’m sorry about your date--”

“Let’s not talk about it,” he interrupted. “I’m going to bed and I don’t want you to mention this to anyone else, understand?”

You didn’t give him any attention as you went to your room, trying to comprehend everything that happened. “Well, my date was a bust too, thanks for asking,” you said as you copied the earlier actions of Macy and slammed your door shut. You undressed and removed your makeup, hoping that a long night’s sleep would allow you to decompress and somehow sort out everything you were feeling. 

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

Your goals of a long and peaceful sleep were shattered as a high pitched, incredibly annoying alarm clock beeped from the room adjacent to yours. You groaned and covered your ears with your pillow, trying to block out the noise to no avail. Rolling over, you saw your clock displaying 6:00 am, a time you definitely didn’t want to get up at on your day off. 

You thought Fred would have woken up by now and turned off the horrid sounds, but it continued to ring through your ears, getting louder and louder each time. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and you jumped out of bed, storming over to Fred’s locked bedroom door. 

“Frederick Gideon Weasley!” you screamed, banging on his door. His blaring alarm was only adding to your awful mood, caused by the terrible night you had before. You didn’t think you could stand one more second of the noises and you were practically screaming Fred’s name. 

“Turn that off, right now! Fred I’m not kidding! This is your last chance.” You continued to pound your fist against the door to the point where you knew you were going to bruise if you had to continue. Completely fed up with the situation and with Fred in general you pulled out your wand and unlocked the door. 

“Fred Weasley for the love of--” You stopped abruptly and took in the scene in front of you. You’d never seen the inside of Fred’s room before, but you had to imagine that it didn’t always look this bad. This...dark.

 The drapes were hanging from the windows, covering any source of light that could’ve possibly come in. Clothes were strewn across the floor and small knick knacks were thrown everywhere with no care. The alarm continued to blare, but you couldn’t focus on that at the moment, the only thing you could focus on was Fred. 

He was curled up in his bed, Muggle headphones covering his ears and blasting music so loud that you could hear it clearly from across the room. He was clutching a pillow into his chest, head buried into it and his body shaking with what you thought to be sobs. No, it couldn’t be. Fred couldn’t be crying. 

Suddenly he jerked up and threw off his headphones, finally noticing your presence. “Freddie…” you said softly.

“Get. The fuck. Out.” he growled. He wiped his tears away and the sadness you had just seen in him had completely turned into something else. Complete anger. 

You ignored his command. “Fred, are you ok?”

Shooting out of bed, clothed only in his boxers, Fred grabbed his wand and almost charged at you. “I said get out!” he screamed, tears continuing to stream from his face. “Go! Leave! I don’t want to see you again!”

You backed out of the room, hands in the air as the tall infuriated figure towered over you with his wand in your face. “Yeah, ok I’ll just, umm, go back to my room.” 

You tried to rush back to the safety of your bedroom but a harsh hand grabbed your shoulder and turned you around. “No,” he seethed. “I said get out, that means get. out. Get out of my apartment.”

“Freddie…”

“Don’t call me that!” He wasn’t even trying to hide the tears now. They came streaming out, drowning his face. “Leave the apartment and don’t come back. You’re… you’re banished!”

“Excuse me?” you asked, hands on your hips.

“I said you’re hereby banished from the loft and from my store!” 

“You can’t banish me! This is my apartment too!”

“Banished! Leave! Go!” He ran into your room and started pulling clothes out of your drawers, throwing everything onto piles on your floor. 

“Fred! Stop that, what are you doing?”

“I said banished and that’s final, get your things and leave.” He continued to pack your clothes, not even paying attention to what he was tossing and barely being able to see through his tears. 

“Well...you’re banished too!” you screamed at him. “You’re in my room, that’s one of the rules! Get out, you’re banished!”

“No, you’re banished, I said it first so only mine counts!” 

“No, you’re banished”

“No you are!”

“No--”

“Just get the fuck out Y/N!” Fred yelled, louder than he’d yelled anything before. “I can’t stand seeing you anymore and you need to go!”

“Why?” you pushed. “I see you crying one time and suddenly you can’t stand me? Are you really that scared of being vulnerable?”

“Yes!”

You both froze, taking in what he just said. He sucked in a deep breath and wiped his face with one of the shirts he was holding, coming close and staring straight down into your eyes. 

“Yes. I don’t want you to see me curled up in my bed, crying into my fucking pillow because I miss my twin brother! Because I can’t handle being alone, and even when someone's living with me I’m still alone! Because you hate me, and I can’t even tell the girl I live with that I love her, because then you’ll laugh at me and leave! And maybe it’s easier to just make you go rather than being abandoned, again. So, Y/N, you’re banished, from my apartment and from my life.”

As he finished his rant you stood there, not knowing what to do or say. The ever-happy, cocky, overbearingly confident man in front of you had just vented out everything he had been feeling for the last few months. You couldn’t think straight or come to a rational decision. So you did the first thing that came to your mind. You grabbed his cheeks in your hand and pulled him down, enveloping his lips in yours. 

He didn’t hesitate to kiss back aggressively, all tongue and teeth. It was nothing like any first kiss you’d had with anyone else; it wasn’t sweet or loving. It was passionate and needy, and it was both of you confessing everything you’d held in your hearts for the past few months, and if you’re being honest, for the past decade. 

In seconds you were on the bed, legs straddling the person you had despised for years. Neither of you could let go of each other, only coming up for air when absolutely necessary. Hands on each other’s bodies, clothes abandoned on the floor, screams of each other’s names and moans of ‘I love you’s echoing off the bedroom walls, until the two of you were tired and panting, your head resting on his chest and his arms around your waist. 

You twisted your head to stare up at Fred’s sweat-glistening face, the tears long since dried and his expression showing none of the negativity it had before. Snuggling into his bare chest even more, you murmured something too quiet for him to hear. 

“What was that, darling?”

“I asked if you still wanted to banish me after that.”

He laughed and squeezed his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. “Definitely not. I mean, unless you want to go.” He shifted nervously, fears of abandonment and rejection resurfacing. What if this was just a heat of the moment thing? What if all you wanted was a one time hookup and you didn’t have real feelings for him? What if he was bad? No, that last one couldn’t be it, your screams had said otherwise. But everything else…

“Of course I don’t want to leave Freddie, but you did break the “no nicknames” rule a second ago, so maybe I should banish you.” He ruffled your hair and glared at you before chuckling and slowly closing his eyes. 

“Hey Freddie,” you asked quietly. “Did you mean what you said? About loving me?”

“Course I did, love. Why do you think I was such an arse at Hogwarts? You were too pretty and perfect and the stupid guys were always talking to you. Made me bloody pissed. I’m sorry about everything I’ve done to hurt you, really I am.” You could hear his heart beating faster at his apology. You traced your cool hands in patterns on his chest, sending shivers down his spine. 

“Well I was never an angel either,” you said. “One time I snogged Roger right outside the Gryffindor Common Room just because I knew you were gonna be leaving for Quidditch practice soon and I liked getting under your skin.”

“I knew that was planned!” he said, shooting up and making your head hit the headboard behind you. “No one believed me, but I knew you were a little minx just trying to get under my skin. But I see nothing’s really changed, has it?”

“Oh shut up!” you said, suddenly self conscious of your very naked body being on full display, Fred’s eyes raking you over. You covered up and snuggled back into the bed. “I love you too, y’know. I’m sorry I’m such a stuck-up snob sometimes.”

“S’okay, darling. I know you were just like that in response to me. Sorry for pushing you away so many times. I guess I tend to do that a lot.”

“Hey.” You raked your hands through Fred's messy ginger hair, pulling strands into tiny braids. “You know that George didn’t abandon you, right? He loves you more than I’ve ever seen someone love before.”

Fred nodded softly, tears forming in his eyes again. “Yeah, I know. But it’s hard. We shared a room for 18 years straight, both at home and at Hogwarts. Then we shared an apartment, and now it feels like he’s not even here anymore. Which is bloody stupid because I see him downstairs every day. I just...I want to be able to come home and tell someone all about my day, and talk about dreams and goals until 3 in the morning, and--”

“And try to cook dinner together only to end up on fire?” you interrupted with a smile on your face. “I know I’m no George, but I want to be there for you in any way I can. Stay up late and go on adventures and go on double dates with your brother and Angelina. I wanna be yours. I mean, if you’ll let me.”

Fred cupped your cheek and pulled you into a chaste kiss. “I’ll do more than let you, I was about to ask anyways but you had to beat me to it, didn’t you?”

“It’s a habit,” you shrugged. “I’m glad you tried to banish me.”

“I’m glad you wouldn’t let me. Looks like your stubbornness finally paid off.” You shoved his chest lightly and wrapped your arm across his torso. 

“I love you Freddie.”

“I love you too.”

A few silent moments passed with the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms. “Hey Fred?” you said, finally breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Can you please get up and turn off that bloody alarm?”

Tag List(specific fic): @lucymfer

Message me to be on my main taglist or any of my series taglists!

[ray-ray-writings]

hihi!! could i get some sbi + bee hybrid reader? idk i just think hybrid readers are cool lmao (ps: can i be 🎮 anon?) (pss: i really hope i did this right i don't really request things often so sorry if it's bad or wrong)

(Of course!! Welcome 🎮 anon!!!!! This idea is so cute! As well as, I know you said SBI but we’re also including Tubbo in this because how could I talk about a bee reader and not include the bee man himself???) (P.S. This was not bad or wrong in anyway!!!!)(P.P.S. Last post of the night because I’m very tired! Maybe more tomorrow, I’m unsure because of my schedule)

So I picture that you would have little wings that would poke out of your back. You wouldn’t really be able to fly with them, but you would be able to hover and move from place to place if need be. Philza would help you take care of your wings because he also had wings. Of course they were very different, his had feathers and made it so he could fly and yours did not have feathers, but were translucent and made it so you could hover and travel short distances off the ground, but he knew how to take care of wings and was always willing to help you take care of yours. The boys also love looking at your wings. As I have mentioned, they’re translucent and just really cool too look at and so they would spend a lot of time looking at them and if you were okay with it, running their hands over it. 

You would love honey. Love making it, collecting it, eating it, you would love it. Tubbo would also love honey and would love to help you collect it and make it as well. You would sometimes get protective over your honey and wouldn’t let him near it but once he gives you a little pout, you’d let him have some. Your house would always smell like honey and you would always have at least three bottles in your home. 

Something very sweet that all the boys would do is they would constantly bring you flowers. You would always have vase upon vase of fresh flowers. This became a tradition when one time Wilbur handed you a flower to hold onto for a second and your face just lit up so brightly and you clutched the flower so tightly, bringing it to your nose and smelling so deeply that by the time you pulled your face away, pollen coated your nose. You were just so happy to have a new pretty flower in your possession. Wilbur wanted you to hold onto it for a second but he couldn’t take it away after seeing how happy it made you. Wilbur told his family about your reaction and so now at least once a day you get a new flower. Technoblade even built a greenhouse out in the middle of the tundra where he can grow flowers so he’ll always have one to give you if you come over. 

