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sigritandtheelves · 2 years ago

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All Along, Like Fire (Part 2)

Read Part 1

R | 1.8k words | MSR, AU

Summary: What if Mulder had been married to Diana Fowley when Scully joined the X-Files?

A/N: I think one more part after this… again, assuming it doesn’t get out of hand, lol.

—

October, 1994

Fox Mulder did not react the way Diana anticipated. She watched him crumble from the inside, watched him throw himself into fire and rail screaming against the night. This wasn’t just guilt and devotion, she realized. It was love: hot and soul-deep in a way she didn’t think he’d ever felt for her.

The thought burned acidic in her gut.

It was never a lie when she told him she loved him. She did, with all of herself that was able to love. There was just so much she couldn’t tell him, that he wouldn’t understand. Dana Scully might have been “good,” but such a position was relative, and to think her goodness more pure was naïve. On the deeper scale of history, wasn’t saving the human race better? Wouldn’t advances in genetics, and these future children, be the key to survival some day?

Diana looked down over her medical mask at the red-haired woman, petrified but immobilized, on the metal gurney. She dare not speak, lest the other woman recognize her voice, but she placed a hand on Scully’s arm—whether to comfort or reassert her own power, she wasn’t sure. Both, perhaps.

Now you’re a part of this, she thought.

Diana could tell the other woman wanted to scream, but the intravenous paralytic kept her from moving, tied her voice down in her throat, even as her belly distended for the hyperovulation.

We’ll be the same, she thought. They’ll have your future, too.

And when Scully died, whether from this procedure or the cancer that would inevitably follow, Mulder would be broken. Diana would be there waiting for him with open arms and open ears.

—

November, 1994

Scully was soft and fragile and freckled, teetering just this side of life and no memory of where she’d been. Mulder returned her cross to her: a symbol of both her faith and his, though not in the same things. When darkness came and her mother and sister had gone, he wielded his badge to reach her floor and stole back in when the night nurse took a break—even if Scully were sleeping, he needed to see her.

But she wasn’t sleeping. She was deep in thought with a reading lamp on, fingers clasped around the necklace on her chest. She looked up at the sound of the door.

“Hi,” he said.

She smiled at him, and he felt dizzy for a moment at the sober cobalt of her eyes.

“Did you sneak in?”

He frowned. “I don’t sneak, Scully. I deftly maneuver.”

She gave a slow nod of humoring agreement.

“Are you feeling okay? I was just going to sit for a minute and then sne— maneuver my way out.”

Another half smile before she scooted over, patted a space on the bed by her hip. He crossed the room to sit facing her, like she’d done for him in a hospital bed not long ago. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, pushed her hair from her face with a gentle touch. His eyes carried a weight that looked like it could pull her down and drown her. It scared her a little.

“Mulder—“

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, voice low and full of gravel. “It ripped me apart. I wasn’t sure I…” He breathed in once, twice, pushing down some dangerous confession. “They reopened the X-Files and I almost didn’t care. I only cared about finding you.”

Scully’s eyebrows went up at this. “They reopened the files?”

Mulder brushed his lips across her fingers one more time and then let them go. “Yes.”

“When?”

He shrugged. “About two weeks ago.” A pause as he considered how to frame his next words. “I don’t want to pressure you to make any kind of decision. I know you need time, and you may not want to come back at all—“

“I do.” Her voice so firm, so sure.

“Scully, there’s a very good chance someone took you because of our work.”

Her chin jutted up to cut the air with determination. “Then we can’t let them get what they want.”

He opened his mouth to speak, to argue, to say something protective and reassuring like that he’d be okay without her—a lie—but he swallowed it back. He wanted her with him, needed, couldn’t imagine his life without her now. “Scully…” a croak, an admonition, a declaration. He leaned forward and turned to lay his head on her pillow, pulling her back with him. He swung his legs up to lay alongside hers and curled his body around her.

Scully stiffened. This was a dangerous game—dangerously close to the mistake they’d already made. “Mulder, I—“

“Please,” he said. “I just need to hold you for a few minutes. I just need to know you’re really here.” She relaxed, softened against him, and after a moment let her head fall onto his chest.

“You’re married,” she said. “It’s not fair to—“ she swallowed around a click in her throat, “to her.” Or me, she thought. But her arm had come around his waist and her palm was on his back, under his jacket and t-shirt, warm on his skin. She wanted all of him around her like a cocoon. It was the safest she’d felt since waking.

“I know,” he said. He kissed the top of her head.

He didn’t let go.

—

It would be almost Christmas by the time they left quarantine, another whole month gone and so soon after losing time already. Alone in all this quiet sent Scully reeling into the blank void of her lost memory, grasping at scraps and finding only terror, meaningless sensations, dead silence but for the whir of horrible machines.

Scully doubled over in the dark, clinging to her own knees in oversized hospital scrubs. She heard a low keening whine. The drill—

the drill the drill the drill the drill the drill

But it wasn’t the drill. It was only herself, her own throat squeezing out that high, desperate note. She choked on it and sobbed.

She needed to work. She needed to be anywhere but alone with her thoughts and the cold, medical smell of antiseptics, waiting to see if she’d sicken and die like the others.

Welcome back, she thought.

—

Less than two weeks left and neither of them showed signs of infection so they were given permission for contact. Mulder was practically banging at the door, ready to tunnel between their rooms to see her. Unlocking the passage between them was like the crack of gunfire at a race: he was off in a heartbeat.

What he found on the other side of her door was a pale, limp creature, wrapped in blankets and staring at the ceiling.

“Scully!” he rushed to her bed and checked her pulse, felt her throat and her cheeks. She felt warm, but not flushed. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes focused on him and her lips trembled. “I tried not to think about it,” she said, “but I was alone again.” He sank down beside her, watched her wrestle with herself, biting her lips and forcing herself to sit up. She was collecting composure from every last reserve. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

He touched her face again—he couldn’t help it. “You’re not okay.”

For a moment, she leaned her cheek into his palm, eyes closed. She breathed deeply while silence hovered. When she finally spoke, nothing could have prepared him for her words.

“Do you love your wife?” she asked.

It was like a record scratch, a slap, a T-bone at an intersection. “What?”

His hand dropped back onto the bed, and she opened her eyes to look at him. “This is dangerous, Mulder. Whatever this is—“ she waved her hand between them, “—it’s very confusing.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Do you love her?”

Mulder looked away, grappling with his own demons. “Yes. I do. I did? God, I don’t know.” He’d thought what he had with Diana was love, but now he wasn’t sure. Diana was a low thrum of lust and comfort. Whatever this was, it felt monumental, volcanic, planetary, cosmic.

Her voice was low and dry, like wind through leaves. “I won’t do this, Mulder. I won’t be the greener pasture or give her reason to hate me more. That’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not.”

“You’re my friend,” she said.

“Yes.” He thought of her naked under him, soft and unbearably sweet, pink-cheeked and mewling with pleasure. He felt like he’d swallowed fire.

“When you touch me…” She couldn’t finish. “I need to respect your marriage. Or I can’t respect myself.”

There was something in the way she said it that made him realize there was more—something she wasn’t telling him.

“Okay.” Still, he didn’t stand. When she looked up at him, her eyes were hooded, dark, hungry. Being this close to her was dangerous. He didn’t trust himself.

And he was stupidly in love with her, he realized.

He bent to kiss her, and she didn’t resist. She opened and softened and tasted like honey. He’d kill for her. He’d rip the world to shreds for her. He wanted to let her go, but he couldn’t—not after he’d felt this. It was danger love, cataclysmic love.

When he pulled back, her lips were swollen and the freckles stood out on her nose in the dim light. There was no regret her eyes, nor in him: only need.

“I’m not sorry about this,” he said, and he gave in.

—

January, 1995

In the real world of D.C., they put their professional composure back together. They were polite, protective, and professional—if somewhat flirtatious. Scully wouldn’t allow things to move beyond that, not in the city where they lived and worked, but the memory of how he felt over her, under her, inside her was never far away. It seeped in when he was giving slideshows and pinkened her face. She ached to touch him.

But he was married, and that thought would always follow the desire and fill her with a too-familiar shame. By some miracle, Scully had managed to avoid seeing Diana Fowley in the intervening months—was, in fact, terrified of running into her again. When it finally happened, she was shattered, knocked flat by the encounter.

She and Mulder had been working over lunch when Diana walked in, shoving her into panic mode and skyrocketing her blood pressure. Then the woman spoke, and everything came undone.

“Agent Scully,” Diana said, as if surprised to see her. “I was sorry to hear about what happened…”

Diana kept speaking, but Scully had stopped listening. The look in Diana's eyes, their shape and the pitch of her eyebrows rolled a tumbler in her mind.

no no no no no no no

Cold sweat broke out on her upper lip and she felt her face go white as blood left her and she was blanketed with terror. The machines, the drill, the hard metal slab...

Diana had been there in that cold, medical place.

Scully remembered.

—

End Part 2

Go to Part 3

#a thing i wrote #all along like fire #part 2 #msr #txf #au

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danidrabbles · 3 years ago

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OCTOBER 1: KNIFE PLAY

Notes: Kicking Kinktober off with the following. Thank you as always @javier-pena for reading this over for me!

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+!)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: SMUT, established relationship, romance???, sexy use of knives (...i hope), sliiiiightly dub-con but that’s Dave for ya, dirty talk, gags, 1 **** (dedicated to Kelli and Cris 😘) If I forgot anything important, please let me know!

The slam of the door startles you awake. Sitting up in bed, you listen to him rummage around downstairs, trace his path through the kitchen, the living room, and up the stairs. Usually, he’s more quiet, at least attempts to not wake you, but the fact that he doesn’t must mean that today is one of those days.

You know what Dave does; your darling husband by day, something else entirely by night.

It hadn’t started off like that, is what he told you once he came clean. He really had been a CIA operative before becoming what he is now. But this suited him better. He had tried to explain what that meant, careful not to scare you; that people paid good money to eliminate other people, that it sometimes got messy.

But you weren’t scared. You tried to explain that to him, and that mutual understanding, that you were the same on some level others might consider fucked up, it deepened your bond, your marriage, in a way you never expected.

The bedroom door sweeps open, his silhouette dark in the deep of the night, painted in shadows, but the little light in the room does allow you to take note of the blood that has dried on his face. It makes you inhale deeply, fisting the duvet under your hands and waiting for him to make the first move.

It’s one of those days, after all.

Dave reaches you in two big steps, his boots heavy against the protesting wooden floor, but waits at the end of the bed, gnawing at his bottom lip and balling his fists like he has to physically hold himself back.

“It’s okay,” you say, and as soon as you do, he’s on you. Sheets discarded, he crawls over you, pushing you back against the mattress. His eyes roam your face, and he seems to be looking for more than that, so you give him more affirmations. “You can take what you need.”

Wordlessly, he straddles you, a thigh on either side of your body, and you’re trapped below the weight of him, your arms pinned to your side, the fabric of your nightgown stretched across your frame. There’s a barely-there roll of his hips, and he’s unmistakably hard as he seeks out the friction against you. He reaches behind himself, then produces his knife from his back pocket. With a click, the blade reveals itself, glinting like a promise and fuck, it shouldn’t make a burst of arousal flare up inside of you, but it does.

“You would let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” Dave asks as he turns the knife over in his hand once, twice, before giving you an expectant look.

“Yes,” you answer, obedient, eager, honest—because you would.

The cold blade—phosphated carbon steel, as he once explained to you—presses against the skin at your collarbone, the tip just hitting the side of your neck, and you swear you can feel your pulse racing against the sharp steel.

You know exactly what he can do with it, what he has done with it, and yet you trust him, literally with your life.

“You won’t hurt me, not unless you know I want it.”

You don’t miss the way he grins, or grinds down against you, or how he inspects your body under his. In a flash, he hooks the knife under one of the straps of your nightgown and pulls, the fabric parting easily around the top of the blade.

An eager hand pulls at the flap of fabric until he can fill his hand with the soft, plump flesh of your breast. With a gasp, you arch up against him, crying out when he pinches your nipple and twists.

You expect him to go for the other strap, expose your tits to him and play with them until you’re begging him for more, but instead, he fists the torn fabric and pulls it away from your body, bringing the knife up to begin cutting a slit right down the middle. With each rip-rip-rip of fabric, the throb between your legs gets more intense, and an actual moan escapes your lips when he fists the last bit of it and pulls, tearing the garment in half and pushing it to the sides of your body.

His finger dips under the waistband of your underwear, grazing just where the soft curls on your mound begin. He toys with it, pulling it from your body and letting the elastic snap against your skin, before hooking his finger back under it.

“Want me to tear this off, too?” he asks, focusing not on your face, but on the task at hand.

You take a deep breath. “Use the knife.”

That earns you his attention, something akin to pride flashing across his face before he looks back down. In one rapid move, the blade slides over your hip bone and under the fabric of your underwear. With a tug, it tears, the elastic snapping and the material folding back, exposing you to his hungry eyes.

Your head falls back against the pillow, and you moan as he repeats the action on the other side, again when he rips the fabric from between your legs.

“Open up,” he orders.

You try to move your legs, open them for him, but with his thighs still on either side of yours, it’s impossible. Just as you’re about to protest, he leans over you, grabbing you by the chin.

“Open. Your mouth.”

His fingers find your face, and the pinch to your cheeks borders on painful, making you open your mouth with a wet gasp.

Even in the dark, you can see him smile, before he tilts your head back just a tick and spits. His smile only grows when you welcome it with a moan, eyes fluttering and body surging under him before you swallow. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, kissing your open mouth before stuffing your ruined panties inside of it.

The blade is back at your throat, and the pressure of it against your voice box abruptly cuts off your answering whine. With a rough exhale Dave sits back and begins dragging the dull side of it down your body. Still, you find yourself holding your breath, your chest jutting out with the effort. Chin to your chest, you watch as he circles your nipple, once, twice, until it begins standing to attention, hardening at the cold, gentle touch. He brings it back to the centre of your chest and slides it over to your other breast, flicking at your nipple. Satisfied with how your body quivers under his, he slides the blade further down your body, following the bump of your ribcage to your belly button and down.

He shuffles back, and despite the fact that his body is no longer keeping your arms incapacitated, you keep them pressed against your torso while he crawls between your legs. With his free hand, he pulls one over each of his thighs, spreading you open for him to look at, to take you.

The knife kisses the sensitive skin of your thighs, and he keeps teasing you while he opens his trousers and takes his cock out. His eyes fix themselves on your cunt, no doubt glistening with want, even in the dim light of the night.

“You get so fucking wet for this shit, it’s depraved, sweetheart,” he grits out, and despite the fact he says it like he’s scolding you, you know he loves it. Dave is a dark man in more ways than one, and he loves that you’re like this. Like him. For him. With him.

He proves you right when he begins stroking himself, a ragged sigh sailing past his lips as he throws his head back, exposing the thick, strained tendons in his neck. He allows himself a couple seconds of relief, before he stops himself with a long exhale, a hand trailing up your thigh to touch you where you’re more than ready for him.

He fills you with two thick fingers, curling and stroking at your slippery walls, and it’s so much at once, making you cry out against the makeshift gag in your mouth.

“This sweet pussy is going to feel so perfect around my cock,” he says, eyes only leaving yours when he slowly pulls his fingers free, groaning softly at the way your body pulls at him, working to keep him inside. “Would you like that?”

