#hes had it multiple times before and also every night for MONTHS in pill form

[125storejuice]

.

[suchagallabitch]

35 and/or 37 💘💘

Prompt by the lovely Drish, @sluttymickey❤

35: “kissing their bruises and scars” & 37: “putting their head on the other’s chest”

Send me prompts from this list!

Read on A03 Or Undercut!

CW: bipolar depression

Then Fall into Me

“You’re a fuckin dumbass, man” Mickey laughed, trailing after Ian as the two made their way back into the apartment. He shut the door behind him, still chittering a laugh.

Normally, that type of teasing would lead to playful pushing which would lead to wrestling on the couch which would lead to clothes being torn off. But that night was different.

Ian just huffed. Seeming to be magnetically drawn to the couch, not being able to stand being on his feet for more than a few seconds at a time. “Mickey,” he looked up at his husband exasperatedly as if to ask him to stop.

Mickey didn’t seem to get the clue. “Nah, This is what happens when you listen to your dumbass brother”.

Ian had honestly not been in a good mood all day. He woke up with a crank in his neck. His entire day felt like he was going through the motions in jello. Everything painfully slow to the point of irritation.

He had hoped that his shitty day would be slightly better by the time the Gallagher weekly dinner rolled around.

He loved his family, missed them despite the fact that he texted most of them every day. He grew to appreciate seeing them every Friday night but that afternoon had been just too much.

Debbie and Lip had gone at it the entire afternoon. From when the Gallagher-Milkovich’s walked through the front door till dessert was served the two were at one another throats yelling. Tami had also burst into tears multiple times during the night which was its own type of exhausting. She was nearing eight months pregnant, her hormones seemed to be getting the best of her emotions.

Ian couldn’t even get any sanctuary in trying to tune his family out and just talking to his husband the whole night, either. Franny had plopped herself in the seat between the two. He loved his niece, he really did. But the high pitched screech of her excitedly recalling every painstaking detail of her week was making him want to bash his head in.

Even though he couldn’t make out much of what Franny was saying he understood her repeating “snow”.

Franny wanted to go play outside when she realised it started to snow right before they sat down for dinner. It was still Autumn, technically, but winter seemed to start earlier and earlier every year. Franny eventually got her wish, dragging him out by his hand.

“Uncle Ian, can we play snowball fights?”

Ian had bit his lip, unsure how to say no, he really wasn’t in the mood. Carl chirped in before Ian had time to formulate a response.

“Sure, Fran! Come on Ian, it’ll be fun”

‘Fine’. He thought, maybe it would get his mind off of things.

He got a good few hits in before misstepping. He came toppling down onto his side. Long story short, he was sent home with a bag of frozen peas.

Now in the living room, Mickey huffed out of his nose in amusement as he looked at his husband. The half thawed bag of peas now abandoned on the side of the couch.

Ian’s arm already started to bruise. Mickey imagined so did his hip which he fell directly upon. The left side of his face was a little swollen, his cheeks flushed, purple starting to form.

“You look like you got your ass handed to you” Mickey’s voice was still playful. He figured that Ian wasn’t in a ton of pain. He would usually vocalise it if he was but there he stood stoically silent.

Mickey’s hand extended forward to cup Ian’s cheek. Everything about Ian’s switch in demeanour suddenly clicked into place when Ian pushed Mickey’s hand off of him.

“Hey” Mickey’s voice instantly went soft. A tone that he pretty much exclusively saved for his husband.

Mickey wasn’t going to ask the question each of the other Gallagher’s would ask in a heartbeat: Are you taking your meds? There was no point, Mickey knew the answer was yes. He watched as Ian took his pills every morning and night. Watched as Ian did whatever he could to keep this disease under control. Mickey also knew he hated when people asked him that. As if it was something that he was doing to make that situation worse and not just his fucked up brain.

So he settled on a quiet. “Are you feeling ok?” as he sat down next to Ian, pushing their thighs together.

Ian just gave a little shrug.

‘Ok,’ Mickey thought. He could work with that. “C’mere”

Ian eyed his husband warily for a second before he fell into his arms. The two shuffled to get comfortable, bodies morphing and trying to fit together. Ian settled with a huff, his head resting against Mickey’s chest. His eyes fluttered shut, the rhythm of Mickey’s heart beating the only sound he could bear that day. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Mickey’s head found a place atop Ian’s.

“I’m gonna go get you some Advil” Mickey patted Ian’s good arm to signal he was able to stand but Ian’s meek voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Please stay”

So he did. He didn’t say anything back, instead grabbed Ian’s injured arm, wincing as Ian flinched. Mickey raised his partner’s limb to his lips. His mouth ghosted over the injuries before peppering Ian’s arm up and down with soft kisses. He even kissed the thin scar on his forearm he got when he was a kid for good measure.

Ian knew how hard he fell, Mickey would always be there to help him back up.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Garcy + ''come to bed.''

Usual post-canon-divergence situation, PG-ish, also on ao3.

It’s all still so strange.

Six months since their war – and that’s what it was, Flynn thinks, it may have been small but it was still brutal and that is what counts – ended, five months since they were thrown back into the civilian world, five months since he followed her home because he wasn’t sure what else to do and the idea of not being close was unthinkable and-

Half a year should be long enough to form new routines, but when has his life ever been that simple?

It’s hard enough to keep a normal sleep schedule, something he… has never done well with, come to think of it, his life has rarely been stable enough for such things but even when it has he has struggled. Too haunted by all he has seen, too much too soon and then never really stopping, and more recently the worst horror a person could ever witness and-

By comparison, being able to blame the more recent issues on the strangeness of being in a bed that was actually intended for multiple occupants, and the strangeness of knowing that alarms will not go off in the middle of the night, is almost soft. Feels like excuses, really, but such little things are problematic all the same and-

At least his partner has not had the same difficulties. Lucy is newer to all of this, to the nightmares she now struggles with, but she is better about it. She forces herself into routines that he suspects are close to what she kept before her life was taken out from under her, tries to find every sense of normal she can, and on the long nights she takes little pills that quiet her mind and it seems to be enough. Braver than he is, more determined, more-

It is late – his internal sense of time is perhaps permanently broken – and he is in the only chair in this half-emptied house that feels adequate for his limbs, and there are too many instincts fighting in his mind and he is ignoring all of them. He has taken to reading anything that doesn’t feel real, complicated epic fantasies that do not remind him of any of his experiences, and he could finish the current distraction by whenever his body finally gives up on the night and that seems like an excellent plan. Drown out the noise any way he can, and this is a relatively healthy coping mech, and-

He is distracted enough, too distracted, that he does not feel the hand on his shoulder, does not notice anything at all until his partner kisses his forehead.

“Come to bed,” she says in that voice he has learned means you-get-one-chance-before-this-escalates. “You won’t be comfortable if you end up falling asleep down here.”

It has been some time since anyone has worried about his comfort this vocally – he often thinks, in the warmest way, that the two wildly different probable loves of his life would enjoy each other’s company – and it still feels unusual enough that he has no choice to respond. No choice but to look up into her deep eyes and melt under her hands for a moment, no choice but to remember he had once offered to follow her into hell if that’s where their war took them and it very nearly did and-

“I’m not…”

He does not talk about the places his mind goes sometimes, the various layers of trauma at variable volume, how sometimes his connection to reality itself feels hesitant. It is one thing to carry her weight as he can, to find purpose that way; it would be another, one he does not feel right about yet, to burden her without deep reasons. His disclosures have been limited to the occasional nightmares; he suspects she’s noticed other things, but she has chosen not to say anything and he is thankful for that whatever her unknown reasons are. It is easier to protect, it is easier to-

“You can hold me,” she murmurs, and in her way she is everything he could ever hope for. “I sleep better that way.”

That is reason enough to give in, to put the book aside and take her hand and follow her up the stairs. Reason enough to let his body take up space on the bed – they are forming new routines, mindful of physical differences – and be calmed by how she fits into the empty spaces. If this is how he can make himself useful then it is enough, if this is-

“Try to close your eyes,” she breathes, and in the darkness he suspects hers already are. “For me. Please.”

He does.

Rest does not come quickly. It never does. But it is easier like this, with her, with this one thing he hasn’t failed yet. So many near-misses and she is still here, still making a life for both of them, still quietly purring in his arms, still-

For the first time in a long time, he does not dream at all.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Never Again || Thomas Shelby x reader

credits to @saralou23​ for the gif

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “can I request a fic where the reader is found unconscious or faints in the shop or something and tommy freaks out? I just find protective tommy so ❤️💓💟!! Thank you, your writing is absolutely INCREDIBLE” (Thank you so much honeybun, you’re making me blush, pls, forgive me for being late ❤️)

Warnings: swearing, bossy Tommy, basically Tommy freaking out and being overprotective, me always loving him with all of my mangled soul

Author’s notes:

I hope you are okay darlings, I love you, please stay safe ♡

I’m so sorry for being this late, I have no excuses, forgive me. Also the end sucks, but I’m struggling with my writing lately, so, sorry again.

I love protective Thomas so much, he’s an ass, but he’s a softie, and I’m gonna lose my mind some day.

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham’s gelid air hit your sensitive skin with no mercy as soon as your red mary-janes crossed the doorway of the Garrison, only to disgracefully sink into the greyish muddy loam in which the whole of Small Heath seemed to be covered.

Your fingers felt like rigid appendages burdening your already wearied arms, while you tried your best to wrap them around your coat’s edges, in a disperate effort to keep that warm tissue on your bulging clavicles left exposed by the woollen dress you were wearing. No matter how many heavy clothes you decided to put on, that implacable cold still succeeded in making you feel constantly out of forces, debilitated to the core; it had always been that way, since you were nothing more than a little girl obliged to spend one every two months confined in your bedroom, afflicted by incredibly high fever and sometimes even bronchitis.

Truth was that your body had never got used to England’s humid weather, yet, even though you poor healt had previously put you in danger, for your sake, thanks to the enormous progresses made by medicine in the past fifteen years, it was now easy to fight against the ruthless chill of those endless winters. Plus, since the earliest days of your attendence, your wardrobe had been perpetually refreshed with high-quality pieces perfectly in step with the times, for your fiancée had been literally covering you in furs and duvets of all kinds, concerned as he was that you could’ve eventually caught another bad fever, whose deathly consequences he had already experienced on his own thick skin. And for no reason in the world he would’ve even risked to lose you too.

So, as everybody could’ve easily predicted, Thomas was perennially paying attention to your wellbeing: the most famous specialists from inside and outside the United Kingdom had come directly to your country house; if one thing could be taken for granted, it was that your medications would always be settled on your side cabinet, together with a glass of fresh water, every day and every night; and, come hell or high water, he would accompany you during your routine visits to the hospital, even when it meant leaving all of his business without any prior warning.

Needless to say, you were perfectly able to do those things on your own -pheraps except for getting a crowd of world renowned doctors in your living room- and you sure as hell had tried to persuade him that there was no need at all for being so preoccupied all the time; still, he was Tommy Shelby, he simply couldn’t help it. 

The concern for his loved ones’ lives kept stealing his sleep, even on those nights when there was no trace of imminent dangers on the horizon, it kept excoriating the insides of his drained brains, to the point that, more than once, you’d had to sleep alone in your immense king-size bed or reach for him in his study, curling up on one of his uncomfortable armchairs, ready to appease his fears as best you could. In short, for as much as you needed him to relax, you were still able to understand his protective behavior, against which, as a matter of fact, no one could do much; thus you at least tried not to give him more reasons to be worried by paying some extra attention to all those small things you could solve without Tommy even knowing about it. Regularly taking your iron tablets, for example. Nonetheless, it had now been already a week since the Peaky Blinders had started a brand new business involving in effect every metalworking factory in and around Birmingham, and the whole family, you and Tom included, had been so turbulently tied up with work to let every other thought and need slither on the back burner. As a direct consequence, your doctor’s latest prescription was unfortunately left lying on the bottom of your drawer, that being the fourth day in a row you’d spent without taking those pills, and, even though everything appeared to be going well until then, that one Thursday morning your period eventually came and stroke the fatal blow, having you feel so faint and aching that, all of a sudden, the few metres separating your side of the street from the betting shop seemed to implausibly dilate right under your blurred vision, a vexing sense of nausea assaulting your empty stomach led you to lean against a lamppost, your skin still crawling beneath all those heavy tissues.  Dizziness and lethargy almost took over your sore mind, before you shook your head with an abrupt move in a bid to dispel those unpleasent sensations; clients would’ve arrived in less than a hour, Esme had taken John’s kids on a brief fieldtrip, Michael was already in his office, the boys were making their usual rounds of the mills, Finn and Isaiah were dealing with a couple folks in need back at the Garrison and Polly was nowhere in sight, which made you the only available blinder for the opening and, with Friday’s race approaching, there was no way the box-office could remain shut. Hence, more determined than ever, you chocked down the knot forming in your throat due to queasiness and just forced youself to put one foot in front of the other onto the dusty road, until you reached the shop door, not without the risk of tripping over multiple times in the process. Your frozen fingers clutched to the small side-wall now carring all of your weight, whilst your lungs tried to let in as much air as possible. And it worked, each plodding breath seemed to fight your sickness, also your heartbeat was gradually slowing down, thus you shut your eyelids and continued to inhale deeply for a full minute, before your trembilng hand managed to finally turn the key in the lock, giving you free access to the place. 

However, the small click produced by the latch closing again did not live to reach your ears, for they were already brimful of ominous hisses, in a scant moment a bulk of hypnotic grey worms prevented you from seeing anything else, they relentlessly squirmed in front of your dilated pupils, that repulsing view sending brutal shooks straight to your clenched stomach, again. And, before you even had a chance to realize what was going on, your brain completely blacked out.

                                                    ~ ~ ~

Words would not be sufficient to describe the fright taking over Arthur’s features the second your inert silhouette entered his line of sight. Just returned from their daily patrol, he had indeed noticed a small crowd waiting outside the office, cursing and fussing because of the lacked opening, and that alone had been weird enough for him to punch and kick his way up to the entrance, profanities spilling from his mustached mouth every time somebody’s elbow digged into his ribcage, inducing him to hit back so to stand his ground, only to eventually find himself powerless in front of that ghastly scene. It took him a while to recover from the shock, yet the eldest Shelby eventually regained control of his limbs and moved towards your shape with a single step.

“Polly! Pol, come here, for God’s sake!” Those hoarse yells filled the room, reverberating through the brickwalls, so loud that they could’ve been heard from the other side of the city, Arthur fell on his knees right beside you, gently placing a hand under your nape in order to lift your head. Blind panic streaming in his veins kept him for thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, thus he simply shook you from your shoulders, hoping in vain to see your eyes fly back open, but your neck just bent backwards.

“Where the hell is that bloody woman when I need her?!” he grunted those words in between his teeth while tigthening his grip on you, then his chest raised in a sharp move: “Jesus Christ, Polly!” He shouted once more, this time conveying all of his breath and blood towards his larynx, his abrasive voice shriveled and insisted on the last letters of his aunt’s name, until swift strides frantically hit the creaking steps, announcing Polly’s arrive. Her eyes struggled to remain open, her left palm was pressed against her forehead in a silly attempt to soothe the tremendous headache resulted from the previous night’s booze, she didn’t even have the time to put proper clothing on, since her mad niece was apparentely going berserk. “You, son of a bastard-” cursed words died underneath her tongue when she understood what was going on, soon her feet took on a life of their own, as they picked up their peace, leading her next to your body now held in Arthur’s arms.

“She’s freezing, Pol, she’s a fucking chunk of ice!” Hiccoughs shattered his worried cries, he almost whined, shifting his gaze from yours to Polly’s face over and over again, she, on the other hand, used the whole lenght of her right arm to clear in one smooth motion the closest desk. “Quick, lay her here” The deafening noise produced by those items colliding with the pavement barely grazed her hears, whilst she nodded to herself in the effort to impose some order on her obfuscated head, searching for a prompt solution that was late in coming, to the point that Finn beat it to the draw and stormed in, pointing a loaded gun to each corner of the room with fear in his cerulean irises. “What the hell’s going on?” That hysterical question echoed through the place, even though the young boy was finding it hard to get his breath, due to the crazy run he had made to reach the shop immediately after hearing that insane screaming. Nonetheless, in the space of an instant, he saw you as well and fell utterly silent, violent dismay caught him off guard, his wide eyes hesitated on your motionless figure; all of a sudden he didn’t know what to think, nor he could get the thought of your death out of his brains.

“My God, she’s as pale as death” Finn let his mind talk through that throttled murmur, regretting it right away, for silty goosebumps crawled on his skin under the pungent pressure of his brother’s instantaneous lethal glare. “Don’t talk shit, kid! Just fucking go and get Tom!”

The redhead didn’t waste any time, he somehow managed to recollect his guts and steadily disappeared behind the door previously left open. While struggling for air and internally searching for the right words to say in front of Thomas, Finn covered the whole distance between the office and the Garrison. Labored gasps coming out of his slightly parted lips in louder groans as he slammed the heavy pub’s doors open, using only his strongest shoulder; both Harry and Isaiah watched him run towards the back room where Tommy was going through the books, they did not dare spill a word and, after all, the boy didn’t even look in their direction, such was his concentration. Still, once he reached the place, all of a sudden his tongue felt dry, his well-organised speech faded away.

“Finn?! What’s wrong?” Tom’s icy eyes were now staring at him through his round glasses, the paper he’d been reading was instantly dropped, although his tone remained steady. “Y-you need to come, now! She... she’s-” A frown formed upon Tommy’s marble face at his little brother’s furious rambling, something wasn’t right, that was crystal clear, yet he wasn’t able to keep up with those hasty and stuttered sentences, so he approached him, putting both his hands on Finn’s shoulders in order to give him a little shove and maybe get some decent information. “Breathe, kid, and tell me what’s going on” That deep, adamant tone somehow sounded scarier than usual roaring inside the boy’s head, hence anxiety definitively won him over, gaining complete control of his mouth too. “It’s Y/n! I don’t fucking know, Tom, s-she looks dead!” All at once, time and space seemed to collapse around him, one single second dilated, covering the space of a whole lifetime beyond his vacant blue irises now fixed on an undetermined spot of the white wall behind Finn’s back.   A gruesome, yet familiar sensation raided his petrified body, it felt like having a beast’s fangs gnawing his throat off, lacerating his flesh to the bone, he could sense every little laceration, his chest being plundered, till even his sable heart was eradicated and then mauled. A strangled wheeze barely lived through his plump lips, that being the only sound he uttered, then his black pupils shrinked and immediately twitched, nailing his sibiling’s gaze. Without receiving an order from his brain, his fists violently gripped Finn’s jacket at the height of his biceps, bringing him a span away from his gnashed teeth with a sharp pull. “Where?” He snarled liked a rabid dog, striking, if possible, geater terror in the young man who struggled to spit an almost inaudible “The shop”, before being shoved against the doorframe as Tommy dodged him and rushed out.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

Polly held the bottle of her almond parfume she’d just put under your nostrils as if her life depended on it, Arthur’s rough palm, instead, began to pat your pasty cheek. “C’mon, love, wake up! Don’t play games, c’mon!” The dorsum of that same hand now poking the left side of your face, and then going back to the other, at incredible speed. You started to feel your face again when his nudges grew in intensity, until he was practically slapping you; soon a tremendous metallic taste invaded your mouth, or rather, you finally sensed it, whilst your eyelids battled against gravity to get back up. Arthur noticed it, he detected that brief flinch and it felt like being pampered with a fresh breeze after days of unsustainable heat. “Oh, fuck, I think I’m having a stroke” His tone held extreme urgency as he grasped for air, tugging with two fingers at his shirt collar; sure, he was great at knocking people off, maybe the best, yet, unfortunately, after that he’d never tried to bring somenody back with the living.