For my next trick I will now be telling you what type of flower that the boys give you the most often with no further explanation as to why I feel this way. Philza gives you poppies. Wilbur gives you cornflowers. Techno gives you dandelions. Tommy gives you tulips. Tubbo gives you sunflowers.

I imagine that sometimes when anyone accidentally bumps into you, you get mad. Like if you’re walking somewhere and your shoulder gets bumped, anger stirs up inside you and you glare at the person and your wings flutter a bit. Philza, Wilbur, and Tubbo all feel really bad when they do this. They will apologize and promise to give you an extra flower the next time they see you and you calm down. Techno just kind of stares at you and chuckles a little bit before murmuring a very small apology before moving on. When this happens, it takes a little longer for you to calm down, but once Techno brings you a small thing of honey, you calm right down. Tommy on the other hand will purposely bump into you to get you mad and then he will act like he did nothing wrong and that you’re over reacting causing you to get even more mad. It sometimes get so tense that Philza has to step in and make Tommy apologize to you and give you a flower. You huff, but accept the apology and the flower, ignore Tommy for a few hours but eventually get over it. 

Another thing that makes you mad is when people disturb your nest. You don’t have a traditional bee’s nest. It’s a little nest in it’s own room of your home where there is a bunch of shelves full of honey and lots of windows with vases of flowers sitting in them. There is a small couch in the room with many blankets and a table in front of it that you use to make honey. You spend a little bit of time in the room everyday just to settle down and relax. One time Tommy was over and he found the room and accidentally knocked over a bunch of honey bottles and messed up your blankets. You got so mad that you almost bit him (more on that in the next paragraph). Tommy was really scared of you in that instance and he bolted out of your house, you chasing behind him. He ran to Phil’s house and explained what was going on. Once again, Philza had to calm you down and tell you it would be alright. He would follow you back to your house and help you fix the nest before giving you flowers, honey, and sugar water. 

So back to the biting thing. So I imagine that you wouldn’t have a stinger. No instead you would have the urge to bite the things that annoy/scare you. The bite would hurt as much as a bee sting and would leave a little bump like stings do. Sometimes if you’re really pissed off, you would pump a little bit of the venom that bees have. Each of the boys have definitely received a bee bite from you because they made you very upset. They would just be talking and you would reach out, grab their hand, bring it to your mouth, and just give their arm a bite. Once you had bit someone, the anger and frustration would leave your body and you’d be okay. Tommy would let out a little scream and go running off to Phil screaming “they bit me! They bit me!” But Phil, who has also been bitten by you is just like “What did you do to piss them off?” Phil when he got bit was shocked but instantly asked you what happened. You would explain to him how he was upsetting you and the only way you could express that was through your ‘sting’. Phil would then learn to read your body language and know when you were reaching that point and would pull back on whatever was happening. Wilbur would pretend that he was offended, just to make you laugh. After you bit Phil, he had explained to all the boys what had happened and not to freak out if it happened to them and to try not to get you to that point. But when Wilbur accidentally did, he would let out a fake gasp of offense, “You dare bite me? Your absolute favorite person in the world?! How dare you!!! I think you need to be taught a lesson” He would then throw you over his shoulder, causing you to giggle like a madman, no longer mad at the man who had you captive. Techno would just accept it and continue on with whatever he was talking about. He would just keep talking as you bring his arm to your mouth and bite him. He doesn’t even react, just lets you do it. After you let him go he pauses and quietly goes, “Feel better?” And you feel slightly guilty but you nod, and he nods too and says, “Okay then good… Back to what I was saying” Tubbo would just be so confused when it happened. He was there when Phil told them, but he didn’t really understand. “You bit me!” He’d exclaim in surprise as you pull your mouth away. “Yeah and you were irritating me… Now we’re even” He would then go back to Philza and he would have to explain to Tubbo again what had happened. Once he understood, he would go back to you and apologize. 

No matter your gender identity, the boys call you “Queen” (Unless you are completely uncomfortable with that, then they will call you ‘Your Highness or your majesty). But if you don’t know, bee’s have a hierarchy where the queen is the top most important bee that is to be taken care of at all costs. So the boys affectionately call you their queen. You are very precious to them and you are the ruler of the hive. Sometimes when they’re joking around and messing around with you they’ll just go “Oh Queenieeeeeeeee” which makes you roll your eyes but also smile at the cute nickname. 

Thank you for this request! I really loved writing it and I really hope you enjoyed reading it!!!

[tryingmybestpls]

As The World Caves In

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark!Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve deals with the loss of his wife after the Snap.

Rating: R?

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Grief, depression, feelings of loneliness, death, graphic depiction of a death

A/N: hi yes I wanted to get this out before TFATWS got out. I have never liked the ending Steve got in Endgame, so I wanted to write a new one for him!

Steve would like to say that he lost his wife like everyone else did that day.

He would love to say that she turned into ash like the rest of his teammates. He would love to say that they had some tear-filled goodbye before she turned into nothing. He would love to have that hope that might be able to come back.

But he can't.

Because she actually died that day in Wakanda. Right before his eyes.

It had happened after Thanos had tossed Steve aside. Y/N had charged at the Titan, angry at the purple being for hurting her husband. He caught her in mid-air, his golden gauntlet shimmering in the sunlight as it wrapped tightly around her throat. Steve had scrambled to stand up, his eyes on her.

Y/N coughed and sputtered, her face turning colors as she kicked, her fingers trying to pry the large gold covered fingers off of her throat. And while it felt like hours for Steve, it had only been seconds. Seconds. Seconds he had held her in their air, seconds she had suffered as the Titan cut off her oxygen. Thanos had smirked before tightening his grip, a sickening crack filling the air. Steve couldn't breathe as her body was tossed towards him. It seemed to move in slow motion, bouncing when it hit the ground.

When her body finally came to a stop in front of him, her head lolling to the side as the cloud of dust settled. Steve still had hope somehow. He prayed to the Lord above as he looked at her, hoping that she was somehow still alive. Blood vessels had burst in her eyes and blood trickled out of her mouth. There was a darkening bruise on her throat, her neck was bent at an unnatural angle. Steve had been unable to move, unable to breathe. Within an instant, she was gone. His wife, the love of his life, ripped away from him in mere seconds.

And then his friends and teammates turned into ash all around him.

The worst moment of his life was when he watched his wife die right in front of him. The second worst is having to tell her brother that she was dead.

After Tony had come down the ramp of the ship, Steve had ran over to help him down that last view steps and over to Pepper. Stark told Steve that Peter was gone and in that moment of silence that followed, Tony's eyes scanned the small group of survivors for his adopted sister. Tears sprung up in the man's eyes as he looked back at Steve. The Captain's throat constricts with emotion, tears brimming in his eyes as he just nods, unable to get the words out. Pepper ran up in that moment, wrapping her arms around Tony just as tears rolled down his face.

Y/N is the only one they actually bury. Her funeral is a quiet affair, with only the remaining members of their team and Pepper in attendance. The couple had never talked about what might happen or what they would want if either of them died. Tony tells him that she would want to be buried next to their parents, so she is. He makes sure his baby sister has the best coffin money can buy, the best headstone-everything. Her funeral is the last time Steve and Tony talk to each other.

Steve gets an apartment she would have loved. It's right around the corner from the restaurant where they had their first date and a few streets away from the cemetery. There was those big windows that Y/N had always expressed fondness over. The apartment also had built in shelves that lined one wall of the living room area, which had been another selling point for him. One day Steve hoped that he would be able to fill them with her many books and tchotchkes, but now they stood empty, the shelves gathering dust. Her collection of novelty mugs weren't in the cabinets, no they were still wrapped up in newspapers within one of the many boxes. He had planned on unpacking all of the things that had once filled their shared room at the compound, but the boxes stay in the second bedroom, all piled up in the middle of the room. He couldn't find it in himself to go through all of her old things, didn't want to be bombarded with emotions and memories.

That first year is the hardest. Learning to live without her tears him to shreds. Steve hardly sleeps, hardly eats. He spends a lot of his time alone, dwelling over what he could've done differently. Natasha tries to reach out to him, but Steve distances himself. He tells himself that he needs to do this alone, needs to try to get through it by himself. Y/N always feels like she's just out of his grasp and he prays and begs to have her back with him. His prayers go unanswered.

Natasha appears outside his door on the one year anniversary of Thanos's snap and Y/N's death, holding a bottle of vodka in one hand and Asgardian mead in the other. They sit together in the kitchen and drink as vigils and memorials take place around the world. For the first time, Steve talks about how much he misses his wife. The two heroes talk all night about each person they missed, both of them wondering aloud how were they supposed to live without them.

By the end of the second year, Steve is getting used to living without her. He hates it. He hates how much that ache in his chest has lessened. He hates that he can see a picture of her without a lump forming in his throat. Steve is able to talk about her more and starts a grief support group. Sure he sometimes wakes up and hopes she's there, but that's getting less and less frequent. Steve's afraid that his memories of her are going to slip away from him, terrified of forgetting her.

So he starts to draw her. He's desperate to hold onto every memory of her, so he fills up page after page, sketchbook after sketchbook of nothing but Y/N. The drawings aren't perfect, but he is able to cement those memories in his mind. Steve wants to make sure that he can remember her face without having to study a picture. So when he remembers something about her, he puts it onto a piece of paper. Y/N on their wedding day. Y/N when they were on the run and she fell asleep in the Quinn Jet. Y/N brushing her teeth early in the morning, her silhouette lit up by the almost golden bathroom light. Y/N the first day they met.

Natasha sees them once when she stops by to see him. One of the sketchbooks is left open on the table and she sneaks a peek when Steve goes to the other room to get a sweater. There on the page in incredible detail is a sketch of her best friend with tears in her eyes, her mouth open in shock. She doesn't know that this is the face she made when she learned that Bucky had killed her parents and Steve knew. Natasha looks away, her cheeks burning. She feels like she saw something too personal, too raw, and she shuts the journal before Steve returns.

When the third, fourth, and then fifth year rolls around- well Y/N has been gone longer than they were together as a couple. Steve has gotten used to her being gone. He's able to walk past the room holding all of the boxes without stalling. It gets easier to talk about her, easier to share stories about her to his group. He still misses her, it's just easier for him to live now. His wedding band never leaves his ring finger, needing to have a part of her with him always. Steve still loves her and he doesn't think he can ever love someone as much as he loves his wife.

And then Scott Lang reappears.

Steve wants to reverse what Thanos did, wants to bring back his friends even if that means he cannot bring back his wife. That ache in is chest returns as they put together their heist plan. Steve feels like there's a ghost following him around while he's back at the compound. His shoulders feel heavy again and he tries to put on a brave face as the people around him get hopeful. He tries to be happy, knowing that he will be getting his friends back and fixing what had happened, but he can't help but be upset.

