#he’s so sad and he has to go to his mom’s funeral at the end of the week NOOO :(

[rasoyas]

— 18 culpepper house, home of raj rasoya 🍊

[opens-up-4-nobody]

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[nope-body]

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tw- mentions of animal death (dog, cat) and death of a member of my extended family

[lazycats-stuff]

Can you do a teen reader (younger than Damian by 1 or 2 years) x batfam, where he is spider man? (I mean kinda like miles morales, he has electricity powers but his webs are organic too and doesn’t need a web shooters.) he is Bruce’s biological child and his mother died, yk his canon event and what not. So he has to move to Gotham and isn’t happy about. Just distant and all. One night He sneaked out and bought a train ticket and went to New York, and was only spider man and just slept in somewhere. So the batfamily tracked him to New York, and while looking for him, they bump into him as spider man. They have to team up to find a villian but reafer gets hurt in the end and his mask fell off and they see it’s reader? They bring him and just have a talk when he wakes up and they come to conclusion for him to join the family in their fighting in Gotham?

Oh, that sounds good. Yes... Also, 2.7k words and so sorry for taking so long to write this... Hope you enjoy. I changed it a little bit, so my apologies, but I got into my writing spirit lol.

Summary: (Y/N) is Spiderman. The fam doesn't know that.

Warnings: (Y/N)'s mom passes away, funeral, sad (Y/N), he loves his city, angst, running away, fighting with Green Goblin.

(Y/N) had a great life in New York. He was very happy in his city. He lived with his mom and everything was fine. Okay, he did get bitten by a radioactive spider and got cool powers with it. Did it cause some troubles? Oh yeah. Electricity was a bit problematic to control, but he managed.

Did he get grounded because of it? His mom sure thought so. His dad visited with the rest of his brothers every month. (Y/N) understood why he couldn't come more. Being a CEO and all that stuff, (Y/N) really understood. He didn't love Bruce any less. Bruce was involved in his life, which was nice.

He loved his brothers and father, more than anything in this world. Alfred was the best though. Whenever he came, he would bring his food and (Y/N) and his mom would enjoy it too, often asking for recipes. Or they would exchange recipes.

All of those were very fun times. And his time as Spiderman. He really loved it. He loved patrolling and helping the people and maybe get a hot dog from the stands that worked through the night. He loved it all. It was nice that his webs were natural and they, like mentioned before, they also came with electricity.

His enemies hated him, but (Y/N) loved being Spiderman. He loved what he represented in New York and he wouldn't change it for anything in the world. He is a New Yorker through and through.

But life decided to be a bitch and strike that luck and happiness.

(Y/N)'s mom passed away. She was hit by a drunk driver. The worst thing is, the driver survived. When Bruce got the news, he got into the car and drove to New York. (Y/N) was told just before Bruce came and (Y/N) felt his soul shatter.

He broke down in Bruce's arms, crying and screaming. It took him a while to calm down, but he couldn't stay alone. Bruce knew that and he knew that going back to Gotham was not an option now. At all. Bruce called Alfred and explained everything and told him that he would stay to arrange the funeral.

Alfred understood and the brother called (Y/N), wishing that they could be there. (Y/N) thanked them for it and then sat up all night, unable to sleep. Bruce tried to comfort him in the best way possible, but it was difficult. Bruce's former fling, (Y/N)'s mom, was the most important person to (Y/N). Without a doubt.

Bruce knew that he would have to bury her in New York, otherwise his son would have raised hell. Without a doubt. After funeral, (Y/N) would have to move to Gotham. Which is another problem on its own. Bruce didn't know that (Y/N) was Spiderman and (Y/N) didn't know that Bruce was Batman.

Match made in hell, so to say.

The funeral was held a few days after the incident and (Y/N) thought that New York cried with him. The sky was dark and the rain was falling. (Y/N) was torn. There were way to many people who were saying sorry and while he appreciated the care and worry, he just wanted to say goodbye on his own.

His brothers have stood it with him. (Y/N) didn't even have the courage to be next to the grave, while they lowered it, but Bruce held him hand through it, keeping him close to him during the entire process.

At the end, he found some strength and came closer, allowing the rain to soak him. It felt appropriate. When she was lowered, (Y/N) threw a rose in there and wiped his eyes. He took a deep breath as they started putting dirt over her coffin and (Y/N) never felt so mad. Why did this happen to him? To him out of all people?!

Bruce recognized that look in (Y/N)'s eyes. He knew that rage, sadness and frustration in his eyes. It was going to be difficult to let go and have a new life in Gotham. But (Y/N) had to try. He had to put some effort.

" (Y/N), we have to go. " Bruce said gently as he shielded his son from the rain with an umbrella. (Y/N) kept looking as the coffin got buried under the dirt. He swallowed before nodding and following Bruce to the car.

" Why do I have to go to Gotham? " (Y/N) asked and Bruce sighed as he started driving.

" We have been over this. I have a company there and your brothers are there. I know you don't want to leave, I know that, but you have no choice. " Bruce explained as he drove and (Y/N) turned away from him, biting down on his tongue so that he wouldn't lash out against Bruce.

" I know you are not happy, but you will be happy in Gotham. "

" Sure. In a city ran by a clown and a bat. Sounds like heaven. " (Y/N) said sarcastically.

" It's actually a nice city once you live in it long enough. "

(Y/N) huffed, but kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to lash out at his father, he really didn't. His dad was doing something he needed and Bruce wasn't at fault.

It was the driver's fault.

But he was pissed and he just wanted to be alone. Bruce saw it and didn't say anything, driving back to Gotham. It was the most awkward drive Bruce has ever done in his life. The hour was quiet and once they parked in the yard of the manor, (Y/N) took a bag with his personal stuff, his Spiderman suit included, and made a beeline for his room.

He ran past everybody and they all looked at him with sad looks.

" Do you think he will be better soon? " Dick asked, glancing at Bruce.

" I don't know Dick. He is sensitive and he will need some time to process it. I don't think I can even introduce him to our line of work. He found justice, they got the driver. " Bruce said as he rubbed his chin and the boys had to agree to a certain agree.

" He just needs some time. The first few days are the toughest. He will get better as times passes. " Alfred said as he took one of the boxes out.

Those few days have passed and (Y/N) didn't really feel good. He didn't like the fact he is starting a new school year here, without his friends and a sense of familiarity. He would have to start a new, without... He cried a lot during the time and he just wore black. Alfred had to make sure he ate and Bruce was there to comfort him and make sure he is okay.

Another thing that was painful, alongside his mother's death was the fact that he couldn't be Spiderman. He couldn't go out, he couldn't save his fellow New Yorkers or chat with them. He saw the news talking about his absence and he wanted nothing more than to go back to New York.

Nothing more.

But... There is a problem called big brothers plus a dad.

They were always around, watching him. Always popping in his room to make sure he is okay and not hungry, knowing that eating wasn't easy. Everyone popped in to make sure he is okay. (Y/N) was sure they thought he would hurt himself somehow, but he wasn't doing that.

He would often sit down in his room, when he knew that his family was on patrol, he would take his suit out. He would watch the spider symbol, wishing he could be back in New York. Gotham was nothing compared to New York. New York was much better, still is better than this city. New York is alive, vibrant, full of colors.

And then you have Gotham.

But (Y/N) has had enough after 2 weeks. With a little bit sneaking around, he managed to buy a ticket, his suit underneath the normal clothes he was wearing. While his family was on patrol, he sneaked out and made his way to the station to leave. He was happy, but it was bitter sweet. It would remind him of the things he loved and yet... It would remind him of his mother.

He had actually had some money left for a few flowers to lay on her grave... (Y/N) put his head on the window, watching the scenery change. Left his phone at home so that they couldn't track him, so he spent his time looking out the window and stretching.

After a few hours, (Y/N) has arrived. He smiled as he saw his city. He took a deep breath in and walked around, just remembering the time in his city.

" My apologies New York. " (Y/N) mumbled as he started walking to the cemetery. It would be a long walk, but he had time. He really did. Once he came, the flower shop was open and he has paid with cash, making it difficult to track him. After getting a beautiful bouquet he walked to his mom's grave. He put them down and smiled...

Bittersweet beyond belief.

He kept knelt down on one knee, smiling at the gravestone. He smiled and wiped some of his tears away, not wanting to cry.

" Hey mom. I'm back. Dad wanted me to move, but I think I will stay here. " (Y/N) said as he got up and started walking to his apartment. He missed it, he really did. He could only hope that it's unlocked, but his neighbor had an extra key. He knew it.

And she loved him.

While (Y/N) was happy, the family wasn't really paying attention whether or not (Y/N) was in his room. They were thinking that he has slept. They couldn't have been more wrong about it. (Y/N) already had a whole night ahead of him as an advantage.

Alfred went to check and a few minutes later and he called out for Bruce in a panic. Everyone dropped the cutlery and ran upstairs to see if their butler was safe. Jason and Tim nearly tumbled over one another more than once. Damian jumped in first, ready to fight with the non existent intruder.

They were all shocked to see that there was no intruder. Another problem? There was no (Y/N). Jason checked the bathroom.

" Not in here. " He declared, closing the door.

Bruce wondered what the hell happened. Oh no. Where is he?

" Did anyone see him? " Bruce asked his sons, leaning on the wall.

" No... I thought he was in here. " Tim said as he looked out the window. " Where is he even? " Tim wondered. Bruce pondered for a moment.

" Lets go to the cave and check the cameras. " Bruce said as he pushed himself off of the wall. Everyone followed and soon, they were looking through the cameras.

They all paled when they saw that he went to the city. Bruce pulled all of the cameras he could and thanked God for facial recognition. He pulled it all to find (Y/N).

" Why did he escape? " Dick wondered out aloud. Was it the fact that they were checking on him too much? Was he smothered? Did they smother him?

" Shit. " Jason said next to Bruce as the two watched the screen. Everyone turned their heads to look at the screen. A train station. Bruce connected it.

" He went to New York. " Bruce said as he tracked (Y/N)'s phone.

" What the hell? " Tim wondered out loud.

Everyone frowned when the location turned out to be the manor. Everyone was now worried.

" He has to be in New York. He has to be. " Damian declared and everyone had to agree with it. They knew that (Y/N) coming here wasn't his choice and that he wanted to stay back in New York. Bruce couldn't blame (Y/N) for any of it, nobody could blame (Y/N) for trying to run to New York.

" He has an entire night as an advantage. " Damian said and everyone has agreed with him. That is one hell of an advantage.

" I'm not sure whether or not to be proud. " Bruce said, trying not to smile.

" A mixture of both. He passed the security. " Jason mumbled and Bruce chuckled.

" Yeah, I have to be a mixture of both. Lets do some more investigating and then lets go to New York at night. " Bruce said and everyone nodded.

(Y/N) has had fun during the day, but it seems that Green Goblin wasn't happy with the fact that he was gone out of their city. The fight has been going on for a while and (Y/N) was slowly getting exhausted. Ever so slowly.

(Y/N) knew that he couldn't lose his cool now. That's something that Green Goblin wanted him to do this entire fight. Green Goblin was taunting him and by God, (Y/N) was ready to kill. His wrists were hurting like never before.

He was ready to strike once more when he saw a familiar face. His dad and his brothers. Oh God. Were they all looking for him. They landed near him and (Y/N) swore that his heart was about to jump out of his chest. He really thought so.

" Hey Spidey, you need help? " Dick, well, Nightwing asked and (Y/N) shrugged his shoulders. " Could use some backup. " (Y/N) said, voice breathy.

" Arch nemesis? " Damian, well, Robin asked.

" Yup. "

" Sounds tough. " Dick said and (Y/N) got ready to strike once more. He saw an opening and took it.

(Y/N) was struck and he flew back onto the rooftop and something fell of as he landed. He couldn't pinpoint it, but every part of him screamed that something was wrong. He froze when he saw his father, covering them both with his big cape.

" (Y/N), why didn't you tell us? Is this why you didn't want to leave? " Bruce asked, glancing at his son, trying to see if he was injured.

" I... I didn't know how to... " (Y/N) admitted shyly, looking away from his dad.

" I'm not blaming you. But we have to talk about this later. We can't just leave it like this. Put on your mask and lets finish this. " Bruce said with a firm voice and (Y/N) nodded as he did so and with the help from Bruce, got up.

" Lets get the bastard. " (Y/N) said with so much determination and Bruce smiled proudly. He really is his son with that much determination.

The fight was tiring beyond belief, but the Batfamily was determined and persistent. And Green Goblin wasn't expecting the back up that (Y/N) has gotten out of nowhere. Soon, Green Goblin was taken into custody. Now it was all good. All good.

If you remember that (Y/N)'s family was still there, waiting to talk to him. He didn't really want to talk, he just wanted to avoid it. He didn't want to. By God, he wanted to go to sleep. But he knew that talk would happen eventually.

" Now, " Bruce started as he glanced at everyone. " I'm not mad you, but... You could have told us. We told you. " (Y/N) tried to say something, but Bruce stopped him. " Now, what happened happened. However, you can use your talents back in Gotham. "

(Y/N) shifted on his feet, nervous about it.

" No need to worry (Y/N). " Jason started, hands on his hips. " NYPD is more capable than GCPD. "

Everyone laughed at it. To some extent it's true, but (Y/N) wasn't convinced.

" You don't have to lose your Spider symbol. You can keep being Spiderman. You can be a spider and the rest can be birds. " Bruce said as he put his hand on (Y/N) shoulder.

" It's difficult to leave my city behind. " (Y/N) admitted and Bruce nodded in sympathy. The brothers hugged their brother, hugging him tightly.

They all were saying something, but (Y/N) couldn't understand. But he knew that they were all saying something positive.

" Now, lets go home and get you situated. " Bruce said and (Y/N) just looked at the sun.

" It weird to see you guys in this time of the day. " (Y/N) mumbled as he was led to the Batmobile. Everyone laughed at that. It was true. He really didn't want to leave New York city, but he knew that he could help them in Gotham.

He knew it would work out in the end.

[marvelous-slut]

Rekindle - Opie Winston x Reader

Y’all I’ve underestimated just how sexy Opie is. Like, stop for a minute and look at him. I’ve literally had this in my draft forever and I’m glad to finally get her out.

Warnings: MINORS, as always DNI! 18+ ONLY! Smut head folks.

_________

You turn the engine to your car off as you finally made it to the familiar garage. Teller Morrow. It had been at least 10 years since you’d gotten out of Charming and never looked back, even sitting in the garage brought back too many memories for your brain to count. Most were horrible memories, your father Otto being arrested right outside the club house/garage. Your mother coming in late into the night, drunken and loud. Knocking over things she didn’t need but wouldn’t throw away. If she didn’t come home, you knew she was right inside the club house sobbing for your father who was constantly in and out of prison. The more you thought about the horrible memories, the more pissed off you felt yourself becoming. You decided it was time to go in and face the members of SAMCRO, find out exactly what had happened to your mother. A part of you figured she’d gotten killed due to something with the club, or maybe one of her porn costars had beaten her to death. Whatever it was, you couldn’t allow yourself to feel one hundred percent sad about it. Your parents were never really parents, who could be when they were so invested in the club life?

You walk in to the club house, not much has changed since 10 years ago. The same smell of pussy and booze, the same mug shots hanging on the wall with the exception of a few who you assumed to be members. One struck you, taking it in as you looked at the familiar face. Harry Winston.

“Jesus Christ Ope.” You say softly, before you have any time to think about what he did or if he was still in, a voice brings you out of your thoughts.

“Well look at who’s here!” Piney, it was so good to see him. Even if he looked sick with the oxygen tubing sticking out of his nose. You walk over to him, opening your arms for his warm embrace. “How you doin’ kid?” He asks, smiling largely.

“I’m good Piney, how’d you end up with that shit hanging from your nose?” He chuckles deeply, letting out a cough once he’s done.

“Lung issues, too many Marlboros I guess.” You laugh and he pats you on the back, before you can ask any questions about Opie you get your answer. He stands outside the door of the chapel, leaning up against it and seeming like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Seeing you wasn’t something he was looking forward to like the rest of the club.

“Well, glad to see you made it out for someone’s funeral.” He speaks coldly before walking out of the club house completely. Piney can see the discomfort on your face and speaks up.

“Ignore him, he’s been a real prick since Donna died.” Donna, it had been two years since she passed. He was still mad about that? You sigh and shake your head. You didn’t attend Donnas funeral and maybe you should have, maybe you should have been there to support Opie. He’d called you after it happened, drunken and slurring almost every word that come out of his mouth. You felt it was disrespectful to Donna to come to her funeral and comfort her husband, who you dated for years and considered your first love. It didn’t feel right no matter what way you thought about it, so you didn’t come. That was the last time you’d heard from him until today.

“I guess death can do that to a person. I’ll see you later Piney, I have to go get started looking for a dress to bury mom in.” He hugs you once more, this time a little more tight than before.

“He still cares about you kid. He loved Donna, but he loved you too.” He whispers, making you go cold. You break the hug and smile at him softly, heading out the club house doors as fast as you could. Hoping Piney didn’t notice the grief written all over your face.

__________

You had been through many challenges before, but trying to find your mother an outfit for her funeral that wasn’t completely revealing may be something you weren’t able to do. She’d turned the house into an even bigger dump than it was before you left, ashtrays filled to the brim with butts, beer cans and bottles scattered everywhere. Clothes thrown to the side, on the tv, in the floor. It was a wreck. You prayed it wouldn’t be yours to deal with now. You move a pile of books on the bed to the side to lay out what clothing looked appropriate to bury someone in when a stack of photos falls out. You pick them up, looking at each one. A photo of you and Otto on his Harley, you were maybe 6 years old in the photo. It made you smile, even if there was a lot of shit memories connected to your father you did know he loved you. You knew it was shitty not to call or even visit him, if they’d even let you. You look to the next picture, feeling like someone had just hit you in the chest. A photo of you and Opie on your senior prom night.

“God, my hair. My face.” You say softly, laughing at how much different you looked. Your eyes roam over to Opie, he was much smaller than he is now. Hardly any hair on the poor boys face compared to now. You sigh, folding the picture and sticking it in your pocket. Maybe you’d get to show it to him, if he lets go of the issue of Donnas funeral before you leave. The knock at the door takes you away from reminiscing. You’re in shock at who stands behind the white, dirt covered door.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for earlier. I guess I’m bad at letting shit go.” Opie says, he leans against the frame of the door, before you can suggest for him not to do it. “Can I come in?” You move out of the door way, noticing him looking around the disaster of a house.

“It’s a fuckin’ dump. Luann couldn’t keep a house up worth a shit apparently.” You say, he laughs a little bit. “There’s no way I’m staying here. Guess I’ll get a hotel till I go home.” You say, moving around some clutter, scared to sit on the couch even after it’s gone.

“If you need a place to crash, I’m sure the club wouldn’t mind if you stayed at the house. My house is pretty empty too, wife being dead and all.” You weren’t sure how to react to the last comment, so you didn’t acknowledge it.

“Thanks Ope. I found this going through moms stuff.” You hand him the photo, as soon as he looks at it he laughs. You feel your chest tighten when he does, even after all the years apart he still had an affect on you.

“Jesus, look how fuckin’ scrawny.” He says, you remember the first time he’d ever put his kutte on, how it was so baggy on him. He’d definitely grew into it over the years. “You were pretty, still are.” He says, you can’t help but smile at the comment.

“Don’t kiss my ass just cause you were being a shit head.” He grins, knowing you were half right. He felt awful for being so cold toward you, especially this being the chance to let you know that he’s never forgotten you. How you’d haunted him nearly everyday for the last 10 years.

“Listen, I gotta get going. Got some shit with the club that needs handled. If you need to crash at my place, you know where I am.”

“Thanks Ope. I really appreciate it. I’ll see you later?” He nods his head and closes the door behind him. You place your back to the door, hanging your head down. It shouldn’t be this way, the high school sweet heart still having some stupid affect on your mind years later. You look up, opening your eyes to a large rat sitting in front of you.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You scream, grabbing the dress you’d found for your mother and slamming the door behind you.

__________

The porch light is barley shining when you step up to the door. You knock on the door, not having to wait long before it’s answered. Opie stands in the door way, only in a towel. Hair still wet from showering. You feel your eyes widen, looking him up and down. You knew it was obvious even if you had been praying it wasn’t.

“Sorry, didn’t think you’d stop by.” He says, moving out of the door way. You step in, the place was much different than your mothers. Clean, neat, no reason to be scared of being on the couch.

“So you just answer the door for anyone half naked?”

“Just the pretty ones.” You feel your face heat up at the comment. Embarrassed that you’re blushing like this. You place a hand on his thigh, rubbing it gently.

“Ope, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” You say softly, he brings your head up to face him. Looking into his eyes makes your heart go faster than it had in years. He places his hand on the side of your cheek, caressing it gently.