Blinding light rended your shrouded eyes, everything appeared blurred to the point that you couldn’t distinguish Polly’s features, although she was right beside you; nor your hearing was working, since the loud thud produced by the wooden door hitting the brickwall, and then your name barked by your fiancée’s coarse voice, sounded muffled to your ears. With a superhuman effort you succeeded in tilting your face towards the entrance, you recognized the navy-blue suit Thomas had chosen to wear earlier in the moring, still those nebulous images reached your brains with extreme delay, it was like watching vague movie scenes stream in slow motion. Your eyelids blinked as if a plumbeous burden was anchored to them, each flutter seemed to last a full minute, so that you perceived Tom coming to you in multiple shattered motions, while he kept calling you. The moment Tommy furiously jostled against Arthur, in order to take his place by the desk, you gradually went back to see and hear clearly, now being able to seize pure dread sailing those mesmerizing ocean eyes. “Thank goodness, y/n” His big palms envelopped both your cheeks, slightly squeezing them as he lift your neck, revealing all of his hidden delicacy that you, and you only, were able to bring out. “Y/n, love, talk to me” That order came out like a prayer, his voice betraying him once too often, his fingers shaking with worry, while one of his hands held your chin and the other went to caress your locks. Those loving strokes brushed against your skin, slowly infusing a little warmth into your gelid body, he touched you with the unbearable fear of watching you pass away in between his arms, having him struggle to breathe properly. “Do you hear me?” a single, salty drop fell from his long eyelashes and poured your lower lip, you heard his voice crack, distorting, until it became nothing more than a faint whine: “Please, love, talk to me” When his forehead pressed against yours, he finally gave in to the tears that had been held back with drastic ostination, shutting his eyes for a few instants he allowed brutal sobs to trounce his already aching chest. However, that moment of raw weakness was soon restrained, so that you returned to stare into his blue irises. Then, a small grin crossed your pale mouth and, even though your throat felt like gasoline on fire, preventing you from pronouncing a single syllable, you managed to guide your tiny hand to cup his sharp cheekbone. A burning kiss was pressed on its dorsum, before Tommy completely leant into your touch, giving you a look halfway between relief and disperation, he covered your hand with his own, holding it tight. “You’re okay, you’re safe” Those soft murmurs escaped his lips, probably aimed to placate the axphyziating terror still intoxicating his veins. Indeed, as hard as it was to conceive for everybody in that room, although you were the one just recovering from a sudden collapse, Tommy was now the one trembling like a fallen leaf, his arms rested on each side of your shape, sustaining his weight, as he barely stood on his own two feet. Slowly, you regained the necessary strenght to lift your bust, leading him to flutter in your direction, promptly enlacing his forearms around your waist in order to support your movements. “Hold onto me, darling, take it slow” His raspy voice was still unsteady and full of concern, he was holding his breath out of fear, gazing at you with wide eyes and tightening the grip on your hips as if to make sure that you wouldn’t vanish in his palms. You, on the other hand, gave him a rassuring smile, caressing his face mutliple times and placing a brief kiss on his mouth. “I’m fine, Tommy, I’m here with you” you eventually spoke close to his ear so to keep that conversation between the two of you “Let go, my love, I’m here” Your lips accidentally brushed against his forehead once he listened to you and abandoned himself to your tender embrace, gradually drowning into your soft chest while his arms clung on to your figure, his fingertips almost piercing the thick material of your dress as your cheek covered his head, totally annihilating the distance. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Never again”.

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress , @eggingamazinglove​, @geeksareunique​, @cailoleaf​, @simonsbluee​ , @hereforsmutandfluff​, @starxtt​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @staygold-bebold​, @marvelschriss​, @captivatedbycillianmurphy​

[marvelslut16]

Stick and poke

Prompt number: 7 “yes I did, what about it?”

Fandom: IT

Paring: Eddie Kaspbrak x reader (aged up to 17 or 18)

Rating: T

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of underage drinking. Mentions underage smoking. Mentions teens giving each other stick and pokes- I beg of you not to try at home! Swearing.

A/N: First time writing Eddie! I feel like all I write for now are Marvel and IT. Borderline punk and/or rebellious Eddie. 

You and the rest of the losers are sitting in a circle on the floor of your underground clubhouse in the barrens playing a game of truth or dare. In the middle of the circle sits a large decanter of some brown alcohol you can’t be bothered to remember the name of, each time someone calls chicken they have to take a swig of the drink. As the game progresses, the liquid starts to steadily decrease, most of the time due to Richie’s questions. 

The losers not caring if they get drunk, each one lied to their parents and said they were spending the night at one of the others houses. So none of them have to worry about stumbling home drunk in the middle of the night, instead all of them staying overnight at the clubhouse. 

“Dare,” you smirk confidently at your friend with coke bottle glasses. So far you’re the only person to pick dare with the trashmouth, the rest choosing truth and most using chickens.  

“(Y/N/N), I dare you to” Richie smiles mischievously, you regret letting the trashmouth in on your feelings for his best friend. “To kiss Eds.”

“What?” Eddie looks panicked and starts hyperventilating. He reaches for his inhaler, quickly taking two puss from it. “That’s disgusting! Do you know how many diseases you can get from a single kiss?”

Eddie continues to ramble on about how unsanitary it is and you eye the decanter, which Richie stole from his father’s alcohol cabinet, in front of you. You’ve had the least amount of alcohol so far this game and the only one not to chicken with Richie, you aren’t about to start now. You roll your eyes and turn to your left, where Eddie’s sitting beside you, you grab him by the face and pull him in for a quick peck. 

Richie’s eyes grow considerably larger behind his glasses, Bev’s cigarette almost falls from her mouth as her jaw goes slack, Ben’s giggling at what just happened, Stan’s slapping a five into Bill’s hand losing a long standing bet between the two, Mike is whooping at you two. And poor Eddie is gaping at you, clearly flustered and looking for words. 

“You kissed me!” you aren’t sure if it’s a question or an exclamation. What surprises you though, is that he doesn’t go for his inhaler again, nor does he reach into his fanny pack for one of his many pills. 

“Yes I did, what about it?” you aren’t sure how you want him to respond to that, but you know it’s not the silence that you’re met with. 

A few hours later you’re sitting in folding chairs in one corner of the clubhouse with Richie, giving him a stick and poke as he tells you about the latest prank he pulled at school. It’s a prank you witnessed, but that doesn’t seem to register in his slightly fuzzy tipsy brain. By now the few shots you had to endure our pretty much out of your system, feeling and abating completely sober unlike the rest. 

“Quit moving!” you scold Richie for what feels like the hundredth time, he’s moving his hands while telling his story. Which isn’t helpful since you're trying to do his stick and poke of a pac-man ghost on his inner wrist, and he keeps almost screwing you up. Eddie’s eyes are on you as you finally wipe Richie’s arm clean, done with the little tattoo.   

“You want one Eddie spaghetti?” you hold up the needle you just used on Richie. You reach into the fanny pack wrapped securely around Eddie’s waist, which causes the poor boy to grow flustered again, pulling a disinfecting wipe out of it to wipe the needle clean. After that you use Bev’s lighter, running the flame over the needle to make sure it’s sterilized. 

“N-no, he stutters out, eyes focused on the way your lips form your words. “My mom would kill me.”

“She doesn’t need to find out about it Eddie,” you wave the needle teasingly in front of his face. He’s as sober as you, possibly even more than you, so you trust his judgement. If he had anymore than two shots all those hours ago you never would have asked. “You just need to hide it until you move out in a couple months.”

“Okay!” you’re surprised when he agrees, so is Richie who is staring with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. 

“What do you want and where do you want it?” you ask, quickly adding the next sentence when you notice Richie about to speak. “Beep beep Richie.”

“I’m not really sure,” Eddie plays with the zipper on his fanny pack, taking a seat across from you in the chair Richie recently abandoned. “But it has to be somewhere I can hide it.”

“Hmmm,” you start mentally ticking off places you can’t do the tattoo, your mind coming up with multiple scenarios on Mrs. Kaspbrak accidentally finding the tattoo. “I could do the base of your neck, like where the collar of your shirt goes. Or I could do your side, below your ribs.”

“How about my side,” it isn’t a question so much as a statement. “I want to be able to see it.”

“Any ideas on what you want, or do I get to surprise you?” Eddie fiddles with the bottom of his shirt and you wonder if he’s going to back out. 

“Surprise me,” Eddie nods, confident in his decision. 

“Do a penis!” Richie hollers, taking a swig of the alcohol left in the decanter. 

“Shut the fuck up Richie,” Eddie snaps and you giggle at the two. 

“You need to take your shirt off Eds,” you both blush at your words, causing Richie to wolf whistle. 

“Look at the Edster stripping for (Y/N)!” Richie hollers a little too loud, not that you’re worried anyone will hear you in the middle of nowhere. 

“Beep beep Richie!” Bev calls back, leaning her head on Ben’s shoulder. 

You scoot your chair beside Eddie’s, facing his right side you put one leg going behind his chair and the other towards the front, sitting in a v-like shape. You grab another wipe from Eddie’s fanny pack, cleaning the area of skin below his ribcage, Eddie’s right hand shoots out and grabs your knee, squeezing his eyes tight before you even have the chance to dip the needle in the ink. 

“As much as I enjoy your hand on my knee,” you admit. “It’s kinda in the way.”

You pry his right hand off of your skin, placing it on the back of your chair. He reaches his left hand across his body so he’s once again holding onto your right knee. You let him stay in the position, knowing he needs it mentall, and he’s managed to not twist his side and mess up your tattooing area. 

You decide to do a larger tattoo for Eddie than you did Richie, go big or go home. Right? You contemplated doing a small little fanny pack, but you didn’t want Eddie to take your teasing as an insult. Instead you decide on a basic mountain range, three overlapping triangles, and a sun poking out from behind them, a simple circle. A simple serene tattoo that Eddie can look at and calm down to when he has a panic attack.

As you actually start to tattoo his side, his grip on your knee tightens. You don’t mind though, you’re enjoying the weight and warmth his hand provides. Eddie’s eyes are on you the entire time, committing your concentration face to memory. He tries not to shiver every time your fingers run over his exposed skin, a warm fuzzy feeling growing within him. 

You’re focusing so intently that you don’t notice when Eddie becomes slightly more adventurous and lets his hand drift up to your thigh. Finally done with the tattoo you wipe it clean a final time, leaning back to admire your work. It’s your best tattoo yet, if you do say so yourself. 

“Remember to clean it everyday,” you aren’t sure why you’re giving Eddie, of all people, hygiene advice. He isn’t Richie, he has common sense. “And if it gets infected tell your mom right away, don’t try to hide it out of fear of getting in trouble. I’ll take all the blame Eddie, say I made you get it because I wanted to practice.”

Eddie squeezes your thigh as he compliments your work, sending a bolt of electricity from your thigh to your heart. Before you know it his lips are crashing into yours, this kiss far better than the one earlier in the night. The thumping of the blood in your ears drowns out the whoops and hollers from your friends. All you can focus on is Eddie; his soft lips on yours, the softness of his hair beneath your fingers, and the feeling of his hand moving from your thigh to your hip- his free hand also going to your hip, fingers digging in. 

When you pull apart for air, he uses his grip on your hips to pull you onto his lap. Now straddling him, you comb your finger through his dark locks with blonde tips. He begged and begged Mrs. Kaspbrak to bleach them and she kept saying no. So finally Richie and Bev bought bleach from the store, and did it themselves. Needless to say she wasn’t happy, but after two doctor's appointments, with two different doctors, she finally concluded that Eddie wasn’t going to randomly fall over and die from the bleach. 

Stan slaps a hand over Richie’s mouth to keep him from ruining the moment going on in front of the group. He’ll let Richie make fun of the two afterwards, but he doesn’t want his friends to get this close to finally being together, just to have Richie’s teasing make the both of you chicken out and ignore each other. He’s not sure he can handle all that pining again, the entirety of the losers club isn’t sure they can handle that again. Your hands slide down from Eddie’s hair to his still bare shoulders, pulling him in for another searing kiss. 

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​ @mrs-malfoy-always​

[thebattleisoverbut-thewargoeson]

TW: Sexual coercion, stealthing, women on contraception.

A friend of mine, E, is getting married in a month's time. Last weekend was her twice-postponed hen do (owing to the 'vid pandemic), arranged meticulously by her best friend, B. We stayed in a glorious Airbnb, with the Friday night involving games, a piñata, an outdoor jacuzzi and karaoke. Late Saturday afternoon, we went to the cocktail-making class which one of the hens, E's colleague, had booked.

During this, I went over to speak to B and A. I caught the tail end of B saying '...as soon as I came off them, I was fine. My body went back to normal'. She explained to me they were talking about contraception, then asked what my favourite form was. My initial response was: 'My personality does the trick!' before I told them that I'd been on a couple of contraceptive pills in the past which had led to multiple ruptured ovarian cysts, involving agonising pain and being rushed to hospital from work. These have always coincided with me either beginning the medication or ceasing it. Just over eleven years ago, I had an Implanon inserted into my upper arm which did prevent pregnancy when I was r*ped shortly afterwards however, six months later (having been celibate for that entirety), I had a period which didn't stop. When I went back to my GP surgery, they opted to put me back on the Pill for three months, AS WELL AS still having the Implanon in my arm. This prescription ran out just before that Christmas and when my period started that December, it didn't stop once again. I returned to my GP surgery in January 2012 and had been bleeding for six weeks by that stage. This time, I saw my usual female GP and she booked me in to have the Implanon removed and tested me for anaemia, given my prolonged menstrual bleeding.

I also disclosed to B and A, hesitantly, that I'd always been pressured into going on the Pill because every partner wanted to 'fuck [me] without a condom'. I used to be uncomfortable with asserting boundaries and instead of standing up for myself, I went along with it: visiting my GP, discussing different Pill options (ruling out any that could interact with my epilepsy medication) and taking contraceptive Pills as prescribed, purely so that my partner could relinquish any responsibility with regards to to sexual health or unwanted pregnancy in pursuit of his own pleasure. B confessed that her husband kept complaining about having to wear a condom after the birth of their second child four months ago. I suggested that her husband could go on hormones or get the snip if condoms bother him so much. A sneered that men don't want to go on contraceptive Pills because of the side effects, to which I replied: 'So it's fine for women to deal with headaches, migraines, nausea, weight fluctuation, mood swings, ruptured cysts, disrupted periods, acne, changes in libido and who knows what else?' She could only shake her head.

This conversation would've sobered me up, had I not already been drinking mocktails. Having not seen most of these women since our late teens when we were in sixth form, here we were at E's hen party thirteen years on, voicing our disheartening and disenchanting experiences with male partners pressuring us to sacrifice our body's natural hormone levels in order for them to enjoy 'raw' sex. Following instances of my last partner withholding contraception (telling me he'd put on a condom when he hadn't/ removing condoms without my knowledge or consent), meaning I had to seek emergency contraception, I've been celibate for over a year now and honestly? I have no desire to fall off that wagon. Often, I felt like I was just chronically unlucky when it came to this, yet clearly women everywhere share similar experiences. The hen party drove home that even in 2022, women are still expected to aspire to and prioritise events such as engagement and marriage to a man. There are separatism women's movements in Japan and South Korea for women who are sick of dealing with this nonsense. Perhaps it's time that women everywhere followed their lead. In fact, it's long overdue.

[dazedbydazai]

예뻤어 - You Were Beautiful

➤ Pairing: Dazai Osamu x Fem!Reader

➤ Genre: Angst

➤ Warning: Character death(s)

➤ WC: 2.0K

(A/N: This was requested by an anon and was inspired by DAY6′s song, You were Beautiful. I suggest listening to that while reading this. It just hits right.)

Dazai Osamu was a very secretive and elusive man. He had multiple tricks up his sleeve, he was manipulative, cunning, and unforgiving. He didn't know what love was, he abandoned that emotion long ago. He was merciless and self-centered, only caring about things that will benefit him. Dazai Osamu was not a good man.

But all of that changed when his closest friend, Odasaku, died.

Promising to turn over a new leaf, Dazai left the Port Mafia in pursuit of something more beautiful, something good, and he had also vowed to not let anyone else enter his life and be attached to them in fear of losing them like he lost his friend.

Dazai vowed. He closed himself off, hiding behind a pretentious and flamboyant character that fools people with his handsome smile and witty banter. Dazai didn't want to repeat the same mistake twice. Dazai had already learned.

He chanted this in his mind over and over again but alas, he was not able to stick to his word. Because just after a few months of leaving his past self behind, he suddenly met you.

A beautiful woman. Funny, kind, and just as intelligent as Dazai, you showed up in front of him like an angel and broke down all the walls he's built.

Dazai didn't understand why, of all people, did you come to him? Why waste your time on someone who's suicidal and clearly not of sound mind? Why bother entertaining his antics and flirtatious behavior when you knew that he only did this to cover up his ugliness within?

Simple. The answer was simple.

It was just in your nature.

You were gentle when you first embraced Dazai. You were understanding when he told you about his past. You were soft spoken when you told him that it's okay. You were kind, so very kind, that Dazai didn't bother to put up his walls around you anymore.

Dazai let himself fall. He wanted to hold you in his arms longer, wanted you to kiss his pain and anguish away, he wanted to love you. And he did.

That promise he made himself was long forgotten as he sighed contently, letting your fingers drag through his hair, gently fixing it up.

"Dazai? Are you falling asleep?" You giggle as you look at him through the mirror of your dresser.

Dazai blinked a few times before grinning at you. "Hmm... if I say yes, would you let me sleep in your bed tonight?"

You lightly smack his forehead and laugh. "If you meant that literally, then go ahead."

You were always so welcoming with Dazai, no, actually with all the people you meet. You treat them equally, always talking to them with a smile on your face. But Dazai likes to think that he's given special treatment from you. You are, after all, the closest person he's ever let in his life next to Odasaku.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Being with you was easy. You calmed Dazai's heart, relaxed his mind, made him feel more human.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever met," He had told you one day as you ate your lunch together. If it was anybody else, they'd assume that Dazai was just being his usual flirty self. But since it was you, you knew that those words held something deeper as you look in his brown orbs.

Being with Dazai was difficult, to say the least, but you kept up with him, determined to help him in any way you can. And it wasn't long before you found yourself falling for him too.

It was in the gentle way he held your hand, the glint in his eyes whenever he talks to you, the softness and vulnerability of his voice when he lets out his inner thoughts and nightmares.

You were always there, listening through each and every one of his stories. Even when he had called you up at three o'clock in the morning, voice hoarse and shaky as he apologized to you.

"Did you have another nightmare?" You ask softly and when Dazai says yes, you sit up on your bed and walk him through it. You always knew how to calm him down, knew the right words to say, and Dazai was thankful for that.

Dazai truly loved you and you loved him too.

That's why even if he knows he won't be able to hold you in his arms forever, he still takes the chance and asks you to be his.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It feels like heaven. Dazai thought as he held you in his arms one cold winter night.

It was perfect. How your hand fit in his as he kissed your knuckles gently.