-

Steve gets to see her when they go back.

It's after he knocks out the younger version of himself. Steve is standing over himself, breathing hard, and holding Loki's scepter tightly in his hands.

"That is America's Ass." He comments, looking behind him before back down to the unconscious man. He needs to meet back up with the others so that they can-

"It definitely is." A familiar voice calls out from in front of him. Steve stills, his breath catching in his throat before he slowly lifts his head. There she is, standing before him with a smirk on her face. Y/N is dressed in her navy blue suit, her hair messy from the battle she just went through. Her face is dirty, her lip split and there is a long cut across her cheekbone. His mouth goes dry and he's suddenly tongue tied, like he was when they first met.

Steve remembers how nervous and awkward he was when they were first introduced to each other. Y/N gave him a million dollar smile and just like that, he knew he was a goner. Steve had stumbled over saying his name, which had then made her laugh-God, that laugh. That laugh had made him warm all over, made butterflies swarm around in his stomach. And in the past five years, those butterflies had been dormant and now, now they're wide awake.

"You're not my Steve." Y/N announces as she walks towards him, studying him. Steve's heart is beating fast and he wants to reach out and hold her close, wanting to tell her how much he loves her. My Steve. God, he misses her. He misses everything about her.

"How can you tell?" He asks, a tiny smile appearing on his face. Y/N chuckles, taking seeing two Steve's surprisingly well. But then again, she had just got done fighting aliens and a literal god so he supposes that things have been weirder.

"My Steve won't even look me in the eye. He blushes when I look at him. When I look at you...you just look so sad. That's how I know you're not Loki." She answers, stopping in front of him. Steve studies her face, taking in every little detail because he knows that this is the last time he'll see her.

"I-I'm that easy to read, huh?" Steve retorts and she laughs again, nodding. God, he misses that sound. He misses her so fucking much that it makes his chest ache. Y/N's smile falters as she looks at him, watching as his smile drops.

"I'm not going to pretend what is exactly going on here, okay? Obviously you are going through something and it's pretty clear you are on a some type of mission." She tells him, motioning to the scepter in his hands. Steve looks down to his hand before looking at her. He knows that she should be calling for back up because by the way people keep speaking through her comm Y/N must know that things are going south.

"I'll bring it back, I promise." Steve replies and the smile returns to her face. Y/N glances down to the unconscious man on the floor before looking at him.

"I know you will. I never saw you, new Steve. And don't worry, I'll make sure you don't choke on your tongue." She teases, gesturing to the passed out version of himself. Steve's smile returns to his face as she continues, "But I do expect some sort of explanation when you come back."

"Of course. I'll be back before you even know I was gone." Steve says, wanting to say so many other things that he knows that he just can't tell her. He opens his mouth again when her comm once again crackles to life. Y/N's eyes widen and she gestures for him to leave. Steve's mouth snaps shut and he nods, quickly walking away.

Tony would later tell Steve when they're in 1970 that he started crying when he saw his little sister.

-

When his teammates return on the battlefield, she isn't among them. He knows she won't be coming through a portal, but some part of him still holds out hope for some reason. Yet, there is no sadness inside of him on that battlefield. No, rage has pushed all of that sadness aside, filling him up completely.

When he fought against Thanos and his army, he did so with every ounce of strength in his body. Steve wanted to avenge the death of Y/N, wanted to kill Thanos for what he did to her. Steve has never felt so angry in his entire life. He wanted to be the one who ended the Titan's life. He ignored the large gash in his arm and tore through aliens.

And in the end, it's Tony who takes out Thanos. He is the one who avenges his baby sister's death, but the price he pays his high. And Steve has to watch another Stark die.

He feels so guilty that he is alive and both of the Stark siblings are gone, both of them buried side by side, right next to their parents.

There is just so much death in his life, so much damn loss. And he's tired. Steve is exhausted. He hoped that bringing back his friends and the half of the universe that had disappeared because of the Snap would make him feel better, but it hadn't. No, instead that hurt has returned with full force. His chest feels like its about to cave in on itself, like his ribs piercing his lungs and heart-God, everything seems unbearable. All he wants is for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

And then, he is reminded that he has to return the stones.

And while every single part of the journey is noteworthy, he saves returning the scepter for last.

Y/N is sitting beside the unconscious version of himself when he returns. She turns his head to look at him, a smile on her face. For a moment, he considers staying here with her, reliving every single moment of their life and their relationship as it happens.

But he knows that he can't.

It wouldn't be right for him to stay here with her, knowing everything that he knows. Steve has had his time with her, time that he will treasure for the rest of is life. He knows that if he returns back to his timeline, there will be a lot of hurting that he will have to go through. Steve knows that it would be so much easier to stay here with Y/N, but he won't let himself do it.

So Steve explains to Y/N why he needed the scepter, leaving out her death and the death of her brother. After he finishes, she stays quiet for a moment, processing all of this new information. He just waits and sits there.

"Don't tell me what happens, please. I want the cards to fall where they may. I-I want to be surprised." Y/N tells him suddenly, glancing at the unconscious man before looking at Steve. The Captain understands exactly what she means. She must know somehow that she ends up with him, something on his face his showing his hand. Y/N had always told him that he had a shitty poker face. A smile stretches across his face, nodding. His wedding ring-hidden under his gloves-feels so much heavier, like its weighing his arm down.

A pit of dread opens up in Steve's stomach as his time draws to an end. He thanks and apologizes to Y/N as he hands over the scepter. She just smiles, telling him not to worry about it as she puts it back into its case. He must look as upset as he feels because before he leaves, Y/N wraps her arms around him. It surprises Steve, but he quickly wraps his arms back around her. Steve holds her tightly, letting his eyes shut. He knows that this will be the last time he'll ever hold her and he just savors it, wishing that it could last forever. Wishing that he could stay here forever.

But everything has to come to an end.

When he says goodbye, he knows that Y/N doesn't understand that this is him saying goodbye to her for the last time. Steve finally gets to tell her goodbye and even though he isn't able to tell Y/N how much he loves her, it's okay. It's okay because he will be able to tell her how much he loves her one day, even if that day isn't today. They'll be reunited again. He just needs to wait.

She tells him goodbye and he takes one final look at her before he returns back to his timeline, back into a world where she's gone.

That night, he returns to his empty apartment, the silence almost deafening. That hole in his chest has reopened and he is in so much pain that everything just feels numb.

He goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, washing the day's events off of him hoping that this would also wash away the numbness, trying to pretend like nothing of importance had happened hours earlier. When he crawls into the same bed he has been sleeping in for the past five years-a bed she has never touched-he realizes how empty it is without her. He can't feel her here like he can at the Compund-No, here she doesn't follow behind him. No, this is a place she has never been so she can't be here. The apartment is suddenly too big for him-everything is too big for him. It's too big and too empty and too fucking quiet-

It's like the string that was holding him together the past five years has finally snapped and he just starts crying. The Captain's body shakes with sobs as he lays in that empty room. Steve had thought he had processed her death and grieved already, but he hadn't. Until this very moment, it had never fully set in that Y/N was dead. It was never fully real that she was gone. He knew that she was, but some part of him was still holding out hope that somehow she was going to come back. If Bucky could come back, surely she could have as well. But Y/N isn't Bucky and so she never came back.

It took until today for him to fully realize that she was gone. Y/N was gone and there was nothing he can do about it. There was no stones to gather, no traveling through dimensions for him to do. Steve had to live the rest of his life without the love of his life, in a time where he'll never belong in. That small flicker of hope that had been silently living inside of him had been snuffed out, leaving an empty dark space inside of him, leaving him cold and empty.

The only hope that remained is that they would be reunited one day in death, but until then Steve would be forced to carry around his pain where ever he went.

[saphirered]

Hello! What do you think it would be like if Essek had a fire genasi S/o, like they're normal really calm and collected unlike most fire genasi but the times they do get really general angry it's like watching a volcano erupt! (Maybe they got angry cause Essek got hurt by someone?) Thank you!

Essek is so caught up in his work he doesn’t even hear you enter his laboratory. Papers are strewn about, books opened, some flat, some propped agains anything and everything for better readability. The sound of the metal nib of a fine pen moving across paper, the only constant in the room besides the occasional mutter to himself.

You knock on the door. No response. You call out his name. Nothing. You think whatever Essek’s working on must be very important to have him be so unaware of his surroundings. You notice Essek’s in his robe, shoes and a shirt given the mostly exposed lower arms. Did he not get dressed in the morning? Or did he simply never go to sleep? You’re not sure. Could be both. Could be either.

Since he’s not responding you simply approach. You place a hand on his shoulder, slide it down over his chest as you kiss his temple. You look over the pages out in front of him as he slowly becomes aware of your presence, leaning into your kiss.

“What are you up to?” You ask softly recognising some of the spells as the schematics of healing magic and to a lesser extend regeneration. Essek must have noticed your confusion as he quickly pulls from your grasp, begins to gather the papers and pile them together, closing the books as he goes.

“Nothing of importance. I did not hear you enter.” Essek gets up leaning against the desk and faces you with a smile reaching for you and pulling you closer to the point you no longer have visual on any of the papers and books. He’s definitely hiding something.

“I knocked, and called your name. You seemed to be pretty caught up in whatever you were working on.” You try to look past him but the moment you do his hand finds its way to your cheek brushing his thumb over it lovingly.

“My apologies. Shall we go somewhere else? I think I’ve been crammed up in this study long enough for today. Perhaps some fresh air will suit us both?” Essek suggest with a somewhat nervous laugh. You smile back at him and give him a kiss. If he’s not going to talk, you’ll find out yourself and you’re prepared to use whatever you can to get to the bottom of this.

Reaching for the stack of papers behind him once they are securely in your grasp you break the kiss taking several steps back and leaf through the notes before he can get to you. So not just healing magic… herbology, physiology and anatomy, manual healing, treating injuries, medicine, recipes for concoctions, ointments and potions to cure anything from bruises to broken bones, wounds and burns.

“Why the sudden interest in the art of healing?” You frown as the pages are snatched from your grasp and the drow holds them behind his back with an unreadable expression, head held high; the same one he uses whenever he’s dealing with any kind of official and none casual business.

“A sudden interest. I found myself with time to spare and decided to spend it learning until your return. And since you’re here, there’s no need to continue.” You notice the nervous smile break through again leaving you more leery of Essek. If he’s gonna play this game you’ll play along but last you remembered chess is a two player game and you’re not about to be tricked into making a certain move by the wizard.

“You misunderstand. I’m not judging your ‘sudden interest’ nor questioning your reasonings for wishing to study healing. However, last I remember you were the one to tell me healing magic is not exactly within your capabilities. I’m just curious.” You take a step closer to Essek and he steps back. You take another and close enough to the desk he puts the stack of paper back where it was before he steps back in towards you.

“There are some very capable healers among my friends and you are an exceptional one. I simply wish to learn the deeper meanings to the abilities they have at their fingertips and gain a better understanding of it.” You smile at him innocently. Such a liar. Such. A. Liar. Half truth if we’re being technical but deception nonetheless.

