#one that lost her goddamn mind after her first litter

[kedreeva]

My current oldest siamese doe, being a sweetheart. She's the last doe solely from the original line; her babies were the ones outcrossed to my self black line, so if the line survives, it will be because she saved it.

[omgahgase]

tlou wip snippet -

so i started writing a little something based off of this post and it may not be as good as my first tlou fic, but i'm slowly starting to get back into the feel of things now that i finally have the game (remastered version) and i'm rewatching the show this month. the snippet is under the cut!

Joel knows when it started—this warm, almost welcoming feeling of familiarity tickling at the deepest part of his brain where he’s blocked off any and all remnants of whatever could hurt him. He deadbolted that door shut and threw that part of his memories in a bullet proof safe floating down the river of his subconscious, never to be seen again.

But Ellie, goddamn it that kid knows how to fish up parts of Joel that he’s sure he’s completely forgotten. He’s doing things he hasn’t done in years: cooking for a growing teenager, buying clothes for someone smaller than him because she swims in his jackets that she swears she didn’t take from his closet, and—now this one hurts like a bitch but it also soothes something inside him, that angry, growling beast of a person who just wants to love—brushing through someone’s hair while humming the first song that pops into his head.

Ellie is having Joel act like a different person than who he was when they first met, almost like the dormant part of himself that died at the first sound of that dreadful bullet rumbled itself awake and it’s now hellbent on making up for lost time. And it’s so strange.

Joel never expected to live with a teenager again. Ellie is everywhere, and even when she’s not physically there, little remnants of herself are littered throughout their home, a trail of all things Ellie that takes Joel back to a time when having a teenage girl in the house felt normal. Muddy, size eight boots in the hall. A comic book about spaceships and aliens forgotten on the living room coffee table. A hair tie left in his bathroom when her bathroom is upstairs and too far from her own room, but closer to his because that’s where she finds herself on most nights, right next to Joel. Where he always wants her to be.

Living with Ellie is a lot like living with Sarah, but Joel can never bring himself to compare them because there’s nothing about them that’s alike. Sure they both cook eggs with little fragments of shells and they always remind him to drink orange juice with his coffee because he’s old and his bones creak a lot more now and ‘vitamin C is good for you. It helps you get rid of all those wrinkles, so bottoms up!’

And they both make Joel feel human again, giving him something to live for because for the past two decades, Joel hasn’t been living for himself, but for the daughter who lost her life the same night Joel decided he didn’t want his.

Now, however, Joel isn’t living for just one person, and Ellie is constantly reminding him of that. No matter how well he knows it.

It doesn’t feel right comparing them anyway. They’re two different girls at two different times, and even if Joel sees bits of Sarah in Ellie, in the way she rests her head on Joel’s shoulder during movie nights, or how she laughs at his jokes only to call him a ‘Lame old man’ right after, or even how she cares for him before she cares for herself, Ellie and Sarah aren’t the same. Joel has made peace with that long before he’s made peace with the idea of, yeah. Having a kid around again isn’t so bad. He sorta likes it, sorta missed it, and kinda never wants it to end.

Besides, Joel doesn’t think of Sarah anymore when he looks at Ellie. He hasn’t for a good while. Not since Ellie stopped resembling Sarah in his mind and took the form of someone else entirely.

[paperpocalypse]

crackers and jam.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 41. Overhearing they have feelings for you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,703 words

Warnings: Swearing

Some time back, not long after he got stranded in the post-apocalyptic world and perhaps a year and a half before running into you, Five’s only companion was Delores.

It had been a meeting of chance (as everything is) in the middle of a destroyed department store. She had been looking at him. And maybe that’s why he was so drawn in – that stare; it was a lifeless stare, yeah, but it was not by any means a dead stare like the ones he had met too many times before. No life had been lost to create that stare. She was smiling, too.

Five had lifted her carefully out of the chunks of concrete, greeting her because there was no one else. For the first few weeks, he just placed her at the corner of her store and visited every once in a while, then took to occasionally toting her around the City when he needed to talk. He liked to pretend that she answered back – sometimes. After a few months, he named her Delores.

Then he met you.

Unlike Delores, you were human. Breathing. Alive, somehow. And you had thoughts and feelings that weren’t always connected to his and – and it was weird. It was home.

You didn’t question his friendship with Delores. Five had seen the half-burned stuffed frog in your wagon, so you wouldn’t have had anything to hold over him anyway. He knew that you knew that he still went to the department store in the middle of the night. And, shit, deep down Five also knew that Delores was, in the end, just a hunk of plastic with eyes. But after a year and a half of having nobody else, she had become something of a comfort. And a confidant. Burdening you with his issues was not an option, so when things became a little shittier than usual, he would slip out from underneath his blanket, make sure you weren’t having a nightmare, and head downtown to voice his thoughts aloud.

Over time, though, he learned that you were willing to listen. You listened, and you were always kind about it even if you didn’t always understand. His nightly visits decreased. And it was okay for a while.

But then Five began to struggle with a new issue – one that was a little different than the usual mess of stress and anxiety – and one night, he finds himself looking down at Delores again because talking to you about it is definitely off the table.

Unfortunately, Delores’s kindness is different from yours.

Well, here we are. Again.

“I’m just here to think,” he snaps, combing a grubby hand through his tangled mess of hair. The lantern beside him glows weakly as he plops down onto a slab of concrete. “Mind your business.”

Your business is everyone’s business here, Five. And to put my own two cents in, I think that you’re scared of your own feelings.

Blood travels to Five’s cheeks, unwarranted, as he narrows his eyes at Delores. “For the last time, that’s not what this is about. It’s – Jesus Christ, I’m gonna get over it. This isn’t a life-or-death issue.”

Then why have you been ranting about it like it is?

“I’m not.”

Ha! Rich.

He grits his teeth. She stares back at him, unperturbed. Bastard.

You know, maybe you’ll feel better if you say it out loud. Air it out. Test to see if it’s real.

“I’m not doing that.”

Do it.

No.

Say it.

No.

For god’s sake, Number Five, take a goddamn look at yourself –

“Fine!” Five hisses, though it feels more like an explosion. He throws his hands up. “I like [Y/n], alright? We’re the last people on this goddamn planet and I like them, and I shouldn’t care this much but I do. Happy?”

Delores pauses. Five looks away.

Very.

Ugh.

Did it feel real?

He clicks his tongue, crossing his arms, and doesn’t answer. The smile on Delores’s face seems a little smug, and it makes him want to hurl. He shouldn’t have said it out loud. Relieve some of the pressure and everything starts to boil over …

Breathing in deeply, Five forces his shoulders to relax. He bids a soft goodbye to Delores, then heads back to camp.

—

A week later, Five’s visit comes back to bite him in the worst way possible.

You’ve been having a hard time starting the fire for tonight, so he finishes splitting the evening rations to help you out with the bow drill. As he does so, you watch in silence, both of you waiting patiently for the smoke and dust.

“Do you think we have enough wood?” you eventually ask.  

“It’s enough,” he murmurs, only half paying attention. After a while, a few chalky wisps of smoke begin to rise from the charring wood. He leans in to blow the ember carefully once it forms, then puts it into the tinder and coaxes out a flame. “Get the kindling?”

You oblige, and within a few minutes, a healthy fire starts to dance atop the wood, scorching his face and fingers with heat. Five stares intently at the oranges and yellows for a moment, lips pressed together, intrigued in a tired sort of way. Warmth. Then he backs off and grabs a portion of crumbled up crackers, handing it to you.

You spread the cloth over your knees. “Now all we need is some jam.”

“What kind?”

A soft hum escapes your throat. You contemplate unhurriedly, dabbing up some stray crumbs with a finger. “Blackberry,” you reply after a few moments. “Or strawberry. The kind that’s sort of chunky.”

It’s been a long time since he’s tasted either of those things. The simple thought of whole crackers spread with fresh jam, sweet and dark and sticky, is a luxury in and of itself. Five tries not to think about it too much, munching on his third fragment of stale cracker. It makes his mouth dry. “Hm,” he says, picking up the canteen for a few drops of water.

The fire pops. A few sparks fly out into the air and die just as quickly. You finish your supper and wipe your mouth, stretching your legs out in front of you as you sigh.

Five tilts his head at you. “What?”

“What?” you parrot back, though he sees the way your fingers fidget.

“You have something to say.”

Your facial expression shifts just the smallest bit. “How can you tell?”

(Simple – because he knows you. He knows your ticks; knows how you tick. He knows your smiles and all the subtle ways that your voice rises and falls. He’s memorized you because he fears forgetting, and it’s a problem.)

“Kind of hard not to,” Five replies.

“Oh.” You chew the inside of your cheek, still seeming unsure. “Well, um … I just wanted to talk to you about something. And please don’t be mad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Um. A couple nights ago, I had a bad dream.”

“I know.”

“Not the one you woke me up from. A different one,” you mutter. “The night after we found the pillows.”

“Oh,” Five says.

“Yeah.” You look down at your hands. They’re dusty and rough, littered with small scars from climbing and falling and holding. “I … um, that night, I woke up and you weren’t there. And I sort of panicked, and went looking –”

The blood drains from Five’s face.

“I went looking for you, and I found you. Talking to her.” You glance at him for a split second. “About me.”

Oh, fuck.

Five stares at you as you fiddle with the scrap of cloth on your lap. You know. You weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed to ever know, and now you do.

“Five?” Your voice is curious and small.

His voice is raspy. “How much did you hear?”

“Almost everything.” You grab the cuff of his coat sleeve as he attempts to stand up. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I really didn’t mean to, but –”

“It’s not your fault. Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” he replies tersely. “We need more firewood, anyway.”

“We have enough,” you say, though you relinquish your hold when he tugs a little harder away from you. You sound hurt. “Five, it’s okay to feel like that.”

“It’s not. It makes things more complicated.”

“How?” Standing up, your brow furrows. “I like you too, Five. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

His chest tightens. “That just makes it worse.”

“I like you,” you repeat. Your hand moves down to take his gently. “A lot. And it’s okay.”

(Did it feel real?)

Five meets your gaze solidly despite not quite wishing to, a familiar sense of guilt washing over him when you squeeze his hand.

Sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t met you. Then he would’ve gotten what he deserved for his recklessness – nothing – with nothing to concern himself with other than equations and survival and time. That, he’s fairly sure, would have been easier to manage. He hadn’t been taught to care for someone else. Not like this, at least.

But you. You. Five swallows the lump in his throat.

“I might have to leave you behind,” he murmurs, more hoarsely than he’d like to admit. The words burn like ice on the roof of his mouth. “One day.”

You don’t reply for a few seconds.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, you step a little closer. “But not tonight," you say. "Right?”

For shit’s sake, you’re so optimistic. Five chuckles dryly, hand still engulfed in yours, blinking away the vague stinging in his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Then I forgive you. If you feel like you need it.” With a mild exhale, you smile at him. Your eyes are glossy. “So can we sit back down? I like doing that.”

He quietly agrees.

So you bring him back down to sit before the fire, closer to him than before. No more words are left to be said. A heavy silence settles in their place, neither good nor bad, and almost comfortable. For the first time in a long time, Five tries not to think.

You lean against his shoulder. He welcomes it.

[vechkinfan]

Jack

A/n: I found this little one shot while I was looking through the deep dark depths of my google docs the other day and figured I might as well share it. Its a young Joker fic, and my fist time writing for the joker so please take it easy on me!😁

Pairing: Joker x OFC

Summary: A brief glimpse into the Jokers past, memories that he would rather keep buried, memories that reminded him of someone that held his heart. A heart that now burned for Gotham's reckoning.

Warnings: Talks of abuse, swearing, angst, vague talk of death

Jack found himself climbing the dirty, half rotten stairs of his apartment building. The light bulbs on every other floor, blown out or stolen, casting a darkness over him as he made his way up. 

His mother had one of her 'friends' as she liked to call them, over. So he made himself scarce for the afternoon, like he always managed to. Jack weaseled his way out of the apartment when those creeps were over. Especially the ones who would come right in and give him those looks. Those perverted sideways eyes when his mother was too plastered to notice any different. Looks that sent a piercing shiver across his whole body, and an uneasiness to settle in his gut.  He much preferred the men who would come over and pretended like he didn't exist. 

The sun had long since started to sink in the sky  as he climbed the stairs towards home and Jack knew he had to make it before the streetlights in the narrows started to flicker. The evil in his apartment was one thing, but the evils that lurched about once all the sunlight was extinguished in the sky was much more frightening. 

Rounding the last flight of stairs, his eyes landed on a girl  sitting at the top of them. Her back pressed against the door jam of the closest apartment door.  One foot stretched out in front of her blocking his path and the other bent, shaking vigorously on the next step down. 

She was sucking on a red popsicle, as her fingers drummed against the skin of her knee that poked free from a hole in her ratty jeans. 

Jack knew she just moved in a few months back, but he never crossed paths with her before now. However every time he opened the door to let in one of his mothers 'friends', she would be sitting at the top of those stairs. Usually a pack of playing cards in her hands, flicking them one by one, aimlessly down to the next landing. 

"What flavor is that?" Jack asked, curious at what her voice would sound like. He'd been intrigued by her presence the moment he saw her all those weeks ago. 

Pulling the half melted popsicle from her mouth, the girl turned her head slightly to gaze towards him. Her dark brown hair in a curly mess that covered half of her face, but not enough for Jack to miss the darkness of her left eye. It almost appeared black, the deep brown of her iris engulfing her pupil, giving her a truly ominous appearance. 

"Cherry." She answered, her voice nothing what he expected. It held a delicate raspiness, nowhere near the point where it matched Ms. Emerson two floors up who had been smoking 3 packs a day since the depression. There was a softness to it though, one that made Jack want to hear more from her.  "You live in the apartment cross from me don't you?" 

Nodding his head, Jack shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Sure do." 

She sat in silence after that, and he stood a few stairs below quietly staring at her. His feet shuffling against the creaky old floor board, wondering if this would be the end of their talk. Perhaps it'd be the last time they spoke at all. Jack knew the Narrows had people shuffling around from place to place, like one of them scam shell games. She very well could be gone by morning. 

 "I can bring you one next time…. If you want?" Swinging her leg around, she sat so she was facing him. Both feet planted one step down as she licked the red sugary liquid that was starting to drip down the wooden popsicle stick and onto the top of her hand. 

"I got two left in the freezer." Her voice was soft and held a nervousness that made fighting off a sly grin for Jack very difficult.  

"Yeah, I'd like that." Hustling up the stairs, Jack found himself sitting down beside her. 

His eyes getting a better glance at the girl, in the low light of the stairwell. Now he could tell she was using her hair to hide the right side of her face. Her right eye was an awful shade of purple, and the lid swollen so badly Jack knew she must be having a hard time seeing. 

As he let his eyes pan across her face, he noticed her lip that was stained with cherry popsicle was also busted open. The girl next to him seemed to have come from a similar home as himself. It was near luck that Jack hadn't gotten his ass handed to him by one of his mother friends in a while. Talking back was a habit that he couldn't quit no matter how much he was beaten for it. Not to mention the fit of laughter that usually escaped his thin lips as a belt or a fist swung in his direction didn't help either. 

"You got a name?" He asked, finally dragging his eyes back to meet her dark gaze. 

"Billy." 

Furrowing his brow and giving his head a subtle tilt, he wondered if she was fucking with him.

"That's a boy's name." He puffed out a small laugh. However the girl beside him didn't react at all. 

"I know, you don't gotta remind me." She shrugged her shoulders, before finishing off the popsicle and throwing the wood stick down the stairs. 

"It's  your nickname right?" Jack couldn't quite stop himself with the questions. Usually he kept to himself and avoided people, but she…  there was just something  different about her. Something that drew Jack in like a moth to a flame. 

He knew his interest was purely the result of her moving directly across the hall and appearing to be close to his age, if she had moved three flights up and was a little frilly girl, Jack was sure he wouldn't have even batted an eyelash in her direction as he carried on home. 

Shaking her head and rolling her eye, she was the one to laugh now. "No, my momma lost her first baby, who was a boy when he was real little. She ain't been right in the head since." Jack watched as she picked at the frayed edge of the side pocket of her faded army green vest while she spoke. "So when she found out she was having me, she just knew I was a boy. The doctors told her different, but she didn't really care what they thought. So she named me Billy." 

Shoving her hands into her vest pockets now, she quickly pulled out her deck of cards and began to shuffle them absentmindedly. 

"Billy's not a bad name, I mean there was Billy the kid that robbed banks in the old west right? Like some badass cowboy outlaw… Maybe one day I could live up to that name." Jack's eyes watched as she expertly flipped the cards against themselves, the loud noise filling the hallway. 

"Hate to break it to you, Billy the kid never robbed banks. He's just known for murdering people."

Peering up at him from the corner of her eye, her posture deflated, "Oh…." Billy sighed. 

They sat there in silence after that, Jack feeling some form of regret telling her about Billy the kid. The girl had seemed thrilled in her blissful unawareness, so happy with only a shared name that connected the two. Which was utterly ridiculous, and in any other circumstance Jack would have enjoyed watching the girls dreams come crashing down from the clouds. However it was like a small light had been snuffed inside of her and Jack hated that he caused that. Which blew his mind, cause why would he care about some girl he just met and her no good thoughts. She'd be gone in a few weeks, out of his life for good! The narrows would swallow her up just like it did the other kids, and he really shouldn't have cared. But he did on some level, and it fucking bothered him. 

"Billy where the fuck you at, you little piece of shit?" An angry voice screamed from just beyond the door she had been leaning against. The abruptness caused the girl to flinch and drop the stack of cards she was holding. 

They fell like dominos down the stairs, fluttering off in all sorts of directions. Making a fucking mess. 

Jack watched as she threw herself off the steps and down the stairs chasing after all the playing cards. "Fuck I'm gonna be in so much trouble." She muttered to herself as she frantically began the daunting task. 

Without much thought, Jack did something that surprised himself again. He stood up and grabbed a few of the cards that had fallen towards the top of the stairs. Bunching them together in his hand, before looking down at the Ace of hearts that was face up. The corner dog-eared like a well read book, from constant use probably. 

"I said where the fuck you at girl." A man ripped the door open to her apartment, and stumbled out. The stench of bad tequila filling the air almost immediately.

"I-im I'm sorry I…" Billy stuttered out as she crawled on the ground grabbing the last of the cards.  Her hands trembled bad enough that Jack could tell from where he stood that she was terrified. 

Eyeing the man cautiously, Jack saw him take a step closer to the edge of the stairs. His arm raised slightly, fingers twitching, ready to strike her hard when she finally made her way back to him. 

"Sorry, I tripped into Billy while I was coming down the steps. Made her drop her cards." Jack lied with a laugh, and held up the few in his hands. "I was just helping her pick them up." 

The drunken slob of a man, took a steadying breath, probably knowing he couldn't pummel a kid that wasn't his own. The man's overtly round face, covered in a patchy beard and a badly trimmed mustache that had the remnants of cheese puffs littered throughout it, gave Jack a nasty look. His lip turned up in pure disgust. 

"Yeah well watch where you fucking walk next time." He flicked his hand at Jack, and then turned his attention to Billy. Who was now standing up straight at the bottom of the landing, cards in hand. "You, " He pointed at her with a chubby accusatory finger, "pick up your goddamn mess and get in the house, and don't make me fucking tell you again." 

Jack watched as the man turned ungracefully on his heel and stumbled back from the pit in which he came. Slamming the door behind him with such power, some of the cracked plaster on the ceiling fell to the floor.

"You didn't have to lie." 

"I know." He heard her take a few hesitant steps up, until she was standing side by side with himself. "I ain't in the mood to watch an ass kicking at the moment." He couldn't stop the tiny laugh that escaped him at his own humorless joke. 

Tilting his head towards Billy, he finally held out the few cards that he managed to collect. She greedily took them back into her possession, and Jack watched as the girl seemed to be counting them to herself. Her fingers flipping past each number making sure they were all accounted for. 

"Thank you." Her voice was softer than anything Jack had ever heard as she finished what she was doing and tucked the cards back into her vest pocket. 

"He hit you a lot?" Jack asked aloud, as the girl pushed past him and towards her apartment door. 

Shrugging her shoulders, Billy nodded her head. "Not as much as my real dad did, so I'm lucky enough. I know some kids got it worse than me, so I'm not complaining."

"Lucky?" He quirked a brow at her choice of words. Luck was nowhere to be seen in the Narrows, especially not in that girls apartment. 

Perhaps the girl had been struck in the head so many times it actually made her dense. It wouldn't be a surprise to him if that was the case, because no one, and he meant no one, would ever call themselves lucky with the life she seemingly led. 

"You got to believe in something, right?" She smirked. "Luck seems more plausible than some god or a superhero saving me. Plus I got this." Reaching back into her pocket the girl drew out a single card, and quickly flicked it over to him.

Jack caught it and huffed an amused laugh. His eyes falling upon the joker card that belonged to her deck. The jester was skillfully juggling three knives while he balanced with one foot on a large green and purple circus ball. The character itself was off putting, his face painted white, his lips smudged with red paint  that made his maniacal grin even more pronounced. His jester hat constructed out of oddly colored rattlesnakes, multiple wrapped around one another to give its iconic shape. Their rattling tails hung as the bells at the tips. It was clearly far from the typical playing card one could get at the Bodega down the block. 

"It's my lucky card, bad things don't happen as often when I have it on me." 

Jack couldn't help but continue to stare at it. The wheels in his mind spun endlessly with hundreds of questions, but he knew he'd never have time to get them answered. She was on borrowed time as it was, and he didn't want to hold her up further. Cause if he did, the girl probably wouldn't be able to see at all next time he ran into her. The guy inside, smashing her other eye to the point it was swelled shut as well. 

Looking up into her eyes, Jack attempted to hand it back. But Billy just shook her head at him. 

"You keep it, it's the least I can do after you saved my ass. Maybe it will bring you some luck." She smiled at him before turning and opening her apartment door making her exit. 

"If you give me this, won't your luck be gone?" His words stopped her in her tracks. But all Jack could focus on was her soft laughter.

Without turning to face him, she pulled another card free from her pocket, twisting it expertly between two fingers so the face of it was in Jack's direction. An inverted match to the very card that he held in his hands. "There's always two jokers." 

Just as quick as she pulled it free, Billy shoved it back into her pocket, "See you around." She chuckled before disappearing into her apartment. Leaving Jack alone in the stairwell, staring quizzically at the place the girl once was. His lip twitching up in amusement, before he shook his head clear of their encounter. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The joker cracked an eye open as he startled awake. It was a rare occurrence in recent years that his dreams would startle him out of sleep. That was only reserved for a specific time in his life, and that was not now anymore. 

His half sleep blurred vision instantly focused on the ever growing water stain that was spreading across the ceiling tiles. It's dark brownish edges tainting the once white paint, giving the already run down room a greater sense of abandonment. 

His hand stretched out wantingly, his long fingers gripping into the cool sheets of the spot next to him. The spot that had been vacant for many years now. An emptiness that slowly consumed him in absolute sorrow, and then engulfed him in a burning rage, no one could ever put out. 

It was a pain that radiated through the Joker like a poison when his mind traveled to her. Pleading for him to remember, remember a time when things were pleasant. When she was by his side, and in his bed, places he could keep her safe. 

But he couldn't, the day Gotham took her from him was the day its reckoning started. They would all pay, every last one of them.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Anonymous said:

Heresan angsty fluffy request for Dabi,what if one day it was just a bad day for dabi.His scars were getting to him,the past kept coming to his mind and he was just feeling unworthy,like he didn't deserve his doll.That leads us to now,him standing shirtless infront of a mirror,judging his appearance and him in general so much that he doesnt notice his doll until she wraps her arms around him,gently holding him and telling him that it's not true that he deserves good things and that she loves him

Shit. Absolutely the most shittiest day he ever had on his adulthood so far.

Shigaraki had been a pain on his ass ever since he joined the league of villains, and when he was isolated by that crazy doctor on a moutain he thought was going to get a bit of peace.

Keyword: thought.

His colleagues despite becoming part of his daily routine were cool and all but he got irritated easily with their bullshit. Instead of wanting to expose the corruption and fake hero society all they cared for was being accepted and just watch the world burn down.