“It’s okay.” Before you can respond, you feel yourself move closer, kissing him. He moves his hands to your hips as you stratal him, gripping them tightly. You run your fingers through his damp hair, the last time this had happened was when the two of you were 19 years old, what you’d thought would be the last time you ever got to be this close to him. You break the kiss and head down to the towel that covered him, uncovering his hardened cock. Turns out, everything about him had grown some in ten years. You lower your head down, running your tongue up his cock as he moans out. One thing you love about Opie, he never was afraid to be loud. He’d let you know how good you made him feel. You wrap your lips around his cock, moving your head up and down. Slowly, trying to get him going and eager for you. It worked very fast, he grabs a fist full of your hair, tugging it gently trying to get you to pick up the pace. It was hard to take him in your mouth without choking, you hadn’t been blessed with no gag reflex like most. Taking him little by little however, was driving him insane.

“Too big for you to handle now?” He asks, you can just in-vision the smirk plastered across his face. You decide to take it as a challenge, taking him until he hits the back of your throat. You hold in your gags, but the tears forming in your eyes can’t hide that you’re struggling with taking every inch of him.

“Fuck.” He mutters out, leaning his head up to watch the sight in-front of him. A sight that as much as he was ashamed to admit, thought about from time to time even while he was married to Donna. You pull your mouth off of him, slowly, letting him feel every movement as you do. He groans out, as you straighten yourself up, he’s pulling at the waistband of your shorts. Silently, he begs you to take them off. You begin to unbutton them and he helps get your underwear and shorts off swiftly. Eager to be inside of you. You reach your hands down to discard your shirt before you slide yourself down onto him. Your walls stretching with every inch you take of him. Moaning out, you rest your hands on his chest. He places his hands back onto your hips, helping you move and watches your face as you adjust to him.

“Oh my God. Ope.” You whimper out, moving yourself faster and more steady onto him. A hand finds its way to your breast, grasping it firmly. He moves his hand farther up to your mouth, he drags his thumb over your lips slowly. You open your mouth far enough for him to graze it over your teeth. Before you know it, you’re flipped onto your back. The feeling of him reinserting himself makes you whine out, arching your back as he picks up a steady pace. You turn your head, closing your eyes and taking in the feeling of pleasure that’s overwhelming your senses. He uses one of his hands to turn your head back to him, holding it there.

“I want you to look me in the eyes. I want to see how good I make you feel.” The words make you even wetter than you were, which at this point you’d thought was impossible. He feels your nails digging into his back, using your hands to pull him closer to you. Looking at your face and the way you tightly had your legs wrapped around him, he knew you were close to cumming. He speeds up, thrusting into you faster and a touch harder than before.

“Fuck! Ope-“ You’re unable to get another word out before you feel yourself tighten around him. You grab him, pulling him down and smashing your lips against his. You grind against him, making sure to ride the orgasm as long as possible. Feeling you grind against him sends him over the edge, he groans out as he releases into you. You would thank God later for the birth control pills, but right now that was the last thing on your mind. He pulls himself out of you, laying down beside you as you both try to catch your breaths. You try to make the shaking in your legs stop, but it’s useless. You decide to just lay there until you don’t feel shaky or hazy.

“So much for small talk huh?” You ask, he chuckles and stretches out his arm for you to come over. You do so, resting your head on his chest. The feeling feels so good, so familiar and you hate to think about it ending. Suddenly dreading going back home.

“Yeah. Maybe we can do that in the morning.” He says, kissing the top of your head.

[steviewashere]

Make a Home Out of Hurt

Rating: General CW: Death of a Grandparent, Mourning Tags: Post-Season 4, Post Canon, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe — Future Fic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Sad Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Steve Harrington Mom is Okay, Steve Harrington's Dad is an Asshole, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Moving in Together

Had an evil little thought. Also, all these Fenton bunnies I mention are real! My nana collects Fenton. (She's alive, don't worry, but I thought about her the other day and it spiraled into this.)

🏡—————🏡 We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie thinks, but won’t say.

Even though they have. They’ve driven by the same three houses. Yellow, pastel pink, and navy blue. White door, white door, brown door. Bushes and bushes and a bushel of red roses. One garage, no garage, no garage but large driveway. He’s seen them. Over and over and over.

And each time they pass the last one, the leather of the steering wheel squeaks. And each time, Steve makes a muffled sort of noise. And each time, Eddie wonders if resting his hand on Steve’s shaking shoulders would anger him or mellow him. And each time, the car gets just a little slower as Steve loses his control more and more.

We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie continues to think, but knows he’ll sit here with those words. He’ll sit in the passenger seat. Window cranked as far down as it’ll go—half-way since Dustin busted the actual mechanism. Beemer’s been through a lot, so it’ll be here for Steve’s end all breakdown, too. With the radio volume low, playing the same double-sided tape on repeat, flipped by Eddie because Steve’s hands have been shaking: The World We Knew by Frank Sinatra. Because it was her favorite. Nana’s favorite. Nana Harrington’s favorite.

On the fifth drive through, Steve finally parks the car. At the end of the long, slow winding driveway. He looks out the windshield, hollowed and not quite here. With limp hands in his lap. Messy, greasy hair he couldn’t bother to style. Eye bags so heavy, Eddie barely believes he can hold them on his face.

Eddie can follow his line of sight. To the edge of the white picket fence, worn down a little with age, scratched up from the curled nails of an old brown dog, carved with her son and daughter-in-law’s initials, and eventually stained with yellow handprints from baby Steve. Yellow because, as Steve has echoed, “Lello, Nana. Lello like your dress. Your favorite!” Well, Steve’s favorite too, he just won’t acknowledge it’s because of his nana. Eddie knows that the paint has faded a bit since then, given that it’s been fifteen years since Steve’s had hands that small, but Eddie can see him. In his little white and red striped t-shirt, hidden by a pair of nicely pressed denim overalls, white sneakers, and his mom’s bobby pins in his hair—something she did because it just wouldn’t stop growing so fast and thick. Or so Eddie’s been told.

He’s been told a lot in the last week. Since the call came through the landline of their apartment. Since Steve had gone silent and collapsed to his knees and wailed, screamed even. Since he dressed himself in a suit that fit well, but looked out of place on his curled in body. Since…since the obituary was finally in his hands at the funeral, and he got so sick in the church’s restroom, Eddie had to drive them home in a daze—a quarter worried, a quarter tired, and half hanging by a thread. He thinks he’s heard everything, but what is love if not more than everything? If not all the words in every language, all known objects and unknown, every species and race and sexuality and identities combined?

He’ll hear everything. Until their old and grey and forgetting everything.

“There used to be a tire swing on that tree,” Steve states flatly, pointing at the weeping oak in his nana’s front yard. It’s crooked like it’s been kissed by the wind. A lot withering because the weather’s been harsh on her. Grey against the navy blue of the house’s siding.

I know, sweetheart, Eddie wants to say, so soft it gets lost between them. Instead, “Yeah? Bet it was a good tire, too,” he coaxes, still soft, all sweet. Even if he’s heard it each time they’ve passed by.

Steve nods once in his peripheral. Sniffs. “Yeah,” he states wetly, “one of the expensive ones. She didn’t want it to pop under me. Didn’t…She didn’t want me to stop using it.” His head dips down, looking at his fingers, where they’ve begun to absently trace the seams of his jeans. “I stopped,” he whispers shamefully. “You think she got mad because I stopped?”

“No, baby,” Eddie answers honestly. “I think that she was happy you used it at all. Think she was always just happy to see you, Steve.”

A sharp intake of breath next to him. “I used to come over here when my parents were gone. Or when they’d scream at each other. Or when…when they’d forget I existed,” he relays, quiet as a mouse. “When they’d forget, Nana would open the door and kiss my cheek and make me something to eat. I was always too skinny. So she made me casseroles,” he explains, a wisp of a smile. Gone in the blink of an eye. “She’ll never make ‘em again, though. She won’t—”

“Steve,” Eddie calls gently, a small warning. A siren before the tsunami. 

“—Love me again,” Steve sobs, “Nana won’t love me again.”

“Oh, baby,” he breathes. Eddie steps out of the car, rounds over to the driver’s side, and yanks the door open. Carefully, he unbuckles Steve, scoots him so that his legs dangle over the side, and pulls him down into a gentle hug. “Baby,” he coos. “Just get it out, honey. I’m right here. We’re right here. I’ve got you.”

And Steve cries. Again; though Eddie’s lost count. He squirms against Eddie’s chest. Head nestled to his neck. Crying big sounds that sound too large, even for his adult body. Sounds that carry boats, that poison with oil spills, that home orcas. He slobbers onto Eddie’s skin, grand globs of hot spit that gargle in his throat before launching from his mouth. His unshaved stubble scratching at the side of Eddie’s face—where his skin is sensitive and smooth and will most definitely be raw with Steve’s aching.

He sobs until there’s no more tears. Until he’s a whimpering, shivering mess on Eddie’s chest. Bunched up and small and fisting Eddie’s t-shirt like a lifeline. Squeezing the fabric in his hands like two lemons.

Eddie runs his hands up and down Steve’s spine. From the small of his back to his hunched shoulders, squishing him. He sways them ever so gently like the rustle of the old oak tree. Hums something incoherent and unrecognizable. If only to get Steve to stop shaking.

“Eds?”

“Hm?”

He takes a long, slow breath. Breathes out, “Why’d she give me the house?”

Eddie pulls them apart. One hand on the middle of Steve’s back, the other cupping his left cheek. Swiping at the tacky tracks from his tears. “I’m not sure, baby. Maybe she loved you so much that she wanted you to have it? To always be safe there?”

“Shouldn’t she have given it to my dad? I don’t…” Steve’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, his mouth frowning. “I don’t deserve her house?”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie sighs. “She chose you for a reason. You, Stevie. Not anybody else. Just you. If she wanted to give it to her son, she would’ve. But she didn’t. She thought of you, put you in the will, and now it’s yours.” When Steve doesn’t respond, Eddie gives him his moment of silence. Running his palm up to Steve’s shoulders. Pressing his thumb into his supple skin. “You may never know her intent, but she probably had a reason. It was a home you came running to, where you felt safest, where you felt…loved. Grandmothers always have this air to them, like they just know things about you before you say ‘em. Maybe she just knew you needed her and her space before you even realized.”

Steve sniffles. His eyes are still wet. Bloodshot and tired. Rumpled all the way around, exhausted and quiet. “She used to play with me in the yard.”

I know, Eddie thinks once more. He goes with the topic change though, if that’s what Steve needs.

“And when we played hide and seek, she always made sure to look until I was found. Because she didn’t want me to feel forgotten, her words.” Steve’s fingers are fidgeting with one another again. Picking at his fingernails, peeling at hangnails. Eddie moves down and takes them, rubbing soothing circles into their backs, just so Steve doesn’t harm himself on top of everything. Steve continues, hushed, “When I’d stay the night, she would sleep with me. Hold me close to her. Scratch my back and scalp and tell me stories…all the way until I fell asleep.”

“Kinda like I do, huh?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Think that’s why I feel so loved and safe with you.”

And Eddie hasn’t cried, not really, not yet. But this may be it. Because he knows, beyond everything, that Nana was special to Steve—so special that just one negative comment, one complaint, one little fuss about her was enough to get you shunned by him. He’s seen it play out with Dustin, he’d been banned from coming over for two weeks. And with El, who didn’t understand quite yet, but had lost conversational abilities with Steve for two whole days—ergo, the Silent Treatment.

This means something. It means everything. Eddie kind of wants to cry about it.

But he reigns himself in for now. Because Steve needs him like water. For somebody to just be there and be present and be patient. Through it all.

“You wanna head inside,” Eddie offers, “I’ve got the key in my pocket.” He gestures loosely to the inside of his vest, the safest pocket near his heart. When Steve nods, Eddie leads them inside silently. Opens the door first, per request made by Steve days prior. Sets his shoes by the front door—not told to, but just out of respect. Hangs up his jacket, his vest. Takes Steve’s jacket, too. Unties his Nike sneakers. Smacks a quick kiss to his cheek. And then he waits by the front door for Steve to say or do something.

The first thing he does is gasp. Eyes roaming the hallway, the living room, and the fireplace that connects the kitchen and living space together. He takes a few tentative steps before stopping in front of a tall, full China cabinet.

“Her Fenton bunnies,” Steve breathes.

Eddie slowly approaches behind him. Wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him into his side a little. “Are these the ones your mom was talking about on the phone?”

“Yeah. I just…Didn’t think my mom was telling the truth,” Steve murmurs. “She told me Dad didn’t want these. Takes up room or whatever. But they’re so pretty here, how could you not want these?” His left hand reaches for the knob of the cabinet. Twisting it gently as to not rattle the glass shelves. With the doors swung open, the bunnies under the cabinet’s lighting are free to touch. And so Steve picks one up, carefully in his hands like it’s alive. Maybe it is, Eddie thinks for a moment, alive with her spirit.

He breathes silently by Steve as he investigates the glass item in his hand. Running his thumbs over the ears. Down the smooth back.

“Satin glass,” Steve states, “It’s like touching the fabric, which is so weird. Nana used to talk about it all the time, but I never believed her. She never let me touch. You wanna?” He holds the bunny up to Eddie’s face. In offering, for him to pet. So he runs a slow thumb down its back. And sure enough, soft as silk, cold to the touch. “All of them are here.” He replaces the silk, purple bunny on the shelf. Picking up a chromatic shifting one next. “Carnival glass,” Steve explains, “it’s heavier than the other one, feels like. But so shiny. Think Nana used to say it was amethyst or something, but that might be what the color shift is called?”

“You sure listened to her well,” Eddie murmurs, “know a lot about this.”

Steve chuckles, a little choked to Eddie’s ears but he makes no comment. “Yeah, I guess I did. Mom used to say that I had selective hearing. That I listened when it was something I cared about.”

“And you cared a lot about Nana,” Eddie concludes.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “cared a lot about Nana.” He sets the carnival glass bunny back on the shelf. Standing idle in front of it all, taking it all in. “She has one upstairs, in a different glass cabinet. It glows green under the special blacklight upstairs. Said it was radioactive.” He chuckles again. “I gave her that one. As a gift for Mother’s Day in…I think ’77? Mom helped me pick it out—she was nice about the bunnies, about finding this stuff. She loved Nana, too. And she…” He laughs low in his chest and Eddie blossoms a little at the sound, unheard in so long. “Mom would pull out the long box of tissue paper and gift bags from the crawlspace. She’d unfold the prettiest gift bag—this one was a little brown one, covered in peach colored peonies. Stuffed some off-white tissue paper in that one. Wrapped the little yellow—well, it was supposed to be yellow—Fenton bunny in bubble wrap, covered it up with a bunch of caramels. Gave it to Nana, and she squealed! Apparently, she already knew it was radioactive? Thought it was the best gift ever. Which, ouch Nana, I gave you other bunnies for Mother’s Day, c’mon.”

Eddie snorts. “Maybe that’s what earned you the house? That radioactive bunny was probably the key to her heart,” he jokes. Though his stomach turns at the possibility it wasn’t appropriate to make.

Steve laughs loudly, though. Shaking his entire body with it. He slips his hand into Eddie’s back right pocket, sighs, and leans against him relaxed. “Dad should’a tried harder if he wanted Nana’s heart,” he comments, “all it took was a damn bunny.”

“Among other things, I’m sure.”

“Probably,” Steve sighs. “I think she was just excited to have a grandkid. She had a weird relationship with my dad. They didn’t get along very well. So maybe she was sorta…trying again?”

“Stevie, I think she just loved you. There doesn’t have to be some grand, deep meaning behind it. I think she just loved your company. How your laugh fills a room and your smile is seen from across the yard. And how you’re always polite, despite having reasons to not be. Maybe because of your terrible puns and how awful you are at quoting Shakespeare? You charm everybody, Steve,” Eddie monologues. “There’s not a reason to not love you.”

For a moment, the room falls completely silent. Distantly, there’s the slow tick of a wall clock. A few birds singing out in the backyard, where the bird bath probably is—only known through Steve’s memories. A slight hum from the radiator. The cars passing by on the main road just around the corner. Hawkins is quiet when there’s mourning; maybe it’s felt through the whole town, through the soles of Steve’s socked feet, from the beating of his ever love absorbent heart.

She died November 7th, 1993. Just a few days ago. Maybe it’s the anniversary of Will Byers going missing that Hawkins is feeling. Maybe it’s just tragedy. It’s love persevering—even in the most dire of situations. Where Joyce Byers was screaming about where her son may be, all those mismatched theories, and the ways in which the town thought she was crazy—even when they believed her and cried over her son’s body being pulled from the water. Where Will is actually thriving now. Where Sandra Harrington no longer is, though she was a fixture in several communities and families, Steve’s own being included.

“How’s your boy doing?” Wayne asked the day after her funeral. Eddie had shrugged, admitting he wasn’t sure because Steve had gone terribly quiet and sick. “Tell him I’m sorry. That he has a home with us. That he can come over and cry and I’ll make him hot cocoa. Alright, Ed?”

God, even Wayne knew. And there was silence after his condolences.

There is so much silence.

Until, finally, Steve asks, “Will you live with me here?”

“Wh—What?” Because surely he didn’t hear that right.

“Live with me here,” Steve repeats, a little more urgent. “I don’t think I can handle this place alone. And…I know how to use her gas stove. I can make you the spaghetti dish she used to make. And the casseroles she used to bake. We can open up her recipe box and I’ll teach you how to make her apple pie—the one she gave me for your birthday two years ago?

“And we can read your Lord of The Rings books on the porch on the bench she has out there? Grill in the backyard when we have everybody over. Robin can have the room that used to be my nursery. We can…We can live our lives here.”

Stunned, Eddie gapes momentarily. Before gripping harder at Steve’s waist, drawing him closer even when there’s no more room. Two solid bodies connected from shoulder to foot. “Are you sure, Steve? You don’t wanna—“

“You’re my family, Eds. I have loved you since that bullshit in ’86. We have seen each other through our absolute worst. Of course I’m sure. Of course I want you here,” Steve swears. “I know what I’m getting into. Even if it hurts to look around here right now. But you’ve been here by me through one of the worst heartbreaks I’ve ever experienced. I want you here—preferably always.”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. He reaches out with his free hand and cups the right side of Steve’s face. Swipes over his glistening cheekbone. Under his shadow beaten eye. The tickling brush of Steve’s bottom eyelashes on the tip of his thumb. And he kisses him tenderly, with every word he could ever imagine to say, all emotion he could ever feel, with an intensity seen in atomic bombs. He pulls back to see Steve’s eyes closed. Flushed and bright in the cabinet’s full white lighting, doors still open, and fragile glass bunnies as witnesses. Promises, “I want to, Steve. I want to be here with you. Through it. All of it. As long as I get to love you.”

And on his thumb there are fresh tears, gone cold but skin scalding. Steve’s lips trembling with silent cries. His eyelashes fluttering. Him and him and him. Beautiful and raw and open. Gentle like flowers and strong like wind. Aching and romantic and with a heart the size of the universe itself. Because Steve Harrington is everything—

Or so his nana has said. But Steve doesn’t know. And that’s Eddie’s own secret.

“Okay,” Steve mutters, “make a home with me, Ed.”

🏡—————🏡

[mamsieur]

Used to it | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary : Being Pete Mitchell's daughter has never been easy. But maybe one mission could bring you back together ?

TW : angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, mention of alcohol, panic attack, canonical character death, age gap (reader is 27 and Bradley is 35)

Length : 7156 words

AN : I'm sorry for making Pete seem like a bad father but that man is not stable enough to handle a child in my opinion.

posted on AO3 July 12, 2023

You were 7 when your mother left your father, Pete Mitchell. 

You didn't have many early memories of him. There were only the arguments with your mother, his departures on missions that left you in tears, the missed birthdays and Christmases. It’s all you’ve ever known so you were used to it and being a child, you found it normal.

You were 7 when your mother decided to move out, leaving your whole life behind. You remember crying your eyes out in protest. As your mom tried desperately to get you out of the house, you clung with all your might to Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw was 15 and your regular babysitter, though your mother thought of him as a son, Carole and her were really close. They liked to remind you that when you were 4, you proudly announced that you were going to marry him. Bradley was almost always around, and Pete was his godfather, and they had a bond you envied. Despite the eight-year age difference, you remember being very close to your "Bradbrad" . He never pushed you away, was always ready to play Lego or other board games with you. He even took you to the park or with him when he went to the theater with his friends - when the movies were kids friendly -.

You were 7 , and your whole world shattered. No more Bradley, no more hanging to the naval base to have a glimpse of your dad and his incredible plane, no more aunty Carole and her sweet singing. You had hated your mom for years before understanding you left for the best.  She was finally happy ; not completely, she missed her friends and sometimes your father, but you could feel that she was happier away from the hustle and bustle of the navy, of your dad. You were not used to the strange calmness of the city, but your grandparents made it easy to adapt. Soon enough, you got used to the loving cocoon your mother succeeded to create around you.