"You are so beautiful, my belladonna."

Those words never failed to make you blush, your heart skipping a beat as Dazai traces the features of your face with his finger.

"Stay with me like this forever, Dazai. I want to keep you close to me for as long as I can," You whisper these words as you close your eyes, feeling sleepy.

"Don't say that like you're going someplace else, my love. I will forever be by your side," Dazai replied as he kissed your forehead and wrapped the blanket closer to your bodies.

But maybe Dazai should have taken your words more seriously that night. Because a few weeks later, he will find himself regretting not holding onto you tighter.

Life was cruel, Dazai knew that from a young age. Things never go according to plan. One moment you're up in the clouds, and the next you're falling head first to the ground.

That's how Dazai felt today as he got a call from the hospital.

Leaving behind his work at the agency and rushing over to you in a panic, Dazai felt his world slowly crumble to pieces as he saw the state you were in.

"What happened?" Dazai asked the doctor as he stood still at the doorway of your room. Dazai's eyes were blank as he listened to the doctor explaining that you suddenly fainted in the middle of the street. That it was probably due to the strain in your heart, a terminal illness that Dazai had no idea you had.

But maybe he already knew. He saw you multiple times trying to take some medicine in secret, as if you were afraid of letting Dazai see. At one time he found a bottle of pills in your cabinet but he didn't dare ask what it was for.

It was silly, how you two were so alike, how you also masked your own pain by that beautiful smile of yours.

When the doctor had finished and left, Dazai approached your bed and sat by your side. Even with your eyes closed and your lips not the usual shade of pink, Dazai still found you beautiful and he simply stared at you, waiting for you to wake up.

When you come to, the first thing you see is the familiar tousle of Dazai’s hair as he laid his head on your hospital bed. You felt your words get caught up in your throat and your hand flinch.

“Belladonna?” Dazai called out groggily, having woken up by your movement.

Immediately, as you lock eyes with him, you felt your tears forming and falling at the corner of your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Was all you could say as you cried. You felt horrible, both physically and emotionally. All this time you had kept this a secret from him, from someone who has been so honest with you from the start. You apologized over and over again, not knowing what else to say.

Dazai hushed you by wiping your tears away. “What are you sorry for, my belladonna?”

You force the lump down your throat as you look up at the ceiling, suddenly unable to face Dazai head on.

“For everything,” You whisper. “I know I should have told you about this. But I just…”

Dazai waited for you to continue, staying silent as he brushed his thumb across your cheeks.

You shut your eyes and cry harder, your body shaking horribly. “I didn’t want to worry you, didn’t want you to see me like this. I look and feel so helpless.”

You clutch the sheets in your hands and take a shaky breath. “All my life they told me to just stay still, to not venture out in the world. I know I don’t have long to live and I planned to listen to them and close myself off. But that was until I met you.”

You find the courage to finally face Dazai again and your heart sank deeper as you see the blank look in his eyes. “I became selfish. Ever since I met you, I suddenly wanted to live. I wanted to experience everything life had to offer. I wanted to fall in love, and I’m so glad that I found that in you. And I don’t regret leaving my past behind and meeting you. But…”

You reach up and hold Dazai’s cheek and that’s when you saw the familiar pain cross his eyes. “The only regret that I have now is that I put you in this position once again.”

Dazai knew what you meant and he couldn’t help the deep sigh that escapes his lips. Closing his eyes, he leans into your touch and says, “Can’t you stay with me for a little longer, Y/N?”

It was the first time in a long while that he called you by your name and it hurt so bad how sad his tone was when saying it.

“I honestly don’t know Dazai,” You admit you aren’t sure how longer you can stay with him, how longer you can live. And as you helplessly lay on the bed and hold Dazai’s hand in yours tightly, you couldn’t help but pray to all the gods to give you a little bit more time.

Life was indeed cruel and it left a bitter taste in Dazai’s mouth as he stared out the window of your shared apartment. There were a lot of things left unsaid between you two but one thing was for certain, you really didn’t want Dazai to see the pain you were hiding inside.

You only wanted him to see the good things, the beautiful things. Wanted him to enjoy life and continue on his journey. But how was he supposed to do that now? He wanted to be angry, wanted to scream at the universe for kicking him down like this over and over again, but he can’t bring himself to. He couldn’t hate you. No. Not you.

Because you were beautiful.

From the moment he first saw you, he knew how gorgeous you were from inside and out.

You were beautiful.

Every time you said you loved him with that sparkle in your eyes. Every time you called his name in that sweet voice of yours. Every time you kissed and wrapped your arms around him.

You were beautiful.

Even as you saw all the ugliness of life, you still managed to smile.

You were beautiful.

Even as you said you were sorry, with tears staining your cheeks.

You were beautiful.

Even as you said your final good bye when you thought Dazai was sound asleep by your side.

Everything about you was beautiful, and deep down, Dazai was glad he found you. He was thankful that you guided him to the light. He was happy he got to spend a significant time with you.

But no matter how beautiful your time spent with him was, he still couldn’t help but clench his fist in anger. Why did you have to leave me too?

It was a question Dazai always asked but he never found an answer. Again, for the second time in his life, someone so dear slipped away from his hands.

Sometimes he wanted to end it as well, to fall into the hands of death. But he was suddenly afraid to push through it. He was afraid to forget you, to never see you again even as he closes his eyes. He was scared to lose his precious memories of you.

Because all of it was beautiful in his eyes.

And now as he lays in bed, he doesn’t know what hurts and haunts him more; the nightmares of his past life, or the constant dreams he has of you and your beautiful smile.

[harrysweasleys]

Legacy

Summary: Slytherin Reader is married to Fred and the two have a daughter. When she goes off to Hogwarts and gets sorted into Slytherin, it’s a tough pill for Fred to swallow. 

Warnings: angst, language

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: So I really enjoyed writing this one. It starts off a little slow but it picks up, I promise!! I’m just soft for dad Fred. he deserved better. 

-

The pairing of Fred Weasley and Y/N Y/L/N was unlikely to say the least. The two, who had been in the same year, didn’t find themselves in each others’ company during their time at Hogwarts. But, Y/N, who was loyal to the school, had saved him from a terrible fate during the Battle of Hogwarts, and the two found their way together after that. 

She had known of the Gryffindor prankster, he was not exactly subtle in their years together at Hogwarts. On multiple occasions, the tall ginger twin had set of Dungbombs and Fireworks in their classrooms. Y/N never admitted it, but she always found the twins’ pranks quite amusing. She would silently laugh behind her hand as McGonagall or Flitwick, or sometimes even Snape would glare at them and remove points from Gryffindor. But, that never dampened the spirits of the brothers, who always found a way to keep people on their toes. 

Y/N, on the other hand, tried not to bring too much attention to herself in her time at the school. She was placed in Slytherin, much to her parents’ utter thrill, and kept her circle of friends small. She only really had two friends — a dark-haired boy named Stellan and a blonde girl named Alice. The two had been her go-to companions practically the whole time she was there. They had been some of the only non-pureblood-fanatics she had met. Sure, she prided herself in being a pureblood with well-respected parents, but found no understanding in why some people in her house — particularly Draco Malfoy — found pleasure in bringing down those who weren’t. 

After graduating, Y/N took time off and debated coming back to Hogwarts as a professor — the late Professor Snape always told her she had a talent for Potions — but with the looming threat of the Dark Lord’s return, she decided to stay on the down-low and get a job in Diagon Alley at Quality Quidditch Supplies. 

She spent five years being a Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team, she really did love the sport. She also found herself wandering into Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes during her breaks, admiring the new products on the shelf and having a laugh at those who tried some of their infamous sweets. How the twins managed to keep people smiling in such a dark time, she had no idea. 

When the Battle of Hogwarts came to be, Y/N found herself on the frontline, ready to defend the school that her heart belonged to. Which is how she found Fred, cornered in by a Death Eater, who looked ready to kill. She had sent him a curse — ‘levicorpus!’ — and Fred knew right there in that moment that she was the one. 

The two found each other one day in Diagon Alley, and they were both done for. Falling in love didn’t come hard for these two. Five years later, they were married, and two years after that, their first child — a daughter — was born. 

Ariella Weasley took after her father. She had long, curly ginger hair and freckles scattered across her pale cheeks. The older she got, the more she resembled him. She also did take after her mother, though, because she had Fred wrapped around her little finger. She also had her mother’s pale Y/E/C eyes and her honest smile.

“I’d die for the two of you, y’know?” Fred mumbled to Y/N one night as the two put their baby girl to sleep. Y/N knew, she’d die for the both of them too. They were her entire world.

As Ariella grew older, she started to have fun pranking her cousins with her dad. The two were like partners in crime, and Y/N felt like the luckiest woman alive to be surrounded by two of the liveliest people in the universe.

When Ariella was 11, her Hogwarts letter came in the mail. 

“Now, Ari, you’ve got a reputation to live up to. A legacy if you will,” Fred told her, sitting her on the couch, “Uncle Georgie and I really left our mark on Hogwarts, yeah? So keep in mind that you’ve got to live up to it.”

Arielle looked to her mum, eyes wide.

“He’s kidding, love,” Y/N rubbed her back soothingly, “Your dad had a reputation of getting into trouble. If you chose not to go down that same path, you won’t hear me complaining.”

Fred rolled his eyes at his wife, “You know that I made sure things were never boring. Life is supposed to be fun!”

“Fun, yes,” Y/N chuckled, “But education is also important, especially for a young witch. Your dad caused many distractions.” Ariella looked between her two parents and shot them both a toothy grin.

“Trouble and learning go well together!”

Y/N shook her head, a smile on her face as well. 

Fred grinned at the two of them, “That’s my girl! When you get sorted into Gryffindor, tell McGonagall I say hi.”

“If she gets sorted into Gryffindor,” Y/N reminded him, “Any house is fine, darling. They’ve all got their strengths.”

Fred was proud of his time in the scarlet and gold house, and he made sure people knew. Everyone in the Weasley family had been placed there and they had each been treated with respect every time they stepped foot back in the school. Ginny, Ron, Fred and George had been on the Quidditch team, Bill and Percy had been Head Boy — there was no shortage of love for the Gryffindor house in the Weasley family. 

“But what if she gets placed in Slytherin?” Fred grimaced, “Goodness.”

Y/N thought he was joking, so she shrugged him off and faced her daughter, “I was a Slytherin, and I think I turned out fine.”

“You did, not everyone did. I mean, most Death Eaters came out of there,” Fred pressed on, arms crossed. Ariella looked between her parents, trying to figure out what she’d do if she wasn’t in Gryffindor. 

“There are no more Death Eaters, Freddie,” Y/N was a little more stern, “Besides, I knew loads of people in Slytherin who didn’t end up working for the Dark Lord. You just gotta pick your battles.”

Fred dropped the subject and continued telling his daughter about all the things she has to look forward to in her upcoming years. 

---

The day Y/N and Fred dropped her off at Platform Nine and Three Quarters was sad day indeed. Y/N shed a few tears, and Fred felt his heart crack slightly as he watched the red steam engine barrel out of sight. 

The two made their way back, stopping by to have tea in London before taking their sweet time coming home, and when they got through the front doors a little after sunset, Fred threw his body down on the couch and dragged Y/N down with him. He wrapped her up in his arms and nuzzled his head into her neck. 

“What are we gonna do with all this alone time, huh?” he smirked against her neck, placing a light kiss before abruptly pulling away, “Pillow fight!” 

He caught her completely off guard and smacked a couch pillow across her face. She held back a gasp, grabbing the one behind her and smacking him right back. 

The two battled it out until they were red in the face and panting, both slightly sore from toppling over furniture to avoid getting hit in the face. 

“What should we do for dinner, love?” Fred wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her cheek, “First dinner without Ariella in a long time.”

“I know,” Y/N replied, the hollow feeling in her chest growing as she missed her daughter, “It’s weird. But I know she’s off to go have the best seven years of her life.”

“Yeah,” Fred responded, “Maybe she can even bring home the House Cup!”

“Maybe she can,” Y/N twirled around, placing a light kiss to her husband’s lips and trailing off into the kitchen.

---

The next morning, Y/N and Fred Weasley were awoken by a large owl knocking at their window, a letter attached to its scrawny leg. 

“Oh, it’s from Hogwarts,” Y/N grinned as she opened the window, plucking the letter off of the owl, tipping it with a quick snack, and letting it fly back to where it came from. 

She opened the letter and read it aloud;

‘Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,

We are thrilled to inform you that as of last night at 7:03pm, your daughter Ariella Weasley has been sorted into Slytherin House. Headmistress McGonagall would like to send her well-wishes and hopes this letter finds you well. 

Forms will be going out next month to students who wish to come home for the Christmas and New Year holidays.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’

Y/N placed the letter down with a smile, her heart thumping loudly, “Hey, she takes after her mother after all! She’s in Slytherin!”

“What?” Fred muttered, his face paler than usual. His hands gripped the bedsheets, “She’s in Slytherin?”

Y/N clutched the letter in her hand and made her way over to the bed, sitting next to him with a smile on her face, oblivious to his lack of enthusiasm.

“That’s great, I’m happy for her. I wonder if I should tell her about the secret passageway next to the fireplace—”

“She’s in Slytherin? Why?” Fred placed his head in his hands as if searching his brain for the answer. Y/N dropped the letter and held onto his wrists, forcing him to look up at her.

“What’s the issue? Why are you so upset she’s in Slytherin?” she tried to hide the hurt in her voice at how lowly he thought of her house. Yes, Slytherin had a reputation, but that was in the past. Y/N had a lot of emerald pride. 

“Because — Slytherin, Y/N,” he shook his head, “I mean, come on. Voldemort was Slytherin, Malfoy, Snape, Crabbe and Goyle—”

“So was I,” she crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow, “First off, Voldemort was fifty years before us. Snape’s dead, may he rest in peace, so are Crabbe and Goyle. They made mistakes and paid for them. Not everyone in the house ended up being awful. Every house in Hogwarts has had their share of... troubled wizards. Slytherin happens to have had more, sure, but that’s not the house’s fault. It’s the wizard’s fault.”

Fred didn’t seem calmed by her words, not bothering to hide his distaste for Salazar Slytherin’s house. 

“But they’re wicked. They’d cheat at Quidditch, they’d taunt first years, they’d always think they were better than everyone else.”

Y/N didn’t stop glaring at him, “Fred, you can’t be serious. I was a Slytherin and I saved your ass. Alice was Slytherin and she’s now an Auror, Stellan owns a store in Diagon Alley — which may I remind you, you do too.”

“That’s different,” he muttered, turning to face away from her and getting out of bed, “You were good. You’ve always been good. You should have been in Ravenclaw or something.”

“What?” she got up as well, forgetting about the letter on the bed, “What is your problem? Just suck it up and accept the fact that two of the women in your life are Slytherins.”

Without another word, she stormed out of the room and down the stairs, anger fuming from her ears. She knew Fred still held distaste for her house, but she thought that after all these years, he’d be way over it. 

She stormed into the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea and grabbing the copy of the Daily Prophet that had been delivered at their doorstep that morning, sitting down at the table and sipping her tea. She looked over the announcements from the Ministry, seeing a few familiar names, and didn’t bother looking up from the newspaper when she noticed Fred begrudgingly walking down the stairs, his feet dragging across the floor as he sat across from her at the dining table. 

“Love, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, trying to look at her over the newspaper, “I shouldn’t have said what I did, I was just shocked, I guess.”

“Shocked? Is that what you call shock? Sounds like a grudge, if you ask me,” she replied cooly, still not looking at him. 

He sighed, “I overreacted, I know. I don’t know why, I just can’t help but think of them the same way that I did when I was in school.”

“Freddie, you can’t do that,” she finally lowered the paper and placed it aside, “Firstly, it hurts me. Secondly, it’ll hurt Ari as well if you start dissing Slytherin. She was really nervous, she doesn’t want to disappoint you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he reached across the table and held her hands gently, “And I don’t want Ari to think I’m disappointed in her. I just — I’ll get over it, I promise.”

---

Over the next few months, Ariella wrote to the two of them, expressing how excited she was to be making friends. She also ranted on for two pages about her love for Transfigurations and Herbology. Her Professor, Neville Longbottom, had been a friend of Fred’s when he was at school. 

Fred had grown more used to the fact that his daughter was a Slytherin, and the conversations involving her house were usually pretty short between him and Y/N. 

As the Christmas holidays rolled around, Fred and Y/N had decorated the house in preparation to finally have their daughter home. Although they never really lost contact, it had been a long few months for her parents.

“The train’s arriving at two o’clock, Fred! You need to get going!” Y/N whisked him out the door, placing a quick kiss on his lips before returning to the kitchen and continuing the cookies she had been making. It was rare she did them the muggle way, but she had time to spare and thought baking would be fun. 

Within the hour, Fred and Ariella arrived through the door, both grinning and red-nosed. Y/N rushed over to her daughter, scooping her up in her arms and squeezing her. 

“Mum, ouch,” Ariella giggled, “At least let me take my shoes off.”

Y/N placed her daughter down and started removing her apron, rushing into the kitchen to place the fresh batch of cookies in front of them both. Fred grinned, shoving three of them in his mouth and smiling at Y/N, crumbs falling all over the table.

Ariella grabbed her trunk that Fred brought in and excused herself, rushing upstairs to her room to put it away.

“These are good, they taste like Christmas,” Fred spoke through another mouthful of cookie.

“Fred, don’t eat them all,” Y/N chuckled, moving the plate out of his reach with a smirk, “I haven’t got all holiday to keep making more.”

He sagged his shoulders and sighed dramatically, “Fiiiine.” He walked around the table, pressed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Ariella came tumbling down the stairs in a mess of green.

“You good?” Y/N asked her daughter, holding back a laugh as Ariella stood up, brushing herself off as if no one noticed her fall.

“Yep, totally,” she walked it off, placing a mess of fabric down on the table, “Anyways, I wanted to show you guys my stuff! Here’s my Slytherin scarf, I usually only wear it to Quidditch games — oh, we beat Hufflepuff real good — and here’s my tie. Getting used to it was weird but I quite like it now. And here’s my sweater that a girl in my house gave to me as a Christmas gift.”

She lifted up the bulky green sweater, showing off the giant Slytherin house crest on the front, “It’ll be my new go-to during matches in the springtime. Slughorn — he’s head of my house — says I’ve got unmatched Slytherin pride! He also says hi, mum.”

Y/N smiled, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “This is all lovely, darling. I’m glad you’re so proud of your house. And tell Professor Slughorn I say hi back.”

Ariella grinned, picking up the scarf and wrapping it around her neck, tossing her ginger hair over her shoulder and posing, “Doesn’t green just suit me?”

“Of course —”

“We get it, you like Slytherin,” Fred snapped from next to the fridge. He was leaning against it, arms crossed as he watched his daughter flaunt her Slytherin clothing items, a proud grin on her face. 

“Fred...” Y/N dropped her head, taking her hand off of her daughter’s shoulder, “Come on, we’ve been over this.”

“Over what?” Ariella piped up, slowly removing her scarf as if she was offending him, “Dad... were you... ashamed that I was placed in Slytherin?”

Fred sighed, avoiding eye contact with her and looking out the window at the slow snowfall. Ariella seemed to take this as a yes, and she dropped the scarf on the table with a defeated sigh. 