You nod in the dark, unable to help yourself from bucking your hips to chase his touch. The hand that still holds the knife is quick to push you down, the blade glinting dangerously close to your hip bone.

“Want me to put it in, baby? Want me to put it all in? Push all the way inside until you can’t think about anything else but how deep you can feel me inside you?” He slides himself over your mound, pushing until the head of his cock can smear wetly under your belly button, showing off just what that would mean.

There’s so much you wish you could tell him right now. That yes, you want it. That you want him so badly to just take what he wants from you, here, like this, between the shreds of your clothes where you’re spread for the taking. That this ‘depraved shit’ does make you wet, it does when it’s him, when he uses you, when he makes it hurt.

But your affirmation is suppressed against the fabric in your mouth, nothing but incoherent, muffled babbles filling the bedroom.

And yet, it’s like he can tell exactly what you’d been thinking, because the knife hits the floor with a clatter, and if he gave you any time, you might be able to analyse the sudden surge of emotion that flows through you at the idea.

But he doesn’t give you that time. The sound of the blade startles you almost as much as the fat tip of his cock notching at your entrance, as the slide of him inside, as the sharp thrust that makes his thighs slap against the back of yours. He pushes you up the mattress with the force of it, and your hand flies up to press a palm against the headboard to keep your head from knocking against it.

“Fucking Christ,” he sighs, stilling for a second to revel in the tight squeeze of your pussy before he draws back and spears himself through your slick walls - again, again, again.

“I’m gonna make this pussy come,” he promises, voice strained. “I’m gonna make it flood my cock and then I’m gonna cover you in my come,” he adds, a hand dragging over your torso, thumb and pinkie catching on your hardened nipples before he settles his hand on your hip to pull you down against him.

The head of his cock knocks against the button of your womb with each thrust, and at your silenced keens, he falls down to a forearm, eyes boring into yours as he continues to fuck you. “I’ve got you, baby,” he assures.

Your hand curls around his bicep, fingernails digging into the fabric of his long-sleeved top. It’s wet, warm, no doubt evidence of his successful mission, and that thought, your body’s response to it, eases the glide of him inside you.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, his hand leaving your hip to slide between your legs, to draw maddening circles around your slippery, puffy clit, and with the way he’s been working you up, you already know it will take no time at all. “You know that, right?”

You nod with a muffled groan, focusing on the way he stretches you open and plays with your clit, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes with how hard you squeeze them shut as it builds—as it all builds.

You know.

Thank you for reading! I hope to see you all tomorrow for October 2: Stripping. Anyone who guesses correctly which character I’ve written for will get a sneak peek at the fic in their DMs😌

Taglist

@javier-pena, @highsviolets, @frannyzooey, @silksaddle, @artsymaddie, @doin-stuff, @jettia, @stevie754, @amneris21, @readsalot73, @mswarriorbabe80, @queen-sands, @javierpinme, @flyovertheandesman, @pazizz, @honestly-shite, @pedrostories

#dani writing #kinktober 2021 #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #the equalizer 2 #fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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elius-learns-to-write · 3 years ago

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Good Pep Talk

Hey besties <3, I have 6 more things coming out before the start of next week so keep your onions peeled and have an absolutely fantabulous day/night!!! :) P.S sorry if you don’t like MHA pretend it’s something else lol)

You were an excellent member of the team

But you always second guessed yourself

It presented itself in more ways than one but it became more prominent before missions or when you were talking to people with the same interests

“You like MHA too?” A girl whose name you knew you should’ve remembered as she told you last week as she sat down onto the old brown plastic chairs in math but just couldn’t. “Uhm yeah I do actually. How could you tell?” you chuckled nervously, trying to focus on filling up your water bottle that was sure to taste of metal when you took a sip. “Your jumper, I LOVE IT, honestly Kirishima is my favourite. He is just so cool, his quirk is awesome” no-name-girl was obviously excited to talk about it and seemed to be able to talk about it until the cows came home which in this case was exactly 10 minutes because the bell for first period would ring in about that. She carried on talking about the show as you started to wade your way through the crowded halls, you hadn’t really felt the need to add anything because she seemed to have the talking aspect of a conversation under control. That was until she mentioned his birthday “I even make an effort to buy myself a cake every October 18th to honour him” to the annoyance of your peers you stopped in the middle of the hallway to turn to her. “Actually it’s October 16th” she looked at you as if you had grown 2 heads and continued walking “I think I’d know if I was wrong. Now are you coming? We’re going to be late for maths”. You didn’t understand how her tone had gone from sickly sweet and excited puppy to bitter and holding the resentment of the world in her words. Maybe she was right and you had been wrong. Were you wrong? No , surely you weren’t. Right?

You tended to just shrug it off whenever it happened

But being in a place where everyone just seemed better than you really took its toll

Being in a family of superheroes was hard without being unsure of yourself but with it? You were sure to burst

“Hey y/n can you help me with this equation for the homework?” Peter asked from his spot on the floor, pages of notes sprawled out so far that they made him look as if he was floating in a sea of paper. “Go ask Bruce or Tony pr something their smarter” you grumbled looking up from the game of flappy bird you had been trying to occupy your mind with (not that it was working), “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t think you could do it” he replied worry evident in his tone “well I can’t Peter”.

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You had been training with Loki for a good half an hour and you just couldn’t seem to master the illusion he had been trying to teach you “It’s okay, try again but this time don’t tense up and let your thoughts center on this” he advised in a poor attempt to soothe your worry “It would be so much better if you were teaching Wanda this, she might actually be able to do this” the man frowned as he watched you storm out of the room.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “No. If you do it like that you’ll give us all food poisoning” Steve joked from the stove where you had previously been frying up some chicken. You were trying couldn’t he see it. You had been sure you were doing exactly as he had said but then again it wouldn’t be the first time you had been wrong when it came to doing something. “Get Bucky or Nat or Wanda or anyone really, to help you because it's clear I can’t” you said walking out of the kitchen, putting your headphones on and plopping onto the cool leather of the couch.

Your family had been getting more and more worried about your behaviour

You stopped sharing your thoughts on topics they knew you loved

You hesitated when you made a point as if you didn’t trust yourself to say the right thing

And you tended to shut yourself in your room for days at a time

Steve decided that as you Father figure he should step in before the situation got even worse than it already was

Knock knock knock. Steve's knuckles gently rapped agaisnt the door “Y/n? Can I bring a doll?” his voice was muffled from inside your blanket cocoon but you still managed to say yes loud enough for him to open the door to your cozy room. You felt the bed dip to one side as he sat down, still you made no effort to move “me and the team have been getting a little worried about you, you haven’t seemed yourself lately. Do you want to talk about it?” you imagine the hopeful smile that was pasted on his face as if someone had done a shit job at wallpapering it over the worry that was there. “Not really” was all you said hoping it would be enough for the supersoldier to let you wallow in your cocoon for a bit longer, “Keeping it in isn’t going to help you is it” he sighed pulling down the blanket from your face so he could get a better look at you, now being able to see the slight puff and red tint our face had. “I just feel like everyone is so perfect and cool but here I am, just boring me who can’t even trust themself to get anything right” you sniffed, tearing up again as Steve pulled you into a hug “doll you aren't boring and you are twice as awesome then most of the people I know” “That’s because most of the people you know are dead or playing bingo at an over 65s home in the hills of california” he chuckled at that but continued “When I was your age I was lame and had no clue what I was doing but all I knew was that I needed to trust that doing the right thing was all I needed and now here I am” he looked at you to make sure you were okay “ you have that and so much more, you are smart and can do anything if you try. You put too much pressure on yourself, so what if you aren’t the best all the time at all you have to be kind. And I know you are kind” you smiled up at him feeling better than you had when he first disrupted you.“Good pep talk old man” you smiled at him as he chuckled “I’m not that old you know?” he shoved you playfully “sure old man. Now go play scrabble with your old people friends” he gave you one more shove before he got up and walked to the door. “I love you kid” he smiled“Love you too you iced americano”

No matter how you felt now they would help you love yourself again

And you couldn’t think of anyone you’d rather have helping you

#the avengers #avengers x platonic reader #avengers x teen!reader #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #steve x teen!reader #steve rodgers #tony stark imagine #steve rodgers imagine #loki imagine #loki x teen!reader #loki laufeyson #peter x teen!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years ago

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Cozy Sweaters

Jackson Neill x Reader

Sequel to Cold Hands, requested by @detectivebarba & written for @storiesofsvu’s Fall Bingo!

Warnings: Angst. Angst. Angst. Fluff?

Summary: Oh my god they were roommates.

3,350 words

September 8th

The living room of your apartment—what used to be your apartment—was abuzz with heated voices.

“We’re sorry, but you said you were moving out!”

“So you just gave away my room?! I’m allowed to change my mind!”

Your roommates glanced between each other, awkwardness thick in the air.

“Ed is moving here all the way from England on the promise that he would have a room. He already bought his plane ticket. We’d really be screwing him over.”

“But… where am I supposed to go?”

Jenny sighed and shook her head. “Listen, if this wasn’t so last-minute, I’d understand, but you were supposed to move in with your boyfriend next week. We already made plans to fill your spot…” She really was sorry, in other words, but you were stuck.

“Can’t you still move in with him?” Todd added, and Jenny shot daggers from her eyes.

“He cheated on me!”

“Yeah, but you said he didn’t want to break up, right? Just work things out.”

“I am not,” you hissed through gritted teeth, “ever taking him back after what he did.”

September 13th

Every one-bedroom apartment listing in the greater NYC area was out of your price range. You tapped your friend group, colleagues, and acquaintances for roommates and came back empty. You went on Craig’s List and met with a few strangers seeking roommates. The ones who weren’t terrifying never called you back.

Meanwhile, Jackson Neill had been blowing up your phone.

Well, not blowing up—the first night he got drunk and filled your inbox begging you to come back, sobbing and slurring into your voicemail, spamming indecipherable text messages. The next morning, a single text read: “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate, and it won’t happen again.”

And it didn’t.

But he sent another message a few days later telling you he’d found some more of your stuff, if you’d like it back. That you were always welcome to talk if you wanted to. He wanted to be there for you. You didn’t message him back.

September 14th

It was a cold, rainy day on campus, so you risked taking a shortcut to the dining hall. You turned the corner of an old brick building, and there he was, walking out of the Department of Religious Studies, jacket collar pulled up over his neck because the forgetful fool could never remember his umbrella.

He froze at the same time you did.

All you could hear was your pulse drumming inside your skull like rain. You knew you’d run into him eventually, but you hadn’t decided how to react, and your body wasn’t offering any suggestions.

He gave you a pitiful smile and lifted his hand. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

One leaden foot shuffled in front of the other, and you kept walking. He nodded with a wan smile and sad eyes and didn’t chase you.

The outdoor seating was closed because of the weather, so the dining hall was crowded and buzzing. You snatched a small two-seat table just as another student left, brushing a stale French fry off it onto the floor. Sinking down to enjoy your cheap sandwich, you glanced around the crowd.

A middle-aged man with a soggy jacket and salt-and-pepper hair, who had no right to be so breathtakingly handsome, was searching desperately for a seat while precariously balancing a tray of soup and coffee.

He felt your gaze on him, and you were fixed with a beam of frozen green eyes.

You waved him over.

“I wasn’t following you, I swear.”

“I don’t know, eating lunch? At lunchtime? That can’t be a coincidence.”

The corner of his lip wanted to smile, but he didn’t seem entirely sure you were joking.

“Just sit down and eat,” you sighed. “There’s nowhere else.”

He sat.

Silence crackled between you like the sky before a thunderstorm as you ate your lunches.

“So,” Jackson started cautiously, “how have you been?”

You gave a dry snort. “Oh, just fucking peachy. I’m going to be homeless in two days, thanks to you.”

“What?!”

Jackson listened with a deepening frown as you told him about your roommate plight. Then he offered you a room at his house.

“Go to hell. I’m not going to move in with you like nothing ever happened!”

“No, it wouldn’t be like that. I have a spare bedroom. It’s a big house, and I could use help with the bills. Please—it’s the least I can do. Just until you get back on your feet.”

September 17th

It wasn’t like you had much choice.

You moved into Jackson’s house as originally planned, albeit under different circumstances. Instead of sharing his bed, he cleared out the spare room he’d been using, in theory, as a “gym,” and in practice as a storage closet. There was plenty of space, and with how late he always worked at the university, you’d barely see him anyway.

This might just work out.

September 20th

This was never going to work.

Your heart broke all over again every morning you walked downstairs and saw Jackson in the kitchen making pancakes, because every time, you had to fight the urge to come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist like you used to do.

God, you wanted him back. If only you could erase the image of him with her from your mind.

October 7th

Jackson begged you to take him back.

One thing after another had gone wrong after he publicly confronted the Meyerist Movement. The cult pressured the publisher to pull his book. The university put him on leave while they investigated his alleged relationship with a student. You wandered into the living room that night and found him curled up on the couch, and his resolve broke.

There were tears in his eyes as he tried to pull you into a hug, and when you jerked away, they cascaded down his cheeks. He kept saying he was sorry over and over.

“Please. I need you. Everything is falling apart—if I could at least have you to hold onto… just one thing that wasn’t broken. Please, just tell me how to make it up to you. Haven’t I done enough? If I could take it all back, I would. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me? Please let me hold you?”

This was hard for you, too. Part of you wanted to give in, tell him it was all OK, let him kiss you, and see him smile. The worst part of all of this was that you still loved him, but you could never trust him again. He put on such a sweet, innocent act—he was a wonderful boyfriend—but now you knew he was a manipulative liar.

You should never have moved in.

“There’s no undoing the past. We both need to move forward, not back. I’m going to start looking for other places to live.”

October 8th

Morning brought a more sober Jackson knocking at your door. Dark circles hung under his eyes, but he hadn’t been crying recently.

“Please don’t feel like you have to leave. I can get my shit together. I’m calling a therapist today.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah.” He stared at his feet, shifting on the hardwood floor.

“Jackson… I’ll only hurt you if I stay. This is too hard on you.” For us. “Besides, I can’t freeload here forever.”

“You do pay rent, you know.”

“I know, but—”

“I only have the kids every other weekend, and it’s a big house. It gets lonely. You’re doing me a favor being here.”

November 10th

In the last month, Jackson convinced you there was no hurry to move out.

He was a great roommate. He cooked, cleaned, respected your boundaries. He was a truly decent man, if an unfaithful lover, but since you were just friends now, it didn’t matter who he fucked. The biggest concern was that he wanted you back, and living together was a constant source of emotional pain. But on that front, he finally seemed to be moving on.

Whenever the topic came up, he assured you that you were welcome to stay as long as you wanted.

“It’s just so hard to find a decent place in my price range.”

“I mean it,” Jackson reiterated, adding emphasis. “If you want to stay, I enjoy having a roommate.”

You searched for hidden motives in his voice, his expression. Was this part of a long game to get you back? But his tone was friendly and open. Knowing how quickly he jumped from his ex-wife to you to Sarah, there was no way he didn’t already have his eye on someone new. At this point, you were just roommates.

“You mean permanently? Isn’t living with an ex a recipe for disaster?”

He chuckled. “The last few years with my wife were much worse than this, trust me. We were trying to stay together until the kids went to college, but emotionally, we were already divorced. It was awful… sharing a room. Constant fighting.” His eyes took a dull, faraway look as he remembered.

Worry lines creased your brow. “Are you sure you want to put yourself through that again?”

He grinned, snapping out of it, and patted you on the head like you were one of his kids. “You are nothing like her. We’re friends.”