You were 16, at your mother's funeral, when you had to accept the fact that you had to go back to live with Pete. When the two of you finally found each other in the crowd, he didn't say much, just gave you a few brief updates. You asked him about Bradley, a bit sad to not have seen him here, and he didn't have much to say. Only that the two of them were no longer as close as they had been.

The silence between you was uncomfortable. 

Of course, Pete had kept in touch over the years, calling on your birthdays, sending a little something. You spent some Christmas with him when he wasn't working and a few days during the summer break ; but Pete Mitchell loved his work too much to focus on you. As long as you lived with your mother, Pete's absence from your life wasn't something you suffered from, at least not really. 

You were used to it. Used to the absence, used to the missed calls, used to the Christmases with the attention of other aviators and their families but the ignorance of your dad, used to the unanswered phone calls.  Used to his silence.

But now your mum was dead... and you were dreading having to join your father in California.

You were 16 and you didn't want to live with him, you already knew what would happen ; he'd go flying, on a mission or for his own pleasure, leaving you alone at home - if you could call it home. The hangar where he lived now was something you'd always hated . It had no place for anything or anyone other than his passion for the sky, for planes and speed. You didn't want to leave your new life, even though you loved California. Your school, your friends, your family, your routine. But you didn't really have much of a choice. You were 16. He was now your legal guardian and you didn't want to drag your grandparents into a custody battle.  Even though part of you told yourself that your dad would probably agree to let you stay with them, you didn't want to take that chance. And you hoped he'd be more present, that you'd finally have the father you'd dreamed of, that your other friends had. If other military parents could be there for their children, why couldn't Pete?

Perhaps because Pete loved flying more than anything else in the world.  The sky was his one true love.

Even though you knew it, you held out the faintest hope that he would finally take his responsibilities as a father. Unfortunately, Pete was still Pete. He wasn't cut out to be a father. A fun uncle, maybe. A parent, no. The fact that Bradley no longer spoke to him proved that.

You were 18 when you packed your bags and headed off to the naval school in Maryland. You wanted to be a pilot too. And you wanted to get away from that bloody hangar, so empty, so alone.

Pete wasn't there when you left.  Not even a message or a note. Nothing at all.

You weren't even surprised.

It was Tom Kazansky - Uncle Tom - who had taken you to the airport. He had been more present in your life than your own father, even though you rarely saw him. You knew your relationship with Pete was a sensitive subject, and you knew when Tom gave him a hard time. Pete was suddenly more present - too present . He'd pop into your life for a few days, trying to be the cool or bossy dad, but it always ended in a fight. 

You hated it when he did that. You hated the way he would act like your friend, or like a strict parent, talking about curfew and how no boys were allowed in his 'home'. You hated the way he would try to be the father that he had never been in your whole life. You hated the way he tried to convince you that he was trying to change, that he'd be there for you.

But you couldn't blame Uncle Tom for trying to shake your father. He had children too, but despite his love of the air, he had been a present parent to them.  

But some days were not as bad as others. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, Pete would take you flying. And even though it was hard to admit, you were a bit of a flier yourself. The feeling of freedom, of being alone in a comforting way. It was mesmerizing.

So, without him knowing, you decided to join the navy after graduation. You took your mother's name, Evans , so that you would not attract attention. Only Tom knew, so your dad wouldn't and couldn't pull your papers like he did with Bradley. 

You found out that he had done this when you saw Bradley one day in the summer before you made your choice. At first you did not recognize him.  He was 26 now. He was taller, more muscular and had a 80s mustache that suited him well - puberty had treated him really good. He was the spitting image of his father, whom you'd only seen in photographs and heard about when Tom and Pete reminisced over drinks about the past.

But Bradley had the same look in his eyes as his mother, Carole. 

As a child, you adored Carole. She was always there to comfort you when your parents were at odds, picking you up from kindergarten when your father was on a mission and your mother was at work… She was kind of a second mom. You went to her funeral with your mother eight years ago, you never cried so much.

The summer of your reunion with Bradley had been the summer of his return from the Naval Academy, which he had graduated from with honors. He was a very good pilot and would soon be going on a mission. The day before he left, you snuck out of the hangar to meet him at a nearby bar. He had celebrated his departure with you and a handful of friends, promising to keep in touch as often as possible.  As he left, you realized how much you'd missed your Bradbrad.

You were 18, and you remembered how quiet the ride to the airport had been. Part of you wanted to stay.  You loved California. It was close to the ocean, the people were friendly, and at the Navy base everyone knew you.

You'd even earned a nickname, the call sign you hoped to use soon : Tempest .  It was a bittersweet memory of a stormy night when Pete "forgot" to pick you up from baseball practice. You had landed on the base, mad as hell, soaked to the bone. You'd yelled at your father as hard as the storm had raged. It had been a huge fight. And of course, everyone had heard. Surprisingly, many had defended you rather than your father. You were relieved then. And to cheer you up while your dad was embarrassed, Tom took you to your favorite fast food and laughed with you about the scene. "You walked in there like a damn storm, a tempest ! Heck, that should be your call sign when you join the ranks !" You smiled as you remembered his raspy laugh and all the stories he told you about his days at Topgun . 

It was through those stories that you learned a little bit more about your father, The Maverick . His accomplishments, his reckless attitude in the air, his urge to always define what’s possible and pushing the limits.  Your desire, your need , to join the Navy to become a pilot only grew, digging a hole of longing for the sky deep inside you.  You wanted your father to see you, to acknowledge you. You wanted to be more like him.

You were 27 years old when you were called to the NAS North Island for a "top secret" mission that required "the best of the best". To your surprise, you were one of the youngest and one of the only women. But you'd missed California too much to worry about such details.  Like many pilots, you had joined the Hard Deck for a drink the day before training began. You soon met Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Two strong personalities. Then came Javy “Coyote” Machado and Robert "Bob" Floyd. He was discreet, a bit shy. And before you could introduce yourself to the others, someone entered the bar and caught Jake's eye.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

"Hangman. You look... good." His voice was behind you and you didn't dare turn around to see him. 

"Well, I am good. I'm very good Rooster ."

You let the two men talk, then Bradley greeted Natasha and the others. At last, his gaze landed on you. You couldn't help but smile stupidly. He looked so surprised and happy. "Y/N Tempest Evans?!"

"Hey Bradbrad ..." you smiled and happily accepted his embrace. He squeezed you against him and asked you all about your journey, which you happily did, while in the distance the bell rang, indicating that a customer couldn't pay his bill and had to be kicked out. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you recognized your father, but Jake and Javy had already grabbed him by the arms and dragged him outside. You didn’t have the time to really think about it, Bradley taking you by the hand to sing with him at the piano. You laughed and followed him with the others in his Great balls of fire ’s reprise. It had been a great night.

The next day, at the first meeting, you thought your heart stopped when you saw that your instructor was actually Pete... and from the look on his face, he wasn't happy to see you there. Before the meeting was over, you heard his voice call your name ; it had a barely disguised note of anger. "Lieutenant Evans. You’ll stay after training, we'll have a word."

Bradley looked at you, concerned. He knew that you had never told Pete about the Navy, but he didn't know that even after nine years, your father was still unaware of your career. The others were confused and you could feel questioning gazes on you. Great way to begin this thing , you thought.

You were 27 and a very good pilot. An excellent one. One of the best. That's why you were here after all, wasn’t it ? You walked in your father’s footsteps, perhaps as talented as him at that age. But you were also as reckless as him, living up to your callsign. A tempest was never soft or delicate, neither were you. You had risked your life so many times in your five years of service. Tom often told you that you were just like your father and that it scared him. You didn’t think, you just did , you wanted to go faster, higher and further. Acting like the storm that you were, leaving your enemies confused by what had just happened. The adrenaline, the speed, the immensity of the sky, the feeling of freedom... you finally understood why Pete loved being in his plane so much.  You felt a little closer to him in those moments.

And yet, in nine years of absence, he had never once contacted you. You had disappeared one day and he hadn't even looked for you.  Your uncle had promised not to say anything about your career, but Pete hadn't even been interested in why or where you were going.

Seeing him angry made you furious . How could he have the nerve to be mad at you? 

After the training and the 200 pushups you had to do because - of course - you didn't beat your old man, you stayed on deck and waited for the others to leave. Bradley gave you a little squeeze on the shoulder, as if to give you strength, and reluctantly left. You heard Hondo telling Pete to calm himself before saying things he might regret out of anger.

Once again, the silence between you and your father was heavy. 

You couldn't take your eyes off him, waiting for him to finally speak. You could see that he was trying to stay calm. But you already felt like exploding . You could feel the reproaches, the so-called concern. You could feel that he wanted to push you away . 

"Y/N... how did you... you went to the Academy behind my back?!"

"Iceman," you replied simply, your eyes and voice cold. "And you never asked where I was either."

"You-?! I should have known, you lied to me." 

“It’s not lying if you’re not asked.” you mutter, “You taught me that.”

“Now’s not the time to play that game Y/N,” he snapped, "you can't be here."

"With all due respect, Captain, that's not your call."

You really tried to remain calm, knowing that the others must have been listening nearby - especially Jake. You didn't want to draw any more attention, but you felt your blood boiling under your skin.

"I will talk to Vice Admiral Simpson about this. I don't suppose anyone's made the connection between us. But now there's clearly a conflict of interest-"

"You have no right to take this mission away from me. It's not fair," you gasped, eyes wide.

"I am your father ! I can and will do it."

"What ?! No ! No, you can't ! 9 years of nothing but silence and now you're acting like a worried father ?!" you snapped, moving towards him and pointing an accusing finger. A nervous laugh escaped you and you sighed, pursing your lips. "Why do you always have to act like this ? You've never acted like a father to me, except to get in my way !"

"Get in your way ? No ! I care about you-"

"Really ?!" you cut him off, raising your voice, "Then where have you been for 9 years ?! What did Tom have to say to you that you weren't even lookin' for me ? Where was all this care when I left and you were not here ? Where were you huh ?! Where was all that concern ?!"

Pete's eyes widened and he searched for words. He should have known that he could not argue with your point so he just huffed then scolded. "I'm your captain, Lieutenant Evans ! Keep your voice down !"

"Oh, now it's not my father talking ?!" you couldn't hold back a nervous, fake laugh. "You see how you are ?! Always twisting things your way ?! Why are you avoiding that conversation ? Why are you running away again ?!" you’re almost screaming, inches close to him, eyes locked in his.

"Lieutenant Evans !" he growled. You grumbled and let out a heavy sight, calming yourself. You stepped back and clenched your fists along your body.

"Will that be all, Captain Mitchell ?"

You clenched your fists even harder, your knuckles turning white. You wanted to physically shake him to finally have answers. But you couldn’t, at least not here, not now.

"Y/N..." he huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Will that be all, Captain ?" you repeated, your voice slightly trembling. Tears of rage threatened to fall. You held them back, too proud to cry in front of him. Pete looked at you and sighed quietly. 

"You're dismissed Lieutenant Evans..."

You left the deck with a quick stride. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mixture of anger, frustration and sadness. Of course, the rest of the squadron was there, already clean and changed. Seeing the anger in your eyes, no one said a word, not even Hangman. He just stared at you, confused, as you slammed the door of the changing room. 

Later that evening, as the squadron relaxed at the bar, Jake couldn't help but bring up the earlier scene. 

"So our dear Tempest's dad is the famous Maverick?"

" He's not my father ," you muttered, finishing another beer. "My genitor maybe. But he's not my father."

"Why Evans if Mitchell's your old man?" Jake insisted. 

You could hear Bradley and Natasha telling him to drop it, but he kept coming back. You could feel your anger rising again.  You downed another beer and slammed the empty bottle down on the table. 

"Tell me, Bagman , weren’t you taught to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you? I'm sure your mama taught you some manners, didn't she? Now shut up before I put my fist through your face," you growled, half drunk, half angry. Jake scoffed and held his hands up in defense while Bob stopped you from approaching him. Seeing your father enter the bar only made you feel worse. And it took all your patience not to slit Jake's throat on the spot as he continued his overly curious and unpleasant comments with his snide attitude.

Bradley went with you to get some fresh air as he wasn't too keen on seeing Pete either. When you arrived at the beach, a wave of sadness washed over you. You knew that your father would do everything in his power to get you out of this mission, but what was worse was that he didn't even try to talk to you, to reconnect. Your shoulders shook and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Only a sobbing hiccup betrayed you and Bradley rushed to take you in his arms. You felt the strength leave your legs and the two of you ended up sitting in the sand, crying your eyes out and clinging to Bradley. "I've got you... Let it all out..." he murmured between two kisses on the top of your head. His big hands gently stroked your back, letting go of all your pain. "It's okay, baby girl... it's okay..." 

Bradley and you practically lived together now. You’ve inherited your mom’s old house by the ocean and it’s confier than being on base. So those kinds of pet names were almost common now. But this time you didn’t blush at it, your emotions a mess.

You cried against him for a long time, as you hadn't done for many years. Rooster held you until you calmed down.  "It's not fair..." you whispered, sniffling. "He's going to take me off the mission..." 

"He won't be able to... Ice recommended you... there's nothing he can do about it..."

You shrugged, not really sure if Tom could help you. He was very ill and you didn't want to tire him out with your disagreements with your father.

“He’s just an old dickhead, don’t worry…” Bradley tried to cheer you up but you’re too distraught to play along. After a little less than an hour later, you find the force to get up and you head home with him. You fall asleep in the car and wake up the next morning in your bed.

There wasn't much time left before the mission. Training sessions were coming up and so were your fights with Pete. Cyclone hadn't pulled you out of the mission, but you weren't sure if it was to spite your father or because he felt you were capable of succeeding, just like your comrades.

Days passed at an alarming pace. The team slowly bonded through group exercises and moments of relaxation, especially with the game your father had invented: dogfight football.

You couldn't lie, it felt good to have such moments. But your father still didn't talk to you and you were still angry. You remained professional, but you couldn't stand his fatherly attitude towards you.

All your hopes of renewing real ties disappeared when you learned of Tom's death. You had seen him the day before and he had made you promise to try to take care of Pete. His funeral was one of the hardest moments of your life.

And because bad news never comes alone, the mission was moved up by a week. Pete was temporarily relieved of his duties, as Admiral Simpson still believed his plan of attack was doomed to failure. Of course, your father, in his legendary arrogance and cockiness, proved him wrong with an unauthorized flight. Hope rose in the team but it was still a very risky plan. 

Cyclone decided to make Pete team leader, and not surprisingly, he didn't choose you as his wingman. Part of you was angry because you felt you could do it, and another part of you was mortified when he announced that his choice would be Bradley. This mission was suicide, and you couldn't afford to lose them both. You couldn't afford to lose anyone in the squadron, but these two, it was just too much.

You didn't catch up with Pete as much as you wanted to, there were still so many questions left unanswered, so much time to make up for… You hadn't been able to make things right with your dad, you hadn't been able to tell him that you had this passion for aviation because of him. You hadn't been able to tell him that you regretted not telling him about the academy, that you regretted the 9 years of distance between you...

And you didn't spend enough time with Bradley.

Sure, you were always glued to each other in your free time, taking walks on the beach, talking and singing together at the Hard Deck piano, having movie nights... but you didn't want it to stop. Not after you'd half confessed how you felt about him after a few too many drinks, telling him that your 4-year-old declaration still stood. He laughed and told you that he hadn't forgotten either.

On the day of the mission, you barely managed to find your way to your father. "Captain?" your voice was louder than you had expected.

"Lieutenant Evans?"

"I... Before you go, I'd like to talk-"

"We'll talk when I get back."

"... Promise me you'll come back." 

For a moment, you were that five-year-old girl again, watching her father leave. Pete must have seen it in your eyes and climbed down from the cockpit to take you in his arms. "I promise I'll come back in one piece, kiddo..." You hugged him tightly and nodded in agreement. After a few seconds, you let go and let him settle down.  You ran to Bradley and made him promise you the same. He smiled confidently, even though you knew he was stressed. "Don't worry, we've got a Star Wars marathon to watch," he smiled before gently and discreetly kissing your forehead. You blushed and nodded, a worried little smile on your face. 

Reluctantly, you left the track and joined Jake. You were glued to your radios, following the progress of the mission.  Everything was going well until two enemy fighters spotted them. 

You stopped breathing. 

First they had Bradley in sight and locked on. 

The enemy fired. 

But your father took the brunt of the missiles and saved Rooster.

Your brain didn't know how to process all this information and shut down when you heard Bradley's decision to go after Pete before getting shot down too.

You don't remember much else. All you knew is that Jake had to leave in a hurry to find and rescue them. When they landed with that really out beat up F-14, you rushed out on deck to greet them, swallowing all your worry and anger at their unconscious behavior for the moment.

Once ashore, the entire crew decided to celebrate their success at Penny's Bar, dragging Pete with them. You stayed close to Bradley, as if afraid that it was all a dream and that he wasn't really there. He wouldn't let go of you either, his arm tight around you. You felt like a schoolgirl, it was stupidly comfortable. You looked at Pete, who was happily chatting with Penny and other members of the team. You didn't want to spoil the evening with a discussion that was out of your control…

Around one o'clock you went out for some fresh air, leaving Bradley to play with those who hadn't returned home yet ; Reuben, Natasha, Mickey and Javy.

As a cold shiver ran through you, you felt a heavy jacket on your shoulders. You immediately recognized the peculiar smell ; old whiskey mixed with motor oil and a hint of cologne.

" Dad ? "

"I thought you wanted to talk ?" he asked quietly, moving toward the beach. You nodded and took his pinky with yours like a child, searching for your words.

"I'm sorry..." you breathed, holding back your tears. "For going to the Academy behind your back and not telling you… not talking to you for almost ten years... I know that giving news is supposed to go both ways and all, but... but you weren't even there when I left... and I guess... I guess I resented you as much as I wanted you to be there, you know ?" you sniffed before continuing your monologue. "I just wanted you to see me . ‘Cause… it’s because of you I wanted to go down this road, you gave me this love for flight, for speed, for the sky. I... I just wanted you to be happy that we finally had something in common, but... but you had already pulled Bradley's papers, so I didn't think and I just did what seemed most logical and easiest. Take Mom's name, ask Ice not to tell you. I know it was stupid… but I also know it would have hurt too much if you had stopped me. And... And then no news for nine years... It hurt even more. The Academy and my first years of service weren't what I thought they would be... it was rough and sometimes I just… I just wanted to call you to come and pick me from there… but… but I wouldn't change that for the world. Because I’m still a Mitchell and Mitchells never quit right ?” You took a few seconds, your gaze meeting his, to see if he wanted to intervene but he didn’t. He just looked at you, taking all the information you gave him. You let out a shaky breath, playing with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “And I know you must and may resent me for the rest of my life, but… but I just wanted you to be proud of me and... and for us to finally be a family." You bit your lip, trying to calm the flow of emotions that came through.

The sky began to rumble and your father remained silent after your speech. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as he couldn't find the words.

"Please, Dad, say something..." you sighed, your voice breaking.

The rain began to fall slowly and Pete's silence was too much for your heart to take. He couldn't even look at you anymore. You thought you could take it ; you were used to his silenced treatment, used to the fact that he couldn’t express his feelings. But right now, you needed him to speak, to ease your worries, to confront you.

"Dad... please... I'm begging you... talk to me…" you repeated desperately.

You broke down again and cried like a little girl in front of your mute father. You hated that he couldn't open up to you and you hated that he saw you so frail, so fragile.  Your sobs mingled with the rain, which grew heavier, the wind and waves making the silence deafening. You bit your lip and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, in vain.

"I know I'm not... I know you didn't plan… you didn’t want to have me with mom-"

"No, it's true... I never planned to be a father... The very idea of having children terrified me and still does," Pete interrupted you, "but... you're one of the most beautiful things, if not the most, that has ever happened to me. And I'm petrified of anything happening to you, I'm helpless on so many levels... and I... I didn't know how to be there when you needed me... I know I must have let you down a lot..." He sighed, catching his breath and holding back his own tears. "I thought... it would be best for both of us to let you have your freedom... but the weeks, months and years went by and I didn't have the guts to try to contact you. I was too ashamed... but Y/N, I never stopped loving you... you're my daughter... and even if you have my damn temper and your mom’s stubbornness," you couldn't hold back a little laugh and a slight smile despite your tears, which your father tenderly chased away with his thumb, "you'll always be my little girl, too eager to get on our little plane for a ride, passionate and fierce… I don’t resent you… I think I would have done it your way if my old man put me in this situation…" He allowed himself to cry as well as the two of you finally hugged each other, relieved of an enormous weight.

"I love you too, Dad... sorry for everything..." you mumbled against his shoulder.

"No, no… I’m sorry… It's my turn to apologize, sweetheart..."

The two of you lay embracing in the rain for a while, making up for years of distance in a few minutes. You were the first to let go. You once again took his hand like a child.

"We better get back before Hangman starts gossiping..."

"Or before Bradley starts worrying," Pete teased. You blushed and looked at him with wide eyes. "What? Like I haven't noticed the way you two look at each other. I'm not that blind kid!" He laughed “Ah… your mom and Carole would have been thrilled !”