“Ari, honey, it’s not —”

“It’s fine, I get it,” she scoffed, taking off upstairs with loud footsteps. Y/N flinched as the door slammed shut loudly, rattling the walls of the house. She picked up the scarf on the table, remembering how proud she was when she brought all of her stuff home to show her parents for the first time as well.

“Fred, you need to let this go,” Y/N said softly, not taking her eyes off of the scarf, “You can’t keep denying that she’s not in Gryffindor. I get it, every Weasley has been in that house, but she’s not just a Weasley. She’s a part of me too, and she’s taken after you in every other aspect — her hair, her attitude, her freckles, her laugh — why can’t you accept the fact that for once, she’s taken after me for something?” 

Fred seemed to ponder her words. He had never thought about it that way. People always told him about how much she resembled him in every aspect, but it wasn’t often that people said that to Y/N. And now, she watched with pride as her daughter was placed in her old house. It was almost like she could finally see herself in her. 

“You’re right,” Fred mumbled, “You’re completely right. Merlin’s beard, I’ve been an idiot.” He wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her into him, hugging her as if his action was louder than his words. 

“You have to go tell her that, she’s the one who thinks you’re ashamed.”

Fred pulled away and sighed, running his hand down his face and nodding, “You’re... you’re right. I need to go talk to her. She needs to know that I am proud of her. I always will be. And... that her mum was the most badass Slytherin ever. She’ll take after you there.”

Y/N giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Go tell her that, Freddie.”

“Can you come with me?” his voice was barely above a whisper and Y/N nearly swooned at how desperate he was. Ariella was, no doubt, a daddy’s girl, so having her dad come around and reassure her would mean the world her.

“Of course, love,” Y/N placed a kiss on his cheek and the two of them walked upstairs. She knocked slowly on her door and once a quite ‘come in’ was heard, she opened it and looked down at her daughter. Ariella was sitting on her bed, reading ‘Hogwarts: A History.’

When she saw her parents walk in, both looking apologetic, she placed the book down and sat crosslegged, turning to face them.

“Your dad has something he wants to say,” Y/N nudged Fred forwards. He gave her a grateful nod and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and placing his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry if you thought I was ashamed,” he started, “I was shocked when we got the letter saying you were in Slytherin, I won’t deny it. When I was at school, the Slytherin students were always cunning, mean, rushing around the halls looking for any reason to torment the people they saw. They cheated, they lied, and eventually, a lot of them ended up working for the Dark Lord. I guess that now, twenty years after my time, I’m still thinking about that side of Slytherin. But then, after I left school, I met your mum. And she changed my opinion completely.”

Y/N sat there in awe, listening to what he had to say.

“She was caring, smart, loyal, funny — everything I wouldn’t expect from a Slytherin. I guess what I’m trying to say is that even though you take after me in every aspect of your physical appearance, I’m glad that your heart is like your mother’s. I’m proud of you.”

Ariella was close to tears, and so was Y/N. She watcher her daughter flail her arms around her dad’s neck and hug him like her life depended on it. Y/N sat by the door, her hand over her heart, and a loving smile on her lips.

She watched the smile spread across Fred’s face as he hugged his daughter back, relieved she wasn’t mad at him. 

--

Later that evening, after Ariella had gone to sleep, Y/N and Fred sat on the couch, wrapped in blankets and watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. Her head was leaning against his shoulder, and his head leaning against hers. His hand was on her thigh, rubbing slow circles. 

“I love you,” he muttered quietly, “I’m so sorry for everything. I’ve really been an idiot.”

“You have, but it’s fine,” she giggled, leaning up to face him, “I still love you.”

And she really did, with all her heart. 

Who knew these two were so perfect for each other?

[helloprettybb]

lot to learn

Just a quick little thing about periods. Because while he may be a little confused, you know Steve would get on that shit and take care of you.

summary- Steve does not know much about periods, but he tries.

word count- 1.4k

warnings- none really, curse word once maybe, periods if that’s a warning

7:03 a.m. Steve just returned from his early morning run and enters the kitchen to start his routine. Every morning, he wakes up at six, runs for an hour, makes breakfast for himself before showering and laying back in bed with you. But right when Steve started the coffee machine, which is way too advanced and expensive in his opinion, you walk in.

“Hey, honey. Whatcha doin’ up so early?” Steve asks curiously. You weren’t a morning person per se. So besides missions, it’s rare to see you out of bed before ten o’clock.

“Just woke up really early,” you reply absentmindedly. You walk past Steve and head towards the pill bottle cabinet. Rummaging through, Steve hears you huff an annoyed sigh before closing it abruptly.

“Need something?” Steve questions, wondering why you immediately went to the medicine cabinet. 

“No,” you shake your head and yawn. “I’m just going to go back to sleep.”

“The machine will get started pretty soon if you want a cup.” Steve states. Instead, you shake your head and give him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving.

7:32 a.m. After breakfast, Steve returns to his room but is surprised when he doesn’t see you in his bed. Maybe you weren’t tired and decided to work out. Steve shrugs to himself before hopping in the shower. 

11:49 a.m. It’s been four hours and Steve hasn’t seen you all day. Usually, on the weekends, you’d be clung onto him all day, which is why it’s so unusual. If you just needed your space, you could have told him. Steve reminds himself to not jump to conclusions. 

But when you aren’t eating lunch with everybody, Steve has to bring it up. “Has anyone seen y/n?” 

“Wouldn’t you know, lover boy?” Bucky teases causing Steve to roll his eyes.

“She’s in her room,” Natasha says casually, keeping her eyes glued on some case file.

“How do you know?” Steve asks, wondering why Natasha knows and he doesn’t.

“Because she told me she’d be there all day,” Nat responds, moving to the next file. Steve furrows his brow in confusion. Why would you tell Nat, but not him? He hopes he hasn’t done anything to upset you. Steve runs a mental list of everything he’s said or done in the past week, but he can’t come up with anything.

“Did she say why?” Steve questions, dying to find out the reason for your avoidance.

“Yeah, she’s on her period.” Natasha states, tone unchanging. The men around the table have varying reactions, but with the same level of discomfort. Steve’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his head, Sam lets out an audible ‘oh’, while Bucky almost chokes on his food. Natasha eyes all the boys and simply rolls her eyes. 

She turns to Steve and asks, “She didn’t tell you that?” 

Steve shook his head and says, “No,” Then he thinks and realizes you’ve never talked about your period. Not that he’s asked, but for the seven months that he’s been with you, you’ve never even mentioned it. He knows that you have one, obviously, but you’ve never brought it up, so Steve assumed it wasn’t something to talk about.

“Hm,” Natasha hums, “Well, last I checked she’s curled up in the fetal position because there aren’t any painkillers.” Steve finds it ironic that people who constantly get hurt don’t have any pain meds. But then he remembers that a lot of them have some form of enhanced healing.

Steve needs to make up the seven months of you dealing with your period by yourself and he thinks he knows how. Getting up, Steve leaves to grab his keys and hears Natasha yell, “If you’re going to the store, pick up some pads.”

12:21 p.m. This should not be this confusing. But here he is: standing in the feminine hygiene aisle and staring in confusion at the different brands of pads. Steve honestly could not tell the difference between Always and Kotex or why there are night and day pads. There are numbers that correspond to flow, which Steve did not know could be that intense. But after twenty minutes in the period products aisle, Steve has learned more about periods than any health class in the forties. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of deliberation, Steve grabs four boxes and leaves the aisle. Picking out pain medication was much easier and took a significantly shorter amount of time. While strolling to the cashier, Steve spotted your favorite snack and figured it wouldn’t hurt to buy it for you.

-

You feel like absolute shit. Your abdomen feels like it’s trying to kill yourself while your head is starting to get the same idea. You feel like a flood comes out of you every time you try to stand up and your scared that if you move, your bedsheets will look like a crime scene. 

Falling asleep helps a little, but unfortunately, your cramps painfully pull you back into consciousness every twenty minutes or so. You’re about to attempt to doze off when you hear a knock on the door.

“Can I come in, doll?” you hear Steve ask. You don’t want him to see you like this. Over the months, you’ve been able to hide your period from Steve, but for some reason, this cycle is a real pain in the ass. As if he could read your thoughts, Steve adds, “I know you’re on your period.” 

You can’t tell if you should be relieved or more worried. Steve’s a great guy, but what if he’s super grossed out. The whole reason you hide your periods from him is that your past boyfriends have clearly expressed their disgust. Realizing you might as well confront it head-on, you let him in. You try to hide the pain by sitting up, which proves to be a struggle, so you settle for leaning upright.

Steve opens the door and your concerns immediately leave your brain as you see what’s in Steve’s hands. He’s holding a grocery bag in one hand and your favorite snack in the other. “Steve, you shouldn’t have!” you exclaim.

He closes the door behind him and walks over to your bed. “It’s the least I could do for my girl.” Steve says and maybe it’s your slightly heightened emotions, but you could’ve burst into tears. He sits down on the edge of the bed. 

“Aw, Steve, I love you so much,” you gush, wrapping your arms around his neck. Steve sets the bag down on the bed and returns the hug. Feeling his warmth distracts you from the inconsistent pain in your abdomen.

“I love you, too. But you know I could’ve done this for you earlier,” he states after pulling away. You look down a little bashfully. Of course, Steve would have helped you. 

“I know, it’s just that my past boyfriends would always get weirded out, so I’d hide it from them.” you admit to him.

“Well, I’m better than those assholes,” Steve remarks confidently, causing you to laugh. You laugh a little too hard because you feel a pang in your stomach, causing you to wince a little. Steve must have caught it because he brings up, “Oh, I also bought you painkillers and pads.”

Steve moves to grab the bag beside you. He pulls out a bottle of Advil and sets it on your bedside table. Then he pulls out multiple boxes of pads. “Why did you buy so many?” you laugh.

“I went by myself, which in hindsight, was not the smartest because I had no idea what I was looking for.” Steve confesses honestly. You look over the boxes and laugh even harder. “What’s so funny?” Steve asks.

You hold up a box and tell him, “These are liners.” Steve still looks confused so you explain, “They’re for when your period is really light. They aren’t really pads.” 

“Well, I guess I have a lot to learn,” Steve states. You look for a box that actually has pads. Grabbing the box and the pain medicine, you go to the bathroom.

Returning to your room, you see Steve stretched out on your bed. “I’m probably going to be in here for the rest of the day. You don’t have to stay with me,” you tell him, hoping he doesn’t feel obligated to stay inside.

“Trust me, I want to stay with you.” Steve replies, making you smile brightly. “Now come over here. I have seven months of cuddles to make up.”

[honey-dewey]

The Unbearable Pain of Life Itself

Pairing: FtM Trans Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/Reader

Word Count: 2,385

Warnings: Frankie’s in pain from his period. Lots of tears, one mention of blood, nausea and vomit, and boy oh boy I cannot seem to write Frankie without making him cry. 

I just want an excuse to write the reader comforting Frankie okay? He’s had a hard day because of his period and all he wants is cuddles! Am I projecting? Yes! Do I feel any shame at this point? No!

Permanent taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

You knew Frankie woke up feeling like shit the second you rolled over in bed. How? Because he hadn’t left you coffee before leaving. 

Should that be a sign of health? Not really. But whenever you didn’t wake up next to your boyfriend, or cuddled up on top of him more accurately, he left you a cup of coffee and a post-it note with a heart on it as a way to say ‘I love you’ when he left early for work. 

Sitting up and rubbing your eyes, you listened intently for any sign of your boyfriend throughout the house, wondering if he’d only just woken up and needed something. He wasn’t in the kitchen, as you’d originally thought. No, if he was, there would’ve been more crashing around and the distinct smell of coffee, considering he needed almost three cups before he was functional. But instead of a clumsy, sleepy Frankie, there was nothing. No usual cup waiting for you on the nightstand, no goodbye text or note from Frankie that he usually left whenever he had to leave for work early. 

Flinging the covers off you, you realized exactly what was plaguing Frankie and why his normal morning routine had gone out the window, sympathy immediately flooding you as you crawled over the blood stain that was slowly drying on the sheets. 

Slowly stripping the bed of the sheets and blankets, you headed into the kitchen, finding a half made pot of coffee and clear evidence that Frankie hadn’t been in the right headspace when he left for work. The bottle of knock off midol that worked just as well as the name brand shit was sitting next to the coffee pot, Frankie’s truck keys were still on the key hook, and he’d somehow managed to leave both his glasses and his hat at home. His birth control pills were sitting beside his empty coffee mug, the ring of spilled coffee making you wince as you put the mug in the sink. 

You sighed. Today was going to be long. 

All morning, you texted Santiago, who worked with Frankie and had picked him up that morning. According to Santi, Frankie was a mess, slowed by his pain and almost losing his meager breakfast multiple times. 

Eventually, you two reached a conclusion. Santiago couldn’t make Frankie go home and rest. No one could. Well, no one except for you. 

Around lunch, maybe five hours later, when you knew he’d be at his worst as the pain pills wore off, you scooped up the midol bottle and Frankie’s keys, getting into his truck. It was a bit bigger than your car, but was familiar territory for you all the same. 

Driving out to Frankie’s work, you worried about him so much you almost crashed. He very rarely got his period, considering the pills he was on and the extensive hormone changes he’d been through. But every six months, it was hell on earth for a week. He had every symptom under the sun, and they were all horrible. He was essentially bedridden for seven terrible days. Most times, he tried to power through it, but he couldn’t fight himself for very long. 

Pulling up to the building, you didn’t even bother locking the truck as you walked through the front doors. 

Santiago was with Frankie in the small break room, Frankie’s palms pressed to his eyes in an attempt to block out the headache-inducing lights. 

“Hon?” You murmured, crouching in front of Frankie’s bent form. “Oh honey, c’mere.” 

Frankie surged forward, blindly falling into your open arms. He shook, body trembling with pain, core pulling tight in regular intervals. 

“It’s okay,” you comforted, smoothing up and down his back. “I know, Frankie. Let’s go home, okay?”

A tiny whimper spurred you up, you supporting Frankie’s right side and Santiago coming over to support Frankie’s left as you headed back towards the front doors. 

When he was finally in the truck outside, Santiago helped you buckle him in before stepping back and waving. You waved back, handing Frankie a water bottle and the midol. “Two more Frankie.” 

He nodded, taking the pills and leaning back, breathing rhythmically, his left hand clutching your right. It wasn’t wisest to drive the truck with only one hand, but for Frankie, you bent the rules. 

Getting him into the house was a trip. It took twenty minutes due to the cramps and the headache and the God forsaken nausea, but he was finally breathing heavy on the couch, near tears but at least lying down. 

You wordlessly grabbed a few blankets and began to help Frankie out of his work clothes. He didn’t say anything or move much, only slowly thumbing over your wrist whenever it came near his hands and sleepily blinking at you as you draped the soft blankets over his body. You grabbed a heating pad, warming it in the microwave and placing it between Frankie’s hips. “Sleep,” you murmured, kissing his forehead and poking his nose. “It’s soup for dinner. Want a documentary?” 

Frankie nodded, the pills and the exhaustion from a night of sleeplessness finally crashing down on him and causing him to flicker in and out of sleep as you set up a few episodes of Our Planet to play. He liked the ocean ones the most, so you made sure they were first as you walked away from his slumped form. You slowly headed towards your office, fully intent on getting a few hours of work in before clocking out early. 

Two hours later, you sighed, leaning back from your computer and running your hands over your face. The documentaries in the background had been too distracting, so when you took a break to reheat the heating pad and check on Frankie, who was still asleep, you grabbed your headphones before shutting yourself back in your office. As you tugged said headphones off while scrubbing over your ears, you heard it. Sobbing. 

Immediately abandoning everything, you raced out of the office and into the living room, where Frankie was laying, collapsed on the floor in tears, shaking violently and hiccuping on his own breaths as he cried. 

“Frankie!” You fell to your knees, checking him over frantically. When you finally concluded that nothing was broken or hurt, you gathered him up in your arms, rocking slowly back and forth on the uncomfortable kitchen hardwood. “What’s wrong? Is it the cramps? The headache? Are you okay?” 

Frankie shook his head, still sobbing. “You-“ he stuttered, breath shuddering. “You weren’t. I thought. You were gone!” 

You stopped breathing, unable to exist beyond the pain in Frankie’s words. He hadn’t seen you, didn’t know where you’d gone, and for all he knew, you’d left the house completely. “Oh Frankie. I would never,” you breathed, smoothing over his hair. His hands, those damn shaking hands, gripped tightly at your shirt, as if you’d disappear if he let go. 

“Frankie, darling,” you said, feeling a full body chill racing across his skin and knowing his body was swinging wildly from feverish and freezing. “Let’s go have a bath.” 

Frankie didn’t object, allowing you to help him up and lead him to the bathroom. He was quiet, watching as you filled the tub with water and epsom salt. You left for a minute to grab a glass of cold water before hurrying back to the bathroom, not wanting to leave Frankie for any longer than you had to. 

The entire time you and Frankie lounged in the tub together, your back against his chest, he was calm. Much calmer than he’d been earlier, so you could only assume the pills were starting to touch his pain. 

Eventually, after both yours and his fingers had turned pruney and Frankie smelled like epsom salt and lavender soap, you hauled him out of the tub. He yawned, grinning sleepily as you handed him a warm towel and his favorite old pyjamas. So yes, the pills were finally working if Frankie was actually smiling. 

“Nap time?” He asked as he shuffled after you into the living room. 

“Snack time,” you corrected, grabbing one of the everything bagels Will had dropped off the other day and slicing it. “At least half of this, and then we can nap.” 

Frankie pouted, but waited patiently for you to toast and butter the bagel. Usually, he insisted on a load of cream cheese, but his stomach wouldn’t be able to handle it right now. Hell, you even were hesitant to use too much butter. 

You made yourself a bagel as well, also only using butter. When both were done, you and Frankie cuddled up on the couch and continued the documentary he’d been watching earlier. It was about sharks, something Frankie was surprisingly eager to watch. He absently ate the required half a bagel before he slumped against your side and then scooted down so he could lay his head in your lap. You smiled, humming Billy Joel and eating the other half of his bagel, knowing he probably wouldn’t. 

About halfway through the Disney nature Oceans documentary, you felt Frankie shift. He rolled to his side, then to his back, and then sat up and bolted for the bathroom. 

You paused the TV, following after Frankie with matching urgency. As he threw up the half a bagel he’d eaten, you rubbed his back, just waiting for it to be over. 

When he finally sat back, he was sweaty and panting, eyes full of tears. You sighed, handing him a cup of water. “Drink. You need to rehydrate.” 

Frankie nodded, accepting the water and taking small sips, slowly draining the cup over the course of a very agonizing forty five minutes, during which Frankie almost threw up again twice. 

When it seemed his stomach had finally settled, you helped him up and onto the couch once more. 

He was exhausted, immediately cocooning himself in the blankets and falling asleep again. You didn’t even bother with the documentary, instead grabbing an old book and reading out loud in an effort to keep Frankie asleep. 

The book wasn’t a favorite of yours, but Frankie really liked it, so you indulged him. Eventually, when it seemed he was well and truly asleep, you detangled yourself from him, getting up to grab two cans of soup from the cabinet and putting Frankie’s heating pad through the microwave again. Normally, you’d make the soup, but with how Frankie was, you didn’t want to risk being away from him for too long. 

Sure enough, when you sat back down, Frankie’s eyes blinked open slightly and he snuggled close. “Warm.” 