You liked the sound of that. Friends.

November 14th

The sound of screams greeted you as you opened the front door and hung your keys on their hook next to your jacket. Jackson was watching a scary movie marathon in the living room, apropos of the foggy autumn weather.

“Candyman. Care to join?” He patted the cushion beside him.

You stayed up past midnight in your pajamas, sharing popcorn, laughing, and hiding your eyes from the gory parts. Jackson remained on the opposite side of the couch, careful not to touch you.

November 19th

You caught Jackson having lunch with an attractive student. It made your blood freeze, then boil when he walked with her back to his office.

Alone.

Fists clenched, you pressed your ear to the closed door, and heard… an essay on the role of religion in perpetuating homophobia. He was helping her edit a paper. Like professors do.

You followed them all the way from the dining hall just for talking.

When did you become a crazy ex? Why would you care if he was schtupping a hot student? You wanted him to move on—you were glad he didn’t tear up every time you walked into the kitchen anymore. But you knew then that you weren’t over him yet.

If you saw him out with someone new, it would sting like he was betraying you all over again. So you tried hard to be the one to move on first.

November 30th

A car honked outside.

“Oh, that’s my date,” you apologized to Jackson. “Gotta go.”

You got a little rush of schadenfreude from the kicked-puppy look that flashed across his face as you left him mid-conversation, sitting at the kitchen table across from your abandoned teacup. It felt like a big fuck-you, letting him know you’d be fucking someone else. A dare: let’s see if you really meant it when you said we could be friends.

But the look had barely contorted his features when he swallowed it down and smiled, “Be safe.”

He was probably going on plenty of dates himself and just didn’t tell you out of consideration for your feelings. He didn’t want you to feel used, betrayed, and immediately replaced. You were both moving on.

After a string of Tinder hookups, you felt like Jackson was out of your system, romantically speaking.

December 17th

A light dusting of snow floated down through the pale morning air. Jackson woke up on the left side of the bed, as he did every morning, and as he did every morning, turned to his right hoping to find you there. The blankets were cold.

He shivered.

You had a date last night and didn’t come home. He waited up, but never heard your car in the driveway, your keys in the door. Since you weren’t there to see his red eyes, he allowed himself to cry.

February 14th

A dull, rhythmic thumping carried through the walls. The creaking of a mattress. You cried out a name, voice cracking as you came for the second time.

It was the same guy again.

Casual hookups he could handle, but it had been the same guy for weeks now. Jackson told himself he deserved this. This was what he did to you, only while you were together. When you trusted him not to. He deserved to hear the one he loved being taken by another man.

As much as he wanted you to be his, you weren’t. He had no right to feel burning bile rising in his stomach at each of your moans and gasps. You were doing nothing wrong.

“You live here. Of course you can have dates over. No, it’s not awkward. We’re friends.”

A hot tear slid from his eye as he buried his head in a pillow.

This guy better take care of you.

May 1st

He didn’t have a roommate anymore. Not really. You spent all your time at Rodney’s apartment.

Soon you would move out, and he’ll have lost you forever.

He wanted to warn you not to move so fast, but what right did he have to judge? He let you move at the same pace with him. Let you trust him, fall in love with him, have a spare toothbrush on his sink within a few months. All the while, he figured a little action on the side wouldn’t hurt. Did he think he could chase two of you at once and get to keep the winner?

Idiot.

Sinner. That’s what his mami would say.

The few times you were home, he didn’t express his concerns about your boyfriend. He would only sound jealous, and it would push you away. If he wanted to be someone you would still answer the phone for when you moved out, he had to be a good friend, not a jealous ex.

Fuck. He hoped it worked out between you and Rodney. He really did. He hoped you were happy.

October 2nd

You came home for the first time in weeks crying. Heavy tears rolled down your face, legs shaking as you crawled up the stairs to your bedroom. Jackson was off the couch in an instant, spring up to follow you.

“Hey… Hey, what’s wrong?” He gingerly touched your shoulder, palm spreading out to make comforting circles when you didn’t shake him off. “Did something happen? Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, sniffing as you slumped down onto your bed. Jackson sat beside you, worry etched into his features. He was so cute. After all this time, he still cared about you. You thought about all the times he’d begged for you back, in the beginning, desperate to hold you again. Fuck, you just wanted to feel that wanted again.

“Rodney and I broke up,” you mumbled.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear th—”

You gripped the hair at the back of his head and tugged him roughly into a kiss. Every muscle in his neck and shoulders tensed. A surprised noise was muted between your crushing lips. You could have sworn, for a moment, he started kissing you back, but then his big hands clamped like two vices on your shoulders, and he pushed you away.

“What are you doing?” His eyes were wide.

“What does it look like?” you purred, fingers clawing at the buttons of his cardigan. “I want you to take me, Jackson.”

His hands stopped you from leaning close again. “No. Stop it.”

“Come on, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“We can’t… I won’t take advantage of you like that. You’re just upset, and—”

“Fuck you! So you’ll fuck anyone and not give a shit—you’ll fuck around on me and break my heart, but you won’t fuck me when I’m asking you to?! The one time I just need you to be there, and now you’re on your high fucking horse, pretending to be a good guy?! I bet you’d screw Sarah! Fuck you. Fuck you!”

Your shoulders shook as your tirade broke down more and more into sobs. Deep down, you knew he was right. You’d regret it in the morning. But you couldn’t he just… want you?

“Why? Why not? Am I that… am I that unlovable?”

“Because you crying.” Tears were shimmering in his eyes as he said it, softly wiping a tear from your cheek. “You’re crying.”

With a gasp, you threw yourself down on the bed and buried your face in a pillow. You screamed into it, your own breath hot and wet against your face. Jackson’s weight shifted the mattress beside you, and your hand shot out in panic, blindly groping toward the movement. You felt pathetic. Needy. But you didn’t want to be alone.

“Don’t go.”

The mattress sank back down under him. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t take advantage of you, but if you want me to stay, I’ll stay. As long as you want.”

That was all you wanted to hear in that moment, to know someone wouldn’t abandon you. His warm hand rubbed your back in slow circles as you wept, patiently listening as you told him everything in disjointed, broken pieces. How you were just being paranoid—invading Rodney’s privacy when he left his phone unlocked. You were paranoid because your last boyfriend cheated. Then you found the lewd messages, and it didn’t seem real. Plans to meet at a bar downtown. You didn’t believe it until he was toweling off, telling you something came up with his mom, and he’d be out for a while. And you followed him down to the bar and saw them together.

“He was an asshole,” Jackson said.

“Am I doomed? Cursed? Why does everyone cheat on me? Is it my fault?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Shut up! You did it, too,” you snapped. “I’m just not special enough to hold anyone’s attention. I’ll never be enough.”

“No,” he growled with a ferocity that startled you, “You’re wonderful, and anyone would be lucky to have you. That guy was an asshole, and so was I for taking you for granted. You did nothing to deserve this. One day you’ll find someone who appreciates you… who learns to treat you the way you deserve to be treated before they lose the best thing to ever happen to them.”

You shifted to press yourself closer to him. The tears didn’t stop, but a warmth spread through your chest. Jackson felt like a cozy sweater—warm and familiar. Easy to cry into. His arms were surprisingly solid and thick, but gentle when they closed around you.

He was a comfortable old sweater you could slip back on after leaving it in the closet for a year.

***

Hours passed by, and you had no more tears left. No energy left to move. Jackson was still beside you, keeping watch, as promised. You were curled up with your head in his lap, his fingers in your hair.

When he was sure you were asleep, he carefully extracted himself from under you, gradually shifting your head onto the pillow so you wouldn’t wake up. He breathed, heart aching as he looked down at your sleeping form. You deserved better than tear-stained cheeks. He knew he had no right to be so angry, but he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt again.

You wouldn’t have been if he had just…

He let his tears fall silently. This was about you, and he didn’t want to make you console him, but you were asleep now. He could let go.

He ran his fingers through your hair one last time. Then, with a furtive glance, he bent and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I never stopped.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen / @sassyada / @detectivebarba

#Jackson Neill #jackson neill x reader #my writing

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violetnotez · 4 years ago

Text

HC: Y/N Wears a Revealing Version of their S/O’s hero suit

God it’s been so long since I’ve done headcannons, I miss them so much! These I’m going to keep tame, cause I don’t want them to be toooo spicy!

Also, I didnt iclude Shindo and Shinso, sorry! I realized rather quickly how long these got and didnt want to bog down this post, hope thats okay!

Pairings: Mirio x reader, Tamaki x reader, Bakugo x reader, Kaminari x reader (all characters aged to 18+)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Mirio

It would be a disgrace if I didn’t use this pic

So you had been invited to a photo shoot for a pretty high end boutique to be one of the models

Were you stoked that this extremely prestigious brand wanted you on their front cover? Yes. Were you terrified as hell? Also a fat yes.

Mirio, being the adorable boyfriend he is, was hyping you up for it

“Your going to be amazing sunshine! Ya never know until you try, ya know?”

Even with him being your support, you still felt extremely self conscious

“I don’t know...I’m not a model, I don’t think I can do it-“

“Don’t talk so negatively like that babe! What if I came with you, would that calm your nerves some?”

Your practically melted into him, giving him the biggest hug everrrr

“Oh my god would you? That would make me feel so much better-“

“Of course babe! Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it!”

So the day of, you came into the photo shoot fresh faced and pale as hell from nerves

They seperated you from Mirio, taking you to the makeup area and clothing area

You entered a room lined with extremely bright makeup stands and racks of clothing, your area in a small corner to the right with a mannequin wearing a certain set of clothes

You finally realized what you were actually modeling-and your mouth dropped

No wonder the asked you to model, being Mirio’s girlfriend-it was a sexy version of his hero suit

It was a skin tight leotard, the number “1000000” scrawled against your chest, a thick red cape draping against the back

Lemon colored glasses and thigh high blue boots completed the look, a huge gulp reverberating from your throat-

How the hell were you going to pull this off? In front of your boyfriend no less-

You pain stakingly got your makeup done and your hair, your strands pooled up like Mirio’s hair in the front and the rest cascading in bed head curls

You finally got the skin tight costume on, looking at yourself in the mirror-you felt nervous but-strangely calm-you didn’t look half bad, actually

A small smile graced your face as you walked out, your heels clicking against the floors as you walked into the photo shoot room

Now the question was where was your-

“Hey sunshine! Whoa, that get up looks great, looks pretty similar to something I wear dontcha think?” He was totally teasing you, his tone playful as he leaned into your blushing face

Suddenly your bravery was gone and you were a nervous wreck-your boyfriend was looking at you with hungry eyes, his orbs gazing over every exposed curve

“Mirio, you don’t have to look at me like that-“ you whined, feeling your cheeks burn bright red

“But I want to look at you like this babe,” he smiled, his voice dropping as he licked his lips- “you look absolutely delicious dressed up like that.”

Tamaki

“Oh cmon Tamaki, please come with us!” You pleaded with your nervous boyfriend, his brows furrowed in fear

It was the middle of October, and you and Neijire were planning to go to an early Halloween party in the middle of town

“I-I wish I could go bunny, I really do, it’s just-“

Tamaki was fiddling with is hands, his inky black hair cascading over his distraught face

He would love to go with you, but the thought of people, and dancing, and dressing up, and oh god what if they made fun of his costume-

You placed a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek, sending him a reassuring smile

“No worries, Tama, I get it-just stay home and chill, I’ll make sure to come home a little early,”

“Oh-okay,” he obliged, watching you go into the bathroom to get ready

Tanaka decided to do exactly what you asked him to do-he watched some TV, ate some food, anything to calm his nerves as you got ready

After an hour or so, you emerged from the bathroom, walking into the kitchen in your full get up

Your hair was straight, see through yellow glasses covering your eyes. You wore a black leotard, the fabric hugging your curves as a beige cape draped around your thighs. Two purple belt laid against your hips, drawing attention to your plush thighs as your boots clicked around the apartment

Poor Tamaki practically choked on his cereal when you walked in-when you said you were wearing a costume, you didn’t tell him it was his hero suit!

Tamaki walked over a blush erupting over his face, “Y-y/n? W-what are you-wearing?”

You spin around, guilt pooling in your stomach as your eyes met your boyfriends flustered gaze

“I’m sorry Tamaki I should have told you! The party is “hero” themed, so I thought the best suit to wear was yours-do you...want me to take it off?”

Tamaki vigorously shook his head, his cheeks a fiery red

“N-no! Please don’t! Honestly, that’s the last thing I want...” he stuttered his shaking hands resting on your hips and pulling you gently to his chest

You had never seen Tamaki so bold-your eyes widened, your hands placed against his chest

“-but I don’t think you should go to that party tonight”

Bakugo

You ran over to Bakugo, your phone screen containing a pic of a cosplayer dressed up in full Bakugo hero suit, gauntlets and all

You legit shoved it into your boyfriends face, your face beaming- “look how cool this costume is!”

“Tch-Only I can wear my hero suit as well as me,” Bakugo scoffed, going back to eating his ramen

You looked at him distraught and disbelief- “Cmon, Bakugo, you had to admit it’s pretty cool-“

“Cool? He’s a fucking wierd ass nerd, making my hero suit...” Bakugo said under his breath, his eyes now glaring at his phone screen

You placed your hands on your hips- “So if I wore your hero suit, I would be ‘wierd ass nerd’?”

Bakugo chuckled harshly- “Yeah-but you couldn’t wear it, like I said, I’m the only one who can pull it off-“

Ha-if that fucker wanted to play, then you were here to win

You slammed your hands down on the table, your arms encasing a surprised Bakugo in between your arms

You gave him a wicked grin, making Bakugo’s crimson eyes wide with surprise-“Bet bitch.”

Y’all are so mean to each other 😳

You stomped out of the room, your mind now reeling-you had ZERO idea how to make his costume...

You quickly made a call to Mina and Momo, telling them about your predicament-Mina would help you design, and Momo would help make the materials

Both were extremely open to helping you, especially Mina-any attempt to destroy Bakugo’s overly high ego, she was down to do!

But she had a twist to your intial plan- “what if you did a sexy version of him! That’d show him!”

You weren’t exactly sure how that would do anything, but eh why not-if you could make him even more mad, this was the way to do it

Momo was hesitant to make such a lewd outfit, but you quickly reminded her of her revealing hero outfit

-she quickly agreed after that

Mina designed the “suit”-honestly it was just a bra with two orange X’s, bootie shorts with a grenade belt, and green ribbon connecting to the black thigh high boots

You complained to Mina about how uncomfortable the high heel was, which she responded with “Beauty is pain!”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes

How would Bakugo’s suit be complete without the gauntlets! You three had the hardest time with that-deifnitely spent a whole day watching 3 hours worth of cosplay tutorials to make those damn things

But after many hours of snacking, hot glue guns, and screams of annoyance, you three FINALLY had the costume finished-and you couldn’t be happier! It honestly made you feel so cool and powerful...especially those gauntlets-

no wonder why he wore the clunky things, they honestly were fun to wear

You decided to wear the outfit before Bakugo came home one day, your face smug as you waited for him to enter your shared apartment

You finally heard the click of the door, Bakugo wearing his usual baggy pants and shirt he wore when he came home, his shoulder holding his duffel bag full of things

“-Hey”, he welcomed you gruffily, not even noticing your attire

“Hey yourself-“ you replied, a shit eating grin on your face as you walked over to him.