Heck, he tried his best to not be like him, but when he was out of pacience he tended to snap at anyone whose even got in his front... including you.

He felt like shit everytime and knew very well that a apology wasn't going to erase his harsh words... neither his own attitude.

Thankfully though he was fucking terrified of becoming the monster that married his mother, so he never once raised his hand at you.

He couldn't even once get a bit of peace on this fucked up life...

He was about to head to a shower he took off his shirt... looking at the corner of his eyes the nasty scars, covering more than half of his chest as the stables clinged and holded his still healthy and burnt skin together.

How the freaking hell you accepted being him out of all people on Japan? He was like a broken vase, couldn't fix it and just... was made to be left alone and on the fucking trash can.

He brought his hands to his camp of vision and saw the scars littering his forearms and hands, attached to staples... his breath started to quickened at remembering especially why he had them, whose fault was that...

Anger and anxiety combined surely wasn't a good thing.... without him thinking his quirk started to heat up and his skin if he could alscream would have already in pain.

He looked, trembling in wrath, at his reflection... and the sign was enough for him to shout and punch the mirror at the point it shattered in pieces and injured his hand badly...

Panting, his senses come back a but and cringed at how much blood it was dripping from his hand and dirtying the carpet of your guys room... for now.

Pieces of glass was still on his flesh but his anger hadn't vanished as he started to punch the wall until he was tired of it... the pain was one of the things that proved to him he was still alive.

So what is more? He felt worse after all...

He punched that wall until it got dirty with his blood and until he was tired of it... Sighing he clenched on the injury and got into the bathroom to take the goddamn shower.

.

.

.

Your voice calling for him and the door being slowly opened interrupted his thoughts... he vringed at the causation tone of voice you used and only waved his hand once to tell you it was okay for you to enter.

"We went out to get some food so.." he felt the lightly slightly short on the bed near him "I got some of your favorite..."

He didn't answer. He knew that one harsh word could leave or even the worst thing, you could get that he was on a bad shape, you could just fucking see when he was overthinking ... damn you for being so blind to not fucking see je is not worth of you.

"WHAT THE- DABI?!" He widened his eyes when you grabbed his hand, your horrified expression at seing the injury "What the hell happened?! I thought you-"

"I made it myself." He spoke on a cold tone of voice that even himself cursed himself for it.

"You're crazy or something?! How?!"

"Why being so dramatic over it? I have tons of scars sweetheart, I'm fucked already and just you who doesn't seem to notice." He shrugged as you looked at him before narrowing your eyes and getting up with a huff.

Just when he was about to sigh, you pocked a chair and put on his front agressively with a first kit aid.

"Aw. Cute seing you trying to fix me (Y/n)." His sarcasm was like venom as you grabbed his hand and started to bandaged.

"Fix and help to cure the wound are differents things and you know it very well, Todoroki." You hissed his last true name as got up and grabbed your wrist as you two exchanged glares for a bit before you gritted through teeth "Sit. Down."

He scoffed and sitted back on the bed as you sit down as well, bandaging him and taking the minors piece of glass out of him with the help of an twessee.

He hissed at one particularly large, stuck on his knuckles as you looked at him, your anger vanishing at seing him biting his lower lip and trying to mantain a nonchantly expression as he refused to look at your eyes.

Sighing in relief when the last piece of mirror left his hands, picking up a bit of alcohol, cottom and the bandages to wrap around the injury.

"... not going to give up are you?" He muttered as you remained silent while doing your work, cringing when he let out a dark chuckle.

"You're such a thick skull... cant even see it doesn't matter and you can do better than this..." you stopped with wide eyes before looking up at him.

"Huh?"

"Oh come on doll... you know that staying with me is a loss. What do I even have to give to you anyway? How do..." he snickered, letting his head fall on the hand you weren't treating "How do you even look at me with those fucking gorgeous eyes..?"

You blinked, words lost in your throat as you saw Dabi on that condition... slowly, you put the supplies aside, one hand holding his as the other barely touched his arm.

"Do you know I love you right?" You muttered as he barked on a laughter.

"Yeah..." he looked up at you in pain but with a maniac smile still present "I just don't know how."

.

.

.

Ever since that evening you started paying more attention on your boyfriend. Instead of replying with a snarky comment whoever joked about his scars he only sighed a "fuck off" and left... how he didn't even let you see him without a shirt.

It was like all the improvement of him thrusting you to not judge him for his past or appearance had come down hills... his usual cockiness and sarcasm aurea was just pushed all inside and eames back the aloof and cold Dabi...

You couldn't just let this continue... Dabi knew you love him but didn't know how? Well, damn him, you were going to show it like him or not.

With determination you walked and opened the door to slow your movement at seing Dabi staring at the mirror, his back at you as his head hung low, supporting himself on his hands on the mirror.

"You listen you bastard..." you listened him talk to himself "Stop being a selfish pig and let (Y/n) go... no one deserves getting stuck with a walking disaster... you wont drag the one you love to hell along with you." He growled the words as tears threaten to form in your eyes.

Saying fuck it, you almost ran into him while hugging him from behind, a gasp leaving him as the muscles of his back tensed and looked at your reflection clinging to him.

"How can you say that to the men I love..?" You whispered, wet cheek resting and nuzzling on him "You're not dragging me to hell if you're not even going there..." you sobbed as his wide turquoise eyes remained on your reflection... frozen body... he couldn't even think to be honest.

"You deserve happines just like everyone does... You make me happy by being you Touya..." you clinged onto him and burried your crying face on his back "I don't want to let go... you're the best thing that ever happened to me so dont you fucking dare to say things like that about yourself!"

You felt his rough and half scarred hand touch yours at first before holding it like his life depended on it.

"You know... if I could cry... pretty damn sure I was weeping right now at only seing you suffer because of me..." his hoarse voice came out and you clinged onto him tighter.

"You're the blind one for thinking that you dont deserve me or you aren't beautiful... scars and all." You mumbled before leaving a chaste kiss on his back, one that made his body shiver.

It was quiet for a moment before Dabi got out of your arms as you whimpered before gasping when he cupped your cheeks and smashed his lips on yours.

When he broke the kiss you hugged him.tightly as he slowly returned the affection, resting his chin on your shoulder as he felt his eyes burning.

"Dont hide from me anymore..." you sobbed as his heart clenched at your crying and hugged you tighter.

"I won't... I won't." He pulled you even closer to his chest as he kissed your temple.

"Get on your thick skull that you're beautiful and handsome you idiot!" You punched his back as he let out a weak chuckle on your hair.

"Only because you make me feel that way doll..."

[blitzturtles]

Title: Freezing

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: DCU / DC Comics

Pairing(s): JayTim w/ Batfam

Summary: “He’s in DKA.”

“He’s what?”

“Diabetic ketoacidosis. It’s-”

“I know what it is,” Jason says a little too quickly, but he doesn’t understand. Can’t wrap his head around what it means in this particular situation. “He has a pump. You got him a pump.”

Notes: For my 100th fic on Ao3, I thought I'd go back to the beginning. What got me back into writing: DC Comics and the Batfam.

Also, full credit to my wife (@sexyvanillatiger) for not only beta reading this thing, but also helping me with the information on DKA and rewriting several bits of the story to make it work.

For the record, this is an extremely unlikely scenario that most people with an insulin pump won't have to worry about. It has more to do with Tim's particular style of pump originally being one with an external catheter, as well as his being a) underdressed for the weather and b) out for far too long in said weather.

I will say that, though it is unlikely, pump failure due to freezing temperatures has happened, so please be mindful when you're out and about!

-

It’s three in the morning and freezing, and the last thing Jason expects is to hear Dick’s voice ring through the comm in his ear while he’s midair, between the end of one building and the beginning of the next. He’s busy, very nearly disconnects on the spot given the mood he’s in, but Dick seems to sense the impending end of the conversation.

“Wait!”

“What do you want, Nightwing?” He grinds the name out with far too much disdain. It’s not Dick’s fault that he’s in a bad mood.

“It’s Tim. He’s-”

Truth be told, Jason hears nothing after that. After ‘Tim’. Not Red Robin, not Red, not even Babybird. No, just Tim.

“Shit!” He very nearly goes careening off the side of the next building with the abrupt shift in his momentum and the loss of focus. There’s ice clinging to every other surface, which wouldn’t be a problem if he weren’t distracted. He can hear Dick’s frantic voice on the other end of the comm, but he can’t bring himself to care enough to explain.

“Where is he?” Jason demands once he’s regained his footing and has a moment to school his tone into something near neutral.

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. He-”

“What do you mean, ‘We don’t know’? What the fuc-”

“He missed his last check-in,” Dick finishes, unphased by the interruption.

“How long?” Jason asks, barely noticing how his voice shakes.

“Only twenty minutes, but-”

“But he’s working on a goddamn human trafficking ring, and it’s fucking freezing,” Jason finishes. He doesn’t need Dick to explain to him why twenty minutes is suddenly a big deal and not Tim losing track of time. “What about his tracker?”

“He turned it off after his last contact. We’re not sure why, but Oracle is working on pinning down possible locations based on his last. Look, B’s- Anyway, he doesn’t know I’m getting you involved, but you know that side of Gotham better than any of us,” at least on practical experience. Jason has spent months blending into the crowds in the past, as much as he hated every second of it.

“That’s just great, Dickie,” to hell with codenames. And to hell with his helmet. He tugs it off his head and tosses it at the nearest surface. The damn thing doesn’t so much as crack from the impact, but he can breathe again.

For a moment, he forgets that he has a secondary comm in his ear, which is why he flinches when Dick speaks again, “You also know Babybird better than any of us. I was just- hoping, I guess, that you would have a better idea once Oracle came up with her list.”

“Yeah, yeah, send it my way, will you? And his last location. Whatever files the computer has. I want all of it.”

“Done.”

Jason scoops his helmet off the ground and secures it in place again. No time to waste now. He starts shifting through the information the moment Dick sends it over. There are names that he recognizes. Places that he’s been too. Clubs that he’s spent the wee hours of the morning pretending to get plastered in, while flirting with the sort of men he’d happily put a bullet in any other time (for several of them, he had). But none of it tells him where Tim might be now, or why he thought going AWOL was some brilliant idea.

And here’s the thing, Jason’s in the mood he’s in because of this whole human trafficking bullshit. He knows Tim’s been working on it for the last few weeks, though Jason only found out about it in the last couple of days. Probably because Tim’s smart enough to know that Jason doesn’t want any of them so directly involved in that shit, least of all Tim. But there’s no stopping his-- he still doesn’t know when Tim went from ‘the’ to ‘his’-- Replacement when he gets an idea in his head.

It brings Jason no comfort to know that the temperature outside is frigid. He can feel it sink into his bones, despite the warmth of his suit. Technology can only get them so far without impacting agility, and Tim is a lot like Dick in that he likes to fly through the air, unhindered.

Dick passes Oracle’s findings over a few minutes later, when Jason’s already halfway to Tim’s last location. He’s on his bike. Going on foot would take too long, and they’ve already lost-- fuck-shit, thirty-two minutes now.

He tears through all the clubs in the area. Takes out more kneecaps than he has in months, but it doesn’t get him anywhere. The rooftops don’t help either. The advantage is lost when tracking a fellow Bat. Tim moves with purpose, and he does it without leaving a trace.

At least until Jason stumbles into an alley by sheer luck. One that could be in disarray for any reason, but he catches sight of a Batarang. It’s surface glints off the streetlight behind him. There’s no blood. No fibers stuck to it. It looks like it’s been dropped more than thrown, and he doesn’t know what to make of that, but his stomach is turning painfully.

Something is definitely wrong; he just doesn’t know what.

Dick chirps updates in his ear. Brief lines of information; none of it useful. The rest of them are having as much (or less) luck as he is, though he doesn’t immediately report his findings. It could be something; then again, it could be nothing, and they don’t need to all bunge together just to step on each others’ toes with no chance of finding Tim before someone or something gets to him.

The next three alleys look similar to the first in that they could all but in the state that they are because they’re part of the seedier night scene of Gotham, but something about them rings wrong in Jason’s head. There’s a garbage bag that’s strewn across the asphalt, like someone knocked it over rather than it having been pushed or thrown, and eerie signs of a scuffle that don’t look right either. There’s no blood and no sign of reciprocation. Only the snowy remains of a chaotic waltz littered throughout.

And that’s when he all but stumbles into a body. Curled and small with lips that are too close to blue and a face that’s ashen white.

Jason’s on his knees in an instant, calling Tim’s name-- Red? Robin? Drake, he hisses the last one in barely a whisper, but none of them yield results. Tim stays there, unmoving. His chest barely moves, but the bizarre part is how there doesn’t seem to be any injuries besides a trickle of blood that might be coming from Tim’s temple. His suit is otherwise intact, and who would leave a Bat incapacitated without finishing the job? Around here, not a single bastard.

He’s lifting Tim up before he can think to call for help. He carries him back to his bike and manages to maneuver them both onto the seat. He keeps Tim in front of him, awkward as it is, with one arm hooked around the limp body. The only saving grace in the moment is how goddamn small Tim is.

“Nightwing,” he calls as he starts the bike. “Cave, now.” He severs the connection before Dick has a chance to respond.

By the time he gets to the Cave, his heart is pounding away in his chest. Tim still hasn’t woken up. Still hasn’t so much as shifted in his unconscious state, and Jason is getting frantic. More and more terrified with each passing second, and it’s all he can do to keep one foot in front of the other when he pulls to a stop and gets Tim in his arms once again.

The face that greets him isn’t Dick’s, but Bruce’s, and Jason’s too afraid to give a shit. Too out of his depth. He can stitch wounds and even remove bullets, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong with Tim or how to fix it. He’s completely at Bruce’s mercy, and that would ordinarily piss him off, but, right now? He can feel wetness build in his eyes and his voice shakes as he looks at Bruce with desperation.

“Please,” he begs, knowing that he doesn’t have to, but unable to stop himself anyways.

Bruce doesn’t miss a beat. He’s already reaching for Tim, and it feels like someone pulling the rug from underneath Jason’s feet the moment his arms are empty again. There’s nothing keeping him steady, keeping him moving forward. At least not until Bruce glances back over his shoulder and calls,

“Jason.”

Jason scrambles forward, falling in after Bruce, and he feels all of about twelve years old again, following behind the Bat’s massive silhouette without question.

Alfred meets him in the infirmary, and the two make quick work of stripping Tim out of his suit. It would be impressive, considering the security measures, if Jason were able to take the time to appreciate anything, but he’s too wrapped up in his ever growing anxiety. The more skin that becomes visible, the more alarmed they all become. There’s no bruising, no blood. No explanation.

They start him on fluids for lack of anything else to do, and there is a minor contusion on the side of Tim’s head that indicates that he must have hit it at some point, but it's apparent to Jason-- the way it is to Bruce and Alfred-- that the trauma happened as Tim hit the ground and not as the result of someone getting the better of him.

“Oh,” Alfred breathes, and two pairs of blue eyes snap in his direction. He’s holding a strip of paper-- the results of his blood test-- with a frown etched into his features.

Bruce reaches out, and Alfred passes them over wordlessly. He moves around the infirmary in a flurry, gathering supplies with renewed purpose. For some reason, it only makes Jason’s heart beat that much harder in his chest.

“What is it?”

“He’s in DKA.”

“He’s what?”

“Diabetic ketoacidosis. It’s-”

“I know what it is,” Jason says a little too quickly, but he doesn’t understand. Can’t wrap his head around what it means in this particular situation. “He has a pump. You got him a pump.”

“He does, and I did,” Bruce agrees with a grunt. It’s clear that he’s just as lost as Jason, but he doesn’t have the chance to say anything else before Alfred is calling him over, leaving Jason to stew on the information and watch from the sidelines because diabetic complications are definitely outside of his scope of practice.

He feels useless. Beyond, even, and he can’t stop looping back to the pump. That’s the whole reason Tim has it. So he can patrol without complications. He remembers the excitement when Tim first got it. All the information he had to absorb as part of being approved in the first place. He’s been stable on the damn thing for months. So why is his blood sugar through the roof?

It feels like hours until Alfred lets them know that Tim’s responding to treatment-- which includes a complicated setup of three different bags of fluids that Jason couldn’t identify for the life of him-- and beginning to improve. Jason doesn’t know how much time has actually passed, but he’s been in his head the whole of it, replaying the same questions and spiralling down the same, horrific scenarios. His cheeks itch with the feeling of dried tears, though he doesn’t know when he started crying (or when he stopped, for that matter).

He sits beside Tim diligently, despite his exhaustion, and holds his smaller hand in both of his own. It’s the only thing keeping him grounded, especially as everyone else comes and goes. Alfred never goes far, though Bruce disappears entirely to do god knows what. Dick hugs him, but he’s smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself. Damian’s about as comforting as he never is, but the worry is apparent in his eyes, even as he insists that Tim’s situation is more of a nuisance than anything else.

Cass stops by before Stephanie. A quiet presence that actually soothes Jason’s nerves, only to be followed by a quiet that sets them alight. Stephanie is rarely so subdued, but she disappears quickly, evidently unable to handle just standing there. She mutters something about finishing the job. It would concern Jason more if he weren’t already certain that none of them were going to be able to fly under Bruce’s radar for a bit.

Speaking of, Bruce announces his return by not-so-gently placing something on the little metal cart by Tim’s bed. It takes Jason a moment to recognize it as Tim’s pump, though it’s been pulled apart and now sits in multiple pieces.

“What-”

“It froze,” Bruce says before Jason can continue.

“What?” Jason repeats.

They can freeze? Is that something they knew? Why the hell hadn’t Tim taken precautions going out into sub-zero temperatures?

“Not the whole pump. This,” Bruce traces the remains of the clear tubing that typically goes from the pump to the injection point that sits under Tim’s skin. The line, itself, usually sits on Tim’s hip. “The catheter. The vial has enough insulin in it that it would have been fine, if not for this and the weather.”

“Why-?” Jason can’t finish the question. Doesn’t know what he means to ask in the first place, but Bruce doesn’t hesitate to answer,

“He didn’t know. Neither did I, for that matter. It never occurred to any of us.”

Oh.

Jesus.

Tim could have died, and not one of them would have realized why until it was too late.

“From what I can find, it’s not typically a concern,” Bruce goes on, though Jason’s only half listening. He supposes that makes sense, though, considering most people aren’t spending hours in the cold. He wonders how long Tim had been struggling. Alone and dazed and stumbling over his feet. That explains the condition of the alley. There really hadn’t been any fights. Just Tim, grabbing at anything and everything.

“If I had to guess,” and Bruce doesn’t look happy with the idea of not knowing, “He turned his tracker off in confusion.” Possibly while trying to call for help, he doesn’t say, and it makes Jason sick to think about.

“That shouldn’t fucking happen,” Jason snaps, less at Bruce and more at the universe.

“I know,” Bruce answers when the universe remains as silent as ever, “Lucius is working on it now. We’ve already discussed the possibility of adding a second, remotely activated tracker.” All of their trackers can be remotely activated, unless they’re turned off. Having a second just means that they would have a backup should anything happen to the original.

“Good,” Jason says, for lack of anything else to say. He finds some comfort in the idea, but it doesn’t exactly make him feel better now. Particularly not when Tim is without a pump entirely, which means they’re back to constant checks and needle drawn injections, both of which he knows Tim hates. Both of which interfere with Tim’s ability to patrol for any extended period of time.

“Tim will be alright,” Bruce tells him in a tone that’s entirely too gentle to be coming out of his mouth, “Alfred says his numbers are looking better.”

“Yeah,” Jason’s mouth feels dry, and he feels his eyes burning. He works his jaw a few times to try to regain control. He doesn’t need to cry a second time, not when everything’s fine now. Tim will wake up in a bit, probably feeling like shit, but he’ll be alive.

“He’s alright,” Bruce reiterates as he crouches in front of Jason and tugs him forward. Jason doesn’t resist, allows himself to be maneuvered until his head is pressed into Bruce’s shoulder.

Neither move for what seems like an eternity, but Jason finally breaks the contact and wipes as subtly as he can at his eyes while looking Tim over. “He’s going to hate using needles again.”

“He should have a new pump before the end of the day tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Jason breathes, “He’ll- thanks.”

It doesn’t fix the current problem with the cold, but there are measures they can take against that. Measures that Tim won’t like, but it will be better for him to have his pump so that he doesn’t have to draw up his insulin, which, from what Jason understands, is less accurate than the pump anyways.

Bruce hums his response before opening his mouth to add, “You should go get washed up. Or changed, at least.”

Says the man still wearing his giant Bat suit, but Jason doesn’t feel like starting an argument for no reason when he’s still on edge. “You gonna stay here?”

“Of course. I’ll be here until you get back.”

“Okay,” thank you.

“Take your time,” you’re welcome.

______

By the time Jason showers, changes into some of the clothes kept in the dresser of his old room, and makes it back down to the Cave, Tim is still out, though there’s finally some color in his cheeks. A nice little dusting of pink that makes him look alive, and his lips are slowly beginning to regain some color, too.

“Alfred just came by,” Bruce says when he sees Jason, “He says that Tim should wake up soon.”

“Good,” Jason says, voicing the most subdued version of what’s going on in his head.

After too long, or maybe too short of a pause, Bruce says, “I need to get to work on a few things. Will you be alright?”

Jason has to brush away his immediate irritation (of course Bruce needs to do shit while another one of his kids is recovering from a near death experience; what else would he be doing?) and remind himself that Bruce has spent the better part of the last forty minutes sitting with Tim. That might as well be a lifetime in Bat years. Jason rarely sees Bruce sit still that long without a computer screen reflecting in his eyes.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Call me if you need me.”

“Will do, B,” he probably wouldn’t, but word would get to Bruce eventually.

______

The first time Tim opens his eyes, Jason’s excitement and relief are crushed almost immediately. Tim’s far from his usual self. He’s more out of it than Jason’s ever seen him, with his head lolling back and eyes flickering. What comes out of his mouth is mostly babbled nonsense in between groans.

Jason calls for Alfred immediately, and he’s just this side of his anxiety getting the better of him when Alfred reassures him that the state that Tim is in is to be expected after what his body went through. Besides, his carbon dioxide levels are still low and his blood sugar hasn’t come down very far yet. It’s going to take time for Tim to fully recover, but it’s a lot for Jason to take in all at once.

“Turn ‘ff the lights,” Tim grumbles, startling Jason from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Fuckin’ lights, turn ‘em off.”

Under any other circumstances, the uncharacteristically grumpy demand would have Jason laughing. Right now, it just makes his chest ache.

Alfred dims the lights before speaking, “He may be a bit grouchy.”

Jason lets out a small snort, “Thanks, Alf.”

Alfred offers him a small smile. Evidently pleased that he’s managed to lighten Jason’s mood, even if only a little bit.

“Stop,” Tim groans, causing the two to turn back toward him.

“Sorry,” Jason mutters at the same time that Alfred says, “Apologies, Master Tim.”

Tim huffs at both of them before seemingly drifting off once more.

______

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call you next time,” Jason grumbles at Bruce’s retreating back. The man is being even more stoic over not being told about Tim’s wake-up, which, to be fair, hadn’t been that remarkable, beyond the amount of stress that it had caused Jason. Besides, if Bruce weren’t so damned busy with whatever it is he’s doing, he might have known that Tim had woken up briefly.

Bruce says nothing as the door closes behind him, apparently aware that Jason is more irritable than usual and unwilling to get into a fight over it.

Jason huffs and sits back in his seat. Part of him wishes Bruce would start something. He’s getting antsy sitting in the Cave this long. Hell, he’s just tired of sitting, but there’s only so much pacing he can do.

“You should be nice,” Tim croaks from his spot in bed, effectively startling the shit out of Jason in the process.

“That was nice, and fuck you,” Jason answers easily, but his heart is bounding away in his chest.

“For which part?”

“All of it, Replacement,” the part where Tim scared the shit out of him and the part where he has the audacity to comment on Jason’s shitty people skills first upon waking up after nearly dying.

“Ouch, I’m back to the Replacement, huh?”

Jason snorts, “You’re damn right. Only a Replacement would pull something like that.”

Tim winces, “Sorry.”