“Well then, I would leave you to your studies but I have missed you, Essek.” You kiss his cheek snaking one arm around his waist. You can see the panic in his eyes. Normally he’d happily indulge, return your affections without even a second of doubt. He pulls the robe around his torso a little closer as your free hand dances up his chest and over his shoulder.

The moment you reach his shoulder he grits his teeth, jaw tightening holding back a a whimper or a gasp as his entire posture freezes up. You quickly remove your hand and look at him worried. Essek gives you a look of defeat as you put a bit more space between the two of you, allowing you to move freely.

“Essek…” You all but threaten as you reach for the neckline of the robe. He has half the mind to stop you but refrains from doing so with a sigh as you push the fabric aside.

His shoulder and upper arm seem very much bruised, the bone slightly out of place. Seeing it continues over the top of his shoulder you turn him around inspecting his back too. Two deep cuts, luckily no longer bleeding mare the back of his shoulder. The injuries agitated, left untreated. Essek sighs deeply as you gasp at the sight.

“What happened?” You go over the outline of the open wounds, careful not to touch.

“Let’s just say the Martinet Daleth did not appreciate my comments on his personal relations very much.” Essek grits his teeth as you accidentally brush over a particularly painful area. You bite your lower lip keeping yourself from making a snarky remark but can’t prevent yourself from feeling the threads of control slip. How could he have done something so stupid? He’s aware how powerful those people are, not only that, in the position he is in, being less than friendly will not do him well in any circumstance when he doesn’t have any leverage anymore.

“Have you gone mad?!” That may have come out a little less… calm than you had hoped it would. Deciding to focus on the now and not all the things you may want to say, shout or scream, or actions you may want to take, you instead focus on healing the worst. You make sure the wounds are clean before they close up, reset the bone in the right position and allow the bruises to fade.

As your magic sets in and begins to work its wonders Essek lets out a breath of relief, rubbing at his priorly injured shoulder testing its movability. Nothing remains of the injuries and you’re able to contain the fire feel burning within your chest and throat. You take a few deep breaths as Essek thanks you.

Brushing Essek off, knowing the way well enough, you head for the component pantry. Essek follows behind you calling after you but out of fear of blowing up in his face you keep going and ignore him. You go over the shelves grabbing jars and vials as you go. You had to channel your anger somewhere so if this was going to be it, then so it be.

You had worked very hard to keep your own fury contained when it arose. You’re usually calm and collected even in the most dire of situations, but when someone comes for your friends, let alone lover, you will put the burning fires of the Nine Hells to shame, living up to the ‘hell hath no fury’ expression. It’s also a side you prefer to keep away from your loved ones if it can be avoided.

Normally a few deep breaths, counting to ten and another few deep breaths would do. In the rare cases that didn’t work you’d try occupying yourself with something else entirely. But now… you’re slipping. You can feel the rage burning within, so to the components you turn.

You pick up another vial inspecting it and Essek interrupts placing himself between you and your already gathered components.

“I don’t know what you’re planning but please, don’t do anything you’ll come to regret.” Essek practically begs. He takes the vial from your hand but drops it immediately, hissing in pain. The vial shatters as he waves his hand as if to cool it down. You push past him, gather the components and throw them into a sack as you leave the pantry. Essek quickly follows behind still clutching his hand to cool it down.

“Where are you going?” You stop, put on the most composed look you can and turn around to face him.

“I’m going to murder the leader of an infamous order of magic users. Now if you will excuse me, enjoy the rest of your day.” Words like poison. No more anger, just pure unrestrained hatred. You turn back around and continue your way towards the front door. You clench your fists feeling the burning heat gather within your palms.

“Don’t do anything stupid! You’ll get yourself killed!” Essek shouts after you but you keep walking. He calls your name. “Do not do anything stupid!” He repeats. You stop in your tracks feeling as if something inside of you just snaps. The last thread of your composure perhaps.

“Don’t do anything stupid? Anything stupid he says!” You throw your hands in the air.

“Like how you didn’t do anything completely and utterly stupid when you did what you did? How you lied to so many people, were the one responsible for so many terrible things. Or how you made choices ignoring the consequences of your actions?” You shout back, the ground beneath your feet’s temperature starts rising to the point where you are scorching the fine carpet beneath. Admittedly, your words are a low blow.

“You know what I meant!” Essek retorts getting closer to you, his frustrations also clear.

“Oh, I know what you meant but let’s no longer pretend you’re the only one you care about suffering from the consequences of your actions. Can you for just a moment just open your eyes and realise you have so many people around you who love you and would go to the ends of the earth for you. Can you just understand that when someone hurts you and threatens your livelihood, your life, that maybe that doesn’t sit well with me?” Unclenching your fists embers drift to the floor leaving more holes in the carpet.

“Why do you have to be so stupid!” Scorching heat radiates in the hallway as a brief rush of flame passes through the space like burning oil. Essek is quick enough to float and avoid the fire, but you watch it spread.

Essek’s face softens as he quickly puts the fire out. He goes to place his hand on your arm but feeling the heat of your skin before even making contact, he’s forced to refrain and his hand falls back to the side. He’s never seen you quite so driven by hatred and anger. It scares him in a way. He’s not afraid of you. He trusts you. But he is afraid that letting you go off on your own so driven by those negative emotions, allowing them to fester and grow, will not do anyone good, least of all you. He worries for your wellbeing, just like you have for his plenty of times before.

“I know I may have a hard time coming to terms with others’ affections towards me and may have made some stupid decisions but I beg of you, please, do not walk into a lions’ den unprepared carrying bait around your neck.” While the fury still burns in your eyes and your skin is still much hotter to the touch than it should be Essek is able to grasp your hand without burning himself.

“I must ask you to refrain from brutally murdering the Martinet… for now. His time will come, just as those who are loyal to him. Just not yet.” Essek strokes your cheek as your eyes soften, expression saddening.

“They hurt you still.” The words come out almost like a cry of frustration and sadness. Whether that be because of what had happened to Essek or from losing control like that you’re not one hundred percent sure but you guess the latter.

“They did, and I assume they will be a thorn in my side just a bit longer but, if that means I’ll have you at my side to eventually deal with them, I feel more comfortable for it, no matter how much I would love to see you set their pretentious ship ablaze, in retaliation, you yourself said, calculated moves are a necessity, especially now.” Essek had already made his peace with this, he only hopes you would see the same. Wrapping your arms around him hiding your face in his chest you compose yourself in a silent thank you as he returns your embrace, holding you until you pull back enough to see his face.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper looking at the scorch marks all over. “I didn’t mean to… I never-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Everyone breaks at some point. You’ve been there for me plenty of times. I’m glad I get to return the favour, regardless of the circumstances.” Essek looks around already mentally making a list of what to get replaced and what to get repaired.

“You can be quite intimidating in your fury.” He smiles at you and you raise an eyebrow.

“I guess…” You feel regretful for the damages done.

“I might have use for that in the future if you’d be willing.” You give Essek a look of disapproval.

“What? I would love to see you do this, in some other places with less than friendly people, who you’ve already deemed deserving of your wrath.” Essek laughs.

“So I can repay you for this? I can do that. But only in the most dire situations.” You poke an accusing finger at his chest laughing with him. You give him quick kiss.

“At least it was not my library, or the study.” Essek sighs as you gawk and swat his arm jokingly.

“Rude! But yes. Because I can see you being the one in a fiery rage should anyone ever damage your precious books.”

[lillywillow]

A Female Touch

Summary: “Falling in love at the supermarket wasn’t on you to-do list today, yet here you were snatching looks at a cute stranger.”

 Word Count: 897

 Pairings: Singledad!Clint Barton X Female Reader

 Warnings: Mentions of feminine hygiene products

 A/N: Set in a modern AU

Written for @caplanbuckybarnes ‘s writing challenge

 Every time you went to the grocery store to grab “just a few items” you walked out with much more than what you had originally intended. You wandered up and down the aisles, collecting the things you needed, comparing prices and produce. Now you found yourself in the hygiene aisle. Although you didn’t need any feminine products for a while, you liked to be prepared just in case. As you were looking at the different packets, you could feel someone looming over your shoulder. At first, you thought it was someone waiting to get to the shelf you were standing in front of but a glance over your shoulder that was not the case. A man was deliberately peering at the items in your hands.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you snapped. The man was so startled but your sudden outburst that he backed into the shelves behind him, knocking down a few boxes of hair dye in the process. You had spotted him earlier drifting around looking utterly lost and at the time, you thought he was kind of cute at the time but in this exact moment, you found him a little creepy and somewhat irritating.

 “Well?!”

 The man scrambled to his feet, fumbling to put the fallen boxes back on the shelf as he answered. As he spoke, you noticed a purple woven band around his wrist with a small arrow charm dangling from it.

 “My teenage daughter, she... she’s on her... and she asked me to get her some... her mother and I are divorced and it’s my week to have her and I don’t really know what I’m doing when it comes to this...”

 Your expression softened as you watched him steady the boxes. Once he was sure they were secure, he lowered his hands.

 “I’m Clint, by the way.”

 “I’m Y/N,” you smiled. “So, Clint, what can you tell me about your daughter? Does she have a particular preference?” Clint rubbed the back of his neck.

 “It’s, uh... not something we really discussed... I didn’t even discuss this sort of thing with my wife when we were together...” He looked down, feeling ashamed. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, making him look at you.

 “It’s okay. The important thing is that you’re trying to be a good dad for her. A lot of men wouldn’t even attempt this kind of trip to the store.” You picked up a large multi-box and placed it in his hands. “Here, this has products for every need.”

 “Thank you. I feel so bad... she’s curled up on the couch in pain and I don’t know what to do to help her... she’s fourteen years old and if she’s old enough and responsible enough to babysit, she can stay home by herself. Well, not totally by herself; Lucky is with her and he’ll protect her... and if anything goes wrong, I’m only a block away and she has my number. I’m rambling...”

 “I think it’s cute. So, has she taken anything for the pain?”

 “No... What would you recommend would be best?” he asked.

 “I would give her a Midol and a heat pad. Also chocolates. You’d be surprised how much chocolate can help during this time of the month. Why don’t you come shopping with me? I need to grab a few more things anyway and you can tell me more about your daughter.” Clint beamed at you as the pair of you headed off.

 “Her name is Lila. Her mother and I divorced last year and share custody of her. She’s just the coolest kid. She’s even got a little side business making her own jewellery,” he grinned, proudly holding up the arm with the bracelet to show you. “She’s the light of my life...”

 Your heart melted at the way Clint spoke about the relationship he had with his daughter and you had to admit, he was pretty cute after all. Before you knew it, you had collected everything you both needed and headed to the checkout.

 As Clint neared the cashier, he froze, suddenly unable to face this gauntlet.

 “Would you like you like me to get them for you?”

 “No, no, I couldn’t possibly...”