He still wasn’t looking, too busy rummaging through his bag- “Am I still a wierd ass nerd?”

Bakugo looked up, and holy shit was he in for a sight

When you said you would make his hero suit, he didn’t take it that seriosuly- you? Make his suit? Psh like that’d happen

BUT IT HAPPENED

You looked-really good in it too-he deifnitely was appreciating the extra skin that was involved 😳

You smirked at his obvious surprise, his cheeks a fiery red as you did a small spin in the suit- “How does it look?”

Suddenly you felt pressure against your wrists from Bakugo’s hands, your back now against the wall as Bakugo drank you in with his piercing red eyes

Now it was your turn to be surprised-cause crap you didn’t expect that to happen

He was now in control of the situation and he knew it-he gave you a shit eating grin, making your blood feel incredibly warm

“-it looks decent...but I think it would be better on the floor”

Kaminari

“Mina no, I’m not-“

You were in shock, flabbergasted, confused-when did they have a intimates based off of hero suits?

AND WHY THE HELL DID THEY HAVE YOUR BOYFRIENDS SUIT

“MINA YES!” she squealed, giggling as she pulled your size out of the rack

The little outfit was pretty revealing- all it was was a white lacy bralette, with a short black jacket with white lighnting bolt decal and a short black leather skirt to match

It was honestly not your thing-it also just felt wierd to wear something like this-

“Your buying it and that’s that-you needed neccesities and this-“ she shook the outfit in your face, “is a necessity!”

The girl seriosuly shouldn’t be allowed to spend money-she stuffed the outfit in her full bag of clothes, bouncing over to the register as you followed her from behind

“I needed bras Mina, not lingerie!”

Yeah she didn’t listen

You finally got home, trying on your new outfits from your shopping spree when you fell upon the set shoved in your shopping bag

The little pink sneak

You pulled it out-it wouldn’t hurt to try it on, she did buy it for you...

You quickly got into it, admiring your body in the mirror-it was tight alright, but kinda cute in ...the skirt accentuated your legs, the bra was decently comfy, and the jacket pulled the whole thing together and made it a pretty cool yet revealing outfit

Just as you were testing out how much movement you had in the leather jacket,you heard the door open to the bedroom you and your boyfriend shared

“Hey babe, do we have any more toilet-“ Kamianri waltzed in, unknowingly oblivious to the scene before him, until he laid eyes on you

You never thought you saw the man blush harder-his eyes were wide with shock, his cheeks a hot shade of red as sparks of electricity flashed around his body

He obviously didn’t know how to react, and in his flusteredness, he somehow slipped on the floor, landing with a hard thud

“Denki!” You yelled out, scrambling to your ditzy boyfriend, “you okay?”

Kaminari gazed up at you, and holy crap he felt blessed- he had a full view of your exposed cleavage, a grin growing on his face as blood tricked down from his nose

“Oh no, Kami, you got a bloody nose-“ you scrambled to get him a towel, kneeling down to place it against his nose

He quickly swiped the blood away, his hands instead pinning yours against your back

“-Dont worry about that,” he grinned, his eyes a dangerous shade of yellow, “let’s worry about you babygirl...and where you got that little get up,”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Taggings:

@weebartistinc @orokayagi @leeeah-loooser @bakarinnie @johnnysactualgf

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (more to come)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: October 2021

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: dead body/crime scene, blood and bite wounds talked about in detail, hypnosis/compelling someone to do something against their will, overall discussion of murder (basically what we see in every episode of the show))

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: Absolutely nothing you don’t already know, this is legit from the first chapter. Hotch is a Vampire (although the LEOs don’t really know that), Rossi is a priest, Morgan is so empathetically telepathic he can touch the auras in the air, and Reid is Reid. I know I’ve been giving you the juicy HotchReid stuff but here have some case stuff too, to see what you’re in for with the plot and everything. This is FIRST DRAFT so it’s terribly unpolished, first part is generalized POV (hence the more professional titles) and the second is within the team dynamics so they get more familiar. idk my first drafts are messy and indecisive, enjoy anyway. 💕)

–

They approach the body and Rainer shoos away his pestering, hovering officers and --- winces once again at the sight of the bloodied woman. “This is the third body in two days; a jogger found her about 6 am. Coroner says she thinks she’s been dead for about 6 hours; killed in the middle of the night, just like the others.”

“Closer to five hours, I think,” Dr. Reid says, crouching down to look closer. All long legs and his gun looking too big on his belt next to his FBI badge. “Could still be within the Witching Hour, though.”

“Do you have accurate time of death estimates for the other two bodies?” Agent Morgan adds on, already picking up the train of thought Dr. Reid has started on. The detective pulls out an old-school flip notebook book and looks through it before answering.

“3:15am the first night, 9:30pm last night and now this.”

“Well that rules out hex, sacrifice, and spell gone wrong,” he concludes, as the other agents surround the body to inspect it from all angles. “So what are we thinking?”

“It’s a frenzied bite,” Agent Hotchner points out, looking from where he stands and not having to get as close as Dr. Reid to inspect it accurately. His eyesight is better than any microscope. “Shows multiple entries, it couldn’t get a good enough hold to rip her throat. Or she struggled, so it wasn’t strong enough to keep her pinned down.”

“The boys think it’s a Vamp,” Detective Rainer points out. “Maybe a baby one, still learning the ropes?”

“Vampire changes are regulated and no sire would allow whoever they turned to do this,” Agent Hotchner says, a colder flint to his voice that matches the way his dark stare cuts up to the detective. “No one has been turned in the United States in the past twelve years.”

“It’s not a Vampire bite,” Dr. Reid agrees, putting on latex gloves to further inspect the body and test the bite radius. “And it’s not a werewolf bite, either.”

“...Werewolf?” the detective says with a winded sound, eyes wide and looking to the three agents who didn’t even blink at the word. “There’s -- there’s such thing as werewolves?”

“Detective, I think you should let my team and I work, we will come to you with our findings and then help you track down your killer.” Agent Hotchner doesn’t leave room for argument, his dark brown eyes looking pitch black in the early morning light, and Detective Rainer… suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to walk away. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t comply; he fights it, tries to fight it, and feels his will crumble beneath him like a sand bank giving way under his feet. He turns, even that small gesture lessening the pressure crushing his chest, and takes a step away from the group, air swept into his lungs like a riptide. He makes a hasty retreat after that, winded as if he just ran up a flight of stairs and the sweet taste of oxygen being his only reprieve. He doesn’t know what happened, and wouldn’t upon further inspection until much, much later.

“That wasn’t very nice, Hotch,” Rossi points out with a look of glib reprimand towards their team leader. “I thought compelling feeble minded beat cops was for those who have no skills to avoid it.”

“My patience was running thin, and we need to move faster on this case before our unsub kills again. He’s escalating.” That much is obvious, by the timeline alone, but Father Rossi still gives him a side-ways glance that says he finds far too much amusement in the undead’s antics. “Reid, are you sure it’s not a werewolf bite? It would explain the lack of control and precision.”

“I’m sure,” Reid says with finality, and no one makes a mention on why. He had done more research than any human possibly could in the past few months on werewolf transformation and the after effects of attacks. With what happened to one of their former agents mere months ago, no one doubted his newly learned expertise. “It’s also not a shifter, or a ghoul. We can rule out ghost and poltergeist as well, no residue or temperature shifts.”

“Demon possession?” Morgan asks, looking to Rossi just as he does his customary Sign of the Cross at the mere mention. Can’t help the gesture, after his own past experiences. Giving anything the power of a name, even arbitrary, can be a dangerous thing.

“We can’t rule it out,” he admits. “The teeth marks are human, someone possessed would still have a hard time biting that deep and doing that much damage. Cannibalism is only reserved for the amusements of level three demons, however they aren’t usually powerful enough to reach the mortal plane or take possession of someone’s body. They would need help.”

“You really think someone would weaponize a demon like that?”

“We’ve seen people do worse things, as has history, but I’d like to hope it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime.”

“We need more information,” Hotch concludes, arms crossed and watching as Reid stands up and removes the blood stained gloves. “Morgan,” his gaze cuts to the tall man in his deep blue suit. “Can you walk the scene, tell us what you see?”

“Not with this many people around,” Morgan shakes his head, eyes glancing to every person within a twenty foot radius. “Too many readings, the aura field here looks like an oil spill. The only thing I can latch onto is…” his gaze is back on the ground, hovering over the dead woman, who would have no aura to speak of at all and therefore a blank canvas. He replaces Reid’s space, crouching down to touch the air over the bite wound. Fingers spread wide, less than a foot from her but not touching, palm suddenly curving as if over an invisible shoulder, the place where someone had once been not so long ago. It could have been the coroner, or the crime scene photographer, but with it being so close to the body -- chances were it was the unsub.

“They were crouched down, half on the ground, no… human thoughts that I can hear,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand glide through the air a little more, following the curve of someone’s spine and up their neck, resting where the head would be. “They have a fever burning them up, hot as a furnace--” he keeps his hand there too long, suddenly jerks it back as if it had physically burned him, then stands up again. Shaking off the aura reading still sticking to his fingers and the forefront of his mind. “Sound like anything you’ve heard of, pretty boy?”

Reid shakes his head, sharing a glance with Father Rossi. “We might have to go through some of your demonology books.” The older man grins wide.

“You just want to get your hands on them, at this rate you’ll have them memorized by next week.”

“Dave --” Hotch says slow, a reprimand of his own.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have Garcia send us some scans. If the Vatican knew I was putting a book like that in his hands they’d strip me of all my titles.”

“Didn’t they already do that?” Morgan teases with a grin.

“Ex-communicated. I got to keep the dog collar, the honorifics, bless the holy water, you know -- the party tricks.”

–

((if you want to be apart of the taglist just hit me up via comment, reblog tag, DMs or asks 💕))

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #a really fucking long snippet but who's counting #I've missed WIP wednesdays #spooky season is upon us so I'm channeling that #a glimpse at how they handle cases that obviously don't look human #cw blood #cw murder #cw biting #paranormal stuff #sorry it's kind of all over the place but I got to play with Morgan's abilities and that was fun for me #Extraordinary #katyswriting #katyswip #wip wednesday #ALSO I DECIDED ON A POSTING DATE hope that doesn't bite me in the ass later lol

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stylesnews · 4 years ago

Link

Ben and Gabe Turner directed the videos for Harry Styles’ singles Golden and Treat People With Kindness, and the Fulwell 73 partners have opened up to Music Week about working on the blockbuster Fine Line campaign.

The video for Treat People With Kindness (TPWK) stars Fleabag creator Phoebe Waller-Bridge and was released on New Year’s Day 2021, more than a year after Fine Line came out. The Turner brothers were also behind the film for Golden, which dropped in October. TPWK has 18,019,468 views on YouTube, while Golden, which was filmed under Covid restrictions on Italy’s Amalfi coast last year when lockdowns eased, has racked up 81,373,613.

Ben and Gabe Turner have been working with former Music Week cover star Styles since One Direction emerged on The X Factor, making videos for Steal My Girl and Drag Me Down. Their Fulwell 73 partner Ben Winston has also worked extensively with the group.

The brothers told Music Week that their longstanding relationship with Styles leads to an easy working environment, and the idea behind the TPWK video – which features Styles and Waller-Bridge doing a choreographed dance routine and was filmed at East London’s Troxy early in 2020 – came about after Styles saw the actor’s Fleabag live show.

“It was always supposed to be the last thing on the album run as an ending beat, and the album did so well that it just carried on,” said Gabe Turner. “We just didn’t know when [it would drop]. New Year’s Day 2021 was the perfect release date for us in the end.”

The duo make documentaries, TV shows, music videos, promos and more and Ben Turner said that “hope, warmth, fun and emotional honesty” define their work, which includes 2019 documentary Hitsville: The Making Of Motown.

“Music videos are fun, they’re the most impressionistic of the things we do,” said Ben Turner. “When else are we going to shoot a black and white dance video? There probably isn’t another avenue for us to do that.”

Here, the brothers look back on shooting Golden and TPWK with Styles and his team, talk Fine Line and trace the history of their work with the singer.

What are your reflections on the Treat People With Kindness video now it’s out?

Gabe Turner: “There’s a tendency when you’re working and going from job to job, not to sit back and enjoy something when it comes out, because you’re in the middle of something else. This was really enjoyable, a piece of work that’s really expansive, joyous and has loads of people dancing and reminds you of a time where life was really fun felt really nice. Harry and all of One Direction have incredible fans and they obviously amplify your work and make it bigger and feel like more of an achievement, which is really nice because you’re like, ‘The whole world is talking about it’ [laughs]. When really, the whole world is talking about Harry, or the boys, but it feels very special to be a part of that.”

What do you like most about the video?

Ben Turner: “It was just an amazing opportunity to work on a song we loved with some people we loved. We’d never worked with Phoebe before, so that was really exciting. It just feels so different now because we’ve been stuck indoors for a year. This thing about treating people with kindness, it just feels more prescient even than it did then. It feels like a really important message. The world has changed since we made it, the video has stayed the same but the world has disappeared.”

Have the videos have been extra important to the campaign with touring postponed?

GT: Harry’s got an incredible team, his manager Jeff Azoff, Tommy Bruce, Molly Hawkins and Rob Stringer and the label, they’re just brilliant. They’ve been really impressive in how they view and plan stuff. The videos kind of replaced him touring, so they had to have an impact. His fanbase wanted something to feel positive about and joyous about. We just feel hugely privileged that we were able to collaborate on two of the songs. We love the album, it’s a real quality piece of work. With Harry, because the camera loves him so much, you really want to raise your game and make something really special because you’ve got such an incredible protagonist. And then with Phoebe involved too, me and Ben thought this might be the best it ever gets for us behind camera – two people completely in their prime. The last time Phoebe was photographed in a public place she was clutching three Emmys. And Harry, he’s getting bigger and bigger and is such a joyous presence to be around. Those two massive stars together, learning a dance routine, doing something they’d not done before, it felt like we were witnessing something really special and it just makes you want to shoot the best video you possibly can.”

How did you end up doing two videos for the record?

GT: “We see Harry outside of work, so we talk about things all the time in a slightly different way. The TPWK conversation came from meeting Phoebe and saying, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if you two danced together?’ Then after we did that, when Golden came up, there was a feeling that we could do something together in a similar vein.”

BT: “Golden came about as organically as TPWK. We all sit around mooching with our mates saying, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if this or that…’ When you’re mooching with your mates and it’s Harry or Phoebe, those ideas can become. And that’s how these videos really came about. Golden feels like a driving song. The initial idea was Harry driving around LA with different people getting in and out of the car, people who were significant to the album or his life. That came off the table with Covid, but it was the idea we fell in love with. The world changed and he couldn’t tour, so they wanted to make more videos. We couldn’t make that original version, but the thing of movement came out of it. When someone you feel close to does something you rate as highly as I rate Fine Line you feel lucky. When you’re listening to that kind of music you get ideas. We’ve been in the position where you’re racking your brains for the right idea, and that can also lead to brilliant work, but this album in particular, I’d listen to it, walk along and think about it, before pitching anything.”

Harry’s vision for the album was so strong, what was that like to work with?

GT: “You just don’t want to drop the ball for him. It’s so important and the album’s so good, plus we’re fans of his as well as contemporaries. When he drafts you in to work on a video, you’re like, ‘OK, I just want to make sure you’re happy with it, if you are then it’s job done’.