Oh. That’s not fair. The sad look in Tim’s eyes and the pained expression. That’s just plain cheating. “It’s okay,” Jason sighs, “I’m just glad we found you in time.” He doesn’t mention the part where he had been the one to find Tim. Unresponsive and blue in the face. Looking more dead than alive.

“Who?”

“Dickiebird, obviously.” Blue enough.

Tim huffs a small, would-be laugh. It quickly turns into a cough and a groan. “Feels like I got hit by a train.”

“You kinda look like it, too, but I hear that’s just your face.”

Tim blinks at him, slow and owlish, but the joke seems to register after a moment and he shoots Jason a nasty look. “You can leave whenever you want.”

“You’d like that.”

“I really would.”

“Too bad.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Something fucking stellar: me.”

Tim snorts, but his expression sobers after a moment, “I’m sorry. Really. I- I didn’t know what was happening. I still- did my blood sugar drop?”

“No, the opposite actually.”

“Wait, what?” Tim’s frown deepens and his brows come together, “But-”

“The insulin in the outside part of your pump froze.”

Tim’s hand suddenly reaches for where the pump typically sits. A frantic effort in a tangle of IV tubing that comes up empty. “Where-?”

“Bruce took it. He says you’ll have another one by tomorrow, but I think that one’s pretty shot. He took it apart.”

“Oh,” Tim deflates slightly.

“It almost killed you, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim breathes out. “I know, it’s stupid. Just… Sucks, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jason answers, for lack of anything else to say. He reaches for one of Tim’s hands and squeezes scarred fingers with his own, calloused pads. “No more patrolling when it’s this cold, I guess.”

“I guess,” Tim echoes, a sign that he doesn’t actually want to agree, but knows that Jason’s right.

Jason squeezes his hand again. This time he gets a gentle squeeze back, which is something of a reassurance. “At least not alone,” he offers after a moment of hesitation. He’s not sure he should give Tim that hope, but he wouldn’t mind company every so often, and the human trafficking shit is something Jason works with on the regular. He can always put aside his more… lethal habits for a bit. There’s nothing stopping him from hunting down names in the future and taking care of business when Tim’s not looking. It’s not as if Tim doesn’t already know what Jason gets up to in his spare time.

“You- really?”

“Really. I’ve worked with a team before.”

“Doesn’t mean that you’d want to now,” Tim points out with a frown.

“It’s you,” it’s different. Maybe Jason will learn how to say half the things he means aloud, but he finds he doesn’t usually have to. Not with Tim, the little deductive prodigy that he is.

“Okay,” Tim smiles at him. A weak, shaky thing, but it’s there, and Jason smiles back.

______

Bruce steps into the infirmary with that usual, severe expression on his face that doesn’t give much away. He’s holding a small box with absolutely no markings on it, and he passes it to Tim wordlessly.

“What’s this?” Tim asks with his brows knitted together, but he doesn’t actually expect an answer. Instead, he opens the box up carefully and finds a new pump sitting inside.

“Freezing won’t be an issue,” Bruce explains before Tim can ask about the lack of a visible catheter. “It’s a single unit. No external catheter, and there’s a warming component that automatically runs under certain conditions to keep the insulin at the ideal temperature.”

“Oh,” Tim breathes, eyes widening as he processes the words. “You-”

“Lucius helped,” Bruce answers with a half shrug and eyes that stay focused on the thing in Tim’s hands rather than the wonder in his son’s eyes.

“Thank you.”

The corners of Bruce’s mouth tug upward before he can stop them, “We just want you safe.”

“Still, thank you.”

Bruce is quiet for a moment, before he says, “Anytime, Tim.”

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It / Rewrite

Right, so fix-its aren’t so much my jam, but there is this one weird, weird, weird thing that I’ve (so far) been unable to meta into any sort of sense. Namely, Mickey looking like that in season 11 while apparently not working out. It’s just… uh… he… what? At one point I hypothesized that he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider or the like, leaving him magically super buff, and to be honest, that’s still the most reasonable explanation I can think of, soooo…

Today I'm back at my nonsense to bring you, everyone and especially our dear @gallavichthings, 2,711 Very Serious words about Mickey being a secret superhero. Well. Except for the hero bit.

Read it below or on AO3.

---

In Which Mickey Milkovich Does Not Save the World

Afterwards, he would always refer to it as the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell, but the truth is that Mickey never saw the thing that got him.

He was going about his business (namely poking around the Gallagher basement for any forgotten shit he could sell for beer money now that all the cash from the wedding had been surreptitiously replaced with I.O.U:s) when he felt a sudden, sharp pain just above his ankle. Cursing up a storm, he desperately waved his foot around and lost his balance and stumbled straight into one of the many piles of boxes that littered the basement. By the time he was back on his feet whatever creature that had dug its nasty little teeth/pincers/claws into his tender flesh had scurried off, leaving Mickey with a throbbing ache and a halfway impressive puncture wound on his left leg.

Muttering darkly about fucking Gallaghers being so used Frank they didn’t know how to keep goddamned monster vermin out of their shitty house Mickey limped up the stairs to pour some Jamison on the wound, and then pour some down his throat because he had the bottle out already so he might as well. He borrowed one of Franny’s colourful pirate-patterned band-aids, and when his nosy as fuck ex-EMT of a husband asked about it later that evening Mickey said he’d dropped a can on his foot, it’s just a scratch, man, no you don’t need to take a look at it, just put your fingers back in my ass, please.

Mickey didn’t make a habit of lying to Ian, but he figured that telling the truth would lead to all sorts of questions about why he was in the basement and having to come up with plausible explanation for that when he should just be focusing on getting railed wasn’t part of his plans for the evening. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Ian, who’d been getting so worked up over money lately, to distract him with that sort of unimportant stuff while they were banging. Mickey was a considerate spouse.

Thankfully, Ian dropped the subject and proceeded to do his husbandly duty. Mickey went to sleep deeply satisfied.

He was almost as satisfied the next morning when he woke up to realize that the pain in his leg was gone, as were all traces of the wound itself. Mickey had always healed pretty fast, but this was quick enough to have him questioning whether or not he’d really been bitten/stung/whatever at all. Maybe he’d had more beers than he thought and imagined the whole thing… ?

It didn’t really matter, and if that had been the whole of it Mickey was likely to soon have forgotten all about the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell. However, in the next few weeks he started noticing stuff, weird stuff. For instance, it wasn’t just the (possibly imagined) bite/sting that healed far more quickly than normal; it was all the little cuts and scrapes he tended to acquire. A big bruise from running into the table while playing with Franny; faded to nothing the next morning. A cut from the razor; gone within the hour. For the first time he could remember, Mickey looked at his naked body in the mirror and saw not one single wound (though there were still scars aplenty). It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but it was weird.

Then there was that thing with his muscles. Mickey had been in decent shape for most of his life and whenever he got locked up for extended periods of time he made a habit of hitting the gym on the regular. Really wasn’t much else to do in the joint, and having a decent bulk reminded the other inmates that you weren’t someone they could push around; letting people know that you could beat the shit out of them often meant you didn’t have to actually do it, which saved everyone a lot of time and energy and trips to the prison quack. But on the outside, exercise wasn’t very high on Mickey’s list of priorities, meaning he tended to slim down a bit after a while in freedom.

Not now, though. Almost a year after being out of prison, and he was still as built as ever; if anything he seemed to be developing more muscles, in spite rarely engaging in anything more taxing than vigorous fucking. (Okay, so there was a lot of vigorous fucking, but still. If anyone ought to be building their biceps from the sex they were having, it should be Ian.)

Mickey didn’t mind being inexplicably ripped, though. He felt great, looked great – and Ian seemed to be pretty into it, too. Then again, Ian seemed to be pretty into Mickey whether he wore dirty clothes, sported a beard, sported a dress, or hadn’t showered in a week, so maybe that wasn’t saying a lot.

But even given all that, maybe Mickey still wouldn’t have thought too much about it (he was, after all, very busy being on his honeymoon, which required lots of determined sleep-ins, dedicated beer-drinking, and – obviously – lots and lots of banging) if there hadn’t one day come a knock on the front door. At first he ignored itm in the hopes that someone else would get it, but when it became apparent that a, he was alone in the house, and b, whoever was at the door wasn’t giving up anytime soon, he grabbed the family baseball bat (even big soft ass Larry would react to Mickey opening the door with an extremely illegal gun in hand) and went to answer the insistent knocking.

Outside stood two women, looking an unsettling mix of sober and apprehensive and eager. One of them reminded him vaguely of Angie Zago; the other was taller and darker and quite possibly brooding.

“Can I help you?” he demanded, not quite as rudely as he might have. He didn’t think they were social workers, but one never knew; they’d been checking up on Debbie and Franny ever since Debbie pleaded guilty to statutory rape.

“Mr. Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich?” Not-Angie inquired in a polite sort of tremble. 

“Who’s asking?” Mickey demanded, feeling a little thrown by the use of his full name. The only people who pulled that out was law enforcement, and neither of these ladies had that feel about them. Especially since they seemed to be… excited to meet him, which wasn’t a reaction Mickey was used to getting. Particularly not from ladies looking like they ought to be out collecting for the fucking Red Cross.

They better not be asking for donations for the Red Cross.

“I’m Tania and this is Dreamweaver,” Not-Angie said. “Can we come in? It’s really best if we talk in private.”

Mickey didn’t move. “Dreamweaver? You kick your mama too many times in the kidneys before you were born or something?”

The women glanced uncertainly at each other. “Mr. Milkovich,” the one improbably called Dreamweaver began, but Mickey cut her off:

“You with the police?”

They quickly shook their heads. “No, we— “

“You here to give me money?”

“No, you see, it’s— “

“Okay, thank you, bye.” But as he moved to close the door, Tania – displaying more spunk than he’d have given her credit for – took a step forward and blocked the entrance.

“Have you been experiencing any strange body phenomena lately, Mr. Milkovich?” she blurted. “Wounds healing very quickly, perhaps, or increased muscle mass?”

Mickey stilled, eyes darting between the two women. Small, small smiles on their faces now, as if they knew they had him. There was a hint of hunger to those smiles, making Mickey feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable. The urge to push Tania back and slam the door shut was strong, but…

“Fine,” he said at long last. “Come on in.”

They better not be fucking cannibals either.

---

They called themselves The Guardians, and they wanted him to save the world.

Mickey asked what numbers they were talking and, after getting bored of their uncomprehending stares, clarified: “How much is it gonna pay? What’s my cut?”

Dreamweaver frowned. “You mean… money? As in a… salary?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s my salary?”

“Mr. Milkovich, saving the world is a higher calling and a duty, it’s not something that– “

“Uh-huh. So, just to be clear, you’re not gonna pay me?”

They weren’t. Mickey laughed in their faces, stood from the couch, and told them bye and good luck with that and don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.

They reasoned with him. They pleaded. They explained, again and again, that after the evil society USCH destroyed The Guardian’s headquarters in a devastating attack, the two of them–and Mickey–was the only thing standing between the world and utter destruction. Surely, he must understand that it was nothing less than Fate that had brought the one remaining Bestower Bot into the Gallagher basement and his path? Admittedly, injecting Mickey with the bio enhancer might have been the result of a malfunction – Tania and Dreamweaver had found the bot dead down the street a couple of nights ago – but didn’t he see that he had been called to serve as a warrior in the fight against evil?

“Yeah, no thanks,” Mickey told them, and then he picked up the bat and waved it around until they took the hint and left.

When Ian returned home a few hours later, Mickey carefully didn’t mention the curious visit or any of what Tania and Dreamweaver had told him. Ian was pretty into saving people and had all these lame ideas about service and honor, and Mickey found it more likely than not that his husband would both be upset that Mickey, rather than Ian himself, had been called as a warrior (it’d be Lip and West Point all over again, Mickey just knew it), and demand that Mickey answer the call and run off like some loon to get himself killed by evil technomancers.

Mickey didn’t particularly feel like dying and he didn’t like the idea of hurting his husband’s feelings either, so he kept his mouth shut and skillfully derailed all of Ian’s attempts at asking about his day by giving him a blow job, teasing him about being a grunt, and allowing himself to be wrestled to the floor when Ian decided he’d had enough of teasing. It was a good evening.

As he lay in bed that night, back against Ian’s chest and with those strong arms wrapped around him, Mickey wondered if it would be worth risking Ian’s reaction by going public. Okay, Tania and Dreamweaver had mentioned how he’d probably gotten a pretty small dose of the bio-whatever-the-fuck, lending him nothing more exciting than enduring muscle mass and enhanced healing, but that should probably be enough to turn him into a cut above the rest, right? He could hire himself out to the highest bidder and make a fortune doing private security or collections or stuff like that. Fuck, he’d even consider taking on jobs for The Guardians, if they just agreed to pay him.

It was a fun thought to play with, but in the end a long life in the shadows made Mickey wary of putting himself out there like that. Besides, he’d seen enough movies to know that it’d probably wouldn’t be long before he mysteriously disappeared to some secret government facility to be experimented on. He’d had enough of the state’s hospitality to last him a lifetime, so thanks, but no fucking thanks.

And that could have been it. Should have been it, but of course Tania and Dreamweaver wouldn’t leave well enough alone. They started showing up at the Gallagher house at all hours, whenever they knew they could get Mickey alone. They accosted him on the way to the Alibi, they sat down next to him on the L, and they left him pictures of puppies with little notes saying stuff like “Only YOU can SAVE him from BURNING. Have a HEART”.

It was exhausting. Fearing the retribution of the cartel hadn’t anything on fearing seeing Tania and Dreamweaver’s disappointed-yet-still-somehow-hopeful-and-terribly-determined faces appear in a crowd, or round a corner, or on the porch when he went out for his evening smoke.

Mickey began to lose sleep. He’d spend the nights tossing and turning, which led to him staying in bed half the day to catch up on much needed rest, and he was often so tired he couldn’t bring himself to put on proper clothes or go outside the door the whole day. 

Ian was on his ass about getting a job; he didn’t get that Mickey had a job, and that job was not getting lured into sacrificing his life for the greater good. If Ian didn’t like the prospects of being a prison widow, how offensive wouldn’t he find the prospect of being an actual widower, after his husband got blown to bits by some big bad villain?

It got to the point of Ian initiating a sex strike to force Mickey to get “a real job”, which struck Mickey as really fucking unfair, considering how all he was trying to do was make sure Ian even had a husband to refuse to fuck.

Enough was enough. Something had to be done. Fortunately for Mickey – and unfortunately for Tania and Dreamweaver – Mickey had a guy for everything. As annoying as The Guardians were, Mickey didn’t have the heart to see them killed, but he figured that having them kidnapped and shipped off to some sweatshop on the other side of the world would serve the same purpose. He felt a little bad about it, sure, but he had given them plenty of chances to fuck off. Not his fault they couldn’t respect a fucking boundary.

Mickey called Johnny, told him the score, and a few night later Johnny called Mickey to tell him it was done.

It was done. Over. Mickey would finally be able go about his life in peace again, giving all his attention to his husband and doing his outmost to make him the happiest man alive every single day, even when Ian was annoying as hell and started asking pointless fucking questions about how Mickey was in such great shape even though he never did as much as one single curl up.

I see. So… you’re telling me that you have secret superpowers.

Yeah. Except, not actually secret anymore. ‘Cause, you know, you told me we shouldn’t have secrets.

… yeah, that was three months ago.

Guess it must have slipped my mind, huh.

Must have. But let me get this straight: you couldn’t get a real job because you were busy dodging secret agents, and your muscles are the result of you getting bitten by some magic robot—

Radioactive motherfucker bug from hell.

—and not you sneaking down to the basement to do weights and cardio almost every day?

… oh.

Yeah, oh. Carl told me about it, asshole. He noticed you using some of the stuff down there. Don’t get why you’d wanna keep that a secret though?

…

Mick. We have to be honest with each other, remember?

Jesus Christ, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.

Okay.

Guess the first time was back when you had that dip a couple of months after the wedding. Few times after that, if we had a fight or whatever and I needed to let off some steam. Then you started working and sometimes I got bored watching TV all day but you were all mopey about your shitty job and me not having any and you have this thing about your body—

I don’t have a thing about my body.

­—so I didn’t really wanna rub your face in me having all that time to work out when you could barely squeeze in dozen push-ups in the evening. And I guess I didn’t really want anyone to know that I… cared, or whatever.

Cared? About what? Being healthy? Looking good? Being strong?

Whatever, man, I told I don’t fucking know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it was a radioactive motherfucker bug from hell that did it.

Of course it was. Come here. Show me what that bio enhanced body of yours can do.

---

Ahahahahahaha, would you look at that. I tried to meta it anyway. 😭😭😭

You might reasonably ask about Mickey’s visit to Kev Fit – how does that fit? WELL, I rather imagine that whatever Mickey does in that basement is enough to keep him fit but still not SUPER hardcore? So when he starts worrying about Ian thinking him weaker than, he decides to take it up a notch and do it properly in a real(ish) gym? And his comment about “not remembering how much working out sucks” is part of the whole “not wanting anyone to know this is something I care to do on the regular”… Yeah, it’s pretty weak. All in all, I’d say the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell is still our best bet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is probably the last time I have one of them tell the other a story this week, but I make no promises. These little ficlets don’t tend to go as planned. (Ha! She said, as if there was a plan to begin with. Oh, well. I guess it’s working out so far.)

[light-yaers]

Prompt idea:

I only like pain, so: something along the lines of “werewolf” by fiona apple. Where Din and Mando have somewhat of a stable relationship but he cuts it off when he takes Grogu as a foundling.

But then he comes back after Luke takes Grogu to train him, and asks for forgiveness. You choose if they get back together or not.

As I said, I like reading sad things lolol

Love your writing too!💜

OP said let’s get angsty. With how angst chapter 7 of No Saints is, let’s continue the train, shall we?

Tatooine Heat - Din Djarin x Reader

You were used to the heat on Tatooine now. It’d been several years of the same grind, the mid-morning heat that singed at your skin, and the sand that littered your entire body; but it was the closest thing to home you’d ever had.

So was he.

He’d stop by occasionally at first, landing his ship in Peli’s bay only to immediately be stubborn about her worker droids. You’d worked with the frizzy haired mechanic since you’d first landed on Tatooine, indulging in the way she always knew how to bite back at the monotonous words of the Mandalorian. He never stayed long; just enough to have his falling apart ship put back together again, to mosey into town on another hunt, and then fly off again.

You’d been tongue tied at first, too afraid to speak to the man with no face, but soon those little attempts as small talk turned into something more. Living on a desolate and harsh world, dealing with the thieves, the grease, the heat; it all seemed to disappear into the background with every conversation you had with him.

He called you by name, which you’d been told was an utter rarity for him. Occasionally, he brought you small trinkets from off-world, small jars of native rocks, a dried flower from the fields of Naboo, a stolen solid-gold wrench that he’d swiped from Canto Bight.

“This thing weighs a tonne, Mando,” You said, lifting the heavy wrench with both hands. You smiled at him, letting out a scoff.

“Sell it then,” He hit back with. His voice was still stern, still reserved, almost as if it was uncommon for him to show anything emotional within his tone. But you’d be lying if you didn’t relish in the small moments that he let it through; the tilt of his helmet, a subtle breathy laugh bursting from his modulator, an extra second of his gloved hand on your hand while he shook it goodbye.

“Please, this is a gift. I wouldn’t do that,” You replied, tracing your finger over the Canto Bight seal on the handle. Mando looked at the soft way you touched it, following your gentle fingers as they propped and swiped over the gold. Stars, it was the most expensive thing you’d ever owned-- touched. It was the most expensive thing you’d ever touched.

“I don’t know why they make solid-gold tools if no one can lift them,” He said, the hint of amusement on his lips at watching you struggle with it in your hands. You perked a brow at him.

“This will act as a reminder for me to do more heavy lifting, until I can eventually use this on the Razor Crest when you come back,”

Come back. You always wanted him to come back.

Mando nodded once, letting out a small huff in approval. “I look forward to the next time the Crest needs a hull repair,” Stars, you’d be lying if your heart hadn’t flipped beneath your ribcage. You nodded back at him, shooting him a soft smile and choosing to ignore the rising blush on your cheeks.

You placed the wrench back in your small quarters, fiddling with the angle it sat on your tiny desk space. It wasn’t a lot, but Peli had taken you in. It was home, and you liked it. The smell of smoke in the air, the slick of grease on your fingers and the satisfying way it swiped onto your overalls. It was enough.

You indulged then, peering out at the courtyard while Mando waited for you to return. He stood stoically, tracing his visor around the bay and fiddling with his gloved fingers. For a moment, just that moment, he was alone. You saw the way he’d slumped his shoulder slightly, the way he wasn’t holding himself up at full capacity, the almost human way that his hips seemed to curve beneath his Beskar.

Stars, it was a sight that you looked forward to every few months; it was one that you patiently waited for every time he left again. Though, recently, he had been returning more often. It was becoming common for the Mandalorian to return to Tatooine once or twice a month now, and stars-- you weren’t complaining.

Maybe you were picking at straws, but the way he treated you was different. Different to Peli, different to anyone else on the planet, different for him. Stars, he brought you gifts. Was that a common thing to do on Mandalore? You doubted it.

You inhaled sharply, striding out of your quarters and back to towards him. You wiped your hands on your overalls, flicking some sweat soaked hair out of your face. That was something you had to live with on Tatooine; the salt, the sweat, the way your face was always covered in the stuff while you worked. It was no matter-- you wanted to guess that Mando had seen people in a much worse state.

“It’s on my desk now. Will probably gather dust before I can put it to good use, but there’s no way I’m letting anyone else touch it,” You chuckled. Mando regarded you for a few seconds, keeping his visor on your face. You gasped slightly-- was he looking you up and down beneath his helmet? He could do that, couldn’t he? Not move his head, but just trickle his eyes over you as you stood right in front of him while you were none the wiser.

You cleared your throat, slotting your hands into your overalls, until he finally shuffled on his feet. “Thank you, Mando. It’s a lovely gift,” You said, and you meant it. You laced sincerity within your voice tenfold, trying to get across what it truly meant to have him visit you, bring you these gifts, give you his company, without actually spilling everything you wanted to.

“You’re... welcome,” He said hesitantly. It was like he’d never been thanked before. It only made your heart pang for him. “I’ll be going,” He finished, and you perked up, walking round to the ramp of the Razor Crest with him. He strode onto the ramp, cape fluttering behind him in the Tatooine wind-- but he stopped before he reached the inside.

His back was turned to you, his shoulders tense and raised, his fists clenched, before he abruptly turned round and strode back to you. Stars, you panicked a bit, not used to seeing him like this; unpredictable, almost pained. You raised your hands to your chest in some attempt at defence, not knowing if this man was about to hug you or kill you--

But he did neither.

He grasped your forearms within his large leather gloved hands, tugging you towards him quickly, until you almost slammed into his Beskar clad chest. You were speechless as the breath caught in the back of your throat, as his helmet descended towards your ear slowly.

“Don’t let Peli touch it,” The wrench, he was talking about the fucking wrench. “It’s yours. I got it for you,”

All too soon, he was striding back into the Razor Crest, leaving you down below on the brink of throwing up your heart. Mando smashed the ramp controls, and it slowly began to rise. He stared at you, soaking in your red face, your sweat lined forehead and mess of overalls, unwavering until the ramp had fully ascended. He was encased in metal two times over.

You watched the Razor Crest fly away, praying to some god out there that he wouldn’t die before you got to see him again.

He didn’t come back that month.

He didn’t return with a crumbling ship, or his stoic stance, or his subtle chuckles. He didn’t bring you little trinkets, or get to see the way you could finally use the fucking solid-gold wrench--

He was gone. Like a blip in the stars, meshed in with all of the hundreds of billions of beings that lay beyond your tiny, desolate planet. You didn’t know if he was alive or dead, and stars, your nights were left sleepless; staring at your ceiling, not being able to hold back the tears of the fear and the worry and the fucking pain that bombarded you without the stability of his frequent visits.

As much as you tried to block him out, he plagued you. You saw the glint of his Beskar whenever you strode through the market, the swoosh of him unsheathing his blaster when you heard gunshots at night. You scrubbed at your greasy and sand grated skin in the fresher every evening, trying desperately to forget the way his hands had wrapped around your forearms, your fingers, or the way his cape whipped at you subtly whenever you strode next to each other.