You smiled, the rasp to his voice incredibly endearing. “Mhm. I know. Here.” You pressed the heating pad to Frankie’s body, and he made a small noise of bliss. 

“What would I ever do without you?” He mumbled, sliding against your body and practically molding himself to you. 

Reaching an arm out to wrap Frankie in a one-sided hug, you shrugged, kissing his forehead. “I have no idea.” 

While he dozed, you texted the boys, who were all periodically texting you and fretting over Frankie. You gave them the run down, skipping over the more horrible bits. Will and Benny both wanted to visit, but you and Santiago decided that probably wasn’t the best idea tonight. Agreeing on tomorrow night, when some of the worst pain would be fading, you put your phone down and shook Frankie awake. 

“Huh?” He grumbled, rolling and glaring at you. “Why?” 

“Dinner,” you said, helping Frankie sit up. “The boys are coming around tomorrow, by the way.” 

Frankie shrugged. “Why do I have to eat dinner?” 

“You don’t,” you said, setting a bowl of canned soup in front of him. “Just drink some broth. Eat some of it if you can.” 

The rest of the night was spent on the couch, Frankie slowly drinking the broth out of his soup and you monitoring him. He didn’t throw up again, which was a blessing, and you were able to get a cup of tea into him as well before he finally asked to go to bed. 

“Sure thing,” you said, standing and stretching. Frankie watched, tiredly admiring your body. He grinned when you helped him to his feet, hands wandering, causing you to laugh. 

“Francisco Morales!” You scolded through your laughter, swatting his hand away from your ass. “That is rude!” 

Frankie pouted, his adorably crooked grin returning within seconds. “I’m in pain babe. Indulge me.” 

You rolled your eyes, smiling and helping Frankie into the bathroom. “I washed the sheets from last night,” you said, handing him his toothbrush. “And you are absolutely calling in sick tomorrow. No ifs, ands, or buts.” 

“Okay,” Frankie said, sticking his toothbrush into his mouth. “I love you.” 

You smiled, wiping toothpaste foam off Frankie’s face. “I love you too.” 

That night, you listened absently to the hum of the cicadas, cuddling Frankie, who was curled around you and his heating pad, his soft breath tickling your bare arm. He wasn’t asleep yet, but he was close. 

You took a deep breath, looking over Frankie’s head and staring at the moon, high in the summer sky. On nights like this, you cracked the window open to let the air in, with the precaution of multiple bug screens. 

“Babe?” Frankie mumbled, rolling a bit and pulling the heating pad out from between you. “You up?” 

“Yeah.” 

Frankie tossed the heating pad aside, making a face as it hit the floor with a heavy thump. “You good?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. Just can’t sleep.” 

“That’s not good,” Frankie mumbled, scooting around until his face was six inches from yours. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

You smiled, kissing Frankie lightly. “Go to sleep, Catfish.” 

Frankie grinned. “Ooo, busting out the nicknames. Seriously, what’s on your mind?” 

“Nothing,” you answered honestly. “You’re just super warm.” 

Humming, Frankie wrapped you in a hug, the absence of the heating pad making it much more comfortable. “Better?” 

You melted into his chest, tracing a feather light finger over his top surgery scars. “Much.” 

Frankie kissed your forehead, head falling back to the pillow as exhaustion threatened to overtake him. “Get some sleep babe.” 

Nodding, you moved Frankie’s arm so you didn’t accidentally cut his circulation off. “Right back at you Frankie.”

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Symbols of Heart

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Summary:  Four Soulmarks all the way up his forearm. A yellow monkey A white glove A pink horn A silver engine Four Soulmates, all of which he is far too terrified to meet. Warnings: Eating disorders, depression, anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, mentions of abuse, mentions of childhood neglect, bad mental health, poor relationships, and mental health recovery, transphobia, transphobic characters, transphobic slurs, and physical fights Word Count: approx. 40,000 Chapters: 16 Ship(s): Shinsou Hitoshi/Iida Tenya/Ashido Mina/Hagakure Tooru/Ojiro Mashiro

Archive link!

Chapter 1: Anxieties 

“Kara, come here,” the elderly, soothing voice called out from the wheelchair that was parked in the corner of the room. The purple-haired girl looked up from the book that she had been reading by the delicate fire blazing in the fireplace. She placed it down carefully before she rushed over to where her grandmother was sitting. “Sit on my lap, child,” she cooed, patting her legs with a gentle smile.

She did as she was told, sitting down carefully. “What is it, Grandmother?” she asked curiously. The elderly woman had always made her read before bed and never before had she interrupted that time, so her doing so now only spiked the child’s curiosity.

“I would like to tell you a story. Something that you will need for your entire life,” she answered, her eyes becoming distant and wistful. “Do you know where Soulmarks come from?”

“Everyone is born with a Soulmark,” she answered, fidgeting a bit sheepishly. “And they get bolder until you meet your Soulmate.”

“Correct,” the older woman said, her voice sounding wondrously prideful. She raised her sleeve a bit, exposing her arm. The wrinkled skin held a small white heart with a black lock in the middle of it.“This is my Soulmark, and your grandfather’s. Do you know where they came from originally? The tale of how humans were blessed with Soulmates?”

“No,” Kara shook his head, causing long purple hair to fall over her shoulder and in front of her violet eyes. 

“It started in Greece. Humans were originally made of beings with multiple heads and limbs. Though they all only had one heart, shared with multiple souls. One day, the human all tried to climb up the mountain to get to the places where the Gods lived despite being warned not to,” the elderly woman began to ramble. On her lap, her granddaughter listened intently. “The Gods grew angry, and as a punishment, they split them up into what we think of as humans now. Two arms, two legs, one head, and one soul, but the hearts were all broken into pieces. Soon, the other Gods from elsewhere heard what had happened and did the same thing to the humans that they were ruling over, as a way to make sure that the Greeks were getting properly punished. Once all of the humans were split up, they were forced elsewhere across the world. They were all hurting and aching as they tried to find the people that they had once been connected with. After quite some time, Aphrodite, one of the Greek Gods got together with the other Gods of love, and they all formed Soulmarks. Now, our Soulmarks lead us to those that we love.”

“Are mother and father Soulmates?” Kara asked, remembering every time that she had heard the two of them shouting at each other like they were nemeses. 

“Yes, they are. Even if they do not get along as well as your grandfather and I do. Not everyone loves their Soulmate in the same way. Some people just find their best friends in their Soulmate, some people find their life partners,” the woman explained, putting her hand on the young girl’s back as she sensed her getting upset.

“Does everyone have only one Soulmate?” she asked, her arm immediately flying to her lower arm where her four Soulmarks rested. 

“No, little one,” her grandmother soothed, placing a careful hand on her arm. “You are very special. You have four Soulmates who will love and care for you. Though you must love and care for them just as much as they do for you.”

“What if they don’t love me?” she asked, getting a bit unsure. If all five of them were Soulmates, there had to be a chance that they wouldn’t love her. 

“Kara,” her grandmother sighed, the name making the little girl flinch a bit. The elderly woman took notice of the flinch but chose not to say anything about it. “It is impossible for someone to not love you. Even if they do not want you as a romantic partner, or if you do not want them as a romantic partner, they will love you in a way.”

“Promise?” she asked, holding up her hand with only her pinky finger up. 

“I promise,” her grandmother answered, wrapping her shaky pinky finger around the young girl’s. 

Hitoshi blinked as he woke up, tears pushing out of his eyes and running down his face. It had been so long since he had thought about the memory of his grandmother. 

So much had changed since then, and it was truly the last calm moment that he had had with her. She had passed away almost two weeks later, leaving his grandfather grieving so much that he had passed away a month later. It had been completely world-shattering for him to lose both of his grandparents in such quick succession of each other. They had been his primary caretakers seeing as his parents were rarely ever home. 

He had been six when he had to learn to take care of himself. He had learned how to make breakfast from his grandmother before she passed away and lunch was served at school, so he hadn’t had to worry about either of those. Dinner had been harder, which left him so hungry that his stomach hurt most days. He lost scary amounts of weight until he had been so thin that his teacher called the police on his parents. His home life was thoroughly investigated. He was removed from his home when it had been deemed unsafe, and given to a foster parent that didn’t want another troubled kid. 

He had only lasted there for about three months before he was passed onto the next home. He spent the next three years being moved from home to home to home, never finding anyone that wanted to keep a malnourished, ‘freak’ of a kid. Having that happen only made his already existing anxiety ten times worse. He had been nine when he realized that the reason that he kept getting passed around was the fact that he had four Soulmarks on his arm. Another reason was that he had started asking to be called Hitoshi instead of Kara as he discovered that he related less and less with the female identity.

When he was ten, he fell into the only foster home that kept him for more than six months. They also fully accepted him when it came to his name and pronouns. They had even gone so far as to ask the school he was attending to call him by his preferred name and pronouns as well. They didn’t have any other foster kids, so they paid a lot of their attention to him. 

When he was twelve, he was diagnosed with PTSD from the trauma he had experienced when he was six and began to go to therapy. That same year, the couple that was fostering him adopted him. Just as his thoughts traveled to the couple that he now called his dads, one of them knocked on his door.

“Hitoshi, get up,” Shouta called out, his voice just as tired and put out as he felt. The purple-haired boy groaned just loud enough that his adoptive father could hear him as he pushed himself off of his bed. He paused, waiting for the tell-tale sounds of footsteps walking away from his bedroom door. Once he heard them he shed his night clothes and grabbed his new school uniform. He was still disgruntled from the more than vivid dream that he had had, meaning that it was harder to get his binder to fit than it was on most days. 

He stumbled out of his room almost ten minutes later, finally dressed into the uniform for the high school that he was going to be attending. It was early in the morning, earlier than most students would be up on their first day of school. He had to go to the school with his adoptive dads, who both taught there. “Remember to take your meds,” Hizashi called from where he was sitting at the table. 

“Yeah,” Hitoshi mumbled as he walked across the tiny hall to the bathroom. He opened the cupboard, pulling out the small prescription bottle. The pills were tiny, making it easy for him to swallow even on days where he woke up feeling so anxious that his throat closed off. His stomach rolled a bit as he grabbed one of the pills out of the bottle. The thought of having to eat or drink anything was incredibly unappealing, but he knew that everything would be ten times more awful if he didn’t take the meds. He took a deep breath, soothing himself a bit before he tossed his head back and forced the entire mouthful of water down his throat with the pill. 

He shuffled back to the kitchen, rubbing his throat as he tried to soothe himself. Both of his adoptive fathers sat at the table, Shouta having his morning cup of coffee that he always needed to fully wake up. “You ready for your first day of school?” Hizashi asked, looking away from where he been staring at his husband. 

“Not really,” he sighed, sitting down at the only other seat at the table. He reached behind him, stretching a bit to grab the fidget cube that he had on the bookcase by the wall. His hands fell into his lap as he began to play with it.

“What are you worried about?” Shouta asked, peeking out at him from over his coffee cup. “With both of us working there it’s not like you’ll get bullied like you did in middle school. We’ll make damn sure of that.”

“Shouta, swearing, You should get out of that habit before we start teaching again,” Hizashi huffed, looking at his husband for a minute before he turned back to adoptive son. “Middle school is really the worst part of everyone’s life, everything gets a little bit better in high school.”

“Dad, I get that you’re trying to help, but the kids kind of a had a reason for bullying me. No one has four Soulmates, it’s weird.”

“Not really. Having a weird set of Soulmates is pretty much normal at this school. One of your other teachers has two Soulmates who aren’t Soulmates with each other, just with him. Having several Soulmates isn’t weird, you’re just special,” Shouta rambled, staring down into the dark brown liquid that filled his mug.

“Okay. Whatever. I still have to go to school regardless of whether or not I want to,” he sighed, rolling his eyes a bit. He tugged on his sleeves, trying to hide the marks that peaked out of the bottom of his uniform. 

He had four Soulmarks, one of which was planted so low on his arm that it peeked out from underneath his sleeve. The one at the top was an intricate yellow monkey. The one underneath it was a white glove, and then a pink horn. The one on his wrist was a silver engine. He had spent a lot of sleepless night staring at them, wondering who might be looking at the same Soulmarks, wondering why they had been blessed with four Soulmates instead of the normal one. As he waited for his fathers to say that it was time to go, his mind strayed to what kind of people his Soulmates would be. 

The yellow monkey, would they be joyous and playful? Would they have blond hair? Would they be the class clown, or would they be the prankster?

The white glove, would they be rich? Or would they be deaf? Would they love Winter when they got to wear gloves? Or would they work in a garden?

The pink horn, would they like animals? Did they even like the color pink? Were they bullheaded? Or maybe they were aggressive?

The silver engine, were they rich? Or were they a mechanic? Would they smell like gasoline and oil? Would they be brilliant? Or would they be a burly man who was only good for moving heavy things?

Those were only some of the questions that had raced through his mind during his sleepless, fidgeting nights spent worrying. But there was always one that terrified him more than anything.

Would they accept him for being trans?

Follow the link to read the rest of it on Archive!

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Twenty-One

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

(TW: Mention of past abuse! This is an angsty part.)

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost) 

You popped open a bottle of red wine for the two of you when you got back to your apartment. Harry kept the lights dim, and lit some candles. He connected his phone to your Bluetooth, and started playing music. You weren’t sure why the evening got so romantic, but you weren’t complaining.

As you were pouring the wine, he walks behind you and turns you around. He takes a hand in his, and puts his other on the small of your back. He starts dancing you around the kitchen. You rested your head on his chest, being too short to rest it on his shoulder.

“I love you.” He whispers.

“I love you.” You whisper back.

He hums the music in your ear, sending you into a euphoric state. What was he trying to do with you? Harry was always romantic, but never had he done something like this with you before. He always talked about how much he hated dancing, but he was a wonderful dancer. You felt like you were floating on a cloud. The song ends, but you stay pressed to him for a moment. You giggle, and reach for your wine to take a sip.

“That was nice.” You say as he takes his glass for a sip. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“I thought you hated dancing.”

“This kind of dancing I like.” He wraps his arms back around your waist.

“You’re in a really cute mood tonight.”

“I’m just…happy.” He leans his head down to kiss you, his hands sliding into your back pockets to give your butt a squeeze.

You kiss him back, taking his bottom lip into your mouth to suck slowly on. He groans and pulls you closer to him. His hands move up to your cheeks so he can tilt your face more. Your mouth opens up for him. His tongue darts inside your mouth to find yours. You loved being kissed like this by him. You could feel the need he had for you. Harry had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted you.

“Wanna go to the bedroom?” You ask between kisses.

“Yes, please.”

You blow out the candles Harry had lit, and he turns off the music. When he enters the bedroom, your hand slide up under his shirt. You feel every trace of his long torso. He pulls the short off. You give his chest gentle kisses before finding a spot to bite and suck on. His head tilts back. His hands reach for the hem of your shirt and lifts it off of you. He’s met with a black lace bra. He plants kisses on your jaw, and down your neck. He unhooks your bra and lets it fall to the floor. He pulls you against his chest so he can feel your breasts pressed against him. You nibble on his earlobe, causing another groan to leave his lips. You can feel him getting hard against you.

“Tell me what you want, Harry.” You say into his ear, starting to nip at his neck.

“You, I want you.” You know what he means, but you don’t want to acknowledge it. You knew it had to be killing him. Three months of only being able to use his mouth and hands had to be torture. You step back to look at him. His eyes were sad. You knew he felt bad for saying it.

“I know you do, baby. And you have me, you do.”

“Not all of you.” He looks down at his feet. He can’t look at you directly while expressing his frustration. “I know you need time, and I know it really doesn’t have anything to do with me.” You sigh and cup his face in your hands so he’ll look at you. Green eyes still sad.

“I love you so much, Harry. I know this isn’t easy. I know you want to do more with me. And I’ve thought about it, I have. But…”

“You’re still scared?”

“I’m terrified. Not of you, of course.”

“What is it then?” He asks calmly.

“Well,” You let go of his face. “I’m afraid I’m going to have a flashback and picture him on top of me.” You feel tears start to burn your cheeks. Harry wipes them away.

“I’m sorry, we were having such a nice evening, and I-“

“It’s okay, I want you to be able to express your frustrations.”

“But I feel like I shouldn’t be. We do so many other things, good things. And not everything needs to be about sex. I love…” Tears start to form in his eyes. “I love when we just hang out and watch a movie, or when we cook together and talk about our days. We do so many other intimate things. I don’t know what my problem is.” You pull his head to your chest as he cries. You run your free hand on his back to soothe them.

“My sensitive guy, it’s okay.” He hangs his head and looks at you through his eyelashes. “I’m sorry that this is the one thing I can’t give you right now. But it won’t be like this forever. Every day I’m with you I feel like we move a step closer. Going to see Dr. Mara regularly again has been a huge help.”

“I feel awful because I just wish I could take all of your fear and pain away.”

“Harry, you can’t burden yourself with my issues like this.”

“S’not a burden. I love you, I can’t help that I worry.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, I get better every day.” You give him a reassuring smile. “For a while, I stopped going to therapy. But being with you made me realize I wasn’t as better as I thought. I still had a lot of work to do. I spent a lot of time pretending I was okay. Now I feel like I’m not pretending anymore. I really feel okay, and happy.”

“You do?”

“Yes. You’ve helped me realize so many things about myself.” He wipes his eyes.

“I completely fucked up this night.”

“No you didn’t.” You kiss him on the cheek. “What do you say we just get cozy in bed? We can snuggle all night.” You smile at him.

“That sounds great.”  

You change into some pj’s, and he keeps a t-shirt and boxers on. Harry never slept with a shirt on, he must still be feeling a little off. As you go into the bathroom to wash your face, Harry texts Niall to see if he’ll be back tomorrow. The two make plans to meet up at some point. He gives you a half smile while you crawl into bed with him.

“I’m sorry, again.” He says as you rest your head on his chest.

“Please, don’t be.” You nuzzle into him. “I’m happy to just be close with you like this.”

“I know you are.” You sense a slight annoyance in his voice, but decide to let it go. He sighs. “Sorry, that sounded rude. I’m happy too.” He rubs your back lightly.

“It’s not like you haven’t felt me…” You try to justify yourself. “And, I mean, I suck you off all the time.”

“I’m not complaining about any of that. Those things are great, I guess I just wish we could be more intimate.” He wanted to make love to you. Actually, he wanted to absolutely wreck you. He wanted to wreck you for all other men, so you would never want another man. But these were the types of inside thoughts that needed to stay inside. He would wait forever if he had to, he just didn’t want to.

“So…what are you done being patient with me?” You pop your head up to look at him in the eyes.

“No! No, of course not. I’d wait as long as I had to.”

“You make it seem like what we’re doing isn’t enough though.” Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him, trying to read the plain expression on his face.

“I just want to be as close to you as I possibly can.”

“You don’t feel close to me now? Sex has to be what makes us close?”

“You’re…you’re twistin’ my words a bit.”

“I guess I just don’t understand.” You sit up completely. “One minute you’re asking me to go meet your family, another minute we’re dancing in my kitchen, then we almost get intimate, and all of a sudden we’re having a fight about sex. This night has gone all over the fucking place.” He sits up.

“Since when are we fighting? We’re havin’ a discussion.”

“Whatever the fuck it is, this is stupid.” You say looking at him.

“Oh, so my feelings are stupid now? Didn’t you say a little while ago that I shouldn’t be afraid to express myself?”

“You’re making me feel bad because I can’t give you this yet.”