BT: “There’s just so much there to work with. There’s so much in there. Why does TPWK work? What’s it really got to do with anything? Except somehow it does. There’s so much in that song and the feel of it that a slightly weird, leftfield idea makes perfect sense. I think that’s to do with how deep his creative thought and well of feeling [are], that allows it to go off. Not just our videos, but the ones everyone else made for the album, they’re widely varied but they work together. That’s got to be down to him, he’s the common thread. His creative team, too. They’re great sounding boards to work with, a guiding hand. It sounds like this massive love-in, but it really has been a very enjoyable, rewarding process.”

What was it like on set?

GT: “Harry doesn’t go off set. He does his bits and then when other stuff is going on he’s sitting next to you watching the monitor. He’s very, very involved in everything and he’ll push himself. At the end of TPWK he wanted to do a couple more takes at the end to make sure they’d nailed it. We said, ‘We think you’ve got it’, but he just said, ‘Let me go again a couple of times, I want to make sure it’s done to the best of my ability’. He works really hard, he’s great to collaborate with and he doesn’t let up. If it’s not good enough, he’ll carry on going.”

BT: “You’ve got a sense that it’s his video and he wants it to be the best. He takes ownership. He knows it’s his video and that how good and engaged he is will affect how good the product is. The length of the relationship we’ve had with him allows a kind of shorthand and a way of working to maximise that.”

GT: “He works to a really high standard but he’s unbelievably kind to literally everyone, all the time. Even if he’s under pressure, he never drops his standards of the right way to behave and being kind to people. It’s so impressive to work with someone like that. He’s never not a good bloke about whatever it is that he faces. You watch the way he is with the runners, producers, sound people, whoever… He’s treating them with so much love and respect that everyone works as hard as they possibly can to make his vision come true because he’s so joyful to be around. It does sound like a love-in, but that’s the most defining factor – he’s so talented and so nice about it.”

What do these videos say about where you are at right now as directors?

GT: “Our thinking is always about how we can be creative. We don’t really think about the space we’re going into as much as what the idea is. If you only do one thing it sometimes stilts your creativity because you get into a pattern, whereas if you’re constantly jumping between mediums it keeps you fresh. We like to be involved in lots of stuff. We try and surround ourselves with people like Harry, who operate in that way. Ben and I just try and push each other into trying to do the best we can. We feel massively lucky we get to work together, we’re brothers, best friends, it’s a dream.”

#harry styles #jan21 #gabe turner #ben turner #tpwkmv #goldenmv #music week #article

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

Run Away With Me

Synopsis: Every moment shared with Charlie Weasley is an adventure all it’s own. How you wish to spend every moment together and all it takes is to run away.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 6.3k+

A/N - Every year I post a story on my birthday and today’s the day I turn a year older. Usually these stories are pretty sad but this year I wrote something a little softer so here is my birthday present for you guys, I hope you enjoy it.

1. A Stolen Kiss

A bright-eyed and clueless young student, excited to be attending a school of magic. Nobody else in your family had magic so it was a big surprise when you received a letter alongside a weird lady who looked like she just stepped out of the early 1920s. Sat between your parents, the older woman explained the entire situation much to your excitement and your parents' confusion.

Diagon alley had been your first experience of all things magical; it had been like stepping into another world instead of just any old street in London. There were book shops lined with all kinds of books, some were bigger than your head while others were tiny. A shop that sold weird and kinda gross jars full of who knows what. There was a place that only sold brooms but according to the list you had read like a hundred times, first years weren't allowed their own brooms. You spent what felt like a lifetime at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions getting fitted for robes. Your parents were utterly fascinated by all the different styles and kept asking questions that made the experience so much longer than it really needed to be. You'd never had a pet before, but after a lot of begging they let you pick out a cat; he was a small Persian cat. Not quite a kitten but not quite fully grown. Checking off each item as you went along, you were exhausted by the end of it. There was even enough time for a trip to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour where you had enjoyed a cone of strawberries and cream with sprinkles on top. All that was left on your list was a wand. Peeling gold letters rested over the door of a shop that read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Stepping inside it was a tiny little store with no costumers. Thousands of narrow boxes lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling. It didn't take long for the weird old man to give you a wand that felt warm in your hand. Unlike the other disasters that came at the result of you waving various wands, a stream of red and gold sparks shoot out the end of this one like a mini firework. The wand chooses the wizard whatever the hell that meant. All ready and packed for Hogwarts, you were really giddy to go. Your mother cried as she waved you off to boarding school but you couldn't sit still. The train ride took hours and it was a little lonely considering you didn't know anyone but as soon as you entered the castle you knew it was exactly where you were meant to be. The building was massive and practically oozed magic and mystery through each brick. The pictures, much to your surprise, were moving on their own. Hogwarts had four houses and each student had to sit on a tall stool, put on a funny talking hat which would decide ultimately where they belong.

The very first friend you made was Nymphadora Tonks but only because she was in all of your classes and by some twist of fate you always ended up seated together. She was a sweet girl with pink hair and a talent for mischief. There was never a dull moment with you two. Then there was Charlie Weasley. Ever since that brisk day in October when he had ridden in clumsily on his white horse to save the day, the two of you had been the best of friends. You were still getting used to all your different classes. Potions class, however, was proving the most difficult. Too many ingredients and types to get used to. Not to mention Snape was just... mean. The task had been to prepare a simple Wiggenweld Potion; a powerful healing potion that can be used to heal injuries, or reverse the effects of a Sleeping Draught. The book was open on the desk as you carefully followed the instructions until.... poof. All the confidence you'd gained since arriving disappeared as Snape scolded you in front of everyone for messing up. Charlie had swooped in to take the blame landing himself in late-night detention. On the other hand, you got to leave with your tail between your legs and a few house points shaved off the total. And yet even his small act of kindness wasn't enough to capture your affection at least not at first. For the little version of yourself was infatuated with another Weasley. An older Weasley.

The nerves of a handful of students could be felt by anyone sat in the great hall for breakfast. Tonks is sat beside you running butter over a piece of toast. Stifling a yawn, Charlie takes a seat across from the two of you sporting a jumper of Gryffindor red and gold.

"Good morning," You flash your cheeriest, half-asleep smile bringing your spoon of Cheeri Owls to your lips. "Nervous?"

"A little," He was looking especially pale today suggesting he was more than just a little.

"You should be," Tonks perks up. "It's only the last game of the season and all hope rides on the seeker,"

"No pressure then," Charlie huffs out a dull laugh. The boy excelled in his position as the Gryffindor seeker but there was no way to determine how he'd play today when he was carrying the hopes and dreams of his teammates and entire house.

"You should eat something," You suggest, pushing a bowl of assorted fruit forward. There was little you could to make him feel better except take his spot but that wasn't allowed. You also probably wouldn't be that good. "Might make you feel better?"

"I'm too nervous to eat," He insisted but he still took an apple; rolling the red fruit between his palms.

"Win or lose you're still number one in our heart, right Tonks?" Elbowing her gently, you shovel another spoonful of 'O' shapes into your mouth.

"Sure," she shrugs. "If you want we can jinx the other team's seeker? I've been practising."

"Or... how much time do we have? I can get one of the older students to brew some Felix Felicis." You play along. "Nothing like a little liquid luck to win a game."

"You both know that's not allowed," Charlie took a large bite of his apple.

"When has Tonks ever cared about rules," Sometimes you wish she did care, you probably wouldn't have ended up in detention so many times alongside her.

"Thanks but no," he took another bite. "We have to win fair and square."

The conversation drifted from nerves to lost spells and planned practical jokes. Charlie seemed to relax a little the more he spoke. Maybe all he needed was a distraction to cheer him up.

"We need to take a trip to Hogsmeade" Tonk announces. "I'm out of dungbombs."

"Urgh- you and that silly joke shop." You can't help but roll your eyes but it was all good-natured. Despite hardly ever buying anything yourself, you spent an awful lot of time at Zonko's infamous little joke shop. "I could do with a trip outside the castle though. You should come too Charlie and maybe... you could ask Bill if he wants to come?"

"You're still gushing over Bill," Now it was Tonks turn to elbow you playfully, her lips curling up into a tantalising smirk.

"I do not gush over him," you state firmly, brows knitting together in a frown. You didn't appreciate being made fun. Bill was older, wiser and always made time to show you kindness. He made your little heart flutter whenever you saw him and Tonks took every opportunity to tease you about it. "I just thought It'd be nice is all. Wouldn't you agree, Charlie?"

"If you want him to come, ask him yourself." He responds, taking a large gulp of his juice.

"She won't because she has a crush."

"I don't have a crush Nymphadora- stop it," It was infinitely more embarrassing talking about this with Charlie sat at the table. "Don't ask him then, I don't care."

"Yes you do," Placing her arm around your shoulder, she pulls you into her side. "Because you're in love-"

"I am not!" You snap, pushing out of her grip.

"I'll see you guys later." The two of you share a look as Charlie disappears without another word. It was probably just pregame nerves.

"You know what? I think I'll get some frogspawn soap too and put it in the prefects' bathroom." Typical Tonks.

You'd come to learn through your time at Hogwarts that Quidditch was the most popular sport among wizards. And each house had their own team who compete for a trophy and bragging rights. Today was the final game thankfully. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Apparently, it came down to these two a lot. As the Gryffindor team filter out of the changing rooms, you slip inside to find Charlie sitting on a little bench.

"Guess who?" You sing-song, slapping your hands over his eyes but only briefly. He turns to look at you with an almost sour expression.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to support you," you reply soft, offering a smile he couldn't even see as he turned away.

"You're not supposed to be in here," Had you done something to upset him? Surely not. This was the first time you were seeing him since breakfast so there hadn't been a moment for you to mess things up and yet, his voice held an icy chill.

"Guess Tonks is rubbing off on me?" You jest, looking around the room. It was empty apart from you two. Bags and clothes scattered across benches or half shoved into lockers. A chalkboard stood in the corner with drawings you couldn't understand. "I just wanted to see how you were doing before the big game, is all. We were worried about you."

"You were worried about me," He repeats slowly, looking up at you. "I thought you hated quidditch."

"I still do," Your shoulders rise in a little shrug. "It's silly. Doesn't matter how hard the team works or how many goals it's pretty much all decided by how good the seeker is so why even have goals?"

"Score enough goals before the snitch is caught and anyone could win," He perks up. "You just don't understand how good and exciting it is."

Your lips curl up in appreciation for Charlie Weasley and his love for quidditch. It didn't possess the sparkle that came along when he talks about dragons but it was still nice to see him liven up. "Then go out there and show me how exciting it is,"

You stand under the spotlight of his gaze as he seemingly takes in your choice of attire; wearing the Gryffindor colours with pride to show your support. You even let Tonks paint your face after she promised not to draw genitalia. "Do you really think we're gonna win? What if I mess up and everyone hates me?"

"Then you mess up and everyone hates you," You shrug a little. "But that's not gonna happen and you know why?" His head shakes slowly. "It's because you're the best seeker at this school Charles Weasley." You place your hands on either side of his shoulders. "And I believe in you."

"How does that help me?" With your index finger under his chin, you force him to meet your eyes.

"Because I'm never wrong."

"That doesn't sound right." He tries to look away but you stop him.

"But it is," You offer a reassuring smile; one full of determination. "You've got this Charlie. So come on before you miss the game entirely."

The cheers outside were seemingly growing louder by the second. With a deep breath, Charlie stands up, grabbing his broom. "You're staying to watch, right?"

"Of course. Tonks is up in the stands too." Taking his hand, you lead the way out of the tent. "Consider us your good luck charms." Charlie brings the both of you to an abrupt stop before you even reach the opening of the tent, pulling you back to him. "What's up?"

The peppering of freckles that covered Charlie's face was even more vibrant against the rose pink blush. You squeeze his hand a little hoping it makes him feel better. And then it happens. The crowd grows silent in your ear but only for a moment as Charlie's surprisingly soft lips crash clumsily against yours. "For good luck," his whispers; his hand slipping from yours as he leaves you dumbfounded.

"He okay?" Tonks asks as you return from your trip.

"Yeah... still nervous," You reply, sitting down beside her. "It's his first big game after all."

"Are you okay?" The crowd erupts into cheers as the Gryffindor team flys in first. You're almost too embarrassed to look for Charlie; worried about what you might find so you keep your head down. "You look like you've just seen a troll or something?"

"Mhmm," you hum, forcing yourself to watch the Slytherin team as they enter. Why had Charlie kissed you? Did it mean he liked you or was he just messing around? Your head swirled with possibilities.

"You want a sweet?" Your friend offers as the game finally starts. It takes you a second to register but you smile, reaching into the little bag she was holding only to come to a stop.

"They're not gonna burn my tongue off or something are they?"

"No," Her chuckle sounded a little too innocent but you trust her for some reason. Taking a piece of confectionery out of the paper bag.

"Charlie... kissed me." You announce, throwing the sweet into you mouth; face scrunching up when they turn out to be sour. Ten points to Slytherin as they take the lead.

"He what?"

"He... kissed me."

2. Together

Who was Bill Weasley but a distant playground crush after that day. And your time of classrooms and magic lessons came swiftly to an end; how bittersweet it felt to leave a place you loved dearly. A once naive little girl stepping into the unknown now called the Wizarding World Home. Now you would go on to be a healer which was simply a magical doctor although your parents strongly disagreed with the comparison. However proud they were of you there would always be some part of them that wished you had chosen to become a lawyer or 'real' doctor.

Bathed in the warm embrace of the setting sun, you ponder the tranquility in a bed of green grass. The youngest Weasley lay beside you, struggling to keep still as often children do. She was similar to her brother in that way who now paced back and forth a mere few steps away. The invitation had been for dinner but you arrived a little early. The burrow was always such a welcoming place like stepping into a home you used to live in many moons ago; it was cosy and warm and there was no doubt that many lived there. You found your house to be almost the opposite, it always looked like nobody lived there. Immaculate. Polished. Cold.

"Will you stop pacing, you're making me nervous." You call out to your boyfriend, opening your eyes only to squint at the bright light. "What's wrong with you?"

Charlie comes to a stop as you sit up; Ginny mimics you in sitting up but the boy's eyes stay on you. The longer he stared, the more the pit in your stomach grew; what exactly hid behind his blank expression. He normally possessed such a playful warmth but it seemed to have vanished as of late. Plucking a stray purple flower, you enclose it in the palm of your hands. "You know I love dragons right?"

"Of course," Since meeting him, he had probably managed to slip dragons into every conversation you had ever had. It was at a point where you knew far more about dragons than you ever really cared to know. Many found his obsession annoying because that's what he so obviously was, obsessed but you found it enticing. Charming, even. Opening up your hand, a small butterfly with deep plum-purple wings flutters into the air and onto a giggly Ginny's nose. The innocent glee of a child; how those days were gone for you. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Promise you won't be mad?" It would be foolish to make such a promise when there was no way to guarantee your reaction. Whatever it was must be bad, if he was this worried. Your shoulders rise a little then fall.

"I make no such promises- just tell me."

Charlie took a breath that travelled on the wind to your ears before he blurted out. "I'm moving to Romania."

"Okay," Is your first reaction while your brain tries to make sense of something it didn't want to hear. "Wait- what?"

"Charlie is moving away to work with big scary dragons," Ginny announces playfully, baring her little hands like claws.