 “It’s okay. Really it is,” you smiled, taking his items and adding them to your groceries at the checkout. The cashier rang out all your items and you paid for everything before leaving. Clint followed after you and you gave him back the stuff for Lila. He tried to pay you back for what you had bought for him but you wouldn’t hear of it.

 “This is on me. Good luck with everything,” you smiled.

 “Y/N, before you go... could I get your number? I’d like to talk to you again sometime...”

 “I’d like that too, Clint.”

 You exchanged numbers with Clint and parted ways. It may have not been on your shopping list but you were certainly happy to have met Clint and to get his number. As you drove home, you couldn’t stop thinking about how sweet he was and you couldn’t wait to see him again.

[mimisempai]

The beat of your heart soothes me to sleep

Summary

5 times where Loki falls asleep in Mobius' presence and once where Loki helps Mobius to fall asleep.

Answer to an anon prompt request on tumblr

"Loki falling asleep with Mobius around"

As always when it goes on this trope, I got carried away.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32649739

2597 words - Rating G

1.

As Mobius emerged from the shelves of the archives, deserted at this hour of the evening, his gaze fell on the tables, and one table in particular.

The table that reminded him of the first days of his meeting with Loki, and the very first time he had realized how much Loki trusted him.

They were both still in the taming phase at this point in their relationship, each gauging the other's reactions.

They were doing intensive research. Mobius, immersed in the files, had not noticed that Loki had become silent while a few minutes earlier he was commenting on every sentence of what he was looking for. He yawned and at that moment noticed something unimaginable, Loki had fallen asleep.

Moreover, it was not a light nap. From the sound of his steady breathing, it was a deep sleep.

For someone as suspicious as Loki, the fact that he slept in this way in the presence of someone was a miracle in Mobius' eyes.

To sleep in front of someone you barely know. How much trust does that take?

At that moment Mobius knew that something had changed, at least for him.

He didn't know at the time what the future would hold, but before waking him up, Mobius told himself that he would do everything in his power to preserve the trust that Loki seemed to have in him.

Whatever it takes.

He recalled the memory fondly as he stroked the table with one hand in passing, right where Loki had fallen asleep that day.

As he looked up to continue on his way, he was surprised to see Loki waiting for him on the doorstep. He wondered, blushing slightly, if Loki had seen his gesture and if he too remembered.

Mobius didn't have to wonder for long, Loki leaned over, kissed him on the cheek and simply said in his ear, "I remember, too." Then Loki straightened up, took Mobius' hand and added, "Come on love, let's go home."

2.

"Okay, tell me what are the top 3 laws to avoid breaking?"

Loki sitting at his desk, let out a deep sigh before protesting, "Mobiuus, I can't take it anymore, you've been making me repeat the laws and workings of the TVA for two hours."

Mobius replied firmly, "Even if you think you don't need them, it's important that you know them, you're going to be responsible for training recruits in the field and while I have no doubt about your teaching skills, you'll be a role model and as such you-"

"Do not disrupt the flow of time," Loki began to enumerate in a sullen voice.

Mobius smiled fondly and nodded approvingly as Loki continued, "Avoid time travel and do not contact people in the past to save them from their future."

Loki yawned ostensibly to show his annoyance.

"Perfect!" replied Mobius who walked away from the desk as he spoke, "Now we will review some of the punishable crimes by the TVA, such as time theft, time misconduct, or time jumps that can destabilize the continuity of space-time. What can you tell me about that last one, Loki?"

Silence answered him.

"Loki, stop being a child and answer," said Mobius in a slightly irritated tone.

Still no reaction. Mobius turned around and couldn't help but smile at the sight in front of his eyes.

Loki had fallen asleep, his head on his arms crossed on the desk.

Mobius approached and looked with tenderness at the black locks that had slid down his lover's face, the little puffs of air that came out of his mouth and made the sheets of paper in front of him tremble, but above all the look of complete surrender.

Mobius shook his head and looked around before finding what he was looking for. He went to grab a blanket folded on the arm of a chair in the corner of the room. He unfolded it and laid it gently on Loki's shoulders. He leaned over, placed a kiss on Loki's head and whispered in his ear, "I'll come back later..."

Loki answered with a groan under Mobius' amused look.

3.

"According to Hesiod, Eris is the daughter of Nyx and gives birth alone, like her mother, to many children, all evil. She is the relentless Discord, both companion and sister of the murderer Ares, who at first rises timidly, but soon touches the sky with her forehead and treads the earth with her feet. The most famous story of Eris tells that she started the Trojan War by provoking the Judgment of Paris. The goddesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite had been invited, along with the rest of Olympus, to the forced nuptials of Peleus and Thetis, who would become the parents of Achilles, but Eris had been dismissed because of her tendencies to cause trouble.So she gives birth to the worst calamities and seems to announce the apocalypse."

Mobius paused in his reading as he felt Loki fidgeting, shaking his head in Mobius' lap. They were enjoying what was probably one of Mobius' favorite activities since they had been living together.Loki lying on the couch, his head in Mobius' lap while Mobius read aloud, one hand in Loki's hair or in Loki's hand on his chest.

Loki, surprised to learn that Greek and Roman mythologies had many similarities with Norse mythology, had asked Mobius to read him the story of the goddess Eris, Loki's Greek equivalent.

"Of course, there's nothing good about my Greek equivalent!" snapped Loki. "Whatever our origin, we can only do evil."

Mobius grabbed Loki's chin to turn his face upward and said in a scolding tone, "Loki, I thought you knew by now that this was not the case. That you didn't have to live up to this destiny. After all this time, you still don't believe it? You still don't believe me?"

Loki sighed and took hold of the hand that held his chin and intertwined his fingers with it, "Of course I believe you, it's just hearing that, brings back memories that taste bitter."

Mobius leaned over, pressed a kiss to Loki's mouth and resumed reading. "I think you'll like the next part... Eris is also the one Zeus sends to awaken the fighting spirit of the warlords so that they will throw themselves into battle.She is therefore also the goddess of emulation.  Eris is a portal that opens to individual energies. It generates the pioneers, to move the collective energies. She unconsciously forces us to take a direction, to take a path."

"Hm you're right," Loki interrupted him, "I really like that. "Go on."

Mobius chuckled and continued, "Eris forces action, reaction.  Eris causes chaos to prepare the necessary future mutation. Eris is a trigger, a revealer. She participates in the tragedy of life."

"Hmmm..."

"Loki?"

Mobius felt Loki's head get heavier on his lap and Loki's hand clutching his own slowly loosened its grip. He leaned forward a little to see that Loki had fallen asleep. This was no longer a rare occurrence, but it never ceased to amaze Mobius as to its deeper meaning. He pulled the plaid that was at the end of the couch over Loki's legs, taking care not to wake him up, then resumed his reading.

"Eris turns our lives upside down, plunging us into chaos. If she spreads mischief through all, she also throws the trouble in oneself. It is to open a new way. A new life where we will never be the same again."

These last sentences made Mobius smile, because this is exactly what Loki had done in his life. He had opened a new life for Mobius that had changed him forever, for the better.

He closed the book carefully and put it on the armrest. Carding his fingers gently in Loki's hair, who purred in response, he let himself be lulled by the sweetness of the moment and fell asleep in turn.

4.

"I am exhausted, ex-haus-ted!" exclaimed Loki as he entered their apartment.

Mobius, busy preparing the meal, watched him enter the kitchen, smiling at his lover's antics as Loki continued to talk while undressing.

8 hours training new recruits in combat techniques combined with magic!  8 hours! Mobius you are the boss, you could do something!"

He had arrived in front of Mobius, planted a kiss on his lips before continuing to unbutton his shirt without giving him a chance to respond. "I'm going to shower and come eat, love."

Mobius followed him with his eyes and shook his head before returning to the dinner preparation.

Later, sitting at the table, they ate dinner and talked about their day. Loki was much calmer and more relaxed after showering.

Although the training had indeed exhausted him, Loki was nonetheless enthusiastic about his students' progress. But towards the end of the meal, as Mobius told an anecdote about one of his day's events, he saw that he was losing Loki's attention. His head was nodding as he visibly struggled against sleep.

"Loki, sweetheart, let me put the dishes away and you go to bed, I can see you're really exhausted," Mobius said in a gentle tone.

Loki didn't protest, got up and gave Mobius a gentle hug before saying, "Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve someone as caring as you."

To which Mobius replied, "Nothing, you're just you and I'm just me."

Loki smiled and gave him one last kiss before walking off to their room like a robot.

Mobius went to put the dishes away, turned off the lights and headed for their room. When he entered he was surprised to see Loki sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Loki?"

Receiving no answer, he walked over to find that Loki had fallen asleep like that. He must have really been exhausted.

"Loki, sweetheart, you should go to bed."

Loki groaned in response. Mobius laughed silently. He opened the sheets, gently helped Loki to lie down, carefully removed his sweatpants and T-shirt, Loki malleable as a disarticulated doll in his arms. The degree of trust and acceptance that Loki had in his arms was something new for Mobius every time. Something absolutely extraordinary.

Mobius laid down beside him, covered them both before taking Loki in his arms and after a tender kiss on his forehead, let himself be carried away by sleep.

5.

Loki knocked gently on Mobius' office door before poking his head through the doorway.

"Ready to go home?"

Mobius looked up from his work sheepishly and replied, "Loki, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be able to leave right away, I have some urgent reports due tomorrow, so I'll be staying late. It's not even worth waiting for me."

Loki didn't hold it against him, he walked over to him, took his face in his hands, kissed him gently before pretending to wipe the creases on Mobius' forehead with his fingers. "Don't worry like that, love, take as much time as you need. I'll leave you a piece of dinner in the fridge for when you get home."

"Thank you for being so understanding."

"You're welcome." replied Loki as he walked away.

Mobius followed him with a grateful smile on his lips before getting back to work.

Three hours later he walked through the door of their apartment, the living room was in darkness except for a small lamp lit near the armchair where Loki was sitting.

He gasped as he approached, Loki was sleeping, that was something he was used to, but what surprised him was that Loki was wearing one of his shirts. Mobius swallowed when he saw that he wasn't wearing any pants, just the shirt and his underwear, bare feet curled under him on the chair. He looked so vulnerable like that, that Mobius' throat tightened. Mobius crouched down in front of the chair and lightly placed his hand on Loki's bare knee so as not to startle him as he called softly, "Loki... Sweetheart... our bed is much more comfortable to sleep in."

Loki's eyes flickered before slowly opening, a smile lighting up his face when he saw Mobius.

"Mobius, you're finally home."

Mobius nodded, stood up and held out his hand to Loki, "Come on, the bed is more comfortable."

He accompanied him to their room, watched him go to bed before going to get ready for the night, also feeling exhausted.

A few moments later, he joined Loki in their bed. He lay on his back and Loki came closer, resting his head on his chest and wrapping his arm around his stomach.

"Loki..." Mobius had a question burning in his mind.