You were foolish to ever find hope within his visits. You were foolish to feel this way about a faceless man, a fucking Mandalorian, a goddamn bounty hunter, who you’d only seen every so often over the course of seven months. You counted the times you’d actually met him on your fingers; twelve. Twelve fucking times.

And you were all but dying at the thought of him never coming back.

There was a time when you believed that he might ask you to go with him. It entered your mind one night, after he’d brought you back that dried flower so many months before. Stars, you all but gushed when he’d given it to you, not knowing how or where to place yourself.

And once again-- he’d taken time to converse with you about the job you’d done fixing the Crest; how you had a mechanic touch that he’d never seen, how he had no idea how you made it all look so new and seamless-- so you.

“So... you,” He’d muttered, before tilting his helmet in your direction. He nodded once upon seeing you were lost for words, before depositing a hand on your lower back and slowly pushing you forward, towards another part of the ship.

You could have punched yourself then, as you fisted your hair in an attempt to shut your brain down. It’d been three months, three entire months without seeing him, without knowing if he was alive or dead, and you were clutching at straws as you tried to stay sane. 

The tears came then, thick and fast as you tried desperately to expel your hurt about him just leaving like that; not asking you to go with him, not coming back for you, not caring at all. 

Well, he is a Mandalorian. 

Yes, he is. 

Peli had definitely noticed your slump, as soon as you’d realised he wasn’t coming back. As much as she teased him, she was fond of Mando all the same. Any attempt she gave to sooth you only fell flat, as you all but rejected her support in favour of simply overworking yourself into the ground, until your fingers bled and your palms were worn away, like you’d been wiping them on sandpaper for three months straight. 

Just as it was starting to ease, as the hole in heart was starting to heal after so long-- almost a fucking year-- the spluttering engines of the Razor Crest descended upon Peli’s bay on Tatooine. 

You ceased to breathe, staying in your quarters as you watched it hit the ground, as your limbs all but stopped working. Peli shot you a saddened look, before wiping her hands of grease and approaching the ramp of the ship while you stayed back, watching from afar. 

When he stepped out, your eyes overflowed. There he was; all glinting Beskar and stoic stances and silent words. Peli conversed with him quietly, sending glances towards you in your quarters, subtly breaking down as not knowing what the fuck to do--

Until you pulled yourself together. As much as you wanted to bombard him, to hug him, to tell him how much you missed him; you felt betrayed. You felt abandoned, and stars, what a foolish thing to feel for a mechanic on Tatooine. No family, no close friends besides your boss, imagining a life with a murderous Mandalorian. Bullshit. 

You wiped away your tears, striding out of your quarters as you shot daggers at Mando, wiping your hands aggressively upon your overalls. Mando and Peli stopped speaking when you approached them, brows stern, frown donned, hurt raging beneath your skin. 

“Damage to the left of the hull,” You spoke up. “Right engine is on its last legs, and I can already tell that the hydraulics are shot to shit,” 

“You--,” Mando began, letting the shock of seeing you again consume you. “You’re still here,” You could have fucking laughed, or cried. 

Yes, I’m still here. Because you didn’t take me with you. 

“Where else would I fucking be?” It was the first time you’d sworn in front of him, besides the odd kriff. It was only a indication of your seething anger, and Mando immediately took a small step back. You could tell he was gulping beneath his helmet. You could tell he was feeling your stare.

“No droids, I know,” You let out, before you pushed past him intentionally, making your way inside the Crest to start working. 

You worked tirelessly, ignoring the way Mando and Peli caught up after his many months away, ignoring the way Mando slowly walked back into his ship after popping into town. With every thud of his boots, you bit harder on the screwdriver placed between your teeth, focusing solely on fixing the inner hydraulics while the days heat was at its worst. 

Mando dropped himself down in the hull, on top of an old box of supplies. His stare burned into the back of your neck, making your hairs stand on end immediately. He didn’t let up, overseeing the muscles beneath your shirt as you reached to tie a cable or screw a nail back in place. 

Stars, it was getting to you now-- until you snapped. 

“What?” You let out abruptly, turning to look at him from your knelt position. He was silent after your outburst, until the fucker had the audacity to laugh. He let out a single modulated chuckle, and stars, you didn’t fucking like it. 

You scoffed, biting down on your lip while you went back to working. Your fingers were trembling now, though, as his stare was becoming unbearable. 

“Your hair grew,” He said quietly. Your heart catapulted into your throat. You stopped moving completely, not knowing what the fuck to say, or do. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

You clamped your eyes shut, feeling the overwhelming sensation to start crying again. You knew he could see right through you, could see the way your shoulders were slowly starting to shake and convulse as you tried not to overflow. 

“A year,” Was all you could let out. And it was pathetic. Fluttering into the air as you pushed the sadness to the back of your throat, your voice sounded weak. It sounded stupid. 

You heard Mando rise, slowly walking over to where you knelt on the floor, feet jutting from your bottom, overalls tied at your waist and tank top soaked through with sweat. He lowered himself to your level, and stars, when he reached out to grab your chin and direct your eyes to his visor, you burst--

The tears came thick and fast, covering your entire face as you wept into his large gloved palm. He didn’t move, bar pulling you closer to him as you let out aching, wracking sobs. He was utterly silent, and you wondered if he was trying not to let out his own sadness. 

“I thought you were dead,” You finally let out, as your tears cascaded to the hull of the Crest. “I thought you were fucking dead, Mando--,”

“I know,” He said in reply, through clenched teeth. Stars, he was torn up. Just as torn up as you. “I couldn’t come back. I couldn’t put you and Peli in that amount of danger,” You looked to his visor, searching desperately for his eyes, despite knowing it was useless.

“What happened?” You asked, and Mando’s grip on you tightened. He brought his other hand to rest upon your thigh, squeezing it as the tears continued to fall down your face. He gulped sadly beneath his helmet, but you saw the pain he felt in the way his head tilted to the floor. 

“Things got complicated. I couldn’t come back and risk you--,” He stopped to let out a shaky breath. “Risk you being in the firing line of my rash choices,” 

You let out another sob, clamping your eyes shut as you tried to calm yourself down. Mando only waited; he waited with you, one hand securely on your thigh and the other cradling your cheek in his palm. You swiped your hand up to his wrist, clutching on for dear life as your fingers snagged upon the fabric of his gloves, revealing the tiniest section of his actual skin. 

Mando audibly hissed, but he didn’t move. He was frozen in place, reeling from a simple touch of your finger against his bare skin. 

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” You let out quietly, as the last of your tears dried. “I’ve missed you, Mando,” You said confidently, simply relishing in the fact that you were talking to him again after so long. The hope of him taking you with him had been just a dream; something constructed to give you a small break from the reality of your life. You wouldn’t indulge in it any longer. 

“I... I was planning on asking you something, way back then,” He said tentatively. “Before shit hit the fan,” He let out a forced chuckle, and stars, he was nervous. This was the first time you’d ever heard him be this way, this open, this tentative. 

Your face softened, as he took a few seconds to collect himself, pushing the words out in his classic modulated drawl--

“Come with me,” 

With those three words, your body set alight--

But this time, it wasn’t from the Tatooine heat.

Oh, OP. Thank you for this. I indulged. I loved writing this. THANK YOU!

Send prompts to my ask box!

[buckysbitch107]

An Unlikely Pair | Henry Cavill x OC

Requested: This is a requested piece. I lost the original request, but I still have everything they wanted. 

Summary: When Henry returns from set one day, he finds his girlfriend stressed and in need of a break. He decides that now is the perfect time to give her one. 

Warnings: Swearing, SMUT!!! Unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), choking, degrading, spanking, just overall smut, fluffy ending.

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: I’M SO SORRY I HAVEN’T UPDATED!!! LIFE’S A BITCH Y’ALL! Hope you guys like this one! This is not your usual Y/N post, but it was a request and I will be back to the normal Y/N stuff after this. If you have requested something, please keep in mind that I have 19 others requests planned. Writing takes time!

As Henry walks in the door, the first thing he notices is the lack of greetings from the dogs. The second thing he notices is the muttered curses coming from somewhere inside the house. Walking through the foyer, Henry approaches the dining room table where his girlfriend stands, furiously holding money and cleaning from her last appointment. She barely even notices her partner standing in the doorway as she cleans up her acrylic powders and the small container of monomer sitting on her nail area.

“Molly?” Henry says, taking a step forward towards his girlfriend, the woman spinning around and letting out a loud sigh.

“Five hours and eight colors of acrylic, and she doesn’t even leave a tip?!” Molly exclaims, the dogs under the table intrigued at what was going on. “I didn’t have to make an exception for her! I could have made her go to the salon and do something else because of Corona! BUT NO! I let her into our house, I risk the fact that I don’t know where she’s been! I TAKE TIME OUT OF MY DAY TO DO THIS WOMAN’S NAILS AND SHE HAS THE AUDACITY TO NOT LEAVE A TIP?!” After a while of slamming cabinets and making frustrated grunts, Henry sticks his arm out in front of his girlfriend, stopping her in her tracks as he pulls her into him. Molly startles for a moment before she relaxes, returning the basically bear hug that he encased her in. 

“Hi.” He whispers, staring down at her. She lets out a small sigh before looking up at him.

“Hi.” Henry presses a kiss to her forehead before taking her hand and leading her upstairs. Molly’s small protests mean nothing to the man, still dressed in elements of his costume and makeup still on his face. Henry leads her to their bedroom, the dogs staying downstairs near the heater. Molly sits down on the bed as Henry walks into the bathroom, washing the set makeup off his face before joining his girlfriend on the bed.

“You know, there is a way I can help relieve some of your stress.” He mentions, lightly trailing his fingers up and down her thigh.

“And how could you possibly do-” She turns in the middle of her sentence and eyes the mischievous look in her boyfriend’s face, stopping as she puts two and two together. “OH. So how long have you had this on your mind?”

“Oh, awhile darling.” Molly smirks, running her hand up his chest before gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him in and pressing her lips against his. Henry chuckles before returning her affections, hands roaming around her to pull her on his lap. She lets out a small squeak at the movement, causing the man to let out a husky laugh in her ear. “Something wrong?”

“No.” She retorts, giving him a small glare before leaning back in once again. By this time, Henry had already managed to start pulling off her shirt, the fabric the last thing on his mind as things started heating up. The man quickly pulls off Molly’s clothes, leaving her in her underwear as he begins to take off his own costume from the set. Molly’s hands stop him from taking off his vest and tie. “You look hot in costume.”

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed. So are you going to make me stay in this get-up or can I get back to what I was doing?” Molly lets out a small chuckle before running her hand through his perfectly styled hair. 

“I don’t know, baby. I’m kind of liking the late 19th century Holmes look.”

“Then you’ll be glad to know that I get to keep the outfit, but now I’d like to get back to taking off your clothes.” Molly lets out a small chuckle before nodding. Before she can even comprehend what’s happening, Molly’s clothes are off and Henry is kneeling over her, his own clothes strewn around the room. She runs her hands over his chest and pulls him closer, kissing him once again and wrapping her legs around his waist. “Ah ah, darling. Not yet.” Henry whispers, sliding himself downwards. He reaches her thighs and slowly begins running his mouth up and down her hips. “I want to treat my girlfriend before she lets me use her how I want.” Molly nods and Henry smirks, pulling off her underwear and licking one stripe up her slit. Letting out a loud moan, Molly reaches to run her hands through Henry’s hair when he grabs both of her wrists in his hand, pinning them above her head while his free hand remains on her hips.

“No touching, dollface.” She lets out a small whimper and Henry chuckles before returning down between her thighs. It’s not long before her legs are shaking around his head and her core is throbbing in reaction to Henry’s mouth. 

“Henry. Please. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-” He pulls away from her and she whines, making the man let out a soft chuckle.

“Come on, darling. I thought we covered what you call me while we’re in this situation.” Molly lets out a loud huff and squirms, trying to get Henry’s mouth back where it felt amazing.

“Sir, please-”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t make you wait for much longer.” He whispers, taking one last look at her some-what wrecked appearance before diving in once again as if she were his last meal. Still sensitive from her previous almost-orgasm, it doesn’t take long for the heat in her core to rebuild. Her back arches, legs clamping around his head as he holds her against him. He continues to eat her out as her moans grow higher and higher in pitch, until she gives out one last cry. 

“Sir!” She screams, her back arching painfully as Henry makes her cum. He holds her hips against his face as she writhes in his grasp, her body trying and failing to pull away from the stimulation. She squirms for a bit longer before he finally pulls away, wiping her juices off his face with his hand.

“Goddamn sweetheart, I would eat you out all day if I could.” Henry whispers, crawling his way up the bed and hovering over Molly. “And you’d like that wouldn’t you?” He ducks his head down to start suckling at her neck, slowly working his way to her collarbone and breasts. “You’d like me sitting here all day, torturing you with pleasure, wouldn’t you?” He takes her breathy moan as a yes and he chuckles, pressing a kiss behind her ear before making his way back to her chest, littering her breasts and collarbone with hickeys and lovebites.

“Please sir. I want you to fuck me. Please.” She begs, arching her back into his touch before he pulls away. 

“Always such a slut, aren’t you, darling?” His eyes silently communicate something sadistic and she nods, too hazed by orgasm to respond. Henry runs a hand along her jaw before grabbing her chin, jolting her head up to look at him. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, sir.” He smiles before grabbing her legs, resting them on his shoulder before lining himself up. Slowly pushing in,  he breathes out a quiet “fuck” when he bottoms out, a keening moan releasing from Molly’s lips. “Please.”

“God, you’re so good to me, dollface.” He mumbles, pushing her thighs against her stomach as he starts to rut into her. Starting off with a rough pace, it’s not long before both of their moans fill the room. As he keeps one hand on her thighs, Henry slides the other one to her throat, pressing lightly on the sides to make her dizzy, not unable to breathe. The action makes Molly keen, the mix of his rough pace and the dizzying hold he has on her throat pulling her closer to the ledge. Henry begins to push himself faster, occasionally bringing his hand down on her ass and watching how the impact affects her.

“FUCK! Please, sir. Fill me up with your cum, please, I want it so bad.”

“Do you?” Molly nods in response and Henry lets out a low chuckle, still pushing into her as his eyes gleam at her. “Of course you do. You’re just my little cumslut, aren’t you? Huh, darling?”

“Yes, I’m just your little cumslut.” She responds, his words affected her in ways unimagined before she met him.

“Then take it.” He whispers, leaning down to scrape his teeth against her collarbone as he somehow starts thrusting harder, Molly’s moans rising impossibly higher in pitch. A few more thrusts and she’s done for, cumming hard and squeezing Henry’s cock. It’s not much longer until he’s done as well, the combination of her breathy moans and vice-like cunt not helping him to last. His hips stutter and he releases a string of curses, stopping the thrusts of his hips and holding on to Molly’s thighs as he cums. Her soft pants fill the room and he pulls away, a small whimper leaving her lips. He does the last thing she would have expected, and he starts laughing.

“What seems so funny?” Molly asks, her voice slightly hoarse from screaming.

“I have no idea what I did to deserve you.” He whispers, pressing a small kiss to her lips before walking to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wiping both his cock and her pussy off carefully. She lays there quietly as he does so, only reacting to anything when he comes back and slips under the covers next to her, now clad in his favorite gray boxers.

“I feel the same way.” Molly responds. Henry lets out a scoff as he wraps his arm around her, pulling her into his chest.

“How could you ever feel that you are undeserving, darling? You’re practically perfect.”

“That’s debatable.” He sits up on his elbow, staring down at her before frowning.

“Nope, I won’t allow it.” Henry stands up, confusing Molly for a moment before he turns around, poking her side.

“Wha- no. NO!” She protests, barely given any warning before he begins to tickle her, a normal occasion when she begins to self-deprecate. “STOP!”

“Not until you say you love yourself.”

“NO!”

“SAY IT!” Her insides are practically screaming at her, so she admits defeat, yelling “FINE! ALRIGHT! I LOVE MYSELF!” Henry stops, once again straddling her and he smiles, flopping down to lay next to her.

“That’s more like it.”

The two of them lay there, basking in the “after-sex” glow, when they hear four paws scratching at the door.

“Oh dear god.” Molly laughs, “We left the dogs outside our room.”

“Well I don’t think they would have wanted to see what happened inside.” Henry mutters, slowly pulling back the covers. Molly whacks him on the shoulder and laughs.

“Shut up and let the clingy beings in.”

“Yes, darling.”

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut​ @breakmy-bedbarnes @stuckys-hot-dogs​ @andreasworlsboring101 @yaxamarvel @donutloverxo​ @celaena-carstairs-cullen​​ @wild-rose-35​

Just a reminder that all requests are open! My masterlist is in my bio, so you guys know who I specialize in, but really I do anyone y’all request. As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! My Prompts list is attached to my masterlist in case you need something extra! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

[idle-writer]

His Place

HIS PLACE

fandom: Detroit: Become Human

pairing: Nines (RK900) x Reader

word count: 1.75k

warnings: none

A/N: This is for the lovely anon who asked for more DBH content (I wish I know who you are so I can tag you, hope you like this!)  I hope you all enjoy reading :)

_______________

You hear someone calling your name, followed by knocks at your door. Peering through the peephole, you see a delivery guy holding a clipboard, a big human-sized box beside him. You slightly open your door, bolt still on, cautious since your part of the neighborhood isn’t exactly the safest. “How can I help?”

He says your name, and you nod. He points his thumb at the huge box. “Delivery for you.”

“I just need you to sign here and here,” he hands you the clipboard, which you refuse.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“I hauled this big heavy thing four flight of stairs. Just accept the thing so I can leave.” The man taps his foot impatiently at the floor.

Sighing, you take the clipboard from him and sign your name. He gestures for you to open the door so he can wheel the box in and you let him. He asks where he can put it down in which you pointed at a random space at your living room.

After the delivery guy has left, you inspect the box. Nothing seems out of ordinary except for its size. Grabbing a pair of scissors, you decide the box will not open on its own. You carefully drag the sharp edge of the scissors to free the box from it seal. Opening the flaps your eyes widen at what you inside. There inside the box is a man - dark chestnut hair, his chiseled face littered with few freckles, thin lips in pursed in a straight line, his eyes closed. Is he dead?! Panic surges through you, and you do something that people shouldn’t do when they see an assumedly dead body – you poke it. On the cheek. Which is incredibly soft, and cold? You shriek when you see steel grey eyes staring back at you.

“Apologies for startling you. My name is Nines,” his voice is rich and you are immediately drawn to it. “…and I’ll be your android companion.”

You open and close your mouth, gaping like a fish out of water, confused as hell as to what and why is this happening. “Android companion? I didn’t… oh god.”

Quickly pulling up your phonebook you search for his number. Only he can pull this kind of prank. The person on the other line hasn’t even said hello when you starts yelling at him, “I swear to god, Gavin Reed. Did you just send me an android boyfriend?!”

The boisterous laughter on the other line confirms your suspicions. Gavin is a childhood friend. When you were younger, he teased you mercilessly for not having a boyfriend, and you kept telling him it was because you hang around with a jerk like him too much. And when he went to the Academy, you just lost contact with each other. Until the other day, when he walks into the same café you usually get your coffee.

“You look so lonely reading your book with only a cup of latte or whatever,” you swear you can hear the snicker on his voice. “Just try and give it a few months, yeah?”

You sigh and shake your head, knowing there’s no saying no to Gavin Reed. Still as stubborn as ever.

“Fine fine fine,” you glance at the android standing at the middle of your living room, he seems to be inspecting his new environment. “But don’t they require. I don’t know. Maintenance?”

“Don’t worry about it. I have it covered. Plus that’s the latest model of its kind. It uh does it’s own self maintenance. So yeah gotta go. Bye.”

“Wait-“ you have a lot of more questions but before you can ask, he has already dropped the call.

“Is there a problem?”

You jump back, startled by the voice near your ear. It’s not everyday you have a male companion – human or android – in your living space. “No, I just haven’t done this before.”

He nods at your words, “I’d hate to make you uncomfortable in your own place. So let me know if I have to make adjustments to my configuration.”

“No, no. It’s fine. Just be yourself,” you give him a friendly smile, “This is your place now, too.”

_______________

Nines is seating in an almost 90 degree angle on the couch, feet planted to the floor, his eyes are trained forward, his LED spinning yellow. For the one month, you’ve been together, you’ve learned a lot of things about him, and he about you. You begin to notice his small mannerisms like how he subtly tilts his head to the side when he thinks.  

He begins to notice the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, or how you gently pats his arm when you laugh at something funny on the television. He also notices that there are days when you’re completely worn out from your job, but you still give him a smile and does your usual chores, ending up with you passing out on your bed.

You flop down beside him on the couch.  “Thanks for cleaning up the place by the way.”

“It’s my –“

“Yeah, yeah, it’s your job. Whatever. Still thank you,” leaning your head on his shoulder, you close your eyes. You can’t help but feel how nice it is to go home from work and find someone waiting for you. You are almost on the edge of falling asleep when you feel yourself being shaken awake.

“You have a perfectly fine bed."

“Nah, I’m perfectly fine here,” you bury your face on his shoulder, “This is my place now.”

You wake up the next day, still in the couch, blanket sitting lightly on your shoulders. You don’t know how you got into that position with your knees bent on the couch, head resting on Nine’s lap. There’s a slight soreness in the back of your neck but you don’t mind. All you can feel is the gentle caress of his fingers through your hair.

_______________

You are walking up the stairs to your apartment, silently cursing your building for not fixing the goddamn elevator. Nines is trailing beside you, finding it adorable amusing how you’re stopping every five steps to take a breath, a sound similar to a chuckle coming from him.

You are almost on your floor when something flashes by and bumps in to you. The impact so hard you feel air get knocked out of you. With your balance lost, you stumble backwards. You shut your eyes and brace yourself for the fall that didn’t come.

Nines holds you firm to his chest, “Are you alright?”

When you don’t answer, he turns you around. His eyebrows are knitted as his steel eyes frantically scans your body – neck, shoulder, wrists -  for any injuries.

“Nines. I’m okay.”

As if he doesn’t hear you, he drops on his knees and continues fussing over you, his LED spinning in quick red circles.

Using both your hands, you cup his head to make him look at you, “Nines. I’m okay. I’m fine.”

You watch as his LED slows down. Red. Yellow. Never letting go as it reaches Blue.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles more to himself than to you. “You’re okay.”

That night he tucks you to bed. You jokingly asks if he wants to share the bed with you, when he doesn’t respond, you squeeze his hand, bidding him a silent good night. He spends a few minutes standing at a dark corner of your room, watching you sleep.

The next day you wake up, he’s nowhere to be found.

_______________

It has been a week since you last saw Nines. You even contemplated tracking him down, maybe he has a GPS tracker or something, only stopping when you realize how weird that’ll be. He’s not some dog you own you can just track and put missing posters up for. He left for a reason. And the more you think about it, the sadder you get. The couch feels a lot bigger. Your apartment feels a lot emptier. Life feels a lot suckier.

A loud banging on the door followed by yell, “Police open up!”

What if they found Nines and?

You scramble to your feet and open the door. Your vision going red when you see Gavin Reed laughing on the other side. You swing a punch at him, connecting at his jaw. “You jerk!”

“What?” his signature stupid smirk on his face,  “I am police.”

“I told you, detective. That was not a good idea.”

The familiar voice freezes you on the spot. Tears starting to sting the back of your eyes. Nine is safe. He’s okay.

“Suddenly, you know her better than me? I know her since – ” Reed jeers. He turns to you , only to see you crying, face hidden in your hands. “ – woah – are you crying? You punched me yet you are the one crying.”

Your sobs becomes louder, barely muffled by your hands. Reed silently pleads for help to the android who is now glowering at the detective. Nines ushers you inside your apartment, and seats you in the couch - the same couch you two spent hours just seating side by side. Nines wraps his arms around you, letting you cry on his chest. The clean crisp smell of his clothes no longer sharing the smell of your own detergent, instead it reminded you of the first time you met him.

He waits for your tears and your shaky sobs to halt, and for your heart to rest in a steady beat. He waits for he knows you waited long enough.