The once small pit grew into a mighty black hole of uncertainty and sadness that threatened to swallow you whole. There had been conversations shared between friends of Charlie wanting to move away to a foreign land, just to finally see a dragon but you had never taken it at face value. Always so convinced it was but a dream rather like those of when you were little and you wished to be a vampire. Technically back then you didn't know they actually existed but still, even now it was never going to come true. Eyes cast upon the second eldest Weasley, he kicks up the grass with his hands buried in the pockets of his pants. "It's the nearest Dragon reserve."

That was something you already knew but it didn't make the decision, at least in your eyes, any less confusing. Instead, it prompted water to well up in your eyes for this was something that affected not only him and his family but your life too. "I... I don't know what to say,"

"Hey Ginny, can you go check if dinner's ready yet?"

"No- why can't you do it?" The bark behind her words was very in character for the fiesty young Weasley. Blinking away the tears, you plaster on the best smile you can muster.

"If you go check on dinner I promise we can play a game later, okay? Exploding snap maybe?"

"Really?" She eyes you suspicious probably because it was a promise you had broken before. Not always for the right reasons but this time it was genuine. Charlie clearly wanted this to be a private conversation or perhaps he was just saving you for the inevitable moment where she asks why you're crying. Ginny scrambles to feet when you nod and skips off towards the gravity-defying house. It still amazed you that the building hadn't fallen yet. Rising to your feet you brush yourself off.

"You know I want nothing more than to work with Dragons and this is the only way I can do that," There was no mistaking the serious tone that came along with his words. It didn't matter what you said there was no changing his mind but you wouldn't do that anyway. It seemed cruel to even try to get him to give up on something so precious and you would never want to do that to him. "I have an opportunity to do something I love and I won't waste it to get some boring job at the ministry."

"I don't expect you too..." You wanted nothing more than to tell him to stay; beg him even. You were fighting against the selfish little devil that was stabbing you in the heart. It was a dull, deep pain in your chest. You wanted Charlie to follow his dreams, you just never expected them to not include you. "It's just a lot to take in."

"I know," The red-headed boy walks ever so slowly over to you, taking both hands in his. His hands had always felt a little rough ever since Hogwarts. You used to complain back then and insist he needed to moisturise but over time you had grown fond of the familiarity. How you wished this tender moment could last forever because it very well might be your last. You're caught off guard when he yanks you forward. You stumble into his chest where he wraps his arms around you like the big teddy bear he was. You breathe in every inch of him like it was the last time. The intoxicating aroma of an early walk in the woods; that fresh earthy smell that really makes you appreciate where you are. You could almost picture the pine trees.

"I feel like I'm losing you," Your words but a whisper, lost on the breeze.

"You're not," His grip around you tightens and suddenly your in the air, spinning around. "You could never get rid of me that easily.

"Charlie," You fight back a smile as you return to the ground; burying your face in the nook of his neck. "What's gonna happen to us?"

"About that-"

"Because I don't know if I can do the whole long-distance thing? So do we break up?" The tears threaten to fall once again as you pull back to get a good look at him. You never wanted to forget the emerald of his eyes or each and every freckle that called his body home. The unusual scare that adorned his eyebrow that was always amusing to look at. If that was his true purpose to break up with you then there would be no stopping the tears when they finally burst through the damn.

"No, I-"

"Because that's a little mean Charlie, you could have at least waited until after dinner. Should have done it first actua-"

You words become mumbled by the palm of his hand which he's placed over your mouth like a seal of protection. "Shush for a minute."

It's hard to resist so you simply don't; sticking your tongue you deliberately lick the palm of his hand but it seems to not phase him whatsoever.

"I'm not breaking up with you, silly," You meet his gaze. "I was kind of thinking you could come with me?"

Reaching up, you yank his hand away. "To Romania? You've got to be joking."

"Why not?"

Did you even know how to answer that? There were so many reasons why one should not just up and leave to go live in a completely different country with the boy they dated through high school. "I can't just up and leave my family- my mum will be devastated."

"I'll talk to her about it," Charlie hums softly, placing a delicate kiss upon your forehead. "Your mum loves me and she wants you to be happy."

"Dinner's Ready," For such a small girl, Ginny had one big mouth. There was no mistaking her call. However, this whole situation now felt a little... off. Could you even sit through dinner without it all becoming weird?

"We're coming," Charlie yells back; offering up his hand which you reluctantly take and he leads the way back to the house. "You want to be a healer right? You could do that in Romania."

"I guess," You weren't exactly worried about not finding a job.

"You don't have to decide right now," He tells you before you have a chance to speak up again. "Just think about it. I mean the invitation is there and for what it's worth, I'd really like you to come."

3. Creeping doubts

It took a lot of convincing but despite everything you decided to follow Charlie into the Unknown. Your parents weren't thrilled with the decision but they respected it; they were just worried about what would happen if something went wrong. And as their only child, they would obviously miss you. A lot of time was spent at the burrow that summer before moving to Romania; you were beginning to feel like an honorary Weasley only with the experience of having been a muggle for the first eleven years of your life. It was but a three-hour flight to Romania and your mother had sobbed at the airport. It made you think back to your first time stepping onto the Hogwarts express, leaving your parents behind to go to a magical boarding school in Scotland. It was a peculiar thought but a nice one. One you wished to cherish. Now in a foreign land with no support system behind you other than a boy you had been dating for years, you were ready for a new adventure. And there was officially no doubt in your mind that you would do just about anything for Charlie Weasley.

"It's not much," Charlie sets his suitcase down on the table. "Best I could do, for now, I'm afraid."

"It's fine," It was an old apartment in a building full of what you assumed were muggles. There was a small living room area with an ugly pea-coloured couch nestled against one wall. Beside it was a small coffee table and on the other side of the room was a TV, you weren't convinced actually worked. Then there was the kitchen which was attached to the living room. It had a fridge, a cooker and some cupboards. The only other room was a bedroom that literally only housed a bed in at the moment, then there was a door that leads on to the bathroom. It definitely wasn't much but a crappy apartment was just part of the experience, right? At least that's what you were telling yourself. "it'll feel like home soon enough," You had everything you needed to make this place feel like home right in your suitcase; oh the joys of magic. Patting yourself down, you search for the key to easy unpacking. "Uh... have you seen my wand?"

His head shakes and wears an amused grin. "You remembered to bring it right?"

"Yes," you huff. "I was gonna unpack," Falling back against the wall, you slide down onto the floor which you imagine hasn't been cleaned in a while considering the dust. "It's gonna take so long without my wand- which may actually be in the suitcase now that I think about it."

"Did you forget I'm a wizard too?"

"You do it then," You drop your head back against the wall. "I'm starving."

"actually have you seen my wand?"

You giggle to yourself "You're an idiot,"

"Hey- you lost your wand too." His shadow lingers over you as he comes to join you against the wall. Taking up a seat beside you, your head falls to rest against his shoulder.

"Can we get pizza? I saw some of those leaflets when we came in so we could order some?"

"Whatever you want, my love."

As time ticks on the pizza box is left discarded in the kitchen as the two of you retire for the night. Who knew not actually unpacking but simply thinking about it while eating pizza on the dirty ground could be so much work. You struggle to hold back a yawn as you snuggle up to him trying to absorb as much of his body heat as you can. All that lay across the two of you were a blanket and this building was next exactly the warmest. "Do you think we'll be okay? "You ponder aloud; it was a question that had been on your mind since agreeing to follow him to Romania. For not many people stay together with their high school loves. What if things fall apart now that you're in the 'real' world? What if this was all just a huge mistake?

"What do you mean?" Always such a simple boy; you wonder how he deals with his anxieties. Did he actually not know what you meant or was he merely putting on a brave face? A once proud Gryffindor suggested that he always looked to be brave above anything else.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" You repeat as if that somehow answers his question but it must have done something because even in the darkness you can just tell he's smiling.

"You worry way too much." Charlie laughs.

"You don't worry enough,"

He lays a kiss upon the top of your head, his hand moving up and down your arm. "It used to be the other way around."

"I was young and reckless back then. "How you missed the days where you ran around the halls of Hogwarts with reckless abandon. Well, not entirely reckless that was more Tonks but things had definitely felt simpler back then.

"You're still young and reckless now, I just have to hear you stress about it afterwards." Charlie taunts, pinching your arm. You recoil at the sharp pain.

"Shush."

"Being in Romania doesn't change anything," He expresses; his voice sounding louder in the quiet darkness. "I loved you back home and I still love you now. I'm really glad you decided to come with me."

Hoping to distract yourself from every worrying thought that clouded your brain you decide it's time to change the subject. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Getting to work with Dragons all day every day? that's like dream come true."

"A dangerous one," Dragons were perhaps the most vicious creatures around other than humans. As captivating as they were and as much as charlie adored them, you couldn't help but worry about his safety. It seemed no matter the topic this evening you'd find a way to stress yourself out.

"I'll be fine, I'll have you there to patch me up," That he will for you had taken on the role as a healer willing to help out with all the injuries that inevitably come from dealing with dragons. You wouldn't admit it but you weren't quite convinced you were up to the task; you had never actually dealt with dragon-related injuries so this was like diving headfirst into the ocean when you only just learned how to swim in a training pool. "and if not- well, we had a good run."

"Don't joke about that," Nuzzling against his chest, you finally let your eyes close. Today was the start of forever with the one and only Charles Weasley and here he was joking about his ultimate demise.

4. The perfect day

It's peculiar how life can just fall into place. Your odd little world of dragons and leaky apartment buildings just became the norm. You had come to love your work at the reserve, Dragons were actually incredibly cool up close. Not to mention getting to see Charlie work with them after years of never shutting up about them was truly a sight to behold. Every day, it was like taking an excited little boy to his first day of school. His eyes simply lit up whenever he was at work although it was hard explaining his injuries to the neighbours when they were being nosey. You also had to be careful when using magic since you were basically living with muggles and it would be a headache if they ever found out.

With your site blocked by a thin piece of fabric, Charlie guides you carefully forward with his hands skillfully placed upon your arms to steer. This was the first day off the two of you have shared in a long time. Little information was given about your destination other than it being a surprise. With Charlie that could mean just about anything which wasn't always a good thing but you trusted him enough to believe he wasn't leading you into a dragon's den or something. A gentle breeze nipped at the skin of your neck and the ground felt soft under your feet. The gentle singing of a symphony of birds filled the air and the sun beamed down with remarkable easy. All this suggested you were somewhere withdrawn in nature. Charlie had always been one for the great outdoors. There were countless times you had found him sneaking in or out of the forbidden forest back at school.

"Am I going to like this surprise?" You inquire; your anxiety building with each step. You would much prefer to simply know what was going on rather than experience some dramatic reveal especially today of all days. Every year the boy seems to forget that he agreed not to make a big deal.

"I sure hope so," You practically slam into him as she comes to an unexpected standstill. "Because I don't think I can return it."

"Return what? Oh god- can I take my blindfold off?"

As the flimsy fabric skims the length of your face to settle loosely around your neck, your eyes take a minute to adapt. You don't know quite what you were expecting but this was not it. Before you stands a small cottage surrounded by nothing but a wide-open field full of a rainbow of wildflowers. It was a beautiful little house with as much charm and beauty you'd expect from a place out in what seems like the middle of nowhere. It could be described as the perfect place to settle down.

"Surprise!" He was redder than a cherry tomato when he stepped into view. Both arms in the air as a sign of celebration but you were just rather... confused? Whose house was this and why had he brought you all the way out here?

"I don't get it?"

"We've been here for a while now so I thought we should get our own place or like, a better place. One where we don't have to worry about anyone else." His confidence appeared to develop with each word but his face was still powdered in a deep shade of pink. S this was your house? He'd decided to up and move without even consulting you? "So I got us a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. It kinda reminds me of the burrow only, y'know, smaller."

"It's ours?" His excitement is clear on his face and he quickly takes your hand. Pulling you along with him. "And that's not all."

"There's more?" Surely a whole house was enough. You were quite proud of Charlie for picking such a beautiful little place. Come summertime, you could already see yourself sitting among the flowers painting little pictures. You also wouldn't have to worry about muggles. Coming up on the front door, your boyfriend delivers you a little golden key. And with just a tiny degree of fear about what could be on the other side you unlock it. Much to your astonishment and disappointment, nothing is behind the door except the hallway leading inside. Charlie enters first and even as you follow, you half expect someone to jump out.

"I know I agreed not to make a big deal but how could I not?" He opens a door at the end of the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It's not a massive space but it's assuredly not small either, the whole place was already furnished but you recognise the surprise was truly what sat on the table. It was a two-tier cake covered in blue frosting including the words Happy Birthday scrawled across the top followed by your name.

"You... baked?"

"Mum sent it actually," Charlie chortled lightly as he wanders up behind you. Tossing a package of red with multicoloured polka-dots onto the table. "Sent this along too. Reckon it's a jumper or something."

"That was nice of her," You weren't sure of how to react to it all. Birthdays had never really been your thing but you appreciated that Mrs. Weasley had gone out of her way to make you something special.

"And from me..." He trails off and the sound of tiny tracks echo off the walls attended by an adorable yelp. Up to your feet slides an ash grey puppy who was more legs than anything else. It had bright blue eyes and floppy ears.

"You got me a dog?"

"I got us a dog- thought we needed a pet around here. I debated getting a crup but that'd be a disaster if your parents ever decide to visit." Crups were notorious for their dislike of muggles. You never understood why but he was right in his decision. The gesture was sweet but rather odd all things considered but still you smile. It was hard to be mad at something so cute and you weren't just talking about the dog. The puppy sits at your feet, wagging its little tail a mile a minute. There was no denying how adorable it was and at least it wasn't a dragon. Or a murtlap for that matter, those things were ugly. "You don't seem happy... do you not like him? I can take him back?" Kneeling, your hand drifts over the soft fur of the puppy's head. In response, the dog jumps up in an attempt to lick at your face. Your smile grows as you try to get away. "I think he likes you."

"What's his name?"

"Whatever you want? He's a Great Dane by the way." The puppy had calmed down a little and you stare as you ponder the perfect name for an ash grey Great Dane. "How about... Arlo?"

"Arlo?"

"Mhmm," You hum standing up straight. "And I'm plenty happy if not a little overwhelmed. You know how I feel when it comes to my birthday."

"I do," He nods casually. His palms snake around your waist drawing you flush against him "But I never want you to forget that someone cares about you- that I care about you so bloody much."

"I know you do," You give him a quick peck on the lips. "And I'm thankful for that and for all of this."

"Arlo is the perfect name, Happy Birthday" Your lips connect in a beautifully slow embrace that fills your body with warmth and as he pulls away, his forehead comes to rest against yours. The dog barking as it explores the kitchen. "I'm just so grateful that you decided to run away with me."

#Charlie Weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley #charlie weasley imagine #hogwarts mystery #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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nugnthopkns · 4 years ago

Text

tell you i miss you but i don’t know how

word count: 2.7k

warnings: insinuated fem!reader, a singular swear word, it’s kinda angsty i guess

recommended listening: the story of us | taylor swift

a/n: long time hockey fan, long time reader, first time writer. i’ve been thinking about posting for a while and decided to bite the bullet. no time like the present i suppose. tagging some folks i feel might be interested (but there’s literally zero pressure please feel free to ignore) @matbaerzal @davidpastrsnack @troubatrain @jamiedrysdales

Breaking up was for the best.