"Hm..."

"Why are you wearing my shirt?"

Loki cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed, "I tried to fall asleep in our bed, but without you I couldn't, so I thought if I wore something of yours, maybe I could, but no, the bed is too big without you, so instead I waited for you in the living room, and finally fell asleep in the chair."

Mobius tightened his arm around Loki's shoulders and said in a voice hoarse with emotion, "you can go to sleep now, I'm here, sweetheart."

Loki snuggled up to him in approval and it wasn't long before Mobius felt the weighted head and steady breath against him, which in turn lulled Mobius into a deep sleep.

+1.

Mobius sat at the kitchen counter, clutching a cup of tea. He couldn't stop shivering.

It was the middle of the night,  it was half past two in the morning. He had been awakened by a nightmare and could not get back to sleep. He didn't want to wake Loki, so he came to the kitchen to try to calm down with a cup of tea.

The nightmares of Mobius were often the same, reminiscences of the lives that he had erased in the name of the previous TVA. It was often the conversation with Sylvie that came back to haunt him.

"All that time, I really believed we were the good guys."

"Annihilating entire realities, orphaning little girls, classic hero stuff."

Of course Mobius had never thought of himself as a hero, but he thought he was doing good and now realized how blind he had been.

And it was hard because there was no way to make amends, no way to redeem himself, because most of the people he had taken had ended up in the void and had not survived Alioth. At night Mobius could not think beyond the throbbing pain of guilt.

Suddenly, hands rested gently on his shoulders.

"Mobius? Are you okay?"

Then without waiting for an answer the hands slid forward and Mobius found himself with Loki's chest pressed against his back and Loki's chin resting on his head.

"I had another nightmare," he whispered, hoarse and vulnerable. Loki hummed, moved back and gently rubbed the back of Mobius' neck..

"Come back to bed with me," Loki's voice was warm and sleepy. Loving. Soothing. He took the cup from Mobius, discarding the now cold tea and rinsing the cup, before taking Mobius' hands and dragging him towards their room. Loki made him lie down before tightening his arms and legs around Mobius who in turn tightened his arms around Loki.

"Thank you," he whispered into Loki's soft hair.

Loki simply tightened his arms around him, and said softly, "Sleep my love, I am here, this time I am the one protecting you."

Mobius fell asleep, a dreamless sleep, only aware of Loki's presence shielding him from the world and from himself.

Beloved.

________

Whole series of one shot here : X

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

[ratsoh-writes]

Yay match ups!

I am and introvert! I do enjoy people but too much interaction makes me shut down-and big crowds make me anxious as heck (.-. I even have a hard time with Walmart) so I usually avoid them. I like small intimate gatherings with people I know or at least have some shared interest. But I especially love quality time with and S/O and of course my alone time to recharge. As far as personality goes: think of me as a house cat. I love being with, around, and interacting with the people I love, but when I need my time I go off and hide to recharge. Most of the time I’m chill and friendly, but I do have random moments of sporadic energy and silliness will ensue. And yes if I’m annoyed or mad at you I do get snippy and may not talk to you for a bit.

My hobbies include: collecting (I consider myself a curator), cooking/baking (I like to cook for loved ones and friends and to experiment with new flavors), reading (I have a huge personal library), writing (I have shelves filled with idea and story notebooks), singing, dancing, and bit of this and that and everything else :)

It takes a lot to get to me but there are a few things that get under my skin: not letting me help/take care of you: basically an S/O who insists on doing everything on their own and taking care of me. If I care about you, at least let me cook for you, massage you, listen to you rant about a bad day or stupid people, comfort you.

I also have a hard time being interrupted/spoken over/ not listened to/disregarded. Please just let me finish what I’m saying and THEN argue your point!

Deal breakers would be: trying to be physical/sexual too early in the relationship. I’m very slow to physical touch and I have had a past of bad experiences to put it modestly. If and when I trust you enough to touch you, I will initiate it (of course I’ll ask if it’s ok). Also, them not wanting/wanting me to spend time with my family. My family is my everything! If you become mine, you are absorbed into my family and that’s how it goes. (Ps: trust me you’ll love my mom ;) )

I’ve always been attracted to passionate, smart/clever men. When I say passionate, I mean they have a love for what they do; be it a hobby or a side job or their main job. I also like a man that has dreams and goals but just continue to dream about them. He works hard and goes after that dream and makes it happen. And yes I love them sharp! Book smarts are impressive, street smarts are amazing, but a man with both is phenomenal! I also love a man who takes pride in his appearance and how he presents himself. What can I say? I like them sharp in dress and in mind!

My strengths: I love helping/teaching people in all areas of life (I’m a teacher it’s my thing!). I am loyal to a fault (you hurt my friends or family, I will find a way to hurt you ._.), I am (mostly) optimistic, I am very open and willing to accept almost anything if you explain it to me.

My weaknesses: I overthink EVERYTHING! I have a tendency to shut down and shut people out when I’m mad/sad/scared instead of talking things out or even defending myself (I’m getting much better). I either care or I don’t-there is no in between! Everyday I deal with and combat differing amounts of anxiety and depression on a day to day basis. Most days I win, Some days I don’t. I don’t know if it’s a weakness but, I have a specific diet that I eat because of health and allergies but I don’t like to impose it on anyone.

Physical description: 5’9 on my flat feet, 5’10 in my regular shoes and 5’11-6ft in heels. Just above shoulder length Dirty blonde hair with light blonde highlights.Blue/grey eyes that reflect color. Glasses are a must for me to see. I have a chubby/average build. Best attribute: legs for days and thighs that don’t quit! Oh and apparently a smile that lights up a room (with a dimple).

Ok, so it was a tie between two guys. And the winner of the coin toss was……. SANS!

Congratulations! You won the tumblr sexy man!!

Fun fact, sans is the most extroverted introvert you’ll ever meet. He’s always been good at charming people but in reality he’d be perfectly happy with just a handful of family and close friends. Nothing else. So he understands perfectly how you feel. Plus sans is the definition of no pressure when it comes to relationships. He’s fine taking things slow

He’s also humble enough to let you take care of him occasionally. That bit you put in actually knocked a lot of guys out. I had no idea how many of my boys were prideful mother hens until now lol. Just let him return the favor though. His love language is acts of service, so sans will want to do little things for you as well

So I heard you like brainy guys? Well sans is very brainy. In fact he’s a genius. He’s only bested by Pluto and G, and it’s a close competition. Not very many people are willing to listen to him geek out about science, so if you do, you’ll get to see him go starry eyed.

Here’s a secret, sans will totally be a goof and dance around in the kitchen with you. But no one must ever know. If papyrus finds out, he’ll try and drag sans into exercising with him again lol

The only thing sans doesn’t fit is the presentation lol. He’s a casual guy all the way and does the bare minimum when it comes to dressing up for work. He won’t care if you mess around with his closet as long as the clothes are comfortable

Green was the other guy tied with sans

[imagine-darksiders]

Homesick - Chapter 2

Behind the door.

Warnings: implied child abuse, abusive parents, blood, nosebleeds, angst, themes of childhood trauma, ptsd

Tags: Darksiders, DeathxAzrael, hurt/comfort, angst, Reader, Found family, Reader needs a hug

Chapter 1

---

“What lays beyond that door?”

Azrael's innocent question causes you to stiffen and your steps falter on the landing, knowing precisely to which door he's referring, but unwilling to even spare it a backwards glance.

The momentary delay hardly lasts for more than a second and goes seemingly unnoticed by the angel, whose gaze appears too focused on the locked, mahogany door that stands quiet and guiltless at the furthest end of your landing. Hanging back near the top of the staircase however, with eyes sharp and turned just enough in your direction that they catch the hitching of your chest, Death does notice.

Then, he blinks, and you're suddenly twisting your head over a shoulder to look beyond Azrael at the door in question, a smile on your lips but not in your eyes.

“Oh, that's just a storage cupboard,” you say casually, waving a dismissive hand through the air and continuing your journey to the opposite side of the house, “I've been in and out of there all week stacking boxes of junk up to the ceiling. Now, come this way, all the best human-y stuff is stock-piled in my bedroom.” 

You're too quick to disregard the door, too eager in turning to walk towards your room on stiff legs and Death wishes the angel would turn to look at you so he might also see what the Horseman sees, if only to confirm that he isn't imagining things.

Alas, letting out an intrigued little hum, Azrael clasps his hands loosely behind his back and sweeps after you, all the while pivoting his head this way and that to take in everything your humble home has to offer.

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

You had so nearly forgotten what the joy of discovery looks like in another person. To see the eyes of someone else grow wide and bright with unbridled wonder at a world you've long since lost a taste for.

Azrael's fascination at the most mundane of human objects manages to put a genuine smile on your face, though the ensuing pain still throbs like the beat of an insistent drum every time your cheeks press against your bruised eye.

Luckily, the angel appears to have missed your subtle wince.

After first having dragged him away from your television, you've managed to introduce him to many of humanity's other wonders that lay dotted around your bedroom.

Before long, Death had even slunk inside to join you both, taking up the mantle of an uninterested observer and absently perusing your book collection in the corner whilst keeping a surreptitious eye on the goings on of his companions.

You've perched yourself comfortably in a bean bag, content to simply sit back and observe whilst Azrael explores your room, his wide, white wings folded neatly against his back in order to spare some of your ornaments from being knocked off their shelves. 

“This... ursine mammal,” he says, pausing beside your bed and poking a finger into the fur of an old, stuffed bear sitting atop your pillow, “Does it serve some purpose?”

You're too preoccupied with fighting back a laugh to answer him right away, and by the time you realise he's watching you expectantly, Death pipes up in your stead, cutting off any explanation you might have offered.

“I imagine it's only there for decoration,” he muses, casting a critical eye over your bookcase and the dozens of unread stories scattered about on the shelves, “But then, I have to wonder if half the things in this room aren't just ornamentation.”

Knowing what he's implying, you spare the back of his head a scowl. It isn't as though you've had a lot of time to read those books he gave you, not between rebuilding your own home and helping humanity come to terms with life post-apocalypse.

“Ah!” Azrael's head shoots up and he tears his eyes from the bear, glancing towards you instead. “It is symbolic, no? In resembling a most ferocious predator, this bear represents the perfect guard for your home.”

He looks so damn pleased with himself, you almost don't bother to correct him, instead wrestling your grin into a pensive frown and nodding slowly. 

“Uh, sure! That is a pretty... exciting way to look at teddy bears.” Hopping to your feet, you make your way over to the bed and sweep a few of Azrael's primary feathers aside, picking up the toy bear and squeezing it to your chest. “But mostly humans use these for comfort at night, when we sleep. We usually get given them as children. And, as we grow older, I... guess we just get too attached to get rid of them. Most humans keep their childhood toys long into adulthood.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Death huffs, shaking his head with a smile hidden beneath the bone-mask, “You humans will get attached to anything that sits still for long enough.”