You returned to the bar, soaking wet, chatting about anything and everything. Seeing you, Bradley's expression changed from worried to relieved, then back to worried as he noticed you were shivering a little from the cold. He politely left his conversation with Mickey to join you.

"Are you okay? Do you want to go home and change?"

"That would be a good idea..." you smiled at him. You had to admit you were exhausted from this rollercoaster of emotions. You said goodbye to the others from a distance, then to your father in a final hug, and followed Bradley back to his old blue Bronco. The two of you made your way to your small house. 

Bradley was a good roommate. You each had your own room, but you often fell asleep together in front of the TV or on one of your beds after long late-night discussions. You liked the routine you created. And you hoped with all your might that nothing would change. But your feelings for him were becoming more and more obvious in your mind and heart. You wondered how much longer you could hide it.

Seeing you so silent, Bradley placed his hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you all right, lil’ Tempest?" 

His eyes never left the road as his thumb traced small circles on your jeans. A shiver ran through your entire body and you wished this contact would never end.

"Everything's fine Roo... don't worry..."

"Okay..."

He squeezed your knee again and left his hand on your thigh. The warmth of his palm made you shiver and you placed your hand on top of his shyly. Once again, you felt like a teenager. It was stupid.

The ride home was rather quiet, in a comforting way, Bradley driving carefully in the pouring rain and humming the song that passed on the radio. When he parked, you stayed in the car for a moment. You sensed that he had something he wanted to say to you, and he sensed the same thing on your side. After a few minutes of silence and shy glances, he smiled at you, got out of the car, and you followed. He ran to unlock the door and waited for you under the porch.

You wanted to run as well, but your legs felt heavy. That's when your anxiety decided to take over. The stress and worry of the past few days were finally catching up to you. As you saw Bradley step out into the rain with a worried expression, the conversation on the radio played in your head. Your father's F-18 had exploded, and Bradley was on his way to pick him up. And now it was his turn to go down. A huge pressure on your chest stopped you from breathing and new tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't move, pinned to the pavement. Silent sobs shook you as your vision blurred. You couldn't see or hear Bradley any more. You felt so alone, so cold. Your panic attack froze you under the heavy rain and you couldn't get out of it. You couldn't hear anything except the intense ringing in your ear. You wanted to throw up. The world spun around you as your mind screamed what the communications officer had said earlier, "Maverick's down ! Rooster's down !" 

They were dead. 

For the long forty minutes or so that followed, they were dead .  And you were stuck in that loop. One minute everything was fine, the mission was a complete success. The next, the last two most important people in your life were dead. The ground began to feel strangely unstable as you fought harder to breathe. Eventually your legs gave out and you felt yourself fall, but you didn't hit the ground. You felt two arms around you, holding you securely but not too tightly, then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. The buzzing in your ears slowly faded away and you didn't feel the rain on your skin anymore. You gasped for air when you finally heard Breadley call your name, concern in his voice. As you raised your eyes to look at him, a sudden relief washed over you and you couldn't help but sob again.

He was home. You were home. With him.

"What's going on, Y/N? Hey... Breathe... breathe and talk to me..." he said quietly.

"I thought... I thought you and Dad... you... you were dead..." you managed to say between sobbing hiccups. You clung to his shirt, afraid he would fade away. He smiled a little and kissed the top of your head as he cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands. Then he took your hands and laid them flat on his heart. You could feel it beating at a regular pace.

"I'm here. I’m okay. You're okay. I'm very much alive, Mav is too, and you're stuck with me, with us, little Tempest..."

"Yeah ? Promise ?" you sniffed, your lower lip still trembling.

"Yeah... Promise." he smiled at you again then hugged you tightly. 

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the bristles of his mustache tickling you a little. One of your hands reached up to his neck, your fingers brushing his little hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, absorbing each other's presence. You felt so relaxed in his arms, as if you belonged there. Your heart fluttered as you heard him hum one of your favorite songs and then felt him beginning to slow dance with you, taking you peacefully to the bathroom.  You were too exhausted and shaken from your panic attack to even ask him what he was doing. You just obliged and listened to him, hypnotized. He declared that you needed a long relaxing bath and in the meantime he would order pizza. He helped you take off your shoes and socks, then your hoodie. He kissed your forehead and let you finish undressing, leaving the bathroom to give you some privacy. 

You couldn’t stay too long in the bath, your mind being too loud. You knew you would break down again if you weren’t close to him .  Bradley made you feel safe, secure, grounded. That was what you needed to relax. You were so used to being alone before, used to the silence, the empty rooms. But since he decided to kind of move in with you, you couldn’t bear the loneliness. The house was so warm now, so welcoming and comfy.

As you crossed his room after you’ve washed, you noticed that old hoodie you bought him one Christmas when you were in naval school. It’s a silly one, the hood designed to look like a rooster. An amused sigh escaped you and you took it to wear. It was still as soft and comfy as the day you bought it. 

“Stealing my clothes I see ?” he chuckled when you joined him in the kitchen.

“Stealing my beers I see ?” you teased him back, pointing at the bottle in his hand, “I thought cranberry beers were for chicks ?” 

“Mama Carole didn’t raise me to be picky” He scoffed in défense, with a smirk.

“Oh I know she didn’t. And my mama didn’t raise me to steal, I’m just borrowing that hoodie.” you smiled, putting the hood on. “Look, we’re twins now, Rooster !”

The both of you laughed at that stupid joke. He then smiled at you and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Feeling better sweets ?”

“Yeah… sorry about that I… I think these past days were a bit too much for my brain…”

“Don’t be sorry… it’s normal to break sometimes… everyone does.” 

You hummed and nodded, but before you could talk, the doorbell rang. “Must be the pizzas ! Get yourself comfortable on the couch and choose a movie Y/N, I’ll be right back !” He kissed your cheek, close to your lips - too close - and ran to the door. You stood there for a moment, cheeks and heart warming up, before doing what he asked you.  Once again, you felt like a schoolgirl at her first sleepover with her crush. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your face turning a bit red. 

You should tell him.  But you risked losing that friendship you had. And at the same time, you wanted more than that. You wanted to feel his arms around you, his lips - oh those lips - on you, to wake up next to him each and every morning in your bed… You fantasized about a life with him for a minute, not noticing him getting back with the food. You jumped slightly when he waved his hand in front of your eyes to snap you out of your reverie. Your gaze locked with his as he asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, yes... I was just lost in thought..." you smiled shyly, your cheeks flushed, letting him settle in beside you. He took the plaid to cover both of you, then put his arm around your shoulders.

"And what were you thinking about? Or who?" He teased.

"About us, actually..."

"Us?" He said, a little surprised.

Your cheeks were crimson. You'd said too much already. You couldn't run anymore. You just nodded, not daring to meet his gaze.  You felt him come closer and turn a little towards you after a few seconds of silence.

"Me too, I have to admit..." 

"Really?" you almost whispered, looking up at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah... to tell you the truth, I like it here, but... I don't want to be just another roommate anymore. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, Phoenix even says we look like an old married couple that's always jammed together." You chuckled a little but couldn't help but agree. Bradley smiled a little before continuing, a little nervously. "And... the crash, almost getting killed... It made me realize a lot of things... like the fact that I didn't want to lose you. And that... maybe... the fact that I felt so comfortable with you meant... meant more than friendship..."

Your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to confess what you were thinking? You bit the inside of your cheek to prove to yourself that you weren't dreaming, and before he could continue, you pulled him by his collar and crushed your lips against his. The kiss was desperate, as if you needed it to keep on living. Bradley didn't waste a second in responding, one of his hands sliding up your cheek and the other down your back to press you against him. You would have liked that moment to last forever, but the lack of air forced you to pull away a little. He pressed his forehead against yours and let out a small laugh. "I guess it's mutual, then?"

"You're a little genius aren’t you ?" You couldn't help but tease him before kissing him again.

You felt so good against him, kiss after kiss. You felt complete, soothed. 

And you could easily get used to it .

[zvdvdlvr]

— We Regret to Inform You…

— 🧠. Synopsis. Aaron is delivered news that shatters his world. (part one of ‘Home’)

— 🧠. Warnings. Death. Sadness. No happy ending. Guilt, depression. Bargaining, anger, resentment, and acceptance. All emotions used to describe the death of a loved one- all words Hotch would normally suggest for a grieving family. 

But it’s different when you’re the family. 

Deep down in his gut, Aaron knew something was wrong. Even before he opened the door. He knew something had happened. Is this how victims’ families feel when Hotch is the one knocking on their door? It had to be, he thought. 

“Can I help you?” Aaron asked, observing the men in uniform standing rigid on his porch. 

“Sir, we regret to inform you that your wife Lieutenant Commander y/n m/n l/n-Hotchner has been presumed killed in action,” the man on the right stated. 

Aaron felt the world around his shift, tilting under his feet. “How-“ he started to say, his own emotion smothering his throat and muffling the words he wanted so say. 

But he fell silent. He didn’t listen as the men in front of him spoke. He didn’t hear anything they said as they tucked y/n’s dog tags into his hand, and a folded flag in the other. He didn’t register them quietly murmur an “I’m sorry for your loss, Agent” before they left. He didn’t even realize he had started crying until he watched his tears fall off his face. 

“Oh, honey,” he cried, carefully resting your personal effects on the table as he slowly sank into the chair. Thank God Jack was at Jessica’s house for the next few days; that hopefully gave Aaron the time to figure out what to tell Jack. 

How was Aaron supposed to tell his little boy that his mom died- again?! How was Aaron supposed to deal with Jack asking about his mom before he even knew what had happened to her? How was Aaron supposed to keep living with that folded American flag in his house and your dog tags around his neck? How was he supposed to keep going on without the love of his life? 

But he also knew he had to be the one to tell the team. You were as close to them as you were your own family: perhaps even closer. 

Aaron cried. He sobbed, wailed, even. His crying echoed in the empty house- no longer a home now that the heart of the home was dead and halfway around the world. 

Good God, how could he plan the funeral if there was no body? Did- would you have wanted a funeral anyway? Aaron felt himself break down a little more: he couldn’t live without you. 

But now that you were dead, he had to.

[aeskairo]

Wait.....I have a questions.....

" I thought that at the very end mother would be able to meet with the man she loved."

Okay....Smol!gata poisons his mom, out of the belief that his father would come to the funeral, and his mom would be able to meet the guy, because that seems to be the only thing that she wants.

He look to be 8 or 10 years old. He believed that if poisoned his mom, she would still exist in some form and his dad would come. She would get to meet him and she would be happy.

OKAY...

This is a map of Japan...

Ogata's family lives in ibaraki, which is just North of Tokyo.

Ogata's father is stationed in Otaru.

Bitch... this is a distance of 650 miles. Cell phones and texting did not exist. Phones in general did not exist. A postal service for snail mail existed, but was extremely expensive and only available major cities.

There was no home mail delivery. You go to the post office in a major city, pay an exorbitant amount of money and the letter travels to a different post office.

Did Smol!gata and his family even know where he was stationed?

Paper letters were delivered by horse, so it took weeks for mail to arrive.

Like was the plan to poison the mother, and travel to Tokyo, pay the equivalent of hundreds of dollars to send a letter, allow 3 weeks for it to arrive in the military base in otaru, and then have him come down several weeks later?

I mean that seems complicated, but maybe...... wait no just kidding!! The literacy rate for the rural poor in the 1800s was only about 10% because there was no organized system of education.

Who was going to write this letter? An 8-year-old who has never attended school? Two senior citizens who are also likely illiterate?

HOW THE FUCK WAS YOUR FATHER SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT HER DEATH??

And even if they were able to, what would they say? Does anyone know Ogata poisoned her? Or would they assume that she poisoned herself? Given the shameful nature of suicide, would they want to tell anybody about how she died?

Look. This murder was perpetrated by an 8-year-old, who maybe did not quite understand that when you die you are gone. You do not change from a solid to a gas and then remain in the house waiting for your father.

Like, was there a plan to inform the father? How was he supposed to find out that she died?

Up until Ogata told him the story, did he even know that she was dead?

Like as an adult Ogata must have realized this, and perhaps it was too difficult to confront the sadness and horror that he killed somebody who cared about him. Sure, she was neglectful, but she still tucked him in, and sang to him and cooked for him.

It wasn't perfect, but it wasnt nothing.

And perhaps it was easier to convince himself but he didn't feel anything, and a child from a broken home grows up missing a a piece of their humanity.

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 1

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (i) - You

[15 & 16] - THE CAPITOL

Pine is a simple wood. It grows in abundance, representing purity and innocence. In Eleven, it’s saved for children. Children like Cane. Only thirteen years old, but at the end of his life. He died in the initial bloodbath from a knife in the heart, you saw it yourself as you were running away. You had made eye contact with him for a split second and had contemplated waiting for him behind one of the many buildings encased by overgrown greenery. But, within the next second, those eyes had clouded over and cannon fire rang in your ears.

He looks so small in his pine casket, you note. The pale shade of his little brown face is the only giveaway that he isn’t sleeping.

His parents come to stand before him, withdrawn in their grief for their youngest child. They each place a fruit in his hand: a pear in his left, and an apple in his right. One for himself and another to share with whoever comes to take his soul.

Neem, his brother, holds up his sister Venus, the youngest girl. She is distraught, wails bouncing through the clearing. Their oldest sibling, Vera, hadn’t been permitted to leave the fields to come to the burial.

Chrysanthemums represent death, mourning, life, and goodbyes. Roses represent life, grief, and sadness. You watch as the adults of the town move in to help his family cover him head to toe in the petals. A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

You can’t help but think about how close you came to being the one under all those flowers. You imagine your mom having to place the fruits in your hands by herself. The hand on your shoulder keeps you pinned in place as Venus’s knees buckle. Your mom squeezes you to her side and you look at her tightened face. You aren't the only one imagining it.

The grave has already been dug and above it sits his headstone, a rock bigger than both of your hands combined with his initials and his age carved into it.

C.B.

13

You stare at that rock long after they put him in the ground and cover him in dirt. At the end of the ceremony, all of the children in attendance get in line to hug the family. This one is no different. You’re only fifteen, but you’ve been to many funerals. Only one stands out: your dad’s. 

You remember being ten and getting irritated at how sticky the pomegranate juice made your hands, but you preferred it to the painful lump in your throat. You had to be lifted so you could place the fruit in his cold hands and you don’t think your mom put you down after, holding you close to her chest as the town’s children hugged you.

You’re at the back of the line nervously picking at your nail beds. There’s a certain amount of guilt tied to being the one who survived, especially in the face of the grieving family. You haven’t spoken to them since you got back a month ago—it took a while for the Capitol to return his body—but you know they don’t blame you. That’s just not the way people think in Eleven. You don’t turn against your own.

You’re nervous because you have a bigger part to play other than offering condolences and you promised Cane you’d complete it.

Before you go in to hug his father, you speak.

“I, uh, have something for you.” You pull a small bear figurine out of your pocket, crudely carved from wood. “Cane, he gave it to me to give to his family the night before we went into the arena. Just in case I managed to come back.” Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally. 

And now he’s home.

And that’s what cracks them, you think. His mom’s lips quiver and his dad makes a pained noise when you place it in his shaking grip. And Neem, who has tried to stay strong for his family, gasps around a sob. Venus pulls you into a hug, tears dripping onto your neck.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

-

“Your accent is just darling. Say something else, say something else!” The woman in front of you exclaims. You can’t remember her name, but you’re pretty sure she never introduced herself to you anyway. In fact, you don’t think anyone has introduced themselves to you.

"Like what?"

"Like what?" They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead. "Oh, that is just a treat."

You've officially been the winner of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games for six months and thirteen days. It's the end of your Victory Tour and all you have to do is tolerate the Capitols poking and prodding at you until the night is over. Though, that's easier said than done. 

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

Your dress cinches at your waist uncomfortably. The heels you were forced into press painfully into the calluses on your feet, and you've eaten so many pastries that your jaw aches. Foreign hands pat at your hair, stroking and pulling at the curls as you recount for the fifth time how you escaped the tributes from District Five. 

"I climbed to the top of a building and jumped between rooftops while they looked for me on the ground—" 

“Skip to the part where you get your scythe!” Someone yells from the crowd, cutting you off. You purse your lips and bite your tongue so hard that you taste metal.

"Alright. Two days in, I was… gifted a scythe from a sponsor—" 

"And you used it beautifully!" Another person calls from your left. 

"Yes, that move you pulled off against that poor boy from Nine was simply marvelous!" A voice shouts from behind you. You remember him. How could you forget? The "move" you pulled off wasn't intentional. As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife. 

He was the first person you killed in the arena. The first thing you had ever killed.

You bite into a muffin, and it tastes like ash on your tongue. 

You try to ignore the multiple hands on your shoulders, arms, and neck; all moving to touch any bare skin they can reach. But it's hard to ignore soft hands that have never known a day of work. Much different from your own calloused palms, made rough from your days of harvesting crops and climbing high in trees to pick fruit. 

You keep quiet as they talk at you, never actually trying to engage you in the conversation. You grimace as a hand touches your face. 

"God, you are stunning—isn't she stunning?" A taller man smiles down at you with golden teeth, moving your face this way and that with his sharp nails. 

"Oh, just gorgeous! Who knew they were hiding such a diamond in the Agriculture district, of all places?" The group breaks out in howling laughter, as if the very notion of something worthwhile coming out of District Eleven is outlandish. Somehow, both a joke at your expense and one they expect you to join in on. 

You're willing to bet all of your earnings that none of these people have the slightest idea about life in Eleven, what it's like to be truly hungry. Children are being hung for stealing food and here they are, gorging themselves just to throw it all up. You're shaken by the thought that you are completely alone here. Forced to endure the abrasive attention of the Capitol residents until they grow bored with you. You contemplate how easy it would be to escape. You aren't sure how much longer you can go with people petting you like a domesticated animal. Maybe, if you make yourself sick from drinking those vomit-inducing drinks, you could make a strategic retreat with minimal fuss. "Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen," a smooth voice breaks through the crowd before a lithe body follows. The man—or boy, rather—is tall, all tan skin and sun-bleached-hair. Every eye falls on him as soon as he steps up, and you can understand why. Finnick Odair. He's objectively attractive; beautiful, even. You can tell from the brazen way he holds himself that he already knows that. Pink lips are settled in a smug smirk, but they don't take away from his eyes. If you were a writer, you could have authored a thousand and one poems about those eyes alone. "You wouldn't mind me stealing tonight's guest of honor for a dance, would you?" It's quiet, and the crowd looks at each other. They clearly don't want to give you up—their brand-new toy. But who can say no to Finnick Odair? Exclaims of oh, certainly and of course are called out before he comes to stand in front of you. Someone pulls the saucer of miniature cakes and cookies from your death grip and you feel bare before him. You had seen him two years ago during his games. Then, six months after that he came to Eleven for his Victory Tour, apologizing to the families of people he didn't know nor care about. He was just another pretty Career laughing and being gushed over on Caesar Flickerman's couch, pretty low on your list of priorities. But now—well, it was one thing to see him on screen, it was another to be in front of him. It's a lot like standing in front of the ocean, you imagine. You had seen it secondhand, through train windows and simulated in arenas, but nothing could prepare you to see it in person. He doesn't push you to take his hand, just holds it out in front of him like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you'll take it, eventually. The temptation to reject him is strong. You’d pay money to see the look on his and everyone else's faces if you said no and walked away. 

You reach forward and a callused palm meets your own. You trust him as much as you do everyone else vying for your attention here, but he's the lesser of two evils. You tense up as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself to be surrounded. But he doesn't lead you to the center of the dancing mass like you thought he would. Instead, you both linger on the edge, barely close enough to be a part of the crowd. He faces you and asks, "May I have this dance?" Overly formal in a way that nobody else here has been with you. 

"We're already here, aren't we?" You say as if you weren’t just contemplating leaving him behind. You step closer to him as the band starts a new song, your right hand holding his left and the other on his shoulder. His free hand lays on your waist, a fraction above the slit on the side of your dress. 

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down. 

You narrow your eyes. “What’re your thoughts on lying?”

He inhales slowly, head tilting side to side contemplatively. “Depends. Am I the one lying?” You shake your head. He shrugs. “Then, I hate it.”

“Then, I won’t answer,” you shrug back. He lets out a puff of air from his nose, a laugh?

"I'm surprised Seeder isn't here with you. She talked you up a big game, you know. Very confident that you'd win." His eyes sweep over the crowd of dancing couples before settling on you. “Guess, I should have bet on you too, huh?”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Why would Seeder be that confident in a semi-malnourished fifteen-year-old with no combat skills? 