You repeat the phrase like a mantra. It’s the first thing you think when you wake up, in the back of your mind as you sit in your cubicle, and verbally repeated anytime you pass a mirror. Deep down you know it’s right; you and Tyson aren’t on compatible lifepaths, and that’s okay. You just wish it didn’t hurt so much to say goodbye. He’s an easy person to miss, with his infectious smile and quick wit. Tyson’s the only person who’s made you laugh so hard tears roll down your cheek; the one who always picked up a bag of pretzels on his way home from the rink so you could have a snack after work. Though you didn’t expect to get over him quickly, you had no idea you’d still miss him nearly a year later. Or that it would hurt so much every time you see him in public.

��♠♠♠♠

The bar offers a reprieve from the brisk Denver wind. October has been unusually chilly so far, but the bodies packed like sardines in the open room create all the heat insulation you need. It’s a Friday night and you’re hoping to unwind after a stressful week at work. It’s audit season, meaning you’ve had to pull crazy late nights as you read over the financial records of the firm’s junior partners. Today was particularly terrible, with the computer system crashing, and you really need a drink. Your friends are supposed to meet you, but a text confirms that traffic is heavier than they anticipated and they’re running late.

Not wanting to waste precious time, you head straight for the only empty space at the bar. A bartender a few years older than you sees you approach and leans close to hear your order over the thumping bass. “Could I just grab a gin and tonic?” you ask, and she smiles before turning away to make your drink. A minute later a drink is placed in your hand and you scour the venue for a table. A small booth is available in the corner; the perfect size for your party. It turns out to be the perfect spot for people watching, and you casually sip your drink and occasionally scroll through instagram while you wait. A text from your friend alerts you everyone is fifteen minutes out. Though it’s pretty crowded everyone seems to be congregating on the dance floor so you don’t hesitate to leave your table and order a second drink.

This gin and tonic goes down easier than the first, and soon you’re on your third. There’s still no sign of your friends anywhere and the balls of your feet ache from the heels you wore to the office today. You abandon your plan to meet them at the door, firing off a text giving your location in the venue. Once sitting down, you take off your shoes and rub at your feet. Why did you choose today to abide by the dress code? You typically wore a discreet pair of sneakers and wished you could go back in time to change your shoe choice.

“I see you’re still drinking gin and can’t wear heels for more than two hours.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. You look up to see Tyson smiling down at you, and the room spins around you. The entire reason you picked this bar was because it was the only one the boys didn’t frequent, but it seems they’re here anyways.

“I’m consistent,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. The sight of Tyson makes your heart clench. He looks good, glowing the way that means the team came out with a win and that he played well and put up some points.

Tyson nods to the empty seat across from you, and against your better judgement you allow him to sit. A small section of your brain thinks he’s going to confess he’s been miserable the last few months, that he’s still madly in love with you. It seems to be the part controlling the rest of your body. “That’s one thing that’ll never change. How’s work?”

You hum wistfully, wishing he wouldn’t make small talk. How is this so easy for him? “Busy,” you sigh. “It’s audit season so the department is swamped. The boys still causing issues?”

“They’re annoying as ever.” He smiles at you again. The sick feeling in your stomach doesn’t subside. Tyson gives you a quick recap of the Avs’ season so far, and you half pay attention. You’ve gone to great lengths to avoid seeing him: switched the way you drive home, where you hang out with friends, what grocery store you go to. It’s a little ironic he’d find you here of all places.

Idle chatter occurs for a while. Tyson’s talking to you like he’s reuniting with a childhood friend, not an ex-lover. As much as you find the conversation uncomfortable, you can’t turn him away. You miss sitting with him, talking about anything under the sun. Life hasn’t been as bright since the break up. No matter how hard you try, nothing fills the Tyson sized hole in your heart. In a twisted way his presence is comforting, a reminder of what once was. Eventually his teammates realize he’s gone missing and come to whisk him away.

“See you around Y/N,” Tyson says, a little bewildered because J.T is dragging him by the belt loops.

All you can croak out is a feeble “Yeah.” He doesn’t look back once he’s away from the table. You shouldn’t have expected him to; he seems to be doing fine. Well even. Every step he takes breaks your heart a little more, and you curse yourself for missing him and down the rest of your drink.

Your friends find you crying in the bathroom and usher you home.

♠♠♠♠

Despite being separated from Tyson, you’re still close with some members of the Avalanche extended family. Mel Landeskog continually reaches out, ensuring you’re doing the best you can given the circumstances. It isn’t easy when your ex-boyfriend is the pride of Denver, plastered over every billboard in a fifteen mile radius of the city. When she called to ask if you’d emergency babysit Linnea while she ran errands you jumped at the opportunity to help.

“Thank you so much,” Mel says, cooing to her daughter who’s comfortably placed in your arms.

“It’s not a problem,” you insist, “I’m just glad I can finally start repaying you for everything you’ve done for me.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, telling you to text her if you need anything picked up at the store. You’re then left alone with the baby who is luckily one of the happiest you’ve ever seen. The first hour or so is spent entertaining Linnea with various toys and games. Her smile and laugh melt your heart, and your mind briefly flashes to conversations you had about children with Tyson. You push them from your mind, not wanting to lose your focus. The child in front of you is the one that matters, not the hypothetical one from times past. Around two she gets fussy; a bottle and quick diaper change satiate her.

“You having fun pretty girl?” you coo. “I’m not always the most exciting to be around.” She doesn’t respond; just looks up at you with heavy lids. You pull her closer to your chest, rocking gently back and forth on your heels. Within minutes she’s soundly asleep and you head upstairs to place her in the crib.

Back on the main floor, you settle into the corner of the couch. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you keep your laptop at a low volume to ensure you’d hear anything. You sift through the mess in your inbox, deleting promotional emails and replying to those that need your attention. After killing half an hour, you quickly check on Linnea before scrolling through social media. According to twitter the Avalanche are on a six game winning streak and are looking to keep it alive. You honestly could care less about hockey anymore; it’s a painful reminder that Tyson is no longer yours. In truth you’re happy for the team because they work hard and deserve it. Other social media platforms yield nothing of interest and you soon feel yourself nodding off. Looking at the clock you realize there’s about an hour left in the baby’s nap, so you let yourself sleep.

A knock on the door startles you awake. Careful not to cause a commotion that could wake Linnea you head in the direction of the entryway. The knocking increases as you approach, and you open the door to a disheveled Tyson.

“What are you doing here?” You didn’t mean for the question to come off so rude, but it does.

He pays it no mind. “Is Gabe home yet?”

“No,” you sputter. “I’m watching Linnea while Mel stepped out.”

Tyson looks stumped. “He should be home by now. We had plans to unwind before the game.” You make no attempt to stop him from entering, and he takes his shoes off without another word. Aimlessly trailing behind him, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he heads to the guest room. “I’m gonna take a nap, have Landy wake me up when he gets home.”

“Can do,” you sigh, but it falls on deaf ears. Tyson’s already got the door shut, and you imagine he’s climbing under the covers, blissfully unaffected by your presence. You can’t say the same. Knowing he’s less than fifty feet from you sends you spiraling. Flashbacks of pre-game cuddles grace the back of your eyelids, and you rub your temples furiously to get rid of the images. It doesn’t help. You want nothing more than to not be bothered by how much you miss seeing him. You miss the way his hands felt entangled with yours and how sweet his voice sounds in the morning. Being this hung up on a person so long after a relationship has ended can’t be healthy.

The baby monitor crackles, signaling the baby, and the only reason you haven’t fled, is once again awake. Linnea’s room is bright and cheerful; the perfect hideaway from Tyson. Sometime during your tenth reciting of Green Eggs and Ham Mel returns. She finds you upstairs and giddily sweeps up her child, missing her terribly even though she was only gone for a couple of hours.

“Did everything go okay?”

You nod. “She was a dream. The happiest baby I’ve ever seen. She might need to be changed soon though.”

Mel nods. “I saw Tyson’s car in the driveway, did he meet Gabe?”

“He’s actually asleep in the downstairs guest room,” you whisper, scared he’ll sense you’re talking about it, and by extension thinking about him, missing him.

“Oh. Shit.”

That’s the understatement of the year. “Yeah.” You quickly help put away the groceries before heading out, not wanting to disrupt the routine more so than you already had. Really though, you want to be as far away from the Landeskog’s as possible before Tyson wakes up. You’ll have to do a better job of avoiding him in the future, you decide on the way home. You’re heart can’t take seeing him this frequently – or at all.

♠♠♠♠

You would rather be anywhere than the Pepsi Center. It’s the first time you’ve been in the arena since breaking up with Tyson and you’re downright miserable. However, you promised your younger brother you’d take him to a game the next time he visited Denver with your parents and you aren’t about to break his heart. Ryan is borderline obsessed with the Avalanche and hockey in general. At eleven he’s showing significant promise and you know he works hard.

“Ry, slow down,” you huff, desperately trying to keep up with him. The kid is swaying through the throng of people at lightning speed, desperately trying to make it to your seats to catch warmup. Wanting to make the experience special for him, you purchased seats along the glass across from the Avs bench. Your brother halts, tapping his foot impatiently as you join him and match his stride.

Contrary to what Ryan thinks, your seats have not been stolen and warmup is just starting. His winter jacket is soon placed on the seat, revealing the too big jersey underneath. The number seventeen nearly sits at his elbow and the name-bar is askew because one side keeps slipping down, but your brother’s happy. He’s preoccupied with watching players do passing drills, hands pressed against the glass, and you allow yourself to look around. Virtually nothing has changed since the last time you were here. The banners are still the same, the energy electric. One small difference is your seating arrangement: the better halves’ box is no longer a luxury you have available to you. A quick glance in that direction confirms they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and no doubt in the midst of planning the next off-season wedding.

Ryan grips the hem of your sweater to get your attention. “Look Y/N,” he squeals, “Tys and J.T are coming over!” Sure enough, the two friends are making a beeline in your direction. Tyson waves and Ryan eagerly reciprocates. You’re reminded just how much he misses Tyson; they were the best of friends whenever they could get together. Another piece of your heart breaks in that moment, as you realize you aren’t the only hurting from the breakup.

“You’ve got him in the wrong jersey Y/N,” J.T smirks. “Think he’d look better with thirty-seven plastered all over.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll remember that Compher. You got the spare change lying around to buy him one?” There’s no malice in your voice; you truly miss joking around with him.

Tyson throws a puck high enough to clear the plexiglass. “Ry-Guy, catch!” It lands unceremoniously at Ryan’s feet, but he beams as he picks it up. The two boys share a makeshift fist bump and quickly catch up with each other. It’s been over a year since they’ve seen each other at this point, and Ryan has so much he wants to talk about. J.T tells a joke that makes the younger boy laugh, and Tyson turns his attention to you.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, doing his best to convey his sincerity. The energy of the area and the adrenaline have Tyson shaking slightly, and he rocks back onto his blades.

You study his facial features as you inhale. He’s still incredibly handsome, just slightly more defined, like he’s growing into himself. “Likewise,” you exhale. You know you shouldn’t lie but you can’t help it; for Ryan’s sake you need to pretend that seeing Tyson doesn’t make you want to curl into a ball and cry. He smiles sadly, like he knows you’re putting on a show. He probably does – you’ve never been good at hiding your emotions from him. Has been able to see how much you hurt every time you interact?

Ryan recaptures Tyson’s attention for a few final moments before he has to return to the locker room. With a high-five and a promise to call soon he skates away, leaving your brother to gush about his idol. The game goes better than you could have ever imagined; the Avs gain a landslide victory and Tyson gets a hatrick. After each goal he points in your direction and Ryan goes berserk. You catch yourself smiling, proud of his accomplishment, before you realize you won’t be at the celebratory afterparty. That isn’t your life anymore.

The traffic out of the arena is terrible, and Ryan’s asleep in the backseat before you hit the interstate. In some sort of daze you think about what you’d be doing with Tyson right now if you were still together. Maybe you’d be getting ready to make an appearance at a club to celebrate the big game, but it’s more likely you’d be pressed together on the couch, watching a nature documentary to unwind. It’s moments like that you miss most; where you were both too comfortable and enamored with each other to care about your social obligations. A single tear escapes and flows down your cheek. One turns into ten, and soon you’re sobbing over lost love.

♠♠♠♠

Tyson Jost isn’t someone you could ever stop loving. He’s the human equivalent of the sun, and even now your life revolves around him. It’s centered on missing him, sure, but that’s a part of him nonetheless. You can only hope it gets easier to deal with.

#tyson jost imagine #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites

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phantom-curve · 3 years ago

Note

For your prompts: 5. trepverter for Willex, please?

this one kind of got away from me, but hopefully it still mostly captures the essence of the prompt! and if not, it's at least a cute little fluffy Willex moment that I thoroughly enjoyed writing. set in an AU where the boys are alive, here is some flustered Alex ft. supportive Reggie and Luke.

trepverter - a witty response or comeback you think of only after it's too late to use (Rated T for swearing with a Trigger Warning for mentions of homophobic parents)

They say hindsight is 20/20 but Alex never really paid much attention to that until the day he found himself knocked flat on his back, elbows scratched and head pounding as if he had been hit by a freight train instead of an irresponsible skateboarder. It probably didn’t help that he had been in the middle of trying to calm himself down, all the signs of an impending anxiety attack mounting within his system until he had finally just put his feet to the pavement and started walking to get some of the overwhelming energy worked out of his system. He probably could have been more attentive, more aware of exactly where he was going and who was headed his direction, but he figured it would be fine on a random Wednesday morning in October when the tourists weren’t really around and most kids his age were in school.

Alex wasn’t in school because his parents had withdrawn tuition payments after he had finally worked up the courage to tell them he wouldn’t be bringing a nice girl home because he didn’t want to date any girls, in fact he would much prefer to date some boys, but the pressure of keeping his identity a secret hadn’t made that possible either so he was done hiding and he hoped they could accept that. Turns out they couldn’t accept that, or him, once he made it obvious he wasn’t going to go back in the closet or give any girl the chance to “change his mind”. As if that was even possible.

It hadn’t been a big blowout, more of a silent retreat, his parents completely withdrawing any and all support from his life over the course of the last few months. And apparently that included tuition, as Alex had discovered that morning when the school called to inform him they had finished completing his withdrawal forms, and they would be sad to see him go. Which had led him to the boardwalk, and then directly into the path of whatever hooligan that had crashed into him. Maybe if he had just been able to keep his mouth shut for 3 more years he wouldn’t be lying here, breathless and bruised, and still on the cusp of absolutely losing it.

Hindsight, Alex thought to himself as he stared up at the clear blue LA sky, can absolutely kiss my ass.

“Awh, man!” A voice above him whined. “You dinged my board!”

Alex toppled off of the anxiety ledge and straight into an ocean of lost control.

“Dinged your board? Dinged your board!? Dude, you ran me over!”

He punctuated his statement by leaping to his feet, which would have probably been a lot more threatening if he didn’t immediately stagger, hand held to his head as the world spun and his stomach rolled.

“Oh shit.”

The voice cursed quietly, and then Alex felt warm hands against his biceps, steadying him until everything slowly came back into focus. There was a boy standing in front of him, black cracked helmet perched on his head, soft brown eyes staring at him with a tinge of concern and remorse. When it was clear Alex was steady once more, he released his grip and offered an easy-going smile.

“You’re right, man, I totally pancaked you. My bad, are you okay?”

There was a weird feeling in Alex’s gut. Not the kind of sickening wave of nausea he had experienced when he first stood, but more of a fluttery feeling. His brain had quieted somewhat, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just look where you’re going next time.”