“I don’t understand the difference between my fingers and my dick!” Your heart is racing.

“Harry, I think you should leave.” You don’t look at him. Your bottom lip starts to quiver. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying. He rubs his hands over his face.

“I am such a fucking idiot sometimes!” He says more so to himself than to you. “Do you really want me to go?”

“No.” You bite the inside of your cheek harder. “But I also don’t want to be around you right now either.” Tears start to stream down your cheeks. He tries to grab your hand, but you pull away.

“I don’t ever want to be the reason for your tears.”

“How could you say something like that to me? About the fingers and your dick.” You snap your head to look at him. Your eyes are red and angry. “You wanna know what the fucking difference is Harry?” Your whole body turns to face him. You grab his hand and push his index finger and middle finger together. “Do you see this? Now think to how much bigger your dick is than this. Okay? Now I want you to imagine someone unlike yourself. Someone who doesn’t take the time to make sure you’re wet or lubricated or whatever the fuck. Someone who wouldn’t even make time for the foreplay, someone who took their penis and shove it inside of me so hard I fucking bled out afterwards! Someone who completely overpowered me to the point where if I had decided to fight back something worse could’ve happened! That’s the fucking difference. Is that answer you were hoping for? Are you fucking happy now?!” You were bawling your eyes out. Harry was sobbing. You hated seeing him like this, but you needed him to hear this. He had never spoken to you like this, he had never been so insensitive with you.

“I…I don’t even know what to say.” He says between tears. “I’m so so-“

“Don’t. I can’t hear that word again. It means nothing to me right now.” You sigh. “I’m gonna go take a sleeping pill, I’ll be right back.” Before you can leave he speaks up.

“If you want me to go, I’ll go. I really don’t want to, especially because you’re upset with me.” He wipes his eyes as he gets out of the bed. “I could kill that guy, I really could. If I ever run into him again, I’ll-“

“You’ll what? Assault him? Great, so you’ll get arrested.”

“Why didn’t you ever press charges?”

“Because at the time I didn’t think it was…I mean I thought it was consensual. Please don’t victim shame me, Harry.”

“I’m not!” He was defeated. You watch him pull his pants on.

“Sleep on the couch.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to leave, but I also don’t want to be next to you right now. The couch turns into a futon. There’s pillows and blankets inside the coffee table.”

“So, I’m going to sleep out there, while you stay in here?”

“Yes. I mean, if you want to go, you can, but I don’t want that.”

He left the room, and you listen to see if he’ll stay. You hear him creek the coffee table open, and it puts you at ease. None of this was really his fault. He was speaking up about how felt, and you couldn’t fault him for that. The way he went about it, however, was complete shit. He did ruin the night, you couldn’t excuse that. You thought it was nice that he wanted to be so close with you, so intimate. You wanted that too, you were just scared. Rightfully so. You went through something traumatic. He had been amazing for over three months. He was bound to breakdown at some point.

Harry wanted to throw up. He was doing the same thing to you did to him that caused your first fight. Only he did it ten times worse. You were having a perfectly romantic evening, and part of his old self kicked in. The Harry that just wanted to get his dick wet. The Harry that was scared of commitment. He didn’t regret inviting you to meet his family, he was excited about it actually. So why did he regress? Why did he have to say those things to you? He knew as soon as his statements left his lips, he was completely wrong. He loved you so much, was it so bad that he couldn’t have sex with you the way he wanted? He couldn’t bare the thought of someone hurting you the way you described. He felt tears roll down his cheeks. There was no way he was going to sleep. He just wanted to curl up next to you. He knew you would need to be held, but he wanted to be held by you.

Around one in the morning, after tossing and turning for hours, you sat up. You had calmed down, and you weren’t as upset. Still really annoyed at what went down, but not enough to still want him away from you. He had to be freezing out there with the thin blanket you kept for the futon. You wrapped yourself in your comforter and pad out to the living room. He was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. His feet hung over the edge. You crawled onto the futon, and put the comforter over to the two of you. He looked at you confused, but took you in his arms, and held you tight.

“I won’t ever expect you to understand what I’ve been through, and I shouldn’t have been so graphic with you earlier. But I have valid reasons for not being ready for you in that way yet.”

“I can’t take back what I said, but please know I regret all of it. I was being an idiot, and made so much blow up. I love you so much, you know that right?”

“Yes, I love you too. I couldn’t sleep without you.” You say nuzzling into him.

“I couldn’t either.” You both lay there a minute. “Do you mind if we go back to your room? My feet are danglin’ here.” You start laughing.

“Only if you carry me.”

Harry scoops you up in the comforter, and quickly carries you back to the bedroom. You two face each other, tangling your legs, and wrapping your arms around each other. It was your second fight, and a bad one at that. But, you were happy he didn’t leave. You were getting better at working through these things. You both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

//

Harry woke up with your hair tickling his nose. Your body was mostly on top of his. He was a dick to you last night, and he needed to find a way to make up for it. He played with your hair and rubbed your back lightly. You nuzzled into him and let out soft sighs of affection. You fell into an early morning dream.

You were walking on the street, dressed for work. No one else was around. You had yours and Niall’s coffees in your hands. A man bumps right into you, causing you to drop the coffees. When he apologizes you see that it’s Jake.

“You!”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“How could you not remember me?!” You punch him in the face and start to run away.

Suddenly, you’re flying through the air. You blink and you find yourself seated on an airplane, looking out the window. You turn to see who’s sitting next you. It’s Harry. He looks at you and smiles. His hand reaches for you, you think he’s going to take your hand, but instead he pats your tummy. When you look down you see that your belly is swollen. You look at your left hand and see a wedding ring on your finger. You feel confused and worried. Your heart rate accelerates. Causing you to jolt awake.

You let out a sound to catch your breath as your eyes pop open. You look down at Harry to see a concerned expression on his face. Before he can say anything you jump out of bed to look at yourself in the mirror. You lift your shirt to inspect your stomach, which was still flat. You catch your breath.

“Jesus…” You say to yourself.

“Are you alright? You were fine and then you started breathing heavy?” He asks, sitting up.

“Yeah, I just had a really weird dream.”

“What happened?” You turn to look at him.

“I saw him on the street, and I punched him in the face…and then I was flying, and then on an airplane….and you were there with me…and I was…”

“You were what?” You grab your stomach and turn to the mirror to inspect once more that you were, in fact, not pregnant. It would be impossible for you to be anyways, but it still scared you.

“Um…” You turn to face him, your face flushing. “I was pregnant, I think. Either that or just really fat.”

“Oh.” Harry imagined you for a brief moment pregnant with his child. It didn’t scare him at all.

“Scared me half to death.”

“Do you have dreams about him often?”

“Only sometimes, most of them go like that. I hit him or something and run away.” Your cheeks flush more. “I’ve dreamt about you before too, just nothing like that.” You get back onto the bed. “It was so weird.”

“Wonder why you were even thinkin’ of that.”

“I have no idea. I mean, I’ve had pregnancy dreams before, I think every girl has.” You sigh. “It’s over now, no big deal.”

“I know we talked a little bit last night, but I just wanted to say again how terrible I feel about how I acted.”

“I’m not going to say it’s okay, because it’s not, but I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean, I understand your frustrations. At the end of the day you’re a guy, and sex is important. I mean, it’s important to me too…I’m not saying it only matters on the guy’s end. And we have been together for over three months, so it may feel odd that we haven’t done it yet. I guess I just thought we were moving at a good enough pace.”

“We are, we totally are. I don’t know why I was feeling that way last night.”

“I know you don’t think you have all of me, but you do.” You put a hand on his cheek. “You have more of me than I’ve ever given to anyone. I’m all yours Harry, no one else’s.” He leans into your touch.

“I’m all yours too.” Harry’s phone rings, it’s Niall. “One sec, love.” He swipes the phone to answer. “Yeah?”

“What time are we meetin’ up?”

“Don’t know, what time works for you?”

“In like an hour maybe? I just got back to my place. You could come over here if ya want.”

“Yeah, sounds good, I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.” Harry hangs up and looks back at you. “I’m gonna hang out with Niall for a bit today, that alright?”

“Of course! You don’t have to ask me to go see your friends babe.” He melts at the term of endearment. You really did forgive him. He’s allowed to be frustrated or in a bad mood once in a while. You weren’t going to hold it against him. You weren’t mad at the thought of having a little alone time either.

“Right, well, I’m gonna get goin’ then.” He kisses you on the top of your forehead and gets out of bed. You watch him as he gets dressed. “I’ll call you later?”

“Sounds good.”

And with that he left. Your Friday night from hell was officially over.

[softbiker]

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: a couple of bad words

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is my submission for @nacho-bucky ‘s writing challenge! My prompt was ‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. As a side note, I drank a whole pot of coffee yesterday and wrote this in one afternoon, so it’s also unedited :) As always, let me know what you think! 

By the time the quinjet is an hour out from New York, Bucky Barnes is in an irredeemably foul mood.

Breaking up terror cells in Germany was supposed to be an easy mission - in and out, with the practiced ease of their well-oiled strike team. Really, they took the mission to spare German special forces the trouble...that, and a potential connection to an old Red Room contact of Natasha’s. With their “dream team” (Sam’s words, not Bucky’s) of Cap, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, this should have been a light op, a scrimmage, Nerf ball.

Turns out superheroing is a contact sport, and they’ve got the bombs and broken ribs to prove it. A train station, a decoy, and an explosive device Natasha failed to disarm. With Sam coordinating civilian evacuation, there had only been a couple dozen injuries, but the suspect had slipped away, leaving them bruised and empty-handed.

Bucky had taken a brutal hit as he pulled Nat to safety, and now he is curled in his seat on the jet, metal hand holding his ribcage. He watches Steve scowl in the cockpit, jaw unflinchingly tight as he goes over the mission in his head. The captain doesn’t know how to let things go - never has, never will. Sam is actually piloting the quinjet, making unreturned small talk about a basketball game he went to last weekend. Natasha sits across from Bucky, a Stark tablet in her hands, dissecting bomb schematics and diagrams of diffusion techniques. There’s a little scab of dried blood on her bottom lip that she pokes at with her tongue, red brows lowered in concentration.

Bucky is exhausted - his hair smells like dust and smoke, his mouth is tangy and dry. There’s dried sweat underneath his uniform and he itches and his feet are hot in his boots and his ribs really fucking hurt. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and wishes they were home already.

**********

She pops her head up over the back of the couch when she hears them. What a sight they make: Bucky, propped up on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha dust-covered and buried in her tablet, Sam still sweaty and tugging at the harness on his suit. She still smiles, tentative but kind.

“Hi guys.” She lifts her fingers in a little wave. “Everyone okay?”

Bucky grunts in response; Natasha says nothing, making a beeline for her room and a shower. Sam, without doubt the most talkative person on the team, props himself on a stool and blows a harsh breath past his lips.

“We’re alright, yeah,” he sighed. “Barnes is a little beat up but he’ll get over it - he’s just  dramatic.”

“Fuck you, too, Wilson.” Bucky flips Sam off over his shoulder as they hobble towards the elevators.

She winces, not yet used to their harsh banter.

“Hey man, be nice in front of the rookie, alright?” Sam hollers, mock-offended. “You’re creating a hostile work environment!”

Steve chuckles a little at that, jostling Bucky’s tender ribs, which makes him scowl at his best friend.

“Bucky is a hostile work environment,” Steve deadpans. They’ve reached the elevator, and shuffle inside, turning to face the common room. Bucky catches the rookie’s eyes as she giggles behind her hand.

“She’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, sparing a wink for the rookie. “When I make it hostile, bird brain, you’ll know.”

The elevator doors close, and he leans on Steve a little heavier, and jabs his elbow into Steve’s stomach.

“Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” he huffs.

“What?” Steve feigns innocence, and very poorly. “Didn’t know you were so worried about making a good impression on the rookie.”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

They meet Dr. Banner in the medical wing where his lab adjoins the clinic; Sam had messaged him half an hour ago that they were inbound with a broken supersoldier, and Bruce had taken the liberty of setting up some of his supplies. Of all the doctors on staff, Bucky favored Dr. Banner - he was mild and soft-spoken enough to not trigger Bucky’s anxiety, in spite of the needles and IV drips and the snapping of latex gloves.

An X-ray and some bandages later, Bucky is removed from the active duty list for two weeks.

“Even with your advanced healing factor, I wanna be careful with this,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses to scratch the side of his nose. “I mean, your medical history is a little blurry, to say the least - and with all the shit HYDRA pulled, who knows what kind of stress your bones have been through before.” He taps away on his tablet, notifying FRIDAY and the admin system to remove Bucky from the roster. “In the meantime, take it easy - no missions, no training, no lifting weights. Probably avoid the motorcycle, too. I’ll check on them again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve is nodding - he never leaves Bucky by himself in medical - and crosses his arms. Neither of them have changed out of their uniforms yet, and in this sterile observation room, Bucky can finally smell the layers of grime and sweat clinging to them. His nose wrinkles when he gets a little whiff of himself, feeling bad for the nurse who bandaged his ribs.

“Oh I almost forgot -” Bruce turns around and reaches for something on his lab bench. A little blue bottle, full of round white pills. “Here. I developed these for the two of you - since you metabolize normal painkillers so quickly, I figured we might need something that would work in the event you sustain heavy injuries which…well, seemed likely. Take 2 every 4 hours, okay?”

His metal fingers grip the little bottle, rattling the tablets inside.

“Sure thing, doc.”

**********

She lifts the hem of her shirt, wiping at the sweat on her forehead, and leans against the wall of the gym. Her breath comes in short pants as her chest heaves, trying to cool down from her last bout with Agent Romanoff.

“Heads up.”

Her hands barely make it up in time to catch the flying water bottle headed for her face.

“Good catch,” Romanoff smirks a little. She’s sweating, too, but in a way that’s decidedly more sexy, little red curls hanging by her face. She looks fresh from a Pilates class, not a suicide workout - the rookie can feel the heat of her own face, the sweat drenching her clothes, and knows she’s not nearly as glowing as her trainer.

“You did really good today,” Romanoff continues. She keeps saying to call her “Natasha” but that is so hard to do with a woman so intimidating her alias is one of the world’s deadliest animals. “Really good. You’ve shown tons of improvement since we started. I’m going to recommend we start letting you shadow on missions in a couple more weeks.”

“Wow, really?” Her face lit up in spite of her exhaustion.

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. “I know it’s gotten a little boring, having you go through all of this.”

“Boring” was an understatement. Despite having a few years of experience under her belt - well, according to Tony Stark, vigilantism barely counts as “experience” - the rookie was assigned to a training program for her first couple of months on the team.

“Too much of a risk to put you in the field right away,” Stark had rattled off, handing her forms to sign and an official t-shirt (‘Look Mom! I’m an Avenger!’) and a tablet with a map of the compound. “Legal says we can avoid liability issues with a training program before we gradually phase you in, and I’m inclined to agree, so! Welcome to the team, but not officially!”

Her days consisted of early morning workouts, followed by combat and tactical training with Black Widow herself, and then...well, not much. There was research, of course, and she stayed on top of the intelligence briefings with the rest of the team. She went to meetings and official dinners and unofficial karaoke nights, but the rest of her time was mostly her own. Frankly, she was chomping at the bit to get back out there, in the action. Helping people.

“Well, hopefully it’ll pay off,” she sighs, giving Agent Romanoff an exhausted smile. “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link on the team.”

“You won’t be, believe me,” Natasha shakes her head. With a glance at her watch, she picks up her own water bottle and heads for the door. “Now I’ve gotta run, Skype meeting with Fury in 5. I’ll see you later, Rookie!”

**********

Bucky Barnes was feeling good.

Like, damn good.

Like, ‘Banner should label his controlled substances’ good.

Thing is, post-HYDRA and post-fugitive and post-cognitive reconstruction therapy, Bucky was more mentally okay than he had been in decades. He had the occasional rough day, and he definitely wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the shrinks that Stark had on retainer, he was getting better at dealing with it all. His physical health, however, was more of a moving target. In spite of receiving a bastardized supersoldier serum, he had been pumped full of so much other shit and gone through so much physical stress that his body had fundamentally shifted equilibrium. Multiple appointments with Dr. Cho and Shuri revealed that his chronic pain may never fully heal - if it did, it would be a very gradual process. Normal painkillers in reasonable doses did nothing for him, so Bucky settled in to his discomfort, carrying it the way he carried his knives and his scars - always.

24 hours into his medical leave, a few doses of pills down, and he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his body - he shifted his awareness to each part of himself, like that guided meditation thing Wanda did sometimes, and he couldn’t find the pain, not even lurking behind the muscle and metal. He might be a little miffed at being off the active duty roster, but if his whole vacation is going to feel like this? Well, he doesn’t mind to let Steve handle the next threat to world peace.

With his schedule suddenly wide open, Bucky wonders what he’ll do with his day. He can’t remember the last time he truly had nothing to do - it’s an exciting prospect. So he lets himself ease through his morning, sleeping in, long hot shower, slipping on those plush Black Widow pajama pants Nat gave him as a gag gift. He knows everyone else will have had their breakfast and moved on to morning briefings and training drills by now, and he wanders down to the kitchen in the hopes that they’ve left him some coffee.

He sees her there, perched on a stool at the island and frowning at the tablet in her hand. There’s a little scrunch to her nose when she does that, he notices.

“Good morning,” he says softly, trying and failing not to startle her.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” she smiles, watches him round the island to the coffee pot on the counter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“S’okay. I’m quiet.”

“You didn’t get tapped for the recovery mission? They’re going after your suspect from Berlin again, I think.”

“Oh, I’m off missions for two weeks.” He turns, giant ‘Don’t forget to be awesome’ mug gripped in his metal hand. “Banner’s orders. You didn’t hear about my smashed ribs?”

“Oh no, I guess not - are you okay?” Suddenly she’s concerned, and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m still a little out of the loop I guess.”

He feels guilty for that - she’s eager, bright, kind, a brilliant recruit. But it can take a while before you’re ‘in’ with the team. Not because they exclude her, but, well - a group made up of outsiders has a hard time adding new faces to the mix.

“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” Bucky digs around in a jar on the counter for a few sugar packets, dumping them into his mug. “Anyways, I’m off the roster for now. Gotta figure out something to do with myself, I guess.”

Her smile is slow, ducked under pretty lashes - he really needs to stop noticing these things.

“Would you - I mean, you can hang out with me if you want?” She chews on her lip. “I’m done for today - my training with Natasha ended early and they didn’t need me in on the briefing so…”

The rookie was lonely - he could see that, anyone could. The fact is, between their own training and missions, it had been a little hard for the team to spend very much time with her. Bucky himself was often a bit of a loner in his free time, preferring to hole up in his room with books and movies rather than go out for drinks or another karaoke night. And yet, he found himself feeling eager at the thought of spending a relaxing day with the new recruit, getting to know her a little, hearing that funny little laugh through her nose.

“Sounds great, Rookie - what did ya have in mind?”

**********

“Okay, I just wanna go on the record and say I called it. I called it!” She’s grinning. “I knew you would love this.”

“Well, hey, in my defense, I’ve never hated beautiful women.”

She just rolls her eyes, kicks her feet out to rest on the coffee table in front of them. There’s a pile of DVD’s, all hers, laying across the surface, picked through and ranked in order of what was most important for Bucky to see. His film education was obviously lacking, considering he missed out on 70 years of movies, and didn’t even know what he liked anymore, so he was content to let her pick. After raiding the kitchen for an array of snacks, they settled in, opposite ends of the same couch with a bowl of popcorn and dark chocolate M&M’s between them.