You definitely wouldn’t have bet on yourself. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve put money into one of the Careers. Maybe that one girl from Two—perhaps the most muscular person you’ve ever seen. She was benching at least twice her body weight in the Training Center, but you think it was just an intimidation tactic. Though, a pointless one, since she didn’t even make it out of the Cornucopia. You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine. “I wouldn’t have if I were you. But now that you've actually seen me, do I meet all the expectations she set?” You partially joke. Partially because as much as you hate to admit it, you are curious. Why you’re curious about what he thinks of you will remain a mystery. “Now that I've actually seen you? No,” you look up at him in shock before he grins like a shark, teeth on display. "You exceed them. Don't get me wrong. You were beautiful on screen, but the TV doesn't do you justice." He does little to hide the once-over he gives you. It was meant to be caught. You don't know what to say. You've been excessively complimented and fawned over since you were reaped, but somehow, it felt different coming from him. His gaze felt different. Like he actually saw you. You throw that thought away. Finnick is a known flirt—a playboy. He means nothing by it and neither does the look in his eyes. "She's pregnant. Seeder," you clarify, abruptly changing the topic. “About seven months along. She's resting at the hotel.” Traveling for so long had taken its toll. Not to mention the stress of just being in the Capitol. Snow, the bastard, wouldn't let her stay behind, even though Chaff was willing to take her place as your mentor on the tour. "Ah, congratulations are in order then."  

"Please,” you scoff. “I'm sure you didn't come up to me just to talk about Seeder." Your gaze bounces around his face as you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him.

“Why not? I can’t ask about a good friend?” 

“If you’re such “good friends” shouldn’t you have already known she was pregnant?”

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means. “I came up to you because you looked like you were one more scone away from using it as a weapon." The laugh you let out is a surprise to you both and you have to bite your cheek to stifle it. You haven’t been doing a whole lot of laughing over the past six months.

"Was I that obvious?" He's quiet for a moment as he stares at you and you don't dwell on it. Instead, you focus on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. 

You're only a year younger than him and, yet, there's something about him that feels far older than any other sixteen-year-old you've met. The way he carries himself—something sharp-edged hidden under indifference, an alertness in his eyes that you're sure mirrors your own. "To anyone who cared to look," his voice deepens as he hums. It really is smooth. "Definitely." "Am I supposed to believe that the Capitol's darling cares about little ol' me?" "So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over. “Who doesn't?” It’s been two years and people are still talking about his games. And for good reason, you have to admit.

"Touché...again.” He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve—” "Seriously, what're you hoping to achieve here? You've gotta have a motive. Everyone does.” You push, cutting to the chase and sounding more accusatory than you meant to. But, he’s a victor too, right? Maybe you can toe the line here without repercussions waiting on the other side.

"Hmm, blunt. Even you?" He questions, continuing when you nod. "What's your motive for dancing with me, then?"

You could have said no to this dance, but that would’ve meant staying surrounded by them. This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

"I'd do just about anything to escape those vultures," you pause. Then, feeling emboldened, add, "And I guess you're not terrible to look at." If you were going to be forced to stay here, you might as well find your fun where you can. And talking to Finnick is fun. Undoubtedly, the only fun you've had all night.

"Oh, thank you," he laughs, mirth coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "You know, I was worried about that." 

"Is that so?" You smile, trying, and failing, to not step on his feet. 

"Definitely," he pauses for a second, seemingly deciding on something before answering your question, "It’s just that—you remind me of someone. They got wrapped up in the Capitol; thought they could handle the…” he makes a wide sweeping gesture to the gluttonous pageantry around you and you get it: the extravagance, the theatrics, the Capitol of it all. “But the Capitol asked for more than they were willing to give. And, well...I couldn't save them." His eyes look glazed as he trails off. His face is grim, his smile gone so fast it's almost like it was never there to begin with. You find that you want it back. "And you want to save me?" You guess, heart in your throat.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The people here? Every single one of them wants us. They want to talk to us, touch us, sleep with us," you swallow at the look in his eye. "But they don't see us as people." He leans towards you and you freeze. For a split second, you think he's going to kiss you. That doesn’t scare you. Instead, he hovers by your ear. What would you have done if he had kissed you? You don't think you would've moved away. That scares you. "Me and you," he hums, lips against your ear, "Well, we might as well be a completely different species to them. We're lesser than. Beloved pets at most, tamed beasts at least." 

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You live in Eleven, after all. There’s a reason no one goes looking for the kids that go missing from the fields. According to the people in charge, there’ll always be another to take their place. You sigh through your nose and turn away, but immediately turn back to Finnick when you make eye contact with the smiling man with gold teeth. 

He shakes his head, lips curled into a frown of disgust, "Look at them, the way they linger at the edge of the crowd." The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back as he spins you. "You see how desperate they are to get in your good graces?" You peek over his shoulder at the people watching you, teeming with anticipation. 

"Is that not what you're doing?" You ask, your cheek pressed to his. "Trust me, sweetheart. If I was trying to gain your favor, it'd be somewhere a little more private with a lot less talking." He doesn't give you enough time to reply, not that you know how, before continuing. "I'm doing the same thing I've done since I was reaped," he lowers his voice, almost like he's imparting some kind of secret. To the right person, maybe he is. "Surviving. I'd suggest finding your allies now if you wanna do the same. " And then he turns to place a chaste kiss against your cheek. To anyone watching the two of you, it would look like he's just flirting with you. You shiver as he pulls away from you, taking all the warmth with him. He looks down at you for a moment longer, locking you in his gaze. You had never really seen the ocean, you remind yourself, but, through him, you're staring at it now. Vast and limitless. All-consuming. He brings your knuckles to his smooth lips, and he smirks. The urge to shiver again is alarmingly strong as his mouth moves delicately against the skin of your knuckles as he begins to speak. "Until next time." You catch the shimmer in his sea-green eyes. It has to mean something, something worth pursuing. You've never known the ocean, but as you watch Finnick walk away into the crowd of adoring Capitols, you think you could grow to like it. There's a drive in him that's rare to see outside of Eleven, let alone in the Capitol, and it further proves your assumption right. There’s a kinship between the districts that only the victors are privy to—you and Finnick might be cut from the same cloth, and that’s made even more apparent by the way the masses move in to surround you both. You jump as trumpets sound around you and a spotlight shines on the balcony. You missed your chance to escape. It's time for Snow's speech. 

Present (I) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

It’s winter in Eleven. There’s little worse than winter in Eleven. You must have forgotten to close your window when you left in a rush because the air in your room is practically crystallized, and you mull over the idea of igniting your fireplace but decide against it.

Normally, you would go to the Capitol after being invited to a party, your prep team would scrub and shave you from top to bottom, and Snow would introduce you to your client for the night. Then, you would stay in your hotel room and have time to recoup before you left. But, this time, there was no party. Only a very important partner of Snow’s who is not a patient man. So you left in the early morning and made the trip back the next day as the sun was rising. Seven hours there, seven hours back. You’re dead on your feet and your bed has never looked more tempting. You stand before your vanity and grab a makeup wipe, dragging it over your face and revealing the bags under your eyes. You're tired, bone tired. You kick your heels off. You unzip the back of your dress and let it fall to the ground. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you press on one of the bruises littering your neck. You follow the trail to the top of your chest, breast, stomach, and hips. You frown at yourself. What a pitiful painting you make. "It's starting!" Your mom calls from down the hall and you sigh, looking at your bed mournfully. You'd usually avoid Snow's announcements like the plague, you don't want to look at him more than you already have to, but it's different this time. It's the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell had double the amount of tributes, and Haymitch told you how he only won by the skin of his teeth. So, despite yourself, you're curious to see what kind of nightmare Snow comes up with. There's also something else driving you. A man you met in passing at the party. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was strange, but a different kind than you were used to from the Capitols. He's taking the place of Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane's untimely death. He spoke in riddles, always hinting at things of importance without saying anything at all. And there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind surrounding something he said. "I understand that there’s a certain kind of…job that President Snow has employed you for. If I told you there was a chance to put an end to it, what would you say?" "I'd say you should cut back on the Morphling." "I assure you, I'm sober," he laughed, "I can't go into detail right now. I just need to know, when the time comes, that I can trust you to fight." Fight. It’s an interesting term, but you wonder if it has the same definition for him as it does for you. You doubt it. Very rarely is there ever any overlap between the way of thinking for Eleven and the Capitol. The people of Eleven fight every day and you’ve heard the other districts have finally picked up on the habit. Riots upon riots upon riots and it’s all thanks to the kids from Twelve. You still can't decipher what he was telling you and you’d usually chalk it up to the regular Capitol jargon. But there was something, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on. 

You throw pajamas on, something soft that won't irritate you, and walk to the living room. "Here: sugar, berries, and licorice root, just the way you like it." Your mom hands you the cup and pretends she doesn't see the marks on your body. You're thankful. She looks tired too, older. "Thank you, Ma." You say, for more than just the tea. "Of, course. Now, sit, sit. He's walking out." You settle gingerly on the couch beside her, sorer than you thought, and pull your legs under you as Snow stands behind a podium. He lets the audience quiet down before beginning. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of The Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of The Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol." You drink carefully from your cup as he continues, steaming liquid burning the roof of your mouth. "Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell," you place your cup on the table and fidget with your bracelet as Snow pulls a letter from an envelope, "as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell Games the male and female Tributes are to be reaped—" The hairs on your arms stand on end. You brace for the blow. "—from the existing pool of victors in each district." "No. No, no, no, that's not, that's not right." You shake your head. It doesn't take long for your mom to start sobbing beside you and you…you can't breathe. 

You suck a breath in and it feels like it's being funneled through a filter. Not enough, not nearly enough. Your heart's beating fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever beat and you're getting lightheaded. You stand up on shaking legs and stumble to the door, glass shatters as you knock a vase over in your pursuit. You need more air, you need, you need—you step out onto the snow-covered porch, submerging your bare feet in the white powder. It’s odd, it rarely snows here.

You kneel down and grab fistfuls of snow, smearing the ice on your face and grounding yourself. You breathe and you rationalize. You can breathe. You're taking in frigid lungfuls of air and you are breathing. You stare down the long walkway leading to your home, covered in both ice and snow. Across from that walkway is a cow pasture and past that pasture are woods. Vast and open and if you will it, no one would be able to find you. You wouldn’t be able to leave, not with the giant electric fence surrounding the district, but they wouldn’t find you. 

But Snow could find your mom. 

You stay out there until your feet and hands go numb. And then you stay until it hurts to move your fingers and toes, the skin of your shins and knees prickling with the temperature drop. You stay until your mom drags you in herself. "Let's warm you up." She says, but she's mostly talking to herself. She wraps you in a blanket and sits you on the couch. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a fresh cup of tea. Saliva gathers in your mouth at the thought of drinking anything, so you use it to warm your hands instead. 

“Oh, look what you’ve done to yourself.” You look to where she’s hovering over the carpet. Red footprints lead from the door to where you are now. You must have stepped on the broken pieces of the vase. You wait for the sting of pain to come now that you’re aware of the wound, but there’s nothing.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up with—”

“Can you just…can you just sit with me?” You ask and look away when you catch her frenzied gaze.

“Yeah, of course, baby. Of course.” The couch dips with her weight as she sits beside you.

By now, Caesar Flickerman is recapping the announcement to the audience with his cheery co-star. You can never remember his name. You're as still as a statue as Caesar goes over a list of remaining victors. You don't move when your mom holds onto you. She holds you and she holds you and she cries for you. You don’t think you have any more tears left in you.

“Now, it always hurts to say goodbye, Claudius, but I can admit there are a few lovely victors I’m particularly attached to.” Oh, you think, that’s his name. Doubtful that you’ll remember it.

“Yes, Caesar, I completely agree. Here’s one of mine now. From District Four: Finnick Odair!” Your eye starts to twitch, lower lid spasming. They play clips of him. Finnick waving to the audience as he walks on stage, Finnick posing for the camera at a photo shoot, Finnick walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

You imagine footage of him being reaped for the Quell and saliva is gathering in your mouth again, stomach flexing as you gag. You double over, nausea washing over you as you try to keep what little is in your stomach down. Absently, you feel a hand rubbing your back in wide, soothing circles that aren’t doing a lot to soothe you.

You were wrong. You do have tears left in you.

-

A/N: 1.) your arena is inspired by Valle dei Mulin in Italy 2.) The people of 11 all have farm and gardening-related names. (Neem tree, venus flytrap, aloe vera, Mass Cane) 3.) Cane had a crush on the reader similar to Peeta's initial crush on Katniss 4.) Each district has a different accent depending on their geography

[alchemistc]

goon | bucktommy | chapter two

check out the hockey glossary here (updated for chapter two) Prologue | Chapter One

Chapter Two

“That’s a very nice suit,” Josh says instead, phone between two fingers and tap-tap-tapping against his palm. “Also I need you and Buck to do an interview for me when we get into Utah.” Tommy and Eddie both shoot him looks, although Eddie’s is significantly less polite than Tommy’s. “Why.” He doesn’t really frame it as a question, but as they approach the stairs leading up to the plane Josh continues his backward walk, seemingly uncaring of the significant difference in their heights as he keeps pace. “Yeah, you haven’t won a face-off in a year and a half —” “I haven’t taken a face-off in a year and a half,” Tommy amends, but Russo either isn’t listening or doesn’t particularly care about the details.

When Tommy was eleven, three important things happened.

The first — the most important one, had been the birth of his younger sister. He’d spent the months leading up to it pressing his ear to his mothers growing belly, giddy with possibility, talking to her for hours and hours while his mom got pale and tired. He’d been eleven, though, and she’d done everything she could to hide that from him, always happy to wrap him up in her arms when he got home from school, always ready to throw on her game face when Tommy sat on the bed at her hip with one hand pressed to the bump as he told the baby all the cool things he’d learned at school that day, and the games they’d played during recess, and the thing Robert Duncan had said that had made Tommy laugh so hard his teacher had sent him off to the principals office for disruptive behavior.

The second had been the day his mom took him to the mall and bought him a pair of rollerblades — black leather with neon green wheels, even cooler than the ones Chris Harper had gotten for his birthday. He’d spent a month eating shit up and down the cul de sac until he was steady on his feet, and then the next six months spending every weekend with all the rest of the kids in the neighborhood, two nets set up at he end of Cherry Avenue, two streets down from Tommy’s house, borrowing Judy Green’s older brothers retired equipment, setting up pick up games and driving the whole neighborhood a bit mad as they all taught each other whatever arbitrary hockey rule they’d learned watching the latest Devil’s game before their parents sent them off to bed.

And then, at the peak of it all, the day after baby Abigail had been born, Tommy’s dad didn’t come home from the hospital with her or Tommy’s mom. In fact, he barely came home at all, other than to let him know his aunt would be by in a few hours to pick him up, and then he’d been gone again.

The third, as he’d found out six hours later, anxious and fretful in the passenger seat of Aunt Stacy’s station wagon, was his mom dying.

Eleven, and a week later he’d donned his first suit and tie, feeling sad and tired and worn and grown up, peeking over his aunts shoulder at the bundle of wrinkly baby in her arms. His dad had shown up to the funeral late, drunk, and angry, and Tommy — in his infinite wisdom, six days into a world without a mom — had tried to comfort him.

Eleven, and he’d gotten his first black eye to match his first black suit.

Tommy hasn’t worn a black suit since.

Diaz catches him halfway across the tarmac, fingers reaching out to pinch at the collar of Tommy’s burgundy plaid jacket. “Snazzy,” he says, tugging, wheeling his bag behind him and matching Tommy stride for stride, which Tommy finds a little strange until he remembers that Diaz has been keeping up with Buckley’s gazelle-legged pace for going on six years now. “And here we all thought you were gonna rock the henley-jeans combo until coach called you out in a team meeting.”

“I’m not a caveman,” Tommy rebuts, shaking his head to hide the grin. “But I do have to get all my suit jackets altered before I wear them. Not all of us have trim little waists and a forgiving shoulder line.”

Eddie pauses just long enough to twist his wrists and point two fingers at himself, grin a little wide. “Hey, if Buck tries to hand you one of his little cakes, just, like, take it and pretend you’ll try it,” he says, darting a glance behind him, no doubt looking to make sure the coast is clear. Tommy shoots him an amused look.

“What’s wrong with the cake?”

“He’s been trying to crack a gluten free dairy free cupcake. They’re... he hasn’t cracked it.”

Tommy bites his lip, rolls his tongue alongside the inside of his cheek, nearly runs into Josh Russo as he shoots his own look back to try to find Buckley’s mile-long legs amidst the group trailing along behind them towards the team jet.

When he reaches out to steady Russo, the man gives him the bitchiest fucking look Tommy’s ever seen, and completely ignores Diaz, walking backwards and turning his phone screen. “It’s fine, your profile in this lighting is gonna make people absolutely feral.”

It’s a good picture. Tommy doesn’t exactly have too many hang-ups about his appearance, but he used to, and this one is getting all his best angles. He holds up a fist for Josh to bump, and Josh stares at it for a moment like Tommy’s presenting him with roadkill.

He can’t decide whether or not Josh has clocked him, yet. There’s been a few instances where he’s tilted his head a certain way, or made an off-hand comment at the end of practice while he’s mining for content, that makes Tommy wonder if he’s seeing behind all the machismo to his soft underbelly and recognizing something of himself.

“You send me a single screenshot of someone on any social media getting thirsty and I’m shaving my head,” Tommy warns, just to watch Russo’s face flicker through all the stages of grief in about five seconds flat.

Tommy won’t ever admit this, but he’s never seen anyone crack social media interactions like a gay man in a toxic cesspool of a sport, and Josh Russo knows his shit. How often to post his stupid little thirst traps, what sort of questions to ask them when they’re sweaty and tired and ready for a fucking shower, which matchups the fans are most looking forward to, when to leak not-quite-secret shit to give fans a glimpse into the humanity of everyone’s favorite recalcitrant player.

“That’s a very nice suit,” Josh says instead, phone between two fingers and tap-tap-tapping against his palm. “Also I need you and Buck to do an interview for me when we get into Utah.”

Tommy and Eddie both shoot him looks, although Eddie’s is significantly less polite than Tommy’s. “Why.” He doesn’t really frame it as a question, but as they approach the stairs leading up to the plane Josh continues his backward walk, seemingly uncaring of the significant difference in their heights as he keeps pace.

“Yeah, you haven’t won a face-off in a year and a half —”

“I haven’t taken a face-off in a year and a half,” Tommy amends, but Russo either isn’t listening or doesn’t particularly care about the details.

“—and the first one you took as an Av resulted in a brilliantly stellar wrister from our star defenseman through, like, six men in front of the net —”

“Four bodies tops,” Tommy continues, even though at this point he’d be better just accepting that he’s going to be talked over.

“—and with the fight, too, the fans are abuzz, so I’m taking the initiative to lean into some new dynamics —”

“You’re pimping me out because I look good with blood on my knuckles.”

Russo pauses. Takes a deep breath. “Yeah, it was more the absolutely manic smile on your face all the way to the box, that people were talking about. On that topic, how do you still have all your teeth?”

Tommy considers popping out his partials to show Josh exactly how many teeth he’s actually missing, but then Josh will make a face, and Diaz will feel the need to antagonize him, just a little bit, and Tommy would really like to settle in his seat and decompress. He ignores the question entirely. “Can we do it tomorrow morning?”

Russo tilts his head back and forth, considering. He eyes the cut Hen’d taped up after todays afternoon game like he’s trying to decide if he can makeup it away before he remembers that that’s sort of the draw to late season hockey players cropping up for dumb social media shit. “I’ll ask Buck,” he commits, and Tommy sneaks past him up the stairs before he can wheedle any more favors off of him.

Inside the cabin, the broadcast crew is already settled in to their seats, and he takes a few spare moments to say hello. It doesn’t do shit, really, except show respect, but he’s been around the block enough times that acknowledging the staff of any given organization has become habit.

By the time he finds a seat, the rest of the team has already boarded, and Tommy settles in next to Panikkar, who looks about ready to pass out. He’d done half an hour on the bikes after the game while Tommy iced the bruise he’d gotten courtesy the crosscheck he'd received from Eberle while they battled in the corner for the puck.

Tommy pulls out his phone to find a new message waiting for him.

Nash says you’re sticking around, the message from Sal reads, and Tommy opens up the thread to take a look at the last few messages from one of his oldest teammates.

It’s a short turnaround of a travel day, Sunday afternoon game just finished and a quick flight into Salt Lake where they’ll pass out at the hotel (Buckley and Russo willing, anyway) and then be up with enough time for an early morning practice, lunch and a nap before they head to the arena. Tommy is realizing he’s hemmed himself in to a 5 am wakeup at the latest, if Josh is actually serious about mining Tommy’s temporary fame for content.

In the seat next to him, Panikkar mumbles something, already fully asleep in the time it had taken Tommy to fasten his seatbelt and scroll up to Sal’s last few messages, and Ravi’s head is already drifting toward Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy rolls his eyes, but he still ends up shifting his weight to allow for easier landing, when the inevitable trajectory of Ravi’s slumping skull meets its destination.