His voice came out soft and almost breathy, not at all the warning tone he had meant to use, and Alex could feel his cheeks warming slightly in embarrassment. The other boy’s smile grew. He reached up and unclipped his helmet, lifting it off and then tossing his head back as a cascade of long brown hair tumbled out. A few stray pieces fell to rest alongside his face and Alex felt his mouth fall open slightly. His stomach swooped and then dropped completely, like he had just plummeted from a rollercoaster and his mind went blissfully blank. Everything narrowed down to the absolutely beautiful boy standing in front of him, face awash in golden morning light, cheeks flushed from his exertions, dimples and white teeth on full display as he grinned yet again. Alex wasn’t sure he had ever met someone so blindingly attractive in his entire life, and then the boy winked, winked!, and lifted a hand out towards him.

“I’m Willie.”

It was the best name Alex had ever heard of. When their palms met, a spark shot up his arm and straight to his heart.

“Alex.”

Thank God he remembered how to talk, because he truly hadn’t known what to expect when he opened his mouth. Willie released his grip and Alex left his hand suspended for just a second before he pulled it back and shoved it into the pocket of his jean jacket.

“Nice to meet you, Alex. Listen, I really am sorry about knocking you over. Any chance I can make it up to you?”

It took Alex an uncomfortably long amount of time to process what Willie was asking. Long enough for him to panic and wonder if it was like a date or if it was like a pity thing or oh God what if Willie wasn’t even into guys and Alex was about to make this whole thing super weird and –

A chirping sound came from Willie’s pocket. His eyes flitted away from Alex’s to pull a phone out and check the screen. Alex felt a strange twist in his heart as he watched Willie’s easy smile fall only to be replaced by an annoyed grimace and eyeroll as he silenced the phone. Without skipping a beat, he thrust it back into his pocket and pulled out a sharpie instead. Alex barely had time to register how much he liked the way Willie’s hand felt on his forearm before the other boy was suddenly bent over it and there was a cool sensation sending goosebumps up his arm as the tip of the marker scratched across his skin. When Willie pulled back, that brilliant smile was back in place and his eyebrows were dancing so merrily Alex wanted nothing more than to watch them forever.

“I gotta go, but that’s my number. Text me sometime.”

And then, before Alex could work up the nerve to say anything, Willie was tossing his skateboard to the ground only to chase after it with a few bouncy steps before jumping onto the deck and quickly making his way down the boardwalk, away from Alex. He watched for longer than it was probably acceptable until Willie was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Only then did he look down to see the numbers sketched onto his forearm in orange ink.

(213) 555-3276 Willie<3

It was the heart that did him in. That heart had to mean something, right? It was intentional. Willie had written his name with a heart. Alex wasn’t making that up, it was inked onto his own arm! He studied it as he sat on the beach, mind silently replaying every single second of his short interaction with Willie over and over again while different groups of people came and went around him. There had to be a reason for the heart. Alex fiddled with the braided rainbow bracelet on his wrist, the motion familiar and soothing. Had Willie noticed it when he grabbed Alex’s arm to write his number on? Was the heart some kind of sign?

Alex let out a groan and fell back against the sand, the texture scratchy against the back of his head where a slight throbbing still persisted. Another silent reminder of his morning encounter. He wished he had thought to say something when Willie had asked him about making it up to him. Wished he hadn’t panicked or let his stupid brain go into overdrive worrying about what might happen for so long that nothing ended up happening. If he could go back, he would have told Willie, yeah, he could make it up to him. Maybe take him out to coffee or dinner and a movie or ya know, just any kind of date in general? But Alex wasn’t that smooth, and he wasn’t quite that confident yet. And now all he had was a number in orange ink and a name with a heart and absolutely no answers to the millions of questions crowding his brain.

He let out a deep sigh and sat up again, before finally climbing to his feet. It wouldn’t do to sit and worry, even if that was kind of his specialty. Luke had a girlfriend now. And Julie was incredible, and Luke was a disaster, so obviously the guy had to have some kind of game. Alex couldn’t quite believe it, but maybe he could give him an idea of what to do in this situation. Alex turned his feet towards the apartment the boys had been sharing since Luke turned 18 and left his parents’ house for good and started the long walk back to their shared home.

Luckily, both Luke and Reggie were home, which meant Alex had two sounding boards for his word vomit as he paced in front of where they were sat on the couch. Reggie was kind of like a puppy in the sense that all he had to do was exist and people flocked to him, so he also had more experience than Alex did when it came to figuring out someone’s true intentions after a first meeting. By the time he had finished giving the boys the run down, he was feeling like they might be able to put their collective braincell to use and figure out exactly what the best course of action would be here.

“Yeah, man, I got nothing.”

Alex groaned and Luke held up his hands defensively.

“Look, dude, just cause I’m dating Julie doesn’t mean I know how I pulled it off! I’m just hoping my luck holds out until I can convince her to marry me, okay?”

Reggie was nodding thoughtfully, so Alex held out hope that maybe he would have some words of wisdom.

“I mean, he sounds like he wanted to at least like...talk to you some more, right? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have given you his number. And the heart is promising!”

Alex let it soak in for a second. An idea struck him out of nowhere.

“What if I just text him and tell him he can make it up to me by going on a date?”

“Bold moves, dude. I like it”

Of course, Luke liked it. It was a very Luke-inspired move. But Alex didn’t quite have the same guts as Luke. He didn’t think he could really pull it off.

“Ugh, no. My anxiety would skyrocket the second I sent the text. I just wanna know what the heart means!”

“Why don’t you ask him that then?”

Alex didn’t like how Reggie was the voice of reason here. That was supposed to be his job.

“Because if I ask him that he’ll know I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“You have been thinking about it all day.”

Alex finally reached his physical limit and stopped his pacing to fling his body onto the couch between Luke and Reggie, both boys catching different limbs and silently shifting to accompany his sudden presence.

“I don’t want him to know I’ve been thinking about it all day! That’s pathetic. Ugh, why didn’t I just say something in the moment!”

Reggie’s fingers were gentle against Alex’s scalp as he carded a hand through his hair reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Lex. You’ll think of something to say when the time is right. Release your worries to the wind and all that other junk, ya know? Just breathe.”

So, Alex breathed and tried to surrender his obsession into the ether. Reggie had been on a bit of a self-help kick lately, but honestly, it did help Alex more often than not, so he resolved to try and follow his best friend’s advice, even as his anxiety raged against the idea.

Turns out, the right time was exactly 11:43 pm when Alex suddenly awoke from a dead sleep where his dreams had been invaded by none other than Willie himself. He looked down at the number, the hastily scribbled name, and the accompanying heart bright against his pale skin even in the darkness of night and typed the message into his phone before he could think twice about it.

To: Willie<3 Considering you pancaked me, I think it’s only fair you make it up to me with a pancake breakfast. 9 am at Sandy’s Diner?

The responding message was almost instantaneous.

You’ve got yourself a date. Catch ya in the morning, pancake ;)

And for the second time that day, Willie wiped Alex’s mind completely blank, the word date playing on repeat until he fell asleep with his lips still curved into a smile, visions of a certain long-haired pretty boy dancing through his head.

#in other news this is my 1000th blog post!#feels appropriate to honor that with Alex losing his mind over Willie for 2k words straight #mads writes #willex #jatp #julie and the phantoms #alex mercer #willie jatp #willex fic

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mediocre--writing · 3 years ago

Text

Favorite Crime

S- I was your willing accomplice, honey

Bad news. Bad news, bad news, bad news.

Nobody had a single good word to his name, besides a praise for his party facade or his skills in bed.

But there's always a deeper story behind a headline, or that's what Nancy had always told him. That this unflattering headline covered a hurt, poor person who was, more than likely, being villainized for a story. That's what happened with Jonathan, right?

Bad guy has a shitty family life and it turns out he's not the villain at all, just different in a way people don't yet understand.

But how can someone so cruel and crude have a deeper story than just being a jackass?

Turns out, it's always more complicated than calculus homework Steve still doesn't understand.

A short word from Max itched a scratch inside Steve's head that had been bothering him since the first day. The way he sauntered, never just walked, nor did he ever cower, the way he always looked so fine, so perfect, so okay.

Just like Steve does, he guesses. The focus on his hair and his clothing and how he's perceived, it doesn't matter to him how he looks, he just wants people off his back.

So, it's not surprising that it was an uphill journey, more like a completely vertical wall standing between them, but they somehow made it to the top, made it together.

Somehow, despite the fights and denials, despite the reluctance and the running, it was rough, and it seemed like gravity was strongest at the top, trying to pull them down the closer they got together. They're standing at the top, this once unattainable point that seemed like the top of the world where the sun shined brightest on them and only them. Nobody else.

Except there's always someone else, isn't there?

It's not always someone falling in love with someone else or falling out of love with the one they were destined to be with, sometimes there's pressures you can't fight on your own, sometimes they're even too strong to fight with someone else. Sometimes you can't defeat your enemy like the knight slays the dragon. Sometimes you don't live happily ever after with the princess and she just stays locked in her tower until someone can actually save her.

B- Doe-eyed as you buried me

The eyes, the lashes, the soft glances in the hallway and the sweet smiles shared during practice. They all pile up over time, creating this deep, strong warmth that keeps your body warm. The warmth that you don't notice until you're separated from it for a second too long.

The fire ignited in a once ice cold heart that gives meaning and light to a corrupted soul begging for help.

Those big, brown eyes that were once referred to as "ugly cow eyes," a statement that Billy couldn't disagree with more. Because even if they were cow eyes, they were sweet, beautiful, innocent eyes that were so willing to love.

Eyes that opened his own, opened his eyes to a bright, new future he didn't even know existed before.

It was smothering, the feeling, which he hadn't felt in almost ten years now, one he didn't realize he'd forgotten what that love felt like, what being cared for felt like.

He fell into love like a poor, unexpecting animal would fall into a hunter's trap.

It was like he knew it was happening, he noticed he was falling and tried to grab onto the sides of the trap, try to claw his way out, but he inevitably fell to the bottom, laying on his back, but he noticed that this trap wasn't so bad. He could still feel the sunlight on his cheeks and there was someone there, laying next to him who offered great comfort as they waited for the predator to kill them both.

But it felt safer when there was dirt being put on top of him to keep the burning heart warm, it was like the predator wouldn't be able to spot them if they hid for long enough under this false hope, because they were still stuck in the bottom of the trap and they were only digging themselves deeper.

S- And now, every time a siren sounds, I wonder if you're around

Steve's favorite color was always purple. He liked the harshness of red and the calm of blue and purple always seemed to fit the blend. It was a strong color, something he'd associated with his best days and reminded him of this innocence he loved.

He doesn't love purple so much anymore.

The neon signs above shops and restaurants, composed of this beautiful red and dashing blue turned the dark mall into a bright purple.

The fireworks bouncing off the walls and their faces glowed in bright yellows and greens and blues and reds and purples.

And that purple hue covered everything that night. Not a single light was burning brighter than that purple color.

The red blood gushing down his chest wasn't beautiful and the sight of his dashing blue eyes closing was more horrifying than any sight he'd ever been forced to watch.

He hated purple. He hated the mix of blue and red and he hated the beautiful purple color that highlighted his face while he struggled to breathe, while he searched for Steve’s eyes and reached out for his hand before he just--stopped.

And the sirens, God, the sirens.

They were loud and blaring and the god damn red flashing lights were mixing with the blue lights from cop cars and Steve was so fucking sick of seeing those colors everywhere. So fucking sick of that loud blaring noise, but that also could have been a result of the concussion and blood loss he’d experienced within the past 48-ish hours.

And, he gets it, that sometimes people just don’t get lucky enough to make it.

But it’s been close to three months and every time a cop car or ambulance passes him, he just wants to sprint after it, like he wanted to that night, just to see him one more time before the inevitable ends it for good.

The inevitable, isn’t it always funny that you can stop it? Or--could have stopped it. There’s always a solution that could have prevented this “unpreventable” event, yet people pretend it isn’t so. That people die because it’s “meant to be” and not a tragic fate that no good person deserves.

The inevitable, isn’t so inevitable, turns out, on a day in November when Max admits a hidden truth.

And they meet again, but it feels the same. They missed each other unlike any person they hadn’t seen. They just sit for hours, barely talking but just holding hands, squished on this tiny hospital bed where a, supposedly dead, teenager and his boyfriend sit and silently cry.

And as they hear an ambulance pull up outside of the hospital, Steve doesn’t tense like he has been for the past months, he just squeezes Billy’s hand tighter and feels his breathing from where they’re touching.

B- But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

The camaro, the doctors warned him that he may not like driving it, some form of PTSD from the night and the accidents that had occured, but Billy felt more released from his problems as he drove the car than when he had to sit in a hospital room or talk with his step sister and the nerd herd about...well, anything.

And the sunrise, how beautiful sunrises were above treelines as you release your problems with a loud rev of an engine.

He’d done his morning like he always would, made coffee when he woke up, got dressed, poured an extra cup for Steve, kissed him on the forehead when he left it on the nightstand, then lounged around the living room for a while.

Except today was different.

Billy wasn’t getting up at 6am, he was getting up at 5.

And he didn’t get dressed and lounge around, he got dressed and loaded his favorite things into his car.

But he was making the cup of coffee for Steve to wake up to when he got up at 7, it just probably wouldn’t be as hot as it usually was.

There’s a new step, but just for this day. He rips off a piece of paper from the notepad that they left by the phone.

He rips off the corner, enough to fold in half so it sits upright on the nightstand.

He draws a sloppy heart, one Steve always said just looked like a fat ‘X’, and signs a little ‘B’ in his “fancy prince handwriting” as Steve always called it.

He set the paper next to the cup of coffee, pulled up the sheets on his side of the bed, pushed Steve’s messy bed head back and left a soft peck on his forehead, then one on the tip of his nose. Steve’s pink, chapped lips moved into a soft, dopey smile as Billy pulled the blankets over his chest more, it was starting to get cold with October approaching.

The camaro roared under him as he started it up and pulled out of the driveway, working his way West, all the way to California: somewhere where his abusive dad wasn’t around and neither was the pressure to hide himself.

He hid everything, his sexualities, a majority of his home problems, his mental issues, how he’d see things, things that weren’t there and never had been. He’d continue wearing himself thin trying to keep up this facade, it was like he’d pushed himself down so far he forgot what he was supposed to like, what he used to hate.

For the best. This was better because he didn’t feel like Billy, he felt like different versions of some other person who was acting the role of Billy. Felt like his personalities didn’t match from person to person, lost the cathartic feeling of exposing all his thoughts to Steve, it made him feel guilty.

And Steve didn’t deserve that. Never did.

Billy was never good for him. He split everything up. Split up his own parents' marriage, he was the cause of most of their fights, and he ruined any and every relationship he’d ever been in, even the ones with Max or other people his age that he could have been a real friend to.

He still thinks about Steve, often. Thinks about him with a fond smile but hates how he was around him. Hated that feeling of hiding who he really was any time he was with this person who was supposed to be the best thing for him.

Hated the way Steve made him feel the need to pull at the reins to stop but made him want to go faster, faster, faster.

Hated Steve. Hated the way he loved him, but he just couldn’t force himself to be that happy.

Well, I hope I was your favorite crime...'Cause baby, you were mine.

#lots of symbolism and stuff and lots of confusing spelling mistakes but im kinda proud of it #also it switches perspectives between the lyrics #stranger things #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #mediocre—writing #mw harringrove #billy x steve

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