And when you are able to calm down, he holds you hand, rubbing gentle circle with his thumb, gauging your reaction, calming your distress as he explains. He is sent undercover to survey the building. The guy who bumped in to you week ago is actually a wanted criminal, and if ever you see something that night, you’ll be in deep trouble that’s why Nines had to leave and make sure to capture the guy as soon as possible. His words falls in your deaf ears, your mind focusing only on two words.

“An undercover mission, huh? Just a mission. Just doing your job.” You try to act normal but ended up cracking miserably, “Why did you return then…”

Thoughts of him saying his goodbye springs in your mind, just as fresh tears does.

“I have nowhere to return to but here,” he squeezes your hand, “I was told this is my place, too.”

He will never say it out loud, at least not right now. His place is with you.

[lizaloveslevihan]

if you have some angsty writing energy rn: hc where jean notices that hange hasn’t fully grieved or come to terms with erwin and moblit’ deaths, so he gets over his fear of levi to ask him with how to help hange because he’s so concerned for her

Title: Hange-san

Ao3 Link: Here

Notes: I also got some inspiration from this beautiful art I saw on Twitter.

They weren’t really close by any standards. Thinking about it, they probably just had two or three conversations the entire time Jean had known him. But his utter devotion was enough to catch anyone’s attention. If he wasn’t screaming at her to take care of herself, he did it silently by running each tiny errand and sticking with her like glue. He always walked by her side — shoulders hunched from obvious stress, hair a little unkempt, but hazel eyes as bright as ever, taking in every word she said despite the obvious dark circles underneath them. It was almost as if her personality and lifestyle were being injected into him, giving him life. 

Jean hadn’t really understood the nature of their relationship before — couldn’t comprehend the idea of someone so willing to put up with Hange-san’s eccentricities and borderline craziness, day in and day out, especially given their slightly above average wages. It hadn’t seemed romantic at first glance by any means (he would have gotten a different vibe from them if it were the case) but rather, it was fueled and strengthened by a strong sense of loyalty and attentiveness. Those in the Survey Corps had dedicated their hearts to fighting titans and ensuring freedom for humanity, and though vice-captain Moblit Berner essentially did the same, it was as if a large chunk of his heart was dedicated only to Hange-san. 

Jean paused, taking that new idea in. He stood outside the newly-appointed commander’s office, the journal he found tucked securely at his side. He had been hesitant to see her, especially after yesterday. She had asked him privately, eyes devoid of any emotion, tone full of anguish, if he could clean and clear out the former vice captain’s room. He understood her pain and had somehow expected this request — they were all grieving, having lost all those people — but he didn’t expect to feel pain over the task given to him. 

His room was neat enough when Jean entered it yesterday morning. The bed was made, the shelves free of dust, and each article of clothing folded neatly inside his small closet. The only thing out of place was his desk which had mountains of paperwork that still lay on top of it. 

He didn’t know him that well. They weren’t really close. But as Jean shuffled through and organized every piece of paper, every work of art, each sketch of an unfamiliar face, he felt his chest tightening. He vaguely remembered the vice-captain being an excellent artist, but he didn’t realize just how talented he was. 

For some reason, he wasn’t surprised to see Hange-san’s face more so than the others. He had drawn her messy hair and wild eyes so perfectly that Jean felt as if he wasn’t worthy to even touch those pieces of paper. Some of them were hastily drawn, some with exquisite detail. He also saw sketches of her with captain Levi, and his eyes widened at one particular portrait where he was drawn gripping his teacup and smiling at her tenderly. 

Damn it, Jean thought as he gingerly placed those papers back down on the desk. He would have loved to take lessons from the vice-captain if he only knew just how amazing he was. He had always been passionate about making art and drawing things he saw in his dreams back when he was younger. But of course, he had buried it in the face of reality. Seeing these sketches lit up a fire inside him. A fire that both consisted of his long-lost passion and the grief and sorrow he had tried to conceal ever since they returned from Shiganshina. He had looked around the room and let out a deep breath. No, he couldn’t allow himself to linger too much on those thoughts. He knew if he kept thinking about the warm, artistic vice-captain, he would be plunged into a deep abyss. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop seeing every single face that they lost, especially him. Especially that warm, freckled face full of joy and compassion. That face which had looked at him with so much respect and admiration.

Shaking his head, he forced his mind to turn blank. He started to stack all those papers neatly on top of one another, finally freeing the desk of its mess. However, that was what exactly led him to find the dreaded journal whose contents would continue to haunt him for the rest of the day. 

Jean shook his head and looked up, staring at the door to her office. He had been plagued by those thoughts since that task. The commander had ordered him to drop all of his things in her office and so far Jean had made two trips without her being in there. He had a feeling, however, she was behind those doors this time around. He internally debated with himself if he should enter now or wait for her to go to town, seeing as she had a meeting with Zackley later today. However, before he could even decide, the door swung open. Jean jumped up, a little startled, and was met with captain Levi’s usual impassive expression. 

“What are you doing here, Jean?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow. He crossed his arms and lingered at the doorway. 

“I, uh,” Jean started, scratching the back of his neck and trying to keep eye contact as much as possible, “I’m here to hand the commander some of—”

“It’s Hange,” the captain cut him off, now closing the door behind him. “I know you’re obligated to call her by that title, and that’s fine for formal occasions, but I want you to keep calling her what you and the other brats call her as much as possible, alright?”

The captain didn’t elaborate any further, which made Jean a little uneasy. He gripped the journal tighter and nodded. He already had a good feeling as to why he would ask such a thing. 

“At ease,” the captain spoke quietly, placing a hand on Jean’s shoulder. “You and the brats did well.” Jean looked down and saw… pride? relief? emotions that weren’t normally seen behind the captain's light gray eyes. He allowed himself to briefly recall what had happened on the rooftop. How the captain kept moving forward despite all the pain and loss he endured was unbeknownst to Jean. But then again, that’s what all of them have been doing ever since they joined the Survey Corps, wasn’t it? Is this how his life would always be like? Taking in loss after loss and moving forward from each friend? Forced to kill others with no hesitation? Valuing certain lives and sacrificing others? Clearing out each empty bedroom after every mission? As he was nearing that dark abyss, the captain pulled him out by saying: “Don’t blame yourself with what happened with Reiner, alright? If I only had killed him before he transformed, maybe we wouldn’t have been in this goddamn mess.” the captain recalled briefly, shaking his head and scrunching his eyebrows, “Hange’s inside. Don’t linger too much. She still has a lot of things to do.” and with that, he made his way past Jean and went off across the hallway. 

Jean couldn’t help but stare after the captain. He had already come to terms with the fact that it was him who let Reiner get away. That it had all been his fault. But here was the captain, who, the same as Hange-san, took the blame and responsibility for letting the armored and beast titan escape. He felt that it came from more than their positions as superior officers but from their genuine kindness. Their desire to look over everyone. He felt both comforted and pained because of it. 

He also couldn't help but think of what the vice-captain had said about captain Levi in his journal...

He shook his head once again. They needed time. He needed time. He already had enough things to deal with because of the damn journal. With a deep sigh, he walked towards the commander’s office and knocked thrice on the door. After he heard a small, muffled “come in,” he pushed it open and was surprised to see her not behind her desk, but standing by the window, looking out at the training grounds across them.

“I’ve brought the last of his things, Hange-san,” Jean said as he closed the door behind him. When she didn’t respond, he shuffled his feet nervously and looked around the office. Bookshelves were covering both sides of the wall, a large desk pressed at the very back, littered with numerous paperwork and books, and the two large windows on either side of which. It felt a little stuffy if he were being completely honest. He had been to Hange-san’s lab before where things were much more chaotic and disorganized, but much more full of life. This place, well, felt like it didn’t belong to her at all. 

Which was pretty much a given, considering she had just moved in. The place still embodied the late and great Erwin Smith. 

After a few seconds passed, she finally turned around and flashed him a small smile. 

It was obviously forced.

“Thank you, Jean,” she spoke, walking up to him and gently taking the journal from his outstretched hands. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she inspected the object. “I… forgot this existed.”

Jean simply nodded, not really knowing what to say. He still felt incredibly awkward. 

The commander kept looking at the old, worn-out book as she took a seat behind her desk. She still hadn’t removed the bandages that covered her damaged eye. “This was what he always carried around whenever we did the experiments on those titans. Even if we weren’t doing them, actually. I remember him telling me how his life’s work was here, should he die in the field. How I should inherit it, on the assumption that I’d live longer than him…”

Jean would have had no problem with this conversation if only he didn’t open the book and flipped through the pages himself. Yes, he would be pained, but not as pained if he didn’t read through the long letters that the vice-captain had left in that book. If he hadn’t digested every tiny sketch and word. He had no business in doing so, perhaps he could even get punished should Hange-san find out what he had done, but he couldn’t help the curiosity that sparked within him. Only if he could turn back time. He wished he’d never read those letters. It was just too much. 

“He… saved you, didn’t he Hange-san?” Jean muttered respectfully, his body incredibly stiff. She looked up at him, her face just so tired. “When Bertholdt transformed, he pushed you to safety…?”

“I knew it would come to that one day.” the commander said both wistfully and solemnly, “I’ve always been a handful. Careless. Absentminded. Reckless.” she listed off, drumming her fingers on the wooden desk, “I keep getting too close to the mouths of titans. I was more than okay with dying. Especially if it meant I had contributed one way or another to humanity’s freedom. There was this myth I had read before, you know? It was in a storybook meant for children to warn them to never leave the walls.”

At this, she stood up and started walking around the room. “It was a tale of this child who was given wings by his uncle, or was it his father? I couldn’t quite remember. They were trying to escape and leave this tower by flying away. The older man had warned him not to fly too close to the sun, but the boy, being this curious little thing, didn’t listen. Thus, his wings were burned and he fell to his death.” the commander laughed bitterly, her fingers trailing the bookshelves on the left side of the room, “He had always warned me not to fly too close to the sun, Jean. But I still did. Instead of me, it was him who suffered the consequences. It makes me wonder… what if one day, I’ll have this chance again? What if I fly, soaring through the clouds, and my recklessness or heroism or whatever the rest of you would call it, would cause me to fly too close to the sun?”

Jean wanted to leave. He didn’t like the words that were coming out of the commander’s mouth. He wanted to shut himself in his room and maybe sleep this whole thing off. He didn’t want to think about her dying, or anyone for that matter, especially after the loss they were still trying to deal with. That story upset him more than he realized, especially since it didn’t seem too far-fetched at this point, considering all the gruesome deaths he had seen. He knew it was the grief talking and the pressure from her new position, but still, it unnerved him to see someone he always knew was filled with life looking so dead inside. 

“You meant a lot to him, Hange-san,” Jean replied, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. You meant a lot to him more than anyone in this world, if he were being completely honest. “We always want to keep the people we care about safe, sometimes even if it means sacrificing our lives. He will always live on, in you — in us. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

Jean didn’t really know what he was saying — the words he uttered felt meaningless in the grand scheme of things — but he knew they were words that needed to be said. After reading those things, well, he felt as if he needed to give her as much assurance as possible. 

The commander gave him a tight-lipped smile, her remaining eye tearing up. She approached him, and it was only then Jean finally noticed how she had a slight limp in her step. How her shoulders were tight and slumped forward. She placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded at him. “Thank you, Jean. You don’t know how much that means to me. You’re a great kid and I hope you know that you’ve proven to be an invaluable asset to not only the Survey Corps but to humanity as well. And,” Jean met her eye and his chest tightened once again in seeing it glimmer with a sense of pride, “thank you for cleaning Moblit’s room. I could have done it myself but…”

“I understand, Hange-san,” Jean said, his voice surprisingly reassuring despite the overwhelming amount of emotions he felt. She finally said his name. “I really do.”

The commander smiled a little brighter this time — the most genuine one yet, “Thank you.” and Jean felt that statement didn’t only apply to this situation. “Once we settle everything with Zackley, I’ll let you kids take a much-needed break. You mentioned your mother lives in Trost, is that right?”

“Yes, along with the rest of my family,” Jean replied, the prospect of seeing his mother again warming him up. He still wasn’t able to visit her due to the situation at hand, but he was eager to finally do so. He had always been reluctant in the past due to his embarrassment, but now he understood how superficial those fears were. He was so lucky, luckier than most, that he still had a family to go back to at the end of the day. 

The commander nodded before squeezing his shoulder. “Make sure the rest of your squad finishes up their reports, alright? I want them on my desk tomorrow morning.” 

“Understood, Hange-san.” Jean nodded in return, offering her a small smile. 

She finally stepped away and Jean took this opportunity to carefully walk to the door. However before he could open it, the commander called him once more. 

“Don’t blame yourself over anything, alright?” she said, crossing her arms, her voice now laced with a sense of authority, “It was always my decision. It was always my responsibility. I hope you remember that.”

He felt a knife pierce at his heart from her words — the same words the captain had told him no less than twenty minutes ago. He recalled the letters he had read from the vice captain’s journal and Jean couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He wondered briefly if he should get Hange-san to leave for her meeting with Zackley first before opening up the book and reading through everything in it, something Jean was sure she was going to do once he left her alone. But how could he possibly tell her without causing suspicion? How could he possibly tell her that whatever she was about to read could potentially break her? More so than she already was?

He couldn’t, because he shouldn’t have read those things in the first place. He shouldn’t have let his curiosity get the best of him. So instead, he simply nodded and quietly muttered a “thank you” before leaving. 

He went down the other hallway to make sure he wouldn’t come across captain Levi. He needed to clear his thoughts before he could face them anytime soon. Jean wondered what his reaction would be if he read those letters as well. He let out a large sigh. Either way, it couldn’t possibly be as bad as Hange-san’s.

*******

The next couple of days had been surprisingly normal enough. They had filed reports, went into countless meetings after the other to discuss the situation regarding what they had found in Shiganshina, all the while still sending letters to each family who had lost a member in the battle. He didn’t see much of the commander other than the times they had to present themselves to Zackley, during which she acted completely fine — delivering each line with that of a smooth and authoritative manner. Other than that, she was gone — either in her office or delivering each letter of condolence personally. When he heard of that, his respect for her had grown even more immensely. She was an unbelievably kind and compassionate leader, and Jean felt even more honored to be working with her. 

The promised day-off eventually came. Hange-san could only give everyone three days, seeing as recruits were going to be entering the Corps soon which meant Jean and the rest of his friends had to work on training them. Either way, he was glad to be getting some time to spend with his family. His mother was for sure going to dote on him to no end, but surprisingly, he was looking forward to it. 

Already dressed in his civilian attire with his carry-on pack by his shoulder, Jean made his way to the commander’s office once more to inform them of his departure. He had visited Sasha earlier at the hospital and was pleased to know that she would be discharged later today and would be going to her family straight after. He offered to wait for her and drop her off himself, still wary of her injury, but Connie had offered to do it in his place. Eren, Mikasa, and Armin having no place to go opted to go around town for the day, and Floch had already left to visit his own family which basically meant Jean was the only one left in headquarters. 

He finally rounded the corner and was about to knock on the old wooden door when he heard a loud crash followed by a screaming match. He immediately stepped back, feeling his blood run cold at the sounds. Only two people could possibly be behind those doors, and he didn’t like that he was hearing any of these things right now. He was lucky that the doors were thick enough to muffle the details of their conversation or their screaming match, but he still picked up on certain sentences.

“He would know exactly what to do next!”

“You’re not supposed to be him! Don’t you understand that?!”

Should I just leave? Make a run for it? Hange-san would surely understand, Jean thought to himself, panic building up in his chest. He recalled that time in his childhood where his parents would fight over food or jobs or whatever adults had fought about. He always felt uncomfortable and disheartened, thinking his parents hated each other and would never get along again. He didn’t like seeing the ugly things that had transpired between them. However, before he could even decide, the door suddenly slammed open, but this time, instead of captain Levi, Hange-san came out, walking briskly and angrily. She didn’t even notice Jean standing there and moved past him, shoulders scrunched together, a frustrated hand running through her already messy hair. 

“Oi! Hange!” captain Levi exclaimed, suddenly appearing by the door frame, running a hand through his hair as well. The bags under his eyes were deeper, as usual, his cravat loose around his neck. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but it was obvious it was not in a good way. He was about to kick the door frame when he finally noticed Jean. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

His voice was a little hoarse, and a chill ran down Jean’s spine as he took all of it in. This was too personal, this was none of his business, and so why was he getting roped in again? 

“I was just about to report my departure to Hange-san—”

“Well, she’s obviously not here anymore,” the captain cut off in frustration, his eyes narrowing up at him. Jean didn’t like how he was seeing a new side to captain Levi, didn’t like seeing him so frustrated and lost. “Goddamnit what have I done…” he muttered to himself.

Jean could have just told him he was leaving. He could have just nodded and excused himself, headed straight to the stables, and made his way back to Trost. They would eventually forget about this incident as it would cool down, and all would be well. 

But Jean remembered the letters. He remembered those words. He remembered her tired, broken expression from days ago. Jean knew what it was like to be a leader — to have people look up to you and count on you. He knew how it felt to think you weren't good enough, to think you weren’t special and how people shouldn’t trust you because you lacked certain skills or that you weren’t perfect enough. He looked at the captain, stared right into those intimidating gray eyes, and felt a surge of confidence within him. 

“Captain, you know her better than anyone else,” Jean spoke, reiterating the Moblit Berner’s words, “What can I do to help her?”

The captain was slightly taken aback by Jean’s words. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, studying him carefully. “Why are you—”

“Because I care about her.” Jean said firmly, “And I respect her. And I want to help.”

Captain Levi simply stared at him. Jean would be lying if he said he didn’t feel awkward. They were still soldiers, after all. Captain Levi was still his superior officer, and having heart-to-heart conversations was something they didn’t essentially do. There wasn’t any room for sharing feelings — it opened up vulnerability and that was something you couldn’t have out in the field. Especially since the battlefield they now had was much wider than before. 

Jean was prepared to get shrugged off. He was prepared to leave without getting any answers. But the captain had sighed, fixed the cravat around his neck, and spoke softly: “Come inside.”

It was now Jean’s turn to be taken aback. Nevertheless, he followed the captain inside and was even more taken aback by the sight in front of him. 

The commander’s desk and seat were turned upside down, forcibly, he presumed, with books and papers scattered around it. He stopped in the middle of the room and heard the captain sigh as he closed the door behind him. “Help me fix this shit, Jean. I can’t have this lying around here.”

Jean didn’t ask any more questions. He already knew the answers as to how this had happened. He wanted to know why, of course, to satisfy his curiosity, but at the same time, he didn’t. He dropped his satchel on the floor and proceeded to pick up the scattered papers and books, making sure not to step on them as much as possible. The captain also did the same, kneeling down and gathering everything in his arms. Once they were finished, they placed everything on the corner of the room, underneath the right window, and started to turn the desk upright once more. Jean took one side, the captain taking the other, and together they lifted and placed it back where it had originally sat. After which, Jean took the chair and pushed it back against it while the captain took the books and paper and placed everything neatly the desk. They worked in silence the entire time — the friction from their fight or whatever had happened in here a few moments ago, still lingered and Jean was afraid to pierce through it. 

“I had served under two commanders,” the captain said suddenly as he filed through each piece of paper. Jean looked up and stared at him. “Shadis was alright — you already know most of his story anyway, but he was still a good leader. He had the drive, but still lacked some of the talents. And then Erwin came along…”

Captain Levi let out a deep sigh as he started inserting some of the papers in between the pages of a book. “Erwin... was a special man. He was one of the greatest assets to humanity. I don’t think I really need to tell you any more now, do I?”

He was right. Erwin Smith had been a special man. He was one of the greatest minds Jean had ever seen. He was an incredible strategist, an inspirational and respectable figure — all that and more. He had a feeling, however, that it wasn’t really about that. Jean was sure the captain just didn’t want to talk about him in general, at the moment. And really, who could blame him? Especially after what had happened on the rooftop? 

Jean shook his head and looked down. A few tense seconds passed before the captain continued: “He never made any miscalculations. We all had a feeling Hange would be next in line and we had been right. Hange was the only one who had stood up to him, the one to push forward ridiculous and extreme ideas that could have gotten all of us killed. She thought differently and wanted to look at things from a different perspective. Hange…” at this, Jean looked up to see the captain’s expression light up, “was always the best choice. All of us knew this. All of us but her.”

He sighed and started to mindlessly look through some of the books now. “It’s not easy, being in her position. She thinks she doesn’t deserve it. But she does. I’ve been with Hange for a long time now, Jean. I know you brats are there, but we’re the only ones who just… have each other left. She was there when I had first entered the Corps and had been with me ever since. But Erwin and Moblit? They had been with her way before I was ever in the picture.”

It was the first time he had mentioned the vice captain’s name, and Jean had to stop himself from thinking too much about the letters again. One would think he’d get over it at this point, but it was much harder than he thought. 

He continued once more: “Anyway, I’ve never been good with this shit, Jean. But you brats are just real nosey, huh?” he said, and Jean couldn’t tell if he was being serious or playful — maybe both. “The truth is, you being concerned and sticking your nose up to where it doesn’t belong is already helpful. You being here, following each command, and being the leader that you are is helpful. Just by staying alive, you’re already helpful. You, well, you’re already fucking helpful if you ask me. Hange knows this, and it may not look like it, but she’s thankful for all the little shit you and the brats do.”

It had taken him a few seconds to fully understand what the captain had meant, but he eventually did. Jean didn’t know what kind of answer he was expecting, but those words flowed through his heart and made him feel good inside. He didn’t realize he was already doing enough. He was just doing the bare minimum, wasn't he? But the captain had a point. If he continued to stay by their side, to stay by Hange-san’s side and follow her wherever she had lent them, then it could help erase the doubts she had regarding her position. Just by staying alive, he was helping her feel better. Just by being there for as long as possible — just like Moblit and Erwin, like captain Levi — was enough. 

But he also had a feeling that the captain didn’t want him, or any of his friends, to worry about their situation. He couldn’t explain it, but those were just the sort of parents did for their children. And though Jean would probably never admit it, Hange-san and the captain were quickly stepping up to be parental figures to them already. 

The captain finally took out a single piece of paper from the stacks and held it up slightly. Jean saw it had been the sketch of him and Hange-san, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. 

“Vice-captain Moblit was really talented, wasn’t he?” Jean finally spoke up. The captain nodded in front of him and traced the outline of Hange-san’s smiling face on paper. 

Captain Levi’s lips twitched a little upright. “He really was.”

*******

Though the journey back home was a long and tedious one, Jean was grateful to have had the time to himself to ponder on his thoughts. Captain Levi ordered him, or was it a friendly suggestion? not to speak about this to Hange-san. He then parted to look for her which enabled Jean to finally leave. 

He thought a lot about the letters, about the myth Hange-san had told him days ago, about the captain’s words, and even about the late commander Erwin.

The sun was setting when he had arrived home. As he passed through the neighborhood he grew up in, he couldn't help but feel both excited and terrified. The threat of the titans was now over, right? But now they were facing an even bigger menace. Would his home be safe? Would the people they had fought so long to protect inside the walls be safe? 

“Jean-boy!”

He turned and saw her face. She stood at the front of their house which surprisingly looked the same after all this time. She was excitedly waving her hand, and once he got closer, he saw that tears were falling from her eyes. Once he stopped in front of her, he quickly dismounted his horse and enveloped him in her arms. 

“You’ve grown so big! Oh my boy!” she exclaimed, clutching the back of his shirt and pressing her face against his chest. Jean hugged her back eagerly and tried his best not to let his emotions take over. But it had been a long couple of days. His body still ached from the battle, his brain was consumed by too many thoughts, and his heart still grieved the lives of all of the people they had lost. He couldn’t believe he had taken her warmth and comfort for granted so many times. Who did he think he was, trying to shove her out of his life because he didn’t want to be embarrassed? 

“I’m home, mom,” he said, finally closing his eyes and inhaling her scent. She laughed happily before disentangling herself a little, looking up at him to study his face. Her eyes were watery, the lines around them having deepened. Her hair also started to have gray streaks and Jean felt his heart ache at the sight of her much older form. “I have your favorite already waiting for you in the kitchen. I also cleaned your room so you better change and wash up before we eat dinner, alright? I’m so glad you’re here my Jean-boy.” she said, hugging him again. 

He truly was home. 