A year ago, Sal had sent him a random screenshot of the infamous Seguin tweet and a link to an Oliver Peck music video, and then, three weeks ago when the news of the trade broke: See you in a few weeks

Tommy’d replied with a selfie of himself holding up a middle finger, but at the time he’d been pretty sure Sal was right. That was typically what happened — Tommy was used to being the weight that shifted midseason when contenders wanted to make a big move and didn’t have the cap space to do it. It was early — early enough that most trades were still a glimmer in the eye of most agents, the All-Star break still looming, the perfect time to make a move that didn’t mean much, in the scheme of things.

Only that hadn’t happened. The Avs were undoubtedly the team to beat in the conference this year, so he’d expected maybe a week or two up and down the lineup before they shifted him off to Loveland, only playing up if someone was injured. He was a shit defenseman but he knew enough to move from his typical forward position, and he was used to that steady grind, easy to slot in if they needed to reassess an early season injury in the ramp up to playoffs.

And he was hanging it up at the end of the year, anyway, and the foothills of Colorado were a hell of a lot nicer than —

Not the point.

Only.

That hadn’t happened. Instead he’d hopped the first flight out and found a car waiting for him at the airport to take him directly to the arena. It’d been an off day, two days in to a three day stretch of them, actually, so even the team rumored to have one of the most strenuous practice schedules in the league was off that day, when he’d been escorted through the building and straight up to the GM’s office.

Sorry, Tommy shoots off, as the plane starts to taxi. I know you were looking forward to checking out my tits in the locker room, Deluca.

Ravi’s head finally touches down against the meat of Tommy’s shoulder, and he snuffles sneepily before nosing in, a bit. Tommy wishes he’d thought to grab one of the shitty pillows from the overhead bin: Panikkar’s cheeks are sharp.

Just the left one, Sal shoots back. Keep an eye out for 27, he’s had it out for Diaz since ‘21.

Tommy is aware of this. Perhaps a little more incidentally than he knows some of the conflicts Buckley has gotten himself wrapped up in, but he’s done the research on all the little shits on this team who like to chirp and then get their asses handed to them.

He closes out of the thread in time to catch liftoff, and an up close and personal serenade of light snores from the man who has, in three weeks, gone from passive aggressively mentioning all the routines he has in place to work on his speed to being comfortable enough with him to fall asleep on his shoulder.

Two rows up, Cameron has his overhead light tilted over his latest trashy pulp fiction novel, and up another three, Greenway is sulking. He’s been on the outs for weeks, now, and Tommy doesn’t know the exact details, only that he’d thrown a quiet little fit over Tommy’s sustained minutes (all seven a game) and that Chim hates him.

Quietly, Tommy suspects that he’s the piece the front office is trying to move out before the trade deadline, but he hasn’t said a word of it yet. Better to keep his mouth shut and his head down until he’s got better feel for the dynamics. And Christ are there a lot of dynamics on this team.

In the row next to him, Diaz and Buckley have their heads bent over an iPad, one earbud each and their eyes flitting across the screen with an almost disturbing synchrony — two halves of a whole, those two. He likes them both, and not even just because they are a large part of the reason he’s getting enough ice time to justify keeping him on the bench.

Tommy’s caught staring when Buckley flicks his gaze up and over, and there’s a moment where Tommy holds his breath, just like always — twenty-year career and no teammate has ever questioned why he doesn’t have a girlfriend, a bleach blonde wife popping out kids, he’s not about to lose that streak now over an intriguing birthmark and a megawatt grin.

Buck smiles, tilts his head a little, returns to his screen. They have multiple iPads, but these two are practically attached at the hip, and he’s yet to see them reach for a second one when they could just tilt their heads together over game film and discover some weakness they can exploit that even Karen Wilson hasn’t discovered yet.

Tommy, like an idiot, doesn’t look away. He’s got a snoring Ravi nuzzling into his shoulder and he’s still nursing the bruise on his thigh, too wired to sleep and too tired to realize how long he’s been looking at the side of Buckley’s skull until Buckley is saying something softly, and Tommy watches Diaz knock their shoulders together. Too late, he realizes Eddie is shifting, turning his head — he catches Tommy’s gaze with a raised brow.

Tommy feels caught out, but Eddie just tips his chin at Ravi wheezing against his shoulder, grin going wide.

He makes an aborted half-shrug of a movement, reeling it back halfway through so as not to jostle Ravi, and misses the moment Buck turns his camera on the tableau.

Behind Tommy, Chim is in the middle of one of his batty post-game cooldown routines, and he can hear the faint sounds of whatever ballad he’s currently listening to — Celine Dion, maybe? The air is on, and Tommy’s skin feels tight, and the ambient noise is doing nothing to help the squeal of tinnitus he’d never fully lost after his last fight with Deslauriers. He chokes down the urge to reach over and snatch the phone right out of Buckley’s hand — cheeses it up instead, knowing Buck’s snapped probably twenty pictures already.

He can’t prove it, but he’s absolutely certain there are pain inhibitors in Evan Buckley’s smile. When he lowers his phone and grins bashfully, the bruise on Tommy’s thigh fees a little less achy, and the buzzing behind his ears fades enough that Tommy barely notices it.

When Buck turns away again, Tommy makes a concentrated effort to focus on the pattern of the seat in front of him.

He doesn’t grin at all when his phone lights up with four notifications in row: Buck’s curated glamour shots of Ravi drooling on Tommy’s shoulder.

---

"You're good at those," Buckley says, skidding to a halt next to him at the elevators, and Tommy tips his head side to side, twists his neck just enough to catch his profile in his peripherals.

"Twenty years in the league," he intones, trying hard not to smile at how fucking antsy this kid is, shifting foot to foot as they wait for the doors to slide open.

"No, yeah, I just mean --" Buck shifts his weight, tips his chin. "You've got, like, personality and shit, in those. I always feel like a robot trying to figure out genuine human emotions when Josh asks me to do that stuff. But it -- I mean it was nice, to just... You made it easy, is all I'm trying to say."

"You didn't seem remotely like a robot, to me," Tommy teases, watching the numbers above the elevator doors drop. He's a little startled when Buckley smacks at his shoulder, but by the time he's had the chance to do more than blink about it Buck's already moving on.

"It's like you weren't even listening to me, I just said you helped me not be."

"I mean, if you did, it was very subtley implied, actually, so you can't blame me for the misinterpretation."

At his side, Buckley glances up at the numbers, too. "Do you want to grab coffee? I feel like we should grab coffee."

"Aren't you vehemently against caffeine on game days?"

Buckley looks both pleased he'd remembered, and a little bashful, which Tommy can't parse for a minute. "Everyone has cheat days. Besides, it's just Utah."

"Famous last words," Tommy warns, but he's already turning back in the direction of the conference room they'd just left, towards the Starbucks he's pretty sure is on this level. He checks his watch - if they mosey, maybe the place will even be open by the time they get there.

Buckley falls into step beside him and without missing a beat continues the conversation. "Sounds like there's a story to that."

Tommy can see him working through the math in his head. Kid's like a Roledex for NHL facts and stats, so it doesn't take him long to divide by two and get to the conclusion that they'd been playing Philadelphia at the tail end of their worst season on record.

"First full season in the league my team went on a tear. I'm talking barnburners every other night, fifteen home game wins straight — real mensch shit. We were on top of the world. But... season’s winding down, you know, and we didn't start out great, so we're chasing every point we can just to scrape a spot in round one." Buckley's eyes are sparkling the exact same way they'd been, all through Josh's weird word association game he'd had them do for warmups before actually getting into his little question and answer session. "And me — I'm playing fifteen minutes a game against guys like Sid and Ovi, I'm one hundred percent sure this streak is never gonna end. So - two games left in the season, we're scheduled to play the Flyers."

"Coach pulls us in for a huddle before pregame warmups and he tells us to keep our heads down, shoot for the net, get back to basics, don't underestimate them. But half their team are call-ups, at that point, a good third have never played at this level before, right?"

Buck chuckles, clearly already reaching the conclusion, but Tommy forges on ahead anyway.

"So I just say it. Come right out and say the words: Coach, it's just Philly." He gestures wide, hands out in front of him, like he can conjure up the words that had been painted onto the inside of his eyelids for a good four months, after.

"So what happened?"

"We got shut out. Five nothing. By their third string goalie. Guy’d never even been on the bench as a backup before, and he stood on his damn head all game.”

Buck laughs. It’s a sweet sound, echoing off the walls of the corridor they're strolling through, and Tommy feels the edges of his grin going wide, digging crevices into his cheeks as he shakes his head at the memory. They’d scraped the two-seed that year, and gotten slaughtered in the second round, and Tommy had spent the entire summer hearing it’s just Philly parroted back to him by every single member of his team.

“Eddie doesn’t believe in curses,” Buck admits, once his laughter has died down. “He’s the least superstitious person I know.”

“Hope he doesn’t get voted into the All-Star game, then. Sid might read him the riot act.”

Buckley stops dead in his tracks, eyebrows both dancing up his forehead. It brings his birthmark into stark relief against the shitty lighting of the corridor. He shakes his head like he’s clearing a thought. “I forgot you played with him.”

Tommy has to remind himself that Buckley probably knows every team all of his teammates, current and former, have ever played for. “For a year and a half, back when the jock strap was still mostly white.”

Buck grins, again, blue eyes gleaming as he twists himself sideways, sort of grape-vining down the hall for a few moments, body facing Tommy’s. “What’s he like to play with?” he asks, and Tommy barrels on ahead, desperately reminding himself that Evan Buckley is exactly like every other long-legged, bright-eyed, shockingly sweet attractive man he’s ever played with.

Off-fucking-limits.

[fake-married-my-dead-fiance]

Now that we have come to the end of the drama... Drama vs. Webtoon time!

I'm going to do this one a little differently, head to head, did the drama or the webtoon do it better in Marry My Husband?

Drama did it better! ML's Original Death

So in the webtoon, Ji-hyuk goes to Ji-won's funeral and then just offs himself by walking into the sea. It's not super clear why, like he barely knew Ji-won, and it felt really pathetic. I preferred the car accident.

Webtoon did it better! Su-min killing Min-hwan's mom

This didn't even come close to happening in the drama, but Su-min comes home to find the MIL from Hell having a stroke and then just turns around and leaves her on the floor. When it looks like she might recover, Su-min injects air into her veins and she dies. Su-min goes to prison for this as she doesn't kill her husband. Anyway, the drama showed us MIL very sad after her son's death, but I preferred this ending since she spent so long abusing Ji-won in the original timeline.

Drama did it better! Not So Much Love Triangle

Poor Eun-ho spent a lot more time pining after Ji-won in the webtoon. Happy that he got resolution there. Also, never felt like Eun-ho had a chance in the drama which I preferred.

Webtoon did it better! Eun-ho & Hui-yeon

I couldn't believe how little screen time these cuties got! Give me Hui-yeon proposing (at least she confessed first), give me them being in love! Why was Eun-ho not in the time-jump scene at the end?

Toss-up: Mr. Lee & Mrs. Yang

I liked the character of Mr. Lee better in the drama, but I liked Mrs. Yang's story better in the webtoon. Mr. Lee is way too nice in the webtoon, I liked his supportive and yet kind of rude persona in the drama. However, I wanted more of their story, in the webtoon Mrs. Yang's ex tries to kidnap their daughter as leverage, which is stopped, and then Mr. Lee has a very cute relationship with Mrs. Yang's daughter, who asks her mom if she'll marry Mr. Lee. We didn't really get any confirmation that they would end up together in the drama!

Drama did it better! Min-hwan's ending

Was it so satisfying to see him get the same ending he gave to Ji-won? Yes it was. In the webtoon, he sabotages his own car hoping that Su-min will die and he'll get the inheritance money. But then he drives his car to see his mom (after her stroke) and drives off a bridge. I liked this ending better.

Drama did it better! Mains as Parents

I felt like the webtoon went a little too far in making Ji-hyuk the only providing parent. I'm all for women working, but it just seemed unrealistic to me. I liked seeing both of them exhausted on the couch with their twins.

Toss-up: Plots that I Didn't Love

I really disliked Yu-ra in the drama, who I guess had to be included so she could take Ji-hyuk's fate. I think the webtoon was smart to cut her and I found her really annoying and over the top. However, I also didn't love the plot in the webtoon where Ji-won catfishes both Su-min and Min-hwan so that she can reproduce the betrayed by a friend thing. So I guess they both struggled with the third act.

Webtoon did it better! ML Doesn't Inherit

In the webtoon, Ji-hyuk decides to run his own security company and Ji-won continues at the original company. I guess the drama preferred a super rich power couple, but the webtoon was better in that way for me. I didn't love Ji-won becoming a stereotypical rich wife with a charity...

Webtoon did it better! MORE CAT

Pang (mold) the cat has a whole chapter from his POV in the webtoon. It was so cute!

Drama did it better! The Family Dinner

Honestly, I didn't think anything could top the webtoon's family dinner where Ji-won shows up in her revenge get-up, but I just loved Ji-won flipping Min-hwan so much!

Lastly, the drama really made Min-hwan and Su-min great characters. All the awards for Su-min's actress especially. Those two really came alive in a way that the webtoon just didn't do.

(and yes, I know the drama was based on the original webnovel but I'm not reading that, I like webtoons, and both are adaptations so fair comparison).

[germhammy]

“S’mores on the balcony”

Enid: why am I not surprised you have a cauldron?

Wednesday: my Grandmama and Granny are witches.

Wednesday placed the cauldron on its stand. She lined it with a few layers of foil. Then placed rocks inside about half way up. Another few layers of foil. Then she put in some charcoal and cedar. She started the fire.

Enid: are we still going to burn Xavier’s drawing?

Wednesday: of course. The one he just gave me fits in the cauldron. I broke up the one he gave me for my birthday.

Enid: it’s so gross that he always draws you in sexy low cut clothing. Exposing your arms at the first Rave’n was the most skin I have ever show in public. It’s like he has this image of his dream girl and pays no attention to the way you are.

Wednesday: sexy clothes is more my mother’s thing. Not mine.

The cedar wood gave off a nice smell.

Enid: cedar burning is so relaxing. Are you ready to put the drawings in?

Wednesday had divided up the birthday drawing into two bags. She gave one to Enid. When that was done. Wednesday put the smaller recent drawing into the cauldron

Wednesday: shame to burn such a nice frame

As the frame burned down, Wednesday poked at it to make sure it stayed in the cauldron. She put more cedar in as well.

Wednesday: we should have some nice charcoal when it all burns down.

Enid: and then S’MORES!!

Xavier opened the door that led to the roof where Enid and Wednesday were seated in front of the stained glass window of their dorm.

Xavier: making a love potion, Wednesday? You know you don’t need on for me. I will follow you into hell.

Wednesday: don’t flatter yourself, Xavier. I doubt you would even survive the first level of hell before crying for your daddy.

Xavier: very funny. -noticing Enid taking out the s’mores supplies- I would figure s’mores are too sweet for you, Wednesday. Shows you how much Enid knows about you.

Enid: just leave me and Wednesday alone, Xavier. This is the roof of Ophelia Hall and the balcony of our room. We could report you to the dorm mom.

Xavier: Wednesday wouldn’t let you

Wednesday: I should have left you in that coffin. Be thankful I my morbid curiosity got the best of me. And my love for my Granny as well. She was quite sad about her friend. That’s how I, my mother, father and Pugsley ended up at the funeral. My mother was emotional support for her mother

Xavier: did you enjoy your chocolate and fudge? Or are you going to make the s’mores with it? Bet that would taste great!

Wednesday: I do not like milk chocolate. I gave it to Enid

Enid: -grinning- you should have listened to Ajax now shouldn’t ya? Now please leave

Xavier: - ignoring Enid- Did you hang up the drawing?

Enid: Actually, we burned it.

Wednesday smirked

Wednesday: leave

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Life Goes On by Ed Sheeran

Part 2 of Eyes Closed by Ed Sheeran

Summary: For the past year, your mom never left you for long and if she did you would come with her. But now duty calls and you can't go with her. Will she keep her promise of always coming back to you?

Relationships: Maria x daughter!reader, Yelena x niece!reader

Warning: Secret Invasion Spoilers, Major character death, grief, angst with small fluff, guilt, everyone is sad and everyone needs a hug

Word count: 4.7k

“Are you sure you have to go?” You asked for the 100th time as soon as you learned your mom had to go off on a mission. You were lying on her bed, feet dangling over the side as she packed her bag. Without looking, you knew she was suppressing a sigh and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You know I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important,” that was her response every time you asked and you believed her. For the past year, Maria refused any mission that would take her away from you. If she needed to travel you went with her or stayed with your grandmother. You traveled to DC, California, and Texas with her. But now you had no idea where she was going. She grabbed your hands and pulled you up to a sitting position, smiling at the pout of your face. “I won’t be gone for long, a month at best, and you’ll get to spend time with your grandma and the Bartons.” That sounded fun especially since your grandmother loved to spoil you but you wanted your mom.

“Why does it have to be you?” You whined. You knew you were acting like a child, throwing a tantrum but you didn’t care. “Why can’t Uncle Nick go?” This time your mom didn’t suppress your sigh. It was a sensitive topic regarding the former director of SHIELD, who took off after Tony’s funeral and ignored all her calls.

“Have you packed?” She deflected your question with one of her own. You nodded with a smile. “Good, I have something for you.” She let go of your hands and opened the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out a small box and she sat down next to you as you opened it. It was a golden heart-shaped locket. You placed the box next to you and opened it, one side was a picture of you and your moms, and on the other side was a solo picture of just them. You smiled.

“Can you put it on for me?” You asked, handing it to her. She took it and the cold metal was placed around your neck. “Thank you,” you smiled and turned around to hug her. “I love it.” You held onto her tight as she kissed the top of your head.

“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears because you are thinking so hard,” you giggled as she tickled your sides. You rested your head on her lap and looked up at her. She was smiling down at you, patient as you got your thoughts together. With a sigh, you played with the locket.

“Have you heard from Yelena yet?” You asked. That was another wild ride that occurred within the past year. When Clint was spending time with his kids in the city, he somehow got involved with the Tracksuit Mafia, and a Black Widow assassin was hired to kill him. That assassin so happened to be your aunt. He called your mom for help. In the end, Yelena didn’t kill him but she disappeared. You and Maria were trying to get a hold of her as you so desperately wanted to meet her.

“No,” she said. “But she has spoken to Kate a few times,” you liked Kate. She was full of energy and her dog was cute. “She’ll reach out when she’s ready. Black Widows are very special.” She tapped you on the nose.

“Can you tell me the story of you and Mama met again?” It was a story you’d heard thousands of times from Natasha telling it one way and Maria telling it another. It was your favorite story. Maria stole a glance at the clock and you watched the internal debate she was having with herself but she smiled.

“Of course, I can,” she moved so her back was resting on the headboard and your head was still in her lap. “So you know Uncle Clint was supposed to kill your mama but he disobeyed a direct order and gave her a chance to defect to SHIELD,” your mom started. “I didn’t trust her at first and I thought it was a horrible idea to bring her into the organization but your mama,” she sighed but her smile told you she wasn’t sad. “Was persistent and did everything to win me over. She flirted with me every chance she got,” you giggled. If Natasha was here to tell this story, the roles would be reversed. “But I kept my guard up until Fury assigned us to the same mission and she saved my life.” Your mama took a bullet for her. “I sat by her bedside for three days.”

“And when she woke up, you yelled at her.”

“Hey,” she gasped. “Are you telling the story or am I?” You laughed as she tickled your sides. “We didn’t officially get together until she became an Avenger but she,” you frowned as you watched a tear leave her eye and fall down her cheek. With gentle hands, you whipped it away. “She was my best friend.”

“Second to me, right?” You teased and it pulled a deep laugh out of her.

“Oh 100%,” she lay down and cuddled up against you.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she sighed, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m going to miss you too.”

*

You exited the airport with your suitcase in hand and backpack tight on your shoulder. The air in Iowa was so different than the city air. Your mom said it was cleaner. “Hey squirt,” you turned around at your nickname and saw Clint standing by his pickup truck, a sign in his hand with your name on it. The sign was cute but what caught your attention was the one-eyed golden retriever that sat next to him.

“Lucky!” You ran over to them. The sound of his name being called caused the dog to get excited and tug on the leash. He didn’t have to wait long for you to kneel at his level. You dropped your suitcase and wrapped your arms around his neck as he attacked your face with kisses.

“What am I chopped liver?” Clint said, throwing his arms to the side. “I almost died for that dog.”

“Oh, you are so dramatic,” you looked up to see Lila hanging out the passenger window. “Humans like dogs more than people,” you giggled and stood up.

“Hi Uncle Clint,” you said. He stared at you, blinking once then twice.

“You have dog drool all over your face.” He deadpanned. You used your shirt to clean your face before he hugged you.

“I didn’t know you guys had Lucky,” you said, opening the door to the back of the truck. The golden retriever jumped in and followed. Clint helped you with your luggage. Once you were buckled in, you sent a quick text to your mom and grandmother that you were with Clint.