Approximately 20 minutes into the movie, Steve appears, just passing through for an apple from the fridge. He stops in his tracks behind the couch, the crunch of the fruit in his mouth just above their heads.

“What is this?” he says around his mouthful. If his Ma could see him now, Bucky thinks.

“It’s called ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’ - came out in 1953,” she answers, smiling over her shoulder at him. “It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“That’s - that’s Lauren Bacall!” Steve perks up, smacking Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Betty Grable’s in it, too.”

“No shit!” Steve is grinning now, and he gives the rookie a conspiratorial look. “Y’know, Bucky used to have her pin-up poster. The one in the white bathing suit? Had it in his suitcase when he shipped out.”

“Oh, really?” She’s looking at him now, eyes sparkling at the rosy blush climbing up Bucky’s cheeks. “Betty Grable, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Well, everybody had that picture, I mean...it’s famous for a reason. All the boys had ‘em.”

“No, no, I get that,” she shrugs. “I just had you pegged as more the Rita Hayworth type, that’s all.”

It takes him back for a second, Steve too, that she knows these starlets, that they could’ve been having this same conversation 75 years ago. He can see that look in Steve’s eyes, sly and knowing as they slide towards him. Bucky works his mouth, tries to control his smile.

“Well, nothing wrong with her either,” he drawls, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “But did you see Grable’s legs?”

“I just thought you might’ve had a thing for redheads!” she laughs.

“They’re alright, I guess - now Dugan on the other hand…”

Neither of them notices Steve leave the room, tossing the apple in his hand and a huge dopey grin on his face.

**********

“Tell me again what the recipe says?”

“One cup of pumpkin puree.”

“Oh - shit, I thought you said one can.”

She smacks her forehead. “No wonder the batter is so goopy!” She rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re trying to ruin my bread, Barnes.”

“I swear I’m not, doll - it was an accident.”

“Okay, new plan - we just make a double batch since the can has two cups in it.”

She shuffles around behind him, grabbing her flour and sugar and sour cream and other ingredients, hands flurrying to measure and fix the dough. It’s mid-afternoon now, a couple of movies down, and they (she) decided they needed to get in the fall spirit by baking a ridiculous amount of...breads. The banana bread is already in the oven, the pumpkin will be on its way as soon as she fixes his mistake, and a blueberry bread (made from muffin mix) is next on the list.

“But...what’s so special about making it into breads?” He had asked, causing her to look at him like an idiot.

“Ask me that again after you try them, Bucky.”

So he shut up and cracked eggs and sifted flour, stirring when her arm got tired. He was already regretting his words now that the smell of the banana bread was drifting towards him from the ovens, and he had to admit the pumpkin and cinnamon from her bowl was making his stomach growl. With all the bowls and measuring cups laying around, they were making enough sweet breads to feed an army, but hey - the Avengers are practically a small army of their own. And besides, Bucky intends on taking an entire loaf - baker’s privilege.

He decides that he likes watching her work, bouncing around the kitchen, some oldies playlist on the speakers, her tongue poking out between her lips. She’s got her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows - he had to help with that, after she got dough on them. This song is good, too, and he wants to ask her who wrote it-

“Are you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna help?” she quips over her shoulder. He has no idea when he last smiled so much.

“You’re the boss, Rookie.”

**********

She’s got her feet in his lap now, and they haven’t said a word in an hour, and Bucky doesn’t even remember taking his last dose or two of his pain pills but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

There’s a huge book in her lap, Stephen King - a favorite, he’s learned.

“I read at least one of his books every year in October,” she tells him. “You know, to get ready for spooky season.”

“Spooky season? What the hell is that?”

“You know, Halloween time!” she smacks his arm. “It’s Halloween first, Buck, you gotta get in the spirit.”

“I’m -” he sputters, face drawn in the most adorably confused look. “Halloween first?”

She hands him a book of his own and now here they are - he’s 20 pages into The Shining, but he’s stopped paying attention because she’s yawning behind her book and her eyes are fluttering shut, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

He forces his eyes down to his own page, to Jack Torrance and haunted hotels, but they’re drawn back up when her book finally drops the rest of the way to her lap. Her head slumps sideways onto the back of the couch, mouth open just a little. He draws the blanket down around her feet and tucks it in a little tighter, but other than that, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s just fine right here, thank you.

He’s sinking in again, driving up the twisting mountain road to the Overlook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Carefully - in the way highly trained superspies can be careful - he lifts his hips up and pulls his phone from his pocket, managing not to dislodge her feet or wake her up. She merely sighs in her sleep, nuzzling her face into the couch pillow. A text notification from team group message lights up the screen.

It’s Natasha. A photo, a photo which she somehow managed to take without him knowing, of him and the rookie, practically snuggling on the couch and reading together. Her legs are propped over his lap, and Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at her over the top of his book. Nat has captioned the photo: “looks like Barnes found a good nurse.”

He snorts a little. Natalia. Glances up at her, still sleeping, and tilts his phone upwards a few degrees and snaps a picture to send back.

“She sleeps on the job” he types, thumbs still slow on the phone keyboard. Instantly, his phone starts buzzing with more texts from the team, but he mutes it and lays his phone on the coffee table. He doesn’t feel like talking now. Well, talking to them.

“Hey...Rookie,” he whispers, reaching out and shaking her shoulder a little. She hums in her sleep, but makes no other move.

“Rookie, I gotta ask you something.” He wiggles her leg a little, shaking her feet in his lap, and whispers her name. He’s rewarded with her eyes fluttering open, her mouth drawn down in a pout at being woken up.

“Whatisit,” she sighs, still slumped into the cushions. He clears his throat. Here goes nothing.

“So, there’s a charity gala for the Stark Foundation coming up next weekend,” he starts bravely. “And - and the whole team is going anyway, so I know you’re gonna be there, but - well, maybe you would consider going...with me?” Courage runs out, and his brain backpedals. “I mean, just as a friend?”

She huffs. “I can’t believe you woke me up for that.”

“Oh.” He looks down, hair falling in his eyes. “So...you don’t want to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Barnes,” she sighs. “Now shush. I was napping”

His face hurts from the stretch in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s gonna give Bruce those pain meds back.

[amydancepants-peralta]

brand new moon, brand new sun ♥️

From the first time she had presented her parents with a ‘consideration list’ for her upcoming 6th birthday party, Amy Santiago knew she was a Planner.  

It had been a carefully curated form, with possible locations itemised in order of preference (the local park rated higher than their backyard, the planetarium superseded the park); followed by a hopeful guest list - her already neat handwriting deliberately ranking her classmates from Most Likely to be invited (Katrina M) to Least (Kyle D).  

Her parents had been impressed by the work that had gone into it, and that year began her eleven year streak of amazing birthdays surrounded by the universe and the closest of her friends.  It also taught her that preparation led to results, and by the time she was eight Amy had already begun to map out her weeks well in advance.  She had favourite markers, and a colour-coded system for specific events; and as the years wore on and her preferences changed, one simple truth remained:  preparation and planning was everything, and hard work always pays off.

While it was true that the life calendar that she’d put together during her first year of college hadn’t planned or predicted for the undeniable impact that Jake Peralta would have on her life, for the first time in a long time Amy had simply found herself adjusting to the unfamiliar thrill of not knowing.  It had only taken two or three dates for her to realise that being with Jake had changed everything - infinitely for the better - and from the first time she’d stayed the entire weekend at his apartment, and woke up Sunday morning to find that he’d run down to his local bodega purely to buy her a copy of the New York Times so that she could still do the weekly crossword, Amy knew that she was in it for the long haul.  

Jake both encouraged and challenged her, and made her smile more than anybody in the entire world.  He loved Amy, with every fibre of his being, and would happily shout it from the rooftop of every building in Brooklyn if ever given the chance.  And Amy was so deeply in love with Jake - the kind of love that vibrated from every pore, and for the longest time she had truly believed such a thing only existed in the great literary classics.  It’s the kind of love that turns you upside down and inside out and makes you whole: that completes you even when you thought you were already complete.  He was the love of her life and her best friend all wrapped up in one handsome package, and the night that he’d sat beside her, shrugging and giving her that beautiful smile of his before suggesting that they should start trying for a baby, will always remain one of her favourite moments.  

Truthfully, Amy had known that it wasn’t going to happen instantaneously.  Her body needed to adjust to no longer being on the pill for starters, and sometimes good things simply take time.  It was several months before the fear began to creep in, and it took a pregnancy announcement from an officer on the second floor to make their sex a little more scheduled -  a little more time specific - and while The Jake Way had been a lot of fun, it too had not yielded results, and things began to become clear.  

This was a test.  And tests were something that Amy knew like the back of her hand.  It had been a rush of adrenaline, to compile all the information and fill binder after binder with scores of insider tips and tricks.  This was what Amy knew, and what she knew she could do well.  There were calendars and graphs, coloured post-its and ovulation charts and a schedule that rivalled all the other schedules she’d ever put together in her life.  Suddenly, Amy begins to feel in control again - because preparation and planning was everything, and hard work always pays off.  

She tries to shrug off the disappointment when the first test she takes after Operation Pregnancy begins, throwing the stick into the bin and shaking her head quickly when he looks at her expectantly.  Keeps her face positive when she sticks her head out of the work restroom a couple of days later, throwing out a casual nope! that doesn’t sound casual at all to her, and clearly Jake agrees because as soon as the door swings shut behind her he’s pulling her into his arms.  It’s entirely inappropriate for the workplace, but his arms are so tight around her and it feels so incredibly right that for a moment, the buzzing world around them fades away.  He whispers in her ear that there’s always next time, and she can feel herself nodding, pushing the doubts down further as she rests her head against her husband’s chest.  

Two and a half months in she begins branching out, buying a few different brands of pregnancy tests and favouring one that has a panel along the side that simply states ‘pregnant’ or ‘not pregnant’.  It’s a blunt statement, but negative signs have never been welcome in Amy’s life (all these years later, she can still vividly recall the first time she received an A minus), and she’s seen more than her fair share by now.  

As it turns out, the words sting just as much as the symbol.

Birthdays come and go, Halloween passes and so does Thanksgiving, and then suddenly it’s Christmas and Amy still isn’t pregnant.  There are three more officers in the precinct (not to mention their neighbour and her younger sister-in-law), that are pregnant; but Amy definitely is not.  

The morning the thirtieth test gets thrown into the bin Amy climbs into the shower, desperate to wash away the overwhelming sensation of defeat - but no matter how hard she scrubs, the feeling just never seems to fade.  Each attempt burns, like another red mark against her name - a report card filled up with multiple Fs - and she’s so determined to prove that they can do this, but … maybe she can’t.  

Her hands run over the curve of her abdomen as the suds fall down her body and she tenses her muscles, pushing out her stomach and briefly giving into the fantasy that someday - maybe even someday soon - there will be a baby growing there.  Her chest tightens under the pressure of it all and she releases a huff of breath, dipping her head back to let the water run down her face, her tears mingling with the rivulets as her stomach collapses back to it’s regular state.  She feels like such a failure.  And Amy Santiago has never been a fan of failure.

She runs her hands over her face as she dries off, avoiding the mirror but trying desperately to erase any sign of her devastation before leaving the bathroom.  This whole process hasn’t been easy on either of them - she needs Jake’s positivity now more than ever - and while Amy knows that she promised herself never to hide anything from her husband, the idea of admitting that she’s just no good at this was more than she was willing to say out loud just yet.  Still, his careful eyes pick up on the droop of her shoulders - on the frustration hidden terribly on her face - and as her feet pad down their hallway he’s already putting together her favourite tea, leading her to their still new (and ridiculously comfortable) couch.  His shoulder has always been her favourite place to rest, and today is no exception, but the aching no longer seems to fade as quickly.  

She hates what this has become - has genuinely begun to resent the fact that they have to try so damn hard for something that should be so simple.  There are times when she considers throwing in the towel - of standing back and waiting for fate to play it’s cards - and then her mind imagines what their children would look like, and before she knows it Amy is setting another UD alarm into the clock in their bedroom.  

Then time wears on, and failure seems to become the only certainty.  

It was an unfamiliar territory, this regularity of rejection.  She’d never realised that failure had teeth - sharp, pointy little fangs that dug into her skin and whispered in her ear whenever her thoughts would finally grow quiet.  There was an echoing sting to it all, the knowing that deep down there was no reason they weren’t getting pregnant that didn’t lead directly back to her.  Amy wanted to grow a family with Jake - to watch a miniature version of him grow and take on the world.  Another gentle boy with scruffy hair, and the sweetest of hearts that always seemed to be far bigger than his body could possibly conceal, getting the chance to finally grow up in a world made entirely of love.  To give him a sister, and then maybe another brother, and watch them play in the backyard of their house in the suburbs as she and Jake cooked dinner every evening.  It was a future that she could see so clearly - one that seemed so bright that it just didn’t seem fair for it not to happen.  

All of the pregnancy journals and fertility guides remind her that none of this is personal, and that sometimes the human body just finds it that little bit harder to conceive.  But to Amy, this is as personal as it gets.  She’s always been a straight-A student, who excelled at everything, but for some stupid reason her body simply didn’t want to co-operate.

She’d give Jake anything - she’d give him everything, if he only asked.  But this?  This, she cannot seem to do.  And it broke her heart just that little more, every single time they failed. 

*

It takes the suggestion of adding their colleague’s soon to be ex-wife’s brother in law on Facebook so they can ask for conception tips to finally push Amy over the edge, the insanity of it all splitting her heart into two because she simply cannot handle another reminder that she is broken - that her body is broken, and she cannot give Jake the family that he so truly deserves.  

None of this made any sense.  This was a test, and Amy was used to making tests her bitch.  She excelled at studying and revising and learning and winning - but no matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard they studied and moulded their bodies into perfectly hospitable vessels for procreation - nothing was working.     

She can feel her chest constricting as she blurts out I’m sorry I’m bad at making babies, and she can tell that her heart is one more word away from splitting open completely, but then Jake shakes his head, and tells her not to say such a thing, and all the reasons she loves him as deeply as she does rush to the forefront.  

He tells her they are a family, just the two of them, and damnit if he isn’t completely correct.  They are a family: a party of two, and it’s smaller than the one she grew up with but it’s filled with just as much love.  There are options, he reminds her, and even though all of this is completely out of her control and that is the worst thing in the world for her, right now none of it seems as bad as it did only a moment ago.  Despite all the heartache that exists within her, Amy can feel herself begin to smile, and it feels like coming home.  

Jake leans in, and his lips are so softly pressed against hers; so gentle and tender, so full of reassurance that truly, he is all Amy needs to get by.  

*

His hand lingers on her thigh for the entire cab ride home.  It’s entirely welcome, and the strong grip of Jake’s fingers on her skin is something that Amy has completely missed, and she wants to tell him but her mouth is far too occupied with kissing her husband.  It’s the sweetest and greatest feeling, this notion of kissing Jake for no other reason than to kiss him, long and hard and sweet and soft and definitely more passionate as they feel the cab take the familiar stops and turns that lead to their apartment.  

She’s missed this - this feeling of making love to her husband, to chasing release and holding their sweaty bare skin tightly against each other in the afterglow.  Of holding each other instead of hugging her knees to her chest, of considering the whole thing to be anything other than just another uterine deposit.  It’s the best night they’ve had in a long time, and part of her wonders if maybe they should have just given up trying a lot sooner.  

And then a week goes by, and her period is a day and a half late, and Amy knows she shouldn’t get her hopes up just yet, but this is how her cousin Mariela got pregnant and maybe they both had just needed to relax before it could all happen.  So she waits until they’re home before telling Jake about the last boxed test, the one that had been shoved to the back so that it was out of sight and out of mind, and he squeezes her hand as she lifts herself up and off the couch.  

When the word Not begins to appear, Amy waits for the crushing disappointment to wash over her, already trying to figure out a way to stall her departure from the bathroom so that Jake doesn’t have to see just how upset another negative makes her.  And the sadness appears - truth be told, it never really went away - but this time, the edges don’t seem as sharp.  Instead, the soft voice of her husband telling her we are a family … you and me washes over her, and Amy raises her head, staring at her reflection in the mirror and nodding at the woman she sees in front of her.  He was right - the two of them were already a family.  A family stronger than some, because regardless of how many times the world tried to pull them apart, they always found a way to come back to each other.  

Nothing about her has changed today, but Amy knows that she’s no longer the same.  It’s a brand new day, and their future now lay claim to a whole bunch of question marks but with Jake, the unexpected didn’t seem so terrifying.   After all, she hadn’t expected to fall in love with the overactive detective that sat across from her for all those years - but fall she did.  Hadn’t imagined their wedding to take place in front of the precinct, with shredded versions of her favourite forms covering the asphalt as she walked down the aisle towards her soon-to-be-husband.  Never dreamed of sharing her honeymoon with anyone but the love of her life.  But all of that had happened, and she wouldn’t change it for anything.  

Maybe they would try IVF.  Or maybe they would adopt - perhaps even foster.  Maybe they’d even become a family of fur babies - hypo-allergenic dogs and cats and some fishes swimming around in a tank.  

(But no guinea pigs.  Definitely no guinea pigs.)  

They would study the options, and plan for the future, but this time the weight on Amy’s shoulders seems far lighter.  Whatever the decision, they would make it together, and the sense of calm that rushes over Amy at that thought suddenly makes the negative test in her hand seem far less personal, and more a fact of life.  She wasn’t in control of this process, and for all the reasons she hates that fact, she loves Jake all the more.  

And with Jake by her side, they can get through anything - because no matter what, they’ll do it together.  

[xbaebsae]

OTP Questions

Tagged by @f0xyboxes , @dieguzguz, @nightwingshero, @deputyrhiannonhale and @returnofthepd3 thanks for thinking of me sweethearts♥

(art by minilev)

Rheese Bennett & Jacob Seed (idk if anyone even reads these except me but under cut because long post)

DISAGREEMENTS

Who is more likely to raise their voice?  Jacob. Now don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t loose his cool all that easy but Rheese can be a pain sometimes and he lacks the patience.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?  Neither of them.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?  This is actually what Rheese does when they break up about three months before the game. He finally is too deluded by Joseph’s demands of him that she cannot get through to him anymore and keep him from hurting people. They have a pretty bad fight about him torturing people that ends with him actually slapping her with the intention of making her shut up because she wouldn’t stop arguing against him. She gives him one moment to apologize for that, but he doesn’t so she leaves :’)

Who trashes the house?  They frequently throw things at each other.

Do either of them get physical?  Depends on when. Jacob pushes her around sometimes or touches her pretty roughly when he suffers from the effects of his PTSD. No domestic violence though. They also land real blows in training fights, same level bad on both sides really.

It’s worse during the arrest when they aren’t together anymore. Jacob was pretty devastated when he realized she actually left for good (he interpreted ‘i am leaving’ as her going home). It resulted in a lot of self blame (justified) which his family couldn’t really deal with. Joseph convinced him in the end that she was just another test he had to overcome in his life to find his correct path. So, he pretty much behaves just like he does in-game. She doesn’t get special treatment, she gets starved and thrown into murder trials like everyone else.

How often do they argue/disagree?  Pretty often. In the beginning it’s all they do, until they realize that having normal conversations every once in a while isn’t so bad actually.