*******

A wave of nostalgia hit him the moment he had entered his childhood room. True to her word, everything was neat and tidy. His bed was made, desk free of any clutter, and the window was left a little open to let some of the breezes go in. He exhaled, closing the door behind him and moving to lay on his bed. He was both physically and emotionally exhausted and wanted nothing more now than to close his eyes and sleep. He wondered what the others were doing at this very moment. They had been through together so much that it felt weird not to have any of them near him. It was probably the first time in a long time he was going to sleep in his bed, in his own room, without anyone else around. Letting out a deep sigh, he willed himself to stand up, grab the satchel he had brought with him, and place the contents atop his desk. 

As he rummaged through his things, he wondered if there was something he still could do for Hange-san. Though he took the captain’s words to heart, he couldn’t help but feel like doing something for her either way. Something that wasn’t too outrageous that would give her the wrong idea. Something that he himself would do, something that was uniquely his. Afterall, the captain said that just by doing what he did, he would be able to help. He eventually found his answer when he opened one of the drawers of his desk and found his old sketches and art supplies from long ago.

He immediately stopped what he was doing and gingerly took out his old artworks. The passion he felt was still there, tingling the back of his neck as he stared at the portrait of the woman he had seen in his dreams. His lips tightened as he realized that the woman he had drawn resembled Mikasa so much. He really only had eyes for her from the very beginning, huh? Shaking his head, he looked through some of his old work and realized then and there exactly what he needed to do. 

He may not be as good as the vice-captain, but it was the least he could do. Besides, maybe once he went through with this little project, he would finally be able to release all his thoughts about this matter. He was relieved to see there was still some paper and pencils left. Nodding his head, he closed the window, placed the papers back down, and proceeded to change into a cleaner and much more comfortable shirt. He’ll have time to do this later after dinner. But for now, there some much-needed time to be spent with his family. 

*******

He found himself back in front of the commander’s office once again, days later. This time, he carried with him two scrolls of paper. He stopped and listened intently, making sure no one was arguing behind the doors before knocking. 

He let himself in the moment he heard Hange-san’s voice. She was seated behind her desk, finally sporting a dark patch on her injured eye. “Ah, welcome back, Jean. Did you need anything from me?” she asked as Jean closed the door behind him. 

“I just came by to drop some things off for you, Hange-san,” he spoke lightly, feeling incredibly nervous. He scratched the back of his head as he approached her quietly. 

She looked so much better this time around. She had discarded her military coat and her bolo tie was tied securely around her neck for the world to see. Her glasses were impeccably clean and gleamed when she looked up at him, her hair nicely framing her face. She seemed much more relaxed, and it didn’t feel like when she was going through meetings and such where she acted fine. This time, she actually did look genuinely alright and at peace. 

Jean wondered how she and the captain had spent those three days. He had a feeling, once again, that they had spent it together. He could tell that the captain had something to do with the improved state she was currently in. Either way, Jean was happy to see her like this. 

“I… had seen vice-captain Moblit’s sketches,” Jean started right off at the bat, not wanting to make a bigger deal out of this than it already was. He saw more than the sketches, of course, but she didn’t need to know that. The commander didn’t look upset or surprised, which made Jean continue: “And I had been sort of an artist too, you see, but obviously not as good as him.”

He carefully handed her the two scrolls of paper, and she raised an eyebrow before taking it from his grasp. “When I returned home and saw my old work, I realized that I wanted to do something for you, Hange-san. No one put me up to this, and I hope, for my sake, you don’t tell the others.”

He added that last part, a light blush dusting his cheeks. If any of his friends found out about his old hobby, they would tease him to no end and demand to see some of his old work. 

She carefully inspected the two scrolls before putting down the second one and gingerly opening the first. She gasped, her hand flying straight to her mouth as she looked on and stared at the portrait in front of her. 

“Oh Jean…” she said, her voice cracking with emotion, “I can’t believe you did this.”

Jean had a pretty good memory of things. He remembered the vice captain’s worried, concerned face. He remembered the former commander’s authoritative expression. And of course, how could he forget captain Levi’s tiny smirk or Hange-san’s bright eyes?

It felt awkward, putting those visions on paper. He felt his heart clench at the sight of his portraits. But he powered through, and Hange-san’s expression made it all worth it. 

She traced her fingers over the etched lines. She lingered, he noticed, over commander Erwin’s and vice-captain Moblit’s face. She smiled and laughed brightly as tears now streamed from her remaining eye. Jean had drawn them all together, side by side, arms around one another. It had been a product of his imagination, but he had to admit it wasn’t as bad as he thought. 

“Why? How?” she said, her voice breaking. She placed down the paper and gently removed her glasses to wipe some of the tears from her face. 

Jean looked down and shuffled his feet, “He never really had any portraits of all of you together. I thought well, that shouldn’t be the case.”

“Do I even want to know what’s in the other one?” she said teasingly before clearing her throat and putting her glasses back on. Her smile was absolutely infectious, and Jean was happy it was seemingly etched permanently onto her face. 

“I think you do,” he said, clearing his throat as well. That particular portrait was the first one he had finished, and he loved how it had turned out. He was also grateful for the creative outlet. He had to admit, he missed indulging in these kinds of things. Who knew when the next time he’d be able to do something like this again? 

Hange-san laughed — a bright and beautiful melody that continued to light up the room. She shifted her attention to the unopened scroll, picked it up, and proceeded to unroll it. However, unlike the first one, she remained silent, her eyes widening at the sight. A few minutes had passed before she pursed her lips, her fingers shaking a little, before rolling it back up and setting it back down on her desk. She studied Jean carefully, and he could tell that perhaps she was picking up on the idea that he may have read those letters. Nevertheless, she stood up, shook her head, and quickly strolled to him and hugged him. 

“Thank you, Jean,” she said after a few seconds, and Jean allowed himself to snake his hands behind her and hug her back. He closed his eyes and a small part of him reprimanded himself for being so soft, for sticking his nose into other people’s business, for doing all of these rather embarrassing things. But life was short. He needed to express his feelings to others before it was too late. He needed to tell people he cared about them before it was too late. He felt the magnitude of her gratitude from those small, common words. From the way she had tightly clutched the back of his shirt. They pulled away — the hug being a rather brief and short thing, just as captain Levi entered the room. 

“What are you two doing?” he asked, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms. Jean turned around to see a curious and wary expression on his face. Hange-san laughed behind him, and Jean then and there witnessed how the captain softened at the sound. His shoulders relaxed, his lips parted slightly, and his eyes gleamed in wonder. 

“Nothing,” Hange-san sang as she approached him. “Are you ready to go?”

“The horses are already waiting for us,” the captain said gruffly, but Jean could tell he was pleasantly surprised by the commander’s tone and attitude. “What are you and Jean—”

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” she spoke heartily, moving to grab her civilian coat from the coat stand by the door. “We’ll be meeting with some of the press, alright Jean? We’ll be back later tonight. I believe Levi over here is planning on cooking for everyone.”

“Oi! That was supposed to be a secret!” the captain exclaimed, his eyes sneering at her. Hange-san shrugged before approaching Jean and laying a hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him once again which Jean reciprocated. She whispered another “thank you” before patting his head affectionately. “Please don’t tell the others, Hange-san,” he spoke quietly, only for her to hear. 

“I won’t.” she assured, “But you have to know that I can’t keep anything from this grump right here,” she said, her head tilting towards the captain’s direction. 

“What are you idiots talking about?” the captain eyed suspiciously, moving to approach them. 

“I know.” Jean scoffed, his eyes gleaming. Hange-san nodded before swiftly looping her arm around the captain’s and dragging him out the room. “Come on! We’re going to be late!”

Jean followed them out the door and saw their figures moving down the hallway. Captain Levi stopped her suddenly as if asking her once again what she and Jean had been doing. The commander laughed before patting his head affectionately which then made the captain gently kick her leg. He then started to inspect her coat, straightening it out before buttoning the front. Jean shook his head at the soft and sweet gesture in front of him. He looked back inside the office to where the drawings he had and quietly went back in and approached the desk. 

He carefully lifted the second scroll and opened it. He didn’t really know what kind of reaction he was expecting from Hange-san, but so far she didn’t really give away anything obvious. He was certain that she had read those letters. But it felt as if she just wanted to move on from them, and thinking about it, that would be the best course of action wasn’t it? 

He stared at the portrait. They weren’t really close by any standards. Thinking about it, they probably just had two or three conversations the entire time Jean had known him. But his utter devotion was enough to catch anyone’s attention. Jean hoped he was able to catch them and had translated it properly on paper. There were hundreds of sketches of Hange-san and everyone else, but there weren’t any of just them together. He had drawn him the way he knew him — face scrunched up in concern as he looked onto her. He had a hand placed on her shoulder, and Hange-san was laughing at whoever was in front of her. 

Slowly, with his other hand that wasn’t holding the portrait, Jean placed a fist over his heart in a salute. 

Thank you for dedicating your heart. 

 *******

Dear Buntaichou, 

I’ve decided to start writing to you like this in the event I should get a heart attack and die from your irresponsibility. I also needed to let out my frustration through a healthy matter. I really don’t understand as to why you would charge headfirst into a forest, all by yourself, and try to capture a titan. How you managed to get away with screaming at the commander and still having all your limbs attached today is a miracle. I’m glad Captain Levi and his squad were able to intervene and help stop you from getting eaten. I’m glad you’re okay. At this time, you’re currently locked in your room, devouring whatever is inside the notebook you found. Maybe you’ll finally be able to convince commander Erwin with your discoveries? Still, you could have died. No matter how much I try to stop you, you always try and go at it, huh?

That was so very stupid of you. How are you so brilliant and stupid at the same time? 

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou, 

DID YOU REALLY ALMOST FALL OFF THE WALL?! I’m so glad my grandmother forbade me to curse because I would have exclaimed a variety of colorful language at you during that entire situation. 

It was our first test run of your titan capturing method, and all would have been well if you weren’t leaning too far and, I don’t know, SLIPPED? 

It was a good thing captain Levi had incredible reflexes and had gotten to you just in time. He seems very attuned to whenever you put yourself in danger, isn’t he? I could have sworn he was just waiting for something bad to happen. I also could have sworn I was going to get a heart attack then and there. 

Why are you so reckless and stupid? Great, now I feel bad for calling you that. But hey, I need to let it out, okay? Don’t take it personally. But then again, captain Levi pretty much calls you that daily and you seem to find it endearing. 

I’m also so worried about when we start experimenting on titans. By the walls, you’re not going to make it easy for me, are you? Just please don’t die. 

—   Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou, 

I knew you weren’t going to make things easy for me. I have to admit, you giving names to those titans was pretty strange — but it was still rather cute. Only if you weren’t going crazy about it. 

I feel like I say that as if it’s a new thing. But then again, back in our training days, you were relatively calm. You always indulge yourself in books and go out of your way to try and learn new things. Those were nice and calm days, weren’t they? You’ve always piqued my interest from the very beginning especially since you were the only one who pronounced our instructor’s name wrong. 

Why am I bringing this up? Anyway, if this is the last letter you read it means that I was eaten by Albert or whoever that other titan was. We can’t afford to lose you, you know? That’s one of the things I’ve learned so far anyway. That some lives in the Survey Corps matter more than the others, and I would gladly get eaten by a titan if it means you’d live another day.

I don’t mean to make you feel guilty or anything of the sort. This is just how I feel. 

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou, 

How do you do it? It seems you’re the only person (besides commander Erwin, well, it’s a given) who has full control over captain Levi. You’ve managed to persuade him to capture a titan for you, and though he complained about it, he still did it anyway. 

Since you’ll never get these letters while I’m still alive, I can probably be as honest as possible. 

I think that he has feelings for you. 

Now, I hope by the time you read this, he’s made it obvious to you by then. And I know it seems like a stretch, cause well, he’s captain Levi and everything and he doesn’t seem like he’s capable of those types of emotions, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. 

I think it started when you ran off to the forest and he followed you. I read the reports of what had happened, and it seemed he was really shaken. We also work a lot with their squad, so there’s a lot of room for things to blossom then I suppose. 

I know I sound incredibly foolish. And I’m telling you right now, I’m completely sober as I write this. But it’s just something I can tell, something that doesn’t seem too far-fetched. He cares about you a lot. 

Now I need a drink. I don’t know what’s going on with me. 

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou,

I think you have feelings for captain Levi. 

This is an even more outrageous claim than the one in my previous entry, and because I’m always glued to your side, I feel like I know more than others do. 

It’s been a while since I wrote my thoughts on here. It’s been a rough couple of days? Weeks? I forgot. So much has happened. I don’t want to delve too much into the details but essentially, we had engaged with the female titan outside the walls, then inside Stohess district, then the armored and colossal titan. I also finished investigating Ragako — Connie Springer’s village. I haven’t had enough rest these days. A lot of us haven’t. And though I feel incredibly exhausted and want to make use of these couple of days of peace before we head onto Trost, I felt like jotting some of the things I had witnessed between you and the captain.

I know this is really silly of me. But forgive me again, this is the only outlet I have. Don’t worry, I’ve already jotted down the important findings in the middle pages of this journal/sketchbook. But I’m starting to feel things myself. Feelings I didn’t know I could feel either. 

Anyway, you had visited him when he was still in the hospital, getting some treatment for his injured leg. You had dismissed me that day, saying you were going to him. 

I also had caught you lending him one of your jackets. And though he had protested, he still eagerly wore it. 

Not to mention the number of times I had caught you making tea for him. How did I know? Well, no one else touched the tin of black tea in the mess hall but Captain Levi. So it had been an easy assumption. 

There are a lot more instances, but I can’t seem to bring myself to put them on paper. I don’t know why — maybe there are just too many, maybe I just don’t want to recall them. I think maybe both. 

Either way, it seems as if you two have feelings for one another now. I’m glad. I’m also glad that you’re okay, that you’re alive, that you’re still here. Hopefully, that will continue to last long. 

—  Moblit

*******

Dear Hange-san, 

I think… that this will be my last letter. 

I know it’s been a long time since I last updated this series of letters (we haven’t exactly had a lot of free time) and as we are preparing to return to Shiganshina, I felt the need to address everything here and now. Seeing as there’s a high probability I might not make it back. 

The moment I first met you back when we were cadets in the Training Corps, you had captured my attention almost immediately. Your hair had been way shorter back then so there wasn’t any need to tie it up into a ponytail. Other than that, your eyes always remained bright, your laugh was always infectious. When you had told me back then how you wanted to see the world beyond the walls, I had thought you to be crazy. My family had always wanted me to enlist in the Garrison, especially since I had a lot of relatives there. But the moment you started talking about what life could be like, about different plants and trees, about different types of animals — the way you had smiled up at me and used your hands excessively to discuss your points  —  I knew then and there that I would follow you wherever you went. 

Going into the Survey Corps was absolutely terrifying. But being with you, helping you, and staying by your side had made it worth it. 

The amount of times you almost died, the amount of times you had put yourself in danger is just too much to count. The number of times you had made me worried  —  well, let’s just say I’m glad my heart didn’t suffer any complications. Or maybe it has and I just don’t know. 

Seriously, you’re too reckless sometimes, you know? But I can’t help but admire you still. You do it because you desire to change because you want to understand our natural enemies. You’re the only one I’ve met who thinks that way, and people have mentioned more than once that you’re really crazy, and perhaps they’re right, but you’re also the most brilliant of all of them combined. 

And because of this, you have captured my heart. 

I’m sure there are more reasons, but I can’t find it in me to talk about all of them. I don’t know why this happened, how this happened, or if I was too obvious. But knowing you, you probably wouldn’t know if someone had romantic feelings for you even if it hit you straight in the face. After all, this is exactly what’s going on between you and captain Levi. 

I know for certain now that he loves you. I had a hunch before, but I know now. I could tell by the nicknames he gave you, from how angry he was when you fell during our battle, how he went to visit you, multiple times, after that incident. How when he sees me alone in the corridor or something, he always asks about you. How in every mission we go, he always looks at you, as if he’s engraving your image into his memory should one of you not make it. How he captured a titan for you. How he knows how you take your tea and how he always goes to your side for comfort. How he basically forces you to take a bath. How he just knows you and understands your entirety as a human being. 

It all makes sense now. I suppose, if you didn’t pay attention much to it, you’d think it was something else entirely. Just a comrade looking out for another comrade. But his eyes, oh his eyes always say otherwise. He loves you and I hope by the time you read this, you’re well aware of that fact. 

And I also hope you’re well aware that you love him too. 

I could tell by how you tease him almost to no end. By how you always talk about him, either positively or negatively. How you just know when he's around as if you have a keen sense just for him. How you translate his words for others (he’s not very good at those). How even when he’s fuming angry or irritated, you seem to be the only one who can get him to calm down. How you had visited him multiples times after his injury. How you just knew all that information about him living with Kenny the Ripper as if you two had discussed the life he had led before. How you know exactly how he takes his tea. How you always make it a point to celebrate his birthday despite our lack of funds. How you just know him and trust him so well. 

You love him, Hange-san. You love him so much. Dare I say you love him as equally if not more as your titans and your research. What you two have is something so special I doubt anyone inside the walls has the same kind of bond. 

I wanted that with you. 

You both deserve happiness together. But I know that’s not possible. Especially with the world we live in. 

I just wanted you to know this before it’s too late. I want you to know that should I never come back by your side, that you always have him. That he treasures you. Perhaps… even more than I do.

Enclosed in this journal are all the findings in research we collected through the years. And so are these letters. And so are some… portraits I had done myself. I hope you like them. 

If you’re reading this, then that means you have survived and may or may not be the new commander. Hange-san, I hope you remember that you are life itself, that you are so brilliant and amazing, and that you continue to give others an inexpressible joy. You have enriched my life (despite almost killing me multiple times). I know you will do a fantastic job as commander. That’s because, well, you’re you. You’re Hange. I wish I could elaborate more but it is what it is. 

There’s so much more I want to say. So much more I want to tell you. But there isn’t any time nor can I bring myself to put any of it on paper. You also should be expecting me on the training grounds in a couple of minutes from now to continue Eren’s experiments. So I suppose, I’ll just leave you with this:

    … I love you. 

  Sincerely, Moblit Berner. 

[mourntheantagonist]

How Long Can You Hold Your Breath?

HWOL Day 1 Prompt: Pool Sex

Rating: E

Word Count: 2.4k

Read on AO3

It didn’t matter what position they were in, it was always there in his view. Turning his head to the right when he was underneath, to the left when he was on top, it was right fucking there. Ten feet back and fifteen feet below held a deep hole in the ground filled to the brim with chlorinated water.

A smell that made him sick to his stomach each time he walked by. Not because of the toxic fumes but because of the bad memories attached to it. The picture taken off of Jonathan’s camera of Barb sitting on the diving board that remains, while she does not, is permanently etched into his mind. Her last moments spent not only alive but in the dimension that they call their own. Lost to the upside down with her true legacy buried deep in the government’s top secret files and all that’s left of her name is a fabricated lie to ease the simple minded and allow them to continue to live in a town that has monsters that kidnap and possess children for no reason other than sport.

No matter how many times he drained and refilled that fucking pool, it never felt the same again.

Guilt and fear combining together to make the pool essentially useless. He could hardly dip his toe in the water without fear that something would emerge from the drain and pull him down into the water. Lost to the world the same way Barb had been.

Sometimes he’d sit on the edge of the same damn diving board to feel what it was like for her. Let himself fall into the water fully clothed, closing his eyes and letting the liquid consume him until the panic set in and he was pulled back to reality. Swimming to the surface, crawling out onto the deck, and just lying there underneath the heat of the sun while his clothes dried and he caught his breath.

He knew the words in his head weren’t true. Knew the words Nancy drunkenly spat out weren’t true. At least the ones where she said “we killed Barb.”

He didn’t kill Barb.

But he didn’t do anything much to stop it either, did he?

So he let the thought linger in his head.

Maybe he deserved the same fate as Barb.

So he avoided the pool like the plague, fearing that one day he may not come back to the surface.

But it didn’t matter what he was doing, the thought was always there. The fear was always there. Didn’t matter if he was balls deep in Billy fucking Hargrove, his head would never fail to make that ninety degree turn and Billy would have to grab his attention by moaning his name or one time just yelling it because Steve would turn away and his movements would become mechanical and fifty percent of the time it would just ruin the moment for the both of them.

Billy knew what it was about, Steve had told him the stories, at least the ones that were already public knowledge. He knew enough to know that it was the pool that was the root cause for the dissociation.

And they tried closing the curtains. Something they likely should have been doing in the first place as it wouldn’t be the first time someone was lurking through the woods with a camera and a strange desire to photograph people through their windows. But even with the drapes drawn, he could still hear it. Hear the water moving slightly, and the drains flowing. In fact, there wasn’t a single part of his entire damn house that you couldn’t hear the ambiance of the pool water.

So that left them two options. Fucking in the cramped Camaro or Beemer parked out at the quarry in the dead of night where monsters were known to lurk, or continue with this charade where they both pretended like it was working.

But Billy was, rightfully so, getting tired of snapping his fingers in Steve’s face to get him to come back to the present.

Steve always said it was because of the memories.

“I have nothing but bad memories about it.”

So eventually, out of a need to help Steve into a life of just a little bit of normalcy, and perhaps a tinge of horniness, he approached him with an idea on his mind.

“What if we made some good memories.”

Steve is surprised he let himself agree. Surprised he let Billy take his hand and lead him out into the back.

It was dusk and the sun was just beginning to set. The sky was littered with pinks and oranges and somehow that calmed his nerves ever so slightly. It was still warm out too. A comfortable seventy five degrees. Everything was perfect except for the one obvious thing that wasn’t.

He was already staring at it.

But Billy quickly pulled his attention away by fishing his hand beneath the waistband of both his jeans and briefs. Cupping a hand around his soft dick nearly immediately feeling it start to chub up at the touch of Billy’s soft palms.

Billy slowly pulls both the jeans and briefs down in one mother. Crouching as he lowers them over his knees until they drop to the ground. Standing back up and holding Steve by his cheeks and kissing him all soft and slow, trying his best to just keep Steve here in the present. Separating only as the hem of Steve’s shirt is lifted to where it meets their chins. Pulling it over Steve’s head leaving him standing there completely naked, slightly shivering as the sudden change in temperature while Billy remains fully clothed.

Undressing Billy? Now that’s something that can keep Steve’s focus.

He’s less slow with Billy than he was with him. Pulling his button up over his head rather than sparing the time to undo the only two he ever fastened. Pulls his jeans down the same way Billy did him, but instead staying crouched on the ground, moving a mouth to Billy’s inner thigh where he gently bit the tender skin.

“Stop.” Billy said, moving a hand to the back of Steve’s neck, gently tugging his hair upwards telling him to stand back up.

“What?” He asked.

“In the pool.”

“Billy I can’t.” He’s looking away again.

Billy pulls him close to him by the grab of his forearms so that they’re chest to chest. Breath hot against his lips.

“Tell me what part scares you.”

Billy kisses the space behind Steve’s ear as he waits for an answer. Urging the response out of him with the movement of his lips against sensitive skin.

“I’m afraid I’ll be pulled under. That I won’t come back up. I don’t want my head going under.”

Billy nibbles on Steve’s earlobe. Pulls until it escapes between his teeth. Steve shudders.

“Then we’ll just keep your head above water. Just let me treat you like royalty King Steve.”

“Would you stop it with that?”

“Never.”

To that Billy just let himself fall backwards into the pool. Splashing water up in the air, some of the droplets finding their way onto Steve’s body like a sprinkle or mist. Billy’s head went under and the way he resurfaced was like a goddamn mermaid. His neck craned backwards so all his hair would flow behind him. Drenched curls still visible despite being soaked. Hair darkened by the wetness but still the effects of the sunset’s shine reflected the golden blonde Steve was so used to seeing dry.

Somehow he found himself looking directly at the pool, but completely entranced by something else. His naked boyfriend as he floated along the surface of the water with the front half of his body completely exposed in a show off fashion.

“You gonna get in?” Billy asked, swimming up to the part of the deck where Steve was still standing in his own nude presence, crossing his arms over his chest like that did anything to protect him. Billy rested his shoulders on the side of the pool wall and looked up at him with his gorgeous eyes. Lashes wet with droplets that the light in the sky reflected so perfectly. Like expensive jewels on his eyes. A playfully pleading look, one that Steve always found difficulty in refusing.