“Just for a few more days,” Lila said. Clint got into the driver’s seat and started the drive back to the farm. “She’s helping Yelena free a few Widows.” You saw Clint glance at you through the mirror. Your mom must have told him of your desperate attempts to meet your aunt.

“So they’ll be here to pick up Lucky?” You scratched the dog underneath his chin.

“Probably just Kate,” Lila said. “Yelena doesn’t come over much. She still has a lot of guilt for you know trying to kill my dad.” You smiled at that but your heart ached. They got to meet Yelena, the one person you could ask what your mam was like in Ohio. Natasha told you about the mission and how the Red Room gave her a loud mouth, annoying blonde of a sister.

‘I think you’d get along with her,’ Natasha said, decorating a cut-out Christmas tree cookie.

‘Yeah?’ You questioned, not looking up as you were very focused on decorating your star with yellow icing. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘You can get anyone to like you,’ she tapped your nose. Her finger was covered with green icing. ‘And you are a great reminder of family. She needs that.’

“So, what’s she like?”

*

You loved spending time with your grandmother. For two weeks, you visited the zoo, bookstores, and the candy store that was right down the road. But you were excited to have people to hand out that were your age. Being at the Bartons also meant you reached the halfway point and you were two weeks closer to your mom being home. You missed her so much. Almost every night, you would speak with her on the phone and if she couldn’t she would send you a text goodnight. You were counting down the days but until then you were having fun with Lila, Cooper, and Nate. You played video games with the eldest, had sleepovers with Lila, and put up with Nate’s crazy games of make-believe. When Kate would come to visit, you would join the archers in the makeshift training area Clint built. But your favorite was driving the four-wheeler, and exploring different parts of the property. Lila and Cooper showed you a fort they built, that not even their parents knew about.

However, Yelena refused to meet you. You caught Kate a few times on the phone with her talking about you. The archer would give you a sorry smile and walk away continuing the conversation. She was desperate to get to know you through other people but refused to meet you. It hurt more than you wanted it to.

*

“You’re going to be gone for another month,” you said, pacing the length of the porch. Your mom sighed.

“Something came up and it’s going to take a little bit longer to clean it up,” you did not like the sound of that. “And I won’t be able to call you as much.” That stopped you from pacing.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” you sat down on the steps and played with the locket around your neck.

“Right,” you sighed. It aspect of her job was so frustrating. “And your being safe.”

“Yes I am,” you heard shuffling on the other end. She must be lying down. “Just a few bumps and bruises. Enough about me, come on tell me about everything you are doing in Iowa. Are you giving Clint a hard time?” You giggled.

“Always.” Once you were done on the phone, you stayed outside and took the photo out of your pocket. “I’m scared,” you confessed to the photo. “I need her to come home, okay? Please keep her safe.” You heard the front door open but you didn’t bother to turn around to see who it was.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” Laura asked, sitting down next to you. You rested your head on her shoulder.

“I want her to come home,” the mother of three sighed, wrapping her arm around you and kissing the top of your head.

“I know you do,” she said. “She’ll be home soon.”

Limited contact missions were your less favorite. You would send her good morning and good night texts, and texts throughout the day but she wouldn’t respond for a day or 2 after. You never knew when she was going to respond, it was maddening. The Bartons knew you were upset and they tried to keep you busy - fishing, swimming in the pond, archery practice, and day trips to the nearby town. It was fun but it wasn’t helping the ache you felt in your chest and a nagging worry that grew at the base of your neck. For a week, there was no response to your never-ending stream of texts and your worry only grew.

*

You were in the kitchen, getting an afternoon snack when the house shook. It was the tale sign of a plane visiting the farm. Dropping the apple, you ran to the front. By the time you made it outside, a ramp was lowered and Clint and Laura were waiting to see who would exist. “Hey,” Cooper said, running over to you from the barn. “Is your mom back?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” you heard the front door open.

“Whose here?” Lila questioned. On cue, you watched Nick and your grandmother descend the ramp. Where was your mom? Where was she? You saw Nick speak with Clint and the archer kept glancing over to you, his hand rubbing his face.

“No,” you whispered. “Get off the jet.” You pleaded. “Get off.” But no one else came off. The group of adults began to walk back to the house. Not again. You couldn’t go through this again. The world began to spin around you. You needed to get out of here, you needed to run. So you did. Sprinting towards the barn, you jumped one of the four-wheelers that was left out. The sound of the engine roaring to life drowned out the call of your name. You began to ride, past the pound and into the woods. You were half tempted to never get off because as soon as you would reality would set in. The hard, soul-crushing reality that your mom broke her promise.

You stopped at Lila and Cooper’s fort. Your legs barely could hold you up as you got off the four-wheeler and collapsed into the shelter. No tears fell. Even though you wanted to scream and cry and plead for the universe to give her back. But you were numb. So numb. Why did this keep happening to you? Was it you? Were you to blame for all this death and misery? You were the common denominator for everything; your biological parents left, and Natasha and Maria left. Who was next?

*

“Shit,” her father said, coming to a stop next to Lila. He ran his hand over his face but Lila was more focused on her distraught friend ride off.

“Where is she going?” Lila assumed the woman was your grandmother. She heard you talking to her on the phone.

“We know where she’s going,” We do? Lila thought. “Come on,” he grabbed Lila by her hand and dragged her to the other four-wheeler. Cooper jumped on first and handed her the helmet.

“Cooper,” Lila whispered. “Is Aunt Maria-”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “God, I hope not. Hold on tight.”

*

You heard the sound of the other four-wheeler turn off and two sets of footsteps approaching the fort. “Mind if we join you?” Lila asked. You didn’t want them to be here. You came out here because you wanted to be alone. They took your silence as an invitation to join, Lila sat next to you and Cooper sat in front of you.

“Dad is going to give you a hard time about riding without a helmet.” Cooper joked. On any other day, it would have made you laugh or smile but you stared down at your lap. Their voices became white noise. You knew they were trying to get you to talk but you couldn’t. You were so angry and sad and scared. There were so many emotions swirling inside you didn’t know which one to focus on.

“You could be a Barton,” Lila said. “And you can come live with us.”

“No,” you finally spoke. “What if I join your family and something happens to your parents?” You looked up at them. “I’m cursed. My biological parents left me, Natasha left me, Maria left me,” finally the tears began to fall, “Everyone leaves me.” You sobbed. Lila pulled you in a hug. You wanted to push against her, scream at her to let you go but you didn’t have the energy to fight her. Instead, you slumped against her and you heard Cooper sit down next to you. He brought you and Lila into a hug.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promised. “You’ll find your place whether it be here or somewhere else.” You weren’t sure if you believed him.

*

“How is she?” Clint asked his wife when she entered the dining room. The plate she brought up with her wasn’t in her hand anymore so he saw that as a good sign. Laura sighed.

“I didn’t get to talk to her,” she sat down next to Clint. A bottle of whiskey was already open and being passed around the three adults. “Cooper is standing guard,” she poured herself a drink. “According to him, she doesn’t want to talk to anyone.” Clint rubbed his head, letting out a sigh of his own.

“What’s going to happen to her?” Elizabeth asked. The archer had only spoken to her a few times on the phone to organize pickups and drop-offs. They never met in person. Clint hated that Maria’s death was the reason they had to meet. It seemed unreal that Maria was gone. For the longest time, she seemed untouchable, unkillable. Life appeared to have other plans. He took a sip of his drink.

“Romanoff and Hill wrote in their will that Clint and Laura were her godparents,” Fury said. “They left it up to the three of you to decide what is best for her.” There was a rage building inside Clint as he stared at Fury. The man ran to space as soon as the funeral was over and was never heard from again. Hell, Maria thought he was dead for how many calls he ignored. Now the man was back and another one of Clint’s closest friends was dead, leaving behind a daughter who lost so much.

“I can take her,” Elizabeth said. “You already have a full house.”

“But it could be good to be around kids her age,” Laura countered. “We are more than happy to keep here.”

“She doesn’t want to go with any of you,” the group turned to see Cooper walking into the kitchen to clean off the dirty dish.

“What do you mean, son?” Clint asked.

“She doesn’t want to be a Barton or live with anyone. She thinks she’s cursed. That if she joins another family something bad will happen to them.” Clint’s heart broke for you. It was so unfair the cards that life had dealt you. You’ve been incredibly strong but how much more could you take?

“What does she want?” Fury asked. Cooper scuffed, crossing his arms as he sent daggers to the most powerful person in this room.

“Cooper,” Clint warned but his son ignored him.

“Did you just ask that?” He asked, walking over to the table. “She wants her mom’s back. But that’s not possible, is it sir?”

*

The house was once again quiet. Elizabeth was staying at a hotel in town until they figured out what to do next. Fury on the other hand took off, not answering where he was headed off to. Clint sat on the couch, a picture of him, Maria, Natasha, and Laura in his hand. It was back in their SHIELD days. They were so young then. Unaware of what life was going to throw at them. Laura sat down next to him, the archer wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. “How are you doing?” She asked.

“Tired of losing people,” he admitted. “I know we signed up for this but it’s so hard.” Laura hummed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I keep thinking it could have been me.”

“But it wasn’t.” No, it wasn’t him at the bottom of Vormir or meeting his end in a foreign country. He even escaped death from a Black Widow assassin. A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. “Are you expecting someone?” Laura whispered, sitting up. Clint shook his head, putting his finger to his lips, and stood up. He grabbed a pistol that he kept in a nearby drawer. Guns weren’t his preferred weapon but his bow wasn’t available. Unlocking the safety, he opened the door.

“Clint Barton,” Yelena smirked. “Are you going to shoot me? After everything we’ve been through.”

“Yelena,” the archer said slowly. He blinked at the blonde in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

“To see my niece,” she simply said. “Where is she?” Yelena walked past him, bumping her shoulder against his. Clint put the safety back on and closed the door.

“Time out,” he set the pistol down as Yelena waved at Laura. “You can’t just barge in here like you own the place and demand to see her.”

“And why is that?” Yelena asked, turning to face him. He could see her clearer now. The Black Widow was wearing her white suit, she must have just returned from a mission. He knew she wasn’t working for Valentina anymore.

“Because you refused to see her for the past few months when she desperately wanted to meet you,” he was trying to keep his voice quiet, not wanting to wake the rest of the house. But he saw the hope leave your eyes every time Kate joined them at the farm without Yelena.

“What has changed?” Laura asked. The blonde looked down at her feet. He could see the guilt eating up at her.

“I wasn’t ready to meet her,” Yelena admitted. “And now she’s lost someone else.” She looked up at Clint. “We both know how uncertain this life is. I’ve wasted enough time.”

“You have.”

“We can’t guarantee she’ll talk to you,” Laura said. “She refused to talk to anyone besides our kids.”

“Thank you,” Yelena sighed. “I appreciate it.”

*

When the door opened, you pulled your eyes away from the Polaroid and locket. “Oh,” Laura said with a smile. “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake.” You weren’t sure how to tell that you couldn’t fall asleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw them die over and over again. “There is someone that wants to meet you downstairs.” You refused to move. She sighed and walked over to, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to talk to us or your grandmother or even Fury but you need to talk to someone about what you are feeling,” you had nothing to say, everything hurt. But you were curious about who was here.

“Who is it?” You finally spoke. Your voice sounded foreign to you. Laura smiled.

“Your aunt.”

Every step you took your heart was thudding against your ribs. The mixture of grief and nervousness was making you sick to your stomach. Once you entered the living room with Laura by your side, Clint and your aunt stood up from the couch. You stared at the blonde. For the longest time, you created an image in your head of what the blonde was like through stories your mama told you and the way the Bartons and Kate talked about her. As you stared at the woman in front of you, she seemed nervous - a stark contrast to the bad-ass assassin you imagined. “Hi,” her accent was deep.

“Why are you here?” You asked. Your blunt question took the room by surprise. The couple excused themselves, saying that they wanted to give you some space. When they left, you joined Yelena on the couch. But you looked forward, unable to look at her anymore. “Mama told me so many stories about you and I was so excited to meet you. I don’t understand why it took my mom dying,” your voice cracked but you refused to cry in front of her. “For you to come and see me.” The blonde sighed, leaning back into the couch.

“I wasn’t good enough,” she admitted. “You needed someone better, someone that was good.” You glanced at her. She had a far-off look in her eyes. You’ve seen that look before when your mama woke up from a nightmare or had a particularly bad day. You saw a lot of her in Yelena even though they weren’t related by blood.

“Are you good now?” You asked.

“I’m not sure but you need me,” you chuckled and rolled your eyes.

“I don’t need anyone,” you said. “I’m going to be fine on my own,” it was Yelena’s turn to laugh.

“So that’s your plan. You are going to set off by yourself and ignore everyone who loves you. What are you like 10?” Your jaw clenched. “I know exactly what you are doing. You are going to push and push everyone away so you don’t feel this pain again. It won’t work,” you refused to speak so she continued, “That pain will only hurt more.”

“What do you expect me to do?” You snapped, jumping to your feet, and looked at her. “It’s like I was hit by a train, I ran out of words. So tell me how my life goes on with them gone?” You asked, pounding your fist against your chest. “It’s like I’m sinking like a stone and I’m so afraid.” You whispered. Her green eyes softened in a way that your mama and mom would look at you. “Don’t look at me like that, please. I’m cursed.”

“Oh, milaya devushka (sweet girl),” Yelena whispered, catching you in her arms as your legs gave out. She gently rocked you, whispering Russian words in your ear.

“Stop it,” you pleaded. “Stop caring,” you weakly hit against her chest.

“That’s not happening,” you ended the hug but Yelena held onto your hands to keep you from running away. “You are not a curse,” she said it so adamantly that you almost believed her. “What happened to your mamas was not your fault. Unfortunately, they knew the risk when they signed up for this lifestyle. I am so sorry they were taken from you so soon,” you stared at your connected hands. They felt like your parents; warm and calloused.

“What am I supposed to do?” You asked.

“I don’t know but life goes on,” you looked up at her. “They made their choice. We have to live with it.” You weren’t the only one to lose someone. Yelena lost her sister. “I know your gut is telling you to run away and hide but you can not do that.”

“Where am I going to go then?” You loved staying with the Bartons and your grandmother but you knew it was temporary. At the end of the day, your mom would be there to pick you up. Now you weren’t sure where you belonged.

“Well,” Yelena slowly said. “You could come with me.” Her offer shocked you. “I could take you to meet my mama and papa or take you back to the city in Kate’s apartments with Lucky or to Ohio, or Canada, or Mexico. We could go anywhere. As long as you don’t run away.”

“Okay,” she seemed surprised by your sudden approval to drop everything you knew and live with her. You smiled. “What? Did you not expect me to take you up on your offer?”

" I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.”

“Natasha always said that she thought you and I would get along,” you told her. “She dreamed of getting a house for all of us. You, me, Maria, and her so we could all be together and safe,” you let go of one of her hands to wipe away your tears. “Maybe part of her dream can still come true.” Yelena nodded, her green eyes glossy with tears.

“Life goes on,” she repeated. You were experiencing deja vu when your mom told you the same thing. It was a weird feeling and couldn’t repeat it back. Instead, you smiled.

“Can we get a dog?” You asked. Yelena laughed.

“I have one but we can get another.” You were still afraid that another wave was going to knock you off your feet and no matter how hard you swam to the surface, no one was there to grab you. You knew Yelena was watching you intensely. A soft whistle broke the silence of the Barton house. You never thought you’d hear that whistle again. You smiled at your aunt and whistled back. They were both right no matter how many people you lost life unfortunately goes on.

_

Remember when we saw that Maria was going to be in secret invasion and we were all excited then they killed her in EP1. Still not over there but whatever! This will probably be the last part of this little AU unless someone requests one or I think of soething else lol

[lipglossanon]

In Heaven, Everything is Fine

╔═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╗

Dark stepdad!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (finale)

Hello, hello 👋

This is the finale of dark stepdad! I’m trying to wrap up some of these little storylines since I want to write, well, other stories lol. Not saying I’ll never write about him again, just the ‘main’ story is now over and done with.

Posted on ao3 first since I was on a tumblr break lol

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, stepcest, daddy kink, Leon being nice to reader (with ulterior motives of course), character death, grief, kissing, dirty talk, slight nipple play, praise, pussy spanking, collaring, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh fucking

Title from a song of the same name in the movie Eraserhead

part ii

 

╚═════ °• ♔ •° ═════╝

It was an accident. That’s what the officer at the front door relayed to you. A freak car accident that left you motherless in the blink of an eye. Lucky for you, Leon was standing behind you and heard it at the same time so no need to repeat the awful news. He seemed even more shocked than you.

“What do you mean? How did it happen?” 

The officer only offered a very generic answer of a drunk driver jumping the median and hitting your mom head on and killing her instantly, like that’s any consolation. In disbelief, you wandered away to the living room to sit down on the couch, letting Leon and the officer talk. 

It’s been three weeks now since the funeral, (closed casket because you couldn’t bear anyone else to see your mom in that state). You’ve been roaming the house like a ghost. Barely eating and drinking. Leon has been working overtime in trying to manage everything on his own. Secretly, you feel like he owes you that much. Your fucked up relationship with him has morphed into Leon being an actual caretaker in regards to your needs. It’s not too unexpected, but you didn’t think he would be as considerate as he has been. 

It’s routine now for you to fall asleep on the couch and wake up in his bed, too tired to go to your room, letting yourself fall back to sleep next to him. Truthfully, you sleep a lot now; you know it’s not a healthy way to cope with your grief, but you also don’t give a fuck. Your mom’s dead. Your dad’s too busy to give you the time of day. Hell, he only sent a wreath of mourning to the funeral and a quick phone call of apologies to you for not being there. 

Leon is truly the only person you can rely on right now and he’s been doing phenomenal, surprising you when you actually think about it and not battling the sadness threatening to overwhelm you. He’s also kept to himself aside from trying to get you to eat or drink. You know financial and legal matters have taken up a lot of his time, but even when he has moments to himself, he’s in his office on the phone with his work colleagues sorting out issues while he’s on a leave of absence.

Months pass in this way. You eventually pull yourself out of the miasma you’ve been sucked into, the grief not growing any smaller but you yourself growing around it. When the time comes to go back to class, you opt into taking the semester off. You stay at home and slowly start organizing your mother’s belongings. Leon helps if you ask, but it’s mostly you deciding on what you want to keep and what you’d like to store until you’re ready to part with it. 

Another month of crying over knick-knacks and clothes, you finally finish up sorting everything you feel needs to be stored. Looking for Leon, you eventually find him in his office. You hover in his doorway and watch how his shoulder blades flex under his button down while he wraps up a phone call. 

“I know, everything was moved up due to the accident. I didn’t have anything in place. I did have to change my plans, but it all worked out in the end, didn’t it? She’s—“

Leon pauses and turns to see you at the door. 

“Let me call you back. Yeah.”

He places his phone down onto the desk and steeples his fingers as he leans his elbows onto the oaky top. 

“Did you need something, beautiful?”

“It’s finished,” you gesture vaguely to the second floor, “I have everything sorted for tomorrow.”

He nods and grabs his phone, “I’ll email the moving company to let them know we’re ready for pickup.”

You sigh shakily, “Thanks, Leon.”

He gives you a tight smile, “It’s no problem. Are you hungry?”

Looking down at your feet, you watch as you wiggle your toes in their socks, “Not really.”

“You need to eat,” he stands up from his desk, tucking his phone into his pocket, “let’s head into the kitchen and find something.”

You lean into his warm frame as he steps up next to you, pulling him into a hug. 

“Thank you,” you murmur into his chest, tears beading your lash line, “it would be worse without you here.”

Tensing, he freezes up for a second before he wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. 

“I’ll always take care of you,” he kisses the shell of your ear, making you shiver. 

He keeps an arm wrapped around you, pressing you into his side as you both walk to the kitchen. Guiding you to sit down at the countertop, he turns and begins rifling through the cabinets. With sudden clarity, you realize this is the first time since it all happened that you’ve sought him out. He’s been really present and patient with you while you navigate the death of your mom—just a steadfast presence in the background. 

Tears slip from your lashes and you wipe them away by the time he turns back to you. 

“Do you— what’s wrong?”

He walks over to you and cups your face with his big hands, thumbs rubbing away the tear tracks on your cheeks. 

“I-I,” you smile even though it’s watery, heart fluttering in your chest like a bird, “I’m so thankful you’re here is all.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, eyes blank and unreadable, “you’re my special girl.”

He dips down and presses a featherlight kiss against your lips making you gasp. It’s the first time he’s shown any affection of this kind in months and it makes your fingers tingle and your stomach warm. Before he pulls away, your hands snag into his button down and pull him back in for another kiss. You’ve missed the physical connection you had with him before this whole ordeal. 

“Beautiful,” he groans against your mouth, kissing you hungrily, hands going down to grab your hips and squeeze, “ my perfect pretty girl.”

“Leon,” you whimper, cunt throbbing with need that’s been lying forgotten and dormant for months on end, “daddy, please .”