Who is the first to apologize?  Apologies are for the weak :)

SEX

Who is on top?  Jacob

Who is on the bottom? Rheese (though she won’t admit it if you asked her)

Who has the strangest desires?  It’s nothing very strange tbh (at least not by my definition of strange... god i’ve seen ... things on deviantart. Definetly none of that!)

Any kinks?  Yeah, the perfect combo of wanting to feel powerless and wanting to feel in control. It complies with their character really. Rheese was forced to take care of herself ever since her teen years, which developed her into a pretty tough person. She likes the control she has over her life, and doesn’t let herself be pushed around by anyone. Feeling stripped of that control is however really exciting for her. Jacob’s kinda the other way around (imo anyway) in that he’s constantly following orders nevermind when or where, even within his own family (to not disappoint Joseph).

Who’s dominant in bed?  Jacob, Rheese only if he forces her to be :)

Is head ever in the equation?  Yes

If so, who is better at performing it?  Rheese. Slightly unfair though because she’s simply worse on the receiving end.

Ever had sex in public?  Yeah, much to her dismay.

Who moans the most?  Rheese

Who leaves the most marks?  Both do in different ways.

Who is the more experienced of the two?  Jacob

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?  Even the nastiest sex is ‘making love’ to them really. It’s frankly a form of talking to them because they both truly suck at verbal communication. Also, Rheese has the old fashioned rule in her life that she won’t sleep with people she isn’t sure about, so before actually being together they don’t have sex. Tho she’s close to breaking that rule multiple times.

Rough or soft?  Rough, sometimes foreplay is soft.

How long do they usually last?  Depends on time and mood. Also Rheese is a lot younger so she sometimes could go again when he can’t. However that doesn’t mean he gets the best of her sometimes :’)

Is protection used?  Yes on her side

Does it ever get boring?  No

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?  Some small cabin at the place they train Judges. It was kinky, they got caught and she prefers to just not talk about it ever again.

FAMILY

Do they plan on having children/or have children?  No, they never wanted to. Their daughter Jaina was an unwanted accident.

If so, how many children do they want/have?  They have 1 and that’s already more than they wanted.

AFFECTION

Who likes to cuddle?  Rheese

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?  Jacob usually. But sometimes she’s good at it as well.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?  Jacob, and it bothers her a lot in public. He doesn’t really care about what his people think of him, he knows he’s the boss so they can’t say shit. It’s also a way of just showing off that she belongs to him and that’s exactly why she doesn’t like it, cause she ain’t property. Also, people might believe she only became a Chosen trainer because she fucks the boss, which isn’t true because she got that position from someone other than Jake, based entirely on her performance.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?  Until Rheese falls into deep sleep and starts spreading her limbs everywhere uncontrolably.

Who gives the most kisses?  Jacob

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?  Honestly, just existing next to each other is enough. They are just as happy just sitting in the same room, doing their own tasks, as they are going out for a fishing trip (actually she hates fishing, but the lakes are nice).

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?  The bed

How often do they get time to themselves?  Usually evenings and nights. They would have more time together if Rheese didn’t value her alone time. Sometimes she prefers to spend her days off alone, going on a ride through the forests or just relaxing without anybody around. He doesn’t quite approve of that but she doesn’t let herself be locked up.

SLEEPING

Who snores?  None of them

If both do, who snores the loudest?  Nobody

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?  Share a bed when living together.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?  Usually fall asleep cuddling but where they end up is entirely up to chance.

What do they wear to bed?  Underwear usually. Though t-shirts along with that in the beginning.

Are either of them insomniacs?  Jake has trouble sleeping and often wakes up. Her presence helps him but she’s not a magic sleeping pill so the issue never fully disappears.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?  Nah

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?  Usually the first, when it’s too hot the latter.

Who wakes up with bed hair?  Both. Rheese loves his messy hair, especially after she bullied him enough into letting it grow a bit. He however calls her hay-head, because her hair gets all tangled up and poofy despite being tied into a braid.

Who wakes up first?  He does, good luck getting her outta bed before 10.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?  Nobody does, they aren’t romantic.

What is their favourite sleeping position?  Rheese digging her face in the space between his neck and shoulders while one leg and one arm hugs him and he has an arm around her.

Do they set an alarm each night?  When there’s work the next day.

Can a television be found in their bedroom?  No, though she sometimes uses his laptop to watch movies.

Who has nightmares?  Jacob has real ones, Rheese only the occasional bad dream we all get sometimes.

Who has ridiculous dreams?  She dreams demented shit sometimes, never talks about it though.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?  Rheese, she’s a restless sleeper. Got kicked out of the bed for it more than once.

Who makes the bed?  Neither of them. They don’t care about it being untidy.

What time is bed time?  Depends. Usually Rheese stays awake longer to finish watching movies.

Any routines/rituals before bed?  Nothing special, sometimes talking, sometimes a movie, sometimes sex, sometimes just hugging in silence.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?  Jake, esp when she talks too much in the morning.

WORK

Who is the busiest?  They both are pretty equally busy.

Who rakes in the highest income?  It doesn’t really matter to them. The cult pays food and since they don’t care much about materialism, they don’t need much money.

Are any of them unemployed?  They have their job in the cult. Rheese works as a deputy before and after her stay there. so no.

Who takes the most sick days?  Neither really take any unless they are really so sick they can’t move. It’s an unhealthy work ethic but they feel useless when just lying in bed all day.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?  Jake didn’t before, but he sometimes does because of her in the morning. Not that he really minds though, who’s gonna say anything against him?

Who sucks up to their boss?  Jacob in regards to Joseph, which Rheese thinks is very unhealthy. She doesn’t like how he lets himself be used so much and mostly blindly follows whatever his brother says. They have a lot of arguments about this and in the end it’s what ruins their relationship.

What are their jobs?  He’s head of security at Eden’s Gate. She’s a deputy, then pseudo joins the cult and works herself up to become a trainer of the Chosen, then she returns to her deputy position for the arrest.

Who stresses the most?  He does

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?  Police work wasn’t her passion. It was just a career she thought wouldn’t be boring. No noble motives and such. She only reprises her role as the deputy for the arrest because she falsely blames herself for everyone who’s been hurt by Jake’s hands after she left him. Her return is based on her trying to redeem herself. She had fun training Chosen, but she wouldn’t want to be part of any torture cult.

Jacob barely has any opinion on his work. He believes what he does is what needs to be done and he’s the best suited person for the job. You won’t find him complain, though he secretly just wants peace in his life. He hopes the cult’s actions will ultimately lead to that.

Are they financially stable?  They have enough.

HOME

Who does the washing?  Neither until one of them is fed up with the pile in the sink or the lack of clean plates in the shelf.

Who takes out the trash?  Usually Rheese is bothered by it first.

Who does the ironing?  They don’t

Who does the cooking?  She makes good pancakes. But other than that? Don’t allow her in the kitchen because she can’t cook for shit. He can cook a couple of things but is often simply too lazy to ‘play housewife’ so their dinners often consist of very simplistic things. Occasionally one of them will bring home takeout.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?  Rheese, just...keep her out of the kitchen.

Who is messier?  Both pretty much. His place is a mess and she isn’t bothered by it because her apartment looked the same.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty?  Jake, to annoy her.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?  They both just throw them wherever.

Who forgets to flush the toilet?  Jake, again to annoy her. (her ‘ewww you’re fucking nasty’ face is really entertaining)

Who is the prankster around the house? Neither, they diss each other a lot, sometimes joke on the other’s cost but no deliberate pranks.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?  Doesn’t really happen.

Who mows the lawn?  No lawn

Who answers the telephone?  They answer their own cells respectively. He refuses to get a smartphone.

Who does the vacuuming?  They don’t own a vacuum cleaner. Only a broom and a mop.

Who does the groceries?  Usually he does.

Who takes the longest to shower?  Rheese, she enjoys the feel of hot water on her skin.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom?  Not much difference there. Rheese doesn’t bother anymore with any routines and such after Jake told her he hates when she wears makeup because it makes his hands sticky when he touches her face :’) Though sometimes she will still put eyeliner out of habit.

MISCELLANEOUS

Is money a problem?  No, they don’t need much.

How many cars do they own?  Jake own an old truck and a motorcycle, Rheese used to have a car but sold it. She prefers riding on her horse Nugget anyway.

Do they own their home or do they rent?  She had an apartment in Missoula before ‘joining’. Then she lived at Stone Ridge for a while, then she moved in with him to his place. A tiny cabin far up a mountain at the far outside of the region.

Do they live in the city or in the country?  Country

Do they enjoy their surroundings?  Yes, especially the forests.

What’s their song?  You Give Love a Bad Name - Bon Jovi

What do they do when they’re away from each other?  Working, doing their own thing, living. He’s more possessive about her than she is about it. But they both function normally when not being together.

Where did they first meet?  Technically at the church during her very first sermon to ‘join’ the project. But they only interacted about a week later when he’s supposed to bring her to her initiation at John’s place. They immediately hate each other :’)

Who spends the most money when out shopping?  Whoever does the grocery shopping? They both aren’t big on other shopping trips.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets?  She’s not very show off-y. Jacob likes showing she ‘belongs to him’.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?  Both

Any mental issues?  Rheese doesn’t really, she lost her parents and her family is extremely distant but it never gave her trauma.

Jacob still deals with the aftermath of war esp. His PTSD gets bad sometimes and he has sleeping issues.

Who’s terrified of bugs?  She is afraid of spiders, and would appreciate if he killed them when they are in the house. But usually he ends up throwing them at her and tells her it’s therapy to defeat her fears.

Who kills the spiders around the house?  Neither, see above

Their favourite place?  A small lake behind a mountain near his cabin.

Who pays the bills?  The cult

Do they have any fears for their future?  Yeah, they are very conflicted about it. Neither of them know where it all leads and their differences (esp the age one) is an issue at times.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?  They don’t really do that.

Who’s the tallest?  He’s 6'1, she is 5'2. He constantly calls her ‘Shorty’, not in any endearing cute nickname way, but purely to mock her height.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?  Happens with both of them frequently. Tho Jacob is more prone to this because he showers less on his own. So when she’s in there he’s often like ‘might as well join’.

Who wanders around in their underwear?  Rheese starts this trend which he really doesn’t complain about. She also argues that it makes sense because then there will be less laundry to take care of. Can’t really argue with that really.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?  She does, very very badly cause she can’t sing.

What do they tease each other about?  Her short height and his age. Always.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?  Doesn’t really happen but he does judge her Power Rangers T-shirt she wears for sleeping.

Who crushed first?  They both kinda did. They blamed it on physical attraction at first, which made Rheese mad because he wasn’t her type. It takes them a couple of months to actually admit they might eventually possibly perhaps maybe have feelings for one another :)

Any alcohol or substance related problems?  Not really

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?  Rheese does once, and another time they do it together.

Who swears the most?  Jacob, though she’s pretty good at it too.

Tagging @joeyhxdson @fadedjacket @shallow-gravy @chazz-anova​ @ja-crispea​ if you want to. Idk who did this by the time this gets posted.

[coolsatellite]

Brian Thomas x Reader

I wrote this in response to something i reblogged the other day:

A hollow ache settled in your chest as you looked down at the results before you, the results that had just changed everything. Unfortunately, they’d confirmed exactly what you had feared, and now, you weren’t entirely sure what to do.

It wasn’t until you heard a familiar voice calling out in search of you, that you finally came to a decision. 

Swallowing thickly, you crumpled up the notes, before stashing them away where no one would find them. There was no way you could hurt them like this, not when they’d only just started healing and genuinely smiling again.

You would do anything to protect that smile…. Even if it meant eventually leaving them so that they’d never know.

You’d always known you would die alone anyway.

i do have a few more parts drafted but this could also just end with the one part so if anyone is actually interested in this becoming a series then let me know <3

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide and depression

For the first time in your life, you could say that things were going well for you, great even. You didn’t feel the need to respond with “I’m still here, aren’t I?” when asked how you were. You genuinely enjoyed life and felt like you were in a place where you could finally be content, happy. There was nothing to hide from anymore, only someone to run to.

“Hey (N/N), you’ll never guess what Alex told me today!” An excited voice broke you from your thoughts and as you turned away from the photo that had held your attention. Turning your head, your face broke out into a grin as Brian came striding in the room, throwing himself on the mess of sheets that covered your mattress. His face was flushed from the Alabama heat and a nasty mosquito bite had started to form in the crook of his elbow. He looked up at you with a gleam in his eye, and before you could leap out of the bed yourself, you were tugged into his chest with a bone crushing hug. Your begs for him to let you go held no sincerity as you laughed, hardly noticing the sudden difficulty in breathing. It wasn’t until you began complaining about his sweat seeping into your skin did he allow you to roll yourself on the space next to him. Placing a quick kiss on his jaw, you stared up at him expectantly.

“Well, what happened with Alex?”

Brian delved into a dramatic retelling of the unexpected tardiness of his director. Alex was not one to show up late to anything, preferring to be hours early to a set rather than running the chance of being even a few minutes late. Brushing off everyone’s questioning with a silly excuse about traffic, things had run normally after that and the crew was even let go as scheduled for the first time in weeks.

“So, I go up to him afterwards and just ask him if everything was alright. He looked really out of it but he told me that the reason he was late was because he was busy trying to get rid of the dead animals that were left in his yard.”

You froze at this. Dead animals? Surely this was just a coincidence, you were just being paranoid. 

“Yeah apparently this has been going on for a couple weeks. I told him he should call the cops or something if he really thinks someone is purposely leaving them in his yard but he was pretty adamant that it was fine. Honestly it kind of explains why he’s been so stressed out lately.” As Brian continued his rant of his observations on Alex’s behavior, your mind drifted somewhere far away. An increase in irritation and suddenly dead animals were appearing at his doorstep? Didn’t Seth make a complaint about how demanding Alex was that there always be a camera recording no matter what, too?

You were so in your head that you were startled when Brian suddenly sat up, looking at you with concern. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

Somehow you managed to form a smile on your lips and nodded. “Yeah, just a little creeped out. I mean, don’t you wonder how the animals got there?” He cocked his head a little and looked out the bedroom window. “I guess so. But he does live really close to the woods so it isn’t that weird when you think about it.”

You didn’t point out the fact that Alex had been living in that house for years and it was only now that he was experiencing this. You mumbled an agreement instead and quickly changed the subject, asking if you guys could get take out for dinner.

As Brian left to make the order, you turned your head to the photo that had previously captured your attention before he came home. It was actually Tim who had taken it, you had leaped on Brian’s back, catching him off guard, and were laughing as he stumbled about. This picture was taken just as he turned his head to look at you with a wide smile. It was your favorite picture to date, looking almost staged. You were first astonished when Tim sent it to you later in a group text, I mean, no one naturally gets pictures like those taken right? But you were thankful nonetheless and were still trying to show Tim how much you appreciated the picture he had managed to get.

Now it was nothing but a mockery of how easily something so extraordinary could be taken away from you. You placed the photo back on the nightstand and stood up to use the bathroom, where you spent the next ten minutes attempting to pull yourself together. There was no point in getting upset now, not when you didn’t even know if what had happened as a child was repeating now. Yet your stomach couldn’t find its way down from your throat and the shine on your face became more dewy as sweat dripped down your neck.

No matter how much you tried to push it away, you couldn’t stop asking yourself, what was the plan if It had come back to haunt you?

~~~~~~~

Weeks passed and you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. You could feel yourself already starting to pull away from Brian the more you noticed Alex’s unexplained anger and paranoia. Brian knew something was off but you insisted you were fine when probed. You hated yourself for what you were doing to him, all the lies and fake smiles that he saw through, especially after what had happened to him.

You were there the night he tried to kill himself. It had come out of nowhere to you but later you found out that Brian had been dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts since he was seventeen. He was damn good at hiding it and you likely would have never known if you hadn’t found him parked near your campus one night, sobbing uncontrollably at the steering wheel as he shoved unknown objects into his mouth. Everything after you broke in his window and let yourself in was a blur. All you could remember now was that you had taken him to a hospital where you were told he hadn’t done enough damage to warrant concern for his overall health.

“That’s bullshit!” You had screamed. “My best friend just tried to overdose on some fucking pills and you’re telling me not to be concerned for his health?”

Much of that night was foggy, but you could never forget the pained, disappointed, look on Brian’s face when you walked in his room later. It took months for him to go back to the gap toothed, smiley boy you had known for half your life and an even longer time for him to open up about his mental health. It wasn’t until he met Tim that he seemed to have completely gone back to his normal self, and after auditioning for Marble Hornets things seemed to get even better from there. He was happy and starting to plan for the future again. One that included you as well.

But you couldn’t have prepared for what happened one morning while you were getting ready for class. The night before, you found one of Alex’s notebooks he had left at your and Brian’s house. You hadn’t meant to look through it, but when it was labeled as something for the film you wanted to take a peek to see if there were any good spoilers you could hold over Brian’s head. Instead you found drawings. Filling every single page. They made no sense, trees with a circle being crossed out all over the place, NOEYES, ALWAYSWATCHING, figures you couldn’t quite make out. The images brought memories to mind, ones that you had been trying so hard to avoid. 

There was no time to mourn the past and what could have been, you had done enough of that already. With legs that felt as though cement blocks were tied to them, you made your way to the large trash can at the end of the driveway. Ripping out multiple pages at a time, you tore each one up and threw them away. If Alex came by the next day looking for it, you would just tell him that you hadn’t seen him leave anything with you. 

This led to now, right as you were about to head out the door. Brian had already left for the day so you chanted to yourself to remember to check the lock behind you. As soon as you stepped out, there it was. The green, college ruled notebook with “MARBLE HORNETS” written across it and Alex’s name in the corner.

A hollow ache settled in your chest as you looked down at the results before you, the results that had just changed everything. Inside the notebook were all the drawings that you had desperately tried to rid of the night before. Unfortunately, this confirmed exactly what you had feared, and now, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. 

It wasn’t until you heard a familiar voice calling out in search of you, that you finally came to a decision. 

Swallowing thickly, you crumpled up the notes again, before stashing them away in your bag where no one would find them. There was no way you could hurt Brian like this, not when he’d only just started healing and genuinely smiling again.

Brian bounded up the steps, calling your name again as you quickly stood up and shut the door behind you. 

“Wait, don’t lock it yet. I came back for my phone, my first class was canceled for the day anyway.” He smiled at you and added, “I guess we can ride to school together now.” 

You would do anything to protect that smile… even if it meant eventually leaving him so that he’d never know.

With a deep breath, you looked away from him. “I’m pretty late already, I should really leave now. I’ll just see you later tonight, okay?” You quickly brushed past him and made a beeline for your car. As you were pulling out you looked in the rearview mirror and saw Brian still standing in front of the door, watching you leave with a hurt expression on his face. When you were out of sight, you let the tears fall and felt yourself gasping for air at a stoplight. Your plan had barely been put to action and you were already falling apart. How would you be able to go through with it? If distancing yourself from Brian and making him believe that you were losing interest was going to be this hard, you didn’t think you would be able to go through with it.

You parked as close to your building as you could get and stared at the line of trees in front of you. The memory of being dragged into a wooded area, kicking and screaming, flashed in your mind and you shook your head. This would be your reason for leaving him. That fear you felt as a child was something you would never wish upon anyone, and if this was the only way to keep the man you loved safe from it then so be it.

You’d always known you would die alone anyway.