Steve hesitantly climbed down into the water in the four foot end by the ladder. Slowly but surely increasing in depth as his feet hit first, causing him to shiver for more reasons than one. Billy’s hands found their way to resting on his back, not so much to catch him if he were to fall backwards, but to remind him he was right there.

By the time his foot finally reached the pool floor, the waterline sat halfway up his torso. The water was cold, but not too cold. Something given a couple of minutes he would easily get used to. He pressed his back to the side of the pool wall, feeling the warmth of the water heater pressing up against the back of his leg warming him up and sending another shiver up and down his spine.

“You good?” Billy asks, his chest now brought all the way to Steve’s. The combined warmth of his body and the heater alongside the coldness of the pool water is an odd but pleasant sensation.

Steve nods his head and brings his arms around Billy to cup his ass. Staring intently at Billy and almost forgetting where he is.

Almost.

He guesses this is exposure therapy. Associate good feelings with the bad ones. It was worth a shot.

“So what does King Steve want to do?”

He gets a weird feeling in his stomach when the question falls. The idea rattling in his head like a maraca since Billy splashed into the pool.

“How long can you hold your breath?”

Billy gets a way too wide smile on his face and instantly moves in to put his mouth on Steve’s. Hand finding its way to the nape of his neck angling him downward in a desperate interlocking of lips. Separating after a few short moments and kissing the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the crook of his neck. Pausing there to apply suction that has Steve’s head tossing backwards and his hand gripping the edge of the pool.

Billy releases himself from the space above Steve collar bone and follows it up by tracing a wet tongue halfway down the length of his chest before pausing, taking a deep breath, and going down further until his head is fully submerged. His hair flowing up behind him and even with the distortion of the water Steve can see Billy perfectly clear.

Billy bites at the skin of Steve’s hip bone causing Steve to slightly jerk and his now completely hard dick twitch from the sensation.

Steve expects Billy to resurface, to take another deep breath before going in, but he doesn’t. Instead he takes the head of Steve’s cock in his mouth without an extra breath, running still off of the single one he took and had already been holding for at least twenty seconds. A cascade of bubbles from his nose find their way to the surface.

Steve convulses around the warmth of Billy's mouth paired with the lower temperatures that surround him. A quick change from cold to hot sent him reeling. Head tossed back once more as Billy begins swirling his tongue around the tip of his dick, likely tasting the effects of pre on his tongue coupled with the taste of chlorine. He’s down under the water for long enough that Steve’s already gripping the edges of the pool with so much strength he may have permanent indentations in the palm of his hands.

So he grabs something softer. Fishes a hand downward and latches onto a clump of Billy’s wet curls. Fisting them close to the scalp.

Billy finally comes up for a breath once Steve has already begun to feel a release around the corner. Billy’s hand slowly jerking him while he resurfaces and takes another deep breath. Steve forces him into another kiss before he lets him go back under.

This time Billy’s going deeper. Much much deeper and Steve has to kick the urge to buck his hips and instantly come down his throat. Instead pulling tighter at his hair. Not in an away motion that would have Billy stop, but in a tightening of the fist that told Billy to keep doing what you’re fucking doing because he wouldn’t hear him otherwise.

Billy has one hand roughly pressing a thumb into Steve’s pelvic bone while his other finds his own cock as he begins to stroke himself. Moaning underwater around Steve’s cock that pushes Steve to the brink. To the edge.

He tugs on Billy's hair to let him know he’s there. That he’s close and he surges down the length of Steve’s cock until Steve can feel he’s hitting the back of his throat. Steve’s hips buck forward and in one single motion he is coming directly down. Hand gripping Billy’s hair tighter and tighter throughout the orgasm until he eventually lets go and his legs nearly give out on him. Steve’s hands go back to supporting himself on the wall where he attempts to catch his breath, and Billy only follows up with him shortly after. Also out of breath but likely for a different reason.

Billy is still quietly jerking himself when he resurfaces and let his chest fall into Steve’s. Chin resting on his shoulder and dick finding it’s way inbetween Steve’s legs.

He wraps his own hand around Billy and finishes for him. Billy’s fingernails dig into Steve’s shoulders and it doesn’t take much longer before Billy is having an orgasm of his own beneath the water. A stream of come finding the way from the tip of his dick, slowly floating up to the water’s surface. Billy’s chest is heaving against Steve’s while he holds on tight. Letting his feet come out from under him and allowing Steve to be his only support.

“How the fuck did you hold your breath that long?” Steve asks, still breathing heavily.

“I’m a surfer. Also, it wasn’t that long.”

Steve just pushes him back and has him going back under the water. Billy resurfacing with a laugh and another kiss to Steve’s lips.

A good memory finally associated with the damn pool outside. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

[wlntrsldler]

Chérie (Bucky Barnes Imagine)

yoncexl submitted:

Can I have a enemies to lovers with Bucky? Pleaseee where y/n is a sunshine and Bucky a grumpy old man tysm 💖💖

Anonymous said:

64 from the prompt list w Bucky? hehe love u (“I think your cat wants to kill me.”)

PROMPT: Bucky doesn’t understand why Y/N is always so happy. He never thought he would be one of the people who got entranced by her until he was. 

Warnings: fluff, some language

Song: Cherry by Harry Styles

-

Sure, maybe Bucky was being irrational. It wasn’t like he meant to be annoyed by your bubbly personality but how could someone be so goddamn happy all the time? 

Clearly there were more things to complain about and mourn than there was to celebrate. You were in the midst of a pandemic, Steve came back as a wrinkly old man, you lost two good friends, the world was burning to ashes and yet, here you were. Happy as a peach.

You squealed loudly, interrupting a napping Bucky in the common room, after ripping open the 70th package (It was more like 4th package but Bucky liked to exaggerate) you received in the mail. He opened his left eye, wanting to revert back to the moments before your arrival when there was peace and quiet. He saw you stare fondly at the new record you just bought. Another pop album, he assumed. That’s all you ever listened to.

“Do you mind?” He huffed, twisting his body to face you. His eyes were now wide open, unable to return to his peaceful slumber. “Some of us are sleeping.”

Bucky knew he didn’t really have a right to be mad at you. He had his own room to take naps in and he could easily just walk over and do just that. He just liked giving you attitude, hoping you’d return it one day. But that day was not today.

“Sorry,” You blushed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Just got carried away. Look what I got.”

Bucky’s expression remained cold. It was a sight to see, really. The young, bright, and cheerful expression on your face. The wide smile traveling from your lips to the crinkles by your eyes. Your head was peeking up above the large record in your hand. 

And then there was Bucky. Big and built, hair in disarray, with his lips pressed in a thin line. His arms were crossed on his chest, biceps prominent. He stared at you with a blank expression, counting the seconds before you finally retreated the record you shoved in his face. 

“I wanted to get the limited edition one but that was sold out.”

Harry Styles: Fine Line, he read the tag on the corner of the plastic. The name was familiar. He remembered it displayed on the car radio in the last mission you two shared. Bucky remembered the loud, off-key, singing of you and Peter in the backseat of the car, as he sat beside a driving Sam. Sam wasn’t a fan of the music but he was a fan of seeing Bucky’s irritated expression so he let you and Peter control the music for the four hour drive back. 

It was hell. 

You finally removed the record from his space and admired it. You sighed in adoration, clutching the disk close to your heart. You began to pick up the scraps of delivery papers that littered the floor and started walking towards your bedroom. 

Finally, Bucky sighed in content, some peace and quiet.

Just as a small smile started to form on Bucky’s face while he started to get comfortable again on the couch, a faint noise was heard from down the hall. He groaned loudly, grabbing one of the couch cushions to cover his ears. Of course you’d play it the minute you got it to your record player. 

It didn’t fully drown out the noise in the background, irritating Bucky some more. So much for sleep.

He wouldn’t ever admit it to your face but your music wasn’t that bad. 

-

“Uhhh, Buck?” You questioned from behind him. He rolled his eyes, earning a slap on the arm from Sam. Be nice, that’s what his look told Bucky. “I think your cat wants to kill me.”

“That means I taught him well.” Bucky muttered under his breath. A part of him didn’t want you to hear it, but he secretly hoped you did. 

“Dude.” Sam smacked him behind his head. “Really?”

You laughed wholeheartedly, emerging from the kitchen with Alpine in your arms. “Never mind, he just wanted me to pick him up.”

Bucky’s eye twitched upon seeing you cuddle with his pet. He wasn’t necessarily jealous, per se, he was just aggravated that everyone and everything seemed to love you. It was like they all gravitated towards you and he didn’t understand why. 

Okay.. maybe he did. You were a good person. Nearly perfect, even. But that’s why Bucky didn’t like you. There was no way someone could ever be that perfect. 

Firstly, it wasn’t really fair. Nobody should ever be this like-able. Or kind. Or funny. Or pretty. Or strong. Or passionate. Or fucking perfect. It was really just unfair.

Secondly, Bucky knew he had some problems. He knew he didn’t really think much like everyone else. Sam called him mentally unstable for not being able to be civil with you, more than a few times, and Bucky actually agreed. Had he met you before all of this happened, he would’ve liked you. Hell, he may have even had a crush on you because back then he was like you. He was hopeful, the “glass half-full” type of person. But after everything that happened in his life, he changed. He just didn’t get how you managed to always look on the bright side even when the world was crumbling at your feet. 

It was Alpine’s purring that snapped him out of his thoughts. The cat was now rubbing against his calf after you put him down to exit the room. Bucky smiled softly at the cat that Steve got him a few weeks ago. Alpine licked Bucky’s metal hand a few times before making his way to his little cat bed in the common room. 

“You need to play nice.” Sam warned him, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “I still don’t get why you hate her so much.” 

“Something about her seems off to me.” Bucky shrugged, cleaning up his finished plates. That wasn’t necessarily a lie. “I don’t know.”

“No,” Sam replied, following Bucky’s actions. He dumped his plates on top of the ones in Bucky’s arms. “Something about you is off.”

He glared at his friend who was already halfway out of the room before he tried to call out for him to do his own dishes. Bucky accepted defeat and made his way to the kitchen to start washing the dishes. He saw your washed dishes placed neatly on the drying rack, clear that it had just been washed. He silently thanked you for always cleaning up after yourself. His eyes drifted to the pile of dirty plates that slowly accumulated from the Avenger’s breakfast festivities. Unlike the rest of them, he sighed. 

Bucky placed the plates down for a quick moment to retrieve his phone and airpods from his pockets. He unlocked it and searched through the Spotify app. He started to look at the rest of the Avenger’s playlist. For a special agent who valued confidentiality, you sure did want people to know exactly what you were listening to. Bucky learned to turn that feature off after Sam bullied him after he saw that Bucky was listening to the Hairspray soundtrack. 

His eyes locked at your Spotify playlist. Hmm, he thought, why not? Bucky pressed at the familiar title of the album the link took him to. He inserted the airpods in his ears and hit shuffle. 

The songs made the chore of cleaning up after the Avengers a little less tedious. 

-

You were silently reading the new book that came in your subscription box on the balcony of the tower. Nothing could be heard for miles besides the sounds of nature and the faint noise of cars passing by the highways. 

Most of the team had gone out to get dinner but you opted to stay in and get caught up with your book. A blanket was draped carelessly over your legs, shielding your bare legs from the cold. You turned the page, your thumb finding its way between your lips. It was a habit you could never seem to break. You did it subconsciously, especially when you were deep in thought or extremely focused on something. 

You were engrossed in your book, not hearing the knocking that came from the other side of the balcony door. Bucky looked at you from behind the clear, sliding door. He squinted trying to read the cover of the book you were reading. It was different from the one he saw you reading a month ago. Your ability to read and finish books quickly intrigued him since he was someone who could never sit in a chair without fidgeting, much less read a 300-something page book.

He realized he was staring for far too long. Bucky entered the balcony and cleared his throat, causing you to drop your book and look up at him. You offered a warm smile, “Hi, Buck. What’s up?”

“Me and Wanda are ordering in,” He explained, his eyes drifting to the cover of your book. Only Love is Real by Brian Weiss, he noted in his head. “Did you want anything?”

You pondered the question for a minute, “Maybe some fried chicken.”

“Okay sounds good,” He replied. “You should come in soon, it’s getting late.”

You looked around. It had gotten significantly darker than when you first came out. The lamp beside you that helps you with reading masked the sinking sun. “What time is it?”

Bucky pulled out his phone to check the time. You caught a glimpse of his lock screen, eyes growing wide when you noticed the too familiar song and album cover in the front. Cherry by Harry Styles. “9:21PM.”

He looked up to see you fighting back a small smile. His eyebrows furrowed, staring back at you. You noticed his worried look and immediately straightened up. “Thanks, Buck. I’ll come in soon.”

Bucky nodded and turned around to return back into the compound. You stayed quiet about what you saw but you couldn’t help the large smile overtaking your features. You’ll tease him about this one day, just not tonight.

You focused back on your book, your mind becoming one with the words on the page again. You spread out the blanket some more to cover your legs better and cuddled into the softness of the outdoor sofa. The sounds of the city was being drowned out, however, by the faint sounds of strings and the French voice of Camille Rowe.

-

“Y/N ordered another package.” Sam laughed, picking up the boxes left at their doorstep. “Oh, hold on a second.”

Bucky’s head perked up at Sam’s words knowing that there’s going to be some teasing that will follow. The mundane boxes were almost, always yours. You were the only one in the tower who liked to spend your money on things like clothes, accessories, and sometimes snacks. The rest of the team just ordered it from Stark Industries and it would magically appear in their compound in less than 24 hours. 

“Did you order something from Ebay, Barnes?”

He snatched the box from Sam, grunting in response to his question. “Isn’t it a federal offense to go through people’s mail?”

“No, it’s a federal offense to open people’s mail. There’s a difference.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and brought the package to his room. Once the door was shut, he let himself smile at the brown box in his hands. He sat down on his bed and started unwrapping it. His eyes glossed over the vinyl record. Limited Edition, the sticker on the corner stated. It was the one you told him about.

Maybe it did dent his bank account more than he would have liked it to but he knew you would love it. He was just sitting in his bedroom and he heard you quietly sobbing, a few nights ago. If he didn’t have super-soldier hearing he would’ve definitely missed it. It was quiet but it was there. 

The familiar tune of Cherry played from your record player. Bucky sat up in his bed, not knowing if he should come in and comfort you. It was the way that you halted your sobs, to make yourself more discrete, when the song ended, that broke his heart into pieces. He couldn’t stop himself from getting up his bed and walked over to the room beside him. 

Before he could knock, he stopped himself. What would he even say to you? He just stood there in front of your bedroom door, not knowing what to do next. He hasn’t necessarily been the kindest to you, even when all you’ve been was pleasant. He really didn’t have the right to even try to comfort you. 

He sighed sadly and retreated back to his bedroom.

So now here he was, three days after that night, with the vinyl you’ve wanted for a while, that he paid extra for expedited shipping for. Bucky dusted off the plastic covering of the vinyl and made his way to your room. His plan was to place it on your bed and walk away, he wasn’t expecting you to be there. You were supposed to be on a mission.

Bucky’s eyes widened, frantically hiding the vinyl behind his back. Your eyebrows furrowed, looking at him confused. “What are you doing here, Buck?”

“I thought you were out.”

“Decided to stay in. What are you doing here?” You asked again. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company and all, but I’m just curious.”

Of course, Bucky thought. Only you would be trying to assure him that you enjoy his company when he invaded your privacy by barging in your room. “I have something for you.”

Your eyes lit up at his words. You turned to face him on your bed, your legs criss-crossed. “You do?”

Bucky extended his arms out, showing you the vinyl that he got for you. You gasped, leaning over to touch it. Tears welled up in your eyes, words getting stuck in your throat. “I hope you like it.”

“Oh, Bucky,” You sighed, holding the vinyl by your chest. “I love it.” 

“I’m glad.” He said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he answered you.

“Why did you get this for me?”

“I heard you the other night,” He confessed, taking a seat beside you. “I heard you crying. I-I was gonna come in and try to comfort you but I don’t really have much expertise on that. Plus, I haven’t really been the nicest to you, I wouldn’t know where to start to try to make you feel better. Then I remembered you talking about this record. Music seems to make you happy, I think, so I bought it.”

You placed the vinyl safely beside you and engulfed Bucky in a tight hug. He was stiff for a few seconds, not knowing how to respond to such physical affection, but he later warmed up. His arms wrapped themselves around you, letting himself bury his face in the crook of your neck, smelling your sweet perfume. You heard him sigh under your touch and you started to wonder when was the last time he was held like this. 

“You’re amazing,” You murmured in his shoulder, pulling away. You kissed his cheek sweetly, a blush creeping up your cheeks once you saw the redness on his. “Thank you, Buck. I can’t explain how much this means to me.”

He smiled at you, genuinely. It was the first time he smiled at you without it being partnered with a smart, witty remark. It wasn’t sarcastic or anything, just pure fondness. “Anytime, Y/N.” 

You two just sat there staring at each other for a few moments before he cleared his throat and got up. “I should leave you to it. I know how you like to listen to records the minute you get them.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You never noticed how much he actually paid attention to you. “Wait, Buck. Do you wanna stay and listen to it with me?”

He took a look at you, staring up at him with hopeful eyes. He was silently hoping that you would ask him to stay but now that those words did leave your lips, all the life was winded right out of him. You liked his presence. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love yours. 

“Let’s see what all the hype is about.” He teased, taking a seat beside you again.

“Oh you’ll love it,” You smirked, remembering the time you saw that he was listening to the album on his phone. “He’s great.”

“I doubt it.”

You continued to fight off the goofy smile on your face as Bucky tried to act like he hasn’t listened to the album before. You looked at his expression when the familiar tune of Cherry started playing. You pretended to look away, getting on your phone to look busy. Your eyes looked up at Bucky who was discretely mouthing the words to the song. 

[dystovian]

The Last of Us: How to Disappear Completely

Chapter 3: Burrow

Summary: The aftermath of death is never nice, especially with the end of the world. You felt you knew how to deal with it, and that’s by moving on as quick as possible. Sawyer, takes this personally, and lets you have a piece of their mind.

Pairing: Joel/Reader, Joel x Reader (Future)

Warning(s): Language, Talks about Death and Suicide, Arguing, Injuries.

A/N: ok one more chapter i think and joel comes into play! thank u for reading!!

Tags: @hrk-fic-recs

Often, before your sister had disappeared, you wouldn’t really bother thinking about the past. You had your future right in front of you, because for all you knew, you and her would be just fine. But, the second you realized she wouldn’t return, and was likely rotting in some field or some building, or running around Infected...it’s all you could think about.

You’d think about the way you grimaced at melted red popsicles and how they stuck to your fingers, coating your skin with red juice. You’d think about how you’d fallen off your bike, not wearing any knee guards and crying out in the street due to the skin on your kneecaps peeling away. You’d mostly think about luxuries, stuff you’d never experience again. Stuff that were so far away from this life, that had left a mark on you.

Something that never left, though? Was grief. Grief followed every living thing with a heartbeat and snuck up on it every chance it got. Grabbed you by the roots of your hair and tossed you to the ground. Grief, which seemed to have a festival just about every second of every day now, with the way things fell apart. Exploding into millions of sparks just like the fireworks on the beach that day.

This was evident now, what with the way the young teenager in the room across from you hasn’t stopped crying, even within their sleep their tears are evident, dripping over their nose and onto the sheets. Evident, shown in the way your shoulders shook violently as the body of a young girl whom you just saw yesterday lay behind you.

In the past, grief was more of a long time thing. Where you could sit in your room and cry all day after your cat had died. But now — with the world gone to shit — it’s different. Someone dies, you cry for a minute, maybe even not at all, then you suck it up. You get the fuck over it, and you move the hell on. Do what they couldn’t, survive, live for them.

Except, you haven’t. You’ve barely even bothered. Sometimes, though, you get this burst of energy. Telling you to go out on a run, get some supplies to help live just a little longer. But you can’t leave Sawyer, not when they’ve barely even spoken, and the last time they did, they made it quite clear of their feelings. Of the state of their mind since the loss of their sister.

“You’ve barely eaten your dinner, y’know.” You had said one night, windows covered with thick wool blankets, and candles lit along the house.

“Mhm.” They muttered, slumped in their chair, eyes staring at the food on their plate.

“Please...you’ve got to eat, Soy. It’ll kill you.” You said, placing your utensils on the wood, leaning forward.

“Awesome.” They scoffed, almost sliding the plate into your lap with the force of their hand.

“Seriously? Are you..” You’d paused in disbelief, “Are you seriously just gonna let yourself fucking starve to death? Sawyer, you need to listen to me. We’re gonna need more food soon, and if I’m going alone, you need to be fit enough to keep watch on this place. Oka-“ You stopped when Sawyer abruptly stood, hands clenched into fists on the wood of the dining room table, head hanging.

“You wanna go? Then fuckin’ go! I don’t give a shit if you leave me here and I certainly don’t care if Infected tear me to goddamn shreds.” They said, tears piling up upon their eyelids.

“You, you do not mean that,” You were standing now, chair almost falling with the force of your movement. Your eyes were wide, with eyebrows raised, shock filing through you.

“Oh, I meant every damn bit of that sentence.” They scoffed.

“Take it back.”

“I ain’t takin’ back sh-“ Their finger goes to point at you, and the second they do, it’s slapped away.

“Take it the fuck back! You listen to me, and you listen to me good. I am not, and I mean absolutely not, going to feel responsible for somebody else dying. I am sick and fucking tired of death, and I know for damn sure you are too. Hell, every last person is! But, and I hate to say this shit you, but you need to move on. You and I both know that’s what Ryan would want. So, take. It. The. Fuck. Back.” You were angry, of course you were. You loved the two of them, they were family to you, and with one of them gone you knew you couldn’t live after you lost the other.

“Well, have you ever stopped to think about what I fucking want? Ryan is dead! Ryan doesn’t have wants or needs or...or anything! I want to die! I don’t want to live anymore. Get that through your thick skull. And, for the love of all that’s ever been holy, quit actin’ like you knew us. You don’t, and won’t, know shit. You didn’t raise us, and you weren’t there when everything went to shit. We’re not your fuckin’ children. And we sure as shit ain’t your sister!” By the time they let it all out, you had sat back down and had taken the blow.

“That’s how it is, then? Hm?”

“Yeah. And quit telling me what I’m ‘supposed’ to do. I’ll move on when I damn well please, and you know what? Fuck you. You already movin’ on after we just pieced my sister back together and buried her in the backyard. The backyard, of some house, that we only knew for a year! She should’ve died old, with a family, or something! She...she should’ve died normally. Old age, or a stroke, or a fuckin’ heart attack...I don’t know! But instead, she got eaten alive, and blew her brains out before she could become one of those things! So don’t talk to me about moving on, when we both know there’s no moving on from that.” They were in front of you now, tears streaming over the red of their cheeks, face hot from anger.

Since then, you’ve barely spoken to the other. Choosing to stay quiet during dinner, which began happening less and less with your shortage of food. You finally came to Sawyer one day, and told them that you couldn’t stay here any longer. That the streets have more and more Infected every week, and the whole town is empty of food.

They agreed, nodding their head in silent agreement, eyes drawn away from your own.

2 0 2 5.

Illinois.

Ryan’s name hasn’t left either of your mouths. Not during dinner, not even in passing. Not even in your sleep, did either of you cry out her name and sob afterwards.

After everything that happened, you left the house. The room she died in was loud, almost frighteningly so, and filled with the phantom screams of her last moments. Something, that both you and her sister, couldn’t quite stand beside anymore. So, you left. Walked and walked and walked, barely talking to the other at first. And sure as hell keeping her name out of your mouth.

You didn’t say her name again until a group took you in, asked you about your past, and you delivered. Spilled your hearts content onto the plastic table in front of you, until you broke down, and the lovely couple in front of you — Alex and his wife, Amy — stopped you, rubbing their hands on your back.

Although you’ve been through hell and back these last six years, Ryan always lingered. You’d see her in the corpses that littered streets and the homes you’d spend a few nights in. See her in the way Sawyer carried themself, or spoke, or cried.