“Are you sure?” He kisses a hot trail down your neck, nipping the sensitive skin. 

“Yes, please,” you whine, hands tangling in his hair, “take me to bed.”

He growls and scoops you up in a bridal carry, quickly moving you upstairs to his bedroom and setting you down on the bed. Kissing you heatedly, he pins you down with his broad body, grinding his bulge into your clothed cunt. Pulling back, he helps you shimmy out of your sweats and underwear, watching with dilated eyes as clear strings of slick spider web between the gusset of your panties and your glistening pussy. 

He finishes undressing you and then moves on to himself, tossing his clothes in a heap next to the bed before pressing his hot throbbing cock against your mound. 

“Oh,” you gasp, rocking your hips up to feel the drippy head of his dick rub against your swollen clit. 

“Wait,” Leon moves to the side to open up the nightstand and pulls out the buttery faux leather collar he bought for you ages ago. 

He holds it out to you yet you shy away. You love the feeling you have when wearing it, but that plate with cursive writing is just too much for you to look at right now. It might seem silly, but sometimes the oddest things set you off and this happens to be one of them. 

“It’s a lot,” your eyes dart away from the gold tag.

Leon notices and smoothly unclips it to tuck it back into the drawer. Your brows pinch together for a moment, but then you nod face smoothing into a small smile. 

“Okay,” you move closer and Leon clips the collar around your neck. 

“We’ll save the mommy tag for later,” he soothes, running his hands across your neck, fingers gliding down your clavicles to drag down the stiff peaks of your breast. 

A small pang of hurt twinges in your chest, but Leon chases it away with pleasure as he teases your nipples with his fingers. 

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimper, pressing your chest out so he can tug harder on your nipples.

“You’re very welcome,” he coos, kissing the apple of your cheek, “such a sweet girl for me today.”

“Missed you,” you sigh out as he pinches your sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger, “feels so good.”

“Seem extra sensitive,” Leon murmurs, squeezing your breasts before rolling the hard buds between his fingers until you’re moaning softly. 

He ducks his head down to lick across a hard nipple, pressing a kiss on the puckered skin of your areola. 

“So sexy,” he groans, hands groping and squeezing the fat of your breasts, fingers tweaking your nipples to watch you shiver, “love playing with your cute tits.”

He latches on to a nipple and groans as he suckles while your fingers tangle in his sandy blonde hair. 

“ Daddy ,” you keen in your throat, fingers tugging at his hair as he nips and sucks at your hard buds. 

“So good,” he laps the trail of spit dripping off of the swell of your breasts, “can tell you like when I suck your tits, baby.”

You lose yourself to his hot mouth as he licks and sucks at your nipples, his big hands cupping your breasts so he can squeeze them. Shifting in his lap, your cunt leaks slick until it’s soaking your thighs letting you easily rock and grind your mound against his fat dick. 

Shifting around, Leon sits with his back against the headboard and pulls you into his lap. You moan as his thick cock parts your pussy lips to grind against your entire cunt. 

“Look at you, precious girl,” Leon’s voice oozes praise, making you writhe in his lap, “soaking wet and we’ve barely started.”

“Leon,” you whisper and he hums, eyes still watching as he ruts his cock against your slit. 

“C-can you spank my pussy?”

He growls, eyes snapping up to your face, “Yeah? My sweet girl needs her pussy slapped?”

“Uh huh,” you lean back, palms pressed against the tops of his knees to put your slick covered cunt on display right in front of him, “really wanna feel it.”

He groans, gaze flicking down to your twitching clit before dragging back up your body to your needy face. 

“Can you stay like that until daddy’s finished?”

You nod your head so fast you're surprised your neck doesn’t hurt. 

“Good girl,” he says before bringing the flat of his fingers down onto the hood of your clit. 

“Oh god,” you keen, thighs jumping as Leon spanks your clit hard and fast. 

Using his other hand, he spreads your pussy lips open so he can spank down on your cunt. After a couple of slaps, each spank of his palm onto your drippy pussy sounds wet and dirty as your hole gushes slick down your ass to drip onto the bed. 

“Daddy’s so lucky to have a girl like you, isn’t he, baby?” Leon smirks up at your panting form, “listen to how much your pussy’s missed me.”

“Need you so bad,” you gasp brokenly, humping forward every time Leon slaps your pussy, “please, daddy, want you so much.”

Giving one last rough smack on your clit, he uses his already damp palm to cup your soaked mound. 

“I think she’s wet enough that you can sit this sweet pussy down onto my cock,” he smiles, a smug little curve of his mouth that makes your cunt throb, “c’mon, now.”

Nodding, you shakily raise back up into his lap and kneel above his thick length as he drags the head through your wet folds. Pressing the tip into your hole, you both moan as you slowly work his dick deeper and deeper into your clenching heat. 

Once he’s balls deep inside you, it makes your pussy clamp down on his fat cock like a vice. 

“Baby, you’re going to make me cum,” he grunts in your ear, hands moving up to cup your breasts. 

“Not yet, please,” you mewl, “can I sit here just like this?”

Leon groans low in his throat, “Yes, cockwarm me in that tight little pussy. Bet she’s missed daddy’s cock stuffed into her hole, huh?” 

You nod quickly, “Missed you so much, ‘m all stretched out.”

He presses his thumb on the hood of your clit and pulls back, showing off the swollen and wet sensitive bundle of nerves. Lightly running his middle finger over your clit, he teases the pudgy bud until you grind down hard into his lap. 

“So good, daddy,” you moan, nails digging into his twitching stomach muscles.  

He uses his other hand to wrap around your waist, helping you grind your slick pussy onto his thick cock. You slowly pull yourself halfway up his thick length then let yourself drop down on his lap, whimpering as his drippy tip kisses your cervix. 

“Don’t push yourself,” he rumbles low in his throat, dragging his fingers against the hood of your slippery clit as his dark eyes stare you down with an unidentifiable emotion. 

“I won’t,” you promise softly as tears gather at your lash line, “want you to stretch me on your big cock, want to make you feel good, daddy. Wanna take care of you.”

“My sweet girl,” he soothes, lifting your hips and slowly sinking you back down onto his cock, walls fluttering until he’s buried deep inside of you. 

You gasp trying to swallow air as he bullies in and out of your spasming pussy at a slow dragging pace. 

“Let me take care of you for now,” he murmurs, eyes dropping down to the collar decorating your neck, “all you have to do is take it, sweetheart.”

“Oh, daddy ,” you moan, hands scratching across his abs, thighs spasming as they squeeze around his hips. 

Leon groans and fucks up into your sopping wet cunt, making your breasts bounce with the force of his thrusts while your mouth gapes open as you draw in haggard breaths. 

“My pretty perfect girl just needs daddy taking care of her, huh?” his grip on your hip becomes bruising as he teases your clit softly with the other before moving that hand up to tug on a hard nipple.  

“Uh huh,” you squirm on his lap, clit throbbing for him to touch you again, “daddy takes such good care of me.”

He hums and keeps teasing your nipples before reaching up to loop a finger through the front of the collar, “You’re going to let me handle everything from now on.”

You nod jerkily, dislodging Leon’s hand from your collar making him drag his hand back down to your swollen clit. He surges up to messily lick past your lips, sucking on your tongue before filling your mouth with his own. Pulling away, he messily kisses down to your neck, teeth sinking into the skin above your collar making you whimper and rock down against him. 

“Daddy, s’good,” you mewl wantonly, nails scratching along his pecs making him buck harder into you. 

“I know,” he croons, making your cunt clench around his dick, “mmm, you and that cute pussy love the way daddy takes care of you.”

Whining, you bounce your ass faster, feeling dizzy with want at the low possessive tone coloring Leon’s voice. 

He picks up the pace, cock thrusting up into you harderand harder , grinding against the spongy spot at the front of your cunt every time he slips inside. He moves the hand gripping your waist around to grasp the fat of your ass, helping you bounce on his dick. The other continues to rub your pudgy clit with soft barely there touches that drives your arousal higher. 

“Leon,” you moan, pussy clenching down on his thick cock, eyes fluttering as the pleasure builds. 

“Are you getting close, sweet girl?” he coos, “this pretty little pussy keeps getting tighter and tighter. Needed this so badly, didn’t she?”

“Yes, yes!” You moan, hips stuttering and messing up your rhythm, “daddy, please, ‘m so close!”

“I’ve got you,” he slips out of your soaked cunt and eases you down onto your back, the sheets warm against your skin from Leon’s imprint.

Spreading your thighs, he kneels between your legs and guides his fat dick back into your twitching hole. His eyes watch your pussy greedily suck his cock back in with every short thrust until his pelvis is flush against yours. 

He grabs your legs and places them over his shoulders, letting him lower himself down, forearms boxing in your head. You gasp out a whimper as the new angle has Leon’s cock pressed up against your cervix. He waits a beat and you slowly relax your tense muscles as that sharp bite of pain transforms into pleasure. 

“That’s my girl,” he kisses the apple of your cheeks before taking your lips in a sloppy spit filled kiss that makes your pussy clamp down on his cock, “daddy’s good girl.”

“‘m yours,” you choke on a gasp as he pulls out to bully his dick back into your warm wet cunt, “my pussy’s yours. All of me is yours.”

Leon’s hips rabbit into your squelching pussy as he groans at your, unknown to you, damning words. 

“Say it again,” he growls down at you, hands squeezing your thighs as he keeps you pressed open for his hungry gaze. 

“I belong to you. ‘M all yours, daddy,” you babble up at him, tears sticking to your lashes causing them to clump together, “you make me feel so good.”

“Perfect, fucking perfect,” he mutters before rocking his hips down, “going to take such good care of you, keep you safe, give you everything you ever need.”

“Jus’ need you,” you slur as his tip hammers against your g-spot sending sparks of pleasure buzzing through your body. 

“Please, Leon— daddy ,” your nails score down his back making him grunt, “w’nna cum, want you to cum in me.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans, roughly flicking his thumb on your clit as he grinds into your pussy. 

“Going to make you cum for me, baby,” he kisses you again, nipping your bottom lip, “daddy wants to feel you cream all over his cock.”

You shudder as he spanks the first two fingers of his hand down onto the hood of your clit. 

“Oh, oh, god,” you toss your head back, body thrashing against the bed, “I’m gonna cum, daddy. You’re gonna make me cum .”

He bites your neck just as his fingers swipe your pudgy clit, tipping you over the edge and sending your hips arching off the bed as pleasure washes over your body. Your walls pulse and flutter around his cock making Leon groan and snap his hips into you harder. 

“Feels so good — fuck ,” he groans, burying his cock deep inside your spasming cunt and cumming, hot jizz coating your walls. 

His thrusts begin to stutter while he fills your used cunt with rope after rope of thick sticky cum. You feel his cock throb and kick inside your fluttering walls as your pussy keeps milking him for every last drop of cum. He grunts while he continues to finish inside of you. 

“There’s so much,” you whisper, loving the feeling of being so full of Leon. 

“I’ve been a little backed up, sweetheart,” he kisses you, all dirty and wet, while he finishes stuffing you to the brim. 

You sigh when he slowly pulls out, Leon hissing at the sensation. He lays down next to you, pulling you into his arms as you both catch your breaths. 

“Thank you,” you tilt your head up to kiss his jaw, “you waited for me and I appreciate it.”

His sea dark eyes watch you as his lips tic up into a little smile. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” he kisses the top of your head. 

You hum, pleased, and tangle your legs with his, “Can we have dinner later? I’m really tired now.”

“Mmhmm,” he runs his fingers down your back, muscles twitching as you relax even further against him.

It doesn’t take long for you to pass out, snuggled against Leon’s warm chest as he pets you softly. 

═════ °• ♔ •° ═════

After you fall asleep, Leon slips away, tugging the blankets up around your naked shoulders before leaving the bedroom. He makes his way downstairs to his office and pulls out the burner phone hidden in a secret drawer of his desk. 

He quickly dials a number and drums his fingers along the wood desktop as he waits. A familiar voice finally picks up. 

“I’m calling you back,” Leon grins to himself, idly tracing his fingertips across his desk.

“Yeah, everything’s good here. This time next year I think I can talk her into selling the place and we’ll move south, somewhere with a beach I think.”

The voice chatters away on the other line making Leon laugh.

“You’re not wrong. I just can’t believe some complete stranger beat me to the punch,” he frowns down at his knuckles, “kind of wanted to take her out myself for the hell of it, but this way my hands are 100% clean. And it won’t look strange to keep my sweet stepdaughter in my care.”

His blue eyes dart to the closed door as he lets the other man on the line talk. 

“Mmhmm. I was just checking in to see if everything’s been taken care of in regards to the father.”

He nods along, the grin blooming into a smirk, “Excellent. No, no need to get rid of him unless he proves to be an obstacle. Sounds like he’s making himself scarce without any prompting which is great.”

Chancing a quick glance to the clock on the wall, he stands up from his desk. 

“Great work as usual. I’ll wire the money into the account tonight.”

He hangs up the phone and quickly disassembles it; he runs a magnet over each piece before dropping it all into a small bowl of water he kept off to the side earlier in the evening. Tomorrow, he’ll get rid of it completely but for now he’d rather rejoin you upstairs. 

He lets himself daydream about your new life together as he double checks that everything is locked up tight before retiring for the night. Your mom’s death wasn’t planned, at least not in a sense, so it put a bit of a wrench into his plans. However, everything has worked out wonderfully in the long run. Your deadbeat dad is too busy with his own life to give you the time of day leaving Leon the one person you rely upon. 

He’s been patiently waiting all of this time, letting you grieve and navigate the death of your mother without his interference, only to reap the benefits now. The way you’re reacting and behaving gives him complete confidence that he’ll be the only one in your life from now on; months from now, when he asks you to be his second wife far away from this place, he’s positive you’ll say yes. 

Entering the bedroom, he takes in your sleeping form underneath the sheets and feels that same old hunger stir in his chest. He climbs back into bed and spoons your body from behind. Feeling his cock thicken against your ass, he slips his dick between your thighs, still damp from the activities earlier. Rutting slowly, he gently fucks your thighs as you sigh and squirm in your sleep. 

Reaching around, his hands grope your breasts, fingers quickly tweaking and tugging on your puffy nipples. 

“Daddy?” Your groggy voice just makes him harder and he rocks forward a little more roughly. 

“Just needed to touch you,” he bites your neck and you clamp your thighs together making him groan. 

“Inside,” you whine, “please.”

“Shhh,” he nips your ear, “let daddy have his fun.”

Shivering, you moan as Leon teases your nipples while he fucks his cock against your leaking pussy, plush thighs squeezing him just right. As much as he wants to slip right into your hot pussy, he likes making you beg for it. 

It’s a slow back and forth as he plays with your tits and makes you soak his cock with slick before he teases the tip against your hole. He’ll never get tired of this, of having you so soft and malleable, all for his enjoyment.  

“Oh, please, daddy, please,” you pant, hips pressing back against his, “need you to fuck me, need to feel you so bad.”

Smug satisfaction drips like honey down his spine as he slides the tip of his cock into your soaked hole. He hisses through clenched teeth as your cunt greedily sucks his cock further into your sticky wet walls. Once he bottoms out, he notices how much noise you’re making, cut off little whimpers and moans that has his cock kicking inside your snug cunt. 

“ Thank you, thank you, thank you ,” you chant under your breath, bolstering his already inflated ego. 

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs against your ear, feeling you clamp down around his dick. 

It’s almost too easy he thinks while he thrusts his cock in and out of your squelching pussy. It’s obvious to anyone that you were meant for him, meant for this. Gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, he picks up the pace, fucking into you so hard and fast that you can only gasp and whine. 

Reaching around, his fingers circle your clit firmly until your pussy’s clenching rhythmically around his cock as you cum.

“There we go,” he whispers in your ear, “cum on my cock, squeeze daddy’s dick so he can fill you up again.”

He lets you ride it out for a moment before hammering his dick into your spasming pussy. It doesn’t take too long with the way your cunt’s milking his cock for him to spill hot and thick inside your needy pussy for the second time that night. 

You sigh happily as he paints your pussy walls white with his sticky cum until it’s dripping out around his cock. Pulling out, he grunts to see globs of jizz ooze from your used pussy. 

“My perfect girl,” he kisses the back of your head. 

“Mmhmm,” you murmur sleepily, drifting off before he can even clean you up, “love you, Leon.”

His lips twitch up into a wicked grin, “Love you too, beautiful.” 

Getting up out of bed, he heads to the en suite bathroom to grab a damp cloth. He returns and gently cleans you up, feeling nothing but pride as he takes in the collar still cinched around your neck. Tossing the washcloth into the hamper, he makes his way back to you. He pulls you into his chest, feeling elated when you snuggle up underneath his chin. 

You press a soft feathery kiss against his pecs and hum before drifting into a deeper sleep. Running a hand down your back, a feeling of possessive ownership flares up in his chest. His fingers drift up to the collar, softly rubbing against the clasp. He’ll need to buy you an everyday one now, something that shows you’re all his. Maybe something with his initials. He’ll have to see how you react to the idea first. Dropping his hand to your shoulder, his pinky brushes against the collar and he feels his cock twitch against his thigh. 

Deciding to let you sleep a little more before waking you up for a late dinner, he idly traces patterns against your bare skin. This is what it’s going to be like from now on he thinks with almost giddy anticipation. And regardless of what happens from here on out, he knows you’re his forever more. 

[pineapplehazard]

Just finished s7!!! Right on time✨

Now did I cry when Eddie said goodbye to Chris? Yes, yes I did.

But here's my thoughts about the last two episodes:

- Eddie Diaz : the whole thing with Kim was actually crazy of him, but her playing Shannon?? That man has a reason to act like a mad man but girl what are YOU doing?? That was a quick expedition out for Marisol too, Buck and him see to have a way to make girlfriends disappear this season.

- Chris Diaz : valid. I get why he thinks it's better for him to be away from his father for some time, it's probably a good thing actually for them to have space to breath and accept what happened. But the Diaz parents?? Ramon shit talking about Shannon every chances he's giving (he literally did it at her funeral that man has no shame), and Helena acting like she just won lottery, please at least ACT like you're not happy to take Chris from you son. Honestly if my own mom wasn't sitting right next to me I would have been insulting both of them so MUCH.

- Hen Wilson : I'm mad that they were all going to be happy and then that woman whose son hasn't been mentioned since like ep2? comes to take her revenge out of nowhere. When I saw Mara all closed on herself and quiet when Hen visited her that broke my heart😭 then at the end the emotional whiplash of Chris leaving, instantly followed by the Wilsons getting reunited with Mara, ouch (is it like 'a soul for a soul' but with family, like they CANNOT be happy at the same time??), also I know the plot was for Gerrard to come back, but I love Captain Wilson, and I wanted her to take after Bobby

- Chimney and Maddie: they're relatively absent from the final 2 eps so I don't have much to say, I loved Chimney calling Gerrard trash to his face, and I loved Maddie. I just love Maddie.

- Buck : such a good husband for his chaotic dating-the-doppelganger-of-his-deceased-ex husband... He was just so supportive and trying to help, gosh he's just so cute. But MORE IMPORTANTLY where's my angst?? You're telling me Bobby's in a coma, and all we got from Buck (who's basically his son) is one line of dialog AFTER we know Bobby's going to be alright? Sentence immediately followed by an awkward sex joke argh!! My favorite thing about 911 is Bobby and Buck's relationship and I don't know if it's just an impression but i feel like they barely had any interaction this season, I missed them, I need more of them!! Also all things considered Buck had quite a quiet and calm season, which does feel weird and not something that will stick

- Athena : she mentioned Emmett and I was just woop crying incoming! I'm not gonna dwell on the whole cartel thing, I'm sure people already express so many opinions on this, my real question is how many times can Athena break rules before getting a problem with the hierarchy? (ik she did in s1, but since then she's been pulling some sketchy moves from time to time with no problems afterwards). Also ik the house was going to burn but I hadn't thought of the implications, that they would loose all the memories and stuff and that's so sad, I totally get her panic about wanting to get everything that's on her phone to still have SOMETHING.

-Bobby : please bobby never leave the 118, maybe they could handle it but I couldn't, so please don't leave ever.

(-Tommy : whether you ship them or not, the last scene we got of them together (dinner at Buck's) should start an alarm in your brain about their future together, specially once you consider Gerrard's come back. Tommy literally says that Gerrard's the closest things he got to a father figure when he was in the 118, and that it didn't help him be a better person. (ik he's not saying he saw Gerrard the way Buck see Bobby but he still acknowledge that he saw him as a model of some sort), that's the online line 'acknowledging' Tommy's past actions, but also showing that he followed Gerrard's lead, and we know Buck is not going to appreciate Gerrard's way of leading and this definitely could be a big cause of conflict between Buck and Tommy...)

It feels weird to finally be up to date, and to know killer bees will attack LA in two days😭

I FORGOT RAVI!!

He was there for 3seconds but still, I was so happy seeing him, and ik so far it doesn't seem he'll be back in s8 for some time, so I'm devastated