Azrael, on the other hand, looks as though you've just revealed to him one of humanity's greatest secrets. Rubbing his chin in thought, he says, “Remarkable! I've heard that humans are rather famous for the bonds they forge with other species, yet I never imagined that could extend to inanimate objects as well.”

“Yeah, you'd better believe it,” you smirk, placing the bear down on your pillow once more, “Someday I'll have to tell you about the woman who married the Eiffel Tower.”

At once, the Archangel blinks hard, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair line. “A tower? Surely that’s a jape?”

So perplexed is his expression, you throw back your head and let out a bark of delighted laughter. “What are you, Shakespeare? Nobody says ‘jape’ anymore, Azrael!”

Off on his own side of your little bedroom, Death's neck twists around slightly to regard both you and the angel as you engage in a light-hearted back and forth about the use of archaic vocabulary. He doesn't even realise that one corner of his mouth has begun lifting at the sight. 

There is a truth about the Horseman that even he is reluctant to acknowledge, and that is that the constant slew of bad things happening in the Universe is... wearing. It’s wearing. To be on a constant path that always seems to lead towards battle or tragedy? Sometimes it feels as though his entire existence has merely consisted of one battle after another. 

He saves one world, only for another to be torn apart, he destroys a species, and another asks him to fight their war for them, he helps the makers but in doing so, inadvertently kills their elder. Century after century - a millennia of bloody battles and terrible sacrifices and trying to keep his siblings safe - If he ever stopped to think about it... 

Death’s eyes slip slowly shut. 

He has worked... so hard, hasn’t he? Is it really so wrong if he enjoys these moments of fleeting repose? 

All of a sudden, a strangled sound leaves Azrael's throat and Death is yanked from his peaceful reverie. “Y/n!?” the angel exclaims, his expression shifting to horrified in less than a second, “You're bleeding!”

Apparently, mentioning your name and blood in the same sentence is enough to get Death's voice to crack as he whips around properly and barks, “What!?”

Baffled, you raise a hand to your nose, dabbing at a sticky wetness gathered there whilst the taste of salty liquid drips onto your upper lip. “Oh, so I am,” you observe casually, only to have a pair of chilly hands curl unexpectedly around your forearms. 

Without warning, the terrifying visage of the Horseman is looming mere inches from your face and in another instant, one of his hands presses itself to your forehead and firmly – albeit gently – tips it backwards.

“Um... Death, we've talked about this. Personal space, remember?”

The Horseman remains eerily silent as he stares transfixed at the blood oozing from your nose and you squirm uncomfortably when the grip he has on your arm begins to grow even tighter. Meanwhile, his wordlessness allows Azrael to fret aloud in the background.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” the angel mutters, pacing back and forth behind Death, never tearing his eyes from the red straining your face, “You shouldn't be having all this excitement. You should be resting.”

It's difficult to hold back your groan of exasperation as you lift your arms and knock Death's hands aside, stepping out of his reach.

“Oh for - It's just a nosebleed! Honestly, what has gotten into you two?” With a hefty sigh, you skirt around the rigid Nephilim, dodge one of Azrael's wings as it tries to curl instinctively around you and march into your ensuite bathroom.

Almost immediately, the angel tries to follow, but he swiftly has the door pushed shut in his face before he can enter and soon, they hear your voice filtering out to them from the other side. “I'm not a baby, guys! Nosebleeds are no big deal, it's just happening because of... well, you know.”

Azrael's stomach twists itself into knots at the sight of yet another locked door standing between himself and his human friend. He's about to call out for you to let him see the damage when an icy chill sweeps across the room and he turns, his mouth falling open slightly at the sight of Death staring at him through unseeing eyes.

The old Nephilim's body has gone completely still and there's a haunted look about him, as though he's lost, or perhaps trapped in another time, another place.

“Horseman?” Azrael murmurs uncertainly, feeling the cold prickle at the hairs on the base of his neck. Seconds pass and he receives no answer. Hesitant now, the archangel reaches towards Death's shoulder and, when he isn't immediately shoved away, places a hand on the frigid, solid muscle that bunches under his gentle touch. “Death,” he tries again, and this time the Horseman's head snaps up to stare at him, as if only just realising he's there.

The angel ducks his head to better catch Death's eye, his voice soft enough that only the two of them can hear it. “Are you alright, old friend?”

A long silence stretches between them with only the faint sound of running water from your bathroom tap to fill it.

Then, giving a start, Death roughly shrugs the comforting hand off his shoulder and stalks past the angel towards your window, leaning his elbows heavily against the sill and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Azrael's concern. He doesn't think the archangel has ever been that close to him before, close enough that the subtle scent of old books and clean linen invaded his nose and chased away the awful stench of your blood, effectively leaving his mind clear once again. 

'Idiot,' he chastises himself, eyes still wide behind the bone mask. How could he have frozen like that? In front of Azrael no less. Creator, he'd never live that one down. He had – for lack of a better word – panicked, and it's as embarrassing to admit to himself as it is to have been caught panicking. But...

The sight of your blood... The smell of it, sweet and strong enough that it even settled on his tastebuds...

It's pathetic, really. He is Death. He's seen and caused far more bloodshed than arguably any being in any realm. So why then does your spilled blood hold his dead heart in such a cruel and unforgivably tight chokehold?

The redundancy of taking a calming breath isn't lost on him, yet he does it anyway, tipping his head up to peer out of your window, chest rising and falling with motions he could only have picked up after spending so much time around you.

It's begun to rain, he notes idly. Tiny droplets of water patter down onto the dusty window panes and Death follows the path of one until it merges with several others and is lost in the fray.

Down in the streets below, many passers-by have dived for shelter, yet there are still two figures who remain. One is an angel, whose golden complexion shimmers when raindrops trickle steadily down his face. He's standing in the shadow of a water-logged bus stop and beside him, leaning just a little too close, is a serpentine demon, scales black and glittering like obsidian. The odd pair rest almost shoulder to shoulder underneath the bus stop's awning, each sharing a brief respite from the rain with what was once a well-loathed enemy.

Death blinks upon seeing that their hands are intertwined. Dainty, golden fingers curl loosely around clumsier claws and suddenly, the Horseman feels as though he's intruding on their secret moment, so he turns back to face your room.

Azrael has drifted closer once again and there's a knowing expression on his face that causes Death to frown. Sure enough, the archangel spares your bathroom door a hasty glance before he looks at the Horseman once more. “...Death,” he says slowly, “It's... all right, you know. If seeing Y/n’s blood upset you-”

Hackles are raised in half a second, a set of sharp teeth clack together and Death hisses, “You think I'm upset?”

Judging by the flat look he receives, that is precisely what the archangel thinks.

Despite the obvious vehemence behind Death's tone, he's careful to keep his voice down, ever mindful that you're only a room over. Perhaps getting defensive isn't the best idea.

“There is no shame in it, Horseman,” the angel coaxes softly, “Y/n is my friend as well. There has already been far too much human blood spilled this century.” He casts another, baleful glance towards your bathroom, quietly adding, “I didn't think I would be seeing it again, not this soon. And especially not from our human.”

...Our human.

Death is unnerved by how natural that sounds coming off Azrael's tongue.

Expertly, the Horseman wills his shoulders to slump and his muscles to relax, then, with an unmistakable air of indifference, he folds his arms across his broad chest and turns himself deliberately away from the archangel, glowering at your bedroom wall.

And Azrael, wise enough to read the standoffish behaviour for what it is, allows his mouth to fall shut because he knows that, as far as Death is concerned, the conversation is over.

He has a care not to release a weary sigh. But with you shutting him out physically and the Horseman shutting him out verbally, it's difficult for even the composed archangel to keep exasperation at bay.

Just then, your voice calls out to them from the other side of the door. “Ugh, sorry about this guys. It's slowing down, but it hasn't stopped yet. I'll just be a minute!”

“So long as you're all right,” Azrael replies.

When he receives no response from you and no further input from Death, he lets his head drop into a disappointed nod, pressing his lips together. Suddenly, his presence feels a little too big for the space he's occupying. He needs to think.

Azrael leaves your bedroom with a far heavier heart than he'd gone in with, raking his fingers through fine, white hair and expelling a soft breath from his lungs, as if that might alleviate the weight settling across his chest.

So far, this first visit to your home has not gone as he'd hoped it would. Through no fault of your own, mind. But trying to focus on taking in everything you show him whilst he knows you're in more pain than you're letting on is woefully distracting. That's without even mentioning the creeping sense of unease that has been hanging over him ever since he first stepped foot through your front door. 

Briefly, Azrael wonders if Death had noticed the way your breath hitched slightly and your reply had an almost imperceptible, underlying tremor when he asked you what lay beyond the door at the end of your landing. He'd have to ask the Horseman about that later, when he's in a more talkative mood.

Already, the archangel can feel the beginnings of a frown forging crevasses down the centre of his forehead. He composes himself in another breath and finally lifts his eyes from the carpet, only to stop in his tracks. 

That door – that unassuming door to your cupboard lays ahead of him, quiet and solid as all doors should be, just sitting there under a flickering light bulb, as though it had been patiently waiting for him to notice it.

And notice it, he does, because something about the door has changed since he saw it last, something so obvious, yet also entirely unsettling.  

Where it had once been shut tight, now it stands ever so slightly ajar.

Despite everything in him screaming that he must respect the privacy of his host, Azrael's curiosity grows too bold and he finds himself treading silently down your landing, his shoes making no sound on the grubby, cream carpet. Drawing to a halt, the angel's keen gaze sweeps over the wooden door, taking in hairline cracks and mottled rot that a hundred years has left upon it like battle scars on a warrior's face. Slowly, he roves his eyes down to the dull, brass door handle and he immediately falters, doing a double-take.

Sitting atop the handle is a very noticeable, very thick layer of dust.

His brows knit together until they nearly touch and he reaches out to swipe a finger delicately along the brass. When he pulls away, he lifts his hand for an inspection and, sure enough, the pad of his forefinger is now sporting the same, grey substance.

'Why would a door you claimed to use recently have so much dust upon the handle?' The feeling of unease that had been stealthily keeping to the back of his mind now pokes its head out a little more, creeping forwards, daring him to acknowledge it.

'Something's wrong...' a quiet voice tells him.

Azrael's hand reaches out once more, except this time, it curls around the handle entirely and rests there for a moment as the angel's mind starts to race. 'Y/n.... Are you hiding something from us?'

As soon as the thought enters his head, he can't shake it loose. 

Yes - he trusts you - he knows you'd have no reason to lie to him, and especially not to the Horseman. And yet... Clearly there is something beyond this door that you're trying to divert their attention from and whatever it is has you spooked.

Feeling more and more like a common criminal, Azrael keeps one ear on the room behind him and slowly begins to twist the door handle, wincing when its rusty springs catch and squeak in protest.

His wings shiver with anticipation as he pushes the door open.

What awaits him on the other side is decidedly not a storage cupboard...

“A... bedchamber?” he murmurs to himself. 