You didn’t forgive eachother, you rarely talked of that argument in the dining room that night. You simply opted to get the hell over it, if you don’t talk about it then I guess it just didn’t happen. And now, being taken in by this group that call themselves the Burrowers, the conversation is begging to be had.

Sawyer didn’t stay with you long, you shared a home for four days before they left, got their own place. And you haven’t seen them since.

[winchester-fantasies]

Be Mine

Summary: Sam and Dean agree to help Garth out with a case. They’re both surprised when he introduces them to his younger sister, and Dean is instantly drawn to her.

Word Count: 3368

Warnings: smut, fluff, shy reader, virgin reader, crack (or at least attempted lol), age gap, some swearing, Dean’s POV

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

A/N: This was written as a request for @prettysourabbie : Hey beautiful I know you’re not taking requests right this second but this bop of idea came to my mind and you’re writing is awesome! Can I request dean x plus size Garth younger sister reader where dean and Sam meet up with Garth on a case and that’s where dean meets her, she is super quirky and dorky and dean starts getting feelings but she a virgin? Smut, fluff , goofy ness haha sorry if this sounds super awkward turtle haha you’re a bop of a writer!! 💕❤️😊😆 Thanks for you request, pretty lady!! I’m sorry it took me so long to write this one, so thank you for being so patient!! I hope you like it! ❤❤

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

“Hey, Garth,” Sam said, his deep voice breaking through the silence. 

Dean glanced up from the book that was open in front of him, watching as his younger brother’s brow furrowed in concentration as he listened to the other hunter. 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Sam said, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “We’ll be there. See you soon.”

Dean sent his brother a questioning look as he hung up, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Garth has a case,” Sam said. “Vamp nest. Needs backup.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Dean said, closing the book. He was more than happy to get out. He and Sam had been cooped up in the bunker since they’d come back from their last hunt and Dean desperately needed some new scenery away from endless research.

“Get your stuff, and I’ll meet you in the Impala,” Dean said, scooting back from the table and grabbing Baby’s keys off the tabletop.

**********

A few hours later found the boys entering the small town of Fredericksburg, Texas. Dean drove down Main Street slowly, taking in the tiny shops and quaint storefronts. “Where did Garth say to meet him?” Dean asked, leaning forward slightly to gain a better view of his surroundings.

“Uh,” Sam said, taking out his phone and pulling up his texts. “A diner on the corner of Main Street.”

“Well, that’s freakin’ helpful,” Dean huffed out but soon slowed down as the diner came into view, neon sign advertising the best pancakes in all of Texas. 

They alighted from the car, taking a quick look around before making their way to the entrance. A small bell tinkled as they entered, and a busty, red-haired woman greeted them both with a toothy grin. 

“Sam! Dean!” Garth’s unmistakable voice called out from behind them.

Both of the boys turned to find Garth in a booth in the back of the diner. Sam raised his hand in a quick wave before they made their way over. 

“Hey, guys,” Garth said, sliding out of the booth and giving each of them his famous hug. “How’s it been?”

“Uh, been good,” Sam said, slipping into the booth in front of Garth, Dean joining him. Garth was about to say something when footsteps drew near the table, causing all three men to look up. 

It was a young woman, cheeks slightly flushed and eyes cast down shyly. “Sam, Dean,” Garth said, once more sliding out of the booth. “I’d like you to meet my sister, (Y/N),” he continued, throwing an arm around her shoulders. 

“Your...your sister?” Sam asked incredulously. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yep,” Garth said proudly, looking down at her affectionately. “Been my sister my entire life.”

“Hi,” she said, smiling at both Sam and Dean.

Dean couldn’t keep his eyes from traveling her entire length. She looked to be several years younger than Garth and the total opposite of the lanky man. But she was beautiful, with her thick thighs, hourglass figure, and supple breasts. She was the epitome of what Dean had always imagined a woman to be, and he couldn’t not let his eyes wander just a little.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Garth sliding back into the booth with (Y/N) following close behind. Before any of them could continue speaking the red-haired woman from the front sauntered up to their booth, whipping out a small notepad. “What can I get for y’all?” she asked. 

They ordered before Sam and Dean turned their attention back to Garth. “So we’re dealing with a vamp nest?” Sam asked. 

“Oh, yeah,” Garth said, eyes wide and mouth set in a thin line. 

“Biggest one Garth’s ever seen,” (Y/N) added, face just as serious. 

Garth nodded his agreement. “It’s just outside of town in an old barn,” he said. “Me and (Y/N) scoped it out a few days ago. There’s no way just the two of us could’ve handled the whole nest.”

“Well, I’m glad you called us,” Sam said. “More than happy to help.”

Dean nodded, smirking as (Y/N) met his gaze. Her cheeks immediately turned pink and she glanced to her lap. He’d never seen another woman blush as much as her, but goddamn if it wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

**********

The day passed quickly with Sam and Dean helping Garth and his sister get ready for the hunt the next morning. Dean had made sure to sit by (Y/N) as much as he could and whenever he couldn’t he’d made a point to ask her questions about the case. Although she wasn’t as talkative as her older brother, Dean soon realized she was knowledgeable, being able to tell him information off the top of her head faster than most hunters twice her age and with more experience under their belts. She was nerdy by every definition of the word, but Dean couldn’t help but admire that about her. Not to mention it was sexy as hell. 

By the time evening rolled around everyone was exhausted and ready for some much needed relaxation. Garth and his sister spent most of the night in the boys’ room, drinking and swapping hunting stories.

 “That’s why you don’t get out of the salt circle, sweetheart,” Dean mocked good-naturedly when (Y/N) recounted her and her brother’s most recent and worst encounter with a vengeful spirit they’d ever experienced.

“Oh, shut up!” she yelled. Dean flinched when she raised her hand and swatted his shoulder, but they both burst into laughter a second later.

(Y/N) was still laughing when she got up from the floor where she and Dean were seated in front of the coffee table. “I think I need another drink,” she said. Her foot caught the edge of the table leg as she started around it and she fell face first to the floor with a heavy thud.

 “Oh, my gosh! (Y/N), are you okay?” Garth exclaimed.

Dean moved quickly to her side, leaning over her when she finally turned, a worried expression in his green eyes. She cracked up once again, rolling onto her back. Dean followed suit once he realized she wasn’t hurt, both of them laughing so hard their bodies shook. Dean lost control and fell to the floor beside her, the back of his head resting on her outstretched arm.

(Y/N) covered her eyes with her other hand as tears rolled down her face. “Why is everything so funny?” she gasped between her laughter.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Dean wheezed. “But maybe you’d better rethink that drink.”

“Yeah, maybe so,” she said as another fit of laughter assaulted them both.

She and Dean sat up as they finally caught their breaths. Sam and Garth sat on the couch staring at her and Dean as if they had both lost their minds.

“Fuck, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time,” Dean said, wiping away a tear at the corner of his eye.

“Neither have I,” (Y/N) confessed. She gripped her stomach. “But I’m definitely gonna have a six pack by morning!”

Dean chuckled as he rose from the floor and helped her up. She yawned once they were both on their feet again. “I’m tired now,” she chuckled. “I think we’d better head to bed.”

“Yeah, us, too,” Dean said as Garth rose from the couch and came to stand beside his sister. Sam stood, too, and came to Dean’s side as everyone said their good nights, Dean staring out the door a few seconds longer than he probably should have, staring after her and her swaying hips.

**********

Dean was entranced as he watched her move with almost uncanny agility, her movements fluid and almost graceful. She swung her blade with solid accuracy, taking down two vamps in a matter of seconds. She had a mind for the research part of hunting, but she was just as good a hunter in the midst of battle.

She might have been shy, but she had a fire in her that burned brighter than any sun ever could, and Dean found himself being drawn to her even more. He couldn’t help but sneak glances at her in the back seat where her and Garth sat as they headed back to the motel after the hunt. She looked out the window, staring off into space, grimacing every once in a while, her hand holding a handkerchief against the wound on her arm from when one of the vamps had shoved her to the ground that had been littered with broken glass. But she was stoic and a total badass. Dean had to give her that. 

Garth and (Y/N) went to their room to patch themselves up as Sam and Dean did the same. It wasn’t too long before Garth came to their room. “I’m gonna go get something to eat,” Garth said. “(Y/N)’s pretty weak after all that. You guys want anything?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Sam answered for the both of them. “I’ll go with you. See you in a bit,” he told Dean as he threw on his coat and grabbed his phone.

Dean sent his brother a small smile as he stepped outside with Garth, shutting the door behind them. Dean turned back to the laptop in front of him, following up on a few things regarding the nest and looking for any potential cases. Dean soon lost track of time and it wasn’t until he looked at his watch that he realized just how late it really was. 

He glanced to the door thoughtfully before pushing back from the table and exiting the room. He turned down the sidewalk that led to Garth and (Y/N)’s room. Maybe he was being too worried, but he wanted to check in on her; make sure she had everything she needed.

He stopped at the door to their room, raising his hand but pausing for a moment before he knocked. It was a few minutes before he heard the deadbolt turn and the chain being removed from the door. It opened, revealing (Y/N) in a tank top and pajama shorts, hair piled on top of her head. “Oh,” she said in surprise. “Hi, Dean. I thought you were Garth.”

Dean chuckled before silence fell between them. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels as he contemplated just what to say. “I, uh, I wanted to make sure you were alright,” Dean finally said.

“Oh, thanks,” she said. “You, um, you wanna come in?” she asked, stepping aside to allow him entrance.

Dean smiled and stepped through the door. He watched her walk back to the bed by the wall, climbing in and sitting cross-legged. Books were spread out in front of her, each one presenting some monster, myth, or creature that most hunters knew very little about - well, except for Sam and Dean; they had encountered nearly every monster a hunter could.

Dean let out a low whistle as he walked over to join her, (Y/N) moving over enough so that he could sit beside her. “These all yours?” he asked, gesturing to the books. 

“Yep,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know how nerdy it is,” she added with a chuckle. “I just...well, I guess I just love research.”

Dean smiled. “Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart,” he reassured. “In fact,” he continued, scooting a bit closer to her, their hips touching. “I think it’s incredibly hot.”

Dean saw her swallow, her eyes wide as she searched his face. “R...really?” she asked. 

“Mhm,” Dean hummed, leaning towards her slowly. She still looked a bit shaken, but she didn’t move away which Dean took as a good sign. He paused when his face was just inches from hers, lips so close he could feel her breath on his mouth. She closed her eyes and he took that as his cue, closing the distance.

It took her only seconds to really respond, kissing him back firmly. Dean snuck an arm around her waist while he raised a hand to cup her cheek. 

The kiss ended all too soon for his liking, but his breath hitched when he saw a smile on her face. “That...that was unexpected,” she said with a soft giggle. “But nice.”

“I’d like to do it again,” Dean admitted. “If you’ll let me.”

“Okay,” she said almost shyly, her hand reaching for the back of his neck and initiating the kiss this time. Dean leaned into her, hands falling to her waist as he gently lowered her to the bed, his knee slotted between her legs as he held himself over her. 

He slid his tongue over her lower lip, and it didn’t take long for her to open up to him. She tasted like coffee and...was that cinnamon? Whatever it was, he couldn’t get enough. 

She shifted slightly, her hip pressing into his growing cock, and he couldn’t help but break the kiss with a low groan, his eyes falling shut for a fraction of a second. “Sweetheart, I need you to tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” he said breathlessly. “Because if we continue I don’t know that I’ll be able to help myself.”

Dean opened his eyes to find her staring up at him, blush on her cheeks and her eyes swimming with remorse. “Wh...what’s wrong?” Dean asked hesitantly. “I’m...I’m not making you uncomfortable am I?”

“No!” she hurried to reassure when Dean moved to roll away from her. “No, it’s not that….”

“Then what?” Dean asked gently, brushing a stray strand of hair off her brow. 

“It’s just...well, I’m a virgin,” she said quietly, her cheeks turning even redder and her eyes casting down. 

“Oh…” Dean said, realization dawning on him. He could’ve kicked himself for asking something of her that he just assumed she had experience in. “I’m so sorry,” Dean said, disengaging himself from her side and climbing off the bed. 

“Wh...where are you going?” she asked in confusion, propping herself up on her elbows. 

“Look, (Y/N),” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really like you. Like a lot. And I want you - probably more than I should. But...sweetheart, I can’t take something that’s not mine to take. Besides, you wouldn’t want someone as old as me.”

She didn’t respond, instead climbing off the bed and coming to stand in front of him. “Dean,” she said softly, raising her hand to run her fingers along his jawline. “You’re not old. I mean, yes, you’re quite a bit older than me, but we’re both adults. Besides, you look pretty good for an old guy,” she teased, drawing a frown from Dean.

She sobered again, her fingers playing with the buttons on his flannel. “Plus it’s not really your place to tell me what I want,” she said. “It’s mine to decide who I give it to. And Dean, I want you to be my first. I like you, too, like a lot. And as stupid and cliche as it sounds, I’m drawn to you in a way I can’t explain.”

She stood on tiptoe, raising herself up till her face was parallel with his. She paused right before her lips met his. “Please,” she whispered against his mouth. 

That was all it took and before Dean could register what was happening they were on the bed, clothes discarded and strewn around the room. She was sprawled out underneath him, her soft skin and plush body tantalizing under his fingertips. 

He kissed her with wild abandon, getting lost in the feel and softness of her mouth. He could’ve stayed there forever, just kissing his life away, but a roll of her hips reminded him of his almost unbearable need, and he broke the kiss to climb off her to rifle through his wallet for a condom. 

He tore open the packet, taking it out and sliding it over his length with trembling fingers before hurrying back to her, climbing over her beautiful body. He reached down between her legs, his fingers running over her core. Her folds were wet, slick coating the insides of her thighs. She was more than ready for him, but he couldn’t resist rubbing her bundle of nerves. Her head shot back, and she shut her eyes as a moan filled the air and she gripped the sheets. She was beautiful when she let go like this, and Dean continued his ministrations, intent on drawing more of those alluring sounds from her that made his cock twitch in desire.

She was beyond responsive to him and it was only moments before she came, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream, body quivering, and legs closing around his hand as the pleasure became too much. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you cum,” Dean murmured as he disengaged his hand from between her thighs, crawling up her body to settle between her spread legs.

Her skin was sweaty, cheeks flushed, and eyes glowing from her high. She laughed breathlessly before leaning up to kiss him. “You sure you want this?” Dean asked softly.

She nodded, biting her lip. He groaned at the sight before turning his gaze to between their bodies as he began to push into her. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowed at the first hints of discomfort. “Hey,” Dean whispered, her eyes snapping open to meet his. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She nodded before he kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth to distract her as he continued his course, pausing every few seconds to allow her walls to accommodate him. He finally pulled away from the kiss as he bottomed out, teeth sinking into his lower lip. She was beyond tight, squeezing him so hard he had to take several deep breaths to keep himself from cumming right then and there.

“You ready for me to move?” Dean asked once he’d composed himself. A nod was his only answer so he pulled out almost all the way before plunging back in, setting a steady and slow pace. She hummed at the feeling, hands flying to his shoulders. 

Dean buried his face into the side of her neck, kissing her before sucking small hickeys into her skin. He didn’t care who saw. He wanted everyone to know she was his. 

It wasn’t long before he felt his muscles tighten, and he could tell he was right on the precipice of release. He reached between their bodies, fingers finding her swollen clit and rubbing back and forth furiously, determined to make her cum before him. 

“Dean…” she whimpered, fingers digging into his skin. 

“C’mon, babygirl,” Dean grit out as her walls started to flutter. “Cum for me.”

She came seconds later, his name tumbling from her mouth in broken staccato. He helped her ride out her orgasm, his own coming shortly after. 

He pulled out once his heartbeat began to slow, and he fell to the other side of the bed. He glanced over at her, damp hair plastered to her face. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight. 

“(Y/N),” he said quietly, running his knuckles over her thigh. She turned her head to look at him, a contented smile on her plump lips. He swallowed, fighting the urge to get lost in her again. This was something he needed to get out. “Listen, I know we just met and all, but…. I don’t want this to be the last time this happens….”

She grinned, rolling to her side, her hand coming to cradle her head as she propped herself up on her elbow. “Neither do I,” she admitted. “I wanted my first time to be with someone I trusted and who I really liked.”

Dean smiled, turning over to face her. “So does that mean you’ll be mine?” he asked hopefully, hand falling to her bare hip. 

She smiled softly, moving closer to him and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤️❤️

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[wormstacheangel]

Since your last post implied it I would love to know about your AU recommendations ❤ I am obsessed too!! Thanks in advance 🙏🏻

hello! I hope you don’t mind if I just make a basic list of some of the AU stories I have read or want to read. Not in any order I just went through my bookmarks on AO3 :) Also I need to read more...Under the cut because it got too long! 

Angel's Wild (not gonna lie this is my favorite fic. I have read this almost a dozen times now)

Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. 

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? 

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Checked Out

Summary:  Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.

A Ghost Story

Summary:  Castiel Novak has haunted his family's estate for 150 years, awaiting the return of his lost love. Upon their reunion, Dean Winchester learns of his past reincarnation. After the night of Castiel's resurrection, the two try to find out why they've been given a second chance. The answers may be hidden in the forgotten memories of Dean's former life - but sometimes the truth is better left buried.

Patient Love

Summary: Castiel Novak is 27 when he suddenly loses his twin brother Jimmy, and his whole world turns to ashes. How do you deal with losing half of yourself when your whole life always revolved around the two of you, like yin and yang and black and white? How do you deal with a broken soul and old demons looming over you with no one to hold you back anymore?

After 10 years as a Navy Special Warfare Operator and more than a dozen deployments in both Afghanistan and Iraq, a battlefield injury forces 28-year-old Chief Petty Officer Dean Winchester to chose between being stuck behind a desk for the rest of his career or going back to civil life. When he learns about his friend Jimmy’s death, Dean makes his way back to Kansas with his heart in his throat and broken pieces at his feet.

Things are already complicated and painful enough as it is, but when former lovers Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet again after 10 years of radio silence and a galaxy of wounds and scars solidly standing between them, it feels like both a curse and a blessing has been placed on them both. Is there any hope in putting back their broken pieces together after a decade, and how do you deal with grief and broken dreams?

The Unbroken

Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing.

But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done.

Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake.

There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.

While You Were Sleeping

Summary:  A Destiel version of While You Were Sleeping! Castiel is alone and floundering. He has a crush on one of the passengers who passes through his subway station every morning. When the man gets pushed onto the tracks, Cas saves him. But when they get to the hospital there's a mix up and Cas finds himself engaged to a complete stranger. Enter, the rest of the family, including big brother Dean. How will Cas navigate the relationship with his supposed future in-laws? What will he do when Sam finally wakes up? And why can't he stop thinking about Dean?

Purgatory, director's cut

Summary: this doesn’t have a summary but it is dean and cas in purgatory and it’s soooo cool! I promise it’s amazing and worth the read!

Basic Lessons in First Aid, Magical or Otherwise

Summary: Most people probably wouldn’t take the naked, heavily wounded man they found in an alley home with them. Most people probably wouldn’t also offer that man a place to stay and become his best friend after realizing he’s suffering from an intense case of post-traumatic retrograde amnesia. Most people probably wouldn’t then risk almost everything they know to save said man, and maybe save the world in the process.

But then again, Dean Winchester, RN (with a specialty in supernatural care), has never been like most people. He may not have a magical bone in his body, unlike his brother Sam, but he’ll do whatever it takes to help. Even if Castiel has questionable opinions about Star Trek.

What Greater Gift

Summary: Story idea: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail, the cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.

From a prompt found on Tumblr. Saw this and I couldn't resist a Destiel AU, and I've been wanting to write Witch!Cas for ages.

I know when you go down all your darkest roads

Summary: Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.

They end up going through a lot more than a case, unfolding feelings left untold for so long, discovering parts of each other they never intended to uncover.

But will the feelings raging inside them be enough to bring their walls down?

A Fish Out of Water

Summary: To tie up the loose ends of a hunt, Dean is forced to go undercover and visit Brock Pleasure Ranch, a horrifying establishment that markets its inhabitants to people with ‘monstrous’ tastes.

It should have been a simple thing, to persuade a mer to give him a few scales for a spell. All part of the usual Winchester byline: saving people, hunting things.

But Castiel is far less of a ‘thing’ than Dean expected. He might not be human, but he’s definitely a person. And that means he needs saving, too.

The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through Chlamydia

Summary: Dean doesn't expect to see his one night stand again, but then again he also doesn't expect to find out he has an STD. Sometimes life is hilarious like that.

Just as lost as I

Summary: Dean's been in love with Castiel for centuries. He keeps it buried, never letting himself get too close, but when Castiel goes missing he doesn't hesitate. He's going to find him if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Love Bites

Summary: Cas Novak graduated with a 4.0 in Mathematics, but not even Naomi Novak’s money could help him at job interviews. Anxious and dissatisfied with life, at nearly thirty he’s still washing dishes in the back of his best friend Hannah’s café.Until one night when his cat drags an injured bat into his apartment.

Dean may be a vampire, but he’s not an asshole (well, not much.) He feels like he owes the awkward guy for rescuing him from the cat’s clutches, so he sets about changing Cas's life.

A silly story about families who aren’t quite what they seem, fake boyfriends, and falling in love with someone who’s never, technically, met you.

The Bad Cop, Worse Cop Adventures of Freckles and Feathers

Summary: Miami. A place with beaches, babes, palm trees, and a growing drug-fueled crime organization. To help combat the drugs littering the streets, Captain Singer puts together a Tactical Narcotics Team composed of Miami's two finest and fearless officers. Charming casanova Dean Winchester has fought tooth and nail, rising through the ranks for this position. Trench coat toting Castiel Novak knows more hand-to-hand combative techniques than he does people skills. Between Dean's big mouth and Castiel's take-no-shit attitude, their introductory meeting ends on a less than stellar note and a couple of hard to shake nicknames.

After six months of partnership, the nicknames have stuck and so has the sexual tension. When a murder in the middle of the night launches their biggest lead on a cleverly evasive drug lord, Dean is shocked to find Sam at the center of it. Sam comes clean with his involvement and Charlie, their witness, seeks revenge against the man responsible for killing her friend. As the stakes rise higher so do Dean’s feelings putting everything in jeopardy. Is a cop with everything to prove, a cop with everything to lose, one computer hacker witness, and a damn good ADA enough to save the day?

The Care and Feeding of Castiel

Summary: Dean’s quiet time in the bunker is interrupted by some stranger-than-usual behavior from his angel. Oh, and feathers...there are a lot of those, too.

First Gentleman Wanted

Summary:  President of the United States Castiel Novak is popular, charismatic, and knee-deep in campaigning for a second term. He’d be the ideal candidate if it weren’t for the fact that he hasn’t dated once while in political office. With his opponent’s relentless PR team calling him incapable of emotional commitment, Castiel’s staff decides to remedy the situation by finding their boss a fake, picture-perfect boyfriend. And when Dean Winchester enters the scene, he and Cas become America’s new favorite couple, except they’ve got a whole lot of history between them and complicated feelings to resolve.

The Graveyard Shift

Summary: Dean’s favourite coffee shop, The Graveyard Shift, is only open after the sun goes down. Which is perfect for him, because that’s exactly when he craves coffee the most while doing the overnight at the fire hall. The coffee shop’s owner is pretty perfect too, but it’s kind of a bummer that Dean never gets to see Cas during the day. In a world where the supernatural live more or less in peace with the rest of humanity, it’s a little impolite to ask Cas just what he really is - or what his dark past entails.

The Path of Fireflies

Summary: After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Summary: Heaven is white.Well. Isn’t that fucking stereotypical.-Dean isn’t really sure how he got here. Or even why he’s here. And hell, for all the times the Winchesters have died, he thinks he ought to know the drill by now. But what he doesn’t know is when most folks go, they find something different.

There’s a system God put in place. That when you’re gone (for good), there are a couple things you gotta do first. There are five people waiting for you.

They are the five people you meet in heaven.

Doing this made me realize I need to read more longer fics. I usually just read the short ficlets on tumblr but I need to broaden my horizon and read more. But yes! These are the AU’s currently in my bookmarks. Hope you find one to enjoy :)