Within an instant, he's hit by an oppressive wave of must and wood rot. The smell spills like liquid from the room and seeps into your hallway, causing the archangel's lips to curl, though he's quick to smooth his expression out again because there's something far worse lingering below the initial stench, something that – even after a hundred years – still clings to the peeling wallpaper and broken, dust-choked bed in the corner of the room.

It isn't quite magic, more like the residue of a dark and terrible memory. Azrael knows as well as any angel that memories can be immensely powerful things and capable of haunting a place long after the living are dead and gone. Hesitating, he takes a moment to steel himself before stepping over the threshold and entering that old, foreboding bedroom.

At once, he notices that, as with the door's handle, absolutely everything is covered in a thick layer of grime and dust, the television on the wall, the various, glass bottles that stand on a table at the room's centre, amidst which sits a single, yellowing glass.

Against the wishes of his own nose, Azrael takes a brief sniff at the air and grimaces.

Alcohol.

Even the most pious of angels would recognise it.

He dismissively turns his attention from the bottles and glides over towards a worn dresser that stands to the left of the bed, a bed that stinks of an odour he desperately tries to ignore. Upon the dresser are a vast array of what you;d once called 'photographs,' all of which sit inside basic, wooden frames. Inquisitive, Azrael bends down and peers at them, a soft smile worming across his face when he sees a familiar human grinning back up at him.

You couldn't be much older than four or five, but he'd recognise you at any age. It seems even as a child, you possessed that same, mischievous spark in your eyes.

You're standing alone, and in spite of a clear gap where a tooth has fallen out, you're beaming up at the camera so hard, he imagines your cheeks had to have hurt. In fact, the more Azrael inspects the photo, the more he thinks your expression most resembles a grimace, not a smile. He shrugs it off however, and moves on. After all, the facial structure of humans is such that they're capable of expressions far more complex than those of angels or demons. Perhaps he’s only misreading it. 

The next picture sees you looking a few years older, sitting in the lap of a tall, angular man wearing a white shirt that looks to have been frequently stained by all manner of substances whilst his face is stretched into a grin that makes Azrael's skin crawl. Captured in stillness, it looks menacing and shark-like. Worse still is the large hand that seems to have secured itself like a vice around your thigh, squeezing noticeably into the little, blue leggings you'd worn that day.

You aren't smiling as widely in this photograph....

The archangel's face begins to fall as well.

Humming, he moves on to the next picture and in an instant, that creeping unease suddenly rings in his head like an alarm bell.

Again, you're older here, perhaps early into your adolescence, and the smile you'd sported before is barely there at all. The same man is standing behind you this time, and his long, gangly fingers are clamped down over your too-small shoulders, fingernails digging so hard into the bare skin, the resulting indents are even picked up by the camera.

Your lopsided wince that could be mistaken for a smile at a glance shows off one side of your mouth and in it, Azrael can clearly see that you're missing a tooth.

He may not be the most well-versed on human biology, but he's definitely heard that children only lose the same tooth once. And that the process is a natural one.

Through the lense of the camera, your younger counterpart seems to peer up past the glass frame, past the fabric of time and space and straight into Azrael's misty, pale eyes, a silent yet clear plea in the tilt of your brows and the whites of your knuckles.

'Help me.'

All at once, the archangel feels sick. He staggers backwards, away from the dresser and doesn't even notice the golden halo on his back is thrumming with protective magics, pushing them outwards to envelope your entire house.

He doesn't need Jamaerah's second sight to know that you were afraid of that man who's eyes are stained the same colour as yours. Hazarding a guess as to why you were afraid causes Azrael's throat to tighten.

Swallowing hard, he tries to regain his composure. The archangel has always considered rationality to be one of the greatest weapons in his arsenal and if there was ever a time to use it, that time is now. 

'Perhaps... I am mistaken,' he reassures himself, 'I don’t know human customs nearly as well as I-’ 

“Azrael?”

The angel gives a start and jerks his head around to face the door, only to find Death eclipsing it, his eyes blazing like twin fires.

Stepping forwards into the room, he hisses, “What are you doing in here?”

The Horseman is quite certain he's never seen Azrael look so guilty.

Instead of giving him an answer though, the angel slowly breathes, “Where is Y/n?” Soon, he droops in relief when Death throws a thumb over his shoulder and replies, “Still in the bathing room, tending to a bloody nose... You didn't answer my question.”

Beckoning the Horseman closer, Azrael keeps his voice to a hushed whisper and holds the last photograph up in front of him.

“What do you make of this?”

Azrael's behaviour strikes him as so uncharacteristically odd and secretive, Death actually hurries over to him and snatches the picture frame from his hands, making an effort not to appear curious about the room he's never been inside. The angel watches raptly as Death scans the photographs with his luminous, orange eyes. Then, all of a sudden, the Horseman's fingers tighten around the little, wooden frame, hard enough to make it splinter and Azrael knows his worst fears are being realised. He hadn't imagined it.

Death sees it too.

“You guys shouldn't be in here.”

A tiny voice, low and trembling calls from the doorway and the angel's gaze snaps up. Death, in the meantime, remains too fixated on the photograph to bother acknowledging your presence.

Azrael drifts towards you cautiously, as though you'll bolt at any second. He tries to decide whether it would be better to apologise for invading your privacy or ask you why you look so terrified.

“Y/n,” he starts, paying attention to the way your hands turn over one another incessantly, “We were only-”

“... How... How did you get in? The door was - it was locked! You can't be in here... Get out!” Your voice raises in pitch. There are tears leaking from your bruised eye, swiftly turning the skin underneath it slick and shiny and there’s still a trace of blood underneath your nose.

Death finally lowers his gaze from the photograph and holds you captive under a wide and menacing stare. “A storage room, was it?” he asks curtly, showing you the picture clutched between his ever-tightening fingers.

The moment you lay eyes on it, your back goes rigid and all the blood drains from your face. “Put that down!” you demand and lift your foot as if to take a step inside the room, but as soon as you cross over the threshold, you seem to remember something, and quickly jerk yourself backwards, stumbling into the hallway again and sucking down a ragged gasp, blurting, “Just – Just don't touch it!”

“Why not?” Death drawls and tilts his head to one side, calculating, “It can't be that important to you. You've had it locked in this storage cupboard for these past two years.”

He's pushing you, Azrael realises with a sinking feeling, he's trying to provoke you into an honest reaction, no doubt. The archangel doesn't like it, but he likes the look of that man in the photograph even less.

“That's none of your business!” you snap, heart pounding like a jackhammer against your ribs. Unfortunately, your response only seems to stir something in the Horseman, who draws his head back as though you'd struck him a physical blow and he growls, “I hate to disappoint you, but it is my business where your welfare is concerned.”

“My welfare stopped being your concern about two years ago!”

Death falls silent, jaw clenching.

He'd be remiss to say that your comment hadn't struck at a place he guards jealously. He's painfully aware of the angel's eyes burning a hole into the side of his head and he nearly squirms at the pitying look he's receiving.

It would seem that Azrael knows him a little too well.

“You never once stopped being my concern...” the Horseman mumbles, his gaze moving down to the image in his hand. A younger, smaller you peers back at him with woe caught like sleep-dust behind your eyelashes. Death's eyes shoot back up to you again, the softness gone from his voice when he growls, “Why did you lie to me?”

Tensions are high enough that Azrael doesn't think it prudent to mention you'd lied to him as well.

Apparently, a direct confrontation was not the best way to deal with this delicate situation, a fact that becomes clear when you cinch your jaw shut for a moment, gaze flickering to and fro between the angel and the Horseman.

Seeing two of your most trusted friends standing in his bedroom with a symbol of your shame and your trauma held quite literally in Death's grasp sends your heart rate skyrocketing, fear like poison dripping down into your stomach. You can hardly believe they'd invade your privacy like this. Death especially, who knows better than anyone the necessity for keeping some secrets buried.

He doesn't need to learn about that part of your history - neither of them do. You don't want to have them worrying. And God forbid they should pity you.

Squaring your shoulders, you spin about on a heel and begin to march purposefully down your landing to the stairs.

“Where do you think you're going?!” Death barks after you.

Chest heaving, you pause on the first step and cast a heavy frown over your shoulder at the Horseman, matching his ferocious gaze without a single blink. “If you won't leave that room,” you tell him, “then I'll leave this house. And I'll thank you both to be gone by the time I get back.” 

And just like that, you continue to descend your staircase and disappear below the wooden balustrades. Seconds later and there's an almighty 'slam' that signals you've had an altercation with the front door before leaving through it.

For some time, the house is weighed down under a blanket of silence as the pair of unearthly beings are left to stand in the aftershocks of their actions.

“Oh dear..” Azrael's stare is vacant, worried, and he has several fingertips pressed to his lips. “I fear I've reopened an old wound..”

“No. This... isn't your fault,” the Horseman sighs, “I should have addressed this sooner. I've known for some time there was something Y/n didn't want me to know. And, I suppose, I'd always suspected that this room might lead to some answers.”

Taken aback, Azrael turns a mystified look onto the Nephilim. He'd expected Death to lay the blame upon his feathery shoulders, after all, he was the one who first ventured into this so called 'storage cupboard' and upset the proverbial applecart. Still, he finds it somewhat odd that the Horseman – a nosy creature if ever one walked the nine realms – hasn't ever tried to see for himself what lay beyond the door. Tilting his head, the angel asks, “You never thought to investigate?”

At the question, Death averts his gaze and shrugs one of his pale shoulders. “Admittedly, no, I did not.”

“Well... Why?” Azrael presses, though he already has an inkling.

After a moment of frowning pensively at the photo in his hands, the Horseman turns to look at him and he's once again thrown off by the level of emotion in those wild, striking eyes. Death really has grown since knowing you.

“I never brought it up because....” 

“.... You didn't want to jeopardise your friendship,” Azrael finishes for him softly, and Death is only grateful that he didn't have to say it himself out loud.

At the same time, the two of them peer back at the photograph and the archangel is surprised at himself for the anger that boils in his lungs at the sight of that man’s hands on you. Death however, isn’t in the least bit surprised at the presence of his own rage. 

“Horseman...,” Azrael says, his voice eerily calm, “You don’t supposed.... Y/n might be trying to hide something else, do you?” 

"The bruise...”

Furious, orange eyes meet cool and misty white. 

“It isn’t out of the question,” Azrael breathes, “A random attack from human zealots? Or-” 

“- Or something a bit closer to home,” Death finishes as he tosses the photo onto the nearby bed and turns to face the door. 

Outside, rain continues to hammer relentlessly on the house whilst a streak of lightening illuminates the bedroom and the two, imposing beings inside, one with dark magics crackling at his fingertips, and the other with a halo of solid gold on his back that thrums with violent energy as the glyphs on his wings begin to glow electric blue. 

Without a word, the Angel of Death and the Grim Reaper slip from your house and stride out into the coming storm, their ancient minds focused solely on tracking down their human.